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brainmaniaman · 4 years ago

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Can you write a Daddy kink fic with Miche Zacharias (AOT), something with Angst then turns to Smut towards the end please. I am just in love with him.

title: again and again.

tags: daddy kink(?)(light), breeding kink(?), angst, smut

word count: 3,615

other notes: i don't usually write for mike but i really enjoyed writing this. i think this is my favorite fic i have written so far. i took a different spin on the daddy kink, i'm sorry. this isn't filthy so much as it is emotional?

seeing someone outside of the survey corps certainly wasn't illegal but it was considered taboo. why subject someone to a life of waiting around for their beloved to come home, only to savor the few days off that the survey corps even allowed. it was undeniably selfish. maybe that was the reason why people within the survey corps had a tendency to stick around each other - because who better understood the plights of a soldier sent out to die than another soldier just like them? just like everything else in mike's life, it just made sense. but selfishly, though, mike afforded himself one thing in his life that didn't make sense. you. a trail of goosebumps followed the path his hooked nose took down the side of your neck, leaving small shivers in its wake. if anything, mike was known for his keen sense of smell - a talent so sharp that it sometimes startled even him. in the field, his sense of smell was a strong asset. sometimes the strength of his smell was overwhelming to the point of giving him terrible, piercing, migraines that would shoot through his temple - especially if the scent was particularly unsavory so he had established a rule with himself: he'd only press his nose to someone once, to get a good gauge for who they were, and that was it. but with every rule, there was an exception. naturally, that exception was you. there wasn't anything special about the way you smelled - just like a plain person. sometimes, a sweet scent accompanied you - but that was because baths were a luxury afforded to noblewomen such as yourself. "do you have to leave?" it was a stupid question to ask and you knew it. his fingers trailed up the sides of your arms, causing small shivers to rocket down your spine. he pulled his head back from the side of your neck, resting his hands on either side of your face as he tilted your head up. your head craned upwards, the muscles in the back of your neck straining as your head tilted itself back a bit too far in an attempt to look upwards at him. "come on." was his only response. mike was never a man of many words. you knew this. in fact, you admired his carefulness and precision with words. "look, i know . . ." you, on the other hand? ever since you were little, you had a bit of a motor mouth. in fact, sometimes you talked so much it was hard for anyone else to get a word in edgewise. not that mike minded, though. he never really had much to say, and he liked to hear you talk. you were vibrant and full of life - a nice reminder that hope and happiness existed within the world. "it's just that . . . well - i don't want you to go!" you exclaimed. another stupid statement. of course you didn't want him to go. who wanted their lover to ride off to certain death? "what if you get hurt when you leave? break a leg? or both legs? or worse -" anxiety was creeping on you, causing tension to pull at your shoulders. "or worse. what if you don't -" "shh." he hushed you by placing a sturdy index finger gently to your lips, politely silencing you. "you worry too much." not that he could blame you. in fact, if there was anything both you and mike shared it was a propensity for worry. he was just better at hiding it than you were. "i've always come back, haven't i?" it was his turn to make a stupid, hopeful, comment. he knew better than it, too. it was custom in the survey corps to not speak about returning home from an expedition unless you wanted to jinx it. mike had never been a superstitious person but this was one tradition from the survey corps he liked to carry. though the worry that glossed in your eyes and the stress that pulled at your muscles made him feel bad. so made an exception and broke tradition just this once, for you. there was a stiff silence between the two of you before your shoulders sagged downwards, relaxing a bit. "yeah . . ." you agreed with him. "you're humanity's second strongest, right? it's not for nothing. but i really think you should be given the title of humanity's first strongest." you were starting to work yourself up into a bit of a tizzy as his hands rested

on either side of your face, "it just doesn't make any sense to me. why would they give the title of humanity's strongest to someone who looks like a sickly child when they have someone like you right in front of them. it just -" mike dipped his head downwards, silencing you with his lips this time instead of his finger. "levi is a very capable man. i'd trust him with my life." mike interjected honestly as he pulled backwards, the palms of his hands gently pressing your cheeks a bit tighter. "but i don't want to talk about levi, or the impending expedition, or humanity's strongest or second strongest." mike was also a blunt man when it came to speaking his mind - but that was something you enjoyed as well. in truth, you didn't blame him for not wanting to talk about work on his off day. but you couldn't help it. you wanted to know about his day, his week, his dreams, his aspirations, especially given the fact that he talked so little about himself. "then what do you want to talk about?" you inquired curiously, furrowing your eyebrows together. "in truth?" mike's hands moved from the sides of your face, fingertips ghosting down the sides of your neck, and trailed themselves over your shoulders. his fingertips drug from your shoulders down your sides - causing you to squirm a bit. he couldn't help but let a smile quirk onto his lips. you had always been ticklish. "not much at all." mike's hands curled around your back, closing the gap between the two of you. for a second, you hesitated - not out of lack of want or desire for mike, but out of simple concern. you wanted to pull back and force him to talk about his day, his week, his month - to pry open his feelings and concerns. but the way his tongue gently pressed between your lips and into your mouth was both enticing and inviting. talking could wait. thick fingers calloused from years of hard labor and maneuvering ODM gear traced down your back, his hips pushing yours forward as he guided you several steps back. the back of your knees collided uncomfortably against the back of mike's military standard bed. the collision was uncomfortable, but not rough or rushed. instead, he drug his finger tips up to your shoulders, pressing you down into a sitting position. for a moment, mike lingered over you - leaving the two of you stewing in awkward silence as he blatantly stared. "do you not want to -" "i do." mike answered abruptly. "just -" his voice was raspy. "i need a moment." he wasn't normally compelled to stand in awkward silence or blatantly stare, as he was the type of guy to finish what he set out to do. however, something compelled him to linger in the moment for a bit. it felt like he was looking at you for the last time and the corners of your mouth turned downwards into a frown. you were never one to appreciate goodbyes - only "see you later's." "don't -" you rasped out, your chest heaving up and down, "- don't look at me like that. i hate it." the tall man dropped gently to his knees, carefully taking off your shoes before sliding his hands against your ankles, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch, pushing your skirt over your knees as he did so. as your breathing became progressively more shallow, mike couldn't help but crack a lopsided, half-hearted, smile as he used the palm of his hands to part your thighs, muttering out a simple, one-worded, apology. "sorry." the scruff from his trimmed beard and mustache scraped against the inside of your thighs as he peppered kisses to the inside of your thigh. your fingers curled into his hair, pulling at it a bit as his light kisses turned into gentle sucking, leaving a trail of small bruises. your fingers pulled at his hair, causing him to groan a bit. you were growing impatient as he continued to suck at the skin. your fingers trailed along his shoulders, tapping impatiently as his index fingers hooked onto the sides of your underwear, sliding them down your thighs and setting them to the side. "you're taking forever." his large hands gripped at your ankles, pushing them upwards so that you

toppled over onto your back. you let out sound of surprise as your back landed on the stiff mattress with a bounce. mike shifted forward on his knees, still tall enough to loom over the edge of the bed as he gripped at your thighs, pulling them over his broad shoulders so that your knees hung over his shoulders. "sorry." it was another short response, accompanied by a simple smile. his tongue trailed from the inside of your thigh again, dragging his tongue across your slit slowly. you let out an airy sigh, lower lip quivering a bit as he slowly dragged his tongue along your slit again, agonizingly slow before flatting his tongue against your clitoris, giving it a small flick with his tongue. his hands gripped on the outside of your thighs, holding you down as your body writhed with each flick and lick of his tongue. mike couldn't help but hum slightly as your thighs clenched around his face, squeezing as your heartrate began to increase. back arching, you couldn't help but choke out - "i'm - i'm -" he retracted his tongue, pulling himself onto his feet so that he could stand over you. you frowned at mike, looking upwards at him with furrowed, frustrated, eyebrows. again, mike only offered you a somewhat cheeky smile as he pulled himself over you, knees resting by your hips. carefully, he peeled your shirt off, throwing tossing it to the side, and your skirt followed shortly after, leaving you bare undeath him. as mike's head dipped downwards, peering at you from underneath his long bangs, you reached your hand up to trace your fingertips gently along his jawline. for a second, mike closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into the palm of your hand. you brought your fingertips to the edge of his shirt, ready to pull it up over his head, but for a second, you could see his chest quiver just a bit, almost as though something had gotten caught in his throat. "are you okay?" concern washed over you as your fingers curled against the hem of his shirt. "i'm fine." mike answered, trying to convince himself of his own lie. his large hands came to grip at your chest, thumb rolling around your nipples gently - giving them a slight pinch as you hesitantly began to pull his shirt upwards. eventually, mike raised his hands over his head, pulling his shirt off when you couldn't reach your hands any higher. for a moment, you let your fingers trail along his abdomen, feeling the skin which was pulled tightly over his muscle. though as your fingers traced from his abs up to his shoulders, you could feel the tenseness in his neck. along with the years of physical exercise that came with being a part of the survey corps came years of stress. "i can help you with that" it was your turn to give him a cheeky smirk as his thumbs continued to lazily roll over your nipples. as your fingers began to work at the belt that was wound tightly around his waist, mike dipped his head down - taking your right nipple between his lips, rolling his tongue around it and tugging at it with his lips as you finally were able to work his belt off of mike's hips. you carelessly tossed the belt to the side, your breath shaky as he continued to suck at your nipple - his calloused hand now working its way between your thighs. very gently, he rolled his right thumb over your clitoris as he used his left hand to remove your fingers from the hem of his pants, pinning your wrists above your hand. mike had never been a man of many words during sex, instead preferring to lead softly and wordlessly. his fingers stroked slowly at your clitoris, sliding between your lips - his eye contact so intense and direct it couldn't help but make you feel embarrassed. as his thumb rolled around your clitoris, his middle and index finger - which were now drenched in the slick wetness that accumulated between your legs - mike simply soaked in the image of you sprawled out naked beneath him, gasping, moaning, and panting. slowly, mike pressed his first finger into you. your face contorted into an expression of pleasure as he slid his first finger into you, sliding his finger in

and out of you, curling it so that it could hit that sweet spot inside of you that he was very familiar with. "mike -" you rasped out as your legs began to quiver, teeth coming down to bite at your bottom lip. "mike -" you rasped out again. his eyes peered down at you, letting the sound of your voice rasping his name sink into his head. quietly, he observed the way our chest rose and fell, noticing the quiver of your bottom lip as a familiar pleasure began to pool at the pit of your stomach. "mike -" it was almost as though he knew you like the back of his own hand. "mike, i'm trying -" so well, in fact, it kind of scared him. "- to talk to you." "huh?" mike phased back into reality, squinting downwards at you as his fingers still pumped and curled tactfully inside of you.. "what is it?" "what's -" your back arched, your muscles aching a bit, "- what's your dream?" mike's fingers came to a slow stop, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion - leaving you panting and heaving below him. "what do you mean?" "what -" you rasped out, coming down from what was essentially a second (but unintentional), edging. "- what do you want most in life? like when you go to bed at night . . . what do you dream of?" the questioned seemed out of the blue. for a second, he thought about dismissing the question with something basic. oh you know, for humanity to survive. to make a better place for all of the people in the world. but something compelled him to speak openly and honestly. "in truth?" mike asked, his voice a low rumble in his chest. after a moment of thought, mike began to work his pants off of his hips, followed by his boxes as he pulled you forward by the hips. his hand gripped the base of his erect cock, sliding it along your slit teasingly. "a life with you." you had opened your mouth to say something, but he was already lining the head of his dick at your entrance, pushing in gently - his right hand guiding himself inside and his left hand stroking at the side of your face. "but not just sexually." mike spoke, gently pushing his hips forward. slowly and carefully, he began to push himself inside of you. your gasped and wriggled at the feeling of his large cock uncomfortably filling you, but it was welcome. mike had always been uncomfortably large, which had always made rough sex and the aftercare that came with it more tedious of a process. his left hand stroked at the side of your face. "in every sense of the form. i want to wake up in the morning and see your face next to mine." mike spoke as he continued to slowly rock himself into your pussy with small, manageable, trusts, trying to work himself comfortably in. "and i want to do things with you. i want to see things with you. like did you know that outside, apparently there is a body of water so big that you can't see land on the horizon?" mike continued to slowly work himself into you, almost hitting the hilt, "i want to take you there. i want to take our kids there -" he paused for a second as the hilt of his cock pressed into you, "- because most of all, i want to be a father to your kids. our kids" mike's hands gripped at your shoulders as he began to thrust slowly, steadying himself by gripping your shoulders. your nose and the corner of your lips twisted as his thrusts became harder and less shallow, pushing deeper inside of you. calloused hands gripped at your outer thighs, lifting them upwards as mike tried to angle himself into you better. "because i want you to be a mommy. and i want to be a daddy. how does that sound? is that okay?" "yes - yes - oh, yes!" you exclaimed as his hips thrust into yours, cock sliding in and out of you. "i want to be a mommy so bad. i want you to be a daddy so bad." something about the word daddy rolling from your lips was enticing and endearing. his hips shoveled forward, hand pressing against the headboard with each thrust. "again." his right hand moved from gripping your leg, which had curled tightly around him - bracing yourself with each thrust, and curled around your face. "say it again." "what -?" you breathed

out airily, chest heaving. "daddy?" "yes." mike's fingers gripped at your face, squeezing the sides of your face as you sputtered, pushing himself deeper. the sound of his cock sliding in and out of you mixing with the sound of skin slapping on skin. "again." "daddy -" you choked out again, repeating it over and over in little rasps and moans strangling out with each thrust. there was a familiar pleasurable warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach, knotting and threatening to break. your moans caught in your throat, mouth contorting into various small shapes as his thrusts became more frantic and sloppy, losing its initial precision as he became needier and more desperate. your eyelids fluttered, eyes rolling back a bit as the tension in the pit of your stomach broke, cum rimming his cock moments before he reached his own orgasm. for a moment, mike stilled himself - his muscles tensing as he came too. mike rolled over onto his back, his chest heaving as his eyes hazily focused on the ceiling above him. "i can't wait to get back so we can do that again." mike breathed out. "and again." you added. "and again." mike repeated, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

the sun hung high over your head, your hand resting on your stomach as the survey corps trailed into the city, one by one. there had been a bit of news circulating town. you hadn't paid much mind to the whispers. only reached yourself upwards on your toes trying to peer over the head of the people who were lined on the sides of the street. at the bottom of the only cart being pulled laid a young boy with bandages around his eyes. you didn't pay much mind to him. "mike -" you called out over the crowd, pushing yourself to the front of the crowd. you placed your hand on the small bump forming on your stomach, a grin on your face as you looked around - ready to share great news. "mike!" a few soldiers looked at you then turned their heads downwards, almost as though they were too ashamed to look at you. "zacharias!" you called his last name - wondering how a tall man could be hiding from you so easily. the short line of soldiers continued to descend down the street. you followed each passing soldier with your eyes, quickly skimming each one of them. a short man stopped in front of you. "oh, captain levi." you spoke, tilting your head downwards to look at him. "i didn't think i'd see you among the recruits -" you seemed unbothered by your inability to find mike. "you look as sharp as ever. i'm not surprised to see you coming back, though - what with you being humanity's strongest and all." you were starting to ramble again. "i was wondering - do you know when humanity's second strongest is joining? i don't see mike among the crowd. is he set to come back a little later?" levi's eyes locked with your own before sliding down to your stomach, honing in on the noticeable bump. his jaw tensed, teeth gritting together before he looked away - almost as though he were ashamed of himself. quietly, he began to stoop down onto one knee. "mike zacharias fought -"

" - get . . ." you choked out, hands resting on your stomach. ". . . get off your knees. stand up." levi did not, though, and instead focused his gaze on your shoes, his jawline tense with guilt and shame.

"- valiantly."

#mike zacharias #mike zacharias x reader #mike zacharias smut #miche zacharias x reader #miche zacharias attack on titan #attack on titan smut #snk smut #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #miche x reader #miche/yn #yn x mike zacharias #angst

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writer-in-theory · 2 years ago

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15 Questions

Tagged by @disco-deviant !! Thanks for tagging me 💕

Are you named after anyone? Nope! My parents just kinda vibes with my legal name, and I named myself after a bird (I went by Bluejay on tumblr for YEARS) so.

When was the last time you cried? lmao not me with tear tracks on my face right now. It’s been a week.

Do you have kids? Nope! I won’t think about kids until after my residency, I’d just be too busy.

Do you use sarcasm? Sarcasm is a go-to when I’m nervous or uneasy in a conversation, but I don’t use it too too often with friends. Sometimes just not constantly.

What is the first thing you notice about someone? Ahh that’s hard. I’m pretty good at catching vibes, so I guess the way someone carries themselves if that makes sense. Like if you look shy and awkward I’m way more likely to approach lmao.

What is your eye colour? Green! I also have central heterochromia so there’s like this gold-ish color in the middle.

Scary movies or happy endings? Oh okay so I love scary movies but they fuck with my head too much so I watch them sparingly. Always a sucker for cheesy romcoms with predictable sickly sweet happy endings though.

Any special talents? Oof um idk if this is a good thing but I’m told I’m a good liar. My friends and family won’t play like poker or bullshit with me anymore ✨

Where were you born? Florida! I don’t live there anymore though I moved to the Midwest when I was young .

What are your hobbies? Writing, Reading, Cozy video gaming, Exploring different coffee shops, Language learning, Sudoku, Crosswords

Do you have any pets? No :( I do have two cats at my parents house tho and I will get a cat as soon as my schedule/lifestyle becomes good for one

What sports do you play/have played? I played soccer, lacrosse, and swim/dive the longest but there were a few others.

How tall are you? I’m 5’1 (154.9 cm)

Favourite subject in school? In middle and high it was always chemistry or english. I loved the books and essays in english but I didn’t love class discussion because anxiety so I think chemistry wins out this time.

Dream job? Well dream job ever would to be an author. But based on my path now my dream is to be an Emergency Medicine or Transplant Pharmacist for a Level 1 Trauma Center.

I’m a lil out of it and get nervous tagging people so this is my blanket invite to anyone who sees this and wants to do it! You’re tagged!

#tag game

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minaslittleone · 4 years ago

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The Sarahs as plant mums (AHS & Ratched)

Like many people I've become an avid plant mum over the course of the pandemic (much to the chagrin of those in my life who have to hear every time one of my babies sprouts a new leaf), which got me thinking - what kind of plant mum would each of the Sarahs be?

GIF: illuminated-blue

Billie-Dean Howard

Image: winterkindfotographie

Billie-Dean is much more partial to flowers than she is to caring for a whole plant. She is definitely the kind of person who always has fresh flowers in her home but also takes the time to trim and rearrange the bouquet as she places it in a vase, rather than merely unceremoniously compacting the existing arrangement into a vessel. She also definitely has a secret cut flower food recipe (passed down to her by the ghost of a Victorian housekeeper whom she met while filming a special of her show at a mansion in the UK) which keeps her cut flowers looking immaculate for a full week. If her schedule permits it, her favourite thing to do on a Sunday morning is to stroll the farmers markets and choose individual types of flowers and foliage to bring home and arrange herself from scratch. She finds the process of trimming each of the stems and finding the perfect position for each individual bloom incredibly cathartic.

Her favourite flowers are bright and cheerful. She is particularly drawn to things like tulips, gerberas and lillies, but finds softer more delicate blooms like carnations frustrating and overly dramatic, she definitely appreciates a bit of tenacity in her flowers. She also has no time for strongly scented blooms, and particularly despises the way roses seem to emit a sickly sweet odor after only a few days. Billie finds scents and perfumes in general to be quite cloying and overwhelming as smell is one of the ways she is often viscerally affected when she makes contact with ghosts. She unfortunately associates most strong smells with encounters and so sweet smelling blooms hold little appeal to her, she much prefers fresh neutral scents. The one exception is lavender which she does find soothing. After a particularly taxing week it is not uncommon for her usual bright cheerful blooms to be replaced by simple posies of lavender and rosemary as she recenters herself.

Lana Winters

Image: toms-cacti

Lana is undoubtedly a plant serial killer. Which is totally unsurprising since whenever she gets fixated on a new story she often forgets to feed herself, let alone feed and water her plants. That doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate them though. She loves the way little office plants bring life and vitality to her workspace, that is until they inevitably whither and die from lack of water, or from being burried under piles of paper but that doesn't stop her trying.

Eventually Lana discovers that she and succulents are well suited. It actually makes a lot of sense when she thinks about it - they're both a little prickly on the outside (but only to protect the softness underneath) and both are stubborn to a fault. Lana is particularly fond of the slightly larger cactus she keeps on her desk (which is incidentally the first plant she managed not to kill) and often finds herself talking to him to help work through the flow of her ideas or to overcome writer's block. Spike (as she creatively named him) really is a very good listener and a talented editor to boot.

