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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months

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The Golden Ratio - Part One

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, mentions of parental death, mentions of infidelity. Word count: ~4.5k

Chapter summary: Her relationship strains under the pressure of long distance, though she has her classmate, Michael, to help distract from the worst of it. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is sweaty and exasperated as she drags her suitcase over the cobbles of Holywell Street. One of the already precariously wonky wheels had finally given up the ghost and broken off as she’d dragged it up the stairs of Oxford train station, making the fifteen minute walk to her accommodation more tiring than it needed to be.

But she was here, finally. Oxford University.

Her dad had sold the car to make sure she had money to live on until her student loan and maintenance grant had been paid to her. He didn’t want her taking a part time job to make ends meet, she’d worked hard to earn her place here, her focus should be on her studies. Coming from a low income family meant she had qualified for the maximum amount for both maintenance loan and grant, but her first set of application forms had been misplaced by Student Finance, so she’d had to send in a second set, meaning there would be a delay with her first payment.

An unfortunate consequence of her dad not having a car is that she’d had to get the train to London Victoria, a tube to Paddington, then another train to Oxford. But it is not the fact that she is seemingly the only student whose parents aren’t obstructing the pavements with their cars in order to drop them off that makes her feel like an outcast, there is something deeper, more sinister feeling.

She sees it as she struggles to get her bag across the lawn of the Halls, people grouped in little clusters, as though they’ve been friends forever. They dress in Juicy Couture velour tracksuit bottoms and brand name Ugg Boots, while she wears her mum’s old Dr. Martens and a tartan skirt she’d bought in a charity shop for one pound fifty. She doesn’t fit in. She feels she may as well wear the word “poor” across her forehead like a scarlet letter.

Having checked in at the Porters’ Lodge and been given directions to the accommodation, it’s lonely as she unpacks her things, her room feeling empty and quiet. The only sounds are muffled talking and laughter coming through the closed window from outside. She feels lonelier still when she pulls out the framed photo of her and Rich. They’re both smiling, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leans her head against his. It had felt like their relationship would last forever when that picture was taken. That seemed like much less of a possibility over the last couple of weeks.

She had met Rich at the beginning of sixth form. Having attended Chatham Grammar School for Girls, she had decided to stay on there to do her A levels. The mathematics department was decent, and she had heard Russell Group universities were more likely to consider applications that came from grammar schools. Rich had transferred over from Robert Napier School. Where she was shy, quiet and reserved, he was lively, outgoing and sociable. His zest for life had shone a bright light on an existence that was, for her, otherwise dull and grey.

They were an unlikely pairing. She was logical, analytical and studied maths and physics. Rich was creative, free spirited and guided by emotion. He studied art and music. They had been together for two years and she had thought he was the one. But then it came time for UCAS applications, and where she had applied to Oxford, Cambridge and York, Rich had applied to Leeds, Brighton and Glasgow. It seemed that no matter where they were accepted, they were destined to be apart.

When she had received an unconditional offer from Oxford she had been elated, however, the crushing devastation upon hearing Rich had been accepted into The Glasgow School of Art with a conditional offer had quickly dulled her excitement.

She had never felt like an outsider or a loner when she was with Rich. Basking in his sunny disposition had felt effortless, she never felt alone. He was going to take all of that away, and she was unsure of how to cope with it.

“We’ll make it work long distance, don’t worry,” he’d told her, and she’d believed him.

But then he had actually gone to Glasgow. Fresher’s week in Glasgow started a week earlier than it did in Oxford, so Rich had moved away first. It didn’t take long for the texts and phone calls to dry up into nothing. She had heard from him once in the last few days.

She sighs as she slides up the screen of her beaten up Nokia. Still nothing. She had text to let him know she was leaving for Oxford today and he couldn’t even be bothered to reply. She knows it’s his first week at university and he’s likely busy and having fun, but how was long distance going to work if they never actually spoke to each other?

Despite the loftiness of the dining hall, it feels stuffy as she moves through it later that evening, taking a seat at a long table crowded with other students. She had hoped that the Fresher’s welcome dinner would be an opportunity to make friends, but everyone seems to be deep in conversation already. The chatter hums loudly like white noise, until it comes to a sudden stop.

“FUCKIN’ ASK ME A SUM THEN!”

She turns, mouth agape, to look at the pair of boys sitting a few places up from her. One is darked haired and seems nervous and uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly in his seat. The other is blonde, an angry, intense expression on his face, shadows cast across it from the lamplight on the table, as he stares in wide eyed anticipation. It was him who had shouted, clearly.

“Four hundred and twenty three times seventy eight,” the dark haired boy asks quietly.

Instantly his friend replies, without missing a beat, “thirty two thousand, nine hundred and ninety four.”

Involuntarily her eyes widen in surprise. She sits there and does the calculation in her head, though much more slowly than he had.

Carry the two, eight times two is sixteen, plus two is eighteen, carry the one…he’s right. How is it possible that he came to that answer so quickly?

When her gaze lifts he is looking at her, observing her doing the working out in her head. He holds her stare, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth. He knows she knows he is right, and it’s clear he feels smug about it.

Quickly looking away, she reaches for her water glass, wanting something, anything, to distract her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel uneasy.

God, I hope I don’t have any classes with him.

She holds her timetable for the week in her hands as she moves her way through the corridors towards the lecture hall the following morning. The first week looks to be fairly light touch, with an introductory lecture for each of the courses; algebra, analysis, probability and statistics, geometry, dynamics and multivariable calculus. Today is the introduction to analysis, and she is excited to study under the tutelage of Professor Helen Byrne. Her research focuses on the development and analysis of mathematical and computational models that describe biomedical systems, with particular application to the growth and treatment of solid tumours, wound healing and tissue engineering. Professor Byrne is someone she has admired within the field for as long as she can remember, and she is very much looking forward to her tutorials with her.

Her excitement fades when she enters the lecture hall and immediately sees the angry guy from the previous evening.

Just my luck.

The only available seat is next to him, so she sits down, dropping her bag to the floor by her feet.

A hand extends out towards her in her peripheral vision, taking her by surprise and she turns in her seat towards it, shrinking back slightly.

He seems utterly unperturbed by her reaction, keeping his arm extended. “I’m Michael Gavey.”

She blinks, regaining her composure as she leans forward, shaking his hand and introducing herself in return. His palm is clammy against her own, and she can still feel it there even after having let go and wiped her hand on her jeans.

“I saw you last night,” he says matter of factly, pulling his arm back and resting his elbow on the desk in front of him.

“Oh, yeah,” she says with a tight smile, nodding, “so you and your mate…is that like a party trick or something?”

“No, no party trick,” he says with a demure smile. “I’m a genius.”

She forces herself to laugh politely, assuming he’s making a joke, but she stops, her brow furrowing slightly when she sees he doesn’t share in the humour. He’s being serious.

Opening her mouth to ask a follow up question, she’s interrupted as Professor Byrne sweeps into the room. Her and Michael both face forward in their seats as she introduces herself to the class.

Over the next hour they are given an introduction to the course and what to expect in their first year, including an overview of the papers they will need to write and examinations that will be sat. She pays rapt attention, scribbling furious notes, until the lecture begins to wrap up.

“As it’s the first week, I will go easy on assignment setting,” Professor Byrne tells them all, “but there will be an assignment nonetheless.”

A loud, collective groan echoes around the lecture hall. Her and Michael are the only two not to join in.

“Now, now, settle down,” she chastises, “it’ll be fun. I’m sure you’re all aware of the Fibonacci Sequence, a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers. Mathematically we can describe this as–”

She turns and scrawls xn= xn-1 + xn-2 on the chalkboard, before facing the students again.

“--I’d like you all to find an example of the Fibonacci Sequence in real life and present it back to the class during next week’s lecture. You’re to work in pairs, so buddy up, and see you all next week.”

Professor Byrne places the chalk back on the desk before striding back out of the lecture hall. The room is instantly a buzz with chatter, as people move between seats to find a partner.

She stays rooted in place, suddenly wishing Rich was here. It’s in moments like these that he flourishes, allowing her to take a backseat as he effortlessly navigates them through social interactions. Instead, she is alone and the space around her feels bigger and scarier with every moment that passes.

It’s only when she turns her head that she notices Michael has yet to move too. Gathering all the courage she can muster, she clears her throat and speaks to him.

“So…er…did you wanna partner up for this thing then?”

“I don’t like to work with others,” he says matter of factly, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” she says with a sigh, “but for this assignment we have to.”

“You’ve picked me because I’m a genius. You’ll expect me to do all the work while you get pissed with your mates.”

He fixes her with an accusatory stare, and she feels the heat of anger prickle her skin.

“Haven’t got any mates,” she mutters darkly.

He observes her for a few moments, elbow propped on the desk, jaw resting against his fist, and she fidgets self consciously in her seat. No wonder the other boy from last night had looked so uncomfortable. It feels like he’s studying her.

“Let’s go to the library,” he says simply, standing and picking up his bag.

“So, you’re a genius?” She asks, opening her notebook once they’re seated opposite each other at a table in the library, nervously tapping her pencil against the page.

“Hmm,” Michael nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, “I don’t even like maths, really. I can just…do it. Anything. In my head.”

She’s struck by how blunt he is, sucking in a breath as she considers what to say next. There is something so disarming about him, she gets the sense he’s analysing her every word and action.

“Right,” she begins, “so, er, for this assignment I was thinking about how Leonardo Fibonacci used rabbits to prove his theory. One hundred and forty four pairs of rabbits can be produced from a single pair of rabbits in a year, based on the sequence.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Michael replies with a sigh.

“What?” She asks irritably, annoyed by his dismissal.

“What are you expecting us to do, go to a pet shop and buy rabbits? We’ve only got a week to do the assignment, we need to be more practical.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was using that as an example, not saying we do that exactly! Come on then, genius, what’s your suggestion?”

“Spirals,” he says with a slight shrug. He leans across, placing the tips of his fingers on her notebook and sliding it towards himself, before picking up her pencil. “There is a special relationship between the Fibonacci numbers and the Golden Ratio, a ration that describes when a line is divided into two parts and the longer part - A - divided by the smaller part - B - is equal to the sum of A + B divided by A, which both equal one point six one eight. This is represented by the Greek letter,” he stops to scribble a φ on the pad. “The ratio of any two successive Fibonacci Numbers approximates the Golden Ratio value.” He stops again, scrawling 1.6180339887 on the page. The bigger the pair of Fibonacci numbers, the closer the approximation. From there, we can calculate what's called the golden spiral, or a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor equals the golden ratio.”

She is stunned into a silence for a moment, a combination of his audacity to simply take her belongings, and awe at the rapidity with which his mind works. Collecting herself, she blinks a few times, looking up into his eyes.

They’re so blue.

“So…er…how do you propose we present this data back to the class?”

“A simple table is sufficient, look–”

His hand moves rapidly over the page, a complete table there on the paper when he drops the pencil into the gutter of the notebook and sits back in his chair.

“We present that,” he tells her, his eyes fixed on the page. “Using the values of the sequence as the edge length of squares arranged in the table, a spiral is generated.”

She leans over, sliding the notebook back to her side of the table, marvelling silently at his work. He is fascinating to watch. He’s right, he can just do maths.

“It’s good,” she says, eye flitting up to meet his, “solid. But it’s fucking boring.”

This time it’s his turn to be annoyed. “What?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

“Everyone is going to present something like this, because it’s easy,” she explains, “Don’t you want to stand out to Professor Byrne? We should do something outside of the box.”

“Hmm. Go on then, what are you thinking?” He rests his cheek against his fist, leaning against the table as he stares at her.

She feels herself grow warm under his scrutiny.

Does he always have to be so bloody intense?

“There are loads of examples of Fibonacci numbers appearing in nature. We could look for some? Flowers, perhaps.”

“I’ve got hayfever,” Michael states simply.

She sighs.

Of course you do.

“Then we’ll get you some Piriton! Come on, there are studies that show seed heads, pinecones, fruits and vegetables all displaying spiral patterns that when counted express Fibonacci numbers. This fits perfectly with the brief of the assignment and will leave a lasting impression.”

He moves his hand away from his face, resting his arm flat on the table and quietly drumming his fingers against it for a few moments. “Alright then,” he finally concedes.

“Great,” she grins excitedly, tearing out a page from her notebook and writing on it hurriedly. “Here’s my number, so we can meet up to work on it, and also my Hotmail address, in case MSN works better for you.”

He huffs through his nose as he takes the paper from her, a soft laugh escaping him. “The countess at hotmail dot co dot uk,” he reads with amusement, “very droll.”

“Shut up,” she grins back, “I made that in secondary school. Thought it was funny.”

Back in her room that evening, she’s excited to see she has a text from Rich, finally.

Hope ur enjoying it. Having so much fun here!

She sighs, throwing her phone down on the bed side table. No kisses, not even an “I love you”.

Watching out of the window, she sees the giggling groups of students making their way out into town, readying themselves to spend the night drinking, making friends and having fun. Just like Rich is doing, not giving her a second thought, while she stays cooped up in her room without a friend in the world.

