#but potato potahto am i right

[askinkiskarma]

what's a fun fact about you?

i cannot not be covered by a blanket if i'm laying on a couch/bed. like under every circumstance, be it summer or winter, be it night or day, i will be covered by a blanket/duvet, and i get irrationally angry when anyone tries to uncover me or remove it from me hahaahhaha

[fandomsfanatic]

Running away 😭

Wednesday walking away grimly: I am running away as Enid stated that she is no longer romantically interested in me.

Enid dragging her back to the dorm by her shirt: I literally never said that! I just said you can't stab somebody just because they didn't get my order right!

Wednesday sulking sadly holding a knife:......potatoe potahtoe

[obigem]

After school, Matthew met Cordelia in the resource room to discuss club options.

He was honestly a little surprised to see she actually showed up. After their walk to school and seeing how smitten she was with Jai through it all, he wouldn't have been shocked if she'd forgotten.

He'd never seen her like that. So wanting of someone's attention. Infatuated. From what he'd overheard she was having him over for dinner. He could never compete with any of that.

But still.

He couldn't worry about any of that right now.

It wasn't as if he had begged her to spend time with him.

She freely and willingly offered her help to him.

That had to mean something.

And for now, that would just have to be enough.

"There you are!" Cordie said cheerily. "What kind of face is that to have? You should be excited to be joining a club."

"I said I'd considered it. I never said I was eager to join one."

"Potato, potahto." Cordie brushed him off. "Lucky for you, I came prepared."

"Prepared how?"

"Well, during free period, I went through the activities catalog and categorized all the school's activities by type. Then I filtered those further by ones I thought you'd be well suited for."

"And how did you determine that?"

"Well, I mostly had to go on what I remembered of you from when we were kids, mixed with what I know of you now, and then added in what I thought you'd benefit from. So once I considered all of that, I came out with a clear choice."

"Which is?"

"The football team!"

"Hard pass."

"What? Why?! It's perfect for you."

"In what regard?"

"Well, you're pushy and opinionated and you can be pretty agressive and prone to asserting your dominance."

"So you really do think I'm a brute." Matthew scowled.

"You're missing the point! All of those are things that you can put to good use as a football player. It's a positive way to work off your agression, and a willingness to assert dominance could be an asset on the field. Plus the major upside is it's a team sport!"

"How is that a major upside?"

"Well, I know you and Dale have become fast friends, but being on a team is an easy way to make even more. I just feel like if you had a solid circle of friends, you'd be happier here, and it'll make staying feel more like the right choice for you."

"A solid circle of friends with a bunch of football jocks," Matthew scoffed, "like Jairo?"

"Well...yeah, what's so wrong with that?"

"Maybe I'm not interested in being his friend."

"Why not? Jai's really nice, and sweet, and caring, and—"

"Ugh, come off it already!"

"I get it already, you're in love with Jai! What's so great about him anyway?" Matthew grumbled.

Cordie could tell he was seething but she couldn't tell why. He hadn't been this enraged since the first day of school, so what could've distempered him so quickly?

"I...I'm sorry." Cordie stammered.

"You're sorry?"

"I obviously said something that upset you, so if I did—"

"You didn't, I—just forget about it. I just am not a fan of team sports, working with people I don't know. It doesn't sound fun for me."

"Oh." That actually made sense.

"Well, if you'd prefer to join a club with people you know, what about my club? Me and Dale would be there, so it wouldn't be completely foreign. But I know you wouldn't want to. Just joking!" Cordie waved it off, but then—

"What if I did want to?"

[magixfairyix]

Shenanigans

Post, S.S.S and the reason that the chat name between Iorda and Stormy is NoMoreSkinEatingDeamonsPls

@elsa-fogen here's context for the chat name XD

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

~Trix Chat~

StormyShips: Black Mud swamp. Potion ingrediant. Who's in?

DarkRoach: Stormy it's 10pm... I'm the only one awake

StormyShips: Thanks for volunteering as a tribute >:)

DarkRoach: ... 10pm

StormyShips: Potato potahto. Yes or no?

DarkRoach: *sigh* Wasn't going to get much sleep anyway, why not?

20 Minuetes Later...

StormyShips: So we can't speak because otherwise the Ariste will hear us. Only communication is through this chat

DarkRoach: The what now?

StormyShips: Creatures that'll eat our skin if we make noise

DarkRoach: TF DID YOU BRING ME FOR

StormyShips: Becuase, one, you consented. And two, you can control dark creatures

DarkRoach: You know I lost that ability when I became a witch, right???

StormyShips: ... there goes plan B

17 Minuetes Later...

DarkRoach: FUCK YOU STORMY AND YOUR DAMN HEELS IF I DIE IT'S NINE FOR NINE AND I DON'T HAVE ANYMORE FUCKING LIVES LEFT!

StormyShips: JUST RUN!

DarkRoach: I'M GONNA GET MY SKIN EATEN FUUUUKKKKKK. FUCK YOU I CAN SEE WHY ICY IS THE IMPULSE CONTROL OF YOU THREE!

StormyShips: RUN BITCH WE'RE ALMOST AT ALFEA

DarkRoach: WHY WOULD YOU CHOSE TO WEAR HEELS IN A SWAMP YOU'RE WORSE THAN STELLA!

StormyShips: SO I COULD BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ANYTHING THAT TRIES TO KILL US!

DarkRoach: THEN BY ALL MEANS BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THE ARISTE

30 Minutes Later...

DarkRoach: DARCY I KILLED AN ARISTE AM I GOING TO GET ARRESTED? STORMY SAYS NO IT'S LIKE KILLING A STARYUMMY BUT I DON'T TRUST HER AFTER THIS!

StormyShips: You're fine. It's like killing a mosquito!

DarkRoach: FUCK IT I'M SLEEPING MURDER BE DAMNED

[astarab1aze]

"i cannot say i indulge in the gesture of pinching another's cheeks, however ... " there would be a hand extending towards loux, gale providing with a reassuring pat on top of clothed frame, very much praising him for the effort with the passing ... well, they weren't quite merchants, but something of a far more ruthless and wicked kind. while some blood might have been shed, their hides had once again remained safe and unscathed; "... i do believe thanks are in order. as per usual you prove to be quite the excellent ... well, potato ?"

potato?

" hear me out, hear me out," gale would quickly deflect, hand pulled back with a correcting finger. " potatoes are excellent, for they can be used in several ways that prove beneficial - like you, loux. you are beneficial in quite the ways ... and while it might have sounded offensive, i do mean it as praise. you make an excellent potato and travelling companion."

potato? of all the words in the world that the wise wizard, he whose interest was deeply tied to literature and ancients scrolls, stood here and compared the other to a ... potato.

About all Loux had really learned of Gale was that he tended to talk a lot, and sometimes suffered a bit of the old 'Foot in Mouth' disease. Par for the course with wizards, in his experience; The last time he was in Baldur's Gate had proven as much - that Lorroakan and his spectral, magic clone running Sorcerous Sundries gave him the eccentric lecture of a lifetime before throwing him out (the circumstances were less than savory; Loux was no stranger to casting invisibility and making off with just about everything he could carry, and thieving from other Weave-bound fools was quite the passtime of his).

This, well, it didn't seem all that different. A lecture of a sort, on the value and uses of a tuber. Potatoes were tubers, right? Regardless, his efforts in alchemical brewing had been thwarted by a clap on the shoulder and potato, potahto, poteeto, and, now, Loux was questioning whether he'd left a truly bad enough impression on Gale as to be compared to one. A compliment, sure, or it was supposed to be - praise in an unlikely place, at camp hidden away, far from the others and by the riverside. He liked it there best, the babbling of the steadily rushing water soothing where utmost care and precision were required. Focus.

Still, while he had the opportunity, he set his alchemical pursuits aside - he wasn't brewing anything too important anyway, merely potions to boost their arcane capabilities, albeit temprarily. He could be a team player...sometimes.

"A potato? Ye think of me as a vegetable?" In all honesty, he wanted to laugh. He could think of worse and better things for Gale to have come up with - many had made it plainly obvious they thought he'd be better off as a corpse left to dangle on a pike. A road-side attraction for the vengeful and foolish, he supposed. "S'pose there's worse things ye could say... I like potatoes anyway. Better ye call me that than a goblin, eh? Filthy buggers."

"Potatoes can be used fer just about anythin', and maybe that's all 'm really good for." Using. He had his uses, and he would not be important for any other reason - not to anyone; He made his peace with that a long time ago, but, even so, amused as he was in the moment, it wasn't exactly comforting when that got hammered in. Gale's intent wasn't to insult him, however. If his due was to be a means to an end, well, Loux guessed that was just how it had to be anyway. Oh well.

"Do ye talk to all the ladies like this? Or am I jus special?"

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @kyber-infinitygems​​​

tagging: @direwombat​​​ @adelaidedrubman​​​ @poetikat​​​ @derelictheretic​​​ @roofgeese​​​ @confidentandgood​​​ @marivenah​​​ @detectivelokis​​​ @strangefable​​​ @passinoutpieces​​​ @inafieldofdaisies​​​ @locustandwildhoney​​​ @voidika​​​ @purplehairsecretlair​​​ @shallow-gravy​ @kittiofdoom​​​ @clicheantagonist​​​ @josephslittledeputy​ @baldurrs​ (no pressure of course) and anyone else with anything to share consider this me tagging you :)

So now that I’ve finally reached the point where Kit’s in the Whitetails, expect a lot more Kit and Jacob stuff for these WIP Wednesdays. Here’s a bit from chapter 19 of American Beasts, set around the time of her 2nd trial shortly after the fun visit from Joseph:

“Kitten?” Her eyes flashed with anger, unimpressed by her own nickname. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that now.”

“Got a problem with that, Deputy?” He dragged his chair over, metal scraping against the floor. He swung his leg over the seat and sat down in front of her, leaning back and taking her in. His crossed arms drew attention to his broad shoulders, pulling at the worn canvas of his army jacket. “Look at ya. I’ve seen what you’re capable of. You’re methodical, precise. You strike hard and fast, you’re not some blunt object that beats until the job finally gets done. You’re sharp, like a knife, every cut you make is damn near surgical. Frankly, I'm impressed. You’re on the path of the Chosen now.”

Her eyebrows flicked up gently, surprised considering everything he’d said about her previously. “So you don’t want to kill me?”

“No, that would be a waste.” With a quick shake of his head, he unfolded his arms and pressed his hands to his thighs.

She couldn’t help but have her eyes follow, dragging over the denim material and noticing how it bunched up around the holster on his thigh. Noticing the very large blade he wore there, along with his handgun. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit she was growing fond of his legs. 

“I can help you, Kit, I can help make you strong.” He tilted his head with a smug grin.

“I am strong.”

“Oh, I am well aware of that.” He grabbed at the cougar pin on her jacket, his thumb brushing off a drop of blood that had dried on it. “The brutality inside you, just clawing at the surface, I can use that.”

She scoffed at his insinuation, “I’m not some fucking tool for you to use. Why don’t you get your own hands dirty?”

He sneered and then reached over towards the table beside her, in amongst his files and maps was a tarnished metal plate with a sandwich. White bread, crusts still intact, mustard dripping over the edge and clinging to what looked like bologna. He pulled the plate towards himself and placed it in his lap. 

She hadn’t eaten in some time and she could feel her stomach growl. It was hardly the most appetizing thing she’d ever seen but beggars can’t be choosers and right now she didn’t have many options. 

His eyes flicked up to notice where she was staring, a cruel grin spreading across his lips. “You came here because of Peaches, right?”

