#i also like the ‘duck has hair that grows blue and he dyes it brown’ hc but didn’t draw that here

[nebulaeyedfish]

Duck Newton fans unite RB if you’re a true Duckhead!!!! 💥💥💥

Tags: @swanofstorie @raise-me-up-take-me-up @imflyingfish

See pinned for commissions :)

[symphonic-scream]

Digimon au Group 3: Juleka, Rose, Chloe, and Sabrina

Yeah they get pulled into this whole mess too. Juleka and Rose were watching a livestream of a concert with Luka when the portal opens, and Chloe and Sabrina were doing some online shopping in Chloe's room

Juleka and Rose are not quite dating, but they're at that point where like, they just have to say it to make it real? Like they're dating but neither will admit it and they just continue on like that until one breaks

Sabrina and Chloe are pretty close to how they are in canon I guess. Not a very healthy friendship, Sabrina thinking she only has value if she can do stuff for Chloe, and Chloe trying to emulate her mother in hope of making her proud for once

They start off in a mountain range, all four waking up on a little rocky plateau in the centre of the ring of mountains. Chloe starts to get a little panicked right off the bat, with Sabrina trying to calm her down, while Juleka is more concerned about where her brother is. He was with them before this happened, shouldn't he be there too?

She goes to take out her phone to call him and yep that's the tablet digivice things the others had too. When they hold them for the first time, the symbol on the back glows on their hand. Chloe is the only character that has the symbol on her left hand, since I just make her left handed in general now

In terms on colours, Rose got gold, Juleka a vibrant fuchsia, Sabrina navy, and sky blue for Chloe. With them all out they start to glow, and their Training stage digimon partners appear

For Juleka, Bukamon

Rose gets a Kokomon

Chloé's is a Puroromon

And Sabrina has Babydmon

They all freak out, go through the same explanation thing as the others and all that jazz. Rose, once over the shock, just marvels over how adorable they all are, giving her Kokomon and Juleka's Bukamon a big ol hug

Chloe is still tapping away at the little screen on her device trying to call home, when two bigger bird digimon, fighting each other, get too close to the group. One of them crashes into the rock near them, and turns it's eyes on them once it pulls itself up

Rather than continue fighting the two bigger birds start trying to catch/kill them instead, so their partners square up to digivolve as the screens glow white

Juleka's Bukamon turns into Betamon

Rose gets Lopmon

I couldn't help myself, Chloé's is FanBeemon

And Sabrina gets Dracomon

They manage to escape by getting the two birds fighting again, and duck into a cave. Juleka wants to go look for Luka, fearing he could be in danger out there on his own, and Rose convinces Sabrina and Chloe that it's safer if they stick together, so that's their goal

Rose gets the crest of Hope. She's treading the fine line between keeping Juleka's spirits up about finding Luka and getting home, and not giving her false hope. She has faith in their partners to protect them, but she worries that by doing so, she might be putting too much pressure on them to save them

For Juleka, hers is Compassion. She is so worried about Luka and Rose and Betamon, and even Sabrina and Chloe, that she has no left over concern for herself. She spends so much energy trying to comfort and protect her friends that she completely ignores her own needs, even taking less food to make sure someone else gets more. She's gonna learn that meeting her own needs isn't selfish, and that she can look out for others and still care for herself

Sabrina, she got Pride. She's starting in a place where she has no faith in herself or her abilities at all. She believes she's the weakest link, and has to work extra hard to compensate. Girl's gotta learn to respect herself, and have a sense of self pride without going too far the opposite direction,

And lastly, Chloe with Forgiveness. She was raised in a system where she could only do wrong in her mother's eyes, no matter how much she said she was sorry, Audrey wouldn't hear it. Chloe has spent years forgiving her mother again and again, believing she has to. She's gonna grow and learn about letting go of the weight seeking her mother:s forgiveness presses on her, and turn her sight to people who have the capacity to grant it to her

Oh boy designs time

Rose has this pink sundress, one of those big summer hats? Like, big brim, sun hat kinda thing, and her Kokomon loves to sit on it. Also, she's totally still got sandals on. If her feet start hurting from walking, oh no, a big tall goth might just have to carry her oh no-

Speaking of a big tall goth, a black tank/muscle shirt with some rock band logo on the front, maybe a homemade Kitty Section one Rose designed for them (since they don't know Marinette), and over that is like a sheer dark purple shirt? Full sleeves, the kind you can see right through. Gotta keep the classic hair dye, and she's got ripped black jeans and black boots, coincidentally perfect for traversing that mountain they're on

Sabrina Sabrina Sabrina~ white collared shirt under a pale teal knit sweater, high waisted brown shorts with a belt she probably got from Chloe. Long black socks, and hightop shoes, a nice mellow purple colour. Maybe a little simple silver chain necklace, and I like her glasses so keeping those the same

And lastly, Chloe. Black long sleeve shirt, paired with a yellow and white plaid skirt, I think the style is called pleated? Yeah, pleated. She's got some tall, black boots, with a little heel on em. Hair in a ponytail for sure, but a little curlier than canon. Probably has some big sunglasses with her too

--

Wooaaaah, we're half way there. WOOOOAHHH Squidward with a pear~

3/6 groups done. Yes I'm still going with this au that next to no one wants, this is a treat for myself. The remaining groups are all smaller, 2-3 people, so they'll be shorter.

Once more, if you have any comments or questions I'm all ears, or eyes in this case, cause, reading

[aj-illustrated]

what’s this is it a one-shot born from my love of Varian’s redesigns

Fic below the cut!

It was his dad’s idea to get him the goggles.

Varian couldn’t remember how old he was when he first took up alchemy, but he remembered his first major explosion like it was yesterday. Setting the garden shed on fire at the tender age of four had to be some kind of record.

His dad was positively livid, and once the fire had been put out and Varian was checked over for injuries, he was stuck with his nose in the corner for what felt like hours. Of course, that didn’t stop him from plunging headfirst back into alchemy the minute his father’s back was turned, and it was only a matter of time before Varian was once again in time out.

Eventually, Dad realized that the time outs weren’t working and Varian was going to keep mixing chemicals regardless of how much trouble it got him into. So on Varian’s fifth birthday, instead of a new toy, Dad had gone into town and purchased a brand new pair of brass-lined goggles.

“There,” Dad had said, strapping the goggles around his son’s head. “Now you can do your experiments safely.”

“Like a real alchemist?” Varian had asked in earnest, grinning so broadly that he thought his face might split.

Dad smiled. “Like a real alchemist.”

******************

It was Xavier’s idea to get him the apron.

Ever since he was little, he’d been using the small kitchen apron his father had made for him years before. But by the time he was eleven, the apron was frayed and scorched in certain places where he had spilled some of his more volatile substances– not to mention, it was so small that the strings could barely tie together and the front fell just above his knees. Something would have to be done about that.

Over the years, Varian had gradually taken on the responsibility of the household mending. Between him and his father, there was an abundance of shirts to be patched and socks to be darned, and Dad was… admittedly not super great at it. Luckily for Varian, sewing came naturally to him, and he didn’t mind the chore so much as he wished he could get it done faster.

Initially, he’d only gone into town to pick up some extra fabric to adjust the length of his apron and maybe get some extra thread, but as always, the temptation to wander inside Xavier’s forge overcame him. Something about the smell of coal dust and molten iron drew him in like a moth to a flame, and no matter how he tried, he could never bring himself to look away from the sight of Xavier pounding a slab of metal into an actual working tool. As far as Varian was concerned, this was as close as the world was going to get to real magic.

Evidently, it seemed like Varian stood staring for too long that day. Xavier turned from his anvil to face the boy, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 

“Like what you see, eh?” he asked playfully, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Why don’t you take a closer look?”

Varian’s feet seemed to gain a mind of their own, because before he knew it, he was standing at the edge of the anvil, eyes fixated on the gleaming hunk of iron before him. It was like staring into the sun, the glow was so bright, but Varian couldn’t tear himself away.

“So, young alchemist…” Xavier drawled, glancing down at the enraptured boy. “What brings you to the capital this fine day?”

Varian finally looked up from the anvil. “Just picking up some new fabric. My, uh… my apron needs some repairs.”

“Does it now?” asked the man playfully. “I might know of something that could suit your purposes.”

Xavier ducked into the back room, and in a moment returned with a folded length of brown cloth. “Recently, I bought some leather for the tailor to fashion me a new pair of gloves. But it seems as if I bought too much,” he said, offering the cloth to Varian. “Leather is a fire-resistant material, and your father has told me of some of your… eh… close calls. Perhaps you could find some use for this.”

Varian took the cloth with wide eyes, nodding and murmuring a thank-you. By the same time next week, he’d completed the last stitch of his new, fireproof apron. It was a bit big (Varian hadn’t wanted to waste any of the precious leather), but he still had plenty of time to grow into it.

Oh well, back to work. Those pesky raccoons were eating away the apple harvest again... 

******************

It was Andrew’s idea to get him the coat.

“You have to show these filthy Coronans who’s boss,” he’d said, not long after the coup had taken place. “And no offense, kid, but you’re kind of a runt. You’ve got to do something to make yourself look more intimidating.”

Varian hated to admit it (and he hated it more to hear it said out loud), but Andrew had a point. He was barely five foot two, and though he was hoping for another growth spurt, it didn’t seem to be coming any time soon. The coat in question was stolen off a rich noble, a glossy red-and-black leather that was a size too big, but it certainly did the job of making Varian seem larger than he actually was.

The slick black boots followed soon after, and so did the fanged bandana. With every new addition, Varian got more and more used to his new identity. He wasn’t just Varian the alchemist, Varian the screw-up – he was Varian the Saporian, and he was going to use his newfound alliance to make everything right… no matter how wrong it felt.

******************

It was Eugene’s idea to get him the suit.

It had only been a few weeks since they had taken down the Saporians and freed his father, so Varian didn’t fully expect for things to feel normal just yet. He was thrilled to have Dad back, of course, and Rapunzel commissioning him to help rebuild Old Corona had kept him busy– designing blueprints and schematics might be second nature to him at this point, but it was certainly a step up to redesign an entire village.

When he wasn’t actively involved with a royal project, though, he was ignored or brushed off by pretty much everyone but the princess herself. That was... fine. To be perfectly honest, Varian didn’t expect anyone to start trusting him right away. Or ever again. Varian didn’t even trust himself after everything he’d done. So when Eugene had glanced him over and judged that he was in need of a new wardrobe, saying Varian was shocked would be an understatement.

At the moment, Varian stood alone in one of the palace dressing rooms, buttoning the vest of the freshly tailored suit of clothes Eugene had insisted be made for him. 

“Believe me, Goggles, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the suit makes the man,” he’d said with a grin, gently pushing Varian inside the dressing room. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty amazing as-is, but I’m thinking you could use an update. Starting with some clothes that actually fit.”

Eugene– or rather, Flynn Rider– had been Varian’s hero ever since he was old enough to pick up a book. Even when they were technically enemies, Varian couldn’t help but admire Eugene’s strength and ingenuity. He was everything Varian wished he could be, right down to the forgiven criminal record and flawless facial hair (which may or may not have served as the inspiration for Varian’s drawn-on goatee). 

Varian glanced himself over in the mirror, straightening up a bit. He looked… older. Mature.

He took a deep breath, chancing one more look in the mirror; something seemed like it was missing. Glancing over towards the pile of his old things, a glint of glass and metal caught his eye. With a smile, Varian slipped on his goggles– the ones his dad had given him so many years before.

Perfect.

******************

It was Varian’s idea to get the second hairstripe.

