#she's moonwalking and disappearing

[keepscrollinghun]

80s mashup • volume II

[000marie198]

a litte headcanon i thought a few munites ago

sonic is the ulitmate photobomber, there has been millions of photos across the planet with blue streak behind them and there no way to plan for it, he is fast enough to pose for the picture and be gone before you even turn around, there a ton of then

Imagine Sonic and eggman beating the life outta of each other in background of your family photo

he will never apologize for this

Vdrgghghbghb YES! This is so real I love this headcanon

I think I made a HC like this one with Sonic Wachowski in some other post but yes Love me Sonic who photobombs every picture

Remember that Sonic X episode where Sam challenged him to a race and it appeared to be a tie so they checked the slowed recording frame by frame? Yeah, he does stuff like that on the regular. This is what happens when a silly teenager who loves having fun is given super speed

He'll infiltrate Eggman's base and make faces at every security camera while running past them. They're a little secret 'gift' if Eggman or Metal ever reviews any footage

He'll be like a little cryptid ghost urban legend in places where he never frequents but shows up in the group photos of teams like them unsolved mystery pics where a person who's supposed to be dead is in picture taken after their death kinda deal but like, more cool than scary.

What is Sonic the hedgehog doing at our wedding? Why is he amongst the graduates? Etc. Most of the people don't mind getting photo bombed by Sonic, they are instead excited.

The people who'd actually be most annoyed are his closest friends because his bombs in such pictures are so hilarious and half the time his expressions are those of a little menace enjoying causing them misery. (He's reclining over the Master Emerald in the picture Knuckles had asked Tails to be taken for commemoration and record. He's grinning evilly from behind with mints in hand as Tails captured some images for his video's thumbnails. He's blowing a raspberry at Abraham Tower in the official picture of Team Dark receiving some award. He's playing dead in the background of his friends' selfies, he's moonwalking on Tails' live stream and disappears before Tails reaches the lounge, he teams up with Charmy to ruin Espio's timer photos of cool ninja poses, he shows up in one of the images of Amy's picnic with half the deserts gone and stuffed mouth while giving a deer in headlights look at the camera, she turns around after checking the photo and nothing is there but half the deserts are gone. )

[egipci]

Bourbon Street Parade

They drove down to New Orleans looking to buy some hex bags from an old connection, but they were out of luck. A little girl, no older than eight years old, appeared in front of the door wearing green fairy wings, in her hand a magic wand with curly plastic ribbons coming out the end of it. She ran the ribbons through her fingers and looped them around and made a motion as if snipping them and craned her neck back and said Old Al was dead forever. Dad rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palm, his mouth down-turned, his jaw clenched. She stretched her arm out and pointed her wand towards the river. She said you better look for some other guy but watch out for all the phonies.

Thanks, Dean said, and held out his family-size bag of tootsie rolls. She shook her head. He wagged his eyebrows and rattled the bag like, you sure? This is the good stuff. Two for five at the gas station this morning but he was already down to a third of a bag and this made him feel very generous. Again she shook her head. He made a show of unwrapping a candy and throwing it into his mouth. She gave him a disgusted look and took off.

O-kay, he said. He scraped the taffy coating his teeth with a fingernail, struggled some to get out what was stuck between them while he thought carefully about touching Dad’s elbow or offering some other comfort. He swallowed, fake-chocolate taste thick at the back of his throat, and looked at his dad and Dad sighed and slapped his shoulder and said let’s go and started walking down Conti, leaving the car behind, always knowing what to do, walking fast like he did in huge strides that you had to jog a little to keep up with him for five, six blocks, past blow-up ghosts in front of homes covered in mesh cobwebs and kids inside them screaming, the street narrowing in, the sidewalks getting busier. Out of nowhere Dad crossed the street and there was a beep and Dean waved his hand at the guy behind the wheel and there were startled angry apologetic looks exchanged and Dean turned again looking for his father and caught sight of his turning left on Bourbon and called out after him and rounded the corner, his hand on his dead phone heavy and useless in his pocket, his eyes trained on Dad’s shoulders, so far behind him now and between them fat Batman in gray suit and hard plastic cowl, Michael Jackson who couldn’t moonwalk, Dolly Parton with foam tits and cowboy hat, chick waddling in mermaid tail, sexy nurse, squad of stormtroopers, preacher raging into a microphone, Ghostface, Black guy in a shoulder-length brown wig and beige-colored bathrobe, three little kids drumming on upside-down buckets, vampire with plastic fangs and red running down her chin and down her neck and her sternum artfully between her boobs, innumerable sweaty costumeless midwestern couples drinking liquor in plastic cups, murder victim with axe sticking out his head, scarecrow, Neo in leather duster, sorority girls in heels, fun-loving gay dudes, Pennywise and closely-related generic clown, a second and third Ghostface, beer sweetness in the air and gumbo and a big manly hand on his ass squeezing and Eagles cover band singing the full moon is calling the fever is high and the — corner of St. Ann where Dad turned right and disappeared into one of the courtyards or up into the rare green aurora flashing over the Mississippi a hundred yards away with its sewage smell, leaving Dean forever with his candy and choices to make like does he go back where he came from or does he walk miles up and down Decatur for the ghosts to watch and laugh from their balconies or does he ask for a phone to please call my dad and even worse than that the humiliation of asking where are you where should I meet you why would you leave like that should I go back to the car?

But then he heard the shouting. A large-sounding, murderous-sounding man was cursing insanely. His voice echoed and spilled out into the street. Dean pushed in a narrow metal gate that led into a poorly-lit path that led into a creole courtyard just as Dad turned the corner on his way out and said found you and just as Dad turned the corner Dean made some embarrassing girlish sound and threw himself back against the wall, gasping wildly, his heart rabbiting, hopped up on high-fructose corn syrup, threatening to bust out through his ribs. Pressed his hand to his chest to keep it in place. Whatever misery Dad saw on his face made him grin wide and sharp. Across from Dean he leaned against the wall. Only three feet between them now. But Dad tugged on his jacket, pulled him closer. Dean tripped over his feet, into Dad's chest, held on to Dad's arms for balance. Dad said, Here you go, laughing. He held a cloth pouch in his hand, tried to fit it in Dean’s right pocket but found it full of candy wrappers. He tsked as they fell soundlessly to the ground and said, gonna make yourself sick bud, slow and deep and pitying, teasing, hot in that eye-prickling way. He pulled Dean’s jacket open and left the pouch and its mysteries inside the inner pocket then his hand on Dean’s chest.

I was right behind you, Dean said, belly swirling with taffy and four whole months since he’d last had Dad’s hands on him.

I know, dude.

I found you.

I know, Dad said, huge careful hands cradling Dean’s skull. He said hey come here, and his hot open mouth was on Dean’s skin and his beard scratching and his teeth and he tilted Dean’s face up finally and then there was nothing for it. Dean closed his eyes.

[moonstrider9904]

The Ace Auror

Chapter 1 of Moonwalker: The Flame

{series masterlist} {next chapter} {previous chapter}

{crossposted to Wattpad} {crossposted to AO3}

Summary: Loss, anger, and turmoil have brought Sarah closer with her trusted Y-Wing, her astromech, and with the team’s engineer, Tech. Living mission to mission and settled on Ord Mantell, long months have been shrouded by the guild following the events that transpired since the destruction of Kamino and the separation from Crosshair.

Tags/Warnings: Mature. Allusions to polyamory. Heartbreak, arguments, emotional breakdowns. Angst.

Read the last chapter of Part I: The Batch for a brief recap!

Word count: 3.2k

Songs: aurora

A/N: Sarah returns alongside our favorite clones!!! I’m so excited for what Season 2 holds for us and for what it’ll mean for this fanfic, though I’ve already got some general ideas of how it’s going to play out regardless of canon (evil laughter). Thank you for reading! Enjoy! This chapter has no spoilers of Episodes 1 or 2 of TBB given that it is a prequel to them.

Chasing a sunset that drew farther away from her as the planet spinned, Sarah pushed the thrust of the Y-Wing forward ever so slightly. Speed cleared her mind, and flying was her solace.

Flying fast seemed to make everything okay for a few moments.

“You’re doing it again,” Tech’s voice came through the comm, breaking her from her trance.

“Might I remind you, you fly at this speed headed towards the ground,” Sarah spoke into her commlink.

“In the middle of persecutions, yes,” Tech’s modulated voice oddly made her smile. “You, however, are in no such situation.”

“Alas, I am flying away from my demons,” she bit back.

“Darling, you are far too pessimistic for someone who hasn’t drank anything tonight.”

She fancied a drink right about then. Something strong, preferably, but she’d steer clear from the Corellian whiskey. It reminded Sarah of him.

“You are far enough away from the city,” Tech mentioned, hiding his true instruction in his words.

A knot formed in her throat and the words wouldn’t come out, disappointed that she had to leave now that she’d only just arrived at a spot of Ord Mantell where she could disappear into.

“Can I stay out here just a bit longer?” Sarah answered with a voice too calm and disgustingly vulnerable, the way it had been too many times in those few months. “I like flying out here.”

Tech audibly sighed through the comm. “We’ve been out too long. We don’t want to make our avoidance feel too obvious.”

Sarah closed her eyes and exhaled everything, hating the fact that he was right all the time. When she opened them again, she looked ahead at the twilight, knowing she’d never catch that sun. The stars had begun to shine, almost as if they’d escort her back to the city.

She never felt alone when the stars came out.

“How rough do you want this turn to be?” Sarah tilted her head up and addressed her astromech.

You decide, boss! Rigel beeped back at her with his usual excitement.

Her gaze trailed forward once more as she figured she’d do something that felt good for once. With no buildings and people, it was the perfect place to try a stunt like that one, and as if her hands had minds of their own, she gave the thrust one more push for speed before tilting the handles up just enough to give the Y-Wing an acute angle upwards, its nose pointing to the east, offset. On instant, Sarah disengaged the thrust and sent the Ace Auror into a barrel roll for it to eventually turn itself in the air, where she engaged the thrust again at the perfect moment where it was upright, and the massive speed sent the ship in a straight line headed back for the speed.

Sarah smiled as she felt the sound barrier being broken outside the Auror; she’d nearly crashed the ship multiple times trying to get that stunt right. Regardless, the force pushing her back to the seat as the ship gained speed made her feel fulfilled, and her smile grew as she heard Rigel beeping in excitement from his spot. A small laugh left her, unaware that her comm was still turned on.

It didn’t take her long to return to the city, and the sight of the looming buildings slowly washed over the euphoria she’d only just found. Sarah clung to the adrenaline of flight and the weightlessness of not thinking about anything else as she approached the landing bay where she always left the Auror, and she finally let go of the sensations as she landed in the familiar bay.

Sarah and Rigel made it to ground level at the same time and were greeted by Tech; though he was walking toward them, his eyes were glued to his datapad as usual. Sarah knew better than to try and draw his attention from whatever he was focusing on, and as she waited there for him, watching him, she felt Rigel brushing up against her leg, his visor turning left and right as though to snuggle her.

“That was the first time I heard you laugh in a long time,” Tech broke the silence, his gaze still on the screen.

Sarah felt herself freeze. “What?”

“You heard me,” Tech finally turned off the datapad and looked at her through goggled eyes. “You laughed.”

“Well… yeah,” Sarah tried to brush off the sentiment. “I got a stunt right, and it felt great.” She looked down at Rigel. “Didn’t it?”

The astromech beeped happily in agreement.

“Whatever the cause, it’s welcome,” Tech’s lips curved in the most discreet of smiles and quickly eyed the ship in an attempt to change the subject. “I believe I did a good job on the thrusters, then.”

“You did,” Sarah confirmed.

“Excellent,” Tech walked over to the Y-Wing’s ladder and leaned his back on it, facing Sarah. “Perhaps I will make similar modifications to the Marauder.”

“You’re testing your bright ideas on my ship?” Sarah raised a brow.

“I am granting you exclusive access to cutting-edge modifications,” Tech corrected, his finger pointing up.

Sarah chuckled. “Right.”

“Well then,” Tech patted the ladder twice. “I’ll get to work on optimizing oil usage for your ship. You should go ahead and return to the saloon.”

“Um, excuse me?” Sarah crossed her arms at him. “You bring me back here saying we’ve been gone too long and then you stay here with my ship?”

“Working on your ship is my bailout, but for that, I actually need your ship here,” Tech explained.

“Well, flying is my bailout—”

“Sarah.” Tech straightened up from the ladder and positioned himself directly in front of her, staring directly into her soul. She quieted down and looked into his eyes, wondering to herself for a moment what they looked like without the goggles. She then realized how seldom she saw Tech without his endless gadgets.

But, with a sigh, Sarah drifted back to the conversation at hand. Apologetically, she looked at him, but she was also willing to beg him not to make her go if it was what it took. Tech had spent enough time with her for the past few months to know that about her, and his gaze softened into a soft scoff, almost smiling at her.

“You have to face them eventually,” he said.

“I have,” Sarah grumbled.

“No, you have coexisted for the sake of completing missions,” Tech answered. “That will not always work.”

Sarah sighed. “I’d really rather just stay here with you and the ship.”

“I know,” Tech said.

“And what about you?” Sarah challenged. “You’re about the only one who sees things from my perspective.”

“I am their brother, I have no choice but to eventually put things aside,” Tech replied. “You are a much different case. Now go.”

For a brief moment, she tried to think of an argument to retaliate with. Unable to find one, Sarah gave a heavy sigh of defeat and frowned up at Tech. “We’re both going to regret this.”

“The odds of that are not actually that high,” Tech said as she began to walk away from him.

“Whatever!” Sarah called back as she left.

At that hour, the seedy streets of Ord Mantell leading toward Cid’s cantina were reminiscent of a ghost town. Bits of trash drifted past Sarah’s feet with the breeze, and in the distance, the smell of burnt cooking oil came from one of the houses, probably someone aching to get one good snack and a full stomach before finishing their day.

Sarah really couldn’t wait to be done with it either. The thought was as numb as she was; it had simply been the way of things since that day on Kamino, ending a day to wake up to another, rinse and repeat.

She entered the cantina expecting the full squad to be there and, bracing for the worst, she was greeted by an empty saloon. The machines where Tech would usually play with Wrecker were abandoned, and there was no one pouring shots behind the bar. The stools in front of the bar hadn’t been taken by Hunter or by Echo, who would usually sit and talk over a drink, and Omega was nowhere to be seen wandering curiously about whatever piqued her interest that day.

And the makeshift target on the wall’s last blaster marks looked months old since the last time she’d practiced there with the Firepuncher rifle she’d adopted.

Between the disappointment and the relief at the fact that no one was there, Sarah didn’t know which feeling was greater. In any case, it meant she could make it all the way through the cantina without the need to avoid eye contact. Just as she was about to cross to the back hallway that led to their barracks, Sarah flinched at the sound of footsteps approaching her from her right flank. Snapping in their direction, Sarah froze at the sight of Echo, but then managed to exhale her tension.

Echo, ever the dear friend that he was, gave her a sad smile, which Sarah couldn’t quite will herself to return.

“Where is he?” She asked.

Echo sighed. “Hunter left the cantina a while ago. I haven’t seen him in our barracks.”

Sarah nodded, turning in the opposite direction. “Right. Well, I’d best be getting some shut-eye.”