She was hardly going to refer to Staci using that stupid nickname. She rolled her eyes and brought her eyes back up to look Jacob in the face. “You mean, Pratt?”

“Potato, potahto.” He said with the shrug of his shoulder. 

Picking up one of the sandwich halves from the plate, he held it in front of her face just out of reach of her mouth. Another form of torture. 

“I’ll fucking bite you if you try and feed me.”

He pulled the sandwich back and grinned. “Then I'll have to grab ya by the scruff of the neck and toss ya back in your cage like the feral little kitten you are. Won’t I?” His pale eyes stared into hers. “Open up.”

His voice seemed to have a power over her now, she was tuned into the tone so when he gave an order she felt forced to obey, whether she liked it or not. She licked her chapped, wind-bitten lips and then opened her mouth. His hand shot to her jaw, fingertips stained with nicotine, gun oil and dirt pressed into the meat of her cheeks as he placed the corner of the sandwich into her mouth. She tore into it and began to chew all with a scowl on her face. 

“Why are you doing this?” She asked, her mouth full of bread.

“In the general sense or do you mean me feeding you?” She gave no answer to his question. He knew damn well what she meant. “I know how to treat my weapons, how to look after them, and how to care for them. And you, Kit, you are my weapon now. I intend to keep ya in fighting shape.” He answered with a wink.

“Tell your people to stop fucking shooting at me then,” she swallowed. 

He chuckled, “Maybe you should stop your war against us.”

“I’m just supposed to let you win?” Her brow furrowed, one thing she was not was a quitter, she was sure he already knew that too.

“Or you could join?” 

“You’re fucking crazy if you ever think that’s going to happen.”

His hand slipped from her face as leaned back in his seat, enjoying the little game they were in the middle of, the back and forth. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You let John live after all. Maybe you have a bit more sympathy for the devil than you think?”

“Or maybe you should put a bullet in my head for having a moment of weakness.”

“I was meaning to ask ya why you left him alive. After what he did, to you, to your friends. You could just have easily killed him. So why didn’t you?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, she could tell he was taunting her. Goading her into giving him further invitation into her thoughts than he had already stolen from her.  “You think I'd ever tell you something like that, give you more access to the inside of my head? I don't fucking think so.”

His eyes narrowed, but the smirk remained. “Smart girl.” He brought the sandwich up to her mouth once more. 

“I don't need to explain myself.”

“You don’t. Not to me.”

She bit into the sandwich, tearing another chunk off like she was ripping into his jugular with her teeth. “You think you know me, Seed?”

“I know you better than you know yourself. You follow the rules that society has deemed essential, you hide what you really are because it makes it easier on everyone else. You’d rather be alone somewhere far away where you could do as you please, where your instincts are all that matter. When you’re out there fighting you feel a rush, don’t you? You like the blood and the violence. It makes you feel strong, powerful, in a way nothing else seems to match. When the world comes to an end, you’re one of the few who could survive it.”

She sat there chewing with a cocked eyebrow as she forced the food down her throat with a heavy swallow. “Just me and the cockroaches, huh?”

“You already spend all your time with insects, would things really be so different?”

She shook her head, “There is nothing you will ever be able to say to me to get me on your side.”

He placed the plate back on his table and stood up, pacing around her seat. “You know I'm right, Kit. Ignoring the religious side of things, you can see the empire is about to crumble and fall. It’s a matter of when, not if.” He sat back on the tabletop, leaning his weight against it, watching her as her eyes cut their way up his middle, traveling over him. 

“Then let it end. If the resistance is so weak, let them fall. Stop attacking them, just let them live and when the end comes they’ll go down with the rest. I didn't ask to get dragged into this.”

“No. But it makes you feel alive for the first time in a long time, doesn’t it?” He waggled his finger, pointing at her. “Joseph thinks this is meant to be, he believes you can see sense.”

“And what do you believe?”

“I believe you deserve to be saved.”

She looked down at her lap and snorted, glancing back at him from her periphery. “Big leap from wanting me dead.”

“It all comes from the same place. You’re a thorn in the side of the enemy, I’d just prefer you were a thorn for the other side.”

A smile crept across her mouth, looking up at him through her brow with her cat-like eyes. “You trying to call me a rose, Jacob?”

“No one’s ever going to confuse you for some delicate flower, honey. The best you’ll get from me is kitten.” He leaned over her and stroked the corner of her mouth with his thumb, dusting away the bread crumbs that had accumulated. “I want us to be friends, a mutually beneficial relationship. I give you what you want, you give me what I want.”

Looking up at him, her icy eyes seemed to sparkle, growing large as she pretended not to know. “And what is that?”

“The Whitetail Militia gone,” he rasped.

The way he said it made her shudder, a vibration traveling down her spine and into that dark pit inside her. She bit back on her molars and tried to steady herself once more. 

“That would certainly make your life easier, wouldn't it?”

“You have no reason to show any loyalty to Eli. What has he done for you?”

“Freed me from the room you left me to rot in.”

“That’s all he’s done, otherwise he will take and take and take like the parasite he is. Expecting you to do his dirty work while he hides and plays general from the safety of his ivory tower. You deserve better, your efforts should be appreciated. You deserve to be rewarded.”

“Is that what these dry ass sandwiches are supposed to be? My reward?”

He walked back to his seat, easing himself back down into it, making himself eye level with her once more. Equals.

“They’re a peace offering. No more cages, no more torture. All you have to do is agree to not get in my way. To pick the right side when the time comes.”

“Become a Peggie?”

“In time. Once you prove yourself. Maybe.”

“I thought Joseph said it was a sure thing? You suddenly don’t trust him and his word?”

“I trust Joseph with my life. Who do you have on your side like that, Kit? Who can you say you feel that way towards?”

Kit rolled her eyes away from him. Unimpressed by his efforts to get inside her head.

“It’s all well and good to play at being the hero, the warrior. But at the end of the day what does it matter when you could fall and the resistance will pick someone else out of the crowd to lift them up. You’re not their savior, or their messiah, you’re another piece of meat they’re ready to toss into the flames at a moment’s notice.”

Her eyes landed on his chest, focused squarely on the dog tags that hung around his neck. “Why do you still wear those?”

He looked down at his chest. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Just what are you trying to prove and who are you trying to prove it to? Do you think your army only listens to you because you wear the trappings of a soldier?”

He fell silent. Taking a deep breath, he leaned in towards her, his eyes narrowed, his voice so low it was barely audible. “Don’t try and play mind games with me, angel. I’ve been around the block more times than you have.” 

Kit’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening, she tilted her head and sat forward in her seat as best she could. “Do you think I’m scared of you?”

He cut the distance between them, his voice a deep rasp, “You should be.”

The corner of her lip curled, she could feel his hot breath against her lips. “Why?”

His eyes drifted back down to her mouth, breathing in and out of his nose. He was fighting against himself. She could see the cogs turning inside his head as he tried to persuade himself from doing something rash. Something he’d regret. Something that might give her the upper hand in their dealings. 

His hand flew to her jaw, holding her steady as his eyes returned to stare at hers. “I don’t have time for whatever the hell this is.”

“Whatever the hell this is? We’re supposed to be enemies. You wanted me dead, I wanted you dead, and around and around we go. Blame your stupid fucking conditioning.”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

“Then I guess we’re both just fucked up. Seems a good a reason as any, it’s certainly the reason why John had such a hard on for me.”

“Jesus Christ.” He dropped his hand from her jaw and stood up, walking back over to his desk he picked up the package of smokes and slipped out a cigarette. Grabbing the lighter he lit the cylinder with shaking hands. Inhaling the tobacco smoke and rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not going to be your pet like Staci, if that’s what you want it's never going to happen. So either kill me now or let me go.”

He puffed from his cigarette once more as it hung from the corner of his mouth, he picked up one of the manila files on his desk and started flipping through its pages. “I’m not gonna kill ya, i’m not in the habit of wasting those who are strong. If I let you go, you know I can have ya back here whenever I want.”

“So I just have to wait until you call me back home for dinner?”

He tossed the file down on the table and placed the cigarette into the ashtray in front of him. “Something like that. Yeah.”

[fipindustries]

it took me ages to parse that you were referring to a character named Punchline, who was the Joker's new girlfriend, and not to some unnamed character for whom being the Joker's new girlfriend is the punchline of her existence

I mean potato potahto am I right?

[justsayun]

Potayto, Potahto

Was perusing the magazine rack and discovered a usual quiz in one of those rags. It was a quiz that would reveal what type of potato you were. Do people sit around thinking about what type of potato they'd be? Am I a Yukon Gold or a Russett? Perhaps I'm more of a Purple Fingerlings? I asked my wife about this potato article and if she had ever thought about what potato she could best be. She said she had and she'd always considered herself a sweet potato. (That womans a quick wit.) As for me, she considered me a couch potato. I've always considered it(The couch potato.) the king of the potato family. Right up next to the French Fry. I'm also okay if I were reincarnated as a twice-baked potato. I've always thought in the back of my mind I would be a cool potato. I wish I could find a quiz that would tell me what wood I would best be. I'm not a wood expert but I've always thought I looked good covered with sawdust. I told my wife I'm not sure exactly what potato I am. Perhaps the scalloped potato, the cheddar pierogis, hey even the mashed potato. She said I was ridiculous. I told her to remember that Stud rhymes with Spud. She shot back it rhymes with Dud also. I shook my head and as I walked away I told her that was such a Tater Tot thing to say.

[ggomos-maribat]

[21/?]

BDBWM Day 1 | Last Name: Wayne

original prompt | complete masterlist

Bernard peeks into the lounge, expecting to see Tim, but instead he finds a petite girl sitting behind a desk. Her eyes are shielded behind a pair of sunglasses, complementing her two-piece suit. 

“Sorry.” He shyly backs away. “I’m looking for Tim?” 

“Sit down.” The girl motions to the empty chair in front of the table. 

After a quick scan of the room, Bernard hesitantly sits. He finds the girl familiar, but he can’t put a finger on it.

“So, Mr. Bernardo Howdy—” 

“It’s actually Bernard Dowd—” 

She nods. “Mr. Bernard Dowd. I understand that you are currently in a romantic relationship with my client, Timothy Jackson Caroline Drake-Wayne—” 

“Wait, Caroline isn’t his—” 

“And I am here to ensure that you are treating him as he deserves and I shall administer the ‘Spade Conversation’ on you.” 

“Spade Conversation? Oh, you mean like a shovel talk?”

“Layman’s terms. Potato, potahto.” She waves her hand. 

“Umm, sorry, who are you again?” 

She lowers her glasses a tad bit, revealing her narrowed piercing blue eyes. “Last name: Wayne. First Name: Marinette ‘Marino’ Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Tim’s sister!” Bernard’s eyes widened in recognition. “I don’t think we’ve met before. But you seem really familiar.” 

She clears her throat. “Perhaps you’re mistaking me for someone else. First question, what do you feel about space dinosaurs that are robot hybrids?” 

He looks down on the piece of paper she’s writing on. “Is that a receipt from Batburger? And a crayon?” 

“My materials are irrelevant in these discussions. So, space dinosaurs?” 

“Err—they sound pretty cool?” 

Marinette hums and scribbles down a doodle on the receipt. “Question two. In the case of my client’s extreme sleep deprivation, what are your contingency plans?” 

“Hmm, I usually get him to come cuddle with me and I try to take away his coffee. He falls asleep quickly after that.” Bernard smiles a little. “Did I get that right?” 

