it's a little too big on me but i got the smallest size

kevystel  asked:

FIC PROMPTS I'M SO EXCITED could you maybe write a little something about how yuuri feels about everyday-yuuri-anxiety and normal-person-butterflies-around-crush-anxiety and how he deals with Viktor Feelings

Ahhh, I’m so glad you mentioned this, because I have been turning this over in my head since your post! (Because really, anything involving anxiety and excruciating mutual pining is going to be my jam.)

This got a bit longer than I expected so tossing in a cut - I hope you enjoyyy:

“You should go,” Yuuri says.

Victor doesn’t so much as look up from the Japanese textbook spread across his lap. “Hm?”

“Your yukata will go to waste,” Yuuri says. It’s a really nice yukata. Red, with silver dragonflies. It would be a crime to deprive the community of Victor Nikiforov in that yukata.

“Didn’t you say there would be more festivals?” Victor frowns as he traces the practice sentence. “Besides, I’m learning causative verbs.”

 So it’s a stalemate. Again. They’re good at those.

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As You’re Told

Relationships: Castiel x Reader
Rating: Smut
Warnings: Dom/sub, bdsm

~2600 words

Summary: You start dating Castiel, a famous physicist, when you get hired at the same university as him. A few months into the relationship, you explore dom/sub dynamics within your sex lives.

Read it on ao3

Chapter ONE

You’ve been reading the same three lines for at least three minutes when your phone chimes. You read the short paragraph one more time, hoping the words will magically hold meaning, then give in and reach for your phone.

Come over

You sigh. If only.

Can’t. Still got a stack of papers to grade.

That’s what tomorrow’s for.

You’re a bad influence

You’re a bad habit

And then, before you get a chance to reply: Come over. I wanna sex you up. Also, I made cannoli.

You sigh again, switching between glaring at the pile of assignments in front of you and looking wistfully at your phone. You keep it up long enough that the screen darkens. When it lights up again it’s to reveal a picture of Castiel and the words Prof. Novak (Black Hole Thermodynamics). You roll your eyes at the ringtone that accompanies it. Don’t Stand So Close To Me by The Police.

Cas thought he was funny when he replaced the default tune on your third date. That was months ago and you still threaten to change it back but never do. You should also probably change his name in your phone to something a little more familiar, too. You aren’t likely to forget which class he teaches anymore anyway.

“Hey,” You say.

“Hey. How long ‘til you get here?” You hear a smacking sound and you know he’s licking his fingers clean, probably of powdered sugar.

You grunt. You want to lick his fingers clean of, possibly, powdered sugar. “You make a compelling pitch. You sure your true calling isn’t sales?”

He laughs at that. He always laughs at your dumb jokes. “It’s just because I know my target clientele.”

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Japan Trip 2017 log

I’m back from my Tokyo (and Yokohama) trip AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

This is the first time I managed to go with friends and plan my own trip! Since all the times I’ve been to Japan I’ve only visited the countryside and not Tokyo, I was really excited. It’s like a dream come true!! I wanted to log in my incredible experience somewhere, and leave this as a gesture of gratitude to everyone who helped make this trip possible. To those curious, beware my spastic commentary and plush toys photobombing every now and then

I travelled with @selinawen and @b-sim was very very kind to let us bunk in with her during her stay. We’re very thankful uwu

 Spoilers More under cut (Warning: It’s long)

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Summer explodes.  The heat, the sun.  The green on the trees.  And in its aftermath, things slow down some.   After winter’s cold, dark hand bosses everyone down the streets, people want to stop and take in the warmth.  It’s no longer necessary to hurry or scuttle through the wind and snow, coats tugged tight against faces - now there are long, luxurious strides, more skin bared with the passage of every June day.

And with it, comes the inevitable douchebags.  Showing up and showing off, right down Main Street, chests proud and arms swinging, lats spread beneath the thin white strings of tank tops.  Basketball shorts.   Somehow brand new looking sneakers, no matter the day, or maybe slide sandals.  They do it to be seen, to be watched.

On the outside, Ethan watches, sees.  He is scornful, in passing conversation.  Sometimes laughs at a meme he sees online, scrolling through Facebook, with a close approximation of that type.  Let’s be honest, he thinks.  It’s the jock stereotype.  The dumbass, muscle-obsessed, sports-ardent jock.  And the jocks are on parade.  Behind the wheel of shiny, glinting cars with music hammering the air.  In uniforms, sometimes, black eye-paint streaked and pants muddy, cleats half-unlaced.  Their fresh, aquatic colognes painting the air with invisible, heavy brushstrokes. 

And yet, for all his disdain, Ethan watches them.  He didn’t always.  And in the winter, it almost feels like he gets a bit of a reprieve - but still, his eyes travel, involuntarily, towards them, whenever he sees a Jock.  At work, stocking shelves, he sees a Jock go by, and there goes his attention.  He sees the baseball cap - Red Sox! - fitted, dark gray, bright red B, flat-brim, over short, dark hair and dark eyes that sort of suck light into them.  Red tank-top, showing off smooth, taut biceps and deltoids rounding slowly higher, still works in progress, but growing.  Basketball shorts - gray with a bright Nike swoosh like a blinding white grin down the thigh.  His calves lead down in tight diamonds to his Nike Roshes, also flame-red, the outsoles nearly sparkling, clearly well-maintained

Ethan’s face matches the Jock’s sneakers as he rips his gaze away from the bro.  Fuck, he thinks to himself.  It happened again.  How long this time?  He shakes his head back and forth to clear it of cobwebs and sets back to the task at hand.  

But still, he thinks to himself, how fucking cool would it be to have a body like that?  Being a Jock aside - he’d never dress like that, no way - just being fit, being in shape.  Being in tune with the body, being agile, being corded with muscle.  It makes a sort of practical sense, really.  He wonders why he doesn’t go to the gym, actually. 

(The Jock bro is crossing the parking lot, his shadow thrown back behind him like a long, thick sword.  A brief smile dusts the corner of his mouth, and then he reaches up to curl the earbuds into his ears.  Music swells up, the same thud and shout that accompanied his lifts not 30 minutes earlier.  He stops at the edge of the parking lot, hikes himself up onto the top of the picnic table, head bowed, knees spread, nodding to the music.  The Jock bro checks his G-Force watch, chunky and black against his tanned forearm.)

The Jock was wearing a lot of cologne, Ethan notes idly to himself.  He doesn’t hate it.  It doesn’t smell expensive, but it doesn’t smell cheap, either.  The only words that come to Ethan’s mind are swimming pool, locker room, weight room, high school, mall.  A splash of color and sound.  The cologne is fresh, sharp, clean.  That’s it, he thinks.  It smells clean.  Transparent, almost, like fresh glass.  Like … like a mirror.

Ethan blinks and looks around.  He’s in the bathroom.  Must’ve wandered in here, he thinks to himself.  And there in front of him is the mirror over the sink.  “Gonna have to get these blackouts checked,” he says to himself, murmuring, chuckling.  Ethan blinks at himself.  Not scrawny.  Wiry.  Dark hair, a little curly, a little fluffy.  Time for a cut.  Long legs, long arms.  Squat torso.  Size 10 sneaker, currently a battered, low-top Chuck Taylor, the laces variegated with years.  Black-rim glasses and a well-maintained goatee. 

