i mean she was working for him

Friendly reminder that Taylor’s dancers have worked for other artists when the contract is done. Mark Villaver worked for Ariana after Red tour. Taylor was so proud of him. She even posted an instagram video of it. Toshi Davidson and Maho Duo worked for Jason Derulo before going on 1989 tour. Then worked for Jason again. Toshi even went on tour with Selena. Giuseppe Giofre Worked for Camlia, Britney and Ariana. I’m sure there are many more. The one thing they all have in common is TAYLOR DOESN’T HAVE ANY PROBLEM WITH IT! You know what that means? 

Pizza, Pasta and some comfort

I love taylor_tut’s sickfics to death but the one that really stuck with me was the one about the college AU where Lance appeared on the gang’s doorstep and they all were like “let’s take care of this sick stranger”.

I really couldn’t help myself…

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Pizza, Pasta and some comfort

[Fandom]:Voltron: Legendary Defender

[Rating]: Gen/ Gen Audience

[Genre]: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Friendship

[AU]: college AU/ based on taylor_tut’s The Pizza One prompt

[Word count]:  4,412

[Warning]: illness, fever, vomiting, cuddles, all of the cuddles

[Status]: oneshot/ completed

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Had anyone suggested that someday, he would end up nursing one of his feverish friends on one of his regular Friday movie-night with his roommates, he might have believed them – he just wouldn’t have taken it too seriously.

Right now though, Lance was lying on the couch and Shiro was hyper aware of every huff and wheeze coming from the sick boy, somehow his breaths louder than even the dialogue between the man and woman on TV.

It was probably this bad because he wanted to be sure Lance was not awake when he would finally turn to Keith. But as he glanced back over his shoulder and up at the couch he saw Lance’s eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in discomfort and the soaked cloth they had placed on his forehead slowly slipping down with every little movement he made.

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anonymous asked:

I met Ryan Tubridy on work experience in RTÉ Studios a few months ago. It was a weird experience. I didn't really say anything, but the girl sitting beside told him she watches the Toy Show every year and he just said "Well, you don't HAVE to," in a really exasperated tone, and then he just ... left. Without another word to any of us. Who put a stick up your hole, Tubridy?

jesus that’s savage, but I mean if I was working for RTÉ I’d probably be salty as hell too

2

Speaking of having friends, Aria decided to invite Sam over after school. They were friends as kids and they’re working on a project together now

Yuki’s like “mmm yes, you dressed up for a ‘project’”

Aracely got mentioned in Ben Reilly: Scarlet Spider #2, apparently Kaine doesn’t want her to get involved because Ben is too dangerous. I’d say she has worked with him and New Warriors to take worse threats, but maybe Kaine is overprotective. Too bad that probably means she won’t show up until he and Ben will get on the same page. And seeing how Ben is now completely bonkers….

Sincerely, Me

Evan: In an email I received from you two weeks ago I noticed a comma in the middle of a phrase

Evan: It changed the meaning. Did you intend this? One key and you’ve consumed my waking days.

Evan: It says “Dear Evan Hansen,”

Evan: With a comma after dear

Evan: You’ve written “Dear, Evan Hansen”

anonymous asked:

I'm going through a real rough patch and if you want to write something cheerful you have no idea how grateful I'd be.

Flash sidled up to Superman on one of the Watchtower’s mezzanines, leaning against a rail. They looked at each other sidelong, then away.

“Wanna hear my new time?” Flash asked sideways, swaying as he alternated which foot held his weight, hands on his hips.

“There’s no way you beat my time,” Superman muttered, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were in the other direction, and both men went silent as the Lanterns walked too close. Superman and Flash gave them a nod of acknowledgment, then waited for them to be at a safe distance.

“Nine seconds.”

“What!” Superman dropped his arms, whipped his head around to where Flash was grinning and bouncing on his heels. “No way.”

Flat,” Flash said.

“There’s no way.”

“Check my heartbeat if you don’t believe me,” Flash said, tapping his insignia with his thumb. Then he frowned. “Actually, don’t, I’m pretty excited about this so my pulse is probably crazy.”

His heart always sounded like an angry hummingbird trapped between his lungs, but Barry was also a notoriously terrible liar, so it wasn’t as relevant as it could have been.

Dangit,” Superman said, crossing his arms again. He leaned back to scope out the area around them. No one seemed to be paying them much mind. “What time?”

“Eleven on a Saturday,” Flash said, looking even more smug. “You know I don’t mess around.”

“Tch!” Superman made an irritated sound, licking his canines. Then he snapped his fingers. “You forgot about–”

“Nnnope,” Flash interrupted. “I’m including the new ones in that, that’s the whole reason we had to reset our times, otherwise I’d still be at seven-point-four.”

Tch.” Superman drummed his fingers against his bicep. “Nine seconds,” he repeated, torn between irritation and awe.

“You know what that means,” Flash said, waggling his eyebrows.

Superman sighed. “Alright, where are we going?”

“I want soup.”

“Uh-huh.” Superman waited. Flash was waiting for him to ask. Superman was not going to give him the satisfaction.

“… in Saigon.”

“You’ve been watching Bourdain again,” Superman accused.

“It looked like really good soup!” Flash said, defensive.

“Fine,” Superman said, “but I am going to beat your time, and when I do–”

“Beat what, now?” Wonder Woman asked, having managed to approach them while they were distracted by negotiations.

“Nothing!” Flash and Superman said at once.

“We were just talking,” Superman said.

“About stuff,” Flash added unnecessarily. “Private, personal, man stuff.”

Wonder Woman’s eyebrows shot up. She was close enough for her lariat to hum on her hip. She looked Flash over. Flash started to turn red.

“Okay bye!” Flash said, and he was gone in a streak of red.

“Superman?” Wonder Woman asked.

“I should, uh. Hal…”

He wasn’t actually making any definitive statements, just stringing words together, and yet somehow it still managed to ring false. She watched him go, putting her hands on her hips.

She could practically sense it when Batman came up beside her, even quiet as he was.

“Do you want to know what they were talking about.”

“Do you know?” she wondered. He said nothing, so she turned to look at his face. It was as expressionless as ever, but she got the impression that he did not consider the question worthy of dignifying with a response.

He was Batman. He would never be so rude as to say ‘of course’ – but of course he knew.

“I wouldn’t want to invade his privacy,” Wonder Woman said cautiously.

“He’d tell you if you really asked,” Batman said. “They just like feeling like they have a special thing.”

“Oh.”

“Flash, especially.”

“I see.” She tapped on her lower lip as she watched Superman talk to one of the Green Lanterns. “So what’s the special thing?”

“Pick me up in the plane on Saturday and I can show you.”

She froze. Slowly, she turned to look at him. As always, being able to see him helped not at all. “Like a date?” she asked.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “More like a stakeout.”

“That could be like a date.” She was mostly saying it to tease him. Sometimes if she did it right, he turned pink and had to find a shadow to hide in.

“It’s usually not.”

“Why not?”

“I’m usually with the kids.”

“Oh!” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine.”

