tasty bits

simple, happy things for a wee break💖

here’s a list of stuff that NEVER makes me feel bad and helps me ease back into doing the productive stuff again:

-read a book
-meditate and say some positive affirmations
-clean your makeup brushes (we all know you haven’t done that for what, 3 months)
-play your instrument
-watch one inspirational youtube video
-listen to the song that’s been in your head
-organise a space or folder that’s been bugging you for a while
-cut, file and paint your nails
-have a quick scroll through your social media feeds (ones that won’t make you feel bad about yourself - my go to is twitter!)
-go outside and breathe in some fresh air and stretch
-make a list of what you’ve accomplished today and what you still want to do
-spray some perfume
-RANDOM DANCING (my top tip: the cha cha slide makes ANYONE feel good)
-draw a little doodle of something you want to picture
-spend some time creating and eating a quick and tasty snack
-do a bit of journalling and let all your emotions out onto one page
-speak to someone who is a positive and happy influence on your life, either in person or over message for a bit of a boost
-brush or style your hair into a nice do, just for you
-light a candle
-clear your inbox
-find a nice quote for your day to motivate yourself

remember that maximum performance = maximum productivity + maximum positivity, and breaks from time to time are vital for both to happen and to prevent burnout! all the best💖

rebecca x

3

Flamingoes (Family Phoenicopteridae) look a bit like a Dr. Seuss invention. Extra long limbs and necks, bright pink coloration, and a fantastically striped beak make this bird one flamboyant creature. However, almost all of a flamingo’s features are perfect for eating small shrimps and algae. That crazy beak works as a strainer, getting out the tasty bits from muddy waters. The long legs and neck help the bird to reach the water and look out for predators. The bright pink feathers work are turned pink by the flamingo’s diet, and then it’s used as an indicator of health to possible mates.

Photo credit: Ash Boudrie

Selfie

Atticus hung from the cliff’s ledge, fingers grasping into the stone. Sorcery, not strength, kept him from plunging to certain doom. Balanced on one foot, barely, his cane casually danced with the wind, threatening with each passing moment to abandon him and fall to the chasm below.

“Could you lend me a hand, please?”

A young man sat, comfortably, just a few feet away, eating apricots and sorting through apps on his phone. “I went through quite a bit of trouble to put you there, so…” He did not look up.

“No, then?”

“Not until you tell me your sinister plan.”

“…to bake gingerbat cookies and watch a movie.”

“That’s it?” The hero frowned, chewing on a particularly tasty bit of apricot. “What movie? Oh, do you want an apricot?”

“No thank you. Bit busy. Tim Burton’s Night–”

“Tim Burton or Henry Selick?”

The two argued over semantics and film credits, directorial control versus movie poster presentation, for several minutes. “Alright,” the hero muttered, standing up and dusting himself off. “I’ll help you. But first?”

It was a common request. “Yes, yes, alright.” After all, Atticus had been in the business for ages.

“Cheese!”  “Muenster!”

The hero’s phone made a sound like an old fashioned camera’s flash bulb going off. The photo appeared a moment later, the two grinning like fools, Atticus dangling and the hero laying on his back.

U know u read it in their voices (✿´ ꒳ ` )
  • Alice: You... oozing sore of depravity... Children wearing their names around their neck like they are breeding livestock!
  • Bumby Angus: A declaration of their pedigree. You could use one. They're proud to display their provenance. [laughs]
  • Alice: You brute! They can't remember who they are or where they're from. How many minds have you twisted into forgetfulness?
  • Bumby Angus: Not enough. Yours would have been a triumph! Still, you're an insane wreck. My work is done.
  • Alice: You've used me and abused me, but you will not destroy me.
  • Bumby Angus: No, the damage is done. The old Alice and her Wonderland retreat are demolished. You can't even recognize what's happened. And you're powerless to change it or move against me. I've made certain of it.
  • Alice: You corrupted my memories, but you failed to make me forget.
  • Bumby Angus: I could've made you into a tasty bit. Clients out the door waiting for a piece from a raving delusional beauty, with no memories of the past and no sense of the future. But you wouldn't forget; you insisted on holding on to your fantasies. You're mad! Like your sister.
  • Alice: Don't speak of her! You didn't know her...
  • Bumby Angus: Your sister was a tease. Pretended to despise me. She got what she wanted... In the end.
  • Alice: I'll see you charged. In prison, some half-wit bruiser will make you his sweetheart... And then you'll hang.
  • Bumby Angus: Indeed? A hysterical woman, former lunatic, roaring outrageous accusations against a respectable social architect and scientist. My God, Alice, who would believe you? I scarcely believe it myself.
  • Alice: You, Monstrous creature.... Such evil will be punished.
  • Bumby Angus: By who? By what? Psychotic, silly bitch. Your madness will be punished. Now leave, I'm expecting your replacement.

