#i almost write these in whole damn essay

[lonelyghostty]

Well...

I didnt think that aventurine 2.1 lore gonna effect people this much(and i know im soon to be like them– all in tears wjwksbxid)

But send hatred to the writer that write about him it wasn't even help, more like even hurt the writer feelings more about what they writed out, if they make their favs too 'out of character' or 'too sensitive' as they try to avoid them as they can

I mean, guys, come on,

Is not like everyone expect his lore gonna go this much sensitive or sad, yeah, maybe we seen or known from leaks, spoiler story or anything

Still, so many might took a break after that lore or even panic about it

That's why i find it so stupid that these people send hate to writer, let them be

Ignore, block or just unfollow if you uncomfortable. Just don't send them hate please?

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - PROM

A/N: As I already mentioned, I have developed a huuuuuge crush on Wolverine.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: smut

Please, do not read if you are under 18. This story has sexual scenes.

Words: 6600+

Important note: The reader has long hair, did my best to not describe her at all. ALSO, I know Wolverine is like 160cm but... I forgot about tha that so, he's a tall MF. (They kinda fucked that up in some of the movies, so whatever.)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett - Prom

A peaceful evening, that’s what he wanted. Once the students were in their room, Logan could finally have some time off with a bottle of beer that he was able to sneak into the school. And since he knew no one would be in the lounge room at this hour, he grabbed the beer and walked there. To his surprise, he was met with Y/N sitting there. 

She was surrounded by papers. It seemed she was grading some essays. He observed her. The way her body hunched over the papers, how her head was low, he knew she was almost asleep. But then her head fell a little and she made a sound. Shaking it, she whispered “shit” under her nose and continued to work on the essays. 

“Go to bed,” Logan said when he fell on the leather couch. 

Y/N’s head lifted, frowning at her colleague and friend sitting there as if he owned the whole damn place. “I need to finish this tonight.”

“You need to rest,” he talked back, annoyed by her stubbornness. 

Her eyes followed his every move. The way he sipped the beer, how relaxed he was on the couch and his eyes kept checking out the papers all over the place. “No, I need to grade. Only a few more left.” 

Y/N taught English and literature in the school. She wanted to have this out of her neck before she would give them another assignment - that is, if someone would piss her off again, like the last time.

“Need any help?” he offered. 

She kinked a brow and grinned. “Have you read The Great Gatsby?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then, unfortunately, you cannot help,” she said with a teasing smile. 

“So, what did the kids do to deserve to write an essay?” he asked. His eyes never stopped following her hands over the table as she went through all the papers. 

She sighed and put a grade C on the essay she finished correcting. Then she put down a comment, for the student to know what they did wrong. “One of them was rude to me. He made an inappropriate comment and the class laughed at his boldness, or as I’d like to call it, stupidity. He got detention and the whole class had to write an essay.” 

Logan chuckled. “You are strict.” 

“Well, no offence, but the kids respect you out of fear. They don’t respect me and so I punish them like this,” I glanced at him with a smile and put one of the last essays in front of me. “2500 words is not that much, to be honest. Especially when the theme is: Gender roles in The Great Gatsby.”

He opened his mouth to comment on it but then closed it. “Fair enough.” 

Y/N yawned again and rubbed her eyes. She put down the pen and stretched on the couch. “Alright, a little break won’t hurt me. Just a few minutes.”

“You will fall asleep.”

“No, I won’t,” she said with her eyes closed. 

“Yeah, you will, Y/N. Don’t argue with me. I know you well,” Logan said grumpily. He knew he was right. 

Sighing, she stood up and did more stretching, just to wake up a little. “Now, I won’t.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed at how stubborn she was, again. “Hey, is it true that Colossus is taking you to the prom?” 

Y/N stopped moving and slowly turned her attention to him. What the hell was he talking about? “What?” she was confused. “What prom? And no?”

Now it was his turn to be confused. “The prom that the Professor promised the students like a month ago. It’s this Saturday,” he reminded her. 

With her mouth agape, she sat her ass down on the leather couch, her eyes wide and unblinking. “Shit, I forgot! How could I forget? I never forget anything when it comes to my job, the kids… Shit.” 

Logan had to chuckle at her reaction. He found it quite adorable. “Y/N, you’ve been working your ass off for the kids. No wonder you forgot. It’s a good thing I reminded ya.” He drank the rest of the beer in one go. “‘Cuz I’m the best at these things.”

“Fuck, right,” she said with an irony in her voice. She wanted to smash her head against the nearest wall.

Y/N was never the one to forget anything and now, it happened. Where was her head the last few weeks? “I have no dress or shoes or anything,” she started to talk mostly to herself. The panic, tiredness and some anxiety showed in her power that she had thanks to her mutation. A forcefield started to glitch around her. 

Logan’s eyes widened. “Uh, princess, you need to calm down,” he said. “Take a few deep breaths before you hurt me.” 

Y/N’s forcefield was unique. It could protect but be deadly if she handled it correctly. 

She glared at him but did as told. She took a few deep breaths until the glitching forcefield stopped. “You know I hate that nickname,” she growled. Logan was no idiot - she was a liar. She liked those nicknames he called her.  It made him chuckle. 

“Sure,” Logan winked at her. “Lie to yourself all you want.” He enjoyed it when he could rile her up. “So, do you have a date for this prom?” he asked her again. 

“No,” Y/N replied as she started to pack all the papers. “As you didn’t already notice, old man,” she knew where to press his buttons, “I forgot about the whole thing. So, no, no date.” 

“Wait,” Logan stopped her before she could leave. “So you are telling me, that you don’t have a date? How is that possible?” 

She shrugged. “No one asked me. But it doesn’t matter anyway. I believe Bobby is taking Kitty, and Charles and Storm will be attending together. And I think Colossus will ask Angel to be his date since they have this thing going on.” 

“What if I was your date?” Logan suggested nonchalantly. His eyes were fixed on her, watching her reaction - and it was a good one. A sparkle appeared in her irises, she stopped talking and just opened and closed her mouth like a fish underwater. “We could go together if you’d like.” 

Her lips twitched to a small smile, intrigued by it. “You’d want to go with me?”

“I wouldn’t mind going as your date,” he said, his voice was a bit husky. 

“And here I thought you would like to avoid an event like this,” I shook my head in disbelief. “Too much noise, too many kids at the same place.”

“I am full of surprises, princess,” he winked at her. 

That stupid nickname made her roll her eyes. “Fine, you can be my date,” she agreed after a while. “But we still need to look after the students and be responsible teachers,” I warned him. “No booze, sir.”

“What?” he frowned, obviously not happy with that information.”Who made that rule?”

“It’s a student prom and they are all underaged,” I explained to him. “You think the Professor will allow alcohol? Ha, wake up, darling.” 

“Look who is using nicknames,” he pointed it out. “I was about to say I am excited about the whole prom thing. This changes everything. I don’t even know if I wanna go.” 

Y/N got annoyed by that comment. She gave him an evil glare. “Fuck you, Logan. And here I thought you’d be excited that I agreed to be your date. Maybe I should ask Hank to be my date.”

“Oh, come on, princess, I am messing with ya.” 

When Y/N was sure she had all her belongings, she walked away from him. “Goodnight, Logan,” she sang to him. 

She couldn’t see but Logan had a gentle smile on his face, pleased by all the teasing. There was some excitement bubbling inside of him. She agreed to go to that stupid prom with him. 

Y/N hid in her room where she finished grading the last essays. She didn’t let herself think about anything, or anyone until the work was done. Luckily, the last essays were very good and they all received an A. 

She changed into a T-shirt and shorts and got into her bed. The moment she turned the light off, she thought back to the last half an hour - to the part where Logan asked her to be his date for the school prom. 

A laugh escaped her throat. The Wolverine asked her to be his date for a school prom. How surreal. 

Her heart fluttered and her cheeks got hot. The truth was, she liked Logan a lot. There was something eye-gripping and panties-dropping about him. In the past, she would date the exact opposite men than was he. And the way Logan would mess with her, she secretly loved it. 

With him, she didn’t have to pretend to be someone she’s not.

The next few days were normal. She taught English and Literature classes and found the time to dress shop with Angel two days before the prom. She found a beautiful red dress with secret pockets on each side and an exposed back. It had a deep cleavage that would show her breasts perfectly. 

“So, found a dress yet?” Logan stopped by her side the day before the prom. He was standing close behind her, breathing in her scent. 

“Aren’t you a curious soul,” she tilted her head and grinned. “You know what they say: Curiosity killed the cat.” 

“What if I want to match a tie?” he asked innocently, to which she had to laugh. “I am serious, Y/N.” 

Y/N turned around and was met with his eyes staring into her. She pressed a book closer to her chest and smirked at him. “See, if I tell you my dress is blue, would you put on a blue tie?” 

He made a face. “No,” he said seriously. 

“So why ask if you won’t do it anyway.” 

“Come on, Y/N, tell me,” he nudged her shoulder.  

She laughed and pushed him out of her way. “I want it to be a surprise, so stop being nosy,” she winked at him and left to teach another class. 

Logan grinned when she left him standing in the hallway, but there was one person who saw the interaction - Hank. The Beast passed by him in the hallway, staring at the Wolverine, chuckling. “You two are unbelievable,” he commented. 

“Shut up,” he growled at Hank. 

“Come on, it’s… adorable,” he said the word carefully.

Logan rolled his eyes, already done with the conversation. He walked down the hallway to his class where he taught history. 

He had a thing for her and he couldn’t even lie to himself about it. Logan’s eyes would linger on her longer than necessary. He would watch her leave and stare at her back until she was gone (well, he stared at her ass, because god, it was a good ass.) 

When Saturday came, all the students were excited about this event. The girls who came up with the idea of having a prom were praised by many. The boys and men had to help set the outside with balloons, giant speakers, and other decorations. Storm and Kitty were in the kitchen preparing the drinks for the evening - making sure they were non-alcoholic. Charles forbade any kind of alcohol because the students were too young to drink. 

Logan was still pissed about it. It was one thing to go to a stupid prom with a beautiful woman by his side, which made him rethink the whole “stupid” thing. But on the other hand - no alcohol? Not even a beer? It would be difficult. 

Y/N came to the kitchen with two big boxes on top of each other, followed by Bobby who had another three, keeping them cool. Deserts arrived. They decided that finger food was the best option for this event. 

Bobby wanted to take one dessert, but his fingers were smacked by Kitty, who glared at him. “No,” she said strictly. 

“But I helped,” he pleaded. When Kitty didn’t permit him one tiny piece of cake, he left the kitchen puffy.

“Will this be enough?” Storm asked when she looked at all the boxes. 

“Maybe you should ask that boy, Dean, who can make any food with a snap of his fingers to make us something,” Y/N suggested, smiling innocently. 

“Wouldn’t that be mean?” Kitty questioned. 

Y/N only shrugged as she walked out of the kitchen. “It’s worth trying,” she then shouted at them when she was farther away. 

Logan walked inside the school just as Y/N was about to hit the upper floor. “What’s with the dumb face?” he pointed at her, curious about that smile playing on her lips. 

Her eyes squinted, giving him an annoyed expression. “Always so curious, huh?”

“And you are always so mysterious,” he smirked at her. 

“You like it, Logan,” she gave him a wink and continued walking up the stairs. 

If only she turned to see the smile on his face as he watched her walk up the stairs. “Hey,” he stopped her before she disappeared into the upper level. “Should I come for you tonight?” 

Y/N leaned against the wooden bannister. “It depends on…”

“On?” 

“What kind of movie effect do you want: ‘Princess walking down the stairs - the Princess effect’ or ‘I shall come for you, my darling to admire you in secret’.” She said the other one dramatically. “So, what do you want?” And then she made the Scales with her hands. 

She could see the wheels spinning inside Logan’s head. He thought about what he wanted to happen. And then she heard a faint “fuck” coming out of his lips. 

“Both of them sound good, huh?” she smiled brightly, showing him her white teeth. “If you don’t come by 6:30 pm, I’ll know you want the ‘Princess effect’.” And she was gone. 

That woman is a fucking tease, he thought. She did things to him and he was hard, painfully hard. Gritting his teeth, he left the hallway and went to the kitchen to fetch himself something to drink. 

When he didn’t come by 6:30, Y/N knew he decided on the ‘Princess effect’. She checked her appearance in the mirror one last time before she left her room. The prom would start at 7 pm and the teachers had to gather a bit earlier. 

Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor. She was curious to see Logan’s reaction. Hell, she still couldn’t believe he asked her to this prom. Y/N had to laugh at it. But it was thrilling. There were butterflies inside her stomach, tickling her - or was it her vagina? 

As predicted, Logan, Hank and Bobby were chatting at the stairs, all dressed in fancy suits. And from what she could see, Logan chose an all-black suit. Fuck, she thought. 

Bobby was the first one who saw her. “Wow,” he said when his eyes landed on her. “You look good, Y/N.” 

And then Logan turned and his eyes widened, observing Y/N in her long red dress. She looked gorgeous, like a princess. Fucking princess effect. 

There was a slit up her right leg to her thigh that showed up when she walked. Her breasts were screaming at him, as they were pressed against the dress and popping out. The way her hair was loose on her shoulders and her make-up and… he was fucked. Her scent surrounded his being, influencing his every sense.

“Gentlemen,” she greeted them with a soft smile. 

“Dressed to kill?” Bobby commented.

“Something like that,” she winked at him. “After all, this is my first prom ever.” 

Logan’s eyes still lingered on her face, occasionally drifting to her breasts and then up her neck to her lips and eyes again. He still didn’t say a word to her. Maybe he forgot to talk? Fuck, he forgot to breathe and exist.

“First prom?” Hank was surprised. “If that’s the case,” he looked at Logan and chuckled, “you are doing a splendid job.” He patted Bobby on his shoulder as a sign to leave Logan and Y/N alone. 

She made a face and looked at Logan. “Did the ‘Princess effect’ work?” 

He released a breath that he was holding. “You look hideous.” 

Y/N laughed out loud. She wasn’t offended, because she knew he didn’t mean it at all. “Uh-huh, sure, if you say so.” She reached her hand to his face and helped him close his mouth. “You are drooling.” 

“The fuck I am,” he rolled his eyes. Like a gentleman, he gave her his arm to grab. When she did, they walked outside. 

They looked like a deadly couple. When they arrived at the outdoor prom, everyone who was present turned their attention to them. Logan, dressed in black, which was shocking as it was, and Y/N in a sexy red dress, was a deadly combo. 

Some of the students, who were already there, stared at the couple, whispering about them. Logan could hear their whispers. Enhanced hearing was a blessing and a curse. They couldn’t believe that those two were attending together. 

Is Mr. Howlett dating Miss Y/L/N? 

How could she say yes to him?

How the hell did that happen?

More students came and the prom could finally start. The music was loud, drinks and finger food were served and the students had a great time. The teachers stood together at a drinks table, talking. Compliments were flying around. The women even admired how Logan looked in his suit, but he would grumble something under his nose. He was getting grumpier by the second. He desperately needed alcohol or anything else that would help him survive the night.

“Shit,” Y/N gasped when her eyes found Johny zapping other girls with his electric ability. “I’ll be right back.”

Logan was the first one to watch her leave, eyes travelling up and down her body. “Fuck me,” he cursed. 

“We are not blind, Logan,” Charles wheeled to his side, his eyes were in the crowd, watching as Y/N talked to the young student. “And, excuse me, but your thoughts are screaming some things that I wish I didn’t have to hear.” 

“So don’t be a creep and listen.”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “You should make a move, Logan.”

“We are colleagues,” he said. 

“Whatever you say. But we see the chemistry between you two. Plus, you make a good team during missions.” 

Annoyed, he turned to Charles to talk back, but the man was already talking to Kitty. Logan shook his head in disbelief. He hated to admit that what Y/N meant to him was something he wished he didn’t want to experience again - out of fear of losing that person, again. She was the air he needed to breathe, the water he needed to drink.  

Some teenage boys approached Y/N on the dance floor once she was done with Johny. Logan frowned, not liking how close they were to her. Horny teenagers. 

“You look real’ nice teach,” said one of them. 

“Wanna dance?”

“No, first with me. I do enjoy your classes the most.” 

What a fucking liar, Logan thought. None of the boys were interested in her classes or teaching or her knowledge. 

Logan clenched his fists tightly. The more he listened to how those boys talked to her; how their eyes travelled her body, looking where only he should be the one looking, the more he wanted to scare the shit out of them. And when she took a step back, his legs moved forward, determined to step in and shoo them away. 

“Is there a problem?” his voice got darker, more intimidating. 

The boys feared the great Wolverine and so they quickly stepped back. “We were just…”

“I believe there are other girls more suitable for you,” he hugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go bother them.” 

With a snap of fingers, they were gone. They wouldn’t dare to talk back to the Wolverine. And, they feared he would make their lives miserable during history lessons. 

“Charming,” Y/N commented, chuckling. 

