#seriously though those death students are thirsty

[moonthecreator]

So....why is the Death School so thirsty?

Because.....

because....t

they’re BONE DRY.

[rosy-cheekx]

“You’re such a dork.” for the emotional writing prompts! I don't know anything about critical role, really, so for TMA :)

I spy, with my little eye, Bryce’s attempts to shove her own interests into her fics. Anyways, I am an American in college so I was basing this on my own experiences oops. Enjoy!

Date night was Wednesday evenings. Jon and Martin both found it preferable for a variety of reasons; it was the most likely nights for happy hours at the pubs in town, guaranteeing a cheap drink, and keeping to a weekday night minimized the chance of Jon seeing one of his students out. He hated seeing his students. Not that he hated them of course, he really rather liked them…not that they would ever know that. Being a professor, of parapsychology of all things, was rather rewarding. He knew the content inside and out (it felt good, using the mark of The Eye to actively work against it, to pass along information instead of consuming). And they didn’t seem to mind him either.

That was the thing about university students. They really didn’t care about who he was or where he came from. The fact that he was a scrawny, scarred Englishman in a lecture hall in Scotland didn’t matter to them. In the classroom, all they cared was whether he taught the material well (he did) and was kind to those with late assignments (he was. He had been a university student once too; he remembered the anxiety and depression that took him and his mates in waves). He was a good professor; Jon knew that objectively in the marks his students received. But in the subjective? His student had decided they liked him.

This had dawned on him at the end of his first semester; when he was inundated with emails of sincere thank-you for a great semester, for being such a helpful teacher, for taking the time to help review, et cetera. Martin had grinned at him, poking a tongue out his mouth and making some remark about teacher’s pets coming full circle (Jon was never a teacher’s pet though. He had always asked too many questions. He welcomed those questions with open arms now, to be the teacher he hadn’t had.)

The next semester it had been more obvious that students liked him now that he knew where to look. It was in the open “good-mornings” and questions about his weekend plans, and in the fact that he had the best attendance records of his department. It was in the way they asked genuine questions about his material and the waitlists miles long to get into his sections. Later on, it was in the gentle ribbings about his looking tired and the grey hairs even as they celebrated his fortieth birthday with him, bringing in cupcakes and sneaking in between lectures to decorate his office and the sincere questions over his scars, his life, his relationship with Martin (his introductory lecture always featured Martin and Her Regency, their thick orange tabby). To make eight wonderful semesters short, he was familiar with his students, and they weren’t afraid to be familiar back. Which was wonderful in the classroom and all, but not when he was trying have a relaxing evening with his husband.

Which brings them back to Wednesdays. Wednesdays were the days least likely to have students out in town, he had learned from Dr. Kerrigan, the positive psych professor, because Thirsty Thursdays started off the weekend’s partying and drinking for the undergraduates. Wednesday was the day students, in theory, buckled down to finish homework and give themselves a free weekend.

So here they were, Martin in a collared shirt, printed with tiny flowers, and jeans, hair bleached white from the Lonely and curling softly at his temples; Jon in a slouchy ribbed turtleneck and high-waisted pants, his own thick curls half-piled atop his head. Jon was listening intently as Martin spoke animatedly, talking about his own day as a guidance counselor at the local primary school.

“…and I swear Jon, if it wasn’t bad enough that Kimmy has decided never to speak to Lawrence again, now Lawrence has confided in me that he is positively in love with her.”

“Did he say that verbatim? In love, I mean.”

“I mean, no, but he said he was willing to give her all his Squishmallows for a playdate. Squishmallows. That’s real eight-year-old commitment, right there.”

Jon barked out a laugh and put on a puppy-eyed expression, grinning all the while. “Martin Blackwood, do you hereby take Jonathan Sim’s stuffed animals, to have and to ho-”

A gentle swat to the knee with Martin’s shoe cut Jon off. “Oi! Respect my children. They may be fools but its not their faults their brains aren’t developed yet. And yes, I know, ‘they’re not developed ‘til twenty-five and you can argue that your students’ brains aren’t developed either.’ But it’s different. They’re babies.”

“And I’m the All-Knowing One,” Jon mused thoughtfully around a forkful of food, earning him another love-filled kick.

“Speaking of,” Martin pointed to Jon with his glass, eyeing him deliberately. “Midterms next week, yeah? How do you think it’ll go?”

Jon shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “Alright, I hope. First exam went well but could’ve been better. I’m worried about Avonni, honestly, he’s nodded off a few times in class and I’m not confident he has someone to get the material from.”

“He has you.” A pointed, snow-white eyebrow.

“Right, but sometimes students don’t want to ask for notes because they think I’ll say no. Maybe I should email him. Speaking of email! Did I tell you what Suzanne sent out?”

“Oh no, what?”

They carried on like this through their meal and into dessert, and not for the first time Jon was struck by the sheer normalcy of it all. His greatest concerns were Suzanne’s passive-aggressive emails and his students, not the inevitable destruction of reality as they knew it to be. They were scarred, inside and out, everyone who had escaped The Magnus Institute was, but they were safe and free and happy. In defiance of everything that had happened to and because of them.

“Dr. Sims!”

Uh oh. Spoke too soon.

Bite of lava cake halfway to his mouth, Jon squeezed his eyes shut, rolling his eyes back in his head and willing there to be another professor with the surname Sims in the restaurant. When he opened his eyes, Martin was valiantly trying to suppress a smile as he eyed something, someone, over his head. Jon twisted awkwardly in his seat to see—

“Parker. What a surprise.” His voice was warm but carefully measured, and the dark-skinned boy waved, shit-eating grin on his face. “I have told you that you can call me Jon.”

“Yeah, I know, but you earned that doctorate! And “Doctor Jon” sounds awful, like you should have your own show or something.”

He hadn’t earned that doctorate, actually, but Martin’s expertise in lying and the disastrous apocalypse that had left everyone disoriented meant it had been easy to exaggerate some of Jon’s CV and manufacture a fake diploma.

“I do have my own show. Monday and Wednesday mornings, where I teach a bunch of caffeinated undergrads parapsychology,” Jon replied easily. “You’re welcome to tune in.” He liked Parker; he was a bit of a class clown, liked to ask off-topic questions or pretend to sneak a look at Jon’s answer sheets, but he was sharp and knew his stuff. Jon respected that. He reminded Jon of someone he dearly missed.

But Parker had already turned his attention to Martin, who was watching the interaction with mirth in his eyes. “Hello sir! I’m Parker McMichael, Jon’s favorite student.” Martin shook the extended hand and nodded in mock seriousness.

“Of course. Pleasure to finally meet you. Are you the one with the essay on ESP or the one on psychokinesis?”

“Neither,” Parker shook his head proudly, short dreads swaying gently with the movement. “The Validity and Continuity of Near-Death Experiences,” he made a mock marquee with his hands, arching curved fingers to indicate the title hanging in the air. “Researching any consistencies in near-death experiences stories, whether they’re legitimate, and what they mean if they are. But-” Parker shook his head and turned his attention back to Jon. “That’s not why I’m interrupting.” He took his phone out of pocket idly as he spoke. “I’m afraid I’ve come to settle a dispute among the 11 a.m. section.”

Oh no.

The Ceaseless Watcher whispered to him, unbidden, the dispute in question. Jon generally knew how to suppress the powers, and they were weaker than they had been, once upon a time, but when he’s caught off guard with the desire to know, to Know, it could still overtake him.

“This you?” A blurry screenshot of a Youtube video is shoved under his nose, a part of a text chain titled Sim’s Spoopy Spirits, captioned by many text bubbles expressing disbelief and objections and a variety of emojis. Jon took the phone and examined it, the truth already sure in his chest. Yes, that was him, dressed in his Jonny d’Ville costume, eyeliner streaked and eyes closed, mid-ballad. God, he wished he could be rid of those Youtube videos.

Jon’s gaping silence must have been enough of an answer for Parker because he whooped a little too loudly for the restaurant they were in and pumped his fist to his chest before typing very quickly on his phone. “I knew it! Take that Sabina,” he was mumbling to himself, lost in his texts for a moment.

Martin took the opportunity to clear his throat. “Sorry, uh, no one’s asked so I will. How did you know to look for him-us-here?” Jon frowned, He hadn’t thought about that.

“Oh, a couple of my mates work here and mentioned seeing Dr. Sims and his husband here a lot on Wednesdays and I dunno about you so much, but Dr. Sims is pretty habitual. Figured it was as good a guess as any. Some things can’t wait til Monday.”

“..an email. Parker. You could’ve sent me an email.” Fingers ran over scarred face, as if he could wipe the irritation (and Martin’s poorly-hidden laugh) from existence.

“But then I couldn’t do this.” His phone was back up again, level with his own face and he twisted so both his own and Jon’s faces were in the shot. “I’m here at 7:02 pm on Wednesday the 26, here to make a very important announcement,” Parker spoke to the camera with confidence. “Dr. Sims just confirmed to me that he is the one, the only, Jonny d’Ville.” Parker held the camera to Jon’s voice. “Anything to say to your adoring fans?”

Jon sighed and tugged on an errant curl. “Don’t forget, reading due Monday.” He wasn’t genuinely upset with Parker, just filled with fond embarrassment.

Parker sent the video off and clapped the back of Jon’s chair. “Well, Dr. D’Ville, its been a pleasure. Everyone’s really excited to get a confirmation on your status of coolest teacher. Any plans for the evening?”

Jon sighed through his lower lip, stray curls framing his scalp flying upward in the sudden burst of wind. “Watching a documentary and trying to forget—wait. What?”

“Oh yeah no, everyone thinks it’s badass. You’ve got a super nice voice and the stories you told were really interesting, if a little buckwild.”

Jon felt his cheeks flush and Martin grinned slyly at him from across the table. “Y-Yes. I guess we were rather good.”

Parker gave his farewells and Jon’s shoulders sagged (he had immediately righted his posture on seeing Parker, his grandmother’s voice in his ear reminding him of his manners), turning his full attention back to his husband. Martin had maintained that grin and was eyeing him intensely, like he expected Jon to say something.

“What, Martin?”

“God, you’re such a dork.” The words were soft, expression fond, and Jon could feel the radiation of unadulterated love Martin gave off in his smile, the one only ever used for Jon. “You really love your students, don’t you? You know how much they love you, right?”

Jon grumbled, but he couldn’t quite sweep the smile off his face either as their waiter made his way over with their check.

“No comment. But we are switching to Tuesday date nights.”

[feverinfeveroutfic]

a man of many colors: a one shot

an accompanying piece to the fever in, fever out-verse. circa 2013 (or whenever he started getting heavy). a little something soft, sweet, and sensual for your sunday. enjoy 😘

“Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry because they are tired, women, because they are curious: both are disappointed.” -Oscar Wilde, the Picture of Dorian Gray (aka my favorite book and the driving force behind my long fics save for now it's dark)

It was nearly midnight by the time Alex returned to his apartment in Brooklyn. Another rendezvous with Testament was in the books. Add to this, he finally had gotten Planetary Coalition out to the world after he had wanted to do it for what felt like forever, and he could not have timed it any better with the arrival of the summer solstice, and yet it felt so long ago despite the year behind him. Nothing else to do but to chill out and call it night. When the morning came beckoned the question as to what to do next.

He ran his fingers through his shoulder length mane of jet black hair as well as that notorious silver stripe on the right side of his head, the only piece of hair as gray as the full moon outside of his window. Like the pearl upon a prince's crown.

He then reached over and flicked on the switch next to the doorway. The floor lamp next to his couch lit up the big red painting on the wall: to the right stood his cluttered guitar wall; to the left was his bookshelf.

Alone in Brooklyn.

He set his things down next to his small, shabby couch and he was about to take a seat when he peered down at his wrist watch. And then he remembered.

“Oh, Sam's probably still up,” he muttered to himself.

His longtime best friend Samantha Shelley who lived two doors down from him. She lived there for as long as he did in New York City, since the start of the New Millennium. The last thing she told him before he embarked on tour was she stayed up late enough in the case of his feeling lonely on the dates and he could call her at any time he so wished. She had seen it before, and she had witnessed it firsthand with both Stormtroopers of Death and Anthrax.

He had been sitting for a prolonged time anyway with the flight back to the Big Apple and thus, he doubled back outside to the warm summer night and the deserted sidewalk. Indeed, her front porch light shone bright from next to the door frame.

He adjusted the lapels of his little top shirt and then he knocked on the right panel three times. Alex gave his hair another little toss back and kept his thumbs tucked into his pockets. He peered behind him to the empty street for what felt like forever when the front door swung open.

“There he is!”

He turned to find Sam standing there in the doorway, wrapped in a loose white paint splattered smock and with a paint brush in one hand. Even though she was four years older than him, her jet black hair never turned gray at any given time. She still looked like little Sam I am, the bored and restless art student that could from the coast of California, relocated to New York City, much like how he did over a decade later. She threw her arms around him and he returned the favor with her.

“I was wondering when you'd get home,” she said as she rested her head against his chest.

“And I was just wondering if you were up,” he confessed as he held back to look right into her dark eyes.

“You feel a lot softer than usual, too.” She brought her attention to his body, which had grown a bit rounder in recent months.

“That's road life for ya,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “And just getting old, too.”

“Well, come on in, big boy—I couldn't sleep so I was just going to make myself some tea and paint something.”

Alex closed the door behind him and the soft aroma of dough caught his attention. Sam ducked into the kitchen to his right, and he followed her in there, where the aroma was even stronger.

“Damn, what smells good in here?” he asked her as he took a seat at the edge of the bar so he could watch her. She had set the brush down on the counter, right in front of him, and his eyes ran over the little brush head and the smooth dark bristles that came together to a fine point.

“Cannoli,” she replied as she switched off the oven. “Gotta have something with the tea.”

“Keep those away from me,” he begged her.

“Why? I thought you love cannoli.”

“I do.”

Sam frowned at him, and he nibbled on his bottom lip. He lowered his gaze to his round waist and his thickened thighs.

“Do you see me right now?” he asked her with a gesture down to the middle of his body.

“I do see you.” She couldn't resist showing him a grin. “You look fine, Alex.”

“Fine being relative, I presume.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

“No, fine meaning 'elegant'.”

“'Elegant' being relative, too.”

“Not at all! I love the way your body looks now.”

“All fat and old just for your enjoyment,” he chided.

“Alex, you're not that fat,” she declared. “In fact, you're not fat at all. And for crying out loud, you're younger than me. If you're old, I'm ancient.”

“Yes, I am fat—look at me! Look at this big belly!” He leaned back and placed those slender hands on his round belly. “It's all from eating too much. It's all from living here and being around a whole cornucopia of food all the time, whether it's here or out and about.”

“I think you look amazing with some extra weight,” she confessed. “I think it's just a sign that you love to eat and you love feeling full. I mean, you did eat up all that pizza for me that one time.”

Alex let his lanky arms relax a bit and he laughed at that memory.

“Do you remember that?” Sam rested her hands upon the edge of the counter and she gazed on at his old stone face.

“How could I forget? Chuck smoked a shitload of weed and Eric, John, and I all got the munchies big time. It was right then I knew I was gonna get fat some day.”

“You're not fat!” she insisted. “Your face is so sweet and you've got the cutest little tummy now. When you and I started getting closer, I seriously thought you'd look good with a little weight. And it's not big at all—it's real cute and sweet looking.”

“Prove it,” he said.

“Prove it?” she laughed at that.

“Yes!”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. There had been a few times in the past where they got close, but nothing happened to help either of them. There had been times where she wanted to come closer to him.

She then raised a finger to him.

“Don't move,” she told him, and he shook his head. Sam ducked out of there and into the next room for something. Alex kept his hands rested upon his knees and he never flinched once the whole entire time she was out of there. Soon she surfaced from her bedroom with a pad of watercolor paper in one hand as well as her dusty old paint palette.

“Man, you've had that thing forever, haven't you?” he teased her with a sly smirk upon his face.

“Since the beginning of art school,” she recalled, “and when both Bel and Marla told me I was gonna need it. Anyways—” She set the palette down on the counter before her.

“Take off your clothes,” she commanded him, and his eyes widened with horror.

“...why?”

“Don't question it, Alex. Just do it.”

He shifted his weight in his seat and he looked down at his freshly filled out body. She bowed her head a bit so a piece of her black hair lowered over her right eye. He swallowed and shifted his weight again.

“I know that look,” he muttered. “That look has haunted me for so long.”

“I'm gonna tell you the same thing I said to Joey and Frankie,” she started, “in fact, I think said this to you when I drew your full body the first time. We're both adults here. I won't do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.” She then peered over her shoulder to the fridge. “I have an idea.”

She opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of red wine.

“Oh, boy,” he quipped, nervous.

“I know how you are with booze,” she recalled as she shut the fridge door with her hip, “and I know how you like your wine, too. You told me to prove it so I wanna prove it and you know, I want you to be comfortable.” Without another word, she opened the bottle and poured a bit into a clear clean glass from the overhead cupboard.

“It's easy on me,” he said.

“It's easy on Alex's delicate little tummy,” she teased him as she handed it to him and then proceeded to pour herself one. She then raised a glass to him and they clinked their glasses together. He downed the whole glass in one gulp: he didn't realize how thirsty he was until it hit his tongue.

“My goodness,” she remarked as he set the glass down on the bar.

“Man alive, I was dyin' of thirst,” he declared: she could see it in his eyes.

“Take off your clothes, Alex,” she commanded in a low voice. He sighed through his nose and then he held onto the lapels of his silk shirt. He was careful to take it off and drape it over the back of the stool. Sam sipped on her wine as she watched him take off his shoes, followed by his jeans and his shirt, the latter of which he was reluctant to take off in front of her. He held still there with his fingers on the hem and his eyes fixated on her.

Sam nodded her head at him.

“Go ahead,” she gently coaxed him. “Go ahead. It's okay.”

Alex fetched up a sigh and then he peeled off his shirt for her. He stood there in his underwear right in front of her.

“All the way,” she encouraged him, and he recoiled a bit.

“Come on, baby—let me see you.”

He lowered his gaze to the palette and the brush. Of course.

Alex let them drop around his lanky ankles and he stood before her, completely nude. Sam showed him a little smile.

“Now we're cooking with macaroni.” She downed the rest of her wine and picked up the palette and the brush, and then she snapped her fingers for him to follow her into the front room. He kept his shoulders hunched and his hands down below his thick waist, but once she turned around to face him, she scoffed at him.

“Come on, Alex, just relax,” she begged him. “It's not like I'm gonna suck your dick and tell you it's all a game of cowgirl and Indian.”

“I'm just not used to this, though,” he confessed with a nervous chuckle.

“Oh, come on, you're a Renaissance man! And I want you to feel like that, too. Every Renaissance man deserves to be painted. So—” She patted the comfy couch cushion. “—have a seat, my love.”

His toes curled a little bit at the sound of that, but he slid onto the cushion closest to the arm. And he rested his arm there to help himself relax. It was just the two of them after all. Sam doubled back into the kitchen for a glass of water for her brush: she also dragged the bar stool in and placed it right in front of him. She took a seat with the watercolor paper on her lap and the palette and the water on the coffee table right before her. She eyed the full shape of his body, especially around his middle.

“Pleasingly plump,” she noted.

“I'm pleasingly plump if the North Pole is refreshingly chilly,” he grumbled.

“The North Pole is refreshingly chilly!” she laughed. “But look at you, though—all full and round and well fed.” He knitted his knees together as if to be modest, but it only accentuated the softening shape of his body. “Just so undeniably gorgeous.”

“So do you want me to lay on my side or—?” He leaned onto his right side and he rested his elbow further on the arm of the couch.

“Yeah. Just put your legs up on the cushions next to you—just like that—”

It was awkward to feel a rush of cool air in between his legs, such that it made his face turn warm. Either that or it was the wine talking.

“Your face is so rosy,” she remarked. “I don't think I've ever seen it this pink before.”

“I'm laying on my side, buck naked, and I've got a little wine in me after a three hour flight following a big ass tour. I feel pink.”

Without another moment's hesitation, Sam got right to work. She kept her gaze fixated on him and every so often, she took a glimpse down at the paper to make sure she was getting it right. She had done for so long and yet it helped to go back to basics every once in a while.

“I love your body,” she said at one point. “I'm just so in love with your body and the way it looks.”

Alex held perfectly still with his left hand rested upon the side of his belly as it hung down a bit. He held there even when he felt the pressure coming on in his right arm and his hip. But he stayed there for her. He watched her closely, at the movement of the brush and the soft look of love in her eyes.

They had known each other for years and yet that look and her desire to create always left a soft feeling in his stomach. She was fascinated by him, because she saw him as an artist rather than a genius. She saw him as a man rather than a god.

And it all came down to her painting him right at that moment and how she felt about him.

“I just think back to what you said to Joey that one time,” he piped up.

“What one time?” She chuckled at that as she lightly ran the paint brush down the paper. “Joey and I went out for about a year and a half before he met Krista, and then again literally ten years later. It's been on and off between us.”

“When you guys started going out and I overheard you saying that exact same thing to him,” Alex replied as he shifted his weight a bit. “Like, verbatim. You said the exact same thing to him. How you love his body and how you wanted to render it somehow.”

“Well—understand, I was madly in love with him then,” she pointed out as she rinsed off her brush. “I wanted to draw him the way I've been drawing you but—his heart has always been with Krista.”

She dipped the brush into the patch of black, which he soon figured out was Prussian blue mixed with a bit of dark brown.

“And yours is with me,” he said in a near whisper. Sam lifted her gaze from the palette for a look over at his nude body. She had the look of love with him, but then there were the times his face softened at the sight of her.

“Right?” Alex asked her with a raise of his eyebrows. Sam raised her head and showed him a warm little smile, but she never replied. He knew she was thinking it, but she never replied.

Instead she bowed her head again and resumed painting. He knew she was rendering his head. She then cleared her throat and spoke again.

“Referring back to Joey and Krista, just yesterday, she asked me why you and I aren't married yet.”

“Yet?” Alex chuckled at that.

“Yeah, I know. I told her that I feel like you and I have known each other for so long, and we keep coming back to each other, and it's so soft and silky and cozy between us that I have no choice but to come back home to Mr. Skolnick. And so it's because of that, according to her, we might as well be.”

“Nah,” he shook his head.

“I know, right? We're best friends. I think that in and of itself should be enough.”

“I think it should be, too,” he confessed.

