the shiny red button

2

Requested by telekinetic-geek


In your defense, you had been itching to put that coat on since the Doctor started wearing it. And it was given to him by Janis Joplin, for goodness sakes! At least, that’s what he kept saying. Whether it was true or not… well, you wanted to put it on. Janis Joplin and Time Lord fashion aside, you sort of had a tiny fantasy about wearing his clothes. You hadn’t realized until he had to let you wear his tie (more like he made you wear his tie because disguises), but ever since then, the coat had been on your list of potential victims.

Now, you were alone in the TARDIS, and that coat was folded up and lying on the console, all innocent and unguarded. Some part of you reasoned that he might not appreciate you touching it. It was his personal property, it was his trademark, it was his pride- 

It was his fault that he had left it unattended.

You slipped the coat on and immediately realized that the Doctor didn’t just wear this as a fashion statement. It was comfortable. Oh, he was gonna pitch a fit when he next regenerated and stopped being able to wear it.

“‘Ello, I’m the Doctah!” you said to the empty TARDIS, brandishing an invisible sonic. You imagined yourself as the Doctor (shirt too tight, shoes don’t match suit, constant management of the hair). "How many random things can I babble about today? Ooh, who knows, but look, a shiny thing! And a big red button that must never, ever be pressed? What shall I do? Press it, of course! But first, I’m gonna lick it, because I have to lick everything, and I’m gonna be completely oblivious to the fact that licking everything is slightly disgusting and slightly sexy in a weird, weird way… ooh, I’m gonna use my sonic which works on everything except for wood even though it’s a super-advanced piece of machinery, and watch me flirt my way across the galaxy with my blue box- AGH!“

The Doctor stood in the doorway, looking slightly… startled, by what he was seeing. But before you had the chance to make an excuse, he laughed.

"I that what I’m like?” he asked, chuckling as he walked to you.

You smiled, torn between letting yourself be embarrassed and fighting the embarrassment with devil-may-care attitude. For the sake of saving face with the Doctor, you chose to stand somewhere in between. “Sort of. I was getting a bit carried away.”

“Eh…” The Doctor did that thing with his lips, that unintentional little duck-lipped pout that he made when he was weighing and measuring a concept. Then he smirked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, if I’m anything like that, I must be a rather attractive bloke. Very interesting, very likable.”

It occurred to you that the Doctor might have heard the bit about the sexy licking, but you decided to play it safe and not mention it unless he brought it up first.

“In fact,” the Doctor continued, all bravado, “I must be the most brilliant, handsome man in all time and space, if that is what you think I’m like. And, also, because of this.”

The Doctor held out his hand and there, pinched between his finger and thumb, was a piece of paper. And on that paper was a name that you knew well, along with an address that you didn’t recognize, but- oh. Oh.

OH.

“How did you know?” you asked.

“I perused your collection of books and noticed that certain ones, by a certain author, just happened to look as if they had been read more often than the others.” The Doctor flashed you a smile; an I’m-so-clever-aren’t-I-of-course-I-am smile that would get on your nerves if it weren’t so adorable. “And I thought about it and decided… eh, why not make it a trip?”

You gaped at the Doctor. “You’re kidding.”

“Nuh-uh. Not kidding.” He grinned at you. “How’s a visit to your favorite author to make up for me leaving you alone in the TARDIS for so long today?”

“Yes!” you nearly squealed, wrapping your arms around the Doctor’s waist and hugging him tightly. “Thank you, that you so much.”

“Of, course,” the Doctor said, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Just one question first.”

“Yeah?”

The Doctor’s lips brushed against your ear, pushing his cool breath to tussle your hair and make goosebumps on the back of your neck.

“Is it really sexy when I lick things?”

Whether you would admit to the sexiness of licking or not, the Doctor, of course, had several experiments in mind including an ice cream cone and the patch of skin where your collarbone dipped. But, shh. You can’t know that yet. It’s a surprise.

About Sniper’s Vest

Sooo, I noticed everybody and their mom seem to have fallen in love with my cosplay vest for Sniper (and I don’t blame you, it’s the best one I’ve ever seen as well). Anyway, I decided to share a little something about it. Here goes!

First of all - yes, it’s made by myself (and my mom) entirely from scratch.

Materials used:

- fake leather (basic brown & very dark brown)

- second-hand, jeans-textured, a bit stretchy pants I cut in stripes for the trimming

- cheapest shiny red lining

- the buttons I had made by a leather workshop dude. It’s cheap.