“You should have seen how they were looking at you,” he glared at her. “As if you were their prey.” 

“Good thing you came to rescue little ol’ me.”

He rubbed his face with a hand, sighing. “I need a drink. To hell with this no alcohol policy.” 

“Already so grumpy? And the prom barely started,” she gently stroked his arm, feeling the muscles under his suit.

“Well, it sucks.”

She took a step closer to him, tilting her head up to watch his face. “You know, this dress has secret pockets and I might have something inside of them that is forbidden this evening.” She gleamed with innocence. 

Logan inhaled her sweet scent again. He saw that teasing smile, could feel her body heat and he could breathe her in until the end of his time. “Are you suggesting that there’s some forbidden substance on you right now?” 

Her lips crooked into a wicked smile. “Come with me.” 

He didn’t have to be told twice. He walked by her side, farther away from the students and the whole prom, heading to the pond. The estate was vast. It was a perfect place to sneak around at night.

“For a teacher, you know how to break the rules,” he commented.

“Rules are meant to be broken, or am I wrong?” 

They stopped by the pond, next to one of the big thick trees standing there proudly. It was a perfect spot to be hidden but also see if any of the students were sneaking away from the party. 

They were surrounded by darkness. Only the moon gave them enough light to see each other’s faces. 

Y/N reached into one of the pockets and took out a black flask. She waved it in front of his eyes. “You are the best, princess,” he said. He was quick enough to take it out of her hand, open it and take a sniff. “Whisky?” he was surprised. 

“Please, repeat that I am the best, go on,” she goaded him. 

“You are the fucking best, princess,” he said and took a sip of the liquid. “Damn.” 

He handed her the flask and it was her turn to drink. “We are the two most irresponsible teachers. How can Charles trust us with the kids?” She put the flask to her lips and drank the liquid. It burned her throat and she turned up her nose. “It’s been a while since I had whisky.” 

“Why drink if you don’t like it?” 

“Who says I don’t like it?” 

“Your face,” he grabbed the flask from her again. 

“Rude, you know that?” she made an offended face. 

“Shut up,” he laughed at her and drank once more. “You’re a bad influence, you know that, eh? 

She raised a brow. “Are you complaining? I can take the flask and leave you here while I enjoy the drinking alone.” Y/N reached for the flask but he grabbed her wrist tightly. 

“Don’t you dare, princess,” he huffed. “You’d let old man suffer like this?” 

She scoffed. “What a fucking liar.”

“I’m over 150 years old,” he states, his hand not leaving her wrist. “So, yeah, I’m old.” 

“Uh-huh, ancient even,” she put a mocking smile on her face. “ The Smithsonian called, they want their fossil back.”

“Very funny.”

Her eyes drifted to his hand wrapped over her wrist. “You know, I don’t mind that you are holding me, but I want to drink.” 

Logan clears his throat and lets go of her. “Sorry,” he apologizes. 

Y/N drank the whisky. “So Canadian,” she commented, making a fake French accent. “Always apologising.”

“Are we on this again?” Y/N loved to tease him about this. The Canadian jokes were funny. Then again, he would tease her for her European heritage. 

“Oui, oui ma chérie,” she replied in the best French she could muster. 

“Fuck you with those Canadian jokes.”

“Ha, you wish.” 

Logan took the flask out of her hand to drink again. Y/N was quick enough to take it before he could put it to his lips. A new sound escaped Logan’s throat as he pressed himself closer to her to reach for the flask again. He was successful. Y/N wanted to steal it again but Logan put it up in the air, mocking her to take it from there. 

The annoyance on her face was evident and he laughed. “Come and get it, princess.” 

Y/N tried. To get it, she took a step closer to him and stretched her arms up as much as her body let her. The front of her body pressed against his hard, muscular chest. Logan could feel the shape of her perfect breasts. 

His eyes found her. That’s when he realised how close her face was to his. All he needed to do was to lean closer and he would be able to get to her lips - taste them for the first time. Once her breath hit his face, he went for it. 

Logan closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against her in their first soft kiss. He tested the waters, just to find out if she wanted this or not. When the kiss deepened, he let the flask drop to the grass and his arms wrapped tightly around her body. Their lips moved, exploring each other lips and mouths. He found a moment where she would grant him access and he pressed his tongue inside her mouth to explore it a bit further. 

Y/N’s arms were around his neck, pulling herself as close to him as possible. “Logan,” she moaned his name when his lips moved to her chin and then to her neck. He found a sensitive spot that got her weak in the knees and another moan got out of her throat. 

Logan stopped the kissing to look into her face. “Fuck, princess, I dreamt about this for some time now.” 

“So why are you stopping now?” she whispered. 

“I don’t think I will be able to stop,” he admitted, brushing her lower lip with his thumb. 

Y/N took it between her lips and sucked on it. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop,” she said after she let it out with a pop.

His lips were back on her in a messier kiss. It was all tongue and teeth, biting and pulling. Her hands stroked his chest over the fancy clothes he wore, wanting to feel as much of him as possible. Logan’s hands gripped her ass tightly, enjoying how it felt on his big palms. “I want you, baby girl.” 

“I want you too, Logan,” she moaned into his mouth. 

He pressed her harshly against the nearest tree they stood by, pushing his body to her. He was painfully hard and there was no way he’d be able to stop now. So when her hand found his bulge, he was a goner. 

“Fuck,” she gasped. 

His hand found her exposed thigh and it travelled up until he made her wrap the leg around his waist. Then he pressed the bulge against her clothed pussy. And that was rewarded by another sweet moan. 

All of a sudden, he stopped and looked into her face. She was breathing heavily, a hint of confusion evident on her face. Her eyes asked why he stopped. Her hands grabbed tightly onto his jacket. “Not here,” Logan said after he caught his breath. He wanted to slap himself for saying that. 

“Why not?” she sighed, impatient. 

“‘Cuz a princess like you should be treated like one,” he explained. “Plus, tonight you look like a fucking princess.” He wanted the best for her. “And maybe in time, I’d fuck the soul out of you somewhere in the woods.” 

A slow smile pulled on her lips. “Ah, so you think about this not being a one-time thing?” 

He carefully let her exposed leg go. He then put a finger under her chin. “Fuck, no. You can’t deny there’s somethin’ between us.” 

Y/N’s arms were back around his neck, breathing in his scent. He still hadn’t smoked those cigars because there was no trace of the smell on him. Her fingers scrapped his nape and it made him roll his eyes in pleasure. “The teasing, the banter, how we make fun of each other… yeah, there definitely is.” 

He hummed. “Plus, everyone can see it, as they kept reminding me the last few days.” 

That made her laugh. “Yeah, I had my talk with Ororo.”

Y/N pushed her back from the three and she yelped in pain. Some of the wood scratched her back. “Fuck,” she cursed. 

“And that is another reason why we should take this somewhere else,” he said as his hand brushed her hair off the back and swiped off some of the bits of wood and dirt. He could smell a bit of blood. 

Before they headed back to the dance, Logan picked the flask from the ground. There was some alcohol left. He handed it to her and she took a sip. Afterwards, he drank the rest of it. They walked side by side, his big hand brushing against her smaller one. Here and there, they would give one another fleeting stares.

“I’m gonna take you for a ride tomorrow,” he said out of nowhere and that got her attention. “What do you say?” 

“Oh, like a date?” she nudged his shoulder. “I didn’t know you do that. I always thought that you were above these things. You know, toxic masculinity and shit.” 

“Now you hurt my feelings, princess.” 

“I’m just messing with you, Lo’. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not surprised. I really didn’t picture you as the one who would ask a girl on a date. It’s nice.”

“So, is that a yes?” 

Quickly, she got on her tiptoes, pulled on his hand to lean a bit to her and she kissed him on the bearded cheek. “Yes.” 

When they came back to the prom, they kept some of the distance between them. Kitty was the first to approach them. “Hey, I think the Professor said no alcohol,” she pointed at the flask that Y/N was holding in her left hand. 

“Cough syrup,” she said innocently. 

Logan had to hold back his laugh. Kitty, on the other hand, shook her head in disapproval. She watched as her friend put the flask into a pocket of her dress. “Sneaky.” 

“I told her she’s a bad influence,” Logan commented. That earned him a slap on the shoulder. 

Someone’s gentle fingers brushed against her back. “What happened to you?” Ororo’s voice came from behind her. She found the tiny scratches on her back. When she moved her hair to the side, there were more of them. 

“Oh,” Y/N waved a hand. “Just slippery grass and I bumped into a tree.” 

Kitty made a face and Ororo glared at her too, knowing she was lying to them. Then their eyes were on Logan. “She’s fucking clumsy.” 

“Right,” Ororo commented. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I am going to the bathroom,” she said. Nothing better came to her mind to get away from that situation. And with her head high, she left her friends and Logan standing there. 

Y/N ended up in one of the closest bathrooms where she tried to take a peek at her back, to see how bad it was. She was able to see some scratches on the left side of her shoulder, but it was not that bad. Yes, there were scratches and some blood, but nothing horrible. All she needed was to clean it off with a wet cloth. 

Her sigh reverberated through the room. It all kept coming back to her - the way his lips felt, how he kissed her and touched her. How he pressed her against the tree, ready to have his way with her. Fuck, he was packing. She thought they would fuck there, right against the tree, but he didn’t want to. And it all brought a smile to her face. 

Y/N had been pining for him for some time now. In her eyes, Logan was the exact opposite of a man that she would date in the past. He was the epitome of a man. She couldn’t count how many times her panties dropped when she talked to him, or when he did something. And those damn claws. Fuck! 

After washing her hands, she left the bathroom and headed back to the prom. Maybe she could ask him to dance with her? Would he?

That didn’t happen because Logan was standing at the stairs, waiting. 

“Why are you not outside?” she asked. 

He reached a hand to her. She eyed him, curious why he did that, but gave him her hand. “Just come,” was all he said. 

Logan took her upstairs, all the way back to her room. He was inside maybe twice, never paying her room any special attention until now. 

She had a guitar by the table, a queen-sized bed with a night table and a lamp. Her walls were decorated with shelves and books. It was a cosy room, better than his.  Y/N opened her mouth to question him. Logan made her sit on the bed. “You have a disinfection?” 

She peaked at him through her dark lashes. “Bathroom.” 

Logan went to the other door in the room where found a shower, toilet and a sink with cabinets and a mirror. He went to the cabinet under the sink where he found a box marked a first aid kit. 

He sat behind her on the bed, brushing her hair away from her shoulders so he could have a peek at her exposed back. Without words, he cleaned the tiny scratches from the tree. “Shit, there’s some wood inside this one,” he cursed once he found one wound that needed more treatment. 

He found tweezers that helped him get out the piece of wood. She didn’t even flinch. Once he was done, he put the first aid kit back in the bathroom. 

Y/N stood up and waited for his return. “How will I repay you, my knight in shining armour?” 

His actions spoke louder than words. He grabbed her by the neck and pulled her close to his body, his lips back on her as they were over half an hour ago. Her hands removed his black jacket and let it fall on the floor.

“You look so hot in a suit,” she mumbled between the kisses. “I could eat you up.” 

He chuckled. “I think that is my line, princess. Now, tell me, how much do you like that dress?” 

Y/N stopped everything she was doing and took a step back. “Oh no no, do not touch the dress with your claws. It was fucking expensive and I like it.” 

That playful grin on his face would be her death. He sat down on her bed and took off the tie. “Take it off for me, now, or,” he looked down at his fist as his three adamantium claws came out of his skin. “Or there will be no dress left.” 

Her fingers found the tiny zipper on her side. Y/N’s eyes never left his dark eyes, boring into them as she teasingly took off the dress as he commanded her. His claws were gone once he stood in front of him only in her red thong.

“Fuck, princess, look at you.” He ogled her from head to toe, his eyes lingering longer on her perky breasts. Her body had beautiful curves that he dreamt about for a long time. 

Y/N was quick to get to him and sat on his lap, pressing her pussy against his hard bulge. Her hands grabbed the middle of his black button-up. He couldn’t let a sound out, she ripped the buttons, exposing his hard-toned chest. 

“How is that fair?” he snarled. 

“And how is it fair that I am almost naked here while you sit here, all comfy and clothed?” she cocked her eyebrow. She took the piece of clothing off him completely, admiring everything and anything on him - those toned arms and shoulders, that chest, and fuck, even though he was a hairy man, she was into it. Her fingers dug into his skin, leaving deep red marks on his chest. 

His lips found her neck in delicate kisses that he pressed to her skin, trailing down to her collarbones until he found her chest and latched onto her nipples hungrily. “These tits were made for me.” He bit onto one, making her yelp. 

Y/N’s hands went between their bodies, finding his belt and zipper, trying to get inside of them hurriedly. “Impatient?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

She heard his dark chuckle that then turned into a moan once her hand got inside his trousers and grabbed his length. “Princess, don’t be a tease.” 

With his help, the rest of his clothes were gone. Logan lay down on her bed, watching her crawl on top of him. Her breasts were right at his face. One piece of clothing was separating her sweet cunt and his cock and that was the damn thong. One of his claws got out of his hand and precisely tore the piece of fabric without hurting her. He took the damaged panties away and threw them on the ground. 

“Now, are you gonna stare at me or are you gonna ride me with that sweet pussy of yours?” His hands then rested on her thighs, lazily travelling up to her sides and then to her gorgeous breasts, squeezing them. His fingers tweaked her hard nipples, making her moan for him. 

“Come on, princess, be a good girl and ride me.” 

Y/N grabbed his cock and aligned it with her entrance, carefully sinking onto it. Her mouth was agape as she kept her eyes locked onto his one. “Fuck, so thick.” 

First, the pace was slow. She tried to get used to his girth. After a few thrusts, she sped up. Logan’s hands grabbed her and they entwined their fingers. “Shit, sweetheart, you squeeze me so well. Your pussy is amazing.” 

“Logan,” she said his name hoarsely. 

He quickly lost his patience and switched them. Y/N landed on her bed with a huff and he entered her before she realised what happened. The room filled with skin-on-skin slapping sounds. He fucked her rough and fast. Y/N’s nails dung into the skin on his back. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t hurt him.

His left hand went between their bodies until he found her clit and toyed with it. “Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to cum.”

“Yes,” she moaned. “I’m s-so close. Fuck.”

“Come on, cum for me, princess. I wanna feel you.” He put her right leg over his shoulder and got deeper than before. “I can feel you’re close. Come on, cum for me.” 

It took a few more thrusts and some strokes on her clit when she climaxed. The way her cunt squeezed his cock brought him to his peak fast and he spilled inside her, coating her walls white. “Ah!”

“Fuck, fuck,” he cursed as his thrusts got sloppier, slower. He stopped once her pussy stopped spasming and his release ended. 

Their breaths were heavy. Her chest was heaving and it was a beautiful sight to watch her breasts move in front of his eyes. He latched onto one of the nipples, sucking on it. “Fucking beautiful.” 

Then their lips connected in a heated kiss, tongues battling. She giggled when he looked back at her. “Damn,” she whispered. “That was hot. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Logan was curious. He rolled next to her side. 

She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his chest, breathing in his scent. “How about,” she started slowly. “Tomorrow, after you take me for a ride on your bike, I ride you on your bike?” 

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You will be the death of me, princess.” 

[jazzsonly]

ꜱᴀᴅᴅᴇʀᴅᴀᴢᴇ.

pairing(s): cairo sweet x fem!reader

warning(s): stalker cairo, mentions cairo watching reader through their window, smoking, mention of reader’s mom passing away, mentions of reader having a ‘toned stomach’, minor detailed sexual content(nothing too major though).

summary: you become cairo’s newest work.

❝ sadderdays, why do they keep on using me? ❞

────────✬────────

cairo sweet didn’t believe in mistakes.

she believed there just was and there just wasn’t, and well, if you really wanted to, you could change the entirety of that was or wasn’t.

cairo also didn’t believe in much of a right or wrong, mankind was and would continue to be the most horrific thing to earth so it really all depended on what the domino effects of the things you did that made those things so ‘wrong’

or right.

in this case, watching through your window almost every night since the start of this summer wasn’t right or wrong nor was it her fault—it had to yours. what logical person, who knowingly had a window that mirrored the house right across the street wouldn’t put curtains up?

if you asked her, it was an invitation.

you prompted her, to watch you as she held a lit cigarette between her lips on most nights, letting the smoke fill her lungs and her mind full with thoughts of you.

you were tempting, all more in the ways she thought miller was. she was far more intrigued with you than she ever could be miller.

of course she wanted you, she wanted you more than anything—how could she not be (to her dismay) enflamed with you? shamelessly letting her hand slip into her pants as she watched you. again, it wasn’t her fault, it was merely yours for inviting her.

entertaining her.

though you’d never spoken, never even made eye contact with the girl she had made it clear to herself and somehow to you that you, indeed, knew all the things you were doing.

and though she felt this way, though she wanted you—her need to write you was far more important than any of that lustful bullshit.

she couldn’t just sit and stare at you forever, she needed to figure you out and figure you out fast before summer was over, though it was just mid-june. she needed something to wow yale.

her college essay needed to be perfect and you were just the target, because well, you just show up in the house that’s gone untouched for as long as she’s been trapped in her lonesome that her parents left her to all alone in this tennesse mansion.

she had a reasoning for being here, she knew her reason for being here, but what was your excuse? cause one thing is for damn sure, you were way too good looking and way too young to be up here all alone.

so cairo set out, being as bold as she’s ever been—especially after the whole miller thing, here she was standing at your door, cocky shades cover her eyes and a cigarette firm between her lips as she knocks.

she didn’t miss the red pick up that sat in your driveway, such a texas cliche, she thought.

hearing the wooden door creak as it opens, she fixes her posture, pushing her shoulders forward as she stood up straight.

