#ice is only the dignified one in public

[wearerandomlyyours]

Ice spotting Maverick walking down the hallway in nothing but a towel:

[callsignthirsty]

Chapter 3: Behind the Door

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron "Slider" Kerner Summary: Interrupting Iceman. Word Count: 4100 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, semi-public sex, fingering Chapter: 3/4 Minors DNI Previous Chapter

Slider's head whips around, shoulders drawn tight toward his ears as the crash of the door startles you both.

"Kerner!"

The split-second of terror subsides with that voice.

Ice.

Slider grunts, stubbornly diving back between your thighs. A man on a mission.

"I know you're up here, and I'm giving you to the count of three."

"No," you whimper, hips rocking against Slider's fingers, urging them to work faster. "Don't stop."

"One."

Instead of responding, Slider's breath ghosts over your clit as he presses two fingers into your cunt, curling them to pinpoint your sweet spot and hurtle you toward the edge.

The click of Ice's shoes is loud as he stalks toward you. "Two."

"So good," Slider hums against your slick skin. You squeeze your eyes closed, keening at the praise. "Almost there, baby."

Sli hisses as fingers fist in his short hair and yank him from between your legs.

"Three."

You whimper at the sudden loss of stimulation and the pour of cool night air over heated skin.

Slider has the audacity to flash Ice a smug smile. "Oh," he says as if he hadn't known the two of you were no longer alone. "Hey, Ice."

Pale eyes narrow as if asking Slider if that's the game they're going to play, then Ice pulls a tissue from his pocket and holds it to his RIO. "You've got lipstick on your face."

Slider's tongue peeks out to lick his lips. "That's not the only thing on my face."

Ice doesn't dignify him with a response, only releasing Slider when he stands and steps back to give you enough space for Ice to resettle you—steadying you on your own two feet and smoothing wrinkled velvet before procuring another tissue to help clean up the rouge smudged beyond the bounds of your lips.

Once you're deemed presentable, Ice descends the steps with his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you with an insistent tug that makes you feel more like an insolent child than his date. You want to stamp your feet as Ice assures you that he only needs to talk to a couple more officers he wants to speak with before you can get out of there.

Between the forced separation through staggered travel to D.C. and the night's two encounters—both of which had taken you to the very edge before leaving you high and dry—you're at your limit. So, to say you aren't paying attention to the conversation is an understatement. How are you supposed to pay attention to anything when you're oscillating between the jitters of unsated arousal and lightly filtered frustration?

Because who the hell does he think he is—do they think they are—to draw you into their little macho pissing contest? It's a wonder Iceman and Slider can both fit into the cockpit with their egos so blown out of proportion.

What should it matter in the end? They know you're going home with both of them.

Not that you get to say any of this. Instead, you're left to stew with empty eyes, a pinched smile, and a clenched fist at Ice's side as he makes a good impression on a commander. You're scraping the barrel with each half-hearted laugh at the officer's dull jokes, the Brut in your glass swirling between your fingers untouched. Each shift of your legs brings you closer to angry tears as the spit between them turns tacky, the microabrasions from Slider's stubble smarts reminding you of your lack of undergarment and the dissatisfied, borderline painful feeling of emptiness.

But it'll be a cold day in hell before you let any tears fall. You have your own pride to manage, and besides, no one wants to mingle with the serviceman whose date's eyes burn a tear-stung red.

"How much longer?" you ask Ice once the commander leaves.

Ice gives you an assessing look, eyebrows pulled down, and his head lightly tilted. You can't tell if he feels bad about what he's putting you through or is confused by your shortness of tone. "Impatient?"

You scoff, barely repressing the urge to cross your arms. Instead, you take a sip of your Brut, nose wrinkling as it bursts bitter across your tongue. "Whatever," you huff, done with the conversation and resigning yourself to more of the same. Ice had said there were "a couple" officers he wanted to talk with, after all.

Ice draws a deep breath in through his nose; lips pursed as he looks up to the ceiling. You know he's looking for the right words. You're still determining what those words would be. You know for a fact he won't find them painted on the ceiling.

Lucky for you—because you're not done being upset with him yet—Ice can't pinpoint what he's looking for before you're interrupted.

"Woah!" a familiar blonde excuses, bumbling into Ice and nearly spilling his beer on matching whites. "Sorry about that, still got my sea le– oh! Ice, hey!" Excuse dropped as a beamish grin overtakes Wolfman's face, cheeks tinged pink with drink.

"Wolf," you giggle as Wolf pulls you into a better mood with a friendly hug. It's hard to be all doom and gloom when Wolf's involved; he's a veritable ray of sunshine. "Where's 'Wood?"

"Pfft," he snorts. "Where's anyone? I mean, 'Wood's somewhere with his girl, but one minute I'm with Sli and Chip, the next Sli's gone and Chip's found himself a pretty little thing to dance with." He shrugs, not looking too plussed about his situation.

"I'll dance with you, Wolfie," you jump to offer. "Ice is being boring anyway."

Ice frowns. Wolf laughs. "Who am I to say no to a lady?" he asks, pulling you into an off-kilter twirl. "Don't worry, Ice, she's in good hands!" he calls over his shoulder as you practically drag him toward the dancefloor.

What Wolfman lacks in prowess, he makes up for in enthusiasm. By the time Hollywood and his fiancée find the two of you on the dancefloor—not a surprise since 'Wood and Wolf are practically connected at the hip—you're a little breathless from trying to keep up.

It's a good time, but you can only be so distracted, and it's only a matter of time before you begin scanning the crowd. Either you'll find Slider, or he'll find you, but you'll be damned if he doesn't finish what he started.

You know Ice has people he wants to impress and a ladder he's trying to climb, but shouldn't you be at the top of his list? With this thought at the helm, it isn't long before you spot a head of brown curls that towers above the rest. You rock onto your tiptoes to feed Wolf a lie—bathroom—and push through the crowd alone.

Except as you get closer, it becomes glaringly apparent that this tall brunet is not Slider.

You scowl at no one in particular when you come up empty-handed.

As you decide to keep searching until you find Slider—and, ultimately, relief—someone grabs you from behind.

You whirl around, ready to smack the person's hands off of you.

It's Pete.

You smack him anyway.

"Ow!" Pete yelps, more from surprise than pain. You didn't hit him that hard. "What the hell?!"

"Pete Mitchell, who do you think you are grabbing a lady–"

"You're hardly a lady."

"–from behind like that. You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Pete disarms you with a light pinch to your side that has you clamping your arms against your sides to protect against further tickling. "Where're Tweedledee and Tweedledum? Didn't think I'd catch you without one or the other."

You suppress a roll of your eyes. "Who knows."

"Sooo," Pete drawls a bit awkwardly, "does this have anything to do with the weirdness going on between the three of you?"

"Oh my god. You know," you groan, unable to stop yourself from hiding your face in your hands. How embarrassing.

"I don't know-know," Pete's quick to correct, "and I don't want to. But I know something's up."

This isn't something you're delving into with your brother. "It's nothing. Forget it."

"Doesn't seem like nothing if you're avoiding them."

"Like you're avoiding Penny's dad?" you snark back. Deflecting. "I'm surprised you decided to stick around."

"He's old. It's probably past his bedtime," Pete says confidently, a smile tugging at his lips. "The night's mine."

"Whatever will you do with this newfound freedom?" you tease.

Pete gives a half-shrug, surveying the room. "I'm sure some poor officer brought his daughter so she could meet the love of her life."

You don't bother holding in a mocking laugh. "And that's you?"

"No." Pete makes a face. "But I can be her something for the night."

"Ew," you grunt because you so do not want to get into that with your brother. "I need a drink."

A hand catches your elbow as you turn. "Going somewhere?"

You refuse to look as you shake Ice's hand off and continue walking.

"So you're going to ignore me." It's a statement.

"Don't you have other people to talk to?"

Ice reaches for your elbow again, turning you so he can meet your eyes with his own. "I want to talk to you."

"That's my cue," Pete mumbles as he slinks into the crowd, presumably to find trouble.

Neither you nor Ice move, and your stomach roils as his jaw sets, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You're mad at me."

Part of you wants to tell him off. Instead, you shake your head. "I'm not mad. I'm frustrated."

"Okay," Ice says, with a curt nod, his shoulders—which had been bunched—rolling back as he becomes more sure of himself. "I can work with that."

Something about the way he says it rankles you, and you sneer. Earlier, you'd been all aboard hanging off Ice's arm, but now you're wound tight enough to burst, and all you want to do is take a hot bath. And now that he's made you this way, you're something that needs to be dealt with.

"Let's grab some fresh air," Ice says, loud enough to settle any eavesdroppers as he leads you toward the outdoor courtyard with a gentle but commanding grasp on your elbow.

But you pass by the turn for the courtyard.

"Where are you taking me?" The smell of cigar smoke thins as you walk along less-traveled hallways.

"I'm taking care of it," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and continues to drag you after him.

Venturing further from the intended party spaces, the lights dim. You doubt the venue means for you to be down here.

Instead of voicing these thoughts, you scoff. "Helpful."

Making sure you're alone, Ice pulls you down a deserted hallway. "You're frustrated. I have people to talk to," he says slowly, sparing you a glance.

You frown. There goes Ice, talking about other people. Again.

He beelines for two unassuming doors, reaching out to the first, but its handle jiggles. Catches. Locked.

"I'm taking care of it."

Before you can challenge that assertion, Ice steps to the side and grabs the handle to the second door, marked STAFF ONLY.

It clicks.

Ice pushes you inside, following close behind.

The light coming through the foot of the door isn't enough to tell you where you are. But the clinical, electric-orange antiseptic smell of cleaning supplies invading your nose, singeing the hairs, is more than enough to give it away.

When you cross your arms over your chest, something falls to the ground with a wooden clack! "By dragging me into a janitor's closet?"

"Well, you said you'd be good for me, but that didn't last long."

You reach for where the handle must be, but Ice anticipates your moodiness and moves to intercept, deflecting your hand. "But the bet was that Slider couldn't get you off." His breath fans your face as he leans in, so you tilt your head away to avoid his lips. Stubborn. Undeterred, he kisses the long line of your neck, and the ghost of soft lips has you holding back a gasp. "So I'm taking care of it."

"What if it doesn't want to be taken care of?"

Sharp teeth are a shock beneath the hinge of your jaw. "Don't be a brat."

A strangled moan trips past your lips as he catches you off guard.

You don't have to see Ice to know he's smirking. "Noted." Then his hand is cupping your breast. "So, are you going to let me take care of you or not?"

You're not proud of how quickly you crumble, but it's like a switch flips. You hope Ice is okay with the whiplash because after an entire night of teasing, you're desperate for relief. "Please," you whimper, pushing yourself further into his orbit. You want so bad it hurts.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I've got you." Ice captures your lips in a heated kiss—nipping at your bottom lip so you hiss and open up for him. He knows what you need, and he's (apparently) going to give it to you.

Your fingers, clumsy in their haste, scramble for Ice's belt, but he brushes them aside. "This is about you. I'll get mine later," he says, tilting your head to the side so he can track wet kisses up to the spot just below your ear, electricity sparking down your spine as teeth tug at the lobe. "When I lay you out on my bed."

A high-pitched, excited moan is your answer, interrupted by Ice's fingers over your lips. "You've gotta be quiet," he purrs, voice low in your ear. "Wouldn't want anyone to hear us."

"Then kiss me." He does. And as you breathe in deep, the whole situation makes you feel like you're back in high school: shelving digging into your lower back like you're sneaking around, trading uncoordinated kisses in the janitor's closet with David Hodges until your brother finds you and rips poor David away for an ass-beating. But infinitely better.

Ice's lips are familiar. Urgent and addictive against your own as he swallows your whimper—nothing like David.

Ice pinches your fat bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it with a slick smack. You suck in a sharp breath, lashes fluttering open to look up at the shadow of him in the dark. "So pretty," he growls, fabric rustling as he hastily cuffs the sleeve of his jacket and pushes it up to his elbow to keep it safe from what he has planned.

Handfuls of velvet are bunched around your waist so you can spread your legs more freely, and Ice can slot his hand between them.

Threading your fingers through his hair, you return his lips to yours. You both groan from the kiss—you from the relief of his hands on you, the promise of a sweet release; him from how wet and needy you are (Slider's work, really, but Ice seems keen to reap the benefits).

When you break apart to gasp for air, Ice husks, "I'd get my mouth on you." And it conjures the image of Slider's wicked brown eyes looking up at you from between your legs, your cunt throbs. God, you want that. "Too bad I can't smell like pussy while I'm talking to the brass." But he allows himself the indulgence of a single taste, bringing fingers slick with your arousal to his lips.

You shake your head, unsure if his eyes have adjusted enough to see you. "Unprofessional," you agree, dizzy as his fingers plunge back into your heat. The heel of his palm grinds deliciously against your clit, his fingers working with the frantic cant of your hips as you chase a high that's walking the line of pain in its evasion of you. A steady, unignorable ache.

Ice drags his nails over the dense fabric covering your tits, your nipples pebbling at the faux cool sensation. "Tell me what you need," he whispers against your lips.

Relief is so close the air is thick with it. It tastes like Lysol. You stutter out a breath, and it morphs into a quiet whine. "Just like that," you mewl. "Keep touching me like that."

