#<- if you squint hard enough at this drawing you can see the 2nd and 3rd cw

[nyuheartbreak]

say it! make it real!

[wysteriaisapenguin]

You're my Savior, my True Savior, my Saving Grace

I'm with you forever, by your side forever

Consider this my take on a 'Warped' version of Hero, who's about to enter his "Savior" era. He swore he would stay by LQ’s side no matter what, but when he realized that LQ wasn't going to make things better for anyone, he had to do something. He was going to bear everyone's burdens, whether they like it or not. After all, someone has to be the hero.

Reference used:

[shiningqueen]

unexpected burdens / mihawk x afab!oc / sfw

I am back with another 2nd person experimental piece that is literally just Fay but kept nameless because why not?

notes: established friendship, pining if you squint, hurt/comfort vibes. rating: sfw / e for everyone

Mihawk finds you in a crowded bar on Water 7, shoulder to shoulder with locals and sailors of all types. This was one of those rare instances where he went seeking you on purpose, as typically he left you to wander where-ever you pleased on the Grand Line. Yet he does not approach you right away, watching the crowd shift and reveal you were otherwise occupied with someone else.

So occupied that you did not even notice him enter in the first place.

He settles himself at the far side of the taproom to observe, paying no mind to how the other patrons stutter at his presence when he passes. Even from a distance he can easily read the tension in your narrow shoulders, your posture too rigid as if you were coiled to spring into action at any second. The individual that is the cause of such obvious discontent is another woman.

She matches you in height but with a curvier build and shorter hair; he does not recognize her from any other of your associates he'd become acquainted with over the years. Yet the sense of hostile familarity between you both tells him that regardless of whoever she is, you are clearly unhappy to see each other. The drone of the tavern's crowd ebbs into white noise as he attempts to listen in on the exchange - and realizes quickly you are speaking your native language and doing so too rapidly for him to properly follow.

So the Warlord waits and watches, curious and perhaps a little concerned for how you flush with indignation and for the tremor in your arms as you restrain some outpouring of emotion. Your voice never rises above the cacophony to draw too much attention from others but he can tell the argument is of interest to a few.

Mihawk has known you for just under two years at this point and he'd never seen you so incensed before. He knew you to be reserved and level headed and those traits are only partially why he enjoyed your company so much. Your docile demeanor complemented his own aloof tendencies but this encounter is so unlike what he is accustomed to seeing from you. The tension is prime to snap at any moment and he sees the course of action you take seconds before you commit to it. A swift movement of your hand gripping the tumbler nearby and it gets launched behind the bar in an explosion of shattering glass and your voice lifting to a broken octave.

Stillness ripples throughout the bar at the outburst, Mihawk feels the crackle of tension and the electric tingle of your haki skitter over his skin. There are tears flowing freely down your face and your shoulders are shivering from the force of the anguish that had overtaken you. He didnt like it. An uncomfortable twist somewhere in his gut at the sight of you so clearly distraught, such a sharp contrast to the witty, gentle natured person he had gotten to know over time.

It made him realize that in the grander scheme of things, he really did not know much about you.

You shove through the crowd and leave the tavern without looking at anyone else. He lingers long enough for the noise level to return to normal before rising to stand and following your trail out into the streets.

-x-

A cocktail of embarassment, anguish, anger and betrayal burned all the way down your throat as you left the bar. This was not how you imagined the day ending. Infact, you hadnt spared a single thought about seeing her again after you left your home island two years ago. Then she had suddenly appeared like a fucking living nightmare when you had only come to Water 7 for a leisurely trip away from Kuraigana. She had no right showing up here! Absolutely no goddamn right to haunt one of your favorite hang outs and drink with your acquaintances so casually as if she hadnt ruined your fucking life.

It was hard to see, even harder to think beyond the feeling of an old wound you thought had scarred over, ripping open and bleeding anew. Your eyes blurry from tears and your throat tight with the crushing blend of anxiety, fury and despair.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to break anything you could get your hands on, you wanted to drown yourself in the sea if it meant relief from having to process the grief all over again. For just a few seconds, you grasped the hilt of your double-edged blade and considered wreaking hapless destruction in the abandoned portions of Water 7. Yet none of that happened. You half ran all the way back to the docks on sheer instinct.

The tears hadnt stopped flowing even as you reach the waterfront beneath the deepening twilight, stumbling and then dropping down to sit at the edge of a platform and let the crushing weight of that wretched encounter bow your shoulders low. Even two years after the fact and she wanted to pretend she did nothing wrong. It wasnt fair.

"[Name]", the cool tenor of a familiar voice jerks you out of your painful reverie, shoulders pulling back and head twisting to peer up at the shadowed visage of Mihawk standing over you. His eyes glint beneath the dark halo cast from his cavalier hat.

You turn away hastily and shudder through several strained sobs, feeling ashamed that he would see you like this. You had somehow managed to befriend the reticient greatest swordsman but there was an ever present barrier between you - something self imposed because of your own insecurity around being remotely worthy to even warrant his attention. Would he think lesser of you for this? Had he been in the tavern to witness that disaster?

"[Name]," Mihawk says again in a marginally gentler tone and you feel the slight pressure of his hand wrapping around your bicep, his body heat now considerably closer as he reached down into your space. "We have somewhere to be, let us not tarry here." His voice lacks its typical brusque edge and you think he almost sounds concerned, even coaxing. You nod and let him help haul you to stand, still pointedly avoiding looking at his face.

Why delay the inevitable any further?

"You saw, didnt you?" You ask, hating how raspy you sounded from crying.

A few heartbeats of silence and then, "I saw enough." His touch goes from your arm to resting on your shoulder, "I wont pry but I will listen, if you deign to share."

It's an unexpected offer but ultimately not unwelcome, though the idea of spilling out your heartbreak does lodge a knot in your throat. You rarely volunteered information about your past to Mihawk and he inquired very little of you in the first place - whether out of disinterest or pragmatic acceptance you had never been certain. The silence stretched on as you mulled over the offer and what it meant for your friendship with him.

"I'll explain later," you decide quietly, tentatively brushing your hand against his that lingered on you.

Mihawk hums in acceptance and keeping his hand in place, prompts you to walk further onto the creaking docks with him. His quiet, unfaltering confidence was a balm to the aching in your chest. Part of you still felt so undeserving of him that it only compounded the hurt.

As if sensing your turmoil, the swordsman cleared his throat and recited calmly, "The calm before the storm, we need to mollify, our inner tempest."

The haiku is soothing and it tempts a muted, pleased huff from you.

"Great heroes need great sorrows," you recite in response, wiping the lessening tears from your eyes as you peek at him shyly from beneath your lashes.

"Sorrow need not be carried alone," Mihawk retorts languidly and you choke on another soft cry, this one a tangle of gratitude and pain.

You really did not deserve him.

[damnzawa]

henlo i'm not sure what your rules are for requests so i'm sorry if i'm doing this wrong i just love your writing uwu 👉🏼👈🏼 aizawa with an hero!s/o turned into a neko because they got hit by a quirk after fighting some villain? 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

(CAT)ASTROPHE — A. SHOUTA

Note(s): OMG ?? I ?? AM ?? SO ?? FLATTERED ?? THAT ?? YOU ?? LIKE ?? MY ?? SHITTY ?? ASS ?? AND ?? CLICHE ?? WRITING ?? also i live for these types of scenarios SO EFF YES

Warning(s): Poorly written fight scene, Aizawa having a mental breakdown, Cat Fluff

...

Being a pro-hero comes with a lot of pros and cons. For some, the pros may outweigh the cons and vice versa. Some even has a healthy balance of both. While you, you were one of the people who have pros outweigh the cons.

You weren't really the pro-hero to compete for the spotlight but you still had a good number of people who knows of you and what you could do. Though, you aren't as flashy as the others, you had a unique charm to you that draws people's attention towards you.

It was that charm that drew the infamous hobo man of U.A. to you, all in his yellow, shining (not really) sleeping bag glory. Though at first, he was irritated at the fact that you were just a natural at everything and everybody just seemed to love you. But as time went by, he realized that this charm of yours has truly captivated him. You weren't like the other pro-heroes he had met. No. You were unique. One of a kind. Genuinely different from the others.

After months of (silent) pining, he decided to just fuck it and ask you out on a date, in which surprisingly you happily agreed to. As time progressed, and two dates became 3, 4, 5, and counting, he got to know more sides of you. More characteristics to add to your charm. And by the time you reached your 2nd year anniversary, you guys decided to move in together—which was by far the greateat decision you and Aizawa has ever made.

Your charms are a part of your pros. It's what makes you, you. But unfortunately, you had yet to learn that it was one of your cons too.

It was the usual night patrol. Check any suspicious activity, check if anyone's doing crimes, check up on the stray cat on the alley, repeat. Honestly, some times patrols can be quite a bore. But you didn't mind. It was part of the job after all.

Cautiously walking down the street, you suddenly heard a scream from one of the alleys nearby. You quickly sprinted into action, not sparing another second as you rushed into the scene of the crime.

"Please! Don't hurt my child!" The woman screamed as the villain inched closer to them. Silently creeping up on the thug, you noticed that the villain had a weapon—a gun to be exact which was gonna be a pain if they ever shot the woman and/or his child. "Please! It's all I have! I promise!" A robbery? In the night? Typical villain move.

"Step away from them." You commanded the villain as you activated your quirk. A force field acting as a shield appeared out of nowhere, protecting the woman and her child from harm. You could tell that the woman was relieved, however, the child was still crying.

The villain chuckled as he turned around to face you, your hero name rolling off his tongue in a sinister way. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the saviors of society! The heroes! Protecting the world from evil doers such as myself." You could feel a speech coming. You honestly could feel it. "At least that's what you think. You heroes think you're good shit after taking down some bad guys but do you ever wonder about those who also suffer because of you?" He pointed the gun towards you making you squint at him. "I lost my family! Because of you guys! Because of that stupid Endeavor! You don't really care about the people! You just care about the fame! The money! The recognition you'll get after locking us all up in jail!"

"I assure you, heroes are not like that. Sure we have our own ambitions, but we all protect the people. That's our number one priority." Your response made him snarl. "And as much as I would love to stay and chat..." You activates your quirk once again, this time making whips out of light. "...It's time to pay for your crimes." You attacked him with the whip to which he skillfully dodged. He appeared from place to place with a blink of an eye, making it hard for you to apprehend him.

'Shit. A teleportation quirk? That's gonna be a pain in the ass.'

Dodging his punches that came out of nowhere, you kicked him in the gut. After reading watching his moves while dodging, you figured out that he has this pattern. He would first attack you in the back—which caught you by surprise the first time—then he would go for your front then your sides. It was the repeating pattern he used on you, so after getting used to it, you finally had the upper hand.

He was thrown a bit from the force of your kick but quickly recovered from it. He attacked you with another punch on your left which you countered by grabbing on his arm and twisting it until you heard a crack.

'Well now he certainly can't punch with that one.'

"You bitch!" He pulled out his gun and repeatedly fired shots at you. Every shot was a miss and then finally you encaged him in a box of light.

"Sweet dreams." And with that, you knocked him out with your quirk.

After putting on quirk nullyfing cuffs and a rope made out of light around his body, you checked up on the victims. The woman was repeatedly thanking you while the child was still shaken up.

"Hey now kiddo. It's alright. You're safe now." You approached him with a gentle smile on your face. You were about to place comforting hand on his shoulder when he suddenly shot up.

"No! Get away from me and my mom!" A sudden force emitted from his body as he pushed you to the ground.

"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry about that!" You stood up and brushed yourself off as the woman repeatedly apologized for her son's behavior.

"No ma'am. It's alright. I'm fine, no harm done. See?" You flashed her a smile. "Kiddo, it's alright now. I'm a pro-hero. Police are on the way. Can you stay for a bit and tell them what happened?" The boy reluctantly nodded which made you smile even wider. "That's great then! You were brave out there kiddo."

"I'm sorry for using my quirk on you..." The boy muttered. You ruffled his hair and told him that it was alright. Though, you would surely see a paramedic later.

After the police arrived and collected your statements, you headed home with a headache. Apparently, the woman and her child doesn't know what his quirk actually is. The robbery might have triggered his quirk and you were the first one to be hit with it.

Great.

Just great.

You just hoped Aizawa was home too. You clearly need some of his A+ cuddles to ease the pain.

You arrived at your shared apartment shortly, but before you could even reach your shared bedroom, you blacked out.

...

Aizawa Shouta wasn't having the greatest day of his life. An eventful and rowdy day at U.A, then an eventful and extra rowdy patrol at night all while running with 3 hours of sleep? Yep. Not the greatest day of his life.

The grumpy man groaned as he remembered the stack of papers waiting for him back home. He could already feel the pain he was about to endure for the greater good of the future heroes he was teaching. He frowned as he imagined Kaminari's sloppy handwriting—and a possible doodle of him—in his homework, he could also imagine the cluster of words that didn't make sense brought to him by Mina Ashido.

