#they are both red flags because they dye their flags with the blood of their enemies

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Still obsessed with the Atreides Desert Power (TM) flag. Because in-world I think this is supposed to represent the union of Fremen and Atreides power. But the actual design is the Atreides hawk crest (in blood red) stamped over the Fremen fabric patterns.

It feels particularly discordant because, as far as we can see, the Fremen do not have battle flags. In fact they don't seem to have any flags, or any kind of easily-recognizable-to-us symbols of allegiance to sietch, clan or family. In the place where we would most expect to see those kind of demarcations--the war council in the south where all the tribes should be represented--there is really nothing to distinguish one Fremen from another, except for the tribe leaders who sit in the middle of the circle and get to wear a special hat. As far as we can tell, there is no such thing as a Fremen flag.

But then, why would there be? Flags are for claiming things. A flag is a symbol you raise over a place to let other people know you've conquered it. (Insert Suzy Eddie Izzard voice: "Do you have a flag?") From a practical standpoint, having someone who could be holding a weapon use both hands to hold a flag in the middle of a battle is kind of silly. In a war of position you could argue that there is some limited use in marking out who controls what territory, but the Fremen aren't fighting that kind of war, and a guerrilla insurgency fighting on its home turf generally goes out of its way not to advertise its position.

Also like. In the middle of preparing for battle someone decided to make these. Whose idea was that? The Fremen fundamentalists' loyalty is to the Lisan al-Gaib. The Atreides symbols are only important to the Atreides and to the other Great Houses. But someone made sure they were present on the flags carried into battle to attack Arrakeen. This was designed to communicate a message to other imperialists, including the Emperor, in language they would understand. And of course, by the end of the film, the Desert Power flag does become a flag of conquest.

The flag is such a great production design/art direction detail, because it looks like something that could be conceivably be made in this environment (the Atreides deep green isn't a color that seems to really exist in the palette of dyes available to the Fremen). But it also feels like something deeply alien that's being imposed on this culture from the outside.

[pragmatic-and-eepy]

ok since four people wanted it, headcanons! for the main four, I'll probably do more for the other characters later.

Edd! Full name, Edward "Edd" G. Sworld

A silly guy! He was born human, though he doesn't count himself as one anymore after the dose of his neighbors' weird satellite. He's still got powers, though it takes a while for them to properly return and he isn't the best at controlling him.

5'11/~180 cm and fat, but he loves himself. Big bear man.

Aroace spec, he's demiromantic and biromantic, but he's just asexual.

His main source of income is from commissions as he never actually went to an art school and has trouble getting full-time work. He does have a secret account for his little hero work when his powers start working and sometimes gets money from people who admire him.

He was the proper start of the friendgroup and the only reason the others stay together.

Did I hear someone say heterochromia? He used to only have pale brown eyes, but now a light green ring is around his pupils due to his powers.

Closest reference I have to how he looks in my mind: @/thepolysworldau has the best reference IMO. He just feels right.

Matt! Full name, Matthew "Matt" Doll

He wasn't always stupid, he just lost it for a while after being bit by a vampire :sob:. He didn't have a consistent source of blood intake and that's what made him a bit airheaded.

6'6/~198 cm, stringbean ahh looking fucker. He looks like he could be broken in half like dry pasta.

He's pan through and through, though he prefers the colors on the bi flag. Still, he feels pan is a better label for him so he sticks with it.

Went through the gender exploration phase after he got bit by the vampire but ultimately realized that yeah, he's a man, just fairly nonconforming at times with his style and he really likes makeup.

This man has freckles!!! There more prominent due to his skin not having as much pigment to it anymore, but he likes them so he's not upset.

He also used to have heterochromia! One eye was green, the other was blue, but now they're both red because of the whole vampire thing. His hair's also a slightly more red color now, he just dyes it to be more orange like it used to be.

Closest reference to how he looks in my mind: @/starrixle's Matt design is PEAK (all different images except for the last two words)

Tom! Full name, Thomas "Tom" Bromel

Monster Tom my beloved, but I do NOT vibe with the canon monster design, it's so ugly :sob:. I vibe more with @/albi-finch-blog's design. It can go between the bigger and smaller forms, fully depends on how well he's doing mentally.

The only transgender in the group, he's also a demiboy (he/they/it pronouns, am i projecting a bit maybe i am)

The shortest in the group at 5'3/~160 cm. It doesn't help that they keep slouching. Also definitely on the heavier side.

Its eyes are because of its monster heritage, which came from their mother's side. His dad is just French.

Is he unhealthily attached to Susan? Yes, yes he is. In his defense, Susan was part of his major teenage rebellion phase before he left to live with his friends.

Bisexual, preference for men though.

Closest reference to how he looks in my mind: For his half-shifted form, i feel @/battyratzz's works the best, but for him just being human? I feel @/422kit's design works best.

Tord! Full name, Tord Lorison.

The only human of the group. Debatably so later on but shhhh.

For a while he was around 6'/~183 cm, but after his return he was like, freakishly tall (taller than Matt) and he just kept getting taller until WTFuture timeline (there is a reason for this i promise).

He of course came from Norway but his parents divorced early on and he spent time between the UK and Norway (like, every few months he'd switch places) until his father won full custody of him and he stayed in the UK from when he was around 7 to his early 20s, when he left.

He hasn't picked a label for himself and he doesn't really want to, he just knows he likes men and women and maybe other people it really just depends on their aesthetic.

LONG GREASY HAIR AHH WASH YOUR GODDAMN HAIR BRO UGH. Also naturally very dark-haired, but he dyed it a more caramel color for a while until after he got a bit blown up.

He's OBSESSED with inventing things, has been since he was a kid. Little science kid but engineering was his calling and he's been building for a long time.

Closest reference to how he looks in my mind: To me his style came in eras. He looked like @/pond-child-edd's design for a while until his 20s, became @/anonymousjackalope's design from when he left to a bit after he got explodicated, and then ended up as @/lexisgayok's design but with dark hair and a mask.

EXTRA EXTRA! EXTRA HEADCANONS, SOME MISC AND SOME WITH HOW THEY INTERACT BELOW THE CUT WAHOO! HERE BE SHIPPING, YOU ARE WARNED!

Tord and Edd dated when they were younger, from around 14 to 16 I think. They ended up realizing it just wouldn't work so they broke it off but stayed friends.

Matt was the one who bought the house they all lived in because his parents were actually loaded and didn't care about how he used the money since he was normal enough to avoid some danger.

Tom did not join the friendgroup willingly, he got dragged in kicking and screaming by Edd and never escaped.

Tord ALSO didn't join entirely willingly, but Edd was the only kid who talked to him when he first started living part-time in the UK and he didn't like being alone.

Matt's been crushing on Edd since they were ten and was HELLA JEALOUS of Tord. He still is, but he's let it go enough.

Tom would regularly bite Tord for various reasons up until he moved out. They nearly bit him again when he moved back in.

Tom's bad at emotions, especially handling attraction. His first relationship was with Laurel but they weren't the best at being a couple, his second was with Bully (yknow, from the beach episode) (it was very unhealthy but he thought it was fun), and his last relationship came years after with Tord (it'd been sitting on unresolved feelings for a long time and only really realized after Bully that the feelings he felt for Tord were attraction).

Once Ringo got out of the house while Tord was home alone and Edd was supposed to be gone for a week visiting family, so Tord literally built a fake Ringo from scratch before finding her literal hours before Edd came back. Now there are two Ringos and Tord kept the robo-Ringo when he left.

Edd and Matt ended up starting a relationship not long before the proper start of the WTFuture timeline happened, they were walking to where they would've had a date when the Red Army invaded.

Tom was home alone with Ringo when it happened. She'd been sick and he took the day off work to watch her. Both Tom and Ringo got taken by the Red Army early on.

[ceilingfan5]

@taznovembercelebration gold more band directors au.

“That’s it,” Barry says, pacing and watching the drum majors conduct from the sidelines. “We’re doing this. Excellent, excellent. This could be another year for gold.”

There’s a snort behind him, and Barry starts sweating. Or rather, sweats even harder. The mid-September sun is frying him up like a catfish in suntan lotion. He feels distinctly inedible. He tries not to turn his head, but it’s automatic. There she is, the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen, and his absolute blood-feuding rival.

“Hey, Lup,” he says congenially. “Break a bunch of legs out there. You’re next, right?” Yes, of course she is. It’s obvious. Her high schoolers are all lined up behind them, scratching their sweaty noses and looking incredibly sun-addled. Lup legitimately looks like she might bite Barry, but she smiles instead.

“Thanks, Bluejeans,” she says. “You too. Form looks good from here.” She’s looking at the sousaphones. Barry wants to evaporate and never have to speak words to a person ever again. His sousaphones are the weakest point of the band, god love ‘em, and even his intense pep-talk on the bus doesn’t seem to have helped their plodding. March, damn it. Roll step! Roll step!

“Definitely,” he replies, smiling. Sweating. God, she’s so beautiful, and she dressed up. Why does he never dress up? She looks good in slacks and a tie, fiery like her color guard’s flags and her scary-attractive personality. The trumpets hit the key-change without wimping out, and he pumps his fist in the air. “There we go! There we go! You’ve got ‘em now!”

“I gotta say, the soundtrack route looks good on you. Better than Journey last year.”

“It was a crowd pleaser,” Barry protests. “Besides, I got told I couldn’t do Green Day.”

Lup laughs, and fuck, it makes Barry weak in the knees. Or maybe that’s the sweltering weather, not a cloud in sight. He wishes he could be in the shade of the stands, even if those stadium seats hurt his ass.

“I have to admit, I would have liked to hear your band play American Idiot.” She shakes her head, her red and orange curls incredible to behold. Barry’s school doesn’t allow hair dye in the teacher dress code. Not that he’d be cool enough to pull it off. He’s had enough complaints about his mullet. “You know, after the National Anthem.”

They both snicker. It’s a charming moment of unity. At what cost? He watches the woodwinds and hopes they don’t forget how to march backwards.

“Lup,” he says, surprising himself. “I’m all for a little bit of friendly competition, but, uh, um.” Oh shit. His cowardice is showing. Abort, abort! How to backpedal now, through the fire and the trumpets? There are teenagers watching. He feels like he’s going to be hoisted up the flagpole by his underwear.

“Yeah?” She folds her arms. “What, are you gonna tell me to lay off, because you’re going to win? Because this competition is about the students, not us.”

“Of course,” Barry says, perishing right here in the grass, on a Saturday. They’ll have to scrape his melted flesh off of their marching shoes, because the show must go on. “Of course, I didn’t mean- I just- I-”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Of course you were?”

“No, of course I know it’s about the students!” A few flutists turn their heads and start gossiping behind lifted hands, giggling as he writhes here in the spotlight. “I was just going to offer to buy you a soda after your band goes!”

“Oh,” Lup says, looking quite dumbstruck. Like she marched right into a bass drum, and the bass drum won. “Why?”

“Because it’s very hot out today,” Barry says, expiring, passing away, an ex-band director. “And I don’t hate you.”

“Oh,” Lup says. “U-um. Yeah. Yeah! Yeah. Yeah. Yeah? Yeah! Yeah, you, you, you can buy me a soda. If you want. It’s your money. You can- you can make your own choices, you’re an adult! Go away!”

“What?” Barry blinks, absolutely baffled.

“Your- band is finished! Get out of here!” Lup looks like she’s going to pass out, now. “I mean- see you later!”

Barry nods, not entirely sure if that was a positive reaction or not, and jogs off to meet his band off the field. Did he win? He feels like he might have won.

[fatefulfaerie]

A Summer’s End

A very belated happy birthday present for long-time community member of awesomeness @zeldaofhyrule . I hope you like it!

Zelda pursed her lips as she failingly wielded the spatula, cooked eggs flopping and flipping in ways improper for a neat omelet. Once again, she supposed as she mashed and divided and stirred, it would be scrambled eggs for her breakfast today.

Though she had watched him do it more than once, she had no idea how Link flipped and folded omelets so perfectly. If she had known a hundred years ago the finesse required, she would have gone herself down to the castle kitchens and praised the cook.

“It’s just practice,” Link had said, and with full confidence adding, “you’ll get it eventually.”

And so Zelda mixed in cheese and minced stamella shrooms, lopped it all into the wooden bowl, and stepped outside with a fork held firm within her grasp of the bowl. She walked up the grassy ramp and climbed up to set herself on top of the wooden structure that framed the doorway. Zelda allowed her feet to dangle off the thick yet stable planks of walnut wood. Her salty breakfast soothed her morning hunger as she enjoyed the peace of a Hateno morning.

The long flag on the hill across the bridge whipped in the wind, sporting faded colors of a kingdom long gone, grayed blues, reds, and golds ripped and torn by time. Yet the flag still stood, signaling sanctuary, as it was planted lifetimes before she was born. For the first time since seeing those flags soaked in blood during the Calamity, Zelda finally felt safe.

A pair of hands covered her eyes. Where a century ago she might have screamed for her knight attendant or cried out to the castle that a Yiga was attempting to assassinate her, she simply smiled, her chuckle exposing her teeth. She lowered her half-eaten bowl of eggs to her lap.

“Good morning,” she said. “If you want to surprise-feed me another bug I might dump you. I’d rather eat it willingly.”

She heard Link’s laugh behind her, today it sounded sweet, like the earthy sugar that saps from maple trees in the springtime.

“Not a bug,” he said. “But yes, a surprise. Close your eyes, I’m gonna need both my hands for this one.”

“My trust in you degrades with every passing day, I’ll have you know,” Zelda said as she closed her eyes underneath Link’s hands. Link just as soon removed his hands, something Zelda was able to tell because of the way the sunlight wanted to breach into her eyelids, orange hues dyeing black.

“They’re closed?” Link asked to make sure.

“Yes, Link,” Zelda assured him. She felt his presence lean forward to check regardless.

The sensation she felt a moment later was familiar, her heart warmed by the shoulder-affirming cloth of a Hylian Hood. The first time Link let her borrow his Kakariko-sewn dark blue waist-length cape was the evening after they reunited in Hyrule Field. Link didn’t even need a single word from her to tell she was uncomfortable approaching a stable full of strangers with her shoulders exposed and a neckline far lower than she was used to adorning outside private sessions with goddess statues.

The second time was a couple weeks after, when an unexpected bout of rain trashed their picnic of fresh fruits and homemade meat pies. They had panicked to get everything dry until they were just soaked, and laughed at themselves until they were just dancing in the rain. In a moment of stillness and awe, they blinked away raindrops before they both partook in their first kiss.

Thus signaled a summer of romantic bliss for the pair. April showers passed and May welcomed fields of blooming wildflowers, even the once thought extinct Silent Princess. The sunny months to follow were nothing but joy and laughter, rolling in green fields and making crowns out of the pink flowers in Blatchery Plains, nights of cooking lessons and sleeping under the stars, mornings of being in each other’s arms and just… breathing…

Yet the end of August still brought quite the hot day, and Zelda questioned why Link would drape the Hylian Hood over her shoulders. Even in the morning, the breeze brought her no chill.

“Can I open my eyes?” she asked, suspecting there was something more. What else would explain the excitement in this wild-raised young man?

She looked down to see not the dark blue she had imagined but a dark brown. From the latch grew two long ends that pointed towards the triforce below her breast line. Her forehead warped and she chuckled in disbelief.

“Link, did,” she touched the collected hood behind her neck, and peeked at the pattern sewn into the back of the cape before looking behind her at Link. “Did you have this made for me?”

Link nodded.

“By Lasli herself,” he said. “She said no one has ever asked her for a custom version of the Hylian Hood, so I paid double for her efforts when I asked a few months ago. I caught a Rito postman on the way back from hunting today and there it was in a tan parcel, wrapped in twine and labeled “Link”. I guess I’m so well known that that’s enough to identify where mail goes.”

Zelda was speechless as she gaped in disbelief at the man before her.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.

“You do like it, don’t you?” Link asked, with a touch of fear in his voice.

“Like it?” She questioned. “Link, I love it.” Link breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s just you go to all this trouble for me and all I ever have to thank you is words.”

“Hey, this is nothing more than practical,” he argued jokingly. “Now I can actually use my own cape. You know me, all selfishness.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Zelda said, taking a bite out of her breakfast. Her next words were spoken with a half-full mouth of ingredients Link had collected, although she prided herself on harvesting the green mushrooms the day before. “Your selfish tendencies are much appreciated.”

They now sat facing each other on the secure wooden planks above the door. Any Hateno resident would have thought them crazy for not sitting inside at the set table, but both of them felt far better out here in the wild. Tables and interiors were for egregiously hot days and warring storms. A morning like this was not to be wasted, sparrows chirping and squirrels scuttling, neither fearing a wayward Bokoblin or a sauntering Moblin.

Zelda pulled in closer to Link as he pulled out his own breakfast, a chunk of honey-glazed nutcake. He ripped off bites of it as he pulled Zelda close to his side, her knees bent loosely in front of her and her bowl of eggs cupped into her hands. Zelda tipped her head onto Link’s shoulder and slowly hummed in content. Their horizon of snow-capped mountains, of a distant Death Mountain, of West Necluda and an even more distant Hyrule field was a moment of peace they knew not to take for granted.

Or at least, they thought they did.