"Yeah?" Ice teases, a third finger sneaking into you and zeroing in on your sweet spot, thumb coming up to rub circles into your clit. What little light there is in the closet glints off the sharp point of his teeth as his lips part. "You're going to cum on my fingers," he declares, and your heart skips a beat when it jumps into your throat. "Then, you're going to go back to being my good, pretty girlfriend while I talk business," he presses a teasing kiss to the corner of your lips, and you can't contain a needy, lilting whine, "and no one will know you needed to cum on my fingers just to make it through the night."

"Oh god," you sob, nails digging into the starched fabric of Ice's jacket. You're right there. Liquid flames lick at your core, your tummy tied in knots and thighs jumpy as Ice speeds up his fingers, a muffled squelch each time his fingers bottom out, knuckles pressed tight to your cunt.

The two of you are so distracted that you don't hear the frantic footsteps until they're almost on top of you.

Ice jerks his fingers from you, yanking your dress back into place at the same time as he steps between you and the door to the closet, blocking you from whoever's about to fling the door open.

But it doesn't stop your eyes from meeting your brother's over his shoulder.

Pete slams the door shut.

Silence. Then: "You still dressed?"

Posture going rigid, Ice shoots the door a barbed look. "Maverick–" Pete shushes him through the door. He must be pressed up against the wood. Ice gives in but doesn't give up, continuing with a more hushed, "–what the hell?"

A pause. "That's not a no," your brother mulls. "Scoot over. I'm coming in."

"No!" You and Ice hiss simultaneously, but Pete is already squeezing himself into the closet with the two of you, pressed tight against Ice's back as he shuts the door firmly but with as much care as he gives his Kawasaki.

"Look," Pete whispers, and maybe his hands would be up in a placating manner if there were enough room, "I either hide in here with you two or hack it out there with Admiral Benjamin."

Without the distraction of each other, you and Ice hear far more measured footsteps hesitate at the far end of the hall before heading in your direction.

"I like your chances," Ice bites. "Leave."

Pete jostles all three of you as he turns to get into Ice's face as much as he can, given the confines of the closet. A shelf creaks, but nothing falls. "Well, it won't look good on you either," he whispers furiously. "Huh? Ice-cold, no mistakes, making out with your date in a closet like you're at junior pr–" Ice slaps a hand over his mouth, and the three of you fall deathly still.

The tension thickens until the footsteps pass you by.

No one dares to let out a quiet, adrenaline-shaken breath, even when the footsteps sound like they must have reached the other end of the hallway. Pete does, however, allow his shoulders to sag in relief.

Then, the footsteps pause.

They grow closer—louder—once more. This time, the muffled chaf of dress shoes on the carpet sounds like it's purposefully approaching the closet. Each step ratchets the tension up exponentially. You hold still, certain that if you shift your weight, something on the open shelving will give away your location. Ice, still shielding you from the door, brings a hand up to pet the back of your neck; the cool metal of his Academy ring—grounding any other time—sends a nervous trickle down your spine.

Benjamin is obviously after Pete, but how bad will it look that the two of you are in the closet with him?

There's a mechanical squeal of metal catching, handle turning, getting stuck. Jiggle. A grunt as he encounters the locking mechanism of the next door over.

Two shadows block the ambient light at the bottom of the door.

Well, you pinch your eyes closed. This will be embarrassing.

"Admiral Benjamin," someone calls from further away.

"Ah," the response comes uncomfortably close to your door. "Lieutenant…?"

"Kerner, sir." Slider. "I was with Lieutenant Kazansky earlier. Did you ever find Mitchell?

Two quick raps on the door. Pete flinches. "I believe I have." And Admiral Benjamin sounds smug.

The statement hangs in the air.

"In a closet, sir?" You can see the skeptical raise of Slider's brow in your mind's eye.

The shadow shifts. "I'm sure he came this way."

"Well, I just saw his RIO headed toward the taxis." A pause. "He's a slippery little shit. If he was here, he's long gone by now."

"Hm." Admiral Benjamin doesn't move, but from the sound of things, neither does Slider. "Well, Lieutenant. Really good stuff on the Enterprise."

Slider thanks him as the shadows disappear from the doorway and footsteps hurry off on a Goose chase.

When you're sure the admiral has left the vicinity—thankfully not asking Slider why he decided to stick around—Pete stumbles out of the closet with all the grace of a baby giraffe but none of the height. "Aw, Kerner," he teases with a dopey grin, "you do like me."

Slider snorts. "Don't thank me yet. The Geese are waiting for a taxi."

Pete's chin falls to his chest, and he mumbles a "goddammit" before hurrying to see if he can avoid Admiral Benjamin by sneaking through the courtyard.

"They're not the only ones," Slider tells Ice, nodding in the general direction of what remains of the Ball's attendees. "If you want to talk to anyone else, now's the time."

But as you practically tremble between them, Ice looks at you—really looks at you—and his features soften. He cups your shoulder, offering but not pulling you into his side. "I think I've networked enough for one night," he declares, tone light. His thumb rubbing back and forth, soothing.

Then those gray-blue eyes are on you, and his lips stretch into a slow, soft smile. "No one I can't talk with some other time."

"You sure?" Slider asks. Then, hushed, "I can take care of her while you finish up."

There is quite literally nothing you want less. The venue is clearly cursed, and you don't plan on sticking around long enough to find out what other ways you can get caught or edged tonight. 

"The bet's off," Ice states before you can say 'no,' and your heart flutters. If Ice wasn't going to stick around for one last round of shoulder-rubbing, then winning was only a matter of getting you in a taxi.

For his part, Slider doesn't seem as shocked as you are by Ice's declaration.

Ice feathers a kiss to your temple before you can second-guess his decision. It's the most relaxed you've seen him all evening. "Let's get you a taxi."

"Wait." Slider pushes off the wall. He procures a key from his pocket and presses it into Ice's hand. "Holiday Inn. K Street. Leave in 10 minutes."

Ice fiddles with the thick plastic of the keychain but pays it no real mind.

"Don't give me that look," Slider boos.

Ice licks his lips. "You know our rooms were comped, right?" It's a perk of being summoned to the event, you're sure.

Slider takes a half step forward, the three of you the closest you've been all night. From this distance, Ice has to look up ever so slightly to meet Slider's cocky gaze. "You want to what?" he asks, voice going deep and quiet enough no one else could hear if they happened by you. "Pile into a single room at the same hotel everyone else is staying at?" He motions between the three of you. "How's that going to work?"

Some like to write Slider off as all muscle, no brain. But it's his job to see things others don't—things Ice doesn't. He knew they couldn't take you back to their fancy hotel rooms even before he came to the event tonight. The safest solution had been to shell out for a lesser room somewhere you were less likely to turn heads.

"She isn't exactly known for being quiet," Sli stresses.

Ice ponders the key for long seconds before he pockets it with a nod.

Slider smirks. "That's what I thought."

[rockingrobin69]

Reaching

“Warm, isn’t it,” Malfoy tugged at his collar with half a glance in Harry’s direction. Unnecessary; Harry’s eyes were already glued to him, the impossibly long column of his neck. Pale and glistening like an ice sculpture. Unreachable. “Is something the matter?”

“Hmm?”

Malfoy didn’t dignify that with a response. Leaned closer, one eyebrow hiking—and the haze in Harry’s mind was entirely due to alcohol, thank you very much, and the heat pooling in his belly to do with the club’s oppressive air. Not the tilt of Malfoy’s lips, parted and lovely pink, or his obscenely tight excuse for trousers Harry’s hands kept twitching towards. Definitely wasn’t the little huff of air he let out: ah, just like that, like a promise or a threat.

“Boring,” he said. Took a moment for Harry’s brain to catch up.

“What?”

“Don’t be boring. Dance with me.” Hands coming to rest on Harry’s thighs—when did Malfoy get up? Was he always standing so close? Did he always smell like smoke and sweat and something tangy and sharp—

And the movement, undulating hips against Harry’s legs, head thrown back, throat bared for Harry to—dancing, maybe, grinding to the beat of the music Harry could only barely hear. Couldn’t, think, couldn’t, breathe—his hands firm around Malfoy’s waist, instinctively holding down, crushing closer. Closer, Malfoy hard against him, then this laughter cascading down his entire body.

“Oh,” Malfoy huffed, mad and so close Harry’s mind was melting. “Oh, fuck, you’re—” panting in Harry’s face, eyes blown wide.

“Yeah?” only to hear his voice like that again. Ragged raw.

“You’re everywhere,” the way he blinked, and blinked, tongue darting to wet his lips. Half-unravelled, from this, from nothing. Harry felt lightheaded, drunk on the revelation, fingers still tightening, bruising into his hipbone.

Swallowed a silly spike of fear. With a growl, pulling Malfoy’s head down so their noses were level. Mindlessly brushing a thumb down his bottom lip, delighted to find it cool to the touch. Malfoy’s tongue came out again, a hint of a lick, with that look in his eyes. Harry’s mind snapped.

Kissing him became the only objective. Those little ah, ahs Harry swallowed greedily, forgetting they were in public, forgetting, fuck, Ron and Nev at the bar, forgetting to breathe when Malfoy basically climbed in his lap, pushing his head so far back it ached. Everything did, a little: sparkled, and ached, and burned.

“Come back to my place,” Harry managed to say, commanding and begging into Malfoy’s mouth. “Come home with me.”

Malfoy laughed, a low sound. “Ah,” half-intentional this time. “Not so boring after all.”

Something absurd rushed through him, warm and pinching like affection. “No,” Harry agreed, and traced the sharp line of Malfoy’s jaw. “Not so boring.”

He melted in his arms—kept melting all night long. Harry deliriously lapped him up, and those ah, ahs, and the column of his neck, blooming red and purple under Harry’s careful tongue, reachable and all his.  

(Flufftober day 12. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[theunchainedmelody]

Subjugator of Worlds- A "My Adventures with Superman" one shot about Kara & Jimmy

Rating: T for Teen Pairing: Kara/Jimmy I conquered planets, me and my father. Razed worlds that opposed us all for the glory of the Kryptonian empire. Even as my heart ached for my victims, as I grinned as I tore apart planetary champions, even as my father was forced to subdue the emotions within me that occasionally flared up… Even then I did not stop.

But then I came to this world. This backwater planet should not fascinate me as it does. And I find myself staring at towering skyscrapers unmarred by our weaponry, upon a civilization living a peaceful existence… It all captivates me so… None moreso than one of the first humans I came across on a city street. A man named Jimmy Flamebird. Seeing him, I wondered if all Earthling males were so enamoring to the eyes, but perhaps it no longer matters. He rescued me, not knowing I was the enemy, the conqueror. That his planet was doomed for I was the arbiter of its very subjugation.

Even so, I find myself wishing to hold back around him, to let him do with me as he pleases. He takes me to such amazing places to taste food I had not imagined, flavors far surpassing the bland military rations my father offers to sustain me. I’m falling in love with this planet, and that scares me in a way that taking on a battleship with naught but my battle armor ever could. I’ve felled such warships singlehandedly without a scratch but if Jimmy were to be hurt, I think I would crumble. I fear nothing on this planet more than him, my greatest temptation luring me into complacency. And worst of all, I don’t resist a single request of his nor do I wish to.

I came here to find someone, to find the one man in the universe who can understand me, and yet, I’m so easily being led astray. Curse these emotions, these wants, unbefitting of a warrior of Krypton.

Sexless.

Genderless.

Bred for war.

That’s what I am.

But around Jimmy I’ve never felt like more of a woman. He’s so handsome and so sweet. I feel bodily desires emerging I could never bring up in Father’s presence. I suspect Jimmy is not truly the planetary leader he claimed to be nor that we are drawing any closer to seeing my cousin. And yet I do not want the sun to set on this perfect day.

I’ve never had a perfect day.

All days in space bleed together.

I find myself silently apologizing to my father for my betrayal, for my hesitation, promising myself I’ll bring this planet to its knees to rectify this wrong. And yet, for that same reason, I hope Father stays away a little longer.

I need to find the person that will comprehend my loneliness, my might, my heritage…

But when I find him, Kal-el is not the warrior I had hope he’d be. At the time, I found myself overstimulated by noises and violence around me from some public mockery. Why would one as great as he subject themselves to this? I’d take the familiar ringing of ballistic missiles in my ears over this chaos. I do not wish to hurt these people, but my mind is telling me to silence the threat. Agitation creeps up my spine. That’s when I see my cousin clearly, and I feel so odd. Am I nervous?  Nervous like when Jimmy had so chivalrously cleaned that delicious ice cream from my cheek? I need Kal-El to give me something Father won’t, some wisdom… some guidance… an answer to the cold loneliness of conquest and deep space. Only to him, I’m part of the mockery of this world and he brushes past me without a second thought. No, to him, I’m somehow of less importance than the earthling woman I’d seen kissing his cheek. How disgusting, such fraternization with a lowly being.