Being the Royal Engineer had its perks, sure, but spending every day solving other people’s problems had long since grown tedious, and Varian couldn’t deny that a part of him yearned for something... more. More what, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was hoping that these “seven trials” his mother had spoken of her in her old journal would give him that answer.

That is, if he ever convinced Dad to let him seek them out.

Varian had gotten his work at the castle done early that day, and when he arrived back home in Old Corona, Dad was still working in the fields and would be until sunset, which was hours away. Hopefully, Varian wouldn’t lose his nerve before then.

It wasn’t long before boredom overtook him; he’d read all his books, and he’d left all his projects for the kingdom back at the palace. He had practically memorized his mother’s journal at this point, and as of late, it was the only thing that seemed to capture his interest for longer than thirty minutes. 

Varian sighed, pressing his back against the wall and glancing over to the mirror hung on the wall across from him. His eyes wandered up to the streak of turquoise in his bangs and he absentmindedly tugged on the lock of hair; Dad said that Mom was experimenting with different formulas for shampoo and had tested one of them on an infant Varian. According to Dad, while the formula had gotten his hair clean, it also permanently stained the roots blue– which in retrospect was pretty funny, though Varian could only imagine Dad’s reaction when he saw the results of his wife’s experiment.

The longer Varian dwelled on the streak, the more the idea of dying his hair began to appeal to him; if Mom could do it, why couldn’t he? It wasn’t difficult to color hair... he just needed a bit of hydrogen peroxide and some sort of colorant...

Dad came in from the fields a few hours later, and by that time, the washroom basin was smeared with homemade hair dye and so were Varian’s gloves. A second, slightly brighter streak of blue adorned Varian’s hair, still wet from application.

Looking back, dying his hair probably wasn’t the smartest decision Varian could have made to convince his dad that he was responsible enough to venture out into the Seven Kingdoms on his own. Then again, at least he didn’t try to pierce his belly button (an argument Dad did not appreciate).

Luckily, Dad wasn't nearly as upset about it as he could have been (he was more concerned with the state of the washroom), and by the time Varian found it in himself to bring up the idea of him leaving home, Dad... wasn’t actively opposed to it.

“I’m not going to say I love the thought of you traveling on your own,” Dad explained wearily as he helped load a bag of supplies onto Prometheus’s back. “But you’ve more than proved that you can take care of yourself. Just... stay safe. And when you feel ready, come home.”

Varian nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I... I’ll write to you as often as I can,” he said as he mounted the donkey, reins in hand. “I promise.”

Dad smiled down at him, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I can’t wait to hear about all your adventures,” he replied softly. “I love you, son.”

“...I love you too, Dad.”

With a flick of the reins, Varian was heading down the path leading past the Corona walls, the early morning sun shining like a beacon into the beyond.

[mercurialmist]

Orts, Meghan Murphy, 2021

When coral and poppy lipsticks melt into waxy pools they are scraped away. Yet the empty tubes remain, rimmed with colorful remnants of time. 

The residue of laughing painted lips cling to hollow silver shells. The stifled air, moist with trapped memories, turns acidic, tarnishing the silver bullets in blues and greens. The weaker metals succumb to corrosion and the smooth geometric objects of the vanity descend into the mirrored surface…an infinite reflected universe of pock-marked moons and rust-cratered pits. Glass perfume bottles, whose contents have long-since evaporated, reveal droplets of gooey condensation on the inside. 

Every time I turn on a faucet the water splutters in mud brown streams before finally fading to a pale yellow trickle. 

Inside this house there is no letting go. 

We can’t even replace the carpets, until the carpets speak for themselves—abruptly unraveling to trip us up. Failing plumbing stains the walls in murky teardrops, rivulets cascading down, down into the earth—and the same shade of paint is used to cover up the blooming mold. The wallpaper-ed rooms are less lucky—if the wallpaper is no longer in production then it stays, doomed to gradually be absorbed by the sweating house. A bathroom with walls of vibrantly colored, life-sized birds has faded from ornate detail to abstract shapes. The yellow finch that used to watch me with a discerning eye, has been reduced to the silhouette for a toddler’s puzzle. 

The house gasps, groans, wheezes and secretes …

There are birds of all materials here. Porcelain eagles, taxidermy ducks and pheasants, delicate glass swans, a bronze peacock figurine…..

On the wall of the den is the mounted head of an indeterminant creature. Its mouth is open to reveal pointed white teeth and I see my brother and I reflected in the protruding marble eyes.

“It’s a fox,” I say.

 “No,” my brother responds resolutely. “It’s an opossum.” 

The toy box, an excavation site where the heavy wooden blocks of my mother’s childhood lay at the bottom and my own plastic toys float towards the top, all webbed together by the roots of tangled doll hair. We prefer to play with the bronzes—a collection of dog-sized statues line a room, an infinite circular migration. We climb on to ungiving saddles, little hands grasping cold buffalo horns and clutching at the faces of stoic Mohican chiefs. 

I am all too aware of the constant surveillance that follows my padded footsteps. The walls are covered in heavy oil paintings, depicting dramatic scenes of nature—a ship caught in the throes of an angry sea, horses (so many herds of horses) in various landscapes—galloping, grazing, leaping into the air with rolling white eyes—and two large portraits of them, stationed in the heart of the house. 

The grand piano sits below their looming faces—a glossy sacrificial altar. The ebony surface is covered in a clutter of picture frames, the many factions of a tangled family tree. The newest faces and unions vie for the front, dangerously close to the edge, while past, ended marriages and children long grown linger in the back.…. It’s the photos that don’t make it in the frames that matter—those candid moments that break through the glossy sheen.  

I enter rooms on tip-toe, and hold my breath, always waiting for…what? To see the statues scramble back into place? The portraits conversing? I can’t even find peace in the bathroom, where a framed, larger-than-life nude woman bathes in the moonlight, glancing accusatorially over her shoulder at me. 

And when it all becomes unbearable, all that empty, heavy space, all the unblinking eyes, I defy the house the only way a child can. I open the home stereo system, installed under the old record player, and press play on the album ‘Now That’s What I Call Music. 9.’ There is something immensely satisfying about filling the space with the pulsating base of Missy Elliot and dancing spastically around the house. Pausing in front of china cabinets and display cases to flail my limbs wildly. I am both defying the on-looking artefacts and also moving, running, prancing, and crawling for them. I scream the obscene lyrics, and when I don’t know the words I fill the void with howls, yelps and guttural cries. 

In the summer, we collect dozens of inky black tadpoles from the pond and bring them inside to observe their evolution into frogs. With transfixed satisfaction we watch the wiggling amphibians absorb their tails and gills, to sprout webbed feet, gradually preferring the floating branches to the depths of the tank. 

By the time the frogs are leaping and croaking, their startling ruckus is too erratic and I can feel the house expelling their presence. When I release the frogs, I think of the mounted fox, collecting dust in his perpetual snarl, glass stags frozen in flight, the bronze boar in everlasting terror and the hounds always tensed to lunge. 

We have granted these things a power and their stillness now vibrates with a tension that will surely crack if the white porcelain arms of ballerinas, extended high over heads, don’t finally rest. 

Every closet and drawer is filled with them. Racks of dresses hang in a shocking burst of color that even years of mothballs can’t subdue. Stacked boxes of white leather gloves, waiting to either mold itself to my skin in a permanent grasp or disintegrate from the shock of warm, pulsating flesh. His imposing army of suits, the outgrown shells of a larger-than-life man. 

Over the years, we grow bolder and shift through her dresses, fingering the stiff fabrics and choosing our favorites. 

“Try them on girls,” they whisper. 

We are all silent as the rigid materials swallow our pre-pubescent bodies, but there is no warm encasing or folding of fabric over our slight frames. The dresses stubbornly maintain their womanly shapes, and we are just sticks propping up the figure of her. 

It’s when we start to move that the ritual commences. There is something intimate and precious, and thrilling, because we know it is wrong to be wearing her clothes. In these gowns we feel elegant and graceful and hold our heads high as we twirl and pirouette through the house like a coronation—a sense of importance and birth-right. 

We baptize the stiff dresses in our sweat and the dusty-dry fabric greedily soaks in youthful beads of perspiration…a secretion of inheritance. 

…10 years later

“Now that I’ve left, when I come back to the house I feel like that boy, Holden, from Catcher in the Rye,” he says with a half-smile. His posture is rigid though, and I find my brother’s resigned behavior maddening, as if we hadn’t spent our childhood living here. Hands stuffed in his coat, he winds through the room, giving the furnishings a wide berth.  

“Remember,” he continues, “how Holden loved the Natural History Museum as a child and suddenly he can’t bear going back because he’s changed and everything remains the same inside the museum?”

I only vaguely remember something about a red (or was it orange?) hat and a carousal. His eyes finally land on the oversized portraits of our great-grandparents, dominating the living room, and his expression sets.  

“Meg,” he is resolute but I can sense a dread in his voice that alarms me.

“I love you and I want to set you free.” He emphasizes “free” as if it means so much more than I understand. 

“Sometimes the power of a place, an artefact, or a story, can help guide us into our own. But this has gotten way out of hand. We,” he gestures around the room to indicate our family, “we were once the weavers of our truth. But, suddenly our hands couldn’t keep up with the loom, or it was like the loom didn’t need us anymore…and now we’re tangled, trapped, suffocating in our own creation, while the story shuttles on. I hope that you are able to let it all go…leave this tangled mess where it lies. Perhaps pause to wonder at the knots, frayed ends, and faded dyes…at this jumbled creature that has enveloped you, and what it once was. I want you to feel the blood start to circulate back into limbs that you haven’t even realized are numb, wrapped up in this vice-like thread. When all this is over, maybe take a strand or two with you to carry around as a reminder.”

In the back of my mind I can hear my cousins’ comments about how lost my brother is. How ungrateful he is to turn his back on all that our family has worked so hard to achieve, and how our spoiled upbringing is the only explanation for his dissatisfaction. 

“I don’t understand…”

He surges on:

“You know how Grandpa taught me how to fish? And how I was so excited that I nearly hooked myself in the eye?” I smile fondly as he touches his brow, where a small scar disrupts the arc of hair.

“That never happened. I got this scar from hitting my head on the coffee table. I don’t even like fishing. And I barely remember them!” 

He gestures accusatorily at the serene, smiling faces on the wall. 

I am horrified. 

I was born shortly after my great-grandparents had died, and grew up envying and reveling in everyone else’s memories of them.  

“I started to catch on that everybody in our family had these special moments with them, and that there was never any kind of timeline or specific setting. And everyone is always trying to up each other with how meaningful their memories are. Aunt Susan got herself into trouble when she went a bit too far with her sailing story, involving that storm and shipwreck, forgetting that Grandpa never learned to swim.” 

He picks up a porcelain horse from the mantle-piece and snaps a leg off. For a moment I swear I hear the terribly crisp ‘crack!’ of breaking glass, resounding through the house. Instead, there is only my own sharp gasp and a dull splintering sound. 

“This isn’t hand-made, limited edition porcelain from Vienna. It’s acrylic. Probably from China. Maybe there was an original figurine once-upon-a-time, and maybe Grandma really did smuggle it back from Europe in her jacket, but this particular one is the third acrylic replica—in our lifetime—to be placed here.”

