#not gonna bother even trying to defend the anatomy here

[nyabeilles]

" there is a darkness in riverclan, closer than you think. " shadow, page 189

frostpaw ! wooo! someone give her a blanket and a break!

clanmao by @booksofstars, i really enjoyed using it to act like an obscure halo :)

[frosted-night]

Jack Frost Designs Review

Yes it’s finally his time. This is going to include his book designs including previous incarnations in said books. There are more movie concept designs than book so, let’s dig in shall we?

This was in fact the first ever Jack Joyce designed while he came up with The Guardians Of Childhood. He even comes with his own backstory! (Which was cut. Sorry Joyce posts walls of text so it’s a girthy read.)

So instead of a young mischievous trickster, we got a much more depressing story of Jack. (Jack by default is sad obviously) but this one... It kind of hits differently and almost reminds me of the story he crafted for Pitch. A dad who tried to defend his family but through tragic events was ripped from them and changed completely. Design wise, he’s a lot more tree than snow. There doesn’t exist a colored version of this so we’ll never know if he sported winter and dull dead leaf colors rather than grassy greens.This Jack has a weird presence to him, I can’t put my finger on it. Rating: 6/10 He’s really neat! Just a little too Autumn feeling rather than a blend of both Autumn and Winter.

Nightlight feels like the baby evolution if Jack was a pokemon and that's what I’m gonna stick with. Below is a more recent version of him colored.

In all honesty that one is easier on the eyes proportion wise because sometimes Joyce has ‘interesting’ anatomy choices but we aint going into that today. It’s interesting how his hair somehow looks shorter and longer than Jack’s at the same time. Could be because the longer strands float seamlessly but star boy hair physics what can ya do. It’s a little hard to tell what is his skin and what is his armor, so that is a casuality in making a character only have one or two colors in their color scheme. I love other artist’s depictions of Nightlight but the canon one feels a little weak color wise. Rating: 5/10 Sorry, get some better LEDs and then come back.

Here we have a book Jack but I can’t entirely recall if this was used in the books or not. I digress. This design looks like him still wearing very Nightlight-esque armor/clothing and slowly growing into his new persona as Jack Frost. The intricacies are hard to make out but we’ll work with it. This one is very interesting to me because he very much looks like an older teen close to young adult. His hair looks very fluffy too. Not many complaints about this one but not much praise either.

Rating: 6/10 Not great but doesn’t stand out that much.

Remember when I said Joyce had ‘interesting’ anatomy decisions? Jack looks like he has half a head here and it bothers me GREATLY. This is the adult Jack design he went with. Supposedly he likes the opera and he sure looks it. This! Exists!! Kind of wish it didn’t. The outfit is nice but it just doesn’t fit Jack as a whole. This just screams to me that it’s someone else with a similar-ish hairstyle.

Rating: 3/10 Guess he’d be the...Phantom Of The Opera. (I’ll go home and so should he.)

And finally the final Jack. This is the one that almost exactly resembles the Jack we got in the movies(Probably because it was made after the movie but w/e) but just add a cape on him. I can’t really tell if hes got a hoodie and a cape, or just a cloak+hood on top of a sweatshirt. It isn’t too important because my thoughts on this one are obvious. Rating: 10/10 Edna Mode would have a field day with you boy.

MOVIE DESIGN TIME

Joyce claims this is a design he drafted when Leonardo DiCaprio was considered to voice Jack and I can kind of see that with how his face is drawn here. This Jack looks a lot more like a warrior and less of that trickster look. I can’t say I’m a fan of the weird antenna his hood has but his sword is really cool looking.

Rating: 4/10 Nice bow and sword but it can’t save your fashion choices.

This looks like a lanky 11-13 year old who would put rocks or slugs in my shoes and relish in my disgust. He has the exact look of a snot nose kid and I’m unsure how to feel about it.

His various hairstyles drafted here sort of make him softer looking or just more of a snot nose, no in between. Maybe even an Anime Protagonist.

The top right one almost looks like Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon if you squint. It’ll be a little hard to rate them all as one individual but why not.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate them but they aren’t my cup of tea.

AH- IS THAT A FUCKIN GREMLIN?

Oh wait no it isn’t he looks like a 10 year old. Whatever don’t feed him after midnight. The staff’s design of not being shaped like a G is an interesting tidbit but the whole design looks like he’s really young or like a troll etc. This Jack looks like he thinks girls have cooties uses outdated slang.

Rating: 4/10 This is me being generous.

It honestly looks like he hiked his pants up all the way to his chest. A late teen with horrid fashion choices once again. Not many other thoughts here.

Rating: 2/10 Get a sweater on or something.

This is one is very interesting looking to me. His clothes looked a lot more leather based and very human-like. The tatters, tears and frays all make him look like he was a victim of an accident that never changed his clothes. It makes me wonder if this Jack had the same death as the final movie Jack or something else entirely. Either way, this one looks like hes a mid to late teen which really adds to my intrigue.

This was another image that greatly resembled the design so I included it here. It almost looks like his skin is blue here which is pretty neat to me at least. He’s also got leaf motifs here, which from the first Jack design Joyce made, we can see a pattern here.

Rating: 8 /10 I was originally weirded out by his head but now its not so bad.

This Jack is definitely dressed more like a nature boy rather than him having human influenced fashion and it’s an appealing touch. The tiny leaf sprouting from his staff is also kind of cute since the designers seemed to want to put leafs somewhere on his designs. His hairstyle is also very cute but it reminds me of Sasuke Uchiha in a sense. (Not a setback for me at least)

Rating: 7/10 13 year old Jack is going thru a phase.

I thought this Jack didn’t show up again in story boards but I was wrong!

They look a little different from each other but just similar enough to pair together, so bare with me. The first one obviously has looser pants, slightly longer sleeves and got his leaf motif going. This second Jack is a VERY green. It gives the impression that this Jack made his clothes out of plants and natural materials. Again I’m not wholly sure if greens fit his color scheme but they sure went for it for a while. I can’t say I’m a fan of it because it heavily reminds me of Peter Pan.

However a very similar looking Jack could be found in this storyboard. It doesn’t look as green as the other storyboards made it out to be and looks more like dead grass. Which is a pretty nice touch.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate it but it just doesn’t vibe yknow.

Speaking of a vibe...hoo this certainly has one.  This Jack isn’t old but certainly doesn’t look very young, maybe in the 20-30 range, thats just me. He has facial features that remind me of Pitch but resembles the Jack Frost of Santa Clause 3

That being said, I wondered if him looking similar to Pitch was in the storyline of them being brothers.(Which was a scrapped thing, who knew.) He’s a bit more menacing in this design but certainly seems like he relishes in his work.

Rating: 4/10 I’d make it a lower score but I gotta give it props

NOW THIS JACK IS KINDA INTERESTING. This one looks like he’s 16 and going through a grunge phase. He’s gonna play Nirvana loudly and not turn it down even if you tell him too. His staff itself has mini icicles hanging off of it and leafs look stuck to his shirt. Did you glue or staple those on Jack? His hair also looks much longer than his other designs and I kind of dig it( Shut up I’m bias.) I’m not wholly sure why else this design has stuck with me but it just has something about it that I just love. I wish there was a full body drawing of it.

(He also kinda has the same hair as the Jack Frost in Runescape but I wont go on about that hoo hoo)

Rating: 9/10 *Bad Boy by Cascada plays in the distance*

This one definitely feels like middleschooler trying to be in a band. His sticks just resemble drumsticks to me what can I say. I’m a big fan of his shoes and his color scheme screams a hibernating tree in winter. His hair also looks like it’s covered in frost rather than it being wholly white, which is very neat!! He looks like he wants to fight but has slight hesitance. Overall a very balanced Jack.

Rating: 8/10 He’s ready for band practice

Not many thoughts here, I just found these tiny Jack designs cute. His hoodie being a jacket instead just adds to the charm of this one.

No talk to him he angy.

Rating: 6/10 fun sized boi

Now this Jack resembles the one earlier that dressed entirely in leather brown colors, however he clearly is different than that one. I’m gonna say it, he looks like a zombie or undead in this design and its pretty fucking gnarly. I don’t know whats going on with his hair but I’m gonna assume it’s just the wind making it look like that. He just has the vibe that he was once human but was turned into something else entirely. It isnt in uncanny territory but borders that. This version of Jack meeting Pitch and the others would have been *very* interesting. Rating: 7/10 Eat a twinkie Jack you’ll feel better.

The final design! I can’t complain much about this one. The way his staff subtly has a G shape and a hexagon(his signature shape) is a wonderful touch. Additionally, the way the frost is gathered mostly where his hand is such an intricate detail. His signature hoodie is iconic at this point so I can’t bad mouth that either.(I can’t anyway because there's no complaints from me here.) Although, I never understood the leather straps that his pants had or their functions. I couldn’t find any colonial outfits that resembled Jack’s pants so its a total mystery to me at least.

And I can’t go on about this design until I mention the snowflake pattern in his eyes

Pure beauty. It’s at a hue of blue that almost looks impossible to have, combined with the electric blue color of the snowflake in his eyes. The amount of detail in this movie amazes me to this day. Rating: One Great Blizzard <3/10

[1kook]

skirt chasers

jjk x (f) reader

summary “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” tags f2l, triple texting king kook, ncampus crush kook who is also the weird gamer boy, the skirt aspect is forgotten towards the end tbh, dumbassery is a disease and we are all affected by it, confessions SO CORNY it could be a 2005 teen romcom warnings smut in the form of: unprotected sex, use of mirrors, mostly heavy petting as foreplay I’m sorry, mentions of Jk’s furry ways as a gag kinda, like an unnecessary amount of swearing  wc 7.8k 

to make a long story short, i saw this nsfw gif and wrote this entire fic between 2 am and 6 am anyway i actually really like how this turned out!! lmk when u think

Part of the ideology behind the pleated skirt was in hopes that buying a new wardrobe would somehow help you rebrand your image around campus. Truthfully, it was kinda too late for that now; you’d been here going on three years, your friends and anyone with eyes could see that the style of clothing you leaned towards favored comfort over fashion. However, someone—it might’ve been Taehyung—had gone on a drunken spiel the other night concerning the importance of presenting oneself via fashion. It wasn’t aimed at you, but it certainly left you wondering. 

Which is how you find yourself shivering to the bone now, lingering around the west quad as you wait for Jungkook to come out of an anatomy lab. He’s at that point in the semester where grades mean nothing and everything to him at the same time, so Namjoon’s commissioned you and your other pals to take turns babysitting him once a week to make sure he gets at least some assignments done. 

You don’t know where any of you would be without Kim Namjoon.

Anyway, your legs are fucking cold and if this is what it takes to be known as the fashionably cute girl around campus, you’d rather choke. The imaginary sound of your bones rattling is cut off when Jungkook throws the door nearest you open, his big dopey smile engulfing his face the moment he sees you. He barely acknowledges the gaggle of students that follow after him, all calling out a chorus of goodbyes to him, because unlike you Jungkook was the cute, campus boy crush with his suave looks and comfortable fashion. God, if only you could pull off sweats and mustard-stained Venom shirts like him.

“Lets go,” you yawn, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your long cardigan. Jungkook jogs over, slinging an arm around your shoulders and nearly knocking you into the emergency telephone you’d been brooding by. “You smell sterile again.”Jungkook grins. 

“That’s because I was touching dead people again,” he informs you, too giddy for someone who’d probably fingered the fuck out of a gallbladder twenty minutes ago. 

“Ew,” you whine, the sudden urge to shove Jungkook and his dead people germs away from you. He cackles in your face, and you wonder again how he single handedly enthralls half the campus population with a laugh like a seagull. 

You’ve barely moved ten feet when Jungkook finally notices your vibrating body, and it’s only because you’re nearly convulsing with shivers at this point. “Woah, what are those,” he exclaims, eyes pointedly eyeing your legs. 

You know your bare legs are a rare sight when Jungkook has to resolve to overused memes to refer to them. 

“They’re my legs, and they’re fucking freezing,” you calmly reply. 

Jungkook seems shocked for only a moment longer, and you almost think he’s gotten over it when he suddenly snorts and scares the shit out of you in the middle of the crosswalk. “Why the fuck are you wearing a skirt in this weather, you dinglehead?” 

You shove him, and he stumbles over the curb, but you get the feeling he’d do that without you pushing him. Jungkook was clumsier than Namjoon on his bad days. “I’m trying to be fashionable, you hater,” you huff, not even bothering to say thank you when he pulls open the coffee shop door for you. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to someone who doesn’t even wear the right size shirt.” 

Like always, he’s one step ahead of you and hands the cashier his card before you can even reach for your wallet. Next time. “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” 

“For your information I bought this from H&M,” you retort, though you can’t hide the flush that warms your cheeks at his comment. “Also, what's the point of working out your hotbod if you’re just gonna hide it under shirts long enough to be a mini-dress, huh? Riddle me that, Jeon.” 

You flinch when your bare thigh touches the cold seat of the booth, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Your skirt is mad short,” he points out, and you kick his shins. 

You’ve already got a Google Doc open on your laptop from last night when you and Jimin had been going ham on a psych essay, but you also have a Fashion Nova cart on another window that’s just begging for you to check out. 

“Short skirts are just a concept made by men with lingering eyes to demean and belittle women who don’t submit to their every want and need.” 

“Oh my god,” he groans, and you watch him muffle a laugh into his palm as he gets his own work out. “Do you think I’m gonna pull the meninist card out on you and call you a slut or something?” 

You fake gasp, eyes wide and shocked as you give him your best disappointed face. “Jeon, how could you? I expected better from you.”  

This time he does laugh, a dorky sound unlike his witch cackle from earlier, and you finally let a smile slip. Jungkook was funny, too sweet and kind hearted for his own good. A little dumb, but most cute guys were. He’s one of those guys who thinks girls are nice to him out of their own free will, and not because they’re trying to bag the campus hottie. 

“Seriously,” he says once he’s pulled his fat anatomical reference book out, stuffed to the brim with worn scientific essays he’d printed out, and pictures he’d taken at every single one of his visits to the cadaver lab. His voice is earnest and genuine when he speaks again. “You can wear whatever you want, I was just curious about the skirt ‘cause you normally wear things past the knee and elbow.” 

When he puts it like that you kinda sound surprisingly conservative. 

You shrug, tapping away at your computer as if the sight of you in anything other than what he said isn’t really weird. “Just thought I’d try something new. Why, does it look too weird?” Your voice suddenly feels meek, and you’re not sure if your cheeks are warm from the chill outside or from something else. 

Jungkook shakes his head, coconut hair bouncing from side to side. “Nah, you look cute,” he says, and then, as if an afterthought, adds, “weirdly sexy, too. Like you belong in a Brazzers video?” 

“What the fuck, Jungkook,” you groan, sinking your head into your palms. 

“What! You asked for my opinion and I gave you it,” he defends, too casual for someone spewing their unwarranted porn knowledge at you. You urge him to do his homework, drink his coffee, anything besides embarrass you further. 

He does, but you don’t miss the goofy way he glances under the table one more time. 

The pleated skirt makes it’s return three weeks later, this time accompanied by her best friend, the sheer pantyhose. 

“Oh, who’s this sexy schoolgirl?” Taehyung exclaims the moment you step into the diner. Your cheeks flush red when the family beside you send you and your friends a disapproving look. 

“That’s what I said!” Jungkook says as he gets up to let you slide into the booth. He has this incessant need to be sitting at the end of the booth just in case nature calls in the middle of dinner and he can’t usher the rest of you out fast enough. 

(It almost happened once, and the sight of Jungkook shoving Hoseok flat on his ass had been too funny to forget.) 

“Wait a minute, is that why you stopped using EOS and started using the Dove shaving cream?” Chaeyoung interrogates from across you. “So you could show off your sexy model legs?” 

“No, Dove is just cheaper,” you reply, trying to sound as aloof as possible but if anyone at this table knew you like the back of their hand, it was definitely Chaeyoung. “Why can’t you guys let me live my best life?” 

Taehyung scoffs. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“Who the fuck are you?” You snap back, but your level of sass can never seem to match his. 

“We all know your ‘best life’ would be spent in those fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama pants and one of Kook’s big ass shirts,” he points out, and you hide behind your menu much to everyone’s amusement. 

You whine, “why can’t you all just be supportive besties and tell me I look cute?” 

“You look gorgeous, babe,” Chaeyoung assures you, gesturing for you to pass her the sugar for her coffee. “It’s just weird seeing your legs out. Almost weirder than if you randomly pulled your tits out right now.” 

Behind her, you can see the same mom from the family glaring at you guys. You lower your head in shame. 

“For the record, I’m team skirt, but I wouldn’t be opposed to the other,” Jungkook adds after being silent for so long. Taehyung fist bumps him as you slap your hand over your eyes. At this rate you’d rather just put a paper bag over your head. 

“We’re sitting on the same side of the table, so you’re supposed to be on my side!” You groan, and Jungkook shrugs mid-milkshake sip. 

“I am!” He splutters once he’s gulped down the thick substance. “I just said I was team skirt, did I not?” His scandalized pout twists into the same sneaky little smile he has whenever Taehyung has convinced him and Jimin to do something stupid. “But I’m also a man, and therefore, a skirt chaser,” he winks. 

From the other side of the table Taehyung’s eyes twinkle. “Bro, your mind,” he says in awe. He reaches over to shake Jungkook’s hand as if he’s just presented the table with some riveting discovery in the medical field, and the fucker has the nerve to look smug about it too. 

“You guys are so stupid,” Chaeyoung whispers right before the server sets her pancakes down. 

“Hey, have you seen Joon’s book? He said he might’ve left it—oh, Jesus, fuck sorry,” Jungkook says before whirling around to face the wall. 

You turn from your bent over position by your bed where you’d been rummaging around for a book you coulda sworn you stuffed there last week. Jungkook’s blazing cheeks don’t register with you until you realize your favorite skirt is draping over your rear, giving him a clear view of your dorky star-printed panties. 

“Kook,” you stammer, quickly jumping to your feet and brushing your hands over your skirt. “H-How’d you get in?” You ask for lack of greeting. 

“Um, uh,” Jungkook stutters, eyes laser focused on some point on your wall. “Chaeyoung let me in.” 

“Oh,” you say, and then silence falls over the two of you. 

Holy shit this was awkward. 

Despite being friends for going on three years, you don’t ever remember there being any stale moments between you and Jungkook. You were the type of friends that just clicked, never having gone through that awkward phase before. But you’d also never seen each other in any state less than presentable. (Being drunk at parties did NOT count, and even then, you’ve always been pretty collected.) 

To know that he’s seen your ass, covered or not, tilted your Golden Friendship with Jungkook scale extremely off center. Your fingers twiddle at your sides, not really sure if you should mention what just happened or… what?

He coughs, and you snap back to reality. “Um,” he drawls, still not looking at you but at the socks you’d thrown off the second you got home. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, voice soft and earnest in that Jungkook™ way that made all the girls swoon. “I should’ve knocked before coming in all rude.” He finally gathers the balls to look you in the eye, and the dude looks like a kicked puppy. 

“No,” you wave him off, hands fluttering in front of you because standing like some Macy’s holiday mannequin certainly isn’t making this situation any easier. “It’s okay, the skirt—y’know this wouldn’t happen if I just wore pants,” you say, tacking on a self-deprecating laugh. It’s your turn to look away in shame. 

Jungkook jumps at your words. “The skirt’s cute!” He basically shouts and you flinch at the sudden increase in his tone. Then you’re both left looking at each other wide-eyed again as he scrambles to assure you it isn’t your fault. “I like it, and it makes your legs look really nice, so don’t-“ he stutters, as if realizing the meaning in his words, “don’t stop wearing it...” he trails off, cheeks rosy. Your mind goes blank. 

“R-Really?” You stutter, surprised at his compliment. It’s not like Jungkook never complimented you—dude couldn’t go fifteen minutes without telling his friends how much he loved them—but for some reason it feels different now. 

“Yeah,” he assures you. “Makes you look nice, and um. Pretty.” 

“Jeon Jungkook telling me I look pretty? Someone call TigerBeat magazine,” you joke, trying to ease the tension somehow. Your chuckle sounds awfully robotic to your ears, but it makes Jungkook crack a smile and that’s all that matters. 

“Shut up. You know I’m not friends with ugly people.” 

“Wooow,” you laugh, real this time. “How noble of you,” you retort, and he gives you his best snobby expression possible. 

“Ya, you’re welcome,” he teases, and then suddenly remembers what he came for in the first place. “Give me Joon’s planner, I know you’re holding it hostage.” 

You roll your eyes, and point over to the notebook on your desk that’s absolutely overflowing with sticky notes and bookmarks. “As if I’d want his nerd diary ruining the good vibes in here.” 

“These good vibes smell a lot like Bath and Body Works perfumes, you cheapskate,” Jungkook says as he snatches the book off the surface. He’s at the door again, narrowing you with another faux uppity look when he adds, “this is a Victoria’s Secret Bombshell household.” 

“Bombshe—you don’t even live here!” You huff in laughter, ushering him down the hall to the front door. He’s half a foot out the door when he suddenly whirls around, making you take a step back in surprise. 

“The stars are cute, but I prefer hearts.” 

He slams the door shut behind him so fast, that you almost don’t catch the smirk tacked on at the end. 

You were many things, but a liar was not one of them. You couldn’t lie to your parents when you were younger and wanted to sneak out, to your teacher when she asked where your homework was, or to your friends when they asked you who you liked. You couldn’t even lie to yourself. 

You’ll admit it, there was a time your eyes had lingered a little longer on Jungkook. When you would spend moments tracing the slope of his jawline, and memorizing the twinkle in his eyes. He was devastatingly handsome, and you would be blind not to see it. 

But that was before you became close friends—before game nights at Hoseok’s became a regular staple in your schedule, before your little makeshift picnics in the quad, before you all became Park Jimin’s dedicated fan club (it’s a rotating unit consisting of whoever’s able to go to Jimin’s showcases). 

Those fantasies of kissing Jungkook and going on dates were stuffed to the back as you became pals. As you’ve mentioned a million times now, Jungkook was the campus dream boy. He was hardly the skirt chaser he made himself out to be, too sweet and romantic for his own good. Besides, there was no need to be when the skirts flocked to him. 

He’d had flings, and even girlfriends, in the time you’ve known him, but he rarely mentioned them to his friends. And even though you pushed that teensy crush aside, you still wondered how Jungkook acted with girls he was interested in, if it was the same he treated you and Chaeyoung, or special on an intimate level a platonic friendship could never be. 

It’s the middle of the night when you first get a glimpse. 

[1:21 am] jk wyd 

[1:21 am] you sleeping , u? 

[1:22 am] jk same anyway I finally beat world 8 in super Mario bros

[1:25 am] you omg the 1 w dry bowser?? [1:26 am] you wait u said u wouldn’t play w/o me :/

[1:27 am] jk u suck at Luigi and u know it 

[1:30 am] you fuck u  [1:31 am] you ok but seriously what do u want I have a test tmrw morning and am pretending to be asleep 

[1:32 am] jk damn ok can’t I just talk to my friend about my successes  [1:33 am] jk but if u must know 

[1:33 am] you I must 

There’s a lull in messages for a while, and you decide you should finally actually go to sleep, dabbing some spot ointment onto your skin before hopping in bed. You turned off the overhead light long ago, so the only light illuminating you now is the lamp by your bedside. You tap your phone once again right as Jungkook sends another message. 