And so, in my rage, I chastise him. And Father sends me upon him like a mad dog. I’ve always been his dignified lieutenant on the verge of conquest, but in truth, a mad dog off her leash is what I become in battle. It always feels good, and afterwards, leaves me shivering in fear of my own reflection. I see the people of this world trembling at my tyranny, and I know that as always, this is my fault. Father calms my emotions, and the next minute becomes a blur, but afterwards, it’s still me doing these things. Hurting Kal-El. Needing to hurt him. Needing to rescue him so that he can be where he belongs. With his own kind. With me. For a moment, my thoughts turn to Jimmy Flamebird, who I abandoned back in a burning city. I steel away the weakness that wishes to seek him out. And yet I wonder if the man has come to resent me for what I am and what I will do to his world.

I am Kara Zor-El of Krypton. And this is what I am and always will be. A monster. And I will never be free of me.

Notes: Please note this was written after episode 5 aired so episode 6 and beyond might contradict a lot of details I've assumed about Kara's lore and personality.

[rotationalsymmetry]

OK. I'm going to go off about voting for a minute.

First, it is fucking weird that the tumblr fight over this is Side One: You Must Vote For A Democrat For President No Matter What, Don't Even Think Of Voting Third Party Or Whatever, This Is A Moral Imperative vs Side 2: Voting Is For Chumps.

Uh, ok?

So, the people I know in real life have a spectrum of political beliefs, mostly I don't interact with actual conservatives much but I do interact with the sort of people who think that Bernie Sanders is too far left and people who think he's just about right and people who aren't really thrilled with anyone who has a snowball's chance in hell of getting elected president and people who think that states shouldn't exist. And people whose beliefs don't necessarily line up perfectly with the left-right framework, even when you let the left side go that far.

Mostly, I know people who want minimum wage to be higher and public schools to be better funded and immigrants to not be treated like complete shit, things like that. Sometimes they also do land acknowledgements and stuff.

And these people vote. And they call their representatives. And they campaign for politicians they like. And they go to protests. And they go to town hall meetings and ask questions and sometimes shout down whoever's speaking.

And you know what?

I want minimum wage to be higher. I want public schools to be better funded -- I'm critical of schools and I think truancy laws are fucked up, but given that schools are a thing I want them to have more money than they have. Similarly with minimum wage, I don't think anybody should have to work, but given that in practice most people do, I want a lower wealth gap and I want everyone to have enough resources to live on and raise kids on, and one of the most effective short to mid term ways to get closer to that goal is raising minimum wage. I want open borders, but failing that I at least want things like the DREAM act and less blatant cruelty from ICE and sanctuary cities.

And I want schools to be able to teach about historical racism and to use books like Maus as teaching aids and to be able to say the word "gay", and the most direct way to get that is to vote for people for school board who also want those things. (Although, being a PITA is sometimes effective against elected officials who don't want those things, so it's not the only option.)

And I want the criminal justice system to get completely scrapped, but that's not going to happen tomorrow but what can happen is electing more sympathetic and justice oriented people to roles like the district attorney and public defender. And sometimes getting the right people into local office, county boards of supervisors and whatnot, can mean that the cops get less funding and that programs designed to help ex-convicts have places they can live and work after getting out get more funding, or at least that things don't get worse.

And of course showing up to town hall meetings and protesting in the streets are still options, but they're still options whether there's relatively cool people in office or not, and when there's relatively cool people in office you can push things more towards what you want and when there's shitty people in office you end up doing reactive actions that might or might not work, like when Bush got elected president -- for the love of all that is good and worthwhile, autocorrect, I do not want to dignify that title with a capital letter -- and then 9/11 happened, and anti-globalization activism in the US basically stopped dead so that we could all protest the Iraq War instead, which may or may not have done no good whatsoever but certainly did not end the Iraq War.

A formative expeience in my life was Critical Mass. I got really into bicycle activism and I loved Critical Mass. And not everybody who does Critical Mass, which is basically the sort of protest where you don't have a permit and you might get arrested on wheels, seriously one time San Francisco mass went onto the Bay Bridge, also goes to town hall meetings, and probably not everyone who goes to the town hall meetings does Critical Mass, but a lot of people do both. There's nothing stopping people from doing both. It's not ideologically inconsistent to both sometimes block traffic with a bunch of bicycles because getting bike lanes striped takes too long and you want to be safe riding a bicycle on the streets right now, and begging/pressuring your elected representatives to stripe more bike lanes. You can do both. I did both. People do both all the time.

And sometimes eg some fucking jerk of a rich boy is running for mayor and wants to cut general assistance payments for homeless people to under $50 a month and is making this out to somehow be good for them, and you've been feeding people with Food Not Bombs but Food Not Bombs needs someone to be a liaison with the Coalition on Homelessness, and the Coalition on Homelessness is freaked out about the proposition, so you do electoral politics stuff with them while you're also feeding homeless people without a permit, because nothing's stopping you from doing both. (And maybe you're also a young person who has a lot of free time and a lot of energy but no real idea of how to get anything done, so you just throw a lot of energy at problems and hope something does some good.) (hypothetically, I mean.)

Like what was I going to do, just tell the more experienced people at the Coalition on Homelessness, most of whom had been homeless and who had way more expeience actually doing stuff than I did, that this whole distributing door hangers thing was bullshit and I wasn't going to help them do it? Because I knew better? Because I thought voting didn't matter?

I mean, I guess I wouldn't have had to look them in the face and say that, I could have just told Food Not Bombs I wasn't going to be a liaison -- I was an absolute dogshit liaison anyways, I had no clue what I was doing -- and then I wouldn't be doing anything with the Coalition anyways. But they had a problem, a threat that was going to make things worse for the group they were advocating for, a group that most of them at least used to be a part of, and I could help them, or I could not help them, and the way they wanted people to help was through electoral politics. Which also involved some protests because people do both all the time. But which also involved a lot of doorhangers.

[mereallycan]

there's something I've recently started finding more meaningful to me (of course it's always been there on some level but I started jut paying more attention and intentionality to it) and its having critical conversations within and only within the community of subject matter.

I won't, for example, hold discussions criticizing or even giving analytical thoughts, that speaks less than praise or approval for a woman, outside of a community of women, especially never with or within general or supremacy spaces, in this example that would look like mixed or predominantly men or a man audience, and I've started applying it to all marginalized or "minority" communities. a.k. a (especially in public), I support women's rights and wrongs.

I know for sure that a woman or a poc can be wrong, I won't even oppose if they are objectively spoken about, in any direction, but will I personally degradingly comment on it or share public assent for said criticism? in most cases, NO. I'll even more silent or shun it outrightly, if it's coming from "other" voices.

We all need to constantly improve and receive notes and pointers of recommendation in one way or another, but for the most part, when people offer them, it's self serving and when it's offered by an other point of view, from someone who doesn't completely understand the full scope and cannot relate based on self reference, it's even less swallowable to me. There can be objective merit to whatever they're saying, but what I'm finding more and more is that I'm rather unwilling to participate or give it credence. Some other person can argue that it gives it a fresh, detached eye, I'm just really finding it lacking in portraying a accurate perspective from having access to a bigger picture and closer perspective and leading to a narrative that is full of holes. Holes, like I already said, empathy, sympathy, aka A BIAS that they would so easily offer when telling a story of something or someone from their (socioeconomic etc etc) demography. We like to say we're being true, fair, objective and all that but nothing is really objective is it, we're ever so subject to so many factors that will always affect our judgement on any subject matter, regardless of how much we deny or try to distance ourselves from it.

So these days, if xx does something and it's being brought on a public forum, I'll rather keep quiet than contribute venom or vitriol especially if my assessment of the matter is just that. I'll hold all judgement and negative commentary for within a safer space of origin and relatability on basis on shared physical or whatever the case characteristics and it doesn't even matter if they all share my point of view or agree with me as long as I'm not discussing it with "other" who go on to (consciously or unconsciously) weaponize and hold as armor to validate their further and continued systemic or individual "violence" and oppression of the whole.

So for example, my opinion on Taylor Swift or Hilary Clinton or Ice Spice or WomenonWomen beef will not see light of day outside of women spaces and so on. That may sound toxic girl love or not holding people accountable or shielding people from truth but that's where I am right now and that's what I'm on. And to be honest, these supremacy institutions have been doing it with themselves for the longest time, they keep all they dirt within their ranks and caucuses and present a unified and dignified front that allow people generally admire them and see their collective group enviable. They may hold the deepest grudge and hatred for someone from their sub class but understand how it reflects on them as a whole, and will either not speak on them at all or will even rather speak kindly about them. Of course, we should be moving as a society towards treating people based on their individual actions and choices, but to some extent, these narratives tend to be reinforced and turned into stereotypes when they are being repeatedly told about a specific demographic. So will I stop a judge from sentencing a woman thief to jail, no, never, will I however, start or contribute to a hate campaign, for said woman thief, not me of right now.

I guess it was part of I was saying here kind of (in a heated confused form)

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Lady C Tea YouTube 7/1/23 (a few nuggets paraphrased by me) by u/daisybeach23

Lady C Tea YouTube 7/1/23 (a few nuggets paraphrased by me) Greeting from Castle Goring!Lady C, when I saw the Netflix clip of Meghan saying she thought that the royals would “let their hair down and say, ‘Hooo now we can relax.’” I think she gave herself away because what she really meant is Meghan expected the royals to change personas behind the scenes to be like her, whereas the rest of the family is dignified whether on a royal event or in private. The royals are authentic whether in from of the public or not, whereas Meghan does not know how to be authentic. It’s like she puts on an act and I don’t know if she has a true self. And her true self must be really frightening, and I am sure Harry has seen it. I think Meghan’s mask definitely slips. I know from people who have known her very well for a very long time that she is domineering and cold as ice if she does not get her way. She is histrionic, dramatic, and sometimes soft and sweet and faux vulnerable. She has a bag a tricks and an endless supply of masks that she puts on. But at the core – no one is home. There not Meghan the way there is a you and me. She acts. Yes, this observation Meghan made reflects poorly upon her. To be fair to some extent, all people let their guard down in private, but the difference is usually not great. Meghan’s attitude was to act. One act after another. One mask after another. That suggests to me this is an individual who lacks integrity. Lady C, when Megxit happened, why was Harry called back by the Queen? Why did they go to Canada first? I always wondered why they went to Canada first. They went to Canada. Harry came back for the Sandringham Summit. Meghan was in Canada because they were duping the public and royal family to pretend they wanted freedom, privacy and a quiet life out of the limelight. They knew if they went to California first, people would know it was to fulfill Meghan’s dreams of Hollywood stardom and her dream of financial independence in a community property state. Their perception was if they should move to a Commonwealth country, this would be more acceptable to the British people and the Royal Family. My understanding is she always intended to live in California. As long as Harry was a working member of the Royal Family, the protocol was they could only come and go with the permission of the Monarch. That stopped when they stood down. Working Royals have to be available if they are councilors of state and must always be accessible. At any moment, they can be called upon to fulfill their duty to the Crown.Lady C, why doesn’t Meghan’s ex-husband never make comments about his time being married to Meghan? Trevor E. is a gentleman and he loved Meghan. He is a decent person. Meghan is a brilliant actress where men are concerned. She led everyone to believe that she loved Trevor. One Meghan got to Toronto, she realized she could mix with a better class of person so she dumped Trevor. It came as a huge shock to Trevor to learn the person he loved – had never existed at all. It is humiliating and embarrassing. Nobody wants to relive that.Non Sinner Topics also included: a complex tale of a Prince from Germany who just had a child via surrogacy. Very interesting but she did not elaborate at all on Meghan and Harry. Lady C talked about sibling rivalry remove Charles and siblings. She said no serious rivalry, but Charles is acutely aware his mother was different with Andrew and Edward because she had more time to nurture them. Lady C thinks Edward’s kids and the York Princesses should be working royals.Toodles Sinners! post link: https://ift.tt/G4rgCJa author: daisybeach23 submitted: July 04, 2023 at 02:05AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[anthonybialy]

Biden and Out

Joe Biden forgets the beginnings of his sentences by the time he speaks the ends.  He’s the lucky one.  Humans cursed with the ability to retain words are also aware of just how broke the unfortunate honcho has made everyone except felons.  A country full of victims hope decaying circuits minimize damage on fully functional ones.

We hate to cheer for a president to be out of it.  But that was before enduring this particular president.  Executive minions agree with most Americans that the alleged man in charge is easy to exploit in the closest we get to bipartisanship.  Lamentably, agreement only runs so deeply.

Public disservice servants finally got their calculatingly guileless president to manipulate into being even more pushy.  Forging his signature is their only marketable skill.  Pimping leftist insanity as if it’s their superior’s dream is more plausible than even more federal spending curing inflation.  This feels like the fake wills of presidencies, so shady claims come naturally.

Journalists weren’t lazy enough before someone they voted for won.  The most indolent job class outside of Wendy’s cashiers only invest effort in circling wagons around a president who might predate plumbing.

Entering protection mode in lieu of performing their jobs is shame, because they could truly make their reputations by merely asking questions like “What is your address?”  He wouldn’t answer while pretending it’s because he won’t dignify the question.  Meanwhile, the eternal trainee would need someone to read him the index card he’s handed.

An incoherent executive would provide the best excuse.  It’s still not a good one.  But gesturing to a president debating a tree would create more sympathy than pretending a slight drop in gas prices following astronomical climbing means he’s totally helping.