FLAUGNARDE

SOME FANCY-ASS FRENCH DESSERT FOR PEOPLE WHO LOVE SWEET CUSTARDS AND WANT SOME FRUIT TO DIVE-BOMB INTO THEIR LIFE.

HONESTLY IT’S MEANT TO BE MADE IN A BIG-ASS PAN THAT YOU SHOVE IN THE OVEN, BUT MY OVEN IS FUCKING TINY AND MY MUFFIN PAN NEEDED SOME LOVIN’. 

SO! MINI FLAUGNARDE IS ACTUALLY WHAT I MADE, BUT IF YOU WANNA POUR THINGS INTO A DEEP DISH INSTEAD, THAT’S YOUR RIGHT! (fight for it) 

Keep reading

Flicker - Ch. 4 (Final)

Kim Junmyeon/Reader
Word Count: 2,903


Previous Chapter


As soon as the doorbell rings you rush to open the door to find two of your closest friends behind it, smirking with bags of beer and snacks.

“Don’t give me those looks,” you immediately snap at them.

Keep reading

CW’s DC Shows as Your Evening Meal

- Arrow is like the green vegetables you get out of the way at the start of the meal; fibrous and full of vigour but you don’t really want to, yet you know you kind of have to, and force it down.

- The Flash is the delicious meat and potatoes bulk of the roast, that’s wholesome and satisfying and goes down fairly painlessly.

- Supergirl is the tasty dessert afterwards , a bit too sweet and fluffy and you feel oddly guilty for wanting it, but it makes you feel happier and is pleasing to look at.

- DC’s Legends of Tomorrow is the pizza you order at 2:36am, half drunk after the pub, and it’s too much all in one go and you feel sort of nauseated and bloated and bewildered but there’s so many toppings it’s sort of delicious, and eating it makes you feel like a kid again.

the librarians + cooking headcanons

  • eve can’t cook. like, at all. she could burn actual water. she tries, she really does, but all she can make is ramen noodles and surprisingly good mac n’ cheese. she never enjoyed cooking much anyway, often preferring to live off take-out, good restaurants, and the cooking of her roommate and/or family (and later, her friends). she does, however, appreciate a good meal, especially homecooked, after he time in the military (with all that shit food that ‘tasted like ass’ as ezekiel put it, that one time they went to a military school on a case).
  • jenkins, on the other hand, is the best cook. he can cook like a thousand different obscure recipes and historic and varied cultural foods. spicy indian food? ridiculously good greek? accurate ancient egyptian recipes? ordinary burger and fries? the best chimichangas ever? you name it, jenkins can probably make it.  except salad. he keeps getting the proportions horribly wrong. also, he butchers the sauces. surprisingly, wasabi doesn’t work well with iceberg lettuce.)
  • flynn experiments. he experiments with all sorts of spices and variants and substitutes and cultures, mixing and matching and making new recipes. his cooking is particularly dangerous because it can be really good, if unusual, or horrific (and possibly a little bit alive). once one of his dishes had a side of fried raspberries. he has a little notebook somewhere where he’s recorded all of his favorite made-up recipes.
  • cassandra isn’t the best cook because while she can measure the shit out of ingredients, more precise than many chefs can ever dream of, and she can calculate how it might ratio with the other ingredients, there’s no… heart in it. she doesn’t enjoy it or anything. maybe it’s cliché, but somehow it changes the meal. but she can make hamburger helpers and that kind of boxed shit like a fucking pro. like somehow it always tastes a thousand times better when she makes it rather than one of the others does, which doesn’t even make sense.
  • jake fucking loves cooking. like, he’s no master chef, he’s not even a great cook, but he just really enjoys it, especially trying to make food from the places he’s travelled (french breakfasts and english desserts and african cuisine and shit). even though he’ll never be an amazing cook (he’s mediocre at best) he loves being in the kitchen, and that’s enough. besides, his meals are always interesting because even though he makes mistakes, it’s always tasty (if a bit odd or strangely tangy).
  • ezekiel is an amazing cook, though. it’s true he loves a good greasy meal, like pizza bagels, but he actually likes cooking a lot. like, it’s not his extreme passion, and honestly, it kind of embarrasses him, but he does really enjoy it. he’s no well-trained chef with experimental and varied recipes or good with varied tools or whatever, but he’s damn good at it. especially homemade recipes like really good blackberry pie and steaks and shit. but he has a tendency to show off, which can make him screw up. one time he tried to flip a pancake three times midair and that’s how jenkins made him scrape five pancakes (all failed attempts) of the ceiling. (the sixth one flipped four times and ezekiel has never been more proud of himself. even jake was a little impressed.)
You taste so good - Norman Reedus 💋❤️😈