“We like each other. We love each other. I can take it.” Sam dipped the head of the brush in the bright sunny yellow paint.

“Who needs a piece of paper to say it, am I right?” He showed her a little smirk.

“Right!”

She raised her gaze again and he wondered what she was putting that yellow on.

“You know, I've always loved the way you look whenever you get all full of food,” she confessed. “You get all silky and sweet looking.”

“Like the night you finally warmed up to me?” he recalled.

“I think it was you who warmed up to me,” she corrected him, to which he shrugged.

“I dunno if it matters—it was the night we both finally calmed our asses down and said 'yes' to each other.” That brought a laugh out of her, and she rinsed off the brush again.

The thin head of the brush with a bit of China white on top for the signature streak atop his own head. Within time, she rinsed off the brush and showed him the painting, to which he brought a hand to his chest as if he had seen Avalon.

“Oh, my god—Sam. You never cease to amaze me.”

“I kept messing up your fingers,” she said, “on your right hand.”

“They look good, though!” he declared. “Eh, it's guitar player's fingers after all.” He dragged himself along the cushions a bit and his right ached from holding it there for so long.

“Would you like some tea?” she offered him as she set the paper on the stool.

“Yes, please—and can I sit up now?” he asked her with a slight pout to his lips.

“Yes, you may, big and beautiful,” she announced as she wiped the head of the brush on the towel. Alex rolled over onto his back and hoisted himself up onto his elbows: his body had grown soft enough that it was slightly difficult to sit up without the use of his arms. Sam strode over to him to help him but he managed to do it. He leaned back against the back of the couch and then he took glimpse down at himself.

“I feel so distended,” he confessed, and she reached down and lovingly patted his little belly.

“Nah, you're cute,” she giggled. “Just so cute.”

“Which is it?” he teased her.

“What do you mean?”

“I'm beautiful, cute, hot—which is it, Sam I am?”

“All of those things.”

She stooped over and brought her face close to his. Those smooth sensual lips. That large beaklike aquiline nose. Those deep eyes that haunted her for decades.

“You are a man of many colors, baby,” she whispered to him as she ran her fingers through his gray streak.

“You're not just saying that 'cause of that, are you?” His eyes darted up towards his streak.

“The stripe is the epitome of it. I've known you since you were a young boy and I've watched you blossom into such a big and beautiful man.”

“It's funny—I've always wondered why you always come back to me, too,” he admitted with his voice low and husky. He sat there before her, nude and growing as round as a Buddha.

“I've always wondered, too,” she added. “Because you're just so full and lush now—I love every inch of you. I take that back, I'm in love with every inch of you. I'm in love with every inch of you, every inch of this man before me. I don't need to marry you—I love you that much. I never want to stop drawing you, even when the streak overtakes and it all turns gray, and it falls out of your head, and even when your body softens to the point of no return.”

Those sensual lips turned up into a sweet little smile, one that made her think of Cliff. He lowered his gaze to the paint brush in her free hand, and she brought her lips to his forehead again. She looked right into those deep set eyes and showed him a smile in return. He was usually so stone faced and serious but whenever he looked at her, he grew as soft and silken as the skin on his belly. He was a sixteen year old boy once again.

“Are those cannolis still warm?” he asked her in a small voice.

“I believe they are, given I never took them out of the oven,” she told him with a wink. “Put your clothes back on and I'll bring the tray in plus some tea. I want you to eat to your heart's desire. I want you to feel the love I feel for you within you.”

[choupichoups]

Eliott falls helplessly infatuated with his best friend’s little brother— he knows he’s writing up his own death wish going after this boy, but fuck if Lucas isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Or: Eliott’s under the impression that his best friend’s new step brother, ‘Lulu’, is a literal baby. Nobody tells him the guy’s actually a fucking babe-y.

It takes two whole days for Eliott to reconcile with the fact that Lucas ‘Lulu’ Delacroix is not, in fact, a five year old toddler. From the way Adrien talks about him, gushing about how tiny and adorable and sweet he is, nobody can possibly fault Eliott for getting the wrong idea.

It takes three more days of juggling the pros and cons before he comes to the conclusion that it’s for everyone’s best interest if he just works on forgetting about Lucas altogether.

Ever since that fateful day in first grade when their teacher had forcefully made her students sit in order of their last names, Adrien has been a stable, grounding presence by Eliott's side. He's not eager to put to test one of the best things he's got going. Not even for a chance to have those pretty blues looking up at him again, not for the feel of those soft hands around Eliott's neck, sliding up to card through the hair at the back of his head, not for the warmth of those legs wrapped around his—

"Eliott?"

Not for any of those. He hasn't even thought about it for a while now. Most especially not the smell of his hair nor the shape of his smile.

“Eliott!”

Carefully, he checks that his mask of indifference is still perfectly in place before he turns his focus back on Christine, a classmate he’s been partnered up with for a small assignment. “Yeah?" he asks, smiling in hopes of it being distracting enough for her to let him get away with the inattention.

It works. Of course it works. She beams right back at him and graciously repeats herself. ”I was asking if later tonight is good for you?”

Eliott backtracks into their conversation, realizing that he has no idea how to answer that. He thinks he’s got it, vaguely remembering her mentioning a gig at some bar. Maybe going out with her would help take his mind off of Lucas.

There’s a muffled thud followed by the sound of books crashing together— the commotion is loud in the hush of the library and Eliott turns his head, peeking in between the shelves. His stomach does a somersault when he spies a familiar head of wild hair frantically moving around in the next aisle.

“So?” Christine asks again, looking steadily more confused the longer Eliott takes to answer.

“Ah,” he says, eyes switching between her and the small gap from where he watches Lucas’ head disappear, presumably to pick up the books he’s tumbled over. Eliott itches to run to him. Alone at the back of the library with his boy? Ever the opportunistic fool, it’s truly way too much for Eliott’s fragile self control to pass up. “I’ll have to check something first, I’ll text you,” he mumbles out quickly, making his leave with a final smile towards Christine. She waves him a cheerful goodbye without remembering that Eliott does not, in fact, have her phone number.

He pauses at the last minute, standing just beside the shelf, watching Lucas return some titles back into the shelf while leaving some on the ground. What little semblance is left of Eliott’s resolve melts right away when Lucas lifts onto his toes to reach for a book but doesn’t quite get there, fingers barely grazing the spine.

Eliott decides fuck it, he’s going to approach. They’re both adults here. And what Adrien doesn’t know won’t kill him anyway.

He watches Lucas huff to himself for a second longer before sliding right up behind the struggling boy and snatching the book off its shelf. Lucas jumps, wide eyes going straight to Eliott. When he turns around, it lands him smack dab into the circle of Eliott’s arms.

Book in hand, Eliott stands there smiling while Lucas blinks back at him like a startled baby animal.

“Um,” Lucas starts, eyes darting from Eliott and then to the book he’s got high up in the air, held well out of Lucas’ reach. “I need that.”

“Yeah, well.” Eliott shrugs, pretending to think about it. “I got it first so… what if I need it too?”

“But I found it first.”

“I have it in my hands.”

Lucas is frowning now, looking dangerously close to stomping his feet. “I really need it today, you can have it tomorrow, I swear.”

It’s cute that Lucas thinks this has anything to do with the book at all.

“Eh, I don’t think so.” Eliott dodges easily when Lucas makes a lunge upward. “You’re the one who owes me over here, Lucas.”

If Eliott’s self preservation instincts are in working order, he’d realize that now is a good time to back off. Irritation practically steams out of Lucas’ skin. “Me? Owe you wh—” Lucas stops then, looking properly up at Eliott rather than the book he’s so desperate to get his hands on. His eyes waver, drifting from Eliott’s face, down to the ground and back, before he seems to have an epiphany, hypothetical lightbulb glowing above his head. “Weed guy,” he mutters under his breath.

Weed guy? Seriously? Lucas has been running maddening circles around Eliott’s head for five excruciating days only for his boy to remember him as weed guy?

Ouch.

“Eliott, actually,” he corrects with a tight smile. He’s been contemplating giving the book back to Lucas after he finally recognizes Eliott but he retracts that thought now— petty in the face of such a dismissal. He holds the book up higher, prompting Lucas to jump up in a bid to snatch it from Eliott’s grip, laughing when it only works to bring them closer together.

Lucas backs up as much as he can, pouting while his eyes track the book. Unfortunately for Lucas, Eliott’s apparently reverted back to grade school mindset so the expression only makes Eliott want to tease him some more. What’s so good about the stupid book anyway? Eliott’s right there, Lucas should be paying attention to him.

“Look, I’m sorry about the party, okay? I was a little drunk.” Lucas drops to his knees and starts stacking the books in his arms.

Eliott lifts an eyebrow. “Sorry about what?”

When Lucas springs back up, it’s with his lips pursed, arms tight around the bundle of books as he gets right up in Eliott’s space. “I’m sorry for stealing your stuff, can I have my book back now?”

After the show Lucas had treated him with at the party, he really thinks that Eliott still cares about that joint? “I don’t care about the weed.”

“Really?”

“I’ve got lots where that comes from.”

“Oh, do you now.”

“Mhm, I’m very resourceful.” Eliott grins, bringing the book back down. Lucas picks it out of his hands, indignant. “They’re back at my place, in fact. Wanna come join me? We can just smoke and chill.”

“No.”

Eliott blinks, not expecting such a quick shut down. “No?”

“I don’t know you.” Lucas rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to a stranger’s place alone.”

His mind whirs for a nonexistent Plan B, sticky little fingers in his brain making grabby hands for something, anything that would interest Lucas enough to have him agree. “Ah, okay. How about… there’s a thing at some bar nearby, me and a few others are heading there tonight. You can come if you want. Heard the music’s gonna be cool.”

“Wow, a thing at some bar? Tempting,” Lucas responds, shaking his head. “But no, I’m not into that.”

He’s missed the mark by a mile. “Alright, fine, I get it. You’re not going out with me...” Eliott recognizes his defeat. "... today.” he tacks on at the end, eyebrows rising playfully when Lucas rolls his eyes yet again.

He doesn’t know what it says about him when Lucas smiles and it still feels like he’s won despite getting turned down. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not going out at all,” Lucas says, squeezing the books closer to his chest. “I’m busy.”

“That’s too bad,” Eliott grins back, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “You look really cute today.”

The pink in Lucas’ cheeks is an unexpected but very welcome surprise. Eliott watches his lashes flutter as Lucas breaks contact in favour of looking down at their shoes. It’s a strange feeling, watching the soft tinge spread over the bridge of Lucas’ nose. Of course he blushes pretty, Eliott thinks absently, wildly elated to be the cause of that reaction, but it doesn’t bring around the usual sense of victory— Eliott doesn’t feel like he’s caught anything at all, though the warmth blooming across his chest the longer he gazes at Lucas has a small part of his brain warning for him to abort mission.

He ignores it, willful that this is nothing out of the ordinary.

“Can I go now?” Lucas asks, breaking the silence. When Lucas tilts his head back up, there’s no trace of that previous timidness to be found, and Eliott finds himself looking into the same playful eyes that caught him on a chokehold that very first time. “Or are you just going to keep staring at me, Eliott?”

His name sounds wonderful coming from Lucas’ lips. Eliott blinks, dropping the arm caging Lucas in place, movement slow and halting like a stringed puppet, the boy in front of him its unwitting master.

“Wait, wait, wait. Give me your number, at least?” Eliott says in a rush, pivoting in the same direction where Lucas is headed. He lifts a hand halfway through but the latter is already out of arm’s reach.

Lucas doesn’t even turn around. “Get it yourself, oh resourceful one.”

And so Eliott’s left in the dust once again— stunned, captivated, and right back on square one.

Pre-game is at Sofiane’s. Or their version of a pre-game anyway, seeing as there’s not a drop of alcohol in sight. The four of them are just hanging around to kill time before heading to the bar Christine had been telling Eliott about. He’d had zero intentions of going there, especially after Lucas’ rejection, but Christine had reminded Eliott about it on Instagram, very publically tagged him on a post about it, and the rest of the guys had latched onto the idea like thirsty little leeches, dying of boredom as they evidently are.

“No but seriously, it was so funny like, Lucas had to climb up the rocks in his fucking suit just to look for the ring,” Adrien’s saying, flipping through his phone as he shows Idriss some more photos from his parents’ wedding. Eliott perks up, previously disinterested demeanour found dead in a ditch at the mention of Lucas’ name.

Sofiane comes out of the kitchen, laughing as he balances about a dozen juice boxes in his arms. “Who thought of putting the ring on the dog’s collar? That’s so stupid!”

“They saw it on Pinterest and thought it was cute or something, I don’t know,” Adrien snorts, pausing on a photo. “Here, Lucas lost his tie and ripped his pants at the knee, he looks like a delinquent.”

Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, Eliott straightens from his slouch and looks over, propping his chin up on Adrien’s shoulder for a better view.

As expected, the photo is cute as fuck and Eliott has to consciously mind what his face is doing so as to not give anything away. He blindly reaches for one of the juice boxes and sips on it innocently, the image of a rumpled, grumpy looking Lucas engraved in his retinas. The boys keep going through the photos while Adrien narrates the story behind them and Eliott curls himself into one end of the couch, pulling up his Instagram.

Lucas Delacroix doesn’t bring him any positive results but seeing as the official marriage between Adrien’s dad and Lucas’ mom only happened recently, it makes more sense for Lucas to have a different last name. He can try lurking in the people Adrien’s following, but scrolling through thousands of people’s profiles isn’t exactly his ideal way to spend an evening so he’d rather not.

Eliott flicks his eyes over to where Adrien’s still giggling over the photos and nonchalantly asks, “What was your stepmom’s last name? Before marrying your dad?”

Thankfully, no one seems to find the question too odd. It is still somewhat related to their topic of conversation so he’s in the clear for now. Idriss takes the phone from Adrien to continue browsing while the latter looks up to the ceiling, emitting a lengthy ‘uh’ noise as he thinks about it before he settles on an unsure, “Clement?”

Lucas Clement brings up nothing.

“Wait no, Le… Lelonde?”

Lucas Lelonde isn’t right either.

“No! Okay, it was Lallemant.”

Lucas Lallemant

A slow grin breaks out, unhindered, when Eliott clicks on a profile that is unmistakably Lucas’ and he has to straight up muffle a mad giggle as he scrolls through. The opportunity to send a message is right under his nose, but Eliott allows himself to delay a little.

“Why?” Adrien asks, directing the question at Eliott. He misses a beat or two before finally remembering that Adrien is the one to give him the intel and he should come up with an answer right about now.

“Nothing, just wondering,” is his uncreative response.

Sofiane spills his juice laughing at one of the photos and it effectively steals Adrien’s attention away. Eliott goes back to his own phone, clicking at each and every one of Lucas’ posts, finding himself more and more endeared as he goes. Even the stupid meme and blurry concert posts are cute. And don’t get him started on the pictures of his actual face. Fucking adorable.

He doesn’t follow Lucas, inclining towards the safe side on the off chance that Adrien notices the development.

srodulv Gotta love being resourceful

A mark shows up below the message, letting Eliott know that Lucas has seen it, yet he receives no reply. But what is Eliott Demaury if not a persistent little shit.

srodulv So The Clash huh? I get why you wouldn’t be into the bar thing Heard Metallica’s doing a show next Friday I can score us some tickets if you want

lucallemant Who is this

srodulv Your date for next Friday

lucallemant Oh Cancel it

srodulv Wow

lucallemant I don’t date strangers

srodulv But I’m not a stranger I’m your weed guy

lucallemant Oh ok In that case Cancel it

srodulv :(

lucallemant :)

srodulv What will it take for Lucas Lallemant to stop breaking my heart

lucallemant Lol That would require Eliott Demaury to have a heart

The response gives him pause— that’s some awfully spot on roasting for someone who supposedly doesn’t know who Eliott is.

srodulv So you know who I am

lucallemant It literally says on your profile

srodulv I didn’t mean my name How did you know I’ve sold my heart to the devil  

Lucas doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even read the messages. Eliott’s stuck reloading the page like an idiot, exiting and reopening the app just in case there’s a lag affecting his notifications. He’s so focused on mentally convincing Instagram to magically spit out an answer in the form of one particularly frustrating boy that he doesn’t realize Idriss has stood from his spot on the couch and is headed for the space behind him until it’s nearly too late.

“What are you staring at?” Idriss asks, the soft thuds of his footsteps sounding too close for comfort.

Eliott’s fingers spasm in his rush to exit out of the chat and consequently start pressing randomly at his phone screen. “Nothing,” he mutters, accidentally deleting his Twitter app in his fumbling and oh fuck, well, there that goes. He doesn’t use it much anyway. “I’m just playing…” By the time Idriss leans down to peer at Eliott’s phone, he’s got a game up and running, pressing the start button frantically without paying much attention as to what exactly he’s supposedly deemed worthy of his laser focus. “… Temple Run."

“Temple Run.” Idriss repeats blandly.

“Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat, promptly dying when the guy on the screen falls pathetically into a hole. “Got back into it. Addicting as always, hm.”

“Sure.” Idriss eyes him suspiciously but he lets it be. “Come on, we gotta leave or we’ll be late.”

“Can I just stay here?” Eliott says, shuffling into a more comfortable position to get more ground when Adrien stands and starts pulling both him and Sofiane off the couch.

“No, come on, we haven’t done anything in a while.”

“It’s been a week, Adri.” Since that last godforsaken party that landed him in this pathetic situation in the first place.

Sofiane grumbles about having to return the juice boxes back in the fridge but goes easily enough, putting up less of a resistance than Eliott. Adrien gives him a look, sits on the coffee table in front of the couch, and holds up a fist.

Eliott huffs childishly but he answers with a light bump of his own fist against Adrien’s and pushes himself off the couch. It’s a thing they've started since they were children— if one of them notices that the other isn’t cool with something, the other would hold up a fist. An answering fist would mean everything’s fine but an answering palm would mean a bail out. It’s an unchanging dynamic, an existing comfort long before Eliott’s bipolar made itself known.

“Come on, Eli, don’t think I haven’t noticed you stressing out this past week,” Adrien says, draping an arm around Eliott’s shoulder. Eliott gives him a pained smile, guilty as fuck even though his best friend has no idea what exactly he’s been stressing about. “We’ll just take it chill tonight, I won’t even drink that much so we can have intelligent conversations about your superior taste in music!”

So of course Adrien gets face meltingly inebriated long before midnight even hits.

His dumbass best friend is laughing too loudly at a joke one of the bar singers makes and Eliott gives him a dirty look, tempted to hit him upside the head for depriving him of the intelligent conversation he’s been promised. Thankfully, Christine is sober and engaging. Eliott’s been trying his hardest to reciprocate her advances, flirting a little and smiling in abundance.

But the thing is Eliott doesn’t try. That kind of thing normally comes natural for him so he doesn’t know what kind of slump he’s going through right now but it has got to stop. It’s really cramping his style.

He places an arm behind Christine’s chair, nodding as she whispers about… the singer? The bartender? Eliott loses track of their conversation when his phone vibrates in his pocket. There’s no polite way to check on it with Christine sitting so close beside him, especially if the notification is what he’s hoping for it to be.

Eliott waits it out, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm in their itch to dig out the device.

It’s a losing battle.

“Just gonna run to the bathroom,” he says, distancing himself far enough from Christine so that she doesn’t take it as an invitation to follow.

lucallemant What did you sell it for?

Eliott leans against the sinks, only just managing to withhold pumping a fist in the air. He’d honestly thought that Lucas would let the conversation die.

srodulv A chance to meet you

lucallemant Gross

He giggles into his hand. God, he’d give up a limb to see Lucas’ face at this moment.

srodulv Come on that was good You’re smiling

lucallemant No You’re responding pretty fast for someone who’s supposed to be at a bar

srodulv You’re responding pretty fast for someone who’s supposed to be busy

lucallemant Whoops I finished earlier than I thought

srodulv This bar thing is pretty boring Come out with me

lucallemant What right now?

srodulv Yes

lucallemant No

srodulv My nonexistent heart is dying

lucallemant If you can get me out without my parents noticing then kudos to you

srodulv Those are challenging words Maybe I’ll throw pebbles at your window

The door opens with a bang and Idriss comes running in with a flushed Adrien rushing to one of the stalls. Eliott winces when he hears the consequences of Adrien’s excessive drinking going down the toilet.

“Guess we’re cutting the night short?” His question is met with Idriss’ laughter and a groan from Adrien. Eliott straightens up, nonchalant of the fact that he’s been caught standing around smiling at his phone in the bathroom. His friends are too preoccupied to pick up on it anyway.

lucallemant Ok I won’t answer though

srodulv So cruel

They say goodbye to Christine and her friends while Sofiane rounds up the car. Adrien’s nearly asleep by now, depending on Eliott and Idriss to keep him standing. Idriss meets his eyes from over Adrien’s limp head and they roll their eyes at each other. When Adrien really wants to drink, the guy can get drunk and the boys have dealt with the aftermath enough to have an established routine for whenever it happens.

Which means they’re all headed over to Adrien’s and one of them has to stay the night because Adrien’s a needy, weepy drunk.

srodulv Keep talking to me at least

lucallemant I’m going to sleep

srodulv At 22h? Sounds fake

lucallemant Go knock on someone else’s window, Romeo

srodulv I’m a one window type of guy

lucallemant Sounds fake

Eliott gets designated babysitter of the night, Idriss and Sofiane citing that he hasn’t done it in ages. In Eliott’s defence, he hasn’t taken his turn only because he’s been too busy being elsewhere for the last couple of times this has happened. He puts up a token protest just so it doesn’t come off too obviously that he would actually love staying over at Adrien’s. Would have volunteered himself as tribute if the other two hadn’t already appointed him.

As they struggle to guide Adrien out of the car, Eliott looks up at the massive estate— well off is an understatement when describing Adrien’s dad. The man’s an engineer, often working out of the country for weeks and even months on end. Adrien used to stay over at Eliott’s a lot, making the trip all the way into the city where Eliott’s apartment is located, lonely despite of the relatives who come to keep him company. Until Lucas and his mom came along.

“Ah shit, we have to go through the basement so the alarm doesn’t sound. Sofiane, can you find his keys?” Idriss asks, unceremoniously dragging their friend past the pool and towards the back. “Eliott, a little help here?”

Eliott rushes to take half of Adrien’s weight, distracted as his eyes land on the farthest window to the left— it’s the only room with the light on. Lucas.

