Ginny knew it was a bad idea. Terrible even. Anyone in their right mind could see that. But then, Ginny wasn’t really in her right mind, and sometimes bad ideas needed to be executed too.
Still, drinking absinthe in a muggle pub on a tuesday night was a new low, even for her, a woman who’d known she was in a loveless marriage and yet failed to act on it. Now Harry was gone and she had no place to stay. Before she could face her family and ask for a couch to crash on she had to be properly smashed.
When she’d made up her mind and had decided Charlie was her best option for now, she asked the bartender for a cab.
“Sorry love, cabbies are still on strike this week. No fares after two in the morning.” The man behind the bar gave her an apologetic smile. “If there’s anything else I might be able to do just ask. Maybe I can call a friend for you?” The barman wasn’t stupid, this woman was not getting home on her own tonight.
Ginny let her head fall on the bar, immediately regretting that decision when a flare of white hot pain shot through her skull. “If you could tell my past self to blow off her marriage, that would solve a great deal. Otherwise, not really.”
While the barman was wondering what to do with this drunken woman, a man came up to them from the other end of the bar. “I can call someone for her, if there’s really no cab available.” It was a pale man, slightly swaying on his legs because the combination of alcohol and high heels wasn’t the most practical one. “We used to go to school together.”
Ginny lifted her head from the bar, now intrigued by the voice that did indeed sound vaguely familiar, but in her drunken state she couldn’t put a name to it. When a pointy face and grey eyes came into focus, she suddenly could. Draco Malfoy. Of all the people in the world, Draco Malfoy had to be the one to find her drunk, depressed and lonely in a muggle bar sipping absinthe. Of course. Of fucking course.
“Lune?” Malfoy was calling someone now. “Could you possibly pick up an old friend at Quinn’s?” … “No, it’s not me.”… “I’m fine, thanks for asking.” … “Ginny Weasley.” … “No, I’m not being nice I’m being human. She just had at least three glasses of absinthe.” …. “That’s the green stuff with more than sixty percent alcohol.” … “Thanks. See you in a minute.”
Ginny kept her eyes fixed on Malfoy. Yes, he had a pointy face and grey eyes, but that was where the comparison ended between him and the former nemesis of her soon-to-be-ex husband. He wore a floral suit with high heeled boots and his hair was thicker and healthier than it had ever been at Hogwarts.
“You should date Harry.” She blurted out.
“Excuse me?” Malfoy looked perplexed. “I’m pretty sure that’s the alcohol talking, Weasley. Besides, you’re married to the git.”
“Am not.” Ginny couldn’t stop herself from pouting. “He kicked me out ‘cause he’s gay. You’re gay. Smash.” She made a weird gesture with her hands, trying to act out ‘smashing’ by intertwining her fingers.
Another hand caught hers, the other supported her waist. Luna Lovegood had arrived. “Hello Ginny. You look a bit tipsy.” The warm smile on her lips made Ginny want to kiss them, kiss them until there was nothing left and then kiss them some more.
She really should stay away from absinthe, her thought made no sense anymore.
“Malfoy doesn’t want to smash with Harry, Luna. Do something about it.” Ginny pouted and she emphasized her words by poking Draco hard in his chest. “Smash! You two should smash! You should’ve done that years ago, then I wouldn’t have married him.” Suddenly her mood shifted, the realisation that Harry really wouldn’t be lying next to her when she woke up the next morning, or the morning after that, hit her way to hard for her drunken brain to cope with. She felt tears well up in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Ginny. It’s okay.” Luna patted Ginny on her back. “Let’s get you home now, shall we?”
“I don’t have a home. Harry’s got a home, and a family and friends… They don’t like me anymore. ‘M not a nice person. I saw he needed someone that wasn’t me and I still stayed. I stayed Luna!” Ginny tried to get up but her legs failed to support her. Luckily Luna was tougher than she looked and could catch her before she fell to the floor. “I knew he was gay.” Whispered Ginny. “I knew and I stayed.”
“I know, love. But he stayed too. And you were happy. You had friends.” Luna gave Ginny a strange look. “You still have friends.”
Ginny didn’t respond, she just hugged the blond girl while sobbing. Carefully, Luna and Draco helped Ginny get up and outside, into a quiet alleyway where they could apparate.
