#Mango Menace Strikes Back

[under-loch-n-key]

Hi everyone. Obviously everyone has seen the news and read the polls and obviously you can tell that we’re likely cooked.

For some reason our country wants to elect the Mango Menace and his gaggle of orange stained goons once again.

I am terrified for myself, my loved ones, my country, our climate, and just everything.

However, I’d like to tell the LGBTQIA+ community these things because I know we are terrified right now.

What happened today, it’s devastating. It angers me too. Some of my closest family voted for that horrible man. I don’t think I can look at them the same way anymore. Especially, when they hold no guilt or remorse about it even after I explained his policies to them. What do I know, I guess.. 🤷🏻‍♂️🙄

However, as a queer, trans man in this little community, I want ALL of the LGBTQIA+ people who will see this post to know that things will be alright. We all have each other. We know we exist here in the states even if none of us have met. We EXIST.

Just because those orange stained dunderheads want to silence us doesn't change the fact that we exist. We do. We always will. Bigotry cannot fight facts and science. We'll always exist. The only time trans people won't exist is when the human race dies out. Even then, we have other animal species that are queer and trans. No matter what, we will always exist in nature. They cannot change that. They cannot take that from us. Do not lose hope. Even though it's really fucking hard not to.

Do not lose it. The fact that you and I exist is a beacon of hope to another trans and queer person. We exist. None of us want to be left here alone. So we must go on. We must continue to exist. Things WILL be okay. I'll always keep fighting and living for you and every one of my trans and queer brothers, sisters, and siblings.

You existing and simply being here is a beacon of hope to me. Someone who has understands how I'm feeling. Someone who is LIKE me but so different at the same time.

In the grand scheme of the universe, we are very small. However, even though it's small, the fact is that it EXISTS. It's so fucking small in this big void of the cosmos but we're here. We're made of similar components as stars, ones that had to die for us to exist.

I like to think of the sky as when humanity was truly equal. When we were just atoms in the big ol' void, ya know? We didn't fight. We didn't give a shit about all of this stuff. We were allll different types of stars and matter. We were all random as hell, but we just WERE. We coexisted peacefully together in the universe.

Now that those stars are dead as a door nail and some dumb fishy bastard decided to get curious and walk on land, we're all human. Humanity fucking sucks ass sometimes but it's also such a beautiful fucking thing. No matter what happens, a part of us will always exist.

Our existence is embedded in the universe. Nothing can change that. So, please keep living. Be safe, but keep living. Always keep fighting. We belong here just like anyone else.

You belong. You are loved. You are cherished. You are noticed by me and other people here. We all understand each other. So keep going. Again, one day we will all have a better tomorrow. I swear to fucking god or whatever the hell is out there, if anything, however it's unlikely, I will ALWAYS keep fighting for you and WITH you.

Every protest l attend. Every petition I sign. Every time I vote. Every time I go to pride. Every time l simply leave my home as I am. I am doing it for you and all of us. Our people WILL have our damn tomorrow. I'm sick of us not having it. I swear to you we will. So, again, please keep going. Keep fighting. Keep living. Exist. Your existence may be a threat to some bigoted fucker but your existence is precious to someone else. Please do not let them take your right to exist away from you. Keep going.

We’ll have a better tomorrow, the one that we deserve eventually, but we just need get through the hard, bumpy, dirty road first.

Again, we will be okay. Everything will be okay. We’ll get through it. Yes, unfortunately, we will likely see suicide rates and hate crime rates go up and that's disgusting and just all types of awful and depressing. It angers me beyond words.

However, we are strong.

We shouldn't have to be strong though.

What we should be and need to be is loved, accepted, warm, fed, have shelter, and are safe.

For now though, we remain strong. You will always have a place here.

You will live. You will not die, hun. I know the thought creeps in and believe me, I understand. Those thoughts creep in for me too, but we must learn to try to control them. If there's anything I know about us trans and queer folk it's that we're strong, feisty, kind, very sexy, and cheeky as hell. So, if we live, we live because it's our damn right and to be spiteful. We do not owe the people who want to harm us our lives. We just don't. We deserve healthcare. We deserve to love and get married.

We deserve to grow old.

You will grow old. You will be able to go on those trips you've always wanted. You will be able to have that cheesy romance you've always wanted, if you are someone who is wanting a relationship.

You'll be able to sit down and watch your favourite movie. Why? Because you stayed. You didn't give up. Ever. We will always exist.

We will ALWAYS live.

Being transgender has existed before humans even walked this earth and it will still exist when all of us book our holy bus tickets and the blessed holy tax collector comes to collect our debted souls. No matter what, we will live on. They can silence us all they want and erase whatever the fuck they want but that doesn't mean that it's the truth. We're HERE.

We've been here since forever ago. Those Cheeto dusted dunderheads cannot change that. Like I told another person here, other animals and even plants are trans and queer! We've always been here. That won't change, hun.

Everything WILL be okay. We'll always survive and live on. Look at how far we've come in these past years. Many of us thought that we'd be gone already but here we are, two trans people typing away in comment sections on an app where middle age men get off to octopus porn and neko ladies in Japanese school girl outfits because men. and welcome to the internet, I guess. Lmao.

Everything will work out on way or another. We'll have our tomorrow, hun. For now, we gotta buckle down because we're in for a bumpy ride but hey, thankfully on bumpy you have those moments where ya hit the bump just right and you're like

"WOAH, HELLO!- mister bump, you better watch yourself, you saucy boy~ You can't be doin' that. You better take me to dinner first." Lmao. Okay, on a more serious note, we just gotta buckle down together and get through this bumpy ass dirt road because after awhile you make it through that rocky dirt road in the woods and come out to feel smooth pavement again. It'll be alright. We just need to band together and make it through. We all are always stronger together. You're not alone, my friends.

You're talkin' to a guy who has the personality of a gay muppet with a big mouth. I'm shocked nothin’ has happened to me yet with my yappy ass screeching and getting over 80+ gay people to start baa-ing like sheep at a bigot at last year's pride event, but that's a wholeeeee different situation.

My point is, we'll be okay. We'll make it through.

You'll survive. You have me. You have everyoneeeee here and on other social forums. Sure, it's not the same as in-person interactions but it's somethin'. It’s better than nothing I guess. If we’ve gotta go stealth mode eventually and make secret groups for us trans and queer folk, then so be it.

Just do whatever you feel you need to do to keep yourselves safe.

We'll have a better tomorrow. We just need to keep pushing through this rough shit. We'll get out of the woods and onto smooth pavement with open skies eventually.

Continue to exist. Fight. Be safe, but live. Live for yourself, fellow trans people, and simply for spite.

Fuck bigots. Not actually though. Like DON'T fuck them. Who knows where they've been. But fuck them. They're not worth your life. Their bigotry is not worth your life. Live because it's your right.

Those guys are all so far up Donald Trump’s ass he fired his doctor and hired his supporters to give him a colonoscopy.

So, live long. Live for love and live for spite, my friends. We'll get through this.

It’s Trump 2: Electric Boogaloo. SPOILER: The first movie sucked too. They even tried to make a third one — Mango Menace Strikes Back! We didn’t want to come to the theatre to see the second one but it was a class field trip that most of America signed for us. So, we’ve allll got no choice but to go on the trip to the cinema.

Anyways, things will be okay. We’ll make it through. We’ll out get it figured out. We always do. We’ll take care of each other. Everything will be alright. 🤙🏼💛⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️✨

(Sorry for typos and repetitive speech- it’s 4:14 a.m. EST. 😭😭)

[enhaflixer]

wahhh i just read strikes out and i love every single thing about it 😭 literally every line is chefs kiss especially when jake just figured jade’s his daughter 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻 now my only problem is wanting more for the fic hhh and u can ignore this if u have too much on ur plate but i’d really like to request a scenario for that baby number … like finding out and jake being there every step of the way esp since reader had a complicated pregnancy with jade 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝑵𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒘𝒐 | A “Strikes Out” Bonus Scene

The Pregnancy

Jake had always been borderline ridiculous when it came to taking care of you, but pregnancy? Pregnancy turned him into a full-blown menace.

“Babe, I can walk by myself,” you huffed as he practically carried you down the stairs, one arm wrapped firmly around your waist.

Jake ignored you. “The doctor said you shouldn’t overexert yourself.”

“She meant lifting heavy things, not walking like a normal person.”

Jake shot you an unimpressed look as he helped you settle onto the couch, adjusting pillows like some kind of overprotective mother hen. “You’re growing an entire human,” he said, pulling a blanket over you despite the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon. “That’s already overexertion enough.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “You do realize I was pregnant before, right? This isn’t my first time.”

Jake, completely unfazed, placed a full water bottle next to you on the couch like you were some kind of delicate, fragile thing. “Yeah,” he muttered, lowering himself onto the floor beside you, resting a careful hand on your belly. “But last time, I wasn’t here.”

Your frustration melted instantly.

Jake stared at your growing belly, rubbing gentle circles against it. “I wasn’t there for any of this,” he murmured, voice thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “I didn’t see the way Jade kicked, or how tired you got, or how much you craved mangoes at 2 a.m.”

Your chest tightened.

“You’re here now,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. “That’s all that matters.”

Jake exhaled slowly, leaning his forehead against your stomach, pressing the softest kiss against your skin. “Yeah,” he murmured. “And I’m never missing a second again.”

And he meant it.

Jake was at every single appointment. Every ultrasound. Every check-up.

He was there for the nausea, the backaches, the mood swings. He held your hair when you got sick, massaged your feet when you got swollen, read every single baby book he could get his hands on.

He was there for the first kick, his eyes going impossibly wide as he dropped to his knees, pressing his hands against your belly.

“Oh my God,” he breathed. “He’s strong.”

You laughed, stroking his hair. “Like his dad.”

Jake kissed your stomach right then and there, his lips lingering for a long moment. “Hi, little man,” he murmured softly. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

And then, of course, there was The Incident™.

One night, at three in the morning, you woke up to an empty bed.

Frowning, you pushed yourself up, waddling out of the bedroom—only to find Jake in the nursery, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by half-assembled baby furniture, his face scrunched up in concentration.

You sighed. “Jake.”