Still there are times when Lana wishes she had a greener thumb and could expand her collection beyond succulents. As much as she loves Spike and his prickly friends, she really wishes they would grow just a bit quicker so she could experience that new leaf joy even just once. She completely dissuades herself of those feelings though when she returns from a week long book tour to find a weird bump on the top of Spike. Her first thought is that after all this time she's finally managed to kill him and that she really is as terrible a plant parent as she had feared. However, those fears completely dissolved the following morning when she returned to her office to find that Spike's bump had begun to open into the beginnings of a beautiful pink flower. For a minute she could only stare on disbelief, not quite comprehending what was going on however, that quickly gave way to a giddy childlike grin when she realised that she must be doing something right. That, and her little man really did look very cute with his flower top hat.

Cordelia Goode

Image: chickadeegreen

Cordelia doesn't just have a green thumb, she has ten green fingers. She absolutely adores plants and having living things around her, especially since the greenhouse has always been her place of peace and sanctuary. She finds it incredibly cathartic pottering around the greenhouse when she gets a few spare moments away from all her duties as supreme/headmistress/mother to a house full of girls. Most of the plants she keeps in the greenhouse are solely for practical/ medicinal purposes but she does keep a few plants in her room and office which she finds soothing. She is particularly fond of philodendrons and pothos with their easy going nature and relaxed growth pattern. She loves the way they seem to make themselves at home anywhere and every time she spots new leaves unfurling it makes her smile. She tries to make an effort to see the beauty in their imperfections and use them to remind herself that everything doesn't always have to be perfect.

Since her supremacy the plants in her personal spaces have thrived unlike anything anyone has ever seen, seemingly feeding off Cordelia's magical aura. Any time any of the plants in the greenhouse are waning she will take them to her office for a few days of rehabilitation after which they will always be positively bursting with life. It is not uncommon for her to find new additions appearing in her little infirmary if Mallory or Misty have noticed that a particular plant is in need of a little TLC.

The flip side to this is that any time Cordelia over taxes herself, while she may be an expert at schooling her features and hiding it from her girls, it will show in her plants. After too many late nights dealing with running the academy or too many days spent funneling all of her energy into everyone around her (and subsequently completely neglecting herself) the plants in her office (and room) will start to lose their vibrancy as well. The first victim is usually the heartleaf philodendron on Cordelia's office bookshelf (the first plant she allowed herself to bring into the space after ascending to the supremacy) which seems to be particularly attune to her moods, especially when it is feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy sapping her magic. Conversely it's the monstera deliciosa in the corner of her office that seems to be the first to wilt when its physical stress or exhaustion plaguing the supreme. Zoe now automatically takes stock of the plants in Cordelia's office every time she enters, knowing it's the only true indication she's likely to get that the supreme herself might be in need of some TLC.

Bette and Dot Tattler

Image: geopsych

Bette has always been drawn to flowers, she thinks they're terribly romantic. From bouquets of flowers from gentleman callers to sweet cottage gardens behind white picket fences, teeming with blooms of assorted colours, Bette thinks flowers are a beautiful symbol of normality. She desperately wants to have a garden or even a window box that she can tend to, however that particular desire is not entirely compatible with living in a trailer.

What she does have though is a small collection of African Violets sitting on their kitchen windowsill. They were a present from Jimmy after Bette's first performance singing in the freakshow. Though she might be completely tone deaf she is fiercely determined, so after months of practice she had finally managed to learn "dream a little dream of me" enough to hold the tune (with Dot gently humming it alongside her to keep her in pitch). A few days before Bette was due to perform Jimmy had quietly pressed a note into Dot's palm after dinner asking which type of flowers Bette preferred so that he could get her a bouquet for her first performance. Dot's heart warmed at that, seeing the man that she loved so tenderly care for her sister. Later that evening she had pressed a note back in reply that Bette loved anything pink, cheerful and romantic, however she also ached for flowers the she could keep beyond the length of time a bouquet would last. So maybe a flowering plant would be better. Jimmy of course bought both, handing Bette a beautiful posie of assorted pink coloured carnations along with a terracotta pot of African Violets. Bette had thrown her arm around Jimmy's neck and squeeled with excitement at the sight of her flowers while Dot had offered him the warmest, proudest smile as she mouthed "thank you" against the backdrop of her sister's excited ramblings.

Given how long Bette had pined for flowers and how excited she had been to receive them it is unsurprising that she is a devoted plant parent. She waters her flowers once a week like clockwork, adding water to a saucer underneath the pot and letting them drink the water up through their roots just like Paul had shown her. Apparently African Violets don't like to get their leaves wet. Bette would even go as far as to take her flowers out for some sun if she felt the conditions on their windowsill weren't right at their current campsite. Her little pot of flowers really did bring her so much joy.

Dot may not have shared her sister's passion for flowers (finding them mostly to be needless and frivolous) but in the end she was the one who responsible for the expansion of her sister's flower garden. When Paul had originally shown Bette how to care for her flowers he had also mentioned that they could be propagated which had fascinated Dot. The idea you could just take a leaf and it would grow roots and become a completely new plant was amazing to her. But convincing Bette to let her try it out for herself definitely proved to be battle. Bette certainly wasn't keen on allowing her sister to chop into her precious flowers while Dot couldn't see why her sister was being so protective, the little plant certainly had plenty of leaves to spare, especially if it could give a whole new plant. Unsurprisingly the disagreement escalated to a pair of very raised voices which is what ultimately drew Jimmy into the argument. After managing to calm down both sisters Jimmy revealed to Bette that the tiny pot plant had originally been her sister's idea because she knew how much she wanted to have flowers of her own. Dot confirmed that she does know how important the flowers are to Bette and that she would never want to hurt them, she was just excited at the possibility of being to make more of them for her sister and be able to give her the windowsill full of flowers that she had always dreamed of. Bette couldn't help but relent after that. A few months later and Dot has become quite the propagation expert, to the point where their windowsill is beggining to fill up with juvenile plants as well as fresh cuttings just beginning to take root. Bette smiles every time they catch her eye, not just at the beauty of the flowers that she spent so long pining for but also for how they symbolise her sister's love for her. While they may still bicker bitterly from time to time, Bette knows that no one will ever love her as much or as fiercely as her sister does. Dot still has no real interest in the flowers themselves. She does still find propagating rewarding, especially watching her little babies start to grow and flourish. But mostly she just enjoys watching the way they make her sister smile.

Sally McKenna

Image: jeremiahsplants

Sally is obsessed with carnivorous plants and you can't convince me otherwise. She definitely discovered them on Instagram and loves all the funny shapes and crazy colours that they come in. Sally would never be content with a plant that looks like a plant - no her plants need to look like vicious little aliens. The fact that they're natural born killers is also a nice little bonus. She loves how they subvert the natural order of things - insects should eat plants not the other way around.

When she first discovered plants online Sally got really upset that she'd never be able to go out and buy any of her own. It was Iris who mentioned that maybe she would be able to order some online - big mistake. Sally is nothing if not obsessive and her room now rivals Poison Ivy's lair with the number of plants she has crammed in there. The sheer number of babies in her collection doesn't mean that she neglects them though, no Sally is absolutely an A level obsessive plant mum - only the best for her babies. When she discovered that carnivorous plants prefer distilled water to tap water she started ordering it by the gallon, and as the best lit positions in her room started to fill up she definitely ordered grow lights so that none of her babies suffer. The grow lights also give off a slight purple glow which makes her room look like a rave which is absolutely a feature and not a bug.

Sally has also been known to go hunting for food for her babies, especially since her collection has grown and she worries there isn't enough to go around. Iris and Liz frequently find her collecting dead flies from window ledges to take back to her growing brood. She offers them to her babies with tweezers as a mother bird would to her chicks. The last time Iris had an exterminator spray the Cortez Sally accused her of trying to murder her babies with poison and absolutely ordered fruit flies online (intended for feeding pet reptiles rather than pet plants but meh) to keep her collection going until she could be absolutely sure that the offending toxins had dissipated.

It goes without saying that Sally has a separate plant Instagram account which she updates on nearly a daily basis with photos of new growth or just progress on her collection. She definitely has a great eye for plant photography and for making her babies come to life on the screen. One of her favourite things to do is film feeding videos with her largest Venus Flytrap "Fang" (who incidentally has his own Instagram account: @Fangstagram). Watching plants move so quickly will never get old to Sally and she has definitely been known to tease some of her smaller flytraps into snapping shut just for her enjoyment. She tries not tease them too much though, they are her babies after all.

Audrey Tindall

Image: savannahs-succulent-garden

Like Lana, Audrey is another serial plant killer, but for complete different reasons. Audrey, bless her, kills her plants with far too much kindness (and water). She so desperately wants a house full of the beautiful lush plants she sees all over Instagram so she tries her darnedest to be the best plant parent ever. Her problem is that every time she sees leaves starting to yellow or wilt she assumes it must be from lack of water (rather than the fact that their roots are already rotting from far too much).

Initially she fell into the trap of picking up plants she thought looked cute on Instagram or in the garden centre, without really knowing much about caring for them. Needless to say this didn't end well (multiple times). She thought she had cracked it when discovered the subset of house plants refered to as "hard to kill". Unfortunately, most of those plants are very resistant to neglect but not to Audrey's smothering type of plant parenting. Finally she discovered peace lillies which do actually like to have wet feet and appreciate all of her affection. She's slowly collecting other spathiphyllums in all shapes and sizes now that she's feels confident she's got the hang of them. She gets so excited every time one of them grows a new leaf or flowers - such a proud plant mum.

Now that she's growing a little more confident with at least a subset of house plants she will occasionally post photos to her Instagram. She's still pretty insecure about her plant parent abilities though and it doesn't help that she will occasionally get haters telling her she's doing it all completely wrong. She tries not to let them get to her but sometimes they really do get her down - all she wanted to do was share the joy that her plant babies bring her and she's doing her best to do right by them. After one particularly brutal bout of trolling it's actually Sally who defends her. Audrey has been following Sally's plantstagram since she first started getting interested in plants so the fact that Sally even acknowledged her kinda blows her mind. Sally tells people in no uncertain terms to back off Audrey or she will set her carnivorous babies on them. The two strike up a fast friendship after this and through Sally's guidance Audrey eventually begins to grow more confident as a plant mum. For her birthday Sally definitely sends Audrey her first baby Venus Flytrap with the absolute insistence that it be named "Audrey II".

Ally Mayfair-Richards

Image: swordsintheforest

Ally has never really seen the appeal of house plants nor does she have the time (or the headspace) to look after them. She does however have a fully stocked herb garden growing in window boxes in the kitchen to have everything within easy reach for cooking. She also loves the fresh clean smell of the basil and rosemary wafting through the house on the breeze if she leaves the windows open, particularly if it has rained. She may even admit that she's beginning to see the appeal of having the greenery around the place from an aesthetic standpoint as well.

Given how busy Ally is juggling being a senator, running a restaurant and being a single mum (plus whatever wink wink nudge nudge cult stuff she's up to on the side) it's not really surprising that it's Ozzie who's taken to caring for the herb garden most of the time. He's always been such an inquisitive kid and Ally loves watching the way his face lights up over simple things like flowers and new growth. Ozzie is particularly obsessed with propagation and there is always at least a handfull of his experiments on the windowsill. Whether it's an avocado seed he's trying to get to sprout or basil cuttings he's trying to root, he always has some new scheme in the works. Ally usually just smiles and ruffles his hair (so proud and glad that she has such an amazing and we'll rounded kid after everything that he's been through). As long as he leaves her enough basil to make pesto with, she's happy for him to play to his heart's content.

Wilhemina Venable

Image: leafyleafs

Plants have never been of any interest to Wilhemina, she considers them to be unnecessary sources of dirt and clutter. They serve no practical purpose so she has no time for them. At least until she becomes the somewhat unwilling recipient of one. As far as office secret Santa presents go, she supposes, the lilac coloured orchid is actually quite inoffensive. However she can't shake the feeling that it must have been bought for her as some kind of challenge, that someone at Kineros is secretly watching to see how quickly she will kill it because someone like the imperious Ms Venable is obviously incapable of the kindness or tenderness necessary to keep something as beautiful and delicate as an orchid. What she doesn't know is that it was actually from Mutt, because while he is usually too coked out of his mind to show it, he is actually quite fond of her. And he knows her well enough to know that she would never accept a gift from him directly so each Christmas he rigs the office Secret Santa to get her name so he can her something (and also partly because he doesn't trust some of the interns not to get her something crude on a dare given the anonymous nature of the gift). He also knows her well enough to realise that she would appreciate the elegant beauty (and obviously the colour) of the orchid but would never cede to the frivolity of buying something like it for herself.

Despite the good intentions of the gift, Wilhemina can not fathom the idea that it was genuinely meant for her enjoyment. Obviously someone is toying with her but she will not be beaten. Wilhemina Venable may not know the first thing about orchids but she will be damned if whoever gave her the wretched thing manages to get a laugh out of it at her expense. So she learns. Mina is nothing if not fiercely independent and resourceful so she scours the internet for information on orchid care and reads everything she can find. And of course she succeeds (because anything else would be unacceptable to her).

After six months her little orchid is still alive and thriving in her office and privately she would have to admit that she has grown quite attached to it. Compared to other plants she finds it to be quite neat and tidy, and there is something elegant and refined about its arching growth habit which she finds quite beautiful. Over the course of her research she has of course come across the tremendous variety of orchids available. She of course is drawn to all of the different tones of purple blooms but also finds herself unexpectedly drawn to some of the darker, more gothic varieties. She tries to tell herself that it is merely an aesthetic appreciation, that they hold no actual allure to her, but she keeps finding herself drawn back to them. She almost buys herself one on *so many* occasions but the idea of doing something so frivolous just for her own pleasure and enjoyment is so terrifying to her that she always chickens out. Eventually she caves though, buying an indigo coloured orchid on sale at the grocery store, abruptly rushing home with it before she can change her mind again. She spends the entire rest of the day second guessing the decision but the next morning when she opens her eyes to the delicate purple blooms tenderly placed on her night stand she can't help the gentle smile it brings to her face or the warmth that settles in her chest.

After that her collection slowly grows. She still struggles with buying things for herself simply for pleasure but she is getting better, and the sick guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach seems to appear less and less each time she does it. So her collection of orchids grows, mostly including those with particularly dark blooms or interesting and unusual shapes (though there are definitely a couple of lilac and lavender coloured blooms in there as well). She also begins to expand to other dark leaved plants as well, like certain begonias and definitely a ZZ raven. Like with the orchids, all of her new acquisitions are thoroughly researched and she is determined to succeed in their care.

Mutt will sometimes catch her glance fondly at her little desk orchid as he passes her office. He is genuinely glad to have given her something that seems to bring her such contentment. If only he knew the true extent of the gift he had given her.

Mildred Ratched

Image: bidoctor

Mildred has no idea about plants of any kind. Or at least she didn't before Gwen. Her childhood certainly wasn't filled with simple pleasures like planting flowers or playing in a vegetable patch, and any indoor plants or flower arrangements were merely things she was forbidden to touch and harshly punished if she damaged. So inevitably these things inspired a far greater degree of anxiety and tension in Mildred than they did joy or contentment.

But Gwen loves gardening. She had memories as a young child of helping her father in their backyard, returning of an evening covered in mud, much to her mother's dismay. Gwen's strong nurturing nature made her a very capable gardener and she derived a great sense of contentment from it. On some level Mildred wished she could help Gwen as she pottered through their garden of a weekend but she wouldn't have a clue where to start. In fact, the nasty voice in Mildred's head whispered, she would be so much better off without you, you'll just ruin everything, you're far too useless to be of any help. So as Gwen worked Mildred would watch, pretending to pay attention to her novel but really trying to find the pattern and reason to Gwen's actions so that maybe, someday, she wouldn't be quite so useless.

Mildred did, however, enjoy accompanying Gwen to the nursery when she went to collect supplies for their garden. Mildred may not have the faintest idea what any of the plants were called or how to care for them but she did find it peaceful to walk through the rows upon rows of different shades of green. She was continually fascinated by how many different shapes, sizes and colours they seemed to come in. Sometimes Gwen would catch her staring curiously at a particular plant but Mildred would always decline when Gwen offered that they could take it home with them.

One particular Saturday in spring Gwen found Mildred tenderly righting a small yellow marigold which had been knocked over by other nursery-goers as they riffled through the display to choose the brightest and most beautiful blooms. The poor little plant was somewhat lopsided and some of its leaves were slightly crushed from where it had lain, still there were the beginnings of golden yellow petals starting to peak from within the confines of its buds. Gwen watched as Mildred delicately unkinked the worst of the damaged leaves, fingers ghosting over the flowers that had yet to bloom. This time when Gwen suggested that they take the battered little plant home with them Mildred suddenly became very interested in a thread dangling from the cuff of her blouse as she muttered "Wouldn't it be easier to just choose one that isn't crushed? One without so much damage?". Gwen gently reached out, linking her pinkie with Mildred's, cursing that anything more would have been unacceptable in public. She gently squeezed Mildred's slender finger in her own until her gaze lifted to meet Gwendolyn's. "Never" she breathed. "The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all". She felt her throat tighten and eyes begin to burn as she watched Mildred's eyes begin to glisten and that *damn* dimple on her chin begin to quiver. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea of how to look after it", Mildred's gaze dropping again to the poor bruised little plant. Gwen squeezed their intertwined fingers once more, coaxing Mildred's eyes to meet her own. "I can show you, if you'd like?" Mildred's teeth began to worry her bottom lip as she considered. "What if I can't? What if I kill it?" "Sweetheart, you won't and I'll be there with you every step of the way. We can do it together." Mildred seemed to consider this offer, turning back to gaze tenderly at their little friend, before meeting Gwen's eyes. "Ok" she murmured, "together".

After that, every time Mildred and Gwen returned to the nursery Mildred would inevitably leave with a battered looking plant that she was determined to rehabilitate. Gwen, true to her word, patiently guided Mildred through the basics of plant care and Mildred, unsurprisingly, quickly became very proficient. Her tiny, dextrous fingers, used to dealing with needles and surgical instruments, were incredibly adept at staking and repositioning bent and battered plants as she helped them to heal. Soon enough, one end of their porch became entirely dedicated to Mildred's patients, so much so that Gwen began affectionately referring to it as Mildred's ward. And in spite of her initial fears Mildred had become quite the proficient gardener, with her little rag-tag bunch of plants, all twisted and pointing in slightly odd directions, forming the most beautiful and beloved garden Gwendolyn had ever seen.

#sarah paulson #lana winters #cordelia goode #bette and dot tattler #sally mckenna #billie dean howard #audrey tindall #ally mayfair richards #wilhemina venable #ahs #mildred ratched #ratched #ryan murphy #plant mum

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headaching · 4 years ago

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i was tagged by my insanely talented mutuals @sorryimabitanxious @that-was-anticlimactic and @zukoisgayforsokka to post a wip, thank you so much 🥺

i’ll go ahead and tag @beachytablecloth @sheimagineddragons @babydotcom @indecisiveartform and anyone else who wants to!

this is from a modern au jetru fic with a one sided jetko situation based on “a loving feeling” by mitski!

Jet came to the bar alone. Zuko didn’t.

Jet sat at a table by himself with the fruitiest drink he’d ever had in front of him (the special of the night, something cherry). He took a few sips and preserved the atomic red liquid in his mouth, daring the alcohol to win over the sickly sweet flavor of the drink.

He swallowed hard when Zuko walked in, at first out of excitement at those dazzling golden eyes staring right into his own. But Jet’s eyes flickered downward when Zuko stepped all the way inside and revealed he was holding someone’s hand. He wasn’t looking at Jet anymore, either.

As they made their way to the bar, Jet recognized the stranger by the back of his ponytail: Sokka. Jet’s arms leaned against the table as he considered his options; he could storm over to Zuko and demand an explanation (but he had neither the right nor exclusivity with Zuko to do that), he could leave (but where would he go?), or he could stay right where he was and come to terms with his shitty, overpriced drink.

With an exasperated huff, Jet threw his straw on the table and downed the remainder of the drink. It tasted like sugary danger and revenge and fury. Though the drink was poisonous on Jet’s tongue, he sidled his way to the bar for another.

“Another special?” the bartender asked.

“No,” Jet shuddered, and the bartender bit back a laugh. “Just a shot of whiskey for me. Thanks.”

The bartender's eyebrows shot up skeptically. “That’s quite a leap,” he replied as he readied the whiskey in a shot glass.

“Yeah. It is,” Jet replied, though his attention was on the dance floor, where Zuko and Sokka were dancing closely with their foreheads pressed together despite the up tempo music. The sound of the shot glass on the bar startled Jet, and the bartender definitely took note.

“Thanks,” Jet mumbled before bringing the glass to his lips and draining it of its amber liquid. He made a face, then slammed it back down and said, “Another.”