“She’s right you know. You and Harry really should smash.” Before Draco could react, the girls disappeared with a soft pop.
The next morning Ginny didn’t wake up next to Harry, for the first time in nearly seven years. But somehow waking up next to Luna, hands intertwined and with the remnants of a flower crown in her auburn hair, that wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be.
But to balance everything out the hangover was way worse.
I adore this blog so much!!! How do you think the companions would react to SS dancing, preferably something saucy, like belly dancing?
Cait: She laughs a bit as the sole survivor starts belly dancing, she’s never seen anything quite like it before. After the initial giggles, she enjoys watching and is quite entranced by it. It’s definitely a unique way to move, and creates quite an entertaining scene as the sole survivor wiggles about.
Curie: The human body moves in such fascinating ways, even though she’s explored her own, this type of dance is certainly new to her. She’s fascinated by how the sole survivor moves their body, especially their hips. She tries to mimic it, pretty unsuccessfully at first, but then asks the sole survivor to teach her.
Codsworth: He cheers the sole survivor on, “Shake it sir/mum!” he is quick to participate, shaking some tambourines and even getting into playing out a beat with some of the little hand symbols. He looks kind of funny doing so, but they both have a lot of fun with it, and enjoy putting on shows for the crew in sanctuary.
Danse: When the sole survivor says they want to show him something special, he gets excited and sits attentively and watches them with a smile. The movements are fluid and beautiful, typically he’s not really one to put much stock in things like dance (and he himself isn’t that great of a dancer) but he thoroughly enjoys it. He doesn’t quite know what to sat afterwards, but tells them that they must have a lot if strength in their core to pull off moves like that.
Deacon: He is most certainly entertained, and cheers and whoops for them, and tries to mimic them (but does quite poorly). He decides to call it the “wiggly jangly dance”, even after the sole survivor tells him that it’s really called bellydancing. He fashions himself his own bellydancing outfit, using caps in place of the coin jangles.
Dogmeat: He absolutely goes bonkers for all the jingly noises. They can’t bellydance for that long with dogmeat chasing after them in pursuit of the noise. The sole survivor can’t help but laugh and it turns into a bit of a chasing game.
Hancock: He watches them, enthralled, “Ooooo, you got the moves!” he cheers, clapping along with the beat they play on the finger cymbals. He tries to dance along with them, but isn’t really good at moving his hips in the way the sole survivor is. They both get a good laugh out of him trying though.
MacCready: He gets a little awkward when they first start, he laughs nervously watching them carefully, as if they might jump on him at any moment. “Is this…. a lap dance..?” The sole survivor laughs and tells him to loosen up. Eventually he does calm down a bit and enjoys watching them dance.
Nick: He’s a pretty good audience for the sole survivor’s bellydancing. He’s attentive and reactive and truly enjoys watching them dance. He can’t help but remark how interesting it is that the sole survivor may in fact be one of the only people that knows about it, there are so many relics of the old world that are mostly gone now.
Piper: She’s very curious about the dance, watching intently, and asking the sole survivor a few
questions about the dance and they are more than happy to answer.
She’s also very interested in learning, but with one caveat “Don’t laugh at me while I’m learning, alright Blue?” She’s kinda a slow learner, but does her best and eventually gets the hang of it.
Preston: Preston is super impressed at how the sole survivor is able to move their body. At first he’s kinda shy about watching them, the dance itself seems pretty racy, but with the sole survivor’s encouragement he begins to get more into it. He claps along to the beat while he watches, though doesn’t get as rowdy as some of the others.
Strong: He’s pretty perplexed by the sole survivor’s dancing, but also very curious. “Why human move like that?” he asks, trying to move his own hips in a similar way. He tries to figure out what the purpose of such movements, and when the sole survivor tells him its just for fun he’s still a little confused, but accepts it.
X6-88: He’s a bit startled by the sole survivor’s movements, though he doesn’t show it. He watches them carefully, trying to puzzle out what muscles they are using and how they are achieving such movements. He enjoys watching it, but its hard to tell what he thinks. Later on, the sole survivor catches him trying to belly dance, he gets a little frazzled, but they give him some tips.
The first time Angela sees it, Fareeha is doing pull ups, the muscles on her back contracting around her shoulder blades, the skin crinkling, distorting it.