[1:40 am] jk you looked really pretty today

Oh. Your entire body pauses for a moment to process the sudden message, cheeks slowly heating up. You roll your lips in to stop the squeal that threatens to rip itself out of your throat, scrambling for something to type. But it’s the first time he’s randomly thrown something like this on you, and your brain feels like that episode of Spongebob when everything’s on fire. 

Before you can send the jumbled letters you’d convinced yourself was acceptable, your phone vibrates with another alert. 

[1:42 am] jk I know its weird to say that but I gotta make sure someone told u at least once today 

Your heart flutters at the explanation, and you have to slap a hand over your face to get rid of the goody smile that overtakes your features. This time, you’re a little less thrown off and quickly tap out a reply before he can say anything else. 

[13:43 am] you thanks kook :) was it the red skirt lol 

You’d been experimenting with different skirts lately, quickly growing bored of the black pleated skirt you’d originally worn. Your latest trip to the mall had you coming home with a variety of colors and styles, like the dark red denim one you’d worn today. 

[1:45 am] jk no!!!! [1:45 am] jk maybe… [1:46 am] jk ok yes you looked gorgeous 

The tiny letters blink back at you, and you set your phone down for a second to smile stupidly at your dark ceiling. You only let yourself wildly kick your legs around for five seconds because Chaeyoung was asleep next door. 

[1:47 am] you haha well I’ll make sure to wear it again for u :)

It’s only after you’ve sent the message that the last two words have you stuffing your face into your pillow to hide your embarrassment. Girl, what the fuck!!!

Oh my god, he could’ve just been friendly and polite this whole time. Jimin had said the skirt looked cute on you as well, and you hadn’t responded like this. All it took was a few compliments from Jungkook to have you dopily acting like a clown for his affections.

Before you can scold yourself anymore, your phone vibrates and you have to sit up to retrieve it from where you’d tossed it across the bed. 

[1:50 am] jk for me? I’m honored :)  [1:51 am] jk anyway get some rest before ur exam!!! [1:51 am] jk night cutie

You squeal, and Chaeyoung kicks your shared wall. 

You liked to clown Seokjin for being the president of his fraternity. He was already a stereotypical frat boy, so it wasn’t that hard anyway; he came from money, was ridiculously gorgeous, and played on your school’s soccer team. However, behind that facade he liked to put up, he, too, was infected by the dumbass disease.

“Wait, are those your legs?” He says the moment you step into his frat party. Normally, he wasn’t prone to the same stupid questions that regularly plagued Taehyung and Jungkook (sometimes Namjoon, but everyone had their weak moments), so you deduce that he probably had some alcohol in his system to openly be asking you such a question. 

“Yes, now give me whatever’s in that cup,” you brush off, not bothering to stick around to watch him not-so-subtly grope Chaeyoung as she enters behind you. You trust him enough to hand you a drink that hasn’t been roofied, but you’re also aware that Jin drinks like he’s trying to die three times over. One sip has your face scrunching up at the sour bitterness of it all. 

There’s a loud cackle of a laugh that you’d recognize anywhere, and you turn to find Jungkook leaning against the staircase banister looking like a wet dream. “Someone lost on their way to Weenie Hut Jr?” he sneers, cheeks a nice rosy color. You flick his forehead. 

You don’t bother gracing him with a reply, instead shuffling over so you’re stood side by side observing the party before you. Yoongi’s here, which is an even weirder sight than your legs being out, so you wonder why no one is talking about that. But then you see the way he’s trailing after Seokjin’s cat, Jalapeño, and realize he’s only here to make sure no one hurts her (she’s more important than anyone else here). You honor his service with another sip of Jin’s whatever the fuck mix. 

“Wow, getting braver every day, huh?” Jungkook teases after giving you a very intense once over. He’s referring to the skirt you’re wearing, a little black circle skirt that flows around you like the first one you’d worn a couple months ago. Call it a tribute to the one that started it all. You’ve definitely experimented with lengths a little more, the one you’re wearing now brushing just barely below your ass. Appropriate for the frat party, but definitely not for your theology elective. 

You hum, stepping aside as a couple makes their way up the stairs. You’re tempted to go tattle on them to Seokjin, but decide against it when you feel Jungkook’s fingers brush against your thigh. 

He grins at the surprised little gasp you let out. “Pretty,” he chuckles, deep and seductive in a way you’ve never seen before. You were used to giggly Jungkook, and Jungkook who laughs like the stepmom from Cinderella, but you’d never seen this one before, the Jungkook who looked and laughed like he was straight out of a Calvin Klein campaign. 

You giggle like a teenager at his compliment, unsure of what else to do so you settle on chugging Jin’s death drink. You only get a good three gulps in before Jungkook’s tugging the plastic cup away from you and setting it down on the nearest flat surface. “Don’t get all drunk on me now,” he jokes, eyes the teensiest bit glassy. He doesn’t look drunk, and he’s certainly not acting drunk. He might be a little tipsy, you think, because a completely sober Jungkook would never have the balls to tug you closer by the waist like this one does.  

Your hands fall flat on his chest, warm beneath the material of his shirt. Not one of his super baggy ones today, but still a bit loose where it could hug his build. “What happened to the little red one? You said you’d wear it for me…” he questions, lips playfully pushing out into a pout. 

You struggle to meet his gaze, focusing on the mole beneath his lip instead. “I, um, haven’t got around to washing it,” you stutter, absentmindedly shifting your weight from side to side. 

“Really?” Jungkook presses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you at all. After a moment in which he ducks down to catch your gaze, he seems to accept. “That’s fine. This one’s cuter anyway.” 

His words are emphasized by his fingers, tracing along the edge of your skirt while purposefully making sure to graze your skin. You shiver, unconsciously arching your chest into him. It’s only afterwards that you realize when Jungkook smirks in triumph. “Easy access too,” he murmurs, and your heart leaps in your chest. 

“Jeon,” you whisper, hyper aware of all the people in this house right now. You’re standing at a point where everyone walks by, and the idea of Jungkook groping you in front of these people, some of which are friends, seems horrifying. “People can see.” 

Jungkook’s Cheshire smile grows even wider, and you muffle a yelp when his hand slips beneath your skirt to grope your ass. “Since when were you shy?” He says, voice soft and lilting over the hum of whatever music is playing now. “Weren’t shy when you had your ass in the air that one day in your room.” 

Your cheeks burn at the memory, but your core surges with a newfound heat at his wandering hands and teasing words. “Remember?” 

You nod, tucking your head against his neck in a last ditch effort to hide your embarrassment. From here, your senses are bombarded with Jungkook and only Jungkook. 

You feel him let out a long sigh. “Been thinking about you since,” he admits. “Nah, even before that. When you wore my shirt that one day after our balloon fight in the west quad.” 

Your heart thunders at his sudden confession. The balloon fight in question had been a little over a year ago, a rallying effort from your friend group to cheer Taehyung up after an exam. After soaking each other to the bone with water guns and balloons, Jungkook had let you wear one of his stupidly big shirts home. So you’d ditched your usual jeans and shirt, wearing his shirt like a dress all the way home. 

The fact Jungkook’s been thinking about you since then makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. 

“Every time you wear these little skirts, I think of that day. You, in my clothes, looking so soft and warm. Fuck, baby, you don’t know what you do to me.” 

You glance around, and your soul almost leaves your body when you make direct eye contact with Yoongi holding Jalapeño across the room. He gives you that Yoongi look, the whatever you’re doing is weird but I won’t say anything because I don’t care look, and that’s your signal to stumble your way upstairs before Seokjin can see you two and scold you. 

You’re not sure who’s room you end up, just that it has one and a half bunk beds in it, so you don’t hesitate to push Jungkook down onto the half. He plops down like a little cherub, all sweet smiles until you see the way his pants strain at the crotch. Of fuck, this is happening, you think as you climb onto his lap. 

His lips envelope yours the second you’re in his arms. You’re not usually one to give into those John Green cliches, but everything about being in Jungkook’s embrace feels so right. Like you belong there, or whatever. 

He’s a good ass kisser, but you shouldn’t be surprised. Jungkook was good at everything he did—such was a known fact. But he still kisses you like he’s trying to prove something, like he wants you to melt into him, and he succeeds. His mouth moves against yours, tongue sneaking it’s way past your lips until it’s inside yours, and you’re swapping spit. His breath hot, but you imagine yours is as well because just making out with Jungkook has your body temperature hotter than the inside of a sauna. 

“Jungkook,” you groan when he pulls away, desperate to feel his mouth on yours again. He smiles, lips slick and cherried as he drops his hands to your waist. 

“‘M right here,” he assures you, pressing a few pecks to your mouth before trailing his lips down your neck, deliciously licking and kissing every inch. You let out a choked moan, and you can feel his smile press against your skin. “Cute,” he croons. 

“More,” you beg, fingers curling themselves into his hair. It’s gonna way longer these last few months, the front pieces almost brushing the tip of his nose. He looks sexy as fuck. 

“At least let me stretch you out first,” he teases, face too cute for someone about to fuck your brains out. You huff in annoyance, snatching his hand away from its path to your panties. 

“No,” you whine, and then shuffle forward to grind your center onto him. Jungkook groans, jaw tight as he watches you. “Just fuck me, Jungkook.” 

His eyes roll back at a particular roll of your hips. “I-It’ll hurt, though,” he tries to reason, but his hands are already hiking up the back of your skirt. 

“Make it hurt,” you mumble, so caught up in the moment that your eyes bulge out when he suddenly lifts you to your feet. “What’s wrong?” You huff in dismay, lower lip trembling at the thought of him changing his mind. He lets out an airy chuckle. 

“Turn around for me, doll,” he softly demands, and not a single inch of you feels the need to go against him. 

You’re met with the sight of your own expression, staring back at you from the closet’s mirrored sliding doors. It’s a little dark in the room, most of the light coming from a desk lamp on the other side of the room that had been on when you first broke in with Jungkook. 

“So pretty,” Jungkook praises from behind you, and you watch in the glass as two firm hands snake around your waist, slowly easing you back into his lap. In the seconds you were distracted by yourself, he’d unbuckled the front of his jeans, the cotton fabric of his boxers brushing against your ass. “Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby?” 

You nod, unsure of what to do with your hands. You needn’t worry any longer, your body naturally guiding you through the motions, until one hand grabs his thigh and the other grapples for the bedside drawer next to you. His fingers trace around your waist, hiking your skirt up to—only to reveal a pair of white undies with red hearts. Jungkook’s chuckle against your ear makes you clench your legs together. “Fuck, it’s like you knew this would happen,” he murmurs, and you can’t take your eyes off the mirror as you watch his fingers trace over your covered mound. “Did you?” He asks, breath fanning over your ear. 

“N-no,” you gasp, hips jumping when he presses a lone finger to where your clit would be had your girly panties not obstructed the way. You’re embarrassingly wet just from kissing Jungkook, and his playful fingers only worsen your state. “Please hurry, Kook,” you plead, grinding back against his engorged cock. 

“You sure?” He checks, and your bobble head nods have him muffling more laughter into your shoulder. “If you say so, baby.” 

He lifts you up just the slightest bit to tug his cock out of its confines, and this is the only instance where you wish you weren’t looking at the mirror. His fingers dance along your skin again, tugging your panties to the side. 

Screw it, just do it, you say to yourself before sinking down on his cock in one go. “Oh fuck,” you cry, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder at the sudden intrusion. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs into your hair, one hand circling to the front of your waist, while the other creeps upwards to rub at where he knows your nipple is. If he were to pull your shirt and bra away, he’d see how rock hard your nipples were right now. “Relax for me, doll, I promise it’ll feel better if you relax.” 

You nod, eyes squeezed shut as your body slowly assimilated to the feeling of being stuffed full. God, he felt good inside you. Fit every crevice of you pussy like he was made for you. “Jungkook,” you moan, and he hums in response. “You feel so f-fuckin good,” you babble, swiveling your hips much to both your pleasures. “Can feel you everywhere.” 

He presses a kiss to your scalp. “Can you move for me, baby?” He questions, dropping his hands to your waist before slowly pushing you up so you’re not flopped against him like a rag doll. “Wanna see you bounce on my cock. You can do that for me, can’t you?” 

You nod eagerly, desperate to show Jungkook how good you ride dick. You muster up the strength to sit up, one hand right around his thigh again, but this time the other one clamps down over his hand on your waist. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, giving your hips a tight squeeze. 

It’s like you thrive off Jungkook’s compliments, because soon enough you’re riding him like your life depends on it. 

It’s a rhythm of pushing yourself over and over, thighs tense from the effort it takes to pull yourself away from his cock until only his tip breaches you, before dropping back down. You can’t entirely take the credit, because Jungkook’s arms are there, lifting you up before pushing you back down. Truthfully, he’s probably still doing most of the work in fucking you with the way you see his arms flexing in the mirror. 

“Lemme hear you, doll,” Jungkook huffs, and you don’t hesitate to moan for him. It feels overwhelmingly good, his hands tight on your waist as they move you up and down, the material of your skirt bunched up between his fingers. What you’d give to feel them inside you some day, a day in which you’re not dying to feel his cock inside of you. “That’s it,” he grunts, and doesn’t even complain when your legs begin slowing down. 

He picks up the slack for you, thrusting his hips up into you like you’re just some toy for him to use and discard. But the soft praises slipping past his lips assure you you are anything but. “F-fuck,” you whine, forcing yourself above and beyond as you begin to feel that familiar coil of heat grow tighter in your abdomen. “Your cock’s s-so f-fucking big!” You cry, and one look at the mirror let’s you know you look as stupid and fucked-out as you sound. 

“Really?” Jungkook smirks, drilling into you like his life depends on it. There’s an embarrassingly growing stain on the front of your panties that you catch sight of in the mirror, and part of you wants to clench your legs shut so he doesn’t see. But it seems to do it for Jungkook, and he starts rambling about that next. “Look at you. Fuck. You’re ruining your cute little panties. Absolutely fucking soaking them with hot wet you are. I get you that wet, doll?” 

You squeal at a particular thrust of his hips, feeling his cock so deep in you that your eyes momentarily go cross eyed. “Yes, yes!” You agree, bouncing yourself with a renewed vigor. 

The answers please Jungkook, and he rolls forward until he’s pressing his tip faintly against your cervix, and your body damn near leaves your soul. “O-oh fuck!” You scream, body turning into jelly as your orgasm has you spurting hot cum into your panties and over his cock. 

“Pretty even when you come,” Jungkook huffs, hips rocking up into yours for a few more minutes until he eventually comes when you roll your hips backwards. “Holy fucking shit,” he moans, finally releasing your skirt from the death grip he had on it. 

You watch it flutter back into place around you, and you almost look like two platonic friends sitting together, but then Jungkook shifts inside you and your body convulses from the oversensitivity. 

“Wait, you and Jeon finally fucked?!” Chaeyoung exclaims halfway through breakfast, which she had so lovingly prepared at three in the afternoon. “When? Is that why you made us get waxed last week?” 

“No!” You flush, shoving another forkful of burnt scrambled eggs into your mouth. “We waxed our coochies before that, but I didn’t know we were gonna fuck.” 

Chaeyoung blinks. She’s stupid pretty even with avacado spread on her cheek. “So do you have like a seventh sense on when to get your kitty trimmed?” 

“What? No,” You scoff. “Seventh? What’s my sixth?”

“Knowing the exact moment Taehyung’s gonna throw up at a party.”

You accept. “Anyway, we just… I don’t know. It was at Seokjin’s third birthday bash last weekend.” She nods like she remembers anything besides sucking face with him all night. “We were talking and then suddenly we were upstairs and...” you trail off, glancing at your fake collection of succulents lining the kitchen window. 

“Was he good?” She interrogates. 

You flop back onto your chair dramatically. “Chae. He was so good,” you whine, and she slaps your arm in enthusiasm. “He made me ride him facing a mirror,” you spill. 

Chaeyoung squeals. “Bitch!! Here I was thinking Jeon Jungkook was the poster boy of vanilla sex,” she pauses. “I mean, still pretty vanilla compared to the time Seokjin stuck it in my—“ 

You gag and she rolls her eyes. “Have you been talking since?” 

This is the part where things get awkward, and Chaeyoung immediately senses as much. “Oh, honey,” she frowns, eyes furrowed in worry. 

“He walked me home,” you mumble, toying with the tablecloth ends. “Kissed me on the doorstep and all, but besides a few texts, I haven’t seen him around,” you lamely finish. It’s been a week. 

“Ugh, men are trash,” she spits, turning in her seat to play with your hair. “I swear if I see him on campus I’ll rock his shit. My older brother used to practice WWE moves on me, I could easily smash him through a table.”

“WWE wrestling is staged, Chae,” you point out. Chaeyoung was about ten thousand times more experienced when it came to men and their behaviors. She’s been played but also has played, so her reaction to you telling her about Jungkook is all you need to hear. 

In all the scenarios you’ve ever had about Jungkook, him randomly ghosting you had never even been a possibility. The Jungkook from your imaginary universes either just dumped you, or awkwardly friendzoned you. But completely disappearing on you? Now that was some John Greene shit. 

You’ve gone long periods of time without seeing him, like your freshman year you saw him one time in March. But even then he’d made sure to keep in contact with you, randomly blowing up your phone with Cup Pong and 8Ball requests. 

He sent you two texts this whole week, and both of them had been to cancel your homework sessions. 

You almost couldn’t believe you were living this life. The men are trash, love isn’t real, heartbreak can possibly cause death life. Forget John Green, your life had taken an unexpected Shakespearean turn. 

“Oh,” you say the moment you step into Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment, surprised at the fact Jungkook is there despite the fact he, y’know, lives there. In retrospect, you should have seen this coming when Tae had asked you over to help him decorate a poster for Jin’s next game. He’s never been to a single soccer match in his life. “Is Tae here?” You ask, looking every part the stupid bitch. 

Jungkook’s cheeks had flushed the moment he opened the door. “No…” he answers, glances at the shoe rack behind the door as if to make sure. “Were you supposed to meet him?” Well no shit. 

“Uhh, yeah,” you say, and it’s even more awkward than the time he saw your star undies. Granted, now he’s become very familiar with your underwear and what’s hidden beneath it. You would think such an encounter would bring you two closer. “I’ll just come back another time.” 

“Do you wanna come in?” He blurts out before you can even turn away. You flinch at the sudden intensity of his voice, and then both of you are left staring at each other like cringey high schoolers. “I cut some cucumber slices with lime and that one spice you like.” 

“Taíjn?” You confirm, and he nods. “I mean...sure, if it’s not a bother.” 

Usually when you and Jungkook hung out at his place, you’d throw your bag across the room and flop onto the ugly armchair the moment you stepped in. Now, you’re awkwardly hovering by the armrest of the sofa, like this is your first time here. 

Jungkook disappears into the kitchen to, you assume, get the cucumber slices. He comes back empty handed, and with a heavy heart. “I lied. There’s no Tajín,” he confesses, and you rush to tell him it’s okay but he beats you to it. “There’s no cucumber slices either. I just needed to get you inside to talk to you.” 

“You act like I needed to be lured in, Jungkook,” you say, forcing a tight smile on your face. Jungkook visibly deflates at your tone. 

“No, this isn’t right,” he huffs, dramatically throwing himself onto the couch. You jump at the loud groan he releases from his position, which is face stuffed into the cushion. 

“You...okay?” You tentatively ask, clutching your bag even closer to your side. Jungkook shakes his head no against the couch. “Should I call Namjoon over?” 

He sits up so fast you worry he’ll get whiplash. “I have a confession to make,” he informs you, doe eyes wide and serious. 

Your brain processes for a minute before slowly responding. “Okay…”

At your response he jumps to his feet. “This may come as a shock, but I’m not a womanizer.” 

You blink. 

“When have you ever been a womanizer, Jeon?!” You nearly exclaim when you mull over his absurd proclamation. “Are there people who actually think that?” 

“I think that people think that,” he stresses to you, running a hand through his hair. “Look. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m really nice and cool, and sometimes people think that means I’m flirting with them.” Valid point. “But I’m not, because frankly I’m terrible at shooting my shot.”

The fact he’s actually admitted it out loud leaves him devastated, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Finally, something Jeon Jungkook isn’t good at. 

“What lead you to that conclusion?” You carefully press on. 

“Because,” he sighs, dropping back down onto the couch, except this time he’s sitting like a normal person. You sit beside him, close enough to the edge that you can just spring yourself out the door if need be. 

“There’s this girl I like,” your heart pangs, even though the logical side of you can more or less guess where this is going. You’re stupid, but not that stupid. “She’s amazing, like everything about her makes me like her. God, she’s so cool, like everyone wants to be her friend, even though she sucks at Super Smash Bros., and burns her ear on a straightener at least once a month. But she’s funny and sweet, and makes me wanna join a clown troupe just to hear her laugh. And she looks gorgeous in skirts, and the way she rides dic—“ 

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” you interrupt, glancing at the coffee table decorated with Jungkook’s anatomy books, because you don’t want to look at the big dopey grin on his face as he talks about you and your dick riding abilities. 

Jungkook grins, this much you can tell from your peripheral, before it drops into a frown. “Whole point is, she’s cool as fuck. And I… I think I might love her,” he admits, and you whip around to face him. His cheeks are as red as Taehyung’s current hair dye, which is to say they’re as red as a fire truck. You get th feeling you're mirroring his expression. 

The silence following his confession seems to drag on an eternity, but truthfully, you and Jungkook both have the patience of a soccer mom of three, so he jumps to fill the spaces between you. “And like, I just wanna kiss her and hold her and watch her eat and cuddle her to sleep and hold her hand and buy her gifts, and I think I would die for her?—”

“Okay chill, Romeo,” you scramble to cut off that train of thought. Jungkook’s looking at you like you were the creative director behind Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker and the trailer released two minutes ago. It’s a weird reference but coming from Jungkook, it means a lot. 

You don’t know what to say, but Jungkook beats you to it anyway. “There’s this girl I like,” he repeats, and your heart does nearly implode on itself when he reaches over to clutch your hand in his. Your hands are sweaty and fidgety from his confession, but so are Jungkook’s. “How do I tell her I like her?” 

You gulp, before reaching over to smack at his bicep much to both your surprise. “Jeon Jungkook! How’re you gonna give me the best fucking of my life and then ghost me for a week, because you’re too much of a pussy to tell me you like me!” You almost want to cry, and you almost do when he wraps you in his arms with a delighted, warm laugh rumbling through his whole body. “You suck,” you huff, and sniffle once, and only once. 

“Thank fuck,” he sighs in relief. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you friendzoned me.” 

“The friendzone—“

“—is a made up concept created by men who feel like they’re entitled to women and their feelings, I know,” he huffs and you laugh. You push yourself away from his chest to meet his gaze, stretching up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns naughty when you feel the flex of muscles beneath your hands. 

“Ugh, you beefcake.” 