But he could also imagine you greeting him with a kiss as usual. He could imagine your arms wrapped around him in a loving embrace, washing out the stress he previously had. He could imagine you rolling your eyes at him as he complained about you not getting enough sleep. He could imagine you helping him grade those forsaken essays he made his students do.

Well, maybe this day wasn't so bad for him. After all, he had you to go home to.

After opening the door, he expected you to greet him with open arms and ask him how his day went. He expected you to make fun of his struggles as a teacher and remind him that it was his choice to teach to begin with. But instead he was met with silence and no you.

To: Y/n

From: Shouta

Are you patrolling late tonight?

He waited for a few minutes but he didn't recieve a reply. He sent another message, and another, and another, until he finally decided to wash up and wait up for you just incase anything happens.

Just as he was about to enter your shared bedroom, he noticed your hero costume on the floor, a lump of something breathing underneath it. He lifted your hero costume, revealing a (h/c) cat—who stirred at his actions—sleeping peacefully. His hand instinctively reached down to pet it, feeling the smooth fur on his fingertips. The petting caused the animal to wake up, it's tired eyes looking at him with such warmness it was almost so familiar yet he couldn't remember where it's from.

"Shouta?" Aizawa froze on the spot as he heard your voice leaving the cat's mouth. He blinked owlishly, trying to process what the hell happened. Did the cat just speak? And did the cat sounded just like you?

"Why the hell are you so big? Did something happen?" You—the cute cat infront of him—asked as you unconsciously started to rub your cat chin into his shoulder.

"Y/n, I should be the one asking you that." You perked up at his response, head tilting as you waited for an answer.

"What do you mean?" Oh god you were giving him the cute eyes.

"Y/n, you're a cat."

"I'm a cat." You repeated. "Wait—what?" You blinked as you realized what had happened. Oh. So this was that child's quirk. "Shit."

"Shit indeed." Aizawa picked you up gently and placed you on the bed. "Mind telling me what happened?"

"Ok so..."

...

Aizawa secretly carried a laser on him the next day. You were dismissed of your hero duties for a week (because that's how long the quirk's gonna last) and was stuck in the apartment all day so he figured you could use a little fun right?

Right...

You greeted him as usual, but instead of human you, cat you is rubbing your body around his ankles and making a '8' shape as you circled his feet. It was quite cute to be honest. He had a soft spot for cats and you after all. He tried his best not to melt then and there.

"I've got something for you." Your ears went forward and your tail erected with it's fur flat at the statement. Clearly, you were happy. Aizawa brought out the laser thingy he had and started pointing it towards the wall, to which you suddenly leaped for. You followed the dot everywhere it landed and Aizawa couldn't help but smile at the sight infront of him.

...

"Shouta." You poked his cheek. "Shouta." You poked it once again. Why were you poking him exactly? Well, you were hungry and it was in the middle of the night. You couldn't reach the pantry nor the fridge handle so you reluctantly asked Aizawa for help. Somehow, he wouldn't budge. After poking him a couple more times, he opened an eye that showed that he was clearly annoyed by your behavior.

"What?" Came his gruff reply.

"I'm hungry." Aizawa sighed as he stood up and blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

"Fine." Sluggishly walking towards the kitchen, he looked at you silently trailing behind him. "You want tuna?"

"Haha, very funny Shou."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Yes please."

...

You purred as Aizawa rubbed the spot behind your ears. It was becoming a habit for Aizawa to pet and rub you like this and honestly, he was enjoying it—not that he'd ever tell anyone about it.

You insisted to not cancel your annual dinner date at your shared apartment which consisted of eating takeouts and watching whatever was on Netflix. You and Aizawa happily ate your food—you ate tuna... again—and now, the both of you were watching some Studio Ghibli film, well atleast you were supposed to.

You quickly got distracted once Aizawa started petting you, leading to you not focusing on the film at all. Aizawa's eyes was still on the film playing but you were sure he was also distracted. You found it a bit weird that the both of you quickly adjusted to this cat life and that neither of you freaked out at all. Maybe it was the pro-hero sides of you, who knows. But it was nice to see Aizawa helping you in any way that he can.

His petting abruptly stopped as he stiffled out a yawn. You looked at him and saw that he looked completely exhausted. More so than usual.

So, you hopped out of his lap and switched off the TV as you nudged Aizawa's leg with your paws.

"Come on Shou. Let's go to sleep."

Aizawa did not decline your offer and gladly followed you out of the room.

...

By the end of the week while having breakfast a loud 'poof' and smoke suddenly covered the whole room. After the smoke cleared, it revealed you in all of your naked human body glory.

"Welcome back, Y/n."

"Oh shut up, Shou."

ADDITIONAL NOTE(S)

This was fun to write! I hope I did this right though lolol. Also, requests are open!!

[magicalforcesau]

Fragments of the Garden - Origins - part 2

A companion collection to Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden

(ao3 link)

Hogwarts was better than Satine could imagine. They’d been in school for just about a week now and she loved nearly everything about it. It was a Friday and she’d just wrapped up her charms lessons and was heading outside to meet with Cody who was coming up from the dungeons. He’d been promising to teach her how to play wizard chess and she’d promised to read over his essay for history if he’d meet up with her today. It had nothing to do with Satine avoiding the Ravenclaw common room and one Obi-Wan Kenobi at all, she was simply interested in learning more things. That was all.

“Potions is a drag!” Cody complained as soon as he caught up with her. The sun beamed down on them as they headed out the castle doors.

“It’s not all that difficult,” She considered, leading them to the edge of the lake.

“That’s because you spend all your time studying in the library,” Cody complained, “If all I did was study, I’m sure I-” He paused suddenly, squinting at something across the grounds, “Is that Kenobi?”

“Kenobi hasn’t left the common room for anything, but class all week,” Satine complained, “It can’t be him,” but as she turned to look, she realized it could be no one else.

He was still dressed head to toe in his perfectly pressed uniform, despite even Satine leaving her cloak in her room on such a hot day. As usual he looked almost out of place with all the other students milling around.

“He’s got a broom,” Cody said in awe, “That’s the newest Starsweeper model,” Satine squinted at the broom, but couldn’t see anything special about it.

“But aren’t first years not allowed brooms?” Satine’s eyes narrowed into a frustrated glare and Cody nodded.

“All the more reason to follow him and see what he’s up too,” Cody gave her a wide grin, “Maybe it’ll be enough to kick him out,” Satine nodded. She wasn’t sure being around Kenobi was their best use of a Friday, but she followed Cody regardless.

Obi-Wan led them to the Quidditch pitch and Cody and Satine snuck under the Hufflepuff section in order to eavesdrop.

“I must thank you again for allowing me to try out,” The way he spoke grated on her ears, it was that effortless sophistication that she remembered from his parents.

“How could I say no after Professor Dooku approved,” The girl he spoke to, Satine guessed, was the Quidditch captain. She was dressed in robes that she hadn’t seen before, but they were still the Ravenclaw colors.

“Ah, yes,” Obi-Wan trailed off, and Satine and Cody shared a glance.

“Well let’s get on with this, tryouts for 2nd-7th years will be next week, this doesn’t ensure that you get the position, but we can’t have you trying out in front of a crowd. It’s not fair to the other first years,” She ran a hand through her hair and Satine noticed with a bit of anger that he didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish.

“I understand,” He answered instead and they moved to begin try outs. Once they were in the air and out of earshot Cody grabbed Satine’s shoulder.

“He bribed his way into the team,” Cody looked angry now, “The captain’s right it’s not fair,” He stood up and Satine followed him out from under the tarp, “I’m going to Professor Windu with this. No, maybe I’ll go to Professor Dooku himself,” Cody had started walking towards the entrance.

“Cody!” Satine rushed to keep up with him, “Are you sure it’ll do any good?”

“I don’t know, but I need to find out,” Cody stopped just before the doors, “I’ll have to raincheck on our chess lesson,” Satine rolled her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” She started walking through the doors and he followed, “I can accompany you to Professor Dooku’s.”

“Actually, I think it might be better if I go alone,” He hesitated, “Everyone knows you hate Kenobi,” Satine paused.

“But if Professor Dooku-” She started.

“What seems to be the trouble here?” Coming down the stairs was Professor Qui-Gon Jinn. He raised an eyebrow at the first years, “I’m no Professor Dooku, but perhaps I could be of assistance?”

“It’s about Kenobi,” Satine spoke up before Cody could stop her, “He’s only a first year, but he’s being allowed to try out for the Quidditch team,” She looked to Cody so he could put in his own thoughts.

“This isn’t fair to the other first years, both Ravenclaw and the other houses,” He added. Qui-Gon stroked his beard a moment before answering.

“I didn’t think news would get out this fast,” He sighed, “Mr. Kenobi being allowed to try out was approved by the heads of houses, as well as Professor Yoda,” Cody’s eyes widened in surprise.

“He must have bribed you all big time,” He hissed, “Better have been worth the money,” Qui-Gon hummed quietly in thought before replying.

“Mr. Kenobi’s case is… well, I’m afraid I will not be discussing it with you,” He continued, “First years are technically allowed to ask to try out, they’re just usually denied, if you Miss. Kryze, wish to try out I would allow it,” Satine wrinkled her nose, and Qui-Gon chuckled, “As it stand though, there are no openings on Gryffindor, Slytherin, or Hufflepuff’s teams, so I’m afraid the other houses are out of luck.”

“Should I even mention the fact that Kenobi has an illegal broom?” Cody asked stiffly, and Qui-Gon only smiled.

“It’s temporary unless he makes the team, I’ll be keeping it in my office no need to worry,” He nodded to them and started to walk again, “I appreciate the drive for fairness so I can offer you 10 points to Gryffindor and 10 to Ravenclaw. Enjoy your weekend, Mr. Fett, Miss. Kryze,” And then he rounded the corner and was gone.

“Professor Jinn’s a bit nutty,” Cody finally said, not sure how he felt about the situation.

“He’s technically right though,” Satine said slowly, “The heads of house can approve or deny requests, I suppose asking the other houses was just a nice courtesy,” She stewed over all the rules she could think of and couldn’t come up with any others they were breaking.

“Still it does beg the question. Why was he approved?” Cody asked, but Satine didn’t have an answer.

***                                            

All anyone was talking about today was the results of the Quidditch tryouts and one, Obi-Wan Kenobi, being chosen as their 2nd Keeper. As all things Kenobi related, it was getting on Satine’s nerves and she’d caught up with Cody between classes to complain, but for some reason he hadn’t been as invested as she’d thought.

“Cody? Don’t tell me you’re not still cross about this,” Satine tried to provoke him into joining her rant fest, but he just hesitated.

“I’m still a little upset about it sure,” Is all he gave her and she threw up her hands in frustration.

“You’ve gone from storming the professors to calm acceptance, what did I miss,” And at that Cody just looked away.

“I mean you said it yourself, technically if it was approved it’s allowed, so no rules were broken…” Cody made an attempt.

“Cody Fett? Caring more about the rules than justice?” Satine prodded again.

“Look I just, maybe he’s not so bad,” Cody suggested and it hung in the air between them, “I’ll admit, the Quidditch thing hurts, I’ve wanted on that team since I was born and for a first year to get on it? Well it doesn’t sit right,” He admitted and Satine raised an eyebrow.

“But?” She pushed.

“But, have you noticed how he hasn’t been going to lunch?” Cody asked and Satine furrowed her brow, but nodded.

“He skips breakfast and dinner too sometimes, but I suppose he is gone from lunch more often than not,” She allowed and he nodded a few times.

“Well so did I, so one day I skipped class to follow him,” That got her attention.

“And?”

“And well,” Cody hesitated, “I think you should go and see for yourself,” He handed her a slip of parchment with a classroom number on it, “Just trust me,” Satine looked down at the number and then stuffed it in the pocket of her robe.

***                                            

Hogwarts was not what Obi-Wan had been expecting at all. The classes were great and learning new spells was really the only reason he was still here at all. Ok well perhaps not, he couldn’t have left, it would have dragged the Kenobi name even farther through the mud. His parents had not been happy about his joining Ravenclaw house as expected, and had promptly forced him into trying out for Quidditch, something he had been told would be in his plans for next year, but they were clear in their letter,

“You will make the Quidditch team early so you can lessen our disappointment of your actions.”

Yes, they’d been quite clear indeed. Obi-Wan was trying very hard to forget the fact that he was not interested in the sport in the slightest, his father had been a chaser so Obi-Wan had been selected to be a Keeper, he had written to them this morning when the results came out, but hadn’t heard from them since.

