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blossomreed · 2 years

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Chapter 5 of The Dove and her Rooster [Bradley Bradshaw]

find all the parts here

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"You're being called back to TOPGUN."

Those 6 words would change the couple's lives forever. But we're not there yet so let's go back.

After graduating from TOPGUN Victoria 'Dove' Kazansky and Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw were first sent off on two different missions, one being in Hawaii and the other in Virgina. They were apart for exactly 5 months, 13 days and 6 hours. Bradley counted.

Thankfully they both got out alive and after that were called to be a part of the VFA-87 Golden Warriors, together. You could imagine how happy they were.

At first they were both living at base but after a year or so decided to look for a house or apartment near by and move in together. It was a big step for them but they felt more than ready.

In the first year of living together they found out many things about eachother that they didn't know before. For example Bradley was a heavy sleeper and only his alarm could fully wake him up, his girlfriend took advantage of that not only to play pranks on him from time to time but also to make so many jokes about his callsign Rooster actually being a good fit.

On the other hand Victoria was a light sleeper. Almost every little sound woke her up, especially if it was out of the ordinary. The bad side of this is that she would often wake up tired and on some nights her brain would start overthinking and soon after she would be waking up poor Bradley because she was sure someone broke in. Suprise, suprise, each time, there was no one.

Bradley ended up buying a thicker front door with extra locks so his girlfriend would feel safer and stop waking him up in the middle of the night. He loved the girl but he also loved sleep.

Man, did he love sleep. One night when Victoria went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, on her way back she knocked down some books from the bookshelf. She cursed them out, of course and was sure that she woke the brunette man from his slumber. To her suprise, he was still, very much, asleep. It was that night that Victoria lost all hope for her partner but if she was being honest he looked really cute when he was sleeping so she didn't mind. At least this gave her the chance to explore the different ways she personally could wake him up, if you get what I mean.

Okay, let's go back to the Golden Warriors. As we speak, the couple were landing back down after a training session with some of their fellow colleagues. As they all talked about the training session while walking back to base, they were stopped by Admiral Solo who informed that Rooster and Dove were needed by Commander Archer.

Getting to the Commander's office they were immediately told to sit down.

"You're being called back to TOPGUN."

Dove was speechless, trying to wrap her head around the 6 words that were just spoken so Rooster asked the important question for both of them.

"Why are we being called back to TOPGUN sir?" the Commander let out a sigh as he leaned foward, "Honestly Lieutenant I wish I knew. All they told me is that they needed you two for a special mission, that's all I know."

Rooster nodded his head as the Commander told them when they needed to be back in Miramar and dismissed them, telling them to go pack and prepare to leave tonight as he handed them their airplane tickets.

Dove hasn't said a word for the whole ride back home, in all honesty, she was still trying to figure out everything. As Rooster parked his Frod Bronco he looked over at the passenger seat.

"Vic, sweetheart, you okay?" his voice and those four words were the thing that got the blonde woman out of her trance as she looked at the man next to her.

"Yeah, sorry. It's just...what is so important, what mission is so important that we're being called back to TOPGUN?" taking her hand in his Bradley looked at the girl, "I don't know but whatever it is, we'll get it done and go back home. Okay? No need to worry. Plus look at the bright side we'll get to spend time with your family and you'll get to attend Gavin's graduating ceremony."

A smile made it's way onto Victoria's face as she tought of her parents and younger siblings. They were all grown up now. When Victoria left for the Naval Academy alongside Bradley she was 19 years old. Today, Gavin was 18 and graduating highschool in a few days, Sophia is 21 just like Bradley was back then, studying to become a doctor and Rachel was turning 24 soon and finishing vet school.

The two made their way inside and decided to start packing right away, their flight was that night and lasted about 8 hours, Bradley's SUV would be arriving around at the same time as them which was perfect.

"Do you think 1 suitcase will be enough?" "Sweetheart, knowing you, you'll need 10 suitcases."

The blonde shot him a glare as he laughed.

"Very funny Bradshaw, watch out you might end up sleeping outside." that made him laugh even more as he went to hug her from behinde, "You love me too much to do that Kazansky." Victoria just said maybe baby as she put her hands over his. They stayed like that, enjoying the silence and the physical touch until the blonde spoke up.

"Baby we need to countinue packing." he let out a sigh as he buried his head into the crook of her neck.

"Five more minutes sunshine."

A smile covered her face instantly at the mention of that nickname. She has been with Bradley for so long but it still felt like day one sometimes.

They weren't perfect neither was their realtionship but they loved eachother and made it work each and every day.

That day they boarded their plane at 11pm or 2300 as the curly haired man kept saying.

"Hey little lady, it's okay to feel nervous or scared, flying is very scary. I'll hold your hand if you need me to."

Victoria let out a quiet whine as the words left his mouth.

"I was 19 and haven't flown in a while, stop reminding me of it."

Bradley chuckled as he planted a kiss on the woman's head.

When they landed around 7 in the morning the next day, they didn't even have to wait long for Bradley's car to arrive. They instantly drove to Bradley's family home in Miramar that he was still the owner of, not having the heart to sell it. After they got settled in, the couple decided to go to Victoria's childhood home straight away to suprise her parents and younger brother.

To both of their suprises Rachel opened the front door who looked just as shocked to see the two.

"Vic?? Brad?? Oh my god, hi!"

The oldest of the 3 younger siblings pulled them in a big hug which they gladly returned.

"What are you doing here Rach? Aren't you suppose to be at college just like Soph?"

Rachel looked at Bradley who asked the question and then at Victoria, confused at first but then her face fell.

"Oh...you guys don't know, do you?"

The couple were now even more confused but before they could say anything Rachel rushed them inside.

"Soph! Gav! Come down here, we have guests!"

Okay what the hell is going on here, Victoria tought to herself but before she could ask anything out loud the rest of her siblings came down and when they saw their two favourite people standing there, they quickly hugged them, being more than happy to see them.

After Rachel made everyone some coffee, they sat down in the livingroom to talk.

"Okay would any of you like to tell me what's going on and why are you all at home?"

The 3 younger siblings looked at eachother before looking at their sister, no one knew how to start or how to tell her.

"Dad's dying Vic..."

It was Gavin who decided to get straight to the point. Bradley immediately grabbed Victoria's hand in his.

"No, he's not. What are you talking about? I talked to him a few days ago, he was fine!"

Tears started to gather in her eyes, she couldn't lose him, he was suppose to live a long and happy life, see all of them get married, play with his grandchildren, all of it. He couldn't go now.

"The cancer is back and it's not looking good. Mom and dad are at the hospital to see if there's something the doctors can do but the chances are very small."

Victoria kept quiet. She was in shock. What could she say or do after finding out something like this? It wasn't fair, her dad didn't deserve this. As she wrapped her head around the new information given to her, the woman started to cry. Soon enough all 5 of them were crying. Tom Kazansky was deeply loved by everyone from his children to their friends to everyone at TOPGUN and the U.S. Pacific fleet where he was serving as Commander.

Her parents got home around noon just as the 4 siblings and Bradley were making lunch. Victoria dropped everything as she quickly went to hug her dad while Bradley shared a hug with Sarah as he filled them both in on why they were there which Tom knew of course, having selected the instructor for the mission himself but he wasn't gonna tell them that.

After lunch it was revealed that there is nothing the doctors can do except hope for a miracle. That was the news everyone feared and hoped not to hear.

Never the less both Tom and Sarah incouraged the two Lieutenants to go meet up with their friends at the Hard Deck tonight and to have fun. Tom especially didn't want anyone to mop around because of him. Before they left, Tom wrote a message on his phone to the couple.

'Take care of eachother, you've got something special together, don't forget that.'

They both hugged the older man tightly before leaving, promising to come visit everyday. When they got back to Bradley's house they both plopped down on the couch.

"Let's get married." Victoria looked over at Bradley with a confused look, "Honey we already are married. Have been for 7 years now. You feeling okay?"

Bradley let out a chuckle as he looked at his wife.

"I'm perfectly aware of that sweetheart. Remember how you always talked about wanting to get married at TOPGUN like your parents? But at the time we couldn't get ourselves nor our friends to Miramar at the same time so we ended up having a quick weeding in Virginia. Well your dad could probably pull a few strings and we could get married there, renew our vows plus your dad could get to see you get married at the same place he did."

Victoria tought about it for a few minutes.

"I mean that was my dream wedding and I could probably fit in my mom's wedding dress plus Mark and the kids could also be present like this."

15 years ago Victoria decided to forgive her biological mother, who was now dead for about 3 years. Her husband, Mark, was really nice and has struggled a bit since her death but was an amazing father to his two kids, her younger siblings, who were 18 and 16 now, well actually turning 16 in a few months.

Gavin and Sebastian were suppose to graduate together but when Diana died Sebastian started to fail in school and ended up failing a grade but no one could blame him, meanwhile Lenora was the complete opposite, she became a straight A student because she threw herself into school work after her mother's death.

"Great! It's a deal then. We'll do it as soon as possible, I'll swing by your parent's place before the Hard Deck and talk with your dad about it." she smiled at Bradley before giving him a peck on the lips.

"Thank you. For everything. You're an amazing friend and partner." "Like I said a long time ago, you deserve so much and don't ever forget that little lady."

It was times like this that made her glad that she had Bradley by her side. She was thankful to whoever put him in her life because she doesn't know what she would do without her rock.

tag list

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myrandomthoughtsblog · 2 years

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How I think being in a queer platonic relationship with Kenma Kozume would be like (gn! reader)

English is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistake. Hope you guys like it and I might have gotten carried away lol <3

Kuroo definitely helped you two get together and teases both of you (mainely Kenma) a lot

Very perceptive but also kinda cluless so I think he'd rather sit and talk about each others boundaries instead of waiting to see how you would react to somethings

Kenma will let you play in his switch almost everytime you ask if his not using it

If you like gaming as well he will make you buy a switch (or buy it for you) so you two can play games together

Will get mad if you are better than him on mario kart and will get salty cuz of it, but nothing a couple cuddles can't fix (only if you are comfortable with it)

Animal crossing dates!!!!!

If you don't know how to play Kenma will happily teach you how to while you sit on his lap (if that's something you like)

But if you don't like gaming he does not mind as long as you let him play

Loves when you cuddle him while watching him play

Not a huge fan of Just dance but would end up playing with you and getting competitive

Now when it comes to volleyball...

Kenma would be very happy if you went to his games

Would totally drag you to play it with him if Kuroo was draging him

Speaking of the rooster boy y'all would be reaaaaaally close

You'd have to hear Kenma complaning about Lev

After a hard practice Kenma would like to cuddle with you while watching something

Nappping together <3

Not a fan of pda but likes to hold your hand if he's not gaming, otherwise walking close to you works as well

Would 100% curse someone if they disrespect you or yours relationship

Being friends with Bokuto, Akaashi and Hinata >>>>>

I think Kenma might be a bit shy when it comes to talking about you to his team but would end up doing it if Kuroo asks him to do so

Not a big fan of outside dates but would do it if you ask to (while complaning but we all know he does not really mean it)

likes going to cafes tho

Hates cooking but likes to do it with you

A great listener but isn't very good with advises

Might get shy or cocky with complements depending on what you say

If that’s something you are comfortable with he might give you cheek kisses and also likes to receive it

Studying with Kenma would be pretty peaceful and helpful but I think he might lose his patience if his tutoring you

If you decided to live together your house would be so cool and fancy omg I can't

Doesn't mind if you wear his clothes and might end up wearing yours as well

Playful fights would be pretty common

If you are feeling sad or insecure Kenma would 100% get out of his comfort zone to make you feel better

Gossiping together >>>>

The best person to talk about your queer experience with (but you might end up crying with him who knows)

Yaku would definitively fight people if they insist in saying you and Kenma are a romantic couple (Kuroo would too)

Likes to record you two just to have it on his phone

Would MELT if you played with his hair

I don't think he would like to call you pet names like he preferes to call you by your nickname and wouldn't mind if you called him Ken or something

Would tell you everything after he's comfortable with you

Having to beg him to sleep in a decent time but if you also likes to go to sleep late than it's a lost cause

If having kids is something you’d like to Kenma would definitely take it into consideration

When his mental health is getting bad doing something he likes with you would make him feel better

Imagine playing board games with him during a rainy day while drinking hot chocolate omg I'm soft now

Would 100% start to watch, read or play something you like if you ask him to

A big ass hater of amatonormativity

Would always try to help you

Likes to buy you random stuff

In general I think that being Kenma's qp partner would be pretty chill and fun

Sorry for taking so long to post this lol. I hope you guys enjoyed and feel free to request more fics :)

Here's my masterlist:

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animesllut666 · 2 years

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Kuroo With an Alternative GF

Characters: Kuroo x AltGF

Type: Headcannon

Warnings: None, I don't think so at least. (SFW)

Request: Hello hun 🖤✨

Could I request something for Kuroo with a Alt girlfriend.? Crazy hair color, tattoos, piercings, big eyeliner etc. Do you think he would like a girl like that.? How would their relatives look like.? Sfw and nsfw version if you can/want 🖤 @kami9910

Requests: Are open!

A/N: I HOPE YOU LIKE IT !

+++++++++

SFW:

He isn't someone that judges by looks, it's more actions speak louder then words

The second he saw you trying to coax a cat out of a box with some food, he was sold

An late for work but who cares?

When he got towards you, that's when he REALLY noticed

The striking hair, clothes, piercings, tattoos

He was super jealous and intrigued all in one. But then he saw the orange kitten, an melted

"Hey, ugh, need help?" "Oh yeah, Ive been feeding him for the past week. I can't take him back to my place, cuz of my dog." "I'll take him."

He called in that day, an you both went back to his place.

After about a week of talking, an getting to know one another..he asks ya out

It was an interesting date, he took you paintballing

An from there it was history

NOW

HE WOULD HELP WITH DYING YOUR HAIR, GIVE OPINIONS (if asked.. or not asked) ABOUT WHAY COLORS WOULD LOOK GOOD AND IF YA SHOULD DO A RAINBOW OR A HIDDEN RAINBOW

would be so fucking fascinated by how you do your eyeliner, an your hair "Do.. does it hurt though? It's right on the eyelid, ONFG YOUR GOING TO POKE YOUR EYE OUT!"

Can't watch you put any kind of false lashes on, or even contacts etc. He.. makes him uncomfortable

(but he still stands there with this face. 😦)

Now he doesn't have a type by any means, or at least he THOUGHT he didn't have a type. Till Kenma came in, an pointed out that he normally had huge crushes on ALT women.

If anyone ever said anything negative about you, oh boy

OH BOY, YOU BEST HOPE YOU CAN DRAG THIS MAN AWAY

OR AT LEAST PRAY HIS FRIENDS ARE WITH HIM, BUT EVEN THEN

Hinata, Bokuto, Akashi etc. All took a liking to you almost immediately. So if they are with y'all when shit GOES DOWN

Just call the cops.. an pray.

"Dye my hair.." he would ask 24/7, was always told no, since his job didn't allow colored hair

BUT TATTOOS

Huge baby when he suggested (an got) matching tattoos with you

(this could also be my fantasy cuz Kuroo with.. tattoos.. omfg.)

He would try to copy you in style, but he just kept to his usual suit and tie.

His hair was already as styled everyday, Hinata still calls him a Rooster for fucks sake

Overall, he wouldnt judge nor would he care if you dressed the way you wanted

An if anyone said anything? Like.. look at him, he a sweetheart but he is kind of intimidating.

Ain't NO ONE going to say shit when he is around

Would be very protective, even though he knew you could hold your own. He was still someone that didn't want you to handle something on your own

He was the team captain in HS for Volleyball and he did a damn good job

Buys matching outfits he sees on the web, matching shoes with spikes in it. Wore a fucking choker once

Buys you outfits all the time, to the point you had to tell him to stop. Cuz you still had 10 other outfits you hated even worn once, an he just came in with two new pairs of shoes and five new outfits

Gives suggestions for tattoos, once drew something for you to get tattooed and then changed his mind cuz "It wouldn't go with the vibe"

Holds your hand (though youve done this a million times) when getting piercing or tattoo

"Give me your hand, it's okay sweetheart.. you got this, remember breath"

That piercer or artist just looks at him 🤨 "Okay you ready?" "She ready, baby you got this"

FUCKING COLORS YOUR TATTOOS IN

You've called asleep before with him coloring them in

(I did this with my mom and grandma etc. Tattoos growing up along with my dad)

"Would you draw some tattoos on me?"

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyū!!#kuroo headcanons #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurō #hq kuroo

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myelocin · 4 years

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To Us, A Love Story Unwritten | Kuroo T., Miya A.

Hello!! Before you begin reading, THIS STORY IS A PART TWO to Redefining You , which I highly recommend you read first because a lot of things are connected! :D

Part 1 | Part 2 | Epilogue | Bonus

Synopsis: Time away from Tetsurou leads you to the serendipity that is Miya Atsumu.

Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou, You, Miya Atsumu

Genre/Warnings/Tags: None! Angst, HEALING, Hurt & Comfort, surfer!Atsumu, tattooed!Kuroo, Fluff

WC: 7600+

a/n: here’s a word dump of my feelings bcos i made an oopsie and projected real ppl in 2d characters again

*playlist if u want maximum feelies: Blue (Elina), Miles Apart (Nick Wilson)

The thought of healing didn’t cross your mind until some months later.

In the mornings after that morning, you stood in your balcony, leaning against the railing with a mug of coffee, your thoughts wandering. Sometimes you thought of what kind of coffee you liked, and other times you caught yourself wondering how Tetsurou moved through his six AMs. Morning thoughts were reserved for the things you prefer to keep out of your head during the day. Tetsurou, of course, had always been an exception. He somehow always flowed in your train of thought whether the numbers on your watch flashed 3am or 3pm.

Or now, you thought after taking a quick peek at the time in your phone, 6:19 AM; all you could think about was how sad his golden eyes looked against the black of Tokyo’s backdrop.

Tetsurou making his way into your thoughts has always how it’s been for almost a decade, and habits are a little hard to break. At least, that’s what you say to reason with yourself.

Thinking back to your words that night, the “I love you” just kind of slipped out. But you know you meant it. Shifting your wrist to the side, you studied the tattoo again, then closed your eyes to remember the expression on your best friend’s features.

You meant the I love you, you told yourself again. Towards yourself that was for sure; towards Tetsurou.

And that’s always going to be the case, taunted the voice in the back of your head.

After that night, Tetsurou had broken up with his long term girlfriend for good. Though he didn’t necessarily ruin himself over the breakup—there were changes.

He still texted you at odd hours to show you a video he thought was funny, still showed up to your apartment for movie nights, and more or less was still present. But it was during the particularly sentimental scenes in the movie where he’d choose to refill the popcorn or grab another soda, and you could see that his can was still half full. You noticing that Tetsurou always chose to pick the other boba shop that was on the other side of town never flew past you either. You knew that that was the shop he always used to take her after classes—so even seeing how his hands never failed to tighten against the steering wheel when the two of you would drive by, you always pretended not to notice. Even though four months had passed, you know that for him, the wound was still fresh.

And remembering how sad he looked that night, you couldn’t help yourself to feel for his pain. At the end of the day, weren’t you just two people who yearned for the love that couldn’t be yours?

So you sigh and take a sip of coffee from the mug; it had grown a little cold. The digital clock on your phone read 6:31 AM next to a text from Tetsurou asking if you had time for lunch later.

Replying a quick ‘yep. meet u at the usual :)’, did nothing for you trying to have a more productive day off today and thus the morning felt a little slower than normal, so you sigh. Again.

It was going to be one of those days.

Tetsurou always made it a point to look gorgeous. Was he trying? Probably not, but that son a bitch knew people gave him looks that lingered a bit too long to be considered just a passing glance. You nearly snort in laughter at the way he opens the door to the café a little too, for better words, extravagantly, and walk to you purposely taking his time because you could tell he felt the way the young mom sitting at the table near the counter was giving him the look.

Then again, you don’t blame her. You weren’t too far from her reaction, albeit you actually had the decency to not openly gawk at him. Tetsurou plopped down in the chair opposite from you and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and propping them up the table before grabbing the menu from the middle of the table.

Already knowing your order, and his even though he still looks through the menu every time, you sit in your seat waiting for him to settle on the same thing he ordered the last time you ate there.

“Tetsu, why do you have to be so extra every time you see someone looking at you for more than three seconds?”

He cocked his head to the side and peeked at you from behind the menu, “Because I’m hot, tree.”

Though you rolled your eyes at the nickname, you still smiled at the familiar banter, “I still don’t get why you call me tree when you’re the literal beanpole in this friendship.”

“That’s rich coming from you, considering you told people you knew a talking rooster in highschool,” he deadpanned, but you knew he was on the edge of a chuckle from the way he emphasized his words.

“Hey,” you raised your arms up in defense, “people thought you were interesting that way so…”

Tetsurou set the menu down and rolled his eyes at your response as the waiter greeted the two of you. Before Tetsurou could open his mouth to say what he wanted, you spoke, “I’ll get the carbonara and he’ll get the tonkatsu ramen—“

“Oi-“ he interrupted from the side, still, you continued, “we’ll also get iced tea, extra sugar for him, and a little less for me.”