He whipped around instantly, eyes guilty. “I was just—” He gestured to the unfinished crib. “I was—”

“Go to bed.”

“But—”

“I swear to God, Jake, if you don’t get back in bed right now, I will personally end you before this pregnancy does.”

Jake scrambled up immediately, gently ushering you back to the bedroom while muttering something about “pregnancy hormones are terrifying”.

The Talk with Jade

Jade had been over the moon about the baby since the moment she found out, but the closer the due date got, the more she seemed… quieter.

One night, Jake found her sitting alone in the backyard, soccer ball barely nudging against her feet, her shoulders hunched slightly.

He immediately sat down beside her, bumping her gently with his arm. “Hey, superstar. What’s on your mind?”

Jade shrugged, not looking at him. “Nothing.”

Jake hummed, waiting. He knew his daughter well enough to know that she’d talk when she was ready.

After a long moment, Jade glanced up at him, chewing her lip. “Daddy?”

His heart still stuttered when she called him that. He would never get used to it. “Yeah, baby?”

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “When the baby comes… am I still gonna be your favorite?”

Jake froze.

Then, without hesitation, he reached out, pulling her right into his arms, cradling her close. “Oh, Jade,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair, his heart squeezing. “Nothing is ever gonna change how much I love you. Not ever.”

Jade sniffled against his chest. “But you’re gonna have two kids now.”

Jake cupped her little face, making her look at him. “You were the first person who ever called me Dad,” he whispered. “That makes you so special to me, Jade. You made me a dad. And now, you get to be a big sister, too.”

Jade swallowed hard. “What if the baby likes you more than me?”

Jake laughed softly, shaking his head. “That’s impossible.” He pressed his forehead against hers, his voice gentle and certain. “You are my girl. That’s never gonna change.”

Jade nodded slowly, blinking back her tears, before wrapping her little arms tightly around his neck. “Okay,” she whispered.

Jake closed his eyes, holding her just as tightly. “I love you so much, baby.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

The Birth

When you finally went into labor, Jake was ready.

Hospital bag? Packed.

Route to the hospital? Mapped out three different ways.

Jade? Already staying at Tia’s house with strict instructions for updates.

But when he saw you wince in pain, saw the way your breath hitched, his entire world tilted.

He held your hand the entire time, whispering soft encouragements, pressing kisses to your forehead.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured. “I’m so proud of you.”

And then—

The cry.

Tiny. Loud. Perfect.

But then he saw him.

The first time he held his son, his tiny, squirming, brand new son, wrapped up in soft blue blankets with a full head of dark hair and impossibly small fingers that curled instinctively around his thumb—everything else ceased to exist.

“Oh,” he whispered, completely wrecked, his voice catching in his throat.

Jacob Sim. His son. His boy. His tiny, fragile, perfect little boy.

Something swelled inside him, something overwhelming, something that threatened to bring him to his knees. He was already crying before he even realized it, silent tears slipping down his face as he rocked slightly, instinctively, protectively holding his newborn closer.

“Jake?” you murmured softly from the hospital bed, exhaustion heavy in your voice, but your eyes were bright as you watched him.

Jake turned, barely able to form words, his gaze flickering between you and the baby in his arms. “I—” He let out a shaky breath. “He’s—oh my God.”

You smiled, reaching for him, your fingers brushing his arm. “He’s got you wrapped around his tiny little fingers already, doesn’t he?”

Jake let out something between a laugh and a sob, because—of course he did.

Jade had claimed his heart the moment she grinned up at him with her dimples and declared herself his number one fan. And now Jacob, tiny and new and still figuring out how to exist in the world, had done the same without even trying.

Carefully, he stepped closer to the bed, sitting beside you as he adjusted his hold on the baby, making sure you could see him properly. “Look at him,” Jake murmured, his voice soft with reverence. “Look at our boy.”

You reached out, brushing a delicate fingertip over Jacob’s tiny nose, his soft cheek. “I can’t believe he’s finally here.”

Jake exhaled slowly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before glancing back down at his son. “Jacob Sim,” he murmured, testing the name out loud, letting it settle in his chest.

A quiet sniffle from the doorway made him turn.

Jade stood there, gripping the edge of the hospital door, her eyes huge as she took in the sight of her baby brother for the very first time. She was still wearing her little soccer jersey—Jake recognized it immediately because he was the one who had helped her put it on this morning.

For a second, she just stood there, staring. Then, slowly, she crept forward.

Jake exchanged a quick glance with you before turning to her, shifting the baby in his arms. “Come here, sweetheart,” he said gently. “Come meet your baby brother.”

Jade approached cautiously, like she wasn’t sure what to do. Then she hesitated beside the hospital bed, looking up at him with wide, careful eyes.

“Is he really mine?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s chest tightened. He reached out with his free hand, pulling her in close. “Yeah, baby,” he murmured. “He’s yours too.”

Jade swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in her father’s arms. Then, very slowly, she reached out her small hand, fingers trembling slightly as she carefully brushed Jacob’s tiny fist.

The baby stirred, shifting slightly, and Jade sucked in a quiet breath. “He’s so little,” she whispered. “I thought he’d be bigger.”

Jake chuckled softly. “He’ll grow,” he said, watching the way she studied her brother with quiet awe. “But right now, he’s just figuring things out.”

Jade nodded, still staring.

After a moment, she bit her lip and shifted slightly, like she was trying to hold something back.

Jake frowned. “Jade? What’s wrong, baby?”

Jade hesitated for a second longer before blurting out, “I don’t know if I’m gonna be a good big sister, Daddy."

Jake’s heart broke right then and there.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his voice so soft, so full of warmth. He pulled her into his side, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’re already the best big sister in the whole world.”

Jade sniffled, peeking up at him. “Really?”

Jake nodded. “Really.” Then, carefully, he turned the baby slightly, adjusting his hold. “Do you wanna hold him?”

Jade froze, eyes going impossibly wide. “Can I?”

Jake exchanged a glance with you before nodding. “Of course you can, but you gotta be really gentle, okay?”

Jade nodded so hard her hair bounced, and Jake smiled before carefully settling the baby into her arms, keeping one hand there just in case.

Jade held her breath as Jacob wiggled slightly, his tiny nose scrunching. Then, very slowly, he settled, his tiny head resting against her arm.

Jade beamed.

“Hi, Jacob,” she whispered, voice filled with wonder.

Jake watched them, something warm and unbreakable filling his chest.

This was his family. His daughter, holding her baby brother. His son, safe and sound. You, exhausted but smiling at them with so much love it physically hurt to look at you.

This time, he had been here for everything.

This time, he wasn’t missing a second.

And as Jade rocked her baby brother gently, whispering about how she was going to teach him everything he needed to know—soccer, cartoons, which snacks were the best—Jake realized that this?

This was the happiest he had ever been.

[leaderoflostboys]

don’t fear the warnings || open

A plump mango in hand, Peter flew idly over the trees. It had been a week since the great fight for Neverland, and although they’d worked together nicely, he couldn’t get over the grimy feeling of being on the same side as Hook, if only for a few days. The old codfish was as greasy as ever, and Pan was anxious for things to get back to normal. Planning a battle was a cure for almost all of life’s problems, and Peter had some good ideas for menacing the pirate captain in future. He’d give them a break for a bit, let them get cozy in the wake of everything that happened, and then he’d strike. Maybe they’d stuff bars of soap into their rum barrels one afternoon; he’d have to make a plan with his lost boys. They deserve a party after all the hard work they’d put in to stopping Helena, he thought to himself, biting into the ripe mango. He lowered himself down to the forest floor, bare feet falling on soft dirt and leaves, and made a beeline for the fort. He took another bite, and then, cheeks full of the fruit chucked his head back and let out a loud cockerel crow to gather any Lost Boys from nearby. 

[ginazmemeoir]

IT. IS. STORY. TIME.

and here you go with one of my favorite stories, ever.

tagging @dragonfairy1231 @mango-pickle @momo-all-the-way @the-fault-in-our-inquilab @aadyeah @holding-infinity-and-a-book @weird-u-deactivated20210917 @carmen-riddle @the-actual @taareginn @rebelliousrochelle @catsandbooksandstuff

@ people who i forgot to tag sorry

I can feel his breath on my shoulder, his husky, sweet as honey voice whispering in my ear, “Come. Be my queen Shachi. Become the queen of the devas.” I can feel his fingers leaving marks on my arms as I struggle to break free of his grip. I somehow manage to rip free of his clutches, and turn to face him, my face flush with fury. Nahusha, the temporary King of the Devas, had just crossed a line. But he just looks at me, his gaze making me feel as if I am being stripped naked, and then turns around with a smirk, his robes and ostentatious amount of gold flowing after him.

I stomp back to my palace. Indra had always been an impulsive person, but murdering Trishiras was not an accident – it was a paramount sin to kill a god. And now he has merrily fled away, leaving me and the rest of the devas to deal with his mess. I was actually the one who had voted for Nahusha to rule us while Indra was in exile. He was the most exemplary human being, plus being the son-in-law of Mahadev carried some legitimacy as well. Initially he was a better king than Indra - and then followed the same power that had corrupted the minds of those before him. First, he replaced those favoured by Indra, primarily the Maruts, the gods of wind. Then he disrespected Brihaspati. And then he turned his gaze on me. I wasn’t his paramour or his fancy, indeed I was another object of power for him to seize. I was the one who decided who got the throne. And only the man I was married to could become the true king of the devas. I sit on my divan, ruminating thus, and ask an apsara to fetch some soma for me. As the cooling effects of the liquor wash over me, a plan begins to form in my head. A plan which required the assistance of some of my closest friends.

The following night, I invite Guru Brihaspati over. He looks at me with sympathy and then sits down. “Gurudev, Nahusha has grown to be a menace.” “I agree Your Majesty. The council’s decision has proven to be – disastrous, to put it politely.” He says, wrinkling his nose. “As you know, he has now set his sight on me. You might be familiar with the erotic letters and the incident in the Nandaka Gardens?” Brihaspati averts his gaze, his nostrils flaring in anger. “Don’t worry Gurudev,” I placate him, “for I have a strategy to get rid of him, forever.” Having gained Brihaspati’s attention, I describe my plan to him, his face changing from worry to glee. “Brilliant Devarani! I must admit, your political acumen is frightening.” He admits, his hands glossing over the letter I hand him. Smiling, I stamp it with my seal – an elephant with a flower in its trunk – and instruct him to deliver it to Nahusha.