“How was flying?” Echo asked. “Is Tech with you?”

Sarah stopped walking and faced Echo again, her body visibly relaxing. “He stayed behind working on the Auror, something about oil usage. You know what he’s like.”

“He’s happier than anyone that you have a ship of your own,” Echo chuckled.

As much as Sarah appreciated some light-hearted conversation with her best friend, she was distracted before she could continue it by Hunter’s silhouette emerging from Cid’s office. Even in the dim light of the hallway, she could see his sorrow, but it just wasn’t enough to tear her from her anger.

Not yet.

“No one more than me,” Sarah answered Echo’s comment, her gaze firm on Hunter. She finally looked back at her best friend. “Goodnight, Echo.”

When she turned around, she walked faster towards her bedroom and didn’t stop when she heard a voice calling her name; the voice didn't belong to Echo.

“Go to sleep, Hunter,” she spat, unbothered.

She arrived at her bedroom hoping it was the end of the night, but as she went to close her door, she saw Hunter had followed her like a wounded mastiff.

“Please, just talk to me,” he spoke softly.

Sarah scoffed. “I don’t want to.”

“But I do,” Hunter replied, the strain clear in his voice as he tried, hopelessly, to reach the woman he loved.

Sarah gave him a cynical smile. “Ah, of course. It’s what you want that matters in this family.”

She’d gotten to him, as was evident in the way Hunter’s features dropped, his chest shrinking as though he’d taken another bolt to it. She’d have felt proud if what she truly felt was hate, but it wasn’t long before Sarah’s cynicism and resolve faded entirely.

Looking at him hurt. It burned at the center of her chest where the Firepuncher bolt had once struck her; it spread out to the edges of her body in the form of ice, unable to decide if what she felt was grief or fury. Hardest of all were the fractals of memories that would plague her of the way they were before, of their oath in the kyber caves of Jedha, or their night at the hut after that, of every time Hunter would look her in the eyes and swear his love for her, his sole duty to protect her. Smiles in the middle of battle, laughs of relief after every close call, his big brown eyes yearning to hold her in his arms.

Sometimes, after Kamino, Sarah would manage a mid-battle smile at Hunter in the midst of the heat, a brief moment of respite to remember the team they were, the team they could be, but it only ever lasted less than a breath. Then, Sarah would remember everything. She would remember Crosshair, she would remember the choice she made, a promise she hadn’t been able to honor.

“Hunter…” she whispered.

His features softened; he let her see that adoration he held for her, but the hints of sorrow that it held broke her heart all over again. Hunter took a step towards Sarah, his hands slowly reaching out, hesitant to take her hands in his.

“I heard you were flying,” he said softly. “Did you have fun?”

Sarah nodded slowly, only able to meet his gaze for a few short seconds before she had to look away. In that time, she could feel Hunter’s pain growing, as did his exasperation to do anything that could fix things and make them better, as much like they were before as he could.

“Sarah…”

“I just… I-I need to go,” she interrupted, shaking her head as the need to run away overwhelmed her. “I–I promised Rigel I’d polish his servos—”

“Kiss me,” Hunter sighed, his eyes begging Sarah.

Her nebulous eyes closed, sighing deep in remorse—she hated hurting Hunter, that had never changed.

Alas, she still couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Hunter, don’t do this,” she looked away from him.

“Please,” he finally reached out and held her hands, his grip soft.

Sarah looked up at him with big eyes already gleaming with the tears threatening to pool in them, and for a second, even she was able to let go of the wrath.

“I’m just not ready yet, Hunter,” she confessed, slowly letting go of him.

Hunter sighed, knowing not to push it further, but the words that remained unspoken tightened the knot in his throat, and with a pleading gaze, he looked Sarah in her eyes.

“I miss you, Sarah.”

And I miss him… The thought came inevitably to Sarah, but Hunter would still hear it. Realizing her thoughts were still with the sniper, Hunter took a step back.

“Right. I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

Sarah couldn’t keep in her tears as Hunter left the room—the sound of her sniffling made it no easier on him either. After he was gone, she stood alone in the dim, white light of her bunk room as the emotions boiled inside her, threatening to burst unless she found some way to let them out.

She knew her power, and she knew she couldn’t—shouldn’t—explode there.

Sarah stormed out of the room and ran down the streets of Ord Mantell one more time, and she arrived at the landing bay in a flash. Running straight towards the Auror, she barely noticed Tech or Rigel shifting, concerned at her state.

“Sarah, what are you doing?” Tech called after her just as she reached the ladder.

She began climbing. “Sorry, but I need to fly.”

“Are you mad?” Tech set everything aside and met her at the ladder.

“Yes.”

“No, I meant mad as in crazy, not mad as in—Sarah, forget it, you cannot leave,” Tech reached out for Sarah’s ankle and stopped her.

Sarah glared down at him, her eyes flooded with tears ready to stream down her cheeks. “I’m not leaving, Tech, I just need to fly.”

“Absolutely not, you are not flying in this state,” Tech pulled her down to stand in front of her, gazing at her in confusion and concern as she wept. “Sarah…”

Sarah quieted her sobs down and finally met Tech’s goggled gaze, able to soften her still broken voice. “I told you we’d regret it.”

“Darling…” Tech’s voice softened. “What is it?”

“I just—I can’t, I can’t be around Hunter, I can’t be here, I need to get out of here—!” Her breathing quickened and her voice got louder, her sobs only intensifying.

“Shh, Sarah,” Tech grasped her shoulders, ultimately bringing her to look at him. “Sarah, breathe.”

Quieting down, Sarah looked up at Tech with the most sorrowful expression he had ever seen. Sniffling a couple more times, Sarah’s body relaxed, as if she couldn’t find it in herself to fight anymore.

“Tech…” She whimpered. “Can I please hug you?”

Tech didn’t hesitate before bringing her into his arms. She didn’t know why, but Sarah hadn’t fully expected him to go through with it—she’d asked him the question expecting a no for an answer, but this wasn’t a result she’d repel. For the first time in a long time, she was able to let herself go, to weep in someone’s arms without feeling remorse or resentment towards them, and it hadn’t dawned on her how much she’d needed it until that moment.

Of all the ways she’d imagined hugging Tech would be, nothing had prepared her for the care with which he held her. It was soft and silent, just as she needed, and Tech held out the whole time while she emptied her eyes on his shoulder, a feeling strange when he didn’t have his usual armor on.

She still had to get used to seeing him in more regular clothing.

Sarah had stopped crying before she knew it, and she felt tired, puffy, ready to go back to her bunk and collapse into sleep hoping the next day would be better.

But before she made her way back, Tech’s hand caught her fingers, giving them a squeeze.

“Get in the copilot seat,” he spoke.

Sarah blinked up at him. “What?”

“Copilot seat,” he repeated with a tiny smile and looked at Rigel. “You take your position too.”

Will do, Mr. Tech Sir!

As Rigel rolled past them, the little droid gave Sarah a little nudge before using his thrusters to take his spot at the center of the Y-Wing. Sarah managed a smile at her little astromech and climbed up the ladder, doing as Tech said. She’d never sat on that seat before, convinced she’d always be the one flying the Auror—things looked very different from it despite being only slightly behind the pilot seat.

After a few minutes, Tech emerged from the ladder and took his spot in the cockpit. Once he and Sarah had adjusted themselves, he lowered the canopy and powered up the engines, gently lifting the Y-Wing from its spot at the landing bay.

Drowsy, Sarah didn’t pay much attention to Tech’s flying. She didn’t have to, already knowing he was a phenomenal pilot. But the movements were gentle, and he wasn’t trying to show off in the least. And though she didn’t have her usual view, Sarah recognized fairly soon that he was taking the ship away from the city.

The place where Sarah had asked him earlier if she could stay in. So far away from the city, there was no light pollution to block away the stars, and Sarah allowed herself to look up at the endless night sky, gazing at the stars and planets and distant nebulae.

Tech couldn’t look back at her, but he could feel she was more calm. The engineer smiled at himself, glad he could fix something besides gadgets and ship components, and he knew without a doubt that at that moment, the night sky reflected Sarah’s eyes.

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[biff-adventurer]

FFXIVWRITE 2023 - Prompt 5: Barbarous

“Come on,” said Ivan. “Do it. You know you want to!”

Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I really don’t. Can’t you find someone else to play with?”

“Everyone’s busy!” The fluffy, white Hrothgar shook his mighty fist. “Those who aren’t, aren’t strong enough to keep up!”

Sophie sighed and sank in her chair. Though it was old, Eyrisunn had been right about it. One could sink into its soft cushions forever. She needed a breath of forever to deal with the lunacy of the Willows. Newcomers included.

“You’re thinking about it,” said Ivan, wagging a finger at her. His green-and-blue eyes sparkled. “There haven’t been any exciting marks, and I understand! That is why we must do what we can to exercise both our minds and bodies!”

“I could blow on you and you’d disappear,” said Sophie. Her long, white ears searched the silent house for heavy footsteps. Would no one come to her aid?

“You might think so,” said Ivan, “but a dancer has his tricks!”

“Go find a different partner. Someone else. Anyone else. It’s my day off. I don’t want to spend it touching men in any way.”

“You wound me!” The hrothgar brought his heavy hand to his broad, bared chest and collapsed onto the ground. “She thinks I’m one of those men!”

“If it makes it any better, you don’t smell like them.” She closed her eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh. He had no choice but to buzz off now.

The front door of the FC House opened wide as its mascot jogged into the room. Biff Guy, the Man of Steel. The Stealer of Pants. The Moonwalker, and Hildibrand’s biggest fan! His mentee collapsed at his feet and groaned. 

“Get up,” said Biff, prodding the Xaela boy’s shoulder with his foot. “We ain’t finished yet.”

“AH! Just the man I wanted to see!” Ivan bounced to life and pounced on the sweaty meatslab called Biff. He didn’t seem to mind the stench of sweat nor the wet it spread on that furless skin. Sophie, for one, minded it very much, but it was not in her place to deride a man who only stunk for the sake of exercise. “Remember that game we talked about?”

Biff buried his face in a towel. “Game? What game?”

Ivan lifted Arslang from the cold, wood floor. “The game we discussed not a moon ago! You have time, don’t you? And it’s good exercise!”

“Oh. I know what yer talkin’ about.” He grabbed his mentee by the scruff of his neck and shook him like a naughty kitten. “Hey! Wake up! Ye’ve got another challenge!”

Arslang groaned and waved his long, long limbs. “I’m up, I’m up! I thought we were done for the day!”

Ivan, quick to catch on, began stretching in preparation for the game. Biff dusted Arslang off by waving around his towel in the boy’s general direction. Their audience felt poorly for him, but she was keen to see if he could handle himself. He was being brought up by the greatest warrior in the world, after all.

“Now! Are you ready?” asked Ivan, properly in position.

Arslang stared impassively at the hrothgar. “... Yes?”

What came next was a travesty, much to Sophie’s delight. That large, lion hand of Ivan’s went cutting through the air. The young, green sprout had no idea what would come next and there was no time to ponder it. WHACK! The sound of Ivan’s initiating slap echoed through the house, resonant of a whip’s crack. Sophie blinked and found Arslang lying on the floor, his cheek a loud and accusing red.

“What–was that for!” coughed the boy.

Ivan laughed thunderously. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Tell him what?” Biff tilted his head.

“You should’ve told him,” supplied Sophie, “that this challenge was a slap fight.”

[boglarkarebay]

This OC comic is one and a half years old…😳 (it’s pretty bad gramatically. sorry for that.)

Uhh, so context.

A fairy girl is called Violet Blue who was chosen to be the next ‘Fairy on the Moon’ at a young age - without her knowing about it. This led to her having new powers she couldn’t possibly control yet, so she was assigned a guardian who posessed her body every full moon to keep her magic from lashing out. She was a cold person claiming to be a creature made of pure moonlight though she didn’t have memories of her birth. When she was in charge Vi’s hair got turned white and she didn’t have any recollection of that timeperiod. Later, when she meets the person who would eventually become her husband, they start to dig deeper into her memoryloss, finding out about all this mess. He calls the weird girl ‘Moonwalking Lady’ after she refused to tell him her true name. She doesn’t like the guy, but the Fairy on the Moon orders her not to hurt him which she finds suspicious. She also later starts having strange dreams of a person in a black clothing keeping her chained up and messing with her brain, starting to question her true origins.

Years later, Violet’s husband tragically passes away, with Moonwalking girl inside her finally remembering it all. She disappears one day without saying anything, back to her time. The distant future, where there was a apocaliptic insident involving an older and borderline insane version of Violet, who had to be stopped and chained up, with a strange lady called the Lord of Time deleating her memories and sending her back to her past. And after living through all that, she now has to become the next Fairy on the Moon, providong magic for the world below, so she isn’t quite ready. Sentry is best character though, so at least she has them to comfort her. 🥰💀

[thememequeendiaries]

The Ghoul Boys in the Vogue Theater as per ChatGPT

After seeing the ghoul boys live on the Ghost files tour and them saying they wanted to come back to investigate the Vogue Theater, I got bored writing an essay and asked ChatGPT to write an episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved episode about the theater... thought I would go ahead and share with the class what it wrote LOL

Title: Buzzfeed Unsolved: The Enigmatic Secrets of the Vogue Theater

INTRO: Ryan stands outside a vintage theater marquee, surrounded by an air of mystery.

Ryan: Hey there, folks, and welcome back to another episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved! I'm Ryan, and today we're diving into the shadowy history of the iconic Vogue Theater. A place known not only for its enchanting performances but also for the eerie tales that shroud its past.

Shane: And I'm Shane, And I'm Shane, the one who thinks Ryan might be the ghost of a failed stand-up comedian. You know, I've heard rumors that this theater is haunted by a ghost that can out-dance Michael Jackson. I'll believe it when I see it.

ACT 1: The Glamour and the Darkness Ryan and Shane walk into the dimly lit Vogue Theater.

Ryan: Our journey begins with the rich history of the Vogue Theater. Built in 1920, this place once hosted some of the grandest vaudeville acts and silent films of its time.

Shane: Yeah, but you know what they say, Ryan. Behind every glamorous exterior lies a whole bunch of creepy stories.

ACT 2: The Mysterious Disappearance Ryan and Shane interview a local historian.

Historian: Back in the 1940s, there was a dancer named Evelyn who stole the show every night. But one fateful evening, she vanished without a trace. Some say her spirit still roams the stage, perfecting her routines.

Ryan: A vanishing act that has lasted decades? Now that's some serious dedication to the craft.

ACT 3: Dancing with the Unseen Ryan and Shane attend a late-night performance at the Vogue Theater.

Ryan: (whispering) So, Shane, you ready to witness the supernatural moonwalk?

Shane: I'll believe it when I see a ghost bust a move, Ryan.

Lights flicker, and a soft, eerie music begins to play. Suddenly, a shadowy figure appears on stage, moving in perfect rhythm.

Ryan: (excitedly) Holy moly, Shane, do you see that?

Shane: (squinting) Yeah, I see it. It's a… well-choreographed shadow.

ACT 4: Unveiling the Truth Ryan and Shane meet with a paranormal investigator.

