#i actually have a second gift but that one is still stuck in the factory

[hiddencircus]

HEARTSLABYUL - TWISTED FROM ALICE IN WONDERLAND

Don't tell the Queen, What you have seen, Or say that's what we said, But we're painting the roses red.

gift for @rookmeo

[naralanis]

Hi. Someone recomend me your blog and I am so glad that they did! I have been having problems with Lamy Safari from Day 1 and it's just breaks my heart to see it unused and just lying around since it was a gift from my girlfriend. I use Lamy T-10 cartridges with it. The nib felt scratchy, so I got that replaced ( day 1) and then the feed keeps getting gunked up if I don't use it for 2 days. I always keep the pens in a horizontal position. I have cleaned it more than twice or even thrice in a month but it still gunks up if unused for more than a day. Oh it's an EF nib by the way, could that be the problem? I have a Metropolitan too ( also EF) , never faceded any such problems with it.

Hi there! I'm glad you found your way here, welcome to this mess.

Sorry to hear your Safari is having issues. I have about a dozen Safaris, and only one of them gave me issues -- and they were pretty similar to what you're experiencing. It was also an EF, and I was using the T10s as well.

(while the pink was the problematic Safari, the crud did not come from any T10 cartridge, but another ink I tried later on. that and the white ink clogging the other one are only here for shock value lol)

The problem went away the moment I tried a new ink. That's usually the first thing I do if the ink flow is funky (after cleaning, of course). With my Safari, I switched to a converter and inked it up with Waterman Serenity Blue. It wrote right away, and my drying, gunky problems were over. And TBH... not a big fan of the T10 blue cartridges in general. This might be just me, but I always think the ink has a weird viscosity, and it's miles different than the bottled Lamy Blue.

Honestly my first recommendation would to get yourself a converter (if you don't already have one). Not only it will give you more ink variety, allowing you to test ink flow with wetter inks and see if that solves your problem, it will also be helpful when flushing out your pen, because it'll allow you to draw soapy water in and out of it. For the Safari, you'll want the Z28 converter. Additionally, if your nib has dried out, you can use the converter to give it a little more ink to get it going again (this is called flooding the feed, if I remember correctly).

That being said, maybe you just prefer the convenience of the cartridges and don't want to deal with bottled inks. That is totally OK! I'll explore some more options below the cut -- I'm sorry, this is going to be a bit... long.

Quick disclaimer: all of the suggestions below are based on things I've done myself. I highly recommend checking out r/fountainpens and The Fountain Pen Network. The pen people there can help with pretty much anything, no matter how specific the problem.

If you don't have a way of testing another ink with a converter or another cartridge, I'm told that a little teeny bit of dish soap into the cartridge will help with ink flow. I have used dish soap for that purpose before, just never in a cartridge so I can't really vouch for its efficacy.

My second recommendation... get yourself a bulb syringe, if you don't already. They're excellent to have around even if you do use converters, but they're especially helpful if you only use cartridges, because now you have a way to push water through your feed.

Whenever you flush your pen, I recommend doing it with some lukewarm water (never hot) and dish soap. Water by itself doesn't do much; the soap will help break up the gunk. Any neutral dish soap will do.

Now, let's say you've tried all of the following:

Thorough flush with water and soap

Switching inks/cartridges

Switching nibs -- checking to see if the tines are not too tight

... and the problem still persists? Well, we can check for a few other things to make sure your pen isn't defective. And if it is defective, you should be able to exchange it under warranty; just contact your retailer.

First: check the fit of your cartridge/converter. They both should fit snugly into your section, and the Z28 converter actually has little notches that click it into place.

You shouldn't have to use force when pushing either one into the section. There's a bit more resistance with a brand new cartridge, of course, but it still shouldn't require a ton of pressure.

If your cartridge feels loose either the pen or the cartridge may be defective, so try another cartridge (I know you probably have, but better cover my bases!).

The way I like to test the converter is to install it without lining up the notches to their slots -- it should still fit snugly in the section without them.

If something feels off no matter the cartridge/converter, your pen might be defective -- contact your retailer!

Another possibility: there may be something wrong with the seal of your cap. You can take a look inside the cap of your pen and check if there's anything off about the inner cap.

You can test this by filling the cap with some water. Seal it with your thumb and give it a little shake; if there is an issue with the inner cap, water will most likely leak out from the holes where the clip is installed -- if water can get out, so can air, and that may be contributing to your pen constantly drying out.

I'll have to be honest though, I've only seen this happen once, and it wasn't a factory defect (though that is certainly not impossible, especially at the scale the Safaris are produced); a friend had removed the clip to customize his Safari, and in the process of re-installing a different clip, he ended up damaging the inner cap.

The only other possible thing I can think of would be an issue with the feed itself, though that's trickier to see. You can remove a Lamy nib pretty easily, and the feed is not difficult to remove, with two caveats.

You can remove the nib and check the part of the feed that sticks out of the section. If that looks fine, there's the possibility of damage on other parts of the feed. And while you could remove the feed like I did above, the main caveat is that the Safari technically was not made to be disassembled.

So yeah, you could remove the feed to check it, but that might void your warranty, at least according to a couple pen friends of mine. Sometimes a retailer will still take it and exchange it, but I have no reliable information to give you that says it will be a guarantee.

The other caveat is that this Lamy feed is fragile. The top that sits under the nib is very thin and flimsy, and it's not hard to break it when you pull it out. So if you're not super confident in it, I would recommend contacting your retailer so you don't run the risk of breaking your pen.

Sometimes, a pen just dries a little quicker than we want. I have two Parker IMs that dries out after only an hour or two no matter what ink I put in it -- the model itself has a pretty crappy seal overall. I just dip the nib in some water (my dad just... licks his. which... works, I guess? but also no thank you) to get it running again. It's not an elegant solution, but it works for me because... lazy.

That is pretty much all I can think of -- I really hope it helps, and my apologies if some of these seem a bit redundant.

Do check out r/fountainpens and The Fountain Pen Network if you're still stuck -- people there have tons more experience than I do and may have some other/better tips.

Let me know if your pen starts behaving!

[izlaria]

Someone you like (part 1)

This work is inspired by the animatic called Someone you like by honestlyprettychill. I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to do all of the povs showcased in the video, but I just really loved the idea that Lance would eventually come to like Pidge, a romance born from  years of friendship. Friends to lovers is my jam.

I’m posting this on tumblr in case I never finish it, because I just wanted to share what I’ve written so far. I might upload the whole thing to AO3 later.

I made some changes to the video’s initial idea, because I wanted to follow canon ages and I didn’t want a 14-year-old to fall for a 12-year-old. At that time, it’s a pretty big difference in development. So I wanted to establish the basis for Lance to eventually romanticize their first encounter, despite not having been attracted to young Katie.

Spanish to English translations at the end.

14 years old

The truth was that Lance went to Space Camp because Veronica could be a little pest. She knew their parents wouldn’t let her go alone and so had enticed her younger brother with the promise of travel and foreign girls and no parental supervision.

Veronica had obviously left out the fact that they were essentially going to school on steroids for a month, smack in the middle of their summer break. Cool as Miami might seem, Lance wasn’t exactly excited for all the extra work the camp would entail.

“No es un acampamiento,” his sister repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. He wasn’t listening anymore. “Tú sabes que el campo de explotación espacial no está muy desenvuelto en Cuba. Si realmente quieres trabajar con eso, entonces simplemente cállate y no insultes a nadie.”

“¿Cuando he insultado a alguien?” he shot back, defensive. Veronica didn’t dignify that with an answer.

As much as Lance might like to think himself very smooth, there were still times when he stumbled over his words, especially in English. More than once he’d meant to pay someone a compliment and had accidentally started an argument of some kind.

Veronica looked impatiently at her watch. “Mira, tengo una reunión con mi orientador. Y tú tienes por lo menos dos artículos para leer para las clases de mañana, ¿por qué no vas a la biblioteca para trabajar un poco? Prometo comprarte una hamburguesa después.”

Lance pouted at her, arms crossed over his chest. “Me debes más que una hamburguesa y lo sabes, Ronie.”

His sister snickered, but it was as much of an acknowledgement as he was going to get. Veronica pressed a quick kiss to his hair, already turning to go into the main building.

“¡Gracias, hermanito! ¡No te arrepentirás!”

In all honesty, Lance wasn’t as irritated as he made Veronica believe. He knew that a summer program in Miami was a really good opportunity, especially if he wanted to get into the Garrison in the following years. It was just difficult.

He was diligent and studious, but not as naturally gifted as some of the other kids. Besides, he hadn’t been to the US in a couple years, since his parents had mostly settled down in the family farm, which meant he still had to fall back into his English, a task made even more frustrating by the xenophobic comments from one of the boys in his AP geometry class.

The teacher had put an end to it right away, but the words stuck with Lance, for some reason.

With how much humanity had progressed in terms of technology, one would think they would be able to get past petty rivalry between nationalities and usually that was true, but the influx of foreigners following the establishment of the Galaxy Garrison in the US desert still annoyed some people, despite its existence as a multinational center for space exploration. It irritated Lance to no end, especially when so many of these scientific advances came from international collaboration.

If only he could shrug off the inadequacy that now grew in his chest.

Straight ahead, there was a path that led to a green area in the middle of the campus. The other students had taken to calling it the Woods, though it was more of a middle-sized park, with benches and picnic tables where anyone from the Institute could go to relax. That’s where Lance went, mind too full to really focus on homework.

He wondered if people would react that same way if he ever made it into the Garrison. He didn’t know how Veronica dealt with it all, especially when she was alone in Arizona most of the time. Barely a week had passed and Lance already missed his parents, the tenderness of home-cooked food and well-intended lectures.

No, he had to believe that Billy Underwood was an exception. The other kids hadn’t joined in on his taunts, even if no one had moved to defend Lance. It was still too early to make conclusions on his colleagues, especially when everyone had seemed so charmed by him before then.

Lance was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize he had been standing in front of one of the benches until a new voice broke through the peace of the park.

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

The words were somewhat harsh, but when Lance lowered his eyes to their source the girl winced, grimacing. She seemed to have spoken impulsively.

“Hmm, yeah.” Lance blinked at her for a moment, before finally sitting down on the bench. He made sure to leave space between him and the girl, not wanting to make the situation even more awkward.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” the girl said after a moment of silence. She looked at him sideways and her brown eyes seemed almost golden in the sunlight. There were freckles spread across the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks, and the green ribbon in her hair swayed in the wind. It was a soft sight, a contrast to the steeliness of her posture and gaze.

“It’s fine,” Lance hurried to assure her. She looked young, but so did he, and talking to complete strangers never failed to make him nervous. “Nothing like a little girl yelling at me to bring me back to earth.”

He gave her his best grin, the one reserved for first impressions and fancy parties. It was supposed to project confidence and kindness, even though Luis said he ended up looking a bit smug.

“I didn’t yell,” the girl pointed out with a light frown. Then her eyes shifted into a more calculating look. “You’re a bit of a goofball, aren’t you?”

“I prefer the term good-humored,” he replied jokingly.

She continued to stare. Lance got the feeling that the girl did this a lot. She had an untamed intelligence to her that Lance couldn’t completely understand. It was the sort of air that teachers sometimes carried, as if they could see something deeper in you if they looked long enough.

“It didn’t seem like you were feeling all that good-humored just now.” She tilted her head to the side, letting the words hang between them.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Lance found himself saying.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” She looked so doubtful that it almost made Lance laugh. The feeling, however, was overcome by the relief of finally having someone who would listen.

He had spent the week trying and failing to explain to Veronica what was truly making him feel down. She was too busy or too happy for Lance to tell her the truth, especially when it left him so vulnerable. After all, Veronica had taken to her work on the Institute like a fish to water. Lance was supposed to be more adaptable than this.

With the rest of his family away in Cuba, he felt unbearably lonely.

“Yes! Thank you!” Lance shifted in the bench to face the girl. She was taken aback by his enthusiasm, but didn’t move away. “There’s this cabrón in my class, who thought it was a good idea to mess with me, just ‘cause I said fábrica instead of factory in our first day here. He hasn’t really left me alone since…” he whined. “I speak two languages but somehow I’m the uneducated ass here!”

The girl nodded, eyes downcast. “I know what you mean.”

“You do?” He eyed the fairness of her skin and the almost ginger of her hair. “Sorry, but you look white.”

Lance’s comment must have taken her by surprise, because she actually laughed.

“I am white. I’m also Italian.” She rolled her eyes, but there was amusement in the tug of her lips. “I can be both.”

“That’s true.” Lance grinned sheepishly. It was good that she wasn’t offended by his lack of filter. “You don’t have much of an accent, though.”

“Neither do you,” the girl bit back, no real animosity in her tone.

He shrugged. “My family spent a lot of time in the US when I was younger. It used to be second nature to me. Now, I keep feeling like I have to hold back the instinct to roll my R’s.”

“I get that. My parents moved here right after I was born, but we used to speak Italian in the house.” There was a pause here, something that she couldn’t bring herself to say. “I think it’s cool that you can speak Spanish. It’s useful.”

“Yeah?” Lance sat up straight, feeling suddenly boastful.

“Sure!” she continued, encouraged by his interest. “The Bouman Aeronautics Research Institute really values multiculturalism! It is a hob of different nationalities and perspectives, created to foster new minds from around the world! Or that’s what my brother says, at least, and he is rarely wrong.” She gave him a smirk that quickly shifted into a grimace. “Don’t tell him I said that or he will never let me forget it.”

“Older brother?” At her nod, Lance smiled. “I got older siblings too. Sort of the reason I’m here in the first place, actually. One of them was accepted as a researcher and she tricked me into applying too.”

“Same, actually.” She seemed startled for a moment, pulling out her cellphone. “Freak, I have to go! I completely lost track of time while reading.” She got up to go, collecting the book she’d apparently put down to talk to him. It was a thick volume with numbers on the cover, but it didn’t look like math.

Another green ribbon fluttered to the ground, having escaped the pages of the book. Lance bent down to pick it up.

“Here.” He stretched it out to the girl. “Wouldn’t want to lose its pair,” he said with a wink.

“Thanks for reminding me!” She grabbed the ribbon hurriedly, then paused, turning back to Lance. “And for the conversation, I guess.”

Lance grinned at her. She was a little awkward but in an endearing way, like she wasn’t used to having the attention of others on her. Given she empathized with his circumstances in the Institute, it wasn’t that big of a leap to assume that she had trouble making friends.

“Bye bye, Italian girl.” He waved, glad that he could spend these few minutes with her.

“Farewell, Spanish boy.”

Lance meant to correct her about his nationality, but she took out running, clearly late for something. He laughed at the way she stumbled across the uneven ground, careless like a little kid. It was a strange juxtaposition: the thoughtfulness of her earlier words and the childishness of her smile now.

He settled back into the bench, feeling much more content than he’d been earlier. It was nice to talk to people outside of class, for a change.

And, well, Italian girl was pretty. A bit young-looking for him, but he thought guys her age should be tripping over their feet for a chance to talk to her.

“Hey, you’re Lance, right?” A boy had approached while Lance observed the girl disappear from sight. He was tall and robust, with shortly cropped hair, but his expression was friendly. “You’re in my Analytics class.”

It took Lance a second to place him. Analytics was one of the classes Lance struggled with the most, so he hadn’t had as much opportunity to joke around there.

“And you’re Hunk!” Lance snapped his fingers, smiling. “Sit down, man! What can I do for ya?”

Translations:

“No es un acampamiento.Tú sabes que el campo de explotación espacial no está muy desenvuelto en Cuba. Si realmente quieres trabajar con eso, entonces simplemente cállate y no insultes a nadie.” - “It’s not a camp. You know that the field of space exploration is not very well developped in Cuba. If you really do want to work in this area, then simply shut up and don’t insult anyone.”

“¿Cuando he insultado a alguien?” - “When have I insulted anyone?”

“Mira, tengo una reunión con mi orientador. Y tú tienes por lo menos dos artículos para leer para las clases de mañana, ¿por qué no vas a la biblioteca para trabajar un poco? Prometo comprarte una hamburguesa después.” - “Look, I have a meeting with my coordinator. And you have at least two articles to read for tomorrow’s classes. Why don’t you go work for a bit in the library? I promise to buy you a burger later.”

“Me debes más que una hamburguesa y lo sabes, Ronie.” - “You owe me more than a burger and you know it, Ronie.”

“¡Gracias, hermanito! ¡No te arrepentirás!” - “Thank you, little brother! You won’t regret it!”

Cabrón - Bastard

[ziaxkawaii]

Worth more than some perceive (Victorian!Todoroki X F!Reader) Part 1

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki x Reader

Warnings: None.

Other: Quirks aren't a thing in this particular story and Endeavour's just being a piece of crap

Summary: Living hand to mouth was not easy in the Victorian ages, but you managed. Being nothing more than a dressmaker surrounded by rich people, you doubted someone would be interested in you. But you were proven wrong when you occasionally started to find neatly wrapped up little gifts on your threshold in the mornings.

Part 2 Here!     Part 3 Here!

~"(Name)! We got another order!" Your older brother William shouted from behind a corner. You really weren't paying attention to what he was saying as you were sewing a delicate silver ornament on the front of a beautiful dress.

~The ornament was what would catch most of the attention upon first look at the gown, so it had to be sewn perfectly, and by a steady hand. So you couldn't afford to make any mistakes or you would have hell to pay later.

~"(Name)!! Didn't you hear what I said?" Your brother enters the backroom of the boutique where you were working along with some papers in his hands. He looked and sounded a bit annoyed, but you knew it was unintentional. It has been especially a stressful week.

~"I did, but I am kind of in the middle of something here..." You trailed off as you stuck out your tongue in concentration and still not looking in your brother's direction.

~"Oh, apologizes sister. I thought you were having your break." He spoke more softly this time as he took a seat at his desk that was right next to yours.

~"I would be, but I have to finish this gown before closing. The customer said they would come to pick it up today."

~"I've noticed you have been working more lately. You must be more tired than usual." He pointed out, with a saddened tone.

~"Thank you for reminding me." You flatly commented as you continued to work.

~"I didn't mean to insult you, I'm just worried about your health." You scowled as you finally finished sewing the ornament and cut off the excess thread.

~"Yes, I have been working more lately since I also have to do a part of your work too. For example, last week you were gone for two days when you went to market our shop to the extravagant ball that had wealthy people from all over the capital." You still weren't looking at him.

~"And while you were spending time talking to very important people. I was here at the boutique doing my AND your work for those days." You looked over your masterpiece. Looking for any imperfections or accidental tea stains, finding none. "Plus, you wore one of my most expensive, delicate, and time-consuming suits." You continued your rant.

~"I have never made anything as high-quality as that suit, so if you somehow managed to get even one stain on it, you best believe I would have made you beg for mercy on your knees." You slipped the gown on a mannequin and spread the hem of the dress and took a step back to really see how it would look in the action.

~"It is breathtaking." William commented behind you.

~"William...." You said warningly as you finally turned to him, brushing non-existing dust off your dress skirt and long dress sleeves before crossing your arms. You could admit that right now you may act a little too harshly but you were tired and it clouded your judgment a bit.

~"Alright, alright, I know. But I already told you why all of it was necessary. We have to get our name out there, and what better way to promote our glorious suits and gorgeous dresses than letting them see them see first hand! You should have seen how intrigued and impressed all the men and women were when they saw me." He tried to lift your spirit by smiling brightly and jumping up and down a little.

~He wasn't wrong. If you two wanted more customers than the locals, you had to expand your promotion. And it took lots of effort and skill to lure people to consider buying your clothing, and William was good at that. And since you were a bit more advanced in sewing than William, it meant that you could get work done faster, hence you could handle the workload if he had to leave for a while. So you were always left to sew alone at the boutique.

~But it still bothered you.

~"I know, but it still frustrates me that it's always you who gets to go to the magnificent balls, wearing luxurious clothing while I'm here by myself working my arse off." You ranted while you paced back and forth in front of him. “They probably thought you tailored that suit and not me.”

~"I specifically told them that you, my dear sister, had been the one who made it." He grabbed your shoulder, in a last effort to stop your nonsense blabbering.

~"And you think they were listening? "A young woman couldn't possibly make something so prestigious and form-fitting for a businessman." "She surely couldn't have made it." "There is no way she designed it." I've heard them all!"

~"Calm down (Name)... You're breathing heavily again..." You didn't even realize you were. You took a couple of deep breaths and gazed at the floor.

~"It's just so... unfair..." You said depressed as you hugged him. You knew it had to be this way, but after a while, you start to grave for a taste of something new and exciting. Not the same old, same old bread that you have been chewing for the last few years.

~William knew how much more credit he was getting than you since most people automatically assume he's the one who designs the suits and accessories because he's the man who people first meet. In reality, it's you who does that. You're the one who basically runs the boutique, not him. William hugged you tightly back.

