#went overboard with the checkers i think. oh well

[boiledcaprisun]

redraw of a rlly old davepeta

[watchmegetobsessed]

VALERIE - Part VI. (Harry Styles)

part 6 omg!!! ahh, these christmas chapters are my favs, i hope yall will like them asmuch as i do! as always, feedback is much appreciated!

word count: 4.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

“So how did you two exactly meet?” your dad asks over the dinner table. You are all sitting around the long pine table, the tremendous amount of food lining in the middle as the plates are going around, getting filled.

“Oh, um, we were set up, actually. It was all Rosa,” you admit with a soft chuckle, sharing a look with Marcus beside you. 

“I just thought they would be a good match, guess I was right,” Rosa grins, clearly satisfied with the work she’s done.

“What do you do for a living, Marcus?” Jeremy chimes in while helping Margaret cut her meat beside him. She is the youngest of the cousins, only five, but she can boss around anyone as if she was Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. 

“Oh, I work in sales. We had a project with Steven’s company, that’s where we met.”

“That sounds interesting,” Joe nods, but at the same time you hear Harry huff on the other end of the table. Looking in his way you see him with his eyes fixed on the plate. He hasn’t said a word since Marcus arrived and his silence is quite worrying if you’re being honest. You haven’t seen him be silent for this long ever, you’re afraid he might be plotting something. 

“It’s so weird that all four of us are here with a significant other this year. I remember when we were all just kids, running around in our backyard,” Etta sighs with a nostalgic smile.

Your eyes wander over to Harry, who is still relentlessly staring down at his plate, as if he wasn’t even there. 

“Yeah, now there are just two single people sitting at the table. Aunt Monica and Harry,” you say and his head finally snaps up, eyes meeting yours, but you can’t read them. 

“You’re single?” Lily asks Harry, leaning forward a little so she can see him since they are sitting on the same side of the table. 

“I, uhh--I am, yeah,” he nods, clearly uncomfortable he is being discussed all of a sudden.

“Would have sworn you have someone waiting for you at home.”

“No, it’s just me,” he shakes his head. “Maybe I could pair up with Aunt Monica so there wouldn’t be any single people,” he jokes, making everyone laugh at the table. Aunt Monica looks up from her plate and winks at Harry.

“I’ll leave my door open for the night,” she cheekily comments and Harry almost chokes on his wine as another round of laugh runs over the table.

“Monica, he is not a lonely soldier,” your mom tells her, but she just shrugs her shoulders grabbing her glass and downing the rest of her wine. Joe is quick to refill it for her, knowing well she was about to ask someone to do that for her. 

“Thanks for the offer though,” Harry nods shyly and you think it’s hilarious how his cheeks have turned red from a nasty comment your aunt made. 

His eyes find you again right when Marcus reaches over and squeezes your thigh gently under the table and you catch Harry’s grimace before you turn to your boyfriend and share a short peck on the lips. 

For your biggest surprise Harry doesn’t try to drop any nasty comments about you during dinner, not even after, when all adults gather in the living room while the kids leave to play video games in their room. Rosa is sitting on Harry’s thigh as he is supporting her back, letting her curiously look around in the room. You’re sitting on a loveseat with Marcus, curled up to his side and he has an arm around your shoulders. Occasionally you catch Harry’s eyes on the two of you, but you try to pay little attention to him and just enjoy the evening.

“I should get going soon,” Marcus tells you, checking the time. It’s past ten and he has to leave early in the morning.

“Why don’t you stay for the night?” Teresa asks when she sees the two of you getting up from the sofa.

“Oh, I didn’t want to bother too long, it’s my first time meeting you all, thought a dinner would be just enough,” Marcus chuckles and you bite into your bottom lip. Does he believe this or did he want to stay, but only tells this everyone because you didn’t invite him to stay the night? You’re not sure if you want to know the real answer...

“Silly, you don’t bother,” you mom huffs. “Isn’t it too late to drive home?”

“I’m fine, but thank you. I didn’t bring my stuff so I would have to leave extra early in the morning to make it in time. But thank you for having me, it was wonderful meeting you all.”

Marcus goes around and says his goodbye to everyone before the two of you head to the front door. 

“Drive safe, text me when you get home, alright?” you tell him as he throws his coat to the passenger seat before turning to face you. 

“Yeah. Have fun with your family and I’ll see you in a few days.” A genuine smile stretches across his face and it immediately triggers your guilt. He could have stayed the night avoiding to drive back to the city so late, but even now, standing out on the driveway you don’t feel like you want him to stay for longer. 

What you keep telling yourself is that it’s all because you haven’t been together that long and it would have been a too big of a step just yet. Seemingly Marcus is fine with your choice, but something is telling you that it bugs him deep inside. 

Leaning down he kisses you softly, a hand sliding to your waist and pulling you closer before you part your ways. Standing on the side you wave at him as he backs out of the driveway and disappears in the darkness of the woods. 

You stay out there for a little longer, the spicy coldness of the night feels numbing in a soothing way. Chewing on your bottom lip you contemplate if you’ve made the right choice by not inviting him to stay. You don’t find an answer for that before you head back inside.

Not much has changed since you left, but you notice that Valerie is back in Rosa’s hands and Harry is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Harry?” you ask sitting on the ground next to your sister, eyes on Valerie as she is adorably babbling at you.

“He said he’s tired, went to bed.”

You look in his room’s way. That sounded like absolute bullshit, but you don’t have a right to question it. Maybe he truly was tired, he probably had to wake up quite early to pick you up and be here in time.

Nodding you reach for Valerie and take the little girl into your arms, making yourself busy with her.

***

Tossing once again in the bed you growl in annoyance. You haven’t gotten an ounce of sleep since you’ve come to bed hours ago. Turning to your side you tap on the screen of your phone and it shows you that it’s already past two in the morning. No position feels comfortable anymore and you’ve flipped your pillow way too many times, there are no cold side anymore. 

On cue, your stomach growls and you let out a sigh staring up at the ceiling. Maybe if you had a late night snack your body would finally relax and let you rest. Kicking the covers off you put on a pair of fuzzy socks and throw a hoodie on before heading out to the kitchen to find something you could feast on. 

You stop in your way surprised when you see that the lights are on in the kitchen and someone is clearly out there, probably with the same intention as you. Walking down the hallway you hear a plate getting placed on the kitchen island and soon enough the person starts eating, the fork meeting the plate.

Harry is sitting at the kitchen island in a plain white t-shirt and checkered pajama pants, a plate of mashed potatoes and meatloaf sitting in front of him. His head snaps up immediately when he hears that someone has joined him and you stop at the door.

“Hey,” you smile softly. “I see I’m not the only one having trouble with sleeping,” you chuckle shuffling your way to the fridge. 

“I don’t sleep too well at new places,” he admits, eyes following your frame as you pass by him before he turns his attention back to his plate. 

Grabbing the milk you are about to close the fridge when your eyes lay on the absurd amount of eggnog. Hesitantly you grab a bottle and take it out as well, thinking that a few sips might help you fall asleep easier. Then you grab the cookies the kids decorated this afternoon and sit on a stool next to Harry.

“Woah, in need of having some fun?” he chuckles seeing the eggnog and you just shrug your shoulders, pouring milk into a regular glass, then some eggnog into a smaller one in hopes you won’t go overboard with it. 

“I’m just… having a hard time falling asleep.”

“Empty bed?”

“What?” you ask taking a bite from a cookie.

“I mean, Marcus left. You must be used to sleeping next to him,” Harry explains and you look back at him with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Well, I do sleep better with someone next to me, but it’s not like I’ve done that a lot with Marcus,” you admit, turning your attention back to the cookies.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you shrug, not really in the mood to get into it, because it’s a whole spiral that would bring you down into depths you definitely don’t want to talk about right now. 

“You haven’t slept with Marcus?” he asks, and you notice how it could mean two versions. Either he is only talking about just sleeping or he is nosily trying to find out if you’ve had sex with him.

“That is… none of your business,” you tell him with a soft chuckle. Harry holds his hands up innocently before returning to his plate. 

A few minutes pass by in silence, just your munching and Harry’s chewing breaking it. As you pour a little more eggnog to yourself Harry stands up from the stool upon finishing his food, and after putting his plate to the sink he gets a glass for himself and sits back, holding the glass in your way.

“Want to have some fun too?” you ask, but pour him some eggnog anyway.

“Might help me fall asleep too.”

“Sometimes I feel like mom is right saying that I have a drinking problem,” you snort finishing up your cookie.

“Don’t think that’s true,” Harry tells you with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Well, you have seen me drunk quite a few times, but it’s nice that you think it’s alright.”

“What’s wrong with having a few drinks occasionally? It’s not like you blackout every other day.”

“My mom would want me to never blackout in general, but I don’t seem to know my boundaries with alcohol,” you tell him with a sigh.

“Happens to everyone, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Thanks, but I’m sitting here at two in the morning, drinking eggnog for no specific reason, because it surely won’t help me sleep, so... Maybe there is some truth to it.”

Harry thinks to himself a little before pouring some more to himself and some into your glass as well.

“I literally just said that I should stop,” you say, giving him a puzzled look.

“It’s fine if you have a reason,” he answers with a cheeky smile. “We’re gonna play never have I ever.”

“Oh hell no!” you chuckle looking at him with wide eyes.

“What? Are you afraid I might find out something nasty about you?” he challenges you, clearly trying to push you to play. “I don’t think you can surprise me with anything.”

“Excuse me? That’s pretty hurtful you think I don’t have surprising secrets,” you say putting a hand to your chest. “I think I’m the one who can’t find out anything surprising about you.”

“Hah, we’ll see, Y/N. All you gotta do is play,” he smirks and you already know you’re fucked. Sighing you take your glass and look at him with a murderous look, but the corners of your mouth are curling up. “You can start, just so you see how generous I am.”

“Oh, what a gentleman,” you mock him. “Okay. Never have I ever… gotten into a physical fight,” you say and watch Harry raise his glass to his mouth, but at the same time you do the same, already sure he is gonna be shocked.

Just as you expected, he freezes seeing you take a sip from your eggnog.

“Alright, rule is that we gotta explain them, because there’s no way you’re leaving without telling me about who you got into a fight with,” he tells you pointing a finger at you, but then adds: “Fighting with your sister does not count, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t Rosa,” you chuckle. “I had a huge fight with my best friend in third grade and we somehow ended up kicking and punching each other in the middle of the gym in class. We were both sent to the principal’s office.”

“Who would have thought you were a feisty little kid!” Harry chuckles and you just shrug with a proud smile.

“See? I told you I can surprise you. Your turn.”

“Okay. Never have I ever had a threesome,” he easily says and brings his glass up to his mouth as you stay put this time.

“If you think I’m surprised, I’m not. It’s literally written on your forehead that you’re the kind who enjoys that kind of stuff,” you scoff.

“Oh, please. Don’t pretend like you haven’t even thought about having one.”

“I’m not admitting anything outside the game. You have to ask that next if you are that interested,” you smirk, but you’re certain your eyes give you away, because Harry is chuckling and shaking his head. “Never have I ever cheated on someone,” you say and watch Harry’s glass stay on the counter.

“I’m not that bad of a person.”

“Never said you are, I was just curious,” you shrug and nod at him letting him know it’s his turn again.

“Never have I ever had a crush on a teacher of mine.”

You both drink.

“My finance professor, junior year in college,” you inform him.

“English teacher, senior year in high school,” Harry replies and you are already picturing him sitting in the first row just to be close to her during class.

“Did you write poems to her too?”

“You said no questions outside the game!” he retorts laughing and you roll your eyes at him.

“Alright, I have thought about having a threesome before, now your turn, spill the tea!”

“I wrote a song about her,” he admits and you raise your eyebrows at him. “Even planned on showing it to her, but my friends talked me down, luckily.”

“It’s kinda sweet and romantic.”

“Yeah, and very inappropriate,” he adds chuckling. “Alright, enough of Miss Hastings, your turn.”