It wasn’t just his parents or Quidditch that had him down, but the overall feeling he got from the rest of the students. Their first day of classes he’d raised his hand and answered questions, but he had started to be stared at by both Hufflepuff and his own house of Ravenclaw. The second day he’d experimented a bit and on the third day he kept his head down and tried to not draw any further notice to himself. He spent a lot of time in the common room, but the few students he’d tried to interact with hadn’t quite given him the time of day. They’d been polite, sure, but Obi-Wan was good at knowing when he wasn’t wanted. Meal times were much the same, so he’d taken to finding a secluded classroom during the lunch period and just, wait for classes to start again.

Today he was debating if it was worth it to even attempt the dining hall at dinner, surely the other students would be rather cross that he’d made it on the Quidditch team. He really just wanted to avoid the stares.

“Kenobi! There you are my friend!” His regularly scheduled brooding was interrupted and Obi-Wan turned to glare at the newcomer.

“Hondo,” He greeted, “Still trying to make a profit off of me?”

“Well sure!” Hondo sat down at the desk in front of him and slapped a plate of food between them, “I have an even better proposal this time see? I charge students fees for their papers to be edited and you edit them for me!”

“What would I even get out of that,” Obi-Wan sighed, grabbing the extra roll off of the other student’s plate.

“Oh, so you are interested,” Hondo leaned forward, much too close and Obi-Wan reflectively leaned back.

“I’m not, but if you’re going to negotiate you may as well do it right,” He complained, and Hondo sat back with a laugh.

“Fine, fine! If you do it, I’ll provide you my own company! Pretty good deal, right?” Hondo grinned and Obi-Wan just raised an eyebrow, “Ok, ok fine! I could share the profits with you, you could have say, 10%?”

“Hondo you’re possibly the worst negotiator I’ve ever seen,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but smiled and Hondo gave a dramatic groan and grabbed up his bag from the floor.

“One day Kenobi, you’ll have need of my services!” Hondo warned him with a pointed finger.

“Not likely,” He mumbled as Hondo made his way out the door.

He decided to not call after him about his forgotten plate of food, instead eating the other roll off the plate.

“Um, excuse me?” A voice called from the doorway and he looked up to see a Gryffindor first year standing in the doorway holding her wand and a textbook.

“Hello,” He greeted, “Is there something you needed?”

“I have a friend in Hufflepuff who said you’re really good at transfiguration,” The Gryffindor explained, “I’ve been having trouble in class and I was wondering if maybe you’d show me how?” That cleared up the confusion. He knew a few Hufflepuff first years that would stop by to ask him questions from time to time, they never approached him outside of lunch hour, but he didn’t really mind helping them out even still.

“Oh, of course, come in,” Obi-Wan moved Hondo’s plate out of the way and waved her over, “What are you having trouble with?”

***                                            

Satine was starting to think this was a waste of time as she’d been hiding in the storage cupboard watching Obi-Wan sit quietly by himself in an empty room. She’d started to think Cody had gone mad when that Slytherin boy Hondo had come slinking into the room. When the Gryffindor student had entered the room though, she started to see maybe what Cody had been talking about.

The two had been practicing transfiguration for around 15 minutes now and Obi-Wan had seemed to slip into the role of teacher very quickly. He’d shown a few examples and then helped gently as the Gryffindor made her own attempts. After they tried the very basic task of turning a candle into a newt and back, they started having a little conversation and Satine leaned close to the door to listen.

“Are you sure you’re just learning this now?” The student asked a little accusatory, “No one else in my house can do that quite as well,” Obi-Wan gave a hesitant smile before responding.

“Transfiguration is about focus, if you can hone your focus on something and really picture it in your head,” He paused and readied his wand pointing at the plate of food, just as he was about to say the spell Satine accidentally knocked her foot into a broom which knocked a metal cauldron off a shelf. The clang rang out from around them. Obi-Wan jumped at the unexpected clatter, wand misfiring and exploding chocolate pudding all over himself.

Satine tried not to giggle at the absolutely dumbstruck look on his face, his perfect hair was no longer perfect, sticking up at odd angles and a little fried, and the parts of his face that were not covered in pudding were bright red in embarrassment.

“Well I suppose,” He spoke after a long moment, “If you lose focus, it will explode,” The Gryffindor girl, who had barely managed to avoid the blast, giggled.

“Thanks for the tip,” Suddenly the sound of students started to reach them and the Gryffindor girl gathered up her book and wand quickly. She said another quick thank you before running out of the room to her next class. Obi-Wan took another moment to be covered in chocolate pudding, before he flourished his wand and with a quick charm, he was pudding free and back to perfect. Well, aside from a still red face.

Satine waited a few more minutes as he left the room before she followed quietly after him to their next class. She wasn’t sure what to make of him, but she realized she wasn’t thinking of him as just “Kenobi” anymore.

***                                            

It was breakfast and Obi-Wan was hungry. He had skipped dinner the night before in order to avoid the comments about his new status as Keeper, but he knew he’d have to brave the dining hall today.

He’d gotten up extra early and had gone down right at the start of breakfast. He found that this was the most ideal time to go, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff house always slept as late as possible and there weren’t even many Ravenclaws willing to get up that early. His Slytherin “friend” Hondo always got there with 5 minutes to spare before classes started so he could avoid him too.

He sat down at his usual spot, in the very, very far corner of the table and grabbed a serving of eggs and toast. He started planning his day out in his head, zoning out to anything else going on around him as he pushed the eggs around his plate.

He, however, wasn’t as out of it as he thought, because he was very suddenly aware of someone sitting down right next to him. Warily, he glanced over and saw wavy light blonde hair and he was now stuck trying to figure out what Satine Kryze, who had spent much of their first few weeks glaring at him, was doing sitting next to him.

“If you’re going to bother to show up at breakfast, perhaps you should eat your food,” The words were similar to the first she’d spoken to him, but there wasn’t as much bite behind them. Cautiously, he looked over at her again, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was pouring syrup on some French toast and he looked back at his eggs.

“Perhaps,” He said carefully. Taking a bite of egg. He knew she was a kind person, so he figured that would be all, maybe she’d just been concerned.

“What are your opinions about the Goblin Uprisings of the 1600s?” The question caught him completely off guard, he sat up straight and looked over at her for real. Perhaps that wouldn’t be the end of their conversation then.

“The, Goblin Uprisings of the 1600s?” He repeated slowly.

“It’s our next unit of study, I was reading ahead and I assumed you did too, gaging that you’re halfway through the textbook,” She added, still not looking at him. He slowly turned back to his eggs.

“Well, Urg the Unclean was a strong leader,” Obi-Wan started cautiously.

***                                            

By the time they showed up to herbology they were having a full blown argument, Satine wasn’t even fully sure what the argument was about, but just as she was sure to have thrown the final barb class had started and they’d been tasked to trimming the leaves off of some feisty plants, which needed a fair bit of concentration so she didn’t bother restarting their conversation. She watched her hands carefully as she maneuvered the shears, but found her mind wandering to Obi-Wan. She’d ended up right next to him, bypassing her usual spot for the opportunity to debate.

Arguing with him had been fun as well as educational. He hadn't been snotty about his points, as she would have expected days prior, just direct and calculated. It was clear he knew the subjects well enough for a fierce debate. In fact she had been rather disappointed that they couldn't continue on during class, but concentration was pretty important when dealing with magic she'd come to learn. When he argued with her he didn't look as dull and stuffy, his eyes had held a gleam that she hadn't seen on him before.

She thought back to his parents in the alley, they’d immediately been cruel people. They had icy dispositions and Satine had definitely seen their influence on Obi-Wan. He was normally blank faced and his presence often felt cold. Now that she was looking for it though, she could almost see the cracks in his mask. He was focusing and his eyes were clear, like the dark blue of the ocean, but not like his fathers which had seemed like a bottomless pit in the sea floor. He was fighting to not stick his tongue out, which she wouldn’t have noticed if she wasn’t shoulder to shoulder with him.

She hated to think Cody might be right, because that meant she would be wrong and she hadn’t been the nicest to him since they met.

“Miss. Kryze!” The professor called her name and she blinked back to reality noticing quickly the vine wrapping tightly around her arm.

One quick trip to the hospital wing for a check-up (apparently those plants can crush bones, she was lucky they were babies) and she found herself waiting for Cody between classes.

“Satine?” Cody broke away from a pack of Gryffindors.

“You were right,” She admitted, and Cody looked surprised.

“That’s a compliment coming from you,” He joked and she shook her head in exasperation.

“The real reason I wanted to talk to you though, is what should we do?” She asked him and he just stared at her so she continued, “We’ve been really judgmental to him, about who his parents are, he’s always alone, I just feel kind of bad,” Cody shrugged.

“I guess we just, stop being judge-y?” Cody recommended, “It’s a simple strategy, but it’ll probably be effective,” He was pulled away by his classmate then, but sent a last wave in her direction.

Cody was probably right, that’s what they should do, but Satine considered that’s not all they could do.

[ienveeus]

namgi high school au

Part of my ongoing, non-linear ��High School AU series

- 5th June, 2011   -          2nd December, 2010   -     21st October, 2011 - - 20th June, 2011       -        1st January, 2011       -       7th July, 2011 - - 18th February, 2011  -

HAVEN’T POSTED ANYTHING FOR THIS IN AGES BUT IT IS STILL IN FACT A THING HRGUIDHU

Here we go with part seven! 

18th February, 2011

‘Truth or dare?’

Yoongi can’t help but snort at Namjoon’s question. Can’t remember the last time he heard it, perhaps a couple years back in middle school, when everyone was a lot more interested in who likes who. Or perhaps when they were just a whole lot less subtle about it.

‘Truth or dare?’ Yoongi parrots back, tossing Namjoon a look in his peripherals. He sits with his back pressed against the side of the pick up truck’s trailer, Yoongi’s opted to lie down, feels a lone screw digging into his back but he doesn’t shift to remove it. ‘That’s what you’re going for? Pictured you more as the kinda guy to lie back and make up a bunch of constellations and all the stories to go with them.’

‘There’s no stars out tonight,’ Namjoon shrugs. ‘And even if there were, I don’t know any constellations.’

‘Really?’ Yoongi sits up, flicking the screw aside as he does so. ‘Figured you were the type.’

‘Always one to assume.’ Namjoon’s teeth glint in the moonlight. ‘Truth or dare?’

Yoongi shrugs. What’s the worst that could happen? ‘Dare.’

A low whistle splits the air between them, Namjoon looks positively delighted, cocking his head to the side as he surveys Yoongi’s face.

‘Brave of you.’

A seed of doubt wedges into Yoongi’s mind, increasing when Namjoon shuffles off to the side retrieving his bag and digging through the contents. When he turns back, he's got a wide grin on his face and something in his hand. Yoongi has to squint, and can't help but scoff when he sees the contents.

'And what are you planning on doing with that?' Yoongi cocks his head at what looks like something his mother would have in her ensuite, a purse of sorts, open so Yoongi can see that the contents are all various types of make up.

Namjoon's grin widens. 'Let me do your make up.'

'You're joking.'

'Nope,' Namjoon pops the 'p.' Wanna see what you'd look like.'

Yoongi watches Namjoon's fingers like a hawk, eyes narrowed in skepticism as they come across what Yoongi pins as mascara or something equally black and garish that won't come off easy.

'You're just gonna draw a giant dick on my face or something aren't you?' Yoongi mutters, beginning to regret this whole picking dare business.

Namjoon snorts and pulls out a little tube of something that Yoongi can't place. 'You picked dare, you're gonna have to bare the consequences.'

Out of fear of being labelled a wimp, Yoongi presses his lips closed and leans forward, allowing Namjoon to cup his chin and lean close into his space. He squeezes the little tube and squirts out a dollop of the liquid onto his finger, dabbing it on Yoongi's cheeks and under-eyes, the bridge of his nose and all the rest. It's a wonder Yoongi manages to hold himself together. The proximity between them non-existent and he has no idea where to put his eyes with Namjoon this close, sharing his airway, closer than he's been to any boy that isn't family.

'Not the best lighting,' Namjoon mutters to himself, pulling out a bottle of something and dabbing a fair amount on his hand. He's got a brush out, and begins painting the liquid over Yoongi's face, instructing him not to scrunch his nose at the chill.

'Don't blame the lack of lighting on your inability to do this.'

'I'll have you know I know my way around this bag of goodness.'

Yoongi huffs out a sigh, closing his eyes as Namjoon nears them with the brush. 'Shut up and get this over with.'

'Of course, your majesty.'

The closeness doesn't get any easier to handle. Yoongi keeps his eyes closed the majority of the time and hopes whatever substance Namjoon's painted his cheeks with is enough to cover the pink tinge that now permanently resides there. He goes over his work with a powder, brushes something across his eyelids and forces Yoongi's eyes open when the mascara finally makes an appearance in the way it's meant to be used as opposed to what Yoongi's ass friends might do.

There's a small argument when Namjoon comes at him with tweezers, insisting that plucking Yoongi's eyebrows is part of the dare but Yoongi is having none of that bullshit. When Namjoon huffs he blows his cheeks out and Yoongi refuses to think about how cute that is when Namjoon mutters about putting him in black lipstick now due to him being a shit.

