#joking around is one thing but i genuinely think the deep seated superiority complex from some ppl needs to die and is ugly

[3416]

thank you for sharing the positives to being a leafs fan because it gets exhausting watching the entirety of the hockey world stomp over a team that is dealt with the shorter end of the stick. your content makes me still hold onto faith for a team that isn’t loved.

my question is: do you believe that the leafs hate he justified as much especially in comparison to other teams in the league?

the thing about the leafs is that they have one of the biggest and widest reaching fanbases in the sport (if you go to any games on the road, you'll immediately know what i'm talking about... every arenas like half full of em), but it feels sort of like a love them or hate them in the nhl itself bc of the amount of rivalries and history. that's not even taking into account their surface meme-ability in modern day for being unable to get deep into the playoffs. at least we no longer have to hear a deluge of first round jokes tbh.

i honestly don't think anyone holds as much contempt for the leafs as much as a certain section of their own fanbase so i've never viewed it as a leafs vs everyone else thing, though it definitely is that too lol. i ALSO hate a portion of this fanbase more than i hate any other team or its fans tbh bc of the way they talk about their own damn players. might as well cease to call yourself a fan at a certain point imo regardless of the fact that you grew up with the team or whatever. i don't actually think the leafs are like. targeted or everyone hates them the most (all original 6 teams take a fair bit of heat tbh), but their fans online are the reason a lot of like goofy polls and stuff always read as the leafs being the most annoying/biased/delusional group. it's hard to disagree in some ways. i guess i don't put myself in a position to see a lot of leafs hate in general? i don't follow people who hate them or interact with people who hate them beyond finding ppl in this fanbase who have such nasty things to say, lol, so that colors my perception but. for as much hate as you might see, the leafs are definitely one of if not the most loved team too. center of the hockey world, it's true it's true. you gotta take the hate with the love, but i also think a big part of hockey/sport culture is just chirping and insults in general so fkljdsl. being able to parse what's actual hate and just jokes is also important.

[buckyodinson]

Undisclosed Desires (Javier Peña x fem!Reader)

Request from anon: I loved reading "The First" w/ Jack so much, and I was wondering if you would consider writing something like that but for Javier? Like it's her first time and she's obviously nervous/shy and Javi is (obvs) not and maybe some softness?❤️🥺 Thank you and ily!

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I wanna pre-empt this by saying I have not watched Narcos, so know next to nothing about Javi other than what I’ve read in other people’s fics, so I hope I did him justice! 🤞🏻 and again, I’m not the best at smut so I hope that’s okay too!

It had been a long day at the embassy. You were pacing around your desk as far as the phone cable would allow, sighing deeply as you spoke with one of your superiors back in the States. Yet another member of the Medellín cartel had escaped today and he was on everybody’s ass about it, as usual. You’d spent the best part of the day out pursuing this cartel member, but at the last minute, he managed to slip away from you and Murphy. After Murphy had his grilling over the phone and was allowed to go home, it was your turn having to explain yourself on the phone to your asshole of a boss.

“Listen, sir, I understand you’re pissed. We all are too, it’s just th-“ you stopped abruptly and threw the handset down, missing the base entirely, sighing as you watched the handset bounce and hang limply off the side of your desk. Javier watched from his desk, raising an eyebrow at the sudden outburst.

You all but melt into your chair, running your hands over your face and groaning into your palms. You take a few deep breaths before moving your hands to your lap and opening your eyes. When you do, you’re met with Javier bending down to pick your phone up and put it in its receiver. He perches on the edge of your desk, giving you an uncharacteristically soft smile, “You need a break.”

“That’s the last thing I need, Peña. Not with Bellamy breathing down my neck.” You sink further into your chair and bring your feet up to rest on your desk.

“All the more reason to take a break.” He tentatively brings a hand to rest on one of your ankles, rubbing a thumb along it gently, “You’ll burn out, and make mistakes, and piss Bellamy off more.” You look down at your feet, and blush when you see the gentle swipe of his thumb over your ankle.

“I don’t know how you do it, Peña. You never let it get to you.” You reluctantly remove your feet from your desk, immediately missing the warmth of his hand, and grab your blazer from the back of your chair. You slowly stand and put it on.

“Trust me, dulzura, it gets to me. I just have my ways of letting the stress out. I’d recommend it.” He gives you a wink and you roll your eyes. He chuckles as he saunters back to his own desk.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be taking your advice there.” You smirked, but your embarrassment was evident with the heat rising in your cheeks.

You’d be lying if you said you had no feelings towards your colleague. The infamous Javier Peña. Known to frequent several brothels across the city - sometimes for information, sometimes just for pleasure. You wished that these tendencies put you off the man, but nothing allowed you to shake those feelings. When you walked past his apartment to reach your own, and you heard the moans from inside, you would feel a pang of jealousy, wishing it were you in there.

You felt like a schoolgirl, and you felt ridiculous for feeling the way you did about him. He clearly didn’t feel the same about you, and even if he did... well, once he found out you were a virgin, you’re sure he’d run back to Freckles, or any of the other girls he visits. Back to someone he knows will give him a good time.

“I’m telling you, there’s no better way to end a stressful day.” He continued as he put on his own blazer, breaking you out of your daze.

“I’m more of an alcohol and wallow-in-self-pity kinda girl myself.”

“No wonder you’re so pent up at work. I’m sure men practically throw themselves at your feet at bars. Take one home and I promise the stress will just drip out of you.” He smirked and you didn’t miss the tone of his voice shift in that last sentence, blushing at the double meaning.

“I’m not that kinda girl, Javi.” You sighed as you rummaged around your desk looking for your car keys.

“Could always use me instead of some random guy from a bar?...” he smirked and looked up at you expecting a witty reply, but saw you rooting through one of your desk drawers. “Havin’ trouble over there?”

“Can’t find my goddamn keys. Jesus, can nothing go right today?!” You groaned and kicked your chair away from your desk.

Immediately Javi was in front of you, hands coming to rest on your forearms, “Just calm down, muñeca. This is what I’m talking about - you’re overworked. I’ll drive you home, it’s not problem.”

“Thank you, Javi.” You gave him a small smile and he led you out of the embassy.

