#not entirely happy with this but its leagues better than the last time i drew prim

[holytrickster]

[dancingamongstdust]

MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 4)

Requests are still open as of this post.

Shigaraki

You hadn’t meant to cause that level of destruction. It was an accident.

But they hadn’t seen it that way.

Their words followed you even when they could not. You could hear the accusations ringing in your head whenever you used your quirk – for better, or for worse. It became easier to ignore as you slowly learned to stop caring.

Until your quirk went out of control again.

You woke up in a dark room with a pounding headache and exhausted limbs. The doctor who was looking after you (a man you were relatively certain had no actual medical knowledge) had gotten very close and asked how much you remembered. When you informed him that it wasn’t much, he had smiled.

“Well, you certainly drew attention to yourself,” he had laughed. “Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky that the heroes didn’t get to you first.”

“I guess so…”

Something warned you that this situation was more dangerous than it seemed. Your eyes drifted over the covered windows of the room and you stared at the door. “Why did you help me?”

“Well that’s hardly for me –“

He didn’t get a chance to answer before you dashed for the exit. The doctor’s quirk didn’t allow him to grab you and his alarmed shout was all you heard before you were darting down the hallway. You weren’t going to stick around and get experimented on.

You turned the corner, heart pounding in your chest. They must have given you something because you felt drowsy. The entire world was spinning.

But you had to nearly trip yourself up to avoid running directly into somebody as you sprinted down a different hallway.

This was hardly your first time dealing with villains and many of them had odd quirks, to say the least. It shouldn’t have shocked you to see somebody with a human hand on their face but maybe the medication was lowering your tolerance because it was terrifying.

“Who are you?” you snapped out, immediately on the defense. You took a step away, ready to run or fight, whichever seemed easiest.

The man didn’t seem too bothered by your snap at least; the one eye that you could see watched you steadily from behind his hand mask. “I’m sure you’re not meant to be running around here,” he said. “But you’re no hero so you must be here for your quirk. Do you still have it?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t unknown in the underground that there was a man who stole quirks he liked. Nobody knew what he did with them but it wasn’t unheard of for villains to wake up with nothing. And you would never get them back.

You could feel your quirk was still there. It pulsed under your skin like a warning.

“My quirk?” you repeated. “I have my quirk.”

You did a random gesture, summoning all of your past acting experience to appear horrified when nothing happened. Again and again you tried before looking around in shock and horror.

The guy bought it and he shrugged. “Then there’s no reason to stop you.” He brushed past you and continued walking. “Not like you could find the exit anyway.”

The moment he turned the corner, you dropped the act and bolted again. This place was a maze but you found the exit and avoided any encounters with a practiced ease. Before leaving, you looked back up at the building and grimaced, hoping to never see it again.

Toga

It was late at night when you had the strangest encounter of your life. Not that that was a bad thing necessarily but it was something that occurred, nevertheless.

You had been feeling quite exhausted from a long day of fun with your friends. They had headed off to get a cab when you had realised that you needed the bathroom and disappeared to go find one.

There was a public toilet not too far from the street though it certainly wasn’t as clean as you would have hoped. Not to be deterred, you slipped in and found a sight that, even to your exhausted mind was uncomfortable.

A girl stood in front of one of the mirrors, blood staining much of her face. It covered the counter beneath her fingers and seemed to be coming from her lip.

“Are you okay?!” you asked, panicked.

She looked up at you, startled. Her dark hair covered much of her expression but she seemed a little out of it. Maybe she got hit on the head or something.

“I –“ she paused, her voice croaky and sore. She brought her hand up to rub her throat. “I think so.”

“Just wait, let me help you,” you said. You rushed into one of the stalls and gathered up some toilet paper. “Do you need me to call somebody or?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. Thank you.”

You offered some of the damp tissue to her and she started wiping it away from her mouth. While she dealt with that, you cleaned the blood that she had left on the counter, making sure to get it out of all the cracks in and around the sink. “What happened to you?” you asked. “Did somebody attack you?”

“I slipped,” she said. “The tiles are really slippery and I think that I hit my mouth on the sink. It’s all kind of blurry.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, digging through your bag and grabbing some headache tablets. You offered the bottle to her. “Take two of those just in case. Even if it doesn’t hurt now, you don’t want to wake up with a headache tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Do I still have any blood on me?”

“Just on your jaw,” you pointed out. “Come on, my friends and I are getting a cab. We can call one for you also if you need.”

She took one last glance in the mirror before leaving. You had forgotten your own need for the bathroom and it was for good reason also. If you had hung around for a little longer, you may have seen blood trickling out from one of the stalls. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have been so worried about this stranger hitting her head.

“What’s your name?” you asked as you looked around for your friends.

“Toga,” the girl said, though she didn’t seem too happy with having told you. The words must have slipped out without her meaning to.

You gave her your own name and went up onto your toes to look around the crowd for your friends. Eventually you spotted them and waved but when you spoke to Toga, she didn’t respond.

She had disappeared into the crowd.

You went back into the bathroom and checked but she was long gone. Just like how the blood has escaped your notice earlier, you didn’t see the blonde watching you from the other side of the street, her head tilted a little.

Dabi

It was a rare day when you found yourself alone without at least one person to watch your back. You didn’t always need the protection but sometimes, it was nice to have.

But you had given your word and it wouldn’t do to back out of this now.

The building where everything had been organised was old and crumbling – its ancient nature hidden on the outskirts of the city and slowly becoming overtaken by countless plants. It wasn’t somewhere anybody with good intentions would find themselves.

You liked to think that your work was good. It benefitted many and took only from those who could afford to lose it. Unfortunately though, rules had to be broken for the best results, and sometimes what was classified as ‘wrong’ turned out to be needed in order to achieve a goal. It wasn’t quite in line with what you believed but it had to be done.

Did working with villains make you uncomfortable? Of course. But it was hardly going to be something that stopped you from moving forward.

The two members from the League of Villains that had been sent to meet you were both men. You didn’t bother with greetings, just holding up the briefcase that you held.

“I’m looking for a specific artwork,” you said. “I’ve been told that you might be able to help?”

“An artwork?” the one asked. He wore a white and black mask that concealed most of his face and an extremely gaudy costume.

“Not just an artwork,” you explained. “It has something of mine hidden in the canvas. Normally, I would just get the police involved but if they found it, it would be quite problematic for me. The group that stole it won’t listen to many but the League of Villains, I’m afraid. They have a few good quirks and they’re extremely cocky for it.”

“We’re not lapdogs,” the other man said. “Especially not for whatever agenda you’re pushing.”

“I don’t pay lapdogs,” you acknowledged. “Consider me a sponsor.”

Flames cackled into existence in his hand, surprising his colleague enough to jump a little. “Chances are, they’ve already found your thing. Even if they haven’t, the league can hardly go around picking fights with random gangs.”

“Shigaraki did ask –“

The masked man was cut off by a glare. Blue flames sent flickering light through the air as they waited patiently for your answer.

“If it’s already been discovered or if it happens to get damaged during the process, then I don’t plan on getting anything out of our deal. It’ll simply be a loss on my side.”

The flames slowly flickered out and you allowed yourself to breathe again. Confidence was a requirement for these deals but you didn’t quite have the nerves of steel that you portrayed. It was always a fight to keep your reactions in check.

“I guess if we happen to bump into the group, we can check around for your shit.”

You knew his bluff as well as your own. The League of Villains had always worked well with those who had money. They required funding and wouldn’t say no to being able to flex their reputation around the underground. It was almost needed with the way rumours were circulating.

It was less than a week after that encounter when you found your artwork sitting outside your home. Charred on the edges, it was damaged enough to make the art itself worthless. But your items inside were perfectly unharmed.

Not bad for your first time working alongside the League of Villains. It was worth the cost… you should do it more in the future.

Twice

When you had been called in for this job, you had no idea that it was going to turn into a fight of the magnitude you experienced.

Flames tore along the streets. They melted lamps and trapped hundreds inside buildings – the screams for help becoming almost deafening as you broke down yet another wall to get civilians out. It was the third building you had had to smash into and there were more yet.

Nobody could get out and, if they remained trapped, they wouldn’t survive much longer.

When your partner and you had realised you were dealing with the League of Villains, you had immediately called in the big guns. What you hadn’t realised was that doing so would result in a brawl of sorts in the streets. The League of Villains didn’t care about collateral and honestly, sometimes you wondered if the heroes did.

You were starting to overheat. The amount of fire swirling around was getting to you, drawing the breath from your lungs and slowing your movements. Its angry blue nature hinted at its abysmal nature.

The next building’s walls took even longer to get through but you managed it and a few people scrambled out. You ushed as best as you could although it was starting to get hard to speak.

But then you noticed a dark figure lying in one of the rooms

Outside, the fire roared and smacked against the walls but you couldn’t just leave somebody there. You stepped over the rubble and made your way to the figure.

It was hard to make out details with the flames. The heat seemed to be getting worse as you approached – soon identified as being caused by the gaping hole in the wall. It radiated around the room in waves. You covered your mouth and nose the best you could, creeping forward to reach where the person was.