When that's done and Namjoon's made him smack his lips together, touching up some little things he pulls out his phone, turns on the front camera and makes Yoongi look.

'Shit,' Yoongi hisses, not recognising the person staring back at him. In this lighting he looks so dark, like he imagines a twin sister of his might look like if she went through a goth phase. 'You actually did this seriously.'

Namjoon shrugs. 'Told you. Wanted to see what you'd look like. Now let me take a picture.'

Yoongi stiffens, glaring at him. 'No fucking way.'

'You're no fun at all.' He points a finger at Yoongi, eyes twinkling in the scant light. 'Your turn, sweetheart.'

Yoongi huffs, thankful his dignity is preserved for a little longer at least and there shouldn't be any remnants of this come morning. 'Truth or dare?'

'Truth.'

'Why do you have so much make up in your bag?'

'It was a thing I bought for Seokjin when he was in the school play last year, liked me doing his make up for him before shows. Now I just keep it around in my bag for times like this.'

'You're weird,' Yoongi says.

'And you're pretty,' Namjoon says without missing a beat. If he notices the struck look Yoongi gives him, he ignores it in favour of asking, 'Truth or dare?'

It carries on like this for awhile. Yoongi flicking between the two, whilst Namjoon takes a liking to dares. Namjoon asks about his most embarrassing moment, dares him to dance to a girl group song (this takes a lot of convincing) asks him about his first kiss. Yoongi gets Namjoon to text Seokjin a love confession, gives him a moustache with the mascara and has him do his own make up without the help of a mirror.

'Have you ever been in love?' Yoongi asks when Namjoon picks truth. He'd been running out of options, exhausting himself with trying to come up with something and in the end, curiosity had won out over appearing cool. Not like Namjoon gave a shit about images anyway, that was his whole thing.

Namjoon blinks at him, caught off guard by the question.

'Hard to say,' he says. 'I think I might've been. Been in a few relationships and I always get like, really involved, y'know? And I like them a lot. I told them I loved them and I think at the time I believed it but then looking back.' Namjoon shrugs. 'I don't know. It's really hard to say.'

Yoongi nods, biting his tongue from asking more questions. He tries to see if Namjoon looks uncomfortable with the intrusion, because it feels like it might've been. But Namjoon looks more thoughtful as he draws patterns into the dust. When he looks up, his eyes pierce straight into Yoongi's and Yoongi tries not to jolt in time with his heart.

'Truth or dare?' Namjoon asks.

Yoongi swallows hard. 'Truth.'

'What about you?'

'What about me?'

'Have you ever been in love?'

It's Yoongi's turn to wear the struck dumb expression. His eyebrows shoot up, face feeling strange under the cake of make up he feels like he's drowning in. Namjoon stares at him, a challenge in his eyes and Yoongi frowns.

'That's cheating.'

'How so?' Namjoon says. 'No rules against it. Pretty sure you just have to do the dares and answer the truths truthfully. Straight forward.'

'It's boring then,' Yoongi says with a huff. He doesn't even know why he's making a deal out of this. It's a simple enough question, the answer not all that incriminating. But he thinks, anything relating to the subject of sexuality, or romance are the danger areas. He can't help but squirm at the mention of them.

'I haven't been,' Yoongi says, 'if you have to know. Haven't even dated a girl before. And I'm not really the type to waste time pining.'

'Never dated a girl you say?' Namjoon says and there's a very thin veil masking the amusement in his voice. 'What about a boy then?'

Yoongi flinches as if Namjoon's thrown a punch his way. He brushes it off quickly, scoffs, but really he doesn't know how seriously Namjoon can take him considering the very definite pause before his response and the shit Namjoon's pulled on his face.

'Very funny, asshole.' He wonders if Namjoon can hear the strain in his voice or hear his heartbeat from the short distance between them. A distance Yoongi wants to increase in the passing seconds. Maybe. His head feels a tad fuzzy, 'What the fuck is this sneaking another question in shit? That's cheating.'

'Okay, okay, fair enough. I'll give you two goes for me then. Happy?'

Yoongi pulls his lips into a thin line. 'Peachy.'

'Then go ahead. I pick truth.'

Yoongi wracks his brain, mind flitting about in search of something. Namjoon watches him closely, still so amused, eyes twinkling as if to replace the lack of stars up in the night sky. Yoongi feels out of his depth suddenly. Isn't quite sure why but it feels like he's stepped into some territory that he might have a challenge navigating through.

'Is it true you had a thing with Mr. Kwon?'

Namjoon lets out a loud laugh. 'He's like. In his fifties.'

'Rumours say you don't care.'

'Rumours are wrong I'm afraid. God the things people come up with... Did you really believe it?'

Yoongi shrugs. 'You're something of an anomaly, Kim Namjoon. I can never be sure what to believe.'

Namjoon hums, looking contemplative. He turns so he's looking at Yoongi face on, rests his head on the edge of the trailer. 'Round two then, pretty boy, come on now.'

The name has electricity zipping up Yoongi's spine but he brushes it off as the chill in the air, clears his throat to keep his voice from shaking.

‘Truth or dare?’ he asks.

‘Dare.’

Namjoon has shuffled close. So damn close that Yoongi can feel his breath on his cheek and shudders like there's insects crawling all over him. He wracks his brains for something, but Namjoon's proximity has rendered him incapable of forming a coherent thought.

'My dares are lame. I can't think of anything.'

'I can think of a dozen things.'

Namjoon's coming onto him. Yoongi was fucking right and Namjoon is coming onto him. Does he do this with everyone he spends time with? All the boys and girls and whatever other people Namjoon is into.

'Are you only into guys?'

The question comes unbidden, Yoongi's voice a squeak of a thing. Namjoon's shoulders lift as he snorts, shuffling back and giving Yoongi room to think.

‘I picked dare.’

‘I told you, I couldn’t think of anything.’

Namjoon takes his time staring, trying to read through the cracks in Yoongi’s annoyance. Yoongi’s sure it can’t be too hard, Namjoon has the eyes of a hawk and those cracks are as wide as chasms.

'No,' he says. 'I've dated a woman, kissed a few girls before and liked it. I don't really have a preference I think. Just met more guys that caught my interest is all.'

Yoongi nods, feeling heat in his cheeks as Namjoon’s eyes flick over to him again. He can’t hold the gaze for too long and is all too aware of the fact that it’s Namjoon’s turn to ask now.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Yoongi suppresses a shudder. He’d been quick to label the game stupid and juvenile, but it’s crossed into dangerous territory now. When Namjoon asks the dreaded question this time, all Yoongi can think about is their proximity, the ease in which Namjoon said he could think of a dozen things for a dare in that damn low voice of his.

Yoongi picks truth, out of fear, because maybe there is something here and Namjoon knows it, but he’s in no way ready for any of it. Can't even put words to what this is.

Namjoon smiles and Yoongi can see the dimples in his cheeks even in the scarce lighting.

‘Tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone.’

Oh no.

Yoongi likes to think he’s blunt and some would say that that leans more towards being a weakness. Yoongi disagrees, he likes being blunt, likes that he’s the kinda person that can speak his mind and people come to trust that’s his truth.

Yoongi is also a liar, something that contrasts a lot with the former characteristic, something he doesn’t like all that much about himself but knows is sometimes necessary. This is one of those scenarios in which he could be a liar. One where he could lie and come up with some bullshit thing about how he shoplifted when he was twelve or snuck soju from the fridge at his mother’s New Year’s party.

He could even tell a half-truth. Pretend that he hadn’t told his brother about the time he fooled around with Sujin and she’d let him feel her up under her shirt. He’d leave out the part where it did nothing for him, tell Namjoon that it had felt good and he'd been super into it and he hadn't told anyone to be respectful to her. Another half-truth. He knows the sorta shit that spreads about girls who let guys do things like that, how she'd be downcast and he'd be applauded for being such a man. Namjoon would probably respect that.

But Yoongi looks up at Namjoon and he feels his heart thump with the tell-tale signs of fear. Has the overwhelming urge to start running in any direction to get as far from Namjoon as he possibly can. So he does the one thing he can think to do and closes up.

‘This game is stupid,’ Yoongi says.

‘Oh shit,’ Namjoon laughs, ‘you must be hiding something big, huh?’

‘I’m not hiding shit, alright? This game is just stupid. I'm over it.'

'You're making this a way bigger deal than it has to be,' Namjoon says with that same carefree attitude that Yoongi is beginning to resent. 'You asked me all sorts of things and I answered. Come on.'

‘Why do you care so much?’

‘Because you’ve got me intrigued. What is it? Surely it’s not that bad.’

Yoongi ducks his head, using the back of his hand to swipe all the makeup from his face. ‘Would you drop it already?’

Namjoon’s grin is lost in the darkness, and Yoongi can’t help but imagine a cruel twist to it when he says. ‘No way.’

'You're being ridiculous.'

'Says the one literally avoiding a very simple question. C'mon what have you got?'

'Nothing.'

'Bullshit. C'mon some kiss and tell thing? Got some dirty pictures hidden under your pillow? Got drunk last New Year's and kissed someone you wished you didn't?'

Yoongi clenches his fists, feels the urge to tighten in on himself or swing at Namjoon or something. 'Namjoon, seriously, drop it.'

'You realise it's me, right? I couldn't give less of a shit about what you get up to and this is too good to let up so you might as well just--'

‘I’m gay, alright?’ Yoongi hisses, and then without warning, he bursts into tears.

It's mortifying and that realisation only makes the whole thing so much worse. Yoongi isn't in the habit of crying. Doesn't want people to see him like this, especially not Namjoon, the dumb fearless asshole that Yoongi's just confessed his biggest secret to. He shuffles into the corner of the tray, curling in on himself as best he can and hiding his face. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this. He doesn't want Namjoon bare witness to his stupid stupid meltdown.

In the silence that follows, Yoongi feels small and vulnerable, sick with the entire situation. He can't help the way he shrinks when Namjoon reaches out to him, the stupid noise he lets out like Namjoon's moved to punch him or something.

‘Please don’t touch me,’ Yoongi says, can’t be sure whether he’d lash out or melt into it and sob all the harder. Isn’t sure which would be worse.

‘You’ve never told anyone before?’ Namjoon asks, gently broaching the silence with all the teasing mirth from before gone from his voice. Yoongi shakes his head, face still buried in his arms so he won’t have to see whatever look is on Namjoon’s face. 'Hey it's okay. You're alright. I get it, it's scary saying it out loud, huh?'

Yoongi nods weakly, shuffling further into his miserable little corner.

'Shit, hyung,' Namjoon winces. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed like that.'

There's a snappy response there, right for the taking, but Yoongi's too messed up to take it. His breathing's evened out a little at least and he no longer feels like he's gonna choke on his own vomit at any given moment.

'You're okay,' Namjoon says. 'I mean it, I really don't care what you are. I mean it's me, I'm not straight either. Not that it's about me but. Shit, Yoongi, I'm really sorry. Please don't cry.'

'I'm not crying,' Yoongi says, in a voice that perfectly indicates how hard he is lying right now. He sniffs, wiping his face in the crook of his elbow before looking up and over at Namjoon's face screwed up in apology.

'I really am sorry, hyung,' he says.

The world has not imploded on itself. No-one is screaming at him. Namjoon isn't looking at him with all the disgust Yoongi's felt towards himself ever since he discovered how to delete his internet history years back. It's not going how he thought it would, and granted this wasn't the way he wanted to come out but on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst imaginable scenario, this is about a four.

Even so, Yoongi feels drained and despite the apologies, he can't help but feel a slight grudging feeling towards Namjoon. Doesn't want to be out here anymore.

'C'mon,' Yoongi says, shuffling out the back of the truck, nudging Namjoon on his way. His feet hit the ground and he walks around, throwing the door open. 'I'll take you home.'

'Yoongi--'

'Namjoon.' Yoongi sighs through grit teeth, fingers clenching around the door. 'I don't wanna talk about this right now.'

Silence hangs between them before Namjoon nods his head, beginning to shuffle out. 'Alright, hyung, alright.'

On the way home, the truck is silent except for the dull murmur of music dribbling out from the car radio.

[morningsound15]

Clexa Week 2018

Day 6 — Friday, March 2nd: Famous

The Commander is the most recognizable figure within the 13 Clans.

But Wanheda comes in a close second.

Read the earth, that is sufficient on AO3.

(I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes, We convince by our presence.)

The Commander is the most recognizable figure within the 13 Clans. Clarke knows this; Lexa knows this. She cannot walk out onto the street without being swarmed by admirers, without being besieged by a multitude of queries and problems. She cannot travel without an Honor Guard, lest some naïve, bold assassin — perhaps a holdover from when the Ice Queen still maintained a modicum of power over a certain subset of society — make an attempt on her life.

