i know this is so bad and i have never made one of these

4

Cultural Appropriation is a real, important, and harmful thing, but god damn if it’s not one of the most recklessly abused terms in the social justice lexicon.

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okay first things first: i love and support everyone equally in bts but i feel i need to get this off my chest. can we just appreciate Kim Namjoon?
can we appreciate how much he’s done not only for bts, for the boys, for bighit, for kpop, for his family but for his korean and international fans as well?

like without him bangtan wouldn’t exist. well maybe it would but not in this kind of form. and let’s be honest; this bangtan is the best bangtan.

he’s such an amazing leader too. he’s always there for the other members whenever they’re sad, exhausted, in need of positivity, feel like giving up… they always have a shoulder they can lean on and it’s Namjoon’s. he always makes sure that everyone is okay, everyone is happy and everyone does their best and works hard. he’s the one who always wants the boys to be a part of english conversations to so he helps them with their english whenever he can. he translates english stuff to korean so the boys won’t feel like they’re left out of something. he protects his bandmates at all cost but he also scolds them if they’ve done something wrong (lol papa Joon has no chill)

he proved that just because you’re coming from a small company, you can still make a name for yourself in the music industry. after all: not the company but your work will affect people.

because of Namjoon bts didn’t stop until they became the first kpop group to win an award, break a voting record with 300 million (!!!) votes but still staying the same humble guys they really are. they proved that a simple group that has an amazing leader at front is capable to do anything. buf ofc all 7 of the boys needed to be a part of this to make it work. y'know TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK❤️

can we also appreciate that RapMon proved his family that they made the right choice that day when they allowed him to be a musician instead of making sure he cares about university and stuff. he proved that his family made the right choice because now everyone knows who bts are and with this he shut every hater’s mouth.

and now comes the most important thing: THANK YOU NAMJOON. Thank you for always talking to us i-fans in english, for teaching the boys english, for translating english speeches to korean so your k-fans can understand you as well and basically for inspiring us. For never giving up on us. For always being there with us. For saving our lives. For taking care of us. For talking to us through your lyrics. For never taking a step back whenever you experience hate, a bad scandal or something tough. Thank you for supporting us, loving us, for empowering us to be stronger, to be more confident. Thank you for telling us not to give up on our dreams, never be affraid to try out something new.

Thank you so much for everything, Kim Namjoon. You saved our lives and you changed our lives. Thank you for being the best leader and taking care of our boys. ARMY LOVES YOU RAP MONSTER❤️

sleepwalking to you | two

pairing: hoseok | reader

genre: angst , fluff , arranged-marriage au

word count: 2.575

warnings: angsty angst , swearing? , mentions of suicide/death

synopsis: “I love you. A little less today than yesterday. I miss you. A little more than I did yesterday, and sometimes it’s easy to forget, that your emotions aren’t like mine; they’re constant. You hated me yesterday, you hate me today, and tomorrow, it will be just another day like this.”

i just want to say, i have nothing against my boys, this is just a story.

don’t forget to tell me what you thought about it,,it always makes me feel better ^^



Three days later, I found myself staring at a furious Jung Hoseok. He lay on the huge bed in the master bedroom of the beach side villa, the French windows opening on to the beach and the brisk sea air refreshing, but apparently none of that made a difference because he looked like he wanted to kill. I stared at him, his body looking gaunt underneath the covers. I didn’t know what to say, words getting stuck on their way from my mind to my tongue and leaving me speechless most of the time. I felt like I was crumbling, from the inside out.

“Why are you here? Where’s Hyeri?”

I hesitated, wondering what to say. Your girlfriend is sure you’ll die anyway and so she left? I didn’t want to tell him that even if it was true. I still wasn’t sure, why I was hanging around here anyway. What debt was I trying to pay back? I didn’t owe this to him, but then, the sins of the father, I thought bitterly. My father had done this anyway, maybe this would be the last bit of debt. I could do this and then leave him for good, and maybe, once he got better, she would be back. Who was I kidding? Of course she would be back.

“It’s only until you get a little better. She has a lot of schedules and it’s not like she can take a break now. Once you get better, everything will be fine.” It was a sort of mantra that I was now repeating to myself, to keep myself from drowning. Once Hoseok got better, everything will be fine. Not if he got better, when he gets better. I felt my fingers begin to tremble as a voice whispered in the back of my head.

You’re being delusional, he isn’t getting better.

Phrases flooded my conscience; degenerative injury, damaged nerves, paraplegia.

I shut it all out as I move to pour him a glass of water. His voice was sounding a little scratch. When I held it out to him, he knocked my hand away so fast, the glass went flying, shattering against the hardwood floor into smithereens. I stared at the broken fragments, the sound momentarily petrifying me. It was so loud in the room, Hoseok breathing hard.

“I don’t give a shit. Shouldn’t I have a professional nurse or something? Do you even know what you’re doing?” A good question, that. I bit my lips, trying to dredge up a smile but it’s a lost cause really When was the last time we had anything to smile about anyway?

“We can’t afford one.” I said finally. Honestly, it was the absolute truth. Jungkook was paying for the meals and the boarding, Yoongi had offered to keep paying me, even if I wasn’t working with him and that was all the charity I could take from him anyway.

He stared at me, “What?”

I didn’t want him to know about me paying for the surgery. I don’t know why, but I really didn’t. So instead, I chalked it up to just expenses. He didn’t press further and I didn’t mention that he nearly got his legs cut off either. Instead, I assured him that it was just a little trauma to his spine that made him numb from the waist down. With the tight amount of exercise and rest, he would be able to walk and run again. I knew it was dangerous, I knew that he ought to know the truth but something told me it was way too soon, he was still on painkillers, he was still traumatised. He didn’t need more stuff to worry about, I would have to bear that burden for now, besides, it was just for a little while.

In two weeks, Seokjin would be over for physiotherapy, he could explain the details of his injury then.

“So… I’m just supposed to stay in bed? What about the bathroom…?” He said and I cleared my throat before moving to the cupboard and rustling through the clothes, pulling out the gait belt and showed it to him.

“I’ll put this on your waist and help you sit on the wheelchair. It won’t be easy, of course, but uh… I’ve been reading up on it and I did it a couple of times in the hospital when you were unconscious so…” I said with a shrug and he frowned.

“And the bathroom?”

I felt myself flushing, “I won’t look.” I promised and he groaned, pressing his forearm against his eyes.

“…I wish I was dead…” He said softly and I bit my lips.

“I’m really glad you aren’t.” I said softly, he grunted and didn’t reply.


“When can I start dancing again?” Hoseok said firmly, staring at Seokjin with a determined gaze and Seokjin gave me a glare.

“Can we concentrate on one step at a time please, Hobi? You need to get the nerves in your legs active again. You’re able to move your toes and that’s a good sign so far. Next, we’ll concentrate on bed exercises, and then we’ll move on from there.” He said casually.

Hoseok stared at him and then glared at me for a second and I faltered at the uncertainty in his face, but it was gone before I could fully process it and he smiled a little at Seokjin.

“I understand, doctor, I won’t rush. Let’s get started then?”

I slipped out of the room quietly and slowly made my way to the kitchen. I spent some time stocking up all the groceries that had been delivered that morning. Jungkook’s staff had outdone themselves and there was a huge bowl full of seafood that looked absolutely fresh. I set about cleaning the shrimp, picking out six of the largest and carefully cleaning and evening them. I then cleaned some muscles, cut the pork into lean strips, adding salt and pepper to marinate it. I cut the squid into little pieces before starting on the vegetables. It took me a while to chop up the ginger, garlic, carrots, cabbage, leek and the spring onions.


By the time Hoseok and Seokjin were done, I had a steaming bowl of Jjampong, rice and Kimchi fried rice ready, some of the ready made side dishes were laid out in bowls too and I arranged the table for Seokjin before setting up a tray for Hoseok. Seokjing looked cheerful and Hoseok looked exhausted as the older wheeled him down the ramp to the dining area.

“How did it go?” I said concerned and Hoseok didn’t reply, grabbing his chopsticks without a word. Seokjin looked between us in surprise and then smiled encouragingly.

“As well as I hoped. It’s only the first session so he had a little trouble, but his body is definitely healing well. I really don’t see why he shouldn’t be fully better some day.” Seokjin smiled. Some day…

I gripped the ladle harder as I served some more soup for Seokjin. When would this supposed some day come, anyway? A year? Would Hoseok hold it out until then?

After the meal, I help Seokjin move Hoseok back to the bed and then followed him to the door. “He’s showing excellent progress. I’ve no doubt that he’ll come through this a winner.” He said warmly.

I nodded, “Thank you,” I said fervently.

Seokjin hesitated, “It’s possible that he may be feeling very fragile, mentally. I hope you won’t take any of his rudeness to heart.”

Only, I had no idea how bad it would get.


“Why won’t you ever leave me alone?” Hoseok groaned.

I grunted, wringing out the water from the soft linen cloth in my hand before placing it on his forehead again. He was running a little temperature and it was three in the morning. Outside, I could hear the gentle sound of waves hitting the breakwaters, crashing into the smooth rocks. The window was open and it was pleasantly cool without being frigid. He moved his hands to grip my wrists.

“I need more painkillers…I should be conscience right now, not living through the fucking nightmare…” He gritted out. I stared at him, his hair was slicked with sweat, matted to his forehead and his cheeks shiny and pink. He’d slipped out of his shirt and the pale skin looked ghastly against the dark covers.

“You don’t want to get addicted to those. I’m giving you just the recommended dose.” I said softly. He immediately began mumbling again and I tuned him out.

My body ached and my head ached worse. It didn’t help that Hoseok was determined to fight me every step of the way. We had been here three weeks now and already he was beginning to show signs of cabin fever. He wasn’t meant to stay in bed, at first he had raved at me for getting the surgery done. “You should have let me fucking die!” He had yelled. It had been hard, of course it had, but now, he was a bit calmer, at least he didn’t throw the food tray on the wall anymore.

Once I was done, I dropped the linen in the bowl and slowly stood up, my legs protesting. Hoseok had taken to ordering me around, a lot more than usual and I had spoken to Taehyung about it. He’d explained that the frustration and loneliness of being in bed would definitely make him want to act out. I sighed and made my way to move out of the door, I wanted to drop onto my bed and never wake up again. I reached for the door when his voice came ringing through.

“Where are you going?” Hoseok said angrily and I frowned.

“You’ve been yelling at me to get out for the past hour.” I reminded him, he looked a little abashed and lightly scratched the back of his neck.

“What if I need you during the night? I can’t scream that loud.” He said, frowning.

I tried not to wail, “There’s a bell near your hand. You just have to ring it and I’ll come.” I said softly.

“I rang it yesterday and you didn’t turn up for an hour.” He snapped.

“Ten minutes. I took ten minutes because I was in the bathroom and it was just in the afternoon! Why are you being so difficult you-”

“Oh yeah, I’m being difficult because I want to and not because I can’t fucking walk or move without needing you every step of the way… I’m just a bastard, aren’t I?” He snapped and I shut my eyes, willing myself to not snap.

“Should I sleep here, then?” I said finally.

“On the couch.” It was disturbing how quickly he responded, but I took my slippers off and curled into the soft couch nonetheless. It was too small for my frame and I would have a killer back ache tomorrow, but at least I would be spared from Hoseok’s badgering.


Ten minutes later, and he cleared his throat.

I felt my eyes flutter open and I tried to go back to sleep. “Help me up.” He said suddenly and I startled.

“Hobi..”

“Please..I want to go out.”

“Out?” I said distressed. It was four in the morning..out where?

“The patio around the back, it opens into a deck. I can stay in my wheelchair..I just.. I want to see the ocean..”

Grabbing every ounce of strength, I levered myself upright. The moonlight filtered through the window and I could see his face clearly. I stared at him for a second, the angular features and the mouth that smiled so often. Silky soft hair that looked so good against his forehead, he turned around, and I felt my eyes catch against his sharp jawline.

‘Weak,’ I told myself, ‘you’re just too weak in front of this guy, it’s going to take you straight down to hell.’

“Okay, let me get the belt.”

I’d done it a thousand times before, but somehow, as I slipped the belt around his waist, my mind was stubbornly reminding me that he was so well built; strong hips and rock hard chest. Swallowing the dryness in my throat, I wrapped an arm around him, as he leaned his wrists on the bed and tried to lever himself up, but the fever had taken its toll and he faltered. I gripped him harder, aware of his chin, pressing into my shoulder, his breath right on my ear and his chest pressing against mine.

“If you’re tired we can-”

“I’m ready.” He said softly and his voice, sleepy, heavy and rough around the edges, went straight through my body. Gripping him tighter, I slipped my knee between his and suddenly, I regretted the choice of shorts. I could feel his thighs pressed up against mine, hot, firm, heavy, and I tried not to have a mental breakdown and I finally managed to help him on to the wheelchair. I took a few breaths to calm myself down and managed a weak smile.

“Let’s go then?” I said, injecting some cheer into my tone. Hobi didn’t reply, but continued staring at me like he was seeing me for the first time. Rattled, I moved behind him, gripping the handlebar and lightly pushing him out to the French doors that opened on to the patio. As we reached the deck, I felt better, the fresh sea air and the sight of the breakwaters were gorgeous. The moon beams picked out the glistening waves in the distance and far away from the rhythmic light from a lighthouse lit the night.

“It’s a beautiful place.” I said absently and he hummed, staring into the ocean.

“Did you hear from Hyeri?” He said casually and I blinked. I’d been so busy, she had completely slipped my mind.

“I can try call her tomorrow…” I said apologetically and he quickly shook his head.

“Don’t..I..I’d rather get better before meeting her again.” He said firmly. I didn’t question it, but I made a mental note to send her a message nonetheless. Maybe she would come visit?

After a few minutes, the silence began to get loud. “I tried to contact your parents in the hospital. I couldn’t find them listed…I-”

“They died a year back.” Hoseok said softly and I froze, surprised.

“What?” I said, stunned. I hadn’t known. How had I not known? “Why didn’t you tell me? We should have been there-”

“It doesn’t matter. They didn’t want me there anyway. I’m the embarrassment they’d rather not face.”

I stared at him, not sure what to say. Why would anyone think Hoseok was an embarrassment? He was one of the best choreographers in the country and while it was true that we weren’t filthy rich, we made enough to live comfortably, and though reading my mind, he gave me a shrug.

“It’s worse now. If I can’t start dancing again, I’ll be starving.” He said bleakly.

“Just because you aren’t dancing now, doesn’t mean you never will. You can hire assistants. People would kill to work with you, you know that.” I said firmly. He gave me a look of surprise.

“You really think so?” I nodded, amused.

“Are you serious? You don’t need to tell me that you’re more than just your legs, Hobi. You’re a dancer. Whether you have legs or not..you don’t…it doesn’t make a difference.” I said softly. He stared at me and then took a deep breath, shuddering breath.

“Why did you do it?”

I hesitated, “Do what?”

“Tell them not to amputate my legs.”

“Because I knew you’d hate me for it. I don’t know..I just..I didn’t want to see the look on your face if you woke up and found that your legs were…gone.” I said, turning away.

“Yeah, but…why? Why do you even care?” He said, bitterness coating each syllable as I sat up.

“Hoseok, I’m not a monster. Just because you’re in love with another woman doesn’t mean I want you in hell, and that’s what your life would be if you ended up without your legs.” I said, too groggy to put a filter in my thoughts.

He didn’t reply. I stood there for a long time while he stared out into the ocean, as the sky began to lighten he finally sighed.

“Let’s go back in.” I nodded.

Back inside the house, things felt better. He fell asleep right after I helped him into the bed and I curled up on the couch, exhaustion finally overtaking me.