Brihaspati leaves soon after supper, and as the servants dim the lights in my palace, I lay in my bed, restless in anticipation of what was to follow the next morning. The first rays of sunlight break into my room after what feels like an eternity, and with them arrives Usha, the goddess of dawn, and my dear friend. I get up and hug her, her warmth permeating my being and filling it with hope. Her fair skin and blonde hair are in strike contrast to my own dusky skin and jet-black locks. “Shachi, it has been far too long dear friend” Usha says, holding me at arm’s length. “I need your help Usha, and there’s not much time. Help me find Indra.” “Why what happened?” she asks, oblivious as always. “Seriously? Where are you?” I ask in disbelief. “Sorry, it’s just most sneaky activities are carried out at night and not at dawn. But enough about that, follow me!” she replies sheepishly, then grabs my arm, and we both jump out of the window. I use my powers to cushion our fall as we land on her gleaming gold chariot, drawn by red cows and we gallop away into the horizon. Usha travels at the speed of light, as she brings dawn all over the world, scanning the universe for any trace of Indra. The hours fly by, and Usha begins turning her chariot towards the heavens. “Shachi, there isn’t much time left, I have to go back and let Lord Surya take charge now.” I am about to ask her for just some more time, when my gaze lands on Manasarovar, Mahadev’s sacred lake. I ask Usha to land there, and we land on the surface of the frozen lake, dotted by the occasional lotus. Usha assumes her full form, her rosy glow warming the chilly air and wielding her bow and arrow. I inspect the lake, and feel drawn to a particular lotus. I reach it hesitantly, and then cut open its stalk. And there, in the stalk of a random lotus in the Manasarovar, I find the mighty Indra, cowering in its safety. “Indra, it’s me, Shachi,” I begin, when Indra cuts me off. “Please return beloved. I am not worthy of love or respect. I have killed a god. There’s still a long way for me to atone repentance for my sins.” My anger, which was simmering until then, threatens to boil over. “Repentance. So your own reputation is more important to you than your wife and your subjects?” Indra looks at me, his face stricken. “I have been enduring the harshest of tapas here for eons and you have the gall to…” “YOU LEFT US TO COWER IS WHAT YOU DID. You have already repented by slaying Vritra with your Vajra. What more do you want? Your subjects are suffering, Nahusha lords over us, and he’s hell bent on having me. I married you Indra, and that makes you the rightful Devaraja. Come home now.” I reply. Indra looks at me remorsefully, and says, “I cannot return until the previous king is dethroned Shachi.” “Technically, you can’t take the throne while another king sits on it. But you can indeed return back to Swarga. And if I know Nahusha, my plan should be bearing fruit as we speak.” I interrupt him. “What plan?” asks Usha. “You will see. Now we must hasten Usha, for the wedding of all time.”

I return back to my palace just in time. I hide Indra in the gardens, and then ask my maids and apsaras to ready me. They bedeck me in the finest of fabrics woven out of air and mist, and celestial gold infused with Usha’s energy. Parijata flowers are braided into my hair, and I then wait at my palace gates atop Airavata, Indra’s elephant.

Brihaspati has executed my plan flawlessly. The streets of Amaravati are lined with numerous devis and devatas, apsaras and gandharvas, celebrating the marriage of their king to me. Nahusha rides atop an open palanquin, carried by none other than – the Saptarishis, the seven revered sages. I had told him to approach my palace atop a palanquin carried by the Saptarishis, and the naïve fool had agreed.

I can see the excitement on his face, alternating between his anger at the sages for their slow speed. Agastya’s short stature makes matters worse for the other rishis, resulting in the palanquin tilting towards one side. Some more time passed, and then Nahusha lost his cool. He kicks Agastya on his back, and his shout carries throughout the assembly - “MOVE STUPID OLD CRONE YOU WALK AS SLOW AS A LIZARD!” Everybody stands shocked. The sounds of trumpets and drums and veenas cease, while everybody else is mortified at the disrespect done to a Saptarishi. Agastya’s eyes however, blaze with fury. He slams the palanquin down on the ground, and then turns to face Nahusha, his anger making him seem larger than his height. “Listen, O vain descendant of Chandravansh, false king of the devas! I curse you to return back to earth,” roars Agastya, looking at Nahusha with a sly smile, “and spend the rest of your days as a lowly lizard yourself.” The lizard part was a fun addition, but I was indeed counting on Nahusha’s banishment. Agastya’s curse quickly shows its effect, and where once stood a king, now lay a lizard, quickly scampering its way out of Agastya’s legs, who tries to stomp on him.

I beckon Usha to retrieve Indra, who is brought before us in the same dishevelled state I found him in. And then, I begin. “Here you see Devaraja Indra, your true king. Slayer of Vritra, wielder of the mighty Vajra, absolved of all sins. Bow to your king, my loyal subjects, and bow to your queen!”

[missturtleduck]

The Girls of Ba Sing Se - (Sokka x f!Reader) Pt. 7

Part Six│Part Eight

“See you later, pretty girl.”

TW: One instance of mild language

Y/N didn’t think Aang would have taken her seriously when she joked about taking a vacation. Of course, she was rightly traumatised after being chased and nearly eaten by an angry mother moose-lion. Maybe the boy didn’t understand her humour – she wasn’t sure she understood her humour most of the time – but they were nevertheless travelling around the deserts heading west, stopping off at every location Aang desired.

Misty Palms Oasis sounded nice on paper, Y/N had to admit, but they had wasted so much time so far. It was Sokka who was the most vocal about this fact, but Aang, ever the chill airbender, brushed him off.

“I’m trying really hard practising my bending with Katara and Toph,” He said, his usual smile in his face. “I’ve been training my arrow off!”

Sokka met Y/N’s eyes, exchanging near identical looks of incredulity. Their gazes lasted a moment too long, however, as they looked away swiftly, faces pink and eyes wide. She didn’t have to look back to know he had that stupid grin on his face.

With her feet propped up on Y/N’s legs, Toph let out a snort. She didn’t elaborate when asked, brushing her friends off easily as she closed her eyes, catching some lazy sleep in the sun.

As the oldest two in the group, Sokka and Y/N naturally began a partnership based solely on not letting the younger ones die in their training and travelling. And yet, she found that they were spending more and more time together when they really didn’t need to. There was always an excuse; Sokka had to sleep with his arm slung over her because it was ‘too cold’ and she was ‘always warm’. Y/N needed Sokka to come foraging with her because only he could control Qin if she got loose and decided to chase something.

Under the heat of the midday sun, it was too hot for Qin to carry Y/N, so she followed under Appa’s shadow as they ventured across the continent.  Even the reptile seemed to like Sokka, shuffling under his legs to sleep at night.

Leaning over the side of Appa’s saddle, Y/N watched as Qin panted, running underneath them as loyal as a hound. She frowned as the reptile sped ahead, clambering to Aang’s side; Qin had found the Oasis. Supressing a snort, she watched her pet lap up the melting water from the admittedly pitiful ice spring, the dog at her side edging away warily.

Aang laughed sheepishly as they came in to land. “Must’ve changed ownership since I was last here.”

The fine sand beneath their feet was warm to touch. A hand on Toph’s shoulder, Y/N followed their friends into what seemed to be the dingiest establishment she would ever set foot in. As she passed through the small square, she watched their surroundings with astute care; the sandbenders that had their eyes on Appa and Qin were hanging around outside the bar. One of them hacked up spit, launching it at Sokka’s feet with some extremely unpleasant words.

“I’d watch yourself, sand snake,” Y/N hissed back, her voice low and guttural. “You see my steed? Then you know who I hail from.”

Reluctantly, the sandbenders backed off, their mouths twisted into menacing scowls. Looking over his shoulder in questioning, Sokka frowned at Y/N, but she shook her head. He did not want to know, she was sure.

Inside the bar was even more grim than its exterior. The patrons of the bar looked more travel weary than any of her friends, though most of them seemed beyond tired. They looked haunted. Luckily, the bartender seemed friendlier and less traumatised than his patrons, his drinks looking very thirst quenching. Taking a seat, Y/N tapped the bar with two fingers, catching the man’s attention. Pulling out his twin blades, he smiled at her.

“What can I get you, pretty girl?” He said, gesturing to the overhanging fruit – a selection of mangoes and passion fruit.

Y/N grinned, resting her chin on her palm, leaning over the bar. “Those mangoes look luscious.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” The man said, slicing the fruit down, catching them from mid-air and dicing them up with incredible skill, “Because these mangoes are in fresh.”

Putting on a show, the bartender threw the diced fruit into a bowl, pouring what looked to be coconut milk in it – still with his swords. With a wink, he topped the drink with a decorative umbrella and straw, pushing it across the bar towards her. Reaching to her pockets to flick him a coin, the bartender put a hand up.

“Your name is all I need,” He said, obviously flirting.

“Oh,” Y/N flushed, taking a sip of her – very well made – drink. “I’m Y/N.”

He smirked. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. You can call me Jìngyi.”

Smiling at him, she turned to see if Sokka wanted a drink, only to see him sulking by his sister. What was that about? Y/N shrugged, thinking maybe Toph had been a bit too mean to the poor boy again. Catching his eye for a moment, she gave him her usual sweet look, beckoning him over. Pursing his lips, Sokka shook his head, leaving a frown on her face and a pang in her chest that made her drink seem bitterer than it had after her first sip.

“You’re a living relic!”

Aang was scratching the back of his neck, a bashful look on his face. Frowning ever deeper, Y/N necked the rest of her drink, flicking a gold coin over the bar anyway.

“An Air Nomad, right in front of me!”

Clasping Aang’s shoulder, Y/N’s hand hovered over her staff. “Do we have a problem over here?”

“Not at all!” The man professed, just as enthusiastic despite the subtle threat. “Professor Zei, head of anthropology at Ba Sing Se University. Tell me, which of the air temples do you hail from?”

“The Southern Temples.”