“I wish,” he snorts, tugging you back into his chest as he flops down onto the couch. You snuggle into him, the position all too comfortable in your skirt. The only reason you’re reminded of it is because Jungkook traces his fingers along the edge of the material. “You asked me why I workout out but hide in big clothes, and the truth is its so I can beat up any meninist douchebag that tries to slander my girl in her thot skirts.” 

You sputter. “My thot skirts—you asshole! All my skirts are of appropriate length,” you defend, pinching his side and winning a giggle for your efforts. “That doesn’t even explain the baggy clothes part either.” 

“Shh, your thot skirt is tempting me.” 

“He made you dress up as a what now?!” Chaeyoung exclaims, fork clattering loudly against her plate as everyone in the diner turns to look at you two. You try desperately to quiet her, but the damage is done and even the server whose long since become familiar with your antics looks disgusted. 

“Oh my god,” Chaeyoung sighs, her concern on everything but this public humiliation. “I knew it. I told you he got along too well with Jalapeño, remember?” 

[ NOW WITH A DRABBLE WOW!!! ]

[dragonsaphirareads]

Passing Notes

Day 13 of @tsshipmonth2020 Fluffuary

Ship: Intrulogical

AU: High School

Word Count: 3312

Summary: Logan takes an elective science course his senior year, and ends up sitting next to his friend’s crude, immature brother who insists on passing him notes every class period. Eventually, Logan realizes the hidden message he’d been missing.

(Like listening to podfics? You can listen to this oneshot on my YT channel here!)

“I still can’t believe you took a science class instead of a free period! You’re such an overachieving nerd!” Roman exclaimed as they stood around Logan’s locker. Patton elbowed him in the side as Logan rolled his eyes.

“He’s allowed to do whatever he wants with his schedule!” Patton defended.

“I know, but we could have all had free time together! And now we’re split!” Roman whined. Logan wasn’t fazed, all too used to his dramatics at this point.

“We already spend hours together after school for drama, I think you’ll survive an hour and a half free period without me.” Logan said, checking his written schedule once more for the room number before slamming his locker shut. “But if you truly want to see me more, I’m sure you could go get your schedule changed.”

Roman shook his head a little too quickly while making a face, and the other two snickered at him. Patton glanced at the clock hanging in the hall and frowned. “You’d better get going Lo, you’re gonna be late!”

Logan checked and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll see you two after school.” They waved as he headed off towards the science hallway, thankfully arriving with a few minutes to spare.

Every spot at the lab tables had a small slip of paper folded into a tent on it, and looking closer he saw they were name tags. Right, he’d heard that this teacher was a fan of arranged seating charts, especially at the beginning of a new semester. He found his name and was thankful that it was at the front of the room. Sitting in the back made it harder to focus, mostly because the students sitting back there didn’t usually care to be in class.

He took his seat and set down his notebook and pencil case, as well as the script for the spring musical that he still needed to read through. As other students came into the room, he flipped it open and skimmed the first few pages.

A minute later, the bell rang and the teacher walked into the room, welcoming them and introducing himself. Then, as he was passing out copies of the syllabus, the door opened and a disheveled, very familiar face waltzed in.

“Sorry I’m late!” He announced, and the teacher just sighed, shaking his head.

“Just... take your seat, please.” He told him, pointing at the only open seat... right next to Logan. The young man grinned, happily bouncing over to him and slamming his stuff down on the table. “Quietly, Remus.”

“My bad!” Remus sung, not at all apologetic. He then turned to Logan, still with that wide, slightly unhinged grin. “Hi Logan! Didn’t know you were taking this class!”

“Hello, Remus.” Logan greeted neutrally, suddenly feeling a small pang of regret at not taking that free period after all.

He wasn’t exactly strangers with Remus, but he wasn’t close to him either. Their interactions boiled down to the few times he and Patton hung out at Roman’s house and Remus was there. Roman didn’t exactly get along well with his twin, so he tended to spend time with his friends elsewhere.

As such, Logan didn’t know much about Remus. He knew he was loud and crude, disruptive in class, extremely creative with his language, and he was friends with Virgil and Ernest, two other seniors who were part of the drama department.

Logan wondered if the teacher had possibly placed them at the same table for a reason, since Logan was an “overachieving teacher’s pet”, according to Roman. Perhaps he thought he might be able to encourage Remus to focus.

Unlikely, considering the other kid had already pulled out his notebook and started doodling. Logan shrugged. If he was drawing, he would at least be quiet. He opened his own notebook, making notes of anything important the teacher said about assignment deadlines or test dates, ignoring the loud scratching of Remus’s pencil beside him.

That is, until there was a loud rip of paper and a moment later, something hit Logan’s elbow. He stared at it curiously, then up at Remus who had gone back to his doodling, a corner of his notebook paper conspicuously missing.

Logan grabbed it and put it in front of him, debating whether or not to open it or just throw it away. Either way, he would save it for the end of class. He wouldn’t let Remus distract him.

Two more folded paper pieces hit him over the course of the class period, and each time Logan took it and placed it carefully in the pile in front of him. He could feel Remus getting frustrated at him, but he didn’t let that bother him.

Once the bell finally rang and class was over, Logan stuffed the notes in his pocket to deal with at a later time. He grabbed his things and left the classroom while Remus was called aside by the teacher, heading to his locker.

Roman and Patton met him there, having already gotten their stuff from their own lockers.

“So!” Roman said, leaning against the neighboring locker smugly. “How was your class?”

“...Interesting. Were you aware that Remus was taking the same class?” Logan asked, and Roman blinked.

“Huh? No? Wait, he is? Are you sure it wasn’t someone who just looked like him?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You two are identical twins, Roman. I’m very familiar with what you look like, and I had a very close view because the teacher put him next to me.”

“Aww shit, that sucks! I’m so sorry Lo, was he annoying?”

“Well, he was quiet, for the most part. He did keep passing me these notes, though.”

Patton tilted his head, curious. “Notes? What do they say?”

“Probably something gross.” Roman grumbled.

Logan pulled the ripped pieces out of his pocket, holding them in his palm. “I didn’t read them during class, so I’m not sure what they say.”

His friends each grabbed one, unfolding them as Logan finished packing his backpack. When he pulled it out of his locker and turned back, they both had odd looks on their faces. “What’s wrong?”

“Um, well... there’s nothing written on them!” Patton said, trying to be chipper. Roman rolled his eyes, showing Logan the paper.

On it was a pencil sketch of... something. Logan couldn’t actually tell what it was supposed to be - some kind of catlike creature, maybe? But it also had fins like a fish, and horns...

“Hmm.” Logan hummed, and Roman crumpled the piece in his hand, huffing.

“What the hell?! He’s so weird, you should just toss ‘em Lo, don’t encourage him by taking them.”

“Maybe you could just tell him to keep them? They are well drawn, he should draw them in a sketchbook so he can look back at them!” Patton suggested.

Logan shrugged, shoving his own shred of paper back into his pocket while Roman wasn’t looking. Sure, the drawings were strange, and they didn’t seem to be based in any kind of reality, but they were fascinating all the same. It was clear Remus had a talent for drawing - the shading on the horned cat/fish creature made it look almost real.

“We should be going - Mr. Sanders wanted us to be there early today.” Logan changed the topic, and thankfully his friends allowed it. The three of them walked down to the auditorium together, quickly forgetting about Remus and his strange behavior.

All of them except for Logan, who couldn’t quite push from his mind the excited, child-like glee in Remus’s eyes when he had passed that first note across the table.

~

It became a routine after a while. Logan would go to his fourth hour class, Remus would come in late and immediately start drawing in his notebook, occasionally passing the notes to Logan, who would stash them in his pocket. He didn’t throw them away - as disturbing as some of the sketches could be, Logan could tell that Remus wasn’t trying to gross him out. What he did want though, he wasn’t entirely sure.

He wasn’t sure, that is, until Logan was sitting backstage one day watching the actors run through the show and he pulled out one of the notes to examine it. It was some kind of tentacled monster, most likely inspired by their recent lectures about deep sea life. Again, Logan had to marvel at the technical skill behind it. Both of the Prince twins were incredibly talented, apparently, because Roman had his art hanging up all over his room and had been displayed in the school several times as well.

Something shifted behind him, and a voice spoke beside his head. “Is that Remus’s?”

Logan jumped, folding the note quickly and turning to look at who had snuck up on him. Ernest, the head of costume design, who had a knowing smile on his face.

“What did you say?” Logan asked, playing dumb. He was a little embarrassed to be caught staring at the note, even though logically he knew he had no reason to be. Ernest rolled his eyes, pointing at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

“That note. It’s from Remus, right?”

The stage manager quickly glanced out on stage, gauging where his friends were. He really didn’t want either of them to walk in on this conversation, especially since they had advised him to simply get rid of the sketches. Thankfully, neither of them would be on his side of the stage for a while. Logan sighed.

“Yes, it is. He’s been giving them to me during class. I’m not certain why, though.”

The costume designer snickered. “Maybe he wants to impress you with his incredible drawing skills.” He said sarcastically.

Logan slipped the note back into his pocket. “Well, they are incredible, in a technical sense. He has a very impressive grasp of anatomy and shading.” He tried to speak neutral about it, lest Ernest get the wrong idea.

The other hummed. “I wouldn’t know. He doesn’t show his drawings to anyone.”

At that, Logan furrowed his eyebrows. “What? But he’s been doing this for nearly a month now... and I never asked for him to show me his drawings.”

Ernest pressed his lips together tightly, but it wasn’t out of anger. There was something else behind it... “I dunno, Logan... you’re smart, I’m sure you can figure out what’s going on in his weird little head.”

“But you’re his friend, aren’t you?”

He laughed, walking away. “You think he tells me anything?”

Logan huffed, turning back to what was happening on stage. He did know - he had to know. Ernest was acting too suspicious to not know what was going on in his friend’s head. But clearly, he wasn’t going to tell him.

He tried to put it out of his head, but something was bothering him. Ernest had known the sketch was Remus’s, which told him that he must have seen Remus’s drawings at least a few times in order to recognize it. But if Remus was as secretive as he sounded with his sketches, then that would be difficult.

So maybe he wasn’t that secretive. Even so, there was something weird about what had been happening every time they were in class. He wasn’t an artist, but he knew Roman, and he knew that Roman was protective of his sketchbook, and almost never ripped anything out of it. If he did draw something for someone else, it was on a dedicated page that he tore out.

He threaded his fingers through his hair, frustrated. It didn’t make any sense, but then again, Remus had never made much sense to him.

Tomorrow he had science. He vowed that he would watch Remus a little closer, to try and figure out why he was exhibiting this extremely odd behavior.

~

Logan got to class early, pulling out a book and skimming it as he watched other students filter into the classroom. Then, for the first time since the beginning of the semester, Remus actually arrived three minutes before the bell rang.

As always, the other student shot a wide, toothy smile his way before cracking open his notebook, noticeably thinner than it had been a month ago, and sketching immediately.

Logan watched him out of the corner of his eye, just in case Remus noticed what he was doing, and what he was seeing didn’t make any sense.

For his sketch, Remus didn’t start with any kind of skeleton or outline, which Logan would have expected. Instead, he drew a distinct shape, and was working out from there. But it wasn’t a circle or square, like he would have thought..

It was a heart?

Logan eventually abandoned his facade of reading as he watched Remus draw, expanding the heart into a head shape, adding too many eyes and a wild mane that masked the starting shape.

By the time he was done and tearing out the drawing, it was fifteen minutes into class and Logan had done nothing but stare at Remus’s hand as he drew. He had to force himself to look forward as Remus folded it and tossed it his way, immediately starting another. Once again, he began with a heart, but this time it was much smaller and ended up turning into a nose.

Why was he drawing hearts? Was that just a part of his drawing process, or was there something more to it? Did it have to do with how he would tear out every drawing and give it to him?

Should Logan respond, now that he knew this? Remus had been giving him these notes for over a month now, and he’d never said a word. Would it be rude to mention it now, especially since he’d only noticed it because he was watching over his shoulder?

He couldn’t tell his friends. Roman didn’t like his brother and Patton was wary of him as well. And he didn’t know Virgil or Ernest well enough to approach them with something as big as this, although he had a feeling they were both in on whatever game Remus was playing.

While he was pondering, the bell rang and he broke out of his trance to see Remus bouncing out of the classroom, with three more folded notes sitting in front of him. Logan shook his head, blinking rapidly to wake himself up. As he was gathering his things, he heard the teacher call his name. “Hm? Y-Yes?”

The teacher’s eyes were concerned. “I noticed you didn’t open your notebook today. Do you need me to move you to a different spot?”

“Huh? No, why would you?”

“I saw you watching Remus this class. You’re a very bright student and I want to make sure you’re not being distracted.”

Logan shook his head quickly. “No, no, I’m not. I’m just not feeling very well today, I’ll be better next week, I promise.” He couldn’t get moved now - not when he was so close to figuring out this puzzle!

The teacher hummed, accepting his answer. “Alright then. Don’t hesitate to tell me if you think you’d benefit from a seat change.”

“I won’t, thank you.” Logan agreed, rushing out of the classroom and towards his locker where Roman and Patton were waiting. He made up an excuse of needing to ask a question about an assignment, shoving the notes deeper into his pockets. They didn’t question him, letting him know that Mr. Sanders had gotten sick and that rehearsal was canceled.

Never had he been so thankful that their director had a penchant for getting sick often. Logan ran up to his room as soon as he got home and pulled the notes from his pocket, throwing them onto his desk onto the sizable pile already sitting there. He took a seat and grabbed a permanent marker, then began opening them up one by one. In each one, he looked for any heart shapes. And as he went through, he found at least one in every single drawing he had been given by Remus. In one, a drawing of a two headed dragon, the creature had heart shapes spines trailing down its back.

A heart on every single one. No two drawings were the same besides that simple fact. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before - with them traced in marker, they looked so obvious.

He wanted to ask what it meant, but he knew the answer was obvious. Now the only question was what he should do now.

Logan pushed the handdrawn notes away, reaching for his own notebook and cracking it open. It was time to plan, something he did best.

~

Tuesday, he was ready. His heart was racing the entire day, he was both excited and nervous for what he was going to do. Once he did it, he knew things would change. But after hours of planning over the weekend, he was certain it would be for the best.

Finally, it was fourth hour. Again, Remus came to class on time, and again, he started drawing for Logan. It was difficult for Logan to pay attention, but he managed to take decent notes and avoid looking over at Remus. Instead, he kept his eyes on the clock in the corner.

A minute before the bell would ring, he put his plan into action. Logan turned to a fresh page at the back of his notebook and he did his best to tear out a piece discreetly so Remus wouldn’t notice. He jotted something down quickly, and just before the bell rang he nudged it over to Remus, making sure he saw it.

The other student blinked, grabbing it slowly as if it was some kind of illusion, and unfolded it carefully. Then he got an odd look on his face, and he glanced up to see Logan smiling at him as the bell rang.

“Logan?” Remus spoke, the first thing he’d actually said to him all semester since that first day.

“Meet me outside?” Logan asked, holding his things with one arm. Remus nodded vigorously, slamming his notebook closed and swiping all of his pencils into his bag in one swoop.

“Do you mean it?” Remus exclaimed as they stepped outside and stood to the side.

“I want to understand you, Remus.” Logan clarified, looking quickly at the crumpled note in the other’s hand. “You’ve been giving me these notes all semester, and it took until last Friday to understand why.”

“You took forever!” Remus complained playfully. Logan pursed his lips.

“Why didn’t you simply tell me, if you were so impatient? That would have been much faster, and you’ve never struck me as shy.” Remus huffed at the suggestion, crossing his arms.

“Roman told me he didn’t want me ‘messing with’ his friends, so I decided that as long as you talked to me first, he can’t get mad at me!”

Logan opened his mouth to argue that flawed logic, then decided against it. “I see.”

“So, do you mean it?”

“Do I mean what?”

“Don’t mess with me! You gave me a note with a heart drawn on it Logan, I obviously mean do you like me?! Do you have a crush on me like I’ve had one on you for literally years?!”

That took Logan aback for a moment. Years? Really? “I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough to say I do, Remus.”

Remus’s face fell, but Logan wasn’t done. “I believe now is the time you offer to spend some time with me so I can learn more about you.”

“Are you... asking me to ask you on a date?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, and Remus laughed.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you! Ok, well then, will you go out on a date with me Logan?”

“Why, of course. It’s about time!”

[willow-salix]

Isolation update! Big thanks to @hodgehegposts for the prompt and fun chats.

Day 67 of Isolation on Tracy Island and today I learnt that the Tracy’s and I have totally different ideas of how to protect ourselves.

Some of us were watching a movie and some of us, namely Kayo, were attacking everyone stupid enough to go near enough. 

“Arghhh,” Gordon screamed as he flew backwards and landed on his butt with a bone rattling bump.

“Who’s next?” she asked, beckoning us forward.

Alan rubbed his butt in remembered pain and shook his head.

Kayo looked at Scott.

“Nope, I’m secure enough in my masculinity to know that it's not a good idea to go up against you.”

“John?” 

“Erm, let me think...no.”

Virgil was on the upper level, headphones on, totally in the zone while he painted and we all knew that nothing would get him to move bar an emergency call and that wasn't likely to happen any time soon.

She looked at me.

“Nope, don’t even think about it. I don’t know anything about your fancy moves, I’m no karate kid.”

“You don't know any self defence at all?” Scott asked.

I shrugged. “Well, I know enough to protect myself in a packed bar, does that count?”

Apparently it didn't, because less than ten minutes later I had been wrestled into my workout gear and was standing on the mats in the gym.

“I don't have a good feeling about this,” John muttered to Scott.

“Nonsense, she needs to learn, it’s important she can defend herself if the need arises. Do you want her getting hurt because she doesn't know how to take down an assailant?”

“Of course not, but it’s her.”

“True.”

“I can hear you both, you know!”

“Busted,” Scott whispered to John, who sighed, knowing he was very likely to get yelled at for that later. And he would be right.

“Don’t listen to them, don’t let them put you off, you can do this,” Kayo encouraged me. “You can’t be that bad, you must know something. You said you could defend yourself in a packed bar, so lets start there, show me your moves.”

“I don’t really have a set of moves, I kinda just make it up on the fly,” I admitted, ignoring Scott's snort of amusement and John’s groan of disbelief.

“We can work with that, on the fly is what we do best. Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“Attack her, grab her from behind.”

“I dont think so.”

“John, you do it then.”

“I value certain parts of my anatomy.”

“Gordon?”

“Sure, I’ll do it, what's the worst that could happen?”

John actually laughed at that, he knew never to annoy me.

“No, I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I said, backing away.

“You couldnt hurt me, don’t worry. I’m just gonna grab you and all you have to do is break my hold.”

“You sure?” I asked. “I fight dirty.”

“So do bad guys,” Kayo laughed.

“I can take it,” Gordon assured me.

“OK,” I shrugged and turned around for him to grab me.

“Just do what you would do in a crowded bar and someone grabbed you,” Scott instructed.

I nodded.

Gordon waited a few seconds and then grabbed me, one arm around my chest, another around my waist.

I didn't bother struggling, I leant closer.

“Hey, Sailor, oh, you’re strong. Are you single? Because I’ve got four kids at home that desperately need a daddy. You don’t have a fear of commitment do you? Because I feel like we could have something really special, you know? Do you feel it too? This special thing between us? Wanna get marrie-”

“I’m out!” Gordon dropped me like I was a hot potato.

I turned around, waiting for my praise.

Scott cracked up laughing, almost falling over, only his grip on John’s shoulder keeping him upright? 

“That’s what you do in a bar?” John asked in utter disbelief. “You’re never going out alone again.”

“What if your attacker isn't some creep in a bar, what if he’s following you home and jumps you in an alleyway?” Alan asked.

“Why would I be in an alleyway?”

“He could grab you and drag you in,” Scott answered, finally gaining control of himself and managing to stand on his own.

“Who’d want me?” I argued. “I’d open my mouth and he’d run away in fear.”

“Truth,” Gordon muttered.

“Grab her again,” Kayo ordered.

“Do I have to?”

“I’ll do it,” Scott sighed, stepping up to the bat.

“So no words, just fight? Anything goes?”

“Yep, fight like your life depends on it,” Kayo instructed.

“Sorry,” I told Scott in preparation for kicking his butt.

“Don’t be,” he scoffed. “Do your worst.”

I started walking.

“Oh, look at me, an innocent-” 

John snorted. I ignored him.

“-unarmed girl, all alone on this dark, dark street. It would be so terrible if someone was to grab me right about now...”

Scott struck, looping his arm around my neck and another around my waist. 

I went limp and he fumbled to catch me, seizing the opportunity I lifted my foot and stamped down on his toes.

“Oww, dammit!” 

Not giving a second I slammed my elbow into his stomach and jumped, smacking the top of my head into his chin. When he let go to grab his chin I spun round and went for his chest, grabbing and twisting.

“She went for the nipple cripple!” Alan screamed in delight as Scott screamed in pain.

I let go and dragged him into a hug. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you told me to fight!”

Scott accepted the hug, still whimpering pathetically.

“I said I was sorry, you know I love you!” I stroked his head getting a handful of gel which I sneakily wiped on his shirt when I patted his back.

“At least she kept it above waist height,” John commented.

“Well, that was…” Kayo started.

I waited. 

“Unorthodox and creative, but a woman wouldn't fight like that. Care to take me on?”

“Sure,” I shrugged. Nothing like taking down the big bro to give you a little confidence..

“Show me how you’d take on a female attacker.”

“Give me a second!” I stuck my hand in John’s pocket and retrieved the hairband I kept there for emergencies and tied my hair back.

“OK, I’m ready. Come at me!”

Kayo launched at me and I was immediately on the defensive. I head back, hands up, nails like claws.

“What are you doing?” Gordon asked.

“Cat fight, baby!”

“Cat fight?” Alan whispered to John who shrugged.

“Your hair looks awful today and those pants make your butt look huge!” I yelled at her.

“What?” she paused before aiming a punch my way but I screamed in her face and ducked, making her jump.

“Those boots give you cankles!” I kicked her in the shin and she yelped, hopping on one foot for a second, rubbing her leg.

I scrambled to my feet and grabbed her by the ponytail, yanking hard.

“Get off!” she yelled trying to spin out of my grip.

I let go and literally kicked her butt. I never go for the back, go for the butt, they never expect it. The sole of my foot hit her square on the cheeks and she stumbled in shock. That was my cue. I leapt on her back, screaming my best Xena impression, throwing all my weight on her, riding her down to the floor. I wound her hair around my fist and leaning all my weight on her shoulders, I pinned her down.

“That is not how bad guys fight!” she yelled, squirming.

“No, it's how London girls fight. I take it you’ve never been in a drunken cat fight with someone who thinks you stole her lipstick? You’re just lucky I didn't unleash my claws and go for the eyes, or smash your face into the floor.”

I got up off her back and helped her up.

“That was dirty,” she scowled at me. “I do not have cankles.”

“I did warn you all.”

“What are cankles?” John asked Alan, who shrugged.

“You don’t have a big butt either,” I promised her. “I was just trash talking.”