[dumbass-extraordinaire]

random rvb headcanons:

- wash has severe ptsd and is extremely touch-starved because of pfl

- caboose has adhd

- carolina’s hair is actually blonde, she just dyes it red

- wash is left-handed

- wash knows sign language

- simmons is trans and gay

- wash was the one that taught simmons how to fight with knives

- tucker is the best cook

- kai is pan

- dr. grey and sarge had a brief relationship during the war on chorus

- donut is actually ace, he just makes innuendos because he thinks they’re funny

- carolina is aromantic and her relationship with york was queerplatonic

- caboose is aroace

- both tucker and grif are bi

- wash is demisexual

- sarge once mistakenly pinned up the lesbian flag in the red base at blood gulch, claiming it as the red team flag

- the last memory epsilon deleted before fragmenting was of one of the annual movie night truces back in blood gulch

- grif and kai are both trilingual

- sarge speaks french

- carolina has ptsd and anger issues because of pfl

- dr. grey updated simmons’ cyborg enhancements while he was on chorus

- sarge has read “good omens”

- simmons has social anxiety and panic attacks

- caboose gives the best hugs

- simmons once sucker-punched wash

- both grif and simmons suffer from chronic pain because of the cyborg surgery/limb transplant

- carolina does yoga to de-stress

- caboose once started a fire in the moon base kitchen while trying to make cereal

- caboose has frequent migraines and bouts of temporary amnesia as a result of being possessed by o’malley in blood gulch

- grif has to take medication to prevent organ failure

- donut is deaf and visually impaired on his left side due to being hit with a grenade

- doc has abandonment issues and split-personality disorder because of o’malley

- caboose hates tomatoes

- after sidewinder, grif developed a hatred of both snow and cliffsides

- tucker has claustrophobia

- doc is greyromantic ace

- donut played baseball in highschool

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 290: It’s Touya Time

Previously on BnHA: Iida and Hadou showed up like a couple of Pennsylvanias and Georgias to bail Shouto out at the last minute. Ochako and Toga had an exceptionally strange fight which consisted of Toga being all “guess what Ochako, I used your quirk to murder someone, how do you feel about that”, and Ochako being all “I do not like that”, to which Toga was all “:(”. There was some doll-stealing and some bookcase-yeeting, and then Toga left in tears because Ochako was all adamant that murder has consequences. Anyway so I have absolutely no idea what Toga is thinking now, but I guess we’ll have some time to stew on it, because we ended the chapter by cutting back to the Iida+Hadou+Shouto VS Afomura battle, which was interrupted by Gigantomachia and the LoV showing up like a bunch of Floridas to ruin everyone’s nice day.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi hands the mic over to Dabi and is all “take it away, kid.” Over in Room 315 of Musutafu General, Rei is all “may I please watch some TV” and the hospital staff is all “sure”, and so she tunes in just in time to catch Todoroki Touya’s Peabody Award-winning documentary “Number One Hero, Number One Fraud: The Todoroki Enji Story”, which is being broadcast nationwide courtesy of Skeptic and his magic laptop. Meanwhile in Jakku, Dabi is all “I’M TOUYA, BITCHES”, and Shouto and Enji are all, “(゜◇゜ )”, and Dabi is all, “anyway so just to sum it all up, because of how much of a jerk Endeavor was, I am now Evil.” Everyone continues to be all “(ﾟoﾟ)” except for Dabi, who is all “└(˘▾˘┌ )≡ ( ┐˘▾˘)┘≡┗( ˘▾˘)┛≡┏( ˘▾˘)┓≡┗( ˘▾˘)┛” for pretty much the rest of the chapter. Idk. Just let the man have his fun, guys. He’s waited a long time for this.

y’all I have a confession to make. I am technically not spoiled for this chapter thanks to my robustly paranoid system of spoiler-tag-filtering, which is extensive enough that it pretty much will catch whenever someone so much as breathes something even remotely new-chapter-related. that being said, I like to think that I am capable of making basic logical inferences! and so the fact that for the past 36 hours, my dashboard has pretty much nonstop consisted almost entirely of this...

...has led me to conclude that MAYBE, POSSIBLY, PROBABLY, BUT ALSO DEFINITELY, a certain someone is finally going to reveal his ~secret identity~ woop woop. lmao

anyway so everyone, please remember to act surprised though, as we would not want Dabi’s feelings to be hurt at all. he has been planning this moment for the last decade or so and I wouldn’t want him to feel like all of that effort was for naught. so just play along, okay. OH MY, IF IT ISN’T THE LEAGUE OF VILLAINS’ MYSTERIOUS DABI. WHATEVER COULD HIS ARRIVAL POSSIBLY BE HERALDING, I JUST DON’T KNOW

“Dabi’s Dance” lmao. I’m sticking with Touya Time myself. ngl I had this recap title planned out for at least the past year or so. just waiting for that day to finally come

anyway so some people in some building somewhere are all “TURN OFF THE TV IN ROOM 315” and idk. I’m guessing the LoV is hacking the airwaves to livestream the reveal, as predicted

-- oh shit. UHHHHHHHH

did she always have this TV or did she get it just recently?? jfc of all the times for the hospital staff to finally loosen up

um... so that’s... (・＿・；)

well but I mean, she was gonna find out one way or the other at some point though. like you can’t really just keep her locked up and isolated from all news of the outside world forever and ever and ever. granted, this isn’t exactly the ideal way for her to learn this particular bit of information, but it’s not really ideal for anybody else either! EXCEPT DABI, THAT IS. have yourself a day you funky little terrorist

oh shit what is this?? it’s not live???

over in Jakku, a red-faced, sputtering Dabi makes a frantic grab for Skeptic’s laptop. “WAIT, NO, JESUS, NOT THAT TAPE!”

lol. but seriously Dabi are you even wearing a shirt. like I’m not one to slutshame anyone bro, but it’s just, exactly what type of mood were you looking to set here??

anyway so we really are cutting back to Jakku now, and Gigantomachia is all, “MASTERS”! which, I wonder if he really did use the plural? that’s right Machia, both of them in one place now! that sure is convenient for you huh

lol what is this with all this AFO monologuing. you’re really gonna make me read through this when I’m sitting here all sleep-deprived from election week. JUST GET TO THE TOUYAS. WE WERE PROMISED TOUYAS!!

sigh

“tee hee it’s fucking hilarious how goddamn powerful I am now lol”

alas, in spite of myself I do have two serious takeaways from this. one is that AFO is still controlling most of Tomura’s body behind the scenes, which both does and doesn’t bode well for Tomura (like, at least he’s not dying, but the long-term implications of this for his free will and such certainly are not Good). and two is that this confirms that Ujiko did give Tomura at least one powerful mutant quirk, which explains why he was still so deadly and indestructible even when Aizawa was using Erasure on him (since Erasure doesn’t work on mutant quirks, just emitter and transformation ones)

MEANWHILE ON TODAY’S EPISODE OF “TODOROKI SHOUTO’S TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD LIFE”

I like how he doesn’t actually say that he can’t take on Gigantomachia. just that he can’t take on him and Afomura at the same time. that’s confidence, baby. that right there is why you always draft Todoroki Shouto in the first round for your fantasy team

HADOU!!!!

OOOH, TOMURA’S ALL “MAN, THIS GIRL’S WAVE POWERS AND THIS KID’S ICE POWERS ARE A SUPER-STRONG COMBO DAGNABBIT.” YESSS I LIKE THAT, TELL ME MORE ABOUT HOW COOL AND POWERFUL THEY ARE

HOT DAMN LOOK AT THAT

um but not to take away from this exceptionally cool moment or anything, but why is Endeavor dying and shouting “RUN” down there in the corner um

oh

excuse me. not to take away from How Bad This All Is, but!!

just a little, smol, IidaBaku for everyone. Iida, who apparently doesn’t know a damn thing about first aid and is all, “hmm that’s a pretty bad-looking puncture wound he has in his left shoulder there, I think I’ll just let his arm dangle freely like that and I won’t bother taking off his heavy gauntlets either. I mean. he’ll be fine, probably.” smh. at least Shouto probably cauterized the wounds

EXCUSE ME WHAT

TIME FOR MORE OF THAT GOOD OLD FASHIONED SHOUNEN RIDICULOUSNESS I GUESS LMAO. KACCHAN YOU HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO. THERE IS A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO, AND YOU LOST LIKE FOUR GALLONS OF BLOOD, BUT SURE. “PUT ME DOWN” HE SAYS. FIRST OF ALL, PUTTING ASIDE THE FACT THAT YOU ABSOLUTELY SHOULD NOT BE CONSCIOUS, THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN GOING TO DO, LIE DOWN AT THEM?? LISTEN, YOU SWEET IDIOT. TAKE HEED, BELOVED DUMBASS!!

ah well. I guess he gets to watch the Touya Show now too then lol

LMAOOOO now Machia’s lifting Tomura carefully in his palm like a broken action figure and Spinner is all “THE FUCK, YOU LOOK LIKE DEATH WARMED OVER”

“oh hey there Spinner. well let’s see, I woke up from my three-month coma and destroyed a city, had my body incinerated, and am currently being possessed by a diabolically evil potato. but please, tell me more about everything you've been through”

AW YISS AND THE FOCUS NOW SHIFTS TO THE TODOROKIS. EVERYTHING IS PROCEEDING EXACTLY AS WE HAVE FORESEEN

Endeavor my dude. it’s as if you want to die here. also holy shit, that bit about his lungs definitely does not bode well for him either

MOTHERFUCKER

GO AHEAD AND SIGN YOUR OWN DEATH CERTIFICATE, WHY DON’T YOU!! FLAGS UPON FLAGS. JESUS CHRIST

meanwhile Dabi’s just waving at ‘em

lmaoooo please oh please Caleb please keep this ‘EYYYYYYY’, it’s fucking perfect kdlshk;hg

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: so as you will see very shortly, I completely missed this detail in my first read-through because I was so anxious to get to the reveal page, but THIS MOTHERFUCKER LITERALLY DOUSED HIMSELF WITH INSTANT HAIR DYE REMOVER THAT HE’S JUST BEEN CARRYING AROUND IN A LITTLE HIP POUCH APPRENTLY SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME. MOTHERFUCKER. I HAVE NO WORDS.)

IS THIS THE TIME. IS THIS THE MOMENT?! HERE IT COMES SLKFHS BRACE YERSELVES LADS

EYYYYYYYYYYYY

OKAY EVERYONE JUST LIKE WE PRACTICED!! SURPRISED FACES ON THREE! ONE... TWO... (•̪ o •̪) !! okay how was that

LMAO ENDEAVOR

at least Shouto looks properly stunned. Enji just looks like endeavor.exe just straight up stopped working

meanwhile Deku’s out here trying to do the math on this latest surprise family reveal! first Tomura is related to Nana, and now this. what’s next. who are you related to, Spinner. he rips off his boots to reveal engine legs and declares himself Iida’s long-lost uncle

oh shit Touya

it’s as if a million fanworks suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly jossed. who knew that all this time he was secretly sporting a crop top scar

also, THIRTY?! holy shit son you been busy

la la la two-page spread of Touya casually driving the dagger into Endeavor’s hero career and rocking the foundations of hero society as we know it la la la

la la la!!!

OH IS THAT THE END OF THE STORY THEN

almost got confused for a sec. there’s two monologues happening at once here. Endeavor doesn’t even know that his dirty laundry is being aired out nation-wide as we speak ffffff

btw while I appreciate the close-ups of Enji and Shouto here for sure, ngl I would also really love to see everyone else’s reactions right now. SHOW ME BAKUGOU AND THE LOV YOU COWARDS

is his hair actually turning white all of a sudden?? your hair dye just reacts on command??

(ETA: in all seriousness though, the hell kind of hair dye was he using? all he has to do is pour a bottle of that stuff and not even lather it in and it’s just gone just like that?? what the fuck would have have done if it ever rained lmao.

and this motherfucker just goes and leaves the dye remover in afterwards, too. I have never dyed my hair in my life and even I can tell you that’s probably not a good idea, Dabi.)

is this it. is this the legendary Dabi Dance in action. lmfao

oh hey what the fuck

so you figured you’d just murder your innocent younger brother to get revenge on dad, huh. well that’s nice

is that really all there is to the origin story though?? feels like we’re still missing a huge chunk of it. what was it that finally sent him over the edge? or was the trauma of being created as Endeavor’s perfect little hero tool and then being subsequently rejected by him enough on its own? because I’m still kind of confused on the part where he goes from “abused and discarded by his father” to “killed thirty people and was plotting the murder of his own brother” to tell you the truth

(ETA: lmao the initial fandom reaction to this did not disappoint. listen guys. people can be traumatized and shaped by awful circumstances that are completely out of their control, and grow up to be people they wouldn’t have grown up to be if things had been better, and all of that absolutely sucks, but. it doesn’t mean they get a get-out-of-jail-free card for all of their future actions, either! the tragedy of this situation is that terrible things happened to Touya, and he then went on to do terrible things himself. the tragedy of it is that this is exactly how the cycle of abuse keeps repeating itself on and on and on. maybe one of the people Dabi killed had a child who will now grow up traumatized themselves, and potentially go on to pay it forward themselves when they grow up. the tragedy is that the eye-for-an-eye justice that Touya is seeking out won’t actually make anything better in the end. the tragedy is that we understand why Touya is so angry, but that anger has basically warped him into the gleefully sadistic dancing figure we see in this chapter who has stopped caring about anyone else’s pain or suffering and just wants his own revenge.

anyway. basically what I’m trying to say is that it’s possible for the concepts of “Todoroki Touya was an innocent child and a victim of abuse” and “Dabi is a grown-ass motherfucking adult who killed thirty people and PROBABLY NEEDS TO BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR THAT” to coexist lol. like, y’all wanted your moral grey, well HERE YOU GO lmao, eat up.)

lol but LOOK AT THAT BOY DANCE HIS LITTLE HEART OUT though

Todoroki Touya confirmed not a fan of the Endeavor redemption arc huh. well we all saw this coming lols

anyways here’s a sexy Touya for y’all

you really are the most theatrical bitch I s2g lmao

also for real though, what is happening with his hair? anime team in shambles here. they’re probably just gonna double down and keep it red. too bad though cuz this is a surprisingly good look on him

SO MANY CLOSE-UPS OF THE TODOROKI FACES

friendly reminder that Dabi without a doubt REHEARSED this speech like a thousand fucking times. LET US FALL TOGETHER!! COME DANCE WITH YOUR SON IN HELL. apparently if you fake your own death in middle school you will never mentally age past that point and will remain a permanent chuuni

OH LMAO THAT’S THE END

we really just gonna end on “DANCE WITH YOUR SON IN HELL”, huh. very well then. you know what song to play, Horikoshi. one, two... YOU ARE MY DAD. YOU’RE MY DAD!! BOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 01x16

Shadow

“Did he whisper about Honda Days? Save big money by buying a Honda” “Moral of the story: Buy an iPod - the battery lasts longer” “That must be really delayed effect on those shrooms” “That is NOT the moment to fumble your keys” “I like the level of paranoia, but that’s just being a woman in Chicago” “I vaguely remember this episode.” “Look at the brand new uniforms.” “I read the newspaper as MAN SLUT KILLER” “Why is Sam wearing a white undershirt? It looks hideous” “That is a really well-pressed collar for a fkn work uniform” laughed at the boob joke

“WHACK job” “gonna whack it” then laughed at his stupid joke

“So Dean is into the astrology stuff, eh? It’s important.” “I guess they have to know lunar cycles, too. Haha they’re tracking cycles” Spouse wants everyone to know that the look Dean makes at 7.19 is very important “I think they did this for the girlies” “I forgot about the astrology blood” “I was thinking that symbol might have been on Pink Floyd because they play guitar in that transition”

Spouse talked about Dean’s face for about 2 minutes (paused) at 7 mins 19secs of this episode.

Then 

Spouse liked the female bartender and forgot about Dean’s face

“Anything in common? They both have security systems; that wasn’t as common back then” “Speak of the devil. They missed opportunities with that kind of stuff.” “That’s a very frilly top” “Mass-a-choooooo-sets” “are you sorry, Meg?” “There are red flags everywhere. Why are you still talking to her Sam?” “Let’s kill him! Then lets hook up.” “5 5 5” “Scouts honor” “Sometimes people run into each other, dude. I’ve run into people all over the world.” “That’s a good joke, Dean” “I’m going to think with my Downstairs Brain” “Nooooo with an upward inflection. That’s a lie” “that’s fkn great dude” “Doesn’t some lady yell at Sam for being a pervert?” Laughed

“Nobody really says pervert anymore, at least, in our group” “Sam should have said not to kink-shame but only if it was being done consensually” “This one always trips me up, because Meg is the vessel. This one is a good one.” “Mannequins” 🎶FaceTime with blood🎶

“Sam is really creeping on how well she blows out candles. I’m talking about the pervert in the closet.” “breathe harder why don’t ya” “bro you’re just standing there. Take a picture; it’ll last longer” “don’t we see daddy in this episode? “Did Dean recently dye his hair? It seems darker.” “Ok we need to analyze this - Dean cleans a gun. Sam isn’t even cleaning the gun; he’s just looking at them. Just load ‘em and look at ‘em.”

“What is Dean putting on his wrist?” “papaya cactus - sounds kinda like what she’s saying”

“Wtf kind of choreography was that? Sam has a pistol, ran over, and great. Dean doesn’t make any sense, but whatever. They swapped guns, but why didn’t Dean raise the shotgun first? Why did they do that? Someone just said it looked good on TV and that was that.” “They had Sam turned up louder probably because he whispers so much so they had to overcompensate” 🎶she’s talking about sex🎶 not really lol

“Why are they always making Dean out to be the stupid one?” “She ain’t fkn around with a belt buckle like that” 🎶the boys are back in town🎶

“Splat” “That’s funny. Idk why” 🎶grippy socks vacation🎶 this is referencing the one I took about a year ago that we’ve been joking about

“Cunt” to John Winchester

“Look at that teary eyed bitch. Why????” “What do they call John’s type of jacket?” “John whispers more than Sam does” “You say you don’t have to worry about us but you just got baited to catch John in town?” “Sam still says yes sir? WTF?” “He just picked some random-ass motel room to creep on them and to say “Fuck it I gotta go again?””

🎶going to get fucked🎶

“Burning phosphorus or what? That’s supposed to a road flare but holy shit dude” “Bright enough to be a white phosphorus bomb” “It’s so much weirder without the music. Just imagine you look out the window and all you hear is the line and heavy breathing” “you’re beat to hell” said in a gruff man voice

“Is this Wolverine Dean?” “How do they not have scars all over their faces? Especially after all the shit Dean’s had happen to him?” Telling Spouse that fan artists give the Winchesters scars, tattoos, and smokes

“Spouse doesn’t think that the Winchesters don’t really smoke or do drugs since they have to be on max alert all the time” I pointed out that they drink all the time “yeah then idk” “SWIRL MARKS”

[hylianfeline]

Hylian/Sheikah/Gerudo infodump

Starting with Hylian biology. Hylians are most comparable to humans, with the shortest lifespan of the humanoid races- Roughly 100 years, on average. They can easily adapt to various environments and can make use of many natural ingredients which would otherwise be ineffective or toxic to the three non-humanoid races.

