#the answer is probably yes. yes Paul probably cooked for him often

[vivi-in-the-sky-with-diamonds]

Paul's SFW Alphabet

(Photo from ?? I need to start writing down my image credits-)

Doing a double post today since I planned on posting this already lol, welcome to the SFW alphabet series! I'll be doing the SFW (and later NSFW) alphabet with all four boys. The SFW Alphabet can be found here. Hope you enjoy!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Paul is the most affectionate Beatle and doesn’t mind showing so. He’s always quick to steal a kiss or a hug, no matter who’s around.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

I imagine you either met Paul at school or through a mutual friend (another Beatle, perhaps?). You both confide secrets in each other and take the other’s secrets to the grave (figuratively speaking).

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Paul is a cuddle bug through and through. He likes to have you on top of him so he can run his hand down your back while you listen to his heartbeat (yes, I’m talking about this again, sue me).

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Paul loves the idea of settling down. He’d suggest splitting cooking and cleaning duties for both of your sakes, but also because he likes cooking.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If he had to, he would let them down slowly. He also seems the type (to me anyway) to give a parting gift.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Paul also loves the idea of marriage. Of course, he doesn’t want to get married straight away, he’d rather spend time to get to know you.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

This man is one of the most gentle souls you’ll ever meet. Unless you’re a spider.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He loves hugs (he has the perfect arms for them too). He hugs you every chance he gets. I imagine his hugs are quite tight, like a bear hug.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Paul is quicker than some to say the word (and you’ll be free), but not super quick, if that makes sense. He doesn’t just go throwing the word around.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He can be jealous at times, but only occasionally. If you have guy friends, he’s totally cool with it, but if you spend more time with them than him, that’s where the problem arises.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Paul is the Kiss King (which is totally not a thing I made up on the spot). He’ll kiss you absolutely anywhere but loves to kiss your hands or stomach (like when your shirt rides up when you stretch). As for places he likes to be kissed, the answer is everywhere, but really his cheeks, neck, and the spot just above his heart.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Paul is wonderful with children, and he adores them. He’d want children with you someday, whenever you’re ready, of course.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

There are two types of mornings with Paul, but since this is the SFW alphabet, I’ll just talk about the one. You’ll wake up next to each other and cuddle with each other while discussing anything and everything, from daily plans to dreams to the future.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Again, two types, only discuss one. Romantic dates are aplenty with this one. Restaurants, museums, concerts. You name it, he’s taken you there on a date. Even dates at home, spent cooking or watching a movie.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Paul would probably wait until you’d known each other a bit before revealing anything too wild, and even then, he’d ease you into it.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Patience of a saint. Need I say more?

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Paul remembers almost everything, right down to your favorite candy.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Probably your first kiss, or when it finally snows in Liverpool and you make a snowman together.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Quite protective. Definitely reminiscent of a moment from a 1960s sitcom where the protagonist keeps a baseball bat under their bed for protection.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Paul puts an unholy amount of effort into everything he does. Everything must be perfect for his love.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

I’ve never really imagined Paul with any bad habits, but I know for a fact he smoked at one point if that counts?

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Paul’s second middle name might as well be “Pretty Boy”. Man can’t go out until his hair is perfect and his lashes are on fleek (do people still say that?)

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Absolutely. After meeting you, Paul can hardly imagine how he lived without you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Sometimes, Paul really prefers to be the little spoon when cuddling.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

As much as he does it himself sometimes, Paul doesn’t like swear words. Do not ask me why.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Sleeps like a damn rock. Despite always falling asleep with you in his arms, he always wakes up in some crazy position that usually involves you getting slapped in the face.

[postmodernbeing]

Shingeki no Kyojin headcanons: 104th training corps (College AU)

Hello, Postmodernbeing here. This time I wanted to write about things that I actually know, since I’m a college student and I’m studing History and Social Sciences I found myself wondering about what would the 104th training corps focus their studies on if all of them had chosen humanities as their career. I hope you find this funny and at least a bit accurate.

IMPORTANT:  I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin, only these HCs are my own. // Might contain a few spoilers from the manga. // English is not my first language and I study uni at Latin America, so scientifical terms/words/concepts may vary. Anyhow, I thank you for reading and for your patience.

Eren Jaeger

He’s passionate about Military History, not to be confused with history of army. Eren’s rather focused in strategies, weapons and semiotics involved in military speech.

First started with books about great wars in modern era. The use of certain weapons took him by surprise due the technological development.

Then he took classes about discourse analysis, semiotics and such, and felt inspired by the discourse reflected in emblems, uniforms, flags, etc.

Eren doesn’t really have a preference between occidental or oriental, North or South, Modern or Ancient settings. He would simply devour all the books that deal with military strategy and warlike conflicts. Although he has more experience and information about great wars in modern era.

He’s fascinated with the inexhaustible human desire of freedom and the extent that it can reach. This fascination might not be very healthy, he concludes.

Also, finds a cruel beauty in violence when showed in freedom and ideals are protected over one’s own life. But he won’t tell his classmates or professors. He knows is a controversial opinion for he’s still aware the implications of massive conflicts and the abuse of power.

One thing led to another, Eren is now taking classes and reading about philosophy in war and anthropological perspectives about violence through time.

He’s so into social movements besides his main interest in college: “No one’s really free until all humanity is”, that’s his life motto pretty much.

Due his readings and researches he decided it was important to develop a political stance about the world’s problems. Eren strongly believes all lives worth the same, but systems and nations had imposed over others and vulnerated other human's lives.

Yes, Eren is anti-capitalist and anti-imperialist.

Mikasa Ackerman

Asian Studies Major / History Minor.

She thinks by studying these degrees, she pays honor to her heritage. Specially to her mother. Her family is the proudest for Mikasa is also the best student in her whole generation.

Mikasa received a scholarship thanks to Azumabito family, who are co-founders of an academic institution dedicated to Asian historical and cultural research. She might as well start working when she graduates.

Although she’s passionate about Japan’s history, she has written a few articles and essays about Asian Studies themselves and the importance of preserving but also divulging by means of art and sciences.

In her essays and research work, she likes to employ tools from many disciplines since she strongly believes all humanities and social sciences serve the very same purpose at scrutinize the social reality all the same. Might as well use demographics, ethnology, sociology, philosophy, anthropology, archeology, and so on. For it proves to bring light into questions that history by itself could answer unsatisfactorily (in Mikasa’s opinion).

Even her professors wonder how she manages to organize that much information and pull it off successfully. She might as well be more brilliant than a few PhD’s students.

Armin Arlert

Prehistoric studies / Archeology

He’s so into the studies about the prehistoric humans and routes of migration.

Passionate about the ocean and natural wonders since kid, Armin believed his career would be environmentalist or geoscience related.

That was the agreement he had with his grandad since middleschool, until he read Paul Rivet’s “The Origins of the American Man” book and captured him thoroughly. The way the book explained logically the diverse theories about global migration and enlisted the challenges of modern archeology -for there are numerous mysteries- simply devoured his conscience.

He knew from the books he’d read that most evidence of the first settlements are deep under dirt or far away in the ocean whose level has risen over the centuries leaving primitive camps – and answers – unreachable. 

That’s the reason he is so eager to study and give his best to contribute both archeology and history disciplines. Also, he’ll forever love the ocean and nature, just leave him do all the fieldwork, please.

Jean Kirstein

History of industry / Industrial heritage / Historical materialism

Jean first started interested in capitalist industries and production development in first world countries. Kind of rejected other visions and explanations since he’d read about positivism studies.

His interest in such matters started when he was a just boy. He often found himself wondering how things were made and that question captured him ever since. As he grew up, he realized that machines and industrial processes were highly involved in the most mundane objects creation.

Nonetheless, he learnt that not always the best machinery was used, nor the best work conditions were available for mass production. From that moment he’d started to read about the First Industrial Revolution and his mind just took off with questions. Invariably, he learned about labour struggle and the transforming power due workforce.

Between his readings and university classes, he’d knew more about labour movements, unions. And in the theoretical aspect, he'd learned about historical materialism analysis.

One could say that Jean possesses a humanistic vision of the implications in mass production under capitalist system along history and nowadays.

Marco Bodt

Royalty's history / Medieval Studies 

I wanted to keep his canonical fascination to royalty and the best way to do that was including Medieval Studies.

Marco would study since the fall of Roman Empire until the latest gossip of royal families all across Europe.

Might get a bit of Eurocentric with his essays but in real life discussions he’s always open to debates about decolonization. He has even read Frantz Fanon books and possesses a critical thinking about colonial countries and their relations with the so named third world.

Nevertheless, Marco finds a strange beauty in the lives of monarchs and he’s interested in study from their education, hobbies, strategies, relationships, everything.

I’d say that his favorite historical period is probably the establishment of the descendants of the barbarian peoples in the new kingdoms such as the Visigoths, Ostrogoths, Franks, Vandals, Huns, Saxons, Angles and Jutes (holy shit, they're a lot).

Because this would transcend as the beginning of his favorite matter of analysis.

Sasha Braus

History of gastronomy, development of cooking, antropology and archeological studies.

Sasha’s interested in the history that shows human development of food and cooking. She finds wonders when she inquires into cultural aspects from the first farming till modern artistic expressions that would involve food.

Such as gastronomy. But her attention got caught in literature’s food representation too, with its symbols and allegories, also in paintings that belong in still life movement, but also Sasha finds interest when food is used as rhetorical devices (for example: the apple in Adam and Eve’s myth).

She’s curious about primitive systems of irrigation, cultivation, food distribution, adaptation of wild species; as well as the domestication of animals, the diversification of the diet and its link with sedentary life, as well as the subsequent division of labor once the need for food was assured in humanity’ first cities.

Sasha’s convinced that alimentation is the pilar of civilization as we know it. For it involves cultural, artistic, economic, emotion and social aspects. Food is a microcosm of analysis of humanity.

Sasha hasn’t a favorite historical period or setting. But she definitely has a special fascination for first civilizations and their link with alimentation. Also, she likes to study the development gastronomy in occident world around different regions, social classes, and time.

Although, let’s be honest, Sasha would devour (lol, couldn’t help it) ANY book about agriculture, cattle raising, cooking or gastronomy. 

Connie Springer

Micro-history / History of everyday life.

Connie loves his hometown, has a deep respect to his family and traditions. That’s why he finds himself wondering about the most ordinary events that developed in his dear Ragako. 

The book “The Cheese and the Worms” by Carlo Ginzburg changed the way he used to understand history and capture him into meaningful discussions about what he learned was called micro-history.

His favorite quote from that book is: “As with language, culture offers to the individual a horizon of latent possibilities—a flexible and invisible cage in which he can exercise his own conditional liberty.”

Once deep into studying the Italian historians and their works, he decided to give it a try, and ever since he’s mesmerized with the mundane vestiges craftsmen that worked in his village left behind.

Connie’s parents are so proud of him and his achivements, but mostly because he became a passionate academic over human and simple matters, (so down to earth our big baby).

His attitude towards his essays and research works truly shows his great heart and humility. Connie is aware that academic works have no use if they are not meant to teach us about ourselves too and current times.

Empathy and hard work, that’s how one could describe the elements that integrate his recently started academic career.

Historia Reiss

Political History / Statistician

Her father’s family pressured Historia since she was a little girl into studying History just like his dad. For he’s a very famous historian that had made important researches and books about the greatest statesmen of Paradis.

She thought in numerous ways that she could sabotage her career or study any other career without her family’s consent and end with her linage of historians. But she ended up enrolling in tuition and so far, she is trying her best in her studies. Historia swears this is the right path for her.

But don’t let the appearances fool you, even thought she studies her father’s career and the very same branch of history’s discipline, she has her own critical sense and she’s so talented on her own, very meticulous with her research papers.

Definitely wants a PhD about women, power and politics. We stand a Gender Studies Queen.

Her complementary disciplines are Political Sciences. Historia also has a talent for philosophy and owns a diary with all her thoughts about them. She hopes one day she would write a book or a manifesto about an innovative methodology for research and teaching History of Politic Thinking.

Ymir 

Religion’s History / Theology

Just like Historia, Ymir was pressured into studying History. And if she’s totally honest, she still has some doubts about it. Even if she couldn’t imagine herself studying anything else.

Anyways, Ymir thought that she could build her career around topics that she enjoys. So, she finally chose theology for unusual reasons.

Her classmates had grown up in religious families or had experience studying the doctrines they practiced. But she, being an agnostic, found satisfaction in unraveling belief systems in different cultures and time periods.

Albeit she studies in Paradis’ University, she currently has the opportunity of taking an academic exchange at Marley’s University. This only made Ymir more conflicted about her future, for she wants to stay (near Historia) but she’s aware that Marley would offer her more academic opportunities for her specialization.

Nowadays she’s working in some collaborative research paper with some people from Mythological Studies from the Literature department. She’s nailing it, writing some historical studies about titans in Greek mythology and its impact in shaping neoclassical poetry. Her brains ugh, love her.

Reiner Braun

Official History / Biographies of heroes and great wars.

His mother convinced him with numerous books about great national heroes, but mostly because she knew that would mean sure job to her son. All political administration in every level requires of an official chronicler. 

When he started his college courses, Reiner felt motivated and he was actually convinced that he had the vocation. But the more he read the less sure he felt that the academic world was for him. He wondered if he made the right choice. If he did it for him or for his mother.

Stories and myths about heroes have always cheered him up. That gave him purpose and consoled him when feeling down. Or at least it was like that when younger. Reiner truly didn’t feel like himself when regretting his choices, but he couldn’t help it for he was changing in more than a way.

That’s why he decided to experiment with other disciplines and with time he would find joy in historical novels. He would analyze them just as good as a litterateur and research about historical context in the written story AND study the artwork’s context itself.

His favorites theorical books are: “Historical Text as Literary Artifact” by Hayden White and Michel de Certeau’ “The Writing of History”.·        

Heroes stories would always accompany him, just differently now.

Bertolt Hoover

History of mentalities / Les Annales

Intimate relationships, basic habits and attitudes. / Culture

Bertie has always been a much reticent and shy guy. As he grew up, he consolidated his sullen personality, but maintained a friendly attitude towards anyone who needed him. That’s why he thought that the priority in his studies was to be at the service of his classmates.

So, although he was passionate about research and was a fan of the French Les Annales current, he considered his mission to be in the Archive. As a cataloger, organizer and curator of ancient documents.

But the ways of History are always mysterious, and Doctor Magath showed him that other way of being was possible. Before Bertolt picked his specialty, he met Theo Magath, a professor who recently had finished writing a book: “The Idea of Death in Liberio’s Ghetto in Marley During its War Against Eldia (Paradis)” (long-ass titles are historians specialty btw). After Magath ended his book’ presentation, Bertolt reached him. They talked for hours and finally, he felt inspired into pursuing his true passion. Magath gifted him “The Historian’s Craft” by Marc Bloch as a way to reminding him his way.

By the time Bertolt took History of Mentalities as optional class, he already had some basic notions about Les Annales, Lucien Febvre, Marc Bloch, Fernand Braudel, Jacques Le Goff and such. 

Being the gentle giant he is, Bertolt finds joy in reading about different lifestyles in diverse cultures. He constantly wonders about the origin of social constructs and the way they shape thinking as much as identity.

This boy is a wonder, he might not be the best in oral presentations or  extracurricular activities but sure as hell he’ll graduate with honors.

Annie Leonhart

Oral history, about institutions. Particularly, police and justice system in early XXs.

Albeit she got into the same University than Bertolt and Reiner, even shared classes and hopes, Annie regularly felt disconnected from her studies. With time she realized it wasn't due her career itself but rather because of the currents that her professors had suggested her taking. Until now.

Talking with Hitch and Marlow about their doubts concerning subjects and departments it came up the topics of history and present time but also oral history. She’d never heard something like that before. So, that very same week, Annie started searching for information about that.

She ended up with more questions: is it all of this just academic journalism? Or maybe sociology? When we can talk about regular history and when it starts being present time? If she introduces interviews due oral history, then that makes it an interdisciplinary work? Which are the best systems for analyzing data? Definitely, she’ll need help from anthropology and sociology departments if she wants to keep going. 

Contrary to her initial prognostic, philosophy and history of historic writing became her new allies, and the text “Le temps présent et l'historiographie contemporaine” (Present Time and Contemporary Historiography) by Bédarida among others, provided Annie another perspective. 

Regarding her favorite topics, she wouldn’t say that she selected them freely. They were just practical preferences. For institutions own extensive archives and numerous functionaries. One way or another, she ended up tangled in judicial system and police issues.

With new tools and object for studying, one could find Annie having a blast as detective too. Even if her academic essays focus on institutions’ history and configuration, she’s also working in corruption and more. She doesn’t do it because she believes it’s the right thing, but besides, the thrill of the tea is spicy. Although she won’t admit it. 

[seeds-and-sins]

That One Woman

Pairing: Pagan Min / Reader

Rating: T (Strong language, violence, sexual undertones)

Description: Pagan Min saves you from the resistance, and you end up becoming his assistant, among other things...

    Day one was like a roller coaster for you. You distinctly remember sipping from a cup of coffee, calmly meditating to yourself, thankful to be alive; when Pagan barged into the dining room and started making demands. The first demands had almost everything to do with what you were wearing...

"Oh Darling, you need to get out of those rags immediately. I don't need my assistant looking like trash. Have you ever heard of perfume? Yes? You need it." He insisted you soak in the bath for a bit, get your hair done, nails painted, you had never felt so feminine before in your life. Of course he arranged everything, had his best designer working on your wardrobe in the meantime. Your king's kindness had no limits it seemed. All the while, he paraded you around and lectured you on taking better care of yourself, "treating yourself" as he worded it. While before you never really had the money to do so, he made every effort to ensure that you knew that whatever you wanted was given to you immediately. After the work was done and you had left your quarters feeling ever so nourished and tender, he put you to work immediately. 

"I need you to schedule a meeting with Paul for three this afternoon..." You followed closely behind him in stride, scribbling his words onto a tiny notepad he had procured for you earlier. "Make sure the kitchen cooks his favorite; steak and mushrooms, grilled onions, that special sauce-I don't fucking know what-with a side of mashed potatoes, broccoli, and biscuits..." You were already out of breath, he was a fast walker. As he spoke it was almost like he had taken you around the entirety of the mansion that was his home, before finally entering his bedroom, where his designer waited patiently for his daily fitting. "Oh, and try everything before it leaves, last time they overcooked the broccoli, and I was not pleased." You gulped, never having ever tasted for someone before, never having ever done anything like this before. In fact, you probably were the most under qualified person for this job and yet he picked you. Why?

"Yes, Sir." He made a noise of acknowledgement as his designer tugged on the sleeves of a bright yellow suit jacket over Pagan's outstretched arms.

"Also, I almost forgot, do check in with Yuma about the security issue we've been having in the west. She promised me a direct report by noon and its already ten, I do not see what's taking her so long."

"Yes, Sir." You waited another moment as he critiqued his appearance in the long sided mirror, posing, cocking his head from side to side, testing the look. You were wondering if he was going to say anything else, and when he didn't, you took that as your sign to leave and complete the tasks he had assigned to you.

"Oh, and dear?" You glanced over your shoulder curiously, he snorted. "Could you also find me a new designer..." His eyes then focused harshly down onto the poor man who had created the suit jacket. Pagan angrily started to rip the thing off, the mustard fabric floating down to the ground as the stitches were yanked out. "I am trying to look like a king, not a fucking banana!"

"Y-Yes, Sir." You stuttered out, exiting the room as swiftly as you could to avoid Pagan's wrath. 

You wondered if the same wrath would ever be afforded to you. However, as time went on, as you soon became accustomed to his temper, his demands, the routines of his nation, he never quite yelled at you. Ever. One time you had made a mistake, the whole time wondering if he would at least make your death quick. At the very most, he sent you off with a light tap on the wrist and a warning, knowing you wouldn't be stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. Granted the mistake had everything to do with something as simple as how he liked his coffee, but he had killed people for far less. 