The Commander is the most recognizable figure within the 13 Clans. She’s as close as they come to royalty, to celebrity, to a queen and monarch and God. It’s obvious by the way she commands a room; by the way people bow to her when she walks past; by the way children whisper stories and legends about her amongst themselves at night; by the way her people not only revere her, but also adore her. It’s obvious by the way they come to her with their problems; by the way the sick reach out to her on the street; by the way merchants and vendors offer her their goods for free, practically begging her to take them, and by the way she refuses any such item which she cannot pay for immediately.

The Commander is the most recognizable figure within the 13 Clans.

But Wanheda comes in a close second.

It surprises Clarke, the first time she realizes. Within her usual circles — among political leaders, generals, Sky People, and other Ambassadors — she knows that she is recognizable. But she (perhaps foolishly) thought that the knowledge of her appearance stopped at the edge of those particular groups. Legends about her may spread throughout the 13 Clans, but in a crowd, Clarke has always believed herself to be relatively invisible. To those who mattered, she was known; but to the everyday citizen, she was a ghost; a story, not a person.

At least, that’s what she always thought.

It happens on an innocuous day, when Clarke is visiting the local markets. She loves exploring the streets of Polis, loves the way the people flock to and flood the busy city centers. She loves experiencing the intermixed cultures of the different clans, all congregating as one united citizenry in their capitol. She loves looking at the craftsmanship on pieces of furniture, loves marveling at the new weaponry. Most of all, she enjoys when she has an opportunity (and a need, really) to actually shop. And today is her favorite instance of all: when she must purchase new art supplies.

Clarke has no significant wealth to speak of. She possesses a few tradable goods — things she’s picked up over the last year, items she’s found or bartered for — but mostly what she is able to trade consists of food, and Lexa’s personal wealth.

She doesn’t like to do it. It took months for Lexa to convince her that their belongings were meant to be shared, that she had no use for the wealth afforded to her position, that nothing would make her happier than the ability to purchase the very few luxury items Clarke desires.

So she doesn’t like to do it, doesn’t like to take Lexa’s money with her when she goes to the markets, but Lexa has been insisting so vehemently — and Clarke does have a birthday approaching, and she is in desperate need for some new paints — that she hesitantly, begrudgingly acquiesces.

She spots a stand a few hundred yards away, and just from one glance she can tell it’s perfect. She makes her way carefully through the crowds and her eyes light up when she draws closer. It’s a new vendor — Clarke doesn’t think she recognizes the woman from her previous trips here — and her selection is extraordinary. She has jars of paints, leather-bound notebooks, reams of paper, and dozens and dozens of pencils. Clarke is awed by the sheer variety of it all, and her fingers glide carefully along the spines of sketchbooks, her knuckles brushing against the pencils almost reverently.

She pauses over a pallet of paints, bright and oily and untouched.

She reaches into her coin purse and grabs a handful. Looking up at the woman inside the stall, she gestures towards the pallet of paints. “How much?” She asks.

The woman shakes her head and says something in a language Clarke does not understand. It is not Trigedasleng, but one of the other regional dialects. Clarke is not familiar with them all, not yet, so she cannot place her origin.

Clarke frowns, and again holds out her coins. But the woman pushes her hand away from her and shakes her head more vehemently. She repeats her phrase, yet Clarke still does not understand.

She turns to the warrior at her side (the man Lexa insists she take with her, whenever she leaves the safety of the tower). “What’s she saying?” She asks him, in English.

“She is saying it is free for you, Wanheda.”

Clarke blinks in surprise. “No,” she says, then turns back to the woman. “No, I… I can’t accept… these are expensive, and I have the money.” She glances back at her guard. “Rivo, can you tell her?”

He speaks to the woman, his voice gruff, his words stiff and a little unnatural. Her language is not his, but Lexa’s best warriors all know a little bit of every language, just enough to get by when they need to. The woman responds to him, her voice fluttery and light and overly-excited.

“She says she will not accept your money, Wanheda,” he addresses her, while still squinting at the woman in front of them, who has not stopped talking. “She says you destroyed the Maunon. They took her brother.” Clarke swallows thickly. “She says you will never have to pay, here.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Beja,” she begs the woman, frustrated by her lack of ability to communicate with her effectively, “let me pay you. I have enough.”

“You should accept her gift, Wanheda,” Rivo says quietly, out of the corner of his mouth. “To refuse would be an insult.”

Clarke shakes her head. “The Commander always pays. Even when they try not to let her.”

Rivo chuckles. “The Commander is firm. She does not bend. They accept her money only when she wears them down.”

“I…” Clarke looks helplessly at the item in her hand, then back to the woman who is still beaming at her. Clarke smiles back, weakly. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “Mochof.” The woman bows, so low her forehead touches her table.

Clarke walks away from her feeling distinctly uncomfortable, distinctly visible. She looks around at the market they’re caught in the middle of, and suddenly she starts to see it differently. People make way for her as she walks past them. Children giggle and run after her in the street. Men and women she has never met before nod politely at her, even though they do not afford the same courtesies to other strangers.

Clarke runs a hand through her hair, a little flustered. “How did she know who I was?” She asks her guard quietly.

He shrugs from his spot next to her. “You are Wanheda,” he says, like it’s obvious. Maybe it is to him. “You wear the Commander’s colors; you wear the Commander’s braids. You defeated the Maunon. You brought peace to our people. Anyone would know you.”

The Commander is famous; it’s as simple as that. So when she travels, news of her activities spread throughout the 13 Clans. When she engages in a particularly ferocious duel, or when she wins a particularly difficult victory over an impossible enemy, it takes only a few short days for the entire Coalition to hear of it. And when something happens to her, fear and anxiety ripple through her soldiers, through the people of Polis. It sets the entire energy of the city off-balance.

Lexa lives a dangerous existence. Clarke knows this about her. She knows the risks Lexa takes every day when she climbs out of bed. She knows that peace is hard-fought, and precarious at best, short-lived at worst. She knows men fall easy and naturally into war. She knows that Lexa’s duties take her into hostile lands, and among hostile people. She knows this, and she tries not to dwell on it.

But every once in a while, she is cruelly reminded.

Once, in the dead heat of summer, Clarke is awoken in the middle of the night by a soft hand, gently shaking her awake. “Wanheda,” a quiet voice whispers, and Clarke jerks up and out of her sleep immediately.

“What is it?” She asks, suddenly alert. She’s never been woken up like this, before. Not without Lexa here. It’s Lexa who must see to business in the dead of night, Lexa who must slip from the bed and staunch fires and quell rebellions. No one has ever come for her, before. Which can’t mean anything good. So Clarke wakes up immediately, her heart already beating just a little bit too fast. Something like anxiety, like trepidation, like premonition sinks into her stomach.

A young Healer stands near the foot of her bed. Clarke recognizes her as one of the women Lexa has accompany her, when she travels. She is one of the Commander’s most trusted fisa. Clarke sits up straighter in bed, her heart already full of dread. “Roma?” She asks, and her voice shakes a little as it exits her throat. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Heda and her warriors were only a day’s ride from Polis, when Azgeda natrona…” Her jaw clenches. “There was an ambush.”

Clarke’s heart stops beating in her chest. “What happened? Where is she?” She scrambles from the bed immediately and starts throwing on whatever is nearest, not caring for a single moment that Roma has seen her climb, naked, from the Commander’s bed.

“She is with her fisa,” the girl says. She hands Clarke a pair of boots, which Clarke gratefully accepts. She shoves her feet into them without bothering to tie the laces. “They only made it back about an hour ago. I came to find you as soon as I was able.”

Clarke grips the woman’s arm tightly. “Mochof, Roma.”

She nods sharply. “Come. I will take you to her.”

Lexa looks small, in her bed. Small and young, and unburdened by the deaths of thousands, unencumbered by the responsibilities of leadership. She always looks like this, when she sleeps. It’s part of the reason Clarke relishes any opportunity she can get to see her so vulnerable.

But not like this. Never like this.

Lexa’s face is still a little bloody, from a long and sharp cut that stretches from her temple up into her hairline. Clarke knows that it will likely scar. Her arm is wrapped in bandages, her ankle wrapped tight against a nasty sprain, and underneath her covers, Clarke knows that at least two of her ribs are cracked. She’s been unconscious for nearly six hours, now, and Clarke has felt every minute pass with a slow, unendurable kind of agony.

She holds Lexa’s hand lightly in her own, her fingers brushing slow circles along the broken skin of Lexa’s knuckles. She hasn’t been able to sleep, not since Roma brought her down here. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep properly until she knows that Lexa is alright.

“What will the people say—” Lexa’s teasing voice sounds from the bed, raspy and rough from sleep and dehydration. Clarke’s gaze shoots up to hers immediately— “when word gets out that you spent all night by my sick bed?”

Clarke laughs wetly, wiping at her eyes. “Like they don’t know,” she says with a small smile, relief flooding through her at once. She bends forward and presses a soft kiss to the side of Lexa’s forehead that is uncut and unmarred. “Roma came and got me from your bed.”

“From our bed,” Lexa murmurs.

Clarke chuckles. “Right. Our bed.”

Lexa rolls her neck a little, her eyes still heavy and lidded. “Water?” She croaks. Clarke nods and grabs the glass from her bedside, bringing it to Lexa’s lips carefully. She drinks greedily, until the cup is empty.

Clarke takes Lexa’s face in her hand when she has finished. Her thumb brushes against the woman’s bruised cheek, and smiles down at her with tears in her eyes. “You almost died, yesterday.”

Lexa nods. “Almost. But not yet. Today, my spirit stays where it belongs.”

“Don’t joke about that, please,” Clarke whispers, shaking her head. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry, Clarke. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You upset me by almost dying. Your jokes are terrible; not upsetting.”

Lexa smiles, just a little bit. “You say Roma got you from our bed?”

Clarke nods. “I was expecting you back tonight. When you didn’t show, I thought you must have been held up.”

Lexa hums softly. “It’s interesting,” Lexa says, more to herself than anyone else. “They don’t seem to care. I always thought they would. That if they ever saw me with…” She shakes her head. “Titus always made it seem—”

“Titus doesn’t know what he’s talking about, most of the time.”

Lexa laughs at that, but immediately the sound is cut off by a groan of pain. She presses her hand to her wounded side, her face twisted in a pale grimace. Clarke squeezes her hand tightly until the wave of pain seems to pass over her. Lexa takes a few deep breaths before she opens her eyes again. “I always thought that it would matter more, to them,” she continues her explanation. “That they would want me to be alone, and without distraction. That it would make them angry, if I had a… partner. A houmon.”

Clarke flushes at the term, but she does not dwell upon it. “Your people love you,” she says instead. “I don’t think you know just how much. They want you to be happy, after everything you’ve done for them.”

“And they know that you make me happy.”

It’s not a question, but still, Clarke answers her. “I should hope so.”

[elatedmarvel]

Shadow: Part 10

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Natasha and Bucky rescue someone from their past. Being hunted down, they bring you to the Avengers. Will it be enough to keep you safe?

A/N:  Holy crap I’m so sorry this was not out at 1! I scheduled it but then edited it and forgot that it sets it for the next day of after editing. Sorry this part is short but this week is going to be hectic and I don’t think I’ll be able to update until next week. Here’s hoping that it’ll be shorter, but I can’t promise that for sure. Thanks so much for reading! ~J 

Masterlist  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9

I never wanted any of it.

I don’t feel anything.

I never loved you.

The words bounced around your head, ringing out in the deafening silence. Once you had arrived at a warehouse they blindfolded you and left you bound to a chair. No sense of time or space existed anymore, were you even awake at this point? It was hard to tell when everything was silent and dark.

All you could do was think about the words that had ripped Bucky’s heart out as you waited for Alexi’s next move. That tortured you more than they had at this point. Every time you thought of him now, you could only see the devastation in his eyes and hear the desperation in his voice.  

Taking inventory of your body helped you from spiraling into hyperventilation. Your wrists were sore from the ropes, your back was sour from sitting up straight for so long, and your neck was starting to get a kink. If this was all you felt then you were lucky they hadn’t started the torture yet.

You could still feel the the microscopic scars they had caused last time. Each breath you took reminded you of how lucky you were that your ribs had yet to be broken.

A large thud and footsteps alerted you to their presence. You counted at least 3 men from the breathing. The blindfold was ripped away and you squinted to adjust to the light.

Looking up at Alexi, your blood ran cold seeing his hungry smile. He lightly swipes his hand down your cheek and you flinch. He chuckles at your reaction.

“You are a thing of beauty Y/N. I can see how my son was so infatuated by you.”

You stare coldly at him, refusing to be baited.  

“Not as talkative this time around huh?”

Again, you blink up at him. If you were going down, you would go down strong.

Clearly frustrated by your silence, he takes out a knife and holds it so it glints in the light.

“I remember your screams from last time, such a lovely voice. Let’s see if we can do that again shall we?” and he carefully swipes a line from your exposed collarbones downwards. You press your lips together, trying to hold in the scream. It doesn’t hurt as bad as it should, the pain of your heartbreak dulling the physical, but it still stings.