Angela is so distracted, so unabashedly intent on her skin and the form in which she moves, she forgets to ask.
Honestly, she forgets quite a few things. When she retreats, brushing past Zarya in her haste, she does so with a blush that feels a bit ridiculous.
She is not entirely sure that Fareeha ever knew she was there. She is too ashamed to tell her. (She does not know that Zarya mentioned it, that Fareeha - grinning like a goofball - was particularly happy to hear that Angela had apparently been blushing.)
The second time Angela sees it, it is summer, the sweltering heat has made everyone lethargic. Angela has traded her lab coat for a tank top and loose pants.
She finds Fareeha in the courtyard, laying on her stomach in the grass, reading. If Angela is dressed liberally, Fareeha has dressed in abandon because she is only wearing a sports bra and basketball shorts.
Angela spends a moment tracing the lines of her calves, the dimples above the curve of her rear, the muscle of her shoulder blades (which Angela has a certain fascination with) and then stops on the tattoo between them, and remembers the question from before.
She approaches her, sits down beside her. Fareeha turns her head to the side to regard Angela through bright eyes, her chin tucked into the curve of her elbow. The book is laid out in the grass in front of her but Fareeha closes it when Angela sits down and Angela can see that it is poetry which is not entirely something that she expected, honestly.
“Hello,” Fareeha says, lifts her head up and smiles. Angela returns it easily, stretches her legs out in front of her, falls back on the palm of her hands.
“Hello there,” she replies.
“How are you?” Fareeha asks, “I feel like it has been awhile since I have seen you.”
It has been. Angela has been locked up in her lab, baking under fluorescent bulbs, for the better part of a month and her contact has been minimal. Fareeha had stopped by occasionally to drop off food and remind her to sleep (which Angela had done, begrudgingly). But in that setting, that frame of mind, it was hard for her to connect with her surroundings, and so Fareeha had come and gone and come again and Angela’s nose had been buried in reports and monitors so the visits were never casual and often very quick.
“Better, now,” Angela confesses. “I’m glad for the fresh air.”
“You picked a good day,” Fareeha tells her. Angela tends to agree, she has no complaints about the company.
For a long while they are silent as birds chirp and Fareeha goes back to her poetry. Angela’s glad just to be relieved of her responsibilities, to feel free as she so rarely does these days.
She looks around idly, sees the tattoo again on Fareeha’s back, and this time doesn’t stop herself from reaching for it, brushing her fingertips over the hot skin (warmed by the afternoon sun). It’s simple, geometrical even, made of dots and lines in white ink the shape of an arrow pointing up Fareeha’s spine until it stops at the the base of her neck.
Fareeha shivers below her touch as she draws over the lines.
“It’s very pretty,” Angela tells her, sincerely.
“Thank you,” Fareeha says, “it was my first tattoo.”
This piques Angela’s interest. Angela had always assumed that the one on her face had come first. It does not occur to her that there might have been others before, or others at all.
“Is there a story?” Angela asks. Fareeha grins, Angela can’t see it, but she can hear it her voice.
“Only vaguely. It’s a reminder, to always reach higher and to achieve greater things.”
“If it is a reminder, why the back?”
“Because that is where we carry things,” Fareeha tells her simply.
Angela cannot know Fareeha’s dreams of literally going higher, to touch with her own hands the stratosphere and to spend eternity in the vacuum of space, if possible. Those great wonders which inspire imagination, which had inthralled Fareeha as a kid. Maybe she will one day; maybe the conversation will come up again and she will talk at length about how she has always wanted to escape.
Angela hums in understanding, contemplative for a minute, and then she leans forward, places an open mouthed kiss above the arrowhead. Fareeha’s skin is warm and salty with the light sheen of sweat; Angela feels protective, responsible in someway for the burdens Fareeha carries. This leads her up the column of her neck and then to her cheek and then to her lips.
Fareeha kisses her back without complaint, though clearly perplexed.
“Very pretty,” Angela repeats and has the sense she is talking about more than just the tattoo this time.