“Splendid!” Zei exclaimed, moving his gaze from Aang to Y/N. “And you! You, my dear, look just like someone I know. But tell me, where did you get that bō staff? The handiwork is excellent. I haven’t seen such craftsmanship since the siege on Ba Sing Se!”

Y/N flinched, expression cold. “It was a gift from my father.”

“Thank you,” He chuckled nervously, pulling out a pair of callipers. “Now, airbender, what was the primary agricultural product of your people?”

“Uh, are fruit pies an agricultural product?”

Zei muttered something enthusiastically under his breath, jotting something into his journal. No matter how nice the man may have actually been, there was something unnerving about him. It was likely his dissection of people, so loud and enthusiastic. If it weren’t for the complete innocence around him, the kind that reminded her of Aang, Y/N would be pulling her friends out of the door and the desert immediately.

Mood sufficiently ruined, she stalked back to the bar to the bartender who looked at her like she was the prettiest person in there. He seemed glad for the company as well, and as they spoke, she found out more about him; he was just over a year older than her, a non-bender, whose father owned the Oasis after the previous owner died.

“What do you know about the anthropologist over there?” Y/N asked, on her third mango drink; she had come to the conclusion that she was obsessed with the fruit drinks.

“Zei?” Jìngyi scoffed, grinning as he looked over her shoulder. “Harmless, mostly. He’s been scouring the desert for a hidden library for as long as I can remember.”

“Oh, so this spirit has attractive assistants, huh?”

Sokka’s voice was loud, carrying through the building and all the way to the bar. What in Agni’s name was that boy’s problem? Gritting her teeth, she turned to look at Jìngyi, who had an amused smirk on his face.

“What?” Y/N snapped at him, frustratingly only fuelling his amusement. “What is so funny?”

“Oh, it hasn’t clicked yet.”

“What in the Spirits’ names are you on about?”

He barked out a laugh. “You really have no clue, do you?”

About ready to burst, she reached across the bar, grabbing him by the collar. “You’re really pissing me off, and you don’t have the free passes that my friends do.”

“And if I told you that talking to me was annoying your loud friend over there?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

With a subtle glance, Y/N adjusted her glare towards Sokka, confirming Jìngyi’s words. As she went to drop the boy, he instead stopped her, clasping a hand over hers. He leaned in closer to her.

“Are you really gonna let him off that easy?”

Looking at Jìngyi up and down, she grinned for a moment as she considered his words, before dropping him completely. “You make a mean drink, love, but he’s far too nice for me to do that.”

Chortling lowly, the bartender began cleaning the counter, completely unfazed by their small encounter. She didn’t fully understand what had happened – with Sokka that was – but she was clued up enough to be equally amused and flattered at the situation. Perhaps she would’ve considered continuing the conversation if it weren’t for Professor Zei sprinting up to her side and tugging on her arm like a small child begging for a mother’s attention.

“You have a tamed Mongoose Lizard?” He said, eyes glistening with that childish wonder.

“Trained,” Y/N corrected him, eyes colder than the pitiful remains of the Oasis. “I’m assuming I’m to come outside and introduce the two of you.”

“Yes please!”

Sighing, she shot a look to Jìngyi of what could only be pleading, scowling at the response of, “See you later, pretty girl.”

As she was dragged out of the establishment, Y/N found herself already with her bō staff already out. With her sight filled with red, she charged the four sandbenders cornering Appa and Qin, spitting threats at them in their native language just as easily as the menacing looks she was giving. Recognising the one from earlier, she jabbed her staff to his throat quicker than the strike of a heron, pinning him under its end. Hastily, his buddies pulled him backwards and into two sand-sailers, fleeing under the cover of a sand tornado.

“Professor Zei, this is Qin,” Y/N panted, leaning on her staff slightly. “Qin, this is the Professor. Not food.”

Qin huffed as she sniffed the newcomer, him not seeming to mind the fact that such a large reptile was circling him and ready to snap her jaws around him with only a command. He continued to take notes even as she knocked his arm, begging for his full attention.

“Well, now that that’s over,” Sokka interrupted, his mood lower than it was earlier, “Should we find this library?”

TAGLIST: @lunariasilver @maragreene

[razieltwelve]

The Babysitter (RWBY AU Snippet)

“I’m amazed that you’re okay with this.” Death shifted slightly as the toddler in her arms tried to poke her in the eye. It wouldn’t have done any damage to her, but the toddler would definitely have injured her finger thanks to her divine durability. “Most people wouldn’t be comfortable having Death babysit their children.”

“Most people aren’t an alternate universe version of Death,” Ruby replied. “Besides, it was either you or Crescent Rose.”

“Ah.” Death nodded sagely. “I can see why you asked me to do it then.”

“Look,” Ruby said. “I love my dragon. Don’t get me wrong. Crescent Rose is fantastic. I would totally die for her, and she would totally die for me. In fact, that’s how you and I met, isn’t it? But let’s be honest. She’s not exactly mature. If I left her to watch Luna, I’d come back to find the house on fire with Crescent Rose and Luna cackling about how quickly it’s burning.”

Outside, the red dragon snickered. She wasn’t offended. If anything, she thought Ruby was understating how bad a babysitter she would make. It was better to leave the babysitting to Gambol Shroud or Ember Celica. The shadow dragon was incredibly lazy, but she had a knack for keeping kids amused and out of trouble while the solar dragon was just fantastic with kids.

“True.” Death smiled as Luna began to rummage through her pockets for a cookie. The girl looked so much like Weiss except for the silver eyes she’d inherited from Ruby. “But you’re not the least bit worried about her being around me?”

“Is she going to die if I leave her with you?” Ruby asked bluntly. “Because you’d know, right?”

“I would.” Death grinned. “And you can rest assured that she is completely safe with me. Her time will not be for many years yet... but that’s assuming she acts sensibly. If she starts throwing herself off cliffs and in front of rampaging dragons, well, I’ll be showing up for her sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll tell her that once she’s old enough to understand.” Ruby tilted her head to one side. “Out of interest, don’t you normally have a dog with you?”

“You mean Zwei?” Luna giggled in delight as she mysteriously found a cookie in one of Death’s pockets. Ah, the wonders of nigh-limitless divine might. “He’s currently enjoying Zwei Day on one of the worlds he helped save.”

“Zwei Day?” Ruby raised one eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

“He may have slaughtered an invading army of demons by barking at them, so every year they like to throw a celebration in his honour. It’s the hundredth one this year, so he decided to actually show up. He’ll let them spoil him rotten for a few days before he heads home. In the meantime, Drei will be helping me.”

At the mention of his name, an adorable three-headed corgi appeared.

“Okay...” Ruby leaned forward as Drei nudged her leg and then began to chew on her shoe. “I kind of expected something more menacing.”

“Oh, Drei can get way scarier. In fact, other than me, he’s probably the most powerful thing in this world at the moment. However, he’s still very young, so he usually doesn’t transform unless he has to since he kind of, well, breaks everything.” Death moved forward to poke Drei with her foot. “Come on, Drei, no chewing on Ruby’s shoe.”

The three-headed corgi huffed and then trotted over to the couch before jumping onto it and moving around a bit before finally settling. 

“That’s his spot now,” Death explained. “Whenever he shows up, you can expect him to sit there.”

“Is he going to show up a lot?” Ruby asked. Weiss was still getting ready for their night out. If she knew the other woman, it was probably Myrtenaster’s fault. Weiss was already very picky about how she dressed, and consulting with the frost dragon typically made it worse since they were both perfectionists. It was one of the reason Ruby loved Crescent Rose. Her dragon’s approach to fashion was simple: anything that stopped Ruby from dying from exposure was okay since human skin sucked compared to dragon scales.

“He’ll be in and out,” Death replied. “There are a lot of little anomalies in this world, so it might be good to have a Divine Beast poking around in case there’s anything untoward going on. If there’s anything he can’t handle, he’ll tell Zwei. And, really, if there’s anything that Zwei can’t handle here, you’re in real trouble... but don’t worry because I can handle it.”

“And if you can’t handle it?”

“Ruby, I’m Death. If there’s a problem I can’t handle, then all of Creation is probably screwed.”

“Good point.” Ruby turned as she heard Weiss emerge from their room. “You look awesome, Weiss!”

The other woman did indeed look awesome. Like most dragon riders, she usually favoured practical clothing - flying in a skirt was a rookie mistake - but there was still a vast difference between combat clothing and the sort of clothing designed for aesthetic purposes. Weiss’s form-hugging trousers, finely-fitted blouse, and shimmering, dragon-scale mantle were all designed to catch and hold the eye. The mantle in particular was striking. It had been woven from scales Myrtenaster had shed, which meant it was the same colour as polar ice, a white so intense it made the blue of Weiss’s eyes look like cerulean flame. Ruby had grown up hearing legends about the snow maidens that haunted the high peaks were only dragons dared to go. They were supposed to ensorcel climbers and travellers with their beauty.

Weiss was her snow maiden, and Ruby was most definitely ensorcelled.

“Are you two done chatting?” Weiss said. “We’re going to be late.”

“I recall Ruby being ready almost half an hour ago,” Death replied with a grin, ignoring the crumbs that Luna was leaving on her cloak as she munched on her cookie. 

“I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation,” Weiss replied archly.

“I’m sure that was it,” Ruby said. She took Weiss’s hand. “Shall we, milady?”

Weiss rolled her eyes. “Oh, good grief.” She sketched a curtsy. “Very well, Your Highness.”

“Technically, you’re the princess,” Ruby pointed out. “Whereas I am but a mere commoner.”

Weiss snorted inelegantly. “Ruby, you’re a dragon rider. You’re nobility by default. And let’s not forget the whole war hero, living legend, and Slayer of Fell Beasts thing that you’ve got going on.”

“To be fair, Crescent Rose did most of the slaying. I was mostly along for the rider for that one.”

“Ruby you jumped off your dragon and stabbed a demonic beast the size of a whale in the eye while Crescent Rose was grappling with it in mid-air. It’s a miracle you didn’t fall to your death, and you more than did your part.”

“Yeah... I guess I am pretty awesome.” Ruby nodded at Death. “We should be back before midnight. If not...”

“Then I will assume you two have found a nice, quiet spot to enjoy each other.” Death chuckled. “Fear not, your child is safe with me.”

