#seriously please teach five how to appropriately person

[thewhynotpod]

Welcome to Why Not?!, Episode 7: “Borealis; or The Twins”! Spotify

Apple

As you may have guessed by the title, this is the one we’ve been talking about, where we “chat” about Aurora and Northstar and…a lot of what’s been going on there.

So! We called in some backup and are joined by Sara Netzley! Sara is a professor of communication by day and a romance author and freelance entertainment writer by night. Her first exposure to comic books were the X-Men posters on her brother Chris' (this is how we were able to get her) walls in the '90s, but since then she's read a bunch and watched a whole lot more. Sara teaches classes on journalism, fake news, conspiracy theories, and representation in the media, and she definitely has an opinion about your favorite TV show. You can find her on all the socials under Sara Netzley (Instagram and Threads), and she publishes her rom-coms as Sara Whitney (Instagram and website).

Having competent folks on this early in our existence is…gratifying? Neat? Sure? But, seriously folks, we have A LOT of fun.

In this episode, Chris:

almost pulls a Jean Reno (listen to the outtake)

makes fantastic points re: how we understand characters and stories and how reading the things we love at different points in your life can really peel back some layers

has a great time interacting with his older sister (like, folks!, it’s really quite sweet)

Sara:

wonders why she agreed to come on here

gives a crash course in media theory, specifically re: queer representation

brings up the appropriate amount of information vis-a-vis slash fiction (Tom here: I never thought I’d write such a phrase but here we are)

Tom:

does his favorite thing: a lot of accent work

engages in some unfortunate internet research

also wonders why Sara came on here

really wants a livestream of Thanksgiving at the Baker household this year

Issues covered:

Alpha Flight #7 - The Importance of Being Deadly - cover date February 1984

Written and drawn by John Byrne

Colored by Andy Yanchus

Lettered by Michael Higgins

Edited by Denny O’Neil and Jim Shooter

Alpha Flight #8 - Cold Hands, Cold Heart - cover date March 1984

same creative team as #7

Alpha Flight #9 - A Stranger In My Mirror (specifically the backup story) - cover date April 1984

same creative team as #8

Alpha Flight Issue #10 - Family Ties (specifically the backup story) - cover date May 1984

same creative team as #9

We jump around a fair bit in this one as we pull from 4 different issues to build this tapestry of Aurora and Northstar. We get into queer coding, possibly some incest coding, and address the use of Aurora/Jean-Marie’s split personality. So there’s a lot we address but damn if we don’t keep it as light as possible!

As indicated in the bullet points above, we’ve started to include some outtakes! So please listen to the end for a peak behind the curtain.

We’ve had a lot of fun making this and we really do hope you enjoy it, too. And even if you don’t, a great rating and review costs you nothing. Literally nothing. Not even five seconds, right? Less time than it takes Guardian to cross Canada. (Still can’t believe they did the math that…wrong.)

Check us out at The Why Not Pod to see the full art clips for this episode and leave us a comment; we love to (try to) answer your questions about Alpha Flight!

Special thanks to the Excelsior Embroidery Co. for helping make this project a reality.  Here's this episode's Featured Design: the Sasquatch face patch! You can see this and more at the GeekCraft Expo in St. Louis on July 27 and 28. Mention the podcast and Chris will have something nice for you.

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[gulfportofficial]

Tony is Rude About America Again

About to whack a hornet's nest here, but living in Wyoming, there is this particular (mostly white) phenomenon of mythologizing oneself as a hard worker, a self-made cowboy conquering the frontier with grit and sticktoitivness. And of doing this while half-assing your job so badly nothing ever gets done, and in fact people will confidently assert completely wrong policy at you and shame you for questioning it, because they simply cannot be bothered to ask someone or look it up. You will find out they did this next time you call, at which point the new person will act as if you're stupid for believing what the last employee told you in full confidence.

And this is not me having a go at low-wage workers. I actually observe it a lot less in low-wage workers. This is EVERYONE. And I also normally wouldn't care because I firmly support half-assing at work - boss gets a dollar, you get a dime. You shouldn't do a lick more than you're paid for.

That's if you're not seriously inconveniencing anyone over it. I kind of actually need my prescriptions to be filled and to be notified correctly about them having been filled, and to have certain blood tests in time for the USCIS to receive them, and to be called when something is ready in general instead of having to call every morning to be informed that it is ready, going there, and finding that it isn't. I kind of need to know in advance how much something is going to cost so I can make sure I have the right money, so would you please simply check for me, please. So I do notice, and I also notice that it has this VIBE, this vibe that, specifically, a given Wyomingite WOULD be a really hard worker, IF, for example, the job happened to be worthy of their interest and time, which it currently isn't. Obviously such a special person as the average White Wyoman deserves the best of jobs. And they'll have that job, that job where they are appropriately engaged and respected, just as soon as President Trump is restored to the throne and righteously kicks all the immigrants out. It's palpable. You can feel it. So here's where the hornets' nest is: I have trouble differentiating this attitude from the attitude of soft lil liberal or left-leaning folks who can't possibly be informed about culture or history or world events because the US school system didn't teach them. Who are bullied by the ableism of colleges expecting them to complete their assignments. Who make their own confident and completely incorrect pronouncements because they cannot be bothered looking anything up or waiting until they know more. They'll have their jobs that are worthy of them too, under luxury automated space communism or whatever it is. I don't know, the whole thing is just extremely fucking American, in this slack-ass entitlement way, and I am just thinking nonstop about that whole "temporarily embarrassed millionaires" thing. Which I thought was part of a quote from Steinbeck, but it's actually a paraphrase of him from author Ronald Wright. Which I learned because I googled the quote to check before I posted it and it took like five seconds.

[in-tua-deep]

TUA Headcanons

Some random headcanons i have for after they fix everything and are just living together after the apocalypse and recovering and being their best selves because I love them and okay they’re mainly five centric but you don’t have all the facts,,,, i love him,,

Five ends up being like,, professional penpals with a bunch of physicists/mathematicians online because honestly Five basically had to make his own branch of time travel maths during his time in the apocalypse he was working blind for most of it, so he’s SMART and he gets to channel his passion for numbers into running circles around professionals

He’s probably actually offered a job at some point but ends up being like,,, i cannot reveal my identify,,,, i can do consults only because honestly how is he supposed to explain that he is a) probably legally a minor if he bothered to actually legalize his existence because people are going to look at ‘time traveled at 13′ and ‘here now and looks 13′ and make an assumption and b) also,, doesn’t have a formal education. He was 13 he doesn’t have a highschool diploma, never went to college like damn

Five doesn’t know how to Person very well so he’s trying to learn by observation and looking at the only people-people who are around him, which are his siblings, so he picks up some of their habits

Klaus is the first one to pick up on this when Five gives him what is absolutely a Diego Scowl when Klaus says something dumb. Klaus had a mini panic with Ben about the fact that Five was alone for a really fucking long time and then when Five is safely tucked away elsewhere he calls a family meeting

The family meeting is literally just telling the others that Five is looking to them for examples of socially acceptable behavior and they need to keep that the fuck in mind damn, and if Five is mirroring then they’re going to use this to help him the fuck out

This is a long winded way to say that Klaus heads the cuddle brigade and basically says that if Five is looking to them for social modelling then they need to demonstrate platonic and safe touches with each other to normalize it and encourage Five to be more okay receiving/accepting touch bc i yelled about his touch starvation/aversion combo before in another post

okay though but actually modelling emotions by getting in the habit of saying “i feel ____ because ____ so i’m going to _____” is super helpful to kids because you’re giving them ways to describe their own emotions and deal with them, and i’m 100% sure that no one gave these kids healthy coping mechanism or modeled healthy social behaviors in their LIVES (example: i’m kind of irritable because I’m frustrated that I can’t seem to write this scene that I’m working on in a way that accurately reflects the way it’s going in my brain, so i’m going to take a step back and take a break - maybe grab myself some food and water or take a nap or a relaxing bath, etc.)

Diego spearheads a lot of park visits because he’s on a one man mission to take Grace out and about as often as possible since Reginald is dead and it combines his two favorite things: spending time with his mother and spitting on Reginald’s memory, so they have more picnics than they’ve ever had in their lives but everyone ends up enjoying it

Luther learns ways to make him feel a little better about his body. Maybe he shaves or waxes - it’s not like the hair grows back instantly and he can roll up his sleeves if he wants. Or he gets a tattoo or something, claiming the body at least somewhat as his own. He tries

Luther still has all his old shirts and clothes around from before The Incident even though he can’t wear them anymore. However, this supply is quickly dwindling because literally every other person in the house steals them. They’re too big on everyone because Luther wasn’t exactly a small dude even before Reginald’s weird serum, and the squad tend to use them as pajamas. Like they have literally had a movie night in pjs where everyone was wearing Luther’s old shirts with varying degrees of bigness (Five likes to tuck up his legs inside the shirt and sit like it’s a blanket or tent)

Allison bought a whole load of parenting books and child psychology books and is frequently seen reading them and making notes around the house when she has some free time. Ostentatiously this is only about getting Claire back and to supplement her therapy alongside the parenting classes she’s taking to show good faith to the courts. On the down low though, there are also books about child abuse and isolation in there because Allison also wants to help her entire family

Vanya is still teaching and in the orchestra and having more of a good time now that she can actually, you know, feel strong emotions again. She has a student one day who she didn’t get a name for except when she opens the door it’s Five looking nervous because he wants to spend time and actually show an interest in her passions and figures it can eventually be something they can do together,,, or something

he’s so bad at first guys. like he’s So Bad. But not the worst Vanya has ever taught, and Five is smart and pretty good at picking things up quickly but he’s still at a very very beginner level for a long time (Vanya gets him his own violin so that they can eventually do duets together it’s cute I promise)

I don’t know i just like thinking about these guys after everything has happened when they need to find purpose for themselves and figure out how to live again, because let’s be real none of them were really living tbh

[sincerelyasomebody]

Mama || Leticia "Letty" Cruz

(GIF: @angels-reyes)

A/N: This was created because I've seen some speculation that Letty may not make it to the end of Season 3 (😭🥺). My mind needed something fluffy to combat this and so this piece came about. Apologises for grammatical errors and please let me know if the Spanish translation needs correcting.

Characters/Pairing(s): Letty x Reader (mother-daughter relationship) ▪︎ Coco x Reader (mention) ☆ Mayans MC (brief mention) ▪︎ OCs (receptionist, mother and son duo) 

Summary: Just a mother protecting her daughter. 

Warnings: brief mention of altercation (male and female), description of injuries, fluff, language, nicknames, painkillers (reference to injury) 

Word Count: 1755

- ♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ -

(Y/N) couldn't believe how busy the roads leading to the local high school were. It was a Wednesday, a little after ten and the streets were just packed with cars. She thought it was ridiculous considering people were usually at their jobs and children were in their age appropriate schools. There was no reason for people to be out and about. 

"The light's been green for five seconds!" she yelled and honked her horn, "move!" The driver in front gave her the finger before taking off, "you're so fucking lucky I've got somewhere to be, asshole!" she called out as she drove in the opposite direction. 

When her phone rang during her break, the last person (Y/N) expected to hear from was the receptionist for Santo Padre High School. According to the woman, Leticia (Letty as she was mostly referred to) had been in an altercation with another student and her parents or caregivers were requested to come and meet with the principal. Rachel, the receptionist, mentioned trying to reach her father but going straight to voicemail. With (Y/N) being listed as an emergency contact she was called. 

(Y/N) immediately asked about Letty, but was told that specific details couldn't be discussed over the phone. She found that odd, but accepted it (for the time being) and informed Rachel that she would be there as quickly as she could. After hanging up, she grabbed her belongings and told her manager she had a family emergency to attend to. She was cleared and (Y/N) informed him that she would be taking a week off as well and would keep them updated on her situation. 

From the moment she received the call to the time she pulled up in front of the high school, her thoughts revolved around Letty. Being with Coco for several years allowed (Y/N) to gain some insight to the type of life he had been subjected to. Through a lot of tears, constant reassurance and love (Y/N) was able to break through his tough exterior and get him to believe she was in it for the long haul. When (Y/N) was told by him about his daughter being in a similar environment to what he was in growing up, she demanded him to bring her home.

The second she laid eyes on Letty she saw Coco's features and personality shine through. (Y/N) didn't expect the teenager to respect or trust her right off the bat, but she made sure to let her know that she was here if she needed someone to talk to and gave her space. With every door slam, harsh comment and glare sent her way, (Y/N) continued being herself and showed Letty she wasn't a threat. It was challenging, especially when Coco left on runs, but she pushed through. Eventually the teenager began to accept her father's girlfriend without second guessing her. 

(Y/N) stepped into the main office and found a woman standing beside a teenage boy, who held some paper towels to his nose and had a couple of scratches on his face. She moved closer and realised the pair were towering over Letty who sat in the corner and was looking down at her lap. Clenching her jaw, she strode over to the trio. 

"Get the fuck away from my daughter!" she glared at the duo and turned around to Letty, who was now standing, "mi niña, are you okay?" she kissed her forehead and cupped her cheeks, "Leticia?" 

The teenager nodded, "uh… y-yeah, I'm fine," she went to move (Y/N)'s hands but winced, "completely fine." 

(Y/N)'s eyes widened at the state of Letty's hands. They were most likely bruised and what shocked her even more was that there was no ice-pack beside her seat. The boy clearly had been given assistance, but her baby girl hadn't and that pissed her off.

"Rachel!" she called out and a woman appeared around the corner, "you're the one who called me right?" 

"Yes." 

"And, you said you couldn't go over specific details of what happened over the phone?" 

"That's correct." 

(Y/N) nodded and gestured towards Letty's hands, "well I'm here now and would like an explanation on why my daughter hasn't been treated and that young man has?" When the mother tried to give a reason, she raised a hand in her face, "this doesn't concern you, this conversation is between Rachel and I." 

Rachel gulped and could feel the anger radiating off of (Y/N), "well… uh, he was bleeding and –"

"Were there other staff members present?" she asked and when she was given a nod, she continued, "why couldn't they have provided medical assistance to my daughter?" 

"She… didn't tell us she was hurt, ma'am, she said she was fine so –"

"Bitch do her hands look fine to you?" 

The mother scoffed, "at least we know where your daughter gets her attitude from." 

(Y/N) turned to her, "shut up, nobody asked for your ass to speak," she gestured towards her son, "the reason your son's looking like a fucked up tomato is completely justified I can vouch for that." 

"Are you kidding me?" She shrieked and pointed to his face, "he's most likely got a broken nose and there's scratches on his face!"

"Exactly, be glad my daughter didn't have a screwdriver on her." (Y/N) replied and almost laughed at the disbelief on the woman's face, "your son deserved every scratch, bruise and possible broken bone."

"Excuse me!?" 

(Y/N) ignored her and turned back around to face Rachel, "Letty and I will be leaving now."

"Mrs Fraser hasn't seen –" 

"My main concern right now is my daughter's well-being," she told her, "and you've got my details on file so I'm sure Mrs Fraser can contact me at a later date." 

Rachel spoke again, "please if you'd just –"

"No." 

(Y/N) picked up Letty's bag and walked over to the desk, with Letty trailing behind her. She quickly signed out on the tablet and the pair walked out of the building. Reaching her car, (Y/N) unlocked it and helped Letty into the passenger seat. Closing her door, she rushed to the driver's side and got in. 

She helped Letty buckle up, before buckling herself in, "everything okay, sweets?" 

"Yeah… uh, thanks." was the response she received, before she started up the car and pulled out of the school parking lot while explaining where they were off to next. 

-- ♡ -- ◇ -- 

"He's always talking shit," Letty explained to (Y/N) about the guy in the office, "it was about time someone shut him up." 

"And you were the person to do so?" 

She shrugged her shoulders, "he ran his mouth and then touched me, so I beat his ass." 

"Two for one special?" 

"Pretty much." 

(Y/N) chuckled, "when your hands heal up, we'll ask one of the guys to teach you a few moves in the ring, thankfully your hands are just bruised and not broken." 

"They still hurt like a bitch." 

"You've got another two hours before you can drink some more painkillers." 

"What would've happened if Coco answered the phone?" Letty questioned.

(Y/N) shook her head, "honey, I don't even think I wanna know what would've happened," she noticed the teen wince, "are you okay?" 

"Yes." 

"Are you sure?"

She huffed, "I'm fine, okay? I was fine when you picked me up. I was fine when we went to the doctor's office. I was fine at the grocery store and I was fine the last time you asked me." 

(Y/N) nodded and pulled into their driveway, putting the car in park, "I'm not gonna apologise about asking how you're feeling. I'm just – I just want to make sure you're okay. But, now I'll stop because I can see I'm annoying you." 

"Yeah, you are." 