Laughing to himself he passes the knife to the two men behind him and each takes turns slicing your skin. The blood pools and stains your dress, but you still don’t make a sound. Jaw clenching and unclenching, Alexi brings his knee up and slams it into your stomach.

You let huff as the wind gets knocked out of you, but still not a peep.

He hits you square on your cheekbone, taking his annoyance out on you. You just bring your head back up and smirk at him. You’re going to enjoy breaking Alexi if it’s the last thing you do. It will be the last thing you do.

He looks at you for a moment before putting on the blindfold and walking out.

Time ticks by slowly, by the rumbling of your stomach you say it is at least midday. Possibly 15 hours since you left the love of your life, told him you didn’t love him and then walked out on him.

Taking a breath, you calmed yourself. Maybe, if you could get yourself out of here, maybe he would forgive you. You heard footsteps approaching and leaving, the 2nd time in an hour. There was security, although not heavy if they only had one person patrolling.

Nat had told you that they’re numbers were dwindling, no longer that much of a threat after Hydra had compromised them. They were mostly taken care of by the police now if there was ever a flair up. Meaning you had a chance to escape, but also knowing that no one was coming for you.

You were shackled sure, but you could break your thumb and get yourself free. They had weapons and you didn’t, but if you timed it right, you could attack the guard while he was patrolling. You could take his gun.

Since moving into the tower, you trained alongside the Avengers. You were better and more lethal now than ever. You could do this if you could time everything correctly.

So wrapped up in your thoughts you didn’t notice the door creak open until the blindfold was taken off again.

Alexi and his same bodyguards were standing there looking at you like prey. You prepared yourself for more hits but none of that came. Instead he held a syringe.

“I can tell you're stronger this time, being reunited with your lover has done wonders for you. Sadly, it’s not fun to torture you if you do not respond.” You watch carefully as he flicks the syringe. “Did Hydra ever tell you what we were trying to make?”

You rack your brain from an answer. They would never tell you anything but you did over hear some of your handlers talking about a biological drug.

“See, we tried to replicate the serum your boyfriend got. Wouldn’t it be so convenient to have an army of them lined up and ready to serve? However, we were not successful and instead found this. We were going to use it on our enemies, sell it to the highest bidder. Until Hydra got to us.” he spits.

You aren’t sure what’s it is, but you know you do not want to find out. Taking a deep breath, you dislocate your thumb and pull your right hand free. Your scream confuses them for a moment. You take this moment to swing your left arm, still attached to the chair, at Alexi. He goes down hard.

His bodyguards train their guns on you and fire. Using the metal chair to reflect the bullets as you dropped to the ground and swept their feet from below them. Quickly getting up, you managed to grab the gun one of them dropped and shot it at the chain connecting you to the chair.

Freeing yourself just in time, you slammed one guard’s head into the cement wall as he charged at you and shot the other. The alarms went off, taking the other gun you ran down the hall as quickly as you could.

Turning the corner, three men were fast approaching. You shot two before they made it before they even made it halfway down the corridor. Pulling the trigger for the third you heard a click. Desperately trying to unjam the gun, another shot rang out and you waited for the impact.

Opening your eyes, you say the third guard fall to his feet before you and whipped around. Standing not even ten feet away from you, Bucky lowered his own gun.

“Медведь” you breathed out, frozen in place.

“We have to go, we don’t have much time” he said as he pulled you close to him and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Bucky” was all you could say or do.

“Let’s go” he urged again and pulled your wrist. Silently, the two of you stalked around, trying not to draw the attention of the remaining guards.

“How?” you whispered. He turned back to look at you with a soft smile on his face.

“We can talk about that later. We have to get you out of here now.” he said as he took lead again.  

He started towards the roof, no doubt where the quinjet was parked and ready to go.

“Steve, found her. Coming up right now.” he said into his comm. You took a second to just admire him from the back. Even after you told him you never loved, never wanted him, he was here rescuing you.

You didn’t realize you had fallen behind until an arm wrapped around your throat and a sharp pinch was at your back. Your scream made Bucky turn around, gun aimed at your captor.

“Soldat. Welcome.” Alexi spoke. “I was hoping you would stay out of this, but it’s so much more fun when you are here.”

“Let her go” Bucky growled.

“As you wish.” he shoved you forward and you fell. The world started to spin around you as you landed on your hands and knees. Bucky was at your side in an instant, trying to help you up.

“Bucky, the room is… the room is spinning.” you had to force yourself to take deep breathes as the nausea hit you and you slumped forward, almost falling again before Bucky caught you.

“What did you do to her” he yelled at Alexi, one arm trying to keep you upright and tucked against him, the other training his gun at Alexi.

“I just gave her the serum soldat. You should remember, you stole the files. First the nausea and dizziness. Then fever dreams, the feeling like you are being burned alive, confusion and pain. All before her poor heart gives out.” he almost sings, holding up the empty syringe to show Bucky.

“No!” Bucky yells before he pulls the trigger.

The sound startles you and you pull away from Bucky’s body to throw up. You sway on your feet and somehow end up falling, before you hit the ground Bucky steadies you.

“Come on кукла. Stay with me” he tries to help you, but you are fading. Black spots dance around your vision until they start to blanket the light, Bucky’s voice sounding fuzzy and far away.   

The last thing you hear before you just submit to the darkness was Bucky begging and calling your name.  

Translations:

Медведь- bear

кукла- doll

Taglist:

@bexboo616  @sebstanwassup  @buckyb4rnacle  @captainbuckyreid  @demoncrypt1066  @elaacreditava  @writing-soldiers  @aroyaldarknessblr  @cumberbabe92  @tearsandbloodofmyenemies  @oceanshockey  @astronomyturtle  @owhatshername1  @shadowingthemoonlight  @jimmyisfab  @littlepartofheaven  @sadanddeadsoul  @rhaeneris  @mcuimxgine  @isnow-0r-never  @sleepretreat  @learisa  @beefybuffybucky  @death-by-teacup  @misscherryberry

[the-awkward-writer]

May Second

Pairings: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k oops?

Warnings: Pregnancy, it’s not graphic, swearing, it gets a little bit angsty if you squint.  daddy!Sam

A/N: This is my entry for @splendidcas‘s Birthday Challenge! This was really fun to write. The line I was given is in bold so it’s relatively easy to see. (it’s also at the end) This one is kind of different in my opinion; we’ll see how it goes. I also apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors. Enjoy!

You were running around trying to get everything in order before the boys got back from their hunt.

It’s May 2nd, and all you wanted to do was give Sam the birthday he deserved, but your 7 month pregnant stomach kept getting in the way.

You and Sam have been together for 4 years, and you had never planned to get pregnant; you always thought it was absurd to try to raise a family in the hunting life.

But here you were, awaiting the arrival of not only your baby girl, but your boyfriend too.

You still had to get his present wrapped, it was small, only a few pairs of jeans and some flannels that you decided to get once you saw that his were nearly destroyed. And you had yet to get his cake ready.

You were still bustling, more like waddling, around the bunker almost two hours later when Sam and Dean arrived.

You heard two pairs of footsteps thud down the stairs, through the war room, and down the hallway, both boys completely passing the kitchen without a second thought.

“Y/N?” Sam called out. You could hear the slight panic that found residency in his voice over the past 7 months.

“I’m in the kitchen, babe,” you called out to him.

Sam came bounding in a big goofy grin plastered to his face as wrapped his arms around you the best he could.

You stood up on your toes to kiss him in greeting, “Happy birthday.”

He smiled softly and looked to his right, noticing the half iced cake on the stove.

“Babe.”

“I know the rules, Sammy. I wasn’t putting myself under too much pressure or stress. I just wanted to do something nice for your birthday for once. Lord knows all the other ones have sucked,” you poked his chest and smiled.

He laughed. That much was true. Ever since he met you 6 years ago, something always went wrong on his birthday.

First it was the shower and toilet breaking in a motel with no other rooms available. Then Baby breaking down, resulting in the three of you being stranded on the side of the road for four hours. The ceiling caving in at a motel. You breaking your arm in the shower and having to be rushed to the hospital. You getting in a minor car accident that only resulted in a dented bumper. And last year, there was the stove incident. Sam tried to make dinner, and effectively caught the kitchen on fire.

He smiled, “Thank you.”

You smiled, “So how was the hunt?” you asked as you turned to the unfinished cake in front of you.

Sam turned his body slightly to lean up against the counter, “It was good. It turned out to be the elderly neighbor.”

You laughed at that. The case the boys had just closed was a few towns over and involved a witch getting revenge on those who had wronged her.

“Never judge a book by its cover, right?”

Sam chuckled and kissed your temple, “Right.”

You really hoped that this birthday would pass smoothly, and without any interruptions.

Sam deserved that much.

The rest of the evening was spent in the room Sam and you shared. The two of you watched reruns of The Office on Netflix.

Around 8:30, you got up from the warm cocoon that Sam’s arms had created around you, and crouched down to retrieve the wrapped box you hid under the bed.

Sam probably thought that you were just going to the bathroom yet again, and didn’t pay any attention to you.

You bit your lip as you crawled back on the bed and placed the box on his lap.

Surprised by the sudden weight, he looked at the brightly wrapped object then at you, bewildered.

“Y/N,” he said, “I told you to pretend it was just another Tuesday.”

“Well,” you tucked your legs under you, “I don’t care. You’re turning 34, old man.”

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled his signature bitch face, “Don’t remind me, Y/N.”

He kept his eyes on you for another moment, “Go on, open it.”

Sam laughed at your excitement, but complied with your request.

Sam tore at the bright paper, revealing a plain white box, “Aww, Y/N. How did you know that I wanted a box?”

You snorted at his sad attempt at a joke, “Smart-ass.”

He chuckled and continued, opening the box to reveal the multiple pairs of jeans and flannels that you got for him.

“When did you leave the bunker?” he raised an eyebrow.

“‘Why thank you Y/N, I very much appreciate all you did for me while seven months pregnant,’” you tried to imitate Sam’s deep baritone, “Why you’re welcome, Sammy,” you said in a ridiculously high pitched voice that was no where near your own.

Sam laughed heartily, throwing his head back.

“I left this morning. I wasn’t gone long. The guard was still asleep when I came back.”

“I think we need a new guard, then,” Sam pulled you into his lap.

“Do you like them at least?” you hoped your shopping trip wasn’t for naught.

“I love them baby,” Sam reassured you, leaning over and placing a kiss to your temple.

It wasn’t until almost 10 o’clock that night that the tradition continued.

You had just gotten out of the shower, and Sam had just gotten in when it happened.

You were pulling one of Sam’s oversized shirts over your head when you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen and a gush of something wet, that definitely wasn’t water, run down your legs.

You put your hand to your inner thigh, drawing it back in front of you, it as wet with a clear fluid.

“Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself before rushing over to the bathroom.

You burst through the door, “Sam!”

“Y/N!” Sam appeared quickly from behind the curtain. “Are you okay?”

“My water just broke!”

It took a second for Sam to register what was happening, but once he did, he sprung into action.

He turned the water off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist.

“You need to get some pants on before we leave,” he rushed past you and  reached into the closet to grab the hospital bag you’ve had packed for weeks.

You glanced down at your bare legs, “That might be useful.”

You went over to Sam’s dresser and pulled out a pair of plaid lounge pants. You barely had one pant leg over your left foot when another contraction hit hard enough to make you stumble.

You would have fallen if it had not been for Sam being there immediately, catching your elbow and keeping you steady.

Once you were all covered up, Sam led you down the hallway, banging on Dean’s door as you passed. “We’re going to the hospital!” Sam called out.

The door flung open to reveal a disheveled Dean. “But she still has like two months to go!”

That comment sent you spiraling.

Dean was right. You still had two more months to go in your pregnancy.

Sam kept leading you towards the garage, “Sammy?”

“Yes, baby,” he said as he carefully guided you into the car.

“What if Dean’s right. What if it’s too early?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s too early. This baby is coming now, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

Your little girl was born at 11:57 on May 2nd. She weighed only 5 pounds and 3 ounces, and only 15 inches in length. Not only was she small, but her lungs were underdeveloped and filled with fluid.

Meaning that as soon as she came into the world, she was rushed off to the NICU for testing.

As your baby girl was rushed out of the room, Sam pulled you close and the tears you didn’t know you were holding back flowed onto his gray shirt.

The tears continued to fall as you delivered the placenta numbly. The nurses helped you clean up, then left you and Sam to your own thoughts.

Once the nurses left, Sam took a step away from you. He was shutting down.

The two of you sat in a stressed silence as the what-if’s and horrible possibilities ran circles in your minds.

It was over an hour after giving birth that Sam finally spoke up. He was sitting on a cot that a nurse had brought in, his body was practically folded in half.

“What if she doesn’t make it?”