When you arrived, it took you no time to recognise that you weren’t saving an unfortunate civilian but rather a member of the League itself.

You hesitated for a second before hooking your arms under his and beginning to drag him away from the danger. This was the type of thing that lost reputation for heroes. Civilians didn’t like seeing villains being rescued but you honestly didn’t care.

If he was left there, he was probably going to end up dying.

Though he had seemed unconscious, when you got him out of the building, he muttered something and moved. It was enough to make you jump back but he didn’t attack or anything. He just touched his face and then let his arm go limp again.

You moved back cautiously. His suit had been ripped on the one side, missing its arm and half of the torso. You checked his pulse, relieved to feel that it was still going, even if it was unsteady.

“Can you hear me?” you asked.

He didn’t respond and you reached up to remove his mask. His hand immediately snapped up to grab your wrist and you prepared to activate your quirk but all he did was push your arm away from his face.

Alright then. No touching the mask.

You bandaged the open wound on his side as best as you could. It looked like he had gotten launched through the building. Once he was as stable as he could be, you moved him to a safer area and jumped back into the fray. A ton of rescues later and the heroes had won, at the destruction of much property.

And, rather unsurprisingly, the villain you had saved was long gone.

Overhaul

There was a new drug running around the market. You had heard of a number of small-time villains taking it – most of them dying shortly after consumption. It wasn’t unheard of. If something had even the promise of a good time then it would attract thousands.

But what was a problem was that you had lost several of your newest underlings as a direct result of this drug.

Given how picky you were about hiring, this was going to be a problem.

You tracked the source to none other than the Shie Hassaikai. They were an old branch of the yakuza, sitting on the edge of a downward spiral into irrelevance. Rumors followed that their boss had fallen quite ill and now, it was only a matter of time until they fell completely on their faces.

So you didn’t feel too nervous when you approached the house that fronted their main base. Even with the members watching you from the bushes, you kept a straight line.

You weren’t unknown. It would do them a great disservice to attack you.

And they knew it.

You walked in the front door with absolutely no resistance and remained unsurprised when two masked men came out to greet you. They didn’t ask about your business or enquire as to who you were. Instead, they led you into a sitting room and gestured for you take a seat.

Instead of that, you walked around the room and picked up everything that looked interesting. Nothing was hidden around but you hadn’t expected there to be.

“Please don’t touch things without gloves on,” a smooth voice interrupted your curiosity. “Cleaning this entire house is rarely needed and I’d rather you didn’t change that.”

You turned around to find somebody considerably younger than you had expected for the head of the Shie Hassaikai. He wore their signature mask and a feathered coat, almost his entire body hidden in some way.

“Not a fan of germs?” you enquired.

“Not at all.”

You shrugged and made your way to the couch, sinking down into it. “Guess that means no drinks or anything? Oh well, that’s too bad.” You gestured for him to sit.  “So, you’re not who I was expecting.”

“You’ve never worked with our organisation before,” he said, sitting on the edge of the chair opposite you.

“No. You’re not in the same line of work as me and I don’t care too much about the Yakuza.”

“Then why are you here?”

You straightened, aware that you were about to get into the most dangerous part of the meeting. “Your drugs have been getting into my areas. Now, I don’t care all too much about how you distribute stock but it’s not just coming into possession of low-life criminals. My men are getting practically gifted it.”

His eyes narrowed. “We need to test it somehow. Besides, that sounds like a problem for you, no? Have better control of your men.”

“Keep your test tube shit out of my territories.”

A small staring contest took place – a test to see who would break first. You had been in almost a hundred of these over the course of your career. They didn’t bother you much at all in anymore.

Eventually he waved his hand through the air. “I guess we could stop supply to traders in your areas but this isn’t a charity.”

“I could kill your men.”

“But you would lose your own in the process. Wouldn’t it be easier to do this the peaceful way and maybe even establish a relationship between our two groups?”

“You have my attention. Don’t waste it.”

Kurogiri

There are those days when everything begins so well only to rapidly spiral into a situation out of your worst dreams. This was something like that.

You had gotten horribly caught in the crossfire of a battle between heroes and villains. It all occurred faster than you could have ever imagined – flashes of light and explosions of sound. People were screaming, the sound coming through a haze as you tried to get a grasp on what had happened.

Blood was trickling down your arm but you felt no pain. You slowly lifted your head. Something had hit you, you remembered that now as your brain caught up to the dull ache coming from your ribcage.

You tried to move, finding that you couldn’t. The ache became worse and a heavy, scraping sound interrupted your attempts to crawl away.

It was a piece of concrete, heavy and painful, pinning you effectively to the ground. A smaller chunk was holding it up and stopping you from being crushed. But if you moved too much…

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, nearly choking on the dust that filled the air. Maybe if you shifted slowly.

A crunching noise made you hiccup.

Alright, so that wasn’t going to work either. You strained your eyes to see through the carnage but you couldn’t make out any heroes. They would come eventually; you just had to wait patiently and try not to move too much.

The concrete seemed to get heavier still and you fought the desire to cry.

There was a crunching sound. You couldn’t just wait around.

Slow as you dared, you began to inch forward. The rough surface snagged at your clothing and made every centimeter feel like it was going to end with you crushed. Worse still, the more you moved, the more apparent the injury on your back became.

The blood that had been trickling down your arm was now creeping along your torso. It pooled in your clothes and made everything sticky.

You tried not to think about it but it made you light-headed regardless.

About half-way out, you spotted somebody nearby. It was just their silhouette but still, relief flooded your veins and you cried out desperately for help.

The figure made its way over to you, soon revealing that the man was almost entirely made of smoke. He wore a suit and tie but his body swirled as though only somewhat solid. Bright yellow eyes stared at you – any emotion behind them was completely unreadable.

His eyes traced your shape. “You’re not who I’m looking for.”

“Please help me. This thing’s going to crush me.”

He paused, the swirling darkness that made up his face shuddered as though it was unsure how to respond. “I should leave you here,” he mentioned. “You’re of no consequence to me or to my cause. If anything, I should add pressure to the piece of rubble and make sure the fatality numbers are higher.”

You caught of whimper before it could escape. “Please.”

His smoke shook again, almost as though he was struggling to keep hold of it. Then he raised a foot and placed it on the concrete.

You screwed your eyes shut and tried to imagine the best parts of life.

A loud horn blaring made you open them again and a surprised yelp escaped as you saw tires race past in front of you. People were shouting, their voices loud and nearby. Bright lights surrounded you and the air was clear once more.

The last thing you remembered seeing was a panicked nurse rushing over to you.

[storyofmychoices]

First Impressions

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist]

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley (OC) Other Characters (mentioned): Jackie Varma, Unnamed MC Book: Open Heart (Book 1, Chapter 1) Word Count: <1,400

Prompts: polaroid @choicesaprilchallenge2021; for anon who asked “First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?” For Bryce x Olivia [Short answer: yes!]

Synopsis: Bryce and Olivia meet for the first time in the Edenbrook locker room on the first day of their intern year. Neither of them expected to feel what they felt about someone they didn’t even know yet.

Her smiling face stared back up at her from her new hospital ID badge. “Doctor Olivia Hadley”, she traced the first word with her finger, still in disbelief. It didn’t feel real. She was a doctor. All of her hard work and dedication had finally gotten her where she wanted to be: helping people. She had dreamed of being a doctor her entire life. Edenbrook was a big step up from diagnosing and treating her bears and dolls as a child. 

She was a doctor. She had made it! A little squeal slipped from her lips; her hand quickly clapped over her mouth, hoping no one had heard it. 

Her embarrassing slip seemed to go unnoticed. Two doctors in their underwear bickered while talking to another doctor who had just arrived; her scrubs were already soiled from triaging a patient on the way in. 

Olivia's gaze settled on the male doctor who stood almost proudly in his boxers, no modesty or shame. His confidence was overwhelming. Her heart fluttered as her she took him in.

His laughter was infectious. It melted through her nerves and worries. Something about it was calming. Behind the boisterous cock-sure tone, there was a genuine joy in its melody. His brown eyes glowed with a beautiful fire. It was a rare sight to see. 

The muscular doctor argued cheekily with a gorgeous female doctor. A pang of disappointment filled her as she listened to their spirited teasing Olivia wondered if they were a couple already or if they were on their way to it. She wasn't sure why she cared. She wasn’t there to engage in a fling; she was there because her life’s purpose had always been to help and to heal. She reminded herself that she didn’t even know his name, so how could she already feel for someone she hadn’t met. She thought herself better than falling for a party boy. Sure, he looked like his stomach and chest had been carved from caramel-colored marble and every inch of it was real and not photoshopped. She knew that meant nothing; although, her whole body warmed at the thought.   

Olivia took a deep, focused breath, turning back to her locker. He was so out of her league; there wasn’t even any use fantasizing about it (even though she could already tell it would be a fantastic fantasy).

She took a polaroid photo of herself as a child wearing a lab coat, dressed as a doctor for Halloween, and tacked it up to remind her how far she had come. If that little girl could see her now; a soft smile grew on her face at the memory and all those memories she had made on her journey to get here.

