#when i first saw the picture i honest to god thought it was photoshopped

[biamondpickaxe]

ok was anybody going to tell me that jenna joseph is pregnant or was i just supposed to look at my instagram explore page myself

[wonnoy]

roolllinggguu!

nishinoya is a big geek in my eyes - he collects pokemon cards (me too) full time and is obsessed with LOTR and the hobbit. you should see this dude.

no one can change my mind, because i love it.

__ warnings: none

geeks unite

__

You laid down next to Noya on the couch with half a mind listening to LOTR theories on the television. He, however, was not distracted at all. His body was even leaning forward and you don't even remember the last time that he blinked.

You turned back to the TV, trying to remember how you first met him.

~~

It was a bright Sunday morning, and unlike any other day, today was the only day of the week you could visit the bookstore down the street. It was rarely busy on Sunday's and it was the only day where you didn't have work.

So, clad in your gray sweatpants and university hoodie, you were searching through the shelves of the tiny fantasy land at the edge of your campus. Every once in a while, a straggler would enter the store, pick what they needed and soon leave with a hushed goodbye to the cashier. You didn't pay them much mind, most people nowadays didn't understand the magic of coming to a bookstore like you did.

All type of dream worlds could happen here, in a space that seemed to be protected by time itself. Forever again yet forever young in the eyes of the holder - you held the most powerful weapon whenever coming in here. A fresh mind.

"Aw yea, they got new posters!" a voice sounded from the other side of the bookshelf. You lifted your nose from the book in your hands and rose off of the bean-bag chair. That didn't sound like anyone you knew who frequented this place, and let's be honest. You were just a little curious to see who it was that silently yelled in a bookstore.

You set the book down and then started to look through the shelves of books that separated the aisles. There was no sign of any life before you saw something shuffle to your right and so you turned. Bent over and inside of a tub of posters was a man whose belongings were all over the ground.

"I wonder if they have-"

"Excuse me?" there was a loud thud from inside of the tub and hissed ow as the man retrieved his head from the tub. He wasn't much taller than you, far from it by the looks of it. When he turned around, you had to cover your mouth in surprise. It was an obviously photoshopped picture of him in Lord of The Rings facing against Sauron (one of the evil characters) on his mask.

"Ah, sorry did I yell something?" he rubbed his head a little, his hair bouncing back up straight from being pushed back by his hand. There was a thunder bolt of yellow in his hair amongst the other brown locks on his head.

You shook your head explaining to him that he sounded new here. He only chuckled at you.

"Not really, they have the best merchandise," he pulled down his mask now revealing his smile. And by the gods was his smile one of the most beautiful things that you've seen. It made butterflies zoom throughout your body at the sight.

"The name is Nishinoya, kind of a mouthful so people normally call my Noya," and he extended his hand out to you. It took you no hesitation to give him a handshake as well. Who would've thought that you made a new best friend that day.

~~

"Oy!" a loud shout brought you back to the present and Noya's hand was shaking in front of your face. You had to bring your neck back as he was so close to accidentally smacking you in the face.

When he saw you react he leaned back to where he was sitting, "I'd been calling your name for a bit a time but you never answered," he sighed. You looked over at the TV, the show was paused and he was right - ten minutes passed while you were zoned out.

"Yea, sorry I was thinking about the bookstore and stuff," you crossed your arms underneath your chest. You thought it would be easier the longer you knew him, that eventually the feeling of being high would leave you alone. But alas, it never did.

You were hopelessly in love with the blind fool.

"Really, what about the bookstore," Noya got up off the couch and made his way to the kitchen attached to his small apartment. It's only been three years, but it can't help but feel like forever that you've known him.

"Just some stuff," you trailed off watching him. He was in a white tank top with low hanging gray sweatpants - AKA irresistible. It was too bad that he was leaving you soon, he wanted to travel the world and you never had the courage to ask him if he wanted to travel with you. He didn't know that you would leave things behind to be with him, to be with him just a little bit longer. You don't know how you'd feel if he saw some Italian babe and forgot about you.

Noya chuckled from the kitchen, "what type of 'stuff' is that then," he then slinked from the kitchen to where you were sitting, "c'monnn y/n I really wanna know!"

There's the childish side of him. He's 22 and yet still acts like his childish self that you've only seen in videos from his old volleyball days. You leaned your head back to meet him upside-down and smiling at you. His hands shot out towards your cheeks and then he proceeded to mush them together.

"Thash not going to-"

"Tell meeee y/n, please," he mushed your cheeks even more now and you tried to stick your tongue out at him as best as you could. But to no avail, he had you.

You went to grab his forearms and pull them off of your face, "I was thinking about when you were leaving," you put your head back up and could feel the navel of his body touch the back of your head as he came up closer behind you. This feels like an intimate position, but Noya was just a touchy guy you guessed. You heard about his endeavors with Kiyoko.

He sighed behind you and took one of his arms from your hands, you guessed it. He probably doesn't want to be depressed by your depressing thoughts right now-

You nearly sneezed.

Something underneath your nose was tickling underneath your nose and hastily pushed it away trying to see what it was. You sputtered the moment you saw them.

Two tickets to Italy, two seats right next to each other, two tickets with yours and his name on them.

"I was saving them till the day I asked you out, but I guess right now will have to do,"

You never tackled someone so quickly before that day.

[][][

haha cute

i had to write this quickly because my laptop almost die

[dynamics-of-an-asteroid]

Dont suppose you have a copy of the interview you could share?

For you, dear anon~

His Dark Materials: Andrew Scott on life after Fleabag and Sherlock

We’ve loved him as both Fleabag’s Hot Priest and Sherlock’s menacing Moriarty. Now, he’s back on our screens in the new series of His Dark Materials. Polly Vernon talks to our TV crush

Andrew Scott is mortified. The actor – formerly Moriarty to Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock, then the Hot Priest of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, imminently Colonel John Parry in the BBC’s adaptation of Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials – arrives at the photographic studio, bang on the appointed hour, in a fawn cashmere cardigan with a fine gold chain around his neck, bemoaning “this terrible, terrible eye infection, which is making me so self-conscious. I’m so sorry. It isn’t that you’ve massively upset me before we’ve even started. It’s so annoying. But anyway…”

Scott, 44, is small, vivid, wiry and garrulously Irish, with a face that is not handsome so much as mesmerising, intense, sharply boned, symmetrical, startlingly expressive. Sequences of emotions so subtle and complicated that I can’t begin to identify or keep up with them ruffle his brow from moment to moment. And, yup, the whole thing is rather disrupted by his left eye. This is no light kiss of conjunctivitis. It’s a swollen, red, perma-weeping situation that engulfs the whole socket. Scott turns his face two thirds on to me, so the infection is largely hidden, which would probably help if we weren’t sitting in a brightly lit hair and make-up room with a massive, inescapable mirror fixed to one wall. “Oh God,” Scott says every time he catches sight of his reflection.

Stress?

“Let’s be honest,” he says. “Let’s not skirt around the issue. It’s being overworked and…” Scott’s eye begins weeping. “Oh my goodness. I am so sorry. Really, really very sorry.”

Wanna wear my sunglasses, I ask, holding them out to him.

“That would be a bit more weird, wouldn’t it? I actually did think about that in the taxi, but I thought that would be some sort of weird and screwed Invisible Man-type thing. I mean, it couldn’t be worse. And then we have to go and get our photograph taken. It’ll be one of those pictures where, you know, those creepy pictures… Of people crying?”

That’s what Photoshop’s for, I say.

“Anyway. Let’s just ignore it.”

I wonder if it’s particularly hard to walk around with an eye infection at a point in time where you’re not merely famous, as Scott is – a star of stage, screen and Bond film, winner of multiple awards, including, as of barely two weeks ago, a Best Actor Olivier for Present Laughter at the Old Vic – but specifically famous for being sexy.

In 2019, Andrew Scott became synonymous with, well, sex. While playing a character technically known as the Priest, whom the general public instantly renamed the Hot Priest, the spiritual support turned transgressive love interest of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s supremely popular Fleabag, Scott became a cypher for the nation’s more exotic desires. A deliciously contentious pin-up. Ground zero on an earnest social media debate about whether the Priest’s relationship with Fleabag should be considered abusive, power imbalanced, “problematic”. And that was just for starters.

The Priest’s sexual iconography extended far beyond the limits of the show, becoming the subject of internet memes and real-life merchandise (visit online retailer Etsy for your £12 Hot Priest mug emblazoned with an illustration of Scott in priest’s robes, alongside the word “kneel”, a reference to a pivotal moment between the show’s lead characters, which takes place in a confession box, the climax of which, assuming you haven’t already seen it, you could probably take a stab at). There was an unprecedented upsurge in young worshippers, and women started bombarding social media “influencer” the Rev Chris Lee of west London with nude photographs. There was much foetid fan fiction.

To be publicly defined by so much sex, as Scott still is, a year and a half after Fleabag concluded, and then to be encumbered by something as visibly unsexy as an eye infection, I can see how that might make a chap self-conscious.

Scott isn’t here to rake up all that old Hot Priest stuff, mind. He’s here to talk about the second series of His Dark Materials, a lush, expensive fantasy drama based on the Philip Pullman books, jewel in the crown of the BBC’s autumn schedule. The series was filmed through 2019 and the beginning of 2020 and had all but wrapped before lockdown. Good timing, as it turned out, because the extensive post-production processes, unlike shooting, could be completed in isolation.

Scott’s Colonel John Parry is an explorer, the missing father of the central character, 14-year-old Will Parry. He’s a man who slipped into a parallel universe some years earlier, acquired a “daemon” – an exterior animal-formed expression of his soul, a female osprey called Sayan Kötör, voiced with public-pleasing symmetry by Phoebe Waller-Bridge – and never found a way back to “our” world and his son. I speak as a fan of the books, which you might describe as a darker, existential response to Harry Potter, although honestly? They’re better than that. The show is great, a deft, rewarding interpretation, and Scott is an exciting prospect as Parry.

Did he jump at the part?

“I did, actually. It was definitely something I was into. We were doing a play and it seemed like a fun thing to do.” Scott is one of those who slips into the third person when speaking about himself in a professional capacity.

Had he read the books?

“Yeah,” he says. “I think they’re extraordinary. The truth, but told on a slant. I love the way Pullman tells children about spirituality or religion in such an extraordinary, intelligent way. He doesn’t speak down to them. He talks to children’s souls.”

Given that Pullman effectively kills off God through the course of the books and Scott’s a lapsed Irish Catholic who has suffered his share of shame on account of the church’s grip on his homeland (more on which shortly), I’d imagine Pullman’s books talked to Scott’s adult soul too.

Presumably, he didn’t have to audition. Presumably, he never has to. Too famous for auditions?

“No,” he says. “Although I’ve always thought auditioning is a pretty good thing to do.”

Why?

“Because you’re able to understand, ‘Oh, this is the vibe here.’ You think, when you’re an actor, you don’t have much choice, but I’ve always felt like auditioning is a good opportunity for you to go, ‘Oh well, I don’t much like you either. I think you’re dreadful!’ ”

I don’t care that you didn’t give me that part?

“Yeah.” Scott becomes playfully, theatrically defiant. “I don’t care!” He flicks aside an imaginary rejection with a churlish hand.

Will John Parry and His Dark Materials be enough to eliminate all residual overtones of Hot Priest sexiness from Scott? Maybe. He is a fine actor, no question, entirely transformed from role to role. I saw him play Paul, a narcissistic, fame-addled touring rock star, at the Royal Court in 2014 in Simon Stephens’ Birdland, back when his deeply sinister Moriarty weighed almost as heavily on Scott’s reputation as the Hot Priest does now. I’d watched him become someone else entirely on stage. “Oh, you saw that?” Scott says, pleased.

I quote, “Am I cancer?” at him, his defining line from the play, as evidence.

“Oh Jesus. Oh f***ing hell. Oh my. I’d forgotten that line. ‘Am I cancer?’ ”

The Hot Priest association hasn’t left him yet, which is why I find myself asking what it’s like to be the very definition of sexiness.

“You get invited to more parties.”

Better parties?

“Yeah.”

Better than during his Moriarty phase?

“Definitely.”

It must be fun to find yourself le dernier cri in sexy, according to the whole nation.

“Yeah, that’s fun,” he says. “I didn’t really like being associated with scary. It’s not what I’m interested in being, in life, being intimidating to people. It’s not part of my nature, whereas being sexy to people…”

That is part of his nature?

“Well, they’re very different things.”

They’re both about having power over people.

“I suppose they are, yes.”

So did Scott, bored of scaring people, say to Phoebe Waller-Bridge, writer and star of Fleabag and a long-term friend (they met in 2009 while starring in Roaring Trade at the Soho Theatre), “Write a role for me that will make everyone think I’m just really, really sexy now”?

“That’s such a good belt. Are they two ‘Gs’?”

“Exactly.”

——————————

Andrew Scott is not the easiest interview. He’s utterly charming. Really, just a delight. In between prostrating himself for the offence of his eye and apologising for not turning up the first time we were scheduled to meet (ten days earlier; a delayed Covid test result meant he couldn’t make it), he ensures I have a good time in his company. He is playful. He makes me laugh. His every utterance is delivered as a grand performance. (“Shhhh! Just… Shhhh!” he implores, placing a finger against his lips while expressing frustrations over the mindless jabber of social media, and he does it so powerfully, he compels me to be quiet, breathlessly to await delivery of his next line.) He finds elegant ways to flatter me. He laughs at my jokes and is terribly taken with my belt.

Yeah. For Gucci.

“Oh. Ha ha! I thought it was the Golden Globes. I love the Golden Globes. Ha ha!”

And of course, he’s Irish. Clichédly, melodiously Irish, which makes everything sound softer and jollier than it might otherwise.

As for the actual business of being interviewed, of answering straight questions with straight answers, finishing off sentences, offering more than a slip-slide of vagaries punctuated by vigorous hand gestures, none of which translates into print? He’d rather not.

He tells me, as he’s told other journalists before, this is because he’s interested in navigating the line between “privacy and secrecy”, then says he’s aware he’s sometimes “got away with secrecy under the guise and respectability of privacy”, as if signalling potential incoming slipperiness, which means I prepare to throw every trick in the book at him.

First up: amateur psychology.

Might Andrew Scott’s gayness be at the heart of his reluctance to speak more freely? Perhaps. This is no scoop. He’s been out for almost as long as he’s been famous. “I mean, as a civilian, I was quite young [when I came out], you know? But then, as a celebrity…”

He tails off, allows me to fill in the blanks. This is another of his evasion tactics. I can’t very well quote Scott on the presumptions I make about things he never quite says.

He had to have another coming out?

“Yes. And I have another one coming up.”

He has another coming out coming up?

“Yeah.”

So that will be, what? Tier 3 gayness?

“Tier 3, yeah.”