He’s pretty sure they make enough of a ruckus despite their best efforts to keep quiet but luckily the door to Adrien’s parents’ room remains shut.

Getting Adrien to his room upstairs is a workout, especially since Eliott is more focused on the shadows moving behind Lucas’ closed door than the task at hand. He walks Sofiane and Idriss back outside after, whispering and giggling to themselves, feeling accomplished in their mission to get Adrien home without his parents waking up. There would be hell to pay if Mr. Delacroix catches them interrupting his sleep, especially when they’ve been explicitly advised that he and his wife have an early flight to catch the next morning.

Back in the house, he pauses just outside Adrien’s room. Eliott’s eyes are stuck on the light streaming from the small gap between Lucas’ door and the floor. Lucas had probably listened in on their struggle to put Adrien to bed. Probably thinks either Idriss or Sofiane are going to stay over. Probably doesn’t know Eliott is part of the group at all.

Eliott feels a giddy rush run through him. The next morning can’t come fast enough.

srodulv :) Goodnight, Juliet

[starbuck]

Choir Music Recs!

As promised, here is my list of choir songs that I recommend to everyone, not just choir folks. It’s definitely highly biased to my personal taste and experience (so much so that I’m organizing it by school year!) so this list is just a tiny fraction of the amazing choir music out there that you can find and listen to on youtube or elsewhere but it’s a good place to start at least!

I’ll be linking one or more recordings that are online free for each song and I’ll also include a little personal blurb with each rec because why not (but feel free to skip those and just listen to the music - I won’t be offended)!

Now, without further ado, here’s the list!!

Freshman year:

There Will Come Soft Rains by Kevin Memley

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, would scarcely know that we were gone.

I’m a little short on recs for freshman year since I was in Select Women’s Choir rather than Chorale but I couldn’t make this list without including this song. This was the first of three pieces I sang in high school that’s an arrangement of a Sara Teasdale poem. Without this, I might not even know about one of my favorite poets! And the music is so beautiful that there’s no better introduction to Sara Teasdale. Fun Fact! I had a “solo note” in this song because all the other Soprano 1′s were afraid to sing a high A (cowards).

Sophomore year:

Jenny by Ryan Kerr and Nick Myers

In the darkness, in the starlight, I hear angels sing your name as they bear you through the heavens to the light from which you came. Quietly the strain falls out of tune. Shadows steal across a lonely moon. I miss you so.

This song was and is of such massive importance to me that I don’t think I could possibly overstate my love for it. The lyrics and arrangement are so gorgeous that Chorale just sort of melted together as we sang it. And we cried. There was a lot of crying. The recording I’m going to link is from one of my high school’s concerts last year because some seniors (who sang this with me when they were freshmen) wanted to sing it one last time and got a small group together to do so. There are possibly “better” recordings out there, but I could never listen to one that isn’t from my school because I know how much love it was sang with there. (Not pictured in the video: me, in the front row at the concert, quietly singing along to the Soprano 1 part.)

My Soul’s Been Anchored in the Lord by Moses Hogan

Do you love him? (Oh yes!) Do you love him? (Hallelujah!) Do you love him? (Oh yes!) God almighty! (Are you anchored?) Are you anchored? (Oh yes!) YES I’m anchored my soul’s been anchored in the Lord!

There are no lyrics I could possibly include that could hope to get across how truly incredible this song is so my advice is to just have a listen - you will not regret it! This was essentially Chorale’s anthem sophomore year; we seriously loved singing this because it was just SO fun! All I regret about high school choir is that we didn’t sing more from Moses Hogan because holy moly are his arrangements amazing!

Sleep by Eric Whitacre

Upon my pillow safe in bed, a thousand pictures fill my head. I cannot sleep my mind’s a’flight and yet my limbs seem made of lead. If there are noises in the night, a frightening shadow, flickering light, then I surrender unto sleep where clouds of dream give second sight.

This is the piece that got little fifteen year-old me to raise my hand during rehearsal and and say “I think this song might be about death” to which my choir director replied something along the lines of “no shit” (but in a nice way because she’s not a mean person lol). This is one of the most beautiful choir songs I’ve ever heard and the quintessential Eric Whitacre piece full of “big smushy chords” and dissonance. If you don’t listen to anything else on this list, listen to this one. Also! the recording I’m linking here is from Voces8 which is a group I highly recommend checking out in general.

Junior year:

I Should Be Glad by Susan LaBarr

I should be glad of loneliness And hours that go on broken wings, A thirsty body, a tired heart And the unchanging ache of things, If I could make a single song As lovely and as full of light, As hushed and brief as a falling star On a winter night.

This is an arrangement of my favorite Sara Teasdale poem, “Compensation,” which I have included the full text of above. When I sang this piece, I, and most of my Choralemates as well, I believe, misconstrued the text to mean “I ought to be glad” rather than its actual meaning, “I would be glad (if...)” which drastically altered our interpretation and made us dislike it quite a bit. Since getting into Teasdale’s work though, I revisited the poem and realized our error. With my reading now correct, I appreciate this arrangement a lot more and I wish I had understood it at the time because it truly is a beautiful work in all ways.

Rytmus by Ivan Hrusovsky

(uhhhh just listen to it lol)

Here’s a fun one! We definitely struggled to get our tempo up on this one because of how challenging the music was to learn but it’s quite the thing to listen to a choir that gets it right.

Only in Sleep by Ēriks Ešenvalds

Only in sleep Time is forgotten— What may have come to them, who can know?

Another Sara Teasdale poem! This one probably made the largest impression on me because Chorale ended up singing it at a funeral so it carried some heavy emotions for us. Another piece that is beautiful in every way.

No Time by Susan Brumfield

Rise, oh fathers rise, let’s go meet ’em in the skies. We will hear the angels singing in that morning. Oh I really do believe that, just before the end of time, we will hear the angels singing in that morning.

I almost gave up on looking for a good recording of this piece on youtube, not because there aren’t a lot to choose from by talented choirs, but because I think there’s a certain amount of awe one has to convey to sing this piece correctly. I sang it with Quartet to open our Spring Concert (which had been transformed into a memorial concert for a beloved teacher who had passed suddenly and also moved from our school to a massive theatre downtown, so you can imagine the kind of pressure we were under). Needless to say, we were terrified, but this piece is also terrifying so it sort of fit and we sang it well. (Note for the video: this choir is absolutely incredible but the person recording goes a bit nuts with the zoom function of their camera so maybe don’t look at the screen as you listen!)

The Storm is Passing Over by Charles Tindley and Barbara Baker

Have courage my soul and let us journey on, though the night is dark and I am far from home. Thanks be to God, the morning light appears.

The sister song to ‘No Time’ at the previously mentioned concert! This was my favorite piece I ever did with Quartet and we often randomly broke into it during rehearsals the next year because we loved it so much. I spoke up about this song during a Quaker meeting I attended at some point because I had an epiphany about the lyrics and it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. Afterwards people told me what I said was good but I think they were just being nice. (Notes: the song begins about one minute into the video I linked and also, check out the full original lyrics by Charles Tindley here - they’re incredible!)

This Marriage by Eric Whitacre

May this marriage be a sign of compassion, a seal of happiness, here and hereafter.

This song is just gorgeous. It’s relatively low-key for an Eric Whitacre piece but its understatedness highlights the beauty of the arrangement. I don’t have to tell you that Rumi was an amazing poet but also I love how the end of this piece just descends into joyful singing without words. When one is out of words to speak, then one must sing.

Loch Lomond by Jonathan Quick

Oh! Ye’ll take the high road, and I’ll take the low road, And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye, But me and my true love will never meet again, On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

I’m cheating a bit by including this on the list because I did not personally sing this piece. However, five guys who were in Chorale decided to form a small group and sing this song at both the memorial concert and the funeral so, having heard them sing it a handful of times in such emotional settings, it was special to me as well. (Note for the video: the intro is very goofy and the actual song begins at 1:10 so skip to that! It’s truly a fantastic performance and it sounds very like what my Choralemates did since it’s a quartet.)

Senior year:

Will the Circle Be Unbroken by J. David Moore

I was born down (I was born down) in the valley (in the valley) where the sun refuse to shine (where the sun refuse to shine) but I’m climbing (but I’m climbing) up to the highlands (up to the highlands). Gonna make that mountain mine!

This song was taught to us and directed by our student teacher from the local university. A lot of our student teachers in past years had been awkward and too nervous to truly engage with us but she was the best we ever had. This song was unifying for us and always a delight to sing. The recording I’m linking is from a concert at my school the year after I graduated where they reprised the song and it’s as wonderful as ever.

The Wisdom of the Moon by Susan LaBarr

in the dark of night, let me learn the wisdom of the moon. How it waxes and wanes but does not die, how it gives itself to shadow knowing it will return whole once more.

This was the song that I had the largest and most extensive solo in throughout my entire high school choir experience so it made quite the impression on me. And beyond that, the poem that forms the lyrics is so beautiful. Sometimes I’ll just be minding my business and suddenly think “(God of the two lights) I love the sun” and suddenly I’m singing the whole song to myself. There’s actually a recording of Chorale singing this song with me as the soloist so I’m going to link that version (although there are other wonderful versions out there as well that I encourage you to check out!). Credits to my friend Giovani for the first solo, mine is the second, descant-y one!

Hold On! by Moses Hogan

Nora, Nora let me come in; / de door’s all fastened an’ de winders pinned! 

Just keep yo’ hand on de plow, / an’ you hold on, yes, you just hold on! 

Nora said, “You lost yo’ track, / you can’t plow straight an’ keep a lookin’ back.”

At least we did one other Moses Hogan song while I was in Chorale and this one did NOT disappoint! It’s one of my all-time favorite choir pieces to this day. Further, it caused me to look into the parable being referenced here which led me to this wonderful article that I will never miss an opportunity to plug even though I’m not personally religious! The other day when I decided (for some unknown reason) to clamber up a steep rock face rather than just walking up an easily-accessible path, I got nervous halfway up but was too afraid to try to climb back down so, without even thinking about it, my brain supplied me with the beginning of this song and before I knew it, I was quietly singing to myself “keep on climbin’ an’ don’t you tire, ‘cause ev’ry rung goes higher and higher!” and I made it safely to the top. 

Ubi Caritas by Ola Gjeilo

(it’s in Latin lol)

Not a whole lot to say here other than that no choir recs list is complete without Ola Gjeilo and this piece is beautiful and haunting. 

Unclouded Day by Shawn Kirchner

Oh, they tell me of a home far beyond the skies, they tell me of a home far away, and they tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise, oh, they tell me of an unclouded day.

One of my favorite pieces that I ever did with Chorale, even out of these. It’s so beautiful and uplifting and I think of it every time I step outside and the sky is perfectly blue. Another song that truly just has to be heard to be believed. The recording I’m linking is of the NDSU Concert Choir which has so much amazing choral content on its youtube channel and I highly recommend you check them out further!

I Will Lift Mine Eyes by Jake Runestad

The sun shall not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all evil, He will keep your soul.

Honestly, I’ve blocked out many memories of high school because it was such a truly awful time in my life, so when an old Choralemate of mine posted on her instagram story about how the time when Chorale sat down before singing this song and talked about our emotions and what this text meant to us, I was heartbroken that I didn’t remember it. What I do remember though is that, at our concert, an alumni who had graduated the previous year and had been through a lot of awful stuff sat in the front row and mouthed the words along with us while crying and we all cried while singing it. There was a connection we all made through this piece and, although things were pretty awful a lot of the time, we got through it together and that means a lot to me.

//

Now that the main list is done, here are some pieces I didn’t personally sing but I still love a lot and recommend wholeheartedly:

- I Can Tell the World by Moses Hogan

- Bright Morning Stars by Jay Althouse + bonus link of another version

- Lux Aurumque by Eric Whitacre

- Earth Song by Frank Ticheli

- Famine Song by Matthew Culloton

- The Seal Lullaby by Eric Whitacre

[santoteez]

A Manhattan Tale - Seonghwa (10- Finale + Epilogue)

Parts: 10 of 10

Masterlist HERE

Genre: Chef!Seonghwa, FormerDrugdealer!Seonghwa, FormerKingpin!Hongjoong, Bad boy/ Good Girl kinda??

Warnings: MC is a Black Female, Mentions of funerals, pretty fluff tbh, hospital setting

Requested: yes

NOTE: This fic does NOT, in any way, shape, or form, portray the way I view any member of Ateez nor does it depict their true personalities or actions. This AU is just that. An AU. All family members are FICTIONAL.

Seonghwa groaned, as the hospital TV, which was stuck on the news, repeated his name for the umpteenth time.

“25-year old city renowned chef Seonghwa Park was found with a gunshot wound in his shoulder in the backroom of a yacht on the pier of the East River in Flushing Meadows. Chef Park is the owner of The Majestic Dragon, with locations in Manhattan, The Bronx, and Brooklyn, with several on the way. Park was recently accused of being part of a gang, running a prominent drug ring and the murder of Raymond Carter Sr. by an anonymous tip to the city hotline. The accuser also claimed Park used leftover drug money to purchase his locales, making the purchases questionable by law. It is said his accomplice in the drug ring was 25-year old college student Hongjoong Kim, known in the public eye as underground music producer Kilo. Kim was also critically injured with a gunshot wound to the back. He is also accused of using dirty money to acquire his condo, college payments and the tuition for his sister’s private school and the Santana’s Threads Manhattan location. We’ll keep you all posted as more information is available, and we await Mr. Park and Mr. Kim’s statements once they are released from the hospital.”

“Nurse!” Seonghwa said, desperate.

A fair-skinned woman with a neat bun of chestnut brown hair waltzed in. “You called, Mr. Pa-”

“The TV. Turn it off.”

“What? But you just told me to turn it on-” She froze as Seonghwa’s picture flashed on the screen once again. “I see.” She said, clicking the device off. “There. Enough of that. Is that all? Anything else I can get you?”

“I wanna see my family.”

“Dr. Park isn’t in yet.”

“You know who I’m referring to.”

She sighed. “Mr. Park, we’ve been through this. Immediate family only while in the ICU. Your girlfriend and everyone else can come in once you’ve been transferred or discharged.”

“But they can go see Hongjoong?”

“Mr. Kim is a different case. Biologically, his immediate family are his siblings, but Ms. Davis is the mother of his child and under common law, they can be considered married. You and Ms. Carter have not been together long enough to be bestowed the same privileges.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, looking out the window. He wanted to see Zelie more than anything. His sister had been the only one he saw since he was admitted. His parents, after watching the news, wanted even less to do with him, although his mother did call once behind his father’s back. Seonghwa didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in getting back into his family’s good graces, he lost that hope years ago. He just wanted to see the people he truly considered him family. His sister Minseo was now on maternity leave, her baby due any day now. She canceled her baby shower when she realized Seonghwa was hospitalized but decided to celebrate after the baby was born. Seonghwa appreciated her being there, confirming that he would attend as long as he was in good health.

The nurse sighed. “Don’t get your hopes up, but I’ll see what I can do about visitors. In the meantime, are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t eat your breakfast earlier. Maintenance told me.”

He shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “Hospital waffles aren’t really appetizing. Neither is hospital meatloaf or whatever you’re gonna bring me.”

The nurse rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I like you, Mr. Park.” She said, closing the door.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong were in surgery for hours, the bullets in highly critical areas. Seonghwa’s was in his shoulder, dangerously close to his neck, while Hongjoong’s was in his back, just centimeters from his spine. Doctors were afraid that one wrong move could permanently leave Hongjoong paralyzed. Thankfully, the bullets were removed and the pair were recovering nicely. Zelie had tried multiple times to see Seonghwa but was rejected every time by his doctor. She called him almost every hour, but Seonghwa was dying to see her. He had not seen her since that night. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little jealous that HJ could see Santana as much as he pleased. She went home with Orion and Minjoon a couple days ago but came almost every day to see Hongjoong.

“Well, Mr. Park, looks like you owe me some Lo Mein when the restaurant opens back up.” The nurse said, opening the door. “I spoke with the doctor, and he said as long as the immediate family confirmed they would not be visiting you, the rights could be transferred off. So I called your parents, and sure enough, I was able to make magic happen!”

In walked Zelie, Minjoon, Soojin, and Santana carrying Orion. Hongjoong, who was advised to stay off his feet for the few weeks after surgery, wheeled into the room on the wheelchair the hospital provided.

“Thanks, Nurse Jackie. I appreciate it.” Seonghwa said, hugging Zelie.

“Like I said, when I get that Lo Mein, I want extra shrimp and soy sauce.” She said, smiling. “I’ll leave you to catch up with your family.” She winked, closing the door.

“I like her. Give her two Lo Meins.” Zelie said, cozying up in Seonghwa’s arms.

“Well, honorary big brother, how you feeling?” Minjoon asked, approaching the bed.

“I’ve been better, but I wouldn’t be here without you. I don’t remember much after getting shot, but I do remember you pressing your shirt into my shoulder to stop the bleeding. Thank you.”

“if I had to, I’d do it a thousand times again.”  Minjoon smiled.

“Where is my godchild? Bring him to me.” Seonghwa said, extending his arms out.

Santana placed Orion in his arms, who stared up at Seonghwa with wide, brown eyes.

“Hey, little guy,” Seonghwa whispered, smiling when Orion seemed to smile at his words.

“Looks like he likes you, Hwa.” Santana said.

“He better. I already furnished his room.” Seonghwa replied, making everyone laugh.

“I’m so excited to have a little brother!” Soojin said.

“Soojin, sweetie, Orion is your nephew. He’s your brother’s son.” Seonghwa explained.

“But…he’s little and I’m little. Doesn’t that make him my brother?” Soojin asked, confused.

Hongjoong laughed. “She’ll get it eventually. How are you feeling, though? Really?”

“Like I want out of this damn bed. How’s everything with the court case?” Seonghwa asked Zelie.

Given that Zelie was the last to interact with her brother before his death, she was a prime suspect. However, with the large number of workers in the room at the time of the death, those who survived the bloodbath agreed to testify in her favor in exchange for a lighter sentence. Everyone agreed that Zelie never meant for it to happen, but she wrestled him in self-defense and as a last resort and wasn’t even the one who pulled the trigger. The trial was far from over, but Zelie was optimistic.

“It’s been lengthy, but it’s going well. It’s not like I wanted him to die. I just couldn’t stand back and watch him kill you. Boyfriend or not, he’d be taking an innocent life all because of a vendetta.”

“Thank you. I mean that.” Seonghwa said, pulling her closer.

“One thing’s for sure, like father like son. It’s sad they had to go the same way.” Santana said.

“Somethings just can’t be avoided,” Hongjoong said. “I spoke to an attorney the other day; I invited him to my room. The city investigated the money we used for our initial purchases and while it was indeed money that had not been in circulation for years, given the circumstances, the court has agreed to grant us clemency. All we have to do is pay a fine. It’s hefty but at this point anything that keeps me out of jail.”

“Seriously? Babe that’s amazing!” Santana exclaimed.

He nodded. “They said we had already suffered enough, and the purchases happened years ago. The statute of limitations is almost up, and all of our recent purchases have been by the books. Everything worked out in our favor. You should be able to reopen the restaurants whenever you’re ready.”

Seonghwa nodded. “We came out the other side unscathed once again. I’m starting to think we’re indestructible.”

“Let’s not find out.” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, making everyone laugh. “I’m actually glad we’re all here, though. There’s something I’ve been meaning to do. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and with everything that’s happened, I think sooner is better than later.”

“Babe, what are you talking about?” Santana asked, confused.

Hongjoong turned to Minjoon. “Did you bring it?” He asked, and Minjoon nodded, fishing a small velour box from his pocket.

“Oh my God,” Santana said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Santana, baby. I initially planned this to be happening at a place way different, but I know you were never one for fancy scenery as long as it came from the heart, so that’s what I’m doing. I met you almost 5 years ago. I was young and a knucklehead. I didn’t know the first thing about treating a woman right or being grown. But when I met you, I realized I would have to man up quick or you’d be gone. I couldn’t have that. You’ve been with me through thick and thin, even when I was doing shit you knew would get me in trouble. You never ditched me, not when the police barged into my apartment, not when I was sitting up in Sing Sing, not when I was released, not when I started taking music seriously, and not when I was almost paralyzed. You were by my side through it all. Now that we have our beautiful son, I want to do the same. Be by your side no matter what. Never leave you ever again, and never have you worried I’m not coming home.” He opened the tiny box, revealing a beautifully adorned gold band with a large, square-cut rock at the center. “Santana Jarelle Davis, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with any other woman besides the one in front of me. I’d be honored if you gave me the chance. Will you marry me?”

Santana nodded frantically, the entire room looking like a mosaic through her tears. “A million times, yes. I love you so much.” She said, kissing Hongjoong as he placed the ring on her finger.

“ACTUALLY,” Soojin interrupted, “I was on your lap, so that makes me the person in front of you.” She said, folding her arms.

“Nice try. I said, WOMAN. Not booger-eating little girl.” Hongjoong said, tickling her.

“That was ONE time!” Soojin said, laughing.

Just then, the doctor walked in.

“I was wondering where you had wandered off to, Mr. Kim.” He said, entering the room. “Looks like you’re getting around just fine without being hooked to the IV. How’s your back?”

“It hurts from time to time, but nothing excruciating.”

Nodding, the doctor turned to Seonghwa. “And you, Mr. Park? How’s your shoulder?”

“Better. I can move my neck freely now.”

“I can see that. Well, you men seem to have healed remarkably fast. It’s like you’re not human. If you’re truly feeling better, and nothing comes up in this morning’s x-rays, I’ll process your discharge papers and you’ll be free to go.”

“Thank GOD,” Seonghwa shouted, making everyone laugh.

“Careful, Mr. Park. Don’t want us to magically find something to keep you here. A rectal exam, perhaps?” The doctor asked.

Seonghwa laughed nervously. “You don’t mean that, right doc? DOC?” He shouted when the doctor didn’t answer. He turned to Zelie.

“GET ME OUT OF HERE.”

-

-

-

-

*2 years later*

“Alright Mitch, I’m heading home for the day,” Seonghwa called out, walking through the back kitchen of the restaurant.

“Alright, boss. Be safe.” Mitch answered, getting started on another Bibimbap. “Tell the Missus I said hello and we miss her here at work.”

“I will. Oh, and before I forget. The woman with the brown hair and scrubs on is getting two House Special Lo Meins, on the house.”