Originally posted by reedusnorman

@youandyourstupidrope

@shinydixon

@purpleswan

@officergrimes-daddydixon

@benerchic

@jodiereedus22

@starkeeper41

@derpypenguin 

@abnormal-angel

So this is an old one I found, please feel free to giggle your bums off at my bad writing :-P

This place was dead, not as dead as you, but it was really dead. You had gone out tonight wanting to have fun and grab a bite; and you got nothing! All the guys in here were boring and wouldn’t be the least bit tasty. You feel so bored! But you’ve got nothing else to do, might as well stick around and maybe pick off someone weak when leaving.

you sit there, in your new thigh high boots, short leather skirt and red basque, with crossed legs huffing to yourself. You smell something funny behind you, turning around you saw a man drunk out of his head walking over to you. You get off your stool about to walk away when he heavily places a hand on your shoulder, his words slurred.

“Where…Where you thin…k you…re going sweet h-heart?”

You turn around as you hiss, bearing your teeth your eyes glinting like fire. He backs off in confusion.
“Go find someone else to play with!” You snap flipping your hair back.

Pushing your drink aside, you re position yourself up against a wall watching the door and people on the dance floor, eyeing them up and down.There was nothing good here, you might as well leave! Crawl back to the coffin like double bed at home and see if you’ve got the sweet stuff in the fridge freezer. Sighing, you turn to storm out in a huff and head home, but….


“Oh yes, now we’re talking…” You whisper to yourself, watching him walk to the bar… “What a tasty piece of work he is…” You lick your lips and start to head over, your hunger levels peeking.

As you strut over you study his every move, how he looks and how he moves…

Lush dark hair falls onto his face, as his blue eyes burn like the sun against the light. His tight jeans and t-shirt! He was just so yummy…You walk over and smoothly sit next to where he’s standing, nudging him slightly.

“Oh I’m sorry.” You say, trying to look as innocent as you can.

“It’s fine…” He’s says sitting down next to you.
A little smile is shot your way and you return it, looking down acting shy.

 “I’m Norman by the way…” he says taking your hand and kissing it softly. Men don’t usually do this to you but you can’t help feeling the shiver echo down your spine. You smile at him biting your bottom lip, as he talks his neck twitches, sweet smelling skin, he must have such a soft neck, blood pumping around his body…

 “Do you want to go dance?” You ask leaning close to him, your hand sliding up Norm’s thigh slowly making him shake. He nods his head like a school boy and you take his hand, leading him to the music. You don’t say a word, just pull him close to your body and put your arms around his neck sharply. Norman places his hands on your hips lightly brushing his nose against yours. You slide you nose across his cheek and lean on him, your lips brushing against his neck taking in his sweet smell. As you do you feel your hunger levels yearn and your instincts begin to rise. You wanted him so much, you needed him. You needed it….


“Hey Norman… Follow me…”
He doesn’t say a word as you take his hand, just follows you like a lost puppy. Just how you like it…

You lead him to a closed off corner from the world, where you couldn’t be seen and you were alone. You push Norman against the wall almost growling as you run your hands along his body. You pin his arms against the wall as your lips lock into a hard passionate kiss. You push your tongue into his mouth getting a rush of adrenaline as Norman’s tongue fights with your own. Your nails trace his t-shirt and before you could stop yourself, you hear a ripping sound and his shirt is torn to shreds.

“Wow…” Norman stares into your eyes as his chest becomes bare and you place your hand on his tattoo…

Norman pulls off your own shirt running his hands all over your skin his teeth grazing your neck slightly. You moan at his touch as his hands touch you everywhere.