Scott grew up in Ireland at a time when it wasn’t legal to be gay, which could certainly seed an enduring reluctance towards carefree openness in a person. He invokes the concept of shame more regularly than the average interviewee. He was born in Dublin in 1976 to Nora, an art teacher, and Jim, who worked at an employment agency. He has one older sister, Sarah, and a younger one, Hannah.

He was shy, so started attending a children’s drama course.

Did that help?

“Yeah. Acting to me is not pretending to be someone else. It’s more like, this is who I actually am. The lie that tells the truth,” he says. I am none the wiser. He was clearly talented. He went from adverts to his first starring role in a film aged 17 (Korea, directed by Cathal Black), won a bursary to art school but took a place at Trinity College Dublin to study drama instead, and ditched that six months in to join Dublin’s Abbey Theatre. He’s been gainfully employed in the field ever since.

How Catholic was his upbringing?

“Well, there were Catholic priests in my life,” he says. “None of whom I wanted to have sex with.”

Does it amuse Scott to know he inspired a mass fetishising of priestly ranks? That in 2019, the Hot Priest would make, “Can you have sex with a Catholic priest?” one of the most googled terms of the year?

“Absolutely f***ing mental,” he says.

Homosexuality wasn’t legalised in Ireland until 1993, when Scott was 16.

“I always think, if I’d had a boyfriend then, which I definitely did not…”

No?

“No.”

He knew he was gay, though?

“No. No, no, no, no!”

Was he suppressing it or not thinking about it?

“I would say suppressing. Definitely suppressing. I don’t believe people just don’t think about it.”

An upbeat, cheesy jazz remix of something or other starts playing outside the room.

“Oooh, this is the soundtrack for this bit of the interview,” says Scott. He wiggles his shoulders to the music.

I switch to strict dominatrix interviewer mode. Focus, I say. You were about to tell me something good.

“Oh, shit, was I? OK. I think what’s really insidious is that people don’t ask you about sex or… People wouldn’t say, ‘Are you gay or are you [straight]?’ And the lack of directness is very damaging. They just didn’t go there.”

Does he think his family, friends, the people closest to him knew then that he was gay?

“No,” he says. “I don’t think they did know. Or maybe they have a suspicion, but they think, I want to be respectful, so I’m not going to ask about that. Then [when you do come out], people say, ‘Oh, I’m glad.’ You know? If you do talk about it. So I suppose what I feel now is, talking about sex or sexuality is important. Really important.”

Having said that, “There’s still getting rid of the shame. In a situation like this, 10 or 15 years ago, I would have been…” He fakes shock, horror. “Oh no! Polly’s just asked me about [he switches to a whisper] that.”

Scott will talk about his sex life only notionally. No specifics. For 15 years, between 2001 and 2016, he was in a relationship with the actor turned screenwriter Stephen Beresford (Scott starred in Beresford’s 2014 film Pride). Ever since, he’s refused to answer questions about his romantic life.

And he’s not going to talk about it now, I presume.

“No.”

What if we talk about it opaquely?

“OK.”

Where does he see himself, domestically, in an ideal world? Married with kids whom he’ll, I dunno, adopt or have via surrogacy?

“I like it. It’s bold. Am I going to adopt or…?”

Get a surrogate?

“I definitely think that’s something I would be open to.”

Great, I say, with blatant sarcasm. Thanks. How specific.

“Ha! I’m sorry. OK. Have I got any children at the moment? No. How can I… [explain]? OK. I was with a friend of mine in Dublin…”

His partner?

“No, no, no. Not my partner. Ah ha. I see what you were…”

Teasing. Yes.

“Ha! Yes. So, I was with a friend in Dublin and we were walking around and he was looking at apartments and I was like, ‘What about this place here?’ You know? And he said, ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Why not?’ and he said, ‘I don’t live a heteronormative life, so I don’t want a heteronormative house.’ ”

What’s a heteronormative house?

“Two up, two down thing. He goes, ‘I can live in a loft or a weird space. I don’t need those things.’ He was so proud of it. He really owned it. I think where a lot of one’s pain comes from is when you go, ‘I should want that.’ And so, to answer your question opaquely, I have kids I adore. I love children, genuinely, and I had a very happy childhood. But I also feel, if I don’t have kids, that’s all right. I think I would’ve attached a lot of shame beforehand, with not living a particularly heteronormative life… Even with being gay, there’s a sort of way of being gay that’s acceptable. And I don’t feel that any more.”

He feels you can be unacceptably gay?

“Exactly. Exactly!”

I ask when shame shifted for him and Scott says it was when Ireland voted overwhelmingly in favour of same-sex marriage in the 2015 referendum, which felt, he says, “like acceptance, genuinely. And I remember going out to this gay bar in Dublin and this girl came up to me, this cool Dublin girl, and she said, ‘What are you doing here? You need to go down to, I don’t know, blah, blah, this bar in some park.’ She was saying, ‘This isn’t the right gay bar for you. This is some shit gig,’ when the fact I’m in a gay bar in Ireland [at all] is a miracle to me, and then some person with a half-shaved head is telling me, ‘No, you need to go somewhere cooler.’ ”

His left eye starts weeping again.

“I’m so happy about that,” he says. “Even though I’m crying.”

I ask Scott if he has a game plan when picking roles, if he plots his course from Sherlock villain to Bond quasi-villain (he played Max Denbigh in Spectre) to sex icon, and, if so, what next? “No. Jesus, no,” he says.

We talk about the totalitarianism of social media, which he isn’t on, and share a mutual despair over it. “I thought it was something one would associate with the right, but actually, now it’s [the left] that is very ‘you’re this’ or ‘you’re that’. I find that quite frightening. It actually makes me feel ferocious.”

Is he not worried about being cancelled, of somehow saying the “wrong” thing, according to Twitter sensitivities, then having a thousand voices mobilised against him, demanding his firing, in the style of JK Rowling?

“I’m not,” he says. “I refuse to be. A very intelligent person I was talking to recently was writing a book and he said, ‘I’m going to get a sensitivity expert to have a look. I don’t want to get cancelled.’ I found that frightening.”

Is he rich? “Rich is the absence of worry about money,” he says. He can’t remember the last time he worried about money.

That must be nice.

“Of course it f***ing is. I think it’s a miracle. I really do. I was working in a French theatre in London for nothing – none of us was working for anything – and I remember the artistic director of the theatre talking about the fact we weren’t earning any money as some sort of virtue. I remember feeling really annoyed about that, like this isn’t good.”

This leads to an inevitable conversation about how the arts are suffering with Covid, including a segue down the Fatima route, the much shared government advert that depicted a young ballerina and suggested she retrain in something called cyber. “Her name’s not even Fatima,” Scott rails. “I think she’s called Desire’e. From New York.”

I mean to ask him about his experience of filming The Pursuit of Love with Lily James and Dominic West, stars of their own recent off-screen micro-scandal in Rome, just in case he lets any scurrilous insight slip, but our time’s up and it’s not as if Scott has much form on offering up scurrilous insight anyway.

Still, I feel grateful to him for meeting me halfway on the other stuff. And so I say goodbye to Andrew Scott, the UK’s foremost gay heterosexual lapsed Catholic faux-priest lust icon with a troublesome eye infection.

[cilldaracailin]

A Kind Of Magic

Here is the next part :) 

9

“Encourage, lift and strengthen one another. For the positive energy spread to one will be felt by us all. For we are connected, one and all.”

Taron woke up cosy, the duvet pulled right up to his chin as he lay on his right side.

“Ugh ow.” He groaned. Sleeping on his right side was uncomfortable and painful on his sore arm and ribs and he had been avoiding it, mostly choosing to lay on his back, or left side. He slowly rolled to his back, cringing as he did so, feeling an unpleasant sensation of prickling torment for a few seconds, until his body settled. He looked to his left to see it was just him in the bed, Robyn’s chosen side empty, the duvet neatly pulled up to the pillow. He figured she was the reason he felt so warm and snug under the duvet but he was bothered by the fact that she wasn’t there sleeping. Taron knew without a doubt that Robyn was running on fumes and although she had willingly allowed him in emotionally, he wished he could help her rest and actually sleep.

He reached over to the bedside locker and picked up his phone. Blinking at the bright light as he unlocked the screen checking the time and the day more importantly. He didn’t want to see that he had slept another full day.

“Saturday.” He sighed a relief and even more so when he saw it was actually early morning. Just before ten but frowned when he saw another missed call from Richard. He had completely forgotten to call him back yesterday but he knew Richard would understand when he phoned him and explained why.

As tempting at it was to roll over and snuggle back into the pillow, Taron drew back the duvet cover enjoying the fresh air that the air conditioning circulated around the room and eased himself out of the bed. He didn’t feel as stiff as he did yesterday but was quite tender and sensitive from laying on his hurt side during the night.

He stood up carefully and wandered out in search of Robyn and found her standing at the island in her kitchen, cutting some fruit on a chopping board.

“Good morning.” She said brightly as he sleepily walked in to kitchen.

Robyn was quickly adding a new Taron to her mind as this half awake, messy haired Taron was definitely her favourite yet and she was trying very hard to use this new image of Taron to replace the ones that plagued her dreams last night. His mam had made an appearance too, throwing picture after picture of her son at her, telling her she had killed her child. Robyn had woken up startled at one am, after four hours sleep and just lay in the bed, again watching Taron as he slept. She got up from the bed around four and cleaned her apartment from top to bottom, including the bathroom. At nine she had a quick shower, plaited her hair in two French braids and threw on another pair of demin shorts, a Hawaiian patterned string top along with her blue converse. She opened the doors of the apartment letting the beautiful morning air and sunshine in and had set the garden up for the day pulling out two sun loungers from the garden shed, putting the cushions on the chair swing and plugging in the small water fountain too. She then started her usual weekend morning breakfast routine of making waffles, while listening to music. She was in the middle of cutting up the fruit to go with the waffles when Taron walked into the kitchen.

“Mornin’.” He replied as he stopped and gave her a hug from behind, placing a kiss on her cheek, before moving to lean against the sink.

“Sleep well?” She asked him, hoping he didn’t see the easy blush that rose to her cheeks from his little kiss. She adored how easy Taron was with his affection.

“Yeah. That bed is magnificent. Don’t think I beat my record though.”

“No but close to it. Eleven hours.”

“And how many did you get?” He asked

“A few.” She replied.

“A few?” He probed as he moved to stand beside her. “How many qualifies as a few?”

“Four?” She answered honestly.

“Nightmares?”

“Staring your lovely mam this time.” Robyn knew she couldn’t lie to Taron. He would see through her in an instant.

“Jesus Robyn. My mam?”

She stopped cutting the strawberries and turned to him. “I know your mam would never do what she did in my dream and if it makes it any better, it was four hours uninterrupted. That hasn’t happened for me in a while.”

Taron sighed. He felt guilty for sleeping so soundly when his host struggled so much. “What did you do once you woke?”

Robyn put the strawberries she had cut in a bowl and moved onto the mango beside her. “I cleaned the apartment.”

“Not for my benefit I hope.” He said quickly.

“No, just my usual Saturday clean. I want to get back into some sort a routine like I had before I moved to Florida even with you here and you are not in my way and you are not imposing on me Taron.” She said knowing he was going to apologise for turning up unannounced. “I enjoy having the company and you know I am very glad you are here.”

Taron stole a piece of strawberry from the bowl and skipped around the island as she went to tap his hand away. “I need to take my pain killers with food. What are you making?” He asked picking up his bottles of pain killers, knowing he had to take them twice a day, morning and evening.

“Waffles.” Answered Robyn as she cut around the stone in the mango.

“Waffles?” He stopped and looked at her. “Seriously?”

“It actually is my normal Saturday breakfast. It is not because you are here. I mix it up between waffles and pancakes every weekend. I just fancied waffles this morning.”

“Let me guess, you have a waffle maker.” Taron left his tablets on the counter and walked around to get a glass from the press he knew they were in and filled it with water from the fridge.

“It was actually a present from my friend Claire. I didn’t buy it myself. It is not something I would ever buy for myself but seeing as how I have it, I make use of it, only on the weekends though.”

“Waffles for breakfast and key lime pie for tea last night.” Grinned Taron as he took his painkillers, but Robyn saw his face change once he drank the rest of the water. “My trainer is going to have some job to get me back in shape when I am back filming but not because of you Robyn. I don’t mean it like that.” Taron quickly corrected himself. “I mean because I can’t train or move much. I am going to be such a pudding by the time I am back ready to film.”

“Don’t even Taron.” Said Robyn and Taron was taken back by the annoyance in her voice and looked at her to see a serious look of irritation on her face. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.” She stopped slicing the mango and put down the knife. “No one should talk about themselves like that. This is why I like working with children. They don’t judge. They just see you for who you are and don’t care about what you look like. I wish the world could be seen through the eyes of a child.” Robyn walked around to stand beside Taron. “I thought you didn’t care about that Hollywood shit.”

“Well I don’t but…”

“Exactly but it gets to you and I know it gets to you but it shouldn’t. Want my honest truth?” Taron nodded. He very much valued Robyn’s opinion and words. “As a woman, if I had a choice between Eggsy and Eddie, I would choose Eddie.”

“Really?” He questioned.

“Yes really. I, as a fan of your work, watched interviews of your time of promoting Eddie the Eagle.” Robyn pointed to herself. “Huge Hugh Jackman fan. Anyway, I could easily see how uncomfortable you were every time someone mentioned your physical transformation and it shouldn’t even have been a question asked or commented on. Same for your portrayal as Elton too. It shouldn’t matter and as someone who has struggled with their own body confidence, I know how it feels. Nobody should be judged by how they look but because the world we live in, is one of a shallow photoshop society where magazines and television decide and depict how a man or woman should look, it makes those of us who don’t fit that certain look feel worthless and unattractive. I would choose Eddie over Eggsy any day because that is what is real. I don’t want you thinking that you can’t have something sweet because it will turn you into a so-called pudding. I happen to like pudding and thinking about shit like that fucks with your mind and brings you spiralling down a horrible rabbit hole. You are perfect, whether you are a pudding or a rice cake.”

“A rice cake?” Taron looked at Robyn titling his head.

“It’s the first thing that came to my mind that could compare to pudding but seriously Taron. Don’t starve yourself from something you want because of what is going to happen two months or so down the line. Shouldn’t what happened to us last week, make us even more aware that life is short and we should eat the God damn pudding. This is why I hate the pressure of having to look a certain way, or being judged for how you look because it…”

“Is what inside that counts.” Finished Taron.

“Yes it bloody is and it makes me angry to hear you talk like that. You are beautiful Taron inside and out.”

“Just like you.” Confirmed Taron. “Yes you.” He repeated when he saw that same doubt in Robyn’s eyes that he had felt in his less than two minutes ago. “I wouldn’t have said it in your office if I didn’t believe it and you cannot lecture me on my body confidence and not let me return the favour.”