Sheikah differ from Hylians in more than appearance, growing roughly a foot taller on average and being considerably more agile, with keener senses than a Hylian. Their night vision and hearing in particular are considerably beyond that of a Hylian’s, though they tend to lack some physical strength and endurance. Contrary to popular belief, it’s possible for them to have shades of blonde hair as well as stark white, and their eyes come in many shades of red.

Gerudo grow considerably taller than Hylians at eight feet on average, and being considerably stronger. While their senses are generally the same as Hylians, they tend to have excellent far sight and very good vision as an average.

Sheikah and Gerudo traits tend to completely ‘override’ Hylian traits, and do not weaken even generations down the line. This allows their race to remain mostly the same across generations- The child of a Gerudo and a Hylian will effectively be either a full-blooded Gerudo, or a full-blooded Hylian. Because fuck genetics, I guess.

Hylians tend to live in rustic wooden houses that, while lacking long-term stability, can be disassembled and rebuilt elsewhere. At best, they may have wooden or flagstone flooring, but stone foundations or walls are too permanent for the nomadic Hylians, even if they offer safety and stability.

Hylian settlements throughout Hyrule vary depending on location, with most permanent settlements being placed in a well-protected area with only a few long-term residents. Lurelin and Hateno are the largest and most successful examples, with Lurelin being protected from monsters by the cliffs and the sea, and Hateno being protected by the surrounding mountains. Hateno, however, does have it’s monster problems, especially on the village outskirts.

Smaller Hylian settlements, apart from the stables, tend to house only one or two families’ worth of individuals, with the location being as strategic as possible to improve both defense and agricultural endeavors. The inhabitants tend to be as self-sufficient as possible while using the land to their advantage- Building small waterwheels for use in milling grains or lumber, using surrounding space for crops and animals, cutting wood from nearby forests, or foraging for food and other materials.

The Hylian stables are a unique system of semi-permanent settlements, being large canvas tents with extensive wooden supports and structuring. Being built often out in the open by the roads, the stables are defended by travelers, but also attract many monsters to the surrounding area that hope to ambush said travelers or attack the stable itself.

The stables mostly rely on trade and travel; The goods travelers bring, as well as payment for lodging, and the protection from monsters. When trade flags, stables can fall back on animal products- But the encroaching monsters become a constant problem.

Hylians export animal products, fabric, and dyes to the other races. The Rito are their main buyers for animal product, especially dairy, while the Gerudo favor their dyes and fabrics. Interestingly, Gerudo tend to buy silk from Hylian traders and believe it comes from Hylians, but silk is made by the Sheikah.

Hylian cuisine is diverse and often features imported goods from other races, or otherwise foraged goods and their own animal products. It tends to focus on foods that are filling and hearty, and can be made in a simple pot or pan over a fire with little access to other utensils.

[divinebastet]

Hylian (+Sheikah & Gerudo) Infodump

Starting with Hylian biology. Hylians are most comparable to humans, with the shortest lifespan of the humanoid races- Roughly 100 years, on average. They can easily adapt to various environments and can make use of many natural ingredients which would otherwise be ineffective or toxic to the three non-humanoid races.

Sheikah differ from Hylians in more than appearance, growing roughly a foot taller on average and being considerably more agile, with keener senses than a Hylian. Their night vision and hearing in particular are considerably beyond that of a Hylian’s, though they tend to lack some physical strength and endurance. Contrary to popular belief, it’s possible for them to have shades of blonde hair as well as stark white, and their eyes come in many shades of red.

Gerudo grow considerably taller than Hylians at eight feet on average, and being considerably stronger. While their senses are generally the same as Hylians, they tend to have excellent far sight and very good vision as an average.

Sheikah and Gerudo traits tend to completely ‘override’ Hylian traits, and do not weaken even generations down the line. This allows their race to remain mostly the same across generations- The child of a Gerudo and a Hylian will effectively be either a full-blooded Gerudo, or a full-blooded Hylian. Because fuck genetics, I guess.

Hylians tend to live in rustic wooden houses that, while lacking long-term stability, can be disassembled and rebuilt elsewhere. At best, they may have wooden or flagstone flooring, but stone foundations or walls are too permanent for the nomadic Hylians, even if they offer safety and stability.

Hylian settlements throughout Hyrule vary depending on location, with most permanent settlements being placed in a well-protected area with only a few long-term residents. Lurelin and Hateno are the largest and most successful examples, with Lurelin being protected from monsters by the cliffs and the sea, and Hateno being protected by the surrounding mountains. Hateno, however, does have it’s monster problems, especially on the village outskirts.

Smaller Hylian settlements, apart from the stables, tend to house only one or two families’ worth of individuals, with the location being as strategic as possible to improve both defense and agricultural endeavors. The inhabitants tend to be as self-sufficient as possible while using the land to their advantage- Building small waterwheels for use in milling grains or lumber, using surrounding space for crops and animals, cutting wood from nearby forests, or foraging for food and other materials.

The Hylian stables are a unique system of semi-permanent settlements, being large canvas tents with extensive wooden supports and structuring. Being built often out in the open by the roads, the stables are defended by travelers, but also attract many monsters to the surrounding area that hope to ambush said travelers or attack the stable itself.

The stables mostly rely on trade and travel; The goods travelers bring, as well as payment for lodging, and the protection from monsters. When trade flags, stables can fall back on animal products- But the encroaching monsters become a constant problem.

Hylians export animal products, fabric, and dyes to the other races. The Rito are their main buyers for animal product, especially dairy, while the Gerudo favor their dyes and fabrics. Interestingly, Gerudo tend to buy silk from Hylian traders and believe it comes from Hylians, but silk is made by the Sheikah.

Hylian cuisine is diverse and often features imported goods from other races, or otherwise foraged goods and their own animal products. It tends to focus on foods that are filling and hearty, and can be made in a simple pot or pan over a fire with little access to other utensils.

[kenzieam]

Not Happening, Doll - Chapter Four (Bucky X Lev)

Rating: M (language, violence, eventual smut, angst, slow burn)

Genre: Drama/Angst

@captstefanbrandt​​​ @iammarylastar​​​ @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995​​​ @notimetoblog​​​ @captain-ariel-barnes​​​ @bitsandbobsandstuff​​​ @softlybarnes​​​ @lovelybbarnes​​​ @buckitybarnes​​​ @bucky-plums-barnes​​​  @moonbeambucky​​​ @badassbaker​​​ @citylights221​​​ @empress-of-boujee​​​ @chook007​​​ @shynara51​​​ @diinofayce​​​ @casestudy-mw​​​  @jewels2876​​​ @damnaged-princess​​​ @everythingisoverrated​​​ @allmyfanficfaves​​​  @clarabella960​​​  @angryschnauzer​​​ @wowspideyholland​​​ @smilexcaptainx​​​  @shirukitsune​​​​ @cake-writes​​​​

If I missed any tag requests, I apologize!!

*IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED OR DELETED FROM THIS LIST, DM ME*

*****************************************************************************

Levi and Bucky cannot stand each other (or rather, the former Winter Soldier cannot stand to be around the Avenger’s newest member and, like the ass he is, he won’t divulge why) and of course, they get teamed up for a new mission. It’s deep cover this time and not only do they have to work together, they have to pretend they’re MARRIED.

Heaven help them….

****************************************************************************

Things finally come to a head, but do Bucky and Levi finally have a breakthrough, or a breakdown??

***************************************************************************

The next weeks were tense and silent. Both Levi and Bucky deserved Academy Awards for their performances; when they were forced to appear as a couple anywhere, they acted just like they were in love, casual little touches and glances, pecks on the cheek or full-on kisses, and nobody except the two main players themselves ever saw the deception; the hardening in their gazes, the set to their jaws, the increase in their heartbeats that had nothing to do with excitement. Once alone in their home it was like two completely different people inhabited their skins; they were silent around each other unless absolutely necessary and when they did interact, it was tense and biting, to-the-point and little more.

Levi was miserable and what was worse, she couldn’t seem to put a finger on what exactly was bothering her. She didn’t want attention from Bucky, right? She didn’t want to associate with such a complete asshole, someone who’d gone out of his way to make her feel like an unwelcome outsider from the very first moment she joined the team. He hated this assignment, that was perfectly obvious; and she did too, so why did she feel so rotten sometimes? Why did there seem to be something missing inside her? She was homesick, that had to be it. She wanted the team; she pined for their friendship, the sense of family and belonging they gave her. Bucky had never been a source of that, and she yearned for it; yes, that was it.

Soon, she told herself, every day it seemed; soon we’ll be done. We’ll find that smoking gun or Tony will pull us because we’re not needed here anymore, and we can go back to hating each other privately, ignoring and avoiding because Jesus, the Compound was big enough for that, big enough that, if she was careful, Levi could go whole days without even a glimpse of the Winter Soldier.

Levi glanced up under her eyelashes at Bucky, seated across the table from her. They’d agreed, somewhat stiffly, to continue to dine together at the table like a real couple, because it seemed like their Stepford neighbors had no sense of schedules and would come knocking at the door even during meal times, and it was infinitely more convincing that they were a couple if there was dishes scattered on the table, signs that they surely tolerated each other enough to share supper together.

He was silent, picking at his stir-fry, broad shoulders slumped, and Levi took a moment to study him unobserved. Damn, too bad he was such a dick, because he sure was easy on the eyes; and when he was performing for the neighbors, acting like a charming and carefree husband, he was downright irresistible. So why did he always seem so trounced around Levi, so defensive and annoyed and why, for that matter, did she with him? She was capable of charisma, she caught the Stepford husbands eyeing her appreciatively all the time, sensed their interest in their bright gazes, their cocky grins and wandering hands (hands she tolerated with gritted teeth because she had to play the part); so why did Bucky seem so put-off by her? It was a mystery; one Levi didn’t have the energy to either examine further or attempt to solve right now. Her mind seized on something concrete, something immediately fixable, something she could pick apart about Bucky, although the prospect of that no longer interested her the way it used to.

“Your roots are showing.”

Bucky glanced up, a flicker of irritation in his hypnotically blue eyes before he dropped his gaze again. “So?” He replied petulantly.

“So, we can’t have you looking so obviously like you’re in disguise.”

“So, Jackson dyes his hair, he’s choosing to let it grow out now.”

“Don’t be a dick. I’ve got another box of dye, let’s fix it.”

“No.”

“What are you scared of?” Levi challenged. “Think I’ll suffocate you with the plastic gloves? Turn your hair green? Burn it right off your pointed head?”

Bucky raised his eyes without raising his head, glaring at Levi from under his heavy brow and she felt both a chill and a thrill at the mix of emotions that swirled there. He reminded her of a bull, pawing the ground, warning her to be careful while another part of him seemed to be pleading for mercy, for this game to end, a truce to be called. Some other shadow in his gaze was too dark and deep to contemplate, looked too much like attraction and unfulfilled desire but it surely couldn’t be that; just like it wasn’t a simple longing to touch him, to run her hands through his baby-soft stands as she stood in front of him, feeling the warmth and strength of his massive body that compelled her to pursue this, even with Bucky acting so recalcitrant about it.

“Fine.” He growled, dropping his fork with a clatter and standing; he stormed down the hallway, yanking his shirt off with harsh, jerky movements.

Swallowing hard, what had she just unleashed? Levi followed, plucking the box of dye from the shelf as she entered the bathroom. Bucky perched on the closed toilet seat, ridiculously large and bull-like in the room; although the bathroom was wide and spacious, he dwarfed it all the same, his muscular ass barely balancing on the precarious porcelain. He glowered at her under his brow, jaw clenched and set like a five-year-old pouting; his fists, one metal and one flesh, curled into the tight denim of his jean-clad thighs.

Levi busied herself with the dye; she’d not helped before; she and Bucky had been even more hostile following a fresh spat and he’d locked himself in the bathroom and done it himself the last time. Bucky watched her silently, like a toad on a rock and Levi became awkwardly aware of his proximity, the raw heat his body seemed to be giving off.

“Okay,” Levi began, scouring the instructions. “We have to wet your hair first; do you have any product in it?”

Bucky shook his head and moved silently to the tub, dropping to his knees and leaning his head forward over the basin, his hands grabbing the edge of the tub for balance. Levi hesitated before moving to his side, reaching forwards for the detachable showerhead and turning on the water; she tested it for temperature then began wetting Bucky’s hair, tentatively poking at it like it was going to leap off and bite her at some point. Bucky remained quiet; eyes focused on the bottom of the basin.

Levi’s hand slipped on the edge of the tub as she reached to turn the water off and she jolted, bumping heavily against Bucky, knocking him down onto the rim. The water splashed, hitting her in the chest and face, making her squawk in surprise and Bucky grumble under his breath. Levi scrambled back upright, face going red, her skin goose bumping from the shock of the water and her sudden contact with Bucky.

“Smooth,” Bucky grunted, sitting up and ignoring the water that streamed down his back. Standing and launching himself away from Levi like she smelled rotten he snagged a towel to wrap around his head, scrubbing irritably at his wet locks, eyes fixed on the floor.

Levi stood awkwardly, contemplating her next move; did she go change or just leave Bucky to finish dyeing his hair by himself? Did she double-down and continue with a wet shirt? Challenge and taunt him by not leaving him alone when he obviously wanted her to?

Whatever.

Let him squirm. Twisting her hem, Levi squeezed out the majority of the water in her tank top, wishing that she’d worn any other color today than white. Bucky had moved back to the toilet, resuming his glower as Levi prepared the dye, pulled on the plastic gloves and stepped in front of him, between his knees further than either one of them probably wanted and began.

As she worked, arms raised and forced to lean forwards to see what she was doing, Levi became painfully aware of the fact that her shirt, her white shirt, was now see-through and what’s more, her favorite fuchsia colored bra was easily visible to anyone, not only a man with enhanced eye sight. Levi’s cheeks began to heat, feeling Bucky’s proximity to her; unless he was keeping his eyes closed, her breasts were right in his face to stare at and Levi realized she’d pushed this too far. Whatever she’d been trying to prove tonight, and she wasn’t even sure what that was, she was now waving a red flag at a bull.

Even though Bucky didn’t like her, he was nonetheless a red-blooded male and unless he was fucking Stepford wives while Levi was at work, he probably hadn’t had an outlet for any sexual tension or frustration since they’d started this job. Levi certainly hadn’t invited him to her bed and, now that it was literally right in front of her, she remembered on more than one occasion hearing Bucky while he showered. Without her enhanced senses, she probably would have had no idea, but with them she caught the sporadic faint grunt or low groan, sometimes on the nights they’d had some sort of blow-out, some kind of angry, harsh words for each other, but also when they’d completely ignored each other, going so far as to not even exchange the simplest words or conversation. Levi hadn’t thought much about it before but when she glanced down and saw her nemesis eying her assets with something other than his usual scorn, it suddenly became front and center; when he was in the shower and she could hear him, he was rubbing one out.

Was he thinking of her while he did?

Clenching her jaw, Levi rushed through the dye job, focusing solely on finishing it as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Once he realized she’d spotted him, Bucky dropped his gaze crossly, glaring smoking holes into his knees, where his fists still clenched the denim. Tension and something else more raw, much deeper, crackled in the air between them, thick as smoke.

Relief that felt strangely like disappointment hit Levi as she finished, rubbing the towel through Bucky’s freshly redyed hair; as she was about to pull away, step out from between Bucky’s spread thighs she suddenly jolted in surprise as Bucky’s flesh hand almost convulsively unclenched from his knee and reached up, brushing all too briefly at her hip before he dropped it again.

“Levi,” he murmured and there was something in his voice that made her instantly afraid.

“What?” She hardly could breathe the sound.

“I’m tired.”

“Okay, I’ll get out of your way-“ Levi, feeling a strange pang of disappointment, moved to take a step back, freezing when Bucky’s hand came up again, clamping on her hip this time. His thumb stroked cautiously at the small sliver of exposed skin between her leggings and tank top, as if he thought she was going to slap his hand away but just couldn’t help himself.

“No,” he whispered, and for the briefest instant, the obstinance in his voice dropped and Levi heard abject despair in its wake. “No, I’m tired of this… this non-stop fight we have going on.” His eyes flicked up to hers for the briefest instant and she was shocked to see wetness there, the beginning of miserable tears. “I don’t want to do it anymore, I don’t-“ he broke off, looking to the side, his thumb still caressing her.

“You never really gave me a chance,” Levi whispered cautiously. “As soon as I joined the team, you- “

Bucky nodded, looking back up at her again. “I know, I’ve been a complete asshole and I’m sorry, but…” he stopped, rubbing his metal hand roughly across his face. Without rancor he pushed suddenly at Levi’s hip, moving her out of his way and stood, rushing from the room.

Levi watched him go, puzzled. Usually, when he stomped away from her, she sensed anger, or irritation, rage even; but not now, now all she picked up was misery, sorrow, frustration and even shame.

What the hell?

“Bucky,” Levi called, trailing after him, his wide back going rigid as he continued into the living room. He turned to face her, scrubbing a hand over his face again before putting his hands on his hips and dropping his head, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here in this room at this moment.

Cautiously, Levi stood at the edge of the living room, eyeing Bucky as he started to pace. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, raking his metal hand through his hair, clenching and unclenching his jaw. His other hand was white knuckled in a fist, his strides almost violent. Levi just stared at him, shocked; she’d not expected such a reaction, such an explosive response. He was acting like Levi was deep under his skin, like he’d been fighting himself over his feelings for her for some time now and was losing the battle.