Suspicion nags at her, so she turns on her laptop, loading up MySpace. Rich takes number one place on her top eight friends, and she clicks on his profile. It looks much the same as it always does, but she decides to snoop further, clicking into his friends list. She can see he has recently friended a girl named Sophie.

Sophie is pretty, bright pink streaks in her hair, and a nose ring. Exactly Rich’s type. Her most recently uploaded photos are of groups of people, clearly all taken during Fresher’s week. A pit forms in her stomach as she sees that in almost all of them Sophie and Rich have their arms around each other. Worse still, Rich occupies space eight in Sophie’s top friends.

She closes the browser, blinking back tears. Surely, she is just being paranoid. They’re just friends. Friends have photos together, and it was normal that he would make new ones when he went away to uni.

Opening MSN Messenger, she hovers over Rich’s username. Unsurprisingly, he’s offline, he always is these days. She smiles when an add request from [email protected] pops up. Of course he’d have Tau, the mathematical constant, in his Hotmail address. She clicks accept and he immediately appears in her online contacts. Looks like he isn’t out tonight either.

Double clicking his username, she chuckles to herself upon seeing his display picture is of Pythagoras. Such a dweeb.

“Want to work on our assignment tomorrow?” She types to him.

Barely a few seconds pass before she sees him typing back. “Yes. When?”

“We could meet at the Water Meadow at lunch time?”

“See you then.”

Straight to the point, no idle chit chat. She shakes her head and closes the messenger window, though finds herself strangely excited by the thought of seeing him tomorrow. She reasons that it’s because Michael is the closest thing she has had to a friend since arriving at Oxford.

She visits the nearby Tesco Express the following day, buying a meal deal for each of them and a packet of hayfever tablets for Michael. She has no idea of what Michael even likes, so plays it safe by buying a bottle of Oasis, a Crunchie bar and a ham and cheese sandwich for them both.

At precisely noon, Michael stands at the entrance to the Water Meadow waiting for her. She smiles as she looks at his t-shirt; maroon with a diagram of a circle on a gradient with a downwards acceleration of 9.81 meters per second, with the slogan “that’s how I roll”. A mechanics pun.

“Like your shirt,” she says as she approaches him.

He grins. “Thought you might, considering your email address.”

She averts her gaze. There is something about the fact that he’d thought of her when he’d chosen what to wear today that makes her tummy flutter.

Stop it. You’ve got Rich. Michael’s weird!

“I got you some hayfever tablets,” she tells him as they start to walk along the pathway that’s flanked by green space on either side. “Do you wanna have lunch first and then start looking for flowers?”

They settle, cross legged on the grass, Michael already having taken one of the tablets, chased with half a bottle of Oasis, and she spreads out the food between them.

She watches in fascination as his eyes widen at the sight of the Crunchie bars, snatching one up and tearing off the wrapper. Her mouth falls open slightly as she sees him hold it sideways, biting into it from the side, before devouring each of the pieces it inevitably breaks into.

“You like Crunchie bars then?” She asks, a little grossed out, but curious nonetheless.

He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mother didn’t allow me to have sweets growing up, bad for your teeth, she said.”

She nods, a feeling over pity replacing the disgust that had roiled her stomach just seconds ago.

“So, is it your mum that pushed you into studying maths?” She asks, fiddling with the lid of her drink bottle.

“Sort of,” he says. “Mother never married, but she wanted a child. She used a sperm donor - a physicist, apparently - and was artificially inseminated to have me. She was thrilled when I showed a natural aptitude for maths, and has always encouraged me. It’s why I do it, why I accepted the scholarship, to make her proud. She’s been through so much to have me, it’s the least I owe her.”

Her face falls, a feeling of sadness overwhelming her, making her heart ache for Michael. There is something so tragic about the fact that he has lived his entire life adhering to the expectations of the person who had created him for their own selfish want of a child.

“What about you then?” He asks. “The bank of mummy and daddy paying for you to be here?”

She shakes her head. “I earned my place, just like you did, with straight As, though I don’t have a scholarship. Have had to take out loans to cover the cost. It’s just me and dad since mum passed away.”

“Oh,” Michael says, blinking rapidly, obviously surprised. “Apologies, I’d assumed a pretty girl like you would be the same as the rest of the vapid cunts studying here, if you can call it studying.”

She hums in acknowledgement, considering his words, turning her own Crunchie bar around in her fingers, focusing on the way the foil wrapper slides against her skin. His compliment makes her heart beat more rapidly, even if it is backhanded. “Like I said yesterday, I’ve got no mates. It was always Rich that was better at that sort of thing.”

“Rich?” Michael asks curiously, cocking his head.

“My boyfriend. He’s at uni in Glasgow.”

“Three hundred and sixty two point nine miles,” Michael states simply.

“Pardon?”

“That’s the distance between Oxford and Glasgow,” he explains, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How are you planning to make a relationship work with that sort of distance?”

“We’re doing long distance,” she argues, feeling herself growing defensive, scowling at him.

“Yeah, I bet that’s gonna work out great,” he scoffs, eyes widening, clearly mocking her.

“The Glasgow School of Art was the best choice for Rich to study what he wants to,” she retorts.

A grin spreads across his face. “Art?! I suppose you should be grateful he’s hundreds of miles away then, he sounds like a moron.”

She huffs, hurriedly shoving her things back into her bag. “Let’s just look for these fucking flowers and get this over with.”

The pair work for the rest of the afternoon in silence, the atmosphere is tense and angry, but they are productive nevertheless, settling on a patch of sunflowers to use for the assignment.

They look at the spirals of seeds in the center of the sunflowers and observe patterns curving left and right. Counting these spirals, their total is a Fibonacci number. They then divide the spirals into those pointed left and right to get two consecutive Fibonacci numbers.

Cutting down a couple of sunflower heads to use as examples, Michael also makes a diagram in his notes for them to present with their findings.

She feels satisfied by the time they part ways, but an uneasy feeling has settled over her that has dread gnawing into her gut as she thinks about Michael’s criticism of her and Rich’s long distance relationship.

Unsurprised to see she has no missed calls or texts from him when she goes back to her room, she opens up her laptop and logs back onto MySpace. This time when she looks at Rich’s profile her blood runs cold as she sees that Sophie now occupies space number three in his top friends. He’d had time to log on and change the position of a girl he’d met a couple of weeks ago, but couldn’t be bothered to send her a single message?

Before she can stop herself, she’s pulling out her phone and calling his number. She doesn’t care if this wastes all of her credit, she needs answers.

It rings for ages, and she anticipates being sent to voicemail, until he eventually answers, sounding breathless and distracted.

“H-hello?”

“Rich, it’s me,” she says quietly.

There’s a pause before he answers. “Oh…how’s my little nerd? Everything okay?”

She ignores the familiarity, keeping her tone neutral. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Not giving him an opportunity to respond, she pushes on. “Has something happened between you and this Sophie girl I’ve seen you on Myspace with?”

Another pause, except this time she hears him inhale a deep breath. “I was going to tell you when we came home for Christmas break. It felt wrong to break up with you over the phone.”

It feels as though the bottom of her world has been ripped away, her heart twisting painfully as her vision blurs with tears. She swallows thickly, anger bubbling alongside her devastation, so that her tone is venomous when she replies “So, you were just gonna keep stringing me along for two months, so you could look like a good guy?!”

“Babe, no, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just–”

“You’re a piece of shit,” she cuts him off, “fuck you!”

She hangs up, chucking her phone down onto the bed, and immediately bursts into tears, holding her head in her hands as hot tears stream down her face, her shoulders shaking as her nose grows snotty.

Two years. Two fucking years and he’d chucked it all away for someone he’d known for two weeks.

She walks towards the sink in her room, looking into the mirror and sighing at her reflection. Her eyes are red and puffy, she looks a mess. Splashing cold water onto her face to rid herself of the worst of it, she then flops down onto her bed, opening her laptop.

Immediately she is met with her MSN chat window with Michael from the previous evening. He’s online.

Without thinking, she types out a message to him.

“Do you have any alcohol?”

Within seconds he’s typing a response.

“Would you like me to have alcohol?”

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nouearth · 10 months

Text

a lover's quarrel.

pairing ; dick grayson x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, nightwing. word count ; 589. genre; fluff. rating ; pg. warnings ; blue is dick's color, playful quarreling, stressed!dick.

“okay, just gotta get my keys and-“ dick’s voice caught onto the draft when he entered the bathroom, lips parted as he was dumbstruck when your outfit met his eye.

the fifth try at your necktie kept you alert, attentive to every loop and knot the mirror reflected back at you. the night has been stressful and you admitted to yourself that it was a conscious effort to drown out dick’s voice, especially when he’s been stressed and cranky ever since bruce called to have dinner with the two of you. though you couldn’t blame him. it’ll be your first time meeting bruce and from what dick has told—maybe even convinced—you of him, he seemed intimidating.

with one last tug, you broke out into a wide smile when the blue tartan necktie lied neatly on your chest, completing the rest of your outfit. you’ve never been too keen on dressing this formally, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t think you looked good—handsome even.

“huh! what do you think?“ the tie swung with you when you turned towards your boyfriend, your hands gestured downwards the length of your figure where your gaze would follow and his does too. “don’t i look dashing? haven’t dressed like this since my friend’s funeral-“

“change your tie.” dick bluntly stated, an uncompromising tone that you’re set to deter.

“what- no! why!” you turned back towards the mirror in disbelief, brows furrowed in frustration as you began adjusting your tie again, ignoring the approaching man occupying the space to your side.

“come on, we can’t meet bruce with matching ties!”

“what are you talking about?” the roll of your eyes met the back of your eyelids as you had already convinced yourself dick was being dramatic again, but you were tongue-tied when your gaze landed on a familiar pattern. blue tartan. “oh- okay, well i started dressing up first! you saw me grab the tie!”

“yet you finished last!” he grumbled, marching back into the bedroom. you heard his drawer opening, which prompted you to follow him—only after double-checking your dress-shirt is wrinkle free and your hair is up to satisfaction. “and i saw you with A TIE, not with THE TIE.”

“what’s the point in even gifting me this tie if i can’t wear it? and why did you buy me the same one you already have?!” you watched dick shuffle through his assortment of neckties as you leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. the sound of fabric swept over another filled the silence while dick began narrowing down different options, pondering.

“…because it’s cute to have matching ties.” amusing yet annoying, that was all you could say about this argument—if you could even call it that.

“then what’s the problem-“

“just not tonight, y/n.” turning back, dick squinted as he held several different neckties out towards you as if you were a ken doll, framing the accessory just beneath your chin so it would align with your actual tie.

“oh my god, then why don’t you change your tie?”

“blue looks great on me.”

“okay, well so do i?”

“washes you out a bit.” you scoffed. usually you’d fire back with a banter, but you’re much too annoyed to keep this going. instead, you neared closer to him only to fall back onto the bed with a composed sigh, arms sprawled out to open the space between your chest, expecting dick to change your tie for you.

“how about red?”

“dick, i swear to god-“

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works.

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myosotisa · 11 months

Text

mark of an angel - e.m.

Eddie Munson x Reader

‖ summary: It's hard to convince your tattoo artist boyfriend to allow you to get art done by someone other than him, so this time, you go out of your way to make it a surprise for him.

‖ tags: fluff, like will make you sick to your stomach sweet. reader is described as afab, no pronouns used, nickname is angel (aka the whole fic), established relationship, it gets a little spicy but nothing explicit. it's just really cute and fluffy BYE

‖ word count: 2.6k

Having a tattoo artist for a boyfriend meant it was very, very difficult to mention getting a tattoo and not have him immediately jumping at the bit to do it. Going on and on about how you were the perfect canvas, how much he wanted to exaggerate the beauty already there with whatever art you wanted. Normally it wasn’t an issue – Eddie was an amazing artist with enough practical knowledge to do any style you asked for, even if it wasn’t his preferred method.

It had always gone the same way. You’d mention an idea, maybe even an artist you wanted to get it from, he’d encourage you but also mention he could do the same thing for cheaper (“Just for my angel.”). He’d be able to change every millimeter of it to your liking and touch it up in the comfort of your own home. Between his soft, deep convincing and his wandering hands, you almost always gave in.

Which is why, this time, you didn’t even mention the idea to him. Didn’t even mention that you had an idea or that you had an appointment. In fact, you might’ve actually lied about what you were going to do today. You couldn’t remember if it had even come up. But now you were sporting a fresh sheet of Saniderm above a delicate piece of script on your right hip, hidden beneath the dress you’d worn for the day, and walking into the apartment you shared with Eddie like everything was normal.

“Honey, I’m home!” You call into the door as you open it, not even bothering to check if his keys were on the hook. If he wasn’t back yet, then you’d just get to hear him say the same thing whenever he did get home. But his keys are on the hook and you get further confirmation of his presence by the echo of your call.

“My wife has returned from the war!” Is the dramatic reply that comes from the vague direction of the kitchen, causing an amused snort to leave your nose. “God, I hope she still has all her limbs!”