He flexes, then, pulls a double bi, right there in front of the mirror.  He holds it.  He puffs his chest out, he sucks his stomach in.  He tenses all of his muscles in the vain, pathetic attempt to somehow envision his biceps inflating, suddenly popping out like found baseballs - or softballs, even! - seeing the veins fill and surge and rise out of his skin like fleshy worms …

The disappointment is nearly intoxicating, along with the rush of vertigo that hits directly after Ethan relaxes the flex.  No, he isn’t fit, muscled.  He’s got some wire under the skin, but so little mass. 

Need to eat more, Ethan muses, the smallest trickle of a stream of consciousness beginning to flow beneath his thoughts.  Protein would help the muscles grow.  But because those thoughts are so foreign - they almost don’t seem to belong to him - his brain rejects them as important on a surface level.

Ethan shakes his head.  Work, that’s what he was doing.  And life outside of work, well, that’s going okay, isn’t it?  Nothing too crazy.  School, with its accompanying homework, all the flipping of textbook pages and the quick pace of keyboard fingering, face lit by the screen, crafting essays.  Of course, sometimes it isn’t as quick a pace.  Sometimes, it’s an argument with speed.  He struggles.  Everyone struggles from time to time.  Just need more coffee.  And he always has coffee after a good, hard workout.  And that’s why he’s tired, of course.  Balancing school and work and his workout routine is exhausting, sometimes.

Ethan feels himself slump a little as he turns to exit the bathroom, feeling a dull ache in his shoulderblades, in his neck.  He reaches up to rub at them, digging in with his fingers, and issues an involuntary moan, a deep, throaty sound that verges on indecent.

(The sun is setting.  The Jock bro cracks his neck from side to side, feeling the pull in his lats, his traps.  He tilts his head to look up at the rapidly darkening sky.  The first hot breath of night-wind skirls across his face.  He tilts to one side, digs in the pocket of his shorts, and pulls out his phone.  His fingers tap over the number pad, and he lifts it to his face, skin bathed in the eldritch, electronic blue)

“Fffffuuuuuck,” Ethan judders out, his upper teeth clenching against the lower, his lips pressed tightly together in order to stifle the noise he makes as he bucks back & forth in the bathroom stall.  One hand has flung out against the tiles to keep himself steady as the other one jerks himself off, pumping wildly as his seven-inch cock, engorged in his hand, becomes like steel.  Ropes of saliva spray from his mouth, his head flung back in the crescendo of the orgasm.  It doesn’t once occur to him that he is fucking jerking off in the bathroom at work.

Ethan’s phone rings.  At least, he thinks its his phone.  Who else would have Turn Down For What as a fuckin ringtone?  Well, him and Justin.  Shit. 

“Yo.”  His voice sounds so far away as he picks up the phone.

“Bro!  What the fuck, you get lost?”

“Uhhhh …”

(The Jock bro is laughing silently, knee-slapping.  He fuckin loves the first Uhhh.)

“Well, hurry the fuck up.  I’m waitin out in the parking lot.  Pick me up some eggs, wouldja?  I forgot em.  Oh, and chocolate milk.”

“Uhhhh … okay.”

Ethan takes the phone off the side of his face and adjusts his backwards-facing hat.  The bathroom is filled with the smell of his cologne, which - even though he’s been told that one spray is enough - he has sprayed on at least five times this morning before leaving the house, and another before work started.  Now, of course, it mixes liberally with the strong, earthy musk of his cum, which has splattered all over the toilet and the floor.  Ethan stares at it, confused, and then remembers, and a horking, jerking laugh spills up out of his throat and into the air.  He turns on an immaculate, white and gray, Nike AirMax Wright, and leaves the bathroom without either cleaning up or washing his hands. 

The night air is cool around Ethan’s bare arms.  Still too skinny, he thinks to himself.  The trickle of his stream of consciousness has suddenly become a whitewater rapid.  A constant rising static, flooding out his other thoughts.  Need more mass


It carries from across the parking lot.  The dark has fully descended now, like an eyelid shutting on the world.  Ethan feels his Nike Elite basketball shorts swishing around his knees.  “Yo!”  He cries back, and the sound carries a lot further than he thought it would, surprising even him - but only for a moment.

“Ready, bro?” 

“Fuckin course I’m ready.” 

“Gonna fuckin hit it tonight.”

The world is breaking up into kaleidoscopic colors.  Ethan rubs at his eyes, lifting his Ray-Bans to do it.  Something feels wrong.  Like two super-imposed images have become suddenly unmounted, and he is looking looking through through a haze of exhaust smoke.  “Uh, hang on …” 

Deep down, in the dark miasma of his brain, sullen red Klaxons have surged to life, and the alarm is cranked up to full volume.  The clothes on his frame feel suddenly alien, the hat feels too large, the sneakers, too big.  He feels like a kid, playing dress-up in an older brother’s clothes.  His heart rate surges, and his eyes dart from shadow to shadow.

“Sup, bro?”  The Jock bro is looking back at him, vacant eyes slightly curious, mostly bored. 

“I’m not your … bro.  Bro.”

The Jock bro moves closer.  Ethan would, instinctively, move back, but he doesn’t, not quite, he doesn’t think he does, anyway.  The Jock bro is standing so close now, so close that he can smell the entirely unnecessary aftershave under the cologne, so close that he can smell the residue of iron on his fingers, the rasp of slightly fruity pre-workout on his breath.  His hand comes up, grasps Ethan’s bicep.  His eyes fix, anchoring on something far down inside. 


The anchor is being reeled back in, up through Ethan’s body.  He feels giddy, dizzy.  It is not an entirely unpleasant sensation, Ethan would reflect later - if he were able to reflect, later, beyond flexing in the mirror … and well, let’s be honest, every reflective surface …

“Come on, bro.  Let’s go.”

An invisible cloud grows around Ethan as he nods, just once, and then grins, slightly vacantly. “Hey bro.” 

“Yeah bro?”

Ethan flexes, as hard as possible, his muscles standing out in relief against his short, broad frame.  The night flees from their laughter as they throw arms around each other’s shoulders and head towards the gym.  And behind them, trailing a sweet, fresh, clean scent; mildly intoxicating, definitely distracting.

Three Shiros and A Keith (Part 2)

Note: Nearly broke this chapter up into separate parts, but I’m glad I decided to keep it together. I know normally the stuff they are talking about would be revealed later in the story, but really, when an alternate universe you shows up, you start comparing notes.

Constructive criticism and questions are always welcome.

<< First

The Champion is the first to scramble out. Keith follows, and as soon as his head clears the floor, he’s greeted by two separate metal hands. He can already see the dirty looks forming between Shiro and the Champion, so he cuts it off at the pass and grabs them both. It does not escape his notice, that his hand is the only one offered to help Takashi out.