   In fact, what was once a stressful job at first, became plain fun. In the beginning, you didn't really have much of a choice but to become Pagan's assistant, but now you sat across from him, handling all of his important agenda, of your own free will. Not to mention, the gifts, he would surprise you with them almost every other day. You were practically spoiled under his supervision, sometimes even being allowed to sleep in if you had done your job well enough the day before. You didn't know why people hated your king, he was perfect in every way, you would worship the ground he walked upon if he allowed you to. Perhaps you were biased in the sense that if it hadn't been for him, your rags to riches fantasy never would have come true. 

   You had your own room, all brand new clothes, new shoes, all the food you could ever ask for, an entire library that he had dedicated to your hobby of reading, and an office that was the same size as your old shanty. Of course, with all the pearl earrings, luxurious bed spreads, the wonderful view, room service, security at every corner, why would you ever want to bite the hand that fed you? Of course, you would die for Pagan Min, because surely he had given you such a great life in comparison to your previous one, you'd gladly give your life for him. 

   And sometimes you wondered, if that was your only purpose, to make sure his affairs were in order and to make sure his food wasn't poisoned. It made sense, your undying loyalty didn't come cheap it seemed and you hadn't even realized it. These thoughts, these wonders, stemmed from the confusion that began this whole mess. Why did he pick you? A young nobody, he could have easily let you die that day. You were always too afraid to ask him the question though. You didn't want to sound ungrateful in your curiosity. You would sit across the expanse of mahogany wood as he shuffled through important papers and made signatures. Every so often sliding them across the table so you could organize them into the appropriate file.

  It was hard no to stare at him, admire everything that was Min. That fluffy blonde patch of hair that sat on his head, how the strands flickered out in front of his reading glasses. The curve of the collar on his button up, how it lead down to reveal those few undone buttons at the top of his long sleeved shirt. His sleeves rolled up, taut to the crease of his arm, slender fingers sliding between slabs of thin white paper. Every now and again, those fingers would reach up to catch the tip of his tongue, and she would find herself licking her lips with desire, imagining that tongue on her own fingers. 

"Darling?" 

"Yes, Sir?"

"Do you have that paperwork on that shipment from Rook Islands by any chance?" You steadily weeded through the files, carefully removing the proper papers. You stood to step around the table and carry them to him. He didn't lift his head as he held his hand out, accepting the papers in his grasp. You moved to go back to your seat before he stopped you with the continuation of his words. "Volker sent me a letter again, the annoying twat, something about a mistake with the merchandise. You know anything about this?" He finally met your gaze, those glasses sliding down to the tip of his nose as he considered you. You searched your mind for an answer, truly wondering if you had made a mistake, or perhaps you had missed one of Volker's mistakes. You shook your head, twiddling with your thumbs out in front of you. 

"Not that I know of, Sir." 

"Hmmm," He crowned his fingers against his lips, sitting back in his seat, elbows on the armrest. "Well, you might as well have a look for yourself, might jog your memory."

"Of course, Sir." He gestured for you to come to him, sliding his chair back to give you room. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he waved for you keep going.

"You can take a seat, if you will." You felt your breath hitch as you lowered your bottom down onto Pagan's lap. Your whole body engulfed in his warmth as he scooted forward and his arms snaked around your waist to bring forth the paper work again. His chin rested on your shoulder, the embrace extremely close, his strong cologne floating into your nostrils. His finger pointed at the discussed shipment receipts and the letter from Volker. You tried to focus on the words as you skimmed over them in your mind, but Pagan's close proximity to you and the very noticeable lump pressing against your backside was all the more distracting. 

"U-Um..." You cleared your throat, finding yourself leaning back into his chest. He shifted his legs further apart and you couldn't hide the gasp as the hard lump was a lot more accentuated against the curve of your ass in this suddenly all too short pencil skirt.

"Yes, darling?" He whispered huskily into your ear, your entire body feeling overwhelmed by everything Pagan.

"I think everything is in order, Sir." You finally were able to form a coherent sentence surprised at yourself for being capable of doing so. 

"I agree..." You inhaled sharply, his lips barely grazed the spot below your ear drum, along your throat. "I believe you deserve a reward for your hard work, right, my dear?" Yes, a reward, please. You wanted to beg on your knees, beg him for it all. The one thing he never gave you, never gifted you, praised you with. He chuckled, hands suddenly came to your waist and he scooted the chair back again. He forced you to stand with him and then he was gently turning you to face him. "I am sure you must be confused..." And you were, being Pagan's assistant meant that you knew almost everything about his life. One of those things was his overactive sexual exploits, people, men and women alike, were constantly going in and out of his room. "I swing for both teams, Darling, and I have been swinging for you for quite some time." While one hand resided on your waist still, caressing up and down over the fabric of your clothes, the other was now propped on the edge of the table and he came closer. "You must understand, this doesn't have to define our relationship if we don't want it to, but the tension is suffocating. I would like to just finally have my cake and eat it too..." His eyes centered expectantly on you, for a response, when he added. "All of it."

"B-But, S-Sir, I just don't understand." 

"Ask your questions, but my patience is thinning, and..." He almost growled the words that followed, eyes scanning you from head to toe as he pressed his crotch to yours and you gasped. "I might not be able to contain myself much longer."

"Why, me?" You didn't think you could do it, but you did. And this whole journey with Pagan has been a game of figuring out what you could do. Your confidence had surpassed the highest summit in the world, you felt like you could jump into a volcano and still come to tell the tale, like you could fly into space and catch the nearest star. It was all because of Pagan, you owed so much to the man, and all he ever did was give to you.

"You must be joking?" He giggled deeply, like there was some inside joke that you couldn't ever know, but he was going to tell you the joke anyways. "Darling, few know there was only ever one woman for me..." He cupped your cheek, and the other came to sink into the strands of your hair. "Until I met you that is."

Return to Prompts

[beatles-slash-fiction]

Starrison-George is single and wants a baby. He asks Ringo to help him out (and due to some hand wavy conception advice, not through artificial insemination, but wants to make the baby "Naturally" in bed.) (aka friends to lovers breeding kink)

WARNING: mentions of stillbirth

*****

Ringo frowns as he tries to digest what George has just said to him.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” George adds quickly. “Take your time to think about it.”

Ringo takes a long drag of his cigarette. “You’re only twenty-three. You’ve got ages to settle down and start a family. Are you just feeling broody because of John and Paul?”

George looks almost offended. “No. Look...I know this does seem a bit odd, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while actually. I’ve never been in a serious relationship. Our work only makes it more difficult to find someone. Someone I can trust, y’know? Not just someone who wants to bang George Harrison. I feel like a piece of me has been missing, and I’ve been meditating a lot and I know this is what I need.”

Ringo doesn’t want to question George’s motives, but he feels he has to question the method.

“And you want me to...?” Ringo makes a vague hand gesture.

George smiles shyly. “I want to know that my baby has a good father. I can’t think of anyone better.”

Ringo knows he’ll probably regret this somewhere down the line. But the idea of being a father is something he’s also been thinking about for some time, and having a child with someone he trusts and respects and cares for makes his chest bubble.

And making George happy would be incredible.

Ringo tries to ignore the way his heart hammers when he says yes and George kisses him on the lips.

What the hell has he got himself into?

*****

Ringo had thought it would be odd having sex with someone he has no romantic connection with, but it isn’t odd at all. It isn’t at all weird or uncomfortable.

Ringo and George have always had good chemistry; it’s why they work so well together. And that certainly seems to help in bed.

It’s all soft touches and slow kisses; Ringo wants to make it special for George. They may not be a couple in love, but Ringo wants their child to be conceived with love.

It takes a few attempts.

George seems disheartened when he doesn’t fall pregnant the first time, but Ringo reassures him it might take a little while.

It takes four months in the end.

Four months of weekly sex, and of Ringo slowly becoming consumed by this fantasy of playing house with George. He has to keep reminding himself they’re not a couple. George isn’t in love with him. They’re not really going to be a family.

Of course he forgets all that when George finally gets a positive test back, and they kiss like they did on that very afternoon when George asked Ringo to do this with him.

They’re going to have a baby together.

*****

Ringo doesn’t know why he expected them to keep having sex after George falls pregnant.

They’re not in a relationship, after all. The sex was just to serve a purpose.

But Ringo finds it’s not just the sex he can’t stop thinking about. He loves that his relationship with George has taken a domestic turn. He loves taking George to doctor’s appointments and buying him healthy foods and cooking for him.

And he loves touching George’s bump as he grows bigger, eventually feeling their child kick beneath his hand.

*****

When George is about six months along, Brian suggests they get married.

Ringo has to admit to himself that he’s thought about it before, and his heart sinks when George laughs.

“We don’t need to get married, Eppy,” George says, stroking his bump. “We’re not a couple. I’m sure Ringo won’t want to be tied down with me. He’s done enough for me already.”

“I just think it would be better for your image,” Brian says. “Parents are more likely to buy their teenagers Beatles records if you’re a family. A baby born out of wedlock-“

“We’re not getting married, Eppy,” George says firmly, clearly indicating he doesn’t want to discuss it further.

Ringo tries to ignore the stinging in his eyes.

*****

When the day finally comes for George to go into labour, Ringo assumes that the worst thing that could happen is he’s not able to get George to the hospital in time.

He does manage to get George to the hospital in time, but that’s where their troubles begin.

“The baby is in a difficult position,” the doctor tells them when he examines George. “And the baby is in distress. We need to make this happen now.”

The next few hours are a blur.

There’s so much blood. George gets tired from pushing, and the doctor tells them they’re going to have to take him away for surgery.

“Don’t leave me,” George begs Ringo, pure fear in his eyes.

“I won’t,” Ringo promises, kissing George’s hand. “I’ll be right here, Georgie.”

Ringo stays with George for all of it, and it’s the most heartbreaking day of his life.

By the time George regains consciousness, Ringo has already cried enough tears for the both of them.

“The baby,” George says weakly. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Ringo squeezes George’s hand. He doesn’t want to be the one to break George’s heart. “A girl. Georgie-“

“Can I see her?”

George’s tired smile is so warm and full of pure happiness that Ringo can’t hold back the tears anymore.

He tells George the sad news, watching the younger man’s face turn pale, and he holds George while he sobs.

*****

Brian suggests that Ringo and George take a few months off work.

They take the offer up, and it does them good to have some time away just to themselves. They spend the time crying and talking; they talk more than they ever have before.

They talk about the daughter they never got to hold. They talk about how devastated they are. They talk about all the milestones they’ve missed already. They talk about if there’s anything they could have done to stop it.

They spend six months just talking, and when they’re finally ready to go back to work, Ringo feels like he’s never been closer to George.

“Thank you for everything,” George tells Ringo one night. “I don’t know how I would have got through this without you. I love you, Ritchie.”

That’s the first time he’s ever said that.

“I love you too,” Ringo says softly, feeling like he should have said it a long time ago.

*****

Something blossoms between them over the next few months.

They don’t really talk about it; it just happens.

George starts sleeping in Ringo’s bed more often than not when he has nightmares, and soon he just moves into Ringo’s room permanently.

They start sharing warm kisses and casual touches. The affection flows between them freely and naturally, and one night they end up making love like they did all those months ago.

But this time something has changed. This time they both know where they stand; they both know their love for each other.

And when George tells Ringo he’s pregnant just a few weeks later, Ringo feels even more joy in his heart than he did the first time.

They will never forget their daughter, but they have a chance now to start to rebuild their lives.

As they kiss through their tears, Ringo makes a mental note to ask Brian about engagement rings.

[movie-magic]

Can anyone solve the puzzle of Paul Dano’s Riddler in The Batman?

The Riddler has always been a Batman supervillain with a penchant for thorny posers. And yet usually the question marks are set by the caped crusader’s mischievous nemesis himself, as spiky traps for Gotham’s dark knight to fall into. In the case of Matt Reeves’ forthcoming The Batman, it looks as if they might zero in more precisely on the identity of Edward Nygma himself.

Leaked artwork for the forthcoming reboot has sparked a flurry of speculation as to who exactly Paul Dano will be portraying in Reeves’ film. Certainly, this vision of a clumsily masked figure is a long way from the one most comic-book fans will be used to, so much so that those who hark back to Jim Carrey’s manic, grinning idiot in Joel Schumacher’s execrable Batman Forever, or Frank Gorshin’s slick trickster in the 50s TV show, might wonder if they are looking at a different character altogether.

Maybe they’re right. It’s been pointed out on Twitter that the new Riddler resembles popular images of the Zodiac Killer, the never-identified serial murderer who terrorised northern California in the 60s and early 70s. There’s also more than a passing resemblance to other masked Batman villains such as Hush and the Birthday Boy. The former has worked closely with Nygma in the comics, while the Zodiac Killer shares with the Riddler a love of writing devious and provocative letters to his wannabe captors.

The mystery deepens when we consider that a version of the supervillain as serial killer also exists in the comics, albeit in an alternate DC universe. Geoff Johns’ Batman: Earth One saw the Riddler reimagined as a sadistic murderer who tortures his victims with riddles that he falsely claims will save them if they answer correctly.

So what’s going on here? The simplest answer is that Reeves has wisely pinpointed the traditional Riddler as far too much of a cheeky klutz to ever truly present Batman with any major threat in what promises to be the most grown-up big screen take on Gotham since Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy. The lightweight nature of the Riddler is a problem fans of the comics have often pointed out. Consequently, the supervillain’s menace and guile have been slowly upgraded in most iterations since DC’s New 52 reboot in 2011 – this will be the first movie since then to feature the supervillain, so the approach makes sense.

It’s also notable that IMDb lists Dano as portraying Edward Nashton, not Edward Nygma, giving the new Batman team considerable wiggle room when it comes to its depiction of the trickster. Nashton is traditionally the Riddler’s birth name, the one he used before deciding to become a supervillain. But what if Nashton never picked up the famous green question-mark costume and was ultimately pulled in a different, perhaps more psychopathic, direction?

There are other reasons why it would be little surprise if Reeves is cooking up Riddler 2.0. We’ve already seen that The Batman will star a Penguin (Colin Farrell) who bears little resemblance to the Oswald Cobblepot of, say, Batman Returns. Moreover, Reeves is battling to establish this new vision of Gotham against a backdrop of Batman overload – there have been nine big-screen efforts starring the caped crusader since Tim Burton’s Batman in 1989, 10 if you count Ben Affleck’s brief cameo in Suicide Squad. And the reboot will also have to contend with the fact that Batfleck is still out there somehow in Andy Muschiett’s forthcoming The Flash, which will delve into various alternate universes in which a number of different dark knights are set to appear. (Yes, they’re bringing back Michael Keaton, too).

Bearing in mind all the other Batmans we’ve seen in TV shows and animated feature films over the past decade or so, Reeves needs to both make his version of the caped crusader stand out from the crowd and ensure tired old treatments of Batman’s traditional rogues’ gallery are given a refresh for the post-Covid world. Given he’s doing somewhat of the opposite with Robert Pattinson’s Batman himself, by restoring our hero to world’s greatest detective mode, thereby ridding him of the knuckle-headed, gun-toting baggage introduced by Zack Snyder in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, most fans would probably say he’s entitled to mess with the supporting cast as much as he likes.

- The Guardian

[gloriafc]

Paul imprinting on Bella's older cousin

You were reluctant to follow your younger cousin, but you promised your uncle you'd watch over her when she went into her depressive state.

Of course he trusted you with her clumsy self since you're a surgeon and can fix up any of her bumps and bruises.

"Bella I get he's your best friend but do you think this is the best idea?" "You don't get it Y/N. You wouldn't understand. He's all I have left."

You start to worry when you see a buff guy carrying your cousin into the Emergency room.

"Y/N you don't have to worry, Jacob was there. I'm fine." "Does this look fine to you Bella. You show up in the ER with a cut half the size of your forehead. You have your dad worried everyday, and we can all tell something is going on with you. And now you're crashing motorcycles. Yeah that looks perfectly fine to me."

Of course Bella constantly shows up at your house to ensure you won't tell her dad about the bikes. She goes as far as dragging you with her and her now different looking best friend on your day off. They both drag you to a small house where a couple of boys start teasing Jake. A female catches your eye, she moves to hug Bella before turning to you, making you notice everyone staring especially one guy.

“Hi, I’m Emily.” “Y/N” “Bella’s cousin right? Jake told us about you.”

Emily quickly pulls you in, becoming quick friends.  You find yourself heading over to gossip often, Bella going with you to see Jake. Sam becoming comfortable enough having you around all the time because it makes Emily happy.

Of course since you’re around all the time you’ve gotten to know everyone else well enough. You’ve had dinner with them enough times to think of them as friends.

With time everyone tells you about the pack and about the imprint, one of the main reasons is because the Cullens are back and they worry something could happen to you.

“Wait how is that possible?” “Y/N I know it the whole imprint process can be confusing.” “No not that. I spent years studying anatomy and you just told me your bones move and shift on their own and you turn into giant dogs. How is that possible?”

Of course you take the time to talk about the imprint. At first you find it weird that Paul is only 19 and you’re 24. But eventually you get over it. And start a relationship with him.

The entire pack actually find it interesting when they find out new things about you. In turn they let you study their wolves where you slowly become their in-home nurse. Re-breaking and setting any bones they break when they fight each other.

“Wait so you’re like a genius?” “...” “Stop looking at the medical magazine and answer me!” “Jared. I will break all of your ribs and let them set wrong. Yes I’m a genius, I graduated medical school at 17. I’m twenty-four and Chief of Trauma with a photographic memory. Any more questions about how smart I am?” “Can you help me with my science homework?” 

Eventually you learn about the Cullens being vampires, and you quickly grow past it knowing Carlisle as your mentor before he left.

Paul finds himself at your house often, not wanting to go home. He loves watching how calm you look while studying or talking about surgery in general. You know he doesn’t fully understand but you appreciate the fact that he listens more than any boyfriend you’ve had before.

Your relationship is filled with constant teasing.

"Babe you need to grow. The whole bed on the floor thing is not working for me." "Then go sleep somewhere else." "Why do you hate me?!" "You're a pain in my ass." "In my defense it's a nice ass."

Sometimes you forget he’s five years younger than you. You often find yourself asking him to stay the night knowing he doesn’t want to go home anyways. The two of you will stay up talking about his problems at home, the way he talks makes him seem so much older with everything his dad has made him deal with.

You slowly find yourself falling in love with everything about him, even his short temper.

You're the first one to say I love you. Shortly after Paul admits he's wanted to say it for a while but never knew how you felt since you have a different mentality about relationships, being older and all.

"Babe I love you and everything but if you touch me with your cold doctor hands again I'll stick you in the furnace."

Jared constantly teases you about being out of Paul's league to get a rise out of him.

"Hey Y/N if your last boyfriend was a surgeon, what made you fall for this flea bag?"

Paul occasionally brings you lunch when you’ve been busier at work, reminding you to take a break so you don’t over work yourself.

Of course when the colder months start to come you’re always at work so you don’t go around as often, resulting in some of the newer pack members not knowing who you are. You end up meeting them when Emily gets into a car accident, a car sliding on the ice into hers. Since you're there to ID her the nurses quickly call Sam down resulting in the whole pack and tribal council sitting in the waiting room as you perform her surgery. When everything is done and she's stable you make your way down to the waiting room, Paul and Sam are the first ones standing. You can just see all the stress on Sam's face.

"Is she okay?" "She had multiple blows to her head from her car flipping. Broken ribs and a broken leg. She's stable right now, we put her into a medically induced coma to help her heal without extra stress, we'll wake her up in a couple days. She'll probably have a slight case of amnesia but it should wear off shortly after waking up. She'll be fine."

Sam quickly pulls you into a bone crushing hug whispering thank you into your ear. Hearing his voice crack brings tears to your eyes once you remember you just operated on one of your best friends.

You manage to pull some strings and Emily is put into a bigger room so multiple people can see her at once, knowing she enjoys being around everyone. Once you see Sam start to cry at the sight of her sleeping all bandaged up you quickly leave the room with tears in your eyes. You make it down the hallway before you have to lean against the wall, tears streaming down your face and unable to breathe. You quickly feel arms wrap around you making you turn and grip Paul's shirt as you slowly feel yourself loose control of your emotions.

