#none of these things made sense individually

[almondmilkhunnis]

x

[3liza]

after meaning to get around to it for years i finally listened to almost the entirety of Sold a Story and it is as groundbreaking as everyone says it is. it's also the most confusing, to me, single event in American culture in my lifetime and my reasons for thinking that are pretty complex so im not sure theyre fully formed yet. there's a list of shit in this podcast that made me feel like i was going insane

i KNEW something was going on at a population level, i've been noticing it for years, people kept telling me i was imagining things, but i was RIGHT, two generations of kids have been reduced to barely-literate levels of language function because of this shit and you CAN see it and hear it while talking to people in the world!

the entire adoption of the Calkins programs in the first place were based on the majority of people responsible for American child education deciding basically overnight that "children don't need to learn phonics in order to become strong readers" which is literally and not figuratively equivalent to saying "children can learn algebra without learning what numbers are". it is so self-evidently false i dont even know how to respond to such an assertion. you have to be fundamentally devoid of common sense to think this is true. language is comprised of sounds (phonemes), sounds are represented by letters, letters make up the alphabet, the alphabet makes up words, and words make up sentences. you cant just skip over the parts of this you dont like, it's the basis of our entire civilization. "i dont need to learn individual notes i just want to play to saxophone" okay well. too bad? you cant

american primary education apparently has no communication whatsoever with the scientific fields of human behaviorism, pediatrics, neurology, linguistics, the science of learning generally, and there is next to zero communication between teachers who are actively responsible for educating children and the entire research field of educating children. they just dont talk to each other, at least in huge swaths of the country. in retrospect this is obvious, i just have been assuming incorrectly this entire time that maybe, surely, some aspect of how our public schools are administered is in some way being guided by scientific evidence and research. this has apparently not been the case for 20+ years. Lucy Calkins herself claims she "didn't know" that the research on how children acquire language had been essentially settled by the 1990s, she just wrote her stupid book based on her own self-assurance that what she THOUGHT children were doing when they learned language was correct. she ddin't check, she didnt ask about research or studies, she didn't test her hypothesis, she just told everyone she had figured out how to teach kids to read based on nothing but her own untested assumptions. and everyone was like "okay sounds good". every single person involved in this process is or was in a position of responsibility for educating american children. and almost none of them thought to ask "okay, but have you tested it? does it work?" because they didn't test it, and it doesnt work, and for some reason that was never even brought up

teachers kept being interviewed on this podcast who kept saying things like: "they never taught us how to teach children to read" and "they didn't teach us how children learn so i had no idea how it worked" and then explaining this was why they were so easily hoodwinked by the Calkins program. i don't understand this. what is actually taught during the two year degree programs at teaching colleges? if it's not child psychology, pedagogy, neurology, and actual techniques for teaching children, what are they teaching you to do there? one of my friends who went to a teaching college told me they mostly provided classes on lesson planning.

individual teachers apparently are not reading books or articles or papers on any of these subjects either. so having graduated from a teaching college knowing nothing about children, teaching, or even basic english literacy ("i didn't know how to teach phonics and no one told me" is another thing actual teachers kept saying on the podcast. girl, SESAME STREET can teach basic english phonics, and it does), almost none of them actually do any investigation on their own. they just show up to their workplace (the school) and "teach" whatever admin hands them. ?????????????? how is this possible?

i realized last night in a fugue of post-exertional malaise that the three-cueing method of teaching reading is training children to approach language very similarly to how a large language model does it. they laboriously instruct the children to guess what the next word in a sentence will be, often by actually covering the word with a post-it note and then cajoling and badgering the child until he guesses the word under the post-it, based on the vibes on the sentence he's reading. this doesnt teach you to read, it teaches you to act like youre reading

this isnt directly addressed in the podcast but we used to just teach everyone english like it was an actual system that has parts and rules and structures, because that's what a language is. everyone would start with phonics and the alphabet, then later do stuff like sentence diagramming and grammar, neither of which have been taught in primary schools in decades. i think i was probably the very last generation of kids to get ANY of that stuff unless they went to an exceptional school, and it was only because my 8th grade teacher knew it was important and went against school admin's instructions in order to teach it. the couple days of sentence diagramming and grammar he gave us, out of SPITE, have been more useful to me in reading and writing than the entire rest of primary english education i received in public school, and i didn't even go to a school that had adopted three-cueing stuff yet.

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

a love that makes sense

── bucky barnes x fem!reader (former avenger, currently part of the thunderbolts*)

word count: 3.7k

clearing up a few things timeline wise, to avoid confusion. infinity war happens in 2018, thunderbolts* in 2027. the events of the winter soldier happen in 2014 so when i eventually mention how long reader and bucky have known each other, its 13 years.

no use of y/n but i do use she / her. no physical descriptors other than reader being shorter than bucky (sebastian is 5’11 - 6’ so do with that what you will). powers are similar to that of wanda maximoff, but i don’t write about them in this part. hero name is Dark Surge (where wanda’s powers have a red energy, your color is black, hence the name). readers parents are both dead.

baby girl is back on the big screen and my writing gears are turning again. inspired by @aquaticmercy! their entire masterlist is stunningggggg, and brb im gonna go re-read right now. this is my take on the secret wife trope with thunderbolts* bucky, but someone on the team already knows 👀

*NOTE: benjamin poindexter is not bullseye in this. i just need a name that’s easy to associate being a piece of shit with hshxjsidnxfj

also i am a slut for a backstory, so sorry if you hate long pieces but get a snack and get comfortable

SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* BELOW THE CUT!!!

Bucky hated the idea of a gala to introduce the (rich) world to the team.

To the new Avengers.

Valentina said it would be good for you to show face, that it would be the first planned public outing as a group.

Sam Wilson had made it known he didn’t like you all using the Avengers as your team name, what with him trying to sue for copyright, and Valentina was a little too quick to point out that now was the time for a united front. The public needed to see that not only were you heroes, but that you were also a real team.

None of you could see how dressing up and playing nice with the upper class would prove that, but you all discussed and decided it was better not to argue.

Yelena pointed out that the Thunderbolts, or Avengers, or whatever the team name was, basically owned Valentina. Bob was on your side again, and even Valentina knew that all it would take was one of you going to the press to expose her.

But it was Alexei who said Valentina was right. The world knew who you all were as individuals, but they’d yet to see you as a team in a somewhat normal setting.

You suspected he just wanted a chance to dress up and have people admire him, but kept quiet about that.

But back to why Bucky hated the gala.

It wasn’t for him. It was true, he didn’t like the idea of having to put on a show, even though he was used to it since becoming a congressman. And he hated that he could hear the whispers of the general public, who often referred to him as the Winter Soldier behind his back.

No, he hated this for you.

Of everyone on the new team, you were the only one of the original Avengers. You’d joined shortly before Loki and the whole attack on New York, having been recruited by Steve.

And as the only original Avenger, people tended to pay extra attention to you. He knew without a doubt, you’d be smiling for more photos and answering more questions than any of them.

You loved what you did, that you got to help people. But you didn’t like how public it all was. You missed when you were an unknown vigilante working (mostly) alongside the law. When you took on smaller problems like robberies or attempted shootings. Because no one knew who you were back then, you weren’t often praised. And that was exactly how you wished it could’ve stayed.

What Bucky hated most, was how he wouldn’t be able to comfort you tonight.

He’s known he loves you since before he could even remember what love was. You tracked him down to his tiny apartment in Romania, but didn’t tell Steve right away. You gave him 6 additional months of peace, while slowly inserting yourself into his life.

And while his memory was foggy, he wasn’t stupid. He knew who you were when you approached him at that outdoor market he used to frequent, but he believed you when you said you had no intention of alerting Steve, yet. That you needed some peace and quiet too.

The first time you helped him through a nightmare, and held him as he sobbed and said he wanted the pain to end, that was it for him. When he woke up the next morning to see you curled up next to him, your hand on his chest as if you needed the reassurance his heart was beating, he knew he didn’t ever want a life without you.

And when you finally opened your eyes and smiled at him, for a brief moment it felt like all was right in the world. You seemed to know how he felt, because you simply moved closer and spoke softly as you told him everything was going to be okay, and that the 2 of you didn’t have to discuss feelings, but you felt the same way.

With all that went down once you finally did have to tell Steve where Bucky was, and all that happened after, your relationship was obviously kept a secret from, well, everyone.

Eventually the 2 of you felt comfortable enough to tell Steve, who smiled as if he already knew. And you then confessed that Nat knew, and had known for a long time because you needed someone outside of the relationship to talk to.

As time went on, the rest of the team each found out in their own way.

Tony found out when he overheard you talking to Nat about how you were terrified to tell him about you and Bucky. Tony was the closest thing you had to a dad, and you didn’t think you could handle him being disappointed in you.

Thankfully, he and Bucky had long ago sorted everything out, and he told you that he overheard you, but you had nothing to worry about. If you were happy, so was he.

Clint found out at the same time as Thor and Bruce, when the 3 of them had taken the elevator up to your floor of the tower to ask about an upcoming mission. They froze as soon as they got off of the elevator, and were met with the sight of you fast asleep, your head on Bucky’s chest as he lazily scrolled to find something good to watch. By then he was genuinely friends with everyone on the team, so he didn’t have much of a reaction to them.

But he sighed, knowing you wanted to tell them yourself. You’d just gotten back from a solo mission though, and were more tired than he’d seen you in a long time. So he simply looked at them and mouthed if you wake her, I will kill you.

All you had to do was mention to everyone that you both wanted to keep the relationship out of the public, and that was it. You trusted them, and knew nobody would ever say anything.

That was a long time ago, though. You didn’t know most of your teammates that well.

You were still on the fence about John. With the recent string of events that had taken place, he’d proven himself to be a good teammate and valuable asset to the team. And knowing what he saw in the void, you felt bad.

But that still didn’t erase the things he’d done in the past. You remembered all too well, what happened when you were working with Bucky and Sam and the wannabe Captain America showed up.

As for the other members of the team, well all except 1, they were nice enough, but you weren’t close enough with them (yet) for you and Bucky to feel comfortable revealing your relationship.

It wasn’t unusual to everyone else that the 2 of you spent more time with each other than any of them, after all you’d known each other longer. But you were worried that one day, someone would catch on before you had a chance to tell them yourself.

Which was how you found yourself in this unfortunate position, wandering around the massive room Valentina rented for the night. She instructed everyone on the team to go off on their own, mingle with the people. And do not stick together like a pack of wild animals being cornered.

Of course, it wasn’t lost Bucky that if your relationship was public, he could ignore her suggestions and just walk around with you, arm in arm. He could pull you in for a kiss, maybe even ask you to dance if these fancy galas did that sort of thing.

And it wasn’t lost on you that if people knew the 2 of you were together, you could comfort Bucky. Like right now, you can tell by the way he’s walking around with his metal hand in his pants pocket and his right hand holding a glass of champagne, the way he keeps looking around as if a threat is close by, that he’s anxious. And anxious probably isn’t even a strong enough word, because you know he hates these public events as much as you do.

“You always come to these things alone?”

You had enhanced hearing, but still felt like you were going to have a heart attack at the sound of an unexpected voice. How had someone managed to sneak up on you? You really had to work on not zoning out in public.

“Pardon?” Not wanting to seem rude, you put on a smile and turned to face the man on your left.

He was tall, and not bad looking. But something about the way he smirked at you put you on edge. He stared as if you were a prize to be won, or he needed time in the spotlight so he spoke to you, hoping one of the few invited members of the press would soon walk by.

“I just asked if you always come to Valentina’s galas by yourself.”

You hoped you didn’t sound as annoyed as you felt.

“Well this is the first event being thrown by Valentina, so no. It’s been a few years since the Avengers have thrown a gala. And even then, Tony only invited respected individuals that we worked with closely.”

The man scoffed. “Right. Guess my invites always got lost in the mail.”

“Guess so,” you shrugged.

“Now that I’m here though, I can keep you company.”

This guy needs to work on his subtlety, you thought to yourself.

You briefly surveyed the room, and found that Bucky’s eyes were already on you. You suspected that he’d been watching since the man first approached you.

You okay? He mouthed. You gave a slight nod, and he turned back to the person he was speaking with, though you knew he’d look back at you once you looked away.

“I’m actually meant to mingle with everyone, but I appreciate the offer…”

“Benjamin Poindexter,” he held his hand out. You hoped your smile was convincing as you shook his hand. He held on just a little too tight, for a little too long.

Before you could step back, you and Benjamin were both startled as a hand not at all gently gave him a pat on the shoulder. You looked to see Alexei, and were never more relieved to see him than you were in that moment.

“How are we doing this evening, huh?”

Benjamin opened his mouth to answer, but Alexei had already put his arm around you and had begun leading you in another direction. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back around.

“Sorry I need her for official superhero business, you understand.”

Only when you were nearly across the room, did Alexei finally stop walking. “Should I kill him?”

You laughed, but had to stifle it when you saw his completely serious facial expression.

“I— no. Hey look at me, no killing him, right?”

“Maybe I just accidentally—”

“No. I really appreciate you saving the day, but I think he was just a weird fan who managed to sneak his way in. Promise me he’ll leave here alive.”

“Oh okay okay, I get you. I wait until he leaves and then—”

“Alexei!”

Yelena approaches, having heard the tail end of your conversation.

“Trust me, I wish I could kill men simply for being creepy as well. But the public won’t love Red Guardian so much for killing a man out in public just for being a creep.” She turned and whispered in your ear, “he won’t be able make it l look like an accident. But I can. We’ll talk later.”

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

What feels like a lifetime later, but is really maybe an hour, you’re all seated at dinner. And of course in another effort to whore you all out to the public make people think the Avengers were just like everyone else, the entire team were sat at different tables.

“Well well well, guess it’s my lucky night.”

Oh fuck me, you thought as Benjamin took the seat next to you. How had you not noticed his name on the place cards?

“Hello,” you gave him a nod and tight lipped smile, before turning to survey the room once again.

Alexei held up a steak knife and motioned to Benjamin when he wasn’t looking. When you shook your head, he sighed and resumed conversation with the man he’d been talking to.

You were sad that Bucky was on the other side of the room, so you wouldn’t be able to see him after this long and boring dinner was over.

Ava and Alexei were the only ones who lucked out with table mates.

You turned to your right and saw John sat between 2 men who both seemed to be vying for his attention. He caught your eye, and you laughed and mouthed having fun?, and had to force yourself to not laugh when he slowly raised his hand to flip you off.

Yelena was a few tables away, resisting the urge to grab her steak knife and shove it in the throat of the man speaking to her. He clearly just loved the sound of his own voice, and she hadn’t even gotten a word in. The topic? Himself, of course. And how he could’ve been a hero too if life had dealt him better cards.

Bob was the only one who’d been excused from tonight. Understandably, as he was still recovering from recent events.

Earlier you offered to stay back and hang out with him. The rest of the team agreed that might be a good idea, until Valentina swooped in and immediately said no. That everyone would be wondering where the only original Avenger on the team was.

“So being an Avenger and all that, do you have a lot of free time?” Benjamin asked.

“Umm no, not really. Between missions and writing the reports and training, I don’t have a lot of time for myself.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping to take you out some time,” he put an arm around your chair while also scooting his closer.

That’s when you finally stood up. “I’m not dating anymore, but again I appreciate the offer. If you’ll excuse me.” You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else before you started to walk away.

Valentina unintentionally saved the day, calling you over to talk to a mayor of some city a few states away. Why he was at this dinner, you had no idea. But after only a minute of conversation, you could tell he was genuinely a nice guy, so this was already a lot better than talking to Benjamin.

After everyone finished eating, the team mingled with guests for another hour before things finally started to wind down. Half an hour after that, and only a handful of people remained.

“Ready to head home? I’m exhausted,” Ava was the last of the group to approach the table you’d all gathered at.

“Yeah,” you looked around the table, “shit. I think I left my phone in the bathroom. I’ll meet you guys at the car.”

Everyone slowly stood up and gathered their things, but Bucky lingered near you. “I can wait for you,” he offered.

You could see he was just as mentally exhausted as you were, maybe even a little more. “It’s okay, I’ll meet you at the car in a minute, I think my phones on the counter by the sinks.”

After double checking, he nodded and turned around to look at the team. They were all talking amongst themselves as they headed to the doors, so Bucky took the opportunity to take your hand in his. “You did good tonight doll, proud of you.”

“Right back at ya’ Sarge,” you smiled.

You held hands a few seconds more, before expertly letting go and making it seem as if you just walked side-by-side. Unbeknownst to each other, you were both thinking that you couldn’t wait until the day came where you didn’t have to do that.

Once exiting the ballroom / banquet room, Bucky turned left and made his way to the exits, while you went right and headed for the restroom.

When you saw your phone sitting exactly where you thought it’d be, you felt relief. As you walked back out, you scrolled through your missed messages and calls, not looking up from your phone.

“There you are.”

You’d later swear your heart stopped when you heard Benjamin’s voice again. And you mentally cursed yourself for not paying attention to your surroundings. This was now 3 times the same man managed to sneak up on you.

“Hi,” you quickly nodded before taking a step towards the doors.

“Not so fast,” his hand reached out to grab your arm, and he wasn’t at all gentle.

You sighed as you tried to remove your arm from his grip, but fear quickly replaced annoyance when you realized he was stronger than he looked. And when he looked up, gone was that smug smile. Now he only looked angry.

“All night you’ve been such a fucking bitch to me, and for what?”

“Let go of me. You clearly know who I am, so you know what my powers are. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He laughed, then leaned down so his face was only inches from yours.

“You think you’re too good for me, because you’re an Avenger and I’m not? I could’ve been a hero too, you know.” He laughed, although there was no humor behind it. His grip on your wrist tightened as he gave you that sick smile. “I can—”

You didn’t get to find out what it was he could do, before a hand reached from behind you and wrapped around Benjamin’s throat. In seconds, he was pinned against the wall.

And even if the hand around Benjamin’s throat wasn’t metal, you still would’ve known who it was that was behind you.

“James,” you turned around and smiled. “I could’ve handled him.”

“Oh I know you could’ve,” he tightened his grip as Benjamin tried to speak and continued to try and remove Bucky’s hand. “You could’ve kicked his ass, but you shouldn’t have to.”

By then, the rest of the team had all come back into the room. Benjamin looked to them as if to silently ask for help, but suddenly they were all preoccupied with the floors and ceilings. Alexei even went so far as to whistle and brush invisible crumbs off of his suit jacket.

Bucky shook his head as he finally dropped his left hand, allowing Benjamin to breathe properly for the first time in a couple of minutes. Any relief he felt was short lived though, because Bucky almost immediately used his right hand to slam him back against the wall.

“You’ve been bothering her all night. And I know exactly who you are. Dishonorable discharge from the Army for sexual misconduct against female superiors. Looked into you after you bothered her the first time. And she,” he nodded towards you while never taking his eyes off of Benjamin. “Has been too polite to tell you to fuck off, but I’m not. If you so much as breathe in my wife’s direction again, it’ll be the last breath you ever take. And if you tell anyone about what’s going on right now, I can promise you that you’ll only wish you were dead.”

With that, he let go, and Benjamin fell to the ground as he tried to catch his breath. He got up after a moment, a hand on his neck as he scrambled for the doors.

“You’re all fucking psychopaths!” He yelled. Yelena took a step towards him, causing Benjamin to yank the doors open, probably running faster than he had in his entire life.

“You okay doll? I knew something was off when you were gone longer than a minute. I meant what I said, I know you could’ve handled it, I just—”

“It’s okay,” you placed your right hand in Bucky’s left. “I kinda like when you come to my rescue.”

You took a deep breath before turning to face the team, all staring at you with wide eyes and open mouths. “I know you have questions, and I promise we’ll answer them all… eventually. Let’s just get home first.”