You climbed into his Jeep and on the drive to your apartment complex, you wondered how many other women had sat in this seat before you, being driven to Javi’s place and shown a good time.

“Stop it.” Javi’s voice cut through the silence.

“I wasn’t doing anything?” You bit back.

“You were thinking too hard. Could practically hear the gears grinding. Just forget about today. What’s done is done. You can’t do anything more about it right now, so relax.” He kept his eye on the road as he spoke.

“I’ve already forgotten about that asshole, Javi. That’s not what I’m thinking about.” You stared out the window, blushing profusely.

“Thinking about my offer from earlier?” You can hear the smirk and you turn to face him.

“What offer?”

“Earlier. I said you could take me home instead of some random guy. Then we’re both getting rid of the stress.” He raised his eyebrow as he turned briefly to look at you and wink before looking back at the road ahead.

“Real funny, Peña.” You deadpan and you subtly squeeze your thighs together at the thought. Javier doesn’t miss this action and he smirks, seeing the affect he has on you.

“I’m not joking, princesa.” He says softly as he parks his jeep outside your apartment complex.

You quickly take off your belt and get out of the car, attempting to make a quick getaway, but Javi grabs your arm gently and makes you face him, “Y/N, look at me. Listen, I’m sorry if that was too far, but I genuinely mean it. And not in the way you probably think. This job... seeing you out there kicking ass everyday and almost getting shot or killed... it’s made me realise that I love you.” His chocolate eyes bore into yours and you could tell he was telling the truth, and it made your heart burst.

A smile made its way across your face, “I feel the same, Javi.” His eyes lit up at your admission, and he leaned slowly down to capture your lips. You happily melted into the kiss, moaning as he pressed himself against you. You reached a hand into his hair and he groaned as your nails brushed against his scalp. As you leaned backwards and felt Javi’s Jeep behind you, you were suddenly very aware that you were out in the middle of the street and you pulled away. His lips chased yours for a second before he pulled back to look at you, breathing heavily.

“Let’s go inside.” You spoke quietly and pulled him along with you, smiling at the grin that spread across his face.

You climbed the stairs to your floor of the complex, and took him past his apartment until you reached your own. You fished your keys out of your bag and opened the door, motioning for him to go inside, shutting the door behind the pair of you.

He stood in the small hallway, a little awkwardly and you moved past him towards your kitchen. You grabbed two glasses and poured a glass of whiskey for each of you. Javier graciously accepted and downed his almost immediately, watching you sip at your own. He had a little look around your apartment, admiring the little decorations you had strewn about, before settling down on your sofa and patting the space next to him. You finished your drink and joined him on the sofa, and his lips immediately found yours again. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he pulls you into his lap, gripping your thighs tightly. He moves one hand to your back and pushes you flush against him, deepening the kiss. Your hands find their way into his hair again, and you squeal when suddenly he’s picking you up and carrying you to your bedroom.

He places you down on your bed so softly before lifting his shirt over his head and crawling back over you. Your hands roam the expanse of his back as he litters wet open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. He continues lower and lower until his mouth reaches the waistband of your trousers, and he begins to undo the button when you suddenly freeze, “Javi, wait.” You breathe heavily.

“What is it, mi amor?” You look down and see his blown pupils staring back at you, worry painting his features.

“I just...” you take a deep breath and cover your eyes with your hands, embarrassment settling in.

You feel him move back up the bed, and when he speaks, you hear that he’s above you, “Is everything okay?” his soft voice calms you down, and he peels your hands away from your face and smiles down at you.

“I’ve just... I’ve never done... this before. We were moving so fast, and I-uh-I panicked. I’m sorry.” You slowly admitted, worried about his reaction, but the warm smile remained on his face.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m sorry I rushed into this. You’ve gotta be ready. I can wait for whenever that may be, it’s okay.” He lowered himself to lay beside you, and you rolled on your side to face him properly.

“Thank you, Javi. I’m sorry.” You ducked your head down and he leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

“You don’t have to apologise.” He whispered into your hair.

“Will you stay the night?” You asked shyly against his chest.

“Of course.” You looked up and he kissed you softly.

You stood up and went to the bathroom to change, coming back to your bedroom in a t-shirt and sleep shorts, finding Javier smoking a cigarette by the window in just his boxers. You walked behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your forehead between his shoulder blades, kissing the skin there. He smiled as he used his free hand to wrap around yours, sighing contentedly.

You gave his skin one last kiss before slowly removing your arms from his waist and walking back to bed. Javi put his cigarette out before following you, climbing in behind you and pulling your back to his chest.

“Thank you for staying, Javi.” You sighed as he kissed your jaw.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” He pulled you even closer and pressed his nose into your hair, tracing small circles into the skin of your stomach under your shirt. The gentle touch lulled you to sleep, and he followed soon after.

With the stress of the job, you rarely ever got a full night’s sleep, but that night, both you and Javi had the best sleep you’d had in months, if not years. When you awoke, Javi was on his back, snoring lightly, and you were tucked into his side. His arm was wrapped securely round your waist, and you relished in the feeling, shuffling even closer to him and resting your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. You stayed there for what felt like hours, tracing little shapes into the skin of his hips that were just peeking out of his boxers. After a few minutes of this, his soft snores stopped, and you felt him stir.

He gave your waist a little squeeze and when you looked up at him, you swear you fell in love all over again. His hair was messy, and a few strands were stuck to his forehead, and the lopsided grin he gave you with his little squinted eyes was enough to make your heart stop.

“Morning, dormilón.” You smirked at him, and he chuckled at your Spanish.

“Morning, angel.” He ran his fingers through your hair, and that feeling combined with his rough morning voice pulled a small moan from the back of your throat. You immediately blushed and tried to bury your face in his chest, but he rolled you over and looked down at you, smiling, “Don’t be embarrassed, dulzura. You sound beautiful.”

This Javier was so different to the usual suave, rough man you usually saw at the embassy (not that you didn’t find that version of Javi incredibly attractive). This sweet side to him made your heart flutter in your chest, and made your thighs clench. You reached your hands up to tangle them in his hair and pull his lips down to your own. He happily obliged, and your teeth clashed from the force of the kiss, which made you giggle lightly into the kiss.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, and he pulled back to look down at you, “Are you sure you’re ready, mi amor?” He raised an eyebrow but you saw genuine concern in his eyes.