Prompt from @goteamsuprcorp – “do you think your write a fic were Kara and Lena have a hurt/comfort moment after Man-Hell is yeeted… and kiss” and @ohhsoadorkable – “Also, Lena feeling guilty for hurting Kara after Mon-El gets yeeted. Cause we all know bb is too precious and will feel bad for hurting the love if her life” and “Someone actually praising Lena for helping them getting rid of the daxamites ?!?!? Pretty bb deserves a thank you !”


She tells herself she’s not being selfish.

That Kara is in need of comfort. That she is Kara’s best friend.

Aside from her sister, of course.

Which is why Lena is setting out for Alex’s apartment.

Because she knows her best friend. And she knows that’s where she’ll be. To lick her wounds. To heal. To be held close by someone who loves her in the ashes of dead Daxamites.

To be held close by someone who needs her after someone she thought she needed had to… leave.

She tells herself she’s not being selfish – that she’s seeking to hold, not be held, to offer comfort, not seek it – and she tells herself that Kara would be the first person to offer her comfort, even when in dire pain herself.

She tells herself she is not taking advantage of Kara’s goodness. 

She tells herself that she is not her mother, is not Rhea.

She paces and she rings her hands and she breathes deep, deep, slow, and she knocks on Alex Danvers’s apartment door.

It’s late – so late that it’s actually, technically, early – but there’s a light on under the door, and there’s immediate movement inside at the sound of her knock. Lena gulps and stiffens and prays she won’t regret this.

The detective who’d arrested her – the detective that Kara was coming to accept, coming to like, coming, even to love, who was dating her sister, who was turning her sister into a tremendous puddle of mush – answers the door, wearing boxers and a t-shirt so oversized on her that Lena refuses to believe it’s hers.

“Thank you for what you did,” is the first thing the woman says, and Lena is nothing if not surprised. Shocked, even.

“What?”

“You and Winn. You two saved the planet. And before you worry about blood on your hands, don’t – Rhea was killed, and so were some of the Daxamites who were on the surface, but most of them transported up and took their ships out of orbit in time. So they can’t come back, but their species… It’s not dead. Okay?”

Maggie says all of this softly, soothingly, leaning slightly forward into Lena’s ear, and Lena doesn’t know the last time – outside of Kara, or Supergirl – that she felt this… heard. Without even having to say anything.

“Babe, who is it?” Alex calls, because apparently Kara is too exhausted, too pained, too agonized, to strain herself with her x-ray vision.

“A friend,” Maggie steps back and gestures Lena inside, and Kara stirs from the blanket Alex has her wrapped in. Stirs from the arms Alex has her wrapped in.

“Lena,” she croaks, and Lena holds out her hands.

“No, no, Kara, no need to get up, I just… I wanted to see if you’re alright. I heard… I heard you’ve suffered a loss.”

She doesn’t give details, and when something flashes across Kara’s eyes – a classic but vague does-she-know panic – she holds back both a sob and a chuckle.

Now isn’t quite the time.

“I’ll be alright,” she murmurs, and Lena holds out the bag she’d carried over.

“Your favorite place for potstickers in all of National City is still open for business, you know. Something about people needing good food and good company in times like this.” 

She glances around at the empty pizza boxes and potsticker containers.

“It seems you already knew that, but more can’t hurt, can they?” she asks, almost timidly, and Alex smiles as she stares up at this woman who can save the world, over and over and over, while her own mother is trying to destroy it, but who is so, so, so gentle with her little sister.

“Potstickers can never hurt,” Kara murmurs as she unwraps her arms from the blankets and reaches for the potstickers gratefully. Alex and Lena exchange a soft laugh.

“Well, I’ll just leave you three to it then,” she says, and she starts to head out the door.

“Lena, wait!” Kara is on her feet by the time Lena turns her head.

“We can share these. At my place. If you want. Alex and Maggie have a lot of… processing to do, and we can do the same. Processing, I mean. Processing, as friends. You… Rhea hurt you, and I want to be there for you, too.”

Lena shakes her head – she is not selfish, she is not selfish, she is not selfish – but Kara knows better.

She strides across the room and reaches for Lena’s hands with one of hers, both of them oblivious to Alex and Maggie’s wide-eyed glance.

“You’re allowed to need someone, too, Lena. Just because I’m hurting doesn’t mean I can’t be there for you, too. We can be here for each other.”

“I…” She fights tears and she reminds herself that she is not, perhaps, worthless. “I don’t want to take you from your sister and – “

“Alex? Do you mind? If I go with Lena?”

Alex suppresses a knowing grin and shakes her head.

“I love you,” she pulls her into her, close and warm and very slightly needy.

“I love you, too,” Kara reminds her, giving Maggie a squeeze, too, before setting out the door with Lena.

They don’t speak much on the walk back to Kara’s apartment.

The walk back through war-torn streets and downed electrical lines.

They don’t speak much as they go through Kara’s apartment, powerless, lighting candles and pouring wine.

Kara takes everything that can spoil out of the fridge and freezer and piles it onto the table.

“Who knows how long the power will be out?” she offers by way of explanation, and Lena suppresses the urge to kiss the redness from her eyes.

They don’t speak much as they plow their way through ice cream and yogurt and potstickers.

They don’t speak much until Kara lets herself break.

“Everything I do, everything I try, it just… he made me feel connected to my… my parents, my family, my history, you know? My people.”

She’s either too grieved to notice her slight slip, or she trusts Lena too much to care.

Or a little bit of both.

“You haven’t lost them all over again, you know,” Lena says in a small, small voice. “Your parents. Your people and your history. If anything, Kara Danvers, you’ve honored them.”

Kara furrows her brow and adjusts her glasses and shakes her head, and Lena hesitates slightly before tucking a few strands of loose hair behind Kara’s ear. Kara freezes and meets her eyes with an intensity borne of months of unspoken feelings, months of repressed need.

“I don’t feel like I’ve honored much of anything lately,” Kara sighs, and Lena nods and chuckles slightly.

“Neither do I. You know I was actually foolish enough to let Rhea manipulate me so baldly? I walked right into every single thing she had planned for me. When Supergirl said she’d fight her…” She looks at Kara significantly, and she thinks she sees a spark of unspoken acknowledgment there. “I know it’s ridiculous – she was fighting for the whole planet – but it also felt… like she was fighting for me.”

“You deserve that, Lena,” Kara tells her, her voice barely above a whisper. Her voice barely distinct from a prayer. “Someone to fight for you. You deserve that.”

“Kara,” Lena swallows, and Kara silences her with a slight shake of the head. 

Slowly, steadily, eyes a burning, chaotic storm, she takes her glasses off of her face. Lena inhales slowly, steadily, eyes a beacon, chaotic clarity.

“I’d like to kiss you, Lena. Can I?” Kara asks, and Lena lets her body respond.

It’s soft and it’s tentative, because it doesn’t matter what Kara might think she wants tonight – in love with him or not, even liked him or not, she cared for him, cares for him, and Kara Danvers, Supergirl, her best friend, deserves better than mourning sex – soft and tenative is all it’s going to be tonight.

When their lips part and Lena’s heart starts beating again, her eyes stay closed. When she opens them, Kara is looking at her like she’s a work of art, like she’s a miracle.

Like she’s hope.

“Was that alright?” Kara wants to know, and Lena’s smile is as warm as her fingers on the underside of Kara’s wrist.

“That was perfect,” she whispers, and when she reaches across the table for a spoon, Kara giggles softly, because maybe there is hope after all.

lovelifelyrics2  asked:

Hey I've read both of your Jughead leaving when Betty was pregnant fics and I don't know if you were planning on writing more but I would love it if you did. I think they're awesome and would love to read more!!

Sure! ThNks so much!
****

Betty stared at her reflection in the mirror, tugging on the soft white, strapless dress and playing with her silky blonde curls. Pregnancy had been good to Betty, her skin was smoother than ever and her hair was down to her back. She thanked god for the fact that she was able to lose the baby weight so fast, she was lucky, she knew that and she had her amazing son to thank for it. Another one of the amazing things he brought into her life.

“You look amazing. Stop messing with your hair. he’s gonna regret the day he walked out of that door.” Veronica came to stand behind Betty, placing her hands on her shoulders and resting her chin close to her face. Relaxing into her best friends embrace she sighed, her fingers smoothing down the dress.

“I feel like I’m back in highschool all over again, like I’m going to meet him for our Friday night dates at Pops.” Betty sighed miserably. “I don’t even know why I’m putting any effort into this, he left once, he’s just gonna leave again.”

Veronica shook her head
“Not this time B, I swear to god if he leaves you and Hunter I will personally have daddy track down the son of a ….” she trailed off at the sound of little feet scampering into the bedroom and crawling onto the bed. Hunter crossed his legs and sat comfortably, holding his stuffed white sheepdog and looking in awe at his mother.

“Look pretty mama.” He reached a chubby little hand out, still clutching the dog. Betty walked towards him and kissed his open palm before kissing the dingy white toy.

“What does hotdog think? Am I the cats meow?” Betty wiggled her eyebrows and spun around, putting on a show for her little man.

Hunter clapped his hands and barked, giggling and grinning.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Nerves forgotten for the time being as she took comfort in her favorite boys laughter.

“I hate to break up the fashion show, but it’s quarter to six. You might wanna get going.” Veronica shrugged carelessly “or you can skip it, forget he ever came here and order takeout.” She grinned wickedly.

Alice Cooper walked through the door at that exact moment and instantly began cooing at the two year old clutched in Betty’s arms

“Go on Elizabeth, destiny waits.” She plucked Hunter from Betty and headed for the kitchen.

Rolling her eyes, Betty grabbed her purse and walked through the front door, waving at Verona and driving off in her mini van (it was much cooler than a mom van and she used it to deliver flowers, Thankyou very much)

She arrived at Pops in no time at all, instantly heading for the door, if she stopped to think she would turn right back around.

It was almost too much to handle, there he was tucked in his regular booth, sleeves of his denim jacket rolled up and a familiar slump to his posture, his eyes lit up when she walked in and she remembered a familiar sight three years ago on prom night.

Shaking her shoulders she slid into the booth across from him
“Hello.” She tried to come off as uninterested but the way he was staring at her made her breathing slow and her heart race.

“Hey bets.” His voice was cautious and shaky as he slid the vanilla milkshake towards her.

Betty looked down at the drink and sighed, here goes nothing.

Finally getting to look at her fully, She looked like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, her bright green eyes were something he had never forgotten, but to see them again in person was almost surreal, his eyes lingered on her honey blonde hair, it was longer now and he physically had to grip the table to keep from running his fingers through it. Finally his eyes dipped lower, taking in all of her new curves, he remembered a time where he knew her body like the back of his hand but now.. now there were new dips and lines and deliciously soft skin, the familiar scent of vanilla and peaches invaded his senses and his eyes nearly rolled back. She was everything he remembered and so much more.

“You wanted to talk?” The sugar sweet voice broke him out of his thoughts and he drew his eyes back up to hers.

He nodded, taking a shallow breath before he began

“We had plans, you and I, we were going to go New York, become a journalistic duo, move in together, be a family.” He glanced up, his eyes catching the watery ones of Betty’s

“You don’t have to remind me Jughead, I know exactly what our plans were.” Her voice was small and she cursed herself for letting him get to her.

“Just listen, please. We had these plans and they were everything I could have wanted, hell you could have told me you wanted to join a cult in Utah and I would have gone along, because you would have been there. All I wanted was you.” He cleared his throat, willing the emotion to stay back until after he was done.

“But you left me. I was all you wanted and you left me.” There was a bitterness to her voice now and Jughead shook his head

“I didn’t want to leave, I did everything I could but it was too late. He found out, he found out about our plans, about us. and he made me go.i never would have left you and then.. you were pregnant.. you were all alone and I was gone..” he mumbled the last part.. the guilt was pushing down on his chest and he found it hard to breathe, his teeth ground into themselves and his knuckles turned white when suddenly he felt a warm hand cover his own.

“Who made you leave? Who found out?” Betty’s soft voice tore him from his internal fight and he finally caught her eyes

“Your dad Betty. Hal found out.”

Betty ripped her hand from his, putting it to her own heart
“My dad? What.. what do you mean?”

Jughead reached for her again, before dropping in on the table and continuing

“He found out that we were leaving together, he threatened my fathers job, he threatened to frame me for robbery, he was going to get me locked up, but still I didn’t care, I was going to fight it but then.. he told he would send you away, send you to the place they sent Polly, I didn’t know what he meant, I didn’t know what he was talking about but now I do.. he must have found out you were pregnant, he was going to send you to the sisters.. even though I didn’t know, I believed him, I thought if I left it would be better for everyone. I left the night he came to talk to me and I didn’t look back, god I wanted too, but if I looked back… I would have come running right back to you.”

Tears were streaming down both of their faces now and Betty gasped slightly, taking a shuddery breath and whispering

“You could have come to me, we could have fought this together, you know I would have been by your side. I would never leave you, no matter what. I know you think you were doing what was best for me but I was alone. I had no one. Until Hunter, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and.. I feel bad for you… I feel bad that you missed him growing up, you would have been a great father.” She looked away, her arms coming to protect herself as she hid inside herself

“I’m here now. I know it’s not the same and I know it’s nowhere near enough but I’m here.” Jughead begged desperately, tears falling in heavy drops onto the metal diner table “I can be his father, I can be there for him, I can be there for you. Betty… I love you, I never stopped and I never will.” He gripped her hands, pulling her eyes towards his.

Feeling her resolve weakening she whimpered

“I meant what I said about us not needing you.” She said lamely

Jughead nodded
“I know that, but.. I need you. I need you and I need my son. Please Betty.. let me be here.”

Looking deep into the stormy blue eyes she had grown so familiar with throughout her childhood, she opened her mouth to speak.

Archie, Veronica and Kevin arrived at their booth at that exact moment, and the bubble they had been in popped, Betty pulling her hands free as Kevin slid in beside her.

Jughead was still staring intently at her, waiting an answer. Giving him a quick glance she let him know, this wasn’t over.

It would never be over.

BTS Reacts: Your Heroic Act

Request: I really like your reactions ❤️❤️ can you please do a BTS Reaction To You Saving Them From Getting Hit By A Car, thank you 

A/N: I told myself I wasn’t going to make this long, and you can actually see the progression of me getting carried away and then I wanted backstory and I’m really sort of sorry

Originally posted by rapdaegu

Seokjin (Jin)

A/N: tteok-bokki are stir-fried rice cakes. It’s a popular Korean street food.

Seokjin chewed happily, face mask shoved down past his chin, and chopsticks in hand. He made a deep, throatily noise of content and smiled into his Styrofoam bowl. “Wahhh, it’s been ages since I’ve hade tteok-beokki!” he exclaimed happily, mouth full of rice cake.

Seokjin went to take another bite from his bowl, but felt his arm being jerked roughly back, pulling him back a couple feet and jumped at the unexpected contact. The sound of a car horn blarring past ripped his attention from his snack back to his surroundings. He looked from the street filled with traffic to just behind him where you stood, chest heaving from adrenaline.

Your cheeks flushed with his gaze directly on you and your hands immediately left his forearm, cradling each other across your chest. “I-I’m sorry, it just kind of happened. I didn’t mean to pull you so hard,” you stammered, your gaze falling anywhere but the man standing before you. Your eyes fell on the splattered tteok-beokki now all over the cement in front of him and your cheeks reddened further. “I’m really sorry, I can buy you another, I swear.”

Seokjin ducked his head lower to catch your gaze and smiled sweetly when your wide eyes finally met his. “Really, don’t worry about it! You just saved my life! I should be the one buying you tteok-beokki. Come, let me get you some.”

Originally posted by cyyphr

Yoongi (Suga)

Headlights flew by as Yoongi waited for the light to turn, allowing him to safely cross the busy street. He stood, hands in his jacket, hood up and face mask protecting his identity. Being this close to the company building, there were always fans wondering about, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite member. Taking out his phone to send a quick message to Namjoon, he heard a faint ding he assumed to be the light signaling it’s change. Keeping his eyes trained to the light on his phone, he stepped out to cross the street.