Paranormal Investigator: We've captured some unexplainable phenomena here. Disembodied laughter, lights turning on and off, and even EVP recordings of tapping sounds.

Shane: EVPs, huh? Could just be the old pipes making noise.

Ryan: Pipes that tap in rhythm? Come on, Shane.

ACT 5: Confronting the Spirit Ryan and Shane attempt a communication session on the Vogue Theater stage.

Ryan: If there's anyone here, Evelyn, we'd love to see you dance.

Soft tapping sounds echo through the theater, and a chill runs down Shane's spine.

Shane: (nervous) Alright, alright. That's a bit unsettling.

CONCLUSION: Ryan and Shane stand outside the Vogue Theater once again.

Ryan: So, Shane, after all we've seen and heard, what's your verdict?

Shane: Look, I can't deny that there's something strange about this place. But until we see a ghost cha-cha with crystal clarity, I'm not sold.

Ryan: And there you have it, folks. The Vogue Theater, a place that has dazzled audiences for decades, and maybe, just maybe, continues to do so from beyond the grave.

Shane: And if you find yourself watching a ghostly dance-off, make sure to grab some popcorn.

OUTRO: Camera pans out as Ryan and Shane walk away from the Vogue Theater.

Ryan: Thanks for joining us on another thrilling episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved! Remember, folks, truth is out there… maybe.

Shane: And remember, if you ever meet a ghost who can moonwalk, tip your invisible hat to 'em. Until next time!

[End credits roll]

[unpopularwiththepopulace]

A retrospective on some of Broadway’s most important female costume designers across the last century

How much is our memory or perception of a production influenced by the manner in which we visually comprehend the characters for their physical appearance and attire? A lot.

How much attention in memory is often dedicated to celebrating the costume designers who create the visual forms we remember? Comparatively, not much.

Delving through the New York Public Library archives of late, I found I was able to zoom into pictures of productions like Sunday in the Park with George at a magnitude greater than before.

In doing so, I noticed myself marvelling at finer details on the costumes that simply aren’t visible from grainy 1985 proshots, or other lower resolution images.

And marvel I did.

At first, I began to set out to address the contributions made to the show by designer Patricia Zipprodt in collaboration with Ann Hould-Ward. Quickly I fell into a (rather substantial) tangent rabbit hole – concerning over a century’s worth of interconnected designers who are responsible for hundreds of some of the most memorable Broadway shows between them.

It is impossible to look at the work of just one or two of these women without also discussing the others that came before them or were inspired by them.

Journey with me then if you will on this retrospective endeavour to explore the work and legacy that some of these designers have created, and some of the contexts in which they did so.

A set of podcasts featuring Ann Hould-Ward, including Behind the Curtain (Ep. 229) and Broadway Nation (Eps. 17 and 18), invaluably introduce some of the information discussed here and, most crucially, provide a first-hand, verbal link back to this history. The latter show sets out the case for a “succession of dynamic women that goes back to the earliest days of the Broadway musical and continues right up to today”, all of whom “were mentored by one or more of the great [designers] before them, [all] became Tony award-winning [stars] in their own right, and [all] have passed on the [craft] to the next generation.”

A chronological, linear descendancy links these designers across multiple centuries, starting in 1880 with Aline Bernstein, then moving to Irene Sharaff, then to Patricia Zipprodt, then to the present day with Ann Hould-Ward. Other designers branch from or interact with this linear chronology in different ways, such as Florence Klotz and Ann Roth – who, like Patricia Zipprodt, were also mentored by Aline Bernstein – or Theoni V. Aldredge, who stands apart from this connected tree, but whose career closely parallels the chronology of its central portion. There were, of course, many other designers and women also working within this era that provided even further momentous contributions to the world of costume design, but in this piece, the focus will remain primarily on these seven figures.

As the main creditor of the designs for Sunday in the Park with George, let’s start with Patricia (Pat) Zipprodt.

Born in 1925, Pat studied at the Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT) in New York after winning a scholarship there in 1951. Through teaching herself “all of costume history by studying materials at the New York Public Library”, she passed her entrance exam to the United Scenic Artists Union in 1954. This itself was a feat only possible through Aline Bernstein’s pioneering steps in demanding and starting female acceptance into this same union for the first time just under 30 years previously.

Pat made her individual costume design debut a year after assisting Irene Sharaff on Happy Hunting in 1956 – Ethel Merman’s last new Broadway credit. Of the more than 50 shows she subsequently designed, some of Pat’s most significant musicals include: She Loves Me (1963) Fiddler on the Roof (1964) Cabaret (1966) Zorba (1968) 1776 (1969) Pippin (1972) Mack & Mabel (1974) Chicago (1975) Alice in Wonderland (1983) Sunday in the Park with George (1984) Sweet Charity (1986) Into the Woods (1987) - preliminary work

Other notable play credits included: The Little Foxes (1967) The Glass Menagerie (1983) Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1990)

Yes. One person designed all of those shows. Many of the most beloved pieces in modern musical theatre history. Somewhat baffling.

Her work notably earned her 11 Tony nominations, 3 wins, an induction into the Theatre Hall of Fame in 1992, and the Irene Sharaff award for lifetime achievement in costume design in 1997.

By 1983, Pat was one of the most well-respected designers of her era. When the offer for Sunday in the Park with George came in, she was less than enamoured by being confined to the ill-suited basements at Playwright’s Horizons all day, designing full costumes for a story not even yet in existence. From-the-ground-up workshops are common now, but at the time, Sunday was one of the first of its kind.

Rather than flatly declining, she asked Ann Hould-Ward, previously her assistant and intern who had now been designing for 2-3 years on her own, if she was interested in collaborating. She was. The two divided the designing between them, like Pat creating Bernadette’s opening pink and white dress, and Ann her final red and purple dress.

Which indeed leads to the question of the infamous creation worn in the opening number. No attemptedly comprehensive look at the costumes in Sunday would be complete without addressing it or its masterful mechanics.

To enable Bernadette to spring miraculously and seemingly effortlessly from her outer confines, Ann and Pat enlisted the help of a man with a “Theatre Magics” company in Ohio. Dubbed ‘The Iron Dress’, the gasp-inducing motion required a wire frame embedded into the material, entities called ‘moonwalker legs and feet’, and two garage door openers coming up through the stage to lever the two halves apart. The mechanism – highly impressive in its periods of functionality – wasn’t without its flaws. Ann recalls “there were nights during previews where [Bernadette] couldn’t get out of the dress”. Or worse, a night where “the dress closed up completely. And it wouldn’t open up again!”. As Bernadette finished her number, there was nothing else within her power she could do, so she simply “grabbed it under her arm and carried it off stage.”

What visuals. Evidently, the course of costume design is not always plain sailing.

This sentiment is exhibited in the fact design work is a physical materialisation of other creators’ visions, thus foregrounding the tricky need for collaboration and compromise. This is at once a skill, very much part of the job description, and not always pleasant – in navigating any divides between one’s own ideas and those of other people.

Sunday in the Park with George was no exception in requiring such a moment of compromise and revision. With the show already on Broadway in previews, Stephen Sondheim decreed the little girl Louise’s dress “needs to be white” – not the “turquoisey blue” undertone Pat and Ann had already created it with. White, to better spotlight the painting’s centre.

Requests for alterations are easier to comprehend when they are done with equanimity and have justification. Sondheim said he would pay for the new dress himself, and in Seurat’s original painting, the little girl is very brightly the focal centre point of the piece. On this occasion, all agreed that Sondheim was “absolutely right”. A new dress was made.

Other artistic differences aren’t always as amicable.

In Pat Zipprodt’s first show, Happy Hunting with Ethel Merman in 1956, some creatives and directors were getting in vociferous, progress-stopping arguments over a dress and a scene in which Ethel was to jump over a fence. Then magically, the dress went missing. Pat was working at the time as an assistant to the senior Irene Sharaff, and Pat herself was the one to find the dress the next morning. It was in the basement. Covered in black and wholly unwearable. Sharaff had spray painted the dress black in protest against the “bickering”. Indeed, Sharaff disappeared, not to be seen again until the show arrived on Broadway.

Those that worked with her soon found that Sharaff was one to be listened to and respected – as Hal Prince did during West Side Story. After the show opened in 1957, Hal replaced her 40 pairs of meticulously created and individually dyed, battered, and re-dyed jeans with off-the-rack copies. His reasoning was this: “How foolish to be wasting money when we can make a promotional arrangement with Levi Strauss to supply blue jeans free for program credit?” A year later, he looked at their show, and wondered “What’s happened?”

What had happened was that the production had lost its spark and noticeable portions of its beauty, vibrancy, and subtle individuality. Sharaff’s unique creations quickly returned, and Hal had learned his lesson. By the time Sharaff’s mentee, Pat, had “designed the most expensive rags for the company to wear” with this same idiosyncratic dyeing process for Fiddler on the Roof in 1964, Hal recognised the value of this particularity and the disproportionately large payoff even ostensibly simple garments can bring.

Irene Sharaff is remembered as one of the greatest designers ever. Born in 1910, she was mentored by Aline Bernstein, first assisting her on 1928’s original staging of Hedda Gabler.

Throughout her 56 year career, she designed more than 52 Broadway musicals. Some particularly memorable entities include: The Boys from Syracuse (1938) Lady in the Dark (1943) Candide (1956) Happy Hunting (1956) Sweet Charity (1966) The King and I (1951, 1956) West Side Story (1957, 1961) Funny Girl (1964, 1968)

For the last three productions, she would reprise her work on Broadway in the subsequent and indelibly enduring film adaptations of the same shows. 

Her work in the theatre earned her 6 Tony nominations and 1 win, though her work in Hollywood was perhaps even more well rewarded – earning 5 Academy Awards from a total of 15 nominations.

Some of Sharaff’s additional film credits included: Meet Me in St. Louis (1944) Ziegfeld Follies (1946) An American in Paris (1951) Call Me Madam (1953) A Star is Born (1954) – partial Guys and Dolls (1955) Cleopatra (1963) Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966) Hello Dolly! (1969) Mommie Dearest (1981)

It’s a remarkable list. But it is too more than just a list.

Famously, Judy’s red scarlet ballgown in Meet Me in St. Louis was termed the “most sophisticated costume [she’d] yet worn on the screen.”

It has been written that Sharaff’s “last film was probably the only bad one on which she worked,” – the infamous pillar of camp culture, Mommie Dearest, in 1981 – “but its perpetrators knew that to recreate the Hollywood of Joan Crawford, it required an artist who understood the particular glamour of the Crawford era.” And at the time, there were very few – if any – who could fill that requirement better than Irene Sharaff. 

The 1963 production of Cleopatra is perhaps an even more infamous endeavour. Notoriously fraught with problems, the film was at that point the most expensive ever made. It nearly bankrupted 20th Century Fox, in light of varying issues like long production delays, a revolving carousel of directors, the beginning of the infamous Burton/Taylor affair and resulting media storm, and bouts of Elizabeth’s ill-health that “nearly killed her”. In that turbulent environment, Sharaff is highlighted as one of the figures instrumental in the film’s eventual completion – “adjusting Elizabeth Taylor’s costumes when her weight fluctuated overnight” so the world finally received the visual spectacle they were all ardently anticipating.

But even beyond that, Sharaff’s work had impacts more significantly and extensively than the immediate products of the shows or films themselves. Within a few years of her “vibrant Thai silk costumes for ‘The King and I’ in 1951, …silk became Thailand’s best-known export.” Her designs changed the entire economic landscape of the country. 

It’s little wonder that in that era, Sharaff was known as “one of the most sought-after and highest-paid people in her profession.” With discussions and favourable comparisions alongside none other than Old Hollywood’s most beloved designer, Edith Head, Irene deserves her place in history to be recognised as one of the foremost significant pillars of the design world.

In this respected position, Irene Sharaff was able to pass on her knowledge by mentoring others too as well as Patricia Zipprodt, like Ann Roth and Florence Klotz, who have in turn gone on to further have their own highly commendable successes in the industry.

Florence “Flossie” Klotz, born in 1920, is the only Broadway costume designer to have won six Tony awards. She did so, all of them for musicals, and all of them directed by Hal Prince, in a marker of their long and meaningful collaboration.

Indeed, Flossie’s life partner was Ruth Mitchell – Hal’s long-time assistant, and herself legendary stage manager, associate director and producer of over 43 shows. Together, Flossie and Ruth were dubbed a “power couple of Broadway”.

Flossie’s shows with Hal included: Follies (1971) A Little Night Music (1973) Pacific Overtures (1976) Grind (1985) Kiss of the Spiderwoman (1993) Show Boat (1995)

And additional shows amongst her credits extend to: Side by Side by Sondheim (1977) On the Twentieth Century (1978) The Little Foxes (1981) A Doll’s Life (1982) Jerry’s Girls (1985)

Earlier in her career, she would first find her footing as an assistant designer on some of the Golden Age’s most pivotal shows like: The King and I (1951) Pal Joey (1952) Silk Stockings (1955) Carousel (1957) The Sound of Music (1959)

The original production of Follies marked the first time Florence was seriously recognised for her work. Before this point, she was not yet anywhere close to being considered as having broken into the ranks of Broadway’s “reigning designers” of that era. Follies changed matters, providing both an indication of the talent of her work to come, and creating history in being commended for producing some of the “best costumes to be seen on Broadway” in recent memory – as Clive Barnes wrote in The New York Times. Fuller discussion is merited given that the costumes of Follies are always one of the show’s central points of debate and have been crucial to the reception of the original production as well as every single revival that has followed in the 50 years since.

In this instance, Ted Chapin would record from his book ‘Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical ‘Follies’ how “the costumes were so opulent, they put the show over-budget.” Moreover, that “talking about the show years later, [Florence] said the costumes could not be made today. ‘Not only would they cost upwards of $2 million, but we used fabrics from England that aren’t even made anymore.’” Broadway then does indeed no longer look like Broadway now.

This “surreal tableau” Flossie created, including “three-foot-high ostrich feather headdresses, Marie Antoinette wigs adorned with musical instruments and birdcages, and gowns embellished with translucent butterfly wings”, remains arguably one of the most impressive and jaw-dropping spectacles to have ever graced a Broadway stage even to this day.

As for Ann Roth, born in 1931, she is still to this day making her own history – recently becoming the joint eldest nominee at 89 for an Oscar (her 5th), for her work on 2020′s Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. Now as of April 26th, Ann has just made history even further by becoming the oldest woman to win a competitive Academy Award ever. She has an impressive array of Hollywood credits to her name in addition to a roster of Broadway design projects, which have earned her 12 Tony nominations.

Some of her work in the theatre includes: The Women (1973) The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (1978) They're Playing Our Song (1979) Singin' in the Rain (1985) Present Laughter (1996) Hedda Gabler (2009) A Raisin in the Sun (2014) Shuffle Along (2016) The Prom (2018)

Making her way over to Hollywood in the ‘70s, she has left an indelible and lasting visual impact on the arts through films like: Klute (1971) The Goodbye Girl (1977) Hair (1979) 9 to 5 (1980) Silkwood (1983) Postcards from the Edge (1990) The Birdcage (1996) The Hours (2002) Mamma Mia! (2008) Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (2020)

It’s clear from this branching 'tree' to see how far the impact of just one woman passing on her time and knowledge to others who are starting out can spread.