The playful bantering of the three doctors seemed to die down. She could hear the two female doctors' conversations fading as they left the locker room. She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and readjusted her lab coat. Taking one last look in her little mirror, she shut her locker quietly, hoping to slip out unnoticed. 

“Hi.” His cool voice greeted her, as the still shirtless doctor leaned casually against the lockers. He gave her his most charming grin. If this were a cheesy romantic comedy, his teeth would have been sure to sparkle.

Olivia shook her head, trying to remember what words were as his gaze drew her deeper. “Uh, hi.” 

“I'm Bryce.” He smirked, stepping closer and offering her his hand. 

She swallowed hard, reluctantly accepting his gesture.  “Liv. Olivia. I’m a pediatric intern. Pleased to meet you.”

He turned her hand in his own, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. Her skin was soft and inviting. He didn’t want to let go. His voice was smooth and sultry, “the pleasure is all mine.” 

She pulled her hand back, trying to hold in her slight scoff. She had heard him use that same line on one of the other doctors just a few minutes earlier. She cleared her throat. Weakly, she asked, “do you mind putting a shirt on?”

He raised his brow questioningly but threw his surgical scrubs on. “Better?”

“Immensely,” she rolled her eyes, unamused. 

“I aim to please,” he winked, moving closer once more. His gaze settled on hers as if he had something more to say, but no words came.  

The fire in his eyes drew her in like a moth to a flame. She had thought seeing him clothed would break the illusion and free her from his pull; but, she was caught in his gaze like she assumed so many others had probably been, completely enraptured by his beauty. For a moment, she forgot why she was there and the promise she had made to herself and her parents: no first-day flings. A blissful warmth washed over her as his smile widened. She wondered what he was thinking and if he felt the same odd stillness and warmth that she did standing there with him. It was peaceful, a quiet hope-filled moment with a whispered promise of something she couldn’t quite understand. Her eyes closed as her smile grew too wide, breaking the spell. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Olivia took a step back. "I should—" Her fingers pointed over her shoulder to leave, but her feet stood still. 

As if coming out of a trance himself, he shook his head letting the locker room shift back into focus. He noticed for the first time that all of the other interns had since left. "Me too." 

"We don't want to be late," Olivia lied; everything in her wanted nothing more than to stay in his warm glow. 

"Right." He agreed, turning back to his own locker and shoving his stuff in swiftly. He had planned to be the first surgical intern at the meeting to make a good first impression, but here he was still there with her. He wasn't sure how much time had passed or how he so easily let it slip away from him. "See you later, Liv?"

"I hope so," Olivia admitted softly, attempting to temper her smile. She was certain she looked like a bushing schoolgirl with a new crush.

"Until then."

Something about the quiet doctor pulled him into her. He first noticed her when her little squeal drew his focus momentarily. She was so happy to be there; it was endearing. He had seen her sneak a peek of his features earlier when he and Jackie were talking to the hopeful diagnostic intern. Her blushing cheeks were adorable. He had to know her name and why he couldn’t stop thinking about her, even when there were two stunning female doctors shirtless in front of him. 

As she moved to organize her locker, he snuck behind it. His heart beat a little faster as she tossed her hair back behind her shoulders, readjusting her lab coat. He waited patiently for her to notice him; but she didn’t. Not until she shut the locker. 

He cringed at himself at his cheesy hello and the awkward start to their conversation. She didn't seem to care for his state of undress. He was taken aback when she had asked him to put a shirt on, but he complied not wanting to let her go yet.

He drifted closer to her without thinking. He hadn't intended to stay like this, trapped in her gaze; however, there was something about the tenderness of her eyes that kept him there. It was comforting, like the warm breeze off the cool ocean on a hot summer day. Home wasn't a concept he had much faith in lately, but if he had to label it with one word, that's what this moment felt like, what she felt like—home. He laughed at himself for even thinking such a thought. 

She was just a beautiful woman with kind eyes. What made her so different? He tried to ignore the feeling, but it only grew the longer they stayed there. He didn't want the moment to end, but he knew it had to. He was grateful when she pulled away first, reminding them both they had somewhere they needed to be. 

Bryce watched her walk away, hoping for a reason he didn't yet understand, that he would see the pediatric intern again, and sooner rather than later. There was something about her that he needed more of.

Perma tags: @lilyoffandoms ; @raleighcarrera ; @mfackenthal ; @the-soot-sprite ; @virtuallytakenby ; @zeniamiii ; @whimsicallywayward15; ; @xjustin-ethansgirliex ; @caseyvalentineramsey; @trappedinfanfiction; @anotherbeingsworld​ ;  @tyrils-star ; @arnikki-2406 ; @princess-geek ;  @katrinegrey​ ; @lucy-268​ ; @schnitzelbutterfingers​ ; @gardeningourmet​

Bryce //  Open Heart Tags:  @thearianam​  ; @burnsoslow​ ; @mvalentine​  ; @rookie-ramsey​ ; @missmiimiie​;; @jamespotterthefirst​ ; @adrianadmirer​ ; @bitchloveskcbaseball​ ; @nyastarlight​ ; @doriansapprentice​ ; @brycesgirl​; @bratzlahela​; @ofpixelsandscribbles​;  @superharriet​ ; @loveellamae

[itsmeevie01]

Bio!Dad Bruce Day 5-Overprotection

After Marinette had cried herself out, Bruce guided the duo back into the kitchen. Alfred sent them all a smile before he vacated the room. On the table were four cups of hot chocolate and some of the croissants that Marinette had made during her panic that morning. When they had all settled, Bruce turned to his daughter. “Marinette, are you willing to talk about it?” The girl hunched slightly, before she looked over at him with red eyes.

“I, I can try.” She looked off slightly, seemingly focusing on the cabinets.

 “At the beginning of August, there was a storm in Pairs. I think it made it on the news. Internationally, I mean. But… it wasn’t a storm. It was…it was this- “Here, Marinette’s voice broke and she paused to collect herself. “it was my friend. She had been turned into, into, into a- “Dick pulled her into a hug, and let the girl collect herself.

“Net, if you need to stop, we won’t push you.” His reassurance was received with a nod.

“No, I, I can do this.” She took a deep breath. “My friend was turned into a villain because she was upset about loosing a competition. After that, we learned very quickly that someone was turning people into, into Akumas- “both Bruce and Dick jumped at the venom in her voice. “My class has almost all been turned at one point or another. In Paris, we all have to be happy. We aren’t allowed to be upset, we aren’t allowed to have a bad day, we aren’t allowed to feel!” Bruce stared at her; his face carefully blank as he processed the information. A noise in the doorway drew their attention and the trio turned to see Tim standing there. He looked shocked and the tremor in this hand as he came to join them made it clear that he had heard what Marinette had said.

“Little Bit, hey, I’ve got you” as he had moved to sit down, Marinette had thrown herself at him. As the girl hugged her brother, the others present in the room glanced at each other. Their worry was clear, and if they had their way, the girl would be staying in Gotham until this threat was neutralized.

“Who is fighting these… Akumas?” Dick’s question snapped Marinette’s attention in his direction, and she paused before responding,

“Ladybug and Chat Noir have been fighting them for the last five months. And its not the Akumas that are the worry, it’s their master Hawkmoth.”

To say that Bruce was pissed would be an understatement. Why was it that he hadn’t heard about this? Even more worrying, why hadn’t the League heard about this villain who basically boiled down to an emotional terrorist. With shaking hands, he called Sabine, intent on getting answers.

He wasn’t sure what he thought he was going to hear, but shock that Marinette wasn’t handling the situation like Sabine thought she should be not what he was expecting. When he had proposed keeping Marinette with him, Sabine had given a firm no, claiming that their daughter had to get her emotions under control. She hadn’t had any trouble before, why should this be any different.

When Bruce had gone to talk to Marinette about his idea, she had given him a firm “no” as well. As much as she loved her father, she claimed that she couldn’t abandon her friends and family back in Paris.

That evening after dinner when he went to talk to Dick about what he had dug up while Bruce had been on the phone, he was shocked at the security that Duck had to enlist Tim to break for them to even have references in the first place. Once they had gotten inside however, they entered a world much different than the one that was presented to them before. The look they got inside of Paris reminded Bruce more of Gotham than he would like to admit.

After being told that he could not keep his youngest in Gotham (Her argument boiled down to the fact that neither city was truly that safe…) Bruce tried to hire a bodyguard. When that didn’t work, he started to drop suggestions for forms of self-defense. Eventually, Marinette had to look him dead in the eye and threaten to leave on the first flight out of the city of he didn’t drop it.

Over the next week, Tim and Marinette started to spar under Dick’s watchful eye to pacify Bruce, but the man didn’t truly feel any better, until his daughter huffed and offered to put a tracker in her phone that he could use to keep an eye on her. She also pointed him to two blogs that she said were pretty reliable. One, The LadyBlog was run by a girl who, in Bruce’s mind, took too many risks. The other one, The Lady’s Spots, was run by the girl that Marinette had said was turned because of losing a competition.