“HEY! What are you, crazy?!”

Yoongi heard your shouting before he could see you, and felt himself be dragged back by a pair of unfamiliar hands. The feeling of being alone and of hands on his upper arm sent panic coursing through him from bad airport experiences as he immediately severed where your bodies touched, jerking away and turning to face you. His chest heaved from the adrenaline, as he took in your face, eyebrows screwed together in confusion.

Your breath hitched when you looked at his barely visible face, his eyes being the only thing giving him away. Those eyes. You knew those eyes well. Staring at you unknowingly for days on end until your mind was filled with only him, his lyrics, the deep timber of his voice.

Your mind ran a marathon in the 3 seconds of awkward silence that settled between you. You swallowed thickly. “Are you okay?” you managed out.

Yoongi’s cat-like eyes blinked at you as you watched his brain process what had just taken place. Finally, a small chuckle escaped through his face mask and you couldn’t help but smiling softly at the ground at the sound so close to you, something you had only heard through speakers that did the beautiful sound nothing justice.

“Thank you,” came the almost familiarity of his voice. His eyes crinkled in that tell-tale sign of his gummy smile and your heart soared. You bit your bottom lip to keep your smile from spreading too widely. 

“No problem,” you breathed and you could only hope the dark night was hiding your blush well. Your attention was brought back to your surroundings, people pushing past you to cross the street.

Yoongi turned to make his way across the street and only stopped briefly when he heard the small, uttered “Fighting!” only loud enough for him to hear. He smiled under his mask, and lifted a hand in a wave as he made his way across the street.

Originally posted by tbhobi

Hoseok (J-Hope)

Hoseok bobbed his head to the low bass that filtered through his headphones. He tapped the side of them, pausing the song and looking both ways before he trotted across the cross walk.

“J-HOPE!”

An unfamiliar, high-pitched voice screamed out his stage name before he met the sidewalk, and he immediately turned around to see a small group of girls crowded at the street corner he had just left, waving and smiling brightly. Hoseok smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

The group thankfully moved on, giggling and smiling to one another. Hoseok turned to finish crossing the street and a hand reached out to his collar, pulling him roughly to the sidewalk just as a refrigerated truck blared its horn as it sailed by.

Hoseok’s chest rose and fell as he looked from your concerned face back to the now busy street. “Did you just-”

“You should pay more attention,” you lightly scolded, brows furrowed. You hands came to your hips and you tilted your head.

“I- Yeah.” he laughed. “Thanks. A lot.” Hoseok looked down to the ground, steadying his racing heart. “Did that just happen? I almost died! That means you saved my life.” He looked up at you, and you couldn’t help the shy smile that now filled your lips.

“Really, it was nothing.” An embarrassed chuckle left your throat before you continued. “You should get going before someone else recognizes you, Mr. Bigshot.” A genuine smile took place of your shy one and you hoped last minute that the nickname didn’t offend him. You opened your mouth to try and take back your last comment, but his wide smile quieted your thoughts.

“Right. Thanks again. Seriously,” His wide smile gave way to his signature toothy grin and you had to bite your bottom lip to not return the smile in a fit of giggles. “That could have been so bad. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t been here. But you sa-”

“Take care, J-Hope,” you smiled and gave a small bow before you made to turn away before you could mess up this rare encounter with one of your favorite idols. You were pleased that your heart wasn’t beating too loudly in your ears and hoping the blush that dusted your cheeks wasn’t too noticeable.

“Hoseok,” He stated, head moving to catch your gaze before you could turn away. “You can call me Hoseok, if you want.” His eyes searched yours for any sign of discomfort, before that disarming smirk was aimed solely at you.

It had never ben so hard to breathe before. All you could hear was the sound of his voice, quickly being taken over by the blood rushing in your ears and you knew your face was as red as the chili pepper paste you had gone to get, the only reason you were actually out right now.

Your lips parted, an unconscious gesture to make breathing easier and you licked your dry lips. “Y-yeah,” you stammered out, another shy laugh leaving you as you pulled out your phone, the screen immediately lighting up to the picture of BTS at the BBMA’s recently. You coughed violently at the embarrassment that filled your chest and quickly covered your mouth while trying to pull up your contacts list.

Hoseok chuckled and held out his phone, bumping it with yours to exchange information. He watched as your information splayed across his screen. “(Y/N),” he tried the name out on his tongue and your giddiness replaced the overwhelming embarrassment that was there just before. You couldn’t help the smile plastered to your face.

“I’ll see you around, (Y/N),” Hoseok waved and turned to head in the direction you had just come from.

“Yeah,” you breathed. You looked around to the people closest to you, and your smile only widened. That just happened, you thought. That really just happened.

Originally posted by yoonseok

Namjoon (Rap Monster)

You sat quietly towards the front of the bus, phone resting in your hand as you stared out the dark window. You knew Seoul wasn’t the safest place at night, but you couldn’t sit still at home anymore. The silence was deafening and you craved for the mindless chatter of strangers to fill up your mind, to block out the unwanted thoughts. You were headed to Hongdae, to people watch, or window shop, you weren’t sure which yet.

You looked back to the only other soul on the bus, aside from the driver and watched as he concentrated solely on a small black notebook and pen in his hands. You watched as his brow furrowed, his lips moving with unsaid words.

You studied his handsome face, a strong set of brows and prominent lips with strangely colored hair, and you wondered idly if he was an idol. You focused your attention back to the black scenery outside and decided here was far enough. Your legs ached to move, to keep them busy. You reached up to pull the string to let the driver know to stop, but the only other passanger beat you to it, his tall frame and long arms easily reaching the string first.

The bus halted slowly and you made your way to stand, picking up your small backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. The other passanger walked past you, notebook still in his hand, and thanked the driver politely as he exited the bus.

You muttered a quick thank you as well and exited after him, watching the bus drive off. You watched as the handsome man made to cross the street, and chuckled as he stumbled lightly, dropping his notebook to the cement.

Your smile fell as you watched him bent down to pick it up, you eyes darting between him and an oncoming car that wasn’t slowing down. Panic filled your chest and your legs moved before you gave consent, closing the ten foot gap between you.

Your hand reached out and grabbed the back of his jacket, yanking him roughly back as the car zoomed past. The man snapped his head to look at you, plump lips parted, his heavy panting making little clouds in the chilly night air.

“Thank you.”

His voice was much deeper than you expected. You swallowed thickly and you chastised yourself for the full 30 seconds it took you to respond.

“O-of course. No problem.” Your eyes fell to the ground and you had no idea why this complete stranger had so much of an effect on you. Sure, he was handsome, but you weren’t the type to fall for someone just for their looks. You willed yourself to look him in the eyes, but the dimpled smile that settled on his beautiful face caught you off guard. “You should be more careful,” you managed out.

A soft, deep chuckle left his lips. “You sound like Jin-hyung.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry, who?” Should I know who he was? you thought. The way he spoke his name so casually with you made you feel like you were already friends with the two, had known them for years. Your eyes scanned his face in the dim street light for any sign of recognition but none came.

The man’s eyes widened, a bit taken aback. “I’m really sorry, I thought you were a fan.” He tried hiding his flustered face, bowing deeply, glasses almost falling off when he came back up. “Thank you for saving me. I should go,” he said quickly, and turned to walk in the opposite direction he was headed before.

A fan? So he must be an idol, you thought. You smiled, glad to not be the only one flustered. Your eyes traced his quickly leaving silhouette and fell on the notebook still laying on the ground.

“Wait!” you called out, proud that your voice was steadier with distance between you. You walked over to the notebook, and picked it up, brushing off the rocks and dust that had gathered in the small amount of time.

You heard his footsteps approach behind you and turned, handing it to him. He took the small notebook in both hands, an apologetic yet dimpled smile on his lips. “Thank you, again. I owe you.”

“May I at least have your name?” you asked, your voice sounding a little more hopeful than you would like.

“Rap Monster,” he replied almost instantly and you shook your head.

“No, your real name,” you smiled and you couldn’t help the teasing toned laced with your words.

A deep, genuine chuckle rang in your ears and the sound was gone too soon. He smiled. “My name is Namjoon.”

Originally posted by jeonbase

Taehyung (V)

“Look how cute! Taehyung-ah, look!” you called out excitedly, pointing at the small puppies for sale. You knelt down and began to pet the closest one in the pin, Taehyung smiling adoringly at you. He stood beside you and leaned down picking up one of the puppies, hugging it close. The puppy began showering Taehyung in puppy kisses, and a laugh escaped his throat. You beamed up at him at the sound.

“Can I have her?” Taehyung smiled at the older woman, and nodded. She handed you a leash, collar and a small bag of puppy food. You bounced excitedly in your place beside him, cooing at the puppy.

You placed the collar and leash on the puppy and Taehyung set her down to walk beside you eagerly. You smiled down at the puppy, keeping the leash close while walking on the sidewalk.

“What should we call her?” You asked, staring in admiration at the puppy. Taehyung looked back to the puppy and smiled wide. Your eyes met for only a split second before the street in front of you catching your attention. You eyes widened as you grabbed Taehyung’s hand and harshly pulled him back just as a car tore by. The driver let out a string of curse words out his opened window but was muffled by the rush of blood in your ears. Adrenaline pumped through you almost painfully as you eyed Taehyung with concern.

A nervous laugh left his lips and you could tell he was trying to make light of the situation. He licked his lips. “Did you just save me?” He asked playfully. You pulled him into a tight embrace, arms locking above his neck, head resting against his solid chest.

“Just be careful, dork,” you breathed into his t-shirt. You could hear the pounding of his heart, as you willed yours to calm down.

Originally posted by chimtae

Jimin

“What are you saying?” you breathed. Tears streamed down your face, and you prayed that in the dark of the night, the street lamp hid your tears well. You watched as Jimin, eyes full sadness and pain, mouthed words that wouldn’t make sense to you, no matter how hard you tried to string them together.

“(Y/N), we can’t do this anymore,” he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “My company threatened my contract because I was hiding this relationship. They said if don’t get rid of my distraction, then I might not debut.”

You couldn’t help it. The tears fell from your face harder, sobs threatening to break through your lips. You shook your head, too many thoughts flooding your mind at once. He’s worked too hard for this. He’s sacrificed so much for this relationship that it’s hurting his dreams. You willed your voice to be steady.

“Okay.” It was a simple acknowledgement, but one word had your whole world crumbling. You had built a tower out of hope and future plans with the man standing in front of you, only for one support beam to be taken out from the bottom, your whole future collapsing with it.

Jimin looked away from you, eyes glassed over with tears. This was it. No fighting for the relationship, no harsh words of unkept promises. He swallowed thickly.

You watched as he backed away from you, stepping off the curb to cross the street back to the dorms. He sighed, running a hand through his newly dyed hair and turned around.

Through your muffled mind, you recognized the sound of a bicycle approaching fast, causing you to look away from Jimin just in time to react. You yanked his forearm back onto the curb, narrowly missing the path of the bicyclist.

He looked from you to the retreating form of the bike and sighed for what felt like the tenth time in your short meeting. “Thanks,” he muttered, sparing you one last glance before heading in the direction of the dorms, head hung low.

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid

Jeongguk (Jungkook)

Oppa! Oppa, wait up!”

You heard the high shrills of screaming teenage girls before you could actually see them from your place on the corner of the bust stop, and were sure some poor idol was having a bad night. You looked over and eyed the edge of the crowd of the busy street filled with vendors and independent street shops.

Your brow furrowed when a tall frame brushed past the crowd and sprinted towards the safety of the open sidewalk, in your direction. His black face mask was pushed as far up as his chin would let it, hair a mess as if he had been wearing a hat and lost it in his struggle to leave.

You sighed and felt sorry for the boy, a strange pang of wanting nothing more than to protect him washed over you. You pushed the unwanted feeling down. You had no idea who he was, and certainly no reason to protect him. From his broad back and large muscles (that you definitely didn’t notice), he was more than capable of protecting himself.

The boy ran past you, head still looking back towards the crowd for any sign of being followed. Panic filled your chest has he stepped out onto the busy street and you immediately grabbed the back of his striped shirt and pulled him back to the sidewalk, yanking him as hard as you could behind the view of the brick building just as a group of teenagers emerged from the crowd.

They eyed you suspiciously, standing just beside the brick building near the bust stop. “He went that way,” and quickly pointed to an ally leading to another busy street in the opposite direction of you and the boy. The girls took of at a run down the ally, and when the coast was clear, you turned to see the boy leaning against the wall, eyes closed.

“Tough night?” you called. You almost thought the boy hadn’t heard you, giving no sign of answering until he bounced off the wall and aimed his gaze at you.

Wow. Okay, you thought. The boy was definitely attractive, his shy bunny-toothed smile only enhancing how cute he was.

“Thank you so much,” he muttered and gave a polite bow. He nervously scratched the back of his hand and looked at anything other than your face. “Just don’t mention to anyone you saw me. I’m not supposed to be out by myself.”

You laughed at that, how young it made him sound, and his smile faltered at the sound. You smiled genuinely at him. “Don’t worry. I’m not even sure who you are.”

He blushed furiously and the shy smile returned. “You should probably go. They’ll be back for murder when they realize I sent them on a wild goose chase.”

He laughed at this, a hearty sound that was every bit real, and pride blossomed in your chest at causing the sound. He bowed again, smile still on his face. “Thanks again.”

“No problem, kid,” you smiled.

Falling Slowly

Pairing: Derek x Reader

Requested: Yes by anon

A/N: This took so long to write because I was considering writing it as a series but here you go and I really hope y’all enjoy it.

masterlist / coming soon

Originally posted by agsztrashbouquet


Watching the person you love falling in love with someone else right in front of your eyes, was hard. It hurt you emotionally and drained you physically, you watched as he absentmindedly placed his hand on her bare knee, he’d rub small love hearts against her skin, he’d whisper an inside joke into her ear and her giggles would fill the room. He’d glance at you, gulp nervously and shift awkwardly, removing the hand you were eying up and get back to what he was doing before.

Keep reading

Shape of You (10)

I apologize in advance….Don’t fear there’s more chapters to come!

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine


Chapter 10

I woke up to someone pressing soft kisses along my shoulders. I buried my face in my pillow as the flutters kept up, moving along my shoulder and down my back. I scrunched up my nose, hands were on my hips. I felt happy, I felt warm. I didn’t want to move, I didn’t want to burst whatever bubble I had found myself in. I couldn’t pretend any longer though, I giggled as he tickled my waist.

“I know you’re awake,” his deep sleep filled voice made my toes curl.

I sighed, “I don’t want to get up. Then we have to leave.” I opened my eyes and he was staring down at me, his fingers moving along my shoulder now.

He started to draw circles on my arm, “but we leave together, so it won’t be that bad. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily, Nes.”

I smiled, “no, I guess not. If we can still do this, it’ll be perfect.”

Cassian leaned in, my fingers brushing his cheek, and kissed me softly. I smiled, never realizing how amazing this could be. How truly liberating it felt to finally let someone in. My chest wasn’t tight, my body wasn’t stiff. I felt like a girl I never knew I could be as I laid there with him. He had somehow found a way to bring me back to myself. To heal whatever damage Tomas had done.

“I’ll be right back,” He said against my lips. I sighed, but pulled myself away as he got up. I nodded, watching him walk out of the room wearing only his boxers. He was beautiful, I wasn’t sure what I had thought by trying to push him away.

I closed my eyes again as he shut the door. I and fallen asleep in his shirt, after he had worshipped me over and over again. His words not mine. I had fallen apart by his mouth, his hands, by him more than once last night. I shivered just remembering how good it felt. How I never wanted him to stop. How I never knew it could be as amazing, as warm and welcoming, as this.