This art of acting as a conduit for valuable insights was something Irene Sharaff had learned from her own mentor and predecessor, Aline Bernstein. Aline was viewed as “the first woman in the [US] to gain prominence in the male-dominated field of set and costume design,” and was too a strong proponent of passing on the unique knowledge she had acquired as a pioneer and forerunner in the field. 

Born in 1880, Bernstein is recognised as “one of the first theatrical designers in New York to make sets and costumes entirely from scratch and craft moving sets” while Broadway was still very much in its infancy of taking shape as the world we know today. This she did for more than one hundred shows over decades of her work in the theatre. These shows included the spectacular Grand Street Follies (1924-27), and original premier productions of plays like some of the following: Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler (1928) J.M Barrie’s Peter Pan (1928) Grand Hotel (1930) Phillip Barry’s Animal Kingdom (1932) Chekov’s The Seagull (1937) Both Lillian Hellman’s The Children’s Hour (1934) and The Little Foxes (1939)

Beyond direct design work, Bernstein founded what was to become the Neighbourhood Playhouse (the notable New York acting school) and was influential in the “Little Theatre movement that sprung up across America in 1910”. These were the “forerunners of the non-profit theatres we see today” and she continued to work in this realm even after moving into commercial theatre.

Bernstein also established the Museum of Costume Art, which later became the Costume Institute of the Met Museum of Art, where she served as president from 1944 to her death in 1955. This is what the Met Gala raises money for every year. So for long as you have the world’s biggest celebrities parading up and down red carpets in high fashion pieces, you have Aline Bernstein to remember – as none of that would be happening without her.

During the last fifteen years of her life, Bernstein taught and served as a consultant in theatre programs at academic institutions including Yale, Harvard, and Vassar – keen to connect the community and facilitate an exchange of wisdom and information to new descendants and the next generation.

Many designers came somewhere out of this linear descendancy. One notable exception, with no American mentor, was Theoni V. Aldredge. Born in 1922 and trained in Greece, Theoni emigrated to the US, met her husband, Tom Aldredge – himself of Into the Woods and theatre notoriety – and went on to design more than 100 Broadway shows. For her work, she earned 3 Tony wins from 11 nominations from projects such as: Anyone Can Whistle (1964) A Chorus Line (1975) Annie (1977) Barnum (1980) 42nd Street (1980) Woman of the Year (1981) Dreamgirls (1981) La Cage aux Folles (1983) The Rink (1984)

One of the main features that typify Theoni’s design style and could be attributed to a certain unique and distinctive “European flair” is her strong use of vibrant colour. This is a sentiment instantly apparent in looking longitudinally at some of her work.

In Ann Hould-Ward’s words, Theoni speaks to the “great generosity” of this profession. Theoni went out of her way to call Ann apropos of nothing early in the morning at some unknown hotel just after Ann won her first Tony for Beauty and the Beast in 1994, purring “Dahhling, I told you so!” These were women that had their disagreements, yes, but ultimately shared their knowledge and congratulated each other for their successes.

Similar anecdotal goodwill can be found in Pat Zipprodt’s call to Ann on the night of the 1987 Tony’s – where Ann was nominated for Into the Woods – with Pat singing “Have wonderful night! You’re not gonna win! …[laugh] but I love you anyway!”

This well-wishing phone call is all the more poignant considering Pat was originally involved with doing the costumes for Into the Woods, in reprise of their previous collaboration on Sunday in the Park with George.

If, for example, Theoni instinctively is remembered for bright colour, one of the features that Pat is first remembered for is her dedicated approach to research for her designs. Indeed, the New York Public Library archives document how the remaining physical evidence of this research she conducted is “particularly thorough” in the section on Into the Woods. Before the show finally hit Broadway in 1987 with Ann Hould-Ward’s designs, records show Pat had done extensive investigation herself into materials, ideas and prospective creations all through 1986.

Both Ann and Pat worked on the show out of town in try-outs at the Old Globe theatre in San Diego. But when it came to negotiating Broadway contracts, the situation became “tricky” and later “untenable” with Pat and the producers. Ann was “allowed to step in and design” the show alone instead.

The lack of harboured resentment on Patricia’s behalf speaks to her character and the pair’s relationship, such that Ann still considered her “my dear and beloved friend” for over 25 years, and was “at [Pat’s] bed when she died”.

Though they parted ways ultimately for Into the Woods, you can very much feel a continuation between their work on Sunday in the Park with George a few years previously, especially considering how tactile the designs appear in both shows. This tactility is something the shows’ book writer and director, James Lapine, was specific about. Lapine would remark in his initial ideas and inspirations that he wanted a graphic quality to the costumes on this occasion, like “so many sketches of the fairy-tales do”.

Ann fed that sentiment through her final creations, with a wide variety of materials and textures being used across the whole show – like “ribbons with ribbons seamed through them”, “all sorts of applique”, “frothy organzas and rembriodered organzas”. A specific example documents how Joanna Gleason’s shawl as the Baker’s Wife was pieced together, cut apart, and put back together again before resembling its final form.

This highly involved principle demonstrates another manner of inventive design that uses a different method but maintains the aim of particularity as discussed previously with Patricia and Irene’s complex dyeing and re-dyeing process. Pushing the confines of what is possible with the materials at hand to create a variety of colours, shades, and textures ultimately produces visual entities that are complex to look at. Confusing the eye like this “holds attention longer”, Ann maintains, which makes viewers look more intricately at individual segments of the production, and enables the costume design to guide specific focus by not immediately ceding attention elsewhere.

Understanding the methods behind the resultant impacts of a show can be as, if not more, important and interesting than the final product of the show itself sometimes. A phone call Ann had last August with James Lapine reminds us this is a notion we may be treated more to in the imminent future, when he called to enquire as to the location of some design sketches for the book he is working on (Putting It Together: How Stephen Sondheim and I Created 'Sunday in the Park with George') to document more thoroughly the genesis of the pair’s landmark and beloved musical.

In continuation of the notion that origin stories contain their own intrinsic value beyond any final product, Ann first became Pat’s intern through a heart-warming and tenacious tale. Ann sent letters to three notable designers when finishing graduate school. Only Patricia Zipprodt replied, with a message to say she “didn’t have anything now but let me think about it and maybe in the future.” It got to the future, and Ann took the encouragement of her previous response to try and contact Pat again. Upon being told she was out of town with a show, Ann proceeded to chase Pat through various phone books and telephone wires across different states and theatres until she finally found her. She was bolstered by the specifics of their call and ran off the phone to write an imploring note – hinging on the premise of a shared connection to Montana. She took an arrow, stabbed it through a cowboy hat, put it in a box with the note that was written on raw hide, and mailed it to New York with bated breath and all of her hopes and wishes.

Pat was knife-edgingly close to missing the box, through a matter of circumstance and timing. Importantly, she didn’t. Ann got a response, and it boded well: “Alright alright alright! You can come to New York!”

Subsequently, Ann’s long career in the design world of the theatre has included notable credits such as: Sunday in the Park with George (1984) Into the Woods (1987, 1997) Falsettos (1992) Beauty and the Beast (1994, 1997) Little Me (1998) Company (2006) Road Show (2008) The People in the Picture (2011) Merrily We Roll Along (1985, 1990, 2012, segment in Six by Sondheim 2013) Passion (2013) The Visit (2015) The Color Purple (2015) The Prince of Egypt (2021)

From early days in the city sleeping on a piece of foam on a friend’s floor, to working collaboratively alongside Pat, to using what she’d learnt from her mentor in designing whole shows herself, and going on to win prestigious awards for her work – the cycle of the theatre and the importance of handing down wisdom from those who possess it is never more evident.

As Ann summarises it meaningfully, “the theatre is a continuing, changing, evolving, emotional ball”. It’s raw, it’s alive, it needs people, it needs stories, it needs documentation of history to remember all that came before.

In periods where there can physically be no new theatre, it’s made ever the more clear for the need not to forget what value there is in the tales to be told from the past.

Through this retrospective, we’ve seen the tour de force influence of a relatively small handful of women shaping a relatively large portion of the visual scape of some of Broadway’s brightest moments.

But it’s significant to consider how disproportionate this female impact was, in contrast with how massively male dominated the rest of the creative theatre industry has been across the last century.

Assessing variations in attitudes and approaches to relationships and families in these women in the context of their professional careers over this time period presents interesting observations. And indeed, manners in which things have changed over the past hundred years.

As Ann Hould-Ward speaks of her experiences, one of her reflections is how much this was a “very male dominated world”. And one that didn’t accommodate for women with families who also wanted careers. As an intern, she didn’t even feel she could tell Patricia Zipprodt about the existence of her own young child until after 6 months of working with her. With all of these male figures around them, it would be often questioned “How are you going to do the work? How are you going to manage [with a family]?”, and that it was “harder to convince people that you were going to be able to do out-of-towns, to be able to go places.” Simply put, the industry “didn't have many designers who were married with children.”

Patricia herself in the previous generation demonstrates this restricting ethos. “In 1993, Zipprodt married a man whose proposal she had refused some 43 years earlier.” She had just newly graduated college and “she declined [his proposal] and instead moved to New York.” Faced with the family or career conundrum, she chose the latter. By the 1950s, it then wasn’t seen as uncommon to have both, it was seen as impossible.

Her husband died just five years after the pair were married in 1998, as did Patricia herself the following year. One has to wonder if alternative decisions would’ve been made and lives lived differently if she’d experienced a different context for working women in her younger life.

But occupying any space in the theatre at all was only possible because of the efforts of and strides made by women in previous generations.

When Aline Bernstein first started designing for Broadway theatre in 1916, women couldn’t even vote. She became the first female member of the United Scenic Artists of America union in 1926, but only because she was sworn in under the false and male moniker of brother Bernstein. In fact, biographies often centralise on her involvement in a “passionate” extramarital love affair with novelist Thomas Wolfe – disproportionately so for all of her remarkable contributions to the theatrical, charitable and academic worlds, and instead having her life defined through her interactions with men.

As such, it is apparent how any significant interactions with men often had direct implications over a woman’s career, especially in this earlier half of the century. Only in their absence was there comparative capacity to flourish professionally.

Irene Sharaff had no notable relationships with men. She did however have a significant partnership with Chinese-American painter and writer Mai-mai Sze from “the mid-1930s until her death”. Though this was not (nor could not be) publicly recognised or documented at the time, later by close acquaintances the pair would be described as a “devoted couple”, “inseparable”, and as holding “love and admiration for one another [that] was apparent to everyone who knew them.” This manner of relationship for Irene in the context of her career can be theorised as having allowed her the capacity to “reach a level of professional success that would have been unthinkable for most straight women of [her] generation”.

Moving forwards in time, Irene and Mai-mai presently rest where their ashes are buried under “two halves of the same rock” at the entrance to the Music and Meditation Pavilion at Lucy Cavendish College in Cambridge, which was “built following a donation by Sharaff and Sze”. I postulate that this site would make for an interesting slice of history and a perhaps more thought-provoking deviation for tourists away from being shepherded up and down past King’s College on King’s Parade as more usually upon a visit to Cambridge.

In this more modern society at the other end of this linear tree of remarkable designers, options for women to be more open and in control of their personal and professional lives have increased somewhat.

Ann Hould-Ward later in her career would no longer “hide that [she] was a mother”, in fear of not being taken seriously. Rather, she “made a concerted effort to talk about [her] child”, saying “because at that point I had a modicum of success. And I thought it was supportive for other women that I could do this.”

If one aspect passed down between these women in history are details of the craft and knowledge accrued along the way, this statement by Ann represents an alternative facet and direction that teaching of the future can take. Namely, that by showing through example, newer generations will be able to comprehend the feasibility of occupying different options and spaces as professional women. Existing not just as designers, or wives, or mothers, or all, or one – but as people, who possess an immense talent and skill. And that it is now not just possible, but common, to be multifaceted and live the way you want to live while working.

This is not to say all of the restrictions and barriers faced by women in previous generations have been removed, but rather that as we build a larger wealth of history of women acting with autonomy and control to refer back to, things can only get easier to build upon for the future.

Who knows what Broadway and theatre in general will look like when it returns – both on the surface with respect to this facet of costume design, and also more deeply as to the inner machinations of how shows are put together and presented. The largely male environment and the need to tick corporate and commercial boxes will not have vanished. One can only hope that this long period of stasis will have foregrounded the need and, most importantly, provided the time to revaluate the ethos in which shows are often staged, and the ways in which minority groups – like women – are able to work and be successful within the theatre in all of the many shows to come. 

Notable sources:

Photographs – predominantly from the New York Public Library digital archives. IBDB – the Internet Broadway Database. Broadway Nation Podcast (Eps. #17 and #18), David Armstrong, featuring Ann Hould-Ward, 2020. Behind the Curtain: Broadway’s Living Legends Podcast (Ep. #229), Robert W Schneider and Kevin David Thomas, featuring Ann Hould-Ward, 2020. Sense of Occasion, Harold Prince, 2017. Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical ‘Follies’, Ted Chapin, 2003. Finishing the Hat: Collected Lyrics (1954–1981) with Attendant Comments, Principles, Heresies, Grudges, Whines and Anecdotes, Stephen Sondheim, 2010. The Complete Book of 1970s Broadway Musicals, Dan Deitz, 2015. The Complete Book of 1980s Broadway Musicals, Dan Dietz, 2016. Inventory of the Patricia Zipprodt Papers and Designs at the New York Public Library, 2004 – https://www.nypl.org/sites/default/files/archivalcollections/pdf/thezippr.pdf Extravagant Crowd’s Carl Van Vecten’s Portraits of Women, Aline Bernstein – http://brbl-archive.library.yale.edu/exhibitions/cvvpw/gallery/bernstein.html Jewish Heroes & Heroines of America: 150 True Stories of American Jewish Heroism – Aline Bernstein, Seymour Brody, 1996 – https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/aline-bernstein Ann Hould-Ward Talks Original “Into the Woods” Costume Designs, 2016 – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EPe77c6xzo&ab_channel=Playbill American Theatre Wing’s Working in the Theatre series, The Design Panel, 1993 – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sp-aMQHf-U&t=2167s&ab_channel=AmericanTheatreWing Journal of the History of Ideas Blog, Mai-mai Sze and Irene Sharaff in Public and in Private, Erin McGuirl, 2016 – https://jhiblog.org/2016/05/16/mai-mai-sze-and-irene-sharaff-in-public-and-in-private/ Irene Sharaff’s obituary, The New York Times, Marvine Howe, 1993 – https://www.nytimes.com/1993/08/17/obituaries/irene-sharaff-designer-83-dies-costumes-won-tony-and-oscars.html Obituary: Irene Sharaff, The Independent, David Shipman, 2011 – https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/obituary-irene-sharaff-1463219.html Broadway Design Exchange – Florence Klotz – https://www.broadwaydesignexchange.com/collections/florence-klotz Obituary: Florence Klotz, The New York Times, 2006 – https://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/03/obituaries/03klotz.html

[olivia200312]

Dancing~ RID2015 Optimus x Singer! Cybertronian! Reader *Request*

Requested by the lovely AngelRosePhoenix

Plot: I wanna have another request. It's a RID Optimus x Singer! Reader. Optimus just got home from the mission and he caught his lover singing and dancing attractively with Dua Lipa's song Levitating. He then joined her, grabbing her hips, dipping her down, and kiss her lips.