“Yes, Javi. I want this. Want you.” You panther and he leaned back down to adorn your neck with kisses and little bites. His hands moved softly down your sides before lifting your shirt up slowly, fingertips ghosting your skin. A groan escaped his lips once he lifted the shirt over your head, and he took in the sight of your naked chest. You were a little embarrassed, but seeing the look on his face made you feel like the most beautiful woman alive.

“So beautiful...” you blush even further and he dips down to kiss you again, one hand trailing up your stomach to palm at one of your breasts and rolling your nipple between his fingers, earning a moan from you. He moves onto the other breast while his kisses down your jaw, leaving a bruise on your neck in his journey down to your breasts.

You’re panting by the time he reaches your chest, where he leaves little nips and bites littered across your skin, sighing when he kisses further down your stomach. He reaches your shorts and looks up at you to confirm you’re still okay. You nod quickly, not trusting your voice, and he slowly pulls your shorts and your underwear down your legs, kissing the skin that is revealed.

Once you’re bare before him, he slowly parts your legs and settles in between them, adorning your inner thighs with kisses, getting closer and closer to where you want him most. The slight scratch of his mustache against your thighs sends a shiver up your body, and you feel him smirk against your skin. One of his hands is interlocked with one of your own, while the other is being slowly dragged down your body from your breasts to your core. His hand and mouth both reach your heat at the same time. Javi uses his fingers to spread your folds before licking a stripe through them, and your free hand grips the sheets until your knuckles turn white. He quickly latches into your clit, methodically adding pressure before removing it and just ghosting it with his tongue, moving closer to your entrance before doubling back and repeating, the mustache doing wonders as it brushes against your skin too.

Javi hums his approval deep in his throat, and the vibrations against you only fuel the pleasure further. He moves his fingers and lightly traces your entrance with them, before slowly pushing one in. You moan lewdly and he groans in satisfaction.

“So tight... so perfect for me.” He whispers against your clit as he pumps his finger in you, adding another once your clawing at his hair.

“Please, Javi- oh God!” You sigh when he removes his fingers, watching as he sucks them into his mouth and groans.

“I want you, Javi.” You reach out for him and he crawls until he’s level with you.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Yes, Javi. Please.” You practically beg and he captures your lips once more as he pulls his boxers off. He quickly jumps up and grabs his wallet, where he fishes out a condom and rolls it on before jumping back into bed and kissing you again. He lines himself up and slowly pushes in, going slowly so you can get used to it, or ask him to stop if needs be. It’s painful at first and a few tears do escape your eyes, which are pressed tightly closed. He wipes the tears away and kisses along your cheeks until he bottoms out.

You’re breathing heavily and digging your nails into his back, eyes still screwed shut, and he stills, waiting for you. He pressed chaste kisses along your jawline until he feels you relax under him and he looks up to see your eyes open, “Please move, Javi. I’m okay.”

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles lowly at the blush that paints your face and chest. The pain was soon overtaken by pleasure as Javi softly rocked into you, only picking up the speed when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pressed him deeper into you.

“Eres mi todo...” he whispers against your neck before sucking a mark into your collarbone.

“God, I love you, Javi.” You’re shocking yourself by saying these things while he’s on top of you like this, but you just can’t help it. The way he’s pushing into you feels good enough, but when he reaches a hand down to rub your clit, it’s all over. Your vision goes black for a split second, your entire body tenses up, and you cling onto Javi like your life depends on it, while he carries on riding you through your high and he soon follows you to complete bliss. As you both come down from your highs, he lazily kisses up your neck until he reaches your lips, and captures them in a passionate kiss.

He pulls out slowly, quickly disposing of the condom in your bathroom and grabbing a wet cloth, coming back to clean you up, stroking your hair as you lay there panting. He puts the cloth back on the bathroom, and when he re-emerges, you’re still lying there, and he stops and just stares at you. He thinks you look ethereal, and he can’t quite believe what just happened.

Since you joined him and Steve at the embassy, he’d fallen for you. It was a very foreign feeling to him, and he tried to fuck his feelings away with his usual girls, but he would always be thinking of you, and would smoke a cigarette and leave immediately afterwards. He lit a cigarette and moved over to your window, thinking about how lucky he was, “You okay over there, sweetheart?” He smirks at you still laying in bed where he left you.

“Yeah, I’m great. I just don’t trust my legs right now.” You giggle, still in a bit of a daze.

Javi sniggers and puts his cigarette out, joining you in bed once more, pulling you flush against him, “So, how was that for a first time?”

“It was perfect, Javi. You were perfect.” You smiled back at him and kissed his chin.

You had a lazy morning since neither of you had to be in the office until midday. You danced around your living room to some old records, and Javi made you breakfast. Javi went back to his apartment to get ready and you did the same, meeting him out by his jeep so he could drive you both to work. He kept a hand on your thigh the entire drive there.

When you arrived at the office, Steve was already at his desk, hunched over some paperwork, phone held between his ear and shoulder. He covered it with his hand while he spoke to you, “Bellamy has called twice this morning already, still wants to chat about yesterday.” Steve waited for the inevitable swearing from you but you simply sighed and sat down at your desk, removing your jacket and getting comfy.

“What’s got you in such a good mood this morning?”

“I bet she finally gave into all the stress and took my advice and picked some guy up at a bar and let him give her a good time.” Javi piped up as he leaned back in his chair.

Murphy raised an eyebrow at you and you rolled your eyes at Peña while smirking, “A lady never tells.”

Murphy chuckles and shakes his head as he turns back to his desk and Javi shoots you a wink, to which you blush profusely.

—————

(These are 100% google translated, so I apologise if anything is wrong!!)

Dulzura - sweetness/sweetheart

muñeca - doll

princesa - princess

mi amor - my love

dormilón - sleepyhead

Eres mi todo - you are my everything

[anneshirleycuffbert]

dystopian awae fic: Anne Shirley-Cuthbert shoots Gilbert Blythe

“I cannot believe you shot him!” exclaimed a horrified Marilla Cuthbert.