Alexei immediately opens his mouth. “So you two—”

He was stopped by Yelena, who grabbed his arm and began walking towards the car. “Chop chop let’s go people I have a lot of questions.”

Only a few minutes later, you all finally slumped back in your seats.

“Former Winter Soldier and vigilante both turned Avenger, meet and fall in love. Beautiful!” Alexei grins, giving you a thumbs up in the rear view mirror.

Bucky takes your hand in his, apologizing once again for letting the cat out of the bag.

“Seriously though,” Ava leans forward in her seat. “Does no one know about you two?”

You shrug, “the… original Avengers, is that what we call them? Anyway, they all found out a long time ago. Natasha was actually the first one I told.”

Hearing that you confided in her sister brings a smile to Yelena’s face.

The rest of the ride to the tower is silent. And you end up falling asleep leaning on Bucky’s arm. At one point, he turns and places a soft kiss on your head. The team all turn to look at each other, as if silently asking if they were really all that blind. How had they missed this??

You wake up just as Alexei not so delicately comes to a stop as he waits for the gate to the parking structure to open.

“At least I can finally do this now,” Bucky smiles as he walks next to you, slipping his hand into yours as you head into the tower.

When you all walk into the downstairs lobby area, Bob is there.

“Saw you guys pull in on the cameras. Figured I’d wait to see how the night went.” He looks at you and Bucky holding hands, and smiles. “Oh you guys finally told them!”

All eyes are on you again.

“What the fuck!”

“Wait BOB knew?!”

You and Bucky turn to look at each other. “This is gonna be a looong night.”

why this is called “a love that makes sense” is coming in part 2!

TAG LIST FOR PART 2 ── 10 of 50 spots taken. if you’d like to be added, let me know!!

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[ddarker-dreams]

A Deal's a Deal.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, violence against minor characters, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of alcohol. Word count: 5k.

Next

“... Sorry. This one’s no good either.” 

Sighing dejectedly, you sink into your seat. 

You can’t tell if your companion’s disappointed. He maintains a neutral countenance, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. Still, you study him, awaiting some visual indication before moving the conversation forward. He must sense your intentions, for he catches your gaze and smiles. 

“Should we call it a day? You look tired.” 

“The hell? Isn’t it considered taboo to tell a lady she looks tired?” You grumble. “And here I thought you were Casanova incarnate. You’ve got to work on your charisma stats.” 

Chrollo shrugs halfheartedly. “What point is there if you’re immune to my many charms?” 

“Let’s be real — ‘many’ is overdoing it, a little humility won’t hurt. I commend your budding self-awareness, though. At least we’ve made progress on that front.” 

He hums, offering no rebuttal. You realize that you’ve perked back up, reinvigorated by his goading. He certainly knows how to get people going. Among his defining features, that’s one of the first you recognized; his uncanny way of orchestrating favorable outcomes. 

Sipping your preferred warm beverage, you canvass your surroundings. 

The café’s less crowded than when you came in. There are still a few students typing away on their laptops while consuming a concerning amount of caffeine. In the corner sits an elderly couple, whose order you overheard by virtue of the volume it was placed at — “Give me a regular coffee. Straight black, none of that ‘appaccino, grand venti’ nonsense. Decaf for my wife.” 

(You prayed for the barista’s sanity when he tried explaining the different ways ‘straight black’ could come). 

“... I am losing my touch, aren’t I?” Chrollo murmurs. You snap your head in his direction, having temporarily forgotten his existence. “You prefer older men?” 

You almost choke mid-sip. “Pleh…! That’s it, I’m retiring, good luck sorting your issues out.”

“You don’t mean that.” 

“How I wish you were wrong,” you deadpan. Lifting his phone off the table, you scroll through its contents. There’s nothing new to look at. “An exorcist, huh? You’re positive that’s a real thing?” 

“They exist. They’re just rare, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

“I blame the Protestant Reformation.” 

The skin beneath his eyes wrinkles. “... Cute.”  

His compliment makes you frown. 

“Quit it with the flattery, already.” 

“Flattery implies a degree of insincerity, no?” He challenges. “You of all people should know when I’m being genuine.” 

“You make it sound like I’m a walking polygraph.” 

His lips part and close as he considers his response. “That isn’t how I view you.” 

This guy’s clever with his word choice, you think. Too clever.

Disliking where this conversation might go, you redirect. 

“This ‘Hunter’ site you’ve been using… is there any way for me to access it?”

“Feeling a bit impatient, are we?” 

There’s a patronizing lilt to this tone that has you inhaling sharply. Closing your eyes, you ball your hands into fists, willing your agitated mind to relax. Your goal feels so close. This future you never believed possible dangles above your head, only to recede as if you were Tantalus whenever you grasp for it. Needling Chrollo won’t get you any closer, but at least it gives you something to do, mimicking progress. 

“The Hunter site has various measures in place to prevent account sharing. You don’t want to end up on their radar,” Chrollo retrieves his phone and tucks it into his coat’s pocket. “While your enthusiasm’s admirable, I suggest you leave this part to me.”

You swallow thickly. “... Right.” 

“Are you upset?” 

“No, I’m not,” you rest your hands on your lap. “Just, y’know. Reminded that we’re from two different worlds.” 

Outside the café’s windows, individuals from all walks of life bustle about. Some are on their phones, others chatting with friends, or holding their partner’s hands. It’s a picturesque display of normalcy. They’re likely thinking about what to have for dinner, when to set their alarm for the following day, if they can squeeze out of plans they halfheartedly agreed to over the weekend; you know this because you aspire to live the same way. 

“You’re closer to mine than you think.” 

A fervent disagreement blazes then turns to ash on your tongue. There’s an unidentifiable quality to his stare — neither kind nor outright malicious — almost clinical in its effort to elicit a reaction. You stir in your seat. Despite your time together, he’s as much an enigma as he’d been upon your first meeting. Charming and courteous, yet lacking genuine warmth, like a faux candle. 

“Do you get some kick out of riling me up?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Your expressive nature is endearing. I can’t help myself.” 

His words resonate with such clarity that you can’t help but wish he’d been a little dishonest. 

“I’m not a toy for you to entertain yourself with.” 

His smile makes you squirm. 

“I know you aren’t.” 

“Then what—” you cut yourself off, fearing what might occur if you continue your original line of questioning. “Man, you’re exhausting to deal with. Has anyone ever told you that you have an awful personality?” 

“Few get to be around me enough to comment on its quality.” 

“I’m counting down the days until I’m no longer a member of that inner circle.” 

Before Chrollo can respond, his phone audibly vibrates. Newfound excitement overwhelms you at the sound. He glances at the notification and nods, confirming your speculation. He places it in your eager hands. While you prepare, he steeples his fingers and leans forward, intrigued as always with your work. 

You relax your breathing. This entire process is based on intuition, chasing after faint sensations until your desired outcome manifests. A pliable force thrums through you — what Chrollo refers to as ‘aura’ — awakening from its dormant state. Mindful of your public surroundings, you keep your dominant hand beneath the table. Where there was once nothing, a three-dimensional object rests snugly against your palm. Buttons of varying utility jut outward along its perimeter. This small item, shaped like a cassette recorder, stirs antipathy in your heart. 

Holding down rewind, the cassette whirrs to life. You prepare to record the latest audio note sent in for analysis. 

Instant Replay (One More Time!).

These past few months have seen your ability frequently leveraged. It was your personal conviction to refuse its use, lest paranoia eat away at you. However, freedom from this bondage necessitates further entanglement. You’ve parted with your long-standing morals, primed to pick through the syllables of others for your own purposes. 

Right and wrong no longer concern you. 

All you care about is surrendering this loathsome ability to the man sitting across the table. 

-

The night air is unforgiving in its chill. It infiltrates your layers of clothing with laughable ease, seeping into your marrow and demanding that you shiver as recompense. Gritting your teeth, you pick up your pace, cursing the parking garage’s elevator for being out of order. You knew parking at your friend’s apartment complex was sparse, but this is a new record. 

The heels of your shoes click against the concrete staircase as you rapidly ascend. A pale, yellowish hue illuminates your path, the lights occasionally flickering. The moon must be feeling shy tonight, for it hides behind thick, stationary clouds, refusing the world its silvery guidance.

Upon arriving on the third floor, you hear an ominous crackle in the distance. 

The consequences are immediate. Intuition tells you to pause, goosebumps erupting over your flesh from head to toe. Darkness swallows your surroundings whole in inky blots. Blinking rapidly, your eyes struggle to adjust. You feel around for your phone and turn the flashlight on. The sudden loss of power perplexes you, did the building’s breaker trip? From what you can see, the rest of the street is unaffected. 

You’re about to resume your journey when you feel something cold press against your temple. 

“Don’t move,” a deep voice demands. The roar of a car’s engine echoes nearby, as does the hurried screech of tires. “Not so much as a fucking inch.” 

Anxiety sets your every nerve aflame. You go stiff as a corpse, and perhaps you may have been mistaken for one, if not for the thunderous pounding of your heart. The moisture in your mouth dries up. Tortuous seconds drag on, devoid of any further commands. You’re ready to offer up your purse, wallet, or anything else he insists on, but he’s eerily silent. 

A pair of approaching headlights blind you. 

Is this more than a robbery? You struggle to comprehend the nightmarish events. The man holding you hostage radiates agitation, shifting his weight from foot to foot. In doing so, the barrel drags along your sweat-slicked skin. His apparent sloppiness has you weak in the knees — it’s your life hanging in the balance, why is he acting like the situation is reversed? 

Abruptly, the vehicle veers off course, crashing into a line of parked cars. A terrible cacophony follows. Glass shatters, metal debris shrieks whilst scattering, and car alarms angrily sound in disunity. What you’re witnessing doesn’t feel like real life. Your disbelief is mutual, for the man holding you captive spews curses.

You hear a click by your side; the gun’s safety being disengaged. 

“Shit!” He maneuvers you in the direction of the crash like you’re a shield. “There’s no way we were followed, no way, we did everything perfect—” 

The man never finishes his sentence. 

There’s a wet gurgle, then a wheeze, as something warm splatters on you from behind. Bile rises up your throat as the wretched noises continue. He must’ve fallen to the ground, for you no longer sense his lumbering presence, or feel the cold kiss of metal on your skin. Regardless, you refuse to budge. You squeeze your eyes shut and tremble wildly. 

“There, there. You’re safe now. ♥” A rich baritone speaks from behind. 

His declaration comes out discordant, belying the reassuring contents. You bristle at the new threat that’s presented itself. If what came before was a house cat, then this is an apex predator, the king of the jungle. The air around him feels oppressive, almost noxious. Even without a firearm directed at you, your panic reaches its zenith, soaring to heights untraversed. 

“Hm? Still scared? Ah, that’s right,” he muses to himself. “Chrollo said you’re sensitive to dishonesty. This could be troublesome.” 

“You… you know Chrollo?” 

“So you’re not in a catatonic state — how reassuring.” 

Slowly, you turn around, sensing a distinct lack of ill intent. Flashlight in hand, you try to make sense of what you witness. The scene that greets you is gruesome beyond your wildest expectations. The man who you assume held you at gunpoint has collapsed onto the ground, his jugular slit clean. Blood gushes from the wound like a geyser, forming a crimson puddle around his head. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, nearly bulging from the sockets. Liquids ooze from every visible orifice and a foul odor rises alongside them. This pitiful creature could’ve been your end. Instead, he met his, departing this world in abject terror. 

Unexpectedly, his muscles twitch. Out of reflex, you jump back and yelp. 

“Rest assured, he’s dead as a doornail.” 

“Why…” you wet your dry lips, “What… what just…?” 

While you stumble over your words, the building’s power makes a triumphant return. The lights flash intermittently, then go steady, allowing you an unobscured vantage point. Before you stands a tall, bizarrely dressed individual, with bright red hair. His beady, yellow eyes have a predatory gleam to them that he doesn’t bother suppressing. He holds a playing card in his claw-like hands, the three of spades. 

It’s coated in fresh blood. 

Your eyes fall to the fatal wound on your assailant's throat, the gears in your head turning. 

You take a step back. 

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” With a flick of his wrist, the offending card disappears, though its memory burns strong. “I’m Hisoka, Chrollo’s… colleague of sorts. Now, there’s no need to introduce yourself. I’m well acquainted with you. ♥” 

Is that supposed to make you feel better? 

You couldn’t hide your suspicion if you tried. At the very least, there’s no indication that was a lie. However, his familiarity with you is a double-edged sword. If he’s crafty, he can outmaneuver your ability. Dishonesty isn’t black and white, there are loopholes to avoiding your detection. For instance, one can remain purposefully oblivious, lie by omission, or speak in vague terms. These gray areas pass you by as if you lacked this ‘sixth sense’ to begin with. 

He was lying when he said I’m safe now, you recall. But he doesn’t seem interested in harming me…? Something isn’t adding up.

After much deliberation, you ask, “So you just happened to run into me?” 

“Nope. I’ve been following you,” he freely admits. Your aghast expression makes him laugh. “What’s the matter? You were baiting me for the truth, were you not? You’re welcome to have it. ♦” 

In your heightened state of sensitivity, you sense multiple presences converging nearby. Security guards, if you had to guess. You weigh your options. If you stay here, you’ll undoubtedly be harassed for a story that explains the chaos. Telling the truth would land you in a straight jacket whereas deception guarantees cuffs. Leaving in your car is off the table too, you’d be dubbed an important witness. There’s no way you can claim you drove by the carnage without noticing anything. 

“I can help get you out of this debacle,” he offers. “We’re both seeking the same end — the return of Chrollo’s Hatsu. The latest recording I’ve obtained is most promising. So, I’d rather we don’t continue this conversation in prison. ♣” 

Hisoka takes a step forward and extends his hand.

The security guards are getting closer, you think. There’s no time left.

And so you make your choice. 

-

You didn’t think places like these existed outside of the movies, or maybe you just don’t get around enough. 

You’ve found yourself in what you can only describe as a biker’s bar. The decor is old-fashioned, slightly worn yet authentic. There are pool tables, too many televisions to count, and a functioning jukebox nestled in the corner. Rough-looking men wearing leather jackets make up the main clientele. Fortunately, it’s Hisoka who draws the most attention, his gaudy getup acting as a magnet for the eyes. No one pays you any mind. 

For the second time this week, a weirdo treats you to drinks. The main difference is that this is a depressant and not a stimulant. 

You take hearty sips to calm your nerves. All that happened feels so surreal, like a collection of grotesque images that would be blurred out in a documentary. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You want to be normal, untethered by the oddity that is Nen, the ‘world’ Chrollo inhabits. You decided long ago that nothing good can come from it. Maybe if you were more adventurous, prone to taking high risks for high rewards. 

But you’re not. 

Endless money, power, and influence don’t sound appealing. Sure, there’s an allure initially, until you consider reality. Lots of money means either lots of taxes or lots of tax evasion. You barely know what a W-2 form is, much less the hoops you’d have to jump through if your income exploded. Power and influence aren’t all they’re cracked up to be either. All that scheming to stay at the top would take away from what makes life truly worth living — reading Wikipedia articles and watching eight-hour-long videos analyzing a video game from two decades ago. 

“Holy shit,” you press pause on the cassette recorder. “This Abengane guy’s the real deal.” 

“Oh?” 

“He’s familiar with getting rid o’ Nen. During his… huh, what’s it called again… oh. Yeah. Audition. Durin’ his audition for Greedy Island—” 

“ —Greed Island.” 

You wave his correction off. 

“—Yeah, yeah, whatever. But, basically, he’s legit. How’d ya even come across this?” 

“Magic. ♥” 

You make a face. “Is everyone who uses Nen annoying?” 

“Some more than others.” 

Speak of the devil. Craning your neck, you’re met with piercing gray eyes. Unlike Hisoka, Chrollo isn’t dressed like he’s auditioning for the circus. Instead, he comes across as a guy who’s going to pitch the worst idea for a startup you’ve ever heard. He’s wearing a dark blazer with a gray turtleneck beneath it, along with white pants and black loafers. You’re about to make your joke known when something about Chrollo’s demeanor changes your mind. Intensity pours off him in waves, giving you pause. 

“Good news, boss. We found your exorcist.”

The title Hisoka uses to refer to him has you tilting your head. He did refer to himself as Chrollo’s ‘colleague,’ but the word boss implies hierarchy. 

“I heard,” Chrollo smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not rushing back to Greed Island to track him down.” 

He slides into the booth beside you while never looking away from Hisoka. The tension brewing in the air perplexes you. Shouldn’t this news be a cause for celebration? You’ve helped Chrollo search for a Nen exorcist for months now. Chrollo’s been searching for a Nen exorcist for months now. You’re uncertain what reaction you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

“All in due time. I’d hate to cut my time with your little assistant short.”

Hisoka makes a point of looking you up and down. 

Somehow, Hisoka has made Chrollo seem normal by comparison. Disliking the attention, you reach for your drink, only to notice how light it is. Have you already drunk that much? While inspecting the near-empty glass, you realize the room’s starting to feel warm. The stress of what you endured must’ve impaired your judgment. 

What time is it, anyway? Do I have work tomorrow? 

Your watch reads 2:05 a.m.

Shit. 

“I need— need to get going…” 

“Why the rush?” Hisoka questions. “Things were just starting to get interesting. ♥” 

You ignore him and stare Chrollo down, waiting for him to move aside so you can leave. Instead of getting up, he leans closer, pursing his lips. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Heat creeps over your face, from your cheeks to your ears. There’s no denying that the bastard’s handsome. Your friends love teasing you about him for that very reason. They never believe your insistence on having a ‘strictly platonic’ relationship, some even have bets for when you’ll end up together. 

Maybe you would’ve considered it if you didn’t know about his Nen proficiency. 

There aren’t any readily available statistics for Nen, but if you had to guess, you’d say most of the population is ignorant of its existence. People who do know about the Hunter’s Association consider it a private enterprise that specializes in exploration and taking on contract jobs. According to Chrollo, this is by design. You can barely go about your day pretending there aren’t superhumans roaming the planet, doing all sorts of crazy nonsense. 

Society would plunge into chaos if the knowledge reached them. 

You hear what sounds like your name coming from underwater. 

Blinking sluggishly, you discover Chrollo’s hand on your shoulder. “Hm? What?” 

“I’ve been calling your name,” he speaks languidly, likely for your benefit. “Are you alright?” 

“Well…” you trail off, pondering the question. “... Mm, yeah, probably not. I gotta get home, and— god, my car— it’s still back there. I don’t want… I can’t…” 

The anxiety you thought you buried resuscitates itself. It’s dull compared to earlier, yet your breathing grows shallow and your hands feel clammy. Your intenses churn like a parasite had been embedded inside. Everything feels far away, as if you’re in a dream, physically present yet mentally adrift. 

You could’ve died. 

You almost died. 

You’d fought desperately to scrub your mind of this knowledge, but the bottle can only do so much. 

“Say, Chrollo,” with a nearly imperceptible motion, Hisoka summons a playing card between his middle and pointer fingers. “If I were to slice her pretty neck, what would you do?”  

The old-fashioned glass Hisoka had been sipping from cracks. 

Pressure invades the air like a thick, heady fog, so tangible in its potency, that the chatter elsewhere dies down. The sudden silence allows for the clinging of billiard balls to reverberate throughout. Patrons glance around, vaguely aware that something is wrong, yet ultimately unable to identify the source. This primal sense of foreboding evaporates as swiftly as it arrives. The lively atmosphere reemerges, until all present seem to have forgotten anything unusual ever occurred. 

Hisoka absentmindedly cleans up the glass shards, piling them into the corner while Chrollo drums his fingers along the table. Chrollo’s jaw is set and the skin between his eyes is pinched in contemplation. 