Almost every Sniper’s vest I’ve seen so far was made out of linen… and didn’t look too well, because this material is too thin and cheap, and come on, Sniper may have like one set of clothes, but at least this one is sturdy and well-made enough to last him for years. Besides, I bet that 75% of all his posessions are made out of leather.

Anyway - faux leather looks nice, is thick enough to fold just right but also not too much, being relatively light and making sewing easy.

——

The pattern I made using my dad’s old vest as a template, only slimming it down at the sides. Keep in mind that I’m rather on the tall & thin side, so the measurements here are suited for this body type.

All the pieces cut and in the process of being sewn together. I modified the back a bit, sewing it from two pieces because it gave me this nice vertical line along the spine which made the vest slimmer, more dynamic and more realistic.

This isn’t a tutorial or step-by-step, just some useful info I decided was worth sharing. So I won’t be getting to much into detail, sorry. 

For the trim choose something rather thick and stretchy, otherwise it will all wrinkle and look awful. I used old jeans-textured grayish pants which worked perfectly (it still was a bitch to sew, seriously, trimming is the WORST).

On the side note - yes, the bullets are made out of marker cases, chopsticks and little pieces of pvc, hot glued together and smoothed with sculpting mass.

The collar is NOT a rectangle! Look up a tutorial on how to make a stand-up collar and make your pattern according to it. A rectangle will look bad and just flop down.

The pockets are of course functional (after all these years of female pants I can’t look at false pockets) and here’s how the rough pattern looked like. Be smarter than me and make the sides bigger. 

Ammo pouch is basically two rectangles sewn together in a weird way.

The whole vest is also lined, because lining makes everything 100% more expensive, comfortable and pretty. 

And the last thing - always weather your stuff even if it’s not a prop. Here’s a little close-up - you can see I painted the corners dark, to make the vest look more 3D, used up and authentic (plus a bonus side view).

And that would be all I guess. If you have any further questions about the vest or any other piece of this cosplay (clothes, props whatevs) just message me and I will answer… eventually. May take some time.

another day, another vaguedrabble of senseless allergy torture (sort of a “companion piece” to this scenario)

———————————

as the day progresses he comes to think of his nose as one of those self-destruct buttons in cartoons; protruding, shiny, alarmingly red, a disaster waiting to happen, an explosion ready to go off at the lightest touch of a finger

he mustn’t rub. he mustn’t sneeze. and above all, he mustn’t think about how badly he needs to do both of those things. repeatedly. furiously -

hh…

no. absolutely not. not going to happen. he digs his fingernails into his palm, presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. sniffles, just once, but as sharply as he can possibly manage. anything to stop the runaway hitching in its tracks.

later, he pleads with his overzealous immune system. afterwards. once I’ve finished with this and we’re out of here, I’m fully prepared to face the consequences. but not. now.   

ih’huh…

god, but he is just so itchy. so unbearably impossibly itchy. from the inner rims of his nostrils all the way to the far back of his sinuses, every nerve seems to be writhing in agony. it’s like he can feel each individual pollen grain lodged in there, like a myriad of stabbing pinpricks.

another sniffle, another noseful of pollen. fuck, he hates spring. hates it with every histamine-laden fiber of his being. the next person who stops by his desk to ask him if he’s okay will get a stapler hurled at their head.

there’s nothing for it. he’s going to have to blow his nose, or else he’ll start dripping all over his keyboard. tenting a tissue over his throbbing nose, he tries to blow as gently as possible, but the slight pressure shift inside his head is still enough to send a veritable shock wave of tickles through his nasal passages and, just like that, he is done. self-destruct sequence activated. 9, 8, 7…  

hh’uhh…”

…6, 5, 4…

hihHH -!”

…3, 2, 1 -

-hd’ISCHhh! -ht’DSCHih! -h’dtTISHh!

“Hey man, are you okay?”

Three’s No Crowd, Chapter 7/7

Read the rest on AO3



It’s in cap’n’s nature to push. If he spies a big red shiny button, you can damn well guarantee that he’ll wind up prodding it, however clearly it’s labelled Danger: Ejector Seat.

This right here is the perfect example. Yondu pops his question as they lay piled together in the aftermath: sweat and breath mingling, leakage crusting skin, everything stinking of sex and overheated hydraulics and huffer smoke. The fan does it’s best to introduce clean air to this concoction, but it’s a doddery old thing. They’ll be festering for the foreseeable future. But Kraglin and Yondu are used to it, and if Nebula dislikes the stink, she can always turn off her sensors.