Shiro hails the Castle to plan an extraction, while Keith sends calming stay put thoughts to Red. She’s wanted to come down since the first confrontation with Lotor’s men in the temple. Keith’s been having to constantly tell her no, every free moment he gets. Despite being the smallest of the lions, she’s still far too big to fit in the narrow over built streets of this city. Even landing would cause major structural damage to the densely packed buildings and possibly hundreds to thousands of deaths depending on the area. Besides, he’s not terribly fond of the idea of dying to a piece of falling debri from Red trying to rescue him when he doesn’t need it.

Takashi and Champion, with nothing better to do, are just kind of staring at each other. Their matching disturbed expressions while they size the other up, is honestly one of the funnier things he’s seen in a while. No wait, he takes that back, their synced raised eyebrows of confusion is way better. Keith waves them off and tries to get his smile under control. They probably wouldn’t appreciate the humor right now.

“Frick!” Shiro shouts. Keith spins around to see what’s wrong. Shiro points towards his ear, “Comms cut out, while we were talking. We’re being jammed.” Keith flips on his own comm, and tries to hail the Castle himself. Static.

“Can they track us through those?” Takashi asks. Looking between the two of them in worry.

“No.” Keith answers. There is a whole long technical explanation why, but he doesn’t really understand it in the first place and he’s busy. He flips through a couple more channels, no change in results.

“Are you certain?” Takashi hasn’t seemed to wrap his head around space technology working different than what they have back on Earth yet. He’s only had about an hour to adjust, but it’s still a little annoying. Keith gives up on his search. Everything is static. They aren’t getting through.

“Yes, we’re certain.” Shiro says, then directs himself to Keith, “I updated Allura on our situation. She’s going to contact the planetary government and try to talk them into letting us go.”

“In the meantime, I assume we’re going to try and get off planet.” Champion butts in. It’s not a bad idea. No offense to Allura’s negotiation skills, but they stole an item the local religion credits with keeping them safe from the Empire for thousands of years. He really doubts they are going to just let them go.

“In the meantime,” Shiro’s tone is too aggressive. His patience is far too thin for this early in the conversation. Keith’s never seen anyone short of Slav get under Shiro’s skin this fast just by being in the area, “We are going to sit tight and give her a chance to work. Any route to escape we take has a high chance of us having to fight our way out.”

“If every guard on this planet is the same quality as the ones we’ve seen so far, that shouldn’t be a problem.” Champion says confidently. He’s not wrong. Keith could fight his way out on his own if he had to, and he’d actually try not to kill anyone unnecessarily.

“The problem is we’re not going to risk anyones lives unless we absolutely have to. We’re going to stay here. If you don’t like that, you know where the door is. No one is forcing you to stay.” Shiro replies.

Champion and Shiro stare each other down for a moment. Shiro wins. Champion looks over to Keith instead, “How about it, you want to blow this popsicle stand with me?” He asks. They’ve just met. He may be a Shiro. That comes with privileges, but not enough that he’s abandoning his Shiro. Keith shakes his head, “Guess I’m staying then.”

That’s that. Apparently they get to stick together, and Keith doesn’t need to feel guilty about dragging someone into a universe only to abandon them.

Also, now none of them have anything to do…Boy is this awkward.

Takashi shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, then grimaces when that jostles his burn. Damn, he’d forgotten he was injured, “Do you want me to take a look at that? I’ve got some tweezers if anythings stuck in it.” That was a problem with burn wounds right? Damn, his first aid class had been the semester he and Shiro started dating. He’d memorized everything long enough to pass, and then completely forgot it in favor of things like how best to make the hot boy blush.

Takashi gives him a small amused smile, “Do you actually remember how to treat a burn?” Keith scowls at him and Takashi laughs. Calling him out was completely unnecessary, thank you very much.

“I’ll handle it.” Shiro says, walking forward and taking his younger self by the shoulder. At least, Keith thinks Takashi is the youngest, “Come on, there’s a bathroom a little ways down that might have running water.” He starts guiding him out the hall, “Keith you come too. I’m sure you’ve squirreled something away in those pouches of yours that might be handy.” Definite maybe, things did tend to accumulate in his belt pouches, but they never seemed to be the things he needed.

They all relocate, and thankfully the bathroom does have clean running water. He doesn’t ask why, he just accepts his good fortune.

Shiro works on caring for the wound, while Champion and Keith stare on. The only acknowledgment Shiro gives to the former is a quick snipe to stop standing in his blind spot.

“So,” Takashi breaks in when the silence finally gets too oppressive for him, “Is this some sort of bad future, or just generic time shenanigans?”

“What makes you think its bad?” Keith asks. Sure they’d done a bit of running from the law, but really nothing too terrible had happened around him yet.

“Well I mean…” Takashi looks down meaningfully at Shiro’s prosthetic. Shiro’s back muscles go tight, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing.

“I doubt it’s just time. I have no memory of this happening, and I doubt I’ll choose to downgrade back to flesh in the future.” Champion gestures towards Shiro’s left arm.

Shiro stops and glares up at him, “Are you done.” His voice is clipped. Champion scoffs, but doesn’t reply. Shiro looks back at Takashi. He is looking sheepish in the appropriate situation, “You’re from an alternate universe. We accidentally activated a device meant to gather information from multiple universes, and it apparently does so by bringing doubles like you here. We’ll send you home, as soon as we get back to the Castle and figure out how it works.”

“So this isn’t my future.” Takashi says in relief. Shiro starts wrapping the wound up. Turns out for once Keith did have something useful in his pouches. Who knows how old the gauze is, but it’s cleaner than someone’s shirt.

“Don’t know.” Shiro says, then adds, “Are you going to Kerberos?”

“In a couple months,” The look of pride that flashes across his face is painful to see. He remembers when Shiro looked like that. Dragging Keith out on his hover bike. Taking him on a spin through the desert just the two of them, then telling him under the stars that he’d been selected. Did Takashi do that for his Keith? Looking so happy that Keith almost forgot he was going to alone for nearly a year.

“Maybe, then. That’s where all this happened for me.” Shiro says quietly. He glances up at Champion, “Was it the same for you?” The Champion doesn’t meet his eyes, but nods stiffly. Looks like Takashi is the only one still capable of thinking of Kerberos as a good thing.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t go?” Takashi is looking between Shiro and Champion. Eyes flitting to the obvious bad things written on their skins.

“You might as well,” Champion says, “You stay behind and you’ll just die with everyone else at the Garrison, when the Empire glasses it.” Wait what?

“What are you talking about? When the Galra glass the Garrison?” Keith asks, in a mild panic. Do they need to be heading back to Earth with the lions?

“They conquered Earth, and bombed the Garrison from orbit shortly after I became a gladiator.” Champion’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at Keith. Confused by his confusion.

Keith lets out a sigh of relief, “That didn’t happen in our universe. It was over a year before Shiro came back, and the Garrison was still there when we left.” He explains.

“So go and lose an arm, or stay and risk dying? Wonderful options, you’re giving me,” Takashi cuts back in.

“Or you could just get the lions early, and skip the whole being a gladiator thing.” Shiro says. Keith likes that plan. He’s sure Takashi’s Keith would like that plan too.