Toeing your shoes off by the door, you follow the siren song of your humming boyfriend until you catch sight of him. His long, messy waves are spun up into a bun on the back of his head, a few wayward strands tucked behind his ears. His head is tipped forward so he can keep a close eye on the concoction simmering on the stove, his shoulders rolled forward as he focuses on it like if he looks away for even a moment it will either catch on fire or grow legs and run off. His black tank top is well worn and loose, his black-ink covered arms leaning on the counter on either side of the stove. Navy blue sleep pants hang low on his hips that continue for an unbelievably long time on his lanky legs before they pool around his bare feet on the tile. The cherry on top is the bright yellow tartan apron tied around his waist.

You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you press the side of your cheek into his shoulders. “Not your wife,” you remind him cheekily, before your voice drops into a teasing murmur. “And would you still love me even if I hadn't returned with all my limbs?”

“Not my wife yet,” he emphasizes, way too casually for the speed with which it makes your chest burst into excited butterflies. “Second,” he clears his throat in preparation before launching into a high-pitched whine, “would you still love me if I was a worm?” A laugh sputters out of you, turning your head to try to hide it in his back. His voice returns to normal as he shifts, one of his arms draping across yours. “Of course I would still love you if you lost a limb. Actually, have you ever thought about losing an eye? I think you would look really hot with an eye patch.”

You peek around so he can see the obvious pout you give him. “I thought you liked my eyes.”

He turns on you in an instant, dislodging your arms in his haste and nearly sending you both off balance. His hands grip your biceps while his big, wet, brown eyes double in size. “I fucking love your eyes, angel.” He says, as if he can’t believe he had made such a mistake. You can’t help but melt – shrinking inches as you relax in his hold. His face softens an equal amount as his lips part in a smile as sweet as honey. “Like little windows into your soul.” A hand leaves your shoulder to cup your jaw, a calloused thumb smoothing across your cheek as thick lashes brush his own in a slow blink. “I just, y’know,” the smile grows goofy, one shoulder tipping up in a shrug, “I think you’d be a hot pirate is all.”

“Tell you what, hot shot,” the nickname matched with his gaze catching down to your smile causes the tips of his ears to immediately flush pink, to your delight, “You get us a sea faring vessel and learn how to cook without catching shit on fire, then we can talk about getting me an eye patch.”

His jaw drops in obvious offense at the cooking comment. “I can abso– Y’know what just for that, you can’t have any of the– Wait, fuck,” he spins back to the stove, immediately digging into the pot with a wooden spoon to scrape the bottom and make sure it’s not burning. You can’t help but giggle at the irony; him defending his cooking while you distract him enough to potentially mess up said cooking. A glare is leveled over his shoulder, kicking his heel back into your shin to knock you away. “This is fucking sabotage,” his voice is full of false disdain that fades quickly, “I come home – after a hard days work – slaving over a hot stove, being a goddamn domestic goddess – and you dare question my authority.”

“And what authority is that, exactly?” You taunt back, walking backwards away from him. “The authority on finding a way to burn Easy Mac?”

“You little!” He lunges toward you but you move out of the way too quickly, dodging out of his grasp and rocketing down the hallway, giggling all the way. “This isn’t over!”

You push into your shared bedroom and swing the door mostly shut behind you, stripping your dress over your head and throwing it into the hamper beside your dresser. Approaching the full length mirror in the room, you lift the hem of your undershorts to expose the entirety of the Saniderm to the open air. Still irritated around the edges and leaking a bit of ink, is a delicate script of the word ‘angel’, the nickname Eddie has called you since the two of you started dating several years ago.

He’d been calling you angel for a few weeks when you finally got around to asking. “Can I ask why you call me that? I don’t think I really give off an angel vibe.”

“Well, if you’re thinking of an innocent, virginal, white-lingerie angel, then no, you don’t.” You glared at him and he looked endlessly amused by it. “I’m thinking more of the biblical, vengeful, warrior-type angel. Beautiful and smart and will righteously kick your ass.”

“Oh yeah? So you admit I could kick your ass?” You asked, trying to avoid the flattery.

“Fuck yeah,” he choked out in a laugh, like he couldn’t believe you were surprised. “I mean, I would put up a little bit of a fight... But only enough to make it not look like I was letting you because I’m into that.”

“Eddie!” You cried out, laughing through your embarrassment as he threw you a wink and cackled out into the night air.

Now you had the term of endearment permanently etched on your body and you were quite happy with it. Even if, god forbid, you and Eddie broke up, you would still be able to look at it and remember that you were beautiful, smart, and strong. A biblical angel of righteous fury. It made you feel powerful. Divinely feminine.

After taking a few moments to admire your new art, you set back to your task of changing into some comfortable clothes before dinner. Making sure to put on a pair of shorts that were the perfect length to hide the actual tattoo but still have the Saniderm peeking out the bottom as a tease. You layered a big t-shirt over them, pulling on a pair of thick comfy socks to counteract the chilly floors of your apartment, and taking off any of your accessories from the day. Satisfied, you padded back out into the kitchen just as Eddie was putting the finishing touches on your alfredo dinner.

“What would you like to drink with our gourmet meal, madam chef?” You ask while brushing past his back to get at the fridge, preemptively grabbing a beer for him and a wine cooler for you just as he confirms that he does indeed want the beer in your hand. “Do you already have plates and shit or should I grab some?”

“All good, angel, just go sit your pretty ass down on the couch and I will serve you like the queen you are.”

You’re rolling your eyes as you walk away from him and set both of your drinks on the coffee table in front of the couch. “You’re absolutely incorrigible, anyone ever told you that?”

“Only every day,” he confirms with a grin, walking your direction with two steaming bowls and silverware in either hand. He still has his silly little apron over his pajamas and you can’t fight the sickly sweet smile from tilting your mouth as he sets them down in your usual spots on the table before joining you on the couch. “Hello, love.” He murmurs with a purr, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek before reaching to twist open his beer. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good, got done everything I had planned to do.” He raises his bottle in silent cheers to congratulate you before taking a long sip. “How about you, handsome? How was your day?”

Even after all this time, something as simple as calling him handsome still seems to make him trip up. It makes you incredibly weak for him. “Not, uh, not so bad. Messed up my back a bit bending over to tattoo a client today. Didn’t remember my posture lessons.”

“For shame,” you admonish, taking a sip of your own drink as you both face each other on the couch, already almost completely forgetting about your dinner. “Maybe I should withhold a shoulder massage from you, make sure you learn your lesson.”

"You wouldn't dare," he gasps, to which you give a noncommittal shrug. He flops back against the cushions dramatically, moaning loudly. “This is abuse! Abuse, I say!”

You’re quick to set your drink down and lay down on top of him, your braless chest pressing down against his tank top. His hands lower to grip your hips, his eyebrows raising as the tip of his tongue comes out to wet his lips. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” You bat your eyelashes down at him, putting on your best ‘fuck me’ eyes as you rest your hands on his shoulders.

Without warning, he wraps an arm around your waist and uses the grip to flip you, sending you to the cushions with a yelp as he settles on top, the wild pieces of hair falling free from his bun and hanging down between you both. “I’m sure we can think of something,” he says directly into your ear, dipping down to the skin just below to press his lips to it.

“Eddie?” You place your hands up on his shoulders, your voice betraying his effect on you as it wavers. “Our dinner is going to get cold.”

He hums, nose dragging along the side of your neck as he nudges his way down to press a kiss to your collarbone. “I think I found something else I would much rather eat.”

You’re about to admonish him further, explain that he might not be hungry but you are, when the hand that isn’t holding him up skates down your right thigh towards your shorts and brushes the edge of the Saniderm. It takes him a few moments to register what he just touched and the entire time you’re holding your breath. When he finally pushes himself up off of you to lean back on his knees, his eyebrows are drawn together in concern, eyes trained on the plastic stuck to your skin. “Is that…?”

“Yup,” you answer, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“A surprise?” He echoes, fingers twitching like he wants to grab at you again. “Am I allowed to see?”

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you fist your hand into his collar to pull him down into a kiss to calm your nerves. He hesitantly returns the affection until you release him and lay back down along the cushions with a satisfied smile. “Go for it, handsome.”

To your surprise, his hands are a bit shaky as he reaches down to push back the hem of your shorts. For his work, he learned how to combat anything that could have made his hands shake, so you’re worried you’ve pushed him too far with this surprise. As he gently lifts the hem, you straighten out your leg, giving him a full view of the newest art etched into your skin.

His eyes almost double in size as he takes in the script, his lips parting in what looks like awe as he ghosts his thumb over the plastic covering between him and your skin. He glances back and forth between the new art and your face for a period of time long enough to make you even more nervous, drawing your lower lip between your teeth. “So? What do you think?”

It seems to make him realize he hasn’t said anything yet. “You got ‘angel’ because…?” His hand turns out in a question as he swallows heavily, glancing back at your face for support.

“I’m your angel,” you offer softly, now a bit unsure. “Right?”

His parted lips stretch into a bright grin that could truly be from the heavens themselves. “My angel,” he repeats back to you, sounding absolutely astounded. “How on Earth did I get so fucking lucky?”

The smile that returns to you is wide enough to make your cheeks hurt. “By being you, Eddie Munson. Just by being you.”

His mouth bends, lips pressing together, he looks like he’s trying to battle off tears. “That’s it, final straw, I’m marrying your sweet ass tomorrow, I can’t wait anymore, it’s over, you’ve killed me.” He ducks down and rubs his face into your stomach, tickling you as you break out into giggles.

“Eddie, stop, that tickles!”

“Nope!” He answers cheerfully, tilting his head back to rest his chin on your belly button. “I’m gonna cover you in kisses, then I’m gonna eat you out until you can’t remember your own name, and then tomorrow we’re gonna go to the courthouse and I’m gonna give you my name instead. Sound like a deal, angel?”

And with the absolute joy in his eyes, the sparkle of life and mischief, you forget all the reasons the two of you had decided to wait. None of them matter when you want nothing more than to spend the rest of your life with your best friend.

“Deal.”

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #myos ideas #myo4munson

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ami-v-dragnire · 2 years

Photo

“Get Ready With Me” my comic for the @itsstylishzine! A zine dedicated to Aziraphale's fashion. I love their fashion so much and it's a SHAME you don't get to see all the layers. The song Aziraphale gets dressed to is "Everyday" by Buddy Holly, the almost-theme/opening

pic id below cut

[ID: An illustrated comic of Aziraphale getting dressed for the day. The first panel begins the montage with the angel wing mug full of hot coco and Crowley’s sunglasses on a table surround by books. Aziraphale is singing along to Buddy Holly’s, Every day. “Every day, it’s a-getting closer” plays as Aziraphale buttons up their pale blue dress shirt covering the tattoos on their arms, neck, and chest. “Going faster than a roller-coaster” frames close up shots of them linking their cuff links and putting a heart shaped earring on. “Love like yours will surely come my way” follows a frame of them locking their sock braces and buttoning embroidered suspenders/braces. The socks are tartan-patterned and they have visible leg hair. The embroidery features a snake, flaming sword and red flowers. The page ends with the lyrics “A-hey, a-hey-hey.”

The second page begins with a two panelled shot of Aziraphale tying their tartan-patterned bow-tie and then adjusting it while singing “Every day seems a little longer”. This is followed by a frame of buttoning up their waistcoat to the lyrics “Every way, love’s a little stronger.” The waistcoat is worn around the button, lower lapel, and bottom edge areas. The next frame has them pulled down the waistcoat in adjustment. There is double-albert chain and fob attached to the front. “Come what may” plays as they are now wearing their coat and is pulling it down. The song continues “Do you ever long for true love from me”.

The montage ends with a full body shot of Aziraphale fully dressed. They are mid motion of swaying to the music and turning around. Their neck tattoos are visible over the top of their collar. The lining of the jacket is a light jade eye and wing pattern. They stand with a mirror behind them illuminated by a halo with swords.There is a panel of a close up of a gramophone playing the song. The song continues “Every day, it’s a-getting closer, going faster than a roller-coaster, love like yours will surely come my way”. The next panel shows Aziraphale checking their pocket watch whilst directly singing “A-hey, a-hey-hey”. They continue to sing “Love like yours will surely come my way” but get interpreted half way by a car honk. Aziraphale then says “Oh! On the way down!” whilst moving out of frame. They are smiling.

The final page starts with Crowley outside, leaning against the Bentley. They are humming whilst playing on their phone. Their hair is shoulder length and in a half bun. Some of it spills over their face. Aziraphale greets them with “Hello, my dear” which causes them to look up in the second panel and lower their phone. The last panel fills the lower half of the page. Aziraphale is striding in from the left, hand outstretched. Their coat flows behind them exposing the lining. Crowley is leaning up against the car. Aziraphale and Crowley’s hands are gently grasping each other’s. Crowley says “Looking good, angel.” The comic ends. End ID]

#good omens #good omens fanart #good omens comic #ineffable partners #ineffable wives #Ineffable Husbands #Aziraphale #crowley #good omens zine #aziracrow #its stylish zine #av art #ami v art

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vintagesimstress · 2 months

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Akogare's Matilda Dress recolour/retexture

I love the dress Akogare made a year ago for TSR YeMedieval collab and have been using it on my little Celtic sims all the time, but originally it had only some 8 or 9 swatches. A big waste for such a pretty thing! Now it can have more... MUCH more.