“uh, hey?” you question, wiping the dirt from your hands on a faded blue rag.

the girl took a second, taking in the attire of your flared fitting jeans—they were worn out in a handy way, navy blue. she also took note to your light blue top that slightly came up, showing the edge of your, what seemed to be toned stomach.

pop’s. the shirt read in a bold fading yellow font with little things around it.

tempting but she had a mission.

“i’m cairo, i, uh, wanted to introduce myself—i live,” she pauses, pointing to the broad house placed a felid away.

“you live there? i didn’t think anyone lived there. creeps me out, the whole old victorian vibe, no offense. but, i’m y/n—i would shake your hand but uh.” you flash your hands that were scuffed with dirt.

“none taken, it’s actually quite comforting—i didn’t think anyone lived here, i mean it’s been empty for years.”

“yeah, uh, my mom recently passed and this is what she left behind…” you shrug, flapping you arms in lazy manner and let them fall back to your sides with a flat slap.

“mhm,” cairo takes a drag from the malboro.

“i’m sorry to hear that. are you fixing the place up?”

“trying to, thinking about turning it into a summer home, you know?” she didn’t miss the way your eyes flicker back and forth from the cigarette back to her face.

“you want?” she holds the stick towards you.

“if you don’t mind,” you reach up but fail to grasp the cigarette as the girl pushes her hand forward, placing it between your lips herself.

though you couldn’t tell because of the dark shades, she eyes your lips and watches closely as your purse them, taking a long drag before she retracts her fingers.

“thank you—do, uh, you wanna come in for a drink?”

“tomorrow, yeah? gotta a lot of work to do.”

“oh, work? you in high school?” she could see the slight grimace on your face at the thought of her being in high school.

“graduated. i’m in the process of apply for college. yale.”

“oh, hotshot, huh? i go to nyu, transfer from ucla—my second year.“

noted.

“but, good luck with everything, i’ll be here all summer so if you need any pointers let me know. i’m just a field away.”

also noted.

“mhm, i’ll definitely let you know.”

✬

exactly four days had passed since the encounter between you and cairo, and if she had to completely be truthful with herself, she was bored.

all she’d done was write and quickly delete the drafts she had made of you, walk to get coffee, and encounter small talk with a few distant friends from school whom seemed to be on big vacations with their closer friends.

she’d never say out loud, and she so reluctantly thought but she kind of missed winnie, in a strange way. who else to make her scandalous and yet superior at the same time?

after the whole miller thing, winnie had made it clear to stay far, far away from cairo, which of course the sweet girl didn’t take much offense to—she’d feel the same way if she were in her shoes, but she’d never so naively fall into a web like winnie had done.

with nothing better to do, and piles of shitty drafts, today would be the day she finally took up you on your offer. she needed new material for her paper anyways.

so here she was once again at your door, book-bag close on her back, dark shorts hugging her thighs with dark shades that cupped her face to match, and to top it off a white tank-top that read tennesse in fine blue print.

“finally showed up, i was afraid i scared you off.” the girl flinches, slightly, when you appear from the side of the house.

immediately she takes notices to the jean short-shorts that you occupied, along with the dirt stained, white baseball cap that took over your head of curls, brown cowgirl boots, and to top it off a plain black tank.

“i’ve been busy. told you i had a lot of work to do.”

“yeah, days worth, huh?” you tease, stepping to the house’s door, opening it and stepping aside for cairo.

“every time i see you, you got these shades on. you don’t like people looking you in your eyes or something?”

“i have my reasons.” she shrugs, letting a playful manner roll over her.

“you got magic eyes? anyone who stares into them falls in love?” you point at the girl again, this time causing her to bite back a smile, that you definitely don’t miss.

as she follows you, she can’t help but notice just how much your house resembles the aura of her’s—if not even more erie, the vacancy was very lit and yet a classic touch of old money overwhelmed the place. you had to be as loaded as she was with a house like this, and in tennesse—trust, she didn’t miss how much land you occupied.

“if you don’t mind me asking, what’d your mom do for a living?”

“ah, real estate and my dad is a lawyer—though, i don’t talk much with him.”

“huh, my parents are lawyers too and we don’t talk much either.”

you bite your lip, nodding in some form of understanding? agreement?

“make yourself at home,” you gesture to the velvet love seat.

cairo pauses for a minute, thinking, she had already made herself too at home—she was already losing sight of why she were here, she wasn’t here for your good looks and alluring aura—nor your flirty jokes.

you weren’t some seduction mission that she was going to trick herself into thinking you wanted her the way she did you, no. you weren’t going to be another mr.miller. she had learned from her mistakes.

you were her college essay and nothing more.

“i’m not a big drinker, so, pretty much all i have is some cherry wine and a little bit of gin.”

you watch at the sweet girl grimaces, “gin?”

“i know, my mom had poor taste, but i’ll take that as wine for our drink of the evening, i’ll be right back.”

why were you so tempting? how could one be so open yet she still knew nothing about you. she’d been here all of twenty minutes all she could get out of you was that your mom was a real estate agent and your dad is a lawy—

that’s it.

“here you go.” you hand her a half filled glass, fingers grazing over her skin before taking a seat across from her in the matching recliner.

“so, you’re dad is a lawyer? what’s his name? just curious if he works at the same firm as my parents.”

“y/d/n y/l/n. i doubt it, my dad owns his own firm and is very hard to work with.”

“hm, yeah never heard of him.” cairo made note to google your father later to lead her to connects with you,

and that’s exactly what she did.

after your drink, an excused rolled off her tongue to go home—she had more work to do, that you so cluelessly wished her good luck on.

one things for sure, you were right, you dad was hard man to work with. he seemed to be a lawyer who’d only worked on high profile cases in his career, how that was even possible? who knows.

he’d also been married three times, your mom being the second wife and you being his second kid.

his latest wife was way younger then him, as usual, she was maybe even your age. they had a son together, just two years old. it must be weird having an older sister in her late forties, while you’re in your earlier twenties, with a younger brother who is just two years old.

all while your dad is pushing sixty-five or so cairo read on the internet—she doesn’t exactly remember his age because she got bored and started surfing your name on google. to her surprise she’d found quite a lot on you.

a soccer star in high school, riding a scholarship for it too. not only that, but you’d been on the swim team in high school too.

you’d taken piano lessons as a kid, and noting the only social media you had was instagram, which to her trouble was private.

ugh, frustration was a minor feeling that creeped over cairo’s body. all she found was cliche background info. on you, no hard hitting stuff. no legal troubles, no mentions of some sort of addiction, no scandals.

there had to be more to you—there was, she could feel it. there was a story to you and she so ever needed it if she was going to wow yale. she had her miller story but something bigger assuredly awaited her blank google doc.

taking a slow, extended drag from her cigarette, the girl reluctantly closed the macbook. she now, once again, had a view of your unfolded window. though, you weren’t occupying it at the moment she waited in setback and anticipation as your truck had pulled into the driveway not too long ago. you’d entered the house with a woman she’d never seen before, maybe your half-sister.

if it were, it would be nice to put a face to the name considering google didn’t hold any pictures of your older sister.

but cairo couldn’t be more wrong and there would be no putting any name to any face because she would watch and smoke as you came collapsing into your room’s open window with your tongue down the random woman’s throat.

cairo couldn’t help but be taken over by a hot-blooded resentment. you were her project her, her puzzle to figure out, not some girl’s sloppy one night. and yet; through her distasteful thoughts, the girl couldn’t break her eyes from the scene that unfolded in front of her.

lewd.

that was one word to describe everything going on just in these moments. cairo’s hand wandering in her pants, letting enclosed moans falling from her lips as her eyes trained on just how…experienced (?) you’d seemed to be by the way you had been touching this woman.

her eyes were like binoculars on their own, closely she looked as your tongue ran across the woman’s lips—it was sloppy but so enamoring. your hands eagerly everywhere and nowhere at the same time on the woman’s body as you take off her clothes with the haste, the woman doing the same to you.

with you just in your lace underwear, cairo could see a tattoo on your shoulder that couldn’t make out but definitely would find a way to ask you about eventually—but right now, all she wanted to do was be the woman you were so infatuated with in this moment. the way you were shamelessly in the middle of your room, on your knees with your head hungrily between her legs, eating her out with ease. the eye contact you kept drove her even more insane.

she had underestimated you.

you were more untamed than she thought. bolder than you led onto to be.

━━━ 👩🏽‍💻potentially more parts to come.

[gnome-adjacent-vagabond]

Psst hey *pulls you closer* Canon middle-aged queer relationships and multiple canon queer/queer-coded characters. *lets you go* Go watch Venture Bros.

There are WAY more than these but I can't put em all up here because queer coding is up to interpretation. I say that everyone in Venture Bros is queer until proven straight but that's just me.

I wrote a whole-ass essay and then accidentally deleted it so the wording on this will probably be off, but it feels important so I'm gonna try be succinct.

Minor spoilers ahead! Skip paragraph three if you don't want those, then resume on paragraph four.

Full disclosure, this is a show that started in the early 2000s and has a LOT of issues in the first few seasons as well as a couple in the later seasons. There are transphobic and homophobic jokes, ableism, racism, and sexism. Sergeant Hatred is a walking trigger warning for about three seasons straight. It goes without saying but I'll say it anyway: DON'T watch this show if you have multiple triggers or are easily offended.

Having said that, these writers realized the problems with what they were writing and have worked to remedy those issues through commentary, retconning, and public acknowledgement of the early seasons' failings. Their opinions evolve and so does the show.

Shore Leave is a flamboyantly gay man who was initially intended to be a one-off joke about the G.I. Joe series and the Village People. Instead he has morphed into a three-dimensional character who presents comfortably as both masculine and feminine. He's in a loving relationship with another gay man, Al, who is flamboyant but tends to be a little less flashy. Steve Summers and Sasquatch have been a happy couple for years now--and all because the epitome of toxic masculinity, Brock Samson, helps them find a quiet cabin away from the government hunting them. Brock's mentor, Hunter Gathers, is a canonically detransitioned trans woman who struggles with her identity throughout the show (I'm still waiting for her to retransition despite the show's cancellation). Hank is perfectly at ease in a hyperfeminine strength suit, and Dean also goes through identity struggles that are never played for laughs and are heavily if not explicitly queer-coded. Vendata's queerness is understated and exists simply as a fact rather than being joked about. Sky Pilot is similar, though slightly more in Shore Leave's camp in terms of presentation. Sheila and the Monarch are self-proclaimed swingers and could be read to be in a poly relationship with Gary, their henchman. Debbie St. Simone has a rather homoerotic obsession with Sheila and is almost definitely bisexual.

The Venture Bros universe is full of queer rep, and the creators of the show write it in with intention. Doc Hammer and Jackson Publick talk about wanting it to be treated as fact rather than completely defining each of their characters--they talk about how few women are in the show and why (Johnny Quest and G.I. Joe, the inspirations for Venture Bros, are heavily malecentric and there's constant homoeroticism in them for that reason). They acknowledge the flaws and work to improve themselves and their writing. This has culminated in a surprisingly moving series about love, death, grief, trauma, and change that radiates queer subtext from any angle--especially Dean's journey.

Try the show at least up to season 4. The first three seasons are on Netflix and the rest are on Adult Swim. If you still don't like it, that's fine. Thank you for trying! Just know that it's out there and that it's an example of how human beings can change and become better people. Doc Hammer and Jackson Publick aren't perfect and neither is the Venture Bros, but for what it is it's a damn fun (shockingly so) show.

[pendragonsclotpole]

help, i just got slapped in the face with the existence of WILL. be still my beating heart as i write an essay on this man, will of ealdor

firstly, i adore the silent and implicit trust hidden in the first joke that introduces will’s character. like merlin’s been aware his whole life that if his secret is ever found out, he will be hunted down and persecuted, but here comes will with a jab that they both inherently understand is a joke in the macabre style only true friends can lovingly master. the smile they share almost immediately gives me ned stark and robert baratheon meeting again in the courtyard of winterfell in season one of got. there’s also something so normal in their interaction that speaks of a familiarity borne from their equal status and years of friendship. i know merlin’s friends in camelot tend to skew to the non-royal/non-noble, but when you tally it up, those closest to merlin often hold some title that’s greater than merlin’s role as arthur’s servant. gwaine is a knight implied to be of noble blood; lancelot, percival, and elyan are also knighted and esteemed members of arthur’s court; gwen is the lady morgana’s maid and close companion long before she is ever queen; gaius is a physician and long time member of camelot’s court; morgana before her betrayal is literally uther’s ward. i feel like when placed among them all, merlin has a tendency to fade into the background offscreen. obviously the audience knows how important merlin is to the overall story given how much of the storyline focuses on him, and the characters regularly acknowledge merlin’s importance to them or arthur, but all of them still regard merlin as merlin the servant from camelot and few of them are privy to the plots we as the audience see firsthand. and even when they acknowledge him for his merits, his role as arthur’s close friend and confidante takes precedence. look at leon’s reaction in the later seasons when merlin is bewitched by morgana. merlin literally makes a comment about plotting to kill arthur and leon barely even blinks before quipping back, “driving you mad isn’t he?” or something along those lines. except for a few instances with even fewer characters, they never get a chance to know him as merlin the sorcerer from ealdor.

will does! and more than that, he got to know merlin as he is without arthur. we all hype up their status as magical soulmates but damn if i wasnt living for how jealous of arthur will seemed to be in this episode. call me crazy, but it makes me desperately headcanon a realistic past in ealdor for merlin, full of hardship and strife, but never without it’s moments of happiness. furthermore, will’s lone appearance in season one shines some real light on the unfairness of the fate that has been bestowed on meelin. the moment that will points out why he’s been so obstinate with arthur really strikes a deep chord. sure it could be just jealousy, but more compellingly, i choose to read it as a deep sense of care for merlin. everyone merlin has met within camelot, (or reunited with in the case of his own mother) has continually pushed him closer and closer to arthur. will presents a crucial exception. he knows exactly who merlin was before camelot, and who merlin is completely separate from arthur.

will is staunchly in merlin’s corner, and that position allows him to identify a key characteristic of merlin’s series’ long arc: his complete devotion to arthur. will even points it out himself: merlin could singlehandedly defend their home if he just used the full extent of his power. merlin doesn’t, and actively chooses not to because of his desire to stay close to arthur. it’s such a small moment, but i think it demonstrates how much of merlin’s decisions become motivated by his desire to stay close to arthur and to always put arthur first, even at a detrimental cost to himself. merlin understands and readily accepts arthur as his destiny, but this acceptance does not come about independently, instantly, or of merlin’s own volition. it does so eventually, but initially merlin sticks by arthur’s side because of the encouragement of everyone around him. “arthur needs you, merlin” or “arthur is your destiny, merlin” or “arthur is a good man, merlin. he has the potential to be a great king, he just needs the right people, merlin.” its codependent as hell.

sure, merlin originally does not tell arthur about his magic because they do not know each other and as far as merlin knows revealing his magic would lead to his death, but eventually the reasoning changes and becomes so focused on doing what’s best for arthur. merlin can’t tell arthur because then arthur would have to kill him and then who would look after arthur or ensure his fate? merlin can’t tell arthur because if arthur chooses to defy uther’s law, merlin is then forcing arthur to turn against his father and how could he look after arthur then? merlin can’t tell arthur because another betrayal from magic would ruin everything and truthfully, he wonders how would arthur react? merlin comes to fear what his magic might do to arthur and what it’s reveal might mean for his place in camelot more than the laws of camelot and their verdicts.

by this logic, merlin is a magical solar system orbiting entirely around the celestial body known as arthur pendragon. eventually merlin cared more about his relationship with arthur and what arthur thought about him than his own life. in retrospect, it’s so sad that will died so early on, because it strips merlin of a person solely in his corner. will’s death is the first in the series’ long pattern of loss that merlin endures and that eventually comes to define him because people either find out about his magic and their knowledge is directly tested against his loyalty to arthur, or he cannot allow them to know about his magic because it will unravel his relationship with arthur.

will, freya, balinor, morgana, mordred, arthur.

also the fact that will covered for merlin’s use of magic in his last moments just adds to the tragedy AND the growing pile of moments merlin could have told arthur about his magic but didnt. and also the fact that will literally died to save arthur. like tell me that just doesn’t prove my point. tell me. will never stood a chance. tell me every aspect of merlin’s life does not get consumed by arthur pendragon.

i’m all for merthur being soulmates, but god the original series is rife with the unbalanced mess of merlin being wholeheartedly aware of arthur’s great potential and destiny leading to some intense devotion and faith that yes, arthur earns and pays back in full measure but can never fully reciprocate because he just does not know anything. by the triple goddess, it can get so toxic. i wish will had lived if just for that. and like the jealousy arthur gets whenever merlin has other people. because i 100% live for possessive arthur and protective merlin dynamics.