“Lions?” Takashi asks, quirking his head to the side.

“They’re…” Keith starts, then stops. How do you describe flying around in magical space lions without sounding like an idiot, “I’ll show you when we get out of here. Easier than explaining.” They looked much more impressive in person, than they sounded in theory.

“Done,” Shiro announces, and with that, their one source of entertainment evaporates. The conversation dies an untimely death as they move out of the cramped bathroom…

“Anyone got any cards?”

Next >

a tiny infinity

So here’s my first WWE fanfic, be honest guys! Wanna know what you guys think! There’s no names or major details so picture who you will, but personally I pictured Roman Reigns, choice is yours guys!

tagging some writers because I love their work and I think they’re awesome

@llowkeys @wwe-smutfics @sjwriteswrestling @lavitabella87 @wwereaderinserts @concussed-to-pieces @imagines–assemble and I may have forgotten a few!

No warnings except for one swear word, just extreme fluffiness

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'Batman Returns' at 25: Stars Reveal Script Cuts, Freezing Sets and Aggressive Penguins

Twenty-five years ago, Batman returned.

Director Tim Burton and star Michael Keaton upped the ante with the followup to 1989’s Batman, the smash hit that single handedly made the Dark Knight cool for a new generation and jump-started the superhero movie genre that had stalled years earlier with a disastrous string of Superman sequels

Batman Returns, released June 19, 1992, featured less kid friendly characters than its predecessor. Gone was Jack Nicholson’s The Joker, and in his place were the grotesque Penguin (Danny DeVito) and a sexy Catwoman (Michelle Pfeiffer), whose costume bore a striking resemblance to something that could be purchased at a BDSM shop.

These bold characters helped make the movie a classic, but also alienated corporations such as McDonald’s who had a newfound interest in the movie franchise business via promotional tie-ins - and complained loudly about the film’s darker tone.

Here, the film’s key players - Burton, Keaton, Pfeiffer, DeVito, Christopher Walken, composer Danny Elfman and screenwriter Daniel Waters -   look back on the insane sets (complete with temperamental penguins), script changes (Batman shouldn’t talk so much) and a costume so hard to fit into that it was vacuum sealed.

Michelle Pfeiffer was crushed when another star was cast as Catwoman.

Pfeiffer may be the definitive big-screen Catwoman, but it was a role she almost missed out on.

“As a young girl, I was completely obsessed with Catwoman. When I heard that Tim was making the film and Catwoman had already been cast, I was devastated,” says Pfeiffer. “At the time, it was Annette Bening. Then she became pregnant. The rest is history. I remember telling Tim halfway through the script that I’d do the film, that’s how excited I was.”

Determined to make the most out of her time as Catwoman, Pfeiffer threw herself into mastering the whip and kickboxing.

“I trained for months with the whipmaster. On our first day together, I caught his face with the whip and it drew blood. It completely shattered me,” she says.

Pfeiffer would go to perform all of her own stunts with the whip, but found performing on set was infinitely more challenging than at practice.

“I was very nervous on my first day of shooting. I’d gotten pretty good with the whip, but when you show up … you don’t anticipate all the lights everywhere,” she says. “They were set up in places that prevented me from hitting my marks with the whip. So we had to rework the lighting again and again.”


Michael Keaton cut more than half of his Batman lines from the script. 

Screenwriter Daniel Waters envisioned a chattier Batman. Keaton had other ideas.

“My version of the script had more a lot more Batman and Bruce Wayne speeches. Michael Keaton would go through the script and say, ‘Hey, that’s a great line, but you gotta cut it. This is a good speech, but you gotta take it out.’ He wanted to have very minimal dialogue, especially in the Batsuit. When I saw the final film, I realized he was exactly right.”

For Keaton, he preferred to let the suit do of the talking.

“Once I realized how powerful the suit was in terms of an image on screen, I just used it,” says Keaton.

Keaton’s Batsuit wasn’t without its faults. His trademark full body turns were born out of necessity, mainly the fact that he couldn’t turn his head.

“It was a practical move early on to move in a certain way because they hadn’t refined the suit and it wouldn’t function properly, ” says Keaton. “I got around that by making bigger, bolder, and stronger moves from the torso up, and it worked.”

Batman Returns was a victim of franchise-mania.

When Burton made his first Batman movie, he wasn’t thinking about corporate synergy or selling toys. That all changed with Returns.

“At the time with the first Batman, you’d never heard the word franchise. On the second one, you started to hear that word,” says Burton. “On the second one, we started to get comments from McDonald’s like, 'What’s all that black stuff coming out of the Penguin’s mouth?’ So, people were just starting to think of these films in terms of marketing. That’s the new world order.”

Speaking of that black Penguin saliva, McDonald’s had DeVito to thank for that.

“The black saliva was a concoction that I came up with after working with the makeup and the special effects people. Basically, it’s kind of like mild mouthwash with food coloring in it. We had it in a jar with a nozzle on it. Before every scene, I’d squirt it into my mouth,” says DeVito. “Luckily the taste wasn’t that bad.”

“It was the most uncomfortable costume I’ve ever been in. They had to powder me down, help me inside, and then vacuum-pack the suit,” says Pfeiffer. “They’d paint it with a silicon-based finish to give it its trademark shine. I had those claws, and I was always catching them in things. The face mask was smashing my face and choking me … we had a lot of bugs to work out.”

One of those bugs? 

“Originally, they didn’t leave me a way to use the restroom in the suit, so that also had to be remedied as well,” says Pfeiffer.

DeVito didn’t have it much better as he transformed into the Penguin.

“It was four-and-a-half hours of makeup and getting into the costume. We got it down to three hours by the end of the shoot,” says DeVito. “I had pounds and pounds of face prosthetics and body padding, and the prosthetic hands which were hard to use. I kept them on about half the time.”


The real-life penguins had their own dressing rooms.

Working with penguins is harder than it looked, and required those sets be kept much too cold for human comfort.

“I’m the kind of guy that loves being on set, but it was cold as shit because we had real penguins and they had to keep the water really cold. They had these massive air conditioners,” says DeVito. “I was the only one really comfortable, because I had pounds and pounds of face prosthetics and the body padding, not to mention the heavy coat.”

But animal lovers need not worry for the well-being of DeVito’s adorable co-stars.

“They had their own area on the studio lot with a swimming pool and refrigerated dressing rooms. They were very well taken care of,” recalls Walken, who played sinister industrialist Max Shreck.

And like human actors, some penguins were more approachable than others.

“There were three different kinds of Penguins. There were the big ones, the Emperors. They were very docile and sweet. They would walk up to you and you could pet them like a cat. Then there was a middle size who were a little more active. The smallest ones were very busy and aggressive, they’d give you a peck,” Walken says.

DeVito was so committed to the role that he didn’t break character on set.

“Once he was in that costume, he was the Penguin. He was always in character, using the menacing voice. I saw Danny after the movie, never during production,” says Walken.

For DeVito, the Penguin role is something he carries with him today - quite literally.