She put her hand out to rest on his shoulder. “I would never imply–”

“I know.”

She took her hand back. “I’ll behave,” she assured him.

“You don’t have to,” he said, and she grinned.

“I’ll pick you up at ten,” she said, and she gave him an exaggerated wink as she walked away.

“It’s a date,” he murmured.


Why,” Wonder Woman asked, “are we in Florida?”

Batman was sitting beside her, and the plane was in a low hover. “Because as far as anyone can tell, this is the single biggest and busiest Walmart in the world.”

“I don’t think that explains as much as you think it does,” she said.

Batman held up a phone. A clock took up most of the screen. 10:59. “Watch,” he said, and he pointed out to the parking lot, vast and terrifying and teeming with people. She watched, and she had no idea how she was supposed to see anything in the crowd.

Finally, she spotted it. The motion too quick to be anything mortal. Would anyone on the ground notice anything more than a strong breeze?

“Oh! It’s the–” She snapped her fingers, couldn’t remember the word.

“Carts,” Batman supplied.

“Yes!”

In almost no time at all, every cart in the parking lot had been returned to one of the designated corrals. Batman pointed to something that he must have been using technology in his mask to see, because otherwise his eyes should not have been good enough. Wonder Woman was much better equipped to see Superman, standing beneath a tree and checking a stopwatch and scowling. He did some kind of motion with his arms and one leg that suggested he’d have thrown his hat to the ground, if he’d been wearing one.

“They introduced new carts,” Batman explained. “They don’t fit with the other ones, so it slows them down. Ruined their whole system.”

“They had a system?” she asked, giggling.

“No, here,” he said, tapping her arm to point again. “This is the best part. He’s frustrated.”

That’s the best part?”

“Watch what he does.”

She watched. Superman was gone again, more impossible-to-follow motion through the crowd. Things were moving. Large things.

“He’s fixing the cars!” she said, clapping her hands together.

“He’s fixing bad parking jobs,” Batman confirmed. “Because he’s mad.” There was a brief crooked curve to his mouth.

“He moved that one to a different space!”

“Illegally parked in a handicapped spot.”

“How fun.” Wonder Woman watched the people wandering through the lot, wondered how many of them had noticed what was happening and how many had disregarded it as nothing worth noticing. “Flash is the winner of this contest, then?”

“Consistently.”

“Is there a prize?”

“Clark buys him lunch. Usually somewhere he saw on a food show, since he can’t normally do that.”

“Why not?”

“Hm?”

“Barry can run anywhere, can’t he?” she asked. “I see no reason he couldn’t run to these places on his own.”

“He doesn’t like being alone in foreign countries,” Batman explained. “It makes him anxious.”

“Oh.” She returned her gaze to the parking lot. “How nice, then, that it all works out.” She frowned. “Is this weird?” she asked. “Spying on our friends like this.”

“I don’t think I’m the right person to ask.”

“Do you do this often?” she wondered. “Watch people have fun without you?”

“Define 'often’.”

Wonder Woman held up a finger in warning. “Zatanna taught me a trick.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“She says that if you ask me to define the parameters, it means the answer is bad.”

Before he could respond, there was a thump.

Superman was standing on the nose of the invisible jet.

He tapped a knuckle on the glass, until Diana opened the hatch. “Hello!” she said cheerfully.

“What are you two doing here?” Clark asked.

“We’re on a date!” Diana said.

“We’re not on a date,” Batman said.

“If you’re not on a date, can you give me a ride?”

“You’re out of our way,” Batman said.

“Nah, just drop me off in Gotham,” Clark said, slipping inside the plane, awkwardly floating between the two front seats into the back.

“You don’t even need a ride,” Bruce said, having to fit himself as far as possible into the edge of his seat so that Clark would have room to get by. “You can fly.”

“Yeah, and you can walk, but I don’t see you giving up the Batmobile.” Clark made himself comfortable in the back seat as Diana closed up the plane. “I’m craving Dimitri’s.”

“You’re too sober for Dimitri’s,” Bruce said.

“I’m always sober. You’re lucky I can tell this wasn’t a real date, or I would be really creeped out by the whole spying on me thing.”

“Don’t tell Barry we know about your special thing,” Diana said, pulling the plane out of its hover to ascend. “I don’t want to ruin it for him.”

“I won’t,” Clark assured her. “Hey, you know where we should go while we’re here?”

“No,” said Bruce.

“Where?” asked Diana.

“No,” said Bruce.

“Disney World!”

“No.”

Diana gasped.

“No.”

Clark put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You can’t have come all the way to Florida just to see me,” he coaxed.

“I’m banned from Walmart, strongly discouraged from visiting Disney parks, and my parents are dead. I have no other reason to visit Florida.”

27 Dress Code Violations

@jilychallenge 04/2017 | @bantasticbeasts vs @anxiouspotter

Muggle AUs | “i get dress coded so you give me your jacket and we protest unfair regulations for girls together/you sass the teacher about how distracted you are by my shoulders”

Word Count: 2500

special shoutout to @jiilys. solidarity, sister

AO3


i.

She walks into English fifteen minutes late, wearing both a deeply unflattering smock and a scowl. Neither are an especially new look on her.

“Vector,” she says under her breath, as an answer to Mary McDonald’s unspoken question. It’s the answer to every question in the room. Ms Vector is notorious among them all for her very strict adherence to the school’s dress code.

“Yes, Miss Evans’ entrance was very exciting, but I’ll have your attention back to the lesson now, please,” says Ms McGonagall. James snaps back to attention. It’s for the best.

ii.

“Here,” James says, shrugging off his jacket and thrusting it toward Lily. She gives him this look like, fuck off, and James has to bite his tongue to stop from aggravating her. “They’re doing uniform checks up the hall. Just put it on.”

Evans gives him a very strange look, and it takes him a second to realise that it’s neutral.

She looks good in his jacket.

iii. 

Every third dress code violation results in a lunch time detention. It’s only October, and Lily’s already had six. She doesn’t look at James as she takes the seat three ahead and one to the left of him.

iv.

There’s a thump from somewhere in the back of the classroom, and McGonagall isn’t planning on looking up - it sounds like it came from the general vicinity of Potter and Black, and that’s certainly not a situation she wants to engage with - but the entire class is already turned around to see what the fuss is.

She strides down the aisle between the desks, and is about three years past surprised to find James Potter lying on the floor, gazing at the ceiling, glasses knocked aside.

“Am I boring you so much that you decided to take a nap?” she asks, and James gives this wicked smile, and here we go–

“Sorry, Miss, I can’t get up. It’s Evans’ shoulders - they’re overwhelming me. I simply can’t do anything until she covers them up. Sirius, tell me when it’s safe.”

He’s a funny boy, she’ll give him that. “Potter, get up. This is hardly the time for foolishness.”

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I was in Sephora the other day and a woman was there with her young son. When I say young, I mean probably 5 years old. She was looking at the makeup so he was running around looking at it too. He wasn’t being obnoxious or anything though, just excited. So he runs past me and I hear his mom go “No! Hey! Don’t put that on!” I turn around and see that he has one of the tester lipsticks in his hand. She snatches it away and says “You can’t wear lipstick. First of all, you’re a BOY. Boys DON’T wear lipstick.” and then she went on about how she told him not to touch anything.