Head area: Brain: Processor / Brain Module Head: Helm Face: Face plate Ears: Audio receptors / Receptor Orifice / Audials Nose: Enstril / Olfactory Sensor Eye brow: Optical Ridge Eyes: Optics Mouth: Intake Lips: Dermas Teeth: Denta/Dentas Tongue: Glossa

Chest area: Chest: Chassis / Thoraxal Cavity Back: Hexa-Lateral Scapula Spine: Bipedalism cord / Back Strut

Chest and back armour: Chest plate Back plate Mid-section plating Neck guard Side plating

Arm area:

Arms: Arms / Restarlueus Forearms: Bitarlueus Hands: Servos Fingers: Digits

Arm armour: Gantlets Shoulder pads Arm guard

Lower area: Pelvis: Pelvis Butt: Aft / Skid-Plate Thighs: Tibulen Calves: Cadulen Feet: Pedes - the high heel bits are called Struts or Heel Struts.

Lower armour: Skirt plates Aft plate / Skid plate Thigh guard Ankle guard

General/Internal components: Muscles: Cables / Pistons - It depends on the area in question. Veins: Fual lines Stomach: Tanks Lungs: Vents - used to stop the con/bot from over heating. Heart: Spark Tattoos: D-con/A-bot Insignias and the lark T-Cog: The thing that allows all Cybertronians to transform, be that their arms or their whole body.

Bonus:

Penis: Spike

Vagina: Valve

Body: Frame

Note: the art goes to the owner!

-------------------------------------

It was one normal boring day in the scrapyard, located in Crown City. The scrapyard was a messy place due to being there like old destroyed cars. But however, it was not a base like you've seen in Transformers Prime or TFP for short. S, instead of a base like in Jasper Nevada, it's a damn scrapyard in Crown City. So, yeah. No Jack, Miko, Raf, June Darby, or Agent Fowler. It's actually goddamn sad if you think about it. The Autobots sadly had to leave Earth after they had to do something with the AllSpark. Ratchet, at first, decided to stay on Earth but after he got a call that Ultra Magnus got severely hurt, he had to leave Earth. Sadly, forever. Well, not like forever but after Optimus Prime sacrificed himself to bring others back, the war was finally over.

Megatron got offline by Bumblebee or Bee himself. He's a cute scout that was declared a warrior by Optimus. Like a king or queen does this to a hero with a sword. Optimus did it the same.

But when Optimus was gone, it greatly broke Y/N the most. She was his sparkmate, in fact. But deep in her spark, she greatly understood Optimus' actions and reasons.

But that was years ago. Y/N decided to live and be the very first one to stay on Earth in the scrapyard. She didn't have any contact with others for a very long time. Team Prime separated when they all returned to Cybertron. Some members like Arcee, Smokescreen, and others mysteriously disappeared. They either went missing, killed, or decided to start new chapters in their lives. Very sad when you think that they're gone. Let's just hope that they're still alive and were living happily.

But you should know the rest of the story. Bumblebee arrived on Earth with others. They ran into Y/N so Bumblebee was extremely happy.

Yadda yadda yadda.

Y/N was in fact a good dancer and singer. It was popular with humans on Earth as a hobby and fame. Think about Michael Jackson (my favorite artist) for example. So, a new song called Levitating by Dua Lipa was playing through the radio, and Y/N couldn't help but dance and sing. She didn't know that she had talents for singing and dancing.

In fact, others knew and were beware of that. Optimus secretly loved to see her dance and hear her soft angelic voice. Everyone was away on the mission or doing their stuff. Optimus actually just returned from the mission...

Y/N was moving her hips while dancing to the song. She also sang to it. But dancing and singing at the same time are extremely hard than you think. If you watched Michael Jackson, he can do it very well, even the spin and moonwalk.

If you read some fanfics about Optimus, it's a big surprise for the fans how he can lay his servos on the reader's hips. It's honestly sexy and blushing for many fans.~ *Wink*

That's actually happening to Y/N right now.

She didn't hear Optimus walk closer to her due to the music. Normally, each Autobot warrior should be aware of the noises it's important to keep the audio receptors open. Watch the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles of 2012 (best TMNT version show ever!). Some episodes show the turtles training with Master Splinter.

So while Y/N's back was turned, Optimus grabbed the chance and laid his servos on her hips, causing her to squeak and yelp in surprise. Her faceplate immediately got hot. Optimus smirked when he heard those cute noises. He then spun her, dipped her, and kisses her with passion on the dermas. Y/N moaned at the passionate kiss she felt. It just felt so good that she cupped his cheekplates.

Once the kiss was finally done, they pulled away. Optimus then pulled Y/N back up, his servos holding her hips still. "You are a good dancer and singer, sweetspark."

Y/N giggled and blushed. "T-Thank you, Oppy."

But what Optimus said next, got Y/N blushing mad. "I like to see you dance more with your hips." He smirked and purred.

[rainina03]

Last time I wrote a fanfic was when I was in middle school, which is almost 10 years ago, while my first published fic in Ao3 was Eruhan, it's actually Levihan that makes me want to write again. It's still far from good, but I'm happy I can write something after a long time. 😆

Dancing in My Mind

Pairing: Levihan

Summary: When he decided to go for a jog this morning, Levi clearly didn't expect to see some weirdo jogging while dancing on the street.

When he decided to go for a jog this morning, Levi clearly didn't expect to see some weirdo jogging while dancing on the street. Heck, it can't even be called dancing. This person is just moving their hands and feet in the most random way he has ever seen.

But the weirdest thing about it is not that stranger, but Levi himself, who stops his track just to watch her dancing without caring about other people stare. He was actually fascinated by her confidence, or maybe her stupidity. He can’t even choose which one it is.

But there’s something that makes him wanted to stop in favor of watching this freak woman. Maybe it’s the way she looks very into it. Or maybe because he knows he won’t be able to do the same thing as that stranger do, because as much as he doesn’t care about other people opinion about him, Levi won’t be able to bring himself to dancing crazily like that.

The only time he continued his track was when that person disappeared from his sight. He starts running while questioning the weird feeling in his chest. Maybe watching that stranger freak show makes him get a tiny heart attack.

When Levi saw the same stranger dancing to whatever song that played on her earbuds the next day, he would argue that it was just a pure coincidence. Just don't ask why he starts his morning jog earlier than usual and stopped for a while on the area where he saw that certain stranger yesterday because he will give you a dirty look.

When that same person finally appeared, he tried his best not to look so obviously looking at her. He even fishes his phone from his pocket and pretending to see it, while his eyes actually never leave her.

I’m not pretending. I’m actually busy looking at my phone! Levi argued to whoever is it that hacked his brain and started talking bullshit on his head.

And back to that woman, she starts walking that looks like a crab walk to Levi, except she only walks using his feet. But looking at how small she paid attention to her surrounding, he won’t be surprised if she suddenly down on her feet, and do an actual crab walking. But fortunately, it looks like she is still sane enough not to do it. And actually change her… dance style? To another most random thing Levi had ever seen in his life before she once again disappeared from his sight.

Before he knew it, it was already becoming a habit for Levi to watch that woman almost every morning. Heck, he even began to remember her schedule. She will run every weekend without skipping a day but only run once or twice on the weekday. On these days, she doesn't have a fixed schedule, so he NEEDS to wait almost every day.

And no, of course, Levi is not doing it because he wants to see her, but because he just likes to run, so he does it almost every day. Seeing her is just a PURE COINCIDENCE because somehow they always run to each other.

Well, at least that's what Levi manages to tell himself. Until he decides that he can’t be in denial forever, Levi needs to admit to himself that he's indeed like this freaky stranger who always does her jogging routine while doing a weird dance like crab walking, flailing her legs, or even moonwalking.

When Levi finally decides that today is the day, he wakes up way earlier than usual. Wear the best tracksuit he has and buy a drink to give her. But what he found was her jogging with a super tall blonde man.

She doesn’t run while doing a weird dance like she usually does, nor does she uses her earbuds. She actually run normally while talking to that blonde man and even giggling with him. As much as he thinks that she has a pretty smile, the fact that she was giving that smile to a man he didn’t know gives him an unsettling feeling.

But, why? When he thinks about it again, it’s actually not only that man he doesn’t know. He also doesn’t know who she is. This realization is enough to make him got into a bad mood for the rest of the day. He even threw away the drinks he brought this morning that were meant to be given to her. Levi stopped his morning jogging routine for an entire week after that because he knew he wouldn’t like it if he saw her with that man again.

Levi was staring at his ceiling when a sudden thought came to his mind. The same realization that came to him last week. He doesn’t know him, and he also doesn’t know her. What if it’s just her friend? Maybe his brother? It’s not like she doesn’t have a life and only exists as a weirdo that he waits every morning. Maybe he can just come to her and asks her who that man is?

And get treated as a stalker? He rubs his face hard. What the hell is this pathetic feeling? Why the hell he needs to feel like this to a complete stranger. Levi closes his eyes, trying hard to fall asleep and forget everything about that stranger. Maybe he can decide what he wants to do when he wakes up tomorrow morning.

And when he realized he was already on his usual spot, waiting for this certain stranger that managed to lighten up his mood or even makes him feel miserable for a whole week just by simply existing. He isn’t even sure for what he came here again today. To ask her who that guy was from before? Nah, he doesn’t even know her. How the hell would she react when a complete stranger asks her that kind of question.

Or maybe if he got to see her today, he would find the strength to move on from this pathetic unrequited love he felt for a stranger. Or get back to being a pathetic person who can only watch his crush running past him almost every day but doesn’t have the courage to talk to her, like a fucking teenager in love, except he’s already in his thirties.

But when she finally showed up, what he got was not a quick glance at her, but the person in question stood before him and even initiated a conversation with him.

Levi still does not recover from his shock when she talks to him. 'Hey, I didn't see you for a whole week.' She says with a smile while Levi is still trying to think whether it's just his imagination or this is real.

'What?'

'You usually always be here every time I go for jogging, but you are not here for a full week. are you sick?’ She asks again, her smile still not leaving her face

‘No.’ he answered with a voice that sounded too stiff even for himself. He began to feel afraid that she would misunderstand him. And she is.

Her smile faded from her face, and Levi actually wanted to punch himself on the face for this. 'I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound like a stalker, I'll be going now. Sorry for making you feel uncomfortable.' She talks in a smaller voice than before and turns her body to leave, but Levi manages to catch her wrist before she can.

'No, wait.' She stops and looks at Levi. They stare at each other for a while until Levi manages to tears his eyes from her beautiful eyes and look at his side. 'That man, was that your boyfriend?' Great, out of other things, he really needs to asks that question. He’s the stalker now.

There’s no answer for a while, and Levi is too afraid to see what kind of face she made right now and still not averted his gaze from… whatever it is. He only looks at her when she finally answers him. 'Oh, you mean Mike? That’s my brother. And…’ The smile is coming back to her face. ‘If it’s you wanted to know, I’m still single.'

'Aaah…' Levi could swear that his voice unnecessarily sounded too relieved, and to add his embarrassment, he still eagerly held her wrist. He quickly released her hand. 'That's… great' Oh god, and he thought it couldn’t be more awkward.

'Yes, that's great, so... before we continue this awkward flirting, what about you tell me your name before we say something stupid and missed the timing to ask each other name?'

Levi can’t be happier because this woman is not as awkward as him and actually knows how to talk with people, so he doesn’t let this chance slide. 'Levi'

'Hange.' She chirped, and he couldn’t hide his smile anymore. 'So… want to go for a jog with me?'

Levi nods and starts running beside Hange when she pulls his wrist to come with her. He actually wants to see Hange weird dancing while jogging like usual, but if he can run beside her, maybe he doesn’t mind seeing her running normally instead of doing it while crab-walking or flailing her hands and feet like she usually does.

Or maybe he can use this time where she actually talks and listening to him instead of having earbuds covering her ears to try to flirts, and maybe he can have her dance privately for him instead of dancing on the street next time.

Notes:

This story is inspired by a beauty vlogger I followed on Instagram. She shared this story when she was dancing on the street while doing her morning jogging routine. Someone saw her, gave her a thumbs-up, and started dancing with her. Because there's no way that Levi would give Hange a thumbs up and starts dancing with her, so the story becomes like this, lol.

[madsthewordclown]

Dance with Me | Sokka x Reader

Prompt: “Please don’t do this to me.”

I got this prompt from a post by @urmomoness ! I love their prompt lists so much, and I just had to write something with this one because IDEAS. You can thank @nadiblue for convincing me to post this now

summary: a whole lot of fluff of Y/N and Sokka at the Kataang wedding reception, modern au

Warnings: mentions of alcohol. so much fluff. I am sorry

“Please don’t do this to me,” Y/N begged, trying in vain to dig her heels into the ground as Sokka tugged on her arm.

“Come on, Y/N, it’s a special day,” Sokka insisted, smiling. “Plus, I know you just cried at that first dance, and this’ll cheer you up.”

“They were happy tears!” Y/N protested, pulling her arm out of Sokka’s grasp. “Besides, you were crying too!”

“Hey!” Sokka put a hand to his chest. “It’s my little sister’s wedding. I’m allowed to cry manly tears.”

It really was a beautiful wedding. Y/N should have been more emotionally prepared, but there was something about seeing how happy her friends were, and how the world seemed to disappear for them when they took to the dancefloor. Katara had warned her not to cry, too.

“If you cry then I’ll cry,” Katara had said. “I will have to kick you out of the wedding party.”

Luckily, Katara hadn’t followed through on the threat, and Katara hadn’t cried. The smile never left Katara’s face, actually. But Y/N could’ve sworn that Aang was tearing up through the entire ceremony.

“Yeah, manly,” Y/N teased with a laugh. “I’m still not going to dance.”

Sokka groaned. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Y/N. How could you not like dancing?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Y/N insisted. “It’s that I’m bad at it and not interested in embarrassing myself.”

“You sound like Zuko,” Sokka said with a frown, “and even he’s dancing. It’s Katara’s wedding, Y/N, live a little. Besides, everyone is going to be embarrassing themselves later.”

The bartender did seem pretty busy, Y/N had to admit. There was a good chance that some of the guests wouldn’t remember the evening at all.

Suddenly, the music changed to an upbeat song that Y/N didn’t quite recognize. Sokka pouted at her. Y/N sighed.

“Fine,” she relented, letting Sokka gently pull her toward the dance floor. “But only because I like this song.”

Y/N decided to start of simple, swaying to the song and letting Sokka swings his hands in hers. But before they even got all the way through the first chorus of the song, Sokka was letting go of her hands and dancing wildly. They bumped into Zuko, who was reluctantly dragged into dancing by Ty Lee. Mai had not budged from her seat at a table across the room.

Sokka really did dance like no one was watching. Y/N took a moment to just observe him. The guy was an engineering genius, but somehow, this is where he seemed the most in his element. Just letting loose and having fun with his friends by his side. He was waving his arms around now, almost comically. Y/N giggled.

“Told you it would cheer you up!” Sokka called out over the noise of the other guests and the music. Sokka moved closer, grabbing Y/N’s hands again as he noticed her lack of movement. “You need to get more into it!” He insisted with a grin.