Keep reading

Intentions

Pairing: Dean x Reader
Words:  1035
Requested by Anonymous:  hi! can i request a dean x reader where bobby is like an adoptive father to the reader and dean falls for her (reader has always liked dean) and dean then talks to bobby about how to approach her, but the reader accidentally listens and well you do what you want from there lol! as long as bobby is a protective dad too thank you!!!



          “There’s my girl,” Bobby said when you made your way into the house after finishing up the hunt with Sam and Dean.

           “Hey,” you hurried over to hug him. Bobby might not have been your biological father, but he had been the closest thing to a father you had ever known.

           “How was the hunt?” he asked.

           “Not too bad,” you shrugged as the guys came into the house, “The three of us make a pretty good team.”

           “Yeah, we do,” Dean said.

           “Well, good,” Bobby said, “You kids hungry?”

           “Starving,” all three of you answered, making him laugh.

           “I’ll fix something up then,” he said, going into the kitchen to get to work on fixing something for dinner.

Keep reading

Part 4

Summary:  Two weeks after waking up with no recollection of the people and ship around you, you take your future in your hands and try to piece together your past and the events that lead up to you losing your memory of the last five years. This means finally meeting Scotty, the man you just learned is your husband.

Word Count:  2,080

Author’s Note:  This one got a little long, but it’s got lots of loving!Scotty and it’s making me really happy. As always, thank you for reading, and thank you so much for your continued feedback; it really means a lot to me. Please enjoy!

Table of Contents Here


“You be careful with him, y’hear?” McCoy warned as you approached the door of his office to leave.

“Who?” You half turned back, preparing a snippy response if he meant Jim.

“Scotty,” McCoy stood from the desk and folded his arms over his chest. “I know the two of you haven’t really talked yet, but he’s a good friend of mine. He’s pretty easy-going, but when it comes to you… that man’s in a bad way.”

“So I see,” you mumbled, looking at the floor and sucking your teeth. “I’ll be careful with him.”

“You better,” McCoy warned. “I’ve never seen him like this and frankly, I’m just as worried about him as I am about you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. See you tomorrow?”

“No, take tomorrow. We’re not getting anywhere and I think a break’ll do us both some good.”

“If you say so, Doc,” you raised a hand and stepped into the medbay.

Chapel wandered past and gave you a wide-eyed look, but didn’t stop to talk. You found out her reason when you exited sickbay into the hall.

Keep reading

Into The Black - Bughead Fanfic. CHAPTER ONE.

I wrote a little thing over on AO3, but I thought I’d post the first chapter on here in case anyone was interested. :) 

Summary: 

Betty Cooper is as All American, Apple Pie as you could get. She has a game plan for her life: make all A’s, graduate at the top of her class, get into an Ivy League school, and become a successful woman.

Jughead Jones is a boy from the wrong side of the tracks who has never known anything other than the Southside Serpents, Riverdale’s very own gang full of misfits and criminals. He doesn’t have a plan for his days, much less the rest of his life.

When the two star-crossed lovers are thrown into each others lives, they have to sit back and wonder whether who they’ve been groomed to be is who they are meant to be.

Keep reading

On 13 Reasons Why and why listening to the tumblr hivemind is the worst thing to do

I recently finished watching 13RW and I have to say – practically all the negative things I’ve heard about it are more or less false, misconstrued, or completely made up – to the point where I believe 75% of the people who bitch about the show have never seen more than one episode, if any at all; simply taking hearsay and building upon it and getting emotional on a topic they know nothing about.

So first things first: I too believed the show was trash and to be avoided. I – for very personal and easily guessable reasons – didn’t initially find the idea of watching a show 1) about suicide 2) from the perspective of a guy who’s friend committed suicide, because both hurt pretty bad and… unearth feelings and memories I could do without. ESPECIALLY if the rumours were true and it romanticized suicide.

However I decided finally to watch it to form my own educated opinion (like a goddamn adult). And it isn’t what people say it is.

First off: the writing isn’t that poor, but they could’ve made the girl (Hannah) show more signs of depression. In light of the events, it kinda still doesn’t make sense that she would kill herself with such a degree of premeditation. But for the storytelling and fine details, the show is pretty decent. Some of the actions of the character are synthetic – they are the actions of characters and not people (if that makes sense) – so some characters come off as mind numbingly dumb and vagueness and miscommunication was used to further the plot (re: super lazy writing thb), but overall the story was solid.

People said it romanticized suicide, I don’t think it does. First off: it’s a show about suicide, just because it features suicide doesn’t equal romanticism, secondly it made it very clear the suicide is Bad and Not The Answer and You Should Seek Help, but at the same time it pointed out that help might not always be there. Guess what? Sometimes help isn’t there. The show is somewhat realistic and people lost their fucking dumbass minds and said the show was promoting not seeking help – because apparently no one can critically think anymore. It didn’t romanticize suicide.

People said it promoted self harm. I straight up didn’t. The scene was the MC was arguing with another character who was being very condescending to the fact that Hannah killed herself, and the MC pointed out that this character cuts herself, to which she responded “it’s better than suicide”. And you know what? She’s fuckin right. I’m not saying (nor was the character) that it’s a fucking good thing, but it sure beats the fuck out of killing yourself. How’s that a hard concept? Also that’s a very real response – a people response, not a character response. 

Before you wish to give your own opinion, how about you actually view the source material before you make an ass out of yourself and regurgitate stances and opinions of random strangers on the internet who are probably doing exactly the same thing, like how I did at first. Critical thinking, people. 

Now this show isn’t for everyone. I probably made myself worse from watching it (but I’m a big boy and I’ll get over it, however my deficit for hugs is growing increasingly bigger…). It definitely brought stuff back for me. If you watch it, be aware that if you’ve a Past, that it can do the same for you. This isn’t a show for children. This isn’t a show for people on the edge. No Fucking Duh lol. At the end of the day, this is art – fiction that bluntly tells a story where life is as shitty as it is in the real world. God forbid. 

anonymous asked:

do you have a wishlist for supergirl season 3 (even though the writers don't know what they're doing half the time and will probably mess up the next season too)

I’ve never made a list, but I do have hopes and a lot of them revolve around lena tbh. I guess I’ll just write them down as they come to me?

- Further development of Lena’s character. Mostly exploring her insecurities as a Luthor, but having those insecurities squashed by loving friends. I love the “person who is supposed to be bad has a loving support system and thus does not become bad” trope and I sure hope Lena follows that trope.
- Re-establishing Kara as a take-no-shit feminist following in the footsteps of her badass mentor, Cat Grant. Make her less boy crazy.
- Bring back Danvers sister nights. The Alex/Kara relationship was one of my favorite parts of season 1 and they really fizzled out in season 2. And I get that it was because Alex had Maggie so it was like your best friend gets a significant other and you feel left out plotline, but…Kara and Alex are the most important people in the world to each other and that wasn’t so apparent in season 2 and it made me kinda sad. Especially since Melissa and Chyler have such good chemistry together since they are best friends in real life too.
- More Winn development! James got his time to shine by being Guardian, I want Winn to have his own developmental arc too. I want to see Winn be happy, and not just with Lyra (whose appearance in Ace Reporter was less than well received, for good reason.). 
- Lena interacting with more of the other characters. We’ve seen Maggie and Kara, Winn and Maggie, James and Winn, Winn and Alex, we’ve gotten so much interaction between The Superfriends, but for the entirety of season 2 Lena was kind of off to the side with very little interaction with the other characters besides Winn. Speaking of which…
- Lena/Winn BrOTP! Those two have so much in common, from their dorky love for technology and genius-level intellect to their fucked up families and insecurities that they’ll follow their parents footsteps. They would have a great friendship and could lean on each other so much. But not too much. I don’t want Lena and Winn to get together. Nope. Please don’t shove your compulsory heterosexuality on me.
- LENA AT DANVERS THANKSGIVING. I swear to fucking god if I don’t get Eliza Danvers giving that poor girl a big hug and saying “I’m your mom now,” I will go straight up to Canada and uppercut the execs right into the fucking sun

And of course…

- Slow burn Supercorp. None of this rushed shit with mayoface. Forget how bad his character was, their romance was so rushed. I adore a slow burn relationship. I don’t even need them to get together at the end of the season; I just need it to be made canon that they have feelings for each other. Gimme that slow burn supercorp. With the amount of traction that supercorp has gotten, from fans pushing it to the crew and cast noticing it to Katie’s obvious support for it, there’s an actual chance it’ll happen, if the CW listens to their goddamn fans. But we’ll see!

Thank you for the ask! You’re on anon so I’m not sure who you are but i’d like to hear what you guys’ wishes for season 3 are, if you wanna send them in a message or an ask or something. (:

iwasapruneratfaverolles  asked:

PLEASE TELL THE CHILDREN THE STORY OF MS. STUBELS

Grace fuck, why would you invoke her name like that???

Okay, fine, gather round children, buckle up because we’re going on a bumpy ride back to everyone’s collective least favorite place: 7th grade.

Some background: I went to a very small Catholic school. One class per grade (we were the largest with 19 kids), everyone knew each other whether they wanted to or not. Despite basically every teacher and faculty members insistence that we were The Best And Most Special Class In The School and that everyone loved having us, the longstanding 7th grade teacher Mrs. O’Hara decided to retire in the summer of 2008, meaning the school had to find us a new teacher for the upcoming year. This would be like, the first new teacher in the school in a while, and as she was getting the ‘best class’, it was viewed as a Big Deal. Somewhere in like July or August we got a letter announcing Mrs. Stubel, and it came with a list of books to pick for the summer reading, and that was basically all the information we had.

So…the first day of class. She seems nice enough. Very…ditsy, I guess? It was very easy for her to get herself off topic while talking. She constantly paced around the room, never staying in one spot for longer than a second, complaining she has restless leg syndrome. Which like, I’m sure she did, but she was in the middle of introducing herself and then went on a 20 minute tangent about restless leg syndrome without anyone prompting her. It was almost like you could see her scattered thoughts flying around her head.

So anyone, she eventually gives somewhat of an introduction- she had only taught in public schools before, and kept worrying she ‘didn’t know’ how to teach in a Catholic school despite the entire class insisting literally nothing was different, you just teach the curriculum, twice a week we have religion class with Sister Mary King, that’s literally it (she still talked over us in worry), she told us about her kids, she told us about her obsession with Emily Dickinson, stuff like that.

And then she hands us this worksheet.

She’s like, “Oh, these are just some basic questions for you to answer! Just so I can get to know you guys better!” like in lieu of an icebreaker game, which is fine, but…the questions. The questions were all “What is your most haunting fear?”, “What is your deepest regret?”, “Have you ever experienced the pain of loss?”, “What was your worst injury?”, “What was your worst nightmare?”, all questions like that, and then on the back she wanted us to draw a gravestone and write out what we wanted our epitaph to be.

We were twelve year olds, mind you.

Oh my God and one girl missed the first day because of her grandmother’s funeral, so when she came the next day and saw what the teacher was insisting she do for homework, she almost had a panic attack? And the lady still made her do it? Literally who wants to think about death anymore at a time like that omfg.

Okay, so then we get to the summer reading book reports, right? Now, she had given a list of maybe, 20 books that you could pick from, read it, and then present an oral report on it. You had to have notecards and you had to be able to answer questions from the class at the end. All in all, I’ve had worse projects.

So, on this list, she apparently put Madeleine L’Engle’s entire book series on the list…only she did not make it known that this was a series and not multiple stand alone books, so when reports started up it caused mass-panic of kids trying to put together plot points and make connections on what the hell they had read.

I was the only kid in the class who had chosen to read “A Wrinkle In Time”, and that has since lead to a series of events that…really actually scares me, I’m still incredibly freaked out, I’m not going to get into it right now because it’ll take away from the current story, but just know that I’m not above wondering if it only happened because I read the book for Stubel.

Anyway, so like, I got through the report okay. The class asking questions about it was fine, but the teacher kept asking questions that didn’t make sense, like, at all. My friend Angie has always had super neat handwriting and Mrs. Stubel got like, obsessed with her notecards and asked if she could borrow them for something. When we got our grades back a few weeks later, Angie had points taken off for not having notecards.

And then her teaching just…didn’t happen. She’d never stay on a topic, she’d always get herself distracted! We were not learning anything. And like, this wasn’t a class of advanced smart kids that loved to learn. By all accounts we should’ve been thrilled. But it got out of hand. It got to points where we had to start teaching lessons to ourselves, asking teacher from other grades for help, always coming home in tears, complaining constantly to our parents and the principal because this woman wasn’t teaching us anything. There were two kids who asked her multiple times for extra help, and she told them each time to ‘talk to me after school’, but then she’d leave immediately after school so they wouldn’t be able to talk to her. They finally brought up the issue in the middle of class and she had a breakdown, yelling about how nobody ever thinks that maybe the teacher has a lot of work to do, and maybe she’s entitled to taking off early, but when we tried to argue she shouldn’t schedule meetings and then break them off in the name of relaxation, she stormed out of the room and tried to get the principal to give us detention. (Which, like, our school didn’t even do, and she was the only one in the wrong during this situation) We are still in September at this point, and already at least ten kids have parents considering transferring them to another school. (And remember, there was only 19 of us, and most of the class had been together since preschool, so that was a big deal).

Then, she starts coming in with all the weird bruises. All the Moms™ immediately started gossiping that her husband had to be beating her, and that’s why she was so screwy in the head. But the way she talked about her husband made it seem like he *might* be dead, and we actually did witness her fall and smack her head into a doorknob once, so no one really knew what to believe. (Also, I’m not trying to imply that abuse would make someone crazy or ‘damaged’ or anything, this is just what was being said. I think they were trying to turn her into a more sympathetic character, because if you feel sorry for her you don’t have to hate her for frustrating your kids so much, and Hate Is A Bad Emotion.)

Also…this woman and Emily Dickinson.

She talked about Emily Dickinson every chance she could get. None of us knew who Emily Dickinson really was before she got there and you could see in her mind it was a capitol offense. She found out the curriculum didn’t have room to cover her (because like, we had a text book), and was way too upset about it. She started reading her poems whenever she found the time (usually somewhere in history class), and always gave us very detailed accounts about her dressing up as Emily and reading her poetry at the library.

Now, two things to note here:

  1. The library did not hire her to do this. She would literally just get in the mood, put on an Emily Dickinson costume that she made by herself, drive to different libraries, and just read poetry out loud to everyone there until someone eventually asked her to leave.
  2. The way she described these events…her tone, the look on her face, her posture…you could just tell that she was getting some sort of sexual gratification out of this? Like dressing up as Emily Dickinson in public and reading her sad poems is really what got this lady’s jollies rocking? Got her all hot and bothered? Which is…a lot, but why would you tell a bunch of seventh graders about it holy shit. What about that sounds like a good idea! What about that turns you back on!

So anyway, we learned a lot about Emily Dickinson against our will.

One of the Davids™ was reading a book for pleasure- which shouldn’t have been a shocker, a lot of kids always had books on them, but Stubel got really interested and asked if she could borrow it from him. He was like ‘sure, after I finish it?’ but she took it that day. He asked her for it back for like five weeks straight.

And…the strudels.

Okay, so the school was trying some dorky thing to promote ~togetherness~ or some virtue or something, I don’t remember the specifics of why, but each class had to make a huge themed poster and hang it on the wall outside the classroom. Which was like, whatever, not the most thrilling project but at least it allowed us to be productive vs just sitting there as the teacher runs about the room rambling about her family vacation from four years ago. Mrs. Stubel decided we needed a quirky nickname and after like three days of deliberation we were christened “Stubel’s Special Strudels”!