The White House has never been more appropriately used as a metonym.  A physical structure representing a president who’s physically present within it but mentally checked out leads to viewing a dwelling as the term’s embodiment.

Forget the security deposit.  Pinko twits getting in what they can  will cause as much damage as possible until the lease runs out.  There are worse forms of damage than broken lamps and pizza deliverymen waiting vainly for payment.

A leftist agenda has turned out like everyone to the right of Honecker guessed.  Biden doesn’t deserve an Oscar any more than he does to hold his current job.  The prototypical career politician is as lousy at halting inflation as he is pretending to be a moderate liberal, which means driving off the cliff slower.  Taking money from the economy to help it and lowering gas prices by lowering supply are not working as well as he figured for some mysterious reason.  

A lust for taxation isn’t just an effective way of discouraging humanity.  Neither Biden nor his puppeteers can think of anything more innovative than punishing the successful to fund the useless.  Taking to share is the natural impulse of those who generate nothing.

Presuming everyone else is also shiftless displays a lack of empathy.  Uncanny arrogance is merely an accompaniment.  Humorlessness about the irony they create is just another charming virtue from presidential staffers who try running everything and ruin it all.  They’re inspired by their savior, even though he’s barely functioning.  Taking his goofy interference to a higher plane lowers us all.

There has never been a good reason to let Biden get away with anything.  The refusal to give the professional slacker an undeserved break applies especially so during a regrettable presidency he routinely forgets he’s inflicted.  Noting one branch’s advanced age is outweighed by how he’s always acted like this.  A slightly more intense version in his name makes a worst-case scenario seem optimistic.

Biden Xtreme is an even worse ‘90s throwback than a Vanilla Ice cassingle.  Planning for a dreadful president’s 80th birthday bash is not a justification to excuse him.  The shadiest pitchman would endorse most of the nonsense attached to his name if he weren’t sleepwalking during some of the few hours he’s aware.

A leader who’s as sharp as he is brave would sticking up for decent people.  By contrast, we’re saddled with a president who believes indecent things.  Biden has always rallied behind the curious notion that people like him should be hassling people unlike him.  Taking from earners is his version of caring for the disadvantaged.  Going soft on crime from muggers to mullahs shows a thorough commitment to taking.  Biden is what happens when your mom says you have a president at home.

Biden being out of it was always the best case.  Substitute staffers must pretend their daft notions will spur prosperity and that their ostensible boss endorsed them.  Less intense versions wouldn’t be a panacea had we slept through the Biden nightmare in 1988 when he was less clueless.  You don’t have to feel bad for them.  Woeful zealots merely believe the same pernicious claptrap that’s been proven to fail universally even back when their confused savior’s shot at remembering someone’s name was somewhat higher.  Struggling to recall his own middle name and maybe the other two isn’t that much of a change.

[ceescedasticity]

Gotta admit, I am very curious about the Incident At Fingon’s Welcome Back Party regarding the crab wager books...

I am so very glad you asked! (I've had this written for a while.)

Crab wagers weren't good in the First Age, but they got worse during the early Second Age when it became apparent the Valar weren't planning on any action against anyone not a leader of rebellion, and even they were likely to mostly get a pass if they pled for mercy. The Vanyar mostly took their cue from the Valar and took no action but being judgey and disapproving, and the Noldor... well, many surviving Exiles were some degree of hostile to Fëanorians, but Alqualondë was old news to them, and the faithful Noldor mostly wanted their kin back however tarnished their condition. They certainly weren't asking the Falmari to personally interact with actual active kinslayers, much less be friendly! But they weren't going to do anything about them, either.

And a lot of Iathrim Sindar were edgy anyway, over people speaking Quenya everywhere and generally feeling displaced…

And then people started getting released from Mandos with no additional punishment imposed, and, well...

It's kind of a thing, for a while, that reembodied Exiles with any degree of prominence get anonymously given booklets of themselves and their closest connections. Some of them shrug it off; most of them are very invested in not showing how much it bothers them. (A lot get sent to Finarfin and Nerdanel, too.)

Because everyone is so invested in not showing how much it bothers them, the extent of the practice and the extremity of some of the books flies under the radar until Fingon gets passed one during his welcome-back feast not long after his return, unwittingly opens it to a page containing a very graphic illustration, and has a flashback in public.

In the family meeting after that it comes out that yes, actually, that's a thing that's been happening -- we were going to warn Fingon but it hasn't happened in public like this before and Argon's just been screening his mail after what happened with Aredhel--

What happened with Aredhel? NOTHING HAPPENED WITH AREDHEL!

No, what happened with Aredhel is she WAS warned but read it anyway, and then she just left without saying anything to anyone, and Argon couldn't find her and had to go get Idril and Finrod to help -- of course he didn't tell Anairë, she'd been upset enough about Argon's booklet and the worst that had was speculation about being torn apart by ice bears.

Aredhel insists that reading it wouldn't have been a problem if it had just been about death the way it SAID it was. Death and the immediate INCIDENT leading up to it, FINROD.

Rude.

Yes, fine, Finrod did receive some of those, mostly during the War of Wrath when he was the only convenient target, and some of them WERE upsetting, but that was a long time ago now and he just wishes he'd realized Argon would be targeted, too--

Does this have anything to do with the time Edrahil wrote asking for help because everyone was pretty sure Finrod hadn't properly slept in five months?

SIGH. Yes, but don't worry, he stopped reading them after that.

...

Anyway Orodreth (not present) was warned and as far as Finrod knows never read anything, Idril was warned, fortunately they didn't target Finduilas because he definitely wouldn't have seen that coming, and all the other family members were warned though he doesn't know who listened.

(It is eventually discovered: Caranthir refused to dignify such a thing by reading it, Lalwen read it but either shrugged it off or pretended so well no one has caught on, and Ambarussa read their own and didn't take it well. Idril intercepted something meant for Elenwë. Seriously, for Elenwë?)

Finarfin is furious and guilty because it didn't occur to him that the material being sent to him might also be sent elsewhere--

--Wait, has HE been reading them?! Is this the real source of those "troubling details" he's upset by sometimes?

(Aredhel gets up and leaves the family meeting.)

Anyway Anairë is distraught and furious, Eärwen is furious with a side of mortified, and Tuor is furious and sort of hurt Idril didn't tell him.

He would have wanted to do something and couldn't have, that's why.

...Why do Finrod and Idril and Aredhel and Finduilas and Fingon all feel that there's nothing to be done about this but avoid reading them?

At any rate Eärwen makes Finarfin let her in the safe he puts them all in, selects several, and rides off to Alqualondë in a very bad mood.

Olwë has been prepared to defend vengeful betting-on-deaths for a while now.

He is not prepared when Eärwen slams several open booklets onto his desk to show him (1) several little panels of illustrated narrative of Finrod's companions being eaten alive by wolves, (2) an artistically very impressive illustration of Fingon being split open, burned, gutted, and trampled, and (3) some very creepy and kind of voyeuristic speculation on what precisely happened between Aredhel and Eöl.

Ooookay yes that has crossed a line. A line has been crossed. Actually several. He didn't know how extreme things had gotten.

Where is the line, though.

(Meanwhile Elenwë has written to Indis.)

[stupendousconnoisseurpuppy]

Back to back... Zenitsu X reader

This is a Kny modern AU starring our fabulous lemon boy Zenitsu!

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡(❁´◡`❁)｡.｡:+*

Enjoy~

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

You were an… interesting individual to say the least. Not so much that you could be classed a scumbag, but you could unabashedly say that you enjoyed the occasional fight on public transportation as much as the next person… It was a welcome distraction, one where you could pick sides and silently rate the insults exchanged between the involved parties. What you did not appreciate however, was being caught in the crossfire.

You should have known of the chaos that would ensue as soon as you saw them get on the train. A weirdo in a boar mask. Check. Another weirdo, dressed like a lemon that looked like he was perpetually on the verge of tears… Check.

The last of the troupe looked normal, with pretty red hair and gentle features. But looks could be deceiving and judging but the fact that boar mask had repeatedly referred to him as an “underling” you knew his kind face was probably a façade and that they were in league with one another.

At the time their peculiarity had only served to spark your curiosity, allowing you to momentarily escape the monotony of your own life and enter into the world of their colourful attire and animated conversation. Boar mask or “Inouske” as you’d come to know by overhearing their discourse, was engaged in a histrionic display of attempting to jump out the window and pit his speed against this “beast” that was the train… probably an acting student. You’d also watched as the crying lemon tried desperately to restrain his eccentric friend.

Their idiosyncratic ministrations caused you to erupt in a fit of withheld giggles and made you wonder of the interesting adventures that would arise from being a regular in their company.

Such was the blissful state of ignorance you found yourself in. But once enlightened you’d come to realise that it was not acting, nor anything cultured that functioned as Inouske’s motivation for wearing such bizarre animal skin, but rather to hide a glaring absence of brain cells.

The start of the era of aforementioned “enlightenment” was commenced by raised voices, for a few incoherent shouts later and you had realised you were witnessing the beginnings of an argument… about what, you could not tell.

A couple moments later the lemon and the boar were engaged in a heated exchange whilst the man you’d come to know was named “Kamaboko Gonpachiro” had restricted Inouske by the underarms. Again, you had almost been enjoying the front-seat experience but - to your own detriment - the boar slipped out of Gonpachiro’s grasp, and he sent the lemon flying in your direction.

You briefly heard a pained grunt of surprise, but you hadn’t the time to analyse the particulars of the sound any further as before you knew it his sturdy back had slammed into your face. In any other context you might have welcomed the notion of being smothered by built muscle, but you were on a rather stinky train going home and of all the empty cars you had to have been seated near some (newly regarded) boisterous fools and a drunkard singing Beyoncé.

Gone was the simplicity of an evening train ride. You get on, you get off. Bob’s your uncle. Was it too much to ask? Apparently.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. With murder on your mind, you pushed the lemon away from you and cupped your face. As if your body was sharing your mental vexation, blood started to dribble out of your nose and onto the train flooring. “WAAAAH! IM SO SORRY MISS,” he screamed. You decided to dignify his apology with a curt scoff; this fool has the audacity to look more distressed than me! “Save it, just leave me alone.”

Kamaboko was busy scolding Inouske and offered up his apologies along with a handkerchief, but you waved them off and told them to forget about it. They’re probably worried I want to press charges…

The lemon, however, completely ignored your dismissal, continuing to ask desperately for your forgiveness and for a way he could make amends (whilst Inouske snorted arrogantly in the background). You, in a wave of sympathy and despite initial annoyance, agreed.

That was how you ended up in a small coffee shop on the corner of a quiet road. What you hadn’t expected was for you both to become good friends and for it to become the spot for your regular rendezvous. You’d come to learn allot about the lemon you now called Zenitsu. He, despite occasionally being overbearing, had a kind heart and was quick to make you laugh, so you had asked if he wanted to meet again, he’d accepted (a little too enthusiastically), and you’d become increasingly fond.

There were also casual gatherings - on occasion - with the rest of his enigmatic companions, ones you enjoyed very much, but had always found such meetings could never allow you to hold the same sort of enthusiasm you did for the almost intimate setting you and Zenitsu would frequent together.

However, on one such visit to said setting, there had been something noticeably different about his behaviour.

These observations were substantiated by the understanding that you had recently come into the knowledge he was interested in you romantically to some capacity and – to your own amusement – it was becoming progressively evident.

He’d been fidgeting in his seat, fiddling with his hands, and tripping over his words. Not to mention the fact that he’d turned a bright shade of plum red. You subsequently decided to humour his antics and dissipate the tension.

“Stop blushing, it’s running your colour scheme.”

What, in your mind, served as a witty, ice-breaking, apprehension abolishing conversation starter was met with more blushing and followed by awkward silence.

Tough crowd…

“um … Yn-chaan” Eventually, his timid voice broke the silence and captured your attention.

“hm?”

“I- I like you.”

You smiled into the cup and took a long sip of your hot chocolate “Yeah, I like you too Zenitsu.��

“NO YN-CHAN NOT THE NORMAL LIKE-”

Rolling your eyes, you let out a laugh “I know what you mean…”

And I mean it too

[imagineredwood]

Atonement

Summary:  Miguel gave you strict instructions; instructions that you went above and beyond to disobey. Now you have to deal with the consequences.

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x reader 

Warnings: Implied sexual content, sex toys, Dom/sub undertones, punishments

Word count: 2,960

A/N: How are y’all feeling about this one?

“Miguel, come on!”

The cartel leader shook his head as he shrugged into his jacket, his face showing no empathy for you nor any remorse.

“You disobeyed me and now this is your punishment. There will be no negotiations.”

He had been overwhelmingly busy this week, working hard to clean up his public image and make sure that future business partners were convinced that he was legit. Between architecture and agriculture, he had rubbed elbows and shook hands with many people this week and he knew that he needed to be focused for it. That was why he had asked you to make sure you only reached out to him if it was an absolute emergency. For anything else, you were to call Nestor or one of the other guards.

So when his phone had begun buzzing, the screen showing that you were trying to facetime him, he had gotten worried and excused himself from the meeting, only to answer the call and be confronted with the sight of you laying in your shared luxurious bed, toys scattered all around you as you writhed and arched, the most mischievous smile on your face. Miguel had hung up without a word and had given you what you had thought was your punishment.