“Can you girls do that again?” Gordon asked, grinning at us. “Maybe have a pillow fight too?”

Kayo and I didnt dignify that with an answer.

“I think it’s time we teach you some basics,” John insisted.

“You still don’t believe I can take care of myself?” I huffed, folding my arms.

“Oh we know you can, but just in case you aren't attacking drunk people-”

“Hey! They always attack me first!”

“You still need to learn some real self defense,” Scott finished for him.

“Real self defence? How are your moobs, my man?”

“Oww, you’re mean when you fight,” Gordon accused.

“I...I do not have moobs!” he turned away, anxiously smoothing his hand over his pecs, just to be sure.

“Yeah, OK supermodel, you’re out of here,” Kayo ordered. “You guys too. We’re gonna start running through some basics. So, unless you want to be the attacker again, I suggest you get going.”

They got gone.

It was easier without them there and Kayo is actually a really good teacher. One day I might even be able to fight off a bad guy without resorting to a crotch shot. A girl can dream.

[plainvanillapotato]

the 100 diaries S2 E6

quarantine diaries: may 28 2020

season 2 episode 6: “Fog of War”

thats a nice map clarke. but how does she remember this much information about the mount weather cuz she wasnt even there that long. does clarke have photographic memory??

yeah clarke. i wouldnt know what to say to finn either. but look at prettyboy bellamy trying to defend finn. like he shouldnt because what finn did was absolutely terrible but good for him. stay loyal my dood

enter finn looking real jealous of bellamy. i mean he should be. cuz lets all be honest. no one can compare to prettyboy bellamy

fuck off murphy. why is murphy pretending that he just part of the gang now? and why he gotta joke about my boy monty like that??? do not apply salt to my wounds. other people may like you but bygones are not bygones just yet. i remember what you did. but also i cant believed that they actually pardoned finn? is he seriously not gonna get punished?! 

mount weather crashed the exodus ship?! sooooo question for y’all: did mount weather also sabotage the landing of the 100?? like they were meant to land on mount weather but they didn’t. is this ever clarified later in the show??

mom saying that clarke isnt a soldier and yet she sent clarke down here. knowing there was a good chance she would die. bitch. you dont even know. abby youre little girl has killed in cold blood before. but i guess these two are not ready for that conversation yet.

“assimilate them to the gene pool” bc ofc these people didnt just take in these kids out of the goodness of their hearts. these people are sick...

also i know that dante is playing the good guy in this situation saying that he wont put the kids in cages like animals but is willing to just that to grounders? what kind of message are you sending here buddy??

side note: does anyone else think that dante’s son looks like a Jim carrey wannabe

again jaha and kane. what are the odds? who would have thought? not me. my crack ship is not done yet

yeah the louder and the more you shout you come in peace kane the more i believe it. 

you can’t be friends with everyone jaha. dont you remeber the last time you trusted be they sold you.

18. 18. 18 people were killed. FINN. FINN. FINN. there do need to be some repercussions

maya and jasper look like they could be siblings. both pale. both dark hair.

why does finn have a gun?? yes finn they need to keep an eye on you. what do you think youre going to do? i think youre gonna shoot people finn. thank you for putting the gun down. 

umm i dont think that it was accident. like i get that youre mentally unstable dude but 18 people? thats a big ‘accident’ id just prefer if you owned up to it.

ofc the acid fog comes now. the fricking art room..... the dead body is still there isnt it

ofc one of the guards die just to be more dramatic 

damn they really should have cleaned up the dead body. plus it must stink. and yet there is finn with that face saying ‘don’t look at my past sins clarke’ as he runs to cover the body

youre telling me that tents really protect against the acid fog it looks as thin as a person’s shirt. 

yeah finn you are the enemy. ‘you don’t look at me the way you used to.’ yah bro you killed 18 people but you dont see that bothered by it. also i know honest is the best policy but telling clarke the honest truth of how you got her watch back may not have been the best move.

“come on they gave us cake”-jasper trying to convince the others to donate their blood (21:15) this is the strongest argument i have ever heard in my life.

monty keeping his priorities straight. i stan! and i just love how done he is with maya. i straight up laughed when she came in with that notebook!!! are they making maya a good character now??

“because the standard treament sucks compared to you.”-maya trying to flirt with jasper lol

big yikes when maya revealed the grounders. ‘everyone knows but no one talks about it’ waht? i shouldnt be surprised tho considering all the shit that goes on in america that everyone know thats going on but doesnt talk about because it makes certain people feel uncomfortable

“die” - monty (23:35) YES MONTY YES MONTY. monty is officially my favorite character! 

the fog is a weapon. did not expect that. 

oooh no. carol of bells. indeed. as in bellamy “bells” coming in to be a badass.

its your boy lincoln!! and he does not look good. what are you doing octavia? you still want licoln after you just saw him feast on a human? this girl need to have higher standards.

side note: so reapers are basically modern zombies and if they have zombies in this show they can have vampires. so i stand by what i said before. these mountain people are just modern vampires literally sucking the blood and life out these poor 47 kids. and just when we thought they caught a break with all the cake

honestly im surprised that kane is still good. i thought that he was gonna turn evil. also these grounders have it wrong. at least during the fight between wells and murphy bellamy gave wells a knife to have a fair fight

preston burke becoming a doctor again!! cue grey’s anatomy theme song

seriously what is lexa doing here….oooh theyre smarter than i thought. we love female leaders. she be out here being sly. though not going to lie i still prefer anya.

alternatives for Octavia calling for lincoln **lincoln dear come hither** or **hey demon lincoln its yah girl octavia** 

‘neither do i’ awww finn. i feel sad for you but at the same time. you killed 18 people. i reaaaally dont know how the writers are going to redeem finns character. 

jaspers face tho when dante turned his back was like bitch you dont know whats coming to you.

yikes when dante grabbed his sons neck. but also his name is cage. ironic because mount weather is a cage

did raven just say to finn to suck it up? ummmmmmmmmmmm

JAHA!! 

[littlemarvelfics]

Rogers’s Anatomy

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Word Count: about 2.3k

Warnings: alcohol, spoilers for the first two seasons of Grey’s Anatomy

A/N: Hi hello! This is for @revengingbarnes‘s challenge! My prompt was Grey’s Anatomy and I LOVED writing this. I know the title doesn’t really make sense but that’s how it goes sometimes y’all. I’m obsessed with the beginning seasons of Grey’s Anatomy so I’m considering making these a short series or something. Anyway! On with the show!

You let out a sigh, releasing the tension in your shoulders before turning back to the bartender.

“He’s gonna show, right?” you asked.

“He’ll show,” Phill responded honestly.

You slowly sipped your drink, eyes floating around the bar. It looked the same as the night you’d met him. Steve. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to that night.

It was damp outside as it often was in this city. You had just come from the “get to know you mixer” at your new job: surgical intern at Seattle Grace Hospital. You leaned forward and ordered a classic favorite of yours- tequila, straight.

“You sure about that? You might be sorry in the morning,” the bartender commented.

“I’m always sorry in the morning,” you replied with a smirk. “But tomorrow is my first day at a brand new job, so keep ‘em coming yeah?”

You saw movement in your peripheral vision, someone sitting on the stool next to you. You hoped they were looking for the same thing you were- silence. You could see him slightly. He was dressed nicely, a tight blue shirt straining over his biceps. He had dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, a light scuff of hair covered his jaw. You were quickly disappointed when you heard the man next to you speak.

“Double scotch, single malt please,” he said to the bartender before turning to you. “Is this a good place to hang out?”

“Wouldn’t know,” you said quickly. “Never been here before.”

He seemed almost pleased with this information.

“Oh well, you know what, I haven’t either. First time in town,” he rambled. “I’m new in town. First time in Seattle. I got a job so…” he trailed off, realizing you hadn’t even glanced at him. “And you’re ignoring me.”

“I’m trying to,” you said, exaggerating your cheerfulness.

“You shouldn’t ignore me,” he responded smoothly.

“Why not?” you asked, finally facing him and taking the bait.

“Because I’m someone you need to get to know, to love,” he said, a smug grin on his face.

“So if I know you, I’ll love you?”

“Yup.”

“You just really like yourself huh?” you asked skeptically.

“Just hiding my pain,” he said, still sporting his smug grin. “So what’s your story?”

“I don’t have a story,” you said simply. “I’m just a girl in a bar.”

“Well, I’m just a guy in a bar.”

One thing led to another and you ended up back at your house. You didn’t even make it up to the bedroom, falling onto the couch. You woke up to him on the floor, throwing a pillow at him to wake him up. He groped around, likely looking for something to protect his eyes from the morning sun but instead, came back with your bra from the night before.

“This is…”

“Humiliating. On every possible level. You have to go,” you said tensely.

You watched him sit up, a blanket dropping down to reveal his toned chest.

“Why don’t you come back down here and we can pick up where we left off last night?” he said with a smirk.

“No, seriously. You have to go. I’m very late which isn’t what you want to be on your first day of work, so…” you trailed off, hoping he would get up and leave so you could get ready.

“Huh, you do actually live here,” he said.

“No. Yes. Kind of,” you replied, stumbling on your words.

“Oh,” he mumbled, pausing to look around. “It's nice. Little dusty. Odd. But it's nice. So how do you kind of live here?”

“I moved two weeks ago from Boston, it was my mother's house, I'm selling it,” you explained quickly, hoping he would leave.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said, getting dressed in his clothes from the night before.

“For what?” you asked, confused.

“You said was,” he responded, letting you make the same connection he did.

“Oh! My mother's not dead, she's,” you took a deep breath and ran your hand through your hair.  “You know what, we don't have to do the thing.”

“Oh. We can do anything you want,” he said with a smug smirk.

“No, the thing, exchange the details, pretend we care,” you paused and cocked your head to the side. “Look, I'm gonna go upstairs and take a shower, okay, and when I get back down here, you won't be here, so, um, goodbye… um,” you paused, forgetting the man’s name.

“Steve,” he said, sticking out his hand for you to shake.

“Steve, right,” you confirmed, telling him your name.

Steve repeated your name back to you with a smile. Moving towards you, he leaned in for what you assumed for a kiss. You gave a smile and stepped back, shaking your head.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said with a smile.

“Bye Steve,” you said, returning his smile before turning to run up the stairs for your shower.

You showered and dressed quickly- your scrubs were in your new work locker so you dressed in street clothes, heading to your car quickly. Your day went by fairly quickly. The environment was stressful but you knew how to handle it. You worked your ass off and met some new people. The day was going smoothly until it came to a screeching halt. You were rounding the corner when you saw him- the guy from last night. Steve. You made eye contact with him and you could tell he recognized you instantly. You turned around and quickly walked away, hoping you could avoid him for the rest of your shift. About an hour later, you were pulled into a stairwell and you knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid the conversation.

“Dr. Rogers,” you greeted coolly.

“Dr. Rogers?” he questioned with a raised brow. “This morning it was Steve. Now it's Dr. Rogers.”

“Dr. Rogers,” you said again. “We should pretend it never happened.”

“What never happened, you sleeping with me last night? Or you throwing me out this morning? Because both are fond memories I'd like to hold onto,” Steve joked.

“No,” you said firmly. “There will be no memories. I'm not the girl in the bar anymore, and you're not the guy. This can't exist. You get that, right?”

“You took advantage of me and now you want to forget about it,” he said, matter of factly.

“I did not take-” you started, but Steve quickly interrupted.

“I was drunk, vulnerable and good-looking and you took advantage.”

Despite your annoyance with the situation, you smiled.

“Okay, I was the one who was drunk,” you corrected. “And you are not that good-looking.”

“Well, maybe not today in the cold hard light of day. But last night? Last night I was very good-looking. I had my blue shirt on, my good-looking shirt, you took advantage.”

“I did not take-” you tried to defend again, but Steve cut you off once again.

“You want to take advantage again? Say Friday night?”

“No. You're an attending. And I'm your intern,” you paused when you realized his eyes were looking you up and down. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you've seen me naked,” you whispered harshly.

Steve gave you a smirk, still looking at you in the same way.

“Dr. Rogers. This is inappropriate. Has that ever occurred to you?” you questioned.

You walked out of the stairwell and away from Steve, lost in thought as you wandered through the hospital. You didn’t have a career yet. As a woman trying to be a surgeon, you knew the cards were stacked against you. The last thing you needed was someone starting rumors that you were sleeping with attendings to get ahead. It would ruin your career before it even began.  

You were ripped from the past when you heard the door to the bar open. You whipped your head around and held your breath until you saw someone round the corner. Someone who wasn’t Steve. Your eyes followed them while they made their way back to their group of friends before you turned your attention back to your empty glass. You looked up at Phill who gave you a sympathetic smile and a new drink. You let your mind wander to Steve- not that you had stopped thinking about him since earlier in the evening.

Despite your reluctance, you and Steve started a relationship of sorts. It was going well until one night brought it all crashing down and led you to where you were now. You groaned internally as the memory came flying back to you.

It had been a long day of work but you had something, or rather someone, to look forward to. Steve was meeting you in the lobby. You walked towards him, shrugging on your jacket as you went. You smiled as he greeted you, the two of you exchanging hellos quickly before moving to leave the hospital. Steve turned away to lead you out when he suddenly stopped.

“I am so sorry,” he mumbled.

Before you could ask him what he meant, a blonde woman approached you in her professional, attractive outfit.

“Sharon,” Steve greeted coldly. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you'd know if you'd bothered to return any one of my phone calls,” the woman you assumed was Sharon responded sharply.

“Hi. I'm Sharon Rogers,” she said, turning to you to shake your hand.

“Rogers?” you questioned.

“And you must be the woman who's been screwing my husband,” she remarked.

That night, you left without Steve. It didn’t take long for everyone to figure out what happened. Steve was married to Sharon, they were both big-name doctors back in New York. Sharon cheated on Steve so he left, took a plane to Seattle and didn’t look back until she showed up at Seattle Grace. Nick Fury, the chief of medicine, had called her in for a difficult case and she had just stayed. You and Sharon were both fighting for Steve until the night you decided you were done. Steve wouldn’t sign his divorce papers and you were tired of being the other woman. You said you were out. Until about two hours ago.

After a long surgery, you had followed Steve into a scrub room to talk to him.

“I lied,” you said. “I'm not out ... of this relationship. I'm in. I'm so in, it's humiliating because here I am begging…”

Steve tried interrupting you by saying your name quietly.

“Shut up. You say my name and I yell, remember?” you said, referring to an earlier joke.

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile, leaning against a sink and giving you his full attention.

You took a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts.

“Ok, here it is. Your choice. It's simple,” you started, already feeling tears fill your eyes. “Her or me. And I'm sure she's really great. But, Steve... I love you... in a really, really big ... "pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window"...unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you. So pick me. Choose me. Love me,” you finished, shrugging as if it was the obvious choice.

Steve looked at you, love written all over his face. He grasped your elbow and leaned forward but you pulled back.

“I'll be at Phill’s tonight. If you do decide to sign the papers, meet me there,” you said, walking out of the scrub room without giving him a chance to respond.

You found yourself staring into your empty glass- he still hadn’t shown up. You looked up at Phil as he passed by.

“I actually said, ‘Pick me.’ Right? I did? ‘Pick me’?” you questioned.

“I think it's romantic,” he responded.

“It's not romantic, Phill, it's horrifying!” you exclaimed. “Horror movie horrifying. Carrie at the prom with the pig's blood horrifying.”

“Ok, fine, it's horrifying. But Carrie took out an entire senior class as revenge. Gotta say, I like that in a girl,” he comforted.

“I said ‘Pick me,’” you mumbled to yourself.

You heard your friends, Wanda, Natasha and Clint mumbling behind you, all you could hear was your name and pathetic. You whipped around to face them.

“Who's pathetic?” you demanded.  Wanda and Clint looked over at Natasha, glaring at her slightly.

“What?” Natasha asked, feigning innocence.  

“You, who pretend to be my friends are calling me pathetic behind my back in front of my face,” you said in your slightly inebriated state. Clint pointed to Natasha and then threw his hand up, claiming innocence.

“Why don't you just dump the pig's blood on me now and get it over with?”

All three of them looked confused but before you could explain yourself, Clint’s pager went off, signaling he was needed back at the hospital. Before long, everyone’s pager was going off, including your own.

“Phill! Turn up the TV,” someone shouted.

“A massive train wreck occurred just outside of Seattle just minutes ago. The Vancouver-bound train was carrying over 300 passengers. Paramedics are on scene helping victims,” the TV droned on.

“That explains the pagers,” Wanda said. “We just worked a thirty-hour shift.”

“I don't have any clean underwear,” Clint mumbled to himself.

You all started grabbing your things, dreading what would happen when you got back to the hospital. Phill noticed you picking up your bag.

“You're leaving? No, no, no, you can't leave,” he said.

“Sorry, gotta go tend to someone else's train wreck,” you joked.

“You gotta at least stay for a cup of coffee. You're in no shape to cut people open. Plus,” he paused as he shrugged. “I don't wanna miss the ending.”

“You coming?” Nat called from the door.

“Maybe it's for the best. Maybe I don't wanna know,” you said in defeat while you walked towards the door.

“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” Phill called out after you.

“Goodnight Phill,” you said as you exited the bar.

A half hour later, Steve burst through the door of the bar looking disheveled. Phill saw him and rolled his eyes.

“You’re too late man.”

[gabriel4sam]

The Duros who knew too much

Hunted down by the Separatist, Cad Bane has no other choice than asking help from the last person he wants to see again, the pseudo Rako Hardeen, the Jedi who sent him to jail, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Written for the @clonewarssavedexchange beta by the wonderful @sithsoka, for Sharnlyrical

Separatist or not, whoever had worked on the Wanted: dead or alive poster for Obi-Wan Kenobi was a fan... The swooshing hair, the unmistakable grin, the sparkling eyes, the shoulders that were more suggested by the tunics than hidden… The man on the poster looked more like a holovid actor version of a Jedi than like the warrior monk Cad Bane had had the displeasure  of fighting before.

With a smirk, Cad tore the poster off the wall. He was trying to keep a low profile but in this seedy part of the seediest town on the planet, he would have needed to take down the entire block before someone felt concerned.

He had elected an abandoned droid factory as a temporary safe house. Slowly he made his way to it, taking all precautions to make sure he wasn’t followed.

To survive the next weeks, he knew that vigilance, caution, and discretion were of the essence.

The Wanted posters of Kenobi really were all over town, and probably all over the quadrant. The reward offered was simply obscene. The Separatist leaders knew Kenobi was in the sector, far away from the Republic lines, and they had no intention of wasting this chance. Everywhere, idiots who thought they could take down an adult Jedi — and even more, that Jedi, the hand-cutting, survives everything and everyone poster boy of the kriffin’ Jedi Council — were getting ready for the fray and buying stun grenades by entire crates.

Cad entered the building, making sure to trip their silent alarm. He wanted the other user of the safe house to know he was there. It was prudent, since exhaustion could make people a little trigger happy. The other sentient was leaning down on his datapad, probably trying for the n th time to plot their escape from a heavily armed system wanting their two heads. Cad put the two containers of food he had brought back on a hastily cleaned table and couldn’t resist:

“Sweetheart, I’m home and I even brought you a little souvenir,” he said, and he put the Wanted poster with the Negotiator's face on the table just under the other man’s nose.

“You’re far less hilarious than you think,” Obi-Wan Kenobi answered, fixing him with those colourful eyes human had.

It had been a low blow from fate, that had put Cad Bane in the position of travelling with the most wanted man this side of the galaxy, and without the possibility of obtaining the reward!

It had been fate, or perhaps in a tad less bombastic way, it had been Count Dooku. The former Jedi, new Sith, and all-around too smart for his own good man had long ago understood the usefulness of bounty hunters. Far more shrewd than an entire droid army, and most of the time more efficient, bounty hunters could even be discreetly murdered if they were captured. Any connection could, of course, be totally denied after. It was less easy with an entire platoon of murder boots which could have been dancing the cancan with “ We’ve been sent by the Separatists ” painted on giant placards, for how subtle they were.

So, Cad Bane had worked for Dooku. Once. Twice. And again and again. The pay was good; Dooku could be a manipulative bastard in search of galactic domination, or whatever Sith Leaders did in their spare time, but he was a rich manipulative bastard, and a classy one. He always paid on time, and he never went back on the price.

Best kind of employer, in Cad’s opinion.

Until the time Cad had come back too early from a deal Dooku had sent him to, and seen too much.

Too much was perhaps an exaggeration. He had seen the ending of a transmission, half a chin under a dark cloak, and a grin on pale, thin lips.

Oh, that grin. That grin was still haunting Cad. He had seen more charming grimaces on dying men’s lips.

And the voice…. The voice, the dripping malevolence, he was still hearing it whispering in his dreams, which had turned dark.

That day, Cad had escaped Dooku only by luck, and he knew all of the Separatist forces were searching for him, relentlessly if discreetly. If it was official, it would have been admitting he knew too much.

Cad wasn’t an idiot. He knew Dooku and the entire Separatist army was a little too much for him. He needed help, and swiftly. He hadn’t contacted the Republic Judicial Service, a bunch of morons in his opinion, but the Jedi directly, who had immediately sent two of their Masters. It spoke of the Jedi’s desperation in this war, of how difficult things were that they couldn’t find anyone else to send than a Jedi killed ten hours into this mission, and the Negotiator himself; one of the fourth, perhaps fifth most recognizable Jedi!

So, here they were. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been caught on holocamera during the skirmish that had ended the life of his unfortunate colleague, whose name Cad hadn’t bothered to remember, and was now being searched for in every nook of the planet by every idiot with a blaster and a desire for credits. And the infuriating human was still probably Cad’s best chance of surviving. Force users were mortal, like everyone else. Nevertheless,  when lightsabers were singing, the best solution was still to find another Force User ready to die defending you because you had important information. Then, it was smart to run into the other direction while the two Force Users replayed the ancient feud of Sith versus Jedi.

All of this was not doing his mood any favours, and the worst thing was that he was pretty sure the Jedi, who had just lost a colleague, was still trying to cheer Bane up!

“Come on,” Obi-Wan sassed, appropriating one of the food containers, “It will be like the Rako Hardeen saga-“

“-an episode of my life I’m trying my damn best to forget-“ Cad grumbled.

“Us against the galaxy, the villain and the Jedi, daring against all odds-“

“-I love how you cast yourself as some sort of antithesis of the villain. This half of the galaxy is sure you ’re the villain, Jedi scum, dog of war of the Republic, etc.…”

“-Dog of the Republic? Hadn’t heard that one. And I’m pretty sure you liked me, when I was supposed to be a villain too!”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m reproaching you, Kenobi!” And Cad, taking his food with him, retreated to another part of the factory, suddenly more furious with the Jedi than about their circumstances.

He had liked Rako Hardeen. He liked people smart enough, strong enough, people he could be sure wouldn’t leave only grief in their wake, once the galaxy offed them.

He had liked Jango, which had been stupid of his part, because at the end, Jango wasn’t smart enough to keep himself from intergalactic conspirators…which may or may not have been exactly the mistake Cad had made too.