“So, girlie,” Yondu drawls. He scratches at a splash of spunk, which managed to slip under his shirt and dry on his belly. “Ya tell yer sister about us, yet?”

It’s a barbed prickle of a query, made for no other purpose than to get a reaction. Kraglin would smack him for it - lightly - if he weren’t so sated and sleepy-warm. And if Nebula wasn’t carding through his hair, rhythmic and slow, delivering one sharp tug for every three strokes that makes his breath catch and his scalp burn, leg jerking like a dog in the throes of a rabbit-chasing dream. 

Luckily, Nebula doesn’t need him to fight her battles. “Have you told Quill?”

“Touché, darlin’.”

She’s hogging the coveted middle spot. When Yondu slings an arm across her shoulders, dragging her in to press a bristly kiss to her cheek while Kraglin curls happily against her legs, head on her lap and enjoying his petting, she doesn’t complain. Her mouth even makes that upwards twitch that means she’s smiling.


Unfortunately, Yondu’s teasing proves a harbinger of what’s to come.

They don’t bother staggering their exits. They’re too old for that shit, the lot of them. While they ain’t gonna sit the Guardians down and hold their hands as they broach this awkward conversation topic, skulking around and fucking in storage closets like randy Ravager-rookies don’t hold much appeal.

Well, it does for Yondu. The Ravagers’ general intolerance of sentiment meant that he and Kraglin spent several years’ worth of off-shifts rocking together in those poky cabinets, which tended to smell of cleaning solvents and the past occupants’ bodily fluids. But while he hadn’t minded it, Kraglin had. When Yondu tries to pull the cap’n card and assert some authority, Nebula reminds him that she’s technically his business partner, and Kraglin meekly mutters something about Yondu not having a crew anymore, and so is it technically correct to call him cap’n? Eventually,  Yondu acquiesces to being outvoted, for the sole sake of shutting them up.

And so. They ain’t gonna hide their ménage à trois. And it’s a good thing they came to that decision before opening the cabin door, because Quill’s got his whole darn team stationed outside.

They’re waiting to ask Yondu for yet another detour. When Yondu and Kraglin saunter out, yawning and scrubbing at unshowered armpits through their leathers, they all start babbling at once. They’re trying to convince him that it’s of the utmost importance to Yondu’s prime directive – make money – that the Guardians go and liberate a colony of indentured servants in the Outer Rim, for a payout that won’t cover their fuel costs.

When Nebula emerges, that natter trickles to a halt. It’s as if bungs have been shoved into every Guardian’s mouth in ascending height order, from Rocket to Gamora to Mantis to Drax.

Quill, forever a step behind, is the exception. He advances, eyes only on Yondu.

“So, in conclusion, we’re gonna need the shuttle and the entire weapon load. There’s probably not gonna be any profit, as such, but you should still totally let us use your resources because think of the poor children, and – is that Nebula?”

Nebula waggles her fingers. Her stoicism could rival a rock’s. Kraglin corpses quietly into his fist, and Yondu being Yondu, doesn’t bother disguising his cackle.

“The one, the only, boy.”

“What was Nebula doing in your room?”

“Oh,” says Yondu breezily, adjusting his fly zipper. “This and that.”

“I’m this,” Kraglin deadpans. Nebula nods to Yondu.

“He’s that.”

Rocket’s muzzle crinkles around his frown. The rest of them are still mid-process. Drax examines the trio before shrugging and proclaiming that their union is for the best, as repulsive people should stick together, while Mantis looks rather too interested. (She must know what sex is, right? Peter’d told them about his father’s creepy softcore manikin-porn montages- but Kraglin doubts the old jackass would’ve explained them to a girl he saw as a walking, talking sleeping pill. That’s gonna be one cringey conversation. Hopefully Quill will handle it - although not with practical demonstrations.)

Gamora meanwhile, stares at her sister as if she’s seeing her in a whole new light. Nebula bristles.

“What?”

Gamora’s chin wags silently. Then a smile blossoms. Like Nebula’s, it stretches stiffly around her cybernetics, and makes the angles of her cheekbones a little less reminiscent of knife blades. “I’m happy that you are happy,” she says.

Rocket pads up to Yondu, Groot on his shoulder. He tugs his pant leg for attention.

“I am Groot.”

“Whassat?”

“She shot you in the head, man. What the hell?”

Yondu shrugs. His eyes flick to Nebula, teeth bared in the smuggest of his many, many grins. “Implant. Right, girl?”