The bartender grimaced, but he filled the glass once more. After he watched Jet take the second shot, the bartender took the glass away, and Jet held his hands up in confusion.

“See where that gets you, cowboy,” the bartender said, and Jet’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.

To the bartender’s back, Jet asked, “Hey, what’s your name?” and ignored the slight slurring of his words.

The bartender sighed heavily and turned back to face Jet. As he glared at him, Jet got a better look at his long brunette hair that was tied half up with two long strands of hair pulled out in front, and a headband around his forehead. His scowling eyes gleamed emerald even in the ambient lighting.

“Haru,” the bartender breathed flatly, punctuated by the crossing of his arms and the rolling of his eyes.

“Well, Haru,” Jet said emphatically, and quieted the recognition that he liked the way it sounded, “why don’t you pour the shots, and I’ll worry about what’s too much?”

Haru laughed, short and cynical. He set the glass he was drying and its towel on the bar to rest both of his palms against it. He slid one finger along a groove in the wood until it ended at the shot glass.

Haru picked it up and asked, “Are you sure that’s all you’re worried about?” Before he turned around to pour another, Haru’s eyes glanced towards Sokka and Zuko, who were making out in the middle of the dance floor.

Something big and violent and cherry flavored flipped in Jet’s stomach. He groaned and buried his face in his hands, feeling like a particularly special brand of idiot.

#i. hope this is good i feel like ive been staring at it too long #:)#jetru #jetko #zukka #technically lol #my work #tag games #alcohol

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jeremygallery · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

New Album “BATTLE OF TOKYO TIME 4 Jr.EXILE” Release 2021.6.23 THE RAMPAGE from EXILE TRIBE - “CALL OF JUSTICE”.

Now on spotify.

Profiles for the ROWDY SHOGUNS: a group of bouncers (protecters)

BAILEY: specializes in boxing and defeats adversaries with his refined striking technique. A stoic man who does not miss daily training. Loves fighting the strong, loves raw battles. Is a wild child born and raised by a lion in the suburbs of Tokyo. After he went down to the city and survived on his own, he met his current companion. He knows loneliness and pain, so he is kind to all but his enemies.

LUPUS: his fighting technique is his own style, but it is not limited to that, and it shows more than an all * ity battle. A rationalist who hates wasteful personalities. Basically a single man, but when he works as a team, he works closely with his surroundings. Try’s to solve problems by myself as much as possible before involving his colleagues. Among the bloody team members, they are often given the task of protecting women because of their relatively calm personality.

LUCAS: A beautiful young man who left behind the image of a boy. His fighting skills are comparable to Lupus and Bailey. In this team of stray people in the city, he grew up in a rare and peaceful family. Runs a dangerous bouncer business to keep his little brothers fed. Since he is accustomed to caring for children, he is often tasked with the sons and children of VIPs. Has a cheerful and energetic personality, but is a little childish. He cares about his short stature, and he gets really angry when called "Chibi".

HADES: leader of ROWDY SHOGUNS. He brought together the city's nuisances and strays to create the current team. Has a strong sense of responsibility, is good at commanding, and the members are very popular. Also good at making money and believes in his talent. His fashion is flashy and his teeth have diamonds. Hope for the successful and enemy to the bad guys in the city. His fighting style is a power type, boasts the team's greatest physical and muscular strength, and hits enemies with all his might.

GOEMON: a swordsman both rough and thoughtful. An investigator who devotes himself to improving himself without comparing himself to others. Is unbeatable in the world of swordsmanship. Always looking for a legendary sword while working as a bouncer. A samurai who does his best for others rather than himself with the motto "Forgetfulness and others". Loves horses with light blue coats and boasts a combination of humans and horses. He likes Japanese fashion and his favorite food is sushi. However, the choice of material is strange.

MI-YA: lost his family in a storm five years ago and thought he would remain a loner for the rest of his life. Until he joined the ROWDY SHOGUNS team, lived as a person without relying on anyone and partnering with anyone. He likes one person but hates loneliness. An optimist who thinks that it is okay if he is happy now, regardless of the past or the future. The emotional ups and downs are intense, but there is a place of innocence and charm that attracts others. He is obediently interested in strange things, especially magic. He also likes the Bible and reads it on a regular basis.

MARDUK: grew up in a warm and loving family, but one day someone killed my parents and my life changed forever. Since then, in order to protect his remaining family member, a sister. He searches for the murderer, while mourning. He himself is as a bouncer. Before he joined the team, he earned money by stealing and contracting, but now he has washed his hands from the villainous business. The evil technology cultivated at that time is now being used to protect people. He collects statistics on human psychology and movements and uses them for guarding. His fighting style is unskilled, and he fights with throwing and cresting techniques. He likes kimonos and has a hobby with GOEMON.

GUSK: a dater who dyed his hair purple. Not confident in his speed, but he has the best defense of the team. Even if he is shot with a machine gun, he approaches calmly and throws enemies with superhuman strength. Very caring because he grew up as the eldest son of a large family. He refuses when asked, and often shines with nuns, such as those thrown by other members. Usually planted, but on an empty stomach he becomes extremely moody and rampages. To prevent that, he usually carries a chocolate bar with him.

TRAVIS: a tactician with a deep knowledge in various fields. Well-versed in strategy planning and has a high level of control skills for peakles. Freely manipulates cars and helicopters to carry dignitaries and escorts. He has a rough personality and likes fighting. Has no martial arts background, but is strong, and his strength alone is enough to defeat the enemy. He is a history geek who loves 90's fashion and culture. He's simple and straightforward, but extremely stubborn. Never cheats, is his own justice, but there is a hidden danger that resembles madness.

SARUTOBI: an acrobat who boasts the fastest speed of the team. Has a high physical strength and kills enemies with his acrobatic blows. Has a bright personality, Aizaki, sincerity and humility. Values his team cohesion above all else and doesn’t tolerate traitors. Apart from the "protect" skill, has the ability to "see the future for a moment". Like Marlene's ability to transform, his principles are unknown. Understands that he "sometimes sees the other side of the speed because I'm too continuous."

KISARAGI: is a certain fortune sergeant. The house is tremendous Go Omiya, but he refuses the rails laid by his parents and throws himself into the world of conflict. Has a high intelligence and culture, and is good at defeat. Also has skills in disguise and infiltration. Sometimes teams up with MI-YA to collect various secrets while acting as a bodyguard for VIPs. Before he left home, he was exposed to various "final facts". He is skeptical of the fake super-Tokyo, and he wants to throw a stone in this world.

MARINE: usually mild-mannered, but once the switch is turned on, his personality and body shape change drastically. At the time of transformation, it becomes a huge performance that surpasses even HADES, and demonstrates 9 violence. His ability is different from the "protect" skill that everyone on the team has, and MARINE himself does not know the principle. Has a longing for the rich and a strong tendency to rise. His hobby is training and he is on good terms with BAILEY, who is also a hard worker.

Q-B: in charge of equipment production for the team. Is good at making things and is also good at maintenance and customization techniques. Is dexterous and has a good sense, but his indecisiveness is a drawback. He thinks endlessly when he begins to stick. Doesn't like aragoto and is good at logistical support. However, he is reasonably strong when he fights, and tosses his enemies with his own equipment. Loves performing arts and one day the whole team dreams of doing something like Super Kabuki. Is a Japanese lover with GOEMON and MARDUK.

JOE: A-NOT’s companion. A rare and shy man among the bloody team members. Became a bouncer to earn money for the treatment of his sickly parents. Although he is not good at fighting, he has excellent intelligence and wit, and is trusted by his colleagues. Has hypnotic "eyes" and can manipulate the person he looks at for a short time. Good at work that makes people angry and gets angry. Serious about his work and always collects information and self-improvement. The most common sense person on the team.

A-NOT: In charge of the information department of the team. Is good at digital technology and good at brain fighting. "A-NOT" is a handle name, and no one knows his real name. Always plays games when he's not at work. His skill is also tremendous, is a legendary celebrity in the game industry. Rarely fights on his own and works by remotely controlling various vehicles and gadgets. More precise and complete than his work. Is obsessed with "information" and is most afraid of losing data due to disasters.

JUDY: A caller and the only musician on the team. Has a talent for music and is also an artist after the misery of his bouncer work. Has a sharp personality, is impatient and aggressive. Judges everything by "ROCK or ROCK". His words, and actions are sometimes brilliant, but acts according to his own lines and aesthetics. Has a religious admiration for the great artists of the past. A passionate rocker who loves music, humor and mature women. If anything wrong or the wording is wrong, please help correct. And to the powers that be, this is in no way meant for harm. It’s for the fans who can’t read the language it’s printed from.

THE RAMPAGE/ROWDY SHOGUN

LIKIYA - HADES

ZIN - GOEMON

RIKU - BAILEY

KENTA - MI-YA

RUI - GUSK

YAMASHO - MARDUK-

KAZUMA - LUPUS

HOKUTO - LUCAS

SHOGO - TRAVIS

SHOHEI - SARUTOBI

ITSUKI - KISARAGI

KAISEI - MARINE

MAKOTO - Q-B

RYU - JOE

TAKAHIDE - A-NOT

TAKUMA - JUDY

Credit: Garnet Dragon71

#RIKU #The Rampage #THE RAMPAGE from EXILE TRIBE #TAKUMA #LIKIYA #ZIN #KENTA #RUI #YAMASHO #hokuto yoshino #Kazuma Kawamura #Shogo #shohei #fujiwara itsuki #KAISEI #makoto hasegawa #RYU #TAKAHIDE

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hysteriium · 5 years ago

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The Irony of Fate [2]

Gif not mine!

(A/N): Uhhh this gif kills me holy fuck LOOK AT HIM- UGH. OK, SORRY this took so long lmao, my writing has honestly been so slow lately. I’m trying to fix that but idk I guess it’s a work in process. ALSO!!!! I’m so GRATEFUL for y’all! You’ve all been so kind and supportive with the series, I honestly thought I was going to be swamped with hate! I’m really glad you’re all enjoying it, and love Arthur as much as I do. It’s really made me feel better about my shitty writing. So without further ado, I’ll let you read. Sorry for the monster essay!

Summary: Arthur hated his life. That was no secret. He could pull out a list of the reasons why if someone had to ask. Perhaps he had pissed off fate really badly, a time he couldn’t seem to recall. Or perhaps, not that he believed in it, in a past life he had behaved so reprehensively that he was cursed for the entirety of his reincarnated existence. At this point, anything would make more sense than his continual bad luck - make more sense than his life. Was he doomed to be miserable for the rest of his time on earth? Or would the woman he spotted from his window instigate a rapid spiral of change?

Word Count: 3,400

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Reader

Warnings: None!

!! SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO HASN’T WATCHED THE MOVIE !!

Anxiety coursed through (Y/n) like a turbulent storm, its rage coursing throughout her body, numbing her fingertips. Her mouth was abnormally dry and her attempts at swallowing - to try and lessen the prominence of the drought within, were all in vain. Counting down the seconds in her head silently, her jaw ticked. Large multicoloured drapes burned into her eyes, their bright colours harsh if looked at for too long. As she stood behind them, backstage, the familiar, upbeat music filled her ears, a tune she had known since teenagehood. In person, the arrangement of instruments beyond the curtains sounded different. It was raw. Loud. Unfiltered. The difference was something she found she prefered, it’s authenticity shining through.

Despite the nostalgia, and the thrill of her dreams coming true, the song was hardly comforting, adding to the growing nausea in her stomach. Solidifying the presence of the knot within.

The fact she was there was surreal.

The crowd, in response to the anthem, went wild, clapping on cue, along with the song.

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen!” Murray shouted. His renowned dance moves, which had him swinging to the beat, were perfectly timed.

Although (Y/n) was shrouded by the massive curtains in front of her, she could practically hear the smirk on his face. Sickly sweet and, dare she say, sickly fake. While she was eternally grateful to be where she was, the disingenuity unsettled her. It rubbed her the wrong way.

Good ratings meant more money, and more money meant fewer problems.

“Now, tonight, we’ve got an extra special guest,” he said.

(Y/n) swallowed.

She felt her fingers twitch in anticipation while the majority of the public oohed at Murray’s news.

“She’s a gorgeous woman…” a handful whistled, earning a soft chuckle from the host, “though I must say, she has an even lovelier voice.”

“It’s quite funny actually, I met her on the street the other day. I was blown away when I first heard her performing. And...I usually don’t do this, but I just had to have her on the show. You all know how much I love talent.”

“However, there was just one thing that left me confused. I asked her, ‘why on the streets?’” Murray gave a quizzical look, “with such a gift, you’d expect her to be in the clubs!”

“She shrugged her shoulders and told me, ‘you gotta start somewhere’.”

“Now while I respect that, starting from humble beginnings and all, I told her, ‘honey with a face like that, you don’t gotta go around singing on the streets for money,’ if you know what I mean.”

The spectators laughed, and (Y/n) rolled her eyes in response. Suddenly, she was glad she was hidden. She wouldn’t want her annoyed expression to give the wrong impression. She didn’t want to be labelled. The last thing she needed was to wake up and read some shitty news article painting her as a ‘diva’ and ‘ungrateful’. Gotham thrived on negativity, so once that was out there, she’d never recover from the defaming blow. Sexist jokes or not, fighting up against one of the most dominant television personalities in Gotham, as well as the media, was a deathwish careerwise.

“Now that’s enough from me, you’re all probably sick of my face. Please welcome, (Y/n)!”

Swiftly, the live band played their tunes, signalling her entrance. Murray directed attention to the infamous curtains, his arms stretching, his fingers wiggling towards the material. Screams of joy echoed off the studio walls.

At the sound, her hands raced to her form-fitting black dress, smoothing out the wrinkles before the curtain opened. When they did, they were slow. A cringe formed its way onto her face as the pully system squeaked along. As ready as she’ll ever be, she cemented a smile, hiding the wince, and walked through the drapes, deciding against waiting.

Feeling a little dramatic, her form hunched over into a bow. A leg darted behind the other, with one hand in front, another resting against her back. Wolf whistles decorated the air at her arrival, though they were promptly replaced with roaring laughter as she made her way towards Murray and planted two firm kisses on both of his cheeks. Eventually, the clacking of her heels signified movement from the older man as she moved to occupy the yellow chair next to Murray’s desk.

Murray made a face after her display of affection, a look although (Y/n) couldn’t see, with his back towards her, she knew it transpired because of the public’s response. She could only imagine the face: one of shock and surprise, or perhaps confidence, as he winked towards them. Either way, both weren’t hard to envision, and the thought made short, distinct, puffs of air release from her nose in amusement.

Shortly, he followed her lead and took a seat behind his table.

“You’ve got some flare kid,” Murray chuckled, and (Y/n) could tell a genuine smile had replaced the false one. A twinge of pride wriggled in her chest at the realisation.

“Are you nervous?” Murray asked suddenly, his eyes flying to the hands in her lap, fidgeting, “you seem nervous.”

She shot the audience a look, her teeth clenched as her eyebrows flew up.

“Yeah,” was all she said, her tone coming out high and unsure.

Laughter.

“You’re already doing great. This your first time on live television?”

The reminder that this was live exacerbated her anxiety, her leg threatening to bounce. The pressure was on; if she screwed up, everyone would remember.

“Pretty much,” a hint of fear wavered her voice, and the laugh that followed was shaky, “this is really surreal.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he flicked his wrist at her, “it’ll be second nature the way you’re headed.”

Her hands flew up to her cheeks, a tinge of pink coating the area while she tittered, “thank you, but I’m not so sure of that.”

“So humble!”

Murray adjusted himself in his chair, his leg crossing over his other. He leaned forward towards the singer, form angled away from the onlookers. His concentration was solely on her.

“So (Y/n), what have you got planned for us tonight?”

A diffident expression crossed the woman’s features as she recalled her song.

“One of my favourites. Put On a Happy Face by Tony Bennett.”

Murray nodded.

“Interesting choice. But, a classic.”

His formerly interlocked hands were thrown into the air, giving a signal to the band. At this, (Y/n) stood up from her seat, and headed towards the already arranged set up towards the end of the stage. Once she arrived, she gripped the cylindrical microphone with both hands, its body supported by a stand. The object was cool against her heated fingertips.

The music started, the funk infectious and the woman’s hips began to sway.

----

Arthur barely held the gasp within him when he gazed upon (Y/n) ’s form, her flattering black dress a spectacle to behold. Her bow, cute and pure, converted the gasp he was restraining into a lovestruck sigh.

He was sold, struck by the arrow of the little rascal Cupid himself.

She looked just as good on TV.

He found it endearing how honest she was, admitting to her nerves. In his eyes, she was genuine, not like the scum that riddled Gotham’s streets; not like those who laughed at him; not like Randall.

Similar to a child who was urgent to take in his favourite cartoon, he moved himself closer to the screen, a meter away at best, as he sat cross-legged. The tickling sensation of excitement shot throughout his slender body.

As the music started playing, the overly happy tune seized him. When the camera panned on (Y/n) ’s walking form, he took in every little detail. The sigh she let out when she reached the microphone. The wobbling of her hands, which she tried to hide by clutching the device. The movement of her throat, suggesting a swallow. The jaw that clicked.

Arthur saw it all.

Then, she started singing.

Gray skies are gonna clear up

Put on a happy face

Brush off the clouds and cheer up

Put on a happy face

The spectators interjected, drowning out a portion of the lyrics as they released sounds of support.

As Arthur leant into his tv screen, he was absolutely convinced nothing could deter his eyes, his hypnosis. Not even the whining of his mum, who had been entirely obstructed from viewing the screen.

He hadn’t even realised she was there, he’d forgotten all about her.

Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy

It’s not your style

You’ll look so good that you’ll be glad

You decide to smile

Arthur wished he was there in the room with (Y/n). In the crowd. To see her pretty (e/c) eyes glance over him and shoot him a wink. Or perhaps a smile. Anything - like the acknowledgement she gave him days prior. Just something to know that he really existed. That he wasn’t riding through life like a doormat - invisible, stepped on, beaten up and chucked around. No one really noticed the object, nor cared to, as it dejectedly rested below the door. Day after day.

Pick out a pleasant outlook

Stick out that noble chin

Wipe off that “full of doubt” look

Slap on a happy grin

Arthur began to grin when she saw her nerves were starting to leave her. Oh, how badly he wanted to applaud her. Encourage her.

And spread sunshine all over the place

And put on a happy face

One hand released the microphone, moving to her face as she traced the outline of her upturned lips, a short, accidental giggle slipping out. It made Arthur’s heart swell!

The band complemented her style perfectly. Their contrasting deep voices were melodic as they harmonised with her humming.

Gray skies are gonna clear up

Put on a happy face

Brush off the clouds and cheer up

Put on a happy face

Arthur found his form lightly swaying to the tune, his grin extending from ear to ear, impossibly deeper.

She was really into it now, and he could tell she could feel the music rushing through her, now a conduit for the art. When he saw the confidence which had manifested, growing with each passing second, his mind swarmed with joy, his mind conjuring a bundle of soothing words he noiselessly projected through the cubic barrier before them - to her.

And if you’re feeling cross and bickerish

Don’t sit and whine

Think of banana splits and licorice

And you’ll feel fine

She disconnected the microphone from the stand, bringing it under her chin. Quickly she departed from her spot with a small spin, strutting across the rest of the stage - something that got the fans rowdy; wooing. Her body swung to the beat, shoulders moving with her.

I knew a girl so gloomy

She’d never laugh or sing

She wouldn’t listen to me

Now she’s a mean old thing

Now incredibly expressive - antithetical from when she first began - she accompanied her singing by miming the lyrics. A fist rocked below her eyes imitating tears in a burlesque manner, and a fake frown contorted her features. Though, no matter how sad she pretended to be, Arthur knew just by the twinkle in her eyes that she was bursting with happiness.

So spread sunshine all over the place

And put on a happy, happy face

Put on a happy, happy, happy face

During the final verse, she had moved closer to the camera, dragging out the closing note with a high.

Oh, come on bubby, smile, it’s your birthday!

She made direct eye contact with the lens and winked.

Arthur’s chest tightened at the action, and he couldn’t help but take it personally; as if the playful act was directly meant to be for him. Him and only him.

Applause nearly deafened Arthur as it reverberated around the room, projecting shockingly loud for such a small device. Scrambling, his hands tried to lower the volume. Unfortunately, in his rush, his clumsy hands instead knocked up against another button, changing the channel entirely in the process.

Regrettably for Arthur, the noise emitted only worsened. Although the tv was no longer on the Murray Franklin show, it was now on a channel playing an old war movie. Explosions and the earthshaking noises of artillery filled his crappy apartment, gunfire jolting his poor, unexpecting form. Letting out his shock with a shout, and a string of curses, his hands automatically moved to cover his ears - a reaction he midway stopped; gaining some control, he felt the device vibrate beneath his fingertips when they finally discovered the volume button. When he had readjusted the strength, he returned back to the station, free from the clamour, the show now on commercial break.

He sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

Why was he so fucking clumsy?

Even the smallest things he couldn’t seem to get right.

Gentle snoring shifted his awareness from his self-deprecating mental exchange, and when he looked over to the noise, he saw his mother asleep in her chair. Her head was tilted against her shoulder, her mouth open. It was a sight that made him laugh through his nose; something that managed to halt the negativity which began to swarm in his mind, like a vicious cloud of hornets.

Arthur didn’t know how his mother could one minute be the lightest sleeper on earth, then the next, swing to the other extreme. It was a miracle she slept through his fuck up, but then again, if she were in a deep sleep, he was confident enough to bet she’d sleep through a natural disaster.

It was honestly impressive.

Emitting a soft groan as his palms pushed himself up from his sitting position, he trailed from one end of his apartment to the other. He opened one of the squeaking cabinets near the bathroom, the small storage space containing miscellaneous items. Though, it mostly harboured their modest collection of towels and blankets. As his eyes skimmed the shelves, from top to bottom, they soon fell onto what he was searching for. On the very bottom, his hands gripped onto an old quilt. It was soft to touch, though when he moved to collect it, he felt small pricks against his flesh as his arms maneuvered to fit its length.

Feathers.

The floral pattern, which was a chaotic blend of reds, pinks, whites and cremes was gaudy and straining to look at. Arthur guessed it was a victorian design, and it was quite apparent that it was a style he wasn’t fond of. He didn’t think he ever understood the things his mother liked. It was definitely a selective taste.

Shaking away his absentmindedness, and the staredown he was giving the blanket in his hand, he moved back to the living room, rounding behind his mother’s chair as he gently placed the cover against her. She was still snoring, some of them morphing into snorts. He honestly did try to contain his giggling, but most of it slipped out. To try and lessen the ache in her neck she was bound to wake up with tomorrow, he lastly righted her position.

The upbeat music coming from the tv began again, letting Arthur know his favourite show had returned. Hurried, his lips pressed up against his sleeping mother’s forehead before returning back to his spot in front of the tube.

“Welcome back, everyone! If you’re just tuning in, we have the lovely (Y/n) with us.”

For what was probably the 100th time, the crowd responded to Murray, who was sitting back at his desk, gaze set towards the camera.

“And I’ve got good news for you, kid!”

(Y/n) looked up at the host from her chair, eyebrows furrowing.

“What do you-”

Murray interrupted.

“I’ve set you up with a few clubs. We can’t let talent like yours go on without reward, it would be a disservice. On behalf of Gotham city, I think we can all agree we need some joy in these troubling times, and your presence just seems to radiate it.”

(Y/n) was evidently stunned. Suddenly, to her, some of his awful jokes had been worth it.

“This isn’t a prank, right?” she turned to the audience, eyes expanded wholly making the audience explode into chuckles. Arthur found himself joining in.

“I assure you lovely, we wouldn’t do that to ya.”

“Your first gigs gonna be at Pogo’s comedy club. And yes, although it is a comedy club, they’ve made an exception. It’s best to start small and work your way up into the bigger names.”

Arthur’s chest constricted.

He went there all the time!

He could see her perform!

Talk to her!

Finally have the chance to introduce himse-

“So what do you say, darling?” Murray piped up, his eyes giving her an encouraging glance.

Arthur leaned forward, nose about to touch the screen in anticipation.

Her hands found her cheeks as she tried to conceal the spreading heat. Even in darkness, she was convinced the crimson flush would be bright enough to light up the room. While Murray had said a few off comments here and there, things she didn’t agree with, he truly had been welcoming to her. She thought maybe, just maybe, she had been too harsh on him.

“I-I don’t know what to say?!”

Please say yes - please say yes - please say yes.

“You could say, yes?” Murray shot her a playful look.

The woman finally nodded, adrenaline and joy manipulating her quaking frame, “yes! Yes! Thank you so much!”

Arthur’s fists shook in the air, a sigh he wasn’t aware he was holding, released.

(Y/n) got up from her seat, shooting up like a rocket as she made her way behind Murray’s desk. He followed her actions and removed himself from his chair, and accepted the hug she pulled him into with a ‘whoa’.

“Well, there you have it, folks! Pogo’s, Friday night, at seven. Be there or be square!”

With a little whisper to (Y/n), she was sent off, back to the area with the microphone.

“Goodnight, tune in next time, and always remember-”

Instantly, the legendary keyboard tune started playing, and (Y/n) prepared herself to sing once more.

“-that’s life!” Arthur mimicked.

For one final performance, the camera panned away from Murray, setting on (Y/n) as the credits rolled. Arthur relished in the sound, the lyrics hitting his very soul.

That’s life (that’s life), that’s what people say

You’re riding high in April, shot down in May

But, I know I’m gonna change that tune

When I’m back on top, back on top in June

I said, that’s life, (that’s life), and as funny as it may seem

Some people get their kicks,

Stompin’ on a dream

But I don’t let it, let it get me down

Cause, this fine old world it keeps spinning around

He sunk into the numbing feeling of the lyrics, forcing himself to close his eyes. He didn’t even realise the song was nearing its end until she reached the final verse.

My, My!

With the expression of dazed euphoria, Arthur opened his eyes, watching her part from the microphone, the credits now over.

“Thank you,” was the only thing she said, her beaming expression the last thing Arthur saw.

The show ended.

Arthur, who was abandoned by the gentle, radiant hue of the cube before him, was consumed by the darkness. It dwelled within the room as the device had been switched off by his lingering hand.

He didn’t know how long he sat in silence for. His mother had finally stopped snoring.

He didn’t want to watch television; didn’t feel like it. He wanted to soak in the episode he’d just witnessed - flick through the memorable moments for the rest of the night.

He wanted to think about what he’d say to (Y/n) when he finally met her officially - he wanted it to be perfect. While the little wave she gave him days ago would have been such an insignificant action to most, it wasn’t to Arthur. It was real.

And the fact that he knew it was, reeled him in like an unsuspecting fish speeding to bait.

Well and truly, Arthur was bewitched.

The sombre air surrounding him - a mood that always seemed to cling to him - and the dim blue hue which encompassed his apartment, strangely didn’t feel so bad for once. Hell, he didn’t feel so bad for once.

With the image of her smile repeating in his head, he didn’t feel so...

Alone.

#arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #joker x reader #joker 2019 #joaquin phoenix joker #x reader #joker imagine #fanfiction series

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kileyrose-2003 · 5 years ago

Text

Rose the Hat x Fem! Reader

Hello lovelies! This imagine was requested by @merci-bitch I still love that username, lol. I hope you enjoy! Sorry it took me a while to publish. I was getting stuff ready for Christmas all day today.

Warnings: Violence, implied child abuse, implied domestic violence, mentions of child death, mentions of sexism.

For someone with such a beautiful face, you did not have such a beautiful past. You were a freak. Or at least that's what you thought.

You were born into a wealthy family and your parents wanted a little boy, not a girl. They were automatically biased about you from the start.

You were a beautiful baby and so happy. You loved everyone, even strangers. Your aunts and uncles would hold you close when they came to visit telling your parents how lucky they were or how special you were. You were an only child after all. They would just shrug. "It's a child. Nothing that special about her."

Over time though they realized just how special you were. You weren't like other children. You seen things and did things other children didn't do.

You could advise someone to go to the doctor because somehow you knew they were sick and could tell people little tidbits about their past or future.

Guest and other relatives marvelled over it, remarking on how cool they thought it was. Your parents didn't like it though. In their small minds, little girls weren't supposed to do things like that.

You did everything they asked but it was never good enough. You got good grade, got accepted into Honor Society, virtually any achievement anyone could think of. Your parents didn't care though.

Years of rejection hurt and once you hit your early teens you began to react like any normal teenager would. You cried everyday when you came over the smallest things and crying eventually turned to rebelling.

You'd go out for nights on end and not come. Your shine grew stronger and your parents could take you no more.

They sent you away to an inpatient mental health facility. You begged and begged not to go. You weren't crazy. You didn't ask to have this weird sonar in your head. You wanted to be normal. They refused though stating "You were to dangerous to others and yourself."

Those two years you spent locked away were the hardest years you ever knew. You were constantly doped out on all the medications they gave you and your shine became slightly surpressed.

Even though supression occurred though, dark things became attached to you. Demons and ghost would come to you in the night and you could take no more.

On a dark, summer night you took the first pair of clothes and purse you could find and ran off. You felt relieved but couldn't help but feeling distressed.

You had money and enough debit cards to get you anywhere you wanted at this point but eventually someone would notice their purse was missing and money was gone.

As soon as you got out of the bus, you turned to escorting wealthy men for money. The pay was good but some of the men were terrible.

More often than not, you'd wake up in an unfamiliar hotel room and no memory of how you got there. Days of the week blended in together and one drink eventually turned to the whole bottle. It was one of the very rare days you didn't have and you were currently at your favorite movie theater, nestled into your seat zoning off to the music in the vintage film. Your thirst for liquor was off that day and you just felt like doing something different.

The theater was mostly empty besides a few people and a couple sitting in the way back together.

"I don't see what you're fussing about." Rose mused, laying her head on Crow Daddy's shoulder. She wasn't enthused by any of this. Normally she'd enjoy a night out at the cinema with her Crow but the popcorn was bland and the teenagers sloppily kissing on the big screen were not the best entertainment.

"She's steamy. Just look at her." Crow gestured his hand towards you. "I'll agree, big steam but she has no particular talent. She's just steamy."

"You don't think she'd be good to turn?" Rose held a piece of popcorn up to his lips. "If the situation was different, then yes. For right now though, no. We need to eat more than we need steam. How old do you think she is anyways?"

Crow pushed her hand away. "Nineteen or twenty tops. If we train her though, she'd have so much talent. Plus she's kinda cute." Rose furrowed her brows. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"You heard." He shrugged, desperately trying to get a rise out of her. Rose glared at him out of the corners of her eyes, a slight pang of jealousy ran through her. "Spunky tonight, aren't we?"

"Guess you could call it that." Rose grinned tightly. "Not feeling the hunger yet from a few months ago?"

"Nope." He popped his 'p'

'Of course you're not. Because you want to be stubborn.' Rose shifted in her seat.

"We're not turning her. We just turned Andi a few months ago. You know how it is. You don't turn more than one in a short period of time. You don't want to make the baby jealous."

"If I may say so Rosie, Andi doesn't seem like she has a care in the slightest about anything." Crow's tone remained soft but he retained serious composure in his face.

Rose smiled sickly sweet. "I didn't ask for your opinion but that's fine, honeybunch." She leaned upwards, trailing kisses all over his collar bone. "You remember the last time we ate?"

"Six months ago..Rhode Island." He grunted, trying his hardest not to give in. "Remember how nice it felt? How good the sex was?" She nipped the sensitive part of his neck. "We can have that again very soon if we have her."

Crow's eyes rolled into the back, running his hands up and down her sides. "Do you have a plan on how you want to trap her?"

"We don't have to do anything. Matter of fact, I think we have the perfect opportunity..now." Your phone began to ring in your pocket and you walked up the aisle to step outside and answer it.

Crow took Rose's soft hand is his rough, lightly scarred one. A reminiscent of the physically grueling years of his youth. "Let's do this then."

Meanwhile you stood outside in the rain, your phone pressed up against your ear. "No..I'm not leaving. Because, it's my day off..and I said no! Look, I'm at a movie theater, I'll call you back. Bye."

You hung up the phone and shook your head, walking to your car but something felt off. You felt like someone was watching you. "Excuse me, Miss." Hesitantly, you turned around. Trusting the bright and cheerful smile despite that uneasy feeling in your stomach. "You left your purse in theater." He held up what you thought was your hand bag.

"Oh my gosh. Thank you so much." You approached Crow. "I was wondering where I put it." You went to take the bag in your hand but it was no longer there.

"What the fuck?" A hand grabbed your arm and you tensed. You spun in the opposite direction and was greeted by Rose.

"Well hi there, dollface." You paused and turned your gaze to the woman across from you. Her grey eyes hypnotized you as they locked with Y/c/e orbs. She was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen, on the outside at least. Something wasn't right on the inside though. You didn't have to use your shine to know that. You had to get away from her.

"You want to let me go." The older woman looked amused and let out a hardy laugh. "Oh no, dearest..no, I don't."

"Yes, you do." Rose insisted. You struggled against her as you felt a set of arms wrap around your torso. "Stop it." You squirmed.

"It's alright honey. Just relax. It'll only be a little pinch." You shook your head and Rose held your shoulders tightly. "You are a special little thing, aren't you?"

Her eyes flicked blue and you gasped as the needle punctured your skin. It stung like a bee and you flinched. The further Crow pushed down on the needle the colder and limper you began to feel.

"How much more?" Rose eyed you closely. "Maybe a milliliter more." She smiled at you and gently caressed your cheeks. "You're going to meet some fun people, sweetcheeks. For right now though, I want you to sleep."

"I-" She shushed you. "Sleep." Your lids felt heavy and soon after your neck muscles gave out and head bobbed forward as you fell asleep.

"Well that was easier than I thought." Crow threw you over his shoulder. "How many cannisters do you think we can fill with this one?"

"I don't know..at least three." Rose slipped her fingers under your chin. "You're right, she is a pretty thing. Too bad she doesn't have any particular skill. She seems like she'd be fun to have around."

"You think?" He gestured to the bottle of liquor that fell out of your purse. Rose chuckled and picked it up of the ground. "Eighty proof. My she must be a busy girl."

The roar of an engine came up from behind both members and they turned on both heels as Snakebite Andi opened the door to the RV. "That the Steamhead?" Rose nodded and Crow carried you inside. "Where to?" Barry yelled from the driver seat. "That forest we passed on the way here. Nobody should hear her out there."

A few hours later you kicked and screamed as Rose carried you out of the RV. "No! No! No!" You begged and flopped against her. "Please..please! I won't tell! I swear."

"Honey, it's not personal and I know you wouldn't but it's just not a practical option." She dropped you on the ground roughly and the other's began to tie you up.

Crow was standing off to the side with a map in his hands. "Rosie, I thought you said no one would hear us out here."

"They won't. Why?" Rose began to sharpen her knife. "We're near a campground." She furrowed her brows. "No, we're not."

"Yes, we are." He held two of his fingers up and gestured for her to come near him. Rose snatched the map into her hands and looked down at you.

"Well I'll be damned." Crow nodded. "Yeah, not a good thing."

Meanwhile Andi hammered one of the stakes down by your feet. "It's a shame, really. You're a pretty girl and I was there once in your shoes but a girl's got to eat."

Tears started streaming down your cheek and Rose stood infront of you. She didn't care who heard something. They needed to eat.

"Rose, will you make her shut up?" Barry groaned. Rose grinned and kneeled infront of you, running the knife against cheek. "Shh..pain purifies steam. Fear too so now you understand."

She raised the knife above her head, balance it inbetween the tips of her fingers. "Are you going to hurt me?" Your inside burns and you felt like you wanted to throw up.

"Yes." Her arm moved forward to stab you but a light peeked through the bushes. "Hey, what's going on over here?"

A rush of adrenaline radiated through you and you swung your legs forward. Kicking Crow in the face. He groaned, holding his bleeding face. "Little whore!"

"They're trying to kill me!" You screamed as you ran up the hill. You expected some of them to run after you but most fled to their RV.

Meanwhile Rose shoved a cloth she had woven into her hair in Crow's direction. "Rosie, where are you going?"

"I'm going to find that pretty, little bitch." Rose ran after you, trying to find any sight of you. "Y/n?" She called out. "That is your name, isn't it? I'm Rose, in case you didn't know mine."

A twig cracked and she spun in the opposite direction. "You can't hide forever, sweetface. That's what you've been doing your whole life, haven't you? If you don't hide from me, I can show you just how special we are. Because like I said you are a special girl."

You cautiously peeked out from behind the tree you were hiding by and made your way to speak past Rose.

"I hear you moving, my sweet. Come to Old Rose." You near passed her when your forehead bumped straight into her's. That battered old top hat fell off her head.

"You asshole!" Rose got your hair in her grip and gave it a rough yank. You screamed and attempted to push her back. "Get away from me, you crazy whore."

You earned another tug to your locks for that remark. "Knock my hat over, hide from me, and be rude? Oh honey, you and I are going to have fun."

Rose pressed your body against the ground and you helplessly found yourself gripping at the ground as if it was going to help you.

There was predatorial prowess in Rose's gaze that made you feel nervous. In the distance you could hear police sirens. "I think I seen them this way."

Rose's head quickly bobbed up as if she was trying to figure out if it was a member of her family and she cursed. "I want to remember every single feature on your face that way you'll never be able to escape."

You let out a scream and she rolled her eyes. "Oh will you shut up?" Rose's lips smashed against yours, biting at your lip for entrance to your mouth. You stared at her in awe for a few minutes before letting her tongue enter your mouth. It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.

This woman tried to kill you. You shouldn't be making out with her but her dominace and aggressive beauty took you in an instant and you had to admit, she was a damn good kisser too.

Your tongues fought for a winner for a few more moments before she pulled away from you. Your lipstick was smearing on Rose's lip and she grinned.

Her rough touch turned gentle as she booped your nose. "You're lucky. Your screams saved you this time but rest assure my sweet, I will be seeing you again and like I said, you'll never escape."

"Until we meet again, pretry girl." Rose stood up off the ground and nodded in your direction before walking off. You laid on the ground, gazing up at the stars. In shock of it all. "What the fuck just happened?"

You heard rustling from the bushes behind and the police ran up to you. "Miss, are you okay?" You nodded slowly. "Yeah I'm..I'm fine."

"Can you tell us what happened?" You could see The True's RVs rolling out in the distance and you shrugged. "I-i don't know."

One of them mumbled something about amnesia and helped you off the ground. "Let's get you to the hospital."

Down the road Rose drove at a normal pace as she made her way from the scene. "How come you're not panicking?" He had a piece of gauze pressed up against his cheek.

"She didn't tell," Rose responded, keeping her eyes on the road. "So we're just going to let her go?" She chuckled and shook her head. "No..I have a different plan for this one. I thought about what you said before Crow and I think you're right." He raised an eyebrow at Rose and she smirked.

Less than a week later you were back at home when there was a knock on your apartment door during your movie night and you put the bowl of popcorn down to go answer it. You looked out the peephole before opening it.

Rose stood on the other side, clad in a pretty silk shirt and broad grin on her face. "Well, hi there. I told you I'd be seeing you again."

There waa no weapon on Rose and you stared at her in complete confusion, not knowing whether to return the greeting or push her out. Rose giggled at you and strolled past you, shuttling the door behind her. "Ooo what are we watching? Casablanca? Good choice for a rube."

"W-what are you doing here?" Rose chuckled. "I told you we weren't finished yet." She pecked your lips. "I still have to make you scream."

She playfully smacked your ass. "Where's your bedroom?" You pointed down the hall and Rose took your hand in hers, taking you to your bed.

Rose pressed her lips against yours and forced you down onto the bed. "I don't think we really had a proper introduction."

"You think?" The words came out snappily but you didn't mind. "What exactly are you because I know you're not human."

"An empty devil." The response came out coldly and chills ran down your spine. Rose laughed and kissed your cheeks.

"Not so fiesty now, are we?" She ran her hands down your side as she looker around your apartment. "Haven't lived here long, have you? Or had a family in a while."

"What's it to you?" You spat and Rose smiled. "What would you say if I changed that?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Here's the deal..I'm going to make you an offer Y/n because it's clear you're the hunt or be hunted type and you're steamy." She eyed you up and down. "How old are you, lovely?"

"Twenty" You hummed softly and Rose grinned. "What an age. You know I remember being your age once. Long time ago. I felt lonesome and turned to love in all the wrong places then I met someone like myself who showed me I wasn't alone. Wasn't crazy. That's how you felt for a long time, didn't you? Your family didn't understand you. No one did."

"I-i..I don't want to talk about it." You overted eye contact. "Shhh.. it's okay. We all have our deep and dark little secrets in our families. That's what I'm offering you. No secrets you have to hold anymore and no more hunting for a meal. Stay young, eat well, live long. What do you say?"

"I say I got nothing to lose." You shrugged. "Excellent." You attempted to stand up to grab your belongings but Rose pushed you back down. "Oh no, no, no..not yet. I told you. I'm not through with you yet."

Instead of your screams of pain it was screams of pleasure Rose heard all night and Rose was perfectly fine with that. Either way she had you trapped and she wasn't letting you go, ever.