[loveinhawkins]

Up until recent events, Eddie hasn’t really put much thought into flashlights—save for that time he had to take out the batteries in the T.V remote to get his to work, back when the power went wonky last summer.

But now? Oh, as soon as he’s through with this whole nightmare, Eddie’s gonna find out whichever saint invented the damn things and start a petition to get them a federal holiday. That’s gonna be his whole… raisin something, something—he thinks it’s French, Buckley will know.

Fucking wondrous creations.

… Okay, he might still be a little jittery.

So sue him. It’s either run with his increasingly stupid train of thought or have a thoroughly justified panic about—well, there’s just so much to choose from: the ash in the air, the apparently sentient vines on the ground, how it’s so fucking cold and dark—

Jesus H. Christ, calm down.

It’s not all that dark anyway—or at least, it’s not as dark as it could be. Steve’s lighting the way, flashlight in hand. Honestly, Eddie thinks he should get it preserved, like in one of those glass cabinets in museums, complete with a plaque: This bulb somehow survived a journey from the depths of a lake into an alternate dimension, and all for the low, low price of…

Well, Eddie doesn’t know how much it cost. He’ll workshop the whole plaque thing.

In his reverie, he stumbles carelessly, nearly pitching over right into Hive Mind territory.

“Ah, shit,” he whispers.

Steve’s hand must move because the light drifts over—ends up illuminating much more of Eddie’s path than Steve’s.

“Thanks,” Eddie says—glances sideways to find Steve already looking at him.

“Think I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Steve replies.

His hand flexes, as if he’d gone to twirl the flashlight before catching himself; Eddie has a very faint memory of Steve doing the same with pencils in class and fights a private smile.

“You gave me it,” Steve continues. “I would’ve just… gone right in without thinking.”

It’s said self-deprecatingly, but Eddie would argue that Steve’s impulsivity (his courage) is an admirable character trait, even if it sets his heart pounding.

His own problem is that he thinks too damn much, until the window of opportunity has almost been and gone.

He was the only one to hesitate before diving into the lake: he knows all too well how that could’ve made its way onto the increasingly long list of moments that haunt him.

He could’ve been too late, could’ve not found the Gate at all—and then, would only have been able to pathetically swim back to the kids and tell them that their heroes were gone.

The light skips onwards just a little, encourages Eddie to look up from his feet. He blinks a few times to try and adjust to the darkness looming ahead. There, the indistinct outline of trees, and he’s drawn back to a classroom again, to the soporific noise of chalk on a blackboard, to…

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

“The hell is that from?” Eddie wonders, and he doesn’t realise he’s also said the quote aloud until Steve speaks.

“S’a poem. Robert Frost.”

Eddie clicks his fingers. “See, that’s why you actually passed English.”

Steve rocks his hand back and forth, so-so.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t play coy now, Harrington.”

“I’m not, I passed by the skin of my teeth, dude.” Steve looks into the distance as he walks, like he’s being drawn back to some place, too. “I was meant to, um, submit a portfolio thing, and I just… didn’t.”

“Like stories and shit?”

Steve smiles. “Mm-hmm, and shit. Poems, too.”

“So why didn’t you…?”

Steve just shrugs in reply so Eddie changes tack—rolls his eyes expansively, but only at himself.

“Fucking Frost. Ugh, why can I remember that shit now, but when a paper’s in front of me, it’s just…” Eddie mimes an explosion in the back of his head, gone.

“Well,” Steve says, chuckling, “if the, uh, lovely atmosphere of this place jogs your memory, we’ll make some time, get you to write an essay.” He grins at Eddie, teasing and charming in equal measure. “We’re nothing if not productive.”

“Sure, that’s one word for it.”

Joking aside, Eddie finds that the mention of school calms his heart somewhat: to think of the foreboding sights around him as part of a story. Maybe it’s a control thing, like his campaigns. Dress shit up, put a film on top, then you don’t have to look at it directly.

He suggests as such to Steve in a longwinded ramble, and gets a thoughtful look in response.

“Like the Shire? And Mordor?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Yeah, exactly.”

Steve nods slightly. The movement dislodges some particles in his hair—and yes, it helps, Eddie thinks, to believe it’s just freshly fallen snow.

“Yeah, that sorta never really worked for me?” Steve’s voice goes up at the end, almost apologetically, although for the life of him, Eddie can’t work out what he’s apologising for. “Like, when the kids ran with all the D&D stuff, the uh… analogy? Metaphor?”

Eddie gestures at himself with one hand, I failed English.

Steve laughs. “Yeah, whatever. Dustin and Lucas keep hashing that one out. Anyway, it didn’t exactly… help. Help me, I mean. Just made everything more…”

He sighs heavily.

Eddie thinks he understands. All his bullshit is just a veneer, after all: it doesn’t truly mask the fear.

“Hey, maybe you could give it a shot,” Steve adds. The light dances for a second, like he’s just barely resisted twirling the flashlight again.

“What?”

Steve smirks—juvenile, light-hearted, almost like he’s about to challenge Eddie at the school gym, like, bet you can’t make that shot from center court, Munson.

“You could write a poem. Make sense of…” Steve gestures around them.

“Harrington, as I keep reminding you, I failed English.”

“Yeah, so? I’ve heard Henderson go on about your campaigns, dude, s’not like they come from nothing.” Steve looks Eddie up and down in exaggerated scrutiny. “You look like the kinda guy who loves a theme.”

“Oh, really,” Eddie says flatly. He can’t hide his smile even if he tried.

“That’s what I thought, every time you’d come into class late: oh, here he is. The symbolism.”

“Jesus Christ, Harrington, shut up.” Eddie steps into Steve’s space just to shove him away (just to touch). He thinks that if he were to try his hand at poetry, it’d be horrendously self-indulgent—something about how he might not be the one holding a flashlight right now, but he’s certainly carrying a torch.

“I don’t work for free, Steve. You’ve gotta do one, too.”

“A poem for a poem, huh?” Steve says. “Sure. It’s a deal.”

And yeah, they might just be saying anything to pass the time. But Eddie chooses to believe otherwise; there’s still a pensive flicker in Steve’s eyes that makes him think he might just get lucky, that Steve might even dig up some old stuff from his abandoned portfolio.

It’s a nice thought—something to look forward to, at the end of all this.

He considers Steve, and even though he knows it’s not snow, he can’t help but turn the particles into flakes in his mind again, into something prettier, safe—almost as if Steve’s presence has softened the danger.

He wants to stop here, suddenly. Linger. It doesn’t make sense. But it feels like time is…

A gentle nudge—a warm elbow to his side.

“C’mon, daydreamer,” Steve says. “You can write down whatever you’re thinking later.”

Eddie snaps out of it with a breath of a chuckle, follows Steve’s light again. Keeps moving forward—past the ash, and the vines, and the trees.

The woods won’t be forever.

After all, he’s got promises to keep.

[makeste]

So... How was watching that episode?

I meant to do a post on this sooner, as opposed to late on a Friday night hours before the next episode drops (eta: well apparently there's no new ep airing this week after all so that makes my timing slightly less atrocious), but yeah. basically I loved it. it hurt in all the right ways.

music was incredible. no shot it was ever not going to be incredible. Hayashi Yuuki thank you for always making my emotions your bitch.

there are admittedly a couple of moments in the anime which I felt weren't quite as impactful as they were in the manga. one of these is the moment when Jeanist, after seeing that Kacchan is (he thinks) traumatized and crying, immediately shifts gears from trying to hype him back up to return to the battle, and instead starts reassuring him that he's done enough and he doesn't have to fight anymore and they'll figure out a way without him. when I first read that part in the manga it absolutely slaughtered me. it's so rare to see media that stars young adults as the protagonists, and portrays them as capable young warriors, and yet also acknowledges that even so, they're still just kids. and to then surround said kids with adults who aren't dumbed down, and who are actually smart and capable and who are actively looking out for them and trying to protect them even though the kids are more OP than they are.

so to have a character that looks at someone like Bakugou and sees past how powerful and determined and ferocious he is, and instead just sees a kid who has been so incredibly brave and who they've asked so much of already. and to have that character make the on-the-spot decision to pull this kid out of the fight, regardless of the consequences, even if it means they might LOSE, just because he thinks the kid is hurt and scared and past his limits, and he needs someone to look out for him. that moment says everything about what kind of person Jeanist is. just, that one part got to me so much.

BUT, in the anime it all happens much faster and the moment gets kind of lost because Kacchan almost immediately starts doing his Deku-style muttering, and Jeanist quickly realizes that his initial read was wrong and this kid is actually FULLY AND COMPLETELY LOCKED IN MORE THAN EVER. which is exactly what happens in the manga as well, to be fair. but in the manga I got to read and absorb it at my own pace, whereas the anime just keeps on going with no concern over whether you've had enough time to process everything that's going on. and so that moment just kind of slips by, and almost isn't even noticeable unless you're looking out for it. it's not really a complaint, because there isn't really any other way the scene could be adapted, probably. but it does give me a good excuse to write a mini-essay about how much I love it, so yeah.

moving on though, in spite of my wishing we could have somehow lingered on that part a second or two longer, I did absolutely love the reveal of Kacchan mumbling and analyzing Deku-style. the first of many outstanding Okamoto Nobuhiko performances in this episode. full nerd powers activated. we'd already seen him do this in Bakugou Katsuki: Rising as well, but this is where it really stands out and it was awesome.

and by the way, shout out to the Big Three who are fucking great. eventually when I get around to posting my manga recaps for this part of the story, those will get more into their antics. for now though, I'll just say that everything was very well adapted. and the part where poor Mirio is all "???? sorry????" when TomurAFO has his brief little Tenko outburst was everything I hoped it would be, and Mirio's actor absolutely nailed it. like I knew it was coming and was anticipating it, and it still slayed me. easily a top five funniest moment in the whole damn series.

Kacchan standing up and telling Jeanist to look after the others filled me with just as much dread as the first time I read it. and the first time I read it, I had already been spoiled. so what I'm trying to say is, knowing what's about to happen does not in any way lessen the intensity of this moment. if anything it just enhances it.

the reveal of Kacchan's powerup was so incredibly badass. I can't even describe how badass it was. just, BOOM. now you see me, now you don't. LA DEE DA, HERE I AM! and the narration in the background talking about his quirk. chef's kiss.

no matter how many anime characters I see pulling off the omae wa mou shindeiru, I will never, ever tire of it. it's the single most badass thing anyone can ever do. especially when they were being underestimated the entire fucking time, and now all of a sudden they're out here scaring the shit out of the big bad himself. no one is faster than Kacchan. KACCHAN CAN RUN FASTER THAN ALL OF YOU. HE CAN FUCKING FLY!! HE'S BEHIND YOU RIGHT NOW!! GOD I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

and then Nobu hits us with the coup de grace. "Izuku… can I still catch up to you?" fellas is it gay to spend your last thirty seconds of life having an imaginary conversation with your beloved rival even as you're zapping around like a bolt of lightning, kicking more ass than anyone on earth has ever kicked.

and I was already dead by this point, but then the All Might vestige scene kicked in and resuscitated me so I could die again even harder. worth it.

so what really killed me nineteen times during this part was the way that Kacchan sounded so completely and utterly different from how he has ever sounded before. this is a scene that's taking place entirely in his head (or… in OFA land… maybe???? goddammit Horikoshi still owes us an explanation. THAT VESTIGE SHOULD NOT BE THERE I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYBODY SAYS). there's nobody else around. nobody to perform for. nobody to show off or look tough for. it's just him, and this big mysterious yellow All Might ghost thing.

and he sounds like an entirely different person. nervous, shy, sheepish. no crudeness, no insults. just, aw shucks. hand to back of neck. avert eyes. so this is kind of awkward, but... the thing is, I always wanted to... but I was such a brat when we first met... and I just never found the right moment after... anyway yeah I'm sorry and it's really dumb. but I really just. wanted to get your autograph.

just. this is him at his most sincere. this is who he's always been, all along. the one and ONLY time we've ever gotten a glimpse of him with absolutely no walls. and he is NOTHING like what he presents himself as to the outside world. he is sweet, he is gentle, he is self-effacing. he is painfully vulnerable, which is doubtless why he never dares to show this side of himself to anybody, ever. and he is ultimately so calmly accepting of this one last regret during what he believes are his final moments.

anyway. so yeah. it destroyed me. what else is there to say.

and then it happens. and once again, not to shit on the anime at all because this episode was fantastic, but this was another part that seemed much clearer in the manga. particularly that one page where we see that everyone else -- Jeanist; Mirio; Hadou; Tamaki; even Mirko -- tried to save Katsuki from that final blow, but they were all just a split second too late. the anime did its best to show that, but I think it was just harder to convey in that format. whereas the manga did it beautifully in a way that couldn't really be replicated.

but on the other hand, one thing the anime did VERY well was showing Kacchan's ragdoll body just flop lifelessly away afterwards. holy shit. I watched like a half dozen reaction videos to this episode on Youtube, and in most of them the anime viewers didn't quite realize how bad of a hit it was at first… until they showed that. then they were like, D: D: D:

and then last but not least… the image that broke the internet so hard that it spoiled me even in my paranoid social media isolation. Kacchan lying lifelessly on the ground. it's such a well-drawn panel in the manga, and the anime absolutely did it justice. having him be so pale was a wonderful touch. you see him, and you just immediately know. there's no room for doubt at all. it's powerful af. the Youtuber reactors all lost their minds. one woman actually started sobbing. phenomenal cinema.

so yeah! needless to say I thought it was spectacular. pour one out for the anime-onlys though. and now their watch begins.

[zepskies]

Miss Professor

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader

(Love triangle: Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason has to make a decision. You, or Lana Lang.

AN: Here’s the sequel to “Assistant Hottie.” Hope you enjoy!

Song Inspo: “Look at You” by Screaming Trees

Word Count: 5,200 Tags/Warnings: Angst, love triangle, hurt/comfort, fluff and a tinge of spice.~

Jason finds you in the bowels of the university library.

Out of four giant floors of books and computer labs at Central Kansas A&M (CKM), they just had to put the Writing Center in the non-proverbial basement. There you have to wear at least two layers at all times, despite the late-spring swelter outside.

Like now, when he enters the Writing Center lobby and finds you at your desk, tapping your red pen on your lip as you work on revising an essay. Jason smiles at the sight of your fuzzy red and green sweater over your jeans and ankle boots.

“You know, Christmas came and went, like, five months ago,” he teases.

You glance up at him as he steals a chair from your coworker’s desk. She’s conveniently been on break…for two hours now. Leaving you with a mildly enormous stack of essays to edit and leave feedback on.

“Yeah well, I’m running out of winterwear. It’s almost summer, for God’s sake,” you grouse. And yet, you shiver when another pass of the AC vent above your head hits your back.

Jason smiles, but he also shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around your frame. It’s lighter than what you’re wearing, but he hopes the added layer helps. You can’t help smiling up at him, though your brows end up furrowing.

“Oh, don’t do that, you’re gonna be freezing,” you protest. You try to take off the jacket, but Jason stops you by wrapping it snugly around your shoulders.

“It’s okay, I don’t plan on being here that long,” he replies.

You raise a brow. “Oh really?”

Jason grins. “You’ve got my British Lit. paper, right?”

You narrow your eyes at him, with a light grumble. “Some friendship this is. You only come to see me when you want something.”

Jason mock frowns at that accusation, but he plies you with raised brows and waggling “gimme” fingers until you relent. You reach back into your files with a sigh and hand him his ten-page essay, complete with your revisions and suggestions for the final draft.

“Here you go, freeloader,” you quip.

“Many thanks, Miss Professor,” Jason rejoins.

The nickname always manages to make your face warm a bit, no matter how you try to stamp down the butterflies in your stomach. It doesn’t help when he smiles at you like that.

His glinting green eyes soon dim, however, as he takes in the sheer amount of red marking up the pages of his essay. All 10 pages.

“Damn, woman. Was it that bad?” he asks.

“You’re actually getting better,” you say with a smile. “I’m seeing signs of improvement.”

Jason continues to flip through with a frown. “Right.”

Though when he actually starts reading your revisions, the familiar slopes of your handwriting, his disappointment begins to relent. You’ve made corrections here and there, but you’ve also written a lot of encouragements in the margins, like, “Good use of the word ‘solidarity.’”