"It's okay. She's okay. You saved her." "She looked so bad." "She probably did. But because of you she's alive." "She almost died on that table. She almost died and it would've been my fault if she didn't make it." "Don't think that. Don't think about her dying. And don't think about it being your fault. You were here and you did your job. You're not the person who crashed into her car. You're the one who brought her back to us."

You're the person who takes her out of her coma. Of course the entire pack is there. Her entire room filled with flowers, balloons, and cards.

When she wakes up she cries when she sees your face. At first you think she's going into shock but she just grabs you pulling you into a hug.

"I remember going in and out of consciousness. I remember seeing you. I could hear you telling the nurses to call Sam and a whole bunch of other doctor words. I saw you climb over me to perform CPR. You were covered in blood. My blood. When the other doctors were pushing the bed to the OR, you stayed over me the whole way. I could hear everything until they put the mask over my face." "You heard me say-" "That you wouldn't leave until you saved me."

You can't help the tears that start falling down your face as Emily pulls you into another hug.

When Emily gets discharged Paul finds himself just staying at your house. He can feel you constantly worrying and has to remind you that Sam's not letting Emily out of his sight any time soon.

Of course he starts to worry when you put yourself back into work but knows you're better when you start telling him about the stupid things people do that make them end up in the hospital.

When everything starts to go back to normal Paul feels himself relax when you come around more. He loves watching you talk with Emily as you cook, or sewing the boys last pairs of shorts.

"I swear this is the last time I'm sewing your shorts. I didn't go to medical school to work as your seamstress." "But you're so good at sewing." "I sew skin all day, what do you expect."

Eventually as your relationship progresses with Paul everyone finds that his anger has simmered down a ton. What no one knows is that Paul actually proposed, without a ring but it's the thought that counts. Yeah it's really early, especially for someone his age but you couldn't be happier, and you both agreed to wait for an appropriate time to get married even if that meant years.

Eventually you just flat out ask Paul to move in.

"Are you positive?" "Paul were engaged and all your stuff is practically here, except for the shirts I don't believe you actually own."

Of course you realize that having him live with you results in a ton of sex and constant naked cuddles. You honestly don't even have a need for blankets at this point, you sleep next to a space heater anyways.

Because you saved her life Emily names her and Sam's first kid after you.

"This is Monica Y/M/N Uley."

Eventually Paul saved up the money and got you the perfect ring.

"Is this why you've been working those odd jobs and weird shifts." "You know I had to get you the best, and it wouldn't be the best if I didn't do the work to get it."

Of course all of your close friends are furious you two didn't tell them you were engaged sooner.

"Did he just propose? That's so cute." "No we've been engaged for months now Emily." "And you're just telling me?! I'm skinning that boy alive next time I see him." "Please don't. I kind of need him alive for the next eighteen years." "You're pregnant too?!"

Since Emily's the only one who knows you're pregnant she helps you plan to tell Paul. She may or may not have stolen a whole bunch of pregnancy tests from the hospital with your help.

She makes the used tests into a bouquet that you set on the kitchen table for Paul to see when he gets home from patrol.

You sit in the living room knowing the first place Paul will go is the kitchen to make a sandwich.

"I'm home!"..."What the hell? Are these all pos-"

Before you realize what's going on you're being spun around by a very happy fiance and soon to be daddy.

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 25 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29 

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter:  Gene makes a housecall; Paul gets some advice from Ace over the phone.

 It wasn’t a long ride over to that dingy apartment complex.

            Gene didn’t know what he was expecting. The place didn’t look any better in the daylight, and when he got out of the car, he saw his driver reach over his seat and start locking all the car doors. He stepped inside alone, walking the craggy flights of steps up to her old apartment number, knocking on the door in what he knew had to be a useless endeavor.

            He was a little hopeful when a different girl answered. A pretty thing, really, with curly black hair and sad eyes. A really pretty thing, he could tell that even from the scant few inches she opened the door.

            “Yes?”

            “Hey.” Gene paused. “I was here a few nights ago. I was wondering if you had a forwarding address for someone who used to live here, Carol—"

            “Carol left a couple weeks ago.”

            “I know. I’m just trying to find where she went after that.”

            “She didn’t pay her share of the rent.” The girl looked Gene up and down, from the baggy sweatpants to the old floral shirt. “We had to kick her out.”

            “I know, I—”

            “Did something bad happen? Are you with the police or something?”

            “I’m not with the police.” Gene tried to think. If the roommates had kicked her out, then that meant she hadn’t been on the lease, right? The apartment manager would’ve had to have her forwarding address if she had been. Wasn’t that how it worked? “She got into some trouble with a rockstar.”

            “Trouble?” The girl repeated, with more innocence than Gene could readily believe, at first. “She kept trying to hex one. Kathy got pissed when she spilled some offering on the carpet…”

            “Yeah, trouble.” Gene tried to infuse the word with its usual meaning. Babies and under the table payoffs. He couldn’t tell if she took the bait or not. “Can you help me?”

            “Her mom lives in Virginia,” she offered. “She’s not from there, though, I think she’s from… I don’t know, Minnesota or Michigan… somewhere that starts with an M…”

            That was barely better than no help at all. He tried to pay attention as the girl kept trailing off.

            “Her mom’s got scads of money from her dad dying. She helps her out a lot. Carol said if we’d just give her a couple more days, then she’d be good for the next three months. Swore it. Kathy and Bunny wouldn’t have it, though, ’cause between the rent and the occult stuff, she was too wild for us, and—”

            “Do you have her mother’s address?”

            “No. Well…” She pursed her lips, thinking, and then held a finger up. “Let me look around, maybe there’s an envelope…”

            And she scurried back from the door, still leaving it open those few inches as she rummaged around, the door chain keeping him from seeing much of the place at all. He waited, listening to her scuffle across the apartment, rustling through papers, until finally that dark cloud of hair peeked back into existence at the door.

            “No. I’m sorry. Oh, but she used to go to discos! You might wanna check CBGB, or the Ice Pa—”

            “I’ve done it already,” Gene said, and walked away.

--

            No good. It had been stupid to hope for any new insight. If he really wanted to push it, there was the possibility of finding Carol at 54 again tonight, but Gene doubted she’d be there, and he doubted Paul would want to go there again. He wouldn’t leave Paul at home by himself for a venture like that, either.

            Gene had his driver take him to the nearest supermarket immediately after. The driver had weakly offered to take him to a better part of town, but Gene hadn’t cared enough to go those few extra miles for a little more security.

            He’d never really gotten his own groceries. When he was off tour, at home, he ate out more often than not, or he went to his mother’s. She always had a smorgasbord at the ready. Always cooking. Gene remembered that early on during tours, when money was tight, Paul and Peter would take it upon themselves to make dinners for the band—they weren’t great—but at least they actually knew what to get and how to fix it. Gene was pushing his shopping cart through the aisles, looking at rows of dried and canned goods and feeling mildly stumped by the whole affair. He’d never paid much attention to how his mother cooked anything, just the end result, so any comfort food from when he’d grown up was out. But maybe…

            He settled on a few bottles of Tab, since Peter and Ace had gotten into Paul’s supply of them prior, and then some spaghetti noodles and canned tomatoes. That seemed depressing, so he doubled back to retrieve some fresh tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions as well. Maybe it wouldn’t be that great of a follow-up to matzo ball soup, if he ended up getting it, but it was definitely an improvement to eating peanut-butter sandwiches for dinner. Then he got a box of vanilla wafers, a package of chocolate-chip cookies, and a bunch of bananas.

            Gene was nearing the check-out lanes when he felt someone’s eyes on him. He stiffened and stopped, opting not to turn around—it was probably some kid who’d recognized him. Funny how, as long as he’d been with Paul, he hadn’t gotten spotted for who he was once, except on purpose. He pretended to focus all his attention on the label on a bottle of honey, picking it up and inspecting it, waiting for the passerby to either come closer or move on ahead. In a few seconds, he had it—a girl actually scurrying past. A small girl, only carrying a shopping basket and a purse. If he hadn’t caught a glimpse of her pale, freckled face, he wouldn’t have realized who she was.

            Absolutely unbelievable. He had to have expended all his luck over the next three years. Quickly, he pushed his cart to the side and tapped her shoulder before she could make it to the check-out line. She turned around, staring at him, eyes wide and stunned. She tried to take a step back, stopping short of even that movement.

            “Good morning, Carol.”

--

            Paul woke up abruptly. The day’s newspaper was on Gene’s side of the bed, the sections separated and askew. He didn’t bother pushing them aside, just reached over to check the clock on the nightstand, finding the note Gene left behind. He reread it once, twice, trying to ignore the paranoid, curdling sensation in his gut, the idea that Gene might have just gotten tired of him and tried to find a quick exit, at least for awhile. He wouldn’t have blamed him, not after last night. Not after four nights and five days of putting up with him.

            But Gene was bringing him back food. No, more than that, he was bringing him back matzo ball soup and probably a deli sandwich, and whatever Gene thought constituted real groceries. If he was really leaving, he wouldn’t have bothered to specify. Gene must’ve assumed Paul would sleep late enough to start the day with lunch, and, looking at the clock, he hadn’t been too far off. It was fifteen until eleven.

            He sighed, stretching out a bit before getting up and pulling on some clothes. All he had left was the dress he’d bought, the one he’d decided wasn’t nice enough for Studio 54. Just a cream and gold colored sundress. Softer colors than he’d usually have opted for. He picked absently at the thin straps. He never felt more fake than when he was alone, even before all this happened.

            The phone rang before he could decide what else to do, whether to wait on Gene or eat something or waste awhile in front of the T.V. It startled him a little. Ever since Gene had come, he’d rarely been in the house enough to hear it ring. Another cushion from reality.

            He ignored it. It kept ringing. Six times. Seven. Eventually, the answering machine tape started up, and he heard his own, actual voice, another piece of bewilderment.

            “Hey, this is Paul Stanley. If you’ll leave your name and number, I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Thanks.”

            “Paul, this is Ace, I—”

            Paul grabbed the phone, sudden relief flooding into him.

             “Ace?”

            “Who’s this?” A pause, and then. “Paul?”

            Paul leaned over the answering machine, gingerly unplugging it to keep the tape from running while he spoke.

            “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”

            “Sorry I’m late calling. Gene got you back home the other night?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Still not normal yet.” Ace sighed. “What’s she want out of you? You never told me.”

            “Nothing I can’t do.”

            “Virgin sacrifice?”

            Paul froze up for a second, the phone feeling like a rock in his hand. No way had Gene told the guys. No way. It was a moment or two before he could force a small laugh.

            “You’re not too far off.”

            “Shit, do you have to kill someone? Keep the tits, it’s not worth—”

            “No! I—forget it, man. I don’t have to hurt anybody. I can do it.”

            He expected Ace to push for a better answer than that, but he didn’t. God. Ace knew the fate of the whole band sat right on Paul’s shoulders, and yet he didn’t want to ask for a better explanation. Maybe he didn’t give a fuck. Maybe he wanted to go out on his own. Maybe him and Peter were just chomping at the bit to splinter off from the group. Why shouldn’t they? Paul was ruining everything for them just as readily as he was ruining everything for Gene. Paul took a deep breath, tried to convince himself he wasn’t being rational, but the impressions were still wobbling in his brain even when Ace started to talk again.

            “Peter was gonna check on you, but he’s still kinda…” Ace trailed. “So I told him not to worry about it. You okay?”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You really okay?”

            “Yeah, Ace.”

            “Nobody screwed around with you?”

            “Ace, if you want a play-by-play of two nights ago, I’m sure you—”

            “Okay, okay. Just making sure. Pete’s real worried about you.”

            “’M okay.”

            “He lit into Gene for letting you go off.”

            “He shouldn’t have. It was fine.” God. Gene had told him. Or Peter had called the house. One or the other. Paul swallowed. Something about it hurt, almost made his eyes burn. Weird, how that was. Weird how knowing all the guys really did give a shit about him would be enough to nearly induce tears. Maybe he was just that stressed and worn out. He could almost picture Ace’s mild, affable, probably-hungover look, and that helped him blink back anything incriminating.

            “Oh, and you got in the paper, too.”

            “No shit?”

            “No shit. Not front page, but you’re in the entertainment section—”

            Paul scrambled for the newspaper, flipping through the sections. He nearly didn’t recognize his own picture—funny, when he’d been staring at that face for over a week now—but there he was, arm and arm with Gene in a corner photo. Gene’s face was still covered, and Paul was leaning in heavily against him, mouth parted in a strained attempt at a smile. Two days ago. Two days ago and the firmness and warmth of Gene’s hold, the smell of his sweat, all of that had only gotten all the more familiar. All the more something he needed instead of just longed for. Something secure. Something meaningful.

            “Gene got his picture after all.”

            “Huh?”

            “Nothing. ‘Tongue-waggling KISS bassist Gene Simmons cozies up to a Miss Isen at Studio 54,’” Paul read dryly. “They misspelled my name.”

            “You look sweet.”

            “I look awful.”

            “Give yourself some credit. You make a hot chick.” Ace laughed. Not maliciously. Paul didn’t think the guy was really capable of being malicious. He hesitated, running his free hand down his knee, smoothing the material of the dress, before responding.

            “Can I ask you something, Ace?”

            “Sure, Paulie.”

            “It’s a… it’s a thought experiment.”

            “Don’t get all pretentious and shit. I know you dropped out of college.”

            Paul had never been more grateful that he couldn’t see Ace on the other end of the line. He’d have given himself away already otherwise. He swallowed thickly.

            “Ace—this is all just—hypothetical. Let’s say… let’s say you got told you could have what you wanted.”

            “Then I’d wait on the catch.”

            Paul could feel his mouth twitch up into an unwilling, dry smile.

            “The catch is, you could only get it once, and that was it. Just once. Would you still take it?”

            Ace didn’t hesitate.

            “Yeah.”

            “Why?”

            “’Cause I’d rather have something once than never have it.”

            “I’m not like that. If I couldn’t—if I couldn’t keep having something, I’d never—”

            “All or nothing, right, Paul?” Paul could hear Ace rustling something on the other end of the line. Papers, maybe. “You can’t go through life like that, you’ll never be satisfied. You gotta compromise.”

            “You compromise everything.”

            “’M happier for it.”

            “You can’t be. Compromising… it’s just giving up, isn’t it?”

            “No. Paulie—” Ace made a short, weird sound, almost like he was sucking the spit off his teeth. “You always think you’re figuring on the long term, and you’re not.”

            “I am—”

            “You’re not. Hear me out, man. You think there’s any guarantees anywhere? Look at the band—”

            “This isn’t about the band—”

            “’S just an example. We got our big hit. Now what if—what if that’s the best we ever do? Whether you get your dick back or not, what if that’s as good as it ever gets?”

            “That… that can’t happen.” It felt like something was stuck in his throat. This wasn’t how he’d expected this to go, not at all. “We just got really big, it can’t be over that quick. There’s no way. Ace, we…”

            “What if it is, Paul? What would you say?” Ace’s words sped up in a still-lazy rattle. “What if we go bust a year from now?”

            “Don’t talk like that, man.”

            “You need to hear it. This ain’t gonna last any way you slice it, don’t kid yourself.” Paul’s stomach churned as he heard the click of a pop top on the other end of the line, and Ace taking a swig and a swallow. “We’ll wear out our welcome. Maybe we already have. Nobody lasts in music.”

            “Elvis—”

            “Elvis is a joke, Paulie.” Another long gulp. “And if you get past his age, what else d’you got? You got—you got Bing Crosby dragging his own corpse out there every fucking year for his Christmas special. Been wailing out ‘White Christmas’ since World War II. If we’re still playing ‘Cold Gin’ when we’re forty-five, I hope to God someone takes us out back and shoots us.”

            Paul chewed his lip. He felt grimmer now than when he’d picked up the phone, almost distracted out of what he’d really been trying to ask of Ace. Ace, who kept up with weird shit like space shuttles and went on drunken rambles about the aliens who’d made him small. Ace, who he’d assumed was just along for the ride on everything. Paul felt an odd curdling in his gut, something like shame for assuming he and Gene were the only ones who ever thought ahead. For writing off Ace and Peter like their myriad addictions made them stupid.

            “Shit, Ace, you’re usually a little more positive—”

            “’M just trying to make a point here.” Ace blew out a breath loud enough that Paul could hear it over the phone. “If this is as good as it gets, would you say you don’t want it? Would you say you wanted to turn it all back around? Me and you driving cabs? Gene teaching school again? Pete—”

            “No!”

            “Why not?”

            “Because we’re gonna do better than that, that’s why! I-I’ll write whatever crossover songs I’ve got to, we’ll keep on touring, and—”

            “But you don’t know that.”

            “I do know that!”

            “Nah, Paulie. You don’t know that.” Ace let out an odd sound, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re just betting on it. Ought to bet on something a little more certain.”

            “Like what?”

            “Like Geno getting over you not having tits.”

            “What?”

            “You heard me.”

            “That’s got nothing to do with—did he—shit, what did he tell you?”

            “Jesus, your voice gets real squeaky. Did it always do that?” Ace said it so mildly, as always. Ace couldn’t even bitch properly when Paul had his whole career dangling on the line. “I haven’t talked to him since we came over.”

            “Then—”

            “You’re like a glass of water, Paulie, just see-through. You ain’t fooling anyone. Listen, do what you’ve gotta do. But don’t do it based on anybody but yourself.”

            “I’ll call you back later, Ace.”

            “Okay, girlie.”

            Paul hung up before Ace managed a goodbye on the other end. His heart was thudding harder than ever.

[serenade-meow]

thanks for quoting John regarding Jim hitting Paul. I remember when I first read it I was like whaaat did Jim do something to paul that john knew of??? and then I shrugged it off as john joking about the way they used to discipline little children back in the 50s. as in John telling Paul to avoid being treated like a baby by his dad. idk maybe john knew how things were at the McCartney's household? oh and do you happen to know which H Stern interview paul talked about the hitting when he was 17?

Hi there! Unfortunately, several of Paul’s Howard Stern interviews are difficult to find online. That particular 2001 interview (where Paul revealed he said “do that again” to his father after being smacked) was taken down from youtube.

And yeah, John did complain how Jim would treat Paul “like a child all the time.” But the real complaint on John’s part was how Paul would “give in” to his dad. Because it made John happy, or confident, when Paul sided with him, as seen in John’s “he chose me” statement. This was said in 1971, after the breakup, and so I also view this as typical breakup behavior.

To answer your question “maybe John knew how things were at the McCartney’s household” then I would say yes — they both knew the interpersonal dynamics of each other’s families. But I don’t think the negatives detracted the boys from disliking the other’s parents, rather seeing them through teenage eyes as an obstacle to hurdle. Like Paul, who was known to be very charming with mothers, was probably stumped by Mimi’s aloofness. But they got on. 

John had a varying relationship with Paul’s dad. There are moments he resented Jim (and moments where Jim resented John) — and this seemed more to do with John’s insecurities than concern over Paul’s treatment. John mentions how Jim “was always trying to get me out of the group behind me back” (which I wouldn’t like either, if I was Paul’s partner!) But John also said he was raised by a woman, saying he doesn't know if he understands their dynamic. And despite this earlier tension, Jim allowed the band to practice at his home. He’d listen to Paul and John finish up their songs. Jim said he enjoyed cooking for John and George when they visited. John called Paul to console him after his father died. So, it was probably nuanced.

Concerning your curiosity over John’s viewpoint of physical discipline placed upon Paul, I’m inclined to think John would be interested by any physical altercation Paul was involved in. John often wanted to see action from Paul, so I like imagining John imagining Paul being so forthright. It would be cool to know if John felt satisfaction when Paul stood up for himself and said “do that again” to his father after he was slapped as a teenager, and John thinking: “That’s right he chose me.” I’m more interested in the idea of Paul and John discussing it. The “Oh Johnny, Johnny” song seems to indicate how John and Paul discussed frustrations about their homes, and thus their escapism through each other — “Why don’t we go somewhere he don’t own me?” (Paul singing to John about his father).