#crow daddy #the true knot #true knot #rose the hat #doctor sleep #dr sleep #the shining #imagine #x reader #fem reader #stephen king

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lightandwinged · 5 years ago

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ALSR, Chapter Two: Rogues = Master Class

Nazmir: Apari’s Perspective

I had to google Apari to make sure she wasn’t an NPC I missed during my rushed questing through the Horde storyline in BofA deez Factions, and she’s not. Apparently, Roux created her just for this novel, which is exciting! I like seeing OCs in novels. I bet Roux plays her on some RP realm somewhere, and none of us know it.

Apari is watching a troll named Seshi slowly die, and she’s into it enough to ignore the pain in her leg from an old wound. Seshi dies, Apari has a little pet dreadtick named Daz (which I find relatable, please let her be in the next expansion, I already love her), and it turns out that Apari is a talented poisoner whose current concoction makes people basically pop like unto ticks squeezed hard.

She’s joined shortly thereafter by her most trusted general, Tayo (“a huge slice of bone pierced her septum, her elongated tusks capped with sharpened gold points. Mud and black paint made her long ponytail look like a tar spill”). These two were on Yazma’s side of things during that particular coup adventure, and they aren’t terribly fond of Talanji (in fact, they’re hype about giving her this exact poison to kill her! These gals have fun).

Apari knows her plants because when her leg was hurt, she basically tried everything ever to fix it and nothing worked, so she just accepted it and all the other betrayals in her life, which is a far healthier outlook than most WoW characters have, tbh. The poison she’s made here is concocted of “retchweed and riverbud root,” for all you herbalism students out there.

At their core, our new friends here really hate that Talanji’s so into joining the Horde (but she’s also kind of their bitch eating crackers…)

...so they’re hoping to poison her in front of said Horde at some point in the near future. In the meantime, though, a pale rider and an unliving elf have arrived! Apari watches her victim explode and have black bile come spewing from his mouth. I love her so much.

She sends her tick off hunting (bye Daz, I love you!) and goes to meet the pale rider (“dark of hair and red of eye”). Said pale rider (good ol’ Nathanos, if anyone didn’t read between the lines) wants to chat somewhere that she’s not been practicing poisoning techniques, and Apari’s like “oh no, my good bitch, we meet here so you know what I’m going to do to you if you fuck with me.” Nathanos’ elf companion (“her pink skin, veined and mottled, was sickly as a skyterror’s webbing [...] the murderous glint in her eye transcended culture and custom”) is impatient, and Apari’s like “listen, we’re all poisoners here, and I’m not resting until Talanji is toast.”

And we SWITCH PERSPECTIVES!

To ZEKHAN!

Zekhan is living his best life after Saurfang’s melodramatic death and serving as Thrall’s page. He’s all about being useful, bless him, and after Thrall and Old Shaman go to have their chat, he follows along after Rokhan and talks about being a shadow and how it’s important to be a shadow, and this book is feeling quite rogue-centric, which is probably why I’m enjoying it so much so far.

Orgrimmar is having some big festival about “yay fuck Sylvanas” or something, there’s naked dancers, there’s kids with balloons, it’s a good time. Everyone is involved in the festivities, except Talanji, with whom Zekhan is “intrigued, and, admittedly, a little besotted.” He decides to make himself useful to Talanji and offers her any help she needs, to which she’s like “yeah, no, don’t spy on me, zappy bitch.”

Zekhan is all ready to back off and let her be cranky, but then he gets a premonition that Something Isn’t Right. He knocks over a goblet of wine intended for Talanji, only something is very not right about the wine. It’s supposed to be some fancy arcfruit sangree (Thalyssra brought it special, and that is just so very precious lmao), but it’s turning black and smells like death. He notices it smells less like wine, more like herbs, and wants to know wtf this is.

(it’s poison, btw)

Zekhan stands between Talanji and the servant who tried to give it to her just in time for the servant to be like…

...at Talanji. Everyone is upset about this, understandably, and the troll servant who tried to do the poisoning kills himself before they can interrogate him, which a lot of people do in this book so far. All he says is that “she… will know… our b-bite.” Talanji is stunned that one of her own people would try to kill her, which is like… didn’t we just have an entire expansion about how a lot of people want her dead?

Thrall suggests questioning her own people, but Talanji, despite having seen that the person trying to kill her was literally one of her people, is like “no, y’all are the worst, and I am leaving this circus.” Everyone’s uncomfortable about this specifically, but Zekhan and Thrall are otherwise preoccupied. Thrall is probably like “geez, could this day GET any worse? Why did we start allowing more than four races again? This all went downhill with BC.”

But Zekhan is confused because it felt like something that wasn’t him was directing him to protect Talanji--like his body moved of its own accord and knew things he didn’t. Everyone’s like “wow, Zekhan, you’re the best zappy boi!” but he has no idea wtf is going on and is so delightfully humble that I love him even more. Revisiting my earlier statement, it seems like Thrall is concerned about this, and Zekhan is like

And I am about this, these POV characters are fun! Onto the next chapter...

#abby liveblogs shadows rising #warcraft #shadows rising #having looked at the first page of the next chapter we're sticking with trolls a while #much like the end of basically every expansion until Wardads

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lifeawoke · 5 years ago

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ramble on about our fave's kid(s) please

if they had a kid ask meme - open !

i WILL and i will do it for all of them because i love the bezukhovs very much.

name: marya “masha” pyotrovna bezukhova (honestly should just be bezohova in my opinion but whatever)

gender: female

general appearance: dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin. not particularly special looking, like both her parents honestly. nose that goes right down and ends with a curve rather than a point. 3a hair, never a hair out of place (thanks aunt marya). a little tall for a girl, average weight for her height.

personality: marya had a lot more say in masha’s raising so she takes after her a little bit. also, she’s the eldest of the bezukhovs, so she’s more strict and responsible than her siblings. she’s religious, not to the same point as marya, but where her dad’s a spiritual religious person & her mom’s a church-going, pray when something bad happens/you want something religious person, she’s more of both. not very artistic but smart and practical. knows a lot about politics from her dad. caring & protective, especially of her younger siblings. not soft spoken but not loud like her parents might be. will stand her ground though. more of an ambivert than anything, appreciates silence though. i love her

special talents: is the only one of the rostov-bezukhov kids to remember any english & often translates things, mostly political articles, for her parents/family.

who they like better: pierre, he’s a little more serious than natasha. but if she had to choose anyone ever it would be aunt marya or grandma natalya even.

who they take after more: pierre. facts. i kinda explained it earlier.

personal head canon: marya, like her aunt, is a lot like sonya. she has the most potential/reason to marry up or rich and leave the family, maybe even travel, but is far too dedicated to her family to leave before the youngest are grown up.

face claim: i hate this no

next kid !

gender: female

general appearance: a bit of an oddball, light brown hair, hazel, eyes, tanned skin. looks a lot like pierre, despite being a short little thing like natasha. has long arms though, something you wouldn’t really notice unless she points it out (and she will point it out to complain about them). a big mouth like natasha and more brown-ish lips, which she also hates. lisa also has “curly” hair, although its more of a wave so maybe 2b-2c. it suits her well enough, considering hair is mostly pulled back in her generation/time. a lil thicca than the rest of the litter. chubby cheeks that suit her round face. i’m kinda thinking a half-guatamalen e.liza s.canlen.

personality: was raised with a lot more freedom than masha, so a little less prim and proper. this was kinda the point where nat & pierre already knew they were gonna end up popping out kids the way disney pops out remakes so they kind of just went with the flow and got a lot more.. parenty with lisa. this didn’t mean much. she’s affectionate like natasha and passionate like pierre. doesn’t share his interests, though; lisa’s more of an athletic type. is a big complainer, which is sometimes endearing but less so the older she gets. fairly feminine but doesn’t have this obsession with boys and marriage the way her mother did and the way that girls were expected to. gets along well with her sister. more of an extrovert.

special talents: she’s an excellent horse rider, also says fuck side saddles because she heard a queen in denmark did it once and she’s only gotten better since.

who they like better: she’s freest around pierre & she loves that but she relates most to natasha, so it’s 45/55 tie honestly.

who they take after more: natasha; they both like riding (lisa more than nat) and both have personalities that demand to be seen in a mostly endearing way.

personal head canon: growing up lisa was probably closest to nikolai andreyevich, and you can see even as they grow up how close they are. there are even moments when lisa goes to coco before she goes to her own sister about something. it scares some guys off as lisa gets older but she doesn’t really mind.

face claim: if e.liza s.canlen was half gutamalen, i’d say her

the boy !!

gender: male

general appearance: okay you know o.scar i.saac? imagine him young, tall, and SKINNY. except not when he’s young, he’s a chubby kid and it’s the cutest thing. some pictures for reference. he also is p confident looking, if that makes sense. maybe not the long hair but maybe when he’s younger?

personality: mirrors his namesake a lot. young kid that’s just so weirdly mature it’s like... who are your parents bc it’s definitely not nat & pierre. except it is. he gets a lot of extra love from natasha who has been wanting a boy for so long so she could name him after petya. he’s a mama’s boy, #respectwomen, an intellectual like his dad. has a lot of the same problems as his dad in his youth– indecisive & sometimes hedonistic. i mean he grew up rich it does things to you. but i love him dearly. and he does find his purpose earlier than pierre did, finds love in government stuff, which he half gets from his dad and half from his older sister, who cared a l o t for him. is super close with marya, gets along well with lisa. he isn’t very sentimental though, although he has a soft side for his mom and eldest sister, he can be too objective for some people. an introvert but not shy.

special talents: he can knock out a novel a day if he wants to; his attention span is a mile long

who they like better: oh natasha. she loves that kid & he loves her

who they take after more: pierre ! petya admires pierre for sure and i can imagine pierre feels a lil more comfortable teaching his son about puberty nd sex and stuff than he does his daughter so i imagine they speak freely to each other

personal head canon: petya was even going to run off into the army like petya ilyich without knowing that his uncle did the same thing, but natasha caught him and explained to him what happened to her brother & he’s been jaded by the idea of fighting in a war ever since.

face claim: o.scar i.saac but half russian bhsbdj

the last one! in my head they have a lot more but we shall discuss them at a different time.

gender: female

general appearance: an oddball again, but less so. dark brown eyes and straight blonde hair. a skinny, long face and a very unique nose, one you don’t ever see– i’m thinking like a.licia v.ikander’s nose. it adds character to her already freckled face. her skin is many shades lighter than her father’s but she tans well and often. very feminine in appearance and dress but looks shy. very skinny, almost sickly skinny like her mom is. average height.

personality: more of the observing type. spoiled but not necessarily bratty (at least not compared to most rostovs growing up). enjoys the arts, especially performance ones, but doesn’t really enjoy being a part of them. she’s insecure like lisa is but isn’t as vocal about it, which gives this sad kind of air to her. she’s more religious like marya, almost soley because she spends the most time with marya. lives life slowly. very chill but clearly lacks purpose. not very comfortable with who she is as a person. ends up being very close to her parents because she would rather spend time with them than other kids.

special talents: she’s an excellent chef because she spends a lot of time in the kitchen (usually with grandma natalya until she died, then just on her own going through old recipes)

who they like better: probably natasha because she admires her outgoingness.

who they take after more: pierre ! doesn’t have his passion but has his slight awkwardness.

personal head canon: yeva grew up watching her father a lot, but felt the most embarrassed when he’d say something that wasn’t well-received. this proclivity towards second-hand embarrassment stops her form doing a lot & putting herself out there.

face claim: a.licia v.ikander’s nose on a much paler, freckled, and blonde a.dria a.rjona. it sounds weird but i think it?? kinda works for what i’m trying to get across

#soughtlove #♥ – » pyotr kirillovich bezukhov. trsl. петр кириллович безухов. » soughtlove.#their BABIES #save #i love them and their childrens

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megabadbunny · 6 years ago

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No Place Like Hohm (7/8)

***

(Aka the obligatory post-GitF fic, for anyone else who ever wondered what might have taken place between a trip to France and an adventure in a parallel universe. Ten/Rose, all ages, full of angst, fluff, a pinch of romantic bickering, a dash of mutual pining, and a dollop of swashbuckling adventure!)

***

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Chapter 7 | Ch 8

Perhaps later, Mickey thought, he’d have an easier time picking out the discrete parcels of what happened next, establishing some sort of sensible timeline.

(He was, of course, magnificently wrong.)

At the moment, what he knew was this: he was pinned to the ground with the business side of a sharp blade pressed to his throat, until suddenly he wasn’t, and then the crowd went absolutely mad around him, screaming and shouting and stomping their feet until Mickey thought he’d drown in the noise, and what had riled them up like that anyway?, but maybe it didn’t matter because a bunch of those Golden Guards rushed in, and there was lots of shouting amongst the Champions and their captives, and the Guards might have been splitting everyone up or they might have been making everything worse, and there might have been a bit of a scuffle, and Mickey might have punched one of those pratty Guards in the face, which they Very Much Did Not Appreciate, and then he might’ve got a punch-to-the-face of his very own, which might’ve hurt quite badly actually, and now here he was, in some sort of alien infirmary, wondering exactly how he’d come to be in this position, thousands of miles and years away from home, nervously awaiting the decision of a council of humans and horse-people who would determine whether he and his friends deserved a reward or an execution for their impertinence, watching the events of the day play out before him on one of a dozen hi-res screens as he iced a bloody nose.

It was more than a little disconcerting, watching yourself get tackled to the ground. More than that, though, it was a little annoying to watch it while someone poked fun at you in ceaseless mocking commentary.

“All right, but this is my favorite part,” Vareem said gleefully, pointing at the screen as Rose yanked Mickey to the ground to avoid a barrage of dragon-fire. “Look at your face! Your face, Mickey!”

“What was I supposed to do, pout like a supermodel?” Mickey grumped. “That thing was gonna kill me!”

“I didn’t even know faces could make shapes like that!”

Huffing in frustration, Mickey pushed up from the plush bench, pacing round the room for what felt like the hundredth time. Certainly it had to be the hundredth time they’d watched these bloody clips from the stupid Championship, the giant screens in front of them blaring Mickey and Rose and the Doctor’s faces over and over and over again for all in the room to see.

But that, though, that was a thing all its own—it was like ancient Greece out there, how comes it looked like an Apple store exploded in here? It wasn’t just the jaw-droppingly huge television screen, either; it was the gentle music that played from some unseen source, the lights overhead whose color slowly changed with the mood in the room, the curved clear windows that displayed facts and figures and useful tidbits at a mere touch of the glass, the doors that went whoosh in and out of the walls like something out of Star Trek, all of it posh and polished and spotless pristine white. It was almost like the further they got away from the town and the townspeople, the fancier this weird little planet got. It just didn’t make sense. Nor, Mickey thought with a frown, did it make sense that their lot had been tossed in here amongst all the other winners while the City Council decided their fate, instead of being chucked into some sort of alien jail.

If they had access to the TARDIS, Mickey imagined they would have grabbed Dyana and Vareem and hopped out of here lickety-split, but since those Golden Guard blokes had confiscated the TARDIS to whereabouts unknown, that complicated things a bit. At any rate, Mickey supposed he should be grateful, however grudgingly, that the whole instant-death-round thing no longer seemed to be on the table. But there was still time enough for that, he thought glumly.

“How much longer d’you think it’s gonna be?” he asked Dyana. “Feels like it’s been hours.”

“It has been hours,” replied Dyana, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against a pillar. “Not that I’m too keen on them rushing into things. Don’t really want to become someone’s property any sooner than I have to, thanks.”

“Nah, it won’t come to that. The Doctor will talk some sense into the Council, if nothing else.”

Dyana offered a wistful smile. “That would be nice. Wouldn’t get your hopes up, though.”

“Trust me, he’s got a talent for it. Only took him six words to uproot our entire government back home.”

“Sure it did,” teased Vareem.

“It sure did!” Mickey replied. “I wasn’t exaggerating. Just six words, and he toppled the whole thing. Poof! Done and done.”

Vareem frowned. “That’s sort of terrifying.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Well, I reckon it’s not so great for Harriet. And probably not for the people who work for her. And probably it’s causing some problems in the long run,” said Mickey thoughtfully. “But I’m sure it’ll be fine. Point is, he takes care of things. That’s what he does. And sometimes Rose ‘n me, we help. Isn’t that right, Rose?”

Rose did not reply, lost in thought as she sat still on a fluffy white hospital bench, staring at nothingness like it wronged her. A flash of silver peeked from her wrist and upper arm, two of several high-tech mesh bandages peppering Rose’s body, slapped here and there over bruises and cuts. The bandages were good stuff, futuristic high-tech mesh infused with something that would greatly expedite the healing process, or at least that was what Mickey had garnered from the physician’s explanation—the physician, not the Doctor, because he’d waltzed off the moment they’d arrived. Strange, that; Mickey would have expected the Doctor to insist on tending Rose’s wounds himself, or at least he’d hover over the physician while they did it and drive them batty explaining everything they were doing wrong. But no, he’d vanished almost immediately. Mickey wondered why.

A flurry of raised voices erupted from the monitors, pulling Rose’s attention and Mickey’s, too. They both watched as an onscreen Doctor and Rose bickered heatedly. Mickey had every intention of teasing Rose about it, but stopped upon glancing back at her; her gaze sharpened into a glare, her mouth tightening at the sight of the Doctor onscreen, tiny and digital and utterly confused, and oh dear, but this would be a very bad time for teasing, wouldn’t it?

Mickey’s brow furrowed in concern. “Rose?”

Wordlessly, she pushed up from the bench and stalked out of the room.

“All right,” Rose said impatiently, pushing aside the privacy screen—didn’t matter how he might try to hide, she’d recognize the telltale whir and buzz of the sonic screwdriver anywhere. “We can’t keep dancing around this, Doctor. We’ve got to—”

The Doctor’s gaze snapped up to hers, eyes wide in alarm, but that wasn’t what killed Rose’s words, left her breathless, nor was it the sight of him shirtless and exposed, though that was certainly unusual in its own right. No, it was the bandages, dozens and dozens of them. Some of them were wrapped round his arms, others pasted on his shoulders, others still slapped on his flanks, curled around his ribs and peeking round from the back; stepping to the side, Rose could see even more bandages slathered along his spine. What few patches of skin left uncovered by the bandages were dotted with little pink cuts and bluish-yellow bruises and angry purple welts, a perverse sort of rainbow playing out across his skin.

Bruises and cuts and wounds, a whole tapestry of hurt, and—and how long had he been wearing those special healing bandages, now? They’d been waiting here for hours, hours, and the bandages had already helped Rose and the others so much—so why did it look like the Doctor had fought and lost a round with a heavyweight champion? Or were the original wounds just that bad? When had he even gotten those wounds?

Had he been hurting this entire time, and Rose just hadn’t noticed, somehow?

“God,” she breathed, aghast. She reached out to touch him, but drew back at the very last second. She didn’t want to put pressure anywhere he hurt. “What is all this? What happened?”

“Erm, like you said earlier, average line-of-duty stuff,” said the Doctor just a little too quickly, avoiding Rose’s gaze. He continued his work with the sonic, scanning something in his hand--that pet-chip-thing, by the looks of it--and he frowned. “Just a couple of action hero wounds. Normal stuff. Standard. Run-of-the-mill, even. Nothing a couple of Beznisian battle-bandages can’t cure—and isn’t that funny, that they’ve got battle-bandages here? Definitely unexpected, considering the technology outside these walls doesn’t appear to have advanced much past the Middle Ages, but then, I suppose we’ve encountered stranger and more out-of-place things, haven’t we?”

Rose swallowed against the suspicion bubbling up sickly in her stomach. “Doctor, how’d you get hurt?”

“I just told you,” said the Doctor, pocketing the sonic and the pet-chip. “Standard stuff. Nothing worth discussing. Certainly nothing worth worrying about.” He stood up, grabbing his shirts from where he’d discarded them and pulling the tee-shirt over his head, only wincing a little as he did so. “Now, they did offer me some acetylsalicylic acid to help with the discomfort, and that actually is worth worrying about, because you know what they say about Time Lords and acetylsalicylic acid: they don’t mix. Or rather, they shouldn’t. They occasionally do. But that’s why you always have a handy spare bar of chocolate on hand!” He pulled on his oxford and hastily buttoned every other button. “There’s a bit of advice for you: Always keep spare chocolate around, Rose Tyler; you never know when you might need a good source of simple trigclycerides.

“Anyhoo, now that we’ve all had a chance to rest and recover a bit, I rather think it’s time to get going, don’t you? Shall we collect Mr. Mickey and the TARDIS and call it a day?”

“Doctor…”

“Speaking of chocolate, it’s probably time we restocked, or added to the current stock, as it were. You can never have too much chocolate, you know. It’s demonstrably proven to be the one thing in the universe you can never have too-much-of—”

“Doctor, please,” Rose interrupted, firmer this time. “Would you just—”

“Finish saving the day, first? Yes, of course,” said the Doctor. He grabbed his suit jacket and pulled it on. “Give a good speech, give a good glare, give the baddies a good what-for, don’t you reckon?” He whipped his coat about his shoulders with only the tiniest of grimaces. “Oh, and good job on recognizing what the pet-chip-thing was, by the way. It gave me a couple ideas, so I scanned and poked around a bit and I think it might end up being rather important after all. But isn’t that always nice, when something so small actually ends up being rather big in the grand scheme of things? Always a fun revelation, never a dull moment there.