“When I met with Tim, he gave me a painting of this little creature on a yellow ball with red and white stripes,” says the star. “The caption is 'My name is Jimmy, but my friends call me the hideous penguin boy.’ I’m staring at it right now. I carry it around with me wherever I go.”


There was nothing fake about that memorable bird-in-mouth scene.

Viewers still speculate that movie magic aided in Catwoman holding a live bird in her mouth. Was the bird sedated? Was it CGI? Nope.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so impressed. She had a live bird in her mouth while the camera was rolling,” says Burton. “It was four or five seconds, and then she let it fly out. It was before CG, it was before digital. It was so quick, it seems like it was an effect.”

Pfeiffer says she didn’t stop to ponder potential danger.

“I look back and say, 'What was I thinking? I could’ve gotten a disease or something from having a live bird in my mouth,’” says Pfeiffer. “It seemed fine at the time. I don’t think the bird was drugged or anything. We did that scene in one take. I think Tim likes to torture me a bit, it’s like a little brother [or] brat kind of thing.”

Burton says part of what made her performance great was the unexpected physicality to it.

“Michelle is a great actress, but she also does these funny physical things. Almost fluttering her eyes in the scene where she comes back to life. Her eyes look like a special effects, but that was all done by her,” says Burton.

Another larger than life aspect of Catwoman - her nine lives - is something the one of the film’s screenwriter says he never intended.

“To me, the whole nine lives thing was just a piece of dialogue and vague artistic license. It was never something I considered literally. In my script, and even in the movie, Selina Kyle dies at the end. She’s completely dead after the electric kiss with Walken,” says Waters. “The final shot of her head coming into foreground, that was literally done two weeks before the movie came out. Test screenings showed that people responded positively to the Catwoman character, so the studio wanted a more concrete glimpse that she was still alive.”

A controversial Batman kill wasn’t in the screenplay, according to Waters.

“My friends always asked, 'How can you have Batman kill somebody?’ To me, Batman not killing Heath Ledger at the end of The Dark Knight after proving he can get out of any prison, it’s like 'Come on. Kill Heath Ledger,’ ” says Waters.

But he’s not thrilled with how Batman Returns’ Batman handled capital justice.

“Batman killing the clown by throwing his bomb back at him, that wasn’t in my draft. I know how uptight people are about Batman killing people in the first place,” he says. “To me, if he’s going to kill somebody, it better be worth it. It should mean something. So, when he’s killing people in a devil-may-care way, it’s a little grating.”

Burton recalls the violence this way: “At the time, it felt like we were exploring new territory and it’s probably quite tame compared to now.”

He doesn’t recall the studio pushing back.

“I think that everybody was on board with the fact that these were going to be a different type of superhero movie. Because it felt new at the time, they really didn’t know what to say about it,” says Burton.


That memorable Danny Elfman score almost never happened.

After being hired for 1989’s Batman, Elfman was horrified to learn the producers wanted a pop-heavy score that’d feature the music of the likes of Prince, Michael Jackson, and George Michael. He promptly quit.

“I didn’t wanna end up being just an orchestrator for someone else’s tunes, which is what would’ve happened if I went along with that,” says Elfman. “That process didn’t appeal to me very much. There are plenty of people more qualified to orchestrate for a pop artist than me.”

But as fate would have it, he got the call to return to London just a few weeks later.

After an inspiring set visit, Elfman wrote the majority of the score on his flight back. He was desperate to record it all before the flight crew’s landing music erased the score from his brain.

“I was hearing the whole theme in my head, the A section, B section, French horns, first strings, second strings … I was really breaking it all down on this incredibly loud 747. Since I was sitting next to somebody, I didn’t want to yell into my tape recorder. So, I kept running into the restroom, which was even noisier. I guess the bathrooms were close to the engines or something,” he says. “It was getting weirder and weirder, because I kept going back every 10 minutes with new ideas. Every time I came out, there were more and more concerned flight attendants asking me if everything was OK. This was 'pre-heavy terrorism,’ otherwise I’m sure I would’ve end up in some type of handcuffs or restraints. Everyone was like, 'What the f - k is this guy doing every 10 minutes?!’

For Batman Returns, he used much of his same work, building on those themes, and he has fond memories of his work with the Penguin.

"There was this great sequence of the basket flowing down the river and into the sewers. That was very close to my heart,” says Elfman. “The abandoned baby. The Penguin’s death at the end. As silly as it is, I loved that. The Penguins carry his body into the water, I’m a huge sucker for that kind of sentimentality.”

Burton’s Batman team was as efficient as a NASCAR pit crew.

“When we first met, Tim showed me a photograph of Vincent Price in an older film,” says Walken of creating his character. “Tim was fascinated with his costume and his hair, he wanted Max to have that kind of look.”

Walken also remembers how quickly ideas became reality when working with Burton.

“I remember in my office, I had a scene with Michael Keaton and there was a reference to the power plant I was building. I said in rehearsal one day, 'You know, it would be interesting to have some sort of blueprint or mockup of what this power plant would look like,’ ” says Walken. “Within an hour, there was a model of this power plant next to my desk. I remember saying to Tim one day maybe Max should have a certain kind of cufflinks, and in an hour they had those cufflinks. The people who built things on that movie were just remarkable.”

That attention to detail went all the way down to the side characters in the film.

“I can’t say enough for the cast, even the smaller players like Pat Hingle who played Commissioner Gordon. Michael Gough, my Alfred, I really miss him, ” says Keaton, who had a special bond with the British actor, who played Alfred for nearly 10 years through 1997’s Batman & Robin.

Barry King/WireImage/Getty Images

Burton says the studio pushed him out of the franchise.

Batman Returns was an undeniable hit, earning $266 million worldwide, but it fell short of the original by more than $145 million and led to Warner Bros. to push for a much more toy-friendly direction for the franchise. Director Joel Schumacher entered the franchise, with bosses at Warner Bros. telling him the studio had received thousands of letters from parents complaining the movie had scared their children. The new director put his own toyetic stamp on Batman Forever (1995) and Batman & Robin (1997), changing the course of the Caped Crusader’s big-screen destiny.

“I don’t know if any ideas made it in,” says Burton of subsequent the subsequent film. “I realized halfway through my meeting with Warner Bros. that they didn’t really want me to do the movie. They kept saying, 'Don’t you wanna go back and do a movie like Edward Scissorhands? Something smaller?’ I said, 'You don’t want me to do the movie, do you?’

Keaton exited the franchise soon after, unimpressed with the script for the followup. This version of Batman was done, but it remains a bright light in the history of the Dark Knight.


TFW Preference - Hand to Hand Training


Originally posted by yaelstiel

“Sam, I thought you said we had to take this training seriously,” You laughed as Sam did a couple moves, striking in the air and swinging a few quick punches. He exaggerated his huffs and smiled at you when he returned to his resting stance. You both had just finished warming up by jogging and lifting a few weights. The slow burn in your muscles felt good, satisfying like progress and work was being done.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t hurt to make training fun,” he said, brushing his already sweaty hair back out of his face. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you answered, moving to stand in front of him in the bunker’s old boxing mat.