“But he called me ‘Carrots’!” Anne protested. “And it wasn’t even a real gun, it was one of those pellet ones we use for practice.”

“I don’t care what Gilbert Blythe called you. You shouldn’t have shot him,” Marilla said in an even voice, trying to calm down. The vein in her temple was showing which meant she was very aggravated. “Matthew, talk some sense into our daughter, will you?”

“Anne,” Matthew Cuthbert said gravely. “You can’t go around shooting people who call you names.”

“Why not? That Gilbert Blythe shot Billy Andrews, and he said it’s because Andrews called me a bad dog!”

Matthew’s eyes widened. “Gilbert... shot Billy?”

“Yes!”

“Well, now. I don’t quite mind that,” Matthew smiled a little before regaining a serious demeanor. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll let this go but you are not to shoot anyone again, unless it’s a direct order from your superiors.”

“Commander Philipps is an idiot, so I don’t think that’s a good idea,” muttered Anne. “But I’ll do it for you and Marilla.”

“Good. Well, it’s settled.”

“No more wasting bullets, understand? Pellets or not.”

Anne sighed. “I understand.”

After a few seconds, Matthew nudged Anne with his elbow. “Where’d you shoot him?” he whispered.

Anne grinned. “His face. From what I hear, he’s nursing a black eye.”

Marilla had pretended not to hear their conversation, but she smiled, proud of her redhead.

-

“Hey Carrots!” Gilbert Blythe called out from where he sat. “Carrots!”

Anne kept walking to her usual secluded spot in the canteen, ignoring the stares of the other students. She clenched her jaw and gripped her tray of food tightly to keep her from reaching for her gun and shooting Gilbert again.

She took a deep breath as she sat down, scanning the table beside her where Diana Barry sat with the girls.

Diana glanced at Anne and smiled slightly, before turning her gaze away to answer a question Ruby had whispered to her.

Anne’s eyes dropped to her food. She felt like crying. It wasn’t fair. She had tried so hard to make the girls like her, but every time she took one step forward, some stupid thing would happen and she’d have to take two steps back. Everything she did seemed to vex the girls.

Just then, a figure plopped down in the seat in front of her.

Her eyes flew up, hoping it was her bosom friend Diana Barry. It was Gilbert Blythe, and lo and behold, he had a very purplish green black eye.

“What do you want?” Anne seethed. “Leave me alone unless you want me to shoot you again.”

“I want to apologize.”

Anne blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I want to apologize,” Gilbert repeated. Anne’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, wondering if this was a trick. “I’m sorry. I was stupid and I shouldn’t have pulled your hair. I, I guess I was curious and wanted to know you more. And,” Gilbert paused, turning red.

Anne couldn’t deny to herself that she found Gilbert cute. It was not fair how he looked attractive even in the state his left eye was in. In fact, it added to his looks, made him look like a capable fighter. Anne cleared her throat. “And what?”

“I got frustrated because you wouldn’t pay attention to me.” Gilbert shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t used to not having a girl notice me first.”

Anne scoffed. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?”

“So can we be friends now?”

Anne thought about it. If she were to befriend Gilbert Blythe, the girls would definitely shun her from their group. But hadn’t they already? She glanced at the table beside her again. Their eyes were already trained on her and Gilbert. The look on Josie Pye’s face was more than enough for Anne to decide.

“Yes,” Anne said slowly. Gilbert Blythe’s anxious smile turned into a full blown grin. “But you forgot to apologize for something else.”

Gilbert’s eyes furrowed. He watched as Anne waved one of her intricate braids in front of him.

“I already apologized for pulling your braid,” said Gilbert, confused.

“You called me ‘Carrots’,” Anne deadpanned.

“Did that seriously bother you more than me pulling your hair?” Gilbert laughed, stopping short when Anne’s face remained stoic. “Oh.” He sighed. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, I am excruciatingly sorry for calling you ‘Carrots’ and I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Thank y–“

“Unless provoked,” he added, grinning ear to ear.

Anne wasn’t used to this, this joking or whatever Gilbert was doing. Before the Cuthberts adopted her, she hadn’t had much experience with friends. Any experience, in fact. But this was a start.

Anne allowed herself a sly smile. “I’ll take that apple now.”

“What?” After two seconds, Gilbert looked down at his tray, remembering his offer to Anne the day before when she shot him with her pellet gun. He laughed. “Sure, take it. Here,” he placed the round fruit onto her tray.

Moody Spurgeon and Charlie Sloane joined Anne and Gilbert at their table.

“Why are you boys late?” Gilbert greeted them with a complex handshake before they sat down.

“Spurgeon wanted more target practice,” said Charlie. He looked at Anne curiously but didn’t say anything.

“Hey, Shirley,” greeted Moody, sitting down beside her.

“Spurgeon,” replied Anne. “So how many targets did you hit?”

Moody grinned. “Ten. Gil, Charlie, and I are going back after lunch. Do you want to come with us?”

Anne smiled genuinely for the first time since arriving at the Academy. She couldn’t help but think that shooting Gilbert Blythe was the best thing she’d done, which was ironic considering how horrified Marilla and Matthew had been at the news. In a weird way, it had earned her reputation and respect. She looked at her new friends who accepted her with ease.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

—————————————————————

this was really fun to write, let me know if you’d like me to continue this shirbert au!!

[youngster-monster]

put a ring on it

There is something to be said about surprise visits from Tyrande and Malfurion — something incredibly rude, that is. They always drop in uninvited at the worst time possible, sure of their welcome and of their own importance. Contrary to popular beliefs, Illidan does have better things to do than humor his brother: his job as a researcher in Fel magic is nothing to scoff at.

Actually, it’s a damn prestigious job. His brother is just being a dick.

But no matter how little Illidan wants to drop everything to deal with his twin and childhood friend, there’s still a small, annoying part of him (the one that feels obligated to give old people his seat in the bus and reminds him not to insult possible benefactors, even though they’re dumb as a pile of bricks) that won’t let him close the door in their face.

It is tempting, though. Especially today: the setting sun is drowning his living room in warmth and he’d been halfway to a nap already. He was so comfortable that the idea of ruining his peaceful afternoon with a discussion with his brother is about the last thing he could ever want.

