#her high notes fuuuuuuck off

[dotrousersmatter]

the Sister Act musical is really slept on, in my opinion

[yonch]

it's been 15 years and you can see better than ever

(design notes under the cut) (there are spoilers)

ok this got really long. here you go

sif:

ditched the cloak. it was collecting dust in their closet until recently, but they realized they don't need to cling to their grief so much anymore. someone else will need it more soon.

ditched the eyepatch. the prosthetic eye is a labor of love designed by isa, as is literally everything else they're wearing.

they cut their bangs finally and started braiding their hair back so it wouldn't obscure their vision as much anymore.

they like darker/tighter clothing and prefer function over form but unfortunately their gay ass boyfriend keeps treating them like a dress up doll so they're stuck wearing waistcoats and a fancy cloak. (they don't mind. it's designed to look like loop.) they keep flowers in their many pockets to give to people.

they're a woodworker in their free time. they don't usually talk about being any sort of savior so he just becomes sif the guy who's really good at carving birthday presents for people and also tags along with isa to charity parties and fundraisers

41 year old 5'1" they/he absolutely zero intention of Changing. bonded to isabeau. they adopted a kid who leo or i might post about some other time i think. her name is estelle.

isa: i'm not taking credit for the design that's by my friend @fembard /@leoweooo. i'll include his design notes

isa dresses mostly for comfort, he doesn't like wearing stuff that might get stained or ruined when he's dyeing clothes or chasing stelle around in the mud or something, all his fashion sense goes into his handiwork

he Changed a few more times over the 15yrs, eventually settled. picked up she/her pronouns again on the side but was never really able to ditch the name isabeau and he kinda ran out of names anyways...

kept the long hair, kept a few inches in height, very happy to fulfill the role of male (space) wife

can't ditch the kimono jacket it's the piece de resistance. odile influence and Wisening Of Age means its made with a little more knowledge of ka buan technique but still very clearly an Isa Design. the fabric is imported silk sif!!!!!!

39 year old Tall with a capital T he/she "i swear i'm not a weeaboo i'm just really into ka buan fashion" vaugardian indie clothing designer in your area help support this man in his attempts to use his family members as living advertisements for his brand

mira: with design input from @jastertown thank you my friend

i took a lot of inspiration for the sparkly, sheer fabric on her dress from euphrasie. she's not head housemaiden yet because she doesn't feel like she's ready but everybody knows it'll be her

speaking of inspiration. she's been taking a lot of fashion cues from a certain lady in dormont that she thought was kind of scary, but it turns out she's very nice? they're besties now.

she got rid of the earrings for a little bit but then she realized she just liked how they look on her. so now they go ding ding! it's for her and nobody else, and that's how she likes it.

moved her ornaments to her skirt because they ding ding more often there. her necklace also jingles with merriment.

38 year old she/her advanced cisgender+ legend who's realizing that people are trying to get her to be the pope but all she really wants to do is write yaoibait fiction that looks like it came straight off of ao3

odile:

my glorious hag. she started shrinking about 3 years ago. all those years of bending over books has finally caught up to her. her hips are fuuuuuucked. but she has a sick cane that sif carved for her so everything's okay

she was already pretty comfortable and settled in her sense of style when she was nearing 50 so i don't think she would change much. darker clothing maybe. ditched the high-waisted pants for some looser slacks.

she's started writing a familytale of her own. the only person she's told about it is bonbon, who caught her up way past their bedtime, and scribbled all over one of the pages. she'll pass it on to sif when the time's right, after she's written down everything she can remember about their family.

64 year old she/her wasian researcher recovering from hernia surgery who's getting really into things like "political activism" and "body craft law reformation in ka bue" and "making sure people aren't sourcing their hrt from back alleys"

bonnie:

prefers to go by boniface these days. it's cooler. more mature. please stop calling me bonbon that's a nickname from when i was 10 guys c'mon guys ugh fine frin you can still call me bonbon but not around my girlfriends ok (nobody calls them boniface except for odile)

speaking of which they have 3 butch lesbian girlfriends. this got established as a joke but i think they have it in them. they're still young!!!!!!! they should be at the club!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

they traveled for a while with everybody but eventually settled down back in bambouche to start a little family owned restaurant with nille featuring dishes from all over the globe. people travel from all over to get a taste of boniface's good eats... bambouche is bustling. (they have a few recipes that are sourced from the country. they meet people every once in a while who find something achingly familiar about it, and they usually direct those people to jouvente to get in contact with frin.)

26 year old they/them "i dont know how tall i am but i'm taller than za" chef cooker whose restaurant keeps lighting on fire because this time i swear nille i can figure out how to do cooking craft i swear i wont explode the kitchen this time please i promise

loop:

ok. this is where lozy gets to just talk about what he thinks happens post game. i think they stick around for way longer than they really should and follow the crew around on their travels (mostly invisibly) because they're sooo fucking scared of change they're sooo scared and they're so scared of their wish fucking up beyond belief. they're kind of incapable of aging or dying in this body and theyre like permanently 26 which is what spurs them to finally move on.

i think they go back to their timeline eventually after making a Brand New Wish to "go back to their real family." alas the universe leads and we can only follow. and it turns out loop has actually made a real family in stardust's world also. this is my justification for why they can pop in between sasasap and isat worlds without much repercussion. i think they're always permanently loop shaped in isat but i imagine they can probably go back to their original body in their home timeline... might design that later. who knows. i'm fucked like that

i just think they deserve a chance for their own happy ending you know. isat's a game about how it's never too late to communicate and how you shouldn't punish yourself forever and ever. and i think theyve punished themself enough you know.

ok tank you for reading if you read this far. it's really big and long so i would understand if you didn't. but i hope you liked it. thoughts appreciated. here's a little something for the people who read all the way through.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Ravel

A Seams Christmas special oneshot | Moodboard

{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: Joel swings by yours with a little something before Christmas dinner at Tommy and Maria's.

Warnings: Unapologetic fluff and softness, inspired by this ask from @casssiopeia from the beginning of the year, no use of Y/N, very lightly edited

Word count: 2k

Notes: I'm so proud of writing up this little drabble. I've been in such a weird place with my writing, I'm just happy to end the year on a creative high. Obviously, I'm a few days late to Christmas, but better late than never!

There is a voice in my head telling me that this isn't good enough, that it doesn't hold up to what I was writing earlier this year. But I need to rewire my brain. There is no such thing as 'good' or 'bad' when it comes to fanfiction. All fanfiction is good fanfiction. This is our hobby, not our jobs, and we need to be kind to ourselves.

I am posting this at 11:59pm on New Year's Eve. Happy new year y'all, I hope Joel and Pin can bring you some festive cheer ❤️

Joel is this close to have a fucking breakdown.

He would measure out how close this is between his thumb and index finger if they were not currently tangled in webs of yarn, rapidly unravelling from from the bottom of what is supposed to be a sweater.

Your sweater.

The book that Lucy lent him months ago lies on the table before him, the pages yellowed and dogeared, open at the the easiest pattern of the lot to knit - a simple pullover in chunky yarn, in your favourite colour.

Well, it was supposed to be easy, anyway.

Despite Lucy basically holding his hand throughout the whole project, he’s had far less time than anticipated to work on it. Too many nights he finds himself at Tommy and Maria’s, elbow deep in dirty baby’s clothes and diapers, making himself useful for whatever needs to be done around the house. 

Even Ellie chips in without being asked, often bringing back food from the canteen and making sure the severely sleep-deprived adults are eating, if not well fed. Joel honestly doesn’t remember how he did it with Sarah as a clueless twenty-something, with an even more clueless younger brother.

As he attempts to free himself from the quagmire of wool, he grimaces at the stiffness all over his body, feeling it especially in his back after sleeping in an armchair all night with a rapidly growing two-month old.

He’s too old for this shit - but there’s no saying no to the little rascal with Tommy’s nose and Maria’s eyes.

The knitting needles clatter to the floor when he jumps at the front door opening and slamming shut, a frustrated fuuuuuuck slipping past his gritted teeth. 

Ellie’s voice rings out loud and clear as she scampers up the stairs, getting progressively louder until she’s outside his study. ‘Hey! Did you remember to put the potatoes in the oven? We have to leave for Tommy’s in an hour - dude, what the fuck is happening?’

‘What do you think is happenin’?’ he growls.

Crossing her arms, Ellie leans against the doorframe wearing a far too amused expression. ‘Maria said no gifts.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not for Maria.’

The teenager squints, perplexed, at the bits of wool in his hands. ‘What is that meant to be?’

‘... A sweater.’

Ellie bites her bottom lip, holding in a poorly concealed giggle. ‘I think a sweater is meant to have sleeves.’

‘You think?’

‘Want me to go get Lucy?’

With a heavy sigh, he mutters, ‘Fine.’

At the arch of her half-eyebrow, Joel adds begrudgingly, ‘Please.’

Ellie grins, sneakers skidding on the floorboards as she takes off. ‘Hang in there, old man!’

Despite the cold, his palms are sweaty, sticking to the kraft paper wrapped haphazardly around the even more haphazard package clutched tightly in his right hand. 

The night air mists before him in puffs of white as he shuffles a path through the falling snow. His ears are tingling from the cold, and flexing the stiff, frozen tips of his fingers, Joel knows he should’ve worn his gloves. They weren’t in their usual place by the door though, and he was so frazzled that he barely got his shoes tied up before dashing out the door, sending Ellie ahead with the potatoes (that are definitely undercooked) to his brother’s.

Your cottage glows yellow and orange in the darkness, and your stairs no longer creak when he trudges up them, having fixed them just in time before the first snowfall.

He hears your footsteps come from deep within this house when he knocks. Your eyes are wide when your door cracks open tentatively, but then your lips curve into a smile - the smile that he takes with him and keeps him warm when he has to leave Jackson for days-long patrols.

‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, ushering him inside, not batting an eye at the snow he tracks inside. ‘I thought we were meeting at Maria’s.’

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he softens at the way you lift your face towards him to catch it, careful to keep the parcel out of sight behind his back. ‘Yeah, we were, but thought I’d see if you need a hand with anythin’.’

‘Such a gentleman,’ you tease. 

A low fire burns in the hearth, the wood he chopped for you in the fall stacked in a tidy pile next to the mantelpiece. Sweeping his eyes across the living space, he spots the book with the cracked spine that he reads when he’s here on the coffee table, next to yours. On the other side of the couch is the Christmas tree that he cut for you, and he watched you dress it up in tinsel and fairylights one night after a quiet dinner and before hot cocoa under thick blankets.

He likes seeing himself at your home. In the things he does for you; in his things, casually scattered around - like they belong in your space.

‘The pies are in the kitchen, could you please put them in a bag?’ you ask. ‘I’ll just grab my coat and we can go.’

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ he answers, waiting until you’ve disappeared into the bedroom before setting down the present under the tree.

He’s leaning against the back of the couch when you pop back in, a few layers deeper than when you left him, the pies nestled safely in a carrier bag by his boots. 

‘Shall we?’ you ask brightly.

Joel hesitates, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to tell you about the present. It only takes his eyes darting to the foot of the tree for the briefest moment for you to catch on. The slow smile that stretches your cheeks and lights up your eyes warms him from the inside out.

You cock your head to one side, playing coy. ‘What’s that, Joel?’

He shrugs, feigning cool. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and find out?’

His chest physically swells at the way you dash towards the tree, landing on your knees in uncharacteristic recklessness, the impact only softened by the rug underneath. You cradle the lumpy package to your chest like something precious. ‘You got me a present.’

He settles on the end of the couch next to you, his heart beating harder in his ribcage than he’d like to admit. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.’

You frown at him. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll see, but I wanted to give it to you anyway.’

You open the package carefully, as if it was wrapped in the fancy paper people used to buy at the shop. Joel holds his breath when you peel it away to reveal what’s inside.

He’s far too inside his own head to hear your inhale that sounds a lot like wonder. You pick up the sweater gently, shaking it out, and Joel winces when he sees it in the flicker of the firelight.

Disastrous doesn’t begin to cover it. Lucy managed to connect the sleeves to the shapeless body in a last-ditch salvage attempt, but one is clearly longer than the other. The stitches are untidy, some have obviously caught onto something and pulled loose. Rough around the edges is putting it kindly.

Joel wants to reach out, grab it, chuck it into the fire and let the flames swallow it whole.

Finally, the silence gets the better of him, and he blurts out. ‘I’m sorry.’

You stare at him, stunned. ‘What?’

Under his whiskers, his cheeks flush in embarrassment, and he rambles, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. You deserve better sweetheart, here, let me -’

You almost lose your balance keeping the sweater out of his reach. ‘Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.’

Confused, he watches you rise to your feet, shucking your outer coat and another layer. ‘What are you doin’?’

Grabbing the sweater, you slide it over your head and thread your arms through the sleeves. The soft knit drapes over your curves, too big over your shoulders and the hem falling unevenly, higher on the right side than the left. One sleeve is long enough to cover half your hand, while the other sits right on the wrist.

And yet. 