He looks at me pleadingly, “surely you must have caught-on that something was up…”

I look around the room; was there an imperceptible dulling of color and light? Had there always been so much…stuff? Every surface is covered with the treasured belongings of my great-grandparents. I finger the scratchy wool of pillows she crocheted. Here was his rifle collection, above a desk littered with her stationary and a heavy glass paper weight. And suddenly I feel those binding ties that he had been talking about. Every object, painting, and photograph that has been eternalized in my memory over the years, is connected to me by hundreds of threads tied to my ribcage. As I stare at the tremoring silky strands, I wonder whether I spun this web or if the objects themselves cast the net. And now I can never unsee or un-feel myself caught, suspended, propped-up in this thing. I realize that these are ties only I can sever. But what if these little connections are what hold me upright? I picture myself a crumpled heap on the floor, with no more wonder and certainty to buoy me back up. 

“Hurry!” My brother says, an edge of desperation in his voice, “before it is too late.”

I frantically begin to pull…and pull and pull and the fibrous strings just keep coming….slipping, wet and glistening, through my skin… and then with a panic I press on my stomach and, instead of my bottom ribs, all I feel is soft, vulnerable intestines. I am unraveling myself. I am this thread, and I was moments away from unmaking myself.

Suddenly, my brother’s face transforms. As I watch, it continues to mutate between gender and age, and yet there is something familiar looking back at me. In skin that is soft, taut, and lined—all at once—I glimpse iterations of the same eye-shape, and pointed chin. And I am not afraid. “You have passed the test. And so, you have earned these—The Scissors of Acceptance, and The Stone of Truth.” They pass me a pair of small silver scissors and a whetstone, that sits reassuringly in the palm of my hand. 

“But ask yourself: why was it so easy for my little tale and demonstration to nearly unspool you?” 

When does the silence of family secrets, glaring omissions and mysterious gaps, accumulate to become more substantial than what is known? Perhaps the unspoken and unacknowledged is the backbone of the narrative. Perhaps one doesn’t necessarily contradict, or negate, the other. 

I can not pull, or exorcise this thing from my body; I must accept it for what it is and be grateful that it supported my trembling legs until I could stand on my own. I use The Scissors of Acceptance, sharpened by The Stone of Truth, to cut the strings. Each snip of the scissors is a snapped chord—a violent jerk, quivering, and finally stillness. 

I leave the house. And these ‘orts’—leftover fragments of the past—trail behind me in a soft silver wake. As I continue moving, the ghostly little strings begin to tentatively seek each other, connect like grasping hands, and eventually these remaining ties are the beginning of something new, and whole. A sheening garment, light as air, covers me like a second skin—as comforting as a blanket and protective as armor. 

See more of Meghan’s work at: https://www.everythingforever.net/meghan-murphy

[tonguetiedartist]

Started Amnesty like a couple of weeks ago and??? I love it??? SO much??? Here’s some designs and some Sads™ from the beginning of the third arc.

Under the cut are some headcanons, so I don’t have to write them in the tags and risk this not showing in the main ones :))))))

I love “Duck has natural blue hair” but I raise you: “Duck started growing white hair when he was 18, dyed it brown and in his late 20s let it show a little because it could pass as grey hairs. Still dyes it, not as much but just enough”. Also I like Aubrey with a red color that doesn’t look natural? Like you know it’s dye, and that’s the point kinda. Anyways yes this is all about them dying their hair I know stuff

[forestwater87]

Odd question. If you were doing a wing fic (shorthand: everyone has some kind of wings on their back; up to you if they're always out or if they can be banished and summoned at will) for Camp Camp, what kind of wings would the cast have?

Oooh I love wing fics! Hmmm, let’s see . . . 

David’s would be a little small for his age/size, and he’d probably be kind of embarrassed about that. He can still fly just fine with them -- which he’d say, defensively, if anyone pointed them out -- and they’re very fluffy, white, with little speckles of green flecked throughout.

Now I know most wing fics stick with feathered wings, but it did occur to me that some sort of insectlike wings -- all delicate-looking and iridescent like the surface of a bubble -- would also suit him very well. They’d be a bit more natural and forest-y, but would still have that element of embarrassment and shyness (he was probably called “fairy” a lot growing up, and it’d be a sore spot for him).

That being said, the idea of David having massive wings was suggested by @ciphernetics​, and I must admit that the idea of him either wrapping them around people to protect or comfort them is super cute. Also in a protective moment he could like fwoosh, out they come to shield the campers and it’d be badass. It’s not my preferred hc for him, but there are some lovely ways to play with it.

Gwen’s would be . . . serviceable. Dull, easily overlooked, probably some shade of gray or that kind of dun mousy brown that looks greyish in the right light, bigger than David’s but neither unusually large or small, not especially fluffy but not kind of molted the way some sick people’s are . . . they’re just sort of there. (She was probably nicknamed Pigeon by a lot of people, both as an affectionate term and a derogatory one. And like pigeons’ wings, there are little patches of color among her wings that are hard to see unless you’re looking for them it’s a metaphor get it? aren’t I clever ohoho)

Campbell’s are humongous. The biggest wings ever. He is a mountain of a man, with massive pure-white wings. Some people are convinced he genetically modified them somehow, and they do have this uncanny radioactive glow in the dark but don’t worry about that, it’s perfectly natural and not at all suspicious!

The fun thing about this is that they can get increasingly bedraggled as Season 3 progresses, until they’re drooping and muddy.

Quartermaster has bat wings. I don’t give a fuck if literally every other character has angel wings, QM’s are bats and that’s just the way it has to be.

I like the idea of the campers having small wings that can fit under their clothes, because they haven’t really grown in yet. I imagine maybe Nurf might be an exception, since he seems to be either older or just bigger than the other campers, but for the most part those kiddos look just like their normal selves. That being said, a few ideas of what they might look like grown up:

Max -- black, maybe a little big for his age, like a crow or raven’s wings. When he gets annoyed they puff up and slip out of his hoodie, and it’s a pain to put them back in which annoys him even more and gets them more puffy and hard to stuff back . . . it’s a constant struggle. Pity the poor kid.

Neil -- I’m torn between going with his hair color and giving him some hawklike brown-and-white wings, which I think would look nice with his coloring, and just going hog-wild and giving him wings like a bluebird because of his eyes. I think the latter would be too showy and embarrass him, but there’s something kinda cute about that too. His wings would be like his dad: impossible to ignore and much louder and more obnoxious (in his POV) than they need to be.

Nikki -- big and flecked with golden-orange. Of all the characters I think hers would have the most modifications, because as a kid/young adult she wasn’t careful with them and got them all torn up -- maybe to the point where she can’t even fly with them. But she has Neil and he’s a smart cookie, so I like to think of her wings having a vaguely-steampunk element of mechanisms and patches keeping them together.

Harrison -- white or a very light gray, like a dove’s. He paints the tips gold when he’s older as part of his illusionist costume.

Nerris -- I’m just thinking pure eastern bluebird, orange at the base and then exploding into brilliant blue. I think she’d love how flashy they are.

Ered -- Somehow I want her to have dragon wings. I have no idea why, or how, but I think it’d be extremely cool, and Ered is nothing if not cool. Especially if they’re really rare, almost unheard of, and she’s put a lot of work into transforming herself from the tomboyish freak with the demon wings and gay dads into something to be envious of. Besides, it’s easier to do sick stunts without having to worry about your feathers getting caught on stuff.

Nurf -- All right, I wanna get emo for a moment and say that his wings have been hacked either partly or entirely off by the time he’s an adult. We know he’s been abused in canon, and I think that people like that would go for the easiest target to hurt you, and that target is probably the delicate feathered things sticking out of your back. Bonus points if they’re somehow kind of girly, which coincides with his more sensitive nature and how he initially wanted to do ballet as a kid (especially since I don’t think that was well-received by his family). So, like . . . what remains are very fluffy and sweet-looking, maybe pink or pale yellow and orange or something, but they’re either little stubs he covers up all the time or they’ve got big chunks missing out of them but who’s gonna point that out to the huge guy with a pissed-off expression?

Preston -- Rainbow, like the most extravagant bird of paradise. Does he paint them himself, or are they as natural as he claims? 

Dolph -- Probably something very average and serviceable, in the brown/gray/white family, but they’re always speckled with paint because he’s not very careful with them and especially the long feathers at the bottom trail along the ground while he’s painting, or get stuck to his art if he turns around too suddenly.

Space Kid -- I’m thinking of a duck, for some reason. Partly because they’re aquatic and I just connect the ocean and space for some reason, partly because they’re very ordinary and that’s kind of how SK rolls, and partly because ducks can just flap for insane distances without getting tired (thank you Animorphs!). Space Kid is like that, I think -- very diligent, keeps his head down and gets things done, not very bright but he works so hard it makes up for a lot, and that’s why he’s going to be an astronaut someday. Mallards have those pretty green feathers, too, and I think those would look nice with Space Kid’s eyes.

Jasper -- Peacock. Obviously. He is the most garishly-dressed person in the show and his wings would match. Not that you’ll ever know, because he never gets to grow up and have real wings :( 

So those are the mains! As for some of the less-important characters, I don’t really have too many interesting ideas, but a few throwaway ones:

The Flower Scouts all have pink wings, either feathers or bug/fairy ones. I think maybe Tabii has a chunk missing from one of hers, from a fight or something, and the other girls made a patch so no one can tell and she can fly properly. Erin’s might be just slightly different colors -- one with an orangey tint, one with a blue.

A fun thing about bug wings is they could buzz when the girls are angry. So Sasha’s are basically always going, poor thing.

The Woodscouts probably have their wings bound, clipped, and constantly ready for combat flying. I’m thinking, like, the military-haircut version of wings.

Daniel’s . . . I mean, I don’t care about Daniel because he’s trash, but I do love the idea that they’re not naturally white and he dyes them. It’s my favorite Daniel hc and I need it to appear in every AU.

So that about covers it!

EXCEPT

Then I was talking with Ciphernetics about wing AUs, and I mentioned that in some wing fics (namely the awesome one by setepenre-set, though there are probably others) the wings’ size are based on how loved someone is. Which led to the below cuteness. Warning: shameless Gwenvid and Makkiel ahead, along with me insisting that Cameron Campbell isn’t the worst person in the entire world because I’m love him

Ciphernetics: Max’s wings growing during camp!Max voice: who the FUCK is loving me I specifically requested the opposite of thisDavid: You can even fit them in your hoodie anymore awwwwMax, struggling to pull it on over his wings: the hell I can't

Forestwater:(what if they come in the color of the person who loves you's hair)(so at first it's just this line of red that he knows is fucking David, goddamnit and then all of a sudden start sprouting these mint green and brown ones and my ship takes off)

Ciphernetics: Max, disgusted, throwing an auburn feather at David: get LOSTMax, looking over his shoulder in the mirror at the brown ones gathering at the tips and the mint ones scattered chaotically throughout: huh

Forestwater:Oh no what about when Nikki and Neil's start getting flecked with black, small and easily tugged out like they're ashamed of being there

Ciphernetics: The small really curly little feathery down that like to hide under other feathers(Gwen's had auburn in her wings since almost the first summer but lately it's started to overpower the rest of the colours. Not completely, it's just... Noticeable how much of it is the same colour now.)(She knew David loved people quickly and easily, it's just suddenly a lot more)(or she just wasn't paying attention)

Forestwater:What on earth would David's reaction be to suddenly finding some of Gwen's?I like the idea of her feathers being two-toned

Ciphernetics: I'd love if he's had a very small, slowly growing patch since they met (just a handful more each summer) but some event happens and suddenly there's a lotOh absolutely two tonedHey how about some angst;David's been waiting his whole life for Campbell's hair colourToday at 9:32 AMHe'd never say it but Campbell makes so many throwaway jokes about David being the son he never wanted but it rings a little hollow when there's not when one little brown/grey feather

Forestwater:until the end of season 3 when there's like . . . twoLISTEN I NEED MY TRASH GRANDPA

So that’s just a little bit of extra silliness for added angst/romance/fluff.