“All right, shall we?” he asked, setting off before Rose had a chance to answer.

She hung back for a moment, hesitating. Even if she didn’t recall every moment of the adventure today—which she did, in startling detail—the footage playing on the screens overhead, over and over and over again, would have reminded Rose that there was no rational explanation of how the Doctor had sustained those wounds. There was no moment when he would have received them, no time he could have received them, and there was certainly no reason. Except as she watched the scene playing out onscreen, following the progress of her tiny digital self as she struggled to steer a sickly-glowing dragon, and it disappeared behind the mountainside in a hail of fire and a thunderous boom that shook the speakers around her, Rose realized that there was, in fact, a moment when the Doctor could have been hurt, and moreover, there was certainly a reason.

(And the screen flooded black with smoke, and Rose remembered awakening, groggy and sore but relatively unhurt despite everything, and what had happened to the dragon, and where was the Doctor, and was he hurt, and later, Mickey couldn’t believe she’d survived, and how…?)

Worrying her lip between her teeth, Rose followed after him.

The Doctor, Dyana thought with a sick-clenching throat, was going to get them all killed.

(It was not surprising that the guard had no inclination to bring the Doctor and co. before City Council; what was surprising was how easily the Doctor managed to convince them otherwise, and how suddenly, in a matter of seconds it seemed, the group was bursting through the Council doors.)

“About time,” Mickey muttered under his breath, but everyone else stayed quiet as their Golden Guardsman guide typed a series of characters into the keypad next to the chamber door. Dyana couldn’t guess what held Rose or the Doctor’s tongue, but a look over at Vareem let her know that Vareem, too, was likely clenching her teeth against the urge to vomit, fighting all of the instincts screaming at her to run, run, run while she had the chance, that they were both silent for the same reason:

This was it, for them.

Their entire lives had been building up to this single event, this single conversation, this one moment, a slice of time dangling their futures precariously over the knife-sharp edge of a narrow precipice. After this handful of moments, one way or the other--whether they were punished for their insolence, executed for their crimes, or maybe, just maybe, pardoned and offered freedom--their lives would forever change.

The robotic chime of the keypad sliced through the silence, paving the way for the heavy groan of the doors as they swung inward, revealing, bit-by-bit, the darkened chambers within. The second the doors parted enough, the Doctor surged on ahead, Rose and Mickey following immediately after; Dyana and Vareem hung back, frozen in uncertainty and fear. It was all good and well for Rose and her blokes to forge ahead without a second thought, but they didn’t know the Council like everyone on Hohm did. They didn’t know enough to be afraid.

(For all her plans of rebellion, Dyana had never imagined she’d meet the Council in the flesh--she had hoped to escape the Championship with her freedom intact, or die trying. Never had it crossed her mind that fate would bring her here, face-to-face with her planet’s own personal devils, confronting the pieces of filth responsible for so much death and destruction. The very same monsters who had sanctioned the her sister’s murder.)

Dyana closed her eyes against the memory that fought its way to the surface, her fists clenching in anger. She forced herself to drink in a deep, calming breath. It didn’t matter how terrified she was. She would do what she could with this chance--a chance her sister never got.

Swallowing hard, she grabbed Vareem’s hand, squeezing it; Vareem squeezed back, as if in thanks. Dyana led them both in.

Blinking against the dark, Dyana waited for her eyes to adjust as the Councilors murmured in response, and she grimaced at what she saw. It was about what she’d expected, a mixture of old money and new tech, marble pillars and velvet curtains blossoming out of the semi-darkness amidst softly glowing lights and screens. A grand table spread out before them, a great polished wooden thing that cost more than Dyana’s family could earn in an entire generation; behind it, gilded in the finest golds and silks and gems and slim electronic accoutrements the surrounding systems had to offer, sat a half-dozen humans and horse-people, gazing down imperiously.

The Council. Dyana felt Vareem shudder next to her.

Rose glanced back at the two of them and offered an encouraging smile; Dyana knew she was telling them, without words, the same things Mickey had said earlier. The Doctor will help fix everything. It’ll all work out in the end.

Gods, Dyana hoped they were right.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded one of the Councilors.

“Six hours and fourteen minutes,” the Doctor announced as he strode confidently forward. “And eleven seconds, in case you were wondering.”

The Council stared down at the group, each of them distinctly unimpressed. “Guard, we did not send for these offenders. Why have you brought them before us?”

“And counting,” continued the Doctor, consulting his wrist as if he wore a timepiece there--which, he didn’t. “That’s more enough time to collect the facts and render a decision, wouldn’t you say?”

“We would not,” said another Councilor. “We have not yet decided your fate.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about your decision,” the Doctor replied cheerfully. “I’m talking about mine.”

The Council stared down at them, unimpressed. “Guard, remove the offenders,” ordered the Prime Councilor, “and report to your superior for suitable punishment.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said the Doctor, waving his hand dismissively before the guard could reply. “In fact, here in a few moments, none of this--” he continued, gesturing to the room around him, “--will be necessary, because here in a few moments, none of this will be in operation. See--”

Flashing the Council a cheeky grin, the Doctor rummaged around in his pockets, presenting a slim black wallet that he flipped open, displaying its contents for all to see. Normally Dyana might have delighted in seeing all of these stuffy upper-crusts breaking out of their dusty indifference, some of them stiffening in alarm at the sight of the wallet while others grew pale, but she didn’t understand--when the wallet flashed her way, all she saw inside was a small white paper that simply read: Trust me :D.

She and Vareem glanced at each other in confusion, then turned to Rose, a question half-formed on their lips. Rose shot them a little wink.

“See, things are about to change around here,” said the Doctor, absolutely beaming with mischief.

Even the Prime Councilor seemed surprised at what she saw in the wallet--which, Dyana could only imagine, must have differed wildly from what she and Vareem each saw, somehow. “I see,” the Prime Councilor murmured. Her gaze switched back to the Doctor, her mouth pressed into a thin smile. “My apologies, High Commander. We were unaware the Shadow Proclamation had chosen to honor us with their presence today. Were we not?” she asked, glancing at her fellow Councilors, as if perhaps one of them had invited a guest to the party without her permission. Dyana wondered if any of the lower Councilors would end the day without a head attached to their neck.

“Had we known a member of the Proclamation would deign to enter our humble competition, we would have proceeded quite differently,” said the Prime Councilor. “Forgive us, High Commander. You and your party are, of course, free to leave, winnings and usual fees fully intact, and we will deliver your ship promptly.”

“Excellent, most excellent. And after that, you’ll dismantle the Championship, lift your technology ban, and all of you will resign from office, effective immediately.”

The Council broke out in a murmur, but the Prime Councilor simply glared at the Doctor, her smile tightening unpleasantly. “We beg your pardon?”

“Which you most certainly will not receive,” replied the Doctor. “I’m not interested in winnings or usual fees, whatever they might be--”

“Sounds an awful lot like bribes,” muttered Rose darkly.

“--which, I suppose, sort of makes me your worst nightmare, doesn’t it?” the Doctor laughed. “After all, you must have had great success bribing anyone who came before me, mustn’t you? It’s the only thing that makes sense with all of the statutes-violations and felonies bloodying up your ledger. No way you’d have been permitted to run things so poorly for so long, otherwise.”

The Prime Councilor drew back, eyes flashing. “High Commander, those are very serious allegations, none of which, I assure you, you have any evidence to support.”

“So you’re not forcing people into your stupid little knockoff Olympics, then?” Mickey demanded.

“Or promoting the use of kidnapping and date-rape drugs?” added Rose.

“Or denying us access to vital and sometimes life-saving technology?” blurted out Vareem.

“Our people have been denied nothing,” the Prime Councilor said sharply. “The Honorable Council ensures that the people of Hohm do not descend into anarchy and chaos. We are not your mothers and fathers; it is not our place to award trinkets and treats. We cannot be blamed for those of you who have not earned your way.”

“And what about giving us away as bloody prizes, huh?” Dyana spat out before she could stop herself. “What about pawning us off on a bunch of rich off-worlders, just moving us like we’re so much rubbish? You gonna tell us you don’t do that, either?”

The Prime Councilor turned Dyana’s way. Dyana forced herself to hold the woman’s gaze even as she shuddered at the cold.

“Certainly the Honorable Council would never do such a thing,” replied the Prime Councilor. “But should any member of our population choose to volunteer themselves as bride-prizes in the Championship, we will not stop them; your lives are your own, to do with as you choose.”

“Horse shit,” Dyana tried to say, but her words were trampled by the Prime Councilor’s continued insistence that “Freedom, on Hohm, is valued above all things, even the freedom to devote oneself as a winning token. We cannot strip our people of their liberty to make such decisions, however inadvisable they may seem to others. We will not deprive our people of the right to choose.”

“Except we don’t choose at all,” Dyana argued. “Your Champions choose for us.”

“And is it not a great honor to be chosen by one of our Champions? For our Champions to pay a generous price in your name, to fight and compete and strive for your hand?”

“No!” shouted Dyana. “We don’t want that--you know we don’t want that!”

“Save your breath, Dyana,” said Vareem, pulling her back with a gentle hand on her arm. “It’s not like they can hear you over their jangling purses, anyway.”

Dyana managed not to pull out of Vareem’s grasp, but only just barely, and only because she was surprised at Vareem’s candor in front of the Councilor. She didn’t think Vareem felt so strongly about all of this. She’d never been happier to be wrong.

“It is unfortunately true that few things speak louder than money,” the Doctor agreed. “Which, I suspect, is why most of your Champions, especially the wealthy offworlders, pay such a hefty fee to enter the Championship. Does that sound about right?” he asked Dyana and Vareem. “Forgive me if I’m wrong; it’s just a hunch, as Mr. Smith and I didn’t exactly enter the competition via the usual circumstances, sort of bypassed the whole exchanging-of-money bit.”

“You’re not wrong,” Dyana replied. “They call it an entry fee or a fee to participate, but everyone knows what it really is. They put out a call to everyone in the surrounding systems, and anyone with money can pay a fortune to come here and either compete for a wife or watch the blood spilling from the stands. We’re out there risking our lives, stripped of our freedom, and rich offworlders just sit there and watch it like it’s bloody theatre.”

“All while the Council sits up here with their silks and their gold and they watch everything from behind their pristine screens,” Vareem spat.

“And they don’t even allow us to own so much as a telecommunications device.”

“Of course they don’t,” scoffed Vareem. “Otherwise they know we’d band together and stop them getting rich off violence and selling us as slaves!”

“We’re Hohm’s greatest export,” Dyana said bitterly.

“As I said,” the Prime Councilor replied, her voice as smooth and cool as the marble surrounding them, “you have no evidence to support your claims. Nor, I assure you, will you find any.”

“You know, on some level that may be true,” the Doctor admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. “On the other hand, I’m certain there are scores upon scores of native Hohmish citizens who would loudly object to their mistreatment at your hands, if given the opportunity to do so--is that an accurate presumption, Dyana? Vareem?”

“Yes,” Vareem nodded, as Dyana muttered a sharp, “Very.”

“Although, if pressed by the Proclamation, I’m certain you would do your utmost to convince your citizens into stating otherwise,” the Doctor continued, to the Prime Councilor, “via your usual methods of coercion, pressure, threats, violence, et cetera et cetera. There’s the video footage of the Championship, of course, but certainly that could be easily erased, if it hasn’t been already. And unfortunately an official investigation into your many (many) sentient-beings’-rights violations could take weeks, months, possibly years, even if we did have physical, tangible evidence at our disposal. Sadly, folks like Dyana and Vareem don’t have that sort of time.

“You know what they do have, though?” the Doctor asked, and here his smile grew downright manic. “They have us,” he said, gesturing to Rose, Mickey, and himself. “And one of us has some of your oft-requested evidence conveniently hiding right in his pockets.”

He withdrew something from his coat-pocket, a small, rectangular silver thing with a series of numbers stamped across its face, and tossed it onto the table before the Prime Councilor. It clattered over the wood and slid to a stop beneath the Prime Councilor’s nose; unmoving, she peered down at it, lip curled in a disgusted sneer. “What is this?” she asked.

“That, my dear Prime Councilor, is an identifying integrated circuit, also known as a passive integrated transponder tag, outfitted with the very latest in local radio frequency identification and remote control technology; in short, as my brilliant friend here just happened to notice, it’s a pet chip,” the Doctor explained. “But Doctor, whatever are you doing with a loose pet chip floating about your considerable pockets? you might ask. Why, I’ve got a loose pet chip floating around my considerable pockets because I found it in the arena after the oh-so-mysterious explosion of a dragon, and it has yielded a surprising amount of helpful information, I would answer. In fact, I would go on to say, a scan of this particular pet chip just so happens to inform me that its original host was a squamata basilisk draconus, a species that is massively illegal to be imported, purchased, or otherwise owned in this quadrant of the universe due to its status as an endangered species.”

“You want to shut us down because of illegal animal ownership?” asked one of the Councilors, amused.

“No, I want to shut you down because you’re denying your people access to things they want and need purely in the name of control, you’re turning a profit off violence, you’re running a thriving slave trade, and you’re dabbling in illegal pet ownership,” the Doctor replied. “Oh, and the fact that you murdered a endangered animal in cold blood. Can’t overlook that.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the Council, but the Prime Councilor did not flinch. “Once again, I must assert that you have no evidence to support your claim--”

“Ah, but I do! It’s right there on the chip. It’s oh-so-helpful and absolutely packed with information. For example, it tells me who engineered the dragon, and when, and where, and why, and most importantly, for whom. And that whom is you!”

The Prime Councilor glared at him. “The Honorable Council would never--”

“Now, admittedly the chip doesn’t tell me how or why you inserted a remote detonation device into your pet dragon, but it doesn’t have to; anyone with a working brain can tell you that,” the Doctor breezed on as if the Prime Councilor had never spoken. “You, being fully aware of this creature’s status as an endangered (and therefore protected) species, asked the engineers of this specimen to implant a remote detonation device in case something happened and you needed to take dramatic action very, very quickly--say, for example, a devastatingly handsome agent from the Shadow Proclamation just happened to drop by unannounced, or a pair of disgruntled Championship participants stole your dragon for a joy ride and flew a little too close to the sun, figuratively speaking, and you lot got nervous. All you needed to do was press a little button, and boom goes the dragon.”

He leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Unfortunately for you, the dragon might have gone boom, but that pet chip? It’s made out of none other than some of your very own Hohmish ore, and that stuff is nigh indestructible. The chip survived totally intact, with all your damning evidence written right across its face. Really, you should have made your money exporting your ore instead of your citizens, but you know what they say: hindsight’s 20/20, though there’s no time like the present to start sporting a pair of spectacles.

“Anyhoo, I may not have physical proof that you’re violating your people’s rights, but I have plenty of physical proof to charge you with multiple counts of violations of Proclamation Article 72.3 subsection 17-B, being the illicit breeding and destruction of an endangered, protected species,” said the Doctor, his hands clasped behind his back like an office manager delivering an only-mildly-unpleasant presentation to his wayward employees. “My report is on its way to my superiors right now, with the full details. Once they receive it, and find you guilty of your charges--which, make no mistake, they certainly will; dragon-breeders are notorious for turning on their clientele, no confidentiality amongst thieves I’m afraid--you’ll be stripped of your titles, fined of all your wealth, and thrown into a Proclamation prison for a minimum of ten years.”

A self-indulgent little laugh escaped his lips. “And once you’re locked away in prison, it’s only a matter of time before your other crimes are uncovered. After all, with you lot in the brig, who’s going to intimidate your citizens into silence for you?”

Finally, the Prime Councilor had the decency to look nervous, and inwardly, Dyana rejoiced.

“We could kill you where you stand,” the Prime Councilor said, her words slicing the air like shards of ice.

“Could do, but it wouldn’t stop the report from going through,” the Doctor replied. “It’s already on its way. No one can stop it going through, except me.”

Councilors whispered nervously amongst themselves in a low susurrus of mounting desperation. “What do you want?” the Prime Councilor asked the Doctor.

“Ooh, is that another veiled reference to a bribe? How exciting. It just so happens that what I desire is for you--all of you--to resign from your posts, effective immediately.”

“You can’t be serious,” one of the Councilors balked.

The Doctor laughed. “Of course I can! In fact, for every time you argue with me, or say any other silly or inane thing, I’ll add another punishment to the list. This time, you get to donate seventy-five percent of your total net worth to your citizenry.” He grinned beatifically. “Would you like to argue some more?”

“Please, be reasonable,” protested another Councilor, and the Doctor just chuckled in response. “And now I’m banning you from the planet Hohm altogether,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, you’re off the planet. All of you. It’s that, or prison for a decade.”

His grin grew sharp. “A decade, if you’re lucky.”

This time no one dared argue with him; the only response the Doctor received was a bunch of open-mouthed, disbelieving stares.

“Uh-oh, hear that?” asked the Doctor, pointing to the imaginary timepiece on his wrist. “Sounds like it’s make-a-decision-already o’clock.”

“You would really break our world like this?” asked the Prime Councilor. “Break our foundations, shatter our economy, leave our people leaderless and wandering?”

“I’m sure your new Councilors-in-interim will smooth things along nicely.”

“There are no other Councilors. We have not chosen successors.”

“Nor would any reasonable person permit you to. I am referring, of course, to Dyana and Vareem,” the Doctor replied, brow quirked in amusement, as if the Prime Councilor was terribly stupid. “Both excellent candidates for Councilor-ship. That is, if they’d like the job?”

All eyes turned to Vareem and Dyana, and Dyana’s throat ran dry. She had strode into the arena fully expecting to escape, or die trying. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined any of this would happen. Never had she dared hope that she would help make it happen! And now, this bright, shining gift sat just before her, the chance to help guide her world into the future, to make things better for everyone, to give every person on Hohm the choices they needed, the choices they deserved…

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She wished her sister had lived to see this. She would have been so, so proud.

“Yes,” Dyana whispered, warmth blossoming from her cheeks to her fingertips to her toes, bringing joy and hope and relief flooding with it. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

“Me too,” added Vareem, nodding emphatically.

The Doctor beamed at them. “Wonderful. You’ll both do brilliantly. I’m certain of it.”

He turned back to the Council, clapping his hands together in anticipation. “All right! You’ve got a choice before you, which quite frankly in rather generous considering the choices you’ve robbed your people of over the years; you can voluntarily resign, leaving behind most of your fortunate and all of your privilege and prestige, but living otherwise modest lives somewhere far, far away from the people you’ve hurt, or, my report goes through, my superior officers at the Shadow Proclamation get a nice little arrest warrant handy, and the swift hammer of justice strikes fast, hard, and without mercy.”

His smirk was one of the smuggest things Dyana had ever seen, as if he knew the answer even before asking, but wanted to savor the satisfaction of it, anyway. “So,” said the Doctor. “Which’ll it be?”

***

Rose was willing to bet the Councilors had never made a decision so quickly in all their pampered lives.

“How are you doing?” she asked in a low voice, sidling up to Dyana as they watched the Council exiting their chambers, some of them leaving with heads held high and proud while others slunk away like perhaps, if they tried hard enough, they might disappear into the shadows before anyone caught them. “You gonna be all right?”

Dyana shrugged, eyes wide. “I think so? I don’t know. I never expected anything like this to happen. I think I’m sort of in shock, actually.”

Chuckling, she shook her head. “Kind of funny, though--they’ve been so horrible, for so long, made such a huge mess and made things so bad for so many people--only to be brought down by something so small.”

“Ah, I sort of love it when that happens. Poetic justice.”

Dyana shifted, shooting Rose a glance full of suspicion. “And you deliver that sort of thing often, then? The poetic justice?”

“We’ve been known to,” said Rose with a smile.

“As agents of the Shadow Proclamation.”

“But of course,” replied Rose, tapping the side of her nose knowingly, and the two of them laughed.

They both fell quiet as a pair of Golden Guards wheeled in the TARDIS from its hiding spot somewhere in confiscation-land, watching as Vareem poked about the ship in confusion and Mickey excitedly explained it to her. The Doctor was oddly quiet as he looked on, patting the TARDIS doors in greeting, like the arm of an old friend.

“Wouldn’t have mistaken any of you for the authoritarian type,” Dyana said thoughtfully. “Doesn’t really seem like any of you care too much for any sort of rules.”

As if he could sense her watching, the Doctor glanced Rose’s way. Their gazes locked. His expression was neutral, perfectly inscrutable. But something about it twisted in Rose’s gut anyway.