 After that, the topic fell on the backburner. They did, after all have Christmas to celebrate. The day was spent with the entire family converging on the house. Jason and Steph made appearances, and Barbra Gordan showed up as well. The day after, when the Kents had stopped over for a visit, Bruce had pulled Clark off to the side, and brought him up to speed on what he knew of the situation. Partway through the festivities, as he was working to keep Clark for flying straight to the French city, Marinette got a notification on her phone that sent her tearing out of the room. When she had left the room, Tim and Bruce also had their phones go off. When they went to check, they found Akuma alerts and directions for civilians filling up both blogs. An hour and a half later when Marinette came back down, looking more than slightly angry, the others were quietly talking about the fight they had witnessed. When Clark had gone to ask her questions, the girl deflected, citing the fact that it was a holiday (even though it was technically the day after) and therefore they would not discuss depressing topics.

After Marinette returned to Paris, it was not uncommon for Bruce to have at least one of the blogs up in the background, grasping at straws, trying to find a way to help his little girl.

Heyyy

so the plan is, once this month is over, ill go back and fill in the big important days that im glssing over. right now, however, im trying to start on that plot that i mentioned. im not sure hoe long it’ll take me to the plot fleshed out, but it’ll probably carry out into a bit of october.

in other news, its Labor Day Weekend for me and that means that im going to have zero free time. each day will be posted, but dont be surprised if they are pretty short for a few days.

[ghostmartyr]

how a life can move from the darkness [11/?]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

Summary: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their  living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn  found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

Ymir was going to be part of Eren’s life. He’d known for a while he didn’t have much of a choice in that. There wasn’t anything surprising about her coming to one of Zeke’s games. The surprise would be if she kept it at one. Ymir did what she wanted unless Historia told her not to, and according to Reiner what she wanted was to see Historia in a baseball uniform.

Eren didn’t need to know that, but he was getting used to all of it. He didn’t need Historia asking him five different times if Ymir meeting Armin and Mikasa was something he was okay with. No one had to hold his hand over them anymore. He had two of his own.

ymir’s showing at the game historia’s friend

               Is this the girl from juvie

why do you know that

                               Historia was in juvie??

               She watches Rivaille for me sometimes.                It came up.

                               Why was Historia in juvie??

from when she killed her dad

                               Oh. That makes sense                                Wait, I thought that was self defense sort of

               No.

                               ????

It was all fine, and the worst thing about any of it was still that he was going to one of Zeke’s baseball games. Which wasn’t even so bad with Armin, Mikasa, and Historia all there and whole. Petra had called it a ‘sterling improvement.’ Eren didn’t remind her of all the parts left to work on. Maybe she’d call that an improvement, too.

What wasn’t fine was jolting awake at four in the morning, music Eren didn’t recognize blasting from his phone while his head hit go on lunging out of bed into his nightstand.

Ankle caught in his sheets, Eren held the box of sensory destruction in his hands for full seconds before the ability to turn it off came back to him. Blinding puffs of white clouds parted, and he could swipe the brightness down to numbing without his ears bleeding.

A jumble of words waited on his brain to catch up. Sprouting like weeds.

yo Baseball Boy u have friends coming to this thing right ur ocean instagram hot tub scale bro and catgirl

The corner of his phone agreed. It was four in the morning.

It buzzed enthusiastically in his hand, helpful emoji arrows loading to point at empty image boxes. They were quickly filled by another Eren, kneeling in wet sand and unaware that Armin was expanding the subjects of his Instagram. Five different angles popped up.

who needs this many pics of a sea urchin was he trying to get the seashell ur on top of

Eren’s fingers moved slowly.

               why are you awake

Ymir did not respond with an answer.

how many hours do photoshoots like this take

Another shot loaded under the text, and it could have been the end of the world and Eren still would have recognized the picture from his last beach trip. Mikasa, magically captured in a moment of lifting him and Armin into the air. The unfair, unexpected moment in a day of clouds and uncooperative waves. Armin hadn’t seen it coming any more than Eren had, even though it was his picture. But he was the one beaming into the camera.

Eren hadn’t wanted to go. There was a tournament to prep for. Annie had been helping him. The cut on his cheek from her toe catching his face hadn’t even had a chance to heal. Captured in that one second Mikasa had lifted them up and Armin had thought to hold on to his phone, the mark was bright and red, flexing with his open mouth of outrage.

Mikasa was smiling too. She just wasn’t looking at the phone.

The top of the photo was cut off with a buzz.

u have a face under that hair… unreal […] u’d look prettier if u smiled

Eren untangled his foot from his bedding and flumped back on his pillow with his phone in hand.

               fuck off

do u kiss ur besties with those fingers am I gonna get to watch that @ the game

Irritation didn’t offer the same warmth as his comforter, but the kindling helped take off the morning chill. Eren scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand and scowled at the screen.

               you and historia need to stop asking about that                I’m fine

A minute passed. Long enough for a yawn to dim the adrenaline.

cool

Eren waited for the rest.

He woke up with the sun shining under his blinds, his phone inside his pillowcase, no new messages from Ymir, and one unread apology text from Historia sent at five in the morning. And a baseball game to go to.

----

“You sure you don’t want to play? You have the arms for it.”

Yelena sat in the corner of the dugout. Up straight, even though her hair caught in the splinters hooked in the ceiling. Smiling, because she did that. Giving Eren an entire bench of personal space he hadn’t asked for, because she did that too.

“I’m sure,” he said, taking the batting helmets out of Zeke’s bag and jamming them in their cubbies.

Yelena was the only other person in the dugout. She started better cold. According to her.

Mikasa and Historia were warming up in the outfield, Historia looking out at the bleachers every five seconds. Colt and Zeke were next to them. Throwing like Colt didn’t mind doing nothing else a thousand times over.

One of the helmets hit the shelf instead of its slot. Eren ignored the field and shoved it back into place. Armin was planning to be on time instead of an hour early, so he wasn’t around yet.

Yelena was smiling at Eren.

He didn’t like it.

“Zeke keeps a spare uniform on hand. Your roommate would have found trouble with the fit, but your proportions are more agreeable,” Yelena said. “He’d be happy to give it to you. Playing with his brother again would mean the world and more to him.”

The helmets were cheap plastic past the padding. Eren’s hands could crack them. Easily. Take Zeke’s toys and break them to see if that would make talking to Eren about feelings and what he wanted sound any better.

He’d done that by accident as a kid. It never worked. Whether or not it would now wasn’t a thought that had even settled when a new voice found its way into the shaded dirt. “What’s big brother have against the world?”

Like a grinning gargoyle, mocking and light, Ymir appeared, settling her arms on the dugout’s roof and leaning into Eren’s personal space. His reflection blinked at him from the mirrored rainbow sunglasses perched on her forehead.

It took several seconds before the reflection’s eyes shifted enough to catch the waving figure next to her. Armin, earlier than he ever was to these, because he never got enough sleep and had to catch up somewhere, smiled awkwardly, a good chunk of his body fully accosted by Ymir.

Something heavy and warm was threading into Eren’s chest, and it made it hard to look at either of them. “Aren’t those Reiner’s?” he asked.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?”

He put away the last helmet soundlessly. “You stole his sunglasses?”

“Since my last felony went so well,” Ymir said, hopping down and crushing a sunflower seed under the pointed dress shoes she’d decided to wear to a baseball game. “You should care more that I stole Instagram boy.”

She flipped off the glasses and planted them squarely on Eren’s head, bypassing every physical and verbal protest. Armin, standing out in the sunshine and looking happier than anyone should at one of these things, quietly drew out his phone and Eren rolled his eyes compliantly before the shutter noise sounded.

Yelena interrupted the moment.

“You’re new.”

Armin’s smile stiffened. Ymir’s hands made another knot in Eren’s hair, and she passed Yelena a bored look. “Yeah,” she said, “I suppose I am. You’d be?”

“Yelena,” said Yelena. A hand stuck out by Eren’s hip and hovered there with all the earnest politeness that never felt honest coming from her. She kept at it every time anyway. “It’s a pleasure to meet another one of Eren’s friends.”

“I’ll bet,” Ymir said. “You don’t look like someone who comes by that naturally.” There was a shark in those teeth. Eren hadn’t realized Yelena was bleeding in the water. “Don’t take it too personally; that brother of his doesn’t have apartment privileges either.”

Without another word, she grabbed Eren by his scalp and yanked him up the steps, disregarding his balance and safety and pulling him into the morning sunlight next to a staring Armin. Before she kept the movement going and pressed heavy hands on their backs and shoved them out of the backstop’s limits.

Failing on the rest, and making limited headway forcing Ymir out of his hair, Eren offered,“Good morning.”

Armin, eyes alight and stunned, said, “Good morning.”

Eren jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “This is Ymir.”

Armin nodded. “We met by the drinking fountain.”

Eren nodded.

Ymir continued pushing them towards the bleachers, scuffing line chalk all over their shoes, with only one telling stumble that set Armin free from her grip. Eren wasn’t so lucky, and it felt on purpose.

The pressure pushing him away from the dugout didn’t let up. Ymir had earned her rock climbing qualifications somewhere and it showed, but her entire head was aimed at the outfield, where Historia missed an easy lob by her head because her glove was down at her waist. Mikasa had to call her name several times before it took, and she jogged back to fetch the ball with a stumble that gave Mikasa time to look over to determine what was so distracting.