~"I know (Name)... I know."

~~~

~"Oh, did I forget to mention that a customer had booked an hour-appointment for this morning?" William asked as he went through some mail at his desk. You were just walking down the stairs from your shared home with your tea in hand.

~It was very convenient to have the boutique on the first floor and then your living quarters on the second. Affordable and comfortable, that's what you say. And you were always on time to open the store for customers.

~And with you being happy for once in a long time as you got a good night's rest, you figured that this day would be over in a breeze. You sipped your drink and sat down at your own work desk.

~"Yes, you forgot to mention. Did they say anything special in the letter?" You inquired.

~"Hmm..." He quickly read the letter again. "They said they wanted us to make a suit for them. Said that they would discuss more once they're here."

~"Interesting, It has been a while since we've made a custom suit. Did you get the name of the customer?"

~William looked at the letter again to see who the suit it was for, and his eyes widened to the size of saucers as he read the name.

~"Bloody hell!" He exclaimed as he jumped from his seat.

~"What is it, brother?" You questioned as you put down your empty teacup.

~"The customer is Enji Todoroki!!!"

~"WHAT!!!" It was your turn to shout and jump up from your seat. By what chance was someone so well known as Mr. Todoroki, coming to buy a suit from your small boutique?

~"Are you serious!? You mean... the owner of the steam train factory!?" You jumped from your seat ecstatic.

Enji Todoroki was well known for his very serious and hypercritical personality, and he even made a bigger name for himself when he funded the designing and building of the newest and the fastest train in the country. You didn't really favor him for his gruff and intimidating attitude, nor did your brother, but this was an amazing opportunity to get more publicity for your business since he is, a well-known and respected man amongst the wealthy.

~"Exactly him!!!" He confirmed.

~"I can't believe this!!! This is amazing for the business if he is satisfied with the outcome of the suit!" 

~"You said it, sister." He smiled brightly.

~Just then, the doorbell rang in the main area and multiple pairs of footsteps could be heard step inside the boutique. You and William looked at each other and breathed in together, as a silent language to tell the other to 'calm down and act natural'. As though you weren't shouting just a second ago.

~William exited the back room first with you following suit with a tape measure hanging around your neck and a freshly dusted off dress.

~The actual boutique of the building wasn't anything too special nor expensive looking. In one room, there was a giant front desk with plenty of table space, the whole wall behind the desk was filled with different colored and/or patterned fabrics, the right side of the boutique had different styled dresses and suits neatly hanging on clothing racks for customers who wished to spend a bit less on looking good, and the whole left side of the store held a large mirror, a couple of couches for guests to sit on, and a folding screen for privacy.

~For rich people, it may look cheap, plain, or downright shameful. But for you and your brother, it was your pride and home.

~"Good morning Sir! Welcome to The Siblings Attire and Accessories! How may we help you, gentlemen?" William greeted the two males plus their butler.

~"When you see such a fine suit presented to you, you would think the tailor would have a better taste in furniture." Mr. Todoroki shamelessly commented and you and William internally winced. It was your first time meeting the man and you were already tempted to give him a piece of your mind. Instead, you silently exhaled and bit your lip.

~"We apologize if our shop looks a bit flimsy to your taste, but I can assure you that our clothing won't disappoint you." You stepped up next to your brother.

~"I sure hope so." You weren't listening to him, but instead, your attention shifted to the person standing a bit away from him. The male's eye-catching two-colored hair immediately caught your attention as soon as you walked into the room, and now that you had a better look at them, he seemed to have even different colored eyes.

~He also had a painful-looking scar over his left eye that somehow made his already interesting aspects look even more intriguing. Or perhaps it was a birthmark? Either way, he was handsome, you were not gonna lie.

~Clearly he didn't enjoy being near Mr. Todoroki, or maybe even here in the first place. You couldn't tell from his mildly annoyed look while he kept a fair distance. Poor man.

~"Over a week ago, I attended a ball that you also happened to be present at, and I saw your high-quality suit. I need you to make a similar one for my son Shoto. We are going to be attending another ball and he needs a new suit." He explained and the whole time he didn't even spare a glance at you, as though you weren't even there. But his son did give you a mute acknowledgment, which made you feel better.

~"Certainly. If you could come this way Mr. Todoroki, I will take your measurements." You motioned with your hand for the dual-hair-colored male to walk over to the mirror as you grabbed a notepad and a pen from a drawer. He complied and went to stand in front of the mirror.

~"Aren't you supposed to take his measurements." The older Todoroki asked your brother.

~"Um... Pardon?" He inquired back and you turned to look at the nobleman.

~"I just was just wondering. You're the one who's going to sew it after all?" You gripped the notepad in your hand tightly out of anger. Who does this man think he is to assume who's gonna make what, and expect to be right? 

~"I apologize Mr. Todoroki, but my sister was the one who tailored the suit I wore to the ball last week. So she will be making your son's suit." William corrected him nervously as you sensed the fire of anger burning behind you.

~"She will be sewing the suit?" Mr. Todoroki inquired, sounding like he believed this was some kind of a joke.

~You were very close to saying something to the bastard, but the Todoroki whose name you learned was Shoto beat you to it.

~"Shut it father, it doesn't matter. Let her just do her job." He said in an annoyed tone.

~Fortunately, Mr. Todoroki didn't have to be told twice as he let the subject go with a 'tch' and a look of irritation towards both your way. Shoto 'tch'ed in response and began to take his coat and hat off. He handed the articles of clothing to his butler and lifted his arms to let you take his measurements.

~You began to measure him and asking basic questions such as what kind of vest he wanted over his dress shirt and how long he wanted the coat to be.

~He decided on a basic five-button vest with a coat that ended at the back of his knees. He wanted no ruffles on his outfit except for the neck piece.

~"I prefer not to have them." He expressed.

~"I understand." You said as you scribbled down some notes in a hurry. "Now what fabrics do you want your suit to be made from?" You led him to the wall where you stored your fabrics. Letting him have a look at them.

~"If you don't have anything special on your mind, I can recommend some colors for you if you'd like."

~"Please do."

~"Well let's see..." You trailed off as you thought deeply. "I think this royal blue would suit you well along with white and pale gray." You grabbed the tree rolls of fabric and placed them on the counter behind you for Shoto to see how the colors looked next to each other.

"I can make the coat mainly from this royal blue, and I can add some accessories to it such as buttons or other details. The dress pants could be made from this white, and the vest from the gray. I could even add a chain for your pocket watch on the vest." You rambled as you quickly sketched a rough picture of the finished outfit.

~Shoto listened intently as you continued on explaining what would look best on him and questioned if he wanted to make any changes. He thought it was nice to have a say in what he wanted to wear, instead of it being decided for him. Every time, he'd feel uncomfortable wearing whatever the other tailors made for him, but he didn't want to waste their hard effort. Even if he did not appreciate the suit.

~This was a new experience for him and he liked it. You weren't pushing him to make the suit from the most expensive and uncomfortable materials. On the contrary, you let him feel the fabrics and then decide what he wanted.

~For once in his life, he enjoyed the suit tailoring process.

~"Oh, I apologize. I am rambling again." You looked downcast, embarrassed.

~"It's quite alright, but about the vest, could it be made from a fabric with a pattern instead?" he politely asked.

~"Of course! Which one would you prefer?" You pointed to the gray fabrics that were each differently patterned.

~"I would like that one." He pointed to a roll that was out of both of your reach.

~"Alright, let me get it for you." You spoke as you grabbed a step ladder and placed it in front of the shelf. 

~You grabbed the hem of your dress and carefully climbed up to grab the roll, but forgot how heavy the roll actually was, so you started to lose your balance on the ladder. Shoto noticed your struggle and swiftly came to your aid by grabbing the roll from the other end with one hand while the other went to your back.

~"Careful, you could fall and injure yourself." He cautioned you and you blushed slightly.

~"T-Thank you, I'll be more careful next time." You said and placed the roll on the table. 

~You continued on designing the suit while your brother William kept your other guests entertained. Soon you two came up with a plan and Shoto seemed happy with it. All of the men left the boutique shortly after with Shoto promising he'll come again later that week for the first fitting.

~For some reason, you were looking forward to meeting him again.

~"Goodness! That was intense." You sighed heavily as you sat down on the couch with your sketch-notepad on your lap.

~"Not sure what you were expecting. They are a part of the Todoroki family and they tend to thrive for perfection. So of course they would want the perfect suit." William sat next to you.

~"Still. What really made this appointment easier was that this time the customer wasn't demanding ridiculous things or asking for a lower price. They even paid the 50% upfront without even batting an eye." You recalled.

~"They know what they are doing, and as long as we do what we're paid for, we won't be having any problems." He said.

~"Talking about problems, I'm still kind of upset about what Mr. Todoroki said..."

~"I understand your issue (Name), but it's better to just let it go. We must know our place, and that is below them." He reminded you and you sighed in defeat.

~"You're right…

~~~

~The day of the first fitting came, and Shoto Todoroki walked inside the boutique accompanied by the same butler as last time, except this time his father wasn't there. 

~This fact brought some form of relief to him as he wasn't sure how much longer he could tolerate his father's presence. Every minute Shoto spent in the same room as his old man when they had guests over or when they were at some meaningless ball, Shoto would imagine a pocket watch in his mind, count down the seconds and wait until he would be allowed to leave.

~In retrospect, one could say Shoto was happy to be in the small boutique. 

~It was a perfect excuse to be away from home for an hour longer than "intended". And since he wouldn't be allowed to move out of the household until he got married, these kinds of excuses were the types he was seeking for more often than not. And he gladly took every one of them.

~The familiar soft ring of the bell a top of the door signaled his arrival and shortly footsteps jogged out of the back room. It was the male tailor, William. Shoto looked around the boutique and didn't see the other tailor.

~"Ah, Good morning Sir! If my memory's not mistaken, you came in for a first fitting, am I right?" William said with the same enthusiasm as Shoto witnessed last time. This time however William's eyes looked a bit tired, which made Shoto wonder if the man had not slept enough.

~Why would he be concerned? He too has nights when he had to be working every once in a while. It was normal, nothing too serious.

~"Yes. You don't need to rush anything, I can wait until you're done with your current work." Shoto informed while taking off his hat.

~"Oh, I am sorry if you forgot, but I'm not the one responsible for your suit. I'll see if my sister is available. Please have a seat." William responded and disappeared into the back room again. Shoto paused for a moment but then shrugged off his coat and gave it to his butler to hold. 

~That's right, how could he forget.

~The white and red-haired male made himself comfortable on the couch as he silently thought. He felt like he was lucky to have you as his tailor. You sounded so inspired, motivated, and excited as you designed his suit. People with a passion for what they did, more often performed better than those who didn't.

~And it showed on the finished product. He wanted to know more about how you worked. How passionate one could be about something. It interested him for some reason.

~A few minutes passed by and there was no sign of either of the siblings, not even a sound could be heard. He wasn't getting impatient, but rather curious about what was keeping (Name).

~He didn't need to think about it much longer when he heard rapid heel clicks coming from the back room. Soon (Name) stood in the door frame with a pile of clothing in her hands, she bowed in courtesy.

~"I apologize for the wait. I was in the middle of sewing and you apparently told William that you could wait. Oh, and how are you?" You walked over to him. Now that you stood closer, Shoto could see the similar dark circles under your eyes too. For some reason, the sight made him sad this time around.

~"No need to apologize, I am in no hurry. And I am feeling good."

~"Alright then, let's start." You placed the pile of clothing on a small round table next to the mirror and handed him the fully finished white dress shirt and pants. Shoto took them and walked behind the folding screen to change.

~ a Few minutes later, he walked out and looked himself over in front of the mirror.

~"How does it feel? Any itchy spots? Is the fitting to your liking?" You questioned. Lightly tugging his shirt to the correct places and brushing off any hair or invisible dust on his shoulders out of instinct. You didn't realize it but Shoto noticed what you were doing, but he stayed silent.

~"They suit me perfectly, and I don't feel itchy at all." He commented as he looked at himself in the mirror. He really wasn't one to admire himself when he was in front of a mirror, but this time he couldn't help but look at himself as maybe for the first time in his life he felt comfortable while also looking good.

~"So nothing needs to be changed?"

~"No." He confirmed.

~"Excellent. Now let's try the vest." You said as you walked the few steps over to the round table. "I will have to apologize, for the vest is not completely finished." You held the piece of clothing behind Shoto, gesturing that you would like for him to put it on. Shoto carefully bent his arms back and stuck his arms through the holes as you helped him to pull it on.

~The unfinished garment had strings hanging from everywhere, unsewn seams, and buttonless holes. Even so, it looked exactly like he imagined it would. The shade of grey and the patterns were very much to his liking and he could already imagine how much better it would look once the buttons were sewed on and the whole piece was tidied up.

~"I like it very much." He commented as he shifted so he could see it from different angles.

~"I'm glad it is to your liking." You nodded as you scribbled extra notes on your notepad.

~"May I ask what you are writing?" Shoto inquired curiously.

~"I'm writing some notes. Now that I see you dressed in the clothing, I now have a better picture in mind what details I can add to your jacket since it will be the most eye-catching garment out of all the others."

~Shoto stood there before the mirror, where it would have looked like he was looking at himself but in actuality, he was looking at the woman behind him in the mirror. He couldn't explain how he was still mesmerized by how much work and effort you were putting into his suit.

~In this day and age, most tailors wouldn't give way too much thought to what they were sewing. It was all about how many pieces of clothing they could sell with the least amount of time and expense because they had families to feed and couldn't afford to waste time.

~But here you were. Putting so much effort into a suit that many men like himself would only use a few, if not only once, and then have another one made.

~Shoto can't count all the times a suit was tailored for him because after he wore it once, he would throw it away, for it was too uncomfortable or it tore easily. He had a few suits that he liked, but they weren't too formal. More so for running errands and such.

~"I'm quite impressed with your commitment to your work." Shoto turned to you as you were still scribbling on the paper. You stopped as you heard him speak.

~"Pardon?" You were caught off guard by his question.

~"Don't get me wrong, I wasn't implying that I thought you would do a bad job. I'm implying that I'm surprised at how much thought you seem to put into the clothes you make." He clarified. You stood there for a moment thinking about how to respond.

~"You could say I am passionate about the suits and dresses that I make." You temporarily pocketed your notes and pencil into your dress’s pocket while gesturing for him to take off the vest. Shoto complied and gave it to you.

~"Growing up, my family didn't have enough money to buy new clothes. So I always admired all the people with gorgeous dresses and fancy suits along with decorated headpieces and hats. Only to dream to someday own such pieces of clothing myself." You recalled as you sat down on the couch and started scribbling into your notebook again.

~"My mother was always busy working around the house, so usually I along with William were the ones who patched up our family's clothes with a rusted needle. Over time I and William got quite good at sewing and made it into a small business amongst the neighbors who didn't know how to sew." You continued. 

~"As years passed and we got better at sewing, our parent's health only weakened. Before they passed, our mother told us to do what we were passionate about and to do our absolute best at it." You finished with your notes and stood up to motion to the boutique.

~"That's exactly what we did. We sold everything we owned, took a small loan, and bought this boutique and all the equipment, fabric, and necessities to open a tailoring business with all the money we had. We made a name for ourselves with the quality formal wear we sold and here we are." You finished the story with a smile, remembering all the hard times you and your brother had to endure to be where you are right now. Looking back, you didn't regret anything.

~While you sat on the couch talking away, Shoto stayed put and listened to your every word. After hearing how much you worked and endured in your life to be where you are now, he felt so intrigued by you. a Woman who became something from nothing along with her brother, while his job and fortune were practically guaranteed from the moment he was born.

~You and your brother deserve respect for working so much and sacrificing sleep for your craft, but some people don't always give any because they are wealthier. In Shoto's mind, it's pathetic. To act ungrateful and more important only because they are wealthier than the person they are buying from. 

~'How unfair.' Shoto thought. And there's nothing he could really do about it.

~"That's a very inspiring story." Shoto commented with a hint of emotion he rarely shows as he stepped behind the folding screen to change out of the clothes back to his own.

~"You think so?" You called from the other side as you folded the vest and hung it over your arm and waited for him to finish. 

~"Yes, it's very inspiring in my opinion to hear such stories. It proves that people can be worth much more than some perceive." He said and you didn't know what to say. From the moment you first saw this split-hair-colored male, you knew he would be an unusual customer. But surely you weren't expecting him to think so highly of people "lower" than him. 

~He talked with you without the usual snappish, rich people attitude, which by itself already hinted to you that he didn't care about the difference between the social classes. He didn't even seem to mind when you talked minutes upon minutes about his ordered clothes or your passion for sewing.

~'He indeed is an unusual customer.' You thought.

~"Should we arrange another time for another fitting?" Shoto inquired as he handed the clothes back to you in a neatly folded pile. You nodded to him as you took the clothes.

~"Let's do to that, I'm confident that by then I will have at least a jacket ready for you to try on, However, I can't promise if it will have any details..." You trailed off as you dug around under the front desk for an appointment book. You let out a small 'aha!' when your fingers hit the said book.

~You dug it out and opened it at the page you or William wrote last. "Hmmm, I'm free next Thursday at 8 AM." You proposed. He nodded.

~"That will work." You nodded and started writing away with the ink pen. a few seconds went by when he suddenly spoke.

~"I apologize, but could you do a small request of mine?" You looked up at him when you finished writing.

~"What were you thinking?" You inquired, closing the book in front of you.

~"Do you decorate other pieces of clothing such as top hats?" You quirked your eyebrow at the request.

~"I've done it a few times, but usually that's the hat makers job." You spoke honestly.

~"I was only thinking of something small to make it match the suit, and I already have a hat you could decorate." You thought about it.

~"Sure, you'll just have to pay a bit extra for the finished suit because I decorated the hat too." You reminded him.

~"Of course, thank you." He smiled slightly, satisfied that he managed to convince you. You blushed at the sight and you cleared your throat quietly to distract yourself.

~"Pleasure doing business with you." You said with a smile. He nodded and bid you goodbye. 

~Once Shoto stepped out of the boutique followed by his butler, whose existence you completely forgot about, you let out a loud sigh as you slumped onto the front desk. Thinking about the nice things Shoto said to you and his gentle smile.

~'What is wrong with me?' You pinched the bridge of your nose blushing as you couldn't stop your mind replaying the past half an hour in your head. You stayed there for a moment when William emerged from the back room, holding a cup of tea in his hand while the other rested in his front pocket. He must be taking a break.

~"How is it going?" He sipped at his tea.