Hope this answer isn’t too long, but I was having fun.

[feminarrie]

under the same moon - three

a/n: sorry for the wait, loves! i’ve been in a lot of pain the last week, but finally managed to finish chapter three! it’s a little over 2.2k and a whole lot of soft niall! a big big big thank you to @fireawaynjh for beta reading this chapter! 

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Niall sighs as he gets out of bed, chest heavy and eyes still bleary with sleep. He’d gotten almost a full eight hours last night, but his lack of a consistent sleeping schedule never allowed him a day without some sort of fatigue. And it’s aggravated slightly by Hanna’s presence in his life, but he’d rather lose sleep talking to her than miss out on the small glimpses into her life back home.

He widens his eyes in an effort to wake himself up more, prolonging his blinks to clear whatever blurs his vision. It doesn’t help much, but he hasn’t got time to sit around. He’s got a six hour shift at the record store just a block away from his flat. Plus one of Liam’s friends, Zayn, had asked if Niall would mind recording some of his music. Which, of course, Niall has agreed to when Zayn promised to pay him a hundred quid.

Fingers comb through the tangled mess atop his head, leaving some strands sticking straight up and others flopping down on his forehead. He supposes that a shower was likely a good idea, even if it meant skimping out on a healthy breakfast in favor of an overpriced scone and coffee from Starbucks.

Niall gets up to rummage in the black chest of drawers, finding a pair of black Calvin Klein’s and wandering off into the single bathroom in the flat. He’s grateful that Liam’s likely still sleeping in because he’s genuinely never met somebody that takes so long in the bathroom just to come out looking the exact same.

(Which also frustrated Niall because Liam was already fit. He could get just about any girl as soon as he steps out on the street. So, it really isn’t fair that he makes the water run cold before Niall’s had the chance to shower).

After he’s turned the shower on and while he is waiting for it to heat up to an appropriate temperature, Niall types out a quick good morning text to Hanna.

Good morning, love. Getting ready for work, but hopefully I’ll be out before you’re even awake. Hope your day starts off well!

After he’s pressed send, Niall scrolls through some of his curated Spotify playlists. He settles on one that is a compilation of his most listened to titles and turs it up to full volume. Take It Easy by The Eagles echoes of the white walls of the bathroom. Niall hums along with it as he steps into the shower. Before long, though, his voice is carrying over the sounds of Glenn Frey’s own vocals.

Niall sings his way through two more songs on the playlist before he’s stepping out of the shower. Brunette locks are plastered to his forehead and beads of water travel down the bridge of his nose only to drip to his lower lip. He licks the droplet away as he reaches for the grey towel that’s neatly hung over the metal rod of a towel rack. He uses it to quickly dry off his hair, leaving it in loose curls and sticking up in different directions. His body follows next where he starts from his feet and then all the way to his broad back before he steps outside of the porcelain tub to tug on his boxer briefs.

As he unlocks the door to exit, Niall grabs his phone from the shelf that’s hung exactly in the middle of the two towel racks beneath it. He pauses Jackie and Wilson by Hozier because he’s sure that Liam wouldn’t appreciate the blaring music as Niall makes the trek back to his room.

He doesn’t expect Hanna’s name to pop up on his screen, though. It’s only a quarter past seven in the morning, so he had expected Hanna to be tucked into bed for the night. Especially after she had groaned about needing to get back into a decent sleep schedule before classes resumed.

Sonam and Tyler are back!!! We’re out for Taco Tuesday and dancing!

Wish you could party with us n not have to go to work. ): ): ):

Niall sends a message that tells her that he would much rather be out with them than getting ready for his shift. Especially when his 8am to 2pm doesn’t generate the most traffic or revenue. Instead, he spends the majority of his time typing lyrics down on the notes app or texting Hanna when she’s awake.

He tosses the phone onto his bed and pivots to find an outfit within his closet. It’s mostly an array of deeper tones—browns, navies, oranges—but, they’re broken up with some white graphic shirts and striped short sleeved tops. He settles on a heather grey top that he pairs with his signature black jeans. Niall doesn’t bother with a sleek boot, but picks a pair of worn black Nike SB Blazer Mids.

The clock on his phone reads 7:38am when Niall finally all of his stuff ready to go. A phone charger and notebook thrown haphazardly into his backpack, his wallet tucked into his back pocket. He pulls his beanie and peacoat from their respective hooks just to the right of the door

When he steps out the door, he doesn’t bother to lock it behind him. He figures Liam will likely be leaving in only a few short hours and would need to lock up regardless. Even so, he texts his roommate a reminder to make sure everything is locked up before he leaves. Not that there is much worth stealing, if you asked Niall, but his laptop and guitar could sell for a pretty penny if they were taken.

Their flat is on the third floor, so Niall doesn’t bother with the elevator like he usually does. But, he can see from the electronic numbers that are lit up above the steel doors, that waiting for it isn’t worth it. Instead, he’s jogging down the stairs and pushing the door open to reveal an empty lobby.

With the holidays just passing and the upcoming semester drawing nearer, he had expected there to be more commotion. But, he reasons that it’s likely that most people won’t be leaving for their morning commute for another half hour or so. At least, those with traditional nine to five desk jobs.

Niall doesn’t dwell on it, though. He simply shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat and uses his weight to push open the entrance door.

The wind licks and bites at his skin, dyeing his cheeks and nose a shade of pink. The windburn and frigid temperatures have never been kind to his skin, but Niall has yet to learn his lesson. He routinely leaves the house without a scarf or gloves. Hell, he isn’t even sure if he owns any.

And he thinks about buying them, sure. But, whenever he actually pops into ASOS or TopMan, they’re never first priority.

He’s grateful that the walk to Starbucks is only two minutes because he’s ducking inside before he even realizes it. The smell of ground coffee and pastries occupy his senses. His eyes flitter across the menu as the scents swirl around him, twisting and turning until his stomach makes an audible growling noise.

The line is fairly short, only four others in front of him when he finally decides on his order. He takes the time to dig his phone from his pocket once more, seeing that Hanna had texted him back only three minutes ago.

Really wish you could be here!

You’re all I keep thinking about tbh.

Oops. Gotta go, the tacos are here and I’m so hungry. ):

Niall is smiling down at his screen like a proper idiot. Face lit by the blue light of his phone and teeth on full display. He doesn’t really know what part of Hanna’s messages have him grinning from ear to ear. He knows that, in part, it’s because she’s just so cute. It pains him at times, if he’s honest. Puts his lower lip in a pout because he almost always thinks about how he’d like to kiss her and tell her just how cute she is.

As he rereads the texts again, inching forward as the next person in the queue is ordering, he finds himself reading over the second message the most. Hanna’s admission, though small, has Niall rising up that much closer to cloud nine. He won’t allow himself to take up residence there, for fear that Hanna may not actually feel the same. Even though he’s fairly positive that she does.

He’s satisfied with how he is feeling now, though. He’s warmed by his proximity to the sun. Lightheaded from the fast growing altitude. Weightless as he allows himself to float just beneath the surface of cloud nine.

Niall’s only brought back down to earth by the impatient barista behind the counter. His tightlipped smile is disingenuous when Niall finally steps forward. He pays him no mind, though. Still feeling as though nobody can touch him even though his feet have settled back down on the ground.

He orders a simple black coffee with a few pumps of vanilla syrup and a buttered croissant. Niall pays for both and before he’s even wedged his wallet and phone into separate back pockets, his order is so waiting for him at the opposite end of the counter.

His movements are quicker after he’s noticed the clock. He’s got about seven minutes to make a ten minute walk to the record store. So, he fills the remaining space in his cup with cream before securing the lid and venturing back out into the cold.

One hand is shoved back into the warmth of his coat pocket while the other holds a coffee that would be too hot if it weren’t for the below freezing temperatures outside. The beverage sloshes inside the cup, only contained by the green plastic stopper that Niall had knicked before stepping outside.

He manages to arrive thirty seconds early and with only a quarter sized coffee stain atop the lid. He balances the cup in his left hand while his right digs for the keys to open up the store. They’re deep in the corner of his coat pocket, where Niall’s fingers must pinch and shift them until he can get a decent grasp on the cold metal.

The inside of the store is dark when he enters, save for one neon sign in the back that Niall never remembers to turn off. It hangs above the listening area that is tucked in the left back corner of the store. “Good vibes” is written in all lower case letters and glows pink in the dimly lit space.

Niall thinks the sign is somewhat cringeworthy and hardly fits with the rest of the store’s aesthetic. The open layout is contained by exposed brick and covered with records that are chosen weekly by the staff. What is left of the empty wall space is occupied by signed posters that almost always have a glare from the string lights hung throughout the room.

After setting his stuff down, he flips the black and white “closed” sign, so that it reads “open.” He switches the lights on next before rounding the counter to prepare the register. It only takes five minutes for him to completely settle in. It takes another five for his hands to finally thaw enough for him to grab his phone.

Hanna’s name appears on his screen once again.

hello again. I’m a little drunk already.

margaritas and a vodka cran will do that to ya though.

still wishing you were here!

probably best you aren’t, though.

not the prettiest drunk, you know?

Niall is about to text her back to let her know he’s seen her pretty drunk. He had seen the way her lightly freckled cheeks were flushed and likely warm to the touch when they had first met. Her hair had been tossed up into a messy bun that barely contained her thick brunette hair. Niall had also watched her shovel fries into her mouth without a single breath that night, too.

But, Hanna already sent another message by the time he finished typing up his own response.

can’t have the boy that i like, but have no chance with, seeing me like this.

Niall watches as his cursor jumps backward as he backspaces his message.

Is it too early to be that giddy over such a simple declaration of mutual interest? Niall doesn’t think so.

In fact, he allows himself to float just that little bit more until he is sitting comfortably on cloud nine. He feels floaty and yet, never more anchored down than he does now. Even as his thumbs hover over the keyboard, unsure of how to properly respond, he feels at ease.

He settles for a simple response. Short, clear, and hard to misinterpret.

Don’t say that. Call me when you get home, love.

He types out another message asking her to be safe while she’s out. With an extra reminder to have fun with her friends as they celebrate being back together.

And on the opposite side of the world, Hanna is making her own quick ascension to cloud nine. Even being as intoxicated as she was, she is still capable of reading Niall like an open book. Which is how she feels a potentially blooming relationship should be:

Easy.

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[hannahazzard]

Nothing Embarrassing About It (Harry x Childhoodfriend!Reader)

Prompt: a Kingsman meeting an old childhood friend on a mission or something.

Note: It’s dooooone, I made it to my deadline. And bigger than expected. It’s sadly not as good as I’d hoped, but all all I can bring up now. So, hope you can still enjoy it. Usual warning, not my first language, don’t have a beta, blah, you all know the risk of continuing. 

Third and last childhood friend story :) Eggsy is here and Merlin here

Nothing Embarrassing About It

“Come on, beautiful. You know you want to.“

You barely stopped yourself from gagging, but couldn’t help the eye roll. How some people could be so stupid was beyond you. You were supposed to meet your friend here at the bar, but sadly she’d had to cancel last minute. As you’ve already been here, you’d figured a drink wouldn’t hurt. Well, mistake. Sitting alone at a bar was obviously an invitation for every idiot to come over to you.

“Look,” one last time you would try it politely. “I’m sure you are a nice guy and all, but I just want to finish my drink in peace, and then go home.”