“Good girl,” He smiles, his hands forming back into fists as he took a defensive stance. You quickly mirrored his actions with a smirk of your own.  “You remember everything I showed you before? The purpose of this?”

“Yes,” you reply. It was to be prepared to fight and take down enemies twice your size, twice your weight, monsters just way bigger than you in general. Who better to train with than Sam friggin’ Winchester? You can already handle yourself enough, but it’s not like monster’s are picky with whom they throw down with and send the smallest of their pack. This training session would have been very convenient a couple hunts back with that wrestler-sized vampire that threw you around a like a ragdoll.  

Sam would swing first and you would dodge to the side, using both yours and his weight to take him down and land on his back. He’d fall with a grunt, tell you how good a job you’d done, and in a second he’d be back on his feet for you to take him down again. You know in the next training it’ll be about you being able to take the fall.

“Tired?” Sam asked, his chest huffing and he smiles at your flushed face.

“I can do this all day,” you answered a little out of breath and brushing back your sweaty hair away from your face. You shot him a quick wink as you returned to the defensive stance.

“That’s my girl. Let’s do it again then.”


Originally posted by deangifsdaily

“Oh my god! Sorry Dean!” you yelped and grabbed him by his shoulders so he could turn to you. He swiped his hand over his lip and you caught a sly smile form on his face.

“Nice right hook, sweetheart,” he commented, his tongue peeking over his red bottom lip. “Fight like that on the field and you’ll be just fine.”

“I didn’t mean to actually hurt you though!” you frowned and felt a little guilty. You didn’t even notice the sting on your knuckles as soon as your fist connected with his jaw when you threw that punch, too worried about Dean even though he’s one of the strongest men you know. Dean was helping you train with your basic hand-to-hand, guiding you with your posture and giving you a few pointers. Obviously, you picked up his tricks pretty well.

“Don’t tell Sam about this. I wouldn’t hear the end of it like that time I got my ass beat by Paris Hilton,” he muttered and shook his head, quickly wiping the blood on a towel before he returned to a fighting stance in front of you. “Now take a swing at me again, but this time I’m going to put you in an arm hold and show you how to get out of it, okay?”

“Okay,” You nodded and did the same, picking up your fists protectively in front of your face and just about ready to practice again. You take a swing, and in seconds Dean has you in an arm hold with his chest pressed to your back. Your entire upper body is immobile. He’s not pressing hard with his forearm on your throat, but it’s just enough to feel real.

“Think about what you should do~ ah!” You had slammed Dean onto his back, and the look of surprise on his face was worth it. “Wait a minute, you got whaled on by Paris Hilton?” you teased and laughed, wondering about the story behind that case. 

“U-ugh, you trained with Sam, didn’t you? And it was a friggin’ god, okay?! Now put your hands up again before I kick your ass for real in record time,” he commanded as he got up, a bit pouty. If he thought you were going to let that detail slide, he was so wrong. You were going to ask Sam about this.


Originally posted by sunlitcas

“Woah, okay, you mean business,” you say and take a step back from Cas. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be intimidating,” Cas replies with a soft smile on his face and you relax.

“So what? You’re the big boss at the end of the game? ‘Cause that’s what this feels like,” you laugh and cross your arms over your chest.

He tilts his head to the side and his brows furrow. “I don’t understand. I’m not a big boss. What game?”

“No, Cas. It’s a–,” you sigh and shake your head. He may be centuries older than you, but you’re more knowledgeable and closely interactive with human cultures than he is. In other ways, you’re the one who ends up teaching him instead of the other way around. “Nevermind. Want to tell me why you blasted me to the middle of nowhere?”

“We’re here to train, (Y/N),” he says, his expression turning serious. “There’s going to be a war in heaven soon and I figure it’s time to give you one of these.” Cas shifts his arm and an angel blade slides into his palm. He holds it carefully as he passes it to you handle-first. “Our brothers gave me my own blade when they believed I was ready, and I am doing the same for you.”

“But I wasn’t created to fight,” you say, turning the blade tentatively in your palm. What did he mean when he said there would be a war?

“I am aware, but this is necessary. May I?” Cas reached up to touch your forehead and you nodded. With a single touch, he passed his combative skills into your mind, kind of like copying and sending. “Sadly, there will be times where you’ll have to defend yourself against a sibling, a rebellion. But as my responsibility and my little sister, I will not leave you to be defenseless.”

Cas tested your limits by making you train by fighting him, taught you tricks hand-to-hand, what to do and how to get out of certain situations, and soon you became his best loyal recruit always by his side, even when he raised a man from perdition.

A/N: For @jodyri. Read the other preferences I’ve written here!
The Little Things
By Organization for Transformative Works

It wasn’t enough that their work took longer than usual, or that they got flak for it from Snarlof, whose financial discovery paperwork apparently didn’t have any flex built into its timetable. No, they had to leave headquarters so late that nearly all the restaurants were closed, too.

Now Nick was sitting in Judy’s apartment, eating canned soup over rice instead of the the pizza they’d planned. There was nothing wrong with canned soup over rice. There was nothing whatsoever wrong with her company. But he still felt robbed of something.

Judy was leaning against him, with her little spoon upside-down in her mouth. He dropped an arm around her waist and snugged her closer.

“What?” she mumbled around the utensil.

“Just taking what I can get,” Nick said.

“That’s the spirit.” She looked up at him and increased their contact. “You want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing useful,” Nick said. “Just venting.”

“Venting is too useful.” She stabbed her spoon back in her bowl. “I bet I can guess what it is, too.”

Keep reading


Crappy Roommates AU

… … .

“I thought we were all gonna see ‘Masterpiece Defaced’,” Ava looked back at each unhappy face as they stood in line.

Movie night, every other Wednesday night, was a tradition the four roommates just sort of fell into.  It was a night close to payday, and each still had some leftover money from buying common household necessities, thus allowing each to contribute. One would pay bus fare, two would buy food and drinks, and the last would purchase the movie tickets. Whoever paid for the tickets was the one who chose the movie, thus leaving no room for complaints.

It was Ava’s turn to buy tickets, and everyone was complaining.

Keep reading

Ashton Irwin Imagine - Do You Remember?

Synopsis: You and Ashton rekindle your first time meeting each other

Pairing: Ashton Irwin/Reader

Requested: No

Word Count: 1,342


The setting sun illuminated the sky with dashes of red and yellow as the few remaining rays of sunlight danced on the water. It was a picture perfect moment. We weren’t talking, the only sound for miles was the lapping of the waves against the shore, and it was perfect. The silence was nice; after months of screaming fans and loud venues, any moment of silence was appreciated. We didn’t need to speak to enjoy each other’s company. We don’t need to do things to have fun, being with each other is all that matters.

“Do you remember the day we met?” Ashton asks, breaking the silence.

“How could I forget, it was a day to remember.” You teased.

“They say first impressions are what people remember most.”

“If that’s the case then I should hate you.”

“What? Why would you possibly hate me?” He says.

“Ashton, you hit me in the head several times, and spilled foreign substances on me.”