“But then again I didn’t think the Doctor’s paper-thing said anything important, so, I dunno,” Dyana continued. “I guess looks can be pretty deceiving, huh?”

The Doctor ducked into the TARDIS, breaking their gaze. Rose frowned.

“Yeah,” she murmured, worrying her lip between her teeth. “I guess so.”

“Okay, look. I know you don’t want to talk about this,” Rose called out, closing the TARDIS doors quietly behind her. “Not really, not in any way that actually means anything. And that’s fine. You don’t have to talk. Just listen.”

Surprised, the Doctor looked up from the console, watching wordlessly as Rose fidgeted in place. God, why was this so difficult?

She swallowed, loudly. “You hurt me,” she said. “Back on that spaceship. Back in France. You said things and you did things that hurt me.”

Before the Doctor had a chance to reply, Rose shook her head, rushing along with, “Maybe you didn’t mean to, maybe you didn’t think about it that way. Maybe you didn’t think about it at all. And I mean, I guess that matters, at least a little. But when you share your life with someone--because that’s what we’re doing, Doctor, we’re sharing our lives right now, that’s what’s happening whether you want to call it that or not--when you share your life with someone, you have to think about how your actions affect others. You have to.”

The Doctor didn’t reply, just kept watching her, his brow knit in concentration, or maybe concern.

“I know you’re hurt because of me,” Rose said, her voice quiet. “Because you protected me. That’s what happened, yeah? I don’t remember, and it was too dark and smoky to make it out on the screens back there--but you kept me safe when we were falling. Right? Cos I don’t have barely a scratch on me, but you look beat to hell under all those layers. So you must’ve protected me, put your arms around me and broken the fall, somehow. You must have done.”

Now the Doctor couldn’t meet her gaze, scratching his neck uncomfortably as he looked away.

“I wanted to say thank you for that,” Rose said, forcing her words to stay clear and strong, not to shake the way they wanted to. “I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for you. Honestly, I’d probably be dead several times over if it wasn’t for you. Of course, the same is probably true in reverse. But that’s what we’re both there for, yeah? To watch out for each other, keep each other company, keep each other safe. To trust each other.”

Drawing a deep breath, Rose closed her eyes. “What you did a few days back--leaving us behind on the spaceship, kissing Reinette and bragging about it after--that was a violation of trust,” she said, her cheeks flushing red-hot with embarrassment. “Whether or not you meant it that way. It was--it felt like a betrayal.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him; big mistake. He was staring into the distance, mouth tight, jaw taut, fingers clenched round the edge of the control desk. To an outsider, it might have appeared that he was fighting not to be angry at Rose; Rose knew him well enough to suspect he was trying not to show his anger with himself. The thought broke Rose’s heart.

She kept going.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” she said, carefully. “But you need to know how it felt to me.”

Silently, the Doctor issued a curt nod.

Rose suppressed a sigh. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but she felt disappointed, somehow. Although really, she’d given him the option not to speak, so maybe she shouldn’t be surprised he was taking her up on the offer. Still, she’d hoped…

But that didn’t matter. She’d said her piece and he’d heard it, and acknowledged it, at least a little bit. That was worth something, right?

Rose turned to leave, to give the Doctor some space, but stopped in her tracks at the sound of him clearing his throat.

“Rose?”

She turned back to look at him, her heart convulsing painfully in her chest, so hard she thought her ribs might crack from it. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” said the Doctor, slowly. “What I did--it was a betrayal.”

Now Rose’s pulse was hammering in her ears. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

The Doctor’s gaze met hers. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Relief flooded Rose like waters through a broken dam. Before her brain had a chance to make any choice in the matter, her feet had carried her across the console room, up the stairs, and launched her straight into the Doctor, her arms wrapping snugly round him, purely of their own volition, she was sure. She squeezed him tight in a reassuring hug and he responded in kind, embracing her in a way that felt only a little bit desperate. Rose buried her face against his shirt and let out a long, pent-up sigh of release.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice muffled by his shirt.

The Doctor did not reply, but hugged her harder instead.

***

Previous | Next

***

note: once again, as much as i wish i had come up with it all on my own, the conversation about semantics re: betrayal is heavily (heavily!) inspired by some writings from my good friend, the insanely talented @ksgsworld , who is super amazeballs <3

#picandchips #ficandchips #tenrose #tenxrose #ten x rose #gitf fixit #rose x ten #otp of legend #mbb writes #mbb fic #OMFG Y'ALL I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS OFF AND ON FOR A WHOLE. FUCKING. YEAR #and it's FINALLY READY #a;sldjflskdjf;lskdfj #ALDSFJSLKDFJSLDIFJWLOERJISLDKFJWAOIRJAOEFIJAWELRIJ

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odogaronfang · 6 years ago

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okay here it is!!! the long-awaited (not really) masterpost of hc’s about the background characters!!!

@105ttt and i have been working on this stuff for a couple weeks now and i’ve finally got around to making it into something shareable!! and i’m excited because now this means i get to use them in fics without people being completely lost!!!!

anyway this post is long so i’m gonna put it under a readmore-

Leonel

-link’s father

-captain of the guard & keeper of the wind key

-close friends with artura and valensuela since childhood

-because of the circumstances, he’s very well-read on the various legends/stories of the past heroes

-is a stand-in father for zelda sometimes because of how close she and his son(s) are

-constantly worried about his kids (sometimes because of the trouble they’ve been in, sometimes because of the trouble they cause)

-definitely the ‘cool manager’ type of captain- does what he needs to in order to run an efficient guard, but he’s also good friends with all of them

-there are days where he wants to take his kids out to town for a family day and there are days where he wants to throw them all out a window

Artura

-the captain’s top knight

-friends with leonel since childhood; they weren’t in the same battalion until they became full knights but leonel would cut sessions to go train with his group

-specialized in heavy armored combat, proficient in several kinds of weaponry but mostly uses bludgeoning weapons

-the backup dad for vio when leonel is busy because hylia knows vio needs constant supervision

-the embodiment of the gentle giant trope- does a lot of favors for people and the castle town kids ADORE him

-always busy + always tired. give artura his vacation days please

-he has a special room in the castle he goes to when he needs alone time and doesn’t want to be bothered. vio is allowed in but only grudgingly and only if he’s maintained at least one (1) week of decent behavior

-works a lot with younger trainees (mostly around link’s age); has a lot of instructional tasks on top of his regular patrol duties

-he doesn’t take off his armor in public a lot, so most people haven’t seen him out of it. there’s a joke among the younger groups that artura isn’t actually a person but rather a darknut or one of the phantom knights animated by the royal family’s magic. (actually it’s just because he’s secretly a twink and he doesn’t want people knowing that Mr. Top Knight/Mr. Living Darknut couldn’t hit 160lbs if he was soaking wet.)

Valensuela

-keeper of the water key

-close friends with leonel since childhood; was in the same trainee battalion as him

-trained for armored combat but dislikes wearing heavy plate- if he wears a lot of armor, it’s usually maille

-can dual-wield, but usually opts for one larger sword instead of two smaller ones

-basically adopts green after the pyramid incident. just steals him from leonel. green is his son now. green accidentally calls valensuela ‘dad’ once and leonel’s parentship of green ends right there.

-appears very dignified and serious but actually has a flair for the theatrical. most people are not aware of this but his friends know.

-leonel’s second-in-command, but he’s far more task-oriented and doesn’t deal with people as well as leonel does. he can come across as a little brusque with people he isn’t familiar with so he tries not to take that role if he doesn’t have to.

-not a personality headcanon but he has a scar on his forehead from when green shattered his helmet in the pyramid. and after he’s overcome the trauma that came with that whole ordeal, he definitely brags about it. someone asks what happened to him for him to have a scar like that and he’s like “oh my son did that isn’t he talented?”

Lucien

-keeper of the fire key

-so chill. extremely laid-back guy. the kind of guy you go to hang out with when you want to do something social but you don’t want to leave your house (or even your couch).

-kinda lazy when it comes to little mundane tasks, which he caught a lot of flak for while he was still in training, but wholeheartedly dedicated to his job when it comes down to it.

-basically adopts red. they’re like best buds. red makes lucien carry him around on his shoulders so he doesn’t have to walk but lucien doesn’t mind.

-absolutely the kind of person to disappear for an entire day and when you find him again and ask him where he went he says he was in the living room the whole time

-very good at cooking, but only the really time-consuming, complicated recipes, which goes directly against his low-effort nature. he rarely cooks, but everyone looks forward to the days that he does.

-also the kind of person to “work out” by doing one push up every five minutes. the second he hears someone approaching he’ll stay in mid-push-up position and when they walk in he’ll say “one thousand”. (he only actually made it to nine.)

-if he isn’t in armor he’s in sweats. “dress more professionally” the captain says to him one day. he shows up to breakfast the next morning wearing sweats again, but this time he also has a tie on.

-the tallest of the group, which artura makes fun of (it’s all in good fun. he just makes fun of artura for being so small.)

Wes

-keeper of the earth key

-the high-energy go-getter of the group. his energy alone balances out the chronically low-key natures of artura and lucien. basically an eternal child at heart.

-ALWAYS ready to throw down. it isn’t even that he has anger issues, he just needs a way to get rid of his restless energy while also triumphing in his various conflicts, and to him, fighting (within the controlled setting of a spar) is the easiest way to do that.

-one of those people that has to be physically restrained from doing dumb things. “hey i bet i could land in the hot spring if i jumped from the third story balcony” “wes you will break all of the bones in your lower body” “and??”

-also the guy in the group that’s constantly making bets and daring people to do things. he violates the sanctity of the triple dog dare by using it literally every time. he is also eerily good at predicting the correct outcome of bets.

-learns little things like sleight-of-hand tricks just to fudge them at the end; he’ll keep a group of little kids enamored with the “magic” before asking if they want to see the finale where he makes the cards disappear. the kids say yes and he just hurls the entire deck into a nearby bush. “there,” he says with pride as he walks away, “they’re gone.” (he would never actually upset the kids. if they look too disappointed he’ll sigh and go get the cards and do an actual disappearing trick just to make them better.)

-definitely takes blue under his wing. they spar like every morning. the other links might try to go on kitchen raids without their parents’/mentors’ knowing but blue goes WITH wes to go steal the best-looking cookies fresh off the baking sheet. arcy always gives wes grief for enabling that behavior but wes knows she won’t actually do anything about it

Selenas

-another of the captain’s high-ranking knights

-the exasperated lawful good of the group. he tries so hard to get the rest of them to follow the rules but it never works. he knows there’s no point to the efforts anymore but he still tries.

-the constant sigh-er of the group. you’d think he had respiratory issues if you didn’t know him.

-is tasked with helping to keep shadow in line because of his lawful good status. he’s the strict parent who insists upon balanced meals with a lot of vegetables and who believes in a strict 8pm bedtime. he will not hesitate to confiscate shadow’s laptop if he’s misbehaving. shadow despises him but he’s doing all of hyrule a great favor.

-doesn’t safeguard a royal jewel so he’s kind of an outlier but it’s fine, everything’s fine, he doesn’t need a jewel to prove that he’s a good knight and no, he isn’t envious, no not even a tiny bit, why would anyone ask that,

-prefers long-reach weapons like pikes and halberds over swords/daggers

[all of the above-mentioned knights are collectively referred to as the cape squad by the links]

Arcy

-one of the castle chefs

-an ex-knight; had barely made it into full knighthood before receiving a career-ending injury

-decided to continue work at the castle as a chef so she could still be around friends + to provide for her daughter

-was in the same trainee battalion as artura for armored combat, so they’re old friends

-her daughter is adopted; keina is the biological daughter of a late friend of arcy’s who died from birth complications

-is actually still technically in reserve for the guard; in a state of emergency she’s tasked with aiding evacuation efforts

-she’s the most popular chef among the knights because she takes requests. there’s a weekly competition among battalions and the winning one gets to choose the weekend meals that she makes. it’s a good motivator, especially for the ones in training, and it also gets her friends in high places (:

Keina

(see above images)

-arcy’s adopted daughter

-she’s very sickly; she’s never gone beyond the gates of castle town and barely even leaves the castle grounds. the only time she’s been beyond castle town was when she fled the castle with arcy, and she was in extremely poor health the entire time.

-she’s friends with the links + erune; they’ll often visit her and bring her things from other towns (or in erune’s case, her hometown) so she can still experience new things

-has a lot of pen pals all over hyrule since she can’t leave her home to go see people- she gets like two dozen letters a week and it helps keep her busy

-very knowledgeable on a lot of different subjects! because she’s often home- and sometimes even bed-bound, she spends a lot of time reading and writing and will sometimes illustrate as well. she’d like to be some kind of professional scholar so she can still contribute even when her health prevents her from travel.

#four swords #four swords manga #link's dad #valensuela #artura #lucien #wes #selenas #arcy #keina #tagging under their individual names for archival purposes #my headcanons #(only partially but yknow)#anyway No More Link Content only these guys waiofklfafwaionkfa #in just a couple brief weeks i have come to love these people who were barely even part of the manga #anyway fanta and i are having fun dont @ me whdaiokndnkwa

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guylty · 6 years ago

Text

Apart from Michele lobbying for this film in the wake of the horror of Hannibal, I wouldn’t have considered 2014 disaster flick Into The Storm for a rewatch, had ITS not been on Irish free TV at the end of January. That already preempts my verdict to some degree. You see, I don’t think that it is what we call “ganz großes Kino” in German [great cinema]. To stay with the metaphor, it’s probably more along the lines of “ganz großes Damentennis” [great women’s tennis]. Ok, those are in-jokes for those who can speak German. Very bad form, Guylty, very bad! What it means is: ITS is not a triumph of early 21st century cinema. And this is why:

Recap

It’s an ordinary day in Silverton, Ohio, where single-parent assistant principal Gary Fuller herds his teenage sons Trey and Donnie to school. Trey is documenting the day with his camcorder; Donnie, the elder of the two, is pissed off with his dad. Daddy Gary at the same time is distracted by the preparations for the afternoon’s graduation ceremony. Meanwhile, a motley crew of ‘storm chasers’ have come into the area because they expect a strong hurricane to landfall. And it does – but it’s the mother of all hurricanes, a monster storm that wreaks havoc in Silverton, scatters the graduation, and, worst of all, traps Donnie Fuller together with love interest Kaitlyn in a disused mill where they nearly drown – if it hadn’t been for Daddy Fuller, the quirky brother, and some unexpected help from the storm chasers. But all’s well that ends well: daddy comes to rescue, the youngsters are saved at the last minute, the nasty career-storm chaser gets his comeuppance but simultaneously redeems himself, and the Fuller lads are one happy family again.

youtube

So, we’ve got the ingredients for a regular summer blockbuster here: (natural) disaster with opportunity for big time CAD, vaguely topical issue (global warming), family dynamics (dad vs son), small little love story (Donnie & Kat, Gary & meteorologist Allison), nasty slave-driving boss getting what he deserves, single-parent mother separated from her child because of work, two country-bumpkin eejits for light relief, major, nail-biting drama and a happy ending. Maybe some of what is wrong with the film is already visible in that list: There is too much in it, and it doesn’t *quite* know what it wants to be. It takes on too many things, and instead of just being content with being a two-dimensional, silly disaster movie along the lines of Sharknado, it wants to take itself seriously, attempting “issues” in order to attract viewers. The strength of disaster movies is usually the special effects or the computer design of the catastrophe. So why obscure that silly fun with serious issues? Global warming as the cause of intense weather phenomena? Of course, we know that. But do I look to a summer movie to learn more about the effects of climate change? Eh, no! Just as much as I don’t want to get into a subtle subplot about single-parent issues and the strains of having to separate from your child in order to earn money. Just get on the with the disaster, throw around a few 10-ton-trucks and jumbo jets, and I’ll be happy.

Not sure where this gif comes from – credit to the maker

In that sense, the strongest scenes in the movie are the action/disaster sequences. When Gary runs across the street after his car is inadvertently crashed, and a pick-up truck smashes into the pavement about ten feet beside him, then that is great (disaster) cinema. Armitage clinging on to a car door for dear life – and to save met lady Allison from being sucked up into the tornado: predictable but essential ingredient to a disaster movie. And bonus: wet bum shot. Of Armitage! Not the woman! *That* would be sexist! A whole group of helpless humans, huddling in a massive drain for shelter against the storm, being thrown around by mother nature – great both in terms of providing scale as well as giving more opportunity for heroics. But all that sentimental crap about Allison not being with her daughter, Gary and Donnie’s relationship being strained, and Pete the storm chaser pressuring his underlings into risking their lives – unnecessary and not believable.

Cardboard Cut-outs

Not least because the characters are mere cardboard cut-outs, stereotypes, and as such just a cheap trick to offer a quick n easy way to identify or engage with one of the characters. Yet I found it strangely difficult to get invested because the characters were just too stereotypical: The hard-working father who is trying his best to bring up his sons; elder son has an issue with dad being over-protective. Young son OTOH is happy-go-lucky popular kid. Met lady has small daughter who lives with grandparents because mum has to travel for work: I should’ve latched on to these people immediately because I share one massive characteristic with them – I am a parent. (Happy mother’s day, btw.) But that one facet in a person is not enough for me to connect and engage with a character. I understand that ITS is a film that is basically telling a story in real time. So there is no opportunity for massive insights or for character set-up. Or maybe there would’ve been if the film had concentrated on fewer characters. Apart from Pete the head storm chaser, did we need Allison and the other storm chasing crew? We certainly didn’t need the town eejits, and we probably could also have done without the burgeoning love story between Donnie and Kaitlyn. If Gary Fuller was the main character, then the film should’ve focussed on him – and his heroics. That would’ve done the trick.

As for Armitage in the film: No complaints as such. His performance is solid – as it always is. You can sort of tell that this is basically his first time playing an American character. The accent doesn’t sit well with him – it just doesn’t sound right imo: When he speaks, his whole voice changes. It’s deeper in tone, and not as melodious as usual. Which is a pity, because his voice (and his vocal talents) are always an asset to any show. Otherwise he gets away with portraying the great looking, fit and healthy athletic All American dad, right down to those beautifully regular white and shiny front teeth. I do buy his act as a dad – in fact more so than his act as the vice principal of a small town high school. The man just is too gorgeous for such an existence. Casting fail *grins*.

The effects in the film work well – once you suspend your disbelief, everything is possible, and the fire tornado or the monster hurricane that bounces jumbo jets around as if they were matchbox toys, look reasonably real. The climactic storm scene – with Pete’s (literal) comeuppance – OTOH is designed straight from baroque altar pieces (see right). Towering clouds fading into white… You almost expect the eye of providence to pop up on top of the screen. And so sickly sweet with its bright clouds and shining light and predictable that it spoils the otherwise hair-raising disaster porn.

For me, the greatest regret of the film is that its concept obviously changed at some point. The initial idea of basing the majority of the film on “found footage” – was actually a great idea, both in terms of aesthetics as well as story telling. But that concept eventually is thrown out of the window even though little brother Trey, who executes the concept at the beginning of the film by shooting a ‘time capsule project’, continues to carry the camera with him. From the middle of the film found footage is not happening anymore – which makes the film strangely asymmetrical. One wonders whether the film was significantly reshot after screen testing? There definitely were reshoots, as can be seen as early as the first scene of the film when Gary’s hair is definitely shorter than a scene later…

#gallery-0-4 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-4 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Miraculous hair growth. Well, RA has mentioned before that he has won prizes for growing his beard faster than anyone else… Looks as if the Armitagean follicles are stuff of legend and miracle!

Final verdict

Unfortunately, the second time ‘round, the film doesn’t improve. When I watched it in the cinema – summer evening, teenage son with me, bag of pop corn at the ready – it really did what it set out to do: It was a meaningless summer flick, more aimed at the boys than the girls, easily whiling away 89 minutes with lots of rain, thunder, assorted farm equipment flying through the air and the occasional jumbo jet twirling across the airport concourse. Four and a half years later, the film hasn’t exactly become a cult classic. And it’s easy to see why: It’s neither excruciatingly bad, nor exquisitely good. Maybe the audience wants to see even more extreme effects – or the opposite is true and in light of global warming the audience *doesn’t* want to be reminded of the havoc that the climate can play with us. And without any particularly exciting human interest story in the film, ITS has been laid to rest in the mid-week movie graveyard. That’s not what Richard Armitage deserves – who gives his best as he always does. Maybe all it was for him, was an elaborate screen test. He certainly comes across well. And at least he has ticked another genre off his list.

What about you? What do you think about the film? Comment below or write a post on your blog and link back to me so we can discuss!

PS: April is coming! And we need a new re-watch. Suggestions?