~"Well... I have a lot of work on my hands, that's for sure."

~~~~~~~~~~

[sodalitefully]

Santa Slash is coming to town...

This fic is the Christmas-themed spiritual successor to my Easter Bunny AU.  Special thanks to @slashscowboyboots for supporting all my holiday nonsense! 

Four snapshots from Slash’s Christmas prep marathon through the years:

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Jingle bells.  

Fucking jingle bells.

There were FIFTEEN of them on the stupid-fucking-candy-colored costume he had to wear at this godforsaken excuse for a seasonal job.  “Earn some extra cash,” they said.  “It’s easy, you barely have to do anything,” they said.  "You'll be perfect, you already look the part!" they said.  

"They are about to find a size-ten jingle-toed bootie up their ass,” Axl said – to himself, as he rushed into the storage room turned "dressing room" and buttoned up his itchy red and green vest with one hand while sipping an Orange Julius from the food court with the other.  

“Hey, Axl! You’re barely late today, awesome!”

And then there was this weirdo.

Axl could not for the life of him explain why a shopping mall in Indiana elected to hire a skinny dude in his 20s with a dark complexion and a nose ring to portray Saint Nick himself, but whatever the reason, Axl was stuck working with this fruitcake until Christmas Day.  Sure Slash was nice enough (oh yeah, and his name was Slash, or at least that's how he introduced himself without offering any explanation or even a last name), but he was way too enthusiastic about getting paid minimum wage to let strange kids sit in his lap at a grimy old shopping mall.

Uh, not in a weird way, Slash was good with the kids, really.  But sometimes... it seemed like he was taking his role a little too seriously.  

"How come you don't have a beard?" the first customer of Axl's shift, a little girl in a Tweety bird sweater and blonde pigtails, asked suspiciously.

"That's a good question,” Slash said, scratching at his bare chin. The neck of his Motörhead Beyond the Threshold of Pain Tour T-shirt was visible over the faux fur collar of the Santa costume, and his shiny black boots clearly came from a military surplus store. “I get asked that a lot but the truth is, it just isn't a flattering look, trust me.  I tried it once, and the elves could barely look at me in the eye." To Axl’s incredulity, the girl actually accepted that answer.  "Now tell me, what would you like for Christmas this year, sweetheart?"

As usual, Axl tuned out at this point.  Fake a smile for the overprotective parents, take the painfully awkward commemorative photograph, try not to look like he would rather die than hear Slash try to gently explain that Santa will probably not be delivering a pony this year one more damn time, rinse and repeat – until about an hour later, when the unthinkable happened.

The less said about about the incident, the better.  Suffice to say, one of the darling angels tossed his Christmas cookies, and some of the resulting mess wound up soaking into the front of Axl’s elf costume.  As if he needed another reason to hate his job; this was just adding insult on top of injury (that is, the injury to Axl’s pride as a result of being forced to wear the most ridiculous-looking costume he’s ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on). 

“That’s it. I quit.”  He grabbed the elf cap off his head and slammed it on the ground, then stormed through the exit gate past the sign wishing customers a "Holly Jolly Holiday Season," the bells on his costume ringing merrily as he stomped his feet.

“Hey, wait!”

“No,” Axl growled, but he did turn around to look back at Slash, still sitting in the plastic candy-cane throne unbothered by the mess or the sniffling child now mostly placated by a peppermint candy.  "What."  

Slash offered him a bright, beguiling smile.

"What do you want for Christmas, Axl?" 

-----

Nothing said "holiday cheer" like wandering the tinsel-adorned labyrinth that was a Walmart superstore a week before Christmas, with Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" echoing through the tinny PA system and surrounded by other last-minute vultures hopelessly scavenging the picked-over aisles.  

In Izzy's defense, he actually finished all his shopping early this year, for once.  But then his two little brothers begged him to drive them around town to find the perfect gift for a girl at school that they apparently both had a crush on, and like a fool he agreed. 

He was regretting it now.  Anything would be better than subjecting himself to nearly an hour of top-40 Christmas music.  The jingle bells were jingling, the carolers were caroling, the B-list pop stars were spitting out god-awful covers of Christmas classics, and don’t even get him started on the commercials. 

He wasn't about to walk around in public with his fingers shoved in his ears (at least, he wasn't that desperate yet), but he did squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to relax.  Just take deep breaths and think of The Rolling Stones... 

"Hey, uh, you doing okay?"

Izzy opened his eyes reluctantly.  In front of him was a young man wearing a concerned expression and a Santa hat, stuffed onto a massive pile of dark curls.  

"I'm fine.  Just finding out if it's possible to die from overexposure to Christmas music."

"Ahhh."  The man nodded in understanding.  "It's not, unfortunately.  I've tested it, trust me."

"Do you work here or something?" Izzy asked.  A leather jacket and ripped jeans didn't look like an employee uniform, but his hat matched the store decor and he didn't have a cart or shopping basket.  

"No, I'm actually a seasonal distributor.  Just checking in to make sure everything's in place before that last holiday rush, you know? Shit always gets crazy at the last minute."

"Tell me about it," Izzy responded, as if he knew a thing about marketing as a cynical 16-year-old.  But he had first-hand experience with last-minute crises, and as if to prove it, his brothers came running up to him at that moment.

"Jeff!  We can't find anything good, what should we do?"

"What's the problem?" the stranger in a Santa hat asked, looking genuinely concerned.  

"We don't know what present to get for a girl at school," the boys explained.

"Hmm..." He tapped at his chin.  "Why don't you just – oh wait, you're underage.  Well, how about you bake her some cookies or something?  That's what everyone does for me and I have no complaints."

Desperate to remove himself from this musical hell, Izzy jumped on the idea.  "Yeah, you could do sugar cookies!  And decorate them like horses, she likes horses right?” The boys had only mentioned that a dozen times; Izzy was starting to wonder if this girl even had any other personality traits.  

To his relief, a spark lit up in his brothers' eyes.  Cookies were a perfect idea, and suddenly they were dragging him away to look at cookie cutters and sprinkles.

Izzy turned around to shoot the helpful stranger a grateful look, but when he looked back, the man had disappeared with no trace, leaving not even a furry white pompom behind.

-----

Slash glanced out the window and grimaced – it was cold as a witch’s big bouncy tit outside, nothing but snow and ice as far as the eye could see. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and took another swig of hot Irish coffee.   Damn the North Pole, there was a reason he took his summer vacations in Malibu.

But despite the miserable work conditions, Slash was nothing if not dedicated to his job.  In front of him was a sack overflowing not with toys but with the most recent letters to Santa, straight from the North Pole's post office.  With Christmas only a few days away, his daunting task was to go through the whole mountain of letters as quickly as possibly in order to take their special requests into consideration before it was time to start loading up the sleigh.  

Well, there was no time like the present to get started.  Slash stretched his back and got comfortable in his coziest armchair (by throwing his legs over one armrest and slouching until his head rested on the other), absentmindedly tapping the end of his peppermint stick on the edge of an ashtray.  He grimaced when he brought the stick back to his lips and realized his mistake. 

With a sigh, he dropped the peppermint stick back in the ashtray already full of cigarette butts and ruined candies, and unfolded the first letter.  In barely legible green marker, the message read: 

Dear Santa Claus,

My name is Steven and I'm 5 years old.  Please give me a skateboard for Christmas.  My brother has one and he won't let me borrow it to learn tricks.

Hmmm.  Five years old was a little young for a skateboard.  Knowing Steven, he'd probably knock his teeth out by New Year's...

...Slash shrugged.  Why not?  All things considered, he would have killed for a skateboard when he was five, so who was he to say no?

-----

Duff was seven years old when his older brothers cornered him in the backyard and gleefully informed him that Santa Claus was a fraud.  It was all a lie made up by parents to convince their children to behave during the year, they explained, and the toys were made on factory lines not by magical elves.  Their mother gave them a hell of a scolding afterwards but it was too late, the deed could not be undone. 

He tried to play it cool, but the truth was, Duff was very distraught as Christmas Eve inched closer.  Could his siblings be right?  He didn't want to believe it, but if he was being honest with himself, he'd suspected as much for some time.  He braced himself to accept the hard truth come Christmas Eve – but only if he was presented with definitive proof.

When the fateful night finally came, Duff and two of his brothers laid out their sleeping bags behind the couch, where they'd be hidden from view if anyone tried to approach the Christmas tree.  They all swore not to fall asleep, not even for a second until Christmas morning... And it wasn't until his brother started snoring that Duff realized he was the only one still awake and silently anticipating the moment of truth.  

It was imperative, of course, that he stayed hidden and didn't make a sound, or else risk giving their plot away.  But... it was past midnight, dinner was hours ago and Duff's empty stomach was starting to distract him from the task at hand.  He couldn't stop thinking about all the food he would get to eat with his family on Christmas Day: the glazed ham, mashed potatoes, apple pie and Christmas cookies... 

In the dim light, Duff could just barely make out the plate of cookies for Santa, waiting in front of the tree.  The cookies were still there untouched, all six of them... Surely no one would notice if Duff ate just one?  

He tiptoed over his sleeping siblings, as silent as the snow falling outside, making his way around the sofa to the plate on the coffee table.  But just as he reached out to pluck a gingerbread man from the assortment, he saw a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye.  There, beside the Christmas tree in the flickering glow of multicolored string lights, was a mysterious figure in a fur-lined coat and a red cap.

Duff stared at the intruder, slack-jawed.  The cookie clattered back onto the dish, and at the noise the stranger whirled around to face him. 

"Duff!  What are you doing still awake?" he demanded.  Duff took a breath to answer – or more likely to ask how the man knew his name – but before he could, the man peered over the couch, narrowed his eyes and frowned.  "Oh I see what this is. You thought you would catch your parents pretending to be me!" he accused.  "Well, here's the real truth: adults are always wrong and you should never do what they say!" 

The man – could he really be Santa Claus? – he planted his leather-gloved hands on his hips as he scolded Duff.  "And don't even get me started on teenagers..." he griped, casting a stare over Duff's shoulder where his older brother's leg was sticking out from behind the couch, tangled in a blanket.  

Tears started to well up in Duff's eyes.

"Please still give them Christmas presents!  I know they said they don't believe in you, but they've been good, I promise!" he begged.  Santa's expression softened.

"Aw, I know, kid.  I promise they'll still get their presents, alright?  Let me just finish up here and then maybe you can help me out with those cookies, sound good?"

Placated, Duff sniffled and nodded, scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He hopped onto the sofa, swinging his feet and watching with awe as Santa pulled beautifully wrapped gifts out of seemingly nowhere and stacked them around the tree, one after another until all eight of the McKagan children were represented. He took a step back to take in his handiwork, made a few minor adjustments, then turned back to Duff: “Voila! That’s the magic of Christmas. Now pass me that plate, would you?”

Santa sat down next to Duff and propped his boots up on the coffee table. When Duff held out the plate of cookies, he selected one decorated to look like Santa Claus, white beard and all, and promptly bit its head off. 

“I love my job, but delivering presents is exhausting,” he sighed, accepting a glass of milk from Duff’s outstretched hand. “I’ve already covered Asia, Africa, Europe, and most of the Americas, so I’d say I’m due for a break.  Cheers, Duff.” He held up his glass and Duff tapped it with his half-eaten cookie. 

“To a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!”

🎄🎄🎄🎄

[rumandtimes]

Does Cultural Appropriation Apply to Natalie Portman?

Sean Ezersky

Assoc. Fantasy Contributor

Does appropriation apply to the worst parts of European cultures?

Today, I want to discuss cultural appropriation. Yes, the issue of the times. But what exactly is cultural appropriation? Well, nobody knows. Starting at the first word, it claims to be some kind of appropriation. And it has something to do with culture.

Firstly, it should be said that this article has nothing to actually do with cultural appropriation. That is because cultural appropriation is essentially defined by racism. The term first appears, so it goes, as a description of how racist citizens of England marginalised and exploited the peoples of the Caribbean, and attacked sections of the working class schtick, for fun. Sounds evil enough.

The term cultural appropriation cannot be used as a mild term or played around with much, because it is by definition a form of misconduct. The term cultural appropriation is defined by the words “inappropriate,” “racist,” and “commercialist.” There is no redeeming quality to cultural appropriation because cultural appropriation is used to describe exclusively irredeemable activity, markedly opposite to cultural exchange or respect.

Consider the worst perpetrator in the United Kingdom and the United States: hip-hop / rap music, curly hair, or a summer tan. Racists always attack these music genres and human characteristics un-European, placing them into the same box on the fringes of their minds, but at the same time view themselves as ‘cultured’ for dipping into the same music, view themselves as ‘interesting’ for factory curling their hair, or view themselves as ‘unique’ for getting a spray-on tan. There is a murderous and delirious sense of bad irony, that racists altogether marginalise, demonise, and lust after perfectly normal traits and human practices, which the racist calls exotic, for fear of being labelled as freaks themselves. That is cultural appropriation.

Another bad actor is the billion-dollar yoga industry in Western nations as well, which attempts at every corner to steal Indian culture then mutilate the original concept, taking the yoga gurus off the cover and planting in some body-bleaching whores, or some wavy Italian guy, to appeal to the racist American, à la youth female target audience. All the while, Hinduism, inextricable from yoga’s origins while not necessarily the same as yoga in any way, is viewed as a false and inexpiable religion by most people in the West. Yoga was not learned from the Hindu, it was looted, and replaced with a shallow, cruel, commercial, and disgraceful attempt to Europeanise and trivialise the hobby while selling it the crude sex markets. That is a form of cultural genocide and religion-sacking. That is cultural appropriation.

But this article is not about cultural appropriation, in a way. The distinction was only added to please those offended by the comparison. This article is about movies, as part of a series of Star Wars critiques, and it’s about Natalie Portman.

Long have I harboured a question about Natalie Portman’s career, as it is so vapid yet so prolific, so vain yet so ubiquitous. This is just the opportunity. Natalie Portman got her start in acting as a 16-year-old leading actress on Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. She returned three years later as a 19-year-old lead on Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, where her character dies. After moving on from the Star Wars prequels, she used that resume to enrol at Harvard University to study psychology.

She has actually commented on this, as all Harvard associates eventually do, saying she and her peers felt she was only enrolled because she was in Star Wars, and this insecurity led her to push harder than her friends in her classes and challenge herself by picking ‘harder-than-necessary’ classes. Still, psychology is the most common undergraduate degree major among women, so hardly original. Whether or not Natalie invites the assessment or feels it is correct, this is undoubtedly true; She, as most people, never would have been looked at by Harvard if she did not have some kind of bank of riches or wealth of limelight that could be mined by the admissions board. Natalie might want to be viewed as a genius of “Hebrew literature” who stood out among the crowd, but that is just impossible parlour speak. Not that she deserves to go to Harvard any less than anyone else, no one deserves to go to Harvard, as Harvard in the 20th Century existed for the sole purpose of excluding people who were not rich, famous, or connected: not academics, so Natalie’s lie to herself merely parrots Harvard’s lie to the world.

But I want to go back just a second. Yes, Natalie Portman said she studied Hebrew at Harvard, even if not intensely enough to double-major in it. That is because her name is not actually Natalie Portman. Her name is Neta-Li Herschlag, and she is Jewish. So, studying Hebrew isn’t impressive knowing she speaks fluent Hebrew at home. That is not to undermine literature, as English-speakers still study English literature, but it’s hardly extraordinary. Hershlag, as I will now be exclusively referring to her, is using her association to Harvard, Judaism, and other, lesser, things to seem smart, yet all of those were gifted to her by either birth or Star Wars.

Now comes the question of cultural appropriation. Neta-Li started her acting footprint as an understudy for the part of Elle Woods in Broadway plays. Yes, that Elle Woods, aside Britney Spears no less. It hardly seems like the right role for a good Jewish girl. But lo, there are some who might point out that Hershlag is an Ashkenazi, and therefore not actually Jewish, that is, not a Semitic person. This is a touchy subject for the Jewish community, particularly since the establishment of Israel: Who actually is Jewish, by means of ethnicity or heritage, and not just language and religion? Is there a meaningful distinction between the Semitic Jewish culture that remained in the Levant, the Sephardic Jewish culture that emigrated to Africa and Iberia, the Mizrahi Jewish culture in Iran and Arabia, the Yiddish Jewish culture that stuck around in Germany, and the Ashkenazi Jewish culture that settled Eastern Europe? Really, who knows, and that is a deeper question; a question, perhaps, for a student of Hebrew literature, wherever we should find one.

Nonetheless, Hershlag is most certainly not British. That Israeli-American nuance is fine for the world of “Naboo” in Star Wars, which ideally would defy every concept of the term “ethnicity,” but works less congruously for Elle Woods. In Star Wars, Hershlag was a doppelganger of Keira Knightly, a dyad which has persisted the entirety of Netali’s 30-year-long career. Here too, we find questions.

Netali gave an interview, which I discuss almost on a daily basis among my social circle, where she firmly wanted to establish herself as a kind of British legacy. She said, of herself, “I iron out my Jew curls” and bleaches/dyes her hair, for no particular reason other than she wants to, and thinks it will make her fit in. Netali also went on to say that no one has naturally yellow hair — which is true, they don’t — implying that a non-Jewish, European actress would not face the same questions about her hair she did. Because the concept of hair straightening and hair bleaching are Nazi holdovers in British and American culture, and as someone who personally hates Nazis, this endlessly infuriates me. All the more so because Hershlag identifies as Jewish!

If Hershlag thinks modifying her hair to make it look ‘more European,’ or, more correctly (since almost all young Europeans have brown hair), to make it look more Hitlerite, more ‘Arianised,’ is acceptable, then she must either view herself as European first and Jewish second, or just care very little about the legacy of antisemitic racism. Why else would a person who calls herself Jewish want to alter her appearance so drastically, in order to look like a posterchild for one of the Hitler Youth?

Many Jewish-Americans feel pressures of Nazi antisemitism and colonial racism in the United States, and many Ashkenazim respond to that by changing their names, Nazifying their looks, and abandoning the Jewish religion. Netali retains a veneer of her Jewishness on the inside, within her own self-perception, while turning into the Arianised version of the Elle Woods archetype on the outside, for the world to see. Is she just playing a part? Is there a real difference in the personality and values of Netali Hershlag vs. Natalie Portman?

People don’t treat her as such. Keira Knightly, for instance, is an Englishwoman. Knightly claims she is ‘British,’ not English, but she is definitely English. Intriguingly, Knightly never went to school, reportedly a dyslexic, while Hershlag, in the Jewish stereotype, went straight to Harvard College. I wouldn’t say Hershlag seems like a nice person, she seems like an ordinary person. Remember that she is part of the Star Wars pantheon of small-time actors who were lifted by George Lucas to notoriety, like Mark Hamill (despite him being my favourite Star Wars actor, I can never remember his name), Harrison Ford, and of course, Sir Alec Guinness CBE.

Jokes aside, with all the classically-trained, upper-class, heavy-hitters from Britain — Peter Cushing OBE, Sir Christopher Lee CBE, and Sir Alec — not to mention the affable nobodies from Hamill to Ford, most Star Wars people are considered likable, especially by fans of nerdom.

That is not to say anyone was struggling, as every lead character in Star Wars was already documented as rich and famous by the time they were cast, but they were “nobodies” in the sense they were not household names until after the film became one of the first Hollywood summer “blockbusters” in history.

Most of all, it is undeniable that, other than Lucas, no one defined the Star Wars films as much as Carrie Fisher, if not for a want of contrast. Fisher was the only female character in all three of the movies, and both the predecessor and counterpart to Hershlag’s character in the Star Wars prequels. Does Hershlag meet the comparison?

The two are very different, both personally and on-screen. Fisher at the age of 19 had sex with numerous middle-aged members of the cast, often the only female and only teenager in a room of dozens of men, forbidden to wear a bra or choose her own hairstyle but allowed to partake in the rumoured plethora of drugs on the set. Hershlag, part of Star Wars from 16 to 19, was entirely unremarkable, both in life and profession, not a very impressive actor or much of a hoot. Again, the good Jewish girl. Some blame Netali’s poorly role on the weakness of the prequels compared to the originals, just as some blame Carrie’s bipolar diagnosis for her eccentricity. Both of these are half-truths, as personality and talent can never be substituted for anything other than what they are. Nonetheless, Fisher and Hershlag were both made rich and famous. While Hershlag is the lesser in terms of her performance, she probably got in the end a much better long-term deal.

A boring role meant Netali would not be immediately typecast, though she went on to play exclusively the girl-next-door leading female interest for a male protagonist, much the same as in Star Wars: Episode II. Coming into acting younger meant she could largely leave acting after childhood, then return to it later as an adult experience. Moreover, we never got to see teenage Netali chained to a bed in a gold bikini.

Our good, Jewish girl.

So, if Hershlag is playing roles given mostly to British, or Hitlerite, actresses, is she not taking away from the British actor? There are too many actors in the world. They are overexposed and over paid, seen too much and given too much, as they are in the same camp as clowns, entertainers, and comedians. But, people like to be entertained, and in the world of capitalism where only money is worship in lapse of dignity, anything people like sells, and anything that sells can make people rich, and riches are a substitute for class, if only a thin one. Just as the weak-minded can be fooled by the Force, so are they easily bought and sold. The British or American actor suffers for nothing, and there are too many of them as it is.

But, does Hershlag have a place in displacing them, or moulding in to become one of them? And would it be cultural appropriation? Undeniably, Netali is conforming to something objectionable when she plays simple roles as sex objects and Hitlerite women, embracing if not embodying the racism and problematic nature of Hollywood casting. But then again, it is with her very body that she represents this trend. One could defend Hershlag, saying she is made to do these things, that she is not so much appropriating Western culture for her ends, but more so that Western culture is stifling her true self, at least if she wants to continue to have a role in acting.