She chuckled, "okay, I'll stop, but you'll tell –" 

Letty sighed, "yes, I'll tell you. You really take this parenting thing seriously. I mean… you've been referring to me as your daughter all day and I–I'm not. But you defended me –" 

"And I always will." 

" – against Kyle, his mum and even the receptionist. I–I've never had that before. And, even at the doctor's office you made sure I was seen by a female because you knew it'd make me more comfortable." 

"Letty?" 

"You treat me like I'm yours and you called me your daughter and I… I don't know, I just," she took a deep breath, shook her head and looked out of the window.

(Y/N) waited for her to continue, but she didn't. Thinking back on today's events, she realised she had referred to Letty as her own. She had been doing it in her mind for so long and didn't realise she had said it out in the open. Letty had heard her reference and it seemed to make her uncomfortable and that was something she vowed she wouldn't do. 

"When I started dating your dad he told me about the kids he had. He told me that he wasn't involved in their lives because being away from them was for the best. I asked him what would happen if one day a kid reached out and his response was "if they do, they do. I ain't gonna turn them away", (Y/N) spoke up, "and then you reached out, sweetums. You reached out and your dad took that as a sign. From the moment you entered our lives, it's been a whirlwind of emotions. We're not this picture perfect family, but we're our own version. Despite being almost an adult, Coco still views you as his baby girl. And, honestly, I've been viewing you the same way."

Letty sniffed and looked up, "really?" 

"Absolutely, gorgeous. The moment you stepped through that door you became mine as well," (Y/N) pointed at the front door of their home, before turning to her, "but that doesn't matter if you're not okay with it. I'm not trying to force you to be –" 

"I'm Coco's daughter," she cut in and smiled at (Y/N), "and now I'm yours too." 

(Y/N) beamed with joy and unbuckled her seatbelt, and Letty's, reaching over the middle console to bring the teen into her arms. Letty wrapped her arms around (Y/N), breathing in her (scent). The woman chuckled and kissed her cheek, "I love you, baby girl." 

Letty pulled her closer, "I love you too, mama." 

-♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ - 

Spanish Translations: 

Mi niña - my girl / baby girl

[winterrose527]

person a is afraid of flying, person b offers to hold their hand. for robbcella?

Oh my gosh sorry for the delay on writing this. It was so fun and obviously turned out far longer than expected as always.

***

Okay. It’ll be fine. It’ll totally, one hundred percent, be fine. There is nothing to be concerned about. You’re just going to put your things above the seat, in the overhead – ooh nope you’re not. Too heavy, too high –

“Do you need help with that?” a voice cut into her sad little slow motion panic attack.

“Oh, no, that’s alright,” she said, the way she always did when men offered the taxis they’d just hailed for themselves to her, “I’ve-I’ve got it.”

She went to lift her carry-on, but someone must have filled it with rocks because when she tried to lift it over her head it ended up hitting her in the face.

“You uh… sure about that?” the man asked. “Please.”

“Okay, thank you,” she agreed.

The suitcase was out of her hands in a moment and settled safely in the overhead bin.

When it was no longer in front of his face she saw that it was… quite a face. Piercing blue eyes framed by thick, long lashes. A strong nose, square jaw, perfect pouty lips.

She realized after a moment that she’d been staring at him, and her embarrassment was only slightly mitigated by the fact that he’d been staring at her too.

“Can you guys move?” an exasperated traveler asked behind them.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed.

The man gestured to the row of seats, “I’m the window, unless you’d prefer it.”

She shook her head, “No, no, aisle is better for me.”

He looked at her as though he’d heard the nerves in her voice but he nodded and went and sat in the window seat, putting his backpack underneath the seat in front of him but pulling out one of those books by an author that was always sold in airports and train stations. She settled in next to him, taking her bottle of water, headphones and cell phone, and her own weathered paperback out of her bag before pushing it under the seat in front of her.

She buckled immediately, taking a sip of water and then checked her phone. She had a text from Shireen.

Everything will be fine, I’ll see you soon!

She smiled and typed back: I think that’s supposed to be my line, you’re really failing at this whole bridezilla thing. See you soon, xo.

Myrcella put her phone on airplane mode and tried to open her book to distract herself. Instead she read the same sentence of the same paragraph six times without retaining any of it so she closed the book, drumming her fingers on it lightly.

She saw the man glancing at her and realized she was probably being annoying.

“Sorry,” she said, sitting on her hands so that she’d stop.

“That’s okay,” he shook his head, “I like that song.”

She smirked and nodded, taking another sip of water and then looking around. It looked like everyone had settled in and unfortunately it didn’t seem like there was anything wrong with the engine so they’d likely be taking off soon.

This was proven true when the captain started making his announcements and she heard the propellers start going.

She thought about the exercises her mother’s life guru Luwin had tried to teach her. Imagining herself as the pilot.

But I don’t know how to fly a plane!

She stopped that and just focused on her breathing and trying to think logically. Realistically, they were going to be fine. She understood that.

But while she could mind over matter practically anything else, this was the one exception.

“Afraid of flying?” someone broke into her thoughts.

It wasn’t the guy who’d sat next to her, but a kindly looking older woman across the aisle.

“A little,” she agreed.

“Do you want a diazepam?” the woman asked, holding up a little bottle and shaking it slightly.

She heard the guy sitting next to her cough, though it sounded more like he was disguising a laugh.

“No, thank you though, ma’am,” she said and then turned away.

“You know um, realistically the chances of our plane going down are-,” he started.

“Well my grandmother died in a plane crash, so,” she interrupted him.

She leaned her head against the headrest and closed her eyes, as she felt them starting to move down the runway. She gripped the armrests.

“Oh shit I’m so sorry,” he said, “Really?”

“No,” she grimaced, her breath coming less easily now, “That’s just what I always say to people when they pull out statistics. Apparently it’s my way of offsetting my own discomfort.”

“Or maybe it’s just your way of telling people to mind their own business,” he suggested.

She opened her eyes and found that he was looking at her in concern.

“I won’t pass out or throw up or anything,” she promised him.

He nodded, “That’s good, why don’t you drink some water?”

“You don’t have to help,” she told him, “You can just um… read that book and ignore the hyperventilating woman beside you. I’ll be okay when we’re in the air.”

He looked at her again and then turned to the book and then back to her, “The only problem with that is that I really don’t want to read this book.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “Then why did you buy it?”

“I always buy one when I’m getting on a flight for more than an hour so I can pretend to read it and ignore the person sitting next to me,” he noted.

She nodded and then pointed out, “You shouldn’t have told me, now you can’t use that trick on me.”

He scratched his cheek, smirking down at the book, “Yeah well maybe I don’t want to.” She realized absently that he was hitting on her but that was sort of overshadowed by the fact that the plane was speeding up, “Look um, we’re about to take off here. Do you want to close your eyes or um… I could talk you through it or… I don’t know, I could at least hold your hand? Mine’s clean, I promise and um… well I had to help my sister in the delivery room so it’s really used to being squeezed.”

She looked at him, and her voice was small when she asked, “You did?”

He nodded, resting his hand on the arm rest, his palm facing upwards and open, and he glanced at it and then back at her, “Come on, I’ll tell you all about it.”

The plane was really speeding now so she slipped her hand into his. Which was large and warm without being clammy. She should have wiped her own on her pants, she realized but he didn’t seem to mind as he interlaced their fingers. She felt the wheels start to lift and her knuckles went white she was squeezing his hand so hard.

“Okay so my sister, Sansa is married to one of my best friends, Jon. They wanted children right away,” he shook his head, “Which we were all pretty surprised about. Anyway, Sansa is about eight months pregnant and they find out that Jon’s mentor – honestly more of a father figure than anything else – who lives up on Bear Island – is sick. Like really sick. He’s telling Jon not to go, that he’ll be fine, and Jon doesn’t want to leave Sansa, but Sansa being Sansa convinces him that he has to because you know, it’s his Dad basically, right?”

“Right,” she nodded, because it seemed like he wanted to make sure she was still with him.

“So anyway,” he went on, “I’m at the office in a meeting late one night and I get a call from Sansa, telling me that she thinks her water broke. I’ve got like, twenty junior employees looking at me as I have a full blown meltdown -,” she hadn’t realized that she’d giggled until he stopped and grinned at her, “It wasn’t pretty. But I’m running out of there like a bat out of hell and calling Jon on my way to go get her. At this point, Mormont’s really bad, but he and Jon have said the things they needed to say and made their peace with it, but of course there is a huge storm.”

“Every good story needs a huge storm,” she noted.

He grinned at her, “I agree. And this one was a doozy. So it became pretty clear that Jon was not going to make it home, and of course he is freaking out because it’s only been a little over eight months and you know um, you don’t know him but this is not the sort of guy that like… handles not being able to be there for Sansa well? Like if he could have given birth he a hundred percent would have and I know that’s easy to say since like… he can’t but he seriously would have. The man loses his mind when she’s got a slight fever. So you can imagine that he was just… anyway. I go get Sansa and take her to the hospital. And it’s early so you know there’s um, a lot of attention on her and everything. But she’s just… calm. I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s just calm. She’s listening to the doctors and she’s telling Jon that everything’s going to be fine and then for a minute it’s just us in the delivery room,” he shook his head and it almost seemed like his eyes were smarting and she squeezed his hand. He looked down at it for a second and then squeezed it back and went on, “And she looked at me and she said, Robby, it’s time to call in my big favor. And I realized then how scared she really was and after that it sort of um… became easy? I guess, to be calm. Because she needed me to be so… anyway, she squeezed the shit out of my hand for five hours and then my nephew was born.”

“Happy and heathy?” she wondered.

He smiled, “Happy and healthy and howling… do you want to hear the weird bit?”

“Has anyone ever said no to that question?” she wondered.

His eyes smiled though he didn’t and he said, “We called Jon to give him the good news, and after the appropriate celebrating, he gave us the bad news. Mormont had died minutes – we later found out a minute – before the baby was born,” she felt a shiver run down her spine and he squeezed her hand, “I know. So, when it came time to name him, Joer was the only option, really.”

“Wow,” she agreed, “That is quite a story.”

He smiled at her and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb, “How are you doing?”

She looked around and realized that they were in the air securely. The fasten seatbelt sign was even turned off.

“Oh I’m sorry!” she went to pull her hand back.

“Don’t be, you’re far gentler than Sansa,” he told her and she bit her lip to hide her smile, “And I’ll let go if you promise to grab it if you need to.”

Now that they weren’t barreling down the runway, she was able to notice just how blue his eyes were.

“Promise,” she said.

He didn’t let her hand go right away, and she didn’t let go of his so quickly either. Their fingers relaxed against one another’s, and she dragged her hand ever so slightly against his. He shivered and she looked at him.

“You alright?” she wondered.

“Fine,” he nodded, looking down at their hands briefly, “And I’m Robb, by the way.”

“Myrcella,” she introduced herself, “Thank you, I know I said you didn’t need to help, but you really did.”

“My pleasure,” he told her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to pretend to read that book?” she asked, “I won’t be offended.”

He looked at her and then at the book and then placed it in the pocket in front of him.

“So what brings you to Dragonstone, Myrcella?” he asked.

“Wedding, my cousin’s,” she told him. “How about you?”

“Engagement party,” he answered, a slight shake of his head. “Sansa and Jon and baby Joer will be there, too.”

“That’s exciting,” she smiled, “I can’t wait to be an Aunt. Not sure how good of a mother I’d be, but I feel like I could really excel at the whole Auntie thing.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked her, “Are you going to be the fun aunt –“

“Obviously,” she interrupted.

He chuckled, and nodded, “Obviously.”

And so it went. They talked about the different things they wanted to do with their respective (mostly hypothetical) nieces and nephews. How long they’d each lived in the Riverlands (since university, for him, two years, for her). She told him about the beach he had to get to while on Dragonstone, where he could eat the best lobster roll of his whole life.

When it came time for their descent, neither of them said a thing about it, but his hand took hold of hers and they kept talking.

“Look, um, Myrcella,” he started, “Don’t feel any pressure or anything, I mean, this could just be the most enjoyable flight of my life and leave it at that but I’d regret not asking so… is there any chance I could take you out when we both get back?”

She’d been hoping he’d ask, but she shook her head, “No… but I’d love to take you out as a thank you for getting me through it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and laughed, “That was meaner than the dead grandmother thing.”

She grinned, “I’m sorry,” and then pulled out her phone and handed it to him.

He put in his number and now that she could take her phone off of airplane mode she texted him so that he had hers. It was unlike her, usually she’d play harder to get.

Then again, usually she was less interested in being caught.

***

She was still thinking about him as she straightened the hem of Shireen’s gown.

When she stood up, all thoughts escaped her apart from one.

“You are the most beautiful bride this world has ever seen,” she told her.

“By a very wide margin,” Gendry agreed at her side. “And the most mischievous. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

Shireen giggled, “We wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You told her,” Gendry reminded her.

“Well duh, she’s my maid of honor,” Shireen said, looking at her with tears in her eyes and holding out her hand, “And the closest thing to a sister I’ll ever have.”

“Don’t,” Myrcella pleaded, squeezing her hand, “Your make up is perfect.”

Shireen laughed, though in truth she cared little for her make up. She really was the worst bridezilla ever. Low maintenance was the only way to describe her.

She hadn’t wanted the hoopla that went with planning a big wedding, so instead had invited everyone for an engagement party which in a few minutes they’d all learn was actually the wedding.

Shireen looked up at Gendry, “You’ll give me away, right?”

Gendry glanced at her before nodding at Shireen, “Of course I will.”

Neither of them said what they wanted to. That her Dad should have been there. Even if it was a surprise wedding, even if he didn’t know, he should have been at her engagement party.

“Perfect,” Shireen said, looking in the mirror and fixing her veil, “Alright, I’m ready. Myrcella you can head out as soon as you start hearing the music, and then we’ll follow. Ooh and remind me afterwards that I wanted to introduce you to Theon’s best man.”

Myrcella laughed and kissed her cousin on the cheek, “Why don’t you focus on getting yourself married and then you can work on me getting married.”

Besides, what are the chances that his best man will be a better one than Robb?

Shireen agreed and Myrcella grabbed the bouquet of wildflowers that she never would think to use for her own wedding but which were beautiful and perfect for the laidback, seaside wedding this was.

The music started, a single violinist playing an instrumental version of the old school hip hop song that Shireen had declared was her and Theon’s song, as it was playing on the radio in the car right after their first big fight.

Someone else had told the guests a few minutes earlier that they were actually here for a wedding, so they were standing on either side of an aisle, though it was clear there was no rhyme or reason to it, no bride’s side or groom’s side, exactly as it should be.

She walked down the short aisle and smiled at Theon as she settled across from him. Out of curiosity she glanced behind him at his best man, who was grinning at her from ear to ear.

Because of course it was him.

She’d almost asked, the name of the person whose engagement party it was, but there’d been so many other things to talk about and it had slipped her mind.

Only Shireen walking down the aisle could have torn her gaze from Robb’s blue eyes and she fought tears as she saw the way Theon’s heart seemed to stop when he saw her.

Their vows were simple, and sweet, and funny, and fifteen minutes later, Shireen Greyjoy walked back down the aisle on the arm of her husband.

Robb should have offered her his arm, but instead he held out his hand which she took readily, their fingers interlacing as though well practiced in it.

“I thought you were here for an engagement party,” she teased.

He chuckled, “If I wasn’t so happy to see you, I’d be pissed that clearly you made the cut for knowing it was actually a wedding and I didn’t.”

She smiled, “If it helps, Shireen is dying to set us up.”

“Yeah, Theon assured me that there was no way the chick I met on the plane was hotter than you,” he grinned. Then his eyes wandered over her, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she looked up into his blue eyes, made brighter by his navy blue suit, “So do you.”

And it was clear then, as clearer than anything ever had been though it made little sense at all, that one day this would be a part of the family lore, just like him holding his sister’s hand in the delivery room. Over the years they’d perfect it, this story, that they’d have to tell over and over again that night, interlacing parts of it as seamlessly as their fingers.

When he pulled her out onto the dance floor and into his arms, it seemed like he knew it too.

“So I know I said I wanted to take you out when we were back home,” he noted, “But I’ve heard there’s a pretty good lobster roll around here… It’s not the most glamorous first date or anything but…”

She laughed, “Well then this can be our first date. A lobster roll feels like a perfect second one. When do you fly back?”

“Sunday night, the seven o’clock flight,” he told her.

She smiled, “Me too. So that can be our third date.”

“Our third date on an airplane, hmm,” he mused in a voice that sent a shiver down her spine.

She wondered if he was thinking what she was. All those expectations that came with a third date.

Though in truth given that they were at a wedding where the alcohol was flowing freely and he was looking at her like that while he was looking like that, she doubted she’d be following the three date rule.