“I could join you,” the man winked and made to reach out to you. Right, that’s it. You were about to ditch polite and tear into him, when the hand heading your way was stopped by another. A new presence came up beside you.

“I would really appreciate it if you could stop bothering my fiancé.” A cool, deep voice told your would be suitor with a no-nonsense tone.

Great, another one. Pretending to be your fiancé; well, at least he’s original. You relaxed and turned back to your drink, letting the two males fight their testosterone filled battle of wills. The winner was clear pretty fast. The man that had been annoying you pulled his wrist free quickly and backed away with a muttered, so not sincere, apology. As you expected, the newcomer didn’t leave, but sat himself boldly on the stool beside you. Well, time to break another heart tonight. You took another sip of your Martini, the last thankfully, and turned to him.

“Listen, I appreciate the safe – even though it was not necessary – but whatever it is you want, I am not interested. So thank you, but I’m heading home now.” You made to stand and grab your purse, but stopped, surprised, when the man just chuckled.

“Oh, I was not my intention to safe you. Just him from an - albeit well-deserved - bloody nose. I know how short your temper can be, Y/N.” Your eyes widened at the use of your name and you sat back down. “Also, I take offense. After all, you pledged yourself to me years ago. You could at least let me buy you another drink.”

“What the-.” Stunned by the words, you finally did the guy the courtesy of looking at him. Or rather looking him over, really. Grey, pinstripe suit that fitted him perfectly, a white shirt and dark tie. He was tall, and lean. Then you looked at his face and fuck. It’s been years and you’ve been so young, but you recognized him instantly. You gasped and covered your mouth with your hand. Without thinking you propelled from your chair and into the strangers arms. No, not a stranger.

“Harry.” Your voice was trembling and his name came out in a half laugh, half sob. You would feel bad about squeezing him so tight, but he was holding you just as strong.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he spoke softly into your ear. Harry didn’t complain that he had to hold all your weight, or that a few tears leaked down his neck, where your face was pressed. You’ve had some shitty years behind you. Meeting someone positive from your past – meeting Harry – again was a beautiful blessing.

Finally you pulled back a little, wiping at your wet eyes with a bright smile. “God, Har. Look at you. Look at me! It’s been so long.” You gushed and, you couldn’t help it, cupped his face to press a kiss to his cheek. “I have really missed you.” He smiled at you. There were dimples and laugh lines now, but you could swear it was the same boyish smile.

“I have missed you, too.” Harry took your hands in his and squeezed a little. “You look stunning,” he eyed you in your favorite evening dress. “Who would have thought you’d grow into your gangly limbs.”

“Hey,” you protested with a snort and pulled one of your hands free to box him playfully. “You are just still sore that I was taller than you, for one whole year.”

“You wish, lady. Everybody who said that just didn’t want to break your heart.”

“Your ridiculously styled hair didn’t count.”

Harry opened his mouth, but closed it again with a fond shake of his head. “Let’s agree to disagree, then.”

“And look for evidence to prove our case later.” You finished for him with a grin. “You’re on, Hart. I still got pictures and everything.”

“As competitive as always,” he chuckled, then lifted your hand to kiss it. “Now, I’m here with two friends, one of them probably staring at us with open curiosity behind me.” You looked over Harry’s shoulder and sure enough there was a table with two men. One tall looking, bald gentleman, who was mostly minding his scotch in front of him, and a younger man, with brown hair, staring in your direction. You grinned and waved. He immediately waved back happily, but quickly looked away when Harry turned to look as well.

“Cute,” you chuckled.

Harry shook his head with a smile and continued. “Would you like to join us? Or are you still adamant about going home?”  

“They won’t mind?” You would love to spend some time with Harry, but you really didn’t want to intrude.

“Quite the opposite, I’m sure. Especially Eggsy will be happy to interrogate you.” Harry waved away your concern. He held his arm out for you and let you to his table. Both man stood until you were seated, really not seeming to mind your presence at all.

Introductions were made quickly, and soon you were talking about your new drinks. You had to hand it to Harry, for all the trouble both of you had to find friends as children; Harry has now snatched himself two wonderful people. Both charming and polite and funny in their own respective ways. It was easy to talk to them. After about an hour, and another round of drinks, Eggsy finally exploded with something he must have been barely able to hold in, the way he was vibrating.

“So! Harry as a child. There have to be stories?” he looked at you expectantly. “To prove that he wasn’t.. born like that?” he added as if to clarify.

“Like what?” Harry asked the younger man with a raised eyebrow.

“Like a proper gentleman, sir,” Eggsy reassured hastily, making the round laugh, himself included.

“Well,” you leaned back and pretended to think, looking mischievously at your old friend. “I guess there were some occasions.” You wanted to make him squirm, sadly he just smiled softly back at you. Okay, so teasing didn’t work. “but it wouldn’t be very lady like to tattle, sorry.”

Eggsy groaned, dramatically disappointed and by the looks you shared with the other men, you agreed that the Eggsy maybe had enough to drink for tonight.

“Go ahead, dear. There is nothing about our time together that I am embarrassed about.”

Eggsy perked up immediately.

“Really?” you raised a brow and leaned forward on the table. Challenge accepted. “What about the time you caught a ball from me with your eye and then said at school that you were brawling with people twice your size?”

“Learned to duck that day.” Harry shrugged, unconcerned.

“And when you fell into our pond and had to walk home in one of my dresses?”

Eggsy snorted and even Merlin couldn’t help but grin.

Harry just waved a hand dismissively. “Please, you know I had the legs for it.”

“When you lost a bet and had to dye your hair red?”

“You can only know it’s not your color if you’ve tried it.”

It continued for a bit, Eggsy was positively beaming, Merlin looked like he was imagining everything vividly, but Harry still looked so damn content. Time to pull out your last ace.

“When your first kiss happened to be with annoying Lydia Kalof?”

Here, his face actually did a small twitch.

“She surprised me,” he defended himself with a sigh. “I admit, that was regretful. My first kiss was supposed to be with you.”  

Eggsy chocked on the last dregs of his drink and then slapped the table. “Smooth, Harry.” He coughed.

You felt your cheeks heating up and you knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol. Damn, he was supposed to get embarrassed, not you.

“But I think I saved myself,” Harry said, “by asking you to marry me, not annoying Lydia.”

“Wait, what?” Eggsy asked, shocked. “I’ve heard you call her your fiancé, but I thought it was just to chase away the other guy.”

“No, it’s true. She is.”

“Harry,” your blush deepened. Double damn. “We were kids.”

“I asked, you said yes. I say it counts,” he grinned boyishly. “You finger agrees.”

Of course he had seen your finger. Blushing madly now, you forced yourself not to cover your left hand. “Yeah, well,” you cleared your throat. “It broke when I was nineteen.” You stroked your ring finger, over the tattoo you’d gotten years ago. It was a grey band with a blue butterfly at the center.

When the ring fell off of your finger, it hadn’t really been a surprise. It had been cheap material and you’d worn it for years, every day. Still, you had been devastated. It had been a reminder of your home, good times and most of all, Harry. The decision to get a tattoo hadn’t been hard.

“You made our inion more permanent.” Harry said, reached over the table and lifted your hand again to his lips.

The ‘proposal’ had been made when your parents had been waiting for you in the car, giving you a moment to say farewell to your best friend. Neither of you had been happy about you having to move away. Both of you had been crying and clinging to each other. ‘Getting engage’ had been a childish attempt to be connected forever, you guessed.

Harry and you had never been together in a romantically way, but now, all grown up, you felt your heard speed up.

“Fuck,” Eggsy defused the moment, “if that isn’t the most beautiful fairytale, chick-flick shit I’ve ever seen. I want to be best man.”

You all smiled again, and Harry let go of your hand after one last stroke over your tattoo.

“Well, it’s way past bedtimes, my friends. And I think Eggsy here is drunk enough.” Merlin smiled.

“I’m drunk on love, Merlin.”

“Sure you are.”

It didn’t take you long to sort out your things and head out of the bar. Outside, it was time to say goodbye. You lived just beside the bar and the three men wanted to share the taxi already waiting for them.

It was an extraordinary pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” Merlin said, holding on to Eggsy with one hand and the other he held out for you. “I hope we will again.”

“I’m sure we will.” You shook his hand. “It was good to meet you, t- ugh.”

Eggsy interrupted you by hugging you with enough force to make you stumble. Harry and Merlin reached out to steady you as you laughed and hugged him back.

“Of course we’ll meet again. You’re our bruv now.” Eggsy’s words warmed your heart and your squeezed him one more time, before Merlin pried him off you and went with him to wait in the taxi for Harry.

“You have found great friends, Harry.” You looked at him with a smile, unsure of how to say goodbye.

“I did. However, I hope that we could meet up alone next time. Dinner? Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“I’d love to.” You beamed, happy that he wanted to meet you again. You reached out to hug him again. “Good Night.”

“Good Night.”

Harry didn’t step into the taxi until you reached your door, so you gave him one last wave before heading inside, happier than you’ve been in a long time.  

[bkwrm523]

So, this was supposed to be submitted to @imaginemycroftholmes , but my desktop is being obnoxious about it.  Posting it and tagging them, with permission.

Name: Sara

Age (note that if you are under the age of consent your score will be significantly lower for Marriage, Friendship and Partnership): 30

Gender: Female

Occupation: Administrative Assistant (fancy way of saying secretary)

Nationality: USA

Country of origin: USA

Personality type (Myers-Briggs Type Indicator): INFP

Education: Bachelor’s degree

Marital Status (if not applicable put N/A): Not married

Number of children (if not applicable put N/A): 0

Who would you shoot out of John, Sherlock, Mycroft and why: Mycroft.  The Holmes brothers are more likely to understand if I’ve been forced into it.  Sherlock tends to be a bit more emotional and unpredictable than Mycroft.  Also, Sherlock’s been shot a few times, that we know of, and Mycroft hasn’t (that we know of), so I think it’s Mycroft’s turn (it said “shoot”, not kill.  I have terrible aim and I’ve never used a gun; Mycroft is probably safe)

Height: 5’2 (of sass and insecurity)

Position in the family (oldest, youngest, middle): youngest, only non-firstborn in my immediate family

Best subject: Literature

Favorite Subject: Literature or History

Worst subject: Math

Last song listened to: Rag doll by Aerosmith

Favorite color: Purple

Thoughts on Molly and Sherlock’s impending relationship: If they’re finally hooking up, then I’m super happy for them!

Illness/allergies/impairments: I suspect I’m autistic, and I have anxiety and depression.  They’re both usually under control.

Last sentence uttered to another living human being: Where’s the turkey?

Hair color/length: short (about chin length when I remember to get it trimmed often enough).  Natural color is a very nice dark brown, but I usually dye it red.  I’ve considered dying it purple, but it hasn’t been possible so far due to my job.  Maybe in the future.

Who do you feel more sympathy for Sgt. Donovan or Anderson’s wife: Anderson’s wife.  I’m not exactly the most informed in the situation, but Sgt. Donovan hasn’t seemed to show any remorse when she’s wronged someone, has a bizarre vendetta for Sherlock, and probably knew Anderson was married when she got involved with him (okay, I’m guessing on a lot of these).  The only thing I know about Anderson’s wife, is that her husband cheated on her.  Possibly my opinion would change if I knew more.