“Never have I ever stolen something.” You both raise your glass and you smile at him swallowing the alcohol. “Virginities do not count,” you tease him, earning a laugh.

“Still would have drank. I was a little kleptomaniac when I was a kid. Liked to steal small things in the store just to see if I would get caught.”

“And were you ever?”

“One time, yeah. My mom was so mad at me, I got grounded for a week, never stole anything again,” he admits chuckling. “What about you?”

“It wasn’t regular, but I definitely have stolen candies when I didn’t have enough money to pay.”

“What a rebel,” he teases you and you just smack his upper arm jokingly. “Never have I ever snuck out.” Only Harry drinks and you roll your eyes at him.

“Again, not surprising.”

“I just wanted to know if you have ever snuck out, chill,” he smirks. “Guess you were a saint.”

“Never have I ever said the wrong person’s name while having sex.” A devilish smile sits on your lips as you watch him drink while you do the same. You see his eyebrows rise over the glass.

“Nasty,” he huffs. “When did that happen?”

“First year of college. I was casually seeing a guy, but I wasn’t really over my last ex from high school and accidentally called him Ethan.”

“And what was his real name?”

“I don’t even remember,” you admit with a laugh, clearly feeling the alcohol slowly kicking in. Harry’s mouth hangs open before his expressions turn into that iconic ‘not bad’ face.

“Never have I ever had a wet dream about a friend of mine,” Harry asks and you feel your cheeks heating up right away, eyes snapping down at your glass. Unwillingly, but you drink as Harry does the same. “Who was it?”

“I’m not answering this one,” you shake your head. 

“Come on! I promise it’ll stay between us. Was it Steven?” he grins at you, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “I bet it was Steven.”

“Shut up, it wasn’t!” you snap at him rolling your eyes.

“Okay, then who? I won’t sleep tonight if you don’t tell me!” he begs, but you shake your head stubbornly. “Do I know him?” Oh, all too well, you think to yourself. “Is it someone who was there at the bar last time?”

“Can we move past it?” you sigh painfully.

“No, no way. I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me!”

“It was you.”

The words slip out fast and a little quiet, but he hears them clear. His lips part, a truly stunned look pulls on his face and you just wish you didn’t say a word.

“Happy? Now you know,” you snap running a hand through your hair.

“Was I any good in your dream?” he then cheekily asks and you gasp at the nosy, nasty question.

“Now that I won’t answer.”

“I have to know if I did good!” he protests and you laugh.

“It wasn’t even you, well, not your real version, why does it matter?”

“I’m a maximalist, I have to know if my dream self did good,” he pushes further and you can’t believe this is really what you’re talking about.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it was good!” you admit throwing your hands into the air, giving up to keep anything to yourself. He is just too damn annoying and stubborn to ever have anything other than his way.

“If that makes you feel better, I’ve had a few about you as well,” he admits with a straight face and the heat is back in your cheeks immediately.

“A few?”

“I didn’t count, but yeah. And you were awesome, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I was not,” you say with a meaningful look, but he just smirks at you. “You’re such a pig, Styles.”

“Says the girl who was probably moaning my name in her dreams.”

“If you keep talking about this, you’ll be the second person I get into a physical fight with,” you warn him and he chuckles, but takes the hint and finally moves on. 

You easily forget about time as you keep playing for quite long. Question after question, some shocking and surprising things come up, but there are some absolutely ridiculous facts too. You’re definitely over the line of being tipsy, but you’re not at the drunk state yet. 

Harry clearly enjoys asking questions that make you nervous, but you don’t shy away from risky questions either. By the time the bottle empties out you are both laughing on something he said, your eyes are teary and you gasp for air, holding onto the edge of the kitchen island.

“Oh fuck!” you breathe out when your gaze wanders over to the windows and you see that it’s starting to brighten out there. “The Sun is coming up, what time is it?” you slur, having a hard time to get off the stool and keep your balance at the same time. Harry fishes his phone out of his pocket and his eyes widen.

“It’s six in the morning!” he whisper-yells and you almost faint.

“Shit, mom is usually up around six thirty, she can’t find us here like this! Quickly, we have to clean up!”

Harry takes care of the empty eggnog bottle while you wash the dishes and then the two of you head back to your rooms, but you just really don’t want to go to bed alone. Alcohol tends to make you clingy and you need the presence of someone next to you.

“Harry,” you whisper as the two of you stop in the hallway.

“Hm?” he hums, looking back at you with glassy eyes.

“Can I… sleep at yours?” you shyly ask.

Part of you expects a smart comeback, something dirty, but he looks down at you for a long moment as if he is debating what he should say and you start to think he is about to reject you, but then he takes your hand and pulls you in the direction of his room.

“It’s strictly friendly, okay?” you tell him once the two of you are in his room and the door is closed behind you.

“Like the dream you had about me?” he cockily asks grinning at you and you’re quick to smack his hard chest, making him chuckle.

“Shut up! I just really don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Chill, it’s all good,” he chuckles and stepping to the nightstand he plugs his phone in to charge as you crawl up to the huge, comfortable bed.

Tugging a pillow under your head you turn your back against him, only hearing as he lies down next to you, tugging some of the cover off you since there’s only a big one. He shuffles a bit more until you both stop moving, but you still have your eyes open. 

Knowing that he is right there behind you irks your mind and the urge to cuddle to his side is stronger than you will to stay still. You want to feel his body heat, his touch, hear his heartbeat under your face as you curl up to his side. You are dying to listen to his steady breathing from up close and your self-control is slowly but surely dissolves. 

Before your rational side could talk you down, you find yourself turning around and snuggling to his side, a soft chuckle emitting from his lips.

“It’s totally friendly, wipe the satisfied grin off your stupid face,” you mumble as you lay your head to his shoulder, bringing a hand up to his chest. One of his arms curl around your shoulders as he stays silent, letting you snuggle up to him all you want. 

It’s even better than you remembered. Last time the two of you were like this, the morning ruined everything and it had a whole different antecedent than now. You can only hope history doesn’t repeat itself and you don’t have to go through the same embarrassment like last time.

“Y/N?” he whispers and your eyes open at his voice.

“Yeah?” There’s a short pause before he speaks up again.

“Do you really… think that… there was not much Etta was missing?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling at how self-conscious he just sounded, still thinking about the joke you made in the car on your way here. For a split second you think about lying again, but it’s clearly been bothering him, so much he felt the need to ask after several rounds of eggnog.

“No. I was just joking,” you admit and he lets out a relieved sigh. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think I have a fat ass?” you ask referring back to the time the two of you encountered at the hospital when Valerie was born. You feel him huff as his hand on your shoulder squeezes you gently.

“You have a great ass, Y/N. The best I’ve ever seen.”

“Are you just exaggerating?” you ask, lifting your head up and narrowing your eyes at him in the dark.

“No,” he smiles. “Swear to my sister’s life it’s the truth.”

Knowing well he wouldn’t bring his sister into it if he wasn’t telling the truth, you put back down your head, finally closing your eyes.

“Good night, Harry,” you mumble, feeling yourself drifting to sleep.

“Good night, Pretty Eyes.”

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[fardell24b]

Mysteries of Lawndale - Esteem of the Investigator - Part 1

Mysteries of Lawndale 01: Esteem of the Investigator Part 1

Lawndale, MD

15 September 1997

A blue Lexus approached a suburban High School.

“Girls, I just want you to know your mother and I realize it's not easy moving to a whole new town -- especially for you, Daria, right?” Jake Morgendorffer asked.

 In the back, his daughter Daria, asked “Did we move?”

 “I'm just saying you don't make friends as easily as... uh, some people.”

 Daria looked at her younger sister. “Quinn, for instance?”

 “That's not what I meant... necessarily.” Jake turned the radio off. “The point is, the first day at a new school is bound to be difficult...”

 Daria smirked and took out a device from one of her pockets. She pressed a couple of the buttons and the radio turned back on, with the volume increased. “Speak up, Dad! Can't hear you!”

 “Uh, where was I?” Jake asked. He turned the radio off again. “Oh, yeah...”

  Stacy Rowe saw noticed a cute, athletic, teen, with long red hair emerge from a Lexus wearing a stylish athletic outfit. “Hi! You're cool. What's your name?”

 “Quinn Morgendorffer.”

 “Cool name,” Stacy’s ... fellow Fashion Club member (and President), Sandi Griffin, said.

 “Will you go out with me?” An instantly besmitten boy asked.

 “Not right away, I’m going to take a while to settle in. Find all the clubs that I’d be interested in,” Quinn said.

 Sandi took that as a cue. “Sandi Griffin, Fashion Club President. Your outfit is quite interesting.”

 “Thanks,” Quinn said. Her voice then showed her interest. “Fashion Club, did you say? I’m in!”

 “Cool!” Stacy said.

 “Not right away, there is paperwork to fill out,” Sandi said.

 “Can it be filled out in a day?” Quinn asked. “Best not to waste time.”

 “Of course,” Sandi said, taken aback.

 “Cool, see you later!” Quinn said as she continued towards the school.

Daria entered the school. Instantly she noticed many things that didn’t seem right. ‘Of course, Highland wasn’t ‘right’ either,’ she thought. Her trained investigator’s eye saw a great many security cameras along the length of the corridor she was entering. ‘There are at least eight. That’s overkill.’

Another thing was the prominence of the football team amongst the posters advertising the school’s clubs and sports teams. She touched a button in one of her pockets and slowly rotated as the camera hidden in one of her coat buttons took photos. ‘That’s a fifth of that film used,’ she thought when she was done. She then looked for the principal’s office where the new students were to report.

Daria and Quinn were not the only students to begin at Lawndale High that day. There were at least ten others. After signing them into the enrolment books as attending, Principal Angela Li lead them on a tour of the school.

“Gosh, Daria, do you have to take notes now?” Quinn asked as they exited the door from the main block to the playing field.

 “You know me, Quinn, insatiably curious,” Daria answered.

 Quinn sighed. She knew that Daria could find a mystery anywhere.

  Later they returned to the main administrative area of the school.

“As you can see, our Lawndale High students take great pride in their school. That's why you'll each be taking a small psychological exam to spot any little clouds on the horizon as you sail the student seas of Lawndale High,” Li said, saying the school’s name with reverence.

 “S.O.S., girl overboard,” Daria said.

 Quinn sighed.

  A quarter of an hour later, the Morgendorffers were in the school counsellor’s office.

 “Now, Quinn ... what do you see here?” Mrs. Margaret Manson said as she held up a picture.

 “It's a picture of two people talking.”

 “That's right. Can you make up a little story about what it is they're discussing?”

 “They are talking about their activities after school, and whether they could find time to be together during their busy afternoon,” Quinn began...

 Quinn finished five minutes later.

 “Very good, Quinn! Now, Dora, let's see if you can make up a story as vivid as your sister's.”

 “It's Daria.”

 “'I’m sorry... Daria. What do you see in the picture, Dara?”

 “Um... a herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains.”

 “Uh, there aren't any ponies. It's two people.”

 “Last time I took one of these tests, they told me they were clouds. They said they could be whatever I wanted.”

 “That's a different test, dear. In this test, they're people, and you tell me what they're discussing.”

 “Oh ... I see, All right, then. It's a guy and a girl and they're discussing... why a herd of beautiful ponies that had been running free across the plains were now captured and held in a rodeo arena...” Daria smirked.

  After the Psychological exam (by a quack, Daria suspected), the Morgendorffer siblings went to their classes. Daria went to history.

 It was clearly American History. “Class, we have a new student joining us today. Please welcome Daria Morgendorffer. Daria, raise your hand, please.”

 “Well, Daria! As long as you have your hand raised...” Mr. Anthony DeMartino chuckled evilly. “Last week we began a unit on westward expansion. Perhaps you feel it's unfair to be asked a question on your first day of class.”

 “Excuse me?” Daria asked.