Re-Watching Into The Storm – Not Much of a Twist Apart from Michele lobbying for this film in the wake of the horror of Hannibal, I wouldn’t have considered 2014 disaster flick…

#gary fuller #into the storm #Richard Armitage

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thisismyhellx · 6 years ago

Note

All of themsssssss

1: Name: Elizabeth

2: Age: 25

3: 3 Fears: Failure, Being replaced, Never good enough

4: 3 things I love: Artsy Shit, Working, Reading(When I can)

5: 4 turns on: Intimacy on a mental level, Choking, Submissiveness(when applicable), soft kisses on tender areas.

6: 4 turns off: Cocky, Entitled, “Fuck and Chuck”, Not respecting me.

7: My best friend: I have more than one; Michele, Heather, Kayla, Stacy and Brandon

8: Sexual orientation: Swirly.

9: My best first date: Meh.

10: How tall am I: 5′6″

11: What do I miss: Not feeling tired.

12: What time were I born: 4am? Fuck if I know

13: Favorite color: Blue, or color combos Electric blue/hot pink

14: Do I have a crush: Yes

15: Favorite quote:

It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.

16: Favorite place: Under the stars

17: Favorite food: Italian, Chinese

18: Do I use sarcasm: Really?

19: What am I listening to right now: Advertisements

20: First thing I notice in new person: Aura

21: Shoe size: 7.5/8

22: Eye color: Blue

23: Hair color; Natural? Brunette, Current? Blue.

24: Favorite style of clothing: Huh?

25: Ever done a prank call? When I was younger

27: Meaning behind my URL: This is my hell....?

28: Favorite movie: Don't make me choose.

29: Favorite song: Depends on the day.

30: Favorite band: I REFUSE TO CHOOSE.

31: How I feel right now: Sickly

32: Someone I love: My family.

33: My current relationship status: Taken

34: My relationship with my parents: Biological? Different than most.

35: Favorite holiday: Halloween

36: Tattoos and piercing i have: Not sure how many ear piercings I have other than my main ones that are 0g. I have 3 tattoos.

37: Tattoos and piercing i want: A lot

38: The reason I joined Tumblr: Senior in HS looking for an outlet.

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other? I should. I don't know what he thinks nor do I care.

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts? Not usually.

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted? Nope

42: When did I last hold hands? For work or pleasure cause the latter has been a minute.

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning? Depends on where I’m going, but normally between 10-30 mins.

44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days? Nope... >_

45: Where am I right now? Work.

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me? Probably my drunk ass.

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? Depends on my mood.

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad? Neither

49: Am I excited for anything? BEDTIME

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to? Yes

51: How often do I wear a fake smile? Majority.

52: When was the last time I hugged someone? Today

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me? My heart... it wouldn't feel good..

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not? Most likely.

55: What is something I disliked about today? Yes.. mostly Im cold...

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? I really have little desire to meet someone? Iunno. Where’s my sugar daddy! (Maybe could meet Frank Iero though...)

57: What do I think about most? Everything at once or nothing at all.

58: What’s my strangest talent? I can crack my big toes unlimited times.

59: Do I have any strange phobias? Nail Clippers.

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? Behind

61: What was the last lie I told? “I’m just tired”

62: Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? Neither

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens? Both but ghosts hardcore

64: Do I believe in magic? Absolutely.

65: Do I believe in luck? Yes

66: What’s the weather like right now? Raining and cold

67: What was the last book I’ve read? “Tennyson” by Leslie M M Blume

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline? Love it

69: Do I have any nicknames? Liz, Izzy, Awalabash, Blue

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had? Im not sure I’ve actually had an “injury”, but my knees are definitely shit.

71: Do I spend money or save it? Save, unless I HAVE to have it.

72: Can I touch my nose with a tongue? Nope

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me? Yes my tervis

74: Favorite animal? Cats. any cats.

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM? Working

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is? Didn't know he had one.

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it? Always is a strong word, but want me to race down the highway? KICKSTART MY HEART; MOTLEY CRUE. Want me to feel things? “Would you love a monster man?”; Lordi, want me to sing my heart out? Basically anything throwback to HS or ANYTHING Panic! ATD I could go on...

78: How can you win my heart? Its really hard to win my heart, but once I fall, I fall hard. I love immensely and its dangerous.

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone? Don't really want to fucking think about it.

80: What is my favorite word? Clusterfuck

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr: According to tumblr? @stayfree86, @iampikachuhearmeroar, @dailyhangover, @kiddysa-bunnpire, @belovedgoofball

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say? The world needs to be kinder...

83: Do I have any relatives in jail? Not that I know of.

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power? Invisibility.

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on? ....

86: What is my current desktop picture? Stock

87: Had sex? yep.

88: Bought condoms? Yes

89: Gotten pregnant? Nope

90: Failed a class? Yes

91: Kissed a boy? Yes

92: Kissed a girl? Yes

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain? Kind of.. not magically like...

94: Had job? Multiple

95: Left the house without my wallet? Yes

96: Bullied someone on the internet? Never

97: Had sex in public? No

98: Played on a sports team? Yes

99: Smoked weed? A lot, not anymore

100: Did drugs? Never

101: Smoked cigarettes? My vice.

102: Drank alcohol? Yes

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan? Nope

104: Been overweight? My dad says I am.

105: Been underweight? In high school.

106: Been to a wedding? Yes

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight? Yes

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight? Yes

109: Been outside my home country? Twice

110: Gotten my heart broken? Of course.

111: Been to a professional sports game? Yes

112: Broken a bone? No

113: Cut myself? Yes...

114: Been to prom? Yes

115: Been in airplane? Yes

116: Fly by helicopter? No

117: What concerts have I been to? Insane Clown Posse, Slipknot/Marilyn Manson/Of Mice and Men, David Allen Coe

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex? Yes

119: Learned another language? Sort of

120: Wore make up? Yes

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18? Yes (15)

122: Had oral sex? Yes

123: Dyed my hair? Yes

124: Voted in a presidential election? Yes

125: Rode in an ambulance? Not that I know of

126: Had a surgery? A few

127: Met someone famous? Not really?

128: Stalked someone on a social network? yep

129: Peed outside? Duh

130: Been fishing? Duh

131: Helped with charity? Donated

132: Been rejected by a crush? Yup.

133: Broken a mirror? Yes

134: What do I want for birthday? My birthday isn't special.

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atomicstrawbrys · 7 years ago

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Jealousy - Part 1

This was originally an ask prompt but it got way out of hand so now it’s a much larger story. Prompt: Arthur dates some guy because he thinks Alfred is straight., which results in a jealous Alfred. //

“Hey, Art! C’mere, I want ya to meet someone!”

As Arthur listened to the familiar voice of his former roommate outside his apartment, he resisted the urge to cringe. Of course, he was here. Arthur couldn’t go one day without thinking about him and dwelling on him, and now, like divine punishment, Alfred was here. All Arthur wanted was to be able to get over him, but each time he thought he was making progress he would meet Alfred’s blue eyes and get absolutely swallowed by them. But he couldn’t ask for space. As much as he wanted time to break off his attachment and heal, he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting Alfred. So, he tried to get as much time alone without Alfred realizing that he was avoiding him.

However, it was hard to find the time to reflect on himself, since Alfred had his address and was prone to stopping by whenever he pleased. Frowning, Arthur opened the door and made eye contact with Alfred, purposefully avoiding the gaze of the young lady Alfred had hanging off his arm.

“This is Valerie! I came to introduce her to ya since you’re my best friend n’ all!” Alfred gave his usual megawatt grin, though the smile Arthur gave in return looked sickly. “Well, it is nice to meet you, Valerie, but I’m afraid I’m feeling quite sick.” He lied through his teeth, retreating towards his door like a hermit crab hiding in its shell.

“What- again! Arthur, that’s the third time this month, are you oka-” Alfred wasn’t able to finish, for Arthur had already shut the door and bolted it. Arthur had faith that Valerie wouldn’t stick around long- none of Alfred’s flings lasted more than two weeks. But, each time part of Arthur’s brain nagged that it was only a matter of time until Alfred met ‘the one’. Each girlfriend he brought around had a small chance of being his future wife. That was enough to set Arthur on edge.

He ignored the knocks on his door until they stopped, and then he heard the sound of Alfred’s loud, obnoxious truck pulling away. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to move on, and fast. Otherwise, he might never truly unstick himself from Alfred.

Recalling some advice from his mother, Arthur sat down at his computer. She’d always told him that “Before he could get out of a hole, he would have to put down the shovel." meaning that to fix his problem he would have to stop dwelling on Alfred and making it worse.

It didn’t take long to set up his online dating profile. Hair? Blond. Eyes? Green. Seeking? Men. Hobbies? Gardening, writing, collecting World War 2 memorabilia, to name a few. Filling out his information was easy enough and didn’t take him more than a few minutes, but then he had to fill out his preferences.

What was his type, other than Alfred? He must have one, after all, he’d met Alfred in college and dated before that. What were some traits his old boyfriends had in common..?

They were usually taller than him. But, then again, he’d always been short. Most men were taller. He wrote it down anyway. Sweet, yes, everyone wanted someone sweet..and funny, too! When he finally had all his preferences written down, he read the paragraph to himself.

“I’m looking for someone sweet,” It began. Simple enough. “Someone funny, too, maybe with a soft side? Physical attributes aren’t everything, but I have a special liking towards tall men, blonde hair, and blue eyes.” He tried to pretend that that description didn’t match Alfred, and then he published his profile. Now, all he had to do was wait and see if he got a match.

He didn’t get any messages that night, but, in the morning he had a few. Most were simple, unattractive ‘heys’, and he even got a few….rather lewd photos that neither charmed nor impressed him. But, there was one message, sent from a Mr. Francis Bonnefoy.

-Good Morning, Arthur! I am Francis, and I must say that you are by far the most attractive man on this site, other than yours truly of course!

-That was a joke, by the way! The part about me. Not the part about you.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the message, the edge of his lip turning up into an amused smile. Francis sent the message only fifteen minutes ago, which meant that he would probably reply if Arthur messaged him back.

-Well, I did say I liked funny men, didn’t I? Tell me about yourself. What do you do? Arthur sent back, Alfred the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

It took only five minutes for Francis to reply.

-I am a private chef, too talented to be tied to any one restaurant. You garden, right? Perhaps I should come over and cook some of your fresh vegetables into the best meal you’ve ever tasted ;)

Arthur rolled his eyes at the annoying little wink Francis decided to add, but, he had to admit that he was interested. Francis seemed a little full of himself, sure, but he was at least trying to be funny.

-I’m afraid I live in an apartment, so the only things I have room for are the herbs and spices I grow in my window boxes. Though if you’d like to cook with those, I suppose I wouldn’t mind. But I’d rather go someplace public, first. I’m sure you understand.

While Francis was interesting, Arthur didn’t want a stranger knowing his address and coming to his home. Anyone could be a creep, and he wasn’t going to take the chance.

-Of course, I understand, Arthur. A movie on Friday, perhaps? My treat.

It was a date, then. Arthur was putting himself out there once again. Biting his lip, he leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling as he tried and failed to contain a smile.

-----

Friday’s date came and went, and so did the next three dates. Arthur enjoyed Francis’ company and Francis seemed to like spending time with him as well. There was always something to talk about. Francis was intellectual and opinionated, so conversations with him were always fun. Although Arthur wasn't sure of his feelings yet, Francis was a great friend so far. Such a great friend, in fact, that he invited Francis over after their fourth date.

He sent his address over text and set about cleaning his apartment. While he was straightening up the living room, his phone rang. It must be Francis- perhaps he was lost or needed to know which floor Arthur was on. However, when he looked at the caller ID, Alfred’s name and picture showed up on the screen.

“Hello?” Arthur greeted, furrowing his brow. Alfred almost never called- he was a texting sort of person.

“Um, hey, Art! I was just wondering how you’ve been, ‘cause you know, I haven’t seen ya in a while! It’s been a few weeks, actually. Can I come over, or..?”

Arthur was puzzled. Alfred didn’t ask permission. He usually just showed up and hoped Arthur wasn’t busy, which, with the exception of the past few weeks, he generally wasn’t.

“Oh, actually Alfred, I’ve got a date. He’s coming over, so now really isn’t the best time..” Arthur fumbled with the hem of his sweater. “Maybe some other time?”

The line was quiet for much too long. It was several seconds before Alfred answered. “A date?! How- how long have you been seeing this guy?!” Alfred sounded almost angry.

Arthur scowled. “Almost a month, actually, not that it’s any of your business. His name is Francis and he’s quite sweet and charming. Now, if you excuse me, I have to get ready.”

“Get ready?! Get ready how-? Arthur!”

Arthur hung up the phone.

When Francis got to his apartment, he went right to the windowsill. He marveled over the plants Arthur raised, smiling as he plucked a few herbs. “These are lovely, Arthur, and they’ll be even better in a meal. Just show me around your kitchen and I’ll get started.”

Arthur got out pots and pans for Francis to use, though Francis brought his own knives. He’d scoffed at Arthur’s, calling them far too dull to ever be of use. Arthur sat down on a stool while Francis cooked, watching him. He had his arms crossed on the counter and was slouched over slightly, but he perked up when Francis spoke.

“Actually, Arthur...I must speak with you. About us.”

#the other parts will be posted tomorrow #usuk #fruk #APH England #APH France #APH America #arthur kirkland #francis bonnefoy #alfred f jones #ukus #ukfr

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meganlpie · 7 years ago

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An Artist’s Muse

Anonymous asked: Meg, I’d love for you to continue TToBB whenever you can! As for a request, could I please get a Steve Rogers one? Preserum!Steve is in love with Bucky’s other best friend, who’s a girl. But Steve being Steve, doesn’t really know how to talk to her, but she thinks he’s adorably sweet and maybe asks him to draw her as a present for someone? I’d like some angst and fluff, please????

Here you go, lovely! I do not own Steve. He belongs to Marvel.

Warnings: Angst and fluff and it’s a bit long

Pairings: Pre-serum Steve Rogers x fem!reader

“Paint me like one of your French girls.” The movie in the background continued, but Steve wasn’t paying attention after that line. The memories floated into his head before he could stop them and made his eyes well up with tears. He quickly excused himself and headed for his room.

Once there, he went into this closet and grabbed the package still wrapped in paper. The one he hadn’t looked at since he woke up from the ice. He carefully unwrapped its contents and smiled when he saw the portrait. The one he did of you all those years ago. When you surprised him by asking him to draw you.

*back in the 40s*

"Why does this always happen to me?“ Steve thought to himself as he watched you laughing with Bucky. "Why do I always fall for the doll I can’t have?” You were Bucky’s other best friend so you spent a lot of time with Steve too. For Steve, that was probably the hardest thing in the world. Seeing you all the time, knowing you would never be his. Not only was he too small and sickly for you, but he also couldn’t seem to talk to you without tripping over his words.

So, he never said anything to you about what he felt. Instead, he kept to himself, writing his thoughts down. Or rather, drawing them. Without meaning to, Steve had come to see you as his muse. He drew pictures of you all the time. He kept his pictures hidden away as best he could, but you found them one day.

You and Bucky were visiting Steve shortly after his mother passed away. Steve and Bucky had gone out to grab a few things and you decided you were going to tidy up a bit and dust a little since Steve couldn’t because of his asthma. While you were cleaning, you accidentally knocked one of Steve’s books off a shelf and some papers slid out.

Thinking you had torn the book somehow, you picked up the book and pages to see if you could put it back together. Instead what you found were several beautifully done sketches of you. You sat there staring at Steve’s drawings for several minutes, your heart racing in your chest. What did this mean? Did Steve have feelings for you or was he just looking for someone to draw? If it was the latter, why were they hidden away?

You didn’t want Steve to know that you had seen his drawings yet, so you quickly put them away and placed the book back on the shelf. You continued cleaning absentmindedly. Your thoughts kept traveling back to the pictures you’d seen. They were good, very good. They made you look more beautiful than you actually were, but you still wondered why Steve had drawn them and then hidden them away.

The next day, you returned to Steve’s home with a pounding heart. This time, you had come without Bucky. You knew Steve would deny your request right away if Bucky had come with you. He’d be nervous about it and you didn’t want that. You liked Steve a great deal. He was sweet and adorable and funny. He had problems talking to women, but you found it endearing. That’s why you wanted to do this.

You knocked on the door with a shaky hand. It opened a moment later and Steve looked at you in surprise. “Y/N?” You flashed him a smile. “Mind if I come in, Ace?” Steve shook his head and moved to let you in. Once you were inside, you felt the nerves kick in. “Bucky’s not here,” Steve told you sadly. “I know that. I came to see you.”

"Me? Why?“ You took a deep breath and set your purse down on the table. "I saw them, Steve. The sketches you keep hidden in that book.” You indicated which book you were talking about and Steve’s face turned as red as a tomato. “I’m sorry, Y/N! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Doll.” You laughed softly.

"You didn’t, Steve. I’m flattered and I wondered, well…that is, if you wanted to-“ you cut yourself off because you knew you were rambling. "If I wanted to what?” he pressed, his face still red. “If you wanted to draw me for real, like a portrait of some kind. I’d really like to gift it to someone special and you’re the only person I trust to get my features right.” Steve’s mouth hung open in shock. “Really? You want me to draw you? Like a professional?” You nodded. “Only if you want to. I’ll even pay you if you agree to it.”

"I won’t take your money, Y/N.“ You smiled. You figured he wouldn’t, but you had to try. "So you want me to do a portrait? You’d pose for me?” You nodded again. “W-Would it be, um-” he was struggling to say the word, so you supplied it for him. “Nude? It can be, but I will leave that up to you. I trust you, Steve.” Steve cleared his throat after a minute and said, “I’ll do it.”

*time skip*

You posed as still as you could while you and Steve talked. His brows were furrowed in concentration and his hands were gliding over the page in front of him. He really was a talented artist and a considerate one. He would give you as many breaks as you needed and he never snapped at you to stay still except when he was sketching your face. And he apologized right after.

During your weeks of posing with him, you got to know Steve even more. When you weren’t working on the portrait, Steve was too nervous to actually talk much, but when he was in his element, he opened up like a flower. It only made you like him more and you hoped he was enjoying your company.

He was. Steve loved sketching you and he really liked the conversation. He was grateful that he could draw while he talked because it made it easier for him to speak to you and get closer to you. The intimate setting and the fact that you were wearing a sheet didn’t distract him because he was working.

What did distract him was the thought of you giving this to someone special. You’d never clarified who that someone special was so Steve could only assume you had a beau that you were close to. Perhaps you were even planning on marrying him. That hurt Steve, but he never showed it. Not until the portrait was done.

"It’s finished,“ Steve declared sadly. You clutched the sheet to your chest and came around to look at it. Your jaw dropped and your eyes filled with tears. It was a masterpiece. "Steve, it’s…” you couldn’t seem to find the right word to tell him how you felt. “Is it bad? Do you not like it?”

"I love it, Steve. It’s amazing. You make me look so beautiful.“ Steve laughed. "You are beautiful, Doll. You’re the most beautiful dame I’ve ever met.” You felt yourself heat up. “You’re too sweet. Thank you for this, Steve.” It nearly killed him to let you take his masterpiece. He didn’t want another man to see what he had. He knew another wouldn’t appreciate the beauty that he had captured.

As Steve was about to hand it to you, he froze. “I can’t.” Your smiled turned into an expression of confusion. “I can’t let you take this and give it someone else.” A frown made its way onto your lips. “Why not?” Steve sighed. “Because I don’t want anyone else to see you like this. I want to be the only one…it makes me feel special. Like I have a special place in your life that no one else can take.”

You let out a breathy laugh that turned into a giggle. “Oh, Stevie. You don’t get it do you?” He asked what you meant. “I only asked you to draw me so we could spend more time together without Bucky. I never intended on giving that to anyone. It would be for my eyes only until or unless I marry. I don’t plan on doing that anytime soon.”

Steve stared at you in disbelief. “You only wanted to spend time with me?” You nodded. “Of course.” Steve handed you the picture. “I’m glad. I’ve been carrying a torch for you for a long time,” he admitted softly. You smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Me too, Steve.”

Steve remembered the day he got the portrait back. He had come back to New York after the experiment and you were nowhere to be found. He searched for you and tried to call before he even went home. It wasn’t until he had gone back home that he saw them. A letter attached to the front of a package. The letter told him that you had decided to become a nurse to help the troops and that you loved him and hope to see him again.

Then, Steve had opened the package to find the portrait he’d done. With the portrait there was another note. It read: “There’s no one I’d rather give this to than you. Forever yours, Y/N.” Steve treasured that portrait when he went on the ice and he still treasured it today. For him, it would always be a reminder of his first love and his greatest muse.

(a/n: I hope this is what you wanted! P.S. can I please find a gif of Steve without having to go through a thousand Bucky ones? I mean, I love Bucky but when I’m looking for Steve, I want Steve. Okay, rant over.)

Tagging: @brewsthespirit-blog @gameofwinters @fairytalesexistxx @jotink78 @iwillbeinmynest

#marvel #avengers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader

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