The waiter looked between the two of you waiting for Tetsurou to finish speaking but he only leans back huffing out a, “She’s right.”

You smirked. “You get the same thing every time.”

“Well what if I want something else one day?” he replied to which you rolled your eyes as a reply.

In between bites, Tetsurou looks up from his meal, “Any plans?”

You twirled the straw of your drink around the liquid and looked at him, “I was thinking of traveling somewhere. My boss is letting me take some time off, and season’s kind of slow, so might as well.”

He nods, and then points his chopsticks at you, sighing, “Oh to be young and employed with an employer who doesn’t want to kill you with work.”

“We’re literally seven months apart,” you deadpan.

He huffs in his seat and continues eating.

“Have you decided where you’re going?”

You look to your left at Tetsurou who’s facing you, no longer paying attention to the movie playing in the TV. Smoothing out the blanket on your lap, you sigh and tilt your head. “Kinda? I’m thinking somewhere warm. Kinda miss the sea.”

At this point the movie you two settled on a few hours ago had been completely forgotten, so you shift your body and face him. He offers you your third (or was it the fourth?) can of beer for that night, which you take and pop open immediately.

“(Y/n), can you even swim?” he laughs.

You glare at him from behind your drink. “I can go and look pretty in the beach while sipping my margaritas thank you very much.”

Tetsurou clinks his can against yours and leans back against the couch, shifting to a more comfortable position. When he finally settles, he positions his head in a way that’s still facing you.

Draping your legs across his lap, you rearrange the blanket so that it covers the both of you. You feel the weight of his hands leaning against your legs and then hear him speak, “How long are you gonna be gone?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, a month? Two months? Haven’t even got the ticket yet.”

He gives you a look you can’t decipher, and then his voice becomes a little quiet, “What if I want to go with you?”

“Tetsu, you know your job won’t let you off that long,” you reply.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh and pout at you, “You’re going to go and find a new surfer best friend who’ll buy you margaritas that flips his hair and you’ll forget about me.”

You chuckle. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

At this point the alcohol must have hit the both of you because you suddenly look at him, eyes soft in the way you usually would mask in the hours you were sober. He looks at you, equally as deep in the state of inebriation as you are because his eyes are as hazy as the slur in his tone when he says, “Nope! Because you looooove me (y/n).”

And he laughs at his own joke, tilting his head back to take another swig of beer. The comedic undertone flies past you anyway, because you fiddle with the edge of your sweater and sadly nod, “Yeah. I do”

In front of you, Tetsurou raises his hand, smiling, then hollers, “High five! Love you too.”

If it wasn’t for the liquid confidence, you would’ve laughed along to his joke and take another gulp of your beer to swallow the confession—but you’re four cans in and Tetsurou saying that he loves you too clouds the usual boundaries swimming in your head.

He doesn’t notice you when you take another heavy gulp from your can, or bite your lip afterwards, but he hears you when you say, “I do, you dumb fuck, I love you.”

And as soon as you say it, you feel him look at you. You choose to keep your head down. A few beats of silence passes before he speaks, “I know, (y/n),” he reaches forward to grab your hand, taking it into his. He traces the lining of the tattoo before continuing, “I know your tattoo story. And I’m still proud of-“

“I love you, Tetsurou,” you could almost wince at how loud it echoed in the silence, and the alcohol is still swimming in your system so you take another gulp hoping to dive deeper.

You feel him stop tracing the lines on your wrist so you take your hand back to your lap. He let the quiet envelop the room again before he spoke, and you could tell he was careful with his words.

“That time in the balcony, when you said you loved someone…” he trailed off so you look up and catch his stare. His eyes were still glassy; your head was still swimming, the rational thoughts further muffled by liquid confidence.

“I meant you,” you say, and try to fight the urge to break eye contact.

And because Tetsurou chooses to reply with a hushed ‘I’m sorry.’, you tell him ‘it’s okay, Tetsu.’ and retreat to your bedroom with a mumbled excuse of sleeping off a headache.

You lie in the dark with one hand over your eyes and sniffle quietly. You hear his “I’m sorry,” echo in the silence, but you try to ignore the thought at how immediate the apology was. He always had a habit of thinking about his answers in uncertain situations.

But you know him more than you give yourself credit for, you realize, so you shut your eyes and ignore the sting of the tears because you know. You’ve always known everything you felt for him had been on the unrequited side for the most part.

The certainty in his apology still hurt none the less.

That morning you wake up with a slight pound in your head and an empty apartment. At least he didn’t stick around, you thought, fully aware that the conversation afterwards would have most likely been too awkward to sit through.

Sighing as you rounded the corner to enter the kitchen, you paused in your track to look at the table where a plate of omurice lay in the middle next to a glass of sweet tea, the condensation still a little fresh on the glass.

Taking a seat and whispering a soft, “Itadakimasu”, you picked up the glass and took a sip. It didn’t taste as sweet as his.

Your eyes still stung, but you couldn’t help but smile at the taste. Looks like he remembers how you like your tea too.

After that night, there never really came a talk about where the two of you stood. Two days after the not so sober confession, Tetsurou showed up at your door with a bag of donuts demanding your company to picnic at this new spot he found recently. So you played along and pretended like nothing happened. The rational thoughts were back, your head no longer cloudy so this time, you laughed along with Tetsurou.

Though you could tell this time around his gaze towards you lingered a little longer, and he began to have moments where it looked like he was contemplating to start a conversation then ultimately deciding against it at the very last second. It was fine, though. You weren’t sure if you were ready to have that conversation just yet.

So the next few weeks flowed like how it always did. Movie nights, playful banters, small talk, and beer—only this time you never drank more than two.

“Have you decided where you’re going?” he asks.

“Yeah, there’s this island in the Philippines. Siargao. My flight’s next week. The place looks sunny enough, but I might hop around the other islands if I stay long enough,” you reply.

“Don’t drown,” he laughs, and sets his beer down. You turn your focus back to the movie after chuckling at his reply and ignore how he never picked up a third can this time. And unlike before, he didn’t ask if he could come along this time.

Tetsurou drops you off with a half hug and a request that you update him as often as you can.

After a final wave at the gate, you board the plane with a return ticket to Japan slotted for two months later down the year.

The island of Siargao is as beautiful as the pictures you always see on social media. Outside the unit you rented, was a stretch of untouched beach that was some ways from the main square of the city. And true to your words, for the first week of your arrival, you spent your days kicking the sand, lounging by the water and sipping on margaritas.

Tetsurou sent you multiple messages during the first few days, to which you replied through selfies with your margaritas. He’d send you a photo of himself rolling his eyes with the caption “off to work, because I have a job. Like some people.” , or something along similar lines.

You tried to think this wasn’t some random trip you took just because of Tetsurou. It had been a long time since you last took a vacation for yourself; work was lenient, you saved up enough, and frankly, you missed the beach. Tetsurou was just the icing on top of the cake that helped you make your decision, you rationalized.

Plus, you thought, this place is paradise.

And you held on to that thought because a few days later came the knock on your door at six in the morning that introduced you to the serendipity you never could have predicted. Your little summer serendipity came in the form of a six foot one, and totally ripped blonde named Miya Atsumu.

He knocked at your door asking if you knew any places that rented out surfboards and scooters. By the time he was at the third word of his sentence, you knew he was Japanese because of the accent that lingered after he spoke. By the fourth sentence, he smiled in a way that had his eyes crinkling. And by the end of the conversation, by whatever being possessed you in that moment, probably that extra margarita, you had agreed to go to the main square in the city with him.

Atsumu knocks on your door for the second time that day at five in the afternoon wearing a loose white button shirt and another eye crinkling smile. Dangling a set of keys in one hand he nodded behind him and said, “Ready to go? I got the scooter from the place you told me.”

This time, you voiced out your hesitation, “Ahh, it’s alright. You don’t have to get dinner for me tonight. I just happened to know a place.”

He smiles and blinks at you laughing, “Ya travelin’ alone?” You nod then he continues, “Same here. Might as well know someone in the area. Heard the food here’s good, so let’s go.”

You open your mouth to protest but he turns and walks towards his scooter so you huff and follow after him. He did have a point. You were going to be there for two months so might as well actually take the time to know some people.

After Atsumu helps you fasten the belt on the helmet, he tells you to ‘feel free to hold on to my waist if ya need to balance.’ and then backs to the main street. Your hands rest on his shoulders as he drives along a road parallel to the stretch of water on your far left. It must have been close to seven, you take note, because as you glance up the colors in the sky begin to blend into mellow hues of orange and red.

You look forward and glance at Atsumu’s reflection in the side mirror before briefly catching his eye. From the mirror, you could see an expression that was somewhere between a smirk and a smile.

“Ya like what ya see?” he yells over the wind.

You squeeze his shoulder, then lean closer saying, “Just drive. I’m not in the mood to die.”

He laughs over the holler of the open air and you can’t help but smile along to how his laugh lingers in the air.

Soon enough, the two of you settle into a restobar by the beach, one close enough to the water where you could ditch your flip flops and let your feet sink in the sand.

This has got to be the fifth margarita I’m drinking today, you think to yourself before taking a sip. Still good though, you inwardly snort. Atsumu sits across you from the table nursing his own choice of drink.

The atmosphere was nice, the live musician strumming his first song in the background. Then Atsumu speaks from across you, “So,” he begins, “How long ya stayin’?”

You fiddle with the straw of your drink, facing him, “Two months. You?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know yet. Off season and there’s not much to do back home, so might as well be bored somewhere a little more scenic.”

“Indefinite vacation,” you nod—impressed, “Must be hella loaded.”

He laughs again, “I’m comfortable.”

The silence envelops the two of you again, but as the musician begins another song, from the corner of your eye you see Atsumu listen, clap, and smile so you decide maybe befriending this stranger won’t be so bad after all.

The next night you head for go for drinks, Tetsurou messages you with a picture of him and Kenma in the car with a caption, “movie night minus the traitor who left the country >:((“ and you reply with your signature margarita selfie with Atsumu throwing a peace sign to your right. Tetsurou replies with a smiley face and you don’t hear from him for the rest of the night.

The next few weeks consisted of waking up shy of the sunrise and walks along the trail where the waves crept towards the sand. Atsumu liked to join you in the mornings, of course, the days he actually wakes up before ten AM. Some days you’d watch him peddle out into the water catching wave after wave as you sat in the sand, under a shade. You didn’t really go out into the water and preferred to just sit in the sun, so the times Atsumu would catch a break, he’d lay out a towel next to you and sit to talk.

He was talkative. Extremely talkative. But it was welcome, you suppose. He asked aimless questions during conversations. Conversations with him usually sounded like this: “(y/n)?” “Yep?” “Whadda ya think about riceballs?” “They’re…okay, I guess.” “Good to know.”

It was endearing, you suppose. Atsumu respected your boundaries and never pried, that fact was for sure. Though, he chose to fill in the beats of silence with little facts about his life. Over the course of the next month, in the moments you’d spend with Atsumu during the day, you’ve learned that he was playing for a professional volleyball team, he’s originally not from Tokyo, he tripped during a fan meeting, has a twin brother who’s darn good at cookin’ (he emphasized), and that his favorite food is fatty tuna. You don’t remember specifically asking, but he talks anyway you can’t bring yourself to mind one bit.

During the past month and some, Tetsurou sporadically texts you a greeting to which you reply to—but this time, it wasn’t until much, much later that you realize you didn’t think too much about the change of tone and much hastier conversations. You usually ended the phone call this time around, too.

Nearing the last few stretches of golden hour, Atsumu would routinely knock at your door and drag you out to walk around the beach only retreating to your respective units hours after the sunset.

It was during this one night where Atsumu sits you down and stars a small bonfire. He excused himself for a brief moment then came back with a Tupperware of what you assumed to be snacks, a blanket, and a hoodie which he lent you (that up to now you still haven’t returned). You smile as he takes his seat next to you, comfortable in his hoodie.

“So,” Atsumu breaks the silence, “how come yer runnin’ away for two months?”

“That’s kinda sudden,” you reply.

He knocks your shoulder with his lightly before speaking again, “You don’t have ta’ share if you don’t wanna.”

“No pressure,” he says again and his eyes crinkle at his smile so you press your shoulder against his and say, “I just wanted time for myself I guess.”

He nods, so you continue, “It’s nothing dramatic, really. For a big part of my life I just…lived according to how people placed me in their lives. I guess I just wanted the space where I had to make decisions from nothing if that even makes any sense.”

“Depends. How many margaritas did ya have today?” he jokes.

“Atsumu! You were with me the whole day, I haven’t even had one yet,” you laugh out.

“But I understand what ya’ mean. Yer all good, I just thought you were gonna say you were soul searchin’ cause of a boy that broke ya’ heart back home.”

You look at him and wince. “In a way, that was a factor as well.”

Half expecting a sympathetic reply, you find yourself rolling your eyes and laughing because Atsumu suddenly yells, “Bingo!” and flicks your forehead.

He faces you and holds his hands up, “Hey, we all got a reason to do stuff so I ain’t gonna judge ya’.”

You smile and lean against his shoulder because you know he’s sincere.

“Atsumu?” you call out.

“Yeah?” he replies as he turns his head looking at you.

The red of the flames flicker as a glassy reflection against the brown in his eyes and your thoughts become jumbled for a second.

“If I find out you’re here because you got dumped I’m never letting you live it down.”

His eyes crinkle along with his laugh and you find yourself missing the pools of brown, but the echo of his laugh resonates clear in your ears as compensation so you decide you’re satiated.

“I swear I just got bored back home!”

Atsumu spends the next few hours by telling you stories and giving you soft smiles, and you don’t notice the absence of Tetsurou’s message that night.

On the afternoon after some weeks more, Atsumu comes to you by knocking at your door at five in the afternoon (which doesn’t even surprise you at this point), demanding you put on swimwear because he was going to teach you how to swim. At first, you stare at him with a blank look—wherein he stares at you right back with equal intensity, so after some time, you sigh and shoo him out, telling him you’ll meet him outside after you get ready.

After tugging on some shorts and a bikini top, you walk outside and glance around looking for the telltale blonde of Atsumu’s head. It doesn’t really surprise you when you hear your name being hollered from some distance, so as you look to the direction of the water—you see Atsumu waving his arms wildly, already waist deep out in sea.

The water was warm, at least, and you carefully wade in the water towards Atsumu. He lets you grab his arms to help you find balance against the waves knocking against you.

“You know you’re going to fail if you try to teach me right?” you say.

“Just needed an excuse to get you in the water,” he chuckles.

You respond by splashing him with a handful of water. And somewhere in between splashes of water and playful banter, you find yourself wading chest deep into warm water, Atsumu’s arms acting as your anchor against the push and pull of the waves. The two of you stay like that for some time and you allow the woosh of the water and distant sounds of the children on shore fill the silence.

“Golden hour’s almost up, ‘Tsumu, we should go back.” you say after some time.

He stands behind you and leans down a bit, then surprises you as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your back to his chest. Your breath hitches, then his voice sounds low near your ear, “Look at the sky.”

And so you do. The sky in front of you lights itself in bursting shades of oranges, reds, and touches of violets. You turn your face to the side but stop because you see Atsumu staring at you, the expression on his face soft.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” his lips part to say, and you nod because you see licks of the sky’s painting reflected in the glassy brown pools of Atsumu’s eyes.

He blinks and smiles in a softer way that only the corners crinkle up, and you don’t notice how your hand eventually found its way to wrap around his because you’re gravitating towards him—face angling closer until you felt his lips press against your forehead.

“Did you know,” you begin, “when you feel deja vu that means the universe is telling you you’re going down the right path?”

Atsumu looks as you, “Does this feel familiar?”

“In a way,” you respond and smile.

Turning to face him, Atsumu’s hands cradle yours as he presses his lips towards the side of your lips, then back to the side of your head feeling him smiling into the kiss. “You’re somethin’ else, (y/n).”

You look at him wearing a smile mirroring his, “Something good I hope.”

It’s something good, you decide later that night as you settle in bed after dinner with Atsumu. The past few hours flew by in a mirage of good conversation, light hearted jokes and even more eye crinkling smiles from Atsumu.

Settling into the comforter, you grab your laptop just in time as Tetsurou’s face pops up on screen, requesting a video call. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you hit the accept button and wave hello as Tetsuou’s face appears on the screen. He holds a can of beer as a greeting and leans forward. His eyes look glassy.

“(Y/n)..” His voice trails off before slowly continuing, “—how are you?”

You don’t notice his tone from the high you’re still feeling from the day so you beam at him, “I’m good! Atsumu and I are really hitting it off! You’d love him Tetsu!”

He stares at you through the webcam and then he sighs deep. Finally catching a drift of the atmosphere he’s giving off, you watch him crack another beer open and slowly speak, “You okay? Did something happen?”

He sets the can down at the table in front of him and places his face in his hands. You notice the new ink around his forearms. “I miss you, (y/n).”

“I’ll be home next week, Tetsu,” you say

“I—“ he pauses to look up at you with glassy eyes, “I think we should give us a try.”

Your heart clenches. “Tetsurou, you’re drunk. We can talk when I get home.” He shakes his head, and his movement is a little sluggish, so you continue to speak before he could, “I saw the photo your ex posted earlier. You’re still not okay, Tetsu.”

He leans back to his chair with a little force, “And suddenly you are? After being in love with me for eight years, (y/n), you expect me to believe that you’re suddenly okay? Bullshit.”

Your face grimaces, and you feel anger bubble up, the emotion seeping into your words, “I don’t think you’re ever going to go away, Tetsurou. For years I watched you fall in and out of love with someone who was never me. I’m not suddenly okay but I accepted that this—“ you pause to gesture between the two of you, “—isn’t going to happen and I’m moving on. I watched you when you were at your happiest and I deserve that too, Tetsu. I deserve to be at my happiest whether it be by myself or with Atsu-“

“We can try, (y/n),” he cuts you off softly.

“But I don’t deserve someone who isn’t sure about me,” you reply.

And maybe it’s the liquid confidence that riles him up, but he suddenly straightens his back and looks at you with the same glare you stare at him with, “And are you sure about Atsumu? You told me none of us are saints, (y/n), you’re not better off than I am here.”

You open your mouth, but the silence remains; the atmosphere suddenly heavy.

Then Tetsurou slumps before he he speaks, “(Y/n), I—“

“It’s okay, Kuroo,” you watch as he winces at his surname, “It’s late and I really want to get some sleep. You should too. Take care.”

You catch the last second of him parting his lips at an attempt to reply before you promptly ended the call and shut off your laptop.

His words ring in your ear the entire night, and you think of Atsumu the entire night. You watch the second hand of the clock on your bedside table tick slowly. Your hand comes to rest against your eyes as you try to let sleep pull you in.

You think of Tetsurou who looked at you with glassy eyes that told you all the reasons why his heart was still hurting, then you think of Atsumu—of how the sunset looked better reflected in his eyes than it did painted across the sky.

“I really hope this is something good,” you echo your words from earlier as you let sleep finally succumb into slumber.

The night before your flight, Atsumu seats you outside for a bonfire, with the same blankets, snacks, and hoodie fitted around you. The first few hours he jokes about little stories that happened throughout his life and listens patiently when you’d share a snippet of yours.

At this point, you weren’t sure where the two of you stood. You look at him from the corner of your eye as he blows against an extremely burnt marshmallow before sheepishly offering the stick to you.

“When we’re back in Japan I’m lettin’ ya taste ‘Samu’s cookin’ to make up for this I swear.”

You lean your head against his arm and blow on the charred marshmallow, “Have you decided when you’re coming back?”

“Yes, but I’m not tellin ya,” Atsumu chuckles.

“What!” You exclaim, suddenly sitting up, “You already have a ticket?”

“That’s also a secret, doll.”

You sigh and move to lightly punch his shoulder, but instead, he catches your hand midway and envelops it in his own. Atsumu looks at the tattoo on your wrist peeking out, so tentatively, he pushes down the sleeve and looks at it.

“Baby’s breath means eternal love, right?” he asks, voice hushed.

“I’m surprised a big, buff, man like you knows,” you reply.

“Oi, big buff men can be sentimental too,” Atsumu quips.

“(Y/n),” he begins then looks at you in a way that suddenly has your stomach churning, “Should we give us a go at this?”

He asks the same question as Tetsurou did a few nights back and your head is swimming. Tetsurou’s words muddle the thoughts in your head as you turn to face Atsumu who is looking at you with eyes that always held the same softness that remained unchanged from two months ago.

Is this even fair for Atsumu? is the thought that you circle around.

“I don’t want to give you only half of me, ‘Tsumu,” you cradle his cheek in your palm and your heart stirs when he leans in.

“You’re too good for me,” you confess.

He closes his eyes and you find yourself missing the dancing specks of scarlet flames reflected in his orbs.

“You’re killin’ me, doll,” he sighs, his face still warm against your palm. Atsumu’s hand trails up and cups your hand that’s still flush against his cheek.