Continuing on all this fighting, it’s also interesting how there seems to be no physical fights between Paul and John?? Despite other Beatle altercations — like John and George punching each other, and Paul pushing Ringo out his door. One time, I read how John and Paul were arguing in the studio and it “almost came to blows,” but the author didn’t expand on it. What is “almost” anyway?

John and Paul’s apparent lack of physical violence together (given all their intense ups-and-downs) is just soft to me... (me being toxic sorry). But it seems kinda telling to the significant nature of their relationship. Anyway, their fighting was done through power dynamics, songs, and such. That’s one of the reasons I dislike the scene in Nowhere Boy, where John punched Paul. I get that it’s supposed to convey Paul and John are understanding each other, but I don't think John would have punched Paul in the face! 

(Super random — one thing Paul disliked about Nowhere Boy was how John looked taller than him in the movie: “My character, my actor, is shorter than John! And I don't like that. I'm the same size as John, please. Put John in a trench or put me in platforms!" Even though they practically look the same height in this scene, but omg the competitive spirit between these two men. Even years later). 

As I completely strayed from your question, my overall guess is John probably felt a little awkward around Jim McCartney, as he seemed to feel around authority figures, and also since John didn’t personally experience the dynamics of father/son (tho of course he had his uncle for a time). And when it came to Paul choosing him over his father — John prided himself in successfully pulling Paul away. This is later replicated by John, with some bitterness, as he explains Paul’s distance after the breakup: “Paul cherishes things like children.” (Aka family hierarchy, the domestics).

Looking at their relationship through fighting was fun though! I think my point after all this junk is that John’s relationship with Paul was tied to the domestics from the very beginning. 

[you-can-call-me-wanda]

Worst Date Ever

Pairing: Topper Headon x Reader (Requested)

Author’s note: I’m very soft for Topper so I really enjoyed writing this! Thanks for whoever requested it! I hope you enjoy!

You stood in front of the mirror, checking your hair for the umpteenth time. You had a date tonight and you wanted to make a good impression. This wasn’t just any date you were going on. You were going out with Topper, someone you had liked for some time now.

Topper was a mutual friend of yours who you had gotten to know quite well over the past few weeks. You attended his gigs pretty frequently and the two of you had grown closer during your chats backstage and at the pub after the show.

You weren’t even aware Topper harbored any feelings towards you until a couple days ago, when he had nervously asked you out as you were both walking home after a show. He had offered to escort you to your flat, something you found very sweet, and had asked you on a date when you reached your front door. You had happily agreed.

The sound of your doorbell ringing startled you and you quickly rushed out of your room, slipping on some shoes as you went to open the door.

Topper stood on the other side of the door, tapping his foot in anxious anticipation. He smiled when he saw you.

“For you,” he said pushing a bouquet of flowers unceremoniously towards your face.

“Oh,” you said, shocked by the gesture. You took the flowers from him and examined them with a smile. “Thank you. They’re beautiful. You really didn’t have to bring me anything though.”

He shrugged, looking slightly abashed. “It’s no big deal really.”

“Well, let me just go put them somewhere safe and then we can go,” you said, stepping back into your flat.

Topper nodded and stayed where he was as you went back inside and quickly tried to find a place for the flowers. You didn’t have any vases, so you decided to stick them in a large coffee mug with some water.

“Alright,” you said, returning to Topper. “I’m all set. You ready to go?”

“Yep,” he replied giving you another grin.

As the two of you walked out onto the street, he turned to you.

“Are you fine walking?” he asked. “The restaurant isn’t too far from here, but I could call a cab if you wanted.”

“Oh sure, I don’t mind walking,” you said. You looked up at the sky to see dark grey clouds moving in overhead. “As long as the rain holds out on us.”

Topper joined you in looking at the sky. “I’m sure it will be fine. We should have enough time to get there,” he assured you.

So, you both started walking, Topper leading the way to the restaurant as you and he talked animatedly about the last show he had performed. It was only a couple of minutes before you could feel raindrops falling and hitting your skin.

You stopped walking. “I think it’s started raining,” you said, pointing out the obvious. The rain had now started to come down in a steady rhythm.

Topper stopped beside you and frowned. “It’s not too bad,” he said. “We should be okay if we-”

His words were cut off by a clap of thunder. You both jumped at the noise as the rain picked up and turned into a downpour.

“Oh shit!” Topper shouted over the rain. He grabbed your hand and the two of you raced down the street, trying to find cover from the rain, but it was too late. You were already drenched.

You laughed as Topper pulled you along, loving the feeling of the cool rain against your skin. He dragged you through puddles, splashing your clothes and soaking your shoes. The streets had cleared almost instantly, so now, it felt like you and Topper had the whole city to yourselves.

In just a little over a minute though, Topper was pulling you through the restaurant doors. You and he stood, dripping water onto the floor and looking like a pair of drowned rats. You laughed and shook your head, sending water droplets flying.

“Well, that was fun,” you mused.

The hostess of the restaurant regarded you with a distasteful expression but led you to a table without complaint.

You sat across from Topper and shared shy smiles and glances with him as you flipped through the menu. The restaurant wasn’t outrageously expensive or fancy, but it was definitely a step up from the eateries you frequented. It was clear to you that Topper had made an effort to make this date nice. He had even put on a collared button-down shirt which you found to be very handsome although it was now sufficiently damp and wrinkled.

After ordering your meals, Topper leaned forward in his seat. He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to style it after the rain and offered you an awkward smile when he met your eyes.

“So, um, I meant to tell you earlier, but you look really nice,” he said with a small blush rising to his cheeks.

You let out a quick laugh. “Well, the rain might’ve ruined that but thanks. You look nice too,” you said. “Very handsome.”

Topper ducked his head and nodded. “No, I mean, not no, I just mean, um,” he stammered, his cheeks darkening. “I just mean that the rain didn’t ruin anything. And thank you, for the compliment.” He turned his head to look out the window next to the table and watch the rain.

You found his nervous fumbling to be quite cute. You had never really seen this side of him before. Normally, when the two of you crossed paths, he was surrounded by friends and very boisterous and outgoing often flirting more outright and telling you joke after joke. You enjoyed both sides of him for their different reasons.

“On our way here,” you said, drawing his attention back to you. “You were telling me a story about Paul. What happened? Did he end up eating the glue?”

Topper threw his head back and laughed at the memory. The noise was like music to your ears. “Yes!” he gushed out, now excited to finish telling his tale. “Once we were done hanging the flyers, he cooked it up and ate it!”

You giggled. “What? How did he cook it?”

All nervousness seemed to leave Topper as he finished telling you his story about his friend and bandmate Paul. And as the conversation continued past that, Topper stayed relaxed, talking away freely and making you laugh several times.

The date was going swimmingly until the bill arrived.

When the waitress delivered yours and Topper’s bill at the end of the meal, you both reached out to grab it. You smiled as your fingers brushed against one another’s but neither of you let go.

“I’ve got it,” Topper said, tugging a little at the slip of paper.

“Are you sure?” you asked, not wanting Topper to feel like he had to pay for both of your meals.

“Yeah,” Topper said. “I asked you out, so I get to pay,” he said almost smugly. He successfully pulled the bill out from your hand but in doing so, knocked his elbow into his drink.

It happened so fast, neither of you had time to react. Topper’s glass of coke tipped over and the contents of the cup spilled all over the table and down into your lap. You immediately shot up out of you seat.

“Shit!” you and Topper both cursed in unison. The front of your legs were now stained with soda.

“God, I’m sorry! That was a total accident,” Topper rushed out, handing you some napkins.

“It’s okay! My trousers were wet from the rain anyway,” you said, trying to downplay the situation. You were aware of some of the other restaurant patrons watching you and felt a little embarrassed. You had no doubt they were judging you and Topper as some no good, trouble making punks.

“I’m just going to go to the restroom to clean up a little,” you said, excusing yourself from the table. A glance at Topper showed just how bad the poor boy felt about knocking his drink on to you. You put a hand on his shoulder. “Seriously Tops, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” You patted his shoulder in what you hoped to be a comfortable manner and made your way to the toilets.

Inside the bathroom you were able to look at yourself in the mirror and see the extent of the damage the previous run in the rain had done to your hair and clothes. Your hair was a bit of a mess, still pretty damp and with strands of hair plastered to your forehead. You ran your fingers through it, trying to smooth it out. Your shirt was pretty much almost dry albeit a little wrinkly though and your trousers would probably be in the same condition if they weren’t now stained with soda.

You sighed. You probably weren’t making the best impression on Topper looking like this.

Shaking your head to yourself and your reflection, you went ahead and grabbed some paper towels, dampening them under the tap and trying to scrub the stains out of your trousers. After a couple minutes of scrubbing, you stopped, figuring it was probably as good as it was going to get.

You exited the restroom and went back to the table, only to find a distraught-looking Topper.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, his expression making you worried.

He watched you take your seat but didn’t answer.

“Topper?”

“I forgot my wallet,” he said finally, looking upset and guilty.

“Oh,” you said, a little relieved that was the only issue. “That’s okay. I can pay.” You reached into your own pocket and procured some money.

He watched sorrowfully as you grabbed the bill from across the table and put down the bills necessary to pay it.

Topper didn’t say anything as the waitress came back and collected the money. Nor did he say anything when the two of you got up and left the restaurant. You were beginning to worry about him, concerned at how upset he seemed.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked gently as you made your way through the streets and back to your flat.

Topper nodded and gave you a smile, but it was strained and didn’t reach his eyes.

“No, you’re not,” you said. You stopped walking and turned to face him fully. “Is this about the bill because really it’s not a big deal.”

“I’m just, I’m sorry,” he said, sounding frustrated. “I wanted this all to be perfect and it turned out to be awful!” He turned his face down toward his shoes. “I swear I wanted it be better than this, I really do like you, and I know you probably think this was the worst date ever. I’m sorry, I really am.”

“Topper,” you said. “Are you kidding? This date has been amazing.”

He lifted his head to stare at you skeptically. “How can you say that? I made us run through the rain, I spilled my drink on you, and you even had to pay the bloody bill! This was a disaster.”

“You really think I care about any of that? The only thing I wanted from today was to get to spend time with you, and I got that. I don’t care if that time is spent getting rained on,” you said.

“But what about the drink?” Topper protested. “And the bill?”

“Who cares?” you laughed. “I didn’t much care for these trousers anyway and, as for the bill, well you can pay next time if you like.”

This made Topper blush. “Next time?”

You could feel color rising to your face as well. “Well, I mean, that is if you’d like a next time.”

Topper huffed out a little laugh. “I’d really like that (Y/N).” Then, gaining back his confidence he joked with you. “And now that I know you don’t care what we do, date planning will be much easier.”

“Is that so?” you asked humorously.

“Oh yeah,” he said, taking your hand and beginning to lead you back down the road. “We could do anything. Gravedigging, wrestling, armed robbery, you name it!”

You threw your head back and laughed. “Christ, you’re a git!”

“A git that you want to spend time with,” Topper pointed out in a teasing tone.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “But you want to spend time with me too, right?” you asked with a fake pout.

“Aw, of course,” Topper said, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Good,” you said. You looked up and could see your flat up ahead. “So, you won’t protest coming inside with me then, right?”

He looked at you, then to your flat, and then back to you again. “No, I, I think that’s a great idea,” he said whilst nodding his head furiously.

“Good. I’ve been waiting to get out of these clothes.” You looked at him with a smirk.

He gawked at you. “Well then what are we waiting for?” he said, pulling at your hand to get you to speed up. “Let’s go!”

[coffeecupsandquiet]

ISOLOPHILIA

“If you're lonely when you're alone, you're in bad company.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

Basic Information

Full name: Jordan Rojas

Pronunciation: JOR-DAN RO-HAAS

Nickname(s): dont even think about it

Birthdate: January 12

Age: 23

Zodiac: Capricorn 

Gender: Cis-male

Pronouns: he/him

Romantic orientation: homoromantic

Sexual orientation: he is what the kids call, morosexual….. Jk homosexual

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: mixed (hesitate to comment beyond Italian due to my inability to track down definitive sources of Rob Raco’s ethnicity)

Current location: miami baBY

Living conditions: immaculate and modernly simplistic. A clean house is a calm house.

 Background

Birthplace: unknown

Hometown: Chicago

Social Class: upper middle? I think?

Educational achievements: nothing formal, but he does consume books at an unhealthy rate

Father: unknown

Mother: unknown

Sibling(s): unknown

Birth order: unknown

Pets: ABSOLUTELY YES OF COURSE! He has five sweet honeys, one queen named Melon, and four beautiful kittens, Cantaloupe, Sugar, Honeydew, and Galia. Fun fact, but all of the kittens names are names of melons. 

Previous relationships: non existent….. lol

Arrests: ….uhhhhhhh, absolutely not

Prison time: ^^^^^^^

 Occupation & Income

Current occupation: he do be a thief for a crime organization tho

Dream occupation: a librarian… or maybe an archivist for a famous museum…. yeah

Past job(s): being a full time SQUARE

Spending habits: hm, careful with his money, but will spend extra to make sure what he is wearing/doing/seeing is up to his standards

In debt?: this is MY fantasy and in it, i have NO DEBT so NO 

Most valuable possession: his babies… but followed up by his gold leafed edition of the Grimme Fairytales.

 Skills & Abilities

Physical strength: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: pre-determined that he lifts to carry the homies

Speed: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: do you really think you’d catch him running in gucci shoes? no

Intelligence: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: jordan says ‘fuck the school system!’ and then read books forever

Accuracy: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: jordan is very good with powers, but uh, i don’t know if he’s good with a gun. I imagine he’d flinch at the recoil

Agility: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: he’s a bit of a snake, but erm, not enough to be considered wily i think

Stamina: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: he goes to the gym, but not for endurance so-

Teamwork: hell no. total lone wolf, which is why it's a miracle he gets along with Len

Talents/hobbies: reading, obviously, but he also dabbles in piano and writing I think. Lets make fun of Jordan for writing bad poetry!!!!! Im going to throw that nerds books in the fountin

Shortcomings: stubborn as hell and also extremely stuck up. Partially because he is naturally untrusting but also partially because hes kind of a dick. 

Languages spoken: English and conversational Spanish

Drive?: hell no, hes gay

Jump-start a car?: hell no, hes gay

Change a flat tyre?: hell no, hes gay

Ride a bicycle?: yes, but the last time he did he was like 8 or something so

Swim?: yes! He actually likes it I think, but usually only if he’s alone. 

Play an instrument?: Piano! 

Play chess?: Obviously. Not seriously or anything, but he can play.

Braid hair?: Yes! He plays with his own hair when he’s bored. 

Tie a tie?: oh my god yes of COURSE he does. If he didn’t he would have to bully himself.

Pick a lock?: he’d be a pretty shit thief if he couldn’t

Cook?: yes! Nothing quite like knowing what to cook with his nice white wine

 Physical Appearance & Characteristics

Faceclaim: Rob Raco

Eye colour: blue

Hair colour: black

Hair type/style/length: shoulder length and wavy

Glasses/contacts?: contacts

Dominant hand: left

Height: 5’9”

Weight: i don’t want to answer this because i don’t know

Build: slender and lightly defined

Exercise habits: i feel so embarrassed admitting that jordan do be lifting three times a week

Skin tone: i….. Golden? idk

Tattoos: contrary to his many gifs, he doesn’t have any i don’t think

Piercings: his ears are definitely pierced though

Marks/scars: some scars from some “playful” rough housing. Nothing too extreme, just a nick on his left calf and a hidden one in his right eyebrow. 

Clothing style: clean cut. He prefers dress shirts and slacks for most occasions, and is rarely seen dressed down further than a short sleeve button up. Putting on his clothes is like putting up a front. Just a reminder to hold everyone at a distance. 

Jewellery: he does have a watch and earrings and perhaps a couple of necklaces

Allergies: none

Diet: vegetarian i have just decided right here right now

Physical ailments: none

 Psychology

I did a test with Jordan in mind for each of these fuckers.

MBTI type: INTJ-A: Bookish and reclusive are two words to describe this type, and that lines up pretty well with Jordan’s personality as well. They value themselves more so than the relationships they make, and pride themselves on getting things done. 

Enneagram type: Type 6: the Loyal Skeptic. Taken from the website “The committed, security-oriented type. Sixes are reliable, hard-working, responsible, and trustworthy. Excellent "troubleshooters," they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it”

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral- Driven by their own purposes, willing to do anything to secure themselves. They aren’t inherently evil, but are only usually only good when it serves their purposes.

Temperament:  Take from the website: Phlegmatic - The phlegmatic temperament is fundamentally relaxed and quiet, ranging from warmly attentive to lazily sluggish. Phlegmatics tend to be content with themselves and are kind. They are accepting and affectionate. They may be receptive and shy and often prefer stability to uncertainty and change. They are consistent, relaxed, calm, rational, curious, and observant, qualities that make them good administrators. They can also be passive-aggressive.

Element: Earth

Emotional stability: At the moment in our time line, horrid. Non existent. He is just a giant ball of feelings and he HATES IT because usually he is very put together. 

Introvert or Extrovert? Incredibly introverted, if it wasn’t already obvious.

Obsession(s): Books! Clearly. But also his cats as well as fashion and cleanliness and coffee!!!!!

Compulsion(s): Making sure all of his mugs are facing the same direction in the cabinet.

Phobia(s): Claustrophobia 

Addiction(s): none

Drug use: Remember the Jordan is a pot head meme. Yeah. That

Alcohol use: usually just a glass or two of wine. Nothing to big. Usually. 

Prone to violence?: Heavens no! For all of his lifting, if someone threw a punch at him he’d probably run away.

Prone to crying?: Not in front of people, but he can be a weepy drunk depending on the time nad place

Believe in love at first sight?: Although he is a realist, he has a very very romantic and soft heart, so this one is a yes, although he would never admit it.

 Mannerisms

Accent: American

Speech quirks: talks like he’s a bored victorian scholar

Hobbies: reading, writing, playing piano, playing with cats, making coffee.

Habits: sleeping with a light on

Nervous ticks: he touches his hair when he’s nervous or thinking

Drives/motivations: his biggest motivation is staying alive and safe from the government. He knows his power could be used to hurt everyone, not just him, and that is important because there is safety in numbers. Also, he knows that there are mutants who will help him just because he is one of them. 

Fears: being taken and tested on or used against other mutants. There is litcherally no fear greater than that for him

Sense of humour?: dry and sardonic. Usually takes amusement in knowing more than you

Do they curse often?: Heavens no! If they are cursing, they are either drunk, scared, surprised, or PISSED OFF. or all of them together LMAO 

 Favorites

Animal: cat for obvious reasons

Beverage: a classic latte, for obvious reasons

Book: The Door into Summer by Robert A. Heinlein

Colour: Mahogany 

Food: Yogurt and berries

Flower: traditional roses, because he is a romantic

Gem: Mahogany Obsidian

Mode of transportation: Foot or bus

Scent: Lily and lets be real, good kush

Sport: he’s gay…...

Weather: sunny rainshower

Vacation destination: into his own bed and then no one bothers him

 Attitudes

Greatest dream: to not feel hunted no matter where he goes. He also wants to settle down with someone whom he loves and who loves him, because romance is something he has always fantasized about

Greatest fear: dying before he’s ready, but worse so, being captured and used against his will

Most at ease when: he’s snuggling up with his cats with a nice book

Least as ease when: he is in a high stress situation with no familiar faces.

Worst possible thing that could happen: being captured and used

Biggest achievement: Securing his place in the Kings and consequently out of the police as soon as he possibly could once he turned 18.

Biggest regret: Never resisting the orders of those in his foster home.