And, “This whole paragraph perfectly explains your point. Just add a transition into the next section and you’re golden.”

Not to mention his personal favorite: correcting his typo on eggzagerate, and drawing a doodle of a fried egg above it. He doesn’t think you do that for all your customers. 

It makes him smile.

Though he looks up when he hears you yawn. You try to stifle it, but he can see clearly now that you’re tired. It’s almost 9 p.m.

“How long have you been working?” he asks.

“Since I got out of my last class at 5,” you admit. Finally, you spot your coworker coming back from her break (and she’s still on the phone, chatting away to her boyfriend).

“Have you even eaten dinner?” Jason asks.

You shake your head, with a pointed glare at your coworker. “No time. I’ve been chained to this place all night.”

The girl gives you a fake smile when she returns to her desk and grabs one of the thinnest essays from the pile. After shooting her one last narrowed look, you give Jason your full attention. He’s trying to temper his smirk.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your arm. “Let me treat you to the Central Kansas delicacy of Chicken Finger Friday.”

You laugh at that; the university food court leaves much to be desired. You still have plenty of work to do, but you’re willing to push it off until tomorrow and take him up on his offer, if it means a hot meal and spending some time with your friend. It’s been a few weeks since it’s been just the two of you, hanging out.

After grabbing your backpack and clocking out for the night, you and Jason walk together across campus. The evening air is warm. It begins to defrost you as you two venture down the sidewalk. You smile to yourself and playfully bump into his side.

Jason shoots you a grin and bumps you back, though he grabs your arm when the heel of your boot catches on the edge of the sidewalk. You both fumble a bit and laugh.

You tuck a wily strand of hair behind your ear. Part of you wants to ask what he’s doing this weekend. Maybe he’d want to go to the lake with you, hang out on the dock, or go for a swim…

But of course, that’s when his phone buzzes. He fishes it out of his pocket and his brows raise. The text is from Lana, asking him if he can come to the Talon.

I really need your help with something.

Jason lets out a breath and looks up at you apologetically.

You know that look.

“Your girlfriend?” you ask, trying not to sound too disappointed.

Jason nods. “I hate to do this to you, but we’ve both been so busy, I haven’t seen her all week.”

And this is the first time this week that Lana has reached out to him first, wanting to see him… Well, she’s also asking for a favor, but she wants to see him.

“You know, one of these days I’d love to meet this mysterious girl,” you remark, lightly shoving his arm.

Jason smiles, but inside he’s clamming up. For obvious reasons, he hasn’t told you that he’s dating Lana Lang. Though it doesn’t make it easy to keep it from you, to lie to you. Over the course of the school year, you’ve become one of his closest friends here in Smallville.

You encourage him to explore his interests and keep focused in school, and you’ve often been a listening ear whenever juggling his classes and helping to coach the Smallville High football team stress him out.

And he’s done the same for you. With your time split between being a teacher's aid at Smallville High and working in the Writing Center to make ends meet between classes, you've done your share of venting, sometimes through frustrated tears. Jason's been more than willing to provide a strong shoulder to lean on.

Now, you don’t know that dating Lana is part of his stress, but he just…can’t afford to tell you.

It doesn’t matter that Lana’s 18, and he met her months before he took this coaching job. This is a small town, and he knows how people will talk if word gets out that he’s dating a high school senior. Not to mention, he’d get very fired.

“I’m sorry,” he says to you. “This seems important.”

Again, you have to hide your disappointment when you smile at him. “It’s okay. I should probably get back to work anyway—”

“Uh-uh. No,” Jason says, grabbing your arm when you start to turn in the direction of the Writing Center. "You’re done for the night. I wanna see you marching full-speed for those dry-ass chicken tenders.”

He nods toward the campus food court, making you expel a sigh.

“If I must,” you lament.

“And you’d better not keep working on your laptop,” he warns. “If you so much as crack open that Mac, I’ll know.”

He levels a finger at you as he walks away. You roll your eyes and head to the food court, with the promise of food just beyond the glass doors. 

After a moment, you chance looking back at Jason. He catches your gaze, and he points two fingers from his eyes to your face in stern warning. 

You giggle and shake your head at him, but you keep walking toward the food court. 

Jason smirks in satisfaction. He continues on to the parking lot, and to his car.

When Jason gets to the Talon, he crosses paths with Clark, who’s just walking out. 

“Hey, man,” Jason greets, with a jovial pat on the younger man’s shoulder. Though he can’t help but wonder why the guy is here at this time of night. “Little late for a coffee fix, huh?”

“Hey, Coach T,” Clark smiles. “Could say the same about you.”

Jason blinks at that. He cards a hand through his short hair and laughs it off. “Yeah, I was in the mood for a slice of your mom’s coffee cake. Any left?”

Martha Kent supplied the Talon with its baked goods, and they were most certainly worth driving across town for. It’s a pretty good excuse, if he says so himself.

Clark nods. “Yeah, should be.”

“All right. G'night,” Jason says. Clark nods and waves goodbye before he heads to his red truck in the parking lot. 

Jason shakes his head and steps into the coffee shop, where he finds Lana alone. She’s cleaning up a large takeout bag from Gino’s, the Italian restaurant across the street. He silently takes note of it, but doesn’t yet comment when he kisses his girlfriend in greeting.

“Why’d you send up the Bat Signal on this fine Friday night?” he asks, wrapping her in his arms.

Lana smiles up at him. “Well, I’m probably going to be slammed all weekend with the shop, but I’ve got this huge speech for class on Monday and was hoping you’d help me practice.”

She pulls those doe-like hazel eyes on him, and Jason’s almost captured by them. This time, he lets out a small sigh.

“You know I’m always down to help you out. Always. But you know, we haven’t just hung out in a while now,” he points out.

Lana concedes to that with an incline of her head, but she still eases out of his arms to finish cleaning up.

“Yeah, I’ve just been really busy,” she says.

“I have too,” Jason replies. “But even with my crazy schedule, going back and forth from campus, don't I still make time for you?”

Case in point, he was willing to come out to her on the drop of a hat, late at night, and on the crunch week before his final exams. But he would be hard-pressed to remember a time when Lana went out of her way to see him.

Lana pauses, casting him a frown. "I'm trying my best, Jason. You know I'm graduating in a few weeks. Everything's ramped up to 11 this year."

Yeah, I know the feeling, Jason thinks, but after a moment, he caves with a nod, even though his gaze lingers on the Gino's bag.

“Have you eaten?” he tests. “Let me get us some takeout.”

He almost said, Let me take you out, somewhere nice. But he hadn’t been able to do that since before he got to Smallville. He’s beginning to wonder if he ever will again.

“Oh,” Lana says. Her eyes avert from his as she wipes down a table. “I already ate.”

Jason draws closer to her and dips his chin in order to catch her gaze. Eventually, she pauses and glances up at him.

“With Clark?” he asks.

Lana tightens up, just as he predicted. “Why would you say that?”

“I saw him when I came in,” Jason replies. He tilts his head at Lana, who never used to be a good liar. But ever since they had to start hiding their relationship, he’s noticed how good she also hides her thoughts and feelings around other people…maybe even to herself.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “He was here. But we were studying for finals, and we got hungry. That’s it.”

Jason shakes his head, but she grabs his hand with both of hers. He looks down at her tan, slender hands, and can’t help but be drawn back to her beautiful face.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, as if that can dismiss the churning in his gut.

“Listen,” he says, rubbing at his face. “I know I’ve asked you this before, and I’m sorry but…do you still have feelings for him?”

“No,” she refutes, “I’m with you, Jason. How many times do I have to prove that this is what I want?”

She seems so annoyed and vehement that Jason has to believe her. He wants to, so badly.

Maybe too much.

The last straw comes just two weeks before the end of spring semester—with the coming of senior prom. Jason knows he can’t ask Lana, but she assured him that she wasn’t going. 

He has a late class that night, but afterwards, he promised to pick her up and get dinner together in Metropolis. A nice date, a long-ass way out of town, so they’re unlikely to be recognized.

On the Friday evening, just hours before a high school dance, you and Jason sit together in the one class you have together: Introduction to Mass Media. 

It only meets once a week, for three hours. Technically it’s an elective for both of you, but you’d told Jason to pick any class outside of his major that he was interested in. Anything to broaden his horizons, and you promised to join him. For some reason, he chose this one. 

He thought it would be easy. Just a study of pop. culture stuff, with a mix of social media, maybe a dash of sports, if he was lucky. He’d actually been surprised with how much he was enjoying the segments on videography and broadcast journalism. 

Right now, however, he's distracted. You can certainly tell, the way he keeps checking his phone.

“What’s wrong?” you lean over and ask in a whisper. He knows how anal Professor Jones is about cell phones in class. The man had a “contraband bucket” to collect them in, if he caught a student using one.

“Just letting my girlfriend know I’m gonna be a bit late,” Jason grumbles, though he’s looking at the screen. “Jones is droning on past the eternity mark, as usual.”

A man clears his throat above you and Jason. You both look up and meet the flat gaze of Professor Jones. He shakes the bucket in his hand with an arched brow. Already there's about three contraband phones inside.

Jason gives a wan smile. “Come on, Professor. We were supposed to be outta here 20 minutes ago anyway.”

The lines in Professor Jones’s face betrays one simple truth: he doesn’t give a shit.

“Bucket, Mr. Teague,” he says.

Jason’s lips press in irritation, but he’s forced to drop his phone into the waiting bucket. He doesn’t see two mixed text messages from his girlfriend.

You lay a comforting hand on Jason’s arm. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

By the time Jason gets to the Talon, the lights are dark and Lana’s not home. Suspicion creeps in, making him feel a little crazy. 

He decides to get back into his car and drive down to Smallville High. There the gym is decked out to the nines in some kind of underwater theme. It reminds him of his own senior prom a couple of years ago, complete with the punch bowl and cheesy snacks. 

But soon enough, the nostalgia comes to a screeching halt.

A familiar ballad croons from the band on the stage.

"And how can I stand here with you, and not be moved by you? ...Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?"

He sees Lana on the dance floor, wearing one of the most beautiful dresses he’s ever seen. And she’s in the arms of one Clark Kent. 

Jason's never hated Lifehouse so much.

On Saturday morning, before the Talon even opens, Lana opens the door to Jason while still wearing her robe.

“Hey!” she says, with wide eyes, though she lets him in.

“You seem real surprised,” Jason notes.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s early for you on a Saturday,” Lana remarks with a short laugh. But she still leans up to kiss him. She only manages to get his cheek, since he doesn’t bend down to meet her like he usually would.

She frowns. “Is something wrong?”

Jason doesn’t answer at first. The words are stuck in his throat. He gestures for them to move away from the glass doors, where anyone can peek in. So they travel up to her bedroom and close the door.

It’s not the first time he’s been in her room, though not much has ever happened on her bed. He’s waited completely on her signals for that one. Though now, he’s actually kind of grateful that their relationship has never progressed that far. It makes what he’s about to do easier.

“Where were you last night?” he asks. He figures they’d better start there.

“I tried calling you,” he adds, when Lana doesn’t immediately offer a reply.

“Well, I didn’t hear from you. I figured you were busy with your classes, so…I went to prom by myself,” she says.

Jason sighs. “You didn’t seem all that lonely.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

Her confusion looks so real. A perfect face, and a damn near perfect lie.

“Look, I saw you and Clark on that dance floor,” Jason finally says. “Wasn't that just the perfect Hallmark moment?”

“Jason…” Lana finally starts to break. She doesn’t want to admit what’s broken, her gaze falling to the floor.

“No, let me say this,” he says. “Lana, I really put my all into this. I did whatever I could to be with you. To love you, to protect you. But in your heart, I think somewhere down the line you decided you don’t want that to be me.”

Lana’s eyes flood with tears, but she doesn’t deny it. 

“I think it’s time to really call it quits this time,” Jason says, “for both our sakes.”

He can’t help but reach out to her. His thumb brushes her cheek. Lana’s watery gaze meets his as her lower lip wobbles. She grabs his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” she confesses.

He won’t say it’s okay, but he accepts that with a nod, and he kisses her cheek. 

It’s a goodbye that’s meant to last.

Once he’s back in the relative safety of his car, Jason lets out a deep breath. He grabs his phone from his pocket on some unspoken urge; in that moment, he needs something. Someone.

He needs you.

You answer on the third ring, sounding sleepy on your day off.

“You’d better be on fire,” you say. Jason smiles at the sound of your grumpy voice.

“Hey,” he laughs a little, though he's surprised that it comes so easily. “You doing anything right now?”

“Besides sleeping?” you toss back. “…No. Not really. My life is boring.”

“Boring sounds nice right about now,” Jason says, more seriously than he meant to. “Wanna take a drive or something?”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then your voice greets him again.

“Let’s go.”

When Jason arrives at your house, you come out to meet him. He gets out of his car, and already he looks wrong. He looks drained of all energy.

“What’s wrong?” you ask in concern, grabbing his arm when you’re close enough. His eyes find yours.

“We broke up,” he says.

It takes your brain a second or two to compute. (You’ve just finished your first cup of coffee, after all.) But then, you’re moving to wrap your arms around his neck in the tightest, warmest hug you can give.

He holds you back for a while, and you relish in the feeling of his hands smoothing around your back and pulling you in close. His chin tucks on your shoulder, and you rub his back.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

He hums in response. Sometimes, what is just is.

He lets you drive him out to the lake near your house, in your beat up Volvo. This lake is your favorite place in the world, you tell him, as you two sit side-by-side on the dock. Your sneaker-clad feet dangle over the edge, next to his longer legs.

“So far,” he corrects. “There’s a whole lot of world out there.”

You smile. “Yeah, you gonna show me? Got a magic carpet tucked in your dorm somewhere?”

Jason laughs, and you’re grateful to see his smile so soon.

“Yeah, along with a dusty-ass lamp,” he says.

You smile, but you tilt your head at him. “Are you okay?”

Jason’s grin slips a little. “Yeah, I think so…is that bad?”

You bite your lip. “Depends. What was her name? I don’t think you even told me.”

Jason turns to you, and he sighs deeply. It takes him a moment, but he eventually answers while looking you in the eyes.

“Lana Lang,” he says.

The name rings a bell…and as it comes to you, it blares like a foghorn. Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open in shock.

“J-Jason…she’s a student,” you stammer. “Not like, us students. Like—”

“I know. We met before I got the coaching job,” Jason explains quickly, before you can blow up at him. 

He can see you’re freaking out, trying to contain your reaction with a hand over your mouth. But the more he explains, the more you withdraw into a simmering silence. He can tell, however, that you don’t know how to feel about it. 

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

It’s not the first thing he thought you would say, but it’s very you all the same.

“Well, being outmaneuvered by my own quarterback stings like a bitch, but I still think I’m better looking,” Jason jokes. Because that’s what he does when he’s uncomfortable.

Too bad that was the wrong answer.

You roll your eyes with a disgusted huff, and you pull yourself up onto your feet. You start to leave him there at the dock, but Jason hops up as well and grabs your hand.

“Hey, wait,” he implores. “Look, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was just…easier.”

“Why, because you didn’t trust me?” you challenge. “Or because you felt guilty about what you were doing?”

The truth is, Jason doesn’t feel guilty. Not for his relationship.

“I was trying to protect her reputation,” he says. “I know how smalltown people think. She’d be the talk of the damn town. And for what? Because we’re two years apart?”

“And I’m smalltown, is that it? I’m sorry I’m not as evolved as you, Mr. Metropolis,” you snark. “Forgive me for being a lowly country bumpkin with some morals.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jason says with an angry frown, throwing up his hands in frustration.

You shake your head at him and start booking it towards your car.

Jason follows. “You know you can’t leave me out here, right?”

“Just get in the car, before I change my mind!”

He obliges you, and it’s a painful ride back to your house. He really can’t believe you’re being like this. It’s the first real argument he’s ever had with you. He knew you might get upset, but he did think you’d be a little more understanding…

“Look, we met in Paris last summer,” he admits. And a hint more vulnerable, “I just…couldn’t help but fall for her.”

“I get it, Jason,” you reply. Your voice is flat. 

“Just please don’t tell anyone,” he asks. “We’re done. She’s about to graduate.”

As mad as you are at him for lying to you, you begrudgingly see his point. You can also start to understand why he didn’t tell you. 

But, regardless of how you feel, you don’t want him to lose his job. You know it’s the only way he can afford college.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” you say, before you can reign yourself in.

Jason turns to you with a hint of a smile. “Thank you.”

It’s still awkward when you two get to your house. He turns to you, like he wants to say something that’ll most likely soften you. 

You’re not ready for that. 

So you kill the engine and get out of the car without looking at him. Jason takes the hint; he doesn’t say another word to you when he gets into his car and peels away.

The next weeks that follow are hard for Jason. As a member of the staff, he’s forced to go to Smallville High’s graduating ceremony.

He watches Clark and Lana graduate together with the rest of their friends. The two of them hug after she gets off stage, looking at one another with a moment of blushing smiles. It’s an inevitable look.