I love the term anti because of how insignificant it is. it came up recently in a convo with furby where the original context that sparked the conversaion was the use of anti as a term to describe an ace exclusionist. we were both pretty perplexed and we both admitted its because were used to seeing the term “anti” being used in a different context, and the funniest part is, we both had different contexts in mind: furby associated the word anti with anticommunism and i associate the word anti with people who just dont think positive portrayals of incestuous/pedophiliac relationships are right and it kind of really puts into light that in the end its a fun placeholder word that means nothing
If you can’t see the pic above, they’re called:
“Timeless Creations, Ultra Fineline Markers. 30 Premium Artist Quality.”
Aside from the apparent obscurity of this marker set, what caught my attention was the safety of using these. I know markers usually stink, but recently I noticed that the black marker in particular had a stronger scent, like almond? One of the comments on that Reddit thread suggested the set might have been discontinued. This, along with the fact that I couldn’t find it on the Cra-Z-Art site, left me feeling wary.
I contacted Cra-Z-Art and was told the markers should be non-toxic, and that they were definitely not discontinued. To erase all doubt that we were talking about the same markers, I described them as being black and having a paw print on the lids, to which they replied, “What are you talking about?”
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with anybody presented and all events are completely fictional.
Pretty girl. Those two words were the at the root of Portia’s current predicament. It had all started a week ago, in the shower, Ellen’s body pressed against her back while she fucked Portia, her mouth against Portia’s ear as she whispered four words.
Wow! Now i’ve seen Dean/Cas (of course) and Cas/Jimmy and also Dean/Cas/Jimmy and AU’s where Cas and Jimmy are the same person, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dean/Jimmy.
I uh…went a little overboard on this one too. 1275 words.
seems like, every time i actually manage one under 300, the next story ‘makes up’ for it!
(in case you’re worried, there’s a happy ending) (also, why is tumblr doing this stupid unformating thing???)
Jimmy Novak was a pain in Dean Winchester’s ass. They’d had a weird rivalry/feud thing going on since second week of freshman year, when Dean had accidentally tripped Jimmy and the other man had fallen in the mud. No matter how much Dean protested it was an accident and tried to apologize, Jimmy refused to let it go, took an instant dislike to him and arranged to get back at Dean.
Things spiraled out of control from there and barely a week went by without one doing something to the other. The worst part was there were almost no breaks. Except during test times. They had a grudging truce during those grueling days.
And since they had nearly all the same friends, they were stuck seeing each other on a regular basis. It didn’t allow much time for heads to cool.
Which was why – here and now - Jimmy’s nose was only a few bare inches from Dean’s, as he growled out, “You’re not gonna cry, now, are ya?”
“Oh, hell no! Over something as stupid and petty as that?” Dean scoffed back with a smirk. Jimmy’s eyes narrowed at the challenge and vowed to up the ante.
And so it went.
“Dean, why are you staring at Novaks’ ass?”
“Hmmm…” Dean jerked his head as Charlies words registered. “What? No! I’m not…I’m plotting his downfall!”
“Uh huh,” She stood with her hands on her hips and a dubious expression on her face.
“Okay, so yeah, he’s hot as hell, and pretty smart and maybe even a little funny too. If he didn’t hate me…” Dean shrugged, “But he does, so…plotting his downfall.”
Charlie heaved a sigh and muttered, “Morons,” and turned away.
Things would have gone like that indefinitely, except for the fact that during their junior year, Jimmy pushed the line too far. It had taken no little effort and a lot of time to arrange for his next prank on Dean, and it was a doozy. He grinned when he turned the key in the lock and, ignoring Dean’s shout at being locked in the tower room, rushed down the stairs.
A few hours of alone time would give Dean a chance to become introspective, Jimmy smirked. He crowed about it to their Charlie over dinner, but instead of the usual rolling eyes and half amused – half exasperated chuckles she might normally give, she looked at him in horror.
“You did what?” she shrieked.
“Relax, Charles, it’s perfectly safe in there. I’ll go back in an hour and let him out.” he reached for his burger but Charlie smacked it out of his hands. He watched it hit the floor mournfully and then looked back up at her in shock.
“What the hell was that for?”
“Dude, do you even know anything about Dean?”
“Of course I do. Otherwise, half these pranks would fall flat. Same goes for him. I think we know each other pretty well,” Jimmy answered, perplexed, “It’s all in good fun.”