“Thank you. It has taken me a long time to be comfortable in my own skin but I won’t listen to you bring yourself down like that. Nothing wrong with a little bit of pudding Taron. I told you I preferred Eddie and you are in an Irish house and Irish people feed their guests so I won’t hear you say it again and you will eat everything that is put in front of you and there is nothing stopping us from taking small walks every day and it will help to build your strength back up and the baking has really only been happening because I can’t sleep. I am actually really good during the week. I would go for an hour walk every day after work and I rarely get take out and normally cook nice healthy things and…”

Taron threw his arms around Robyn, stopping her mid-sentence pulling her close for another one of their hugs that said so much without using any words. “Thank you.” He said simply. Taron felt a sudden surge of self-confidence and assurance that he hadn’t felt in a long time and he was completely touched by Robyn’s words and the fact the she noticed how uncomfortable he was when others hadn’t. It was so refreshing to hear Robyn speak so positive about what he considered his faults and he very much appreciated her encouraging words.  “And thanks for putting the knife down before you scolded me. I thought you were going to stab me there for a minute.”

“Well I might still do if you talk about yourself like that again.”

“Luckily you can patch me back up too afterwards.”

Laughter filled the kitchen as they broke the hug. “So, waffles?” Asked Robyn.

“Waffles.” Agreed Taron.

“They come with fruit too.” She said as she walked back around to where she had been chopping the fruit.

“I am just going to have a quick shower and change. Looks like another beautiful day out there.”

“Yeah it’s going to be a scorcher. Figured we could just sit in the garden and listen to music and not do much else.”

“Yes please.”

“Go shower. I shall continue waffling.”

Taron headed back to the bedroom and pulled the duvet up the bed up so it was fully made. He went into the closet and carefully lifted his bag into the bed, straining with the effort and routed through for his wash bag. Grabbing it, he walked into the bathroom and after he had closed the door, saw that Robyn had replaced the towels he had used the day before with fresh red ones. He was actually surprised with the colour of the towels considering Robyn’s apartment was filled with cool blue tones but when he felt the softness of the towel, he knew why she had bought the red ones.

He enjoyed the rainfall shower just as much the second time but didn’t take as long as his muscles weren’t as tense as before. Looking in the mirror he saw something in his face he hadn’t seen for a long time and it was a brightness in his eyes and an almost need to constantly smile and he enjoyed feeling like that again. Routing through his wash bag, he pulled out his razor and made quick work of shaving off his seven-day beard, feeling fresher afterwards. He had to take extra care on the right side of his face but managed to get a clean shave that he was happy with. Running his hands through his damp hair, he walked back into Robyn’s room and changed into a pair of white shorts and a blue flower print t-shirt, just buttoning the bottom two buttons. Not bothering with shoes again, Taron walked back into the kitchen to see Robyn whisking some batter in a bowl with a whisk by hand.

“Need any help?” He asked.

“I am all good.” Replied Robyn and she turned to look at him. “Hey you shaved and you stole my outfit choice.”

Robyn stood with her right hand on her hip and stared at Taron. He looked like he had gotten a new lease of life after his time in the bathroom. His eyes shone with happiness that she had never seen in person before and although his clean-shaven profile highlighted the bruising on his face more, he looked so much more content in himself.

“I stole your outfit choice?” He asked puzzled.

“Yeah, I was dressed before you so I get to rock the Hawaiian vibe.”

Taron then realised what she meant, looking to her patterned top, then to his and grinned. “The print is different though.”

“I like print on you.” Robyn tuned back to whisking the batter in her glass bowl. “It really suits you but you still stole my style for the day.”

Taron laughed. He loved it when Robyn was in this wonderful giddy mood and it made her whole face light up when she laughed with him. “I am sure I can do something to help you.” He insisted.

“In the press to your left, under the hob is the waffle maker. You can take it out for me and plug it on the hob.”

Taron set up the red waffle maker as Robyn had asked. “Does it annoy you that this is red and does not match any of the décor of your home?”

“Dear God yes and that is why Claire bought it for me because she knew it would bug the hell out of me.” Robyn moved the bowl of batter over to where Taron was standing. “But it makes good waffles.” She pulled a ladle from the jar behind the hob and waited for the light to turn green.

“How many piercings do you have?”

“What?”

“I never noticed all the earrings that you had before.”

Robyn turned to him as he leant against the sink. “Yeah I went through a phase in my twenties where I got one new piercing a year. I have ten, waiting to get my eleventh and because my hair is tied back, they are more obvious plus I wear the tiniest studs.”

“Can you have that many working with children? Wouldn’t they pull them out?”

“Actually no. It’s not something that is an issue, not where I work anyway and mine are quite reserved and small studs. The kids like to count them and four are stars so I mean, I am teaching them shapes through my earrings.”

“Which one is your favourite and which one hurt the most.” He asked taking a closer look at her right ear which had the most, small crystal studs in unusual places on her ear.

“My third lobes hurt the most and my favourite is a toss up between the tragus and rook.” Robyn pointed at the piercings as she named them. “They just stay in all the time. I never take them out and I rarely change the actual jewellery. Once they are in, they are in.”

“I have one.” Taron touched his right ear where his empty piercing was. “Just one but it was for my role as Elton. I only put it back in when I was going to Florida. I haven’t been wearing it because of Kingsman. Actually, Doctor Hart had to get the nurse to take it out before the CT scan. She gave it to Richard to mind for me and I just haven’t put it back in yet. I don’t even know where it is.”

“Well if you want a replacement, I have plenty of spares.” The light on the waffle machine turned green and beeped. Robyn turned around and lifted the lid. She poured a ladle of batter into each section and closed the lid. “I have already set the table up outside for us if that’s ok.”

“Yep sounds good.”

“Do you want some tea again or I have some juice in the fridge or I could pull out the coffee maker. I have one, just don’t use it very often.”

“I am going to stick with juice I think.” Taron walked to the fridge and pulled the door open. “Ok so pineapple, orange or tropical?” He asked.

“I like to mix orange and pineapple together.”

“Excellent.” Taron grabbed the two cartons of juice and took them from the door and placed them on the island behind him. He then got two glasses and filled both with half pineapple and half orange, while Robyn pulled two plates out and dished two waffles onto each, making sure she plugged out the waffle maker when she was done.

Taron carried the glasses and Robyn the plates and together they walked out to the garden to the table where they had their eggs the previous night.  Robyn had remembered the cutlery this time and she had a large bowl filled with fruit and some American pancake syrup on the table. “Breakfast of champions.” Smiled Taron as he sat down on the same chair he had been in the night before, Robyn sitting next to him. “You really do this every weekend?” He asked as Robyn handed him the bowl of fruit, a mix of strawberries, mango, raspberries and blueberries that looked very inviting and colourful.

“Yep. Sometimes Claire comes over too but it’s more like a brunch with her rather than a breakfast and we add eggs, sausages and rashers too and if I have any potatoes left over from Fridays dinner, we would chop them up and toss them in as well.”

Taron could hear his stomach rumbling as he spooned some fruit onto his plate. “Sounds like my kind of brunch.”

“There is this little restaurant here that does this amazing breakfast. I will bring you just so can you taste this dish they make called hash – poaches eggs, potatoes, caramelised onion, rashers and hollandaise.”

“Stop it.” Taron paused mid pour of some syrup on the waffles.

“It’s so good.”

“This is so good. Thanks Robyn.” He handed her the bottle of syrup.

“I was making it anyway so it’s just as easy to make for two.”

“Robyn I know I have said it before but you just make me feel so relaxed and calm and I don’t think you actually understand apart from being at home, how hard it is for me to find a place that does that, especially after what happened in the 7/11.”

“You are always welcome here Taron. When you need a break, just call me. Remember how you said I was kind of stuck in your world?” Taron nodded as he chewed. “Well you are very quickly sticking to mine too.”

“Hey, if your world always comes with waffles for breakfast, I am there.”

A natural comfortable silence found the two as they ate their breakfast, the music filtering out to the garden from the sitting room, both enjoying the peace of the morning around them.

“When we are finished breakfast, would you mind putting the small dressing on my shoulder?” Asked Robyn as she sat back in her chair with her glass. “I didn’t do it myself this morning because I knew you had offered to help me.”

“Of course I will.” Taron was about to ask Robyn if she would help him when another voice interrupted him.

“Robyn? Robyn are you up? I can hear the music from the front door.”

Robyn almost dropped her glass, coughing as her drink went down the wrong way, wiping her mouth as juice dribbled down her chin, Taron taking her glass from her hand before it fell onto the deck.

“Robyn, you ok?” He asked as he gentled patted her back.

“Ugh shit. Yes I am but shit. I am just going to say sorry now ok?”

Taron frowned. “Sorry for what?”

“Ahh Robyn! There you are. I figured you would be up but I am surprised you are not sunning yourself already. It’s such a beautiful… Oh who is this?”

Taron watched as Robyn’s hands went to her face, a look of pure embarrassment filling her pretty features.

“Hi mam.”

Robyn got up from her chair to stand, Taron’s hand falling from her back as she moved to greet the lady who had just walked into her back garden. She was slightly shorter than Robyn, with short dark blonde hair, wearing shorts and a white pattern t-shirt with palm leaves on it.

“Hey Robyn.” Robyn’s mam walked over to the table where Taron and her were enjoying their breakfast. “I didn’t realise you had a visitor, a male visitor.” She added, Robyn immediately rolling her eyes to her mother.

“Mam, this is Taron.” Robyn turned to look him, giving him what he hoped was a very apologetic look. “Taron, this is Lizzie, my mother.”

Taron got to his feet to greet Robyn’s mam wincing as he stood, his right side still feeing raw after laying on it all night, his left hand going to his ribs. Robyn noticed the expression of pain on his face and moved closer to him, her hand on his shoulder “Go slow. You’re still hurt.”

He nodded to her and then moved the few steps to greet their visitor. “It is so lovely to meet you Lizzie.” Taron could see the shock on Lizzie’s face as she realised who he was, her blue eyes staring at him, the same shape and colour as Robyn’s.

“Taron as in Robyn’s Taron from the store in Florida?”

He smirked “Yeah I guess you could call me Robyn’s Taron.”

Robyn nearly fell to wooden deck with embarrassment as her mam finally put two and two together and grasped who Taron was.

“I usually just go by Taron though.” He added, taking a look to Robyn who was sitting on the arm rest of the chair looking absolutely mortified, finally shaking Lizzie’s hand.

“Ah wow, hi. It’s nice to meet you too.” Lizzie shook Taron’s hand, taking a look to her daughter. “You didn’t tell me Taron came to see you.”

“Guess it slipped my mind.” Replied Robyn.

“Slipped your mind?”

“Yeah, just slipped.”

Lizzie gave her daughter a very disapproving look, one that Taron saw clearly. “Well I am very glad to meet you Taron, especially after what you and Robyn have been through. Such a frightening experience for you both.”

Taron moved back so he stood beside Robyn on her left and took her hand in his. “Yes, it was but having Robyn there made it much easier for me.” He gave her hand a gently pat. “I kind of turned up unexpected and Robyn has been nothing but a gracious host.” Taron looked to Lizzie. “It’s thanks to your daughter that I am standing here. She is a truly remarkable woman and I am very blessed that she was willing to help a complete stranger.”

“She has her moments.” Smiled Lizzie, watching he held tightly onto Robyn’s hand. She thought her daughter looked tired until she took in the appearance of the man who stood beside her. Painful looking bruises and grazes spoilt his handsome face, stitches were visible on his right arm and with the few buttons open at the top of his shirt, Lizzie could clearly see where her daughter had performed the lifesaving actions that meant he was standing in front of her but more than that, she could see the connection the two had, how they were turned to each other probably without even knowing they were doing so.

Lizzie was extremely proud of her daughter if not a little angry at her for leaving Florida so quickly. She had told Robyn she should have stayed until Taron woke up, that what had happened between the two of them was so much more important than her job but Robyn being Robyn, ignored her emotions and went head first back into work.

She was stunned to see the man whose Robyn spoke so fondly of now sitting in her daughters back garden, eating breakfast with her. However, she was also glad in a way as she saw how distant Robyn had been since she got home and was very worried about how she was reacting to what had happened to her, in that she wasn’t at all, keeping her feelings to herself. It concerned Lizzie knowing that even as her mother she couldn’t help her daughter and she had no idea of the trauma that she had been through, so seeing Taron in front her gave her some hope that he might be able to break through the thick barriers that her daughter had built. She could see that maybe already he had done so as he held Robyn’s hand in hers. “My Robyn tends to get stuck in when she needs to. Gets in her trouble sometimes too but she always has everyone’s best interest at heart.”

Taron agreed. “Yes she does and I know I am very grateful for it.”

“So how long have you come to stay for?” Asked Lizzie but seeing the look exchanged between Robyn and Taron, knew that conversation hadn’t happened yet.

“Taron knows he is welcome to stay for as long as he would like.” Robyn gave his hand a little squeeze.

“I haven’t actually thought that far to be honest.” Answered Taron. “But if Robyn is happy to let me stay for as long as I like and keeps feeding me waffles for breakfast, I might not leave.”

“Right it’s porridge and water from now on!” Laughed Robyn, enjoying how Taron chuckled along with her.

“What is your shift next week Robyn?” Asked Lizzie.

“I am opening again. The new girl is on the early shift so Emma wants me there to help train her in and get used to opening the creche.”

“Great. You and Taron must come over for dinner then next week then.”

“Wait what?” Robyn looked to her mam.

“Yes yes. I want both of you over for dinner next week. The weather is supposed to stay like this until the middle of next week so let’s say Tuesday? Your dad will be thrilled to start up the BBQ.”

“Mam I think Taron would like to use this time to rest and relax after what happened and not sit through an interrogation of questions.”

“Actually…” Started Taron looking to Robyn. “I would love to have dinner with your family. I know how much your family means to you and you know how much mine means to me, so if we could, I would very much like to get to know yours.”

Robyn could see the genuine look of interest in his eyes and turned back to her mam. “What time?”

“Say seven? It will give you time to get home and ready to come over and we won’t ask too many questions Robyn. We will limit it to ten each.”

“Oh dear God.” Sighed Robyn, Taron and Lizzie both laughing at her reaction.

“Ok great. Your dad will be delighted. Now I shall leave you to your breakfast. It was lovely meeting you Taron.”

“You too Lizzie.”

“Robyn come and hug your mother.”

Robyn let go of Taron’s hand and gave her mam a hug. “He’s cute.” She whispered into her daughters’ ear. “And you’re doing a very wonderful thing looking after him. He looks like he needs it.” Robyn gave her a mam an extra squeeze.

“Taron, you too love.” Robyn moved back and let Taron take her place, Lizzie being extra careful as she hugged him. “Look after my daughter for me.” She felt Taron give the slightest of nods before she let him go. “Right well, if you need anything you know where I am Robyn.”

“Thanks mam.”