 “Daria, can you concisely and unemotionally sum up for us the doctrine of Manifest Destiny?”

 “Manifest Destiny was a slogan popular in the 1840s. It was used by people who claimed it was God's will for the U.S. to expand all the way to the Pacific Ocean. These people did not include many Mexicans, nor Native Americans.”

 “Very good, Daria. Almost... suspiciously good. All right, class. Who can tell me which war Mainfest Destiny was used to justify?”

 Daria watched as a teen in a football uniform answered the question with the name of a war over a century later. She took down the notes.

 Football players unable to answer history questions properly.

 A moment later followed by

 Also applies to at least one cheerleader.

  “Either someone gives me the answer, or I give you all double homework and a quiz tomorrow. I want a volunteer with the answer. Now!”

 Daria raised her hand.

 “Daria, stop showing off!”

 ‘Of course.’

  The Morgendorffers were having dinner. “... so for now, I’m vice president of the Fashion Club, member of the Anime, Chess and French clubs and on the tennis and track teams and that’s it,” Quinn said. She lowered her voice. “They don’t have a sparring team, can you believe that?”

 “Sounds like well-thought out decisions, honey,” Jake said.

 “As long as you can join the pep squad and mathletics teams later – if you want. Never know how much we can handle till we try, though,” Helen Morgendorffer said.

 “What about you, Daria? How was your first day?” Jake asked.

 “There is no Mystery Club. Also, my history teacher hates me because I know all the answers, but there are some interesting idiots in my class.”

 “That’s great!”

 “Jake!”

 “I mean..”

 “Daria, your father's trying to tell you not to judge people until you know them. You're in a brand-new school in a brand-new town. You don't want it to be Highland all over again. As for the Mystery Club, perhaps you can make one?”

 “Perhaps,” Daria said.

 “Is that all?”

 “It boils down to trust.”

 “Exactly. It all boils down to trust. Show a little trust.” The phone rang and Helen answered it.

 “I hope that’s not the Italian or checkers clubs, badminton team or booster society again!” Quinn said.

 “Hello? ... Yes. ... Uh, yes, she's my daughter.  ... I see. Listen, will this require any parent-teacher conferences or anything, and if so, is this the sort of thing my assistant can handle? ... Okay, great. Bye!” She hung up. “You girls took a psychological test at school today?”

 “Yeah?” Quinn answered.

 “Daria, they want you to take a special class for a few weeks, then they'll test you again.”

 “Oh,” Quinn said.

 “It seems she has low self-esteem,” Helen said.

 “What?! That really stinks, Daria!” Jake said.

 “Easy, Jake. Focus. We tell you over and over again that you're wonderful and you just... don't... get it!” Helen said, she slammed her fists on the table. “What's wrong with you?!”

 “Don't worry. I don't have low self-esteem. It's a mistake,” Daria said.

 “I’ll say!” Jake said.

 “The school councillor is a quack. I have low esteem for people like her.”

 “Now, Daria, how did you get that impression?”

 Daria looked her mother in the eyes. “She kept mispronouncing my name.”

 As her daughter walked off, Helen began to think about it.

  Daria was out in the yard, taking notes when Quinn came out. “Starting your investigations already?” she asked.

 “Yes, you did notice the irregularities at the school?”

 “You mean all the cameras?”

 “Not just the cameras, the prominence of the football team in the in-school advertisements,” Daria said.

 Quinn thought for a moment. “You’re right.”

 “Lawndale may not be the ordinary suburb that Mom thought it was.”

[capriccio-con-espressione]

Possession

Genre: Smut

Warning: Sub!Kun, Dom!Reader, Profanity, Hair pulling, Semi-public handjob/oral sex (male receiving), Intense Degradation, Face slapping, Edging, Spanking

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: 

In celebration of WayV’s new comeback, I decided to bring some fucked-out subby Kun back in the scene again after some editing, to punish him for making me suffer from his visuals ugh

Originally intended to make it just a short blurb, but I kinda went overboard. The power Kun holds lmao

The degradation and insult are a bit intense, you’ve been warned, but of course aftercare is included. This is the result of mental breakdown due to Dom Kuntent overload in the fandom. The world deserves more delicious Sub Kuntent. Period.

Oh and last but not least, this smut is inspired by this gif. I am not gonna include it here directly because I will certainly get fl**ged. Anyways enjoy!

  Locking the door of the fitting room, you immediately slammed your lips into Kun's after pinning him to the ground, your movements getting rougher second by second. Somehow the gawking gazes and praises from the photoshoot staff have turned your sweet cutie into a cocky brat, confidence overflowing in him as he shamelessly boasted his unprecedented coquettish charms to anyone else but you. Triggered, you bit on his lip, and invaded his gasping mouth with your aggressive tongue, claiming your property.

  "Forgot who you belong to?" You demanded, glaring down at him as the slick string connecting both your lips proudly circumstantiated your dominance.

  "No I was just being friendly! I-mmf-" His defense was muffled by your intruding lips again.

  "Friendly? So necessary of you to ask that new stylist to fix the waistband of your slacks for you while you could've checked it yourself in that damn mirror at the site! And then you even dared to flex your abs in front of her when she did her job? So fucking friendly!" Kun winced at your firm tug on his hair and your nibble on the base of his neck, you didn't care about messing up his hairstyle since his shooting was over.

   "And all the sweet-talking to the other staff? Too legion to list them all! You must've let your filthy dickhead get the best of you huh?" You crept your hand under his waistband to squeeze his shaft, earning gasps after gasps from him.

  "I w-was just trying to break the ice..ahh...it was so a-awkward…" Kun's explanation for himself seemed pitiful now with his moans constantly cutting in between.

  "There are way too many ways other than flirting to break the ice, fuckboy. Flaunting your abs must have granted you some extra hormones to act up right in front of my damn face, right?" You pulled the checkered jacket down his shoulders, then slid it off his arms. 

  "Since exposing your flesh switches on your bad boy mode this much, I should strip more off you and properly tame you…until you are a humiliated mess begging me to stop." You chuckled as you lowered his pants, before grabbing a handful of his crotch then starting to caress it through his boxers. "Say, are you a bad boy by making mistress this mad?" You inquire the question you often include in your bedroom playtime, since from his response to it you can see if he’s in his submissive bad boy headspace or not. 

  "No, mmm-am not." Despite the stimuli building up Kun still managed a cheeky grin, showing his liking toward whatever you were intending. “Why so serious, when I was just-ahh!”

  Kun's retort was cut off by a slap across his face. "Still don't wanna admit how bad you've been? Looks like I'll have to keep teasing you instead of giving you what you want..." You darkly smirked as your hand cradled his jawline, fingers squeezing his cheeks so he could utter nothing but whiny whimpers, while your other hand continued to fondle his rock-hard balls and shaft strained inside the fabric, the tension too much for him to take.

  "Now answer me again, better wisely this time, are you a bad little sleazeboy or not?" You pumped his cock generously while releasing your grip on his cheeks.

  “Mmmf...yes I’ve been a sleazy little slut...so bad...mistress please stop punishing me…"

  Usually you would keep him clothed for much longer and tease him until he lost count of how many times he had begged, but since semi-public sex like this always excite you and minimize your patience, you were a bit too eager to get the real thing going 

  "Then is my slutty fucktoy sorry for having fun with other people blatantly without mistress' permission?" You finally pulled down the boxers to reveal his dripping cock, but with your arms crossed, not doing anything to it unless his response satisfies you.

  "P-please mistress I am sorry...really sorry…"

  You huffed in exaggerated mock disapproval as you flipped him over, draping him over your kneeling form, his bottom straight on your thighs before you inflicted loud smacks on it, erotic moans leaving him as his body tensed up and pressed even harder against you. “You aren’t sincere enough, perhaps you can only learn your lesson by letting other people outside the room overhear your spanking…”

  “No! Please don’t! Ummff-sorry I’ve been such a bad boy! Pleeaase-!” Kun’s tone of voice and facial expressions indicated that he liked this punishment a bit too much, far from what you intended for him. Therefore, you tossed him off back to the ground with a contemptuous look in your eyes.

  You then brushed your fingers along his length at an excruciatingly slow speed. "You don't really convince me to make me forgive you. Looks like I need to milk your remorse out of your dickhead really slowly..."

  "No no no mistress I may be an airy dickhead but I know where my place is for sure...hnngh...please I am terribly sorry for disrespecting you!"

  "How can I trust you to come up with the slightest valid apology possible when this is the only nerve bundle on you that is still properly processing right now?" You squeezed his leaking shaft, emphasizing your dismissive words. "You can't even think straight with your pathetic little airhead…"

  Kun felt the knot in his lower abdomen began to tighten at every insult you uttered, but still he managed to try his best to think properly and obey your rules, that is, to replace every pronoun regarding himself with humiliating words.

  "Ahhh...please mistress your stupid disrespectful little manwhore is extremely sorry and remorseful...hahhh...please mistress let this worthless cockhead cum…"

  Seeing Kun's eyes, now glossy with tears and lascivious desperation; his tone of voice, usually held so much authority, now stammering with demeaning words, you were satisfied with how his piercingly confident gaze back at the photoshoot a couple of minutes ago seemed laughable now. "Good boy, looks like you've been trained well." You expressed your approval for his self-degradation with your quickening pumping hand.

  Kun's moans become to get even more incoherent and evident as his pleasure intensified when you began to nibble as well as suck on his sensitive patches of skin, marking up his torso while still fist-fucking his throbbing neediness.

  "I am not the type to hesitate to declare who my possession is, and you should know better." You chuckled as you sucked a dark splotch on his right pectoral near his areola. "You should feel grateful that I didn't do this before the photoshoot, otherwise the photo retoucher is gonna be mad…"

  After marking your territory, your mouth traveled down to where he needed you the most, hastily sucking and slicking it up. Thinking you had full mercy on him, Kun tried to guide your movements, but ended up getting his wrists gripped tightly against his chest.

  "Now you're cocky again, hmm? Even have the gut to order me around with that filthy hand?" You glared and stopped completely, watching him gradually faltering due to the sense of loss.

  "No mistress I am not being cocky...I just...ohh...your mouth...hfff...feels too good...I can't help it...please I am begging you…"

  "Punishment is always punishment no matter what, no rules should be violated even if I am easy on you." You teasingly licked a stripe along his length. "Apologize and beg with some real earnestness. We don't have much time here before everyone is suspicious of us. If you fail to impress me I will make you walk out of here sporting that pathetic hard-on of yours and embarrass yourself."

  Kun struggled and squirmed, but soon figured that there is no use defending his last bit of self-esteem because from his past experience he learned that you are a woman of your word, in a hard way. 

  "Mistress your dumb filthy-minded slut is... really apologetic for being stupid...by mistaking the line between friendly and flirty...please...mmfff...mistress...your airheaded fuckboy is begging for forgiveness ...mmmm...please grant your mindless toy...who knows no manners... the permission to cum...pleeaaase…" 

  Even though his last plea dragged on, indicating his absolute desperation to end the ordeal, still the idea of getting caught with his pants down somehow excited him even more.

  You bobbed your head generously along his trembling form upon hearing his words. "You promise not to ever let your nasty hormones take over you again?" You still wanted to milk more degradation out of him.

  "Yes mistress...your shameless brat has learned the lesson......never gonna misbehave ever again...please...cum…"

  Noticing he was at the verge of breaking, you planted a reassuring kiss on his cheek which was blushing hotly with prolonged denied yearning, and immediately went down again to work him up along with your hands to finally allow the earth-shattering climax that he desired so much.

  "That's my good beautiful boy...relax and take deep breaths baby...I am here for you...you did so well…" You comforted your tortured boy with reassuring praises, giving him the delicate little touches, as well as some light-hearted pecks, that always calmed him down. After observing his breathing pattern had returned to normal and making sure that he was okay, you proceeded to clean up and gave him his casual wear, helping him to recover from the intense orgasmic haze and ready him for reality again, adorning the process with smiley eye-contacts, and encouraging words of how much your boy means to you.