“Bucky?” She tried again, because his struggling was starting to drag her under too; his visceral and violent emotions were opening up a Pandora’s Box deep inside her, letting out feelings she’d tried with all her strength this last year, shit, since the day she’d joined the team, to repress and bury.

He stopped, chest heaving and lips parted. A wild look was flooding his eyes, a devil-may-care, fuck-the-consequences, I-can’t-fight-this-anymore kind of expression. “Levi,” he whispered and there was such suffering in his voice it broke her heart; his calling of her name a desperate plea to deliver him from his pain, a benediction to his savior.

“Buck…” Levi trailed off, not sure what to say. Her body was awakening to his, new sensations flooding her limbs; it was like he’d opened a dam inside her and she was being helplessly swept along in the rapids. Bucky strode towards her, like a bull charging. Levi took an instinctive step back, felt the wall press into her shoulder blades. She wasn’t scared of Bucky; well, not physically scared, but internally, emotionally… she was terrified. A tsunami was rising in her, an answer to the tempest roiling in him and she wondered dimly how they’d managed to fight this off for so long.

Bucky stopped in front of her, his heaving chest almost touching hers with each gasping breath and his eyes dropped to her soaked shirt, to her fuchsia-clad breasts rising and falling with each pant. He raised his gaze, the raw hunger in his eyes making heat pool low in her belly. He looked ready to devour her and Levi could see in his eyes, feel in the tension in his limbs that this wasn’t a generic hunger for a woman’s body, but a desperate craving for her and her alone. A starving man set before the banquet he’d been drooling over for far too long and his eyes bored into hers, searching for permission to finally partake.

He saw what he needed to see in her eyes and attacked.

His lips crashed to hers, hungry and hot and demanding, stealing her breath in a heated rush. His hand came up, cupping her jaw as he kissed her, angled her head to deepen it as he slicked his tongue inside her mouth. A low groan rumbled in his chest as Levi all but sagged in his arms, giving into him with a moan of pure want. He pressed his body to hers, caging her in his arms, trapping her between him and the wall and Levi surged forwards, reaching up and clasping his face in her hands, rasping against his stubble, fingers digging into his skin. His low growl in answer flared the heat in her belly and he pressed harder into her, his cock a hard ridge against her thigh.

He broke the kiss, panting harshly, tipping her head back so he could look deep into her eyes. “I want-” He growled, low and deep. “Fuck, I need you.”

“Yes…” Levi breathed. She barely able to form the words, desire swimming so thickly in her veins she could feel nothing else. “Yes, Bucky.”

He groaned, a deep and visceral sound of relief and release. His thumb traced a gentle circle on her cheek in a brief moment of tenderness, but his desire for Levi was too strong to be placid and mellow right now. Holding her gaze he dropped suddenly to his knees, teeth bared in a predator smile, hands raking down her body. Her sleep pants ripped in his desperate hands and he groaned when he saw the thin scrap of lace that lay beneath, now soaked with arousal. He looked back up at Levi, eyes begging permission and she curled her fingers in his wet locks as she nodded, nearly sobbing with relief when he lunged forwards hungrily, pressing his mouth to her. His tongue lapped at the fabric and Levi’s hips bucked involuntarily, pressing his tongue deeper.

Bucky pulled back with a snarl of lust and Levi’s panties tore easily away; he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her to him and dove in, attacking her like ravenous beast. His tongue and teeth were everywhere at once, licking and sucking and laving at her and he ate her out like it was the only thing he’d been thinking about for months, like the fantasy had consumed him body and soul and he was finally, finally able to experience it.

Levi felt her orgasm rising hot and fast, spurred on by the fever of Bucky’s attack and devastating skill. His finger stroked her, pushed inside as he sucked at her and she barely held back a scream, fingers clawing through his hair, yanking harshly and making him growl in answering need. A second finger pushed inside, spreading her and curling against her walls, right at the sweet spot.

“Fuck,” Bucky growled against her, face buried deep. “I fucking dreamed about this, eating this fucking beautiful pussy ‘till you screamed for me-“ a third finger, and he started to fuck them inside her, his dirty words pushing her over the edge as Levi climaxed hard, screaming incoherently as wave after wave of incandescent pleasure crashed over her.

Bucky groaned, burrowing his face into her, reveling and glorying in her orgasm, lapping and drinking her in like he was starving, his fingers still working inside her. His teeth clamped lightly on her clit and fresh waves of ecstasy pulled her under as Bucky had to grip under her ass to hold her up now, for her knees had completely given out under his onslaught.

As the pulses of her violent climax began to wane, Bucky’s fevered motions slowed and he guided her gently through the rest of her ecstasy, his tongue laving and capturing every drop of her essence.

Levi panted harshly, spots dancing in her eyes. She’d never been eaten out with this level of skill or enthusiasm before and her head spun, hardly able to wrap itself around what had just happened. Bucky pressed heated, hungry little kisses to the insides of her quivering thighs before gently slinging her thigh off his shoulder and standing, capturing Levi’s mouth in a passionate kiss. She tasted herself on his lips and tongue and her pussy clenched again, fresh arousal coating her thighs.

Not wasting any more time, Bucky clawed at his jeans, his belt clanking and zipper rasping. He managed to push his jeans down his hips enough to free his throbbing cock with one hand and pull Levi’s shirt up and off with the other at the same time. His shaft pressed against her folds and he grabbed her ass, lifting her to wrap her legs around his waist and pressing her hard against the wall behind them. Her fuchsia bra protested with the faint sound of tortured stitching as Bucky yanked the cups down, his mouth latching on her peaked nipple.

Gripping himself, Bucky lined up and drove inside Levi in one relentless thrust, filling her completely, stretching her deliciously and then he began to thrust, groaning against her breast. He switched sides, moving his mouth to her other nipple while his hand cupped her breast, thumb caressing the delicate skin. The sweet drag and friction of his cock spiraled Levi rapidly higher and higher and she grabbed at his ass, desperately pulling him closer and deeper, her legs wrapped tightly around him, heels digging into the back of thighs.

“Fuck!” He growled, an animal mimicking speech as he slammed into her harder, his heavy balls slapping against her with each thrust and Levi let go a second time, arching against his chest and crying out. Bucky groaned as her walls fluttered around him and his thrusts grew sloppy and frantic as he chased his own release and then he was there, roaring as he came; his cock throbbing deep inside, spilling his seed in thick ropes against her womb until it filled her and seeped back out, coating their joined bodies.

Bucky shuddered violently, hips slamming into her once more before holding steady, pressed hard against her as the pulses of his orgasm finally began to fade, his muscles trembling with aftershocks. He dropped his head into the crook of her neck, panting harshly. Still holding her up with one arm, he reached up with the other and cupped her face, turning it and guiding her mouth to his. His kiss was hot and desperate, panting against her mouth with a hunger that had been temporarily sated but by no means satisfied.

“Fuck, baby.” He groaned hoarsely, sounding like he’d just sprinted a marathon. Still inside her, Bucky rolled his hips again, driving into her and Levi gasped as she felt him hard and throbbing again, reminding her of his enhanced stamina.

Fortunately for Levi, she too was enhanced, and her blood flared, a delicious shiver shooting through her limbs. She rolled her hips in answer and Bucky groaned again, a wrecked sound.

“More,” Levi breathed, trailing sucking kisses along his pulse point and the tender skin beneath his ear.

Bucky growled, a rough, animal sound of pure want. Grabbing her ass with both hands he stepped back from the wall and whirled, stumbling as he hurried to the master bedroom. Dropping her down onto the king-sized mattress, Bucky dropped down with her, stretching above her, still viscerally connected. His kisses became ravenous again, claiming marks as his hands roamed and Levi clawed back, as desperate to brand him as he was with her. His hips rolled, driving balls-deep inside Levi and she whimpered in overwhelming bliss.

Bucky pressed his forehead to hers as he slammed inside her, curses and groans falling from his kiss-swollen lips, the adoration in his eyes making them blaze like bottled suns. Levi gripped his hips in sudden inspiration and hooked her leg around his hips, twisting her body sideways. Bucky moved with her as she rolled them, his hands dropping to her hips as Levi reared upright.

“Yeah,” his voice was guttural, thick with desire. “Fuck, yeah baby. Ride me, just like that-“

His filthy mouth only stoked her fire and Levi arched her spine sharply, rocking herself down, completely swallowing his cock within her body. Bucky’s fingers left bruises on her skin as he held her, rolling her body on his, helping her drive him deeper and deeper inside. Levi raked her nails down his chest and his pornographic moan made her clench around his cock and his eyes rolled back in his head as he gasped before he raised his head again, eyes locking on where their bodies joined, watching her body take him, consuming his shaft, wet with her arousal. He stared avidly, a man lost in the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen, biting his bottom lip until Levi cupped his cheek and tipped his head up, forcing his attention back on her face.

The hunger in his eyes took her breath away, the desire and…. worship. Shit, if that wasn’t love she saw blazing in his bottomless blues then it was damn close, and Levi felt a thrill dart up her spine. How had she missed this? How had Bucky hidden this abyss within himself?

By being an asshole, that’s how. By keeping her at arm’s length and constantly on guard. And she’d reciprocated, injured and defensive; burying her own attraction under a layer of indignance and wounded words, anger designed to protect her and bite back at the cause of her pain.

Bucky arched his hips up to meet her rocking, dragging her back to the present. His hand cupped her face and he pressed his thumb onto her bottom lip, hissing when she pulled it in and sucked hard. Fire blazed in his eyes as he pulled his thumb gently away, trailing his hand down to wrap around her throat. His grip tightened just enough and Levi, who’d never experienced such a primal and possessive act before, dropped her head back with a moan, reaching her hands up to grip his straining forearm.

“More,” she growled, looking back down at him, teeth bared.

“Baby- “ Bucky groaned brokenly, sounding wrecked. His hand tightened on her throat and he hissed as she tightened around his shaft.

“Yes, yes, yes, Bucky!” Levi chanted, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her spine arched, nails digging into Bucky’s chest and he watched her with wide, worshiping eyes before his face contorted in sweet pain and he followed her, his release nearly pulling him under, spots dancing in his eyes. His metal hand held Levi’s body down on his as he pulsed inside her, his cock throbbing almost painfully, milked by her spasming walls. Finally, his body no longer felt under his control, weakened and overwhelmed by the power of his orgasm and his arms dropped to the bed, his groan a long and low sound of pure ecstasy.

Levi bounced on him, still caught in her climax for a few more moments before she too was struck by lassitude, dropping beside him, her head landing on the pillow, her breath panting, tickling his skin.

For a long time, Bucky could only lay there, gasping, trying to recover from what could possibly be the most intense encounter of his long life. At the risk of sounding corny, he felt like a piece of his soul had just left him, joining with the woman who’d just given him such an experience. Never in his wildest dreams, and he’d had more that a few wild ones, laying on his bed or in the shower back at the Compound, hand fisted around his straining cock as he pictured Levi bouncing on it, had he ever imagined such paradise. He didn’t even think he’d be able to muster the energy to react if an enemy burst into the room, if HYDRA itself suddenly attacked. He’d just lay there like a lump, a completely sated and blissed-out lump.

Still breathing hard, he rallied his lethargic body and rolled to face Levi as she lay beside him, looking as exhausted as he felt, her eyes closed, hair spilled out across the pillow. A beautiful glow flushed her skin and she’d never looked more captivating to him.

His fingers shook slightly as he reached up and traced them gently along her cheek and she smiled, eyes still closed, humming in contentment. After a moment, she opened them, gazing at Bucky with her hypnotizing amethyst eyes, dark like bruises with utter satisfaction. He rested his palm on her cheek, thumb caressing her cheekbone, waiting for his heart to slow down, his body to recover enough that he could move more than just his hand.

“I wanted you,” he whispered, compelled by the allure of pillow talk to spill his heart. “I always have.”

“They why did you act like that?” There was only faint confusion in her voice, her brow furrowing. Her hand reached up to cover his.

Shame made his heart heavy and he worked hard to answer her. “Because I don’t deserve you.”

[jcmorrigan]

Well got any headcanons for the soupy prince GIOVANNI?

DO I EVER!

-I personally love the trans headcanon. But also...biromantic asexual. And polyamorous. How many pride flags can I fit on one man?

-Polyamorous because I realized that he’s one of the few characters I really and truly love to multiship - my “OTP” for him is Giovanni x me x Crusher x Spike x Car Crash x Flamethrower x Darkstar x Ben

-He canonically has posters in his room of Jason Voorhees and Sailor Moon (or the EE equivalents thereof - I think that Sailor Moon might actually be a Phoenica), so it’s outright text that he likes slasher films and magical girl anime both

-Like...he finds the methods of most slashers disturbing but he loves to watch a good old-fashioned gorefest

-Though he’s really pretty lax when it comes to preferred fiction. If Molly wants to do a Disney movie night (because I bribed her with $50 to suggest it), then by God, Giovanni is going to GET INTO IT

-Plays a lot of video games as well

-This is incredibly specific, but I’m playing Tales of Berseria right now and I like to imagine him playing it with me and the one thing I know is that he very definitely has a crush on Rokurou Rangetsu that he’s only about 50% willing to admit

-Likes to experiment with cooking of all sorts because it slowly increases his Epithet proficiency (and also it’s fun)

-Swears a lot more than we necessarily see in canon

-I actually think his age makes more sense as in his mid-20s than 19 because of all the jokes about not knowing what tax returns are, but jury’s out on if I can call that a “headcanon” or just a straight-up AU I like

-Will minion-name ANYONE he befriends (except Ben)

-Pretends to hate Ben but it’s a weird “I love to hate him” kind of thing

-Unironically likes My Chemical Romance

-Voice is actually really suited to doing MCR songs at karaoke...and not much else

-Likes to spice up hangout/evil-planning sessions with the Blasters by starting such team-bonding activities as prank wars or water balloon fights

-Has an abandoned library in the middle of Sweet Jazz City where he likes to take his squad to work on schemes out from under the prying eyes of the upper-level Blasters. (I am ready to drop this at a moment’s notice if canon disproves.) Called it the “Lairbrary” once and now wants to pretend he never said that word

-If you’re his friend and not in his Blaster squad, and he’s given you a minion name (which is a given), he’ll also immediately design your villain outfit and would LOVE to work on it with you (also, he’s actually really good at drawing - he just doesn’t like to actually put in the time or effort unless it’s costume design)

-Halloween? BEST HOLIDAY. CAN MAKE MORE ELABORATE VILLAIN COSTUMES

-Loves to wear skirts! Just doesn’t think they should be gendered, because pants aren’t, so why are skirts? Will very aggressively remind you, though, if you’re rude about it, that this does not make him any less of a man. He never  wants to fully present female, just wear swishy skirts that spin when he twirls because they are fun.

-Doesn’t do his fucking laundry. It’s all over the house at any given moment. This is the source of 40% of his fights with his mom.

-You know how I said he will give you a minion name immediately if you’re his friend? Well, if you get on his BAD side, you get an insulting nickname that sticks with you unless you make it up to him (e.g. “Stupidhead” or “Idiotface” but he thrives best if he can make one based on your name - like, he wouldn’t insult you, but if he were to insult you, you’d be “April-Showers-Half-Baked-Brownies”)

-Is not good at dancing but loves to dance nonetheless

-Pajamas are pink tie-dye tee and shorts

-ASMR receptive

-Owns a pair of red Converse high-tops. THIS IS A PERSONAL THING DON’T ASK

-You know those lists that correct commonly-misused idioms to the correct phrase? Like how if you’re saying “for all intensive purposes,” the right one is “for all intents and purposes”? When I think of how he talks, I have to look at one of those backwards. He’s the kind of guy who will pledge his loyalty by saying “I am at your beckon call!” no matter how many times you correct him.

-Oh, and remember how I said he likes gore-fest horror films? That’s all fine and good, when it’s your standard murder and blood and guts. But if he decides to test his fortitude by reading CreepyPastas that get a little more creative and reality-warping with their horror, he is getting no sleep that night.

-Has never actually killed a person, but if someone were threatening a person he loves, he would not hesitate. (Though I wouldn’t be surprised if this issue comes up in canon, so it’s subject to change, of course)

I feel like I have a thousand more I’m not remembering but this is enough textwall already

[jksangelic]

peaches & piercings | two (m)

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole

↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin

↳ warnings: light sexual themes, explicit language, hurt/comfort

↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type”. you call bullshit.

↳ note: second part! this doesn’t contain any smut, unfortunately. just some closure for those who come for plot. enjoy.

↳ words: 8.4k

↳ parts: one | two (complete)

Nothing but heavy breathing. Too much saliva. Did this girl even know how to properly kiss? Nonetheless, he was hard.

How the fuck did I get here, he ponders, feeling nothing but lusty guilt and, possibly, bile in the back of his throat.

“You’re so hot,” Jennie drawls between kisses, fiddling drunkenly with Jimin’s zipper and whining when the damn thing wouldn’t budge. She resorts to palming his bulge over his black ripped jeans.

“Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging himself into her small hand and groping her breasts. He’s been with enough girls to tell that her bra was incredibly padded. The party raged downstairs, screams and laughter vibrating the entire frat house. American parties were crazy, Jimin thought.

He also thought he was done with this, done being some gross playboy that entitled himself inside any girl he laid eyes on, but he was fucking scared. You scared the living daylights out of him. So he’s doing what he knows best.

The girl was already stripped down to her underwear within the first minute, not really into the whole “build-up” that he normally enjoyed. When he busied himself with planting kisses along her collarbones, she complains, yet again, when he doesn’t get on with it.

He rolls his eyes, undoing the damn zipper himself and pulling down his boxers enough for her to access. She gasps, surprised.

“You’re Korean? I’m surprised you’re this big. I didn’t believe the other girls when they told me.” She talks so damn much, Jimin might implode. Rather, he just grows soft from the backhanded compliment.

This was his first night out since seeing you last, have been avoiding you for a few days to try to find some sort of explanation behind his jumbled thoughts. It, however, wasn’t his first night out since he had discovered he was hopelessly in love with you, hiding his denial by hooking up with whoever was prettiest at frat row parties. He was disgusted with himself.