Lizzie left the way she came with a wave, Robyn sitting on the arm of her chair again, while Taron stood in front of her.

“I like your mam. She’s very like you and parents were made to embarrass their children. I think it’s just natural law.”

“I am so sorry she just invited us to dinner like that. You did not have to feel obliged to go.”

“I don’t feel obliged. I want to go. I would really like to get to know your family better Robyn and also, thank you for saying I can stay for as long as I would like.”

“I just hope you know what you have walked yourself into and don’t look to me for help when the questions get awkward and you are welcome.” Robyn stood up. “Let’s get this cleaned up and then I am claiming a sun lounger for the rest of the day.”

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S3 Ep 19: Seto and Mokuba are Turned Into Inanimate Objects...Again

Last we left off on the world’s most awkward family reunion, Moki was being used to take advantage of Seto again, which happens at least 2 times a season.

What’s kind of wild about this, is that everyone jumps to the conclusion that Seto is absolutely going to murder his little brother. Seto. The guy who 2 seasons ago was willing to absolutely jump off a ledge for his little brother.

And then suddenly, Duke makes his feelings known about just life in general at this point.

Duke in the background just spiraling deeper and deeper into his IDGAF apathy. And to be honest, Duke might not be fully aware of who Mokuba even is. It’s not like they’ve ever had a conversation, other than maybe “ah, you work for Pegasus, he locked me in a tower for weeks and then killed me by turning me into a little paper card and then tried to seize control of my company. Nice. Nice that he isn’t in jail.”

In fact, since Duke does work with Pegasus who probably is still doing his best to compete with/work with the Kaiba business...Duke actually has a lot to gain, business wise, by killing Mokuba. Like, I’m pretty sure Duke isn’t a mole but he could be. He has...a lot of motive, actually.

If bro hadn’t straight up told me that Duke isn’t a mole like I suspected, than I’d still be waiting for that other shoe to drop. But it won’t. A shame.

Anyways this shows up:

All I’m saying is that a black hole is an astronomical region in space and a dark hole is very often a butthole, but youknow...maybe that’s just a very particular English language thing that no one will ever teach you from a textbook and it just didn’t quite get translated over correctly. But yeah, in my eye, Noah's just up there holding up a sphincter. It’s very fitting, he is an asshole. Congrats, Noah Kaiba, you’ve found your card.

Meanwhile, Yugi is doing his very best to try and backseat, even if Kaiba instinctively slaps it out of his hands at every opportunity.

So I figured that he’d mention that both of these boys carry these card lockets around their necks with a little picture of the other brother inside--a little thing they carry for no other reason than to remember eachother. Which makes sense, because Kaiba forgets things SO OFTEN. The necklace around their necks is almost like those bracelets you wear to let police and medics know if you’re prone to narcolepsy--it even has a nice picture inside to indicate “please return this boy to this pictured person in case you find him wandering about completely lost.”

I kinda figured that necklace would be used at some point but nah, we’re gonna talk about cards. Which is fine, because we get to see this good drawing Mokuba made once.

Which, PS, it was sort of hard to pick up on the first time Kaiba talked about this period of his life, but this time when he talked about this incident it like...left quite a bit highly implied there by what Seto meant when he said Mokuba “saved me.” It’s some pretty heavy stuff that kind of gets blown over by the massive magic dragon that shows up in the next scene and then just flies Mokuba, who is wearing very cute fuzzy socks, up into the sky and into the moon like ET.

Nowadays they do this by hanging off of Helicopters, but flying on dangerous things to escape their horrible childhood has been their Fantasy for a very long time. These kids and their obsession with heights and dangerous ledges.

And apparently it was this moment in his youth that Seto decided he wanted to be “worthy enough to hold a Blue Eyes.” And like...I remember S1 Seto. That was the worthy Seto?

I guess “worthy enough” doesn’t really imply any sort of moral code, just if you have enough money and can like play cards pretty OK.

Anyways, it was a lot of new stuff applied to this card that I just only recently accepted as a GF and so it was like “All right show, I see what you’re doing, I guess we’re going to walk slowly out of the paper romance realm and into...some sort of card-honor brother realm.”

So, using the Blue Eyes, Kaiba destroys a bunch of Gradius ships, which Noah was like “These Gradius ships represent our Father’s company!” in case you’re a child and didn’t see the symbolism. And, along the way, he destroys what he thinks is Noah’s Game Master card but like...it’s this show, so apparently inside the Boat was another dude and the game is going to keep on going, fml.

Ah buckle up this...this is going to be a long one. This is going to be a lot more cards, huh?

Anyway, when I saw this card that is clearly based on a couple of Gods I was like “so um...isn’t that a...God card?” so I looked it up, also because it was BS and I was frustrated that it was even here after the boat thing ended, and this card is a...get this...a Fairy card.

Cuz it has wings? Like a Seraphim? Everything about this looks like a conglomeration of different Gods but--I guess since God Cards can only have the 4 God Cards, this is a...Fairy card. Interesting. That is a huge ass Fairy. Yugioh biology really eludes me.

Anyway, First thing Noah does as a fairy is destroy his younger brother who is also older than him, don’tthinkaboutit. He’s again sporting the poorly photoshopped glowing romper that the dub gave us in order to spare us.

Hey!

Question!

So when Noah’s wearing the game Master outfit, he’s ass naked underneath--but the Big 5 weren’t? Like wouldn’t the Big 5 have had the same issue of Noah here where they have no body, so whatever they’re wearing is just whatever they’re in?

Meaning that when they were all shoved in Tristan’s body wouldn’t they have just been 5 naked fat old guys hanging out like a European sauna? 

Or is this just Noah’s preference? To be ass naked when no one’s looking? Because he’s been here all alone for 6 years, so why the hell not? Like, no one cares. No one’s looking. You can’t get splinters or whatever. Just let it all hang loose, man, it’s not even a real body. 

Like, if you look closely, Noah only has ... one outfit he’s had here for 6 years. I’ve noticed this maybe more than most because...it’s not a great outfit. He had that same suit and shorts combo right after he woke up and got out of his jammies from the accident all those years ago. He also wore a space suit once, but that was a Birthday present from Dad and I haven't seen the suit since.

Did Noah recognize that People Are Coming and was like “oh dammit, dammit, I have to cover the goods” and just throw on literally the only thing in his closet? The office shorts combo from 6 years ago? Is that why? Is that the big secret of the baby boy suit shorts? That he, in reality, never really wears them?

Questions about nudity aside, out of freakin no where Noah just turns the Kaibas into this:

Noah spent like 20 episodes saying no one is ever allowed to cheat and then just flippin does this and is like “What? It’s almost legal enough.”

I mean, it’s not like there’s any official rules for Duel Monsters anyway but apparently you can just turn each other into statuary and it’s like...fine. That’s fine.

Also, fun fact, about Yugioh statues, they come with eyeliner built in.

So much dedication to the guyliner in this show, mad respect.

And yes, I have sort of thought that Moki’s been sporting a teeny tiny Adam Lambert line this whole time. Like most our cast, honestly. But not Joey. I feel like Joey would never have the patience to learn how to waterline.

I mean the Kaiba’s are essentially brain dead, yes? Their brain functions have been removed and uploaded to the cloud to never be downloaded back into their vegetable bodies? That counts enough for me.

Seto Kaiba just 2 corpses away from 169ing the Hell out of that death scene. A shame.

Bro was like “well at least this crying statue stuff is more like something that normally happens in a kid’s show.” and I was like “THIS? So this ever happened in Pokemon?” and bro was like “It did actually, Ash Ketchum was turned into stone and then cried as a rock statue, and then Pikachu hugged him to make him all better” And as you may be aware my bro is full of spicy headcanons so I’m not sure if that’s actually true but it was like

“Bro, was Ash Ketchum ever turned to stone because his abusive Father’s secret son, who has been turned into an evil computer, wants to kill his brother and then take over his body to run the Patriots from Metal Gear? That happened on Pokemon?” And Bro admitted “Ok, maybe not so much.”

Anyway, Pharaoh awakens to put a stop to this nonsense by bringing up the long list of things that Noah did just now that is absolutely cheating.

Anyway, this is Noah now.

He’s just this...huge 100 story tall person with very bored judgy eyes just floating in the sky with vaguely religious iconography going on and bunch of wings like that one character design that we all have in our portfolio. Yeah, you know the one. It’s this guy. We’ve all drawn this guy. Anyway, it’s going to be very hard to take him seriously when this guy has Noah’s voice.

Again, he is not, he is ass naked in there, though the dub did try and cover it up.

Anyway, next episode we get to basically start this entire duel over.

That’s nice. That’s nice of them to do to me. At least these kids finally got a chance to do some duel prep for the actual tourney they’re supposed to be doing later this season. Yeah. Remember that apocalypse? That’s still going on somehow. Maybe by the time they’ll get to it, most of the competitors will be dead?

Here’s a link to read the recaps in order from S1 Ep1

[buckys-old-habits]

Tinder Swipe Gone Left

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Inspiration: There was actually a tweet that I saw and loved, so I had to write it down. Because Tumblr is a mess with links, I sadly can't credit the tweet here...

Warnings: Mention of Dick Pic, Tinder (?)

A/N: I don’t have nor ever had Tinder, so I have no idea if it’s all correct what I wrote down. I did my best and did my research. 

So don’t come at me. Thanks. 

A sigh escapes you, eyes glued to the big screen over your head. You just wanted to go home after the holidays and now your flight got delayed for three hours.

And there goes your wishful thinking of spending your evening on your couch, snuggling into your fluffy blanket and watching some movies.

But you can’t change it and so you turn back and look through the waiting room, searching for a free seat.

You found one and flop down, groaning at the weird shape of the chair. Pulling out your phone, you send a text to your best friend to let her know that you will take a few hours more to get home again.

And then the waiting game starts. You observe the people around you and try to figure out why they are here, but you get bored quickly.

So you pull out your phone again and see the white flame icon on your screen. Tinder…

Why not?

You tap the icon and look over your matches and chats, but nothing catches your interests, you go on the hunt for some new people.

You swipe left and right, sometimes your thumb hovers over the picture and you consider it, but most times it’s just a quick movement.

Swiping another picture to the left to make it disappear into the Tinder-Nirvana, you suddenly hear a smooth voice behind you.

“Ouch. Hard no for that one?”

Perplexed you turn around and your breath catches in your throat. You know this face, the smug smile and the glimmer in his blue eyes.

You just swiped left on that guy.

And he saw.

“Oh, I… I didn’t…”, you start to stammer and the stranger musters you, his amusement prominent in his eyes.

“Cat got your tongue, darling?”, he hums and you shut your mouth, embarrassment making your cheeks heat up.

“I’m sorry”, you say quietly, but it sounds more like a question than a statement.

The stranger outstretches his hand and you take it, shaking it.

“Loki, man you just so rudely rejected.”

You cringe at his statement. You never considered it so rude that you swiped left, but that was always because you have no idea how the person behind the picture actually is or have any connection really.

Having someone like this suddenly in front of you is embarrassing, to say the least. It’s not a good feeling.

“(y/n) and I’m sorry I did that.”

He leans his chin in his hand and hums softly, watching you.

“Actually I’m not mad at that, but I’m surprised that you swiped right on the oaf looking man before me. The blond guy.”

“How long were you watching?”, you press your phone to your chest, ignoring the message that you got a match with someone.

“Since this Kevin sent you a dick pic. I heard your disgusted gasp and muttered curses and it drew me in.”

You shiver at the mention of said picture. It was just uncalled for, you just sent him a Hey and then suddenly he deemed it right to send you something like that. 

“Don’t remind me”, you mumble and Loki tilts his head to the side.

“Give me your phone”, he outstretches his hand, palm up.

“Why?”, you frown and look from his hand to his face.

“Let’s have some fun, darling”, he winks and you lay your phone in his hand. He grins and taps on the chat with Kevin, typing something.

“What are you doing?”, you glance over the back of the chairs and over his shoulder, seeing what he is typing.

“Just some fun, love. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t want him to think that I’m interested”, you turn and now kneel on the chair, your hand resting on his shoulder and your eyes glued on the message Loki types out.

“Oh my god”, you hold back your laughter, but a giggle escapes you. “Loki.”

“What? He deserves it”, Loki just smiles and chuckles when the three dots appear.

You read through the message again that Loki sends Kevin.

Is that your thumb? I’m sorry, maybe you should get it checked out.

A smile plays on your lips when you see the dots disappear and another text from Kevin swoops onto your screen.

Loki huffs softly, maybe it’s even a growl when he reads the message. Your smile falls and you sigh, taking the phone from his hands.

“They always do that”, you lock your phone and Loki frowns, looking at you. “First they send something like that and suddenly you are the bad person and they start to get aggressive.”

“Phone”, he holds out his hand again and you chuckle, shaking your head.

“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to worry. It’s not-”

“(Y/n), phone, now”, his playful smile was replaced by a stern frown and you unlock your phone and hand it to him again.

He turns back and shields the screen for you, while he types. You try to glance around him but to no avail.

After a while, he nods and locks your phone before holding it out for you again.

“What did you do?”, you ask and open the app again, but you see that Kevin unmatched you and you can’t see the chat anymore.

“Loki?”, you turn to the man, but he shakes his head.

“Just showed him the wrongs in his action.”

You frown, but leave it be and shove your phone in your pocket, watching Loki now.

“What brings you here?”

He chuckles at your interest and you slowly fall into a comfortable conversation. He is actually quite witty and can match your sarcasm really well.

Time flies by while you get to know each other better and you don’t notice until you glance at the clock behind Loki’s head.

Quickly you gather your things up and walk to the big departure screen again, looking for your flight and how much longer you have to stay in the terminal.

Loki followed you and stops beside you, his eyes watching you.

“So, darling. Answer me one thing”, he smiles and you hum softly, your eyes fixed on the big screen again. Glaring at it, daring it to say that your flight is delayed again.

“Why did you swipe left on me?”

You look down from the screen and meet his eyes, seeing the sincere interest masked by amusement.

“Honest answer?”

He chuckles and nods, pushing his hands into his pockets, leaning forward slightly.

“I thought that your profile was fake.”

“Fake?”, he presses a hand to his chest, a wounded look on his face, but you know that he plays it.

“Yes, fake. I mean… Look at you”, you vaguely gesture from his face to his body and he smiles.

“That hair, cheekbones, hands, and the rest. How could that not be photoshopped? And then you put the name Loki. I’m familiar with mythology, that could only have been a joke.”

He hums and mulls your statement over, nodding a bit.

“Well, I can see where you got that idea from, darling. But answer me one more question.”

You nod and he chuckles, suddenly wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you incredibly close to his body.

Your hands brace themselves on his chest and you swallow hard when you feel the warmth and lean muscles underneath the clothes.

Loki leans down to your ear and you shudder at the breath that sweeps across your skin.

“Tell me”, you can practically hear the smile in his voice and you slowly turn your head.