It broke my heart honestly.
I understand not wanting your little one to mess of the testers but really? “You’re a boy so you can’t wear lipstick.” I mean, come on. You took him to a makeup store and he tried to put on some lipstick so I’m guessing he gets the interest from YOU.

On the flip side, when I worked in childcare, I knew a little girl whos little brother looked up to her so much that he liked to dress like her. The dad didn’t even bat an eye when his son and daughter both came in wearing skirts. I also knew many rather “punk rock” kind of families who would paint their sons nails all kinds of colors for no other reason than the children requested it.

SUPPORT YOUR BOYS IN WHAT THEY LIKE.
SUPPORT YOUR CHILDREN.
GENDER SHOULD NEVER LIMIT ANYONE FROM SELF EXPRESSION.

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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This chapter is important because Ishida’s relationships work by gestures, simbolism, unsaid. To say that that I was shocked is an understatement, but now I’ve reread it, I think I’ve got the point. It’s not about them having sex, it’s about him opening up. WhenTouka jumped on him last chapter was because she knew he was starting to feel down and reacted to that. Now that he cries, just like he cried when he saw her in :re cafè, it means much more than back then. It means something has changed.

This time someone is looking at him, someone confronting him on this. And this time he cannot escape this gaze. 

What are other times when he broke down?

When he was trying to recover his memory. But back then he had no-one to rely on and he himself partially refused to rely on anyone, due to fear, due to relisiance of Kaneki’s character inside of Haise, so that he found himself speaking about himself with a younger image of himself. The only one he received feedback from was this version of him. 

And the effects of it showed. He broke down, as one does when he doesn’t let out anything and all the negativity suddenly bursts out incotrollably. But these weren’t tears of relief, as nothing changed. 

He couldn’t help himself. The people around him couldn’t help him, even when, in rare moments like this, he actually let Haise prevail and asked for their help. Akira is uncomfortable in the position Arima has put her in, for a number of reasons, and to help him as he should be helped is a trauma for her; she can’t be blamed. She does what she can, but it’s not enough. 

And her way of helping him is “uncommon” to say the least. It doesn’t fail completely. Kaneki is a person who needs both to encouraged to stay alive and to be shaken - much like Hide did when he fought Arima. 

But at the same time, it doesn’t work. Even now, after all that has happened between them, now that he has finally mustered to courage to ask her for help - or maybe, he simply lets Haise prevail with her - , she can’t give it to him, because she, herself, is broken and in doubt. So he finds himself in a dark place again. And here comes Touka’s question. 

Why are you crying?

Why indeed. He doesn’t know. Even we as external readers may not know either if it’s even happiness or sadness. But something has changed now, something has shaken him, again, …

so though he doesn’t have an answer for this question, he doensn’t stop to try and overthink it to look for an asnwer. He opens up. He lets another person in his personal space, in his bubble - no pun intended, I swear. 

This doesn’t mean everything is solved. It means it’s more open to solutions than it has ever been. 

Sunday Morning

Summary: A young man and a young woman run into one another on a Sunday morning at a coffee shop, both of them heartbroken, and rediscover what it means to love and be loved. Bucky x Reader 

 Author’s Note: I’ve been working on this one for a bit. It’s basically the feel-good romance no one ever expected me to write (me included) 

 Words: ~2900

Originally posted by writingandcoffeehouse

Bucky used to love Sunday mornings. They were meant for sleeping in, for curling against the soft, tender body that slept next to him.

They’d had five years of Sunday mornings, of her soft sighs in his ear as she stirred from her sleep, bright green eyes blinking sleepily up at him as he kissed her plush, pink lips. Five years of Sunday mornings, of making coffee in a pair of boxers; of her arms wrapping around him from behind, a soft cheek against his bare back. Five years of Sunday mornings, of sitting at the breakfast bar in their pajamas, her thumb wiping jelly off the corners of his mouth.

Five years of Sunday mornings, wasted.

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When Duty and Desire Meet Chapter 4

Art by @edendaphne , words by moi!

Summary: After their accidental kiss on Valentine’s day, both Marinette and Chat Noir have to deal with the emotional fallout of their actions.

Read on AO3
Read on tumblr

~

Valentine’s Day Part 2

“So, let me get this straight,” Alya said, leaning back against Marinette’s desk chair and steepling her fingers. Beside her, on a little table-cushion Marinette had made, Tikki slept soundly, having already heard the story a thousand times over. “You’re in love with Chat Noir.”

“You already knew that,” Marinette groaned from her chaise, hugging a cushion to her chest and leaning back like a Freudian patient. Lord knows she was about three sentences away from a therapy-inducing hissy fit regardless, so it was probably prudent of her to be lying down in such a way. She was preparing for her inevitable breakdown that’s all. It was the smart thing to do.

And she rarely did the smart thing nowadays it seemed, so she really needed this.

“You’ve been in love with Chat as Ladybug for like a bajillion years,” Alya continued, ignoring Marinette as she continued to rehash pointless details. Details which made Marinette want to bludgeon herself to death with her cushion.

It was most likely impossible to do such a thing but she was never one to back down from a challenge. Death by cushion- she’d find a way.

“Yes. We’ve already established that,” she replied through gritted teeth, said cushion slowly creeping up to cover her face.

“But last night you kissed him by accident,” Alya said.

“Uh-huh.”

“As Marinette.”

“That is correct sir,” Marinette wiggled a finger.

“And he gave you a rose and kissed you back.”

“Tru’ dat.”

It was indicative of Marinette’s deteriorating mental state that she’d said “Tru’ dat”. She’d never said “Tru’ dat” in her whole life.

“I see,” Alya nodded a few times. The fact her tone had remained neutral the whole time was doing nothing to help Marinette’s poor nerves, and so she swung her legs over the side of her chaise, sitting up to get a better view of Alya’s twinkling eyes. A sense of dread settled in Marinette’s stomach. Alya’s eye-twinkles were never a good thing, at least when they were directed towards her.

I see?! Is that all you have to say? Seriously?! I thought you’d be freaking out right now, I mean I’m freaking out but then I ALWAYS freak out. You not freaking out is making me freak out harder! Can you please freak out with me? Join me in the freak out zone already!” Marinette blabbed, waving her arms and promptly dropping the cushion to the ground.

Alya said nothing, instead choosing to raise an eyebrow at her and cross her legs. At least she’d stopped steepling her fingers, Marinette thought gruffly.

After a short pause, Alya finally spoke, but her voice wobbled and strained unnaturally, her lips thinned in a way that was entirely too suspicious. “Firstly, stop saying freak out, secondly I’m not freaking out because this is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She barely made it to the end of her sentence before she doubled over and descended into giggles.

It was in that moment that Marinette realised Alya’s peculiar behaviour had been due to her hiding her amusement, and she felt fully justified in yanking the cushion from its position on the floor and hurling it towards her supposed ‘best friend forever.’