“It shall still be deliberated by the panel of shovellers—” 

Suddenly, the door bursts open, revealing a dishevelled and alarmed Tim. Marinette squeaks and hides her things. 

Tim groans. “I was about to tell you not to go to the manor!” He glares at his sister. “What the hell were you doing?” 

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Marinette brings her arms up. “Just a proxy for the head shoveller!” 

“Who the heck is head shoveller?!” 

“That information’s classified!” 

A grumbling Tim takes Bernard by the hand and tugs him out of the room. Bernard waves goodbye to Marinette, entertained by her stunt. 

Taglist:

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[booksforevermore13]

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Dogfish

Summary: Lily brings home a dogfish. When Ginny doesn't approve, Harry wonders if there is something else bothering her. If he recalled correctly, it hadn't been very long since his wife had brought home a really old seahorse. Then what really was the matter?

Read it on Fanfiction if you prefer!

...

“To be fair, he followed me home.”

“He is a fish ⁠— “

“⁠— dogfish.”

“And he doesn’t have legs! So, tell me Lils, how in Triton’s hell did he magically walk out of water and follow you home?”

Lily huffed, crossing her arms and avoiding her mum’s look. Then, as a peace offering, she peeked out from under her hair and smiled sheepishly, to which her mum only raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you can’t deny he’s not cute,” she whined, and then bent down to pick him up, while the pup (fish?) nuzzled his nose into her shirt.

“If you ask me, he’s kinda creepy,” James piped in.

“He is not! And no one asked you!”

She watched as her mum narrowed her eyes in her typical mum way, and then sighed, and Lily knew half the battle was won.

“So?” she urged, and her mother glared at her, and then turned her glare towards James as he snickered. Albus raised his arms in defence as their mum turned to him, and hastily looked down at the ground.

“We,” Ginny sighed, shaking her head in defeat, “⁠— oh, I’m going to regret this ⁠— we will talk about this when your dad comes home.”

“Does that mean we can keep him?”

“We will talk about this when your dad,” her mum repeated, looking each of them in the eye, “comes home.”

They nodded, giving each other sombre looks, while the puppy-fish, (fuppy, pish?) yapped excitedly.

“For Triton’s sake, first her brother brings home a dolphin.ow her, a bloody dogfish,” Ginny muttered, and then shooed them out of the kitchen, very well knowing she’d be fighting a losing battle.

Oh, she was definitely going to regret this.

…

“Oh, good you’re home,” Ginny said, folding and unfolding the Pall Mall Gazette. Harry looked at her in confusion, then at the paper, then back at her again, noting the skittish manner with which she was avoiding his gaze.

“I am?”

Ginny shot him a glare, hands on her hips, and Harry offered a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, I just ⁠— you sound mad. You look mad.”

“Do I?”

Harry bit back a smile, and then asked, “Who was it this time? James or Lils?”

“She brought home a dogfish,” Ginny gritted out. “A dogfish. With an orange fin. And a snout. A horribly disgusting, slobbering snout!”

Harry shot her a mirthful glance, before gesturing to her to continue.

“We don’t have space for a dogfish!”

“Don’t we?”

Ginny gestured again, waving her hands around as if that could prove her point, and Harry, in a moment of uncertainty, wondered if the dogfish was really the problem. It couldn’t be, for it hadn’t been long before she had herself come home with a seahorse; though it had turned out to be a really old seahorse and had died within a year.

“Ginny,” he started, in a different manner than before. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t expect her to answer, at least not directly, but he certainly didn’t expect her to whack him on the head with the roll of paper. He winced, looking at her and wondering if she really had gone mad, before she started speaking through gritted teeth.

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”

“I am, Gin!” he said quickly. “But you need to talk to me. Really talk to me.”

“I am!”

“I don’t think so!”

“Lily brought a dogfish home!”

“Is the dogfish really the problem, Gin?” Harry asked, and watched as her face morphed from anger to uncertainty, and then back to anger as her brows furrowed, and she glanced back at him again.

“No,” she said curtly, with that stubborn frown on her face, and though Harry was glad he’d managed to figure her out (for once), he couldn’t really place his claims on what exactly had made her upset. She’d seemed fine that morning. He’d kissed her goodbye, she’d stopped it from becoming a full blown makeout session (their children were home, plus he’d had to go to work), and she’d smiled at him, and looked at him with that blazing look of hers, and he’d told her he’d be home early. Everything had been just as it was supposed to be. Everything had been fine.

Except now it wasn’t.

And then to his surprise, Ginny let her head fall on his shoulder, burying her face in his shirt, and Harry let his arms wrap around her, keeping her steady. He tucked her head under his chin, and rested his head on hers, the two of them in the middle of their hallway, arms around each other, and for the moment, it was the most natural thing they’d ever done.

And then her shoulders started shaking.

And Harry’s frown grew increasingly deeper.

“Hey,” he urged. “Gin, hey, hey.” He cupped her face and tilted it upwards, horrified to find her just barely holding back tears. Ginny sniffled, and swiped one hand across her face, further smearing her tears. Harry wiped the rest off with his thumbs, cursing silently to whoever, whatever had made her cry.

“Just… let me have this for a second, please, Harry?” Her voice cracked, and Harry brought her in against his chest, holding her tight, his heart racing a million miles per hour as he mulled over all the things that could have happened.

Then, on second thought, he bent down and picked her up, and it was the thought that she hadn’t even yelped at that, that made him feel an odd sense of triumph.

Harry settled on the couch, gently stroking her hair as she lay on his lap, her tears dampening his shirt, but he couldn’t have cared less.

And yet, he didn’t ask.

He didn’t push.

But he was glad that she trusted him so much to be vulnerable around him, and him around her. It had taken them fifteen years married to each other, and even longer than that, to really know the other like they did now. To know that if they were vulnerable around the other, it didn’t automatically make them weak in their eyes.

And yet, it didn’t change the fact that there he was with a crying Ginny, and him sorely wishing he could beat up the person who’d made her cry.

There were certainly few things he hated more than seeing his wife upset.

“I promise I’m still as sane as you,” Ginny mumbled from beneath him, and he looked down at her, brushing away her hair from her face.

“I never doubted that for a second,” Harry replied.

Ginny let out a laugh, albeit humourless, but it didn’t stop her from getting up and offering him a sad sort of smile. He looked at her, his chest clenching at how her eyes still occasionally watered. Harry opened his mouth, but before he did, Ginny got up from his lap, and sat beside him on the couch, facing away from him.

“Gin, talk to me?” he begged, “and don’t tell me it’s the damn dogfish again because I know, you know, it’s not.”

He caught a tear as it broke away from the dam, and rubbed his thumb against her cheek, his eyes begging for her to talk.

“I…” she sighed. “I want to play again.”

Ginny looked at him, and he was silent, so she continued.

“I want to play Quidditch again. I want to get into that arena, and feel the water rippling around me, and hear the Bludgers whizz by me, and hear the crowd yelling and screaming ⁠—” her voice broke, and a new wave of tears began to slip down her cheeks before she could stop them. “I’m sorry, this is ridiculous⁠ —“

“It’s not.”

“I-I need to get out there again. And it’s selfish of me, and it’s illogical that I suggest leaving Lily and Albus and James alone here; I mean, Lily’s just seven, but I can’t shake this-this feeling that I could ⁠— I should be doing more!”

“Hey,” Harry said, cupping her face and looking into her eyes. He didn’t exactly understand what was truly the matter; all he was really concentrating on was her tears, and how each time they fell, his heart beat painfully within his chest. “This is not selfish, or illogical, or anything you just said right now.” Ginny glanced away, but Harry simply shifted to face her. “Gin, look at me. Look at me,” and when she finally did, his heart clenched yet again to see her eyes tearing up again.

“Demelza called me and told me how they’d made her captain,” she choked out finally, “and I couldn’t help but wonder that if I’d stuck around, then they’d⁠ —“

“⁠— have made you instead,” Harry finished, and brushed away her tears as more fell.

“And that thought made me feel so selfish, and-and guilty when James and Albus and Lils are my world, and- and you. All I wanted back then was to have more time with you, and I have that now. I finally have that now. This-this is all I’ve ever wished for. But, I-I can’t help but relentlessly think and think about that what-if, and everything else that could have been different with that what-if, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Harry was silent, his mind screaming at him to hold her close to him, make her tears go away, but this time, he didn’t think Ginny needed that. This time, he knew Ginny needed answers. And even if he couldn’t give them to her himself, he could help her find them. So if a chord had struck, he asked out of the blue. “Where are those three?”

“What?” Ginny frowned. “Oh, um… they’re at the Burrow. Apparently, they wanted to show their newly acquired…pet to their grandparents, but we both know it’s just going to be them trying to coerce Mum into making them a sweater for that fish.”

“Can you ask your mum if she can keep them at their place for a few hours?”

Ginny looked at him, confused, but she still nodded, taking out her phone from her back pocket. “Any particular reason?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, as he got up from the sofa, and offered her his hand. “We’re going swimming.”

…

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m still a better mermaid than you,” Ginny quipped as she looked down at the water pool in front of them.

“I’m a merman. I don’t think I fit your criteria at all.”

“Yes, well, potato, potahto, mer...maid.”

Harry laughed, ducking his head, and Ginny cupped his cheek and turned his face, kissing him gently.

“Thanks for being my loyal listener,” she said, between kisses, and Harry smiled against her lips, wrapping a hand around her waist.

“Always.”

Her laugh echoed in the cave, as she stepped back and winked, before jumping into the pool, and if he could, he would have bottled that sound and gotten drunk on it.

“That’s the laugh,” he said softly, and followed.

…

The Ministry had caves just like the one near their house, almost at every other street in London. They were like Daedulus’ symbols, there where only those who knew where it was could see it.

Harry looked at Ginny again, fully knowing that even after all the times he’d seen her underwater, she still managed to take his breath away. Every time.

She was beautiful.

Her shimmering crimson tail glowed against the water, her hair floating around her in an angry halo, except it wasn’t angry. Not really. Here, Ginny seemed almost at peace.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, and Harry smiled at her, holding out his hand for her to take.

They were at the arena. The arena. They were at Hogwarts.

Lanterns guided their way, lighting their path, as they navigated the dark waters, the soft yellow light on the ocean floor, not much help, but it was, to its credit, useful. More in the sense of reassurance, than anything else.

In what was the oddest twist of the universe, mermen didn’t have tails. They could breathe and swim like their female counterparts, sure, but due to some unexplainable reason, they didn’t have tails.

That gave them a setback, sure, for mermaids were faster, swifter, and he had spent a major part of his Hogwarts years building up his speed and stamina in order to keep up with them.

It didn’t help his case that while underwater, mermaids were by far, the most beautiful creatures on the planet, their tails shining against the silver waters. On the other hand, they were just…them.

“You wanna tell me what’s happening here, Harry?”

Harry smiled at her, then let go of her hand, letting the lanterns guide their way. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, the world around them grew clearer, stiller and what had been darkness had instead turned to light.

“The first time I saw you here,” he said, swimming behind her, and keeping her hands on her shoulders, his voice in her ears, “the first thing I thought was: how the bloody hell was she not on the team yet?”

Ginny laughed, her voice dampened against the waves, but Harry could hear it as clear as day.

“The second thing I thought was that Ginny Weasley here, she was going to be a hell of a player. Someone I could never, ever, compare to.”

Harry turned her face to face him, and grinned. “That’s when I knew I loved you.”

Ginny shook her head, a knowing smile on her face, and Harry had a strange sense of accomplishment when he realized that he had been the one to put it there.