But this morning you had woken up to the sound of him locking up the safe, your toys now secured behind the near-impenetrable metal. He had also erased your plan before you had even said it out loud.

‘I changed the code so you can’t get in. Don’t even try.’

And now he was going away for business, not due to be back for another four days. All the while you were expected to not use any of your toys, and it hadn’t mattered how much you had begged and pleaded; the boss had not budged.

With that, he was grabbing his sunglasses from the top of your shared dresser and keeping them in his hand. Taking three steps toward you, he reached forward and placed his hand on the back of your neck, binging you forward toward him. His lips were warm and soft as he pressed them first to your lips and then to your forehead.

“Be a good girl and I’ll make it up to you when I come back home.”

Your pout was pronounced as you looked at him through your lashes, voice small and persuasive.

“But daddy…”

Miguel sucked his teeth before giving a small chuckle, impressed with you hard you were trying.

“Usually that will work but not this time, baby. You’re just gonna have to suck it up. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before teasing me when you know I need to be focused on these new business deals.”

He was pulling away from you then and walking out of the bedroom in silence as you trailed behind him all the way down the stairs and to the front door, Nestor already by the car waiting for him outside.

“Miguel, please. Just let me get one out. Just one.”

He did not even respond to your plea, only told you that he loved you as he walked out of the door, your frustration growing more and more with each passing second. With a huff, you closed the door behind him and stalked inside, trying to think of something else to get your mind off the fact that other than your fingers, you had no way of bringing yourself pleasure, at least not how you were used to. And as luck would have it, the knowledge that you had no access to your assortment of bliss had you craving them even more than normal.

You walked around the house and tidied up, dusting, and organizing, rearranging your perfumes on the beige marble bathroom counter. You made a snack and sat outside to feel the wind on your face. You did everything you could to try and get your mind off the punishment that you had been dealt out, but it didn’t seem to be working. You still felt needy as ever and your phone lighting up with a text from Miguel did not help. Opening it up, you saw the little airplane emoji that he always sent when he was already taking off and you grumbled.  How dare he leave you here without any toys? You felt yourself growing irritated about it again, the brat in you firing up.

Then you had a thought.

And if Miguel had still been there, he would have known that the smirk that appeared on your lips meant trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

You hummed to yourself cheerfully as you walked back inside, package in hand. You had spent a good hour late-night scrolling through your favorite site for toys, picking out a new one and you did not hold back. If Miguel wanted to leave you high and dry, you would just have to make do. So, you had bought the expensive toy that you had been eyeing for months; the one Miguel said you couldn’t get because he wanted you to wait until he got it for your birthday.

You had decided in your bratty nature to buy the toy regardless, spending the extra money to have it overnighted.

And used his card to purchase it no less.

You knew Miguel wasn’t going to be upset about the money as that was no object. It was the principle and the flat-out, premeditated disobedience. That was what was going to get you into the biggest trouble. You took the package to your bathroom and then set it up with his card next to it, snapping a quick photo before sending it to Miguel with the caption ‘Hope you don’t mind. You always said to use the card for whatever I need.’

With your death warrant now signed, you put the phone to the side and began unboxing the toy, cleaning it thoroughly. You were setting it down to dry when your phone buzzed, Miguel’s reply waiting to be read. Your heart was stammering in anticipation and it took you a handful of seconds to pick the phone back up. When you did it was a quite simple warning.

‘Leave it in the box. If it’s still packaged when I get back, I’ll make it easier on you.’

Your heart skipped a beat. It was easier when you were making the choice to make things harder for yourself. You were already done for now though and you knew it as you looked over the shredded box it had come in. There was no way for you to fake it or even cover your tracks and with a sigh, you reached for the toy, the anticipation of what Miguel was going to do to you once he returned making you sweat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The days flew by soon enough, Nestor was texting you that he and Miguel were on their way, ten minutes out.

Of course, your bratty attitude had faded quickly after you had found your release and it did not take long for the guilt to settle in. You felt bad for being disobedient and you felt bad for using his card to do it. The prospect of whatever punishment he was going to unleash on you also did nothing for soothing your worries and you found yourself in a position that was familiar.

Guilty and remorseful now that you had gotten what you wanted.

You knew Miguel wasn’t going to actually be mad at you, nor would he ever deal out a punishment that you weren’t ok with, but that didn’t make the anticipation any less intimidating. You had done everything that you could do try and weaken the blow when it came. You had followed all his other rules, including never leaving the house without a guard, keeping your phone on at all times, and making sure to eat well-balanced meals throughout your days, not just quick snacks.

You had a good feeling that those things wouldn’t matter though.

Soon enough the front door was opening, and Miguel was walking through it along with Nestor, both dressed down and looking somewhat tired after the flight. You smiled as they walked in, both men returning it. It was already well into the evening and dinner was ready, the table set. Nestor walked past you first, leaning down for a quick hug before closing and locking the door behind Miguel. Now it was Miguel’s turn and you stepped toward him hesitantly, trying to read the room. He smiled as he saw you, appearing as if nothing were wrong. Almost as if he had forgotten your transgression, though you knew that was never the case.

The cartel boss hugged you tightly, pressing a kiss to your lips that was just as full of love as it always was, and you relished in it. Pulling away, he smiled as he took a deep breath, smelling the food.

And then just like that, he was walking away from you and toward the kitchen.

With brows knitted, you followed behind him, not used to him leaving you alone so quickly after coming back home and not seeing you for days. He was sitting down at the head of the table as per usual, unbuttoning the first two top buttons on his shirt and rolling up his sleeves. The cook was already plating and serving, and you happily trotted over to take your seat next to your husband as you did every night, only for him to shake his head and point to the seat exactly opposite of him at the furthest end of the table.

“You can sit over there tonight.”

He didn’t even dignify you with a look, simply began arranging his silverware as he waited for his plate. You on the other hand stood like a fish out of water, not even knowing what to do or think. Nestor was beginning to make his way over and so Miguel spoke again with a lower tone.

“Did I stutter?”

Consumed by confusion, you relented and made your way over to sit where he had instructed, Nestor’s dark brow arching as he saw you in such an unfamiliar place at the table.  Not daring to question Miguel, he simply took his own seat, and soon dinner was in front of everyone.

You sat and ate, listening to Miguel and Nestor talk between bites as they went over plans for this next coming week. Something about a meeting on Wednesday in the morning and you smiled internally, thankful that since it was in the morning, it wouldn’t conflict with your weekly Wednesday evening ice cream plans. Swallowing your bite of food, you inquired about Miguel’s trip.

“How was the flight, babe?”

Your question fell on deaf ears however, Miguel simply picking back up the conversation with Nestor that he had started, ignoring you entirely. You and Nestor exchanged a look, the guard’s eyes leaving yours quickly and returning to his plate, not feeling like getting in the middle of whatever the two of you had going on. You realized then that this was going to be your punishment and despite there not being any overstimulation or spankings, you could quickly tell that this was going to be one of the worst punishments you had ever been dealt out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

It was bedtime now and you were doing your skincare when Miguel came into the bathroom, stepping up to his sink right beside you and beginning to brush his teeth. With your moisturizer and serum done, you washed your hands quickly before coming up behind him, wrapping your arms around his bare middle.

“I missed you.”

Miguel mumbled around his toothbrush and continued with his dental hygiene. He had kept up the charade all night and you were desperately hoping that he would put a stop to it by the time you were both slipping into bed. You held onto him as he finished up, wiping his mouth, and then drying his face before standing. You stayed holding him, pressing small kisses to his back in hopes that he would take pity on you. Your voice was small as you apologized.

“I’m sorry for not listening and for being a brat.”

It sounded foreign coming from you; usually, you could pay for your forgiveness with your body. You weren’t used to having to apologize. At least not for being a brat. The cartel leader simply turned around in your arms and you smiled, figuring that the punishment was over only for him to hold onto your elbows and gently remove your arms from him, walking away from you and into the bedroom to go to bed.

Once more you stood like a statue with your mouth open, unable to believe that he was ignoring you still. The behavior stung for a moment and then it made you irritated, that remorse and need for forgiveness from earlier disappearing. With a huff, you stripped everything off and then made your way into the bedroom behind him, Miguel already in bed facing away from your side and giving you his back. You climbed in bedside him and tried to snuggle up into him, voice sultry and wanton and you stroked his bare skin.

“Miguellllll. Please baby, just talk to me. I missed you.”

The man shrugged you and stayed facing away if only to stop you from seeing on his face how badly he wanted you.

“Go to sleep, mi amor.”

He paid you no mind after that, not even when you rolled over onto your back and began to run your hands over your naked body, wishing desperately that they were his. Your soft moans and whimpers made him rock hard, but you couldn’t tell, his discipline and self-control top tier. You tried and tried but to no avail. Giving up, you grumbled and covered yourself with the blanket, muttering out a goodnight and not expecting a response.

“Goodnight. I love you.”

That little bit of reciprocation made you smile, and you knew you would be able to crack him by tomorrow.

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

It was now three days since your punishment had begun and all battiness had evaded you. You no longer wished to be a pain, nor did you want to keep pushing his buttons. You just wanted to have your husband back. You wanted to have him cuddle and caress you the way he always did. To hold you for a full half-hour in the mornings when you wake up. To let you sit on his lap while he does paperwork at his desk. To press kisses to your forehead while telling you how important you were to him before bed. You missed it all, and with eyes that were due to fill with tears at any moment, you walked yourself into his office. He looked up as you entered, his eyes flinching as he saw the sadness in your features. There were a few tense moments of staring at each other before you cracked and walked over to him. He stood as you made your way over, not an ounce of defiance in you anymore.

He faced you as you came to a stop in front of him, eyes dark and warm as they looked at you. You stood defeated, fully aware that you had lost this one.

“You’ve made your point.”

Your voice was quiet, a touch of misery audible. Miguel simply chuckled, never taking his eyes off you.

“Have I?”

You nodded, looking at him through your lashes, hands clasped together in front of you.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did.”

You nodded once more, struggled with trying to apologize as he stared at you, waiting.

“I shouldn’t have facetimed you that day when I knew that you were busy, and I shouldn’t have gone around my punishment.”

“And?”

You winced and looked down, laughing nervously.

“And I shouldn’t have used your card to buy the toy.”

“And?”

You sunk down further and further into yourself with every prompt, uncomfortable to say the least.

“And I shouldn’t have rubbed it in your face by sending you the picture.”

Miguel stayed looking at you for a handful of seconds with an unreadable face before nodded, his shoulders relaxing some from their raised position of dominance.

“So, what do you say?”

You didn’t hesitate, knowing that it was best to simply get it over with.

“I’m sorry and I hope you forgive me. I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

He stared at you for a little while more, putting on the heat before he let the side of his mouth lift slightly. His hand reached out to you, cradling the side of your face gently. It was the first affectionate touch you had received from him in the near four days after your fuck up and it felt so good you could cry. Eyes closing on their own, your head leaned into his touch, your own hands coming up to hold his where it was. You nuzzled into his palm as much as you could, the cartel leader letting out a soft sigh of content as he watched you relish in his touch.

“You had to learn your lesson.”

You nodded, eyes still closed for a moment before you opened them.

“I did.”

Miguel nodded himself and offered you a loving smile, tugging you into him.

“Then all is forgiven.”

He was hugging you tightly then, his own eyes closing as he enjoyed the sensation of having you in his arms again.

“That was harder for me than it was for you.”

You scoffed and shook your head against his shoulder.

“Doubt it.”

He chuckled, happy to have things back to the way they should be.

“Maybe you’re right.”

General taglist @piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @elcococruz @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @iambabyharry @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @saturnsaree @multiyfandomgirl40 @destynelseclipsa @sadeyesgf @queenbeered

Mayans taglist @dazzledamazon  @abunnykisses @briana-mishell24 @angelreyesgirl @wrcn9fvlcver @peaches009 @capt-canadian @thesandbeneathmytoes @krysiewithak @bisexual-space-slut @appropriate-writers-name @cind-in-real-life @blessedboo @montanaraed

[willowbird]

Second ask, can I also ask for andriel proposing (not sure who proposes but plsss)

You bet you can lovie 🔪🧡🦊

-----

The woman on the other side of the counter wouldn't stop smiling at him. Usually, when Andrew glared back at unwelcome overtures of friendliness, all smiles dropped and people did better about leaving him the fuck alone. This particular saleswoman was eerily unaffected.

"We just got a new collection in that we haven't had a chance to set up in display case if nothing here has caught your eye," she suggested now, gesturing toward what Andrew assumed was the back room with an even bigger smile on her face. "You seem like a discerning man. Nothing but the best for your special someone, am I right?"

She wasn't wrong, but Andrew was not about to tell her that. The last thing he needed was for her to start cooing or something. This was why he shouldn't have waited for the last minute to do this and should have just ordered the damn thing online.

A part of him was tempted to wait on it just so that he wouldn't have to go through the pain of ring shopping in person, but the only reason he'd waited so damn long was because he kept second-guessing himself when he knew better. He'd first thought of it almost a year ago now when Neil had first signed on with the San Diego Wolverines, putting him on the opposite end of the country. It had been a gut impulse. He'd wanted Neil to have something not just of his but of them. He'd instantly shut down the embarrassingly romantic thought and hadn't allowed himself to think of it again until a few months later when he finally got to see Neil in person for the first time since the week before summer training.