You’re beaming like you just picked up something at Bloomin’dales or whatever the fuck those department stores were called back then. 

‘I love it,’ you declare, no trace of irony in your voice, as hard as he’s trying to find it.

He scoffs in disbelief. ‘C’mon, sweetheart, you’re just sayin’ it -’

You surprise him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him towards you to plant a firm kiss on his lips. 

‘I love it,’ you repeat slowly, with conviction, as if willing him to believe you. ‘Thank you.’

He doesn’t quite still, but he smiles and kisses you back. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘Since we’re doing this -’ you trail off, sliding out of his grip to reach around the back of the tree, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift. ‘This is for you.’

Joel pauses. 

For him.

For the longest time, nothing had been for him unless it was soul-crushing grief and pain.

And yet here it is - his name on the tag written in your neat handwriting. Something he can hold in his hands. For him.

His fingers tremble when he reaches out. The package is soft, and the paper crackles under his grip. He all but tears it open, uncaring of the way the wrapping falls to the floor.

A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and you look relieved at his reaction. ‘You like it?’

It’s not quite a Santa hat. It’s a chunky dark red beanie with a white brim folded back, and topped with a white pompom. 

‘My ears were so cold walkin’ over. It’s perfect,’ he says, pulling it over the crown of his head. Of course, it fits just right, sliding soft and warm over his ears. He adds with a wink, ‘Y’know what, I might just shimmy down some chimneys after dinner.’

‘As long as you shimmy down mine too,’ you retort, not hearing the euphemism.

Joel quirks an eyebrow at that, one large palm squeezing your backside through the layers. ‘That an open invitation, sweetheart?’

You duck your head, more out of habit than actual shyness, with mischief in your smile. ‘Don’t be so crude, Joel Miller.’

Adjusting his new hat so that it sits comfortably, he points at the pompom and jokes, ‘Shame I can’t wear this on patrols.’

Right on cue, you hold up a finger. ‘Funny you should say that.’

He chuckles when you pull out a second, plain black beanie, as if out of thin air. ‘You really thought of everythin’, sweetheart.’

You shrug playfully. ‘I’m smart like that.’

‘I know you are,’ he smiles.

‘Merry Christmas, Joel.’

His lips find yours again in a slow, lingering kiss that has you leaning into him for more when he pulls back. ‘Thank you. For everythin’.’

You hold his gaze - heavy with meaning, light with joy. It wouldn’t take more than a tilt of the head towards the bedroom to derail your evening plans, and you both know it.

In the end, you’re the one who stays strong. Taking one step back from his warmth, you reach for your coat. ‘We’re late, we should go.’

His eyes widen. ‘Wait - you’re not wearin’ that to dinner are you?’

‘Of course I am,’ you say, buttoning up your coat over the sweater.

‘You don’t have to, sweetheart,’ he almost pleads with you.

You grin, heading for the door, blowing out candles as you go. ‘Too bad, I’m never taking it off.’

Joel shakes his head with a wry huff. ‘Well, I hope not never -’

You have one foot out the door when you suddenly remember. ‘I almost forgot - you left your gloves here last time. They’re in the cupboard by the door.’

Ah, that’s where they went. He opens the drawer and pulls them on, one after the other, the leather, worn smooth with age, creaking as he wraps his fingers around the handles of the carrier bag.

Joel is about to follow you out the door when he pauses over the threshold. Glancing down at the black beanie in his grasp, he reaches up and hooks it on the coat rack, nestled among your clothes.

He hopes that when the time comes for him to wear it for the first time - maybe on a patrol that will take him away from you for a few days - it will smell like you.

Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics ❄️

More notes: I hope I will return to the main series in the new year. I've missed these two lovebirds, I hope you enjoyed this little interlude! ❤️

[killiansorrel]

continuing off of my last post about the crappy social services college professor lol

the college i went to had a booklet of activities throughout the year that you can participate in either for fun/socializing or for points as extra credit in whatever class you needed them for. these activities included going to cultural events, lectures, snowshoeing/hiking, etc. if i remember correctly, only certain classes partook in this. at the beginning of the semester, my professor let us know that her class was part of those that accepted points, which i kept in mind and let my mom know (because at the time, I didn't have a driver's license). so we made note of the ones i could partake in without stressing me tf out and would work with both our schedules

throughout the semester, the assignments she would give us made me realize that because of my age, i actually might fail the class. i was supposed to go sit in at meetings for aa, dv, etc and that required signing a form. which, if you didn't know, you have to be 18 to do (at least in alaska, idk about anywhere else). i did my best on all the assignments and tests but i was definitely not doing the best. i was sitting at a high D to mid C, most of the time, no matter how hard i tried. and the last assignment was going to be a doozy because it required me to (surprise) sit in at a meeting with a local organization and sign a form to say I won't tell any sensitive details. which i somehow was able to do anyways because the ladies i met up with were very sweet and trusting and let me sit in anyways, and i will forever be grateful for that. but just in case, i went to a cultural event and a snowshoeing activity for extra credit. and when i presented it to my professor? she said she did not accept campus activity points for extra credit. what. the. fuck.

so of course i panicked and told my mom and she was piiiiissed but ultimately decided to let me figure out what i wanted to do because i was becoming an adult. i came to the conclusion to drop the class because my teacher was horrible and i was too young to do what i needed to do for the class. so i emailed the schoolboard or whatever and begged them to let me drop it. of course i still tried my hardest in class just in case they didn't give me the choice to drop it. and i actually did quite well from that point on, i had a high C to low B going on for a while and was considering pushing through anyways. it wasn't the last assignment and I can't remember what it was on but i was in the room ready to turn it in and i got the email saying i could drop the class, i just had to send confirmation. i left the classroom, called my mom, and we agreed i should push through since there was only like 2-3 weeks left. i came in before class started and went to my professor, energetic and proud of myself for choosing to push on

"hey so i know i was going to drop this class but I've decided to push through and do my best! i left the classroom but there's still 5 minutes left and i have the essay that due today finished. can i still turn it in?"

"no"

are you fucking kidding me. why not??? it's not like i was even late to turning it in!! so i got a zero on it and had sent confirmation that i did NOT want to drop the class, so my grade dropped. a lot. of course i was distraught and stressed the whole class. i told my mom about it after and she was so furious and she regrets not giving my professor a piece of her mind to this day. quite frankly i should have broken my teacher's kneecaps

but it's fine, whatever, I'll just kill it on this next assignment- oh shit right, i need to sit in a meeting, fuuuuuuck. but it turned out okay cause they let me in despite my age and i got the essay done and it was actually okay enough to get a mid C. good enough to pass, especially since she announced to the class like a week before it was due that campus activity points ARE accepted for extra credit points so i slammed my proof down and demanded they be applied to my grade. and they did. and after my essay was input, my final grade for the semester was about a 72% if i recall correctly, it was a low C. good enough for me, i wash my hadns of this experience- oH WAIT HERE'S SOME MORE BULLSHIT

right before the final grade for the semester got submitted, she CHANGED my essay score from a mid C to JUST LOW ENOUGH to get my final grade at a 69.7%. JUST BELOW A C. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. i still technically passed. but i KNOW she did that shit on purpose and she is forever in my deathnote for it

plus she got up in my face aggressively one time and I don't remember the details of that too well because i was holding myself back from uppercutting tf outta her. i already have a personal bubble but when you get aggressive? immediate reaction is to fight, my ADHD anger does not play. but uh yeah. fuck college and especially fuck that bitch fr

[moon-ursidae]

it’s time for session #2!

THERE WILL BE SPOILERS FOR BOTH OF THE LAST OF US GAMES UNDER THE CUT!!!!

these notes are so scattered if you read them without context and i am SO SORRY lmao. i’m typing them so fast trying to keep up with my brain that’s going 700 mph and the game. ANYWAY, we’re getting a very late start tonight bc i was helping my friend learn guitar for a few hours haha

total play time: about 2 hrs and 40 min (there’s not much story progression here just exploring seattle!)

okay so we last left off with ellie and dina in the woods on horseback post joel’s house. i have not gotten farther than the woods bc i was super ultra mega tired. so let us continue!

okay sooooo this section is called the gate cool cool cool

this is fucking gorgeouuusssssss

omg dina listing off all the people that joel crossed

i’m sure there’s more before that bro

oh my god the LIGHTINGGGGG in the woods so so good

we’re so close to seattle i’m scared

so much happens here man

map acquired✅

CARD BABYYYYYY

jesus christ i L O V E the aesthetic of nature reclaiming land and man made structures. it’s sooooooo pretty

oh shit QZ!

i’m looking through ur journal ellie hope you don’t mind haha

dina seems to be sick? well. i know why but ellie doesn’t yet so shhhhhh

it’s so sad to me that every drawing of joel so far that ellie’s done, she hasn’t been able to draw his eyes. that was the last thing she saw of him while he was alive. like she wants to get them just right but everytime she draws it that means she has to look him in the eye again. and maybe she’s feeling too guilty to do that rn. ugh idk i know neil always does shit like that but maybe i’m reading too much into it haha. ANYWAY that is one of the most heartbreaking parts about her journal dude. UUUUGGHHHHH 😭

“i really love her.” 😭😭😭😭 ELLIE TELL HER PLEASE

we just got a letter, wonder who it’s from🕺🏻

kieran?? kieran duffy??????

haha wrong game

also lemme just say, i fucking love dina

she’s so sweet and empathetic, but will cut the fuck out of a bitch when needed

I HAVE TO PARKOUR?? UP HIGH?? IN THE LAST OF US?? OVER A GATE??

this is some nathan drake shit bro where’s nolan north

FUUUUUCK I THOUGHT SHE WAS GONNA FALL BRO OH MY GOD

hoooooollllyyyyyy fuuuuuuck this is a big city jesus christ

LMAO her wobble before she fell down to the platform below

this game is so gorgeous. holy fuckin shit i’m gonna say that a lot huh?

THE SOUND DESIGN??? WHEN GOING DOWN THE LOOKOUT TOWER AT THE GATE OF THE QZ??? WHEN SHE FALLS AND IT ECHOES?? THAT SHIT WAS CRAZYYYY

guys i’m gonna be honest. i’m team brick.

i LOVE being able to break windows this is so fun

oh god i have a horrible memory plz don’t make me memorize these gate codes

side note: i love ellie’s hair here. i’m gonna have to try a lil half up half down situation

i saw someone on twitter point out that it looks a lot like tess’s hair🥺

“well, we believe in you” shimmer and dina? or baby and dina? hmmm things to consider

totally unrelated, but i can’t not hear ashley johnson going “babyyyyyyyyy” with an s.o. since the mighty nein reunion lmao

ellie seeing dina and going “babyyyyyyyy” like yasha LMAO

ANYWAY

fuck i hope i can pull out that page of codes dude

THANK GOD

oh shit another hotel

i’m traumatized after the last on dude you can’t make me go back

H O L Y. S H I T.

THIS IS SO OPEN I’M GONNA SPEND SOOOOOOOO MUCH TIME HERE

FUCK DUDE

this is fucking crazy

there’s so much small shit everywhere oh my fucking G O D

omg joel was definitely reading that space book for ellie she just talked about an early moon mission at this tank

DINA’S JOKE “she’s sounding a bit hoarse” they’re literally made for each other

OH MY GOD I JUST FOUND THE DR. UCKMANN CARD NO FUCKING SHOT

damn is this his way of addressing the crunch work hours at naughty dog?