“Got it!”

Seonghwa walked out to the dining area, where Nurse Jackie was standing. “Took you long enough to come redeem your food.”

She shrugged. “What’s the rush? You owed me no matter what. Didn’t feel like cooking, so here I am.”

Seonghwa laughed, his voice booming against the walls. “Well, should you not want to cook again, this location is much closer to the hospital. That’s why I chose it.”

She put a hand over her heart. “My hero. Go ahead, I know you’re heading home. Don’t wanna keep you too long. Good night, Chef Park.”

“Good Night, Nurse Jackie,” Seonghwa said, making his way out of the crowded restaurant. Despite the controversy, die-hard fans of the restaurant couldn’t wait to go back, and others who had yet to try the food were even more inclined, causing lots of traffic, especially on a Friday like today. Seonghwa hopped into his car and made his way home.

The clemency went through, and the fine was half of their monthly earnings for the next year. The boys were more than willing to cough up the cash if it meant they could resume their normal lives. The Coca Twins skipped town when they realized they failed again and the boys weren’t going to jail. So, they changed their names and were never heard from again. Despite everything, Zelie paid for RayRay’s burial, figuring he deserved a peaceful resting place at the very least. One-Eye was laid to rest but some of his men, his death being real this time. Lil Mike quit drug dealing once he saw what being involved in the game did to HJ and Hwa. He brought his mom home from the hospital and went back to school. To everyone’s surprise, he had a knack for baking and decided to open his own bakery. To show his gratitude, he made Hongjoong and Santana’s wedding cake free of charge.

Hongjoong and Santana’s wedding was held the summer after the shooting, and luckily the boys were fully healed by then. It was a small ceremony, with Seonghwa, Zelie, Soojin, Minjoon and a few of Santana’s employees and family. The girl Minjoon went on that date with ended up becoming his girlfriend, so she was invited to. Soojin had a little guy friend from her soccer team she begged to let come, so he and his family were invited as well. To Hongjoong’s surprise, Seonghwa was able to schedule a video chat with Chungho, who congratulated the young couple and was able to see his grandchild and Soojin, who he had not seen for years. Everyone at the reception was in awe at the fact that Zelie effortlessly caught the bouquet, with Hongjoong teasing Seonghwa, stating that it was fate. Seonghwa didn’t think much of it until he proposed just a year later. Granted, it was during their lunch break at work, but Zelie accepted nonetheless.

“Lucy I’m home!” Seonghwa shouted, walking into the plush, luxury condominium. When he was discharged from the hospital, Seonghwa realized that if he planned to be with Zelie for the long run, his tiny studio wouldn’t do. So, he packed up all his things (sans the leather couch, to Zelie’s satisfaction) and bought a condo, not too far from Hongjoong’s building.

“Ricky, darling!” Zelie shouted, running to the door, kissing Seonghwa tenderly on the lips.

“Do you two have to greet each other like that every night?” Minseo asked, laughing. Her son, Minhyuk, right behind her. After being released, Seonghwa kept his word to attend Minseo’s celebration once the baby was born. She chose Minhyuk since it was similar to Minjoon. She said had it not been for Minjoon, she’d never have run into Seonghwa that day. Their relationship was far from perfect, but they’d been patching things up pretty well. His father had yet to speak to him, although his mother sent him a housewarming gift when she heard from Minseo that he was moving. Seonghwa learned to live with his father’s blatant disapproval and was grateful his mother was warming up to him again on her own accord, although he doubted they’d ever cross paths again. Ever since their reunion, Minseo spent most weekends with Seonghwa and Zelie.

“We don’t HAVE to, but where’s the fun in that?” Seonghwa asked, smiling. “Hey, sis.” He hugged Minseo. “And you! How you doin, big man?” He picked up Minhyuk, throwing him up in the air and causing him to laugh.

Cries were heard from the living room.

“Uh oh, someone’s jealous.” Zelie laughed.

“Now why would my princess get jealous? She knows she’s the apple of my eye!” Seonghwa said, reaching into the baby swing, picking up the month-old baby girl. “You know that, right Zelig?” He said, the curly-haired, caramel-skinned baby halting her cries immediately.

When they officially got engaged, Seonghwa and Zelie…couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, to say the least. The next thing they knew, Zelie was late. Seonghwa was ecstatic…once he regained consciousness after Zelie told him.

“It’s crazy how you had a kid with a head full of hair. Minhyuk was bald for MONTHS.” Minseo said, running a hand through the curly locks.

“Yeah, that heartburn was a bitch,” Zelie said, immediately turning to Minhyuk. “Don’t repeat that.” She said, causing the siblings to laugh.

Seonghwa kissed Zelie’s cheek. “I guess it’s true what you said.”

“What’s that?” Zelie asked.

“I was just a work in progress.” He said, thinking about his friends, business, sister, and the kids, even one of his own. And of course, his beautiful fiancée. “And for the first time in my life, I feel complete.”

Stephie Here! Thank you SO much for reading and sticking with me through this fic as well as ‘In The Bronx’! I’ve been going through some life changes which delayed this finale but only because I wanted it to be perfect for you guys and tie up any loose ends from the Hongjoong fic as well as previous chapters of this fic. Please keep an eye out for my one-shots and AUs as I will make an effort to upload routinely for you all!! As always, thanks for reading!

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Survey

I’ve decided to start cross-posting my old, longer works that are on AO3 over here on Tumblr, now that I have a library sideblog. There are SIX of them, so this is gonna take some time. With that in mind, I’ve decided to leave the order of the cross-posting up to you guys. Here’s the list and a short description of each:

Cracker Jack Prize - 

Cas x You/OFC, Dean x You/OFC, Sam x You/OFC

87,64 words

Smut, angst, fluff - a little bit of everything (The first fic I ever wrote, so I kind of threw EVERYTHING into it. I was a wordy, thirsty bitch.)

Myka Samuels was finally getting her life back together after several devastating losses, but it all changed when her boyfriend got possessed and tried to abduct her. Saved by the Winchesters, she soon learns she's more than she thought she was. Once she deals with her new circumstances, she finds herself falling for the brothers... BOTH brothers.

Oasis - 

Cas x Reader, Dean x Reader, Cas x Reader x Dean

46,382 words

Smut, angst, fluff, etc.

The original idea for this was what would you do if you met Dean and Cas after their failed night at the "den of iniquity?" How would you get Cas to relax? After the first chapter was written, it kind of grew from there. I don't own any of the characters or the music mentioned. I'm just borrowing the things I love.

A Woman of Letters (Getting a Feel For Sam Winchester) - 

Sam x Reader

70,247 words

Angst & smut

You've just opened an occult bookstore in Lebanon, Kansas, when you fall for a tall, handsome customer...literally. You soon find out that there's more to the world than you ever suspected, including you. Discovering your heritage puts you directly in a witch's crosshairs, though, so the Winchesters offer to take you in and teach you how to protect yourself. As you discover your own family history with the supernatural and your own hidden talents, you can't help but wish a certain brother was as excited about your interest as you are.

Third Wheel -

Soulless Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader x Dean

64,287 words

OMG THE SMUT SO MUCH SMUT LIKE SERIOUSLY THE SMUT

Reader is a hunter who grew up on the Campbell compound with Gwen, Mark, and Christian. She meets Samuel Campbell and Sam Winchester during a big hunt, and quickly gets together with Sam. Things get interesting when Dean enters the picture, and then when they find out Sam doesn't have his soul. This story tracks all of season six, so if you haven't seen it, this is all spoilers. The only character deaths are those that happened in canon.

[Side note: This is a fic I’m especially proud of. I fleshed out the Campbells a bit and fell in love with Gwen. Really wish we’d had more of Gwen. She could have been a badass rock star.]

Like Son, Like Father - 

John x Reader, Dean x Reader

61,677 words + a timestamp with 10,357 words

Angst & smut (so much of both), some Weechesters

When forces get together to go back in time to take out John Winchester while Sam and Dean are toddlers, the reader is called upon to go back in time to fix it.

Non-Trad - 

Cas x Reader, Cas x Reader x Sam

61,769 words + timestamps - 17,352 words

Fluff, angst, smut, AU - Priest!Cas, Firefighter/Professor!Sam

non·tra·di·tion·al ˌnäntrəˈdiSHənl/ adjective new and different from an established norm, custom, or method. Non-Trad: A non-traditional student is an American term referring to a category of students at tertiary educational institutions. To be considered a nontraditional undergraduate, you: Do not immediately continue your education after you graduate from high school. Attend college only part time. You're a non-traditional student in your senior year at college, with an even more non-traditional past. When you meet someone who makes your heart flutter, you can only hope he's as non-traditional as you are.

That’s all of them!! You are voting for which fic you want posted FIRST. (All will be posted, eventually.) Any replies or reblogs with comments will be counted as votes. You can vote for as many of these as you like, and they will be posted based on the number of votes each fic gets. If you feel uncomfortable voting where folks can see your preference, I will also accept private messages and anon asks! If you have any questions about any of these, just let me know!

[pinkpoundcake]

DESERT DEVIL

CH. 5  FROM THE MEADOW

All Might/ Reader as Female OC

NSFW AU

7K+ Words

Here we go! Finally. I had to pause and do quite a bit of research for this one. I’m pretty happy with the chapter, but I’ll go back and catch some mistakes later! I’ve been coloring in PS and typing  on GoogleDocs all day so my eyes are tired and won’t catch much. We’ll be taking off from here. I’ll warn that there’s no smut in this chapter, but you can anticipate some for the next. It was just out of place, sorry, lmao. 

I’m not sure of the next time I’ll be updating, but you can anticipate sometime next week. Thank you if you stop by! All Chapters are in my desert devil tag. 

I.

“You may not like this, but you all have to understand! It's for the best.”

The crowd erupted into irritated chatter and groans. This was one of those stressful downsides to using your quirk in this way. It would be easier for you to be the conduit for translation, if so many different kinds of minds weren't giving you so much feedback. Speaker, you, all the joined hands in the crowd. All the joined hands in the crowd, you, the speaker. So many different minds you had to help understand.

Your eyebrows tensed hard enough for muscles to spasm beneath your horns. You were bearing a lot of stress, and your main client, the mayor, hadn't picked up on that yet. His little, white paw was still clutched around your first two fingers while you kneeled down on the soap box next to him. Aizawa had taken your other hand, and then his other hand was linked to the next person. Like one big, unhappy pow-wow. Now, the Mayor, he was so eager to console his constituents, you didn't have the heart to tell him his time was almost up.

“How is that any fair?!” Your eyes were clamped closed. You recognized that voice, but you didn't have the head-space to pin a face. High and kind of whiny. That was probably one of the Inn keeper's daughters.

“The raised fee for violating curfew is incentive, my friends! For all of you to reconsider breaking this protective law. Two hours after sundown, we expect everyone to be locked up, or at least within the bounds of town!” Mayor Nezu responded in his usual chipper tone. His beady black eyes drifted over the crowd of grubby, exasperated faces.  

“A majority of these deaths were discovered far out of the edge of town, you see! And by the fees we've collected these long days and nights, some of you have not taken the previous encouragement seriously!” The Mayor spoke more sternly, though he was still smiling. “If you follow the law, you won't have to pay a hundred pieces, and you won't be ripped apart! How lovely is that!”

“So what are y'all gonna do with all of them extra coins, huh?!” You knew who that was without having to open your eyes. It was this young, plucky fella who always loitered outside the general store eyeing women patrons in their nicest dresses on Sundays. The purple gumdrop always liked to inform you that he didn't mind being around too tall fillies like you, and that always made you wonder where in the goddamn his mother and manners were.

“As always,” Mayor Nezu paused “these fees will be added to our tax well for railroad imports and provisions from Tucson. Public works projects, as well, that will improve our water storage for the future. The budget is always available for a gander at City Hall! I might look like a rat, but I'm no thief, ahahahaha!” You would laugh, too, if you could. He was easy to trust, but the Mayor was strange…

“Please, please, any other q-,” the Mayor blinked with surprise as you yanked your hand away and broke the chain. That was all you could handle. You needed a rest if you still had to hold Sheriff Todoroki's hand for the last portion of the itinerary.

Ah...well, alright. They were going to have a brief recess.

II.

The pounding in your head had subsided a portion. You were glad most folks were distracted with chattering amongst themselves in groups while they allowed you to rest up at the stone edge of the empty, town fountain. You were supposed to let Deputy Aizawa know when you were ready to translate again, which should probably be soon. You didn’t know what time it was, but you could feel the sun rising up higher over your head. It was nice for a little while, but now the bright beams were making your horns uncomfortably hot.

Off to your left, you sensed someone’s shadow sweep over. You thought they were someone in a passing group of gossip, but they stepped a little closer and draped something soft over your head. Your eyes ached, but you cracked one open to see who’d come to pester you. You already had an idea of who it was. “I didn’t think the sun was helping.” Yagi stabbed his cane in the dirt, and then sank down next to you. You heard distinct popping from the joints of his knees. He grunted his same, endearing grunt. This was his usual spot, wasn’t it?

“Thank you. It wasn’t.” You muttered. He understood you couldn’t sound as delighted to see him as you wanted. You sighed and brought his yellow shawl up higher to cover up your forehead and a portion of your eyes. It wasn’t medicine, but it felt and smelled nice.

“I don’t have too much time to talk.” “I understand.” Yagi crossed both of his big, rough palms over the handle of his cane, and then rested his chin over his knuckles. He leaned far and set his eyes on wads of familiar and unfamiliar people still discussing the first half of this morning’s meeting.

“Dove,” Yagi didn’t turn his head, but you could feel his eyes roll back in your direction “are you going to be alright?”

“After a few days of rest, I’ll be fine. I promise.” Yagi’s hands were beneath his chin, so you touched and rubbed his side instead to assure him. Maybe this was a little taboo, but no one was paying attention. He was resisting the urge to move closer. You’d never touched him before, not that he could remember. There was a wonderful heat and softness from your fingers that penetrated the thinned fabric of his shirt, and swept each scarred rib. He felt soothed ( oh yes, he was nervous) , but his intention was for him to comfort you, not the other way around.

“Togo.”

You, almost a little too hastily, tugged yourself from Yagi’s side. As if nothing strange had happened, you stood to your feet, and then gave the older fellow his shawl back. You didn’t know when Deputy Aizawa had approached, or how long the sneaky son of a gun had been standing there. By the look on his face, you could tell he had a certain amount of judgement and disbelief for the both of you. He didn’t have any comment, thankfully. Yagi wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m ready now.” You cleared your throat. Time to hold Mr. Boss-So-Roki’s hand.

III.

Ah, so you and I aren’t going to see eye to eye, boy?

It was a sick joke from a man who had no real eyes. Yagi had ripped them out from the sockets years prior when his heart was broken, and thirsty for revenge. He didn’t regret it. Men who didn’t respect this precious land didn’t deserve to ever take in its beauty.

“You smell like shit, you old fuck.” Yagi loathed to spit acid like a snake, but he deserved every shred of hate contained in his young body on that day.

The Gambler smelled like what he was made of: dirty money and brimstone and mosquito water.

What a nasty bark, you dog!

You look out of sorts, pup. Could it be that arrow you still have there? Here...let me help you pull that out.  

He had liked where Yagi was. Leg mangled. Curled up on the side of the trail like road kill. The vultures were waiting; circling the sun like the grim reaper spun his scythe. That’s what the boy was after all! An animal pretending to be a righteous man.

“DON’T YOU PUT YOUR FILTHY HANDS ON ME.”

And then Yagi was screaming in agony. The Gambler pulled the arrow out nice’n slow, making sure to twist and turn the carved bone of the head into the most sensitive, spewn places. He didn’t like all the mess on his new, priceless equipment, so he found it proper to smear the blood off on Yagi’s already red, enraged face.

Shut up.

Listen very well, dog. Maybe your body can’t die here, but I hope this lesson breaks your spirit like you broke all of my bones.  In stature, it was certain that The Gambler had never healed right. His body was twisted and gnarled like the lichon.  

Yagi did what he had to do after the whole gruesome ordeal was over. He never, ever wanted to kill another man of his own will after that day.   Uh huh…

So, did his spirit ever heal right?

It hurt his heart to try and answer.

IV.

He hated to dream. They weren’t fair. You were supposed to be able to alter your dreams; be whatever you want and do whatever you want. These were all memories he couldn’t do a thing to change. Perhaps he should have been grateful he woke up still clean, and in his own bed this morning. But at what cost…

He needed to stop thinking about it. Yagi had roped up Bell wrong for the second time since he started packing. He rubbed his mule’s neck and she affectionately bumped him on the shoulder with her nose. He didn’t like bringing her so far out from home, because she was his friend, but he had things he had to do as usual. He was going to meet you after he had his student come to watch his property for the two or three weeks you’d be gone. You needed to arrange your own trustworthy house sitter before you both began your long journey.

Yagi had been worried about you the days after the meeting, more than he should have been worried for himself. There was a lot now to consider. He was well aware that you were both lying to each other by omission. You wanted him to track the Devil. If you hadn’t taken the belt buckle back, he probably would have forgotten not to put it on. He hadn’t told you where you were both going for his part of the deal, either, or why he needed you to read. He had advised you on what to pack, and how long you’d be gone, and you just followed the instruction without question.

Did you really trust him that much? You were both traveling alone. In secret. You were lucky law enforcement only patrolled for law breakers, and didn’t go door to door every night. They couldn’t pay enough for all of that.

When he was finally able to meet you, the crown of the sun was starting to peek over the hard, flat line of the horizon. The sky was split in soft streaks of pink and orange. Pretty. There was no wind for haze. The air was still and cool. If only it could stay like this.

“Are you sure you have everything?” Yagi asked you while fixing the girth that strapped his mule to his small, travel cart. He came up to her mouth and made sure the secures there weren’t too tight. She made a quiet, but shrill sound through her nostrils. “I know you don’t like the bit. Be quiet.” The scolding was affectionate and punctuated with a kiss on her nose.

“Yes, and Kissy’s the same way. I think he tolerates it.” He wasn’t raised for riding, but he handled it well enough. Besides, he was the only horse you had.

You were sure you had all you needed. You had rolled up some provisions and plenty of water into your BaBa’s old saddle bags. You really hoped with your combined items, it was all enough. Traveling made you excited and nervous. You hadn’t been outside of town in years. You both had terrible timing, and would probably be in a heap of trouble for giving no notice of leave when you got back. Still, a potentially dangerous journey. And you’d both be alone.

“They all tolerate a lot.” Yagi shrugged his shoulders and sat up on the seat of his cart. “Let’s get moving, quickly!” He boisterously  thumped his closed fist over his chest since neither of you had a rally drum or trumpet.

You wondered if the Devil would lurk the canyon. The thought of you both running into him in the dead of night, or the beast ravaging your camp made your heart jump up somewhere in your gullet.  Yagi must have understood that risk, and he was still taking you to read whatever it was he wanted you to read. You could in fact translate language if you could touch the surface, but it’d been a long while since you’d done so. Most things of importance were printed in English, and a lot of folks couldn’t read no how, so they didn’t bother you.

“Yagi, do you mind telling me where we’re going?” You asked him after mounting. He took off his big brimmed vaquero hat and flipped it upside down. You could see some of your own wool stuck beneath the cap, but what interested you the most was what was embroidered to the underside: a map of the entire valley. Some parts of the thread were old and dirty, but other portions still retained the vibrancy of being freshly stabbed through. You were a little mystified.

”Up north east.” You expected Yagi to produce a compass, but he didn’t. He knew exactly where to go. He’d never been lost before.

“You’ll see, Dove. I won’t lead you astray.” He made a little beat on his chest again and grinned.

“Well...alright. I’m trusting you, sir.” You squeezed Kissy with your heels.

Yee haw! You were both off.

V.

Yagi was puffing out smoke and steam through his nose at the sight of you. His heart was a rumbling, rolling train and he hadn’t finished pounding in all the tracks.  The sun was setting in the distance. Vibrant hues from that sweet goodbye highlighted every plump curve of your naked body. When you turned in the water’s edge and brought your toned arms up above your head, your outlines rippled and writhed in a fog. You shook out your tail like a tambourine, and glistening droplets whipped around your figure.

His dry tongue lolled from the corner of his mouth. Clamoring on all fours, he was clawing the dirt and sand to make it to your mirage. You smiled at him with all your front teeth, and your pretty eyes, and then beckoned him closer with your long fingers. You were emerging from the pool; prowling to meet him halfway. Everywhere your hands and knees touched turned a luscious green.

Almost there… Come here, Come into me, Yagi.

The sun fully disappeared behind the mountains, and the storm clouds swarmed. He was stabbed with daggers of lightning. His big body and hands were all over your soft, fuzzy hide in a monstrous flash. He was pulling your legs apart because now he was long and strong for you. You clamped his waist, clawed his back, and called him by his real name while he was pumping his piston. With his rain and wind and thunder, and your good green earth, he had you. That's right, with your back down in paradise.

Just like he promised.

VI.

“UGH,” Yagi rubbed the faint cut left behind on his forehead. It stung. He had woke with a jolt and hit the side of the rocky perch he’d chosen for the night. You didn’t have a tent, so he let you have his to yourself. A woman, ugh...ow...needed her privacy. He smeared pebbled and already clotting blood on his sleeve. He hadn’t changed his stance on his own dreams.

He was glad you were paces away. It had to be that way. His excuse this time, was that he needed to be a look out for raiders and bandits. That was one thing, but really, he didn’t know when his body was going to change. Dangerous games. Dangerous thoughts. Dangerous dreams. Yagi glanced down at the personal tent pitched in his trousers. Uh...no, he wouldn’t have wanted you to see him like this.

He’d wait to calm down, water the horse and mule, and then wake you. You’d both been traveling for three days, and you had two days of long, hot, dry, travel left.

VII.

When you both finally made it to your destination, the sun was preparing to rise. Yagi was adamant about wanting to push through the night. You had taken such a long break in the afternoon, that it bled into the evening. You had wanted to go back to sleep so badly. You almost fell off of Kissy’s back twice. Yagi, while flustered and spooked, offered to change his mind on the urgency, but you told him it was alright. You just needed to wake up and put up. You were both on a tight schedule.

The clouds were rolling overhead and you wondered (hoped) that they would block the sun or consider banding together for some traveling rain, but they didn't. The trip had gone relatively pain free, it almost made you paranoid. You had to suffer somewhere, and you hoped the continued drought was it.