Unfortunately, Alya dodged the fluffy projectile with ease.

“Come on, this is serious! I’m in hot water here!” Marinette cried, crossing her arms across her chest.

“When are you not though? Let’s be real,” the redhead shot back with a wry grin, twirling in the chair and kicking backwards to check her hair in the small vanity mirror on Marinette’s desk. The sight made Marinette relax a little. Alya only checked her hair with such scrutiny when she was seriously contemplating something.

Suddenly missing the comforting embrace of the cushion, Marinette flopped down once more. As her back hit the large pillows adorning her chaise, she let out a long sigh and all the fear, the panic, the fight, left her in one fell swoop. Only tiredness and uncertainty remained.

“How am I going to face him?” she whispered. Her head tilted towards her small, round window, to the afternoon sun beaming down in a total antithesis to her feelings. She wondered where Chat Noir was at that moment.

Did she cross his mind?

Over the years Marinette had asked herself that question more times than she could count. But it was different now. Now she wondered if Chat thought of her, of Marinette, not of Ladybug. Did he dwell on it- how they’d kissed? She had. She’d thought about it all night, until exhaustion had finally overcome her and she’d woken up late, cold, wanting something she could barely comprehend.

For years, she’d thought about what it would mean to kiss Chat Noir, Dark Cupid incident aside considering she couldn’t even remember it.

A small, involuntary whimper left her when she recalled the night before. The kiss had been an accident… at first. But the second she felt Chat’s lips press into hers was burned into her memory, playing over and over again. The moment he returned her kiss had ignited something dormant inside her and she felt raw, emotions exposed and unlocked, with nowhere to hide.

She considered her question again. How on earth could she face him as Ladybug, knowing what she did, knowing him the way he didn’t know he knew her (and god wasn’t that sentence confusing in and of itself)?

For God’s sake Marinette, it was a peck of a kiss at the most, pull yourself together!

“You’ll figure it out.”

Alya’s voice sounded lightyears away, so stuck was Marinette in her own musings. She jumped, a little sheepishly, and realised she hadn’t noticed Alya coming over to her until the spinning desk chair was pressed right by the chaise. The next moment, Alya’s hands were in her hair. Having thoroughly fixed her own short curls, she now concentrated on the silky strands of Marinette’s loose locks, braiding little plaits as if they were children at a sleepover.

Marinette let her. Two perfectly groomed heads were better than one.

“You think you can talk to him about it? As you I mean, not Ladybug,” Alya suggested, quickly clarifying her meaning whilst tugging the red ribbons loose from Marinette’s dark hair.

Snorting in response, Marinette couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Talk? To Chat? The very idea…

“Yeah sure, let me just tweet at him Ayla. Hashtag balcony make-outs,” she giggled, feeling a little better as her hair fell around her shoulders.

Foregoing the braids, Alya reached up and began tying something new into Marinette’s hair, tutting in disapproval. “Slide into the DM’s at least girl, I raised you better than that.”

They shared a laugh, settling into a comfortable silence as Alya worked on both sides of her hair. Marinette sat back and mulled over her options. Truth be told she didn’t have many. She couldn’t talk to Chat, after all it wasn’t likely he’d be back and she had no idea who he was in real life. The notion that she could talk to him as Ladybug, thus revealing herself, made her rapidly descend into a panic so sharp that she quickly pushed that thought to the side.

Really there was nothing else to do but call it what it was. A blip. A crazy alignment of stars which had given her a taste of everything she’d wanted for the past four years, a reminder that it was probably all she was going to get.

She tried not to let the disappointment settle in her bones, yet it was fruitless. Her chest ached as though a hole had been carved there.

Suffice to say it was a familiar ache where Chat was concerned, but it was bigger now.

“There. Done,” Alya pulled back, pleased with her work, and Marinette stood. Stepping over to the vanity mirror, she leaned down to check her reflection. “Matching colours for you and the bae,” she teased, eyebrows wiggling from underneath her rounded glasses.

Marinette threw the cushion at her again, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction as it smacked her right in the face.

At the very least, she had the Gaming Club that night, that would provide a very welcome distraction.

***

Adrien was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Which was ironic, considering he’d joined the Gaming Club to avoid that exact thing from happening.

“I can’t do this, I’m going to cancel,” he whimpered, hiding out in the bathroom a floor above their usual meeting place like the coward he was.

“So cancel,” Plagg shrugged, busy amusing himself with unfurling a roll of toilet paper- as per his usual hobby.

“I can’t cancel!” Adrien replied, horror struck as he gazed at himself in the mirror. His fingers gripped the sides of the sink so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Are you insane?!”

“So don’t cancel,” Plagg’s disinterested monotone was really starting to grate on him. “Honestly kiddo what do you want me to say and will it get me food faster?”

The resounding groan from Adrien’s throat was so despairing in nature that he was afraid he’s start rumours of a ghost haunting the building. He leaned on his elbows, burying his face into his hands.

Stupid. He’d been so, so, stupid. And reckless! Totally reckless. What had he been thinking?!

It was worth it though, a small, unchecked part of him thought. Adrien squashed it flat in an instant. After all there was no time to consider the fluttering in his chest, the pleasant swoop of his stomach. Now was the time to face the consequences of his actions. His incredibly foolish, totally moronic actions.

Because, although a part of him ignited, burned in the best possible way, at the memory of Marinette’s lips against his own, another part felt thoroughly ashamed. It felt like he was tricking her in some way. Granted that had never been his intention. His plan had been simple. Leave the rose on her balcony for her to discover. She’d never know it was him and be happy at the gift from a secret admirer. Obviously, things hadn’t worked out the way he planned, though he should have anticipated that.

When had things ever gone the way he planned?

He needed to apologise to her, as Chat, and he was going to do so that night in fact. But before that Adrien needed to pretend, he needed to lie, to Marinette. To the girl he loved. He needed to act like he hadn’t heard her soft sigh, felt the warmth of her skin and the taste of her cherry-blossom lips. He had to fake it, act like it had never happened.

He had to pretend he didn’t desperately want it to happen again.

The idea of being so fake made him ill, and so he placed his hands under the cold water tap to splash his face, allowing the iciness of the water to penetrate his senses and offer him some much-needed clarity.

It didn’t really work but it was the best he could do.

When he entered the Gaming Club, Plagg tucked securely inside his jacket pocket, he was relieved to see Marinette talking to other people. He could barely look at her, the meagre glimpse he’d gotten from across the room had sent his heart cartwheeling down the corridor and somewhere into the next arrondissement.

Not wanting to look suspicious, and fully admitting that he was stalling for time, Adrien wandered over to the desk where Nino was hooking up an old Nintendo console for one of their signature Mario Kart nights.

Mario Kart…Marinette…partners… sitting close together… oh no.

“Hey bro!” Nino chirped, offering Adrien a fist to bump, clearly not noticing how the blood had completely drained from his friend’s face. “Everything ok?”