Eye color: Blue

Constantly cold, hot or prefect: Usually hot. (meaning I prefer colder temperatures, to clarify)

Seven Noteworthy skills (ex: can play an instrument, fire most guns, ride a unicycle, etc.): I’m a pretty good liar (probably not by the standards of Sherlock or Mycroft, but I can fool the average person).   I’m a decent gamer (PC).   I don’t speed-read, but I’m a pretty fast reader. I’m not good at coming up with positive things about myself. I’m a very good reader - I read Hamlet by myself when I was 12 just to prove that I could.  Read a couple other advanced books at a young age to prove that I was good at it. I’m a writer - I don’t have much inborn talent, but I’ve worked really hard at it for as long as I remember, so I’ve learned to be very good at it. I’ve been dealing with mental issues (as listed above) by myself from a pretty young age, so I’m used to coming up with my own coping mechanisms.

Nine noticeable sins: (ex: moody, bad listener, selfish, etc.): I’m impatient. Shy I tend to be a bit selfish, but it’s a flaw I’ve been working on for years and am pretty good at stepping on those impulses these days. I’m not good at detecting subtleties in conversation; you often have to be blunt with me or I may not understand. I’m a second generation geek I’m not good at communicating it when I’m in emotional distress and need help I’m not good at keeping in touch with friends

Languages known/spoken: English, I can swear a little in Orcish

Cats, dogs, both or other: I don’t have any pets, but I’m a dog person and I’m allergic to cats.

How often you help your community (1 never, 2 sometimes when prompted, 3 average, 4 often, 5 weekly): 2

Favorite Holmes family member: … this feels like a trick question, so I’m gonna cheat and say Sherlock & Mycroft’s dad.

Body type (1 obese, 2 overweight, 3 averages, 4 fit, 5 skinny): 2

Number of past lovers (put N/A if virgin or not seeking marriage): N/A

Level of cleanliness (5 slobs, 4 messy, 3 average, 2 pretty clean and 1 spotless): 4

Would you rather piss off Sherlock or Mycroft: This is a really tough one, but I’m gonna say Mycroft.  They’re both reasonable people, but I feel like Mycroft is less emotional, and therefore would be easier to reason with so I could make amends.  

Rate your mental health on a scale of 1-5 with one being terrible and 5 being fine: 2.5

Rate your confidence on a scale of 1-5 with 1 being poor and 5 being Sherlock levels: 2

Combat level (1 sitting duck, 2 somewhat okay, 3 can hold their own, 4 pretty damn good, 5 a proficient fighter): 3

Circle of friends: Very very small.  About five or so people I chat with on a daily basis.

Who do you side with more Sherlock or Mycroft: … I dunno.  I don’t like to get in the middle; infp’s tend to loathe conflict and I’m no exception.  I will say I think the Holmes clan has been epically unfair to Mycroft lately.

Level of intelligence on a scale of 1-5: I’d say a three, but I think people who know me would say I’m being modest and give me a 4.  I’ll let you decide which to believe.

Who do you side with more Mycroft or Mrs. Hudson: Mrs. Hudson.

Introvert or Extrovert: Introvert.

Political alignment: In the USA’s system, I’m an independent that leans towards democrat.  I’d rather decide each issue individually than tie myself to any one party.  The UK’s system, I’m not sufficiently familiar with to say.

Who would your rather be trapped in a long car ride with Mummy Holmes or Holmes Senior: Mummy Holmes, I guess; she’d probably be easier to have a conversation with.  I don’t think I’d mind with either of them, however.

Go to outfit for everyday: Jeans and a tshirt on my days off (tshirts I buy plain solid ones, then I buy fabric paint and stencils and put geeky stuff on them).  I have work attire that’s usually black formal pants, black modest undershirt, and a button down formal shirt in some sorta color.

Go to outfit to impress: I refer you to the formal outfit above.

5 hobbies (not to be confused with noteworthy skills): Gaming (PC), creative writing, reading (fiction), sewing, watching movies

Opinion of Rosie Watson and Mary Watson: Rosie seems like a perfectly sweet and normal baby.  I’m so sorry she lost her mom, though.  Mary, I’m glad she was happy with John at the end, and I’m so sorry it didn’t last.

Favorite music/book/movies: Music, I really don’t feel that strongly about.  I listen to heavy metal, but I wouldn’t say I have a favorite song.  Books and movies it’s the opposite problem; I love too many to pick just one.  However, I have a go-to answer to both questions for the purpose of conversation.  Favorite book - The Hobbit.  Favorite movie - Havey (to clarify, the one starring Jimmy Stewart)

How well you take rejection on a scale from 1-5: with five being the best?  I’m gonna go with 4.5.  Not a five because I’m not that overconfident.  Yeah it may hurt, but we’ve all been there before (either being rejected or doing the rejecting, whatever), and I’m an adult.  Last time I got rejected, I just said “okay”, walked away, and we remained friends for years after.  It never came up again.

Religious or religious affliations: Agnostic.  I try to be a live-and-let-live type, as long as the other person doesn’t harass me to try & convert me.

Kids or no (note this is wanting them not the ability to have them): I don’t have any at the moment for financial reasons, but I do want them one day.

Out of the Holmes family (Siger, Violet, Sherlock and Eurus) who would you kill, maim, kiss or roommate with and why:

Kill: Eurus.  I know I’m being self centered here, and I am sorry for that, but she comes off to me as a whiney baby that couldn’t take platonic rejection and decided to punish everyone for it.  Grow up. Maim:  Violet, I guess.  I don’t really have super strong negative feelings about anyone else, but she seems to have an attitude that Mycroft is less important than Eurus, and that irritates me. Kiss: Sherlock.  I can tell him it’s for a bet and kiss him on the cheek.  Also, I definitely don’t want to be his roommate; I like sleep. Roommate: Siger.  Don’t know that much about him, but he seems nice.

Do you think what Mycroft did with Eurus (at the time) was justified and needed: YES.  And his parents’ response to finding out about it all was, IMHO, immature and extremely rude.  It’s understandable that their emotions were high in the situation, but there was absolutely no excuse for taking it out on Mycroft.

Please bold the following that you wish to have with Mr. Holmes: Friendship Partnership Marriage Mentorship

A detective who was mere days away from cracking an international oil smuggling ring has suddenly gone missing. While inspecting his last-known location, officers find a note: 710 57735 34 5508 51 7718. Currently there are 3 suspects:Bill, John, and Todd. Can you break this answer and tell me the reason.  I’m gonna have to admit defeat on this one.  I could google it, but I’d rather not cheat.  I have no idea, sorry.

What belongs to you but others use it more than you do?  Your name.  Heard this one before :)

Dwayne Johnson was running away with the loot from a heist in his car along with Vin Diesel. One tire was punctured and he dropped down to replace it. While changing the wheel, he dropped the four nuts that were holding the wheel and they fell into a drain. Vin Diesel gave him an idea using which they were able to drive till the rendezvous point.  Take his loot and get into Vin Diesel’s car.  There’s no reason I can think of why they can’t share a car.  Unless you can space out the remaining nuts on the tire to hold the tire onto the car; probably wouldn’t be good enough for very long, but should be good enough to get them to the rendezvous point, or far enough to ditch the car somewhere safe.  Whichever.

[unseelie-siren]

Tagged by @hamu-starz and @softie-yuuri thanks for that!

rules: answer these 85 statements & tag 20 people

the last (mun):

1. drink: water

2. phone call: my mom when she thought I went to fetch my contacts, but I really was just upstairs

3. text message: here on tumblr from @kittenyuriplisetsky and otherwise from my best internet friend who doesn’t have tumblr, but we talked about Juzo from Tokyo ghoul

4. song you listened to: ugh… I really don’t know. I haven’t had the time to listen to music, because I watched got and other stuff, so it is most likely something my family played while we were eating or playing a game, so that could be something like… okay I really don’t know.

5. time you cried: In a personal talk with my class teacher. that was 4 weeks ago I think.

have you ever (Sofia):

6. dated someone twice: Nope

7. kissed someone and regretted it: I haven’t kissed somebody

8. been cheated on: Nope.

9. lost someone special: yes. It’s not a really fun story to tell.

10. been depressed: yes. But I’m not anymore, at least I hope so.

11. gotten drunk & thrown up: yes, the one time I was drunk.

favorite colors:

12. very dark or very light Blue

13. pastel pink

14. dark purple/red also black

in the last year have you:

15. made new friends: Depends on what you call friends, but I suppose. I’m not good at social interactions.

16. fallen out of love: I’ve never fallen in love so...

17. laughed until you cried: I don’t cry when I laugh

18. found out someone was talking about you: yes. That caused me to loose someone special (see above).

19. met someone who changed you: I think the people that I already knew changed me 

20. found out who your friends are: Yes, sadly. (see above again)

21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: I don’t have Facebook.

general (mun):

22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: I don’t have a facebook

23. do you have any pets: A dog named roxy, like… eleven chicken or so? and two ducks… and a tortoise 

24. do you want to change your name: This is actually quite a funny thing to ask me, because I’ve given myself the names I want to have, so no, not really. for my actual real name I also have to say no, because I really like it’s meaning and also it’s ancient greek, so… i like it.

25. what did you do for your last birthday: went ice skating to celebrate mine and a friends birthday who happens to be born just one day after me.

26. what time did you wake up: 12:03

27. what were you doing at midnight last night: reading fanfic probably

28. name something you can’t wait for: having finished that damn first pilot licence so that I’m at least allowed to fly in official flying places and after that to make the second licence so that I can fly wherever I want.

31. what are you listening to right now: the laughter of my family downstairs who is watching a movie and my laptop having trouble breathing.

32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: tom? no. Just some tims, i think.

33. something that is getting on your nerves: my class teacher. I love her, but she’s done something that was really wrong for me. 

34. most visited website: tumblr and ao3

35. hair colour: actually dark blond, but atm there is a bit of green remaining in it, because I had them blue and tomorrow I’ll dye them purple hopefully

36. long or short hair: short. Because I made the worst decision in my life and cut it.

39. piercings: normal earrings, but I want more.

40. blood type: I should know, but I’ve forgotten.

41. nicknames: soso, and puffy (not anymore, I suppose…)

42. relationship status: single and happy

43. zodiac: Pisces

44. pronouns: used with me?: she/her , but I actually would like to try other pronouns, because I’m uncomfortable with being seen as cis, because I’m not, but I’m still trying to figure out what gender I really have, so… I’m talking to much.

45. favourite tv show: I don’t watch tv very much so I’ll go with game of thrones at the moment? Because I’m watching it right now and I’ve nearly finished season 5

46. tattoos: no, sadly

47. right or left handed: right

48. surgery: yes, I needed surgery for my leg, because I had a “malformation” since I was born (my leg was 4 cm longer than the other and the difference was growing), so I had surgery twice.

49. piercing: nope.

50. sport: I did so many kind of sports., but since over a year I’m doing nothing. Hello hello chubby body! I want to start something though.

51. vacation: I was the lads two weeks and I’m going the next week

52. pair of trainers: none? Ok I need to find my converse...

more general (Sofia)

53. eating: I had dinner not too long ago. Mama made soup.

54. fav drink: coffee. Black.

55. what you’re up to: I’ll be reading until I go to bed.

56. waiting for: nothing, really.

57. want: to have more books I can read even though I was just recently to a bookstore and got more books.

58. get married: I don’t think that will happen.

59. career: I’m still at school, but I’ll be finished soon.

which is better:

60. hugs or kisses: hugs, I don’t particularly like kisses, except if they are from my brother, he used to kiss me goodnight. But that’s in the past since he moved to train away from home.

61. lips or eyes: eyes.

62. shorter or taller: I’m short. It runs in the family. For me I likes being short better, for others being tall.

63. older or younger: older? younger people tend to like me, especially small children (god knows why), but I don’t really like them. But from a certain age on it doesn’t really matter anymore, I suppose.