She found Eren first. In their oddly connected pile.

He pointed at Ymir.

Mikasa’s eyebrows rose. He shrugged.

Ymir stared, since that’s what she did when Historia was in orbit, and Historia kept moving while she stared back. Crossing near Zeke and Colt in the process. Where every third throw was a risk since Zeke was putting Colt through grounder paces. Colt wasn’t great with grounders. His little brother was. Eren was. That was half of little league.

Armin’s face popped in front of Eren and he almost jumped. “Ymir thought you’d like watching from the stands with us,” he said. “That’s not how she said it, but—do you want to?”

A floater landed softly in Colt’s glove, and Eren pulled his eyes away. “Sure,” he said, focusing on Armin and the warmth coming through Ymir’s hand on his back. On how easy it always was here.

“So Armin,” Ymir said into the quiet morning mist, “what was Eren like before he had hair?”

“Louder, mostly.”

“Hey.”

----

Watching from the bleachers wasn’t that different from watching from the dugout. There were still rooting for the same people. Nothing they did contributed to how it was going. It was still several hours of watching people stand in one spot waiting for a moment that might never come.

There wasn’t anything new to it.

“Cutter.”

“Not with this one. Fastball.”

“Zeke’s more strategic than that. No one else on their team has gotten a hit all day. He won’t risk that happening again in the final inning.”

“No one else getting a piece of him means he has something to prove.”

“Winning proves that better.”

Nothing new at all, except Armin wasn’t sitting with a bunch of people who didn’t care about how their genius pitcher won them the game. He was sitting next to Ymir, a bunch of twigs in the shape of a diamond resting etween them, small gouges in the splintered stands where they’d jabbed in larger sticks to make their points earlier.

“What do you think, Eren?” Ymir’s voice broke into his lazy contentment. “How much of a prideful prick is big brother?”

Eren looked over at the mound, where he hadn’t had to all game with the commentary running by his ears. Where Zeke stood as the king of his domain. Steady and calm to anyone who did think to look. “Fastball.”

Armin objected. “It’s the ninth inning, it doesn’t make any sense to—”

The pitch left Zeke’s hand. Straight as an arrow. Hammering into the catcher’s mitt. In three of the movies that had somehow survived their list purges, this was where the stadium would go silent before the crowd erupted in cheers.

They weren’t in a stadium, and there wasn’t a crowd.

Armin sighed, his careful placement of twigs slipping back down to the ground.

Ymir clucked her tongue. “You hate to see it.”

“They won,” Eren said, unhelpfully. Armin’s heavier sigh made the whole diamond shine brighter. Past tolerable. Put with Ymir’s rolling eyes and Mikasa jogging to the outfield to walk in with Historia, it hit somewhere closer to whatever Zeke saw whenever he stepped up to the mound.

Whatever it was that made showing up worth it. Eren had never understood as a kid, stuck in the bleachers with his grandparents. Finally being let into the dugout didn’t make it any better, even when it should have. Getting a taste when he was back to the bleachers while the teams shook hands wasn’t something he would have thought to look for.

The baseball part was still dumb.

Ymir’s elbow jabbed his ribs and pointed at Mikasa. “That’s the cat friend?”

Eren pushed her back into Armin’s section of bench. “We told you that was her when she got the grand slam.” All four runs on the board were thanks to Mikasa.  Armin had jumped to his feet to cheer for her. The guy walking his dog nearby knew who Mikasa was, and Ymir was paying more attention.

She didn’t snipe back. She dropped Reiner’s sunglasses on his head and kept staring out at the field. Historia had spent most of the game out of range. Every few shook hands she glanced over her shoulder, but Ymir didn’t so much as twitch at the extra attention. She was watching Mikasa. The hand she’d dropped to the bench was digging into the splintered edge.

She’d used that hand to text him at four in the morning.

“You’re nervous,” Eren said abruptly.

Ymir scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Eren looked at Armin for confirmation. Armin’s wide eyes darted between them, Ymir stubbornly staring at the back of Mikasa’s head as she hit the end of the line. After a stalled second that said everything, he shrugged diplomatically.

Eren spun back to Ymir. “You are.”

“Right, because meeting up with your friends really earned its spot on my dayplanner,” Ymir said, unclenching her fist enough to lean back on the next row of bleachers. It didn’t look as casual as she thought it did.

Armin tried to help. “Mikasa’s not that scary once you get to know her,” he said. “She’s amazing at everything, and that can intimidate some people, but—”

“I am not intimidated,” Ymir declared. “From everything you nerds have told me her cat’s scarier than she is.”

“Rivaille’s…” Armin’s defense fell short. “A rescue,” he said at last.

Eren picked his dropped thread back up. “If you’re not intimidated, what are you nervous about?”

“Are your ears broken?” Ymir said. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re breaking the seats with your hand.”

She stole her sunglasses back and pointed them at him. “All that says is your brother should pick a better park to play at.”

“The league figures that out.”

“They’re walking over,” Armin said.

Eren and Ymir shut up. Ymir’s face had lost the shade of color Historia usually gave her, and maybe there was something wrong with that, but the only other time Eren had seen her in a social situation she wasn’t in control of, she’d started crying. Maybe she was just like this with new people.

Historia didn’t have the extra bounce Ymir usually gave her, either. But anything could take away Historia’s good mood, and Ymir was more like her everything.

Mikasa looked like Mikasa. She wasn’t someone to be nervous over.

“C’mon,” Eren said, wrenching Ymir’s arm out of the splinters. “Get up and say hi.”

Ymir flicked him off and tromped down the stands. Armin was biting back a smile. Eren held out a hand and swung him to his feet, following Ymir without helping her grow any of the cracks in the wood.

Like magnets, Historia fell into Ymir’s orbit instantly, and any of Mikasa’s intimidation factor that Ymir had made up evaporated. Ymir slid Reiner’s sunglasses down over her eyes and looked Historia and her haphazardly dusted uniform up and down.

The color came back, and Ymir coughed into her hand. “Shouldn’t have swung at that ball in the fifth,” she said.

Historia’s whole face twitched in exasperation. “I thought I could reach it.”

Ymir grinned and hooked a finger around one of her sleeves, pulling her close enough for Armin to carefully switch his gaze to Eren’s shoulder. “With these nubs?” she asked. “Has anyone tried to ship you off to little league yet?”

“She throws too hard.”

Mikasa’s quiet insertion drew all eyes to her.

Stable and calm, she wasn’t at all put off by Ymir, or Historia’s cleat digging into Ymir’s shoe. Which she noticed. And smiled at. She’d had worse. For as long as Eren had known her. If the shame didn’t steel out the words, he could have told Ymir that.

Ymir shot Eren a look, a leering smile mocking him. “I’ve heard that.” Then she switched back to Mikasa, and the person who manned an entire household she didn’t live in gleamed under her stolen sunglasses. She stuck out her hand.

“Ymir.”

Mikasa silently looked between Ymir and Historia’s proximity and Eren.

She took Ymir’s hand.

“Eren’s friend,” she said.

Ymir bristled, but next to her, Historia’s eyes did the sunburst thing Armin’s did. Those moments that wiped everything else away, because the world stopped and paid attention when it noticed someone with the brightness to change it was waking up.

They’d lived together for months. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her happy before.

Defensive tension leaked out of Ymir like a beach balloon. She saved the last of it for a pointed scowl in Eren’s direction before dropping out of the handshake and turning away from all of them. Stuttering somewhat when Historia’s hand quietly took up the residence Mikasa’s had been thrown from.

“I guess,” Ymir said shortly. “Your boy’s okay.”

Eren’s ears burned, and he glared at the backstop. Armin’s soft laugh and Mikasa’s audible smile did not make the burning go away. It just went other places and was even harder to ignore.

“Yeah, well. You’re… fine,” he said.

The brutal, heated silence of embarrassment continued. Everyone else didn’t mind. His eyes flicked up and made the mistake of catching Mikasa’s.

Affection spilled out freely from her. Genuine and familiar. Warmer than she’d been with him even before everything fell apart. She made the blood rushing to his head feel like it was allowed to be there, and maybe wasn’t ever going to leave.

Mikasa was fine too.

----

“Are you doing okay with all of that?”

There were questions Eren had learned to put up with. Questions from Reiner had been an early test of that. Strung out and on fire, he could break Reiner’s face open for talking at all, or suck it up and learn how to be human again.

Figuring out answers to the questions wasn’t the same thing.

“Huh?” Eren said.

They were outside Reiner’s house, waiting on Ymir. She’d gotten a text from Historia on her way to pick up her helmet and the world went on pause.

“With that,” Reiner said, pointing over his shoulder at the front door.

The front door stayed a front door.

“With what?” Eren asked blankly.

“With Ymir and Historia being a thing,” Reiner said. Before Eren could add another ‘what,’ the words kept going. Reiner was at his most earnest this morning, and he bridged the gap between their bikes with a creak of metal and sincerity that Eren didn’t want. “Third wheeling can be rough.”