This time it's really just a recolour. Mesh not included. You need to grab the original one from TSR: here! (And I really hope Akogare is ok with it: all their new creations disallow recolouring, but older ones, including this one, say it's fine if you don't include the mesh, so... We're good, right? It's really fine?)

Comes in 3 versions:

Solids, meaning 40 swatches in my Iron Age palette;

Tartan Welsh, meaning 17 swatches with (afaik) actual Welsh patterns

and last but not least, Tartan Mix, meaning... drum rolls please... 85 swatches with different tartan patterns found on clan.com. If you think this number is crazy, then, well, you're right - but on the other hand, the website offers... let me check... 4667 tartan patterns! So, you see. I did restrain myself. Quite a lot 😅

All the versions come in two flavours: HQ (default) or nonHQ. Download only one per package!

Just a couple of swatches for the preview this time, because I'm not crazy enough to take screenshots of all 40+17+85, so what's the point in even trying:

I might upload both of the tartan palettes for anyone who's interested and also for reference, because I have a feeling I'm going to go ahead and tartanise everything I deem worthy of my save in the nearest future 🤭

DOWNLOAD (free on Patreon, no ads or EA)

And just a general heads up, especially as I'm sending you to another post in here: all CAS items are .package files. ALL. Always. If you ever download anything for CAS and it's a script mod all of a sudden (e.g. a preset, like it happened lately...), something's wrong. Don't put it in your mods folder, best delete immediately and contact someone who's dealing with such stuff. Even me if you don't have a better idea ;).

#ts4cc #childfemale #iron age #akogare #recolour

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catsgetoutduringmidnight · 3 months

Text

Aziraphale & Eddington.

Neil has confirmed us that David Tennant *actually* exists within the Good Omens universe. Thus, we may assume that the whole of his filmography, except for Good Omens, also exists. We may assume as well that Aziraphale has more or less followed Doctor Who over the decades, and that somehow, with time, the actor of his favourite doctor earned an eerie similarity to Job. But this isn't about him, right now. This is about his son in law.

I would like to think Aziraphale did enjoy the utterly handsome Eighth doctor, ending up glued to the screen and getting deeply excited about this incarnation. He probably got upset because of his only appearance on TV, but would still be delighted to see the series coming back to the BBC in 2005. The Ninth doctor may have appeared a bit tough to him at first, but there was something deeply endearing about him. Maybe it was the way he rocked that leather jacket, or his sense of humour, or his bravery, or his charming accent... He never really knew, but it was sad to say goodbye so soon again. "Who will be the new doctor?" He thought to himself. "Will they be blond? Taller? Will they wear a vest? A bowtie perhaps?". When the young man appeared on screen before Rose for the first time, Aziraphale was left completely mesmerised. The young man was... Different. He had slightly long hair and, honestly, he really liked how the leather jacket suited him too. Once the credits rolled, he found out his name: David. "Oh, that's a lovely name," he thought to himself. "That's the name of a king!".

He followed his seasons very carefully, blushing with his cheekiness, chuckling with his jokes, and loving how adventurous and fair the man was. Thanks to Crowley, he even dared to go to "the videoclub" and rent some of his earlier works. Oh, how handsome the man looked in The Last September, what a dear he was in Takin' Over the Asylum, how lovely he was in Duck Patrol, and what a cocky detective he was in Blackpool... Although, he admitted not being too focused on observing his labour as a detective there. The young man was rather handsome. Aziraphale flushed, could this be love? How silly of him! Falling in love with an actor! He was an angel! Which, inherently, also meant he was born to love. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't something bad. It could be silly, of course, but forgivable.

One afternoon, Aziraphale went to the videoclub on his own, and found a movie he hadn't checked out yet. Einstein and Eddington, a scientific movie it was. The young man looked wonderful in those glasses and stunning sandrift linen suit. Humans may say one mustn't judge a book by its cover, but this dvd already seemed perfect for him! Thus, the angel rented it and decided to treat himself with the film. He laid on his white cream sofa, got under his soft tartan blanket, and pressed the play button. A smile came across his face when he saw the man in those light refined clothes. What a delight to the sight that was.

The angel felt it deeply when he learnt that Eddington was in love with a man he couldn't have, but his heart did not only wrench there, no. It was when he saw the man stand before the orrery when things got clearer. He had to pause the video. Aziraphale got up and sat close before the screen, brushing his fingers against the image. "Crowley..." He mumbled. The only thing in his mind was the image of the spectacular ginger angel he met, in their neat white dress, creating a whole universe in front of his eyes. The way their thin fingers moved, the eagerness in their voice, the dark greenish of their gaze, way more breathtaking than the vastness of hues of the newborn nebulae. And when the blond saw, further on, the physicist crying desperately for his vanished love in the wide green garden, his heart shattered into shards.

He would not admit it, but he did not watch the movie just once that night. Not twice either. Eddington was just like his dear boy, not specifically the angel, nor specifically the demon. It was him. With their curiosity, and their passion, and their deep care, and hunger for answers and justice. He felt warm tears threatening to fall from his eyes and his mind started wandering. Because, what if. Just, what if Crowley had ever felt like Eddington? What if he was worried that one day he would never see his angel again? What if there were feelings trapped in his chest he feared never being able to express? Would he be like the astronomer and, once again, question God for her ineffable decisions? It took Aziraphale a good while to get away from the screen, from that eerily familiar image fueling his heart. It took him days for his sorrow over the fictional Eddington's life to lighten, after being the root of many, many wondering.

The next time the angel met his partner, he was certainly still caught up in his thoughts. The demon noticed, so he decided to ask him about his series and that actor that had truly drawn his attention. He didn't really know what he saw in him, but it didn't take much to notice the pure bliss in his blue eyes when he told him about his character's adventures. The way his words flowed in excitement and his hands often moved around to help with it. The angel was finally enjoying himself in something else than books and occasional music, and seeing him so cheerful did really brighten the demon too.

"How are things going with your binge watching? Have you gotten your hands on another series, or...?"

Aziraphale slowly lifted up his head and stared nervously into Crowley's eyes. He did not know what to say, how could he put into words his worry? Even worse, how to explain where all this came from? The ginger would probably laugh. Worrying that deeply about a character? A movie character? The angel got dewy-eyed. Please no, not in front of him, not like this, he prayed. The demon frowned, he sensed there was something his beloved couldn't easily tell.

"Aziraphale? Is everything alright?" The ginger asked softly. The principality breathed deeply and finally, managed to speak, as he fiddled with his vest.

"I- I just watched a movie, a sad one I must say. It made me think." The demon hummed, and answered.

"I get it. It's understandable, and if that David guy is really that good as you say, I bet his acting can move tons of people." Aziraphale's gaze brightened, he couldn't believe what he had just heard. "I mean, I can see him being very talented. From what you've told me, the man does really have a range for acting. That's always important, to be able to adapt-."

"You really listened." Crowley was about to keep on rambling when he saw the angel in awe.

"Well, I have ears, what else am I supposed to do with them if its not listening?"

Tears fell off the angel's eyes. Crowley did not hesitate to get closer, inviting him into his arms. In a matter of seconds, the blond was in his embrace. He hugged his Angel tightly, and let him cry as much as he needed, caressing his back. He could not help but mutter in a caring tone.

"You and your stories, Angel."

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mrghostrat · 4 months

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hi hiiiii! I’ve been enjoying your streamer au so so so much and now I absolutely must check out your other works, but I digress! For totally not fan art related reasons: have you ever put thought into how either of them prefer to dress? Like what fabrics they like? masc, femme, neutral? Loose, tight? Etc. etc.

I’m sorry to bombard you with so much for my first ask sudhfhucjsjdhvydjj

Just…curious. For, again, unfanart related reasons 👀

hiii thank you! i was going to say i haven't thought about this much, but i just realised that would be a lie, and i've totally caught myself off guard with it.

i like them best when they're as close to the source material as possible, (especially when the AU is really far from canon, it makes me hold even tighter to certain canon references to anchor it) and i like to blend book and tv.

to me, that makes crowley a combo of hotshot lawyer x aging rockstar, which means wearing sharp suits and slacks as often as drainpipes and chelsea boots. since crowley gives us so much variation to work with, i like referencing the show for all his clothing, even if i mix n match the pieces. (i do love how slouchy streetwear crowley looks, but i don't actually think it's very in character for him, so in my fics i keep him dressed sharply. jumpers and cardigans can still be sharp imo, depending what they're paired with and how slim the cut)

aziraphale, on the other hand. i didn't realise i had an opinion about this until i started typing. aziraphale is a camp and indulgent fucker, who hoards his victorian clothing because he loves it. he's canonically passionate about clothes. so i think the human au version of that means he'd have a lot of variation, even tho we don't see that in the show.

to anchor it to canon, i still picture him with the same ensemble of slacks or corduroys + button up + waistcoat + jacket. sometimes i'll add or remove pieces, like just a button shirt with no waistcoat, with or without a bowtie, and give him different cuts of jacket. my book!aziraphale exception to this is giving him lots of cardigans and jumpers. crowley's would be sleek like the turtleneck, but aziraphale wouldn't be afraid to look frumpy for the sake of cosiness or comfort.

his variation comes from colours and patterns, even though his overall style is very unanimous. he'd have dozens of diff bowties, tartan and argyle and paisley and check and plain alike. everything is light, but he's not beholden to cream and white: i think he'd enjoy the colour from all kinds of soft pastels.

sorry this is so long but i wanted to share my reasoning along with everything! <3

#ask a rat #good omens

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mikhailwrites · 6 months

Text

The fire in your eyes / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #19 - Uniforms

Military Parades. Everyone hates them. Instead of doing something useful and productive, you need to dress up and march in front of staring crowds. Nobody cares if it’s so hot the road is melting or so cold your eyes are freezing over. However, there might be a silver lining to this one: Johnny fucking MacTavish proudly displaying his Scottish heritage.

I'm writing this at 3AM, terribly sorry if it's even less coherent and has even more mistakes than usual. Btw did you know SAS has its own tartan? Well, now you do.

The door to the rec room opens, Ghost immediately checks them. And has to look away and back again. As if to make sure he’s truly seeing... that. Johnny. In a kilt. Not just the kilt, in fact, the whole getup.

Gaz whistles, eyeing the other Sergeant. “Looking sharp, mate! Got a date? Some pretty bird to impress?”

“Damn right, I do,” Johnny smirks as he momentarily looks at Simon. Oh, he likes to play with fire. But he does look sharp, Gaz is right about that. “But we gotta address the elephant in the room. Ghost in a uniform? What did you bribe him with? And the chest candy, too? Had to be expensive.”

“That would be classified, Sergeant,” Price appears out of nowhere, rivalling Ghost’s namesake. “I hope you boys are ready to make a good impression today.”

“Yes, sir!” they answer him in unison. They don’t have to like parades, but they all understand why they must be at their best.

It all goes smoothly; they’ve rehearsed it, after all, for countless hours. Even the weather takes pity on them and graces the parade with an overcast and reasonable temperature. They march, they do the show, people are applauding, a few are shouting some profanities as if a good portion of the parade doesn’t have a near-death experience. As if they didn’t hear the whistle of a bullet flying way too close to their head.

Ghost keeps his mind carefully clear. He performs as is expected of him, enjoys the fleeting moments he gets to see Johnny and tries not to count passing minutes. Then there’s a hymn, another march, and, yes, finally, they’re free. He needs a drink, as do the rest of One-Four-One. Drink, and then he gets out of the uniform. Every time he catches a glimpse of himself, he startles a bit until his brain catches up. God, he hates this.

As Simon nears the pub they had earlier agreed to meet, there is an unusual amount of noise and ruckus coming from inside—the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood, shouts and thuds. Ghost tags Price standing a little out of the way, leaning against the wall and smoking one of his usual cigars.

“Someone already managed to start a fight?” Simon asks as he comes closer, mildly impressed.

“Uh-huh,” Price nods. “We did.”

Ghost blinks a few times. Alright, he didn’t see that coming. “What happened?”

“Someone insulted Soap’s kilt and, if I got it right, even went as far as to say something about his mother. And you don’t just insult SAS soldier’s mum, do you?” Price asks a wholly rhetorical question. Ghost only nods, but then he looks around the deserted street.

“So, why aren’t you inside?”

“Plausible deniability. If I go there, I’ll have to clean up the mess and employ some disciplinary measures. You know the drill.”

“Want me to sort it out, sir?”

“Please do.”

That’s the only permission Ghost needs. He takes off the jacket, handing it to Price. He might not like it, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to get his measurements taken again for a new one.

It’s an absolute chaos inside. Luckily, Ghost thrives in chaos. He sweeps the pub from left to right, taking a quick and rough account of the situation. Gaz is to his right; two men are holding him up as the third takes a swing at him. It’s not a bad punch, Gaz’s head jerks to the side, blood from the split lip dripping on his uniform. As the assailant prepares for another swing, Ghost intervenes. This is his teammate right here, the man who’s saved Ghost’s life on numerous occasions.

Ghost moves quickly, sliding behind the man’s back and grabbing him by the collar, slamming him into the overturned table. The two blokes holding Gaz up look at Ghost, then at each other. There’s a hint of recognition. They let Gaz go immediately and try to charge Ghost, both of them at the same time. Not a bad thinking.