“Oh yeah,” He grins, running his hand through his sandy hair, “Whoops.”

The hot sand burned my feet, making me regret the decision of leaving my shoes in the car. My burning toes practically screamed for the beautiful, cool water in front of me. I pick up my pace. The waves gently lapped onto the shore, cooling my sand burnt feet. I buried my feet into the damp sand, enjoying the feeling. I loved the beach; the sand, water, sun, it was a sign of summer and I loved it.

My parents decided to take a spontaneous trip to Sydney, so here we are, underneath the fiery wrath of the Aussie sun. “Y/n, come help us set up!” My mother screeched.

I shake the sand off of my lower half and stand up, heading over to my parents. That is when I saw him, a beautiful blondish boy. He had a beautiful smile with dimples the size of craters on the moon, his smile was contagious. I could feel my lips twitching just by looking at him all smiley and giggly, his smile was that lovely. He got me in a daze, thus I didn’t notice the flying volleyball heading towards my head until well, it collided with my face. 

“I’m sorry!” the culprit says, jogging up to get the ball. You shake them off, letting them know its okay. The culprit walks back to dimple boy and his group of friends, great.

Not only are your parents staring at you, but cute dimple boy as well. Way to make a first impression Y/N. Now he’s going to think you were some klutz, which you are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Are you okay, honey?” Your mother asks, reaching out towards you.

“I’m fine, mom.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t you put an ice pack on, just in case.”

“I promise you that I’m fine.”

After reassuring your mother that you didn’t have a concussion, you were allowed to go back into the water. You waded into the deep blue, staring at the sky as you floated. It was nice and peaceful, until someone decided to shower you with water. “What the hell?" 

You look up to see who the fuck just splashed you with water only to make eye contact with dimple boy, who was standing in front you, looking rather embarrassed. "I’m so sorry, miss. My friends thought it would be fun to push me and I’m not exactly the smallest person so ya know, I splashed.”

“Did they also think it would be fun to throw a ball at me?”

“No, that was by accident.”


“Yes, anyways, I’m Ashton.”



“Okay, so I may have hit you with a ball and splashed you with a little water, I still don’t see what the big deal is!” Ashton says, in an attempt to defend himself.

“Well that’s not all that happened.” You state.

“Fine, continue." 

The hotel elevator was packed, making it rather difficult to exit the small elevator, or as I liked to call it, the small deathtrap. I managed to push through the people, making it out of the doors just in time. Being the klutz that I am, I stumbled a bit. I crash right into someone, sending us both to the floor.

"I’m so sorry!” I say, immediately extending a hand to the stranger after getting myself up.

“Ashton?” I ask, noticing the same boy from the beach lying on the floor.

“I see we meet again.” He chuckles, taking my hand.

“Is it a rule that whenever we do run into each other we literally have to run into each other?” I raise my eyebrow at the boy.

“Looks like it. I was actually hoping to run into you.”

“Were you now?”

“Yes, I was. I was wondering if you wanted to go get ice cream or something.” He glances down at the floor, not making eye contact.


“No Y/N, separately.” He mocks, sarcasm dripping off of each word.

“Someone’s sassy. Is the heat finally getting to you?”

“Haha, very funny. I’m taking that as a yes.” He replies, linking his arm with yours.

“What if I was going to say no?”

“You weren’t, now let’s go." 


"To be fair, you crashed into me!” Ashton yells.

“You were just standing outside the elevator, who does that?”

“People who want to get on the elevator.”

“No one stands like 30 cm away from the doors.” I say, folding my arms across my bikini clad chest.

“I still say it was your fault.”

The summer was passing by rather quickly and even though Ashton and I seemed to injure each other rather often, we spent most days together. I even met his idiot friends; let’s just say that they make Ashton look sane.

We were sitting down at a small cafe, listening Ashton tell one of his many tales about his foolish band mates. Ashton makes a lot of hand gestures, so when his hand goes dangerously close to his coffee cup, the white cup tips over to the side, sending the scolding hot coffee down the table, straight onto my lap. The shock of the hot liquid sends me 20 ft. into the air.

“I’m so sorry!” Ashton screeches, passing me napkin after napkin.

“It seems we say sorry a lot, don’t we?” I giggle, trying to lighten the mood.

“Well, we’re both pretty clumsy so it makes sense.” He says, cleaning up the mess he made on the table.


“Big deal, it’s just coffee!”

“It was boiling hot! Not to mention you ruined a pair of my favourite shorts.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Just admit it Ash, if I didn’t fall so madly in love with you, I would probably hate you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” He pouts.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m going to miss you,” Ashton says, resting his chin on top of my head. “Why do you have to leave?”

“I don’t have too.” You mumble.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m done school, I don’t have a job and I live with my parents. Just say the word and I’ll stay.”

“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?”


“What do you think would have happened if I didn’t ask you to be my girlfriend?”

“I would be somewhere in the U.S and this conversation wouldn’t be happening.”

“I’m glad I asked you when I did.”

“Same man.”

“Really Y/N? Same man?I’m trying to be all sweet and romantic and you go ahead and ruin it.”

“You’re the one who signed up for this.”

“Now who’s the impossible one?”

“Still you.” I reply, leading Ashton to lightly smack my shoulder.

“Can I continue?” Ashton asks and I nod.

“I’m glad I asked you because this moment, this right here, is absolutely perfect and I couldn’t ask for anyone better to spend it with. I love you.”

“After all the pain you inflicted upon me when we first met, I shouldn’t love you, but I do.” I tease, poking my tongue out at him.

“Let it go.”

Drunk Texting (Part 1)

This took me a bit long. I got school stuff so yeah. Here it is, for now. This is not interesting but it is the start of something that is. I’m sorry for blabbing. Anyway…