“H-hey! Everything’s good!” The first lie of the evening. How could Adrien have forgotten it was a Mario Kart night? More importantly, how was he going to survive the evening now? Sitting next to Marinette, shoulders pressed together, watching her tongue poke out in concentration like it normally did? How could he concentrate on anything knowing how close he’d been to said tongue the night before?

Grow up Adrien! You aren’t some horny teenager and Marinette isn’t a prize to be objectified. Show her some respect already!

If Nino had thought Adrien’s reaction was strange, he didn’t show it. Together they settled into an easy conversation, Adrien helping his friend set up the old console. Focusing on such a menial task did wonders for his nerves. He was almost starting to feel normal. Almost.

Of course, just as he was beginning to relax, Marinette had to tap him lightly on the shoulder.

She might as well have given him a 1.21 gigawatt electric shock, given his reaction to both was about the same. If he’d been Chat Noir at the time, his superpowers might have actually propelled him through the ceiling.

“A-Adrien?” Marinette tilted her head, taken aback by his startled shriek. “Are you ok?”

Subconsciously, Adrien’s hand reached up and he clutched his chest, fingers burying into his jumper as if it would cure the frantic beating of his wild heart.

Because she was there, right in front of him. Marinette. The girl he’d kissed last night.

His eyes flicked down to her lips before he could help himself.

“Adrien?”

The second time her voice permeated through his cloudy mind, something snapped inside of him. It was as if he were a character in a film, once played in slow motion, now fast-forwarding.

“Hey!” he cried, louder than he intended, and the people around him turned to stare. He looked at her eyes instead, with far more intensity than normal, mainly because he was so intent on not looking at her lips any more. “Marinette! It’s my friend- Marinette! My good friend, I’m good! How are you? You good- good? Yeah, I’m good, friend. How are you? Did you have a good Valentine’s day?”

WHAT?! Adrien’s brain-filter kicked in far too late, but began screaming at him nonetheless. Why would you ask her that? WHY?! You know how it went! YOU WERE THERE!

Marinette blinked, and it proved just how far gone he was that he found her blinking adorable.

Her blinking.

“Umm,” she blushed, unsure of what to say and, honestly, Adrien couldn’t blame her. He sounded insane even to his own ears, and he’d just asked her something quite private. Actually, he was surprised she wasn’t berating him for it. Then again, she thought he didn’t know about her encounter with Chat Noir.  His words may have seemed innocent to her ears.

What a mess Adrien had gotten himself into, and it only seemed to grow worse with every bit of word-vomit he expelled.

(Was it bad that he felt a tiny bit of pride at her blushing? Probably. But he was going to hell anyway so he might as well enjoy the slow descent at least a little bit.)

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Marinette glanced baffled at Nino, whom Adrien could see shrugging from his peripheral vision.

But he couldn’t care less.

Because he’d just noticed her hair. Or, more specifically, how she was wearing it.

In place of the red ribbons usually tied into her loose black locks, were two green ones instead. Vivid green. Chat Noir green.

His brain collapsed in on itself.

“I’m good-good too.”

Marinette was teasing him. She was grinning and she had green ribbons in her hair and Adrien was going to DIE.

“Good! That’s good!”

Great. He’d always wanted to die sounding like a partially strangled mongoose.

Marinette, mercifully, took pity on him and waved a controller in his face, offering him a place in the first race of the evening. He sighed, relaxing a little, but only a little. Gaming was fine. It was a welcome distraction, as long as he didn’t sit too close to her he’d be fine (who was he kidding? Of course he was going to sit close to her). At least, when he was focused on blue shells and Bullet Bills his brain couldn’t fixate on the meaning behind Marinette’s ribbons, if there was any hidden symbolism he was missing.

Suddenly the thought of seeing her that night, of apologising, seemed that much more dangerous- forbidden almost. But he had to do it. He owed it to her as her friend. Even if that’s all he could ever hope to be.

Nino still hadn’t finished setting up, and a few other members began helping him in their eagerness to get started. As a result, Adrien found himself more alone with Marinette than ever.

They sat down on the floor, controllers in hands, side by side. Their shoulders brushed, like they always did.

Adrien swallowed, wishing he’d worn a t-shirt instead of the woollen monstrosity currently overheating him.

He was fairly sure he was going to lose the game spectacularly.

His fears were proved right when, later that evening, Marinette’s knee brushed against his own and he ended up sending Donkey Kong careening off the end of Rainbow Road.

It was going to be a long night.

***

For the fifteenth time that evening, Marinette called herself an idiot.

Because she was an idiot. An idiot for standing on her balcony, an idiot for hoping lightning would strike twice in the same spot, an idiot for following her heart…

Tightly wrapping her cardigan around her, she gazed out into the mocking skyline. The bitterness of the cold February air was nothing compared to the bitterness she felt building up like sludge in her chest. Bitterness in her fortunes, bitterness in her decisions, bitterness in her own feelings.

Distantly, Marinette thanked the stars that at least it wasn’t as cold as it usually was. She was thankful she had a tiny shred of dignity left at least- that she wasn’t freezing to death in the vain hope that Chat Noir would show up again.

She reached up, fingers brushing against her lips, and remembered.

Furious with herself, Marinette shook her head, as if the rough gesture would expel all the unwanted memories from her mind. Honestly what was she doing acting like a silly sixteen-year-old with a crush? Again?! It was desperate, obsessive, ridiculous-

And totally in character if she was being honest with herself.

She needed a break. A breather. A respite from her own whirlwind emotions regarding the man in the black mask, the man who’d held her heart for longer than she cared to admit to anyone- not even Alya.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Marinette let out one last frustrated sigh before turning on her heels and making her way back to her room. Maybe her room would be less of a reminder, would save her from her torment.

But, as usual, fate had other plans for her.

Because, of course, Chat Noir happened to be standing there as if he’d suddenly popped into existence.

The shock of seeing him sent Marinette stumbling backwards with a cry, tripping over a flowerpot and tumbling to the ground.

“Whoa!” Chat called, rushing forward to catch her just in time. One hand gripped her flailing wrist, the other pressed against the small of her back as he pulled her towards him.

For a moment, both of them froze in place. Chat’s fingers splayed across her back, and she briefly felt the edges of his clawed-gloves scratching gently against the fabric of her cardigan. An involuntary shiver ran up her spine before she could control it.

Chat’s eyes widened and he stepped out of their half-embrace with awkward, jittery movements, casting his face away from hers. “Sorry,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry I shouldn’t have startled you. I guess I have a bad habit.”

Bad habit huh? Marinette had one of those too.

The silence which settled on them both was heavy, uncomfortable, and borderline unbearable. It was laden with memories of the night before, swirling around them, echoing in their minds as though they were standing in an empty theatre, watching their mistakes projected on a screen with no means of escape.

Because it was a mistake… wasn’t it? She hadn’t meant to kiss him, he probably regretted kissing her back. That was why he was here- of that she was sure. To think he was here for any other reason was just asking for a broken heart.

But, oh god, it hadn’t been a mistake. Not to her. She couldn’t ever consider it to be such.