Ghost dodges one fist aimed at his stomach and trips the man. The other one lands a hit on Ghost’s kidneys. It hurts, but he’s used to pain. However, before Ghost can react, Gaz is there, kneeing the bloke in the stomach before sucker-punching him. Okay, that’s one-half of the job done.

“Where’s Soap?” Ghost barks out loud enough to be heard over the racket.

Gaz looks around. Numerous fights are going on, as is expected. There’s tension and rivalry between the military branches and the units. This sort of gathering is a powder keg. “I don’t…,” Gaz starts, trying to find their other Sergeant. “Oh….”

Ghost follows Gaz’s gaze, and… yeah. Oh.

Soap is lying on the ground, one guy’s neck held between his thighs while simultaneously doing a proper fist-assisted dentistry on another bloke who’s struggling to crawl away. Johnny looks like a rabid dog.

“You gonna need help with him?” Gaz asks, not making even a single move.

“Nah, get out of here, Price is waiting outside,” Ghost shakes his head, loosening his tie, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and tucking the sleeves up.

First, he frees the half-choked bloke before he kicks him further from Johnny. Then he grabs Soap and forces him to his knees, thus letting go of the second guy in the process. Ghost quickly glances at their uniform. Royal Marines. Of course. Ghost almost wants to kick them some more.

Instead, he does the reasonable thing worthy of an officer. He takes Soap and, much to the Sergeant’s protests drags him away. Soap is loud, cursing Ghost in that incomprehensible language of his, but even he isn’t so out of it as to hit Ghost, who also happens to be his commanding officer as well as a partner of sorts.

Ghost pretends not to notice and appreciate the searing heat in Soap’s blue eyes. Johnny doesn’t lose his shit nearly as often as many would think, yet when it does happen, it’s an absolute masterclass of carnage. And Ghost loves it. However, he can’t be thinking with his prick right now. They need to get out before someone with actual power shows up.

The ride back to Hereford is a short and quiet one. They stop at a petrol station and get some ice. Gaz is nursing his split lip and bruised jaw, Soap is pressing a handful of ice on the back of his head, where he claims someone hit him with a chair. He’s bleeding from the shallow cut on his forehead, and his left eye is beginning to swell. He got a thorough beating, but Ghost can’t help but think that he didn’t really save Soap. If anything, he saved those two poor bastards Soap was beating up. The Sergeant would probably eat them alive if someone didn’t stop him.

They get out of the car, Ghost immediately grabbing Soap and dragging him away. Price sighs, and Gaz chuckles.

Ghost is leading them to the barracks, to his room. The door closes, lock clicks in place. Johnny is dirty, bruised and bloody; his uniform is ripped in several places, too. He’s a damn mess, but Ghost has always had some seriously crossed wires. He’s been hard in his trousers for a while, and there’s no way he’s waiting a minute more to do something about it.

“Uh… Listen, LT, I’m sor…,” Soap doesn’t get to finish his apology before Ghost is on him, damn near devouring his mouth while his hand clutches at Soap’s thigh over the thick layers of tartan. Johnny lets out a slightly exasperated laugh as he backs up and falls onto the bed. Ghost follows, never allowing more than an inch of space between them. The new position allows him to reach under the kilt finally. He kneads at Soap’s bare thigh, remembering that he nearly choked a man with it. Fuck!

Ghost quickly undoes his belt and shucks his trousers down under his arse. “Lube,” he growls at Soap because the Sergeant is closer to the nightstand. Johnny does as he’s told, fishing out the bottle and handing it over with the same practised move as if he would hand Ghost a magazine.

“Prep?” Ghost asks, clipped and right down to the business.

“Fuck it, want you in me thirty minutes ago,” Johnny smirks. The fire in his eyes is back now. He didn’t get to rip the Marines apart, but now he might get that anger channelled in a different way.

“Wanted to be in you the moment I saw you in the morning,” Ghost retorts.

“You tell me the sweetest things, Simon. Hurry up!” Soap smiles, licking his lips as he watches Ghost fumble with the lube.

It burns a bit at first, then it hurts a bit more, but Soap is no virgin. Ghost is holding back a great deal, trying to go reasonably slow. Soap groans, but instead of pulling away or making any attempt to stop Ghost, he nudges him closer, whining as he forces himself to take more. Ghost is mesmerised, completely lost in him.

Johnny writhes under him, unable to stay still. Ghost’s prick halfway in is both too much and not enough, and it’s frustrating. Finally, he makes up his mind, hooks his legs behind Ghost’s back and demonstrates just how much strength there really is in his legs.

Ghost gasps and moans, Soap whines, arching his back off the bed, struggling to take a breath for a few seconds. “Christ, Johnny,” Simon wheezes, struggling to control himself and the situation. Scratch that; he doesn’t control the situation at all. Soap does, especially once he adjusts and simply uses Ghost to take what he needs.

Simon doesn’t mind. He would be willing to give this man anything he could desire. Anything at all. Simon would cut out his own cold, cold heart and gift it to him. He would burn down the world. For now, it seems that his cock will suffice.

Soap, for the lack of better words, fucks himself on it, and the kilt, rumpled and tucked up, leaves exactly nothing to the imagination. Johnny shivers as the glistening glans of his hardon rubs against the wool, but Ghost does nothing to help him.

If he did, it would’ve been over way too quickly. Instead, he leverages Soap’s hips, changing the angle significantly. Soap yelps before hissing an ecstatic “Yes!” Soon enough, more words follow. Please and harder are especially frequent, and Ghost does give it to him.

Snapping his hips forward at a punishing pace, he gets a lovely gasp each time he bottoms out. Johnny is clawing at the sheets with one hand and at Ghost’s forearm with the other. Come morning, he will probably look like a wild cat mauled him.

It’s a sweet kind of pain. Johnny will feel him for a few days; it’s only fair Ghost will, too. Simon feels the tension build up inside him; his thrusts are slower but firmer, forcing a breath out of Soap, who looks like half of his mind is wandering elsewhere. Eyes hooded, mouth hanging open, face slack in that special way only a good shag can do.

“’M close,” Ghost warns. Or maybe it’s a promise, what with the way Johnny’s legs hold him tighter, trying to force him deeper. Simon blindly searches around until he finds the lube, pouring a little into his palm before he grips Johnny’s neglected prick. It’s hot and hard, velvety, with prominent veins that make Ghost’s mouth water as he remembers how it feels in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue. How Johnny tastes, how his hand in Simon’s hair feels. Simon cries out, a broken sound of utter relief, as he pumps into Soap with each pulse that wrecks his body, coming inside him for what feels like an eternity but is mere seconds.

His hand slacks, but Soap covers it, tightens the grip and continues to fuck into Simon’s fist with quick, erratic thrusts. He’s close, his breathing ragged, his brow furrowed with desperation and concentration. Simon moans as Soap rides his oversensitive cock.

Even in his post-orgasmic state, Ghost feels the faint rush of excitement as he watches Soap coming undone and, a few seconds later, actually coming, soiling his uniform, jacket, kilt, shirt, all of it. Ghost lets them both breathe for a few seconds before Johnny lets go of his hand; Simon, in turn, let’s go of Johnny’s cock, and brings his hand to his mouth. Johnny makes a small, helpless noise as he watches Ghost lick the cum off his fingers and palm.

Simon collapses on the bed next to Johnny, exhaustion catching up to him quickly.

“You’re beautiful,” Simon whispers, unable to stop himself.

Soap stares at him for a moment before he snorts. “Aye, damn right I am, what with the black eye, all bloodied and bruised.

“You’re prettiest when you’re bloodied and bruised. And angry, I like you angry,” Ghost continues, his filter completely fried. Johnny would probably tease him about it later, but for now, he can say whatever he wants.

#call of duty #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soap mw2 #soapghost #ghoap #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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stagefoureddiediaz · 1 year

Text

Mini Costume Meta

Poker game Eddie!!

I did bucks outfit yesterday and today its the turn of Eddie!!

Again I apologise for the rubbish screenshots, I'll have better ones in my actual costume meta after the episode has aired!!

It's really hard to tell in these screenshots, but Eddie is dressed in a blue tartan suit. When the still dropped and we all went into meltdown, I thought the jacket was blue and a dark green teal, now I've seen it a bit better, I'm pretty sure its actually royal and navy blue - a navy that is almost black!

Ok firstly we have the check theme to contend with and the fact that in 911 verse, check means potential danger and change and that rings true here, I just don't think the check is for physical danger.

We need to look at all the times Eddie has worn a suit to fully appreciate what is going on with the check, so bear with me!

This new suit is the 4th one we've seen Eddie wear. First up is the navy suit (and grey marl tie) we see him wear to his interview and look around Durrand School.

Then we have the black on black suit we see him in when he's suit shopping for Christopher with Ana.

Followed by the blue check suit with black spotty shirt we see him in at Hen and Karens vow renewal.

I hope you can all start to see what is going on here - each suit is connected not only to where Eddie is at mentally, but it is also connected to a person (Shannon, Ana, Eddie himself and then this new one Buck) and a key moment in Eddies story.

I'm not going to really really drill down into all the suits because I don't have the time, but that first navy suit with its white shirt and mismatched tie is very much conveying an Eddie who is both uncomfortable and unsure of who he is - the mismatched nature of the overall outfit is meant to look a bitt off and jarring. The navy of the suit itself is about trust, loyalty and stability - all things very relevant to Eddie in that moment - he is trusting Carla (and by extension Buck), he is trying to provide stability for Chris, and he is still loyal to Shannon.

Its very telling that the only truly odd one out is the black suit - the one connected to Ana! Its also the only suit we know for definite that Eddie didn't pick for himself. The black suit is meant to indicate the concept of the black dog of depression - a black cloud hanging over both Eddie and the relationship with Ana.

The suit Eddie wears to the HenRen vow renewal with its small check pattern and the black shirt with the blue dots is showing us Eddies progress - he's still going through it, the check tells us that - but the fact that we've gone from Eddie having panic attacks in a black suit and we've now got an Eddie in a much brighter blue (still with some black in the shirt as a nod to the previous suit - think of it like the blue overtaking and erasing the black) indicating that he is much calmer and at peace with himself. If you want to read more about this suit, then head over to my pinned post and read the costume meta for 5x18!

Back to the check theme and the new suit jacket - yes this is a darker suit than the previous one, but its still two shades of blue - a combination of the navy of the first suit and a brighter blue which connects to the vow renewal suit. connecting the two suits to this suit is important from a narrative perspective,

for me the use of this tartan check is just the next stage of the very tiny check - its not going to be all smooth sailing for Eddie yet and I think the Pepa meddling is the thing that the check is foreshadowing

White pocket squares - nobility and wealth as well as love and luck - much of these meanings stem from the age of chivalry - ladies pocket squares being given to knights of the joust as a token of luck etc

In modern US parlance, pocket squares are a symbol of anti traditionalist values - by this I mean, you won't find those of a right wing persuasion (Donal Trump and his lot) wearing a pocket square. Pocket squares are and were considered a symbol of sophistication - especially in golden age Hollywood - Cary Grant, Fred Astaire, Clark Gable etc all wore pocket squares in various ways.

The reason I'm giving you all this information is to point out that the fact we have Eddie wearing one here is both interesting and telling. As far as I'm aware this is the first time we've seen one worn on 911 (I don't have any notes of any of the mains wearing one in my costume plots!) so this is tapping into all of the meanings above, Eddie is wearing it as a symbol of wealth (appropriate for a poker game!) but mostly as a nod to old school Hollywood.

The costume department are trying to evoke that era through Eddies costume, the set is also evoking that era and so the two things are working in tandem (Bucks red velvet suit jacket also does the same thing - it mimics a smoking jacket which was a common thing for men to have in their wardrobe and wear to play poker or pool). They're essentially trying to make Eddie look like those leading men because in their films they always got the girl (in Eddies case its indicating he's gonna get the boy!).

Onto the Black turtleneck! Black turtlenecks have such an interesting history, they have very strong links with antiestablishment and activism - often worn as a statement or a symbol of protest. The turtleneck is meant to be non-conformist and set the wearer apart from societal norms. The black panthers wore them as part of their 'protest uniform' in the 50's and 60's making them part of the activist style and cementing them as a garment of protest and dissent.

Steve Jobs very deliberately chose the black turtle neck as part of his uniform - to appear down to earth and casual, but also to set him apart from the shirt and tie wearing Bill Gates - it made Apple seem not only aspirational, but also more user friendly to the everyman over the nerdy suits of the establishment!

We've seen it used for the same purpose in film - think Cary Grant in to catch a thief - wearing both a navy and white striped turtleneck as well as a black one when he's being 'the cat'

Or even Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face - when she's in the jazz club dancing - a scene supposed to show her as different from the traditional models found gracing the pages of 'Quality' the fictional magazine Fred Astaire's Character photographs for.

In the 1920's and 30's, Noel Coward made them popular and as a result they became a symbol of queerness - this is also the origin of the black turtleneck as a piece of clothing representing something non-conformist that all the other iterations stem from.