Eren was a morning person. It was too early for this. He said, “I’m fine.”

Reiner’s open sympathy didn’t falter. Under the dark circles and the bunched tendons in his arms that still didn’t know how to relax, there was nothing but plain, unnecessary compassion. “I talked it over with Bert and Marcel, and everyone’s fine with you rooming here.”

Anything Eren could say or wanted to be confused by got lost in syrup and waffles and the inevitable. He unclamped his hands from his bicycle and rubbed away the red indents before they were visible to anyone but him. “I have a room.”

A nice room. With sheets that had made it through two homes he wasn’t going back to. He wasn’t going to volunteer a third. “And they wouldn’t just kick me out,” Eren added, a phantom of Ymir’s hand ruffling his hair.

Reiner held one of his elbows in a way Eren had etched into his head from Historia. “No,” he agreed. “They’re not like that. They’re too used to us to ask. But for guys like us, it’s hard not to help out.” His bike shifted under him. He didn’t lean in any closer, but the world around them closed. “Only guys like us don’t do well on our own.”

Eren stayed quiet. His tongue was fuzzy. The way it had been when he woke up in the hospital. He didn’t know why he’d decided to like that feeling.

“I just wanted you to know you don’t have to go backwards,” Reiner said after a moment or two. “That’s all.”

It wasn’t that cold, but the heat in Eren’s ears still stung more than anything. He stared squarely at the ground, where a pillbug was scrunching down the sidewalk. Petra and months of encouragement didn’t make the improvement feel good. Just necessary enough to be weird.

“Thanks,” he said.

Reiner clapped him on the back hard enough to leave marks on both of them.

[next]

[inkribbon796]

The Mouse and the Mantis

Summary: Chase has been making a new friend, which everyone thinks is a pretty good idea since Chase needs more personal friends. Unfortunately that friend is Damien, and Chase isn’t known for his good decisions.

In the Mayor’s office, Chase and the Mayor were talking. Chase had slowly been making a habit of coming over to check on the Mayor but these days he’d made a habit of lingering in his office just to talk. Sometimes the visits lasted for five minutes, other times they carried on for about a half-hour.

Their topic of conversation had moved to Chase’s weapons. Since Chase dealt more with civilians than he did with dangerous supervillains, Damien had been curious about how he conducted his superhero work against much more vulnerable and human civilians.

Damien was looking at one of Chase’s rifles while he sat at his desk, it was a modified NERF gun. He turned it over in his hands for examination, “It’s made of plastic.”

“Yeah,” Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t wanna kill people. Jackie helped me turn it inta somethin’ that fires more than foam. It’s gotten a couple upgrades an’ replacements over the years.”

“I always thought you were just modifying your weapons in a basement,” Damien commented. “I suppose I was partially correct.”

“Well, yah know, ye can get older but yah don’t have ta grow up,” Chase chuckled.

Damien let a little laughing sigh, “I suppose. Egoton never has been a safe place for people like you, hopefully it can be like that again.”

“Least people aren’t as afraid ‘a the League as they used ta be, so there’s that,” Chase shrugged. “I know Althone’s gotten safer.”

“I hope so,” Damien passed the gun back, the NERF rifle was now covertly missing one of its hard rubber rounds.

“Yah ever shoot a gun b’fore?” Chase asked curiously, attaching it to his back.

“When I was a child my father would take my sister and I hunting,” Damien answered, glancing back at Chase. “I never took to it, didn’t like the noise much. Celine, however, was a natural.”

“Really?” Chase asked.

“Oh yeah,” Damien chuckled. “If our father hadn’t been such a controlling, old fashioned asshole, I would have been written out of his will entirely.”

“That’s rough,” Chase commented uncomfortably. “Bet that makes reunions awkward.”

“Besides my sister I don’t see any of my family anymore,” Damien commented, his tone curt and a bit aggressive.

“Uh, so,” Chase faltered, sensing he was trending on uncomfortable territory, and trying to change the subject. “Can yah do any magic?”

“Parlour tricks really,” Damien waived his head dismissively. “Nothing really big or impressive.”

“Like card tricks?” Chase gasped, clearly excited. “I love those.”

“I’m a little rusty,” Damien shrugged. Dark reached into his bottom drawer, ripping open a small hole in the Void and pulled out a deck of cards from the Manor’s game closet. He quickly closed the tear again before Chase could even lean up to look over the top of the desk.

Damien shut the drawer with his leg as he adjusted his chair. Tossing the deck over to Chase, Damien asked, “Check if it’s a full deck, my boyfriend may have gotten his hands on it and cards always disappear when he shuffles.”

“How’s he doin’?” Chase asked, checking the deck.

“Eccentric as always,” Damien groaned. “He tried to use the oven to make toast, which might have gone well if he hadn’t walked away and let it turn into a blob of charcoal.”

“Yikes,” Chase coughed, his hands stalled while he was shuffling the deck. “So yeh the one who cooks then?”

“I would, except I have no sense of taste, so I don’t know what tastes good or not, I mostly go by texture.”

“That sucks, when did that happen?” Chase passed the deck back. “Yer missing the Jokers.”

“I’ll just add my boyfriend’s pictures to the deck,” Damien jokes. “That should be enough.”

Chase chuckled, hopping his chair closer to the desk, “So show me some card tricks, come on, Marv says they’re not really magic but I think that’s because he can’t do them.”

“Well don’t expect anything big, like I said, I’m rusty,” Damien warned.

Chase was almost leaned onto the desk, his knees brushing the side of the desk he was facing. “It’s better than anything I could do.”

Damien gave a small smile, “Well there’s two types of card tricks, the kind without magic that anyone can learn.”

He shook the deck, and the queen of spades became the ace of diamonds once he tapped it on the desk. “And then there are the tricks that require a bit more delicacy.”

“Wow,” Chase gasped and reached out to take the card. He turned it over. “That’s cool.”

Damien shuffled the deck, taking the ace back and dealing five cards to Chase. “Alright, Average, look at your cards, pick one and then shuffle them back in the deck.”

Chase did as he was asked, then passed the deck back to Damien. The Mayor paused, running his thumb along a side of the deck before turning the whole deck over and tossing it onto the desk. Every single card had been turned into the three of hearts.

Damien cocked his eyebrow and Chase’s eyes got huge. “Why does Marv hate these, that was amazing?”

“Like I said, Celine was always better at magic, what I can do is limited card tricks, anyone could learn these,” Damien dismisses.

“Could yah teach me?” Chase pleaded.

Damien looked over to his desk calendar, “Well . . . I get out a little earlier on Sundays. You could swing by the office every night for a half-hour and I can see what I can do. Mayhaps then?”

“I would love ta,” Chase jumped up excitedly, missing the small, sharp smirk on Damien’s mouth, pulling out his phone. “Maybe . . . Shite! I’m late.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I kept you,” Damien apologized, checking his own watch.

“Nah, I came in distracting you first, see yah on Wednesday,” Chase stood up. “Have a nice day, best of luck with the boyfriend.”

“Stay safe out there, Average,” Damien said. “It’s a dark, scary world out there.”

  Chase stayed still with his hand on the door, his teeth pulling at his chapped lips. “Brody.”

“What?” Every part of Dark froze, he’d known Chase’s real name for almost five years now, but didn’t think the hero would be so foolish as to just say it out loud to someone who Chase had just met barely a year ago. The only reason he’d never done anything with it was because Anti had beaten him to that option long ago.

Chase Brody the person was self destructive, burning more bridges than Dark could believe. Making poor choices in his personal life that astounded Dark, but as a hero . . . Well Damien was impressed.

“It’s Chase Brody,” Chase admitted. “I figured since I’ll be comin’ over a lot and yah’ve been workin’ super hard with the Coalition that if I could trust anyone it’d be you.”

“I’ll protect it with my life,” Damien promised, not feeling guilty in the slightest. You idiot!

“I’ll get out of yer hair,” Chase said. “See yah Sunday.”

“See you around,” Dark promised.

Chase left and Dark was able to hold Damien’s form for a couple more minutes before it broke back into Dark. On either side of the Entity was a blue and a red perfect replica of himself. Dark and the red echo looked over at the blue copy. He was looking at the door with a happy smile.

“You got lucky he’s a complete idiot,” Dark told him. “If this turns out to be a waste of time, I’m holding you responsible.”

The blue echo shot Dark a glare, emotions bouncing between the three of them.

“Vulgar bastard,” Dark scoffed at the blue echo, dissipating the two of them. “Do your job for once.”

Dark drew a deep breath and pulling some of the power from the Void into himself, Dark turned back into Damien and rolled his shoulders, trying to look like he was still human and not the humming amalgamation he usually was.

Getting back to work, Dark felt a sense of pride as he worked through whatever inane rambling the city was trying to focus on.

[tvehyungs-gf]

27 and 54 for Taehyung!

If it kills me - TattooArtist!Taehyung Drabble

✧ I love you and it scares the hell out of me!✧ I thought you didn’t want me.

Your heart was inevitably yearning for him - beating for him and you had no idea what the hell to do but make an irrational decision to get something tattooed permanently on your body. At the time, it was such a brilliant idea and you swore there was no other way to go about it except for this one.