“Right,” Nebula agrees. She doesn’t take their hands as Yondu leads the way to the cockpit, where he and Quill can argue out the fine points of this job with data pads and graphs and lobbable trinkets at their disposal. They ain’t got that sort of relationship. Kraglin doubts they ever will. But she falls into stride besides Kraglin, nudging her metal shoulder off his flame patch. The pair of them watch Quill trail Yondu, walking backwards so he can goggle between the three of them while jabbering.

“B-b-but she’s like, half your age!”

“Double it, actually.”

“But that means – shit. Gamora, how old are you?”

Yondu smacks the back of his head, jolting the everpresent headphones to dangle. “Don’t ask a lady that!”

Kraglin opts not to mention that Yondu had done the exact same thing last night. He lets his bicep brush Nebula’s as they walk. Their fingertips catch for the briefest of moments before they separate, then catch again, touching and parting with every step in a mutable line of contact.

“But you’re getting more action than me!” wails Peter. “That’s not fair!”

Kraglin smiles, and catches Nebula attempting the same. They share it, for a blissful moment. Then they look ahead, and keeps walking.  She doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t look at her. But neither of them take the sidestep that would widen the gap between them, and really, that’s all that matters.

okay so i whipped this out quick as i could and its really just a rough idea so far but! im Hopping right in on @selfinsertheaven ‘s Wonderland Au! 

Introducing Nora {they|them, thank you}, descendant of the White Rabbit who brought Alice Liddell all those years ago. Currently they act as mentor and caretaker to the young Prince of Hearts until he’s old enough to properly take the thrown. They’re nervous and shy, and constantly anxious for the impending danger just over the horizon. They know the importance of reconciling the kingdoms, but doesn’t see any hope of it happening any time soon- until the Liddell descendant stumbles her way to Wonderland.

Their outfit consists of a crisp, frilly white blouse, with bright red suspenders and shorts (to match their eyes!), shiny gold buttons, and big clunky white boots to fit their bunny feet. 

This is shaping up to be a really fun au, and I definitely encourage more people to join!

biblionerd07  asked:

Steve/Bucky, “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

  • “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

Bucky stares at Steve. “This isn’t a joke?” he asks, looking at the shiny red, white and blue button in his hand. It’s got the shield’s design with it with ‘Steve Rogers for Mayor’ written in blocky, white letters.

Steve shakes his head, slowly. “No,” he says. “It’s not.”

Bucky groans. “Why?” he asks.

“Because,” Steve says, chest puffing out and voice getting deeper, his stage voice. “This city is mismanaged, and people are getting evicted without any help, and–”

“Stop,” Bucky answers. Steve furrows his brows, obviously unamused. “Fine, whatever. I’ll help, do whatever you need.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Really?” he asks.

“Let’s get this straight,” Bucky says, poking a finger into Steve’s perfect pectoral. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. And I remember the time we went into a Nazi artillery unarmed with only Falsworth for back-up.” Steve rolls his eyes; it was a dumb plan and a miracle that they survived. “But,” Bucky adds, you’re probably qualified, and would be really great at it, and… Of course I’m in.” Steve grins, so Bucky adds, “You idiot,” for good measure.

—-

Six months later, and Bucky is pretty sure that he hasn’t slept a full since the moment Steve told him he was running for office. It’s been a marathon since then: press events, and charity marathons, and shaking hands, and pretending to genuinely care half as much as Steve does.

“It’ll be okay either way,” Steve whispers to him in the back of the crowded room. They’ve rented out a party hall for the results, and invited everyone who worked on the campaign, as well as making it free to any community members who want to come, so the place is absolutely packed with people gobbling down mini corndogs and drinking soda. Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Just because I won’t win doesn’t mean–”

“You’ll win,” Bucky says. He’s sure. “You’ll–”

“How do you–”

“I know.” Bucky says, then shuts Steve up by kissing him. Kissing Steve has always been a way to get a moment of peace and quiet, and the kissing is an added bonus.

Steve lingers for a long moment, pulling his lips away but resting his forehead on Bucky’s. “Y’know,” he says. “Thanks. For standing by me through all this.”

“Said ‘til the end of the line, didn’t I? Didn’t think it’d be the voting line, but I guess I should’ve expected it.”

Steve laughs, a small breathy chuckle that makes Bucky shiver. “I wanted to ask you,” Steve begins, “before things get crazy, if you’ll do something else for me.”

“Anything,” Bucky promises, not bothering to mask it behind any sort of lies.

“Marry me?” Steve asks, still close, still breathy, but reaching into his pocket and pressing a ring into Bucky’s hand.