He was brooding, remembering how Hardeen had helped him in the Cube, how he had seemed dependable, as much as a bounty hunter could be, how Cad had imagined his days of solo hunts could perhaps stop, when half the wall exploded, half burying him in rumbles.

His ear canals were ringing, his torso almost crushed under the weight, he struggled to get free, even harder once he heard the tell-tale sounds of droids. He had been found, and soon he would join Jango wherever the kriff bounty hunt-….There. The hiss of a lightsaber, and the pale blue light, the only thing visible in the swirls of dust from  the explosion. The light danced, never still, and in every loop of its dance, sparks gushed, as the blade passed into the reinforced metal of the droids as if cutting through air.

In a few seconds, it was done. The droids sent to kill them was a pile of junk on the floor, and Kenobi, when he knelt down next to Cad, not even winded.

The rumble floated away and Kenobi helped him sit down. Cad bit down a cry. Something was broken in his torso. Kenobi examined lightly the area despite Cad’s protests that Kenobi could buy him dinner first, thank you very much.

“Your furcula is broken.”

“My what?”

“How can you…not important. Let me…”

“Hands off, eh, Kenobi. I’m gonna bite you, and my saliva is sure toxic to you…”

“Of course, it isn’t. Stop wriggling about, I’m trying to…I didn’t think you would be so prudish, stop moving, you blue idiot.”

Struggling along, the two fugitives took off, Cad resting against Kenobi, less because he couldn’t walk, nothing was wrong with his legs, but because every time they were in contact, the pain went down.

“Are you using Jedi tricks on me?”

“If I was, you would shut up,” Kenobi remarked, hurrying them from discreet corners of the street to the service entrance of the nearest cantina.

“Too close from the attack,” Cad protested, as Kenobi was hauling him higher into the building, mind tricking everyone they saw, until the door of a poorly lit room closed behind them.

“They won’t search this close, because they will think we will run as fast, as far as we can from the droid factory,” Kenobi finally answered.

“Yeah, because we should .”

“Not with you in this state. The gravity of his planet must already be hard enough on your body, I fear without that bone your thoracic cage will collapse.”

Cad grimaced and sat down heavily.

“You didn’t even know what that bone was,” Kenobi remarked.

“My education was more blasters than anatomy. Even my own. Do you think street urchin…” He stopped. What was he thinking, starting to blather like that about his past?

Kenobi knelt down in front of him and ordered:

“Give me your hands.”

“Human are gross and you’re not my type,” Cad huffed in annoyance.

“You stared at Hardeen’s behind too much for me to entirely believe you. Your hands, Bane. It will be much easier.”

“You are going to a lot of trouble for a bounty hunter who saw, perhaps, half the face of that thrice-damned Sith Lord.”

“It’s still a lot more than the lot of us saw, every piece of information is important…and even if it wasn’t, what sort of Jedi would be, if I let you suffer when I can help.”

“A smarter one.”

Kenobi laughed, and not the small huff Cad’s words warranted. A full bodied laugh, perhaps a tad hysterical, and for the first time, Cad paid more attention to the obvious signs of exhaustion of the other sentient. He asked himself how it would feel, all the death happening in the galaxy during this war, for a man who could touch unknown power, who could feel the fabric of life.

He gave his hands to Kenobi, clinging to them like an anchor when a great wave of power passed into him, fading between his eyelids in a shower of multi-coloured sparks. It was like being drunk on light, it was a high like no other, it was tasting power itself and when it stopped, the pain was gone.

Cad came crashing down on Kenobi, on Obi-Wan, like a tree would go down, like a ship with dead motors, and they rolled on the floor, the powerful connection shared for a minute intoxicating them. Human lips were warm and agile, and if the taste of his tongue seemed foreign to Cad, it was something exotic, like a fruit from a long lost planet, delicious and tasty. Cad bit down that mouth until the lips were red and shiny, and Kenobi was making the most interesting sounds, until the last whisper of power died down, leaving them struggling for breath on the floor, and putting them in a quite awkward situation.

“Do all Jedi healing has those interesting effects?” the bounty hunter asked, helping the human up.

“No,” Kenobi answered, his tone strange, and his face flushed, but Cad couldn’t have remembered what it meant when human’s faces were red if his life depended on him.

They sat down on the bed, carefully not looking at each other.

“We will just stay here a few hours,” Kenobi said, “then I suggest we steal a ship.”

“This is getting exactly like the Hardeen fiasco,” Cad remarked, “ and the last time ended with me on a fast track to jail.”

“Except this time, we’re on the same team. We made a great one when I was there to spy on you, so imagine how we’ll do now.”

“Hmpf.”

A moment of silence.

“I liked Hardeen,” Cad admitted, because he needed something, anything to avoid feeling indebted to Kenobi for the healing, and that confession, that small fact he had kept for him all those months after the betrayal, seemed like something difficult to admit, something precious.

“I know,” Kenobi simply said, “and the sad part was that he…I….Hardeen liked working with you. Fleeing with you. It was…freeing. Good. Something without rules and responsibilities, something…” He clamped down on the next words and they stayed there, wishing the time to go faster.

A few hours to wait, a few days on the run, probably, before finding back the safety of Republic lines.

And whatever would happen during those days, they would be the only ones to ever know.

Cad licked his lips, where Kenobi’s taste lingered. He suddenly felt much better about all of this.

[spaceorphan18]

Marvel Movie Night: Daredevil

...

...

Okay.  

This is a terrible film.  I mean, I did know that going in - but I now give the two Blade films some credit for at least being entertaining.  This film isn’t really entertaining.  It’s what happens when you smush Batman 89 with Batman returns and take out all Tim Burton quirkiness.  No, really, the plot is seriously like a blend of those two films.  Matt Murdoch (Daredevil) watches his father die to the hands of villains, grows up, becomes a lawyer to deal out justice the /right/ way.  Meets a girl (who would be a vigilante as well if the film had any time to develop that) who dies (though, who knows, she might be back...) and stares off into the night on the top of a NYC Skyscraper.  Oh geez... 

I watched the Director’s Cut of the film, hoping that I was getting the better version of the film, because a lot of sources said it’s the better version.  I can’t imagine what the theatrical cut was like, because this version takes itself way, way too seriously.  I get that they were trying to go for the Frank Miller feel (Frank Miller being a comic book creator known for his darker superhero runs, and Miller’s Daredevil run was one of the most famous).  So, I get that.  But film is almost trying too hard.  

The director, Mark Steven Johnson, only had one film under his belt before doing this one -- Simon Birch.  I guess Johnson has gone on to make better films, but since he’s a comedy writer, it seems weird to let him handle this film.  He also wrote the screenplay -- which Kevin Feigi apparently approved.  There had to be something going on with development, because not only is the script full of bad dialogue, but nearly every aspect of this film is just poorly constructed.  

The film wants to be edgy, but comes off as stiff and ridiculous at times.  It’s still a product of the early superhero films, taking a nod from the recent X-Men film’s decision to go darker, and made everything so dramatic it came off as melodrama.  The acting is so stiff that I can’t take most of the characters seriously.  The plot is so tired, it literally feels like its ripping off a Batman film.  The music is irritating.  The few attempts at special effects weak.  

So.  Daredevil is one of the few (main) Marvel characters whom I don’t really know much about.  I’ve never picked up one of the comics.  I vaguely know is backstory.  I can’t judge this film by how well it does with the comics material.  But, in this case, I can’t even get to that level of discussion because this film kinda fails before we even can get to those kind of comparisons.  

At the same time, I think the at points they relied too heavily on knowledge of the comics.  Why is Matt Murdoch hanging around a church all the time -- oh cause he has issues with being Catholic.  Never brought up once in the film, which makes the church thing super weird.  Why is Elektra killed in such an abrupt and unsatisfying death? Oh because it happened that way in the comics.  I feel like I’ve probably missed a lot of reasons why things were happening because they were in the comics.  I really don’t think you should have to read the comics for these things to make sense.  

Alright so... Ben Affleck as Daredevil.  Meh.  Daredevil, a blind superhero who also is a great lawyer, is an interesting character - and I’m now super interested in Netflix’s Daredevil series.  I won’t blame Affleck entirely for Daredevil himself being such a bad main character.  The tonal shifts in the script don’t help.  But Murdoch has two modes - intensely moody and brooding, and being a dick.  There’s nothing likable about the guy.  Nothing intriguing about the guy.  He’s not even that mysterious.  He’s just there.  And it seems like Affleck isn’t sure what to do with any of it.  One point he’s throwing bad guys over the railing of a subway where they get chopped in half.  The other minute he’s claiming he’s not the bad guy as a child cries as he’s beating up a bad guy.  This film doesn’t know what it wants to do with its main character. 

Jennifer Garner is fine as Elektra, despite the romance part of the film being terribly developed.  While it was before Affleck and Garner got together - they seem to genuinely like each other, and it’s the one relationship of this film that seems to have plausibility, again, despite being such a poorly developed plot. 

Michael Clarke Duncan is the film’s main villain Fisk.  Apparently, his performance was called over-the-top.  I think he’s fine for a villain in a superhero film, and one of the few people in the film who seems like they’re enjoying being in it.  The other villain is Colin Farrel’s Bullseye.  He’s supposed to be Irish.  Seems like Farrel kinda remembers that some times, lol.  Anyway, he’s this film’s Darth Maul, only there to kill people in fancy ways, and be someone for Daredevil (and Elektra) to fight against.  

Other Thoughts: 

The soundtrack and the sound editing is irritating.  It’s trying to be cool and edgy with its hard rock, heavy metal, and rap soundtrack, but it just seems like overkill.  The few slower songs seem so on the nose its distracting.  And the score isn’t great or memorable.  Plus, there’s an annoying high-pitched wail whenever some of the special effects are being used.  (Huh - apparently this soundtrack won some awards.  Weird, okay) 

Jon Favreau is in the film!! He’s kind of playing a Happy Hogan-like sidekick.  And he’s easily the best part of the film.  He’s the only one in the film who feels like he’s natural in his part, and he’s a sheer joy to watch while everything else is a bit tedious.  His back and forth with Ben Affleck isn’t that great though, tbh.  Hope he finds a scene partner he can have better chemistry with...  

Grey’s Anatomy’s Ellen Pompeo is in this for two scenes.  She doesn’t do much of anything, it was just weird to see her in there. 

Coolio has a cameo! Playing an framed guy Matt Murdoch has to defend.  He’s actually pretty entertaining in the small amount we get him. 

Like all superhero movies, there are a lot of nods to the comics.  This one over does the schitck of naming half their characters after comics creators.  Enough so that it felt like it stuck out like a sore thumb every time they mentioned another name.  They even named Kevin Smith’s character Jack Kirby.  **headdesk** 

Oh yeah, Kevin Smith is randomly here as well for a scene.  

Final Thoughts: Please do yourself a favor and don’t bother with this film.  Not gonna lie, I’d rather watch The Incredible Hulk again before ever watching this tedious mess again. 

Next Up: X2, thank god for something watchable. 

[deepdaleducks]

Embers (Slow Burn 3/Fire Series) - Dele

Author’s Note - again a massive thank you to everyone for reading this series. I’m gonna write three more chapters so keep an eye out for those! Before you read this make sure to read part one and two otherwise nothing will make sense. Hope you enjoy feedback is more than welcome (it makes me so happy so PLEASE give it)

Part One - Slow Burn

Part Two - Flicker

There’s not much thought that goes into the decision to ignore every single one of his texts and calls. Your text chat a one-way stream of baby please call me, I’m sorry, please just let me explain, if you let me explain it’ll all be okay, can we talk about this, you can’t ignore me forever, baby please, I love you, I’m sorry. His name appearing multiple times in your call log, each one with the red phone next to it to show it went unanswered. The flowers he sent to your office on Thursday on your colleague’s desk instead, after you had tried to throw them in the bin and she’d insisted they were too pretty to go to waste. The week goes by easily, your friends coming over for dinner to distract you from the thoughts in your mind. Another half a series of Grey’s Anatomy finished and three empty bottles of red wine in the recycling bin.

On Saturday, Chloe calls, claiming her week has been busy and she’s been dying to here about how things with Dele are going. You laugh aloud at her wording, telling her that things aren’t going anywhere at all and if anything things have back pedalled so far that you might as well pretend you have never met. Explaining the situation to her helps you to mull it all over in your head clearly. For five days you’d been thinking over it all in a million different ways. So with her, you start again from the beginning, like sifting through a freshly opened jigsaw and finally putting pieces together. You discuss how you met, how he tried to kiss you that first night, how you became friends because you were dating someone else, him meeting Ruby, your break up, him trying to set you up with other people. She listens to your every word and by the time you even get on to talking about his break up you’re forty-five minutes into the phone call.

“I just don’t get why he was constantly going back to her.” She says, huffing in annoyance. “Like, if he knew you were in love with him, and that’s why their relationship ended, why on earth was he still sleeping with her? Actually, more importantly why was she still sleeping with him?”

“Have you seen him? That’s why,” you reply, attempting to laugh whilst you do so.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be hating him right now? God, he’s such a fucking dick…”

And you continue with your story, everything he said in the kitchen last Saturday night, how things could have gone in the living room on Sunday night. When you get on to the events of Monday night she starts yelling, screaming that she’s going to come and ‘punch him to France and back’. After a while, her doorbell rings and she says that she has to go as Marcus’ girlfriend has arrived and they’re having a sleepover before going to watch the game tomorrow. She hangs up and you absentmindedly turn on the TV, Match of the Day immediately coming on. Reaching for the remote, you go to turn it off when they begin to show the highlight of Spurs’ game against Burnley. Your heart aches at their 2-1 loss, knowing how angry he will still be at his injury, how he would be grumbling at the tv saying what he would have done differently if he’d been able to play. The battle in your mind begins again. Your thoughts once again torn between the love found in years of friendship and the hurt caused by his actions. Your complete lack of trust acting as the canyon between the two feelings.

  Your doorbell rings early on Sunday morning and you’re pleased to find your best friend, Amy, stood on the porch. She takes you for brunch, refusing to let a Sunday tradition die, even though you had to change your brunch partner. Afterwards you go window shopping and browse various furniture stores, planning your dream houses of the future. She tells you about her date last night and gives you gossip about her sisters, trying everything to not let you think about your own love life. The darkness begins to settle in after your early dinner and you both head to your cars to go home. For the first time all week, your phone doesn’t light up with his name, and you think that maybe he’s given up. Maybe he’s gone back to her again, and maybe he’s happy.

But when you arrive home, there he is, sat at the breakfast bar, back facing you and head hung low. He doesn’t turn around when he hears you come in, only lifting his head slightly to acknowledge your presence, planning to let you speak first. You move closer warily, a whole list of questions forming in your mind. You’d ask how he got in, why he’s here, what he wants. But you already know the answers. He’s here because you’ve been ignoring his calls for a week. He’s here to talk; to plead his case. And he’s here because of a small, carved piece of metal that you had given him once, back when he was the person you trusted most in the world. You notice it sitting on the counter in front of him, single and alone, not even attached to a ring or a chain. Walking past him, you tilt your head to look at the key, not bothering to glance up at his face.

“I gave you that for emergencies…” You trail off in a harsh and cold tone. “And for watering my plants when I’m away.”

He finally lifts his eyeline further to gaze up at you on the other side of he breakfast bar. “Well I figured that since you haven’t answered any of my calls and texts all week, maybe you’d dropped off the face of the earth and your plants might need a water,” his voice is spiteful but comes with a humour underlayer that attempts to break through your stone-cold expression.

“My plants are just fine without you. I am just fine without you, thank you very much.” You lie, brave face feeling weaker by the second.

“I’m not.” He replies, lowly. You take a moment to look him over, eyes dull and hollow, hair tousled and messy, skin paler and cheeks a little gaunt. He looks like he hasn’t slept or ate in days, and as bad as it seems, it makes you feel a little better to know he’s been suffering. “I’ve been going out of my mind without you. What you saw on Monday, it wasn’t what you think. I went out and I ran into her.”

“Okay so you ran into her when you were out, how the hell did she end up in your car on your driveway?” You interject, unwilling to hear his spiel.

“How was I supposed to know you’d be there to see that? You told me you were going out with Amy.” He defends, not doing himself any favours in his wording.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Dele? Do you even hear what you’re saying?” you yell back, throwing your hands in the air in exasperation.

“She was there to pick up the rest of her stuff! Okay?” He cries, temper rising to your level. “After what happened on Sunday, I didn’t want that to happen again. And she still had stuff there. I know we’d been broken up for weeks, but she still had some clothes there and make up and some fucking shampoo things in the bathroom. I didn’t want you to have to see that. I was planning to throw it out, but then I saw her, and I figured that she should just come take it instead, rather than throw it out.”

“Oh yes because now was the perfect time to be acting in favour of the environment, congrats, Del.” You retort, flicking on the kettle a little more aggressively than necessary.

“Maybe I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe it wasn’t the most well thought out of ideas. But I wanted that stuff gone, and she was there, and its her stuff. Look I might not have made the most sensible of decisions, but at least I’m not the one who chose to completely misread a situation. And I’m not the one who’s so immature that I ignored your calls and texts all week and didn’t even give you a chance to explain.” Defensively, he pleads his case, moving from his seat by the breakfast bar, to come stand in the centre of the kitchen with you. His words do nothing but rile you up further, but you let your anger show through silence. The air between you falling flat, you stand on opposite sides of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He pauses. “I’m sorry about all of it. I should have texted you, I should have told you that she was coming over. I- I just thought that because you were out, you would go home and that I could just tell you the next day.”

“Actually, I don’t think you were thinking at all.” You take a breath and look him in the eye, smiling slightly to lift the atmosphere, “but when do you ever, right?” Your joke helps to subside some of the anger building inside you. As if on autopilot, you reach into the cupboard and pull out two mugs, making two cups of tea, one with one sugar and one with a splash of milk. He mumbles a thank you when you pass him a steaming hot mug, the two of you now a little closer together.

“Her stuff is gone. She took a taxi home. I haven’t seen or heard from her since Monday.” He says, defeated. You look him in the eyes, trying your best to decipher if he’s telling the truth. “I know you don’t trust me right now. And I know that my actions in the past don’t exactly make it seem like I’m telling the truth. But I promise you, I am. I love you. And I’m so sorry that I might have ruined this. I just really want to work on this with you to fix things, because I know that we can be happy together. I want to be the person making you happy, and it kills me that I’m the one making you hurt right now.” You break eye contact in an attempt not to crack and fall straight into his arms.

“I really want to believe you, Dele. I really do.” You pause and let out a shaky breath. “Just after everything. After hearing you say its over so many times and then watching you fall straight back into her arms. You told me you loved me. How do you think it made me feel to see you with her again? It’s like none of it meant anything. I’ve heard you lie an awful lot, but I never thought you saying you loved me would feel like a lie.”

“It’s not a lie. I do love you” He interrupts.

“Yeah, but it still felt that way and I can’t change that. I wish I could, but I just can’t” You huff, you mug already forgotten on the side. “God, the amount of shit that went through my mind. I’m a worst-case scenario person, you know that. I just kept thinking that you were planning on sleeping with her again. That it was really that easy. That I was nothing to you.” He opens his mouth to speak, but you stop him. “I- I think for now, we need distance. I need to learn to trust you again. You can say you’re sorry and that you love me a million times over, but I think that to move forward from this, and I do want to move forward from this, we need to go back to square one and build something from the ground up.” You give him an earnest look. The thought of losing your best friend outweighing any anger you could harbour. He nods slowing in agreement, choosing not to talk and instead finishing his brew. He moves closer to you, extending a hand out in front of you as if he was greeting his boss. You raise an eyebrow at him in confusion, and he draws your eye line down to his hand. Tentatively, you lift your own and slip your palm into his, shaking his hand lightly.

“Hi, my name is Dele and I’m 99% sure that you’re my entire future. Can I take you out on a date next Friday?” He introduces himself. “Square one, right?” He smirks at you, proud of his ability to worm his way back under your skin.

“How come you’re only 99% sure?” You ask, lips pursed together defiantly.

“Oh no, I’m 1000% sure, I just didn’t want to scare you,” He responds, causing you to laugh out loud. “I’m gonna go. I’ll text you during the week maybe,” He hesitates, nervously. “But you can, erm, you can call me any time – if you want to. And I’ll pick you up at 7 on Friday?”

“Sounds good to me,” You say as he grabs his belongings, noticeably leaving the spare key on the kitchen counter top. You follow him out into the hall, and he opens the front door, before he steps out into the cold, you stop him. “Hey, Del,” you say to get his attention, reaching out for his wrist to pull him back and into a gentle hug. The week of not seeing him and being in his arms making you ache for his touch. When his hands settle round your back and his face rests in your hair, he lets out a sigh, and the both of you relax for a moment. “We’re gonna make it, Del. I know it.” You whisper quietly into his ear, pulling away and brushing a faint kiss on to his cheek. It feels shy and new and reassures you that things will be okay eventually. He lets his hands fall and wishes you a final goodbye, baby before turning and disappearing into the dark of the night.

  You next hear from him two days later through a text message. No hello, how are you just a picture of some paint swatches and the words ‘which of these do you prefer? I’m not good at this’. You might have decided to go back to square one, but he was certainly texting you like you’d been friends for years, which technically you had.

              Me: Are you redecorating?? Which room? My answer definitely depends on the room.

              Del: Whole house. So I’m gonna need a LOT of advice.

              Del: Do you wanna just come over to help?

              Del: I’m sorry that might be too far. It’s okay if you don’t want to.

Across town he sits in his living room, surrounded by paint samples and colour swatches, nerves coursing through his veins, eagerly awaiting your reply. At home, you type a reply, excitement spurring you on.

              Me: No, that’s okay. I’d love to come over. See you in twenty? X

Hitting send, you head off around the house to grab your belongings; car keys, mint gum, jacket from the stairs. You drive the roads to his house without thinking, mind knowing exactly when to turn from completing the journey so many times in the past. He welcomes you at the door, taking your coat and ushering you into the living room, decorating books sprawled out on the floor, small swatches of paint already drying on the walls.

“So, erm. Dare I ask what’s brought this on?” You ask humorously as you slowly make your way around the room looking at his work so far.

“I guess I just wanted a fresh start you know. I don’t want to move because I love this house, but I feel that it’s just a bit dead. Like it could use a bit of life breathing into it.” He replies, joining you on the floor to look over colour samples. A thought forms in the back of your mind that maybe he’s doing this for you. Maybe he’s erasing every trace of her in this house. Maybe he’s really serious about starting from square one. But then you mentally slap yourself for thinking that he’s changing the world for you, when you never asked him to; for thinking more of this than just a man repainting his house.

The two of you sit there on the floor for a while, mulling over colour samples and interior design magazines. Discussing which colour would look best in the kitchen and the dining room. He says he’s already settled on a light blue for the master bedroom, showing you a sample of the paint that he’d picked up at B&Q earlier. The sample being the exact colour of your favourite dress and flower. You smile at the idea of him painting your favourite shade of blue in his house – in his bedroom – and you let yourself dream of a future here, with him, for a minute.

Your conversation drifts from decorating to friends and work. You ask him how his recovery is going, confessing that you’ve still been worrying about him all week. He tells you that he’s still not able to play and that he’ll be attending tomorrow’s game as a fan once more. The idea of him sitting there alone in the stands, dying to be on the pitch, saddens you and before you can stop yourself, you’re letting yourself open up to him again.