Illidan puts his hand on the doorknob, opening his mouth to tell Malfurion to quit it with the knocking, when he realizes: he’s not quite alone, is he? It’s Saturday, so Kael’thas showed up in the morning with pastries and a pile of research magazines, as per usual, and they’ve been laying around for the better part of the day. His friend has been pretending he’s not napping on his couch for maybe an hour, too sleep deprived to pay attention to whatever magical theory caught his attention. Illidan is so used to having him in his home he completely forgot about him.

Well, they’ve known each others for years. It’s about time he got the full Malfurion experience. Misery loves company and all’s that.

Illidan opens the door and ushers the two inside with barely a roll of his eyes at their stilted hellos. Why they even bother coming by as often as they do it a mystery to him.

He can’t stop them: that doesn’t mean he can’t complain about it.

He leads them to the living room: his flat is too small for them to sit comfortably far away from each others in any other room. He’s faintly relieved to see Kael’thas mostly awake, flipping through the same Arcanic Arts & Studies issues he’s been staring at for an hour. He’s taking as much space as physically possible on the couch, his head propped against the armrest and his bare feet crossed over the other — he’s small but he’s like a cat, stretching as far as possible to get comfortable. It’s hard to tell when you don’t know him but to Illidan, who’s been working with him for years, it’s obvious he only just woke up. His hair is slightly less than perfect, a few strands sticking out of place and falling over his face; he’s not paying any attention to what he’s reading; also, he was sprawled face-down in a pile of cushion barely five minutes ago, which is a pretty big indicator.

Kael’thas looks up at their arrival and quirks an elegant eyebrow at the newcomers, conveying in that simple gesture how little he’s impressed by them. His gaze shifts to Illidan and softens into familiar amusement, and a small quirk of his lips tells Illidan he’d be rolling his eyes if it wasn’t unbecoming. It’s reassuring to know Kael’thas will always be in his corner, even when he’s just waking up and has no idea what’s going on.

Still, because Illidan might be a good friend somewhere deep inside, he decides not to push as far as letting Malfurion and his wife sit next to Kael’thas. It’d be awkward for everyone involved: Kael’thas is extremely territorial and this is his couch, and sometimes Illidan’s as well: he might just claw Malfurion’s eyes out if the man tried to sit on it. Would it be amusing to watch? Yes. But also messy and difficult to explain to a judge. So Illidan makes a beeline toward him, lightly taps Kael’thas’s shoulder to tell him to scoot over, and flops down on the couch. Kael’thas immediately goes back to his initial position, legs thrown over Illidan’s, and he shakes his head with a small sigh but doesn’t complain.

Tyrande sends them a dubious look as she sits primly on Illidan’s armchair. He wonders if he’ll have to clean it from her almost-tangible disgust afterward. Malfurion is left without a seat — he takes one look at the floor, covered in a soft, bright red carpet and half an inch thick of loose paper and choose to stand instead. Smart man.

Those are Kael’thas’s papers. He brings them every Saturday and, each time, fails to grade them like he intended to. The future of almost fifty students depends on the grade he’ll give them and he’s been putting it off for long enough that Illidan is close to giving in and helping, which has of course been Kael’thas’s goal since the start. Illidan is a magical genius and a very busy researcher, and his best friend uses him like a TA or, at best, a personal assistant. Asshole.

Malfurion clears his throat.

“So,” He says awkwardly, and looks around. “You’ve been, huh— fine?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” More awkwardness, and then, gesturing toward Kael’thas and suddenly looking like the Moon herself sent him a miracle in the form of a convenient topic of discussion, “I don’t think we’re acquainted. Do you mind introducing us?”

It’s not, in essence, an actual question. It’s more of a demand, really. Illidan does mind, thank you very much, but he still nods tiredly. “Malfurion, Tyrande, this is Kael’thas— Kael, those are Malfurion and Tyrande. I talked about them before, I think.”

He did, at great length, mainly to complain about them and this exact kind of situation. Kael’thas nods and smiles like Illidan has never said anything remotely mean about the two.

“Yes, you did! And I’ve heard about you, Malfurion. You’re a druid, if I remember correctly? Fascinating field of study.”

“You’re studying druidism?” He sounds genuinely excited at the idea, the poor thing. He has no idea what mess he’s getting into.

By the Moon, Illidan thinks, Not that again. Malfurion is worst than an evangelist when it comes to druidism.

“Oh, no, absolutely not, far from it in fact,” Kael’thas chuckles. He waves off the very concept of him studying druidism (a rather weird idea, if Illidan thinks about it) like it’s not worth considering. “I’m very much a mage and I fear any other kind of magic will have to stay in the realm of theory for me.”

“Ah.” Malfurion snorts derisively. “I should have guessed.”

That was not a smart thing to say. Kael’thas is very proud of what he does.“Why, pray tell?”

“Well, you’re kind of the stereotypical mage, right? Frail, Obviously dabbling in Fel magic,” And he makes a sweeping gesture toward the mess of the living room,”Clearly more into the theory than the hands-on experience…”

Kael’thas rolls his eyes so hard Illidan is afraid they might stick like that. They’re very pretty eyes, despite — maybe because — their odd coloring. In this Malfurion is right: it is a sign of Fel magic. Illidan himself is beginning to show some effect from his handling of demonic artefacts, and Kael’thas has been helping him in his research — his eyes are even brighter nowadays than they were when they started working together. They’ve yet to go back to the poison-green hue they had in college, when Kael’thas first tried Fel energy.

(Those were bad days.)

“And you are clearly a druid, if I may say so.” Kael’thas tilts his head and starts counting on his fingers. “Tactless, with a superiority complex and no understanding of the basis of other schools of magic.”

Malfurion sputters in indignation. “What would you know about druidism?”

“Please,” Kael’thas sighs. “I’m an Academy teacher. I probably know more than you do about the theory of it, although I was never interested enough to try it myself.”

“Blood elves don’t have the magic for it, anyway,” Malfurion dismisses with what might just be a sneer. Illidan does it better.