Bucky takes a deep breath, wraps his hand around the ring and holds tight. “Sure,” Bucky says. “I think I could.”

Steve grins as the room erupts into cheers, people screaming about how Steve Rogers is now the Mayor of New York City.

Send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you a drabble!

sadistic fantasy of the day:

a character with bad hayfever having an absolutely horrendous allergy day even by their standards, because they somehow managed to run out of prescription meds the night before and now have to rely on over-the-counter stuff that might as well be sugar pills for what difference they make. meanwhile the pollen count is stratospheric, their oblivious co-workers have kept several windows open in the office because the AC isn’t working properly, and to top it all off they can’t go home because they have an important deadline to meet and they’re already behind schedule

What happens when Tony gets extremely bored...
  • Tony: I'm going to do it
  • Bruce: No Tony, don't-
  • Tony: I'm going to press this shiny red button..
  • Steve: Tony, don't-
  • *Finger lowers closer to the button*
  • Tony: It will be fun!
  • Bruce/Steve: TONY NO!!!
  • *Boop*
  • *Massive explosion in the distance*
  • Avengers: Oh for fucks sake Tony, you've fucked everything up again.
  • Tony: *Giggle*
Date Night Series: Episode Two

Date Night is a series of one shot fanfictions that I’ll be writing about what Harley and the Joker would do on date nights.  

You can find my first installment of Date Night here, I hope you all enjoy episode two!

“What has a girl gotta do ta get a good burger around here?” Harley whined as she strolled down Gotham’s main street.  Harley often played what she liked to call the ‘detective game’.  She would go ‘undercover’, wearing her hair down, minimal makeup, and a very mundane outfit, allowing her to blend in.  She would walk down the street and watch people, try to examine their lives and understand what was bothering them, she was a psychiatrist after all.  The only annoying thing about this game was that she could never play this game with the Joker, he would always stand out, even if he tried to blend in.  He once even tried wearing a mask to blend into the crowd, but people were even more drawn to him.  So Harley usually had to play by herself.  Until recently.  She had discovered a way to add the Joker into her game.  She would plain old Harleen Quinzel, wandering down the street, minding her own business, when the Joker would come in out of nowhere and steal her away in some new and insane way in front of crowds of people, this was much more fun than just playing alone.  

  At this exact moment though, Harley didn’t know if her clown king was going to swoop in at all, she had pestered him about it for days.  She told him how bored she was, waiting for him to work and take care of business transactions, she never got him all to herself, not even for a second.  Harley, I always take you to the club! He had tried to reason with her, but that wasn’t enough.  All that was was a show for the next customer or victim, and as much as Harley loved to get all dressed up and put on a show, that wasn’t what she had meant by date night.  So today, she had just gotten up, huffing and puffing as she passed J’s office, and shouted “I’m going out!” and slammed the door behind her.  Now that she thought about it, it was pretty damn depressing to walk around dressed like Harleen Quinzel, the psychiatrist gone crazy.  The gone crazy part of that title was the part Harley liked.  The rest, well, it was kind of boring.  

  She began to think she would be spending date night alone, ruined once again by business or bats, or whatever Mistah J was up to,  Harley looked ahead of her, all she saw was masses of people, black and grey clothes and umbrellas to shield them from the rain, they moved quickly to keep up with the pace of the bustling city.  “How can you all be so BORING?!” Harley shouted.  Just as the words had fallen off her lips had she noticed that the people weren’t just running to keep up with the rest of the city, they were running from something, and she had been walking towards it.  “Well tonight’s about to get a little more interesting.” Harley whispered to herself as she approached whatever it was everyone was running from.  

  As she got closer, she heard the flapping of a helicopter, but the sound was so close she could tell it was near the ground.  Harley took off in a dead sprint, she just had to know what the commotion was all about.  Soon enough, she figured it out, and she was over the moon.  She finally found it.  What everyone was so afraid of, what everyone was running from.  In the middle of a large and densely populated square in Gotham, sat a helicopter, a large one that was hovering near the ground with a rope dangling from it, the rope was bright red and black, Harley’s favorite colors.  Inside the helicopter, staring down and cackling at the herds of people trying to escape was none other than the Joker himself.  He stood there laughing as well as scanning the crowd, clearly looking for Harley.  He was dressed in silk button down shirt in deep red, with most of its black, shiny buttons undone.  He wore suspenders attached to his pitch black dress pants with expensive black loafers lurking underneath.  When he finally spotted Harley, the entire city of Gotham probably noticed Harley.  “HAAAAAARRRLEY QUUUINN!” he shouted, laughing menacingly.