Before he knows it, he’s tucking himself back in and leaving an angered Jennie and searching for Yoongi to drive him back home. Jimin was way too intoxicated to be around girls that want to use him for the sake of bragging rights. You were right, it really was like everyone kept tabs on who got to fuck who and the points they received for such encounters. He scrunches his nose in disgust.

He moves clumsily, nearly tumbling down the stairs and getting lost in the sea of bodies that danced on the first floor. God, he could hear colors. He even bumps into some classmate (wearing a hoodie at that, poor girl must’ve been baking), tiny voice asking if he’s okay and he just throws up a thumb and continues his search. At some point, he finds Yoongi man-spread on the couch, sleepily cooing into some girl’s ear as they giggle like they care what he’s saying.

“Yoongs,” Jimin slurs, “home. Please.” He doesn’t remember if he makes a face of friendly obedience or a face of you-just-cockblocked-me-bro but he gets up anyway and checks for his keys for at least two minutes before finding them on a lanyard around his neck. Even Yoongi is too drunk to drive but he doesn’t really care about their own safety at this point. Harsh reality of college.

Eventually, both of them stumble into their apartment around 2 in the morning, Yoongi raiding the pantry for something to calm his munchies and Jimin rinsing his face with cold water next to him. He felt the sudden need to wash off whatever filth Jennie left on him.

His roommate must’ve read his mind, nudging his shoulder and slurring a, “I’m surprised you didn’t fuck Jennie or bring her back with you. She was sexy as hell.”

“How did you know I didn’t have sex with her when I was there?”

“Dude, I can just tell. You don’t look like you had a recent orgasm, you look like you ate a bad quesadilla.” Yoongi laughs at his own joke like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever said.

Jimin shrugs, not really feeling an explanation. Instead, he locates his phone he left on the counter before going to the party and turns it on, scrolling through a couple Instagram notifications and 2 new messages from you. He hadn’t been answering any, but he was happy you still cared in his own messed up way.

He smirks at them, imagining how much better his night could’ve gone if you had been with him instead of stupid Jessica. Or Jennie. Or something.

“Ooh,” Yoongi teases, stealing his phone and uninvitingly reading through the message thread, “you’re still talking to this girl? The cheerleader? That’s hilarious, dude, she’s so not your type.”

Jimin laughs nervously, colliding with Yoongi and reaching out for his phone, “C’mon, Hyung. Give it back. She’s hot.” Calling you “hot” didn’t sit right on his tongue, but he ignored it. Yoongi continues being a dick, waving his phone in Jimin’s face then swiping it away when he attempts to take it back.

“Can’t get enough of her, huh? Does she just have Class A pussy? Shit, think you’d let me have a go?”

Jimin’s blood boils, shoving Yoongi into the nearby wall with more force than intended and confiscating the phone, shuffling it into his back pocket before grabbing his collar and trapping him. He looks maniacal, nose flaring and eyes bloodshot.

“Talk about her like that and I’ll break your skinny ass legs, Hyung. Don’t fucking touch her.”

Yoongi just smiles, throwing up hands as a white flag. He was older than Jimin, sure, but he knew his place when it came to physical advantage. When Jimin lets him go, Yoongi takes out his pack of cigs, placing one between his lips and offering a cooling Jimin one as peace offering.

Although he doesn’t want to, he takes it and storms into his room.

What the actual hell is he doing. He shouldn’t be out partying of all things, he should grow the fuck up and confront you. Just accept what you were willing to give him and live happily, wholeheartedly.

That’s it. Tomorrow, he would sober the fuck up and tell you.

He flops onto his bed, staring at the ceiling and foggy memory reminding him of when he was under yours, the first day he took initiative to change something. He pulls his phone out, reading over your messages silently and smiling whenever he skimmed over one of your purposefully-unattractive-but-still-attractive selfies. He always saved every single one of them.

It leads to scrolling through his small photo gallery, a couple of blurry photos from tonight his most recent, a few of those saved selfies before them, and that one video. Thumb hovering over, it forces him to play it.

It starts with giggling—his own, before the shaky camera focuses on a body behind the front counter of a record store that he happened to pass by. Some American song he’s never listened to blares overhead, a very excited and very loud singing you swaying your hips to the music. At some point, you even used a rolled up poster as your mic and hit every sour note there was. Jimin in the video laughs again, and the video shortly ends after your eyes widen in horror and connect with his phone.

He plays it two, no, three more times before he’s content and completely simmering in adoration for you. Somehow remembering to discard his pants and shut off the light, he decides to browse through his Snapchat briefly before turning in for the night. He saves your story for last, preparing himself for whatever uniform mirror pic you took (although, he secretly loved that bright ass uniform).

You posted four hours ago, grainy photo depicting you and a friend with red solo cups near your faces and white, toothy smiles shining brightly. For some odd reason, you’re wearing one of your gray cheer hoodies despite the warmth, hood barely revealing your right eye in the photo.

Jimin practically chokes, shooting up from his bed and trying so damn hard to recollect his memories before leaving the party.

“Fucking hell. Fuckfuckfuck.”

He didn’t just bump into some “classmate” wearing a hoodie, he bumped into you.

Three days. Three, unfulfilling, dreadful, and, quite expected, days since you were at Jimin’s. You patiently waited, gathering up every cell in your body and lecturing them to persevere and not force yourself back to his home in an angered blob of psychotic mess.

You went to class, you came back to your room, slept, went to cheer, and slept more. All in that order. You’d hope you would run into him at class and at least read his face, see what kind of state he was in and gather enough intel to come to some sort of conclusion—it was the uncertainty that made you nervous—but he never showed up. In your eyes, it was a simple yes or no, but it would also be wrong of you to rush a mental argument that wasn’t your own.

It worried you even more that he was skipping class because of it. Although he might not look it, he was very much into his studies and wouldn’t just play hooky out of nowhere. Which then made you wonder if there was something else that was bothering him, completely irrelevant to your own situation. Which then made you ballistic.

Maybe you were overthinking this. Maybe everything was fine and he truly just did need some time to himself and who were you to judge him for making a clear, healthy decision?

You slick your slightly sweaty hair into some abomination of a ponytail, having just gotten out of mandatory conditioning and exhausted beyond belief. It was barely reaching eight in the evening but the California sun was already set, majority of the day warmth creeping out and being replaced with a satisfying breeze.

The door squeals, Sara giving you a sympathetic smile on her way in. She knew the gist of what was going on, and you thanked the roommate process for giving you such an understanding gal that kept her “told you so” urges at bay.

“How you holding up? Did you go to cheer?” She lugs her backpack, which seems heavier than normal, upon her bed.

You shrug, “I went to cheer. I’ll probably just turn in soon.”

“That’s the thing,” she starts, unveiling a large bottle of Ciroc from her bag, “I think you should reconsider your plans for tonight.” Sighing audibly, you start to climb into bed to show your reluctance.

“Look, Sara, it’s really nice of you to—”

“No, Y/N, listen. You’ve been sitting around moping because of him and if he’s going to make you wait for his own goddamn approval then you can at least have some fun in the meantime. I even bought this extremely special bottle of vodka so we don’t have to drink cheap shit at Alpha Sig’s and—”

“You’re seriously trying to drag me to a party? Sara, I’m really not in the mood to be around drunk people and I haven’t even showered and what if Jimin texts me and I just don’t know,” you trail on and on, biting your nails out of habit and shoulders hanging in defeat.

“Hey,” your roommate coos, “don’t be such a worrywart.” She takes authority to untangle your hair from its hair-tie, smoothing it out with her own brush and braiding a random strand on the thicker side of your part line. Warning you prior, she sprits your face with some makeup-guru refresher spray and hands you her Chapstick.

“You look pretty, literally all the time. You don’t even have to change since it’s just a random party. Wear your stinky cheer hoodie and your spandex and throw on your sneakers and,” she pauses to unscrew the lid to the Ciroc, “take a swig of this and we’ll just go for a couple hours.”

Deep down, you knew she was right. You were obsessing to a whole new level and just needed to chill out. That, and you did owe her some obedience after disregarding her last warning. You brought the glass to your lips, burn barely stinging down your throat from practice (and high quality vodka) and waiting patiently as Sara touches up her own makeup. She even throws on a ratty t-shirt, presumably to make you feel better and you wanted to cry from how good of a friend she turned out to be.

“Ready?” she peeps, packing the bottle, her phone, and her wallet back into her bag.

You hesitate; what if Jimin really was going to call you tonight?

So what if he did? You can’t wait around like his dog, at his beck and call only when he deems it “time”. To hell with that, you were still your own person and if worse comes to worse, you’d get back to him when you’re free.

“Ready.”

You’re fuzzy by the time you get to the Alpha Sigma house, Sara dedicating her night as DD and stopping you after another two shots in the car. You’re both flurried with greetings all the way to the kitchen, some faces you even recognize from cheer and you laugh at the irony of it all. Even Suzy was here, slinging her arm around your shoulders and sloshing some of her beer onto your hoodie.

“Shit, sorry. I think I filled this cup way too much. Wanna half it with me? ‘S just beer,” she giggles, dumping half of it somewhat messily into another solo cup and handing it to you before you can even nod.

“Are you ‘kay? By the way? Seem sad at practice,” Suzy pouts, sipping on the beer and scrunching her nose from its bitter taste.

You snort, “I’m fine. Just some boy problems, I guess. I don’t really know if this guy likes me or not? I mean, he does, but I don’t know. I’m rambling,” you awkwardly laugh. Suzy doesn’t mind one bit, hanging onto every incoherent word with a look of suspicion.

“Y/N, everyone likes you! You just need to bite back, you know? Guys don’t like apples they can pick from the ground, they like the ones in the trees!”

“… Wait, what?”

“I think she means that if you make him work for you, he’ll be more interested than someone who’s just pining after him,” Sara translates, obviously very entertained by two drunk girls trying to solve a problem.

“Yeah! That’s what I said,” Suzy pouts, “Anyway, gimme your phone!”

You don’t know why but you do. Why are you always giving people your phone without asking why they need it first? She goes straight for Snapchat, reaching the phone around your face again and posing with her beer; you do the same, replacing most of your face with your cup.

“No,” she whines, “you have to show how pretty you look and how much fun you’re having so he gets interested in what you’re doing.” You try again, cup below your lips as you flash a bright smile, one that reaches your eyes. In the midst of it all, the camera shutters and you and Suzy study it.

Perhaps it was from the drinks, but you glow in the picture with a reddened nose and your hoodie covering one of your eyes, the motion in the shot giving it character. You looked like the epitome of fun.

“This one’s perfect,” Suzy says, typing in a flurry of horrendous emojis as the caption and sending it to your story. “You’ll hear from him in no time,” she assures.

The rest of the night goes as planned, beer pong and dancing and holding Suzy’s hair as she dry heaves into the toilet but going for another round when nothing comes up. You feel relieved for the first time this week, actually.

Eventually, you lose Sara in the crowd so you venture around by yourself, talking to a few acquainted faces and finally settling in a corner of the living room for a quick breather. Pulling out your phone, a flash of mint crosses the horizon and a sense of familiarity piques your interest. Locking eyes on the source, you find Yoongi sitting on the couch opposite of you, completely absorbed in a conversation with some petite girl with various piercings sprawled on his lap. Your stomach clenches.

If Yoongi was here, there was a large chance Jimin was, right? Instead of asking him, you scramble to get as far away from his presence as possible, tripping over chairs and a coffee table and rugs until you round a corner as quickly as possible and—

“Ah,” a voice grunts, thumping back into the nearby wall from the collision.

“I-I’m sorry, are you okay?” you mumble, pulling your hoodie back on for safety and making eye contact with the man’s open fly. He just throws up a thumbs-up as response, far too drunk to pull together a sentence, let alone an apology.

You realize, now, that this man wears all-black, smelling of cigarette smoke and a little of women’s perfume, and your heart plunges when you see Jimin’s profile as he maneuvers his way past you.

You worried for days on end about him, and he was just partying? Was he fucking joking? He didn’t even recognize you, he was so plastered.

Slumping your back against the same wall, your brain is surprisingly calmer than you expect. You couldn’t judge him when you were at the same party, he probably needed to let loose too.

“Jennie! Where the hell did you go? I’ve been lookin’ for you for, like, twenty minutes!”

Suddenly sensitive to the overall volume of the party and obnoxious girls, you start to turn to find Sara.

“Chill out, Em. Was trying out that new transfer student for a ride,” her saccharine voice purrs. You whip your head in horror.

“He was fun, sure as hell lived up to the expectations,” she continues.

“No shit, you were with Park Jimin?” her friend, supposedly Em, squeals.

You don’t hear Jennie’s answer, tears stinging hot down your cheeks and legs wobbly as you search the downstairs for Sara. She takes you home without asking what happened.

It was a lot better than you thought it was going to be.

The pain, you mean. And the small dosage of utter humiliation that followed the next day. It wasn’t even that big of a deal once you thought about the Grand Scheme of Things; you got rejected, in a shitty way sure, but it was just a rejection. You knew that eventually you would move on once your classes switched and you would hear about Jimin way less and you’d find someone else to focus your attention on and all would be numb and forgotten.

Sara prodded for an explanation, knowing there was some sort of trigger to cause you to sob on her shoulder in drunken defeat and tearing her away from the party before it was even close to being over. For majority of her questions, you dodged them entirely and instead apologized for the nuisance you caused her. And in all honesty, you weren’t quite sure if you could handle trying to break down and reimagine the events that occurred that night. It would be agonizing.

But it was a lot better than you thought it was going to be.

She left you after a while, having her own life to deal with and albeit, school. Today left a great opportunity for you to catch up on some studying for midterms, contemplating popping (a healthy intake of) Adderall but forcing yourself to focus by your own will. You got a lot finished, feeling refreshed and fully capable by 5PM.

Then you got antsy. For once, cheer wasn’t on the schedule and as much as you should rejoice in your occasional freedom, you feel the need to run. Drain the excess stress and energy you have by a quick pop-in at the gym.

Deciding for it, you jump out of bed and aggressively chuck on your sneakers—the same ones you wore last night. Hell, you didn’t even change from last night, wearing the same hoodie and shorts that you had worn to cheer yesterday. You were absolutely disgusting.

You leave everything but your keys, deciding you didn’t want any distractions or had a need to bring anything else because all you could think about was to runrunrun. You even run down the hallways, zipping down the stairs and bursting through the doors like some sort of madwoman. Stopping a few feet outside, it’s the first time you’ve really looked, nonetheless been, outside today. It surprises you more than anything that it’s raining of all things, droplets big and heavy and creating dark spots on your grey sweatshirt.

“Tough luck in sunny-ass California, eh?” you ask yourself. It wasn’t as rare of an occurrence in the northern half, but the irony of it all really put a damper on things. You abruptly realize that you stand in it for quite some time, letting the fat drops soak your shoulders and the humidity make your skin sticky.

From someone else’s view, this was probably some dramatic moment for the protagonist to break down crying and the love interest, in this case it was asshole-Jimin, would unexpectedly pop out of nowhere to dry their tears. But you weren’t crying and this wasn’t some poorly filmed soap opera. Jimin wouldn’t come begging for your forgiveness and you would just get wet from the rain out of spite, and maybe because you’re a little dumb.

Actually, you thought, this is a whole lot worse.

Then, you’re fucking angry. Your feet move before you can properly deduct your best options, carrying you the total opposite way from the gym. You even go as far as to jog, rounding corners without slowing and completely leaving the campus, hoping you remembered the directions right.

To hell with what Jimin thinks. If he’s too coward to face you, then you’ll do the damn thing yourself.

One, two, three houses down. You don’t even really know where you’re going, reversing a few steps and rerouting down different blocks and while getting completely drenched by the rain. Was it hailing now? Not possible.

You’re honestly about to give up before you see that goddamned mint-colored head poking out from a porch, a small dot of orange extending from his lips and you have the urge to rip the cig from his mouth and chuck it. So when you get close enough, you do.

“What the hell?” but he only eyes you with indifference. He kinda reminds you of a cat.

“Is he home?” Yoongi nods, face only lifting in recognition once he makes contact with the cheer hoodie.

“Great,” you smile, shoving past him and through the open front door. You don’t know why the hell Yoongi is smoking outside in the first place, because the whole house reeks and is hazy beyond belief. But when your eyes land on him, you see clear as day.

Jimin has a cigarette of his own drooping from his lips, nearly spitting it out when he stumbles to stand straight in front of you.

“Y-Y/N, what’re you doing here? What the hell happened?”

You don’t understand the entirety of his second question until you hear the tiniest of droplets on his hardwood floors, quickly examining the damage in which how wet you were, then totally disregarding it altogether. You probably looked feral with second day clothes, puffy red eyes and a tangled mop in exchange of hair, but at this point, you didn’t give two damns.

“Give me time? ‘Give me time’? What kind of pathetic excuse is that? How completely dense do you have to be to not even have the strength to tell me the truth? You win, Jimin, I’m not your type nor am I as hot and ready as Jennie, okay? If I’m too much of this preppy bitch you constantly view in your eyes, then leave me the fuck alone! Continue to dangle yourself in front of every girl’s hungry face, for all I care. Just don’t act like you care when you lack any human emotion thereof and don’t,” you snap your arm away when he reaches for it, “include me in this little circus act of yours anymore.”

You come up for air, running your hands through your soaked locks and laughing like some sort of psycho. For the first time today, the weight that lingered on your chest is lifted. This was, like, some enlightenment type shit.

Jimin looks like he’s on the verge of crying or slapping you across the face, if the two could relate somehow. He knew this would happen sooner or later, drowning himself in packs of Marlboro’s to ease the guilt from his mind. Even worse, seeing you in person and seeing you so filled with hatred was making him fall even more in love with you, if it was possible. His thoughts were facetious, wanting nothing more than to engulf you in his arms and keep you here, with him. It was a little late for that.

You pipe up again only to die down, eyebrows knit together in concentration of what your next move was. Instead, you let your true emotions show in hopes that it kills him. You let your tears fall for the first time that day, lips pressed hard into a line and sighing so slow that your breath shakes. Seeing you like this made Jimin’s stomach plummet.