“I’m good, thanks,” Y/N replied, giving him a smile. She hoped that he couldn’t tell how warm she felt with her hands in his.

“Y/N!” Katara called. It appeared she had finally been able to get out of small talk with the other guests. Katara glowed in her wedding gown, pulling Aang along behind her. Aang couldn’t seem to look away from his now-wife’s face.

“Y/N,” Katara repeated, “you have to dance with me, I love this song.”

“Katara—”

“Please?” Katara interrupted. “It’s my favorite, and it’s my wedding day.”

“Fine,” Y/N relented with a grin. She caught Sokka shooting her an offended look, his mouth dropped open in mock-shock—oh, now you’ll dance? —it seemed to say.

Y/N followed Katara to a somewhat-open spot on the dancefloor. Ty Lee and Suki joined their little group with bounds of enthusiasm, and even Toph was willing to join in, on Katara’s insistence. Y/N’s bridesmaid dress was the same shade of blue as the other girls’ outfits, other than Katara’s white gown. Toph had somehow been allowed to wear a blazer and sleek pants instead of a dress.

Y/N felt her shyness melt away as she began to dance with the other girls. It was an incredible feeling to let loose and have fun, especially after such a spectacular day. Soon enough they were shouting along the lyrics of every song.

The crowd wasn’t that big to begin with, as Katara and Aang hadn’t had a huge guest list, preferring to include mainly close friends and family. But the people on the dance floor slowly began to clear out, although for Y/N and her friends, the night had not begun to calm down.

Sokka was back, Y/N realized, although he had never left. The music changed again, and Y/N immediately recognized the song.

“This is my favorite!” She cried, already beginning to move to the music. She set her eyes on Sokka, running over to pull him further into the dance floor.

“You seem excited for someone who refused to get up from the table earlier,” Sokka teased. The suit jacket that he had been wearing was gone, leaving him in his white button up along with his blue bow tie. His hair was beginning to fall out of its ponytail. Y/N could hardly feel her heart’s rapid rhythm over the beat of the music.

“It’s my favorite, Sokka.” Y/N held onto Sokka’s hands and danced, swinging her hips and bobbing her head along. Sokka was smiling at her and definitely mouthed the word dork, but then he was bobbing right along with her.

Y/N belted the final chorus to the best of her ability, which admittedly wasn’t that great, but Sokka seemed to appreciate it. He didn’t know the song, but attempted to sing along anyway, completely butchering the words. The song ended, and Y/N was huffing from the effort of singing and jumping around like a maniac.

Y/N gave a sigh of relief as the gentle sound of acoustic guitar filled her ears. After what seemed like an eternity, there was finally a slow song. She leaned in towards Sokka to make sure he could hear.

“I’m going to go take a breather,” she said, already walking away, but was stopped when she realized that Sokka had not let go of her arm.

“Come on, Y/N,” he smiled, warm and bright. “You can’t quit now.”

“I’m really out of breath, Sokka.”

“It’s a slow song, Y/N,” he reasoned. “You don’t even have to do anything.”

“And I don’t want you to sit down and quit for the night,” Sokka joked. “Suki and I have agreed that we’re going to outlast the rest of my family.”

Y/N didn’t say anything but let Sokka slowly pull her towards him. She put her arms around his next and felt his settle on her waist. And then Y/N suddenly realized how close they were, feeling her face warm. She leaned to rest her head on his shoulder to hopefully hide her expression.

It was another song that Y/N didn’t recognize, but Sokka seemed to know it. He was humming along with it lightly, and Y/N could feel it. He wasn’t perfectly on tune, but he had the melody down. They hardly moved, lightly swaying from side to side.

“They had a beautiful ceremony,” Y/N said, lifting her head from Sokka’s shoulder to look at him. “It was almost too perfect.”

“I know,” Sokka agreed. “I’m really happy for them.”

“Me too,” Y/N hummed, looking to where the happy couple was dancing. Katara was leaning heavily onto Aang’s shoulder. Aang’s eyes were closed as he smiled and held his bride closely. It was almost enough to make Y/N tear up all over again, but she turned to see that Sokka was beating her to it, his eyes turning watery.

“Aww,” Y/N giggled, removing her arms from Sokka’s shoulders to cup her hands on his face. “Look at those manly tears.”

“Shut up,” Sokka whined, grabbing Y/N’s wrists to pull her hands away. “You were getting emotional, too.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Y/N giggled, letting her arms fall to her sides. Sokka slid his hands into hers.

“You know,” Sokka changed the subject, looking into Y/N’s eyes with his very, very blue ones. “You’re a pretty good dancer, I don’t know why you didn’t want to.”

“You mean I’m a really dorky dancer,” Y/N corrected.

“I mean, yes, some of it is dorky,” Sokka admitted, “but you seem to have a lot of fun when you stop worrying about it.”

“I don’t like feeling like people are watching me,” Y/N explained. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Well,” Sokka reassured, “I don’t think anyone noticed the poor attempt at moonwalking, so you’re all good.”

“You noticed,” Y/N pointed out. Sokka tugged on her hands in response, pulling her closer. They were very close again, Y/N noticed, and this time the music wasn’t drowning out her nerves. A woman’s voice crooned over the speakers.

“Yeah, but I always notice you.” Sokka laced his fingers with yours. “I just… you’re really special to me, Y/N. You know that, right?” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at his words.

“You’re special to me, too,” Y/N replied, unable to think of any other response. She had felt her feelings growing towards her friend over the past few months, but she wasn’t prepared for this. Whatever this was.

Sokka bit his lip, looking into Y/N’s eyes tentatively. It was the first time Y/N had seen Sokka—confident, hilarious, intelligent Sokka—look this nervous.

“Can I kiss you?” Sokka whispered. Y/N almost thought she heard his voice shaking, and she had barely begun to nod before his lips were on hers.

The kiss was tentative, gentle, and sweet, and she could taste cherry grenadine on his lips because he’d insisted on overloading a Shirley Temple with sugar. Sokka let go of her hands, resting one of his on her waist while the other came up to cradle her cheek, his touch light. Y/N brought her own hands up to wrap around his shoulders once again.

They pulled apart, Sokka’s eyes wide and his lips tilting into a small smile. “Wow,” Y/N breathed dumbly.

“Wow,” Sokka agreed, not taking his eyes away from Y/N’s face for a single moment. “Do you want to go out sometime?”

“Yeah.” Y/N felt her face break out into a wide smile. “I would.”

“Great,” Sokka breathed, his smile bright. The slow song had ended, the next one already beginning with an upbeat rhythm. Sokka tilted his head to where the rest of their friends were gathering together to dance along. “Want to go join them?”

Y/N nodded, smiling as Sokka held her hand and they went to join their friends.

[scxrsgxrd]

Office Hours // Subby!mickey

Part Two

Part one here

Hello friends! I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve written a subby!mickey piece, but the inspiration for this second part hit over the weekend and I’m so glad it did because I’ve missed the big idiot A LOT. If you’re reading this, thank you for your support and I’d love to know your thoughts!🖤 

Mickey had been checking his phone every twenty seconds ever since he sent his girl that video, anxiety beginning to bubble in his stomach when he noticed that she had read it, and that there was no reply. Part of him expected to hear the front door swing open, the clacking sound of heels filling the downstairs of the house before thudding steps made their way upstairs, but after an hour, there was still no sign of his girl, or of a reply.

He glanced at himself in the mirror, noticing that his eyebrows were furrowed and that his right leg was bouncing up and down. A small whine left him as he checked his phone once again, but there was nothing. Still naked, he sprang off the bed and began to pace up and down, phone still in hand as he made his way back and forth across the bedroom. He tried to hum a random tune to distract himself, shuffling his feet across the pristine carpet as he attempted his best moonwalk, resulting in a small friction burn as he collapsed back onto the bed and hurriedly tried to blow cold air onto the bottom of his feet.

Ding.

A scream almost left him as he swiftly grabbed his phone, the device flying into the air in slow motion as he tried to unlock it a little too enthusiastically. When it landed on the floor with a thud he threw himself down after it, eyes lighting up when he finally managed to access the text.

I miss you too, baby boy. Why don’t you come over to the office at lunch?

Mickey had never gotten dressed so quickly in all his life. He was still shoeless as he left the house, hopping on one foot as he tried to shove his boots on and tie the laces whilst making his way to the office. His hair was ruffled and the zipper on his jeans was undone as he bustled into the building where his girl worked, flashing a grin at the receptionist as his eyes darted around the lower floor, trying to hone in on the woman he was so desperate to see. Mickey was fully aware of the bemused glances he was receiving from his girl’s colleagues as they all made their way to the cafeteria for their lunch break, but he didn’t care, they weren’t the people he was trying to impress. 

He had just began to flick through a company brochure when he felt a hand on his arm. A gentle, but characteristically firm grip. Immediately he flung the brochure down and set his eyes on her, gulping as he saw that look in her eyes. The one he hadn’t seen for a while, but the one he had been aiming for when he sent over his video earlier that morning.

“Come on, my office is this way.” Her voice was smooth, and she kept her hand on his arm as she led him to the elevator. Mickey could feel the buzzing sensation running through him as he happily followed her, gazing at the masses of buttons on the inner wall of the elevator that were practically screaming to be pushed.

“Don’t even think about it.” There was an air of amusement in her voice, but her brow was cocked, and Mickey knew it was best for him to comply. The doors began to close, so painfully slowly, and Mickey silently prayed that nobody was to interrupt their time together. 

He was gazing upwards at the intricately decorated ceiling of the elevator when the doors finally closed, and was snapped out of his trance when he felt a body move against his, and a hand wrap around his throat. He was about to open his mouth to gush about how much he had missed his girl when he felt her leg press up against his crotch, her perfectly tailored pinstripe pantsuit starting to crease slightly as she applied more and more pressure, causing Mickey’s jeans to immediately tighten.

“Mommy.” His needy whine was music to her ears, and she carefully closed her hand around his throat, giving it a small squeeze before loosening her grasp to brush her thumb over his soft, plump lips.

“Save it for when we get to my office.” Though her tone was soft, Mickey noticed a glimmer of mischievousness in her eyes. He was panting already, the anticipation of what was to come making his heart thump in his chest, and the way his girl looked in her pristine pant suit only caused his heartbeat to become more erratic. 

The elevator dinged as it reached the desired floor, and his girl gestured for Mickey to follow her once more as she weaved her way around multiple desks toward her office. Thankfully most of the workers were out for lunch, there were just a few tapping at their keyboards that gave him a knowing glance before turning back to their computer screens. Mickey walked closely behind his girl, watching as the red soles of her heels clacked against the floor, her glossy hair swishing from side to side as she strode towards the office at the corner of the floor.

She held the door open for him before letting it swing shut, her hands immediately reaching for the string to close the blinds that encased her office, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as they flitted shut, leaving Mickey at the mercy of the punishment he had spent all morning daydreaming about.

Mickey’s eyes were fixed on his girl as she moved over to her desk, leaning against it as she stood facing him, her eyes raking up and down him as she rolled up the sleeves of her jacket to her elbows. She breathed out through her nose, and Mickey could see the cogs turning in her mind as she considered each option, which would be most proportionate to his actions.

“Undress yourself.”

“Wha-”

“Do you really want me to repeat myself?”

“Can you at least turn the A/C off? You know he’s shy when I get cold.” Mickey gestured to his crotch and his girl snorted a little, reaching over to the dial to turn the A/C in her office off.

Mickey nodded and clutched the bottom of his sweater before raising it over his head, his hair ruffling even further as he wriggled his way out of the orange sweater, throwing it over the back of his girl’s desk chair before starting to unbuckle his belt. His girl watched him closely, admiring the way that his long fingers tugged at the belt buckle until it loosened, his hand curling around the leather material as he tugged it free of his jeans.

She took the belt off him, running her fingers up and down it as Mickey’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

A blush started to spread across Mickey’s cheeks as he watched her toy with his belt while he pushed his zipper down, taking a deep breath before starting to shimmy out of his jeans. He pinched the waistband of his boxer shorts, the material becoming increasingly strained as he watched his girl’s teeth sink into her bottom lip while she wound the belt around her wrist, keeping a firm grip on the end of it.

Although he was nervous at the sight of his girl grasping his belt, the bratty streak that had plagued Mickey since he woke up that morning hadn’t disappeared, so a small smirk appeared on his own lips as he released the waistband of his boxer shorts and began to palm himself over the thin material, a guttural moan escaping from him as he felt a twitch, and then a small wet patch on the front of the strained underwear. He maintained eye contact with his girl, who seemed too shocked to react, her gaze quickly darting toward his large hand as he rolled it back and forth over his crotch.

“You like that, mommy?” Mickey’s voice was low and already thick with pleasure as he whimpered quietly, further attempting to provoke a reaction from his girl, who had remained frozen to the spot.

She took a deep breath, desperately trying to process the scene before her. It wasn’t often that Mickey was so explicitly bratty, but when he was, he went all the way. A large part of her knew that this was most likely down to the fact that it had been a while since she’d last dished out a punishment, so it was only fair that she too went all the way.

“Take them off, and bend over my desk.” Her voice was stern, and this time Mickey opted to obey her, pushing his boxer shorts down until they pooled at his ankles before striding over to her desk and bending over the cold, dark wood, his hands instinctively gripping onto the sides of the large desk as he heard the sound of his girl ridding herself of her jacket behind him.

“That’s right, so I get a good view of that pretty little ass.”

Mickey shivered as he felt her fingers ghost down his back, her perfectly manicured nails ever so slightly grazing against his skin as she travelled downwards toward the curve of his spine, taking a few moments to admire his peachy ass that was stuck up in the air.

“Did you like the video?” 

She was surprised to hear Mickey pipe up once more, the cocky tone to his voice becoming more prominent as he further attempted to push at her boundaries.

“I did, sweet boy. But you know what I didn’t enjoy?” She grabbed his ass, the sudden movement making Mickey jolt as he felt her deliver a harsh squeeze.

“What didn’t you enjoy?” Mickey’s voice was now a mere squeak, the throbbing in both his ass and his cock beginning to make his vision hazy. He almost moaned as he felt his girl hover over his back, her chest pressed against his bare skin as leant down to press her lips against his ear.

“A breaking of the rules, which you know that I will not tolerate.” Something else was now running up and down the side of his thigh, only it wasn’t her hand. It was his belt.

Mickey wanted to respond, but as he parted his lips he found that he was unable to form a coherent sentence. He felt his girl move off him and stand up straight as she began to trace circular patterns across his ass with the end of the belt. There was a silence between them for a few seconds as she gathered her thoughts.

“I’m going to spank you four times, okay? And each time I want you to tell me which rule you broke, and that you promise never to do it again.”

Mickey nodded, already starting to pant.

“Tell me your word if you need me to stop.”

“Cantaloupe.” 

She watched him tense slightly as he braced himself for the impact, and she gently coasted her hand across his soft skin, delivering a light tap to help ease him into the punishment. Mickey wiggled his ass in response, and she sucked in a deep breath.

Then, almost without warning, she delivered the first blow, the cracking sound of the belt mingling with Mickey’s yelp filled her office, echoing around the room as she studied the newly reddening patch on his ass. She was careful to be gentle, to not let herself get carried away. Though this was a punishment, she wanted Mickey to enjoy some sense of pleasure from it as after all, this was only the second time she had used something other than her own hand to spank him.