  "Are you really okay with what I did just now babe?" You attempted to confirm his well-being once more before opening the door to the public, worried if there were any signs of distress.

  "You are definitely making it up to me with lots of cuddles when we're home, y/n." Kun pouts, feigning resentment in the cutest way you had never seen in your whole life before that warmed your heart. 

  "But," He continued with that adorable smile that never failed to make your heart flutter, as you couldn't help but lovingly pinch and caress his cheek. "I love every second of it. The way how you claimed me yours, so possessive, so hot…I am all yours..." His gaze became dreamily hooded as he placed a soft kiss on your lips. You shyly flinched a little at this sudden intimacy out of the blue and got flustered, sharply contrasting your dominant behavior earlier.

  "Uhm...right. I love you too, my precious prized pretty boy." You sweetly giggled as you both left the intense yet so tantalizingly memorable session behind that soon closed door, anticipating the private aftercare bliss awaiting ahead for you, proving that the aggressively possessive side and seemingly contradictory sweetly attentive side of you can coexist.

[fanfictionaries]

If I Didn’t Know Any Better - Cutthroat Challenge

Thank you again @sherrybaby14 for this lovely challenge! Very inspiring and gave me an opportunity to write a little Steve fluff! 

Prompt: Valentine’s dinner with Steve 

Sabotage One: Steve has to have a room filled with children’s toys. 

Sabotage Two: Can’t use the words yes/no/maybe or any synonym! 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x you / Steve Rogers x y/n

Summary: Who could have known that the only thing you needed to finally tell Steve how you feel would be a bottle of red wine and a room full of children’s toys? 

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, and MORE fluff! It’s my birthday, so I’m feeling fluffy. 

Words: 2k 

*** 

“I can’t believe I’ve never been to your place before Steve!” you gasped at the glory of the expansive apartment. Nestled in, on a quiet street in Brooklyn, the antique building was almost dream-like with its ivy-covered façade and large oak trees outside. The exposed brick walls and original hardwood floors paired well with the plush rugs and brown leather couch sat in the living room. Everything was clean lines, utilitarian, but with just the right amount of sentimentality to make it warm. Homey. The kitchen, with its ample-sized marble island lay open, giving it a small modern feel for such an otherwise outdated space. In a way, the apartment was the perfect reflection of Steve. Wonderful smells wafted from the oven and stovetop, leading you further in and past the tall super soldier holding the door open for you.

“Please, (Y/N), come on in,” laughed Steve, closing the door and following you towards the kitchen.

“Where is everyone? I thought for sure I was going to be the last one here,” you admitted sheepishly as you set down your bags and began to unpack the copious bottles of wine. You attempted to suppress a smile as you remembered the aghast expression on the checkers face when you’d placed ten bottles of red blend down on the conveyer belt.

“They didn’t tell you?” Steve questioned, picking up one of the bottles and examining the label.

“Tell me what?” you asked beginning to open cabinets, your heels clicking across the floor as you made yourself right at home, “Aha! There they are!” Stretching, you attempted to reach the wine glasses sitting dusty and unused at the top of the shelf.

“They’re not coming,” Steve reached above you, easily grabbing two. Swinging around in surprise, you were met with an expansive chest in your line of sight. Hello. You shook the strange and sudden thoughts forming around Steve’s chest from your head and wiped your hands on the skirt of your dress before reaching up and grabbing the glasses from his hands.

“What?! Why?” Placing the glasses on the countertop, you used a dish towel to wipe them free of dust before irritatedly opening one of the bottles.  

“Well, Nat finally managed to talk Bruce into doing something with her, and Sam and Bucky both managed to find dates at the last minute,” Steve watched as you tipped the bottle, filling your glass almost all the way to the top. You pouted at the absence of your friends before taking a large gulp of the red.

“Traitors,” you grumbled, taking another sip and leaning against the island.

“Hey,” said Steve, moving to your side and taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You obliged as he tilted your head up to look at him. The moment your eyes met his, you couldn’t help but marvel in just how blue they were. Like the ocean, you had always thought. Peaceful and calming. Stop that. You did not come over to Steve’s place for a friendly dinner just to gawk over him. You were like a little sister to him. He didn’t see you that way! It was wrong to pine after him like a love-sick puppy dog every other day of the year. It was especially wrong to do it on Valentine’s day. Of course, the presence of Nat, Sam, and Bucky were supposed to make the whole ordeal easier. That had been the plan at least.

“We can still have a good time tonight. Just you and me. Besides, more lasagna for the both of us,” Steve continued, breaking you out of your wandering thoughts.

“And more wine too. Think we can finish all ten bottles?” you smirked, earning you a raised eyebrow.

“I think that however I respond to that question, you’re still going to try,” jabbed Steve, dodging your hand as your reached out to slap him playfully for his smart aleck response, “Hey, pour me a glass too while I pull the lasagna out of the oven.”

“Done already?” you asked excitedly, reaching over the island for the second glass and filling it almost all the way to the top.

Steve responded by presenting a large casserole dish like the holy grail, wafting the scent of marinara and cheese in your direction.

“You’re a god!” you moaned, following the cheesy, meaty dish as he took it away from you and set it on the stove next to what appeared to be some kind of dessert. You gasped, “Is that—”

“Chocolate pudding?” Steve finished for you, sending a mischievous smile your way.

“Careful there, Captain, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get into my panties tonight,” you teased, the words leaving your mouth before you could think twice about them. Great job. Obviously, the best way to not let the man know you were practically in love with him was to flirt shamelessly. You quickly busied yourself by taking a large sip from your glass, hoping to gloss over the comment.

Thankfully, Steve merely laughed, “Get yourself a plate and dish up while it’s still hot (Y/N),” he made his way around you, placing a large hand on the expanse of your lower back. The simple contact should have meant nothing. The two of your sparred and grappled all the time in training, but there was something so intimate about the situation. You and a man you were desperately in love with that would never notice you, having dinner on Valentine’s night. Just the two of you. Breathing deeply, you told yourself to get over it. You were friends and that was good enough. You could do this. You could get through tonight.

The torture didn’t stop there, however. It was as if Steve was purposefully feeding into all of your deepest romantic fantasies. It started with the lasagna. Your favorite dish. Then the chocolate pudding. Your favorite dessert. He even indulged in drinking the wine you brought, knowing you didn’t like to drink alone. The music he’d chosen to play, your favorite, and when he’d brought out the playing cards, you thought you might drown in bliss. You played rummy, a game you’d confessed forever ago was your favorite as your grandfather had taught you how to play.

That is how you found yourself, a few hours later, seated on the floor in Steve’s living room. A small fire crackled and roared from the fireplace as the two of you sipped wine and indulged on the overtly rich chocolate pudding. Your heels had long been forgotten and Steve had graciously provided you a blanket to cover your bare legs. The playing cards laid strewn across the coffee table behind you as the two of you stared into the flames. It was romantic. So romantic. The wine had made your limbs and brain mushy and slowly you were falling into a false sense of reality. Was Steve really trying to get into your panties? Why else would tonight be so perfect and well catered to you?

“So,” you spoke, breaking the comfortable silence, “I understand why I’m here. But, why are you here Steve?”

“Because I live here?”

You rolled your eyes, “You know what I mean. You could have anyone Steve! You’re Captain Freaking America! Why spend your Valentine’s day night with me?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

You snorted in response, taking another sip of wine. It was official, you were just drunk enough to begin losing your filter.

“Just answer the question Mister America.”

“It’s Captain, thank you,” said Steve haughtily causing the two of you to laugh, “Fine. I guess…I guess I’m here because I’m in love with someone and I’ve been too chicken to tell them.”

What? The confession floored you. Great. This was great. You tried to hold it together and not think about just how stupid you were. A stupid girl silly enough to fawn over a guy and believe that he could actually like her! The dinner, the dessert, the music, the cards. It all had to be pity. Pity that you couldn’t find someone to spend Valentine’s day with. Steve was alone by choice tonight. You on the other hand…

“Um, would you excuse me?” voice and legs shaky as you stood up, “Bathroom?”

“Oh, um down the hall, second door on the right,” said Steve, sounding…disappointed? You didn’t allow yourself to focus on it, needing to extricate yourself from the room as quickly as possible before you broke down in tears. Heading hastily down the hall, you opened the second door to find not a bathroom to cry in, but…a whole room of children’s toys?

“What the hell?” you voiced aloud, unable to stop yourself. Bikes, doll houses, puzzles, board games, cars, barbies, nerf guns. Everything. Every toy a kid could possibly have! Why did a grown man have a room full of children’s toys? Did he have a kid you didn’t know about? Was he some kind of collector? Was it…a sex thing? Your inebriated brain was leading you down all kinds of crazy rabbit holes, when a voice behind you sent you soaring into the air.

“I said second door on the right.”

You gasped, swinging around to find Steve leaning against the door, large arms crossed in front of him, “Geeze Steve! You scared me! What the hell are you doing with all these toys?”

“It’s uh…it’s kind of a long story,” Steve scratched the back of his head sheepishly, “I was talking to my neighbor down the hall the other day about her kids birthday that’s coming up soon and she admitted that money was tight this year and it was going to be hard affording presents this close to Christmas. Well, I thought I’d help out a little. As you can see, I went a little overboard…are you crying?”

You sniffed, wiping at the tears that had rolled down your cheeks, “God! Could you be any more perfect?! I’m so stupid! There you are, incredibly attractive, nice, caring, and so selfless and I’m just…me! I can’t believe that I thought for even a second that you could possibly feel the way I feel about you. But of course, you’re in love with somebody else and she is so lucky! You have to tell her Steve because she’d be a fool not to feel the same way. And I—”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Steve approached you, placing his hand on your shoulders, “Deep breaths.” You breathed with him, feeling yourself calming under his care.

“Did you mean it? You have feelings for me?”

Your face heated in embarrassment. You couldn’t believe you just confessed your love to him, crying in a room full of children’s toys. Bringing your hands up to cover your face, you groaned into your palms wishing you were anywhere but there.

“I have feelings for you too (Y/N).”

“What?” you looked up, pulling your face from your hands in surprise.

“Full confession, I asked everyone else not to come tonight,” Steve admitted shyly, “I was hoping that if I could impress you enough tonight, you’d consider being my girl. That is, if I got up the courage to tell you how I feel.”

“So, the girl you’re in love with…”

“Is you, (Y/N),” said Steve reaching a hand up to cup your face softly, “I’m crazy about you (Y/N). You’re all I think about. You make me happy and I think that I could make you happy too. If you’ll have me.”

You laughed, lightly, your head swimming with euphoric confusion. If you’d have him? What a ridiculous question. You answered by lifting onto your toes and wrapping your arms around his neck before bringing your lips to his. The kiss was warm and sweet. He tasted of red wine and chocolate pudding and everything you could have dreamed of. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight to his body, every muscle hard and molding perfectly to you. You pulled away, leaning back to see the lust in his eyes.

“Careful there, Captain, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get into my panties tonight.”

Everything Marvel Taglist: 

@caffiend-queen

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

[whumpster-fire]

Whumptober Day 12: Broken Down

Here, have some Five Nights at Freddy’s whump, because I’ve wanted to write some about Mangle for years!

Content Warnings: Dehumanization of sentient robot whumpee. Does NOT contain child abduction or murder except as a brief reference despite what fandom it is, but does contain a child nearly being badly hurt or killed by accident due to negligent adults.

Kid’s Cove was in a state of chaos. It always was while the restaurant was open. This was the room where the children too young to sit still and watch the main show went. Today was busy, with around a dozen hyperactive toddlers and kindergarteners running around, shrieking, and hitting each other and Foxy with foam cutlasses.