Finally, Marinette could take the silence no longer. Taking a deep breath, she fixed a smile onto her face, painted a picture of a girl who had herself together at least a little, and placed a hand on her hip.

“No rose tonight?”

Chat’s cat-ears twitched. He peered over at her with a puzzled frown before he realised she was teasing. Something dark crossed his eyes and Marinette forgot how to breathe. The look was gone before she could concentrate on it fully, and she found that he was smiling back at her.

“Err, n-no. No. That is- I mean- unfortunately not,” he replied with his signature bow. “But I do have something far more important.”

“Oh really?” Marinette squeaked, inwardly cringing at how lame she sounded. She’d wanted her voice to be sensual and teasing, but instead it sounded like she’d inhaled a ton of helium instead. Clearing her throat, she tried again, arching her eyebrow for good measure and all the while thrilled at the fact that he was simply there. Chat Noir was there. He’d come back to her. “What’s that?”

“An apology.”

Marinette’s blood ran cold.

“About last night,” Chat continued, shuffling from foot to foot, completely unaware of how Marinette’s body, mind, and heart had seized up all at once. “I feel like I made a terrible impression. I- well- I’m not the type of guy to do… what I did.”

From the depths of despair and panic, Marinette felt the faintest hints of confusion. She latched onto it. Confusion was better than rejection.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice small and vulnerable, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Well I’m not really a playboy or anything, despite what the media likes to speculate about me. I don’t kiss strangers on balconies. I guess, I didn’t want you to have the wrong impression about me.”

When Marinette hung her head, Chat felt a wave of regret wash over him. He’d practiced what he wanted to say, over and over again but it never seemed enough to fully explain himself- not without revealing to her that he was Adrien Agreste and he’d been lying to her this entire time. He was too afraid of the ramifications of that- so he needed to end this now- before he hurt her.

Damn it, he’d gotten so close though. So close to knowing what they could have- what they could be.

But it was a fantasy. Chat Noir was a large part of him, but it wasn’t all of him. The person he was behind the mask was locked away from Marinette, was a separate entity in her eyes.

Who was he fooling? They couldn’t be together. Not like this.

He had to try harder as Adrien and if she rejected him he would simply pick up the pieces of his broken heart. He would respect her, be her friend, move on, and certainly not use Chat Noir’s hero status as a means to trick her into loving him. She deserved better, deserved the world, even if he wasn’t the one to give it to her.

That’s why he had to leave. Right now. Being here, being this close to her, was crumbling his resolve. Every cute gesture she made was another step closer to his damnation. He had to leave before he said or did something he’d regret, before his principles were lost to the wind.

“It was Valentine’s day. I guess… it’s easy to get swept up in the romance of the day, right?” Marinette said. She was smiling, but the sparkle in her eyes was dulled somehow. Once again Chat’s attention was drawn to the green ribbons in her hair, as she quickly tucked a few strands behind her ears. He couldn’t bring herself to speak as she grew distant, deep in her own thoughts, and her shoulders raised. “But if we’re being honest Chat, I was worried you’d see me in a bad light too. Like- I mean- I’m not the kind of girl who kisses random celebrities and I’m certainly not the type to blab to the press about it either.”

“I didn’t ever think you were,” he uttered, swallowing thickly, and a little bit of sparkle returned to Marinette’s eyes. Her cheeks turned pink again.

Chat felt his claws digging painfully into his palms.

“Well… that’s a relief. I mean I always admired you,” Marinette stammered out the confession before she meant to, quickly covering her blunder with half-truths. “You know you saved me once- from an akuma. You didn’t notice me at the time, and it was years ago, but I never forgot.”

Chat felt as though he’d been physically struck by her words.

He’d saved her? He’d saved Marinette? And he hadn’t noticed her?!

“I wish I’d seen you,” he said before he could help himself. The rest of his desires remained unsaid, as new possibilities, new what ifs, formed in his mind- like an alternate reality.

Chat inwardly cringed. No way in hell was he going to get any sleep that night.

“I wish you’d seen me too,” Marinette admitted.

Chat’s hand was halfway to hers before he yanked it back, his heart beating wildly, his mind screaming at him to leave. The pull was almost tangible, magnetic, drawing him closer to her. It was dangerous, and he needed to leave.

“I hate to be a sundae, but I have to split!” he laughed, high and fake, all the while cringing at what was perhaps the worst pun he’d ever made. And that was saying something.

Marinette didn’t say anything, but laughed once.

Ok, she thought, maybe she was ridiculous, but he was equally so. Maybe that’s why she loved him so much.

She watched him make his way to the edge of the balcony and something stirred inside her, the raw feelings which had sparked when their lips had met woke from their slumber, and she reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Chat?” her voice matched the soft tremors echoing through her body, and she tried to remember to breathe. She couldn’t let him leave like this, she’d been so close. “How about…one last kiss?”

Chat stilled, statue-like. His lips parted, and Marinette panicked.

“I mean!” she corrected, face turning to flames, “I mean sorry that was dumb- so dumb. It’s just that I- I liked that kiss and I thought- I don’t know what I thought- but I wanted to-”

His lips crashed into hers, and the rest of Marinette’s sentence was lost forever.

Chat kissed her, kissed her with a resolve thoroughly destroyed and a heart so indescribably owned; owned by her, possessed by her, consumed by her. His hands were frantic, and Marinette matched him in every way as they pressed into each other. Her fingers gripped the back of his head, tangled in his hair, and pulled him closer.

Like he needed an excuse to get closer to her.

The pair of them moved apart to breathe, great shuddering breaths, and then their lips were together again- as neither of them could stand to be apart for a moment. Chat’s fingers slid from her hands to grip her hips, a primal, dark part of him triumphant as he heard a moan slip from Marinette’s mouth.

They stumbled backwards, towards the wall, and Chat pressed her against it, hands roaming her sides- never going too far- always listening to her reactions. Desire coursed through him, a need to please her, to make her moan again, without pushing too far.

She must have sensed him falter, sensed his caution, as a frustrated hum rose from the back of her throat, almost like a purr of her own. Her hands moved from his hair, gripping the bell around his throat, and she tugged him down towards her, kissing his neck.

Chat was having a hard time not passing out from that alone, but then she rolled her hips, making it so there wasn’t a sliver of streetlight between them, and he was fairly certain he died and was reborn on the spot.

Dangerous was the word whispering in his mind, the word he was ignoring as his hands cupped the sides of Marinette’s face, tilting her head back. She arched into him again, countering his movements like a dance, and he gasped.

It felt too natural, too perfect… almost…familiar.

Dangerous he thought as his tongue flicked against her lips.

Dangerous- he thought as her mouth opened and he was rewarded with another moan.

Stop. Stop before you can’t, he pleaded with himself as Marinette’s hands wrapped around his shoulders, her fingernails scratching against his neck.

He didn’t stop.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, passion moving from an explosive force to one of slow-burning sensuality, settling into a rhythm that was far too natural, but neither of them could bring themselves to mind.

It was a long time before Chat could bring himself to leave her, to stop kissing her. It was addictive, intoxicating, and filled with promise. For months his heart had been starved, yearning and wishing, and now it was real. Their kisses were real, her affections were real.