But now, when the time neared for your appointment, you were more than nervous. You felt like you could die and that wasn’t even exaggerating.

With sweaty palms and a heart full of regret and timorousness, you made your way to Glow Tattoos. As you opened the door, the bell above made a ding, and immediately you were greeted with a bubbly voice welcoming you in. “Y/N! Welcome to Glow Tattoos!”

Hoseok walked around the counter and engulfed you into a friendly hug. “Hey Hobi, how are you?”

“I’m good! You?” He raised a brow when you both pulled away.

“Eh,” You shrugged, wiping your palms against your jeans. “Nervous.”

“Ah.” He oh’d as a smirk played on his lips. “You’re here for your tattoo, right?” You nodded nervously and it made Hoseok let out a chuckle. “You’ll do fine. Taehyung should be ready for you, wait here as I get him.”

It felt as if an eternity had passed by as you waited for the happy go boy come back. Once he peaked his head out of the black curtain, he began to hold the curtain open to the hallway behind the counter and gestured for you to come inside. “He’s ready for you, love.”

You answered with a grin and walked through the curtains. You already knew where to go so as soon as you were in the walkway, Hoseok let the curtain go. It swished back and forth for a second before finally settling into its original position, separating the main room from the hallway. You turned back around and took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.” You thought.

As you took each step, your fate suddenly felt like it was going to end. The very last door seemed so close yet so far away but the moment your hands touched the cold metal door handle, you felt a shock run through your entire body. Slowly, you opened the door and not even a second later you were engulfed into a bear hug.

“Y/N!” Taehyung squealed excitedly, his arms quick to wrap around you. “I miss you!”

You giggled, pulling away. “It hasn’t even been a week, let alone a few days, since that last time I saw you.”

Taehyung shook his head making his blue hair swirl around. “I don’t care, it still felt like a year to me.” He frowned before motioning you to sit on the tattoo chair. “Anyway,” He smiled. “You’re getting a quote right?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. You placed your purse on the counter and then sat down on the comfy chair. “Because of you, I live with hope.” You repeated the tattoo you wanted. “Cheesy, I know, but it means a lot to me.”

The boy raised his pierced brow at you as he went to wash his hands and get everything ready. “Is… this referencing to someone special?”

“Y-yes.” You gulped but quickly, you interjected with, “But you don’t know him!”

“Him?” Taehyung crossed his black ink covered arms across his broad chest. “Whose ‘him’?”

Fuck. “This guy I like.” You mentally facepalmed yourself. How could you be so dumb and dig a bigger hole for yourself?

“You like someone?” He whispered, his arms falling to his sides as his face turned solemn. Maybe you were just imagining things but you swore it looked like Taehyung was feeling… hopeless? “I didn’t know that.”

“I-…” You sighed looking away. “I don’t think he likes me back.”

Taehyung frowned. Whilst getting his drawing book, he sat down at his desk that was beside the tattooing chair. “Why wouldn’t he like you?” Taehyung opened the book, your eyes immediately drifting to the drawings he drew and you knew for a fact that these couldn’t have been for his customers because well… they were drawings of a girl and she seemingly looked like you but you didn’t want to assume. Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

Nonetheless, it didn’t stop you from glancing at them. “Because…” You started. “He’s way out of my league and he could do so much better than me.”

“Who?” He asked turning around. “Who’s the one who took my only chance away?”

Your eyes grew wide. “Your chance?”

Suddenly, Taehyung stood up. “Dammit Y/N! I love you and it scares the hell out of me!”

Did you hear him right? “You love me?”

“So fucking much!” He sighed. His shoulders drooped down as his head hung low. “But you don’t like me anyways.”

You shook your head and stood up, looking at him. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

“Huh?” He asked shocked. His lips began to part as his eyebrows furrowed. “You thought I didn’t want you?” He almost let out a laugh. “How could you possibly think that I didn’t want you? I thought it was obvious with how I felt about you…”

You raised your brow confused. “Not at all.” You shook your head sideways. “I guess this is where things change between us, eh?”

Taehyung chuckled, his cold hands finding their way to your soft warm ones. Silence fell between the two of you as you both stood there with your eyes staring into another’s. “The quote,” Taehyung started. “Is it about me?”

“Yeah.” You admitted shyly. A blush rose on your cheeks making Taehyung chuckle at your shyness. “You do you give me hope.”

“Did I give you hope about us?” He bit his lip.

“Honestly,” You looked away from his piercing stare. “At first, yes. However, I made myself believe that you didn’t want to be with someone like me.”

His cold hands were now on your cheeks, making you look at him. “Never think that way again because Y/N, darling, I want you and only you.” His lips parted ever so slightly as his forehead leaned against yours.

You looked from his brown eyes to his pierced, juicy lips. “I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.” You looked away from his lips and back to his eyes. And slowly, you closed your eyes and leaned in, your lips molding together with his.

“I love you too, Taehyung.”

AN: lowkey listened to if it kills me by jason mraz as i wrote this for inspo! and i lk kept changing the freaking gif because for some reason the one i downloaded wont like move :/

Send me a number(s) from this list, along with a member, and I’ll write you a drabble.➝ ask box ➝ bts masterlist

[goldenhemmings]

Stealing Second | Baseball!Shawn

Whew. If you know me at all, you know I am a sucker for any AU scenario where Shawn is an athlete, so naturally I’ve spent the last three days neglecting all of my academic responsibilities to crank out 8.3k words (!!!) of Baseball!Shawn. I tried to keep the jargon in check, but here’s a little study guide of the things I wrote about in case you’re not super well versed on all things Major League Baseball: 

MLB teams are divided into two leagues: American and National. Each league has slightly different rules. The Toronto Blue Jays are in the American, and their home stadium is Rogers Centre. Rookie of the Year is an award given by each league to the best first-year player. Players often wear compression sleeves over their throwing arms because it reduces soreness, and eye black under their eyes to reduce the glare of the sun or stadium lights so that they can see better. If you have any more questions please ask, and without further ado please enjoy Baseball!Shawn!!

When you got the call from “Greg with the Toronto Blue Jays” that you had been selected from a field of over two-hundred applicants for one of the team’s few coveted internship positions, you almost stopped breathing. The sun was making its descent as you sat at the kitchen table of your quaint suburban apartment, having just finished the leftovers you’d microwaved a few minutes before when your phone sounded its familiar siren. It was an unknown number, but the Toronto area code immediately made your stomach flip. It was a straightforward phone call, Greg simply offering you a congratulations and saying you started at Rogers Centre in two weeks’ time, but to you it meant the entire world. You managed to breathe out a “thank you” as you hung up the phone, eyes blurry with tears and hands shaking as you struggled to dial your mother’s phone number--the only person you could think to call.

You cried as you talked to your mom about how all of your hard work had finally paid off; four years of suffering as a double-major student to obtain two bachelor’s degrees, almost entirely giving up sleep and a social life as the price for your scholastic success, and eight months of waiting tables post-graduation to (barely) sustain yourself while you looked for a job. The sports industry was harder to find a place in than you’d thought, and you couldn’t believe the opportunity had finally come. Your mother was beyond proud, and after the phone call you sat at the kitchen table and cried because you didn’t know what else to do.

You’d wanted to work in sports your entire life; the love had been ingrained into you by your parents when you were young, and it never faded as you’d grown. You’d sent your resume to every sports franchise with availabilities, prepared to emigrate to the States for your dream job if you had to, but with this internship for the Blue Jays you thankfully only had to move an hour or so away.

Moving, however, caused you great stress. The ballpark was in the heart of downtown Toronto, which meant that every apartment or condo within a reasonable distance of the stadium would be exceedingly out of your price range; not to mention that the deadline of two weeks only added to your panic. You expressed this concern to your mother the next morning when you were level-headed enough to hold a steady conversation, but the words your mother spoke were enough to send you spiraling down yet another path of overwhelmed emotions: your mom and dad would help you pay to live downtown until you were financially stable enough to take the reins on your own. You had paid your own way through college, and your parents didn’t want further financial struggles to stand in the way of getting your foot in the door of your dream industry; they’d let you pay them back whenever you were able. With a cushion of temporary aid from your family, finding a place to live was a breeze; you settled on a one-bedroom apartment about a twenty-minute walk from the stadium. It had a perfect view of the Toronto skyline, and you could already imagine yourself sitting on the small balcony at night just watching the city lights twinkle before you.

On a Thursday in May, not three days after getting the phone call, you and your parents loaded the contents of your tiny apartment into the back of your barely-running sedan. You sighed as you realized how out of place the old car would look juxtaposed to the sleek vehicles that surely filled the streets of the city. Oh well, you thought. I’ll probably be walking everywhere, anyways. You shut the hatch of your trunk and smoothed over your favorite Blue Jays player’s jersey--a parting gift from your mother--before hugging your mom and dad goodbye. You took one last look at your small apartment complex and climbed into the driver's seat before reversing out of your designated parking spot and driving away in the direction of your dream life.