“Excuse me? Those theories have been proved wrong decades ago—”

“Boys,” Tyrande cuts in, a patient smile on her lips that Illidan recognizes as her ‘Malfurion is obviously right but I must pretend to be impartial For Elune’ smile. He’s been on the receiving end of it countless times before.

But Kael’thas is on a roll, and not about to be stopped by anyone and especially not her of all people. “I’m sorry, Tyrande was it?” He looks contrite, but Illidan can hear the start of a game in the lightness of his voice. He almost smiles in anticipation. “I’m not sure who you are. I mean, Illidan mentioned your name, but—”

Kael’thas, being Illidan’s best friend and drinking buddy, knows exactly who Tyrande is. He laughed a great deal about Illidan’s past crush and present aggravation, by the way.

She looks annoyed, but like she’s being kind about it. “Oh, I guess he wouldn’t have told you— Illidan can be quite secretive with acquaintances, right?” She smiles. “I’m his childhood friend— and crush.” She chuckles like it’s the best joke she ever told. “I know, right?

The lack of subtlety is a hundred times more painful than the jab itself. Kael’thas shrugs it off without the smallest hint of effort. “Oh, I wouldn’t really call us acquaintances.”

Malfurion takes the opportunity to jump back in the discussion. “How would you describe your relationship, then?”

What is this, the Inquisition?

“I’m sorry?” Kael’thas looks— physically hurt by Malfurion’s bluntness. It would be funny if Illidan hadn’t just cringed so hard he pulled a muscle.

“I mean, what kind of relationship do you have with my brother?”

And Illidan— Illidan is tired. Annoyed, because they have no right to barge into his life like that, but mostly tired of it. So he glances at Kael’thas, the gold ring he wears on a chain around his neck (it’s full to the brim with magic, barrier spells just a word away, a little wonder of enchantment) and the one around Illidan’s (a similar object but geared more toward healing spells: it’s used almost daily, because his job requires him to deal with a lot of dangerous, volatile magic) and he speaks before he can think.

“The married kind, Mal.”

Silence falls. Kael’thas looks at him without any outright emotion, calmly assessing the situation, and doesn’t say anything. Tyrande stares. Malfurion— says the first thing that comes through his mind, probably.

“You didn’t invite us to the wedding.”

Illidan gestures at the gold band around his ring finger. “Neither did you.”

“We didn’t think you’d come, considering your feelings for Tyrande—”

“Malfurion, please.” Illidan shakes his head. “You’ve been dating for years and I haven’t felt anything but irritation for you two since I left for college. I would have liked the opportunity to laugh in your face when I said no, at least.”

“And we eloped, anyway” Kael’thas adds with a big smile.

“Yup. Got drunk, drove across the continent, got married by a gnome dressed as a blood elf in Dalaran, ate cake and made out all night long.”

Kael’thas sighs wistfully. “Good times.”

The visit is cut short after that. The two unwanted guests leave with cold ‘goodbyes’ and Illidan slams the door shuts as soon as they’re off the welcome mat. He puts on the three locks and, when he’s sure they’re not coming back without a fight, shuffles back to the living room and falls in his armchair. He wrinkles his nose: it smells like Tyrande perfume. Ugh.

At least they’re gone, now, and shouldn’t be back for— hm, with luck, a month, maybe.

“Your brother is a bit of a dick,” Kael’thas says conversationally.

“You don’t say.” Illidan looks up and meet his eyes. Kael’thas has that look, the one he gets when he’s put in front of an interesting magical problem and is dissecting it in his head. “Thank you for the help, by the way. I’m sorry for making my brother believe we got married in Dalaran by a Sig Nicious impersonator.”

“It’s alright,” Kael’thas says, and reaches out to pat his knee. “It’s not like I care what your brother thinks of me.”

Illidan chuckles. “I saw that, yeah.”

A moment passes, Kael’thas having finally settled on an article and Illidan gone back to the one he was reading Malfurion and Tyrande came.

“Although, if you want to make it up to me—” Illidan makes a derisive noise. Kael’thas ignores him. “You can always buy me dinner.”

“Will take-out from the Dragon’s Den suffice?”

“As long as you’re paying.”

They always eat together on Saturdays (it’s a good excuse to give their colleagues when they’re not feeling like going out and getting drunk, which is basically all the time) and Illidan ends up paying almost as often. He has a minor in Politics and arguing with the heir of the Sunstrider family is still too much of a challenge.

“Yeah, alright.”

When Illidan was younger, the idea of routine disgusted him. It seemed boring and predictable, everything he didn’t want his life to be. Now he’s just happy to have regularly-scheduled breaks, considering they are the only things standing between him and first-degree murder charges.

So Illidan’s life is full of little rituals. On Mondays he buy coffee for all his subordinates (good minions are hard to find and he’s learned supplying them with caffeine is the quickest way to get their absolute loyalty), Tuesday is Bribe Day in the institute and Cookie Day in his department (and if those who bring him the good ones, the ones with caramel chunks, gets a slightly better treatment this week, well, no one can prove the connection), and so on and so forth. It’s reassuring to know some things will always happen, even when it’s things like the explosion of unstable Fel enchantments and the mysterious disappearance of every sharp object on Thursdays because it’s when he has to go and talk to whoever is handling their budget and it’s stressful, alright. It would make anyone consider homicide.

Wednesdays are slightly different. It’s the only day in the week when he gets out of the Fel Researches building and let his subordinates slack off for a few hours while he drives to the Kirin Tor Academy. It’s also the only day in the week when Kael’thas gets out of his classroom for more than the ten-minutes trip to the coffee machine and back, because Illidan comes to drag him out for lunch and a well-deserved break for both of them.

Their fields of study are close enough that they often have to work together, but there’s nothing like eating something terribly greasy and trash-talking students and council members together.

“I swear I spend more time arguing with Rommath than teaching nowadays.” Kael’thas stabs his chopsticks at Illidan for emphasis, “Can you believe he dropped off all his work on my desk because he had a date night?”

Illidan carefully doesn’t mention that Kael’thas has been pretending to forget his papers at Illidan’s house in the hope they’d be graded when he got them back for years, mostly because he doesn’t want to admit out loud that he has been doing Kael’thas’ work for him all this time. It’s one thing to do it and another to say out loud what they both already know. He lets Kael’thas vent, rests his head on his hand and watches him wave his hands around.