64. nice arms or nice stomach: both. One alone looks stupid, normally.

65. hook up or relationship: neither.

66. troublemaker or hesitant: both? 

have you ever:

67. kissed a stranger: no.

68. drank hard liquor: yes.

69. lost glasses/contact lenses: yes. Once at the same time as beak. It was hilarious. We were both blind.

70. turned someone down: yes.

71. sex on the first date: no sex, thank you.

72. broken someone’s heart: I don’t think you can call it ‘breaking a heart’

73. had your heart broken: in a friendship way yes.

74. been arrested: ugh, yes. It was stupid.

75. cried when someone died: I cry when fictional character die. I also cry which real humans I knew. Yes.

76. fallen for a friend: No.

do you believe in

77. yourself: More often than not, but that’s normal.

78. miracles: ,oracles are a thing, just like fate and stuff.

79. love at first sight: nope. What’s with all that love questions?

80. santa claus: not really, no.

81. kiss on the first date: not for me ugh thank you.

82. angels: nah, can’t say I don’t, can’t say I do.

83. current best friend’s name: I don’t really have a best friend at the moment. 

84. eye colour: black, if you squint you can see a tiny little flash of brown.

85. favourite movie: I don’t really watch many movies, but probably Heathers?

Tag: I think nearly every rp blog already has been tagged? So maybe @justhereforthefanartbean If you want? I honestly don’t know anyone else? Or I’m way to shy to tag them. way. 

[egyptroyal]

alternative doctor going in depth

This version of the Tenth Doctor inhabited what will be later labeled by Rose’s vortex manipulator as Universe 208426499992/3 or “Tyler’s World” by this Doctor when meeting other alternate versions of himself. 

He is known to be heavily vain, being the Tenth incarnation for as long as he possibly can and lived out most of the Eleventh, Twelfth, and Half of Thirteen’s tenures with this face alone as a result. He doesn’t plan on changing anytime soon (cocky bastard).

Is very determined when it comes to finding people, knowing to follow an vision of his Rose for almost six victorian streets going by the smell of her shampoo without fail of breath despite the situation he was in at the moment.

Increasingly blunt when it comes to other people developing feelings towards him, knowing to “shutting it down” as a result, becoming unapologetic as a result. Still flirty though.

usually if reminded by his first wife does he actually fall for them and many didn’t fall in this category. The few that has in a while since Sarah Jane, Romana(s) and Jo Grant/Iris Wildthyme: RMT was a first in a while, DoctorDonna!Donna was a close second, Dalek clara echo was a close third. Fashion-wise came to River and The Moment.

Is seen not only just wearing the blue pinstripes/brown pinstripes/bowtie tux but wears varied outfits/suits when running about as well as a lack of “sandshoes” (converses), wearing a variety of shoes. Even wearing ripped jeans at one point, dressing surprisingly human. For his initial suits with RMT, they were a red suit with thin blue strips and blue converses and light blue suit with thin brown stripes and creamy pink converses. So, she knows what her Doctor wears.

Different hairstyles and not afraid of hair dye? this guy.

Kisses still happen. So many kisses and unafraid to do it for undercover or other reasons. Will not go beyond that.

Fought the Devil and Abbadon alongside Torchwood. It was the TARDIS and Jack that killed it. Gwen and him swapped “Jack Watch”, she would watch and then he would watch. When she gave up, he saw Jack’s stomach expand upward and Gwen heard the gasp. Left afterward when Jack got his strength up.

Also called “RMT Doctor”, has the tag c: sir shake opposite of c: dame shiver

Got to lick and taste down to a science, one time landing on Midnight with his Rose that seemed to be able to stay for a small while when she landed in the same module as him and she ended up getting possessed by the entity after being compassionate to the Skye Silvestry-possed creature. He was able to find out exactly what the entity was when he licked the back of her neck as she was in this frozen state. Drawing quickly of what it was and showing it to a talking Skye-Midnight-Creature to confirm its actual appearance. Only when Skye-Midnight creature was sacrifice to the deadly outdoors with a swift kick and a shoe heel breaking, freeing Rose did Rose ended up being ripped away when they got back safely. She punched him in the arm for doing that before fading off again. Still never learned the Hostess name.

Most of it from Rose to Doomsday (and then later Journey’s End) is the same with key differences. (a time line of sorts; with visual links)

Within in this one, this version of the Doctor traveled with Rose before getting separated by her in their universe’s version of Doomsday, landing her in Universe 3/299994624802 (alternative universe to Pete’s World). 

This alternative version of the time lord attempted to have a child with Rose initially when they traveled together to no avail during her universe’s version of this. Also, unintentionally unlocked a bit of the Bad Wolf entity, now being able to age extremely slow much to the horror of both. Now Rose has “nightmarish” dreams where she becomes the entity whenever they end up having sex when there is a lack of mental connection between her and him.

This version actually said “I love you” at the same time Rose ends up blurting it out because she couldn’t find the words to say goodbye. This version is where she becomes a heiress and as a result, a celebrity for the new Vitrex Industries.

Journey’s End is when Rose chose the Doctor instead of the Meta Crisis, giving him her status in her earth alternatives’s Torchwood. This is also where Donna, instead of getting her memory wiped, ends up wearing the Chameleon Arch to rewrite her human DNA to that of a Gallifreyan’s own. She still passes out and ends up back home with a piece of the Tardis of her own.

Ends up getting separated from Rose again, which is the current situation.

When he was supposed to die saving Wilfred Mott, instead he set up a meeting an earlier version of the crew of Teselecta, granting the ship they were now known for as he used their last ship to save Wilfred instead of himself as foretold. It also saved the crew a lot of money if they were to deliver the scrap ship for repairs, abandoning it entirely.

While looking for Rose, this version of Tenth Doctor also landed in Amy’s backyard when she was a child, traveling with an adult Amy, Rory, and River as a result. Meets @girl-in-the-tardis​ Kira, a general the same time he meet River at the Angel Planet (i’ll go back later and change this when i remember the name of it). 

Meets Clara as a Dalek and for once, actually traveled with a Dalek!Clara. Gave her a Dalek Puppet body for this work, in her image. Eventually, she left when she wanted to work with UNIT in building armor for military and technological defense systems after Amy and Rory’s deaths.  He ends up losing them the same way that happened with the Eleventh Doctor in canon. Sees a vision of his Rose. Marries River and Kira off, horrible plan of The Wedding of River Song, except General Kira ducks when it comes to the kiss, leaving ten to get kissed by River and setting the world back to when the Teselecta is killed by River. Gives the crew another ship as a result.

Meets a young Victoria that was born near the Rift, ends up being a young Victoria. Only watched from afar by this Tenth Doctor.

Later meets Governess!Clara and played out the same way it happened with Eleventh Doctor. When facing Dr. Simeon, he commented on the fact that he looked like his Ninth self when he fell into the Rift without a TARDIS that one time. Sees a vision of Rose dressed in Victorian wear, ends up losing her after chasing her for almost five blocks straight. Extra TARDIS grows for the clone that is to come.

Meets the real Clara later. Avoids his death by unintentionally cutting off his opposite hand when fighting wooden Cybermen and poured his regenerative energy in that hand. The other hand grows into the Eleventh incarnation instead of being a twin. Both Travel together before given a the fully grown TARDIS. With a new set of regenerations, he was more than ever set on finding Rose with Clara. The clone regenerates into Twelve. Clara meets Danny Pink and falls for him. Pink still acts the same towards him but, Ten doesn’t act the same as Twelfth incarnation. Ends up losing both the same way in canon. Also meets the Master (Simm) since Missy was the most constant regeneration in his universe vaguely turning into the canonical faces of past Masters but, never met the Simm!goatee version, getting kissed by him and recovers quickly by it. Even more so when finding out about the other’s identity. Meets River for one last time. Clone ends up getting memories of these adventures and ends up meeting Bill. This Tenth Doctor traveled with Bill’s Mother and Twelfth Doctor (clone).

Travels with Bill and Nardole. Ends up avoiding death again with the crew of Teselecta, a new crew this time. The clone regenerates into 13.

Travels still, now with Grace. Grace dies. Now, it’s Yaz, Ryan, 13 and Graham. Also new TARDIS desktop and exterior color. At this point, he’s considered stubborn for not changing face by the clone. Tenth Doctor ends up traveling alone and it is the clone that ends up traveling with Yaz, Graham, and Ryan (experiencing canon adventures).

Rose comes back permanently finally meeting a now bearded Tenth Doctor. When Rose eventually came back permanently, they traveled back to her alternate universe to meet up with her mum and dad and brother, living domestic since the clone version of him was handling herself well (the Meta-Crisis version of him ended up getting married to that universe’s Jack and Ianto due to the Donna side of him winning out).

Cue the onslaught of interviews and press of the daughter returning with a man around her arm and a married ring around her finger and the constant question of her having a baby or not. Because of this, this alternate Doctor and Rose, tried again within the TARDIS, the “human way” and it was successful with a daughter. Still, all of them travel together and he works at UNIT while Rose works with Torchwood alongside her techincal-brother-in-law.

[legit reactions when told that their pete was the one who leaked them being pregnant despite being able to keep that a secret for almost a full month with large dresses and actual excuses to hide that from the public]

“im sorry, he blabbed before jackie??” vs. “he said what?”

[fell-in-love-didnt-you]

Choose Me (Part 1): SnowBaz FanFic

This is a ‘what if Baz and Simon switched roles’ AU. Kind of. Also, this is only Part 1.

I’m walking back up to the room, and I can smell his soap from down the hall. It’s all cedar wood-like and candle smelling. I’m not annoyed by it, per say. It just gets annoying because it distracts me and makes me feel like I might pass out. However, that may be his endgame.

Mage’s Heir or not, he would kill me either way. I mean, roommates changes nothing between us. I’m a shy Grimm-Pitch who would rather play the violin in a secluded place than carry out the Families’ plan. Hurting Simon isn’t something on my radar. And he’s so liked and popular, so he hardly has time for people in the corner like me.

So yeah, I can smell his perfume-like soap from two flights down. It gets quite cloudy in our room from time to time when he takes his long showers. I thought I took long showers until I met Simon Snow.  Hell, I thought I had strong soap until I met Simon Snow.

I open the door to our room, and his best friend, Penelope Bunce, is sprawled across his bed. I give her a small nod of my head as I drop my bag on my bed and collapse. Today was long, and I can hardly muster the courage to ask what his best girl friend is doing in our room. Girls aren’t even supposed to have access to the boy’s dormitories. It’s some strange ward or spell, and it works the opposite way, too.

I hear the shower water stop, and I didn’t realize it was running when I came in. I look over at Penny and ask, “Is this a regular thing now?”

“Is what a regular thing?” she replies. Her bright red hair is mashed against the covers. I think it was some hair-dye spell that went wrong or something like that.

“You waiting for Simon while he showers and then whisking him away afterwards.”

She smirks. “And you hate that I whisk him away?”

I sit staring at her for a second with an expression that must resemble “What the actual fuck, Bunce?” because she laughs at me.

“Don’t get your panties in a wad, Basilton.” I sneer at that, and just laughs more. “It was a rhetorical question. I didn’t expect you to get worked up.”

I make a noise that resembles “hurumph”, and the bathroom door clicks open. Both of us look over, and there’s Simon Snow standing in the doorway, no shirt on and water dripping from his drying hair. It’s already curling at the ends, and I look away. I hear him walk over in front of his dresser and the sounds of clothing being thrown about.