Well, until Neil had to leave after a too-short visit just before summer training. Then it had been all he could think about for weeks. Every Skype call, every text, every glimpse of Neil playing on the tv.

It had even gotten to the point where he had even fucking brought the idea up to Aaron. Yes, Aaron. He'd called him while watching the playback of one of Neil's games just after the little idiot had antagonized both on-court backliners of the opposite team into going after him. He'd ended slammed against the wall then the floor multiple times, but his partner striker had also managed to get three goals while the backliners were distracted. Neil had limped off the court but not before flipping off the other team and the cameras. Once he was led back to the benches, Andrew got to watch as Neil pulled out his phone - likely to type out the text that had been waiting for Andrew when he'd finished up his own game.

It isn't bad. I'll ice it tonight. Promise.

Because Neil knew that Andrew watched at least the highlights of all his games. He knew that Andrew would see the brutal takedown. Would see him hobble off the court. Exy was a violent sport and mild injuries were common enough - but he knew that him goading and then being taken down by two backliners each double his size would worry Andrew. So the first thing he'd done, before even attempting to insist he wasn't too hurt to finish the game, was text him.

Watching Neil get fussed over by the team's medic, Andrew had dialed his brother.

'I think I want to marry him,' he'd said without a greeting.

'No shit, sherlock. About fucking time,' had been his brother's response.

That had been a couple months ago. And he'd put it off. He'd tried not to think about it. Tried to talk himself out of it.

And in the end, here he was, standing in front of a display case of wedding bands and engagement rings at an airport jewelry store while the saleslady smiled at him like he'd just told her he was going to name his firstborn after her.

Andrew checked his watch and sighed, then nodded at her, making a ‘get on with it’ gesture with one hand. He didn’t have long before his flight would be boarding and nothing in front of him was jumping out as being particularly exceptional. He knew that beggars couldn’t be choosers, him having left this to the last minute as he had, but he may as well see all the available options. 

The woman beamed at him in a way that was quickly getting on his nerves, then quickly scurried off. She returned after only a minute or so, carrying a moderately sized black case. “I’ve got to say, this is probably the most stunning collection we’ve had in. I saw it in the catalog and hoped it would be sent to our store, too.” There were maybe twenty rings in total, and he had to admit -- they were more elegant than most of the others on display. Simple with just small details in etching, stone lay, or shaping to set them apart from each other. There was also a variety of metal colors, from yellow gold to rose to platinum and a darker metal Andrew didn’t know enough about jewelry to name. 

Andrew considered all of them carefully, dismissing the flashier styles and the cumbersome solitaires. He had done a little bit of browsing online in between those flashes of panic uncertainty, and he knew Neil. His partner’s taste wasn’t really a factor, as he didn’t exactly have any (his interest in Andrew being the general exception), but his lifestyle was. With that in mind, Andrew said without looking up, “I will also need a matching chain.”

“A chain?”

Andrew ignored her for the time being as he ran his thumb over a dark-metaled band with a single thread of rose gold running through the center. He plucked it out and took a closer look, imagining it on Neil’s hand and diligently blocking out the rush in his chest at the visualization. Right now was the time for a practical mind. He did not have the time to wallow in any emotional repercussions to making this purchase. 

“This one,” he finally said to the saleswoman, showing her the ring and quoting Neil’s size. “And the chain as well.”

“Oh, of course! Excellent choice. I’m sure your sweetheart will love it.”

Andrew grimaced. “Trust me, he is anything but a sweetheart.” If it surprised the woman at all that he was shopping engagement rings for another man she didn’t show it. She only continued to beam at him, chuckling like he’d made some joke instead of a blatant truth. 

Ten minutes later he had a little black velvet box tucked into his pocket as he made his way back to where most of his team was milling about. Static whirred in the overhead and then a smooth female voice announced it was time to board.

"Flight 87 to San Diego is now boarding in Gate G9." 

For once Andrew wasn’t sure if the swooping in his stomach had to do with the upcoming flight or the weight of a future sitting in his pocket.

-----

Andrew had begrudgingly accepted that he enjoyed playing exy now that he was on a professional level and things were more interesting. He liked working together with his defensive line and the other goalie to form themselves into an impenetrable unit, and he even got along with most of his team. Or, at least, he and most of his team had an understanding.

It was an understanding that allowed them to be at the top of the league and give Andrew the space he needed to not feel smothered. They worked together as a team, and Andrew was always invited to their bonding nights. No one pressured him to actually show and when he did decide to participate no one made a big deal of it. He was permitted to interact on his own terms.

It was a good setup, and so he'd already told his team that he wouldn't be there tonight for whatever after-game dinner they had planned. They also knew that he would be returning to Pennsylvania separately, and only two people were stupid enough to ask about why more than once.

The game went about as expected -- in that Neil’s team lost spectacularly but not without putting up a fight. Even though they lost, Andrew could see Neil brimming with bright, furious energy in the last quarter of the game. He was having the fucking time of his life, and every single time he attacked the goal Andrew caught glimpses of his savage grin.

In the end, it wasn't enough, but Neil was still wearing that smile when they all lined up at center court for handshakes. If Andrew held a bit longer and tighter to Neil's hand when it was their turn, no one seemed to notice.

"You were incredible tonight," Neil said to him once all was said and done - the press handled and both teams showered and dismissed. They were walking across the stadium parking lot to where Andrew's rental was parked. Neil exclusively relied on his bike or public transport and Andrew had not been willing to put up with that bullshit while he was in town.

Andrew snorted. "If you ask me to wear my goalie mask during sex I am going to call it quits, junkie. Contain yourself."

"Wait, is that an option?" Neil stopped walking completely and turned sharply toward him, eyes wide.

Unamused, Andrew shot him a look and kept walking without bothering to dignify that bit of stupidity with a comment.

Neil didn't lag behind for long, laughing brightly as he jogged to catch up. "Joking!" he assured as they reached the car. "Of course I'm joking. The mask would get in the way and, if I'm being completely honest - which I try to do these days - I like being able to see your face."

There was once a time when Andrew would have pointedly kept his gaze turned away so he couldn't see the look he knew was on Neil's face at that moment. Or he would have shoved Neil away, nailed him with a scathing remark, distracted him somehow. It hadn't even been all that long ago, not really. He'd been afraid of what that look meant, cautious of the sentiment it implied, panicked at the threat of what might happen if he let Neil in.

Tonight Andrew did not look away. Instead, he turned his head and basked in the light of Neil's eyes like a cat in the sunlight. He met his gaze and soaked him up, let himself settle into that warmth. If Neil was surprised by Andrew's tolerance it didn't show. He just tilted his head and smiled until Andrew finally lifted a hand and shoved his arm just enough to get him moving.

"Get in the car, you maniac. Let's get back to your place."

Neil chuckled but relented without comment and got into the passenger seat. Andrew hadn't even gotten the car started when he felt Neil's gaze on him again, warm and enveloping like hot chocolate in the bitter winter. Again, Andrew turned to look at him. Again, he basked - just a little.

This time, Neil's expression shifted just slightly, the edges of pain tightening around his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Neil's hands curl into fists on his lap.

"I missed you," Neil said quietly, and his voice was tighter than it has been a minute ago. There was a hoarseness of emotion to it that rang in tune with the hollow place in Andrew's own chest.

A hard swallow, then Andrew lifted a hand and cupped Neil's cheek. He brushed his thumb over the scars there, tracing them. He didn't say that he'd missed Neil, too. He didn't say that each day waking up without him near was like waking up without a leg, leaving him aching and frustrated as he had to relearn how to move and function when a vital part of him was too far away to touch. He didn't say... Well, he didn't say anything at all.

Instead, he leaned his forehead against Neil's and took a slow breath in. He waited until he felt Neil do the same, and then they exhaled together, mingling their breaths as proof of their proximity. He felt the warmth of it on his cheeks and another loose and rattling piece inside his chest settled into place. He kissed Neil once, just briefly, on the lips, and then dropped his hand and pulled away to start the car.

-----

Neil's apartment was only a short drive away from the stadium, but traffic dragged it out unnecessarily. They had ordered food ahead of time and swung by the restaurant on the way to pick it up, which added another ten minutes to the drive but it was better than waiting on a delivery. 

Even with the detour for food and the press of traffic slowing them down, the drive itself didn’t actually feel long. Neil carried the conversation, picking up from their last phone call as he talked about his teammates and the strange little hole-in-the-wall diner he’d been frequenting lately or the stupid pictures an overly enthusiastic Matt Boyd had sent him from the pro backliner’s recent trip to the zoo. (“Twelve, Andrew. He sent me twelve pictures of what I’m pretty sure were all of the same ostrich. Ostriches aren’t even that interesting.”)

They split up briefly as they got to Neil’s apartment, Andrew to drop his things off in the bedroom and Neil to unpack the food onto actual plates. Andrew hesitated for only a moment as he parked his suitcase, then crouched before it and unzipped the pocket where he’d stowed the ring. He had no big plan for this. There were no flash mobs waiting around the corner, no puppies with cute ribbon collars, no scheduled flyovers that would drag a banner or write a message in the sky. Andrew didn’t do grand gestures. He did not buy into commercialized love. He also was very aware of who his partner was and knew very well that Neil was the same in that regards. 

Neither of them needed that, wanted it, or - frankly - even understood it.

But Andrew knew that he did want Neil in his life. He knew that he wanted him as his partner. He knew that he wanted him as his husband. It wasn’t something that he and Neil had every really talked about and there was a very real chance that Neil would say no - not because he didn’t want to be with Andrew, because Andrew knew that he did, but because Neil already had an impression of what marriage looked like and it was not a good one. Perhaps if they were different people, with a different sort of relationship, that would have made Andrew table the idea altogether.

But they weren’t other people, and their relationship was theirs and theirs alone. They were Andrew and Neil, not anyone else, and even if he knew nothing else, Andrew knew that even if Neil did not want to marry him, his asking wasn’t going to hurt them.

So he didn’t have any big plans. He hadn’t hired singers or put together a collage of their relationship. He didn’t invite their friends and family or light candles or spread out flower petals. He didn’t even get down on one knee.

Instead, Andrew took that little box in his hand and walked out of the bedroom and directly to the living room where Neil had set their dinner on two tv trays in front of the couch as he fiddled with remote to put on one of their favorite seasons of Hell’s Kitchen. Neil smiled over at him when he heard him coming. 

“Hey, perfect timing. Did you want to start right at the beginning or skip to episode two since we watched the first episode last week? I kinda want to start right at the beginning.”

Andrew shrugged, which Neil took as agreement and turned back to the tv to select the first episode. 

“Pause it for a moment,” Andrew said as he sank onto the couch beside Neil, though he kept his gaze on the frozen flames on the screen even as Neil turned to fully face him. He always did that - always gave Andrew his full and undivided attention even when he had no idea what Andrew wanted to say. For Neil, it was always just enough that Andrew wanted to say anything at all. 

A hiccup of nerves spasmed suddenly and uncomfortably in his chest, but Andrew batted it away. All he was doing was asking a question. Just one more to the hundreds of thousands that he had already asked over the last several years. This question was no different. It meant nothing more and nothing less than any of those other questions. 

So Andrew asked it the same way. 

He turned and met Neil’s eyes, then revealed the box without any particular flourish or grandeur. He watched as confusion smoothed to surprise then understanding as Andrew opened the box to show the ring inside. 

Then he said, “Yes, or no?”

He had meant for the words to be casual and even, but they came out softer than he intended. The hand that held the box was shaking, too - which Andrew only noticed when both of Neil’s hands cupped under it. 

Neil looked from the ring up to Andrew’s face and, like he always seemed to be able to, read more there than anyone ever could. Those blue eyes warmed to summer, his smile turning soft and filled with a sentiment that did not, could not, have a description in any of the languages that Andrew knew. Andrew didn’t know what Neil saw when he looked at him like that. He had never asked and probably never would. He wasn’t sure he was ready to know, wasn’t sure he would ever be ready. 

“Andrew,” Neil said, his voice just as quiet, and Andrew realized he was holding his breath. “You know it’s always yes with you.”

Something terrifyingly wonderful seized Andrew’s chest and squeezed. It dried out his throat and beat heavy drums in the center of his chest. It took too much effort for Andrew to nod his acknowledgement, and his hand was still shaking as he plucked the ring from the box and revealed that it was on a chain. “So you can keep it with you,” he said in explanation, his voice coming out a bit too hoarse. 

“I want to wear it now.” Neil’s voice wobbled. He laughed as they both tried and failed to unlatch the clasp several times before getting it - both of them with hands too shaky to get it on the first try. 

Then Neil was wearing it, and he was smiling, and there was this glow in Andrew’s chest that he didn’t think would ever really fade. 

[iamnightduchess]

Isayama could let Mikasa move on from Eren, and he could reveal Christa was a teenage crush for Reiner that he got over, and let them get closer during final arc but he chose to regress both characters because EM sells only for him to ruin that ship with 8 pages and "romcom".