“once a well respected researcher… questionable experiments in the realm of pushing human limits saw him ostracized from the scientific community… Laurent Foucault of SPARK Laboratories found his work dubious…”

the music is hauntingly beautiful in this area oh my god

OH MY GOD THE SCANNERS THAT DETECT THE VIRUS FROM THE BOSTON QZ IN THE FIRST GAME

i miss the first game LMAO even though i JUST finished that

THERE’S A FUCKING PEARL JAM POSTER IN THE MUSIC SHOP😭

IF I EVER WERE TO LOSE YOU, I’D SURELY LOSE MYSELF😭

i feel like this is supposed to be hank williams which would be fucking sick bc “alone and forsaken” and all that jazz haha

“guitars starting at $49.99” BRO SINCE WHEN I FUCKING WIIISH DUDE😭

as a drummer, i can confirm dina is a fucking natural

“i love you?” A H H H H H

ANUTHA CARD WOOO

Das Wort is my favorite card so far. he just like me fr

WAIT THIS IS THE TAKE ON ME SCENE

i will cry

SHE’S PLAYING FUTURE DAYS😭😭😭😭

BARRE CHORDS??? ellie i could literally never wtf

the chords are all accurate too holy fuck naughty dog

ashley has such a nice voice oh my god

i’m gonna fucking cry bc they put this in the hbo trailer

AAAAHHHHHHH😭😭

this is why i fucking love music dude. it transcends everything and always will. it’s the one thing that connects everyone. and it’s connecting people in this game too and i UGGHHH i love music holy fuck

the way dina looks at her🥹

and also knowing that joel was the one that showed her all of these songs and artists bc ellie wasn’t even alive to hear take on me and future days, and literally everything else. GOOOOODDDDDDDD😭😭

“you should have kissed me then.” “i wanted to.”

god i love dina and ellie they sound like an old married couple already

first dawn of the wolf poster i’ve seen!!! WOOOOO

i’m gonna come back to the nutrition distribution center bc i feel like that shit is gonna be bad news bears

“wasn’t joel all about coffee?” as he should. i’d be all about coffee too if i didn’t have it for years

ANUTHA CAAAARD

i really like the Big Blue card too

THAT FUCKING INFECTED IN THE BATHROOM SCARED THE FUCKING SHIT OUT OF ME MY SOUL LEFT MY BODY OH MY GOD

so many fucking side quests oml what do you mean “barko’s”

oh my god there are so many fucking alleyways to go down

THERE’S SO MUCH TO DO I AM SO BUSY FINDING SECRETS AND STUFFS

BARKO’S LOCATED

it’s too dark in here i don’t like it

“they think we’re sheep! BARE YOUR FANGS.” what in the fuckin trump train “sHeEpLe” is goin on in here

i feel like i’m gonna get fucking jumped by infected again in here

THIGH HOLSTER ACQUIRED

omg plz “we can get a little creature to take care of” AND THEN THEY HAVE A FARM AT THE END😭😭😭

STUN BOMB ACQUIRED

i have already spent 2 hours in this fucking QZ holy shit

i just wanna explore rn i don’t wanna progress story atm

i am secret hunting

ANUTHA CARD BABYYY WEST GATE 2

it doesn’t even look like i’ve done that much😭

i also have a bad feeling about this bank

oh fuck this shit. it goes underground

they are ALWAYS underground bro

dina this is not cool, this is scary

i don’t fucking trust this shit

HOW DID I FUCKING KNOW

infected or whateva🙄

SHOTGUN ACQUIRED

FUCK this bank dude i’m GONE

dina said she’d get a farmhouse with the money😭😭

okay i think i’m gonna stop here bc it is literally 5am and i am sleepy haha. no story! but got some goodies and secrets out of the way! i will continue maybe tomorrow? not sure bc i am quite busy but we’ll see!

having a really good time so far and i love watching ellie and dina’s dynamic! still lots of buildings and secrets to loot! i’m excited >:)

[language-of-love]

trying times and half hickeys...

Here’s part 2 of my missing kisses series. This one’s set during “Pregnancy Test” when those boys were having some fun in the back room. (AO3)

Ok, so he isn’t going to make it through. That’s abundantly clear.

Being in this tiny store with Patrick touching his arm every time they talk, smiling over at him as Twyla’s third cousin tries on scarf after scarf and even kissing his cheek before he runs to the cafe for tea...it’s all too much. Or really, it’s not enough. Not even close to enough and when Patrick gets back with that stupid tea David is going to do something about it.

He knows they’d agreed to take things slow, but there’s only so many hours he can stare at Patrick in that stupid thin blue oxford that fits him entirely too well without touching him in very indecent ways.

He feels like he’s going to vibrate right out of skin with need.

Seeing Patrick crossing the street outside the door, David quickly slides behind the curtain into the back room. He feels ridiculous and immature, but he can’t help that Patrick Brewer has turned him into a goddamn hormonal teenager.

The chime of the bells over the door is like the bell going off between classes in high school, but this time he actually has a cute guy to make out with at his locker.

“David?” Patrick calls from the other side of the register, before his adorable button face peeks around the side of the curtain. “You back here?”

“Yeah, can you give me a hand with this?” David asks from the back corner, thankful he’d neglected to turn on the overhead light. Patrick doesn’t bother to flick it on either as he steps around the curtain to help. The midday sun is peeking through the small stain glass window above the shelving, silhouetting Patrick in an almost angelic glow as he crosses the few steps to where David is leaning against the wall.

“Uh, what did you…” Patrick starts to say, but David doesn’t let him finish, grabbing his wrist as soon as he’s within reach. A startled grumble escapes Patrick’s lips as David pulls him forward, quickly scrambling around him until Patrick’s back is against the wall. The vibration beneath David’s skin is pulsing erratically, and he does what he’s wanted to do for the last three hours. He kisses him. Hard. Patrick’s breath comes out in a surprised gasp against David’s lips, but soon his hands are gripping the sides of David’s sweatshirt and his active participation in the onslaught begins.

Patrick’s normal everyday confidence is starting to show in their kisses, curiosity replacing tentativeness as he changes the pace from bruising to druggingly slow. This particular kiss is melting all of David’s brain cells and he doesn’t even realize he’s begun to speak his thoughts out loud until he hears himself mumble, “earl grey and cinnamon,” before going back in for another long exploration of Patrick’s tongue. It’s musky and spicy and he starts to wonder what other parts of Patrick might taste like. Deciding to find out, he shifts his lips to Patrick’s jaw, the tiny ginger brown hairs rough against his slightly swollen mouth.

“Huuuh?” Patrick pants, his head rolling back against the wall and David takes that as an invitation to continue his travels.

After giving his jaw muscle a light nip, David slowly runs his nose up behind Patrick’s ear. Patrick obviously likes that as his hands unclench David’s sweatshirt, fingers suddenly searching beneath the fabric until he’s found skin and is dragging David further into his body. Groaning, David leans his weight forward, giving in to Patrick’s need for contact even if he knows it’s a really bad idea.

Doing his best to ignore the obvious tightening of Patrick’s jeans against his thigh, David tries to focus back on parts of Patrick he has time to deal with in this tiny window of time he’s managed to steal.

Moving his right hand from his grip of Patrick’s bicep, he traces his jaw with his fingertips, smiling to himself when Patrick’s head leans even further back like a cat stretching in the sunlight. Leaning in, he finds the soft skin of Patrick’s neck with his lips, pressing soft kisses in a small circle that he slowly begins to trace with his tongue. A shiver courses through Patrick and David sighs into it, letting his teeth slightly graze Patrick’s overworked skin. That really gets a reaction, with Patrick’s hands moving downwards, albeit somewhat tentatively, until they are dragging David even closer by a firm grip of his ass.

“David...we should stop…” he protests, but his hips are pushing forward off the wall as his hands are holding David close and David lets his thigh fall open just so and…

The bell over the door chimes.

“Fuuuuuuck…” David groans into the space where Patrick’s neck meets his shoulder, ready to bang his forehead into the concrete wall he’s so sexually frustrated.

Patrick just laughs. The cocky bastard laughs!

Standing up straight, David pins his business partner to the wall with an incredulous stare, seeing in the dim light just how blissed out Patrick looks.

“This is NOT funny,” David pouts, running his fingers through his hair to try to hide the fact that his hands are shaking a bit.

“I can’t help it, you’re adorable when you’re worked up,” Patrick retorts, the smirk on his face way sexier than it has any right to be.

Doing his best to put his sweatshirt back in place, David just snorts and leaves Patrick and his stupid smile leaning against the wall so he can go deal with whoever just interrupted the only sexual contact he’s had in months.

“Uh, I’m not the only one worked up around here,” David replies, pointing a ring laden finger at Patrick’s still tented denim. “You might want to give yourself a minute so you don’t scare off our very annoying customer.”

“Ding, ding!”

Recognizing Stevie’s voice, he makes an mental note to kill her later...after he finishes what he started with Patrick.

[junionigiri]

Ruby Red and Caramel Ch 8: Green Curry

Chapter Summary: Past the threshold of Momo’s home, and beyond. Things change.

Relationship: Bakugou Katsuki/Yaoyorozu Momo; Bakugou Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku (clarifications about wth happened)

Rating: M (most of you expected this, but pls still take note)

Warnings/Notes: Apart from the thing you’re expecting, there’s scenes that feature CPR. And another, with explosions. Please be careful.

“One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight--”

It’s been a while since Katsuki clearly knows whether he’s truly awake, or in a frighteningly vivid dream.

At times, he opens his eyes and sees the sky from the slick ground of that alley in Musutafu. Sometimes there’s fire and screaming, other times there’s the wail of sirens and the blinking red and blue lights bouncing off the walls. There’s always one or more person crying over him, begging him to wake up.

“-- nine-eleven-twelve-thirteen-fourteen-fifteen--Kacchan, please, wake up, I’m here, okay, I’m here--”

It’s always that shitty fuckin’ Deku. Scrawny, nerdy, weak, ridiculously dressed an oversized gakuran. Weak baby hands pressing down his sternum, high-pitched voice counting to thirty before he blows air into Katsuki’s mouth in between sobs. He’s the most useless person in that entire alleyway, yet he’s the only one who sees Katsuki, the only one who realizes that his heart’s not fucking beating anymore and his lungs are completely empty.

All Might, too… he doesn’t know what happened, but All Might was big one moment, and then he wasn’t. Sludge drips from his mouth, along with blood and vomit. It makes Katsuki sick, but not as sick as seeing the tall man fall like a mannequin on the dirty ground.

That shitty fuckin’ nerd cries, but keeps his hands on Katsuki’s chest. Doesn’t give himself time to wipe his tears or his sweat. He bends down, and Katsuki doesn’t feel his mouth on him as he watches the scene from a weird spot above his body.

“--sixteen-seventeen-eighteen-nineteen-twenty--”

Dreams are weird like that.

The scene dies out, and Katsuki opens his eyes again--he’s in the hospital, he doesn’t remember which one. His head hurts. There’s a line through his hand. Something beeps beside him, and it’s irritating.

He looks for the old hag, but she isn’t there. Dad’s snoring away on the couch, looking older than he should be. He looks too tired, and Katsuki’s voice is too weak, so he doesn’t call him.

Something on his bed stirs, something that irritatingly looks too much like broccoli. The nerd looks up with green-and-red eyes glimmering in the darkness. “Kacchan,” he says, gripping the sheets tightly. Fuckin’ bastard’s crying again, much to his annoyance, but Katsuki’s body in this dream is so heavy, and his hand doesn’t lift or make explosions.

He feels his mouth moving without his consent. “Deku. They told me I can’t be a hero anymore.”

He doesn’t understand--he’s so angry and hurt and weak and full of hate, but his eyes are dry and his mouth is flaccid and all his voice can manage is a whisper. The shit nerd understands him though, and cries some more.

“I’m so sorry, Kacchan,” he blubbers out like a baby. Like it’s his fault somehow. Katsuki thinks he’s just being self-centered. There’s no way in hell that any of this is this asshole’s fault. As if this weak fuckin’ nerd can destroy his life.

He hates that he keeps saying sorry. Hates those simpering eyes, hates the sadness, hates the pity. He shuts it all out, wills it to darkness and quiet and emptiness so that there’s nothing else.

The scene shifts, he wakes up. He’s in the hospital he doesn’t remember which one his head hurts there’s a line through his hand--something beeps beside, no, behind him--he looks for the old hag, but she isn’t there--dad isn’t on the couch but he still looks old and tired--Katsuki’s voice is too weak, so he doesn’t call him--

He sees himself in his mind’s eye, convulsing next to the code cart. Three whole days of work, three days of not taking his medicine or sleeping or even eating anything without caffeine in it. He had a fever at one point, he was in the ER and that shitty nerd was tailing him, telling him to sit down, to go home.

He doesn’t listen.

“Twentyone-twentytwo-twentythree-twentyfour-twentyfive--”

His vision turns black for a week, maybe.

“I’m so sorry, Kacchan,” that fuckin’ Deku says again. He wants to punch him, wants to knock those stupid glasses on his face. He’s wearing the white coat he got on the same day that Katsuki did years ago. It looks wrong on him and his shitty weak tear-stained face.

He remembers the nerd’s stupid pledge to follow Katsuki wherever he goes, to make sure that he won’t be helpless again. And yet here he is again, drugs in his veins, a tube through his mouth, his mind lost in the matrix--

“Twentysix-twentyseven-twentyeight--”

He’s breathing by himself now, at least. Heart remembers to beat. Brain remembers to think, but barely. Katsuki’s mind struggles against the onslaught of reality.

Deku’s standing next to him, broken down and crying like a child whose pet is dying. Katsuki fuckin’ hates it. All he does is cry and say sorry, sorry, sorry, like all of this is his fault. Like somehow the sludge villain that put All Might to sleep was his fault. Katsuki doesn’t understand what the fuck he babbles about when he cries--he’s stopped listening a long, long while ago.

“Twenty nine-thirty--”

 *

 The scene shifts. He wakes up.

A sun ray streams through a window that isn’t his and illuminates dark hair, silky skin, most of her body snuggling under soft, peach sheets. Eyes roll behind her eyelids as she dreams, like planets lazily turning in their orbits. Quiet breaths escape between slightly parted lips, the ones he greedily claimed for himself mere hours before.

Yaoyorozu Momo is a vision whatever she’s wearing or not wearing, but the sight of her so peaceful with her hair down should be a religion in itself. Katsuki being its founder, its high priest, its sole fuckin’ worshipper and he’ll fight anyone who would say otherwise.