“Is this the part where we say we’re the right people who met at the wrong time?” he jokes quietly. Atsumu looks at you with a smile contrasting against the somber expression in his face, and you feel your heart clench.

Your thoughts momentarily flicker back to the night you talked to Tetsurou in your balcony some months ago and remember the feeling of déjà vu hinting that you were heading in the right direction with your decision.

Staring back at him, you look at your own reflection in darkened pools of brown and don’t feel déjà vu’s familiar push. Atsumu’s other hand trails up your face and his thumb rubs against your cheek. You stay silent when he sighs again and your heart clenches in the way that hurts, and your brain scrambles for a reason why.

Atsumu angles your hand in a way that lets him press a kiss to the tattoo on your wrist. “Hope ya heal in time, (y/n).”

You’re still quiet, thoughts still muddled as your rationality wrestles to string words to convey to Atsumu. “We can stay in contact, ‘Tsumu. I still want you to be in my life,” you slowly say.

“I don’t wanna be hurtin’ you while you’re still tryin’ to find yourself,” he says, and you nod. Déjà vu never comes and your heart still aches.

And your heart remains heavy as the two of you stand up to retreat for the night. Against the door of your room you look at him and press a kiss on his cheek. He smiles at you.

“Well, I guess,” you initiate, “see you around?”

He smiles and crosses the short distance between the two of you, then presses a chaste kiss on your forehead. “If the universe wills it, doll.”

The feeling of déjà vu is absent for the rest of the night.

After the first few days of your arrival back in Japan, you stay in your apartment cursing the winter. This particular winter was a little harsh for Tokyo and the sudden temperature change you needed to adjust to didn’t help with your traitor immune system. Kenma had waited for you at the arrival area of the airport instead of Tetsurou that day. Then again, you weren’t complaining—you didn’t have any plans to talk to him immediately after coming back home.

You didn’t need to report back to your job until the next week so the first few days, you loitered around your apartment mindlessly passing the time. Some mornings, you’d drag a chair by the balcony and sip your morning coffee. The snow accumulating on the rails and the gloomy morning light was a far cry from the little island you explored with Atsumu back in the Philippines, but your thoughts still ghosted around him from time to time.

The morning you left for the airport, he slept in, but that didn’t stop you from leaving a sticky note in his front door with your contact details neatly printed in the paper. Throughout your day, your eyes constantly flickered to sneak glimpses at your phone’s notification bar, but there was never an unknown number. So you sighed, and instead scrolled through the photos you managed to capture with him. The image of Atsumu stared back at you through the screen, expression beaming with unfiltered happiness and you find yourself smiling along every time.

A knock on your door one morning brings you out of your haze. Before you could look through the peep hole, another knock comes and then a voice, “Ah, (y/n), I think you’re home now,” your hand on the door knob loosens, “It’s Tetsurou. Can we please talk?”

You must have stayed quiet too long because he speaks again, “I got you donuts.”

And you sigh, because he’s right, the two of you need to talk. But you still tell yourself you’re only opening the door because it’s six in the morning and you can’t be bothered to make breakfast so the donuts are the only reason you’re letting him in.

Tetsurou sits on the opposite side of the dining table gripping the handle of his mug with one hand before he clears his throat and looks at you, “I’m sorry.”

“Tetsurou,” you begin, “You’re someone that I don’t think will ever leave my system.” His eyes are a little clearer now that you return his stare. “You’re still the person who grew up with me even if time difference existed you know. You’ve had so many roles in my life and that’s never going to change.”

He looks at you, suddenly looking like a teenager again. His golden eyes stare at you and gleam of something unspoken. “I think somewhere along the years I really did fall in love with you, (y/n). And it just sucks how we never met at the same page. I really do love you, (y/n).”

“Maybe in the next life, Tetsu,” you say suddenly choked up. “We both deserve-“

“A fresh start.” He cuts you off, smiling. “A fresh start.” You affirm.

Before you knew it, Tetsurou rolls his sleeve to his elbows and angles his arm showing you a small outline of the sun peeking out behind some buildings. You look at him just in time for his explanation, “It’s not as sentimental as your baby’s breath tattoo, but sunrises remind me of you.”

You feel your eyes water when you look at the amber of his eyes growing glassier, “You got a tattoo that reminds you of me?”

“You’ve always been a constant in my life, (y/n). I shared so many sunrises with you. And I mean it when I say that I want you to find what makes you happy.” He tells you as you smile and lean forward, tracing the lining of his tattoo. The moment feels a little like déjà vu that doesn’t disappear when Tetsurou speaking again, “I love you enough to realize that kind of happiness won’t be with me, (y/n).”

He looks at you and everything feels so familiar. You choke out a sob that sounded a little like a laugh and Tetsurou does the same.

“You’re never getting rid of me, you lunatic,” you say, and Tetsurou laughs—eyes glassy from the pricks of tears fighting to slide down his cheeks. “We’re okay, right?” He asks you. And you nod, because your heart constricts in a way that doesn’t hurt, the knot in your stomach gone and Tetsurou looking so beautiful from the morning light that filtered in feels so familiar.

“Always, Tetsu.”

And after some moments of comfortable silence, he looks to the window on his left saying, “So, surfer dude slash volleyball player, huh? I think you got a type going on, (y/n).”

You roll your eyes and finally grab a donut from the box. “Yeah.”

Tetsurou chuckles, “Tell me about him. He’s the first guy who makes you look dopey in love.” So you smile and look out the window thinking about the boy who spoke of the little moments and showed you worlds under the sun and feel your heart mellow to a gentle beat, “He’s something good.”

Atsumu’s number doesn’t show up on your phone for the next month, but you try to keep yourself from doing your own research, or as Tetsurou pointed out, stalking, for his presence in social media. If he didn’t want to be found, you’d just leave him to it.

Tetsurou sits across from you at the arrival gate in Haneda airport later that month, scrolling through his phone and mumbling curses because Bokuto, his friend, had told him the wrong time for his arrival and won’t be arriving until a few hours later. Instead of driving back home, wasting gas, and sitting through traffic, you suggest to pass the time at a café instead.

“I swear to god, (y/n), remind me to end my friendship with him the second he lands,” Tetsurou huffs from across you.

“You’re being dramatic again,” You roll your eyes, laughing.

“He’s gonna be here in a bit,” you pause and stand up, grabbing your phone, “I’ll go check the board so stay here.”

“Since you left your wallet here, I’m treating myself to another frapp, thanks (y/n)!” you hear him call from behind you, so you turn to flick him off as you keep walking.

Looking at the board above the gate, your eyes scan to look for information regarding Bokuto’s flight. Under said flight, you smile looking at SIARGAO listed within the board. Briefly, your thought wonders off to Atsumu; you hoped he was doing well.

A flow of people begin to trail out of the gate and into the lobby. Assuming that it must be from Bokuto’s flight, you stand on your tip toes from your little corner to look for the telltale monochromatic palette of his hair.

Grabbing your phone, you hastily press call to Tetsurou’s contact name, to which he answers with a drawled out “Heeelllloo?” along with an exaggerated slurp to the Frappuccino he bought with your card.

You open your mouth to tell him to come over, except that you don’t because standing a few meters in front of you is a familiar blonde.

From the phone in your ear, you hear Tetsurou call your name, so through the haze in your thoughts, you mumble a quick “Never mind.” and hang up. You don’t think Atsumu notices you just yet because he’s pulled his luggage to the side, a little closer to you this time, and pulled out his phone to what you could guess was him texting somebody.

You don’t speak for the first few beats of silence because, holy shit this is fanfiction material—is this actually happening? Eventually he pockets his phone and looks around, before his eyes spots you, who at this point, is still openly gawking at him some distance away.

Then three things happen in succession; first, Atsumu’s eyes widen, second, he blinks really fast, and then finally, third, cracks a smile.

And as soon as his smile pushes the crinkle in his eyes, you feel yourself release the breath you’ve unconsciously held in. He pushes his luggage with him as he walks towards you, hand held up in greeting and the smile still plastered wide on his face.

“Yo,” he says and your heart bursts with your reply that came out a little more breathless than you’d expected, “Hi.”

Tetsurou stands some distance away from the two of you, holding your wallet and his Frappuccino. He spots the blonde mop of head you’re staring at, really you should chill out (he thinks), and immediately recognizes his features as Miya Atsumu, the same guy who’s been a part of your daily margarita selfie for the two months you were in the Philippines.

The bedhead watches you walk towards Atsumu, and he to you before you both met somewhat in the middle, then looks at you, finding himself smile because of how happy you looked. He stands in his spot and can’t help but feel some sort of déjà vu as he stops himself from approaching the two of you. His heart, he realizes, clenches in a way that sort of hurts but sort of doesn’t, but because this is the first time looking at you with a smile so unabashed, he settles with the thought that because he loves you—you deserve nothing short of the happiness you’re feeling now.

And you can’t help but feel the same as Atsumu laughs out a comment about how the universe must really want the two of you together. His arms circle your figure after exchanging a few pleasantries and inside jokes and you smile into the crook of his neck.

“This feels a little like that déjà vu thing ya talked about before, ya know.” He mumbles. And for the brief moment you see Tetsurou’s text on the screen of your phone reading, “whipped.”, you laugh in a way that has you feeling dizzy and light. You feel like you could cry when Atsumu kisses the side of your head, because this moment feels so familiar.

Atsumu feels so familiar. So when you break the embrace and look at the reflection of your watering eyes in the warm pools of his, more than ever, you were sure that this is exactly where the gods meant for you to be.

a/n: *i’m aware there’s no direct flight from haneda/siargao but pls bear w me ;A;

proceed to Epilogue :D

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janiedean · 5 years

Note

POV - jaimes pov on brienne's first visit in the hooker au

(chapter one of in the darkness of the edge of town here warnings: hooker au and everything it entails. have fun!)

He’s currently resigned to an evening of utter boredom when someone rings the doorbell.

For a moment, Jaime thinks he made it up - he has no appointments scheduled for tonight, this entire month is a shit trade for that matter, but no. Someone did ring the bell. It’s weird - he doesn’t usually get new clients that aren’t brought by someone else and to be honest he has his damned rooster full for now, he doesn’t think he needs any more. Still, he hasn’t made any money this entire week and he can’t look at gift horses in the mouth, and if it means suffering through another hour of sex he doesn’t like, whatever. He’ll cope.

He goes downstairs, glances out of the window, but it’s too dark to see. It’s someone tall, though. Someone he’s sure he’s never seen before in his entire life. He can’t even understand if it’s a man or a woman.

He opens the door just a bit. He figures he’ll stay on the neutral side.

“What do you want?” He asks, not trying to sound excited but not too disappointed, either. He knows it’s not exactly pleasant, but he can’t give two fucks.

“I need to buy a service and you’re the only man in this hole of a town who sells it,” a female voice replies, and - wait. She sounds angry. But not at him. In general. And the way she says hole of a town... well, she sounds like he sounds when he talks about this shitty place. Also wait, if she’s that tall -

He opens the door some more. Oh, shit, has to be that girl that goes to his brother’s diner - he did tell Jaime about her. Tall, she used to be in the football team, blonde, she didn’t get to go to college because they didn’t take her on account of being a woman, most likely. What was the name - right.

“Brienne Tarth, right?” He asks.

Her eyes go wide in surprise.

“How did you know?”

He scoffs, not unkindly. “I don’t go into town, but my brother tells me things. Fine. Get in and lock the door,’’ he tells her, figuring that at least he’ll find out why she’d be here of all places.

He waits until she’s in, then leads her through his hallway to his living room, where he has full lights on. And then he takes a full look at her.

Fuck. She’s definitely taller than him, a few inches but she is. She’s wearing nice jeans that show off extremely long legs, and she’s broader than he is, and it’s obvious that her nose has been broken at least twice. Her pale blonde hair is tied in a messy bun and she’s drowning in a jacket that hides a fairly flat chest - she has her hands spasming in her pockets, and she’s obviously nervous as hell, and then she looks at him with wide, impossibly blue eyes surrounded by skin scattered in freckles on a face that he figures to most people would look ugly.

Except that Jaime, who has had years to actually put two and two together about his damned fucking issues and to realize that he actually never was into how Cersei looked, is suddenly feeling a lot better about this entire situation. She’s - she’s exactly what he looks for in people, and it’s a type that’s not very common, especially women. And she’s looking at him like she wants the ground to swallow her whole and it’s a damn bad look on her. He clears his throat, since it’s obvious she isn’t going to talk.

“So, I think I have half of your reasoning guessed.”

“Do you,” she replies as he motions for her to sit on his sofa. “Shoot, then.”

“Hm, you were the only woman in this godforsaken shitty town’s high school who could have gotten away with a football scholarship but they didn’t take you anywhere most likely because you’re a woman and you can’t afford the full tuition, or did I get something wrong?” He’s delighted as her eyes go wide and nods slightly - good thing he remembered. He doesn’t know why that story stuck with her when Tyrion told him.

Mostly because maybe for a moment he had thought, I get it.

“No,” she answers. “I suppose you want to know the other half.”

“Well,” he replies, “technically, it would change nothing. But I like to do my job right, for what it’s worth, so if you told me why is it that you’re here obviously clutching money in that hand of yours, it could make sure you spent that properly.” Her cheeks flush. Shit, has she even ever had sex, he wonders, and he has a feeling that maybe she hasn’t, and it wouldn’t be the first time he has someone who’s never been with anyone else, but she also looks pained as she thinks about it. What the hell?

“It’s not like half of the people around here doesn’t know regardless,” she sighs. “Well — my former teammates.”

“Yes?”

“I’m working at Mr. Harlaw's bookshop these days. Because none of those colleges would want me. And my father can’t shoulder all the bills on his own. They started dropping by and playing nice and asking me out. I was flattered.”

“I take you shouldn’t have been?” Considering how she’s keeping her anger carefully tied under that calm tone, he has a feeling he’s about to hear something very, very ugly.

She shakes her head. “I closed up earlier one day and I heard them talking behind the corner. They had a bet.”

“… They had a what?” The moment she hears her say it with that flat voice, he loses his own business tone before he realizes it. What the fuck - if it’s about having sex with her, then her teammates are a bunch of assholes to say the least, and who the fuck does that? Especially when she obviously isn’t what you call conventional attractive, who the hell has time to waste to play with people’s feelings like that?

(He thinks of Cersei for a moment. He wants to throw up.)

“A bet. About who’d get to fuck me first.” Well, shit, he was right. “Because of course they all knew I’m not, well, I’ve never done it. With anyone else.” She looks up at him, finally, and he can’t help it - he knows he must look sympathetic right now, but of course he would be. Fuck, she seems like a nice girl, and she hasn’t been an ass nor has walked in here like she owns the place nor has talked to him like he’s there just to provide that service... and people wanted to bet on that? Fuck. These are times when he doesn’t regret that he doesn’t talk to anyone who isn’t Tyrion. He nods, encouraging her to go on.

“And,” she goes on, “I decided that it wasn’t worth the hassle.”

“So, you’re here because —” He starts, thinking he knows where this is going.

“I’m here because being a goddamn virgin has only brought me pain and trouble I never asked for and I know that if I wait for the right guy to show up I’ll die one, and I honestly can’t — I can’t do that again. And if I lied about it people would know. So, yes, I want to walk out of the door not being one, if you’ll have me, obviously.”

The entire first part of that speech was exactly what he expected.

Then she says that.

What the - has she seriously asked if he’ll have her? He knows that he must look as surprised as he feels as he asks her, “If I will have you?”

Her cheeks are blushing as red as ripe strawberries as she nods. He wonders how many freckles she has on her skin. She also looks like she still wants the ground to swallow her whole, and Jaime can only think, she shouldn’t.

“I wouldn’t presume that since — since this is your trade, then you’ll take anyone who comes through the door. I mean. If you don’t want to, you shouldn’t feel obliged to.”

For -

Jaime feels floored. He’s been doing this damned job for years. No one - no one has ever - no one has ever wondered if he actually might not want them, and the fact that she is asking when he actually would hit on her if he actually was in a position to hit on people in bars and not in the one he’s currently in almost makes his head spin. Christ. And she means it. He can see it from the way she looks at him. If he said no, she’d leave.

No one -

No one he’s ever said no to -

He shakes his head.

“Miss Tarth,” he says, trying to not sound like he’s going to faint, “just so you know, you’re the first person who’s walked through this door in the last ten years and worried about whether I wanted to have sex with them or not.”

“… Am I?” She asks, and she looks shocked of the fact. Christ, she really has no idea, has she?

“For that matter — never mind,” he says, figuring that explaining her that now would be pointless. He can’t. And honestly, after hearing that story, he would have said yes either way - he can see why she wants to be done with it, and she was - she was considerate enough to actually assume he might have a say in accepting her or not. Of course he’ll take her. Never mind that the more he looks at her legs the more he feels turned on, but he figures telling her that might be a problem. “So, before your hand gets cramped, I’ll tell you what I tell any other prospective client.”

Her eyes go wide as he speaks. Oh. Did she really think he wouldn’t have her?

“I can charge for… specific things, if you only want that, but admittedly that’s more common with men. For an hour, it’s fifty dollars, but as this week business is dead, you’re the first client in three days and given the circumstances, if it takes longer than that I won’t charge you extra. No kissing.” For once, he’s kind of sad he implemented that rule because he does want to kiss her, but he can’t start making exceptions to it now. He’s following it for one damned reason. “Condoms are non-negotiable for women, but I suppose you don’t want to risk getting pregnant.”

“Of course not —” She says, looking horrified at the idea.

“Good. I — oh, fuck it, none of my usual speech would work with you anyway.” He could tell her about all the extras, asking her if she wants to hit him or tie him up or be rough or ask him to wear specific clothing, same as he does to anyone else, but she looks like she just wants a nice first time and he’d feel fucking idiotic listing all of that to her. “If you feel uncomfortable say it and we call it off or start again, but payment is up front.”

“Of course,” she nods. “And if you feel uncomfortable —”

“… If I do?”

What the fuck.

If no one ever wondered if he wanted them in his bed or not, sure as hell no one ever assumed he’d be uncomfortable with things.

And here she is... telling him he could call it off when she’s paying? Where the fuck does she even come from?

“You might. I don’t know, it goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

He stares at her, is she fucking real running through his mind in a loop before he shakes his head again and standing up. “Christ,” he says, “never mind it. Right.”

He holds out a hand - payment up front, after all. She nods, taking the money from her pockets, and slipping a fifty inside his fingers, and for the first time in a while, he feels kind of dirty as he checks it. It’s good. He shakes his head again.

“Good,” he says, slipping it in his pocket. “Leave that coat and come upstairs.” Then he grins at her and heads for the clients’ bedroom as he hears her taking the coat off and hurry upstairs.

Shit.

He doesn’t - he doesn’t know what to make of her, of her blue, pretty eyes on that homely face staring at him like she actually does respect him enough even if this is the job he does, or of her earnest stare as she looked at him and said it goes both ways when it hasn’t gone both ways for him for a long time or ever, and he thinks that a bunch of assholes actually went and hurt her that much when she’s the nicest person he thinks he’s met in years, and they’ve spoken for five minutes.

Well then. He probably won’t see her again after today, and a part of him is maybe sad at considering it, he doesn’t know why, but he vows to himself that she’s going to leave this damned house fully satisfied with her purchase. If anything, she deserves a better first time than any asshole who bets on fucking a woman for the first time could provide.

And he’s pretty damned sure that if there’s one thing he can do for her, that’s... that’s about it.

So he will.

#jaime x brienne #my fic #HI GUYS THIS IS ME DOING SNIPPETS BECAUSE I NEED MOTIVATION TO FINISH #haaave fun #the hooker au of doom #otp: i dreamed of you #Anonymous #ask post

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tjkiahgb · 6 years

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Episode Recap: 3.03, “It's a Dilemna”

First of all, love the title for this episode. It reminds me of the classic 2011 Vince Vaughn/Kevin James dramedy, The Dilemma, which always reminds me of this tweet:

So prepare yourself for this episode, in which one of the characters might find themselves presented with “a situation in which a difficult choice has to be made between two or more alternatives, especially equally undesirable ones.” Ooh. The possibilities are almost literally endless.

The episode starts with Bex and Andi playing off-brand scrabble.

I’m gonna guess... Word Trains? There’s clearly a heavy train influence here.

Bex takes a long time to play her word, but eventually settles on “dilemna” [sic]. Is this foreshadowing? Do you think Bex and/or Andi might have to make a difficult choice between two or more alternatives? And could it involve a jet?

Also, I can’t believe Bex went for dilemna when DEMJETIPRIZE was still on the table! That’s like a 200 point word!

Andi rips into Bex for spelling things wrong, but then Andi says superfluous as super-flew-us and everyone’s back on an even level.

If there’s one thing to learn from this whole ordeal, it’s simply this:

Words are stupid.

The next day, the GHC walks through school planning out their weekend. Andi says the Color Factory is in town, but I’m sorry, the only factory I’m interested in is of the cheesecake variety.

Anyway, the Color Factory is a bunch of colorful rooms that, as Buffy puts it, is “one those places that’s just for posting pictures on social media to make people feel left out.”