Even still, the mile-high club lingered in the air between them.

“Well,” she looked up at him, “You’ll have to find some way to distract me. I’m terribly afraid of flying, you know.”

He grinned, and pulled her closer to him, his lips against her ear, “Oh it’d be my pleasure to help.”

[carewyncromwell]

“It's just like déjà vu, me standin' here with you, So I'll be holdin' my own breath -- Could this be the end? Is it that moment when I find the one that I'll spend forever with?”

~“Gotta Be Somebody” by Nickelback

x~x~x~x

In 1941, the vampire called Bat Varney was murdered by the dark wizard Grindelwald for aiding the resistance movement organized by Ministries across Europe. Bat left behind many friends, including Danny Gibson @catohphm​​ and the Selwyn-Ellison family @that-ravenpuff-witch​​​​ -- but the person most devastated by Bat’s death was his most constant companion, Atticus “Grim” Grimsley @cursebreakerfarrier​​​. Never in his life had the retired professor considered that he’d be the last one standing, out of the two of them -- and in his last days on earth, just before he died peacefully in his sleep at a ripe old age, all that he wished was that he might see his first true friend again. Little did Atticus know that -- in his last moments alive -- Bat had made a similar wish...praying that maybe he and his mate Grim could meet again someday, somewhere where Bat didn’t have to regulate how much or how long they touched...maybe even with his real face...as Robert.

About a decade after Professor Grimsley’s death, the only son of a well-respected Pureblood family started his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was Sorted into Ravenclaw house. The boy -- appropriately enough also named Atticus -- wasn’t particularly popular at school, given his hyper-focus on his academics and on satisfying the high standards of his father. Not only was Atticus expected to bring his family honor and esteem, but he also had a rival at Hogwarts who he was expected to “outdo.”

Bartholomew “Barty” Gilbert (pronounced “JO-behr”) was the only son of an up-and-coming Pureblood family who’d just emigrated from France and made a lot of money investing in robe shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade alike. He was also now a Gryffindor in Atticus’s year, and Atticus’s father was very firm that Atticus not let the boy surpass him in anything. Although Atticus normally obeyed his father with a certain degree of reluctance, in this case, he didn’t like the thought of losing to Barty Gilbert either. Not because the Gryffindor wasn’t pleasant -- no, in fact, he was almost too pleasant...too amiable, too inoffensive. And that made it so that even though Barty got away with doing whatever he wanted without worrying about his family’s expectations, it only served to earn him more friends and admirers. Even before that, though, when Atticus had met Barty in passing before school, he still couldn’t help but dislike the other boy. There was just something off about him -- something Atticus could hardly put into words. It was like whenever Barty opened his mouth, he sounded wrong -- whenever he smiled, it looked wrong...even his eyes weren’t as they should be. There was something almost familiar about Barty’s auburn hair, face, and height -- and yet something was wrong. And it just made Atticus upset for a reason he couldn’t really explain. It reminded him of those times, when he was a very small child, when his mother would try to comfort him after he woke up sobbing and could hardly explain why. Something about someone with red eyes squeezing his shoulders, tears streaming down his face and laughing like his heart was breaking...

So Atticus was determined to throw himself into his studies and do everything expected of him. Just because Gryffindor Golden Boy Barty Gilbert refused to do things the right way didn’t mean he shouldn’t -- and Atticus knew karma would eventually go his way in the end, if he put in the proper work. It didn’t mean that he didn’t still sometimes feel somewhat resentful every time Barty Gilbert waved to him in the hall, his two best friends at his side. One of them was the most popular girl in their year (of course), another Pureblood witch named Cecelia “Ceci” Crouch -- the other was one of Atticus’s own dormmates, a poor Muggle-born boy who in third year had become Ravenclaw’s Star Chaser named Robert Bellamy. Despite sleeping in the same dorm for five years, Atticus and Robert had really never talked -- Atticus was focused almost exclusively on his studies, of course, but even Robert seemed actively disinterested in talking to Atticus. Perhaps it was because of how much Atticus kept sticking his nose up at his best friend Barty -- perhaps it was because of how much of a stick-in-the-mud Atticus was -- or perhaps it was for a reason Robert couldn’t quite put into words, the same way Atticus couldn’t completely explain his instant dislike of Barty.

One day at the beginning of fifth year, however, Atticus and Robert were forced to engage with each other when Professor Binns inexplicably decided to actually assign a paired homework assignment. (A possible result of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore casually reminding the History of Magic professor of a similar assignment he’d assigned his OWL class back in the days when he was still alive.) Although Binns of course didn’t remember any of his students’ names, he nonetheless paired Robert with Atticus. Neither of the Ravenclaws was particularly pleased, but none of them was the type to actively argue or complain.

After class, Atticus approached Robert outside the History of Magic classroom. Robert told Barty to go on ahead to the Great Hall and that he’d catch up. Once Barty was gone, Atticus uncomfortably questioned Robert about when they could meet to work on their oral report on the Witch Hunts of the 14th century.

Robert frowned slightly, his well-toned arms crossing casually over his chest.

“Hogsmeade weekend starts tomorrow,” he said placidly. “You occupied then?”

Unlike the rest of his classmates, Robert wore his bronze-trimmed blue Quidditch robes over his disheveled uniform, instead of his usual black school robes. Atticus couldn’t help but wonder if Barty Gilbert’s buddy just liked to remind everyone that he was one of Ravenclaw’s Chasers.

Pushing this faintly condescending thought aside, Atticus shook his head. “No -- I’m available.”

“Good. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks and we can talk there.”

He turned on his heel as if to go. Atticus couldn’t help but sputter and he quickly rushed in front of the other Ravenclaw to stop him from walking away.

“What is there to talk about? We need to get started right away!”

Robert raised his eyebrows. “Tomorrow isn’t soon enough for you?”

“The project’s due on Monday,” said Atticus seriously. “We’ll need to spend a good deal of time at the library, if we want to be prepared -- ”

“No need,” said Robert with a shrug. “I already know everything we need to know.”

Atticus couldn’t keep himself from quirking a disbelieving eyebrow. “Oh really? Robert Bellamy, slacker jock who always dozes off in History of Magic, knows enough about the Witch Hunts of the 14th century to get us an O on our oral report? Somehow I doubt that.”

Amazingly Robert didn’t react with anger -- instead his black eyes turned very cool.

“The Witch Hunts really can’t be narrowed down to just the 14th century,” he said in a very level, matter-of-fact voice appropriate to a professor. “Not only did the ‘witch hysteria’ phenomenon last well into the 18th century, until the Age of Enlightenment, but there was a lot of set-up beforehand that laid the groundwork for it. Witchcraft, specifically black magic, was considered illegal even in ancient times -- the Romans considered it a capital offense. And of course one can’t ignore how early Christians demonized pagan beliefs by associating them with witchcraft, hence why images of the Devil came to embody traits associated with the nature god Pan. The Witch Hunts of the 14th century largely came about because a bunch of Muggles got their knickers in a twist about an increased interest in necromancy and herbal remedies among the poor, spurred on by the printing and circulation of older Islamic texts. The fact that many of those people who had the most use for those herbal remedies were women -- frequently mid-wives -- scared the church as well, of course, given the sexism of the time. And of course when bad things happen and there’s no explanation for it, people love to find a scapegoat. Add a text like the Malleus Malificarum that tells the terrified masses all of their problems are the fault of evil witches to the mix, and Incendio -- you’ve got yourself a bonfire.”

Atticus was completely sideswiped. He caught himself staring with his mouth open, and quickly closed it.

“That...well...”

He felt very sheepish. His ears burned -- his mother would’ve been scolding him if she were there, for jumping to conclusions like that.

“...That’s really impressive,” Atticus said self-consciously. “Forgive me, I...I was very rude, just then.”

He brushed a loose piece of his dark brown bangs out of his eyes.

“...How did you even know all that? I don’t recall Professor Binns ever saying -- ”

“I doubt he did,” said Robert. Once again he didn’t seem the least bit offended by what Atticus had said and was currently grinning cheekily. “I got my hands on the fifth year History of Magic syllabus from an older student before term started. I went to the Muggle library and borrowed a whole stack of books about the Witch Hunts so I could read them over the summer.”

Atticus blinked. “Muggle books? But -- but wouldn’t that information be incomplete?”

“In some ways, yes. But honestly, magical history isn’t much better that way -- it leaves plenty of stuff out.”

“I suppose it does -- but Professor Binns expects you to know what he teaches too. That’s why he does those lectures.”

“And puts the whole class to sleep,” said Robert with a snort of laughter.

“That’s beside the point,” said Atticus firmly. “It’s good that you studied the material so thoroughly -- very admirable, in fact -- but there is a right way to do things, and falling asleep in class when your professor’s trying to teach you will only make it harder for you to get top marks.”

Robert shrugged. “Guess I don’t see the need to regurgitate my professor’s lessons like a parrot. And how do you know I don’t already get top marks? I don’t remember you ever asking to see my grades.”

Atticus faltered. “Well -- it’s just -- I never see you study.”

“Probably because you never leave the library,” said Robert with a rather mischievous smile.

The words were an unpleasant barb in the corner of Atticus’s chest, and his eyes narrowed to hide the slight hurt he felt. Noticing the shift in the other boy’s expression, Robert immediately put down all trace of humor.

“Only joking,” he said defensively. “Crimey...you really are too grim for your own good...”

As soon as the sentence had left Robert’s mouth, there was a strange, silent ping that seemed to ripple through both young men’s ears. The word “grim” had hit Atticus in the heart stronger than anything else Robert had said. The young Pureblood had stiffened sharply, and his expression tensed further when he realized that Robert too seemed to have suddenly gone oddly pale.

Did...did the word affect him too? Did he also find it so strangely, frustratingly, achingly familiar? Why?

The two stared at each other, both looking incredibly disconcerted. Then Robert, stuffing a hand into his pocket, quickly strolled past Atticus.

“...I’d better go catch up with Barty,” he muttered. His voice sounded oddly calm to Atticus’s ears -- almost evasively so. “Is tomorrow at noon okay?”

Atticus glanced over his shoulder to look at Robert’s retreating back.

“...Yes,” he said quietly.

Robert didn’t turn back around.

“Three Broomsticks?”

“All right.”

“Good. ...Bring some books from the library, if you want. I’m sure Madame Pince will have some suggestions I haven’t read yet. Just don’t tell her we’ll be at the Three Broomsticks -- poor thing would probably throw a fit if we spilled butterbeer on her books...”

With that, the Ravenclaw Chaser departed down the hall without looking at Atticus again.

Atticus didn’t move from his spot in the hall for a while afterward, unable to completely shake the heavy, invisible weight that had settled down on top of his heart.

He’dd only ever felt such a strange, irrational kind of déjà vu around Barty Gilbert before, but this kind...this kind was different, somehow. The feeling that accompanied Barty Gilbert made Atticus feel irritated for no reason at all. This one accompanying Robert Bellamy...it was cold, and yet also so soft at the same time -- like the feeling one has when they hear a beautiful, sad song...or when they wake up sobbing from a dream where someone is squeezing their shoulders, while tears stream down their brokenly laughing face...

[oftenderweapons]

Everyday

Pairing: member x reader 

Wordcount: 300-400 words each piece

Genre: fluff, smut, slightest angst

Rating: suggested 18+

Small announcement

Unfortunately, I couldn't complete Jin's Love Talk scenario in time, since his conversation with Angel is a lot more difficult to handle and I still have some research to do (a lot of educational BDSM talk Yay! And I want it to be accurate and as precise as possible).

To earn your forgiveness, I will publish a double update next week, with Jin's part published on Thursday 1 am GMT, and Yoongi on Saturday at 3 am GMT. (Please don't judge my night owl lifestyle)

Here are some mixed drabbles (watch out for the text mentioned in Joon’s Love Talk) 😉 Also this is unedited, I’ll grammar check it in the morning. Each drabble is about 300-400 words.

Here is my Masterlist!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: dirty talking, spankings, oral male and female receiving, cum play (pearl necklace), male masturbation, breast worship, mentions of role play, mentions of sex tapes, mentions of subbing and pain kink, mentions of nipple piercing.

Namjoon

--  the morning after Love talk --

Sunday morning felt like a nightmare. He asked himself why, why for fuck’s sake he had left. 

You had kissed him, rubbed all over him, pressing your ass on him as you watched the film on the sofa, spooning. WHY!

He grabbed his phone. You were probably still asleep. Unless…? He texted you.

How’s your head? Mine is a mess. 

You don’t know how bad it feels to wake up alone. I felt like eating some tiramisu for breakfast and ruin your underwear. Did you touch yourself last night, after I left?

I thought about you, you know. That perfect ass of yours. How much I want to bite it. God, I want to spank you so bad, Vixen. I swear, if I put my hands on you I’m gonna ruin you. You won’t sit for a week. For all that fucking teasing last night. You don’t know how many times I thought about putting my hand under your skirt. Were you even wearing panties, naughty girl? You bent over at dinner and I noticed that there were no lines on that incredible peach of yours… Wanted to push you down against the table, drag your skirt up and just ram into you from behind. But I wanna take my time. Toy around this mind-blowing chemistry with you, until you’re on your knees begging for me to be your daddy and teach you how to do it right for me. At that point I would finger you nice and slow, the way impatient, hungry girls like you can’t handle. I would make you cum so intensely your legs would twitch merely at the thought of me doing it again. And then I would lie down and have you sit on my face. Cute right? I would help you ride my face with my hands cupping your butt, until you’re dripping all over my face. I want you to look down at me like a queen on a motherfucking throne, Vixen. And right after your second orgasm I would make you roll down so I can fuck you missionary, looking at the face you make the first time I slide into you, those pretty doll lips wrapped around the hand I used to make you cum. 

I know you must be so tight, little one. I can’t wait to leave angry, purple lovebites on your sexy hipbones and thighs, baby. 

Tell me you want that too, little vixen. 

After ten minutes of you not answering, he just headed to the shower, in the hope of blowing off some steam. 

When he returned he noticed the notification. 

My head? No complaints 😉😏

Thank you for the orgasm, daddy. Maybe I could help you with yours now?

Yeah. he was hard again anyway…

Seokjin

-- shortly after the Conversation with Jimin -- 

Water fell heavily on his back. You were laying in bed, your cute pjs making you look like a princess from a fairy tale. 

That princess had your cum all over her chest precisely five days ago.

He pressed his forehead to the tiles. No, a part of him said, but his hand was already there, lingering on his shaft. 

She licked it clean. Scooping it up with her fingers. Grinning at you. 

He hit his head against the tiles in the hope it would help him stop. 

You had your mouth on her panties, you coward? She was so lost she would have told you yes. He thought of your taste. He allowed himself that only once, maybe twice a month. Not because he didn’t like that, but rather because he had probably never done it before. Which seems ridiculous, but apparently his exes weren’t interested in cunnilingus? Was it absurd that he wanted to try with you? 

He dragged his hand up and down, angry at himself. 

He should just get in the bed and make you scream until even the florist at the end of the street knew who’s fucking you so good.

He thought about your hands tied up, about you cumming just with him ramming into you. He wanted to give it to you so hard you even forgot you had a body. He wanted your pleasure to be one with his. Just like last time. 

Not like your previous life was unsatisfactory. But he saw the superior look of bliss, how radiant you had looked the morning after. How easily you had fallen asleep in his arms as he caressed your hair. 

“Jinnie, love.” You called from the bedroom. 

He didn’t understand what came next, he was lost in bliss, your voice and his imagination making him fall in the deepest pits of pleasure. 

Yoongi 

-- after date five, art gallery --

Fuuuuck. He fixed his trousers in the elevator headed to his apartment. 

Rushing through his door, he almost tripped on his shoes as he took them off hastily. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. Yet again, here he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows propped on his knees. He took off his turtleneck lightning fast, his naked pale chest emerging from the dark cotton that protected him from the chilly spring air. He didn’t actually have enough patience to get rid of his trousers. He let them bunch up at his ankles.

“Kitten.” He whispered shyly, reaching for his hard on. He was so sensitive his hips thrusted up as he gave himself the first stroke. 

Those tits. Fuck. Pressed against his back as you explained a picture to him, the tip of your nose running against the curve of his ear. 

He had wanted to pin you against the white walls of the gallery, like a work of art, get his head under your cute skirt and nuzzle his face against your mound.

And the ice cream. 

He thought he would cum in his pants, with you licking up your ice cream cone, your kittenish licks deviously appropriate to your nickname. And the ice cream dribbling down your hand in thick droplets a couple times. The way you had sucked it clean. 

Fuck, fuck!