You push Norman against the wall hard showing your strength and growl at him. You can see him being swept into the moment and look at his beautiful face in the light. You have to do it, you have too… You make sure Norman has no escape. 

Nowhere Left To Run…

You kiss Norman again, more passionate and full of fire, running your hands through his hair making him moan. Your lips trail down from his sweet lips to his beautiful neck calling out to you. You leave a hot trail of kisses from his jaw line down to his neck and place a few on his chest. Beads of sweat drip from his body, right where you want him… You run your tongue along his neck, tasting him slowly, so sweet and fresh. You spine arches as you feel your teeth slide over his skin growing sharper. You wrap your hands around the back of his neck tight; tilting his head giving you room to work. You kiss him one last time, Norman groaning before taking action. With one swift move your fangs bare and push deep into the skin of his neck, piercing fast your tongue waiting for a sweet red sensation.

You hear him groan and try to push you away as his blood runs into your mouth slowly trickling down your throat into your system. You pull away to take a breath and look at him, a tear of pain running down his cheek. You brush it away, he tries to speak.

 “Sshhh…” You hush him placing your finger to his lips, blood running from your mouth. You kiss Norm’s lips again and feel him shake at the taste of Blood in his mouth. He tries to break away but can’t under your strength and your lips lock back into his neck as you feel his body twitch with pain. You feel him become heavy on his feet as the life leaves his body, blood running down his neck.

Norman falls into your arms while he is still able to walk you take him to the back of your car and take him home. Your pet to keep. You lay him down in the spare bedroom as he comes to, you don’t need to hold him down, and he has lost too much blood to call for help. You lie next to him, his eyes teary and red. You run your hand over the deep holes in his neck making him cringe, his toned body all yours. You kiss his stomach eyeing all his muscles. You head to his chest kissing everywhere, and soon back to his neck to finish off the job.

You feel Norman’s body start to become loose as his life slips away. His heart beat slows and his blood flows through you, the last drop running down his neck. You run a hand along his soft cheek as his eyes close. You walk out wiping blood away from your mouth and head to your room. Collapsing on the bed as hiss blood mixes with your own giving you a rush of pleasure. You strip to your underwear and fall asleep feeling pleased and thinking of Norman….

 You wake up to hear a noise coming from the other room. You get up and face the door; the handle twists and swings open hitting the wall hard. You see Norman stood in the door way, red eyes glinting and his teeth bared long and sharp. You smile at your creation as Norman growls his shadow casting onto the wall. He bolts forward, pushing you down onto the bed climbing on top of you. He pins you down by the wrists licking his lips.

“You’ve been a very, very bad girl…”
You shiver with pleasure under Norm’s grip feeling overwhelmed with power.

 He slides his hand over your body, nails grazing your skin. He pulls you up and you feel your bra give in to him snapping loudly. You moan out as his hands run over your breasts cupping them roughly, kissing them all over, and nibbling everywhere. You pull Norman down ripping his jeans apart running your fingers over his boxers making him moan loudly.

 Norm’s hands find their way to your thighs, sending your nerves into overload as he grips your underwear with his teeth, pulling them off your legs to shreds. You moan loudly as his fingers rub on you slowly making you twist every which way.  

You push Norman away and he growls at you grabbing your wrist. You feel his teeth dive into you, blood spraying into his mouth.

 You lay back and hiss as Norm swallows you more by the second. You pull your wrist away sliding down his boxers and drop them onto the floor. You pull him under the cover, pressing your bodies against each other. Your lips lock and Norm forces his tongue into your mouth, darting it everywhere with passion. You throw your head back as you feel him push into you  and thrust violently. You grab onto the bed post as the whole room shakes with Norm’s power shattering through you. He moans loudly as he pushes deep and fast both of you feeling ultimate pleasure. Your nails dig into his back as he rides you so hard your bones feel like breaking, shaking at his touch.

 Norman kisses your breasts again, sucking hard as you feel a burning sensation mix with your veins and rattle your bones.

You scream out as you climax harder then you have before, Norman stiff and shaking above you groaning, his knees week from feeling. You feel Norman suddenly explode intensely inside you sending your body into overload, as you moan your voice shaky and broken. Norman pounds you hard as the fiery orgasm fades from both your bodies.

 Norman pulls out of you making you cringe from pleasure. You lie together panting trying to find your breath. You kiss Norms neck where he has a fresh scar from you teeth. He looks at you, his blue eyes melting your insides. He brushes hair from your face and you feel his teeth start to graze your neck………

anonymous asked:

I'm glad I stumbled across your tumblr. Whenever I'm having a bad day I'll go through your tumblr. Thank you for putting a smile on my face. Your angst is amazing and inspiring.