So Eddie wearing a black turtleneck at this moment in time is such a choice. It is meant to show us an Eddie who is comfortable in his own skin and that that Eddie is non-conformist. This works on a couple of fronts - it is a nod to the fact he has defied his families expectations and choices for him - that he has decided to be better for himself, that he's going to therapy and working on himself. But its also a nod to an Eddie now comfortable enough to break from heteronormativity and embrace his queerness - something which is still considered to be non-conforming!

I've already screamed about Eddies watch (you can see a decent glimpse of it in the still above), so I won't go into it too much here, but I will mention again how important I think it is that this is (likely, as we've not yet seen the episode) the first time we're seeing this new watch. I mentioned previously that the first time we saw the blue faced leather strapped watch was at his coffee date with Ana - a watch very much connected with Christopher and of course that relationship was very much about Eddie following Christophers heart not his own (even though we know Christophers heart will probably be happier with Buck than it ever was with Ana!!!). So this new watch is very much now connected to Buck (and the fact that Buck appears to also be wearing a new and metal watch has me all kinds of feral because if he is it is telling us that Buck and Eddie are both on the same page and that their timing is now in sync - so Buddie cannon here we come!!

#kym costume meta #911 costume meta #mini meta #911 meta #costume meta #Eddie costumes #poker date is giving me so much life #costume team I adore you #they just keep on serving on the storytellingfront #911 spoilers #911 on fox #911 fox #911onfox #eddie diaz #buddie

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stimperfect · 2 months

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source ★

[Image ID: Far left, first GIF. A woman with long, ginger, wavy hair shows off a couple of outfits. They’re aesthetic, autumnal clothes with a sort of vintage or cottage feel. The first outfit is a brown dress/coat with a brown belt and white ruffle trim at the collar. She also has a warmer brown leather bag, it’s briefcase-shaped with straps and she wears it on her shoulder while turning side to side to display her clothes. Middle, second GIF. The second outfit features a long skirt with gray and white tones in a pin-striped checking pattern. The top is a gray coat with pockets and duo-colored gray and brown buttons. She has another leather bag like the previous, but this one is a darker and more neutral brown. Far right, third GIF. The last outfit is a long dress/coat with a green, red, and yellow tartan pattern. There are a few black or dark brown buttons involved with the design, ruffles at the bottom of the dress, and another leather bag. This bag is red, and the woman does a little bounce at the end of the GIF that makes her hair move. End ID.]

#mygifs #clothes #fashion #people #aesthetic #brown #red #green #stim

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lucysarah-c · 1 year

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Hello!! I hope I’m not bothering but, can you do a headcanon of reader who comes from 2023 and she is a hugee Levi admirer but she doesn’t really show it because she believes that he would never feel the same fore her, cuz he doesn’t really believe her when she told Erwin, him, Hange + the other vets that she comes from our world and he just acts cold towards her. After some months I think she would tell Hange, who becomes her best friend that she admires Levi a lot and Hange accidentally tells Levi when he complains about not trusting reader. How would he react? I mean maybe he did complain but all the months reader has been there he noticed she’s not a bad influence, she really cares about people and she’s struggles at training.🫶

Hi!! ~~ You’re not bothering me at all, sorry for the wait. I’m sorry if this … is … like nothing you asked for haha SORRY, it’s just that this idea had too many ideas inside and I couldn’t find a way to mix all of them? And, at the same time, I made some arrangements to make it more believable, at least for me.

This is NOT a Levi x reader story. More like Levi adopting another child story lol there’s nothing romantic in it, almost “paternal” you may say. I felt it would be cuter if she was quite young, like a teen, so her clothes, attitude and social-media addiction were entertaining. Sorry, anyways, here it is the best I could come up with. Hope it’s not that bad!

Warnings: none. FLUFF

Word count: 3278.

Summary: Y/N was a teen living her normal life until she travelled back on time to aot period. So technically Aot canon time is like “history” for her.

If you liked this consider checking my masterlist for other stuff I've written (Click here for the link.)

An old-fashioned girl

How she arrived there was a mystery, even for herself. One morning she was on a school trip recording a tik tok dance with a classmate and the other she was in the middle of nowhere. ‘A forest?’ she thought ‘in the middle of Rose?’ Important to highlight that she didn’t refer to it as Wall Rose because… walls were a thing from history books, too many decades ago.

Sneakers sinked on the frost as it crunched under her weight. Her eyes searched for a sign of a crosspath, somewhere with stepped on grass that would guide her, a rubbish bin that would have some map on it. Her mind began to wonder if she had fallen asleep on the way there and her friends had played her a really bad joke.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY!” She shouted.

But nobody replied.

“Come on guys! This is not going to get you that many visits on youtube”

Grave silence. The fear started to creep in as her feet took one step after the other and she reached nowhere. Turning over her heels, hectic eyes searching to spot a difference in the repetitive background of leafless trees. Her lips parted, the air that came through her nose wasn’t enough anymore. Checking her phone again, something was definitely off. No signal, no internet, not even a single Wifi close by.

She had repeatedly called 911 hoping that the emergency line would work anyways, somehow. Nothing. She ran, ran for her life and, as if her senses sharpened on the necessity of fighting for her life, she began to spot how off the situation felt. ‘There’s not a single piece of rubbish on the ground’

At some point, she grew tired and soon hoped to have chosen the P.E uniform over the regular one because raising her skirt up against some dressing codes and only wearing mid leg’s socks wasn’t helping to fight the cold. Her own arms wrapped around her frame, trying to provide any warmth and a sense of security. Soon she realised how the school uniform was made for staying inside the building, with calefaction.

Because the white button up shirt with small red and green lines, the thin burgundy sweater that was slightly too big for her frame compared to the small tartan english green and maroon skirt that she raised up after leaving her house (so her mom wouldn’t complain that it didn’t reach her knees) wasn’t keeping her warm. She had had a burst of confidence that morning, her crush told her she looked cute and her friend and her recorded a Tiktok. She remembered all that… How did she get there?

“HELP!!” screaming from the top of her lungs, anyone, someone. Not trying to lose hope, she insisted on it even if her throat began to hurt. Refusing to take her water bottle out of her backpack, fearing that she may need to ration it. Suddenly, her mind tried to come up with all those ideas that people in movies didn’t have in a case of extreme conditions.

A sound pierced through the silence. It felt overwhelmingly loud and high, as if a plane’s gears were ringing right on top of her. It was like nothing she heard before, covering her ears with her hands and closing her eyes in slight pain. It was sudden and terrifying.

“Oi, what’s going on here?” The man landed on the floor as if it was nothing. He walked slowly towards her, putting away some sort of control under a jacket as he moved closer.

“Captain!” A younger voice called from the top of a tree. She raised to look up, an ash blond guy that landed on a tree as … ‘as if he is spiderman or something, what the hell’ “Do we keep going with morning practise?”

More people appeared, all of them with a sort of uniform that she described as ‘Those seem awfully uncomfortable… what’s wrong with these people, all dressed up as some sort of freak avengers.’

The short man just nodded to the others that were spectant of his orders before turning around to face the girl. “Civilians are not allowed on the training fields.” His voice was deep and demanding as he got closer. His steps forwards were confident, completely opposite to hers that slowly dragged her frame backwards.

“Sir, please. May you call my mom? My phone is not working and I don’t have any signal” Leaving aside any fear of how absurd the situation felt, she insisted on reaching for help.

The man stopped and frowned in confusion “You’re lost.” he affirmed but there were tints of unsureness on the declaration, as he tried to understand her.

“Yes! I was with my class on a trip to the national park here in Rose and I don’t really understand what happened. I tried calling the police-”

“The police?” He interrupted her “Here? In wall Rose?”

The brief silence as they both tried to understand each other.

“Yes! But I couldn’t find anyone from the national park until now-”

“National park” He was repeating her words as some broken record and she was starting to lose her patience.

“Sir, please. I just want to call my mom and tell her I’m alright. Could you lend me your phone?” Her voice levels kept rising as it also broke in desperation.

The repeat mentions of words that the man had never heard before started to make him doubt her sanity. His cold eyes that had been doing strict eye contact travelled down to her clothes and frowned deeply.

His lack of action made her break in tears, why was he taking so long? Was he going to help her or worse… hurt her? Panic finally unleashed as she started to hyperventilate and cry. That somehow made him snap.

“Calm down, kid” He reached forward and she quickly walked backwards “I’ll take you back to the building until whatever you’re high on washes off,”

She created more resistance than he expected, usually people recognised him or the scouts uniform. Either to respect the law or to search for help. She was not following any. She swore that there were no words to express how grateful she was for her phone, ipad and the rest of the electronics on her backpack. Because, otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to explain without being considered mental unstable that she wasn’t from there.

Well, technically, she was from there. She had lived in Paradise all her life but not from 850 Paradise, definitely not. Or the walls as they called it, apparently Paradise was a term for the island that they hadn’t found out about just yet. The first week, they were all quite sceptical. Hange was extremely curious and made her feel not so alone. The squad leader insisted on spending as much time as possible with her, trying to understand the situation deeply.

Erwin asked plenty of questions, calm, relaxed. As he had all the time in the world to allow her to feel safe, she felt like a rat in a lab. Everybody had their eyes fixed on her and what she did. He seemed convinced of her innocence. The Commander didn’t set many rules, only two; first, that she didn’t leave the building for her own safety. Second, that she changed clothes because they could be a bit “distracting” apparently.

The comment felt offensive and she wished to talk back. Insist on her freedom to wear what she pleased without consequences, that it was her body and her choice. The rebellion of refusing to change lasted shortly as soon as she realised how easily the other teens blushed deeply looking at her bare legs. Adding to that, checking what the other female cadets wore once out of the uniform made her feel quite self conscious.

After a couple of weeks, even though she had shut down all the devices, the phone didn’t turn on anymore. The afternoons were long and boring. Most of them began to talk to her more freely. She played cards with the teens when they were done with their duties. Talked to Hange as they worked. Even asked Erwin for a spare notebook and pencil, if he had any, to write down a sort of diary. He agreed, even insisted that it may be a good idea. Only Levi refused to acknowledge her. Despite being the first one she encountered, he was the last to believe her.

The differences between her time and that one began to become more noticeable each passing day. Clothes were itchy and hard, soon she concluded that elastic was the best thing humans invented after the internet. “Mattress” was a bold word for those empty long pillows they slept in. Everything was humid, tasteless and dark. ‘Correction, deodorant may be the best invention after taking regular showers,’ She didn’t blame them, water seemed like a scarce resource and Captain Levi, who barely talked to her, seemed to have a passion to scold her.

Even if he was the only one who somehow maintained a level of modern society standard of hygiene, he found her actions abusive.

“You’re going to use all the water of the walls”

“You changed clothes yesterday, you think wood grows on the trees?”

On and on. It appeared that the mighty hero she read in her history books was a short annoying man.

Food tasted horrendous, and water didn’t seem that drinkable. The cadets invited her to train, just to spare some time. After all she was far from military training and Levi refused to give her any real weapon, including the 3dmg. How they were able to resist those harsh conditions with just some boiled potato in their stomach was a mystery to her.

‘I’m never going to romanticise old dresses and cottagecore again,’ They killed a chicken for dinner and she almost fainted when she saw it. Despite being tired of eating only boiled veggies, remembering the animal alive as she watched the chicken’s breast on her dish made her appetite disappear.

One day in particular, the cadets were taken to the industrial city with Hange. Erwin had left to deal with some particular details at the Capital and YN had finally found herself alone. Alone to face dinner time.

Grown tired of those itchy long skirts and uncomfortable not elastic white trousers; she decided that since no one was around, no one was there to judge her modern clothes. Back on the uniform, arm crossed as she squinted in determination.

“I do not fear you,” She murmured as if the inanimate object could understand her “I’m a woman of a free country, with high end education, the power of equal rights and the blessing of having lived until now in the same period of time of Rihanna and Taylor Swift. I’m stoppable”

Suddenly a strong breeze came in from the window and blew off the only shakable candle she had turned on. The place went pitch black.

“No, no, no!” She insisted as she tried to turn it back on. It was a regular problem in her life now, candles blow off stupidly easily. The habit of always searching for the light switches as she entered a room wasn’t abandoning her yet and it always left a feeling of disappointment.

The light came back again and she scoffed pridefully, as if she had discovered fire. The fire trembled under her breath and her eyes opened in fear it may turn off again.

“Omg, candles have the stability of my mental health,” She murmured and then chuckled to herself “That would have been such a tweet,”

Quickly she grew conscious of her monologue and became slightly ashamed. Back to business, she turned around to face her fears… the wood cookstove. Or so she guessed, there was wood around so it must have required that, right?

“I got a A in calculus 3, I can turn on a stove,”

She opened what seemed to be a place with ashes and threw a bunch of hard-wood logs all together, turned on a match and threw it inside. It turned on and she jumped of happiness. Moving quickly to chop some potatoes and carrots to cook a soap, she began to sing “A single mom who works two jobs. Who loves her kids and never stops. With gentle hands and a heart of a fighter!”

Moving back to the stove to check on it as she danced around. “I'm a surviv– …or?” Her mood dropped significantly as she realised the fire was off. Frowning in confusion, she tried again.. And again… and … again.