“Harry Potter, you’re one heck of a charmer, you know that?”

He shrugged, looking at her coyly. “I may have been told, once or twice.” He paused. But he didn’t stop. “You’re a lot of things to a lot of people, Gin, but back then, I always thought you were the Ginny Weasley, the fiercest chaser in business. So, whatever you decide to do, we’ll figure it out, just like we always do.”

Ginny gulped, and clutched his hand tightly, looking around the arena as if it was her first time seeing it.

In the end, this had always been her place.

This was where he knew she had to keep coming back.

And if she did, Harry knew he’d do everything in his power to make that happen. He’d quit being an Auror if he had to, stay with the kids, and he’d do it gladly if it meant more time with them. If it meant Ginny getting to follow her dream.

Fifteen years with Gin had made him realise dreams he’d never thought he’d have.

“I want to get back here,” Ginny admitted. “But, I don’t want to be away from them. You know how it was,” she turned to Harry, “back then, when I came home late from practice, all those hours away from James, from you. I don’t want that. That’s why I left, and I’ll do it a thousand times over if I had to.”

“But this, this is all I’ve wanted to do, since I was six and saw Bill fly for the first time. Now…I’m not so sure. But at the same time⁠—”

“⁠— you do,” Harry finished for her, and then grinned, facing her side. “It’s been fifteen years, but I am still trying to figure you out,” he said, as his hands cupped her cheeks, holding her steady, so that he could drink in the sight of her.

“I don’t think you ever will.”

But he’ll never stop trying.

Now she looked at him, several seconds later, brown to green, her to him, eyes glinting with the ghost of a smile. “I know what to do, Harry,” she said softly, and laughed. “And to think it was all for a damn dogfish.”

“I don’t suppose we still have room for it, do we?”

“We’ll have to see.”

Harry nodded, listening for a moment longer to the slight deafness of water around him, and her brown eyes, as radiant as the first time he’d seen them.

Then he kissed her. At her lips’ touch, Harry felt he was rediscovering them again.

“I love you,” Ginny mumbled, her hands tangled in his hair, her lips drawing him in for another kiss.

Harry smiled, knowing he’d never loved her more.

“I love you,” he said.

...

[baronessblixen]

Hi ! I've hurt my shoulder and it's a real pain in the ***. Do you think you could write something comforting with Mulder nursing Scully who got hurt ?

Anon, I hope your shoulder is better by now! Shoulder injuries are the worst! This story had a mind on its own but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I picture this in later season 6/early season 7.

Tagging @today-in-fic

Fine

They’re on their way to lunch, still discussing their current case, when it happens. One minute, Scully is next to him, her shoulder bumping into his every two steps, and the next, she’s on the ground, her tiny hand wrapped around her ankle.

“Scully?” One of her heels has come off and swims around in a filthy-brown puddle right next to her. 

“I slipped,” she says, sounding just as surprised as he is. She tries to get up and struggles on the slippery sidewalk. Mulder extends his hand and she takes it.

“Are you okay?” She doesn’t immediately answer and he looks at her foot, the broken shoe half hanging off it, and he knows she isn’t, no matter what she’s about to say.

“I’m fine,” she says, making him groan inwardly.

“Your ankle doesn’t look fine. Can you walk at all?”

“I said I’m fine,” she repeats. She tentatively takes a step and winces. She stands there with one leg bent, like a cute flamingo, furious with the universe.

“Let me help you.”

“Mulder.” His name is an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s go back. You need to see a doctor.”

“I am a doctor. I sprained my ankle. I don’t need to spend hours at the hospital.”

“Fine,” Mulder says. “Then let me take you home at least.”

“It’s the middle of the workday.”

“Not anymore. We’re done for today. Come on, I’ll carry you.” She hobbles away from him as best as she can on one foot. He stares at her, dumbfounded.

“You’re not carrying me.” The way she says it leaves no room for negotiation.

“Then how are you planning on getting back?”

“I’ll walk,” she says, hopping on one foot.

“Let me help you, please,” he begs her. “Just… let me make sure you don’t break your other ankle, too.”

“It’s not broken, Mulder.”

“Potato, potahto.” He puts his arm around her waist and lets out a sigh of relief when she doesn’t fight him. “Are you happy now?” He asks her as they hobble along at a snail’s pace.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m fine.”

Mulder rolls his eyes and makes sure his arm is secure around her.

It takes them three times as long to make it back to the Hoover building. She stiffens against him when they run into a group of agents he doesn’t recognize. Mulder glances at her, at the way she bites her bottom lip. She tries to hide her pain and her vulnerability. As if he could ever think less of her just because she slipped and hurt herself.

When they make it to her car, finally, she takes out her keys, stares at them, and turns back to Mulder.

“I- I don’t think I can drive,” she admits.

He nods. “I’ll take you. Hop in.”

“What about your car?” she asks.

Mulder shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now. Let’s get you home.”

He parks as close to her building as possible and helps her out of the car. “Scully, can I carry-“

“No,” she interrupts him.

“What about the stairs?”

She stops in front of them, stares at them as if she’s completely forgotten they exist.

“I can try,” she says and hops onto the first one. She stumbles and almost topples over. That’s it. Mulder grabs her and picks her up swiftly.

“Mulder, no,” she says, but her voice is full of defeat. Her cheeks are flaming red and she hides them against his shoulder.

“You’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed,” he says andhe feels her chuckle.

“You think I’d carry you? You’re a bit, um, heavier than me, Mulder.”

He nods. “I know you’re tiny, but-”

“Hey,” she warns.

“But you’re strong,” he goes on. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

She wishes he could tell her how cute she looks, but knowing how much she hates this, being helpless in his arms, he stays quiet and carries her as if she didn’t weigh a thing.

They don’t run into any of her neighbors and Scully mumbles a short ‘thanks’ when they get to her apartment. She finds her keys and unlocks the door. Before she can argue, Mulder picks her up again.

“There’s a joke in here somewhere,” he says as he carries her over the threshold. “But I’ll keep it to myself until you feel better.”

Inside, he drops her on the couch and helps her out of her coat. Together they lift her leg onto the couch and elevate it with a pillow. Her ankle is swollen and bruised, looks angry and red. Mulder touches it softly and Scully groans.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Are you sure you don’t want to get it checked out?” She nods. “How much does it hurt? And please be honest.”

“Moderate pain,” she says. “I’ll be-“

“Fine, I know. Good thing you’ve treated me often enough, huh, Scully?” He grins at her. “I’ll get you some ice for your ankle and do you want ice cream or tea? What can I do for you?” His hand is still on her leg, his thumb absent-mindedly stroking her skin in soothing circles. 

“Ibuprofen,” she says and he nods.

“I’ll make you some soup.”

“I’m not sick, Mulder,” she reminds him with a smile.

“Soup heals all kinds of ailments, Scully. You’ll see. Anything else?”

She looks at him and a soft blush creeps into her cheeks. “Can you sit with me? Just… stay here with me?”

“Why do you think I left my car back at work? You’re my ride tomorrow morning, Scully.”

She answers his grin with a smile of her own. She’ll be fine. He’ll make sure of that.

[sickiebabytae]

7 and 20 with jungkook sick and tae taking care of him 🙏🏽 I am very happy that you are back !!! I love how you write 😍😍😍

7. "Do I feel warm to you?"

20. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I'll be okay. You can go back to bed"

---

jungkook has been feeling off all day. it felt like he'd had to drag himself through dance practice, had felt tired after only half an hour of rehearsing their choreographies, could barely focus when he'd eventually snuck away to his studio once practice was over (thankfully early), a weird chill creeping over him.

after a tedious hour of staring at his screen, progressing nowhere with the song he has open, to the point where he gives himself a pounding headache, jungkook decides to go seek comfort in one of his hyungs. his first thought is to go to yoongi's room, but just as he gets up to leave, he hears a knock on his door. taehyung peeks his head in a moment later. "jungkook-ah?" the singer smiles when his eyes fall on jungkook, sat at his desk. "yo!"

jungkook raises a brow, a smile of his own tugging on his lips. "hey.. what are you doing here?"

taehyung leans against the doorframe, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "I'm wounded, gguk-ah. can't I just come visit my favourite dongsaeng?"

"I'm your only dongsaeng."

"potato, potahto." taehyung ruffles jungkook's hair as he enters and pulls up a chair next to him, eliciting a laugh out of the maknae.

"you're ridiculous." jungkook murmurs in amusement, hurriedly reaching for his equipment to make it seem like he'd been doing something other than just pouting at his monitor waiting for the song to make itself.

taehyung grins and loops his arm around jungkook's shoulders. "you love me though, huh? my jungkookie." he pinches jungkook's side to tickle him.

jungkook flinches and laughs. "hey!" he smacks taehyung's chest and turns back to the screen, suppressing a sigh as taehyung pulls his phone out to preoccupy himself.

another hour passes and jungkook isn't feeling any better. the chills have gotten worse, and his stomach is beginning to feel uneasy. he swallows before turning to taehyung. "hyungie..?"

taehyung glances up. "hm?" he frowns. "gosh, jungkook, you're pale. what's going-"

"is it- is it really cold in here to you?" jungkook wraps his arms around himself before resting them on the desk and burying his head into them. he feels warmth against his skin, but he can't be sure. he feels confused.

taehyung pouts. "uh no, not really..? it's okay for me."

jungkook lifts his head with another thick swallow. "hyung?"

"yeah?"

"do I feel warm to you..?"

taehyung's brows pinch worriedly, but he reaches over and presses the back of his fingers to jungkook's forehead and cheek. he gives a noise of disapproval before pressing his own cheek to jungkook's skin. "yeah, I think you are.." taehyung pockets his phone. "okay, this means home. come on. up, gguk-ah."

jungkook sighs deeply, pushing himself up and blinking through the dizzy spell that makes his head spin.

taehyung wraps his arm around jungkook's waist to steady him. "go, go out front, call a van, I'll be right behind you I just need to tell everyone we're leaving."

jungkook frowns. "we?"

"we."

"but- no-"

"I didn't realize I was asking you." taehyung smiles. "sorry. go, I swear I'll be right there."

jungkook huffs out a breath, giving taehyung a grateful look before leaving as told.

---

the rest of the day goes by relatively well. jungkook still feels off and gross, but he cuddles with taehyung on the couch as they watch movies, and taehyung even convinces jungkook to have a few bites of the instant ramen he makes.

taehyung then guides him and jungkook to bed early, insisting that maybe they just haven't been sleeping well, that even if they can't drift off straight away, just cuddling with the lights off could help whisk them away to "dreamland" (yes he really did say that. yes jungkook giggled).

but jungkook only falls into a fitful sleep, waking up every few minutes only to drift off again from pure exhaustion. but he can feel himself getting worse and worse each time, until he cant fall asleep again. he tosses and turns and squirms but nothing. he glances over. taehyung is fast asleep. has been for a while, jungkook assumes, and he doesn't want to do anything to ruin that; he knows how difficult it is for taehyung to regularly get a good night's sleep. but the uneasiness that had been plaguing his stomach before has morphed into cramping and nausea that keeps making something crawl up his throat. he swallows each time, but it only seems to be making things worse. his head spins behind his eyes. the chills have reached their peak to the point where he feels like he's shaking, sweat pricking at the back of his neck. he wants to cry.

it happens out of nowhere. one second his jaw is clenched, holding back tears, the next his stomach is flipping to his throat and jungkook gasps. he clamps a hand over his mouth and shoots up with a productive gag, vomit spurting past his fingers. he scrambles out of bed and races to the bathroom.

taehyung startles awake at once. his eyes widen and he hurries after jungkook. "gguk??"

jungkook retches loudly into the toilet, gripping the sides of the bowl and back arching with eyes screwed shut. puke gets smeared onto the porcelain from when he'd thrown up onto his hand.

taehyung frowns. "oh, jungkook-ah.." he couches next to the maknae and slips his hand under jungkook's sweaty shirt, rubbing his back. "aish, you're burning…"

jungkook lets out a choked sob. "I-I'm sorry I woke you… g-go- go back to bed, I'll be okay."