An interesting counter-point, but undermined by Hershlag’s particular brand of coy self-promotion, and eagerness in taking on such roles. And are the Jewish people entirely exploited by Hollywood? In many respects, so-called Europeans are exploited by powerful Jewish moguls in media more often than the other way around, even if they are Jewish Europeans themselves. Harvey Weinstein, a Jewish millionaire who sexually assaulted non-Jewish Western women in order to get them roles, his Jewishness hardly made a ripple.

The biggest names in Hollywood: Steven Spielberg, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jerry Seinfeld, Paul Rudd, Marta Kauffman, J.J. Abrams, Scarlett Johansson, Harrison Ford, John Stewart, Louis Szekely, Mila Kunis, Daniel Radcliffe, Rachel Weisz, Gal Gadot, Roseanne Barr, Judd Apatow, Marcus Loew, Lauren Bacall, Adam Sandler, Amy Schumer, Larry David, Daniel Day-Lewis, Cassidy Freeman, Stanley Kubrick, Jennifer Connelly, Richard Dreyfuss, Samuel Goldwyn, Julia Garner, Elijah Allan-Blitz, Kirk Douglas, Ellen Barkin, Ingrid Pitt, Darren Aronofsky, Eva Green, David Geffen, Lesley Ann Warren, Paul Newman, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Ben Stiller, Louis B. Mayer, Alison Brie, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Chuck Lorre.

As Conan O’Brien jokingly stated: “The Cash-ews run Hollywood.” Almost every major production in Hollywood has a massive Jewish section of development. The United States, for whatever reason, is a majority “Christian-identifying” country, but Judaism plays a much more massive role in the culture than Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism combined. Even most of the agnosticism in ‘progressive’ Hollywood values comes largely from material secularism, or Jewish incredulity of Christianity, not an ideological pull towards atheism. Is this cultural reproachment why Jewish people are pulled towards media and entertainment, theatre being a known haven for outcasts and oddballs? The Judeo-Protestant alliance of the Hollywood ilk would seem to disqualify the established Jewish community — rich, interconnected, secular Jewish communities of New York, Los Angeles, and DC — from being an oppressed mass.

An important editor’s note is that the actors listed are: Jewish people who adopt non-Jewish appearances or non-Jewish values to a borderline-racist degree (i.e. Eva Green: Jewish actress who plays roles bookmarked for non-Jewish Europeans), thoroughly Jewish people who refuse to identify as Jewish (i.e. Julia Louis-Dreyfus: Jewish billionaire heiress who plays Jewish characters on TV), or regular observers of Judaism who are really, really famous (i.e. J.J. Abrams: co-director of the controversial Star Wars reboot).

More often behind the scenes than on-screen, but usually leading the show when taking a starring role, the Jewish imprint is inseparable from American movies, media production, television, the comedy scene, finance, and screenwriting. Is Jewish not the ruling order of Hollywood? And then would Europeans be the group on the margins? But why, if Jewish people write, pay for, and put on the shows, are there so few Jewish actors, and of those who are, why do they not look Jewish, or a better question would be, why do they try to avoid looking Jewish, and actively attempt to look Western European? That gives the impression that Jewish people are still marginalised in media, even if they are overrepresented in media, and generally more affluent, interconnected, and educated than those non-Jewish counterparts. Why do Jewish people go out of their way to appeal to racist audiences, and in the process erase their own Jewishness.

Maybe it is because the Hollywood Jewry isn’t actually Jewish. Nothing about their jobs or their behaviours embodies the Jewish religion. Most people in Hollywood in general consider themselves as nonreligious, yet that too, might be an influence of a markedly Jewish trait. Non-Christians in the United States are much more likely to turn to atheism and agnosticism on the one hand or fanatical extremism, likely due to being outcast by the mainstream Protestant dialogue, with liberal Jewish people often going agnostic and conservative Catholics often going supercharged while Muslims live on somewhere off in the shadows of public perception.

Yet nonreligious Jewish people still identify as Jewish, separating the religion of Judaism from the ethnic mark. Faith has nothing to do with appearance, and appearance is the base of antisemitism. Enter non-Jewish-looking Jewish people, usually women with heat-flattened hair, like Netali Hershlag and Gal Greenstein Godot. That is not to say they don’t look Jewish, as in an equal measure they all do and at the same time no one does, since what a Jewish person “looks like” is a narrow heuristic based on problematic cultural expectation. That is not to say they are or aren’t Jewish. But are Jewish people like Natalie Portman being forced to conform to racist society, or are they jumping on the bandwagon of racist society and using it to their advantage? Is there actually a difference between the two?

There is a deeper question lying beneath the surface here: The questions of “Jewish complicity in racism?,” “Jewish participation in neo-Nazism?,” and “If ‘Jew’ is a ‘race’ and ‘White’ is a ‘race’ then why are there ‘White’ and ‘non-White’ Jews?,” which other people have asked before. This article is not to address those questions, but they are acknowledged.

Certainly, there are some Jewish people who attach themselves to racist tendencies and Hitlerite habits out of personal advantage in the racist countries in which they might live. In this narrative, the notional collaborator Jewish community would blame the Europeans for racism and cast themselves as convenient survivors. That is not a uniquely Jewish trait, it is a flawed human trait, bystanderism, which defies religious teachings. Why there is such a prevalence among rich, secular Jewish people, of racism mixed with liberalism, is a concern. It could be as simple that, at a certain point, the trait “rich” might start to cancel out the trait “religious.” Old guard antisemites would be unforgiving regarding hatred towards ‘ethnic Judaism,’ and contemporary racist sentiments would reject Jewish people from the points of heritage and beliefs, but it is not immediately clear if Western neo-Nazis would target non-religious Jewish people who, quote, “pass” as Euro-Christians.

If Ashkenazim, Sephardim, and Mizrahim join Western cultures, ideals, and appearances while abandoning the Jewish religion, are they functionally Jewish at all? In the absence of different brands of generational antisemitism, what is holding back an atheist Ashkenazi from becoming a Nazi themself? The Jewish community and Israel critics have been ablaze with debate about the Eurocentric, Ashkenazim-focused account of Judaism in the West, drawing attention to the issue of inter-Jewish racism and inequality among the diaspora of the Jewish faithful. This question is debated separately for Jewish communities because unity is their faith. Followers of Christianity have always cut one another down over heresies and infidelities, but discourse and diversity have defined the post-Rabbinic tradition. The notion of one Jewish diaspora being more powerful than another, based not even on secularism such as in Christianity, but based solely on racism and adjacency to Christian empires, causes non-Ashkenazi Jewish communities to question that proximity in values and appearance Western Ashkenazi populations have with the goyish counterparts. Even the terms Ashkenazi and Mizrahi have taken fundamentally racist connotations, particularly in the advent of Zionism, to separate the ‘European Jewish’ from the ‘Arabian Jewish,’ in a kind of wartime apartheid of academia; a conflict emblematic of larger paradoxes in modern Israel.

This is not the focus of this article. Obviously, Jewish people living in Western Europe and urban America are more “Western” than people who live somewhere else. And obviously, Western nations have a serious and prolonged issue with racism. However, welding those two facts together, then conflating them with Judaism in some sense, would be a mistake.

There are some racist people in Hollywood who identify as, or are identified as, Jewish. That is not the question. The question is: How does the concept of cultural appropriation contribute to that complex dynamic, of conformity and exploitation in Hollywood, even amongst the big names?

This all comes back to the perceptual balance of power. Just as the term cultural appropriation is defined as a group being in a oppressive position and exploiting something that that group itself has made derogatory.

Is Netali Hershlag appropriating Western culture? In a way, yes. As a rich, powerful Jewish actress, she could hardly be said to be put at a disadvantage to Keira Knightly (Harvard versus dropout, remember), or the millions of aspiring brown-haired actresses who are shunned from Hollywood castings. And yet, she decides to look more like them. Obviously, as an ordinary woman herself, she has been victim to the usual sexism and obsessive demands of producers and directors concerning appearances, but that is hardly so say she is a victim. At any moment, she could deign to take a different part or produce her own movies (I would balk to call them films), rather than be typecast as the sexy and innocent girl-next-door. She lives the life of the good Jewish, girl, but never takes on those types of roles, opting instead for Princess Amidala, ballerina Nina Sayers, valley girl Elle Woods, comic book Jane Foster, or Englishwoman Anne Boleyn. Hershlag could at any moment leave acting to climb the ladder a Harvard A.B. clears the way for. How could Harvard Law School, or subsequently the California Democratic caucus, say no? Who wouldn’t pay for a doctor’s visit with the woman from V For Vendetta?

This is not to say that Jewish people are appropriating or imposing themselves upon Westerners, but it is to say that there is a distinct group of Jewish people who draw from Western or Hitlerite practices while entirely avoiding ‘Juden-haus’ or ‘Euro-trash’ rhetoric that hampers people on both sides of the racist conflict. Portman is Netali’s grandmother’s name, so she does have some kind of loose claim to it, if her cousins are still go by that name and she is close with them, while Natalie is a form of the name Neta-Li, and plenty if not most actors use stage names. Many people do racist or questionable things because they are in fashion. But altogether, one must ask the question why the self ascribed curly-haired Netali Hershlag is appearing is French wig and makeup commercials. Is it raw, unidealistic money? Is it Maybelline? Or it is fake hair, fake lashes, and a fake identity?

Natalie Portman is hardly an inspiring figure for women, playing roles subservient to men, often murdered by her lovers or terribly afflicted herself. This is true in Star Wars, Black Swan, Thor, V For Vendetta, and when she played the wife of wife-killer Henry VIII. Where is the liberty in being bedded by an uxoricidal maniac, be it a tired British period piece, or the obsessive Anakin Skywalker? Body modification of any type is not the product or respect or exchange, and can only be looked down upon as unnecessary and insecure. Acting is lying, but that does not mean the actress must change their looks or change their self to read some lines to a camera.

[chyrstis]

Hanarky for the ship meme? 👀💕

@geronimo-11 @amistrio @ma-sulevin @risenlucifer @himbopike

Let me just say that to get one ask is awesome. To get five asking for the same pair especially when it’s these two? <3 You’re all fantastic for asking, and I’m all too glad to dive into this for them.

Hana Vao / Sharky Boshaw

--

General:

Rate the Ship -  

Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - These two are full-on set on driving into that sunset together, and this last until they’re old and gray.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - It’s pretty fast for both. Sharky was a little love-struck if not during their initial intro, then shortly after, wondering who the hell this woman was, yelling Die Hard quotes while handing him molotovs, and why he didn’t have a chance to meet her sooner. Hana on the other hand was immediately charmed by his brand of absurdity, and after a week or two on the road, found she didn’t want to go a day without it. It didn’t take much longer for feelings to set in after that.

How was their first kiss? - Oh, it was a doozy. Entirely on accident, especially since she just wanted to thank him for always being sweet to her (and for finding coffee, b/c going without it’s been rough), and wanted to kiss his cheek. No big deal. She lays one right on his mouth instead, and the residual shock and the holy shit of it all makes her immediately exit stage left. The kiss they share later on down the line’s one she’s much more content with, b/c there’s no grey area, no doubting it at all, and the minute he returns it she’s almost overwhelmed by it. Sharky’s easily in the same boat, b/c this isn’t wishful thinking, or him hoping for something that isn’t there. It’s her wanting him, and once he can shut his mouth for longer than a few seconds at a time they get to making up for all the times they should’ve kissed before.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Sharky! It’s years down the line, but he finds a way to make a ring for her, and after checking to see if it fits, immediately proposes to her on the spot.

Who is the best man/men? - There’s no official ceremony, but Sharky would’ve wanted Hurk there for it, if possible.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Hana would’ve definitely asked Grace.

Who did the most planning? - Sharky! Hana had no damn clue what he had in mind, or was planning, but he actually managed to get a little misty-eyed while watching a proposal scene from one of her movie picks, so...

Who stressed the most? - Sharky. Though the poor guy didn’t get hit with most of it until he’d slipped the ring onto her finger.

How fancy was the ceremony? -

Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - N/A (Hurk Sr. gets an honorary mention here, though)

Sex:

Who is on top? - Both like the other on top so they’ll definitely switch, but Hana’s probably there the most often.

Who is the one to instigate things? - They’re both equally guilty of this with varying degrees of subtlety, and Hana’s absolutely burst out laughing at a few of Sharky’s attempts, but always gets right to kissing him soon after.

How healthy is their sex life? -

Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now - (hey, they’re making up for lost time here)

How kinky are they? -

Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - A good couple of rounds if they’re in a safe place, and time’s no object.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - They certainly try (though she grouses at Sharky whenever he gets a lead on her, leaving him wearing the worst shit-eating grin)

How rough are they in bed? -

Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -

No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Two! Gabrielle, and I’m still trying to zero in on a name for their little boy. Rocky? Jack? Kurt?

How many children will they adopt? - N/A

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - These two try to split this duty right down the middle.

Who is the stricter parent? - Hana, which is a feat. XD

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Also, Hana, b/c no matter what she and Sharky got up to before this, it’s really for the best that neither of the kids try to emulate that.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - It’s a team effort, and any no-cult AU would totally involve Sharky handing bags of chips and jerky to each kid with Hana on his heels ready with a sandwich or two.

Who is the more loved parent? - They’re both pretty equal, but Gabby loves working with Sharky in the Pyrotechnics lab big-time, while Kiddo #2 loves racing around with Hana (and is a movie trivia buff in the making)

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? N/A - Hana would be dragged kicking and screaming to them and hate it.

Who cried the most at graduation? - N/A due to the Collapse, but Sharky might win this one. He certainly sheds a happy tear or two whenever the kids hand him gifts or show him cool things they’ve made, and any award they’d earn? Whoops, he’d be a goner.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Hana’s up to bat first going through legal avenues, but if she can’t manage to wing it, Sharky’s ready to step up to the plate.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - They both would be take-out junkies, but Hana can make most of the basics.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Neither, really. She’d tease Sharky about deviating any from his jerky-heavy diet, though.

Who does the grocery shopping? - Probably Hana, but she’d drag him along for it too (and they’d race carts in the parking lot)

How often do they bake desserts? - Not frequently, but Hana would every once in a blue moon attempt a cake or brownies, and post-Collapse Sharky tries really hard to find a way to make that happen.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Meat, meat, meat.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Sharky, and although he’s not much of a cook, he’ll save her extra desserts for their anniversary week. Once they’re out he tries to go a little fancier, though, and doesn’t burn things to a crisp 60-70% of the time?

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Sharky.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? - Sharky.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - They’re both messy, so they try to take turns with chores.

Who is really against chores? - Sharky. He’s not thrilled with any of it, but puts up with it since

Who cleans up after the pets? - They don’t start off with pets, but Hana can’t help but feed a stray cat or two once they get to the surface, and gladly takes care of any messes they make.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Sharky, the sneak.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Both would usually be okay, but Hana does stress a bit more about cleaning when a certain someone John tends to visit.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Sharky would probably find the dollar while trying to sweep things under it, to be honest. XD

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Hana. It’s where she can unwind, and it only gets longer if she has company (which she usually hopes for and Sharky 100% delivers on)

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - If moments with Boomer count, Hana would totally go jogging with him, and did a few times while heading out on patrol.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Hana’s a Halloween junkie, and loves throwing parties, so that's a must even when they don't have many actual decorations to hang. Sharky won't hesitate to help her find some prime picks, though, and can whip up some great ones in a jiffy.

What are their goals for the relationship? - Have the other’s back no matter what, and make the other the happiest they’ll ever be.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Sharky.

Who plays the most pranks? - Sharky.

[sayhitoforever]

Burn Season - Malcolm Bright x Reader - PT (7/?)

A little holiday gift for all you lovely people.  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6-  Thanks for all the love and support for this series. You guys are wonderful, your feedback makes my heart feel so full. I am playing around with the idea of making this it’s own fic, with an OC protagonist instead of a reader insert. If I go through with that, you guys will be the first to know and I’ll post any links here, most likely for AO3. Thank you, as always, for reading. This will be the last update for 2019! GIF credit to diver5ion because Malcolm is serving LOOKS 👌 .

~

Even with the meticulously neat organization of the evidence, it had taken Malcolm well into the evening to get through the boxes. The pictures were spread across his island and the floor as he’d tried to set up the scene the way it had been when it was first photographed. He poured over each report and lab and all the testimony that had been gathered before starting in on Y/N’s notes, usually left on sticky notes stuck to the reports. Some of them were incomprehensible, clearly pulling facts and forming theories around evidence he’d yet to read through.

It was strange, he thought. Y/N had said it wasn’t personal, that she hadn’t cared about her father, but all the hard work in front of him said otherwise. It could be that he was misinterpreting it, that the dedication to all the evidence spread around him was just part of her job. It was stranger even that her father wasn’t among any of the victims contained in the boxes, not that he could tell at least. Why, he wondered, would she tell him what she had but leave out any information that corroborated her story?

Six crime scenes, six charred buildings, corpses into the double digits, the timeline spanning over eight years. It had grounds to qualify as a serial killer by the modus alone. Always an abandoned factory or warehouse, some condemned and dilapidated building. Planned, intentional, where no one but the intended victims could be hurt. It was an act of empathy, an act of restraint, and that ruled out any theory involving a sociopath.

Malcolm found that all of the victims in the boxes had some kind of mafia affiliation. It was a dawning sort of dread that fell over him as he realized that the manner in which they’d been tied up, every last one of them, reflected crimes they’d been alleged of committing. The two handcuffed to old piping were infamous sex traffickers, known for keeping women chained up in basements to be abused. Another with remnants of his shattered kneecaps found in the ash, both ankles broken, known for crippling his enemies before executing them with a bullet between the eyes.

We will make you sorry.

Retribution then, like paying it forward in the cruelest way possible. Forcing them to suffer that which they’d done to others before they died. It was the fire though; the fire didn't seem to fit. It was the odd piece of the puzzle. Why burn them? What was that a reflection of?

Malcolm was reaching for his phone to text Y/N when it chimed with a message from Gil. ID on the victims from the other night that they were able to pull from their dental records. More mafia thugs, he noted as he scrolled through the reports Gil had sent, before stopping at the list of their alleged crimes. And there at the bottom of all three was the answer to his developing theory. Alleged murder, charges that never struck, involving bodies out in the wilderness, tied to posts with rope and shot at like an execution by firing squad.

The next chime was a phone call and Malcolm brought the phone to his ear.

“Gil,” he said by greeting.

“You got anything for me, Bright?”

“I…” Malcolm hesitated, looking at the spread of evidence all over his loft. “I don’t know. There’s a lot here, Gil. Years of evidence.”

“Any of it you can bring in? We could try to help, offer a fresh pair of eyes?” Gil offered and Malcolm could hear the sound of a coffee pot being returned to its stand. He smiled tiredly; so they were all depending on caffeine to get through the day now.

“There’s too much here to bring.” Malcolm stared at photos of the fourth crime scene, recalling testimony of a nearby vagrant. Something about overhearing someone a short while before the old factory had gone up in flames:

We will make you sorry.

Malcolm sighed, knowing that a fresh pair of eyes might actually be of some help. “But, let me grab what is most important and I’ll head over. Is Y/N there? I had a couple questions for her.”

“I saw her about a half hour ago, so I would imagine she’s around here somewhere,” Gil replied.

“I’ll be there soon,” Malcolm promised and pocketed his phone again as Gil confirmed.

What precisely to bring with him out of the mountain of evidence before him was another beast entirely. Should he rebox it and bring it all with him? Should he even keep reflecting on old evidence when he had a new case with fresh evidence that might even have more reliable results to focus on? Photos at the very least would help, and he made quick work of returning them all to their properly labeled envelopes and slipping them under his arm after donning his coat.

The chill in the evening air was like a sigh of relief as it washed over him. He’d been cooped up for so long, so focused, that he hadn’t even noticed that he’d been feeling a little claustrophobic. When he entered the precinct for the second time that day, Gil was on a heated, closed-door phone call with someone in his office, Dani had left to chase down the owner of the warehouse, and JT was on his way back with food for them all. With a sigh, envelopes full of old crime scene photos still tucked under his arm, he made his way to Edrisa’s lab where he was greeted with the sound of her pealing laugh as he opened the door.

“Mr. Bright!” Edrisa greeted him, face lighting up as he entered her lab.

Y/N was sprawled in Edrisa’s chair, booted feet kicked up onto her desk. The look she gave him across the room was a little haggard, but sharp nonetheless. He’d never asked her what business had called her away so quickly earlier, but it was clear now that sleep hadn’t been involved. It was the most comfortable he’d seen her around another person, and he wondered what specifically it was about Edrisa that maybe put her at ease.

“You two aren’t drinking again, are you?” he asked, eyeing Edrisa closely.

“Oh, no, no, it’s too early for that,” Edrisa laughed, looking back at Y/N who nodded with emphasis. “We were swapping stories of the worst dead bodies we’ve seen.”

Malcolm shot Y/N a critical look. The grin he received in return was nothing short of sardonic. “You have a laundry list of dead body stories?”

“More than I’ll ever let on,” Y/N said with a casual shrug, grin nearly splitting her face in half as she heard Edrisa’s groan of defeat.