“First off, are you sure about that? Cause Dean thinks you hate him. And secondly, no. Just, no, it isn’t,” Charlie looked at him sternly and Jimmy squirmed. “Dean’s afraid of heights, Jimmy. Like, really afraid of ‘em.”
“No, he’s not. He’s afraid of planes and last I checked, the drama tower wasn’t exactly flying anywhere,” Jimmy protested, though his stomach sank.
“Duh! Planes are pretty much as high as a normal person can get. And that tower room is all open, dude. With no glass. There’s nowhere for him to ‘hide’ and pretend he isn’t up so high. Especially with the wind as strong as it is tonight - have you ever been in there when the wind is really crazy? Dean’s probably freaking out! How’d you get him in there anyway?”
Instead of answering her, Jimmy abruptly stood and spun about, not even bothering to grab his coat before he ran out of the room. It didn’t take long for Jimmy to reach the tower, and he pounded up the stairs. Winded, he reached the door and fumbled to get the key in the lock.
He shoved at the door but it barely budged, like something was in front of it. Shit, shit, shit! “Dean? Dean are you all right? Dean, buddy, you gotta move if you want me to let you out? I’m so sorry, man, I really am, I didn’t know!” Jimmy tried the door again. Something – probably Dean – was still in front of it, but he was able to get it open just enough to squeeze through.
What he saw on the other side broke his heart. Dean was curled up on the floor in front of the door, hands covering his head and his eyes clenched shut tightly, his face pale. Jimmy fell to his knees beside him and reached out tentatively. “Dean? I’m so sorry – I went too far this time, I didn’t mean to. C’mere, let me get you outta here, okay?”
Jimmy reached down and pulled Dean against him, the other man unresisting. Slowly, he stood up, bringing Dean with him. Supporting him the entire way, Jimmy got him back down to the ground floor of the theater and they collapsed against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Dean’s face was starting to regain color and his breathing was evening out. Jimmy pulled Dean against his shoulder and wrapped his arm around him.
“I don’t hate you, by the way. I always thought…this was a game and we were having fun. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise. I kinda always hoped…” Jimmy shook his head and sighed. “Never mind. You wanna stop the prank war, I’ll do it. And when you’re ready to go back to your dorm, I’ll help you back and I’ll treat you to burgers as an apology. Whaddya say?”
Without even realizing it, Jimmy’s fingers carded through Dean’s short, spikey hair, scratching lightly. Dean leaned into the touch with a hum.
“You really don’t hate me?” Dean asked quietly, the first words Jimmy had heard the whole time. He relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief at the sound of Dean’s voice. He shook his head. Dean cleared his throat, “Then uh, yeah, I uh, I’ll take you up on that, on all of that.” Dean shifted against Jimmy, twisting to look at him, “On one condition.”
“Name it,” Jimmy said the words faster than he could think them.
“Tell me what it was you always hoped,” Dean said. And was Jimmy mistaken, or was that hope and anticipation in Dean’s eyes?
Jimmy squirmed under Dean’s gaze, “Oh, I just…I um…really like you, Dean. Which, I’d always thought was fairly obvious but…” He looked away and picked at the sleeve of his sweater. “Well, turns out I was wrong, so, there’s no chance you’d even want to, to…” he shrugged, trailing off, cheeks red with embarrassment.
After parsing the words, the things he’d said and hadn’t said, Dean smiled, “Jimmy, can I kiss you?”
Jimmy’s head jerked up in surprise and their eye met. “Do you really mean that or…or is this a get back at me prank? Cause I mean, I deserve it but…not this, Dean, please. If this is a prank – I don’t think I could take it.”
“Not a prank, I promise,” Dean assured him.
“Oh, thank god, then yes!” Jimmy could barely breathe, could hardly believe this could possibly be happening.
It took weeks of pinching himself at every opportunity to assure himself that yes, it had happened, was still happening and that he and Dean were now dating.
Strangely, their friends weren’t surprised at all.
Companions react to Sole saying "so mama Murphy told me you've got a crush on me ;)"
This is really cute anon! Thank you!!!
Cait: She immediately says that she ain’t never said that shit to that old lady, though her expression betrays that the statement is true. Cait doesn’t trust anything mystical or weird like that old lady’s drug ramblings. She completely blows past the question, going off on a tangent on like how does that old bitch know shit like that? What kind of freaky magic does she have? She needs to be stopped. She continues on this tangent until the sole shuts her up by kissing her.