He laid down on his back and kicked off his pants, hand still busy on his cock. Half delirious, he turned to his belly, thrusting his hips up into his hand, one arm propping him up. “Fuck, kitten, so good.” He nuzzled his face against the sheets, lost in his imagination. “Love, please. ____.” And with your name on his lips he let himself crumble and dissolve. Crashing, exhausted on the bed he took only a couple seconds before emitting an exasperated cry. He had stained the sheets like a teenager. 

Three times this week. And it was only Tuesday. 

Hoseok 

-- a couple days after his Conversation with Taehyung --

“Are you sure you want to keep it? We don’t have to, sweetie.” He reassured you. 

“You’ll have to leave soon. I know you get frustrated with phonesex. This could help you.” You combed his hair back and booped his nose. 

He hid his face into your neck. “Tell me you’ll see me in Los Angeles. Promise me you’ll come.”

“I promise, puppet.” You held him tighter. 

“The guys hate me when you’re not around. They say I get duller.” He whined with a sad voice. 

“My poor little puppet.” You fondled him. “And that’s not true Hobi. You’re always lovely.” You started waddling, bringing him from the kitchen to the sofa. Waddling always gets him to laugh. 

Indeed, a few seconds later he giggled as you both plopped down on the cushions. He shifted around until he was perfectly curled against you, his head laying on your chest.

“You sure you’re okay with me keeping it?”

“Guard it like your own life, Hobi. You know the risks.” You reminded him. 

“Yes, of course. It’s in my personal luggage. Safe. Don’t worry, seriously. Taehyung instructed me. And I’m pretty sure he travels with a whole library of this stuff.”

You cringed and laughed. “At least he can help you, eventually.”

“Your copy is in the pendrive in the bedside table.” He murmured. “It’s only three weeks until LA. It’s not awful. We can do this.” He tried to convince himself. 

“Just three weeks. You’ve got enough stuff to last you a month.” You kissed his forehead. 

“I love you.” He said, stretching to reach for your lips. 

“I love you too, puppet.”

Jimin 

-- The morning after your sixth date --

He woke up with an awfully painful erection. Probably because the night before you had teased him endlessly and when he’d come back home he’d been too tired to jerk off. 

Pushing up his hips tentatively, he felt the softness of the cotton on his naked body. Turning around he found his spare pillow between his thighs. 

Yes, he huffed out, thrusting his hips harshly. He moaned. He started with a punishing rhythm straight away, pushing so hard his whole back arched over and over.

His hand grabbed his own thigh, using his knees and free arm for leverage. 

The hand on his leg climbed up to his ass, cupping it, slapping it carefully, gently. He wanted you to do that. Grab his ass as he rammed into you. Manhandle him a little. His hand climbed further up, toying wit his chest. 

Shit. He tweaked his nipple, wetting his fingers with his mouth and bringing them back to his pect. His hips stuttered. 

He thought of your mouth. Of your sinful red lips, Of the way you always seemed to have the situation under control. Of the way you make him always feel desired.

Were you touching yourself at the thought of him?

Were you as eager as he was? Having wet dreams about him?

He was tired of this frustration. He fucked harder in the pillow, one hand around his neck, the other gripping his ass, his short nails diggin in the flesh. 

He could only think that your nails would look prettier. Sink deeper. Hurt more. Make it all sweeter.

Taehyung

— around date three or four —

“That lipstick looks lovely on you, Doll.” He murmured, holding your hand as you strolled down the gallery, a big bucket hat over his eyes. “I think I’ll call you poppy. That’s perfect poppy red. How fitting that opium comes from poppies.” 

You looked at him surprised. “Are you saying I’m a drug?”

“I’ve been high on you for the last four days. Since I saw you at the shop. Do you usually strut around in full pin up attire?“ He asked, intertwining your fingers. 

“No, not usually. I was just on my way to a theme party. I figured I could just get ready at the shop. I wasn’t expecting you to come around.”

“Theme party... Were you supposed to be the naughty housewife who can’t just get enough of her husband and has an affair with the poolboy?“ He asked, getting close to you enough to bite your earlobe. Oh, the teasing. He was reckless with it. 

“Tae.” You reprimanded him. You looked around. The gallery was empty since he knew the owner and he had allowed him to come visit behind closed doors. 

“It’s just us, Doll. No worry.“ His arm wrapped around your waist. “I can be your obedient poolboy.“

“Why be the poolboy when you could be my husband, spanking me because I ruined one of his expensive white shirts?” You looked at him mischievously as he cleared his throat. You both stopped in front of a painting. The still nature had a variety of vases with different flowers. Of course poppies were included. 

“There they are.” He pointed to the flowers. “And here she is.” His arm wrapped you up, dragging you closer to him, his mouth dipping to yours.

You thought his spell would wear off, but time after time, his kisses taste wilder. Would it ever become too much?

Jungkook

— shortly after Where, when and how —

Jungkook was laying on top of you on the sofa, and god, didn’t it feel nice...

Nuzzling his face against your chest, he let his hand climb under your T-shirt, meeting the elastic band of your sports bra and slipping his fingers underneath, tracing the outline of your pierced nipple.

“Again, baby?” You asked him, who had already reached his destination.

“I love it. I’m sorry.” His face felt ten times hotter on your neck, his blush apparent.

He made to remove his hand, but you locked it there.

“It’s sweet, it’s just that it turns me on a little.” It was your turn to blush.

“If you want I can just let it be. Really. I mean... Unless you want me to... help you out with... that.” He questioned, doubtful.

“Are you asking me if I need to be fucked?” You asked, unceremoniously, with a grin on your face.

“I mean. I wouldn’t oppose if you asked me to.” He kissed your neck sweetly.

You combed his hair with your fingers. He emitted a low whine, especially when you massaged his nape.

“Would you like to try something, Koo?” You were getting an idea.

He seemed to raise his head like a curious bunny. “Mhmh.”

“Remembered when we tried cockwarming?” You asked, ready for mischief.

“Of course.” He replied. Duh.

“What if we did the same here. I mean, if you kept your mouth there, did your thing until I can’t keep my cool?” You suggested.

“Take off this damn shirt right now.” He replied immediately, lifting himself off to allow you to move.

There we go.

[warriorsredux]

What would the warrior code/clan law part of the amendment be? At least a tl;dr version of each section?

I just re-found this ask. Sorry for the delay, man! 

So the Code was meant to be really large and covering a ton of bases, but you can pretty much summarize what you need to from this:

Section one, Loyalty: Serve the Clan by what is good for everyone, not just yourself and your immediate relations; stay away from outsiders (with the unsaid exception of mollies breeding with loners for fresh blood, and the stated rule that she is not to be bothered over who the father of her litter is); authority should be listened to as long as those in charge are working for the Clan and not their own personal interests; adhere to the Code overall, but questioning tradition can be done if it becomes a detriment to your Clanmates to follow it. In general, don’t be selfish. 

Section two, Hunting: Prey is to be caught in your territory; prey can be chased over the border so long as you’re within a tail-length of it and you don’t go beyond four body-lengths past the line; all Clans can catch whatever prey they please given the previous rule, and to claim ownership of one type of prey will get you laughed at; diseased or rotting prey is to be discarded through burial or depositing past the outer borders to prevent sickness (and deliberately leaving out diseased or rotting prey for someone else to find is punishable by nine days of apprentice duties); the Clan as a whole needs to work to preserve prey, and as such should not catch more than what is necessary for the day (barely anyone follows this strictly, but it does mean the free-lands are not touched until absolutely unavoidable).

Section three, Territory: This is mostly a thorough layout of where exactly the borders are, what places are neutral areas and allow for peaceful interactions and free hunting, so on and so forth. These are not exactly stated as rules, but they’re detailed as much as possible so that the Clans cannot claim they’re fuzzy on the details of their own borders. They were added as part of the Code to preemptively stare down all warriors who think they can be sneaky. 

Section four, Battles: Clans must fight their own battles without dragging unrelated parties into their fights (we’re looking directly at you, ThunderClan and RiverClan); in the case that a war is going on for a very extended period of time, Gatherings are to be used to solve the issue with neutral parties involved (other Clans); no fighting is allowed during the full moon, or nights where a Gathering is in place; individual fights need to be investigated and discussed before any serious action is taken by the rest of the Clan to prevent unnecessary wars.

Section five, Leaders: Basically a long list of rules stating that the leader is to serve the Clan’s interests, as well as a list of how to depose a leader should the Clan not find them satisfactory. It’s actually not a concrete law that all leaders get the -star suffix, that’s just tradition that’s treated as law. 

Section six, Deputies: Deputies are to mentor at least one apprentice before qualifying for the position; deputies are allowed to retire earlier than leaders for many more reasons (age, unpopularity, injury, disinterest, etc); while it’s not law, it’s all but law that a deputy should be chosen to compliment the leader and bring new ideas to the table. There is one old law that no one remembers anymore that deputies had to be chosen by a vote from the Clan itself. It’s pretty much been erased from the Code because it hasn’t been followed for so long that even storytellers don’t recall it unless their grandpa said something about it years ago. 

Section seven, Seers: Seers are protected from injury and death on the part of a regular Clan cat and to break this particular law is punishable by death or exile; seers are not allowed to have mates or kits unless they were a warrior prior to their new position and had a family before they could get to being a seer; likewise, they are not to be taught to fight or hunt (moreso to make them even safer for queens and in the law’s eyes than anything else). It’s not explicitly stated that they’re on the same level of authority as leaders and deputies, but everyone knows it, so it might as well be a rule.

Section eight, Apprentices: Apprentices are also protected from death on the part of a warrior or other apprentice; they are not to be made -paws until they’re six months of age (or two seasons, as most put it); a warrior cannot be mates with an apprentice, avoiding any flirting and such until they have earned their warrior name; apprentices cannot lead a battle patrol or be part of a planned small-scale fight (though they are allowed to fight in an all-out war where every set of claws is needed); if an apprentice qualifies for multiple suffixes, they should be spoken to and asked what they prefer; they are to be taught all basic skills of hunting and fighting before getting into any other topics. That last one is not necessarily followed all the time, but most cats do want to get hunting and fighting down so that the apprentice can at least take care of themselves if needed. Usually, mentors will stretch it by teaching about culture and stories and so on during breaks between basic training.

Section nine, Kits: A cat is a kit until they are six months old at the earliest; kits will be named appropriately and positively, and if a queen names their kit something cruel or bizarre, she is allowed to be talked to by authority and told to change the name; the queen is the primary power over her litter, but the interests of the kits’ survival and well-being is the concern of everyone in the camp, and kits can be taken from her if deemed appropriate; any cat that deliberately hurts or kills a kit is punished with death or exile depending on the severity of the situation; kits are kept in the camp until they become an apprentice. 

There might have been more back when I was seriously working on this blog, but these are all the rules I remember. If I recall something else, I’ll add it onto this.

[theemptyquarto]

Abandoned WIPs

for @goodintentionswipfest

“Oh my God, that was, like, the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

That was the first thing she ever said to him.

~

Victor Trevor, the bastard, had dragged him out of the lab, then made him drive a car full of giggling idiots for three hours to Swanage, then had abandoned him to get drunk with additional idiots from Birmingham who had driven even further.  And now one of the idiots from Birmingham, the American girl with too much hair, was criticizing his stone skimming abilities.  

“I’d like to see you do any better,” he said, shortly.

The girl raised her eyebrows and made a face at him, then went to look for a stone of her own.  

“The water is too turbulent here,” he said.

The girl kept looking, until she found a smooth white stone, really too large for the purpose, being almost the size of her palm.

“It calls for a calmer day than this,” he said.

Then the girl drew back her arm and lobbed the stone, which skimmed perfectly, touching the water five times before sinking into the water of the bay.  Because of course it did.

“If you want to skip rocks in this kind of water you need to pick a bigger one and kind of… loft it over the breakwater.  Just like that,” she said, waving vaguely at the sea.

“Skim stones.”

“What?”

“Here we call it skimming stones.  Not skipping rocks.”

“And it’s pech blini in Russia and hacer ranitas in Spain.  We didn’t pitch your tea into Boston Harbor just to keep doing everything the same way you did.”

The words were bellicose but for once he was able to pick up on the tone, and when he looked through the ringlets that the breeze was blowing into her face, he could see that she was pinching her lips together to keep from smiling.

“I remember,” he said, slowly, “The great skimming stones debate that provoked the revolution.  We learnt all about it at school.  That’s why we burnt down your White House.  That and your willful mispronunciation of aluminium.”

The girl burbled a laugh, and it was not as unpleasant as it mostly was when girls laughed.  The “with” not “at” made all the difference.

Because he was eighteen years old and still desperately trying to pass for normal, Sherlock said, “I’m Will.”

She was twenty-one, and Mary Morstan and the rest of her pseudonyms were well into the future.  So because it was the simple truth, she said, “I’m Rose.  Nice to meet you, Will.  I can teach you how to skip rocks properly if you want.  Though it’ll wreck your attempt to look all Byronic and interesting.”

Sherlock frowned, though he wasn’t quite sure what Byronic meant, honestly.  “I wasn’t trying to look like anything.”

“Oh come on.  Alone, staring out over the sunset sea, the wind ruffling your hair.  Very ‘Adieu, Adieu, my native shore.’”

“This is my native shore, I just wanted to look at the tide pools.  Anyway, why are you here?”

“I,” she said, grandly, “Am way too close to shitfaced and I need to take a break for an hour.  And I thought you looked Byronic and interesting.  Where are there tide pools?”

He angled his head to their right.  “Back that way.  Maybe half a mile.”

“Let’s go see them!”

“I’ve seen them.  And you aren’t wearing the appropriate shoes for climbing.”

Rose looked down at her cheap flip-flops, shrugged, and said, “God hates a coward.  Come on.”

~

They’d looked at the tide pools, and Rose hadn’t complained as they scrabbled over rough Purbeck stone to get to them.  Being a small woman, she’d asked for a hand up on two occasions, but she didn’t complain, and she was genuinely interested in the sea slugs and anemones they found.

Then they’d moved on to another section of swimming beach, and now she was trying to teach him to skip rocks.

“Oh!  You almost had that one,” she exclaimed, as his latest effort sank.

“What sort of trajectory am I trying for?” he asked.  “It really isn’t obvious.”

“Ummmm…” and she pitched another stone, which made four hops before sinking.  “I mean, I guess, like fifteen or twenty degrees.  But it depends on the rock.”

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“You just take the rock and then you know how you have to throw it.  It’s mostly practice.”

“You’re very good at it.”

“It’s what I’m best at,” she said, and the next stone made six skips before it sank.  “You got a projectile and need it put someplace specific, I’m your girl.”

“Really?”

“Really.  What are you best at?”

He thought about it for a minute. 

“Deductions.  That’s what I’m best at.”

“Like… in geometry?  If AB equals BC then A equals C?”

“Sort of.  But it’s not just that.  I can do it for other things.  And people.”

“How?”

“Just like in geometry.  You use if-then logic and come to the appropriate conclusion.  Except most people aren’t aware of all of the givens, and I am.”

“O-kay,” she said, slowly, “So, like, what can you deduce about me?”

He cocked his head, doubtfully, and asked, “You want me to do that?”

Rose shrugged.  “Why not?  What have I got to hide?”

Sherlock wished he hadn’t mentioned it, now.  It would spoil what had been a surprisingly pleasant afternoon. She was only asking because she’d never seen him do it… nobody really wanted his deductions.  Everyone had something to hide.  

But she had asked and declining would be nearly as offensive, he supposed.  So he let himself really look.  Excessive dark-blonde hair, no jewelry, black midriff-baring top with thin straps and no bra (irrelevant, he chided himself), well-developed lean musculature particularly in the shoulders.  Mid-priced wide-legged flared jeans clumsily home-hemmed, since she fell between the “petite” and “regular” lengths.  He walked behind her, continuing his examination, and smiled.  The grey plaid flannel shirt she had knotted around her waist had a great deal of relevant information.  

Returning in front of her, he asked, “May I have a look at your hands?”  Rose complied, extending them forward, palms up.  Her hands, with their emerald-green fingernails and distinctive musculature, had almost everything else he thought he could get, except-

“And a better look at the tattoo, please?”

Rose smiled and raised an eyebrow at that, but complied, slipping a thumb under the waistband of her jeans and tugging them down another inch or two to reveal a small, stylized design of a leafless tree struck by lightning (and incidentally a crest of pale hipbone and just a flash of red plaid underwear).

“Satisfied?” she asked.

“Entirely.”  And Sherlock was.  

“So what do you deduce?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.  You’re an American-“

“Well that was a toughie,” Rose teased.

“From Iowa.  You’re a natural linguist but you’re studying chemistry.  You played softball seriously, as a pitcher, until a rotator cuff injury which you opted not to have corrected bought your sporting ambitions to an end within the last year.  Upper middle class family, strict parents.  You currently live with a wire-haired terrier you dislike, you’re sentimental, and you’re a keen amateur cook.”