If asked, he could probably make an educated guess at what Kael’thas is saying, but the truth is that he’s stopped listening a while ago. His mind is somewhere else, distracted by thoughts of Malfurion and Tyrande’s visit the previous week-end. He can’t stop thinking about the way they reacted when he told them he got married without them knowing it. It was hilarious, and yet something in it nags at him. Something about the look he exchanged with Kael’thas behind their back, the way his eyes kept drifting to the ring around his friend’s neck, thoughts what if circling in his head.

And even as he thinks about all this, his eyes can’t quite get off Kael’thas, his eyes that glint like jewel in his excitation and his golden hair and every little detail Illidan somehow keeps rediscovering after years of friendship. The sight is so familiar yet it stirs up unknown feeling in him, a kind of warm anticipation, like butterflies in his stomach.

Kael’thas excuses himself to go to the toilet and Illidan takes advantage of his absence to hit his head on the table with a groan.

Of course he had to choose now to develop a crush on his best friend. When has his life ever been easy, after all?

[toonstarterz]

BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #147

In today’s chapter, Watamote goes back to its roots as we find Tomoko hankering for some alone time. But you’d be wrong if you think it’s going to be that simple. Because underneath all the nostalgia moments lies what may just be the most crucial development that Tomoko has ever undertaken, and it’s the type of growth that could’ve only been realized by taking a quick trip down memory lane.

Chapter 147: Because I’m Not Popular, I’ll Wander Around Alone

Oh hey, it’s that one male teacher who’s made periodic appearances throughout the series. Thank you for being there during Tomoko’s character establishing moment.

So Wada is pretty good at English, huh? So not only do they both like manga, but Tomoko and Wada are also knowledgeable in the same subject. How nice.

Better break out the pitchforks.

A common social “rule” in Japan is the emphasis on being able to read the room and reciprocating that atmosphere, or at the very least, not rock the boat. Tomoko has never really supported or condemned that notion, though unlike Yuri, is more likely to go with the flow. As someone who lives in a culture that discourages group mentality, it’s nice to see a character like Tomoko benefit from it. 

Cliques? What high school cliques? All I see is a group of distinctly unique girls organically enjoying each other’s company. 

This first-person POV shot looks straight out of a harem manga, only more authentic and devoid of cattiness.

Let it be known that in this moment, Tomoko actually does break the mood. For the first time in as long as I can remember, Tomoko finds herself in a social situation with little risk, but actively breaks away from it in favor of alone time. 

With that, the seed of Tomoko’s greatest epiphany has sprouted.

Not in the mood to binge through twenty volumes this time, huh?

Boy does this take me back...

Compared to Tomoko’s first solo trip to Not-McDonald’s, it’s amazing to see the way she’s changed alongside the ways she hasn’t. Her anxiety is 95% gone, with the remaining 5% accounting for general uncertainty, hence the very brief stuttering. Embrace that 5% Tomoko–that’s all you.

Introvert Problems #051: Activities that are individual in nature double as recharging opportunities, but can come off as unfriendly if openly pursued.

Okay honestly, this is the type of growth I’ve been low-key hoping for since the very start of the series. Tomoko has finally realized that a desire to be alone is not something she needed to fix, but to accept. For the longest time, she didn’t realize a large part of her alone time was because she craved it. It brought her comfort, even if she didn’t want to believe it. And it took having a considerable amount of friends (whose companionship was definitely necessary) for her to understand that she didn’t want to get rid of being alone.

She wanted to get rid of being lonely.

Professional slacking. Otherwise known as, putting in the bare minimum effort to avoid future hardships.

Nom.

I’m sure there are various theories for both perspectives, but I think the main takeaway is that food tastes the best when you’re in your comfort zone. Whether that includes company for not is based on your personal preference.

Indeed, it is. This is none other than the class representative of Tomoko’s second year, Girl-With-Awesome-Hair. Naturally, taking up two whole panels is a clear sign that this isn’t the last we’ll see of her.

Ah, yes, the classic “normies suck” self-fulfilling prophecy–other people are jerks, and that’s why I’m alone. Tomoko was guilty of having this perspective, but she didn’t really recognize it until the first cafeteria chapter with Nemo. That was the point she realized that all those “popular” people are genuinely nice people. It was jarring at first, but once Tomoko got used to people being nice to her, she stopped perceiving that kindness as some kind of exception, and just took it as normal behavior. While alluding to the possibility of getting shit-talked behind her back is more of her realism at work, it thankfully doesn’t fall too deep into self-destructive cynicism.

Could it be that Tomoko’s recent friendships are subconsciously making her pursue more public activities even on her loner vacation? You better believe it.  

Tomoko’s become quite financially savvy lately, don’t ‘cha think? It certainly beats spending $150 on a whim for a Vocaloid.

I cannot think of any other nickname that suits her better.

For a girl with the single most stylized face in the series, her entrance in this chapter sure makes an impact with the way she strikes such an alluring pose. Of course, that’s the joke, ain’t it? 

It would seem that we’re getting a “doesn’t-care-what-anybody-else-thinks”-type of character for her. Well, she’s a competitive gamer as we soon learn, so not giving a shit about her social status is kind of a prerequisite.

I honestly did a double-take at this, as it’s the first time Tomoko has addressed Yoshida in her mind by her real name instead of “the delinquent”. We’re just a hair’s length away from reaching official “friend” status with these two.

Aw, that’s adorable. Tomoko actually sort of cares about Yoshida’s financial wellbeing. I’ve also noticed a bit of a trend with Tomoko in that she gets “terrified” of her friends breaking her expectations of them, even if they’re not doing anything that terrifying. In Yoshida’s case, I think that’s partly because Tomoko has a bit of a superiority complex that would get broken if Yoshida was a better person than she likes to believe.

Tomoko’s nicknaming game is on point today.

It was hinted before that Futaki may be popular with the boys what with being a “gamer girl” and all. While it’s still a little too early to confirm or deny that, the fact that most of the onlookers here are guys has to count for something.

I remember when fans gave her the name “Potential-san”. Given where this chapter is headed, I think that name fits even more with Futaki’s blooming characterization.