"are you kidding? jungkook, no.. it's okay, you're really sick." taehyung pouts, holding back jungkook's growing hair away from his face as the younger pukes again, round after round.

jungkook hiccups. "I got it on the bed.." he sobs.

taehyung clicks his tongue. "jungkook-ah, it's fine. really. we can clean it up, hm?" he watches as jungkook's bottom lip trembles. "it's okay… yah, jungkook-ah.."

jungkook sniffles. "I'm sorry, I'm- I'll be fine, I just dont feel well."

"that's okay. come on, finish up and let's go cuddle with jin-hyung instead, huh? you're gonna be okay." taehyung soothes.

[remmushound]

@brightlotusmoon @errorfreak88 Part 3 of my bay/rise crossover.

Leonardo didn't know where he was, and frankly he wasn’t sure he cared. He was more concerned about not knowing where April and Splinter and Donatello and Raphael were. His brothers— his family! He had reached out to them, felt his fingers brush against Splinters, and then they were being pulled apart again. Pulled away from each other. Then Leonardo was flying out of the rift, clinging with all his might to the only one he had managed to protect. Michelangelo. He landed hard, skipping across metal with solid thuds like a rock on water as he clung to the box turtle’s shell, his baby brother still hiding within. The bouncing eventually turned into a slide that brought Leonardo to crash against a wall. Pain shot through his extremities, but it only made him hold on to Michelangelo even tighter.

The minute they stopped, Michelangelo popped out his shell with a sharp yipe, his arms shooting out and wrapping around Leonardo to cling to him like a security blanket. Leonardo couldn’t help but smile and rubbed the younger mutants head in a comforting motion.

“It’s okay, hermano. Just a little bit of a bumpy ride.”

Michelangelo whimpered and his nose went back into his shell.

“Oh come on! Don’t be like that!”

Michelangelo pulled his arms and legs back in as well.

“Awww, come on~” Leonardo pushed himself away from the wall to lean over Michelangelo and peek into the shell as his shadowed face. “You know you wanna come out!”

“Where is out?” Michelangelo asked, his voice carrying a strange echo.

“Er…” Leonardo looked around. He didn't recognize the place, a giant metal ball with a spiraling floor design and a high ceiling, a blinking light at the top of it. He hummed and narrowed his eyes at the luring draw of the light, but didn't acknowledge it Past that. “Pokeball?”

“What? No we’re not!”

“Well how you gonna know if you don’t come out?”

Leonardo smirked and leaned back to give Michelangelo enough space to emerge. Michelangelo peeked his nose out once more.

“That’s it! Just a little more!” Leonardo encouraged.

Michelangelo’s full head poked out, and his neck too so he could look around at their surroundings. “Woah. This is so cool!”

“Cool isn’t exactly the word I’d use.” Leonardo whistled and stood up, reaching for his sword naturally. It was nowhere on his body.

“Hey uh— you don’t happen to have your yoyo, do you Miguel?”

“Um…” Michelangelo reached to his belt and frowned. “No. It’s gone somewhere… do you have your swords?”

“No.”

The structure gave a powerful groan and Michelangelo yelped, attaching himself to Leonardo’s side like glue. “It’s spooky here…”

Leonardo would be lying if he said that a similar anxiety hadn’t grown in his gut the moment they entered this strange place. Cold, dark, mechanical— everything Donatello loved, except without the eccentric nature. But he couldn’t be scared now. He has Michelangelo to look after, and right now his baby brother needed him.

“Hey hey hey, don’t get soft on me now!” Leonardo beamed, leaning down to Michelangelo’s level. “We just escaped the mother-freaking Shredder and you’re scared of a dingy little metal ball?”

“It’s not very little, Leo…”

Leonardo scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. “Potato potahto! Tomato tomatoh! Shredder, Giant Metal Ball of Doom! What’s the difference?”

Michelangelo didn't answer.

“The only one I can think of is that Shredder was waaaay scarier!”

“Oh really?”

Both turtles froze at the new voice. Leonardo gently placed his brother down, keeping an arm still wrapped around him to keep them both close.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” The new voice laughed in a mocking, wheezing tone, “Turn around.”

Leonardo could see no other option other than to obey. He gave Michelangelo a reassuring pat and held his brother just a little tighter before turning to face whoever it was that had called out to them.

The creature was big, a body near as broad as Raphael’s carapace and a shape that was loosely spherical. It’s entire body gleamed with a layer of slime that oozed out from folds on the sides of it’s head, and every so often a tentacle would reach up to gather the accumulating mucus and spread it throughout its body to keep itself moist. There was a crown on its head, a ridge higher than the rest of its body that slightly resembled the crown of certain dinosaurs. Leonardo could almost swear that whatever it was, was the brain of some massive creature, escaped from its body to do whatever it is that giant, tentacle-having brains do.

“Well?” The creature stroked feelers on it’s face, what could pass as lips parting to reveal tiny, dolphin-like teeth.

Leonardo only allowed himself enough time to blink before he forced his smile to come back and meet the strangers smirk. “Well what?”

The creature lunged forward, supported by pipes that extended out from the misproportioned battle suit, bringing it within inches of touching Leonardo. “Aren’t you scared?”

“Scared of what? A chewed up wad of bubble gum that gained sentience?”

It growled and one of its tentacles came down upon Leonardo, covering him in the thick, viscous coating of it’s body.

“Oh I’m sorry! Did I get some slime on you?”

Leonardo didn't flinch. He reached out a hand and poked the creature on the nose. “It is not slime, it is mucus!”

It growled and swatted Leonardo before pulling back again closer to its suit. “Who said you could touch me with your foul, disease-ridden hands?!”

“Hey hey hey!” Leonardo threw his hands up in surrender, “I bathe regularly! It’s Raphael you gotta look out for.”

“You think you’re funny, do you?” It squinted its eye at Leonardo.

“I think I’m adorable. Don’t you?” Leonardo put his hands under his chin and batted his eyes.

“I think you’re an obnoxious freak of nature.” It tried to draw forth a violent reaction, but Leonardo remained cool.

“Eh, aren’t we all?” Leonardo shrugged, “But this obnoxious freak of nature has a name. Do you?”

The creature seemed to consider Leonardo’s question for a moment before saying, “It’s Krang.”

Leonardo snickered.

“What?” Krang snapped, almost defensively, “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry— sorry!” Leonardo almost keeled over laughing.

“What’s so funny— what’s so funny, it’s just my name!”

“It’s just— ahahaha— did your mom hate you or something?”

Michelangelo started to finally get in on the laughing, and soon both brothers were almost falling over.

“I chose my own name— the Queen doesn’t have time to name all of us!” Krang defended, grunting as its features scrunched up.

“So you’re saying you have a face not even a mother could love?” Leonardo smirked, recovering from his laughter at will. “Man, that is depressing!”

“ENOUGH!” Krang shot two wired pipes forward to grab Michelangelo and Leonardo, squeezing them harshly. “Now you listen here, little turtles! I am not in the mood for games.” It’s eyes glanced between the brothers in an almost alien way, “And if all you’re going to do is play with me, then I’m going to put you away in my toybox.”

“Sounds fun!” Michelangelo piped.

“Fun?” Krang shifted to look at Michelangelo.

“Yeah! In a big box with a whole bunch of other people, having slumber parties every night!” Michelangelo hummed and sighed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re going to enjoy yourself. It’s an extended stay.”

Krang shifted slightly, its armor suit slow and topheavy, and at the press of a button on the suit the floor began to open up and reveal a spiraling display case. Rows upon rows of small, frozen containers. A thick layer of frosty smoke escaped through the opening and filtered out through vents. Krang hung the two brothers over the drop and loosened his grip just to feel the fear of his prisoners. Looking down into the endless abyss of bodies distorted by frost and age, Leonardo felt a sense of vertigo overtake him. It seemed Krang latched onto the fear almost immediately, judging by the evil expression on its face.

“Not so eager to visit the other toys now, are you?” Krang laughed and pulled Michelangelo and Leonardo back over solid ground, putting them down as the ground closed once more. “Now maybe you’ll play nicely.”

“Where are my brothers?” Leonardo demanded, “My family?”

“They’re fine. They were spit out somewhere or other. Does it really matter?”

“Yes.” Leonardo snarled.

“Hmm…” Krang rubbed their folds in concentration, “Then why don’t we make a deal, little turtle?”

“What kinda deal?” Leonardo returned to hugging his brother as Michelangelo cowered against him.

“I didn't just call you here to chat.”

“Well you’re sure doing a lot of talking anyway.” Leonardo grumbled under his breath.

“I brought you here for a far more important reason.” It folded its tentacles over its mouth.

“Care to share with the class?”

Krang huffed. “You have something that interests me— or more like had. You see, a year ago today I tried to take over the earth.”

Leonardo laughed. “Didn't do a good job— you didn't even make the news! I’m sure I would know if there was a broadcast about a giant brain in a robot suit tried to take over the planet.”

“Not your earth. A different earth.”

“There’s more than one?” Michelangelo asked.

“Oh, there is a plethora of earths, all slightly different from the last! But yours… intrigues me. It’s one of the more recent ones, and the use of your ‘mystic magic’ caught my attention.” Krang circled Leonardo like a cat with a mouse, “The way you teleport around with such ease, even without a beacon to guide you~”

“Spit it out, Gellatinous, I haven’t got all day.”

“You’re very impatient for someone whose at the mercy of one far smarter.”

“Eh, I can handle Donnie, but that has nothing to do with this.” Leonardo snarked off, “What do you want?”

“I have you, and I have your family, and I have your sword.”

“Great. And what does that have to do with the price of jelly doughnuts?”

“I want you to show me how to use the magic you possess, and afterwards I will let you and your brothers go back on your merry way!”

“I thought you were all knowing or whatever.”

“I never claimed that. I too need to learn like every creature does.”

“How do we know you’re not lying about letting us go?” Michelangelo pouted, sticking out his lip.

“Do I look like the lying type to you?”

“Yes.” Michelangelo and Leonardo said as one.

“Mm. Clever boys. Well, the answer is that you don’t know. But you don’t really have many choices either.”

“Mm. Fair.” Leonardo shrugged. “Whatchu need me to show you?”

“How to activate the rift that you’ve seemed to master.” Krang tapped its tentacles together.

“Oh that’s easy! You just take the sword and go woosh woosh,” Leonardo made vague gesture, “Then it goes all whoooooo whaaaaa bwaaaaa!” He made a motion of a rift opening. “Then you go all ‘take me so and so’ and badda bing badda boom, you’re done! That work?” Leonardo clicked his tongue and wink.

“What.” Krang narrowed his eyes.

“Well, you take the pointy part and go whish woosh, then slish slash, hundred yard dash, and you’re in Paris!”

“I— I don’t understand what you’re saying!”

“Well you take the thing and do the thing so it makes a thing then you go through the thing and bam: the thing is done! Take a break and get yourself a pizza for your hard work.”