I love feeding my fans the most delicious angst! I’m super glad I am able to influence positively your day ^___^

I’ll keep the angst coming!

As if I would ever be able to stop ;P

Here, let me give you a tasty bit of a super angsty thing I’m working on: a Soulmate AU where people are tied by red strings.

(more angst under the cut!)

When Madara arrives to the Nakano river for their weekly meeting, it’s to find that oaf of Hashirama moping, sitting on the rocky bank and swinging his naked feet into the water, a dark expression on his face.

Madara’s thoughts immediately go to the last time he found his friend like this and his heart lurches in his chest – that time Hashirama had just lost a brother. Did the only brother he has left…?

The Uchiha might snark and vehemently deny any affection for Hashirama in the other’s presence, but the boy with the atrocious bowl-cut and a heart full of dreams of peace has become his best friend. The thought of Hashirama going through something as awful as losing another brother – the last he has left – pains Madara.

Hesitantly, he approaches Hashirama, standing right beside him. “Hey, Hashirama,” he says, looking down at his friend. “What got you so down?”

Hashirama cranes his neck to look up at him, and Madara is immensely relieved to see that he isn’t crying – it can’t be that bad if Hashirama, prone as he is to tears, isn’t actually crying but only sulking.

Hashirama opens his mouth, already shaking his head, but Madara cuts him: “I don’t want to hear any bullshit about how ‘it doesn’t matter’. I asked, and you are going to tell me what’s bothering you.”

Hashirama frowns, black eyes meeting brown ones, but after a second he sighs and gives in, shoulders drooping. Madara inwardly cheers at being able to shake his friend from whatever dark pit his mind fell into.

“It’s Tobirama. Last week he saw his red string for the first time,” Hashirama says in a quiet, sad voice.

At the mention of the red string of fate, Madara’s eyes automatically fall on his own one, tied in a neat bow at the base of his right pinkie. The string sways with the gentle wind, Madara’s eyes following it until it blurs and seems to vanish into thin air.

Seeing one’s red string is supposed to be a joyous experience – it’s the proof that somewhere on this green earth, at the other end of that string, there’s someone who is their soulmate, a person who is a perfect match for them. Madara looks back up at Hashirama, and a question rises unbidden: in the face of such an auspicious happening, why is Hashirama so sad for his brother?

Is Tobirama’s string cut?

The thought makes Madara feel ill for a moment, and he can’t help but cradle his right hand and his own string to his chest. The thought that one day he might wake up and see it devoid of the slight tension pulling it, dangling limp and lifelessly - he can’t even bear to think about it,  that his soulmate might die before he even knows their name. (His name, because Madara at fourteen already knows where his interest lays.)

“Is…” Madara sits down beside Hashirama, observing him carefully for any signs of distress that might confirm his theory. “…is his string cut?”

Hashirama violently startles at the suggestion, cradling his left hand to chest much like Madara did just a moment ago – his string is likely tied to his left pinkie, then.

“No!” he shouts, horrified – but then he hesitates and looks away, kicking the water in frustration. “Maybe it would be better if it were.”

Madara can’t even wrap his mind around that – how can Hashirama hope for his brother’s soulmate to die? “Explain, now,” the Uchiha orders, frowning.

Hashirama sighs again, picking up a stone and turning it between his fingers. “The thing is that Tobirama’s string isn’t tied to his pinkie,” he says, holding up his own left little finger.

“Where, then? His big toe?” Madara asks, trying to make a joke – and he winces at his own failed attempt when Hashirama grimaces and shakes his head. His friend’s eyes are wide and shining with unshed tears when he looks up at Madara, miming choking himself by pressing his thumb and forefinger into his neck. “It’s tied around his neck - like a trap noose, trying to choke him. He says he can breathe just fine, but it’s tied so tightly it cuts the skin and it makes him bleed.” Hashirama’s hand leaves his neck to clench into a fist, knuckles white and bloodless.

“His soulmate is hurting him and I can’t do anything!” he shouts, chucking the stone into the water with anger.

Madara is frozen with horror, gaping. For the very symbol of true love to hurt someone- it’s unthinkable, it’s so wrong it feels like an abomination, like the corruption of something pure and holy the kami gifted them with. “How is he taking it?” he asks quietly, and Hashirama sighs again, carding a hand through his short black hair in obvious frustration.