X    X     X

Death bit back a grin at the horrified face Luna made as she ate her vegetables. The toddler was acting like she was being fed poison as she cringed and slowly but surely finished her meal. 

“You know,” Death said. “I asked the other gods if we could change Creation so cookies were healthy, but I got outvoted.”

Luna made a disgusted sound but continued to eat her vegetables.

“But since you’ve done such a good job of eating your vegetables, I’ll have a surprise ready for you when you’re done with the rest of them.”

X    X     X

Luna’s eyes widened as she took in the giant cookies floating around in the sky.

“Behold,” Death said. “The cookie dimension... which only two worlds over from the mango puree dimension.” She pulled Luna closer to whisper into her ear. “Just don’t tell your mommy about this place. Otherwise, she’ll never stop bugging me until I take her here.” She pointed. “We can start with that one. It’s chocolate chip.”

X    X     X

Author’s Notes

Are you worried about the safety of your children? Why not have an alternate universe version of yourself with essentially limitless power watch them for you? Sure, you’ll have to put up with the occasional Divine Beast sleeping on your couch, but you couldn’t ask for a safer, more reliable babysitter than Death herself. The Ruby’s in this story are DragonRider!Ruby and Death!Ruby.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here. I’ve recently released two stories, Attempted Adventuring and Surviving Quarantine, as well as three audiobooks, Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Army of Golems, Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire, and The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company.  If you like humour, action, and adventure, be sure to check them out!

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

just want a piece where demon harry gets protective/jealous of angel y/n in public when a guy starts flirting with her 🥺✊🏼

Y/N is naive, and Harry knows that.

He was more than well aware of her innocence when it came to others— of her default setting to constantly seek out the best in people and assume they are redeemable. That genuine, humanity-seeking drive is what had led to their relationship blossoming in the first place.

With that being said, he’s grown quite fond (and even thankful) of her optimistic tendencies. He loves how she can analyze a situation or a person and always manage to single out the positive aspects that are worth atoning. She has a hard-set belief that everything with a soul has an inherent capacity to be good, no matter how deeply buried that capacity may be.

But Harry begs to differ.

He’s been through so much in the past seven centuries that he can’t help but disagree with her ideals when it comes to the sincerity of humans. A soul may be created innately just, but it’s not hard at all to corrupt it. He himself— a demon; a twisted human soul— is a prime example of that.

All in all, his musings are a long-winded explanation as to why he should never leave Y/N alone at a bar.

Not when there’s tons of men milling around the establishment with everything but sincere, genuine intentions.

All he had wanted to do was to go retrieve his wallet from his car in peace. The deed didn’t take more than two minute, tops. And yet when he got back, one of those men was standing irritably close to Y/N as she sat with perfectly trained posture upon her bar stool.

Well, stand wasn’t really the right word for what the young man was doing. He was actually leaning against the counter on his forearm, facing Harry’s girlfriend with a knowing grin plastered across his annoyingly attractive face.

The mortal’s body language depicted his intentions pretty evidently— open stature, flirty eyebrow shrugs, flickering his stare at Y/N’s lips while lightly licking over his own, boyish giggling at whatever she was contributing to the conversation. All tools Harry himself had practically invented to aid him in getting laid.

And of course Y/N is blissfully ignorant to the point of it all do to her deep-seated notion of expecting the best from people.

Harry can tell by her comfortable expression and easy smile that she doesn’t suspect her company’s lascivious motives, nodding along to their exchange and laughing at his jokes without realizing that every time her eyes crinkle shut in glee, the brunette boy inches a bit closer to her.

Harry hadn’t noticed that his nails had pierced through the leather in his wallet until someone mistakenly thuds into his shoulder with a surprised, “Oop, sorry, mate.” He glances over his back with a casual nod of forgiveness, gaze skimming over his hands momentarily, leading to a double-take when he sees the black leather strewn with nail marks deep enough to cause obvious rips.  

“Oh, fucking hell...” He murmurs under his breath in a defeated sigh, scanning over his favorite accessory begrudgingly before tucking it into his back pocket.

It had been a gift from a close friend who’d slept with the CEO of Gucci and had managed to swipe it on the way out. In short, it has priceless sentimental value, and now it was ruined.

All because of some stupid hormonal stranger who had set their sights on his girlfriend.

Harry flashes his gaze upwards once again, running through different scenarios in his mind of how to handle the whole circumstance.

He could take the route he knows Y/N would want him to and be civil. Explain the misunderstanding and that she in fact is here with someone— someone with a short temper, inhuman strength, and violent inclinations— and that muscle tanks and jogging shorts aren’t the proper attire for a semi-sophisticated bar. He’d probably word it along the lines of, “The nearest frat house is a few blocks south.”

Or, he could resort to his usual plan of action when it comes to pests: instilling fear. His ink black eyes and bloody demon face weren’t meant to be party tricks, after all.

But as it turns out, it appears he won’t have to even lift a finger.

When his eyes focus back on their spots at the counter, Y/N and the stranger seem to be involved in a mild argument.

His demeanor towards her has changed completely, obvious in his indignant gestures and exasperated facial expression. Y/N is staring up at him in a type of confused shock with her mouth slightly parted, though Harry can see the boy’s explosive actions have rendered her speechless.

Much to Harry’s joy, the young man grabs his drink as he shakes his head incredulously at her, turning and stomping away.

Stomping straight in his direction.

Harry’s not sure what comes over him, but it propels him forward, his pent-up anger bubbling up from the pit of his stomach and filling his mouth with a sour taste. The force ends up driving him to slam into the other brunette’s left shoulder.

He hadn’t meant for it to be too harsh, but he forgets his strength at times. Especially when his feelings are clouding his judgment, and especially when it has to do with Y/N.

Harry barely feels the bump, but he knows it had packed quite the punch when his opponent reels sideways abruptly, drink ending up all over his hideous neon blue tank instead of in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck— I’m so sorry, man!” Harry really should’ve taken up the director of Titanic when he’d offered him one of the leading roles all those years ago at a drunken Hollywood party; lying and pretending tend to come easy to him. “I didn’t see you at all!”

The man, already on edge do to striking out with his girl, looks up with a glare so deep and menacing that Harry thinks it’d give Lucifer a run for his money. ”Why don’t you fucking watch where you’re going, you dipsh—“

The words lodge in the boy’s throat when instead of being met with Harry’s own eyes, he’s met with his chin. Harry looks down at him over his cheekbones, trying his best to fight off a smug grin as the shorter man slowly tilts his head back to lock eyes.

Harry almost snickers as he sees the guy’s rage melt away, Adam’s Apple bobbing nervously.

He raises his eyebrows in question, the corners of his lips curving up in a sinisterly arrogant smirk at knowing he has the upper hand in the encounter. Harry fills his voice with innocent curiosity, but the undertone holds a snarky bite. “What was that, mate?”

“N-Nothing!” The bar-goer struggles to get the words out, his voice rising a few pitches. “It was my fault, I should’ve been more careful. S-Sorry.”

“Right.” Harry scoffs at him with an air of superiority and amusement, shrugging lightly. “Happens to the best of us, yeah?“

The man nods almost frantically, eager to get out of the situation, but Harry’s having the time of his undead life toying with the poor lad.

He leans down just a tad to come face-to-face with the young adult. “And to be fair, you probably didn’t see me coming. No one walks looking up, do they?”

With that last dig, Harry side-steps the stranger and gives him a playful pat on the shoulder as he sweeps by, but he’s definitely aware of how much strength is behind the gesture this time. It tickles his ego as he feels the man’s body struggle to maintain its footing under the weight of his own hand. “No hard feelings.”

Harry’s quite proud of himself for how he had handled it because he’d managed to find common ground between Y/N’s practices and his own. Public humiliation is the best of both worlds, in his opinion.  

“Didn’t get into too much trouble while I was away, did you?” Harry’s hand reaches out to gently press against the small of Y/N’s back, his lips finding her temple and sponging a loving kiss against the steady pulse.

She looks up at him with mild unfamiliarity that quickly molds into comfort when she recognizes it’s him. Her voice sounds slightly distracted because of what she had experienced, but her tone is dismissive. “Not at all. Just a random little misunderstanding with someone, but it’s all good.”

“Oh?” His face fills with faux, concerned astonishment as he leans forward casually onto his forearm against the counter, free hand softly tucking a loose strand of hair behind his girlfriend’s ear and thumbing over her bottom lip admirably, sweetening his voice into a fond, flirty drawl. “Hard to believe anyone would ever get angry with such a pretty doll face like yours.”

Y/N huffs in amusement at his compliment, knowing full well the objective behind it is to frazzle her. Her eyes roll a bit as she shrugs her brows, but she instinctively reaches up to brush the shell of her burning ears. “Yeah, well, his intentions weren’t pure and I actually have a boyfriend.”

Harry licks the edge of his mouth jestingly, one of his eyebrows flicking upwards. “Do you, now?”

Y/N matches the playful glint in his rosemary jade eyes. “I sure do. He should be around here somewhere....”

She trails off, pretending to look over Harry’s head to spot her imaginary date.

He lulls his head to the side, pouting his lips into a childish frown, voice full of fake disappointment. “Does that mean I don’t stand a chance?”

She gnaws on her bottom lip to keep from bursting into a round of giggles, mouth twitching with the effort of keeping the little game going. “Why don’t you buy me a drink and find out.”

Harry looks up towards the ceiling thoughtfully, tilting his head from side-to-side as if mulling over her suggestion. He releases an airy sigh, gifting her a crooked, teasing simper. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take, I suppose.”

He flags down the bartender, ordering two of the most elegant, expensive drinks he can find on the menu.

His includes dragonfruit pulp mixed with champagne and butterfly tea, while Y/N’s is something much more intricate, including gin, champagne, mango purée and a scoop of raspberry sorbet, all served atop a beautiful wine goblet carved out of ice.

The way her face lights up when she tastes it makes every nerve ending in his body fizzle and pop.

Harry pulls out a few twenty dollar bills, telling the server to keep the change as he takes the ice straw in his champagne flute into his mouth, sipping his fruity drink happily with his hand resting protectively on Y/N’s outer thigh.