[fanficreadingcorner]

It’s been too long

Pairing: None just nice platonic relationships between three best pals

Words: on the shorter side with only 1,768

Masterlist

A/N: So I came up with this idea while I was talking to a friend and watching the Witcher. So right before the feast Jaskier asks Geralt if Witchers ever retire and Gerald says they do when they get old and get killed. Which lead me to think, hmmm does this mean that Witchers never age? If they don’t then that means they hunt monsters until they die. So I thought what if Geralt had finally killed all the monsters, then what? He would just continue his existence cause there are no natural predators to a Witcher anymore and this is what came to mind. A Geralt that never aged along with Jaskier who also stopped aging for reasons to be explained and you the reader as a witch. Let me know what you think, and if you want me to write them during a specific time or doing something. Let me know, my head cannon is that they’re responsible for a lot of things that happened. SORRY for the long intro, now on with the show!

         “Jaskier’s home” you said while moving to go unlock the door so that Jaskier could barge in like he did every day, there was one time you forgot to unlock the door and not only would Jaskier never let you live it down after he slammed himself against the door, but Geralt had also laughed so hard that day that it would forever be ingrained in your memory. He didn’t laugh often, or at all for that matter so that had been a rare treat. You moved to go pick up your laptop and things that were scattered around the dining table while Geralt grunted and went to go check on the mac and cheese that was cooking in the crockpot, it was his turn to cook today after all. Suddenly the door burst open and in strode the famous bard.

           “I’M HOME” yelled Jaskier at the top of his lungs. You would think that with how often he yelled that loudly that his vocal cords would have been damned by now but alas I guess the healing was something that came with when that witch ‘cursed’ him all those years ago.

           “We know, you tend to almost break down the door every time you throw it open” grumbled Geralt while you moved around setting up the table so that the three of you could enjoy dinner together, something that had originated sometime in the 18th century if you remembered correctly but it was really hard to pinpoint when exactly considering how long you all had lived at this point.

           “Aren’t you lucky then that I have absolutely not muscle in any part of my body as as to not hurt the door, unlike someone I know that stockpiles it like flour in 18th century France” jabbed Jaskier right back causing you to snort in amusement, you’d think that after living together for so long that they would treat each other with more love but not even 600 years, give or take a few, could mend somethings. Although admittedly this was how they showed their love for one another.

           “Well you would know wouldn’t you Mr. ‘I wanna be part of King Louis court it looks so fancy and I can probably make a lot of money out of it playing my songs. So I’m going to go to France by self’. How many times did we have to save you from the guillotine?” questioned Geralt while turning off the crockpot and then looking at Jaskier with a smirk on his face.

           “I lost count after 5” you added laughing when you saw the look of betrayal on Jaskier’s face. Before it quickly morphed into a smug face.

           “It doesn’t even matter because I’m alive and, guess whose song is number one on the charts again” bragged Jaskier while doing a little happy dance. You would think that after the first time this happened, he would have lost some of the excitement but it’s never a boring day with those two. Although admittedly it was a lot worse the first time this happened because he wouldn’t stop bragging for YEARS afterwards. Luckily it died down, although he still celebrated with the same dance every time. Laughing and shaking you head while you sat down to eat you remembered that you probably shouldn’t be surprised that his songs were this popular you forgot sometimes that this was the same man that made ‘Toss a Coin to your Witcher’ famous in what was basically all of Europe at the time which in itself was an impressive feat considering that things were not as wide spread as they were now.

           “Yes, while we’re glad that you found your calling as a song writer I still don’t get why you won’t become a singer again, you have a good enough voice” You stated while waiting for Geralt to bring the food to the table and Jaksier to finally sit down. “You’ve done it before, we know you can do it” You continued as Jaskier sat down and rolled his eyes at you.

           “I’ve already told you, it’s too much work and I make more than enough money this way, plus the last time we did this remember how hard it was to stage my murder?” he countered while Geralt placed the food on the table, sat in his chair and started serving the food to everyone.

           “Eh I guess you’re right, It was cool though when you went on tour and we were able to tag along. Have you talked to Paul recently?” you continued while taking your plate for Geralt to dig into.

           “No, he’s busy or something, also I’m still kinda upset. Not at him of course but at the queen, why didn’t the queen grant me knighthood as well. Lord knows we’ve known that family for years, plus Geralt helped them come into power! But nope she has to go and knight Paul, I wrote most of those songs you know!” huffed Jaskier while quickly spooning some mac and cheese into his mouth and chewing aggressively. You raised your eyebrows in amusement and shrugged.

           “Perhaps” started Geralt, who had been quiet as of so far, “It has something to do with the fact that ‘you’” he said with air quotes around the you, “were ‘dead’ and thus she couldn’t really knight you” he finished off pointing his fork at Jaskier and then placing it in his mouth.

           “She could have done it posthumous; she knew I wasn’t really dead” muttered Jaskier before continuing his assault on the cheesy noodles.

           “Anyways” you dragged out hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere before Jaskier got too caught up. “so casting is finally done for ‘The Witcher’” watching Geralts reaction only to see him groan and throw his head back in frustration. Rolling your eyes, you continued. “So, they cast a British actor to play you, I think his name is Joe Batey? Resemblance is uncanny to you and his acting’s great, plus he seems to be able to capture your essence pretty well.” You continued as you watched Geralt try to make himself as small as possible to avoid the next question that was undoubtably going to come from Jaskier, which was not an easy feat considering how large Geralt actually was.

           “That’s great! If you don’t mind me asking who got cast as Geralt?” Questioned Jaskier none the wiser as to why Geralt seeming very invested in his food all of a sudden and not the current conversation like he has been a few moments ago.

           “Oh no one in particular” You started off watching Jaskier reach for his water and take a sip. “Just some actor that goes by the name Henry Cavill” At that Jaskier spit the little water he had in his mouth out causing it to go all over Geralt, and then proceeded to laugh like a mad man.

           “You’re joking!” Jaskier managed to choke out in between his laughs while Gerlat grunted and slid his hand down his face to ride himself of the water that had landed no his face. Shaking your head no, you confirmed Jaskiers question, Geralt would be acting as himself. Once Jaskier managed to calm down a bit he asked a follow up, “how did you manage to get him to even audition, let alone take the role?!” now he looked like a teenager wanting to know how to the two most popular kids in the entire high school had gotten together. You looked over at Geralt expectedly waiting for him to answer.

           “I lost a bet” was all Geralt muttered before Jaskier started laughing again causing Geralt to groan in annoyance and roll his eyes. “It’s really not that funny Jaskier” he tried hoping to calm the bard down just a tad. Gasping Jaskier now had Geralts full attention.

           “Not that funny!?” he exclaimed dramatically, hand over his heart like Geralt had just said the most offensive thing in the world to him. “Forget ye not how you came into this predicament of even being an actor?” chuckled Jaskier while Geralt grunted under his breath. “That’s right, a bet, you lost a bet to me and now you lost a bet to (y/n), so I guess it’s safe to say that you probably shouldn’t bet anymore. Even if you were good at it before” finished Jaskier with a flick of his wrist before picking up his plate and washing it in the sink. Shrugging Geralt stood and started cleaning up the table before answering Jaskier.

           “I suppose my luck finally ran out, although I think that happened when the witch cursed you with eternal life” Geralt smirked while bring up the dirty plates to the sink. Causing Jaskier to whip around and gasp dramatically at Geralt.

           “I will have you know that I am a blessing to this trio that we have, isn’t that right (y/n)?” asked Jaskier catching you off guard as you placed the leftover in the fridge.

           “uhhhhhhh” you hesitated while closing the door and turned to face them. “I would like to be excluded from this narrative?” You tried hoping that they wouldn’t drag you into this.

           “Well I never!” huffed Jaskier. “I thought the writer of the famous Witcher novels would have more to say on this” he continued before turning back to the dishes.

           “Flattery will get you nowhere” responded Geralt while handing Jaskier more plates to wash while he finished clearing off the table.

           “It used to” mumbled Jaskier while aggressively scrubbing a patch of cheese on one of the plates before placing it in the dishwasher. You leaned against the counter next to him before responding.

           “To be fair it was a different time and in the stories I wrote you aren’t exactly immortal” you said before pushing yourself off the counter to make your way upstairs. “Anyways, the network wants me to have the pilot scene finished by tomorrow, so I will see you guys later” you excused yourself before making your way up the stair but not before hearing Jaskier start to bother Geralt again.

           “Hey Geralt which do you think was the better of these two songs I wrote, Bohemian Rhapsody or Thriller?” started Jaskier, hearing Geralt grunt in annoyance you knew this would not be over soon.

           “It don’t think it’s important” answered Geralt, while you heard Jaskier sigh in annoyance.

           ‘It’s very important and you know it! Some of my best work….” Jaskier trailed off as you made it into your office and shut the door. Never a dull moment with these two.

[kanna-ophelia]

Hard Nut to Crack

31 Days of Ineffables challenge Day 3: Nutcracker

Book version all the way on this one.

Hard Nut to Crack

“I have no idea what  you are afraid of,” Aziraphale said, because it was clear Crowley was afraid. The demon was sitting with conscious elegance, legs crossed at his ankles, not at all in the relaxed slump he usually used in the shop’s backroom. It was irritating, and also endearing, and Aziraphale had long ago stopped trying to untangle the two responses when it came to Crowley.

“I’ll harm you,” Crowley said, in reasonable tones.

“If you think you are capable of doing me serious harm, my dear, I’m afraid you are rather flattering yourself.” He looked Crowley up and down rather pointedly, then down at himself. A skinny being in a fallen state compared to a solidly built angel in a state of grace.

“No need to be insulting about it.” Aziraphale fancied Crowley’s posture relaxed just a little.

“Then what? You’re afraid your saliva is laced with hellfire?”

“I’m more worried yours might be holy water,” Crowley muttered.

“So it’s not really me you’re concerned about after all.”

“Don’t be stupid, and don’t sound so smug.” Crowley ran his hand through the carefully unkempt looking black waves, turning them into actually unkempt black waves sticking in all different directions. There were two locks in the middle sticking up at angles like television antennas.

The scale was definitely leaning towards ‘endearing’

Aziraphale looked at the bowl of nuts on the coffee table, next to the novelty angel nutcracker Crowley had bought him one Christmas. All the easier to crack nuts were gone, and the Brazil nuts, as often happened with nut selections, were left. The centres were tender and delectable, but it was so hard to get to them through the shell without destroying the fragile insides.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked again, patiently.

“I’m venomous, you know.”

“Then don’t bite me.”

Crowley carefully looked everywhere but at him. “Might not be able to help myself.”

“I trust you,” Aziraphale said, patting Crowley’s knee encouragingly. It was bony under the expensive mulberry silk and wool blend trousers, or what would have been expensive trousers if Crowley bothered to actually buy them. The boniness tipped the scales even further towards ‘endearing’, and for some inexplicable reason added a solid weight of ‘arousing’ as well

Whatever Aziraphale had dreamed or feared about Crowley’s response to a whispered “May I kiss you?”–which ran the gamut from gentle murmurs to mocking laughter, from being shoved passionately against a wall to being shoved away and not spoken to for decades–he had not expected to be sitting in the bookshop still discussing it twenty minutes later. Stone cold sober, too. He had clearly underestimated the hard shell the demon had grown around his soft interior.

But Crowley had not said no. He could have said no at any point, but he had very, very noticeably not said no. He was sitting there, closed away in a hard shell, not saying no.

Just not saying yes.

“So how do you think you will harm me?”

“You’re too intelligent for this. You’re an angel, I’m a demon.”

“Yes, yes. We established that back in the Garden of Eden.”

“Consorting with demons. Not exactly encouraged in an angel, is it?”

“We have been consorting together for centuries. If we were going to get cold feet, perhaps before averting the Apocalypse would have been appropriate. I’m at peace with consorting with you. What I want, very much, is to kiss you.”

“Cause I tempted you,” Crowley said under his breath.

Aziraphale blinked. “When?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed? Even once?”

“I’m sorry, dear boy.” He wanted to say that Crowley tempted him just by existing. He wasn’t sure if that would be complimentary or just rub salt into the wound. He decided it was safer to say nothing.

“I am the bloody Serpent of Eden. I tempt. That’s what I do.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt your professional pride.”

Crowley said something that sounded like nrrghgurgle.

“Are you worried you will tempt me into carnal sins of the flesh?”

This time it was more like nrrghdsplt. “How can you just sit there, sipping bloody tea, and say things like that?”

“Well, someone has to say them.” Aziraphale hesitated. “Unless you don’t want to me to kiss you.”

“It isn’t–it’s not… Oh, angel, you are hopeless.” Crowley pushed away Aziraphale’s rather nice coffee table with his snakeskin boots, and flounced out like a slighted soprano.

Aziraphale sighed, picking up the Spiller nuts from the bowl. Perhaps it had been a bad idea after all. It might be months before his demon spoke to him again.

Still. Crowley, with mussed up hair and sharp suit, flouncing, was adorable. And he had, very definitely admitted to wanting to be kissed. The sweet dear boy.

Better to leave him for a while. In the meantime, nutcracker in hand, Aziraphale remembered reading that it was much easier to crack Brazil nut shells without cracking the insides if you let them sit for a while in cold water, chilling.

* * *

A fortnight later, a Bible arrived. It was 1599 Geneva Bible in exquisite condition, and Aziraphale’s hands trembled as he unwrapped it, despite the ominously snake themed wrapping paper.

At least, it had been in exquisite condition, until someone had gone through it with a green fluorescent highlighter, marking all the passages about fornication or the Serpent of Eden.

It was almost impressive how much trouble, expense and mortal danger Crowley had put himself through in order to ruin a priceless book to prove a point. Endearing, Aziraphale told himself. Endearingly mischievous snake. The sweet dear boy. Aziraphale’s pampered hands shook with barely restrained holy fury.

A scrap of paper fell out. “See particularly Galatians 5:19.”

Right. That was it. It took every ounce of practice Aziraphale had not to swear.

He started talking too soon, realised it was the answering machine, and took a deep breath.

“Crowley, humans might be less worried about the original tempter if they knew what a ridiculous prude he was.”

There was a click as the receiver was picked up. “I’m not a prude. I’m trying to make you think it over, angel.”

“You are a prude. And how dare you point me to Galatians? Paul was an even worse prude than you are. If he even wrote that letter, which you know as well as I do that he didn’t.”

“Your lot seem okay with humans claiming he did.”

“My lot are beside the point. You don’t quote 5:21 at me when I share my most precious wine stocks with you.”

“No. I’m too busy staring at your thighs and trying to resist the impulse to dig my fingers into them and see what kind of noises you make.”

Fire exploded somewhere in the depths of Aziraphale’s thighs, as if they were responding to being talked about with such naked honesty. “I wish you wouldn’t resist. What kind of demon are you, resisting lust?”

“What kind of angel are you, tempting to lust?”

“It’s not just lust.”

“That’s part of the bloody problem!” There was a silence and Crowley said, more gently, “I don’t think you’ve taken enough time to think about it.”

“I’ve taken six thousand years. How much longer should I consider?”

Crowley choked back a laugh “Okay, okay. Point taken. And me, too.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and tenderness swept over him. He could answer honesty with honesty. “I want to kiss you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Oh, Aziraphale.” No barbs on Crowley’s voice now, just a defeated sounding hiss. “That’s not all I want. But what I want most of all is not to harm you, and not to drive you away. I’m not losing you again.”

“You won’t. Just–just kissing. It doesn’t have to be a fuss. We could exchange a kiss in greeting and farewell. Just like–”

“A couple.” Crowley breathed, and his longing was something thick and painful down the phone.

“How much danger can I be in with a kiss?”

“You’d be surprised, angel.” Crowley hesitated. “Look, there’s this place just opened, old fashioned Italian cooking. Surprisingly decent wine list. You’ll like it. I’ll pick you up, and we could–maybe. First.

Aziraphale understood and appreciated it. They would have somewhere to go. No reason to linger and be further tempted. “That sounds lovely.”

“That’s the worst of it. It does.” Crowley hung up.

Aziraphale probably should have been surprised when Crowley turned up awkwardly clutching a bunch of costly red roses.

The demon stepped inside and threw the flowers on a chair like he wasn’t sure how he came to be holding them, followed by his sunglasses, which Aziraphale found interesting. “Well, then.” His yellow eyes were round and terrified.

“Well, then,” Aziraphale repeated, in his kindest voice, despite his dry throat. He realised he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. He tried placing them on Crowley’s thin shoulders, which seemed to work well, as Crowley stepped closer and, amazingly, put his own hands on Aziraphale’s thick waist.

“Hullo, angel,” he said, and his sharp-toothed grin flashed, and it was suddenly easy, really easy, to close the remaining gap between them and kiss his mouth.

“Just one kiss,” Aziraphale murmured against soft dry lips.

“I suppose we should cancel the dinner reservation,” Aziraphale said.

* * *

Crowley, sprawled over Aziraphale and lazily kissing his shoulder, shrugged with one of his liquid movements. “Never actually bother making them. How’s your back?”

“Sore.”

“Me, too. Unused muscle groups. It will get better with practice. Knees?”

“I should probably do something about the rug burn,” Aziraphale admitted, noting that Crowley was out of practice too, and wondering exactly how long the demon had been, well, not practicing. He certainly seemed to have known what he was doing.

“Poor darling,” Crowley said. He had certainly never used that endearment before. His hand trailed down over Aziraphale’s hip and thigh to find a knee and caress it soothingly. “I should have taken more care. You do have nice knees.”

“So do you.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s face up to kiss his lips.

“Just a kiss,” Crowley said bitterly, as their lips parted. “What harm could it do?”

Aziraphale stroked his hair, despite the amount of hair product in it. “Seems to be no harm done except some minor aches and pains.”

“I put you at risk. Again. I’m always putting you at risk.” He put his head down on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t let me.”

“My dearest boy, it’s not a matter of letting. And it was worth it.” He scritched Crowley’s scalp with his fingertips, soothing with deep pressure. “You are worth it. You are always, always worth it.”

“Ssso are you,” Crowley hissed against his shoulder, and Aziraphale marvelled, once again, at the absolute tenderness inside that hard shell.

He was determined to keep his precious demon safe.

[chuffyfan87]

Growing Pains. Part 1a (NSFW)

Cowritten with @disastrousintention. Sequel to Hiding. Set appropriately six years after the end of that fic.

-x-

It was Christmas morning in the Fairhead household but it wasn't just any Christmas - today was special for another reason. Christmas meant it was also the twins' birthday. It was a special birthday for the girls, they’d finally hit the age of thirteen.

Despite now being teenagers they still got up at the crack of dawn, running upstairs and banging on their parents' bedroom door.

"Mum! Dad! Wake up!"

“Urgh!” Charlie groaned loudly as he rolled over and cuddled Duffy’s naked body, “Girls! Its... 6am!”

"But it's our birthday!" Tilly replied excitedly.

“I know but your mum’s nice, warm and naked.”

“Urgh, Dad that’s gross!” Lottie replied, pulling a face.

"Charlie!" Duffy gasped.

“We’re gonna go back to our room, we’ll give you ten minutes to finish whatever you’re doing.” Tilly and Lottie went back to their room.

"They'll be very disappointed to know that I'm just going to go back to sleep!" Duffy chuckled, fluffing her pillow.

Charlie's hands roamed her body, “Just sleep?”

"I was up late last night helping Santa unload his sack." She giggled before stretching like a cat.

“And not just the one on his back either, I seem to recall.” He smirked, his hands cupping her breasts. “Five minute quickie?”

"Oh you're such a romantic!" She giggled as she rolled onto her back.

He moved over the top of her and was about to enter her when the door handle began to rattle. “Mummy!” It was Paul.

"That lock was the best idea we ever had!" Duffy chuckled as she moved to get up. She grabbed her nighty from the floor and threw it on before going to see what Paul wanted. "Morning sunshine!" She smiled at the six year old.

“Certainly was.” Charlie began to get changed, throwing on some pyjama bottoms and his dressing gown.

Paul smiled at his mum, “Santa been?”

"He has, shall we see what he got you?" She asked, taking her dressing gown from the hook behind the door.

“Lots of toys.” Paul replied with a giggle.

"Just what we need - more toys!" Duffy chuckled.

“More toys!” Paul grinned and dived towards the stairs. “Everyone awake!! Everyone up!!” He began to shout.