“I knew you were holding out on me,” Edrisa lamented, hanging her head. “I even told you about the bog body.” Malcolm couldn’t help but chuckle at the hang-dog look on her face.

“C’mon, E. I gotta save the good ones. Can’t spill all my good stories at the same time.” Her eyes glittered as she looked over Edrisa’s sagging frame with another laugh, before she pinned Malcolm in place again.

“Oh, where are my manners? Have you two met already?” Edrisa exclaimed, glancing between the two.

Malcolm blanched for a moment, having forgotten that Y/N had left the crime scene while Edrisa was caught in traffic the other night. And again after the Baby Stout incident, she’d yet to discover that they were already well-acquainted.

“We are familiar,” Malcolm replied, slowly and awkwardly.

Edrisa blinked up at him, the word ‘familiar’ seeming to strike a chord with her. “Has she told you any of her good stories?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Bright and I haven’t had the opportunity to share our best case stories,” Y/N piped in, moving her hands to settle them atop her stomach as she lounged even further down into the chair. “But this case is squaring up to be a pretty good one.”

“That’s true!” Edrisa said enthusiastically. “I might even submit this case to the review board if we close it. Carbonization of tissue is such a fascinating subject, very open to debate about how it…”

When both Y/N and Malcolm stared owlishly at her as she trailed off, clearly lost in her own thought, she gathered herself just a little. “I could use more coffee. Do either of you—”

“Yes, please,” Y/N and Malcolm said in stereo. Edrisa’s eyes flitted between the two of them like she was watching a ping-pong match before she pointed at Y/N and laughed like they’d shared a joke Malcolm hadn’t quite caught. She continued to chuckle as she exited the lab.

Y/N remained where she was, feet still propped up, hands folded on top of her stomach, eyes studying him where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes darting around the room.

“Spit it out,” she said suddenly. “Unless the question is meant for Edrisa.”

He winced, visibly, beginning to hate just how transparent Y/N made him feel. He couldn’t be that obvious, right? He was a trained professional after all. “It’s a sensitive question,” Malcolm said instead, holding back more questions. Always questions. Questions he was sure might never get answered. Not when the person he needed to ask evaded them like a pro, not when the questions entered a territory too personal, too private, too dark.

“Ok, I’ll bite,” she said simply.

Malcolm hesitated, his own racing train of thought coming to a screeching halt. “It’s regarding your father,” he said, giving her the leeway to refuse his request.

She stared at him impassively, cocking her head to the side slightly. “I’m still listening.”

He swallowed reflexively, trying to push out one coherent question at a time. “Was there anything that stood out in his autopsy report, anything weird, anything violently particular?”

“Clever.” Was the only thing Y/N said for a moment, eyes glazing over a little in contemplation, her silence leaving Malcolm prickling with anticipation. “Can’t believe I never thought about this, but yeah. His mouth had been stapled shut. Surgical steel.”

Malcolm’s pulse thundered in his ears as her gaze focused on him once more. She'd said it so easily, effortlessly, like the act of recalling that her father’s body had been mutilated while he was still alive, that he’d been silenced, before being burned alive meant nothing to her. Maybe it really wasn’t personal for her. Maybe it was just one of those cases you got fixated on because it had gone unsolved for so long. Maybe Malcolm was just projecting something onto her. His own need to understand everything that effected him in some way. The way she was looking at him, calm, exhausted, with no real sadness in her gaze, spoke volumes.

He stared back, too flabbergasted to speak for a moment before swallowing dryly. “So, I have a theory…”

[rvnjun]

weather boy | haechan

genre: super power!au 

warnings:  violence, mentions of blood

authors note: first part of The Dream Team series! Finally finished it after nearly two years of sitting in my drafts,,collecting dirt and cobwebs 

probably spelling and grammar mistakes because i suck at proofreading 

all i could think of when writing this 

The Dream Team M.list

Some people were born with their powers because their parents had them, others received them under strange and unusual circumstances 

most people fit into one of those two categories, it was nearly impossible for them not too

however, Donghyuck was a special case

technically he was born with his powers, but technically he received them thanks to a injection

his mother was a scientist working for a laboratory

for years she helped developed a serum that would give someone powers 

his mother was a courageous woman and offered herself up as the first test subject, they didn't know if the serum would kill her or even work

injecting it into herself she stayed under surveillance for weeks and the only thing that seemed to be happening was that she kept feeling nauseous and puking  

they brushed it off as a weird side effect

however, 1 month later she learned about her pregnancy

she left the lab and focused all her attention on raising her soon to be son

the thoughts of the serum still lingered in her mind, she was filled with despair at the fact that it seemed to not have worked 

but she would soon be proven wrong

when her son was born, clouds filled the room and rain began to pour down, wind started blowing everything around

the serum did in fact work, just not on her

Donghyuk had it slightly hard growing up

since neither of his parents had powers they weren't able to understand him

they took him to power therapy, there he learned how to control them and what he could do with them 

he knew that his powers were powerful and potentially dangerous 

watching the news caused him to see how people could take their amazing gifts and do some of the worst things with them 

the hatred and fear they caused, it was because of them that people would treat those with powers like trash and not human 

Donghyuck wanted to do good, he had a gift and he wanted to use it to save the world, to show those out their that hated his kind that they were also good people 

when he met up with people who also had powers, they called him crazy 

“Why would I risk my life for those who wouldn't risk theirs for me?”

“What's the point, its to much work!”

“Your crazy, ya know!”

it made Donghyuck bubble with rage

why couldnt they be more compassionate and understanding

normal humans had a right to be afraid of them, look at all the things “superheros” did to them

superheros were so focused on stopping the villian that sometimes they caused more damage then what the villain would have done 

Donghyuck confronted his power therapist, he went on a 30 minute rant on how he wanted to save peoples lives but no one else wanted to 

which is when his therapist told him about a young boy named Jaemin

apparently “Jaemin” was like him, he wanted to use his powers to help save people 

and that's how he met his best friends 

it was also how he met you

many of the fights and bad people seemed to target the same neighborhood

which was where you lived

it wasn't a bad neighborhood but it also wasn't the richest, it was perfectly in the middle 

there was many times when you would be sitting outside and all of a sudden some person was going off on a speech about taking over the world

you always casually watched from your porch

after awhile of watching them fight you chose to make them some snacks

Donghyuck was completely taken back when you casually approached them with sandwiches and water

it became your thing, you make them some food and bring it to them

while doing so you fell for the weather powered boy 

you were extremely shocked when you learned Donghyucks real identity 

he was the cute kid who never shut up in your chem class

which in hindsight, you should have known

Donghyuck was known for his weather powers

you laughed to yourself, people should have been smarter to realize that the kid in school with weather powers was actually the superhero,,,with weather powers 

he risked revealing his identity to you so you could date

The Dream Team, as they called themselves didn't mind, they all loved you

you had already proven that you were a nice person, that you actually cared about them 

dating Donghyuck was a little hard at first, only because sometimes he couldn't control his powers around you

like the time when some dude was hitting on you, Donghyuck made it downpour in the coffee shop,,,only on the guy 

then there was the time you two were swimming and messing around, he was shooting you heart eyes, the clouds cleared up even more and you swore you heard sweet music suddenly play in the background 

and your personal favorite was when you two were having a pretty intense make-out session and the temperature in the room raised a whole 10 degrees

(fahrenheit otherwise that would be concerning)

other than his rapid emotions he was an amazing normal boyfriend

he loved to show you off, if you ever felt insecure about something 

he would brag about you to everyone around him like you were a first place trophy 

you still brought his friends food after they fought, except this time Donghyuck enjoyed your kisses more than the food 

Everyone at your school was kinda shocked to learn that you were dating 

as far as they knew you never talked before

and then suddenly you were holding hands in the hallway while walking each other to classes 

As much as you loved Donghyuck for fighting,and helping people you couldn't help but feel scared for him sometimes 

the number of times he came over to your house with cuts and bruises on your face made your heart sink

you always told him that he should have gone to Jaemin for help but he said that you made him feel better 

like any other day you were sitting at your desk while working on some dreaded homework

the headphones blasting music in your ears distracted you from properly doing your work, plus its not like you were really trying

a light tap of your window caused you to look up with a soft smile

you were expecting to see Donghyuks smiling face

“Babe?” You asked when no one was in sight

feeling confused you stood up and stupidly opened the window

screaming Donghyucks name when someone grabbed you and pulled you out of it

you knew that Donghyuck wasnt near but you pleaded for him in your mind

begging for him to somehow hear you and save you

everything went black and the last thing you saw was the intruders smiling face

Donghyuck laughed along with his friends at Renjuns joke

suddenly Jisung stopped laughing and looked straight at Donghyuck

“Hyung, Y/n is in danger,” he said very seriously

“What? Don't joke like that,” Donghyuck snapped a bit

not really enjoying being joked with on something so serious

“Im not joking! I just know Y?n is in danger,” he protested growing more and more scared every second

everyone looked at him before Chenle spoke up

“Jisung would joke about something like that, Y/n must seriously be in danger.”

rushing out of his seat Donghyuck made a mad dash for your house

the clouds around began to darken, rain falling slowly

he pulled at his phone and repeatedly tried to call you but got no answer

adding to the sudden weather problems

wind harshly blew, a drastic change from the previous sunny and calm day

when Donghyuck arrived at your house and saw your open window he just knew Jisung was right

as much as he didnt want to believe him

looking around he couldn't see any sign as to where you could have been

tears began to fall down his face

calling Jisung he begged and pleaded for him to figure out where you were

Jisung thought and thought about everything before it came to him 

“I think,,I think Y/n is at the old abandoned factory on 8th str-” Donghyuck hung up before he could finish his sentence

Donghyuck turned and darted in the direction of the factory

people around him screamed as the rain poured harder and thunder boomed, lightning decorated the sky rapidly, cool and warm wind began to mix causing funnel clouds to appear

dangerously threatening the people out the city

back at the table Donghyuck friends stared at the sky in awe, they had seen Donghyucks powers before but never like this

silently praying for your safety they sat and watched the sky, waiting for it to change to show that you were okay 

he quickly arrived at the factory, the door burst open from wind before he could even touch it

he listened for a sound, running towards it

the door burst open as Donghyuck arrived, staring at your tied up and beaten figure

“Y/n,” he yelled, body shaking with anger

the guy in front of you immediately dropped what he was holding in fear

you cried in happiness at seeing your boyfriend, knowing that he was able to find you thanks to Jisung

“How dare you fucking hurt Y/n,” he said angrily

bursts of wind launched the man into the wall and held him there

the room rapidly rised in temperature, clouds formed in the room, replicating the weather outside

the man screamed out

Donghyuck stepped towards him as tornado began to form

he untied you, holding your body as you fell into his arms, knees weak from pain

gently he kissed your forehead “ill take you to Jaemin as soon as im done here baby,” he tone was the exact opposite of the one he used to the man just seconds before

you stared at the room in awe at his powers, not feeling the slightest afraid because you trusted him

a huge bolt of lightening stuck down on the man causing him to knockout

Donghyuck calmed down at seeing the injured man

the boys back at the table smiled at the sky when all the clouds disappeared the sun came out, wind changing to a gentle breeze

“Im so glad you are okay, I was so fucking worried,” he began to cry as he held you

“I don't know what I would have done if I lost you, Y/n you are my everything and I can't live without you,” he body shook with tears

holding him as tight as you could you rested your head on his chest 

“I screamed for you the whole time, all i wanted was to be right here,,in your arms,” you said happily

your eyes started to close, exhausted taking over your body

you placed a weak kiss on Donghyucks lips

“let me take you to Jaemin,”

Donghyuck smiled contentedly and carried you out of the room, ignoring the man, and was happily met with his friends

“Figured you'd need me,” Jaemin looked at you and smiled, healing all your wounds and making you feel like none of it had happened

“Well lets get out of here,” Jaemin said

Donghyuck followed behind his friends, refusing to put you back down

“,,,you aren't gonna heal the guy, Hyung? what if Donghyuk killed him?” Jisung asked in surprise

Jaemin waved his hand and shook his head 

Donghyuck scoffed “Sadly, he wasn't hurt that badly.” 

[cruzrogue]

Back Tracking Time

Summary:

There is no way Felicity and Oliver could just remain in the Paradise dimension and not find a way back home. Oliver’s been waiting for his partner as he believes in her. Like she says their love is bigger than the freaking universe. Now home they find themselves in a time disturbance. Thrown back into the past but not in their original older bodies. They’re kids. Stuck in 2013.

​Back Tracking Time on A03

This story jumps to the episode Dead To Rights 1.16

Synopsis for those who don’t remember that episode clearly:

Oliver and John learn that Deadshot is still alive and his next target is Malcolm Merlyn. Malcolm invites Tommy to attend a benefit honoring Malcolm for his work with Starling City but Tommy refuses to attend. Oliver encourages his friend to mend his relationship with his father while he can. Meanwhile, Oliver struggles to balance his new relationship with McKenna and his duties as the Hood.

Clearly after the grownup versions meet the Olicity young pair things in their past change dramatically.

Chapter:  Dead to Rights

Oliver shaking his head as the reality of the situation dawns on him. He’d think he’d be used to all the craziness his life has endured but nope. He is still stunned at what just happened.

Time disturbance. Not just time travel. Oh no! It couldn’t have been that easy.

His partner, the love of his life is still unconscious beside him. He can tell right at this very second their appearances have altered heavily from what they were mere moments ago.

“Ouch!” A very young feminine voice says beside him. “Um, what just happened?” A second later, “Where is my glasses?”

“We aren’t in Kansas any…”

“What?”

“I mean we aren’t in Star City 2020 anymore.”

“My mind is all fuzzy. I can swear that my eyes are deceiving me.” She’s looking down at her petite fingers. They almost look like kid fingers. Raising her hands, “Do my hands look smaller?”

“Everything about us is smaller.”

“Huh? Oliver, you’re not making…” She stops as Oliver places her glasses in her hands. The moment she has them on she makes a startled cry, “You look like a kid.”

“You’re not fairing much better. Mon petit amour.” He can’t help but smile to her rolling of eyes.

“This can’t be happening. I just got you back.” As happy as Felicity was to find Oliver in the Paradise Dimension, she missed her kids. She wasn’t going to let someone like the Monitor or anyone else keep them from getting their family back.

If Oliver was able to reset some time and space, Felicity was hellbent in setting some wrongs right again.

People who were gifted by how good-hearted Oliver is got to benefit from his kindness. She had to endure his loss. As they old saying goes… Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. No one is angrier than a woman who has been rejected or in her case… Her love was forfeited as the hero had to suffer watching his family from a distance.

“At least our daughter is safe with our moms.”

“Mia! She needs us.” Felicity is up from the ground she recently stood up from. Taking in the interior which looks familiar. “Are we in the bunker?”

“It would seem so. I did some looking around. I didn’t go too far, not while you were unconscious.”

“Why are we here?”

“I don’t know.” He really doesn’t. Being back in Star City just days after crisis happened. Enough to keep the people who Oliver loved from perishing as they were now amongst them. Elapsing time that brought a certain ring to a man he called brother. Things were slightly different as Oliver didn’t waste time with one of the biggest regrets after coming home. Wasting no time in telling the woman now stranded in the past with him as kids in how much she meant to him. “Are you sure you didn’t poke…” Seeing her little figure standing there with uncanny attitude. Hands on hips. Again, he can’t stop himself from laughing.

“Poke. You think I caused this?” She doesn’t give him much time to answer, “Oh no. Whoever messed with us is forever on my shit list.”

He wants to make a joke about poop, that would be something a boy his age would probably point out. He thinks. Well it’s something their son William would mention so he bites his lip. Little Felicity is no joke. Its actually adorable how her glasses kind of overtake her face.

“Honey, something must have happened to trigger this.”

“Oliver, the last thing I was talking about with Lyla was how I entered the team officially after your mother shot you.”

“Oh.”

“What?” she says alarmed.

“My last remark was about William and wondering what it be like to… oh no… did I…” At last he recalls before he met up with Felicity in the kitchen where they were taken from was talking to John and Tommy about being around the age of his son.

“Oliver, spill it!” Felicity can tell Oliver’s is onto something. Even with his boyish features she can still read him.

“Our ages may be on me but you’re the one who has chosen the year we are in. I inadvertently caused us to be kids?”

“That would suggest that we are in the year 2013.”

Oliver doesn’t want to say it hoping he is wrong, but the bunker isn’t up to date. That means Sabastian Blood is still alive. It means a lot of things like… like the undertaking hasn’t happened. He thinks that they are just in the timeline after he was shot by his mom. “We need to get out of here. Make it to the foundry. That will be the safest place for us to come up with a plan.”

With a small pout that just makes her become even more adorable if that is possible and he means to just give her a small smile as he listens to her whiny comment, “The foundry? Oh no… I hope it’s after I updated the internet.” His smile grows as she starts to moan about not having sensible shoes.

Dog barking in the distance.

“Ahh! Ow!” Felicity hits the mat.

“Now the trick is to keep your weight evenly distributed.”

“I thought the trick was to avoid getting into fights.”

“Yeah, well, Starling City's not the kind of place where you can talk your way out of trouble. Besides, if you're going to be working with us, I'll sleep a lot easier knowing that you can handle yourself... At least a little bit.”

Footsteps on stairs.

Diggle asks Oliver, “How'd it go?”

“Badly for him.”

“Who's him?”

“An assassin for hire with an affinity for knives. His name was Guillermo Barrera.”

“Was?” Felicity asks. Oliver is busy going to his book and scratching a name off the list.

John continues, “So, we can't ask him about his intended target?”

“No. Which is why I need you to hack his phone.” Oliver holding up a phone towards Felicity. “Barrera's world class. He kills high profile targets. And whatever job he was hired for isn't finished. We need to figure out who he was here to kill, and fast. They are probably still in danger. Ok? Yeah. I have to meet McKenna.”

John holding a smirk, “Good thing she didn't meet you at the heliport. May not be a good idea to fall for the cop that's hunting you down.”

“Well, it's slim pickings for us vigilantes.”

Two kids heading towards Queen Steel Factory. Kids around these parts are very uncommon especially after dark.

“I know I’m here.” Felicity pointing to her mini. “I miss that car.”

“I barely fit in that tuna can.”

“That is what seems to happen to goliaths.” Giving him a look, “Anyways you’d fit now.”

He huffs, “Seriously Felicity, are you going to continue on small jokes? The whole hike here…”

“Sorry, it was either jokes or me whining because my feet hurt. I’m hungry, and being small means there is a lot more steps to reach a destination.”

“I know. We are about to adventure to were we are both familiar. The Hood isn’t kid friendly.”

“You think you’d arrow a kid. Come on…”

“No, I doubt I’d arrow a child but I know I’d be very moody.”

“And you think the older me would what? Grab our cherry cheeks?” She sways her head no, “Older me has no clue about kids. Other than being one once.”

“Well at least we’ll have John. He’s a lot more mature than us.”

Felicity finally laughs as they reach the side door. “Metaphorically so true.”

“Here we go. Ready?”

“Sure. The look on ours faces will be so worth it.”

Oliver smiles. He isn’t even going to argue against that.

[janiedean]

hello!! I would *love* to know what it is about Bruce Springsteen’s music that you like so much (I swear this isn’t hate/trying to start an argument also!!)

OKAY SO THIS IS GONNA BE LONG

anyway it’s a lot of things honestly but if we want to make a non comprehensive list

he’s... viscerally honest? in the sense that one of the things that caught my attention when it came to bruce is that whatever he sings he means it and you can hear it from thirty seconds of it, and if you see him live it’s just even better, and as someone who prefers listening to people who write their own music for a lot of reasons but the chief one is that to me music is a thing I really relate to, I prefer listening to people who put themselves in their music you know, which is why bruce is just... that... much good when it comes to it for me

he has a gift for making relatable situations that you never experienced that I don’t think anyone else in music has, I mean... just take youngstown which is in my top ten bruce songs ever - I don’t come from the US, I never set foot in ohio and I don’t even know how the fuck does a steel factory work, but it doesn’t matter because if you hear that song you feel for the people in it almost like you knew them yourself and that’s a thing that just speaks to me and he isn’t from that background either but he could manage anyway, and tbh it’s kind of what I would like to be able to do with prose at any given time

musically he’s just... generally my thing, I mean when it comes to choice of melody/arrangements and so on but then again that is my genre so

I generally love how much of himself he puts into his songs - that’s tangential to point one but I mean, the thing is that he also makes his experiences viscerally relatable and the fact that one of the core themes of his work is how horrible it is to be stuck in a point in your life that you hate/feel unfulfilled in and where you can’t try to make your dreams come true which is one of the most common experiences you’ll ever find because all of us have been there makes it so that if it was cathartic for him then it’s also cathartic for the listener

that can work also for the other core themes - your relationship with your parents, relationship troubles, wanting to just get on a car and drive into the night and fuck everything, wanting something that makes you happy etc, it’s all just so well-punt in relatable terms that it just gets to you (I mean if you watch blinded by the light it makes it exceedingly clear, because that is why the pakistani kid living near london actually feels connected to bruce who’s an american dude from a blue collar family in nj) that you can’t help just feeling like he gets you

which is also a general thing because one of my Fixed Bruce Experiences is that yes it feels like he’s saying those things to me specifically even if I know he’s not objectively, and like... feeling like your favorite singer sees you and understands you and at the same time gives you an all new perspective on things you didn’t know is just... An Experience