As Buffy’s describing that, I’m nodding my head like, Yeah, that’s so stupid. What kind of jerks would post dumb pictures like that to social media just to--

Never mind.

Anyway, Buffy and Cyrus are in.

Quick question: why does this girl assault Cyrus?

And why does Cyrus not do anything about it? Is his self-esteem so low he just lets people run into him and doesn’t even bother to say something? The poor child.

Buffy says you know who else might enjoy an artsy, interactive, colorful experience thing? Walker. And Andi’s like:

There’s definitely an unseen eye twitch going on here.

Andi slowly turns around and she and Buffy live in this long, awkward silence that gets mercifully ended by the school bell after a few seconds. They decide to talk about it later and scramble away.

Over at Cloud 10, Bex and Celia sort supplies in an empty salon.

I’m already starting to get worried about the business, you guys.

Celia asks Bex if she wants to go shopping on her lunch break. Bex sniffs out something suspicious, and Celia admits she wants to start a registry for Bex’s wedding. Bex doesn’t want to do that, though. Celia asks what Bowie thinks, but Bex says they really haven’t discussed the wedding, they’ve been too busy talking about bread. Celia loses all interest in shopping and goes back to her supplies.

Over at Red Rooster, Jonah strums a guitar when a dad and son come in. They are wildly over-impressed by Jonah’s guitar strumming.

Boy, wait till you guys hear actual music. You’re gonna flip.

Bowie comes to talk to the enthusiastic fans. Turns out, young Shaun (the boy) is turning nine, and his father, Victor (the man), would like to buy him his first guitar. Victor asks Bowie to teach his son, but Bowie’s like, eh, I’m not so much a guitar teacher.

But then Jonah’s like, yeah he is! He made me a music genius in two lessons! And he’s a rockstar! He traveled the world with the Renaissance Boys! You know the Renaissance Boys, don’t you? Bowie and... Rafe. And... Greg? And the cute one?

Bowie tries to play it all down, but it doesn’t seem to be working on Victor.

Victor says Shaun has a gift and he needs the right teacher, so Bowie accepts.

At The Spoon, Cyrus tells Andi he’s failing P.E., which seems almost impossible to me. All I had to do in school to pass P.E. was show up? Just like, stand around and keep breathing? There was a kid in my school who was in an iron lung and they got a B+. One student spent every period trying to attack the P.E. teacher with a big stick and didn’t fail the class. A boy in my school passed away in the 7th grade and still got a C in 8th grade P.E. because my P.E. teacher was convinced the gym was haunted by his spirit.

Anyway, Cyrus tries to figure out how to deal with this situation. Then he asks Andi how she’s going to deal with hers: Buffy and Walker. Andi wants to know if it really needs to be discussed. I mean, she said she was fine with it, sure, but then she was also quiet, so...

Cyrus says what Andi could do is, stay with me here, speak to Buffy. I feel like he’s tried giving this advice to Andi before, regarding Jonah. I forget if it worked that time. Probably. This time, though, Andi determines the best course of action is to not bring it up and hope Buffy doesn’t either.

Buffy arrives and immediately brings it up. You know what they say about the worst-laid plans...

Andi and Buffy decide to get it all out there. Andi feels weird around Walker and doesn’t want him to come to the Color Factory. Buffy understands and says she won’t invite him. Everything seems good.

Cyrus pulls out a chip he thinks looks like Obama.

Wow. Way to take care of a valuable piece of art. You wouldn’t just stuff a Van Gogh in a ziploc and hope for the best.

Bex comes by to see Celia and asks why she got a “Save the Date” for her wedding. Celia says it’s ok, because actually the I Ching chose the date. Bex reminds her she’s said over and over that she doesn’t want a big fancy wedding and Celia’s like, if I don’t do something, you’ll all be wearing shorts at the wedding like animals! Bex and Celia are sort of at an impasse here after it felt like they we’re doing so well in their fight together against Aunt Mei.

Cyrus talks with his P.E. teacher, looking for an out. He says he’s running a 17 minute mile. 17 minutes?! I had a kid in my P.E. class that did a 15 minute mile in an iron lung! Half my 8th grade class were in iron lungs, ok? I went to a weird middle school.

His P.E. teacher suggests taking a P.E. alternative, which leads to Cyrus joining the cast of Fame.

Is it just me or are the dancers performing a number based on a public domain version of the Rocky theme?

Also, aren’t we just barely into the school year? How are all the rest of these kids so good already?

Cyrus is exhausted and realizes he’s made a huge mistake. Not sure why he thought dancing wasn’t also a lot of cardio. Probably because he has a broken teenage brain.

At Red Rooster, Bowie tries to teach Shaun the guitar. He’s not very good. It appears that Bowie attempts to teach him for maybe an hour or so, realizes he isn’t the reincarnation of Jimi Hendrix, and then dies inside.

I mean, the kid is only nine. I’d assume there’s lots of room for improvement. Tons of room. But I’m not a member of the famed Renaissance Boys. (And if I was, I’d be the cute one. Believe it.)

Andi gets ready to head out to the Color Factory and walks right into Walker, who says they need to talk-er. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.

Walker wants to know why if Andi said she was cool with them just being friends, then what’s the deal with her being all weird around him. Andi’s upset Buffy told Walker that, but Walker says Buffy needed to explain why he couldn’t be around her.

Walker wants to know if there’s anything they could do to fix this whole mess and Andi’s like, mangle your face so you’re gross to me. No, she doesn’t know if there’s anything to do, but she does know Walker should go to the Color Factory. Walker thanks her for being cool, which is... a generous reading of the situation. Andi admits as much.

At the Color Factory, Cyrus remains in pain from doing just a very light amount of uncoordinated dancing.

Cyrus says he can’t go back to regular P.E. until next semester, so strap in, folks: we’re going to be seeing some more dancing this year.

Walker shows up. Buffy is surprised to see him, but Walker explains everything was worked out and he has Andi’s permission to enjoy the Color Factory with the others.

And enjoy the Color Factory they do. They’re laughing and posting pictures to social media.

In fact, you may say they’re having the time of their lives.

God, I hope Andi can’t hear that music or read the closed captioning.

Buffy texts Andi asking where she is and why she didn’t come but Andi has a tough time answering.

Bex and Bowie prepare food. Bowie thinks it’s nice Celia is obsessing over their wedding. Bex thinks they should be the ones to plan the date of their wedding, and Bowie asks her when that should be, and Bex doesn’t actually know, and neither does Bowie, so Bowie suggests maybe they should just trust the I Ching.

Bowie says if neither of them really cares, give this to Celia. Pick your battles, which is a smart tactical move in both warfare and in dealing with overbearing mothers. Bowie’s reasonability (reasonableness? Words are stupid.) wins Bex over.

Also, Bowie spent the whole scene just absentmindedly chopping up hot dogs.

It’s not really important, but I kept watching him do it the whole time, wondering what those chopped up hot dogs were for. But that’s my problem, not yours.

Anyway, the two parents realize Andi’s been quiet, so they go to check on her.

Andi’s not feeling ok. She explains that her friends are having fun without her, and that Buffy would rather be with Walker than with her. Bex is like, wow, would Buffy really say that? And Andi’s like, she didn’t have to, I know it’s true because Buffy told Walker he couldn’t hang out with her because she wanted to spend time with Andi and it made Andi uncomfortable. And Bex asks Andi if Andi told Buffy not to tell Walker that, and Andi feels she shouldn’t have had to. And Andi says she texted Buffy that something came up, and that’s why she couldn’t go to the Color Factory, but Buffy never asked her what that something was. Further proof of malice. Followed by the gravest insult of all:

WHY NOT JUST THROW DIRT IN MY FACE, BUFFY?!

Andi says to top it all off, her friends posted all sorts of fun stuff on social media, knowing full well she has access to the internet. I guess it’s sort of interesting she’s giving Cyrus and Jonah a pass here, but whatever.

Bex and Bowie try to cheer Andi up, but she’s in an emotional hole right now.

Andi is being a bit unreasonable, but I also understand it’s fairly realistic emotional behavior for her age (broken teenage brains and all that).

Being an adult, however, the ones I sympathize the most with in this scene are Bex and Bowie...

...who share a little, “Oh right, we’re raising a teenager” look as the episode ends.

#Andi Mack #Cyrus Goodman #Buffy Driscoll #Jonah Beck #Bex Mack #Celia Mack #Bowie Quinn #Walker Brodsky #Victor #Shaun #Andi #episode recaps

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periodicreviews · 6 years

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RWBY/RTX Austin 2018

Last weekend, I went to RTX Austin which is Rooster Teeth’s annual convention. Last time I went in 2016, it was about primarily to try it out, but I was also interested in seeing the RWBY panel for the plan the staff had for the forthcoming Volume 4, the first without Monty. I was pleasantly surprised when I heard Jeff Williams would be performing a concert and this turned out to be the highlight.

I skipped 2017 because there was no Jeff Williams concert and partially due to being disappointed with Volume 4.

I bet this year on the fact that Jeff would be coming back and that turned out to be a good choice because the show did not disappoint. I don’t think the 2016/first time experience can ever be topped, but this 2018 show was equally worth the money.

After the disappointment that was Volume 4 and the mediocre Volume 5, I wasn’t as hyped about RWBY, but I figured I should still go to RTX and see it since I’d be there anyway. But admittedly I was going more for the concert than anything else.

The following is a summary of the RWBY panel #1 on Friday, the JWFO concert and Q&A, and a few other things.

RWBY pre-panel

There were several things that stood out to me at this panel.

Before the panel began, two women came out on stage to warm up the crowd. (This was after Craig from GameAttack came out to ask for donations for the Extra Life charity stream that they do). I hate to reduce them to stereotypes because I don’t really know anything about them and don’t have anything against them, but it’s the easiest way to convey the scene. Girl #1 was cosplaying as Yang. She seemed to be a very energetic and outgoing type of person and I got the impression that she is trying to get hired by Rooster Teeth in a marketing/PR role. Girl #2 was wearing a RWBY dress and was the quieter kind of nerdy girl who had a little trouble speaking either due to nervousness or she just stutters when she talks. Girl #2 also had a bat wrapped with barbed wire, like from The Walking Dead which apparently someone just gave to her as a gift.

I bring up their appearances/personalities because they mentioned they had introduced several panels together, meaning that some organizer had put them together for some reason. There just didn’t seem to be any chemistry between the two. Girl #1 would start to go off on a PR line about how beautiful all the Yangs/cosplayers looked and Girl #2 would say “I like turtles”. She didn’t actually say “I like turtles” but I’m just trying to illustrate the kind of disconnect between them.

“So amazing!”

Girl #1 repeated this phrase at least 20 times while she was on-stage. I get she was there to hype up RWBY and RT, but maybe she went a little too far. She made it sound like everything at RTX was the best thing ever, which I get for fans, it’s a very enjoyable experience and from a PR perspective that’s what you want to convey. This is no different from something like Electric Daisy Carnival where they really push the “You are loved”/“We are all friends” message as you bake for 12 hours in the sun.

“Proud of me yet dad?”

Girl #2 said this near the end of their time and it felt like it was one of the few genuine moments during that opening.

“RWBY is the most forward facing property that Rooster Teeth has.”

Girl #1 said this and it’s one of many things she said that made me think she was trying to get hired.

“Are you guys ready for the Yang-bang with Barb?”

I cringed at this. I was completely unaware that the group selfie with Barbra Dunkleman (the voice of Yang) and other Yang cosplayers was referred to as a Yang-bang (I looked it up and that is what she tagged it as in 2016). I get that RWBY is now dark and gritty and no longer a “kid-friendly” show per se. But phrasing the selfie like this seemed to be a little too casual pun on “gangbang”.

Besides this, they went through the usual crowd questions like “Who’s here to see RWBY?”, “How many people have been to RTX before?”, “Did you guys get your merch? Oh that merch is so great.”, etc.

RWBY main panel

Once the panel officially started, I was confused as to why, just like in 2016, everyone seems so unorganized/unprepared. Maybe they think it’s funny, but I’d much rather prefer just a concise 45 minutes of presenting/banter, with 15 min for question. Kerry is always like “Oh guys, where did I put that? Is this next? Is that later? Should we just do it now?”

They announced “RWBY After the Fall” a new set of YA novels from Scholastic. It makes sense that they’re exploring the RWBY universe but it does make me wonder whether the V4 timeskip was seen as more of a business opportunity or done more in service to what would make the story better.

The most shocking thing about the panel was the discussion about how the writing process is different for Volume 6. Kerry and Miles initially started to say “In the past” but then quickly altered course and said “Let’s not talk about how we used to do it, just how we’re doing it now.” They basically described how they are writing more than one draft/getting the opinions of other people in the company who have been on the RWBY team for a long time.

It was shocking that they are doing it just now in Volume 6. I can understand Volume 1 and 2 just being a product of Monty/Miles/Kerry and 3 can kind of get a pass. But before/during Volume 4 and 5, wasn’t there anyone that said “Hey, maybe we need to do something different”? Maybe they did and it didn’t work out like they hoped. I am glad to hear that they are trying to improve the process.

The other big thing they did was to show a new character short. This one focused on the villains, mainly the White Fang/Adam. The short featured at least one new Jeff Williams vocal track and some of the animation looked amazing. In general, the animation for V4 and beyond has been decent to good, but there aren’t many instances where it really blows me away.

The short shows Sienna Khan using a chain rope weapon against multiple enemies at the same time. The chain (with a blade at the tip) moves so fluidly and the combat has a real sense of rhythm to it. Sure, you can have the greatest animation in the world, but it doesn’t mean anything if the story isn’t there to match it. I’m willing to stick around some more to see if the script improves. They did also announce a new RWBY Co director and if this short was a product of his involvement, then I like what I’m seeing so far.

Jeff and Casey Williams Q&A

When tickets first went on sale, the only option to be on the floor was to pay 60 dollars for a poster, ticket, and Q&A with Jeff and Casey. I think afterwards, you could just buy the standalone ticket, but I didn’t want to risk not being on the floor.

I get that the concert is hosted by ACL and not by RTX, but you would think there would be a little more coordination between the two organizations given that the concert appears on the RTX schedule and the graphic says “RTX presents”. On Saturday afternoon, I tried to figure out when and where the Q&A would be held. The regular guardians didn’t know and referred me to their manager. I was told to contact the venue to find out and that RTX wasn’t in charge of the event. It was just weird that RTX staff didn’t seem interested in finding out for themselves. I would bet I was not the only person to ask someone at RTX for information about the concert. Additionally the guy in charge of coordination was apparently not at RTX that day so I guess maybe he would’ve known. I ended up getting an email at 4pm telling me to go to the venue at 6pm. But for anyone who didn’t see that email, they were pretty upset that they missed it.

When I got to the venue, one of the staff members saw my Babymetal shirt and asked if I had seen them at ACL. I said no, but that I had seen them elsewhere. From that guy’s reaction and some of the looks from the other staff members, it felt like they instantly had a level of respect towards me. Like they had seen how the fans of Babymetal were at the show and thought “hey, this guy knows his good music.” Maybe I read them completely wrong. It was a very bizarre feeling because few people know what Babymetal is and fewer can read my almost illegible shirt.

Jeff seemed like he didn’t enjoy the stress of having to put on a big show and seemed kind of bored or just tired? Maybe RWBY fatigue is setting in and he feels kind of trapped by the constraints of the show. He talked about wanting to retire and start his Rush Limbo side project, which is music by the band Rush set in all 4-4 time in a reggae style. Obviously someone had to be that guy to ask Casey if she was single. I realize the guy thinks he is being funny or has a chance, but I think you’d be far less likely to go out with someone after subjecting them to a question like that where they are obligated to give you a response.

They floated the idea of playing shows in other locations but that seemed to be constrained by the forces at Rooster Teeth. Or maybe they’re just concerned they aren’t big enough to make any money off a tour. Jeff recommended everyone read a book called “The War of Art” which is about overcoming yourself to create the thing you’ve always wanted but never finished.

JWFO concert

The concert itself was great, but got off to a late start.

I almost forgot about all the weird things that happened while waiting for the concert to start. Someone started a sing along to Bohemian Rhapsody and several other songs. I’ve experienced the Bohemian Rhapsody sing along before, but never at another concert. When they played Numb by Linkin Park as background music, everyone sang along to that too, which is something that I have seen at other concerts at Hard Rock/House of Blues. At one point some people in the crowd erupted in shouts of “Jason?!” which I can only assume was a Heavy Rain reference. Then the crowd started to cheer whenever any technician or photographer came on stage. Again, this is not something I experience at many/if any shows.

This super hype atmosphere is fine, until it turns into everyone trying to be a comedian while there’s either a break between songs, or when the musicians are conversing on stage. Someone said like “Rest in pieces Pyhrra” or something like that at one point and sure I can handle one or two jokes or the occasional shout out. But at the end of the day, I’m here to see the band, not the crowd. I don’t blame those people in the audience trying to get Jeff or Casey to notice them and to have that deeper connection, but it gets old after a while.

There seemed to be communication issues or just not enough time to practice the ordering of the songs. Richie Branson was incredible as an opening act. I’ve seen him three times before and he is great every time. I think a lot of the audience didn’t know who he was or that there would be an opening act, but he seemed to win everyone over by the end of the first song. Adrienne Cowan, Lamar Hall, and Lydia were great again on vocals during the main act.

There were sadly no solos sections like there were in 2016. I remember vividly the extended piano solo the keyboardist performed to lead into “When It Falls”. Jeff also didn’t crowd surf this year either. But I think they were just pressed for time. Casey still seems to struggle more on some songs than others, but she was frank during the Q&A that she has a long way to go and it’s a struggle to keep up at Berklee.

Highlights for me were “Ignite” and “Smile” off the Volume 5 soundtrack.

Other things

I spent the majority of my time in the Vendor Room playing Rock Band 4. Harmonix was there because “This Will Be The Day” is now available as DLC. But with everyone playing the same song, I think they were grateful for anyone who wouldn’t play that. There were some talented players there and it just felt good to play Rock Band after not having done it with a group in a while. I think the people in the Rock Band line were some of the friendliest I met all weekend.

I felt like I struggled socially during the whole weekend. Maybe it’s just that most con-people aren’t very good at socializing. Or it’s just me or a byproduct of going alone. Everyone else staying at the hostel I was at was interested in talking though.

I went to see an improv comedy show at the Fallout Theater. The show was called “Penalty Box” and there were a set of rules that the audience knew but the performers didn’t. So every time they violated a rule, they would get sent to the penalty box and through trial and error they would figure out most of the rules. It’s entertaining as an audience member, but as someone who is taking improv classes, I recognize how painful it is for the performers. Some of the rules prevent you from doing things that you are taught to do, resulting in at least one scene where the performers just stood still on stage and didn’t talk.

The Mega64 panel was also very enjoyable. Arcade UFO is a pretty nice arcade with a lot of games you don’t normally see in the US. I also got to see a friend I haven’t seen in a while. I have mixed feelings about Troy Baker’s “TED” talk style panel, but I respect that it was not just “another Q&A” type panel.

Maybe I’ll go back next year.

#rtx 2018 #rwby

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cata79 · 5 years

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Luke 22 ~Easy-to-Read Version (ERV)

The Jewish Leaders Plan to Kill Jesus

22 It was almost time for the Jewish Festival of Unleavened Bread, called the Passover. 2 The leading priests and teachers of the law wanted to kill Jesus. But they were trying to find a quiet way to do it, because they were afraid of what the people would do.

Judas Agrees to Help Jesus’ Enemies 3 One of Jesus’ twelve apostles was named Judas Iscariot. Satan entered him, 4 and he went and talked with the leading priests and some of the soldiers who guarded the Temple. He talked to them about a way to hand Jesus over to them. 5 The priests were very happy about this. They promised to give Judas money for doing this. 6 He agreed. Then he waited for the best time to hand him over to them. He wanted to do it when no one was around to see it.

The Passover Meal 7 The Day of Unleavened Bread[a] came. This was the day when the Jews always killed the lambs for the Passover. 8 Jesus said to Peter and John, “Go and prepare the Passover meal for us to eat.”

9 They said to him, “Where do you want us to prepare the meal?”

He said to them, 10 “When you go into the city, you will see a man carrying a jar of water. Follow him. He will go into a house. 11 Tell the owner of the house, ‘The Teacher asks that you please show us the room where he and his followers can eat the Passover meal.’ 12 Then the owner will show you a large room upstairs that is ready for us. Prepare the meal there.”

13 So Peter and John left. Everything happened the way Jesus said. So they prepared the Passover meal.

The Lord’s Supper 14 The time came for them to eat the Passover meal. Jesus and the apostles were together at the table. 15 Jesus said to them, “I wanted very much to eat this Passover meal with you before I die. 16 I will never eat another Passover meal until it is given its full meaning in God’s kingdom.”

17 Then Jesus took a cup of wine. He gave thanks to God for it and said, “Take this cup and give it to everyone here. 18 I will never drink wine again until God’s kingdom comes.”