“You’re not my type either,” you whisper, expecting some sort of response or outburst or at least a fucking attempt of an explanation from him. But you don’t wait forever and you show yourself out the door.

You were pretty good at this whole ignoring game, he had to admit. Only after a certain amount of phone calls, voicemails, and texts (12, 3, and 8, by the way) did you finally go through with blocking his number entirely. You would sit on the exact opposite side of the lecture hall, surrounding yourself with occupied seats so he couldn’t just sit next to you, and practically dodging bodies to leave before he could catch up. He stopped trying that approach when he made accidental eye contact with you during class, eyes filled to the brim in pain and regret and longing to turn back the clock so you wouldn’t have to suffer because of him, it made him sick.

Jimin starts his walk home, had finished utilizing one of the lounges to study for a few hours. Like always, he beelines around the stadium to get to one of the main streets, passing by different athletic groups on the track.

He even sees you on the turf, practicing tumbling passes with the rest of the team, smile plastered on your face when your one friend… Kook, talks to you on the sideline. His heart wrenches, haven’t seen that smile in days. Trying his luck, he jumps over the dividing gate and walks down the track to your area.

You see him eventually, mumbling curses and cowering behind Jungkook even though he can’t completely hide you.

“What the—what’s wrong?”

“It’s him. I don’t want to talk to him,” you whimper, hating confrontation and hating lies even more so. Jungkook grips your shoulders, giving them a squeeze and showing an easing smile.

“I’ll take care of it. Go get some water from your bag,” he assures. You feel like crying for the rare occasion that your teammate, as stubborn as he was, would stick up for you in a time of need, nodding obediently and scurrying off to find your duffel.

Jungkook turns, his best look of intimidation etched onto his toned features and crossing his muscular arms for effect as Jimin walks up.

“I really need to talk to her. I’m not trying to hurt her, just want to clear up some things,” is all Jimin says, overlooking his opponents battle stance.

“We’re in the middle of practice right now. Cheer squad members only. Get lost,” Jungkook growls. Jimin rolls his eyes, ignoring Jungkook’s warning and trying to maneuver around him, instead being met with his beefy shoulder and a final glare of warning, “I said, get lost.”

Without thinking, Jimin rolls up his sleeves, tongue-in-cheek, ready to force his way through and teach this kid to live up to his word. But your eyes meet Jimin’s, worry for your friend apparent and willing an awkward encounter if it means it’ll protect Jungkook. Jimin sighs, backing down immediately and nodding.

“Please, just tell her to give me a call, at least. Sorry for interrupting.”

Jungkook can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy, waiting until Jimin starts heading back until he calls out, “I will,” and giving him a hard but assertive smile. Jimin wouldn’t be trying so hard to reach out to you unless he really had a reason to.

“What did he say? He looked like he was about to kick your ass,” you prod, searching your teammates for any hint of reaction. He simply shrugs.

“He just requested to talk to you. He wasn’t really being an ass or anything. Actually, just being a little desperate. Are you sure you don’t want to hear what he has to say?” Jungkook asks. He was all for protecting you and valuing your wants more than anything, but he knows from personal experience that guys never try that hard unless they really have the hots for someone.

You worry your bottom lip with your teeth. Deep down, you really wanted to hear him out, hope it was all just a poorly-timed misunderstanding and have him tell you that you were what he really wanted. But then you remembered how unsurprised Yoongi was when he took yet another girl home, and how Jimin flat-out ignored you for days, and that god-awful Jennie that was literal walking evidence of your worst concern.

“No, I don’t want to hear anything he has to say,” you conclude.

Over the weekend, Jimin finds himself stuck in the dance studio for hours, working out all the stress he’s accumulated over this whole thing. He doesn’t even know if he’ll get over it as long as he stays here, contemplating dropping school altogether and going back home to Korea. He shoos away the thought as quickly as it comes, he was just being dramatic.

His muscles heave with every move, exhausted and overworked, yet he perseveres. His limbs beg him to stop, but he pushes himself even harder. Dripping sweat, his toe catches on his other foot and stumbles, floor coming so fast that only his elbows are able to catch the fall in time. The impact shakes his bones and makes him cry out in frustration, but he’s fine otherwise. Jimin rolls onto his back, a bubbling anger rising and tempting him to smash every mirror in this studio that reflects his pathetic self and his pathetic actions that haunt him like an ugly scar. Your face flashes in his mind, some odd sleepless-inducing mirage laughing at him.

He calms.

Flinging his bag over his shoulder, he practically forces himself to leave. More than anything, he needed to sleep and focus on finals that were this following week, not worry about some girl that didn’t even want to talk to him.

On his way, he sees Yoongi’s hair on the opposite side of the quad, coffee in hand and face contorted into a rare smile as he talks to some girl. Jimin, the cockblock that he was, changes his course in hopes of bribing his hyung to take him home.

Jimin didn’t have the sharpest of sight per se but he could pick your face from a crowd in seconds, that same face laughing and smiling at his roommate like you two were best friends now. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion or the utter shock, but he spins right back around and opts to walk home without another thought. 

When he gets home, he patiently waits for Yoongi, building a script in his head of the calm questions he’ll ask that will shed some light on what he could possibly be talking to you about. Yoongi was an attractive male himself, and surely wouldn’t give a shit about taking Jimin’s love interest for his own.

The door squeaks open after a short while, Yoongi muttering a short, “I’m home,” and treading to the kitchen. Jimin pops up from the couch and follows him, waiting for Yoongi to stick his head back out from the fridge.

“Shit, dude,” Yoongi jumps at Jimin’s sudden appearance, “prima ballerina is light on his toes.”

“What were you doing talking to Y/N,” Jimin asks without hesitation. Yoongi stares him down, amusement drawn on his face.

“What, are you stalking her now?”

Jimin’s eye twitches, “And are you suddenly interested in cheerleaders now, too? Just tell me what you guys were talking about!” It takes all of his patience to not unleash his pent-up anger on his hyung, knuckles turning white from squeezing his fists.

Yoongi leans against the counter, “Chill. I don’t like her. Accidentally bumped into her, quite literally, and got caught in a conversation.” Jimin internally chuckles, you were so goddamn clumsy.

“You should talk to her, no matter what,” he continues, “I think she’s really hurt right now but she’ll let you soon I bet.”

Jimin wondered if that was true.

Minthead’s words bounced around in your skull. They had been bouncing around throughout the week, even following up to your psych final. You took Friday’s final opening as there were too many students in the class for the professor to monitor and, honestly, it gave you more time to procrastinate on studying. Not that it mattered, you couldn’t focus anyway.

What you didn’t find surprising, no thanks to Lady Luck, was that Jimin picked the same day as you. He waved and smiled upon seeing your arrival, in which you rolled your eyes and sat near the back corner. Jimin, having enough of this game, collects his things and travels all the way across the lecture hall to plop down two seats away from you.

“Cheating, are we, Mister Park?” the professor eyes him with suspicion worn down with fatigue.

“N-No, sir.” Jimin clears his throat, whispering to you without his notice, “Look, we need to talk. I’m not letting you leave until you hear what I have to tell you.”

“Oh, so you’re blackmailing me now?” you spit.

“Don’t be stubborn. You don’t have to forgive me, you just need to hear my side of the story so we can both feel at ease,” he chooses his next words carefully, “although, I don’t want you to hate me, if I can help it.”

“No more talking, turn in your packet in the front when you’re done. You may leave when you’re finished,” the professor instructs, handing you both your finals.

You don’t look at Jimin for the remainder of the hour, focusing on the questions as hard as you can with a lingering indecisiveness nagging you in the back of your skull. How could you trust what Yoongi told you? What if Jimin was behind all of what he said in order for you to just be wrapped around his finger again? You were just starting to feel better, back to normal, even.

When you’re finished, you round up your stuff and submit your final. You don’t look where he’s sitting when you exit the hall, but you know he’s watching you leave. The doors shut quietly behind you and your brain fights to come to a decision.

“Forget it,” you mumble, feeling defeated and walking towards the quad.

It takes Jimin an extra 15 minutes to finish writing his answers, his mind whirring and cursing himself for taking so goddamn long, but how was he supposed to focus? Not when you completed it so early and probably left ahead of him. He all but jogs out, looking down each side of the hallway to look for you. He’s not surprised that you didn’t wait.

“Dammit!” he grunts, punching a decent-sized dent in the drywall. People around eye him, whispering words of concern and fear but he doesn’t care. Just paces outside as fast as he can to avoid familiar faces or staff.

“Jimin? Geez, dude, you look like a raging bull,” you call out to him, stepping away from a nearby bench and catching up to his angered frame.

“Y/N? I thought you left,” he exhales with relief, rubbing his bruising knuckles in his other hand, “Does this mean that you’ll talk to me?”

You shrug, eyes catching on his small injury, “I, uh, yeah. What happened? Are you okay?” You pull his hand towards you, brushing away debris from the wall and examining the damage, eyebrows knit in caring concern.

His heart races, how could you possibly touch him right now? How could you prioritize his wellbeing when he’s hurt you so badly? Pulling his arm away, he nods his head towards the bench you came from, “Wanna sit? I’ll make it quick, if I’m interrupting you.”

When you take a seat, several inches away from him for safe measure, you finally get a good look at Jimin for the first time in days. His hair stuck up in every direction and looked slick from grease, his normally dewy complexion pale and dull, and even more, reeking of cigarette smoke. He looked like hell, and even though you shouldn’t, you feel victorious in some way.

“I’m just going to cut to the chase,” he starts, “I get bored of girls really easily. I don’t like being obligated to a relationship because they’re totally bullshit most of the time. And I don’t have the patience for one single person.”

“Great, thanks, Jimin. I’m leaving now,” you say with a sarcastic laugh, starting to stand up until he grabs your wrist.

“But there’s something so different about you. I can’t get you out of my head. You’re pretty, fuck, you’re gorgeous. More than that, you’re strong and smart and not afraid to raise your voice and you’re not this overly-optimistic person but everything you touch is just suddenly so much better and I truly felt like you were doing that to me. You were making me better and pushing me to do what I love and all the more I fell in love with you along the way, but I was scared.” His leg shakes more and more as he continues and you can’t help but stare at his nervous antic.

“I tried so many times to forget you, to convince myself that this was just some,” he whirls his hands in the air, “phase, or something. But it just felt so wrong and I regret ever trying to attempt to do so. But I want to change, I want to love you and I want you to forgive me.”

“That’s a lot to ask for, Jimin. It’s a little too late for that,” you say, voice wavering. You wish you could punch yourself for being so weak in front of him. Or, even better, you could punch him.

“Too late? It’s not too late, baby. Let me show you how good I can be for you. You’re talking about the party, right? And the girl? That was nothing.”

You wince at his nonchalance, “Perhaps it’s nothing to you, Jimin, but the last thing I was expecting was for you to run off and fuck some sorority girl when you were so confused about me. That’s not how this works.”

He looks appalled, “What? You think I fucked someone?”

“I know you did. Some girl stumbling down the same time you did said so when she was talking to the rest of her Jimin fanclub,” you spit. This is where the real test came in.

“I didn’t—no. I didn’t screw anyone that night, oh my god. That’s why you’re so mad at me,” he ruffles his hair, completely dumbfounded, “Okay. I’m going to tell you the truth. I was with that girl, and I was intending to…” Your heart wrenches.

“But I didn’t! We made out a little but it was so wrong so I left before anything real happened and it was really my ah-ha moment that I wouldn’t ever be happy unless it was with you, Y/N. I mean it.”

“How do I know to take your word over hers? If I were to forgive you, how do I know that you won’t do anything stupid again?”

“Unfortunately, you don’t know. I wish I could provide evidence somehow, anything that would ease your mind. All I can ask for is just one more chance and promise you that it’s all I’ll ever need. Take all the time you need to be comfortable with me again, break my heart, literally give me a stick-and-poke of your own name, I don’t care.”

You laugh a little at his exclamation, the air lightening up enough for Jimin to grab your hand with courage. Squeezing a little, you look at him sternly before wriggling your hand out of his grasp.

“I don’t want to get hurt again. I don’t give anyone second chances. It just makes what they did to me okay, and it’s not okay even if you didn’t go all the way. You still hurt me, Jimin.”

His face droops with melancholy, “It’s not okay, it’s not okay at all. But—Y/N. Please. Just make one exception…”

“I—” your eyes well with tears, again, “I don’t know Jimin. I want to but I’m just not sure.” Your flight responses kick in and you hop off the bench.

“I have to go. I have to get to practice and there’s a performance at halftime tomorrow and I just don’t have time for… this.”

“I’m sorry, I promise I won’t bug you anymore but please just think about it. About me.”

You nod and smile feebly, forcing your body away from him as fast as you could without sprinting. You didn’t even have practice for another hour and you’re sure Jimin knew that, but it would only be moments before you dove into his chest and thanked him for coming back, and you didn’t want to be so weak.

Assuring yourself that you’re just overwhelmed and possibly overthinking, you opt to head to the gym, despite being an hour early.  

Suzy somehow convinces you to sit out for the game until performance at halftime, not taking your arguments as valid and forcing you to sit under the cheer tent, arms crossed in bitterness. Here you were, now forced to think about all that’s happened while Jungkook bases Nani out of all girls. You didn’t have a problem with her, but Jungkook was your base goddammit.

“Jimin really likes you, and I can vouch for him that he didn’t do anything with Jennie that night. Unfortunately, because of you, he hasn’t been able to do anything. Never brings girls home anymore, hasn’t smoked until just recently. Even told me that he’s into dancing? ‘S weird,” Yoongi chuckled. You laugh with him, unaware that Yoongi has any expression aside from cynical indifference.

“Why are you telling me this?” As much as you appreciated his concern, why the hell did he care?

“Because all he fucking talks about is you. How pretty you are and how he was going to ask you out to a movie and how cute you eat your food? So gross, just give him a pair of used panties already,” he scrutinized.

“He can’t seem to get out of this rut, either. I’m guessing it’s because you’re pretty mad at him,” he admits after a while.

The words play in your head like a broken record, eventually giving you a gnarly headache. You were sure he was telling the truth; intentionally scheming with Yoongi to not tell Jimin of your meeting, hoping both of their stories aligned completely parallel. Jimin even told you things he didn’t need to, things Yoongi left out.

So why were you hesitating?

“Y/N! Time to shine, lazyass. Start stretching,” Jungkook yells, shaking you out of your thoughts. You do as you’re told, stretching briefly while the clock gets closer and closer to halftime. It sounds with a loud, obnoxious tone, and you run out with the rest of the team and the marching band when the football players clear the field.

The rest passes as it always does, your mind fogging out the routine having done it so many times. Suzy calls, Jungkook throws, the band plays alongside and you subconsciously follow along to the counts playing in your head.

Then, the crowd just stops cheering. You all continue, trained to push through no matter the distraction until a horrendous screech fills the stadium, the scoreboard glitching until it switches input to a live broadcast.

Losing your balance and doing the absolute opposite of what flyers should do, you crumple and reach forward to break your fall. You don’t know how, but Jungkook shoves your feet back just in time to bear-hug your waist, preventing an ugly face-plant with the ground.

“Thanks,” you heave, “What the hell is going on?”

“Probably some frat idiot prank, do you think we should just get off the field?”

“Shut it, look,” Suzy interrupts.

“Uhh, I don’t know if this is working,” a voice booms through the stadium, video focusing on some guy in a hoodie as people in the distance struggle to keep people, presumably staff, into the announcing room.

“Oh my fucking god, that’s Jimin,” you whisper, catching Jungkook’s wheeze of surprise with a mutual look of chaos.

“I don’t know how long I’ll have before I gotta skedaddle but here I go: Y/N, the one on the cheer squad preferably, I have severely fucked up. I underestimated you but you were never wrong about me because I am a total asswipe. But I want to prove that you’ve changed me and I want to be your boyfriend and always take half of your portions of food and criticize the American government,” someone yells fuck the government! in the distance to this, “and dance for you and hell, baby, I’ll dance for you and—oh shit.”

There’s a ripple of giggles and whoops throughout the crowd as Jimin darts past someone that attempts to contain him, briefly showing an exasperated face before they switch the scoreboard back to its numbery self.

“I don’t ever think I’d see the day Park Jimin would ever confess his feelings… to a cheerleader… at a televised game,” Suzy speaks between cackling. This would have been mortifying if it weren’t so utterly amusing; your cheeks straining from how hard you’re smiling. Jimin was an exceptional son-of-a-bitch, but there wasn’t really much wrong with letting your naivete get the best of you. If you gave up on every person that caused you trouble, how would you ever know what unconditional love feels like? Because you were pretty damn sure this was it and you didn’t want to give it up.

You love Jimin.

“Oh, here he comes,” Jungkook informs. You both watch as Jimin sprints onto the field, scouting for your eyes among everyone else’s and screeching to a halt in front of you with a shit-eating grin.

“Okay, what’s your answer? Because honestly, we’re not each other’s type at all appearance-wise but I can’t imagine being with anyone else at this dreaded school and if I get suspended without getting something out of this then—”

“Oh my god, Jimin, just shut the hell up, okay? You win,” you roll your eyes and wipe that stupid smile off with a caress to his sweaty face and a planted kiss on his lips. Jimin’s insides explode, either from the kiss or the incredible 4k he just sprinted but nonetheless he’s so fucking in love.

He lifts you off your feet, hugging the remainder of air out of your body and making you squeal.

“I love you, I love you, and I’m so sorry,” he repeats like a mantra, those beloved puppy dog eyes brimming with flickering adoration and regret and relief all at once.

“I—I forgive you. Really, I do. I love you, even if you make me want to shove a pom-pom down your throat,” you cry in happiness. He kisses you one more time, quick but piercing and so right.

The crowd cheers as they watch the display, and oh bologna when you signed up to be a cheerleader you didn’t think you’d catch this much attention, and even more so when Yoongi suddenly runs over with a wireless mic in hand.