It’s amazing how much of their personalities you can see in this single panel. Yoshida is all easygoing, grasping her drink from the top all aloof-like. Reina is the toughest, taking a quietly aggressive stance with her elbows on the table like a boss. And Anna is the most inviting, smiling with a crêpe in her hand to signify her (relative) sweetness.

I find it fascinating that Anna can say some pretty rude things that borderline on mean, but it never really comes off as malicious (or is it just me?). She gives off that vibe of someone who mercilessly teases people in a way that’s “all in good fun”, and I hope to see more of that side to her.

First off, Tomoko being a full table’s length away from the scary delinquents is gold.

Second and not to beat a dead horse, Anna’s a cool chick. 

I think I’m gonna need to call upon the Council of WataMote Fans with Too Much Time On Our Hands for this. Why exactly is that name so unusual?

Of course, Anna wouldn’t be part of the delinquent squad if she didn’t shit-talk every now and then. But as I said before, she has this style of going about it that feels more like brash innocence than deliberate antagonism. Maybe it’s the heroin eyes...

Other than that, she does imply that she’s the smartest of her group, though whether that perception is actually reflective of herself isn’t certain yet.   

More of Tomoko’s superiority complex at work here. All she really knows about Futaki is that she plays games, and is assumedly a slacker. That fact that she still managed to outscore her must’ve been quite the blow to Tomoko’s insecurity. The only thing “worse” is if even Yoshida managed to rank higher than her.

I love dialogue gags like this, though usually the characters’ inner words are in parenthesizes in-between their actual spoken words. If Tomoko actually lowered her voice at the word “lower”, that’d be humorously sad. 

It got “worse”.

Because a superiority complex actually requires a deep-seated sense of inferiority, Tomoko must be hella blown back right now. Grades were one of the only things she could feasibly claim dominance over, but now that she’s about to be usurped by the supposedly dumb delinquents, she only has her otaku interests to fall back on, which...isn’t always something to brag about.

Also, I especially like how Tomoko has started to compare delinquents to the yakuza. You know both would beat the tar out of her if they heard her compare them to the other. 

You know, it makes perfect sense that Tomoko would be a top scorer in Japanese, English, and History. Since she’s such an avid reader (even if it is only manga and light novels), all that extra literature has most certainly been indirect study material, even if the actual course material isn’t nearly as lewd.

Additionally, slackerism loves company.

Yeah, if it wasn’t already abundantly clear than Reina is the delinquent among delinquents...

...she is.

Rekt to infinity.

But you know, this is actually an ingenious way to develop a gag character like Futaki. Her apparent gaming skills have always been played like a joke, but by having it be her long-term goal, it restructures that “quirk” of hers into a fleshed out personality. It doesn’t invalidate anything we’ve already seen from Futaki, and it neatly sets up a direction for her character to take.

I imagine Tomoko must feel pretty betrayed right now. She herself entertained the idea of being a gamer, but discarded that dream likely because it wouldn’t be a “proper” job. Now that she sees this girl she hardly knows who apparently has the luxury of making that dream a reality, Tomoko’s envy levels just skyrocketed. Sure, Futaki has no loyalty to Tomoko, so that sense of betrayal has no basis, but like how Akari felt about “angelic” Komiyama in chapter 108...

“...this just isn’t fair!”

I’m getting a Crazy Rich Asians vibe from this girl.

So Reina’s the competitive type, huh? I can dig it. It generally fits with the whole “eyes-must-not-be-seen” aesthetic, but it also explains why she and Yoshida have that “vitriolic best buds” relationship going on. I’d imagine that Reina’s the type to bet high stakes if she can get away with it...

Just ice cream? Eh, no big loss. Unless it’s chocolate chip mint, then it’s a very big loss.

I wouldn’t exactly have these rankings as indicators of their skill level, since mahjong does involves a bit of luck and certainly reading your opponents. While it’s surprising that Futaki ended up in last place, I think it does help to nerf her power level somewhat. Shiro from No Game No Life she is not.

Careful, Futaki. That’s no excuse when you’re looking to be a professional gamer.

I must say, having Futaki unofficially join the delinquent crew is the last thing I would’ve expected, but it’s a delightful surprise nonetheless. They have some pretty good chemistry what them all being slackers/gamers. Plus, Futaki’s strange, but odd cuteness adds a dynamic that the delinquents were lacking until now.

Delinquents may be delinquents, but they always know how to have a good time.

Ho ho! So Nemo has officially been indoctrinated into their group? That poor, poor girl.

Council! I require your guidance! Is Haruna the last name for Anna? Or did Tomoko just get her name wrong! I must solve this conundrum at all costs!

If you try to tell me that Yoshida isn’t absolutely gorgeous in this shot, then you’re a big, fat liar. 

Looking back on this chapter, Yoshida didn’t actually have many notable lines until this moment. But this single bit of dialogue greatly makes up for it. This is the very first time that Yoshida has personally offered to hang out with Tomoko without any sort of coercion or reluctance. It’s the most damning evidence we now have that says Yoshida now openly views Tomoko as her friend. As a long-time reader, I couldn’t feel any more proud. 

In comic book terms, we call this The Negative Space of Melancholy.

And really, wasn’t that the “goal” of this series all along? Making friends wasn’t the real endgame. If it were, it very well could’ve betrayed what makes the series so special, hence why Tomoko’s growth was so agonizingly slow. Tomoko is, was, and always will be a loner. It was just a matter of time before she could make the most out of that status. 

It wouldn’t be a chapter about Tomoko’s growth if she didn’t wax lyrical about her current situation.

Even if self-satisfaction about being a loner is the “goal” of this series, reality is hardly so linear. As this chapter shows, Tomoko finds herself inexplicably drawn to social situations even when trying to avoid them. Not intentionally, but out of a natural, subconscious attraction to them. Tomoko’s life is a series of circular ebbs and flows. She’ll gain something at the cost of losing something else, only to regain a variation of what was lost once what was gained becomes stagnant. Such is it the path to making connections. While the hoops in Tomoko’s development appear drastic close-up, her life is a slow, naturalistic mountain climb when viewed from on top.