“I promise never to touch myself without mommy’s permission.” Mickey’s voice was more gravelly now, his teeth clenched as the stinging sensation began to ebb through the lower part of his body.

“That’s my good, sweet boy.” His girl purred in response, stroking over the welts that had begun to form as a result of her disciplining.

She repeated the process, and by the fourth and final smack Mickey was a mess, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as his knuckles whitened from gripping onto the desk so tightly. Small whimpers were emanating from him as his girl dropped the belt, satisfied with his repentance. She made sure to be mindful as she gently stroked her fingers over the crimson skin of his ass, bending down slightly to press a kiss between his shoulder blades as Mickey began to tremble.

���You did well, little one. I’m proud of you.” She spoke softer now, her voice muffled slightly as her lips were still partially flattened against the dip between his broad shoulders.

Mickey hummed in response, feeling as though his stomach had been glued to her desk as his body refused to allow him to move, the throbbing was continuing to flow, and every muscle in his body began to ache as he finally relaxed, pressing his damp cheek against a sheet of paper he hoped wasn’t important.

She allowed Mickey his own time to recover, watching as his eyes fluttered open and shut, every so often a twitch forming in his lower back which caused him to let out a soft, strangled groan. His girl made her way over to the front of her desk, resting her forearms in front of Mickey’s head as she lowered herself onto her knees before him. A grin immediately appeared on his lips as he noticed her presence, and he shuffled forwards to deliver a light kiss on her nose, extending his arms toward her so that he could stroke his thumb against her cheek. Her grin matched his as she felt his warmth against her face, and in that moment she decided to cancel the rest of her meetings for that day. 

They spent another hour in her office, her hands starting to wander to other places on Mickey’s body as he remained perched on her workspace, the stinging pain in his ass soon overridden by a much greater sensation. They could have remained in her office for the rest of the day, exchanging kisses (amongst other things), but by that time Mickey’s stomach had begun to grumble. After all, he had come to her office under the pretence of eating lunch.

[egipci]

They drove down to New Orleans looking to buy some hex bags from an old connection, but they were out of luck. This was two years before the torrential rains fell and crushed the land, before all the levees broke and a bunch of homes washed away.

They stood in front of the shop and a little girl, no older than eight years old, appeared wearing green fairy wings and holding a magic wand with curly plastic ribbons trailing off it. She ran them through her fingers and twisted them and then made a motion as if cutting them with scissors, snip-snip. She craned her neck back to look at them and said Old Al was dead forever. Dad rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palm, his mouth downturned, his jaw clenched tight. She stretched her arm out and pointed her wand towards the river. She said you better look for some other guy but watch out for all the phonies.

Thanks, Dean said, and held out his family-size bag of tootsie rolls. She shook her head. He shook the bag so there was a rattling sound, like, you sure? This is the good stuff. They were two for five at the gas station this morning but he was already down to a third of a bag and this made him feel very generous. Again she shook her head. She gave him a disgusted look and took off.

O-kay, he said, mostly to himself. He unwrapped another piece of candy and threw it into his mouth and watched his dad. Carefully he thought about touching Dad’s elbow or offering some other comfort but instead scraped the taffy coating his teeth with a fingernail. He couldn’t reach what was stuck between them, the taste thick at the back of his throat.

Dad sighed and slapped his shoulder and said let’s go and started walking down Conti, leaving the car behind, always knowing what to do, walking fast like he did in huge strides that you had to jog a little to keep up with him for five, six blocks, past blow-up ghosts in front of homes covered in mesh cobwebs and kids inside them screaming, the street narrowing in, the sidewalks getting busier. Out of nowhere Dad crossed the street and there was a beep and Dean turned to wave his hand at the guy behind the wheel and gave him a startled angry apologetic look and turned again looking for his father and caught sight of his turning left on Bourbon and called out after him and rounded the corner, his hand on his dead phone heavy and useless in his pocket, his eyes trained on Dad’s shoulders, so far behind him now and between them fat Batman in gray suit and hard plastic cowl, Michael Jackson who couldn’t moonwalk, Dolly Parton with foam tits and cowboy hat, chick waddling in mermaid tail, sexy nurse, squad of stormtroopers, preacher raging into a microphone, Ghostface, Black guy in a shoulder-length brown wig and beige-colored bathrobe, three little kids drumming on up-turned buckets, vampire with plastic fangs and red running down her chin and down her neck and her sternum artfully between her boobs, innumerable sweaty costumeless midwestern couples drinking liquor in plastic cups, murder victim with axe sticking out his head, scarecrow, Neo in leather duster, sorority girls in heels, fun-loving gay dudes, Pennywise and closely-related generic clown, a second and third Ghostface, beer sweetness in the air and gumbo and a big manly hand on his ass squeezing and Eagles cover band singing the full moon is calling the fever is high and the—and the corner of St. Ann where Dad turned right and disappeared into one of the courtyards or up into the rare green aurora flashing over the Mississippi a hundred yards away with its sewage smell, leaving Dean forever with his candy and important choices to make like does he go back where he came from or walk miles up and down Decatur for the ghosts to watch and laugh from their balconies or ask for a phone to please call my dad and even worse than that the humiliation of asking where are you where should I meet you why would you leave like that should I go back to the car?

But then he heard the shouting. A large-sounding, murderous-sounding man was cursing insanely, voice echoing and spilling out into the street. Dean pushed in a narrow metal gate that led into a poorly-lit path just as Dad turned the corner on his way out and said here you are and just as Dad turned the corner Dean made a sound, no telling what kind, and found his back against the wall, his heart rabbiting, hopped up on high-fructose corn syrup, threatening to bust out through his ribs. He pressed his hand to his chest as if to keep it in place.

Whatever misery Dad saw on his face made him grin wide and sharp. Across from Dean he leaned against the wall and pulled him closer by the flap of his jacket. Dean tripped over his feet, held on to Dad’s arms for balance. Dad laughed low and said found you, mouth smearing against his cheek. He stuck his hand into the right pocket of Dean’s jacket, cloth pouch in hand, and found it full of candy wrappers. They fell out soundlessly to the ground. Dad tsked and said you’re gonna make yourself sick bud, low and pitying. He pulled Dean’s jacket open, left the bag inside the inner pocket then his hand on Dean’s chest.

I was right behind you, Dean said, belly swirling with taffy and four whole months since he’d last had Dad’s hands on him.

I know.

I found you.

Dad said, I know, hand around the back of Dean’s neck, the other under his jaw. He smiled, said hey come here, tilted Dean’s face up finally and then there was nothing for it. Dean closed his eyes.

[nkp1981]

Fan A.U: With a little help from my friends

While Joe and Nicky are trying to figure out if they want to go on a date, their friends can't help commenting on everything Joe and Nicky does.

Nicky had literally danced himself straight into a gorgeous man’s arms when after five pints insisted that he wasn't drunk and wanted to prove it to Andy and Nile by moonwalking in the crowded bar, but because he at the age of 30 still had a habit of forgetting to tie his shoelaces, he had with his first dance move stepped on the shoelaces and felt backward and would have hit the floor if it hadn’t been for the man, who caught him. They stood like this smiling stupid to each other until someone pushed the man, and he had to let go of Nicky, who got pushed further back and decided to sit down at the table with his friends and took a big slurp of the pint in front of him, when he lost track of the man.

"Wow if I had known it was that easy to meet a good looking guy, I would have done what you just did ages ago." Nile joked but before Nicky could say anything the man was almost forced down next to him by a big guy. "Ladies, I suspect that we all three are having the same problem right now with our friends, who both are too shy to grab the chance of asking the other one out for a date, so why don't we help them by paying them their drinks and leave them alone to figure it out by observing them at the next table?” The big guy asked. "Sounds like a brilliant idea, because it would spare me from listing to Nicky tomorrow when he starts to complain over, what an idiot he was." Andy said and threw 10 dollars on the table which Nile and the guy also did before he made a sign to the waitress. “Now, don’t behave like silly teenagers, kids.” Nile said as they left Nicky and the other man alone at the table and they just returned to look stupid at each other again.

“I’m sorry about my friend Booker. He means it well in his own clumsy way. You’re Nicky?” The man asked and Nicky just nodded. “I’m Joe. So, do you often moonwalk in a bar?” Joe asked and Nicky shook his head. “Is it now, I should ask you to stop to talk?” Joe joked and Nicky shook his head again, which made Joe laugh. “I need to know can you only nod and shake your head or do you also speak?” Joe wanted to know, and it was there Nicky realized, that he hadn’t said a word but had been staring at Joe and that Nicky’s brain had gone completely blank and his mouth had gone dry, so Nicky reached for his glass but instead, he ended up knocking Nile’s glass and its content down in the lap of Joe, which made Nicky want to run out of the bar and hide forever from the world. “I’m so sorry.” Nicky said and reached for the napkin which resulted in, that he also knocked the content from Andy’s glass down in Joe’s lap.

“That boy is never getting a boyfriend if he doesn’t get his nerves under control.” Andy said with a deep sigh when they saw the scene unfold from the other table. “I know what you mean. Joe has a habit of talking without breathing.” Booker replied also with a deep sigh. “At least it’s better than a soap opera.” Nile joked, which made them all laugh.

“Maybe I should just go before I end up knocking more drinks down in your lap.” Nicky said resignedly and reached for his jacket. “Don’t go, please.” Joe said and placed a hand over Nicky’s to prevent him from leaving.

“Wow, that was new. Can you remember the last time Nicky let anyone hold his hand” Nile asked Andy, who just shook her head as a response. “Joe has also never done that before.” Booker said surprised. “You seem like you speak from experience.” Andy said and emptied her glass. “Well, that man has more dating rules, than I ever will have and if I remember correctly holding hands in number 5 or 6, so if Joe just skipped the first rules, he must truly like your friend.” Booker replied.

“Why not? I have already ruined your pants, which I promise to compensate you for.” Nicky said and looked sorry at Joe, who moved closer to Nicky. “Don’t beat yourself up, dear. It’s only pants, so why don’t we start this all over? I’m Joe and I’m very happy to meet you.” Joe said and reached his hand out for a handshake, which Nicky took. “Nicky and likewise.” Nicky replied with a smile and moved closer to Joe, so their knees touched each other.

“Is that a normal thing with your friend?” Booker wanted to know. “No, normally we can’t get Nicky to interact with other people.” Andy said. “The last time we tried, and it went wrong, it took us four weeks to get Nicky out of the apartment to go to a cafe.” Nile said.

“I’m glad you decide to moonwalk.” Joe said and rubbed his neck nervously. “You should really be thanking my shoelaces for it.” Nicky replied and looked briefly down at his shoes before he looked at Joe again. “Then thanks to them.” Joe said and reached for the shoelaces. “What are you doing?” Nicky wanted to know. “Preventing you from tripping over them again, because I would be really sad if you fell into another man’s arm.” Joe replied and tied the shoelaces before he tied a double knot.

At the other table all three leaned to their right to see, what Joe was doing under the table, but none of them could see it, because of all the people and instead they sat up in a hurry when Joe caught them out of the corner of his eyes and looked down at the table pretending, that they hadn't done it.

“Not planning to. What is it?” Nicky wanted to know when he saw Joe looking at their friends. “Have you ever seen The Muppet Show?” Joe asked and Nicky nodded. “Do you remember the old men on the balcony? I got a feeling, that our friends have been commenting on everything, we have done so far.” Joe said. “Any ideas as to what we should do?” Nicky asked and Joe put his mouth to Nicky’s ear to whisper something, that made Nicky laugh and blush.

“What the hell?” Andy said when she saw it. “No way, Joe isn’t a fast mover.” Booker said almost choking on his beer. “Are they about to kiss?” Nile asked and all three could no longer keep up the pretense of not looking at Joe and Nicky.

“That’s a brilliant idea.” Nicky said with a laugh in his voice. “I know, but if we do it, do you promise me a kiss?” Joe asked and Nicky nodded while blushing even more. “Then let’s do it.” Joe said and made a sign to the waitress.

“Do you also got the feeling, they’re plotting something?” Booker asked and looked at the other two. “Strangely enough yes.” Andy replied, but more she didn’t get to say when they founded themselves surrounded by a crowd, who started to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Nile, before handing her a bottle of whiskey and went back to work. Then they all looked over at the other table and realized that Joe and Nicky had used the commotion to disappear. “Points for an original idea.” Booker said laughing. “At least they left us with a parting gift.” Andy said and they spend the rest of the evening at the bar talking about small and big stuff.

“Can’t believe that it actually worked.” Nicky said as they turned a corner. “Either can I.” Joe replied laughing and took Nicky’s hand. They walked a bit in silence until they found a bench, where they sat down. “You promised me something.” Joe said and placed a finger under Nicky’s chin and kissed him. “What do you say, we go out eating tomorrow without friends?” Nicky asked. “I thought you would never ask.” Joe replied and kissed him again. 

my creation

[misskittysmagicportal]

When Vicky Needed Honey

(An OC Kiss Week collaboration between @super-unpredictable98 and @misskittysmagicportal. No warnings, just mother/daughter love. Moonwalkers/The Umbrella Academy AU)

I woke up with that weird feeling again. I looked over at Klaus, still pretty much asleep, and grunted. On my way to the bathroom I prayed and prayed, but no luck. My period was nowhere to be found. A couple of days, I can understand, an entire week is a bit more worrying.

The last few days I've been feeling kinda sick, but it could be stress. I've been feeling kinda tired, understandable after two apocalypses. I've been feeling a little dizzy, which could easily be from the time travel... But my period wouldn't come, so that was starting to freak me out.

"Hey, Vanya... Would you buy a pregnancy test for me?" I rehearsed in front of the mirror. "No, no, I should ask Allison. She has a daughter, she'd understand, right?"

I nearly jumped when Klaus shifted in his sleep, I hoped with all my might he didn't hear what I just said. I sat on the edge of the tub and let my head roll back. How the fuck did we let that happen? We always wear a condom!

Well, technically a condom has 98% of effectiveness, according to the box, which I was reading as I thought about it. That means... 2 out of 100 women will get pregnant. With the amount of sex we have, it wouldn't be surprising that I could become part of this 2%. Damn it, Klaus! Why do you have to be so charming? Blame it on three decades of suppressed desire I guess.

I had to talk to someone, someone who wouldn't judge me, someone I could trust. There was only one person I could think of, so I went back into the room and as silently as possible, I slid the black briefcase from under our bed. The date was already set, so all I had to do was open it.

I felt that familiar pull of time travel, that endless rope that dragged me across the universe, which seemed to take forever, even though it was less than a second. As soon as I landed, I regretted it, my stomach did not like the disturbance and I felt like I was about to throw up.

"Vicky? Are you ok?" I felt a gentle hand on my back and took a few deep breaths before being able to turn back.

"Honey! Thank fucking God you're here! I need to talk to you."

"Is it Klaus? It's Klaus. Oh my god, tell me he's alright"

"Alright, I think we should sit down for this one..."