Now your lips are aligned with his and you flicker your eyes between his blue ones and his lips.

His smirk grows when he sees that and he brushes his lips against yours, making you chase them when he pulls back.

A low chuckle escapes him and he tuts silently.

“Now, love. Back to the question I had. Answer me this; does this feel fake?”

He leans down in a swift move and you nearly moan when his lips move against yours. Hands move around his neck and you pull him closer to you, kissing him back with passion and god… he is an amazing kisser.

You basically melt against him and he tightens his grip before he slowly pulls back and licks his lips.

“And?”, he asks and you breathe heavily, wanting to feel him again.

“Not fake”, you whisper and press a quick peck to his lips again.

“Are you sure?”, he chuckles and you lightly swat his shoulder.

“You are a troublemaker.”

“You have no idea, love.”

[elderxprice]

Connor steps onto the balcony, plastic-cup of wine in hand. Kanonkop Pinotage, from South Africa. Kevin had frowned at the seventy-nine-dollar price tag, but Connor thought nothing of it as he swiped his Magic Band and took his receipt. I’m going to need this, he’d explained, tucking the bottle under his arm; and you will too, I guarantee it.

Four bottles later, Kevin still won’t admit Connor was right, but the wine on his lips speaks volumes; they are both tired, both sore, and both very overwhelmed.

Walt Disney World with a two-year-old is nothing like what they envisioned. They are making memories, sure, but so far most of them have involved tears and tantrums and a few untimely accidents that made Kevin throw his arms up and quickly pass the blame: you said he was potty-trained, Connor! like it is somehow Connor’s fault their toddler decided he had to pee the second they got on it’s a small world.

Still, it is not all bad. The look on their son’s face when he saw fireworks for the first time is something Connor will never forget; and the picture he took of Kevin walking towards the castle with Matthew on his shoulders is going to be blown up, framed, and hung over their ornamental fireplace the second they’re back in New York.

“Well, it took an entire hour, but he’s finally asleep,” Connor says, relieved. He takes a sip of wine, then leans down to kiss his husband.

“We’re not talking right now,” Kevin says, turning his head; Connor’s lips press against his cheek. “We’re fighting.”

Connor frowns, lowering himself into the chair beside Kevin’s. “Oh,” he swirls the wine in his cup, trying – and failing - to remember what about. “Why?”

Kevin rolls his eyes, then shows Connor his phone. Instagram is open, displaying a picture of Connor pushing Matthew in his stroller tagged as #strollermeat. “Okay,” he ventures, feeling confused. “It’s a picture of me; so what?”

“So,” Kevin says, clearly agitated; “I didn’t take it!” He winces, slowly glancing over his shoulder to ensure the volume of his sudden outburst did not wake their son. “Someone else did,” Kevin continues, in a much lower voice; “and posted it to dilfs_of_disneyworld.”

“Oh,” Connor says, again. “Is that why we’re fighting?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re fighting!” Kevin drops the phone onto the small table between them, crossing his arms over his chest in frustration. “Every other gay couple is on there, together; but I must not be ‘strollermeat’, enough.”

Connor brings the cup of wine back to his lips; he has to, to keep himself from laughing. “What does that even mean?” He takes a sip; then offers the rest to Kevin, who takes it gladly. “Honestly, Kevin, it sounds disgusting.”

His husband finishes the wine in one swallow, tossing the plastic cup behind him. Fortunately, it lands back in the room. “Well, it’s not. It means you’re a dad I’d like to fuck, who just happens to be pushing a stroller.”

“And here I thought you’d be happy to have such an attractive husband,” Connor teases, picking up Kevin’s phone. He has to admit: it is a really good picture. His hair is slightly wind-blown, and his clothes are stuck to his body in sweat, showing off what muscles he’s managed to attain by lugging baby stuff around for the past two years; - plus his calves look amazing. “But I guess if you don’t want to fuck me, wh –“

“I never said that,” Kevin interrupts, looking affronted. “I said we’re not talking. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Connor hums; “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” Kevin leans across the table, pressing a hand between Connor’s legs. “It’s absolutely so.”

This, right here, is another reason Connor is glad to have invested in so much wine. “You’re impossible,” he sighs. “Go run the shower; I’ll be there in a second.”

Kevin’s face lights up like it always does when he gets his way. “Sure thing, strollermeat,” he purrs, giving Connor a squeeze. “See you in five.”

Sex with Kevin is always an experience; more so, when he feels he has something to prove. Connor ends up bent over the sink, biting against a fist as Kevin winds a hand into his hair. They catch each other’s gaze in the mirror and Kevin smiles, mouthing an I love you that is accompanied by a particularly hard thrust. Connor rolls his eyes but smiles back, drawing a heart in the steam on the mirror. He gladly gets lost in the feeling.

When it’s over, Connor assumes Kevin’s pity-party is, too; but he’s proven wrong the next morning when he wakes up to Matthew and Kevin wearing the exact same outfit: grey Mickey Mouse t-shirts, and khaki cargo shorts.  

“From the gift shop,” Kevin explains, hiking Matthew further up his hip. “We look good, right?”

They do look good; but Kevin’s shirt is a little too tight, and his shorts are a little too short, and his hair brings Connor back seventeen years, to the first time he ever laid his eyes on Elder Price.

“Matthew looks good,” Connor says tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You look like you’re wearing children’s clothing.”

“It’s an adult medium; you can check the tag if you don’t believe me.” Matthew buries his face in Kevin’s shoulder, whining that he’s hungry. “He’s hungry,” Kevin says, stating the obvious. “I put some clothes out for you. Get dressed and meet us in the lobby, alright? We have a long day ahead of us, and this little guy needs his breakfast, huh?” He tickles Matthew’s stomach, making him laugh.

Connor shifts his gaze to the other bed, where Kevin has laid out orange plaid shorts and a bright pink polo with a blue stripe across the chest. “That’s the ugliest combination I think I’ve ever seen,” he says, throwing back the covers. “But I’m sure that’s what you were going for.”

Kevin shrugs, gently setting Matthew in his stroller. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Connor sighs; “Can I at least brush my hair?”

“Sure, if you can find the comb.” With that, Kevin leaves; and Connor begrudgingly gets dressed in an outfit meant to make him the opposite of strollermeat. But it doesn’t seem to work; when he meets his family in the lobby, only Matthew seems happy to see him.

“Unbelievable,” Kevin complains, tightening his grip on the stroller. “Your hair’s a mess, your outfit is nauseating, yet you still look really really good.”

“Are you honestly surprised?” Connor pats Kevin’s cheek, then gives him a kiss. “I made Uganda look good, remember? You said that.”

“I was drunk,” Kevin points out, but smiles anyway.

“You’re an honest drunk.” Connor pries one of Kevin’s hands off the stroller, taking it in his own. “Now - lead the way,” he says, to Matthew’s excited clapping. “We have a kid to feed; - and an ego,” he adds under a breath.        

They spend the day at Epcot, leisurely strolling around World Showcase while sipping Grand Marnier & Grey Goose Orange Slushes from France. The drink takes some of Kevin’s edge off, and Connor finds himself having fun despite looking like a fool in all their pictures.

“We can always photoshop your shirt a different color,” Kevin suggests, before the guilt prompts him to buy Connor a new shirt from Mouse Gears. It is the same one he and Matthew are wearing, and Connor finds himself feeling emotional the second he puts it on.

“Papa’s crying.” Matthew’s lower lip wobbles and Kevin ducks down to tickle under his chin, hoping to avoid a meltdown. Are you okay, he mouths over his shoulder.

Kevin looks worried, Matthew looks sad, and all Connor can do is cry.

“I’m perfectly alright,” he says, pressing the heel of his hands to his eyes. He does his best to compose himself, before crouching down in front of the stroller. “I’m crying because I’m happy,” he explains, tickling Matthew’s sides since Kevin has his chin. Their son giggles, kicking his legs and sending one of his lime-green flip-flops flying. It lands on a display table. “Silly, right?”

Matthew nods, laughing until the tears in his eyes are no longer sad. “You’re silly,” he agrees, making grabby hands for Connor who gladly picks him up.  “Papa’s silly.” That’s addressed to Kevin, who slides the sandal back onto his foot before Matthew rests his head on Connor’s shoulder. It does not take long for their son to fall asleep.

Connor smiles against the top of Matthew’s head, before looking up at Kevin. Years later, and he is still the most beautiful man Connor has ever had the pleasure of knowing. “You’re strollermeat to me, you know,” he says, quietly; only mildly embarrassed at having said the word aloud. “Why isn’t that enough for you? And is it really that bad if someone thinks I look nice? Jesus, Kevin. Next to you, that never happens.”

He tries to keep the hurt out of his voice, but knows it comes through when Kevin’s expression falls.

“No, of course not,” he says, genuinely, cupping Connor’s chin. His hands are sweaty, and Connor can taste the salt on Kevin’s skin as he trails a thumb along his bottom lip. “I just wish they thought we looked good, together. That’s all.”

“Kevin, you’d look good with a rotting goat carcass, alright? I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for why you’re not in that picture.” With his free hand, Connor pulls Kevin’s phone out of his pocket and opens Instagram. He rolls his eyes when a post from dilfs_of_disneyworld is the first on Kevin’s feed. “Honestly, Kevin,” he murmurs, filtering through their pictures. There’s been quite a few posts since Connor’s picture was last night, but he finds it easily enough; and with it, he finds just the slightest bit of Kevin, at the edge of the picture and quite a ways behind them.

“Well, there you have it,” Connor says, shoving the phone in Kevin’s face. “You’re crouched down, tying those God-awful boat-shoes. No wonder you’re not in the picture. They probably didn’t even realize you were with us, since it’s pretty clear just by looking at me that I would never associate those things.” Except for how he very clearly does.

Kevin snatches the phone from Connor’s grasp, looking visibly relieved. It’s beyond ridiculous, but Connor keeps himself quiet. With any luck, they’ll be able to continue their vacation without Kevin’s cloud of jealousy looming over them at every turn.

“Huh,” Kevin says. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Of course, it makes sense,” Connor agrees, carefully setting Matthew back in his stroller. Kevin takes the reins again, pushing their son out of the store and into Innoventions.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, pointing towards the bathrooms. “Watch him?”

Connor nods, sitting himself down on the floor, beside the stroller. Pulling out his phone, he opens Instagram and uploads the picture of Kevin with Matthew on his shoulders. He tags it as strollermeat and dilf and disneydad, then captions it, quite seriously: here we have some casual stroller meat with a little extra arm sauce, searching for a good ride ;)

He thinks it will make Kevin happy when he sees it; or, at the very least, knows it will get him laid.

[redsky123love]

Story: Why do you have a Stripper Pole in your Room? Chapter 6- Why is the pole sticky and where is Nat?

"OH GOD, I FEEL SICK!" Ladybug shouted as she hits the ground. Just as Marinette was about to hit her deathbed, Tikki regains some little strength to power up the miraculous to 0.01 percent of battery. Allowing Marinette to transform and turn back into Ladybug before he body collided with the ground. In her hands was the gas tube that she had ripped from the Rocket. Now, standing a building in some sort of ally, she slowly makes her way back to the military HQ. And once there, she hands the toxic fumes to the now awaken men who protected her country...somewhat. Once that was done, she didn't even bother to go back to school. She went straight home, and once there, she was greeted by four happy teens.

"SURPRISE!" Her four comrades shouted. She was about to turn around and jump out of the window, but was stopped when Tikki sainted. Changing her into Marinette once again.

"Oh goddamit Tikki." Marinette growled before crossing her arms. She then looks at the smiling three, turtle-boy didn't even agree to be here before getting dragged, teammates that were staring down at her. Before anyone said anything, she puts her hand up to them...before swinging it across the three's faces.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE!?" She shouted at the top of her lungs. The three teens were lying on the floor with red spots on their cheeks. Carapace sat on the floor with his hands in the air. He didn't want to get punched or slapped again by her. Once everyone was on the ground, Marinette opened her mouth to say:

"The feeling right now...can not describe what I am going to do to each and every one of you." Marinette growled.

"What are you gonna do?" Rena asked.

"Oh, something that will not only make you regret going on this manhunt to learn of my identity...but Oooh...nrgh!" Marinette growled at the four before turning around to look at a wall. She takes a deep breath before watching her room shines bright filled with multiple colors. Turning around, she see's her friends in her room. A second later her eye's match when Adrien. And no, not the real person Adrien, the picture of Adrien by her computer. It was at that second, Marinette lost all sense.

"GET OUT!" Marinette shouted before pushing all four of the teens out the window. No literally, she opened a window and pushed each and every one of them out of it. Luckily, they landed right into a large trash can that had. It was funny to her because she didn't care less if they were all right or not, what she cared for is that if Adrien saw the pictures. And to that...

(The four teens)

"Looks like Marinette all mine." Adrien purred as he removes a banana peel from his head. He and the other's were cleaning themselfs off when he said this. Chloe looks over at him and growled.

"That's not fair, Ladybug and I deserve each other!" Chloe shouted at the blonde. "I called dibs first!"

"DIP!? Bitch we have been fighting for a year together!" Adrien growled. "And tomorrow I will proclaim my love for her and we will live happily ever after!"

"Over my dead body!" Chloe shouted. Alya was enjoying the view of the two blondes as Nino cleans off his glasses, ignoring his teammates.

"If you wish." Adrien said...or morally hissed. Chloe squints her eyes a bit at him as Adrien does the same. Nino, when he finishes his glasses, looks over to the two and says:

"This will be so bad."

(Agreste Mansion)

"Nat, I am home! Where are you!?" Adrien shouted as he entered his home. Normally he would be greeted by Nat, but today he wasn't which made him worry.

"NAT!?" Adrien shouted, this time with more concern in his voice.

"Son! We need to talk!" Gabriel shouted from his office. Adrien eyes looked into the direction of his father's office and thought three things:

1: He was in major trouble

2: He has a photo shoot

3: He finally killed Nat after learning she's been feeding him off his diet.

"Oh shit..." Adrien muttered as he searches for evidence of Nat's murder while forming a plan to escape the area.

"ADRIEN GET IN MY OFFICE!" Gabriel shouted. In haste, Adrien grabs a pen from his bookbag, he then sticks it in his pocket before heading upstairs. Once he was inside the office, he saw papers on the floor, broken statues and other things on the ground. His father was pissed, and he was hoping it wasn't because of him.

"Please tell me he didn't go into my closet." Adrien thought as he remembers the shrine he created for her. Taking a seat in front of his father, his green eye's watches the older male walk side to side.

"So where is Nat?" Adrien asked his father.

"She quit." Gabriel muttered. Adrien stopped what he was doing and looked at his father.

"What?" Adrien asked.

"Tomorrow I will be looking for a new assistant." Gabriel said, making Adrien walk over to his father. He places his hands on the table and said:

"Please get Nat back." Adrien said in a calming yet threatening voice. Gabriel looks over to his son as if he had lost his mind.