And that had done it, of course.  Her face, which had formerly seemed naturally happy, had closed off and become hostile.  She took a step away from him, and said, coldly, “Has Victor been talking about me behind my back?”

“You know Victor Trevor?” Sherlock asked.

“Everybody knows Victor.  Answer the question.”

“No, he hasn't. I told you.  I looked and I listened.  Teeth straightened in adolescence, a selection of newish mid-priced clothes, spending a semester abroad?  Well off but probably not rich family, then.  You know, at no notice, idiomatic phrases in two separate languages describing an unusual activity?  Clearly, there’s a gift for languages.  The mild splay of the fingers in your dominant hand and unusual muscular development in your shoulders, along with your obvious aptitude for throwing suggests softball and pitching.  The slight pull and hesitation when you draw that arm back would allow any doctor to diagnose a rotator cuff injury, a career-ending one without surgical correction, and yet you lack scars.  Thus softball is over.”

Rose cocked her head and looked at him, but at least the anger was gone.  So he continued.

“There’s particularly contoured dog hair common to wire-haired terriers on your jeans, meaning it’s fond of you, but none on your shirt, meaning you don’t pick it up, and you aren’t fond of it.”

“Marco’s a drooler and he scratches.  Anyway I’m more of a cat person.”

“Cats eat you after you’re dead.  They don’t even wait until they’re starving, just mildly peckish.”

“True, but on the other hand, I’m dead in this situation.  So who cares?”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “Very practical.  You’ve got enough minor knife and burn injuries to your hands to suggest you spend a lot of time cooking but your forearm development isn’t substantial enough to indicate professional work in the field.  I can tell you study chemistry because of the marks on your shirt.  They never properly clean the lab benches off and you lean into the edges and get some trace amounts of peroxide or acid on the material… which then produces distinctive straight lines of bleaching the next time the shirt is laundered.  I have some of the same ones, see?”

He gestured to his trousers, where the bleaching effect occurred on him, given his greater height.  

“Huh,” Rose said, “I never really thought about that.  So why Iowa?”

“Ah, I was right!”

“Not really.  Nebraska.  But just across the river from Iowa.”

Sherlock sighed.  “Accents are difficult with anyone young enough to have watched television as a child.   But the Iowa accent is marked by monopthongs and “T”-glottalization, and you have it.”

“I have no idea what those things are,” Rose said, musingly, “But since most people around here think New York and L.A. are the only two cities in America that’s actually really good.”

Sherlock felt the blood rushing to his face with pride, and so he kept on, “You’re sentimental because that flannel is battered and you’ve fixed three different tears rather than just discarding it, even though it was never terribly expensive.”

“I saw Nirvana in this shirt.”

Sherlock frowned, wondering if she meant she was Buddhist, and then recalled the band.

“That tattoo,” he wrapped up, “Is a Marius Cook, done about five months ago.  I’ve made a bit of a study of the major tattoo artists of the United Kingdom, you’d be surprised at how often it’s useful. You’ve been of legal age to get tattooed for some time but waited until you were well away from home and then did it instantly but kept it someplace easy to hide, thus: strict parents.”

~

It was dark, now, and someone had pulled out a guitar and was strumming amateurish chords.  Sherlock and Rose had looked at one another and, in a moment of pure intoxicated understanding

~

The semen had more or less dried on her thighs by the time Rose decided that Will wouldn’t be back, even to collect his shirt.  She sighed and rubbed her stubble-burned face.  Then she pulled on her underwear and jeans, and sat and looked up at the stars, which were slightly more mobile than they ought to have been.

She’d liked him.  He wasn’t handsome, but five years and twenty pounds of weight gain would probably have made him so.  And he was sweet.   Clumsy and inexperienced, yes, but intelligent and fun to talk with… essentially, she’d been very happy with the encounter and now she felt…

Cheap.  Which was undoubtedly what her mother would have said about anyone who fucked a man who she’d just met and was expecting to never see again.  So Rose had a bit of a self-pitying snivel, and cried about her troubles.

Eventually her natural good humor resurfaced (she had the beneficial confidence of someone who had taken a birth control pill every day for the last three years) and she said, smiling to herself, “Jilted by a gentleman.  If I can get ruined and discarded by a redcoat I can  have my own Gothic novel.”

 She collected the blanket and Will’s shirt, then ambled back to the party, which was still in full swing, although the Oxford contingent seemed to have gone.  Her flatmate Magda spotted her and called out, “There you are, you whore.  Where’d tall dark and skinny run off to?”

“I think I frightened him away,” Rose replied, lightly, “English boys are all prudes.  Are there any more of those screwdrivers?”

Magda gestured wildly at the five gallon drinks cooler behind her.  “About half.”

“Good.  About half sounds just about right.”  And she wadded Will’s shirt up, tossed it into a nearby rubbish bin, and poured herself a drink.

~

They both forgot all about it.  The vodka helped Rose do a great deal of this within the first twenty-four hours.  Then there was the fact that Byronic-and-interesting Will was neither the first nor the last of a long string of men that would eventually span four continents, some of whom would disappoint her in far more spectacular fashion.  By the time she buried Rose and became Mary, she could skim stones without even vaguely recalling that summer afternoon.  

Sherlock didn’t forget much, and so deleting Rose took an effort of willpower.  He performed a few subsequent experiments with sex and came to the conclusion that it was unlikely to be productive of any good and indeed, subjected him to undesirable sentimentality.  Cocaine was a far more efficient euphoric and asked much less of him, in the end.  The choice to purge his files on the subject en masse was therefore simple logic and had nothing to do with wishing to shed the recollection of a callow, prematurely-ejaculating version of himself.  

When, much later, he plugged the memory stick marked AGRA into his laptop and began reading the files, the name Rose Addison didn’t stir even the faintest reminiscence.

~

“Oh no.  Oh my God, you’re-  You died!  You jumped off a roof!”

That was the first thing she ever said to him.

[bunnimew]

Subtle Tells and Coral Bells

Rating: T Fandom: Rise of the Guardians  Relationship: Jack Frost/Pitch Black Characters: Everyone else Tags: Hanahaki Disease, Humor, Fluff, Because it's me Chapter: 1/3? Summary:  For RotG Halloween 2020: Day 5 @rotg-halloween

Jack doesn't know what it means when he's just talking to Jamie like normal and then suddenly coughing up petals, which is definitely *not* normal, but he hopes the other Guardians will.

Whatever it is, it's gotta be an easy fix, right?

Right?

On AO3 Here.

-o-

Jack laughed as Pitch wiggled his hips in a way that was equal parts sexy and ridiculous. Nothing was helped by the fact that the man was a beanpole and the only shape to him was his ass. 

“If I tell Jamie to do that, he’ll never speak to me again.”

Pitch waved him off. “Jamie’s a child. Their memories are remarkably short.”

Jack shrugged. “I dunno, Pitch. Jamie’s a teenager now. They can hold a grudge.”

“Well, what’s he expecting, then? Asking a spirit to teach him to dance?”

Jack stood and made his way over to where Pitch had been demonstrating some ‘moves.’ “He’s thinking I’ve been around three hundred years and I should have figured this out by now.” Which, “And he’s not wrong.”

Pitch rolled his eyes and took Jack’s hands in his, guiding him into a gentle sway. “Not everyone likes to dance. I can’t even count the number of simple nightmares I’ve brought that were nothing more than forcing someone to dance when they didn’t want to.”

Jack stared at their feet, focused on trying to match his steps to whatever soundless beat Pitch was moving to. “I mean, I like to dance. I just do more of a ‘Nymph in the woods’ thing than a ‘highschool Halloween dance’ kinda thing.”

Pitch smiled at him indulgently. “And it’s beautiful to watch, Jack.”

Jack snorted and accused, “Flirt.”

“You can’t blame an old spirit for trying,” Pitch said, and Jack interrupted.

“Yes I can.”

But Pitch continued as if he’d said nothing. “The most important thing will be not letting his head get in the way. To dance, you must move, and to move, you must not freeze.”

“I better steer clear, then.”

Pitch let go of Jack’s hand to swat his arm. “Are you trying to help the boy or not, Jack?”

Jack bit his lips to temper his smile and grabbed Pitch’s hand again. “Sorry, sorry. It’s really hard for me to take things seriously.”

“We,” Pitch said with a straight face, “literally all of us, already know that.”

“Okay, so, I tell him to not think too hard, and then what?” Jack was staring at their feet again. “Are you thinking of a particular song right now?”

Pitch hummed and shook his head. “No, just a basic one, two, three, four… Every song follows the same sort of count, just at different tempos. For example,“ Pitch continued to count out loud as he led Jack through a step and a twirl and a spin. “You could fit that into almost any song, as long as you set the steps to the appropriate beat.”

Jack closed his eyes and let Pitch lead him. His center was feeling so fulfilled and warm right now. Whatever Pitch might have said about not everyone liking to dance, both of them certainly enjoyed it, even if Jack had no idea how to dance with someone else after three centuries on this earth. At least, not to this millenia’s standards. 

This was how Pitch felt when he was out scaring people. When he was scaring Jack. Nothing like a quiet night to remind Jack how lucky he was that his center was something people generally liked. 

Jack finally opened his eyes again to find Pitch had twirled them all around the forest clearing they were standing in. His conclusion? Jamie ought to just find someone else who was good at this and let them handle the rest. Clearly Jack didn’t have to be good at all, as long as his partner was. 

“I’m not sure how to tell Jamie how to do this.” Also, Jack was pretty sure high school dances didn’t involve ballroom this much.

Pitch didn’t seem concerned. “Probably best to just remind him that in ten years, nobody is really going to care what he looked like dancing on Halloween. Those sort of nightmares are only effective through high school. About half-way into college, nobody gives half a shit anymore. Then the nightmares are about crying their way through tests and forgetting vital pieces of paperwork. Humans have very specific priorities, Jack.”

Jack laughed and stumbled despite Pitch basically carrying him through the dance. Pitch was pretty great for keeping Jack’s perspective down to earth. The other Guardians would definitely have let him get caught up in the hopes and dreams and ideas of perfect nights and fantastic dates. 

Sometimes, when everything goes wrong, that’s when you have the most fun.

“Alright, that’s fair,” Jack said. “I still think he’s going to call me a traitor for not actually teaching him anything.”

Pitch stopped and gave Jack an innocently wide-eyed look. “But I thought you were used to that?”

Jack dropped his jaw. The nerve of this man. It was Jack’s turn to let go and smack Pitch. “That was your fault!”

Pitch cackled. Actually cackled. Jack called himself a traitor for finding it at all attractive. “You can’t just blame everything on me, Jack. When are you going to take some personal responsibility?”

Jack snorted. “I take plenty of responsibility for the shit I actually do, Pitch. Half of North’s elves will never be the same and that is entirely my doing. Now shut up and teach me how to dance, Old Man.”

Pitch scoffed, but obligingly lifted his arms up toward the moon and swayed to an unheard beat, beginning yet another explanation about how it was all in the music.

-o-

Jamie stared at Jack with such an expression of unimpressed disappointment that Jack kind of wanted to hop out the window, come back in, and re-try this whole conversation. 

“That’s not how you dance, Jack.”

Jack threw up his hands. “I told Pitch you wouldn’t like it, but that was all he’d give me!” He sighed and leaned back against Jamie’s desk, littered with notebooks and writing utensils, at least six pencil can’s worth. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I was a teenager three hundred years ago. We danced differently back then.”

But Jamie was giving him a Look. One of those Teenager Specials complete with the ‘Are you stupid?’ furrow and the ‘Excuse me, what?’ chin drop. Apparently Jack had said something unacceptable. 

“What?”

“You asked Pitch?” 

Oh. Well. Jack hadn’t meant to admit that. 

“I mean,” he tried to explain, “he dances a lot more than me. Pitch actually, like… tries.” 

Jamie rolled his eyes and Jack knew he was lost. “That doesn’t mean you ask the Boogeyman about it! What kind of dance does he do, anyway? The monster mash?”

Jack felt his brows come together. “Is that a dance?” Kids came up with fads so fast, but Jack shook his head because that wasn’t important. “I mean, he does them all? He told me everything I told you.”

Jamie put a perfect mockery of impressed on his face. “And that was so much.” 

The kid had a point, but Jack wasn’t going to tell him that. “He knows a lot, I swear! It’s just that most dances are ballroom, and neither of us thinks that’s going to come up at your high school Halloween dance.”

Jamie did that thing where he rolled his eyes and left them there, like something on the ceiling was exasperating him. “Yeah, I guess…”

Jack laughed. “I miss when you used to think I was so cool.” 

Jamie’s exasperation was focused all on Jack now, but so was a smile. “Yeah? And I miss when you didn’t tell the Boogeyman everything.” 

Jack gave Jamie a fond, but unamused look. “Now you’re just being bratty.”

“I am,” Jamie admitted. He threw his hands up in the air and leaned back on his bed. “But I’m just so nervous, Jack! It’s a big dance! I don’t wanna look like an idiot in front of everyone!”

“You’re not going to,” Jack assured, “Besides, no one’s really gonna care about what happened at this dance in five years.”

Jamie dragged his hands back down into his lap and stared. “Did Pitch tell you that?”

Jack offered a sheepish smile. “Yes?”

Jamie gave Jack the same kind of look one might give a cat with its head stuck in a tissue box and the tissue box stuck on a corner. A little helpless and a lot adoring. “Pitch said this, Pitch said that,” Jamie mocked, “I thought you had more than one friend, Jack?”

“I do!” Jack defended himself. “What, did you want me to ask North how to dance? Sandy?”

Jamie laughed and shook his head very fast. “Nono, please, no! I’m sure it’s very impressive, but I don’t need to learn how to dance with swords!”

Jack shrugged one shoulder and delighted in how he could still knock Jamie out of his bad moods. “Better not ask Tooth either, then.”

Jamie was well on his way to a proper giggle fit. “No, that would be awful. Better ask the King of Nightmares, instead!”

It was Jack’s turn to throw his hands up. “I told you! He actually dances!”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Jamie said. “I’m sure he’s fantastic at twerking.”

Jack snorted so hard he almost hurt himself. But then something seemed to catch in his throat, and he coughed to clear it, then coughed again when it didn’t quite clear. 

Jamie had stopped laughing at the second cough, and was looking properly concerned now. “Jack, are you alright?”

Jack just shook his head, because his throat felt so thick with something that he didn’t think he could get any words past. He could breathe just fine, but it felt… 

Jack coughed harder, trying to force his throat clear, and it finally worked, but he didn’t feel any better. Any and all feelings of success and relief died at the sight of four delicate flower petals drifting softly to the floor.

“...Jack?” 

Jamie’s voice shook Jack back into the moment. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring for so long, but Jamie was all the way at the end of his bed now, bare feet on the carpet, looking down at the same puzzling petals that had Jack in such a stupor. 

“What are those?”

Jack slowly lifted his shoulders in a helpless sort of shrug. “Flower petals? I think?”

Jamie looked right up at him, not amused in the least. “They came out of your mouth.” 

Jack bit his lip and chewed nervously. They had, and he had no idea why. “I know.”

“Is that normal?”

Jack shook his head, but then shrugged again. “I don’t know? Jamie, I’m like, really young when it comes to spirits. Maybe this just happens every three hundred years. I haven’t seen it before, but that… doesn’t really mean anything.”

Jamie nodded, and Jack was relieved that he seemed to believe him. “I hope you’re okay.”

For all that Jamie was a moody teenager, he was still a really good kid. “Yeah, me too. Hey, you should get to sleep, so you can practice your dance moves in the morning. I’m gonna go ask around about… this. Alright?”

Jamie took one last dubious look at the petals on the floor, then slid back in his bed to the headboard. “Yeah, alright. Let me know what they say, okay?”

Jack smiled. It was easy to smile at Jamie. “Of course. I’ll be back real soon. I promise.”

[cautious-creation]

Steve plays guitar and only Bucky knows

Fandom & Character: Marvel (MCU); Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan), Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson), Hawkeye/Clint Barton (Jeremy Renner)

Pairing(s): (suggested) Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) x 1st person reader; Clintasha (non-romantic)

Word/page count: 1200+ words

CW/TW: none I noticed

Summary: Reader hears Steve playing guitar and offers to be his vocalist ft. an Ed Sheeran song.

Author’s note: This is based on an imagine / headcanon type thing I’ve lost in the internet over time. I wrote this when I was in grade...9?...ish. I mention it because I don’t like it much in hindsight.