"Paul! Shush!" Duffy urged but it was too late. The twins and Oli came bounding out to join them.

“It’s our birthday!” The girls loudly declared.

"Now you're both the same age as me again." Emily grumbled sleepily as she joined them all on the landing.

“Cheer up Em! Won’t be for long.” They playfully nudged each side of their sister.

"Where are Jake and Louis?" Oli asked, noticing that his big brothers hadn't joined them.

“Here.” They both grumbled as they came out of their rooms, rubbing their eyes and yawning.

“It’s far too early!” Louis complained.

"Its alright for Peter, I bet he's still asleep in his flat right now." Jake grumbled.

“Doing god knows what with girls!” Louis laughed loudly.

"Boys!" Duffy chided.

“Sorry.” Louis replied with a smile.

"Peter will be joining us for lunch later. Alone as far as I'm aware." Duffy replied pointedly.

Charlie knew Peter was seeing someone, well several girls in fact. He’d heard the rumours.

Whilst at uni Peter had thrown himself headfirst into the social aspects of life away from home. Despite this he had still graduated well and was now working full time.

And Charlie couldn’t have been prouder of the fact he’d graduated in Chemical Engineering and was doing a job he loved. “Come on then rugrats, let’s go and see what Santa’s brought.”

The lounge was full with stacks of presents each wrapped in a different colour of paper with a name tag on the top to indicate the recipient.

“Santa did good.” Charlie replied as he lent against the door.

"He did very good indeed." Duffy winked.

Charlie kissed Duffy’s cheek as they moved to sit on the sofa and watched the children fight for the presents.

What had taken hours to buy, wrap and stack descended into chaos in a matter of minutes!

The girls whistled, causing everyone to stop arguing.

Jake stared in amazement at his youngest sisters. Who knew they could whistle that loud?!

“Can we dismantle this pile a lot quieter?” Tilly asked.

"Since when did you not like noise?" Emily asked, her eyebrow raised in perfect imitation of her mother.

“When it gives me a headache.” Tilly answered back. Only for Emily to roll her eyes, once again in Perfect imitation of her mother and response with a mutter, “God thats got to be a first.”

"Emily be nice." Duffy smiled, shaking her head indulgently at Tilly.

Emily pouted. “Ok mama.”

Reaching behind the sofa Duffy then handed a wrapped package to Charlie. "Merry Christmas handsome."

Charlie smiled as he took hold of the present, “I may have forgot to buy you one.” He teased.

She stuck her tongue out at him and turned back to watch the children, pretending to be in a huff.

The children couldn’t stay in a huff for long and soon it was all forgotten about as they opened their presents. Charlie took the wrapping paper off his present.

"I hope you like it. I wasn't really sure what to get you."

“I’ve got everything I ever need.” He smiled brightly.

"Your legendary charm won't save you if you really haven't gotten me a present!" Duffy giggled.

“Of course I’ve brought you a present. Would I not?” He kissed her cheek.

"Where is it then?" She pouted playfully.

He whispered something rude into her ear that caused them both to laugh.

"You wouldn't?" She giggled.

“Is that a challenge, Mrs Fairhead?”

"Sounds like one to me!"

He smirked. “You’re on.”

"Oh I'm looking forward to this!"

He chuckled softly.

A little while later the Christmas presents were all unwrapped and the twins were begging to open their birthday presents.

“Go on then, knock yourselves out kiddos.”

"Woohoo!" Tilly and Lottie yelled with excitement.

The girls began to open their birthday presents. There was a series of delighted shrieks and giggles as the girls tore open their birthday presents.

“Yes! Mum, dad, thank you so much!”

"We got the right thing then?" Duffy asked with a smile.

“Yes!”

"Phew! I nearly sent your dad to get it but decided better of it." Duffy giggled.

“Dad would’ve got the wrong one.”

"More than likely." Duffy teased, nudging her husband playfully.

“Well, that’s just rude.” Charlie answered and pouted.

Seeing his dad's face Oli ran over and gave him a cuddle.

Charlie picked up his son and hugged him tightly, “Love you.” He said quietly.

"You're the best daddy!" Oli grinned.

Charlie's heart wanted to burst. “I’m glad you think so, little man.”

"Santa got me a remote control car daddy!" Oli continued excitedly.

“Did he?” Charlie grinned, “How did he know you wanted one of those?”

"I wrote it in my letter!" Oli replied giggling.

“The letter you sent to Santa?”

"Yeh! You were there when I wrote it daddy!"

"Funny that!" Louis smirked.

“Was I? I don’t remember you writing a letter to Santa.”

"Daddy you're so silly!"

Charlie began to tickle Oli gently.

As always it took longer to tidy up the mess made my unwrapping the presents than it did to unwrap them in the first place.

As he looked around the living room at every single child, bar Peter, Charlie found himself feeling emotional. He was so lucky to have such a wonderful family!

Though they often fought and teased each other it was clear that kids loved each other deep down. All the children, even Louis, had grown closer the older they’d got.

Leaving the children to play with their presents Duffy headed into the kitchen to make a start on lunch.

Charlie crept in the kitchen behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Hello again, gorgeous.”

"Have you come to help or distract me?" She giggled.

“Let me think.” His tongue ran against her earlobe, “Distract. Definitely distract.”

"Lucky I've gotten used to your distraction methods isn't it?"

“Well after x amount of years, I’d like to think so.”

"I'm not even going to dignify that by giving you the right number!" She shook her head indulgently at him before leaning back into his embrace as his hands started to wander.

“Twenty six years officially, isn’t it?” His hands moved towards her breasts.

"That's how long we've known each other yes."

“And you’re still just as sexy.”

"Do we need your eyes testing again?" She teased.

“No.” He cupped her breasts, “You are so sexy! You haven’t changed.”

"Hmm, I'll just have to take your word for that." She smiled as she arched her back slightly into his touch.

“Yes you will.” His hands moved from her breasts and slightly undid her dressing gown, his hands going under her nightie. “Would appear Charlie Jr still finds you incredibly gorgeous too.”

She wiggled her bottom against him. "He does indeed."

He groaned feeling her bottom wriggle. “I’d bend you over this counter and screw you right here.” He whispered in her ear.

"I'm not sure the kids would appreciate that!" She laughed.

“Probably not.”

"Shame coz I like the idea very much." She mused, grinning.

“We could always sneak off for ten minutes."

"You are a bad man..!" She purred.

“And you, Mrs Fairhead, are a bad, bad woman.”

"You wouldn't want me any other way."

“No. That’s true.”

Despite Charlie's best efforts to distract her Duffy managed to eventually get the dinner prepared and cooking.

Everyone had just about finished getting washed and dressed when Peter arrived to join them late in the morning.

Emily opened the door, “Thought I could smell you.” She said to Peter.

"And its lovely to see you too Emmy!"

She hugged her brother, “Nice to see you! You look well. Got a girlfriend yet?” She laughed as she began to move into the hall.

"Who are you? Mum?" Peter teased.

“Narr, not that old.” Emily laughed.

"Excuse me young lady?! What was that?" Duffy remarked as she entered the hallway. "Peter!" She grinned, pulling her eldest son into a hug.

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 4 (Revised)

The Tiger and the Dragon by George deValier

The next morning, Yao was harshly woken by what sounded like a buzzsaw drilling into his head. The first thing he realised, with a small wave of relief, was that he was in his own bed. The next was that he was very, very hungover. The third thing Yao realised was that the buzzsaw was, in fact, his cell phone, and it had been ringing insistently for around five minutes now. Groaning huffily, he emerged from under a pile of pillows, reached for the offending phone, and squinted at it through bleary eyes. The words leapt off the screen: Incoming Call… IVAN. Yao was suddenly very wide awake. His chest fluttered, his stomach flipped, and he answered hurriedly. "Uh… hello?"

"Good morning, little Dragon!" That accent and cheery tone were unmistakable. After only one night, Yao was surprised by how intensely the mere sound of Ivan's voice affected him. His heart pounded and his breath stuttered… but he still felt his eyebrows draw together in confusion.

"Um… I don't remember adding your number to my phone."

"I took liberty of doing this last night when you were sleeping." Ivan sounded like he was about to laugh.

"You… oh." Yao dragged himself upright against the pillows. The room immediately spun around him. "Well, as long as that's the only liberty you took."

"I am sorry?"

Yao put his hand over the receiver, swore softly, then placed the phone back to his ear. "Nothing!"

"Silly Yao! I will be taking you out tomorrow afternoon."

Yao nearly fell out of bed. "Taking… wha… you will?" He felt something around his neck and pulled at it in confusion. The warm scent of leather and spice surrounded him - he'd fallen asleep in Ivan's scarf.

"Da, I will."

"Why? I mean… I have to work."

"No, you do not." Ivan's accent sounded even stronger on the phone. It sent strange, tingling shivers down Yao's spine. "I will pick you up at three."

"I… um… okay." The words were out before Yao was sure he meant to say them.

"I will see you then, Dragon!"

The line went dead. Yao sat still for a moment, holding the silent phone against his ear, unsure what he had just agreed to. Had he just been asked on a… a date? Not that 'asked' was really the right word for it. He'd basically just been ordered on a date. Yao wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. He drummed his fingers against the phone for a second, finally hung up, then realised that he hadn't given Ivan his address. He was just debating whether or not to ring the Russian back when his phone rang again. Incoming Call… ALFRED. Yao groaned. "Hello?"

"Yao!" Alfred shouted down the phone. "You gotta come downstairs now and cook me pancakes! Arthur tried but he's a shitty cook and he burnt them and…"

"You wanker!" Arthur yelled in the background. "Just see if I ever cook for you again!"

"Oh Lord, I pray for the day!" Alfred cried, followed by a loud bang and an incoherent scream.

Yao paused briefly. He was quite used to Alfred's demands for food, but he was a little concerned about seeing his friends this morning. He hadn't really known what to say to them last night. Alfred seemed to think Ivan was some sort of Russian spy, Francis was fixated on Yao's future chances of sleeping with the man, and Arthur had been too drunk to really participate in the conversation. But judging by the shrieks on the other end of the phone, Yao wasn't going to get any peace until he cooked his demanding friends their blasted breakfast. He sighed wearily. "I'm coming down now. Please stop shouting." He hung up again, noticing as he did that the time on his phone read nearly midday. Yao had to blink at the clock display a few times. He really must have drunk more than he thought… he never slept that long.

The night before was like a blur in his memory. Of course, certain things stood out more than others. Things like Ivan grasping his hand; touching his fingers with his tongue; kissing him on a balcony… Yao felt very warm as he kicked his clothes aside on his messy floor and headed for his small dresser. Its surface was covered in socks and comic books and cooking magazine clippings, while a Hello Kitty picture and a horoscope chart were taped to the little mirror. Yao inspected his reflection carefully. He wasn't too bad-looking, he supposed, apart from the dark circles - he had good skin, unusually changeable brown eyes, and he'd always been quite proud of his hair. But he still couldn't quite see what had made a man like Ivan call him beautiful. He certainly couldn't see anything extraordinary about himself. He felt confused about it all, a little embarrassed - and secretly, quietly, a bit thrilled.

Yao breathed out heavily, tried to ignore his pounding headache, and headed for the bathroom to get ready. His little apartment only really consisted of three rooms. It was on the second floor of a narrow three story converted townhouse, while the larger apartment on the ground floor belonged to Arthur and Alfred. Francis lived in the apartment on the top floor, and was not the easiest neighbour to deal with, what with him bringing home a steady stream of one nighters at ungodly hours and constantly having his two very loud, possibly insane best friends over. But he was also fun, loyal, and had secured Yao a great apprenticeship at the restaurant where he worked. Besides, the noise from Francis' place wasn't much worse than the alternating screaming arguments and screaming sex sounds that often drifted up from the apartment below.

Yao knocked on Arthur and Alfred's door, received no answer, and opened it hesitantly. He wasn't surprised by the scene he walked into. The kitchen walls were splattered with batter, the benches covered with dirty dishes. Arthur stood in the archway to the living room, throwing pancakes and verbal abuse at Alfred, who hid behind the kitchen island defending himself with a frying pan. Yao rolled his eyes. Just a regular day in the Kirkland-Jones residence.

"Morning, Yao!" Alfred grinned from behind his pan. He didn't seem too troubled by Arthur's tirade.

"Afternoon, more like." Yao fumbled to catch a flying pancake and inspected it closely. It had the consistency of a slightly soggy piece of wood. For politeness sake, he bit the corner cautiously. It tasted about the same. "I don't know what you're talking about, these pancakes are fine," he lied.

"Of course they're bloody fine!" Arthur shouted, his face twisted with rage. "You ungrateful little tosser!" He narrowly missed Alfred's head with the last pancake, then dropped the empty plate onto the bench. "Good morning, Yao." Yao just waved as Arthur turned and flopped onto the living room couch, his back to the kitchen and his face in a book. Yao snatched the frying pan from Alfred's hand, placed it on the stove, and got to work making pancake batter with the ingredients left on the bench.

Alfred immediately raced to Arthur and leant over the back of the couch. "Arthur, sweetheart, don't be mad. You know I love you, even if you can't cook."

"Sod off, I'm studying." But Arthur's voice didn't sound as angry as before.

Alfred laughed, ruffled Arthur's hair, then fell into a stool by the kitchen counter. He leant his chin on his hand and studied Yao for a moment as he worked. "You look like hell," he said finally.

Yao looked up and glared. "Thank you. I feel like hell. Now I remember why I don't drink."

Alfred scoffed loudly. "You need reminding? Between you passing out, Francis stripping off, and Arthur trying to fight anyone in a five mile radius, drinking with you guys is like an extreme sport."

Arthur flipped him off over the back of the couch. Yao just continued stirring the batter in silence. Silence would be best. Surely it wasn't a good idea to mention this date to Alfred. But after only a few seconds, Yao couldn't hold it in anymore. "Ivan called me this morning."

Alfred straightened up incredulously. "You gave that Russian your number?"

"No…" Yao paused his stirring. "No, I didn't." That was a little odd. But then, he'd probably just taken the number from Yao's phone… except that Yao didn't keep his number in his phone… "Huh." Yao shrugged. "Pass me the milk, will you?"

"I told you! He's a spy!" Alfred hurled the milk bottle across the counter. Yao barely managed to catch it. "You need to cut all contact immediately or before you know it you'll be defecting to the Soviet Union!"

Yao gritted his teeth. Yep – silence would have been best. "Ivan is not a spy. And there is no Soviet Union. This isn't the nineteen-fifties, Alfred."

Alfred did not look convinced. "What did he call you for, then?"

Yao looked back into the bowl of batter and tried to keep a stupid grin from his face. "To ask me out tomorrow."

Alfred's eyebrows shot up and Arthur twisted on the couch. They both spoke as one, their voices astonished. "You've got a date?"

Yao's grin fell immediately. Instead, he frowned huffily. "Don't sound so surprised. He's picking me up at three."

"I'd be very suspicious if I were you," said Arthur. "As Jean-Paul Sartre said, 'Three o'clock is either too late or too early for anything you want to do.'"

Yao ignored him and opened the cupboard to get the sugar. Why was he even cooking breakfast for these people?

Alfred snorted. "Yeah, well I think Jean-Paul must've been a pretty boring guy, because I can think of plenty of things to do at three o'clock. None of which involve going on a date with a Russian spy."

"He is not a spy!" Yao slammed the cupboard door loudly. Was it too much to ask for a bit of support? Yao had enough reasons to be nervous without his friends making it worse. Thankfully Arthur discreetly turned back to his book. Alfred, however, did not take the hint.

"Please tell me you didn't say yes." Alfred clenched his fists anxiously, his eyes wide.

Yao just shrugged. He added a little sugar to the bowl and stirred it in with more force than necessary.

Alfred closed his eyes, let out an exaggerated sigh, and flopped forward onto the counter. "You said yes," he groaned.

Yao took the opportunity to flick a bit of the batter into Alfred's hair. "Yes, Alfred, I said yes. Look, I like this guy. He's... nice. Besides, when was the last time someone asked me out?" Yao paused. "Wait, don't answer that."

Alfred lifted himself up and rested his chin on his hand. "Yao, be careful. Spy or not, this guy's gotta be a bit dodgy. I mean, he's a huge Russian who wears a trench coat!"

Yao tried to look insulted. There was a tiny part of himself which agreed that yes, Ivan did seem dangerous. But Yao's struggling sense of pride was doing a really good job of ignoring that part. "So your only problem here is Ivan's nationality, his size, and his dress sense? That is incredibly judgmental, Alfred. You are completely overreacting. Ivan is just a businessman."

Alfred looked horrified. "A middle-aged businessman, Yao? Next thing you know he'll be getting you to dress like a Japanese schoolgirl!"

Yao stared blankly for a few moments. "Alfred, I… don't even know if you're being racist anymore."

Alfred ignored him. "Did he say what business he was in?"

"I didn't ask," Yao lied. "But I suppose I can find out tomorrow, can't I?" Yao poured the batter into the hot frying pan. He'd given up asking himself why he was still cooking Alfred's breakfast.

"Fine," Alfred sighed resignedly. Then he leant forward and continued earnestly, "But if anything feels weird, you call me immediately, okay?"

Yao paused briefly. He supposed that, for all Alfred's ignorant offensiveness, he really was just trying to look out for Yao. It was slightly insulting, yet kind of sweet… in a sick sort of way.

"And I really can get you that can of mace, you know."

Yao clenched his fist around the frypan handle. But still insulting. "Okay, sure, and if that doesn't work I'll just hit him with my handbag," he replied sarcastically.

"Men carry mace!" Alfred cried indignantly. "It's totally manly! Arthur carried it all the time until he got banned after spraying his literature professor!"

Arthur snorted, turning a page of his book and muttering, "That'll teach him for calling a speech on embroidery in the time of Jane Austen 'tedious and uninspired.'"

Alfred put his hand to his forehead. "You're not exactly proving my point, sweetheart."

Yao shook his head in frustration. "Look, Alfred, you're the one who told me I should be less predictable and boring. Now you're getting all insane and irritating when I do just that. Ivan has been nothing but a perfect gentleman." Well, that was true, after all… "And may I also remind you that I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."

Alfred looked infuriatingly doubtful. "But…"

"Alfred!" Arthur snapped. "That's enough. Let Yao be happy about his date before he fucks it up."

Yao just sighed. In the end, he hadn't really expected his friends to react any other way.

.

That afternoon, like always, Yao managed to drag himself into work despite the hangover. Sure, he loved cooking, but sometimes Yao felt like he lived his entire life in the restaurant where he worked. Fusion was a few streets away from his apartment, in the busiest part of town; it was only small, but very popular, and incredibly busy. Yao knew that was because it served the best modern cuisine around, and had the best international chefs in the city. Yao hurried through the quiet front dining area, past deep red walls and stark black tables, waving half-heartedly at the wait staff as he went. Most barely acknowledged him, but Yao was used to that by now.

"Yao!" Francis cried cheerfully as Yao entered the small, sparkling-steel kitchen. He was the only other chef working at this time of day, and appeared to be dealing with about six meals at once. He placed a tray in the oven, tossed his hair from his forehead, and twisted his face distastefully. "Mon Dieu, you look like hell."

"So everyone keeps telling me," muttered Yao, throwing his bag in the corner and pulling on an apron. "It's called a hangover. I'll survive."

"What are you doing here anyway? I thought you had the day off."

A day off… what's that? "I'm filling in for Feliciano for a few hours. He's going to be late."

Francis scoffed and slammed the oven door shut. "You need to stop covering that lazy Italian's arse. Tell him to shove it next time."

Yao shrugged as he turned on the tap to wash his hands. "I don't mind." That wasn't entirely true. Although their first year apprentice spent most of his time slacking off, turning up late, and asking Yao to cover for him, Feliciano was also best friends with Yao's brother Kiku and almost like a brother himself. No one could stay mad at Feli for long.

Francis shook his head. "If that little slacker didn't make the best pasta in the city he would have been fired months ago." Yao scoffed at that. Francis doted on Feliciano worse than anyone. And besides, as long as Yao had known Feliciano there had been the implicit and unspoken knowledge that his Italian family were involved in dealings that were… less than legal. It guaranteed great protection for the restaurant, as well as the understanding that Feliciano was pretty much able to get away with anything he wanted.