Hello dear! Thank you so much for taking the time to send in a kind Ask & for sharing your honest thoughts on what could have been. I had my grievances too and have mourned the ending, although at times, I have almost allowed hateful/negative vibes clouded my lenses.

Anonie, there are indeed subtle nuances that could have been expanded more between RK in the final arc from ch.124 onwards. Their brotp was rock solid!

For fifteen chapters, there were a lot of misses on a lot of things, but sadly, as a fan, we can only watch in helplessness as Reiner & Mikasa, being the intellectual property of their creator & the publication corporate that owns them treated them as nothing more than an avenue to bring in more revenue & decided that the published ending in volume 34 was the 'right one'. We don't even know what happened to Reiner after. We can assume he died having lived a fulfilling life. Bet you Isayama is gonna write some whacky trivia in his final guidebook on Reiner like he went to take a dump, slipped, bumped his head on his porcelain throne and died instantly. Reiner was 35. Isayama's suffering a post-series JK Rowling syndrome now he will make things much worst everytime he writes. We're not the only ones who believe that RK are the ones who could have been so amazing together for a lot of reasons.

Those 8 pages & a romcom publication only reminded me that by the end of a series, copyright owners only cared more of the direction that benefits the business side of things. EM has always been a prepubescent juggernaut pairing of the series that was never really meant to take off but needed to bait the majority of its readers. But as the characters grew, their perspectives and principles should too, but unfortunately we did not get to see that. In the end, Mikasa fulfills the 'prized waifu' archetype & Reiner, the undignified simp archetype who's hung up on a fleeting teen crush. The only thing that hasn't happened is him 'imprinting' on Historia's daughter like Jacob did with Bella's daughter in Twilight. Now that would be the final icing on the cake. Even Twilight is a better love story between the leads than SnK now.

Trust me, dear, EM pulls more dough, sadly and profits are more important than giving the characters a more dignified ending. Also, dramas & toxic, unhealthy, passive aggressive, oppressive and imbalanced rships are what the market wants to read more now, not about wholesome, respectful characters+pairings. That is where us broke ff writers come in ;____;

I remain with my personal unpopular opinion that Mikasa and Reiner together would have been a more bittersweet, meaningful & dignified ending for the respective characters without completely discarding most of their growth & development throughout the whole series. RK fans would naturally understands this the most. Isym happens to write his brotps better than his otps, but towards the end realizes he needed that otp to set sail for the publisher's business directive: merchandising, special publications & a possible sequel.

Thank you once again for letting me share my sadness and devastation. The series have ended but like I always like to remind myself: FANON IS FOREVER & VALID. That is my honest truth. Also,

REIKASA NEVER DIES 🙈

[seeselfblack]

She Was a Black Librarian Who Could Equal America’s Most Powerful Man 

Today, we meet a heroine by the name of Belle da Costa Greene. Under the honey-hued lights of Manhattan’s Morgan Library, she became the guardian of the world’s greatest cultural treasures: not one but three Gutenberg bibles, illuminated manuscripts, originals by Da Vinci, Mozart, Michelangelo, and others – the list goes on (in its very own article, we might add). She was also a black woman who made it to the top of the archival game in 1905. Over the last 114 years, the “Morgan” became a living compendium of works that’ve bookmarked human history, and all thanks to Belle. This is her story.  Belle was the daughter of the first black man to graduate from Harvard, but her relationship with her father iced over when he left (but never separated from) her mother Genevieve, and started a completely new life in Siberia as an American diplomat. He had left them with three choices: shame, denial, or reinvention. Belle and her mother changed their last name to distance themselves from him, and took on names with inklings of European ancestry. Genevieve became the Dutch-y Van Vliet, and Belle subbed her real middle name for the Portuguese-sounding “da Costa” to cloud her ethnicity in mystery. A tragic reality, but one Belle knew she had play to her advantage to break through the glass ceiling as a woman of colour at the turn of the century.

First, Belle got a job as a librarian at the Princeton Library in New Jersey, where she immediately started challenging the cliché that librarians were grumpy, musty, and often men. “Just because I am a librarian,”she said, “doesn’t mean I have to dress like one.” Aside from being sharp as a whip, Belle was a sight for sore eyes; papers recall her as a “dark haired woman of great beauty” who kept her personal life a mystery (aka, professional. Heaven forbid!) and always had a quick remark at the ready in one of her tremendous, feathered hats. Check her out “In The Limelight” in the upper right: 

It was at Princeton that she met Morgan’s nephew, Junius, who connected her to his legendary uncle in 1905. A 1949 Time article recalls the moment she was hired:

Seated massively at his desk that day in 1905, John Pierpont Morgan seemed lost in thought. He hardly even bothered to look up when his nephew Junius appeared before him with a slim, grey-eyed girl in tow. “Uncle,” said Junius, “this is Miss Greene.” Thereupon the Great Man grunted a “How d’you do?”—and the interview was over.

Thus, scarcely out of her teens, “quaking with fear and shaking like an aspen,” Belle da Costa Greene began her career as head of the Pierpont Morgan Library. She was not to quake or shake for long. In time she became famous in her own field…

Firstly, let’s debunk the image of Belle as a doe-eyed, shaking teen. This woman was a powerful networker, who would go on to dazzle at European salons and even pose for Matisse. She was 26 when she arrived at the library, and probably intimidated – but she was also determined to make sure Mr. Morgan had the most impressive collection in the world for his library, and could hold her own with him.

Oh, how we love to imagine the epic scenes of Belle shutting down a bunch of crusty antique dealers at a turn-of-the-century auction, and returning to put her feet up at the veritable palace the library was turning into… When Morgan died, he left Belle the equivalent to $1,267,508 today in his will, and she continued to work at the Library until her retirement in 1948. In the last two years of his life alone, it’s said that Mr. Morgan and Belle had invested the equivalent of almost $900 million in rare books. She was left as the guardian of quite a collection. “According to Ardizzone, who teaches American studies at the University of Notre Dame,” explained The New York Times’ Caroline Weber in 2007, “[Belle] wanted above all to make ‘the rare books she prized so highly available to the public, not locked in the vaults of private collectors’ — and [in] 1924, when Morgan’s library became a public institution and Greene was named its first director, she celebrated by mounting a series of exhibitions, one of which drew ‘a record 170,000 people.'” She was classy, but never elitist. One for the books, indeed.

Biographers have had a famously hard time writing about Belle, who passed away two years after she retired. After all, how can you reconstruct the life of someone who practically burned all their papers on their death bed? Belle never married, but we do know that, for a time, she was madly in love with a dashing Russian art collector named Bernard — a relationship whose traces leave glimmers of the passionate woman she was in her private life. The two of them must’ve made a great, albeit clandestine (he was married) power couple, frolicking across Italy, Paris, and Munich for treasures. He was also the only man to meet her level of cool, if we may say so. As in, chilling-with-Cole-Porter-on-a-gondola level cool. Catch him centre with the shades: 

Oh! B.B. daarrling, how I long to be with you,” she wrote him, “and [for you] to ask me if I remember that night [in Munich]. Do you remember that one wonderful night in my room with the funny feather mattress?” For historians, these words were a rare window into Belle’s heart. Even more telling, perhaps was one of the loveliest presents she sent him: a sultry, dignified mini-portrait of herself looking like an Egyptian queen. It’s certainly the way we like to remember her today:

Still, Belle’s greatest romance was with the literary treasures she helped preserve at the Library. Her hard work is why we can walk into the gilded library today, and not just observe history, but relive it. She is a reminder of the strides and unsung stories made by so many black women in relatively niche professions – a reminder that activism also lives in the library. See also:

- THE (BLACK) WOMAN WHO MANAGED MORGAN’S MILLIONS

- White supremacy rhetoric lectures – Bella da Costa Greene’s symbolic legacy - Belle da Costa Greene, the Morgan’s First Librarian and Director

- BELLE DA COSTA GREENE (1883-1950)

[rq-s]

Title: Lucid Dreams - Chapter 2

Word Count: 2962

Warnings: Mingyu is featured heavily in the first few chapters and is directly involved in significant plot events. Due to recent events, I understand if reading these chapters may make you uncomfortable, but be aware that you’d be missing core story elements by skipping them. (Details)

Notes: While this chapter is part of a larger story, it can also be read (I hope..) as a standalone Mingyu x F!Reader (Light angst & Fluff) ! 

Lucid Dreams Masterlist

Chapter 1 | 

Yn followed Mingyu’s lead as he guided her through ordering. It wasn’t too dissimilar from a regular café, but he still walked with her to and from the lockers, letting her take the pillow and put her phone and wallet inside, smiling widely when she trusted him to keep the key while she slept. Clearly that was a boost to his ego, especially after his low mood just minutes ago. Yn sat and waited at her table; it wasn't long until the drink was ready.

“Here you go,” Mingyu set the glass bottle in front of her, along with a white napkin and a glass straw. “One Sleepy Mingyu!” There was already an awkward blush on his cheeks, but his smile was wide as he clasped his hands together with pride, like this drink was his child at its first recital.

Yn couldn’t help but want to laugh at the sound of a drink being named after someone like that, and how said person was the one who served it to her. The entire situation felt absurd. And yet she didn’t feel as nervous as she had felt when she walked in. Perhaps it was Mingyu’s vulnerability earlier and knowing that she wasn’t the only one who was nervous, but now she felt unusually comfortable.

“Thank you.” Yn smiled back to him and examined the drink. It did, in fact, look as was advertised. The glass of the bottle and straw were nearly crystal clear, and the hue of the soda itself was a powerful royal purple. The way the bubbles ran up the sides and sizzled at the top made it seem especially refreshing and sophisticated, and there was a bit of condensation on the bottle from how cold it was.

Mingyu still stood by the table, hands held in front of him expectantly. She could hear his breath hitch when she finally took a drink.  

It tasted like a mix of all the familiar grape flavors Yn knew. It was a strangely fitting mix of two distinct flavors from her memory: the artificially sweet grape juice from school lunches, and the bubbly grape spritzer from family gatherings. However, this was much better than either of those, creating its own memorable taste. It was ice cold and rich in flavor, with the perfect about of fizziness to disperse it enough and make the strength of it bearable. It tingled as it went down, as if actual light sparkles were in it.

Yn moved away from the straw just enough to be able to speak, tilting her head to look Mingyu’s way.

“This is really good.” He sighed with relief, putting a hand to his chest as if his heart had been racing. He mouthed vague praises for a moment before returning to his professional state.

“That’s good to hear! Please enjoy it, we'll keep you safe while you rest.” Yn giggled and thanked him, letting him practically skip back to the register in his glee.

Yn leaned back in her chair, holding the bottle and letting the straw rest between her lips, trying to relax. Sleeping in a public place wasn’t on her list of things that were easy for her to do. She worried that if the sleep aid couldn’t make her drowsy enough to sleep now, then she’d have trouble getting back home. Would Mingyu be crushed if I don’t sleep after drinking his drink? She didn’t mean to have thoughts like that; it felt cheap, like she was pitying him. But something about this place, about how Mingyu and Junhui acted, drew her in and played on her curiosity. She wanted to understand what unique experience they were talking about. That meant giving herself to the process, as strange as it was.

Her worries were needless, as not even two minutes after setting the empty bottle aside and leaning forward to rest her head on the pillow on the table did Yn fall asleep.

There was a jazz band playing, but she couldn’t see them. Yn couldn’t see anything, actually.

It smelled like lobster, rice, and wine. She heard some distant chatter and the sound of dishes being cleaned.

“So, how did you like it?” A voice spoke clearly, as if it was right next to her. Everything around her slowly came into view with each blink.

She was at a restaurant. An expensive and modern one. The ceiling was high, with full length windows, sheer black curtains, and crystal chandeliers. Her feet clicked against the marble floor as she shifted in her seat, and she noticed she had on expensive black stiletto heels. The dress she wore was a bright purple fabric with a black lace layer over the body and sleeves. The outfit wasn’t hers, but was one she could only dream of owning, as it flattered her body perfectly and made her feel dignified and rich.

The voice Yn had heard was coming from a man in the seat across from her. His shirt was fitted and ironed, a beautiful royal purple with a black lace collar and cuffs, matching the black of his dress pants. His face looked familiar, and his name was on the tip of her tongue.

There was an empty plate in front of them both, yet she could smell what should have been there. There was still wine in the glass though, and it smelled just like the kind she had at home.

“It was really good actually.” Yn spoke without thinking; not having thought at all.

“That bracelet looks really pretty on you.” The man spoke again, gesturing to her wrist as she held the stem of the wine glass. It was a small and simple bracelet, with square cut amethyst gems laid in hefty silver. It was perfectly sized to her wrist, and looked brand new, or at least very well cared for. It wasn’t hers either.

“Thanks Mingyu.” His name slipped from her lips, and she were shocked to hear it, finally able to recognize him. He smiled to her shyly, tilting his head with a sparkle in his deep brown eyes.

Why him?

Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Mingyu's gaze lingered on Yn while she nervously observed her surroundings. There were other tables with other couples or parties of guests all enjoying their meals, but they were all faceless. Their chatter got louder when she looked at them.

What's going on?!