“Maybe I’m not truly hungry, I’m just anxious. '' She cried out loud between heavy and loud whinings. Messy tears ran down her cheeks as she was sitting down on the kitchen floor eating the raw carrots she had previously chopped. “Where is my ASMR playlist when I need it?”

“What the fuck are you doing down there?”

Levi’s deep quiet voice echoed in the stone room, making her snap her head up to her left. He wasn’t wearing the uniform, at least not completely. White trousers, the tall combat boots but combined with a black turtleneck sweater. He had heavy dark circles under his eyes and he didn’t seem happy to see her.

“How long have you been here?” She questioned as she raised.

“All day,”

“I thought you left with the rest,” her voice was soft as she noticed his lack of interest in keeping a conversation going.

“No,”

“What have you been doing?”

“Work,”

YN stood there, wet face, crystal eyes as he moved around the kitchen. The jug he brought with him was back to being full with water. When he turned around, his eyes moved naturally to her clothes and then back to her face. She still had a half eaten raw carrot on her hand as her puppy eyes begged him for some compassion.

“What do you what?” Levi shot the question as he had no time to spare.

“I’m hungry,”

“I’m not your mother, nor your babysitter. Cook yourself something,” His ice-cold reply made her realise why she had been crying on the floor and the tears appeared again.

“I can’t, the stove doesn’t work,” She whined.

Somehow that made him concerned, taking long steps to the stove, grabbed a special type of gripper that was hanging on the side, raised some steel circled from the top and checked.

“Tch, of course it's not going to work if you put the damn wood on the ashtray,” The captain complained as if it was obvious. Pushing his sleeves up to expose his forearms and not get the clothes dirty, he grabbed the logs and took them off. “If you think I’m idiot enough to believe that you don’t know how to turn a damn stove on, you’re mistaken.”

She remained silent, her quietness made him snap back to see her.

“You don’t know how to turn a damn stove on? What are you? Some wealthy brat or something?”

She didn’t reply right away, it was becoming exhausting how after all this time he didn’t believe her narrative. “Where I come from, stoves are different,” her low voice made the words come out stuck together. But he understood.

“Yeah… where you come from.” He insisted on pure disdain.

It was borderline offensive in her humble opinion. The man she had read a lot in her history lessons, how dedicated he was to the cause, how altruist he was to help the little kids after the uprising. Nothing of that correlated to the man that was there. ‘Maybe this is why they tell you meeting your heroes it’s not a good idea,’

Under his scrutiny, he realised that despite his cadets and her being probably the same age, she appeared younger. ‘War turns children into adults quicker,’ he concluded, considering that whatever she said was real. True or not, Levi quick realise that whatever she was, she was a fucking brat. One that was crying in the kitchen because of hunger. He felt stupid for a second for giving a cold shoulder to a kid.

“I’m making myself a stew, if you want some say it now” He said and her face brightened up instantly.

“Yes, please!”

Her eyes followed his actions attentively, old stoves definitely had more than a single trick on them (compared to modern ones, obviously). Levi opened the air conduction, so it would escape, checked something called “stove control” and left it open, then the top damper needed to be opened too. He grabbed some twigs and deadfall, only added one hardwood log and turned all that on with a piece of paper from the ash door and then closed it.

The difference was rapidly noticeable, it lid and roared quickly. Once it began to look warmer, he added larger bits of kindling from the top and regulated the temperature with what appeared to be some side grating. She chopped more vegetables and the room was filled up with the cracking of the fire. Levi didn’t talk, just haste his pace around the room as he multitasked the preparation.

Milk was in some steel container, the pot was placed on top of the stove despite the fire not being in direct contact, the spices were hung from the roof to dry them up. ‘Life is easier when you just have to order a big mac on ubereats,’

“You’re quite the chef, Captain,” Her enthusiastic voice echoed in the empty room as she watched the meal boil with dreamy eyes. Quick side eyes from his part as he mixed the stew around with a wooden spoon.

“This is so aesthetic, we could have posted on instagram” She kept admiring how rustic the wood cookstove looked with the chopped wood to a side, the wooden spoon and the stone wall “Being happy is simple, what is hard is enjoying simple things. That would have been a great caption,”

They looked eyes, she smiled at him, he kept frowning.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Levi’s monotone voice, despite its natural uninteresting tone on it, sounded slightly confused as he was doing an effort to understand anything she said.

“It’s a place where you put pictures so others may see how your life is,”

“What's a picture?”

“It’s like a drawing but extremely realistic and done instantly,”

Levi’s thin eyebrows were still drawn together as it seemed almost like whichcraft what she was describing “Why would anyone care what your meals look like,”

“It’s fun! So everybody knows what you’re doing all the time,”

“That sounds like a fucking nightmare”

“You say that because you’ve not seen those in deep cleaning videos and vacuums’ reviews”

“What the fuck is a vacuum?”

“Oh dear…”

PD: did I have to search how a wood cookstove worked to do this story? Yes. Did I watch a youtube video of 45 minutes? Obviously. Do I deserve a kudos for that? absolutely haha

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chic-a-gigot · 6 months

Text

La Mode nationale, no. 43, 30 octobre 1897, Paris. No. 1. — Toilettes de jeunes femmes. Bibliothèque nationale de France

(1) Robe en popeline beige. Jupe emboîtant bien les hanches et évasée du bas, garnie de deux biais d'écossais sur fond blanc à carreaux rouge pâle et vert pâle très fondus. Un froncé de dentelle blanche souligne les biais qu'attachent aux coutures de gros boutons carrés en forme de cabochons.

Le corsage blouson est à moitié recouvert de biais écossais diminuant de largeur et de longueur jusqu'à la taille. Froncé de dentelle. Même garniture aux manches. Ceinture de velours noir.

(1) Beige poplin dress. Skirt fitting the hips well and flared at the bottom, trimmed with two plaid bias strips on a white background with very blended pale red and pale green checks. A gather of white lace highlights the bias attached to the seams by large square cabochon-shaped buttons.

The blouson bodice is half covered with tartan bias decreasing in width and length to the waist. Gathered lace. Same trim on the sleeves. Black velvet belt.

Matériaux: 5 mètres de popeline en 60 centimètres; 1 m. 50 de lainage écossais.

—

(2) Robe en cachemire velouté vert pistache, genre princesse, boutonnée sur le côté, ouverte sur une chemisette de soie rouille. Le corsage a un seul revers à droite et une rangée de boutons à gauche. Aux manches, soufflet de soie rouille. Ceinture de velours pourpre avec nœud très enlevé.

(2) Pistachio green velvety cashmere dress, princess style, buttoned on the side, open over a rust silk shirt. The bodice has a single lapel on the right and a row of buttons on the left. On the sleeves, rust silk gusset. Purple velvet belt with very delicate bow.

Matériaux: 8 mètres de cachemire en 1 mètre; 50 centimètres de soie rouille.

#La Mode nationale #19th century #1890s #1897 #on this day #October 30 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #cover #color #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #collar #princess #plaid

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adder24 · 4 months

Text

When the Captain meets the Doctor

A one shot for my Firefly and Whovian fans. Warnings: None, absolutely none, serious, it's all fluff

Summary: Mal encounters a strange box materialising in his cargo bay, curious he decides to check it out, unaware of the adventure he was about to venture into.

Tagging a few peeps but anyone can read.

@hellostickerdoodle @nuggsmumreads @untilthe12ofnever @dontgetfunny @loops911 @izhunny @nikki-rook

Whirr, Whirr, Whirr, THUNK.

That was the noise of the most ridiculous being, landing their ridiculous spaceship in the cargo bay of another spaceship. Serenity, firefly class cargo ship to be precise and it’s captain just so happened to be in the cargo bay, moving cargo, when this blue, police phone box suddenly appeared.

“What in the gorram hell?!” He yelled, dropping the box at his feet

He could see the box had a light on inside and that it was strangely producing a noise that sounded like it was breathing. An odd noise that was unsettling yet oddly comforting.

“Hellooooooo?” The captain called out as he slowly approached the box “You’re on my ship!”

He slowly reached for his holstered gun, finger gently poised on the trigger as he walked up to the doors. He took a breath, remembering the last time he opened some mysterious cargo before he then carefully placed his hand on the door handle and paused momentarily. He had no clue what was in there, no backup as the rest of the crew were sleeping and no patience to wait for the intruder to emerge. He quietly counted down from three, pulled the door open and stepped into the phone box, however what he saw inside was really not what he was expecting.

It was massive, with many ramps, a centre console that was in a weird way, breathing, many circular lights on the walls that really enhanced the pale blue interior and a tall skinny man with weird spiky chestnut hair, wearing brown tartan patterned trousers, with matching waistcoat, grey skinny tie and a white shirt. Strangely enough he was perched on the console, with a big smile on his lips, almost as if he was expecting the captain to walk in.

“Captain Malcolm Reynolds, loveable rogue, master criminal and loyal browncoat! I have been itching to meet you for a long time!” He said excitedly

“Who in the gorram hell are you?!” Mal asked as he trained his gun on the man.

“Oh sorry, how rude of me. I am the doctor!” The man replied “An explorer like you. Well a traveller. Well…a rogue traveller.”

“I already have a doctor, don’t need another” Mal replied firmly before raising an eyebrow “How the hell is this thing bigger on the inside?!”

“It’s a T.A.R.D.I.S” The Doctor replied

“And that is?” Mal asked.

“It stands for Time and relative dimension in space” The doctor replied happily “Basically it’s a spaceship that can manipulate its appearance, science stuff, If I explain it, it’ll ruin it’s magic. Are you not going to go back, do a double take-”

“I was about to do just that!” Mal interrupted, slowly backing out of the TARDIS.

It baffled him, how this box that looked like it could only hold two people comfortably on the outside, was actually able to house his entire crew with a lot of room to spare, on the inside. There was no other way of explaining it, it had to be some weird, new age witchcraft. Yet as he studied the exterior and scratched his head, he noticed the Doctor was watching him and chuckling to himself.

“They all do that” The doctor laughed.

“Not your first rodeo then?” Mal asked, his gun still trained on the man.

“Nope! I have landed on many spaceships during my time, most of them because they needed my help, very rarely is it by choice. You’re one of the lucky rare ones!” The Doctor replied with a big smile,

“Okay…so that means you’re either part of the alliance or you're one of Niska’s crew. I’m going with Niska’s men, you’re not dressed like the Alliance, you’re too happy and ... .weird” Mal replied, not letting the man out of his sight.

“Fair assumption but no. Not to be cruel but I very much doubt Niska could create a ship like this, or the alliance for that matter, too technically advanced. Look I’m not hostile, I don’t have weapons or wicked intentions, I just wanted to come meet the infamous Malcolm Reynolds, share stories and realise how we are very similar” The doctor said calmly as he raised his hands up slowly

“Alright….how are we similar?” Mal asked, slowly lowering his gun but keeping it firmly in his grasp.

“We both fought in wars we lost. We both lost a part of ourselves in those wars and we both strive to be better and make things better for others. You fancy yourself as a bit of a criminal with a thirst for revenge in your own little way but you stand up for the little guy, you fought the alliance, uncovered their dirty secret and exposed them. That’s more of an anti-hero than a criminal wouldn't you think? More Robin hood than Dick Turpin”

“Who?” Mal asked confused

“Vicious Georgian outlaw from earth that was, very old legend, very violent, a lot of myth about him and he did crime for fun, just to get that adrenaline kick. Not something I would associate with you.” The Doctor rambled “Anyway-”

“Which war did you fight in?” Mal asked finally.

That once bright happy face soon fell sombre, the time war was still a difficult subject to discuss, still one that hurt but one he knew would resonate with the captain.

“The time war, a war between Time Lords and Dalek. The Timelords lost, my home was destroyed, well obliterated really and I managed to escape. I am the last of my kind, roaming through time and space and believe me, I have seen many many things over many many years and out of all the creatures and monsters I have encountered, I hope never to meet a reaver but here I am and the chances of that happening are reasonably high” The Doctor replied as a small smile began to form on his lips

Mal found himself releasing his grip around his gun and walking towards the doctor, feeling like he needed to be beside him. He felt his pain and he could see the hurt in his eyes. A man that had been there, had seen the horrors of war and was still trying to live with his mistakes and the what ifs and was similarly in the same boat as him.

“The Unification war did a similar thing to me. My home planet, Shadow, was aggressively bombed by the Alliance, most of its population was wiped out, either from the relentless bombing or through those fighting at Serenity Valley, where we lost the war. Shadow is now officially a ghost planet, no one can ever go back there because there is nothing there. It used to be beautiful, clear skies that let you see forever, the land was nothing but fields and gorgeous countryside and its people were one of the most hard working. We were the first to stand up to the union of allied planets and this was the punishment we received. Wish I could go back sometimes” Mal sighed, his heart yearning to see home one more time, the home before the massacre.

Yet while he told his tale, he wasn’t paying attention to what the Doctor was doing, programming the TARDIS, pressing buttons and placing his hand on a leaver. A smile growing on his lips.