He allows the dream or the blackness or whatever it was that just passed to fade into nothingness, because there’s nothing else in his world at this moment but Momo. He makes himself aware of the feel of her waist under his palm. His thumbs rub semi-consciously over her skin, underneath the blanket. She stirs upon contact.

Eyes flutter open, focus on his. A smile forms on her lips. “Katsuki.”

“Hey.” His face feels stupid. He doesn’t think his mouth or his brows have done whatever they’re doing now--lazily returning her blissed-out smile.

She stretches her arms and those long, creamy legs that kick out from under the sheets. Katsuki can look at them all day, they stretch from here to there to eternity. “So how long have you been staring angrily at me in my sleep?”

“Mhm. Far too long, Princess.” He pulls them closer together. She giggles breathily as their bodies press together, and he feels all her curves and softness all over him once more. “You said you missed me, but here you are snoozin’ on me. What gives, haa?”

She giggles again, presses those soft lips on his, curls her arms around his neck. Yes, this feels just right. The world makes more sense when she’s close like this, when she kisses him like this, when he’s warm in her embrace. “I’m sorry, I’ve only spent the past few weeks chasing you in the early morning and working my backside off the rest of the time.”

He grumbles against her mouth. “You didn’t… have to push your skinny ass that hard... ”

Jesus, is he such a fuckin’ dumbass. He allowed all that anger and that solitude and that shitty pride from ages ago to feed into his fears and push everyone away. He almost pushed her away, this girl with legs longer than his lifespan and tits bigger than his patience and heart and kindness more infinite than his shitty ass universe.

And look at her, after all the shit he put her through. Staring at him with those intoxicating onyx eyes, that devilish smirk on her mouth and fuck who the hell taught her to smile like that anyway, she could kill a man with that look. “Mm? That so?”

He’s underneath her the next moment, kissing him sweetly and deeply, pushing his shoulders down to the mattress and straddling his hips, trapping him. He makes a noise of surprise against her mouth but she doesn’t back down. Instead she rolls hips against his.

That look of satisfaction, when he groans. Fuuuuuuck--

“Katsuki, dearest Katsuki, ” she says, in a mindblowingly husky voice right at his right ear, “I don’t want you running away from me again…”

He inhales sharply when he feels teeth and tongue at the base of his neck. She releases her mouth with a sound and cheerfully looks at the mark she has made. Katsuki just looks up at her in awe.

“... but if you do, I guess I’ll just have to chase after you again, won’t I?”

Oh shit, the feel of her down there, warm and wet and inviting, arouses him instantly. He curses under his breath at the sensation, and again when he realizes that she notices.

Like hell he’d let this dangerous woman take the wheel. He smirks, clamps strong hands on her waist. “What’s with that hot look, Princess? Ya think you can make a bastard like me behave?”

He leans forward, takes one of those amazing breasts in his mouth. He brings one hand up to pay attention to the other, makes a sound of surprise against her flesh when hers comes right after it, guiding his fingers over and around her nipple.

“Y-yes,” she breathes. Her body starts to move, clothed sensitive spots rubbing against his. Katsuki likes the feel of her silk underwear against him, but he wonders when she shimmied into them after their first round. “Y… you’ve been terrible, Katsuki. Absolutely-- hah!-- abysmal--”

He makes a gruff sound, lets her skin go between his teeth to smile smugly against her skin. “You’re sayin’ all that as if ya wanna punish me.” Another big bite to her shoulder, making a sound that sounds like a cry in the beginning and a whine at the end escape from her, when he follows it up with a finger pressed to her mound. “As if I’ll let ya.”

She pouts at him, pushes his shoulders down again and makes his head crash against the pillows. “You aren’t sorry at all, are you?”

He is, he’s been a big dumbass. But watching her crawl backwards over him, stopping until she’s staring cross-eyed at his erection. Shit, he should burn that image in his head, he’d have something to come back to when he’s alone.

“I should keep my eyes on you, Katsuki,” she says, situating her mouth next to him.

“Good. I like ‘em on me.”

“Good.” That devilish smile again, and one or two teasing licks that fires up and electrifies all the nerves in his body. His mind tries its hardest to take in all the sensations, but shuts down immediately when she takes him into her mouth. 

Fuck.

The sight of her, the feel of her. Lips and mouth full, small sounds escaping from her and vibrating through the rest of his body. It feels warm, crowded. Her hands, her hair, her eyes... shit. Good, so good. Fuck. His brain can only say so much.

She’s amazing all throughout, but it’s her unwavering gaze that makes him teeter on the edge. Shit, she wasn’t kidding when she says she’ll keep her eyes on him. Everything he feels magnifies a hundred fold when she looks at him like that. He feels like he’s going crazy.

“Momo, fuck, if you keep doing that--” He’s going to come if she keeps going like this. When he manages to blurt that out though, it only seems to egg her on even more, and she hollows out her cheeks even more.

No, that won’t do. He doesn’t want to unravel by himself. It takes a lot out of him, but he manages to pull her off him, and pull her down to kiss her swollen lips hard. “Momo, please,” he moans against her mouth.

She hums against his mouth. “What do you want, Katsuki?”

She grips his length, smiles deviously when he makes another hungry sound. He knows he can push her down and take her anytime he wants, but her face when she’s in control like this, surprisingly makes him weak and boneless. “You. I want you-- fuck--”

She’s making a lot of marks on him today. Getting cheeky and greedy and he loves it. “You’re being awfully vague, dear,” she purrs, licking the sore spot on his neck slowly. “It doesn’t sound like you at all. What do you want?” she repeats, letting her long fingernails graze against the skin of his chest.

He looks at her with half-lidded eyes. “I want you to ride my dick until my brains come outta my ears, what the fuck else? Holy sh--”

He doesn’t even notice her slipping a condom over his hardness. The next thing he knows, she’s already guiding him to her entrance, letting him sink into her agonizingly slow. He feels himself surrounded by her tight heat, steadily, steadily, the sensation making his eyes roll back. His hands grip onto her thighs for dear life.

“Katsuki,” she slurs, when he’s completely inside her. “Be a good boy and keep still. I’ll do the moving this time.”

He doesn’t know what has gotten into this woman so suddenly, but he supposes he should be thankful because it’s so fuckin’ hot. “Tch. You’re pretty bossy today, aintcha Princess?”

She hums coyly, and not giving him a moment to breathe, starts bouncing.

“Oh fuck,” Katsuki grits out eloquently. He watches Momo fuck herself on his cock, fast and sudden and so, so good. He feels her walls all around, sucking him in, drenching him in wetness. The sound they make is more obscene than the words that come flying out his mouth beyond his control.

“Momo, holy shit, this feels good, too good--” And as good as it feels, it’s taking a lot of his self-control to do as she says and not move, and he loses control one or two times, lets his hips snap up when she goes down. She bites her lip to stifle a cry, but at the same time pushes him down on the shoulders, giving him a stern look through flushed cheeks and blown pupils.

“I told you-- hnn --to be good,” she says, as she keeps those godsent hips in motion, teasingly wiggling about and making his groin and his mind want to explode. “I can stop anytime I want to… Make you beg for-- ahh ”

He doesn’t think she can, but he lets her have it anyway. He focuses instead on keeping his hands on her waist, lets her bounce and writhe and rut however she likes, tightening his grip on her so hard she hisses in pleasure and he has to focus on not burning her skin with his sweat.

She finds the most pleasurable angle inside her soon enough, and her movements become faster, more desperate, more erratic. Her breathing is rapid, her cries higher and higher in pitch. “Katsuki, I’m so close, I’m so close--”

He is too, but fuck him if he comes first. He ignores her very stern orders at the last moment by leaning forward and snapping his hips upward and sucking on her breasts as if his life depends on it.

It’s cute how she tries to tell him off then, but only manages to moan in pleasure and to grip and claw his scalp and his back like a wild animal. Soon he feels her walls clench around him rhythmically, and it’s all it takes for him to follow her with a prolonged groan of his own.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers in astonishment.

“Y… yes,” says Momo, kissing him on the mouth through gasps of air. He pulls out of her, and she lets herself collapse on top of him. His arms go around her body automatically. “Holy fuck, Katsuki...”

“Oi, since when have you learned to talk like a fuckin’ delinquent, princess? Bad girl.” He didn’t think it would, but curse words sound good coming from her. He chuckles roughly and slaps her on the ass. She gasps, affronted.

“You’re horrible,” she says with a playful glare. “You truly are a dumbass, like everyone says.”

“And who’s the bigger dumbass for literally fucking with me, haa?”

She pouts, but cuddles into him closer, sighing along with him as their bodies entwine quite naturally in the light and warmth. “Good point, but I refuse to acknowledge it.”

He feels her muscles relax on top of his, feels her breathing slow down. The entire thing just feels so right, so comfortable. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, her weight, her shape, her lights and shadows, all in contact with him, making odd feelings arise in his chest that he can’t put a name on. Like, maybe, he found something made just for him. As shitty and sappy as it sounds.

He lets his eyes close, lets himself inhale the scent of her. Life’s a little less fucked up today, and he’s grateful.

 *

 Momo decides that all her Sundays off from now on should be spent like this, next to Katsuki.

Eventually, all the activities they did in bed catches up to Momo. Katsuki spends some time teasing her for the grumble in her bottomless-pit-of-a-stomach, or so he says. He’d cook for her if he could, he says, but Momo’s kitchen is still miserably devoid of anything edible for his palate.

The pair eventually decide to go to Dagobah Ward for a meal. Momo offers because one of her favorite Southeast Asian restaurants is there, and Katsuki agrees to do so because he’s eager to prove that he can do better than them. She initially plans on driving, but he refuses and instead dares her to take the train like ‘the rest of the commoners’.

She pouts, because she’s sure that a UA graduate who also went to medical school is just as bourgeois as she is. Katsuki retaliates by saying that she’s hardly bourgeois because fuckin’ hell she’s the heiress of the Yaoyorozu Group, one of the biggest fuckin’ industrial giants in this part of Asia.

She remembers Mother, and her declaration from more than a decade ago. Can you imagine you and that vulgar blonde boy getting along? And she remembers all the things that has passed that led to the events of that morning.

You have no idea, Mother, she thinks with a flushed smile, as she takes Katsuki’s strong hand and follows him into the station.

When they get there, Katsuki takes out his commuter card and glances at Momo, who stares at the ticket machines with what she hopes is a sense of foreboding that isn’t too obvious. “Oh my god. A 27 year old Japanese woman’s first time on the commuter train,” he says with a cocky smile. “Ya need help, Princess?”

She frowns. “It’s fine. I know what to do.”

She read about how to work these machines before on the Internet. She knows that in cases of emergency, she ought to be able to rely on public transportation without looking so helpless. It’s irrational to feel so anxious about such a simple thing!

She eventually is able to get a ticket to the correct station on her own, without causing significant delay to the other commuters waiting patiently behind her. When the ticket pops out, she takes it and beams at Katsuki, with a proud little, “See, Katsuki? I did it~”

She hopes she only imagines how the other commuters step back and mutter “ ... bouncy~ ” under their breaths. Katsuki glares at them anyway and throws one arm around her possessively.

“Stop bein’ so fuckin’ cute in front of the other guys, dammit,” he grumbles irately in her ear as they make their way through the crowd.

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” she protests, feeling a little incredulous. He has called her many things before, like sexy and brainy and a fuckin’ hot piece of ass and other vulgar terms that seriously make her feel as such, but this is the first time that he called her cute.

Who knew that Bakugou Katsuki is capable of such terms? The tips of his ears turn pink right as he says it, and it seems that he probably realizes the same thing at the same time.

“You should stop being so cute too, you know,” she says, as he boxes her against the door of the crowded train, shielding her from who he thinks are wolfish men out to get her. “They might take you away first.”

“Shut up. I’ll bite you.”

 *

 And so her first train ride ends, and their first date begins.

Fully knowing the circumstances between them, she supposes it’s still odd that this is the first time they enjoy each other’s company outside of Hosu. It feels odd, in a sense, that the shyness that ought to be there when he takes her hand and leads the way isn’t there. The feel of him next to her is just as natural as breathing, even as they’re out and about in the crowd and their curious gazes.

And there is quite a handful of them, appraising him and her and the link of their hands between them. She knows how unfairly attractive Katsuki is, but it’s doubly interesting to see males and females alike turn their heads to look at him in awe. He has the type of appearance that captivates, and she can’t help but feel a little giddy as they walk.

She can show him off, right? Right?

He grumbles, disconnects their hands so he could throw his arm behind her instead. “Fuckin’ losers ogling at you--lemme show ‘em who you’re with, hah??”

“Katsuki, you’re so dense…”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

Momo says nothing more, and instead leans in closer to him.

They reach the restaurant, and Momo orders a variety of things--flatbread with peanut sauce, shrimp and squid cooked in chili, green curry with extra chillies, rice fried with all sorts of vegetables and spices. The food is good, and she allows herself to eat more than she has the past few days. To her relief, Katsuki scarfs down almost as much as she does, but with an astonishing amount of extra chillies and sauce.

“Hmph. I can totally do this better. Just you wait, Ponytail.”