"What?" Gabriel asked.

"Dad…I want you to listen to every word I am about to say." Adrien started with his sweet innocent smile. "I love you, to the deepest pit of my soul. But I am also scared of you."

"I'm scared of you to son." Gabriel said with a small hint of worry. Adrien had this small...little disturbing side that was rarely seen. But sometimes it would pop out and scared people. This is one of those moments.

"I know, but I am scared that you will one become so obsessed with me, that you would turn me into a doll like that crazy character from mad father."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"You threaten to lock me in the house because I refuse to shave a mustache I was growing." Adrien said, remember the day he was forced to shave off a small stepping stone for man. Just cause his dad wanted him to look cute in already photoshopped pictured.

"I admit, I went too far that day." Gabriel said in shame as he remembers turning on the high top security on that made the house a fortress. Just to keep Adrien in so that he wouldn't escape as he chased him around the house with a knife. No, an actual knife, Nat, being smart and also prepared, gave Gabriel her shaver.

"Which is why I want Nat back." Adrien said. "Let's be honest, our life's won't be the same without her. She's seen to much shit to even flinch at HALF the crap we do here."

"We are normal." Gabriel growled.

"Dad you threw away my TV because you thought it was teaching me to rebel against you." Adrien said.

"It was."

"I only had access to one channel...Disney!"

"The point is, she quit and we need a new assistant." Gabriel said.

"Dad, whatever you did, just apologise and get her back." Adrien said, making his father look at him with a confused expression.

"What makes you think I made her quit!?" Gabriel shouted in anger, but this didn't faze his son.

"I don't know, maybe its because your sort of a jerk since mom died!" Adrien growled. (Okay, I know she's just missing, but for shipping reasons, I just kill her off)

"This is the worst moment I've had with you since that time you confused that bag in America, LBS is pounds in America Adrien!"

"LBS for pounds, more like a Lot of BullShit is what it should stand for." Adrien growled at his father.

"Adrien...go to your room." Gabriel growled at his son.

"Promise me you'll get Nat back?" Adrien asked.

"No." Gabriel growled.

"I want Nat!" Adrien growled at his father.

"Adrien just go to your room." Gabriel growled, making the blonde male roll his eyes. Standing up, he makes his way out the office. Once inside his room, he walks over to the pole and begins to twirl his body around the pole.

"Nat's gone..." Adrien thought as he spins. Plagg flies out of his pocket and watches the young man just circle the pole "Why is this thing so sticky?"

"So you don't remember that night?" Plagg asked as he points to the hole in the wall that was being covered by a toy chest. It took Adrien a while, but he finally remembered why the metal pole was sticking. When he remembered, he removes his hands from the pole while his face scrunched.

"NAT! GET THE CLOROX!" Adrien shouted. Only to be greeted by the long silence of no Nat. It took him a while to nod his head and realize:

"Right..." He said before leaving his room in shame.

[stephicness]

What are your thoughts on a fan theory that all the events of episode prompto only happened in Prompto's head and weren't real? (Is it safe to discuss the episode now?)

Well, on my blog it is, at least, but I’ll tag for spoilers just in case. c: Because I REALLY want to talk about this theory because, to be honest, I’m really close to agreeing with it. To an extent, I mean, since Episode Prompto was an odd one in my eyes.

So spoilers ahead, because we’re talking EPISODE PROMPTO! Read below for my rambling!

So to me, this idea that Prompto had this all running through his head can be really plausible, I think. Of course, Square can pretty much tell us that they changed up Prompto’s story a bit to fit with his own episode, but honestly? I don’t buy it that much. Episode Prompto is a DLC that Tabata and the others KNEW they wanted to happen, just as they knew they wanted Episode Gladiolus to talk about him running off in Chapter 7, and Episode Ignis to discuss just how in the world Ignis was blinded. I like to give Square credit, and perhaps it might be too much credit, but I will when I say that Episode Prompto should be more well-thought out than we all assume.

Like, for me, and I’ll level with you here, I didn’t like Episode Prompto as much as I could have because it was so odd to me. Literally. Wandering through the snow after mysteriously finding a new outfit, stumbling upon an MT base where Verstael is trying to conduct an immortal experiment that turns him into a sentient version of the Very Hungry Caterpillar, and Aranea miraculously finding Prompto in a period of about two days/less after meeting Noctis and the others in Tenebrae and sending them on their way to Gralea? Perhaps it’s me being overly analytical, but Aranea isn’t THAT good at tracking someone. In a snowstorm. In, again, less than two days or so. Because by train, you can probably make a trip across a country (which I personally assume is about the size of Europe, more or less) in about a day if you really didn’t have any complications. Sans, of course, Ardyn appearing and Gentiana blessing Noctis with her icy presence.

Needless to say, ALOT of things didn’t add up in Episode Prompto, more than they actually did. They of course try to give us the bonus Episode Prompto stuff nevertheless though, like the outfit and the Lionheart gun too (which is super cute by the way…!).

But that’s where this whole fan theory comes into play: There’s so many weird things in the Episode that we can only assume that there’s something FAR more intriguing about just a Metal Gear wannabe DLC. One of the only real ways that can explain EVERYTHING in this DLC is by the fact that it is, in fact, a dream. An illusion that Ardyn conjured up to make Prompto relive the guilt about being an MT, to unravel himself and become the monster he was truly destined to become.

AND HERE’S A BUNCH OF REASONS WHY. SO KICK UP A SEAT BECAUSE THIS POST IS GONNA GET LENGTHY.

1) How the hell did he end up in the middle of the snow? Without any help? In a few days?

So the time frame of FFXV is super weird because we’ve got moments where they’re riding on a train, they’re suddenly stopping in Tenebrae, and those sorts of fun and merry things. So we never really get a rough timeframe of how long it took the boys to travel from Altissia to Gralea where the keep was. But we know for a fact that a good majority of the boys’ traveling is done by train. If you want to go in the comparison of the empire being about the same size as maybe Russia just for relativity sake, it takes you about seven days of train traveling to get across the continent to Gralea, give or take. (Again, this is all just speculations and guessing). Either way, they’re VIA train, at one point by car too with only one major stop to restock in Tenebrae. Beyond that, we pretty much see them make an almost continue train ride to Gralea.

Prompto, however, was thrown off the train just outside of Tenebrae, probably meaning he was traveling with the boys for about 2-3 days already before he had an early departure. He’d have to catch up with Noctis and the others in about 2 days or three after spending about two to three days dealing with the Verstael situation in Episode Prompto. BRINGING IN MATH HERE, but that means Prompto would have to make up that distance at approximately 150 MPH on a snowmobile to catch up to a train going about 80 MPH. Again, in about 2-3 days to catch up on a snowmobile while also taking in account breaks, nights to rest, and getting around obstacles that a snowmobile might not be able to traverse through. Mountains for example? It’d be hard for him to do, no matter how cool he was in Episode Prompto running down a mountain on a snowmobile as it was. Possible, but highly unlikely too.

2) How did Aranea find Prompto so quickly after dropping everything in Tenebrae?

It strikes me odd that we find Aranea suddenly in Episode Prompto because wasn’t she helping in Tenebrae to get people out of the burning manor and escape from the daemon outbreak from the city of Gralea? Why would she immediately drop whatever she was doing to go help out a blond-haired kid that conveniently was there to help her stop a mad scientist from making himself into a human centipede with robo-lasers? To me, I find it hard to believe, considering that she, for one, only met Prompto once direction for about two days to help Noctis go through a dungeon, and maybe a few times within Chapter 8 when she appeared before them all in a mask. (or when she again dropped in and beat up Noctis, again in a mask). She didn’t even acknowledge Prompto throughout most of the Myrtlewood dungeon, I think, so why give a damn about Prompto being lost?

It’s good that we saw Aranea there, but if you think about it, Prompto would probably imagine her the most out of anyone else to save him. He can’t imagine Noctis, Ignis, or Gladio saving him because they’re gone by then, and he already felt like he wasn’t good enough for them. Cor as well wouldn’t be someone Prompto would imagine helping him because Cor’s a Lucian. He doesn’t know anything about the MTs. Aranea, however, does, since she’s a commodore in the Niflheim Navy and someone strong enough to kick Prompto’s ass into shape and help him. He respects her enough to want her aid, but also knows that she wouldn’t push an MT away after working with them for so long.

3) Why did Verstael turn into a goo boy?

From what I remember about Episode Prompto, Verstael was making a machine infused with daemons and humans that would act as his vessel to basically become something more powerful than the Astrals themselves. He was obsessed with this god-like complex of his, which we all can understand seeing how he behaved in his conversation about Lunafreya in Chapter 3 of the base game. He wanted her alive because she could communicate with the Astrals, basically acting as a conduit for him to discover what makes the Astrals so strong. So he made the machine to become some god-like beast.

But why was he turning all gooey anyways? Why did he have to die in order for him to trigger the machine? When he approached Prompto, he radiated dark energy that he was becoming a daemon, turning into a monster. Half of his face was messed-up, after all. But these kinds of traits of daemofication while still alive never happens unless they DIED at some point. If he wanted immortality, he could have just gotten Ardyn to turn him into a daemon like he did with Iedolas and Ravus. Unless Verstael was the first, I mean. This only adds onto the fact that perhaps Verstael was dead and immortal as it was? It’s odd to me that if he wanted to become immortal, he could have easily just struck a deal with Ardyn to become a daemon pet. Instead, he was infused to a giant worm? Why? Why go through all that trouble when daemification and infusing a daemon into something is possible? Verstael is a smart man and knows how to get stuff done, so the trouble he went through to turn into a goo boy, die, get infused with a worm, and get blown up is pretty cray to me.

4) What’s with the flashbacks and paradoxes? 

This, I feel, is one of the bigger pieces of evidence to why Episode Prompto can be a dream theory. Things get really strange with Noctis trying to kill MT-clad Prompto, with Prompto reconciling with his younger self, with Pyrna appearing, etc. ESPECIALLY PYRNA. Because it was said that she had died when Lunafreya died, of grief at that. How is it that the dog managed to wander around when they were supposedly dead? They may be an Astral dog, but they still had an actual minimalistic form. We see that they too can die in the Omen trailer, despite that being a dream too. But still, even the Astrals can be killed somehow – just like how Eos was killed during the whole Lucian royalty are half-astrals theory. Why did these memories and illusions come trick him? Stress-induced hallucinations? A drug injected into him without us knowing? How? It’s odd to me, but most people assume it was an Ardyn mind-trick. He was there, as we see at the very end of the DLC, but why nearly freeze your immortal dick off just to mess with the broken child?

And most importantly – and my favorite detail about this in why Episode Prompto might be a dream theory – 5) How come Prompto wasn’t burned in Chapter 13?

We see at the very end of Episode Prompto that he’s strapped to the torture device and is just hanging there, not doing much and out of his change of clothes by now. Odd that he’d be redressed, but we see Noctis and the others come up and run to him to help Prompto. But later on in that chapter and during some of the Episode Prompto cutscenes, Prompto has that barcode on him. I believe there was a picture (Photoshopped or nah?) that showed that he had done something to his code. But still, those are not burn marks nevertheless, if that picture is real or altered. If they were burned, they be almost like something Ignis has on his face, not red and swollen looking like that, I don’t think. Yes, we get the option to say no to burning Prompto, but still. That barcode would have seen some pretty bad damage on it if Prompto clawed it off, burned it off, anything.

Instead, we see only the mark from when he was the restraint mark on his wrist from perhaps struggling to break free, or from hanging there limply. Fishy that there isn’t any other injuries on him, even after Episode Prompto. That mark over his nose isn’t there during the DLC, the injuries on his wrist aren’t during the base game. For the most part, the injuries that we know of besides you burning off his barcode are all injuries from the base game.

And most importantly, I bring this up too: During Episode Gladiolus, his ending was him walking with Cor to get back to Lestallum to meet the others, right? We see his resolution and ending, his reward and success for completing his task. How come at the very end, we only see Prompto hanging there in that prison? He’s not riding to Gralea to return to Noctis. We don’t see him get kidnapped by any of the Imperial Officers or Ardyn either. We only see Prompto. Trapped. Imprisoned. Why? After all we saw in Episode Prompto, how come they left out the major plot hole that we wanted to know: HOW DID PROMPTO GET TO GRALEA?

Well, with all of those details, wouldn’t it be logical that Prompto never left Gralea to begin with…? That Ardyn had him relive the psychological torture of Verstael and his insanity in hopes of Prompto turning against Noctis? We even know from the Versus XIII plotline that Prompto was initially supposed to betray Noctis during the point where he reveals he’s Verstael’s son. That was Prompto’s crisis point in the initial game, and he was going to turn on Noctis during Versus XIII. Perhaps Ardyn used these mind-tricks to try swaying Prompto to do so during XV. Perhaps he wanted to see their friendship break apart.

That, and Ardyn humming that Chocobo theme at the very end of Episode Prompto. Prompto only ever hummed that with Noctis and the others. How would Ardyn know that Prompto sings that too unless A) he’s a super mega-stalker (which I wouldn’t put it past him to be) or B) he knows Prompto’s mind and secrets and saw the memory of Prompto having sung/hummed that before. Ardyn knew Prompto’s mind more than we really thought, I feel.

So yes, I actually really do agree with the dream theory idea for Episode Prompto because alot of it is strange to me. But even if it all actually did happen, this theory is a fun one to ponder on. c;

[toreadorwriter]

Ch 3 of what happens in the dark.

The next day came quicker than a thief in the night, and Marie woke up to the sounds of cheerful laughter downstairs once again made her attitude sour again. Getting up out of the bed reminded her of her hungover human days. Thank God the house was sun proof or they would have all fried.  The kindred in the house anyhow.

Jewel stood messy haired in a pink lacy nightgown, while a tiny devil no larger than the spoon it was holding stirred the pancake batter for her. Next to Jewel was Yukie, busy trying out this new pancake recipe found on the internet and luckily for the ex-hunter and ex-necromancer, they both liked pancakes with chocolate chips and pumpkin spice. The two humans were quickly joined by Alysa, and the trio stirred and cooled away chatting about their day. Jewel looked a hot mess her bed hair did not look good on her. Her face was nude and barren, not the picture of absolute wealth and beauty that the tv's,movies,magazines and just society and entertainment in general saw her as. She had acne scars too and bags under her eyes and just the complete definition of normalcy. Just the normal human without the usual mask of photoshop and expensive makeup and wealth. 

God, a pic of her like this would sell for a pretty penny. Hmmm yes. that would be awesome! Definitely an opportunity to ruin her reputation The paparazzi was going to have a field day with this! Marie thought to herself.

 Blinking out of sight and obfuscating herself from view, Marie took out her camera and silently snapped a few pics of Jewel. After she was satisfied with the shots, she quickly pocketed the camera and cleared her throat, scaring the hell out of Susie and the other humans and making VV spill blood frappe all over her hot pink laptop. The computer sparked and went silent, which  really pissed the Toreador off.