19 Then he took some bread and thanked God for it. He broke off some pieces, gave them to the apostles and said, “This bread is my body that I am giving for you. Eat this to remember me.” 20 In the same way, after supper, Jesus took the cup of wine and said, “This wine represents the new agreement from God to his people. It will begin when my blood is poured out for you.”[b]

Who Will Turn Against Jesus? 21 Jesus said, “But here on this table is the hand of the one who will hand me over to my enemies. 22 The Son of Man will do what God has planned. But it will be very bad for the one who hands over the Son of Man to be killed.”

23 Then the apostles asked each other, “Which one of us would do that?”

Be Like a Servant 24 Later, the apostles began to argue about which one of them was the most important. 25 But Jesus said to them, “The kings of the world rule over their people, and those who have authority over others want to be called ‘the great providers for the people.’ 26 But you must not be like that. The one with the most authority among you should act as if he is the least important. The one who leads should be like one who serves. 27 Who is more important: the one serving or the one sitting at the table being served? Everyone thinks it’s the one being served, right? But I have been with you as the one who serves.

28 “You men have stayed with me through many struggles. 29 So I give you authority to rule with me in the kingdom the Father has given me. 30 You will eat and drink at my table in that kingdom. You will sit on thrones and judge the twelve tribes of Israel.

Peter Will Be Tested and Fail 31 “Satan has asked to test you men like a farmer tests his wheat. O Simon, Simon,[c] 32 I have prayed that you will not lose your faith! Help your brothers be stronger when you come back to me.”

33 But Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, I am ready to go to jail with you. I will even die with you!”

34 But Jesus said, “Peter, before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will say you don’t know me. You will say this three times.”

Be Ready for Trouble 35 Then Jesus said to the apostles, “Remember when I sent you out without money, a bag, or sandals? Did you need anything?”

The apostles said, “No.”

36 Jesus said to them, “But now if you have money or a bag, carry that with you. If you don’t have a sword, sell your coat and buy one. 37 The Scriptures say,

‘He was considered a criminal.’

This Scripture must happen. It was written about me, and it is happening now.”

38 The followers said, “Look, Lord, here are two swords.”

Jesus said to them, “That’s enough.”[d]

Jesus Prays Alone 39-40 Jesus left the city and went to the Mount of Olives. His followers went with him. (He went there often.) He said to his followers, “Pray for strength against temptation.”

41 Then Jesus went about 50 steps away from them. He knelt down and prayed, 42 “Father, if you are willing, please don’t make me drink from this cup.[e] But do what you want, not what I want.” 43 Then an angel from heaven came to help him. 44 Jesus was full of pain; he struggled hard in prayer. Sweat dripped from his face like drops of blood falling to the ground.[f] 45 When he finished praying, he went to his followers. He found them asleep, worn out from their grieving. 46 Jesus said to them, “Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray for strength against temptation.”

Jesus Is Arrested 47 While Jesus was speaking, a crowd came up. It was led by Judas, one of the twelve apostles. He came over to Jesus to kiss him.

48 But Jesus said to him, “Judas, are you using the kiss of friendship to hand over the Son of Man to his enemies?” 49 The followers of Jesus were standing there too. They saw what was happening and said to Jesus, “Lord, should we use our swords?” 50 And one of them did use his sword. He cut off the right ear of the servant of the high priest.

51 Jesus said, “Stop!” Then he touched the servant’s ear and healed him.

52 Jesus spoke to the group that came to arrest him. They were the leading priests, the older Jewish leaders, and the Jewish soldiers. He said to them, “Why did you come out here with swords and clubs? Do you think I am a criminal? 53 I was with you every day in the Temple area. Why didn’t you try to arrest me there? But this is your time—the time when darkness rules.”

Peter Is Afraid to Say He Knows Jesus 54 They arrested Jesus and took him away to the house of the high priest. Peter followed Jesus but stayed back at a distance. 55 The soldiers started a fire in the middle of the yard and sat together. Peter sat with them. 56 A servant girl saw him sitting there. She could see because of the light from the fire. She looked closely at Peter’s face. Then she said, “This man was also with Jesus.”

57 But Peter said this was not true. He said, “Lady, I don’t know him.” 58 A short time later, someone else saw Peter and said, “You are also one of them.”

But Peter said, “Man, I am not!”

59 About an hour later, another man said, “It’s true. I’m sure this man was with him, because he is from Galilee.”

60 But Peter said, “Man, I don’t know what you are talking about!”

Immediately, while he was still speaking, a rooster crowed. 61 Then the Lord turned and looked into Peter’s eyes. And Peter remembered what the Lord had said, “Before the rooster crows in the morning, you will say three times that you don’t know me.” 62 Then Peter went outside and cried bitterly.

The Guards Treat Jesus Badly 63 The men guarding Jesus made fun of him and beat him. 64 They covered his eyes so that he could not see them. Then they hit him and said, “Be a prophet[g] and tell us who hit you!” 65 And they shouted all kinds of insults at him.

Jesus Before the Jewish Leaders 66 The next morning, the older leaders of the people, the leading priests, and the teachers of the law came together. They led Jesus away to their high council. 67 They said, “If you are the Messiah, then tell us that you are.”

Jesus said to them, “If I tell you I am the Messiah, you will not believe me. 68 And if I ask you, you will not answer. 69 But beginning now, the Son of Man will sit at the right side of God All-Powerful.”

70 They all said, “Then are you the Son of God?” Jesus said to them, “You are right in saying that I am.”

71 They said, “Why do we need witnesses now? We all heard what he said!” www.biblegateway.com and Internet image credit

#Luke 22 #Jesus betrayed #Not my will but yours

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renaroo · 7 years

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Double Time (14/24)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence Pairings: Tuckington, Chex Rating: T Synopsis: [Hero Time Sequel] After the events of Hero Time, the city and Blood Gulch are prepared for the true return of superheroes in a big way. But while Washington is attempting to adjust to a new relationship and a new living arrangement, the call of new heroes and a new mayor mean major changes for his professional life as well as his personal one. How will the balance of values fare when his new partners come to test everything he’s made of.

A/N: Plot plot plot we’re starting to come all together and I’m so excited to be on this ride wth you all <3

Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @notatroll7, @analiarvb, Enmuse, Yin, @a-taller-tale, @thepheonixqueen, @spooky-circuits, @washingtonstub, @icefrozenover, and @the-space-nerd-97 on AO3 and tumblr for the wonderful feed back! I truly appreciate it more than you know.

Delegation Time

“I hope you have enough brains to realize that it’s completely ridiculous how high tech your apartment equipment is but you never use the internet,” Church grouched, hood up and robotic eyes glowing through the shade as he typed on Tucker’s laptop. “I mean, who doesn’t have a personal computer these days? And you’re asking me to use the keyboard from Mister Stickyfingers himself.”

“Hey, don’t hate on me. I never thought anyone else would be touching my computer,” Tucker defended, leaning against the back of the couch coolly. It was his feeble attempt to seem like he wasn’t losing his mind trying to make sure that Church wasn’t looking at anything embarrassing.

Washington didn’t quite understand the paranoia the situation held for Tucker.

“This would go a lot quicker if you let Church hook up directly to the interphase like he suggested earlier,” Wash pointed out to Tucker.

Tucker’s eyes flickered immediately toward Wash. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Or did you forget we have...”

Wash squinted back at him. “We have what?”

For a moment, Tucker attempted to sign something to Wash with the raising and lowering of his eyebrows a few times. When that didn’t work he went for a full body shrug. “Wash, the... the photos.”

Staring back at Tucker blankly, Wash tilted his head. “Photos?”

“The photos,” Tucker pressed.

Suddenly, Washington perfectly understood the paranoia the situation held for Tucker.

“Why are you keeping those on your computer!?” Wash demanded.

“Why do you think the keyboard is sticky!?” Tucker fired back.

Church held up his hands to stop them both. “Stop! Desist! I cannot keep pretending to be deaf here. Okay? I’m going to delete my entire memory of this conversation as soon as everything’s settled here. And I hope you both know you’re fucking stupid and act like horny teenagers.”

Taken aback, Wash waved to his chest. “Me? A horny teenager? I understand saying that about Tucker--”

“What the fuck, Wash,” Tucker said, throwing his arms in the air.

“Okay done,” Church declared, shoving the laptop from his lap to the coffee table. “Both of you shut the fuck up, I finished your stupid pet project, and it’s time for you two to leave me alone even if I’m your tech guy because putting together a compilation of all the angles and footage of this non-event for you is one thing, but having to listen to your relationship up close and personal is honest to god mortifying. May we never speak of this again.”

"Thank you... Church... I suppose” Wash said, though the sentiment seemed foreign and distasteful on his own tongue.

Tucker took a moment to glance back and forth between them before shoving Church out of the way and sliding into his preferred spot on the couch. “Yeah, yeah, what the fuck ever, Church. I don’t want to hear it. Do you know how many nights you and Tex were having sex and I could hear you through those paper thin walls? Fucksake. How’s a guy supposed to masturbate?”

“Oh, like it stopped you,” Church snorted, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, it probably helped,” Tucker said back before physically freezing. “Wait what.”

“Wait what,” Church said at the same time.

There was then a long, uncomfortable silence between the former roommates as if there was a dawning realization on them both. Washington really wasn’t sure what to think about it. “Tucker? Church?”

“Oh my god I forgot about that night,” Tucker gasped.

“We’re never supposed to talk about that, you promised,” Church responded almost viciously.

“You were crying--”

“GODDAMMIT, TUCKER, I TOLD YOU IT WASN’T THE BAD KIND OF CRYING--”

Not sure what else was within his powers to do at that point, Washington held up his hands and released a resounding clap to draw the other two supposed-adults’ attention back to him and the present. Tucker looked amused and befuddled, Church simply looked irate.

“The video! Please!” Wash begged. “I... I literally cannot take another word of this conversation.”

Tucker grew a put off expression. “Wash, ridiculous fucking conversations are my entire life. On repeat. You have to accept that part of me as much as you accept the part of me that takes pictures in the bedroom.”

“I never accepted that part, it just happened! And you’ve got them saved on your computer now!” Wash cried out.

“So you don’t like the me that takes photos of us?” Tucker asked.

“What is with you lately?” Wash demanded, nearly grabbing for his hair. “How come you turn everything I say into an argument? I don’t understand--”

“Because you never fight back!” Tucker yelled.

“I don’t want to fight you!” Wash snapped.

“No, you just want to sit back and judge and make snide comments about things in my life you don’t approve of while I’m not allowed to have any say so in the parts of your life that annoy the goddamn shit out of me!” Tucker snarled.

“What do I do that annoys you?” Wash demanded. “Tell me or I can’t fix it, Tucker, that’s how communication works.”

“Does it, Wash? Because I thought communication was for you to roll out of a moving vehicle rather than spend time with me and my friends when we’re not fucking or dealing with your superhero bullshit that you bring home!” Tucker growled. “Not to mention the fact that now you’re taking Junior and putting him out there on the line, too! Like what the fuck kind of conversation do you want to have?”

“Fine! I’ll stop being snide!” Wash agreed. “But you have to stop having yelling contests with me rather than just tell me what’s bothering you!”

“You know what bothers me?” Tucker demanded. “The fact that you shed on the pillows and bed linings!”

Despite himself, Washington reflexively gasped. “I told you I have a condition. I can’t help that.”

“Yeah, the condition is you’re part goddamn cat and you fucking act like it! Never cuddling when I want it, just when you want it, and then randomly you’ll bring up the fact that I wear socks to bed and scoot away!”

“It’s not that you wear socks to bed, it’s where you wear your socks that isn’t as original or funny as you think it is after the eighteenth time!” Wash cried out.

“Oh my fucking god, it is my responsibility to humanity to put a stop to this conversation before it gets more disgusting,” Church announced before reaching forward and pressing play with the spacebar only for the spacebar to stay down. “Jesus christ, Tucker, I’m buying you a flesh light. This is disgusting.”

“Good, because I know who’s not getting any,” Tucker decreed.

Washington opened his mouth to protest that that wasn’t as much of a punishment as Tucker seemed to think it was when the videos all began playing on the screen.

Each video was timed to correspond despite being from very different angles, and some squares were left blank, only to join up and sync with the others as the videos progressed.

Instantly intrigued, Washington leaned in and tried to get a sense of the videos and how they were all in one way or another pointed toward the building which had exploded just in the moments before its explosion. For the moment being, it was him and Felix on the roof talking. But there was no sound.

“Why can’t I hear anything?” Wash asked.

“Yeah this is kinda boring,” Tucker huffed.

“Because I was annoyed listening to thirteen different teenagers either narrating a livestream like they’re the first geniuses ever to catch superheroes on camera, or mouth breathers who were fucking with their shit and causing nothing but rustling,” Church answered, leaning back against the couch with his arms crossed. “You’re welcome, by the way. I also took care of the shaky cam because none of these fuckers have apparently heard the virtues of stabilizing before.”

“None of what you just said makes sense to me,” Wash said, watching the screen intently.

Still, he could feel Church’s eyeballs burning into the side of his skull.

“What century are you from? Goddamn,” Church marveled.

“This one?” Wash deadpanned as he continued to watch the footage.

It was annoying that he could not hear their conversation -- for some reason, while he remembered the gist of it, the specifics, their words were a fog in Wash’s mind. Like he had barely witnessed it himself at all. A part of him was hoping to clear that up through the camera but apparently that was all for naught.

Then, he could see it. Wash watched himself jump back reflexively from the bright spark of one of Locus’ explosives land between them.

But, weirdly enough, Felix did not have any reaction at all. He was standing confidently, staring at Wash as if nothing had just crashed down between them. That was odd to Washington, since he had not figured Felix for that sort of inexperience. But what truly bothered him was how smug Felix looked despite the intensity of the moment.

Surely he hadn’t appeared that cocky in their conversation. Wash hadn’t remembered the desire to outright punch the fellow superhero.

Then, there were two flashes, one after the other. So quick, it was difficult to tell them apart, but Wash caught the faint difference.

Those Felix reacted to, but not in the way that Washington had been anticipating for him to. Instead of bounding away from the ensuing explosion, he seemed to turn his attention toward the streets.

And Wash...

Well, to Wash’s astonishment, he wasn’t there after the flashes at all, and suddenly the explosion occurred, the building went up in flames, and soon Locus emerged dragging Felix.

A few of the cameras panned across the street to where Washington appeared almost miraculously.

“Whoa,” Tucker said, glancing in Wash’s direction. “When’d you start moving that fast.”

“I can’t,” Wash said simply. “I have no idea how I got out of the explosion. Maybe a concussive force from the explosion, but I didn’t feel like it--”

“Dude, no concussive force would have that trajectory for you to land perfectly on the other side of the street.” Church snorted. “Trust me, I went to the academy and they wouldn’t shut the hell up about this shit. By the way, letting your guard down, Wash? Newbie mistake. If I were still arching? You’d be stone cold dead for sure.”

“Whatever, Wash would kick your ass,” Tucker snorted.

“Not my ass, don’t you remember my Alphabots?” Church argued.

“Oh, yeah. Where’d those things go, anyway--”

“Wait,” Wash interrupted. “Didn’t either of you notice that Felix had no reaction to the bomb? I mean, I may have let my guard down. Maybe. But he never had a guard. He was more worried about where I went than the explosion under his own feet.”

“Sounds like usual goody-two-shoes hero bullshit to me,” Church said with a huge roll of his eyes.

Ignoring Church’s usual bastion of optimism, Wash pointed toward the screen. “Church, can you take the footage back some and slow it down? To the second where I disappeared from the roof?”

That earned Washington an indignant look if he’d ever seen one. “Do you two not know how to do anything beyond plug in an Xbox?”

“Dude, how dare you suggest we wouldn’t ask you to do that, too,” Tucker joked.

“Please,” Wash tried with about as much sincerity as he could muster. Which, given, was not much considering the circumstances.

Church continued to give him a dull look before opening up the video files again and beginning to move his fingers so quickly across the keyboard that Tucker’s disgusting buttons could hardly keep up.

But when they finally operated accordingly, Wash got what he wanted -- slowed down video of the moments that took him from the rooftop to the safety of the sidewalk in the instant of a flash.

He had been right. There were definitely two distinct flashes, one before the explosion, and one pursuing it. And it was within the pursuing flash that everything in the images where Wash was blurred to a single, pixelated mesh of color. Gray, blue, yellow.

But, for a moment, Wash could swear there was more blue than the moment before.

Then he was gone from the screen until the pan down.

“Something happened there,” Wash said decisively, pointing at the screen “Can you see it?”

“What? The blur? Or the blur?” Tucker asked with a yawn.

“How can you say that’s just a blur? This saved my life, the least we can do is get to the bottom of this,” Wash said, putting a hand to his chin. “My hero partner back when I was with the sidekick program taught me the basics of detective work. I need to go back to the scene and look for clues. Find Felix and talk to him about what he remembers. Then I need to ask the Reds to cover patrolling Blood Gulch for the night. Maybe I could get someone else to cover training tomorrow and--”

Wash looked up when he heard the most disgusted noise a robot could make coming from Church who stared at him dully.

“You have something you need to say, Church?” Wash asked with a raise of his brow.

“Yeah, you’re a goddamn idiot,” he said lowly before looking toward Tucker for a moment and then back to Wash. “Biggest fucking idiot, I swear--”

"Watch it, Church,” Wash said in warning, his patience officially at an end.

“No, you watch it,” Church snapped back. “I’ll get a hold of Tex and the Reds and get this city protected. You can phone your Mayors in between them campaigning for an election no one actually cares about to get them to talk to this Felix chump for you. But before you call in sick to the kiddie heroes, how about you take care of house.”

Tucker looked exasperated. “Church--”

“No, dude, I’m sick of this,” Church said, heading toward the door. “And you two better use this time to actually talk.”

Washington blinked a few times, flinching when Church slammed the door closed behind him, and then looked in surprise to Tucker, who seemed significantly less shocked by Church’s declarations. He only seemed annoyed.

“He acts like he knows what’s going on between us,” Wash pointed out.

“Yeah, well, he’s my best friend,” Tucker reminded Wash. “What we do is... talk.”

“Which... we don’t do,” Wash admitted slowly.

“We do, but I.. It’s like we talk at different levels. You never hear what I’m saying under what I’m saying, you know?” Tucker tried with what seemed to be great difficulty to explain.

“Honestly, Tucker, I don’t know,” Wash replied. “I... I know everyone jokes that I get cryptic at times. But... I always say what I mean at the end of the day. I’ve never had a problem where that wasn’t the case.”

“Yeah, and some of the things you say probably coulda stood to be kept to yourself,” Tucker noted bitingly.

Despite his first instinct to argue the point, Wash took a breath and sat down on the couch too. “Okay. That’s fair. But I also think it’s fair to point out that sometimes... if you’re frustrated that I’m not seeing through your words to a deeper meaning, you could at least give me a hint. It’s been a while since I was in AP English. I’m not used to looking for metaphors.”

That got Tucker to actually snort. “You woulda been a nerd.” He exhaled. “Yeah, but you’ve got a point. It goes both ways. Like me.”

“See, I got that reference,” Wash joked.

“Don’t be an ass,” Tucker laughed. “But... Okay you know how the other day we were on the phone... and you just said the thing? The big thing?”

“Love?” Wash asked, brows knitting together.

“Yeah. You just said it and I know you mean it but like... I don’t know if I can ask you to like... show it instead of just running off trying to fight out of giant pyramids with riddles and mazes,” Tucker pointed out.

"Those aren’t really something outside of the comic books.” Wash pointed out. “Kind of like capes.”

“One of your new proteges wears a cape,” Tucker pointed out.

“Yes... well we’re just glad he wears at least that much considering his powers are basically to... well, sparkle,” Wash shrugged. “Tucker... I’m... I’m sorry if my words don’t always match my actions. And I know that, at least on some level, the excuse that I’m a superhero and that’s just part of what I do isn’t nearly enough to cover it. So instead I’m going to ask that... Ask that you give me something I can do to prove that I’m serious. Really serious this time.”

Tucker squinted at him. “This is sounding like a setup for something else to go the way of linner.”

Wash sighed. “I know.”

“We’ll be vaguer then,” Tucker decided. “What Church just did earlier? Delegating some of those responsibilities of yours that you hold so dear? Why can’t you do that, I don’t know, more long term?”

Confused, Wash tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Why can’t you spread around some of the territory, let other heroes and trainees take care of things that aren’t immediate. Don’t patrol every night. Trust other people to be part of this team you’ve got building up here,” Tucker offered. “If you delegate more... you’d have more time for things like linner and going to the park with Junior and me.”

“I...” Wash began to protest but he took a breath. “Okay. I can... delegate more. But I still want to find out what happened there at the explosion,” he said with a nod to the blur.

“Yeah, sure, okay. But if anything you should take that as a sign,” Tucker shrugged. “Even when bad shit’s happening to us... it always seems to work out, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what I’m taking from that?” Wash asked critically.

“Work with me here, Wash,” Tucker all but demanded.

“Okay,” Wash sighed. “I’m working with you, Tucker. We’re working on this. Together. Hero’s honor.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring,” Tucker laughed, but he seemed to actually mean it.