Codsworth: He’s doesn’t quite understand what the sole is talking about. He’s pretty sure his programming isn’t capable of having such feelings. He tells that sole survivor that he of course cares about them and respects them. He kind of pauses a bit, and mentions that as his owner he is programmed to feel so. He reassures them that he would be loyal to them, that he thinks they are remarkable and have been an amazing person to serve, even if he wasn’t programmed to do so.
Curie: She is confused and curious, how can she know? Since leaving Vault 81 and being transferred to her new body, Curie has done her best to study every facet of humanity. She’s covered the full range of emotions in the process, but the idea of crushes and infatuation seemed un-explainable to her. She is quiet for a bit and the sole survivor waits patiently. All the symptoms of infatuation seemed to fit, was that the explanation of how she was feeling about the sole? The sole asks if Curie is ok, and she smiles and responds, “It would seem that Mama Murphy is correct! I do have a so called, crush, on you!”
Danse: The look on his face is priceless. He opens his mouth to say something a few times but it takes him a bit to actually say something. He’s a bit flustered, “How? I…” He shakes his head a bit, and his cheeks turn bright red. The sole thinks its cute and laughs a bit about it. Danse huffs a bit, he doesn’t liked being laughed at, even though he knows the sole isn’t doing so maliciously. He admits that he does have feelings for them, but the word crush seems so juvenile. “I have romantic feelings for you. I care about you a lot, and this isn’t some fleeting crush.” Now its the sole’s turn to blush.
Deacon: He looks at them suspiciously, his expression not giving anything away. “Who told you that?” The sole repeats that Mama Murphy told them. Deacon pauses, thinking for a moment, still impossible to read. He’s very secretive, so he’s pretty perplexed at how anyone could know anything like that about him. “Sounds like the ramblings of someone who’s had a little too much jet.” Sole’s disappointing reaction indicates that they bought it. He smiles a bit, “What, you got a thing for me?” Sole blushes a bit, and he chuckles, “I guess I’ll keep that in mind…” He’s secretly gleeful that the sole survivor likes him back. He’ll act on his feelings later, at the right moment.
Dogmeat: Tilts his head to the side as the sole survivor speaks to him, and barks at them after they finish. The sole survivor laughs a bit and says, “Yeah, I agree Dogmeat, sounds like Mama Murphy has maybe had a little too many chems lately.”
Hancock: He narrows his eyes and murmurs something along the lines of “that old bag can’t keep her damn mouth shut…” He had gotten high with Mama Murphy and told her about his feelings for the sole survivor, which evidently had been a mistake. He grumbles a bit and crosses his arms as sole waits for him to say something, trying his best to play it cool. After a moment he finally responds, “Well, now you know, what you gonna do about it?” The look in his eyes is very, very suggestive.
MacCready: He is caught totally off guard and at first he’s just slackjawed and speechless. Eventually he is able to start talking, and starts talking a mile a minute, like ‘What? No! Haha, what? You? Me? No no no, what?” He tries his best to seem cool and nonchalant, but he’s really, really bad at it. Sole watches him curiously. He starts to storm off indignantly, but then pauses for a moment facing away from the sole, but then turns back around and sighs and defeatedly tells them its true.
Nick Valentine: His first reaction is to laugh a bit, but its not in an unfriendly way. “Well isn’t that wild…” The sole survivor had explained that the information they had used to get them out of Vault 114 without fighting Skinny Malone was from Mama Murphy, she just knew things, but Nick hadn’t believed them at the time. Meeting Mama Murphy made him even more skeptical, but this seemed like evidence that they were telling the truth. “Well, I still don’t know if that Mama Murphy character has special powers, but she’s right about this one. Probably just a coincidence though… but suppose I do have a crush on ya, how could I not, you’re my knight in shining armor, remember?”