 '”Damn it Marie, look what you did! I just got this new laptop!" VV angrily scolded the invisible woman.

Marie dismissed the complaints. 

“Aw don't worry, I'll fix it for you. I just wanted to see what you guys were talking about. And oh Jewel….. You look nice today." Marie complimented sarcastically  and totally without sarcasm in her voice. The sleepy necromancer ignored her and looked at her phone.'' Oh no, it looks like it's time for me to go.I only had 4 hours to sleep and I've been up all night unpacking.  I'll see you guys later, I have to meet Isaac he's probably still asleep but I'll just meet him halfway and he moves fast." Jewel said carelessly and Marie narrowed her eyes. 

'' Come on Jewel, you haven't even had breakfast yet you can't just leave. I MADE YOU THESE PANCAKES AND I CAN'T EAT THEM FOR YOU"  Alysa shouted at the retreating Jewel. Jewel wasn’t much of an early bird or a breakfast eater but old habits die hard and she needed to learn to eat breakfast and get up early anyway. Early in the nocturnal sense anyhow.  Jewel ran back and took her plate to go and thanked everyone before going upstairs to shower as fast as ghoulishly possible. When she was done, she barreled out and began to style her hair and rushed to put on a beautiful lavender purple dress and some purple high heels to match. She donned the sunhat that Isaac had bought her on one of his shopping adventure and he had saved her from her old abusive Master Williams and spoiled her to death with many expensive gifts with this hat being one of them.

 The hat still was scented with the cologne Isaac usually wears just for Jewel thinking about it made her melt all over again.  She adorned herself with several fancy pieces of gold jewelry Isaac had personally made for her and left the room, making sure to lock the door with Marie in one of her moods again. Who knows if she would even need to finish unpacking her stuff if Marie already stole it!

Jewel wished everyone a good night as she flew down the stairs, purposely ignoring Marie as she stood up from her kitchen chair to show her displeasure with both fingers in the air. 

Jewel drove herself over to the haven. She figured Isaac and Romero were still asleep, the door was blocked by all the packages delivered during  the daylight hours. Collecting them, Jewel entered the haven and moved the packages to the entryway. She could softly hear Romero’s snoring from the upstairs bedroom where he lay dreaming. Jewel crept up the stairs and laid down next to Romero and wrapped her arm around him, careful to not smear her makeup.

An hour passed and the alarm clock woke both ghouls with a start. Meanwhile, Isaac walked in with a mug of blood in his hands and smiled at the sight of  both his lovers before him, and noticed Jewel was adorned with the gifts he gave her in the past.

She looked absolutely breathtaking and before he could even say a word the ghoul excitedly jumped into his arms catching him completely off guard. Good thing that he had supernaturally great balance or else he would have to hire a new carpet cleaner to get the blood stains out of the carpet. Setting the mug down, he picked the tiny assailant up and the two kissed. Jewel then babbled on happily about her day and vented about Marie while using a few choicest colorful words to describe the offending nosferatu for a change of topic.

Issac bit his lip, he did not want her to know that he and Marie used to be lover's back before the whole Cleopatra turning with Gary Golden.

Seeing how she was mostly in a good mood, he did not want to sour it by adding his own two cents in.  Deep down, he still loved Marie regardless of her grotesque appearance now. He hoped Marie loved him back too, but he was not going to let Jewel know that now.  Absolutely, definitely not right now. Issac dug into his pocket and fished out a jewelry box.

Jewel was puzzled at first, but then he took out two rings and the confusion really set in.  Nervously, the Toreador walked over and took both their hands.

"Jewel and Romero. We've been together for a while now and I wanted to ask if you both would give me the honour of being my husband and wife?" 

He was afraid that they'd say no, but the ghouls happily accepted. To his delight he slipped the rings on both their fingers.

Isaac would have breathed a sigh of relief if he still breathed. EVerything was going according to plan, and he sincerely hoped those enchanted rings would protect them from other kindred doing the same as they did to Marie. He couldn't afford to lose any more lovers to Gary Golden or anyone else for that matter. and he wished he had done the same for Marie. He had let her down after what had happened to her. If he had protected her, this wouldn't have happened and Marie would still be in his arms and not a cursed ugly nosferatu avoiding him.

 The ring's enchantment was starting to work and the diamonds gave off an unnatural glow. Jewel took no notice to it,  but Romero felt a bit off about all of this. He was happy to be engaged in all, but why so suddenly and together and not separate? Kindred society is weird but usually not weird enough to marry anyone, much less a ghoul and certainly not multiple ghouls. Usually Isaac was a strict but responsible and loving master, but lately he's been so hellbent to let other vampires know about their relationship as a whole.  Isaac was usually the fatherly and tender type to his childers and ghouls, but now he seemed more panicked and possessive - almost like a man gone crazy from stress or guilt. Romero couldn't tell to be honest, maybe being Baron of LA was finally catching up to him. Maybe Isaac had always been able to live humans, or maybe he was lonely. Don't get it wrong, Romero loved being spoiled, it just felt kind of strange. Isaac was acting strange, but it was best not to think too hard on it all this, he was sure Isaac had his reasons. The unusual turn of events and the resulting stress and literal graveyard shifts were starting to give Romero a headache his thoughts were quickly interrupted.

 ''Come, my loves, let's go out to eat. I may be dead, but I do enjoy a good night out." Isaac said happily and all Romero could do was nod.

Jewel excitedly excused herself to go slip on a nicer dress for this arrangement and Isaac left off to prepare, leaving Romero alone with his musings. He was completely unaware of the beady gold eyes staring at him from the hole in the wall. 

From inside the wall, Marie was enraged! How dare Isac make that bitch Jewel his fiancee.  That ghoul just had to die! She didn't care how she did it but she would prefer to rip the heart out of the human's chest and bite into it like a juicy pomegranate, and that was just for starters.  Tonight was the night she would strike she was sure of it. If Isaac didn't care enough to protect her, he didn't deserve to have any others.

To be continued…...

[parks-and-community]

Fighting For You

I’m so sorry to whoever requested this that it took me so long to get to it! It’s kinda cliche but I had fun writing it! Hope you like it!

Masterlist: https://beronica-josie.tumblr.com/post/157919516668/masterlist

Request: You and Jughead are good friends and secretly like each other, so when Chuck sticky maples you, Jughead takes it personally…

Requested by: anonymous

Today would be a good day. You knew it. You had aced your last math test, you had plans to hang out with your best friend Jughead after school, and you had had a date with one of the hottest boys in school the night before. You were on top of the world.

Jughead was leaning against your locker, just like he does every day. When he saw you beaming, he couldn’t help but smile back at you. As you approached he asked, “What’s got you so happy today?”

“I’m just feeling really good. I did really good on that math test yesterday…” You opened your locker.

“I can’t believe we studied for 3 hours and I still failed it.” He laughed, causing you to laugh.

”…and my date with Chuck went great! We’re going out again on Friday.” You were getting lost in your own happiness as you placed items into your locker. Jughead’s smiled faded quickly. He didn’t really like Chuck, but he knew that if you liked him, he couldn’t stop it.

Little did Jughead know, you had had a crush on him for a long time. After a year of nothing more than friendship, you finally gave up on that. When Chuck asked you out last week, you saw that as your opportunity to move on. You did have fun with Chuck last night, but you were definitely playing it up in your head, trying to make yourself like Chuck more than you did Jughead.

“Really?” Jughead asked, raising his eyebrows. You thought you heard twinges of jealousy in his question.

“Yeah. I can’t wait!” You beamed at your best friend as you closed your locker. The two of you had the same homeroom, so you got to walk with each other to class.

Homeroom started just like any day. You scrolling through social media, Jughead looking over your shoulder and making up some witty joke about whoever had posted anything he thought was dumb. To be fully honest, that was almost everything on your feed. You loved it because Jughead always made you laugh.

You were scrolling through your feed just like always, when you stumbled upon a picture of yourself. It was clearly photoshopped and captioned “another sticky maple? Lol.” It had been posted by Chuck. You stopped scrolling, blinking rapidly, your brain trying to process the post.

Jughead’s eyes moved from your phone screen to your face, his eyebrows furrowed. “What is that?” He asked cautiously.

“It- But I didn’t- we didn’t- nothing happened.” You looked at Jughead. Your voice dropped, your tone defeated. “He sticky mapled me.” How could he do this to you? Why did he do this to you? Your eyes searched Jughead’s face, as if he would have the answers to your questions.

After seeing the hurt in your eyes, Jughead’s face grew hard. He jumped out of his seat, fists clenched. “I swear to god, I’m gonna find that bastard and I’m gonna-”

You quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “No, Jug. It’s pointless. He’s a lot bigger than you and-”

He yanked his arm away from you. “No, [Y/N]. He can’t just do that to girls- to you- and get away with it. Someone has to stand up to him.” He headed for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going Mr. Jones?” your homeroom teacher called. He ignored her, leaving the room. You raced after him. “Ms. [Y/L/N]?” You ignored her.

“Jughead!” You called after him as he rushed down the hallway. “Stop it, Jug!” He wouldn’t stop.

He burst into a classroom a few doors down. You finally caught up and entered the doorway just as he was confronting Chuck.

“So you think it’s fun to go around harassing and lying about the girls at this school?” Jughead yelled at him. Chuck stood up out of his desk.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about loser, but you need to back off.” Chuck took a few steps closer to Jughead so they were face to face. Chuck towered over Jughead.

“I’m talking about [Y/N]. And how you think you can just lie about her.” Jughead wasn’t backing down.

“I didn’t say anything that she didn’t wish would happen. Why not give her the opportunity to say she got with me? Any girl would love that.” Chuck said cockily, with a smirk on his face.

“You’re disgusting and [Y/N] would never do anything like that with a bastard like you!”

Chuck laughed. “Oh I see! The nerd’s just jealous I doinked his girl!” He announced to the class.

That was a lie and you were about to stand up for yourself when Jughead’s fist connected with Chuck’s left eye. You gasped. This couldn’t be good.

Chuck quickly recovered, thrusting a fist into Jughead’s stomach and sending him backwards into the wall. “Jughead!” You yelled, rushing over to help him. Chuck got another few shots at Jughead before you could step between them.

“Stop it!” You shouted as you pulled Jughead away. You lead him into the hallway, turning to glare at Chuck on the way out.

Your homeroom teacher came rushing into the hall, shouting about how she was going to write you both up, but neither of you listened. Instead, you lead Jughead outside and to an empty table. He leaned back on the bench, breathing heavy and you could see the bruises starting to form on his face.

“Jughead, why did you do that?” You asked softly. You were grateful he stood up to Chuck, but you didn’t want him to get beat up.

“He shouldn’t have done that to you. I’m sorry I didn’t do more to that-”

“Jughead, stop it. You didn’t need to fight him.”

He sat up, so he could look you in the eye. “Yes I did. I couldn’t let him get away with doing that to you.” His voice was rough and stern.

“Oh, Jug, your cheek.” You reach up to brush your fingers across the skin on his face that was beginning to turn purple, but decide against. He gently grabs your hand and begins to stroke the back of it with his thumb in efforts to comfort you.

“Thanks for sticking up for me, though.” You smiled weakly and he couldn’t help but smile back.

You’d never seen Jughead that angry and you’d never expected him to throw the first punch. What had gotten into him? And what did Chuck mean when he said ‘your girl’ to Jughead?

“Why do you think Chuck call me ‘your girl’?” You questioned.

Jughead’s eyes moved away from your face. “I don’t know, I guess he meant because I was standing up for my friend.” He shrugged. That was not the answer you were hoping for.

“Oh.” You said disappointed, pulling your hand away from his. “We should probably go back inside before Mrs. Holt looses her mind.”

“No, [Y/N], wait.”

You turned your attention back to Jughead.

He sighed. “I think he said that because he could tell I was jealous….” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “I didn’t like the idea of you doing things… like that… with him…. Because I like you.” His gaze moved away from your face when he said the last four words.

“Aw, Jug-” you smile at him, but before you could say you liked him too, he leaned closer and pressed his lips to yours. It was a cautious kiss at first, but once you kissed him back, all caution was thrown to wind. You moved your hands so you were cupping his cheeks. He inhaled sharply, breaking the kiss when your fingers brushed the bruised part of his face.

“Jug, I’m sorry-” you tried to yank your hand away, but he placed his hand on top of yours, keeping it in place on his cheek.

“Don’t be. I wish you would have done it before.” He whispered, staring into your eyes before his gaze returned to your lips.

You smiled as he leaned in to kiss you again. After a few minutes, you had to pull away. “So what does this mean for us now?” You asked.

“I can only hope it means we’ll be doing that more often.” He smirked at you.

“No, Jug. No more fighting.” You joked.

He laughed. “I don’t mind as long as I’m fighting for you.”

[humanauction]

chapter draft - R (digitisation of youth)

R - disenfranchised middle-class youth

people, they say this new lot, these kids, are many things:

narcissistic selfish can’t focus disconnected hard to control entitled nihilistic lazy no accountability

it’s got to a stage now, that the people in charge - those people - have actually started asking them what they might want. seems a lot like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted, but whatever.

to the kids, they ask:

“so what do you want?”

and these new lot they say all sorts of things:

we want to be heard we want to have a job that means something we want to make a difference we want to leave our mark on the world

and…

we want meetings on tiny chairlifts (google) we want fruit and macha tea, barista coffee for free. (zoopla) we want inclusive gym memberships (find company) and we want monthly staff prize giveaways (apple) we want fitbits (target) iPads! cereal! BREAKFAST-LUNCH-AND-MOTHERFUCKING-DINNER!!!

and so they get it. but they still aren't happy. they never use hardly any of it. but they do make sure people. all the people. their friends, fans, followers. all of those people.