At least, Wash hoped so.

#writing #rvb fic #RvB: Double Time #RvB: Hero Time #Tuckington #Agent Washington #Lavernius Tucker #Alpha Church

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opaque-daydream · 7 years

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Broken part 4

Warning Domestic Violence

http://opaque-daydream.tumblr.com/post/155906448456/broken-3b

http://opaque-daydream.tumblr.com/post/155752020191/broken-pt-3-a?is_related_post=1

http://opaque-daydream.tumblr.com/post/155595635791/broken-pt-2?is_related_post=1

http://opaque-daydream.tumblr.com/post/155464862621/broken?is_related_post=1

When you arrived home you were surprised to see that Brock’s car wasn’t in the driveway or in the garage. You hadn’t remembered him telling you this morning that he was going to work a later shift, or that he had plans after work. You hoped that he hadn’t come home to find you not there and went out in search for you, you knew it would not go over well.

You opened the door slowly and listened to see if you heard anything in the house, when you didn’t you placed your shoes carefully where they should go, and hung your purse up in the closet, you fished your phone out and turned it off, hiding it deep in the bottom so that Brock wouldn’t stumble across it. Once that was done you made your way into the kitchen, nothing seemed out of place. You also took a quick stroll to the living room and the den to see if you could spot any signs that he had been home, so far so good you thought to yourself. Once you had assured yourself that he hadn’t been home yet you quickly made your way into the kitchen to throw together a quick dinner, if he didn’t know you hadn’t been home you didn’t want to tip him off.

You bit your lip and urged the pasta to cook faster, and sighed once it was done and you put together a plate and sat it in the microwave. You put the leftovers in containers and placed them in the fridge glancing at the stove clock the time read 9 pm and still no signs of Brock. You could remember a time that you would have been worried about him, but now all you could feel is relief that he wasn’t here. You grabbed the note pad that was stuck to your refrigerator and jotted down a quick note telling him you had left his plate in the microwave and bit your lip again as you signed the note I love you.

To be honest with yourself, in that moment especially after spending the day with Steve, Bucky, Nat and Clint you were unsure of how much love was still left for Brock. You had felt more yourself today than you had in the past three years, but you couldn’t dwell on that, and your heart told you Brock had been there after your mother passed away when Steve and Bucky hadn’t been. “We are just going through a rough patch” you tried to assure yourself out loud as you placed the note on the counter and made you way up to the bedroom.

Quickly you got ready for bed, set your alarm, and climbed under the covers it was the first night you could remember that you felt totally at ease falling asleep as Brock wasn’t on your other side.

You woke up to your alarm going off and a heavy arm around your waist. You almost groaned out loud but knew the consequences of waking Brock when he wasn’t ready to be woken up. Carefully you moved your arm to turn off the alarm and stilled when you felt his arms draw you in closer to him, you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath when you heard him whisper in your ear, “Its ok sweetheart, I was already awake” and you let out a huff of air.

“Sorry” You apologized quickly, “If my alarm woke you” you didn’t turn to face him not wanting to face him if he was in a bad mood.

“It’s ok sweetheart, I need to get to the station anyway” he told you pulling you closer to him. You felt your heart flutter.

“But you had a late night” You caught yourself saying, and you hadn’t meant to say anything.

“Sorry if you worried about me” He told you and you caught yourself smiling, this was the Brock that you knew, the Brock that your heart had first fell in love with. “I picked up the extra shift, one of the guys called in sick”

“it’s ok” You told him rolling over to face him you felt safe that he wasn’t going to be volatile this morning.

“Thanks’ for leaving dinner for me” He told you as he leaned in and placed a kiss on your nose, “Wish I didn’t have to go in today at all, but duty calls”

“Its ok” You told him just as softly, you had started to tell him that Steve was in town when his phone went off and he rolled over to answer it. It was just a moment when he rolled out of bed and gave you a smile “That was my boss, he needs a report from last night, I’ll see you normal time” He told you heading into the bathroom.

A sigh escaped your lips as you glanced at the door, that was different to say the least. That Brock that just rolled out of bed you hadn’t seen in at least a year and a half and part of your heart wanted him to stay if only to validate your inner turmoil of the situation. But 15 minutes later he walked out of the bathroom in his uniform and was out the door before you could even utter have a good day.

You pushed yourself out of bed, and headed to your closet to pick out comfy clothes, who knew what Steve and Bucky had planned today. Going into the bathroom you took a quick shower, threw on minimal makeup and made sure that the bruises that were on there way to fading were covered. Once that was done you fixed your hair and headed down stairs to your purse to turn your phone one. As soon as the home screen came up you heard the ding that you had a message.

Steve: You up yet lazy bones?

You smiled, your brother was always one to rise with the roosters as your mother used to say. You typed back a quick yes, and then before you could even place the phone down another message came in.

Steve: Pancakes……Hurry

Rolling your eyes you put your purse on your shoulder and made your way outside and into your car. It didn’t take long before you were at your moms old house. You knocked first and when no one answered, you slipped your key into the lock and pushed the door open. Shutting it quietly you made your way into the house and when you rounded the corner you couldn’t help but laugh out loud as you saw not only Steve covered in flour but Bucky. “What on earth happened” You ask through your giggles.

“Well you see, Bucky and I were” Steve started

“Trying to get the flour to make the pancakes, but it kinda just exploded” Bucky finished for him.

“You two expect me to believe the flour, just on its own exploded” you ask raising an eyebrow.

“Yes” They both told you nodding. You laughed again as you made your way to the pantry getting the broom out.

“Ok boys, why don’t you both go clean up while I take care of this mess” You told them ushering them out of the kitchen with the help of the broom. By the time both men made it back into the kitchen you had the floor swept and the counters wiped down. “Well after surveying your supplies, I have come to the conclusion that if you two want pancakes we either A. have to go to the store and buy more supplies or B. Go out and get pancakes from somewhere”

Bucky and Steve both looked at each other, “Ihop” They ask you both grinning. You just nodded your head.

Ihop had led to Steve and Bucky wanting to go to a couple more of their favorite places as children and adults in which they insisted that you tag along. You had been dragged to the field where they played their first baseball game, to the park where Steve got beaten up almost every day of middle school, and even to the old high school as they talked about how the town hadn’t changed all that much. One of the final stops that you three made was to the local florist where Steve bought your mother’s favorite flowers and the three of you visited the grave. You held your breath as soon as you parked, you hadn’t been there in who knows how long. It felt right coming back the three of you, and you made your way up to where your mother’s headstone was, between Steve and Bucky.

You smiled as tears slipped down your face as Steve gently placed the flowers in the vase and kissed the headstone. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh as he talked to the stone letting her know that she was going to be a grandmother and that he hoped it wouldn’t screw this kid up, Bucky looked at you when you let out a chuckle.

“What’s so funny peanut” He ask and you swallowed the laugh back down.

“Just Steve being so worried about being a good parent, he has helped take care of me for as long as I remember. He has so much love, the kids going to be smothered” You told Bucky honestly. Bucky smiled at you.

“Yeah that punk is going to be ok” He agreed. When Steve was done Bucky took his place and put his right hand on the headstone, You didn’t want to intrude on his moment and it seemed that neither did Steve and both of you moved a bit away, you quickly hugged Steve.

“She’d be proud of you” You told him softly, “And she always liked Peggy”

“I just miss her” Steve whispered as he pulled you closer.

“I know Stevie, “

Once Bucky was done you pulled from Steve’s embrace and you all headed for the car, “Don’t you want to talk to ma” Steve ask as you were pulling open the car door.

“It’s ok, I come regular” You lied perfectly, He didn’t have to know that you felt ashamed to talk to even your mother’s head stone while you let the situation with Brock continue. You saw a police car slow down as it passed by but didn’t think anything of it as you got in the back seat.

On your way back to your mother’s house, Steve cleared his throat, “The plane leaves tomorrow at noon” He told you. You nodded your head, not trusting yourself to speak, you forgot home much you missed your brother and Bucky being around all the time, “ You don’t have to take me to the airport, I have the rental but I was hoping that we could have breakfast before I go”

“Of course Stevie, I wouldn’t miss it for anything” You told him honestly.

“And in four months, Peg and I expect you to come down for the birth of the next Rogers” He told you in the big brother no argument tone.

“I wouldn’t miss that for the world” You told him honestly, “I am going to be the best Aunt, and spoil him or her rotten, how else will I be the favorite”

“You will have to fight me for Favorite” Bucky told you and gave his signature smile, “Little Rogers won’t know what to do with how much I spoil him”

Before you could open your mouth Steve cut you off, “Hey you both can spoil him or her, if you can get past Peggy” Which caused you and Bucky both to laugh. Once Steve pulled the car into the driveway you looked at your watch. You saw that you had fifteen minutes to get home and get supper started if you didn’t want Brock to question you about you day.

“Ok you big Lugs, I gotta get home, but I will see you both here tomorrow at 7 we can decide then where you guys wanna get breakfast” You hugged both Steve and Bucky before getting into your car and heading home.

When you pulled into the driveway, you saw Brocks car sitting in the driveway. You turned your cell phone off and put it on the bottom of your purse before you made your way inside. “Brock, I’m home” you called out carefully slipping off your shoes and putting them in there place along with your purse In the closet. What you didn’t expect was the closet door to slam shut or Brock to spin you around to face him with the way he was acting this morning.

“Where were you sweetheart” He ask softly his hand squeezing your upper arm, “Those are not your work clothes” he added.

“I went to Mama’s grave” You told him earnestly.

Brock’s other hand came up to squeeze your other arm, “Why am I hearing from Rollins that you were out with other men without even checking with me first” He seethed as he pulled you close only to slam you into the closet door. You winced as your head made contact.

“I tried to tell you this morning, Brock.” You said softly as not to rile him up anymore, “Steve came into town and”

“I don’t give a damn Y/N, if the pope himself comes into town unless you get the ok from me you don’t go” he squeezed harder and then his left hand came up, “Do you know how much of a fool you have made out of me in front of my friends and coworkers” He ask you

“Brock, Steve is my brother” You whispered and winced as it looked like he was going to strike you.

“Sweetheart, I told you I’m your only family” Brock’s smile was not comforting as he let go of your other arm, “Go upstairs and wait for me” He told you as he gave you a push toward the staircase.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader

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artsychica2012 · 7 years

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(via The NegusWhoRead Definitive List Of People Not Invited To The Cookout | NegusWhoRead)

As July 4th rolls around (Not Independence Day, because we celebrate that on Juneteenth) Black America once again engages in the time-honored cultural tradition that requires disparate groups come together as one to work toward a common goal–eating like hell. Cookouts are like fingerprints–everyone has them, each one is different and if they are in the wrong place, you can get in a lot of trouble.

After the landmark Caucasian Guide To Black Barbecues, NegusWhoRead became the definitive source for cookouts. As such, we have been tapped by the global cookout community to provide a list of people who are excluded from this year’s festivities, so we present the 2017 NegusWhoRead list of people not invited to the cookout.

Rachel N’Becki Mutombo Shaka Zooloo Afeni Dolezal – Aunt Phyllis always said “there’s something funny about that girl. She never claps on beat and she her chicken salad always needs a little more seasoning.” I don’t know who invited her in the first place. I think she just showed up one year and kept coming. After one of the kids last year said: “I only have to do two things: stay black and die!” I heard Trans-Rachel say, “Well, actually…” and realized that we could no longer allow Becky Badass to keep Columbus-ing our cookouts.

Or our culture.

Empty-Handers – According to the new rules of the CCBA (The Cookout Collective Bargaining Agreement) if you are over 21 years old and you show up at the cookout without bringing anything, you are automatically subject to a 3-year suspension. I know we all go through economic struggles, but you can go to the Piggly Wiggly and get 1,204 cans of NuGrape for like $1.28, so please don’t play the poor-mouth card.

In fact, the new CCBA is pretty definitive on this–for every $10 you spend on your cookout outfit, you must spend at least $1 on cookout items. If you show up wearing the new Yeezy boosts, but can’t afford a pack of aluminum foil or a bag of ice, then you must not care about the economic empowerment of your community.

Steve Harvey – I’ve been trying to warn the international cookout community about this negro ever since he bamboozled the masses into buying that elementary-school intelligence, “self-help” misogyny coloring book called Act Like A Lady, Think Like A Man, but no one would listen to me. Just because he stole one of the Whispers’ mustache and outfitted deacons across America in Easter suits doesn’t mean he deserved any of my Aunt Marvell’s potato salad. But ever since he told a Flint, Michigan resident to “Enjoy your nice brown glass of water” only months after hooking up with President Trump to give his professional advice as the least funniest King of Comedy on how to fix the inner city, and a few weeks after writing a memo telling his staff to never look him in the eyes or show the whites of their teeth in his presence, we saw Steve Harvey’s true colors. It’s not that we hate Steve Harvey, it’s just that our cousin Quan is coming down from Flint, and I don’t want him to slap the shit out of Steve sending mustache hairs flying everywhere.

Some of them might land in the potato salad.

Drop Off-ers – Listen, Nikki; Every year, you come by the cookout, grab you a plate, drop your bad-ass kids off and leave without telling anyone. You know your children are–let’s just say “very energetic”–and they won’t listen to anyone. Two years ago you got mad at Uncle Junior because he beat SharGregory’s behind for throwing firecrackers on the grill. I admit that shit was kinda funny, but her little stunt ruined three whole racks of ribs! And you know Junior has PTSD! He started calling for his drill sergeant and pulled out his knife and almost cut your son! I will also admit that I was impressed that Matthewina knew the entire routine to Beyoncé’s “Formation” at the Labor Day cookout, but whenever anyone tried to correct her behavior, we grew tired of her screaming, “Leave me alone! You ain’t my daddy!”

When I got a little frustrated, I pulled her aside and asked her who her daddy was, and she replied, “I don’t know. I just know it ain’t you!”

White women – Although we will make an exception for Rachel Maddow and Teena Marie (wait… she died? When? Ain’t nobody told me nothing!) you have played us for the last time. We thought y’all were cool with us, but then you smiled in our faces and went behind our backs and voted for that citrus-skinned, rooster-headed doofus for President. Then you tried to double back and get us to don pink pussy hats and march with y’all after looking down your noses and sat out the entire Black Lives Matter movement. It’s not that we don’t like you, it’s that you always want to use feminism as a tool to separate yourselves out from white men when we speak of our plight while enjoying the benefits of your whiteness. You participated in every form of white supremacy this country has ever known–slavery, Jim Crow, lynchings… Now you heaux wanna show up with a Tupperware container of kale shish-ka-bobs talmbout “resist.” Man, we don’t fuck with y’all like that anymore! You better get the fuck from around our grill before we call the poli–

Nah, strike that. We’ll just end up getting shot.

Reneggers – No, I’m not talking about the n-word. I’m talking about the people who renege during the spades game. Whether by accident or through nefarious cheating, we are tired of having to break up fights at the card table every year because you cut puppytoes and then tried to slide in a six of clubs towards the end of the hand. Every time you cause a melee things get out of hand, so we have come up with a solution: A Spades referee.

From now on, Uncle Junior will settle all disputes regarding spades games, dominos, Uno, Red Light/Green Light, checkers and rock/paper/scissors. If you disagree with any of his rulings you can always appeal…

…to Uncle Junior’s knife.

Omarosa Manigault – Don’t think we have forgotten that you are sitting in every Trump meeting and press conference not speaking up for us. Don’t come through here this year thinking you are going to get you a plate, because some of our cousins might jump on you and beat you like you stole something.

…or even worse, beat you like you reneged.

Sage Steele – Wait… We already said “white women.”

Plate Rule-breakers – At cookouts in Black America, we abide by the parliamentary plate procedural policies outlined in Robert’s Rules of Cookout Order. While I won’t go over all of them right here, there are a few rule changes for this year that you must familiarize yourself with in order to attend:

The international sanctioning body has reduced the number of to-go plates any attendee is allowed to fix to one. Uno. That’s it. The only exception is for people who paid or bought something for the cookout, but had to miss because of work or sickness. You must bring a doctor’s or work excuse and the committee will review it to see if it stands.

One scoop. That’s it. I know you want some more of Aunt Marvell’s potato salad, but you better pile it up in that one spoonful like you’re digging a grave.

No to-go plate shall be fixed until everyone in attendance has eaten. If I see you fixing your plate beforehand, it is legal for me to grab a rib off of it.

Everyone under the age of 9 can only eat hamburgers and hot dogs. We know that old trick of putting extra ribs and macaroni on a plate and acting as if your kid is gonna eat it. We know that’s for you! Don’t make me call Uncle Junior… or his knife

That’s it. Those are the people we have chosen to exclude from this year’s cookout.

However, this doesn’t mean that everyone else is invited. Instead, we have seen the need to protect Black America’s most sacred tradition before wypipo do it like Kenny G did jazz, Macklemore did hip hop, or America did… well… everything. As you embark on this 4th of July, remember to bask in the beautiful tradition of your beautiful people and never forget that British soldiers policing the colonies, killing a black man is what started the process that birthed America and 241 years later, they still haven’t solved that problem.

So when you’re at the cookout kicking out Beckies, remember, it’s the 4th of July. Until they fix that…

Ain’t no Independence Day, bih!

#happy 4th of july

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lorrainecparker · 7 years

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Filmmaker Friday featuring Filmmaker Morgan Bond

With hundreds of careers and opportunities, the filmmaking industry can be a unique experience for a filmmaker. Options include pitching an idea, or a commission through screenwriting, casting, shooting, editing, and screening your project. Filmtools decided to take a deeper look into the world of a Filmmaker. This week, we had the opportunity to speak to Filmmaker Morgan Bond about her work. This is what she said:

What’s your name and where Are you from?

Morgan Bond: My name is Morgan Bond, and I am from Austin, TX.

What’s your primary role on set?

Morgan Bond: Cinematographer or Gaffer

Who is a person in the industry that is on the top of his or her game in your role?

Morgan Bond: Charlotte Bruus Christensen

If you had to impress someone with your work, what would be the most “well-known” content that you’ve worked on?

Morgan Bond: I’ve worked on some well-known music videos which were featured on Rolling Stone. For folks such as Tunde Adebimpe (TV on the Radio), Gary Clark Jr., David Ramirez, Missio, and Max Frost. I’ve also worked on commercials for clients such as Bose, Dell, Allstate, Chrysler, Jaguar, USAA, and the US Airforce. Additionally, I’ve worked for companies such as Rooster Teeth, GSD&M, Warner Brothers, Animal Planet, the University of Texas, Comedy Central, and Discovery.

Do you have a piece of essential gear that you don’t leave without?

Morgan Bond: I would say that my most valued tool would be my light meter. This is kind of a tool that is not high on a lot of people’s lists but I believe that this tool allows me to more seamlessly complete my job without errors that could later pose major problems. It allows me to get an accurate reading of key to fill ratios, as well as achieving even lighting when needed.

What’s the first thing you do on set?

Morgan Bond: I eat a breakfast taco! The next thing would be to get on the same page with my team, usually starting with the director, AD, then gaffer and production designer, followed by any other pertinent department heads. I make sure to ask about changes in the schedule and also about goals for that day. There are always changes and updates to everything, so even if I’ve scouted the location, made detailed shot lists, and talked at length with everyone, it’s still a good idea to make sure that I’m all caught up with everyone and everything right at the start of the day.

Best craft services food?

Morgan Bond: Craft services on bigger sets, is awesome! You basically get a convenience store on wheels, where you can go in and shop around for stuff, then just take it and go back to work! There’s really anything you could want in there, almost too much. Then, the crafty person walks around a few times throughout the day with a tray of finger foods. On smaller sets, I always appreciate some chips and guacamole, fruit, or veggies and hummus! I like to try to eat things on sets that are filling and fueling, instead of chips and cookies.

Current TV obsession?

Morgan Bond: I just finished watching the Handmaid’s Tale and gotta say, it was awesome! I really liked the way it was shot. There were some interesting angles, and I really felt like I was with Offred as she was experiencing the horrors of this dystopian world.

Do you binge-watch new shows or pace them out?

Morgan Bond: I definitely am a binge watcher. I am so impatient and have such a hard time waiting for episodes to come out. Although, I don’t have the self-control to wait for a whole season to come out, then watch it all at once. I’ll watch them as they come out.

What piece of gear do you have your eye on?

Morgan Bond: I think my next purchase is going to be the new Small HD 702 7.7″ OLED monitor. I’ve been looking for a good onboard monitor to go with my camera, and I really think this Small HD is the way to go.

What’s in your bag when you go to set?

Morgan Bond: The real question is what isn’t in my bag. I have everything in the standard toolbox to very specific, niche items needed for setting up rigs and getting everything ready for a scene. I have 3 CineBags, 5 different types of multi-tools, 4 types of tape measures, 2 drills, rolls on rolls of tape, and more. Like my dad always says “If it moves and shouldn’t, use duct tape, and if it should move but doesn’t, use WD40… otherwise, you have an electrical problem.” and I have something for that too!

What is your preferred camera system? Lenses?