“Not too much further,” Yagi pushed up his hat and revealed a smile that gave the rising sun a run for its money. For a man who hadn't been sleeping much, he seemed awfully chipper. Dear lady, you had no idea how full of nostalgia he was. The familiar change in terrain gifted him fond and not so fond memories.

“Is that…” you covered a yawn “is that it?” You squinted through the sleepy tears in the corners of your eyes. In the morning haze, you could pick out blocky structures built into the side of a rock face. At another gander, you noticed some fencing holding in several huddled, sheared sheep. Thatched houses peppered the land on the other side of livestock pens and dry, unharvested crops . It didn’t look like a big, busy town, but it was certainly a settlement. It wasn’t too far off from the murky edges of the Colorado River, and the sight of that provided you even more relief. You didn’t know if you had enough water on hand to make it back to Struggler.

“This is it.” Yagi whipped the reins in his excitement and urged his mule on. She wheezed and groaned with some protest, but picked up her pace. You clicked your tongue and bumped Kissy with your heal so he could match speed. You were both kicking up a trail of dust behind you. Being somewhere new made you nervous, but the energy Yagi radiated made you feel more sure. He had his smile on full beam, belting out something incomprehensible at the top of his lungs with your mounts’ hoof-beats. That almost made you pull your draft to a hard halt. Nothing was wrong. No one was coming after the both of you, and he certainly wasn’t hurt. He was going to see his old friend again.

VIII.

There were plenty of times in your life where you felt a little out of sorts. You didn’t feel awkward exactly, just a touch shy. There was a small crowd gathering around Yagi as some reservation dwellers came to properly greet him, or see what the commotion was about. Some natives looked a little on edge, or as unsure as you did, but then the older fellow Yagi was so focused on, finished greeting the sunrise, and then approached. You figured he was probably somewhat in charge, because everyone politely made way for him, or minded themselves and went back to their early tasks. “Aa,” he was grinning from ear to ear just like Yagi was “how are you, my friend? This is a surprise!”

“I’m...well.” Yagi rubbed his neck, and then removed his hat to return the politeness.

“You made quite some noise on the way here! We were worried about a bandits,” the older man’s eyes were wrinkling around the tanned, weathered corners. He was very tall, though not nearly as tall as Yagi, and wore working clothes like the cowboys who traveled far yonder from Texas. You were amazed at the length of his graying hair. It fell behind him in a long cord, and was wrapped up in a braid with bright, crossing threads. He had a lovely, boxy, woven pattern in his shawl that you couldn’t help but eye up, too. Following the loop of his cover, there was a long scar that crossed his neck, and zig zagged down until it was hidden beneath the collar of his shirt. You knew better than to rubber neck that. Didn’t want to be rude.

You felt him sense your wondering eyes, and take a reserved look at you after allowing Yagi to exchange a bow. You were trying and failing to hide behind your big horse. His friend from another land had no one else for company, just you. His bushy brows rose. You assumed your appearance probably surprised, or tickled him. You were used to that, but he was actually assuming something else.

“Aa, this is your wife, Yagi?”

“No, no!” Yagi awkwardly laughed. “This is…” He trailed, trying to think of something that didn’t sound quite as suspicious. “My friend. I brought her here to translate something, if your clan will allow it. We won’t stay for too long, I promise.”

The fellow’s jaw slackened. He brought his hand to his chin. He looked between Yagi, who was anticipating an answer, and then you who were waiting for the same. You came all this way. You hoped that you wouldn’t get turned away and the journey would be for nothing. Whatever Yagi wanted you to read must have been important, or private, if you had to formally ask permission.

“You want to see the old messages? Don’t you?” The other man hummed.

“Yes, I...think it will help me understand.” Yagi had lowered his voice without meaning to.

“Understand what?” You cleared your throat. They were both looking at each other like there was some kind of secret afoot. If you were translating, you were going to know eventually, right? Yagi’s friend frowned at him. This young woman didn’t know? It wasn’t his place to tell you either. It was his request to offer a yes, or a no. “I’m looking to know a little more about this land’s past,” Yagi dug his cane into sand between the toes of his boots. He leaned on it a little, and then brought his still carted mule in closer with his other hand. “There’s some very old language here that a lot of Mustang’s family can’t completely read anymore. His family has been here for quite some time, many many many years,” he had turned his head in your direction while he dropped you this hint “so I’m hoping to find some warnings or helpful superstitions.”

Ah! Now you understood...sort of.  You wondered what Yagi’s interest in the past was, apart from solving the mystery of the Devil, but you didn’t know him well enough to poke and prod that business just yet. Yet. It did make sense, though. More sense than what you were reading. The Devil roamed this land in particular. Should probably consult who’d been here the longest.

“You’re a scholar, young ma’am?” Mustang asked while directing you both to come into the shade and relieve your mounts. By appearances, he wouldn’t have pegged you for someone familiar with his ancient heritage, but then again, when he’d met Yagi, he was quite skeptical of what a stranger would know, too.

“No, sir, it’s my Gift. I can translate speaking and writing if I touch or focus.” You held up your palm to illustrate. His eyes lit up and he clapped his hands once, then twice.

“You’re both blessed with two gifts, then!” Mustang was smiling again. “If you can understand, we will need to accompany you to record. We would like to remember the past, and hopefully our friend here will find what he’s looking for.” Hearing about your gift looked like it was truly a delight, and that made you feel pretty damn special.

“Oh, of course, I don’t mind. I’d be happy to help as long as I get time to rest.” You were trying to wrap your head around something, but Mustang was ushering you both along to where you and Yagi could set up your tent and tether your animals. He trusted Yagi heavily, so he trusted you, if Yagi also considered you a friend in such a sensitive affair. He was already talking about giving word to his family and friends to prepare a hardy meal for Yagi’s return, and then some other things you didn’t quite catch.

You slipped back into your shy sort of self while the two fellows talked on middle ground. You were unloading some items from the saddle bags, and then in the next moment, Yagi was ushered off somewhere else. You got Kissy and Bell somewhere comfortable and in the shade at a stable near to your allotted portion of the settlement. You were thinking about how...different Yagi seemed here while you were watching from afar. He towered over their hosts, readily available to offer his help, or carry things to and fro, even on his bad leg. He cracked jokes with them, and his smile had yet to really let up. He was louder, more open, though he still minded his manners. You were almost a little envious, but you understood. Yagi and Mustang, and some of his siblings have probably known him for years. You wanted to know him like that, too, but for now, you liked that he called you his friend.

After a while of settling, they were picking out sheep for a meal in the dry wood pen paces over. They did ask you if you minded, which you found a little funny. No one here had an appearance Gift that covered their whole body quite like you, so it was the first thing anyone noticed.

Uh, sheep...lamb. You’d never had it before, and didn’t want to try. So, they offered steer, but you had to decline that, too. It just felt weird. Like unofficial cannibalism even though you only looked like an animal. “My father is a bull, and my mother is an alpaca.” You used your other gift to join hands and inform your hosts before you and Yagi had split.

You got plenty of requests to touch your hair. You were used to that, too. You came out of some of your shyness to allow some touches. It was so white, they said, whiter than bones. And soft without needing to wash it so many times. Did you shear it? Well, of course you did. It grew too fast not to. Do you trade it?  Absolutely, let’s bargain.

You spurred an impromptu trading crowd without meaning to. Everyone watched in wonder as you cut off a cottony wad with your pocket knife, and a new patch of wool readily grew in its place. You had bread, and ground corn, and beads, and one young fellow who was very keen about you staying here with him if you were looking for a partner. You remembered you brought some melons full of seeds along, so you topped off that flurry with a big, beautifully loomed blanket on your arm.

When Yagi found you again, he was trying to hide a laugh behind his hand. There you were at your tent, corralling all of your new treasures and spoils. You were a tradeswoman anywhere, weren’t you?

IX.

“Yagi?” The world was dark and silent. It was hard to sleep while you were so far from your cot back at home. The canvas edges of your borrowed tent quivered with the rustle of the wind. It was kind of cold, so you were glad you had your new blanket, and some of the blankets that Yagi had given you. You did that idiot thing were you didn’t bring your own. You were afraid of losing, or messing one up. Every blanket you had was special. Even your new one.

“Yagi?” You whispered again. You could barely see his dark outline on the other side of the thick fabric. He didn’t snore, so you could never tell when he had gone to sleep.

“Yagi?” You tried one more time. Maybe he was asleep? Better not bother him. But finally he stirred. He rolled over to his other side in the dark, and then poked his head through the opening. He looked exhausted in the eyes, and full by the temporary pudge in his belly. “Are you alright?” Yagi mumbled.

You were okay, just stressed in a certain kinda way. And paranoid. You lied awake with your heart heavy with anxiousness waiting to hear it; the hiss… “I..Would you…” You stammered, heart picking up a beat now that you actually had to ask your question. “Do you think it’d be alright if you were here? If you stayed in here with me?”

Your question woke him. You could see his eyes had brightened. He held that expression while he considered his answer. There were plenty of reasons for him to decline, but oh...you were making that worried little face. He knew you were hoping that he’d say yes, so he did, and dragged the rest of himself inside. He stretched out long legs that barely fit on the inside and rested somewhere on the other side of you.

“Thank you.” You couldn’t ask him to move any closer, though you really, really wanted him to. You wanted his pleasant scent fresh and not just wafting your nose from his blankets. And you wanted him to wrap his arms around you and maybe pat you over the head right between the horns like he did from time to time. Oh good glory, would you listen to yourself? Go the hell to sleep.

X.

Should you be touching this? It felt like you shouldn’t have been touching this. The rock surface Mustang had lead you to on horseback was high up. It took you a quarter hour to climb, and another quarter to catch your breath. Yagi had to climb after you with his head craned to the side so he wouldn’t be looking up your bare legs while your clothes were tied out of the way.You were glad the goat in you didn’t mind, otherwise this traverse would be difficult.

You were expecting writing, but you could read the cluster of rock carvings just fine. You squinted while activating your Gift. Things didn’t come together right away. It’d been so long since you’d used it this way. After another try, you finally started to understand.

A majority of the drawings and glyphs were just entrees. A documentation of the days passed. On this day, the men on horseback arrived. On this day we left to travel elsewhere. On this day the canyon was taken with floods. It wasn’t what Yagi was looking for, but Mustang was recording everything on some dried skin as you moved along.

And then, as the carvings grew older, you read out some stories. You could feel a headache brewing behind your eyes, but by now the intrigue had struck you harder, and you wanted to press on and know more.

The spider woman who taught the weaving. This one was hard to read, it was overlapped with other carvings, but Mustang told you that he was already very familiar with the tale.

The warrior with the heart of a bear. He was drawn robustly with his club leading his people to victory in a battle.

The winding serpent that made the river. It slithered and slunk down the entire length of the race face, splitting into other stories and recordings.

The story of good the meadow where the soil was fair and water plenty.

The Oasis on the other side of the sun, and her warrior protector. To you this one read the same, but it felt important. There was a buzz in your fingertips and the cogwheels in your thick skull got to turning.

You’d stopped relying the info without knowing, too. You had gone silent as the symbols stacked in your mind and made a structured narrative before your eyes. The Oasis’ protector became something beyond being a man, chasing off imps on horseback swinging their knives and  shooting their guns and bringing their greed. The spirit of mother earth entered the crown of his head and made him undying. And when his job was done, and he had to leave to return to the other world, the will of the earth entered the heart of a worthy someone else, and it would be that way for forever and ever.

“Dove?” Yagi touched your shoulder. You grabbed on to him to keep from falling over and hitting your head. You blinked a few times to call yourself back to this realm. Both men were staring at you with concern in their eyes.

“You said you wanted to know something about the land? This,” you let go of the hold on your Gift so you could actually think and respond. “This one talks about the Oasis.”

XI.

“I’m glad that you’re all doing well. Very glad.” The flickering light from the dying fire fluttered over the contours of Yagi’s face. He rubbed the bags beneath his eyes, and then rubbed the skin of his arm. It was faint, but he could feel the itch and tingle; the urge to be his other self. He should have been asleep, but he couldn’t. He had even more to think about now.

“It’s because of you, you know.” Mustang took his seat with the grunt of a grouchy old man, though he held none of that in him. “If you had not come for us, we would have had to leave. We’re always going to be grateful. But now, what about you? You don’t look like you’ve been well, Friend.”

“I haven’t healed.” Yagi thumbed through his book. He’d copied what Mustang had scribbled from your readings in his own personal book; one of the ones he kept hidden beneath his bed. It was all in Japanese, since his English on paper still wasn’t the best. He’d been reading it over and over again since you returned to the settlement. It was too dark to read it now, even with the stars out.

“It doesn’t look like you have. How is your leg? And your chest?” Mustang placed his hand on his belly.

“I need to use a cane most days. Sometimes I spit up blood, but I’m still living, and that’s all I can ask for. I tend to horses’ feet now. I’m no longer in the mines.” Yagi tucked his book away in his shawl.

“Is it…?” Mustang’s eyes hastily darted over to where you were supposedly sleeping. Your eyes were closed, and your full lips gently parted with your gentle breathing. You wrapped yourself up in your new blanket, and the young weaver you bought it from couldn’t have been more flattered by how much you adored it.

“I always thought that you would have your own clan, Tall One. Young women always liked you.” He lifted his arm and flexed it as he reminisced on the old days when they were chasing off blue coats.

Yagi huffed through his nose, and then dryly laughed. “So did I, but time’s gotten away from me.” His eyes fell on you briefly. He was already asking a lot from you. The last thing on his mind was courting (even though it was absolutely one of the first things on his mind). He couldn’t let himself fall prey to whims.

“It’s not too late to not be lonely.” Mustang shook his head. “You might want to, before a younger man with more horses and more silver comes along to bargain for her hand. I can see that you like her. Your eyes are very bad at hiding your spirit.”

Yagi scrunched his nose and screwed up his expression. “I would like to, but I don’t want to hurt her. Mustang...I must tell you something.” He relaxed his face and turned on the log he sat on to properly look his old friend in the eye. There was a heaviness that settled in the pit of his chest.

Mustang held up his hand. “I’ve heard of the Desert Walker from the traders.” His brows were drawn up tight. The bags beneath his eyes were rimmed in red as the fire was on its last log. “The Desert Dweller. Desert Devil. Canyon Demon. Valley Eater. I’ve heard many, many names. We can speak of it, but there’s something else much more important that I must tell you.”

Much more important than his murdering spree?

“Toshinori,” Mustang drew in a breath “I am glad, and grieved that you’re here, because now I must tell you something I know you don’t want to hear.”

“What..what is it?” Yagi’s feet were cold in his boots. Coldness had settled over his forehead and shoulders. The muscles in all of his limbs were crawling and twitching with sheer instinct.

“You know how we’ve struggled here. How we’ve had to fight. How we almost had nothing.” Mustang bit the inside of his cheek. His bottom lip wrinkled and puckered as this news left a foul taste in his mouth and nostrils.  

“Yes, I know.” They’d accepted him. His master had accepted him when he came to this side of the world with nothing but his nose, and the will to work.

“They want to bring the railroad through here. They don’t ask, they just take and assume you’ll show your belly. I smelled something in the air one day, and then a ghost appeared to me early in the morning bring in all of his evil.”

No…

No, it couldn’t be.

“I saw him die, Toshinori. I saw you slay him with my own two eyes, and the eyes I keep behind me.” He touched the closed lids hidden deep beneath his hair with his palm. “But I saw him again, and he made me my family an offer that tempted and troubled me.”

Yagi couldn’t respond if he wanted. His jaw was tensed so tightly that his temple twitched and his teeth ached. All of his tanned knuckles were white.

“He’s like a twisted root. No right arm, and walks with a cane just like you do, friend. He has money like these white men now, they think he’s one of them. He offered my family supplies, and protection if I allowed him to rip this land apart. I refused, and he simply took his leave. I think this troubles me the most.”

You had been awake and listening for a while now. You fought your instinct to adjust your position, but you remained still and kept your breathing slow. You were glad you didn’t snore. That would have been hard to fake. What were they talking about? Or rather, who?

Yagi took deep breaths through his flared nostrils. Just the mention of Him set his blood on fire. His stench wasn’t in the air tonight, but it was burned into his most vivid memories. Dirty money, and brimstone, and worm water, and rotting. A thief, a cheater, a liar, and a gambler. The real demon of the desert had no heart, and no real eyes, and he thought he could own anything like he boasted he could own anything, anyone, and any Gift.

“Perhaps, old friend, there’s still work to be done.”

He still had a promise to keep. To do what this world asks of him in return. And then maybe, just maybe he could keep the promise he made to you.

“I think...I think so.” Yagi rubbed the writhing out of his arms and the prickle from the pores of his scalp. He had to try and hold it in, but he was angry. After all the blood and guts, and the skin of his teeth; putting his body on the line. Adaka’i was still carrying on his business.

And Yagi wondered what business it was. Somewhere in the desert…

XII.

The fire was gone.The world was dark and quiet again on the other side of your closed eyes. There were no hushed voices to listen to, just a bunch of sheep who should have been sleeping, too. So, you crawled back on the inside of Yagi’s tent to dream before you had to head back to Struggler tomorrow. Your head was so heavy and tired. Tired from growing all of that wool, tired from showing off the shapes you could make with your horns, tired from doing all of that reading, tired from doing all of that thinking.

Could you really call this dreaming, though? This was just shameless hoping and wishing. You still wanted Yagi to hold you, and pat your head, and tell you that you were silly. He wasn’t far from where you were, not physically. He came to rest beside you in the tent after Mustang and his little wife had wished him goodnight.

You hoped and wished that he’d bring you up to his chest and let you sleep with your faces close. You hoped and wished that he’d fancy giving you a kiss, too. And you hoped and wished he’d kiss you in places the Devil kissed you. Your body opened your eyes for you before you could get too carried away in that distant land. You were greeted with the dark, and the slow rise and fall of Yagi’s long, bony side.

The Devil...whoever he really was. You wondered if he was looking for you, or if you should even be thinking of him. What were you supposed to think of him? A lover? A monster? A murderer? A demon to sit on your chest? Or a vengeful spirit? You couldn’t have them both, and one stallion was stronger than the other, you knew that for sure. If you were with Yagi, would the Devil finish the job? You just didn’t know. You shouldn’t have been thinking about it now. You were just making your headache worse.

Or maybe you should have. You read for Yagi, sweet, handsome, Yagi, and now it was his part of the bargain.

Without thinking (you were good at that), you pushed yourself up from where you lay and crawled over to Yagi. His breathing changed, so you knew he was awake, but he didn’t move. You were holding your breath as you relocated yourself up against his back. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder. It was kind of hard, like you were expecting, but he was warm and he always smelled crisp. You were almost blue, expecting him to turn over and ask you what you were doing at any moment, but he still didn’t move.

You felt him relax. He was asleep again, and so were you curled up close like a house cat behind him.

[seijuurouxryuu]

Disaster Gays

Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: G Pairing: Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch/ Simon Snow Salisbury, Penelope Bunce/ Micah Character: Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, Simon Snow Salisbury, Penelope Bunce, Micah Tags/ warning: None 

Simon and Baz were in the library, one doing his homework while the other reading a book. Neither were paying attention to what they were doing, but very well aware of the other's presence despite sitting far away from each other.

(Or, Simon and Baz are both disaster gays that thought they were nemesis but are actually in love with each other and both pine so hard.)

AO3

Every evening, he would be there, sitting and hiding in the library’s most deserted corner by the shelves of books that none of the students would touch. He would be there, sitting on a chair and leaning against the window with his back, face deep in the book he would be reading. He was beautiful.

Simon had always watched him. He had never approached him, only staring as he sat at the table, far away but just enough to clearly see the teen. (If he did, hell halt no fury that he scorn.) Pale, tall, dark and sinister.

Simon had fallen hard.

He had fallen for the teen called Tyrannus Basilton ‘Baz’ Grimm-Pitch. He didn’t know why, but he was just so attracted to him that it was driving him insane. He had thought that he hated the teen for a great deal of time until Penelope slapped the truth into his brain.

(“Merlin, how can he just sashay out of there like a beast?! Gorgeous, graceful beast but still!” He vented to Penelope, tearing through his mountain of scones. Penelope watched him, bored to her brain. He rambled on and on about how unfair that Baz could get away with everything just because of his look and that he was the headmistress’s son.

Penelope twitched, finally had enough and groaned loudly, cutting Simon’s rant. “Crowley, Simon! Are you sure that you aren’t in love with this bloke?”

Simon froze and broke.)

It was honestly insane of him. Why was he so obsessed with him? Sure, he fell for this stupidly handsome teen who hates him – Gods above, he loathed Simon – but he didn’t have to keep staring at him! Simon just didn’t know what was wrong with him. He just couldn’t stop staring.

Every time in class, his eyes would find Baz’s back effortlessly. Hell, even in the field, or in the midst of the students that bumbled around during break or changing class, he would find Baz no matter how hard he tried not to. Someone needed to seriously punch him. (Preferably Penelope.) He couldn’t survive like this.

It doesn’t bloody help when they were roommates.

He was so hopelessly gay with the one person who hated him the most.

Whimpering silently at that, he looked back at his homework – math – and tried not to think about the boy who made him silly. Biting his lips, he forced himself to focus on the equations. Hah. As it that was so easy.

…. He should had probably leave the library in the first place.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

-------------------------------------

Simon had been staring at him for quite a while, Baz know. He had been staring at him since their 6th year and Crowley, Baz wanted nothing but to burn his eyes out because he was so distracting. Whenever Simon was around, he would stare with those bright blue eyes that Baz loved, stare with so much hatred in them.

It was painful, but it was also distracting because whenever he saw those blue orbs, it was like the whole world had stopped moving and there was only the both of them.

Mental. Absolutely mental, Baz was. He had to fucking kill Simon.

He had to, but he couldn’t. How Baz wished that he didn’t had a sexual awakening during their 5th year. He had almost wished that he could time travel back and stab himself for being such a dumbass. Falling in love with your nemesis? Ridiculous! Blasphemy!

But Baz did fall, that is. So. Damn. Hard.

He looked up and saw Simon, sitting by the table alone, squinting at his homework while biting his lips. Merlin, those plum, pink lips. They looked so damn delicious Baz didn’t know if he wanted to punch Simon for it, or kiss him. Maybe punch him first then kiss him. Maybe.