Predictable response, but he seems to be enjoying himself. He sees her look, and challenges her to take some of his curry if she’s going to be so fuckin’ smug in her place. She takes him on, as stupid as it may be--Katsuki might put actual lava on his food and think it isn’t spicy enough--and takes a spoonful in her mouth, before she can think too hard about it.

“Well?”

She coughs once--the heat is very, very intense, but somehow it tastes better than her own. “What did you add to this? It’s so good!” she says, taking another bite for good measure.

His jaw slackens as he watches her chew on his food thoughtfully. “... too fuckin’ perfect, what the hell,” he mumbles, almost imperceptibly.

“Excuse me?”

He shakes his head and mutters how ridiculous she is. “You seriously eating my fuckin’ food? You really are a bottomless pit!”

“Well, I never!!”

He’s only teasing, though, and they finish their meals with a sense of satisfaction.

The food isn’t the only good thing about that date. Conversation flows between them quite naturally, but it’s different from before, because Katsuki does more than just ask her questions this time. He answers her questions, or at least makes an effort to. His answers are clipped, and it looks like a lot of effort on his part to give them at all, but he tries, at least. And his answers are honest, from the sounds of them.

They’re walking along the boulevard, the sun beginning to set over the sea. There’s barely any drama when she dares to ask him about him and Midoriya-san, and when he decides to answer.

“That nerd and I go way back. Our relationship ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows,” he tells her, voice oddly calm. “You sure you up to this?”

“Of course, Katsuki.”

He takes a deep breath, and begins from the very beginning, it seems--how Bakugou Katsuki, the talented little shit who told another little shit to take a swan-dive off a roof, ends up dying and living a second life, where pro-heroism is impossible. How a weird friendship, if it can even be called that, begins one evening in the hospital, days after Best Jeanist cuts his head open and harvests a blood clot from the surface of his brain, sparing him from a coma but leaving an injury that cannot be removed.

It’s then that Katsuki swears that no other brat will suffer as he did, and that fuckin’ Deku swearing to do the same as him, and eventually that Mindfucker and Shitty Hair too, who for some unfathomable reason began hanging around him the entire fuckin’ time they were at school. How they studied their asses off in UA, while prodigies like that half-and-half bastard shone under the spotlights and took their dreams right outta their hands.

(He’s proud of that one festival where he almost showed that IcyHot up--too bad the stress of the battles were too much for him and his shitty brain injury, and he blacked out right before Todoroki could deliver the final blow.)

(Momo wonders if he knows the impact of what he did to all the other kids who watched him, how he entranced the country with his fierceness.)

He says all these things without a hint of braggadocio or any sobbing theatrics. Maybe there’s remorse there somewhere, but he’s more concerned about pulling out all the harsh memories and putting them into plain words, so Momo can finally understand.

“And… yeah. Eventually that nerd and I finished med school. Got our licenses. Got into Musutafu Children’s Hospital. Started workin’ our asses off.” There’s a wistful look in his eyes as he pauses, looks at the ocean and the dimming sky. “Momo… when you do what you do, why do you do it?”

Her goals from the time she sneakily sent those application forms to Shiketsu Medical School are the same as now. “All I want is to help people,” she tells him honestly.

He nods. “Yeah. I figured.” He sighs quietly. She can hear the thoughts running around his head with a deafening sound. “Me? Who the fuck knows. It ended up being less about the kids, and proving that I’m not a helpless little bitch who could lose consciousness in any given moment.”

Momo watches his face carefully, and quietly waits.

“I guess… that’s why I hate that fucking nerd. And why I ended up pushing myself so hard that I had a seizure that lasted a week. And why everyone, except that fabrics bastard, told me to quit medicine altogether.”

His jaw tenses and his hands grip his arms tightly, like he’s about to blow something up. Momo knows he won’t, though. He breathes in deeply, and continues.

“So there. That’s the fucked up history of the nerd and I.” The rage doesn’t dissipate, but hides under the surface. It’ll be a while, before it goes away. “I… tried to keep you away from it, because who the hell needs another person to pity me? Not me. I’ve had enough of shitty bastards thinking they’re better than me, acting like they know what’s good for me. I wouldn’t be able to stand it, if you of all people started to…”

“Katsuki,” she says, taking both hands into hers. She looks right into his eyes and tells him, quite honestly, “I don’t. I never will.”

You’re an amazing person. You’re strong. You’re trying to change.

He smiles at that, and reaches out to hold her hand. She lets him.

It’ll be a while before he sorts things out, but she decides to be there by his side when he does.

 *

 He takes her back after that. When she reaches home, though, she can’t help but pull him through the door again, her mouth on his, ravenous as if they haven’t just spent the whole day together, just the two of them.

He responds in much the same way too, so she supposes it’s all right. The bedroom is too far away, apparently, as he goes from slamming her against the living room wall to lifting her with her legs wrapped around his torso to the couch. They kiss each other and tear each other’s clothes off as if their lives depended on it, and he fucks her fast and rough until she’s moaning his name over and over, like a mantra.

After they come down from their highs, panting and mildly bewildered, she tells him, “Stay the night.”

“Hah,” he says with a smirk. “Ain’t you spendin’ too much time with a non-elite bastard like me? What will your old hag think?”

She rolls her eyes. “Katsuki, kindly refrain from gloating and calling my mother names while you’re still inside me.”

“Ah. My bad.”

He kisses her sweetly after that, tenderly caressing the sides of her face and making her skin burn in the way she really likes. He agrees stays the night.

(Luckily, after some struggle, they make it to bed this time.)

The night comes, and passes by with them in each other’s arms. It’s a nice way to sleep, with him filling in the empty spaces of her bed. He falls asleep ridiculously quickly, still possessive in the way he drapes his arm over her, underneath the duvet. She presses her nose against his as he snoozes away, feeling quite blissful.

The morning comes quietly. Rubbing their eyes in unison and yawning, as the alarm sounds before daybreak, reminding them of the long Monday ahead of them.

Reality is harsh, but the shower they shared that morning isn’t. Momo wonders if this’ll be a problem in the long run, because all the kissing and petting and eventual rough love-making that inevitably occurs will making getting to work on time a real challenge. It’s all his fault, he doesn’t want his hands off her and he tells her as much.

(But apart from a few teasing complaints, she doesn’t make a real effort to stop him. That man is too good with his mouth and his hands. She supposes it’s her fault as well.)

They miraculously make it out of there, with time enough for Momo to create some clean clothes for Katsuki. They’re out the door soon after, Katsuki promising to get them breakfast from the cafe, glowing and ready to face the workday ahead.

 *

 The sun is almost out when they walk the block and make it to NTG Cafe. Today, Kyoka-san isn’t late, because she’s already outside and talking to Kirishima-san, who looks like he’s about to go home from the midnight shift.

They look at the couple in unison, bewilderment increasing as they see their hands together. “B-B-Baku-bro?!?!?!?!! And Yaomomo?!?!?!?!!?!? In the early morning, holding hands, suspiciously coming from the same place?!” Kirishima cries, hands coming up his hair in exaggerated drama. “Oh my god, Bakubro, Dr. Momo, I can’t--Jirou, this isn’t a hallucination, right? I’m not that sleep-deprived, right? Pinch me now, come on--”

“Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair, I’ll punch your lights out now, ya don’t even need to ask,” Katsuki grumbles. Momo notices, however, how less the harshness is in his voice, and how he doesn’t let go of her hand.

Kyoka doesn’t pinch Kirishima, but instead prods him in the middle of the forehead with an earjack. She does the same thing to herself, funnily enough, before regarding the two of them with an amused smile. “You can’t blame Kirishima, Baku-boss. Yaomomo, this is awfully bold of you, but I’m still pretty stoked that you guys made up. And… etcetera,” she says, with a teasing grin.

Momo flushes, but gives them a bright smile. “Thank you, Kyoka-san, Kirishima-san! And, um, good morning.”

“Ahh, so bright, Dr. Momo, I think I’m going blind, it’s like I’m staring at the manliest man!”

“Christ, Kirishima, calm the fuck down, I’m seriously this close to kicking your ass--”

“Ahhh and you’re calling me Kirishima today! The heck bro!! I’ve never seen you in such a good mood!” Kirishima looks like he’s on the verge of joyful tears as he takes his phone out and leans in closer to Bakugou. “Come on, bro, I gotta take a picture of the two to commemorate this day! Say cheese~”

“The fuck I’m saying cheese you hedgehog brain!” The limit is reached, and in the next, Katsuki traps the joyful Kirishima in a headlock.

Kyoka looks at them judgmentally, and then at Momo, to mentally tell her to ignore the fools. She holds on to the taller woman’s arm and smiles. “So… I’m guessing you guys are here to grab a bite to eat? Let me open up the cafe for you, I guess.”

There’s warmth and a palpable relief that she feels through her touch. Kyoka is genuinely happy for her, it seems. She nods at her gratefully and follows her in. “Thank you so much, Kyoka, you should eat with us too!”

“Nah, it’s good, I had a bagel before I--”

An ear splitting explosion cuts their conversation short, the accompanying blast almost throwing them off their feet. Kyoka yelps, covering her sensitive ears with her hands. Momo helps her by covering her hands with hers, hoping that it drowns out the next sound.

“What on earth--” She doesn’t even hear herself say it, when another explosion hits, making the ground shake.

The next moment happens fast--Katsuki and Kirishima throw themselves over the two women as another booming sound fills the air, followed by screams and the crash of glass next to them. Katsuki flips the tables around them, to cover them from the onslaught of broken glass and rubble, while Kirishima hardens his body and hovers above them like a shield.

“What the hell was that?!” the redhead screams, looking around desperately, and pales. Momo pales too, when she realizes where he’s looking. “That’s--Hosu Gen--”

“They’re… attacking the hospital?!”

The rumbles dissipate eventually. Katsuki holds his hand out for Momo and Kyoka to keep still, and peers out from behind the fallen table. “A few heroes are responding to the explosions, but I don’t see anyone who looks like a villain,” he tells them in a low voice, eyes glowing dangerously red.

“Oh my god,” Kyoka whispers, fear plain in her dark eyes. “Wh… what do we do? We should be getting out of here as fast as we can, right?”

“Yeah,” the blonde says, training his eyes to the vicinity. Momo follows his gaze, sees all the people running and screaming, crying out for heroes or the police. She can hear his rapidfire thoughts, sharp eyes assessing the situation. They should be running, but he’s holding them back. “Jirou… use your ears against the ground. Now.”

She looks at him oddly, but complies. It must be difficult for her, since the explosions and the ongoing background noise must have numbed her hearing.

There are a few moments where they all wait for her with bated breath. Her eyes, squeezed shut in concentration, suddenly flutter wide open, horror etched on her face. “There’s… something big,” she whispers tensely.

Momo and Kirishima look at each other, even paler than before. Katsuki’s jaw tenses more, but the fire focus remains in his eyes, burning bright. “Where?” he says in a quieter whisper.

Kyoka swallows. “Under… underground.” She chokes, and forces herself to speak. “Really, really close to us…”

She points at the street in front of them, where a police car with blaring sirens screeches to a halt. Two policemen, one with a tail and one with a ridiculously large hat and coat, hop out simultaneously with their weapons in hand.

Seeing the look in her eyes, Katsuki instantly screams at them, “Watch out!!!”

The policemen only have time to whip their heads in their direction, before the ground gives out from under them. Thanks to his warning, they manage to leap to safety, but that might be the only good thing about it.

A large… thing, barely humanoid, crawls out from the hole in the concrete. Its skin is a sick green, a convoluted mass on its head that might be exposed brain glinting under the sunlight. A manner of chainsaws and corkscrews and hammers stick out from the ends of its multiple limbs, making a ruckus of grinding metal as they move.

Its dull eyes look around briefly, dumbly. Searching for something, someone.

Its eyes fall over Momo. Tilts its head in curiosity.

And wordlessly, launches itself forward.

[lightsandlostbells]

Skam Italia episode 7 reaction

Edoardo: looking good just by comparison.

Clip 1 - A sandwich and a spoon

This is not a substantial comment but Silvia’s sandwich made me hungry.

So Silvia made out with the famous Rocco Martucci? That was the guy eyeballing her? I guess since we got a visual, he can’t be Italian Julian Dahl.

If I didn’t know better from having seen where the storyline goes, I’d say Silvia does a fairly convincing job of acting like she doesn’t care about Edoardo. You know, except for the part where she’s already making travel plans to accompany them on their vacation.

Lmao, Silvia and Eleonora allowed this spoon sucking to go on when Martino was right there in their faces. I appreciated how awkward this scenario was and that like, none of them attempted to make small talk to distract from Fede’s innuendo.

Clip 2 - Skate park

That skate park looks fun. It kinda looks like a swimming pool that was converted into something else, based on the colors, but I’m assuming it was always a skate park. But on that note, the visuals and colors of Skam Italia are usually great. I’m not going to do an in-depth analysis at the moment but it seems like the majority of scenes are very warm with a lot of brown/orange/yellow, and sometimes they do a scene that sticks out to me because it’s so cool and blue. It’s all rather striking. And of all the remakes, this one is making the most of its setting (Skam Austin is doing some things with the city but I feel way more of a sense of place in Skam Italia than Druck or Skam France).