Your eyes snapped towards Sam, “Why would you say something like that?”

Sam sniffed as he tried to hold the tears back, “She was born two months early, her lungs aren’t fully developed, and she’s currently in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Why wouldn’t I say something like that?”

Teas formed in your eyes as you spoke, “She’s a Winchester. She’ll pull through,” you tried to reassure him even though you didn’t really believe it yourself. 

He gasped slightly. The two of you had never really discussed what name your child would bear. “You mean that?” Despite his efforts, the tears leaked through.

You nodded and scooted over on the hospital bed, silently giving Sam permission to climb into bed with you.

Sam toed off his boots before climbing in with you.

The tiny hospital bed was not made for a Sasquatch. He was laid on his right side, his arm under your waist, and your body flush against his to keep you from falling off. Once settled he spoke again, “What are we going to name her?”

You sighed. There were a few names floating around in your head, “We haven’t even seen her yet.”

You felt Sam nod, before a sudden realization hit him, “Shit, I have to call Dean.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and quickly scrolled through to Dean’s number.

You snuggled closer to him as he put the phone up to his ear. Almost immediately you heard Dean’s loud voice, “Is she here yet?”

“Yeah. She’s here,” Sam said. “But-”

He was quickly cut off by Dean, “Oh my god. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“No, Dean-” Sam was cut off yet again, but this time by the click of the line going dead as Dean hung up.

“So...” Sam sighed, “Dean’s on his way.”

You sighed. “Well he’ll have to wait to see our daughter.”

A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over you as the day’s events caught up to you. You tried to stifle your yawn, but Sam was quick to catch on.

“Go to sleep, baby. I’ll wake you up if anything changes,” Sam said as his hand drifted towards your hair, running his fingers through it.

You tried to protest, but sleep took you hard and fast.

It was twenty minutes later when Dean walked through the door, just like he promised.

Sam quickly brought a finger up to his lips, telling him to be quiet.

Dean nodded in understanding as he stepped into the room fully. He took a look around, quickly noticing the absence of his niece. His eyes swiveled Sam, followed by a confused look.

Sam nodded once and slipped out from under you the best he could without jostling you around. You shifted slightly, which made Sam pause at the side of the bed. Luckily, you only rolled over and went back to sleep.

Sam let out a relieved breath and pulled on his boots. Laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder, the two boys walked into the hallway.

Once in the properly lit hallway, Dean could see Sam’s red-rimmed eyes and the tear tracks staining his face.

“Sammy,” Dean could feel the familiar sense of fear twisting his gut, “Where’s my niece?”

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. “She’s in the NICU.”

Even though Dean didn’t have his high school diploma, he knew exactly what a NICU was.

“And why the hell is she in there?”

Sam’s shoulders slouched forward and Dean watched as his younger brother completely fell apart, “There was excess fluid in her lungs, which aren’t even fully developed among the other things that are underdeveloped because she was two months premature.”

Rambling was one of Sam’s “things”. He rambled when he was excited, nervous, and apparently when he was scared shitless.

Dean didn’t know what to say, so he simply took a step towards his brother and wrapped his arms around him.

“Everything is going to be okay, Sammy,” Dean said.

Sam gave a half hearted nod as he tried really hard to believe the words his big brother was saying.

When you awoke, sunlight was streaming through the curtain covered windows.

You slept through the night.

You looked around the room. Dean was curled up on the cot, and Sam was no where to be found.

You were reaching for your phone when the door opened, and your boyfriend walked through.

“Hey,” he said softly. “When did you wake up?”

“Just now,” you sat up as Sam walked towards you.

“I got you coffee” he held a Styrofoam cup out to you.

“Praise Chuck,” you said as you took the cup from Sam and greedily gulped it down. “I’m gonna need a lot more than this to make it through today,” you said once you came up for air.

“Me too, babe. Me too.”

From the corner of the room, Dean let out a loud groan, “You guys are very loud. I’m trying to get my sleep here!”

You threw one of your many pillows at him, hitting him right in the face, “No one wants to hear you complain.”

Dean sat up an looked around, looking mildly confused to find himself at a hospital.

Realization, however, seemed to strike him once he laid eyes on your significantly smaller stomach.

“Any word yet?” Dean asked.

You were about to shake your head no when Sam spoke up, “Yeah,” your head spun around so fast you were sure you gave yourself whiplash. “Y/N and I can go see her when Y/N feels up to it.”

“What the hell Sam? When did they tell you this?”

“It was like 3 in the morning. I wasn’t going to wake you up.”

“Well why are you just standing there? I want to see my baby!” Sam chuckled and helped you into a wheelchair in the corner of the room. He buzzed to the nurse’s station and asked if one of them could lead you to the NICU.

You were practically bouncing with excitement at the prospect of seeing your daughter for the first time. You were finally going to see her live and in person instead of through an image that an ultrasound created.

However, your happy mood and excitement quickly diminished upon actually seeing your daughter.

She looked so fragile. There was an endless amount of tubes sticking out of her in every place. She was so tiny, the tubes seemed to swallow her whole.

You looked up at the nurse, tears in your eyes as you asked, “Can I hold her?”

The nurse gave you a hesitant look, “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” she said.

“Why the hell can I not hold my baby?”

“She’s too small. Too much jostling of the tubes could lead to something potentially dangerous,” she said.

You sighed heavily, “Then what can I do?”

The nurse quickly showed you the latched holes on the bassinet your daughter was being kept in. She instructed you to be gentle and not to touch the tubes too much. She brought over a chair for Sam so he wouldn’t have to bend over awkwardly.

You carefully reached into the bassinet and took your daughter’s hand. Sam’s giant hands were on her other side, her tiny palm barely able to wrap around her daddy’s finger.

“She’s so tiny,” Sam said softly.

“Everything is tiny to you, Sammy,” you replied.

“Then she’s minuscule.”

You smiled softly. She was minuscule all right.

The two of you stayed for a good two hours before deciding it was time to get back to Dean and give him an update.

Sam wheeled you out of the NICU. You thanked the nurse that helped you earlier.

It was a matter of minutes for Sam to navigate the hallways of the hospital and have you back in your room.

Dean sprung up from his spot on the cot as the two of you entered, “How is she?”

You were silent as you climbed back in bed, “Well, they wouldn’t even let me hold her.”

“So that’s bad,” Dean’s statement wasn’t phrased as a question.

A soft knock on the door caused all three of your head to snap in that direction.

It was only your OB/GYN, “So how’s everything in here?” she asked.

Your doctor was an older woman, probably in her late sixties, and very calm and soft spoken, which definitely helped you during labor.

“Fine,” you said resignedly.

Your doctor walked over to you, checking your vitals, “I suppose we can have you out of here as early as tomorrow morning,” she said with a soft smile, “How does that sound?”

You scoffed loudly, “You mean that I’m gonna get out of here, but my baby is still stuck here?”

“She’s gonna be here for a while, Mrs. Winchester.”

You looked over her shoulder at Sam, who was smirking from the mention of his last name.

“Can it, Samuel,” you pointed in his direction.

You took a deep breath, “How long is ‘a while’?”

Your doctor looked at you, she seemed to be sizing you up, seeing if you could take the news she was about to lay on you, “Well, honey, she is extremely premature, and she needs to be on a ventilator. Right now, it’s at about two months.”

You felt the wind being knocked out of you at her words, it was as if she literally punched you in the gut.

You ran a hand through your hair, “Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

“I suggest you eat something, sweetie, you gave birth less than twenty-four hours ago. Your body needs some energy,” with those final words, your doctor walked silently from the room.

You wiped a hand down your face as you willed yourself not to cry.

Without saying a word, you rolled over onto your side and brought the scratchy hospital blanket up to your chin, and closed your eyes.

You didn’t even say a word once the doctor left. You simply rolled over and went to sleep.

That exact moment was when Sam knew you were blaming yourself.

It was something that happened often, hell, you sometimes beat out Dean with the self deprecation.

Sam didn’t blame you, but he knew why you were blaming yourself.

“You should go home, Dean. There’s no point in staying here if you can’t even see her yet,” Sam said.

Dean understood, so he stood, and gathered his jacket, “Call me if anything changes,” he said before leaving.

 Sam new you weren’t asleep, so he kicked off his boots and laid down with you.

After a moment, you rolled over and pressed yourself further into his side.

“You know that this isn’t your fault right?”

The theoretical dams broke, and everything you were holding back flooded out. “I just feel like it’s my fault. I’m the one who couldn’t carry her for a full nine months. I can’t protect her like I’m supposed to.”

Sam rubbed circles on your back, “It’s all going to be okay.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Winchester.”

The next morning, after visiting your daughter more than once, you were released from the hospital.

You, Sam, and occasionally Dean would go to the hospital everyday to check up on your daughter.

It wasn’t until almost a month after giving birth, that a name was decided on.

It was just you and Sam this time, Dean was out in Missouri to help another hunter with a case.

The pair of you took up your usual places besides your daughter, you holding her right hand, and Sam holding her left.

You gasped softly as your daughter opened her eyes. She hadn’t done it much, but when she did you were amazed. Her eyes looked exactly like Sam’s.

Eyes that you knew originally belonged to Mary.

“Mary,” you said, looking at Sam.

He looked up at you slowly; he didn’t want to take his eyes off of your daughter. “What about her?”

You looked back at your daughter, “Her name,” you stated, “I think it should be Mary.”

Sam gasped, “Are you sure?”

You nodded, “I think it fits.”

Sam leaned over the bassinet currently hold Mary, and kissed you softly.

Once he sat down, he said, “But since you chose her first name, I get to choose her middle name.”

You nodded your head, excited to see what Sam could come up with.

It didn’t take him long. He just placed his finger back in Mary’s tiny hand, “Celeste.”

Tears sprang to your eyes, you were more than shocked. Charlie had been your best friend. The best friend you could’ve asked for.

You smiled, “Mary Celeste,” you tried the name out on your tongue, “I love it.”

Sam smiled, “Looks like we finally have a name.”

After two exhausting months, you were finally able to take your daughter home.

It was two full months of sleepless nights, tireless worrying, and countless trips to the hospital and back.

Neither you nor Sam got much sleep the night before the big day.

You were tossing and turning the entire night, keeping Sam awake, “Babe, sleep,” he said and wrapped his arms around you to keep you still.

You were up and out of bed by 5:30, and making breakfast by 6.

By the time that you had made a plentiful amount of pancakes, Sam still wasn’t up yet.

You practically ran to the bedroom you shared and jumped on the bed, smacking Sam repeatedly with a pillow, “Ow. Ow, Jesus, Y/N,” Sam woke quickly and snatched the pillow from your grasp.

He rolled over to his side to look at the clock, “Y/N, why are you waking me up at 6:30 in the morning?”

“Because visiting hours start at 8, and we still need to eat and shower so we can bring Mary home.”

That seemed to bring Sam to life as he bolted up from bed and towards the bathroom, “C’mon, we’ll save time.”

You followed Sam into the bathroom. You both took a shower, only a shower together before quickly getting changed and eating cold pancakes.

It was nearing 7:30 when the two of you gathered the hospital bag for Mary, and climbed into the car.

You were practically bouncing the entire ride to the hospital. More than once, Sam would look over at you and chuckle, your excitement was contagious. By the time that Sam pulled up to the hospital, he was also jittery with excitement.

The two of you were finally going to take your baby girl home.

Mary was a quiet baby. She didn’t cry as much as you thought she would.

She mostly just looked around with her big doe eyes that looked exactly like her daddy’s.

All she had to do was look in their eyes, and she had both Sam and Dean wrapped around her tiny finger.

The first night home was a little rough.

Mary was awake every three hours or so to eat, which meant carrying the crying child through the halls of the bunker in order to get formula, and hoping that you didn’t wake either of the boys.

It was 3 a.m. when you were finally able to get Mary to fall back asleep. You gently laid her back in her crib and rushed back to your bed room in the hopes of getting just a little bit more of shut eye.

Even with Sam snoring in your ear, and the static hum from the baby monitor, you fell asleep quickly.

The next time you woke up, it wasn’t from a baby crying, surprisingly. It was from your own internal clock.

You stretched your hand out, looking for Sam, but only coming up with cold sheets.

You got out of bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor.

You walked out of Sam’s room and down the hallway, to the nursery.

You were only a few paces away from the open door, when you heard Sam’s soft voice.

“You had me scared for a long time there, kid,” he said. “Don’t do that ever again, okay?” you heard him chuckle as Mary squealed.

Little did he know that you were watching from the door way, smiling.

Sam was sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of the room, gently rocking back and forth with Mary in his arms.

“I love you and your mother more than you could ever imagine. You don’t know what I do for a living just yet, and I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m going to take care of you. I promise,” Sam said to your daughter.

You were astounded by the fact that in only in four  short years, your entire world could change and is now sitting in one room.

“Hey, baby,” you said, making Sam aware of your presence.