  “Puddin!” Harley shouted, running towards the helicopter.  She threw her basic black heels off of her feet and pulled two hair ties out of her pocket and began to tie up her hair into two distinct pigtails.  As she got closer to the helicopter, she began to notice more and more details about its appearance.  For instance, she could see that the Joker was standing atop a bearskin rug that had a bucket of ice with grape soda resting on it, two champagne glasses were decoratively placed next to it.  Harley began to giggle and run faster, she knew her Puddin wouldn’t let her down on date night, she just knew it!  And he put so much planning into it, his outfit and the rope were her favorite colors, and the soda, grape was his favorite but because of that it had become her favorite too.  She finally reached the rope, but before she could jump to reach it, Batman swooped in and pulled Harley from the helicopter.  “Hey!” Harley shouted angrily as she kicked and pushed away from him.  “Leave me alone, would ya Bats, we haven’t even done nothin wrong!  And it’s date night!”

  “Harley,” Batsy said to her, still holding tightly onto her so she couldn’t flee, “you haven’t done anything yet, but your date nights never end well for anyone.”

  “Well for your information Batsy, date nights always work out well for Mistah J and I, they’re lots of fun!  Haven’t ya ever been in love?” she said, and she began to stop struggling against Batman’s grip.  She thought of it kind of like one of those finger traps you would find at a toy store, if you pulled too much, it would just squeeze your fingers, but if you loosened up and just kept your fingers calm, the trap would let them free.  The finger trap was Batman, and Harley was the finger, so she remained calm, hoping she could distract him enough to drop her and let her go.  

  “Quinn, enough of your questions, I’m not your patient.  You let me bring you back home or I’ll take you both to Arkham, your choice.”

  Harley gasped with glee, “Can we share a room at Arkham?  Ooh Bats, you should plan our next date night cause that sounds like a hellofa lotta fun!” she began to wriggle around in Batman’s arms, hoping he would drop her so she could go tell the Joker where they were going.  “BABY!” she shouted up to the sky, “how do ya feel about a sleepover at Arkham!  Bats is gonna book us a room!”  Harley could still see the Joker, watching her struggle with Batman, he looked very uncomfortable at the sight of Batman holding onto her like that.  

  “Harls!” he yelled nervously, “how about I take you somewhere even nicer?”

  “Like?” Harley crossed her arms and pouted like a child, she always had so much fun at Arkham.  They could never really contain her, she was too much of a wild child, always trying to escape and mostly ending up successful.  So when the Joker didn’t share in her sentiment, Harley grew upset.  “Ya know, I really like Arkham, I think we have a lotta fun there!  They’re even gonna let us share a room!  Doesn’t that sound romantic, Puddin?” she smiled up at him.

  “I never said-” Batman tried to chime in, but Harley shushed him immediately.

  “Oh Bats, you really still think you can control us?  We’ve been doing whatever the hell we want for years, you’re not about to stop us now, I promise.” she smiled brightly at him, she wished she had been wearing all of her Harley Quinn makeup so that she could’ve made a better impression, or at least freaked him out a bit more.

  “Harley!” the Joker screamed at the top of his lungs, growing ever more irritated as their situation persisted.  “How about I take you to dinner?  Or go to a hotel?  Any one you want, I’ll get rid of all the other guests, you can have anything you want, doll.” a grand smile spread across his face as he saw Harley growing more and more excited, he knew she couldn’t resist him giving her whatever she wanted.

  “Ok!” Harley chirped, then she swiftly pulled her gun from her pocket and fired a shot into Batman’s shoulder, as he went tumbling back, Harley skipped over to the helicopter and hoisted herself up on the rope, as the vehicle began to sail up into the air, Harley made childish faces at Batman and giggled before climbing up to the top of the rope and hopping into the plane with her pudding’.

  At the top of the helicopter, Harley and the Joker could see a defeated Batman, looking up at them in defeat.  The Joker began to laugh that enthralling laugh of his, and Harley was put in a trance.  Hearing him happy like that mad her feel like she was the luckiest girl in the world, to have such an evil king to rule by.  She leaned in and kissed him, their makeup was smeared and distorted by the time Harley pulled away, but she was euphoric.  