Honey nodded with a smile and took my hand as we made our way to the couch. I chewed on my bottom lip for a little while, thinking of the best way to say it, but I didn't wanna admit it:

"So, I'm gonna say it and I need you to listen because it's very complex," I started. "I think I'm pregnant, and I feel horrible because I don't want to be. Not that I don't want any kids, I do, in the future. The problem is that we just came out of the second apocalypse, everything is a mess, my family is all over the place. I love Klaus more than anything, so I don't wanna throw this onto him, you know? He's been through so much already!"

"Sweetie..."

"And I'm terrified of not being a good mother, the only mother I ever had was a robot. I love her to bits, but what if all I can give my child is robot-love? I don't even know what it feels like, my birth mom clearly didn't love me, she chose to give me away for money, I understand she wasn't expecting to get pregnant out of the blue, but... I don't understand why she couldn't love me. I feel so selfish and so stupid for letting this happen, and I keep thinking about my biological mom, I'm freaking out here," I started sobbing. "You're the only person I can talk to."

**

Honey began to live for the sound of her “kids” popping by the apartment. She brought the books home with her more often in case Klaus would come by to learn more about himself. Or Luther who really just wanted the tiny woman to hold him the way a robot never could. And Diego who well, was always hitting on her. Allison and Vicky and Vanya helped her feel not so alone.

Yeah, they were her children. They were mostly older than Honey. The discarded. The outcast. Who suffered abuse. They were the bought and sold to a billionaire. They were a magical pregnancy and 43 terrified women, one she would become 15 years from now. Thank God she already knew what one of those felt like.

Honey was checking on Sugar and Sunny as they napped. The large crow with his beak buried in his ebony feathers kept one large yellow eye on them from above. Sunny was enamored with the corvid. Klaus, despite being 35 years older than himself, was deeply jealous.

It was from their room, after hearing a familiar VOIP sound in the living room, that Honey just felt in her body something was wrong. There was an anxiety emanating from Vicky whose back was to her.

“Vicky? Are you ok?” Honey gently touched the woman. She wanted to hug her, but opted for minor affection.

Vicky's expression in response worried Honey. “Is it Klaus? It's Klaus. Oh my god, tell me he's alright.” Her lip started to tremble. For a clone of Leon, Klaus was infused with his mother.

Half an hour later, Honey could only stare slack-jawed over Vicky's guts being spilled all over the couch. So to speak.

Honey took Vicky’s hand and did what her mom would do. What she and Julia found themselves doing with their children. Whether they were full grown men or toddlers. Honey kissed Vicky's hand several times and held it over her heart.

“First of all, I can't speak for your birth mother or the others. I know Klaus told me it was a spontaneous pregnancy. Like BAM! We're suddenly giving birth. For me, even being 45,” Honey shivered dramatically, “I would rather kill Reginald and take you all. But whatever the other women did. That's on them.

“But! If anyone knows about an unexpected pregnancy, it's me. She's asleep in the other room with her brother. I think I realized I was knocked up, I just ignored it until Leon mentioned something about my body being new. We NEVER used protection. Pills in the sixties were for married women only. The fact that we had sex for over a year before anything happened is a freaking miracle.

I took two tests in the flat. Then at the clinic. Just a few weeks before, abortion became legal AND funded by the NHS. I told no one, went and made that woman tell me every single step of the process. I asked how easy the adoption process in the UK is. I wasn't keeping it no matter what.”

Now Honey took both of Vicky’s hands, “You have so many readily available options.” She kissed them both again, “But please just let Klaus know. It's YOUR choice. YOURS. Ultimately, I changed my mind. I had her on my own. Pregnancy, birth, her first six months. I wasn't even on the same continent as Leon. But if my baby would have half his looks, and his way of loving, and even an OUNCE of his heart, Leon deserved to be a dad. I WANTED to have his baby. I don't regret my decision. I don't want to regret yours either. We all love you.”

Honey kissed Vicky's forehead, “I mean I'm your mom now.”

**

I would've started crying if I wasn't already, it felt so good to finally have someone to hold my hand. I can only imagine dad's reaction if I told him I was pregnant with Klaus' baby... It was awesome to not be judged for once.

"I wanna tell him, I'm just scared... If I really am pregnant, I wanna keep it, but what if he doesn't like it? What if he doesn't wanna be a dad?"

My desperate rambling was interrupted by a blue surge of energy right in the middle of the room, that could only mean one thing... Klaus and Five fell from it with a loud thud.

I had to cover my mouth not to scream, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest, but Honey seemed pleased with the new visitors.

"Jesus Vicky... I woke up and you were gone, I was worried!" Klaus squeezed me in a tight hug.

"I told you she was fine, Victoria can handle herself," Five rolled his eyes. "It's not like she can get hurt."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disappear."

Klaus moved to give Honey a hug as well, she kissed his forehead and urged him to sit down between us.

"I know this face, Scnucki..." Klaus placed his hand on my cheek. "What's wrong?"

I looked over at Honey and she gave me a reassuring nod. With a sigh, I took Klaus' hand, tracing the 'hello' with the tip of my finger.

"Klausie," I tried to muster the courage to say it. "I know the timing might not be the best, things are a little crazy right now, but I think I might be..."

"Might be...?" He stared at me nervously.

"Pregnant."

Klaus' mouth dropped and he widened his eyes. Shit! Shit! He hates it, he wasn't happy. He was gonna leave me right there and then.

"But we always..."

"I know, but apparently condoms are only 98% effective."

"You two really abuse your luck," Five mused.

"Timing isn't great, but if you want to keep it, I'm with you. It's our baby," a smile tugged at Klaus' lips. "And I love you, so..."

"Actually," I got up as fast as I could. "I love you too, but I'm not pregnant. If you guys will excuse me, I gotta go to the toilet, like right now!"

**

Honey watched as Vicky ran off to the bathroom. She was left with a bewildered Klaus, slack jawed over everything that quickly took place. She could only snort as Leon popped up from the same corner Vicky had just flown around. Mouth agape identical to his clone.

“Alright love,” Leon kissed her on the cheek. “Never told me the kids were coming ‘round for a visit.” He eyed up Five, still uncertain of him.

Klaus dramatically planted a fist on his hip, “Im thirty-six.”

“Too right. What's going on? Is Vicky ok she looked barmy.”

“Well we were almost grandparents.”

“GRANDPARENTS?! I'm thirty! Bloody hell I can't keep track of the ten we have now. Can't handle a baby, mate. Not coming from you. No offense.”

“All of it taken,” Klaus quipped.

“Well we don't need to worry about it. Pretty sure Vicky just overwhelmingly got her period. Better luck next time!”

Every single person in the room nearly knocked Honey flat with a loud in unison “NEXT TIME?”

She wouldn't make that mistake again.

[atinydise]

Ateez cheating on their s/o (1/2)

❦ Genre: Angst.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: 1k8.

❦ Masterlist.

Part 2

HONGJOONG

“Sorry Y/N but we need to work till late tonight. Don’t wait for me babe.” “Oka-“ you tried to say but he hung up too fast. It’s been 2 weeks now. He was like a ghost for you. He came to sleep at your apartment and was gone before you woke up. You took a deep breath and threw your phone on your bed, frustrated. The comeback promotions were over, on what he could work on so bad.

You stoop up of your bed, determined to cheer him and the boys too. In 10 minutes, you were at the convenient store buying their favorite snacks. You couldn’t help them much because you were not a pro, but at least you could help to fill their stomachs. Few minutes later you were in the KQ’s elevator. Your hands were shaking from excitement. They would be so happy. You checked your phone to see if Hongjoong answered you, but still no message from him. As you walk on the corridor, you could hear a loud music resounding. It came from your boyfriend’s studio. Without knocking, because you wouldn’t hear it anyway, you opened the door. “Hongjoong! I have-“.

You paused.

Your boyfriend and the girl on his laps paused too.

The music was loud, but you couldn’t hear anything at this moment, too focused on the horrible scene. The plastic bag fell of your hand. Your cheeks were wet before you could notice. Hongjoong pushed the girl away from his laps. “Y/N… that’s not what you think!” Then what was this girl doing on him? Why her lipstick was on his lips? Why his hair was messy? You couldn’t stop your tears. You wanted to throw up. He took your hand, but you removed so fast that he stepped back. “What are you doing Hongjoong?!” you finally yelled at him. The rest of the members came when they heard you. “What is happening?” Asked Seonghwa. “What are you doing Hongjoong?” you repeated. He couldn’t look at you, too ashamed. You threw on him, the scarf he gave for your birthday. “I hate you!” You left, hearing Yunho asking you to stay with them. But it was too late, they wouldn’t see you again.

SEONGHWA

[“It’s good to be home! I missed my mom and her cooking skills!] [“Say hello to your mom for me. I will try to send another chocolate box soon!”] [“Okay! I will tell a bit later, she’s with her friends.”] Your boyfriend was taking a break for few days at his parents’ house. You encouraged him to go. He worked so hard this year. [“Well baby, I will be busy for few hours. I’m going to see my uncle!”] [“Okay, have fun there! I love you!”] You searched on few websites what you could buy for his birthday. He’s going to be on tour, but he would be so happy. You saw the shoes that he wanted so bad since he saw it last week. That was a bit expensive, but you could afford it. You just needed to wait the end of the month. You could see him moonwalking with these boots. That’s like a ritual for him when he buys new shoes.

After your little online shopping, you opened Twitter. Your tweets list was boring, even if some got your attention. You typed “ATEEZ” on the search bar to see Atinys’ posts. It was the “Atiny Selca Day”, the fans were posing in the same position of their bias. Your boyfriend was a bit everywhere. As you wanted to see the popular selcas, one tweet got your attention. That wasn’t a selfie. But that was definitively your boyfriend on this picture. You felt your heart race when you saw that he was hugging and kissing this girl. You couldn’t believe it. Is that an edit? You prayed that it was one. As you zoomed on the picture to see any default or any sign of photoshop, you received a SNS’ notification. The title was “Seonghwa (Ateez) spending time with his girlfriend in Jeju Island.” You didn’t believe it or you didn’t want to. Everything was happening so fast. Confused, you texted your boyfriend. [“Seonghwa were are you?”] You instantly saw that he was answering. [“What do you mean? I’m with my uncle.”] [“Take a picture of both of you. Now.”] [“I can’t”]. Your heat skipped a beat. [“He doesn’t like picture…”] He was lying and you knew it. You sent him a screenshot of him and this girl. [“Take a damn picture of you and your uncle Park Seonghwa.”] You wiped one of your tears. He was writing but stopped. For 2 longs minutes the dots appeared and disappeared on your screen. [“Y/N… I’m sorry…”] Now he confirmed it. Your heart was so heavy that you thought you were going to die. [“Don’t try to talk with me ever again.”] That’s the last time you talked to him.

YUNHO

Every Friday, you were at Ateez dorm with your boyfriend, for a movie night. That was like a ritual, since he worked so much and didn’t have so much free time, that’s the last thing he could do for you. Tonight, he chose Harry Potter, aka his favorite movie. But he wasn’t paying any attention on it. Always looking at his phone. “Who are you texting like that No-no*?” you asked. You felt him tense a bit. “Mingi!” He almost yelled, “we are talking about the new choreography. Idol life, you know.” He giggled. “You guys never take a break. You will transform into machines.” He kissed your forehead. “But at least we like our job.” You smiled at him and focused back on the movie. 30 minutes later you asked Yunho, “Can you bring more popcorn? This one was really good, where did you bought it?” “A friend gave it to me. It’s from Chicago.” “Then ask him where he bought it,” you giggled, “I can bet it’s Johnny!” you guessed as he left the living-room. You tried to focus back on the movie but Yunho’s phone was non-stop buzzing next to you. “Ya Mingi… let him rest a bit.” You whispered. You decided to trap Mingi by answering one of his messages. When you unlocked his phone, you weren’t expecting to see “Sojin” texting your boyfriend. “Who is Sojin?” you asked Yunho. “What? I don’t hear you.” Before you could ask him one more time, the phone buzzed in your hand. A new message from Sojin. [“Wow… I can’t wait. What are you doing tonight? I want another round.”] Instinctively, you’ve read all the messages. Most of them was suggestive. She sent few selfies as well. “Here’s your popcorn prin-“ Yunho stopped when he saw you, his phone on your shaking hands. “Yunho, who is Sojin? And why are you talking with her like that?” Your eyes didn’t leave him. “I-… Y-Y/N” he stuttered. “Were you talking with this girl since I’m here? Why she’s asking another round Yunho?” you faced him. “Talk to me for god’s sake!”. “Y/N…” “Are you sleeping with this girl?” He didn’t answer you. But you knew. You threw his phone on his chest. “Y/N wait!” he begged when you packed your stuff. “How dare you? Asking me to wait while you are flirting and more with this Sojin!” You head was spinning, you wanted to throw up, your heart was in pain. He didn’t try to hold you back as you left the room.

*No-no: a nickname for Yunho.

YEOSANG

You invited all the members to go at restaurant for celebrate their first win. Everyone was so excited. They felt so much lighter now. Having a first win is a big step for idols. “I can’t come with you guys.” Said Yeosang embarrassed. “Why? We can’t celebrate that without you!” you said. “I promised my friend to meet him today since he’s in Korea for 1 week.” He explained. “Then go hyung, but I want my Bulgogi! We need to go Y/N!” Wooyoung almost begged you. You giggled, it would be less funny without your boyfriend but you don’t want to disappoint the boys. “Okay! Let’s go!” You kissed Yeosang softly, “have fun babe.” He smiled at you, “thank you!”. “Y/N” yelled Wooyoung.

The dinner was cool and funny. The boys were so happy. They mocked Yunho, Jongho and Wooyoung because they cried like babies. Honestly, they were all crying. Even San and Mingi backstage. At the dessert, Jongho asked you. “How is your relationship with Yeosang, Y/N? He’s too shy to talk about it with us.” You laughed, your boyfriend is so awkward when someone is asking these kind of questions. “We are doing good. I’m so happy with him that I could scream to the world my love for him.” You smiled. “Ew… so romantic.” Said Wooyoung disgusted. At the end of the dinner, you decided to walk a bit with them. Wooyoung and San were behind, probably talking about their first win. Mingi, Jongho and Honghoong were in front of you, laughing. And you were talking with Seonghwa about his idol life. Suddenly, you bumped accidently on Mingi, not paying attention. “Ew, sorry Mingi!” He didn’t answer you, his mouth was open in shook and his eyes went wide. “Mingi? Are you okay?” You look at this direction he was staring on. The scene that you saw caused you to react exactly as the rapper. Yeosang was laughing and hugging tightly a girl. They seemed close. It confirmed when he pecks the girl lips. Exactly like he does with you. “What is Yeosang doing?” asked San angrily. Your knees were shaking, you couldn’t support you weight anymore. Almost falling on Mingi. “Y/N!” Yelled the boy as he holds you. Everyone was looking at you, your ex-boyfriend included. Through your tears you could see him detache his embrace to the girl. But it was too late. He rushed to you. The only thing you could do was to slap him. The noise resonated in the whole street. Yeosang was holding his cheek. You punched, (or at least you tried) his arms, his torso, his face. Even if he didn’t move at all. You wanted to hurt him as he did. Mingi grabbed your arms and led you somewhere else as you were swearing at Yeosang. You never felt this sensation in your heart. You just wanted to rip it.

Part 2