Hisoka lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is turning into a bore. I was confident you’d lose your cool, even if just a bit…” 

“Pathetic.” 

The unexpected vitriol has them both turning their heads in your direction. Chrollo blinks, while Hisoka tilts his head, staring at you owlishly. 

He points to himself. “Me?” 

“Yeah, you! You’re like— one of those birds, those showoff birds… dancing with your colorful feathers… ‘nd stuff…” your speech isn’t the most coherent, unaided by the irritation that’s boiling your blood. You leer at him, fed up with everything, especially whatever schemes he’s roped you into. A rough picture is presenting itself, one stroke at a time. To Hisoka, you’re nothing more than glorified bait. You don’t know if he played a role in engineering the evening’s events, but it wouldn’t be a surprise. 

At the very least, he admitted to following you. Even if he was a third party, he could’ve disposed of the impending threat. Instead, he waited, exposing you to bloodshed for his own ends. You wish you could come up with a more scathing insult. Unfortunately, your temple is throbbing and clear enunciation grows harder as your body digests the liquor you inhaled. 

Hisoka looks at Chrollo. “I’m a bird?” 

“She’s calling your bluff,” Chrollo clarifies. “Had you intended to follow up on your threat, she’d know.” 

You’re glad Chrollo realized what you were going for. The diatribe sounded better in your head. Nonetheless, he’s communicated the essence of things, lacking as it is in panache. Hisoka hums, eyeing you like you’d make for a fine appetizer before the main course. 

“You must have kept that detail from me on purpose. What an intriguing ability. ♥” 

Chrollo brushes aside his comment and refocuses his attention on you. “I’ll drive you home.” 

“But my car—” 

“I’ll handle it,” Chrollo reassures. 

He slides out from the booth and stares at you expectantly. You get the sense that trying his patience isn’t a good idea; his encounter with Hisoka must have soured his mood. He helps steady you as you stand, securing his arm behind your back. Neither of you acknowledges Hisoka while making for the door, though you can feel his eyes tracking your every movement. 

Upon emerging from the bar, the cool air you deplored earlier feels like a godsend. You hear cars rushing up and down the street, indicating the presence of a highway. Other than that, you don’t recognize the area. It’s a small, decrepit outlet, featuring shops plastered with neon signs and bars over the windows.

Chrollo ushers you in the direction of a black, unmarked McLaren.

“If you’re gonna do all that, at least get a less basic color… like pink…” 

“I’ll give it some thought.” 

Once you’re in the passenger seat, he fixes the strap of your purse and then buckles you in. It isn’t long until you’re on the road. He stays in the slow lane, mindful to avoid abrupt motions. You recline back and rest your head, hugging your arms close to your body. At the next red light, he sheds his coat, draping it over your person. The cashmere fabric is soft on your skin, embedded with his cologne and warmth. This, paired with the low hum of the engine has your eyelids growing heavy. You try resisting the temptation. 

“Thank you.” 

“Hm? For what?” 

“... Are you serious?” you murmur. “For comin’ to get me.” 

“Of course.” 

Relief rushes over you as the surrounding area becomes recognizable. Traffic is nonexistent this time of night, it shouldn’t be but a few more minutes until you’re home. Then you can crash out on your bed and deal with the existential weight of reality in the morning. Work can fire you for all you care, you just want to sleep. If you were on your deathbed, you’re ninety percent positive they’d ask you to find shift coverage before you croaked. 

Chrollo pulls into your apartment complex, parking as close to the entrance as he can. 

You fiddle with your seatbelt, intending to make the rest of the trip by yourself.

He places his large, calloused hand over yours, preventing further progress. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He doesn’t respond. His thumb rubs slow, steady circles against your skin. You swallow a growing lump in your throat. He hasn’t been himself all night. Or, to be more precise, he’s showing you a side of himself he’s hitherto kept hidden. You always knew there was more to him than he let on. You never wanted to open that Pandora's box, lest your plans be jeopardized. Playing with fire has its risks, yet cauterizing your personal wounds took priority. You don’t know if you have the right to pray the rest of your being doesn’t go up in flames. 

“I assume you’re aware of my fondness for you?” 

“I— well…” you stumble over your words, then meekly ask, “Is now really a good time for this?” 

Chrollo lowers his head and smiles. “No, I suppose not.” 

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. 

“One more question, then I’ll let you go,” he looks up at you through thick lashes, an enigmatic gleam passing over his eyes. “Do I frighten you?” 

Your body tenses. He addresses you so softly, so sweetly, had you not witnessed his mouth moving, you would’ve mistaken his voice for belonging to another. Your facilities aren’t functional enough to properly process his query. Perhaps that’s the point — him cornering you at this vulnerable junction. You don’t get why. You don’t think you could even if you were sober. 

Chrollo, for his part, seems to acknowledge he won’t get far in your current state.

Or maybe he gleaned his answer.

He lifts your hand to his lips, where he presses a lingering kiss. You can’t bring yourself to be the first to pull away. He lingers a while longer, as if stuck in a trance. When he does part, the skin tingles in his absence.

“I’ll be in touch.” 

-

For the past week, you’ve carried on as if nothing ever happened. 

It’s easier this way. There are instances where your performance is threatened, like when you ran across a news article detailing the ‘grisly murder of two men at a parking garage on 9th St,’ yet these lapses can be smoothed over. Ignore, distract, forget. This cycle lends you a credence of normalcy and eases you back into everyday life. 

You haven’t seen Chrollo since that night. You suppose he’s preoccupied with his arrangements to meet the Nen exorcist. While you don’t know the specifics, you imagine he’ll have to meet this Abengane in person. In the recording, he addressed two men — named Battera and Tsezguerra — where he proved himself qualified to enter ‘Greed Island.’ Aside from a few anonymous forums, information on this mythical game is sparse. All you know is that the price is exorbitant and that Battera obsessively tracks down every copy available. 

Wherever there’s Nen, things inevitably get weird, you think.

You begin tidying up your apartment. First is drying off the dishes, which saw their first use all week for a much-needed home-cooked meal. While doing so, your phone vibrates. You throw the damp rag down in a hurry and check the screen. All you find is a notification about your upcoming menstrual cycle. Sighing, you put your phone down on the counter. 

Chrollo had been truthful when he promised to take your Hatsu for assisting in the return of his. A part of you is relieved by his absence; the other is frustrated. You want to get this over with. It’s like when you have an appointment later in the day and spend the time leading up to it in a limbo, not wanting to get involved in anything until the commitment is over. Is it possible he already took it? Curious, you hold your dominant hand out. You haven’t used Instant Replay since the night at the biker’s bar. 

Aura surges through you, concentrating at the palm of your hand. Much to your disappointment, the light pink cassette tape appears. Maybe it no longer works? As a test, you rewind the recording of the audio Chrollo provided at the café. Once primed, you press play, listening attentively for certain cues. 

“It is my great honor to profess that I, Lilith, can purge you of any ailment, even scourges derived from Nen — for a small donation of…” 

The self-proclaimed Mistress of Panaceas sounds increasingly garbled as her lies surface. Clicking your tongue, you deactivate your ability. Everything remains operational. You don’t know what you expected, you’ve overheard the telltale sounds of lying the past few days. It just hasn’t been directed at you, which weakens the effect. 

Will you really have to endure this the rest of your life? 

Shortly into resuming your task, there’s a knock at your door. 

You ignore it, not in the mood to deal with a neighbor asking for something. After thirty or so seconds, there’s another round of knocking. You suppress a groan. Why can’t the world sense that you’re moody and let you brood in peace? Trudging over, you try to put on a pleasant face, unwilling to lash out on others even if you’re in a terrible mood. Erring on the side of caution, you glance out the peephole. 

Upon doing so, you almost lose your balance.

…

He must’ve decided he kept you waiting long enough.

[trothplighted]

I was going through some of Rowling’s old interviews and came across one in 2004 where she spoke of Sirius:

“I am so proud of the fact that a character, whom I always liked very much, though he never appeared as much more than a brooding presence in the books, has gained a passionate fan-club.”

This wasn’t the only time she expressed surprise that Sirius became a fan favourite, and it’s honestly baffling to me??? He had an entire book named after and primarily revolving around him, and is canonically the closest thing to a parent that Harry, the protagonist of the series, ever had. Even if we disregard everything else we know about Sirius and his storyline, there’s no way in hell he wasn’t going to be popular. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said that a character like that was specifically designed for fan service (I mean...he's hot, has a flying motorbike, and is literally named after a star, lol). It’s bizarre that Rowling seems to have had no idea, and that she believed he was / intended him to be nothing more than a “brooding presence” in the series – which is at any rate an appalling and deeply unsympathetic way to describe his trauma and depression.

It made me think of how there's such a major disconnect between authorial intent and authorial execution when it comes to his character as well, especially in Order of the Phoenix. Characters like Molly or Hermione call him irresponsible/reckless/immature, claim he confused Harry and James, that he treated Harry like a friend rather than a godson, that he was biased against Snape, etc. Rowling’s interviews confirm that she intended to characterize Sirius in such a way and that Hermione and Molly are meant to be viewed as her mouthpieces. But Sirius’s actual behavior and relationship with Harry does not correspond with any of this and his actions + dialogue are for the most part very reasonable and sympathetic. (There’s also Kreacher’s storyline, which made me dislike Sirius a lot when I was younger, but upon my reread comes across as almost entirely nonsensical, contradictory, and seems specifically designed to paint Sirius in a bad light to the point where he’s compared to VOLDEMORT of all people by Hermione - who, in the process of criticizing Sirius, dehumanizes house elves entirely by claiming that none of them are capable of individual morality or have any ethical agency of their own. It's frustrating because she's 100% right that house elves should be freed but the way she infantalizes them is...pretty shitty and not the way to go about it. But I digress.)

Rowling seems to have done a complete 180 degree turn on how Sirius is presented by the narrative between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix, and I can’t really understand why.

I get the sense that the creation of Sirius’s character in particular was, at the very least, partly accidental on Rowling’s part. She didn’t expect him to blow up the way he did, and I get the sense that she doesn’t seem to have been thrilled by how much the early HP fandom liked/valorized him. There was an interview where she was asked if she liked him, and she said that she did, only to immediately list down all his alleged flaws and emphasize that “I do not think he was wholly wonderful” (which character in the series is wholly wonderful, lol? Sirius came across as a great deal better than most to me). There have been so many other interviews where she’s done the same thing despite the fact that Sirius's faults or perceived faults had absolutely nothing to do with the questions at hand. It’s such a startling contrast how she talks about pretty much everyone else from his generation, all of whom she seems considerably warmer and more sympathetic towards in varying degrees.

As I haven’t been back in the fandom for very long, this is the first time I’ve come across her interviews - I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into them or not. I wondered if you agree/disagree, as you’ve been in the fandom for much longer and I love all your metas about the series. Thanks :)

You’ve hit upon my personal Rage Point for the entire series, anon.

I want to start by pointing something out about Sirius and Kreacher, which is that in GoF Sirius tells Ron and Harry (and Hermione, though he brings it up to compliment her observational skills) that Crouch Sr.’s mistreatment of Winky is an indicator of his character. (“If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.”) This is, somehow, the same man who one book later is egregiously dismissive of and abusive toward his family’s house-elf, to the point that this dismissal causes his death (oh, and Albus blames him for dying, too.) Despite Sirius expressing two wildly different viewpoints from book to book, we’re intended to take that as his true self, as the authentic expression of his beliefs and position.

I’ve spoken before more than once about other drastic character shifts that happened as a result of the Three Year Summer, both as a writing break and as a paradigm shift in the notoriety of and ubiquity of the series thanks to the movies being released starting in 2001. I was in elementary and middle school while the books were being published, and OotP was the first book I remember seeing large-scale advertisement for in my school outside of a book fair - there was a big larger-than-life poster teasing the book cover with a release date during the summer to get us all hyped up for it. I’d obviously heard of Harry Potter before that, but that was the moment when the books went from “famous book series” to “cultural phenomenon,” at least in my mind. And I think that we can trace this shift in opinion on Sirius Black back to the Three Year Summer, too.

In my opinion it’s obvious that Joanne really liked Sirius, when she first developed him. I don’t think she’s telling the truth when she says she doesn’t think he’s wholly wonderful - when she first came up with him she absolutely did. He’s got pride of place as a Cool Character in all the ways she loves to lavish attention on someone. He’s set up with a phenomenal entrance in PS chapter one and then he spends all of PoA in the spotlight. He has a dramatic reveal of his true allegiances and his innocence, and he’s Harry’s best and most supportive parental figure throughout GoF who consistently gives good advice and who risks his own life and liberty to make sure his godson is safe. He considers coming back to England and living in a cave and eating rats to be his duty as a godfather, and while Harry feels responsible for his circumstances he’s always really clear that he (1. doesn’t care about the risks to his health and safety (2. will gladly sacrifice comfort and stability if it means being able to protect this boy (3. will not let Harry feel guilty.

These aren’t the actions of a man who confuses Harry with James - throughout GoF he continues to insist that his decisions are his own, made as an adult trying to parent and support a kid who desperately needs a stable presence in his life. Harry’s used to taking the blame for the actions of adults (my heart is still rent asunder by his expectation that Lupin is going to gaslight him about denying him the chance to face the boggart in their first DADA lesson) and he’s also used to feeling like he has to manage the emotional state of a household (see: all the times he plans out what to say or not to say to the Dursleys to get them to do what he wants), and Sirius doesn’t let him sink into either of those pits. He also prevents Harry from bottling up his feelings or concealing his distress, and never lies or twists the truth. He’s being very deliberately written as someone who serves as a positive role model and positive mentor figure for Harry, and then suddenly come OotP he’s moody and immature and subject to a number of very strange smear campaigns from characters the author confirms are intended to reflect her real opinions.

So… what happened, over the course of the Three Year Summer, to make her change her mind? We can’t ever know for sure, obviously, because Joanne hasn’t ever bothered to lay out how her feelings on each member of her cast changed and evolved, and she’s unlikely to do so at any point in the future because now when people talk to her they mostly talk to her about transphobia. But I have a theory.

See, between 1998 and 2003, the HMS Wolfstar set sail. While most of the seminal meta came out after OotP (see “The Case for R/S” as probably the one I and others my age are most familiar with as an introduction to the ship) and most of the really famous fanfics started trickling out around that time (The Shoebox Project started in 2004), there were fanfics before that point, a growing fan community, and a number of pieces of fanart and fancomics (check out the list of doujinshi in the linked Fanlore article, some of those date back to 2001). Edit: here is an archived humorous/gently snarky list of Wolfstar fanfic tropes created in 2002 - while I can’t personally remember the names of fics from before 2004 or so I want to point to this as evidence that there was an established fan community, even using the “WolfStar” name, prior to the publication of OotP.

Normally, I wouldn’t think that fanfic from prior to 2010 or so had much of anything to do with the author’s opinions on their work, because norms and fan culture around fanfic were much more focused around keeping these stories private and away from the prying eyes of The Powers That Be/TPTB.

I say normally, because Joanne was aware of fanfiction, and aware of fanfiction remarkably early in her career as a public figure.

Younger fans are almost certainly not going to know this, but one of the first real fandom divides in HP had to do with fanfiction, and specifically the question of how to treat fanfiction written by and for adults that featured sex scenes or other mature content. Since the books were children’s books (though there was an adult fandom since the start, especially online - the Harry Potter For Grown-Ups/HP4GU mailing list and its descendant communities still loom large in fan history as some of the early pillars of today’s digital scene) a lot of people didn’t know what to do or how to treat fanfic. This was also compounded by fanfic being a lot more subject to legal action or takedown notices - Anne Rice, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, and Anne McCaffrey all became infamous either for pursuing individual authors and archives until they took down their stories or instituting guidelines about what kinds of transformative works were acceptable, or both in McCaffrey’s case.

Rowling, however, was different. Rowling said that noncommercial fanfic was completely fine, that she wasn’t going to pursue any kind of legal action against fanfic authors, and that as long as adult-oriented fanfic was appropriately warned for and not shown to or targeted to children, she didn’t care if it existed.

This laid the groundwork for the founding of Fanfiction.net, for fanfic communities on LiveJournal, and eventually for Archive of our Own and the Organization for Transformative Works. In an era where legal disclaimers were common on fanfics as a mostly-useless attempt to prevent being shut down by IP holders, Rowling threw the doors open and democratized her stories in a way she - I would argue - ultimately came to regret.

I can’t prove that her sudden slander of Sirius was a result of latent unexamined homophobia and a desire for revenge against the fandom for daring to claim one of her favorite characters as a gay man. I can’t prove that his backstory of being kicked out of his house (for unspoken Family Drama reasons centering around him being filthy and disgraceful) only to be shoved back into it, or Trustworthy Adults suddenly painting him as dangerous to children and inherently irresponsible and reckless, or all of his trauma being ignored and painted over, or every scrap of his heroism being erased, has to do with Joanne deciding that if we’ve made him gay he shouldn’t get to be a character anymore.

I can’t prove it.

But I do believe it. I believe it because when you ask yourself “is this queercoded character being subjected to authorial homophobia”, suddenly everything about Sirius’s arc in OotP makes complete and total sense in the worst way possible. This is also why I think Tonks and Remus were paired off, why Tonks suddenly becomes more gender-conforming, and why Bill Weasley transforms into Normal Settled-Down Hetero William. It feels like her desperate attempts to take her characters and shove them back into a box that she controls. I don’t think she was at that point consciously and virulently homophobic, but I think her clear and evident discomfort with fans interpreting these characters who she wanted to be straight comes through in her writing.

I also believe it because she does the same thing to Albus, after his death. Someone who’s been uncomplicatedly heroic and praised by all parties and even used as her mouthpiece to pass judgment on Sirius suddenly becomes morally suspect and untrustworthy and shady and secretive, with enemies lining up as soon as he’s dead to slander him - and again, just like with Sirius, we’re meant to accept this as the correct version of events. He even confirms all of this to Harry himself in the King’s Cross afterlife. The old Albus can’t come to the phone right now, he’s dead, and only his critics remain. Coincidentally, Albus is of course the only confirmed gay character in the entire story. Funny how that works out, isn’t it?

I’ve been angry at her for 20 years for killing Sirius, and angrier still at her straightwashing efforts. I wouldn’t believe her if she said she wasn’t doing that, at this point.

It’s not as if I expected her to be a perfect ally as a center-left moderate cishet white woman in the late 90s/early 2000s, and I do think that Dumbledore being gay was revolutionary in a way that most modern audiences seriously fail to appreciate, but I wish she wasn’t so damned insistent that no one else could be queer in any way at any point. She’s also really evidently uncomfortable about any displays of affection between confirmed same-sex pairings - she was absolutely neurotic about the amount of physical contact between Mads Mikkelsen and Jude Law during FB3, to the point that she fought with David Yates about it. And her behavior contributed to the intense homophobia I and others experienced in our formative early years in fandom - no-slash mailing lists and archives, the immediate classification of all queer fanfic as inherently more mature or more sexual simply by virtue of having queer people in it, Wizards For Bush, etc. As a result, boycott or no boycott, I hope that Wolfstar is canon in the new series, I hope Mundungus stays the crossdressing icon that they are, I hope Tonks is canonically nonbinary, and I hope Joanne loses sleep over it.

[enticingmelanin]

Ties That Bind: A Modern Smoke x Annie Fic

Ties That Bind || Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie (modern au)

This is Part 3 of the Savor Series.

Rating: E for Erotic.

Warnings: NSFW, Fluff, Smut, and Explicit Language. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 8k+

Summary: With their relationship thriving and their businesses booming, Smoke and Annie are ready to take the next big step—homeownership. As they embark on the search for their dream home, Annie starts to notice something different. Smoke, usually the picture of cool confidence, seems tense—distracted even. Maybe it’s just the pressure of such a major decision... or maybe there’s something deeper stirring beneath the surface.