“I could come with you? If you wanted, that is. I haven’t been to a Spurs game in ages.”

  He picks you up right on time, as promised. On the drive into the city you discuss the game, who he thinks will be playing, how he thinks it will go. He asks about your day at work and you tease him saying that your colleague appreciated the flowers he had sent her last week. Pulling into the car park, you open the car door to be hit with an unseasonably warm February evening. Feeling a little hot, you stop to tug off your jacket, forgetting about the shirt you picked out earlier that sits underneath. Turning back to grab your bag from inside the car, he notices the name emblazoned across your shoulders. His name. His old shirt, actually. Gifted to you after the first game of the season. When you realise what he’s seen a blush slowly creeps on to your cheek as he smirks at you.

You sit there in the stands together, cheering and yelling, both enthralled by the game. He throws his hands in the air in frustration when the ref blows his whistle for a foul, claiming that it wasn’t a foul at all. His passion for the game distracts you and you find yourself watching less of the game and more of him.

After the game ends, he takes you down to see the rest of the team, all the guys greeting you with hugs and hellos, some of them mentioning that its good to see you. Eric pulls you into a hug, dragging you off down the corridor away from the group.

“You know he’s really sorry, right?” He says lowly, trying not to be overhead by the crowd of people congregating down the corridor. “He should have explained sooner, he fucked up, but he’s been going crazy and he really loves you.”

“Eric,” You cut in, “I know. We’ve talked it all over, and its going to take us a while and a lot of work to get to where we want to be, where we should be. I know you’re his best friend, but you don’t have to plead his case for him.” You nod at him reassuringly.  He smiles back at you, his eyes still boring it to yours worryingly.

“Are you okay? He’s my best friend, and you’re his best friend, so I wanna look out for you,”

“I’m on the way to being okay,” You reply to his question, swinging an arm around his waist and walking back to the group with him.

  Dele drives you home, conversation sparse between songs coming through the radio. His company feeling comfortable the way it used to. He pulls into your driveway, tyres rattling over the gravel. Killing the engine, he turns to look at you.

“About Friday, I want it to be a surprise, but don’t dress too fancy, dress practical.” He says, looking you in the eyes seriously. You crack a smile at him, confused by his statement.

“Dress practical? What’s that supposed to mean?” You question, imagining a whole series of activities he could have planned for you.

“It’s a surprise!” He insists, “just wear like jeans and some trainers or something. I like you like that.”

And so you agree, laughing slightly at how ridiculous he is. “I’ll see you Friday,” you say sweetly, reaching over to kiss his cheek, as a way to reassure him that this is working; that you’re making progress together. He waits in the driveway till get in your house, turning around for one last wave before entering. A blush creeps onto your cheeks making you feel like a teenager again, cursing yourself for being so weak to his charm.

  Friday rolls around once more and you find yourself standing in front of your wardrobe, attempting to find an outfit that was suitable enough to meet his practical dress code. You settled for a classic ‘jeans and a nice top’ look with dark blue jeans and a white blouse, paired with white converse. Hair curled and make up natural, you head to the door when he rings the bell. He stands there in the doorway with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, dressed neat but casually. You invite him in, heading into the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase. He refuses to shed any clues as to where he’s taking you and its still unclear as he drives you into the city. He pulls into a parking garage off Brick Lane and together you walk down the street, still unaware of your destination. You stop in front of a mini golf club and you turn to look at him in disbelief.

“Seriously?” You ask, a little in shock that he would plan something like this; that he would remember something like this.

“First time we ever met, we snuck off from that fancy dinner and went to all night arcade. And you were gutted when we found out that the mini golf was shut.” He states, looking at you with a proud grin on his face. “I promised that I’d take you some other time and I never did.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.” You beam at him, “I’m going to be so happy when I completely wipe the floor with you. You do realise you’re about to get absolutely hammered, right?” You mock, heading through the door with him.

He leads you over to the counter where he collects two balls and clubs, ordering two beers to go along with it. Handing you a beer, the both of you cheers your glasses.

“To starting again,” He says, looking you in the eyes.

“To winning at mini golf,” You say, and he looks away as he laughs before taking a sip. “Oh! You broke eye contact, that’s seven years bad sex for you, mister!”

He looks at you in shock. “That’s not a thing,” he protests, but you adamantly insist that it is; that your German friends from university had taught you the tradition. He smirks at you, “Besides, I don’t think I’m going to be having any bad sex any time soon,”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re not going to be having any sex any time soon,” You retort, walking away from him towards the first hole. He feigns hurt as he follows.

The two of you take turns attempting each course. You perform a lot worse than you had expected, your competitive nature with yourself causing extreme disappointment. He misses the easiest of shots, racking up his points to be higher than yours. And when you finish, your score is 9 points lower than his, making you winner. You brag about the win over French fries and milkshakes, laughing at his defeat. His competitive nature fails to make a show, as he shows pride in your success, beaming at you as you lift the plastic trophy provided for you when you handed in your clubs.

The night drifts on and the dark sky calls you home. Your hand finds his over the console, the touch helping to mend the bridge between you, fingers laces together as he drives. He walks you to your door, asking if you want to go to the game with him in the morning. Instead of answering you reach up a lightly brush your lips over his, timidly, a little bit more of your heart open to him. He’s taken aback initially, allowing you to take the lead. Your hands wind our way around his neck, deepening the kiss. Shocks flow down your veins, only encouraging you further. It feels good be to back in his arms, connected once more. Your fingers weave their way into his hair in an attempt to pull him closer, not wanting to be apart from him anymore. Mind wandering, you forget everything that has happened last week, every shred of self-restraint you once had gone with the wind. With no intentions of stopping it, you open up further to him and he immediately pulls away. Shocked and hurt by the action, you pull back, unwinding your hands from his hair and brushing your hair out of your eyes. Despite it being your decision to take things slowly, his hesitation stings.

“Breakfast tomorrow at half nine before the game, I’ll pick you up.” He says, leaning down to kiss you softly again. It’s quick and leaves no time for you to attempt to pick things up again. You watch as he turns and heads back to his car, shaking your head as a you see him go to attempt to stop thoughts of him from running around your brain.

“God, that boy,” You whisper to yourself, stepping through the door. His charm and gravity pulling your closer back towards being his again with such ease. You could make him grovel all you liked but it wouldn’t take long for him to soon be in your arms again.

Let me know what you thought in my ask box or in the comments and what you wanna see happen next. I have an idea but suggestions are welcome x

[farmhandler]

In Your Veins - CH3

Rating: E

Relationship: Shiro/Sendak

Additional Tags: Werewolf AU, Mpreg

Chapter: 3/4 | WC 4.1K~

Read on AO3 | Read CH2

Chapter summary: On the next inhale, Shiro catches whiff of Sendak’s pervasive scent, and all hell breaks loose.

The room isn’t completely empty. However, most of Sendak’s things are missing, including the few items that Shiro gave him for scent-exchange purposes. The dust ring on the shelf is the only indication that the mug he gave Sendak was ever there. Like everything else, it's gone.

Shiro walks over and sits down on his bed, thinking about how Sendak insisted multiple times on giving him a set of his sheets so Shiro could build a nest with them. 

His fingers curl over his knees as he gazes at the evidence of Sendak’s disappearance—proof, finally, that he’s leaving. 

Was he going to tell me? 

He doesn’t want to know the answer as much as he’s desperate to hear it from the man himself.

“You should build out a nest here. With me,” Sendak had told him.

The corners of his eyes sting with a familiar burn. Shiro blinks rapidly and shakes his head, willing the heartbreak down. He breathes out slowly, the fingers over his knees trembling a little.

The threat of his rampant emotional state has been a constant battle for Shiro; he hasn’t let himself fall victim to his emotions since this whole thing started, but the moment that Sendak’s scent drifts up from the bedsheets, he breaks. 

He tried to resist, to rationalize Sendak’s disappearance, but as the days rolled on by, it got harder to deny that maybe when he told Shiro to stay, that meant he was going to leave. 

Shiro buries his face his hands, covering it to block out the sight of Sendak’s betrayal. He cries until he can hardly breathe, shoving his face into Sendak’s pillow like he can commit the scent to memory. 

His biggest regret is not getting Sendak’s number. It’s one of many, in fact. Scent in the city only takes him so far, and he always rationalized that if he put his number in his phone, was it really as casually as he was pretending? 

The answer is no, no it wasn’t. Because he might have been a little in love with Sendak, and he was hoping Sendak felt the same. 

Shiro cleans himself up in Sendak’s bathroom, trying and failing not to recall the way that he would hover over the sink like he is now with Sendak behind him; sometimes idly touching him, dragging his knuckles down the knobs of Shiro’s spine; or laying his hands on his hips, tugging him close, hair tickling the back of his neck.

Shiro locks the door on his way out. The air outside feels cooler than he remembers. He takes the steps two at a time, shivering from the chill. It feels as though whatever warmth had sustained him on his way to Sendak’s dissipates with each step that leads him away from the apartment and pulls him further from the place where Sendak and he made love time and time again. 

This sucks, Shiro thinks, holding up no resistance to the tears that slide down his cheeks. It doesn’t matter that there are people on the street; they’re all hurrying towards their destination, too consumed with their own lives and fighting against the cold to notice the man huddled next to a building, crying his eyes out.

“Shiro?” 

Shiro’s shoulders rise up to his hairline. It’s Pidge’s voice.

God, of course it would be Pidge. It couldn’t be Hunk, or Lance, or even Keith; no, it had to be Pidge.

“Pidge! What’s up?” he asks, feigning innocence while furtively wiping at his eyes. Acting like he hasn’t been crying himself silly for the past twenty minutes is going to be a challenge. “What are you doing here?” 

“Uh, getting some supplies at Best Buy. I needed some cables.” She rubs the back of her neck, her pad dangling from her fingers, all but forgotten when faced with a member of her pack clearly in distress. “Are you…okay, Shiro?” 

He can smell her concern, and if they were in a place where she could shift freely, she would curl around his body to offer what comfort she can.

“I’m okay,” Shiro croaks, and doesn’t know why he can’t manage even that. She frowns at him, and the tears threaten to spill over at the soft worry coloring her expression. “Really. I’m fine. I was just…out.” 

“By Sendak’s place,” she deadpans. 

“How do you know he lives here?” 

“I didn’t.” She grins. “Okay, I knew he lived around here, but I never bothered to figure out exactly where.” 

Shiro shrugs. Neither of them says anything for a moment, and she starts fiddling with her pad, turning it on and off.

“So, was he there?” 

“Nope.” His answer is curter than he’d like, but the realization is still fresh and stinging. “He’s gone. Or is currently going. Most of his stuff is moved out.”

“Oh.” 

The weight that the single word carries is more than Shiro can bear. He shrugs his shoulders and angles his body away, rubbing his hand across his throat. 

“I, uh. I should get back. I was on my way to get groceries since we’re out of milk. Again.”

Neither of them mentions that the nearest grocery store is a ten-minute walk from the pack house. Sendak’s apartment is across town.

“Lance does love milkshakes,” Pidge says, chuckling a little. “Want me to come with?”

“Nah, I’ve got it. Anything you want from the store?”

“Prenatal vitamins.” 

Shiro freezes.

“For you, dummy. Make sure you get some. We’re gonna need to start taking care of you now.” 

We, as in the pack instead of Sendak. Not that they wouldn’t be involved, but…

Pidge sighs at his silence and gives him a pat on the shoulder before she starts walking away, waving her fingers at him.

“Get those vitamins! And don’t forget your doctor’s appointment on Monday!” 

Shiro watches her leave, wishing he could fully appreciate the effort everyone is putting into helping him, but all he can think about is Sendak. 

After rubbing his eyes one final time, he walks to the nearest store and picks up whatever he can recall that they need. Then he goes home. 

Saturday, Shiro tries to take his mind off Sendak by hanging out with pack, and it helps. He’s nauseous the whole time, and his mood swings around occasionally, but it’s nice. Then that evening he spars with Keith, and then Hunk, although they’re a lot gentler than he’d like. He can tell they’re avoiding certain parts of his anatomy, and while he gets it, pretending that it’s not an issue sounds a lot more fun than continuing to worry. 

On Sunday he starts on his nest, beginning with the blanket that Sendak made him months ago. After the initial reveal that he’d kept it, Shiro would bring it over to his place periodically so Sendak could continue to rub his stink all over it. 

Looking back, it’s a wonder that anyone believed he wasn’t seeing Sendak when it was so obvious.

He shoves the blanket in the corner of the room and steps back, deciding where best to start. The bed, of course, would be best, but the way the light shines in his eyes in the morning makes him hesitate. 

A few hours later, and Keith walks in on Shiro moving most of his things to one side of the room. The bed has been haphazardly dragged to the center of the room, but it’s angled towards the far-right wall.

“Shiro,” Keith says, hesitantly, “what are you doing?” 

“I’m—” Shiro pauses to grunt as he moves a heavy stack of books, “moving my things around. Spring cleaning.” 

“Then why is Sendak’s blanket on your bed?” 

“Where else would I put it if I was going to move it?”

Keith doesn't say anything about the obvious way his blanket has been positioned, and instead his eyes scan the room, taking it in in a single glance.

“You’re nesting,” he realizes aloud. 

Shiro opens his mouth to deny it, then thinks better of it. 

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m trying to figure it out. Can you help me move this?” 

He gestures to his bed. Keith glances at it, then at Shiro, the tension in his jaw suggesting he’s a few seconds away from pulling Shiro out of the room, but then he marches over to the bed and starts pulling at it. 

Keith shoos him away when he tries to help. Sometimes Shiro forgets that despite Keith’s wiry figure, he’s just as strong as any of them. He has it moved in moments, and then he starts hauling the blankets that Shiro has piled in the corner on top of the bed until Shiro stops him.

“Wait! Put those…” Shiro taps his foot, arms crossed. “You know what, I’ll do that later.” He waves his hand at the messy side of the room. “Just leave them.” 

“Uh huh.” Keith’s eyes sparkle with mirth; he’s seen nesting. They all have. Shiro will likely move the sheets a dozen times before he’s satisfied with their placement. “Anything else?” 

It’s the way he says it, like it’s an honest question, and not a snarky demand, that makes Shiro appreciate having Keith as pack. All the things he says, and all the times he sticks up for Shiro—he really means it. 

“No,” Shiro says warmly, “thanks, Keith. You’re awesome.”

Keith’s cheeks flush, and he ducks his head. “You’re the awesome one, Shiro.”

“Am I awesome if I got pregnant from an alpha in another pack?” 

“Yep,” Keith says, without hesitation. “You’re making our pack bigger. Stronger. Sendak is a dicknugget and he doesn’t deserve you or your pups.”

A grin stretches across Shiro’s face at Keith’s words. “Did you just call Sendak a dicknugget?” 

Keith shrugs. “Lance came up with it. It’s kinda fitting.”

Shiro doesn’t want to agree. On one hand, Sendak is sweet: he was careful and thoughtful, he made him food many times, and on one memorable occasion bought him flowers. 

On the other, he left, and hasn’t come back. 

“Maybe,” Shiro says, and Keith grins, walking over to butt his head against his shoulder. 

“We’re piling up tonight. Lance’s idea. He thinks it’ll help you relax before your appointment.” 

“I am plenty relaxed,” Shiro defends. 

“You threw up three times this morning.”

“I was nauseous, Keith. With morning sickness.” 

“Two of those were after we mentioned Sendak. Admit it: you’re stressed out about this whole thing. And that’s normal! This is all new and scary, even with us to help you.” 

Shiro shrugs, pulling away from Keith to walk towards the doorway. Stressed would be putting it lightly. 

“I’m fine, Keith. But you know what would help me de-stress? Some fresh air. Come on.”

Keith follows behind and doesn’t press him anymore, which Shiro is grateful for. By the time they’re out in the open, he can feel himself relaxing. The air is freezing, but it feels good to take it in. 

Shiro stands there and breathes in a few times, hands on his hips, embracing the cool air before Keith inevitably insists that they turn back inside. Keith stands next to him, closer than Shiro feels is appropriately necessary, but he doesn’t blame him. He never does. 

They both gaze out at the forest surrounding their pack house. The chilly air burns in Shiro’s lungs, but there are birds in the distance, their calls echoing high above, proof that there's still so much life at this time of year. Some leaves to Shiro’s left rustle in the wind, caught in a swirling vortex before dispersing.

It’s peaceful. 

On the next inhale, Shiro catches whiff of Sendak’s pervasive scent, and all hell breaks loose. 

Keith is already a wolf the moment that Shiro realizes Sendak is at the edge of the forest, walking their way casually, like he hasn’t been missing for over a week with no way to contact him. 

“Keith!” Shiro shouts, but Keith is off like a shot, a blur headed straight for Sendak, who shifts the moment he realizes what Keith is doing. Pieces of fabric and some fur goes flying as they tumble. Keith’s a lot smaller than Sendak, but that isn’t stopping him, not even a little bit.

“Keith!” Shiro bellows. Neither of them listens. Shiro swears and sprints towards them, his thoughts slow, like his brain hasn’t quite caught up on what’s happening. 

“Keith! Keith!”

Sendak lifts his head for a brief moment, zeroing in on Shiro, and it’s like being thrown back in time. All Shiro wants to do is shift and curl up against Sendak’s side. He wants to invite him into his nest and show him his progress and make it smell like the two of them. He wants to kiss him until he can’t breathe.

The distraction gives Keith the needed opening to bite at his throat. Sendak howls, and then they’re back at it. 

“Keith! Sendak! Fuck, they're not listening,” Shiro breathes. 

He has no idea how he’d supposed to stop the two of them from fighting before the rest of the pack detects Sendak’s scent. He could jump in, but even if they stopped in time, there’s no telling what kind of injury he might incur. 

Is this really happening right now? he thinks, swiping his hand down his face. He watches as Keith gets a claw in Sendak’s side, raking it down his heavy flank and drawing the scent of blood. They’re going to kill each other. 

Calling Allura would make the most sense, but there’s no telling she wouldn’t join Keith. She hasn’t been feeling generous with her opinion of Sendak either. Shiro’s no stranger to helplessness as of late, but it hurts to see Keith doing exactly what Shiro doesn’t want, ignoring his wishes in the name of protecting Shiro. 

And then there’s Sendak. 

I don’t know what to do.

It’s overwhelming, seeing him after what feels like such a long time. Keith attacked him before he could even get a good look at his face. 

“Please, just stop,” he says, weakly, because he’s three seconds from bursting into tears, and his voice lost to the wind burning his dry throat and the loud snarling from the two wolves. “Stop.”

Shiro is tired of crying. He’s tired all the time, just plain exhausted in a way he hasn’t felt since before he was a wolf. He manages not to lose it completely, but his lip trembles and he has to swallow against a lump that won’t go down. After letting out a rough huff of air, he lifts his head, blinking up at the sky. 

“God, I hate you both. You stupid, goddamn werewolves, you’re going to—” He lets out a sound of pure frustration and rage, swiping at his eyes to ward away his wayward emotions. “Fuck. Fuck.”

He doesn’t realize the growling has stopped and the air has lost the sounds of their fighting until someone grabs his hand. Shiro’s head whips around, a scowl quickly forming on his face once he realizes who’s standing in front of him. 

“Shiro—” Sendak begins. 

“Don’t touch me,” Shiro snaps, yanking his hands out of Sendak’s. Or at least he tries to. Sendak doesn’t let him go, but instead takes a step closer to him, looking for the world like he’s the one that’s been missing out. There’s blood on his chin and his neck, but it’s already healing. “You—let me go—you left.”

“I intended to come back,” Sendak explains. Though calling it an explanation is generous. 

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?! You didn’t say a word to me about it! You didn’t call, you didn’t text—” 

“I did not have your number!” 

“—you could have come back at any point, but you didn’t—" That’s where Shiro nearly dissolves into tears again, barely holding them back, “—you didn’t even do that. It’s been almost two weeks, Sendak! Now let me go.”

“I was preoccupied with my plans. Time was short. Shiro, please—”

“He said let him go!” Keith growls, taking a threatening step towards them. Both of them are naked, and the scene is so ludicrous that Shiro would laugh if he wasn’t so upset.

Sendak looks very much like he’d rather do anything but listen to them, but he releases Shiro’s hands, stepping back to reach for his tattered jeans. Shiro can hear the rest of the pack coming their way and doesn’t bother to look behind him.

“I was returning to you,” Sendak says. “I said to you…” His chest expands on a quiet inhale, his voice purposefully low and gentle. “I thought it was obvious when I told you to stay that I would return.”

“No!” Shiro all but shouts, vision blurring. “It wasn’t obvious at all! You were so happy to get away from me that you barely said goodbye!”

Sendak pauses, considering what Shiro said. 

“I did not realize—I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?  Sendak, I know you’re not big on communication, but you can’t just leave me like that with no idea where you were or what you were doing. I even went to your apartment and you were—” 

Shiro stops with his hand over his eyes, trying desperately not to cry. When he speaks, he does so slowly and deliberately. 

“You weren’t there. All yours and my things were moved. What was I supposed to think?”

“Shiro.”

Shiro won’t look at him, even when he feels Sendak’s arms wrap around his waist. He remains stiff and unmoving, ignoring every signal his body is sending out, telling him to relax into the embrace of his alpha. 

“I thought you knew,” Sendak insists. “I thought I had made it obvious that I was interested in doing this with you. And your pack,” he adds, after a moment. 

Shiro twists in his grip, looking back at the rest of his pack. They’re a dozen feet away, watching the proceedings from a respectful distance. They all look pissed. 

“Preparations took longer than I expected," Sendak continues. "The moving truck went to the wrong house.” 

“Moving truck?” 

“I should have contacted you,” Sendak says, thick with regret. “I did not realize, caught up in my own excitement. These days I am not often around people, and you are the first that has captured my heart like this. I apologize, Shiro.”

Shiro is trying to process what Sendak said, and so far his mind is just…blank. 

“Moving truck?” he repeats, and like magic he hears the sound of an engine. When he turns to look, a moving truck appears around the bend on the road leading to their house. 

It all starts clicking into place. 

When Sendak said stay, and wait, he meant wait for me.

“You were planning on joining our pack all along?” he asks.

“Yes. But I needed to commit. I did not want to have any reason to leave when you needed my support. I must have been too…eager to get started with preparations that I neglected to explain myself.” 

Shiro stares at Sendak’s chest, finally allowing the hope that he had refused to let live flow up into his chest. 

“So, you’re happy?” Shiro asks tentatively, lifting his hand and placing it over Sendak's right pec. “About the pups?” 

The look of pleasure and satisfaction on Sendak’s face at the mention is indication enough. 

“Yes," he rumbles. "I should have made it clear then, when your alpha announced you were carrying our litter.” 

“You absolutely should have, yes.”

“I should have,” Sendak agree, taking a step closer and pulling Shiro into his embrace. He sniffs at his jaw, the press of his lips hot against Shiro’s icy skin. “Do you understand what you’ve changed in me, Shiro? I was never interested in a pack, and I never considered having pups of my own. But with you, I would like to try.” 