(points for alliteration or whatever, but no one actually voted for that and what exactly do strudels have to do with Catholicism? It became a big running joke amongst the kids)

Also, in case you were wondering, she didn’t explain the assignment correctly to us- so every other class had like these beautiful, artistic, well-themed and put together posters, while ours was just…literally a bunch of shit thrown together on paper. Nothing fit with each other, it was literally embarrassing to look at.

But then…she wouldn’t drop the strudel thing. Like she kept bringing it up. She got really into strudels and would just tell us random shit about them. Finally, someone jokes that we should get strudels one day for a party (like instead of a pizza party), and she’s Freaking Out and On Board. She really wants to buy us strudels and have a breakfast party now. She talked about it for like two days straight.

So like… you know in school when you would have a pizza party, usually the teacher would buy it? That’s how they always happened in my experience (not counting the last day of 10th grade when some kid had pizza delivered to the school for lunch but it didn’t get there until math class lol). But especially in grade school? Like if it wasn’t a PTA made party that’s super organized, the school would buy the food, right? Right?

Yeah, so she was like, if this is happening you guys need to give me the money. Just give me the money and then I’ll pick them up on my way to work!! And after some arguing some kids are on board. Strudels should only cost a couple dollars right?

And she’s like, oh no, I’m gonna get them from this high end bakery near my house so it’ll be special, but they’re not cheap and it’ll be a big order! I’m gonna need like fifteen dollars from each of you!

And at this point I’m just like…lady. Come on. 

But she keeps insisting. She’s not gonna go until every student in class pays up.

And I’m like…I’m poor. I don’t even like strudel.  And some of the less-naïve kids are siding with me.

And then she pulls that “you guys are just spoiling all the fun for your classmates” shit, like the naïve kids who already paid up, so it gets to the point where we just gotta cave and give her the money.

(I ended up stealing it out of my Crazy Bitch Aunt’s wallet so it’s whatever, I guess.)

And then of course, shockingly enough, every morning she was met with “where are the strudels?” and every morning she went wide eyed, slapped her forehead and yelled in embarrassed horror “I totally forgot! Tomorrow, guys, I promise!”

Honestly, with how scatterbrained and confused she always was…like to this day I can’t tell you with 100% certainty whether she hustled us or was just actually forgetting about the damn pastries, I choose to lean towards the hustled us side because that’s just the type of people I’m used to, but if I found out it was innocent forgetfulness I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.

She couldn’t handle more than one person talking at a time. Like, we’d have break periods, or group work, or something and all the talking made her go wide-eyed and batty. She’d look overworked and anxious and would be darting around the room trying to do work or something but she couldn’t focus and she’d yell at anyone who tried to talk to her directly. I remember one time she was using this boys desk for something so he asked “where am I supposed to sit?” and she snapped “Sit on the ceiling for all I care!”. And this kid was the Class Clown™ , so he immediately grabbed a chair in one hand and started climbing the bookcase to try and reach the ceiling. She’s standing right next to this and doesn’t even notice. He got all four chair legs planted on the ceiling and was trying to somehow maneuver his way into the chair (I really don’t know what the plan was exactly- he was really tall and it was a small building, so I think he probably had the idea that if he can get his body upside down and in the chair, and stretch out his arms like a hand-stand to hold onto bookcase, he could arguably sit on the ceiling.) but he slipped. Crashed into my desk and the two desks next to me, knocked over the book case, broke the chair in half and hit the desks with enough force to knock them down lower. It was hilarious. Everyone was loosing their shit cracking up (he was fine) and it still took Stubel like five minutes to notice his lying out across the desks right in front of her eyes. She was pissed but how did she miss any of it in the first place? She was barely being helpful in whatever it was she was trying to do.

This was the year the Phillies were going to the World Series, and all the grades were having a Phillies Rally in the cafeteria so a news crew was coming to the school and each class was supposed to come up with fun little cheers for them to broadcast. Multiple cheer ideas were presented to her and she vetoed all of them, someone even suggested just singing the damn eagles theme song with replaced words and calling it a day but she vetoed that too, she was very adamant that she could come up with a cheer all by herself and it’ll be the best one (whoever had the best cheer was winning like an ice cream day or something idk). And then like…literally five minutes before the rally she just hands us signs with the letters and was like ‘we’re just gonna spell out Phillies it will be cute won’t it my strudels???’. We were the weakest class there, predictably. I think we lost to the kindergarteners. There might still be a video online of me yelling “ i “ passionately at the top of my lungs. It was online bc our cheer was so bland the news crew cut it out of the broadcast.

I literally can’t say enough about how she never taught us anything. She’d be going on some tangent about how she doesn’t understand the science behind skiing, and I’d be like “Okay yes but please can you just tell me where Romania is on a map???” And she’d start fights whenever someone actually wanted to learn. It was so easy to get her angry but so hard for her to stay on topic. Kids started teaching the class themselves! Like seriously, she’d be rambling and one of us would just go up to the podium, open the teacher’s guide textbook and just start reading out loud and talking over her. By the time she noticed we’d be halfway through a lesson. And we understood it better than when she tried! You know something’s wrong when pre-teens are more qualified for a job than an adult who supposedly went to school for this.

We were in the church having run-throughs for our upcoming Confirmation and she almost set the church on fire…fifteen different times. In less than half an hour. How hard is it to hold a candle?

Okay, and here’s when stuff starts kicking up. It was October 28th, a Tuesday, and it was our last day of school that week because they were having parent-teacher conferences the rest of the week. So we were just hanging out, watching movies in class and reading (lord knows we weren’t learning), and Stubel calls me over to her desk.

So like, she had given everyone little bags with candy for Halloween, but I get up there and she hands me an extra one. And she’s like “Molly I know your birthday is tomorrow and I bought you a present but I left it on my coffee table this morning by accident! So just have the candy for now!”

And I’m like….”Ma’am I’m like, the sixth birthday this year. You didn’t give anyone else presents?”

And she goes “Oh, I know but this is a special secret surprise. I just know you’re gonna love it! Do you wanna stop by my house later this week to pick it up or should I just give it to you Monday after school?”

And like…In writing this sounds like a non-threatening exchange, and like, it was, but I felt so uncomfortable holy shit. I’m looking over my shoulder and shooting my friends SOS signals. Something about this felt so weird in my gut omfg. I told her thanks and I’d just see her Monday.

So we flash forward to Wednesday- my 13th birthday, the day the Phillies won the world series, and also the day my mother innocently strolled into the school for her meeting only to be met with screaming, the sound of heavy destruction, and the school secretary Mrs. Daily running at her in a panic, waving her arms and yelling “YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED GET IN MY OFFICE NOW!”

So my poor mother, who thought she could handle this whole meeting in a few minutes and barely be an hour late for work, is now barricaded in the front office with the school secretary, as the noises from down the hall get louder and louder. The woman explains that they had gotten so many complaints about Mrs. Stubel that this morning, when she got to the school, the principal Sister Patricia called her in and said “Listen, we need you to be professional and still have the parent conferences, but we have to let you go. We just don’t think you fit in well here, and the kids need to come first and feel comfortable in their school.” and like, I’m paraphrasing because I wasn’t there, but we all know she was very polite and professional about it.

Mrs. Stubel, however…was not.

She flipped her chair and stormed out of the office, and locks herself in the seventh grade classroom. She started wrecking the shit out of that place, screaming obscenities and the top of her lungs, they had to call the cops on her! She was locked in there for almost an hour! And let me just give you a nice little list of everything she did in that classroom:

  • Smashed three windows.
  • Threw everything off her desk and carved swear words all over it.
  • Got cleaning fluid that she knew would damage the chalk boards, smeared it all over.
  • Cracked the chalk boards by repeatedly smashing chairs against them.
  • Wrote swear words all over the walls and on desks
  • Went into students desks, ripped up their books.
  • Stole my glasses. (which were in my desk bc I only used them in class at the time)
  • Threw some desks around.
  • Carved swear words into the boards. (there was so much carving I’m assuming she just had a knife on her person, which has to lead to the question, did she have a knife on her while she was in class with us?)
  • Physically ripped the hooks to hang backpacks on out of the wall.
  • Knocked the closet door off it’s hinges.
  • Ripped up all the books in the bookcases and threw their pages all around the room.
  • Wrote lewd phrases inside student’s desks.
  • Broke multiple chairs.
  • Used her podium as a battering ram against the wall that’s in front of where the backpacks go. (the wall won but Damage Was Inflicted)
  • Set a fire in the trash can.
  • When the principal and other teachers started trying to get in, she tossed her rolling chair at the door to scare them off.
  • She was screaming curse words at the top of her lungs the entire time, and cursing the school and the kids and the principal and the church in general, and the school building was small, so all the parents and the smaller children that had to come to the meetings (who were locked in their respective classrooms in fear) heard everything.
  • So much more? But it’s 4:30 in this morning and this list is already long.

So my mom is in the front office and deadass the

entire police force

shows up, running down the hallway to the classroom yelling at her to stop, and it takes a while for them to get her out holy shit. They knocked down the door and she tried to escape out of one of the broken windows! But they got her and dragged her out.

So of course, in such a small school with very involved parents this shit spread like wildfire. The entire town knew within the day. The poor principal called the newly retired old-seventh grade teacher and was like “So we…need some help” and the lady was like “I already heard I’ll be there Monday” omfg. I remember I got a text from one of my classmates saying “if your birthday wish was for us to be set free from the beast I love you” omfg.

So, we eventually go back to school on Monday and everyone’s buzzing. The principal has us go to the cafeteria and she ‘delicately’ explains the situation, and that the old teacher is coming out of retirement for us, the school has a restraining order against Mrs. Stubel now and that she’s sorry we had to deal with this mess. Our classroom had to go under some heavy reconstruction before we could be let back in there, so for like two weeks we alternated between the cafeteria and the preschooler’s classroom, we had no books or anything, just provided loose-leaf paper and pens. It was like, surreal, but everyone was just so happy to be rid of her and to be in the presence of a competent teacher omfg. We eventually were able to get back into our usual classroom.

  1. It took a while for things to go completely back to normal, though. After the big spectacle she made, for weeks after she was fired we were all very scared of the possibility of Mrs. Stubel returning to the school with a gun in hand. It was always a topic we whispered about at lunch with wide eyes and shivers. Like…genuine nightmare scenario.
  2. About two weeks after she was fired, a boy in the back of the classroom gasped loudly during SSR, and when we all looked at him, he whispered in anger “She never gave us our freakin’ strudels!”
  3. About three months after she was fired, we were lined up at the door to go to Library when a few of us looked through the windows and saw something darting through the trees. It was fast and we couldn’t make anything out, so we let it drop. When the class and teacher returned half and hour later, the book she had borrowed months before from one of the boys was sitting on his desk. It was just laying there, the room was silent, nothing had been disturbed…but I have never seen a book look so threatening. People were freaking out. Someone kept insisting that she turned the book into a bomb. No one figure out how she got in the school, and no one could figure out how she got it on the right desk, as we had switched the seating arrangement since she had last been there.  
  4. A full six months after she had left, it was nearing the end of the school year and our class was dicking around during our last computer class. Someone found a website (that we weren’t allowed to be on) that pulls up any police records attached to whoever’s name you enter, so someone decided to search Mrs. Stubel as a joke. We ended up finding out she had like six DUI’s.

Aaaaand that’s the story of the horrendous teacher I had for two months in 7th grade. One of my favorite party stories but tbh she still haunts me™ .

heartbreak chronicles {1} | M

 PT 1 | PT 2ONGOING

Contains: bad crack, smut {fuckboy!jimin}

Words: 10,164

Summary: Park Jimin had it all — good grades, a place as the soccer team’s captain and, more than that, the broken hearts of at least half the campus’ population. Though, one thing he did not have was someone willing to break his heart and, after you were dragged inside a miraculous plan to play that part, the last thing counted on was the preposterous idea that, perhaps, you could fall for him as well.

[img cr]

A/N: I tried out a “lighter” writing style for… whatever this is. Hope you guys like it! | This fic is based on the movie “John Tucker must die” | SUB!BTS COLLAB

The girl’s request echoed on the warm air of your living room, dancing on silence as your body was covered in shock. For an instant, you truly believed you had misheard her words, replacing them for something much more unrealistic. Regardless, as the quietude fell like a blanket over the two of you, you noticed, at last, that your friend could not be more serious. “You want me to do what?” You finally asked, flabbergasted.

The night had started normally — and that was all that you could ever wish for. All that you wanted was to rest after an exhausting week, merely putting your your pajamas and watching shallow TV shows until your tiredness forced you to go to sleep. You wanted to get some pizza and gossip with your roommate about the most frivolous of subjects, allowing for the storm of stress and unfinished projects to disperse from around your head.

However, she had a different idea of how that night would unfold. “We want you to break his heart,” Lisa told you with utter serenity, as if the words that had left her mouth were no more than mundane. “Thought that was quite clear.”

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2

Producer Jeff Bhasker faced a daunting task several months ago. After having worked with Kanye West and winning Grammy Awards for producing Mark Ronson’s “Uptown Funk,” and Fun.’s 2012 album “Some Nights,” he had to decide whether to take on a new project: the debut solo album of One Direction member Harry Styles.

“I’d just had a baby, and I was kind of like, ‘Eh, I don’t know if I’ll jump into this,‘” Bhasker tells Variety. He agreed to have Styles come over to “just talk,” and proceeded to put him through the Bhasker home sniff test. “My dog tends to bite people, and he was kind of scoping Harry out,” Bhasker explains. Styles “did this move — like a little shoot the gun with his finger, and my dog walked over and started licking his finger. That’s when I was, like, ‘This guy has something special.'”

Once music came into the mix, Bhasker was sold. “He started playing references of what he wanted to do, which sounded like a cool rock band. I got it, and could see where if we pulled this off, it would be one of the coolest things ever. But he needed a buddy who plays guitar like he’s Keith Richards.” The insinuation being: Styles is the Mick Jagger in this scenario.

Adds Bhasker: “I’m so proud of the album itself, and also of Harry for being so brave, and committing 100%, and writing the kind of vulnerable lyrics that he wrote, and not pandering to what people thought he would do. People have no idea that this is what Harry Styles is like. Just like I didn’t know. He’s obviously very famous and beloved, but people don’t know the depths of what an amazing personality and artist he is.”

Variety spoke with Bhasker about the recording of “Harry Styles” ahead of the album’s May 12 release: 

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Angel in the Darkness (M)

Originally posted by jungkook-gifs

Summary: After a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. Little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named Jeon Jungkook.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Jin, but not romantically)

Genre: Smut (M), angst, mafia!au, prostitution!au 

Word Count: 5,468

A/N: This is a dark and filthy story! Graphic descriptions of sex (masturbating, etc), heavy dom/sub undertones, drug use, vulgar language use……(alot of smut comes in later) This is a mature read! You have been warned!



Your mother told you that there was a purpose for what everyone does. That there is always a reason for someone’s actions; whether it was bad or good. If it was a good action, the individual has learned the most rewarding path to handle situations; regardless if it was easy or not. If it was a bad action, the person could reflect on it, and with guidance, they will learn the right way toward dealing with obstacles. And to this day, that is how you viewed life. If you handled something well, you would be rewarded in the future, if you handled it poorly, you would need to reflect on why you did such a thing, till you find the right path. With these beliefs, you always wanted to find the ‘purpose’ of an individual’s actions, and help them find the right way. So that’s how you ended up working at a rehab centre; helping mentally to find the root cause of someone’s poor actions, and leading them to a better future.

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Wrong

Originally posted by lumos025

Summary: Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung bullied you in high school and by some sick joke the universe was playing on you, 2 years later Jungkook was attending the same University as you. Even sicker joke was being stuck with him doing a project on ‘Sex in Cinema’ for a whole semester. Go figure.

Words: 8083

Warnings: Smut, a lot of dirty talk holy shit (I can’t help it), oral, masturbation, overstimulation.