It'd been yet another day of intense training. Natasha and Clint were in charge of planning and coaching the torturous activities for me. Target practice, boxing, sparring and flexibility training were included in my morning 'workout'. I walked through the tower, past the living quarters of the avengers, who I looked up to and aspired to be like. As I turned a corner, I almost bumped into an, unusually cheerful, James Barnes.

"Hey." He acknowledged.

"Hi" I gave him a tired smile.

"How's the training going?" He must be in a pretty good mood, he usually doesn't seek conversation, specifically with me.

"I know I shouldn't complain about having such an awesome opportunity, I mean; I'm training, and living with the Avengers, but Lord knows this is draining me." I stretched my back sideways, I was sure to be hella stiff the next day. James chuckled. Okay, he's probably the happiest he's been since he returned from that mission where they destroyed a HYDRA based he'd been trained in. I'd have to bring it up with Steve.

"I assume you're referring to training with a couple ex-assassins." He smirked.

"I swear, Clintasha are going to kill me in the gym downstairs before I see my first mission with either S.H.I.E.L.D or you guys."

"Clintasha?" He looked at me quizzically. Had I said that aloud?

"Ugh, Hawkeye and Black Widow. Please don't tell them about that nickname. I find it easier to refer to them like that considering they're pretty much always together." He smiled.

"Sure, I'd prefer to postpone your apparent inevitable doom. You make good food." He walked off chuckling and shaking his head then saying ‘Clintasha’ and laughing louder.

I continued my journey to the destination shower when I heard a familiar set of chords being played on an acoustic guitar. It definitely wasn't the original song, or any other recorded version of it for that matter, based on the pauses between strums and small mistakes that appeared occasionally.

G, C, G, G, C and C. The appropriate rests were in between each strum which were each their specific length to play the fun, quick paced song that Ed Sheeran gave to the world. It was being played slowly, as if the musician was unfamiliar with the song.

A couple of repetitions of the first verse later and the soft hum of the melody could be heard as the guitarist added sound to where the lyrics would be sung. I quietly sang the lyrics as I neared the source of the music.

"It's late in the evening, glass on the side, I've been sat with you for most of the night." I reached the closed door separating the world from the beautiful sound resonating from inside the room.

"I need you darling, come on set the tone, if you feel you're falling won't you let me know."

I took the chance and knocked on the door to the room of one of the Avengers, I was about to find out who.

The song stopped, I could hear some shuffling, then footsteps on the wooden floor approaching the door.

It opened to a slightly flustered Steve Rogers, probably a bit embarrassed by the possibility of him being caught playing an Ed Sheeran song.

"Oh, I was expecting...never mind. How can I help you?" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could help you, sir." I suddenly became incredibly shy, fiddling with my fingers and lowering my head in the presence of the beautiful piece of man in front of me. My role model and superior.

"I believe you may want a vocalist? Quality playing deserves to have a melody accompany it, don't you think?" I was certain to be blushing by now.

"You sing?" He smiled. I nodded.

"I took lessons before I got involved with S.H.I.E.L.D, participated in a few national competitions actually, I was asked to be the lead vocalist when my friend started a band too. I'd be glad to practice with you if you'll take me." I shrugged.

"You know, I'd really appreciate the help." He started heading back into his room before turning back to me.

"On one condition." His face was stern.

"Name it." I smiled.

"No one finds out. Neither of us would ever be able to live it down if anyone finds out, especially Tony." He picked up a classic wooden acoustic guitar.

"I assume we won't be performing for anyone then." I smirked.

"Absolutely not." He chuckled.

----------

We'd gone through the song about five times when the door flew open revealing an otherwise occupied James Barnes.

"There's this song I thought you'd....oh." He looked up to see Steve holding his guitar and me holding a Stark-Pad for the both of us to see.

"I see you finally took my advice, Stevie." He smirked placing his hand on his hip almost sassily.

"No one finds out, huh?" I quipped, surprised.

"Only Bucky knows." He shrugged questioning whether or not I'd accept that as a reasonable excuse.

"Okay." I shrugged.

"What advice?" I asked James.

"To get someone to teach him how to really play."

"Really?  You think I know how to play guitar, actually, more importantly: you think Captain Rogers needs a teacher." I was baffled, he got that song down in under ten repetitions.

"Omg, please don't call me that. It makes me feel old." I laughed. They looked at each other confused, which only made me laugh harder.

"Really?" I managed to stop laughing.

"Modern acronyms don't suit you, first off; and secondly, it makes you feel old? Seriously?" I looked between the 90 something year olds, the one desperately trying to stifle his laughter while waiting for the other to understand.

"Oh, you mean because I am old." James sighed and covered his face with his hands. I just smiled and shook my head.

"This is why you fail so miserably at communicating with Tony, buddy." Bucky walked off chuckling and muttering ‘old man’ to himself.

"From the top?" I asked, walking back to where the lyrics were being displayed from the tablet at the foot of Steve's bed.

"Miss Y/L/N? I believe you are due for another round of training." J.A.R.V.I.S.' voice sounded, causing me to groan.

"Can you let Miss Romanoff and Mr Barton that I'll be down once I've returned from the physio therapist, chiropractor and spa. Just make sure they know that was sarcasm."

"Last thing I need is for a couple of ex assassins to have reason to torture me further than what they already do." I muttered.

"I could train you if you'd like. I have a feeling we'll work better when it comes to communication and knowing physical limits. You do need to be able to walk tomorrow." Steve suggested.

"That's allowed?" I asked hopefully. He nodded.

"Oh please! Please, please, please!" I begged. I grabbed onto his shirt, genuinely desperate.

"Okay, if you're done being weirdly affectionate with our boss, I believe we have some training to get done." Clint smirked as he entered the doorway.

I dropped my head awkwardly, stood up slowly and smiled through my intense blush, hoping that my expression was as innocent as I needed it to be.

"um...I'll just...head down so long. I'll see you there." I started walking.

"Preferably the hottest of you three." I muttered, looking back to see Steve discussing (intensely) with Clintasha.

[trainsinanime]

You know the biggest problem with Miraculous Ladybug salt fanfics? They’re so tame.

(And also, for me specifically, reading one of these character assassination thingies by accident drains all the joy from my day. No judgement, I know some people are into that, just please make sure you tag it appropriately.)

But seriously, the things that Lila and whoever was chosen as her cronies in such stories do are just plain boring. Shun Marinette? Boring. Express silent disappointment when Marinette won‘t come to a group hangout with Lila? Seen it. Rip apart Marinette‘s sketchbook? How mundane.

Similarly, the ways Marinette gets her revenge are mundane as well. Marinette reveals that she is or knows a famous person (and for whatever reason that person is rarely Ladybug) who has never heard of Lila. Sure, okay, but Marinette literally did that in canon within five screen minutes of meeting Lila. Or Marinette stops making free band T-Shirts, or Marinette cancels a class trip, or Marinette runs away and marries Batman…

It‘s all such a deeply petty revenge fantasy. It‘s taking the feeling that a fourteen year-old has when their friends refuse to stop being friends with that one kid, even though they‘re a complete asshole to you, even though you absolutely definitely one-hundred percent did nothing bad to them (except for all the things they deserved). Now, some might say that this is exactly the point of salt fanfics. In fact, not just some; I have literally said that before myself.

But still, I mean, come on guys. This isn‘t the corridors of Sunnyvale High, this is Paris, France! And this is serialized revenge fiction! There are precedents for this shit!

I want salt fanfics where Lila convinces Mayor Bourgeois that Marinette is planning to bring Napoleon Bonaparte back to power (which presumably requires first resurrecting him, I guess?). So he has Marinette arrested, because it is canon that the mayor of Paris can just do whatever, and thrown in a prison on an island off the coast of Marseille without trial.

During the next fourteen years, her friends and family wonder where she‘s gone. Meanwhile, in prison, she becomes friends with a nun who teaches her a bit of everything and in particular tells her the location of a buried pirate treasure on another island on the Italian coast. Marinette finally escapes, finds the treasure, becomes rich and buys the island and the title of nobility that comes with it. Now as a Countess, she returns to Paris, with a thirst for vengeance and the financial means to reward whoever was loyal to her, and destroy all those who betrayed her…

Maybe you don‘t have to use this exact plot (though it is very well tested and popular), but just give it a thought.

[your-miss-right]

Caller Number 9

Summary: Because let’s face it, your girlfriends won’t tell you when the boy of your dreams isn’t interested. So what’s left? Calling the late night radio show host known as Min Suga is a good option right? He’ll tell you how it is and ruin you while fixing your love life. Counterproductive? Definitely.

Masterlist

Chapter 2: Meet-Not-So-Cute

Normal people sleep eight hours, eat wholesome breakfasts made with oats, low fat milk, and a serving of fruit. Normal people have friends who stay away until it’s an appropriate hour to visit. Normal people don’t turn their kitchen table into a makeshift bed.

Normal…was something nonexistent in her world.

Y/N should’ve been upset about this, but then again it was six in the morning and she was sitting in a mound of blankets at her tiny kitchen table eating pastries and cheap coffee with her friend. She honestly couldn’t bring herself to care too much. Especially after her little radio show melt down. Thank god she didn’t give her name or else she might consider moving to a whole new state.

“So…did you hear from Jay?” Somehow she could tell her already knew the answer.

“Not exactly…”

“Oh?” There it was…that tone when he knew he had called it right. She knew it wasn’t out of cruelty. He had been concerned for her, asking her to be cautious. He hadn’t been wrong, Jay had gotten out of a relationship and the last thing he probably wanted was to jump back into one.

“Don’t look at me like that…” her grumble was somewhat smothered by the cloth of her long sleeve. She wasn’t looking up, but she could definitely feel his gaze.

“You don’t even know how I’m looking at you right now…” she didn’t have to look up to know he was checking her over, as if to make sure she was in one piece.

“Yes I do, I know that you’re trying to to act like you’re not judging my choices,” Y/n grumbled.

“Ok so I might have been judging you. At least tell me you know why? I told you that kid was no good. I mean what person uses a shirtless shot as his profile picture?” His nose scrunched in disgust and Y/N snorted at Hobi’s face.

“I know…” she leaned on her hands and watched as Hoseok pushed a steaming cup of cheap coffee towards her and a chocolate bun on a napkin.

“I don’t have much of an appetite…”

“If you don’t eat it, I will,” he warned her as he popped the last bit of his pastry into his mouth.

She glared at him, but he just smiled through his mouthful of bread-y goodness. Normally sweets made her the happiest person, but after stressing over her assignments, her late night phone call, and confirming that she’d be rejected, she wanted to sleep all day.

“Did you sleep at all?” Hoseok asked, this time his voice latent with concern.

“Like an hour maybe?” She munched on the pastry slowly. Hoseok didn’t miss her happy feet as she chewed. Y/N always danced in her chair when she was enjoying her food. He wondered if she was actually a college student sometimes.

“No wonder you look so exhausted. I thought you had went to bed though after your last text? Something keep you up?”

“That good looking piece of trash, homework, and…other stuff.” she pouted and took a bigger bite of her pastry aggressively. Her face flushed when she thought about her late night call.

“Well now you know he isn’t worth it. I hope you learned your lesson. You’re too cute for him anyways,” Hoseok chewed thoughtfully and added, “I also get the feeling you’d kind of eat him alive eventually, the girls he likes are too soft.”

Y/N said nothing, but nodded. She probably would, someone once told her she was high strung, too much. She looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, “Still though, ignoring someone who sucks would be so much easier if they really were the worst human alive.”

Hoseok thought for a moment and replied, “He’s the worst dancer on the team if that makes you feel better. He can’t keep count to save his life. It’s almost the same thing.” 

Y/N felt a wide grin part her lips. Hoseok had been the first friend she’d made at her university. She’d been walking up to her apartment after a long study night when she found him lying out in front of her apartment complex in the parking lot with his roommate, Taehyung.

Apparently they had locked themselves out and their landlord wasn’t going to be coming back until tomorrow morning. She’s not sure how, but she ended up sitting in the parking lot with them until six in the morning. In that span of time she learned several important things; she learned Hoseok was a dance major and Taehyung was going into veterinary.

Hoseok laughed so loud it made you giddy, Taehyung had a smile that could grow flowers, according to Taehyung the perfect milkshake is made with a scoop of ice cream and coconut milk, Hoseok likes his eggs baked because they’re fluffier that way, and according them, there definitely needs to be a class that teaches you the principles of being happy. Because let’s face it, life takes itself too seriously and people need a break.

It took her four cups of coffee and an energy bar to get through the next day, but it was worth it. After that she found the pair making a small spot for themselves in her mundane life. There were no complaints on her end.

“You should be proud of me though, he did eventually call last night and I told him off,” Y/N offered a tired smile and Hoseok’s mouth fell open.

“How did this change of heart occur?”

Y/N flushed at the memory and was extremely thankful that she didn’t use her real name when on air. It would’ve made her life only that much harder if everyone knew she was the caller who got into it with DJ Min Suga. He might not be the nicest guy around, but she did to get the truth. She hated being sensitive sometimes, it made being taken seriously that much harder.

“Let’s just say some cold hearted jerk was very honest with me last night,” Y/N scrunched her nose cutely and cringed inwardly.

“He sounds like a keeper,” Hoseok waggled his eyebrows at her, earning a soft punch to the arm. His pouty expression did nothing to soften her mock glare.

“Yeah well I probably won’t ask for Prince Charming’s advice anymore. He’s a horrible human being,” Y/N picked at a loose thread on her oversized flannel.

Hoseok’s face lit up like he had an ingenious idea and Y/N was curious so she leaned in closer, “Maybe he’s just right for you. You always pick nice guys that turn into sleazy guys. It’s worth a shot, I mean your taste in men can’t get worse right?”

“Goddamn it, Hoseok,” she hid her face in her sleeves. Her dating life was a mess.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

“You did good last night. I liked your sets,” the voice came from his side where his friend was sprawled out on his bed, flipping through a men’s fashion magazine.

He was trying not to fall asleep considering he had class soon and his journalism teacher was kind of uptight and actually took roll call. It made them feel like five year olds, but he quickly realized dignity takes second place, especially with a grade on the line. It’s funny how you realize you’re kind of willing to do anything when you actually start paying for schooling.

“Thanks, I actually had more fun than usual, did you hear it at the beginning?” He turned his head to look at his blonde friend, his hair was a mess and he looked just as tired as he did. Exam season was relentless and unforgiving to everyone, even geniuses as it turns out.

“I tuned in a little late, why? Did you get a crazy fangirl again?” He raised a brow at the pale boy who was flashing his signature gummy smile.

“This girl called in and got really pissed off, she called me an asshole. I haven’t had one like that in a while.”

“Who would’ve thought that Dj Min Suga is a masochist? I never thought you’d be one for verbal abuse,” Namjoon snickered at his friend.

Yoongi shrugged, he liked his job. Being a late night radio show host often provided for interesting stories. Unfortunately, this also meant a weird sleep schedule and often times was caught napping at the oddest hours and strangest places. Once he went on a date and dozed off while the girl went to the bathroom. She wasn’t exactly very pleased when she came back.

He couldn’t help it if he was tired and he would admit she had bored him a little. It was mutual because as soon as he mentioned his photography, she zoned out. He’d made up his mind about her, by the time she’d pick up her phone to answer a text, mid-conversation.

“It was funny and she’s a bit naïve, you don’t find them like that anymore Namjoon. Although I do feel a little sorry for her, she cares too much what others think.” Yoongi wasn’t trying to be cruel, not really. Yes, he could have his fun and say outlandish things, but he really did want her to understand what he was telling her.

People really don’t get to treat you poorly because they feel like it and you shouldn’t take it either.

“Bless the girl that falls for you,” Namjoon shook his head.

“Whoever she is…she’s going to need all the help she can get,” Yoongi chuckled.

The pair fell silent for a moment, as if letting the weight of the words actually settle in. Yoongi could already feel the question creeping up on him before it left Namjoon’s mouth.

“Do you really not believe in relationships and all that?” Namjoon wasn’t the most romantic person in the world either, but at least he still had a romantic side to him. The fact that he was too busy and career driven was a whole different subject that often intervened in his almost nonexistent dating life.

But him? Did he just not care? He wasn’t quite sure.

“I do believe in them, just not right now,” Yoongi shrugged. He really wasn’t even sure if he did believe in such feelings. Every time he’d attempted it, the situation would blow up in his face. There was always a problem and he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but somehow he always felt the common variable was himself.

He cared too much and the girl got fed up, didn’t care enough, and the girl would leave. He tried being different and somewhere along the lines it would get so stifling that he wasn’t sure who he was pretending to be. Then he tried being himself and that just seemed to confuse people. Yoongi wasn’t sure, but at some point he started feeling defective.