“He’s Tobirama, how do you think he’s taking it?” he asks in return, his voice dry and rough. “He pretends it doesn’t bother him. He says this is simply a reminder that this soulmate business is just a weakness for a shinobi anyway.”

Hashirama often talks of his little brother, and from his description Madara got the picture of a stubborn little genius who takes too much after the old generation - those world would not be strange coming from his own father’s mouth.

“Does he really think that?” he wonders aloud, and Hashirama gives a bitter chuckle - a sound Madara would have never imagine his friend could make. “That’s what fathers wants to hear, and Tobirama gives it to him.” All tension seems to drain out of Hashirama, who deflates and leans against Madara, his head on the Uchiha’s shoulder. “I think he wants to believe it. Granny said that a string like that means that his soulmate hates him and will likely kill him.” Hashirama makes a tiny sound of distress. “How must it feel to know that your soulmate will never love you but hate you, and try to kill you?”

Madara represses a shiver, squaring his shoulders - he generally doesn’t like physical closeness, but in this precise moment Hashirama’s warmth is very welcome to chase the ghost of death away, and he doesn’t shake the older kid off.

The Uchiha heir doesn’t have an answer for Hashirama. He looks down at his red string and tries to picture it. Picture seeing hate glowing in the eyes of the man at the other end of it, seeing him brace a kunai rather than opening his arms to greet him and- And he quite can’t. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

Then he thinks of Izuna, who is Tobirama’s age and has yet to see his own string. He pictures seeing blood well on his throat from an invisible tread, choking him like a dying hare in a trap noose and-

“You need to find his soulmate and kill her. Or him, whatever,” Madara says, voice hard, and the irony of the role reversal isn’t lost on him.

Hashirama freezes against him, going completely rigid. “What…?”

“It’s the only way,” Madara says, standing up. “You can‘t let your brother die. Ask him to swear he will tell you when he meets his soulmate, then kill them.”

Hashirama jumps to his feet, eyes wide and shocked. “How can you ask me to kill Tobirama’s soulmate!”

Madara bares his teeth to his friend, the picture of Izuna’s dying smile in the forefront of his mind - kami knows how often that vision has haunted his nightmares. How can Hashirama not feel the same fear crushing his heart? “I don’t need your grandmother to know that a red string hurting its owner isn’t a good omen! How can his soulmate love him, when their string is killing him! Are you really going to risk Tobirama’s life like that? It’s your duty to protect him! If his soulmate doesn’t kill him, they are bound to hurt him in other ways. Are you going to stand there and let it happen!?”  

Hashirama pales, taking a step back - at the ripe age of almost fifteen, he of course must know all the ways humans can hurt each other, physically or not.

“You only have one brother left,” Madara says quietly, and he can’t quite tell if he’s talking to his friend or himself. “Are you going to let him die too?”

Hashirama is silent for a long moment, then shakes his head with decision, his brown eyes never leaving Madara’s black ones, making a silent promise: I won’t.



[continues with a damn lot of angst, because by the time Madara and Tobirama brush each other’s naked skin and see that they’re bound by the same string, Izuna is long since buried and Madara’s hate for Tobirama is an obsession. 

There’s a certain, perverse justice in this: their string appeared when they were kids, it was choking Tobirama long before he killed Izuna and thus earned Madara’s hate. Does that mean that Madara was fated to hate Tobirama? That Izuna was fated to die like he did?In the many sleepless night Madara soldiers through, he learns to make a sort of hateful, grieving peace with that.

If Izuna was fated to die, then Tobirama is fated to suffer. The Senju’s pain won’t bring Izuna back, but it eases the darkness rotting Madara’s soul, and that’s enough. Madara will hurt him, will drive him to a painful, slow death.]

  • Kid fan: If you have another big hit tv show series to go in besides Penny Dreadful and Doctor Who, what would it be?
  • Billie Piper: I really hope that it would have a music theme. You know it'd be cool to be in something with a strong music theme. And then there'd be maybe some dancing, something a bit rock and roll. Something a bit tasty and X-rated. Not *too* X-rated. You know what I mean. Just funky. Just a bit sort of late night. Not like final but just a bit wild. Something wild.
  • Facilitator: You can't watch
  • Billie Piper: Something you can't watch. Yet. (Pause) X-rated was too far.