A screech of electric guitar feedback ripped through the pizzeria, briefly drowning out even the screaming kids and browning out Foxy’s microphones. She glanced through the window at the show stage and glared at the blue rabbit animatronic on the left. Chica had her hands over her ears, and Freddy was shaking his head sadly. Foxy wasn’t angry at Bonnie – the feedback was part of the pre-scripted show, a little skit before the songs started. But somebody had obviously turned the speakers up way too high. One of the kids in her area was crying. Well, one in addition to the two that were crying already.

Foxy silently rolled her eyes and continued with her own performance, trying to ignore the gnawing pain in her left shin. The suit piece had a loose sensor cable that had been bothering her all week, and this morning it had finally come disconnected. She couldn’t feel it, but because tactile sensitivity was important to make sure the animatronics didn’t accidentally hurt a guest, her system registered the dead sensor wires as pain. But the maintenance techs had told her to ignore it when she said it was broken. It wasn’t critical, not worth shutting down the show for, not worth taking their time away from a faulty arcade cabinet. Her software didn’t let her disable the warnings entirely though, not during operating hours, so she had to keep overriding it.

This was supposed to be the audience participation part of the show, but the kids weren’t paying attention. Foxy looked pleadingly at the pimple-faced teenager currently sitting in the corner reading a magazine. He was supposed to be the backup plan. Fine. She’d just have to talk to herself then. Her hand puppet, “Perry the Parrot” volunteered, and she randomly selected a joke from her repertoire.

“Knock knock!”

“Who’s there?” she replied through the puppet’s voice box. Its jaw didn’t close. Foxy jiggled her arm up and down, making the secondary endo head’s eyes wobble.

“The cap’n!”

“The cap’n who?”

“Cap’n Hook? Why, he’s been promoted to Admiral!” Foxy laughed. Zero reaction. Fine.

She stepped down off the stage. Foxy came down and walked around more than the other three main animatronics. The two kids with the toy swords were getting more violent, and it seemed likely to become a fistfight soon. The hair pulling had already started. Their parents were nowhere in sight, and the teenager didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Hey! You two little buccaneers are gettin’ a little rough over there!” she called. “Be careful! You could put an eye out with those things, you know!”

“But Foxy! Isn’t that what they’re for?” said the hand puppet.

“Aye, but preferably somebody else’s.” The kids had now made peace with each other, but were ganging up on a little boy half their size. It had now officially gone too far. Foxy raised her voice and advanced on the children, feet clanking on the checkered tile. That finally got their attention. “Put those things away, young scallywags, or ye’ll be walkin’ the plank!”

One child dropped the sword. The other flung his at Foxy as hard as he could, and ran out of Kid’s Cove,  screeching.

CHILD MISSING. CHILD MISSING. CHILD MISSING.

The parrot’s piercing shriek rang out across the restaurant. “MAN OVERBOARD! MAN OVERBOARD!” It was one of the code words to alert the human staff members to a situation the animatronic couldn’t handle. The teen looked up, bewildered. Foxy snatched the magazine out of his hand. “Bosun! There’s a crewmate missing! Search the place!”

That finally got the lazy swab moving. Foxy let the magazine fall. Now she was alone with nine unruly toddlers – no, ten, one behind her, climbing onto the stage. She made a halfhearted announcement of “more hands on deck in Kid’s Cove,” and tried to start calming them down.

Then, disaster struck. An adult finally showed up, an angry-looking man saying: “Hey! Darren, I’ve been calling – your brother’s going to open presents!”

He wasn’t in either of Foxy’s facial recognition databases. Not the one of dangerous adults, but not the one of faces she knew either.

“No! No! Donwanna! Daaaaaa-aaa-deeeeee stop!” A toddler wailed. The man was attempting to drag him, kicking and screaming, from the ball pit.

He wasn’t the adult who had dropped that child off in Kid’s Cove. An alarm went off in Foxy’s mind.

“Let go of the child now!” Foxy dropped the pirate voice and spun around, lunging to block the doorway and setting off the intercom alarm in the security office. She was programmed to alert security and the police. But after overhearing from one of the staff why the new animatronics were hooked up to a criminal database, Foxy had modified that programming. He wouldn’t be leaving the room with the child until either the boy’s parent or a staff member gave the all-clear.

But Foxy had forgotten the magazine. Her foot slid out from under her. Her balance algorithm reacted quickly, but it couldn’t compensate for basic physics. Fall unrecoverable. She twisted to avoid landing too close to a little girl, and put her arms out to try to absorb the impact, but the angle was wrong, and three hundred pounds of machinery slammed into the tile. Something popped in her right arm. Dozens of pain signals overloaded her processor.

Foxy tried to rise, but only managed to push herself a few inches off the floor before her limbs got too weak to hold up her weight. Something sprayed against the inside of her arm suit piece. Hydraulic pressure critical. The pump shut down, and she slumped to the floor in a growing puddle of shimmering oily fluid. On the stage, Freddy and Friends continued with their song like nothing happened. Foxy tried to reassure the stunned children that everything was okay, that Foxy had just had a little accident and would be ship-shape in no time, but all of them were crying, or screaming for their parents, or… two of them were laughing at her.

She lay there, helpless, as the security guard rushed into the room. The young man was missing his hat, and had obviously gotten there in a rush. But after exchanging a few words with the man with the screaming child, he let him go, apologizing profusely.

“It’s just a safety precaution, sir. We’re testing a new facial recognition system on the animatronics to ensure nobody unauthorized comes to pick up a child. We’re still working out the kinks so there’s a lot of false positives -” The guard said, giving Foxy a disdainful look. “But it’s company policy to send someone to investigate if an animatronic sends an alert, no matter what! The safety of your children is our highest priority here at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza!”

“Oh yeah? Safety, huh?” The man, who seemed to be the child’s father, wasn’t impressed. “Is that why you left them alone with that deathtrap? When I came in here there wasn’t a single supervising adult, and your little technical glitch almost crushed that poor little girl!”

“I – I’m sorry to hear that sir!” The security guard gulped. “We’ll be looking into that –“

“Look into getting a manager in here! I want a refund!”

For a brief moment, Kid’s Cove was bustling with adult activity – the employee who’d run off to find the runaway kid, the manager, the assistant manager, and numerous parents. Foxy kept trying to explain what had happened, but nobody even seemed to hear her, and she could hear that her voicebox was working properly this time. Her hands and feet, and her tail and all the motors in her face still worked. She could see out of one eye, but the other only had a view of the inside of her own eyeball. The plastic cover had gotten knocked out of place and the pupil wasn’t aligned with the camera underneath anymore. Her radio still worked, too, and she could hear the staff’s walkie-talkie calls.

“Can we get maintenance to the show floor please, we’ve got an animatronic down.”

“Which one?”

“Take a wild guess.”

The maintenance techs were there quickly, nearly bumping into the kids as they were shooed out of Kid’s Cove, but they weren’t in an enthusiastic mood. And it got worse when one of them slid in the pool of hydraulic fluid and nearly joined Foxy in a broken heap on the floor.

“Jesus fu – oh my god I almost fucking ate it!”

“Whoa! Dude, you okay?”

“Watch your language please, this is a family establishment!” Foxy’s response was automatic. The technician almost jumped out of his shoes.

“Jesus, it’s still on?” He backed carefully away from the spill and shook his head derisively, picking up his walkie-talkie. “Whatever.” He keyed the mic. “Yo, Jeff, can we get a wet floor sign over in Kid’s Cove? I almost cracked my damn head open.”

“No kidding, I thought I was about to be calling an ambulance.” The other tech keyed his mic as well. “Mop and bucket too please.”

“I thought you were too. Man, I’d heard horror stories about working here but, like, isn’t it supposed to be the kids pissing on the floor?”

The other technician laughed. “You’d think. So what’s your bet, think the leak caused the fall or the fall caused the leak?”

“I dunno, dude.” The first tech scowled and kicked at Foxy. “Piece of fuckin’ junk.” He knelt down and examined her arm, allowing her to read his nametag. ‘Greg.’ Something had splashed her good eye, and her vision was too blurry to recognize his face.

“Watch your language please, this is a family -”

“Shut the fuck up!” Greg snapped. Foxy obeyed. She was a little scared of Greg. He was always rough and careless with the animatronics, and she wasn’t sure if he was joking the times he’d threatened to beat her with a wrench if anything else went wrong. “Dumbass robot.” He tugged on her arm. “Jesus, looks like whatever blew nearly tore the suit off.”

“Prob’ly a fitting.” Paul, the older technician, leaned against the wall. “Good thing the suit was there or there’d be somebody in the hospital. I saw a line blow on a backhoe once, poor bastard working on it didn’t even know he was hurt at first but he said they had to peel his whole arm like a banana and scrub the oil off his bones. When he rolled up his sleeve he looked like Frankenstein.”

“Yeesh...” Greg said with a grimace. “That’s a much bigger machine though, isn’t it?”

“Bigger yeah, but they don’t run as high a pressure. These things run around ten thousand – no, sorry, the old ones were ten thousand psi, I think the new ones took it down to six or seven thousand? But it’s still crazy, not even aircraft go that high, and I’m not sure they aren’t using five-k-rated hoses and fittings because the fuckin’ bean counters hear the parts are tested higher and don’t know what a factor of safety means.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Greg. “Oh, thank God, that stupid puppet got smashed. If I hear that damn thing’s squeaky voice one more time -”

Foxy wanted to cry. She wasn’t sure how she’d learned that feeling, it must have been from watching how the kids reacted when they fell and hurt themselves, or even from the songs Freddy and Bonnie and Chica sang to teach the kids about feelings. But the damaged sensors in the hand puppet and the unresponsive wrist hurt, and it hurt looking at its smashed-in shape and its lower jaw just hanging on by a wire like Old Chica’s and one of its eyes lying on the floor, and it hurt that they hated the puppet, and hated her, so much. It was her favorite of the interchangeable attachments that could go on her left arm – the puppet, a normal hand, or a hook – because it had real, working eyes that helped her see a wider view of her surroundings when navigating the restaurant floor. At least, it would if they bothered plugging them in when they attached it.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Paul complained. “I’m with ya, man… these redesigns are… they’re just total pieces of crap. The originals had their issues, but these guys are just falling apart. This is what happens when you cheap out, you end up paying double on spare parts and downtime because they always. Fuckin. Break.”

“Especially Foxy,” said Greg. “Seriously, there’s five damn animatronics here, but I swear ninety percent of the breakdowns are either Foxy or Balloon Bitch if you don’t count Daffy’s beak falling off!” The staff had nicknamed most of the animatronics. Freddy was ‘Fatbear’ after his portly figure compared to the original Freddy. Bonnie was ‘Queen,’ apparently after some other band with a lead singer named Freddy. Chica was ‘Daffy’ after a cartoon character whose beak also apparently kept coming off. Balloon Boy was ‘Balloon Bitch,’ which Foxy didn’t understand other than it tripping her profanity filters. The Prize Puppet didn’t have one yet, and neither did Foxy, but at this rate it would probably be ‘Piece of Junk.’

Paul chuckled. “They’re the ones that spend the most time offstage, but they’re all junk. Sheet metal, molded plastic for the suit structure instead of fiberglass, they put the suit shell on the outside so now it breaks way easier… they didn’t even wanna bother with cleaning the fake fur so now you’ve got this… ridiculous shiny plastic, like they’re overgrown action figures. Plus of course there’s the whole political correctness fiasco – apparently the higher ups said the main cast needed to have an even gender ratio, so they gave Foxy the ol’ snip-snip. And then just to make sure everyone could tell, they paint Foxy pink and put Chica in a bikini. Like that isn’t stereotypical at all, ya know?”

“I know, right? The new foxy design sucks, too. I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a pirate or a clown at first, it’s just… it looks so stupid!”

“Yeah… I can’t believe they got rid of the eyepatch. It was a pain in the ass since the linkages for that and the eyelid were so close together, but like, everything else on these damn things is a nightmare to maintain, so… ah, whatever. Doubt these’ll be around that long anyway. At this rate I’ll be you twenty bucks Foxy’ll be in the great dumpster in the sky by next year.”