"Actually, Francis, speaking of filling in…" Yao turned, leant back against the bench, and shot Francis his best pleading look. If anyone was going to be happy for him, it would be the perverted Frenchman.

"Hmm?" Francis barely noticed, absently reaching up to take a heavy mixing bowl from the cupboard.

Yao continued determinedly. He'd gotten this far, and he was going on this date with Ivan, no matter what it took. "I need you to cover my shift tomorrow."

That got Francis' attention. He swiftly spun around and stared at Yao warily. "Cover? Why?" Yao didn't blame Francis for being suspicious. Yao had never asked anyone to cover for him.

"Okay, don't make a big deal or anything, but…" Yao took a deep breath and braced himself for Francis' reaction. "I'm going somewhere with Ivan."

"The Russian?" Francis practically shrieked in excitement and immediately dropped the bowl on his foot. "Ah la vache!" he cried, hopping in pain. "I mean, Yao! That's fantastic! Good for you! Merde that hurt…"

Yao narrowed his eyes. Why is everyone so surprised by a simple date… Still, it was a better reaction than Alfred's. "I said don't make a big deal of it." He bent down to pick up the bowl.

"This is a big deal!" Francis was almost breathless, whether from excitement or pain Yao could not tell. He rubbed his foot as he continued. "The lucky Buddha I bought you must be working… this must be the first time you've ever made it to a second date!"

Yao promptly dropped the bowl again. This time Francis hopped out of the way.

"Oh mon cher, I didn't mean it like that..."

"So, you can work my shift?" Yao felt odd asking for the day off for no reason other than that he had a date. Maybe the little Buddha was working… he was certainly being more unpredictable than ever before.

Francis just seemed delighted. "Are you serious? This is the biggest occasion of the year! I will drag Feliciano in here by his ridiculous hair curl and make him work your shift. Oh Yao! A Russian! You are one lucky boy, non?" Francis winked. Yao just smiled politely and turned away. Francis really worried him sometimes.

The afternoon passed quickly enough, until before Yao knew it Feliciano was bouncing into the kitchen, grinning madly and carrying an enormous bunch of yellow sunflowers. "Buona sera!" he cried. "Yao you are soooo awesome! Thank you a million times for being the best big brother in the whole world! Don't tell Lovino I said that though, but it's true, because he's always cranky and nasty to Ludwig and he doesn't help me out at work like you do and hello Francis! Your hair is looking fabulous today! Did you try that new shampoo I told you about? Not that you need it your hair always looks fabulous and oh, Yao, these are for you." Feliciano thrust the bright flowers at Yao.

"Don't think you can get out of trouble with flattery, Feli," Francis muttered, even as he flicked his hair vainly.

"Oh, um, thanks Feliciano." Yao took the flowers bewilderedly. "A thank you present?" The little Italian's greetings always left him a little dazed.

"No, someone was dropping them off for you out front so I said I'd take them." Feliciano bounced to the cupboard to fetch his apron.

"Someone was dropping them off?" Yao's heart leapt to his throat. Could Ivan have delivered them? Could he still be here? "What did they look like?"

"Some little kid." Feliciano wrinkled his nose and giggled. "He looked far too young for you, Yao."

Ah. Yao felt a little disappointed – it must have been Raivis who delivered the flowers. He tried to appear indifferent. "Don't be absurd." Yao searched the flowers for a note, eventually finding one lost somewhere in the middle of the huge bunch. He practically tore it open, devouring the words as Francis and Feliciano both hung over his shoulders.

Dear Little Dragon, I hope you are not too unwell feeling today. Russian wine is very strong! I enjoyed talking with you last night and I look forward to see you tomorrow afternoon. Yours, Ivan. :)

Yao laughed at the little smiley face. How appropriate. He read the words over and over… look forward to see you tomorrow afternoon… Yao could not keep from smiling himself. That short sentence alone was enough to flood Yao's mind with images from last night - Ivan's unfathomable smile; his consuming presence. Yao's chest ached to see the strange Russian again, to experience that vivid intensity he had felt while with him.

"Ooh, Yao, what's going on? Do you have a date?" asked Feliciano in a singsong voice. "Is he cute?"

Francis placed a hand to his chest and sighed dramatically. "So cute, Feli. Your type, actually - big, tall, blonde..."

Feliciano clapped his hands together and actually squealed. Yao's chest felt like it was filling with air. This reaction he preferred. But suddenly his grin faded. He looked at the flowers, glanced towards the front door, then looked up at Francis with furrowed eyebrows. "But... how did Ivan find out where I work?"

Francis raised an eyebrow, but he didn't seem too concerned. "You didn't tell him?"

Yao tried to remember. The end of his conversation with Ivan was something of a blur. "I don't think so…" Okay, slightly weird... Yao shrugged off the uneasy feeling. He probably had mentioned it somewhere along the way. "Look, do me a favour. Please don't mention the flowers to Alfred."

Francis winced sympathetically. "Playing the hero again, is he?"

Yao rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

Francis placed a finger to his lips. "Not a word." Then he snatched the note from Yao's hand and read it over again. "Little Dragon, hmm?"

Yao could feel his cheeks burning. "Uh… yeah. He seems to call me that."

Francis looked impressed. "This Russian may be quite serious about you, mon cher."

Feliciano nodded in agreement. "That's true, you know, because you only give flowers to someone you like, so he must like you, and he wrote you a note too, and yay, Yao!" Feliciano threw an arm around Yao's shoulder and squeezed far too tightly. "I can't believe you actually have a date!"

Yao's stomach turned in fluttering knots. He ignored the tiny worry in the back of his mind. Everyone he knew seemed amazed that he had a date. And yeah, okay, that was kind of amazing – but what was more amazing was that Yao was actually really, really excited about it. Yao just smiled superiorly at Feliciano and placed the sunflowers in a glass by the sink. "Believe it, Feli," he said simply. "I have a date."

.

Next Chapter (Original)

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[nicolewrites]

dearly beloved

hi, i’m alive

Rating: G/G+ Genre: Romance and Friendship Characters: [Ash K. and Misty] Words: 5,473

in which Ash and Misty decide to get married and the world collectively loses its mind / poke, ikari, contest, wishful, leafgreen / ua

AO3 | FFN

Paul hardly looked up from his book as he slid aside the latch on the mailbox and reached in to retrieve their mail. As usual, there was the letter from Reggie and Maylene with a hastily added signature from little Preston, a couple of magazines relating to Dawn’s work, some bills, a postcard from Zoey and Candice’s world tour, and a high-quality formal envelope. His brow creased as he pulled out the last item. It reminded him of letters he got for official League events, but there were none of those coming up, so he was left perplexed. The printing that their address was written in was in handwriting that Paul also usually associated with the League, but this time, it was clearly of a personal level.

He slid it back in between a magazine and Zoey’s postcard and tucked all the mail under his arm. He closed the mailbox and headed back towards the house. He shut the door behind him and followed the noise in the house to the kitchen.

Dawn stood in the doorway of the kitchen with her back to him, but she heard him coming and turned to face him. She stepped towards him as he neared, leaning up to peck him on the lips. He returned the simple gesture and passed her the mail. She beamed and spun, her hair flying back and nearly striking him in the face, before walking into the kitchen.

Paul followed her in and placed his book on the counter before moving towards the kitchen table. Dawn was hovering between the fridge and the table, skimming through the mail while also glancing at the third person in the room every so often. Little Noah, the product of a happy accident when Paul was 21 and Dawn just 20, was happily eating the porridge that his mother had prepared. Noah paused to grin widely as Paul sat down at the table. Paul’s lip twitched up as he admired his son for a moment. Noah looked strikingly like Dawn besides the flint grey eyes that were definitely his.

Dawn had apparently found the letter as she placed the rest of the mail down on the counter next to Paul’s book. She held it up and looked at him in confusion. “Do you know what this is for?” “No,” he replied.

Dawn walked towards his chair and Paul leaned forwards slightly. She perched herself sideways across his lap, leaning into him slightly as she tore along the top of the envelope. “It’s addressed to both of us,” she mused.

Paul’s hand rested on the outside of her hip to hold her in place as he watched over her shoulder as she pulled out an invitation of a sort that was thankfully not adorned with the terrible handwriting of the Indigo Champion. Dawn let out an excited gasp as she realized what the card was. Paul raised an eyebrow.

“Were they even dating?” he asked.

Dawn laughed. “Not exactly no, but I mean, it is Ash. I imagine Misty could only put up with him for so long.”

Paul gave Dawn a weird look. “She’s signing herself up for dealing with Ash for life this way,” he reminded.

“Yes, but he’ll have to deal with her too, and I think commitment is something in itself.”

Dawn placed the invite on the table and glanced at Noah. The toddler was contently eating his breakfast. He seemed quite happy to ignore both of his parents despite his mother’s curious stare.

“Besides,” she teased coyly, brushing her fingertips along the hand he’d placed on her, “I don’t think we’re allowed to judge how other people get married.” Paul glanced at Noah before pressing a soft kiss to Dawn’s hair in a rare display of affection. “At least we were together before he came along,” he pointed out.

Dawn hummed her agreement. She picked up the card again and flipped to the inside where the date was written. “September 7? That’s so soon!”

“They both have League obligations the further into the season it gets,” Paul reminded and Dawn made a small sound of acknowledgement.

“Still,” she argued, “even we were engaged for more than a month and we deal with the same kind of issues as Ash does with you and arguably more so with Noah.”

Paul shrugged. He definitely didn’t have an answer for Ash and Misty’s decision. Ash was already hard enough to manage when they were dealing with Interregional politics that required communication between the two champions, Paul didn’t have time to analyze Ash’s personal life too.

Dawn perked up suddenly. “Oh! I guess we’ll have to get Noah a little suit then!”

Paul tensed. “Why does our two-year-old need a suit?”

“Because it’s a wedding! Everyone has to dress up!”

Paul sighed. Even though she worked as a Poké Stylist, he wondered sometimes why Dawn didn’t just switch into a career in fashion. She’d made her own wedding dress when they were married and had been the designer for May’s. He supposed it was because PokéStyling was more similar to coordinating.

“Just don’t wear yourself out,” he said. “I know you’re going to insist on making Noah’s outfit and you’ve probably already started mentally designing your own, but don’t burn out.” Dawn twisted to look at him and she beamed. “I love you too,” she teased and leaned in so she could kiss him again.

Noah whined across the table and the two adults pulled apart and turned to face the child who had upset his bowl and was hovering on the verge of tears. Dawn shook her head and stood from Paul’s lap, heading to give their son the comfort he wanted.

Iris was tired. She was dead tired and she just wanted to go back to sleep. Cilan kept shooting her concerned looks, but Iris ignored him. They had been planning for this lunch for a while–they couldn’t just cancel. Besides, across from her, Trip looked nearly as exhausted. “How was your trip to Hoenn?” Cilan asked politely as he brought over the last dish he had prepared. Though it was a little past lunchtime, Iris and Cilan had agreed to host Trip for lunch while he was in Opelucid after arriving back in Unova from a vacation.

“It was good,” Trip replied almost noncommittally. He yawned and Cilan let out a sympathetic chuckle.

“You’ve not yet adjusted back from the time change, have you?”

Trip laughed shortly. “No, I haven’t, but that’s my excuse, what’s yours?” He directed the last bit of the question towards Iris who just shook her head.

“I’ve been up late these last few nights,” Iris defended. Trip raised an eyebrow and she knew he needed more justification. “The Unova League is apparently seeing a competitor who gave Paul trouble last year. I want to be ready.” “Mm,” Trip consented finally, “the guy that got the Sinnoh Champ down to just his starter right?”

“Yes,” Cilan said as he finally took his seat at the table. He brushed his hand over Iris’s comfortingly. “The way you’ve been training lately, he will be very hard pressed to beat you.”

Iris smiled into her drink as she took a sip from her glass of water. “That’s the plan.”

There was silence that fell over the three of them for several minutes as they all ate: enjoying Cilan’s excellent cooking. Even though it was just for lunch, Cilan had prepared two vegetable dishes, an egg dish that remained one of Iris’s favourites, and had baked a loaf of bread fresh. She smiled at Cilan and thanked Arceus for giving her husband the gift of good cooking.

While she herself was normally content with some fresh fruit and the traditional foods from her village, Iris could not deny that Cilan’s cooking was delicious. He had lived in a restaurant his whole life as the Striaton City Gym Leader and it had clearly turned him, and all of his siblings, into wonderful cooks. By the way Trip was digging into the meal as well, Iris knew he had no complaints.

“How was the event?” she finally asked, curiosity winning out.

Trip glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “About what was expected. Wallace is a brilliant orator and Max certainly appeared to be a strong pick for the Elite Four.”

Trip had been in Hoenn covering the ascension of Max Maple, a close friend of Ash’s, to a member of Hoenn Elite Four. Iris had been hesitant to send Trip, a League photographer for the Unova region to cover the event, but Wallace had requested the best in all of Napaj so that he might give Max the best publicity possible. Still, it was almost a vacation for Trip, something she wished he would take more often, so she had conceded and sent him over.

Their conversation was interrupted as the trio heard the front door bang open. Cilan and Trip both rose from the table and Iris gripped a Pokéball out of reflex. It wasn’t an unwelcome intruder after all, as Georgia strode into the kitchen, looking relaxed and bored. She took in the scene and rolled her eyes.

“If you don’t want me to walk in, don’t schedule a meeting with me and leave the front door unlocked,” she drawled sarcastically.

Cilan sank back into his seat and Iris slid Haxorus’s Pokéball away. Trip remained slightly more on edge, and Iris recalled the last time Trip and Georgia had interacted and had to force herself not to laugh at the memory.

“Anyways,” Georgia said, striding across the kitchen and sitting in the fourth chair at the table. “This was on your doorstep.” She handed the offending item to Iris and Iris’s eyebrows rose.

It was an envelope that resembled the official Pokémon League ones used to send out notifications of official business. Iris blinked in surprise and turned it over so that she could see the address. It was clearly for her and Cilan and by the handwriting alone, Iris knew it was from Ash. Indigo Champion he may have been, good handwriting he did not have.

“It’s from Ash,” she elaborated for Cilan and Trip who could not see the envelope.

She broke the seal and slid the letter out. The front of the card had curving, elegant handwriting that was clearly not Ash’s, and Iris stared at it. Cilan, who had leaned over to watch her open it, recoiled similarly. She opened it and saw more writing and information inside the card which was thankfully printed by who Iris assumed to be Misty, not Ash.

Trip coughed politely and the Unovan couple exchanged a look and Iris folded the card again. “It’s from Ash and Misty,” she amended.

“That’s one of his Elite Four members right?” Trip asked, confirming.

“Yes,” Georgia filled in. As a member of the Unova Elite Four, she was familiar with the elites across the other regions of Napaj.

“They’re getting married,” Cilan said finally. Trip and Georgia both appear stunned. Cilan laughed, brushing his hand against Iris’s. “Honestly I don’t even know if they were really dating. They were together in a lot of ways I suppose, and now I guess they’re just solidifying that fact.”

Iris touched the envelope, frowning slightly. “I know Misty, and I know Ash. They’re both spontaneous people, but it is Ash, and I would think he would want a bigger wedding with all the connections that he has.” Trip leaned back in his chair. “Well, if he’s the Indigo Champion marrying a member of the Indigo Elite Four. He’s invited the Unova Champion and her husband,” he looked at them both pointedly before continuing, “and I imagine he’s invited the Sinnoh Champion and his wife as well. Plus, we all know Ash has tons of other famous friends. Just because it’s sudden, doesn’t mean it will be low profile.” Georgia gave a low whistle. “Something this big, a Champion getting engaged, should have already burst into the media. I wonder why it hasn’t.” Cilan took Iris’s hand and squeezed it. “I imagine they’ve already informed the major news sources and are putting a hold on the information until they’ve received personal congratulations from their friends. That’s what Iris and I did.”

“And you think Ash is smart enough to think of that?” Trip asked, sounding amused.

“No,” Iris agreed. “Ash isn’t, but Misty is. And she hates the paparazzi, so I would expect something exactly like this from her.”

May’s phone rang suddenly, rattling the table and drawing the gaze of her, Drew, and Solidad. Drew raised an eyebrow at May.

“Are you going to answer it?”

His words seemed to restart her system and he watched, amused, as she jolted and scooped up her phone, answering the call. He made eye contact with Solidad who took a sip of her coffee to hide her amusement.

“Hello?” May greeted into the phone. “Max?” she said after a brief second.

Drew was surprised. Max was currently drowning in paperwork and the press after being officially elevated to the Hoenn Elite Four. May and her brother had been in brief contact lately, but not much since he was so busy. The last time they’d seen Max in person, he had been hiding out in their house after his own apartment in Ever Grande had been mobbed with the press following his announcement as the new Elite Four member.

Drew studied May’s face. Her brows knit together as she listened to her brother talk, but she suddenly burst into a wide happy grin that lit up her whole face. “That’s fantastic news!” she cheered happily.

Drew exchanged another look at Solidad, but the older coordinator was just as clueless as he was. He resolved to simply wait for May to finish the phone call.  Thankfully, it appeared that whatever news Max had to share was limited to whatever made May so excited because she ended her call shortly after, still grinning.

“So?” Drew prompted as May slipped her phone back into her purse.

“Apparently Max received a very interesting piece of mail from a good friend of ours today. I’m sure we’ll have a similar card waiting for us at home,” May explained.

Drew pondered her words. “May, literally all of our friends are already married. Who else is getting married?” He had automatically assumed marriage because the last time she had been this excited was when Leaf and Gary, friends through Ash, had finally gotten married almost two months ago.

May’s smile widened. “Not all of our friends,” she teased.

Drew raised an eyebrow. “There’s no way that Ash actually figured out his life enough to propose. He might be the Indigo Champion, but there is no way that he has got his head screwed on straight enough for this to be happening.”

“Maybe she proposed to him,” Solidad joked, but she appeared just as interested as Drew was.

May shrugged. “All Max said was that they sent out the invites and that the date is set for September 7.” She took a sip of the hot chocolate on the table in front of her, still smiling.

“And you’ll still be okay to travel then?” Solidad asked, raising an eyebrow briefly at May.

May waved off her concern. “I’m not due until November, so it’s fine. I can’t miss Ash’s wedding. This has been a long time coming.” Solidad shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

Drew gave May a careful glance. “This might even work in our favour. The Indigo Champion getting engaged to his own Elite Four member might steal the media attention away from us for a while.” May perked up at the mention. “Arceus, that would be amazing!” Solidad laughed at the couple. “You hid it for four months, so as far as they’re concerned, they have four months of Hoenn Coordinating Royalty content to make up.” Drew sighed. The media had hounded him and May relentlessly since they were teenagers. At first, it was all speculation and it had been really quite annoying. After they started dating for real, it had become intrusive and irritating on a larger scale. That only multiplied once they were engaged and had climaxed at their wedding when a photographer for Coordinator’s Weekly was discovered lurking around by security and removed from the premises.

When he and May had announced that they were expecting, four months into the pregnancy, the media had gone insane and even two months after that fact still did not leave them alone wherever they went. In fact, there was a woman a couple tables away that kept trying to be discrete in her photographing of the trio of coordinators. She was not subtle, but neither Solidad or Drew could be bothered to tell her off and May simply hadn’t noticed.

“I’m just happy for them,” May reiterated.

Solidad smiled. “How long have they been together?” May laughed. “Honestly none of us can say if they were ever really dating. They’ve always cared for each other, and that turned to love at some point, but Ash was always Ash. He was completely oblivious to her feelings for quite some time. It’s a wonder he ever figured it out.”

“Hey, May,” Drew called, teasing his wife. “You haven’t got much room to laugh at Ash there considering I gave you roses for almost 4 years before you finally figured it out.” May pouted. “You said they were for Beautifly.”