with that I mean that before I listened to springsteen I didn’t know shit about a lot of things - for one I got sucked into reading about the vietnam war because of born in the usa, I read the grapes of wrath which is now top five novels for me because of the ghost of tom joad, I started reading dale maharidge’s books because of youngstown, I started reading up about racism/police brutality in the us because of american skin because when he was singing about his country in the way you do when you love your country and you criticize the shit out of it because you do (which is a thing I 100% relate to ie I love my country but I also could criticize the shit out of it for years because I do) then you wanted to learn more about it and it broadened my knowledge on a lot of things/got me interested in so many subjects (count that I’ve been into bruce since I was like twelve so it’s been almost twenty years now) and I’ll be thankful for that forever because being interested in those things at the moments it happened was... formative in a lot of ways and honestly I don’t wanna say that listening to springsteen made me realize idealizing things was Not A Good Idea but it was... part of it

I didn’t understand that specifically until I read his autobiography where he was blatantly open about how he struggled with mental health issues and how he channeled his coping into writing music knowing it was what he was good at, but in retrospective the fact that he did put those issues in music even if I didn’t know they were there is probably another reason why he was relatable (we don’t have the same issues but I could relate on... a lot of things he said tbh) and honestly I respect him madly for having had the guts to go out all in the open with it

I love how he can write about like anything from his parents to class struggles to everything in nebraska to psychological consequences to wars in the people who fight them to actually nice feelgood songs to actual realistic love songs and he never sounds like he’s doing that without knowing what he’s doing... because he actually does

in retrospective he put into music one of my favorite pieces of literature ever so thanks bruce for that (I mean I listened to ghost of tom joad before reading grapes of wrath but tom’s speech is still... a piece of literature that kills me on a molecular level)

about the realistic love songs thing... I generally am never going to get over how he’s one of the few people around whose love songs don’t sound like generic ballad thing but they’re all... actually very down to earth and realistic and they don’t exactly try to tell you that Love Is Perfect And Amazing And Flawless? idk how to explain it but like... thunder road is about two fucked up people one of which isn’t even attractive trying to get a better life and sort of same for born to run which isn’t even a love song per se, rosalita is fun but you know from the get-go that the guy doesn’t have money to his name, there’s literally no song in springsteen catalogue that doesn’t tell you that Being In Love is easy and you don’t have to put work into it, and the only 100% happy ones are the ones just after he married the woman of his life and anyway they’re still more sincere than 90% of the stereotypical love songs around and I just... really respect that? because while i’ll like my sappy love song ™️ if it’s good, his just... are a whole other level

(this would require another rant on why tunnel of love is my subjectively favorite record of his because of how he cracks open and turns over the subject without sparing any ugliness from it nor all the issues he was having in his marriage and how listening to it you would know that marriage wasn’t going to last and he still went and put it on record for everyone to hear and... as stated I really just have endless respect for people who can do that with their experiences while making them universally relatable)

he’s seventy and he’s still putting all of himself into it? like in the last twenty years (ie since I’ve followed him) he did the folk songs record, some seven world tours where he played 3+ hours, the broadway show where he also opened up same as he did in the book about his songs and himself and it was just beautiful, the western stars movie along with WS being a concept album in itself and a damn good one, all his records have tried something new for him regardless of how good it came out or not and he’s still going strong and I just really admire how he can still do all of that while not having sold out to anyone and having stayed true to what his music was in the beginning

also: 3+ hours long shows. like guys if you haven’t been to a bruce concert... idk how to put it but when I say that going to a bruce concert is the closest I’ll ever get to a religious experience I’m not exaggerating. I really truly absolutely know I’ll never get standard religious experiences but I suppose that’s how bruce concerts are for me - it’s just, you’re there with 40k+ other people all of which are feeling like he’s singing straight to them because that’s how good he is and even if maybe song 1 means something to you and something else to the guy next to you you’ll still be there with your heart having grown four sizes anyway for different reasons because Bruce Is Speaking To You and it’s just... something else. like I know people who were meh about bruce who went to a concert and came out of it OH I SAW THE LIGHT CAN YOU LEND ME YOUR RECORDS and that’s exactly how it is

tldr: bruce is an amazing performer and lyricist and musician who is straight-up honest and true to his love for his own music who’ll manage to make everything relatable and who’ll sing like he’s talking to you specifically and again, when I watched blinded by the light it got it perfectly and reading the book it was based on was A Trip because here I was nodding along to an autobiography from a british guy originally from pakistan and his sikh friend also from britain who spoke about bruce and what he meant to them and they said the exact same things I felt about bruce - like the guy is that good that he can connect to virtually everyone and will make you feel like you have some kind of thing in common with people that are wholly different from you because bruce speaks to you both and that’s... not an easy thing to run into. like, you have to be real good to manage that. and... he is. he just is.

[izlaria]

Someone you like (part 1, updated)

After uploading the first part of my plance fic here, I ended up writing more on that same period of time. It’s not much, but I thought I would add it anyway.

This fic is based on the “Someone you like” animatic by honestlyprettychill. Their work is super bomb, so I ask you guys to go check it out and give the artist some love. With this update, I’m hoping to have wrapped up on the pre-Garrison time period, and I have already started writing Pidge’s pov of their time as students, so you’ll have that to look foward to, if you end up enjoying this fic. My other post has more disclaimers, so you can find it here. This story is also available on AO3.

The part I added comes after the -- that I used as a page break.

Thanks to everyone who has liked and reblogged this verse. Feel free to add comments in the tags or to straight up come talk to me. I love feedback.

Spanish to English translations at the end.

14 and 12 years old

The truth was that Lance went to Space Camp because Veronica could be a little pest. She knew their parents wouldn’t let her go alone and so had enticed her younger brother with the promise of travel and foreign girls and no parental supervision.

Veronica had obviously left out the fact that they were essentially going to school on steroids for a month, smack in the middle of their summer break. Cool as Miami might seem, Lance wasn’t exactly excited for all the extra work the camp would entail.

“No es un acampamiento,” his sister repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. He wasn’t listening anymore. “Tú sabes que el campo de explotación espacial no está muy desenvuelto en Cuba. Si realmente quieres trabajar con eso, entonces simplemente cállate y no insultes a nadie.”

“¿Cuando he insultado a alguien?” he shot back, defensive. Veronica didn’t dignify that with an answer.

As much as Lance might like to think himself very smooth, there were still times when he stumbled over his words, especially in English. More than once he’d meant to pay someone a compliment and had accidentally started an argument of some kind.

Veronica looked impatiently at her watch. “Mira, tengo una reunión con mi orientador. Y tú tienes por lo menos dos artículos para leer para las clases de mañana, ¿por qué no vas a la biblioteca para trabajar un poco? Prometo comprarte una hamburguesa después.”

Lance pouted at her, arms crossed over his chest. “Me debes más que una hamburguesa y lo sabes, Ronie.”

His sister snickered, but it was as much of an acknowledgement as he was going to get. Veronica pressed a quick kiss to his hair, already turning to go into the main building.

“¡Gracias, hermanito! ¡No te arrepentirás!”

In all honesty, Lance wasn’t as irritated as he made Veronica believe. He knew that a summer program in Miami was a really good opportunity, especially if he wanted to get into the Garrison in the following years. It was just difficult.

He was diligent and studious, but not as naturally gifted as some of the other kids. Besides, he hadn’t been to the US in a couple years, since his parents had mostly settled down in the family farm, which meant he still had to fall back into his English, a task made even more frustrating by the xenophobic comments from one of the boys in his AP geometry class.

The teacher had put an end to it right away, but the words stuck with Lance, for some reason.

With how much humanity had progressed in terms of technology, one would think they would be able to get past petty rivalry between nationalities and usually that was true, but the influx of foreigners following the establishment of the Galaxy Garrison in the US desert still annoyed some people, despite its existence as a multinational center for space exploration. It irritated Lance to no end, especially when so many of these scientific advances came from international collaboration.

If only he could shrug off the inadequacy that now grew in his chest.

Straight ahead, there was a path that led to a green area in the middle of the campus. The other students had taken to calling it the Woods, though it was more of a middle-sized park, with benches and picnic tables where anyone from the Institute could go to relax. That’s where Lance went, mind too full to really focus on homework.

He wondered if people would react that same way if he ever made it into the Garrison. He didn’t know how Veronica dealt with it all, especially when she was alone in Arizona most of the time. Barely a week had passed and Lance already missed his parents, the tenderness of home-cooked food and well-intended lectures.

No, he had to believe that Billy Underwood was an exception. The other kids hadn’t joined in on his taunts, even if no one had moved to defend Lance. It was still too early to make conclusions on his colleagues, especially when everyone had seemed so charmed by him before then.

Lance was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize he had been standing in front of one of the benches until a new voice broke through the peace of the park.

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

The words were somewhat harsh, but when Lance lowered his eyes to their source the girl winced, grimacing. She seemed to have spoken impulsively.

“Hmm, yeah.” Lance blinked at her for a moment, before finally sitting down on the bench. He made sure to leave space between him and the girl, not wanting to make the situation even more awkward.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” the girl said after a moment of silence. She looked at him sideways and her brown eyes seemed almost golden in the sunlight. There were freckles spread across the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks, and the green ribbon in her hair swayed in the wind. It was a soft sight, a contrast to the steeliness of her posture and gaze.

“It’s fine,” Lance hurried to assure her. She looked young, but so did he, and talking to complete strangers never failed to make him nervous. “Nothing like a little girl yelling at me to bring me back to earth.”

He gave her his best grin, the one reserved for first impressions and fancy parties. It was supposed to project confidence and kindness, even though Luis said he ended up looking a bit smug.

“I didn’t yell,” the girl pointed out with a light frown. Then her eyes shifted into a more calculating look. “You’re a bit of a goofball, aren’t you?”

“I prefer the term good-humored,” he replied jokingly.

She continued to stare. Lance got the feeling that the girl did this a lot. She had an untamed intelligence to her that Lance couldn’t completely understand. It was the sort of air that teachers sometimes carried, as if they could see something deeper in you if they looked long enough.

“It didn’t seem like you were feeling all that good-humored just now.” She tilted her head to the side, letting the words hang between them.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Lance found himself saying.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” She looked so doubtful that it almost made Lance laugh. The feeling, however, was overcome by the relief of finally having someone who would listen.

He had spent the week trying and failing to explain to Veronica what was truly making him feel down. She was too busy or too happy for Lance to tell her the truth, especially when it left him so vulnerable. After all, Veronica had taken to her work on the Institute like a fish to water. Lance was supposed to be more adaptable than this.

With the rest of his family away in Cuba, he felt unbearably lonely.

“Yes! Thank you!” Lance shifted in the bench to face the girl. She was taken aback by his enthusiasm, but didn’t move away. “There’s this cabrón in my class, who thought it was a good idea to mess with me, just ‘cause I said fábrica instead of factory in our first day here. He hasn’t really left me alone since…” he whined. “I speak two languages but somehow I’m the uneducated ass here!”

The girl nodded, eyes downcast. “I know what you mean.”

“You do?” He eyed the fairness of her skin and the almost ginger of her hair. “Sorry, but you look white.”

Lance’s comment must have taken her by surprise, because she actually laughed.

“I am white. I’m also Italian.” She rolled her eyes, but there was amusement in the tug of her lips. “I can be both.”

“That’s true.” Lance grinned sheepishly. It was good that she wasn’t offended by his lack of filter. “You don’t have much of an accent, though.”

“Neither do you,” the girl bit back, no real animosity in her tone.

He shrugged. “My family spent a lot of time in the US when I was younger. It used to be second nature to me. Now, I keep feeling like I have to hold back the instinct to roll my R’s.”

“I get that. My parents moved here right after I was born, but we used to speak Italian in the house.” There was a pause here, something that she couldn’t bring herself to say. “I think it’s cool that you can speak Spanish. It’s useful.”

“Yeah?” Lance sat up straight, feeling suddenly boastful.

“Sure!” she continued, encouraged by his interest. “The Bouman Aeronautics Research Institute really values multiculturalism! It is a hob of different nationalities and perspectives, created to foster new minds from around the world! Or that’s what my brother says, at least, and he is rarely wrong.” She gave him a smirk that quickly shifted into a grimace. “Don’t tell him I said that or he will never let me forget it.”

“Older brother?” At her nod, Lance smiled. “I got older siblings too. Sort of the reason I’m here in the first place, actually. One of them was accepted as a researcher and she tricked me into applying too.”

“Same, actually.” She seemed startled for a moment, pulling out her cellphone. “Freak, I have to go! I completely lost track of time while reading.” She got up to go, collecting the book she’d apparently put down to talk to him. It was a thick volume with numbers on the cover, but it didn’t look like math.

Another green ribbon fluttered to the ground, having escaped the pages of the book. Lance bent down to pick it up.

“Here.” He stretched it out to the girl. “Wouldn’t want to lose its pair,” he said with a wink.

“Thanks for reminding me!” She grabbed the ribbon hurriedly, then paused, turning back to Lance. “And for the conversation, I guess.”

Lance grinned at her. She was a little awkward but in an endearing way, like she wasn’t used to having the attention of others on her. Given she empathized with his circumstances in the Institute, it wasn’t that big of a leap to assume that she had trouble making friends.

“Bye bye, Italian girl.” He waved, glad that he could spend these few minutes with her.

“Farewell, Spanish boy.”

Lance meant to correct her about his nationality, but she took out running, clearly late for something. He laughed at the way she stumbled across the uneven ground, careless like a little kid. It was a strange juxtaposition: the thoughtfulness of her earlier words and the childishness of her smile now.

He settled back into the bench, feeling much more content than he’d been earlier. It was nice to talk to people outside of class, for a change.

And, well, Italian girl was pretty. A bit young-looking for him, but he thought guys her age should be tripping over their feet for a chance to talk to her.

“Hey, you’re Lance, right?” A boy had approached while Lance observed the girl disappear from sight. He was tall and robust, with shortly cropped hair, but his expression was friendly. “You’re in my Analytics class.”

It took Lance a second to place him. Analytics was one of the classes Lance struggled with the most, so he hadn’t had as much opportunity to joke around there.

“And you’re Hunk!” Lance snapped his fingers, smiling. “Sit down, man! What can I do for ya?”

--

“No, I promise you, she’s a cutie!” Lance exclaimed, hands waving around in the air. Hunk chuckled at his exuberance.

“I believe you, Lance.” His friend’s tone was fond and amused, which brought a smile to Lance’s face. “You’ve told me about Italian girl a hundred times already. Why don’t you just approach her again? You said you saw her on campus.”

It was true, he had seen her: running across the woods with her arms full of books; sitting by the big windows in the cafeteria, papers spread across the nearby seats; standing under an oak tree with her face turned towards the wind, her long hair escaping from where she’d tied it back.

Lance pouted at Hunk. “She hasn’t spoken to me since…” he mumbled.

“Well,” Hunk scrunched up his brows in thought, “you did say she seemed younger than us. She’s probably just embarrassed about venting to a stranger out of nowhere.”

Lance threw himself onto his bed so that Hunk wouldn’t see his face contort in a grimace. He hadn’t meant to twist the story so badly, but he had already started talking about Italian girl before he realized he didn’t want to share his insecurities with the other boy. Hunk was almost excessively easy to talk to, but they’d known each other for too short a time.

“She didn’t seem like the shy type,” he retorted, arms spread over his head. “Too snipy.”

Hunk had gotten up from his place at the desk and moved to sit on the bed, shaking his head at Lance. He had kind eyes, something that Lance hadn’t really noticed on that first week in the Institute. Some things just got lost amid the noise, he reasoned.

“For someone who feels no shame hitting on random girls, you sure are hung up on this one.” Hunk poked him on the ribs and Lance recoiled, twisting away.

“It’s not like that!” Even as he said it, Lance could feel his neck grow warm. He wasn’t really attracted to the girl, but there was something pleasant about her that did leave him faltering. “Seriously, dude, she’s probably the same age as my little sister!”

Hunk hummed in acceptance. “If you say that’s not it, then I believe you. You just talk about her a lot for someone who you only met once.”

Lance sat up to look Hunk in the eyes. It was true that his mind kept drifting back towards that girl, but he didn’t think the emotion she awakened in him was romantic.

“I’ve just never clicked with anyone like that,” he confessed, bringing his knees up to his chest. “And maybe that’s also why I haven’t talked to her again. ‘Cause what if it was a hoax?”

“So you don’t want to ruin the memory of it?” Hunk put a finger to his chin in a considering motion. “That’s fair.”

There was more to it, but Lance didn’t feel like explaining himself further. Several times he had gone by Italian girl in the library, even stopped to look at her, considering, but whenever she raised those amber eyes to meet his, Lance froze. He blushed and blustered and eventually left.

It was nice to see her smiling, though, even if it was at his expense. She was always alone when Lance saw her and it reminded him of how isolated he’d felt before befriending Hunk.

Italian girl was clearly smart, probably smarter than almost anyone in the institute, given how fast she went through those complicated-looking books. She also spent a lot of time in the library, because it was where Lance most ran into her. It was always her and her astronomy books and her ribbons.

Maybe he was projecting. Luis said he did this a lot.

“I just hope she found a friend here,” he said, more to himself than to Hunk, “someone who will also end up a little late just because they want to hear her out.”

Hunk studied his face, making Lance shift his position in discomfort.

“Who could have known?” the boy started teasingly. “You’re actually a good guy behind all that arrogance.”

Lance used his elbow to push Hunk off the bed, complaining more dramatically than was truly warranted. His friend laughed as he got up, only to throw himself back onto Lance to mess up his hair.

“What the hell, dude? Going for my hairdo?” He tried to free himself from Hunk’s arm around his neck. “Friendship over! We are no longer rooming when we get to the Garrison!”

Hunk didn’t let up and the two continued to laugh well into the afternoon.

Their time in the Institute would end in a little over a week, and Italian girl would drift to the back of Lance’s mind to become a lovely memory, just the afterimage of someone who could have meant more to him.

Translations:

“No es un acampamiento.Tú sabes que el campo de explotación espacial no está muy desenvuelto en Cuba. Si realmente quieres trabajar con eso, entonces simplemente cállate y no insultes a nadie.” - “It’s not a camp. You know that the field of space exploration is not very well developped in Cuba. If you really do want to work in this area, then simply shut up and don’t insult anyone.”

“¿Cuando he insultado a alguien?” - “When have I insulted anyone?”

“Mira, tengo una reunión con mi orientador. Y tú tienes por lo menos dos artículos para leer para las clases de mañana, ¿por qué no vas a la biblioteca para trabajar un poco? Prometo comprarte una hamburguesa después.” - “Look, I have a meeting with my coordinator. And you have at least two articles to read for tomorrow’s classes. Why don’t you go work for a bit in the library? I promise to buy you a burger later.”

“Me debes más que una hamburguesa y lo sabes, Ronie.” - “You owe me more than a burger and you know it, Ronie.”

“¡Gracias, hermanito! ¡No te arrepentirás!” - “Thank you, little brother! You won’t regret it!”

Cabrón - Bastard

[purplesurveys]

662

What is the wallpaper on your computer screen? Why did you choose it? It’s one of the default Mac wallpapers, but I picked the shot with a pinkish hue, because pink. The default ones are already pretty enough, so I don’t feel the need to scour the web for the perfect wallpaper image. Is there a pattern on the pants you’re currently wearing? Which one? I’m currently wearing a romper. It’s just plain sky blue. Do you like going to baby showers? Do you go only for the cake? As an Asian, I can tell you baby showers are hugely a first-world thing. I think the more hip, Western-influenced, and upper-middle millennials and Gen Z Asian crowd can have the means to do them, but it’s like 90% not a thing here. In a region where there’s poverty in front of you, only the rich can pull them off; and for most of us, the biggest concern is that the baby remains healthy. Who is the person you text the most in your life? What relation are you? Gabie, probs. Girlfriend. Angela, my best friend, comes a close second. Mexican food, Chinese food, Italian food, French food or American food? Chinese > Mexican > Italian > American > French. I think I only like French cuisine for their pastries and escargot, but that’s about it.