Greg looked skeptical. “Nah… nah… they haven’t even bothered scrapping the old ones even though half the parts aren’t even compatible.”

“Fuck that, they didn’t even turn them off. You know they still wander around the place every night? Yeah… guess you’re right, they’ll probably just throw her in the parts room, just completely turn it into an obstacle course of broken down tripping hazards.”

Foxy shuddered in fear, imagining being left there, alone, all the time. Being left in that decrepit, broken state. The old animatronics were still there, and they were still functioning, but nobody bothered with fixing them. They had broken jaws, missing suit pieces, even limbs and faces torn off. They had to be in constant pain, but Foxy had never heard any of them speak. Maybe their voiceboxes were broken, and they couldn’t even tell anyone it hurt. Not that they’d ever listen.

Greg looked at his watch. “Speaking of broken down tripping hazards, where’s the janitor? I’m not moving this thing until the floor’s mopped, I don’t want a broken neck.”

“Hell if I know. Screw it, just drag it by the legs and be careful. I just wanna get it in the back and then I’m going for a smoke. This is gonna be a total pain in the neck to fix...”

Foxy closed her eyes and pretended to be ‘asleep’ as the humans dragged her out of Kid’s Cove and onto the dolly. The movement set off vibration alarms, more sharp, tingling pain. She wanted to tell them to be careful, but there was no point. They didn’t care. Not the same way people cared when other people, especially the children, were hurt. Foxy was almost jealous of it. No, she was jealous. No carting her into the backroom, swearing and complaining about how much time and money she wasted,  no shutting her down and taking her apart and putting her back together sloppily, then ignoring her when she said it still hurt and getting angry at her when something broke again. No accidentally punching a hole in her suit when a drillbit slipped. She didn’t think a band-aid or a sticker would actually do anything to fix the hydraulic leak, but they sometimes put them on kids who weren’t actually bleeding, and it still seemed to make them feel better. And the way the adults talked to them, the way they were… worried about them, and cared that they were hurt because they were hurt… she just wished they would treat her like that. Just once.

[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday: Nice and Easy

Blanche’s niece visits and is a little too much of a chip off the old block. Rose and Dorothy try to figure out what to do about a mouse.

Picture It...

Blanche is preparing for the arrival of her niece, Lucy, who’s in town to interview for a college transfer. Dorothy comes running in from the kitchen, afraid of a mouse that has invaded the home, and Rose’s defense of the mouse fails to sway anyone. Lucy arrives and almost immediately leaves to go on a date with a doctor she met on the plane. Blanche, who can relate to wanting to nab a hot guy, approves of her going.

ROSE: If it weren’t for a mouse, just like that little one in the kitchen, I wouldn’t be sitting here today, telling you this story. *beat* SOPHIA & DOROTHY: Call the exterminator.

The next morning, the mouse is still in the house. Blanche is upset because Lucy never came home, though she does almost immediately as Blanche says that. She spent the whole night with her doctor and now has to prep for her interview. The girls discuss this, with Rose disapproving of Lucy’s sleeping with a man she’s only known a few hours. Dorothy doesn’t want to pass judgement, and Blanche makes a comment that this isn’t in character for Lucy (oh boy, is Blanche out of touch).

Later that day, Lucy returns home from the college interview and tells Dorothy how well it went -- and that she won’t be home that night. She’s going on a date with the man who interviewed her. When she sees Blanche, she asks for permission to go away to the Bahamas, leaving out that it’s with a new man, and Blanche approves. Dorothy tells Blanche the truth and does a 180 on her previous refusal to pass judgement, telling Blanche that Lucy may be going just a bit too overboard with men -- or, as Sophia says, “Girl’s a slut.” Blanche is now more concerned about her niece, and Dorothy recommends that Blanche talk to Lucy when she gets home.

DOROTHY: *after a long story about a promiscuous woman who slept with every man in Sophia’s “godforsaken village”* Ma, what does this have to do with Lucy? SOPHIA: Not a thing. It’s the only slut story I know. *quadruple jumps over Dorothy’s checkers*

A few nights later, Blanche wakes up to see Lucy coming home with a third man, a policeman named Ed, who arrested her interviewer paramour for marijuana smuggling. Now Lucy wants to go home with Ed. Blanche finally sees that Lucy may have a bit of a problem, and puts her foot down -- or tries to, anyway. Lucy refuses to listen when Blanche tells her not to go, saying she’s an adult and can do what she wants, and storms out of the house with Ed close behind.

Blanche recounts the story to the other Girls, unsure what to do. The other Girls point out that Lucy’s at the exact age for a college rebellion. Rose relates what she did during her rebellious phase, with her example being stealing her dad’s truck to meet a boy at a bar as a high school student. Blanche’s stories are a little more sordid, and include multiple instances of running away from home -- though she says her big sister Charmaine always brought her back. Dorothy convinces her to play that role for Lucy, and they all decide to go find Lucy at Ed’s apartment, with the mouse giving them a good jump scare on the way out.

DOROTHY: Maybe Lucy could use a big sister herself right now. ROSE: If she doesn’t already have one, I don’t think it’s humanly possible.

At Ed’s apartment, it turns out his white suit wasn’t just a bad costuming choice -- he’s actually a huge fan of Miami Vice, which Lucy’s never seen. Blanche, Dorothy, and Rose arrive, and Blanche takes Lucy into another room to talk to her. Rose makes a comment about Miami Vice, and Ed goes full fanboy on her, quizzing her on the minutiae of the show and being impressed when she knows all the answers.

Blanche talks to Lucy about how the way she’s behaving around men probably isn’t getting her the kind of attention she wants, and Lucy calls her out on the hypocrisy of her saying that. Blanche points out that she dates men for her own enjoyment, not to boost her self-esteem. Lucy tells Blanche that, after being an ugly duckling in her youth, she enjoys being noticed, but Blanche says the problem is that she’s still the ugly duckling in her head, not loving and respecting herself, and no amount of male attention will fix that. They leave the apartment, with Ed asking if he can call her sometime -- Lucy is flattered, but that question was actually directed at Rose.

ED: Rose, you’re just incredible at Miami Vice trivia. I’ve never met anyone so smart! DOROTHY: Ed, for a policeman, you’ve led a very sheltered life.

Later, Dorothy corners the mouse in the kitchen with a broom in hand, prepared to kill it. However, staring it down, she can’t bring herself to hurt it, and proceeds to talk to it, not noticing Rose walk into the room. She finally tries asking the mouse to leave the way it came, and it does, shockingly. Rose is now convinced Dorothy has the power to talk to animals, much to Dorothy’s bemusement.

Lucy leaves, saying goodbye to everyone. The other Girls ask what Blanche told Lucy to help her change her attitude, and Blanche says she told Lucy that she (Lucy) doesn’t need to rely on sex to be liked. Blanche also adds that she implied that she’s not as promiscuous as she likes to claim in order to deter Lucy, but plays coy on whether or not that’s actually true.

“Rose, are you telling a story or performing Our Town?”

This episode manages to pull off a difficult task, I think, by telling a story about sexual promiscuity that is both sex-positive (in a time before that would have really been a thing), and gently remonstrative. I realize that, given we currently live in the age of Tinder and hook-up culture in general, this episode can come off as a little preachy, but I think the general message, about how no amount of shallow attention will take the place of self-love, is still relevant.

DOROTHY: *to Lucy* We enjoyed having you. SOPHIA: So did half of Miami.

There’s a delicate balance to be found in an episode like this, because it’d be very easy to slip into a Madonna/Whore dichotomy, where a woman seeking pleasure for herself is “bad,” but this is The Golden Girls. One of the main characters of the show is an older woman who talks about sex with the same self-indulgent gusto with which most of us would describe a junk food dinner. Fittingly, Blanche does go out of her way to tell Lucy that there’s not a goddamn thing wrong with enjoying the company of men.

But the thing is, as Blanche points out, Lucy’s not doing this for pleasure or to make a connection with anyone -- she’s doing it because she needs the validation. It’s an old stereotype, but I feel like we’ve all met at least one person who measures their worth by how much attention of their desired sex they receive. And Lucy’s not just acting how she thinks popular girls act -- she’s acting how she thinks Blanche acts, and it’s fitting that it’s Blanche who helps Lucy see that this isn’t what she really wants out of her relationships.

It’s very telling that, when Lucy interrogates Blanche about what she (Lucy) looked like as a child, Blanche says that Lucy was beautiful. Lucy protests, as she didn’t see herself that way, but you never get the impression Blanche is insincere. As she points out, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, even the people who think well of you: the important part is loving yourself.

BLANCHE: Let me get a look at you, girl. Mm! Terrific little figure, gorgeous hair, perfect skin. Just like looking in a mirror. SOPHIA: Get some Windex!

It’s a nice sentiment, but the show does kneecap it a little in the final scene when Blanche tells the other Girls that she told Lucy she embellishes the amount of men with whom she’s slept. This bothers me for two reasons: One, we saw the whole conversation between Lucy and Blanche, and Blanche didn’t say that. Two, Blanche just had a scene where she said there’s no shame in having sex with men -- it seems neither in character nor in keeping with the episode’s message for her to get all demure now. I choose to believe she’s just teasing the other Girls and not being strictly serious.

Getting back to Lucy, though, I do have a question: How exactly is she related to Blanche? It’s not uncommon for relatives of the Girls to randomly appear out of nowhere and never be mentioned again after their spotlight episodes -- ironic in this case considering Blanche wants her to transfer to Miami specifically so she can see her more often. You could make a damned riddle out of reconstructing the Golden Girls’ family trees.

For example, we know Lucy is Blanche’s 20-year-old niece, but we don’t know how she’s related to Blanche. Is she Virginia’s daughter? Charmaine’s? Clayton’s? At least when grandson David visited, we knew he was the offspring of Janet. Blanche mentions not wanting to talk to Lucy’s mother about Lucy’s promiscuity because she doesn’t want to breach Lucy’s trust, but the suggestion that that’s who she should go to first suggests to me one of Blanche’s sisters is her parent -- if Blanche’s brother were her father, I think Dorothy would be more likely to say, “You should talk to her father.” Beyond that, though, I have no idea.

ROSE: It wasn’t a rat! it was a cute little mouse. DOROTHY: Rose, it doesn’t wear white gloves and work at Disneyland.

By the way, I don’t mean to be petty, but I have a nit to pick with the Golden Girls Fandom Wiki: It just straight makes up shit about the Girls and presents it as fact. One of the things it makes up is the names and relationships we don’t see in the show. It gives Lucy’s name as “Lucy Warren,” and lists her as the daughter of Virginia and Tom for literally no reason other than “because we said so.” Shape up, guys! I don’t need your headcanons in my tv show encyclopedia!

Though, speaking of encyclopedias, a little trivia for you: The allusions to Miami Vice in this episode aren’t just NBC promoting their other hit show at the time. Miami Vice inadvertently inspired the Golden Girls, as an NBC promo sketch from 1984 had Selma Diamond and Doris Roberts (of NBC shows Night Court and Remington Steele, respectively) ogling Don Johnson, and saying something about a show called “Miami Nice,” about retirees in Florida. I don’t know if any footage of that clip exists -- I sure couldn’t find it -- but Roberts and Diamond’s snappy dialogue and repartee convinced several people within NBC to develop this joke show into the real thing. Several iterations of the idea later, and we got the Golden Girls.

I also enjoy that NBC wasn’t above poking a little fun at itself and the other show. Ed’s apartment is decorated in an unbearably kitsch style, including a life-size fake sheep that Rose spends the entire scene petting. His clothes and self-conscious attempts to look “cool” are lampooned by the Girls, and even Ed admits, in a moment that feels like one set of NBC writers tweaking the collective nose of another, that the salary of an actual Miami police officer isn’t anywhere near enough to fuel the opulent Crockett and Tubbs lifestyle.