Out of nowhere, Simon looked up and their gaze met. Baz jolted and his heart started to race. It was electrifying each time their gaze met, but bloody hell, it had never been so intensive before. Simon narrowed his eyes at Baz and frowned.

Baz, out of habit, sneered. He snapped his book shut and stood, sauntered over with a cocky smirk. God, someone please punch Baz. Preferably Penelope because hell, that girl sure could pack a punch.

“Like what you’re looking?” He said sardonically, whispering as they were in the library after all. He wasn’t going to get himself kicked out just because of a small, stupid crush.

Okay maybe it was a huge one.

Simon’s nose scrunched up as Baz waited for his hateful reply. At least it would keep him at bay. Except, it didn’t come. The hateful reply, that is. Oh no, it didn’t.

“Maybe.”

Fuck, Baz was going to have a heart attack. He just knew that Simon would kill him someday. Fuck.

-------------------------------------

Simon started panicking. He didn’t know what came to him but he had not meant to say that. He wanted tell Baz to sod off but that came out! Of nowhere! Okay maybe not out of nowhere because when Baz walked over, he was already panicking. He couldn’t take his eyes off Baz, that would mean submission and losing and he hated losing to Baz.

Fuck, where was Penelope when Simon needed him! Wait scratch that, he was fortunate Penelope wasn’t around. She would tease Simon for life if she heard this.

Immediately, Simon looked around, trying to find an escape route when he heard the soft yet hopeful words from Baz. It was baffling because Baz never sound hopeful, to Simon at least – no. Especially to Simon.

“You meant it?” Simon looked up and met Baz’s gaze again, seeing both disbelief and want in them. Simon swallowed and immediately, Baz’s eyes looked at his throat, like he was some sort of a thirsty vampire. (He might bloody as well be given how pale the teen was.)

“Uh– I got to go!” Simon quickly gathered everything and fucking hightailed out of there before Baz could stop him.

-------------------------------------

“Penny! Help!” Simon screeched and leaped over to Penelope, who yelped loudly as he almost brought the both of them down to the ground. She was sitting with Micah in the courtyard, chattering silently about god knows what but it was not important as of the moment. “Simon!” She scolded, pushing him back and brushed her shoulder that he had rammed into.

“What the hell, Simon? Are you chased by a chimera again?” Simon shook his head like a dog and whined, explaining the whole incident. It was dramatic with all the hand gestures and stutters and blushes. Penelope didn’t last until the last part and burst out laughing like a banshee. “Oh my god, you’re such a disaster gay, Simon!” She choked out, slapping the wooden bench as she hugged her stomach.

“Penny, stop laughing!” Simon groaned into his hand. Micah, who they both had somehow conveniently forgotten, snickered. “Sorry, Simon, but it is damn hilarious.” Simon glared at them. “Fine,” He pouted. “Go on, laugh at my misery.”

Penelope, finally stopped laughing, wiped a stray tear from her eyes. “Oh god, Simon. That was the best thing ever. Bless you.”

“I’m leaving.” She reached over and grabbed his sleeve, tugging him down. “Sorry, sorry. It was a joke.” She snickered, however. It didn’t make Simon feel any better as he pouted, lips jutting out hard and he folded his arms. He harrumphed.

“So, what did you say?”

“’What did I say’? I said I got to go and fucking ran!”

Penelope gave him a deadpanned stare. “You didn’t.”

“I wished!”

Penelope groaned, all the tease disappeared. “God, Simon, you idiot, just confess to him!”

“No!”

“Why not?! You obviously are so in love with him you practically drool all over him twenty-four seven!”

“Wha- I did not drool all over him, Penny-“ She levelled him with a stare that left him stuttering. “I can’t just do that! He hates me!”

“How sure are you that he hates you? He’s practically heads over heels for you, you dumb bloke.”

“He loathes me! I’m pretty sure he was plotting for my death! He was practically glaring daggers at me whenever he was around!”

“More like heart-eyed you.” Micah chirped in happily but Simon did not pay any attention to it.

“H-he took me as his sworn enemy! How can I just go up to him and say; Hey, I’ve been in love with you since, I don’t even fucking know and I cannot stop staring at your stupidly gorgeous face and stupidly breath-taking eyes!”

Simon breathed out heavily before his breath hitched at the voice that came from his behind him, surprised laced in them. “You do?”

Simon paled, blood drained from his face. “Tell me he is not behind me.” He squeaked at Penelope and Micah, who gave him a pair of devilish smirks. “Oh yes, he’s behind you.”

Simon stiffly turned to see Baz, ruffled and sweating, panting as though he had run a marathon, eyes wide. Simon screeched and ran. “Oh no you fucking don’t!” Baz American football-tackled him. His arms wrapped tightly around him as they dropped onto the ground, with Simon crushed underneath the teen.

“Did you seriously mean it, Snow?”

Simon was sure he was going to set himself on fire, then subsequently Baz, with how hot his cheeks, neck, and ears felt. “Snow,” Baz called again, urgent in his voice, impatient. “Simon,” Simon shivered. “Are you really in love with me?”

Whimpering, Simon nodded, giving up. “Merlin, yes. I’m in love with you. Are you happy now?” He went slack in Baz’s strong arms. He had resigned to fate. That was it. Baz was going to tell his mother to expel him. He would no longer be able to see Penelope and the others, no longer be able to stare at him all he wanted.

“Oh Crowley – yes!” He jolted and looked at Baz, eyes wide at how big his grin was, how happy Baz was. “You have no bloody idea how happy I am, Snow.” He leaned down and nuzzled his face against the crook of his neck. “Holy shit, I can’t believe this.” He laughed before looking up, leaning his forehead against Simon’s, arms winding tighter. “I’m in love with you too, Simon.” He said so gently, so sweetly.

So lovingly.

Simon felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes as he stuttered. “R-really?”

“As real as Bunce laughing her brains off over there.”

Moment ruined.

Simon couldn’t help but elbowed Baz at that, but he himself was laughing and crying at the same time. Baz grunted at the jab but he did not let go of Simon. He smiled, snuggled closer as Simon leaned back. His heart leaped in joy as they stared.

“I love you, you disaster gay.” Baz grinned, teeth and all. Simon rolled his eyes and leaned up, kissing Baz on the lips fervently. “I love you too, disaster gay.”

A/N= Rereading Carry On was probably the best yet worst decision of my life because my mind is filled with SnowBaz I'm dead.

Funny, Carry On is the first fandom where I wrote the f word in this - and the other fic I'm. Paranoid, yet exhilarated.

I didn't really think through the settings lolol. Baz's mother is still alive because I love her.

Penelope is having the day of her life lolol XD Disaster Gays *shakes head in exasperation*

[I apologize for any grammar, spelling, etc. etc. mistakes]

[btshogwartsauheadcanons]

CHARACTER PROFILES: KIM TAEHYUNG

Kim Taehyung

House Ravenclaw

Wand: Cypress Wood - Unicorn Hair - 13 3/4

Patronus: Mongrel Dog

Cypress

Cypress wands are associated with nobility. The great medieval  wandmaker, Geraint Ollivander, wrote that he was always honoured to match a  cypress wand, for he knew he was meeting a witch or wizard who would die a  heroic death. Fortunately, in these less blood-thirsty times, the possessors  of cypress wands are rarely called upon to lay down their lives, though  doubtless many of them would do so if required. Wands of cypress find their  soul mates among the brave, the bold and the self-sacrificing: those who are  unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures.

Unicorn

Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic, and  is least subject to fluctuations and blockages. Wands with unicorn cores are  generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They are the most  faithful of all wands, and usually remain strongly attached to their first  owner, irrespective of whether he or she was an accomplished witch or wizard.  Minor disadvantages of unicorn hair are that they do not make the most  powerful wands (although the wand wood may compensate) and that they are  prone to melancholy if seriously mishandled, meaning that the hair may ‘die’  and need replacing.

 Headcanons:

 WOOOO TAEHYUNG'S TURN

He's my bias wrecker

I'm so ready

First and foremost I really really feel like he's a ravenclaw because ravenclaws don't strictly honor the intelligent or the geniuses but the eccentric-thinkers and curious learners as well which i think taehyung fits perfectly

Like 90% of the time nobody knows what goes on in his head

He'll say something stupid or weird once but then something really smart and sensible 5 seconds later

The sorting hat actually had a really hard time sorting him because taehyung is really just a ball of everything

But he loves being in ravenclaw because their common room is in a tower and he can stargaze all he wants

I like to think of him as that one oddball ravenclaw who isn't like all the other ravenclaws who would rather search for answers in books

Taehyung is more of the hands-on explorer type of guy 

Most people wonder why he's in ravenclaw in the first place when he resembles more of a gryffindor but taehyung strongly believes that bravery means pursuing knowledge as well

His favorite subject is Care of Magical Creatures

Hagrid is his bff

Omg can you imagine

Hagrid showing everyone the Blast-Ended Skrewt and all the other students are backig away in terror while Taehyung just runs up to one like "Hey! Can I pet one!!!???"

He names one of the skrewts "sparky"

It makes hagrid's giant heart feel hella soft

Rubeus Hagrid is an amazing character who deserves to be loved and appreciated-

Taehyung becomes assistant groundskeeper and helps Hagrid take care of all his magical creatures

He idolizes Newt Scamander

Sometimes you'll find him around the castle grounds or at the lake looking for kappas

He's always outdoors and covered in dirt or with his pant legs and cloak wet

He probs looks adorable like that omg my heart hurts just thinking about it

Taehyung is also really good at Transfiguration and he loves the idea of being able to turn one thing into another thing

Most of the time though he'll transfigure one thing into another thing entirely though

Like professor mcgonagall will be asking them to transfigure an inkwell into a goblet and taehyung will turn his into a fricking eagle or something

"Am i doing it right professor??"

And mcgonagall is speechless because yeah he didn’t turn it into a goblet but dang how the fuck did this kid turn it into an eagle????

Eventually mcgonagall helps taehyung control his magic a bit more until he's practically the best transfiguration student in his year

Professor also has a soft spot for taehyung and lowkey wishes he was in gryffindor instead

All the professors have a soft spot for taehyung even professor snape

But taehyung is HORRIBLE at potions class

He's set his own cauldron on fire a million times

He really tries his best though

But he's so clumsy he'll knock ingredients around everywhere and professor snape is just watching him with a stream of gordon ramsay insults all ready to use ("what are you? an idiot sandwich")

But then he sees taehyung's proud smile at making a semi-decent potion even though most of his robes and hair are singed off and there are burns on his fingers and (omg is his skin turning blue?????) Snape just sighs and just lets him barely pass with a grade of P

Taehyung is also a half-blood so he was pretty much raised with the best of both worlds but there's no denying he loves the magical world more

During summer breaks you'll see him looking for bowtruckles in the forest near his grandparents' farm

He takes really good care of what he catches too. Sometimes he'll even bring home a wounded creature to nurse it back to health

His room is a zoo basically

At the same time Taehyung misses his family and a bit of the muggle world when he leaves for hogwarts

I have a feeling his owl is the most tired out of all the owls in school because taehyung writes to his family so much and his family loves sending him gifts

Fuck this makes me feel hella soft i need to throw up

Tae also really misses playing video games

Shit omg a headcanon where he and jungkook try to find a way to play video games somehow while they're in hogwarts

Remind me to do that later

He's not into quidditch so much unlike his bffs jimin and jungkook

But he is an AWESOME cheerleader

He'll cheer his friends even when they are on opposing teams

He becomes the next Quidditch commentator later on

Most of the time he just comments on how amazing his friends are though

"Wowww look at Hoseok looking dynamite as usual"

"Aaaand there goes our Golden Seeker Jungkookie. Ladies, and gentlemen, he's single by the way"

Lol it lowkey annoys jungkook because he'll be greeted with more fangirls when the game is over

Taehyung is also an expert at pulling pranks

He can get anyone in on his pranks as well

He uses it as a weapon too to get back at people who mess with his friends or his fave professors

He once got jungkook to help him sprinkle itching powder on the beds of some slytherins who were rude to Hagrid in class

Nobody messes with taehyung’s fam

Did i mention he's also THE fashion icon in hogwarts???

He brings fashion magazines with him in his trunk when he goes to school

And after he gets really good at Transfiguration he can change his hogwarts robes into the latest muggle fashion

Taehyung loves giving fashion advice to his friends and pretty much anyone who asks him

He also does it to boost their self-confidence

Omg imagine people with body-image issues coming up to taehyung and asking him to help them look beautiful

And he gives them fashion advice and everything but he always reminds them that clothes only enhance whats there and that they dont need to change a thing about their physical appearance if they dont want to and they're already beautiful as they are

Imagine taehyung giving hagrid the most beautiful winter coat ever that looks like it was made of dragon scales and the dark blue and black colors remind him of Norbert and hagrid ends up wearing it all the time

He's so proud of what his student gave him and also because hagrid finds it so hard to find nice clothes in his size

Fuck this makes me so soft and taehyung makes me so soft ughhh

Love yourself tho guys

[bosstoaster]

For the Advent fic prompts, how about a return to the Old Friends, Shiro's Sanctuary AU? Maybe Lance gets it into his head to put together a calendar featuring the animals and staff of the sanctuary as a holiday fundraising scheme, with varying levels of cooperation from both the staff and the animals? ( At least Coran backs him up when he insists the more skin Shiro shows, the better it will sell. )

"Okay," Shiro said slowly, looking out over the rented equipment.  Pidge and Hunk had gotten together to help their photographer set up the lights and camera.  So far, none of the dogs seemed to be especially bothered by the commotion.  A few came over to sniff and investigate, but the chilly weather had driven most inside back onto the couch.  So there was that, at least.Lance looked over, sporting a clipboard, an iPad, and a bright smile.  "Yes, Shiro?" He asked, all studied innocence."I get the calendar," Shiro said.  "The calendar makes sense.  It's a good way to raise money for charity and to show the dogs we have who need forever homes.  That part is good."Beaming, Lance held his armfull to his chest.  "I'm glad you agree.  We got so many requests for a calendar that it seemed silly not to at least think about it."Shiro held up his hand, stalling Lance's chatter.  "Yeah, good idea.  But what does that have to do with this?"  He held up the tight black shirt that the photographer had shoved into his hands just a few minutes ago.Lance shrugged.  "Well, you need an outfit for the photos, right?""No, I don't," Shiro said.  "The shirt I have is perfectly fine for standing by and making sure the dogs are comfortable.""Shiro, I told you that you were going to be involved."  Lance eyed him, brows up and severe.  He looked terrifyingly like the librarian in Shiro's high school who had believed every student was going to run off with her books and never return.  "What did you think I meant?""What I just said," Shiro replied.  "Working with the dogs.  Doing my job.  Maybe helping to pick out what dogs should be in which shots."Lance pressed his hand to his face and slowly dragged it down.  "No, Shiro, I meant you were going to be in the photos."  With a flat glare, he pulled out his iPad and started to flip through something.  Then he handed it over.  "Read the comments."It was the original post about offering a 2018 calendar.  Shiro's brows rose as he started to scroll down.  The first few were exactly what Shiro would have expected.  Talking about wanting to buy a copy, getting some for friends, happy to support the organization-'It'll include the hot owner too, right?  You know, for charity.'The comment had well over a thousand likes, and a couple hundred comments.  A few were scolding, either telling them not to objectify Shiro or reminding them it was about the dogs, not thirst.  But the vast, vast majority were agreements.  Some responses were only emojis, including lots of eggplants, faces with the tongue stuck out, and water drops.Shiro swallowed and shoved the pad back at Lance.  "Oh."

(Read More)

"Yeah," Lance drawled.  "Oh.  So, we figured you could at least be in a couple.  February would be nice, maybe getting kisses from the dogs.  And another for later in the year.  The summer maybe, or November."  He paused, then pointed a finger at Shiro.  "You still have that little costume you put on Black this year?""The angel wings?  Yeah, somewhere, I think."  Shiro frowned thoughtfully, distracted by the change in topic.  Then he shook his head hard.  "You- seriously?  You really want...?"  He looked at the pad again.  "They know about this?"  He held out the prosthetic.Lance nodded.  "Oh, yeah, they know.  Shiro, if you really don't want to, don't worry about it.  But you being in the photos always nets us a few hundred more likes than average.  There's a whole lot of middle aged women out there who would love to have a calendar of an attractive man, but with the dogs and charity as an excuse.  Only a couple of shots.  Please?"This was-  On one hand, the entire thing was baffling.  Once, Shiro had taken a lot of pride in his appearance.  He had a good mix of delicate and strong features, and he could be plenty charming when he wanted to be.  That had gone away when he'd come back from service with his face scared and his arm gone.  Now, people didn't really look at Shiro's jawline or eyes anymore.  It was his nose or his metal arm.  He wasn't attractive anymore, he was a curiosity.  On the other hand, it was clear there was a market, and wasn't raising money for the charity the most important thing?Especially when over a thousand people were willing to publicly throw their (very thirsty) support behind the idea?Shiro shifted from foot to foot, carefully considering.  Then he finally took a deep breath and nodded.  "Alright.  At least one.  But not on the cover, alright?  Those comments were right.  This is about the dogs first.""Perfect."  Lance beamed at him and knocked their shoulders together.  "It'll be tasteful, I promise.""By who's definition?" Shiro asked.Hand on his chest, Lance stuck out his bottom lip.  "Rude.  C'mon, I know what the people like.  That's my job.  It's the thing you literally pay me for, Boss Man.  Besides, it doesn't have to be just you.  I'm definitely getting Hunk in there for one.  The Red Cross has a Pet First Aid month in April, so that'll be good for him.  And I'm taking Juen for sure.  We'll bring out the wading pool."Shiro frowned.  "It's a little cool for that.  Not too long."  That earned him a nod, so he sighed. "Not Pidge, alright?  I mean, if she really wants to, I guess, but... I'm friends with her dad.  I have to look Sam in the eye next time I see him.  I'd rather not have to explain why I put his daughter in a sexy dog calendar."Nose crinkled, Lance shook his head.  "Please never call it a sexy dog calendar again.  It's only a little sexy, and never with the dogs.""Agreed.""I'll talk to her about it.  I think she'll want to bow out anyway.  I'm not even going to bother to ask Keith.  I don't feel like getting stabbed."  Lance held his clipboard in front of him, as if to fend off Keith's imaginary attack.Shiro watched, unimpressed.  "Keith wouldn't stab you for asking.  He's never stabbed anybody.""Are you sure?" Lance asked, glancing around conspiratorially. Brow up, Shiro nodded.  "Pretty damn sure, yeah.  I technically employ you guys, remember?  I did background checks.  I knew I wasn't going to find anything, but better to do due diligence than have problems later.  It's a charity, I want to have my paperwork done.""You have my background?" Lance perked.  "What'd it say?  What's in my background check?""Confidential.""It's my background!""It's my business.""Shiro!"***Two hours later, Shiro was shivering in the thin black tank top. "Can we do this quickly, before I freeze to death?""It's not that bad," Pidge called, rolling her eyes.  She was decked out in the winter gear they'd just finished shooting her in, so she had exactly zero room to talk.  Especially since she had Rosie the golden doodle snoozing away on her legs.  "You might want to pick Black up a little bit higher, though."Shiro shifted his grip on Black, who continued to survey the lawn/studio with all the contented ownership of a queen.  All was well in her realm, even as Shiro struggled to hold her not insignificant weight.  "Okay, like that?  Was she not in the shot?"Pointing to his chest, Lance grinned.  "You could see some stuff through your shirt."Oh.  Shiro looked down, and indeed, he could see his body reacting to the cold.  He groaned and cradled Black closer, only to have to spit out black fur when she shifted."Okay, the shot looks good."  The photographer pulled back, head tilted.  She looked over the cheesy fake heart behind them both with a critical eye.  "Actually, the flower collar is a little crooked on the dog.  Can someone get that?""I got it."  Keith stepped over carefully to avoid stepping on any of the props.  He gently straightened the rows of fake flowers.  "What about the crown on Shiro?  That good?  It's off too.""It's fine, the angle gives it character."  The photographer waved Keith back.  With a final, comforting smile, Keith ducked back behind the camera.Lucky bastard.Once everything was settled again, Shiro offered the camera a smile.  "Just let me know when to get Black started.""Now is good."Show time then.  "Black," Shiro called, voice pitched up and encouraging.  Her tag started to wag as her ears perked.  "Kisses!"Obediently, Black leaned forward and pressed her nose to Shiro's cheek, just as she was trained.  It was Shiro's absolute favorite trick, and never failed to make his chest feel like it was melting.  And why not?  His dog was trained to give cheek kisses.  It was the cutest thing ever.There were a couple of clicks from the camera, but this wasn't what Shiro was supposed to get for the shoot.  So instead he turned and gave Black a kiss on the tip of her wet nose.  At first, Black reared back, eyes wide with shock.  No matter how many times he did it, she still seemed shocked by the touch.  Then she came back forward and lapped wetly up the side of Shiro's face.  He laughed, camera forgotten, as she licked a huge wet stripe over his ear.  "Eugh!"  But the tone was anything but discouraging, so Black continued to lick and wag her tail.It was a bad habit, and Shiro really shouldn't be so good at egging her into licking.  But he couldn't help it.  Doggie kisses were too sweet, and Black seemed to like giving them.  She'd chase his face all over the couch so she could continue to lap.  It was probably because he reacted so positively and because skin was salty, not because Black understood that Shiro thought of it as kisses.  Even so, how was he supposed to seriously tell her no?Actually, telling Black 'no' in general was a hard task."Okay, these look good," the photographer called.  "Let's try some with you sitting down.  I don't think the photos of you dropping your dog will sell very well.""I won't drop her.  Will I, girl?  You like being picked up, don't you?  I'm very good at this."  Shiro made a kissy face at Black, then burst into delighted laughter as she licked over his nose.  "Gross, Black, that can't taste good."The photographer looked on blandly.  "Just for options, then, alright?  Were there other dogs we wanted in this shoot?""I've got 'em."  Keith wandered off, and returned with a fluffy white older dog with a pink ribbon around her neck.Shiro beamed at her, shifting so Black was sitting his his lap and he could hold a hand out.  "Don't you look pretty, Lady?"Lady's tail wagged, a dignified little twitch, and she plopped down contentedly next to him to rest her head on his knee.  She wasn't so much of a cuddler, so Shiro just used his free hand to pet over her head while Black continued to lick over his ear like it was a treat.  "How's this?""Good." The photographer went back to work, quickly snapping photos.Chuckling, Lance held up his phone and snapped a picture.  "Our very own ladies man.""Hah.""I'm totally posting this.  You know that, right?  Gotta drum of excitement for the calendars themselves."Ah, boy. Shiro sighed dramatically, only to giggle again when Black rested her head on top of his.  "Yeah, fine.  Go for it."They went through a few other poses, including letting Black play with a squeaky toy shaped like a heart.  Lady snoozed through most of it, not seeming to care at all about the commotion.By the end, Shiro was coated in fur and saliva and beaming.  "Am I allowed to go back inside, now?"  It really was chilly out in the early November air, and Shiro would prefer a jacket."I think we're good, yeah, if you want to go wash up."That wasn't at all what Shiro wanted, but he still shot the photographer a polite smile.  "Is there anyone I should bring out next?"Pidge shook her head. "Nah, just let Hunk know we're ready for him.  He's got Sandy and Old Yeller ready to go.""Stop calling Yeller that," Shiro grumbled.  "None of my dogs are going to die.  Ever."  It was a complete lie, but one that made Shiro happier to believe.  By now, Pidge just waved him off with an indulgent eye roll.Shiro slipped inside and let out a groan as the warm air hit his skin.  "Thank god," he muttered, rubbing up and down.  "Hunk?""My turn?"  Hunk gave a wave from the couch.  He was wearing a lab coat over scrub tops, all decorated with cartoon puppies.  With a groan, he stood from the soft cushions, picking up Sandy with him.  The terrier barely cracked open an eye at the new position."All yours.  At least you have a coat."Hunk grinned at Shiro's outfit.  "No kidding.  I'm impressed Lance managed to get you into that.""For the dogs," Shiro repeated, which had become his mantra over the day.Smiling softly, Hunk stepped forward and patted Shiro on the back.  "Hey, you're still allowed to bow out of stuff.  No one will mind, least of all the dogs."Shiro's expression went bland.  "Because they bow wow?""Dammit, I've used that one too much."  Hunk grinned back and soothed his hand up and down to rub warmth back into his skin.  "Now, I prescribe a nice long session on the couch with some warm dogs for you.""You're a vet, you can't diagnose me."Hunk rolled his eyes and shook his head.  "Take the excuse.  Once you're warm, you might want to play with Bluebell a little.  I think Lance wants to use her for his shoot, and she'll need to get rid of some energy first."Brows up, Shiro nodded.  "Alright.  I'll do Bluebell and someone else.  Lance is still pretending he's not going to adopt her?"  It had been going on for a month, since they'd taken Bluebell in.  Lance had immediately fallen in love with the poodle, but he still insisted he didn't want a pet yet."I have a client who owns mice, and was looking for an older dog without much of a prey drive," Hunk said.  "I told Allura about here, and I was going to point her toward Bluebell.  She's high energy but not much into chasing, so she'd be fine.  Maybe someone else interested in Bluebell might kick Lance into gear."And if not, Bluebell would still go to a good home.  Hunk never sent along clients who wouldn't be good dog owners.  Shiro nodded agreeably.  "Sounds like a plan.  Now, you might wanna head out there while you can.  Need help with Yeller?""No, I have it.  Yeller!"  The huge lab bounded down the stairs and sat in front of Hunk, tongue lolling out.  "See you when you're warmer."Shiro waved him off and flopped down on the couch, stretching out comfortably.  Black immediately staked her usually claim on his chest and became snoring.  He kept on eye on Lady while she delicately picked her way to her favorite dog bed and settled in.Everything was going well.  Silly, yes, but tomorrow everything would go back to normal.  Hopefully this would bring in some money and help them keep the dogs happy.Shiro was happy too.  And that counted for a lot.