:-)

sooooo lucky, babe

and this makes the kids feel.

lets break this one down for a second. what can be blamed, now that the time for blame has well and truly elapsed? you can still try it, but whats the point? most of your torturers will be dead soon if they aren't already. so anyway, coming from a blame-based culture of email accountability what have we got:

i. technology 2 - nurture C) nature IV = AAA

technology

Facebook. it has a lot to answer for. twitter, too. instagram, reddit, snapchat, VK, vine, youtube… all of them. enablers that they are. because technology has skewed the kids minds and everything they do is uploaded. everything. clever or stupid, bad or good. there forever. even if you think you deleted it. uploaded and photoshopped. because even though these kids are keen for everyone to know they are definitely having fun, the most important part becomes the enhancements. masks are added, things get rubbed out and smoothed down, everything gets a cool looking filter with a anonym. so even when having fun, the fun still needs to be improved upon before sharing it with the world for their approval. everything:

what they eat; what they wear; where they go; who is there; what makeup; cars they saw; buildings they passed.

go to a fireworks display sometime. don't take your phone. instead just look around. try to count the people just enjoying the display. then try to count all the people busily recording or streaming it for upload. all these uploads, they would be fine if they were examples of your daily happy life, but the overwhelming truth is that most of these kids, they make it look amazing but inside they don't know who they are and they are weak and they are cowardly. and yet to the rest of the world they are confidence incarnate. someone, anyone, has a question or a problem and immediately, out of nowhere:

Andreas messaged you; je$$ie commented on you link; tom messaged you; doug28 messaged you; Leon messaged you; Melinda Hart messaged you; hotdog24 messaged you; messaged you; messaged you; messaged you; messaged you…

and it goes on. and on. and hundreds of people “like” your sad, existential, question, even though this is the only genuine, honest, question anyone has asked in months. and all these scared little weak cowardly children who know nothing, you know what they say?

they tell you EXACTLY what you should be doing. no questions, no doubt. they KNOW everything about what you need to do. they simultaneously search google - with its very limited menu of results - and type comments. they copy the words of some sadu from india, or a woman respected for her feminist stance, or elon fucking musk. but they don't say this, instead they quickly repackage it for your very public consumption, with their own mark added as if this pseudo-philosophical answer isn't actually the re-hashing of some ancient, greek or german or chinese scriptures they don't even know exist.

“but why?” ask the adults, “why?”

why? why? everything always comes back to one thing. its almost a running theme through societies facilitators: the internet, mobile phones, drugs, booze, sex, gambling. they all give us this one thing that we all love:- dopamine

dopamine NOUN

Biochemistry

[mass noun] A compound present in the body as a neurotransmitter and a precursor of other substances including adrenaline.

the irony of the fact all anyone is trying to do is release something already present in their own bodies is thoroughly lost on the kids, however. they don't really know what dopamine is; all they know it they have no confidence. how do they feel better about themselves then?

posting pictures; getting various likes; gaining followers/subscribers; receiving calls & text messages; getting something shared; having their comment favourited; tweeting; being re-tweeted (that’s a big one)

because what these things do to these young minds is exactly what smoking, drugs, alcohol and gambling did for the generation before. and the results of heroin, crack, super-strength booze, barely regulated gambling, binge-encouraging licensing laws and draconian governmental drug policy have now been accepted as deeply damaging and complete failures respectively. so kids, they don't do all the normal stuff. they don't learn to get natural levels of things in your brain like serotonin or dopamine you would get from doing all those things your grandparents enjoyed so much:

dancing travel picnics laughing the cinema sports love

you get the idea. without this they have to find it elsewhere, or else be miserable. these kids, they are at a difficult point as it is, and they have access to this thing the adults don't really understand. they may have invented it, but the great thing about kids is they'll always find a better way of using your idea or invention than you ever thought of. no one ever really thought social media would end up being our primary mood regulator. and that creates a unique difference between older generations ability to access large dopamine stimulants and the new. for the traditionalists there are age restrictions. there are legal restrictions. there are “controls” placed on “substances”. but the internet and social media is an ever expanding constantly evolving dopamine dealing monster of the kind the adults have never seen before. its easy to see why as we get older religion becomes more important. when you start to see the devil in things, you start to think maybe we could do with some sort of righteous opposition.

so low self-esteem combined with a literal 24/7, 365-days-a-year access to small, neatly-packaged releases of the very addictive, Dopamine. and the adults look at the kids and they despair.

how? why?

as if living through the first attempt to supercharge the release of mind altering alkaloids and the like had happened to someone else. or maybe that’s why. and the ultimate fears of the kids are now so different. so removed as they are from the real world, everything negative is directly relatable to their social media feeds.

if 20,000 hectares of primary rainforest gets bulldozed for soya someplace? thats ok. a north african nation collapses into war creating a flood of immigration? so what.

no one liked my comment; I'm not getting as many views as previous vlogs; losing subscribers; being unfriended.

these are the things that they obsess over, reading their own posts and comments over and over and over and just check one more time in case… in case nothing, really. just to see how other people have reacted. if they have reacted. whoever they are. or most likely are not. and the adults, they don't understand. so you got unfriended, so no one liked a video you posted.

“what’s the big deal, kid?”

they don't understand. despite everything they have essentially become more technologically able versions of their own parents. they got through just in time to buy a house, to have a career, to afford a family. mostly. just. but to a young mind already busy withdrawing into a digital construct they view to be more real than the reality they occupy in, increasingly, physical form alone. it is not only a big deal, it is the only deal they can relate to. and in the end, they just end up in the same cycle of addiction that has plagued humanity since we learnt to identify, cultivate, extract, distill, process and store the things we love so much to consume to excess.

take any junkie.

please.

no, but seriously take any addict and examine their behavioural patterns for just a second. ask one addict. ask a former user. ask a junkie. ask me. ask any, ask all. ask them to take you back to when all this started and the story you get will go something like this:

“when i was between the ages of 9 and 16 something happened to me. maybe it was one thing maybe it was a series of things. maybe it was a person, an event, a situation. and whether or not this was true in hindsight, at the time, i didn't feel i had any friends or support and someone introduced me to (enter relevant drug/drink/behaviour here), and it made me feel like i fitted myself. and this was the first time i had ever really felt like that,”

rewind a second, to when you were even younger:

“when i was younger all that mattered was my parents. they stood as gods. real gods, like the one in the old books. not a kind and patient lord, no, an autocratic benevolent and wrathful being. that made me feel unimportant, scared, abandoned.”

why does this matter? let’s go back forwards for a second to most people’s ideal path through their developmental period:

so you are at an age where your parents recede in your mind as you are made aware through religion or neglect that there is a bigger picture full of clans and tribes and groups and affiliations. you need the approval of different people now. potentially people your parents would not approve of. and these people, some of them, eventually, will become something you feel a part of, support, are supported by. based on things like love, respect, and mutual understanding. as you grow older these regular and reoccurring figures lean on you and support you and they become your family.

nice, right?

but what if this never happens? not really. not physically. what if this only happens on a screen and your peers consist primarily of fans, followers, subscribers or thousands of friends you will never meet? it is human to need the tribe, because it is human to need. but back to our gambling, alcoholic, addict:

so now i’m 19-46 and I'm running through cycles of abuse, abstinence, relapse, abuse, abstinence, relapse… based on the stresses in my life. normal stresses. job problems? consume. personal problems? consume. the message is consume and he/she does so willingly. the supply is so massive demand will never catch up. it never occurs for the longest time to her/him it might be the behaviour that causes 90% of all consumption related stresses. without having ever formed any relationships in his/her adolescence that weren't mutually exclusive to the drug/drink/behaviour she/he decided to be his/her favourite(s). she/he can’t just go and see a friend. by this stage any interaction requires consumption.

but there are treatments. there are options. there are ways to get away. it isn't easy, but it is possible and there is some sort of legislation to deal with problematic members of society. if nothing else, there is medication. but with an increasingly technologically immersed society, how can someone addicted to something like social media and the internet possibly get away.

ask a scientist. ask a few. ask me. or ask google this exact thing:

people who spend more time on social media are more likely to suffer from depression than those who don’t.

and that. that’s a fact. so now you're an addict. do any of these things:

check your phone first thing in the morning? have your phone out when you are with friends? check your phone whilst driving? read emails or generally scroll whilst in meetings? message people you know are not there to answer?

addict. like it or not, thats exactly what you are.

2. nurture & 3. nature:

the western failed parenting techniques of child psychology and personal empowerment. the whole:

“you are a precious snowflake” “you are special” “you can be anything - if you try hard/want it badly enough”

and these kids, they live in a whole new world. there is political correctness for the first time. some kids always come last at everything. they used to just be last, but now? now they get a certificate or a medal for taking part. for the first time, just being there is rewarded.

but its a bit like mcdonalds in the end. you remember the star system? well if you dont, the employees wore stars they earned to show… something. but rewarding failure or mere participation, it doesn't work. in the end the medals aren't worth anything, the stars are pointless, and all they do is depress the individual who “won” it/them and has to display this very public badge of weakness or subservience. you get it in the military too - medals earned and medals given. they are two very different things, and the second are largely auction pieces.

so these kids, the ones we are talking about, they go through this whole, ever-shorter, “childhood” of entitlement, filled with promised futures of exceptional achievement.

and then they go to the workplace. not to work, because now there aren't any jobs and you are going to be working for free, then minimum wage, and eventually you’ll be a professional and wont earn enough to survive in a city like london. the kind of city you need to be in if you stand a chance at all. so these kids, they move to the new city slums and their parents guarantee rents these kids cant afford. first day, they walk in, probably late, get shuffled about for a couple of hours between people who need someone, but don't really want them and WHAM!

imagine: a huge wall, a wall so huge it blocks out the sun.

got it? ok, so now imagine that wall falling like a rogue wave off the coast of hawaii the size of an office block directly through your soul when they make you understand, these, these, these adults. make you understand, it turns out, that what you were told was wrong. everything all of it. and more relevantly here:

“you are NOT a precious snowflake” “you are NOT special” “you can NOT be anything - NOT if you try hard/want it badly enough”

ego shattered. soul screaming. hot adrenaline flushes. green soundless black-out flashes. it’s like a panic attack. oh no wait - it is a panic attack. and it hits fast. you, who can do anything, cant control panic when it hits. everyone thinks they’ll be able to. mostly no one ever can. and now you have a whole generation with a naturally low sense of self esteem, who need medication for anxiety and panic attacks on top of everything still to come. nothing is real. everything a lie, pretend, an illusion. everything is fake except for the only fake thing here. so they dive into a digital simulation of an approximation of the life they wish they have and get pleasure when people tell them they like the person they in reality, aren’t.

4. AAA

remember how it was, before the internet? before broadband?

having to wait for CDs to be released? waiting for the shops to start selling them? or records? digging through crates for weeks, month, years, for that one tune? having to go and watch bands play live to hear rare performances? that feeling of finding something new? to have to wait week-by-week for your favourite show to air? before auto-record? before boxsets? on normal analogue CRT television sets? those big massive things? having to go and take a night-class to learn something? by doing it? with other people? going to the supermarket to chose your food, let alone actual real markets? contribute to delivery costs? for anything? food? clothes? postal items? from china? having to research from books? referencing whole books? lots of them? technical books? having to use them in situ because they were reference material? microfilm? those big blue/green screens of blackness?

photocopying? like scanning, but different?

museums? of history? to see how things looked on walls? in frames? books? weapons? jewels? bones? museums? of art? deciding on your favourite school, again? style? artist? sculptor? surrealism? dada-ism? dutch? renaissance? meeting girls? meeting boys? face-to-face? standing around? asking them out? the groups? the bravado? the nerves? the acceptances? the rejections? borrowing books from the library? waiting for a book to be returned? paying fines for late returns? meeting up at the cinema? making plans in advance? agreeing where to meet because of all the people? because no phones? going to the video store and seeing if any of the newest movie were for some reason behind another movies box-cover? because they were all out? yeah, you took the copy of the movie you wanted from behind a box with the picture of the movie you wanted on it. thats how you knew they had it. and if it was a new movie, they had loads of copies.

but they always ran out. remember that?

not now, no way. now it’s all: AAA

Access All Areas

in a world of near-instant gratification, these kids they get confused. its back to the whole first day at work scenario. the one where they arrive knowing fuck all and expect to be making life-changing decisions by the end of the week, if not the day. imagine that same kid after six months, dejected, feeling wasted and useless because they aren't achieving anything related to the buzzwords they crave:

importance impact effect

abstract concepts. like time itself. irony at least is still doing a healthy trade through all of this, this, temporary glitch? collapse of civilisation? no one really knows, and increasingly the kids, they don't care. means nothing to them. doesn't give them what they need when they see pictures of it so they don't look and the algorithm makes sure that part of life goes away. and these kids, they don't know what a 10,000lb bomb looks like, let alone how you get it halfway across the globe. and drop it on someone they will never meet? definitely don't care. instant access, instant gratification - what did it get them mainly - desensitisation to everything that isn't directly related to their ever-shrinking worlds. what would you like to see?

road rage videos organised fights between rival hooligans how to cold-extract OTC drugs to leave only narcotics how to make guns and knives at home any and all types of porn, gay porn, horses fucking hookers porn dog-fighting bull-fighting murders decapitation compilations rape war-footage bombing campaigns

its all there. google it, you don't even need to boot TOR from a flash drive outside a coffeeshop and use a secure, encrypted VPN client to start surfing the real web. the “dark” web. you don't even know what’s on there. no, all of that stuff is on google. once you know this stuff exists, mainly, most people, they ignore it. they don't like it. we all know horrible stuff happens every day.

how do you build legacy, quickly? an over-night empire? seems maybe you can’t, so knowing this, the kids, they call for revolution. but what for today? we wait for nothing now and this is what they know. don't like your wrinkles? inject your face. anyone over 24 should consider it really. make-up: it’ll only get you so far. and it takes seconds. you don't need anyone even nearly like a doctor related anything to do it, either. just a girl from a shop. what could possibly go wrong? lips? cheeks? piercings? tattoos? a culture expanding as people at once require armour to protect them and imagery to define them, yet all at the expense of the seemingly increasingly expendable physical form. as they retreat into virtual reality so their ability to interact on a personal level is reduced. as they become less able to interact with different types of identities due to essentially poor socialisation through lack of experience, so they need aggressive external visual stimuli to confirm what it is they like, and by extension like to be seen doing; being; enjoying… combined with obsession in the western world with perfection of the physical form, unrealistic expectations of the human body and the now-perverted nature of sexuality, it creates people at once obsessing over how they look, yet at the same time destroying it with chemicals, inks and holes ensuring that they will never achieve the natural perfection they secretly, unknowingly programmed to strive for.

but the world, it continued despite this western regression into virtual reality. and in the meantime some terrible things have been happening.

the middle east becomes a battle ground. a global recession wipes out most peoples chances at a productive future. but these kids, none of this means anything to them. despite going global, the choices available due to the frankly poor algorithms that chose your future online, it drives the kids deeper into smaller, more extreme, more perverse groups. where all they care about is a constant rolling stream taking them down and backwards towards the last thing they saw. despite a potential global meltdown, international political upheaval, environmental catastrophe… they largely - after signing a petition maybe, or liking or sharing some corrupt culture and land destroying oil disaster waiting to happen - remain obsessed with:

what about x celebrities lips? look at the funny kitten/child/puppy limited edition gold adidas trainers cars women men food place they will never go things they will never see

they feel better. like things. re-tweet. minds so programmed to rank and number everything, this all-consuming infatuation with what the best one is, the prettiest one, the thinest… the top tens:

(search for most self/celebrity-obsessed top tens on youtube)

1. Living in a Car: Top 10 Places to Sleep 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

(+ add section of “i added him on snapchat, but i didn't subscribe to his youtube. channel.

and the adults, they don't understand what this means…)

when they look back, in the future, this will be the time. the time when the lines, they first started to blur.