Has there ever been a time in your life, you felt sexually undecided? Yeah. I still get confused about it from time to time, so eventually I just slapped the term demisexual on me and by far it’s been the most fitting for me. Does your mother annoy you when the holidays come along in the year? No? If anything I get worried a lot more because she comes home a lot late, and it always turns out to be because she spends the entire evening gift-shopping for family, friends, and co-workers hahahaha. What is the color scheme of your absolute favorite fast-food restaurant? I don’t really have a favorite fast food place anymore... if it counts, maybe Yellow Cab? They have a yellow and black color scheme, like the literal yellow cabs of New York. Do you think tattoos and piercings are sexy on the opposite sex? I don’t mind them; I don’t think of them in terms of being ~sexy lmao. Do people ever ask you to do things they’re too short to accomplish? Nah I’m usually the short one who needs people to reach stuff for me. Do your siblings bring people around that your parents don’t approve of? Mmm nope, not really. My mom loves my sister’s boyfriend, and as far as I know my brother doesn’t bring anybody home. Is there carpet or hardwood floor in your bedroom? Hardwood. I don’t know if there’s any Filipino home that has carpet floors. Do you check the texture of things first or the smell of them? As much as I hate this habit of mine, I tend to want to know the smell of everything. I only check the texture if I think it’s going to be satisfying, like if it’s anything like slime or sand. Have you ever broken the arm or head off of a trophy? How did you do this? Nope. I don’t think I’ve already even held a trophy before. Do you believe in superstitious things such as breaking a mirror? I only follow one superstition that has something to do with my school, but that’s it. I don’t obsess over it and I know it’s fake, but ‘following’ what the superstition says hasn’t gotten me in trouble in my last four years in university, so I just continue following it HAHA. Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? I do hate it but fortunately a lot of people are now more sensitive when it comes to mental health and mental health issues. I don’t hear this word thrown as much as it was in like 2011 anymore. Ever have an ultra-sound performed on you? What was it for? Nah, no reason to. I’ve only had X-rays of my spine taken. Do you like those ‘end of the world,’ ‘Armageddon’ movies? Never did. I was never into the whole apocalypse/disaster/wartime genres. What color are the headphones you have at this moment in time? I don’t have headphones. And I also don’t have earphones anymore :( I want a new pair soooo baaaaadddd. Ever been choked severely on something during lunch at your school? I’ve never choked on solids, but I’ve choked on water several times, when the droplets get stuck in your throat and your lungs get all confused and you’re left gasping for air but you just choke some more because the water in your throat blocks any air from coming in, so you end up coughing to near death. The last time this happened was during a lunch break in my INTERNSHIP, and it was so embarrassing because I couldn’t tell them what was happening, I was just coughing frantically and slowly turning red lol.

Do you remember who you sat next to in Kindergarten? Who was it? Yeah, the girl in front of me in the class list was I think Kaira, and the one after me was Kaye. I was friends with Kaira throughout high school and we still are today, but back in kinder she used to be my bully. But during recess, I usually sat beside a girl named Raegan, who was one of my good friends for a while. Has anyone ever compared you to an animal? Which one(s)? I don’t think so. Has anyone, including yourself, forgot it was your own birthday? On my 18th birthday my high school friend group completely forgot. It makes me feel like shit every time it’s brought up, so we’re not bringing it up tonight. Chocolate or strawberry birthday cake? Choose one. Chocolate! Do you eat more vegetables or fruits? What’s your favorite fruit/veggie? I loooooove me some vegetables – I’d try all of them in a heartbeat. My favorite is broccoli. And I hate most fruits, but I’ll give an exception to avocado. Do you abbreviate things way too often? Do you get called out on it? Not really, I just use the usual shortcuts – lol, lmao, rn, tbh, idk. My mom would get confused sometimes and ask me for the meaning of some abbreviations I use, but she doesn’t ‘call me out’ on it. Ever been in one of those church Christmas plays before? Why/why not? Hahahaha no, because I never wanted to join and it’s one of those things I’d never allow myself to be in no matter how much my mom forced me. What is the funniest conjunction you use throughout your day? ...Are conjunctions supposed to be funny? Have you ever thrown a roll of toilet paper at someone before? Nope. Does the dentist calm you or does it tend to stress you out? I like the dentist. I’ve never had big issues with my teeth (save for my worst ever toothache last year), so the idea of having my teeth cleaned and treated is actually pretty calming to me. The one time it ever stressed me out was when my dentist had to extract a dead tooth and he had to put three injections on the roof of my mouth. It was the first time I’ve ever caught myself literally shaking in fear, huhuhuhu. If you had to choose, which is the worst movie you’ve ever seen? Jack and Jill, for movies that are objectively bad. But in general, Knives Out was a big fucking waste of my time and money. Have you ever found yourself talking to an inanimate object? When I say sorry for bumping into them D: Do you like movies that are originally based on children’s books? Not all of them. Some were hits for me like Charlotte’s Web and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and some I didn’t really care for, like Coraline. Is your hair more thick or thin? Is it more curly or straight? THICK. So thick I could never pull off a bob, even though I’ve had the desire to adopt it as my look for a while now. It’s straight but it’ll sometimes be wavy. Something on the human body that grosses you out the most: Raised moles. Do you like meeting new people? What’s your most common greeting? Uhhhh I’m okay with meeting new people but it still depends on their crowd or the air that they carry around them. If I have a meh feeling about them or if their body language initially rubs me off the wrong way, I’d be hesitant. With my situation now, I usually say hi, tell them my name, we exchange our courses, then we talk about school stuff to break the ice. Ever think of what it would be like to be a mermaid or merman? Not really. Ariel has since showed me that it wouldn’t mean much, so I never actively wanted to be a mermaid. If you had to choose, which celebrity would you date out of all of them? Kristen Stewart or Hayley Williams. Do people feel sorry for you for no reason? Have they ever? I don’t think so. Idk, idk how people feel about me. What is something that bothers you about most surveys in general? I never liked surveys that go too deep, like those that ask me what I think of socialism or abortion, hhhhhhhh. I answer surveys so I can talk about my dog, say what I learned in school, or discuss who I had lunch with, and not to get all political. Simple yes/no questions can also be annoying so most times I elaborate. Who would you take with you on a stranded/deserted island? Maybe Gab? She’s super smart and resourceful and makes everything work haha. Do you have your own personal boom box in your bedroom? No. I was too young to want to have one. Would you survive if zombies were to take over the world? Why or why not? Probably not. I can’t even cross the street without holding on for dear life to my friends’ arms lmaoooooo. What would you say is the worst part of high school period? Adjusting. I took a while to, and when I hadn’t yet, it was the worst. I was left out of everything, had no opportunity to figure out who I was or what I needed at the time, and nothing and no one approached me unless I did so myself. What is your favorite color of apple? Red, green or yellow? I don’t like apples. Ever want to be a doctor? Is it because of all the hospital shows? I never wanted to be a doctor as a kid, but now I do see the point in going to med school. I’ve always liked and been good at memorizing names and terms, and biology is my favorite subject along with history, so a part of me thinks what could have happened if I pursued some specialization of med. As for hospital shows, I’ve never seen one. What do you think of all these reality shows that try to alter personality? I’m not sure what they mean? Don’t they all do that? Reality TV personalities always seem like much exaggerated versions of themselves. Where are your favorite pair of shoes in the whole world right now? I wear it too much but my Onitsuka Tiger sneakers are a k e e p e r. So comfy and such a classy-looking pair. Do you live anywhere near a mall? If you live in the Philippines, there is an 80–90% chance you live near a mall. In my case, I just live quite far from the main entrance of our gated village so it’s a bit of a drive; but the village itself is like two minutes away from one mall, four minutes away from two others, and five minutes away from still another one. Malling is pretty much the national pastime, so we’re loaded with them. Do you like drawing smiley faces or do you think they’re overrated? They’re pretty harmless, I don’t see why they should be deemed as overrated lol. If you were dying who would you say goodbye to first out of everyone? Gabie. Are you someone who actually likes to babysit children? I’ve never formally baby-sat someone, actually; at best I was put in charge of my younger siblings and cousins and looked out for them and took up the position of the responsible older sister whenever our parents weren’t watching. But to me it was already kinda like babysitting based on what I’ve seen in American TV hahahaha, and I always liked that sort of task. Do you ever have those ‘ah ha!’ moments? Do those annoy you? If the a-ha moment meant I was stupid in the past, then yes it would annoy me. Like for example if I’m driving somewhere and already far from home, then had an a-ha moment that I forgot something important back at the house, then I’d be pretty pissed with myself. But if the a-ha moment was something like a realization, I’d be relieved to have it. Do you hardly ever remember where you put things at? YES I HATE that about myself. I’ve lost earphones, my Hydro Flask, my yellow pad paper, readings, jackets, hair ties, socks, and school IDs because of it. What’s your favorite lunch meat, if you even like any in the first place? I don’t eat lunch meat. When is the next time you’ll eat a cupcake, if you know when? I have no clue :( Cupcakes are one of my favorite desserts though, but they’re just so hard to find or get. Where did you last buy socks from? What do those socks look like? The last time I bought socks was like 2015, back when they were a trend here for some reason. It has a bacon and eggs design, and I actually just wore them the other day haha. Do you ever lay in the grass and look up at the sky, just because? I’d look up at the sky, but not on grass. I find it itchy. When do you normally go to sleep on the weekends? Depends on what and how much I did during the day and how tired I am. Like just earlier (Friday evening) I was passed out by 9:30 because I stayed up til 2 AM working on a Powerpoint and had to wake up at 6 in the morning to continue working. But other nights I could stay up till midnight. Have you ever met someone with the same ‘biggest fear’ as you? I haven’t met anyone afraid of knives and injections and any sharp stuff like me, no. Do you ever have movie nights with your significant other? We don’t do movie nights ever, which I recently and finally realized when we did sit down and watch Titanic together a couple of weeks ago lmaaaaaaaaao. It was honestly really fun doing it and I remember remarking that we in fact never did movie nights in the last four years. Would you rather write with a pen or a pencil? Why is this? Pen. It’s just more convenient for me. Pencils get blunt as you use them, and I’m too impatient for that. Do you like candy bars? Are you trying to slack off of them? I honestly have nothing against them, but given that I have several many relatives who work overseas and have brought home candy bars as pasalubong (gifts) in the last 22 years of my existence... you can imagine how tired I can get of them. What is your favorite number? Is it significant with your life? 4. Not really. It just reminds me of Beyoncé and happier days haha. Are you afraid of being kidnapped if you go outside at nighttime? Yup. That’s why I never walk outside at night except when I’m at a mall or in school. I just drive everywhere. Has your mother ever called your school because of your grades? No. Whenever I struggled in school it was always just due to either 1 or 2 subjects, so there was no reason to ring up our adviser as it was never that worrisome in my case. I was never failing all my classes at the same time, basically. In the next twenty minutes, what will you be doing and where will you be? Maybe another survey or watching BoJack Horseman? Idk. It’s 3:44 AM and I’m pretty awake so I dunno if I’d still want to sleep. Do you like showers or baths better? Why did you choose your choice? Showerrrr. It’s quicker, plus it’s what I do more often. Are you a controversial person? Do your views oppose others? This was me as a teenager because I thought it would be cool to be edgy and have a different opinion than everyone else BLECK please delete that person lmfao. But now, hmmm the way I’d explain it is that in the case of e.g. being pro-choice, LGBT, critical of the Catholic Church, basically the more liberal ideas, I seem to be in the majority opinion about relevant issues on the Internet/social media. 

But I live in the Philippines, where society is still mostly traditional, conservative, modest, and disapproving of a lot of the progressive stuff happening in the rest of the world – hell, divorce isn’t even legal here. That said, a lot of my views which would otherwise line up with those on social media or those in like US or Canada or Europe would get me a lot of hate and criticism in the Philippines, especially among the older generation. Have you ever thrown a surprise party for someone? Who for? Yeah we threw one for Dave a few years back. My friends also threw an advanced surprise party for Raf on my actual birthday, and I was too hurt about it so I didn’t attend. What would you say your average word per minute time is on the keyboard? We did this in class once for fun when we weren’t really discussing anything, and if I remember anything I hit somewhere between 70-80 words. What is your least favorite class in school? Why is this? Chemistry, calculus, and trigonometry. So fucking useless. Do you bite your fingernails or tap them on desks? I tap my nails onto desks. I only bite them when I’m anxious. Have you ever wanted to be in a band? What position exactly? I wanted to learn the drums but never explicitly wanted to be in a band. Who is your role model or hero in life if you have one? No role models for me. Do you ever call your cousins just to talk to them randomly? No. We’re close, but we’re also busy, so the only time we get to catch up is when we get to have family lunches/reunions. Do you find any of your friends’ parents creepy or really mean? Not at all. All of my friends’ parents have been lovely. Do you ever have to wash your clothes at someone else’s house? Nope. When is the next time you’ll go to the library? Why is this? I dunno actually. I don’t really have to pick up a book to read for a class right now. Do you like fiction or non-fiction books more? What’s your favorite? Non-fiction. I don’t have a favorite but I will sit down and read any biography you offer me. Do you constantly have to be told to shut up? By who? No, and that would hurt, I think. I have friends who I lowkey think are too talkative for my social battery, but I’d never tell them to shut up. Do you know how to play pool? Are you any good at it? Nah. I don’t even know how to swing(?) the cue. Do you treat others as you’d like to be treated? Have you always? Yeah, I always try to. I always assume or imagine they’re going through something, so I always try to be a little kinder. Were you a really mean kid or a sweet and quiet kid? I was quiet, neither mean nor sweet. I didn’t make trouble at all but I wasn’t exactly the most darling of kids either haha. I was just too shy to move or talk. Are you someone who likes to get in arguments or fights a lot? I’d get in one if I have to, but I don’t thrive on them. How do you make sure people know you don’t like them at all? I don’t have to make a big spectacle about it if I don’t like someone for whatever reason. I can still be polite and civil if I have to interact with them. < Pretty much. The one way someone would know (if they even notice at all) is that if I would do anything and everything to avoid having to talk to them. Would you say you’re someone who likes to cuss a lot? I say shit and fuck pretty often. Do you keep secrets from your parents that you don’t keep from your friends? My entire relationship is a glaring answer to this. What is your father’s best friend’s name? Do you know them personally? I don’t know if my dad has one. He has close friends, but not sure about a best friend. If you had to, where would you get a tattoo at? Why? Inner wrist, but I know that would hurt so I might just settle with having no tattoos ever haha. I picked it becauuuuse, idk, it just seems pretty intimate to me. How much was the cell phone you have at this moment in time? It was the newest model when I got it so it cost like P45,000 or a little less than $1000. Would you say you hang out with people the majority of your life? Yes. For the last 18 years my life has revolved around going to school, so I’m allllllways around people. What would you do if you woke up randomly with purple hair? I’d be pissed and try to hunt down whoever dyed my hair in my sleep, but then afterwards I’d assess if it suits me or not HAHAHA. It’s dyed anyway, so I might as well make sure I look good with it. Do you ever look in the mirror and name all of your flaws for no reason? Yeah, especially the ones on my face. Doesn’t get to happen a lot but I’d do it occasionally. Are you getting sick of the reality show Survivor? Why? I never watched it, but I’m surprised it’s still on. < This. Do you usually explain to people why you do the things you do? It depends what I do but generally, I’m not weird or crazy or daring enough for me to have to explain myself to people all the time. In contrast, I have an org-mate who’s a little on the...experimental side, and we have caught him trying to drink glue or stabbing himself with a pen. He always says he just wants to know how it smells/tastes/feels like, depending on the situation. We’re all lowkey concerned about him though lol. Ever submit a video to America’s Funniest Home Videos? We didn’t, because I don’t live in America. The most painful medical procedure you’ve ever had? Anything that had me getting pricked, so like platelet count tests and the one time I needed to get IV placed on my wrist. I’m WINCING just thinking about them. Are you someone who likes to eat Poptarts? What’s your favorite flavor? Love Poptarts, my favorite is the chocolate one. We don’t get a lot of flavors here, hence the basic choice. Ever have a dream you’re being abducted by aliens? Was it scary? Never. Do you like people who are loud or people who are quiet? I like quiet people who can get chatty and loud when necessary. Does personality weigh out the sense of ‘good looks?’ In terms of who I find attractive? Not really, looks still matter to me. When is the next time you’ll see someone who is pregnant? I only know one person who is and I only see that girl like once a decade lmao so I have no clue if I’ll see anyone else who’s pregnant. Do you hate it when people copy the things you do? No, unless it’s the exact same thing I’ve been doing. Where is your favorite piece of electronic equipment? It is on the drawer next to my bed. Where is the person who ‘owns your heart’ at this moment in time? She’s in her dorm, all passed out considering it’s 4:40 AM lol. Has anyone ever told you that you’re good at cooking? Hell no. I’d tell them they’re completely mistaking me for a different person, because I don’t enter the kitchen at allllllll. Would you say you’re a fast texter, or are you pretty slow? I’m fast. What is your favorite flavor of Doritos? What do you drink with them? Nacho Cheese is fine with me. Do you have any enemies who you think are dangerous? I don’t have any enemies. < Yep. Do you ever try to squeeze information out of people? Sure. It comes with being a journ student lmao. Does it freak you out when the police drive by your house? I live in a private village so this never happens. I do get paranoid when I’m driving and there’s a police car coming from behind me, though. Are you someone who tends to take a whole lot of naps? Not really. I always have a lot of work to do so I can’t nap even though I would want to. What is your favorite nickname you like to be called? Why do you like it? I’m fine with Robyn. I’ve gone by it since I was four. Do you already have your outfit for tomorrow planned out? Eh not really. I usually don’t think of my Sunday outfits until I’m actually already in front of the closet anyway. I never feel like making an effort for church.  What is the color of your favorite pair of pants? What brand are they? Blue. No clue, but they’re mom jeans. Has your favorite song ever been featured on a commercial? Nah. I’ve never heard Paramore on a commercial. Do you ever promise pc4pc on Myspace then never return the favor? I never did Myspace. I’m vaguely familiar with the slang, though. What is one song right now that really gets on your nerves? That new Demi Lovato ballad. Bless her for allowing herself to be vulnerable on that track, but for the most part I cannotttttt stand her voice. What would you say was the best year of your life? Why? 2014, a lot of things seemed to fall into my lap back then, and I was simply happy and satisfied. Do those annoying infomercials ever draw you in to buy things? I have never been convinced to buy anything they sell but I WILL spend hours watching the commercials just because of how entertaining they are. Have you ever been pulled over by the cops for speeding? No. Speeding isn’t an issue here tbh. If it was nearly everybody would be pulled over, I think. Common reasons for being pulled over are like making illegal u-turns, overtaking on a solid double line, or being caught driving when your car is under coding for that day. Is anyone in your family a firefighter? Who is it anyway? Nope.

[cami-chats]

A Cliche In Love

Title: A Cliche In Love

Link: AO3

Square Filled: Clothing: Corsetry 

Ship: Tony Stark/Natasha Romanoff

Rating: Mature

Major Tags: None

Summary: “Natasha is a prostitute, and Tony mistakenly thinks that she doesn't really like him.”

Word Count: 1745

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Full text also below

It was such a cliche to fall in love with a lady that worked at a whorehouse. That didn't stop Tony from doing it anyways. It had been normal enough at first. He'd looked at the various ladies selling their time and chosen the one that caught his eye. He offered her the cash, and she took it with a smile, telling him that her name was Natasha as he kissed her knuckles. She'd been good, and it was enough to bring Tony back the next night looking for her. He visited for the rest of the time that he was in town, but then it came time to go back to Manhattan. He wanted to tell her goodbye, but at that point it had been more like a crush than being in love.

The next time he was in Malibu, he stuck his head in to see if she was around. She was, so he visited her every night for that visit as well. The time after that was when it really got him. It wasn't a week-long business trip, it was moving into his beachfront summer home while he oversaw the opening of the newest factory. He spaced out his visits that time in an effort to not grow too attached, but it didn't work. It was still too much like a routine of coming home to his girl.

Natasha was... gorgeous. And she made Tony believe that she was happy to see him every time he showed up. He knew, intellectually, that she was faking it for the money, but he couldn't see it with his eyes and that made it impossible to convince himself that she didn't mean it. When he left for New York after that, it felt like he'd left a piece of himself behind. He tried to sketch her, but his technical drawing skills did not transfer to people.

He tried to draw her hair, her eyes, her hand, and her leg, but all of them looked wrong and he threw them into the fire angrily. Frowning at nothing, he didn't notice what his hand was drawing until it was half finished. It was his favorite corset that she wore, a red and black masterpiece that, in Tony's opinion, made her look more cute than sexy, but maybe that was the smile on her face. He loved every single time he got to take that corset off, unlacing the front and opening her up like she was the world's greatest gift. He hadn't done it yet, but he did want to spend a night with her when they didn't take it off at all. He left the drawing as it was, knowing that if he tried to complete it now that he was thinking too hard about it, he would butcher it entirely. He closed his sketchbook and set it aside and got to his feet, wondering at what point he became so pathetic that he saw fondness where there was just money. He didn't blame Natasha for it in the slightest-- she was just doing her job, after all-- but he should have known better than to grow that attached.

He didn't know what he was going to do about it, especially when Pepper told him that they were moving the base of Stark operations to Malibu now. He figured that he would try to stay away, but that didn't even last two days after they arrived.

He sat down at the bar when he didn't immediately see her, telling himself that if he didn't see her in the next twenty minutes he'd leave. Unfortunately, after he made that decision, she showed up forty seconds later. She grinned when she saw him, sliding into the seat next to him. "Hey Tony. Word around town is that you're moving here permanently. Any truth in that?"

"True enough," he said with an incline of his head. "Foreseeable future, not sure I'd say permanent."

Her smile faded when she saw how completely unenthused he looked. "I thought you liked the Malibu weather. Or were the complaints about snow just for show? Not that I'd blame you, I miss Russian weather sometimes. I was disappointed when you didn't show up yesterday when you came to town. Had to wear the same corset two nights in a row hoping you'd show up." It's true that she was wearing her favored black and red one, but Tony doubted that it was especially for him. God he really needed to snap himself out of this.

"How many offers of exclusivity have you had?" Tony asked out of the blue as far as Natasha was concerned.

Natasha blinked. "What?"

Tony shrugged, shoulders tight as he poorly pretended that he didn't care. "How many people have offered to take you home with them?"

"Not as many as you're imagining."

"What makes you think I'm imagining anything?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't have asked if you weren't thinking about it."

"There's a leap between thinking about it and what you're implying," Tony said, because like hell was he going to up and admit it, even if Natasha clearly already knew. Not to mention that this was hardly the most incriminating thing he'd said to her.