2 years earlier:

You walked down the road, almost around midnight, trying to get home as fast as possible the chilly rainy weather. Not to mention the truck that was trailing behind you and the screams and shouts of “wait up thunder thighs!” and “stop running away like a little bitch!” coming from the 3 boys who occupied it. Wrapping your arms around yourself to feel just an ounce of warmth, you willed yourself to ignore these bastards and walk faster. ‘I’m almost home, I’m almost home’ repeating it like a mantra in your head. Really, it was a stupid idea to think that you could enjoy a last high school party with your friends who were the complete opposite of you. After all, when the three most popular boys of the school were determined to make your life a living hell, why would anyone else want to treat you different in this extremely cliché scenario. It was hard to pinpoint what exactly was it about you that made them hate you so much.

From the time that you can remember, and you remembered a lot, Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook had always despised you. It’s like they couldn’t stand your existence. When you would be at the library helping out by staying late, they would wait after school, yes they would go out of their way to stay at school longer, to make sure that your walk home was as stressful as possible. Making fun of pretty much anything and everything you did was a normal occurrence. You had just learned to live with it, but not today.

You suddenly started to slow your pace. They are cowards, you thought. What can they possibly do? Always taunting, always calling names, always making you feel shit about anything you took interest in. But they were all talk right? You thought, huffing out. People like them walk in groups because they can’t actually do anything alone. You don’t know what came over you, but you suddenly stopped and turned around slowly. The truck that the boys were trailing behind you also slowed and stopped a few meters away.

The one driving was Jimin, while Taehyung sat beside him and Jungkook stood, head poking out of the truck’s opening in the ceiling. You stood defiantly, shaking from the growing rain, your hair soaked and hands tightly by your side. Silently daring them to charge the truck towards you. ‘They won’t do it, they’re cowards’ you thought, your confidence growing slowly. You couldn’t tell where this adrenaline rush had come from to give you such courage to finally stand your ground, just a few weeks away from graduation. You could see Taehyung’s cunning, and terrifyingly psychotic grin widening as he relentlessly whispered in Jimin’s ear, whose grip on the wheel was tightening as he looked you right in the eyes. Jungkook was laughing. He apparently found the situation so amusing, that you decided now to grow a spine and challenge them. Suddenly, the sound of the engine revving was as loud as the rain.

It all went pretty much downhill from there. The last thing you remembered was your too loud heartbeat, the bright flash from the truck and Jungkook’s face suddenly forming a horrified expression as if he wasn’t just laughing at you.

Present day:

You weren’t looking for him specifically among the crowd flooding into the lecture hall. But something did happen inside you when you spotted him. A kind of lightness, or a lifting of some heavy part of yourself. Everything was settling into a nice, normal routine. You were going about your daily lives in an ordinary manner, and you were doing it completely separately.

He sat in the fourth row, and you sat at the back. Only now there was no rising sense of dread. You didn’t keep your hand to yourself when the lecturer asked a question. You answered, without the background sound of someone snickering. And even when it felt as though he was looking at you, when you snuck a glance at him you only ever saw the back of his head.

He bent low over his notes, and his head occasionally lifted a little as he really listened to whatever the lecturer was saying. Once or twice you actually caught him nodding, or doing a little staggered-looking half laugh over some ridiculous concept. As if he loved it all now.

He loved it so much he was sometimes at the lectures early. You would come in with Y/B/F, still giggling over something ridiculous, and get the faint prickle that told you he was already there. Only now when it happened it didn’t make you want to cover herself up, or run and hide. There was nothing to hide from. Everything was going to be super cool and totally fine from here on in. Or it would have been, if it were not for the group project. The one that you were so excited for that you didn’t process it when your lecturer started reading out the names. You would be working with Y/B/F—that was a given. They were going to watch ridiculously filthy movies together and laugh about bobbing butts and ogle Ewan McGregor’s penis.

And then you heard his name.

Followed by yours.

Distantly, like in a dream of being in class.

“Miss Y/L/N, do you have a problem with that assignment?”

Everyone was looking at you now. No—not just looking. Examining, as though You had become a new and baffling species. The girl who was not excited about being carried by Jungkook. The creature who seemed horrified at the prospect of working with him. It made it difficult to do anything at all, even with Y/B/F urging you to say yes, yes I do have a fucking problem. Though You still didn’t expect the shake of you head to happen. Just one little accidental shake of you head and that was it. Your lecturer moved on to his next victim, leaving you in something You once had a nightmare about in ninth grade. Working with Jungkook. On a semester-long project.

About sex in cinema.

“Don’t worry, we can fix this. Just go to his office and talk to him privately about it. He would have to be Satan himself to not understand,” You heard Y/B/F whisper. But the words seemed even further away than you name had when your lecturer read it out.

“Right. Right. Yeah. You’re right.”

“I can come with you if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. That’s fine.”

“Are you sure? You look like you’ve been punched. In the face. With a small nuclear blast.”

“I’m sure,” You said, but soon came to regret that firmness in your voice. The steady nod that told Y/B/F it was okay for you to go in a different direction once you were outside. It only meant that You were on your own when you got to the tiny hallway outside your lecturer’s door.

And saw that Jungkook was already waiting. Of course he was—he probably had the same concerns as you. No matter how sorry he was or what he thought of being in the red and being wrong, he would never want to work in close quarters with you for the entire semester. In fact, him being sorry likely made the situation seem worse to him. Most likely he had calculated all the awkward conversations you guys would have to have and how far apart he would have to stand to keep you comfortable, and found it as unbearable as you did.

Even though his expression seemed to say something else.

Oh god. His expression was saying something else.

Then he held up his hands, as though to calm you.

And you knew.

“All right, Y/N, I know that you’re probably thinking it’s way better if you do this project with that gal pal of yours, but wait, okay? I got reasons why this is gonna be fine.”

“Is that seriously why you’re here? To stop me asking to switch us?”

“Well…no. Not stop you exactly. Stop is a really strong word.”

“While I’m glad you’ve learned that—” You said, your voice briefly catching when you saw his wince. He winced, your mind hissed, before you forced yourself to finish. “I still think it covers what’s happening here.”

“I just wanted to talk to you about it for a second. Just, like, hear me out.”

“I want to. I really do. But come on. You know I wasn’t born yesterday. This has all the hallmarks of some kind of trap or prank or joke at my expense.”

“How could it possibly be a trap or prank? He put people together based on…I don’t even know what he put people together based on. But it couldn’t have had anything to do with me.”

You searched his face, looking for the lie. Waiting for him to show some hint of bullshit, beneath those too-kind eyes and his spread hands and the obvious logic of what he was saying.

Only there was nothing, nothing, nothing.

And it made no difference at all.

“Okay, I buy that. I do. Yet the fact still remains: I cannot do a project with you. Ever. You have to know that doing anything like that is completely impossible for me. Right?”

“I was just thinking that maybe…maybe you could give it a chance. You know, now that we’re on speaking terms and everything is almost cool between us.”

“You think everything is cool between us?”

“Well, maybe not cool exactly. More like…okay.”

“Still need to dial it back a notch, chief.”

“Reasonable? Not bad? Kind of semi decent?”

“That last one is getting close.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging.

Relenting, you thought. He’s actually relenting.

“Fine, we are a fucking disaster.”

“Now you’re getting the idea,” You said.

“But I figure we can work on it.”

“By doing a project on sex in the cinema together?”

“Well,” he said. “When you put it like that it sounds dumb.”

“There’s no other way to put it! That is literally what you’re suggesting.”

“Yeah, I get that. I just…want to not get that. I want it to be easier or better or just not the way this is.”

“That could have been my daily prayer in high school, Jungkook.”

He didn’t react the way You expected to, with more weird arguing.

He just closed his eyes.

He closed them like someone had just told him his family had been in a fatal accident.

“I wish I could go back and start over again. More than wish—I would give everything I have to start over again. The wrestling, this scholarship, every party I ever went to and every fun thing I ever did. And you can choose to not believe me about that, but—”

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

“I’m as surprised as you are, but yeah.”

“Then why does this have to be such a big deal?”

You thought of Y/B/F saying attempted murder.

“Y/N that is fucking attempted murder. Babe, you don’t have to feel bad about anything you put him through now. His friends and him included, ran you over with a fucking truck. How much physio and other therapy sessions did you have to go through because of them, huh?”

The terror that used to flood you when he walked down the hall.

That ever-present sensation of a grille barrelling into your body.

“Because understanding that someone is truly sorry and wanting to spend huge amounts of time with them are two different things. I might see that you mean this, and know rationally that I can almost sort of trust you. Maybe I even want it to be that easy, too. But your face is the one I had nightmares about for two years. Your smile doesn’t seem happy to me. I associate it with cruelty.”

You shook your head. Glanced away from him so you didn’t have to see the defeated look on his face.

“It’s hard for me to look at you, Jungkook, no matter how much I appreciate what you’ve done here.”

“That was a really well-thought-out and logically sound speech.”

“I know it was. I’m pretty proud.”

“And I have no argument against it.”

“You don’t need one. What you’ve done here…” You gritted your teeth hard and looked at the ceiling. But this time it didn’t stop the tears. They were already welling up by the time You explained the rest to him.

“It means a lot. And a million men would never have done the same, I can promise you. I don’t have any messages from Jimin on my phone. Taehyung isn’t going to call anytime soon. It’s just you, a rare fantasy in the middle of all this dismal reality.”

He turned around when you were done. All the way around—and then his arms went up to cover his head and you understood. What you said had affected him, strongly. Maybe more than his words had affected you. It took him twice as long to get it together, and even after he had he couldn’t quite look at you. He just kept staring at the wall and clenching his jaw.

And saying things. Oh yeah, he said things, in a strained, shaky voice.

“I meant what I said, you know. That you are the very best.”

“I know. That’s why I’m going to ask you not to say it again.”

“I can’t stop. I have the opposite of whatever idiocy infected me in high school.”

“What, like insane-need-to-compliment fever?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he said.

“Well it has taken a raging hold of you, let me tell you.”

“I know it seriously cannot be stopped.”

“I think you have a terminal case.”

“Not a bad way to go, if you ask me,” he said, so soft and sincere it took all your strength to stop yourself smiling in response. You could feel your lips trembling. Your cheeks ached with the effort of pinning them down, yet still You knew you were failing. You could see it in his satisfied expression.

And hear it in his words.

“That’s better. Seeing you look happy.”

“I am happy,” You said, then added without thinking: “Are you?”

Of course you didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a polite habit, based on interactions with people other than Jungkook. People who had actual problems, who lived troubled lives, who might answer with a god no. Jungkook would never need to answer with a god no. His life was full of endless possibilities and unfettered glory. He could snap his fingers and have a thousand people follow him to the ends of the earth.

He even looked that way, in the dim light of the narrow hallway between these offices.His hair was the colour of dark chocolate. Every item of clothing suited him perfectly, from the rich grey-blue of his V-neck to the jeans he’d tucked into his timberlands. He exuded cool from every pore; he could have stepped off the cover of a magazine.Yet all you could see was his face as it slowly sagged. It was like watching someone cut the strings that had held a mask in place—a mask you hadn’t known he was wearing. You thought that smiling golden god who had tormented you was the real him, but for a second you couldn’t be sure. Just for one heart-rattling second, and then the door to the office opened and that glimpse of something else was gone—so fast You would imagine later that it had never existed. It was just a trick of the light.

Better to focus on the real and the now.

“What can I do for you two today?” Professor asked.

Then you took a breath and answered.

“Nothing,” You said.

A few weeks later:

After that day, you didn’t know how or why you suddenly decided to give working with him a try, but so far, it was going…. okay. You two met up at the library, took your notes, glancing at each other once in a while, mostly Jungkook, asking each other questions relevant to their awkward topic given the situation and that was that. He made jokes sometimes that managed to get out a few carefree laughs out of you as well. It was all… comfortable. Nothing that you had expected. That is why, you decided, it was time to move on to watching actual movies for references, in your project.

It was nearly one in the morning, on a Wednesday night when you went to get him as your friend was out and that was the only time Jungkook was free after wrestling practice. Everyone was in bed, and it gave an eerie feeling to your journey back to your dorm.

As did his silence.

He was always talking—You realized that then. Sometimes he practically kept up a running commentary on everything and anything, yet here he was as quiet as stone. And it wasn’t because he was exerting himself. He didn’t breathe hard once the whole time. He could have been carrying a backpack full of air. But the idea of mental trouble lingered. When you tilted your head a little, you could practically hear his mind going over and over things, in a way that just wasn’t like him. He was easy-going. Happy-go-lucky. He never worried about things the way you did.

Until now.

“Jungkook, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You just seem a little…”

Like an ominous statue of yourself.

“I was just thinking what movie we should watch.”

“Oh. Oh. You mean…right now?” You asked.

“Well, that’s what you came to get me for.”

“That’s true, I did come and get you for that.”

“Unless you don’t want me in your room so late.”

“No, no why would I…no, that’s cool.”

“You’re in the Jubilee Building, right?”

You had the strongest urge to ask him how he knew. But that seemed just as weird as objecting to him being in your room.

“Yeah. You just go past the science block and then—”

“Right, right, right I got it, I got it. The statue of Heo Nanseolheon is outside it, yeah?”

“That’s the one. Then it’s the third floor. Don’t worry though, there’s an elevator.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“Do you wanna let me unlock the door?” you asked standing behind him when you both reached your dorm.

“Oh shit, yeah. Yeah, go ahead,” he said moving his bulky body out of the way as you slid past him to unlock the door. Everything had returned to the way it should be now between you and Jungkook.

Except for the sexy movie you were now going to watch.

Alone. Together. On your bed. In the middle of the night.

You let him pick the movie, thinking that would make things easier somehow. Nothing could be misconstrued, at least, that way. He wouldn’t think you meant anything by your choice, whatever it might be. But you forgot that he might mean something with his choice. You watched the heroine trying to clumsily pick up the hero at the start of White Palace, and cringed so hard it felt more like a cramp in your gut. Your cheeks grew hot, in a way that made you grateful for the dim light of your feeble bedside lamp.

Otherwise he would see you face go red and know you understood his point—despite the fact that his point was fucking nonsense.

“This is even less realistic than Dirty Dancing.”

“Really? You think so? Like, in what way?” You asked.

“It just seems like she keeps pushing and pushing. No woman would push a guy that good-looking if he didn’t seem into it. I can’t think of anything more embarrassing.”

You didn’t look at him, but knew he shrugged.

His arm rubbed against yours as he did it.

“Maybe she doesn’t care.”

“I guess not.”

“Maybe she knows he’s actually into it.”

“That could be one explanation.” Jungkook says, sighing.

“Plus she obviously gets exactly what she was looking for.” He adds.

Onscreen, Susan Sarandon was going down on James Spader.

Which to you didn’t seem to back up his point at all.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure she’s having a great time getting absolutely nothing out of this.”

“That’s what this looks like to you? Like she’s getting nothing out of this?”

“Well, in movies they make it look like she is. But I doubt she really would be.”

“You doubt that giving a guy a blow job could be enjoyable for a woman.”

You glanced at him then, just to see if his expression was as incredulous as his voice.

Then had to look back at the screen quickly. If anything, his expression was worse. He had one eyebrow raised, and there was almost no humour in his eyes. This was serious somehow. Much too serious.

“I don’t know. I mean it’s not really something you do for your own enjoyment. You do it for his.”

“So to you there’s nothing pleasurable about it. Nothing sexy about having a guy at your mercy. Begging you, moaning for you, trying not to push too deep when it gets too good.”

Your breath hitched.

“You do those things?”

The words came out too fast. Too disbelieving, too.