“Before we get back to your soccer game, can you just clarify to the audience what you said to this little outburst right here?” He announces with deadpan enthusiasm. You knew that he secretly enjoyed this commotion, probably reveling in it like some odd middle-man that liked to watch his friend’s problems go up in flames.

You hesitantly take the mic, “Yeah, um, I said yes. I said yes and I might be making a mistake but yeah he’s taken, I’m sorry ladies.” What kind of crappily scripted teen movie was this?

You start to hand the mic back to Yoongs, but Jimin snags it and adds a quick, “Uhh last words: Fuck you Jennie, you lying bitch! ‘Kay, enjoy your game.” You choke at the exclamation.

“… Too soon?” You dramatically shrug and make a just a little sign with a pinched thumb and index.

“Jimin, how much did you have to drink to do all this?”

“A little shot for courage is nothing, babe. Oh—evening kind sirs!” Three older, and visibly agitated, teachers grab Jimin by the arm. “I’ll be back, hopefully, I’ll wait for you after the game!”

Waving him off, you return to the sideline before the pack of oblivious football players maul you. You watched his pink mop bob off into the distance, Yoongi soon accompanying him with the rest of his hooligans as they’re scrutinized by the teachers. Chuckling, you ponder how long a relationship you two could pull off, a small part of you hoping it’s deeper than calf love, and a larger bit knowing it is.

a/n: yay! you made it! if you liked it, feel free to let me know or ask any questions to the characters! xx, poppy

[rarestereocats]

The next day is upon us and it's time to go over our plan for the prison break.  Me and Owkbanok will have to cause a scene in town to get ourselves arrested so we can make some new friends while on the inside.  Amelia will have to go under disguise as a guard getting transferred to this prison for training and TT was to join her,  but she doesn't feel comfortable being seen as she's worried somebody will notice her slave markings.  So she opts to join Amelia while under a shroud of invisibility.  It's a good plan,  we all think as we look over the map I made.  Nothing could ever go wrong,  we say as we begin preparations of all kinds.  Owkbanok goes to ask grumpy ol' Julius if he can forge some work papers,  telling him to put Amelia's name down as "Beatrice Dindel",  and with such a beautiful name;  she's gonna need a fitting hair color as well.

She makes the mistake of coming to me and I'm still a little tilted about how snippy she got with me the other day,  so after the dye job's finished,  she gets to look upon her hair in horror as it's the color of split pea soup after somebody had a hard night of drinking.  She goes to punch me,  but hits her mirror instead,  giving her 7 years of bad luck as it shatters and sealing our fates with this plan.  Meanwhile,  TT argues with Julius as she tries to collect the work papers because as per usual,  Julius has a little 'tude because the man's got a problem with the youngsters.  I'm starting to think there's some deep-rooted trauma there,  but with me being busy avoiding Amelia's fury,  I can't ruthlessly mock him over it.  Eventually Owkbanok stumbles into the situation and gets the papers,  leaving TT to go gather some smoke sticks from Nathan so we have cover once the rioting begins.  I go ahead and pack some of mine and Owk's gear onto Cayde,  then use magic to turn him into a tiny,  stone figurine.

We'll need all this shit on the inside,  so I cut a wound into my arm and jam the figurine in there,  stitching and bandaging it up afterwards.  With everything in place,  we go over the plan one more time.  Once me and Owk get arrested,  Amelia will arrive to the prison in the next day or two for "work",  and shortly after that;  it'll be breakout time.  With that,  me and Owk head out to pretend to rob a jewelry store.  Our false heist is an absolute shitshow,  which is a good indicator on how the rest of the plan is gonna go,  but we choose to ignore that red flag.  I bite at the guard to distract him,  Owk murders the shopkeeper when she goes to run,  and with the guard turning his sights on a murderer and a crowd gathering;  I turn to the people,  rushing into them while screaming in abyssal with blood all over my mouth.  They all scatter in terror,  giving me a good eye on the guards that are approaching.  So as Owk's apprehended,  I give everyone a run for their money and bolt through the alleys.

After I feel the chase is sufficient enough,  I allow them to arrest me and they throw us both on the back of a horse and lead us away.  Once there,  we're stripped down and given bright,  red uniforms and led off to separate interrogation rooms afterwards.  They ask us where we came from,  what our names are,  but don't buy any of the bullshit ;  which is fair considering we look like hardened criminals.  They're able to figure out we're pirates and demand to know a ship name,  but neither me nor Owk sell our people out,  even when the guards resort to violence.  While Owk gets stabbed a few times,  my guard notices my wound and with her zone of truth cast over me,  I can't lie and say it was an animal attack or random stabbing.  So I opt to remain silent until she cuts it open and removes the figurine.  As predicted from the day's earlier events,  our plan is beginning to unravel,  so I utter the command word to bring Cayde back to life and go toe-to-toe with this guard long enough to get the door open so Cayde can escape and alert the others.

Once he's gone,  I'm put under a charm spell and knocked out,  waking up in solitary confinement while Owk gets comfortable with his new roommate.  A half-elf named Farage,  who has an affinity for arson.  Perfect buddies in the making there,  but nothing more as he's too ugly for Owk's taste.  While I spend the next hours of my life shoved into a cold ass room and falling ill;  he continues to make friends,  so at least that part of the plan wasn't a total loss.  Cayde makes it back to the ship,  which tells Amelia and TT everything they need to know.  While they wanted to wait two days to give us time to gather up a potential crew,  they know they can't wait that long.  Come morning,  TT gathers our gear off of Cayde and orders the captain to take care of him in her stead.  Amelia and her head off to the prison with the second act of our plan now in motion and as the prison's magic metal detector goes off,  TT uses this moment to slip in while she's invisible.  Amelia nearly gets herself arrested as the guards realize her work papers are fake,  but she quickly tells them she lost the originals and didn't want to show up without anything as that wouldn't make a good first impression.

They buy that shit,  confiscate her booze and her boot knife before getting her properly outfitted.  It's then she's given a tour of the prison and told some of the protocol,  passing me and Owk on the way,  which helps ease our worries about the plan totally falling apart.  Amelia takes my misery as a chance to bully me as revenge for her hair,  but of course,  I easily turn the tables against her when I call her Hagatha.  TT is privvy to juicy gossip as Amelia yells "fuck you" at me and I simply respond with,  "You already have!  T w i c e.".  With that,  Amelia storms off,  TT leaving me a message on the glass to let me know Cayde made it back to the ship safely.  The two of them part ways as Amelia continues shadowing guards for the day and TT goes into the yard to search for anything that could help release prisoners at one time easily.  But the guard dogs notice her despite her invisibility,  so she tries to scale the prison until one guard dispels her cover.  It's too dangerous to keep going,  so she uses her grappling hook to swing over the wall and out of this place,  taking time to get back under her shroud before she climbs back inside to catch up with the rest of us.

But in that time,  I grow tired of solitary,  so when a guard comes to collect my food tray,  I play dead.  He falls for it long enough,  making the mistake of leaving the door open as he steps inside and I immediately bite into his leg.  I don't give this man a chance to breathe as I summon three dogs in the cell to distract him while I rush out of the room.  Sirens are blaring and guards are running about like chickens with their heads cut off,  but I manage to avoid them all as I sneak through the prison.  I'm a battered tiefling right now,  okay?  Self-preservation is in overdrive,  so with a proper distraction,  Amelia unlocks Owk's cell and tells him and Farage to get some keys and help her release the prisoners.  They manage to free a lot of them who seem eager to join our crew,  some of them taking off out of the prison once they have a ship name,  but some of them stick behind to cause some mayhem.  Fireballs are bursting everywhere,  TT is setting fire to the third floor to destroy the prisoner records,  and I manage to move the riot outside and give myself enough cover to climb the fence and crawl through some barbed wire to my freedom.

TT and Amelia meet up while Owk leads another group of prisoners out,  both of them heading the wrong way and heading out into the yard.  The riot out there didn't go so well on either end as guards and prisoners lie dead in the grass.  Amelia raises a few exploding zombies from the pile of bodies,  ordering them to finish off the remaining guards as her and TT slip out a side door.  Eventually we're all reunited and thankful to see each other alive.  We cast once last glance at the prison as the corpses give it an explosive finale,  which delights our herd of fugitives.  All of them are now chanting Amelia's new nickname gleefully.  Pukehead,  Pukehead,  Pukehead!  The four of us are buried in this crowd which is good for us as the chaos is far from over and we still have a ways to go before we're back on the ship.

[josuezhbe410]

Does This Flag Look Boiling To You? It Ought to

While the legend could have appeared around 1500, there might be proof that a red flag with a white cross was being used by the Danish since around 1340 – 1370. The Dannebrog is shown in a Gelre Armorial from round this time alongside the coat of arms of the King of Denmark on the time. The two ultramarine bands on either side of the flag of Barbados symbolize the seas surrounding the island.

The Malian and French flags, which marked the road scene on that day, articulated a multiplicity of emotions, ideological convictions, and media response patterns. Crucially, they also pointed to the absence of the banners launched by the Islamist groups when their convoys arrived. In Timbuktu’s public sphere and in world media stories about the French intervention, the Islamist symbols were changed by the color games of acknowledged nation-states. The patchy quality of the Tricolour in Penney’s photographs of Douentza follows an extended custom of depicting flags in an imperfect, unfinished, or worn out state. This kind of picture may be discovered within the iconography of battles and revolutions, where banners and flags are shown captured, defended, or within the possession of a victorious enemy. Particularly within the United States, the picture of the torn and tattered Stars and Stripes has been a preferred motif since no less than the Civil War.

You can learn a lot a couple of country’s historical past by trying on the changes that have been made – and this is very true with countries that gained their independence relatively just lately. Vietnam – The pink background on the Vietnamese national flag represents the blood lost in the course of the struggle as Vietnam fought for independence. The yellow stars characteristic 5 points which represents the importance of socialism amongst the 5 key bodies of unions.

This Nation Is Known For Its Cigars And Is Situated In The Caribbean Sea, Just Below The Us

The Australian flag features a Union Flag within the upper left nook, which signifies its colonization by the British. Just underneath the Union Flag is a seven-pointed star — the star of federation — representing every of the country’s six states and one level for its territories. The proper half of the flag options the Southern Cross constellation, which is visible from each Australian state and territory. The symbol of the double-headed eagle was re-used by Albanian nationalists through the late 19th and early twentieth centuries as an emblem of their marketing campaign for his or her nation's independence from the Ottoman Empire.

B. Eustis, the primary American ambassador to France; such philanthropists as John McDonogh and Judah Touro. Many of the West Florida revolutionists were English loyalists who had fled to that province in the course of the Revolution, but who preferred American rule to Spanish. With the “lone star” flag we associate Philemon Thomas, of course, who later entered the State legislature, and commanded the Baton Rouge militia at the battle of New Orleans. John Rhea, Fulwar Skipwith and different members of this revolutionary party were the ancestors of many prominent Louisianians of at present.

The flag of Bangladesh is a green banner with a purple sun within the middle.

In the coat of arms of the Seal of Treasure is a logo of a lion defending the red-colored Phrygian hat and a strip of ‘Paz y Justica’, the nationwide motto of the country, which implies peace and justice.

The reason for his or her similarity is that both nations were as soon as united within the very short-lived "United Central American States".

The tricolor flag has been used and disused a number of times all through Russia’s history and was finally restored in 1993. It started out with horizontal Orange-White-Blue stripes however the orange dye would fade into purple on sailing ships. The Crescent and Star of Pakistan's flag are supposed to characterize the country’s massive Muslin population and the various minority religions that exist there.

As many can probably imagine, this sparked fairly a debate over whether or not or not this flag should be changed. This explicit flag was solely adopted in 2012, or somewhat, it was in 2012 that it was modified. Previously, this flag had the symbols of communism - the hammer and sickle in addition to the communist red star - on it. This flag is also fairly unique, particularly when compared to the extremely in style tricolors. This flag consists of a gold Nordic cross on a blue background.

Flag Of Mongolia

The flag of Monaco is based on the heraldic colour found on the princely arms of the defend of Monegasque whereas the Indonesian flag is associated with the empire of Majapahit. Poland's flag is somewhat just like the two, however its stripes are reversed having white over pink. The flag of Israel that incorporates a flue star on a white background and two horizontal blue stripes was adopted in 1948. Originally the flag was designed throughout Zionist motion and later it is recalled. Its white color divine benevolence and blue symbolizes God’s glory, purity, and severity.

The red symbolises the marketing campaign for freedom, yellow the mineral wealth, and green the natural green areas of the nation. The that means of the flag is represented through the tri-colors. The orange shade represents the savanna grasslands, while the white is symbolic of the country's rivers, and the green represents the coastal forests.

Why are flags so similar?

Flags are often symbolic, and so because the world is interconnected and it's often useful to get the symbolism across, we end up being similar to eachother by being obvious in our symbolism.

The blue outline is symbolic of the country’s peaceable nature. Originally, the moon and the solar represented the royal family and the prime minister’s family. They are actually known to represent the nation’s want to exist as lengthy as the heavenly our bodies. The colors on the German flag are reminiscent of the medieval banner of the Holy Roman Empire.

Yet another lovely flag featuring the primary colors, the Colombian flag is inspired by revolutionary Francisco de Miranda’s work in Venezuela and all through Latin America to free folks from Spain’s rule. In this particular flag, the yellow has come to characterize the richness of Colombian soil, together with concord and agriculture. The blue, as is customized, represents the sea and the sky, whereas the purple represents the blood spilled within the quest for independence from Spain. It also represents the truth that though Columbia’s folks have needed to battle, they've thrived. Cuban historical past is fraught with revolution, and its flag carries that turbulent historical past with it.

The crescent represents progress; the star is supposed to signify gentle. The colour on the high of the Indian flag is officially called India saffron and is described as a golden yellow. The color at the bottom of the flag is officially often identified as India green. The main difference lies in the reality that the blue on the Netherlands' flag is darker whereas the blue on Luxembourg's flag appears extra like sky blue. The image within the middle of the Kenyan flag is of a Maasai defend and two spears.

[thefandomofoneshots]

Request: “Lucius malfoy having a daughter?” -Anon Wasn’t sure if you want a one-shot or an would include, considering I’ve never done one before I decided to do a would include. If you want a one shot contact me and I’ll write one for you. Xx.

-Being named after a star or constellation.

-Lucius wins no father of the year awards.

-He would be quite cold and distant towards both you and Draco.

-But he would show Draco a little bit of affection, him being the Malfoy heir and such.

-You would be closer to Narcissa than Lucius.

-You’d probably call Lucius father because it’s more formal than dad. -Narcissa would probably be mum.

-Draco & you would go back and forth between best friends and worst enemies. -You’d be playing together and you take one of his toys. -This leads to a big argument involving tears and lots of immature name calling. -Eventually Narcissa would break it up and make you two apologise. -Not actually forgiving each other -Glaring at each other when your mum isn’t looking. -This could go on for weeks. -Eventually one of you cave (most likely Draco) and you’d give the other a flower from the garden, kinda like a white flag.

-Being friends with Dobby.

-Constantly trying to sneak him clothes.

-Which gets you a scolding from your father.

-Being nervous on the train to Hogwarts, worrying if you were going to be a Slytherin or not.

-Lucius would be disappointed if you were a Ravenclaw, mad if you were a Hufflepuff and probably lose his mind if you were a Gryffindor.

-He would give a courteous congratulations if you were a Slytherin.

-If you were in Slytherin you’d hang around Draco & his friends but not really liking Crabbe or Goyle.

-In the other houses, you’d probably be a loner because of your family name, but still hanging out with Draco and his friends every so often.

-Not being as rude as Draco.

-The main reason Draco was so rude was to please your father, eventually you gave up (especially if being sorted in another house).

-Also, since you spent a lot of time with your mum who had more of an open mind, your prejudice would be non-existent or not as strong.

-Less likely to join a quidditch team, even if you do love it.

-Partially because it was Draco’s thing and you didn’t want to steal his thunder and because you wouldn’t get along with your team mates as well.

-Rebelling.

-After giving up on trying to gain your fathers attention, you’d start to rebel for fun.

-If you were a Gryffindor, you’d be the Malfoy version of Sirius Black.

-Your room at home would be covered with red & gold with posters stuck on the wall of muggle things

-Wearing less dignified clothes.

-Nothing particularly slutty but more casual, so where your family were all wearing suits, you wear jeans and a top with a leather or denim jacket.

-If you were a Gryffindor, you’d probably dye your hair.

-It was a symbol of you being a Malfoy and it reminded you of what you had to be every time you looked at your reflection.

-Not dying it a natural colour, it’d be something fun to really drive your father crazy.

-Eventually, Lucius would disown you if you did all this.

-Becoming friendly with Hermione & Harry.

-Hermione would realise you weren’t like your brother, you didn’t judge people on Blood status and would NEVER use the ’m’ word.

-Her first talking to you in the library.

-You would be studying for the upcoming potions test and not understanding anything.

-Eventually, she ask if you needed help.

-Reluctantly, saying yes.

-After an hour or so, you would understand majority of it

-Going to her if you need help with homework and such.

-Harry & Ron calling her crazy for becoming friends with the enemies sister.

-After a lot of convincing, she’d get them to ease up on you.

-The first time you really spoke to Harry was the year of Umbridge.

-You would be crying in some hidden corner of the school when he stumbled across you, crying over your scared hand.

-He’d comfort you.

-And you’d apologise about everything on Draco behalf.

-Telling Harry about how Draco was when the two of you were younger.

-The next time you saw Hermione at the library, she invited you to join Dumbledore’s Army.

-Most people not trusting you, think you’d rat them out.

-Having trouble conjuring a Patronis.

-You haven’t exactly had the most joyous life.

-Eventually, you would conjure one.

-Using the memory of you, your mum and Draco cooking when you were little.

-Mrs Weasley inviting you over for Christmas.

-It would’ve been after Harry sending a letter to Sirius about you.

-Sirius would causally mention it when Molly was around and she decided to have you over.

-Mrs Weasley would fawn over you, saying you were too skinny and needed more food.