I like when the Isak character prods Eva a little to tell him what’s up, since I think it fits what Isak is about to do to her in a few scenes, and because I always wonder why Eva didn’t just tell Noora if she was feel guilty - it helps to have the prompt from Isak to get out her confession. That being said, Eva and Martino’s relationship has been established as close and comfortable on its own merits that I can certainly buy Eva opening up to him. They’ve put in the work to make them have a rapport.

Lmao, Martino making that hand motion about Fede and her spoon. Thanks for the S3 teaser!

Tiny thing but when Eva swallows out of anxiety, you can see Martino half out of frame swallow right after she does, like he’s got some conflict on his own. That might not even be a conscious choice but it’s a good acting detail nonetheless. I think I mentioned previously that these actors have known each other for years and it’s stuff like that, the mimicry and feeding off each other, which makes the chemistry more convincing.

Yeah, this is my favorite Eva-Isak friendship after the original by far, so it’s really going to sting when the reveal happens.

Clip 3 - The wall

I’m glad that Eleonora checked in whether Edoardo wrote back to Silvia before she snapped her back to reality. You know, just in case he did.

Also in this scene Silvia still seems stuck in Edoardoland and firmly convinced that he’s into her, whereas I remember Vilde seeming a little deflated and knowing that Noora would not approve of her talking about William when she entered the scene. She’s pretty good at putting up a confident front when she needs to.

I think Silvia’s hooking up with Rocco Martucci was a misguided attempt to make Edoardo jealous and get him back, which is too bad. I wish she was legit trying to have fun or move on. I know for plot reasons that’s not how it goes, but still.

Both Eleonora and Eva were very sweet to Silvia and not too harsh or judgmental.

I really love making it into a wall of conquests instead of the sweatshirts, and I appreciate that Silvia gets to save face a little bit since the sweatshirt is a public “I fucked Edoardo” marker but the wall gets to preserve her anonymity and (some of) her dignity while still communicating that the boys think of the girls as trophies. But I almost hate it, because now I need that scene where the girls paint over or draw or deface the wall in some way, and I don’t think I’ll get it. Give me that thing, Skam Italia! 

For a minute I thought Eva was going to pull out a marker or something and draw over the chart. 

Based off the wall, Rocco Martucci sure has been busy.

Clip 4 - Eva on the phone with “mom”

Federico roleplaying as Eva’s mom toward the end of that phone conversation … I’ve never been a huge fan of P-Chris or any version of this character but this is a detail I often forget and I have no idea why, it’s one of the best things he ever did.

Gio deserves all the roasting he can get about his weed use. It’s nice that he’s being honest about having weed on him, but like … she’s made it clear he behaves like an asshole when he’s high, and that this isn’t some vague ideological problem for her but something based on his past behavior. So some of the banter is cute and all but him offering her some pot, even in a joking way, annoys me more than it should with this dynamic in mind. Dammit, Gio.

Clip 5 - Eleonora goes in on Edoardo

Silvia opening with some random mundane topics was kind of cute - either a bit clueless and rambling, much like her many many texts to the girls, or you can also take away that she was building up to the big news and trying to psych herself up.

I’m glad Eva called Sana on the dignity comment since that always seemed like one of the least necessary Sana comments about Vilde, particularly in this context, and probably just egged her on to confront him.

Silvia didn’t need any convincing from the girls whereas Noora was encouraging Vilde in the other versions. Silvia is dead set on it.

I like how they built up to it with the catchy music that cuts out as Edoardo bursts Silvia’s confidence bubble.

Sooo … Edoardo is still a dick, but maybe less of a dick that William? Who knew?

He still does the fake forgetting Silvia’s name, and his comment about the wall is outright lying but not as personal of an attack. He does laugh more at her which is a dick move, especially in front of his crew. However, he doesn’t tell her she isn’t worth it.

“What were you doing behind the boys’ toilets?” I’m assuming he’s insinuating that she’s a slut? That’s horrible and Edoardo is a creep, but I also have less of a fuuuuuuck youuuuuuu feeling toward him. Because the whole thing about Vilde not being worth it/not being pretty enough plays directly into Vilde’s worst insecurities and body image. And we’ve seen that Silvia has the body image issues as evidenced by her picking at her sandwich. I’m not positive that Silvia has the same hangups about being labeled a slut? She has the hesitation to go upstairs with Eduardo and you could interpret that as fear of her reputation, but she’s also down to make out with Rocco Martucci and stresses that she wanted to.

So while I want to make it clear, Edoardo is being an asshole, and being called a slut is hurtful and misogynistic … I actually will find this easier to forgive than William’s comments. I mean it mostly depends on how Edoardo reacts in future episodes, whether he regrets it or not, how it all plays out, but so far he doesn’t have as high of a hurdle in getting me to like him. Like how is Edoardo going to justify his comments the same way in S2 when Eleonora calls him on it? It’s not the same context. (And again: NOT excusing slut-shaming but I think there may be a difference in terms of how someone with poor self-image might perceive this comment, because “slut” is an insult dependent on behavior, vs. telling someone they aren’t pretty enough which is perceived as a more inherent, unchangeable characteristic. But again, William’s comment directly feeds into Vilde’s ED; how will Edoardo’s comment affect Silvia on a similar level? “Slut” doesn’t have much to do with an ED, at least not in an obvious way.)

Lmao, I feel kinda gross writing anything vaguely positive about Edoardo in this scene, since “not as much of a dick as he could have been” is not a ringing endorsement, but since this incident is a huge roadblock in me liking William in the original version, it’s worth talking about.  

This was also the best version of this roasting in the remakes. Eleonora has the attitude to back up her comments, and Edoardo has some personality in how he responds to her. 

Love that Eleonora got in her comment about his stupid hair as a last dig, but also, Edoardo has the best hair of any of the Williams, IMO.

Clip 6 - Fight

Gio opens his mouth so much for the kisses, damn. I’m not knocking him, I would rather see enthusiastic kisses than a bunch of pathetic pecks, but the dude is like Pac-Man.

Um that bit about the teacher siding with Alice over Federico and making him run laps is really funny, but you can see why it would alarm Eva, because she realizes she’s on the side of the bad guy in this situation. Would the teacher side with Alice against Eva, too?

The fight was brutal! All the girls jumped in to protect Eva. Sana went in with the dictionary, Silvia with the backpack. Eleonora is straight-up snarling by the end. Eva wasn’t even fighting after a certain point, just standing back as her girls defended her. The most heartwarming brawl of all time.

General Comments:

How does Skam Italia have the worst Jonas (outside of Marlon from Skam Austin) and the best William? How?

Listen, I am really not expecting to love Eleonora/Edoardo or Edoardo himself. It’s not a relationship type I’m fond of, he’s not a character archetype I enjoy. But if they can eliminate the worst of his behavior and modify certain actions ... then I can be fine with him and with the ship. I am being very, very hesitant to assume Skam Italia will make enough radical changes just because they did a few things that weren’t as bad; however, I am willing to give it a chance. 

It’s kind of funny because there was a rumor going around that they’ll jump to Martino’s story in S2 instead of Eleonora’s and lmao, not sure how legit that is but of course they would do it for the one remake where I hate the William the least. Not that I’m objecting to the gay storyline getting the spotlight sooner, though I do wonder how they will adapt certain plot elements without the buildup (Eskild’s S2 introduction, Isak’s background storyline of dating Sara and living in the basement).

Skam Italia seems by far the most popular and well-liked of the European remakes, which I can quite understand. Skam France is too much of a copy without much of an individual personality and Druck, though I’ve liked many of the scenes and characters, has a lot of hiccups in terms of production and updates, which is unfortunately turning people off and making the show less accessible. Not to repeat myself too much but: I have some big gripes about Skam Italia but it’s for the most part consistent, is nicely made with beautiful locations and nice cinematography, and has integrated the local culture well, putting its own spin on the material and not being a direct copy. None of the actors have really wowed me so far but there are some likable personalities in the bunch. My hope is that they will keep it up and either improve on the Eleonora/Edoardo relationship, or do a respectful job of Martino’s story, depending on what S2 is. (Even though I don’t want them to attempt Evak 2.0 at all ... but that’s a larger topic.)

I’m not Italian so if I misunderstood or missed something, feel free to correct me. 

If you got this far, thank you for reading!

[mintyvan]

27

filling the prompts van finds reader’s makeup bag and decides to have a go at mascara + reader moves into a new house, and van is her neighbor + reader is van’s friend and they love to get high and listen to music and smoke in the kitchen and sometimes kiss a little. one day things go further than they planned. 

note Hope you don’t mind I changed up the “Van’s your neighbor” prompt; I figured this story would go well if Van was the one who moved in. Huge thanks to @flouraie for inspiring this prompt and keeping me sane. Love ya.

_________________

“Holy shit.”

You had walked into the little bathroom to find Van’s face inches from the mirror, delicately tracing over his eyelashes with your mascara wand. His tall, lanky frame was hunched above the porcelain wall sink you all shared in the little three-room apartment, his tongue between his lips in concentration.

“Sorry, thought I’d have a go at it,” he said, shakily. He didn’t know you all too well yet, since he and his friend had just rented the empty rooms in the flat, and he’d been gone for most of the time he’d supposedly been renting it. He stood back up, guilty you’d caught him using your expensive makeup, and immediately reached for where you kept the makeup wipes. He’d totally invaded your space, and you wanted to tell him off. But you weren’t that mean. And he was cute.

“No, no! Don’t take it off!” You took his arms and held them in front of you and smiled. Looking up at him, he’d only done one eye so far, and it looked severely unbalanced. “Hold on, let me fix you up.” He sat on the bathroom counter, now at eye level.

You pulled the wand out of the tube again. “Look down at me. I’m not going to stab you in the eye, promise. Okay……” you began, holding one of his cheeks for stability, and letting your elbow rest on his shoulder. You let the wand comb through his already dark lashes, coating them effectively.

“There we go.” You did the other eye again, just to be sure it was even. “Look up?” you asked, and painted his lower lashes in jet black liquid. You stood back to admire your work.

“Fuuuuuuck” was all you could whisper. You handed him the mirror from your makeup bag. He studied himself in the little square of light, and you watched him. Something flashed in his eyes for a second. Your stomach fluttered. The look he had on his face...

“Don’t tell me you just got a little turned on by looking at yourself in the mirror.”

He set the mirror down and all of a sudden, picked a giggly you up off the tiles and carried you to the couch in the lounge. He pinned your arms to the upright cushions with one hand, both of you laughing, and straddled you to hold you down. He pulled the tube of mascara out of his back pocket with the other.

You beamed up at him in astonishment. All the while, you couldn’t breathe correctly. You never expected your new roommate to ever do something like this.

“Your turn,” he said, little laughs in between his motions to open the tube, and your squirming.

He brought his face close to yours, and you sighed as his minty breath fanned across your face. He didn’t know the effect he had slowly been creating on you. Ever since he’d come back from tour, you’d secretly delighted in the little quirks he had. He was quickly becoming one of your good friends, in the little moments you were privy to his company.

As he worked on your eyes, you stared straight ahead at his own dark, luxurious lashes, and felt the butterflies creep up in your stomach again. He stopped combing your lashes abruptly, looked straight into your eyes, and licked his lips. He went back to work, and you thought your lungs were going to explode.

“Van?” your voice came out all tiny, and you tried to put your palm down on the cushions to wipe the sweat away from it, but instead it landed on his thigh. Panic mode set in. You wanted to move it, but your entire body was paralyzed. This was not how roommates acted.

He stopped coating your bottom lashes in the mascara.

“Yeah?” he replied, still straddling you sitting on the couch, your hand still on his dark denim-clad thigh. Both of you, unmoving. He licked his lips again.

“I…” you started. But before anything could come out, the doorbell rang.

“I uh… ordered pizza.” He slowly untangled himself from you and the couch, put the mascara back in the tube, and the doorbell rang again. “Coming!” he called out, running to get his wallet from the kitchen and sprinting to the door.

You both quietly munched on the pizza, sat on opposite ends of the couch, avoiding each other’s glances. That was, until you glanced at him and huffed out a laugh. He looked at you, smirking. “What?” he asked, through a mouthful of pizza.

“You’ve still got the mascara on.” He swallowed.

“You like it?”

“It’s a good look on you. Though I haven’t seen you much around here, so I can’t be sure.”

“I’m home for the next few months, since we’re recording here. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me, love.” He winked, and got off the couch to refill his glass of water. You continued munching on your pizza. He was gone for a few minutes.

He came back with a glass and a brownie sticking halfway out of his mouth, looking chipper.

“Whoa, mate.” You looked at him with wide eyes. “How many of those did you shovel in just now?”

“This’ll be my third,” he said, popping the rest of it into his mouth. “Why?”

You started laughing. “Oh nothing huge, those are just the weed brownies my friend brought over this morning.”