Morgan Bond: As far as camera systems, I’m a little biased, but I haven’t ever worked with anything as intuitive as the Varicam. It’s so easy to learn, easy to get where you want to be in the menus, you’ve got the dual native ISOs, so switching between 800 and 5000 is a breeze when you need just a little more light, and the picture quality is amazing. All around a really great camera. As far as the lenses, I think it just depends on the project. The lenses have a huge impact on the way the picture looks, so I try to match the lenses to the visual feeling I’m going for!

Camera – Should you own or rent?

Morgan Bond: Well considering I own Panasonic’s Varicam LT, I’d say buy. I initially got the camera as an investment, but after having it for a few months, I’ve realized that it’s more an investment in my career. Since getting it, I’ve had more opportunities to shoot projects simply because I have it. A lot of folks, including myself, think it’s unfair, but it’s the way the indie game works right now. There’s a lot of talented DPs who don’t have cameras that just don’t have the same opportunities.

Lenses – Should you own or rent?

Morgan Bond: As for lenses, I think they’re are more of a monetary investment. Your lenses won’t lose value over time, so if you get good lenses, as long as you take care of them, you’ll be renting them out forever.

Where can people check out your work on social?

Morgan Bond: I only really use Instagram and that’s @morganinfilm. You could also visit my website, morganmariebond.com if you are interested in seeing any of my work.

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paul-doyle · 7 years

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From The Hills Of Northern Vermont, Bill Lee, Pitcher-Philosopher, Still Plays A Full Schedule

By Paul Doyle/The Hartford Courant

July 8, 2001

CRAFTSBURY, VT. - On a sunny afternoon in June, the Craftsbury town common is virtual Rockwell.

On one side of the common, a church sits atop the hills of northern Vermont. On the other side, children play in a schoolyard. A white gazebo stands on a sprawling lawn that is framed by tree-lined streets.

Amid the quaint New England scene, Bill Lee is on a roll. Holding a beer in one hand, wearing knee-high rubber fishing boots, a black T-shirt and cargo shorts, Lee sits on a folding chair next to the gazebo and recites his thoughts on everything from baseball in Cuba to life in Vermont. His references range from Ernest Hemingway to Buckminster Fuller as he sprinkles stories with anecdotes from his pitching career.

The man who calls himself a Roman Catholic Buddhist is very much in the moment, losing himself in his stream of thoughts.

That seems to happen when the camera is rolling. And on this day, a crew of documentary filmmakers that recently followed Lee on a trip to Cuba is filming him. The Boston-based crew is producing a film about Lee for PBS and is interviewing him in the town he has called home since 1988.

Leaning forward, sipping his beer and talking about Cuban culture, Lee speaks in front of a hand-held camera and a boom microphone. The scene seems surreal, yet no one stops to watch. Cars and trucks rumble past the common and no one slows to catch a glimpse of the gathering.

``The cameras just keep coming,'' says Lee's estranged wife Pamela, who is home while Bill holds court on the common. ``Same drill all the time. He takes them to the common. They film him at the baseball field. He might go to my daughter's school. Never ends.''

Current Events

It has been 19 years since he wore a major league uniform and even longer since he was entertaining New England sports fans as a member of the Red Sox, but Lee won't fade away. Every so often, his name appears in the news and he is ripe for a quote. The latest instance was the arrival of Don Zimmer's biography; Lee accused the former Red Sox manager of throwing the 1978 season.

When Lee reappears on the pop culture radar screen he reminds the world why he is such a compelling figure. An ex-jock who refuses to give up his game -- he continues to play baseball and softball (as a pitcher, DH and first baseman) in barnstorming games and senior leagues all over Canada and the United States -- Lee is still among the most intelligent and literate professional athletes.

Lee, 54, divides his time among several spots. Craftsbury (population 1,000) is home, but he can just as easily be found staying with friends in Florida or several spots in New England, or he could be in Montreal, western Canada, Washington State, California, Mississippi or Arizona. Camping, visiting family, playing baseball, signing autographs, giving interviews -- it's the nomadic life he has seemingly lived since he first donned a Red Sox uniform more than 30 years ago.

``I'm a man on the move,'' Lee says.

The beauty of Lee's life is its unpredictability. Each morning, he talks baseball on a Montreal radio station. Each Thursday, he tapes a baseball-related show for a Montreal TV station. On any given day he is speaking to sports reporters from all over the country, spewing his thoughts on the game.

But his depth of knowledge appeals to a diverse audience. How many former athletes attract a writer from The New Yorker and a film crew from PBS in the span of months?

Only Lee.

Spend a day with Lee and it's easy to understand the interest from the mainstream and literary media. You will hear rants about everything from the Red Sox to Vermont's civil union law. You will hear his philosophies on life as you tour the farms and rolling hills of northern New England. You will hear off-color jokes and watch an aging New England celebrity move among his neighbors without a hint of pretense.

But don't mistake this for an average day in Lee's life. There is no such thing.

In the morning, Lee spends a few hours with the PBS crew before returning home. He bickers with Pamela, whom he married in 1982 and is in the process of divorcing. He feeds his rooster and chickens, he attempts to complete a few household projects, he runs errands and he watches his daughter play tee ball.

He is pensive and serious. He is lively and gregarious. He tells jokes and stories and plans his next trip.

``This is home,'' Lee says, ``but I'm a nomad. This is my New England base. Catch me here or I'm off. There's always a game somewhere.''

Shopping With The Spaceman

As Lee enters a supermarket in Morrisville, which borders Craftsbury, heads turn. Shoppers stop, gaze at his boots and smile. A teenage girl who apparently knows Lee razzes him and asks if he's expecting a flood.

``Haven't you heard?'' Lee answers. ``The floods are coming. I'm ready ... are you?''

Inside the store, Lee stops at the bank and deposits a check. All five tellers are transfixed on Lee, who jokes about his shorts and boots and his search for someone to groom his lawn while he is on the road.

``Any of you girls interested?'' Lee says.

In four days, Lee will be playing in a baseball game in western Massachusetts before flying out of Bradley International Airport, bound for Winnipeg. He will spend about a month playing in a senior baseball league and living with his girlfriend in Calgary.

Lee says he must have enough money to last through July, since he's not sure when he will return to Vermont. When he receives a slip from the bank teller, Lee winces and studies his account balance. He stares at the ceiling, raises his index finger and recites numbers.

He closes his eyes and smiles.

``Cool,'' Lee says. ``More money than I thought. I'm all set. Maybe I can buy myself a new pair of pants.''

The bank tellers, hanging on Lee's every word, burst into collective laughter.

``You should stick with the boots ... very flattering,'' a teller says.

Pushing his carriage toward the produce aisle, Lee turns and waves. The bank tellers are rolling their eyes and shaking their heads.

``Those are my girls,'' Lee says. ``They love me.''

As Lee walks through the supermarket, he talks about his upcoming week in Craftsbury. Alternating between his various home projects and his pickup basketball games, Lee realizes he has busy week.

His primary concern: finding someone to tend to his home while he is away, since Pam will be moving to Georgia with their daughter Anna, 7. The divorce will be final in a matter of days and Lee will retain the Vermont home, which he built on 14 acres of land 13 years ago.

The divorce has been brewing for over a year, but it is now imminent and Lee will be forced to visit his daughter in Georgia. At home, Pam indicates Bill's schedule is a problem -- he is almost an absentee father because he is away so frequently.

His wayward life contributed to the end of his first marriage. As his career was winding down, Lee and his first wife, Mary Lou, separated in 1981 and she eventually moved to Mississippi. While Lee was living in Montreal, New Brunswick and eventually Vermont during the 1980s, his three children -- Michael, Andy and Caitlin -- were in Mississippi.

His grown children now live in Mississippi, California and Washington. He has a grandchild in Spokane, where Michael lives, and his aging parents live in the San Francisco area.

``I try to make a loop,'' Lee says. ``I'll be out in Calgary with my girlfriend. We'll spend a week in Spokane and see my grandson, we'll head down to my parents for a week, then I'll see my daughter and eventually be back up in Canada. I see everyone.''

Now, Anna will be in Georgia -- another state on the itinerary.

Simplicity Pattern

Through all of the traveling, Lee rarely stays at hotels. Many of his expenses are covered by organizations that ask him to speak or sign autographs, so his out-of-pocket expense is not great.

Which is necessary, since Lee prides himself on simplicity. He has a pension from baseball and derives income from his TV and radio appearances in Montreal. He also runs a fantasy camp in Florida each spring and is continually in demand for appearances throughout New England.

Just two weeks ago, he made an appearance in Bristol and played in an afternoon game at Muzzy Field.

``I'll go anywhere,'' Lee says. ``And I've never overcharged.''

But even with the various sources of income, Lee is not living an extravagant life. He says he earns just enough to live, and boasts of his self-reliance. He taps maple trees and sells the syrup. He saves scraps of wood and makes his own baseball bats. He raised his own chickens for food and often rants about living a life that has little impact on the environment.

After finishing his shopping -- steaks, a bottle of red wine, some Ben and Jerry's ice cream -- Lee squeezes his 6-foot-3 frame into a reporter's rented Toyota Corolla and is off to his next stop.

Why the compact car when he owns a perfectly functional Pathfinder? Lee says the Toyota burns less fuel and is better for the environment, so he sacrifices comfort for his principles.

``Any little thing we can do for the earth,'' Lee says. ``Nothing wrong with this car. It doesn't take a lot to make me happy. I'm a guy who doesn't need a lot. I really am.''

Yankee Mind-Set

Inside a store that sells farm and lawn supplies, Lee immediately notices an employee wearing a Yankees hat. Lee is also taken by the cage of chickens, which cost a mere $1.25 each.

``Give me two of the meat birds,'' Lee says.

The boy with the Yankees hat grabs a box and opens the cage.

``Which ones?'' he asks.

Lee is leaning against the counter and smiling. His grin widens and his eyes flicker.

``The ones with the big legs and no brains ... and the little Yankees hats on them,'' Lee says.

Lee bursts into laughter. He repeats the line and even asks where the little Yankees hats are as the kid pulls the chickens out of the cage.

``It keeps going, doesn't it?'' Lee says. ``It never ends. It all comes back to the Yankees. You can't make this stuff up.''

Back in the Corolla, more jokes follow. The punch line for one involves the resemblance between Yankees fans and various parts of the human anatomy.

Lee says he never tires of the rivalry between the Red Sox and Yankees. When Zimmer's book arrived in the spring, the calls to Vermont came from all over the country. Reporters were looking for a response from Lee, named by Zimmer as the one player he would never invite to his house for dinner.

First, Lee said he wouldn't go to Zimmer's house because he had no interest in seeing 1950s furniture.

Later, he said Zimmer was secretly working for the Yankees in 1978. Zimmer, Lee said, threw the '78 season and is now being repaid by George Steinbrenner as an employee-for-life with the Yankees.

Lee says he doesn't hate Zimmer. He says he has no respect for Zimmer as a manager and still harbors anger about being passed over during the stretch run of the '78 season.

But the private Lee is far more thoughtful than the flaky persona he projects for the sports media. Many of his outrageous quotes are thought out and he will defend them with compelling argument, but he admittedly says things for effect.

``I'm honest,'' Lee says. ``I'm an open book. But I've always been a good interview because I read a lot. I'm well-versed. I know what I'm talking about. I like giving my opinions and stirring it up a little bit. Nothing wrong with that.''

While he continues to fan the flames of the Yankee-Red Sox rivalry, he is really more tied to Montreal than Boston. He is visible throughout New England, but he has virtually no relationship with the Red Sox and jokingly said he was distraught when the team did not invite him to the recent 100th anniversary celebration.

He does, however, have a cordial relationship with Red Sox general manager Dan Duquette. He says Duquette has always been friendly -- or as friendly as he is capable of being.

``I think he's a little weird,'' Lee says. ``You know, he cuts his fingernails when you sit with him. He does this weird, bizarre stuff. His behavior is, like, strange. He kind of reminds me of Nosferatu, kind of a vampire-type guy. Like he comes out at night or something. A New England, Stephen King character. Just kind of weird.''

In the 1970s, Lee shook the baseball establishment when he said he sprinkled marijuana on his pancakes. Turns out, he was joking.

He compared Billy Martin and George Steinbrenner to Nazis. He went AWOL when the Red Sox traded his friend Bernie Carbo and he left the Expos when they released Rodney Scott.

And recently, he called Graig Nettles a Neanderthal.

``It all comes back to the Yankees,'' Lee says over lunch. ``I mean, that's my life. Look at the stuff that happens. The kid with the Yankees hat? It was too easy. It's just my life.''

Political Animal

Lee is very much at home in Vermont, a state that balances the traditional values of New England farmers with the radical politics of aging hippies. This is a state that elected socialist Bernie Sanders to congress and was the first to sanction same-sex marriage.

As Lee drives through Morrisville and Craftsbury, he points out the ``Take Back Vermont'' signs along the road. The signs represent the more conservative, anti-civil union faction in the state.

``Here we have the homophobic idiots in the state,'' Lee says. ``These are the people who live in trailers and vote for Bush because they think they'll get a tax break. Bush doesn't care about these people. Why don't they understand that?''

In 1988, Lee ran for U.S. president under the Rhinoceros Party banner in Canada. His platform: No borders, because the earth is a one-celled organism. And he was opposed to guns and butter (``They'll both kill you.'').

His political views are a reason he will probably always keep his home in Vermont. While he is constantly on the move, he loves the serenity of life in the mountains.

Lee's home was built on land donated by his friend Scott Reed, whom he met at a fantasy camp in the late 1980s. When he recently separated from his wife, Lee spent many nights at the Reed home just down the road.

As Lee brags about the benefits of living in Vermont, he also acknowledges that he will probably be spending less time in the state when his ex-wife and daughter relocate. For all of his bluster, that thought stops him in his tracks.

``I'll need a New England base,'' Lee says. ``But things will be very different. We'll see what happens ... I'm not sure.''

Another Chapter

Returning to his house after his stops in Morrisville, Lee drops off his new chickens and feeds his other animals.

The house is full of boxes, as Pam prepares for her move. Frayed Bill Lee baseball cards are scattered throughout, but there are few reminders of his major league life.

Anna studies the cards and knows her father was a big league player, but Lee says his daughter is unimpressed. Still, the bond between them is obvious. When he interacts with Anna, Lee is every bit a child.

When Lee greets Anna as school ends, he joins his daughter on the swings and asks her about her day as they swing side-by-side. He is reminded about Anna's activities -- pottery class, tee ball -- and Lee seems scattered and unaware.

This is an obvious source of strain between Bill and Pam.

``Maybe if you were home more,'' Pam says.

Lee has no answer. He shrugs and slips into a pensive gaze before saying he will be sure to attend the tee ball game.

``The left hand can't understand the right hand,'' Lee says as a way of describing his relationship with Pam.

Later, as he feeds the animals, Lee says Craftsbury is a perfect place to raise a child and he wants his daughter to grow up among the mountains and trees and farm animals.

The problem is, Lee is often away. Pam says she spends half the year as a single mother and has grown tired of the arrangement.

When they discuss Anna's skills as a tee ball player, Pam makes a point of saying Bill rarely sees her games. She also chides him for unfinished household projects and for his forgetfulness.

Again, Lee has no retort. He says he has accepted that his marriage is over and he is enthusiastic about his girlfriend, with whom he will live in Calgary. They will spend time at a friend's bed and breakfast in British Columbia, they will swim in the Fairmont Hot Springs in Montana and sleep under the stars.

``It's a great life,'' Lee says.

In between baseball and camping, Lee is writing a sequel to his 1984 book ``The Wrong Stuff,'' which was nearly produced as a movie starring Woody Harrelson. Lee hated the screenplay (``Too kiss-and-telly'') and the project died. His next book will elaborate more on his career and include stories about his post-career life.

The book will have all of Lee's thoughts, from politics and philosophy to baseball. And his thoughts on baseball are not limited to the state of the major league game.

As he watches Anna's tee ball game, Lee is restless. Sprawling on the grass, his hands cover his eyes.

``God, I hate this game,'' Lee says. ``Tee ball.''

Lee says he loves instruction, but he does not have the patience for uninterested 7-year-olds. He loves fantasy camps because he teaches the game to middle-aged men who have not played since their youth. ``Building teams with people who don't know how to play,'' Lee says.

He also has no doubt he would have been a good minor league instructor because he can relate to young players from all cultures. His trips to Cuba are proof. Lee brings equipment into the country and works with players even though there is a cultural and language gulf.

``The more diversified you are, the more tools you have to make kids listen,'' Lee says. ``Yeah, I would have been a good manager and coach. But [major league] teams wouldn't touch me.''

At the tee ball game, Lee is commenting on the mechanics of the players. The swings are too wide, he says. The players should know what base to throw to, he insists.

``They're 7 years old,'' Pam says.

Lee shakes his head. When the coaches tell a player to touch the base, Lee wonders why the coach doesn't tell the player to also tag the runner.

``Why don't they teach concepts?'' Lee says. ``You can do other things. They should know how to conceptualize.''

Lee also doesn't understand the rule that requires players to move one base at a time.

``Look, they're all content,'' Lee says. ``One base at a time. David Bowie, station to station.''

After the game, Lee instructs Anna on the art of hitting. Using an umbrella, Anna takes a few cuts. She mimics the sound of a ball hitting a bat, drops the umbrella and runs away.

Lee, continuing to preach about balance and a level swing, picks up the umbrella. Standing alone near the tee ball field he takes a few swings before talking to no one in particular about his hitting.

``Hit a home run in my first [barnstorming] game in Chicopee, hit a home run in my first senior league game, hit a home run in Cuba,'' Lee says as he walks toward the Corolla. ``I'm hitting the [expletive] out of the ball. ... Hitting's all about balance. I'm hitting better now than I ever have.''

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3one3 · 7 years

Text

The Sequel - 795

It’s Time

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Double espresso latte for Prinzessin, babycino for Mausi. Chicken Caesar wrap and fries is coming. They’ll bring it. Here’s napkins.” Was that everything, André asked himself before taking his seat. Christina had just landed back in Dortmund for her Valentine’s visit, and she didn’t get to have lunch or even a snack since breakfast early in the morning, so they stopped at a brand new cafe to get her some mid-afternoon lunch on the way home from the airport.

“Thanks, babe. Did you lose your mom?” the rider questioned as she tested the temperature of the “babycino”- a small cup of steamed milk with a dash of cocoa powder mixed in, just the thing for kids who don’t want to feel left out when the adults sit down for coffee. Lukas was one of those kids. He’d begun to demand his sippy cup with the handle like a coffee mug in the morning when his parents and caretakers had coffee or tea with him over breakfast, as opposed to the various kinds without handles or in different shapes. For the time being, he was too excited about Mommy being back to care much about his drink. He was trying to show her all of his new animals. The storybook celebrated at the children’s reading his dad took him to was about farm animals, and the bookstore had small Beanie Baby style plush characters. Lukas got a cow, a pig, a lamb, a goat, a rooster, and a duck, and they were all on the small cafe table in front of his booster seat so that each one could be introduced to Mommy. They were called “Moo”, “Oik”, “Phiwip Lamm”, “Messi”, “Roo”, and “Quack”. Christina spent much of the time waiting for her drink thinking about how confusing it was going to be that André and Luise managed to teach the baby that sounds don’t have to be sounds and can actually be names. In her mind if you teach a child that the black and white blotchy square thing goes “moo” and then teach him that its name is “Moo”, the child might start thinking that the sound his dog Lucky makes is “lucky” instead of “bark”. These were the deep and philosophical matters that influenced her parenting style.

“She’s waiting for my smoothie and her blended mocha something or other,” the footballer said about his mother, who was waiting for Melanie to come pick her up so they could spend the night at a spa in Düsseldorf. The pregnant girl was in need of some pampering, and in need of some attention from a loved one. Melanie spent all of January in West Palm Beach with Rafa, but then she had to return to Europe for work and had been on the road with the FEI at their Division 2 shows for two weeks. That wasn’t easy in light of her pregnancy. Mom and daughter were going to get some massages and facials and have a mother-daughter Valentine’s day like when Melanie and André were kids and the only one giving them chocolate, teddy bears, and flowers was Luise. Christina was kind of jealous, actually. She almost wished she’d been invited. Her Valentine’s plan was to spend the day with André and Lukas and then say goodbye to the player before dinner because he had to stay with the team. Wednesday was a matchday.

“What kind of smoothie did you get?”

“Mango acai.”

“Daddy, Quack is hungry,” Lukas complained with deep seeded contriteness. The rider couldn’t help but chuckle at him, and then full on laugh when Daddy pretended the stuffed animal’s hunger was a serious emergency, glancing around frantically for something to feed him and then assuring him he would take care of it. André almost knocked the table over when he got up to fetch a saltshaker from the nearest empty one. I don’t even know if he’s hurrying to remedy this hungry duck situation because he thinks if he doesn’t then Lulu Schü is going to get upset, or because he’s just pretending to be very concerned for he duck’s empty stomach, Christina thought while the player dumped salt onto a napkin. “Moo is hungry too!”