“You got a new wallet?” She inquires with excited wonder, speaking over her own straw as her view glimpses down pointedly at the aged, brown leather Michael Kors piece he had left opened atop the counter.  

“Oh, yeah!” He scoops it up, flipping it closed before she has a chance to see the ID in the clear card-slot at the center of the wallet. “I forgot to tell you!”

Harry holds it up before her, twisting it from either side to show it off.

“Looks really nice. I like the gold detailing around the brim.” Y/N smiles and nods approvingly, using the straw in her glass to scoop up a bit of mango purée into her mouth. “Very fancy.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a catch.” Harry knowingly smirks down into his drink, eyes reflecting midnight black against the purple liquid.

“Where did y’get it?”

“A gift from a friend I bumped into earlier.”

[jmeelee]

Hey! If you’re still taking prompts from the two word prompt list, can I request either ‘cherry cola’ (because it’s my favourite, yum!) or ‘green eyes’ (because I have green eyes and I really like them), for Sterek, please? Thank you!😘

Derek’s calling this season the winter of his discontent, and it starts three days after Halloween. The problem is, Stiles’ hands (already an issue) refuse to leave his mouth (the bigger issue, both morally and literally) alone. Over the years Derek’s been forced to contend with poronographic plastic straws, obscene pen caps, raunchy Red Vines, unwholesome hoodie strings, and all manner of oral fixations. He’s born the brunt of torture in stoic silence, but this latest development might be his undoing.

The rest of the pack contentedly scarf down their dinner, oblivious to the fingertips rubbing back and forth over Stiles’ dry, cracked lips, pinching and pulling at them until they’re swollen and ruddy. His tongue darts out, wets the abused skin.

“Quit it,” Lydia admonishes, smacking Stiles’ hand away. “You’re making them worse!”

“I can’t help it,” Stiles whines. “They hurt. I can’t even eat.” He longingly eyes the bag of curly fries on the coffee table, and reaches up to press at the bottom of his face.

Lydia sighs dramatically. “Fine, loser.” She digs to the bottom of her pink Prada purse, pulling out a small orange and yellow cylinder. “Take the rest of my lip balm. It’s candy corn flavor.”

To Derek’s utter horror, Stiles pops off the cap, screws the bottom of the tube, and rubs melting scented wax all over his generous mouth. Sickly sweet vanilla, butter and almond socks Derek straight in the super-sensitive nose. Stiles rubs his lips together, smacks them loudly. Derek can now see, hear and smell Stiles’ mouth.

“Wow!” he proclaims. “This stuff is great. I’m going to use it all the time!”

Lydia levels him a DEFCON 2 stink eye. “Buy your own. That cost me eighteen dollars.” She turns away, catches Derek’s slack-jawed stare, soda cup frozen half-way to his mouth, and raises one delicate eyebrow. Derek scowls, slowly brings the cup the rest of the way and takes a menacing sip. “On second thought, Stiles…” Lydia chirps, evil smirk spreading across her face. “You can borrow my lip balm any time you want.”

Lydia’s bound to start screaming soon, because there is no way Derek is going to live through this.

*

The following week it’s coconut. The week after, watermelon. December brings cinnamon, spearmint and cranberry. In the interest of saving his sanity, Derek secretly wraps a dozen tubes of unscented chapstick and buries them at the bottom of Stiles’ Christmas stocking. By mid-January, they’re all lost, and it’s back to mango and cocoa butter and honey. Lydia observes Derek closely with each new flavor, hazel eyes noting the depth of his forehead furrows and the rosy tips of his ears.

Spring blooms, and Derek mistakenly thinks he’s survived the storm when disaster strikes. Derek often thinks it’s Lydia who should be working for Beacon Hills Police department, not Stiles. She has the makings of a first class detective; she unearths the smallest details.

They’ve just sat down to dinner after a quick pack meeting, when she pulls a burgundy container from her bag, never breaking eye contact with Derek. “You should try this new lip balm, Stiles.” A diabolical grin. “It’s cherry-cola.”

Derek inhales hard, choking on the exact flavor of soda currently in his mouth. There aren’t many vices Derek allows himself, but sugary, full-calorie cherry cola is one of them. Stiles, oblivious to Derek’s near-death experience, reaches for the tube with grabby hands. “Ohhh, gimme!”

Derek throws up his hands. “Your lips aren't even chapped anymore!” The words rasp from his throat.

Stiles applies the salve with one hand, points to his mouth with the other. “I know. But now my lips are so soft.”

Derek stands as soon as he’s hit with the scent of rich, sweet fruit, cloves and anise, plowing across the room. He pauses in front of Lydia to look down his nose and proclaim, “For the record, I really hate you.”

“You’re welcome,” she sing-songs.

Stiles watches Derek stalk closer. “Geez, Derek, that was kind of r—”

It’s official. Derek can see, hear, smell and taste Stiles’ mouth.

When he finally backs away, Stiles blinks hard. “Whoa.” He looks over at Lydia. “You’re a genius. Cherry-cola finally did it.”

“What?” Derek’s voice reaches an octave not heard since puberty. “You were in on this? For the record, I hate you too.”

“Yeah? Well, I love the way you hate me.” Stiles purses his lips. “Get down here and hate me some more.” He reaches out, pulls Derek into his lap. Derek goes, happily. Stiles’ lips are very, very soft.

It’s going to be a glorious summer.

——

I hope you like it, Dee! This was super fun to write. I’ve borrowed from William Shakespeare's Richard III: "Now is the winter of our discontent / Made glorious summer by this sun of York".

[dickmedownmendess]

The Chosen Two

This has been on my mind for the past week so I finally decided to write it. Hope you guys enjoy! (Also hopefully it doesn’t get removed like my last one *wipes away tears*)

Pairings: Connor x OC

Words: 3.k

Glasses clattered together as conversation filled the luxurious venue. Numerous college students scattered the large room, holding champagne glasses containing God-only-knows. 

          “Either I’m extremely tipsy or just generally nervous, but I think I’m going to barf.” I mutter to my best friend, Avery, as we stood close to each other in the midst of everyone.

Tonight was an award ceremony for UCLA’s School of Film, Theatre and Television. I was nominated for many different categories in the film category, and with the competitive nature I possessed, I desired to win every category I was in. The most important award I was in the running for was Film of the Year which, if won, gives the opportunity to display your talents publicly, while also gaining the exposure to jumpstart your career. 

         “Oh quit it, you’ve done so many talented videos and photo shoots, it would be discrimination if you didn’t win at least one of them.” She ensures confidently. I eyed her quizzically, a humorous smile spreading across my lips. 

         “Discrimination?” I repeat in a laugh. She was always a little melodramatic in her motivational speeches. 

         “For sure, it would be discrimination against a bad bitch honestly.” We both laugh, clinking glasses in agreement to the statement. 

Once it dies down, I scan the room for the one, and the only person that has been heavy on my mind since nominations were announced. 

         “Listen, my type isn’t surfer-white-boy, but that Connor Cashier guy can get it.” Alex whispers to me, her eyes fixed on what I assumed, Connor. Following her gaze, I also looked at the man of the hour–and also the cause of my nauseate. 

He dressed in a grey tailored suit, the jacket opened to reveal a checkered button-up that complimented the suit, and overall posh look. He raked a hand through his prim hair, chuckling at something someone was saying to him. A crowd gradually formed around him, but he remained placid, not an utter amount of uneasiness in his demeanor. 

         “Connor Brashier is my worst nightmare right now.” I admit, Alex looks away from him to give me a perplexed frown. 

         “And why is that? The boy looks like he weighs no more than 90 pounds wet.” 

My gaze lingers on him, momentarily lost in how well composed his film he admitted was. It captured all the aesthetics of nature, it made the viewers look at nature past just its beauty. He raised awareness of our effect on nature, all while tying a story plot to it. He filmed it across many beautiful nature spots in the States (only because it was prohibited to use out of state content). 

He was basically the poster child for the film major, most underclass students looked up to him, like he was a mogul. 

What made it all the more frustrating was how well he handled the popularity. It was always so mysterious. He didn’t smile too much, and he wasn’t smug about his accomplishments, there weren’t any troubling stories about him, mostly just allegations of who he sleeps with and the typical rumor subjects. He simply focused on his filming and chilled with his friends in downtime. 

I didn't realize how long I was staring until his eyes meet mine, the blues in them so intense, they practically shined under the starlight. I quickly avert my gaze back to Alex, sighing. 

          “He’s just so talented. And like–I don’t know. I’m just afraid he’s going to win and continue to get the exposure he basically already has.” I confess, toying with a ringlet of hair out of habit when I’m nervous. 

          “You’re downplaying your own work D, you personified California, and filmed them around California. And told a story. Who the hell thinks of that? You articulated on every detail, I had to use my brain. You know I don't like doing that. Your film is stunning. And if it couldn’t get better, you did it all on the price of your own money. I doubt rich boy Connor can say that.” She states matter of factually, sass lacing her words. I blush, genuinely warm by her, comical, but uplifting words.

          “You’ve always had a way with words, that’s why you need to win that journalist of the year award.” I hug her. 

          “Oh honey, I’m not worried about a stupid award, that’s just justification for objectifying our talents to a mere thing that’ll wind up in our attics...or a box, or a trash...or even a–” 

          “Ladies and gentlemen if you could find your seat at your designated tables. We will start the ceremony shortly.” The president announces into the microphone. Alex huffs, giving a small eye roll. I snicker patting her shoulder. 

          “See ya later journalist of the year.” I tease with a wink. Backing away, I don’t watch where I’m going and stumble into a body. Their hands instinctively grabbed my sides to hold me up. The piquant cologne was the first thing noticed before I even turned, but once I became motionless. 

          “Sorry, Danielle right?” I looked up and blinked mute. Lost for words mostly because I was baffled at his voice, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk—and I’ve definitely had to do a project with him in the past, so that says a lot for the amount of dialogue he uses. Straightening up, I recover smoothly flipping my hair off my shoulder. 

          “Yes, sorry about that.” I give a wry smile, he merely smiles back in response nodding his head. 

We both walk to the same table, he glances over his shoulder noticing me, automatically pulling out a chair for me before taking a seat of his own a few chairs down. I smile at the unexpected gesture, he winks back taking a swig of drink in his seat. 