His eyes grew large. “And I fucking ate three? You’re gonna have to take care of me, I’m gonna be down n’ out in a few.”

Van was not down and out in a few. The brownies took a while to work their magic, and it was shitty weed they were made with anyways, so after you ate three to catch up, you both just vegged out on the carpet and finished the rest of the pizza with a normal high.

“Wanna put on a record?” you asked him, and he lazily stood and rifled through the hellhole of a collection you’d all started in the corner of the room. Van and his friend had brought boxes and boxes of records, and they’d started to mix in with yours.

“Lil bit o’ this,” he said, and moved the needle over the vinyl. When it started to play, he audibly sighed in relief. “Moondance.”

He plopped back down on the carpet where you had sprawled out like a cat, and starfished next to you, his side almost touching yours. You both lied there in silence for a while, enjoying the swimmy feeling in your heads.

Listening to the soft melody crawl over the carpet and into your ears was peaceful. Van got up and had a cigarette in the kitchen, and then made his way back to the carpet. His hand languidly stroked yours. “I think Into the Mystic is one of the greatest love songs of all time.” You turned your head sideways to look at him. He had already been looking at you.

You both leaned in, and your lips met, soft and lazy. His hand caressed your neck and cheeks. In a haze, you let him roll over and rest his weight on top of you. Your legs intertwined, and his lips kissed the corner of your mouth. Moondance played Van Morrison’s crooning voice on and on until the record stopped. His lips were still on yours when it ended, slow and soft. You both parted for air, and smiled.

He got up, and pulled you up with him by your hand. He led you to your bedroom, and closed the door behind you as he went to his own. You slept contentedly.

This was how it started.

*****

Late in the next afternoon when you’d finally risen from your comatose states, you stumbled out of your room desperate for cheese toasties. Van was also exiting his room at the same time, and when he stopped rubbing his eyes, you burst out laughing.

“What’s up?”

“The mascara is smothered alllll over your face. It’s run everywhere. You look like a clown.” You grabbed his arm and led him to your bedroom, where you’d relocated the wipes after last night. He stood awkwardly as you retrieved them from your bedside table. You realized he’d never been in your room.

“Here you go, just put them under the bathroom sink like you found them yesterday. Want a cheese toastie?”

“Do I ever,” he replied, wiping clean stripes down his face. He followed you to the kitchen.

“When’s your friend coming home?” you asked while busying yourself with the cheese toasties.

“Next week, actually. You can hang with us if you want,” he said, throwing the wipe in the trash.

“Sure, that’d be good, considering I still haven’t met him yet and he’s my roommate,” you gave him a sly smile as you slid a plate with a cheese toastie across the counter to his leaning form.

*****

Larry was as rowdy as Van, if not more so; but definitively just as sweet. Already he helped with the laundry, cleaned when he wasn’t asked to, and kept his own part of the bathroom neat and tidy. When you’d heard you’d be living with two boys, you were frightened by horror stories others had told you regarding male roommates. However, your expectations couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

When it came time for the official “Welcome Home Larry” party you and Van threw for him several weeks later, you invited a few friends you knew from the area. Van was thankful, because he and Larry didn’t know anyone else besides their band members, and they were staying far across town.

The two handles of vodka you’d bought with Van were more than enough, and you’d high fived in passing during the party when it was going well, chuckling at each other’s bright faces. Van played mixologist behind the kitchen breakfast bar, and Larry got to know some of the local people. You were happy that your new friends were assimilating well into this little world you’d created living here.

Van handed you a drink and it was the most delicious you’d ever sipped; “Me mum and dad ran a bed and breakfast,” he’d said, and he’d watched them make drinks for guests on holidays. He made a drink for everyone in the house before he made himself one. You watched him work with a certain kind of precision you hadn’t seen in him before for a few seconds before giving him a soft smile and heading back to the couch.

After just three drinks, you were already reeling, holding onto tables and the back of the couch as you walked around. Everyone was starting to get drunk off Van’s specialty drinks, including Van himself, and you knew it was turning into a proper party fast. Boisterous laughter echoed from every corner of the lounge and kitchen. Larry was loving it, and plugged his phone into the speakers you had splurged on a few weeks before they arrived. The whole apartment started bumping to the beat of whatever he decided to play with his aux privileges.

“You alright?” Van asked as you leaned against one of the living room walls, watching Larry do an impression of someone famous. Your eyes were drifting in and out of focus. He already had a glass of water in his hand for you.

“I’m just feeling a bit dizzy, is all,” you said, taking the glass of water in his outstretched hand and flashing a smile at him before drinking it down. He smiled all crooked and drunk and walked back into the chaos of the room.

You decided you needed a breath of fresh air, and went to your bedroom to open the window. You stuck your head outside for a few minutes, watching your cool breath leave your lips, and then inhaling the sharp winter wind. The cars on the street below honked and screeched every so often, and you breathed in the smells of the city. When your teeth were too cold to bear, you slid the window shut and walked back to the noise and laughter, refreshed.

You stumbled through the thick of the crowd of people who’d gathered around Larry. They were really enjoying his company and his jokes; a few of the girls were probably sure to ask for his number later. They were definitely enjoying his accent. You laughed, and walked into the kitchen.

Under the fluorescent lights, Van’s hair was starting to stick to his forehead as he mixed drinks. He brushed it back with one hand, and you felt a lurch somewhere deep inside you.

You moved to stand next to him, and before your mind could process quickly enough to say no, you grasped at his hand. He let you take it. You led him into the hallway, out of sight from the other partygoers, and he willingly let your hands roam. Your cold nose and lips touched his. His lips met yours again, soft and sweet. His hands held your cheeks steady, his tongue slow in drunkenness running between your lips. Your hands felt down his abs, and rested on his hips. Your head was tilted slightly up, giving him more access to your mouth. His hands were warm on you, and you felt safe.

When the kiss broke it was because your lips were getting tired and people were starting to notice you’d both drifted from the party. You returned to the room as if nothing had happened.

*****

That was how it went for the next few weeks. Whenever you both got drunk or high, usually listening to music or partying, you’d make out with each other to fill the time. It was fun and easy with Van; no strings were attached. The convenience of living together meant if either of you were frustrated or sad or needy in any way, a quick make out under the influence could save bad decisions being made with potential sexual partners, or prevent fights from breaking out due to irritability or pent up emotions.

The roommate dynamic still stayed the same. You and Van were content being friends that made out with each other, and there was an unspoken rule that it was just kissing. That’s all you both ever seemed to want anyways. Larry had caught you both making out on multiple occasions, but never pressed the issue further than the intermittent “So you guys kissed last night.” When one of you would answer “yeah,” that was it.

******

“How’d I do this time?” Van asked, strutting into your room a few months later with an almost full-face of makeup on. He’d taken up the art of makeup in the time that you and he were alone together in the house, which was infrequent, but enough to give him time to hone his skills.

You inspected his face from the bed you were cross-legged on. “Mascara is perfect, as always. Maybe should have put the highlighter up a little higher on your cheekbones? But the subtle lip stain you used is spot on. I don’t remember teaching you how to do that.”

“A little experimentation never hurts.”

“I completely agree.”

He started to walk out of your bedroom, but you called him back in. “Hey, I dare you to wear highlighter to the party tonight.” He glanced at you with a look of distaste. “Pleeeeeaaseee. I’d kill for cheekbones like yours. Let me live vicariously through you.”

“With a compliment like that, I don’t think I can say no.” He walked out of your room, and you heard the water running as he washed his face off. You lazily flicked through the pages of the magazine you were reading. He returned with the fan brush and his favorite highlighter, and sat on your bed.

“Can you do this so I don’t look like a fucking idiot?” he asked, grinning stupidly. You knew he was secretly giddy to step out of the house in a little makeup just to see people’s reactions.

“Sure,” you said as you scooted closer to him. Some of the berry-red lip stain he’d used lingered on his lips, and they looked delectable.

You’d never really had the urge to snog him sober before, and your revelation surprised you. You were uncharacteristically quiet as you dipped the brush in the shimmery powder and spread it across his cheekbones, avoiding eye contact. You didn’t want him to ask about the look on your face.

“There,” you said quietly, reserved. You replaced the top on the shimmery powder and set it on the bed for him to collect. You didn’t let your fingers brush his. You returned to the magazine you’d been leafing through, head down in the pages, waiting for him to leave you in peace.

He didn’t leave.

“.... Y/N?” he said, dipping his head to your level to try to get you to look in his eyes.

“Yeah?” you replied, dodging his eyes.

“Is there anything bothering you?”

“No, sorry, I’m just feeling kind of weird right now. I’m in one of those moods. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to party.”

“Okay, sinnabit,” he said, rubbing his hands together and rising from the bed. He left your room and went to his own devices.

“Christ,” you whispered to yourself. You dressed yourself in the clothes you’d set out for the party, taking a deep breath in the mirror.

*******

The party at the bar was a rager; you’d arrived with Van just before the energy of the party reached its peak. People were already smashed, and you and Van gave each other an eye-twinkling look that screamed, Let’s catch up with them.

You and Van were usually the type to grab a beer and stick with it, but tonight, you headed straight for the shots. Due to the weird tropical theme of the party (in winter no less), they were tequila and lime. Your favorites.

You walked up to a tray of shots already out on the table. Van leaned his elbow on the high table, playful look in his eye as he grabbed two shots and handed one to you. You licked a line on your hand, and Van did the same on his. A little sprinkle of salt was dashed across your hand, a clink of shot glasses came with smirks as you raised them together, and a subdued burning, followed by the refreshing sour of lime, hit the back of your throats. Little stolen grins became wider, crooked smiles as you both took two more shots, and set off to meet up with people.

The highlighter on Van’s face shone brightly under the hot lights of the bar as he conversed with people, and compliments were being thrown his way left and right, from girls and boys alike. He responded with an obligatory but sincere “Thank you very much” every time, and then proceeded to look at you with admiration. He wrapped his arm around your waist, and it stayed there. The shared looks were searing a hole in your heart, and you didn’t understand why. Between the alcohol and his praise, you were feeling very, very good.

“More shots, please, Van,” you tugged at his arm during a lull in conversation, and he followed you to a table with fresh shots lined up across it.

“Here we go!” he said, licking a line across his hand, shaking salt onto it. You did the same. Right before he downed it, he winked at you. Your shot burned harder than it had before, and you almost choked when you sucked a lime wedge. You were about to ask him a very bad question to ask someone when drunk just as one of his favorite songs came over the speakers and saved you from embarrassing yourself.

“No fuckin’ way!” he yelled, taking your hand and guiding you through people to an open space on the dance floor.

You never thought you’d be able to dirty dance to Someday by The Strokes, but it was happening.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck, and his hands were gliding up and down your back, at your waist, and thumbing over your hip bones. His slow movements up against you didn’t match the beat at all; if you’d been sober, maybe you would have cared about the odd looks you were receiving from people.

Toward the end of the song, his slightly grinding movements got harder, and you got a little sweatier. Your arms and legs felt weak as he held you. His forehead dipped and rested against yours. And just as Julian sang out the last “I aint wastin’ no more time,” Van’s hand cupped your face. His thumb ran across your bottom lip, pulling it open just slightly.

“SHOTTTTSSSSSSS!” a deep-voiced burly guy shouted at the top of his lungs. Everyone who’d been out on the dance floor rushed for what seemed like the third round of shots. You and Van lingered there frozen on the floor, looking into each other’s eyes. You broke eye contact to find one of his hands and lead him away to the shots, avoiding any awkwardness that could have come with the moment.

Lick salt, take shot, bite lime from rind. Rinse and repeat. Or, that was how it was supposed to go.

As soon as you dragged Van to the table, he spun you to face him, and your head swam happily as you looked into those eyes.

“We don’t have to do it like always,” he said. “Try something new?”

“Sure.” With eyes like his, and the light sheen across his cheekbones, you would agree to anything he asked of you right now, not to mention how you trusted him immensely.

You licked a line across your hand, setting it up against the table laterally so some of the spit wouldn’t run, and Van did the same. Sprinkle of salt here and there, done.

Before you could think, Van licked the salt off your hand, slow and steady, eyes dead set on yours the whole time, boring into you. He quickly took the shot, not breaking eye contact. He let it burn for a few seconds before soothing it with the lime. You shivered. He looked incredible standing in front of you. His eyes were rimmed red from drunkenness, but still. Hair ruffled, shirt collar sticking up funny, fingers brushing your arm. Head hovering close. You felt a tingle between your legs.

“S’ all you, babe,” he replied.

You licked the salt from his hand, just as slow and painstakingly as he had from yours, salt scraping up against wet flesh, and saw his reaction just before you closed your eyes and downed the shot. You picked up a lime wedge, but before you could suck the juice, Van’s hand swatted at it, letting it fall to the floor. He kissed the burn from your lips and you melted into his embrace, tongue tingling from the alcohol you’d consumed as it glided over Van’s in an unabashedly sleazy kiss.