ED: Are you a fan of [Miami Vice]? ROSE: I adore it. ED: Me too! Miami Vice has been the biggest influence on my life. That’s why I joined the police force. That’s why I drive a fancy car. That’s why I wear expensive Italian suits. That’s why I’m up to my neck in hock. You can’t afford all that stuff on a vice cop’s salary... Who knew, huh?

Oh, and speaking of Ed, I think he may be one of the earliest and best depictions of a Capital-F Fanboy. He cosplays as Crockett, he attempts to emulate the Miami Vice lifestyle -- hell, it’s influenced his whole career. It’s funny, because his affectations are (rightfully) portrayed as kind of lame and silly, but nowadays I feel like he’d have a six-digit Instagram following and a successful YouTube channel.

Regarding the B-plot of the episode, there’s not much to say, except perhaps it’s the first instance of Rose’s St. Olafian quirks being the main source of conflict  -- in this case, her being convinced that she can talk the mouse into leaving rather than being killed. That’s funny because usually, when Rose’s good-natured idiocy causes a problem, the other Girls more-or-less walk around it, but this is resolved by Dorothy basically doing the exact thing she chides Rose for thinking she can do: Talk the mouse into leaving.

Also, this is going to sound silly, but whoever edited the kitchen scene is a champ. You have Bea Arthur acting at nothing, and B-roll footage of a real mouse on a kitchen set somewhere with an animal handler. Whoever edited it managed to match the perfect little mouse flinches with Bea’s dialogue, so that it really looks like it’s responding to what she’s saying. The best part is when she calls it a rat, and it looks straight at the camera as if to say “Excuse me?” I never thought I’d be praising the acting of a mouse on Golden Girls, but here we are.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰 (three cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite part of the episode:

ED: *to Rose* Tuesday night, I’m getting together with a couple of buddies. We’re going through Don Johnson’s trash! DOROTHY: Good night, Ed. We’re going to go home now, and I want you to know we’ll all sleep a lot better knowing you’re . . . off-duty tonight.

[paigenotblank]

Lights of Many Colors

Pairing: Ten x Rose (a smidge of Six x Rose)

Rating: General

written for @doctorroseprompts 31 Days of Ficmas (day 9 - lights); as well as @timepetalsprompts TPP Bingo: DW Characters (Six’s Fashion Disaster)

N.B. This was inspired by Short Trips: A Christmas Treasury (A Christmas Special). A Christmas story featuring the Sixth Doctor.

AO3  TS

Rose and the Doctor were pressed against the wall of a block of flats and peeking around the corner at the TARDIS.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this. You should drink ginger beer more often.”

“What? Do you like drunk me better?”

Rose rolled her eyes and craned her head back at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. ‘S just…it’s not often you suggest we do silly things just to do silly things.”

“We do silly things all the time. I love silly things. I am–”

“Usually if we do silly things, it’s an accident.”

“You do like drunk me better!”

Rose arched her brow. “Less and less with each passing minute.”

The Doctor opened his mouth to say something when he spotted their mark. He pressed himself more firmly against Rose’s back and whispered in her ear. “There he is.”

Rose peered out a little further. “Oh. My. God!”

“Shhhh. Rose, he’s gonna hear you.” The Doctor dragged Rose back and spun her up against the wall.

Rose covered her mouth with her hands to quiet the uncontrollable giggles spewing forth at the sight of THAT outfit. It wasn’t working and so the Doctor added one of his as well.

“Shhh! It’s not that funny.”

Rose pulled back. “God, Doctor. How could you not have warned me about that fashion disaster?”

The Doctor pouted. “It wasn’t that bad.”

His put upon expression and the fact that he seemed to not appreciated the atrocity of that jacket with those trousers had Rose bent double in laughter. “Oh, my…I can’t believe you…I can’t…I can’t breathe.”

The Doctor crossed his arms. “Maybe we should just go home, if you can’t stop laughing at me.”

“I’m sorry.” Rose wiped the tears from her eyes and took a steadying breath. She glanced at the Doctor and snickered.

“Rose!”

“Sorry, sorry…I’m good now.” He glared at her. “Really.”

He sighed and glanced over his shoulder. “Okay. Operation Decoration commences now.”

Rose stole a glance at the TARDIS belonging to the younger Doctor again. “An’ you’re sure he won’t catch us? An’ like cause a paradox or anything, right? Don’t fancy reapers for Christmas.”

“It’ll be fine as long as you keep quiet and stop laughing.”

“Doctor…”

“I never found out who bought me the TV, and I never told anyone I wanted it, so I had to have been the one to give it to myself. We basically need to do this to prevent a paradox, so don’t worry that we’ll be causing one. Anyway, I remember getting the TV and falling asleep. We have…” The Doctor pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth while thinking it over. “…an hour and a half or thereabouts.”

Rose’s jaw dropped.

“What?”

“You…you don’t know down to the millisecond?”

“Well it was a long time ago and I’m currently under the effects of ginger, so I’m sorry I can’t be more accurate.”

Rose bit her lip. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“Nonsense. He brings the TV in, watches it for a bit, and then falls asleep. We just have to be quiet.” He held his hand out to her. “Trust me?”

Rose smiled. “Always. Okay. Let’s go.”

Rose and the Doctor hefted a large old television set and carried over to the TARDIS. The placed it in front of the door, knocked, and ran giggling away.

They watched from their lookout spot as the younger, curly-haired Doctor opened the door of his TARDIS and stared at the television. He looked up and around in confusion. Not seeing anyone about, he shrugged and carried the gift back into the TARDIS with him.

“Alright, we have a little under 90 minutes until he chucks it back out.”

“You never said, why didn’t you keep it?”

The Doctor blushed. “Eh, just didn’t like it is all. Not as good as the one we have from Teleos XII.”

Rose fluttered her eyelashes at him and leaned in close. “Mmmhmmm. Now tell me the truth.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “Wh- Whaddya mean, I er…”

Rose ran her hands up his lapels. “You can tell me. I won’t make fun.”

He sighed. “I, er, dreamed they turned my life into a TV show, but, erm, the network cancelled it for no reason. And after a very concentrated letter writing campaign by devoted fans, the BBC brought it back. But did they put it on its regular night? No! They put it opposite Coronation Street! Coronation Street. Can you believe it?”

Rose gawked at him for a long moment before she started laughing. “Cor…Coro…Coronation Street!”

“Rose! You promised not to laugh!”

Holding her stomach and leaning against the wall, she said, “I agreed not to take the mick, I never agreed not to laugh. You really tossed the TV because of that?”

His lower lip wobbled. “Was ruinin’ my Christmas.”

Rose stopped laughing and grasped his arm. “Aww. My poor, Doctor. ‘M sorry I laughed. Let’s go brighten your Christmas, yeah?”

The Doctor beamed at Rose and nodded. Rose picked up a box that they had brought with decorating supplies. She glanced in the box and then over at the Doctor. “You know, now all the ribbons make sense.”

“What?”

“The ribbons to decorate the wreath.”

“What about them?”

“Well, it’s all the same fabric as that majestic technicolor dreamcoat.”

“No, it’s…” The Doctor rummaged through the box. “Oh…”

Rose gave him her tongue touched smile. “It’s perfect.”

An hour and a quarter later, Rose and the Doctor stood back and inspected their work. They’d covered the TARDIS in blinking fairy lights of green, red, yellow, purple and pink. Rose had decorated and hung a wreath with bows made from tweed, plaid, paisley, checkered and striped ribbons. Finally, they’d attached a Santa hat to the light at the top of the box. Rose was afraid they’d gone overboard, but one look at the Doctor’s delighted expression had her reconsidering.

“Now we wait.”

The two of them went back to their hiding place and waited.

About ten minutes later the TARDIS door opened and the TV set came flying out. The younger Doctor was about to slam the door, when he noticed the wreath. He walked out and around the whole of the TARDIS gaping.

Rose turned to her Doctor. “Be right back.”

“What? Where…? Rose!”

Rose ran up to the younger Doctor shouting, “Happy Christmas, Doctor!” She then threw her arms around him in a hug and kissed his cheek before running back to her Doctor.

“Great Gallifrey!” The Doctor brought his hand to his face where Rose had kissed it.

When Rose got back to her Doctor, he was scowling. “Rose–”

“Oh, I’ve got one for you too.” She pulled him down by his collar and snogged him senseless. “Happy Christmas, Doctor.”

[faedragon-portfolio]

Writing: A Most Treasured Gift

hey!!! i wrote a thing would ya look at that

i began writing this abooouttt 2 or so weeks ago? and a friend (the awesome @xnovatoniic) drew art for it sooo here’s both!

(also this is pre-game so yea)

The fact that the first person I saw when I woke up was Hana wasn’t an odd thing. Since we shared a room, we often saw each other pretty soon after waking.

What I was NOT used to seeing, though, was her being right in my face.

“Uh...Hana?”

She grinned, obviously excited about...something. “Sora, did you forget what day it is?”

Now that I was getting more awake, I was able to think on her words. The date...the date...December 25th…

“Ah.”

Of course. Christmas.

“Get dressed, then get downstairs!” Hana, apparently, was already dressed, wearing a red and green dress with a fancy pattern. She got off the bed and left, likely heading downstairs to allow me to get ready myself.

I knew why she was excited, but I couldn’t understand the feeling itself. My birth parents only celebrated Christmas with friends of theirs, never with me. The best they’d give me is a few bucks to go buy some cheap gift for myself.

It’s not like they really cared about what I liked, anyway.

The outfit I put one was more simple than Hana’s, being only a green shirt with a tie and dark green pants.

Now, time for the other part of Hana’s demand.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked into the living room, I was quite surprised. Decorations were all over the place, from a wreath to ribbons to the large christmas tree in the center of the room. Akito and Osamu were sitting on a couch nearby, while Hana was sitting on the floor closer to the tree.

The second she saw me, that grin from earlier returned. “Over here!”

Though I was still very confused, I did as she said to, walking over and sitting on the floor next to her.

“So...what exactly is all of this?”

“Well,” Osamu chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Considering your past, we all figured you...weren’t used to Christmas traditions. So we decided to ramp up our normal activities to make it special for you.”

“I still think you went overboard.” Akito sighed. “Honestly, you made so many cookies.”

“What? I can sell leftovers!”

“Mom, Dad, enough stalling!” Hana shuffled closer to the tree, grabbed a stack of four presents, then moved back over to me. “Here, these are for you. Oh, but open the one on top last!”

...this felt like a dream. Something in me was saying that at any point, I’d wake up to be in my old house, with my birth parents, on a Christmas that would be barely celebrated.

But that small voice was squashed when I felt Hana take my hand and give it a small squeeze, as if she could tell what I was thinking.

I breathed in, out, then reached towards the first gift.

Inside was a large cookbook, obviously full of recipes of all kinds.

Osamu smiled. “That’s from me. Feel free to test them out whenever you want.” He chuckled. “If they’re good enough, I might add them to the menu!”

I decided that I would flip through it later, then opened the next one. It was another book- this time, it seemed to be about birds.

“That one is mine.” Akito was the one to speak this time. “I know you like birds, so when I saw this, I knew it was perfect.”

She wasn’t wrong. Birds fascinated me, no matter what kind they were.

The third gift, obviously Hana’s, was very different from the other two. It was a coat, with black on the rims and a grey and white checker pattern.

“I saw that and knew it’d fit you perfectly!” She grinned. “And I can always make small adjustments if it’s too big or too small.”

Now, they all looked to me, obviously waiting for me to open the final gift.

“Why exactly…?”

“It’s from all three of us.” Akito smiled. “I...think you’ll be happy to see this.”

I was confused, but nonetheless picked up the present. It seemed to be in a flat box, and opening it revealed a piece of paper with some complicated words on it.

My eyes skimmed it, catching a few words.

Official...court...custody…

Wait.

“Is...i-is this…”

Osamu gently smiled. “Yes. We have custody over you now.”