“You’re getting on my nerves.”

“Exactly how many nerves does a brain have anyway?”

“I’M NOT A BRAIN I’M AN UTROM!”

“A who-trom?” Michelangelo tilted his head.

“AN UTROM!”

“You-tron?” Leonardo asked with a smirk.

“GRRR— just show me how to do it!” Krang pulled Leonardo’s sword out of thin air and dropped it into Leonardo’s hands. “And don’t think you can outsmart me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, K-Pop.” Leonardo took the sword and pointed it, dragging it to make a circle. His face illuminated the glow and he smiled.

“Yes!” Krang cheered, smilingly widely and holding out its tentacles to Leonardo. “Give it to me!”

“Yeeeeah, no.” Leonardo stared a moment and then winked before stepping through the blue and disappearing along with the mystic portal.

“NO!” Krang launched himself forward and grabbed at the space where the turtles had once been, “GET BACK HERE!”

[skellebonez]

Happy Birthday Kit!!!

It’s your birthday @kitkat1003​ heck yeah! And for your birthday Spirit is going to have a good day because I and many other people love them a lot! I hope you like this fic as much as I loved writing it!

It was possibly the oddest favor Spirit had done for anyone, ever. But, if they were being at least a tiny bit honest with themselves, it sounded like it could have been one of the more enjoyable ones. Well… technically Pigsy said it was “not a favor I’m just asking you to do this”. So. Potato potahtoe.

Specifically he asked if Spirit would “spend the day with him.” That was it. Simple, easy, long to be sure but not as long as many of the other favors that required a fetch quest at the very least. That was the original bare bones request, vague as it was. Just spend the entire with with Pigsy, 9 AM to 9 PM, and they would be right as rain.

And it wasn’t even like that would be hard! They already had work scheduled for the day, helping Pigsy open the shop and working the register. Why, they could even finish up the task while at work, two bird one stone and all that!

At least, that was what Spirit thought. Before Pigsy met them at the shop entrance and announced in a tired voice after chugging some very very clearly fresh and not sweetened coffee-

“Store’s closed for the day. We’re going shopping.”

Store closed.

For the day.

And going shopping.

Going.

Shopping.

Spirit pushed down their immediate shudder of “oh, that’s not what we had planned today and now today is different oh no I was not prepared for this oh dear oh jeepers” that ran up their spine.

“Uh- o-ok… where are we headed?”

“Food market, mostly,” Pigsy said with a shrug as he adjusted a few reusable baskets in his hands. He must have had a lot on the list for the day or he was buying a lot in advance. “Thinkin of hitting up another place or two in the area if we got time, but nothing too strenuous.”

A bit of Spirit’s tension eased from their shoulders and spine at this. They’d been to the market plenty of times before, so even though it was out of the blue it wasn’t exactly that unusual for them. The last time they went had been with Pigsy and Tang, and while their fighting over which carrots looked “good enough” wasn’t the most… fun conversation to be present for, it was nice.

Pigsy had even bought them a snack, insisting there were no strings attached. No favors. Just a snack from a friend to a friend. And that memory was nice… nice enough to help elevate any extra anxiety still lingering in the demon’s spine (that came from the news anyway, the regular anxiety was as there as always).

“Well, best to head as quickly as possible?” They offered, following Pigsy as he lead the way. “Want to get there fast to get the pick of the best vegetables, right?”

“You’re speakin my language!”

~

The market was surprisingly calm and quiet. Maybe it was because it wasn’t one of the usual busy days, or maybe it was because of how early they were in the day, but instead of the loud bustle and clutter and yells of vendors there was just a set of clearly dedicated loyal customers and relaxed vendors making small talk.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Pigsy said suddenly as they made their way down to where he would usually buy root vegetables. “They do this sort of thing a couple times a month where the market isn’t open to the public for a couple hours. It’s a little somethin to help out the local restaurants and other businesses who come here for their supplies.”

“Is that why that guy at the entrance looked at me like I was about to steal a child’s lunch money?”

That hadn’t been fun at all. Until Pigsy had stepped up beside him Spirit thought they were genuinely in some sort of trouble they didn’t know about.

Then again. That happened a lot. Thinking they were in trouble they didn’t know about. Pigsy was trying to make sure that didn’t happen as much. “If I could tell their brain to stop it wouldn’t happen at all” was what he said when Spirit overheard him talking to Tang about them.

It wasn’t good to snoop, Spirit knew that, but… it was. Nice. Oddly nice. He wasn’t going to be able to just tell Spirit’s brain to stop telling them things, and before Spirit would be confused and maybe a little horrified at the idea, but after spending so much time with the pig demon it felt. Nice.

Their conversation continued on for a moment, Pigsy explaining what the market on these special days was like and how the deals here were so helpful and every stall they stopped at Pigsy made it a point to keep the conversation going with the vendor himself. Just open enough for Spirit to insert themselves if they wanted, though they didn’t except at the vendor selling oddly colored flowers (which led into a short explanation about how they were made) and an explanation of how many of the dried ones on sale were imported from other countries and difficult to find outside their stall.

They didn’t know why Pigsy was buying flowers, though. At least, not the specific reason. Dried, fresh, some with stems and some with only the heads. Some bulbs as well. Maybe he was going to try some more floral broths or flower infused noodles? He’d done that in the past apparently! And Spirit had watched him made odder things, experimental dishes that didn’t really change much with the old recipes so much as they simply added more depth to them.

Spirit did notice, however, most of the flowers he had purchased were… purple. Or, in the case of one, blue. An odd one out to be sure.

“Alright, we’re done!” Pigsy announced, smiling widely at his haul. Which, all things considered… wasn’t actually as much as Spirit expected. Still, a good haul. “We’re going to put this all away at the shop, I have an appointment with Sandy later but we’re not expected at any specific time so there isn’t really a need to rush.”

“AH, hold on just one moment!” The flower stall vendor said as he came out from behind his stall. “Pigsy, I want you both to have these. For being a wonderful return customer and for the nice conversation.”

Spirit watched as he tucked a purple flower behind Pigsy’s ear, a daisy if Spirit was correct. And then he did the same to them, making them tense in surprise. If they said anything after that Spirit didn’t realize due to their shock, but the next thing they registered was Pigsy gently guiding them out of the entrance.

~

Sandy was more than ready for them when they arrived, urging Spirit inside and to his couch while Pigsy and he talked about… something.

Spirit wasn’t paying as much attention as they normally would when they were immediately swarmed with cats.

Cats on their lap, cats on their arms, cats on their shoulders. Cats. Cats everywhere. So many cats.

“Uh… S-Sandy…” Spirit started, an uncertain chuckle bubbling up as another cat plopped down on their head. “Do your cats… smell fear? Or do I smell delicious? They’re vibrating very violently. And… rubbing against me. A lot. I mean, I know they’re purring but this is weird.”

Sandy turned toward Spirit, covering his mouth to keep himself from laughing at the sight.

“No, no they don’t and you do not,” he said with a shake of his head, and he gave a look toward Pigsy. “You probably got some catnip on you somehow at the market. You’re just their favorite person right now.”

“… oh,” Spirit breathed out, reaching up to pat one of the cats on his lap carefully. The cat let out a trill, rolling onto their back as they pressed harder into Spirit’s side. Spirit couldn’t help it. They gave in to the temptation to quote a video Mei showed him long ago. “… I have been chosen.”

They didn’t even pay attention to Sandy and Pigsy until something on a trey was placed on the table between all of them, the clinking jolting some of the cats and making them roll off Spirit (who was grateful for the use of their arms back).

“So… I was hoping you might want to taste test something I wanted to add to the menu for special occasions that Sandy is teaching me to make,” Pigsy said with a smile, gesturing to the trey. “He actually made these in advance, they take a long while to dry properly, but they’re supposed to be worth it. But I, uh, can’t guarantee anything.”

It was very… purple and blue. A clear cup filled with what Spirit assumed was blue tea and a purple… stick of some kind that seemed to be flowers dipped in sugar? The only thing that seemed to stand out was the tiny cup of what smelled like lemon juice between them.

“The stick is candied lavender!” Sandy explained, gesturing to the hardened blossom. “You can use it to stir the tea and add sweetness or just eat it as is! But before you choose, pour that little cup into the tea.”

Spirit raised an eyebrow, almost wondering if this was some kind of prank. It didn’t feel like Pigsy and Sandy would pull a prank like this but. Well. Who knows… but they wanted to trust that they weren’t so they did as asked, slowly pouring the lemon juice into… the…

“It’s turning purple,” Spirit whisper shouted, eyes wide and awed as the blue tea slowly turned from the brilliant blue to a more brilliant purple from the bottom of the cup up. “What. Purple? It’s purple! The tea changes colors!”

Pigsy chuckled, nodding his head with a wide smile. “Yup.”

“It’s called Butterfly Pea Flower tea,’ Sandy explained, smile just as wide. "Lemon and lime juice made it do that! It’s not really a rare tea, but we added some extra stuff to the lavender that should make it taste even better when you mix it all in. Go on, give it a try!”

Spirit looked between the two of them and picked up the lavender stick and tea cup, mixing them together as they sat back and took a sip.

It was… amazing. Earthy and slightly bitter from the lemon juice. There must have been honey as well as sugar in the lavender stick, bringing a bright sweetness to the drink. There was a bit of spice to it, maybe cinnamon, as well. It was nothing like anything Spirit had ever drank before. It was warm without being too hot, and combined with the purring of the cats surrounding them…

They realized they felt. Good. Not perfect, not completely relaxed. They didn’t know if that was possible. But they felt good. Happy.

“I think… I think people will love this.”

[nightswithkookmin]

You need to back up your ON break up theory with more than just fake subs and vague statements about 'claiming behavior'.

During the period you allege they were broken up, Jimin pulled Jungkook in a hug on run behind, Jungkook called Jimin sexy at a press conference, Jimin and jungkook did that whole 'how does it feel to be in the same unit'/'time to change' flirty thing, Jimin grabbed Jungkook by the lapels... and more. Begging pardon but if they were grieving the loss of their romantic relationship while trying to be professional colleagues and pals.... isnt that sort of insensitive? Like I know you admitting you might have read it wrong and have changed your view in light of new footage might be a blow to your ego, but I don't think you are thinking rationally when you insist on this break up theory. It's sad because I found so much meaning and connection in some of the stuff you have written, particularly pertaining to internalized homophobia, racism, mysogynoir and bts changing over time to become more enlightened, but your devotion to this ONE theory, and defensiveness whenever it is (rightly imo) challenged makes me wary of your theories in general, which might be extremely unfair to you, as a thinker. Your log is really funny and great in a lot of ways so i cant really quit you.

Ahhhh it's been a while I got one of these...

Hello, how you doing! Lol. Silver is that you?

Chilee, it's the name calling for me.

Ego, irrational, charlatan, Tuktukker- I'm desensitized to such ad hominems at this point. You don't throw words like these around and expect me to sit at the table and talk. Imma yeet myself out real fast. Lol.

There's just something different, wholesome almost, about this post though. Sounds constructive I think. Or maybe it's because I just woke. Chilee. Lol.

It doesn't feel at all like you are attacking me. It's strange...

You're gaslighting though but it's fine. I've built a resistance to that from years and years of dealing with my abductors or family. Potato potahto.

I often put my sanity before other's insanity which is why I don't indulge posts such as these and I'm not sorry about that. I mean is this an Ask or Submission? I don't- what am I supposed to say? What is the call to action?

Sigh.