Piper: She blinks, dumbfounded. She raises an eyebrow, “Mama Murphy told you that?” She’s suspicious. She asks where that weird old lady gets her info. The sole tries to explain the sight, but Piper’s not having any of it. She crosses her arms, either way that old lady could be a great asset for the Publick. She asks the sole survivor about the sight again and they try to explain, “Hmmm, people love that future prediction stuff…” Sole gets kinda impatient and asks if it’s true that she has a crush on them. Piper snaps out of her thought process and looks over at them. “Ah, yeah that old lady’s got me figured out I guess…” she chuckles slightly, “It’s true, I do like ya blue.”
Preston Garvey: He didn’t know how to tell the sole survivor about his feelings for them. He felt to shy about it, every time he tried to tell them he couldn’t find the words. He did know, however, that Mama Murphy was absolutely awful at keeping a secret. When sole comes up to him and tells him, he pretends like he is surprised, and says “Oh, well I guess you caught me!! Do you uh,… like me back?” He has a stupidly large grin on his face as he waits for them to answer.
Strong: He blinks a bit, then grins. He says he did mention to the old human that he liked crushing things a lot and that sole was the best person to crush with. He doesn’t realize there’s a different interpretation of the word crush. The sole laughs and says they enjoy crushing with him as well, and the two of them go off to find some raiders to crush.
X6-88: He hasn’t had much experience with Mama Murphy, so she’s an unknown. He says that her capabilities seem strange. He has never been one for playing games or lying, so he immediately admits that he has been having romantic feelings for the sole survivor, and that he is curious and confused as to why and how he has these feelings for them. He doesn’t quite understand the feelings, so sole tries their best to explain them to him. Afterwards starts to understand, and he asks them if they reciprocate his “crush”.
While the two boys were at school Gaster made himself busy as he usually did. He walked down along the busy corridors of the lab away from the front desk where he got his mail. It was at the complete opposite end of the lab from the tiny section he had carved off for his home, but technically it was where he lived, so even personal mail came through there.
As he walked he flipped through the envelopes. Most were bills or letters about his projects from Asgore, or the monsters directly under him asking for updates or about costs. Those were usually tossed aside and never replied to. However this time one in particular caught his eye.
It was from the school.
He paused in the middle of the hall, a few of the assistants that noticed him stopping their conversations as they walked by or trying to ignore him as much as they could. Gaster opened up the letter and began to read.
“You got me crawling, crawling on the floor… I’ve never met a girl like you before’’.
It was the day before classes started and Lydia was sitting under an large oak tree with more books than she could count. Her mind was filled with archaic Latin scriptures and biochemical formulas. Taking on a double Major was something that her High School teachers had fully encouraged and Lydia had smiled and nodded along. She tested well above the average IQ for her age and she had managed to take more than her standard classes in her senior year, walking out of graduation with extra credit in almost everything.
Today I learned from my Japanese friend that when complimenting a girl’s スタイル in Japanese, you are not complimenting their ‘style’ but rather their body. I’m lead to believe that this does not have the same sexual implication as it does in English (ie. saying a girl has ‘a good body’ is rather innocent in Japanese if said using the word スタイル).
I find this pretty perplexing because in English, ‘style’ would be used to refer to a girl’s clothes, hair, make-up etc, whereas in Japanese it has nothing to do with any of the that and instead refers only to the body itself, and its shape.
Things like this constantly remind me that using English words in Japanese katakana is not a surefire way of getting your point across or being understood. On the contrary, since many words’ meanings are actually different in Japanese despite being borrowed from English, you may have to treat such words as not being English at all, but just more Japanese vocabulary for you to learn.
Artie... WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH THESE BABY STEVEN MEMES! I KEEP ON SEEING THEM EVERYWHERE AND EVERYTIME I SEE ONE I SEE THEM TAGGING YOU!! wtf did you start this?
Cartoon Network posted an ad for Sunday Steven rerun marathons and one of the images was a screencap of Rose from “We Need to Talk” with baby Steven from “Steven’s Birthday” photoshopped over the microphone. We don’t know why CN decided to put that image in their ad (even the crew is pretty perplexed by it!) but it got a lot of people momentarily excited (or scared of a spoiler) and then disappointed
In response, @whatjamesdrawws suggested making “baby Steven photoshopped into character’s hands” a meme, I made a couple, then other people started making them and now there’s a whole bunch. And thus a meme was born!
Folks are tagging me ‘cause I made the transparent baby Steven that a lot of people are using to make them (also maybe tagging it so I’ll reblog it)