By the end of their search, it’s not just the countertops gleaming or the chandeliers catching the light. Something far more precious begins to shine.

· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·· · ───── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

The spring breeze slipped through the cracked windows of the black Escalade, gliding over Annie’s skin like silk. The sun dipped behind dense tree branches as Smoke cruised through the quiet, picture perfect neighborhood of Ravenswood. Tucked on Chicago’s North Side, Ravenswood was known for its tree-lined streets, vintage charm, and architectural gems. It had a peacefulness to it that made Annie’s shoulders relax every time they passed a leafy park or saw a couple walking their dog.

It was their last house tour of the day, and after three days and ten viewings, they were both running on caffeine, hope, and playlist rotations. Still, there was a soft buzz in the air—of possibility, of change. After a year together, they’d made the decision to hunt for their dream home. It made sense. They were always between their apartments, with most nights ending in Annie curled up in Smoke’s bed, her satin bonnet on the pillow, and her toiletries gradually overtaking his bathroom counter. Half her wardrobe was already living in his closet.

They both loved their own spaces—it had helped keep their individual rhythms intact. But now? Now it was time to build something permanent.

Smoke, of course, made the whole process an event. Earlier in the week, he’d sent Annie out for a fresh set of nails and hair appointment, even slid her money for a shopping spree. Not that he didn’t spoil her regularly—he loved seeing her smile when she got surprise deposits for her maintenance days—but this time felt... different. His excitement was sweet, even a little overwhelming, but he insisted.

"This ain’t just any house," he’d said with that grin that always melted her. “Gotta look like a dream walkin’ into our dream.”

The house-hunting itself had been fun, if a little exhausting. They’d learned more about each other—how she adored bay windows and clawfoot tubs, while he was big on a chef’s kitchen and a full basement. He more so wanted the chef's kitchen for her. Some things they’d compromise on, others were non-negotiable. But none of the homes they’d toured so far had felt right. Close, but not the one. Smoke especially wasn’t one to settle.

Annie’s eyes wandered over to him. He was quiet—too quiet—and his fingers tapped anxiously against the steering wheel, out of rhythm with the mellow R&B humming through the speakers. His face was set in that deep concentration she knew well. She also recognized the tension in his jaw, the slight tremor in his fingers. His time in the army had left him with certain scars—ones that didn’t always show until moments like this.

But this wasn’t PTSD, not entirely.

This was something else.

She shifted in her seat and reached over, her hand finding the back of his neck. Her thumb moved in slow circles behind his ear, soothing, familiar. “Baby,” she said softly, her Louisiana drawl wrapping around the words, “you okay? We can always save this one for another day. This week’s been a lot.”

He glanced at her, and the corners of his mouth lifted. Not a full smile, but enough to quiet her concern a little. He pulled her hand from his neck and kissed the back of it, then held it in his, thumb stroking the soft skin between her knuckles.

“I’m fine, baby doll,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly. “I just—” He paused, weighing his next words. “I just feel like this could be the one. I found it online a while back and haven’t been able to get it outta my head since. But I wanted you to see all your picks first. I just hope you love it as much as I do.”

Annie smiled warmly, leaning over the console to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sure I will. If it’s got you this twisted up, it must be somethin’ special.”

He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers tightened around hers.

“Honestly,” he said, “as soon as I saw it, I thought... Damn, this got Annie written all over it. That’s how I want home to feel.” He turned to look at her fully, his gaze tender as he stopped at a red light. “Like you.”

Her heart did that slow, deep flip it always did when he said something that felt like poetry but landed like truth.

She squeezed his hand and whispered optimistically, “Then let’s go see home.”

A few minutes later, Smoke eased the truck to a smooth stop in front of the last house on their list. Annie blinked at the sight before her, momentarily stunned.

The home stood proudly behind a sleek black wrought-iron fence, its manicured hedges and vibrant landscaping looking like something out of a design magazine. Its soft, creamy white paint contrasted beautifully against the bold, black-trimmed windows and the matte charcoal metal roof. Twin gables gave the front elevation a charming yet modern edge, while the wide front porch, lit by three hanging lanterns, felt warm and inviting.

Everything about the house whispered elegance and peace… and something else too. Stability. Legacy.

Annie’s voice was hushed. “Wow…”

Smoke put the car in park and looked over at her, gauging her reaction. “You like it?”

Her hand reached for the door handle, but she paused and looked at him. “Like it? It's so cute! I can see you out on the porch now smokin' a cigar.”

Smoke chuckled, his dimples deepening as he glanced toward the porch. “And I can see you bossin’ me around from the kitchen window, tellin’ me to put that thing out.”

Annie laughed, her eyes still glued to the house. “Only if you’re blowin’ smoke in the hydrangeas.”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “Fair enough.”

Smoke got out, rounded the front, and opened Annie’s door for her. “Come on, gorgeous,” he said, offering his hand.

Annie smiled and took it, letting him help her out of the SUV. The spring breeze played with the hem of her white sundress as she straightened up and looked toward the house again.

They walked together toward the front gate, the soft thump of the car door shutting behind them. The breeze carried the scent of freshly turned soil and faint traces of honeysuckle from the yard next door. Annie smoothed her dress again and tucked a curl behind her ear. Her kinky coils sat pretty on top of her head in a half-up, half-down style.

Smoke reached for her hand as they walked the stone pathway, lined with perfectly trimmed shrubs, low purple blooms, and a "For Sale" sign staked proudly in the yard.

“Did you notice the address?” he murmured.

Annie’s eyes shifted to the plaque mounted beside the front door: 4465.

Her brows lifted. “What about it?”

He smiled. “My mom’s birthday. April 4th, 1965.”

Annie blinked. Her lips parted, then closed again as she looked back at the house. “Elijah…” she breathed, her voice softer than the wind weaving through the trees.

“I told you,” Smoke said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, “it just felt right.”

Annie swallowed the lump in her throat. “Hear you loud and clear, Mama Moore,” she whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. Then she looked up at him with a lifted brow. “Still a skeptic?” she asked, referring to her spiritual hoodoo practices and the consistent guidance of their ancestors. He didn't practice it, wasn't exactly a believer, but he respected her beliefs.

He smirked at her. “You know I have a hard time believin' in things I can't see, baby. But... I see you and I believe in ya and whateva you be doin' at that altar,” he said and winked before leading her up the stairs to the front door.

Annie’s heart warmed at his words. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach in anticipation as he knocked on the door.

Soon the door opened revealing a petite brunette, with a bubbly smile dressed business casual. “Hi, I'm Amber the realtor,” she said sweetly, hand out to shake Smoke's hand. “You must be the Moores, it's nice to meet you.”

Smoke shook her hand and returned the pleasantry, then Annie. Annie smiled, enjoying the sound of “the Moores.”

Amber welcomed them inside and informed them they could look around freely.

“If you have any questions or need anything, just let me know,” she said as she stepped back into the staged office to the right of the entryway.

They returned a thank you and began looking around.

On the opposite side of the hallway was a formal dining room with wainscoting wall panels, a coffered ceiling, and a long walnut table set for eight. Annie ran her fingers over the velvet dining chairs, imagining Sunday dinners and holiday laughter echoing off the walls.

Further inside, they stepped into the kitchen—and Annie stopped in her tracks.

“Smoke…” she whispered, eyes wide.

Soft oak cabinetry framed by gold hardware lined the walls. The marble-topped island was massive, surrounded by elegant upholstered stools with gold bases. Enough space to prepare food for their family and friends. Above it, three globe pendant lights hung from the ceiling like jewelry, casting a warm, golden glow.

“Damn,” Smoke murmured, genuinely impressed. “This is you all day.”

Annie nodded, taking it all in—the built-in double ovens, the walk-in pantry, the custom range hood with gold detailing, and the glimmering backsplash. A vase of fresh tulips sat on a golden tray in the middle of the island.

She smiled. “I’d never leave this kitchen.”

“Bet,” he said, eyeing her with a teasing smile. “Guess I’ll have to make you dinner from time to time to lure you out.”

They continued exploring, their footsteps tapping on the wide-plank hardwood floors. The living room was warm and sophisticated, featuring more coffered wood ceilings that made Annie stop and tilt her head up in awe.

“I love this,” she whispered.

The space was anchored by a stone fireplace and tall windows that bathed the room in natural light. Everything felt intentional, down to the textured area rug and plush sectional.

They wandered through a few bedrooms on the first and second floor, each uniquely staged with soft linens and thoughtful décor. Smoke peeked into one of the bathrooms, all six of which featured sleek tile, spacious vanities, and rainfall showers.

“They weren’t playin’,” he said.

The master bedroom was pure luxury. A tray ceiling added dimension to the room, while a large bay window let in gentle light. Annie stepped inside and exhaled with wonder. The king-sized bed, draped in layers of plush white and cream, faced a fireplace and wall-mounted flat-screen.

Smoke opened a nearby door that revealed the en suite bathroom, and they both stepped inside.

“My goodness,” Annie said under her breath.

A gleaming clawfoot tub sat beneath a chandelier, backed by a marble accent wall. There was a massive glass walk-in shower, and on either side of the room, double vanities stretched beneath wide, lighted mirrors. His and her walk-in closets flanked the bathroom’s entrance, each large enough to be a room of its own.

“Pictures really didn't do this justice,” Smoke muttered, clearly impressed.

“I can already see my candles lining that tub,” Annie said, spinning slowly.

Smoke grinned. “And me knockin’ on the door askin’ if ya drowned yet.”

They laughed and she pushed at his chest playfully, the warmth between them growing deeper as they left the master suite and headed down to the basement.

Downstairs, the basement was fully finished—complete with a home theater setup, game room space, gym, bathroom, and the remainder of the seven bedrooms. A bar stood in the corner, its stonework matching the fireplace upstairs, and a wine fridge was tucked beneath the counter.

Annie leaned against the wall, arms crossed as she looked around. “It really has everything.”

Smoke stood beside her, hands in his pockets. “And then some.”

Annie turned to him with a sigh, her heart felt full. “I love it. Nothing’s come close to this.”

He smiled, deep and slow. “Me too. What do you say you take another look around and then meet me in the backyard? That’s really gonna seal the deal.”

Annie nodded, still swept up in it all. “Alright,” she said, watching him head toward the rear of the house while she wandered back through the first floor.

Somehow, they’d missed the laundry room earlier—tucked just past the kitchen and across from a small powder room. It was spacious and bright, with a window that let in natural light. Clean white cabinets lined the walls, paired with soft grey quartz countertops. A double washer and dryer sat side-by-side beneath the counter, and a deep utility sink rested near the corner. There was more than enough storage for every cleaning supply she could think of, and even space for a built-in folding station. Annie grinned. It felt like the kind of room you didn’t mind spending time in.

Satisfied, she moved back through the house, soaking in every last detail before stepping through the sliding glass doors that opened from the living room onto the covered back patio. The space felt like a private retreat perfect for events and entertaining.

A paneled dark wood ceiling stretched above her with recessed lighting and a sleek ceiling fan spinning lazily. To her left, an outdoor kitchen complete with a built-in grill, stainless steel appliances, and whitewashed brick gave the space a luxe yet cozy vibe. A long wooden dining table with cushioned bench seating stood ready for family meals or casual hangouts. To the right, a plush outdoor sofa and chairs with cream cushions and blue patterned throw pillows invited her to sink in and relax. The view overlooked a lush backyard framed by mature trees, and Annie could just picture warm nights out here with Smoke, wrapped in each other.

Her heels carefully tapped down the stairs to the tiled stone path, the soft clack of each step nearly lost in the hush of evening. The sun was setting, casting a sultry, golden glow across the backyard, painting everything in warm light and long shadows. “Smoke?” she called out, looking toward the matching three-car garage as she began walking in search of him.

“Over here, baby doll,” his voice called, low and steady, from behind her.

She turned, expecting to see him casually leaning against something, maybe smirking in that way he always did—but what she saw instead stole the breath from her lungs. An audible gasp left her lips. Her hands flew to her face, and before she could even think, tears were slipping down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “C’mere.”

She sniffled, trying to steady herself, her soft sobs catching in her throat. Her legs felt like lead, trembling with every slow step she took toward him.

Behind him stood a breathtaking heart formed entirely from white roses. In its center, a glowing white neon sign spelled out “It was always you” in elegant cursive, glowing softly against the light bricks of the patio. A lush aisle of dense white rose petals led to him, flanked on both sides by tall glass candles flickering gently in the breeze. And right in the middle of it all, Smoke knelt on one knee, a calm smile on his handsome face, a little black velvet box open in his left hand—holding everything she never knew she’d dreamed of.

Smoke looked like he stepped out of a fairytale, or maybe straight off the pages of a GQ cover—clean, confident, and completely hers.

His short-sleeved, cream knit button-up hugged the solid build of his chest and arms. The open collar giving a peek at the subtle glint of a simple gold chain. His navy blue slacks were perfectly tailored, hugging his frame without clinging, and falling effortlessly over polished black dress shoes. His chunky gold watch glinted on his wrist, catching the flicker of candlelight as he waited with quiet patience.

As soon as Annie reached him, he took her left hand in his, placing a kiss to it. Tears clouded her vision as she looked down at him, trying to hold it together, her breath catching in her throat.

He blew out a breath, trying to ease his nerves. "I've been holdin' onto this for months," he said, glancing at the box and giving it a small jiggle in his hand. "Thinkin' 'bout how I'd do this, but nothin' felt good enough... Then I came across this house and felt like it was the missing puzzle piece."

He sighed, his throat tight with emotion. His jaw clenched as he tried to hold back his own tears, the weight of the moment resting heavy in his chest.

Annie’s thumb gently stroked the back of his fingers, her touch grounding him.

Smoke cleared his throat and looked up at her. His voice cracked just slightly, raw and real. "If someone would've told me a year ago that I'd be here in this moment... I wouldn'tve believed 'em. Back in Clarksdale, word got around that you were up here, and I just hoped that maybe the opening of the lounge would lore you to me. But... clearly someone or somethin' had better plans..."

He let out a breathy chuckle, and Annie joined him, sniffing and smiling through her tears.

"And to be honest, I don't know what I did to deserve it."

"Elijah—"

He shook his head gently, cutting her off with quiet conviction. "Nah, baby. It's true. My biggest regret is leavin’ you. You deserved better than that... our baby deserved better than that." His voice faltered, thick with remorse. "I saw the world, did what they say men supposed to do, but it’s you that makes me better every damn day."

He looked up at her, his eyes shining. "There was this ache in me when you were gone. Like I was walkin’ around half-alive, tryna fill the space where you used to be. But now..." he paused again, getting choked up, his throat tightening as he pushed through the emotion, "Now I feel whole. So full I don’t even know what to do with myself some days. I’m grateful, Annie. Grateful I get to wake up everyday and love you. And bein’ loved by you? That’s just the cherry on top."

A soft smile played at her lips as tears rolled down her cheeks. He matched it with one of his own.

"We’ve been through hell and back," he continued. "And I can’t promise we won’t go through more. But what I can promise is that I’ll never leave your side again. I’ll protect you, support you, and love you in every way I know how. So..."

Smoke opened the small black velvet box, revealing a breathtaking oval-cut diamond ring. The center stone was massive, catching the last golden rays of the sun and scattering them in a dazzling array of light. It was set in a delicate platinum band made of tiny diamonds, each one sparkling like stardust. The ring was bold yet elegant, timeless yet modern and undeniably stunning—matching how he viewed her.

Annie gasped, her hand flying to her chest as her eyes welled up all over again.

"Annie Lisette Batiste, love of my life... will you marry me?"

Her smile stretched wide through her tears. She bit her bottom lip and nodded, laughter bubbling in her throat through her emotion.

Smoke chuckled, eyes never leaving hers. "That a yes?"

"Yes, baby," she breathed, her voice full of warmth and wonder.

He slipped the ring onto her finger, where it fit like it had been waiting its whole life for her. Rising to his feet, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her with everything he had. The world around them disappeared—nothing else existed but that moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Smoke rested his forehead against hers and murmured against her lips, "I hope that’s a yes to the house too... 'cause," he smirked, eyes gleaming, "I may have already put in the winning offer a few days ago to set all this up. Why you think Amber said "the Moore's"?"

Annie sucked her teeth and playfully rolled her eyes with a smile. "You somethin’ else, Elijah Moore."

His low laugh rumbled from his chest. "Aw, c’mon, woman. I saw it in your eyes the second we pulled up. You love this place."

She giggled, shaking her head as she wrapped her arms around him again. "Okay... yes. You lucky I love it almost as much as I love you."

They stayed like that for a long while, wrapped in each other beneath the fading light—safe, sound, and whole. Annie offered a silent thanks for every root, every whispered prayer that had kept them, and led them right back to this moment. Everything was finally falling into place—big... and small.

Back at Smoke’s apartment, Annie couldn’t stop admiring her ring—not through their shower together, not while applying her skincare, and definitely not while whipping up a quick meal of spaghetti to calm her nerves and feed their hunger. The massive oval diamond on her finger caught every glint of light, sparkling with every move she made. She kept catching herself turning her hand in different angles, just to watch it shimmer.

“Mmm, that smells good,” Smoke murmured as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His bare chest pressed against her back, and his chin rested comfortably on her shoulder. He looked down at the bubbling pot of savory sauce, then stole a glance at the soft curve of her cleavage peeking through the tie of her fluffy robe.

“Can I have a taste?” he asked in a low, teasing tone, giving her a playful pinch on the butt.

Annie squealed and picked up the small kitchen knife she’d just used to dice bell peppers, bringing it gently under his chin—not threatening, but just enough to warn him. “Boy, if you don’t find some patience and set the table…” she said with a mock scowl.

Smoke laughed, hands raised in surrender. “Put the knife up, woman. I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”

She snickered and turned her attention back to the noodles, giving them a final stir before turning off the stove. The soft clinking of plates and silverware echoed as Smoke set the table at the island. He slid two plates beside her, then reached into the wine cooler and pulled out a fresh bottle of Dom Pérignon, his grin wide.

“Now seems like as good a time as any to pop this,” he said, holding the bottle up like a trophy.

Annie’s eyes widened slightly when she saw the label, but she quickly masked it, responding with a light, “Mhm.”

Smoke tilted his head. “You okay? I thought you liked this one,” he said, already grabbing two flute glasses.

“I—I do, babe. You’re right. No need to save it, there’s a lot to celebrate, but…” she paused, then added softly, “can you hold off ‘til after dinner?”

His brows pulled together, clearly curious, but he didn’t press. “Uh… sure,” he said slowly, placing the bottle and glasses aside. Instead, he poured iced tea for them both—extra lemon wedges in hers, just how she liked it.

They sat and enjoyed the meal. Smoke’s satisfied moans had Annie giggling behind her fork.

“I can’t help it,” he said, already going for another bite. “You make the simplest things taste like a five-star meal.”

They talked between bites, going back and forth about who to break the engagement news to first—of course, Stack won that. They bounced around ideas for the house, what to keep, what to toss, and how they’d tackle packing. Once they were done, Smoke grabbed their empty plates and scraped the leftovers into containers. After loading the dishwasher, he stretched with a content sigh.

“That hit the spot, baby. Thank you,” he said, rubbing his stomach like a kid after Thanksgiving.

“You’re welcome, love,” Annie replied warmly.

“Champagne time!” he declared, reaching for the corkscrew again.

Annie’s stomach flipped. She shot up from her seat. “Hold that thought,” she muttered and quickly padded into his closet. Digging into her luggage tucked neatly in the corner, she retrieved a black gift box tied with a gold satin ribbon. She stared at it for a breath, heart pounding, before returning to the kitchen.