[eat-a-mint-jungkook]

I like you a lattae (but can’t espresso myself)

Apparently Jimin’s been drawing dicks in the lattes of regular customer and crush, Kim Taehyung. 

3.4k composed of a cup of pure crack, two pumps of memey wholesomeness, and a sprinkle of sugary fluff served with a sugakookie

“You still waiting for Gucci-boy?”

At the sound of the code name that Jungkook had come up for his crush, Jimin glances up at the door.

If it had been one month earlier, Jimin would’ve said that he hated Monday shifts the most because it would mean another week of having to fake-smile at customers, getting the orders right, and making drinks as fast as he could. It’d mean another week of spending hours at a time on his feet while crying over the assignments he still had to do for class and the midterms he still had to study for, and whoever said being an visual arts major was easy, was definitely wrong.

Oh, and another week of being teased by his arch-enemy, Jeon Jungkook, for being too short to reach the supplies on the top shelf, for dressing the way he did, for just breathing it seemed like. Even though it was so hypocritical of Jeon to even say anything because who only wears oversized white t-shirts?

But anyhow, it’s all bearable now when Jimin finds his afternoon shifts spent glancing at the door, waiting for that someone to show up.

He’s probably a college student too, always arriving with notebooks sprawled across the table by the window. What’s missing though, is the look of crippling stress shown through dark circles and downturned lips and dead gazes of college students. Instead, he has the appearance of some designer brand’s runway model, trench coat flowing down to his long legs, and occasionally the prettiest pair of glasses Jimin has ever seen.

It was fitting, really. That day Jimin was on cash duty and took the gorgeous man’s order.

“Hi, how are you today?” Jimin had everything prepared, finger over the buttons on the machine, ready to type in the order as soon as he heard it. Then he’d grab the right cup and get the name of the cute customer and—

“I’m Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” Gucci boy had then paused without realizing what he’d said wrong, or rather, what he’d heard wrong. “And you are…?”

“Uh – Jimin.” An awkward smile. “I’m Jimin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jimin.”

And that’s how it all started.

Kim Taehyung.

He’s so attractive that Jimin would totally draw him in latte art if he could. Wouldn’t those lattes be so thirst-quenching—

“Well it looks like he’s here again,” a teasing voice floats over from by the sink, pulling Jimin out of his thoughts. “It’s the second time today too.”

Jimin hears the smirk in Jungkook’s voice without even turning, and immediately glances at the door again for the ten-thousandth time this hour. As mentioned, Jimin could indeed see the expensive man heading towards the cafe.

“Second time?”

“He was here when I started my shift.” Jungkook dries the blenders and puts them on the rack. “Seemed kind of disappointed when you weren’t here. But hey, maybe that’s why he’s coming in again.” He simply shrugs when Jimin shoots him a glare. “Got thirsty.”

“Isn’t your shift supposed to like,” Jimin gestures vaguely, “end, or something?”

“Not for another two hours,” Jungkook raises his eyebrows and clicks his tongue knowingly. “So you want to take the cash so you can talk to Gucci-boy, or do you want to make his drink…with love, and all that?”

“I’ll make the drink.” He grumbles.

It would give him more time to talk to Taehyung than being at the cash register would, if other customers came in. Besides, Jimin wanted to draw something nice for him.

“Hi, what can I get you?” Jungkook asks, and Jimin can hear the smirk dripping from his voice. That asshole.

“Just the usual, please,” Taehyung says, eyes flickering over to Jimin for the briefest millisecond, and Jimin almost forgot how deep his voice was. “For here.”

“I wanted to ask you something about latte art.”

“Why, are you planning on drawing your phone number to give to Gucci-boy?” Jungkook has that ugly smug look on his face again and Jimin fights the urge to smack it off.

Jungkook is literally his last resource, for he’d spent all too many hours on Google browsing through pages of the same kinds of latte art that just wouldn’t be special enough for Taehyung, and all too many shifts practicing on his macchiatos in a corner when his asshole barista partner wasn’t looking.

Screw Jungkook.

“Can you actually do that?” Jimin rolls his eyes when he sees Jungkook nodding. “No, but I was actually thinking of drawing a heart or something.”

Jungkook snorts, bending over the counter in attempt to conceal his laughter, and failing at it for a good full minute. “You – what?”

Jimin doesn’t bother answering him and frowns, waiting for the brat to stop. Someday Jungkook will get a giant coffee stain on one of those white t-shirts of his and who will be the one laughing then?

“Seriously? Hearts?”

“You have a better idea?”

“Your number is probably a better idea.” Jungkook pauses. “But I’ll teach you how to do both anyway.”

A few hours later, Taehyung was undoubtedly walking through the door as usual, and Jimin was ready to do the thing. It was going to be his phone number floating along the top, with a couple of pretty swirls at the bottom.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, just go give it to him.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. Like it’s so easy to do this.

Jimin glares at him. “I don’t see you making any moves on boy-who-looks-like-death.” His real name was Yoongi or something, but Jimin still thinks he’s intimidating as hell. Though he was probably the only one who could bring out the non-asshole side of Jungkook, so Jimin is thankful for his existence.

“Well, you were born in Busan first, right?” Jungkook flashes the brightest evil smile with his bunny teeth and stupid eye crinkles and Jimin wants to punch him. “So I guess you’re doing this first too.”

“Fuck off,” he huffs, picking up the cup to bring over to Taehyung’s table.

After trying not to be disappointed at his blank phone screen every five seconds and actually trying to pay attention in a few of his classes, Jimin starts to believe that the bright smile he’d seen on Taehyung’s face hadn’t actually meant anything, that the light blush was just from the lighting, and the gentle brush of fingers over his arm had just been an accident.

Because why would there be any reason for Taehyung to like him anyway? Gucci-boy was probably friendly with everyone and more well-liked than Jimin would ever hope to be.

Jimin pushes the hope in his chest down and buries it under more pressing issues like the assignment he hadn’t even started on. He throws himself in the pile of work that needs to be done, and doesn’t even check his phone for the rest of the night, resulting in a bunch of missed texts from none other than the brat, Jungkook.

He really doesn’t want to go back to work. Ever again.

“Did he text you?” Jungkook asks the next day when he’s unfortunately back at the coffee shop. Again.

“No,” Jimin’s heart sinks with the reminder, cheeks ablaze from the embarrassment, “he probably thinks I’m a creep now. I think I’ll just stop trying. If he ever comes back at all.”

To his surprise, Jungkook doesn’t say anything at that but there’s still a hint of some sort of evil smile at the edge of his lips. Maybe it was like a resting bitch face but like, some sort of permanent evil, smug face.

“You know, maybe I’ll just quit and find a new job. That way I won’t have to see your ugly face again either—”

“Dude, you’re in luck,” the brat nods towards the door, “because it looks like lover-boy is back.”

And just as he said, the slender runway model is walking through the door like he’d done every day so far.

“Go talk to him when you give him his drink. Maybe he doesn’t even have a cell phone. Or a texting plan or something.”

Jimin groans. “Who, in this age, doesn’t have a cell phone?”

Jungkook side-eyes him, staying silent.

“Wow, Jungkook, don’t tell me you dropped it in the toilet again.”

“Shut up, and get your short ass over there, ugly.”

A few minutes later, Jimin brings the latte to Taehyung. There’s a normal heart design as the art today since he figured it would be a bit too strange if he suddenly stopped doing the latte art. That’s what he tells himself anyway: No, it’s not because I want to impress him. I’m done with trying. This is just a drink from a barista to a customer—nothing more, nothing less.

“Here’s your drink. Enjoy!” Jimin sets it down and avoids staring at Gucci-boy for too long.

Just as he’s about to give up thinking of things to say and brace himself for Jungkook’s teasing, Taehyung opens his mouth.  

“Do you prefer talking to people in person instead of texting?” Taehyung suddenly asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

It’s definitely not what Jimin was expecting. In fact, it’s so far from what he was expecting that it takes him a good thirty seconds of his jaw hanging open and brain reeling for any sound to come out of his mouth.

“Um, what? I don’t mind either?” In fact it would be great—no, excellent— if you could text me back, yes thank you.

“Oh. But you told me to stop texting you?”

“Wait, what?” Jimin quickly pulls out his phone. The notification section still remains blank. Unfortunately just like his love life. “I never even received any texts from you.”

“Hmm.” Taehyung pulls out his phone as well. It’s a shiny black and super sleek, and there’s a very artistic case on it. “Is this your number?”

It looks right for the most part. Except where there should be a six, there’s an eight instead.

“Ah, that’s why.” Jimin shyly takes his phone and makes the correction. “It was wrong.”

“You mean I’ve been texting the wrong person this entire time?” Taehyung pulls up the text conversation with the wrong number, showing a string of memes with a couple of fluffy puppy gifs in between. And a few compliments for Jimin’s drinks. Followed by a “stop texting me” from the ungrateful recipient.

“That’s so mean. Who could say no to all that?” Jimin doesn’t say anything about the compliments but could feel the blush creeping up his neck and ears. “I mean… I wouldn’t mind if you sent all that to me now.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll get even better.” A wink.

So Taehyung didn’t hate him after all, and even came back into the store despite having “Jimin” tell him to stop texting him. Which is a pretty big deal because Jimin definitely would not have been able to face him again.

Either way, Jimin just needed to improve his latte art.

“Here’s your vanilla latte!”

It’s his usual drink, with the usual heart latte art that Jimin had been drawing for the past while now. For consistency, he tells himself, not to impress a certain someone. He just hopes that Taehyung never looks at other people’s drinks that are missing the fancy designs.

“Thanks, Jiminnie,” is accompanied with the brightest smile that makes Jimin’s heart flutter just a little.

Jimin goes back behind the counter and tries to hide that wide grin he can’t seem to keep off his lips so that other customers don’t think he’s too weird. Luckily for him, Jungkook hasn’t come in for work yet and isn’t there to make his life miserable.

When there’s a lull and no customers show up for a while, Jimin finds his eyes constantly drifting back to this Kim Taehyung who has a gorgeous side profile that Jimin just can’t look away from.

And that’s when he notices Taehyung glancing strangely at the latte. He lifts it, holds it against the natural light streaming through the window he’s sitting beside, and then he looks at it from one side, then from the top, then the other side. And strangely enough, he takes out his phone, and it’s not to take a picture for Instagram like Jimin might’ve thought. Taehyung holds it so that the black screen is facing the latte, then looks into the screen as if checking out the reflection.

Maybe there was something wrong with the latte. Maybe there was a bug in it? That would be quite terrible.

He approaches the table after about five minutes of hesitating. “Is everything alright?” Jimin asks softly.

“Yeah, just perfect now that you’re here!” Taehyung spares a glance and his eyes immediately light up when he sees Jimin sitting across from him. But when he looks back at the latte, the confused expression still remains on his face despite his answer. “Well, actually…”

Taehyung leans over the table and beckons Jimin to do the same, as if he has a big secret to share. “I’ve finally come up with an answer.” There’s a kind of eureka spark swimming in his eyes, and Jimin is about to ask if he’s solved the matter and energy problem. “My answer would be yes,” comes out in a loud whisper, “because you’re really hot.”

“Answer to what?” Jimin tries to ignore the last part and can’t figure out how it’s relevant to the other stuff Taehyung just said. His mind replays snippets of their conversations and texts and even memes throughout the past month, but he doesn’t remember ever asking anything.

“You know,” Tae leans back, relaxed now that he’s shared what he’d wanted to say, “if you wanted me to sleep with you, then you could’ve just asked. Or like, at least asked me out on a date first.”

Jimin balks, feeling his face heating up real fast. Why would Tae think that…? It had to have been that brat, Jungkook. He was definitely going to kill—

“I mean, it would’ve been easier than drawing dicks on my lattes every day.”

If Jimin had been drinking something he’d have immediately choked on it, spat it all out, and then spilled the rest on himself.

What? The? Fuck?

Out of all the possibilities he’d thought of during his nervous pacing behind the counter, none of them even came close to what this man had just said. Out loud. In front of all the other customers in the cafe, which wasn’t too many, but Jimin could only pray that no one else heard anything or he’ll actually die on the spot from embarrassment.

“You drew this, right?” Taehyung looks at him expectantly, pushing his cup forward. “It’s not a bad drawing, but—”

“It…it was supposed to be a heart.” Jimin could tell his cheeks were reddening with how hot they felt, and he wanted nothing more to just go back in time and bury himself before he even went to work today. Or actually quit his job the last time he thought about it.  Nice going, idiot. You’ve not only failed at impressing him, but now you’ve offended him. “All of them were meant to be hearts.���

Upon looking closer at the drink, he can see that Taehyung was…not that incorrect. The heart he’d drawn a while ago is now completely deformed. It’s much longer and thinner, probably from the movements when he brought the cup over, and the bottom corner is now flatter and—there was nothing left to say because Taehyung was completely right.

Jimin’s heart sinks as much as his latte art did. “I guess hearts aren’t great for latte art…”

“Oh.” Taehyung furrows his brows, lips pursed together. “But why would you put a heart?” He sounds genuinely confused, but the expression makes Jimin feel even smaller.

“I-I—” There was no way of answering that one without giving away how Jimin really felt. “Um, you know what… I’ll just um, make another latte for you. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Picking up the latte, Jimin quickly turns around so that his crush wouldn’t see any how his eyes shone with the tears that threatened to spill. He’d just make a plain latte, no art. There’s really no point of making latte art anyway when this kind of outcome—

A hand gently grabs his arm, stopping him mid-step.

“Jiminnie, it’s fine.”

His heart throbs at that nickname. “No, I want to make your drink perfect this time.”

“It’s fine.” A pair of large eyes gaze up. “I like it.”

He doesn’t meet Taehyung’s gaze and keeps his face turned away slightly. “No you don’t; it’s terrible. I don’t even want to look at it—you should’ve said something much earlier so I could fix—”

“Jimin, it really doesn’t matter. I like this because I like you.”

“What are you talking about?” Jimin finally looks directly at Taehyung and there’s no sign of him joking around or trying to troll him. Those beautiful eyes are clear, and there’s a hint of a small smile. “Why?” Jimin says again, on autopilot, but softer. His brain is frozen and he doesn’t know what else to do besides stare back at the gorgeous man.

“Ah, you’re so cute.” The smile widens. “I really like you.”

Jimin can still only stare back at him silently.

“You can put as many dicks as you want in my lattes, and I’ll enjoy them just the same because you made them.”

He doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry or maybe just sink into the depths of the ground, but Jimin’s heart pounds loudly against his chest. He sees an old lady from a couple of tables over turn her head towards them and drop her jaw in shock.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to try to make me feel better about this. It’s completely my fault.”

Taehyung thinks for a moment and then suddenly frowns. “Wait, maybe that came out a little weird. I just mean that whatever you make is always perfect, Jimin. Seriously. You have a talent for this and your drinks always come out nearly as sweet as you are and maybe you’re trying to make me get diabetes here but I think that’ll still be fine because it’s from you. Wait I mean getting diabetes isn’t good and no one should want that, but my point is that you’re great. You’re sweet.” A pause. “Ah, that’s what it was supposed to be: you’re so sweet that I’m going to get diabetes—”

“Sh-shut up, Tae.”

“But it’s true! You’re so perfect and if you weren’t so good at your job, I’d go tell you to be an artist or something because you’re really good! Hey,” he points at the old lady who’s still staring at them with a face frozen in shock, “isn’t our Jiminnie great? He’s the best barista ever—”

“Tae, stop!”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No—” Jimin tries to cover his face with a hand. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“Do you? Hey when do you finish work? Let me take you out sometime.” Taehyung looks at him so intently with those mesmerizing eyes that it’s hard to look away.

“Wait, what?”

“I like you, Jiminnie. Like like. Well, and like, I guess, because who doesn’t? You’re the highlight of my day and amazingly, your dick latte art pretty much helped me pass that one philosophy class. But I—”

“Okay.”

Now it’s Taehyung’s turn to pause and do a double take. “Wait, what?”

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Okay, good. I mean, great. Excellent. Wholesome.”

They’re left with a warm silence between them, smiles mirrored on faces that manage to show much more than words could. Sweetness lingers amidst the blood still roaring in his ears and pulse still racing endlessly, and somehow Jimin’s pleasantly surprised at how things turned out.

Then the moment ends with Tae suddenly frowns.

“But does this mean you actually don’t want to sleep with me?”

When Jimin leaves for his date with Tae, all he sees his Jungkook’s smug face. But the joke’s on him because the next time when Yoongi walks into the coffee shop, Jimin doesn’t tell Jungkook that the hearts he’s been drawing for boy-who-looks-like-death indeed turn out looking like dicks. Nor does Jimin tell him that there’s a giant coffee stain on the front of his white t-shirt.

[perahn]

Codex Entry

For @circlingmoon, for DMing and encouraging me to be the amoral Red Wizard who always lurked within.

This text is written in a fiendishly difficult encryption, consisting of at least two different ciphers per page. It is difficult to infer reading order; on some pages the writing flows across the page in the left-to-right fashion of Common, on others it appears to spiral out from a central point, while others appear horizontal or completely random. A multitude of different coloured inks form part of the coding. Once the text has been decrypted, the reader must be fluent in Thayan Mulhorandi, Draconic and Infernal, and possess a basic understanding of Undercommon for the later pages, as the journal is written in a peculiar mixture of the vocabulary and grammar of all four languages.

This is a calculated risk. There are certain of my thoughts and secrets that must be preserved and not simply remembered. Neither method is secure, of course… any mind is open to one sufficiently skilled, and if my own mind were to be broken, these petty ciphers would be easily extracted. For the moment, my own positioning is protection enough: I am seen as powerful enough to be useful, but not enough to be a threat, and there are few enough of my rivals or clique who are perspicacious enough to make a better assessment.

Nebastis appears to be playing a similar game, but her analysis of the situation on the Alaor betrayed an overly acute understanding of the historical forces at play. I believe she would be worth cultivating…

A span of pages, some of which appears to describe the daily life of a Red Wizard student, some to record dreams, some to be detailed equations or spellwork diagrams, and one which is a poorly-drawn depiction of a wyvern and a phoenix in battle.

… all arranged with Nebastis. I have paid the doorkeeper the customary amount to ensure we won’t be disturbed. He probably supplements his income handsomely by guarding these little trysts – but there are simply not that many pieces of neutral territory within the Academy, and at times ambition and caution must give way to more primal needs.

She said, “I trust you.” I could never have guessed how exciting – how erotic – those three words could be.

She watches my lips, and licks hers.

I watch her fingers – their slender shape, their clever, delicate movements – and I imagine.

I have never known impatience like this, as though fire burns beneath my skin. Nebastis. Less than hour remains.

The next entry is on the same page. The time marker indicated a span of one hour and twenty minutes since the commencement of the previous entry.