“Wanna go outside?” Mingyu asked suddenly, urgently, and right on cue when the chatter began to make Yn anxious. Her senses caught up with her by that point and it felt like they were in overdrive. It was begging to overwhelm her, so she was grateful for his perfectly timed offer. Yn held onto his arm when he offered it, oddly without hesitation, and followed him into the chilly night of the terrace. The chatter stopped completely, the jazz music was stifled, and the dishes were replaced with the sound of cicadas in the distance.

“Oh wow, this is beautiful Yn.” He was audibly impressed, as if the night sky was something she had handcrafted. The terrace was at the back of the restaurant, and it seemed like nothing else existed other than what she could see. There wasn’t any light pollution and not a single wisp of a cloud, only twinkling stars and planets of different colors. The moon was a warning crescent, but was bright and sharp, high above them. Yn was in awe, just as he was.

Mingyu moved his arm out from hers and to the back of her shoulders, fingertips barely touching the fabric of her dress. It wasn’t as cold outside as she'd expected it to be, but Mingyu’s presence beside her was still warming. Any encroaching anxiousness she had felt had been washed away, much quicker than she had expected, and was replaced with wonder.

“What do you see?” He asked with an incredibly soft tone and volume, making her heart flutter.

It was hard to make out any shape or figure. Even the constellations she thought she knew weren’t visible. Mingyu waited for Yn's answer, but after a glance at her confused expressions, he spoke up.

“Look up there, at that cluster of stars.” Mingyu leaned in closer, now holding onto her shoulder, and pointed up into the sky. Yn followed his finger across the stars and found the cluster he saw.

“Now trace my finger with your eyes, okay?”

“I’ll try.” Yn chuckled, but he remained focused and slowly began tracing what he saw for her.

“Oh! It’s a puppy face!” She exclaimed as he finished the second floppy ear. The cluster had been the puppy’s nose.

“Yeah! He looks like he’s having a lot of fun up there.” Mingyu commented with a smile, finishing off the picture with a goofy tongue hanging out of the puppy’s mouth.

Yn kept searching the sky for something to show to him, but all the blinking lights seemed to keep shifting. She was still grinning as her eyes scoured the sky desperately.

She could feel Mingyu’s fingers against her shoulder, the weight and size of his hand on was unfamiliar, and she felt every tiny movement acutely. It wasn’t helping her focus at all.

“It’s okay.” He said kindly, letting go of her shoulder to rub the lower center her back, trying to offer comfort. It felt like he’d given up on her drawing something for him like he had for her. The butterflies in her stomach froze at the thought of his disappointment.

“Wait! Look there, under the moon.” An airplane suddenly came into view, flying slowly in the distance, its lights slowly blinking just like the stars in the dark night sky were. Mingyu stayed silent.

“When I was a kid, I thought airplanes in the night sky were shooting stars.” Yn admitted openly. Mingyu hummed with his hand held still against her, excluding his thumb, which massaged the middle of her back carefully. The motion was almost mesmerizing, threatening to melt her heart if she focused on it long enough. A stranger should not have this kind of power over her, intentional or not. She knew that, yet she didn’t feel afraid, or put off.

“Make a wish.” Mingyu said offhandedly. It came off as a teasing joke, but that’s exactly what Yn did as a child. Wishing on stars was the kid-friendly way of asking the universe for mercy. That’s what she told herself as a teenager, finding comfort that way. At the very least it was fun, and gave her something to hope for.

Yn thought for a moment before answering, choosing to take his teasing seriously, but did not know why her response had come to her mind.

“I wish for you to not be afraid of making mistakes or being wrong.”

She felt his stare move to her suddenly, and the touch of his hand on her back was gone. Still, she continued.

“You’re doing fine, Mingyu. You have good ideas, and you work hard. The only person you should ever have to prove your worth to is yourself. You’ll be alright.” She had no basis for what she said. No reason for him to believe her.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

It felt like it was what he needed to hear.

“Yn? It's time to wake up.” Someone was shaking her shoulder. It didn’t feel like Mingyu’s hand. It wasn’t Mingyu’s voice.

“It’s been a little over two hours Yn. If we let you sleep any longer you won’t feel very good.”

Yn groaned from having slept upright in the chair and her face tingled when she lifted her head from the pillow, as if she hadn’t moved at all in her sleep. The fact that she hadn’t fallen out of the chair was a miracle in itself. She rubbed her eyes a little too roughly and blinked as they adjusted to the light.

“Junhui?” She asked, having only that option to go off of at this point. The man chuckled.

“Nope, he clocked out about an hour ago. My name's Chan.” He pointed to the name printed on his collar with pride. That smile wasn’t one Yn could forget, and it clicked in her head that she’d seen him before too. He was the one who noticed her and let her pass on the sidewalk before, and Junhui must’ve been with him.

“Oh, okay.” Was all she managed to say. He chuckled again, understanding her grogginess.

“I’ll give you a few more minutes to wake up. I’ll be right back.” Yn merely nodded, noticing that the bottle had already been cleaned up. Eager to stretch her legs, she stood up and walked around.

It was about noon now, the store was warm and the music was still as lo-fi as it was two hours ago. The two girls from earlier had also left, and there was no one else around.

Yn's eyes went to the coolers. They weren’t fully stocked, maybe three or four of each of the juices and sodas, only two of each smoothie. I guess things like that are hard to stock when you make them all yourself, and don’t get many customers.

“We make them ourselves, you know.” Chan piped up from behind her, startling her slightly. Mingyu was with him.

“I told her that.” He pouted. Chan seemed younger than Mingyu, yet talked to him like they were the same age.

“Oh, well from what Jun said, you could barely even make it through the example run.” Chan teased.

“Hey-“ Yn and Mingyu spoke at the same time. But she didn’t pause like he did.

“-he tried his best. And Junhui was really nice about it.” It sounded more defensive than she meant it to, and Chan raised an eyebrow at it, but conceded all the same.  

“Sorry, it’s his first time having a new customer. We just like to keep him humble.” Chan elbowed Mingyu’s side, and the taller boy played along, but looked at her with a look that assured her it was fine. As sincere as his smile was, Yn still noticed the redness and puffiness of his eyes.

“Let’s get you rung up, huh?” Mingyu suggested, waving her over to the register as he quickly went behind it. Chan mumbled something about coming off like the bad guy, but she was too focused on Mingyu.

“How did you sleep?” He asked softly, just loud enough for the two of them. As if anyone was around to hear. Yn instinctively leaned in a tad closer.

“Pretty well, actually. I’m still a bit fuzzy-headed but I feel more rested than I usually do when I take naps.” Yn failed at small talk, as usual. Mingyu nodded along regardless.

“How does your stomach feel?”

“Uh.. fine? I can still taste it in my mouth but it isn’t bad, and my tummy isn’t upset or anything.”

“Okay good,” He seemed happy to hear it, “We just want to gauge how each visitor handles each drink so we can change how we mix it for them if we need to.” He justified. Ah, right, just standard procedure questions.

“Are your eyes okay?” Yn's question was blatant and caught him off guard. He didn’t answer right away.

“You look like you’ve been crying.” Why does it hurt so much to see it? He’s a stranger. And yet she knew that she’d worry about it all day if she didn’t ask.

“Ah, I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.” It was a dismissive response, but it felt inappropriate to press on.

“So… oh! Since this is your first visit, we’re only gonna charge you half price of your total! So if you’d like to get anything from the cooler, or order something else, now’s the time!” The mention of the coolers made Yn glance to them and she felt embarrassed at what drink caught her eye instantly.

Yn walked to the cooler and grabbed two bottles of Mingyu’s grape soda.

She then walked back up to the counter and set them both onto it a bit too harshly. Mingyu held back a laugh, and she held her hand out.

“I need the key to get my wallet.” Yn felt her face heating up from embarrassment. Luckily, the key was just under the register, and he handed it to her quickly. She heard him scanning the two drinks with a hand scanner as she strode over to the lockers.

“Chan already got the pillow.” He said amusedly as he watched her look for it by her table. Yn tsked at him and went back to the counter, finding her card easily.

Mingyu read her the total, asked if she wanted a paper bag, put the drinks in the paper bag, took the key back from her, and handed her the receipt all in a quick and practiced flow. Yn had already put her wallet away in her back pocket, along with her phone, but it was when she reached for the paper bag that she hesitated. Mingyu did too.

“Yn?” He was asking for her attention when she was already staring at him. She didn’t answer, despite feeling the urgency to.

“Do you still make wishes on shooting stars?”  

“…” Mingyu began to panic as soon as the question left his mouth. His eyes darted over Yn features, searching for any sort of answer from her. After a painfully long moment, she finally did.

“I haven’t seen one in a long time.”

“Make a wish on an airplane then. For me.” It wasn’t really a question, but not quite a demand. Mingyu regretted it even before he finished, and he felt sick at the sight of her fearful expression after her quick and unexpected response.

“I promise.”

[spookybreadstick]

What do they need in a partner?

chaotic energy, calming energy, or a combination? 

This is just what I think they would need in a partner, ideally. Their partner does not have to have these traits, but it would make for an ideal match.��

This is also sort of a companion piece to this post about the pastas personalities! 

Remember as well: Extroverted means that you feel energized being around people (you can be a shy extrovert), and Introverted means you feel drained after being around people (you can also be an outgoing introvert). Ambiverts can be either, depending on the circumstances. 

💜💙💜💙💜💙

TEAM CHAOTIC... 

-  Laughing Jack

- BEN

- Brian/Hoodie

-  Clockwork

- Nina

TEAM COMBINATION

- Tim/Masky 

- Liu

- Jane

- Puppeteer

TEAM CALMING 

- Toby

- EJ

- Slenderman

- Bloody Painter

- Jeff

~

WHY.... 

🍬 LJ is a chaotic character. He needs somebody that is able to match his energy. You’re not only his romantic partner, but his partner in chaos <3 

🎮 BEN is kind of a himbo lmao. He wants somebody who is dirty of mind and dumb of ass lol. He just needs somebody to be a chaotic lil gremlin with him <3 

❓ Brian needs somebody that will pull him from the sidelines of the party, and get him to dance. He needs a partner who will be willing to work through his layers of mystery in order to bring out the best in him peel him like an onion babey <3

⏰ Clockwork needs somebody who she feels comfortable hanging out and being silly with. A chaotic partner is a partner she can get along with and feel safe with. She really needs somebody who will put her at ease and help her to open up <3 

~

🎭 Tim needs a partner who is the best of both worlds, both chaotic and calming. Like Brian, he would benefit from having a partner pull him from the sidelines and teach him how to live life to the fullest. But, his partner also needs to understand that Tim just isn’t a chaotic person and will not enjoy any truly chaotic activities. He longs for normalcy in a relationship, and he wants a mature partner who enjoys domesticity as well <3 

🧣 Liu’s situation is unique. He and Sully have (obviously) very different personalities, and it can be hard to find a partner who can handle that. For Liu, he would prefer a partner that is on the calmer side. He wants to be able to relax with his partner and not have to worry when they’re together. Sully on the other hand, would definitely enjoy getting into some trouble with his partner. Their partner would have to be able to roll with the punches and be down for anything, whether it’s relaxing on the couch or vandalizing public property for fun <3 

🖤 Jane would do well with a partner that can show her how to loosen up a bit, while also being mature and level-headed. She appreciates someone who can be serious when needed, but also light-hearted and silly <3 

🧵 Puppeteer would need a partner that can challenge him and make him feel alive, but also someone that carries themselves in a most dignified manner (he thinks of human as lower life-forms, despite previously being one, and he doesn’t want his partner to be linked to that). He likes ‘em lively but classy <3 

💄Nina needs someone who will match her sunny personality, but someone who will also calm her down when she’s too much (and trust me, there are times when she’s too much). She needs a high-energy partner that can also balance her out and take care of her <3

~ 

🪓 Toby needs somebody who can be there for him, and sort of mother him. He really enjoys the mushiness of being doted on and fussed over by a patient and caring partner <3 

🤍 EJ wants an introverted partner that he can hang out with and feel comfortable being himself around them. A partner that doesn’t judge him, and who takes the time to get to know him. He really just wants somebody to vibe with <3

🌲Slender would like a partner that is old-fashioned when it comes to romance. He wants his partner to be somebody he can just relax around. He doesn’t want to worry when they’re together, and he doesn’t want to do anything rambunctious. He’s a homebody after all. He needs a partner that can go with the flow easily, but is also willing to step up when needed, since they would be stepping into a sort of leadership role in the mansion when they’re by his side <3 

🎨 Helen would need a mature partner that understands his boundaries and his trauma. His partner must understand that he often needs time by himself, and they need to respect that sometimes he just wants to vibe alone. His partner would have to be somebody that he feels comfortable with, and he wouldn’t consider hanging with them to be the chore that he finds it to be for most people. His partner would be the exception to his “I hate people” rule <3

🔪 Jeff is always getting himself into trouble, making a mess, or being a chaotic fool. He needs a partner that can be responsible, but still be interesting enough to keep him coming back for more. They need to be able to keep up with him and be able to deliver classic roasts. They should be able to let loose a little bit around Jeff, but they also need to know when to reel him in. His partner would be the only person who he would actually listen to without question and who would be able to tame the wild beast. His partner would be the ice to his fire <3 

~