It makes Jason feel sick. He leaves as soon as he can, going back to languish in his dorm room. He lays on his bed over the covers with his hands folded over his stomach and his eyes closed.

He thinks about you. 

He can see you in his mind’s eye, with a pen balanced between your teeth and your hair falling over to brush the pages you pour over.

He sees your fuzzy green sweater. Your smile. The shade of your hair, your eyes, your laugh, your furrowed look when you’re concentrating hard on revising a sentence.

The more he sees, the more he wants to call you. To hear your voice, even if you're just going to yell at him. 

Jason sighs. He sits up in bed and has a thought that soon takes hold of his body, and has him swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and pulling his backpack closer.

He pulls out a folder for one of his classes and finds an essay you revised. His eyes scan over the encouragements you’ve left in the margins, along with the stray doodles. They still make him smile.

And it reminds him of the first note you ever gave him, which he keeps tucked in a small drawer in his desk. He tosses the folder onto his bed and goes to that drawer, where he finds your hastily written haiku.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

You don’t know that those words have kept his head above water in times where he’s wanted to quit school.

Or even worse, in those times when he’s wanted to go to his father, tail between his legs, to ask for money and a job doing anything easy.

So now, Jason realizes that he needs to make another decision.

He gets out of bed, and he goes to see you.

Jason travels down to the basement of the CKM library, to the Writing Center, where you’re sitting at your desk as always on a Thursday night. You have a pile of essays stacked high next to you, and your forehead is wrinkled while you read a problematic passage.

The smell of coffee makes you look up first, before you realize who brought it. Your eyes widen at seeing Jason, along with his small smile and peace offering.

“Hey,” he says.

His voice washes over you, his eyes that always manage to disarm you, even now.

Despite your better judgment, you take the coffee from him and revel at its warmth. It has to be 60 degrees in this damn room (you’re one step shy of bringing your winter gloves next time).

You sip at the coffee and hum in delight at the taste of caramel and cinnamon—a combination that only your family, and Jason, would know you loved.

Your gaze flits up to his, more begrudging as you sigh.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Teague?” you ask.

Jason grins and takes your coworker’s empty chair to sit across from you.

“I’ve got a little haiku for you,” he says, handing you a folded piece of paper. You eye him in confusion, but you set down the coffee on your desk and take his second offering. You unfold it and read something that genuinely takes you by surprise.

Hey, Miss Professor

I’ve got a question for you…

Want to get dinner?

You can’t help but laugh. It’s most definitely not a haiku, but you also know that it’s his best shot. His smile is sheepish, making yours deepen. 

“So, what’s your answer?” he asks. 

You glance down at the page, then back at him. You bite your lip, and your heart clenches. Is this it? you wonder. Is he asking you out, for real? You can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. 

“What kind of dinner?” you ask.

Jason’s grin fades. “What do you mean?”

“Is this our normal kind, where we roll out like we’re Thelma and Louise?” you ask, making him snort. “Or is this the kind where I need to change out of my dirty sneakers and brush my hair?”

He shrugs; his amused grin is back. “I mean, however I get you is all right by me.”

You nearly utter another sigh, but Jason surprises you yet again—by grabbing your hand. 

“But, uh…I’d like this to be the kind of dinner where we try something new,” he says, licking his dry lips. He looks a bit uncertain, you think, hiding the fear of rejection. “Maybe you’ll let me do my Cary Grant impression and get you some flowers. Box of chocolates.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “Chocolates?”

“Whatever it takes,” he says. His tone is joking, but he seems serious. You know him well enough by now to spot the difference.

“Whatever it takes, huh?” you ask.

Jason’s hand tightens on yours, but his eyes never leave you. He really is serious, and it makes your heart stutter and trill with warmth. It feels a lot like hope.

He leans in, his head bowing towards yours…but you lay a hand against his chest.

It stops him, until your fingers curl into his shirt.

Your gaze slowly meets his.

When he reaches for your cheek, this time you let him pull you in. 

His kiss is sudden, but it’s still a gentle test. You take in a deep breath through your nose as your eyes fall closed. You press your lips against his, answering him. His fingers slide into your hair and drag down the back of your neck. It makes you shudder and tug him even closer by his shirt. 

Jason’s solution is gathering you into his lap, where you take his face with both hands and kiss him with unfettered passion. The locked doors of your heart are swinging open, and it’s a sweet relief to be honest with each swipe of your tongue against his. 

He’s gripping your hip, his fingers pressing into your thigh, while the other hand supports your lower back and presses you flush against him. As the kiss slows, so does your hand in his hair, more soothing now than gripping. 

When your lips eventually draw apart from his, it’s with panting breaths. You stare into his eyes, as yours brim with relieved tears. You touch his cheek.

“I better not be a rebound,” you warn him. “I can’t take that, Jase.”

Jason shakes his head, holding you a fraction tighter. “No, believe me. That's the last thing you are."

You bite your lip, and he encourages you to release it with his thumb brushing across your lower lip. You've been on his mind longer than he can readily admit. Since the first day he met you.

"I know I haven't made it easy, but will you trust me on this?” he asks. "I really wanna do this right with you."

It takes you a moment to decide, but you do. You trust him.

So you nod and brush your fingers along the apple of his cheek. 

“Okay,” you concede. "Let's do this."

Jason grins. “Oh, thank God.”

You giggle softly and hide your face in his neck. His chest shakes with a chuckle as he holds you back. It feels very right to hold you, he thinks.

Just as it's a relief for you to finally be in his arms.

“Where d’you wanna go for dinner?” he asks.

You laugh, a bit giddy as you cling to him and thread your fingers in his golden hair.  

“I don’t give a damn.”

AN: Haha, I hope you liked this! ❤️ These one-shots are kind of AU, in that I don't get into the Stones of Power arc of S4 just for simplicity's sake.

I do have one more one-shot idea rolling around in my head for these two...the reader meeting Jason's infamous mother lol (Genevieve Teague, played by the fabulous Jane Seymour)!

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[joe-spookyy]

What is the Gay subtext between David Kissler and Jack Goodman ?

so the subtext in this one is not super overt like it is in like. reanimator. but it’s definitely there. first i’ll start with the basics. full essay under the cut.

now, the werewolf is one of the easiest classic monsters to read as queer. i mean, it’s right there. someone who walks among “normal” people, who are completely unaware that this person carries a “dark secret” that sets them apart from everyone else. i could be talking about this person’s status as a werewolf. i could also be talking about their queer identity that they choose not to disclose. the idea of living a sort of double life and hiding part of yourself is prominent in werewolf media and also in depictions and the real lives of queer people. additionally, the transformation aspect is something many trans people find easy to connect to. the point is, it’s pretty damn easy to read lycanthropy as a metaphor for queerness of any kind.

and 80s werewolves have it even queerer. just like 80s vampires, they’re a monster that spreads their disease through physical contact. a bite. a scratch. and of course. usually a lot of blood. what else was big in terms of blood in the 80s? yeah. you probably guessed it. the aids crisis! i could write a whole different essay on this but the fears that came with the aids crisis are, just like most other societal fears, reflected in the horror films of their time. here’s a snippet from the AAWIL essay book that comes with the arrow dvd release.

so, even though the aids crisis wasn’t quite around when the film was released, it still had a connection to the culture, which adds to the potential for a queer reading. and it’s quite interesting that director john landis chooses specifically to compare david’s affliction to aids. also if you want proof on this point just check out how many werewolf and vampire movies came out during the 80s and the aids crisis. it really makes you think.

okay. now we’ve covered the basics. but what is it exactly about an american werewolf in london, and more specifically, jack goodman and david kessler, that reads as queer? well. let me tell you.

first of all a little more on the aids point. david’s condition is, like aids, infectious. and it affects almost exclusively men - david only has one female victim from his first night of “carnivorous lunar activities.” and you know what else disproportionately affects men? aids. and it’s also quite interesting that his victims are predominantly men with the idea of lycanthropy as a representation of his queerness - his preference for men in his nighttime activities can certainly be read as representative of something other than being a werewolf.

now, my favorite point and the one that i find most compelling. as we know, david and jack are on a little trip when jack is killed in front of david, and jack then returns to haunt david throughout the movie to encourage him to. yknow. kill himself. so what about that is queer? i’m so glad you asked! if you pay a little extra attention, you’ll notice that every time jack shows up, it’s after david’s just had a heterosexual experience. when he appears the first time, david’s just been flirting with his nurse, alex. when he comes back, it’s right after david and alex have just had sex. in fact, jack and david have a conversation here while david is fully naked. neither of them even bat an eye about this. and finally, jack and david have their last big talk while inside a very loud and very heterosexual pornography theater. kind of odd, right? it’s almost as if something other than jack’s ghost is haunting david. he can’t shake off visions of another man while he’s with his woman? here, jack could easily serve as a reminder of david’s sexuality, and he acts to rip david from his attempts at returning to normalcy after the attack. he just keeps coming back to tell david he’s a werewolf, and if we, as above, read lycanthropy as a metaphor for queerness, it easily reads as a blatant reminder for david that he is out of the societal norm (either in his existence as a werewolf or his queerness) and can’t go back now that he knows it. so, he’s reminded of this fact every time he tries to push himself to move on and be with alex. the final scene with the two of them in the porn theater is an even bigger nod to this idea. he’s literally in a pornography theater with a naked woman massive and on the big screen and all he can focus on is the fact that jack’s there, and of course, the fact that he is indeed a werewolf - permanently different from everyone around him, and, as far as he’s been told, dangerous and not deserving of life, which is a sentiment i’m sure many queer people can say they’re familiar with.

there are a few other nods to the idea of queerness in the film. of course, they’re not taken terribly seriously or presented as anything but jokes, given that it’s an 80s horror movie made by a straight man, but they do sort of add fuel to the fire of a queer reading of this movie. most notably, when david wakes up naked in the zoo after a night of werewolfing, he just kind of runs off with the nearest unattended clothing item. this piece of clothing happens to be a long women’s coat. bright red, with fur trim. wearing nothing but that, david almost looks like he’s wearing a dress, and it certainly doesn’t make him look more masculine. as he’s waiting in line for the train to return to alex’s, we’re shown all the men staring at him with disdain, as he whistles and makes small talk like nothing at all is off. david appears perfectly comfortable in the situation - it is just the judgement of others that makes him seem out of place. the coat emasculates him, and now the people around him are reading him as queer, whereas in his typical clothes, no one would look twice. later on, in an attempt to get himself arrested, david hurls obscenities in a public park, most notably (imo), “queen elizabeth is a man! prince charles is a faggot!” queerness is the butt of the joke here, of course. but if you squint real hard you can read david as queer and just decide he’s allowed to say the f slur. cause he can reclaim.

also, the film takes an interesting route - rather than “defeating” david’s otherness, by somehow returning him to a human state and saving his life, and thus allowing him live out his days with alex, they let the werewolfism win. david ends up tragically dead, despite alex’s please and love confession. in this film, heterosexuality Doesn’t win. now, i’m not necessarily saying queerness wins. it’s not like david gets to live happily ever after with jack. however, we as the audience are fully aware this is the only way things could have gone. david’s condition was permanent (as is queerness), and there was no way to change him. no way to make him fit that societal norm. instead he goes down, just like jack did. in a way, i guess they are presumably together in the end. i don’t really know the afterlife logistics in this universe, but they’re both dead and presumably at peace and not walking the earth, since david’s death broke the curse.

so! there’s a little rundown of most of the queercoding in an american werewolf in london. it’s a bit late so forgive me if anything doesn’t make sense. i’ll take follow up questions. peace and love.

[colbyheartland]

Okay okay so in my last Dandadan post I said some real interesting things about fanservice and the lackthereof that I’m not sure if I take back or not while reading the manga???

So spoilers ahead for the next arc the anime hasn’t started.

Because it’s WEIRD it feels so forced and not lingered on when they get in their underwear, it’s like swimsuits almost?? But it feels So Strange it’s like the author went “I guess I should put some in? Because it’s a shounen? But actually I only give a damn about the fight scene-“ though Momo continues being the MVP which is nice because I love her. I guess it’ll come down to if the animation decides to focus on certain shots how fanservicey it gets? If anything Okarun takes the biggest L because he’s full on naked. Though again the characters barely focus on or worry about it until their lives aren’t in danger! (Except a bit for Aira, she gets a bit ‘kyaa-ish’ in the moment but being stereotypical is like- her whole middleschooler syndrome thing she’s got going on, she’s hilarious)

Though I doubt the animation will get weird about it, the anime has actually been BETTER than the manga which is SO strange. Like the choices being made are so so good. I can’t wait to see how they animate all the water shenanigans that are going to take place.

I could write essays about the art direction going on in the anime, I could write paragraphs about the single ballerina scene in episode 7 alone not even mentioning the thing’s going on with the COLORS and the MUSIC so I’m so ready to see how they color the underwater fight and Aira’s transformation, it’ll probably be that magentaish pink the way Okarun has turbo granny’s red but they did add some more orange to him which was interesting.

[hippiegoth97]

Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story Pt. 3

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Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: Swearing, smoking, light smut, drug use, angst, anxiety, mentions of vomit

Word Count: 4.8k

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Part 3: Get Nervous

Sunday, March 12th, 1989

Sunday. Fucking Sunday. You've been dreading this all weekend. It’s the final day of the Hellfire Club campaign, and you also have a paper due for biology. You didn't mean to put it off, but a certain sexy metalhead has distracted you this entire time. You don't blame him, you didn't tell him you had homework. You're sure if you just said so that he would've let you focus. Given the length required for your paper, you decide to tell Eddie you can't sit in today. You don't want to spend all night rushing your work. You could easily write a passable essay over the course of the day.

"What do you mean you can't watch the end?" Eddie asks, surprised you'd deny him your company.

"It's nothing personal, baby. I promise. I just have a big essay due tomorrow. I should've mentioned it earlier, but I didn't want to ruin our fun. Though I think I've done that now anyway." You look down at your hands, leaning against the entry to the livingroom. Eddie's standing close to you, playing about with the hem of your shirt to tease you. He lifts your chin up with his finger.

"It's no problem, angel. I understand." He smiles kindly at you, but his eyes still read as hurt. He knows you'd sit in if you could, but he can't say he won't be missing you the whole time. Even though you're just going to be down the hall, all he'll want to do is run to you and never let go. "Who knows, maybe you'll finish early, hm? And then you can come see me." He says lowly, leaning down for a kiss. Your lips meet, and you wrap your arms around him. You pull him close, moving your mouth against his gently. He's so addictive, the taste of tobacco on his tongue makes you want to never stop kissing him. But it’s already 11am, you'd all slept in late so you have to get moving.

You break away from him, and he whines. "Eddie, relax. I just need time to write a decent paper so I don't fail, okay?" He nods, pouting playfully. "Believe me, I'd rather spend the day with you. But I can't let my grades slip. If I do, Mom will have a cow. And then she might not be so keen on me seeing you." You poke a finger into his chest.

"Are you saying I'm a bad influence, baby?" Eddie asks slyly. He enjoys being a rebel just a little too much sometimes. You roll your eyes.

"You just might be, Munson. Now come on, go tend to your club. And I'll be in my room. You can come check in on me when you're done if I haven't finished yet." You give him another quick kiss, and turn away to go work on your paper. You hear him let out an annoyed sigh, rolling your eyes again at him being so childish. You walk into your room, already regretting sticking to your guns about your assignment. You close the door, but leave it unlocked in case Eddie comes to you later on. You put your record player on, music helps you concentrate. You keep it low so as not to disturb the campaign, and you begrudgingly open your notebook to begin writing your paper.

Hours go by, and it's almost 6pm. You haven't bothered to look at the clock much, you just want to get this damn assignment done. You have about two pages left, but your hand is starting to cramp up. You flex your fingers to relax your sore muscles, when you hear a knock on the door. "Y/N?" Eddie calls to you. "The game's over, Erica claimed a victory for everyone. I'm gonna take the kids home, but I'll be back, 'kay?" You jump off your bed, running to open the door. You're greeted by Eddie's smiling face. "Hey there, beautiful. How's the essay coming along?" He leans against the doorframe, looking you up and down. Your hair is a mess from running your hands through it constantly. It’s one of your nervous tics. His expression drops slightly, worried about how your assignment has been treating you. "You doin’ alright?" He asks, reaching for your hand.

"Yeah, it's just kinda stressing me out. But I only have two pages left. It's not very good, I'll probably only get a B on it. I'm having a hard time concentrating." You downplay the situation, ignoring the alarms going off in your head. For some reason, this paper is kicking your ass. You can't help your anxiety overtaking you, your body begins to tremble uncontrollably. Eddie squeezes your hand to comfort you.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to be so wound up. I'm sure it's a good paper, it'll be okay." He puts his other hand on your shoulder to steady your tremors.