Calum shrieked your name unreasonably loud, his voice bearable enough to anyone within the span of an eight meter radius. He was astute on wishing for his name to echo back, but yet again he failed miserably.
Slipping his coat out of his slim body, he ushered his way pass the living area of your shared apartment and its deafening silence, Pochi running close behind him, sniffing keenly on the small packages he just brought in.
He set his car keys on the wooden table, scattering the grocery bags clumsily beside it as he persistently continue the saga on finding his sudden hideous housemate.
Calum earned a few excited barks from the inexplicably giddy German Shepherd by his left foot, as if to tell him that it knows where its master sulks. Kneeling down to its size, Calum lovingly pat the dog, offering it a slice of banana bread, expecting to squeeze an answer to where you might be. But to his disappointment, it ran off to its usual spot with his sweet bribe on its hungry mouth.
Groaning upon his rejected attempts, he proceeded to lurk in the house, beyond careful on looking for you inside the little space you hid your barely 6 foot of a figure.
Seconds away from giving up, he found you in his room, seated by the floor, folding his entire rockstar wardrobe again. Calum thought for a while, weighing his cards solemnly, not wanting to disturb your tranquil silence. You seem fine left on your own, singing along to Tinashe’s Feels Like Vegas that plays on your phone, but of course, he found himself dying for a conversation. It had been a routine for Calum to spill all the juicy details of his long day to you, he’s secretly looking forward for your prodigious response every time.
“Hey!” he chirped, a glorious smile exploding on his handsome face as he approach you. But to his dismay, you kept singing the riffs of the song as you nonchalantly grab one of his shirt, and held it close to your face, somewhat inhaling its scent. Your aura’s resembling Pochi’s eagerness earlier, and Calum can’t help but laughed on your cuteness.
His manifestation caught you off guard, successfully yanking your thoughts on whatever you may be thinking as you squeaked his name out of surprise, both of your quivering hands on your chest now, as you tried to suppress the loud thuds of your beating heart.
“Finally done with sniffing my shirt, Y/n?” he teased, loving the annoyed look that settled on your guilty face once he opened his pretty mouth. “Missed my scent so much huh?”
“Excuse me, Hoody-hood- pecker, but I’m not sniffing it!” you protested, lying on his face shamelessly.
“I ain’t buying your lies, Y/n. I saw you, you know.” Calum muttered, playfully wiggling his thick eyebrows, tempting you as he sat deliciously close beside you. His pinky finger tracing your nervous hand in a flirty demeanor as he dropped you a wink.
You swallowed painfully hard, disowning the crazy thoughts that just flicker in your head with a single touch. You swatted his hands away as you stood to grab a mop of his hair and pull it harshly. Giggling when you heard him complain.
“You, woman, sure loves hurting me whenever I caught you staring at me red-handed! Why can’t you just admit that you like me? Who knows, I might give you a taste of heaven.”
“Eew, Hood! Stop acting like I’m dying to have you! My standard is high!” you blurted, extending your hand in the air to show him how “high” your gradation is.
“I’m 6'2” , remember?“ he mused, standing up from his previous position, wanting to prove that he meets your point. “Tell me, do you find me small?”
“Haha! You’re so funny!” you sarcastically retorted, rolling your eyes at him. “I didn’t mean it literally, you weirdo! I said my standards are high, not tall!”
“Okay, let’s not talk about your standard then. But care to explain why you’re sniffing my shirt, Y/n…”
“Listen up, Hood. Okay! Fine, I’m sniffing it! You know why? Because it smells bad, okay? The stinking smell just caught my nose.”
“Maybe because your nose is big?” he shrugged, making your face twist with irritation.
“Look who’s talking here, like his nose is the smallest of all the noses in the world?”
“Auch! Auch!” Calum said, clutching his shirt in his hand as if it was his heart. “ Auch! You’re hurting me.”
“You started it!”
“Whatever! But wait, wait, wait! You’re changing the topic again! ” he muttered accusingly. “If you know that it smells bad already, then why do you have to sniff it still? Like I don’t see the point, you should’ve just throw it back on my hamper!”
Shit! Oh,shit! Oh,shit! He got you! Think Y/n, think! Think of how you’ll untangle yourself from this disaster you inflicted. Why the fuck are you sniffing his shirt anyway? You’re already familiar to his scent ! Why are you risking everything, you’re almost out the friendzone!
“Or maybe, you’re tryi…”
“Your accusations are foolish! I’m just trying to help you with your hygiene, you know! I’m telling you, a guy who stinks is such a turn off. I just don’t want girls to think that “Ohmygawd, Calum Hood stinks! Like a million eew! I’m so not gonna date him. Yuck!” Like that. And also, girl’s noses can smell twice better than of boy’s! You know, you can get so much used to your smell that’s why you think that you still smell good when the truth is you can almost replace a fucking raccoon out of its throne! So, instead of insisting that I secretly yearn for you, just thank me Calum! Be grateful that I care!“
Calum was speechless, you sounded so stern that suddenly he’s scared for his own life, knowing you won’t spare him if he ever pursue the discussion. He wasn’t expecting you to react like you did since he was just trying to be mischievous, so he just hummed an “okay” for a response. His troubled brown eyes recognizing your monstrous but beautiful presence, aware of the storm your orbs possessed.
Your hair’s disheveled, all due to your habit of ruffling it frustratingly when you find yourself in the middle of an argument, which is rare of you, but Calum had been lucky to witness four times already, including today. Your bright eyes is threatening to spill acid too, thin and sharp as blades now. Your nose is fuming from anger while your mouth’s crack open a tad, just to release your tedious groans and exasperated sighs. Your body’s panting in front of his very eyes, suddenly appearing incredibly sexy with every passing minute. Damn, how bad Calum wants for you to looked exactly like this under him now, naked of course. But he pushed his filthy thoughts away, convinced that you’re never the girl he should and usually want to mess with, not that you would agree to perform his libidinous desire anyway.
After some more glaring, you shifted your agitated orbs to the mirror on his closet, catching the reflection of Calum’s eyes as he watch you carefully while you observe him with matching attentiveness too. You held his regretful stare for a second but soon enough, you realized that it’ll just make you lose it.
So, you turned your concentration somewhere else. Cause as much as you hate to admit it, Calum’s too magnetic for your benefit, so you found yourself doing the stare-turn away action repeatedly, getting tired of loathing him after several struggle.
You sincerely tried to extend your act, be mad at him for longer but he wore that adorable pout you admire so much, so after battling your pride for a solid minute, you gave in and shoot him a smile through the mirror, which he returned enthusiastically.
“Ahm…” he stuttered, scratching the back of his neck and tilting his head on the side, kinda hesitant on how to talk to you. “Ah, erm… ”
“What is it?” you asked, impatiently.
“Iboughtyousomechocopinwheels!” he said in a haste, wanting to draw a smile from you in his blur of a sentence, hoping for you to catch up with his words. And luckily, you did.
Nodding understandingly, you mouth him a brief “thank you” as you tucked some loose hair behind your ears, abruptly conscious of how you look before him. You’ve been harboring a crush on Calum for a year already, or even longer than that, since you’re just denying yourself the truth every time it’ll appear on the surface too.
You never want to scare Calum away, only God knows how important he is to you, how much you treasure every moment spent with him, what you’ll risk for his happiness, how far you’d go if he’d tell you to. And as much as you want to be more than a “friend” to Calum , you don’t want to ask more of him and you don’t want to disappoint yourself too. Him not making a move on you despite staying in the same house for four years is enough evidence that you’re not his type and never will be.
“Overheard that you’ve been craving for it.” he confessed, red tint flushing his olive skin, warming his tan. Calum’s pretty nervous to give you the slightest clue that he’s been eavesdropping on your close door conversation. But you can blame that on the thin walls that separate the two of you during cold nights, when all he wanted was warm you with his kisses and cuddle you to him til you melt into one.
“Who’s creepy now, huh?” you laughed, playfully slapping his shoulder with your shaking hand, craving for a contact even just the slightest of touch you beg. “But thank you! That’s really sweet of you, Cal!”
Then with one swift glide, you aimed for his cheeks, giving him a chaste kiss, catching him off guard. “Thank you again!”
Calum smiled, delving his sweaty hands in his pocket as he sported the boyish look you love so much on him. He bit down on his lower lip, giving you a polite nod, convinced that his voice will betray him as early as he drop his syllables. Calum bet he’s crimson red and he is.
(to be continued…)