It wasn’t until he met Namjoon and began making other friends, that he realized he wasn’t the problem, other people were. So how do you solve that? You cut them off. It might’ve been a bad way to handle things, hell, he was 98% sure it was. But frankly, it’d made his life a little easier. He didn’t feel like he needed to blame himself anymore. If people didn’t like him, then to hell with it.

It had been working out for him just fine. However when Namjoon questioned it, which he had a nasty habit of doing, it was in those moments that Yoongi would find himself feeling like he’d temporarily lost his footing. He’d find his stomach curling uncomfortably and his mind reeling for a brief moment before answering curtly or changing the subject.

“We should get going, I have to get those morning shots for that media class.” Namjoon didn’t say anything as his friend got up, leaving Namjoon with his question unanswered. He should’ve been used to this by now.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

“It’s way too early for this class,” Y/N pulled her black beanie over her head, squishing her hair over head and hiding her eyes from the world. Not that it really mattered considering Hoseok was the only person with her and he’d already seen her at her worst. Under eye circles weren’t a shock to him anymore.

“Just turn it in and leave, no big deal,” he shrugged and tried to console her. He had to wonder if one day she would just keel over from lack of sleep. She needed to take better care of herself.

“I should, but I have other projects to take care of before I can rest. How are you though? I haven’t even asked how your classes are going? Are you having showcases that I should go see?” She was suddenly brighter. If there was something she really liked, it was seeing Hoseok dance. It still made him blush when she cheered him on.

“I’m fine. My exams haven’t been as bad, but I think I do need to stay focused. I’m tired and we do have a showcase coming up soon,” he stopped and lit up as if remembering something important, “You should totally go! You know that radio station you listen to? With that DJ with really good sets? They’re supposed to be there covering the event.”

Y/N flushed, the heat creeping up her neck and to her cheeks. She hadn’t exactly given Hoseok the exact details of last night’s phone call and she wasn’t about to.

“Oh? That’s cool. I actually haven’t listened to him in a while. Kind of lost interest,” Y/N shrugged making Hoseok raise a brow.

“Really? Oh…well I still want you to go. Taehyung is going too!”

“I will, let me know when and I’ll be there,” Y/N gave him a goofy grin and thumbs up that made him mess up the beanie on her head.

“Well I should get going now, you can walk the rest of the way right?” Hoseok stopped, they were several yards from the arts building where the majority of Y/N’s classes were.

“Hobi, I’m not five,” she deadpanned.

“Yeah, but you are sleep deprived. Take care of yourself ok?” Hoseok patted her head and let his hand rest there for a moment.

“Fine, I will,” she nodded making his hand slip from its place. He gave her a small wave before taking off down the sidewalk and back towards his place. She waited for a moment, watching her bright friend disappear around a corner and down the street.

“Why can’t I meet someone as cool as that?” She mused out loud. Y/N wasn’t attracted to Hoseok, but she did wonder why she never met someone as interesting or worthwhile as him.

She turned around ready to head into her class when she found herself staring at narrowed brown eyes and copper hair hidden beneath a beanie, he was carrying a camera in his hands, and his mouth was pulled into a tight frown. The scowl on his face was intimidating for a guy with a small build, the oversized scarf that was threatening to swallow him up made him look even smaller. The reality of it though was that he was still taller than the average height.

“You know talking to yourself is a sign of insanity,” he commented bluntly.

“Thanks…for that I guess…” she raised a brow at him and tried to side step him.

“No, no, thank you for ruining my shot,” he replied.

She halted in her steps and mustered the most offended look. It was too early for this.

“You’re welcome, now if you don’t mind I have somewhere to go,” she snapped.

“You could at least apologize,” he mumbled as he watched her climb the steps. He hadn’t actually planned on her hearing him, but her sudden stop and the tension in her shoulders told him he’d messed up.

“Excuse me?! Do you know what time it is? It is seven in the morning! I have been up all night killing myself over homework and stupid girl issues and the last thing I need is some snarky skinny guy with a camera telling me how I should behave!” She was standing in front of him, chest heaving and face flushed, but the boy didn’t seem offended.

If anything he looked amused.

“Uh…am I interrupting something?” A deep voice cut the thick tension in the air. Y/N shot the tall blonde a glare. He was carrying a couple of coffee cups and staring nervously between the pair as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

“I hope your shot is ruined…” she muttered angrily before stomping off.

Yoongi should’ve been offended, but he said nothing as he took his coffee and flicked through his pictures.

“She seemed…nice…”

“A real sweetheart…”

It didn’t go unnoticed when his friend skipped past her picture without deleting it, but Namjoon said nothing.

Yoongi always did have strange taste in women.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

A/N: Reposted this because the original had been deleted. Also the last few chapters or so are under construction, some parts of the story have been edited/rewritten. Hope to have the last updates up soon.

[therainroguefanfiction]

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 026 [Robo-Inferno!]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 2,771

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“We are young, not for long. Life is fun! It only goes downhill. We gotta make the most of it, or you’ll regret it.” TheOdd1sOut & Boyinaband, “Life is Fun”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“Hey! Make some noise, you rabid sports fans! Get those cameras prepped, media hordes! This year, we’re bringing you some of the hottest performances in the sports festival history guaranteed! I’ve only got one question before we start this show – are you ready?! Let me hear you scream as our students make their way to the main stage!” Present Mic’s voice boomed over the cheering crowd.

I readjusted the band across my forehead as class 1-A walked down the darkened hallway toward the center of the stadium. “Oi, Bakuhoe. The logo is visible, right?”

He glanced at me. “I can’t believe you’re wearing that stupid ass thing.”

I scowled. “Tacos are the food of the gods. Don’t hate, appreciate.”

His eyes narrowed at me, lips pulling back into a scowl. “You better fucking take this shit seriously, Winchester!”

“Oh yee of little faith,” I wagged my finger. “I’m comin’ for yo ass, Bakuhoe. Hope you’re ready.”

“Keep dreamin’, bitch.” He was silent for a moment. “Yes, the logo is visible.”

I grinned, throwing my arm on his shoulder.

We reached the end of the hall, stepping out in the bright sun that shined over the open stadium. Goddamn, that’s a lot of fucking people.

“This first group are no strangers to the spotlight! You know them for withstanding a villain attack – the dazzling students light up your TVs with solid gold skills! The hero course students of class 1-A!”

“Uhh… I-I didn’t know there’d be so many people…”

I patted Izuku’s shoulder. “Same, bro.” To be honest, I can’t stand it when people stare at me. Even when Aizawa’s cat stares at me while I’m playing games or trying to eat, that shit pisses me off. Now there’s a fuck ton of people staring at me. Well, at least I’m not alone. Just gotta let them shine brighter.

“I hope we’re still able to give our best performances even though all these eyes are watching us,” Iida commented. “I suppose it’s just another aspect of being a hero we all have to learn to get used to.”

“Present Mic sure did talk us up a lot… Kinda makes me nervous.” Kirishima kept looking around at all the people before turning to me and Bakugo as we walked in front of him. “How you feeling, man? You nervous, too, Winchester?”

“I’m not worried. It makes me want to win this thing even more!” Bakugo grinned.

“It makes me want to die.”

Izuku sweatdropped as he looked over his shoulder. “Please don’t die, Jen-san…”

“No promises.”

“If she dies it’ll be because I killed her! Face forward, Deku!”

“They haven’t been getting nearly as much screen time, but this next group is still chock full of talent! Welcome hero course class 1-B! Next up, general studies C, D, and E! Support classes F, G, and H! And finally, business classes I, J, and K! Give it up for all of U.A.’s first-year contestants!!”

All of the students gathered in front of the platform Midnight stood on top of. “Now, the introductory speech!”

The men in the crowd started to go wild at the sight of her and I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, who thought letting this bitch teach hormonal teenagers was a good idea?” I felt Bakugo shrug his shoulder under my arm.

“Someone should talk to Midnight-sensei about what she’s wearing…” Kirishima commented softly, his cheeks pink.

“Yeah, that costume should come with a warning.” Sparky agreed, his cheeks just as pink.

“Is it really appropriate apparel for a high school game?” Fumi questioned with a hint of disgust in his voice.

“Fumi, my beautiful bird child!” I held my fist out to him and he blinked in surprise, tilting his head and looking at my hand for a solid five seconds before lightly tapping his fist against mine.

“Silence, everyone!” Midnight cracked her short whip. “For the student pledge, we have… Katsuki Bakugo!”

I snickered. “This should be fucking brilliant.”

“H-He’s the first year rep?” Izuku panicked.

“I guess that hot-head did finish first in the entrance test.” Kirishima mused.

I raised a brow at him. “Did you just say entrance test? That sounds so wrong, Kiri.”

“Don’t tease me, Winchester!” He pouted, poking my arm.

“He only got first for the hero course exams,” Some girl on her right said, sending us an annoyed look.

“Oh… right…”

“That girl obviously hates us,”

“Yeah and we’ve got Bakugo to thank for them not liking our class.”

I scoffed, glancing back at the yellow-haired dope. “If you really think that, you’re dumber than you look, Sparky.”

His face flushed.

“What do you mean?” Kiri tilted his head.

“Ever since the USJ incident, class 1-A has been all over the media. By now, most people know who we are, even if it’s just ‘the first years that took on real villains and survived’. While it may be true that the idiot fueled the fire, he didn’t start it. They already disliked our class because of the praise and attention we’ve been getting. Blaming Bakugo is just a cop-out, an easy solution. Besides,” I narrowed my eyes at the girl, who shifted at the attention. “If someone is childish enough to judge the majority for the actions of one person, that’s on them.”

“I just wanna say,” Bakugo’s monotone voice was amplified by the microphone he stood in front of. “I’m gonna win.”

“Boo!”

“What did he say?!”

“So full of himself!”

“Get off the stage!”

I laughed loudly, resting my arm on Fumi’s shoulder. “I totally fucking called it. I shoulda placed a bet!”

Fumi simply sighed, shaking his head.

“Why would you be so disrespectful?!” Iida cried. “You’re representing us all!”

“Not my fault the rest of you are just stepping stones for my victory.” He pointed his thumb down.

“I’m gonna crush this overconfident jerk!! I can’t wait to knock him down a size!!”

I chuckled as Bakugo approached, holding my hand up. “You sure ruffled some jimmies there, Bakuhoe.”

He humphed, slapping his palm against mine.

“Without further ado, it’s time for us to get started!” Midnight spoke up. “This is where you begin to feel the pain. The first fateful game of the festival is…” A screen appeared behind her, the words spinning like a slot machine. “What could it be~?” It stopped on Obstacle Race. “Ta-da~ All eleven classes will participate in this treacherous contest! The track is four kilometers around the outside of the stadium! I don’t wanna restrain anyone – at least not in this game,” She licked her lips and smirked. God, she’s creepy as fuck. “As long as you don’t leave the course, you’re free to do whatever your heart desires! Now then, take your places, contestants!”

The crowd cheered as the gate to out left buzzed, three green lights lighting up above it. The students gathered around the gate and a drop of sweat rolled down my cheek as I scanned the large crowd. Oi oi, there’s no way in the nine hells that all of these students are gonna fit through that narrow ass hallway and I know damn well everyone is gonna rush forward as soon as it begins. That means I either need to get ahead before the jam or fall back and wait for an opening. Sheesh.

The first green light faded.

I glanced up at the stands where the U.A. faculty members were sitting. Toshi looks nervous as hell, his icy blue eyes darting around as he tried to find me and Izuku. God, he can be such a dad sometimes.

The second light faded.

I let out a breath. I’m gonna try hard. After all, if I don’t place well, then old man Shimatsu won’t get much business for his taco stand during lunch. Can’t let that happen!

The third light faded.

It was like that fucking scene from Jumanji, everyone rushing toward the hall at the same time and getting stuck from the sheer amount of students. I winced at the poor kids being smooshed against the wall.

“And~ we’re off to a racing start! How about some color commentary, mummy man?!”

“How did you talk me into this?” Poor Aizawa sounds exasperated, poor guy.

“What should we be paying attention to in the early stages of the race?!”

“The doorway,” he responded blandly.

I hummed, eyes scanning the backline of students as I kneeled down. Alright, let’s get it! I took off toward the hallway, jumping off the ground and landing on the back of a rather large student. Yells of protest reached me as I hopped from student to student, using them as stepping stones. I should thank Bakugo for the idea later.

The temperature suddenly divebombed and I suppressed a shiver as Todoroki activated his ice quirk, covering the end of the hallway and the students with ice. Cocky sumbitch. I hopped from a frozen student’s shoulder, increasing the temperature in my boots before landing on the ice. It sizzled as it melted. Good thing I put in a request to wear these fireproof boots!

“Nice trick, Todoroki!”

“I won’t let you get away so easily you icy hot bastard!!”

I snickered at the students slowly making their way across the frozen ground. One of them slipped and fell onto his ass, letting out a groan of frustration. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

Mineta jumped into the air. “You think you’re so cool, but I’ve outsmarted you! Ha! How pathetic, Todoroki! Eat this, my special attack -!”

Wham!

One of the robots from the entrance exam came out of nowhere, slamming its arm against his face and yeeting him across the field. That’s karma, you disgusting ass grape.

“Ooh~ Enemies have shown up out of nowhere! I bet we’re in for a treat here! A test of strength and cunning, it’s a robo-inferno!!”

“Are those the zero-point villains from the practical test?!” Sparky cried, nearly running into my back.

“So this is what the other students faced in their entrance exams,” Todoroki commented.

“Where does the school even get the funding for these things?”

I glanced at Momo. “Girl, that’s what I’m sayin’. I’m gonna go out of a limb and say they’re using gorgeous students to form musical groups that tour across the world and get these extremely crazy fanbases that will do anything for their idols even if it means murdering people or invading their personal space thus making millions of dollars off of their rabid love because they throw their hard-earned money at a shit ton of merchandise that has their favorite idol’s face on it.”

Momo sweatdropped. “That’s… oddly specific, Winchester…”

“Yes.”

Todoroki covered the ground and his right arm with ice. “They obviously went through a lot of trouble, but I wish they’d prepared something a little more difficult.” He placed his palm on the ground. Ice shot up, swirling around him. “Especially since my dear old dad is watching,” He flung his hand forward, sending a massive wave of ice toward the zero-pointer.

“Pfft, cool it edgelord, now ain’t the time for your daddy issues.”

He glared back at me before taking off between the robot’s frozen legs. Other students tried to follow. “Careful, now. I froze them while they were off their balance. On purpose.”

“That’s Todoroki from class 1-A pulling ahead to an early lead with a devastating display! Amazing! He’s one we should watch! It almost seems unfair! Thoughts?!”

“His attack was both offensive and defensive.”

“No wonder he was let in on recommendations! He’d never even fought those robo-infernals before, but they didn’t stand a chance against his chart-topping moves! The stakes are high! We’ve got a whole school of top-notch students trying to be heroes, but do they really stand a chance against our heavy metal swarm of robo-infernals?!”

Che, guess I should get a bit serious. That move of his seriously pissed me off, and it’s fucking cold!

Limit release!

My shirt shattered as power flowed more freely throughout my body. I rushed forward, fire engulfing my hands as I kicked off the ground, jumping toward one of the robots and cocking my arm back. “Go to hell!” I grinned, slamming my fist against his face. The metal dented inward, head sparking before exploding. It set off a chain reaction of explosions, the metal creaking as it swayed backward. Fuck yeah, I’ve definitely gotten much stronger than I was!

“Class 1-A’s Winchester smashes through the robot with a single firey punch! The first-year students are already off to one rockin’ start and it’s only the first round! Talk about a cruel obstacle course~ Our players are racing against each other in a vicious battle where anything goes as long as they stay on the track! We’ll continue to bring you live updates and pulse-pounding action thanks to the camera robots placed around the course! Kirishima from class 1-A! What a hardcore debut for this rookie! Woo~ Tetsutetsu from class 1-B was also stuck underneath! What are the odds, folks?!”

I flew through the opening the giant robot had created, clearing the robo-inferno zone. What the fuck is happening back there? And who the fuck names their kid Tetsutetsu?! I glanced over my shoulder to see an angry chihuahua charging through the air. Oh boy…

“Don’t you dare think you’re gonna leave me behind, bitch!”

“Class 1-A’s Bakugo is rocketing over the obstacles! Clever!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Bakuhoe~” I grinned as he flew over me.

“Class 1-A’s learned not to hesitate.” Aizawa stated calmly. “They’ve seen what the real world is like. They’ve felt the fear of facing villains, yet they fight on, trying to overcome that fear. They’ve grown, all of them, and they know that they have to act quickly if they want to stay alive.”

I smirked. Aizawa, soft dad hours are playing~

“For those of you that thought the first obstacle was easy~ Let’s see how you feel about the second one! If they take a spill, they’re out! If they wanna pass this test, they’ll have to get creative – it’s the fall!!”