-Helping her in the kitchen as much as you can.

-Her dismissing you but you were just as stubborn.

-You ended up peeling potatoes manually and listening Mrs Wesley going on about when her children were little.

-Loving her stories.

-After much insisting on her part, you’d start calling Mrs Weasley, Molly.

-Most of the family being cautious around you.

-Until you comment on the twins pranks that they had pulled.

-Them being surprised when they found out you loved pranks.

-Especially when they hear about a prank you had pulled on Draco.

-Bonding with them as they tell you about their store.

-Winning over Ginny when you compliment her on hexing your brother.

-“I love him but he can be a total pain in the arse, I don’t know how you deal with so many of them.”

-Looking at your portrait on the Black family wall with horror.

-Laughing at Draco’s.

-Having long conversations with Sirius complaining about your families.

-You talked more than he did and you didn’t push him sensing he was uncomfortable with talking about it.

-Sirius noticing the parallels between your lives.

-Inviting you to stay with him during the summer.

-You wanting to agree but declining because you didn’t want to leave Draco.

-Most of the Order became protective over you.

-Even Ron starting to warm up to you.

-Going with them to the Ministry to save Sirius.

-He was like an uncle to you and you weren’t going to sit back and doing nothing.

-Lucius being surprised to see you there.

-Low key trying to avoid cursing you and not letting any of the other Death Eaters hurt you.

-You were still his daughter after all, even if you weren’t close.

-A part of him was ashamed of you for fighting for the other side.

Using the crutiatis curse on Bellatrix before she hurts Sirius.

-Not feeling guilty about it cause he was more family to you then he was.

-Officially being disowned after that.

-You and Harry going to live with Sirius after his name was cleared.

-Living in a house in the country where you could see the stars

-Draco refusing to talk to you, claiming you had betrayed him.

-Narcissa writing short letters every so often to check up on you.

-Helping the twins with their joke shop.

-Worrying about Draco the next year.

-Draco, still mad at you, bullies you a lot at the beginning of the year.

-Crying because of it.

-Him feeling bad after he sees you sobbing in a corridor.

-Slytherins now hate you.

-Or act like they do.

-Spending most of the time with Hermione.

-Bonding with Ron over not being invited to the Slug Club.

-Not caring as much as he does but at least he’s talking to you.

-Every so often breaking down about being disowned.

-Sirius being very supportive through letters.

-Punching Harry in the face after he curses Draco.

-“You even think about hurting my brother again, Voldemort will be the least of your problems.”

-Not leaving Draco’s side while he’s in the hospital wing.

-You just sit there for hours clutching his hand.

-Occasionally glaring at professors or Madame Pomfrey when they try to make you leave.

-Eventually they give up.

-Draco waking up to see you asleep on his beside in an incredibly uncomfortable position, your hands still holding onto his.

-Him waking you up when he tries to leave.

-Forcing him to tell you what’s happening.

-Draco telling you everything, while the two of you hold back tears.

- The death eaters getting in anyway.

-Persuading the Order to help Draco and you mum.

-Sirius helping you convincing them because Draco reminds him of Regulus.

-Going on missions for the Order the next year.

-You and Draco fighting together at the Battle of Hogwarts.

-Coming face to face with Bellatrix.

-She tried to kill you for being a traitor and you barely deflecting her spells.

-Lucius killing her before she could.

-After all you are his little girl.

-Even if he’s not good at showing it, Lucius loves you.

-Him giving you a really tight hug.

-You cry and beg for him to flee.

-He Does.

A/N- I got a little out of hand. This is about 4 & ½ pages long and almost 2 000 words. I could’ve kept writing but I decided to end it there. Please send in more would include requests. They’re fun. Xx

[mostlyfrukheadcannons]

The House in the Wood

Written for the fruk gift exchange to @kenobi. Fem!England x France. Modern day setting. The gist of the prompt is that the two of them have been out of hegemony for very long time, and are learning to settle back as former empires, and to enjoy life slowly. I’ve chosen to focus primarily on their struggles to deal with their postcolonial guilt from all the devastation they caused as former hegemons that played the game of great power politics. I’m also deeply ashamed by how edgey it turned out lol. EDIT: Silly me I forgot to tag @fruk-net, whom I’d like to thank for organising this wonderful event :D

Once, there was a precious little space in a deep, green woods. Beloved by the personification of England in her youngest days, where the little child would cautiously watch out for intruders tread in her forest.

The only exception she made was for her siblings who occasionally dropped by on short visits to visit her. That, and this strange boy from across the ocean. He said his name was Francis. He spoke in a strange tongue that was like the burbling of a  flowing stream. He dressed in ridiculous silk robes that he should never be worn on visits to a forest.

But this Francis was acceptable. He would bring along different treats and snacks for Alice to try. He would speak gently to her, eyes sparkling without a hint of comprehension. On such days, Alice would deign to allow him to sit with her in a clearing in the forest, to quietly look up at the stars and be filled with a quiet awe.

Once, there was flurry of construction — bold and brazen — of a gargantuan house smack at the center of that spot in the forest. It was presided over by a certain English nation, who had grown more sharp-eyed and scrutinising, with the weight of many, many years behind her. Those were years steeped in bloodshed. (And no small amount of enmity. That little French boy had grown up tall and vain, with a sword by his side that he would point and stick into her if he could. As she would him. At any rate…...)

The House being built was to be tall. Impressive. Overriding those memories of the most naive times when she had slept there with one whom she had believed to be a friend; and over the trails of the invading armies that had punctured through these very forests to pierce at the heart of the England.

It was to be a landmark signifying a new start and a new direction for the English nation. The roar of a dragon with the irrepressible desire to devour the world entire. (Especially since said nation had to face a world that would rapaciously tear every right to power from her grasp simply because of her gender.)

In keeping with that thought, when the House was finished, Alice commissioned for a massive, sprawling map of the world to be hung up in the drawing room, serving as a centerpiece. Over that map, she peremptorily struck in pins with the British flag upon them, to mark all the foreign lands and peoples that were to be brought under her rule— for the glory of Britain.

Then she smirked a little, at the thought that perhaps she could dye these lands in the trademark red of her empire’s colour. Specifically, in the blood of that French fool, who was bound to stand in her way. Well, Alice certainly looked forward to it:

To crushing him, wherever he rose to fight her.  

Then the days of reckoning came. Alice thinks days, because there was not one single moment that led her to question what lay in at the foundations of her empire. To look, and realise, that all along it stood upon a mountain of bones.

It was only one night, sleeping in that House of hers, that it struck her in a nightmare with the force of a typhoon. The question how many have I killed.

Instantly, from the depths of her mind she sees garbled visions of so many children and civilisations, looking back at her — the personification of the empire that took everything away from them — through what she called a ‘civilising mission’, but what they screamed was colonialism.

(Somehow Alice remembers their faces just a little, because in some twisted way they were her people too. Just like how some small part of her had always known that it was wrong for her to march into someone else’s land, and take possession of it, by deriding them as ‘savages’ incapable of self-governance).

But what scares her most isn’t the way these faces  at her, as if bearing witness to what she had done.

What scares her most is how human they look. How diverse the faces are. How beautiful they were…... and the infinity of what-could-have-beens stretching out from their faces — blowing apart her mind’s ability to comprehend — how they could have had dreams, grown old with their families, thrived within their communities….

If her Empire had never come coming knocking at their doorsteps.

The first awareness that she’d had of the nightmare fading away, was when she felt a cool cloth being placed upon her forehead, and a voice speaking softly over her. Even semi-conscious, she recognises from instinct that the timbre and lilt of that voice belongs to Francis.

As the hours go by, Francis’ words start to sound more intelligible.  “You’ve been missing for days,” is the first thing he says to her that she fully understands.

And then, “You need more rest,” is what he tells her, when she gets up from her bed.

But Alice doesn’t think that she should be resting. A sickening, twisting feeling in her gut tells her that something is terribly, terribly wrong. When she feels enough strength in her body, she immediately gets up, in spite of Francis’ efforts to stop her…... She takes in the sight of her bedroom around her…...

And immediately she retches. There are faces, faces everywhere, staring at her, unblinking. She tries to scream but no sound comes out. She starts to convulse, and she can’t suppress the impulse to cry.

Her mind is clogged up by the white noise of terror. Francis’ urgent voice barely makes it through to her fog of fear, and it feels like eternity before she can take to heart his urgings to calm down, take deep breaths…...

And then she realises that the faces staring at her are but crude etchings along her bedroom walls.

“You drew them” Francis tells her, in a cool voice meant to steady her. The statement just makes her mind spin, “When I found you, you were delirious, still babbling incoherently, still trying to use one of your sharper daggers to desperately carve more faces into the walls…...It took quite a while for me to restrain you…...”

“Oh,” Alice responds, breath still short. She takes in the sight of the once-grand facades of her bedroom, which have now become a memorial to these ghosts, eerie and tarnished. Then her heart drops when she thinks of all the manuscripts and precious novels she’d also stowed away in this House.

“What about my private library?” she asks, voice shaky, mind numb.

Francis shakes his head. “I’ve looked through many of the books. Many pages have been torn out….. And the faces…... many of the books have been damaged beyond repair.”  

Alice looks down at her hands. Feels the buzzing sensation still coursing through her twitching fingers, and the panic still exploding within her head, telling her to continue, that not all might be lost — if only — if only she could stop a little bit of the past from slipping away, just etch into the walls one more face…...

But what’s done is done. Soon after Alice locks the House up, and abandons it, leaving it standing in the woods, like a mausoleum never to be opened. 

 One last thing: just before Francis leaves, he turns to her with a softness she hasn’t seen in his eyes for centuries. “Just so you know, I don’t judge you for this at all.”

“Oh really,” Alice remarks, tone soaking with self-depreciation.   

“Because I too have done something similar to this before.”

And suddenly, Alice realises that the tiredness about Francis isn’t just his defeat and occupation during WWII weighing down on him: its guilt. It’s the recognition that all along Big Brother France was simply brutalising all his so called siblings, smiling at them with an arm slung tightly over their shoulder, as he continued to exploit them ruthlessly for resources…...far more ruthlessly than anything he suffered under the boot of Vichy France…...

Alice nods, and tells him that she understands.

For some reason, after this incident, Alice feels drawn to Francis, like a moth to a flame. It seems Francis feels likewise. He starts meeting up with her very often often. They chat, in cafes, and meeting rooms, and in their various houses. They talk about current day events, the headaches of being a nation. But also, about progress made, in making apologies to the nations they’d belittled as colonies; and more importantly, sitting down to listen to these nations for the first time, with an open mind attuned to all the wisdom and the skill that they’d somehow ignored when they were supposedly infallible empires.

It feels a little like forgiveness, when Indira makes jabs at Alice’s bastardized renditions of Indian cuisines, cheeky rather than spiteful, wielding the English language like it’s one of her other hundreds of native tongues (“I may have thrown the Englishmen out of my country, but there’s no need to throw away your language, which I have perfected). Or like the easing of a long-held burden for Francis, when Vietnam buys him some Bahn Mi and urges him to try it. (“It’s a step up from your silly baguettes. Not the first time I’ve beaten you at your own game.”)

Even though it is not quite redemption, because there are still days when certain ex-colonies refuse to look them in the eye, and the nightmares do return to remind them both that some wounds never close.

But still, one day, the House in that forgotten spot in the forest opens up.

It’s Amelia’s suggestion. The feisty American abruptly remembers spending a small bit of her childhood roaming about that House. She immediately declares in the middle of a World Meeting that it would be the perfect location to host the Christmas party — an extravagant traditional English manor house. Alice immediately feels like throttling all the final vestiges of Downton Abbey out of her (just let the damn show die already), but she’s shot down by all the expectant looks thrown her way, and by then the silence on her part has stretched too long to be taken as anything other than consent.

Amelia (the spoilt and ignorant brat) looks immeasurably pleased with herself. Alice buries her face in her hands and groans. But then, she feels a warm hand resting on her shoulder.

“You know, this might not necessarily a bad thing mon cher — you hosting a Christmas Party.”

“I don’t get what you mean, Francis.”

“Perhaps this is a chance for you to try something new. Do something a little different for once, in that wretched House of yours.”

“Oh,” Alice replies, the cogs in her mind starting to spin rapidly. “Well Francis, don’t think for a second that you won’t be dragged into this.”

On the day itself, when the doors of the House swing open for the Christmas party, and all the nations of the world stream in, Alice spots it: something intense in their eyes, especially for the ex-colonies, who seem to pause for a moment to take a look around them. For one heart-stopping second, Alice thinks that it’s because it’s all not enough. She can tell her co-host standing beside her, Francis, is suspecting the same, because his face is panicked and pale. But then, as the different nations start to move about to different parts of the manor, Alice hears Francis let out a soft breath in relief. And she too realises that what’s burning bright in their eyes is recognition. The South Asian nations have gravitated towards the rangoli designs on the floor, cheerily critiquing the Christmas themed patterns that have been drawn out using brightly coloured flour. The Philippines seems even more radiant than usual, as she bring along the other Southeast Asian nations to bask under the light of her parols — one of her favourite Christmas traditions — great, gorgeous star-shaped lanterns, that represent the Star of Bethlehem that brought the three shepherds to the infant Jesus.

It’s recognition, Alice realises, as she watches Francis — who was in charge of catering — get swamped by other nations, excitedly commenting on the quality of the food that comes from their homes (“You ordered tamales!”; “The injera with wat tastes exactly like it should!”). Alice imagines herself in their shoes — walking into a Christmas party for the first time without the sensation of intruding into an event that feels alien, and strange, and blatantly White European; but something more comforting and familiar — Christmas as it is truly celebrated by their own citizens, with a twist infusing local customs with the spirit of Christmas.

And once again, Alice becomes aware of all the faces looking out at her, still hidden behind the drapes that she and Francis had hastily put up before the party. The faces that she had etched in a manic state, bearing witness to what her Empire had taken away, and what it still has to give back, even if it no longer exists anymore.

Alice knows, as one of America’s poets say, that she contains multitudes. That she is many different people all at once; and that some part of her will always be sick with the desire to hoard, and to possess and to conquer. And she will always be responsible for the mistakes that she has made, and the cruelties that she has inflicted. Not just by reining in the darker side of her personality, but also actively trying to make it up to other nations. She thinks of all the ghosts that drift about her mind and Francis’, that appear in their dreams and their nightmares. And decides that it’s okay that the two of them will always be haunted by the past. Maybe both she and Francis have grown, enough for their souls to buzz alive both with these ghosts and the magic of the world.

Especially when they can find a bit of magic in each other, in how they’re both trying to change for the better, and make amends for past wrongs. Alice takes another look at her co-host, who catches her gaze, and smiles back at her. Francis is beautiful like that, with the lights glinting off his hair, and his eyes sparkling with conviviality. It’s definitely more than enough to dull the memories of when those eyes and hair reminded her more of swords and lightning. Certainly soft enough to draw her back to the earliest and brightest days, when it was just the two of them — tiny nations against the world; to start telling their story from there, and blur out the times when they were less than civil with each other; as her eyes trace a line from his blue, blue eyes...down the ridge of his nose...to his red, red lips...

Suddenly, the room bursts into an uproar, snapping the both of them out of the reverie with a jerk. Alice barely makes out the words, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” being chanted by the entire room. She looks up and sees a single sprig of mistletoe, innovatively and skillfully catapulted exactly above their heads, with just enough sticky foodstuff smeared onto it so it’s stuck to the ceiling.  

“Seriously?” Alice shouts. Amelia, the literal incarnation of the devil, whoops and waves, shouting, “Merry Christmas, enjoy your gift.” Everyone else cheers, bending over in laughter.

Francis laughs too, before turning to her and asking, “Well, shall we give it a go?”

“If you insist,” Alice replies, blushing. Before Francis has a chance to respond, she cups one side of his cheek with a gentle hand and kisses him.

It’s a sweet, chaste kiss. There’s a flutter in her chest, and she feels a thrill pass through the both of them. At the back of her mind she registers Amelia letting out an earsplitting whoop — really, Alice, will have to strangle her later —   but for the most part she’s absorbed in the feeling of Francis’ soft lips against hers, the intoxicating scent of Francis’ cologne tickling her nose. Then Francis’ tongue makes a quick swipe at her lips — and well maybe the American deserves to live a little longer, if her nosiness leads to this…...

They part for air, smiling so hard their cheeks hurt. By all means, Alice considers this a damned good kiss. Especially, when it’s framed by the applause of the rest of the world, giving them their blessings.

It feels like a great start. The both of them are no longer hegemons looking down upon the rest of the earth. Instead, they’re living shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the world, living and loving in a House that has transformed from a trophy room collecting dust, to a place where all the world feels at home.

Now, as the centerpiece of the the drawing room in the House, there is still a map of the world.

But this time it’s a little smaller, with no imperial flags, or red markings. It does not come with battle plans on how to pillage and conquer.

It is simply one of those scratch maps sold in curio shops, where you’re supposed to use a coin, and scratch

It’s a honeymoon gift Amelia and Madeline got for Francis and Alice.

These days, nations have a tendency to crowd around it, and point to different locations, suggesting that Francis and Alice go there next.

“Try coming to India,” Indira tells the two of them. “Don’t just come for the Taj Mahal. The Ajanta caves are as much, if not more impressive. And there are many more sights to see South of India, that tourists usually miss out.”

“Try coming to China,” Yao Wang badgers them. “The West Lake in Hangzhou is a classic. Also I’m sure you know our food is amazing”

At this the two of them usually laugh, and protest a little, reminding the others that they’re still nations with duties; they don’t have so much time and money to go sightseeing all the time.

But at least, when they’re too cash-strapped to catch the snow-peaked caps of Mt Fuji, they’ll settle for sharing a cup of vanilla ice cream. When there’s not enough time to relax to the sound of the waves kissing the shore, they’ll listen to the ebb and flow to the rhythm of each other’s voices. When they’re together, Alice feels like she’s already won the world entire.

At this, the tendrils of want and desire that have always wrapped around Alice’s heart deaden, and relax their hold.