He looked up at you, small smile playing on his face, “Hey, how did you sleep?”

You kicked off of the door frame walking over to him, “Just fine. When did you get up?”

He kissed you softly in greeting, “Around six. She needed to eat again and you were up almost all last night. I figured you needed your sleep.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek, “I love you.”

He transferred Mary to one arm, and pulled you into his lap with the other.

“I love you more. The both of you,” he said.

You laid your head on Sam’s shoulder and played with Mary’s little fingers, completely content to stay there for a little while.

[hatsuneniko]

Niko rambles about the nba playoffs

Okay so, every NBA playoff series has officially played a game now, and I’m apparently unable to keep my opinions to myself on this, so I wrote up a big ol’ thing about it. I realize this is tumblr so I’ll spare y’all and put it under the cut, but if for some reason you wanted to listen to me ramble about sports, slam that read more button. I actually used punctuation and capitalization on this post so you know it’s a rare occasion.

Indiana Pacers (7) L @ W Cleveland Cavaliers (2)

[108-109]

Okay, so the big thing in this series is that Lebron James is the best human being at playing basketball and that everyone else in this series isn’t Lebron James, and therefore, are not the best human beings at playing basketball. Despite that, Cleveland only won this by a point after C.J. Miles missed a shot at the buzzer. This is mostly because Paul George can sometimes look like he’s as good as Lebron if you kinda squint your eyes (especially when they wear the hickory throwbacks that could pass for Cavalier colors). Also, Lance Stephenson is playing on the Pacers again and he’s the only person fool enough to think to drive down the lane at James. Somehow that still works for him though and he was pretty visibly the second best player on the court for Indiana in this game. The second best player for Cleveland was probably Kyrie Irving but it’s largely irrelevant because if that’s the second best performance Cleveland can get from a player they have a very realistic shot of not making the finals. Play defense someone, anyone. 

Anyway the big post-game narrative thing from this was Paul George saying that he was annoyed that C.J. Miles took the last shot, because that’s gotta be him taking that shot. He is the superstar of the team after all, and if anyone should cost the Pacers the game it’s him. I mean, you could argue that he did exactly that when he passed to Miles, ignoring Lance Stephenson standing completely alone beneath the basket with less than ten seconds in the game, but I digress. In the future, I’d expect George (who has missed all 15 of his game-winner attempts in his career) to be getting those shots in the future, and I do expect those shots to show up in this series if Cleveland can’t get above average play from anyone besides King James.

Milwaukee Bucks (6) W @ L Toronto Raptors (3)

[97-83]

Okay so there were a lot of kind of quirky, weird stats and narratives going into this game. The Bucks had been dreadful in Toronto recently, losing something like 11 straight games up North, but that streak ran headfirst into Toronto’s bizarre ineptitude in the opening games of playoff series. The Raptors have only won a single Game 1 in franchise history, and they’ve never done it as the home team. For what it’s worth, the Raps pretty much always lay an egg in the first game of a series so it’s hard to necessarily read too much into what happened in this game. Which is good, because if you were to do that, you would not like the Raptors chances in this series. First off, Kyle Lowry played pretty miserably, which is understandable since he’s been working back from an injury, but still a problem. Secondly, the Raptors just had no answer for Giannis Antetokounmpo when he got the ball in transition, which happened a lot because the Raptors could not direct passes around the long-limbed Milwaukee defenders.

I sort of figured going into this series that the Raptors would be forced to tweak their offense a little bit, since Giannis, Khris Middleton, Malcom Brogdon, and Matthew Dellavedova meant the Bucks had enough pesky perimeter defenders to make things hard on the Raptors guards. What I didn’t anticipate was that the Raptors would have zero answer for Greg Monroe, who had one of the better two-way performances I’ve ever seen out of the big man in his first career playoff game (Monroe had previously held the active streak for most regular season games without a playoff appearance, so good for him). On top of that, Thon Maker, who’s largely just played as a figurehead starter at the beginning of halves actually had several nice defensive plays. I don’t know if banking on a skinny 19 year-old rookie to sustain that over a series is realistic, but if he can develop that it will look like another shrewd draft pick by the Bucks.

Memphis Grizzlies (7) L @ San Antonio Spurs (2) W

[82 - 111]

This was actually a close game for about a half, with Marc Gasol actually setting the Grizzlies’ franchise record in the playoffs for points scored in a half. He then proceeded to score in single digits the rest of the way as the Spurs pulled ahead. I like both of these teams and admire the way they both have just sort of stuck their styles despite the league trying to move in certain directions. The problem for Memphis is that the Spurs have Kawhi Leonard, who’s the best defender and scorer in this series by a kind of alarming margin.

There really isn’t a whole lot to discuss from this game that isn’t kind of clear from looking at the score. The Spurs are a better team, a fact that only became clearer once both teams pulled their starters once the outcome was no longer in doubt. The bottom of the Spurs bench seemed to have zero difficulty with the bottom of the Grizzlies depth chart, scoring, blocking, and dunking with relative ease. It still wouldn’t shock me if the Grizzlies won a game at home during this anyway because they do that every season.

Utah Jazz (5) W @ Los Angeles Clippers (4) W

[97-95]

I’m a Clippers fan so this one wasn’t very fun for me. Rudy Gobert went down with a knee injury about 10 seconds into this game after he bonked kneecaps with Luc Mbah a Moute. Despite that, the Jazz pulled out the win when Joe Johnson scored a tough shot as time expired. Joe was big for the Jazz for the whole of this game, as he got a lot of minutes, both filling in for Gobert and because his floor-stretching helped take Blake Griffin away from crashing the boards. Even so, early on the Clippers were dominating the glass, pulling down offensive rebounds and drawing fouls inside like crazy, and Blake rolled up a monster first half. But, it’s Blake Griffin, so he scored two points in the 4th quarter (hitting zero field goals in the quarter). Chris Paul went off in this one, because Chris Paul is a very good player, especially in the playoffs, despite his reputation in the postseason. In fact, down the stretch he was pretty much the only thing that looked good for the Clippers, with the exception of Marreese Speights playing decently.

The Clippers missed Austin Rivers in this one, as J.J. Reddick struggled mightily against Joe Ingles’ pesky defense, causing the LA shooting guard to have a borderline meltdown with back-to-back turnovers sandwiching a couple of horrible defensive lapses in the 2nd quarter. Doc bolstered the bench unit by leaving Blake and Mbah a Moute out for long stretches but when Griffin grows passive, they could really use someone like Rivers to drive to the rim, and perhaps shake them out of their weird habit of firing up contested jumpers and refusing to move towards the basket.

Anyway, as for the Jazz, Joe was the star as Gordon Hayward was frequently bottled up by Luc Mbah a Moute. The Clippers would often switch Luc and Chris Paul onto Hayward in pick and roll situations which clearly left the Jazz forward frustrated as he wasn’t able to get past either man. Of course, they still ran this switch when Paul sat in favor of Raymond Felton, at which point it immediately stopped working. Did I mention the Clippers missed Austin Rivers? Down the stretch of this one, Doc Rivers was turning to Raymond Felton in his “defensive” lineups, which is one of those things that pretty much everyone in the world can see is a problem. I realize Wesley Johnson, Alan Anderson, and the rest of the depth guys have sort of lost Rivers’ faith this season but surely one of them can defend wings better than Raymond Felton.

Atlanta Hawks (5) L @ Washington Wizards (4) W

[107-114]

I’m probably gonna keep this one short because I’m not actually sure how much I can take from this game that I really believe about the teams. I do think the Wizards are probably the better team, so the results do seem to support that, but given the bizarre way the Hawks have worked all season, they could win the series after going down 3-0 and I wouldn’t really be that shocked. Paul Millsap noted after this one that the Wizards were playing a much more physical game than the Hawks. This is true, but it also makes no sense based on the way these teams are composed. With the exception of the guards, I think the Hawks own a physicality advantage at virtually every position, especially with Millsap and Dwight Howard inside. So naturally Marcin Gortat, obliterated Millsap on a dunk.

I don’t really have enough faith in either team to expect them to be entirely consistent through this series. Washington is good, but Atlanta has a knack for inexplicably winning games, and I still expect at least one game of Tim Hardaway Jr. going off and at least a few classic Dwight Howard shenanigans. If nothing else, I’d think someone in Atlanta would remember that Kent Bazemore and Thabo Sefalosha (when healthy) can really bother people on the perimeter with physical play. And maybe the Hawks can stop letting a 33 year-old Gortat put them on posters?

Portland Trailblazers (8) L @ Golden State Warriors (1) W

[109-121]

I’ve realized the NBA is a lot more entertaining when I pretend the Warriors don’t exist. I’m hoping Jusuf Nurkic gets healthy in time to play in this series (not sure if he will) because it will get a couple of Draymond Green’s inevitable flagrant fouls out of the way early when he unsurprisingly kicks another big white dude in the balls. Next.

Chicago Bulls (8) W @ Boston Celtics (1) L

[106-102]

On one hand I am really glad the Bulls won, even though I think they’re actually a fairly bad team because it’s incredibly fitting that they would preserve their TNT Broadcast winning streak. With that said, I do feel for Isaiah Thomas, who lost his sister in a single-driver accident the night before the game and was visibly emotional during it. The crowd’s response to him hitting a 3-pointer early in the game was a genuine, touching moment and it’s a bit of a bummer that it’s going to be overshadowed by the fact that the Celtics lost this game.

It’s not necessarily surprising that Chicago plays Boston well (although their regular season matchup where the Bulls literally forgot how to score a basketball means there’s at least some surprise here). The Celtics are a bad rebounding team and one of the only things Chicago does well is crash the glass. Robin Lopez and Bobby Portis played well in this one, meaning that Chicago’s mess of a front office actually managed to win a trade where they sent Derrick Rose away to get back Robin Lopez. Thank heaven for small victories. 

Anyway, Jimmy Butler is better than any other player in this game and the Celtics are likely regretting the fact that they didn’t manage to acquire him back at the trade deadline. For what it’s worth, the Bulls did get quite a few contributions from other players, including Rajon Rondo. I like that because Rajon Rondo playing well emboldens Rajon Rondo to do some really weird shit, which is usually fun. I think Chicago could genuinely have a chance to win this series, but there’s also a pretty good chance they play Dwayne Wade major minutes because of his name, a move that makes them a lot worse and requires Jimmy Butler to make up for even more mistakes. Free this poor man.

Oklahoma City Thunder (6) L @ Houston Rockets (3) W

[87-118]

This was the MVP matchup that everyone got really excited for until it actually happened and we all remembered that Houston is a much better basketball team. This game was still weird though, as the typically inept shooting of Oklahoma City was replaced instead by a remarkably hot start from 3-point land, while the Houston Rockets airballed 3-pointers and had to stay in the game by crashing the glass and generating points in the paint. In short, the tow teams somehow swapped styles. The only problem was that apparently Nene and Clint Capela are completely unstoppable. I’m not really sure that can possibly be true, especially given that Oklahoma City actually has a decent frontcourt and plays above-average rebounders at all five positions. James Harden and Russell Westbrook, the MVP candidates in question got off to slow starts, but eventually started scoring, and as has been the case for most of the season, James Harden did a much better job, with Russ’s usage rate capsizing his efficiency as he chucked up ill-advised shots and turned the ball over 9 times amid Patrick Beverly’s terrorizing defense.

Speaking of Patrick Beverly, the Rockets guard was arguably the most impressive player in the whole game (at least until James Harden did this) as he outplayed Russell Westbrook on defense while making big play after big play on offense. He also ran into Steven Adams so hard that he had to check out of the game for a little while (after hitting a few three pointers and setting the crowd into a frenzy). The spotlight was always going to be on Harden and Westbrook, but I think there’s going to be a few more #2 jerseys in the crowd by the time this series ends.

As for the star performers, James Harden never really got going from deep, but managed to drive to the basket with so much ease that it looked like OKC just forgot that was a thing people do in basketball. Russell Westbrook probably has the MVP award locked up after his nutty stats this year, and he arguably has been more important in the sense that the team asks him to do about 99% of the entire team’s workload, but James Harden’s played better this year, and did so once again in this one. I do wonder exactly what would happen if you removed James Harden from the Rockets, because I have a sneaking suspicion they’d be just as bad as the Thunder sans-Russ. I realize their on/off court numbers don’t back that up but I have a feeling a lot of that stems from the ways the two teams deploy their bench, as Billy Donovan uses the Thunder reserves to try to bide time while Westbrook sits whereas Mike D’Antoni uses the Rockets bench players to do their best to replicate the production they lose when Harden sits.

Anyway, going forward in this series, I would think Donovan should consider turning to Domantas Sabonis at some point, as the rookie big’s willingness to shoot 3′s might at least drag one of Houston’s big men away from the rim, enabling someone on the Thunder to rebound, because if Houston keeps beating them on the glass like this I’m not sure we’re even going to get a full seven games out of this highly-anticipated series.