  “So where are we gonna go?” Harley sat cross legged on the bearskin rug lying in the center of the helicopter.  “We can’t rob a bank, that’s too last season.  I want to do somethin simple though….ooh I know!  Why don’t ya get us the only reservation to that fancy hotel that just opened up?  I’m thinkin the honeymoon suite.”.  The Joker knew exactly what Harley meant by the only reservation, she didn’t ask for something like that a lot, but the Joker gave it to her whenever she wanted it.  So they flew the helicopter over to the newly opened Chez Gotham, it was gorgeous, and it had to be five stars, it was by far the nicest hotel in all of Gotham.  Once near the entrance, Harley and the Joker dropped out of their helicopter and made their way through the entrance of the hotel.  People began to flee, running all different directions as they saw the two approach.  The Joker was scary enough, but with his girlfriend by his side, he was much scarier.  Why?  Because anything Harley wanted, Harley got, and the Joker would do anything he had to do to get it for her.  So walking into this hotel meant if Harley wanted the place to herself, and you didn’t leave on command, you would be dead.   

  “Puddin….I think I want a party.” Harley huffed, annoyed at all the people running away from her.  People always ran away from her, and never to her, except Mistah J, of course, and Batman but, he just was not her type.  The Joker strolled to the concierge, and ran his hand across the desk, slamming a fist hard on the wood when he reached just below the concierge’s nose.  

  “Lock it up.” he said swiftly and began to walk away.

  “Um…excuse me?” the small, skinny man whispered.

  “Lock.  It.  Up.” the Joker leaned closer and closer with each word, until he was millimeters from the man’s face, then he roughly patted the man’s unfortunate haircut and strolled away to meet Harley.  She had started walking over to an elevator.  The two entered and made their way to the top floor, which took forever because Harley just had to press all of the buttons.  They finally reached the nicest room in the hotel, it had an entire floor to itself, and there was a hallway with windows that looked over the lobby if you drew the curtains.  So Harley danced to these windows, pulling the curtains wide open, then she ran to the phone.  A few moments later, she met the Joker back in front of the windows.

  “So I got a lobster, some steak, french fries, and four ice cream sundaes.” she smiled like an accomplished young child.  The Joker kissed her head and pulled her close.

  “Isn’t it heartwarming?” the Joker asked.

  “What do ya mean Mistah J?”

  “Seeing all of those people, so afraid, terrified of what we’ll do to them.  And we’ll just be up here.” he chuckled and it eventually turned into a full on laugh, a trademark Joker laugh, and this made Harley begin to giggle as well, wishing she had her own signature laugh.  

  “It really does Puddin’.  That’s why I love you, ya know,” Harley whispered, “you tell the best jokes.” 

Rustic.

My stove is not flat.  My cookie sheet is not flat.  My oven tray is not flat.  My cookies are not round.  I am so angry.  

I needed someone to lay some Ina Garten logic all over me and was like chefstrid, are you there?  And this happened.  And this is like, early cast iron-verse.  Like, lost scene sort of thing.  I don’t know.  But here?  


“This is…this is a fucking—sorry!”  Hiccup’s face lights up bright red with honestly apologetic shock.  

Fishlegs barely hits the censorship button in time, tagging the occurrence for later editing.  It’s a brand new button, red and shiny, and Astrid sighs because if she doesn’t have the best restaurant, at least she has the most profane cooking show.  Next on the checklist, excelling at things that actually, you know, matter. 

Keep reading

headcanon in which enjolras’ red coat is so tattered and worn that it looks really just miserable - because of course he doesn’t have the time to go and buy a new coat - and it gets to the stage where he looks so shabby that montparnasse can’t cope any more and forces him into accepting a replacement from his wardrobe

so enjolras eventually gives in and shows up to the next meeting in this new coat, which was too plain for ‘parnasse so he never really wore it anyway, but compared to what enjolras normally wears it’s as ornate all hell. and so enj walks in the room with this deep red military coat with gold trim and shiny brass buttons and between the coat and the cheekbones and the blond curls he just looks like a god of war, and grantaire turns around and just

“fuck.”

anonymous asked:

What do you think about "a pretty good pair" being used for Stalia (by Shelley in the interview)? It's clearly a Sterek related phrase. I don't think it was just random wording but was used on purpose. And I also think Shelley was instructed what to say and how to word it. Many already think it's another blow into our shipper faces but that would be way too straightforward for it. What are your thoughts on it, anda? I feel like the truth lies between the lines, you know.

I’ve been reblogging my Sestra @Athenadark’s comments on this, because I think she’s dead on, and I encourage everyone to read them. 