“What if you could?” The Doctor asked

“I could but it’s barren, charred, desolate and uninhabitable. Won’t be the same anymore” Mal replied sadly

“No I meant, what if you could go back to Shadow before the war?” The Doctor asked “Would you change anything?”

“No, I’d just want to admire its beauty, remember the sights, the sounds and the smells” Mal replied honestly

“Good” The Doctor replied before pulling down the leaver firmly

The doors slammed shut, the box jerked and the sound of breathing turned more into a sound of whirring and scraping, similar to a mechanical wheezing than breathing. The sudden movement caused Mal to stumble before he gripped the railing and regained his balance. He could sense they were moving, fast and that Serenity was no longer under his feet.

“What did you do?!” Mal yelled, fear in his voice.

“Started up the engines and asked the Tardis to fly captain” The Doctor replied happily as he bounced around the console pressing buttons, pulling levers and cranking cranks.

“Is this how you pilot a ship?!” Mal asked exasperatedly, “How can you see anything?!”

“Badly!” The Doctor laughed

“Not filling me with confidence Doc!” Mal responded as he tried to walk back to the console.

“Flown this beauty for centuries, trust me I know what I am doing” The Doctor replied with delight “Put me on your ship and I'll probably end up flying into a moon”

“No Offence but I think I'll stick to River being my pilot” Mal replied

“None taken!” The Doctor replied as he stretched his leg out across the console to push a button with his foot. “You might want to grab onto something sonny, we’re coming in hot!”

“This isn’t Landing, this is crashing!” Mal shouted as he clung onto the railing for dear life.

He could feel the ship shuddering, everything around him rattling as the ship was thrown around violently. They had either hit a pocket of turbulence or entered a planet’s atmosphere, either way they were being thrown around like ragdolls and the ship sounded like it was about to break up

“THIS ISN’T HOW I ENVISIONED MY DEATH DOC!” Mal screamed

“SOUNDS WORSE THAN IT IS! COME ON YOU’RE A CAPTAIN, EVEN YOU’RE OLD BUCKET MUST SOUND LIKE IT’S ABOUT TO FALL APART WHEN LANDING!” The Doctor shouted.

“HEY, YOU LEAVE MY SHIP ALONE!” Mal Shouted back.

The Doctor just gave a toothy smile, right as the Tardis landed, hard. The impact caused Mal to lose his grip and roll towards the doors, just stopping shy of falling out of the TARDIS completely.

“We’re here!” The Doctor said triumphantly

Mal groaned and slowly got to his feet, stomach churning a little. He very rarely got travel sick, even when their fallen pilot Wash was flying his ship, very rarely did his stomach churn in the way it was now. He then felt the Doctor pat his shoulder eagerly as he walked towards the doors of his ship.

“Come on Mally boy, come see where we have landed” He said excitedly

“Sure….just let me make sure I am not reunited with my dinner” Mal groaned as a response

“You’re cleaning it up if you are” The Doctor replied as he grabbed the handles of the doors “Maybe a bit of fresh air will help”

He threw the doors wide open, bright sunshine pouring into the Tardis, blinding Mal momentarily before he shaded his eyes with his hand and staggered towards the entrance of the TARDIS, his legs still figuring out that he was on stable land. Yet as he approached the entrance, he was starting to see the landscape before him, a landscape he was familiar with, green fields, clear skies and beautiful countryside.

He was home.

“You were right, this place is stunning!” The Doctor said enthusiastically.

“I’m home, it’s exactly how I left it. Wait, is this real? It’s not an Illusion right?” Mal asked as he reached down to touch the grass.

“Why is it you lot, have to touch grass to make sure something is real?” The doctor asked puzzled “You wanna touch something, touch a wall or something”

“You brought me home. Is this a parallel universe or an alternate timeline?” Mal asked, still not quite fully believing his eyes

“This is Shadow a few years before the war started, unblemished, untouched, as it was and should always have been. You’re home and I think you owe me a tour” The Doctor replied with a gentle smile as he basked in the sun.

“Can I visit my family home?” Mal asked

“You can but you may have to stay hidden, don’t want to mess up timelines with accidental run ins. Oooh hold on, let me grab you a disguise, just in case” The Doctor said as he dashed back into the TARDIS.

It gave Mal time to soak in everything he missed about his home planet, embrace nostalgia and reminisce on all the things he loved about his home, it was exactly how he remembered it, in every way possible, even the smells of freshly cut straw, wild flowers and the earthiness of the soil under foot, smells that had long since been lost, smells that caused tears to trickle down Mal’s cheeks.

“Home” He said to himself, quietly.

That moment was soon interrupted by the Doctor placing a brown stetson hat on his head as well as handing him some sunglasses.

“There we go, that’ll do it! Right then sunshine lets go for a trip down memory lane, you can show me the sights and sounds, maybe even take me on a dinner date” The doctor said playfully as he wiggled his eyebrows

“Awww and here I was thinking you were taking me out on a date” Mal replied “After all you did lure me into your box ship”

“Okay you have a point-Wait box ship!? Rude” The doctor replied slightly annoyed.

“Says the man who called mine an Old Bucket!” Mal Responded with a chuckle “Come on, I’ll show you around my home and then take you to the place that did the best Apple pie”

Mal managed to hitch a ride on the back of a farmers carrier, sitting on freshly tied hay bales while watching the ever changing scenery and telling the Doctor tales from his past. It wasn’t always a glamorous life that he lived, he always busted his ass, got his hands dirty and worked long into the night but he was honest, respectful and understood the need for community., family and friends. The town was tightly knit, everyone was seen as family which was probably why the loss of this planet for the Independents, was a hard one to stomach, for all of them.

Mal showed the Doctor Seven Pines Pass, the town where he lived. He showed him all the places he would frequently visit and some places he would go to for a bit of peace and quiet. Then as promised, he took the Doctor into the diner with the best apple pies and put in an order for two, with their signature homemade ice cream. While they waited, they made light conversation, sharing war stories or tales from their travels before the waitress brought over their visibly piping hot apple pies. The smell engulfed their senses and for Mal, it sent him back to happier times.

He took a moment to appreciate the smell of a freshly baked apple pie with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg before building himself up to take a bite. A bite that had a balance of the pie filling and ice cream, he took a breath, blew on the food that was on his fork and placed it in his mouth. All the flavours, the textures, everything, was perfect, as it should be and Mal couldn’t stop the single tear that rolled down his cheek.

“Oh WOOOOOOW! You weren't kidding! This is amazing, losing these is a crime against humanity” The Doctor said excitedly, breaking Mal from his thoughts.

“Tell me about it, as much as I’d love to steal the recipe, I think it’s best these stay here, just so the Alliance never get the chance to taste this ambrosia” Mal replied as he took another bite “They ain’t worthy of it”

“Couldn’t agree more, is the ice cream homemade as well? Cause it tastes fantastic!” The Doctor asked

“Everything on this planet was made with blood, sweat and tears” Mal replied as he savoured another mouthful. “So yes, homemade”

Both of them savoured and enjoyed every bite that they took, knowing full well they’d never get another chance to embrace these flavours again. They took their time clearing their plates, Mal paying the bill and leaving a healthy tip for the waitress before they both left the diner and Mal led the way to his family home.He was raised on a ranch by his mother. His father was killed after they rejected a buyout from the alliance which led to Mal being brought up by his mother and the ranch hands they employed.

They observed the ranch from atop a nearby hill, the sight of the ranch stirred up some feelings inside Mal, in fact the Doctor would say that it lowered his guard, made him more human,

“Your home was beautiful” The Doctor said softly

“It was, we busted our asses off to keep it after my father died, kept a good trade going with the cattle we reared and made sure the bills were paid on time. Townsfolk helped us out when we needed some little jobs done or if my Ma needed to put me back in line. I didn’t appreciate what I had then” Mal admits as he watched the ranch hands come back from herding the cattle.

“My home was Gallifrey” The Doctor blurted out as sat down on the grass “The skies were a burnt Orange, always looked like the sun was setting, there were mountain ranges that went on as far as the eye could see, rivers filled with fresh fish and water that trickled down from the mountains, we had silver leafed trees and grass that was red in colour, oh and rocks that were gold, purple, brown and red. It was a beautiful place but I can’t go back, not even in time…it’s time locked in order to stop the time lords from destroying the universe in order to stop the Daleks”

“Well aside from your own people turning into lunatics, your home sounded like a planet I would have visited.” Mal replied as he studied the Doctor, noting how he seemed suddenly closed off “You okay?”

“Yeah… Yeah I’m fine, I have moments, that’s all” The Doctor replied

“I feel that” Mal responded as he sat down next to the doctor.

There wasn’t much that could be said after that but they took the moment to enjoy the peace and tranquillity, reminiscing to themselves quietly, trying not to think about the tragedies that would strike their home worlds. They must have sat there for over half an hour before The doctor broke the peace.

“Fancy getting one of them apple pies to take back?” He asked Mal

“Will it affect the timeline?” Mal asked

“If it did, would I be asking?” The Doctor replied with a smile.

“Good point. Least I will have something of home to remember it by” Mal said happily

“Well ... .I guess an empty Pie case is a different souvenir to take back with you” The Doctor replied as he got to his feet “Ready to get back to your ship and your crew?”

“As much as I miss this place and wish I could stay longer, my ship is my home and my crew are my family, one of them is going to notice me missing” Mal replied with a small smile “Mainly Inara to be honest”

“They're a good bunch and you're a lucky man, be a little kinder to them from time to time” The doctor said with a smile as he helped Mal to his feet.

“What about you? You got anyone waiting for you?” Mal asked

“Sort of, they wait for me but they know I go exploring too so they don't wait so to speak, they check on me.” The Doctor replied “But if any of them got into trouble, you can bet your bottom dollar I'd be back in a heartbeat.”

“Noble, honourable and a little mischievous, you'd make a good crew mate Doc” Mal said happily

“Thanks” The doctor replied with a toothy grin “Long walk to the TARDIS, might get back to her as the sun sets”

“I'd like to see the sun setting one more time” Mal admitted

The Doctor smiles and gently pats his shoulder, both of them beginning the long walk back, allowing them to enjoy the sights and sounds one more time. They called into the Diner to order their apple pies to go, which they brought out in a box. Mal peeked inside and sure enough they were in their own pie casings, which brought a smile to his face. They then began their trek from Seven Pines Pass back to the Tardis, sharing stories about their adventures, about the people they met, the mishaps and some of the accidents or crashes they had in their ships. Mal even opened up about Wash and how losing him had a big impact on the crew, in return, the Doctor told him about those he had lost over his lifespan and how it drove him to finally stop and take a break from his once hectic life.

By the time they reached the TARDIS, the sun was setting over the once beautiful planet and Mal decided he would sit down in front of the Tardis and watch, the Doctor joining him. They both sat and watched in contented silence, until the sun dipped behind the land, colouring the sky with Pink and purple tones.

“Now I’m ready” Mal said softly “Take me home Doc”

“Sure thing Captain” The Doctor replied as they both got to their feet and headed inside the TARDIS.

The journey home was a lot less bumpy and the company was better too, Mal had grown fond of this man known as the Doctor, he was wise, methodical and a little strange but he was Mal’s kind of strange, which was a good strange. It was hard to explain but it did make Mal feel he had found a lost soul and gained a brother. Oddly enough on the journey home, Mal was able to get some shut eye, he didn’t even notice when the Doctor landed his Tardis, the only way he knew was when the Doc gently woke him up.

“You’re home Reynolds” He said softly “Back on Serenity”

“I slept like a baby…How was it smoother on the way back?” Mal asked as he rubbed his eyes and sat up

“Luck of the draw, plus Serenity doesn’t have an atmosphere, so makes it a bit easier. You should be back in the cargo bay”

“Thanks Doc” Mal said as he stood up and dusted himself down “How did you know about me anyway? You don’t sit in one place for five minutes and I have never encountered you before.”

“Stories Reynolds. Stories that live on for thousands of years. You’re a legend, the hero from Shadow, be proud of that” The Doctor said happily as he pressed a button to open the doors of his TARDIS “They’re still asleep, they’ll never know you left”

“That’s a good thing, the last thing you need is River losing her gorram mind and threatening to stab you with a pencil. You’re lucky” Mal replied with a smile as he slowly walked backwards towards the entrance, noting the smile that grew on the Doctor's lips. “See you again Doc?”

“I’m sure we will meet again Mally boy, you ever get the craving for Apple pie, put out a signal and I’ll come aboard” The doctor replied as Mal picked up the box with his apple pie in.

“ Was an honour meeting you Doc and although we spent but a few short hours together, I’d like to make you an honorary crew member. Don’t be a stranger, visit often” Mal said happily as he saluted the Doctor, spun round and walked out of the TARDIS.

That was when he heard the doors shut behind him, he quickly turned around in the hopes to see his new friend one more time but all he was met with was the sound of the mechanical wheezing and the box evaporating into thin air, leaving nothing behind. The only sign of his existence was the apple pie from Shadow, newly created memories and a strange bond with a man in a box.

#Doctor Who #David Tennant #14th Doctor #Fourteenth Doctor #Captain Mal #Captain Mal Reynolds #Firefly #Serenity #Oh Captain my Captain #the doctor #tardis #Fanfiction #alternate universe #Fluff

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