I slid to a stop at the edge of the canyon, eye twitching. Oh come on, the fuck kind of obstacle course has a fucking canyon with a fifty-foot drop?! How is this allowed? Come on, J, stay focused, idiot. How can my fire help in this situation? It fucking can’t! Uh, can I jump from one pillar to the next? No way, the distance is too far. I can jump far, but I ain’t a fucking titan, man.

Wait a second… no, no, there’s no way in hell I could do that, but… Zawa made it look so easy when he did it. He did it a bunch of times when we were training together. My hands clenched at my sides. I spent ten fucking months, day in and day out, watching that man, training with that man. I’ve seen him do it dozens of times. Come on, let’s go!

I stepped back, taking a deep breath before I took off running, lowering my lower body. I went straight toward the thin roping connecting the pillars and started running across it like I had seen Aizawa do on powerlines. This rope is really fucking slack, but as long as I keep my speed up and don’t hesitate, I’ll be fine! Extend my arms out behind me for balance… oh no…

“Look at Winchester from class 1-A! Looks like she’s been studying your moves, Eraserhead! Wait, where are their crocodile tears streaming down her face?!”

“Are you okay, Jen?” Tsu questioned as she climbed across the rope beside me with her hands and feet.

“I can’t believe I’m Naruto-running! I’m a disgrace to my generation! Zawa, this is all your fault!” I cried, pushing myself to run faster.

“What did I do?”

“I have no idea!”

“What is ‘Naruto’?” Tsu asked, tilting her head.

Sweet, innocent Tsu. May you never experience the meme that is Naruto.

“In the world of heroes, it can be hard to get popular without a flashy quirk, right Eraserhead?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, idiot.”

“Ooh~ Looks like Todoroki is still skating by easily! The leader is putting distance between him and the students stuck at the fall. It hasn’t been announced how many competitors will make it through to the next round so there’s no time to relax!”

I groaned as I finally passed the fall, breathing heavily. Man, this sucks so much ass. How is Todoroki so damn fast? Like boi, do you even breathe? I just wanna go home and sleep. Dadzawa, save me~!

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

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[lunar-years]

Okay, first of all, please don’t read this if you love Rafael or are pro-Jafael... just don’t do that to yourself. Also, warning for season five spoilers. 

This is essentially an absurdly long rant post because I realized I’ve never fully articulated why I don’t like J*fael, and given the leaks/spoilers of the finale, I really want to just get out all of my thoughts out there about this horrible endgame. So here goes....

There are essentially two reasons I don’t like J*fael, the main one being that while I don’t think Rafael is fundamentally a bad person, I do think he is fundamentally bad for Jane. Neither of them are their best selves when they are together, and this has been shown time and time again on the show. The second reason is that J*fael would never work in the long-term, now in season five for the same reason they didn’t work back in season 1. Rafael as a person is incredibly self-centered, arrogant, and angry. He relies on unhealthy coping mechanisms and shuts people out if things don’t go his way. He needs to work through his own shit before he can be successful in any relationship, let alone one with Jane. 

The biggest problem I have with Rafael individually is that he doesn’t handle conflict maturely, and never has. Obviously he has been through a lot in his life that prevented him from developing healthy ways of coping, but as a grown ass adult that is merely an explanation and not a justification. Rafael never holds himself accountable, and he never gets the help he needs. Unfortunately, the people around him (cough Jane) all enable him in this, coddling him and never calling him out on his bullshit behavior. He’s fine as long as things are going his way, but as soon as he feels his happiness is threatened, he’s a lose cannon. This magnifies and manifests whenever he fears Jane is going to leave him.

His behavior in season five, for example, has been incredibly possessive and toxic. He’s acting like a child whose had his favorite toy taken away from him, instead of being mature enough to see things from Jane’s point-of-view for once. Her husband has come back from the dead, for pete’s sake!! Michael didn't leave, he didn’t run away, he didn’t hurt Jane intentionally in any way. He was taken, tortured, and left unaware of who he even was. His relationship with Jane didn’t come to end on purpose. Yet Rafael acts like Jane is crazy for not wanting to immediately divorce Michael, and kicks her out of their house when she voices her confusion and pain and uncertainty after he gets his memory back. It’s completely irrational on Rafael’s part, who is acting like Jane is an object he has won instead of a person with real emotions going through a very real trauma. Obviously Rafael being hurt by Jane possibly leaving him for Michael again and having his life suddenly turned upside down is all valid. What's irritating is him acting like his emotions and hurt matter more than other people’s. Jane had her husband taken away from her against her will. Meanwhile Michael, frankly, is the only one who has lost literally everything. Yet Rafael doesn’t spare a passing thought about Michael’s trauma but instead immediately diminishes it and appropriates it for himself (i.e. his bullshit “I’ve got my memories back too” stance... which is just so problematic in so many ways but I digress). 

His behavior now that Michael is back also shades his behavior when Michael was “dead.” For someone who supposedly changed so much in the five years after Michael died, and who was there to help Jane through her mourning, Rafael sure reverted back fast to his old ways as soon as the “threat” against him and Jane reemerged. Rafael was fine so long as Michael was dead and no longer taking away from Raf’s personal happiness, but as soon as Michael returns he is back to being a selfish asshole. That doesn’t say much for Rafael’s “helping Jane through her grief” and almost makes it seem like all along it was just something he did just to win her back when he saw an open window for it. Being there for Jane when she was widowed means he knows just how deeply Jane loved Michael and just how long it took for her to heal from that loss. Yet he still acts like it should be easy for Jane to immediately cut Michael out of her life when he reappears. Yikes. 

The other infuriating thing about Rafael is his behavior and treatment towards his family. Rafael treats Louisa like shit. Flat out. He criticizes and judges her for her addictions despite struggling with alcohol reliance himself. He sells her out for his own gains, and he generally treats her with a “holier than thou” attitude that is incredibly irritating to watch and always has been. Then you have Petra and the twins. The scene when Petra calls Rafael out for treating her and their daughters like second class citizens is one of my absolute favorites because it’s so damn true and it’s about time Petra said it!! What’s annoying is that in the seasons since, Rafael has not learned from that confrontation or grown from  it. Whether he and Jane are together or not at any given moment, it is obvious that he will always put Jane and Mateo before Petra and the twins. That's terrible parenting, I'm sorry, but it is. He also plays “good parent” with Mateo all the time, making Jane do all the grunt work of punishing and correcting Mateo’s poor behavior while he excuses Mateo’s bad actions instead of teaching him how to do better (made especially obvious in the last episode...yikes yikes yikes.) 

Then there’s his relationship with Jane. Oh, J*fael. To be clear, I’ve shipped Villadero from the beginning, which probably made me biased about J*fael early on. Still, even when Michael was behaving horribly and the narrative was clearly urging viewers to root for Raf, I could never get behind him. To me, the Jane and Rafael attraction has always seemed so... surface-level. Like, they have a few wet dreams about one another and suddenly, because they’re accidentally having a kid together, they’re both fully invested in the idea of them being soulmates. In reality, Jane and Rafael have like, nothing in common. Seriously, what do these two talk about it? Rafael has proven multiple times that he doesn't respect Jane’s religion, he doesn't make any effort to see things from her less privileged life perspective, and he doesn’t really place any value in anything she values. They are quite possibly the blandest relationship on the show. The only thing they seem to have holding them together is Mateo. And the only thing they seem to do is to constantly have sex. 

My obviously subjective view about their chemistry (or lack thereof) aside, Rafael and Jane simply seem to bring out the worst in one another. When Rafael disagrees with Jane, he gets angry and irrational. He tries to handle disagreements by kicking and screaming, instead of facilitating civilized discussion. Jane, meanwhile, just cowers in front of him and takes it because she’s so “blinded by love.” I’m sorry, what?? After the way Rafael treated Jane last episode, putting their child between them, I do not see any scenario where the strong-willed, independent Jane from season one marries that guy a few months later, though apparently that’s what’s happening (*gag*). Rafael is constantly pressuring her to do things his way instead of actually listening to her and trying to understand her perspective. I will never understand why Jane goes back to Rafael when he continuously treats her in that sort of way. Rafael bases his entire self worth in Jane, yet at the same time he doesn't seem to actually value Jane’s thoughts and feelings. These are not the makings of a healthy relationship. Jane's behavior in season five has also been out of character, with her asking Jason to leave and saying she wished Michael had never come back. While Jane might not be in love with Michael/Jason five years later, especially when he is totally different to who he once was, you cannot make me believe she wouldn’t still love him and want to help him anyway that she could, even if she wants to be with Rafael. And she would definitely be grateful that he gets to live. The poor writing this season truly feels like the writers are simultaneously proving why J*fael doesn’t work and then forcing them together once they’ve already fallen apart.

I truly truly hate the idea that Jane is now going to go back to Rafael, who still hasn’t gotten help for his personal issues, and marry him at the end of this godforsaken season where he's been treating her terribly. For a show that I have always viewed as progressive and unique, this ending is one of the most baseless, fan-service endgames ever. Rafael using Mateo against Jane last episode was the final straw. After that i truly do not see any scenario where Jane would realistically go back to him. Rafael needs to grow up, wise up, and focus a little more on being a good father, friend and brother before I will ever believe that he would make a good husband. 

[caladhel-iarian]

Never Have I Ever...

Asked someone to marry you? — “That would require finding someone worthy of me.” [Innocent.]

Kissed one of your friends? —  “Kissing and telling is for giggling grade schoolers.” [Guilty.]

Danced on a table in a bar / tavern? —  “... Don’t ever become an archer, Dead Eye. I am not my brother.” [Innocent. But Lin is definitely guilty, much to cheering and jeering of his brothers.]

Ever told a lie? —  “Anyone who tells you they haven’t is trying to sell you something. At this point, I imagine you would probably buy it, too.” [Guilty. Although he’s probably the most honest of the triplets.]

Had feelings for someone you can’t have? —  “I get what I want. If I don’t have it, then I didn’t want it.” [Guilty then and guilty now. But he’ll never admit it to anyone. It’s less that he can’t have them and more that he won’t let himself have them.]

Ever kissed someone of the same sex? —  “I see your ears are for decoration only. Refer to your second question.” [Guilty.]

Kissed a picture? — “I am not thirteen.” [Guilty, guilty, guilty.]

Slept until 5pm? —  “Unless I am ill, I am always on time.” [Innocent. He takes his time seriously and heaven help you if he thinks you’re wasting it.]

Worked at a fast food chain / restaurant? —  “I prefer real food over cardboard.” [Innocent. He has expensive tastes. If you try to take him on a date to a chain joint, he’s likely to turn up his nose and drag you to one of his favourite places. And then do all the ordering and pay because he thinks you’re a tasteless pauper and he will teach you some class.]

Stolen something? —  “Children are remarkably sticky at all times. Five seconds from a thorough bath, they are sticky again.” [Guilty. Kids steal until they learn better. And sometimes even after. Does he steal now? No.]

Been fired from a job? —  “While there are certainly people foolish enough to fire someone like me, I am fortunate to have avoided working for any of them.” [Innocent. He’s a model employee. Minus his attitude. Don’t hire him for customer service unless you want to go out of business.]

Done something you regret? —  “I am doing so right now.” [Guilty. Oh how guilty. His regrets eat at him.]

Laughed until something you were drinking came out of your nose? —  “Do you know how expensive stain removal is? No, thank you.” [Innocent. Dhel is only demonstrative and exaggerated in his anger. But he’s real good at making his siblings laugh until stuff comes out of their nose.]

Caught a snowflake on your tongue? —  “Aside from the first snow of the year, yes. Every time.” [Guilty. He loves snow. It’s his favourite weather.]

Sat on a roof top? —  “Of course. My penthouses have rooftop gardens.” [Guilty. He likes taking his tea in the garden Bren grows atop their Silvermoon and Dalaran penthouses. It’s also his favourite place to grade papers, write lyrics, and read.]

Kissed someone you shouldn’t have? —  “You seem terribly concerned with my lips and what they do. Is someone upset because they aren’t receiving my kisses?” [Guilty. One thousand percent guilty. But he’ll never tell.]

Sang in the shower? —  “At Lin’s insistence. He says the bathroom has excellent acoustics and I am inclined to agree.” [Guilty. Although when he’s not working out lyrics while he showers, he just hums snatches of music.]

Been pushed into a body of water with all your clothes on? —  “... Do I really look like a person easily moved?” [Guilty, but that is thanks to his brothers. Otherwise, Dhel is a huge elf. Not easy to knock him off balance.]

Shaved your head? — “Absolutely not.” [Innocent. The lady/ladies he fancies have admitted to liking his hair far too much for him to ever even consider this.]

Made a boyfriend / girlfriend cry? —  “I have been told I am an onion.” [Guilty. Spend more than ten minutes in his company and his acid tongue will probably make you sniffle, if not outright tear up.]

Shot a gun? —  “In a manner of speaking.” [Innocent. His loved ones like to tell him that he has a mouth like a shotgun. But he doesn’t bother with actual firearms.]

Still loved someone you shouldn’t? —  “Do you have the attention span of a lightning bolt? You already asked something similar.” [Guilty. Always guilty. He’ll not tell who, though. And it is not an NPC or a background character I write for his stories.]

Have / had a tattoo? —  Dhel’s mouth says nothing; it doesn’t need to when his sour face says everything he thinks the interviewer needs to hear. Shirt sleeves rolled back, he holds out both arms for an inspection that reveals a wealth of tattoos painted across his skin in words, music, and scenery. [Guilty. From his jawline to his toes, the man is covered in ink, though much of it can only be seen when he is casting spells.]

Liked someone, but will never tell who? —  “... You must be an entire army. No single person is this foolish.” [Still guilty. Will still be guilty in the future. He’s pretty sure he’s already answered some variations on this question.]

Been too honest? —  “Some people have expressed this sentiment. Truthfully, I am surprised they had the wit to be wounded by my opinions. Or perhaps they were only disappointed by the fishing that day.” [Guilty. Dhel won’t hesitate to tell you exactly what he thinks about something and he refuses to sugarcoat most anything he says. Sadly, much of what he thinks tends to be insulting. Fishing for compliments won’t get you very far with him.]

Ruined a surprise? —  “No. That would be a waste of time and effort.” [Innocent. Dhel enjoys setting up unpleasant and often deadly surprises for people who cross him. People he likes usually wind up with useful gifts they were not expecting because he misdirected their attention. Just ask @eldya​.]

Been told that you’re beautiful by someone who totally meant what they said? —  “Yes.” [Guilty. And family doesn’t count for this one.]

Stalked someone? —  “While that would certainly be a role reversal, I am the one on the receiving end here.” [Technically guilty. Beware any gifts of jewelry he might give you; they’re pretty, sure, but they’re also likely to be scrying stones he can use to keep an eye on you.]

Thoughts about murder? —  “The more some people open their mouths, the more attractive the possibility becomes.” He shoots the interviewer a look filled with enough points to shame a pencil factory. [Guilty. Oh god, is he guilty.]

How about mass murder? —  “Extinctions are necessary on occasion.” [Guilty. Just look for the remains of some Amani villages in Eversong.]

Cheated on someone? —   “No. I was named appropriately.” [Innocent. Caladhel means “faith eternal.” If you have his attention, then you are the only lover who exists for him until the relationship ends. It may come as a surprise given their careers and temperaments, but he and his brothers are extremely loyal.]

Gotten so angry that you cried? —  “Anger is better spent implementing solutions. Tears are wasteful.” [Innocent. He rarely cries and that only when he is completely overwhelmed by grief.]

Tried to stay away from someone for their own good? —  “No. It is not my duty to slap adult hands away from the stove.” [Innocent. Babysitting adults is an extremely rare occurrence for him.]

Thoughts about suicide? — “If you’ve never considered your own death, then any time a thought crosses your mind, it must be a long and lonely journey.” [Guilty. Dhel believes every living person has considered this topic at least once in their lives.]

Had a girlfriend / boyfriend? —  “I was a teenager once.” [Guilty. Although still on the aloof side, Dhel was a much warmer boy before he went into apprenticeship in Dalaran.]

Gotten totally drunk during a holiday? —  “Lin drinks enough for the three of us.” [Innocent. Dhel isn’t big on alcohol. He drinks it on occasion, but his vice is painkillers.]

Tagged by: @bluexepher​ - Thank you very much for the tag and for thinking of this jerk. I really appreciate it!

Tagging: @eldya​ @kolabooc​ @safrona-shadowsun​ @sanasunbringer​ @loveherdekay​ @snowfallen-nymph​ @veleanthe​ @valishoneybee​ @the-wandering-orchid​ @alastar-wyatt​ @waroftwowolves​ @susan-gampre​ and anyone else who wants to do this thing. If you do it, please tag me so I will be sure to see it.