The whole article reads like a manipulation. Things are said very carefully, practically in code. It’s like Dylan saying that Stiles isn’t gay and he likes girls- both true statements if he’s bi, but giving the entirely wrong impression. We’re dealing with very shady ‘letter of the law’ stuff here. 

Add into that Keahnu’s tweet, and I think we are getting our tail yanked. The Sterek fandom is a MASSIVE beast. We out number all the other ships combined, probably 3 times over. We’re huge, and guess what? 

We have HUGE SHINY RED BUTTONS. And Jeff loves to push them. He has explicitly said so. He gets off on it. I kinda feel like we are in some kind of weird D&S relationship with him. 

So yeah, the timing of this, the phrases used “A pretty good pair”, the use of the word 'Mate’ for the first time from the show, the frequent reminders of the scene in Echo House- this is all some major button pushing. Because they wouldn’t be revealing this kind of detail if this was the key plotline of the season- not before a single episode aired.

In 3B both Scott/Kira and Allison/Issac were important plotlines, and while we knew they might be getting together, the show keep the rumors of exactly what would happen pretty quiet, making it more of a 'Will they/Won’t they’ kind of thing. (Yes, we knew they would, but the PR department tried to play coy)

Compare that to Stiles/Malia, which they are shouting from the rooftops, spilling every detail they can. My friends, if you can’t smell a rat here, I don’t know how I can help you. Other than to point out that the only relationship that got this kind of hype in the past was Derek & Jennifer. 

Let THATbe your guide, rather than the PR department’s button pushing.

Liveblog of All Things Considered:

- okay bitches les go
- Lovelace you amazing woman please hurt Jacobi forever
- oooooo Kepler’s pissed
- Lovelace yelling military terms is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard holy shit take me now
- THE SCOTCH HOLY SHIT THEY DIDN’T
- THEY DEAD
- are they seriously doing THAT episode
- oh my god they are
- hera has no chill my baby
- jacobi you human disaster i love you
- eiffel is so tired someone help this man
- “I DIDN’T DO IT” MY GOD I LOVE
- LIGHTSABER NOISE THIS NERD
- eiffel w h y
- “this thing?” “sure why not”
- “THE URANIA DOESN’T HAVE ANY INTEGRITY” LMAO BURN
- THE DING AND THE COMMENTARY MY GOD
- WHAT ARE THEY SCREAMING I NEED TO KNOW
- “It was at this moment I knew: we fucked up.”
- W H A T
- WHY THE FUCK IS MINKOWSKI A VALLEY GIRL
- WHERE THE FUCK DID THEY GET THE DONUTS
- WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON
H ELP
- eiffel is relatable because i too would touch the red button if it was shiny
- someone give emma a gold medal for just her acting in jacobi’s story this is the greatest thing I’ve ever heard
- did valley girl minkowski just yell “you’re amazing I love you jacobi omigawd” wtf
- eiffel you NERD
- hera in eiffel’s part is my favorite its so relatable
- does literally everyone have eiffel’s terminology
- EIFFEL PLEASE HAVE SOME SELF ESTEEM YOU POOR BABY
- “it’s like you’ve never even seen Touch of Evil. Wait, what is touch of evil?”
- “You’re always the problem” EIFFEL NO PLEASE I LOVE YOU THEY LOVE YOU
- THAT HIGH FIVE THOUGH AFTER THE SICKEST OF BURNS
- “NOT SO STRONG FEMALE CHARACTER” ICONIC PUT THIS ON MY GRAVESTONE
- YOU GO MINKOWSKI PUNCH A BITCH
- minkowski’s punch probably is enough to knock you out I would thank her
- HILBERT GASP
- “I am here now because Russians drawn to loud noises” I AM LITERALLY DYING
- GOD BLESS THIS
- is minkowski a southern belle now because that is also sexy help I’m gay
- Maxwell has a robot army now apparently and I must say that is the most in character thing she could ever do god bless our holy queen and savior may her robot army enslave us all
- EIFFEL WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON DID YOU FORGET TO TAKE YOUR MEDS AGAIN wait shit so did I hold on lemme pause
- okay I’m back and I took my meds where we last left our heroes Lovelace was being awesome
- ohhhhhh snap
- psh Kepler like you’re one to talk “long story short”
- are they seriously making eiffel do a spacewalk after space continues to kill him and he seriously has PTSD from all this
- Kepler you Colonel asshole
- “IN MY HAND”
- kepler ffs take a chill pill are u okay
- “DON’T SAY IT.”
- Lovelace is enjoying this and I do not blame her
- this episode was the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life god bless sarah and the whole team this was amazing