She set it down gently on the counter. “You’re not the only one full of surprises today.”

Smoke’s brows lifted. A grin stretched across his face. “Aren’t you cute? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, but I couldn’t pass this up. Here, sit," she replied softly, patting the stool beside her.

He settled onto the cushioned stool, eyes twinkling with curiosity as he tugged the ribbon free. The box gave a soft creak as he lifted the lid, rustling through the tissue paper.

Then he froze.

His breath hitched as he slowly lifted a tiny white newborn onesie with the words “I Love My Daddy” in soft gray script and a heart beneath it. His hands trembled slightly as he picked up the two white sticks tucked beneath—both Clear Blue tests, both clearly reading: Pregnant.

His head dropped, shoulders shaking as he held back his sobs. Annie sniffled quietly beside him, unable to hold back her tears.

Smoke gathered himself enough to reach in and lift the last item: a small wooden picture frame. Inside, an ultrasound photo. A little black and white blob the shape of a peanut—tiny, but unmistakably a life.

“We’re havin’ a baby?” he asked, voice cracking, tearful eyes locking onto hers.

She nodded, tears spilling freely now. “Yeah,” she whispered.

He stood up without a word and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close and kissing the side of her head. His hand rubbed slow circles on her back as she cried into his shoulder.

“Are you happy?” she asked, voice slightly muffled.

“Of course I’m happy,” he said, pulling back to wipe her tears gently with his thumbs. “I couldn’t ask for a better gift.”

“How far along?” he asked softly.

She sniffled and smiled. “About two months.”

He looked upward in thought, eyebrows raised, then smirked. “I knew I put it on you for Valentine’s Day.”

Annie burst into laughter, remembering the way he had definitely put it on her during their weekend getaway. Smoke chuckled too, then leaned in for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“I love you, Mrs. Batiste-Moore,” he murmured against her lips.

She beamed. “I love you too, Mr. Moore.”

“And…” he said with a grin, crouching down to gently part her robe. He pressed a tender kiss to her belly. “Papa loves you too, lil’ one. No champagne for Mommy anytime soon,” he teased, looking up at her with a wink.

Her heart melted at his affection. All her nerves were put to rest.

“When’s the next doctor’s appointment?” Smoke asked, pulling Annie gently between his legs as he settled back on the stool. His hands rested on her hips, thumbs brushing slow circles over her robe.

“Middle of next month,” she replied, running her fingers over his head and lightly rubbing his ears. “Once I’m done with the first trimester.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m not missin’ a single one.” He turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to her open palm, holding it there for a beat like it anchored him. “I don’t know how I didn’t catch on. It was easier to tell before.”

She let out a soft laugh, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I don’t have mornin' sickness this time, knock on wood.” She leaned down and tapped her knuckles against the wooden cabinet below the island. “Plus, I'm only showin' a lil' bit. I only got suspicious 'cause my cycle didn’t come, and then… I had a dream about fish.”

Smoke’s brow arched. “A dream? About fish?”

She giggled and nodded. “Yeah. They can be a spiritual sign—pregnancy, abundance, new beginnings…” Her gaze drifted to the side as she remembered. “I was deep in the ocean. Water so clear and blue it didn’t even look real—it was beautiful. Peaceful. Then out of nowhere, this school of fish swam up all around me. Bright colors, all different shapes and sizes. They weren’t scared, and neither was I. I felt... calm. Like they were protecting me.”

Smoke watched her, totally entranced.

“They swam with me no matter where I went,” she continued softly. “Even when I made it to shallow water near the shore, they stayed. Just hovered like they were waiting. Then I came out of the water and… Mama was there. On the shore.”

He blinked, eyes locked onto hers. “Like you told me before. With Zariah?”

Annie nodded slowly. “Exactly. Mama was holding her. Zariah was cooing, laughin'… she always looks so happy. We didn’t say a word. Just stood there, smiling at each other. I could hear the waves behind me, soft and steady. It was… peaceful. That kind of peace you feel deep in your soul.” Her voice grew quiet. “They’ve come to me like that before, Mama and Zariah. But the fish… that was new. That was her way of confirming what I already knew.”

Smoke exhaled through his nose, lips curled in a small, wistful smile. “I wish I could see her,” he said quietly, his hands still resting on her hips.

Annie leaned down and kissed his forehead, lingering there for a moment. “One day you will,” she whispered. “A long, long, long ass time from now. We’ve got things to do down here.”

He chuckled, and so did she.

“Speakin’ of things to do…” he murmured with a teasing glint in his eyes. His hands slid slowly up her sides, then dipped to her waist, pulling her just a little closer. He leaned forward, pressing warm kisses along her exposed cleavage.

Annie hummed, her fingers caressing the back of his head.

“How about we work off dinner?” he offered, voice thick with suggestion and affection.

Her only response was a mischievous smile and the way she leaned down to kiss him—slow, deep, and full of promise—told him everything he needed to know.

She moaned softly as their tongues danced, gliding in a slow, teasing rhythm. Smoke’s hand cradled the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. Her fingers brushed along his jaw before she leaned in and lightly traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, then pulled back with a playful smirk.

“Leave it to you to turn a wholesome moment into somethin’ freaky,” she whispered against his mouth, her breath warm, her eyes shining.

His deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Somethin’ ’bout bein’ engaged and knowin’ we made a mini us got me feelin’ extra… primal. Sue me.”

Annie laughed, soft and sweet, and laced her fingers with his. “C'mon,” she said, tugging him gently toward the bedroom. He followed without hesitation, flicking off the kitchen lights as they passed.

“I don’t know if I can keep callin’ you daddy once the baby’s here,” she teased as they reached the foot of the bed, turning to face him with an arched brow.

He sucked his teeth and yanked her flush against him, hands gripping her waist like he was claiming her all over again. “Oh, you will, but with a little more respect in your tone,” he smirked, leaning in to nip at her bottom lip. “Matter fact, after what I’m 'bout to do to you, you might start sayin it in capital letters everywhere we go.”

Her core clenched at the authority in his voice, heat blooming low in her belly. Her eyes flicked from his full lips to those pretty brown eyes—darkening now, like storm clouds rolling in just before the downpour.

"I’d love to see you try," she murmured, a teasing lilt in her voice.

She could’ve sworn she heard a low rumble rise from his chest, more growl than laugh. It vibrated through the short space between them, curling around her spine and making her breath hitch. The air between them thickened with want, and his gaze dropped to her mouth like he was already imagining it moaning his name.

“’Cause you know I always deliver,” he murmured before pulling her back into another heated kiss, deep and slow, like he had all the time in the world. His lips were firm, hungry, and she melted into it with a soft moan, powder pink nails lightly scratching his scalp.

With practiced ease, he untied her robe and slid it off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. Her hands were already at his waist, pushing his sweats down eagerly until his thick, hard length sprang free. He stepped out of them, not missing a beat, and immediately dipped his head to trail kisses down her neck—finding that sensitive spot just under her jaw and sucking gently. She whimpered, thighs pressing together instinctively to soothe the ache pulsing between her legs.

Then his mouth was on her right nipple, tongue swirling slowly before he sucked it deep into the warmth of his mouth. Her head dropped back with a breathless moan as he pinched and rolled the other between his fingers, teasing both peaks until they stiffened under his touch.

“Baby, please…” she purred, writhing as he switched to her other breast, mouth wet and warm.

“Please what, mamas?” he mumbled into her skin, the scruff of his beard grazing her soft flesh, sending a new wave of goosebumps across her chest.

“Please, fuck me,” she whimpered, voice desperate and thick with need.

Smoke chuckled low in his throat, his lips now pressing loving kisses along her belly. “Oh, I will... right after I eat my pussy. Now,” he added, giving her ass a firm smack, “get on all fours like I like it.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Climbing onto the bed, she positioned herself just how he wanted—arched and ready. He took a pillow from the head of the bed and slid it underneath her belly for support, mindful of her comfort now more than ever.

She felt the warmth of his breath against her soaked folds and whimpered in anticipation, her body already trembling. He knelt behind her, thick arms wrapping around her thighs from underneath to pull her closer. She swore her heart skipped as he inhaled her scent—slow, deep, possessive.

Then came the tease—his tongue gliding over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, kissing and licking everything but her center. She rocked her hips instinctively, craving contact, every nerve alive.

“Mine,” he whispered, the word more like a vow than a claim, and then his mouth sealed over her pussy.

Annie gasped sharply, the heat and wetness of his mouth sending her reeling. He licked her slow at first, deliberately, tongue moving like he had nowhere else to be. His tongue flicked side to side against her swollen clit before he sucked it gently, then firmly, setting her nerves on fire. Her back bowed beautifully, and he rewarded the arch with another smack to her ass, this one more playful. His strong hands palmed the weight of her cheeks, spreading her open so he could devour her better.

The sound of her moans—raw, open, unfiltered—filled the room. So did the wet, messy sounds of his mouth as he tasted her, worshipped her. His tongue slid down to her entrance and began to thrust, long and deep, mimicking what he knew she needed. She rocked back against his face in response, fucking herself on his tongue.

“Mmm. That’s it, baby. Fuck my face,” he growled between licks, voice hoarse with desire.

“Oooh, Elijah…” she purred, her body trembling as her orgasm crept up with no warning. Her walls clenched tight around his tongue and her clit throbbed against the friction of his chin. His tongue, long and thick, curled just right—rubbing and coaxing the orgasm from her body like it belonged to him.

Her thighs shook, and she cried out his name again and again as she came, surrendering fully to the pleasure. Her body pulsed around the emptiness, and he didn’t stop—he drank her in, tongue lapping every drop, the sounds of his mouth slick and unashamed in the quiet of the room.

“Mm… sweet ass pussy,” he mumbled with satisfaction, tongue still teasing her slit as her body trembled from the aftershocks.

She whimpered, her body hypersensitive, trying to crawl away from his relentless mouth.

He chuckled softly, finally giving her a moment to breathe, and kissed the backs of her thighs with a tenderness that had her heart clenching. Each kiss was like a thank you, a worship, a promise.

“You good, baby?” he asked softly, rubbing his hands down the backs of her legs, grounding her.

Annie let out a long breath and nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “So damn good.”

He hummed with a satisfied smile, rising to his knees as he pressed soft kisses up the curve of her back. She shivered beneath the affection, then slowly gathered her strength, straightening up on her legs. With a lazy, seductive grace, she reached back, her fingers curling behind his neck to pull him in for a deep, messy kiss—tongues tangling, lips slick with need. She moaned softly at the taste of herself on his tongue.

When she finally pulled away, her voice dropped into something velvety and commanding. “Lay down.”

Smoke nipped at her bottom lip in response, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am,” he rasped playfully, and settled back into the bed, reclining against the headboard with one arm tucked behind his head. He looked utterly edible—lids low, chest rising with anticipation, dick hard and glistening in the moonlight.

Annie crawled between his legs, her hips swaying as she moved with deliberate intent. Her eyes locked on his girthy, pretty, brown length. Precum shimmered at the fat tip, catching the silver glow from the window. Her mouth watered, her breath hitching.

She wrapped her hand around him, marveling again at the weight and heat of him, and began stroking him slow and tight while never breaking eye contact. His brows drew together, lips parting with a grunt as his hips subtly rocked into her grip.

She leaned in and let a string of spit drip from her tongue, watching it glisten as it slid over the swollen head. Then, without hesitation, she took him into her warm mouth, slowly sucking him inch by inch until her lips kissed his base.

“Gahdamn… mmm,” Smoke groaned, head lolling to the side as he watched her work. His expression melted into bliss and awe.

Annie moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shiver down his spine. Her hand worked in rhythm with her mouth—wrist twisting as she stroked while her lips slid up and down his shaft. She pressed her tongue along the underside, tracing the throbbing vein.

Smoke reached forward, gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail, angling her just right so he could see everything. “Fuck,” he hissed as she moaned again and popped him out of her mouth with a soft wet pop! Her tongue trailed down to his heavy balls, and she gently sucked one into her mouth, careful, slow, savoring him.

“Fuuuck, Annie…” His voice cracked, thighs tensing beneath her palms, abs tightening with every flick of her tongue. She could feel the telltale signs—his body betraying him with every twitch and quiver.

Then, just as his release hovered close, she stopped.

She released him from her mouth and hand, sitting back slightly. His thick length bobbed against his thigh, flushed and needy.

His eyes flew open in disbelief, damn near a panic. “Woman, are you crazy?!”

Annie giggled, licking her lips as she rubbed slow circles on his thighs to soothe him from the brink. Her grin was deliciously wicked. “Only for you,” she purred, loving the way his chest rose and fell, how his fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t know whether to beg or curse.

She could see it—how close he’d been. That made her feel powerful. Intimate. Like she knew every muscle, every nerve ending in his body by name.

“You’re dangerous,” Smoke growled, trying to catch his breath.

She kissed his inner thigh, then up over the ridges of his abs, along his chest, and up the column of his neck. When she reached his ear, she nibbled it gently before whispering, voice syrup-sweet and full of mischief. “Betta call on the ancestors now, ‘cause I’m not done wreckin’ you just yet.”

He looked at her like he wanted to ruin her—in the most loving, filthy, reverent way possible. And the look she gave him back? Just as hungry. Just as wild. His hands gripped her waist firmly, grounding them both in the heat of the moment as she straddled him. Her knees planted on either side of his hips, and she lifted slightly, one hand wrapping around the base of his thick shaft to guide him to her soaked entrance.

A gasp slipped from both of their lips as she slowly sank down onto him, inch by inch. Her hands braced on his shoulders, fingers digging in for leverage as her walls stretched and fluttered around his girth. The warmth of her pussy enveloped him like a velvet vice, clenching greedily as he filled her completely.

"Fuck…" Smoke growled, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he held back from thrusting up into her. He needed her to take her time—wanted to feel every second of her wrapping around him.

Annie adjusted, rolling her hips slightly before beginning to lift and drop slowly, savoring the stretch and slide of him inside her. The steady rhythm sent chills up both their spines, and Smoke let out a low grunt, his fingers digging into her waist. Her pussy gripped him so perfectly it almost hurt—in the best way. Pregnancy had made her impossibly wetter, more sensitive, and the feel of her now was nearly enough to unravel him.

Her head tilted back as her lashes fluttered closed, soft pants escaping her lips as she rode him slow and deep. That gave Smoke the perfect view—and the perfect moment. One of his hands slid up her torso, wrapping gently around her throat the way he knew she loved. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watched her melt beneath his touch.

Annie moaned, grinding her hips in slow, teasing circles. “Ssoooh… you feel so good, daddy,” she hissed, her voice cracked with pleasure.

Smoke leaned forward slightly and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking slow and deep. Her entire body trembled. She bounced harder on his dick, her movements gaining speed and purpose as she plunged him deeper and deeper inside her. Her moans were soft, rhythmic, breathy, and perfect—music to his ears.

“Yesss... ride your dick, baby. Just like that,” he moaned against her chest, flicking his tongue over her other nipple, then tugging gently with his teeth. The way her body squeezed around him had him dizzy.

As many times as they’d made love, this felt brand new—like the first time all over again. Electric. Intoxicating. Their bodies spoke a language only they could understand. Every connection felt spiritual, every climax like worship.

Smoke let her ride until she was quivering again, then pulled her down by the neck and kissed her hard—hungry, open-mouthed, breath-stealing passion. She leaned into it, and that’s when he planted his feet into the mattress and started thrusting up into her—each stroke hard and deep. Her pussy creamed around him, sweet, messy, and addictive.

“Oh, fuck!” she squealed into his mouth, her hands clawing at the upholstered headboard for something to hold onto as he pounded her from beneath. Her walls clenched like a vice around him, juices trickling down to his balls.

Smoke cupped her ass with both hands, pushing her down to meet his thrusts, the pressure building fast. He could feel her right on the edge.

Then, without warning, he slowed. Just the tip, teasing, nudging her opening but never fully plunging back in. Her whine was instant.

“Daddy, please,” she breathed, trying to grind down to get more of him.

“You gonna make a mess for me, huh?” he asked, voice thick with heat, eyes locked on her.

She nodded fast, eyes wide and glassy with a pout that damn near undid him. That sweet face, so ready to fall apart for him—it had him teetering right on the brink.

With a grunt, he slammed back into her, his thrusts hitting deep and just right, angled to find that sweet, sensitive spot. Over. And over. Again.

“Right there… oh my god, right there,” she chanted like a prayer, body trembling as the orgasm coiled tight and fast inside her.

He didn’t let up. His eyes stayed trained on her, like watching her unravel was his only purpose in life. “Cum on your dick, baby doll,” he groaned, his own release rushing fast behind the command.

Annie shattered with a cry, her pussy spasming violently around him, drawing every drop from him as he spilled deep inside her. They clung to each other, mouths fusing in a desperate, sloppy kiss—moans and whimpers exchanged like oxygen.

They stayed like that, trembling and tangled, riding the wave of their shared high until their breathing slowed and their pulses came back to earth.

After tender kisses, the kind that lingered like a promise, they each slipped away to relieve themselves and returned for a quick cleanup—gentle touches, quiet smiles, and sleepy laughs echoing in the low light of the bedroom. When they finally slid back beneath the covers, the night felt sacred.

Annie curled onto her side, her body still warm and humming from everything they shared. Smoke tucked himself behind her, his bare chest pressed against her back, and wrapped an arm tightly around her waist like she might slip away if he didn’t hold her close.

“Goodnight, pretty baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with tenderness as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

She smiled faintly, melting back into his embrace and soaking in the warmth of his skin against hers. “Goodnight, my love,” she murmured, her words delicate and laced with sleep as her lashes fluttered shut. It didn’t take long for her breathing to even out, and in moments she slipped beneath the surface of consciousness.

She found herself standing once again in clear blue waters, waist-deep, the sunlight glimmering like diamonds on the ripples. The same familiar school of colorful fish surrounded her, their shimmering bodies dancing around her ankles, leading her forward, guiding her like gentle soldiers.

As she moved toward the shore, the ocean turning to soft, warm sand beneath her feet, she saw them—her mother, standing with Zariah nestled lovingly in her arms. They both shimmered with an ethereal glow, their auras golden and soft like morning light.

Tears welled in Annie’s eyes as she stepped closer. This time, her mother didn’t just smile—she walked toward her. When she reached Annie, she gently transferred Zariah into her arms, the baby’s coos and warmth making her breath hitch. Annie looked down at her daughter, so vibrant and real. Chubby cheeks, dimples, curious eyes, the tiniest fingers curling around her mother’s.

Tears slid down Annie’s face, mirrored by her mother’s, but there was joy there too. Love. Healing. She looked up again just in time to see her mother walking toward a forest of palm trees in the distance, a towering weeping willow standing guard at the center.

“Mama… wait!” Annie called, her voice trembling.

Before fading into the grove, her mother turned back one last time. She smiled… and winked. Annie's eyes fell back to her daughter who's eyes were still focused on her.

“Zariah…” Annie whispered aloud in her sleep, her lips parting with emotion.

Smoke’s brows pinched slightly when he heard her. He hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet—he’d been lying there, quietly admiring her breathing, her warmth pressed to his chest like a comfort he’d never take for granted.

He lifted himself on an elbow, eyes scanning her face. Her features were peaceful, her lips twitching into a soft, unconscious smile. Behind her closed lids, her eyes moved rapidly—clearly dreaming. But to Smoke, it felt like something more.

He pulled the covers down slowly, reverently, revealing the soft swell of her belly under the moonlight. He leaned in and placed a kiss just beneath her navel, lingering there like he was whispering a prayer.