But You just couldn’t stop them. They ripped out of you before you had time to talk it over with you mind, all ragged around the edges and maybe a little breathless. Just enough that he likely heard it, and wondered why. You couldn’t tell him, however. You didn’t know yourself.You only knew that when he started talking again You had the urge to put your fingers in your ears.

“Of course I do those things. Having your cock sucked is fucking amazing,” he said, which was absolutely fine.

But then he kept going.

He kept going.

“The heat and the slickness and her looking up at you as she works it with her hands and lips and tongue. Especially the tongue. The tongue is the best part. Watching it curl right around the—”

“Well, okay, it sounds cool when you put it that way.”

God your voice sounded loud. And too fast again, too. All your words practically jumbled together.

“I don’t know what other way it could possibly be.”

“How about hold still while I fuck your face? Some guy coming right in your eye? Losing a chunk of hair because he pulled too hard?”

“You’re not serious. Tell me honestly. None of that happened.”

Now his voice was bright with amusement. But it didn’t make you feel any better.

“All of that happened. To me. More than once.”

“Yeah but after…”

“After what?”

“After he came then he…”

He made a circle with his hand bobbing his head, as though you should know that one thing logically followed on from the other. It was all completely easy and obvious.

Instead of the hardest quiz you had ever had to get through. “Then he what? Gave me cab fare?”

“No. No. After that then this happens.”

You glanced at the thing he was pointing at.

Then had to look away again, quick. At your hands, at the bedspread.

At him, as he oh-so-slowly realized what your sudden awkwardness meant.

“This has never happened to you. Holy shit. You’ve never had a guy go down on you.”

“I have had a guy go down on me. I totally have.”

“Are you sure about that? You don’t look sure.”

“Well, maybe not like this.”

“There’s no other way to do it. This is actually the most basic, ordinary way to go about eating pussy.”

At those words, you could feel the fire burning on your cheeks and your breathing getting laboured. Jungkook really had no filter.

“Yeah, but this seems really exciting and sexy and hot.”

“Going down on a girl is really exciting and sexy and hot. Like I said about giving a guy head? Exactly the same principle. You get to see you writhe and shake and push herself against your mouth. Just like that, just like Sarandon is doing. Look at her. Look at her.”

“I am. I am looking,” You said, but You weren’t, not really.

You were thinking of the shiver that had gone through you when he said look, soft as butter and so oddly tender. And the way that he was looking himself, eyes almost far away.

Like he was seeing Sarandon, but putting someone else in her place.

“Think about how it must feel.”

“Yeah I can…I get that…”

“Think about his tongue slowly easing over her soft folds.”

“Is that…how…is that what you…” You said, breathlessly “Uh-huh.”

“And it works?”

You voice was a whisper now. But that was okay. His was, too. It was so low he had to lean close to ask you questions. He had to meet your gaze, and You had to meet his.

“What works?”

“It makes you…you know. Cum.”

“Oh yeah. But you gotta take your time.”

“I see. I guess that makes sense.” You were just babbling now, trying to keep up with him.

“Let it build, nice and slow. Start by just stroking her with your fingertips. Work her, you know, until her lips part. And then when she’s all open to you, you just trace the shape of her with your tongue. Lick and lick in these ever decreasing circles until you’re right…fucking…there.”

“Where? Where…where are you?”

You shouldn’t have asked. You knew you shouldn’t as soon as it was out. Your faces were too close together now, and his body seemed to be looming over yours. That was his shoulder, almost nudging your chin. And his thigh, pressing deep and hard into yours. His answer was never going to make any of this better.

Then it came, hotter than molten lava and twice as destructive.

“Her clit. Her slick, swollen clit.”

“I see. That makes sense,” You said, even though that wasn’t what you wanted to go with.

No, what you wanted to go with was more like oh my fucking God this can’t be reality.

“Then you just…stroke it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Until she’s mindless.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Doesn’t even know what she’s saying anymore, or doing. She might tell you to bite, to fuck her with your tongue and fingers, harder or faster or some word that doesn’t even make sense. Hips coming up to meet you, greedy for it, horny for it, so horny she barely notices that her hand is in your hair and she’s squeezing tight enough for it to sting, so close to coming that her whole body is shuddering and shivering and flushing that deep, good pink. Soon as you see it you just know she’s burning. That her clit is aching and throbbing and her pussy is all open and slippery, and one more second of this will make her come. She’s already coming, before you even know where you’re at. Hard, hard, hard, like she never has before.”

You were holding your breath by the time he was done. You practically had to—his face was so close now you could have blinked and brushed his cheek with your eyelashes. Every word he said seemed to stroke against your face, cool at first but then more heated. As though he was starting to boil alive inside, too. Certainly he looked that way. You have never seem him flushed like this, not even when he pushed himself during a match.

Not even when he was embarrassed.

Though you supposed that wasn’t a common occurrence. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed now, and he’d just said all those words. He said clit and pussy and slippery, as if that was just a normal way to talk to your friend. And he did it all without flinching, too. Without glancing away or putting some distance between you. In fact, those eyes of his—now heavy lidded and so soft focus—seemed intent on you more than they ever had been before. They skittered all over you face, searching for something you had no idea how to give.

You didn’t even know what the something was.

You only knew that it made you forget yourself, just as he had described.

It made you search his face back, marvelling over every brutish line and gentle curve. Those lips of his, as plump as a girl’s yet so masculine at the same time. Every inch of them gleaming, as if he’d slicked them with gloss in anticipation of a kiss. Though even in that moment you didn’t really believe you wanted that. Until he whispered, low and heavy against your own lips.

“You can, you know.”

“Can what?”

“Touch yourself.”

It jolted you, when he said it.

But not as much as realizing why he said it.

You followed his gaze down, and took in the unmistakable sight of your hand in your lap. Really, really high up in your lap. Almost between your legs, in fact—though that was fine, it was cool, it was okay. You stuttered ‘no, no I didn’t really want to do that’, but it didn’t matter.

Because his hand was actually between his legs.

“I do,” he said.

As the whole world as You knew it dissolved right in front of your eyes.

“You do?”

“Fuck, yes. I’m dying to.”

“Because of the film. Because of the movie.”

“Sure. We can say that, if you want.”

You closed your eyes. Swallowed thickly.

Wished hard that he hadn’t added that last part.

“If we could that would be awesome.”

“No problem. I mean it was probably inevitable that this would happen to us.”

“Probably, yeah. Almost definitely, in fact.”

“Just a natural response to a sexy movie.”

“Seems that way to me.”

“So you just slip your hand under your waistband, and I’ll slip my hand under mine,” he said, which was fine all on its own. The problem was that he then went ahead and did it. You tried not to look, but saw anyway. You saw the way he fumbled in his haste, as though all his talk was only calm on the surface. Underneath, something was paddling frantically. It was making his cheeks pink and his body all trembly.

And his dick hard. God, his cock was hard.

You could see that without even trying at all. The curving shape beneath his sweatpants was enormous and unmistakable, and even if it hadn’t been, his hand made it pretty clear. As You watched, he eased it over that solid length, before finally clasping it in a way that shoved the swollen head right up against the tented material. Now You could make out ruder details, like the thick ridge around the head, and the slit at the tip. Both pronounced, explicit, rude.

But that wasn’t what really got you.

It was the way he stopped to lick his palm, before shoving it

under his waistband.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, are you serious?”

“It’s cool. it’s fine. We don’t even have to look at each other.”

“No I guess not. I guess…I guess that I can just watch the screen.”

“We’re just two people getting off over a hot movie.”

“Exactly. Exactly.”

But that wasn’t strictly true. You weren’t getting off over the movie at all. Nothing was even happening anymore—it was just rich people looking down their noses and arguments over a Dust buster. If anything, it was vaguely depressing, rather than lust-inducing. Yet still You sat there, face burning, body tender and rigid all at the same time. Half of you stuffed so full of embarrassment and shock you sort of wanted to block everything out, the other half just shamelessly straining to hear every single tiny sound he made. Never daring to look, of course, but then…

You really didn’t need to.

He made so much noise that you could make out almost everything. Every little moan and gasp—and there were a lot of them, too. Lots of thick, guttural moans that started on an ah and ended with a kind of abrupt sigh, as though a knife had sliced through his throat before he could finish. So many soft mmms and gasps, like he honestly couldn’t get enough of whatever he was doing.

Though it was the whispers that hit you hardest. They got you right in the gut, low down and deep enough to ache. Oh yeah, he murmured, as though the hottest sex in the world was happening onscreen. As though they were fucking like animals, up and down and left and right. His tone even sounded sort of tremulous, and it got more intense as time went on. Soon he was panting, and rocking, and every now and then uttering something he was clearly imagining himself doing.

“Ah, yeah, suck my cock, just like that,” he said.

Then just to make it extra agonizing, he spat into his hand.

To make it extra slick, you thought, like someone’s mouth. Someone sucking him the way he’d described, slow and steady until he was actually shuddering, right here and now. The bed was moving, at least, and it wasn’t because he was working that cock hard. He wasn’t. He was going slow, so slow, squeezing and rolling rather than the short, fast kind of thing You’d always thought guys did. They almost never seemed to do anything else in porn…but then again they never did all this other stuff, too. You dared to turn you head a little more and saw to your astonishment that he had his hand pressed to his mouth. He was almost biting his fist, chest heaving, body shivering all over—but most important, eyes closed.

He couldn’t even see you looking. You were free to do as you pleased.Yet something held you back. You couldn’t seem to do more than peek out of the corner of you eye, and even that made you feel strange. You kept getting this clenching sensation—sort of like embarrassment or humiliation—and it got worse when his back arched. When he actually said out loud that he was almost there, that he was so close, that he was gonna come all over your duvet. I need something to do it on, he said, and even that had a shameful frisson of its own. You had a brief flash of him kneeling up and suddenly coming all over your face, or maybe pulling down that ridiculously large neck hole to expose your breasts.

Followed by an image of that thick white liquid coating you, striping you face, dripping off your tight little nipples. Him pushing his cock past your lips to finish off, groaning as he flooded your mouth.

And he would have flooded it, too. You glanced at him just in time to see him shove his sweatpants down, that big dick swelling under the pressure of his too-tight grip. Thick ribbons of come already hitting his bared belly, over and over until you were sure he must be done. He had to be, yet more kept flowing over his still-working fist. You watched it run down over his fingers in slippery trails before pooling in his lap.

Though none of it was what you kept seeing behind your eyes in the aftermath. Instead, you saw the way his face had looked as he shot his load. The open mouth, and the closed eyes, and most of all the strange, wrenching vulnerability that had covered him for a moment. No mischief, no macho bullshit—just a completely open and abandoned sort of ecstasy.

And all of it for you.

He knew you had watched him. He still knew now. You flicked your eyes back to the screen as he started to catch his breath, but the first thing he did was include you.

“Guess I kind of made a mess here,” he said, everything about his tone suggesting two conspirators, finishing off their evil deed. You even got up after he’d said it, to get him a tissue.

Though when You got back he’d pretty much taken care of most of it.

You stopped in the doorway to the bathroom at the sight: Him, casually licking his messy fingers.

It took you a good two minutes after that to go over to him, with your fistful of toilet paper. And when you did go, it was on very shaky legs. Your whole body felt shaky, in fact—though not in any way you’d experienced before. This was like being full to the brim with something burning hot, skin so close to ripping that it couldn’t keep still. Sometimes you thought you could see it shivering slightly under the strain, and every inch of it was tender, so tender. His leg brushed yours as you sat down, and it was agony. You even winced—then immediately regretted it.

He had been concentrating on clean-up. Now he looked up at you sharply.

And asked questions You were loathing to answer.

“Have you…not? I mean have you not—”

“I couldn’t. I’m sorry, I couldn’t.”

“God, you must be bursting.”

“Honestly, I’m fine.”

The problem was though; you didn’t seem fine.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. Your hands were fists on your thighs.

And of course he could see all of that.

“You look like you’re bursting.”

“Oh yeah? And what does bursting look like?”

“Your voice is shaking.”

“Is it?” You asked, voice so light it almost passed.

Almost, almost, almost.

“Your cheeks are flushed.”

“Are they?”

“And then there’s the fact that your nipples are like diamonds. Fuck, look how stiff they are. Isn’t that agonizing, having them like that? I bet your clit’s the same. Bet your pussy is so wet. So wet you’re making a mess of the nice, clean clothes.”

Your cheeks grew hotter and hotter as he whispered each word. By the time he was done they felt like they were going to melt right off you face. That tense, cringing feeling in your stomach was ten times worse, and that was before he got to the last point. The one about the clothes, and the mess, and oh god what if he was right? It felt as if he might be. You weren’t wearing any underwear, and everything was really slippery between your legs. You could feel it, every time You moved.

“Oh fuck, sorry, sorry I don’t…I hope…it’s just that—” You didn’t even know why you were apologizing

“Honey, you don’t need an explanation.”

His tone was like sinking into a warm bath—and the thumb you could feel stroking over you forearm only pulled you deeper down. He just did it so idly. So like he wasn’t touching you at all.

Before you knew it, you were up to your ears in liquid heat.

“Are you sure? Because it kind of feels like I do.”

“I’m sure. I mean, the movie was pretty intense.”

“Right, exactly. Super intense.”

“So why deny yourself?”

“I’m not…denying…anything.”

“I could leave, if you want.”

“No, god no,” You said, too fast and too fierce.v

Though it was only afterward that you realized how it sounded: Not like someone trying to say you didn’t want to masturbate. Like someone saying that you wanted him to stay.

And he took it that way, too.

“Or, you know. I could just…do it for you,” he said.

Then you just had to do your best not to go out of your mind.

You stopped herself from jumping up. Kept your hands from flailing.

Didn’t look at him, in case looking made you do something crazy.

“Oh my god. You can’t be serious. You can’t be serious.”

“Probably wouldn’t take a lot.”

“I always take a lot.”

“Even when you’re alone?”

“Especially when I’m alone.”

“Well, maybe we should see about that.”

Again, you had the urge to get up. Maybe you even would have, if it hadn’t been for the other things he was doing. The thumb stroking your arm was now the back of his hand, running the length of your arm over and over. And that was his breath against the curve of your throat, so close and warm he could have been kissing you there. It felt like kissing.

Only without the scariness of the real thing.

All of this was without the scariness of the real thing. It was just a game, that was all—and one that you could win if you really put you mind to it. He thought he could get you so easily, but he was utterly and completely wrong. You were a rock, in the face of whatever he was going to do. You were impervious to the pleasure he seemed to think he was going to dole out, to the point where you almost laughed when he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of those too-big sweatpants.

It was weird. Slightly uncomfortable.

Not sexy in the least.

And then his fingertips just oh-so-lightly grazed the pouting lips of your swollen pussy, and things pretty much started to go downhill from there. The sensation it sent through you was just so intense, and over something so small. He hadn’t even slipped between them to your clit, or eased a finger into your slick little hole. In truth, you weren’t entirely sure he’d touched you at all.

Yet you still had to clench your jaw.

You had to tell herself that it was just the stuff that had happened before—the film and him coming and then licking his fingers like a satisfied cat. It wasn’t anything to do with this right now, with him touching you, with his skill. He wasn’t skilful at all. He was terrible. Awful.

he worst lover you had ever had.

You had no idea why your thighs were trembling. Or what made you moan when he finally, finally, finally eased his fingers into that slick slit, and then topped it off by telling you just what he found there.

“Ohhhh fuuuuck you are wet. You’re so wet. Jesus Christ, Y/N, how can you stand it? How can you sit still and quiet with those eyes closed when your pussy is like this? So slippery I can just glide all the way down and ease on in and oh man, oh man,” he said, and all You could do in response was shiver and make a number of embarrassing noises. First for his words, and then oh god then for the feel of him doing it.