That was eminently satisfying. It appears I had credited Nebastis with far more cunning than she deserved. When she said that she trusted me and that she desired me, she was being entirely truthful. She did not even look twice at the spells I had cast around our meeting place.

So she is eliminated, and with less effort than it took to remove Pteptah or Se-atma from the game board. I am almost ready to neutralise Nofet.

A good deal of what follows is undeciphered at present, but proper names and ‘eliminated’ tends to recur, as do dreams about ‘the Erratic’, ‘the Silent’, ‘the Thirsty’ and skulls, buried beneath mountains and by water.

… The monastery of the Long Death is a known quantity, of course, but individual monks remain unpredictable variables. I have recognised this Shayazi assigned to me as one of the recurring, although I am not certain which she represents as yet. The monks do refer to death as the ‘Silent Lord’… Still, a preliminary assessment is necessary.

Physically, she poses a deadly threat. The monks’ training is extensive, honing her naturally muscular form into a mechanism that will strike both swiftly and with certainty. She would be difficult to catch off-guard. She evidences no magic, whether innate, studied or talismanic. By preference, she fights in melee; I would keep her at range should it become necessary to neutralise her. Spells that target her strength of personality would probably succeed, as she appears to spend much of her energy on controlling an innate rage… no doubt the curse of her orcish heritage. How glad I am for the superiority of my pure Mulan blood! She also appears to have an inexhaustible appetite and capacity for alcohol, and so is eminently suitable for a properly calibrated dose of the correct poison.

Shayazi is not stupid, but the monks’ education was certainly… limited. She is so focused on her pointless studies of thanatology (not uninteresting, admittedly, but impractical) that she would be easy to deceive on any matter that fell outside that narrow scope. Nor do I believe that the Long Death monks learn the ruthless political manoeuvring which is a part of Academy life, which is doubtless why the Red Wizards rule Thay and the monks play no significant role in the wider world.

For the moment, however, she appears to perceive my protection as a duty, and one she takes very seriously indeed. I shall encourage her to continue in that vein by any means necessary. She cannot be trusted, of course, but she is undeniably an asset as long she chooses to be so. She balances many of my weaknesses, and she is, moreover, enjoyable company. It is, of course, entirely possible that much of my current assessment is flawed, depending on Shayazi’s ability to dissimulate. I shall continue to monitor and reassess.

Additional notes appear to follow at various dates and times. The following pages seem to detail the writer’s experiences of a long voyage by sea, including some difficulty with sea-sickness. Dreams of eyes, and a woman who cuts off her hand and laughs for joy, predominate.

Initial Assessment: Khetad? Kheteeth? Mornir? Mulnar? That sorceress.

I know she is one of the recurring, and therefore necessary in some measure to my goals. At the same time, I find myself thinking longingly of all the ways to strip a sorceress of their magic and make them useful. She is a sterling example of all the worst traits of her kind. She relies on poorly-understood and internalised processes to wield magic that was left in her blood by some remote ancestor. It is alien to the wizards’ way of controlled and disciplined magic earned by effort; it is sloppy, disorganised, and inelegant in every way.

In situations like these, however, it has its advantages for me. It is possible to map at least some of the spells at her command; sorcerers do not learn quickly. It can be surmised that she has more spells than these, if she follows the usual developmental pattern for sorcerers.

Cantrips: Fire Bolt (used to light a candle, and offensively). Ray of Frost (used to cool her drink, and offensively). Shocking Grasp (used when pinching Harper’s buttocks, when he was looking at a barmaid). Prestigitation (used for numerous flashy effects to prop up her projected image of dangerous sorceress, including redoing her cosmetics).

Level 1: Magic Missile (fired in the air to impress a customs officer. Failed). Thunderwave (used against a gang of attacking kobolds. Effective).

Level 2: Shatter (attack of ogres. Destroyed several of the caravans we were travelling with).

I have never met anyone quite so childish, and that includes actual children. She is obsessed with maintaining her ‘dangerous Elven sorceress’ image, and so would be uniquely vulnerable to manipulation aimed at that point. Any Suggestion along the lines of ‘A sorceress as powerful as you should be able to –‘ should succeed admirably. Unless, of course, this is a manufactured flaw. Sometimes she seems too insistent on her part to be genuine in it.

It is maddening, however, that she amuses many of those we have met, instead of rightly garnering irritation or contempt. It must be some peculiarity of all these illogical people. I miss my Academy, where motivations and behaviours made sense, where I knew the rules by which everyone played…

In short, I believe I could neutralise this Khayteed, if she were isolated, under most circumstances. I do not believe she plans well, and she seems too self-obsessed to study others well; I doubt she would see me coming. An overt attack is even less desirable than usual, given her focus on Evocation magic, although if Shay could be manipulated properly, she would make an excellent counter. However, in most conceivable situations which involve eliminating Khedded, Taliesin Harper must be considered.

Initial Assessment: Taliesin Harper.

By far the most conspicuous threat of all the recurring – not least because my Detect Thoughts failed. He remains too much of an unknown at this point. He has clearly trained with both melee and ranged weaponry; he appears to favour the former, but it is too early to be sure. He could certainly put an arrow in Shay before she could reach him. He seems intelligent and socially capable, and I am inclined to believe that he could play a part better than most. Sometimes he reminds me of others I knew back home…

It is so difficult to make any useful observations. His motivations are completely unknown. He and Kheited seem to have been travelling together for some time. She regards him as her property, but his attitude towards her is harder to place. For the present I can only assume that she is beneficial, in some measure, to whatever his plans truly are, but it is all so nebulous. He has attempted some flirtation with me, upon occasion; I am not minded to encourage it until I have a clearer understanding of why, and of whether the danger he presents outweighs the possible benefits.

He is on his own territory, and he understands the ways power is expressed and controlled in this land; I am far from my Academy. If the situation were reversed, he would be easy prey. As it is, I must be exceedingly cautious. He would not be as easy to Suggest as Khedit; his weaknesses are not so well displayed. He has not, as yet, exhibited any habits which could be leveraged to my advantage. I am acutely aware that most of my study has been aimed to help me neutralise other spellcasters. So much more information is necessary before I can plan effectively… I despise feeling this vulnerable.

More observations and dreams follow, as well as several pages of potential strategies for learning more of the individuals the writer has assessed. Many have been crossed out or marked as ‘impractical’, ‘obvious’ or ‘dangerous’.

I am very ready to be out of this rain. What sort of developmentally-damaged masochists would choose to dwell in a climate like this? Still, I am informed that we should reach Waterdeep tomorrow evening…

[tardytothepardy]

Fruits Basket - Vol. 9

Can people please stop hating Kyo for being a Cat Boy? Hate him for something else, idk. It bothers me so much when characters are hated for something they have literally no control over. Hell, it bothers me when it happens in real life! Hate a person because they're an asshole, not because of something they were born into. Kyo's made it pretty fuckin clear that he doesn't like being a Cat Boy. I'm sure, given the chance, he'd prefer something else. People be fuggin talking like he chose it. Wtf. Shit's stupid.

Anyway, apparently Yuki is gonna spend his summer dealing with some very tiring individuals. He's part of some student council or something, and apparently the previous/current people are not really that great at cleaning up after themselves, so Yuki has to spend his summer just trying to fix things and make shit work. It doesn't help that there's one guy who reminded him fantastically of his brother, Ayame. Things end on a slightly hopeful note, that maybe he can become friends with the people there, so that's good for him. He could benefit from a large group of people that have nothing to do with the Sohma family.

Also, Uotani got a boyfriend?? Kinda?? Idk. One night when she was working, a guy bumped into her. She laughed, which made him basically go 😳, but then she didn't get to know much about him after that. While she was talking about this guy (was his name even mentioned? I can't remember), she saw him?? Or was that a flashback?? Idk, it was really hard to tell. The important thing currently is that he's 26 and she's,,,, not. A nine-year age difference was mentioned a few times, and tbfh I'm bellowing from the roofs that that's not a vibe guys. Tis not. Please stop. Especially because it turns out that this motherfucker is in kahoots with fucking AKITO may he self-ignite in an empty gas station thank you very much, this does not bode well for Uotani. Akito probably planted him there to bump into Uotani, so that Uotani might eventually introduce him to Tohru and Hanajima, leading to ALL SORTS of bullshittery. I can wait. I can simply wait.

We also got some backstory on Hanajima! Finally!! She might be one of the last characters in the main circle to get one, but it has arrived nonetheless.

Basically, she has always had powers. From the way that she talked about them previously, I had thought that she was just really good at reading people's emotions and body language, and used her intimidating appearance to freak people out, but it turns out that she does genuinely have some kind of powers. They're psychic or something. It didn't go into where those powers came from, or how she got them. It seems like her brother (who is nothing like her, they don't even look alike) also has some kind of powers. It's been mentioned that he can "curse" people, but again, I'm not sure if that's literally the case, or just an intimidation tactic. The fact that everyone in her family outside of herself and her brother seem to have lighter colored hair might be an indication that something else is going on with her and her brother whose name I definitely haven't forgotten what are you talking about?? (i looked through it again, is his name Megumi? idk sorry)

From the beginning, people took her withdrawn, dark, and quiet appearance and decided that she was a witch, and were complete assholes for it. Just,,, raging assholes. They had her eat newts, they tried to burn her, they said she had "poison waves", whatever the fuck that was supposed to be. To be fair, she did make a boy go unconscious by wishing that he'd die, but that was back in elementary school. What kid didn't do that, haha right? But all this harrassment resulted in her parents transferring her to a new school, the same one that Tohru and Uotani were in.

The rumors followed her, but Tohru and Uotani insisted on being her friends, she simply couldn't refuse. And she wouldn't've, anyway, because it turns out that having friends is really nice, and she wouldn't change it for the world. <3 (that heart comes off as kinda sarcastic but it mostly isn't)

Chapter 52 (I'm using chapter numbers again?) started pretty nice, but, as I'm sure you could tell from the beginning of this post, it got just a smidge less nice. Basically, Kazuma invited Tohru and Kyo to have lunch with him at his place, and Tohru was pretty excited, but also mourned the departure of Kazuma's ponytail, may it rest in peace or something idk it's his hair. From their arrival, the lunch was a bit of a disaster, as Kazuma had completely burnt what would have been their food. Tohru, being Tohru, then offered to make lunch for all of them, much to the objection of Kyo, saying that a guest shouldn't be making the food for everyone (which I can get but like,, if she's cool with it I would be too). While Tohru's preparing the lunch, she lets it slip that Kyo once made a soup or something for her (probably when she got that fever over worrying too much about school or something), which Kazuma finds quite interesting, especially when Tohru says it was pretty good. Kyo however would much rather that the conversation would stop right now right here no more talking gtfo the kitchen Shinsou get out it's not important shut up. So y'know, average shenanigans.

After Kazuma has been removed from the kitchen, we meet a new character (though I'm not sure how much he's gonna be around in the rest of the series I guess I'll found out skdhgldhfgl): Kunimitsu. He says he's an understudy but also a secretary to Kazuma, but he's also known Kyo for a little while, and he and Kazuma have a chat about how chill Kyo's gotten over the last few months, and how much of a significant change it's been. Then none other than Kyo's dad, who hasn't really been brought up in the series thus far (and the only thing about his mom is that she's dead), calls Kazuma, who leaves to talk with him. Kyo's dad is straight up like "It's [Kyo, because he seriously referred to him as an 'it'] been allowed to be around people for too long, and that's bad. It's bad and gross and stinky and bad, and when it graduates, we'll lock it in a fucking dungeon until it dies and it'll never know the touch or voice of another person ever again. By the way, can you, Kazuma, the man who raised it, pwetty pwease help us in locking it up?" and then he's surprised when Kazuma is like "tf no"

Kazuma even went so far as to be like "Why are you so angry at him? Like seriously, you genuinely believe that Kyo, as a child, had any part in most of what happened to him when he was a child??" Specifically with the death of Kyo's mother, which of course his father blames him for. Kazuma says that Kyo's been so happy in the last few months, and that the way that Kyo's father was acting in that moment, was super close to how Kyo himself used to act: just angry and scared and lashing out at everything. It's not a cute look dude, get over yourself and stop being angry at a child. (No, Kyo's not a kid anymore, but still.)

Kyo's father retaliates by accusing Kazuma of taking in Kyo simply for the money, as if that would invalidate all the things Kazuma said, even if it was true.

Also, we found out who That Hat belongs to! Y'know, that hat that Tohru got after following the boy who helped her find her way back to her mom. Thanks to the hair shading, I thought it was Kyo, but it was actually Yuki. At least, that's what the story is saying now. Anyway, the hat is like,,, weirdly big, if it's supposed to be a hat that a child was wearing. No wonder it fell off. If I see Tohru wearing it, and it fits her fine, she either has a head the size of a small child, or that is a big ass hat for a small child. I doubt she would wear it though, because she seems to have it more as a memento rather than a fashion accessory.

Then the window in the room that Yuki and Tohru were in literally exploded, for some reason. It was like, moment of realization, Yuki basically being like 0o0, then the window exploded. Idk why, it was pretty random.

Also there was a bonus story about Tohru and Co. being stuck in school due to some rain and Haru told the scariest story, of a guy who was really thirsty, so he went into the kitchen and found a glass of iced coffee. He drank it all up without thinking, and then saw, in the bottom of the glass, a fucking COCKROACH and I swear to god that is something that I fucking worry about way too often. What the fuck would I do if I took a drink out of my water bottle and then saw a fucking bug what the fuck would I do that shit is so scary. Thankfully, the other characters also found it to be a very alarming story. Haru said he has a story about grated cheese, which I'm scared but also very interested in hearing about. Apparently Shigure wrote the story, so I guess he is actually writing something, this whole time. We see little blips of him writing stories, but the main consensus is that they are bad and should never have been written.

[jakehglover]

Coffee and Tea Are Not Dehydrating?

By Dr. Mercola

When you're really thirsty, a refreshing glass of water is the healthiest thing to drink, but in those moments, you probably don't crave coffee or tea. However, in spite of the fact that the caffeine in those beverages will have a diuretic effect, those comforting pick-me-ups are not dehydrating, as many people believe. So essentially, the notion many have accepted as a matter of course for years is false information.

While drinking coffee and tea tends to generate an urge to empty your bladder and simultaneously flush waste from your kidneys, it does not dehydrate you. The good news about drinking coffee and tea is that when you urinate, you won't lose more than you take in when you drink a caffeinated beverage.

One reason people feel that coffee and tea must be dehydrating, aside from this myth being standard nutritional dogma for some time, is that caffeine does tend to trigger frequent urination, which only stands to reason would pull moisture out of your body, right?

But Time.com quotes Daniel Vigil, associate clinical professor of family medicine at the David Geffen School of Medicine at the University of California Los Angeles, who contends that when you drink a cup of coffee or a glass of iced tea, you're also taking in fluid along with the caffeine. In fact:

"Even though caffeine is a mild diuretic, Vigil says, you won't lose more fluid through urine than you take in by drinking a caffeinated beverage. Your body is able to absorb as much fluid as it needs and expel the rest … For that reason, your morning pick-me-up actually helps hydrate you, not the opposite. Vigil says that coffee and tea 'can and should' count toward your daily eight-or-so cups of water per day."1

As an aside, the fact that you may develop a headache or other not-so-pleasant symptoms when deprived of your go-to mug of energy probably isn't about dehydration but instead may be more about caffeine deprivation, especially if you've been drinking it for a long time and suddenly find yourself deprived for a day or more.

If you're an avid coffee drinker, it may come as no surprise that more than half the population — 64 percent, according to the National Coffee Association (NCUSA)2 — declare themselves to be coffee imbibers, but that rate is climbing. Fully 70 percent of the coffee consumed is considered gourmet, the site says, and the rest is just "regular." Some may not be aware that, as the Journal of the American Heart Association reported, coffee may help protect your heart.

Coffee Has Its Merits, Including Those for Your Heart

A number of clinical findings reveal that coffee has a number of rather surprising merits, from boosting your energy to enhancing your mood. Medical News Today3 recently divulged another highly interesting discovery: Drinking more than three cups of coffee a day may lower your risk of developing atherosclerosis, also known as clogged arteries, a condition that seriously increases your heart disease risk, by 63 percent.

The study, called ELSA‐Brasil (Brazilian Longitudinal Study of Adult Health), used only participants from São Paulo, and noted that "habitual consumption" of coffee was beneficial but only among "never smokers." More specifically:

"The current study found that habitual coffee consumption was inversely associated with coronary calcification, a marker of subclinical coronary atherosclerosis … Our findings suggest that coffee consumption could exert a potential beneficial effect against coronary calcification and CVD risk, particularly in nonsmokers."4

But there are more potential benefits for your heart from drinking coffee. A Ph.D. student and two researchers at the University of Colorado School of Medicine in Aurora had the results of their work presented at the 2017 American Heart Association's (AHA) Scientific Sessions in Anaheim, California. According to Medical News Today, the study authors:

" … used machine learning alongside traditional data analysis techniques to uncover an inverse relationship between how much coffee we drink per week and how exposed we are to heart failure and stroke … In the first instance, the researchers employed the random forests algorithm in machine learning to examine data sourced from the Framingham Heart Study, which has been running since 1948."5

Machine learning, by the way, also referred to as "big data analytics" is used to accumulate, manage, analyze and assimilate large volumes of different types of data, and it's proven effective in health care. It can actually predict outcomes based on associations and identifying patterns in large amounts of information.

Interestingly, the researchers using the machine learning data discovered that an extra cup of coffee every week is associated with even better odds for your heart: a 7 percent decreased risk of heart failure and an 8 percent decreased stroke risk.6 Further, traditional data analysis revealed — and therefore confirmed, the researchers emphasized — the same link between coffee drinking and a reduction in stroke and heart failure risks.

Coffee and Tea Impart Mental, Physical and Emotional Benefits

Another study showed that the risk for developing kidney stones is raised with the consumption of some beverages, such as sugar-sweetened cola (which elevated the risk by 26 percent), while caffeinated coffee lowered the risk by 26 percent, decaffeinated coffee lowered it by 16 percent, and tea lowered the risk 11 percent.7

You'll find lots of evidence for the advantages you get from having three, four and even five cups of coffee. In fact, indulging in your coffee passion is clinically linked to longer life; another way of saying it is that you have a lower risk of dying earlier than you should (premature death) or, likely, from heart disease or some other cardiovascular issue. Further, at least one study8 shows it can lower your risk of developing:

Nonalcoholic fatty liver disease

Cirrhosis

Glioma brain tumor9

Cognitive decline and cognitive impairment

Diabetes

Cancer, numerous types10

Tinnitus in women (ringing in the ears)11

Alzheimer's disease and other forms of dementia

As for tea, the second-most-consumed beverage in the world after water, the health benefits from green Matcha tea, especially, are also dramatic, serving up such advantages as lowered inflammation, lowered blood pressure and less oxidative stress. In addition, it's associated with a reduced risk of death of any cause, which may have something to do with improvements in such areas as:

Weight loss

Heart health

Stronger bones

Type 2 diabetes

Protected vision

Cancer

However, there is a caveat: While many prefer their coffee and tea to be plain and their coffee black, sans cream, sugar or the plethora of unhealthy additives like fake creamers and fake sweeteners, there are just as many who want them, even if they know they're not a wise health choice and usually are not even real. In other words, the benefits discussed above are for plain coffee and tea only.

But for (nearly) every rule, there are exceptions, such as the coffee addition that actually enhances the advantages. Adding coconut oil or medium-chain triglyceride (MCT) oil (the "ultimate ketogenic fat") may help you not only burn fat faster but improve your mitochondrial function. And to address the main point — that coffee and tea aren't dehydrating after all — remember, the best way to hydrate your body is by drinking plain, pure water (and not the many sports drinks currently on the market).

There's a simple mechanism for hydrating the right amount for your body: let thirst be your guide. Last but not least, when drinking coffee, certified organic and shade grown is by far the healthiest option, because coffee beans are one of the most heavily pesticide-sprayed crops. It's equally important to choose organic tea, when available, as well as choose varieties grown in nonpolluted areas, as tea plants readily absorb lead and fluoride from the soil.

from HealthyLife via Jake Glover on Inoreader https://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2018/04/09/coffee-tea-are-not-dehydrating.aspx

[fracturing-madnessarchived]

Cassandra House, Wand, Patronus

House: Ravenclaw

Ravenclaw House prizes learning, wisdom, wit, and intellect in its members. Thus, many Ravenclaws tend to be academically motivated and talented students. They also pride themselves in being original in their ideas, and methods. It's not unusual to find Ravenclaw students practising especially different types of magic that other houses might shun.

Often hard-working and diligent, as often is the case with intellectuals with a predisposition for academics, some of the pupils sorted under the blue-bronzed eagle are known to be inclined to dismiss certain social expectation for the sake of satisfying their own intellectual curiosity. Some of these eventually also ended up being not only accepted, but even celebrated, in spite of being initially subjected to scorn for their various oddities.

Ravenclaws tend to be curious about the world and pay attention to the world around them. Ravenclaws are known to be logical and rational. Even so, not all Ravenclaws were motivated by academical prowess.

Patronus: Dapple Grey Stallion

If the Dapple Grey Stallion is your patronus then you have a passionate soul. Your passion for the things you love is hard to beat, you become very involved in your friends, family, hobbies & study.

If the Dapple grey stallion is your patronus then it is likely you are very sensitive and emotional. This means you can be hurt easily and may often feel melancholy. However, this emotional intelligence allows you to understand others and empathise extremely well.

Those with this patronus are often very creative and intelligent.

Wand: Cypress wood with a Unicorn hair core 10 ¾" and Unyielding flexibility

Cypress wands are associated with nobility. The great medieval wandmaker, Geraint Ollivander, wrote that he was always honoured to match a cypress wand, for he knew he was meeting a witch or wizard who would die a heroic death. Fortunately, in these less blood-thirsty times, the possessors of cypress wands are rarely called upon to lay down their lives, though doubtless many of them would do so if required. Wands of cypress find their soul mates among the brave, the bold and the self-sacrificing: those who are unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures.

Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic, and is least subject to fluctuations and blockages. Wands with unicorn cores are generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They are the most faithful of all wands, and usually remain strongly attached to their first owner, irrespective of whether he or she was an accomplished witch or wizard. Minor disadvantages of unicorn hair are that they do not make the most powerful wands (although the wand wood may compensate) and that they are prone to melancholy if seriously mishandled, meaning that the hair may 'die' and need replacing.