If I come across as defensive sometimes, 10 out of 10, it's probably because the person on the other end is being offensive. Straight up. Cause and effect, the science don't lie.

You don't expect me to not defend when I'm being attacked. That's just tacky.

I don't think there's anything wrong with challenging views and notions because at the very least, that's about the exchange of ideas and I welcome it.

I set the limits at the racial slurs, the mocking tones, the emotionally charged rants meant to disparage me and my entire ancestry rather than argue a point, the interference with my personal life and business all because I hold a different view on a topic, the doxing, gaslighting, the bad mouthing, spreading lies about me, turning my friends against me, stripping away my rights and copyrights, harassing people who enjoy my work among- other things.

I usually exercise my right to self preservation in these instances- imma block, delete, ignore, forward or clap back. Word. Lol.

I'm sorry, but if you have to attack the individuality of a person to argue your point, you've lost the argument and you never had one to begin with.

Take for instance, the bit you wrote about me taking a blow to 'my ego' - do you see the problem with that?

What has holding a view different from yours on a particular subject got to do with the ego?

Do you mean to say the only way I can hold an opinion different from yours on a matter is if I were hubristic?

Are you projecting? What's happening? Lol

And if I call you out for this, I'm defensive? Way to add gaslighting to your bigotry and intolerance of opinions that don't align with yours. No offense.

I give myself permission to hold unpopular views. I give myself permission to think differently from others. I give myself permission to see what I see and believe what I believe and form an opinion on what I see and believe divorced from others' views and based on my own understanding of the workings of this world or in this case Jikook.

No amount of name calling will change this fact. We see things from different perspectives after all.

You need to back your ON break up theory with more than just fake subs and vague claims about claiming behavior.

Lol. Fake subs? You mean the Hajima bit from the On comeback special I put in my video? Interesting.

I think I see what you mean about my break up theory and I agree to some extent. Like, come up here with charts and paragraphs and excel spreadsheets on why I think Jikook were broken up?

I would be happy to do that kind of analysis.

I think the problem for me here is, I feel tasked to convince rather than to share my opinion on the matter or even expand on my theories for discourse sakes and that makes me really uncomfortable.

Not to psychoanalyze you, but I feel when you ask this of me you are not just asking me to divulge my thoughts on a topic but to disabuse you of your own biases surrounding the topic.

I don't think this is about my opinion at all. I think it's about your own beliefs about Jikook. And there's nothing wrong with that. If you believe in something you need to stand for it. Just don't mind if others do same and don't call them names for doing so. Because if you do mind, then that's bigotry.

The fact is my opinion contradicts your beliefs about Jikook and you either want to punish me for it hence the slurs, are in denial, or you want to believe my point of view- can't really tell.

I think there is a limit in general to how far I can prove Jikook in anyway and that has nothing to do with lack of evidence, my ego or my rationality. And yes, I often shroud my beliefs in vague expressions because I don't want to set myself up or open myself up to legal suits. I can only prove Jikook to a point and nothing beyond my belief. Beyond that, I would be skating on thin ice and making bighit a tad richer.

During the period you allege they were broken up, Jimin pulled JK in a hug, grabbed Jungkook by his lapel, JK called Jimin sexy, they did the flirty challenge...

So if I understand you correctly, all these is what makes Jikook a couple to you and indicate they are dating?

Alright then.

Hobi calls Jimin sexy all the time. BTS calls eachother sexy all the time. I don't think that's a sign they are in a polyamory.

Jungkook plays with his hyungs' dick and ass and talks about falling for them most times. I don't think that makes him gay or in a relationship with any of them.

Lemme just cut to the chase. I've reached my photo limits. I have said a countless times now, that I don't view skinship and all these interactions you've pointed out as indication two people are dating- especially not two Koreans working within the homoerotically charged space of Kpop.

And I have given out a few of the metrics I use in considering whether any ship in BTS is real over the course of my blogs- intimacy, exclusive behaviors such as and not limited to claiming eachother and exercising certain rights and authorities over eachother and against the group, stress trails as a result of keeping their relationship a secret, the microaggressions, breaching the fourth wall and others.

I think what this comes down to is differences in perspectives on a fundamental level. Not egos.

I don't see the things you see as the signs Jikook are real and dating, as signs Jikook are real and dating. If I did, I would be seeing every ship in BTS as real but I don't.

And you consider the metrics I use in ascertaining Jikook as vague something something. I think we are at an impasse.

But explain the bit about 'insensitive' to me please. I would love to engage in that discourse. Why would it be insensitive for two exes to act cordially with eachother within a workplace in the aftermath of a breakup?

Then the bit about grieving...

So grieving is one of your metrics for accessing whether or not two people are broken up?

That's interesting. I mean I don't disagree but I also don't think Jikook are gonna come to work with oversized pajamas, dark shades, boxes of tissues and a blanket slung over their shoulders because of a broken heart... it's 2020 not Manila. They've grown, are learning and getting better at dealing with their emotions on camera because, as Suga pointed out, they are aware the least bit of tension translates to the screens.

I mean Jimin said it himself in his 2020 interview, he's learned to react less intensely to certain things. And sometimes, he tries to downplay certain things. He tries to perform Jikook when Jikook are not in a great place. It's only in recent times, On era, where JK has opted out and not gone along with it.

I think he does that and uses their shared 'Jikook agenda' and performances of Jikook as a means to fix things or break the ice between them at least.

But clearly Jk wasn't having it that day as he kept putting up boundaries with Jimin throughout that Run episode- unless of course you are disputing this as well on the grounds Jimin dragged his ass into a hug. Chilee.

I think most people wouldn't have felt there was something off with Jikook in that On period at all had it not been for Run 116. It's similar to how, had it not been for Jimin's birthday saga, the Esquire shoot behind scenes and Grammy reaction video, no one would have felt there was something going on between Jikook in the October timeline.

I think we would have seen and felt the less interactions and professionalism between them in the aftermath of it but for the most parts, moments like the couch scene in the Grammy reaction video wouldn't have made sense to any of us especially as we had just witnessed JK in the ON:E concert rushing to comfort and console JM when he was tearing up at the end of the concert.

At least when he pushed JM into a ditch somewhere in the dark in Soop we know he had been drinking and they were playing competitive sports. Even with that he still showed some concern when Jimin fell and injured himself afterwards.

I think we would all be wondering if Jikook were fanservice at that point, a fanservice relationship where JK only consoled Jimin when he cried infront of thousands of people at concerts and nibbled his ear while he was at it.

And I think we would be on opposite sides of the argument: me, arguing Jikook were experiencing a hiccup in their relationship and you, rationalizing that moment with anything from 'JK don't have to be at JM's beck and call' 'he is an introvert who is shy to show affections publicly' to even something about the weather.

But I would have looked at this moment from the October pop up video behind scenes and assumed JK was mad at Jimin for something JM had done and had done something in retaliation and was now feeling sorry he did.

And I would have based it off of this moment, or a countless similar ones from around On era or the previous eras where JK had done this exact same thing- frozen in place and staring at Jimin in the middle of a shoot or interview after sliding his hands down Tae's chest, clung on to the others unnecessarily to get a reaction out of JM.

Would I have been right? It really doesn't matter to me as long as it makes sense to me. I ship Jikook in a way that makes sense to me. Jikook are gay, in a gay relationship with each other and are human like anyone of us- that makes sense to me. Whether I am right or wrong.... who cares and why does it matter?

Personally, I think the only person grieving in that period was JK not JM and I don't think he grieved for long before he switched off his humanity and went stone cold tit for tat terminator on JM and BTS's ass. Lol. He had JM looking all kinds of subdued in that era. Lmho.

People grieve in various ways. In my opinion. For Jimin, I feel he puts on a strong facade most times when he has to film during such times and lately I feel he masks his emotions with anger.

Jk masks his pain with anger too sometimes but I feel in recent times, he is leaning more towards indifference. I think he tries not to be as affected by certain things as compared to the early half of 2020...

But I understand what you mean when you talk about grieve. I think for me rather than look for physical evidence of grief like a sad face, a tear drop dripping down a face, I love for vulnerability in them.

JK's is easy to tell because he tends to open himself up to others such as Tae or Jin or Hobi- and I don't mean like his interactions with them. I mean he leans on them for moral or emotional support.

In the Holiday remix video where he was hiding behind Jin, I felt he was feeling very vulnerable and exposed after that intense moment with Jimin.

It's what he does when he is feeling vulnerable. He turns to others especially Jimin and if Jimin is the cause of his vulnerability he turns away from him like he did within On era or even in Run 116.

When he is in a good place with Jimin, often he is closed off to the others. Jimin does the opposite. He shuts himself up entirely from the group. I don't think he likes to go through his pain by himself.

I've always found that bit fascinating about them. Jk opens himself to people when he is at his lowest while JM closes himself off when he is at his worst.

It played out in their rainy day fight as well. In JK's vulnerability, that's when he let Jimin in, lowering his walls while JM on the other hand closed himself off to him.

Can you give me more than they were together in that period because they played with eachother's lapels?

You don't think I'm thinking rationally when I insist on my theory? Uhmmm... okay? What is rational in this case?

Listen, I recieve a lot of hate for my 'irrational thoughts and opinions' out in these streets. I've lost potentially great friendship on this platform because of it. As I type this, there is someone in someone else's DMs persuading them not to read and engage with my posts because I'm extremely evil I think Jikook break up from time to time in their relationship.

If I genuinely believed in the slightest least or had the least doubt that Jikook were together in that period I would change my mind on the topic- damn my pride and ego. It simply isn't worth the hustle.

If it helps your sanity, please stop reading my blogs. My blogs are not for everyone. It makes some people happy, it makes some people mad and some people experience both.

My gratification is in sharing my thoughts and chronicling Jikook's journey for my own appeasement and support of Jikook. I owe it to them as a believer and a supporter to humanize them as much as possible.

I do not seek to convert others, change minds, or convince anyone of my opinions or to disabuse anyone of theirs.

Let's just agree to disagree on the matter please. Or if you can drop the ad hominems, I would be more than happy to go back and forth with you on this very topic. It's actually shaping out to be one of my favorite Jikook eras. I love me some terminator JK. Lol.

Signed,

GOLDY

[veorlian]

honey tongue

The stories will tell you that falling in love with your best friend is as easy as breathing, that it's the height of romance. Varric Tethras had written far too many stories to believe that crock of nonsense.

my submissions for @hightown-funk are up!! here’s the first one <3

read it on ao3 here

The Hanged Man was legendary for two things: bar fights, and ale that was at least 50% vinegar. There were also the suspiciously sticky floors, the rooms you could rent by the hour, and enterprising individuals keen on relieving you of all that burdensome coin you had on you. It was what people had come to expect. The barkeep had offered a higher-quality ale once, and the regulars had stormed out in protest. And Maker have mercy if they ever decide to clean the place up a bit. There’d be riots in the streets.

Well. More riots than usual, at least.

Marian Hawke spent most evenings in the Hanged Man. The petty crime and general chaos faded into the periphery as she played Wicked Grace with her friends. It was replaced with a different kind of petty crime and chaos, but at least this was hers.

And speaking of chaos, at the moment Varric was regaling the crowd with the tale of their most recent trip to the Bone Pit. There was a rough semi-circle of regulars standing around Varric, with the kind of slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions that normally accompanied one of his particularly tall tales.

He was in fine form. Marian had never quite figured out how he could look so laid back and engaged at the same time. She’d tried it once. Carver had just said that she looked constipated. Varric made it look easy. He made most things look easy.

“And then Hawke raised her sword and leaped through the air, landing on the dragon’s back, killing it in a single blow—”

“It was already mostly dead,” Garrett called. Marian flipped him off. A few of the stragglers towards the back of Varric’s audience turned to face the two of them.

“It was not,” Marian tossed back.

“Was too."

Marian rolled her eyes at her brother and leaned forward on the pitted table.

“Hey Varric, tell them about the part where I did a sick back-flip off of the dragon—”

“And fell on your ass—” Garrett interrupted. More of Varric’s audience turned now, their eyes bouncing back and forth between the twins like a tennis match.

“And landed perfectly and took a little bow,” Marian finished, pointedly ignoring Garrett. She kept her eyes fixed on Varric’s face, and the wry little twist of his lips.

“Of course! How could I forget,” he said, his eyes dancing. “As she struck the killing blow, the dragon came crashing down to the ground. Hawke gracefully leapt off of its back, landing neatly on the ground.”

“I can’t believe this,” Garrett complained. Varric continued to regale the audience with tales of the twins’ exploits. Marian patted Garrett on the arm in a way expertly calculated to be both patronizing and comforting.

“Sorry little brother, it’s just not very dramatic when you wave your fancy baton around,” Marian replied. “Doesn’t have the same impact as a bigass sword.”

“Last I checked, fireball has a hell of an impact,” Garrett shot back.

“Potato, potahto,” Marian said dismissively.

“There’s only one way to settle this,” he said. He rolled up his sleeves and set an elbow down on the table, his hand open. Marian smiled crookedly and did the same. Varric lost his audience again, as they formed a loose circle around the table. There was the clink of coin changing hands, and an exaggerated sigh and eye roll from Carver.

“My money’s on Hawke,” Isabela called.

“Which one?” Garrett and Marian asked in unison.

“Whichever one wins,” Isabela said cheerfully.

“I’m not sure that’s how that works,” Merrill murmured anxiously. Isabela waved her away airily and tossed a few coins on the table.

“Have you seen how ripped I am? Of course I’m gonna win,” Garrett said. Marian snorted and shook her head.

“Bigass sword. Fancy baton,” she said. She gripped Garrett’s hand, and the arm wrestling began. It was evenly matched, as most things were with the twins. But not for nothing did Marian swing around a giant hunk of metal nearly the same height as herself.

She slammed Garrett’s hand down into the table, grinning widely.

“Best two out of three,” he said immediately. She laughed and shook her head.

“You lost fair and square,” she said cheerfully. Garrett flipped her off and went to refill his drink. Marian glanced up to find Varric making his way over to the table, settling in his customary spot at her side.

“You couldn’t wait until I was done?” Varric asked agreeably. Marian shrugged nonchalantly.

“Not my fault your admirers couldn’t resist the lure of my rippling muscles,” she said. “You’ll just need to make me sound even cooler. What if I had a sword for a hand?”

“No good,” Varric replied, shaking his head, “it’d interfere too much with the romance scenes.”

“Varric, I’m not exactly seeing a lot of that kind of action at the moment,” Marian said dryly. “Let me have a giant sword for a hand. It’d be cool as hell.”

“C’mon Hawke, a romance plot is always more compelling. Why not ask the pirate?” he said, gesturing to Isabela. Isabela caught the motion and winked broadly at them. “I can see it now; a daring love story, set against the backdrop of a ship tossed at sea. Readers love that stuff.” Marian snorted derisively and shook her head.

“I’ve got enough going on trying to stop this city from going to hell,” she complained. There was a deep ache in her chest that she couldn’t quite place. Fortunately, she didn’t have to think about it for very long, because Garrett arrived back at the table, his arms full of terrible beer.

“How come I never get the big dramatic retellings?” he griped.

“Because you keep heckling me,” Varric said dryly. “Plus, you’re not as good-looking.”

Marian’s heart stuttered and fully came to a stop. She ducked her head to hide the blush that threatened to set her face on fire. What the hell…?

“Nonsense, I’m the prettiest person in Kirkwall,” Garrett said primly.

“C’mon, we all know that’s Merrill,” Marian said, swallowing down her embarrassment. A crooked grin spread across her face. “At least, that’s what Carver always says.”

“Hey—” Carver began.

The ensuing chaos and overlapping voices covered up the weird and alarming thoughts floating through Marian’s head.

 Plus, you’re not as good-looking.

Did Varric think she was good-looking?

Andraste’s sacred knickers, did that actually matter to her? Marian tossed back her drink in one go and stumbled to the bar to grab another.

Somewhere between the witching hours of 2am and 4am, the others traipsed out. Now, Marian was good at traipsing. She’d elevated it from a science to an art. She could traipse with the best of them. But when 4am rolled around, she didn’t.

It was a weekly ritual at this point, and it happened more often now that she was in that stuffy old mansion. Such a big place, but it felt like the walls were constantly creeping in on her. More than a few hours there and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

And so.

“Varric, don’t make me walk all the way back to Hightown,” she would groan, and he would chuckle that warm chuckle that brought the blood rushing to her ears. Probably just the alcohol, she always thought.

“Alright, you can stay just this once,” he would say, and she would flash him a crooked grin.

“You’re my favourite.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, serrah,” he’d say. She’d generally waggle her eyebrows at him suggestively, and they’d both laugh.

She didn’t remember when the flirting had started. A few minutes after they’d met, she figured. It was just a part of them, both of them. An easy way to keep everyone at arm’s reach. If they both agreed that it didn’t mean anything, then there was no harm no foul.

After all, it’s not like anything was ever going to come of it. Varric was happily married to a crossbow, and he’d repeatedly told her that he wasn’t into humans. So that was that. Marian was perfectly happy being Varric’s best friend and partner-in-crime.

And if she couldn’t sleep these days without hearing the gentle scritching of his quill on parchment, well, no one needed to know that. … Varric Tethras was a storyteller, most comfortable staying unobtrusively on the sidelines of a tale. It was safest that way really. Fewer people shooting at you, for one.

He couldn’t remember when it had started, becoming a part of Hawke’s story. He hadn’t been, at first. He’d been a plot device, a quest-giver just tagging along.

“You won’t even notice I’m here,” he’d told her. Varric Tethras: such a gifted liar that sometimes he almost convinced himself.

It had shifted by inches, their friendship. They’d gotten along almost instantly, like they’d just been waiting for the other to come along. So it was natural for them to spend most of their time together. And then it was natural for her to sleep on his couch when she was too drunk to walk home. His palatial suite at the Hanged Man was her palatial suite. That was all perfectly natural and normal and fine.

Until it wasn’t.

He couldn’t fall asleep these days until he heard her snoring (she and Dog seemed to be in a competition for who could be the loudest. On occasion it shook the dilapidated rafters).

She’d slipped into his life as easy as breathing. Easier, in some ways. So many little rituals. Like putting extra jokes into his manuscripts, just for her.

“Hey Hawke, you think you could give this a read for me?” he asked. She glanced up from where she was lounging on one of his chairs. She arched an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face.

“Am I going to blush?” she asked. He chuckled and shook his head.

“I just want to make sure that I’ve got the character right,” he replied.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” she said cheerfully, already on her feet and moving to lean over his shoulder. She rested an elbow on top of his head, like he was an armrest. He cleared his throat pointedly.

“Problem, serah Tethras?” she asked innocently.

“Hands off the merchandise,” he said easily. She leaned down to meet his eyes, her haphazardly cut bangs flopping in her face.

“I think you’ll find it’s my elbow on the merchandise. Very different part of the body,” she pointed out. To prove her point, she shifted her arm and rested her hand on his shoulder instead. He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile off of his face.

“Just read the damn passage,” he said. She shrugged and turned her attention to the page. She hadn’t moved her hand, and the warmth slowly seeped into him. He realized with a start that he was leaning into her touch. What the hell?

The smell of cinnamon and honey drifted through the room. Not that that was unusual either. It clung to every part of the room. Even his trademark leather coat smelled permanently of cinnamon and honey, from that tea she drank at all hours of the day and night.

He missed it, when it wasn’t there.

He knew she’d gotten to the unflattering description of the Knight-Captain when she began to laugh. He thought her laugh was the best thing he’d ever heard. It wasn’t graceful by any means, caught somewhere between a cackle and a snort. But she laughed with her full body, like it was the funniest thing she’d heard in her life. Joyful, reckless abandon.

It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

 Oh.

With Hawke’s hand digging into his shoulder, her laughter ringing in his ears, the smell of cinnamon and honey on the air, Varric Tethras realized that he was in love.

Shit. … The stories will have you believe that revelations of love are dramatic, that they’re accompanied by flights of angels or some other shit like that. Marian Hawke had heard too many love stories to believe in them anymore.

She was sprawled along the couch leafing through Varric’s latest draft of The Tale of the Champion. She liked to leave little notes and doodles in the margins. It drove Varric’s editor up the wall. She heard Varric’s familiar footfalls coming up the stairs.

“Hey, you forgot to mention the bit where I single-handedly took down a chimera,” she called, not looking up. Varric hummed noncommittally in response. She glanced up from the page to study him. He was swaying slightly on his feet, eyes a little unfocused as he leaned against the doorframe.

“You okay?” she asked. “Merchant’s Guild crap?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face and he shook his head, running a hand through his graying hair.

“No, it’s not that,” he said. Marian’s eyebrows knitted together, and she shifted on the couch to make room for him. When he didn’t move, she pointedly patted the space next to her. When he still didn’t move, she made her way across the room to meet him.

“Then what is it, Varric? Crossbow troubles?” she asked. He looked away and his hand came up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Marian, I—” Record scratch, freeze frame. Varric never called her Marian. Never anything than Hawke, actually. He’d never even given her a nickname, like he had all the others. She was just Hawke.

“Didn’t realize you knew my name,” she managed. Another faint smile, only barely reaching his eyes. It was gone as soon as it came.

“Shit, I’m not good at this kind of thing,” he said. The smell of cheap ale and whiskey clung to him like a second skin.

“What kind of thing? You’re freaking me out, Varric.”

His warm amber eyes turned up to meet hers. Carefully, seemingly giving her every opportunity to move away, he reached up a hand on her face. Distantly, she realized he must be standing on his tip-toes. She might have laughed, if he hadn’t gently tugged her face down towards him.

His lips were softer than she’d imagined they’d be. His calloused hands tangled in her short hair, bringing her closer. She could taste the faint touch of alcohol on his tongue as her mouth slanted over his.

She looped an arm around his waist and easily lifted him up into the air.

“Hawke, put me down,” he said indignantly. She laughed breathlessly against his mouth.

“My shoulders were getting sore from bending over,” she said. She wound her free hand through his hair and tugged him back to kiss her again. She realized suddenly that she would be quite happy staying right here, like this, for the rest of her life. Well, maybe with a stool. She was strong, but Varric was sturdy. He’d probably whack her on the arm if she told him that though.

She set Varric down on the table, standing between his legs and bringing both hands up to cup his face.

“Better?” she whispered. He grumbled something indistinct and unflattering that was abruptly cut off as she began to trail kisses down to his neck.

“Would you believe that I’ve wanted to do this for years?” he rasped. Hawke stilled. And then, she began to laugh, resting her forehead against Varric’s.

“Well, there’s no call to be rude,” he said. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, still chuckling.

“I have as well,” she said at last.

“Ah,” Varric managed. And then, “So, what now?”

“You in a rush, Tethras?” Marian asked. She gently tipped his chin up to face her. “Seems to me we’ve got all the time in the world.”

“So we do,” he said, and he kissed her again.