“It took a good bit of work, and a lot of time talking to your birth parents.” Akito sighed. “I was worried it wouldn’t be officiated until after Christmas...but it was.”

Hana grinned. “You’re stuck with us now!”

So casual, but…

My vision began to get blurry, and I felt something wet build up in my eyes and roll down my face.

All I could feel at first with relief.

This was it.

I never had to see my birth parents again. I was with Hana, Akito, and Osamu now.

Following this was an overwhelming happiness.

“T-Thank you...thank you s-so much…!”

Hana held my hand even tighter, and her other arm moved to wrap around me in an embrace, which I quickly returned. Akito and Osamu had gotten up as well, the former stand over us with a smile and the latter leaning down and placing a hand on my back.

Once I managed to calm down, Hana rummaged through her pockets and pulled out a camera. “This is special, so before anything else, we gotta take a picture!”

It was snowing out, so we decided to head outside for the photo. I quickly put on the coat Hana had given me, and followed the three outside.

The snow was gently falling, and though it was early in the morning, many other people were outside, mostly children who were playing around in the snow.

Akito took the camera from Hana, who immediately ran back over to me, moving to wrap her arm slightly around mine and grab my hand again. “Just the two of us first.”

“Alright.” I could tell that I was smiling. It was wider than I ever thought would have been possible.

But this was real. I was here, with people who genuinely cared for me, with a silly grin on my face.

And I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

“Alright...1, 2, 3-”

[uraania]

jeff atkins x reader (request)

anon request: “can I request a fic wherein either jeff or the reader is sick? and the other has to take care of the sick one? thank youu“

warning(s):  just fluff really, some swearing

word count:  2276   lmao i’m sorry i went kinda overboard

a/n: this is my first time writing a request so apologies if it isn’t tip-top, my dudes. i’ve tried to keep jeff in character but idk, i’ve just not had much to base him off so i’m not sure tbh. also, i’d love to hear some opinions/reviews so if you have any, please don’t hesitate to send them my way. 

sorry anon, this took me a while but enjoy ━

requests are open again ppl

it was early saturday morning and you were just stirring awake from your peaceful night of netflix and chill (more like make out and chill) with liberty high’s star baseball player and your boyfriend of a few months, jeffrey atkins. his arm was slung loosely over your midriff, your fingers threaded in his, and you could feel his warm breath fanning the back of your neck from behind. 

you noticed how his muscled front felt a little warmer than usual against your back but you didn’t pay it much thought. jeff was like a sauna and cuddling with him was the equivalent of cuddling a hot water bottle, albeit a giant, soft one that could cuddle you back.

you doubted if there was anything more perfect to wake up to but your satisfaction was washed away when it dawned upon you what was in store for you today– your first interview at a college. and this wasn’t just any college, it was one of the top colleges in the country, not to mention the one you had been working your ass off to get into for the past two/three years. 

you were known to be very clever, a honor roll student at liberty now, but that hadn’t always been the case. getting into this college meant a lot as you had may sceptics, including yourself, to prove wrong. 

with a sigh, you remove jeff’s hand from your body, careful not to wake him, and haul yourself to your feet. deftly slipping your bra on under one of his baseball shirts, which had been borrowed last night after a silly water fight that ensured while doing the dishes together, you headed towards the bathroom to get ready. 

jeff was never getting the shirt back, not while it still smelled like him, anyway. he always complained that you stole his clothes, and you did, but you knew he actually liked seeing you in them. 

returning shortly, fully dressed and prepped for the day, at least physically, you find jeff still fast asleep. you quirk an eyebrow; it was unlike him to stay asleep long after you woke up. hell, it was usually him that woke up first, proceeding to quietly play with your hair or gently stroke your face with the back of his hand while you pretended to be asleep to make the moment last, although you both knew you weren’t. 

“jeff, baby, wake up.” you call out, crossing the room back over to the bed. 

sitting down next to him, you gently rock him back and forth with a hand on his upper arm. “come on, sleeping beauty.”

the only response you receive is incoherent mumbling and with a slight chuckle to yourself, you place your hands on either side of his body and lean down for a good morning kiss. most ‘good morning kisses’ did tend to turn into heated make out sessions with you straddling his hips but, hey, you weren’t complaining.

however, just as your lips were about to meet, jeff quickly turns his head to the side and you end up kissing him on the cheek instead. pulling back, confused, almost hurt even, you cock your head at him with a questioning glance. 

he didn’t want you to kiss him? was he mad at you? why on earth would he be mad?

he shakes his head, seeing the silent question in your eyes. “i think i’m sick y/n and i don’t want you to catch it.” 

when he speaks, it’s in a raspy voice as if getting just those few words was painful. you’re only relieved for a second before it gives away to worry for him. it was the first time either of you had gotten ill while you were dating so you didn’t really know what to do and you could feel yourself starting to panic. 

pressing a hand to his forehead, the first thing your parents always did when you said you weren’t feeling well, you see that he does indeed have a temperature. 

“you’re warm.” you mumble, concern laced in your voice.

it’s quiet for a while before you see determination slip into jeff’s eyes. he moves suddenly, using his bent arms as leverage to hoist himself into a sitting position, almost knocking you off his bed in the process. he quickly grabs you by the waist, pulling you up and steadying you. 

“no, i’ll be fine. go get your things ready, you’re going to be late otherwise.”

he was referring to the interview you had today, and of course he was right, but you didn’t want to leave him when he was like this.

seeing your apprehension, jeff begins, “don’t worry i can still drive you there. i’ll be up in a se—“

“what?” you cut him off.

yes, the plan had been for him to drive you there, as you were yet to get your license, but making him do that when he was ill hadn’t even crossed your mind. in fact, you were rather pissed that he thought that’s what you were worried about.

“jesus christ jeff, how much of a selfish dick do you take me for? of course you aren’t driving me there.” you huffed, angrily. “you aren’t going anywhere today.”

jeff’s lips tug themselves into a weak smile, a smile you knew was meant to reassure you. “i’m fine, y/n. i can drive us there. trust me, i’m good.” 

“oh yeah, sure, and i’m the queen of england.” 

you try push him back down on the bed by his shoulders but to no avail. it looked as if he was going to insist on this one. however, you weren’t about to take any crap from your boyfriend. not today.

“don’t argue with me on this, atkins.” you warn. “lie down, now, because i swear i’ll tie you to the fucking bed if i have to.”

it was unlike you to be this aggressive or harsh, especially with jeff, but if this moron thought he was driving you to an interview in his state, he really didn’t know a thing about you. also the selfless, yet clueless, behaviour was starting to grind on your nerves now and he too must’ve noticed this because he finally relented, laying down on his back.

“hold on, i’ll go get your mum.” you move away from him, leaving the bedroom. 

you don’t hesitate to speak to the woman whom you’ve come to know rather well and, in seconds, she’s in a flurry of concern and worry for her baby boy. she jogs up the stairs to his room with you not far behind, taking the steps two at a time. 

amidst his complains and protests that he was fine, mrs atkins manages to extract enough information from jeff to conclude that he’s probably just got a cold. you’re relieved that it’s nothing serious but you were hopelessly in love with jeff and it made your heart ache seeing him like this. jeff atkins, who normally had boundless energy, trying to put up a strong front in order to not worry you or his mother.

mrs atkins apologises, since she too knows about your interview, but asks nevertheless whether you don’t mind waiting with jeff while she goes out to the pharmacy to get some cold medicine. you agree at once. as much of a deal as that college was, jeff meant, and always would mean, far more to you.

yet jeff being jeff, constantly putting you first, regains his strength enough to argue that you have to go.

“no, she can’t miss her interview, mom.”      

“jeff, for goodness sake, i really don’t care—“ 

he’s the one interrupting you now. “y/n please. you have to go.” he begs. “not that i need anyone to stay with me but since you’re insisting, mom you can stay. i’ll just text clay and ask him to pick up whatever you want for me. he was supposed to tutor me this weekend anyway so he’s probably free.”

that much was true. you weren’t much of an email checker and had only seen the email from the college a few days ago though they’d sent it a while back. when you told jeff about it, he didn’t think twice before asking clay to call a rain check on their tutor sessions so that he could accompany you. you always found yourself doing these things together nowadays. 

mrs atkins seemed convinced. “ok, it seems like we have an alternative so i’ll let you two decide on your own.” she offered you a smile before leaving the room.

once she was gone, you approach his bed and sit down with a small sigh. “i don’t want to leave you, jeff. i feel bad.”

“babe, i’m not upset. i want you to go.” he attempted to reassure you, squeezing one of your hands in his. “i know how much getting in to (insert college name) means to you.”

you weren’t convinced. “you mean more. you’ll always mean more.”

that brought a smile to his face, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes in affection. “fine. let’s put it this way then.” he began, bringing your hand up to his face to press a kiss to the back of it. “you know i’m going to hate myself if i make you miss that interview.”

he definitely wasn’t kidding there. jeff had the tendency to blame himself for things that weren’t in his power to control, and so weren’t his fault, in the first place. you think for a while before answering. “alright, fine.” you sigh. “i’ll go.”

“thank you.” he smiled. that perfect, toothy smile that always took your breath away. it still amazed you how such a genuinely good person could exist, and even more so how you had managed to make them fall in love with you.

“no, thank you.” you squeeze a hand between his head and the pillow, bringing your head down to press your foreheads together. your other hand was still tightly clutched in his. “you have no idea how much i love you, jeffrey atkins.”

he pecks your nose affectionately, still smiling softly at you. “i love you too, doll, but you’re going to get sick as well if you’re this close to me.”

“i don’t care. sick people need cuddles.”

“i’ll feel bad if you get sick though.”

“and i feel bad that i’m leaving you when you’re like this.” you pause. “you just try to get better now, yeah? i’ll be back as soon as possible.“

“ok, mom.”

“jeff, i’m serious.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever.” he waves you off. “just go smash that interview. score me a home run.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at the corny use of baseball terminology; jeff was always doing that. shaking your head, you press your lips against his forehead.

“anything for you.”

——

around three/four hours later and you were back from your interview, jogging down jeff’s driveway to get to his front door. you had taken the bus since no one was there to drive you and as far as you were concerned, the interview had gone pretty well. not that you were too concerned about it in the first place, still agonising about having to leave jeff when he needed you the most. 

you knocked on the door, trying to be quiet, as you guessed that jeff was probably asleep upstairs. your assumptions were confirmed when mrs atkins opened the door, whispering to you that he had fallen asleep not long ago. you also found out from her that clay had come over earlier, bringing along the things from the convenience store that she had asked him to bring.

excusing yourself, you tiptoe up the stairs and open the door to his room, all the while being as quiet as you possibly could be. the sight of your boyfriend, laying on his side, dozing softly, brings a smile to your face. quiet snores fill the room. 

he looks to be in a much better state than you left him in. you carefully slip under the covers beside him, placing a hand on the back of his head to pull him in to your chest. you’ve dozed off, still smiling, before you know it.

you’re in that weird state of consciousness between being asleep and being awake when you feel a hand gently rocking you as a familiar voice repeats your name, over and over. 

you ignore it at first but open your eyes at the persistence of the voice. “y/n? what are you doing?” the voice asks and suddenly, it all comes back to you.

“napping.” you reply simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, staring blankly at jeff.

“you’re going to get sick. i told you not to get too close.”

“you’ll have to try a little harder that that if you want to keep me away, babe.”

“y/n—“

“plus, you looked adorable, sleeping there like that. how could i resist?”

“you’re not sweet-talking your way out of this.”

“oh, i think i will.” you grinned, pulling him towards you before he could reply so that your bodies were pressed flush against each other. jeff knew you too well to think that anything he could possibly say would dissuade you from cuddling with him right now. 

you heard him sigh in defeat, mumbling something about how much trouble you were. he can’t have been that annoyed though, as he wrapped both arms around your body to draw you close and tangled his legs with yours, burrowing his face into your neck.

“you’re such a handful, i swear.”

“love you too, jeff.”