“Oh,” Shiro says. It’s not nearly enough of a response to what Sendak has revealed, but he’s all out of processing power.  “I…okay. We’ll talk to Allura. We can figure it out. We will.” 

Shiro feels numb as they walk to where the pack is waiting. Keith is dressed in his ratty jeans and a ripped t-shirt, waiting beside Lance. They stand like guardians of a sanctuary, and their positions don’t relax, even as Sendak begins to explain essentially what he told Shiro in condensed form.

They don’t go easy on him. Lance spends five whole minutes telling him how stupid he is for not being clear with his intentions and his feelings, and the rest chime in when necessary, including Allura, who looks half a second from wolfing out on him.

Shiro watches it all from the sidelines, feeling a mixture of things. 

Mostly, he’s feeling…happy. 

It’s going to take time to get to know Sendak, really know him, and for all he knows, this could end up being a huge mistake, but it feels amazing to know that Sendak cares and he wants to try this with him. 

“You are absolutely ridiculous, you know that?” Allura says, directing her words at Sendak. She lifts a box from the ground, the muscles in her thighs flexing as she brings it up into her arms. “You did not tell us anything about the truck that was coming today. What if we were gone?”

Sendak says nothing; he’s heard it enough times, and he’s busy nuzzling up to Shiro. The two are sitting by the door, waiting for Allura and Pidge to grab the last few boxes. Sendak had been scenting Shiro constantly, running his hands up and down various parts of his body, while Shiro sits back and enjoys the attention, red-faced though he may be.

“Do you know how many?” Sendak asks in a quiet murmur. 

Shiro shakes his head. “I have an appointment tomorrow. Rosie—the doctor that saw me at the cabin—thought it was a pretty big litter.” 

Sendak rumbles something in his throat, planting his hands flat over Shiro’s belly. It looks more distended when he’s sitting, the slight swell hard under Sendak’s hands. 

Once Sendak is moved in, the pack has to decide on what exactly to do with him. Even as an alpha, normally Allura would have him submit to her, but when faced with truly initiating him she doesn’t feel as keen. 

They decided to wait, allowing his scent to intermingle naturally over time, and see about initiating him then. 

In Shiro’s room, Sendak takes naturally to mean something entirely different. 

“Sendak,” Shiro breathes, leaning his head back into Sendak’s shoulder. His thigh twitches; he has it hooked over the crook of his arm so Sendak can angle his cock better, sliding into Shiro with greater ease. “Fuck. Missed your cock.” 

“Two weeks is far too long to go without having you.”

Shiro’s chuckle fades into a moan as Sendak rocks his hips, burying his cock all the way inside him. His knot isn’t inflated yet, but the extra girth is nice. 

Shiro lays his head against his arm, breathing through the initial push. Sendak is molten hot against his back, and he brings Shiro even closer, splaying his hand across his belly to feel at the soft swell. Shiro tilts his head back, reaching up and curling his arm around Sendak’s head. 

“Touch me, please.”  

Sendak fists his cock for a few moments, enjoying the way Shiro squirms and whines, but then his hand drifts over to his nipples. 

Shiro shudders when Sendak’s twists his nipple in between his fingers, timing it with each powerful thrust. It only takes a few minutes of Sendak kissing the soft skin at the base of his throat and the hands running up and down his stomach, alternating between tugging at his nipples and his cock, for Shiro to start riding the edge. 

“Knot me,” he gasps, twisting in Sendak’s grasp so he can move freely. Sendak screams alpha, alpha, all the time and Shiro just wants to follow the instincts urging him to present. 

Once he’s in position, Sendak’s thighs bracket his, and a moment later he slides back in, short thrusts bringing his knot right up to Shiro’s prostate. 

Shiro squeezes his eyes shut and enjoys the sensation, digging his nails into the sheets. Ever since he learned he was pregnant, the shift has been harder to ignore. Like now, when all he wants to do is shift so he can feel Sendak the way it feels best. 

He comes when Sendak knots him, keening as quietly as he can manage in a house full of wolves. Sendak follows shortly after, but unlike Shiro, he makes no attempt to quiet his deep groans of satisfaction. Shiro would feel embarrassed if he wasn’t so happy. 

They lie there for a while after the knot goes down, curled up around one another. Sendak’s hands won’t stop drifting towards his belly, where their pups are growing.

“You’re gonna be a dad,” Shiro says quietly. He hands find Sendak’s, and he squeezes. “And by the way, did I tell you that I have to give birth as a wolf?”

[unfortunately-lovestruck]

Colors

This is a cute fluff for Diego and MC requested by @seducemeotome-trash. Thank you for your request, I had so much fun writing it!

Note: This is post vampire transformation for MC, just to clarify the timing.

As always, enjoy!

Colors

“Do you want creme or white for the color scheme?” Diego asked MC.

“There’s a difference?” she blinked.

He laughed, the two color samples still in his hand. MC knew as a vampire one didn’t need any sleep, but she was exhausted enough to do so. Planning a wedding in general was supposed to be difficult, but planning a big wedding was a whole nother monster in itself.

“Oh God, don’t tell me ‘eggshell’ is another shade that’s completely different from the two,” she groaned.

“Um,” Diego cleared his throat, putting back another sample.

“Fucking-” MC threw her hands up, “Is ‘cloud’ different from ‘white’?”

“In some stores, yeah,” he smiled, MC sighing in response. “…Hey, maybe we should save this for tomorrow,” he told her. “This seems nerve-wracking for you.”

“A bit,” she admitted, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he rubbed her arm gently, “This is stressing you out. Besides, the store’s about to close anyway.”

“Uhh- oh it is,” she realized. Half the lights were dimmed and the last customers were leaving.

“Yeah, we can just keep looking tomorrow,” Diego smiled, “We have all the time we need.”

She smiled back, letting him kiss her temple. They left the store before an employee could urge (kick) them out, and continued their conversation in MC’s truck. The radio played softly in between them, a lulled, gentle song with drawn out vocals and steady guitar playing in the back.

“I still don’t see the difference between eggshell and white,” MC lamented, “Eggs are white.”

“Some aren’t,” Diego reminded.

“Okay, but why? Why are some eggs white while others are brown?”

“MC, out of all the subject matters I’ve become well-versed in over the last several centuries, egg anatomy and coloring is not one of them,” he blinked.

“Fair,” she commended, turning the steering wheel, “But next thing I know, you’re gonna be telling me there are 500 different shades of red.”

“Oh God,” he sighed, “Don’t even get me started on crimson and scarlet.”

“Jesus Christ,” MC lamented.

Diego only laughed, the sound almost harmonious with the music from the radio.

“MC, regardless of what color everything is,” he spoke past a grin, “It’ll be the same event, so we probably shouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“Diego, that’s literally exactly what I said in the store,” she reminded.

“Perish the thought,” he feigned offense.

MC snorted, amused at the pompous sound he mimicked.

“Did you actually used to speak like that in like the 1800’s?” she asked then, curious.

“Everybody did,” he shrugged, “Well, in England anyway. It sounds ridiculous and dramatic now, but that was the norm. That is, unless you were someone with a Cockney accent, but that’s another story.”

“I mean I get that it was the norm,” she nodded, “But I don’t know, it’s just really funny to think of you shouting random Shakespearean sentences at someone.”

“Shakespearean was 16th century-”

“Yeah, I know,” she acknowledged, “But the way it sounds… It’s like the stuffy British accent beefed up times ten.”

Now Diego snorted, highly amused at the simile.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been tempted to call Antonio an egg at least once,” she snickered.

‘What, you egg? [He stabs him]’ was the only quote from Macbeth MC remembered from high school, and as far as she was concerned, she didn’t need to remember anything else.

“Who says I haven’t?” he asked, MC breaking out into cackles at the thought of him in a poofy-sleeved vest angrily gesturing to the other vampire.

“What else have you called him?” she asked.

“Nothing PG, I can tell you that,” he admitted.

“Oh my God,” MC suddenly widened her eyes.

“What?”

“I just imagined you yelling ‘Stand ho!’ at him,” she began laughing again.

“My God, it’s ‘standho’, not ‘stand ho’. You are not telling a hoe to stand,” he emphasized, which only made MC start wheezing.

“So you don’t deny thinking of him as a hoe?” she asked, words strangled with laughter.

“I don’t deny thinking of him as a lot of things,” Diego continued, “Qué gilipolla…”

MC was dying, but to her credit, he was laughing along with her, even if it was nowhere near as hard. Finally, they settled down, Diego’s house approaching in the distance as they drove towards it.

“How did we go from color shades for the wedding to the verbal particularities of ‘standho’?” Diego suddenly asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” MC admitted, opening the truck door to get out.

“Well, at least it wasn’t at a Stop-n-Go this time,” he chuckled.

“You laugh as if you weren’t blushing like a 5th grader the last time we were there,” she raised her brows, shutting the car door again.

“Look, you can’t just randomly ask if your blood tastes good like that,” he defended himself, the blush MC mentioned starting to return to his cheeks.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” she told him.

“Alright then, how does my blood taste?” he asked, features completely neutral now.

“I-” she froze, blinking. “You… fuck.”

“See?” he smirked.

“Point taken,” she conceded.

Diego laughed as they headed inside, victorious in their banter. They split once they were in the house, MC taking a quick shower and her fiance following right after. 

It was still strange having no need for food nor pajamas when she got home. However, MC decided to dress in them anyway, more for routine and comfortability than anything else. Instead of going for one of her own shirts though, she eyed Diego’s closet, smiling as she cheekily took one of his own and put it on while he finished his shower.

“MC, I was thinking about-Oh….” he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her.

“Hey Diego,” she greeted, acting as if nothing was different. “So, how was your shower?”

“It…” he seemed to be struggling for words, “It… had water.”

MC snorted, laughing at the adorable slack-jawed expression he had. 

Five hundred years of knowledge and experience, a PHD, and likely thousands of books read in his time, and yet, he said that when all she did was put on one of his shirts.

“Oh my God, Diego,” she smiled, barely containing more laughter. “Mr. Suave giving the smoothest pick-up lines over here.”

He was blushing again, cheeks furiously red. Regardless, he sat next to her on the mattress, lying back and seemingly trying very hard not to look at her, eyes averting when she angled her body to face him.

“I don’t understand why you do this to me,” he lamented.

“Because your reaction is amazing,” she poked his side teasingly, “‘It had water’? That’s going down as one of your official quotes.”

Diego sighed… “The worst part is I can’t even get back at you,” he said.

“I mean, you can,” she refrained from giggling.

“MC, I am not putting on one of your shirts,” he declared, “My dignity has already taken enough damage tonight alone.”

MC wheezed again, stomach actually starting to hurt from all the laughing she’d been doing. Red was still tinting Diego’s cheeks, but it had faded a bit, and now he was looking at her, attention undivided and features set into an unreadable expression.

It took MC a bit to notice, but when his eyes flicked away as soon as she tried to meet them, she grew worried.

“Diego?” she asked, “Diego, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he reassured.

She wasn’t convinced.

“I was just teasing you know,” she told him.

“No, it’s not that,” he shook his head, “It’s nothing, really.”

MC stared at him for a second, then sighed. She scooted closer, laying her cheek on his shoulder before placing a hand on his arm.

“Diego, you’re stuck with me forever. Literally, forever,” she reminded. “If something’s bothering you, you should probably tell me.”

“It…” he hesitated, “It’s not necessarily bothering me I would say.”

MC’s brows furrowed. “Then what’s going on?”

“I just…” he exhaled, clearly trying to phrase his explanation right. “I don’t know. I see you like this, in my bed, wearing my shirt, looking happy to see me, and… I suppose it’s just surreal for me.”

“Diego…” she started, knowing this was his self-deprecation again.

“And I’m not telling you that to say I don’t deserve it,” he disclaimed, actually surprising her. “It’s more so… I’m not sure. I never really expected to marry I suppose. Even when I was human, nothing worked with Eva, and after I turned, I hated myself too much to even consider the prospect of looking for someone else.”

He turned to her again now, expression hesitant, soft even. There was an air of gratefulness around him, a quiet sort of peace that emanated into the night’s quiet.

“For five-hundred years, I never thought there would be someone who could accept me enough to be betrothed to me. Someone who would want to spend eternity by my side. And now, I’m sitting next to you, laughing and joking, only weeks away from having you be my wife,” he continued slowly, as if still trying to fully absorb that the words he spoke were true. “It’s just hard to believe is all.”

MC’s heart swelled with warmth.

He was so sweet it was actually unrealistic. He thought himself a villain still trying to repent for his sins, all while he healed people for a living, only accepted blood from ethical sources, and said things like this as if they were casual statements and not storybook declarations of love.

MC couldn’t just respond with something short and curt. Something that earnest and heartfelt needed something of equal quality.

“Diego… Look, I never thought I would get married either,” she admitted. “I didn’t think I would find anyone right for me, just like you. I was too preoccupied with my own life, and when we first met, us getting married later on would have honestly seemed like insane.”

Diego scoffed, amused. “I can’t say I would have disagreed.”

“Exactly. But the fact is, we have each other now, and I couldn’t be happier. Marriage always seemed too bland for me. You know, to settle down, live the domestic life, have kids. It was too routine and expected. But I know, without a single doubt in my mind, that agreeing to marry you is the best decision I’ve ever made. And nothing will change that. Not even eternity.”

She had to admit, it was pretty up there on the cheesiness scale, but it was the truth. Besides, it did have the effect she’d been aiming for. Diego’s side of the emotional bond practically swelled with pure adoration, a small smile curving his lips before he took her hand and kissed it.

“Thank you, MC,” he told her, pulling her closer as he settled further into the bed.

“For the speech?” she asked.

“For everything,” he clarified, “Accepting me, loving me, agreeing to be with me. I couldn’t have asked for anything better in my life.”

“Neither could I,” she kissed his cheek.

Silence blanketed them then, warm and relaxing, filling the space perfectly.

However, MC still decided to break it when she said, “Also, eggshell is still white.”

“Oh my God,” Diego spoke, deteriorating into quiet laughs, “You’re not going to change your mind for all eternity, are you?”

“Nope,” she told him, “And you’ll just have to deal with that.”

“I think I’ll manage,” he smiled, kissing her forehead. “I’ve dealt with worse in my life.”

And so MC stayed by his side, smiling and content, more than ready for years, decades, centuries of this to come.

tags: @its-dr-fuego @weird-aunt-writing @tomsatos

[writing-wren]

Sa-Vrepit Hor

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Genre: Mostly fluff this time Word Count: 3211 Summary: Once a year the Galra celebrate. Team Voltron joins in. [Part 6 of the Mother Hens of Marmora ‘verse. Read all parts on Ao3]

Sooo I can't exactly remember right now who of you guys (because I think it's more than one by now) wanted the Galra-Christmas and Keith eating Galra food (and more things I won't say here because it might spoil your fun) but here you go~

Many thanks to @ midoritenchi90 who helped me with making up a Galra celebration and as always to @paladin-pile for the au in general!

Enjoy~

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

Keith’s pack is behaving weird. It’s nothing major, just little things -Thace especially seems more… energetic, as if he was waiting for or looking forward to something. The others are behaving slightly less odd but still a bit off, exchanging looks, and Keith isn’t sure but he thinks they’re… preparing for something, maybe. When he asks, Ulaz hums.

“Sa-Vrepit Hor,” he explains. “The day to honor the dead. You couldn’t know about it, since you haven’t been raised Galra; it’s a very important holiday for us. The most important one, to be more precise.”

Keith frowns a little. “The day to honor the dead?” he asks. “Isn’t that… depressing?”

Kolivan shakes his head. “To us, it is not. To remember and honor the dead is something we take pride in. It’s something we celebrate, nothing to be mournful about.”

“We believe that the ones who fight, live and die honorably take their place among the stars,” Antok adds. “They’re not gone, but watching over us. So once a year we celebrate. It’s the one day where all fights are in abeyance; not even the empire will dare to attack us and breach that holy peace.”

Thace grins. “The best thing is the food, honestly,” he says. “We find a nice place to sit and eat together -not food rations but real, traditional food- and look at the stars as we remember and honor the dead; that’s why some call it The Stargazing, too.”

Keith hums. “So that’s why you’ve all been behaving so weird?”

Thace growls playfully and ruffles his hair. “We’re not weird. Just excited. It’s only once a year, you know?”

As the day approaches, the Galra get busier with the preparations. Thace and Ulaz go shopping for ingredients, returning with colorful but unfamiliar fruits and a lot of meat. Antok, when Keith asks him, sits down with him in the common room and tells him more about the whole thing, and Galra culture in general. Which quickly gets Pidge’s attention and she joins them, curious as ever, Hunk following soon after. Lance sees all of them and sits down quietly at first, but then starts to ask questions, fascinated at the idea of “Galra culture”. Seeing his human friends and a member of his pack like this gives Keith a kind of contentment he hasn’t even thought of before, even though some of Lance’s questions are obnoxious. Antok answers them anyway, with the patience of a saint -or maybe a father.

“Hey,” the blue paladin asks at some point. “Is that Sa-Something thing only for Galra or can, y’know, humans do it too?”

Antok hums at that. “Sa-Vrepit Hor,” he corrects. “And it’s a Galra tradition, but seeing as we’re all living here together, maybe you could join us… I’ll talk to Kolivan about it.”

Lance cheers as if that was a definite yes and grins at Hunk. “We get a holiday!” He does a little dance in his seat and Hunk beams. “I’ll cook something special, too, then! And we can decorate! It’s gonna be like Christmas!”

At which they have to explain to a somewhat confused Antok what “a Christmas” is, and a Christmas tree and how it’s actually not like Sa-Vrepit Hor at all, since there’s presents, too, and they kinda celebrate the birth of baby Jesus and not the actual people that died. Keith is not sure if they get the message across.

That evening, during pack time, Antok talks to Kolivan about the whole thing. Keith doesn’t look up from the book he’s been reading, but he listens anyway, a little hopeful, having come to like the thought of celebrating with not only his pack but the rest of the team as well.

“It might be a good idea,” Kolivan hums. “We should further our bond to the paladins and the princess, since they mean a lot to Keith… That way if we ever need to leave again-“ There’s a quiet, disapproving sound from Keith at that, which Kolivan meets with a reassuring rumble, we’re not intending to, youngling, before he continues as if nothing happened, “it might be easier on him.”

“Even though we won’t do that,” Antok clarifies. “We’re all in agreement about not leaving any pack member behind on their own anymore.”

“Of course,” Ulaz chimes in. “But what if it becomes necessary? This is war after all… None of us likes the idea, but at a time of need our personal preferences might have to come second to the fate and freedom of the entire universe.”

Keith honestly hopes that will never happen, but he knows it might, and he’s mature enough to deal with it should it come to that, and Antok lets it be, knowing Ulaz is right.  

Still, the decision stands to invite the rest of team Voltron and Keith falls asleep that night with his head on Antok’s chest and all of them touching each of the others in some small way somehow as always, feeling some kind of anticipation for the first time. He hasn’t ever celebrated Christmas or any other holiday, but this might be fun…

The day approaches with Lance and Pidge going overboard decorating the castle. Heaven knows where they’ve found all those garlands and tinsel (Keith strongly suspects Coran has something to do with it) but it keeps them occupied. Antok is following them; Keith thinks he’s a little concerned they might get hurt, seeing all the stunts they pull to get up the decorations and that maybe he’s a little amused to see their eagerness, too. Hunk and Thace are in the kitchen, preparing the food for the evening, and Shiro, Kolivan, Allura and Coran are having a last strategy meeting. This leaves Keith with Ulaz. Not that he had anything against his company, he just thinks he should be doing… something. Just what that would be, he has no idea.

Ulaz hums. “What’s bothering you, youngling?” he asks.

“Nothing, just… I feel like I’m lazing around when everybody else has a job, y’know?” He sighs. “That’s not what I usually do… I just don’t really know what needs to be done, either. I’ve never celebrated anything… and everybody else is busy.”

“You have never celebrated? Not even… Christ-Mess?” Antok has told them about it, what little he understood.

Keith grins. “Christmas,” he corrects. “And no, not really. I moved so often when I was a kid, I guess nobody ever really thought about it. And then I didn’t want to celebrate anything either, especially when I was on my own. I mean, for what reason?”

The Galra sighs. “I see…” he says. “Well, you have people to celebrate with now, and it seems they have it all under control. Which is why we get to laze around like this.” A hum. “Though, if you want to do something, we could always spar.”

And that’s how Keith ends up in a very rare training duel with the Galra doctor. When he reaches for his bayard, though, Ulaz shakes his head. “We’ll take our blades, youngling. You need to get used to it sometime…” So Keith takes out his knife and lets it grow until it’s the saber he’s familiar with by now, earning an approving nod from Ulaz.

“A good form,” he praises, drawing his own blade.

After that there’s not much more praise. Not because Keith was doing especially badly, but because there’s not many words at all. Ulaz is as good a fighter as the other blades, even though he’s their doctor, too. He would probably lose in a direct fight with Kolivan or Antok, but he can hold his own just fine against others. He might lack his leaders’ size and strength, but he’s more agile, faster, and he makes use of his knowledge of anatomy to aim for the points that are weak, easily broken or hurt. Of course he doesn’t try to hurt Keith, it rather feels like he’s playing with him, but Keith has seen him fight before. This is for training, and at least for Keith it’s difficult enough to be just that bit more of a challenge that he has to go to his limits.

Ulaz ends it once he deems it enough, always concerned for Keith’s health. They both go to take a shower and afterwards visit Hunk and Thace in the kitchen in the hopes of maybe getting their hands on something small to eat. Thace hums and hands Keith one of the weird fruits; it’s about as big as an orange but light blue.

“Try this,” he says. “We call it You’ll like it, trust me.”

By this time Keith has eaten green space goo, drunk… whatever that purple stuff was Coran called Nunvil and a lot more weird things, so a light blue orange really isn’t that disgusting or even noticeable. He takes a bite and hums. This is good. Better than many other things he’s eaten, and not only in space but back on earth as well. It’s kinda juicy, and tastes like a combination of fruits Keith can’t exactly make out. His surprised half-hum-half-purr gets him a grin from Thace.

“Good, huh?” he asks and Keith nods. The Galra throws him a second one from where he’s standing and Keith catches it, too focused on savoring it to notice Ulaz’s calculating look.

Hunk and Thace rope them in for minor kitchen jobs after that, something Keith is more than okay with, considering that he wanted to help somehow anyway. The fruits (and some more little tidbits Thace slips him from time to time) tide him over most of the rest of the day. By the time they land on an unoccupied planet that reminds Keith of Arus and the beginning of their journey there’s little left to be done for him and Ulaz in the kitchen so they go to help the others with setting up outside.

The other Galra have taken the lead and instruct them to put several blankets, courtesy of Coran, on the ground. One or two pillows that Keith is pretty sure come from the nest find their way onto the blankets, too, though nobody seems to know who put them there. They just sit there and talk quietly for a while, paladins, Alteans and Galra alike and Keith watches from his place between Antok and Shiro and feels a new kind of warmth at all of them getting along so well.