“Is that you, princess?” he murmured, voice breaking slightly as he caressed the curve of her abdomen with his calloused, trembling hand. “Zariah... baby girl…”

Tears rimmed his eyes, threatening to fall as he pressed his forehead against her skin. He searched the space with his heart more than his eyes, like the love and memory of their daughter could somehow speak through the silence.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, placing one more tender kiss before pulling the cover gently back over her sleeping form.

He climbed back up, resettling beside her, still blinking away tears. But Annie instinctively turned, her face nuzzling into his chest, her arm slipping around his waist. Even in slumber, she found him. She always did.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, fingers brushing through her hair as he held her close.

“I’m right here,” he whispered into the dark, unsure if he meant it for her, their daughter, or maybe both.

Then finally, as her breathing soothed him and her warmth anchored him, Smoke closed his eyes and let himself drift, heart full, soul aching—but not alone.

To be continued....

· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·· · ───── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

Big Papa put a ring on it and gave her a house all in the same day. Period! My babies are having a baby too! 🥹 Y'all excited? I hit you with a double whammy. lol Did you think any of this was happening in this part? Did I catch you slipping? Let me know your thoughts in the comments. xoxo

· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·· · ───── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

Taglist:

@slvt4her @wanderingreigns @avoidthings @xjjawsomex @that-one-anxious-mango @wabi-sabi1090 @nubiawrites @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kianaleani @slutsareteacherstoo @slyy-foxx @dxddykenn @moujg @naughtynolly @wildcardmelaninfreak @pocketsizedpanther @wabi-sabi1090 @styleismyaddiction @novahreign @transparentphantomface @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @babymelaninn @jasmynn05 @notapradagurl7 @starcrossedxwriter @irefusetobeacasualty @bigjh @syko-jpg @akjonthebeat @margepimpson @diamondsinterlude @brownsugarcoffy @shamansha @samiecemonet-blog @nebulamilkyway @browngirldominion @sexysativa605 @bigjh @speakinglife

[lo1k-diamonds]

Unique | KNJ | Masterpost

PAIRING: idol!Namjoon x OFC

SUMMARY: Namjoon dedicated his whole life to being a diligent idol, putting the music and group above his individual needs and desires. He believes he's doing the right thing until an unexpected meeting shifts how he sees the world. But life isn't easy, and even a unique connection can't change fate. Or can it?

WORD COUNT: 81.1k (ongoing)

GENRE:  Idol AU, strangers to lovers, time jumps, star-crossed lovers, angst, smut

RATING: R (explicit) (not all parts)

WARNINGS: (check each individual part) explicit smut, one-night stand but not really, angst, protected sex, oral, fingering, handjob, toys, sapiosexuality, body worship, dirty talk, mouth riding, switching, making out and dry humping in a moving car without a seatbelt on, BTS being chaotic around Namjoon and making him all embarrassed, alcohol, getting drunk, arguments, smoking, parallel Yoongi x OFC

A.N. Unique has a really special place in my heart. It was never supposed to be more than a one-shot with a bittersweet ending. All I wanted was to portray Namjoon as accurately as possible. Then, a year later, I decided I wanted Yoongi (yes, him) to have a chance at a different outcome, and now, another year later, I want Namjoon to have it, too. It's peculiar that every part has been written with the same time intervals as the story, and I'm contemplating keeping this tradition for future parts. Since @eerieedits already created wonderful visuals, it only makes sense to show them! (thank you!) I hope you all enjoy this star-crossed lovers story featuring our incredible Joonie 💜

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Schedule and WIPs

He was in love with their time, place and interaction, but it was limited. There was no heartbreak because of that agreement. Seeing her again was not part of the deal, but who was he kidding? That chance was too sweet to miss, too tempting to refuse.

SUMMARY: After overhearing something he shouldn't have, Namjoon promises to make it up to the bride by keeping her bridesmaid company during the rehearsal dinner party. What was supposed to be an unremarkable night became something so much more.

WORD COUNT: 20.8k

RATING: R (explicit)

I wanted to be the guy you chose to come and find and chat with, not the one Hyejin asked to babysit you and that you didn’t want to meet.

Read here 👉 [Tumblr] [AO3] [Wattpad]

SUMMARY: It's a year later when Angie decides to visit Hyejin, both women looking to get away from their problems. But a certain group is just pausing their tour, and old feelings are rekindled when their paths cross.

WORD COUNT: 60.2 k

RATING: R (explicit)

Be the person I was searching for and found, not the one I have to let go.

Read here 👉 [Tumblr] [AO3] [Wattpad]

Chapter 1 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 2 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 3 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 4 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 5 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 6 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 7 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 8 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 9 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

Chapter 10 [Snippet 🚀] [Post ✍️]

SUMMARY: Now that the PTD tour was coming to a close, Namjoon dreamt of meeting the one lover he couldn’t forget. Unfortunately, things have changed.

WORD COUNT: 11.7 k

RATING: PG-13

Isn't that what we're made of? Our dreams and regrets.

Read here 👉 [Tumblr] [AO3] [Wattpad]

(coming... March 2026?)

I wanted all seasons with you, but in the end, I got none.

(coming... September 2026?)

Is it finally time?

[almondmilkcleanser]

𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖑𝖊𝖌𝖘 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒☾ ☽𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 - OO4

SYNOPSIS - what was supposed to be a quaint summertime retreat to your favorite cousin's mansion has now turned into a type of rendezvous that you never dreamed of between two contrasting butlers with, almost sinisterly, similar desires.

■ ` ♡ characters / fandom ; f!reader x sebastian michaelis x Claude Faustus ■ ` ♡ tw ; MINORS DNI

main menu | one-shots menu | masterlist

■ ` ♡ VIP GUESTS TO THE MEAL ↷@preciousamethyst @crow-like-shiny-things @chrollohearttags @muvaginger @justaproudslytherpuff @kookie-vuitton @starstarbinks @flxxrence @urbunniebaby @nocturessa @neko-michaelis @maidensblessing @aiyaaayei

■ ` ♡ A/N → siiiigh I'm so sorry for disappearing on you guys -- alot has been going on and I completely lost desire to write. Forgive meeeee. Enjoy this apologetic meal on my behalf <3

A few weeks passed. It was dinnertime. You sat at the far end of the table in silence. Sebastian was at Ciel’s side, calm and stoic. Claude was at Alois’ side, his eyes closed and hands behind his back. Alois, with an almost devious child-like glee, ate his bountiful meal in gulps. You often would glance at his direction just to make sure that the child chewed his food properly.

Mei Rin, Fin and Baldroy all stood by the door, their individual stances equally unnerving. You felt like everyone was watching you. Waiting for your next word or your next motion.

Everyone but Ciel.

Instead, he sat there, unamused, with one hand used as a rest stop for his cheek while the other lazily wrapped itself around a steak fork. That same hand repeatedly poked a large chunk of meat almost as if he were double checking if it was fully dead or not. 

You took a small bite of your meal. Tonight was themed after the French –  Steak au Poivre slow simmered in a red wine sauce. Your serving was pre-sliced into fine, almost mechanical slices. You could easily pick up each tantalizing piece with ease and pop it into your mouth without worrying about spillage. Each bite being more delicious than the next.

Each morsel melting in your mouth like butter. As much as it aggravated you to be seated with this brat, his lackey and a blonde-haired carbon copy diagonally from you, the fragrant morsels in front of you made it seem to be, at the least, moderately tolerable. 

“Dinner is excellent tonight.” you spoke, drawing up Sebastian’s attention first then Ciel’s. His piercing blue eye looked straight at you as you continued lapping up your meat with the viscous red sauce. You could almost see yourself in the viscous reflection. 

“Who is the chef with such talent?” a wiry smile spread across your full lips. As you looked up, you saw Sebastian’s burn into you. He didn’t smile nor did he frown. But he never broke his gaze off of you. Claude on the other hand, only opened his eyes. He too was waiting on a response. 

“Well,” Ciel smirked proudly as the words left his lips. His own little sense of pride beaming off his cool skin. 

“It was none other than Baldroy himself. He had a little help, afterall.” Ciel raised his hand, palm upwards, in Sebastian’s direction. 

“Oh, Young Master, you flatter me.” Sebastian bowed his head at the compliment. “Its all in a day’s work as the Phantomhive Butler.” If you could vomit your red sauce, you most definitely would. 

“I see.” You dabbed your lips with the cloth on your lap. Trying your best to be a defined lady. Even with the inert frustration and irritation this ordeal has put you through, you stil maintained your composure. Both Sebastian and Claude took notice of that. One of them more impressed than the other. 

“So what are the proposed plans for tomorrow?” you picked over your tray of vegetables, the leftover wine sauce coating your peas and carrots a dull maroon color. 

Sebastian peered his eyes at the Young Master who carefully picked at his vegetables as well. Sebastian cleared his throat, adjusting his tie in the process.

“A studious Young Master won’t be so well equipped to perform his duties if he skips his vegetables.” Ciel grimaced, sending Sebastian in a silent giggle. It took a while for Ciel’s brattish stare to pry off of Sebastian, but when his eyes bounced back to you with an uncomfortably childish smile, you sort of wished he would have continued staring daggers at Sebastian. 

“Tomorrow, we are going for a hunt.” You don’t know why this response made you unconsciously swallow. “Alois and I are going to pair up while Claude and Sebastian attend to you.” shit! “Afterall, its not all the time we have such a high-functioning lady in our company. We can see to it to make a few subtle arrangements.”

You forced a chuckle. “I can’t say that having your designated butlers following me around qualifies as subtle. I assure you that I can handle myself just fine on the hunt alone.”

“That just won’t do!” This time Alois chimed in, sending your stomach in a whirl. “Claude and Sebastian will be your company while Ciel and I talk much important matters. Won’t that be fun, Claude?” Alois’ piercing blue eyes radiated to Claude who merely nodded his head with his eyes closed. 

“Then it's settled.” Ciel smiled, clapping his hands together. “We shall meet in the morning. Make sure you get adequate rest, Y/N.” you scanned the room for a moment before deciding it was time for you to retire. Everyone seemed so rehearsed, everything too pristine. It made you sick. So, with a dab of your mouth with the napkin on your lap, you pushed yourself from the table, proceeding to the main hall doors that led to the bedroom chambers. 

“If its alright with you, Ciel, I would appreciate Sebastian to show me the way back to my room. I still get rather lost in such a big home.” you helped yourself through the doors, only leaving a big enough crack for another person to walk through. Sebastian looked down at the bored Ciel, who merely sipped his nighttime tea, unabashed at your mild tantrum. 

“Go see to it she finds her room, Sebastian. But don’t take all night doing so.” Claude’s eyes slid to Sebastian who kept a calm appearance. 

“Yes, My Lord.” Sebastian bowed his head, dismissing himself, and gracefully left the dining hall with a firm click of the doors. 

—

“I don’t enjoy hunting. Not one bit. And Ciel knows that.” you huffed on the bed, kicking off your shoes in a groan. “I don’t see why i have to accompany him on such a brutish, unneccessary slaughter.”

“Forgive me if I’m misunderstanding, but you didn’t seem to have a problem cutting into tonight’s steak.” You cut your eyes at Sebastian with a scoff. 

“Its different! I don’t want to see them being killed Sebastian. Sigh. Help me, please.” 

“As you wish.” Sebastian walked around to the other side of the bed. He moved your hair to the side to loosen the ties and clamps around your dress. As his fingers brushed against your bare skin, you trembled. You and Sebastian have been meeting almost every other night for the past few weeks.

He catered to your mind and serenaded your flesh, effortlessly. You took advantage of having him to your every beck and call in the interim of you staying there. Father seemed elated based off the letters Sebastian wrote him and business continued on as planned. But, tonight, you had another craving on the tip of your tongue. 

His slender fingers ran down the hem of your dress, slowly draping them off your shoulders little by little. He leaned down to kiss the nape of your neck, tracing his lips down your spine. 

“Your tense.” he whispered in your ear. “What ails you?” he slipped his hands into your dress, his gloved hands encircling your breasts around and around. “I thought this makes the lady feel good.”

“It does.” you sighed, tilting your head back . He flicked his fingers back and forth on your nipples. He climbed on the bed, on his knees, with his torso bent to press against your back. You felt the warmth of his chest against his dress shirt, making you crave to be flesh to flesh again. When he touched you one specific way, you tilted one of your shoulders upwards, mewling softly beneath clenched lips. 

He sucked his teeth playfully in a scolding fashion, using his chin to push your shoulder down. All of your clasps were undone, ribbons unraveled, hanging loosely against the seams of your dress. Without resistance, you angled your body so your dress could fall and your bare flesh be exposed in the mirror in front of you.

You angled your face to Sebastian, palming his angular jawline in a lover’s admiration. If one were to look at you two, they would assume that this was another night. That you two, completely enamored with each other, were tantrically peeling away the layers. Bracing each touch and kiss with delicate precision. 

Even when you closed your eyes, you could pretend that Sebastian was something more. That he was, perhaps, someone else. Sebastian kissed your jawline from the small piece of connecting flesh between your ear down to your chin.

Nipping intentionally here and there, smiling at your recoil in pleasure. He sifted through the bottom of your dress until he found his paradise. Parting your lips with his pointer and middle finger, he rubbed up and down, tauntingly missing the bud of your clit to make you squirm. 

“Please-” you groaned aloud, wrapping one of your arms around his neck. You gaped, hoping for another word to leave your mouth, but it simply didn’t. He motioned his finger around and around, pushing down, flicking back and forth, plunging into your wetness as he pleased. His breath hitched at your wetness, at the viscosity of your slick thickening stroke by stroke.

“The lady is needy today, what’s the matter?” He kissed your earlobe, smiling to himself. He knew it was going to be nearly impossible for yout o mumble a coherent sentence with him teasing you so much. Your eyes pressed shut, moans echoing across the room, you opened your eyes and gazed into the mirror just to see Sebastian staring right back at you with a fanged grin. 

“Talk to me, Y/N. You know I’m only here to take care of you.”

“Sigh” he continued at your neck as the thoughts tried to pool to the front of your mind. “I’m craving something else tonight.” his eyebrow raised, but he continued his pacing. 

“I want-” He pushed two fingers inside of you, this time leaving it there. The pressure surged up to your stomach, making you purr.

“I want you.” You moaned aloud, releasing onto his fingers. 

“And Claude.”

His movements slowed, making you panic. “O-only if its alright with you. I’m more than happy with you. I just- I’m just-” He reassuringly kissed your jaw again, slowly retracting from inside of you. 

“The lady doesn’t have to explain. By how.. Aroused you get,” he suckled those same fingers, humming in mischevious delight, “There’s no doubt who you’ll prefer overall.” 

“Time to come out of hiding, Claude.” huh?! 

You covered your chest on reflex as Claude pushed the wardrobe door open and climbed out without a hint of apprehension or embarrassment. Instead, he stood there, his eyes peered to you with his arms behind his back. A butler ready to serve. 

“W-what? For how long?”

“You forget our agreement, my dear.” Sebastian reached around to pull the zipper on the side of your dress, fully undressing you this time. His hands were meticulous, almost routine. “We are here to please you until your time here is over.” His crimson eyes looked to Claude with a reminiscent smirk. “Our dear Claude was never far, you see. He was merely waiting, every time.”

“Every ti-” Your memory reeled back to the night that Sebastian had your chest pinned to the bed and hips high in the air. He pounded in you relentlessly, making you squirm, whine, cry for him. The candle was at the top of the wax when you two started, and only finished when there was only a flicker of a wick left. You were so sore the next day you had to have your breakfast and dinner brought to you.

“Yes,” his lips grazed against your chin, kissing it softly. “Every time. Claude, you won’t be of much use to the lady standing in a corner, now will you?” There was a brisk woosh past you, and just like that, Claude was between your legs, his gloved hands opening your legs wide to peer deep inside of you.

He could see the remnants of your elixir spreading thin, spreading wide, eagerly waiting for someone to fill the void. He could even see new streams of slick coming down in real-time. Sebastian guided your other hand around his neck as he continued to fondle and kiss your flesh, his fingers tracing the outlines of your body, even following the jagged streaks of your stretchmarks as they traversed down, down, down.

As Sebastian worked up top, Claude helped himself to the bottom. He lapped up your juices with his wide tongue, taking corner by corner into his mouth and down his throat. He continued to sample you without ever coming up for air, his chin and cheeks spotting with your wetness the more he plunged into you with his tongue. 

Your hips buckled at the sensations electrifying every prickle of your skin. Sebastian pulled at the nape of your neck with his teeth, his dark eyes shining under the moonlight that beamed into your bedroom through the open balcony doors. The chilled breeze of nighttime air tickling the bare crevices of skin as Sebastian and Claude’s silhouette was tinted an opaque shade of blue.

You were so fucking close. Between Sebastian’s teasing and Claude’s tongue, your mind was turning to mush. Your senses were heightened and your body felt as though it was melting, solidifying, and melting again. Claude, his lips latched onto your clit, flicking it rapidly back and forth, pressed his hands into your thighs to keep them open. He could feel you trying to close them, but he just wouldn’t have it. Your climax was his and all his no matter how long it took. 

“A-ah! C-Claude, I- I’m going to,” you tried to break free of Sebastian’s restraints, but that only made him pin you more. His muscles hardened as he kept your arms in place.

“Don’t fight it, Y/N. Use him. Use us.” With a whimper, your ground your hips into his face, your hips buckling at each contrasting sensation from Claude’s tongue. He prodded you with two of his fingers, pumping back in forth in synchronicity with your grinds. His eyes peeled open, showing the simmering golden hues that entranced you so much.

He fixed them on you, his gaze smoldered  and alluring. Pulling you in pump by pump. He finally came up for air, droplets of your elixir streaming down his cheek and bottom lip.

He kissed your inner thigh, biting down with just enough intensity to make you thrash uncontrollably. Your juices poured nonstop, flooding the floor and the edge of your sheets. Even when the uncontrollable sparks bounced between your body and your mind, Sebastian kept you still, a smile of satisfaction spreading across his face.

“That’s right. Let it all go, Y/N. Marvelous work.” 

-

Claude dawned his hand with the same white glove as he and Sebastian exited your bedroom. You were tucked in, your hair brushed and your nightgown shielding your lustful mounds once more. As the two stood on the opposite side of your bedroom, Sebastian matched Claude’s pensive glare with a bemused one.

“Well, I guess the classic saying goes something like,” He chuckled at his own joke, fluffing his jacket back to its pristine nature,

“May the best man, or demon, win.”

[circeyoru]

Foreign Reality

[Sung Jinwoo x Memory intact!Reader - Academy Arc]

As weird as it sounds, you recall a world that was the same as this one but different. There were things known as ‘Gates’ and inside them are ‘Dungeons’ filled with all types of beasts and monsters that bring mankind harm. To counter that, there are awakened individuals known as ‘Hunters’ that would go into these Dungeons to defeat the boss and prevent an outbreak. That was the gist of it.

Now there was nothing. When you told your parents about it, they told you that you were dreaming too hard and that you needed to wake up. 

So how could you not feel the chill when the newly transferred student entered the classroom? Somehow you were able to recognize him. In your dream, he was the strongest Hunter, from the bottom to the top, he was famed for his strength and will to protect. Yet most remember him as the one-man army because of his ability to command shadow beasts and monsters. 

While the class teacher gave the former strongest Hunter the time to introduce himself, you already recalled his name like an echo to his introduction. “Sung Jinwoo.”

Over the next few days, Jinwoo was the topic of discussion for many people, both students and teachers. The girls were fonding over his coolness and smart nature, as he was top of his class like you were though you relied on your former knowledge and mentality. The boys were envious of the attention he was getting and his seemingly handsome appearance. The teachers praised him for his academic results and athletic talent. There seemed to be no flaws or faults with him.