And so was her voice, ringing out in the coldness of the night, in answer to his question, “May I see you tomorrow night, Princess?”

There was a pause, both of them treading on thin ice, ice which slowly creaked and groaned beneath their feet.

“Yes,” she breathed, and the ice shattered, plunging them both into unknown depths.

(art to follow)

The Name Game

The Name Game (m)

Word count: 3.1k

Genre/warning: smut, literally no plot - I legit was having some Tae feels and wanted a dirty talk, fuckboy one shot. So this is the result.

Also for my baby girl, @borderlinehc hope you enjoy. 

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Summary: You invite some of your friends over for a small party. When a tame night in turns into a dirty one. Your friend Hoseok comes up with a fun game for you all to participate in.

You were rushing around your house getting everything ready at the last possible second. It was only some of your closest friends coming over but you still wanted the house to look good. Especially if Taehyung might show up. He said he had to work but he would try and get his shift covered. You felt like such a teenager but you really did have such a big thing for him.

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  • what I say: I'm fine
  • what I mean: honestly it looks like the writers have been setting this up from the beginning; there was no other important point to have Ivy at the Sirens party in 3x05 other than to have her see Oswald for the first time in person and see Ed and Oswald's intimate moment after Ed saved the Mayor from Butch so in the future when she's working Oswald she could understand that once Ed had saved his life and feels immensely for him so she can be justified in using her perfume to show both of them the truth that they both love each other like I'm sorry but this is genius she wants to help Oswald be happy because he's her friend and she knows Ed makes Oswald happy and Ed doesn't hate him he loves him back kill me

so i know everyone loves the idea that Allura could kick Shiro’s ass but like… Shiro was a gladiator. he survived in the arena for a year. i mean… have you seen that boi fight? he defeated Myzax with nothing but a sword and his wits. he’s G O O D. he’d be a match for Allura - just cos she’s stronger than him, doesn’t mean she’d automatically win

just… give me Shiro and Allura evenly matched and Allura trying to find a way to land a blow on Shiro but he’s just too quick and she gets worked up and flustered and sloppy

give me Shiro kicking Allura’s ass twelve different ways and Allura getting more and more frustrated cos she can’t figure out how he did it

give me Shiro running up the wall and flipping over Allura’s head and Allura punching the wall where he was just standing and she’s super-annoyed and Shiro’s just… laughing

Shiro can fight, y’all. and he’d love sparring with Allura because she’s strong and fast and he can’t really hurt her and she’d actually be a challenge and if you think he wouldn’t pin her to the ground and look smug doing it then you’re w r o n g

our little family pt.2 | jimin

Pairing: Father! Jimin + Reader

Genre: Fluff/Angst + parent au

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You were just a pre-school teacher, a simple dream that came true as you always adored children. But what you didn’t know, was how one child and her very special father would change you dream forever.

Parts: 1 2

Warning: Slight cursing 

“Oh come on Y/N! You haven’t been out with us in forever, people are forgetting how you even look!” Your friend whined into the phone as you let out a long sigh, setting your book down unwillingly as you’d been reading it for the last hour.

It had been weeks since your friend, Hani had been begging you to go to the club with her, with you finding a reason to not almost every week.

“But–” you started, an excuse at the tip of your tongue as you had no intention of leaving this book. But she interrupted immediately.

“Nope! Don’t you even start! I’m picking you up in 30 minutes and you’re coming, even if I have to drag you out in your pajamas. So look pretty and get ready to get hooked up babe!”

Before you could protest, Hani ended the call, making you slump against the sofa, a long groan slipping past your lips.

Time to look for a dress tonight.

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We talk with Toby Froud about Netflix's upcoming Dark Crystal prequel!

Yesterday, the faerie community, and indeed all those who love beautiful and fantastical storytelling, received momentous news when Netflix officially announced their upcoming project, slated to begin filming in fall. A prequel series to the beloved 1982 Henson/Froud film, The Dark Crystal, it will run for ten episodes and include state-of-the-art puppet creations from the imaginations of our own friends and Faerie Magazine contributors, Brian and Toby Froud. The series is called The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, and our minds are racing with guesses as to what characters and stories might be included.

The original film, The Dark Crystal, featured a world imagined by renowned fairy artist Brian Froud (conceptual designer) that was a surreally accurate three-dimensional recreation of his artwork. Froud’s imagination combined flawlessly with Jim Henson’s vision and skill, and the film is now considered a fantasy masterpiece. With Jim Henson’s Creature Shop and Brian and his impressively-skilled puppeteer and artist son, Toby, involved in the project, we have no doubt that the project will be a rousing success.

Deputy Editor Grace Nuth was able to give Toby Froud a quick phone call to ask him some questions about the project.

Faerie Magazine: How hard has it been to know this project was happening and not be able to share it?

Toby Froud: We’ve been on this around five weeks or so. When people have asked us “will Dark Crystal ever happen again” and things like that, my mom and I have had to keep quiet, and say “well, possibly,” and things like that.

FM: Way back at the first Faeriecon, your parents were guests, and announced the possibility of another feature film, so this has been a long time coming.

TF: It has! The idea of doing a sequel has been kicking around for twelve years or so. They did the Power of the Dark Crystal stuff for this big sequel feature, and it never really got off the ground. But then after the resurgence from the Hensons doing all of these competitions, [ex: Jim  Henson’s Creature Shop Challenge on SyFy] and having the fan base be what it is today, it just so happened that they caught the idea doing of a prequel, using all of the writing and lore of the world that now exists in recent years. Netflix said yes, so it became this idea that the Hensons would think in a different way, a prequel instead of a sequel. And now here we are.

FM: Were you and your father directly approached by Netflix, or by the Hensons?

TF: By the Hensons. It’s a Henson-Netflix production. We are a part of the Hensons’ development to build the creatures and world under management of Netflix.

FM: You and your father have worked together in creative capacities informally throughout your life. Was the creation of “Granny” for Lessons Learned the first time you had him create a creature, and you then translated it into a three dimensional puppet?

TF: It was, for a film together. We certainly have done a lot of puppets…Ignatz [Toby’s Froudian puppet, seen at many fairy events like Faeriecon] was my father’s design, and my creation. But Granny was our coming together for film.

FM: Do you anticipate the creations on this Dark Crystal project happening similarly, with him creating the concepts and you interpreting those concepts in three dimensional puppets, or do you and your father plan to work together to create the concepts as well?

TF: We are doing both. What’s very interesting is I am working alongside my father right now in the conceptual designs. I am translating his designs still as well, into three dimensional forms. What is bigger and is the amazing part is the translation of them into puppets. My father and I are giving them these characters; we are developing these ideas with the Hensons…and Louis Leterrier, and Lisa Henson and my father and I are figuring this out, creating this visual. Then the team of the Jim Henson’s Creature Shop, this amazing team, are creating the puppets for us.

FM: Has work already begun on pre-production?

TF: I am in the studios in L.A.! I’m working with them on a daily basis, designing and also fabricating with them. Then my father is in England, and he is designing from there. So work has begun fast and furious!

FM: Of course you can’t tell us anything about new creations, but what is your favorite type of creature in the world of the original Dark Crystal film? Are there any that you are especially eager to bring to life?

TF: Ooh…That is a tough question. I love them in different ways: To revisit all of the Skeksis…To be able to build a Mystic again, things like that. To be able to envision in the new world with new technology and modern times, bringing these creatures up to date in certain ways. I am so excited to see Aughra on screen as well. So that sort of thing is what I can’t wait for. I’m excited to see the new creatures of the world and also the expansion of the world itself. And then we are revisiting certain things of the old world too…that’s what I’m excited for.

FM: Will your mother be assisting on this project as well, or just a father/son duo?

TF: Wendy is certainly consulting on this, especially with the Gelflings, because she did Jen and Kira originally. So I’m working closely with her and also my father. But she was the sculptural designer for those, and so she’s invaluable to our new process.

FM: How does it feel creating a large-scale work that your young son can grow up watching, just as you watched Dark Crystal and Labyrinth growing up?

TF: It’s…I mean it’s amazing. Beyond amazing. This project is very interesting because it’s a legacy. It’s a dream to do this. What is fascinating is that I am the same age my father was when he started The Dark Crystal. So what’s really interesting is that that’s coming to light. It’s wonderful that I get to work with him and the Hensons on this thing. It’s far more than just another project. And yes, to continue that, and to have my son grow up and see this project eventually. It’ll be interesting.

There’s a lot of pressure from fans and from the world. We’re trying. And what will be wonderful is actually the new: the new ways, new look, new feel. The director coming in and putting his vision into this, and the producing team, and Netflix. It’s quite an interesting and wonderful marriage. I think it will benefit, in a lot of ways. I’m excited to see what director Louis Leterrier does: bringing the camera to life in new ways I think the audience will really enjoy.

Netflix is an amazing juggernaut of a company that has great creative taste in what they’re providing the world, and things to come. It’s brilliant. A very clever match.

Naturally (Jeff Atkins, 13 reasons)

“I’m fucking illiterate. There’s no point in doing any of this work, Y/N” Jeff sunk lower in his chair. He looked around the library, tapping his pencil at a fast rate.

He hadn’t gotten above a C in English since his freshman year, and he’d never wanted to. That was, until he’d met Y/N.

She made him want to be better, above anything else. And when she offered to tutor him in English, he dropped Clay as his tutor. At least for that subject.

“Jeff, come on. Plenty of people still get homophones mixed up. Hell, when I review my papers I have to go through two different spell check systems because I make mistakes. Okay?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit he had made, it was something he did when he was frustrated.

“Okay, they’re staring.” He looked at the table next to them, a few freshman and sophomores stared at them.

“Who cares, focus on your paper.” Y/N looked back down at her notes, she’d been doing her own homework at the same time as tutoring him. Jeff put a hand on her knee.

“I get that the wifi’s out at my house. But why can’t we go to your place again?” He laid his head down on the table so he could make eye contact with his girlfriend.

“For this exact reason. My dad’s not your biggest fan after last week. They don’t even want us alone upstairs with the door open. So the library will do.” She removed his hand from her knee.

Jeff smirked, remembering the prior week’s events.

“Maybe Clay should go back to being your only tutor. Oh, don’t give me that look, Atkins. You know I wanna help.” Y/N ran her hands through her boyfriend’s hair. He formed his lips into a pouting expression.

“Face it. I’m a lost cause. My girlfriend can’t get anything through my head. The smartest kid in school can’t get me to retain any information. I’m stupid.” He threw his pencil down and slammed his textbook shut, breathing heavily.

He believed it. He said it all the time. A C average GPA didn’t make anyone feel great. But with all of his friends being athletes, he was surrounded by those who thrived and could juggle both school work and sports.

“I’m never gonna get into college.” He said quickly, shaking his head.

“Jeff that’s not-” he continued before letting her finish, not even acknowledging that she’d begun to speak.

“No matter if I hit a home run every single time I’m up to bat this season, I won’t get into any college. Grades matter, Y/N. Being smart matters.”

He grabbed his backpack and stuffed all of his notes and his textbook into his backpack. After he jammed everything into the bag, he tried to zip it. He roughly yanked the bag around, trying as hard as he could before giving up by shoving the full bag off of the table. His hands covered his face, he was crying.

“Let’s go to the car.” Y/N grabbed his backpack, gently working the zippers until they finally shut. She swung the bag over her shoulder, keeping her messenger bag on her other shoulder.

“Come on.” She said firmly.

He scooted his chair out, getting up and walking out of the library faster than she’d anticipated. Y/N caught up with him, soon walking beside him, neither said a word.

“Sorry- I’m sorry if I made a scene.” He mumbled as the two approached his car.

“We need to talk. Even if you don’t want to.” She sighed, opening the passenger door and sliding in.

“You wanna know why I think I’m stupid?You, My own girlfriend gave up on me. Is it possible to sink lower than that?” Y/N handed Jeff his backpack, knowing that would force him to look at her.

“Why the hell would you say that?” Her eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m an idiot. What’s gonna happen when I don’t get into college? And I’m here for the rest of my life, still managing the batting cages. And you’re off at some big city actually living your life.” He was being honest about how he felt, that she knew for sure now.

“Stop it. But how the hell do you think this means I want to give up on you? I’d never. You’re giving up on yourself.” Y/N slid over the middle seat of his pick up truck and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“You don’t wanna tutor me. You can’t tutor me. I’m a lost cause, aren’t I? Even Clay gets frustrated ‘cause I can’t learn.” Jeff snaked his arm around her shoulders.

She looked at him. He knew she’d get frustrated. He knew she’d say it was untrue. But it wasn’t untrue. It just wasn’t.

“Jeff, that’s not how I meant it. I just think it’s hard to mix business with pleasure. Do you know what I mean?” She smirked at him before soothing him by drawing small circles on his hand with her thumb.

“My stupidity is too distracting to get through any actual teaching.” He stared at the peddles of his vehicle.

“You know what I think your problem is?” She sat up, staring at him with her arms folded across her chest.

“What’s that?” He looked up, smiling weakly.

“Baseball comes really easily to you. You’re a natural. Maybe I’m not a natural at sports, but I’m a natural with school. Don’t you see? We all have strengths and weaknesses and sometimes we have to work harder to accomplish certain things.” She was proud of her explanation. He just stared at her for a little while.

“Jenson’s best to help me. You’re right.” He grabbed the tips of her hair and twirled them around his fingers.

“You know what else I’m right about?” She grinned at him. He arched an eyebrow, not totally sure as to what was going to be said next.

“What’s that?” He verbally acknowledged her.

“My parents won’t know if we study at the abandoned parking lot on Lincoln instead of at the library.” She grabbed his knee the way he had grabbed hers in the library.

His eyes widened, before a shit eating grin took over his face.

“Well alrighty.” He looked behind, backing out of the school lot quickly. This was something he thought they were both naturally just fine at.