“Ready to go, Simon?” Penelope asks. I assume he just nodded because when I look over, Bunce is out of the room and it’s just Simon and me. Before ducking out of the door, he gives me a small wink. I feel myself blushing and turn over on my bed, hearing the door shut quietly behind me.

Damn Simon Snow and everything he does.

“I don’t know, Simon. He did look kind of bashful when I asked him about the whisking you away.”

Penny’s just trying to be comforting. I might’ve asked for it, but I really wish Baz was more upfront. About…everything. I’ve been throwing around subtle hints that I like him for literal years, but he just doesn’t seem to get it. Maybe it’s a Mage’s Heir thing or something. Maybe they’re all as oblivious as the dinosaurs were about the asteroid that killed them.

Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way.

We’re sitting on the Lawn, watching first years throw spells and hexes at one another. They barely go anywhere, though. I can sort of remember my first year at Watford. It was a lot of information being thrown at my face at once. Mage’s Heir is my roommate. World of Mages. Magic. My obvious homosexuality. All of which I denied the first summer I spent away from here.

“Simon.” Penny’s saying my name, and it sounds like she’s been saying it a few times. I wake from my small trance and look over at her.

“Did I miss something?”

She smiles at me and says, “Agatha and her clan are coming across the Great Lawn.” I look over and see Agatha Wellbelove and a bunch of the Watford football players, my teammates, strolling on over. A part of me wants to talk to them, and a part of me doesn’t. They’re nice enough, but I may as well be a plastic cup on a shelf of glass wine glasses.

An obvious liar in a room of truth tellers.

“Hi Simon!” Agatha yells over. I hear Penny groan under her breath. She stands and brushes the grass off of her knees.

“That’s my cue to leave. See you for dinner.” She turns on her heel to the girls’ dormitories.

The Agatha Crowd reaches me and sits in a circle. Not around me. That would be weird. But I hate it when they circle. It’s almost like you can’t leave. Agatha speaks first.

“Simon, is she your girlfriend or what?” I’m the plastic cup again.

“No, Agatha. She’s got a boyfriend over in America. Plus, I wouldn’t necessarily go for her type anyways.”

“Smarter than you?” Brett asks. Brett plays goalie, and he’s actually pretty good. But he’s got nothing going on up in his head. Maybe that’s why Agatha’s so attracted to him.

“No,” Raymond, another player, says. “Smarter and prettier.” Maybe Raymond’s got a thing for Penny. For a while, I assumed he’d go for one of Agatha’s friend, like Macy or Claudia, but when they threw obvious passes at him for things like dating or sex, he’d declined immediately. Politely, but immediately.

“You got a thing for Penelope?” a girl named Samantha asks. Samantha’s an exchange student from America, and she’s got this really long, brown hair and deep-set blue eyes. She also has an obvious crush on Brett, and I think Brett knows, but I also think he’s trying to be nice. Samantha is really nice and all, but I wish she didn’t hang around with people like this. She belongs in a crowd that gives a shit.

“Depends on who’s asking,” Raymond replies. He rubs a hand along his shaved hair. I don’t know why he keeps it that way. Don’t get me wrong, it looks good, but if he let it grow, it would be nice dark brown to match his eyes.

“What if it’s Penny?” Brett asks. He’s the one I tolerate the least. He’s got blonde hair that falls in front of his green eyes, but his looks don’t match what’s inside. He’d turn on you for a good gossip story in a heartbeat. It was always best to stay on his great-side.

I want to excuse myself from the circle when Agatha looks over at me. She’s the only one who knows, and it was an accident that she found out.

She’d liked me all the way back in the first two years of school, and I’d tried to like her back so much. It was impossible, though. Every time I’d tried to picture myself dating her and holding hands with her and kissing her, it’d eventually turn into Baz.

So I finally snapped in third year.

“I don’t understand, Simon!” she yelled at me in an empty classroom. “I’m not a bad person, am I? Have I wronged you? Why don’t you like me?”

“I just don’t!” I had replied. She didn’t take that too well.

“Well who is it?” she had demanded, throwing her hands down on the empty desks. “Claudia? Samantha? I swear, if it’s Penny- “

“It’s Baz, okay?” I hadn’t realized what I’d said until I saw her face go white. I immediately swooped over to her and clamped my hands on her shoulders, lowering my voice. “You cannot tell a single soul, living, dead, or in between.”

She nodded numbly and gulped. I apologized for yelling at her and practically sprinted out of the building and into our tower.

And we only talked about it once since then. So looking across at her, I knew she is trying to get the Homosexual Trail off of me, but it still hurts. Pretending. Lying. Trying to convince everyone that there is simply no one at Watford for me.

How wrong that was. There was someone, someone I like so much that I’d put my whole life right on the line to be with him. And I’m pretty sure he only sees me as a jock who kicks a ball. That is what I seem like. I’m definitely not the smartest, and I’m not the best player, but I attract the attention of a few too many people at Watford. It’s not even like that goes to my head. I just don’t like the stereotype.

Oh, Basilton, I think, if only you knew the truth.

I’m sitting in the bay window, which looks over the Wavering Wood. I go to this place in our room to think. It’s the only place where I can shut a curtain behind me and feel like I have a space of my own. I’m pretty sure Simon only comes over here to open the window over the night, which is sort of annoying. After almost eight years with him, however, it’s just a regular thing for me to use two extra blankets.

I look at the sun dipping to the other side of the world, and I know that I have to pull back the curtain and go to dinner. I’m not even hungry, but I take my bag so I can have a change of scenery and do some homework.

The smell in the dining hall is basically everything that tastes good together. And it’s not a bad smell either. It’s just everything. I can smell pastries, turkey, fruits, and baked potatoes. It can make my mouth water from just thinking about it.

I find a seat at a table far from the entrance and pull out my History of Magic homework. Quite a boring subject, but the setting makes it go by faster. Before I know what’s happened, I’m looking at my watch and it is quarter to eleven. I push my things into my bag and walk out of the dining hall, the fresh air hitting me in the face like a wad of papers.

The walk to Mummer’s House isn’t a long one, and across the Great Lawn, I see random students bent over notes and textbooks, though it is a Friday. There are no time restrictions on weekends, so most of the students do their studying then so they can be together. It’s a good system, really, but for people like me who have no real friends, it gets quite depressing.

And before I set foot onto the stone floors of Mummer’s House, I smell cedar wood. Great, I think. Simon’s about to stink up the whole building. It’s not a stink so much as a smell. It’s just annoying after eight years. It makes my head clog up and sleep become impossible.

I ascend the stairs and make my way to our door, saying the opening incantation. I see Simon’s outline on his bed, star-fishing and asleep. He has moles that cover his body, and I smile to myself a little. The moonlight illuminates him perfectly, and if I had all the time in the world for him to be asleep, I’d sketch him millions upon millions of times.

I set my bag next to my bed and lay down, staring up at the ceiling. I hear sheets ruffling, and I look over. Simon’s laying face up, and his eyes are open. They dart over to me, and he smiles. He looks younger when his face is relaxed.

“I heard you come in,” he mumbles sleepily. He yawns and closes his eyes, but I know he’s still awake.

“Sorry about that,” I reply, looking back to the ceiling. It’s almost annoying to look at how his hair falls perfectly in their bronze ringlets over his forehead and the way his moles just add character to the mystery that is Simon Snow.

“Baz?” Simon asks. His voice is barely over a whisper, and if I hadn’t seen him awake a second before, I would’ve guessed that he was sleep talking.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Yes?” I reply, looking over at him. He’s just smiling in one corner of his mouth and looking over at me fondly.

“Nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice again.” A few seconds later, I hear a soft nuzzling sound, and I know he’s fallen asleep. I’m blushing a lot, and I smile up at the ceiling, glad that it’s dark and he’s asleep.

But then again, why am I blushing? No, nothing’s changed. Simon Snow is still the boy that I’ve lived with for almost eight years now. He’s still the guy who has had plenty of opportunities to date girls but turns down every offer. He’s still the guy who the Families want me to kill. He’s still the guy who wears square glasses and somehow pulls it off without looking like a douchebag.

He’s still such a mystery to me.

[heartfullofsunsets-blog]

Prince Charming was the Villain of my fairytale

I decided to go for a walk. I just couldn't handle being in my room anymore. My mom is driving me crazy with her constant attention and care so I had to get out. I know she is just worried about me, but her hypervigilance isn't helping anything. After about a mile, I found myself on the local college campus. Its the first nice day in a while so there are lots of kids running around under the supervision of their parents. One little girl is lying in a patch of those little tiny yellow flowers, the ones that you used to hold under your chin and if the yellow reflected onto your skin you "like butter". Sudden jealousy rushes over me as I watch her pick the flowers and roll around in the little field. I wish that I could roll and laugh with her, but 29 is too late for that sort of thing. Their parents would probably think I was on drugs. I sat down on a bench and watched people go past; many students were on their way to class, people were running and couples walked their dog or pushed their baby in a stroller. Not a single person has glanced over at me. It suddenly clicked to me how anonymous we all are. It is rather comforting to know that nobody knows me. Nobody can tell that my heart is in two after he decided to leave me for her. I guess its nice to not have people look at me like I'm a hurt puppy and constantly asking if I'm okay. And here come the sudden intrusive thoughts of him. He was a perfect blend of caring and absent. He wasn't overbearing and he knew exactly when to poke my brain with questions of "how're you doing". He knew that most of the time, a pint of icecream was enough to make me feel better. Thankfully my thoughts of him were interrupted by a flash of bright blue. I looked up to see a girl with vibrant blue hair walking by the duck pond. I never knew why people would want to dye their hair strange colors or get millions of tattoos, but in this moment, I understood. Here I am sitting in this park with the knowledge that I am in fact average. I'm not the hottest girl in the world, but I'm also not the ugliest. My hair is poop brown and I'm not exactly a hipster, so my wardrobe is basically just jeans and a tshirt most of the time. Nothing about me stands out and that's why people look through me, and I'm strangely comfortable with this fact. I guess not everyone is okay with being invisible. Some people want to make a statement and show the world exactly who they are on the inside and I find that very brave. I could never be like those people. How can a realist, such as myself, achieve anything when I'm stuck in such a small town? There's no way out of here unless you win the lottery or marry a doctor, even then they all seem to stick around anyway. I wasn't always a realist, I used to want to be a movie star or a singer. I had this whole dream of what it would be like and how I'd be one of the good celebrities that kids could actually look up to. I wouldn't start twitter fights or pose naked for a magazine. I guess back then I thought that just being me was enough. I never did anything to achieve that, but I guess I didn't want to put all of my effort into trying for something I was never going to get. But that's what I ended up doing with my life on a much smaller scale I guess. Trevor and I were together for almost 8 years and believe me it wasn't easy, not with his nonchalance attitude and my stubbornness, but it was something we worked at and I could see the future in my head. He was it. My dreams of moving to California were replaced by visions of kids, a dog and a white picket fence. And when he got down on one knee and asked me to be his forever. I thought "This is what it feels like to make it to the finish line. This is what the happy ending in a Disney movie feels like" And then he ruined it all. And here I am stuck with the perception that no matter how hard you try at something you'll never get what you want. I'm just the girl who sits on park benches and stares at people and fantasizes about what their life must be like. I'm just the girl who perpetually accepts her averageness and will grow old and spend her entire existence yearning for the lives she could've lived and not doing anything to change her fate. I'm not courageous enough to put myself out there by dying my hair hot pink and I'm not the girl who gets discovered on YouTube. I'm just boring old me. And as I sit and look at the little girl swimming in the sea of flowers, I hope that one day her dreams will be of more than just a Prince Charming and that she will follow those dreams far away from here.