Pidge and Lance are bombarding Ulaz with questions, well, mostly Pidge. Shiro and Allura are talking to Kolivan, Coran chiming in every now and then and Thace and Hunk are still in the kitchen. Antok, Keith realizes, is the only one who isn’t really participating at all. He’s looking up at the stars with a longing the young paladin has rarely seen. At some point he raises his glass to the sky in a subtle gesture the others don’t even notice and murmurs something that sounds like “Da Sa-Vrepit hor, Arah, Dek, Ila.” He looks lonely so Keith scoots a little closer and leans against his shoulder with a questioning little sound in the back of his throat. Antok doesn’t look at him but puts an arm around his shoulders in acknowledgement of his presence and squeezes a little, rumbling quietly in return. They’re silent for a while.

Then, “Arah was my wife. Her fur was the most wonderful shade of violet and she was always up to some mischief. Dek was our son; he was quiet but always kind. Ila was our daughter. She was fighting before she could even walk properly… Da Sa-Vrepit hor; today I honour you.”  

At this sad explanation Keith whines for him and his loss, not caring for once if the sound his heard by the other paladins, Coran or Allura. If they do they don’t react to it. Antok smiles at him, if a little sadly, and starts carding a hand through his hair. “Do not worry, youngling. Their lives were short, too short, but honest and good and I’m sure they have taken their place among the stars. I shall join them once my time has come.”

Keith doesn’t like this idea and he lets him know with a little growl. “We’re not talking about you joining them for a long time,” he emphasizes for good measure and Antok bows his head a little.

“Of course not, youngling.”

“Good.”

Lance chooses that moment to sit down directly opposite of them, bored by all that scientific lingo Pidge and Ulaz are throwing around by now. Keith tenses imperceptibly, not sure if his fellow paladin is going to make fun of him (or rather, the position he’s in right now), but Lance just grins at them and does the unexpected.

“Maaan that looks so damn comfy… Hey Antok, d’you think us others could get some Galra cuddles, too?”

Before the Galra can answer, Keith lets out a growl. The meaning is clear, at least to every Galra, but Lance is a human so he says it just in case he didn’t understand, because this is where he draws the line. “No way. That’s a Galra thing.”

Antok’s rumble sounds like silent laughter at their antics. “Sorry, paladin, you heard the k-“ he stops mid-sentence and says “Keith,” instead but the half-Galra in question is pretty sure he was about to say kit. Lance just pouts and whines about how it’s not fair that only Keith should get awesome cuddles, but it doesn’t carry any malicious intent or even real jealousy. This is just Lance bickering, and Keith can keep up with that even with Antok’s somewhat distracting hand in his hair.

They go back and forth for a while, as they do so often these days, Antok listening with an amused expression.

“That’s so unfair,” Lance complains, mock-hurt. “You have a pack and are, like, super close to them, and what about us? I thought we were friends, man. We’re basically family, too!”

Keith hums. “Well, you’re not pack, and you can’t be because you’re not Galra.” Which is the truth, but for a second there’s real hurt in Lance’s eyes Keith just rolls his eyes at. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? You guys are a pride.”

Lance thinks about that for a moment, blinking as if he’d never thought it before -which he probably hasn’t, but Keith has. “Wait, but you’re a part of it, right?” his fellow paladin asks.

“Sure I am. I’m piloting one of those lions, am I not?”

Lance opens his mouth to reply something to that, but right then Hunk and Thace come outside, carrying bowls, plates and glasses and everybody hurries to help with the rest so they can all sit and eat together. Keith ends up between Antok and Shiro again, everybody helping themselves to the food when Ulaz thrusts a full plate into his hands. Keith raises an eyebrow; he’s used to the Galra fussing over him but he hasn’t gone that far before.

“Trust me,” Ulaz says. “I have a theory and if it’s true you will like this even more than the fruits from before…”

So, because Keith trusts him and because all he wanted was some food anyway, he shrugs and starts eating. The first bite makes him freeze. The second makes him look up at Ulaz with wide eyes.

“What is that?” he asks. He’s never eaten something this good before.

“Traditional Galra food,” the other replies with a quiet sigh. “I guess I was right then…”

“Right with what?” Pidge asks, having noticed the little scene.

“Galra are very sensitive to some things,” Ulaz explains. “Our senses are better than yours, for one; with that comes seeing, hearing, smelling but also touching -as you might’ve noticed, we’re very tactile with each other- and of course, our sense of taste. There is just something to the foods from our home planet that is different to us, much better. The younger kits will usually not eat anything else until they’re older. The problem is that Keith grew up on earth; he never had anything like it, so everything must have tasted like military rations at best… This might very well be one of the reasons he never eats more than he absolutely has to, apart from the fact that in the past sometimes he just didn’t get a lot of food in general.”

Keith looks up from where he’s been cleaning his plate quicker than even Hunk does when he’s starved and shrugs. “I didn’t know food could actually taste good. It was always more of a survival thing, y’know?” He shoots Hunk an apologetic look, knowing how much pride their human cook takes in his cooking. “Sorry.”

The yellow paladin just shrugs. “Hey, man, you can’t change it if it’s something about the whole Galra thing…” He grins. “I’m just glad you’re getting good food now. I didn’t know that was a thing, but we can get you guys something of that Galra food from now on, right?”

“It’s difficult,” Thace chimes in. “Since we’re considered a terrorist group. Just visiting our home planet outside of the time of the holy peace is dangerous… The good thing is, eating this once a year has a lasting effect on everything else we eat. Of course it’s not as good as the real thing, but it just tastes a lot better.” He grimaces. “I don’t even want to imagine what it would be like to live without that… Everything must’ve tasted like dust…”

Lance cringes. “Eww.” He looks at Keith. “And you still ate?”

The paladin in question shrugs again, accepting another full plate from Antok. “I didn’t know anything else and I couldn’t just… not eat, y’know?”

He ends up cleaning that plate, too, and another he gets from Kolivan. After half of his last plate, this time from Thace, he feels as if he might burst and has to stop, feeling so very, very tired that he just doesn’t really care about what the others might think and leans back against Antok. Almost immediately there’s an arm pulling him closer and a hand in his hair and Keith lets out a quiet huff and a purr before he passes out. He doesn’t wake for the rest of the night and in the end Antok has to carry him back to the nest, but nobody makes any fun of that and Lance can’t, because he’s in a food coma, too, as dead to the world as Keith is. Kolivan carries him to his room and tucks him in before he joins the rest of his pack in the nest and Keith purrs in his sleep, subconsciously aware of his arrival and content with his whole pack where they belong. He’s hugging one of the pillows they had with them on the blankets; it smells of all of them, Galra, Alteans and humans alike, which might have been the reason it was there to begin with. Right now, however, Keith is fast asleep and he doesn’t think of any of that, content to lie here with his pack and this pillow that smells of more than just the pack, surrounded by the warmth of the other Galra and more than sated for once.

[pastel-popplio]

1, 4, 19 and 4 for those oc asks!!

You put 4 twice so i just went ahead and did 44 lmao

1. Your first OC ever? Ohhh boy, if we're talking very first character ( bc i didn't know the term then ) , I made up this little dog when I was 3 years old, her name was Puppy. She was a tiny pure white maltese/poodle mix, and I never drew her surprisingly but I pretended to be her whenever my sister and I played pretend if it had to do with animals or I'd toss her into our games with a random toy to act as the body since I didn't have any white dog plushies. Even back then I was a total angsty fuck when it came to backstories because she was always either abused by her owners or abandoned and living half-starved as a stray ( often in the cold rain ) and she'd be super grateful to anyone who helped her/taught her the ways of the streets. She was very playful and sweet but quick to cry when someone was mean to her and I loved her so much dude oh man, I don't think I completely stopped using her ( in the rare times I still played with my lil sister ) until around 5th grade maybe?

I'm super tempted to try and draw her now not gonna lie, in my head she basically looked like the lil maltese in the DOGZ gba game mixed with disney lady and the tramp style lmao

4. An OC you rarely talk about? I'll go with my ( very self-indulgent ) oc Xarrnacc ( pronounced Zar-nack ) . I made her up like a day after I started binging the Ju/stice Leag/ue animated series on netflix a couple years back lmao. Here is the link to her ref pics ( don't bother reading the info bc it's either old or stated below lmao )

http://pastel-popplio.tumblr.com/post/145593516169/oh-btw-guys-here-is-another-dc-oc-of-mine-but-she

http://scourgefeather.deviantart.com/art/Xarrnacc-bust-doodle-614140861

GET READY FOR AN INFO DUMP BC I NEVER GET TO TALK ABOUT OR DRAW HER BUT I THOUGHT ABOUT HER SO MUCH WHEN I MADE HER MMMM

She's a horribly shy alien babe who's a scientific genius ( especially with physics and chemistry ) and also studies Ice Magic. She worked as an engineer for the highest members of her planet in the capital city ( a lot of the planet is still entirely natural resources bc they care more about their ecosystem than we do, so the other scattered inhabited areas make up a small enough portion that they only need the one really big city for the government/royals to rule everyone else from ) , but was eventually framed by a few jealous coworkers. The Mistress ( her planet's ruler who's basically a mix of President and Queen ) had no choice but to ( reluctantly ) exile her from the planet for the severe crime/rule infraction.

She was sent to Earth to die in the arctic ( since not only was it rumored to be inhospitable, but her planet didn't know Earth had really moved past the ice age since it's so far away. They pretty much spun a wheel of dangerous planet names and launched her there ) , but ended up meeting an old man in the cold barren area who was charged with the noble duty of protecting a hidden library of old spellbooks. She befriended him and lived/with worked under him as a fellow magic user until he was killed while on a trip. She didn't know of his death until a couple days after he'd left, when a few members of the League tracked down the library while investigating an unrelated magic incident and she attacked them ( in an attempt to defend the books from strange intruders ) . Once they managed to convince her they weren't thieves and explained they'd found his murdered body in the snow a half-hour's trek from the library, she ended up joining them on what was supposed to be a one time mission to assist with the magic part.

She was inducted into the League permanently after that and wanted to learn more about Earth, so she started living in the space station headquarters with Mart/ian Man/hunter, who sometimes helps teach her written english ( she learned the verbal language earlier when the old man dug up a spellbook that allowed the two of them to communicate by swapping memories ) . She's pretty close to The Fla/sh since he's the friendliest, and he usually is the one who forces her out of space hiding to experience the magic of actual society, fast food diners, and hitting on the ladies ( the latter of which has her a nervous wreck plz stop dragging her on spontaneous blind double dates ) . She admires WW a lot for her confidence and physical fighting skills, and sometimes they have talks or training sessions together. She lowkey has a crush on Haw/kgirl but she's taken and also intimidating af so Xarrnacc knows she's kinda screwed there oops. Super/man is okay but usually too busy being a leader with a double life to interact with her outside of missions, she's terrified of ol' Bats he's very intimidating. Doesn't really feel one way or the other about Gr/een Lante/rn, she doesn't talk to him much so they don't know each other really.

She adores books and can sometimes spend hours in big libraries if she has another league member to accompany her and help translate. She's not huge on public parks, if only because she had a very bad experience once when The F/lash took her and she mistook a squirrel as acceptable food and thought hunting was allowed and tried to eat one in front of a screaming child.

Fun fact: her species is deathly allergic to chocolate, something she found out the hard way after The Flas/h offered her a bite of his Hershey bar and had her in the League ER for like 2 weeks RIP

I have more but this is long enough jfc

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you ( and explain why ) . This boi Darren right here means a ton to me!

https://toyhou.se/606692.darren

Not only is he a pretty personal character bc of certain personality aspects ( hello shyness/social anxiety venting lmao ) or the fact that he was one of my main sort of daydreaming ocs ( aka a character that I would shove into different show universes and think about how he'd interact with everyone when I was bored ) before I finally found him his home, but he was the very first rp character I ever made! Joining the group he was in ( when I was a smol ms paint artist ) helped me learn a ton about everything from rping itself to cat anatomy to writing to character development and all kinds of stuff inbetween, and I made so many friends because of it, even one of my best, who is actually the founder of the group! I never would be near where I am today without that group, or this adorable character that I loved to bits and motivated me to draw him 24/7 lmao.

Plus he has cool lightning powers and a pet puffin, and the silver tabby w/blue eyes is my favourite cat design ever probably

44. Something you like about your ocs in general? The amount of detail I give them, be it personality, backstory or just little goofy facts! I've gotten a lot of compliments on the depth of my chars before, and I really do try to make them all unique from each other!Thank you so much for asking these bby! 💜

[saintkimora]

ok, here is a full account of what happened yesterday and the new events from today. caleb if you are seeing this please respect my privacy and stop reading now 

ok so it started the other day. caleb texted me at night saying he wanted to talk to me about something serious the next day. i asked what it was about and he said he just wanted to be friends but i didnt read too much into it bc he is impulsive so i figured he would come to his senses the next day

so then yesterday happened. i had just gotten out of sociology at like 10:40am and i saw that he had texted me all these things about breaking up. then when i got to my car he called me on the phone. he then proceeded to break up with me over the phone. his reasoning was that since hes prob moving in a few weeks, he wanted to stop being boyfriends now that way when he does leave itll hurt less than it would, so like easing himself out of the relationship basically. i think its a stupid idea 

so these are the issues i had. the first was that he broke up with me over the phone, not even in person. and like i was crying over the phone and his tone was just like very cold and detached and business like and that really hurt me bc he obv knew i was crying but i didnt feel any sympathy from him whatsoever. like if he was crying i would obv be comforting him and trying to make him feel better not talking like a robot. another thing that hurt was that he gave up on the long distance relationship before we could even try it. it made me feel like i was so worthless and unimportant that he didnt even feel like putting forth the effort to make our relationship work. and the fact that he did this all over a 10 minute phone call on his way to the gym. and then like 20 min after he had the NERVE to post a video on his snap story of him at the gym saying “feeling so good *blushing smile emoji*” like that really hurt my feelings and when i told him that later he was like “oh stop making everything about you it was just how i was feeling after working out” but like? i know he obv wasnt saying that he felt so good about breaking up. but what bothered me was that like after he broke up w me, i was a mess i was literally crying all day and i couldnt do anything but cry i was so upset. and then here he is just going on with his day like its another normal tuesday. like the fact that he was capable of being so happy not even a few hours after breaking my heart made me feel like i was nothing, like it was just an errand like “oh im gonna break up with perry then go to the gym lol” and the fact that he did it over the phone just made me feel so insignificant like i was nothing to him and that really hurt. and like ive tried to be the best boyfriend i can be for him and i try to do everything he asks of me so for him to just break up with me in such a dismissive way makes it feel like he doesnt even care

so i was crying in my car, like really bad like i was BAWLING. so i went to the student counseling center and asked for a crisis meeting and i got set up w this counselor named josh. he was nice and tried to help me calm down and focus on orgo. it was nice to have someone to talk to i guess

so then i went home. he called me again to like try to explain himself but only made me feel worse. he was like “you know when i move im not gonna be able to see you everyday and cuddle with you and fall asleep on your chest anymore” and that just made me sadder and i was crying again on the phone. then later we were texting and he was like denying breaking up with me. like, you said you wanted to just be friends and you explicitly said that you didnt want to be boyfriends anymore so how is that not breaking up??? and he said “i was trying to have a conversation with you but all you did was cry.” with the period to show how serious he was. and it really hurt me when he said that bc it felt like he was mad at me and using me crying against me, like i somehow did something wrong by crying. again if he was the one crying i would not be holding it against him like that so i really wish he didnt say that bc it made me feel bad for being emotional which should not be something to feel bad about. and at the end of the call he didnt say i love you like he always does so that hurt my feelings as well

and like i took away the hearts from his contact name and changed my phone backgrounds since they were pictures of him and that just made me really sad

i skipped psych and anatomy lecture but i couldnt skip my anatomy practical. i cried when i was backing up my car to leave bc i saw the “hi <3″ that he wrote in the dirt on my back windshield a while ago and it just set me off. so i got to school and i was planning on having this be the dropped grade so i wasnt like worried but i got a 90 anyways so that was nice. the prof was like “perry whats wrong you look depressed” and i was like im just a little sad today and he was like why and i was like “bc my significant other broke up w me” (i used s/o bc idk how my prof is about those things so i didnt wanna say bf). he told me this story about how in his senior year of college he had such bad mono it was misdiagnosed as hodgkins disease so he was given 18 months to live and his gf of 4 years left him after finding out. so he told me “perry, girls are like a bus. if you miss one, another one will come along in 15 minutes. if i had daughters i would tell them the same thing about guys” so that was nice that he tried to cheer me up. then when i was leaving from the other room (bc we leave our stuff in the other room during the practical) the TA came to me from the main room and wished me luck on my finals so that was nice of him 

so then i went home. then at 10pm i met w caleb in person in his car. we talked and at first he would not let me get a word in and he just kept defending himself and what also upset me was that he thought the reason i was so upset was that he was moving and he was so defensive like “i wish i could stay here but i have no choice i cant afford to live here its too expensive” and like that is not what upset me!!! i already knew he was moving ive had time to accept it what upset me was how he broke up w me for no reason w almost no warning and did it in such a cold way. and like the way i see it is since hes leaving instead of easing ourselves out of the relationship to stop us from getting hurt when he actually leaves (which wont happen bc itll hurt regardless), i figured we should make the most of our time together and enjoy each other as much as possible since we’ll have plenty of time to get over each other AFTER he moves. so when i told him my point of view he was like “i wish i thought of it like that, im really bad at this” so that was how i resolved the issue. he was hesitant about keeping the bf label but i told im i really wanted to and i didnt see a point in taking away the label now anyways. i also told him i at least wanted to try long distance instead of giving up before it even happens. i dont remember what he said to it though lol i was too emotional. but yeah the beginning of the convo just felt like he was berating me and i started to cry again bc i dont like it when hes rude to me like that

then he told me that im so sensitive i could see a squirrel in the road and cry and i had to explain to him that i am not a sensitive and emotional person! im normally v reserved w my emotions like ive only cried maybe 3 times the past 8 years and that im just emotional when it comes to him bc i care about him so much

another thing that bothered me was that he said every relationship teaches a lesson, and from ours he learned not to rush into things. i dont get that bc yes we did rush but that wasnt really a bad thing? like he wouldve moved regardless so taking things slow wouldnt have changed that. and like since we rushed into things it will hurt more when he leaves since we are closer than we would be if we took it slow but also like, if we didnt rush we wouldnt have gotten so close and had so much fun together in the first place. so imo the benefits of getting so close so fast vastly outweighed the pain of him leaving

so everything would be great except for this next part. he told me the easing out of the relationship thing was bc he got the advice to do that from his mom and leeann. so when i got home i made a post calling leeann toxic and his mom stupid for interfering in our relationship. and like yall can tell that obv i was kidding and just exaggerating for humorous effect like i dont really think his mom is stupid or that leeann was toxic, just that their advice in the situation was bad. but caleb texted me this morning being so rude calling me disgustingly disrespectful for saying that and he said that “next time you think about doing this remember how it felt when i dumped you (so he admitted that he did dump me) - and get those tissues ready” (since ive been using a lot of tissues since i was crying so much). that really really hurt my feelings bc 1. he is once again using me crying against me and 2. it shows a total lack of sympathy for me crying, like it felt like hell yesterday i was so upset and he knows that so for him to threaten to put me through that again just shows he doesnt really care about me or my feelings. 

he also said i need to stop using him and leeann and his mom as “characters in your online stories” like...these arent online stories? this blog is where i vent and talk about my feelings since i dont have anyone to do that with irl and i need to get them out somewhere im not writing these posts to be mean it just feels good to put my thoughts into words instead of bottling them up and even my therapist thinks its a good thing for me to do  

so he said that but i was NOT having it. i typed up a long text in response and even i admit it was kinda mean. like in his he said “dont even talk to me for the rest of the day” so at the end of my text i said “dont talk to me ever i am perfectly fine w never talking to you again the rest of my life so bye have fun in new hampshire or whatever” and he was like “perry stop you dont mean that last part” and then he called me and once again got defensive he said he was just trying to have a convo w me and i was being aggressive for no reason. like, no??? a convo would have been texting me like “perry i know its your personal blog where you post your feelings but this post upset me and this is why” not coming at me with 4 super rude texts out of nowhere. so he was trying to play the victim and paint me as irrational and that im overreacting just like he did yesterday and i didnt like it! he was just dismissing my feelings again. so i went OFF in this phone call like wow i really snapped and it felt good tbh

like i think he was just expecting me to sit there and take it and apologize like i usually do when he gets like this but i am done doing that! so i think he was caught off guard that i stood up for myself. i was like caleb i really dont care i have the most important orgo test of the semester today you already took yesterday from me but today i am not entertaining it if you have an issue call me after my test” and i ended the convo and hung up and then he texted me “good luck on your test” like ok hi king of passive aggressiveness 

so thats it. i felt good at first but later on i felt bad so i texted him apologizing for snapping at him but i said i wont discuss the tumblr issue until we are in person. i asked if he was free tonight and he said no he wants a day or two to be separate and normally i would understand but like...hes moving in a few weeks i really dont want to waste time fighting and being in this weird place

not to be out of order but another thing that got on my nerves was when we made up last night. he said “once i move youll have more free time for things like school, work, maybe going to the gym” like once again here he is commenting on my appearance! like yes i know im scrawny and i wish i wasnt but im sick of him taking jabs at my looks like my body, acne, and eyebrows when i literally have NOTHING but nice things to say about how he looks. it makes me feel bad when he points out my flaws like that and a good boyfriend is not supposed to make me feel like that

now for the most recent development. leeann sent me this LONG fb message bc caleb told her what i posted about her. like why does he have to expose me like that! i didnt read the message i was like “yeah im not reading this but just so you know i was kidding i wasnt serious i was exaggerating lol” and she was like ok lol 

i just dont know why she thinks i care about her input on MY relationship? like youre calebs friend not mine to be frank i dont give a fuck what you think about whats best for my relationship like you dont know me so mind your business

and thats another thing. in the past caleb has gotten pissed at me for sharing our business too much (by telling my friends (who he will literally never meet since they all went away for school) and by posting on here) yet here he goes telling leeann everything! seems hypocritical to me

and heres a second thing. i have always told caleb that my blog is my personal space where i can safely vent and talk about my feelings and that he should respect my privacy by not reading my personal posts. and ive told him that if he does wanna read them then hes doing so at his own risk bc im not going to filter myself bc this is MY space not his so if he really wants to overstep his boundaries and look at my posts then he cant get mad at me for them bc HE is the one choosing to read them even after my warning! so i dont think he should be getting mad at me especially when i was in such an extreme state of mind yesterday since he put me through the worst day of my life for no reason which literally couldve been 100% avoided if he had just waited to talk to me in person instead of breaking up w me over the phone. and like now i feel like this isnt even a space place for me to express myself anymore since theres a chance of him seeing. and i tried blocking him before but he made a new blog and wont tell me the url so i cant block him smh

so yeah thats everything that happened. im kinda stressed rn w this whole leeann drama even though he shouldnt have been reading my posts in the first place. like its just so much drama and i dont like how it feels and idk why this relationship turned sour so fast and i wish he would just be nice and sweet to me again. so hopefully things get better