Solidad burst out laughing and Drew smirked. He leaned over and kissed May on the cheek which lessened her pout, but she still clung to it stubbornly.

“I love you,” he reminded her. His admission cracked her and she smiled again. “I love you too,” she relented.

Solidad shook her head. “And you two wonder why the press doesn’t leave you alone anymore.”

May shrugged. “We’re kind of used to it at this point. As long as it never hits the point it did at our wedding again I think we’ll be okay.” “Besides,” Drew said, “with Max as an Elite Four member now, there’s no telling if May will still be the most popular member of the Maple Family anymore.” May looked mildly offended and Drew chuckled. “He’s single, May,” he reminded. “And a trainer of elevated status. He’ll have a fanbase soon enough.” May’s smile turned a little mischevious. “You would know about fanbases wouldn’t you, Mr. Fangirl.” Drew groaned. “Please, let’s not go there.” “Oh how they used to follow you everywhere! So condescending to competition when you won, and depressed and mopey when you lost,” Solidad teased.

Drew glared at her. “You are both the worst.” This time May leaned over and pecked him on the lips. “You married me and we like Solidad.”

Delia Ketchum was humming to herself as she spun the sponge against the dishes before handing them off to Mr. Mime so that he could rinse them and place them in the drying rack. With just the two of them, there weren’t many dishes, but they still tackled them together like they always had. Whenever she had guests over, they always tried to help clean up since Delia insisted on cooking, but she let Mr. Mime deal out the rejections in that field. The cooking and the cleaning was always done by the two of them and no matter how many pleading looks Leaf or Misty gave, no one else was taking over.

Just as she was handing off the last of the plates, the doorbell rang. Mr. Mime glanced at Delia and visibly shrugged. Delia just smiled and shook her head. It was probably just one of the neighbourhood kids again, but she ought to check. She removed her yellow gloves and placed them next to the sink. She crossed the kitchen and living room and headed to the main entrance of her house.

A series of knocks sounded from the door and Delia was surprised: maybe it was something urgent. She opened the door and was mildly surprised to see a very concerned looking Leaf Oak on her doorstep with her husband hovering just behind her. Thankfully, Gary looked more amused than concerned and Delia knew it was not super serious.

“Delia,” Leaf began suddenly, raising a very familiar envelope up to eye level, “what is this?”

Everything clicked in her mind and Delia laughed. “I believe it is exactly what it says it is.”

Leaf glanced at the envelope, observing the thick, high-quality paper and the less than neat writing that topped it. “But, how?” Gary laughed, stepping forwards and tucking an arm around Leaf’s waist. “I believe, darling wife, that it happened the very same way that it happened with us: me, on one knee, and you, wearing the ring.”

Leaf smacked Gary with the envelope. “Not what I meant, stupid.”

Delia smiled at the couple. “Would you like some tea? I’ll have Mimey put on the kettle and perhaps I can answer a few more of your questions.” Leaf sighed and removed Gary’s arm from her waist. “I would love to sit down, and I have so many questions.”

Delia opened the door wider and led the young couple into her home. Neither Leaf nor Gary was biologically related to her, but she felt as if they were part of her family. When Gary’s parents and Leaf’s mother had passed in a tragic accident when they were young, Professor Oak, Leaf’s father, and Delia had tag-teamed in raising Leaf, Gary, and Ash. Subsequently, Leaf and Gary had spent a lot of their childhoods eating at Delia’s kitchen table or playing in her backyard.

Like a proud mother, she had cried when Leaf and Gary had announced their engagement and again at their wedding. They’d only been married close to a month and a half, but they had been engaged for two years before that, having started dating at 17. Due to work restraints for both of them, they’d only recently gone on and arrived back from their honeymoon and Delia hadn’t seen them since they got home. The remnants of a healthy tan clung to Gary while Leaf had an extra spattering of freckles across her nose.

The pair followed her into the kitchen and sat down as Delia politely asked Mr. Mime to turn on the kettle. Leaf was still turning over the envelope in her hands, staring at it in confusion. Delia sat next to her and placed a hand over the young woman’s.

“You have read it, haven’t you?” “Of course,” Leaf replied. “They were clear enough about the date and the location and I’ve been in contact with Misty about bridesmaids already, but I’m still so confused.”

Delia laughed. “Well, let me help with that. What about it is confusing?” Gary stretched in the chair and asked a question before Leaf could: “Were they dating at all or did Misty just snap and tell him they were going to get married?” Delia, recalling Ash’s embarrassed story, pressed a knuckle to her lip to halt a short laugh. “Well, they were kind of dating in their own way, as much as Ash could manage anyways, but I’m not sure it was ever established in the way most relationships are, because, well,” she paused, not quite sure how to put her son’s eccentricity into words.

“Because he’s Ash,” Gary suggested, filling in the blanks.

Delia shrugged. While a basic definition, it certainly wasn't wrong. There just wasn’t anyone quite like Ash.

“Can they do this? I mean, Misty’s in the Elite Four and Ash is the Champion. Are they allowed to do this?” Leaf asked.

Delia shrugged. “I’m not concerned about it because I know they’ve been through enough together that they wouldn’t be concerned about League rules. Besides, everyone knew they were best friends when Ash was attempting his League challenge three years ago and they knew that it wasn’t a conflict of interest then, so I don’t suppose it should be now.”

“But why just decide to get married like that?” Leaf pressed, obviously still confused.

“I suppose for them it was a combination of seeing all their other friends married and engaged and realizing they loved each other enough that they didn’t need four years of dating and two years of engagement first when they had thirteen years of friendship,” Delia explained.

Leaf blinked as Delia addressed her and Gary’s long engagement. It had been the result of both of them pursuing PhDs during that period, but they had been together for a long time. “I guess that makes sense,” she murmured. Leaf slid the card out of the envelope and looked at the date. “Why September?”

Delia smiled. “The date Misty fished him out of the river when they met.” Gary and Leaf both laughed.

“Well,” Gary drawled, “maybe he’s not completely hopeless after all. She did say yes.”

“I win!” Misty cheered as she slapped down her last card victoriously. She smirked at Ash.

Ash groaned and placed his last three cards on the table so that they could count up his penalties. Misty’s smirk widened as she tallied the points and Pikachu let out a tittering laugh from his perch atop one of the counters where he was enjoying a treat. Ash stared at his partner, feeling betrayed.

“Don’t you side with her too,” he complained. Pikachu just rolled over, content to ignore his trainer.

Misty leaned over the table and pinched Ash’s cheek. “I won, Mr. Pokémon Master. Pikachu’s just agreeing that I’m the better one of the two of us.” Ash gently swatted Misty’s hand away. She leaned back, still smirking. Ash leaned forwards instead and just straight up kissed her. Misty stiffened in surprise briefly before she let her hand cup his jaw and she reciprocated the action. Ash drew back after a moment, slightly breathless, but smiling.

“Right, but who’s the Champion again?” he asked teasingly.

Misty rolled her eyes and scoffed. “You beat me once. It won’t happen again, I promise. Still,” she mused, “I think I can find enough sympathy in myself to play another round if you’re desperate for pity points.”

Warmth curled in Ash’s stomach. He loved moments like these when no one was watching and they were able to let loose. It was rare for them since Misty was a member of the Indigo Elite Four and Ash was the Champion. There were hardly ever moments of peace for them like this and they deserved to be treasured when they could.

Misty’s palm cupped her chin as she leaned her elbow on the table and smirked at Ash again. The ring on her finger, the one Delia had painstakingly picked out after hours of searching, glinted on her finger and Ash was happy to see it. It looked like it belonged and it certainly felt like it did.

Ash’s decision, a stupidly impulsive one, had been, in retrospect, completely out of the blue for most people. Ash and Misty had never officially labelled their relationship before that moment, but it wasn’t like there was nothing there. When he turned 19, Ash had finally started reading into Misty’s actions a little differently. They had basically dated without the labels for years, but Ash had been unable to recognize it until other people, like May and Dawn and Misty’s sisters, spelt it out for him.

Ash himself was 23 and Misty was almost 24. He had figured he didn’t have much to lose, so he had gone to his mother for advice. Delia had been overjoyed and amused and a bunch of other emotions, but she had promised her few tears were happy ones. Ash knew he loved Misty and he loved her differently from the way he loved May and Dawn and Brock. Delia had been the one to pick out the ring in the end, and Ash had done the rest by proposing over a casual dinner at Misty’s apartment.

He had stumbled over the words and made a complete fool out of himself. Misty was always better with her emotions, however, and she bailed him out by kissing him to get him to shut up and answering the question he had been unable to articulate with a resounding ‘yes’.

“Hello? Earth to Ash?” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Still with me?”

Ash grinned. “Always.”

Following their very sudden engagement, they had had a very candid discussion about a wedding and had decided together that they wanted it to be as small as possible. It wasn’t super realistic considering both of their positions, but it was a hope. They also wanted as little media there as possible. The nightmarish results of the photographer that had snuck into May and Drew’s wedding reminded them that no press was indeed good press.

Following an example set by Iris and Cilan when they were engaged, Misty had written a short statement to the Pokémon News Network and asked them to hold it until they were ready. Ash and Misty had written the invitations by hand quickly and Misty didn’t wear her ring in public until they were sent out. She actually even held off wearing it until they had received most of the personal congratulatory messages and RSVPs for the wedding. At that point, they had allowed PNN to release the statement and Misty had worn the ring out in public.

Neither Misty nor Ash wanted a big wedding anyway. It was more for their friends and family.

Still, nights like these, where they’d put away all the wedding stuff so they didn’t stress, were nice.

Ash reached across the table and flicked Misty’s hair. He also snagged the deck of cards and retreated back to his seat. He shuffled it as she’d taught him. Misty laughed and tried to grab the cards back, but Ash grabbed her outstretched hand instead and pressed a kiss to the top of it.

She smiled softly at him and then Ash got a wicked idea. He held her hand loosely and turned it over so he was looking at her palm. He lifted it up again, but instead of kissing it, he dragged his tongue across it, licking it childishly.

“Ew!” Misty squealed. She recoiled, snatching her hand away and rubbing her palm against her jeans. “That was so immature, Ash Ketchum!”

Ash grinned. “What are you going to do about it?”

Misty pushed her chair back and stood up. “You’re going to eat those words,” she promised.

Ash laughed and sprung up from the table. He took off running for the living room and made it almost across the room before Misty’s arms wrapped around his waist and they tumbled to the couch together. Misty landed on top of him and Ash squirmed so that he was holding her in his arms.

They were both laughing and Ash felt happy. This was how he wanted to spend the rest of his life and he suddenly just wanted it to be official.

“Let’s get married!” he blurted. His outburst clearly surprised Misty because she stiffened. She blinked at him. “You already asked me to marry you once. We still have three weeks, Ash.”

“No, like, right now!” he insisted. “I know it’s a thing that people do when they just go to a courthouse and get married. I don’t need some fancy ceremony or expensive cake. I just want to be with you.”

Misty looked slightly taken aback, but she smiled at him broadly after a moment. “Ash not needing a cake? That’s a first.” They both laughed, but Misty leaned forwards and pecked him on the lips. “Honestly, I’ve never wanted a big wedding and if you wanted, I’d marry you in a PokéCentre.”

“So,” Ash said, “screw the wedding?”

Misty laughed and rested her head against his chest. “Only we would get engaged without technically dating and then plan a wedding only to give up and get married three weeks earlier in a courthouse, but you know what? I’d love to marry you, Ash Ketchum, so let’s get married!”

Ash grinned. “I love you.”

Misty kissed him again and it was a little deeper and for a little longer. “I love you too,” she confessed when she pulled back. “But, unfortunately, we are probably going to have to wait until tomorrow since it’s kind of late tonight.” Ash shrugged. “Fine by me. I can beat you in Kart Racers in the meantime!”

Misty raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you are so on!” She rolled off of him so they were lying next to each other before they both lunged for the gaming controllers to turn the console on.

The press–and all of their friends–were going to have a field day, but honestly? Ash and Misty couldn’t have cared less.

[filmista]

Phantom Thread (2017)

“What precisely is the nature of my game?”

That Phantom Thread would become Daniel Day-Lewis’s last achievement is no longer hot off the press. Reviewers also shouted out their praise about his performance as Mr. Woodcosck, so the brilliance of his performance is probably not news either. 

Yet I’ll say it again: Phantom Thread is the icing on the cake of Day-Lewis' oeuvre, the lace finish on a sublime dress, the final button on the perfect sleeve.

But let’s be honest: he plays a complete and utter asshole. Woodcock is the type of man who already on the first date tells a woman that her breasts are too small. And when she replies "I know. Sorry," he responds without flinching:" No problem. It's my job to give you breasts ... if I feel like it. "

Mr. Woodcock is one of the most prominent fashion designers in post-war London in the 1950s. Following a common, but quite often true cliche about artists, Woodcock is also a tortured artistic “genius” who is willing to tinker on his countless sublime creations day and night, in eternal chase of perfection even if hurts himself and those around him.

Woodcock, not only makes high demands on his dresses, but his entire household also has to conform to his many rituals. Nothing can deviate from the normal course of events: tea is brought to you at specific times, asparagus is made with butter - not with oil and salt - and if you dare to disturb him during breakfast by too loudly spreading your butter, you can expect Woodcock's merciless, destructive anger. 

This is the most likely fate for Alma (Vicky Krieps): angry glances at breakfast, painful, awkward silences and finally the intervention of Cyril (Lesley Manville), who will tell her to leave the house.

After all, this happens every time Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) takes a woman home. The rigid Reynolds is an incurable bachelor who never lasts long with any of his conquests. His work stands above everything else. Together with his sister Cyril, he runs the fashion house House of Woodcock; he is a couturier, she the business brain.

Alma meets Reynolds in a hotel by the sea, where she works as a waitress. Her interest is awakened by his *cough* “appetite”, he sees her as a muse with the ideal measurements. Alma is certain that Reynolds is not the strong man he pretends to be. She only needs to find and assess his weak spots.

Reynolds is a genius in his work, but also the biggest nitpicker in the world and not only in his work: he also expects pure perfection from the people who love him. Anyone who dares to deviate once he punishes. 

His last name does perhaps not by coincidence coincide with Tom Cruise's battle cry from Magnolia: "Respect the cock!" Because Woodcock is also an alpha male in his own way: he thinks himself the center and master of the universe, at least his universe. But fortunately, his new muse Alma (Vicky Krieps) has arrived to change that - in a deliciously kinky way.

Until now there was little room for love in Woodcock's house. Girls came and went: they acted as a mannequin and companionship, but they were routinely dispatched by Woodcock's sister, Cyril, once he got bored with them.

The only woman in his life is his deceased mother, who taught him his trade and whose lock of hair he wears in the lining of his vest. That a romantic relationship still develops between the idiosyncratic Alma and Mr. Woodcock is, therefore, a surprise for everyone. 

Somewhere halfway through Phantom Thread, something truly interesting happens: when Woodcock is about to get rid of Alma, once the magic has ended for him, the girl reacts differently than the women who came before her. She fights back, she protests, something that was unthinkable to him as for him a woman had to look pretty and preferably be quiet while she does that. 

She transformed from a passive girl into a rebellious woman. And just like the caterpillar that turns out to be a graceful butterfly, her perspective also becomes a lot more attractive and interesting to us. Where she used to do everything to desperately please her lover, she gradually claims a place in the spotlights for herself. The roles are reversed. And as Alma had rightly assessed,  Woodcock is really not that unwavering at all. 

I wanted to have you to myself. You have me all the time. No! What are you talking about? I don’t! I… there… There are always people around. And if not, then there’s something between us. Something between us? Yes. What? Some… What? Distance! When did this happen? What happened to make you behave like this? Is it because you think I don’t need you? Yes. I don’t. Why that’s very predictable of you. Don’t act so tough. I know you are not

With Phantom Thread, Paul Thomas Anderson works out what he started with The Master (2012), his film about sect leader Ron Hubbard. And just as The Master didn’t deal with Scientology, Phantom Thread isn’t about fashion. Reynolds sketches at breakfast jots down a bust size and that's enough.

How vulnerable is a guru, is his question. To what extent does he put his own soul at stake? Just like in The Master, Phantom Thread a deviant follower presents themselves: the young woman Alma.

Different is that she has no history, not a hint of a background (we only know for sure she is from Eastern Europe) She meets him by chance. Moved by his own emotion, the fashion king decides to keep her as the umpteenth throw-away beauty. Or so he thought. But he is mistaken, as 'the master' was mistaken.

Reynolds gets his charisma from actor Daniel Day-Lewis in what is supposed to be the last film role of his career. I hope not, but let's assume that he means it. Then this is a farewell with a bang. Of course, he took sewing lessons for a year and can now make dresses like the best, that’s the sort of thing he always does.

More exciting is that he plays Reynolds with a subtle, fragility and vulnerability that is hidden behind a facade of what seems like impenetrable toughness, but can be broken through by the right woman.

When Alma tells him that she finds him a beautiful man, he rewards her with a smile. His narrow lips tremble as if they suddenly remembered what that was like, a kiss. That he keeps their relationship carefully platonic, is not surprising.

Luxembourgian actress, Vicky Krieps, who plays Alma, does anything but disappear as femme fatale in Daniel Day-Lewis’s shadow.

Just as she turns Woodcock's life upside down, she also knocks the viewer out with her mercilessly unpredictable, refreshing performance. Alma challenges Reynolds, threatens to knock him off his pedestal, punctures his swollen ego with his own needle. And strangely enough, that’s exactly what he was looking for.

Thus Anderson conjures up an immensely fascinating power game between man and woman on the screen. A sort of SM without whips, a hundred times more exciting than all the three Fifty Shades movies together.

It mainly takes place indoors and apparently little is at stake. Yet Anderson knows how to bring grandness, to this rush-driven power struggle between two stubborn lovers. He shows that sometimes within every relationship there’s a war, complete with attack tactics and shifting lines. 

And all that with a sense of pure beauty that Reynolds Woodcock himself could learn from. Phantom Thread is the epitome of elegance, an endless succession of stylish costumes, decors and camera movements. Sewn together by the enchanting music of Jonny Greenwood.

The phantom thread is the phantom pain of the fashion designer. it’s the “ghost thread” the connection between him and Alma, that means the end of his power. That ghost image threatens every guru - in 'thread' 'threat' is also hidden. That threat will soon become real he knows it and we feel it. But how?

The key that Paul Thomas Anderson gives us is the green bridal dress. Reynolds designed it for an old heiress who is marrying probably for the seventh time or so. At the wedding party, the drunken bride falls with her head into her plate and no one pays her any attention, no one has even seen it. Except for Alma. She watches and cries. 

You’d think out of pity for that overly rich woman and her heartbreaking redundancy. But no. Alma is crying for the dress. She is not worth it, she wails, we have to get it back! Moments later, in a merciless scene, she takes the dress off of the lavish bride and runs off into the London night with it. Reynolds runs after her. His answer? One of the only passionate kisses of the entire film.

Call me cynical, but that’s calculation (which indeed makes her a femme fatale, as I previously called her, nonetheless one that acts out of true love). Through this seemingly hysterical action, Alma finally has unlocked what she wanted all along his love: permanent access to his bed, heart, and mind, in other words, all of him completely. 

But she also entirely gives herself to him in return. So if their love resembles a war, which I’ve previously compared it to the balance or ceasefire they achieve, is through each, in turn, surrendering to the other. 

Through the trick with the green wedding dress, Alma conquered his body. Now his mind is still left. Another ruse, also with a wedding gown, a white lace one that pushes her breasts up, in almost strategic seduction, as if they were lying on a tray like the food Reynolds is such a lover of. 

A mistake. Reynolds becomes very ill. His time is over and he knows it. He faints, takes the dress down with him, the powerless sleeves don’t catch him in his fall.

Alma is ready and plays with him a sinister game, hide-and-seek with death. This is horror without blood and Alma determines the rules. He knows this woman has him twisted around her finger. But what’s more, Reynolds is willing to play. They’re absolutely each other’s “sickly” match. 

Who is she? The only thing we know about her, we realize, is that she likes to cook with mushrooms.