Well, almost. It seemed like he was a bit on the dense and serious side. 

You recall the first day when a group of boys taunted him for wearing a single black glove over his hand, only to end up backing down when Jinwoo showed them a nasty scar. At the time, you were just passing by to leave the classroom, but you swore that scar couldn’t be made by normal means. Then again, you never knew what Jinwoo went through in his upbringing, so you kept it to yourself.

Then there were the constant confessions. You lost count of the library or rooftop confessions that you happened to stumble upon during your breaks. The library and rooftop were your go-to places to relax, yet somehow, Jinwoo’s love confessions were always there and sometimes in the hallways. You’d always see girls crying their hearts out and running away, when you looked over, Jinwoo smiled and waved at you. 

Though you nodded your head with a neutral expression before you left. You really wanted to give him a piece of your mind, by then you were sure he rejected and made a bunch of girls cry. If he weren’t the former strongest Hunter and praised and admired by you, you would have given Jinwoo the cold shoulders. You wondered if he had always been like this even before the timeline repeated itself.

But there were times when you wondered if he knew that time repeated like you did. You hoped that there was someone you could connect with. There was so many times that you felt so foreign in your place. Like everything was a lie. Maybe it was because you were used to the you and world in that former timeline, maybe it was because everything felt so real there and to be denied that reality was breaking to you.

So that might have led you to what you did then.

It was any other day after school was done and it was time for the extracurriculars. Jinwoo was in track and field while you were in a literature club. Yours ended earlier than his, and when you left, you’d catch him on his breaks. Like always, he’d be under that tree, sitting at the base of it and holding onto his water bottle while he napped a bit. 

Your legs brought you over to him and you squat down to stare at his features. Your eyes blinked as you waited for any form of reaction from him. If he were like you, he’d still have his Hunter senses, but there was none. Your face crunched together a bit as you tested another method. You slowly and gently took his bottle from his hand, still he didn’t seem to be conscious. So you sat down by him and set his bottle between you two.

“Hey, do you remember something like a portal to dungeons? Like in those games or movies? Haha, it’s silly huh? But I remember a world like that. There were brave Hunters who protected normal people with their powers and strength every day, they risked their lives to protect humanity. No matter their rank.” You stared at the sky as you talked your mind out. For some reason, you felt comfortable saying all this to him, even when he was sleeping.

Of course, you never saw the twitch in his fingers and the various eyes that stared at your form from the shadows. You continued your ranting.

“There was once the weakest Hunter who tried his best just to get by, then he was suddenly the strongest. Despite everything he went through, he never hated others or the world, nor did he take revenge. He was so selfishly selfless.” You clenched your hands as you looked down, “I’m sure, in the end, he did something, but it wasn’t just for himself. I can’t tell, but he was so stupid to just suffer the weight of it all alone.”

You failed to notice how his jaws clenched tightly.

“Haha. Well, I’m just being silly.” You got up and patted your clothes to remove any dirt or grass stuck to your fabric. You looked down to see if his form had changed, only to notice nothing out of the ordinary. You chuckled, picking out a leaf from his hair and blowing it away so that it could follow the breeze. You turned your attention back to him and bowed your head saying, “Thank you, Hunter Sung Jinwoo, for all you’ve done.” You straightened up and smiled before turning away from him. “I wish you the happiest lifetime for your efforts and suffering.”

Not even a few steps in, your eyes widened as your smile fell straight from shock. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist as your head tilted to see who it was. Jinwoo.

“Always. You always have a way with words. You know that?” Jinwoo’s voice cracked. 

You flinched, figuring he heard you, “Uh, um, I was just referencing to a novel the literature club had its members read! Nothing too serious! I, really…”

The way Jinwoo’s eyes glowed purple made your words fall short. “Don’t lie. You remember. You remember it all. Please.”

Your heart ached for some reason you can’t explain. In your memories, you were nothing special to the S-Rank Hunter Sung Jinwoo. You were one of the bystanders who cheered him on. You were only something to him when he visited his mother at the hospital, you as the doctor in charge of his mother’s treatment and stay. After his mother was discharged, there was no reason for him to return or visit the hospital because he had no need for it. 

Once, you witnessed his soldiers when his sister was brought to you to check due to some dungeon break in her school. You were so busy calming her down that you ignored the soldiers’ stare. When the Hunter appeared in the room, you professionally relayed his sister’s condition to him and he, in such a troubled state, didn’t spare you greetings of the like. 

After then, you’ve been keeping an eye out on the news for his good work for humanity. Just silently cheering him on from the sidelines because you knew you wouldn’t be able to help him. When you saw him with other S-Ranked Hunters, you felt content and proud, sometimes you can’t believe that was the same small frail E-Rank Hunter that would try to pay his mother’s medical bills with wounds and injuries all over his body. 

You reached your hand to the top of his head as best you could. Perhaps it was a good thing. In this world, he doesn’t need to throw himself into the dangerous dungeons with monsters that want to tear him apart. “Yes, I lied. I remember it all. But aren’t you going to go look for your other friends?”

His grip on you tightened. “I... I’ve wanted to stay by your side for a long time, but it was either you were too busy with your work or I was. There never was a time. When I reversed time, I thought I could correct things. But this time, there were other obstacles.”

“You could have just come talk to me.” You chuckled at his words. “Instead, I got a look good at how you’ve always made girls cry. Can’t you let them down gently?”

“But I was being honest.”

“Brutally honest…” You sighed. 

Jinwoo loosened up a bit, turning you so that he’d meet your eyes and you’d meet his, “What does this make us?”

You poked your finger at the middle of his chest, pushing him away from you, “Nothing serious. We’re starting from rock bottom. As friends.”

Jinwoo smiled, nodding at your words. “Well, we both have the time.”

“Right.” You huffed, content with this result until you recalled something. “Wait, you reversed time!?”

That day, under the tree and with the breeze of the wind, your surprised rambles gave the Shadow Monarch his solace back. For so long, he has dreamed of meeting you again and staying by your side. You were so diligent and caring that he never stood a chance, even when he became an S-Rank Hunter. 

Jinwoo laughed while you continued to speak at the speed of light over what he said. His eyes curled to crescent moons as he watched you stress over what insane thing he had done for the world again. All the while, within his Realm of Eternal Slumber, his Shadows cheered for their reunion, certain few plotting ways to move the relationship faster and deeper. 

With your distracted mind, Jinwoo plopped his form on top of yours while you tried to balance yourself. “It’s so good to have you back.”

“I’ve been here the entire time…” You pouted while you grounded yourself from the sandbag over your head. Still, you can’t help but chuckle, messing up Jinwoo’s hair. “I’ll be in your care this time.”

Note: Another Solo Leveling work! Hope you guys enjoy this one too!

*edited note: I'm opening the request for Solo Leveling request only. Check my masterlist for the rules. Thanks~!

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

[vidavalor]

Aziraphale's Eden clothes play so differently after S2.

In S2, Before the Beginning and the Job minisode show us that the angels (minus Gabriel) were all still wearing the same shapeless robe with the gold trim through even the first couple of thousand years of Earth. When you consider that? Aziraphale's clothes in Eden suddenly seem really rebellious.

In Eden, Aziraphale had thrown out the uniform that they were all expected to wear entirely and made his own look. He was abiding by certain rules of Heaven's colors but he was using his clothes to make a statement. And these choices he was making here?!

Gone was that horrible robe with the gold collar and wrist trim evocative of the angels being shackled to Heaven. Gone was any sense of a lack of individualism. He made these clothes fit his body and his own sense of style, with different shades and textures that he enjoyed. Aziraphale was even coming at Heaven's warped ideas about consumption by wearing a decorative top layer. This was all about asserting individuality and free will and, amazingly... none of these things were even the most political part.

That was the fact that the draping in the top layer was subtly creating a sash within Aziraphale's clothes... like the signature look of Lord Beelzebub and which we have seen is echoed by many of the original demons who were first cast out in The Fall, like Furfur and Dagon.

This seems like it was a protest look? Aziraphale was subtly trying to convey solidarity with the demons from whom Aziraphale was supposed to be guarding the humans and The Garden.

There's also the other layer to the sashes, as well, which is that they not only have had ties to a zillion different political movements but that they have been worn in different times in history as part of mourning.

The idea of Aziraphale's clothes in Eden being designed to reflect political protest and grief then makes the pattern on them a lot more significant. It didn't mean much of anything to us in S1 but, after S2, we might see why Aziraphale chose a scrolling pattern of intertwined circles.

[howtofightwrite]

What kind of wounds would a shotgun give to someone thats not wearing any bullet proof vest but just thick, winter jackets? Like those heavy jackets with fleece on the inside that old guys wear alot. ( I think its called a work jacket?)

I've always thought a shot gun would give some sort of blast damage and make quite a mess, but in The Day of The Jackal ep 6 it didn't seem that bad when he killed that farmer guy in Hungary lol.

So here's a fun thought to play with. A leather jacket is made from treated animal hide. In most cases, they're actually softened a bit to be more comfortable.

Shotguns are frequently used to hunt large game. Large game where their primary form of armor is their skin. Their skin which does almost nothing to stop a shotgun blast.

So, unless it's loaded with something like rocksalt, a leather jacket is not stopping a shotgun.

In answer to your original question, “what kind of wounds?” Catastrophic ones. It would be really messy.

Also, remember shotguns are still usable up to ~100 meters, at which they'll have a roughly 2m spray pattern. Getting hit by a shotgun, even at 50 meters, is going to be really bad. It's a bit like hitting someone simultaneously with a hail of small caliber rounds. Individually one piece of shot isn't likely to be lethal, but get hit with five or six of them, and that's a real problem. It's going to create a bunch of wound channels, and each wound has a chance to hit something vital, or ricochet and try again. And even at best, you're going to be losing blood from each of them simultaneously.

As for actual armor, most Level III or higher armor should stop a shotgun blast. However, shotguns are pretty good at damaging body armor. So someone wearing a ballistic vest who takes a shotgun hit, probably isn't going to be safe from the next pistol round that hits their vest anywhere near where the shot landed.

Similarly, with plate carriers, it should be fine, but there's a real risk that some of the shot chipped the plate. That's not going to cause the next shotgun blast to punch through, but it does mean that carrier now can't be trusted to stop rifle rounds.

Now, none of that are things you usually obsess over. For the most part, ballistic armor is single use anyway. If you're wearing a Kevlar vest and get shot, it's time to replace that vest. So, having your vest soak a shotgun hit isn't some kind of special tactic on your enemy's part, and is really just your vest doing its job.

Against unarmored targets, shotguns can be downright horrific.

So, using a winter parka to stop a shotgun blast is probably the result of someone who heard the, “shotguns are horrible at armor penetration,” line and took it a little bit too seriously.

There are some AP shells out there. Including slugs that market themselves as armor penetrating. I've never looked too deeply in to these. I know of their existence, but not how effective they actually are.

There's also probably some close quarters scenarios where a slug might punch right through body armor, even though, generally speaking, slugs lose energy extremely quickly, and at mid to long range, they're not going to penetrate. Ultimately, it is an 18mm bullet without a lot of powder behind it, so the drop off makes sense, but it's still a lot of mass to deal with when it's leaving the barrel. Even if your armor holds up, taking that hit is probably not going to be fun.

-Starke

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[ameliathornromance]

“This is Hell.” You groaned to yourself. Curled up under the bedsheets of your shared tent, you lay, with your arms clasped firmly around your lower stomach in the fetus position.

It was the only way your period cramps would stop… sometimes. And today, was not a ‘sometimes’ day.

You thought, God forbid, for a moment before you came on, that you were spared one month of this. But of course, the usual fears came into play – could you be pregnant?

And after determining that there was no way you could be, you thought that this might just be a month where you missed your period.

It was joyous for you. You felt like you could frolic in a field, hair flying in a warm breeze as you hop, skipped and jumped. Right up until you woke up this morning with the worst cramps of the whole of your menstrual life.

You had been in bed the whole day because of them. Your Orc boyfriend had done his best to comfort you when you woke up, but unfortunately, none of his reassurances or soothing back rubs could quell the pain of your uterus taking revenge for your fantasies of one month without a period.

When it was clear that his efforts were doing nothing to sooth the pain, he sighed. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get for you?” your boyfriend asked, feeling completely powerless to the machinations of your body.

You groaned, sarcastically, “you could get your hands on some chocolate for me.”

Chocolate was a rare thing for people of your social standing to afford. It was only given to the richest of people and you had only tasted it once while you were working in a Nobles house for a brief moment.

Right now, the idea of that velvety sweetness gracing your lips was all you could think about right now.

Your Orc, who could sense that you were not in the best of moods, grunted and stood. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You felt guilty asking for it in such a tone. It’s not like your boyfriend had done anything to deserve your sardonic attitude. He was only trying to help.

After that, you hadn’t seen or heard from him for the rest of the day. Your hormonal brain had convinced you that he had abandoned you for how you treated him and sent you into a fit of tears.

Which is why when he came back, you were surprised to see him grinning from ear to ear.

But at the sight of your tears, his expression fell. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” Your Orc rushed over and placed what he was holding on your bedside table.

You sniffled and dried up your tears using your sleeve as you apologised, “I-I’m sorry for being horrible earlier,” you sniffed, “I didn’t mean it, I’m in a lot of pain so please don’t leave me alone!”

Your Orc let out a sigh of relief to your surprise and smiled at you, “honey it’s okay. I know this time is really tough for you, I get it.” He picks up what he left on the bedside table and held out a steaming towel to you. “Here for your cramps.”

Taking the towel, you wrapped it around your stomach and the clenching pain of your abdomen ceased instantly.

More tears began to run down your cheeks as your Orc cupped your face in his hands, “oh I’m so sorry sweetheart, if I’d known it hurt that bad, I’d have been quicker about coming back.”

You shook your head, just grateful for him to be there.

“And, I know you said it with a hint of sarcasm, but I found some anyway.” He held out a small box to you.

You stared at it, taking it from him.

The box was gold and held together with a silky black ribbon tied into a bow, with a tag that had some random mans name scrawled on it in cursive.

Tugging on the ribbon, the bow collapsed and allowed you to open the top of the box. Inside, wrapped in small, individual shiny pieces of paper, was chocolate.

If you were crying before, you were now sobbing. “I… I don’t deserve you.” You said, tearfully. “You’re too good for me.”

Shaking his head, your Orc dried your tears with his thumbs, “that’s nonsense. We all have tough days, okay?” Placing a kiss on your forehead, he made you look at him. “And I’m not going to go anywhere. I promise.”

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Taglist <3

@sunndust @greenie-c

[maxdibert]

Miss Huang is just a reflection of what Cobel and probably Milchick once were: children used, exploited, and psychologically manipulated to serve and be loyal to Lumon. Her addition this season now makes complete sense; it’s a way of showing us just how deeply the company employs the usual mechanisms of a cult—recruiting its members from childhood, manipulating them, brainwashing them, holding them responsible as adults for mistakes made at a young age, denying them the ability to have opinions or to think for themselves beyond the precepts of the cult, and robbing them of a normal childhood.

The fact that when the children finish their “internship,” they have to leave behind an object of emotional value and destroy it, and that Milchick carefully chooses something that still ties Miss Huang to that childish mindset—to the part of her that wants to play, to be a normal child—is utterly terrifying but also disturbingly realistic if you think about how cults manipulate their younger members by denying them the chance to enjoy the most crucial stages of cognitive development. Milchick looks at himself, reprimanding himself for indulging in a childish mindset, projecting his own experience onto Huang, likely thinking of the child he once was, just like her, and the things he must now deny himself as he denies them to her—because that’s the way of Kier.

And then there’s Cobel, who represents the future of all three: someone who gave her life to Lumon and Kier, only for the corporation to take everything from her, including the ideas that led to her success, and ultimately discard her as if she were just an obsolete cog in a vast machine. It’s brilliant, truly brilliant. Huang, Milchick, and Cobel somehow embody the past, present, and future of the organization’s workers and how their path and fate unfold within the company.

And all of this is revealed in tiny doses, in ways that seem meaningless at first, until eventually, when you have enough pieces of the puzzle, you can see the entire perspective and realize that none of it was placed there by chance. Beyond their individual storylines, there is a collective narrative that essentially shows us how Lumon’s mechanisms of manipulation work. Honestly, this seems like one of the most brilliant scripts I’ve ever seen. Seriously, this show is a masterpiece.

[girlgenius1111]

adrenaline junkie

r loves to do dangerous things, relishing in the thrill, the rush of ecstasy that rushes through her. until her overprotective teammates find out about some of her hobbies. and then others find out. it doesn't go great.

disclaimer- as has been established, i do not have BDE, so i haven't ever ridden a motorcycle. or done like most of the things r does in this.

At first, it was only small things that the girls noticed. How you would climb up on stuff and jump off, prompting intense scoldings from your captains and the coaches. If this was any indication as to how they'd act if they learned about your... more intense hobbies, you were pretty determined not to let them find out.

There were different rules for professional athletes than people who's jobs didn't rely on their ability to walk. While it wasn't in your contract, you weren't supposed to do anything physically dangerous. No motorcycles, no skydiving, no cliff jumping, no zip lining, no swimming with sharks. It was all very discouraged.

You were an adult, though, a whole entire individual who could safely decide to do dangerous things for fun. Your teammates still thought of you as a kid, Alexia and Lucy especially. And sure, you were young, but completely capable of making rational decisions for yourself.

You'd had a couple close calls; as big of a city Barcelona was, your teammates all lived near you, and it only made sense that it was only a matter of time before you were caught. Your motorcycle was parked in the building's parking lot, but none of your teammates knew that it was yours when they came over. At least, not at first.

-----

You'd decided to use your bike one morning to go grab coffee. The place was too far to walk, but it was a nice day, and you wanted to enjoy the fresh air. It was a few days into the holiday break, so you knew that a lot of your teammates would be out of Barcelona, at home with their families. This is why you didn't worry about going to the coffee shop that a lot of your teammates frequented. Which would turn out to be a mistake.

You'd had to circle the block the coffee shop was on before you could get a spot right in front. You pulled in, turning the engine off and taking off your helmet, leaving your jacket on. When you turned your attention to the coffee shop, or rather the little tables outside of it, you froze.

There, at one of the little tables with their coffees, sat Ingrid and Frido, jaws practically on the floor as they stared at you. Deciding to play it cool, hoping that if you acted like you hadn't done anything wrong, they'd be alright about it, you walked over to their table.

"Hey guys! I didn't know either of you were still in town." Ingrid was supposed to take Mapi with her to Norway, (Mapi had been complaining about the upcoming cold weather for weeks, but every time she even mentioned spending Christmas with Ingrid's family, she got this disgusting, love sick look on her face). Frido was also supposed to head home to Sweden.

Their only response was to gawk at you, stunned into silence.

"Guys?" You said, playfully waving a hand in front of their faces. This seemed to bring them out of their temporary stress-induced coma. Ingrid stood up, almost knocking the whole table over in the process.

"Are you CRAZY?" She shouted, hands flapping in the air as she spoke, gesturing wildly. Frido's mouth was opening and closing, as if she had so many things to yell, she couldn't settle on one.

"About...?" You said, looking between her and Frido, pretending that you didn't know very well what they were upset about.

"YOU KNOW WHAT ABOUT!" Ingrid yelled, pointing a finger insistently behind you.

"Ingrid, you're kind of making a scene." You mumbled, looking out of the corner of your eye at the pedestrians nearby staring at the Norwegian. She only scoffed in response, hands on her hips, waiting for you to explain yourself.

"You know who is going to make a scene? Alexia, when she finds out her perfect, precious, protégée rides motorcycles in her free time." Frido said finally. Your cool demeanor vanished.