Looking around the table, it registers that the people seated here are also nominees for the best film. I didn’t even feel threatened by them, and a hinted ounce of guilt surface while I smile at them. Champagne glasses accommodates the table, and I grab one, taking a swill of the bitter drink. 

They didn’t hold back on the alcohol at all. 

Promptly, the different professors of the theatre major began presenting awards. As much as I wanted to be entertained by the witty commentary, the heavy weight of my eyelids kept me blinking, while shifting in my seat, I lightly swayed, grabbing hold of the table to stabilize myself. 

How much did I drink? I wonder, glancing around the table to check if anyone witnessed my drunkenness. Catching the striking eyes of Connor, he smirks, his chest noticeably bouncing in a silent laugh. I giggle as well, looking away and excusing myself from the table. 

My heels felt 10 feet tall as I walked to the bathroom, but I did it effortlessly, disguising how tipsy I truly was. Once in the comforts of the clean bathroom, I look at myself. 

Shouldn’t have done that. 

The world spun, and I was suddenly a lot cuter than before. 

         “Ah shit, I’m drunk.” I murmur, then giggle because in my consumption of the many glasses of champagne, I also swallowed the tickled bug. Wetting a napkin, I patted my eyes, endeavoring to clear up the swirl in her eyes, while not messing up the makeup job Alex did. She made me look stunning, alcohol-aside. “If all fails and I don’t win a damn thing, at least I look cute...right?” I say to myself, while examining my face. Before leaving the bathroom, I pee out a small portion of the liquor, tugging the end of my bodycon dress down on my thighs after I flush and leave the stall. 

Stumbling out of the bathroom, I exhale heavily glancing at the ongoing dull ceremony, then towards the exit where Connor leans on the wall hiding, his back faced me, head pointed down. The liquor confidence ushered my legs to move in his direction, I cleared my voice. 

Mid-exhale, he looks over his shoulder at the sound, the mango smoke blowing into my face as he continues to blow out. I wave it away, snickering. 

          “Is this ‘something to take the edge off’?” I quip, observing how his porcelain face reddens around his structured cheeks, plush lips turning up in a smile. Extending the vape to her, she contentedly takes it. 

          “Something like that. I knew it was going to be long and boring, but that in their is worse than watching paint dry.” He explains watching as I take a drag off the vape. His eyes fixates on my glossy lips, the ghost cloud floating into my nose, before I release the cloud back out on his face. The soft smile doesn’t falter in his features as it does. 

          “It’s so boring I got drunk...on accident.” I add, earning his chuckle. He shrugs his shoulders in a way to say ‘I feel that’. The crowd clapped loudly gaining their attention as all of the theatre winners stood on stage receiving the applauds. I look back at him, his long, shiny hair falls over his forehead until he combs a hand through it to push it back. “You know, honestly speaking–thanks to the cheap champagne–I will confess, you’re the most intimidating person I’ve met. And I’ve met...menaced people.” He quirks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her. 

          “Well without alcohol I can say the same about you.” I raise my eyebrows at the newfound information. I thought I was transparent: I smile at everyone I pass, and social when needed. “You just carry yourself in a way that I see through that sweet, school-girl façade. As cliché as it sounds, there’s more to you that you let on.” He mirrors my reaction as I tilt my head with a smirk, interested by his explanation. 

Before she was able to reply, a professor of there’s, headed to the bathroom—sees them, “Connor, Danielle, will you make your way back to your seats please. We don’t want to gather a social group back here.” Connor and I straighten up like seized burglars. I nod my head, peaking over to Connor swiftly, to see him still holding the smirk. 

The ceremony continues as we returned to our seats. They were several awards into the Television portion, I peered over to see Alex collected a couple of the “objectifying” awards. As though feeling my gaze, she looks at me, rolling her eyes with an expression that mentally says “shut up”. I giggle blowing a kiss. 

          “And the Kelly Hollywood Television ‘best journalist’ award, this student showed diligence, dedication and always a jovial attitude in whatever she does, the award goes to...Alexandra Smith!” 

Everyone applauded, but I went out of the way to stand, cheering loudly as she narrowed her eyes at me on her way up to the stage. 

         “That’s my bit—girl!” I chirp correcting myself before I acted my true—goofy—self. I could tell I gained eyes from my peripheral while I pestered my bestie, but Connor’s gaze was most capturing, as they scanned down my legs, over my butt, and up till they reached to meet mine. I blushed looking off, pulling my dress down again as I sat again. 

The filming and photography starts as our professors did their introductions to the different categories. I sober up immediately as names began to get called for different awards. Connor earned three awards off of his photography, and I one. In the film-focused subjects I managed to be chosen for three awards. After grabbing my third award, I take a seat back at the table. Glancing over at Connor, he leaned back in his chair relaxed, one elbow is placed on the table, face leaning on it with his finger tapping at his pink lips. He gives a subjective smirk when our eyes meet, making me question the reason behind it. But I divert my attention as they go into discussing the film of the year. 

          “This year has been one full of ups and downs, rewards and disgraces, but what matters is at the end of the day all of you have made the staff, and UCLA extremely proud. The Film of the Year is an award granted to us by alumni, actor and filmmaker, Nicolas Cage. With the accomplishments he has, he wanted to pay tribute back to the School of Film, by allowing the winner to display their talents in a publication with the Cage Network.” Students all around erupt into whispers. Most coming from theatre and television side, who commented how they weren’t given this opportunity.

Sucks to suck. I thought giggling internally.

          “We will now play a snippet of all of the nominees.” The first few videos were executed well, very worthy of the award. Connor’s video comes on now, gaining everyone’s attention instantly by its electrifying music and vibrant effects just from the start. As his went off a few of his friends cheered for him, he sends playful winks to them before looking over at me. Ignoring him, I continue watching as my film shows. 

Nerves rumbled my stomach, the sudden doubt of the turnout on my film clouding my mind as I watched, critiquing it even in its published form. 

Finishing out the rest of the nominees, the screen went black and attention was back on the professor Knox. “All of the films were impeccable, the decision was extremely hard to make, so hard that we have a two-way tie,” we all commenced in disappointed-confused-chatter, “these two films chosen were remarkable, we deliberated indepthly on the scores and grading but they were identical in it’s punctuality and creativity.The winners are…” 

For a moment all sound mutes, only the echoing voice of professor Knox could be heard as he says, “Connor Brashier and Danielle Golding!” It felt like slow motion the way I slowly whipped my head to Connor. He wore a content smile, scooting out of his seat to go accept the award. Blinking back into the reality of things, I pushed out of my chair as well. 

My wide eyes flash to Alex as she’s practically yelling, “that’s my girlfriend!” She earned a few quizzical frowns, causing me to chuckle. 

Still baffled by the choice, I took my spot beside Connor as Knox commanded the rest of the award-winners to come up on stage. Connor and I held the award together, his fingertips pressed against mine as we pushed closer together to fit into the group photo. 

The president said his ending message, concluding the event. Loud chatter drowned out the music playing in the background as everyone regrouped with their people. 

As I made my way to Alex, people stopped to congratulate me, I bowed my head in gratitude, genuinely stunned at all my winnings. I knew I said I wanted to win every category I was in, but I still expected a few awards, not this many. And let me not forget to mention, I’m one step closer to the breakout I needed from winning this award...even if I was partnering on it. 

          “Congratulations biiitch!” Alex yells, an adult walking by scolds her language as soon as it came out. I guffawed nearly dropping all the awards. 

          “Congratulations to you, Ms. objectify our talents and in an attic somewhere.” I mock earning a slap to my bare arm. Playfully wincing, I continued laughing until her face went straight, a soft smirk replacing, her eyes directed to something-or-one behind me. Turning, Connor—and a crowd mixed of giggling girls and ‘star struck’ guys—stood holding the film reel trophy. 

          “I gotta say, that wasn’t the outcome I expected.” Before I respond, I look at Alex, who already knew what to do. She takes my awards informing she was going to take them to the car. 

Facing Connor now, I cross my arms over my chest and give him a quizzical smile, “what outcome were you expecting then?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “for you to win alone, I mean for an actual cinematographer, I’m grateful they found my film great, but you rightfully deserve it.” He acknowledge, extending it out towards me. 

          “I’m a videographer, so, I agree. But I can’t take away from your talents, it really was a tie breaking situation.” I assured with a subtle shrug, pushing the trophy back to him.

          “Connor, Danielle, can I take a photo of you guys?” The journalist asks. All work and no play around here, I guess. I think to myself until the feel of Connor’s hand snakes around my side, delicate and cautious as though I was going to break under his touch. He rested it right at the small of my back. An electrifying feeling coursed my body at the touch. I scooted closer to him, taking in his cologne I got a whiff of earlier this evening. Wrapping my arm around his waist, I tilted my head just enough it nearly leaned against his shoulder. Smiling, the picture was taken and the journalist walks off after thanking us. 

Before Connor release me, he leans his head down close enough that his lips brush the top of my ear. “Think about it, we can be taking pictures just like this on a red carpet someday.” And with that he releases me and sinks into the waiting crowd, engulfing himself in conversation with them. Not leaving me the chance to respond. 

And so I did, I thought about the red carpet pictures, and the bright lights. How I could be famous from my work one day—not that it was my reasoning for doing this, but it wouldn’t hurt to be noted for my hard work—I never thought I would be doing it with him, Connor Brashier, a guy that, before tonight, didn’t how he sounded when he talked.  But I guess if I’m going to be taking pictures with someone, he’s a good pick. I mean, he is easy on the eyes. 

Overtime, people leave, conversation dies down and the clean up crew makes their way in. I stood in the foyer lost in discussion with professor Knox as he told me the details of what was to come for the project. There were minor changes that needed to be made since it was the two of us, but the overall objective still remained the same. 

          “As brilliant as you two are behind a camera, I’m sure everything will succeed ultimately. We weren’t torn between you for no reason. You two bring the most publicity to our part of the school with what you put out. If you guys manage to have good chemistry, there will be a rule of awakening in the world of film.” His words struck me, the amount of confidence he, and apparently the rest of the staff, had in Connor and I. I would have never expected it.