"I guess. I keep reading it over, but it all feels jumbled now. And my eyes hurt." Your breath shudders, and you pinch the bridge of your nose as your eyes squeeze shut. You feel one of your infamous migraines coming on. Perfect. Those last two pages will really be a challenge now.

"Hey, hey. C’mere, babydoll." Eddie pulls you into him, holding you close. Your arms wrap around his middle, and he strokes your head. You try to focus on him so you can steady your heart pounding in your chest. But you can't calm down, you're having a full-blown panic attack. You feel silly having one over a stupid essay, but you can't do poorly on this. You won't allow it. You cannot fail. Ever. Your breath comes out rapidly, chest rising and falling as you wheeze. Eddie loosens his grip, looking at your face. You've gone pale, like you might faint. "Shit. Are you alright? What can I do?" The worry in his eyes only exacerbates your anxiety. You're hyperventilating, and your head feels light. Eddie picks you up in his arms, carrying you to the bed. "I-I don't know what to do, Y/N. I'll get your mom. Just try to breathe. Fuck." His own voice is shaky now, you've scared him. He runs out of the room to the kitchen, frantically telling your mother what's happening.

You hear multiple sets of footsteps rushing down the hall to you. Eddie, Mom, Dustin, and all the kids file into your room. Mom and Eddie help you sit up, you feel like you're going to pass out. You can't steady your breathing, it’s as if you're suffocating. Mom holds out a paper bag to you. "Honey, we gotta get your breathing steady, okay? So just try to breathe in the bag for me. And then I have a Valium you can take to settle your nerves. It'll be okay, sugarpuff. We're here for you." You take the bag, inhaling and exhaling as best you can into it. It seems to be working, your breath slowly returning to you. You hate having everyone staring at you like this, you must look like such a freak. You wish they'd all go away, and leave you alone. You put the bag down, and Mom hands you the pill and a glass of water. You down it quickly, chugging the entire glass.

"Take it easy, angel." Eddie advises, stroking your arm. Mom takes the glass from you and walks out, quickly shooing the others away. Eddie stays with you, holding you close again. You're still trembling, but your heart slowly regains its normal pace. "Do you want to lay down, sweetheart?" He quietly asks. You just nod. He lays you down, caressing your cheek as you position yourself on your side. "Is there anything I can do?" You shake your head, feeling a tear escape one of your eyes. He tuts, wiping it away. "It'll be alright, baby. Just try to relax. I'm gonna take the kids home, but I'm coming right back, ‘kay? And I'm not leaving your side for the rest of the night." He plants a kiss to your forehead before standing up to leave. He walks out of the room, giving you a caring glance before shutting the door.

As soon as he leaves, you can't hold back the tears anymore. You begin to sob, drawing your legs up to your chest. You feel so stupid, losing control in front of Eddie like that. And to have your mom, and everyone else staring at you? It’s so humiliating. And over what? A stupid essay? You really are just a scared little girl that can't handle anything. You imagine Eddie won't actually come back, because he's too freaked out by your little episode. He only says he will in order to spare your feelings. And all the kids will tell everyone and their dog about how you crumble so easily under pressure. Dustin’s bound to have a field day rubbing it all in your face. And you’ll have Mom doting on you every second of the day over this, maybe she'll even throw you in the looney bin.

You lay stewing in your thoughts for what feels like hours, and the sun had set outside your window. You never want to move from this spot again, never look at anyone or talk to anyone. It’s all too much, and you just want to hide, or maybe even die. You hear the front door open, probably Eddie stopping by to tell you he can't see you anymore. He can't possibly go out with a nutcase like you. The door to your room opens again, and Eddie walks over to you. "Hey, angel. How are you feeling?" He asks with a smile, which disappears when he sees how red your face is from crying.

"Terrible. But I don't expect you to care." You blubber, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. He scoffs at your statement, confused at your change in mood.

"What do you mean? Of course I care. Where's this coming from?" He asks, moving closer to you. You turn your back to him, you can't take that concerned look on his face. He sighs. "Y/N. Please, look at me. Did I do something wrong?" You groan, rolling back over to face him.

"You didn't do anything. I just figure you don't want to hang around me since I'm a basketcase." You reply bitterly. You know he's given you no indication of what you're saying, but you can't believe anyone would possibly want to be around you now.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He asks, shocked and slightly annoyed. "You're not a basketcase. And even if you were, I wouldn't care. I really like you, Y/N." He furrows his brow at you, trying to figure out where your head's at.

"You can't mean that." You shake your head, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"Why not?" He crosses his arms, searching your expression.

"Because you can't see me like this, all shaky and pale over a stupid paper, and still want to be around me. It's so embarrassing." You start to tear up again, and you curse your eyes for working against you. "And everyone was staring at me, I'm sure they'll tell everyone they know about it. And Dustin will tease me. And my mom will worry about me all the time. She might even have me committed." Eddie's eyes widen at your words, realizing what's happening. He lays down next to you, but lets you have some space.

"Y/N, I can tell you right now that you're wrong. About all of it, 'kay?" He reassures you, and you glare at him.

"How do you know?" You cross your own arms now.

"Well, for one. I'm still here, aren't I? What did you think I was gonna do? Just leave and never come back?" He's slightly angry with you doubting his true intentions.

"I guess I did. I didn't want you to, but I didn't think you'd still like me after everything." You answer, realizing how silly you sound.

"Well, I do. I'm right here, ‘kay? Look, it scared me. But I was worried about you. I wanted you to be okay. To be honest, it felt like I caused it, since I kept you from doing your work all weekend." He explains, sounding guilty.

"No, Eddie. It isn't your fault, I didn't tell you about it, and that's my own problem." You reassure him, reaching for his hands. He lets you take them in yours.

"Well, that's good to know, princess. And another thing? You're wrong about everyone else too. Again, they're concerned for you. But the whole time I was driving them home, all the kids talked about was coming up with a way to help you feel better. They care about you, Y/N. We all do. I don't know what negative voices you have in your head telling you otherwise, but you shouldn't listen to them." You nod, and he continues on. "And Dustin? He swore everyone to secrecy about your anxiety. He said he'll smother anyone who spills your private business in their sleep. And your Mom? She told me you've been dealing with a lot for a long time. She said she felt something like this coming on, because you work yourself to the bone constantly. You never take a break, and you refuse to ask for help when you need it. Obviously, I knew some of this already, given how Friday went. But she said she hopes having me in your life will help you. She still thinks it could, which is flattering, I guess." He chuckles, and you let a small smile form on your lips. "There's that smile I've been missing today!" Eddie coos, pulling you into his arms.

You sniffle, wiping away all your tears. Your eyes feel irritated and red. "I'm sorry, Eddie. It's not fair of me to think the way I was about you. Or the others. I just...it's like I know those things aren't true, right? But, it also feels impossible that anyone would actually like and accept me as I am. You know? That probably makes no sense." You chuckle, slapping your forehead in embarrassment.

"No, it doesn't. But I understand what you mean. Listen, I'm here for you no matter what. I won't, however, let you wallow all day. You have a paper to finish young lady." He pokes your chest, making you giggle. "How about we go have a smoke outside, clear your head? Then you can finish your essay. And then, we can spend the rest of the night together. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect, Eds." You both climb out of bed, making your way outside. You bypass Dustin and your Mom, they seem surprised to see you in a better mood. They look at each other in confusion, questioning one another if they know anything about what Eddie might've said to you. But they end up shrugging, chalking it up to Eddie being the right man for you.

It isn't until you light up that you feel the effects of the pill your mother gave you earlier. You begin to feel dizzy, almost falling over. "Shit, I've gotcha." He catches you, gently leading you to sit in the grass. He sits beside you, rubbing your back with his hand. "You feeling alright, Y/N?" He looks into your eyes with concern.

You try to get your head to stop spinning, but you can't. "I'm not feeling so hot, Eddie. I'm really dizzy, everything's spinning." You groan, clutching your stomach. You lean away from him, and vomit into the grass. He tries to help you, but you push him away. You manage to stand, bending over as you throw up again. You keep yourself steady, bracing your hands on your knees. The stomach acid stings your throat, making you cough. You stay in place, waiting for your stomach to calm down. You dry heave a few times before you're finally empty. You spit any remaining bile out, wiping your mouth. You stand upright, almost falling backwards. Eddie grabs your shoulders to steady you.

"I'm sorry, angel. Have you ever taken Valium before?" He asks, stroking the sweat-soaked hair out of your face. You feel slightly better now, but also very tired. You just shake your head, before burying it into his chest. "I'm guessing you had a bad reaction. You didn't eat much today, either. I know your mom was trying to help, but I wish I had known you hadn't had it before. That shit is not for the faint hearted."

"She takes it to help her sleep, she's always had bad insomnia." You state, muffled by Eddie's chest. You can barely keep your eyes open at this point, you just want to sleep. You know your paper needs doing, but a small nap could help. You could always get up early tomorrow to finish it. "I'm really tired, Eds. Can you take me to bed?" You ask, nuzzling your face against him.

"I will, but I don't think you should sleep right now. You might get sick again and choke. And you need water, and something to eat. I'll get you something, and I'll stay with you until the pill wears off some more." He sighs, lifting you into his arms. You groan, your stomach still hurts. "Sorry, baby. I'm trying to be careful with you." He brings you inside, and your mother immediately panics when she sees you in Eddie's arms.

"Oh, God! What happened? You look awful, sugarpuff!" She says, rushing over to you.

"She's fine, mostly. She had a bad reaction to the pill you gave her and painted the yard with her breakfast." Eddie snips. He continues walking, bringing you down the hall. He plops you on the bed, making sure you sit up against your pillow. "Stay put, baby. I'll be right back." You hear him say as your eyes have fallen shut. He leaves the room to get what you need. You overhear him talking to Mom, their words swirling around in your dizzy head. Eddie calmly explains to her that she shouldn't have given you the Valium. She doesn't sound offended, more so she's ashamed that she inadvertently made you sick. He reassures her, saying it was just a mistake and that he'll help you through it. But he makes a point to tell her to never do it again under any circumstances. You drift off near the end of their talk, hearing the fridge door open as Eddie finds you something to eat.

A while later, you feel Eddie shaking you awake. "Mooooooom, just five more minutes." You whine, your eyes fluttering open. You see him chuckling at you thinking he was your mother. "Oh, it's you. Sorry, silly me." You giggle, trying to keep your eyes open.

"Hey, sleepy head. I brought you some dinner, and a nice tall glass of water." He sets a tray down next to you.

"Not hungry." You shake your head, and Eddie frowns at you.

"You have to eat, Y/N. You'll feel better, I promise." He insists, getting in bed next to you. He sets the tray on his lap. You lazily scan your eyes over what he’s brought you. A PB&J sandwich cut in half, and some apple slices. "It's not too much, I don't want you to barf it all up later. But it's enough to help you."

"Ugh, don't say barf." You wince, feeling ill again.

"Shit, sorry." He hands you half of the sandwich, and you reluctantly take it in your hand. You bring it to your mouth, taking a small, apprehensive bite. You immediately want to spit it out, but you know you have to get something down. You gulp hard as you manage to swallow it. It hits your stomach, and you start to feel hunger overtake you. You take another bite, and another. "Take it slow, Y/N." He says to you quietly, gently stroking your leg as you chew. You swallow again, looking into Eddie's eyes.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Eddie. You're a good man, you know." You smile kindly at him, taking another bite of your sandwich. "Did you make this?" You ask him as you chew.

"How'd you know?" He quirks an eyebrow at you, impressed you can tell he made it.

"Easy, Mom uses grape jelly. But I think it's too sweet. And you...used raspberry jam. My favorite. I don't know how you guessed it, though." His eyes widen, a smirk spreading on his lips. "What?" You look at him suspiciously.

"Raspberry is my favorite, too." He replies, wiping a smudge of jam from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He brings it to his lips, licking it clean. You stare at him in amazement, he really is something else. "What? Like you said, grape is too sweet. But raspberry? It makes the whole thing come together."

You don't know what to say, so you let slip the first thing that comes to mind. "I think I could be falling in love with you." You gasp at your own words, registering what you’ve just said to him.

"Over a sandwich?" He asks snarkily.

"Well, no. You're just so...." You search for the right words. "Good. To me." You gaze at him seriously, driving the point home that you care deeply for him. He gets the message, receiving it with enthusiasm.

"Well, I'm glad you feel so strongly for me, Y/N. And lucky for you, I just happen to feel the same." Eddie looks deep into your eyes, before glancing at your lips. He's breathing heavily, unsure if he should go further. He doesn't want to push you in your vulnerable state.

"Are you gonna kiss me already?" You say impatiently, his eyes snap to yours again. You can't help smiling like an idiot, closing the gap yourself. Your lips meet, both of you humming lowly into the kiss. You break away quickly, covering your mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure my breath is terrible right now." Your cheeks heat up, but he's unphased.

"It's fine, Y/N. You just taste like sandwich. I don't mind either way, not if it means I get to kiss the most beautiful girl in the world." He pokes your nose, making the both of you laugh. You finish the first half of the sandwich, drinking some of the water to wash it down. You reach over to take an apple slice from the tray in his lap. Eddie sits with you quietly while you chew, still stroking your leg. He watches as you manage to eat everything off your plate, kissing your forehead when you finish the last bite. "That's my girl." He says sweetly, taking the tray back to the kitchen. You sip on the water, feeling just full enough for your stomach to stop hurting. You can't stop smiling, seeing Eddie care for you makes your heart swell and gives you butterflies. He comes back shortly, plopping into bed beside you once more. "Better?" He asks, holding your hand.

"Better." You reply, planting a kiss on his plush lips. You cuddle up to him, laying your head on his shoulder. You still feel pretty tired, but you just might be able to finish your paper now. "I should probably finish my essay." You say reluctantly.

"You sure?" Eddie says, worried about you working yourself up again.

"Yeah, I have to get it done. But...stay here with me, okay?" You place a hand on his thigh, caressing it gently.

"Of course, Y/N. I'm not goin’ anywhere." He places his hand over yours. Your head leaves its resting place, and you reach over for your notebook and pencil. "C’mere, sit between my legs." Eddie says calmly, and you do as he asks. You put the notebook in your lap, reading the last page you were working on to remember where you’re going with it. You feel Eddie running his hands up and down your back, and your eyes can't help fluttering closed at his touch.

"Watcha doin' there, Eds?" You ask breathily.

"I'm keeping you relaxed, angel." He replies lowly. His hands go to your shoulders, massaging them firmly. You moan at his touch, your head falling to the side. "Does that feel good, baby?" He asks in your ear, his warm breath fanning over you.

"Mhm." Is all you can manage to say as his hands continue to work your flesh. His thumbs press into your back, working the knots of stress that have resided there for who knows how long. You wince as they hurt a little.

"I know, baby. Just let me help you, you'll feel better when I'm done." He presses a kiss to your neck, setting your skin aflame. You know he's not intentionally turning you on, but you can't help leaning further into his touch. He draws small moans from you as he loosens up your sore muscles.

"How are you so fucking good at this?" You ask lustfully, making Eddie's cock twitch. Under any other circumstances, he'd be going further than he is. But he doesn't want to push you when you're not feeling well, it wouldn't be right.

"Practice, sweetheart. I'll keep going, but you have to work on your essay." He kisses your neck again, before setting your head upright so you'll concentrate.

"Alright, alright. Just please keep going." You almost whine at him.

"I'll go as long as you want me too, babydoll." He chuckles quietly. You turn your attention back to the book in front of you. You reread the last paragraph to refresh your train of thought. Once you remember where you’re going, you begin scrawling more words on the page. The ideas come easy to you, and Eddie's hands travel up to your neck. He gently rubs out a large knot that you're sure has been there for months, but you remain focused on the task at hand.

About thirty minutes later, the infamous essay is finally finished. "Done!" You clap the book shut, tossing it away.

"I knew you could do it, baby." You blush at his praise as he kisses your cheek. Eddie had stopped massaging you ten minutes earlier, but he kept caressing you in a non-distracting way. He loves touching you, it seems he'll never get enough. You leave his grasp, turning to face him. He looks so tired, and you feel bad for stressing him out today. He peers at you, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

You straddle him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You look into his eyes, biting your lip. "Nothing's wrong, baby. I'm just sorry for making you so worried today. Let me make it up to you." You lean forward to kiss his neck, lightly biting down on his skin. He groans, his hands going to your waist instinctively. You look at him again, but his expression hasn't changed. "What?" You ask, scrunching your face.

He sighs, pressing into your hips with his fingers. He shakes his head. "It's nothing. It’s just...you don't owe me anything." You open your mouth to protest, but he stops you. "Don't get me wrong, you're sexy as all hell. But you should be taking it easy, sweetheart. It wouldn't be right for me to ask anything of you right now." Eddie cups your face, looking at you meaningfully. "But, what we can do is get cozy and cuddle in bed. I'm fuckin' exhausted, and you need rest before class tomorrow." He pulls you into him, pressing his lips to yours passionately. You return it, grabbing the sides of his face to deepen it further. Eddie quickly catches on to what you're doing, breaking away. "Easy, tiger. Man, even when you're sick, you're insatiable." He jokes, moving you off of his lap.

"What can I say? You really bring out my appetite." You smirk slyly at him, hopping off the bed to shut your bedroom door. You both quickly discard your clothes. Eddie's in his boxers, and you're in some panties and his Hellfire shirt. You flick off the light, and climb into bed with him. You scoot under the covers, and he snatches you into his arms to spoon you. You share a quiet laugh, the feeling of his arms around you gives you a warm sense of safety. You turn your head to look at him. "Goodnight, Eds. Thank you for being here with me." You whisper, giving him a peck on the lips. He smiles kindly at you, his eyes hooded from drowsiness.

"It's no trouble at all, ‘night, princess." He slowly shuts his eyes, holding you even closer to him. He nuzzles his face into you, sighing in contentment. You face forward again, closing your eyes too. You let your mind wander off to dreamland, feeling safe, warm, and secure in Eddie's arms.

To be continued...

[dullgecko]

bear with me here bc this is a semi long one? a few weeks ago (i meant to send it then too but was intimidated) a friend and i were talking and had Thoughts as to how the Bad Kids would text- and so i kinda wanted to say our takes and see yours.

also i am so sorry bc this was longer than i meant it to be.

Adaine (Freshman year) uses proper grammar and punctuation. her texts would be the most like reading a formal paper. no typos (or next to none), point succinct, and one message. also no slang or contractions, at least at first. Junior year? not much has changed, but she uses some emojis and abbreviations. in her crystal, all the gang is their name and maybe an emoji to represent them. her texts are all typed out in the messages app, especially long ones. she Knows what shes saying- although there is definitely a lot of editing bc anxiety be like that

Fabian? he used all the text slang, minimal punctuation. especially in freshman year, he wanted to be seen as cool and, in some ways, tough. come junior year? he Knows he's cool- hes the maximum legend. minimal typos (intentional ones Not included), Everyone is a nickname (he'd never admit it, but Riz is *not* in as "The Ball", hes in as "The Ball (🕵️‍♂️🔍🏀)", or some other combination of emojis with it). Punctuation? optional. *hates* double texting, but also doesn't go back and edit his messages as he writes them so sometimes theyre a little out of order.

Fig? her messages are often chaos. a few more typos, will send different thoughts as messages. uses some slang, but not always (it depends on her mood). the rest of the gang is under some sort of nickname/initials/hyper specific reference that most wont understand. some are fully just emoji combos. Will use emojis regularly, will use slang, doesn't care if she makes typos. long messages are done in her notes app, and the app is definetly passcode protected (except its the date of her first kiss with Ayda so its easy to guess). punctuation? nah. capitalization? rarely

Gorgug? doesn't use capitalization, but does use punctuation. changes how he types when talking to TBK or his parents. a few typos, but hes probably got autocorrect on so most don't slip through. tends to get his thoughts out in minimal messages. his friemds are in as their names, nothing special. some text slang, some emojis, but not often.

Kristen? if you think Fig's style is a mess, Kristen's is worse. Her friends are all under nicknames and emojis, her messages filled with typos, autocorrect and auto capitalization are off, and she rarely uses punctuation. will double text, her sentences are run ons, she over uses emojis, and she over uses text slang.

Riz? his texting depends on what he's doing. working a case? likely to have a few more typos or words that don't have spaces between them. will shorten words so less focus is off the case. when he isn't busy, will send a whole essay if he's asking a simple question. autocorrect is off because it annoys him and kept saying his name was wrong, but his crystal does automatically capitalize words. his friends are in as nicknames plus a couple emojis to identity them quickly. doesn't use emojis often, at least when texting, but will often react with them instead of responding.

Adaine is for sure the bad kid that has the most impeccable grammar when texting. Its almost like she's writing a formal letter, though she does chill out a bit after sophomore year and starts typing more casually. At the very least she stops beginning her texts with 'To *name*' and ending them with 'Regards, Adaine Abernant'.

Fabian would be almost as bad as Adaine, have you heard the man talk? Though he does sometimes not bother with the grammar and spelling if he's tired. Frequently uses emojis. Sends pictures CONSTANTLY.

Riz is a multiple texter. He needs to get the thoughts out of his brain NOW and he'll be damned if he's going to properly format those texts. Fabian has to suffer through this the most and sometimes he'll get about 20 texts in rapid succession as Riz infodumps on him as quickly as possible. Has the small issue that if he's tired he'll forget the common words for things and Fabian gets a horrible mishmash of thoughts that are half ghukliak spelled out phonetically (because of course his crystal doesnt have a goblin keyboard setting) and completely incomprehensible. It's more likely to happen at 3am and the ONLY way you should respond to these texts is 'go to bed' or you'll get 50 more.

Gorgug is the most normal out of everyone. Just texts like a regular guy. Will sometimes multi-text but its not excessive. His messages are at least understandable.

Fig is almost as bad as Riz with the multi-texting. Could vibrate your crystal right off the table if she's in a mood. Texts flip between pictures and messages constantly. Punctuation and spelling are an afterthought.

Kristen will read a text message, make a note to reply to it later then forget about it. If you need an immediate answer from her about anything you're better off calling.

[purplekissinger]

deardiarydeardiarydeardiary

Y/N's been acting strange lately. She may contain the urge to run away, but Tom holds her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks.

🎵alt-J - Breezeblocks🎵

TW: manipulation, mental disorder themes. This is a full blown angst.

The cover: smooth, soft, fine leather. It feels nice to run your hand over it and you do it from time to time. Sometimes it feels warm. The corners: gold, darkened with age. They taste slightly salty (yes, you chewed them at some point, let's not talk about that). The paper: rough, thick, slightly yellow, clean pages like muddy water (there should be a bottom somewhere, but it’s not visible). Tom: soothing, gentle, funny, sympathetic, loving, the best, scary, all-knowing, affectionate, scary, witty, did I mention ‘scary’?

“Nothing special happened today,” you wrote and paused, thinking about your next sentence. He will know if you lie, he has proven it too many times. It's better to  switch the topic quickly. “There is a small problem with the task on potions, maybe you can help me?..”.

Sometimes you use ellipses when talking to him. Poke, poke, poke. Writing lacks the timid intonation so you draw it with dots.

Tom doesn't buy it.

“And what was not special that happened today?”

You began to sleep worse and eat less.

‘Y/N, are you okay?’ - asks someone to your right. It takes you a second to realize that you are sitting at a table in the Great Hall and it’s unbearably noisy here. It takes two more seconds to turn your unseeing gaze to the girl on the right (is that Mary? Mary what’shername? Mary MacDonald? Do we know each other? Why is she talking to me? How did I end up here?).

“Yes, everything is great,” you smile weakly. “I’ll just grab something to eat and it will be even better.”

The plate in front of you is empty. Mary's face is distorted by some kind of emotion, and it takes you another three seconds to recognize pity and disgust in it.

“Molly Prewett said I've been weird lately.”

Molly Prewett said she's already seen you in that shirt for several days in a row. Molly Prewett said your eye is twitching. Molly Prewett said you scream at night.

“Molly Prewett? That fat red-haired girl?” - you can almost see his mocking smile through the pages, and you immediately feel better, as if the invisible fingers squeezing your throat have slightly loosened their grip. “Y/N, dear, please don’t say that she actually managed to hurt your feelings. You do realize why she says that, right? You are the most beautiful and the smartest girl in Hogwarts, and this ugly bitch is simply dying of envy. Damn, I'm dying of self-envy. I’m the luckiest bastard ever to know you. It's a pleasure talking with you. You yourself are a pleasure. Of course, she is jealous, the whole of Hogwarts is crazy about you, otherwise they are just blind. Do you have a mirror in your room right now? Come on, look in it. There’s a princess living in your mirror, go check yourself!”

In your mirror lives a princess who has lain in a coffin for a hundred years. Hair tangled, eyes dull, sweater inside out.

You walk along the corridor,  moving your feet mechanically. You won't be able to remember what lesson is next on the schedule even if your life depends on it. Your peripheral vision has gone and all sounds seem to be distant as if there were cotton wool in your ears. Step. Step. Step. Step.

“Tom, this is just wonderful! I struggled over this essay for two hours, and you sorted it out in no time. Wait, don’t remove the solution yet, I’ll copy it…”

“Take your time, honey. I want my best girl to study well.”

Last week, for the first time in your life, you got a Troll in Transfiguration, which you used to love. You simply went to the pulpit and stood there with an absent look for two minutes. After class, professor McGonagall touches your elbow gently.

“Miss L/N, if you feel like you need to talk, I’m always ready to listen to you,” she says almost in a whisper. It's the warmest tone she can muster, but you already have someone always ready to listen.

“y/n sunshine my beloved dear y/n y/n y/n y/n i love you so please don’t go y/n y/n y/n if you have a heart you won’t leave me you're such a kind girl y/n you won't leave me here you'll help me you'll talk to me you'll love me you'll help me i believe y/n y/n y/n you're the best in the world if i find out that you told someone you’re dead dead dead dead dead dead you don’t know what i can do what i’m capable of you can’t escape me you’ll rot in azkaban forever if you tell anyone y/n don’t even think of that y/n you’re my sunshine you open the diary and i can breathe again i breathe you i live by you i will die without you don’t leave me help me i’m begging you i love you so i love you so”.

Choking with sobs, you look at the jumping lines. The pages are wet from your tears.

“What do you want me to do, Tom?”

It’s 3 a.m. You haven't slept for two days. How are you still able to write? How are you still able to think?

“The toilet is on the third floor. Write me when you get there.”

[deardiary1899]

king of new york is a catchy af song but i like to think it emphasizes something about race

i always found it as something that represented their wants and are somewhat expressions of them internally--

Race: A pair o' new shoes with matchin' laces <- Race wants something practical? I mean, in some productions, his socks don't even match!!!!!

Romeo: A permanent box at the sheepshead races <- Surprisingly, Race was supposed to have this line but was changed in the Broadway production. It's one of the main things I found interesting in the lyrics.

and, honorable mention to Davey:

Davey: A regular beat for the star reporter!

Davey's kindness is shown here. He prefers to move the attention to Katherine, and what he wants is never really mentioned

Anyhow, Ive read from another post that the boys are sharing these things according to what the other person likes, and that, is very cute and i love it, but I unfortunately cannot see it that way myself when it's with Race. Romeo may have said that line for Race, but, the lines Race sings in Carrying the Banner sort of correlates with his lines in KofNY. The said Race's lines in CtB are as follows:

Curdled Coffee / Concrete Donuts / Sprinkled with mold / Homemade / Biscuits / Just two years old

I am a true believer that the lines characters are chosen to sing are important to who they are, and I will find it endlessly curious as to why these are the specific things Race would list out, when most of the newsies at this part, something they want/that's currently happening/general observations or whatever. It's just so,,, curious to me how he speaks of THOSE things?? they're definitely not something they want, and it's poetic as FUCK??? like WHO hurt you mr higgins

It makes me think of Race as someone who is somewhat practical. I mean, outside of being sort of rowdy, excitable and the like, he's, without a doubt, smart af and like his historical counterpart, quite aware.

Race: Am-scray, punk / She's the king of New York!

Katherine: Whod'a thunk! I'm the king of New York!

Newsies: We was sunk, pale and pitiful

Katherine: Bunch'a wet noodles

Katherine & Newsies: Pulitzer's poodles!

Les: Almost about to drown in the drink

Buttons: When she fished us out

Race: And drowned us in ink!

Am-scray is one of my favourite parts here. Maybe because it was sung by Race but It’s Pig Latin.

I have NO Idea how common it is to learn that in the 19th century– but considering in Newsies (not as historically accurate) the boys don’t get a proper education other than Davey (but in a more historical perspective, they did. somewhat.), It’s EXTREMELY important to me how he knows such words like ‘Hoi-polloi’ (GREEK!!!), Am-scray and Gratis (LOOK i dont know how common words like that are, because im not a native english speaker and DAMN i don't know the usual 19th century lingo, but to me, it was a big big word)

Even more, his wit is shown well in the line ‘and drowned us in ink’. I’ve been obsessed with that since I heard it, and I’ll never get over how it is a BEAT that you can skip to in writing. It’s such a smooth and witty way to say that Katherine’s writing had helped them, and that ‘drowning in them in ink’ led them to get the fame they got (front page of the papers).

It’s also bitterly sweet to note that seeing their faces on the front page was more than enough to have them all tap-dancing, and although they may be forgotten the next day, it was all the worth.

this is all over the place, and moreso a ramble, but I REALLY wish we got more of Race because these specific things keep repeating in my mind ALL the time. I would ALSO like to state that Race was a HUGE driving force in this. I could write a WHOLE essay about him but kiss his ass and slap it because after getting hit around by oppressors and police, he knew they needed at least a moment of relief !!!!!!

TL;DR: I have a crush on Race Higgins and I need him real NOW

[agirlandherquill]

writeblr intro!

this has been a long time coming and i've finally gotten around to it after, what? 4 months of being a part of this delightfully and beautifully chaotic community known as writeblr,

so, about me - well, let's see, i'm A Girl and Her Quill - a moniker i'm adopting because who doesn't enjoy a little sense of mystery? now, what else is there to say about me? i love words, i adore stories, and i love books - my favourites are impossible to narrow down to a simple list so i'll just name a few off the top of my head: great expectations - shockingly fell in love and decided to study it for literature coursework (it paid off, 24/25 marks, best damn essay i have ever written), ready player one - this needs no explanation, the brilliance is clear in the title and i also love its sequel, and for the last of the few books i can think of i'm going to say outlander - i'm reading it at the minute and its beautiful (i've seen up to s2 of the show, so i will be rewatching once I finish the book, and start the second book probably, i just can't resist)

why am i here? - as aforementioned i love stories and i've been writing my whole life, (insert a respectful nod to the graveyard of childhood manuscripts long since abandoned) and i've been working on writing a novel for, well, about four years now? that novel being `Ruin's Reprisal, which has undergone one draft, a total rewrite, and now i'm on to edits - and that story has been with me through some of the most crucial years of my life and thankfully, it's almost done (small white lie, i'm editing chapter 20/roughly 40 at the moment, but i'm getting there); and as for why i'm on writeblr well, as the description of my blog states, it really was a dark night with rain battering the windows, and the mood of it so to speak gave me the courage to sign up to the wonderful world of chaos that is tumblr and to start sharing my writing with the world!

and speaking of sharing my writing, i signed up to ao3 as of this morning and i've been collecting all of the posts relating to my novel from tumblr on there, so if reading on ao3 is more your thing than Tumblr, you can find me as: agirlandherquill

so that's about it from me for now, if i think of anything else to add i'll update this post, and i just want to say a truly heartfelt thank you to everyone who has made me feel so welcome and enjoyed the little snippets i bestow from time to time (i do my best to post daily, reckon i've only slipped about 3 days in total so i'm rather impressed with myself)

signing off on the long overdue intro,

~ A Girl and Her Quill

[alxssarosex]

What are some of your favourite rosekiller headcannons? :)

I have so many because I'm genuinely obsessed.

In every universe Evan is french to me like he grew up in France in my eyes and Barty is OBSESSED with his accent and when he speaks French Barty almost has a stroke.

Barty being in love with Evan since the second he saw him even if he didn't realize that's what it was is my all time favorite there are WAY too many fics where Evan is the one pining and I love them don't get me wrong but obsessed Barty is TOO real to me.

Before Evan and Barty got together they were delusional besties telling each other exactly like they would be so dead wrong in a situation and they'd be like well I mean I'd do it to for a check.

Barty is a flirt but Evan rosier is GORGEOUS he is the Remus Lupin of slytherin people are obsessed with him and he is so so oblivious to it and Barty's like damn everyone wants my man.

Both of them have the worst jealousy problems especially when they were in the realization stage but Evan was 10x more calm about it then Barty. Barty would throw the biggest hissy fit when someone even went near Evan and threaten to wipe out their whole blood lime while everyone else is like "and he still doesn't get it??".

I hate past bartylus we ALL know this I could write a essay on how it would only be possible if Barty didn't know Evan but Pandora and Evan are twins to me and the idea of Barty thinking he liked Pandora because he was confused and Pandora being like sweetie no cracks me up.

Evan is NOT a sweet little anxious boy to me he is just as if not more unhinged than Barty but in a slightly different font. Evan hates people except his core group and has a soft spot for james as well where as Barty is super socially unhinged so most people would think he's more unhinged but if people heard Evan's thoughts or conversations with his group they'd be like what in the actual fuck??

Evan and Barty's denial stage was so long and dramatic but them getting together was so simple they both felt stupid for not realizing sooner.

Evan and Barty were the daddy issues to Regulus and Dorcas's mommy issues.

Barty slowly built up to his realization but Evan randomly was like oh fuck I think I'm in love with Barty and then he kissed him and was in denial about it.

I have many many more but i got distracted trying to make this so it took 2 hours... I'll share some more later!!