He used two fingers—two of those long, thick fingers—yet somehow it didn’t hurt when he pushed into you. There was no fumbling or searching. Your body just seemed to open for him, as though they’d dated for years and he’d worked on you for hours. He knew exactly how to touch you there, and when he did you simply had to respond. Your gasp rung out in the small room.Though you vowed it would be the last one. That was it now—you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of anything else. Not even when he started working his fingers in and out, slow and steady and so unbelievably good. you kind of wanted to cry over the unfairness of it. Why was he the one who had to be so good at this? How did he know how to do it in this deliberate, teasing, tantalizing way?

Even watching him do it was exciting. You made the mistake of glancing down and all you could see was his hand rolling beneath the material, the waistband occasionally stretching to give you a glimpse of your glossy cunt, his gleaming fingers, the way you were spread around that thick intrusion…

Fuck.

You had to look at the screen just to stop yourself coming right then and there—though even those measures had an exciting quality of their own. James Spader was just doing something incredibly dull now, while you sat here watching through slitted eyelids, cheeks flushed and legs spread, as a man slowly fingered your slick, flushed pussy. Back and forth, back and forth, until you were so beside yourself you weren’t sure you even wanted to hold back your moans. You only knew that you were still trying, for reasons that seemed vague and far away now. It just doesn’t matter, your mind hissed, but you kept it up anyway. You held yourself more tightly and bit deep into your lip—deep enough that you tasted blood. And when he started to ease those fingers up, you shut your eyes tight. You thought of other things, more boring things: dry books and bird-watching. All to no avail. He made one circle around your clit.

Just one tiny, insignificant circle, and that was it. Your orgasm rolled up from that stiff little bud, in one all-consuming and all-powerful wave. It took away your control over your body—your toes curled tight and your back arched. But most important, it took away your control over your mouth. It let one little word slip out.

Though one little word was more than enough.

“Jungkook,” You said, and after that the game was pretty much up. That was gratitude in your voice and pleasure in the sigh behind it, and all wrapped in the neat little bow of his name. There was no more pretending that it wasn’t him who had made you feel this way, or suggesting that all of this was just a game.And he knew it immediately. He kept up the thrusts of his long, thick fingers, helping you prolong the feeling of your orgasm for as long as possible. And he didn’t stop there. Your face was starting to contort from the oversensitivity and it was obvious that Jungkook knew it too from the way he bit his lip and started to purposely move his fingers faster once again.

“Ahh! J-Jungkook… I can’t….” You moaned out, though this seemed to have no effect on him as he seemed determined to elicit another orgasm from you. His fingers scraping against your tightening walls as they fought to repeatedly slam back inside you. Your thighs were shaking, your eyes half lidded, leaning back on your hands as his worked between your legs. Suddenly you gripped Jungkook’s moving hand as you came dangerously close to letting go.

“That’s it, fuck, cum again for me Y/N. I need this. You need this” He almost sounded desperate and it made you want to sob because everything was so fucking hot.

With a cry of his name, you came undone again, your body almost curling in towards itself from the sensitivity.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” he said, as though you’d cried out the filthiest thing on the face of the earth. And, again, he didn’t stop there. You could hear him fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants already—though you tried to turn it into something else in your head. He was just pulling them up, you thought. They had slid down as he serviced you, that was all.

Only it wasn’t all.

When you made the mistake of glancing his way, you saw so much more than you were ready for. It was supposed to be over now, completely over, but he’d shoved everything down to mid-thigh and his cock was in his hand again and god god god why was it so arousing? You’d had cum twice already. He’d had one orgasm already, and now he was being so fucking filthy.

Yet somehow the filthiness only made it worse.

You came searingly close to telling him yes.

And go on.

And come all over me—just like you’d imagined.

For one wild second, it even seemed like he might. He was groaning and panting and he kept saying things, incredible things like “do you see what you do to me do you get how fucking horny you make me oh fuck just hearing you moan my name”. His hand was heavy on your shoulder, and you knew he was close. He was going to yank your top down any second now.

Any second, you thought.

Though you didn’t realize how much you wanted it until the first thick burst slid over his fist.

Didn’t know how little control you had over herself until he grunted your name and shuddered violently, that slick fluid easing over his still-pumping fist. After all, if you’d had any you would have stayed right where you were, content to just watch.Instead of leaning forward to take that heavy, swollen, slippery head in your mouth, to catch the last ribbons of his salt-sweet cum all over your eager tongue.

“Fucking fuck, Jagiya” Jungkook cursed loudly, watching you take the head of his cock in your mouth. He slid his hands in your hair, gripping it from the bottom of your skull gently, rocking your face back and forth, riding out the last of his high. You looked up at him, eye still glassed over, breathing hard and laboured and slid the head of him out of your mouth.

There was no doubt that Jungkook was shocked at your boldness but he seemed pleasantly surprised. His pupils blown out, lips swollen, skin gleaming. He truly was a work of art. The magnitude of what you two had done hit you hard. So, naturally, there was only one thing left to do in panic.

Kick him out.

“Jungkook…you need to leave”

A/N: So, Idk what happened but yeah hope you all enjoy. Not sure if I’ll make this a series since I’m bad at continuing ideas. I may stick to separate scenarios. I get bored easily. However, please feel free to check out my blog and send me ideas for new fics

prejudice in fantasy lit and the use of metaphor

reallybigshadowhunterstvfan said:

what can you say about making Simon a shadowhunter, Mrs Clare? it seemed odd to me that after a whole series of battling for equality between species/races, the downworlder had to become a shadowhunter. not only he basically ceased being a minority, he also became a part of a privileged community, and it just didn’t sit well with me.

Just for the record — I’m not Mrs. Clare; there is no Mr. Clare. I am married, but my pen name is not my husband’s property. :-) 

I think this is a very interesting question that brings up a ton of issues, but there are some aspects of it I’d love to clarify — for instance, I am puzzled at calling Simon “the Downworlder.” Is he more a Downworlder than Magnus? Things like that actually are really important when discussing stories — if he were the only Downworlder in the story, that would be one discussion, but he isn’t, and therefore his story does not speak for the experience of all Downworlders or even a small fraction. 

I am sorry you were surprised negatively by Simon’s story in TMI. Simon never wanted to be a vampire — he always hated it, and unlike Raphael and Lily, he never joined the community of vampires but instead spent all his time with Shadowhunters. Being a Daylighter had already changed him from being any kind of regular Downworlder, as did bearing the Mark of Cain: both made him even less “the Downworlder” and more of an anomaly. It also separated him from the other Downworlders, who treated him with distrust. In my experience, very few readers expected Simon to remain a vampire, given that it was something he never wanted or got used to, and that it was not his dream. More on that in a bit.

As to the question, to me the suggestion that Shadowhunters are “the privileged” and Dowworlders are as a block “the marginalized” — instead of being a complicated metaphor in which they sometimes but not always stand in for people who have had their rights curtailed —  overly simplifies the situation. It is an argument seems to ignore the fact that in fact, humans exist along axes of privilege and marginalization: that people can be privileged in one way and marginalized in another and that when Simon becomes first a Downworlder and then a mundane and then a Shadowhunter, he is not moving clearly from marginalization to privilege, but rather exchanging some types of privilege for others (he remains white as a Downworlder, and is a Daylighter), and exchanging some types of marginalization for others (the marginalization of being a Downworlder for the marginalization of being a mundane-born Shadowhunter and a Jew in a world where Shadowhunters are meant to have one religion). 

Because the argument disclaims spectrums of privilege and marginalization, it also suggests that the world of the Shadowhunter Chronicles is one in which there are no gay or POC or trans people in existence; one in which there is no racism, homophobia, ableism, cis privilege, or bigotry against the neuroatypical. But that is both problematic erasure, and also not true of these books. Downworlders don’t stand in for people of color or LGBTQ+ people because people of color and LGBTQ+ people are in the books; they have not been subsumed into metaphor. (I know the showrunners said there was no homophobia in the Shadowhunter world, only warlock-phobia, but that’s the show, not the books, and it has a different world and world-building. I notice this is a question I get since the show came out, and I sometimes wonder if it’s a question of confusion between the two different universes? It’s easy for that to happen.)

Fantasy prejudice metaphors are complex and confusing and they rarely work as a one to one comparison (in other words, there is a difference between saying that this fantasy situation is reminiscent of this real world thing and saying this fantasy situation is exactly the same as this real world thing. For instance, one of the really interesting things about True Blood is that it made many deliberate parallels between “vampire rights” and GLBT+ rights — referring to vampires “coming out of the coffin” and “God Hates Fangs” on church signs. However, its vampires were also often violent predators who killed and ate people. The argument that Simon “basically ceased being a minority” (while, somehow, remaining Jewish) is similar to making an argument that True Blood was saying that gay people kill and eat their neighbors; I’m fairly sure in fact, they weren’t. They were reaching for a resonance — the echo of a real world situation that would give a layer of relatability and meaning to their points about difference. But they were not creating a literal “these things are the same” comparison or they wouldn’t have had vampires chewing off people’s heads.

So: are Downworlders discriminated against? Yes, sometimes, by Shadowhunters, who are a small specific group. Do they “stand in” for a specific minority group? No, they cannot, because they are accessible as a metaphor to any marginalized group or groups whose rights have been abridged. Also: the world at large does not discriminate against Downworlders because they do not know they exist, nor do they privilege Shadowhunters because they don’t know they exist either. It would be one thing if this was a high fantasy and Shadowhunters and Downworlders were all there was, but these books are set in our world, and the characters experience real-world bigotry, racism, homophobia etc. because of it.

Alec sighed. “Sorry to wreck your vision of our happy family. I know you want to think Dad’s fine with me being gay, but he’s not.” 

“But if you don’t tell  me when people say things like that to you, or do things to hurt you, then how can I help you?” Simon could feel Isabelle’s agitation vibrating through her body. “How can I—” 

“Iz,” Alec said tiredly. “It’s not like it’s one big bad thing. It’s a lot of little invisible things. When Magnus and I were traveling, and I’d call from the road, Dad never asked how he was. When I get up to talk in Clave meetings, no one listens, and I don’t know if that’s because I’m young or if it’s because of something else. I saw Mom talking to a friend about her grandchildren and the second I walked into the room they shut up. Irina Cartwright told me it was a pity no one would ever inherit my blue eyes now.” He shrugged and looked toward Magnus, who took a hand off the wheel for a moment to place it on Alec’s. “It’s not like a stab wound you can protect me from. It’s a million little paper cuts every day.”

 *** 

“He hurt you. It was a long time ago, and I know he tried to make up for it, but—” Bat shrugged. “Maybe I’m not so forgiving.” 

Maia exhaled. “Maybe I’m not either,” she said. “The town I grew up in, all these spoiled thin rich white girls, they made me feel like crap because I didn’t look like them. When I was six, my mom tried to throw me a Barbie-themed birthday party. They make a black Barbie, you know, but they don’t make any of the stuff that goes with her—party supplies and cake toppers and all that. So we had a party for me with a blonde doll as the theme, and all these blonde girls came, and they all giggled at me behind their hands.”

***

If we carry the theory through (Shadowhunters are THE privileged, Downworlders are THE marginalized) that means that Alec, as a gay Shadowhunter, is more privileged than Simon, a straight vampire. That Ty, who would be locked in a mental institution if the Clave discovered his autism, is privileged beyond white, rich, immortal and powerful Malcolm Fade. It’s saying that when Cristina encounters a wealthy, white, straight, misogynist male werewolf in Lady Midnight who tries to force sexual attention on her, she, a Latina woman, is the one who is the privileged character because she is a Shadowhunter and he is a Downworlder (though Sterling has arguably, given that he lives outside the supernatural world, never experienced a whit of prejudice because of it.) So I’m sure you can see where the problem lies.

It also erases Simon’s Judaism entirely. Stating without caveat that Simon has become “part of a privileged community” means ignoring the fact that Simon is Jewish; that he decides in Tales that he will continue to practice, and that he was the only Jewish protag written by two Jewish authors that I’m aware of having been on the bestseller lists last year. He didn’t think about being a vampire as he was preparing to transform — he never wanted to be one or consented to be one, nor was he part of the community, as Raphael constantly pointed out — though he does later think of having previously been a Downworlder when interacting with vampires and Shadowhunter prejudices. He thought of the important thing to him: his Judaism, which he both couldn’t and wouldn’t give up. To me it is personally painful to think that for any reader, Simon’s status as a vampire is more significant than his status as a practicing Jew.

I think sometimes it is possible to invest yourself so heavily in a metaphor that you forget the real world that surrounds the metaphor and the flexibility of metaphors in general. The Shadowhunter/Downworlder situation could stand in for the systemically privileged and marginalized of our world: sometimes it does. However it also can stand in for the way totalitarian governments abuse their own people: there are echoes in Shadowhunter history and current events of the Cambodian genocide, of Stalinist violence against intellectuals and resistors. There are also echoes of police brutality — what Shadowhunters have is the privilege of the Law, specifically: the Law is what allows them to enact bigotry in the name of justice, and when they abuse their jobs, it has resonances of the way police can abuse their jobs and use the privilege conferred on them by their authority to murder and abuse the helpless and marginalized. There are also echoes of the way soldiers carry out immoral orders given by superiors: the Shadowhunters are taught to be obedient to the Clave, and one of the ways we know who our Team Good is in any TSC series that they question that obedience. All of these are echoes and resonances: they are not saying that the Shadowhunters are the police, or the US military, or the Khmer Rouge; the resonances provide context and hopefully add a sense of realism to a situation that is fantastical in its nature.

 (It’s also a wise idea not to so totally buy what the Shadowhunters are selling about themselves. They think they’re special and better and awesome, but the books constantly question and problematize that. Shadowhunters also pay a high high price for their runes and their sense of superiority: they die young and often and experience brutal constant violence and the pressures of a repressive society that allows for little divergence from an idealized norm.)

There are reasons that the Downworlders were never constructed to be a specific marginalized group and their situation was never meant to be limited in its relatability to one situation— for instance, it’s very hard to not look askance at the argument that Downworlders are meant to be specific “race” when you can become a Downworlder and then stop being one: when you can, as Simon does, change what kind of magical creature you are, because there is absolutely no correlation between that and what race or ethnicity means in our world. 

 So yes, Simon becomes a Shadowhunter: however, what I don’t see acknowledged here is not just his ethnicity and religion, but the fact that he becomes a Shadowhunter partly because he is aware of the prejudice of Shadowhunters, and fights against the bigotry they show not just to Downworlders but also to their own. He is part of Magnus and Alec’s Shadowhunter-Downworlder Alliance. He continues to work for change from within the system, arguably something almost no one else could do, because there are almost no other Downworlders who have become Shadowhunters. It is odd to me to consider Simon as simply ascending to a height of blithe privilege when he is fact much more like someone who has become a police officer in order to root out corruption and racism in the police, and brings his own knowledge of marginalization (which he still experiences) with him.

That is why Simon in Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy is constantly fighting and bending the rules in the name of his evolving social conscience, though I understand if you haven’t read TfTSA. One of the things about having had a flood of new readers enter fandom because of the TV show is that I’ve seen a lot of arguments based on the idea that TMI is the entire story of Downworlders and Shadowhunters, or the entire story of these characters. I see people talking about characters getting a happy or sad ending in TMI even when those characters go on to feature heavily in the sequel books and could by no reasonable account be considered to have any ending, happy or sad — unless you thought TMI were the only Shadowhunters books that existed rather than a chunk of a larger ongoing mythology. In no sense has Simon’s story ended: you have no idea if he will remain a Shadowhunter or not. Perhaps if you consider the fact that TMI is not a story that has ended for Simon, but rather one that continues, the fact that he has now been two magical species and might well move on to become another will sit less poorly with you? After all, this is not “after a whole series of battling for equality between species/races” this is “in the middle of a whole series of battling for equality between species/races.” Usually the middle of a story isn’t the place it’s best to draw all your conclusions from. :-)