He exits out of the building leaving me with my whirlwind of thoughts. I don’t know Connor. Sure, I’ve worked on mini projects with him, but they required little to no interaction–to add it was a year ago when we did that project. 

This was an entirely different echelon of work. This wasn’t a mere grade, this was meant to provoke feeling into the public, draw their attention and want more. We were basically selling ourselves to the world. 

Still lost in thought, I don’t notice, until the familiar scent fills my nose that Connor also entered the foyer. He was alone–for once–and his hands were tucked away in his pockets his doe-eyes and solemn porcelain face, it always seem as though he was mad, but his lips displayed a smile that decreased that idea. 

         “I don’t know you, and I know you don’t know me, but my gut is telling me this will be a great hit for us both.” Connor moves closer, but stays a safe proximity away as his eyes bore into hers. 

I’m not easy to fall for a pretty set of eyes, and a tempting set of lips but I think I met my match as I feel stuck for words. Clearing my throat I turn away from high slightly, “you think so huh?” 

          “For sure, I’m not trying to sound psychological, but you have an open mind, and a keen sense for capturing things in its raw form. You can’t make that. That’s natural.” 

          “Okay Dr. Brashier.” I flirt, watching his teeth bite into his bottom lip. “Well needless to say, with this project you’ll probably find out that side I don’t let on.” I lower my voice, lightly trailing a finger on his arm. 

          “Danielle.” Alex says at the door, almost on cue. 

Connor shutters, licking his lips as I walk away, keeping my eyes trained on him. “See ya soon.” I whisper at last. 

          “You are honestly too much.” Alex mutters once we’re in the car. 

Batting my eyes innocently I look at her, “what are you talking about?” 

          “Don’t hurt that boy, he seems so innocent.” 

Feigning offense, I purse my lips. “I’m only going to do what he allows, life doesn’t throw bubble wrap lemons at us right?” 

Alex glares at me, “bitch what?” 

           “Exactly.” I say final, knowing I was talking out of my ass, but I did mean what I said. I’m not here to hurt, but he knows what he can and can’t handle. This project could do either one.

—

I honestly planned to make this a one part imagine but now I’m leaning more towards a fic [and depending on if you guys like it I definitely will]. I haven’t thought the plot through completely though so...yeah. Hope you enjoyed this Connor!InASuit content (because I know I enjoy Connor in a suit, no matter how long ago it was). More to come :)

Request can be made here :)

[flauntpage]

Marcus Mariota Has A Brighter Future Than "La La Land": The NFL Underground Mailbag

Welcome to the NFL Underground Mailbag. Ask Chris Harris your question about the NFL, general sports or cultural minutiae at HeyHarris@HarrisFootball.com. Follow him @HarrisFootball.

Drew J.: Which team you viewed as a non-contender when the season ended now looks like a contender after free agency and the draft?

Dammit, Drew, you're just waiting for me to say "Jacksonville Jaguars" so you can send this column to Deadspin in about six months with the email subject line "Can You Believe They Pay This Douchebag To Pontificate About The NFL?"

I'm not going to say Jacksonville Jaguars, but I do think this generation of drunken-sailor spending on defense (Calais Campbell, A.J. Bouye, Barry Church) will go better than last year's (Malik Jackson, Tashaun Gipson, Prince Amukamara). The problem in Hooterville is, as ever, named Bortles.

Read More: Myles Garrett, Good! Mitch Trubisky, Argh!

I could make an argument for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and the Tennessee Titans, purveyors of third-year franchise QBs in whose futures I basically believe (more on them shortly). Tampa signs DeSean Jackson and drafts O.J. Howard. Tennessee drafts Corey Davis and signs Johnathan Cyprien and Logan Ryan. If I squint, maybe I can see Cinderella?

But I think my answer has to be Houston. The Texans already had a ready-to-contend roster, J.J. Watt presumably returning from being America's foremost lumberjack, and membership in the AFC South going for them. And now they have Deshaun Watson, who probably isn't Dak Prescott, because that story was insane, but offers a higher ceiling than anyone else the Texans might've trundled out under center. I'm not picking the Texans as Super Bowl LII champs, but I think their bold move up to grab Watson in the first round of last week's draft gives a mature Houston roster a puncher's chance in '17 and gives Browns fans yet another potential milestone. "We passed on him twice? Hand me the arsenic."

Memo to Houston: things could get interesting. Photo by Bill Streicher-USA TODAY Sports

Michael G.: How do you analyze the Vikings backfield with Dalvin Cook, a second-round draftee, and Latavius Murray, a free-agent signee?

That Cook lasted until the 41st pick is one of the sneaky shockers of the 2017 draft. Before the combine, Cook was a consensus top-15 pick in any mock draft you cared to read.

(Incidentally: stop reading mock drafts! They are useless click-bait completely unworthy of the valuable time you'd otherwise spend cleaning your toes or finding health care. The reason NFL writers arrive at a "consensus" mock draft every year is that everyone reads everyone else's mock drafts! People would stop writing them—especially in fucking February—if you'd stop looking at them. They are the Transformers of sports articles.)

Then NFL teams started paying attention to Cook's off-field misbehavior—breaking a car window with a BB gun, chaining up puppies in a harmful way, hanging out with friends who were investigated for brandishing firearms at a neighbor, and, most significantly, being charged with assault for allegedly striking a woman outside a Tallahassee bar, though a jury found him not guilty. Teams also started nitpicking his medicals and his disappointing combine quickness, and suddenly he wasn't even a top-40 draftee.

But when a running back is as impressive at a huge football school as Cook was at Florida State, I tend to trust the tape. He was a monster. We can't know what kind of person he is; we can't know if he's Montee Ball ready to squander his talent. But if his head is right, Cook's a future NFL star.

Murray should be fun to watch. Photo by Kyle Terada-USA TODAY Sports

As for Latavius Murray? He's a 6'3" 230-pounder with power and great long speed, he's only 27, and he's coming off a 12-touchdown season. I'd call him an above-average player. He can be the lead dog for a good pro rushing attack, and he'll probably top the Vikings in TDs. He's not a change-of-direction and acceleration menace like Cook. Give these guys a good offensive line (Minnesota's blocking was disastrous in '16) and they'll make a fun tandem.

Brian W.: What movies from the 2010s will be thought of the same way we think of Casablanca, Gone With The Wind, and Citizen Kane? My bets are La La Land, The Social Network, Zero Dark Thirty, and Her.

Can we stop with La La Land? It's pretty, well-acted pablum. It's fine, but it's nostalgia made manifest, and as such is subversively retrograde. The Artist won Best Picture on the wings of similar thirsting for the "simpler time" that never actually existed. In 50 years, they'll be begging you to accept a surplus neural implant of La La Land with every dose of zombie spray. The Social Network is "important" and a good character study, but is it a good movie? Is there actual tension? Zero Dark Thirty and Her are surpassingly excellent films, but if I wanted to choose a surpassingly excellent film that was illustrative of our era, I'd choose The Lobster.

But that's not what our era will be remembered for.

We live in the Era of Stupid, and I have a hard time imagining our culture getting surpassingly smarter in some speculative evaluating future. We'll probably be way dumber. So without doubt, our descendants will turn their lonely eyes to the 2010s and remember fondly the innocent days when something as deep and heartfelt as The F8 Of The Furious roamed the planet.

Rich L.: I don't know why you're so down on what you call "soft-focus" NFL features. OK, so we're never gonna really know who these athletes are. Big deal. I like feeling a connection to athletes, even if it's inherently one-sided. Does that make me a sucker or something?

Yes.

When you're a child, looking up to Steph Curry or Tom Brady is fine. Your brains are mush. You're trying to become a person. You're dumb. Part of the responsibility of growing up and becoming a functioning member of society is shrugging off childish things. It would be lovely to be able to understand and believe in very wealthy people we don't know, and I know my continued insistence that we don't and can't and shouldn't try makes me sound like a cynic.

But goddammit, times are too fucking serious to play this game anymore. It makes us sleepy. We start assuming these players and managers and owners (and celebrities and politicians and football columnists) are good people with decent things in their hearts, and soon they're bilking us for stadium money and covering up institutional rape cultures and inspiring the mental gymnastics that allow us to attack victims so as not to question our fandoms.

I love sports, but our fandoms should be questioned. Is every wealthy athlete a terrible person? Of course not, but you don't know who is and isn't, and any personal connection you feel for their lifestyles or their romantic entanglements or their Guitar-Hero-playing pre-draft antics is akin to that scam where you "buy a star" in the night sky. You're free to do as you choose, admire whom you like, toss your money into a trashcan and light it on fire, but in the end you're projecting a lot of emotional energy billions of light years out into the universe, and it ain't coming back your way.

OK but we like Marcus Mariota. Photo by Jay Biggerstaff-USA TODAY Sports

Nick B.: What's Marcus Mariota's ceiling this year and in the future?

I really like Mariota's tape. He and Winston will forever be linked by the '15 draft, but so far they're not particularly alike as players. I call Winston the Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Man, because he's improvisational almost to a fault, which leads to unexpected brilliance but also bouts of head-clutching madness. I like Winston as a player, but someday soon I may love Mariota.

He's got touch, he's got plenty of wing, he squeezed passes into some ludicrous windows, and most importantly he's under control. Of course, he did this last year in the context of a powerful rush offense and without the same workload Winston bore in Tampa (Winston averaged 5.5 passes per game more than Mariota, and led the league in air yards per attempt). We'll see if the addition of rookie receivers Corey Davis and Taywan Taylor opens up the Titans offense. I'm hopeful.

John C.: Should I move out of the USA?

I assume you're talking about Mango Mussolini's continued assault on the most vulnerable members of our society, but my answer is: probably not. Or not yet. I know every day the U.S. starts to feel a little more like Gilead, but every place has its problems, right? White nationalism isn't just an "us" problem. I say stay and be decent to everybody you meet; serve as an example, as thankless as that often feels. And anyway, where are you going to go? Canada? It's fucking cold there and they eat moose heart.

Sean M.: Does pineapple belong on pizza?

More than moose heart does.

Want to read more stories like this from VICE Sports? Subscribe to our daily newsletter.

Marcus Mariota Has A Brighter Future Than "La La Land": The NFL Underground Mailbag published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv