#I couldn’t be wrong I am a humble shot poster

[seventytwoowls]

Some of y’all are out here like “I like/don’t like pineapples, they’re acidic” and I’m sitting here thinking... do you exclusively eat slightly underripe pineapples or do you probably need to go to an allergist

#disclaimer: I am not a doctor so don’t be like #’silly owl spreading medical misinformation’ #I couldn’t be wrong I am a humble shot poster #food mention #pineapples on pizza my beloved ❤️ #shitpost

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Just My Type: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 2 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Darkside

Main Masterlist

A/N: This chapter is 2K words more than the last chapter and I’ve second guessed every single line in this one. This story is getting a lot of traction guys and I’m equal parts happy and scared. Thank you for the nice comments, they do encourage me. Also I’m just ranting feel free to skip this note haha. Your support in any form: like, comment or reblog is appreciated greatly. Also you can dm if you want to be friends, God knows I need those. Hopefully, this chap was worth the wait. Also, I made a poster for this on the main masterlist so check that out, it might be foreshadowing dome plot.

Warning: Eventual Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks later.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can't ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can't get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Chapter 2: Just My Type

It had almost been a week since the incident and you had barely gotten a wink of sleep. When you drove back to your house that night, Steve surprisingly didn’t argue as you had expected. After that friend of his whispered something in his ears, you only assumed he was needed elsewhere and you couldn’t be more thankful for that. They escorted you to your car and Steve thanked you with a strained smile, words genuine but eyes calculating. You didn’t even wonder what went inside his head. You were thankful for the peace and quiet of your own car, content to just get out of the area and into your humble abode.

After you put the already asleep Grace to bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of her room. You just sat on the floor beside the bed, hand intertwined with hers as you rested your head beside her tummy on the mattress.

Your adrenaline wore off and your limbs ached as your thoughts finally settled into place, the gravity of the catastrophe a few hours prior hitting you. Tears made their way down your cheeks as you realized that you both could have very well died tonight.

One bullet could have sealed each of your lives and you were basically defenseless had Steve not saved you against the creeping assaulter. You couldn’t commend yourself for even defending yourself against one attacker, the guilt of killing someone harboring in your tired head. Your quiet whimpers eventually wore you out, while Grace’s shallow breaths lulled you to sleep.

You didn’t manage to sleep for long though, every time your eyes closed, horrific images flashed in your mind. A blood curdling scream here, heaps of dead bodies there, with distant exploding sounds all around. You could see men clad in black holding guns to Grace’s head and whensoever you woke up, you just wondered how much more creative your mind could get, making these visuals so realistic.

When 8 AM rolled in, you didn’t wake Grace up even though it was Monday and you had work. You got up, changed into a long tee after a shower and called your office and then her daycare. You knew you would have a hard time going back to your normal life, to become trusting enough to leave her alone.

Your assumption about yourself was right. You took almost the entire week off, which your boss generously allowed you to after hearing your traumatic experience, which soon made the city news headlines. All your colleagues checked on you, almost once in the five day break you took, and sweetly enough offered to bring you anything you needed.

It was kind of them, but none of them could bring you what your heart genuinely craved: peace and assurance that you and Grace would be safe.

Even though Saturdays were off, you did go to work to see what you missed and where to start on again. You went in because you knew that the random spurt of resolution you got in the bathroom to collect your life, wouldn’t last.

To ease back into your normal life, you gathered your guts, called a babysitter and left home. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave Grace at the daycare just yet. One of your good friends offered to come in to the office and help you, even on the weekend and you were quite grateful to him.

When you both decided to take lunch in the nearby dining place, you both got to talking, the conversation obviously originating from ‘How have you been?’ and ‘Is Grace okay?’. You reminisced about how you used a photobooth to hide, grotesquely and uncomfortably chuckling when you remembered Sarah calling you her mom and how her dad saved you all.

You deliberately left the part where you killed someone and Steve shot someone too. You hadn’t come to terms with it yet and you stiffly restricted your mind whenever it tried to go down that lane.

He sensed how the conversation was becoming tense and distressing for you and briskly redirected the topic.

“I hope the dad was hot though?” He wiggled his eyes creepily and you snorted at his vulgarity, light for the first time in days.

“He was easy on the eyes; I will admit that.” You played along, recalling your girlfriends and how you used to ogle people.

“Don’t be a homewrecker though, I don’t support cheating.” He said nonchalantly, checking his phone as a notification bell rang off.

“He’s a widower.”

His eyes snapped up and met yours as his head tilted in confusion. “That’s a strange fact to know about someone you met for a few minutes.”

Steve’s even stranger comment about his dead wife popped in your mind and before you could stop yourself, you blurted that out as well.

“He even said and I quote, ‘She deserved what she got.’” He put his phone down, weirdly amused.

“Ooh Creepy! Do you think he is one of those husbands who kill their wives and bury them in the backyard? The podcasts always say that the psychopaths are visually handsome and charming. And his statement was quite vague and spooky.” He continued munching, and you felt that now Aiden was really paying attention unlike before.

“Steve did have a gun while searching for Sarah, come to think of it.” You drank your tea and awaited his response. What you did not expect was his eyes to widen and worry to cloud his features.

“Um Widower Steve with a toddler Sarah? At the place where The Vices attacked?” He mumbled, grabbing his phone and doing God knows what on it. Your eyebrows furrowed and before you could ask him what was up with his antics, he resumed.

“This is a long shot but I really hope your Steve didn’t look like this.” He positioned the phone in your vision, and you could already tell it was Steve by the sapphire blue of his eyes piercing through the screen into your soul. The picture was a month or two old, his hair was much longer when you met him than in the photo.

“This is him.” Your eyes met Aiden’s and worry visibly took over his features as his forehead creased and jaw tense.

He looked around the restaurant, finding it empty in the afternoon. He leaned and whispered, “This Steve of yours is dangerous.”

You interrupted Aiden, even though you already knew Steve was, the sight of his armed men still fresh in your head, and inquired, “Why do you say so?”

“It’s just like the fictional stories we hear from our parents, except here, in this city of ours, every myth holds true. There are really powerful men, untouchable by law, who reign the city silently and live luxuriously. Every shady, under the table deal you’ve heard of, transpires. Illegal trades, fraud schemes and bounty hunters are not fictional, they exist here. These men kill whatever hinders them and trust me, you don’t want to be the deer caught in their Jaguar’s headlights.”

Ice froze in your veins again, resembling the fear you felt that night but now because of your deemed ‘savior’. You convinced yourself that you had not wronged him in any way, instead had saved his daughter’s life.

“Are you in contact with him? If you are, distance yourself cleverly, don't block him immediately.”

“No, we just parted ways near my car, he thanked me for Sarah and was called away. It’s almost been a week and he hasn’t reached out if that’s what you mean. We didn’t exchange contacts and I don’t think I even told him my full name.” You explained yourself as if you were on the witness stand in court, trying to convince yourself more than Aiden.

“Pray that he doesn’t remember you more than that, if at all. I’m being totally honest here in telling you this, I’m genuinely worried for you and Grace. You are smart but he is powerful. He has unimaginable resources and if you become more than a speck of dust on his windshield, you are screwed. There is no exaggeration here.” You took his words to your heart and swore to be careful, if not for yourself then for Grace.

The rest of the day went by and you found yourself dwelling on and worrying about Aiden’s words. At least he put it out there as it was. Heeding his advice, you did google Steve on your phone, finally finding him in the topmost news headline when you added ‘Buck’ in the search bar as well.

‘With 38 lawsuits pending against businessman Steve Rogers, the filers have lost all hope in prosecuting him. All cases are being drawn out for indefinite periods of time by the Chief Justice Bruce……’

Aiden was right.

Businessmen was code for illegal mob heads. Cases being stretched on meant he was, in fact, invincible, at least to the common man’s fists.

You flickered through several titles, each one more surprising than the last. He was believed to be involved in the carnival attack, alleged for three hit and run cases that he didn’t lose but the witnesses swore they saw him driving and was also rumored to have brought in quintals of drugs just last week, but the packets just evaporated into thin air and there was no proof of their existence in the first place even on incessant searching.

Every crime of his made you shudder and you mentally thanked Aiden for pulling you out of your oblivion. Your mind raced and heart palpated and you cursed yourself for being so drastically unaware even after living here for almost four years. Technically speaking, Steve and you were even, him saving your life and you saving his daughter’s. No logical reason came to your mind for him contacting you ever.

You wished as Aiden said and assured yourself that your paths would never cross again, Steve not having reached out in a week, so hopefully never again.

That thought went out the window when you reached home to find a box awaiting you. Hannah, the babysitter you had called, informed you it came around 5 in the evening and was exclusively to be opened by you today.

Your mind raced as you paid the babysitter, your hands sweaty as you tried not to think about the gift and its sender. There was an apparently clear answer to who mailed it but you refused to accept that, courtesy of Aiden.

The box was of the height of Grace, it was black with red hearts painted across it; some red roses also sparingly adorned it. You opened the lid and found tons of red tissues and a multi-flower bouquet adorned with mostly red roses and a few purple and pink flowers.

Because of your frequent gardening in your backyard, you knew all the flowers’ meanings. To sum it all up, red flowers, especially roses were used for courting someone. Pink meant admiration, purple for beauty and you knew the ‘violet’ flowers were for loyalty.

As your nerves increased tenfold, you willed yourself to get it over with and empty out the box first, ignoring the little card in your bouquet, saving the ‘best’ for last. You find a mini bouquet inside but unlike yours, it had chocolates of every kind. You did read its card and cringed when it was for Grace, bothered not by the deed but by the doer.    

Further inside were some animal plushies, face masks, perfumes, scented body lotions and shampoos. Your head hurt thinking about the ‘single mother care package’ delivered to you by someone you refused to acknowledge.

As Grace sat in her playpen occupied, you dared to pick your card and read its message, your heart beating unrealistically fast for someone who refused to accept the cruciality of her situation.

~

I can’t thank you enough in this lifetime for saving my little princess. The gift of your help is more than anything money could ever buy for me. Please accept this invitation of mine for dinner tomorrow night, 7PM at La Bonne Nuit, as a symbol of my sincere gratitude for everything you’ve done. I’ll gets the kids covered and pick you up, you just be ready and look as amazing you always do.                                                                                           Sincerely,                                                                      Steve Rogers

                                                                                            ~

You stilled as you read it over and over again.

An invitation, your ass. Even in writing his authority portrayed, there was no question and hope for you coming, he just stated that you’d come. Looking pretty as always? You just met him once, in the middle of a calamity, covered in dirt and blood.

All the red roses and gifts screamed his romantic interest but you illusioned yourself into thinking they meant gratitude. You wouldn’t be able to digest it all otherwise.

Knowing what you knew now about Steve, you understood there was no denying the dinner tomorrow. You had to get out of his clutches and distance yourself, but as Aiden had so rightfully said, cleverly.

That night you laid in bed mulling over your next course of actions. You had called the gift shop to return the unwarranted presents you received but they said it was non refundable and anonymous to trace. You bitterly snorted in their face, they put a card with Steve’s name on it for heaven’s sake!

You didn’t flinch even when you realized you never gave Steve your address, neither for mailing stuff nor for picking you up. There was no number given to call him and thank or to call him and deny. The bastard had planned it all out, and you felt like you were driving in a one way lane, going deeper into the tunnel. Somewhere among your all-relentless fretting, you managed to finally sleep.

 When the doorbell rang, your eyebrows furrowed. It was just 6 PM and you weren’t expecting anybody else except for Steve. You had already begun getting ready, having developed a habit of keeping an extra margin of time now having a toddler. You still had to assemble Grace’s essential backpack, fill it with her meds and bottles.

While still putting on your diamond earring, you made your way to the door, unlocking it to find a redhead grinning at you. Before you could interact with her, a small body clung to your legs and you looked down to find the azure eyed kid that put you in this mess, Sarah, smiling up at you.

“Mama! You look pwetty!” She looked up in awe and now aware that she didn’t have a mother, you were even more so coerced into accepting this title rather than telling the kid that 'you are semi orphaned'.

“I’m Wanda, Sarah’s nanny. Mr. Rogers told me to pick her friend, Grace, up for the night?” So, this was what Steve meant. Bringing Sarah was proof enough of her legitimacy, but behind her you saw ‘Buck’ salute you from the driver’s seat of the black car. One of these days, you needed to learn his real name.

You invited Wanda inside and Sarah ran to Grace immediately, grabbing and whining while asking Grace to give her some popcorn she was munching on, her fist generously full.

In your open plan kitchen, you grabbed two plastic bowls, filled them with each with the tub of popcorn that sat in the microwave and handed each toddler one, fortunately quietening Sarah. Sarah obeyed Grace, in first thanking you, their ‘mama’ and then following her to her open playpen.

You faced Wanda again who sat on a barstool and kept on beaming. If your annoyance at her amusement showed, she sure didn’t let it falter the smile.

“Mr. Rogers told me you’d worry about your daughter, but I assure you she’d be in more than capable hands.” All you could focus on was how self-reassured she was. “I’ve served him for almost two years, the last family I served, I was there for 8 years and before them, I was employed for 3. I know the general bedtime and snacks, all I need from you is information about her allergies.”

You nodded and told her about Grace, her meds and what all you packed. When you got to know that her family owned the daycare Grace went to, you were finally somewhat convinced. After seeing them off, it was about fifteen minutes later, that the devil disguised in Prada showed up at your door.

You grabbed your purse and your keys. Wiping your sweaty palms on your dress, you opened the door. Steve stood there, a smirk lodging on his handsome face. His blue, three-piece suit perfectly paired with his cerulean eyes was impressive to say the least.

He was dressed to kill, and it appeared as if you were his first victim.

As your eyes took him in from top to bottom, his did the same lazily, taking their time, resting at certain places for longer period than others.

“You look stunning.”

You knew you did. You wore one of your more expensive dresses when you found out La Bonne Nuit to be one of the few seven-star hotels in the country. In hindsight, if you’d have dressed worse, maybe he’d have left you alone.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” He offered you his hand and you obliged with your palm in his. Your other hand pulled the doorknob while you stepped out, all alarms already set-in place. He waited while you locked and put the keys in and when you were done, with a soft kiss along your knuckles, he pulled you along.

The act surprised you, your stomach turning and your gut wrenching and you wondered if you’d be able to process the food after all, with your upset digestive system.

Like a proper gentleman, he opened the door for you and when you settled, he took his position at the driver’s seat. The silence was painful for you, your overthinking finally filling ideas in your head that you avoided contemplating about all day, focusing on Grace.

He was relaxed though; his humming was proof enough.

Mid way through, your thoughts were rudely interrupted when a hand housed itself on your knee. You glanced to find Steve’s palm slightly rubbing your knee. If it was meant to be assuring, you certainly didn’t feel like it.

You frowned and looked up to Steve who still had the arrogant smirk on his face, eyes straight ahead on the road, giving no indication of his inappropriate touching.

You wanted to swat his hand away but a brainwave dashed through your head and a disturbing thought made you halt, that whether he carried guns to restaurants as well, since carnivals were no big deal.

You ignored his hand and continued looking outside, pretending to ignore it as well as he did. Your scowl was a huge giveaway though.

You didn’t know that, but when your eyes found their way out, his finally rested on your face, the smirk growing even more.

Thankfully, apart from the incongruous touching, the dinner went okay-ish. The food and wine were impeccable, perfect even, the restaurant on the hotel’s top floors was so picturesque. You tried to savor your one-time experience there, knowing you’d no way be able to come back there.

Well, you tried to relish as much as you could while your mind still sat there, wary of the human in front of you. If you’d ignore your journey here, Steve was nothing short of a true gentleman, often making you wonder if you had imagined his hand on you.

This ‘friendly’ date you were having was probably one of the best you have had, he had left no expenses. He appeared to be interested in your work, about your childhood and about Grace’s but you swiftly avoided his questions about her father. He was growing a tad bit too comfortable for your liking and you still refused to entertain the idea that this was a ‘date’ date.

When you were finally onto dessert, the last course of your meal, your table was shadowed by the broad frame of a brunette and his date. He clapped Steve’s shoulder and Steve rose to hug him, you awkwardly smiled.

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been here, Cap. Why don’t you and your gorgeous date stop by my penthouse for a bit? We could finally go over the papers you sent me, in person?” He winked, they discussed something more and then went away, his date bowing and trailing after him as well.

Steve claimed his seat again, and finally told you about the interrupter. “That was my good friend, Tony Stark, always in a hurry. I’ll introduce you to him when we meet him later.”

“I think I’ll be heading home; you need not worry about my introduction, I hardly think we’ll ever run into each other again.” His eyes narrowed and you clarified, “Me and Mr. Stark, I meant.”

That’s good, don’t associate yourself with more of his kind.

“He was so kind in inviting you though, it would be rude to refuse.”

“It’s already late, Steve. And I’ve never left Grace alone for a night yet. What if she’s antsy? What if she is bothered? What if she feels unsafe? She's only used to very few people, and after last week, I-” You had started the sentence hoping to use Grace as an excuse but every word of yours succeeded in making you more apprehensive.

The carnival night flashed in your mind, along with the nightmares and you started panicking even more. Your hands clammy, your dessert spoon fell in your lap as sought your phone in your purse, hoping to call Wanda for an update. You felt like a terrible mother, who left her child with a stranger, only a week after she suffered trauma, just to go on a date with a mobster.

Steve reached across the table and grabbed your fidgety hands and as you wriggled to get your hands free, he softly called your name. Voice stern but vocals gentle. Your blurry eyes snapped to meet his while he guided you to breathe deeply, in and out.

His firm hold convinced you to listen to him, you’d never free yourself of them otherwise.

When you had calmed a bit, he withdrew his hands and fetched his phone. Your thoughts slowed down, and you wondered if anyone here was judging you. Your little scene, mercifully, went unnoticed by the other affluent people dining here.

Steve handed you his phone where four colored frames rested, the screen showing you Grace and Sarah cuddled in a frilly, pink four poster where Wanda sat too, her lips moving.

The feed was live and the screen muted, both the toddlers’ eyes fluttering close slowly, on the bridge of sleep.

You handed the phone back to Steve and drank your water while he rubbed circles on the back of one of your hands. You never freaked out like you did right now, always collected and never giving into anxiety. What had happened to you?

Well, In your defense, you had never experienced a disaster either.

“The kids are safe; I’m never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

Your mind did catch the plural in his statement but you promised yourself you would not let it get that far and continued drinking your water, emptying the entire glass.

“The HD image you just saw was by cameras Tony recently developed. His technology is amazing, I’ll take you to his lab sometime.” You appreciated his attempt to redirect the topic but you also focused on how tech-savvy his friends were as well.

You hummed and agreed, trying to be ambiguous with your answer.

When you finished your dessert, you hoped he’d forget about his ‘friend’ Tony but to no avail.

“His penthouse is two floors above. He owns this hotel as well in case you didn’t notice.” He led you to the elevator as you recalled the Starks Group logo you saw earlier sometime.

Some AI named Jarvis opened the elevator doors for you in the living room of Tony’s penthouse. It was even more magnificent than the restaurant earlier, the place illuminated by several hues of different colours. Steve chuckled and strung you along, introducing you to a ginger-head named Pepper, who was Tony’s date earlier and went to search for his acquaintance.

She offered you wine but you politely declined, opting for water instead. She brought your glass to you from the extravagant kitchen and you both sat on the barstool there instead of the living room. Too anxious to say the wrong thing, you stayed quiet until her voice filled the deafening silence.

“So, Steve almost never brings dates around. You two serious?” She questioned, leaning towards you, waiting for some gossip, no doubt.

“Oh no! We aren’t dating. He just invited me for a friendly dinner. We merely met the other week.” You deliberately left out the part where there was bombing by crime families and attack on the common man.

“Honey, in the mob life, you don’t just introduce random people to the fam.”

Oh, she wasn’t being shy about the whole mob ordeal. It seemed weird to hear it from her, since you and Steve hadn’t used the word yet. Maybe he figured you already knew considering the circumstances you met in or how famous he was.

“We really aren’t romantically involved. This dinner was just a gesture of gratitude if I’m being truthful.”

She chuckled, as if you were a kid making stories and quizzed, “Gratitude for what?”

You trapped yourself into that one. You didn’t know how to answer her and your brain downright blanked. Surprisingly,, Steve came to your rescue and two voices interposed your conversation.

Steve called your name and as you turned to the men, he continued, “She’s the one who saved Sarah the other night. You know the story, Wilson probably got it printed.”

“Impressive, really. Hey, I’m Tony and I see you’ve already met Pepper, my fiancée.” He shook your hand and kissed your knuckles, much like Steve did earlier in the day. You bowed, smiled and mumbled a ‘nice to meet you as well’. They escorted you to the elevator and Tony continued.

“Well, it’s not everyday Steve brings brave and extraordinarily attractive women around. Welcome to the family, sweetie. She’s a keeper, Cap.” He winked while saying the last sentence and before you could correct him, Steve ushered you inside the elevator, bro-hugging him. As the doors closed, Pepper winked at you from behind Tony and a shudder ran through you.

Okay you had to make it clear, get on the same page.

As the elevator music filled the silence, you started, “Steve, look we aren’t-”, “I served in the army, that’s why Tony calls me Cap, short for captain.” And crudely got interrupted.

“I never wanted to get into the army, I thought people were fools to sacrifice the one life they got. But I went to make my mother’s dream a reality, I really loved her, you know? Sarah is named after her, my mother.”

His voice broke at the end and as much as you wanted to redirect onto your former topic, you couldn’t. This amiability of yours would be the death of you.

“She died alone in her bed; I was dispatched too far away to even make it back for her funeral.” He mumbled but you heard him clear as a sunny day, and he leaned back onto the wall for support while you awkwardly rubbed his shoulder to return the support he provided earlier during your mental breakdown.

He closed his eyes and gathered himself, taking deep breaths. As the elevator dinged, his eyes opened and he gave you a strained smile.  

The car ride to his mansion was painfully silent, his mind too sidetracked to focus on harassing you again. With all that you went through today, you almost forgot about that.

His mansion was enormous, twenty guards stood outside and even more patrolled the lawn. He took you inside his house, the interior even more detailed and scenic than Tony’s temporary residence.

You just concentrated on swiftly getting Grace and Uber-ing back. As Steve showed you earlier, Grace and Sarah hugged and slept and it was a meticulous task to untangle their limbs without waking either of them up andnd get Grace with her back-pack. You thanked Wanda on the way out, hoping to avoid Steve but somehow he stood outside before you, leaning on his sleek black car. He opened the door for you before you could refuse the ride. You settled with Grace in the backseat itself, trying to be smart.

He just summoned one of his guards to drive and sat alongside you in the back. You didn’t let the annoyance at his clinginess show though. You just focused on Grace who drooled over your shoulder.

Hopefully, there won’t be any point of exposure to him ever again, your circles didn’t match, both social and professional. Your Venn diagrams didn’t overlap anywhere. This should be reason enough to avoid meeting ever again.

He didn’t try anything even this ride around. You doubted it was hardly because of the toddler or because of the driver. He did as he pleased, if he wanted to he could very well grope you. Luckily, he wasn't in the mood.

When you reached your dwelling, you stepped out hastily, thanking him in a whisper. You fumbled to get your keys out, but since everything you held slowed you down, he caught up with you without even trying.

He took and held Grace’s bag while you drew the keys out, Grace still on your hip. He handed you the bag back, “So this is it, I guess?”

“Yeah, tonight was a total delight. Thanks for the dinner and everything, really.” You put up your best façade, hoping to convince him.

“It was, thanks to you. The company matters the most.”

You awkwardly chuckled and you sensed him leaning in, his eyes flickering shut. Your eyes closed as you turned your head to avoid him, so that his lips would peck your cheek.

They never came.

Your eyes opened to find his and he chuckled, leaning in once again swiftly, catching you off guard this time. He didn’t meet your lips though, he kissed the corner of your mouth, lips overlapping for a fraction of skin.

“In due time, baby.” He stepped back and strolled to his car leisurely, content in his own world.

You opened your door and slammed it shut, the peck feeling wrong on so many levels. It felt more sensual than a lover’s kiss, leaving room for intimacy and longing.

Your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers an hour, the most absurd but nauseatingly true being, this was a date and it was not your last encounter.

Steve smirked outside in his car, the dinner an absolute success in his opinion. Tonight just made him feel that you both were more than compatible for each other. You needing him during your mental breakdown, him relaxing under your shy touch, Tony’s approval, not that important though, and your anxiety for Grace was the best part, because he, more often than he’d like to admit, fussed about Sarah the same way, agonizing and fretting her well being.

A text lit up his black screen and his grin widened even more if possible.

‘The Stark cameras are up and working, Sir.’

#dark fic #dark mcu #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #Steve Rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #mcudarklibrary #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #marvel fic #mob au #mob!steve #mafia!steve rogers #Mob!steve x reader #dark! mob! steve rogers #mafia au #ray writes #just my type #Lipstick and Crayons #Lipstick and Crayons series

[ohmygodtheywereparabatai]

please god let me overanalyze this literal five second bit for christmas

Zhao’s Demise but Actually I Talk About Why He’s a Viable Candidate for a Redemption Arc

—

So, Zuko offers his hand, Zhao refuses, his pride becomes his own downfall. Done deal, no need to read further into it.

Most people arrive at the conclusion that his arrogance is cause for that ultimate look of ‘eat piss’ on his face... I’m most people. I’m not arguing that. What I didn’t notice the first time around was the penultimate expression, one I believe is meant to convey something slightly more human. People have made note of this too, called it a moment of recognition or humility, anagnorisis. I’ll throw up the screencaps, second for second, and walk you through. The reason I do this is, considering how much time and effort goes into animation, I will be treating each and every frame as if it has earned its place in the episode’s run time, 100%. Bryke are the masters. I am but a humble consumer.

Two parts encapsulate Zhao’s final moments. The first, before cutting away to Zuko’s outstretched hand, has nothing to do with vanity or hatred. Rather, it’s the farthest emotion from both, and more importantly, it’s genuine.

He turns to look at him, at the banished prince he’s hunted and ridiculed relentlessly. Zhao doesn’t sour on the onset, at the mere thought of being rescued by someone he regards as a failure and disgrace. Instead it conveys surprise, expected of Zuko’s offer in spite of the heated rivalry they share. It’s everything he doesn’t understand, a merciless man shown mercy, a poster child for rage and grudge given a chance to live by a scarred boy with every right to hate the world around him, and get rid of his competition to achieve the only ends that will restore him. It cuts away after this look, face buried in the ocean spirit’s massive hand:

Looks almost repentant, if the context were switched up a little. Doesn’t it? ;p

The next part is, maybe, even harder to digest in its entirety without really slowing it down. Instead of the dramatically retracting his arm and delivering that lasting, withering look designed to ring with absolute contempt and self-absorption... Zhao reaches back.

His hand moves closer to the lower lefthand corner of the screen. His fingers curl inward, and for a terrifying instant it looks as though he intends to grab Zuko and drag him down with him. The anger fades again, however, and with no reason or motive to not maintain that facade, I assume the next few shots are also authentic, human.

Zhao’s hand falters. It moves back, and the slant of his eyebrows is not so severe. This doesn’t quite come off as the beginning stages of a royal ‘fuck you’... so what’s up?

And there you have it. The most baffling expression to witness on one Admiral Zhao, personally speaking.

It’s as if his hand has gone limp. His eyes are grave, and his anger has dissolved. Into what, is up to interpretation - easily the core of Bryke genius. I see it as mercy. Something Zhao only learns in his last moments, from an adversary, no less, and returns by refusing Zuko’s hand. Either Zhao believed himself worthy of more than damsel-esque rescue from the treacherous enemy of his nation... or he believed in the exact opposite. It’s that kind of realization, which, in my opinion, renders the expression above.

And so, he ends on a characteristically haughty note of dismissal, superiority. His iconic, scathing features return, and like most soldiers, choosing death is in and of itself an act of defiance, and at the same time a display of servile, unimaginable loyalty. Dying for honor or a cause is no light topic... if anything, this scene reveals the extent of Fire Nation nationalism. And we know how it’s repaid, how his story finally ends in a maddening, eternal fog.

So, Redemption Arc?

Yeesh, grim portrait of such a scoff-able moment. But bear with me. Redeeming Zhao deserves an entire post of its own, but I’ll lay down the bare bones of such a hypothetical.

Consider any other ATLA villain that shows such drastic change in their character - a brief, shining moment of humanity, vulnerability, or conflict. Zuko aside, and the crazed Azula, there’s little to nothing to work with. Long Feng, Combustion Man, Firelord Ozai - stagnant, little backstory. There’s a moment in Zuko Alone where we see Ozai standing over the turtle duck pond, regarded as an attempt at processing Ursa’s loss. It’s even said that the royal family was truly happy once. Scant, but plenty to expand on, right? Except Ozai remains the worst father in the history of fathers, and status as a genocidal maniac is generally seen as a hard pass.

Take Zhao, then. Complicit, or a pawn? Arrogant ass, or a brainwashed soldier, raised on the wrong ideals? We’ve seen Fire Nation schools. We know our own history. In both occasions where he’s on the verge of killing a minor, something that immediately lands a ticket to Irredeemable Land - he fails, embarrassingly so. Are his hands clean? Certainly not. Show-wise, however, he’s depicted as a laughable fool, his shot at greatness reduced to insignificance... just like Uncle Iroh’s heart of gold takes precedence over a history of warmongering. It’s framing, and it’s deliberate.

In the end, I leave anyone still reading with this.

If Zhao could learn mercy and return it in the last split-second before his defeat, if he genuinely saw Zuko, for the first and only time, and made a radical choice in light of it... what’s to say he couldn’t learn - or unlearn - more? That he couldn’t make another good choice, and another, if his mind wasn’t being rotted out by fog? *suspicious shrug emoji*

At the foundation of his character is a soldier. Someone hungry for glory, sworn to serve. He hunts the Avatar, he attacks the Blue Spirit, he besieges the Northern Kingdom and yes, takes the moon out of duty - a distorted notion of honor and destiny, and a destructive root to firebending influenced by a century of war. Seems to carry the faintest hint of PTSD. Any chance the show might contain such a hint?

Ah...

#LONG post #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla theory #atla meta #admiral zhao #zhao #zuko #firelord ozai #azula #merry chrysler everyone!! 🎄

[alkhale]

Shoot the Ball Pt.2 (Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader) Ko-fi request

Hi. Could I get a ushiwaka trying to hopelessly flirt with a clueless OC? I requested Shoot the Ball and I am in love with what you did (and basically everything else you wrote and will write) thanks!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Aaaaa I love your writing!! Would it be possible to get a part two of the Shoot the Ball (Ushijima x Reader) fic?? That story is so fucking adorable and Id love to see more of Ushijima and the readers relationship (maybe throw in a confession or something in there)?

It’s here on AO3 if that makes for easier reading too! More to come!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24551512/chapters/59287438

Shoot the Ball Pt. 2

“Um, senpai, are you alright?”

You laughed, almost a bit haughtily. “Alright? Of course I’m alright, what are you talking about?”

You hardly looked up from your kneeling position on the wooden boards of the humble kyudo hall, bow laid across your lap as you worked on tightening the new string. It wasn’t the best time to readjust to a new one, given your still aching wrist, but you couldn’t have your old one breaking on you with the first round of tournaments coming up.

The hall itself was in impeccable condition, thanks to the hard efforts of yourself and your team. The lot of you spend hours toiling to make sure the grass is cut, the range is kept clean, and the hall itself shines in case you receive curious faculty visits or sponsors otherwise. Shiratorizawa Academy may be a wealthy one, but not all the wealth was concentrated kindly to each part of the school. It was up to you, the captain, and your members to keep the hall shining as though it were just as good—especially because it was —so new visitors would only continue to be impressed.

But instead of shooting rounds like your younger members should be doing, a small huddle of the closer second and first years were shooting you worried glances. You were the only third year still spear-heading the entire campaign since the rest had left for studies or quit beforehand. Your vice-captain was a second year and close confidant and currently running around campus like a fool because you sent her on an errand so you could get more practice in before she chased you out.

“(L/n)-san you’re good at kyudo, so of course you’d stay. We just did it for fun.”

You can be good at it and have fun. You thought tirelessly, remembering watching the third years leave the hall, standing alone in the waning sunlight across wooden floorboards. You’re just giving up.

It wasn’t as though you were born gifted. They can joke you were born with a bow in your hand, but it was pure luck that your mother turned the television on to that channel that day, showcasing the national kyudo archery performance at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo. It was luck that you fell in love with that sound and the way the bow bent and the arrow flew.

And it was hard work to follow through with the luck that brought you here.

They all told you you only had one thing on the brain—kyudo, and they also said it’d probably be the end of you. Even your parents had been dropping light hints as of late that perhaps you should finally peel off the sport and bunker down for your studies. “What about college? Kyudo might not get you there, you know.”

“Are you going to do it forever?”

What else were you going to do? Die? Of course you were going to do kyudo forever. If it didn’t get you into college then you just wouldn’t go.

There was nothing you loved more than this sight, this bow, this.

Nothing.

N-o-t-h-i-n-g.

Your juniors shot each other more nervous looks. One brave young first year who you secretly planned to have join the five-team shoot finally took a step forward, hesitantly pointing to your lap.

“Senpai,” she said nervously, “...your string is…”

“Impeccable,” you said simply, holding up your bow like a sword, a sharp glint in your eye. “Now get back to the range. I’m shooting rounds right after you guys before—”

“You put it on… wrong…”

You calmly stared at your junior for several seconds, the other archers looking frightful behind her. You glanced down to your bow, staring at where your string was, sure enough, notched to absolutely nothing instead of the other end.

You felt a vein throb on the side of your head, cheeks flushing as you did the only reasonable thing and blamed the one person who had shoulders big enough to shoulder the brunt of all your problems.

Ushijima!

----- ----  -----

Shiratorizawa Nurse’s Office, One Week Ago

“You watch kyudo ?” you spluttered, scrambling off the floor and grabbing your stool in disbelief. Ushijima considered you with a cool sort of calm, staring almost blankly back at you.

He stared at your sprawled form on the ground and offered a hand. You slapped it away but it barely moved. The stupid tree of a teenager.

You watch my kyudo?

“Yes,” Ushijima said. You almost jumped, realizing what you’d thought. He set his hands back onto his lap, returning to his solid posture. “My grandmother was well-acquainted with a friend who performed for the national ceremonial procedures. We often have the kyudo channel on within my household.”

Each sentence leaving Ushijima’s lip with frightening ease was punching holes into your gut. His grandma was pals with someone who shot for the national ceremonies? He watches kyudo? He knew what a kaichu was and —

“It is a graceful sport,” Ushijima continued, meeting your gaze evenly. “I have long admired the poise. I watched your debut on the national stage when they broadcasted your first-year tournament. You performed admirably.”

Your brain short circuited, snapping like a bowstring. Ushijima, merciless, continued matter-of-factly, “They also had a small segment on your performance in the prefectural collegates. It is a shame there isn’t talk of scouting, but it does not seem kyudo works the same way our volleyball season does. My grandmother is familiar with your accomplishments and noticed we attend the same academy.”

Huh?

Huh?

HUH?

“I hope you perform well this season as well—”

“Wait one second!” you blurted, flying across the stool and slapping a hand over his mouth. “Wait one damn second!”

Ushijima seemed only mildly surprised that your hand was now plastered over his lips. He blinked once, calmly back at you and you pointed aggressively at him with your other hand, nearly towering over him except even when he was sitting, he seemed to match your height.

“....are you trying to mess with me?” you said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. Ushijima blinked once more, calm. “You’re—you’re just some star volleyball player! And you’re a high schooler! It doesn’t even make any sense! How do you know about all of that, huh? No one even watches that channel on their own unless they’re real—”

You stopped yourself. You blinked rapidly. Real… fans… no, no, no, there’s no way! Ushijima Wakatoshi could not be a kyudo buff—volleyball and kyudo were about on the farthest ends of the spectrum as you could get! It didn’t make any sense.

This strangely nonchalant, weird classmate of yours was supposed to be nothing more than some poster-boy with tried and true skills in volleyball who stole the spotlight from the other sports at Shiratorizawa Academy, who was nice enough to pick up your flyers and greet you in the morning and say hello in that low, rumbling way of his when you spotted him and he made eye contact with you—

I don’t get this guy! You felt a vein throb on the side of your head, tempting to fist the collar of his uniform and really show him what for—all due to your unjust frustration—if this hard-to-read volleyball jock was just messing around—but, well, Ushijima didn’t really seem like the type for that either.

You blinked stupidly at Ushijima when his hand calmly came up, holding your wrist and lowering your hand down so he could speak. “I watch.”

He seemed to think for a moment before continuing, as though answering a question asked by the teacher, “You’re on channel KNJ most Thursday nights. Some Sunday mornings. I often record the broadcasts when there seems to be something notable.”

You felt something stab through your entire being, ripping into your existence on this universe, turning the world around you upside on your head.

Mr. All-Youth-Japan tuned into broadcasts that featured your kyudo accomplishments and—

“I watch,” Ushijima repeated, never breaking contact with your gaze. His large fingers circled easily around your wrist, holding them loosely against the calloused heat of his palm. “As I said, I am a fan of your archery.”

Something incoherent left your lips. A croak of some sorts. Ushijima’s brows furrowed slightly. “Yes?”

“L-Let me get this straight,” you said shakily. “My… my archery… you watch it?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said.

“You… like it?”

“Quite,” Ushijima said.

The faint smell of salonpas tickled your nose. The light hint of sweat and fabric softener. Up close, you suddenly realized that Ushijima had more complex eyes than you thought, hinting a little bit of gold. Lighter than his hair. He smells different from what I’d expect too.

Wait, what the hell were you expecting in the first place?

Ushijima frowned briefly, eyes suddenly leaving your face and turning to your wrist. He considered where his fingers touched your skin, feverishly warm. His thumb lightly pressed the inside of your wrist and he turned his gaze back to you. “(L/n)-san, is your wrist swollen—”

“W-Well, it only makes sense, I guess!” you said loudly, yanking your hand entirely out of his grasp and tossing them both into the air. Ushijima looked up at you with furrowed brows as you laughed, nervous and sweating bullets with your fingers waggling. “ The Ushijima Wakatoshi? A fan of my archery? Hah! Haha… hah! Of course you’d be! Y-You have good taste! I’ll give you that, Ushijima-san! I’ll give you that! But that doesn’t mean anything else in the grand scheme of all this—y-you’re still nothing but a competitor for the sponsorships of this school!”

Ushijima apparead mildly confused, brows furrowed in a touch of a heavy set over his normally stern features. “Sponsorship?”

“That’s right!” you blurted, pointing right at his face. Your eyes were spinning, head twisting in circles. “All anyone cares about is your stupid volleyball!” Ushijima’s frown deepened. “Your team gets the spotlight even though we’ve got plenty of great achievements—you’re flattery won’t get you anywhere! My club is still going to come out on top and all anyone’s going to be talking about is kyudo and—and more kyudo!”

“Volleyball isn’t stupid,” Ushijima said calmly. “But I did not realize that others in our student body were not watching kyudo—”

“I’m going to go shoot right now!” you declared, almost delirious as you hurriedly grabbed your bag. Ushijima stood up from his stool, looking after you. “G-Gotta get those results—bye!”

Before Ushijima could say anything otherwise, you were sprinting out the door, nearly tripping over your feet and covering your face in your hands as you still tried to process the fact that Ushijima Wakatoshi was your first and probably only fan.

You probably fainted somewhere in the kyudo hall. This had to be a dream. A weird, warped dream caused by delirious induced hallucinations of Ushijima’s volleyball posters.

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

Sadly, it hadn’t been a dream. The entire interaction a week ago had been very, very real, and it’d annoyingly been on your mind since. You tried furiously to dispel all thoughts of it with waves of your arrows and aggressive scrubbing of the floors, but to no avail.

“I watch.”

Ushijima of all people? You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Him? Kyudo? That muscle head?

But… if he knew so much about it and even recorded broadcasts… then he really did have great taste. Kyudo was an amazing sport. Anyone willing to give it the attention it deserved was worth a good tick or two in your book. Not only that, but he complimented your archery—

No, no, forget it! You furiously shoved your things into your bag, wrapping up your bow and unstringing it as you slung everything over your shoulder. Several bags hung off your back and shoulders as well, stuffed with targets you needed to take home and repaint for tomorrow’s practice. You were the last one in the kyudo hall, sending all your juniors home to rest. Who cares if he watches your archery? Just a month ago he was some stranger on a poster!

You nodded to yourself, satisfied with your roundabout answers. Yeah, stop worrying about him. What are the odds we’ll run into each other again, anyway? Only on posters. You and Ushijima Wakatoshi were still a decent world apart, even with the recent amount of run-ins. Who was to say they wouldn’t stop tomorrow?

You nodded again, kicking the door open with your foot and struggling to pull all your bags out along with your bow, strapped neatly to your back. You huffed, shaking free like a wet dog and hobbling down the corner of the hall to begin the long trek back to the dorms. Just focus on kyudo, (Y/n). Kyudo’s all that matters anyway, not volleyball players the size of oak trees and —

“Good evening, (L/n)-san.”

AND WHY THE HELL IS HE HERE TOO?

You gaped in disbelief, pale as a sheet with your arms bulging over the top of your bags, looking like a pack mule in the middle of the road.

Ushijima Wakatoshi calmly gazed back at you, expression neutral. His volleyball bag, neatly printed with the school’s logo was slung over his shoulder. He wore the deep purple track jacket over a black t-shirt and volleyball shorts—a young athlete clearly fresh out of practice.

And now here he was, standing in front of the kyudo hall, looking at you.

Ushijima raised one big hand in greeting, staring at you. The evening glow cast a nice little warm light around his broad shoulders and hair, turning it soft.

HAH?

You almost dropped your bags in shock, blinking rapidly. You rubbed one of your eyes, blinking again and squinting in disbelief at Ushijima right in front of you. He brought his hand back down, calmly facing you.

“Um,” you said intelligently. “...take this however you want, but… what are you doing here?”

Ushijima’s eyes swept once over the amount of bags bulging out from under your arms, taking particular interest in examining the tall, towering form of your unstrung bow rising high above your head. He turned his eyes calmly back to you.

“I was waiting for you.”

Oh, right. You thought. That makes perfect sense. For some reason, Ushijima Wakatoshi is waiting for me outside the kyudo hall.

HAAAH?

“Is there… a reason why?” you asked tentatively, keeping your eyes on him as you shifted side to side like an uncertain crab.

Ushijima answered, without missing a beat, “I wanted to talk with you.”

You almost dropped all your bags. Almost. “Uh… about…?”

Ushijima seemed to consider your words for a moment longer this time. He faced you with an ungodly amount of calm, reminding you more of a statue for some kind of demi-god than a human with his towering frame and golden glow against the sunset. “Whatever it is that you might want to talk about.”

What the heck is that supposed to mean? “What the heck is that supposed to mean?” you asked, outright confused. Ushijima’s brows furrowed slightly. “And, hold on, correct me if I’m wrong or something, but you weren’t… waiting for me… right?”

(Y/n), are you an idiot? Of course this guy wasn’t waiting for you. Why would he be waiting for you —

“No,” Ushijima said. You sighed in relief. “Practice ended fifteen minutes ago. It was not much of a wait.”

You dropped all your bags to the floor, except your bow, sturdy against your back. Ushijima’s eyes turned down to the mess at your feet.

You stood like a cardboard cut out in the middle of the road, frozen in disbelief. But why?

“Do you need help?” Ushijima asked, stepping closer. You jumped back into action quickly scrambling for the bags. “You were heading back to the dorms, correct?”

“S-So what if I was?” you snapped, trying to precariously balance all your bags again. Ushijima waited, watching you struggle. You defensively added, “I-I have a system! You surprised me so I just have to get them stacked in the right order again!”

“I see,” Ushijima said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

What the hell is this guy’s problem? You thought in horrified confusion, grabbing at your bags and huffing. What does he want from me? Is this some new type of bullying?

“Why are you carrying so many bags?” Ushijima asked. In any other manner, it would’ve sounded completely different, but his voice was calm, as though stating fact. You’re mouth opened and closed like a fish, still trying to wrap your head around this strange interaction.

“B-Because I have to repaint the targets!” you snapped. You struggled to fit them all back on your arms, scowling. “They were chipping yesterday so—”

In one sweeping motion, Ushijima’s hand closed over several of the bag handles, lifting the bulky materials up into the air. You blinked rapidly in disbelief, hands still hanging in the air, holding nothing but your own bow on your back while Ushijima calmly held onto your targets.

“I’ll carry them,” he said simply, gazing down at you with those impassive, unreadable eyes. The sunset made them a little warmer, but only because of the sunset. “What part of the dorms do you stay in?”

You gaped at Ushijima like a fish. He waited patiently for your answer, standing beside you and holding all your bags like they were nothing.

“I-I don’t need your help, you jerk!”

Ushijima had the nerve to look confused. “It’s more efficient this way.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight?”

“Are you on the west or east side?”

“West—I-I’m talking to you, you tree trunk! Put those down! I’ll carry them myself!”

“I do not see why you would choose a less efficient manner to—”

“You want to get beat up?”

“No, that was not my intention. Have I done something to upset you?”

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

But the problem didn’t stop there.

Every evening after practice, Ushijima waits, without fail, outside the kyudo hall. You’re always the last one to leave, and it seems for some ungodly reason, the timing of the end of his own practices mesh perfectly with yours.

You can’t even begin to wrap your head around it, staring in disbelief day after day as Ushijima appears, again and again, waiting for you outside to walk you back to the dorms. He offered to take your bag for you, asking dutifully each time even though you always turned him down since it’s just your bow and backpack and Ushijima just nods and continues, speaking every other bout of silence.

You tried to figure out why, but all he does is answer, in his stupid, impassive Ushijima-way, “I wanted to talk to you.”

Talk? With you? What the hell was that even supposed to mean? What kind of game was this guy playing? It didn’t make any sense! Each day you set out to figure out how to stop this nonsense, but each afternoon, Ushijima brought up several other topics of conversation that made you pause, pushing it off another day and then another.

And then you just… sort of resigned yourself to this strangeness.

Is it because he’s my fan? You rubbed your chin in thought, frowning at your shoes while Ushijima walked in content silence beside you. A few students shot the two of you curious glances, but you just furrowed your brows, automatically following Ushijima as he navigated you two outside a crowd of track runners and moved to the other side of the walkway with you in thoughtful tow. Is that it? I mean, I’m flattered, but this is still weird.

He talked to you about all kinds of things too—kyudo, mainly. Ushijima was a weird person to hold conversations with, seemingly blunt and forward with his intentions, but an absolute enigma at the same time. He would ask without fail how your practice went, your intentions for the upcoming preliminaries, how the competition looked, how your kyudo was going, your team—

And, yeah, maybe you would answer because it was kyudo and you loved talking about kyudo—but that was the only reason why. The only one. If someone was asking about kyudo, you’d always answer without fail.

“Well, what about volleyball?” you snapped one day, the two of you standing in the middle of the pathway, still a good few minutes away from the dorms. Ushijima turned to you, fixing you with his entire attention like always. “You’re some kind of crazy volleyball nut, right? Why aren’t you talking about it?”

“...I was under the impression you were not interested in volleyball,” Ushijma said. Did the jerk sound pleased? No way , Ushijima Wakatoshi was practically limited to two emotions. Ushijima one and two.

“I think volleyball is fine!” you said. “It’s a great sport. It’s not as great as kyudo, but it’s fine. Isn’t it your whole life? Stop talking about mine, you creep. What about yours?”

You looked up at him when Ushijima didn’t say anything. The quiet expression on his impassive face made you pause, staring at him with curiously round eyes as a third Ushijima seemed to finally appear and he started, almost… warmly , to talk about it—volleyball, him.

“Yes,” Ushijima said. “I like volleyball.”

Well, he really did seem to know his stuff about kyudo.

So… maybe Ushijima Wakatoshi wasn’t too bad after all. I mean, if he’s my fan… you should do your duty then, right? Your personal vendetta against Ushijima had mostly stemmed from the unjust bias in publicity, but it wasn’t really his fault… But only because he’s my fan… yeah. It’d be mean to turn away someone genuinely interested in talking about kyudo.

You figured you could put up with this. Just for a bit longer.

Maybe. Just a bit.

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

At the crack of dawn one weekend, you looked up from tying your running shoes, spotting a familiar, hulking figure only a few feet away. Steam billowed past his lips, making him look just as much of a monster as he did that one morning almost several months ago now from the club meeting.

Dedicated. You blew hot air into your freezing hands, shivering at the morning chill. Guess he really isn’t a nationally ranked player for nothing.

“Ushijima!”

His arms moved neatly at his sides, stride even, form impeccable. Ushijima’s eyes swung across the school courtyard and landed on your lone form by the benches. You couldn’t make out the shift in his expression from where you stood, but instead of waving in response like you expected, he veered off his running track across the pathway and made his way to you.

“Good morning,” Ushijima said, hardly sounding winded. This guy, I swear. You lifted a hand again in greeting, stuffing your freezing fingers back into your pockets. He stopped beside you, radiating warmth and thrumming with a low, even pulse of energy. You almost wanted to put your hands on him just to warm them up.

“I didn’t know you ran on the weekends too,” you said. “You don’t go home?”

“I visit when needed,” Ushijima said evenly. “My household isn’t far from campus. It’s easier to stay in the dorms.”

“Oh, I see,” you shuffled on your feet, shifting your hands inside your pockets. “Uh, sorry to disturb you. Just wanted to say hey.”

“You didn’t disturb me,” Ushijima said.

Give me something to work with after you say stuff like that! You grimaced, somewhat used to this sort of flat-ended conversation by now. You rubbed the back of your neck, Ushijima still waiting in silence beside you, seemingly content to just stare at the pathway, steam lightly slipping past his mouth when he exhaled.

“...you, uh,” you started awkwardly. “Want to run together?”

Ushijima’s dark eyes turned toward you. You shrugged, waving a hand. “If I can’t keep up, just keep going. I’m not looking to mess with your training regime or anything.”

“You’ll be able to keep up.”

You stopped, looking at Ushijima with round eyes. He gazed evenly back at you as you searched for a hint of mockery or some kind of tease, but his expression was dutifully earnest.

“...okay,” you mumbled. “...Let’s go then.”

The two of you broke off back into a jog, slowly finding your pace together, arms and legs moving in unison.

The run warmed you up faster than you expected.

You and Ushijima never once broke pace with each other.

---- --- ----

“Tendou-senpai, who is that with Ushijima-senpai?”

Tendou hummed, swinging his legs back and forth as he stretched lazily out across the court. In a few minutes he’d shape up before Coach could lecture him about his terrible form. Shirabu was stretching out beside him, eyes turned toward the double-door opening of the gym where they were letting a bit of a breeze come through. Goshiki looked up at Shirabu when he mentioned Ushijima, quickly peeking his head around too.

Sure enough, outside the double doors stood a completely rare sight to behold. Ushijima Wakatoshi himself cut several minutes close to the beginning of practice to stand outside and speak with someone.

You.

Goshiki frowned in confusion, barely catching a glimpse of you blocked by Ushijima’s hulking figure. His head was turned downwards, speaking with you. A massive, clothed staff seemed to come up from behind your back, however, rising even over Ushijima’s head. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Kyu-chan~” Tendou hummed. “Our dear captain’s new little friend!”

“Kyu-chan?” Goshiki repeated loudly. “Who is that? Is she close to Ushijima-senpai?”

“...she’s the captain of the kyudo club,” Shirabu said, blinking in recognition. “I see her passing out flyers to the lower grades. She and Ushijima-senpai are friends? Are they classmates?”

“Something like that,” Tendou said. “Waka-kun is a bit of a fan.”

“Of kyudo?” Shirabu looked over in mild surprise. “I didn’t think Ushijima-senpai could look at any other sport beside volleyball.”

“Well, something like that too?” Tendou touched a finger to his chin, feigning ignorance. “It’s more like he became a fan of the sport as a result!”

“Of what?” Shirabu continued, raising a critical brow.

“Kyudo?” Goshiki said. “What’s that?”

Shirabu rolled his eyes, looking done with the wing spiker’s nonsense. Goshiki gaped in disbelief, quickly turning to Tendou who’d rolled over onto his stomach, watching the sight of you and Ushijima in amusement, as though it were some kind of television soap opera.

You said something to Ushijima, shoving a plastic bag his way. He took it calmly with one hand, holding it tightly at his side as he said something else to you. Tendou watched a dumb sort of laugh touch your lips and you shook your head, waving to Ushijima over your shoulder as you headed off to your own practice.

Ushijima watched you go, waiting there until you disappeared from sight. He held the bag at his side, waiting a second longer before he turned back toward the gym.

“Ah,” Tendou said, “young love.”

Shirabu’s grip on his ankle slipped and Goshiki choked, the two of them looking at Tendou in almost disbelieving horror. “ What? ”

---- ----  ----

"Ushijima-san brings the game to a match point now with that finishing serve. His powerful strikes are yet to be received by the opposing team. His statistics are still on the rise and he might just be able to finish the set with another service ace, bringing it up for — ”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to admit it. Maybe a couple months ago you wouldn’t have wanted to admit it, because it would have left an unfairly foul taste on your mouth, reminding you again that there was perfectly good reason for Ushijima and his team to be receiving the kind of publicity and acclaim they did.

But now… well, sure, Ushijima wasn’t a bad guy at all. You might even say you were sort of acquaintances now. Maybe friends. To an extent. He was a bit awkward, blunt, and sometimes hard to talk too if you didn’t figure out the nuances in his rather simple and earnest approach—that still rubbed you the wrong way from time to time but what was life without some disputes—but the evidence was glaringly obvious.

Ushijima Wakatoshi worked hard. Terribly, frighteningly so, in the same way that you could understand with every new ache of your wrist and pull of your bow, straining to push and push and rise higher and higher. You noticed it in his runs, in his practices, and now, even sneaking a quick watch of a few of his highlights online, which lead to an endless spiral of watching several more taped games of his performances.

He dedicated himself to volleyball the same way you did to kyudo. You were both hopeless causes for these things you were willing to give your all too.

You replayed the last point again, watching huddled up on the bench as you waited for the lunch bell to ring. You’d had to tape up your wrist today, finally giving in to Ushijima’s persistent, dull-tone nagging. You’d go easier on practice too, just this once, since he seemed to adamant about it. Just this once.

“Many will be disappointed if you can’t shoot.”

I mean, I can’t let my fans down, right? Heheheh...

The announcer started speaking in your ear and you followed Ushijima across the court, watching him toss the ball up for that killer serve again. I know how it ends but I still get anxious watching this.

“(L/n)-san.”

You let out an inhuman screech, phone flying into the air as your limbs spazzed out. Ushijima blinked once, calmly catching your phone before it hit the unforgiving floor and holding it in his grip as he waited for you to calm down. You wheezed, slapping your chest to make sure your heart was still in it, cheeks flushed red as you gaped at Ushijima in disbelief. “U-Ushijima! You scared me! Say something next time!”

“I did,” Ushijima said, only mildly confused. “I said your name.”

“Louder!”

“I see,” Ushijima said. He grabbed your dangling earbuds and paused, turning your phone screen over.

His own face looked back at him, impassive and collected.

You slapped your phone out of his hand, letting it hit the floor with a clack. Ushijima blinked once at it and then looked back at you. You heaved, cheeks flushed a bright red as you stuttered, practically shouting, “It’s not what it looks like!”

Ushijima bent down to pick up your phone.

You quickly scooped it and shoved it into your pocket, completely frazzled. Ushijima considered the now empty spot in his hand before looking back at you, completely unfazed.

“We were seeded for Inter-High this year,” Ushijima said calmly. “Next month we’ll play. Would you like to come then?”

“Who said I wanted to watch your stinking game?” you snapped, cheeks till bright red as you practically hissed at the towering young man. Ushijima’s face remained almost expressionless, almost, but he simply waited for more words to come out of you, as they always did. “When is it? In a month? Maybe I’ll come! Maybe!”

“I look forward to seeing you there,” Ushijima said. He glanced back down to his hands before looking over at your bow strapped to your back. “Your beginning preliminaries don’t allow for outside spectators.”

Stop saying it like you mean you’ll come if it were different! You waved Ushijima off. “Yeah, yeah, but we’re making it past prelims so you can come to the official tournament.”

“You’re confident,” Ushijima said.

“Of course I am! What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?”

Ushijima’s hands shifted to his sides. He gazed down at you, expression almost light. No, no, no, you’re just imagining things. “I look forward to watching you then.”

“Check your calendar first,” you muttered. “You don’t even know if you’ll be able to come.”

“I will attend, if it is alright with you.”

This guy is really something else! You ran a quick hand through your hair, fighting back the furious flush of pride that threatened to overtake your features. Ushijima started saying something else, calmly talking about how he felt your form improved lately, but he had yet to see so for himself. You can’t help but think about how he’d opened the gym doors for you, allowing you to take a peek into their harrowing, rigorous volleyball practice schedule simply because you were a bit curious and—

You’re not sure what possessed you next.

“You can come if you want,” you said suddenly. “To practice today.”

Ushijima paused, looking back to you. You finally met his gaze, rubbing the back of your neck. “Since you like it so much, right? Kyudo. I can… you can try it, if you want. Just this once.”

(Y/n) I think you’ve completely lost your mind, maybe you really are practicing too hard after all and —

“If it is not a hindrance to your performance,” Ushijima said. “I will come.”

You scoffed, scuffing your foot along the floor. “What, you think I’m gonna choke?”

“No,” Ushijima said.

“You know, would it kill you to give me something to work with for once—”

“If you intend to watch more matches, please watch our match against Itachiyama,” Ushijima said, after a pause.. “It was where I received my ranking. My performance is… better, during that match.”

“Please stop talking.”

--- ---  ---- ----

A round of terrified gasps and gargles from your fellow club members was about the best warning you got that Ushijima had finally made his appearance at your kyudo hall, right as rain, bright and early like he promised.

The poor first year who’d been the one to open the door looks downright terrified, face pale at Ushijima’s towering figure now blocking the doorway into the entrance hall. He gazed down at her, the top half of his face nearly obscured until he lowered his head slightly in a fearsome bow.

“Good morning. I’m sorry to intrude.”

She gaped, staring in disbelief at his appearance while the other girls had all turned and then made equally disbelieved faces, eyes round and popping out of their heads.

“H-Hey, (Y/n)!” your vice captain hissed. “I might be going crazy, but isn’t that Ushijima standing at our door? What’s the boy’s volleyball team captain doing here?”

“Are they trying to run us out?” one girl gasped. “So they can expand the gym?”

“They’ve come for our kyudo hall!”

“Captain, please do something!”

You know, maybe a few months ago you would’ve thought exactly the same. You sighed in amusement, crossing your arms over your hakama as you exited the shooting range and set your bow down against the wall. Who would’ve thought?

“It’s fine guys,” you said, waving to your club members who gaped at you. “I invited him over. Ushijima wanted to see how a kyudo practice went. I promised I’d help him shoot one round.”

“Captain—”

“Invited—”

“Ushijima-senpai—”

You walked over to Ushijima, looking up at him with your hands on your hips. He seemed to take in your formal kyudo attire with particular care, reaching up to his chest and setting his hand down on his black shirt and shorts, his volleyball jersey hanging over his shoulders. “Is the attire required?”

“Not this time,” you said with a grin. “We probably don’t have a uniform that fits you anyways. Come on in.”

The girls around you continued to gape in disbelief. Ushijima bowed to them once more, politely taking off his shoes and bending down to make it into the hall without hitting his head. He rose to his full height below the arching wooden beams, calmly taking his jacket off as well and slinging it over his arm as he followed behind you, trudging like a massive shadow.

You secretly took note of his mannerisms in the hall, curious about whether or not you’d need to correct him for this or that. To your disturbed surprise, Ushijima found himself at perfect ease in the completely formal setting, properly shifting to the side to stay out of the presentation range and moving in even, clear steps across the floor.

He looked to you, waiting for your next instructions. It was almost cute, like a giant, big dog.

Almost.

“We’ll match you with a bow and show you the practice movements,” you said cheerfully, getting a little pumped up about teaching someone for the first time in awhile. Not to mention a total newbie to the sport who was a god in his own—truly a bit satisfying for your ego. “Then we shoot, just a bit.”

Ushijima nodded, his expression settled into one of ease. You stopped just short of grabbing the unstrung bows, blinking in surprise.

Did he just smile?

---- ----  ---  ----

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this with my own eyes.”

“I know! It’s the Ushijima-senpai. I thought he was some kind of scary giant!”

“I heard he’s cold to everyone else! He glares at anyone who comes close!”

“Did you hear? Apparently he comes from a super wealthy, really well-off family! And he’s gifted! He’ll go pro for sure!”

“Why’s he here with senpai then?”

The first and second year girls all shared looks, frowning at each other before they peered around the corner of the sliding doors into the shooting range.

The height difference was pitifully apparent when you stood beside Ushijima, hands on your hips as you loudly and carefully instructed him on what he’d need to know to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. The obvious pride and ego in your stance seemed to make up for any height difference though, as Ushijima patiently craned his head down and listened to you, holding the bow and arrow in his hands.

You eagerly touched your own bow, showing him in exaggerated motions the stances, shuffling backwards to show him how you knelt and then stood, coming to stand in shooting position. Ushijima listened to all of this with obvious attentiveness, following your every motion and nodding, asking a quiet question once or twice.

Your juniors made eyes at each other, nervously peering around the corner.

“Is this something she’s doing to show kyudo is worth attention?”

“Is it a fight? Do you think he challenged her to a fight or something?”

“But if it’s senpai, wouldn’t she be the one challenging him to a fight? She’s been so worried lately about new members…”

Your vice captain observed the two of you in silence, arms crossed over her chest. She carefully considered Ushijima’s attentive stare, the quiet and swift way he moved to follow your motions, coming always to stand beside you unless you shooed him back to make another demonstration. Her eyes finally tracked back to Ushijima’s bag hanging in a small visitor cubby, neatly folded bags of energy drinks and protein bars with two boxes of cut fruit—one wrapped and the other one not.

“Can you believe who I ran into trying to get that drink you told me to get? That jerk all over our school!”

The drinks sitting in Ushijima’s bag were the ones she’d told you about all those months ago.

“I think,” she said. “It’s going to be okay… probably.”

Your juniors gaped in disbelief. Your vice captain shrugged.

“The nice thing about archery is that it doesn’t really matter if you shoot right or left!” you said amiably, growing more and more excited as you showed Ushijima the correct position for a left-handed archer. “Not like volleyball, right? The ball goes a totally different way. Arrows always fly straight if you shoot it right.”

Ushijima’s hand flexed against the bow. He gazed down at you. “You noticed.”

“Well, duh , who couldn’t tell what hand you’re hitting with? Anyway, you’re lucky I can actually shoot crazy good with both, here, this part gets easier.”

You stood right beside Ushijima, hardly even coming up to his shoulder. His eyes were focused on the top of your head for a moment, gazing at the crown of your hair before his eyes shifted to your hands, small and calloused as they reached for his and you molded yourself against him. Your eyes were shining as you guided his hands against the bow, showing Ushijima how to pull the string. You pressed your fingers into the crook of his elbow, squeezing to draw him back and lightly touching the small of his back to straighten him out.

He could feel the whisper of your heart against him, the light pulse like the flutter of the net after a strike into its side, shaking its hold.

“There,” you said softly, pulling back with a grin. Ushijima’s gaze turned over his shoulder to look down at you, properly taking in the way your hair framed your cheeks, how your eyes brightened, more and more, as though being here could make you invincible.

The way I feel on the court.

“Now if you just pull and release like I taught you,” you said gently, touching his wrist one more time and then mimicking the action with your own arms, copying his left-handed stance. “You’ll be golden!”

Ushijima carefully considered his form, focusing intently on the arrow and the target that seemed an entire court away. It was reassuring, in that sense. It wasn’t hard to envision the power he’d need to send a ball that far. The arrow and bow in his hands were rather different, fragile yet stiff when he pulled, bending and bending but not breaking.

“Don’t hold back,” you said right by his side. Ushijima’s eyes met yours over the bow and he took in fully then, the sight of your eyes, burning. “We can handle more than you think.”

Ah.

Ushijima never took his eyes off you, firing off the arrow, shooting straight into nothingness.

Your eyes quickly shot to where it landed. You laughed, shaking your head at where the arrow hand landed, just a few inches from the target into the sand. “Hey! That’s actually not bad for a first time—guess even you can’t get it on the first shot though, right?”

The grin on your face was flooded with pride, cheeky as you laughed, turning back to him and picking up your bow. Ushijima followed the curve of your lips, disappearing into a smile, the crinkle of your eyes. “Here, here, one more time! I want to see the Ushijima Wakatoshi give kyudo another shot, or even a dozen more!”

You raised your bow, grabbing your waiting arrow as you went through the foot motions and stopped. “Maybe you can get a little good—then I’ll gloat to the whole world that a nationally ranked volleyball player learned kyudo from me , right?”

“That seems unnecessary,” Ushijima said, watching your arms, your hands, your body coil like a practiced, well-oiled machine.

“Publicity!” you said. “Help me out here, would you? Kyudo isn’t as loved as volleyball, you know. Look, watch how a pro does it.”

He felt something stir in his gut at your words, lurching.

You copied his stance and turned your gaze forward. Ushijima looked behind him when he sensed a sudden hush fall over the hall, your juniors watching in rapt attention as you pulled your arrow back and adjusted your entire stance.

Your eyes zeroed in on the target. You exhaled.

The light in your eyes never seemed more fierce.

With a resounding clap the arrow shot out from your fingers, as though guided by the wind. Your hair blew out from your face, coiling backwards. It slammed dead-center into the target.

Ushijima felt again, the stir, quick and fervent in his gut. His grip on the borrowed bow tightened as you gazed at the arrow, smoothly holding your bow at your side and then you turned to him. The memory of the television flickered through his head, the garbled, clear words growing louder as he faced you and your eyes focused on him, bright.

“Maybe we could make an archer out of you just yet,” you laughed, rubbing your chin as you observed Ushijima’s own charm as he held the bow. “In our uniform you’d really look like you belonged here. You’ve got the poise for it.”

“...but?” Ushijima said, sensing the continuing hang of your words.

“But,” you agreed, propping your chin up as you nodded to yourself. “Yeah… you really do look better on a volleyball court, you know?”

Twang! Twang!

He’d always thought they were a bit similar—that sharp, satisfying sound that always left your bow when you shot and the sound of his hand connecting with the ball, sending it just right through the air.

Ushijima let the stir in the pit of his stomach flood his chest, calmly seeping down to the tips of his fingers as he gazed at you.

“Let’s give it one more go. Next time you can show me how to spike if it won’t rip my arm off—”

“(L/n)-san,” Ushijima said, his voice like a low rumble. Your juniors flinched at the back of the hall and you simply hummed in response, looking back at him. “Thank you.”

“...you’re welcome,” you said amiably, laughing a bit. “If you like it so much, you can come when you’re not busy—”

“I like you, (L/n)-san.”

Your juniors froze. Your vice-captain’s eyes bulged from her head. You blinked, grinning at Ushijima.

“Yeah, I know, you dork. You’re my first and biggest fan! Were you just blown away about seeing my shooting in person?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said. He properly turned to face you, eyes heavy, expression set. You suddenly felt a suspicious chill curling up your spine, forcing you to blink at him with wide, confused eyes. “I like watching you shoot the best.”

Ah, see! Nothing to be worried about. What was I even thinking in the first place? Your juniors sighed in relief behind you. “I know! I really am the—”

“But you,” Ushijima said, completely and utterly calm, voice clear as water, “are what I like the best as well.”

For once, you committed one of the gravest sins—your bow clattered to the floor. Your face turned pale in disbelief, color slowly starting to color it back in soft red as it came up from your neck and to your face. The entire kyudo hall went silent at Ushijima’s words, resounding like an echo.

“Uh… yeah, I mean… um… what’s that supposed to… mean?”

Ushijima continued, without missing a beat, merciless—

“I like you,” Ushijima said. A heartbeat longer and he added, calmly, “I want to be with you.”

Thud!

“S-S-Senpai’s collapsed! Someone call a teacher, we’re being attacked!”

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

Two Years Ago

Ushijima Household

“Wakatoshi, I believe this young lady attends your academy as well.”

Ushijima calmly looked up from the steaming cup of tea placed carefully in front of him. The usual quietness, the faint stuffiness that resided within his grandmother’s studies and quarters was still prevalent to this day as he joined her for her afternoon tea. The attendants had already been dismissed, waiting outside the hall to bring in lunch once his grandmother was ready.

His legs itched to shift in their resigned position, a sensation he was training himself to forget. These were small, trivial things he had no business entertaining. Once he stepped onto the court, it would mean nothing.

The large television set was fixed to a low but clear volume. Across the screen, an array of young people were being presented in an orderly fashion across a kyudo hall. His grandmother was always watching their segments, but the time slot had changed to coincide with their afternoon tea.

She talked less about his future during these moments now, since the kyudo channel shifted time. He felt, in a childish, small corner of his heart, grateful for that.

“Do you intend to play volleyball beyond your studies, Wakatoshi? There’s more beyond the sport for you within our family.”

His mother had already informed him to consider saying the correct words to placate his grandmother. Ushijima did not know what those words could be. Not if they involved anything other than volleyball.

His left hand twitched over the top of his lap. Ushijima faintly followed the announcer’s words, trying to find what it was his grandmother had meant— there.

A fierce young girl glared hard at the expanse in front of her. Her hakama clung tightly to her body, hair pulled back and out of her face. He wasn’t familiar with her, not personally, but he had a vague sense he might have passed her on more than one occasion after practice—the kyudo hall on campus was close to the volleyball gym.

It was a final shoot off, according to the commentator. His grandmother watched with rapt attention, quietly commenting that she was fond of this girl from Shiratorizawa— she shoots like she means it. He’d never heard his grandmother speak in such a manner over any kind of sport.

Ushijima watched the screen with newfound interest, a touch critical. Kyudo was a quiet sport, not the kind that received acclaim the way volleyball did. He’d never once considered himself partaking in it though he harbored no ill will.

“There,” his grandmother said. “Watch this now, Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima watched you through the screen, your stern, serious face matching that of your competitors as they set up their shot. Their arrow fired, hitting the mark barely off from the center sphere, it seemed it was practically center. The commentator announced what this meant in the shift of points and that you would have to score consecutive kaichus once more to take the entire competition back. Full marks. You had to hit dead center to make up for your team’s single miss.

You moved, elegant and poised. He could understand why his grandmother liked you. You matched all her tastes.

His left hand curled, tighter against his lap.

And then you smiled.

Ushijima felt the world slow, silence flooding across the screen.

Your arrows fired off—again, again, and again. Each time you greeted the shooting range with a smile and left it with a frown, as though the parting, only seconds long, was already too much for your heart to bear. Your opponent remained unfazed, serious, but you smiled each shot, hitting dead center, dead center, bullseye.

The commentator’s voice was flooding with rapt emotion, though they tried to stay impartial. Everyone’s eyes were on you, a second commentator a touch critical over your confidence, hinting arrogance in your grin.

No. Ushijima wanted to correct, almost immediately, entirely entranced. Not arrogance. Not baseless confidence.

You loved it. Kyudo. Shooting—

Every last bit of it.

For a second the screen blurred. Ushijima saw the other end of the court, the ball connecting with his palm, his own lips barely turning up into a near breathless smile, almost fierce—

He wanted to play.

“Good,” his grandmother said. “She will advance next year. If she participated in the individual tournaments, I’m sure she’d do much better. She keeps playing for a team, such a shame.”

“(L/n)-san, it seems as though you were born for the sport!” his eyes quickly turned back to the screen. In an instant the crowd had cleared and you stood, calmly holding your bow as a commentator got your final words on the march. “You’re a true prodigy. What words do you have for any aspiring archers?”

(L/n). Ushijima thought. (L/n) (Y/n). A prodigy? He could imagine so, with the beautiful way you shot. It was as though you were made for the bow.

“I’m not a prodigy,” your voice cut, shooting straight through Ushijima and forcing his complete and utter attention back onto you. “Don’t get me wrong, I think plenty of people are born for this. Maybe you could say I was, if that’s how you want to see it. At the end of the day it’s work though, lots and lots and lots of it.”

You faced the screen, eyes shining, boring straight through Ushijima, as though speaking solely to him, even though you possibly couldn’t be.

“It’s luck,” you said, “I’m lucky nothing’s happened to keep me from being here. I’m lucky my parents haven’t tried to make me stop. Yet, at least. I just got lucky. Kyudo found me. It’s all luck.”

“Ushijima, why do you think we get to stand on this court? People like us?”

Because we’re—

Ushijima felt his chest tighten. His pulse raced, hard against his skin. The itch to move, to run, to play flooded through his entire body. He felt it all, simply by looking at you—the urge to play volleyball a hundred, a thousand times.

“There’s unrest that youths your age will have to focus more on studies instead of pursuing kyudo as a profession. Many find that as a sport, it does not hold up to — ”

“No way,” you said, looking offended. “I’m doing kyudo until I die.”

Ushijima imagined it then, his ball shooting across the court like an arrow, his spike sailing through the air, the same way your arrow pierced the target.

“Now, Wakatoshi,” his grandmother began. “I hear your career forms are going about next year. What exactly will you be writing on yours?”

“...volleyball,” Ushijima said, clear, resounding. His grandmother raised one fine brow, but he faced her, poised, polite, unyielding.

“I will continue playing volleyball.”

He’d remember your name. He’d remember you. If possible, he’d thank you as well. You both attended the same school—a chance would surely come.

For the record:

- The kyudo club ended up getting their funding, enough to see them through for several more years. You came to Ushijima (your boyfriend of one month) sobbing buckets over it and pawing at his jacket while he calmly rubbed your back and congratulated you. The donation was an anonymous one from a rather prestigious family familiar with the school.

- You come to the rest of Ushijima's games, your team makes it through prelims and he gets to watch you through the finals for your prefecture and has plans to go watch you at nationals.

(Spoilers for the latest chapters of the manga, proceed with caution or just end it here if you don't want to see the last headcanon!)

- Romero comments about the cool archery that Ushijima watches in his down time in the locker room. Hoshiumi and Kageyama mumble in surprise that someone like Ushijima could be interested in anything other than volleyball. Ushijima admits it was a very important person he became a fan of first before the sport. "I admired the athlete and then found myself watching."

"Wow, that's unexpected," Hoshiumi took a seat beside Ushijima on the bench. Romero continued to watch over his shoulder, clearly intrigued by the Japanese form of archery style. "Is this woman a pro?"

"Yes," Ushijima said, showing them the screen. Kageyama glanced over, catching the hint of pride in Ushijima's normally settled tone. "She's the best in Japan. She will be at the next Olympics for archery as well, even though she prefers this."

"I've never really watched archery," Kageyama said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I've grown to admire it," Ushijima said. "I'm mostly a fan of the athlete."

"Who is she?" Hoshiumi said, squinting at the screen to look for a name. A wide, bright grin came over your lips and you thrusted your bow into the air. "What's her-"

"She's my girlfriend," Ushijima said calmly, without missing a beat.

Kageyama blinked, looking stunned. Hoshiumi's eyes bulged out of his head. They both looked at each other, jaws dropping.

"She's beautiful!" Romero laughed, clapping Ushijima over the shoulder. "Wakatoshi! Congratualtions! When's the wedding?"

Ushijima looked mildly bothered by the topic. "She says we're still too... young. I don't entirely agree."

"I get you! I get you! Some advice from a married man, you have to reel them in and..."

- You sneezed before the final round, shaking your head with a frown.

(Hope you enjoyed!)

#ko-fi requests #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #tendou satori

[440mxs-wife]

The Hunter’s Princess- Chapter 3: Winchester Castle

Pairing: Dean x OFC Kira (eventual), Prince!Dean x OFC Lady Kira. Other Characters: Sam Winchester, Prince!Sam Winchester, Castiel, Rowena, Gabriel, King!John, Queen!Mary, Lucifer and assorted minor characters.

Chapter 3 Word Count: 3145+

Warnings: Dean nightmare, Prince!Dean jealous, fluff with Castiel. Each chapter will have individual warnings as needed.

A/N: This is from some material that’s been rattling around in my head from another project that changed direction. Couldn’t let all this content go to waste, though, so here it is. It’s a work-in-progress, and I will try and update as regularly as I can. If you want to be tagged in this series, send me a message!

Thank you and happy reading!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two days later, the carriage reached the gates of Winchester Castle. Once inside its walls, Kira was in awe of how much larger it was than her own humble dwelling. As they passed the stable area, Kira saw a short, white-haired man brushing down one of the horses. "Pardon me, sir?" she called.

The man wandered over as the carriage rolled to a brief stop. As soon as he saw who was in the carriage, he removed his cap and gave the ladies a deep bow. "My name is Collins, Lady Kira. I am in charge of the stables. How may I serve you?"

"It's very nice to meet you, Collins," she smiled. "You may help me, kind sir, by letting my driver know where he can park our rig. I need to report for the Princes' Challenge, and I'm sure, be shown to our quarters," she finished.

"It would be an honor, Lady Kira," Collins grinned and winked at her as he proceeded to give the driver the directions he needed.

"Thank you very much, Collins. I hope to see you again, as I love horses. I don't get to ride as often as I'd like, but maybe while I'm here, I'll get an opportunity," Kira remarked.

"Our stables are at your command, Lady Kira. Whenever you fancy a ride, please come down to the stables and ask for me. I would be honored to assist you," Collins replied, with a twinkle in his eye.

Kira laughed and bid him farewell, as the carriage continued to its destination. She and Rowena were shown to their rooms, where they were each assigned a lady's maid. Rowena's was named Katherine and Kira's was named Sarah. When she introduced herself, Kira felt a little dizzy as a feeling of déjà-vu played in her mind. Sarah looked concerned, but Kira assured her she was fine, just needed a drink of water. Sarah quickly poured a glass from the pitcher on the dresser and handed it to Kira, who smiled gratefully, and promptly drained the contents.

"Thank you so much, Sarah. I appreciate it. I think I'll do some unpacking now," Kira said as she moved to open the trunk.

Sarah intercepted her before Kira could put one finger on the trunk. "I will do that for you, Miss. Please, relax. You're competing in the Princes' Challenge, so you'll need to save your strength," she reminded Kira. "Dinner will be at 7 o'clock for any of the competitors who have arrived. May I suggest you wear this?" Sarah held up a pastel green silk empire-waisted gown with cap sleeves. The skirt was dotted with pale pink mini-rosettes embroidered throughout.

Kira marveled at the selection, but did not recall packing such a dress. Rowena. Kira shook her head in amusement as her fingers brushed the locket around her neck. "That will do very nicely, thank you Sarah," Kira responded. "I would like to freshen up a bit from our long carriage ride. Can you please arrange a bath for me in a couple of hours? I'd like to tour the grounds for now, if that's all right," she added.

"Yes, Miss," she said as she curtsied lightly. Kira gently put her hand on Sarah's arm. "When we're in here, just us or with Lady Rowena? You don't need to curtsy. I may be 'Lady Kira', but I'm a little less....formal than most royals, if that makes any sense," she chuckled lightly. This seemed to put Sarah a bit more at ease. "Thank you, Miss. I'll try to remember," she said as she smiled warmly.

Kira decided to check in with Rowena and find out if there were any other surprises in her wardrobe. As she turned around from closing the door, Kira nearly slammed into a raven-haired woman, a little taller than her, dressed in a red satin gown. "Pardon me, I didn't see you there," Kira apologized.

"Then you should watch where you're going," she seethed. "If you don't want to end up on the floor, that is," she smirked.

"Now, Serena, you need to control your temper a bit. It's not her fault she's so clumsy," a man's voice calmly broke in. Kira looked and saw a man with ice blue eyes and sandy blond hair. Lucifer. Her mouth ran dry and she excused herself before he could see the look of absolute terror on her face. Kira hastily knocked on Rowena's door and as soon as it opened, she rushed in, her entire body shaking.

"Och, Kira dear, you look like you've seen a ghost!" Rowena exclaimed. One look at Kira's face told Rowena that she was not far off the mark. "Katherine dear, would you please excuse us?" Katherine nodded and exited the room. "What's wrong, darlin'?" Rowena asked.

"I was coming out of my room, and bumped into someone. I apologized, but she was rather rude about the whole thing. Told me to 'watch where I was going if I didn't want to end up on the floor'. Then a man came up behind her and it was Lucifer," Kira explained.

Rowena's eyes got wide, then she seemed to collect herself again. "I was hoping we could avoid him, but it seems not. Listen to me: you must keep that locket of yours in your possession at all times. No exceptions," she ordered.

"Why? It's just a locket from my mother's jewelry box that she never got around to giving me. What could Lucifer possibly want it for?" Kira asked.

"Darlin', that locket is a very powerful charmed object. It's what brought you here. Your dear mother didn't get a chance to tell you anything about the locket and all of its power. You know as well as I do that if Lucifer got his hands on it, his power would know no limits. He could do the same as you, move freely about the multiverse."

Rowena continued. "Just think of all the trouble he'd cause in those other dimensions, which might even affect our home dimension at some point. Let's face it: we all know that Lucifer is not exactly the poster boy for 'self-control'. It is imperative that you keep hold of that locket, Kira," she finished.

Kira thought back to how the locket glowed in her hands just before she ended up here. Lucifer is a powerful enough archangel as it is. If he were to get hold of the locket....there'd be no stopping him, Kira thought. To her, that was unacceptable. Not to mention, it's her only ticket home after accomplishing whatever it is she's supposed to do here. In that moment, Kira vowed to Rowena that she would protect the locket with everything she had.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean went to his room in the bunker to try and get some sleep, at least his usual four hours. However, all he could think of was Kira and how far away from him she is right now. He'd give nearly anything to see her beautiful smile or lose himself in the depths of her soft, hazel eyes. He missed hearing her sing in the kitchen while she was making dinner. The bunker was way too quiet with just him and Sam in it.

If Dean really stopped to think about it, he'd been in love with Kira for quite a long time. Probably started after she started showing him up on the firing range. Dean was never truly upset about Kira being the better shot, but how else was he supposed to get pie? Besides, when she shot the targets better than he did, it always made her smile. And damn, did he love to see her smile.

Where are you, Kira my love? Dean silently wondered. Suddenly, her face appeared before him, but it was like she was looking through him to what was behind him. The look of terror on her face made his blood run cold and was enough to make him turn around to see what it was. Lucifer. Dammit, he was with Kira wherever she was. Oh, Kira darlin', hang on.

Dean was jolted awake and scrambled to sitting upright in bed, taking in huge gulps of air. A sheen of perspiration was on his brow and his T-shirt was soaked.

"What?? What is it?? Dean?!?" Sam shouted as he burst through the door. He heard Dean cry out in terror, which brought him to the door. Sam took in his brother's disheveled appearance and knew he'd had a nightmare of some kind, one involving Kira.

"I saw her. Wherever Kira is, I saw her, Sammy. And she's not alone. I also saw Lucifer," Dean rasped.

"No....." Sam whispered. "Okay, while you change into a dry shirt, I'm gonna call Cas. See if he's come up with anything new, or if Gabriel's been in touch with Cas instead of us," Sam muttered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After her encounter with Lucifer, Kira was still a little shaken up. There was no way she was going to catch a nap before dinner, so she decided to tour the grounds a bit. She started in the gardens, which were breathtaking, to say the least. There were so many beautiful flowers that it would take a lifetime to sample each of their fragrances.

Kira lingered most over the lilac bushes, as they were her favorite scent for the brief time that they are in bloom. Kira sat down on a stone bench near the lilac bushes. She closed her eyes and just listened to all of the sounds of nature happening around her.

"Did you know that a honey bee visits 50 to 100 flowers during a collection trip?" a gruff voice behind her said. Kira shrieked in surprise and nearly fell off the bench.

"Wh-what did you say?" she turned to see a man with dark hair and vibrant blue eyes. Where have I seen him before? Kira asked herself as she regained her composure.

"I am sorry to have frightened you, Miss--" he started.

"Lady Kira. And you are?" she responded.

He immediately knelt before her, bowed his head and drew his right arm across his chest. "Forgive me, my lady, I did not realize who you were when I disturbed you. My name is Castiel, head of security and friend to Princes Dean and Samuel. With your permission, I will take my leave of you," he said, rising to his feet.

Kira placed her hand on Castiel's arm to stop his retreat. "Please, Castiel. There's no need to leave. I was on a self-guided tour of the grounds. Besides, I enjoy learning something new every day. For instance, did you know that a honey bee can fly for up to six miles and as fast as 15 miles per hour?" Kira asked, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

Castiel's face broke out into a huge grin and his blue eyes seemed to sparkle. "No, Lady Kira, I was not aware of that. Perhaps I could accompany you? I could act as your tour guide," he suggested, holding out his hand.

"That would be lovely, thank you," Kira smiled, took his hand and rose from the bench. He guided her hand around his arm and tucked it close to his side. "Shall we tour the marketplace next?" he asked.

"Excellent suggestion, Castiel. Please lead the way," Kira replied.

The pair wandered through the marketplace to see what treasures they could find. As far as they could see, there were all types of merchants within the castle walls. Some sold food and drink, some had bolts of vibrantly colored fabrics for sale, still others offered books and jewelry. Kira didn't have a lot of spending money with her, but enough to have some fun and maybe pick up a few trinkets for her house and pub staffs.

As they passed a man selling apples from his cart, Kira's stomach rumbled rather loudly. Castiel looked down at her midsection then back to her face and chuckled. "Well, that was interesting," he grinned.

"And most un-ladylike, I'm so sorry," she grimaced. "How much for the apple?" she asked the man. He quoted the price, and Kira dug out enough coins for two. "Pick one, Castiel," she said.

He chose his apple and Kira chose one. She smiled and gave her thanks to the vendor, who bowed as they left his cart. She turned to Castiel and said, "Okay, on three, we both take a bite of our apple," Kira commanded. "One....two....three!" she counted as they sank their teeth into the fruit.

It was the most amazing apple Kira had ever tasted, tart at first, then giving way to a sweet finish. She groaned in appreciation and looked over to Castiel, who was having a similar reaction. He nodded and smiled at Kira as he enjoyed his apple and they continued their marketplace tour.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean and Samuel had just returned from a ride out into the country, enjoying the gorgeous weather. They guided their mounts through the marketplace on their way to the stables. All of a sudden, Dean stopped and Samuel pulled up to a stop beside him. "Look, Samuel. There she is, there's Lady Kira. And she's with Castiel?" he wondered.

The princes watched as Castiel and Lady Kira stopped at a milliner's cart. They took turns trying on different hats, each one more outrageous than the next. When Castiel put on a hat obviously made for a woman, Lady Kira burst into giggles at first, then full-on laughter. At that moment, Dean decided that if he could only hear one sound in the world for the rest of his life, it would be Kira's laughter.

Both princes observed the scene playing out in front of them. Kira seemed so at ease here, not so guarded as she seemed in the pub when the princes had first met her. That night, they heard she'd had to throw out a drunk patron. The man tried to take a few too many liberties with her and one of her staff. She'd also had to deal with two last-minute customers, but both men had to admit, she'd handled both situations with grace.

Samuel looked over at Dean, who had been so relaxed during their ride, now seemed to be genuinely annoyed. Is he....he's jealous! My brother is jealous of his best friend, who at this moment appears as if he's making a move on Lady Kira! Prince Samuel smiled to himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean dismount and quickly walk over to the milliner's cart. Sam caught the attention of one of the stable hands, Logan, and motioned for him to take the horses to the stables. He dismounted as well and handed the reins for the two horses over to Logan.

"Prince Dean! Prince Samuel!" exclaimed Castiel as his face beamed. "How was your ride today?" he asked.

"Good afternoon, Your Highnesses," Lady Kira greeted as she dipped her head and curtsied.

"Good afternoon, Lady Kira, Castiel," Dean said tightly. "How lovely to see you again. What brings you to our doorstep?" he asked.

"I am here to compete in the Princes' Challenge, Your Highness. I only arrived this afternoon, and have already been shown to a room. I was on a self-guided tour of the grounds, starting in the gardens. That's where Castiel found me and has since been graciously acting as my tour guide here in the marketplace," she explained.

With rapt attention, Castiel and Samuel watched the exchange between Dean and Lady Kira. Sam recalled what he and Dean had found out about her from Collins. After what he saw with Kira and Castiel in the marketplace, he was beginning to see why Dean was so captivated by the woman. Sam found himself wanting to know more about her.

"So, you've only seen the gardens and the marketplace so far?" Dean asked, to which she nodded. "I would be happy to step into the role of tour guide now, if you wish. It would be my honor," he finished.

"I deeply appreciate your kind offer, Your Highness. However, it was a long trip to get here, and I am feeling a bit tired at the moment. I had hoped to get some rest before joining everyone for dinner. Perhaps you and I could continue the tour another time, if I may request?" she asked.

Dean paused for a moment and his face broke into a genuine smile, one his brother hadn't seen grace his features in quite some time. "It would be my pleasure, Lady Kira," he said softly. "May I have the honor of escorting you back to the main hall of the castle?" Dean asked.

"The honor would be mine, Your Highness," she said as she curtsied. Dean offered her his arm, and when she gave him her hand, he kissed her knuckles before tucking it close to his side. A pink blush crossed her features, which made her all the more lovely, if that was even possible. As they made their way to the main hall, Castiel and Sam followed behind. This Princes' Challenge is certainly going to be interesting, Sam thought.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Where am I? Oh dear, this is definitely NOT the pub, this is someone's bedroom, the woman thought as she surveyed her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was that she was just about to pour a beer for someone, then she woke up here. Wherever "here" is, she thought.

She sat up in the bed, which turned out to be kind of a bad idea, as a wave of dizziness crashed over her. She groaned at the dull ache in her head and waited for the woozy feeling to pass. After it had, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and gingerly tested her ability to stand. Once she was satisfied that she wasn't going to fall over, she took a few tentative steps towards the door.

On the other side of the door, she heard male voices, three distinct ones, in fact. One sounded heartbroken, like he'd recently lost the love of his life. She felt a pang of sympathy for the man.

Another man was trying to comfort the first one, to assure him that whatever was going on, they could fix it. The third man had an authority to his voice, confident that a solution would be found to the first man's problem.

As she cracked the door open, all three voices simultaneously stopped and three heads swiveled in her direction. She quickly closed the door and ran back to sit on the bed, her knees drawn tightly up to her chest. The first man carefully opened the door to see who or what was on the other side. His eyes widened as he regarded the woman before him. "Kira?" he whispered.

Part 4 here!

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Tags: @janicho88 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83 @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @supernatural-jackles

The Hunter’s Princess Series tags: @flamencodiva

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #au!dean winchester x reader #au!dean winchester #spn #au supernatural #The Hunter's Princess Series

[aurelacs]

Ten of Wands

An Ezra/F!OC Red Dead Redemption AU

WORD COUNT: 4.9k

CONTENT: some canon typical violence, mentions of spousal abuse voyeurism, hunting

A/N: Shit’s heatin’ up thank u very much. Also this is the most I’ve written in one go in years please clap.

This is set in the Red Dead Redemption universe, however there’s no spoilers for either game, and you don’t need to have prior knowledge of the games to understand the fic. I’m just using RDR for the setting and the time period (1899). Hope you enjoy!

chapter list | masterlist | read on AO3

III. The Heirophant

Annie arose in the large, plush bed convinced she had dreamt the night before, but her hair was still wet. Her skin still smelled of the rosewater she bathed in the night before. It was the first bit of luxury she ever had in her life. The dream sat in her mind, bouncing like an echo or an old memory trying to stay relevant. The figure was faceless, nameless, unknown, but the blonde patch and her mind said otherwise. It felt improper. It felt wrong. She wouldn’t deny that it made her blush.

She brushed her hair out and placed it in braids before leaving her room. Ezra was waiting for her in the sitting area by the front desk. As she descended the stairs, she noticed a small look on Ezra’s face, one she couldn’t read. His eyes widened, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. He was so involved in his own thoughts that he scrambled to stand up as Annie reached the bottom of the stairs.

“You look, um. You look good. I am assuming the rest served you a world of purpose.” He was bouncing from foot to foot, clearly eager about something. “Are we ready? I have a bit of a revelation for you waiting a little away.” 

Ezra rode the two of them about a mile outside of Strawberry before slowing down near a clearing by the Owanjila Dam. Hitched onto a tree was a beautiful Appaloosa with a grey-spotted coat. The mare was nibbling at a small branch as they approached. The horse was already saddled, its mane and tail clean and shining. Something about her felt off. 

“You stole her.”

Ezra didn’t even hesitate as he walked over to the mare. “I did steal her.” 

“I am trying to start my life anew. I don’t get there by stealing a horse.”

“Well, in the eyes of the law, I am the one that stole the horse, so please consider this new chapter of your life further untainted.” 

Annie remained by Ezra’s horse. The more she thought about the situation, the further her blood began to boil. They were both wanted, both on the run, and he chose to steal a horse? When did he steal it? Where did he steal it from? Did he make a trip back to Valentine while she slept? His bounty might be full of petty crimes that he could serve time for a leave, for her getting caught guaranteed a rope. It felt like a betrayal.

“Where did you get that horse?” Annie stormed up to him in a fit of confidence the likes of which she had never felt. She stared him in the eye, daring him to tell her Valentine so that she could ride off with his horse, leave his roundabout way of speaking, his smirk, his stupid blonde patch in the mud that caked their shoes. 

“That is not of import.”

“It is to me.” 

“Is that roses I smell on you? I find it befitting-”

“Do not change the subject.”

Ezra sighed. The horse was stolen, but he didn’t take it from the Valentine stables, and he wasn’t the one to steal it. He explained to her that his purpose in Strawberry was selling information on stagecoach itineraries to postal workers, who would sell the information to outlaws interested, and then give Ezra a cut of whatever they took. According to one of the outlaws, his partner had taken a liking to one of the horses on the coach, and Ezra chose to take the outlaw’s old horse in lieu of cash. Her name was Lucille. 

“Look little - little lady. Next time I would greatly appreciate a ‘thank you’ before you try and rip out my throat over a kind and honest gesture.” 

“I will thank you when we reach Armadillo.”

Ezra scoffed. “This is an exciting side of you I have not seen before. Perhaps staying at the hotel was a bad idea.”

This time Annie did smack the hat off of Ezra’s head. Before he had time to respond, she hopped on Lucille, and began to ride back in the direction of Strawberry. She rode slowly to allow him to catch up. His hat was still off and hung on the horn of his saddle when he pulled up beside her, hair sticking out in various places, some pieces waving over his forehead. Annie couldn’t help but think the look was kind of charming. He had shaved during their stay in Strawberry, the stubble gone from his cheeks, leaving only his mustache. It made the symmetrical bald patches on either side of his chin less noticeable. 

Ezra had them follow a path along the Upper Montana River instead of riding on the main roads. He felt it would be too risky, saying that the stagecoach robbery he helped organize was executed a little too close to Strawberry for his liking. The sun warmed her face as they journeyed on. When the land necessitated it, they crossed the river and settled on the roads the rest of the way to Blackwater. The surrounding area resembled what Annie saw in her dream all that time ago: a mixture of desert and wheat fields, so different from what she was used to in Valentine. 

Blackwater was the most advanced town Annie had seen yet. Most of the roads were worn down dirt paths like Valentine and Strawberry, except for the one that ran through the middle of town, which was cobbled with light stones and lined with poles with wires Annie had never seen before. Ezra directed them to the saloon on the corner of Main Street. 

“I might be a minute. If you hear screaming or hollering or otherwise concerning noises, pay it no mind.” Ezra tipped his hat at Annie and sauntered into the saloon.

The clientele clashed with the decor of Blackwater’s only saloon. While the decor suggested something along for a higher class, everyone from the local drunk to the actual high class businessman filled the place, surrounding the bar and card tables. Annie sat on a couch opposite the bar, opting to fold her hands in her lap and simply wait for Ezra to finish his business. She wasn’t even sure if she would be able to hear any “concerning noises,” as customers slowly began to file in as the afternoon went on, and a man began to play the piano. 

An hour since they first entered the saloon, and Ezra was nowhere to be seen. She knew he had disappeared up the stairs, but hadn’t heard anything since. No one had paid her any mind as she continued to sit patiently on the couch, not ordering anything or acknowledging anyone. Her goal was to keep her head down in any way she could. 

Annie’s head shot up and over to the stairs when she heard a thud echo through the saloon. At the bottom was a well dressed man, badly bruised and crawling towards the exit. At the top was Ezra; a small smirk of amusement etched on his face, similar to the one he was wearing when he and Annie first met. His pistol was out and in his hand, but at his side and remained there as he slowly waltzed down the steps. The entire saloon had silenced over the spectacle, the creaking stairs the only sound to be heard. Annie felt stuck on the couch. It was like she was a slave to the sight of a form of Ezra she had never seen before. 

“Mr. Martin, I was under the humble impression that we had a deal. And I intend to honor it.” 

Mr. Martin continued to crawl backwards to the door to no avail as Ezra reached him in an instant. Annie could almost see the sweat beading on his forehead. Even his mother wouldn’t have been able to recognize him: both eyes were nearly swollen shut, his nose broken, an ugly bruise grew above a large welt across his jaw. Annie glanced over to Ezra and saw that his right hand was in no better shape than Martin’s face. No one moved a muscle as Ezra crouched over him. 

“The next time our paths cross, you will pay what you owe me or I will put a bullet in your head and sell your corpse to the first buyer to clear your debt, are we at yet another agreement, Mr. Martin?”

“I-I-I gave you all I have.” 

“And it is not enough,” Ezra cooed. He cocked his arm back and Mr. Martin flinched. “You have reached the end of my patience. I am giving you another month before you learn that, unlike you, I am a man that makes good on my word.” 

Ezra stood up and holstered his pistol, leaving Martin on the floor, his eyes never leaving Ezra’s back. Annie didn’t realize that she hadn’t broken eye contact with Martin until Ezra cleared his throat beside her.

“Birdie,” he said, holding out his hand. Annie didn’t take it. Instead, she stormed out of the Blackwater Saloon and rode off in a general direction that she hoped led out of the town. Blackwater’s one cobbled road sounded off in her ears as the sound of Ezra coming up behind her grew closer. By the time she decided to slow down and give him the chance to fully catch up, the sun had started to slip under the horizon.

“There is a clearing a few more miles from here, by the lake. If you slowed up, I’ll be more than happy to lead us to it.” 

Annie relented, slowing Lucille to a trot so that Ezra could pass her. The anger inside her continued to boil as he guided them to the clearing and began to set up camp.

“You could have killed him!”

“If I wanted him dead, he would already be in the ground, I can assure you that.”

“There was no need to make a scene. Someone could have gotten the law. They could be coming after us right now.”

“The people of Blackwater know better than to come between a man and his debts.”

It infuriated Annie how Ezra kept his cool. Never raising his voice, never so much as a sign that he was as angry with her as she was with him. If he was, it was the one thing he kept to himself. Not that she couldn’t have secrets of her own. She still wasn’t sure if Ezra actually believed her about her husband, even with the bounty poster in his hands. And still had the… dream from Strawberry. An inkling she kept held to her heart, one she had mulled on over and over as the time passed. She knew it was getting to her, dwelling. Annie could feel it in how her eyes lingered on Ezra too long, how when she wasn’t thinking about Armadillo or her husband, or merely surviving, her thoughts were on him.

How her heart annoyingly skipped whenever he called her ‘little bird.’ 

These thoughts, this way of thinking, emerged after Strawberry and took hold of her in ways she couldn’t help but cling to. What kind of man was he, outside of this life? Had he helped someone like he was helping her before? How did he like his coffee? What would he be like as a father? Thoughts that never crossed her mind with her husband.

Maybe, at some point, Annie did love her husband. Some time when he was still courting her, making sure he went a little overboard. Too many flowers, staying out a little too late. Overly grand gestures that weren’t red flags then, and even now Annie struggled to see them. To properly recall just when the levee broke. By comparison Ezra’s gestures, if they were such, were subtle, quiet, the direct opposite of the boisterous personality he put on. Never rushing her, never raising his voice, holding out his hand to help her stand up or get off her horse, a hand she never took but he always offered. Even with what he did in Blackwater, she sought to find the spark of cruelty she saw in her husband and came home empty. It plagued her: were these the gestures of a man who had interest in her the way she might have interest in him? Or just the gestures of a man with a soul. 

Annie emerged from her tent to prepare dinner when something in the lake caught her eye. A figure with their back turned, far enough out that the water reached their waist. It was Ezra, bathing. On first instinct, Annie wanted to turn her eyes, or run back to her tent. Instead, she kept watching, too caught up in what she was seeing to give in. 

He was beautiful. 

The moonlight bounced off of his tan skin in a way Annie was sure would be blinding had she been closer. Even from the distance, she could see some of the scars that laced his back from prior exploits. She watched as the muscles in his back danced as he stretched to massage an ache, or rub the water through his hair. He turned around and she ducked back inside, hoping he didn’t catch her. Annie paused before peeking again. Ezra’s front was facing her, droplets of water running down from his hair to his neck, his collarbone, down the trail of his sternum and over the small crest of his belly until it came to rest at the small patch of hair under his navel that she could tell continued under the water. She could barely make out how his face grimaced when his hurt hand made contact with the water. Her cheeks flared so warm she was convinced they would actually catch aflame. 

Ezra grew closer to the shore and Annie scrambled to get the stew started. It wasn’t much, but she figured it might be a little more filling than eating what little was left of the venison Ezra caught. He made his way over to the fire, white linen shirt hanging loosely and unbuttoned on his shoulders. He dug around in his satchel and pulled out clean gauze. Annie watched as he struggled to wrap it around his hand on his own.  

His deep eyes shone with concentration, illuminated by the fire light, and she caught herself taking too-long glances every other minute as she tended to their meal. When he finished, he cleared his throat, a move Annie found out of character for him.

“Might I request your help in buttoning my shirt, little bird?” He held up his bandaged hand as though she may have forgotten. “I myself am not much of a fan of this manner of dress. It feels… far too vulnerable for a man of my persuasion.” The look on his face told Annie that it was the truth. There was a certain discomfort in the way his lips tightened in a straight line, a tenseness in his shoulders over the knowledge of his exposure. 

“I told you not to call me that,” Annie said, standing up, trying to hide the smirk that betrayed her statement. Ezra rose to greet her. He held his arms out about a foot away from his torso, as if to say ‘I’m not going to touch you.’ 

“You’re right. My apologies.” She started to work her way up his shirt. The way they were standing allowed the fire to wrap around his skin, giving it the appearance of an indelible warmth. It took everything in Annie not to look down and watch as his belly rose out and in with each steady breath, or remark on how she couldn’t see his hip bones make delicate peaks below his skin in the lake. She found it hard to deny herself a peek at the same dusting of hair that disappeared under the waistband of his pants. Who was this woman she had become?

“Why do you call me that?” Her knuckle accidentally brushed against his skin as she fastened a button in the middle of his torso, and a string of electricity shot through her hand. The feeling was equal parts guilt and relief. When she looked up at him to gauge a reaction at the contact, she saw that he was looking straight ahead, focused on the horizon behind them. 

“What? ‘Little bird?’” Annie nodded and Ezra opened his mouth as though to answer, then paused. He didn’t respond until she had finished buttoning his shirt.

“It’s because you call to mind a hummingbird, always flitting around, always moving. But why would that matter if you do not want me calling you such?”

“Just a curiosity.” The fact that the first time he called her ‘little bird’ was when she was frozen in place in Valentine was not lost to her. “We’re running low on meat as well.” 

Ezra settled back onto his bedroll with a small grunt. “Then it is good fortune for us that the only thing Mr. Martin could provide was a map with prime hunting locations. You need to learn how to shoot, anyway. I don’t doubt the MacFarlanes would find it suspicious if a woman who is interested in falling under their employ did not know her way around a gun. And not just pointing a shotgun.” He winked at her. 

Annie’s sleep was plagued by dreams and nightmares that choked her. In the beginning, she found herself in Ezra’s embrace, forehead pressed against hers and rocking them slowly back and forth to a song that wasn’t playing. A feeling of weightlessness washed over her, and her chest swelled to the point where she thought it might burst. It was calm, serene, like her mind was telling her that it was her destiny to be in his arms, that they were made for her, when her husband appeared, angrier than she had ever seen him. Redder with rage than he had ever been. He pulled her down from the sky by her ankle and sent her crashing down to the soil beneath them. He didn’t lay a hand on her except for that, but he screamed and screamed until his voice was hoarse, and Annie couldn’t find a way to wake up. 

The sun had barely risen when Ezra decided to wake her by poking his hand into her tent and waving around a bowl of the leftover stew. There hadn’t even been enough time for sleep to have crusted over her eyes, or for her mind to shake the feeling that her husband had broken through her dreams and was waiting for her on the other side of the canvas tent. She chose to eat her leftovers in silence, away from Ezra, hoping to quell the floating feeling in her chest and the ghost of her husband’s ire. Ezra had already packed up the rest of the camp and urged her to hurry before the sun rose.

“Deer like to feed in the early morning. If we find them before the sun is risen, they will be less likely to see us.” 

Annie followed Ezra on horseback as he pored over the map, trying to decide which marked area would give them the best opportunity. He settled on a spot in the middle of the Great Plains, near a small settlement called Manzanita Post. Half of Annie’s sight was filled with rolling fields, the flaxen grains already reflecting the dawn to the point of blindness, the other with dense forest that filtered out what little sun was to be had. 

“Before we get started, we should teach you just how to shoot. If you had pulled the trigger back in Valentine, you would have positively obliterated your right arm.” 

Ezra pulled the rifle from the horse’s saddle and modeled at Annie on how to hold it. “You want the butt to rest in this part here,” he motioned underneath his own shoulder, “so that you don’t hurt yourself from the recoil.” When he passed the rifle off to her, she simply held it in her hands, not confused, but hesitant. 

“Everything all right?” To Annie, holding the gun felt wrong. Thinking about settling it into the meat of her shoulder and pulling the trigger with no threat sat awkwardly inside her. A deer wasn’t her husband, or a lawman, or the only thing that stood between her and freedom. This felt more cold, more calculating than what happened back at her home. She shook off the question.

“I would do it, but as we both well know my trigger finger is somewhat out of commission for the time being.” Annie nodded and hiked the rifle into what she believed was the correct position. She looked over to Ezra for approval. He eyed her stance over once, twice, before approaching her and asking permission to touch her. She nodded once more. 

Ezra pushed himself flush against Annie, his chest to her back, arms against arms, as he molded his body to hers to better assist her. It was the most physical contact Annie had in months. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure there was no way Ezra couldn’t feel it through her back. Ezra placed his right hand on her right arm to help adjust the positioning. The gauze did nothing to alleviate the sheer heat that came off of his skin. A burning sensation that overcame every inch of her flesh as the fingers of his left hand danced around her wrist to straighten it. His instruction fell upon an unfocused mind as the blood in her veins pulsed so loudly it was all she could hear. The sturdiness of his body all she could think about. If she turned her head slightly, she could kiss him, was the first thought she had once the shock wore off. He could bury his curved nose into the crook of her neck and inhale her scent, nibble her earlobe, tease her until she begged.

Annie yelped as Ezra tapped his foot between her ankles, shocking both of them to the point of separation. Her daydream had sent her whirling, mind too hazy at that point to even want to hunt,  to do anything more than to take him in the middle of the forest. It was a miracle she hadn’t dropped the rifle. Ezra looked at her, concern flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, birdie, was it me? If you aren’t ready I am sure I can figure something out.” 

“No, no, I just… lost focus.”

Ezra had her reposition the rifle, this time keeping his distance as he adjusted her stance and the way she held the gun. If he felt that touching her was a necessity, he would ask, and touch her like she was a porcelain doll one wrong move from cracking. By the time Ezra was finished, the gun felt comfortable in her hands, like it was an extension of herself. He suggested first firing into a tree, to test her aim. 

“You need to keep your breath steady. When you go to fire, hold your breath, and exhale when you pull the trigger.” 

Annie did as he said, and the bullet swiftly pierced through the thin tree’s trunk. She turned to him and saw his hands raised in the air in celebration. He insisted on her taking a few more shots “to turn her misplaced pride into assured confidence.” When Ezra thought she was ready, he hitched Lucille onto a tree, opting to take his horse with them instead. 

They ventured into the wooded area, Ezra’s eyes scanning the ground for tracks or other hints of recent activity among the forest floor. He kept his arm outstretched in front of Annie to encourage her to tread slowly and quietly. Annie couldn’t hear a sound, no twigs snapping or birds singing, as though the forest’s density stole all signs of life in its wake. Ezra gasped quietly.

“It’s shit.” He pointed out the dung on the ground and continued to move in the direction he thought best. His feet moved more quickly as he found more signs more frequently: a tuft of fur on a tree, a group of broken twigs, actual hoof prints. Almost by instinct, Ezra grabbed on Annie’s shoulder to stop her as he caught sight of a deer  grazing about a hundred yards away. It was a buck, and far larger than Annie could have ever imagined. Its antlers were magnificent, large and complex, almost hypnotizing as she continued to stare. Ezra coaxed her to crouch. It made them smaller and reduced the risk of the buck potentially seeing them and running off. 

“You need to make sure your aim is perfect, do you understand, little bird?” Annie nodded, too deep in concentration to correct him, focusing too hard on making sure her heart rate didn’t spike too hard from the name. She adjusted herself once, twice, three times until the rifle practically melted into her. The buck paused from grazing and looked up, and Annie took her shot. The recoil ricocheted through her body and almost blew her clean off her feet. When she gathered her bearings, the buck was on the ground. This time she raised her hands in celebration, an ecstasy coursing through her that she couldn’t compare. Ezra wrapped his arms around Annie’s waist and spun her.

“That was phenomenal, birdie! Annie Oakley only wishes she were as skilled with a rifle as my bird.”

Ezra, stunned at what he let slip, immediately placed Annie down and made his way over to the buck. Annie joined him and eyed her work. The shot was clean, right through its head. She felt a surge of relief at the thought. Ezra began to talk about breaking it down, keeping the meat, selling what they couldn’t use themselves. He told her he would teach her how to do it all when they returned to their camp. His cheeks, when he looked back up at her, were red. Annie helped him tie the buck onto his horse and they rode back to camp. 

His silence worried her. It grew louder the closer they got. He didn’t look back at her, didn’t say a word as she watched the carcass wade with the rhythm of the horse. Ezra seemed to perk up when they made it back. It gave him a reason to talk, something he’d never needed before. Cutting the antlers was gruesome, skinning the buck even more so. By the end of the ordeal, Ezra was back to himself, and Annie had to help him in and out of his shirt, which was covered in blood.

Ezra looked over the map, tracing their path to the nearest settlement “We can sell the pelt and antlers at the butcher in, uh. Oh.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing. The closest butcher is technically Armadillo, unless you would like to sojourn back to Blackwater.” 

“I can sell them in Blackwater as long as you stay put.”

Ezra laughed, his smile widening at the sentence. It was infectious and Annie felt the corners of her mouth tick upward. She had never felt this before. A smile to pair with a smile, a want deep in her belly. 

“Fair deal, birdie,” he answered. Ezra looked at her with the anticipation that she would chastise him once more for using the pet name, but it never came, and he smiled again.

It was resolved, she thought. In the morning, before she made her way back to Blackwater, she would let Ezra know how she felt. If he didn’t feel the same, he had the time to leave to keep whatever bond she might break somewhat intact. If he did? The thought scared and thrilled her at the same time. It would be a first. To feel something as intensely as what smoldered inside her be matched and mirrored. The subliminal kind of fear that comes with being known and loved. She craved it, let the thought of it fill her with joy and mix with the confidence she felt as she ate the venison she hunted herself. She wished Ezra a good night, hoping that he heard something in her voice that would tell him that tomorrow would be different. 

Annie wasn’t even able to fully settle into her slumber before she awoke with a gun pointed in her face. A man she didn’t recognize stood behind it, hair cropped short and slicked back with pomade, beard well trimmed, his smile gleaming in the low light. In another life, in a different situation, he would be handsome. 

“Mrs. Annie Grey, if you come with me quietly, I won’t kill you.”

She couldn’t find it within herself to cry, or even react. The shock, the resolution, an ember that had gone untended for so long she was sure it had been extinguished. As she exited her tent, she looked over to where Ezra slept, anticipating that she would find him with a bullet in his head. Instead he lay there, still asleep, though a second bounty hunter had a gun pointed at him as collateral, to ensure her silence. The one who had intruded in her tent saved her the humiliation of hogtying her. He waited until she had mounted his horse before tying her hands behind her back, and securing the other end of the rope to his horse’s saddle. 

Even as the three of them rode off, Ezra didn’t wake, and Annie didn’t scream. 

Tag List: @aforces @borderlinedindjarin @immundusspiritu

#ezra prospect #prospect #ezra x oc #my fic

[prosenkhans]

Kobe

And they were going to a youth basketball tournament. 

Just think about that for a second. When we distill what actually happened yesterday to its essence, it was a group of parents and coaches bringing their young girls to an organized youth basketball game on a nondescript Sunday morning in January. There is nothing more vanilla than that. Then it ended. Just so suddenly.

I can online imagine the fear those 3 girls had in that chopper in its final moments, the bargaining that went on within the minds of those parents as that hillside emerged from the morning fog. I am not lucky, blessed, or even really deserving enough to know the joy of parenthood. However, even the least empathetic of individuals would be hard pressed to deny that Kobe was utterly in love with his family, and Gianna to her father. All the videos, the images, and interactions caught for celluloid and digital posterity, all of them showed a family deeply appreciative of one another. Beyond all things, that seems to drive this feeling of devastation further up my throat.

The level of tragedy is defined by the amount of potential lost within such an event. 

That fact that Gianna and her friends were 12 and 13 is more than enough to gut most people with a soul, however, the potential lost goes beyond even that. He seemed happy. Genuinely. Kobe seemed happy in what was in store for the rest of his life, his “second act”. The stone cold competitor with the icy scowl and bared teeth had transitioned into a statesman, an ever present and positive force within the game of basketball. Where once there were thorns, we now saw the pedals of the rose. Hugs and high fives. Congratulations and teachings. Puppets and children’s book. What we saw was a man secure in his legacy, and very much looking forward to the next chapter of his story.

But that story ended before the sequel could truly begin. As a group of people very much looking to see how the story would continue, we are left to wonder about what those potential chapters would have said. How would he have spoken during his Hall of Fame speech? Would he talk shit, or be humble? What number would be on his chest when his statue would be unveiled? Would he demand 2 to Shaq’s 1? Would we be lucky enough to be in the building when he and Gianna would sit courtside at a game? Would he still allow us to show him appreciation and stand an acknowledge the cheers? Would he be embarrassed by the continued adulation? Would we see him at UConn games, or maybe in an Oregon sweater? Would he be a leading voice in promotion of female athletics and the WNBA? Would he still allow us a peek in his mind, dissecting basketball games for public consumption? Would he write the stories that he wanted to tell? Would he make more art? Would he go on Kimmel and talk smack about the current stars of the game? Would he still smile and wave and take a selfie with us if we were oh so lucky to meet him? Would he continue to push us to be better? These are all questions in which we will never get an answer. 

The hero’s journey is not supposed to end like this. The hero fights the good fight, gives all he/she can give, and then ride off into the sunset. 

And I use the word here appropriately in this case. No, not a hero in the sense of how your parents and role models should hopefully provide the “hero” role in one’s life. No. Kobe Bryant was a hero in the sense that Superman is a hero to anyone that paid attention to his exploits. To my generation, a group of kids and adolescents that grew up watching him, Kobe is as much of a hero to us as Batman, Wolverine, and anyone else that wore a color coordinated uniform. He was an individual blessed with glorious purpose, a res on detra. And what made it better was that he was real. Real in the sense that we could actual see him be super, see him share his gifts, in real life, gallantry made flesh. What makes a superhero super anyway? Simple. Belief. We believe that when they dawn that cape, put on that cowl, they will be there to ensure everything is all-right. That everything gets the ending that we the masses so badly want. That they will come through when we need them the most. When Kobe put on that purple and gold tunic, he became our superhero. He gave us that belief, that sense of the universe being set right because he was our guy, and he would make it so. With him gone, it just doesn’t feel the same. 

I’ve been asked through the years on why Kobe holds such esteem in certain pockets of our culture. Every time someone asks me that question, I always think back to the quote from Norman Vincent Peale.

“Aim for the Moon, and you’ll still land among the stars.”

Within the fast majority of the collective consciousness of sports fan, there is one name that is always associated with Kobe Bryant. And that is Michael Jordan. Now I was lucky enough to have watched Jordan as a very young kid, fully appreciating the skill and special athlete I was observing. There is no denying of that. However, Kobe was different. Coming in during Jordan’s waning years, Jordan and Kobe never clashed at their individual apexes. A spry and almost cocky kid, you were drawn to him. He was just a few years older than I, and thus making him a huge part of those who would call themselves a millennial. While Jordan was seen as God upon high, the antecedent ruler of the NBA, Kobe quickly became the scrappy upstart. As the years went by, we were able to follow him on his hero’s journey, watching and developing into what he eventually became. A transcendent figure in basketball. And his game was so beautiful. The efficiency in his ability to score. The complete mastery of all phases of the game. His footwork was exquisite, it was art. His ability to hit the most impossible shots, and give you the faith he would make it. You had the sense watching him that no other human had ever played basketball as beautifully, skillfully,and as passionately as Kobe Bryant. You have to remember, Kobe played for 20 years. For most of my generation, that is more than half our lifetimes. We literally couldn’t imagine basketball without him in it. But why was his story so compelling? Simply put, Kobe was really the only one daring enough to challenge Jordan at his own game, the apprentice succeeding the master. He shot for the Moon, and had no qualms letting you know that’s what the hell he was doing. And I’ll say this. He touched down on those sands, stomped his feet, and pounded his chest, as to say “It’s mine now.”

The whole comparison debate and legacy really doesn’t hold much water. The game changes. Everything about the sport changes. The names change with each passing generation. However, Jordan and Kobe represent something quite different. While the pioneers and legends helped move the rocketship of basketball through the void of space, we can honestly say that Jordan was the first man to touch down on the Moon. He is the Neil Armstrong of basketball in a sense. All credit given. However, if he’s Neil, Kobe is Buzz Aldren. They are on that same rocket ship together. Jordan may have touched the sands of immortality first, but just like Aldren, Kobe followed him down that ladder and followed those footsteps to the same place. His legacy, his imprint, is right up there with the first. It is the sequence of history, with one’s value not diminishing the others’.  And just like Aldren’s actual footprints on the moon, Kobe’s legacy will be set eternally, looking down upon us from high.

But what will that legacy be? There is this silly debated, a national question of “who is the greatest Laker, Magic or Kobe?”. I always found the question silly. In short, the wrong adjective is being used. Magic, who is naturally gregarious, warm, and a welcoming personality became a leader and 5 time champion in his legendary career. Apparently you can’t be in Magic’s presence without wanting to hug him. He is the most beloved Laker. Beloved. Kobe, simply put, is the most revered. Revered. Kobe once said, “I always want to outwork my potential.” That was Kobe as a Laker. Sometimes cold, often surly, he was a driven kid that became a man obsessed with being the best. And it drove some people, competitors, and even teammates away at times. However, as a person who was privileged enough to watch his entire career, he did the one thing we can only ask for as fans. He lived up to his potential. As the world of athletics change into self branding, load management, and disconnected passion for the process of improving as a professional, Kobe stands as the shining example of someone who literally gave all he could to his craft. By blood, by sweat, and by tears.He dared to be great, unapologetically striving for perfection. He knew he was the best, and made sure that all his competitors and people watching were aware of that fact. He accepted the responsibility of the dawning the mantle, of being the standard bearer, the face of a sport. He certainly failed at times, but he never wavered in his journey. Often the most talented player in the room, his work ethic and drive was that of a player with a fraction of his gifts. And we loved him for that. You never felt cheated when you saw Kobe Bryant play. He squeezed every ounce of the potential within himself and left if on the hardwood floor for all of us to behold. He gave us championships, memories for the rest of our lives. He gave us that. He gave us himself, and we were so happy to see him walk off that court, thank him, and let him enjoy his next chapter. And now he wont.   

I can go on and on about this. I still don’t have the ability to eloquently describe all the thoughts and feelings about all this. I’ll just lastly state that we are lessened by the loss. Not just as Laker fans, or basketball enthusiasts. We are lessened as a generation when our hero’s depart with words left unwritten. We are lessened by all potential lost. But we go on. Jerry West, with tears in his eyes, said it best about his surrogate son.

“A singular word, Kobe, will resonate forever.” 

In a city that is defined by the brightness of its stars, the most brilliant of them all has dimmed from view, and future seems so much more caliginous than it did just a day before.

#kobe #kobe bryant #black mamba #kb24

[suicidalcatz]

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 9

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3 ; Chap 4 ; Chap 5 ; Chap 6 ; Chap 7 ; Chap 8

Masterlist : here

AN : Hello reader ! How we feelin today ? Yeah me too, I guess it’s time for a party then ! But pay extra attention to the title, I warned you. I’ll be waiting at the end, I have some things I’d like to discuss, see you in a few!

Chapter 9 : Be careful, okay ?

Unsurprisingly, it turned out that we were the only ones invited, for some reason I couldn't quite decipher. It was only December so maybe the boys didn't make friends with their other classmates yet, but still I found it odd. They were funny, nice, and really, really skilled. But their friends, or lack of for instance, wasn't a topic I could bring just like that, so I'll have to wait for now and ask any of the twins when we were alone, I guess. Couldn't say I was surprised by their dorms, too, as they were pretty much the same as ours, maybe a little bit more messier. The four of them slept there, in two different rooms, on two different floors, from what I understood.

Josh of course lead the way, while Mandy was whispering questions she couldn't keep in her head but was too shy to say out loud for everybody to hear.

- Who's the long haired bassist ?

- That would be Sam, my little brother, he replied in the same quiet tone. Why ? Interested ?

Mandy poked him in the ribs when he smirked at her in a suggestive way, and I let out a chuckle. The boys were all in favor of going inside to get warm and drink together while getting to know each other. It seemed like a good program. We helped them bring all of their stuff back inside either to the Music Dept building (drums and mic) or their dorm (guitar, bass and amps). And as Jake wouldn't let me lift anything that he deemed heavy, they declared me tambourine supervisor, making a show of putting it in my hands like a holy relic and insisting that this job meant a lot of responsibilities. Not gonna lie I was feeling kind of stupid seeing them carrying gigantic amps in their arms while the tambourine I got kept ringing with every step I took as if to remind me how useless I was.

- Oh that's him you were talking about last time, I said while sneaking a peek at him behind my shoulder. You guys really look alike. And the drummer is your childhood friend Danny, right ?

Josh looked positively surprised for a moment before acquiescing, asking me how I knew this info.

- Jake told me one time, when you were rehearsing.

The thought of that night made me smile to myself, remembering the awful pictures and odd war metaphors with poor Danny trying to calm everybody down. However, my smile disappeared quickly when I caught Josh's unamused expression. It didn't last long, hardly a second, before he found his usual cheerful self, but it was enough to make me uneasy. Something in his eyes told me there was something wrong. And I knew it was linked to Jake, I just ignored why. A piece of the puzzle was missing and it was slowly upsetting me since nobody cared to tell me. He was weird when he saw the both of us hanging out together, and flipped when he discovered we texted, but I thought we were over that now. So was he still upset about the whole thing ? Should I avoid talking about it even though I have his phone number too now ? Or am I being totally paranoid ?

The singer abruptly stopping still in the middle of the hallway got me out of my thoughts, though, painfully so since I face-planted on the back of his head and shoulder blades, making the tambourine ring in the process.

- Please stay with us mama, we're here.

Rubbing my nose, I heard Sam snort loudly and probably at me but had already been warned that he was a sass master, so took no offense in it. Danny, on the other hand, seemed like the sweetest dude alive. Always smiling and asking if we needed help with anything, with a quiet charm and a soothing aura. What a great guy. Now that I knew a bit more about the Kiszkas, I felt sympathy for his poor soul.

Jake came by my side, and I suddenly got surrounded by the twins, one of them waiting impatiently at my left, and the other filling the empty space between the wall and I. Gently dropping his amp on the ground, he searched in his jeans pockets for the key to their room, lightly brushing my face with his hair in the process, before bending over a little to unlock the door. He moved aside just enough so that Josh could have the honor of introducing us to their room by violently slamming the door open while posing and screaming « TADA ! ». Shaking his head, Jake got in first, seemingly not in the mood to wait for his brother, switching on the lights and putting his guitar and amp at their place in a corner of the room. Josh motionned us to go first, and Mandy pushed me by the shoulders.

It looked... just like them. And smelled like them, too. The ground was covered by gigantic berber carpets, bunk beds were on the side of a wall, cornered by guitars, amps, and boxes of vinyles piled up in a tower. Some rock legends posters were displayed here and there next to their respective beds, and facing their single wardrobe, which I supposed they all had 2 drawers of it. On top of it was a turntable, and facing the door a window and a messy, messy desk. Orange leathered fatboys were sitting on the floor, an ashtray was hiding in a corner beside the wardrobe, and a door next to the desk was leading the way to their kitchen. Raising my head, I saw they had decorated their celling with colorful fabrics in red, maroon and orange, keeping one of them at the window as a curtain. Numerous mobiles hung by the celling, some of them with agate and quartz stones of every color, others in the shape of animals crafted by hand, and the whole room smelled of masculine perfume and incense. It was so them I was suddenly aware of where I stood and every nervousness I had lost came rushing back again.

- Welcome to our humble home, greeted Josh as Sam had already climbed barefoot on the top bunk.

- Please make yourself comfortable, added Jake.

The brunette removed his shoes and went around the room to get a towel in order to scrub his sweaty face, letting it stay around his neck. Danny asked Mandy if he could take the beer keg to get us all drinks and she thanked him, standing by my side frozen in their doormat.

- Oh please don't stay here ladies, have a seat, anywhere you want.

Josh didn't even have to turn around from his vinyle collection to know we didn't move an inch, it was honestly scary how well he knew us already. That piqued Jake's interest who raised his head and gestured for us to come.

- This is my bed, he said while straightening the covers a bit, feel free to sit on it if you want to.

Jake then sat down on the bottom bunk and gave a heavy pat on the mat, and that's the moment Mandy chose to shake out of it and push me on the bed in the less discreet way possible to make sure I couldn't sit anywhere else but besides Jake. I swear to God.

The death glare I gave her when she made herself comfortable on a fatboy was so intense that she felt it and smirked at me. Unbearable.

- Be careful not to bump your head, okay ?

Jake's raspy voice came to my ears and when I turned my head he was smiling at me, hand on the back of the top bed. We were cramped in here, not having much space to ourselves and almost hitting our heads with every movement we made, but it came with a strange sense of security and intimacy. You could put a curtain around us, and it'd be like we were all alone.

- If you're uncomfortable you can always sit on the ground or take the desk chair, interrupted Josh without looking away from his vinyles.

Both his brother and I shot a glance at him but he wasn't returning the favor, instead he kept his face burried in his boxes, trying to find something to listen to. His behavior was beginning to concern me more than I thought it would. And even Jake raised a questionning brow at his intervention. For some reason he looked really serious, with a closed expression. Not someone you'd like to ask the hour on the street. I shrugged it off for now, like the others did, telling myself it'll pass eventually, and that we were all gonna have a fun night together. Once Josh finally found something worth listening to, Sam let out a loud sigh of relief before relaxing into the bed cracking under him, letting his long legs hang into the nothingness between the mattress and the ground.

- Oh, you must be reading my mind, he groaned. Finally some fucking good music. All those pop and rap concerts today nearly made my head explode.

We all snickered at that comment and a smiley Danny put a goblet of beer in all of our hands before settling down next to Mandy. Once Josh was absolutely sure of his choice of music and nodded along in the rythmn of the first few seconds, he climbed on the desk and clapped his hands in his little brother's direction, something that surprised me for a second before Sam threw a little box his way, and I understood. They had a weed box, that Josh opened and began to roll a joint for us to smoke together.

As the night went on, my former stiff posture got more relaxed, and Mandy had already befriended every person in the room, requesting for Sam to teach her how to roll a proper joint, and laughing at Danny's witty interventions on the matter. We were pleasantly either drunk or high at this point and Josh got into an unstoppable karaoke mode, blessing us with his singing and exaggerated dance moves, only focused on the music blaring through the turntable's speaker. Jake and I were face to face now, sitting cross-legged while he passionately shared his knowledge on astronomy with me. And I knew for a fact that in this moment all the stars he spoke about were nothing in comparision to the ones he had put into my eyes when he talked with such passion to what he and other people  deemed as nerdy subjects. With the alcohol running in my veins, listening carefully to the words coming out of his mouth was becoming more of a challenge, especially when said mouth looked so delicious, with his voice low and eyelids hooded by the drinks he had.

- I'm sorry that's not interesting, he finally apologized while running his fingers through his hair.

- What, no ! I love listening to you, you know so much stuff, it's impressive.  

On the covers, my hand found his knee in a reassuring manner, too fixed on his smile to care about everything else. The world could catch on fire and I wouldn't even notice, had a feeling he wouldn't either. We were in our own little bubble, not paying attention to anything that wasn't the other. Mandy flirting with Sam, Danny contemplating the ceiling, Josh singing loudly ; everything was just background noise to us. Certainly because he was drunk himself, Jake took my hand in his to give my knuckles a light peck kiss.

- Thank you. If only people were more like you...

He trailed off, taken aback by the sudden music change, and gave me back my hand. My heart was still banging against my ribcage while he was trying to guess what the song was, asking his twin for a confirmation. The sensation of his soft lips against my hand was still very vivid, and my brain was too busy replaying his last sentence again and again to think of anything else. A fluttering sensation I knew too well spread in my stomach when he returned his attention to me, a boyish smile adorning his mouth. I could ear him say how much he loved that band, but my heart was still thumping so loud in my ears that I stood there in silence, replying to his smile with my own and craddling my hand with the other like I just got burned.

Unaware of my internal breakdown, Jake let the joint hang between his lips, and my gaze could only follow his movements before he noticed me.

- My bad, do you want some ?

My whole being was on auto pilot and I only bobbed my head at his question, letting the boy in front of me put the joint between my own lips, getting his zippo to light it for me.

- There ya go, don't inhale too hard or your head'll get dizzy. Try to keep the smoke in for a bit.

Taking a deep breath, I did as I was instructed, his eyes never leaving mine as I did, careful and cautious until he motioned for me to blow. As an art student, it obviously wasn't my first time smoking weed, because all stereotypes were true, people here smoked a lot. More than necessary if you'd ask me. But it felt good nevertheless to be taken care of while I did, even being instructed what do to. I didn't cough, but my face heated up almost instantly as I felt the smoke burn my lungs and my vision getting a bit blurry with the drinks I had before. The whole room reeked of weed and booze Sam had toppled on the carpet, the air filled with a thick cloud of white smoke mixing with those of the incenses Josh had lit up earlier. Jake took the joint between his fingers, considering the few centimeters left before looking at me with a serious expression.

- Do you trust me ?

- Of course I do.

Maybe sober me would've said that it depended on the topic or asked what shenanigans he was up too, but drunk me was on autopilot mode and couldn't get enough of Jake, whether it was his scent, his voice, or his fingers and knees brushing mine because of how close we were sitting. So it really didn't matter right now, I trusted him with anything.

- Come closer, he muttered while putting half of the joint on his mouth.

He gestured for me to get closer to him and swiftly brushed my hair behind my shoulder before framing my face with both of his hands, fingers linking our two heads together as he leaned on me, keeping us merely inches apart. With the joint between us, he began blowing smoke for me to inhale, keeping it from escaping with the barrier his hands formed. It was intense. Both the strong effects and the proximity of our bodies. I don't know which one made my heart rate go wild, too concentrated on his eyes just in front of me, body heat emanating of his body and bathing mine in a warm sensation. I could feel some of his fingers gently tug on my hair as it got tangled in it, and automatically put my hands on his shoulders during the exhange, giving it a firm squeeze when I couldn't take more weed. It hardly lasted more than a few seconds but everything seemed to happen in the painfullest slow imaginable. I coughed, this time, not letting go of Jake's arms as he took me in his arms, rubbing circles on my back.

- Are you crazy ?

Tiny tears had gathered at the corner of my eyes because of the smoke but I could still clearly ear Josh's humorless voice next to us. My back was facing him so I missed the exchange but Jake's body tensed and his hand left my back as he shrugged, probably silently asking his brother what was up. Wanting to calm my breathing to listen to them only made my body betray me as a violent coughing fit got over me, causing me to shake and Jake to reaffirm his hold on me.

- Can't you tell she's not used to it ? Good job, Jake.

- I'll get her some water.

His voice resonnated in my ear before I felt him slowly detach himself from me to get up. I could tell part of him was upset his brother kept nagging him, but the other one probably felt too guilty to retort and he just got to the sink with an empty glass in hand. Scrubbing my eyes, I met Josh's sympathetic gaze before he patted me on the hand, and even though I'd usually appreciate his concern, his whole bizarre behavior had me more upset than anything at this point so I shook his hand off to follow Jake in the next room, slaloming between Danny's large sleepy body and Mandy and Sam's spot. I found him in the dark, standing back to the door, checking the water with his index finger to make sure it was cold enough.

- Hey.

When the brunette looked at me, his concerned eyes made me instantly feel guilty. Maybe I should've been more responsible, but I was okay, more than okay, I didn't drink too much or anything, just enough to feel light-headed, and there really wasn't anything to get worried about.

- I'm sorry I made you smoke too much, he started while filling the red cup.

- You didn't do anything wrong, I just had a coughing fit. You know, I said while getting closer, I used to do this with friends so you don't have to feel bad or anything.

A small smile spread at the corner of his lips and he turned off the water, only looking at me when he handed me the cup. And after all the booze, weed, and smoke, I must admit it felt pretty nice to have cold water running down my throat.

- I know, but I should've been more cautious, y'know ? One time I got carried away and my girlfriend got sick so I should've known better s'all.

My heart stopped at his words. I didn't hear correctly what he just said. It wasn't possible. Maybe I was too drunk after all, imagining things that nobody said, ever. A painful lump grew in my throat, making it impossible for me to drink anymore. My stomach was in knots, overcoming my whole body with a nauseous feeling. My voice was small and strangled as I spoke.

- Your girlfriend ?

- Yeah, Mina. She lives in our hometown so it's kinda hard, but I feel like you two would get along so fine. You kinda remind me of her sometimes, you know ?

A fond and nostalgic smile danced on his lips as he said that, making me want to vomit for real now. Not because I was disgusted, but because my stomach kept turning on itself, and my breath was stuck in my lungs. I put the cup back in the sink when I noticed my fingers were shaking. How could've been so stupid ? Of course he had a girlfriend. I wanted to cry and then laugh at myself for being so dumb. Of course there was no way this perfect boy was single, what was I even thinking ? Anger started rising within me, at myself, for being this delusional. I was feeling downright pathetic to have ever thought he could love me the way I loved him, and what pained me the most was that I was the only one I could blame.

- Everything alright here ?

That's when Josh's head peaked through the open door and I sucked in a breath, feeling tears clouding my vision. Unable to bear it much longer, I faked a headache and waved everyone goodbye, only letting myself cry in the comfort of my dorm.

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

AN : Not gonna lie I’m so stressed about this chapter, please don’t hate me, I had this idea in mind for a while now. The Angst Days Are Not Over unfortunately, but it’ll get better in a few chapters. Please let me know what you think, feel free to message me or review, see you on Saturday for Part 10 ! (And I’m currently writing Part 13 atm) As always, thanks for the love and support, I know this is a slow burn so you might get impatient but we’ll get to it soon now.

#gvf fic #gvf x reader #gvf imagine #gvf fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka imagine #jake kiszka #josh kiszka fic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet #greta van fleet imagine

[fafulous]

New Orleans’ Auror (TOxHP) Chapter 7

Synopsis: Willow Scarlett, the ministry’s best Auror, decides to take a long sabbatical and settles in the mysterious city of New Orleans.

Little does she know that her past comes backs to haunt her in this very city along with a particular family only Willow has heard in tales and folklore.

Co-Author: @sweetpea-cc

Chapter 1 | Chapter 6

Scarlett paced up and down as she narrated the night's events to her not-so-human family. Everyone listened with delight, especially Lucy, her cute large elf ears standing upright with all the attention. Her excitement was at its peak, knowing that the Mikaelsons actually exist. Carlisle was not happy with the turn of events - he hated vampires.

"Good Lord, ungrateful hooligans. I told you this was a wrong place to be."

"Oh good heavens sir, why do you keep saying that?" questioned Willow.

"They're so dangerous. So dangerous. It's not our world to mess with. Anyways," he let out a huge yawn that made Iris ruffle her feathers, "it's midnight and it's really time I go to sleep-"

Willow chuckled as Carlisle passed out while talking. She turned around and walked to her room, with Iris on her shoulders still and Lucy following her.

Willow's room had subtle lighting, with minimalistic furniture. A medium size wooden four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room with light blue sheets, with no shortage of pillows. She loved blue, ever since she got sorted into her house in Hogwarts- Ravenclaw. The window was clad with light green curtains, which had a direct view of her plants outside, with some black cauldrons on the deck.

On one side of the room was her wardrobe with clothes for all the occasions and the other side, which was her favorite, had her oak study with her parchments, quills, and inks. Beside the table, she stacked a few more books that were close to her heart. The walls had photos of her along with Lucy and Iris, goofing around in the Quidditch World Cup with hats bigger than their heads.

Iris perched over on the bed's footboard and watched her owner untie her hair.

Lucy finally broke the silence, "How did they look Willow?"

She chuckled to herself thinking about the night. She was frustrated with the ungrateful vampires except for the man who walked her home.

"Handsome- er. Um, they look just like normal humans," she corrected herself, being a little flustered. "That Niklaus Mikaelson is a riot, Merlin's beard. Paranoid, ungrateful, narcissistic..."

Willow went on and on about him and got into the details of the night as she changed into her hazel silk night robes. She talked of Kol Mikaelson and mentioned that she had already bumped into him that very morning.

Lucy couldn't contain her excitement. "Was he the same man who walked you home Willow?"

"Nope" she stated as she sat on the side of her soft, comfy bed, "It was the other brother, Elijah Mikaelson."

Was she smitten by the chocolate-eyed vampire? Maybe a little, she thought, as she drifted into another world of thoughts.

Lucy nudged her by her thigh and broke her bubble of thoughts.

"Yes yes Lucy, you were asking?"

The little elf gave her a smirk, almost knowing what she was thinking of. She came close to her owner, her eyes gleaming from the light from the side lamp.

"I think Willow Scarlett should sleep, it's getting late."

Willow smiled and bent low to plant a kiss on Lucy's forehead. Following suit, Iris hopped on the bed to her beloved owner, stretching out her head in anticipation of a forehead kiss too. It was an everyday ritual.

"Good night my dears," she whispered as she pecked a kiss on her owl's head. Iris flew out of the room in joy and Lucy disapperated after she turned off the lights in the room in a snap of her finger.

The table lamp illuminated Willow's tired facial features and decided to give in. She scooted and pulled the bed covers to herself, tucked in cozily. Willow recalled the night's events, only for her to keep thinking about Elijah. She smiled more as she snuggled into her sheets. It took only minutes for her to drift into a deep slumber...

---

She trembled as she walked towards the Entrance Courtyard. All she could see was blinding lights from the spells cast by witches, wizards and the dreadful death eaters at one against the other with sparks of green and red light. It was the night of The Battle of Hogwarts.

The courtyard's structure was in half-rambles, bombarded recklessly by the death eaters. Her chest was bleeding from the recent scars she had encountered from Bellatrix. Her hands were bloody, clenching her chest with her tattered clothing. The smog and dust around made Willow cough as she tried to find a clearing for her to rest.

As she walked by dragging her feet, she suddenly tripped over and fell down flat. It took her time to realize that some spell had been cast on her. She turned around to see her attacker while panting, trying to make out who it was with the smog surrounding the person. It was him.

A white blonde haired man with streaks of black pointed his wand at Willow lying on the floor with the wreckage, his light grey eyes wearing a vengeful, sinister look. He held his wand sturdily giving the impression that he would attack any moment...

"Go on. Do it, you coward!"

He gave out an eerie laugh that made her hair stand on the end and he looked at her with the same contempt.

"I won't kill you Scar. You'll be useful to me one day..."

The next thing she saw and heard was a blinding flash of green light and high pitched howls.

---

Being too short for the bed, Lucy jumped onto the bed after 3 tries to wake up a shivering, sweating Willow.

"Willow Scarlett, wake up! Wake up!" shouted Lucy as she shook her.

Willow's eyes shot open and got up in an instant. She immediately kept her trembling hand on her chest, feeling her scattered scars and her fast beating heart, and closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure.

For the first time in 15 years, she had dreamt of the war, she had dreamt of him. Small beads of sweat lined her forehead. She shook her head, pushing back her messy hair to her head. Lucy was gracious enough to wipe off the sweat with her tiny hands.

"Lucy waited till 10:00 am for your morning walk and realized that Willow didn't wake up. Lucy came to Willow's room, only to see her shivering and shaking. If Willow Scarlett needs anything, Lucy is always here."

"Don't you worry. Just a bad dream," assured Willow.

"But, there is something Lucy needs to tell you immediately."

Willow straightened herself, coming back to normalcy. "Go on."

"There's this really admirable man walking up and down outside our front yard. He tried to enter the house, but the couldn't thanks to your wonderful skills."

"Is he?" she said, as she got down the bed and made her way to the living room.

Willow gave her morning salutations to Carlisle and Iris and proceeded to look at this admirable man through the window.

Below the beautiful blue clear sky was Kol Mikaelson, looking lost as if someone had given him the wrong address. Willow couldn't help but smile. She wondered if Elijah had tipped off her house location to his brother, it has to be the only way.

"Lucy do me a favour darling and run a bath for me will you, please? The man standing outside is Kol Mikaelson."

She didn't have to turn around to see their reactions. Lucy gave a huge whoop of excitement and heard her footsteps running towards her bathroom. She also heard Carlisle's mumbling on her mistake of befriending the Mikaelsons. But nevertheless, Willow made her way towards the bathroom.

--

After changing into comfortable clothes in a matter of 10 minutes, Willow strutted towards Kol, his back to her. He turned around at her, probably hearing the sound of her footsteps she thought.

"Looking for me, are we?"

"Bloody hell, how the hell did you come from that dirt of a house?"

"So you were looking for me?" she replied, as she came face to face.

It appeared as if the Mikaelson in front of him was a bit fidgety with his words.

"Listen here Willow, about last night," he continued as he saw her crossing her arms on her chest, "Elijah would have apologized, but nonetheless I'm sorry too for my brother's behavior."

"Oh galloping gorgons, you have nothing to apologize for. If someone needs to, its that terrible brother of yours, no offense."

"None taken, darling," smiled Kol. "Shall we go for a stroll towards the compound and continue that conversation of ours?"

"Back at your unpropitious house?" asked a concerned Willow.

"Please, I'd like to repay the favor for last night over some lovely brunch that doesn't comprise of blood, at least for you."

He handed out his elbow, just like the previous night and Willow couldn't oppose to say no.

"Please?" he asked.

"It shall be my pleasure."

--

The warm sun gave them comfort as they walked and talked. Willow learned that these vampires cannot enter random houses unless they get an invite, which fascinated her even more. She went on to tell him that her house was an exceptional case since everyone, supernatural or not, needed an invite.

"Are you that powerful?" asked a smirking Kol.

"I can be humble but if you want the truth, I am kind of the best."

"Marvelous!" stated a thrilled Kol, "Quick. Surprise me with a fact," he said as they both walked into the compound.

Willow and Kol stopped in the luxurious living room. Rich decors with aristocratic sofa and paintings lined the room. Not expecting this in a vampire's house, her eyes went wide open at the sight before her.

"We um fly on broomsticks - Gargoyles what the hell is a corpse of a woman doing in your living room?"

"Ohhhh um," dragged Kol, "That is my petty brother's petty ex-girlfriend, Aurora de Martel."

Willow remained to stare at the corpse on the table, thinking which brother it could be...

Unconsciously she asked, "Do all you vampires collect your ex-girlfriends and boyfriends like this?"

"Most of the times, yes." This time it was a woman's voice. Willow turned around to see a blonde hair woman accompanied by another one. "Looks like Kol is actually obsessed with you."

Willow let out a small laugh and looked at Kol.

"Oh, dear sister. Your observations are ever perfect- where are my manners? Willow, meet my two sisters. Rebekah and Freya Mikaelson."

She waved at the two of them and then continued to look back at the corpse behind the Sofa. The woman was covered with a white sheet of fabric except for her face, her red hair shabbily lying on the table. She looked peaceful in her death slumber. But it couldn't be - Willow thought she saw her eyelids twitch, which made her heart skip a beat.

"Isn't she supposed to be dead?" she asked curiously, turning around to the siblings, with her face filled in bewilderment.

"She's under a sleeping curse," said Freya as she came closer to Willow, "But don't worry about her, it's a complicated story. Kol mentioned that you, the mystical witch, will be dropping in for lunch. Allow me to take you to our dining. Elijah and Klaus will be there too."

Willow took a deep breath and nodded in consent. She felt a bit conscious because she was going to meet Elijah and the Hybrid but nevertheless, she got a bad feeling from this woman in slumber. She walked slowly towards the door and took one last glance at the unconscious woman and she swore that she saw her both her eyelids flicker.

__

Chapter 8

A/N: Thank you all for being patient with my slow updates! Hope you're enjoying the story! :D

Taglist: @sweetpea-cc @poemfreak306 @spunky-89 @ranger-treaty @kickasskittie23 @shanty-lol @theroyalbrownbarbie

#the originals #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson imagine #harry potter #the wizarding world #kol mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #freya mikaelson #hope mikaelson #fanfiction #elijah mikaelson x oc #the mikaelsons x oc #the originals imagines #mikaelsons #the vampire diaries #tvd #crossover #the originals season 5 #fanfic #daniel gillies

[absurd-tiny-bee-in-space]

COMIN AT YOU WITH AN IN DEPTH DIAGNOSTIC OF WHY I LOVED SEASON 5

They answered a lot of questions this season, or at least clarified at some aspects. We can now say without a doubt that shiro is Kuron. Not like it woulda been different, the fandom called it from the start. Thanks to that ratchet hair cut. Not to mention, Shiro’s lashing out at Lance hurt me. Lance needs to be protected. And listen, I am all for All Shiro’s are my Shiros, if Kuron ever hurts my baby boy blue, I will flip out. With him calling out to Lance in the astral plane, which hurt my soul A LOT, I suspect that he is comatose wherever he is. But one thing about Kuron that I appreciate is that, he truly thinks that he is Shiro. Same ideals, and morals. So when he asked Lance about what happened. He seemed genuinely worried and upset about not being able to remember. He’s just a slave to Haggar and he’s struggling with a lot of this conflict. It hurts. He doesn’t know who he is anymore. Let me say that again. The clone who thinks he is the real shiro is starting to QUESTION WHO HE IS. Can you imagine that? Imagine waking up one day, at first having a clear idea of who you are but suddenly something goes wrong and you’re second guessing yourself. You’re stripped of your identity, for it belongs to someone else.  Listen. Shiro will always be my love. No matter what Shiro he is. ALL SHIROS ARE VALID!!! 

Lance. Lance my baby boy. LANCE MY BABY BOY IS GROWING UP. He’s really filling in the “Right hand man” position that comes with flying Red. In fact, he’s surpassing that. When Shiro...sorry, Kuron, isn’t getting all power hungry, Lance is leading the other lions. When He, Hunk and Allura were flying out to help, they looked to him for leadership and followed him, and honestly this makes me so proud of how he has progressed from the first episode. With Keith being in the BoM and Shiro being a clone, when it comes time for the real shiro to come back, I predict that Lance is going to have a heavy leadership burden to carry. There’s been speculation of Black Paladin Lance, but even though he is a good, leader I don’t think he isn’t the type of character whose going to actively search out that role. He works better as the Right Hand, as the support. He’s the guy to see the full picture when the head may not and think through things more logically. He holds a lot of power just being that. I have never been more proud of him.  Also, one thing that I really appreciated is when they were sending Sam home, and they gave him the videos for their families, Hunk joked about Lance sending videos to his crushes. Lance shot that down fast, and talked about how he missed his family. I’m really happy that the writers didn’t just go along with Hunk’s joking. They could have strengthened the loverboy Lance roll, but they brought up his family and his emotions. THANK. YOU.

Lotor. OooOOOOOh man. OH MAN. I have mixed feelings about ya boi Lotor. From when we first saw him, he’s been shady af. And that’s all that I fear for him being with Team Voltron. But, I also am confident he’s genuine. Wanna know why? Because the scene with relighting the fire. The symbolism in that is INCREDIBLE. As soon as Lotor lit the pyre, and the Priest ordered everyone to bow to their new leader.... It was Voltron, standing behind the fire, that they bowed down to. Lotor is just the pretty poster-boy face of the new era, but Voltron is truly leading it. I still have a small inkling that he’s bullshit, but the softness he shows, his Altean side is so loud and pure. But, he was still raised Galra, and that’s obvious in the trial with the White Lion. “Victory or Death” he hollers as he rejects the lion. He was scared, he didn’t want to lose. But going back to the Castle of Lions, he was humble. Allura comes back with a hidden brilliant power and Lotor is behind her saying “She was worthy, I was not, and I see that.” That gave me a lot of respect for him.  Not to mention, his and Allura’s blossoming relationship?!?!?!?! I’m all for it. EsPECIALLy because it would be Allura’s desire to bring about more Altean offspring. I’M JUST SAYING, if they were to have a baby whose 2/3rds Altean, that would be incredible. Revolutionary. Especially with the other third being Galra. Damn. Good shit there. I think good things will come about with this alliance. 

Pidge. She’s so sweet. And strong. After the arc with her’s and Matt’s father, there wasn’t much focused on her which is okay, considering last season, but... did ANYONE notice the nice little hint that was given when Sam said “Ah, arguing about (i forgot what they were arguing about), that’s how your mother and I met!”  This is the time for Punk Shippers to rejoice. 

Hunk, again, not much to happen with his character. But soon, one of these seasons we will definitely get more of his background answered. Don’t rage yet.

Allura’s whole thing. Man. I love her. She’s incredible. She’s not some haughty princess and she’s very humbled. This is why she is deserving of being the White Paladin. I mean, lordy. Not much to say, I’m just fascinated with her. 

Keith. My other baby boy. One thing that’s been most prominent on tumblr is him and his mom.  They have the same hair. And i love this?! I love how she new instantly that he was her son. I mean, it’s been since he was a baby that they saw each other last, and just her maternal instincts like. “MY BABY BOY?! MUST PROTECT.” She doesn’t want to lose him again. Which shows that her having to leave the first was perhaps something she regrets a lot.  Here’s what I fear, as someone on here has mentioned before. Keith pushes people away before they push him away. His mother has already left him before, and he probably expects that to happen again. So I think he’s going to be very cold and confused at first. That’s going to take a bit for them to reconnect. Regardless, I love her with all my heart. And I want both mother and son to be happy. I just imagine this big stronk galra lady going full mama bear on Keith on every mission. like  “ MY CHILD, I WILL MURDER ANYONE WHO TRIES TO HURTS YOU!” “MOM. I’ve been through worse BEFORE! I WAS A PALADIN OF VOLTRON FOR FUCKS SAKE. I KNOW HOW TO FIGHT.” 

Honorable mentions:  HONERVA IS STRUGGLING. Her maternal instincts are in conflict with her power thirst and JESUS IS THIS INTENSE. But lordy, Lotor will not be happy when he finds out. I mean, with Allura hinting at it, he immediately shut her down. “That witch is NOT my mother.” He doesn’t see it as a possibility, and shuns it. Honerva/Haggar is gunna be hurt.  SENDAK!!!!!!!!!! BIG FLUFFY KITTY IS BACK WITH A BIGGER ARM! Yieks. 

that’s about it I think. I really enjoyed this season. At some parts, it seemed a bit rushed. But honesly; I couldn’t give less of a shit about that. I think, overall, they’re pacing out the plot incredibly well. 

Message me if any of you want to discuss further on voltron. 

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #vlds5 #voltron season 5 #voltron spoilers #season 5 spoilers #long post #my take on the season #cant wait for next season

[mst3kproject]

K09: Phase IV

Remember I said the movies were all coming together?  Well, Phase IV is definitely a prequel to Overdrawn at the Memory Bank. Think about it – why are the people of the future nothing but replaceable cogs in a few giant companies, or colonies if you will?  Why is individuality so strongly discouraged?  Why does everybody hate anteaters?  Because the world is ruled by ants! See?  See?  It's all part of one great ur-movie!

And honestly, that's as seriously as I've ever been able to take Phase IV.  It's a shame, really, because despite lurid posters in which ants eat their way through a human hand, Phase IV really wants to be a serious science fiction movie.  It's trying to imagine humanity confronted by an intelligence greater than ours, from the most unlikely source – man humbled before God's humblest creatures!  The title apparently refers to all life on Earth eventually merging into a single super-consciousness.  I can definitely see where they were trying to go.  Sadly, when the journey isn't boring me to tears, it's making me giggle like a Tickle-Me Elmo doll at things that weren't supposed to be funny.  Was Tickle-Me Elmo really over twenty years ago?

Dr. Hubbs is an entomologist studying a frighteningly intelligent multi-species ant colony in Arizona – or are the ants studying him? He calls in a cryptographer, Dr. Lesko, to help him try to communicate with the insects.  For the next hour or so, the scientists do scientist stuff and the ants do ant stuff. Occasionally something happens.  The ants tear a house down, and the people inside flee only to be accidentally sprayed with a massive overdose of pesticide. The scientists have praying mantises to keep the ants from getting into their little moon dome, but the ants take them out with ant assassins. Stuff like that.  Eventually Hubbs dies of an ant bite, but the ants capture everybody else to do... something... to them... and then the movie's over.

For the most part Phase IV is deathly boring.  We're either listening to the scientists talk about whatever, or watching ants wiggle their antennas at other ants that are never in the same shot because in the real world two different types of ants put together will either ignore or eat each other.  Dr. Hubbs goes off on poetic flights about the perfection of ant society, and shows that he is the Mad Scientist of the movie by discounting the deaths of actual people.  Dr. Lesko translates ant-language to come up with weird oscilloscope traces and geometric diagrams that might or might not mean anything. Desert Wildlife Stock Footage appears and there's a teenage girl named Kendra who has to hang around because going outside would mean crawly formic death.  The soundtrack is kinda trippy but at the same time impossibly dull.

In fact, it's because Phase IV is dull that I often find it so funny.  Since nothing much is happening, my brain wanders off on odd tangents with the sparse information the film gives me.  We begin with Dr. Lesko's narration telling us that this was all caused by some kind of unspecified celestial event.  Really? A conjuction of the planets created smart ants?  Jupiter is in retrograde and Mercury is rising in Libra, so be conservative with your investments – and watch out, because this month's full moon is the perfect time for ants to suddenly develop a superintelligent hive mind!

Then the narration starts talking about ants 'doing things ants don't do', like holding meetings.  This bodes ill for mankind, sure, but the word 'meetings' just makes me picture ants at tiny tables, sipping tiny lattes while they discuss how best to put the wasp nest under the porch out of business.  Never mind that Lesko's voice is over footage of ants doing... well, exactly what ants do; grooming, fighting, and carrying stuff through tunnels.  The shots cut back and forth from one ant to another of a different species in a way that suggests we're probably supposed to be imagining a dialogue between them, but there's not even any squeaking sounds dubbed in.  I admit that this is realistic, because ants communicate chemically.  It still looks ridiculous.

How about the bit where the ant queen (who I'm pretty sure is not played by an ant – the animal we see looks more like some kind of wasp) assimilates an insecticide, producing offspring that are immune to it?  Sure, scary idea, but Dr. Hubbs intones, 'we challenge with yellow chemistry, they respond with yellow creatures'.  Is that how that works?  Because now I'm pondering the artistic possibilities of feeding Skittles to the ants.

Or how about when the ants decide to cook the humans in their hideaway by focusing solar radiation onto it?  Revenge for all those kids with magnifying glasses, am I right?  Or how Dr. Lesko blasts the tops off the ant towers to try to get a reaction?  That seems a little extra, when any bored six-year-old knows much easier ways to get an ant colony moving.  How about the fact that at the end everybody runs off into the desert in their bare feet when they know damned well there's seventy billion pissed-off ants out there?

The ants only get one moment in the movie that's really effective, when it does seem like there's a higher intellect at work behind these millions of mindless drones in perhaps the same sort of way as billions of neurons come together to create a conscious human brain. That's when the ants bring a sample of the yellow pesticide back to the hill for their queen to examine.  One ant carries this as far as it can before the poison kills it, then another one picks it up and does the same.  Individual ants are expendable. There are just so damn many of them that it makes no difference, and the colony can always produce more to replace what has been lost.  This uses what makes ants scary even when they're not superintelligent, along with reminding us that their purpose here is to study our weapons and learn to neutralize them.

The dead ants laid out in rows like the aftermath of a battle is also sort of cool, but it has the opposite effect, actually humanizing the ants by depicting them as individual lost lives.  Hubbs has already explained to us that's not how ants work, and if ants are individuals who care enough to gather up their dead colony-mates, they become a lot less alien and therefore a lot less frightening.

The behaviour of the ants also suffers from the same problem as a lot of killer animal movies, in which their intelligence seems to have come with a few lessons in electrical engineering.  Intelligence does not automatically confer knowledge – INT is a stat, while knowledge is a skill!  Humans have sophisticated brains, but much of what we do with them depends upon thousands of years of accumulated learning.  Before we could build a generator, we needed at least a primitive understanding of the physics of electricity.  It is true that destroying a generator is simpler than inventing it, but how did the ants even know what the significance of the generator was?  How did they know what the air conditioner was, never mind how to shut it down?  These ants have been sentient for a couple of months at best, and during that time they seem to have been too busy building towers and exterminating their predators (things that actually seem like pretty plausible ant priorities) to go to trade school.

These are all quibbles, though.  The biggest problem with Phase IV is that it raises a lot of questions and then never bothers to even try answering them.  Dr. Lesko makes some progress at communicating with the ants, and the fact that the ants bother to listen and reply suggests that they do want something from these humans... but what? Hubbs dies of the ant venom, but Lesko and Kendra are captured and taken inside an enormous ant hill, where the ants begin doing something to them that seems poised to begin a real dialogue.  In the final moments of the movie we're on the verge of finding out what's really been going on... and then it just ends.

So what was all that leading up to?  We don't know!  And Lesko's final words of narration, we didn't know for what purpose, but we knew we would be told, just seem to rub the anticlimax in our faces – he found out, but we never will!  I'm left with the impression that writer Mayo Simon didn't have any real idea, himself.  I guess the point is supposed to be that the ants are such a completely alien mind that Lesko probably couldn't explain it to us if he wanted to.  Fair enough, but still a lousy non-ending to a boring eighty-four minute movie.

All this movie needed was a conclusion.  Not even a conclusion to the overall 'smart ants take over the world' thing, just a conclusion to the 'kidnap Lesko and Kendra and make them members of the hive' thing.  Are the ants after human knowledge?  Do they need human emmissaries?  Human spies?  Human slaves?  Humans to play the slots in Vegas while the ants manipulate the machines to pay out big wins? A fertile couple to be the progenitors of a new race of Ant-People? See, there I go again, off on tangents trying to supply the entertainment this movie so conspicuously failed to give me.

There are people who really like this movie.  El Santo of 1000 Misspent Hours says it's one of his favourites, because it makes him think.  It made me think, too, but about all the wrong things.

#mst3k #reviews #phase iv #the movies are all coming together #70s

[acindra]

We Only Want To Have A Good Time (1/?)

Chapter 1 | 2

Pairing: Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell

Words: 1.871

Summary: “You’re right.”

“Of course I am. I’m amazing.” Michael said, promptly.

This startled laughter out of Jeremy. “And so humble.”

(Jeremy asks Michael on a date to the Relay For Life)

Read on AO3 or under the cut

Jeremy ran a hand through his hair and frowned at himself in the mirror. He was nervous. “You can do this. It’s just Michael.” he told himself.

The butterflies in his stomach disagreed.

“It’s just Michael. Michael who plays video games. Michael who likes 90’s soft drinks. Michael who forgave you when you were a massive dick to him. Michael who’s loyal and awesome and really fucking cute. Why is he so cute?”

His reflection did not provide him any answers.

“What’s the worst that’ll happen?” he asked himself. “He’ll just say no… and that he hates me and that I’ve ruined our friendship forever- oh god I can’t do this.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, alerting him that he had received an email.

“Oh! I could text it to him instead!” He pulled out his phone and opened a new message to Michael.

There was a solid three minutes that he stared at his phone, trying to type out the words.

“This was a stupid idea.” He muttered as he locked his phone and stuck it back in his pocket. “Plus, I’m already here, I might as well ruin everything ever in person.” He ran a hand through his hair one more time before exiting the bathroom.

The door to Michael’s bedroom was mostly plain and unassuming except for one thing- it had a poster for Jeepers Creepers on it.

Jeremy stared at the eye in the poster.

The eye stared back, judging him silently.

He considered going back to the bathroom.

The sound of footsteps approaching drove him to open the door and enter Michael’s room; he didn’t want one of Michael’s parents to catch him loitering indecisively in the hall and, god forbid, ask him why.

As he made his way down the stairs, he caught sight of Michael lounging sideways on a beanbag, playing some video game.

He got so distracted he missed the last step and tripped.

Luckily, he managed to regain his balance after wobbling a little and windmilling his arms.

“Watch out, we just put that step there.” Michael remarked, laughing a little.

“I meant to do that.”

“Sure you did. Actually, look.” He pointed at his tv screen where his Animal Crossing character was pushing a gorilla villager into a pitfall trap.

The gorilla wiggled around in the pit for a few seconds then flipped back out.

“See that? You looked just like Peewee. Less buff, though. You should really work on that.”

“I’ll take that under consideration.” Jeremy said, dryly. “Is his name really Peewee?” he asked, incredulously.

“Yup.” Michael popped the p loudly. “So what can I do you for?”

“Well I came out to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.”

“Pew pew.” Michael mimed shooting him with a gun.

Jeremy mimed getting shot and collapsed against the wall.

“I see… I see a light.” he said, stretching his arm out towards the imaginary light.

“And it’s like the fog has lifted.” Michael sang, watching as Jeremy pretended to die. “Well, shit. I gotta hide a dead body. Better call my best friend for help- oh wait.”

“Aw, you’d call me to help you hide a body? I’m touched.” Jeremy picked himself off the floor and went to perch himself on Michael’s desk chair.

“Wait!”

Jeremy froze, halfway to sitting on the chair.

Michael leaned forward off the beanbag and tapped Jeremy’s hand. “Boop.” He sat back. “Now you’re touched. As you were.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes and sat down.

“If you want, we can play a game together. You just gotta wait for me to put in a code with Nook and save.”

“A code?”

“Project Hyrule, man!”

“What, like Zelda in Animal Crossing?”

“Not really. It was a forum or something a long ass time ago- like in the early two thousands- that posted universal codes for items in the game if your town was named Hyrule. I’ve been using it to get thirty thousand bells so I can pay off my mortgage.”

Jeremy watched as Michael’s character initiated a conversation with Nook.

“WB2…” Michael muttered as he input the code from memory.

“Why do you know this?” Jeremy asked, incredulous.

“Internet.”

“Ok, obviously. But how did you get from regular internet browsing to memorizing secret codes for a fifteen year old game?”

“I don’t know. I was up late the other night and found it. That’s why I broke out the gamecube, to be honest. It’s actually pretty fun, if a little bit isolated. Kinda reminds me of playing the early Sims games.”

“Gotta get your massaging heart bed on.”

“Speaking of babies in the Sims. Did you know you can have a child live by themself in Bustin’ Out if you kill off the parents? If you get good grades you get a hundred dollars from your grandparents and can then buy pizza or eat snacks instead of cooking food.”

“Bustin’ Out?”

“It’s one of the gamecube Sims games.”

“Did you have to look up the child thing, too?”

“No, that was an accident. I set off a firework too close to a carpet and… well. Fire.” He imitated a large flame with his hands.

“Amazing.”

“I know I am.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You’re just jealous.”

Jeremy scoffed. “Of what?”

“I got the brains, the looks, and the skillz- with a ‘z’. I’m the whole package.” Michael boasted.

Jeremy agreed. But he would never let Michael know that. “You certainly are a whole lot of something.”

“Like I said- you’re just jealous.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“I will.”

Jeremy watched as Michael steered his character up to the gyroid outside his house and saved the game. “Sooo…. Michael.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“Are. Um.” Jeremy picked at the chair. “Do you… er. Are you... busy… on. Uh...”

Michael looked up at him, curiously. “Are you ok?”

Jeremy could feel his face turning red as he struggled to get the words out. “Whatareyoudoingonsaturday?” He rushed out. He fidgeted awkwardly as Michael processed his words.

“Saturday? Uhhh… Probably playing video games? Why?”

“Do you- I mean, only if you want to- d’you wanna go to… um… the Relay for Life? With me?”

“Relay for… Life? What’s that?”

“Oh! It’s. Um. A fundraiser. For cancer research. A-and like all of the clubs at school participate. It’s kinda like a festival? I- I think it goes until, um, six in the morning?” He ran a hand through his hair again. “That’s- actually really late.” He stared down at his hands as he wrung his fingers together. “You don’t want to do that. You’re right, it was a silly idea. I’m sorry I brought it up. Forget-”

“Sure. I’ll go with you.”

Jeremy looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah! It sounds fun. It’s a date!” He joked.

Jeremy felt relief course through him. He couldn’t fight down the pleased smile that broke over his face. “It- it is!” He nodded.

Michael tilted his head. “Wait- is it?”

“What?”

“Is- are you asking me on a date?”

“Y-yes? ”

“Jeremy!” Michael exclaimed, sitting up excitedly.

Jeremy startled a little.

“I’m so proud of you!” Michael pulled himself up onto his knees and half collapsed onto Jeremy to hug him around his middle.

Jeremy blinked in confusion even as he automatically patted Michael’s back. “What?”

“I know how hard it is for you to express yourself when it comes to liking someone. Usually you run away or- wait.” He pulled away slightly to look up at Jeremy. “This isn’t a joke is it? Cuz that’s really mean and I will get you back.”

“Wh- No it’s not a joke. I. Uhm. Ireallylikeyou.” If he wasn’t red before, he certainly was now.

Michael eyed him, suspiciously. “You aren’t making fun of me, right?”

“What would I be making fun of?”

He gave him an incredulous look. “I’ve had a crush on you? For, like, forever?”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“How?” Michael poked him in the stomach. “Like, are you serious? Are you fucking oblivious? I wasn’t even being subtle after we hit ninth grade.”

“I don’t know! You know I’m really bad at feelings.” Jeremy defended himself, catching Michael’s hand so he’d stop poking him.

Michael looked at Jeremy’s hand holding his and hooked his pinkie over his fingers. “You’re really asking me out?” he asked quietly.

Jeremy’s heart hurt at how vulnerable Michael sounded in that moment. “Yes.”

Michael gave him a lopsided smile. “Cool.”

They smiled at each other for a few seconds.

Jeremy fidgeted, breaking the eye contact and releasing Michael’s hand. “Well... This is awkward. I- I should go.” He made to swivel the chair so he could get up.

Michael grabbed the back of the chair to prevent him from moving. “No! Don’t go. You just got here.”

“But…”

“Please stay.” He made puppy eyes at him.

Jeremy’s stomach rumbled.

“See! Now you have to stay! I’ll feed you!”

“Okay, okay. How can I pass up free food?” Jeremy asked, a little sarcastic.

Michael slapped his hands down on Jeremy’s knees and hauled himself up to standing. “Don’t you worry. I will provide for my man.” He winked and offered a hand to him.

“Your man?” Jeremy laughed a little as he let Michael pull him up.

Michael furrowed his eyebrows. “We’re- but we’re going on a date? So that means we’re dating? Right? Did I get that wrong? I’m sorry! I just thought-”

Jeremy put his hands up in a placating motion. “I didn’t, uh, think about it. Before.” He waved his hand vaguely. “B-but if you want to be, um, b-boyfriends, I… I’d like that.”

“YEAH!” Michael shouted, excited. “Uh. I mean yes. Yes, I want that. Of course I want that.”

Jeremy looked down. “I’ve never had a b-boyfriend before.”

“I’ve never had an anything before.” Michael pointed out.

“I just mean. I don’t know how good I’ll be. At this.”

“Jeremy-”

“And like what if I do something stupid or wrong?”

“Jer-”

“What if someone tries to hurt us because we’re together and-”

“Jeremy!” Michael clapped his hand over Jeremy’s mouth. “I’m gonna stop you right there. We haven’t even gone on our first date and you’re already worrying. Stop it.”

Jeremy’s reply was too muffled to make out. He reached up and tugged Michael’s hand off. “You know I can’t help it…”

Michael sighed. “I know. But you know I’ll always be here for you.”

“Yeah…”

“You’ll be fine. If you do something stupid or wrong, I’ll tell you and we can fix it. If someone tries to hurt us I’ll kick their ass. Plus, we don’t have to tell anyone we’re together. And whatever happens- we can deal with it. Together. Because that’s what we do.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am. I’m amazing.” Michael said, promptly.

This startled laughter out of Jeremy. “And so humble.”

“If you got it, flaunt it.” He shrugged. “Anyways- let’s go get some food in you before you shrivel out of existence.”

“Ok.” Jeremy followed him up the stairs.

“And if you’re good, I’ll feed you by hand. It’ll be gay! I mean great.” He paused for a second to contemplate it. “No. I meant gay.”

#bmc #be more chill #be more chill musical #boyf riends #meremy hell #acindraquill #be more queer #jeremy you useless bisexual

[jenmedsbookreviews]

This has been one very long week. Productive in work terms but very, very long. And to cap it all off I have decided to try and get myself back on the diet which means I am tired and irritable right now. Which in fairness is my default mood/status so there isn’t actually anything unusual in that fact.

Funny old week. We have had go live with the first set of victims, sorry drivers, using the new proof of delivery app at work. Seems to have gone well all things considered. A few minor glitches, but nothing we couldn’t fix so happy days. It has meant early starts but that has also meant earlier finishes so I have been able to get to reading much earlier in the day than normal. This means I’ve had an unusually productive week on the blogging front too clearing a relatively high number of books (for me) without resorting to one audio book (or Mr Men) to help me out. Who knew?

I also had a bit of a surprise earlier in the week when this happened:

Yes. I recieved an email from Reedsy informing me that I’d been listed as one of their recommended best book blogs of 2017 over on their website. A great honour, especially when you look at some of the other blogs on the list – there are some really high profile blogs with massive viewing figures making mine look kind of tiny in comparison, but I am very chuffed and humbled to be up there considering I am just a babby in blogging terms. It’s been a very long time since that statement applied in real life…

I have tried to be good on the book purchase/download front this week. Failed miserably but it’s the thought that counts right? In my defence, some of the books I have bought in preparation for a forthcoming Christmas feature month on the blog, currently pencilled in for November. I blame Mandie as we came up with the idea while on a walk yesterday morning. What started as a couple of weeks of Christmas posts is now a whole month of madness, espescially when you consider that neither of us actually likes Christmas. 😉 Other books (namely the Netgalley download for which I blame Bookouture) are books I need to read for blog tours (well one is) so it doesn’t really count. That’s right isn’t it?

Books I ordered: Murder Game by Caroline Mitchell (preorder); Thorne at Christmas by Mark Billingham;  Dying For Christmas by Tammy Cohen; Frost at Christmas by R.D. Wingfield; and six Mr Men Christmas Books. Audio  book wise I only ordered one which was Perfect Prey by Helen Fields. Netgalley wise I only downloaded Hide and Seek by Richard Parker (blog tour fodder I promise).

I also received a lovely bit of book post this week in the shape of Santa Claws by Gabriela Harding. Can’t wait to dive into it and it’s part of what inspired the Christmas posts mentioned earlier.

Isn’t it fabulous? Send in the clowns lol. Blogging wise I’ve been quite productive too. I had, how shall I put this, a backlog of unwritten reviews – a mere nine – nothing to be concerned about. Much. I managed on Saturday to get six of the nine written … then promptly read another book so I am back to four to write but they will be done imminently. I probably would have completed all ten reviews but I was a) running out of new ways to say ‘really bloody good’, and b) starting to get my sarcastic, comedic head on due to blogger fatigue which is never a good thing ;). Reading wise, as I said, I’ve had a pretty good week clearing four books off my tbr. And four corkers they are too.

Books I have read.

I Know A Secret by Tess Gerritsen

I have a secret.  And someone wants to make sure I never tell . . . 

In a house decorated with horror movie posters, a young woman’s body is found. She lies on her bed, two bloodied objects clutched in her palm. Detective Jane Rizzoli and Forensic Pathologist Maura Isles are called to the murder scene, but even faced with this gruesome sight they are unable to identify the immediate cause of death. 

Their investigation leads them to a high-profile murder case that was seemingly solved years before. But when another body is found in horrific circumstances, the link between the two victims is clear. Was the wrong person sent to prison? Is the real killer out there right now, picking off new targets? 

One woman knows the killer is coming for her next. She’s the only one who can help Rizzoli and Isles catch him.

But she has a secret that she has to keep . . .

Confession time – I have a secret too … I have never read any Rizzoli and Isles before this book! I know. I should hang my head in shame. I have seen the TV series on occasion but not read any of the actual books. Until now. I shall be heading back to the first eleven books as soon as I can as I absolutely loved this and have no doubt fans of the series will love it too. Sucked in from page one I raced through to the conclusion. You can see my thoughts as part of the blog tour tomorrow but in the meantime why not preorder it here.

…

Hide and Seek by Richard Parker

The sun is out. Your little boy is smiling. The next time you look… he’s gone. 

When Lana and Todd win a trip to Blue Crest Adventure Park, their four-year-old Cooper is ecstatic, but when Lana goes to meet them, Todd is out cold, and Cooper is missing.

No one stopped the man carrying the sleeping boy. The cameras don’t show where he went. Then Lana receives an anonymous message, telling her to visit a local school with a horrifying history… 

This is no random attack. Whoever took Cooper is playing a twisted game, and if Lana wants to find him, she must participate. 

What is the link between the school and her missing son? Can Lana uncover the kidnapper’s identity and save Cooper before it’s too late?

Now it may come as a surprise to some, but I absolutely loved Richard Parker’s last book, Follow You, so as soon as this appeared on NetGalley  had to have it and as soon as I had it I had to read it. Did it meet my expectations. Well, the cheesy grin on my face while reading may have been a give away, but yes. I enjoyed it. Muchly. You can see just how muchly next month when I post my review in the meantime do yourselves a favour and go preorder it here.

…

The Good Sister by Jess Ryder

Two sisters. One secret… A lie that could destroy them both.

When her father dies, Josie is devastated to uncover he led a secret life: another house, another family and a half-sister called Valentina.

Both with red hair and icy blue eyes, Josie and Valentina could be mistaken for twins. But the similarities end there…

Josie – Sweet, reserved, jealous, thief.  Valentina – Care-free, confident, dangerous, liar. 

There is a perfect life here for the taking. But which one of them wants it the most?

Two sisters. One survivor. 

I thought initially this may have been a biography about me as I am clearly the good sister of all of my siblings but turns out I was wrong. What it is, is a twisted tale centred around long held secrets which have deadly repurcussions. What it also is is extremely gripping and a fluffing good read. My review will be up in a little over a weeks time, in the meantime you can preorder here.

…

The Big Dreams Beach Hotel by Lilly Bartlett

Wriggle your toes in the sand and feel the warm breeze on your face when you check into the hotel that’s full of dreams…

Three years after ditching her career in New York City, Rosie never thought she’d still be managing the quaint faded Victorian hotel in her seaside hometown.

What’s worse, the hotel’s new owners are turning it into a copy of their Florida properties. Flamingos and all. Cultures are clashing and the hotel’s residents stand in the way of the developers’ plans. The hotel is both their home and their family.

That’s going to make Rory’s job difficult when he arrives to enforce the changes. And Rosie isn’t exactly on his side, even though it’s the chance to finally restart her career. Rory might be charming, but he’s still there to evict her friends.

How can she follow her dreams if it means ending everyone else’s?

I loved Lilly Bartlett’s Carlton Square books so when asked by the author if I wanted the chance to review her new book, how could I possibly refuse. I’m very glad I didn’t as this was a wonderfully funny book and having only recently been on holiday to Yorkshire when we spent a day over in Scarborough, where this book is set, everything about it made sense. A great cast of characters and some heart warming romance to boot, if you love rom-com you’ll love this. I’ll be reviewing on release day 18th August but you can preorder the book here. You can also watch the promo video below – make sure to leave the sound on …

…

So that was it reading wise. Four books. Are you impressed. Believe me when I say I am as I have never felt so tired as I did last week and I am pretty sure the books are partly to blame as they were too good to put down. Blogging wise I had a full week with a mixture of reviews, a couple of impromptu cover reveals, and the good old #booklove features.

#BlogTour: Review – Red is the Colour by Mark L. Fowler

#BookLove: Carol Cooper

Cover Reveal – @Bookouture & Tracy Bloom

#BlogTour: Review – Long Shot by Jack Steele

#Blogtour: Review – Till the Dust Settles by Pat Young

Cover Reveal: @Caroline_writes @Bookouture

#BlogTour: Little Bird by Sharon Dempsey

#BookLove: Lorraine Rugman

Guest Review: Stalker On The Fens by Joy Ellis

…

The week ahead is just as busy. I have two blog tours this week, both tomorrow. First up is I Know A Secret by Tess Gerritsen and then I have a guest post by Jo Huey, author of Transition. I will have a selection of reviews and also #Booklove posts from Louise Walters and Abbie Rutherford. I do hope you can join us. I also have a very exciting afternoon and evening planned on Thursday, but more about that next week.

Have a fabulous week’s reading all and I’ll see you same time next week.

JL

Rewind, Recap: Weekly roudup w/e 06/08/17 This has been one very long week. Productive in work terms but very, very long. And to cap it all off I have decided to try and get myself back on the diet which means I am tired 

#Best Book Blogger #Rewind Recap #Weekly Round UP