You’d never kissed him in public before, and in such an open space. Closets or bedroom floors or secluded couches always seemed to be the move. This time you knew the feeling was different; this kiss felt frantic, even though you’d both been kissing on occasions where you’d been much more inebriated than tonight.

In the back of the taxi on the way home, you still hadn’t stopped kissing. His lips were a plump cherry red every time you pulled apart reluctantly for him to give directions to the taxi driver, who didn’t seem to care you were both horizontal in the back of his cab.

Van’s hands trailed up your thighs, and you knew with every fiber of your being that tonight’s decision to wear a skirt couldn’t have gone better.

The taxi braked with a halt, most likely to get your attention so you could untangle yourselves. Van chuckled above you, and helped you out of the taxi.

Once inside, the hands and the lips didn’t stop.

It was past saving now, this friends-with-kissing-benefits-only relationship you had with him. You knew it had left when you’d put highlighter on him earlier that day and made a realization.

He stepped backwards, letting you lead him to his room, smiling mischievously all the while between heavy kisses. You both forgot Larry was home.

For the first time, you let him undress you, and you, him. You fell back onto his bed, his scent lingering everywhere, and let it envelop you. He kissed you harder, and with more passion than he’d exhibited before. His hands caressed your body with such sweetness you thought you were going to implode.

“I love you,” he’d whispered, just before you both melted happily into each other.

*******

The light shining through the window blinded you both, seemingly simultaneously, as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled, tossing a pillow over his head, and, coincidentally yours, before he opened his eyes fully and realized you were still next to him.

He smiled sleepily and used an arm to pull you into his side. His skin was soft and pale in the dark sheets, and you molded yourself to fit his form.

“You good?” he asked you. You contemplated everything silently for a few moments. The best friendship you’ve ever had, the emotional and physical comfort, the proximity, the trust --- everything added up, and it had for a while now.

“Yeah. I’m good. Are you?” you looked up at him. His answer to your question was a kiss, with little giggles in between. His excitement shone through the kiss, and you were happy.

The door to his bedroom opened.

“Van, I --- Christ!” Larry stood there, open-mouthed and about to laugh at the sight of the two of you kissing, traces of last night evident in the clothes strewn across the floor.

“Finally,” he said, closing the door with a soft thunk.

You and Van smiled at each other before returning to the kiss that had been interrupted. Your teeth tugged on his bottom lip, and he pulled away, stretching it until it left your teeth and sprung back to normal.

“Round two?” he asked cheekily, moving his hand to rest on your thigh, just like you had the first time he’d put mascara on you. How coincidental.

[tinyytonitrus]

Inquisition Souls

So I’ve been replaying some of my favorite games recently and the caffeine-fueled binges have made for some pretty ridiculous game-inspired daydreams and one of them involved exploring the locations of Dark Souls with the companions from Dragon Age: Inquisition and I KNOW it would totally change the tone of the game but I just –

Iron Bull seeing the Dragon Aerie for the first time and being all, “aw HELL yeah, Ashy, this is gonna be GOOD,” because he calls PC Ashy, or sometimes “Chosen One,” when he’s feeling particularly snarky,

Dagna bouncing around Andre’s workshop and bringing him various rare materials and Andre being like “you mean there’s more than titanite whaaaaat??” and them making ridiculously badass weapons together,

Vivienne having absolutely zero tolerance for necromancer bullshit and hightailing it to their locations before showering them with death and a few choice words,

Scout Harding greeting PC at the start of every area and PC feeling a little less hopeless bc hey, at least now we know there’s traps here, here, and here, mimics here, and illusory walls there,

Sera having the best time destroying things in Anor Londo bc who needs all these stuffy artifacts anyway? and finding creative ways to cheese enemies off cliffs or around corners and only hesitating when she finds the invisible walkways because fuuuuuuck that noise,

Cassandra becoming increasingly frustrated with the fire keepers and other NPCs bc she is never satisfied with her level of knowledge about the world and its history and getting even more frustrated with Sera’s habit of destruction,

Leliana partnering with Greirat and creating a stronger, safer network of spies to bring valuable goods back to Firelink, secretly sharing high fives and relishing each others’ tales of close encounters,

Varric finally being told to stay at Firelink because PC has had it up to HERE with his constant stops to write things down “for my next book,” but still being invited to places like Blighttown and The Gutter bc “we’re gonna need Bianca for this,”

Cole always having the most interesting things to say during literally every boss encounter, sometimes getting everyone killed (faster) bc it’s hard to fight when your mind is being blown and your old fade-loving bros are trying to connect with the giant demon in front of them rather than kill it,

Josephine doing her best to tidy up Firelink and make it more “homey” for everyone while also screening every newcomer the adventurers send her way, persuading them to lower the prices on their goods and immediately convincing PC to throw Patches out on his ass bc she KNOWS,

Solas becoming increasingly obsessed with the concept of soul collection and the uses of humanity, until it is literally all he will talk about, most of the time under his breath to himself bc everyone has started giving him a rather wide berth and he still hasn’t figured it out,

Morrigan entertaining herself by “trying out” all of Firelink’s thrones, attempting to whip the crestfallen warriors back into shape, and keeping a running tally of how many times she discovers a hidden lever or secret passageway before anyone else does,

Blackwall making it his sole duty to ensure the Grey Wardens are considered superior to all of these “covenants,” even though he secretly takes note of all of their ways “for research,” and kind of wants to join all of them at once,

Dorian leaving the main party pretty early on after meeting Laurentius, becoming a summonable NPC for any boss fight where the fire magic he perfects with his new bestie can be put to good use,

Cullen keeping a collection of the armor sets PC finds and brings back from various excursions, decorating the halls of Firelink with makeshift mannequins and keeping a detailed record of their strengths and weaknesses “just in case you ever need them,” and spluttering whenever he’s caught trying them on,

PC slamming down fiery banners every time the group encounters something interesting in the world, even though they are totally aware they will never be permanent, just because PC still giggles every time they picture their companions “marking territory” in Thedas…

idk man, just. Inquisition Souls.

[cupcakeshakesnake]

Watching Empress of Mars for the first time

(tryna catch up before the last episodeairs like ohhh my gooood)

Possible spoilers below the cut in case I’m not the only one who’s running late.

-Okaaaaay we’re at.. NASA? That’s a first.

-The Doctor’s there too?

-Ohh. He wasn’t expected but he went in anyway. Typical Doctor.

*Britishness intensifies*

-Hahaha what

-Anyway, what’s with the motto “God save the Queen?” What did she do to require saving? What is she being saved from? Why God? Saying “God save her” sounds like she’s in such a dilemma of certain doom that no one but God can save her?

-Why does the Doctor look so smug about this

-TARDIS!

Nice hair, Bill.

-What’s with the armor?

-Oh, they’re protection suits.

-”The Terminator?”  ”It's a movie. You haven't seen it?”  "I'm a very busy man.”  “You'd like it. It's got killer robots.”  "Oh, I'll put it on my list.”

-"Basic physics, isn't it?”  “Could've been basic death.”

-"It's like the underground tunnels in The Thing.”  “The what?”  “It's a movie. You'd like that one too. Everybody dies.”

dafuq

DAFUQ?!

shite

-Eyyyyyyyyyyy it’s one of ‘em Ice Warriors

-*finger guns* Nice to see you old friend

-My old homicidal fr--

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

oh ok it’s just a guy never mind

haha what

-Hahaha what

o shit he’s gone to Missy for help

Congratulations Doctor Who, you’re outdoing yourself more than usual on the Confusion department.

-Wait but how are the British ever planning to go back to Earth

-”The Ice Warriors. They could build a city under the sand, yet drench the snows of Mars with innocent blood. They could slaughter whole civilisations, yet weep at the crushing of a flower.“  Well, I did not know that.

-”There's this brilliant bit where his eye gets gouged out--”  Ice Warrior: *stares with one eye missing*  AHAHAHAHA I really shouldn’t be laughing but haha hahaha

I canNOT take those helmets seriously, ever.

Whoa

-But that reminds me, that one Ice Warrior general back in Series 7, what happened to him? I think he went back to Mars but can’t remember the details.

-But then, it was in the 20th century, so it hasn’t happened yet.

-”Don't belong? We're British! Mars is part of the empire now.“  *cue Bill Wurtz jingle*

Goddammit people

Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus...

oh shite

-On a different note, it makes sense that it’s a Queen since the females tend to be larger, stronger and more dominant in reptiles. (Not trying to be reptile gender discriminating though.)

-That pillow

-I just noticed it and I don’t know how to feel about the fact that she’s luing on cold stone without a blanket yet somebody took the care to giver her a pillow

Oh hot damn

HOLY SHIT WHAT WAS THAT

-HE’S LITERALLY CRUMPLED UP?! LIKE PAPER?!!

-what happened to the other guy with the stealy stealy motives

what th fuck

-”What does the pink thing say”  Uhhhh I think you meant red, but again, your perception of color might be different so.. um... I’ll just stay in the back here

-”We are both surrounded by noisy males. I would value your opinion.“

GOD FUCKING DAMMIT

-”You ask for mercy for these creatures?” "Indeed.” "Then I grant it.” "Thank you.” “They will die quickly.”

-HA

fuck you fUcK yOu fuuUUUUCK yOUOUOU fuck YOU sir Fuck You

“Listen, yeah? I'm going to make allowances for your Victorian attitudes because, well, you actually are Victorian.“

-Yes but he still won’t escape my silent middle fingers descending past his face and into the heavens above

And here we see BBC’s (probably) improved CGI skills

?

Ah?!!

-”And then we'll get married in that little church with the twisted spire back home, down by the river.“  Talking about future plans: A certain sign of death in many fictional works, also known as a death flag.

-Wair but how are they not noticing the Ice Warriors at all, they were popping out of the ground and going like CRRFRRRRRHK CRINK CRANK CRUNK the entire time??

holy shit damn it IS a hive

-The fucking asshole used the guy as a meat shield!!

-Vincey!!

yas

-”One good blast from the Gargantua here and your army will be on ice forever, trapped in an eternal winter, like, like Frozen! It's a movie.“

-nooooo *throws an allergic fit*

-God, not Frozen. Anything but Frozen. It’s a good movie, okay, and I was all for it at first, but God. Dear God. One year, two years, three years after that movie, still, I walk into stores, and those same Disney faces looking up from every corner, printed on every piece of merchandise, it’s just too tiring, it gets on my nerves.

-On the other hand, it has been proven that the Doctor does try to keep up with media.

HA take that

um... yay I guess...?

-”Always been my problem - thinking like a warrior.”

-”I've sent out a sort of round-robin e-mail.” *Round-robin (document), a document signed by several parties in a circle in order to hide the identity of the leader  *Round-robin letter, a news-filled letter typically accompanying a Christmas card

-Annnd I’m guessing the general in Series 7 was, like, too late in waking up or something? Left behind?

-”ArE yOU rEcEiVing Us? MAARS are YoU rEcEiVING??”  Apparently they’re called the Alpha Centauri from certain Third Doctor episodes.  Haven’t really watched much of Classic Who, so the reference wwas, at first, lost to me. Sorry.

And now my impression of them is of this species with nothing but a giant eye and a high-pitched voice and I don’t know what they are like in the old episodes but I... find them funny

oh

-ohh

-OHHH

-OHHHHHHH

-Those were markers for the Alpha Centauri ship!

Missy’s in the Tardis~

“Darn it Nardole”

WHAT’S WITH THE CREEPY SINGING ALL OF A SUDDEN

-GUYS, SERIOUSLY. THE BACKGROUND MUSIC JUST DROPPED IN TEMPERATURE LIKE OH, HELL, NO.

WHAT

-WHAT’S WITH THE ESCALATING MUSIC

-NO, DON’T CUT OFF THERE

-THE NEXT EPISODE LOOKS LIKE A FILLER, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO EXPECT

-DON’T LEAVE ME HANGIN’ LIKE THIS DAMMIT

[kookie-uris]

I LOVE EVERYTHING YOU JUST SAID MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF FJDNNDN

first off, i comPLETELY agree that’s eddie could also absolutely be a total soprano (because i am for sure That Soprano so i love this idea) and rich is a mezzo, that is so valid and like imagine the POWER eddie would exude in choir like bitch about to sing the high notes in Jai Ho better than anybody on this PLANET (i’m a choir kid AND a theater kid so i boutta be eddie projecting i’m so sorry)

i LOVE the idea of eddie being a choir kid and richie being a theatre kid also, like the first time eddie gets a solo the whole losers club is there but richie is THERE, like she brings the flowers and makes a sign but stan makes her leave it at home. and the first time richie gets a lead, once more everyone is there but eddie is there, she makes a fuckin tshirt and bitch is out here describing in detail her favorite parts of the score after the show.

and RICHIE AND STAN DUETS FUUUUUUCK that is also the best thing i’ve ever heard. however i raise you this:

richie stan AND eddie in an a capella group. bev beatboxes.

someone tell me to go to bed and stop deciding what voice parts fem losers are

fem richie’s a soprano i don’t make the rules and eddie’s a mezzo but bitch wants to be a tenor so bad and stan is an alto queen and i WILL keep going don’t provoke me