"I'm not implying anything. I'm saying-- to your face, Tony-- that you should come out and say to me whatever it is you want to say."

Tony didn't react well when cornered, which was probably why he decided to shoot their relationship in the metaphorical face with a shotgun. "Fine, I'm saying that you don't have to make conversation because that's not what I'm paying you for." Since he was also a coward, he all-but shoved her off his lap and left the building. He stormed home, slammed the door behind him, and immediately wanted to drink himself into a stupor. What the fuck. What the actual fuck had he been thinking? Natasha didn't deserve to be treated like shit, especially since she hadn't done anything and got caught in Tony's own fucked up emotions.

He jumped when someone knocked on the door, turning to open it before he even knew what he was doing. Of course then he was face to face with Natasha, who-- surprisingly-- didn't look like she was there to punch him in the nose.

She had her hands on her hips, her skin glowing in the light of the setting sun. She looked formidable, though someone else may not have thought so, with her corset and the ruffled skirt and her hair pinned back in an artfully messy style so that strands of her red hair were brushing the side of her face. While she didn't look like she was about to punch him, she did look serious and, in a word, unhappy. "You don't get to insult me and then run off."

Tony winced, running a hand through his hair in shame. "Right. I'm sorry, I never should have said that. You don't deserve it, and--"

"You're damn right you shouldn't have said that. Do you think I give a shit about any of my other clients?" Natasha said, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Do you think I pay attention to what clothes they like on me and wear them when I think they're going to show up? Because I don't. I don't care about them. They can go rot." Tony blinked. "The only person I care about is you. Well, and my friend Clint, but I haven't seen him since I moved to Malibu so he doesn't count," she added with a roll of her eyes. "Any time I hinted to you that I wanted something other than a client/companion relationship, you brushed it off. Then you show up and ask me if I'm interested in being with you, and then you run off before I can really give you an answer."

"I... think I'm an idiot."

"Well I could have told you that a year ago. The question, Tony, is what are you planning on doing about it now?"

Tony fumbled. "Uh, taking you on a date? When you're free?"

Natasha continued to glare at him.

"Or... now?" he guessed.

"You're not good at this," she stated.

"I thought you just said that you wanted a real relationship. I'm... okay I'm completely confused. Why don't you tell me what you want me to do? That way I can't fuck it up. Or you could do it yourself, I wouldn't mind."

"Well if you insist." She put a hand on the center of his chest and pushed, making him back up until there was enough space for her to step inside. She stopped pushing as she kicked the door closed, and moved so her arm was resting on top of his shoulder. "If you weren't so sweet Tony, I would question my own sanity right now." She stepped into him and kissed him, threading her fingers through his hair. It was something they'd done a dozen times, but it felt different. Maybe it was the conversation they'd just had, but more likely it was the fact that they were in Tony's home instead of at the inn in one of the temporary rooms. She dragged Tony's bottom lip through her bottom teeth as she pulled away, then immediately went back in to nip at it against because really lips that full deserved to be bit. She looked past him and saw a chair that was... the perfect size. She nodded at it. "Sit over there."

Tony figured that even if she did tell someone how quickly he listened, they wouldn't believe her. Not that he was ashamed, but when people thought they had something on him they never shut the fuck up. He wasn't thinking about any of that at the moment though, because he sat down and saw Natasha stalking towards him.

She pulled up her skirt in two bunches for her hands so that she could climb onto his lap without the fabric getting in her way.

Tony gulped as his hands automatically went to her hips.

"We're not in public anymore," she said, an amused smile playing on her lips. She grabbed his hands and put them on her ass, rocking into his touch.

"Right." He swallowed again. "Right. Just uh, getting used to this." His eyes were drawn to that perfect, gorgeous corset on her, and he licked his lips. "Will you leave this on?"

Natasha grinned. "Absolutely."

[donnerpartyofone]

21 Questions

Tagged by @getoutofmyhouse who had oddly similar answers to mine

Nickname: only the one I use here, that I gave myself--Claire Donner, which has to do with my famous love of cannibalism. Claire is my real first name, though.

Zodiac: I am so very cuspy. I was born at about a quarter to midnight on April 20, so I tend to relate to, and feel insulted by, the suppositions about Aries and Taurus equally. I’m one of those jerks who will tell you astrology is a bunch of hoo ha...and then drone on with my Many Esoteric Ideas about it, so I’ll just stop myself right here.

Height: 5’ nuthin is what I prefer to say...because saying I’m 5 and 3/4′ sounds a little like saying I’m 10 and a half years old.

Amount of sleep: It’s all fucked up. Until I got into my 30s I could, and would prefer to, sleep endlessly. Now I go to bed around 10 (depression), get up around 5 or 6 (being old), and for extra fun, I’ve developed this insomnia that often keeps me up from about 2am-5am. I try make the most of it by getting up, getting high, watching a movie or two, writing...basically just having a secret private day by myself. I’d really rather go back to just sleeping constantly though.

Last movie I saw: I saw GRETA in theaters tonight, which was ok. I guess I thought any Neil Jordan film would be headier than this, but watching Isabel Huppert just running around acting like an absolute maniac is a rare treat! My last video experience was RAW, which I put on to bother my husband right when we got home from the theater. (I think he liked it more than I originally did, to my surprise)

Last thing I googled: The correct spelling of Sylvia Likens’ last name. I’m obsessed with this type of crime where a group of people (usually a family and/or some of their friends and neighbors) fall into some kind of shared hysteria where they protractedly torture to death an acquaintance for no particular reason. Some times there’s an element of mystery as to why the victim didn’t leave while they were still able to, which suggests to me that the murdered person was just as much a victim of the groupthink as the perpetrators. Other example victims include Suzanne Capper, Vera Jo Reigle, and I think to some degree Sophie Lionnet, James Bulger, and Junko Furuta. (Also a crime they briefly discuss in the book Lords of Chaos, where several people murder a friend in their trailer, but I can’t remember it specifically enough to look up the names--the other last thing i tried to google) I keep thinking there should be a psychiatric and/or legal term for this kind of crime, but I’ve never heard one, so let me know if you got one!

Favorite musician: I have trouble with questions that involve ranking anything, so I’ll just say that right now I’m listening to a lot of old White Zombie. I didn’t know anything about their origins as an East Village noise band, and I’m fascinated by the stories about how apocalyptically miserable it was to be in that group. I’m increasingly obsessed with people who work their asses off doing something they barely even enjoy, for what must be borderline spiritual reasons.

Song stuck in my head: Nothing right this second, for which I am very grateful. There’s something awful in my brain that causes me to wake up with some maddening, babyish tune stuck in my head more often than not. It is most frequently the Ten Little Indians nursery rhyme. This is literally killing me.

Other blogs: @anhed-nia, which started as a dumping ground for long posts about mental illness, and turned into almost only movie writing. at some point there was just so much movie shit that i started to feel awkward about posting anything personal there again. i also got @getoffyrass which is a group blog, and a repository for images that make great drawing references. everyone is encouraged to post their drawings, too, although it is seldom used. i still like having it around, for when i have time to draw. my “real” drawing blog is @neveratendermoment but i don’t draw often enough anymore...

Do I get asks: i used to get tons! i really enjoy them, even the trolls to some degree. i must have seemed like more of a regular tumblr geek girl back in the day. also tumblr has just changed a lot since then. my blog was definitely a casualty of Best Stuff First, i think my follower count stopped dead forever right when that happened, and now that practically every single fucking thing on this entire site is either fandom shit or *discourse*, i really have nothing to offer tumblr anymore, anyway.

Blogs following: 1,057. 

Lucky numbers: 2! Also 5.

What I’m wearing: black wool long john pants from Chrome, and a white v neck teeshirt with the words BLACK MAYONNAISE on it in black Rocky Horror font. i live near the notoriously toxic Gowanus Canal, and “black mayonnaise” is the actual term used to describe what’s on the bottom of it, by the scientists who are trying to figure out what to do with it.

Dream trip: i am really excited by travel, it’s hard to pick. i’m hopefully making a dream trip soon though: my father’s mysterious finno-swedish family is from the åland islands, and my husband and i will be planning part of our honeymoon there, whenever that happens.

Dream Job: i think about this a lot, because the older i get, the more i object to the entire concept of having to work to live. i’m into the whole universal basic income thing. i’m at this point where i can barely stand to think about capitalism in any way--like i think about how the need for money is so mortally serious that there’s a lot of physical stuff in the world that only exists because someone was scared of starving, tons of useless products and packaging and factory byproducts and all kinds of fucking straight up garbage that was only invented due to the lethality of poorness. i would rather be left totally alone forever if possible. however, if i HAD to do something and i COULD do anything, it would probably be film criticism. this fantasy takes place in a world where people care so much about what i have to say that i can make a career, not only out of movie writing, but out of only writing about the specific movies i want to write about, referring to nothing other than my personal reactions.

Favorite food: i wish the answer weren’t just “cheese”, but it probably is. also mushrooms. anything cinnamon. i’m a pretty adventurous eater though. the most important thing for me is a variety of flavors and textures.

Languages: english. i took several years of italian in junior high-high school, and did nothing with it. i taught myself to read french pretty fluently, but i would fold right up if someone tried to speak to me. i learned a bunch of swedish on duolingo, shoulda kept it up. i’ll get back to it! i really regret never learning spanish though, so i’m easily torn on what to do with my time.

Play any instruments: clarinet in junior high/high school, also alto sax which i did not enjoy at all, a little guitar. i bought a used electric bass last year that i have really been enjoying, but i feel a lot of guilt around not playing enough. so much of it is just strength training. that’s probably what i like about it, though. also i got a lot of electronic music software and midi controllers and stuff...and then i realized that it could take me months to sort through the thousands of samples i have to program this stuff, and i only got so far into it before i started to get discouraged. i need to get back to it, it’s ridiculous to let that stuff lie around. this is a rare example of me wishing i knew someone local to play with, who could speed me along on how everything works.

Favorite songs: another one of these impossible questions! anybody who is even reading this can probably guess the answers from the handful of music posts i reblog over and over and over. the other night i got all hyperactive and forced my husband to drop everything and listen to “buffalo stance” by nene cherry, which i never ever get sick of. real top contenders for favorite song might be “Stand By the Jamms” by the klf, and this recording, which has gotten me through many difficult hours:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8k1HsF3EvY

https://www.forcedexposure.com/Catalog/sunray-sonic-boom-music-for-the-dreamachine-cd/STRAWB.003CD.html

Random fact: i’m sure i’m missing out on something really funny and cool, but for now it’s just the well-known fact that i read palms.

Describe yourself as aesthetic thing: man, how do i answer this without being totally pretentious? maybe nobody can! i’m coming up with something really hard to describe but it will be worth it. the other day i watched this insane, completely unnecessary movie about lorca and salvador dali (played by robert pattinson) as gay lovers. there’s a scene in it where lorca does that “pick a hand” thing to dali, and dali picks an empty hand. of course, they’re both poor students who couldn’t be buying any gifts, so they do this obnoxious pantomime where dali pretends lorca actually gave him something--but then it turns out that lorca really DOES have something. he opens his other hand and gives dali...SOMETHING. i don’t know what! they make such a big deal out of it, but what the hell? you see it for a second in this closeup, but it’s shot from like, behind and slightly underneath, and it is just unrecognizable. it’s sort of an orange blob? it’s probably meant to be a sculpture. but, i love the idea of doing the “pick a hand” thing to somebody, and the other person is just like...hey wait a minute, what the fuck even IS this?? 

it reminded me of one of the most amazing things anyone ever did at my school, bard college. this genius art student who I WISH I COULD NAME TO CREDIT HER did her senior project as this like...made up product. i saw them at the senior show, hanging off a spinner rack, like you’d see next to the register in the drug store. they were called Toilet Buddies. they were these plastic, brightly colored objects that looked like toys, but they didn’t have a familiar earthly shape, and because of the title, it was IMPOSSIBLE to imagine what to do with them. so, she gets the lipstick cam from the film department, and shoots this video of herself sneaking some Toilet Buddies into Walmart. then she takes them to the register and BUYS THEM--the baffled cashier looks for them for a while, and eventually just rings them up as a general grocery or something. then in part 2, the artist TAKES THEM BACK TO THE STORE WITH THE RECEIPT AND GETS A REFUND.

so anyway, i see myself as like a fake product--something that looks just familiar enough to exit, and that appears to have a designated purpose, but it’s just kind of cheap and foreign and it becomes nightmarish to try to imagine what to do with it. 

I don’t know if anyone i know will want to do this, but i tag @negativepleasure @moviesludge @former-contender @dimestoreman @thefuzzydave @darkarfs @theoddsideofme @blueruins ...um, i don’t really know who would enjoy this. the ultimate would be @garbagenacht

[sohaveyoubeento-blog]

V is for Vietnamese & Vintage

Us three ladies had always played it pretty safe by way of our lunch dates. Not to say the local deli isn't absolutely kick ass - it's very tasty and very enjoyable every time we go, but in much the same way as I struggle to go to the same country more than once on my holidays (excluding India, you can never have enough India) I couldn't help but think that life's a bit too short to sit in the same eatery every time we meet for lunch, given that the whole day is ours, and within reason, travel is no issue.

The three of us decided that we would try different cuisines every week, and with the girls (Laura and Dani) living in the quieter, leafier suburbs of Otley and Burley in Wharfedale, with me (Alex) living in what I frequently describe as the bronx, 5 minutes from central Leeds but gloriously populated by some of the best food joints in the country (confirmed) they usually end up meeting at mine and then we go into town to try somewhere a bit off the beaten track. Invariably, being three mums of young children, we eat at the speed of rabid dogs and end up having a bit of time to go explore some local weird shop or two, never anything mainstream like a department store. Oh no. We like vintage shops. You know the type, they smell like damp and the inside of your nan's wardrobe, and we prance around pretending to overlook the fact that we are just in a well laid out, slightly more selective charity shop without the undertone of giving. Usually there's some blue haired student with a headscarf and a faint stench of Bobby Orange pawing through piles of shirts and jumpers that are deemed as retro, when they've actually some of them originated in C&A - we remember that place the first time round,depressingly. The whole vintage scene is a bit ironic and try hard and a bit sad at times, but the one thing that it does offer is the piece you are often looking at, generally is one of one only in the store. The same goes for charity shops, generally. We like stuff that can't be bought in bulk.

Dani owns Deluxe Blooms, and is a luxury faux florist, and very good at it too. Laura is a nail technician and spray tanning afficionado, and the owner of Maibella Nails and Tanning. I own a salon called Lexa Hair, and the three of us work together frequently. The ridiculous thing is though, that work is going really well for us, and while in the past we may have dug around in charity shops for a bargain simply to be economical, now it has begun more of a habit. And you know what they say, old habits die hard. We don't have to eat streetfood on picnic tables anymore, and we can shop anywhere we want, but at least just for me, I don't like extravagance and I'm not impressed by labels or price tags. I like pieces that are unique,with a story behind them. My two accomplices sort of get dragged in to it I think, but they seem on board with most of it. I hope.

And street food is the best food on earth, everyone knows that.

We kicked things off with a visit to a fairly new (maybe a year old I think) Vietnamese place on North Lane in Headingley named VietBaker. Inside it's very wooden looking, quite industrial and urban, stained wood everywhere and dark red leather chairs. It smells like the rice cooker that's chugging away in the corner, mixed with plenty of garlic and of course, the fresh baguettes that are stacked up in a glass cabinet above the front desk.

We opted for a sharing platter for £9, and from the menu us Yorkshire ruffians requested spring rolls (the deep fried ones, not the fresh, healthy ones obviously), prawn toast, and 'rustic chips'.

This was skin on chips with salt and pepper (well cooked and so tasty) and the prawn toast was understandably made of baguette slices. It made for a much heavier slab of prawn toast and therefore an even more unhealthy treat but man alive, was it good. The spring rolls were pork, prawn and the usual crispy vegetables inside. Not floppy or soggy, totally crispy and served with a really light and watery sweet chilli dip that's more sweet than chilli. It was all very lovely.

I've personally eaten from here a number of times and I think the Vietnamese have got it absolutely nailed when they make sandwich. Or a Ban Mih. Laura and I opted for one each, chicken for her and pork for me. Dani went for something off the new part of the menu, the fusion section, which even featured a take on beef bourgignon, Vietnamese style. She tried the Shanghai pork belly, served with rice. Her whole bowl was piled high, and we're not talking a polite, peanuts size bowl. More like a ‘free ceramic crunchy nut cereal box’ bowl, with the with tokens on the back of the pack, that you’d send off as a kid. It was huge. The second bowl was just plain rice, which worked really well as the pork alone was…. alot. It was sticky and tangy and rich and all those other wanky words that just mean amazing. I'm trying so hard to limit the wankiness. I like writing and eating, combining the two is hard work though. Bear with me. The slow cooked pork made me feel a bit gutted I went for a sandwich until I got stuck in.

Vietnam was a former French colony, and much like their neighbour Cambodia, found their local best offerings being bastardised to accomodate the 'local palate'. The nice version is that the baguette was the French's gift to the Vietnamese, although I imagine it was more a case of 'put your lovely meal in my baguette for me or you're in deep shit.'

I've never been to Vietnam but having visited Cambodge a few summers back, I remember being astounded at the gorgeous, light, dairy free Asian cuisine that had been shoved in a crusty, warm baguette. Whoever's story was true, it's the absolute bollocks.

They cut this freshly baked baguette open and spread it with patè on one side and on the other mayonnaise (already weird but hang in there) - add a ton of crispy green leaves, cucumber, pickles, coriander and fresh chilies, and add some meat into what little room is left. Enough meat to give you meat sweats. It. Is. Superb.

The pork was very finely sliced, dark and sticky again (here she goes) and you can bang on a fried egg, too, if you're an absolute wrong un. No thanks.

Laura had the chicken which was a milder flavour but none the less tasty and flavoursome. I noticed Laura pulling bits off her sandwich and delicately chewing away at them, while I picked it up and ate it like I'd been sleeping in the dark arches for the last month. I even had to be asked to wipe my face. Sorry, not sorry. No messing with a Ban Mih. Especially not this one.

The bill was a very respectable £11 a head, and they threw in a free set of spring rolls for us, which was a nice unexpected surprise. The place had a steady flow of traffic, and although wasn't packed, I've been on an evening and I think it's safe to assume that's the bulk of their trade. It was fantastic food, very reasonable and highly recommended. Great staff and great location. We'll be back!

Afterwards we drove for about 3 days to find a parking spot anywhere near Hyde Park, so we could check out the newly (ish) renovated (OK sign replaced and possibly ownership changed) Vintage something or other in Hyde Park.

I forget the name, and if I'm brutally honest I can see why. It's alright, but it used to be alot better. The last time I went in there was alot of very old apothecary style wooden drawer units, some weird taxidermy, and unusual pictures in frames that would look incredible in the lounge. This time there was quite a bit of formica, and some hideously orange stained TV units that I guess in some context would be deemed as cool again.

The music collection seemed to be where the most effort had been made. The clothing was actually quite 'quirky' in the sense that you wouldn't actually wear alot of it, there was a whole department that seemed to have been handed over by the owner of the late knob head Jimmy Saville, shell suit after shell suit in every colour of the rainbow, in that non breathable fabric you'd get a two man tent in. Hideous. Still, there are some absolute finds in there. I would encourage people to bear in mind that these shops have a high stock turnaround and in their uniqueness, and ability to replace items based on sales, any vintage shop can be a complete bag of shite one week and a total gold mine the next. Its the luck of the drawer, I love that about them. That and the fact that we call them vintage shops. The three of us refer to them as shit shops, but potato patato.

I find it depressing that as I mentioned before, alot of the 'retro' stuff is just normal stuff we, in our 30s, encountered in our youth. There was a 'vintage phone' that was £15 and I'm pretty sure my gran has it now. It's literally a BT £10 phone still in argos, but clearly it had lived with a heavy smoker, adding to the aged facade.

Some of it was very authentic, some of it was broken crap, but the general feel of the place is a good one. There is more 70s stuff than anything else which is quite cool, but like I say, stock changes very frequently. Dani bought an oversized T shirt with a University football team logo emblazoned across it, and to be honest I would have too. There was a vast array of university related large varsity based sweaters, some unnecessarily cut in half width ways (why?!!!! Serves no purpose now, you fools) and that's the kind of thing I would have liked to look at. But as I was in charge of a one year old who was bombing around the floor, doubling as a human sweeping brush and coming back with more dust on him than the inside of the V6 after the attic stairs have been tackled, I gave it up as a bad job and put my bank card back away. No spending for mum today. Gutted.

The shop is pretty fabulous, on the whole. They do know how to charge when it comes to furniture, but the clothing is far more reasonable. It's not all one off pieces, a couple of items make an appearance a few times and that kind of ruins it for me, I start picturing some huge factory in China making hideously outdated clothing and leaving them in a damp garage for a few years, chucking a bit of tea down them and wearing the cuffs and collars down, before exporting the newly knackered pieces to us dumbasses in our 'quirky vintage shops'. Who knows. It's well laid out, and pretty cool, and although not my favourite, I imagine the next time I go it'll be a whole different experience. Swings and roundabouts with these places. It was an interesting look, and if Parker hadn't been doing his best ferret impression I would have definitely bought a jumper. Well worth a look.

Until next week!

Laura, Dani and Alex X

VietBaker, Headingley

https://www.thevietbaker.co.uk

Vintage Boutique, Hyde Park

https://vintageboutique.com