“They can share. Here. Put all the animals around the food and they can each have some,” he reasoned. She scooted his chair forward so that Lukas could reach the toys and place them in a circle around the salt pile. She also decided that her husband was a genius for going with the salt and not grabbing some sugar packets. That could have turned into a sticky mess, and on a macro level, taught Lukas that sugar is the answer to hunger, which was something she definitely didn’t want him to learn.

“Drink your milk while they have their lunch,” she suggested to him once he was pushed back again. He couldn’t be trusted with that much access to the table. He would abuse it to steal silverware or food, or knock things over. Christina handed him the paper cup and willed him not to drop it. Luise did the exact same thing. She handed her son a wet plastic cup and warned him that it was slippery and to be careful not to spill.

“How did your adidas meeting go this morning, pretty girl?” he inquired after sampling his smoothie. Having his wife visit not on the back of a competition was a great thing for him, he hoped. It meant he didn’t have to endure whatever aftermath of the competition, like he got her on a clean slate without a drama to color her state of mind or give her something to want to obsess over. And he was desperate for her counsel. Dortmund managed to lose to last-place Darmstadt on Saturday. Many regular starters were unavailable to play and he still didn’t get in the team. Tuchel changed the formation and tried to put square pegs in rectangular holes, and it was hard not to take that as a personal slight when there were other ways to handle the personnel situation that would have included him and seemed much more logical. The manager called on him with 15 minutes remaining, at 2-1, and withdrew Marco, meaning André was expected to make something happen with a bunch of kids whose poor judgement and weak mentality had dug the hole for the team in the first place and without the only member of the squad with current scoring streak to speak of. He couldn’t. The loss was an embarrassment. On top of that, the club was in big trouble with the league over fan violence the week before. They had a huge fine to play, and would have to empty the famous Yellow Wall for a match. The media had been pushing a “Dortmund in crisis” line for weeks and the players kept pushing back, telling reporters that it was a manufactured crisis and that everything was fine in the team. The loss at the weekend gave the crisis talk some substance. Doubts about Tuchel turned up in volume, and the season-long transfer debate rhetoric got a shot of electricity. Fans and observers wanted to know how the club could spend so much and bring in so many players and end up fighting to get into the Champions League places. And speaking of the Champions League, Benfica was coming to town in two days. The club’s record signing was ready to be on the receiving end of spousal support instead of dishing it out.

“It was okay but I don’t know why they even consult me. They ignored everything I said about the first collection, and most of the things I’ve said in development meetings since then. The new stuff is clothes I would wear to run errands or...get coffee. They’re really comfy looking, and it’s all typical dull Chris colors, luxurious fabrics, blah blah, but it’s not stuff I would ride in.”

“They’re trying to sell your lifestyle,” Luise pointed out. “I think riders would buy the clothes just to feel they are like you, not necessarily to be better outfitted for their riding or something like this. Footballers only wear one outfit to play. Think of all the items in the club shops.”

“I guess. I just don’t really like having my name on something I wouldn’t even ride in, even though it’s not my actual name...exactly.... This is a really good latte, by the way. We should come here more.”

“It’s a long way from the house,” André reminded. He saw Christina’s face fall, and hoped it was a consequence of disappointment about the coffee and not a bigger house-related thing. Her footing installation was underway there, and as he got no panicked or apologetic calls yet, he assumed it was going to plan. More importantly, Zoe told him the house could be done in as little as a week. He planned to talk to his wife about it once they were alone. His idea was to schedule the big move during her Gothenburg trip. That way everything from the London house could be packed, shipped, delivered, and installed all while she was away, and most of the horses were going to the show with her so that would make transferring everything from one barn to the other more convenient too. He didn’t know if that was as easy as he expected though, logistically. For example, he didn’t know how the new barn could be set up and ready to receive the horses from Sweden if Tom and Kyle were in Sweden with them, and he didn’t know if the kids were ready to move that soon, or what would happen with Isandro and the Hazard ponies. The Argentine didn’t have a new job yet, and André didn’t know if Box Hill had space for Wizzy and Cornflakes right away.

They spent the rest of the cafe stop fighting over French fries. They were a hot commodity and everyone wanted some. Christina was happy to share her crispy potatoes with Lukas, but she told André to go get his own. He kept stealing them two or three at a time whenever she picked up her wrap. It was big and falling apart and was thus a two-handed job. That left her fries defenseless. A French fry feud was the most fulfilling thing to happen to him since she last left.

“How is your booboo? Is it going away?” he asked her later in the evening, when they were finally alone. His girl changed after putting Lukas to bed, and rejoined him on the couch in her home uniform- a little white t-shirt and little black underwear. André lifted her bare leg to check out the damage he did a week earlier. The ugly bruise was still there. His challenge during their “game” with Lukas was bad enough that the evidence wasn’t going away.

“Oh not to worry- it only hurts every single time I squeeze my leg on a horse.”

“So, like, 300 times per day?”

“Correct.”

“I’m sorry,” he laughed. “I didn’t know you were going to just stop.”

“Do you like this one?” Christina invited herself to sit in his lap so that she could show him a big swollen and presumably black and blue spot on the top of her head. “I dropped my fork under the table at Stamford Bridge yesterday and in the time it took to bend down and get it I forgot that I was under a table and thought I could just sit up again. I was really off my game yesterday,” she sniggered. The footballer knew she was referencing the three separate occasions on which she called him by accident from her car while trying to operate the GPS.

“Accident Prone Prinzessin is a walking disaster, yeah?” he asked before kissing her head near the bump. She folded her legs and hunkered down, preparing to stay for the long haul. Sitting on him was the high point of her day. There was some kind of special reading powers in her butt. If she sat on him, then she could magically see into his heart and his head and know how he was doing. The butt-read was significantly more accurate than listening to him explain his football frustrations, or even watching him when he talked about them. Her nicely sculpted behind was readying its report.

“More like a sitting disaster. I don’t even have to walk to get myself hurt. I do it sitting down.”

“Should I put some pillows around you now for your own protection?”

“No, you should just protect me yourself.” Christina leaned over on one side of his chest and hugged across the other. “Protection services are part of the marriage contract, buddy.”

“Despite all physical evidence to the contrary, my baby can protect herself just fine.” André put his hand over hers on his shirt and stroked back and forth over the back of her palm and her wrist. And she’s doing a much better job of it right now than a few months ago, so I’m thankful, he thought.

“You’re pretty good at looking after yourself too, but are you okay right now?” His wife glanced up near his chin and dropped her cute tone. She was asking a serious question. “The Dortmund press is LIT right now. I know you said it’s not as bad inside the team as out, but is that still the case? Are you dealing okay? Are you pretending so that I don’t say “I told you so”?”

“I’m better now that you’re around.” The team’s under-utilized and overpriced midfielder aggressively tousled her hair, immediately realized she just showed him the big bump on her head, cringed, and hugged the whole thing to his face like that would stop it from hurting. “I’m sorry! I forgot!”

“I’ll survive.” The rider had quite a glare on her face but he couldn’t see it. “Seriously though- do you need to talk or anything?”

“I would like to just enjoy having someone to hang out with who doesn’t remind me of the team, has a prettier smile than my friends, and smells nice.”

“I thought you were talking about Luke until you got to “smells nice”. How much longer do we have to wait for potty training you think?”

“A long ass time.”

“Do you want to go not-out dancing with me?”

“Come again?”

“Juan invited me out dancing last night. The guys were going to some V-Day themed party. And I was like yeah, I do kinda feel like going out dancing, but I wanna go out dancing with boyfriend, so I didn’t go. But I still feel like dancing. Do you want to make yourself a drink to hold and sip while you sit around not dancing while I dance? I’m probably gonna do it in the kitchen.” Christina blinked up at him with large and expectant eyes. Her playful and affectionate mood was one of his favorites, and exactly the one he needed on that Monday night. It was like being a kid and having a friend over to play with, rather than having his roommate around. A roommate is so familiar and routine that hanging with one can be dull in comparison to having a friend over for a playdate.

“I don’t really feel like having a drink-drink, but I’ll drink some wine while you go out dancing in the kitchen,” he winked. Then he spotted what his wink did to her eyes. Both of them swelled for just a second, like a heart beating, and her bare lips curved up. “Will you be dressing up for this night out in?”

“Hell no. I’m gonna make dinner while I’m out in dancing though. Chicken-veggie-grain-bowl, or shrimp?”

“Shrimp! Can you make the Sriracha sauce?”

“Yessir,” his playdate nodded. “Phone, please.” She used his iPhone to play The Weeknd’s “Love To Lay” through the TV’s sound system, put her slippers on, and danced into the kitchen to defrost some shrimp and start cutting up vegetables to go with the bulgur she made earlier for Lukas. It was no mere foot tapping and head bobbing with her favorite tune from Starboy. Christina danced like she had pre-arranged choreography for the song. She sang into a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc after pouring two glasses. She rubbed her butt on a cabinet with an avocado in her hand. Her usual dance partner leaned over the counter and watched her while he sipped the wine.

I bet she dances to this in the shower all the time or something, he reasoned. She knows exactly which move she wants to do for each part, and she loooooooooves this song. I looooooooove her butt in those panties. Very small, no-frill stretchy black panties are Chris’ signature look. That’s what adidas should sell with her name. If I get a chair from the table and go sit in there, is she going to grind on my lap like she does in the club?

“You don’t have any mint, do you?” the tiny dancer inquired when her first song began to fade out.

“No.”

“Is there basil left from last week?”

“Yeah but it might be bad.”

“Are you gonna come dance wiff me?” She turned her bottom lip over and lifted up on her toes at the big butcher-block cart.

“Maybe.”

“Get the basil and come over here. You can dance with me and chop leaves while I massacre this avocado.”

“I was going to eat that for breakfast tomorrow.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day. You think I’m gonna let you eat some crappy avocado toast for breakfast? Chyea.” Christina took a few steps back to select a knife from the block on the counter, and André detoured to her before going to the refrigerator to get the basil. He wanted to give her a smooch.

“I love you,” he reminded her with a calm and close-lipped smile after.

“Yeah well no one is going to say “I don’t love you” to a girl with a large knife.”

At what point do I ruin this nice mood she’s in and tell her the house is almost ready? The player’s own question made for an unexpected mental shudder. He knew for more than 24 hours that he would be delivering the news, and for more than 24 hours he anticipated a bad reaction. It wasn’t until that night that he realized how awful it is to expect one’s wife to be upset to learn that they can live together again soon. He chopped not-so-fresh basil and reflected on that, wondering what it said about them and their relationship. It’s not really that I think she doesn’t look forward to being settled with me again, one delegation in his head argued. It’s more that I know she doesn’t want to leave London and hates change. It’s the reality and proximity to the upheaval that I think is going to bring her down. That’s okay, isn’t it? That’s not the same as her reacting in some way other than bouncing up and down with happiness because she’s dreading being a family full-time again. I don’t believe that anymore. She wants to be together more. Shouldn’t I expect that eagerness to outweigh the dread of change though? Shouldn’t she be happier about getting settled and being together and launching our new life than she is sad or depressed about finally ending this terrible half-way situation we currently have? She’s had 7 months to be upset about having to leave the house and the barn and her friends and her hairdresser and everything. Shouldn’t she be ready to celebrate the new start by now? Is it really bad that my instinct is that she won’t be?

Christina kept dancing while they chopped up broccoli florets, carrots, yellow squash, Nappa cabbage, and spinach. That wasn’t necessarily her first choice assembly of vegetables for Sriracha shrimp, but it was what she found in the refrigerator. All of that went in the steamer and she heated the hot sauce in a sauté pan with minced garlic and butter. André just stood around when he was finished with his knife work. He gulped wine and thought about when to broach the subject of the move.

“You’re awfully quiet,” his wife observed after the initial loud sizzle from tossing defrosted shrimp into the hot pan waned. It was her belief that if he went 5 minutes without doing or saying something dumb and/or silly, there was something bothering him.

“I wouldn’t want to talk over Keith Urban and Carrie Witherspoon.”

“Carrie Underwood,” she snorted, shaking her head as well as the frying pan.

“Whatever. They’re the same bad country music,” the pseudo-striker shrugged.

“Reese Witherspoon is an actress, you dumbass. She doesn’t make country music.”

“I saw her in that country movie doing country music!”

“The Johnny Cash movie? That was just a role. She’s not a musician.”

“Fine. This song still sucks.”

“Your face sucks.”

“I’m going to throw this lemon at your face.”

“Would you rather throw it in my face or have it zested on your shrimp?”

“That’s a tough choice, to be honest.”

“Shut up.”

“The painters started at the house today. Zoe scheduled the final pre-move-in walkthrough for next Monday.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s finally time, Prinzessin. It’s time to move into our new home.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Christina whispered as she turned away to look down at the shrimp, a lump expanding in her throat like the world’s fastest growing cancer. It felt like cancer, too. Sickness descended. Her stomach was uneasy, the steam from the food suddenly made her skin clammy on the outside and it felt white hot on the inside. There was anxiety, like when she knew she was about to be ill, and there was instant sadness. Their arrangement wasn’t working and she was desperate for long lasting relief from that. Going all in in Germany was never the permanent solution she expected to fix it though. That was the answer she was still nervous about, and kind of dreading. She still didn’t want to give up her London life, even if London didn’t always feel like home anymore anyway. She still feared change. The devil she knew was undeniably awful. There was still the possibility that the devil she didn’t know could be worse, and that one was much harder to escape or hide from. “I need the lemon now.” She held her hand out for the fruit without taking her eyes off the seafood. André handed it over but her reaction was not the one he was hoping for.

“Is that not what you want?” His question wasn’t about food.

“It’s not that it’s not what I want.” I’ve done plenty of thinking on this and I know how to explain it now, Christina reminded herself. “What I want is to live in our home in London with you, and for you to play for Chelsea, and for my riding to be what it was. None of those things are going to happen so there isn’t much point in wanting it. So I do want to move into the new house and be together- it’s just that it’s my second choice.”

“Are you ever going to let me off the hook for doing what’s best for me?” Her partner was frank and his voice carried a sharp edge.

“I don’t have you on one.”

“Right.”

“What do you want me to fucking say? I’m not standing here telling you I’m mad that we’re standing here. I’m not standing here telling you I don’t want to be having all our fights in a kitchen in Germany from now on. I’m just telling you that I would rather be standing with you in a kitchen in London because I loved the life we had there and I know it works there and I don’t know that we’ll love it here or that it works here, so I’m not overwhelmed with happiness that it’s time to find out.” The rider and chef turned off the heat under the pan and ignored the surly German to her left. She threw a handful of the basil in and stirred it around with her tongs. “I’m leaving everything I love to be with who I love. I made that choice because who I love is more important than what I love, but you can’t expect me to only feel good about it. I’m not like you. You came here and pretended you were only excited about Dortmund, and looking forward, like you weren’t also disappointed in yourself for not making the Chelsea career you wanted, like you wouldn’t miss the club, and the city, and our home. You just threw a sheet over all of that and forgot about it. That’s not me. I carry the hard stuff around with me too.”

“You think I don’t?”

“You certainly don’t act like it.”

One thing is for sure. She is over the wounded animal act from the last however many months, André decided. Someone has re-grown a backbone. He wasn’t necessarily thrilled with the revelation- not in that moment anyway. He watched her assemble the bowls of bulgur, steamed vegetables, spicy shrimp, and fresh avocado and totally refuse to look him in the eye, or even in his general direction. And he didn’t know what to make of it. I wanted her to smile and say “That’s great! I can’t wait!” I get that she doesn’t want to leave London and she’s sad about it. Why is it unreasonable to think she should be more excited about being here with me than she is upset about leaving there?

“I didn’t ignore that I was upset about quitting Chelsea, or that I had to be away from you,” the player told her while she drizzled her creations with a bit more Sriracha. “I was just more excited and happy about the new things than I was upset about the old ones. I don’t expect you to be only happy to come here. I hoped you would be more excited about our future than you are sad about leaving our past. That’s all.”

“Well I’m not, and before you have a cow, it’s not because of us. It’s because it’s unknown. Here.” Christina turned 45 degrees and thrust the striped bowl of food into his waist. Her husband hated the way she talked about everything. To him it was all negative, and final, and unforgiving. He could tell she was upset, and that she was driven by emotions other than anger, but it was still wholly unpleasant to confront. I’m just going to move on. I don’t know how many times we have to “re-litigate” this. That’s the word she always uses when she watches political people on TV make bad arguments about the past to try to defend something in the present. She says it’s just bad arguing tactics. I don’t know. Whatever.

“Fine. Do you want to do the move while you’re in Sweden? Zoe has a company that comes and packs up the house after you leave and puts it all in the new house by the time you get there. She tells them where to put everything. I’m sure it can be changed when you-“

“No. Why on Earth would I want to be stressing out over an international move during my last chance to qualify for the World Cup Final? And what about the horses? We cant jus-“

“This is what I said would happen.” André put his bowl on the counter and folded his arms. “I said you would keep finding reasons to put it off. This show, and that show, and-“

“Why are you looking for a fight? I just said I don’t want to move during a major horse show. What is so wrong with that? Would you want to move your whole life to a new a place while you’re traveling for a Champions League semifinal or something? God.” Christina looked disgusted, and she tossed the dirty pan into the sink with all the care of a deliveryman on overtime. “I have four weeks off between Sweden and the Final in the US and I would be “happy” to move during any one of them. It’s not like I just said “maybe next year”. Christ.”

“Calm down.”

“You calm down.”

The player got up from the counter he was leaning on and picked up her bowl to offer it to her, almost like an olive branch. It was within him to realize he had just jumped to an unfair conclusion, and he was sorry for that part of the conversation at least. She shook her head and refused to take the bowl.

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Chris...”

“How can-“ She took a deep breath, sighed, and felt the backbone he thought he saw dissolve away. The lump came back, and her face felt hot, and tears couldn’t be too far behind. There were much more complicated things on her mind than the logistics of moving, whether it happened while she was busy or not. “How can you think that whatever is wrong with us- whatever makes us have these fights- is just magically going to go away because we live in the same house? Or that it’s magically going to be fine if I can win things with Dirk all the time? Juan says-“

“I couldn’t give a fuck less what Juan says.”

“No, listen. Just listen,” she sighed, looking up from the floor for a second. “He says the strength of a relationship is what you see in bad times, when it’s hard. Don’t you think we should be okay regardless of what things are happening outside of us? Don’t you think it’s a bad sign that we have to rely on outside circumstances to believe that we’ll be good again? Our relationship shouldn’t depend on our geolocation and my aging horse. You do this thing where you can see a solution to a problem so you think it’s fine. You saw Dortmund as a solution and ignored all the logical counterpoints and now you’re suffering for your one-track mind. I asked you what happens when Marco is fit, and you said it would be fine because Tuchel wanted you. It’s not fine. You don’t get to play. It’s a major drama. You always do this. You have a problem, and you make up a plan to solve it, and you latch onto the plan and believe it has to work, but you ignore anything that goes against the plan, and the odds on the plan. Just because you can see a way out of something doesn’t mean it’s going to work. What happens when we’re all settled in the house and Dirk breaks records and we’re still fighting in the kitchen because you doubt whether or not I want to live with you, and that I’m holding a grudge because you wanted to come here? Why do you think those will go away? You need to live with me to believe I want to live with you? Don’t you think there’s something wrong with that?”

“You’re criticizing me for having belief in us and for thinking of ways to make our lives better, but I don’t hear you coming up with anything else.” The footballer tried to keep his emotions in check despite feeling attacked for being himself. He didn’t see his affinity for solving problems as a weakness. “If you don’t think being together and improving your situation with Dirk is going to make everything better for us- that we have some fundamental problems that have nothing to do with being apart and you being unhappy- then what do you think will fix everything?”

“I don’t know, and that’s why I’m unhappy, and why I’m stressed, and why I’m not excited to move. Not only do I not think moving fixes everything, it also has the potential to confirm that our problems are deeper than that, and then I know for sure that we’re in trouble, and I can’t even get relief from the fights once I live here.”

“Yeah but I know when we’re together everyday that I don’t have the doubt about what you want. You show me. And I know that you’re always happier and capable of more happiness and great things when you and the horse are doing well together. I have reasons for believing in my solutions. Let’s eat, okay? Let’s just take a step back.”

“You have reasons and when you settle on them you block out everything else. You had reasons why you’d be happier playing here too, and blinders on to block out all the reasons that were in contradiction to the ones you chose to believe. I don’t do that. That’s not how my brain works. I look at the whole picture.” The underwear-clad chef patted her dejected and slightly offended partner’s arm in an awkward gesture he didn’t understand. “You eat. I’m going to...take a bath, I think.” She squeezed his arm and then walked away. There were no tears, and the biting anger never boiled over. It wasn’t a retreat either though. The new kind of end to the fight made it different from all the other ones they’d been having since the beginning of the transfer saga. Christina didn’t get so upset that she took the easy way out just to put an end to the ordeal, and André never lost his temper or shouted at her. The former wondered if that just meant they were both becoming numb to fighting, not whether it meant they were doing better about being better to one another.

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