"No, no, Frido you cannot tell her, she would kill me. Kill me dead. And if she didn't Lucy would. Actually, I'm pretty sure half of the team would kill me. Besides Pina. And Mapi."

Ingrid lets out an indignant noise. "Sell the motorcycle and we won't tell."

"You want me... to sell it? Come on, guys, it's not even that dangerous." You try, faltering when both girls rise to their feet again.

"NOT THAT DANGEROUS?" They shout together, and you throw your hands in the air, cutting them off before their lecture can really begin.

"Alright, alright, I'll sell it. You guys are boring. And you better not tell anyone about this. No one. Not even Mapi." You said, making them promise they wouldn't speak a word of it.

They insisted on driving home with you, following your bike in Ingrid's car. They honked whenever anyone came even close to you, and every time you caught a glimpse of them through their windows, Frido was staring at you like a cop tailing a murder suspect. At one point, you were going maybe 5 over the speed limit, and Frido stuck her head out the window, instructing you to slow down immediately.

If it wasn't so incredibly annoying, it probably would have been funny.

You parked the bike elsewhere, now, in case either of the Nordic girls decided to check and make sure the motorcycle was really gone.

-----

Mapi must have cracked Ingrid, you're sure of it. And you knew, too, that she only told Alexia on you because she was jealous that you had a motorcycle and she didn't. Of course, Ingrid thought you'd gotten rid of it. You hadn't. And Alexia, being Alexia, was suspicious enough to figure out that you still owned the motorcycle. She'd come over, accompanied by Lucy and Irene, completely unannounced. You'd let her in, somewhat confused. She snooped around without telling you what she was looking for, before triumphantly holding up the keys to your bike. They were hanging on the hook where they always were, but no one had ever thought to pay attention to them before.

Alexia yelled at you like she'd never yelled before, about the dangers of riding a motorcycle, about lying to her, about not listening when the older girls had tried to keep you safe. She was going on and on, and while Irene and Lucy had started off looking like they agreed with her, they were also definitely over the lecture after a few minutes.

You were in hot water with Alexia as soon as the words left your mouth; you weren't stupid, you knew how she would react to what you had just said, but you had always been hotheaded and her hovering and nagging had gotten to you today.

"You don't need to know about everything in my life, Alexia! I've gone skydiving, and I haven't died. I swam with sharks, and didn't die. Cliff jumping? Zip lining? Bungee jumping? Drag racing? I have done all of that, all since I've been with this team, and I am completely fine. You aren't my mother, and I don't need you to act like you are. I don't need your opinion on everything I do, I don't need you watching my every move. I can do what I want." You snapped. Alexia took a step back from where she'd been standing, a look of hurt flashing across her face.

"Y/n, you're way out of line," Lucy said, looking angry again. Irene nodded her head in agreement.

"No, no. She's right. I'm not her mother. She can do what she wants." Alexia said softly. She dropped the keys onto the counter, and walked out your door without another word.

You were flooded with guilt. Alexia had been more of a parent figure than anyone else in your life had ever bothered to be. You were grateful for it, you really were. She was part of the reason you were the person you were today, having spent the last of your teenage years on the team with her. She'd always watched out for you, always took the time to make sure you were okay. She'd expressed to you, before, her worry that she was overstepping, doing more than you wanted her to do. You'd thrown that right back in her face.

"You need to apologize. That wasn't fair of you." Irene said coldly.

"I just-"

"-No. You and I both know everything that Alexia has done for you, gone out of her way to do for you. She loves and cares about you, obviously you doing stupid and dangerous things is going to bother her." Irene's voice was deadly serious, arms crossed over her chest as she stared you down.

"When you moved here from England, do you know that Alexia called Leah, and talked to her for hours trying to get to know you, and make the transition as easy as possible?" Lucy cut in.

"When you got that concussion last season and you were in the hospital, she sat awake, all night, next to your bed, too worried to rest." Irene continued.

"She has an England shirt with your name on it that she wears to watch you play, did you know that? No one is allowed to see her in it, but she doesn't miss any of your games for England. Not one."

"Your first Christmas here, she went all out with Christmas decorations. You were living with her then, and she wanted the day to be special, even if it wasn't the way she normally did it."

They were switching off, seemingly having endless examples of all the things Alexia had done for you. You were blinking, hard, memories of how easy Alexia had made everything for you flashing through your mind. Lucy spoke more gently.

"You were 16 when you got here, y/n. She has done more for you than anyone. You're her kid whether you like it or not. It doesn't matter that you're 19 now, it doesn't matter that you don't live with her anymore."

"She deserves better than you lying to her about your dangerous hobbies, and she deserves better than how you just treated her. Fix it." Irene finished, tone still just as cold as it had been. She was, herself, rather protective of Alexia, you knew. Her reaction was completely warranted, you knew that too.

Irene turned then too, walking out your door and shutting it behind her. Only Lucy remained, staring at you critically.

"I didn't mean to hurt her feelings." You said weakly.

"I know. You did, though."

"I don't know why I said any of that, I was just annoyed."

"You're young, it's a young person thing to not think before you speak. You do it all the time, normally it doesn't end as poorly as this did." Lucy tried to joke, hating the sad frown on your face, even if you probably deserved it. You just shook your head, looking up at her as a single tear fell down your cheek.

"What do I do, Luce?"

"Give it a couple hours, and then go apologize. And sell the damn motorcycle. Or I'll remove the engine or something." At this, you did smile, if only weakly. "C'mere," she said gruffly, pulling you into a tight hug. "It'll be fine, kid. Alexia would forgive you for anything."

You hoped she was right.

-----

You stood at Alexia's door, about a half hour later. You'd meant to wait as long as Lucy had said, but you couldn't do it. You were fidgeting with your fingers as you waited for her to answer, not really sure what would greet you.

You'd seen Alexia mad, obviously. And you'd seen her sad, though less often. But you'd never seen her sad because of something you'd done. It made you feel sick, that you'd repaid her years of kindness with rude comments that completely disregarded how much she had done for you, because you were slightly annoyed with her behavior. If she was sad, you weren't sure how you could fix it.

When she answered the door, you were stunned, stunned, to see Alexia's eyes slightly red and puffy, like she'd been crying.

"Hola pequeña," she said roughly, wiping at her face as if to rid it of the evidence as to how upset she was.

"Can I come in?" You asked.

"Of course," she said, stepping to the side immediately to let you in. She led you to the living room, and you both took seats on the couch. The Alexia sitting next to you was not one you were used to seeing; you could tell how hurt she was by what you said. You could also tell she was trying to pretend she wasn't hurt, whether because she didn't want to make you feel bad, or because she was embarrassed at the obvious and uncharacteristic display of emotion. You chewed on your lip for a minute, trying to figure out how to apologize.

"Ale, I'm so sorry," you began.

"It's fine," she said, brushing your apology off. She tried to smile at you, but it was weak, and it didn't reach her eyes. It was going to be hard for you to get out what you needed to say, you knew. You weren't good at expressing your emotions, and you'd never really admitted to Alexia what an important role she had played in your life. You tried to show her through actions, but your words earlier had undone anything you'd accomplished in terms of letting her know how much you appreciated her.

"No, it's not fine. I was completely unfair to you. I didn't mean what I said, not at all. I... you've been... for me..." You trailed off, words getting jumbled. "I don't know why this is so hard for me to say."

"It's alright, pequeña, I get it," Alexia said, and she did sound less upset, like she knew what you were trying to say.

"I'm not used to having people in my life that care. I mean, I am now, because I have you and the team, but it still surprises me sometimes when I do something, and people... people care about what happens to me. You've always cared, though. Even when I was an angsty 16 year old with an attitude problem, and I didn't want you to care, you did anyway."

You take a big breath, trying to steady your voice. "You've been more of a parent to me than anyone. I value your opinion, I really appreciate that you care enough to be mad at me when I do something stupid. I'm sorry I said otherwise, because that wasn't true. I was just frustrated, but you deserve better than that. I'm really sorry about what I said, and I'm sorry that I don't express how much I appreciate everything you've done for me."

You take a peak at Alexia once you've finished talking, and find her looking out the window, jaw set tightly. At first, you think she's upset about something that you said. You see her lip wobble slightly, though, before she bites down on it, and realize what's actually going on. Your captain schools her features, before turning to you.

"Thank you for apologizing. I... I was hurt by what you said. I can't help but worry about you, and I know I probably go overboard with it sometimes, but I look at you and see the scared 16 year old you were when you got here, and all I want to do is protect you."

Alexia shuffled closer to you on the couch. "And I know you appreciate me, pequeña. You might not say it, but you show it. You don't need to thank me for caring about you, though. You shouldn't ever feel like you have to thank anyone for that. You deserve love, pequeña, I hope you know that."

You fall somewhat unsteadily into her arms, which wrap around you in a comforting embrace. You blink your tears away, wondering how your apology to Alexia turned into her comforting you, but that was the magic of Alexia Putellas.

"Y/n?” She says, chin resting on top of your head.

"Yeah?"

"Did you really do all those things you said you did?" She sounds slightly ill at the idea, and you wince, wishing you hadn't overshared all of those details.

"Yeah," you answer meekly.

"Dios mio," she mumbles.

"I'll sell the motorcycle," you say placatingly. Alexia lets out a short laugh at that, pulling back from you to look you in the eye.

"I know you will. You aren't ever riding that thing again."

"Well..." You said, unable to stop yourself from glancing towards where you had parked said motorcycle.

"You did not... drive it here... to apologize to me..." Alexia choked out, baffled.

"I did," she groans in exasperation. "But only because I'm taking it back to the dealership right after this. I called, they're gonna buy it back off me." You smile sheepishly at her.

She glares at you. "You better be telling the truth."

"I am, Ale, I promise." You rise, heading back towards the door.

"Good. Off you go, then. Get rid of that deathtrap. And wear your helmet. And drive under the speed limit. And stick to side streets, not busy ones. And-"

"-Alexia, I've been riding it for a year, I'll be fine." You say, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. The blonde looks genuinely anxious at the idea of you driving off on it. "I promise, the dealership isn't far from here, and I'll text you once I'm back home."

She nods, looking at the motorcycle parked outside with an expression full of disdain. "Drive safe," she says finally, and you promise that you will.

-----

You did drive safe. It wasn't your fault that someone ran a red light, or that it just happened to occur right as you were in the middle of the intersection. It wasn't your fault that the car practically t-boned you, the last minute braking doing very little to ease the impact. It wasn't your fault that you were thrown off the bike, sliding and rolling painfully along the pavement until you came to a stop several feet away.

It wasn't your fault.

Still, as you looked up at the sky, feeling yourself begin to lose consciousness, you knew that the fact that it wasn't your fault would not get you out of trouble with Alexia. She couldn't kill you if you were already dead, though, you thought. That was horrifying, and you jerked your eyes back open, trying to stay awake. It was no use, though, and your eyes closed against your will, head rolling weakly to the side on the concrete as spots flooded your vision, until everything around you was dark and quiet.

-----

HA.

part 2 tomorrow :)

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 34: A Promise

Pairing: Paige Bueckers × Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Rating: Teen & Up

Warnings: None (Just Fluff & Slight Nosiness)

Summary: secret missions have good outcomes…

Welcome to the chapter 34 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

Y/n’s POV

Being back to 100% healthy felt amazing. No more sore throat, no more congestion, no more Paige hovering over me with a thermometer every five minutes like a concerned mother.

Now, I could finally breathe—literally and figuratively.

But just as I was settling back into my normal routine, I noticed something off about Paige.

She wasn’t acting weird exactly, but she was definitely up to something.

For one, she kept sneaking looks at her phone and texting like her life depended on it.

Two, she kept disappearing after practice with some excuse that made no sense.

And three, Kk and Aubrey were acting suspicious as hell. More than they normally are.

Now, I wasn’t the jealous type, but I was nosy. And my girlfriend was horrible at hiding things.

Slice of Life Moments (With a Side of Nosiness)

The team had a light practice that morning, mostly film breakdown and individual drills. Since I wasn’t playing, I grabbed my camera to shoot some footage for my next video.

From my usual seat on the sidelines, I caught clips of:

•KK talking trash before airballing a three.

•Ice draining a shot and pointing at KK like she was a disappointment.

•Jana making the cleanest post move I’d seen in a minute.

Through it all, I kept an eye on Paige.

Every time she wasn’t on the court, she was texting.

And not her usual “scrolling on her socials” texting.

This was head down, sneaky smirking, typing way too fast texting.

Suspicious.

After practice, I was packing up my camera when Paige slung an arm over my shoulder.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hey.” I narrowed my eyes. “Where are you running off to today?”

Paige blinked. “What?”

I crossed my arms. “You keep disappearing after practice.”

She laughed nervously. “Do I?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

Paige kissed my cheek. “Don’t worry about it, ma. I’ll be back later.”

And before I could question her further, she was already walking off—dragging KK and Aubrey with her.

Something was definitely up.

Paige’s POV

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Kk asked as we walked through the mall.

I checked my phone again, scrolling through the messages I’d sent to multiple jewelers.

“I need to find the perfect promise ring,” I said.

Aubrey smirked. “And it has to be today?”

“Yes.” I sighed. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, and I need to just do it.”

Kk grinned. “Simp.”

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

She slung an arm around my shoulder. “Nah, it’s cute. You’re obsessed with her.”

Aubrey nodded. “As you should be.”

I smiled to myself. They weren’t wrong.

Picking Out the Ring

We walked into a jewelry store, and I immediately felt out of my depth.

Rows of rings sparkled under the glass, each one looking ridiculously expensive.

A salesperson greeted us with a polished smile. “Looking for something special?”

I nodded. “A promise ring.”

Kk nudged me. “Now P, be specific. She’s picky.”

I shot her a look. “No, she’s not.”

Aubrey hummed. “She kinda is.”

I sighed. “Okay, fine. She is.”

The salesperson chuckled. “Tell me about her style.”

I thought for a moment.

“She likes simple but meaningful things. Nothing too flashy.” I paused. “Something timeless.”

Kk fake wiped a tear. “Oh my god, you’re so in love.”

Aubrey snickered. “She’s down bad.”

I ignored them as the salesperson led me to a display of elegant, minimalistic rings.

One in particular caught my eye.

It was a delicate band with a small, but beautifully cut gemstone. Simple, elegant, perfect.

“That one,” I said immediately.

Kk and Aubrey peered over my shoulder.

Aubrey nodded. “Good choice.”

Kk whistled. “Oh yeah, that’s her vibe.”

The salesperson smiled. “Would you like it engraved?”

I hesitated. “What should I put?”

Aubrey smirked. “‘Property of Paige Bueckers.’”

Kk cackled. “Or just ‘Simp’ in tiny letters.”

I groaned. “I’m ignoring you both.”

Instead, I settled on something personal.

A small engraving on the inside: “Always us.”

Because that’s what it was. Me and her. Always.

Y/n’s POV

Later that night, I was chilling in bed, half-watching a movie and half-editing a video, when Paige walked in.

She looked nervous.

Which meant something was definitely up.

I paused the movie. “What’s wrong with you?”

Paige hesitated, then sat on the edge of my bed.

After a beat, she pulled out a small velvet box.

My heart stopped.

Paige took a deep breath. “So, I’ve been sneaking around because I wanted to get you this.”

She opened the box, revealing the promise ring.

I stared.

Then back at her.

Then back at the ring.

Then back at her.

“Paige.”

“Yeah?”

“You got me a promise ring?”

She nodded. “I know we’re young, and there’s no rush, but… I just wanted you to have this. Because it’s you. It’s always you.”

I swallowed hard. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige grinned. “You love it.”

I smiled, feeling a lump in my throat. “Yeah. I really do.”

She slid it onto my finger, then kissed my knuckles.

Kk’s voice suddenly echoed from outside the door. “IF Y’ALL ARE GONNA BE CUTE, AT LEAST LET US WITNESS IT!”

I groaned. “Oh my god.”

Paige laughed. “This is your life now.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 , @yailtsv , @authentic-girl03 , @sevyscoven , @sitawita , @jadasogay , @vamptizm , .... (more to be added)

[consoledacup]

In order to fully understand Colin's reaction to the Lady Whistledown reveal and how he processes everything moving forward, you have to think about the entire season, the entire series really, through his point of view. I have no problems with the part 1/2 split. It made the anticipation that much more intense, and it worked out perfectly with their love story. But you can't separate one part from the other when you're thinking about his character.

In Colin's mind, the end of episode 4 is his happily ever after. That's it. He did it. He took action. He was the Cupid to her Psyche and played god and rescued her from a loveless match. He made shit happen and told her how he felt and they shared that moment in the carriage, and he gleefully proposed. He saved the girl and got the girl, and what a remarkable, enchanting, beautiful girl she is.

And aside from Eloise and Cressida, everyone's obsessed with their relationship. They're the true love match with a great story, and how lucky he is to fall in love with his best friend. And she's showing hints of unease, but maybe that's just wedding jitters. Or maybe she's mourning her relationship with Eloise which is why he keeps trying to get them to make up. Or maybe she doesn't feel as secure with him as she would've with Debling, even though she'd never tell him that. He is the third son after all. And he still has no idea how in love with him she is.

So when she tells him how she's always loved him, he's warmed but also wracked with guilt. Because if he had only taken his stupid head out of his ass, he would've figured out why her letters meant so much to him or why he was eager to participate in an investment with her family or why her lack of response the past summer devastated him. He thought he was the instigator of their love. He's the one who laid himself bare and was like, is it possible you feel a fraction of what I feel for you? And to find out that she did always love him made him feel so undeserving. Because why would this exquisite siren still want anything to do with him after all that he put her through?

There is an incredible scene that I think deserves a lot more gravitas. The minute Penelope mourns Lady Whistledown and burns her issues, it cuts to Colin getting over his writer's block as he writes with great enthusiasm. It's like, he's unknowingly siphoning her power. He is Cupid and a writer and her protector and her provider and so madly in love. And he will finish his manuscript, and he will make things right with Penelope and Eloise. And he and Penelope will have the perfect life together.

And then everything he thought he knew about Penelope, about friendship, about love, is completely shattered. She rips his power from him, and he is absolutely gutted. She has been the mastermind this entire time, and he was none the wiser. And what part of their love story was even real? At which point was he manipulated into doing what she wanted him to do? And while he was helping her with her confidence, and telling her how changed of an individual he was, she not only saw through him but broadcasted his insecurities to the entire ton?

He's still so desperately in love that he remains steadfast in marrying her. But he cannot get over his fury and hurt and betrayal at that point. Which makes so much sense. It's painful to see him lash out and withdraw from her, but he's absolutely reeling.

And on top of all that, he is humiliated. He thinks about everything she said about his own writing. She told him how he made it seem effortless, which is such a great compliment. And he's like, I don't want you to edit my manuscript because I want to prove to you that I'm worthy of you. And he might be thinking, I can even give her some pointers for her own writing! What fun we'll have with more lessons. To find out that she's the talented, sharpest, most prolific writer in the ton fully emasculates him. He feels like she was patronizing him all along.

He brings that part up, and she's like, no, I meant everything I said about your writing. But he doesn't believe her and immediately switches the conversation to her dangerous predicament, so he can at least, at the very least, offer himself up as her protector. It worked before when he danced with Penelope after Cressida ruined her dress, when he rescued Marina from Rutledge, when he helped save Daphne's reputation, when he saved Penelope's family from Cousin Jack, when he helped save Will's business, when he kissed Penelope, when he saved her from the balloon, when he defended her to her mother... If he can't be the provider, he can be the protector. And she doesn't even want that from him. She's the knight in shining armor. She's Don Quixote. Not him. Never him.

So he is grappling with his role in their union. He figures it out, but it takes him a little bit to get there. And in the process, he not only remains in love with Penelope the entire time, but he also falls head over heels for Lady Whistledown.