As you merged onto the 401 and the Toronto skyline came into view, you had to turn your music up even louder in a desperate attempt to distract yourself and therefore control your pounding heart, an exhilarated smile unable to keep itself from spreading across your face. You were finally here. This was finally happening. You pulled off the highway and drove into the parking garage of your new apartment, awestruck at how tall and sleek the building was. You went into the lobby to get everything sorted, and you were all set when the manager handed you a key to your door and sent you on your way with an enthusiastic “Welcome!”

You made your way back out to the parking garage, popping the trunk of your car and beginning the grueling back-and-forth process of taking the boxes up to your apartment one by one. You made your way back down to the car for what felt like the hundredth time, sighing in relief when you saw that there were only two boxes left. You pulled the larger of the two out, which was exceptionally heavy, and as you tried to shut the trunk while still holding the box your balance completely failed you.

“Fuck!” you cried, as the contents of the box went tumbling onto the ground next to your car. You sighed as you knelt down to place the box upright when you heard a voice echo from behind you in the parking garage.

“Do you need some help?”

You snapped your head around, your eyes settling on the figure of a tall man who was far enough across the lot that you couldn’t quite make out his features. “Um, I think I’ll be okay,” you called back, ducking your head down in embarrassment over the fact that someone had seen you clumsily and inadvertently dump the box onto the ground. “Thank you though!”

The man continued talking, the sound of his voice getting closer despite the fact that you had declined his offer. “Are you sure? I’m more than happy to--hey. Nice jersey.”

You turned around and looked up to meet the man’s smug eyes, and as you did you felt your cheeks immediately begin burning. You fell back onto your ass as though you’d been pushed, the box’s spilled contents suddenly disregarded. You looked down self-consciously to the Blue Jays jersey you had on, all-too-aware of the Mendes 98 embroidered onto the back, and slowly let your gaze travel back up to the real number 98 standing right before your eyes. You’d been in Toronto for twenty minutes and you had already come face to face with your favorite baseball player...while wearing his jersey. If you weren’t embarrassed before, you surely were now.

“I’m Shawn,” he said, kneeling down to your level as you hadn’t yet picked yourself up from the pavement. He extended his hand, and you weren’t quite sure whether he expected you to shake it or help yourself up with it.

“As if I don’t know who you are,” you muttered, laughing nervously as you disregarded his hand altogether. You opted to stand up on your own, brushing the asphalt off of the back of your jean shorts as you forced herself to meet his eyes. Eyes that, to your surprise, seemed almost bashful.

Shawn’s hand, marked with a tattoo you couldn’t quite see the shape of, came up to rub the side of his neck. He looked strange in his fitted shirt and black Nike shorts; you weren’t used to seeing him without his jersey on--or in person, for that matter. You’d known he was a rookie and therefore one of the younger players on the team, but standing this close to him you realized he couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two. Who’d have known that his ball cap was hiding such curly hair, or that underneath his compression sleeve were several concealed tattoos, his short sleeve shirt now putting them on full display?

Shawn Mendes was a first-year second baseman for the Blue Jays, and nearly every Major League Baseball commentator had pegged him as a top-three contender for the American League Rookie of the Year award. He’d quickly become your favorite player at the start of the season, with his ability to flawlessly handle any ball hit his way and his red-hot swing racking up the most hits on the team. But it was his character, however, that really drew you to him. He was his teammates’ biggest fan, always making sure to give players words of encouragement after a bad game or a celebratory smile and high-five after a big hit. Even though he was only a rookie, he was loved by players, coaches, and fans alike, and he’d quickly become one of the Blue Jays’ greatest assets.

You were snapped from your reverie by Shawn’s voice once again cutting through the air, and you refocused your eyes so that they were looking up into his. “W-what did you say?”

He smiled. “I said I really don’t mind helping you carry your things up, I know how awful it is to move on your own. I’d have loved the help back when I first moved in here.”

“You live here?” you squeaked out, but it sounded less like a question and more like you were stating it to yourself, as though repeating the words would have them make more sense.

“Twelfth floor,” Shawn affirmed, shooting you another smile that almost made you dizzy.

You cast your eyes downward, nudging at the ground with the toe of your Converse. “Fifth,” you responded. The view got better the higher up you were--which meant the price also rose with the floor number. “It’s close to the stadium, though, so I’d really be set no matter which floor I ended up on.”

“Plan on making it to a lot of our games?” Shawn teased, smirking as he folded his arms over his broad chest.

“I actually just got an internship with the team’s public relations department, which is why I moved out here. I’ll officially work for the Blue Jays in about a week and a half, so I’m sure I’ll be at most of the home games.” As you heard yourself say it, you couldn’t keep the childish grin from your face. It still barely felt real to you, and you found yourself wishing there weren’t ten long days standing between you and the beginning of your dream career path.

“No way!” Shawn grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle and revealing a set of teeth so perfect you found yourself nearly mesmerized. You’d thought that he was handsome on TV, but the in-person effect was a million times stronger. “Guess that makes us co-workers, then.”

You let out a strangled laugh at his comment, but it sounded more like a yelp. “I wouldn’t go that far. I’m just one of the little people working behind the scenes.”

“But you make us look good,” Shawn insisted, his genuine smile unwavering.

“You make yourselves look good,” you scoffed, timidly looking at the ground as though it were suddenly interesting you. “You of all people should know that. You don’t make any errors in the field, your batting average is sky-high, and you’re on the short list for Rookie of the Year. I’m not sure there’s anything I or anyone else could do to make you look any better.” You could hear the gushing words spilling out of your mouth before you had time to process that you were even saying them, and when you finally managed to stop talking you wanted to crawl into a hole. Your favorite baseball player was talking to you like a normal human being, and you had to go and ruin it by fawning over him like the crazed fan that you were.

But, to your surprise, Shawn seemed unphased by this. “You really know your baseball,” he replied, and your eyes shot up to meet his brown ones.

“I’d hope a pro baseball team weren’t hiring people who didn’t,” you teased in a brief moment of bravery, Shawn letting out a little laugh.

“I guess I’d hope so, too.” As the words left his mouth, you both fell silent. His eyes were still on yours, and you’d have been a fool to look away. It was strange, having this seemingly intimate moment in the middle of a parking garage with a box of your personal belongings still scattered at your feet.

“Um,” Shawn cleared his throat, the first to break the long pause. “Are you sure I can’t help you with anything? The team has the day off today and I’d feel like a dick if I knew you were moving all these boxes by yourself while I sat on my ass doing nothing.”

“That’d be awesome, actually,” you finally assented, bending down to start putting the spilled box back together again as Shawn followed suit.

“I never caught your name,” Shawn said as the two of you carefully repacked your belongings.

“You’re a baseball player, you should catch everything,” you joked, to which Shawn chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Kidding,” you continued, smiling in response to Shawn’s laugh. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, and your heart fluttered at the sound of him saying your name. “That’s pretty.”

“Thanks,” you giggled, continuing to pack up your things and forcing the giddiness that was threatening to spill out of you back down with all of your might. If this was how your luck was going to be in Toronto, you hoped you’d never have to leave.

“Oh, this is too good,” you heard Shawn say, and you looked up to see him smiling down at the framed photograph his large hands were clutching. Without even looking, you knew what it was: a picture of your mom and your dad holding baby you in between them, the Blue Jays’ stadium filling the background. They’d put you in a onesie covered with the team logo, and you sported a smile just as big as your parents’, except yours was toothless. You really were born and raised a sports fan; this picture was evidence of that.

“You were made for sports, weren’t you?” Shawn asked, placing the photograph gently inside the box.

“Absolutely,” you responded, flattered that he seemed so interested in your life. “My parents totally ingrained it into me. I don’t think I’d be happy with a career involving anything else.”

He smiled. “I can understand that. I’m pretty sure I knew how to throw a ball before I knew how to walk.”

You laughed, standing up as you placed the last of your things inside the box. “I’d expect nothing less. The greatest athletes always start young.” You moved towards the trunk of your car to grab the last box, shifting to balance it between your thigh and your arm in order to have a free hand to close the trunk with. You quickly pulled your keys out of your pocket and locked the car, shoving them back out of sight and taking hold of the box with both hands.

“Do you want me to get this one?” Shawn asked, pointing at the one you’d both just repacked.

“Yes, please. We both know what happened the last time I tried to carry that thing.”

Shawn chuckled as he turned his back to you and bent down to grab the heavy box, and you had to force yourself to keep your lips together as you watched the way his back muscles flexed and strained under the fabric of his skin-tight Under Armour shirt. “Lead the way,” he said, turning around to face you. You felt your cheeks get hot as you moved in front of him, sure that he’d caught you staring.

“Is this your first job with a sports team?” Shawn asked as he quickly fell into stride next to you, the both of you making your way into the apartment building’s lobby and towards the elevators.

“Yeah, if you’d even call it that,” you sighed, pressing the up button with your elbow. “It’s just an internship. But an opportunity is an opportunity, and I plan to make the most of this one.”

The elevator doors open and the two of you filed inside. “Guess we’re both rookies, then.”

You smiled, comforted by his kindness. “Yeah, I guess so. Except your season officially started in March. Mine doesn’t start for another ten days.”

“Are you excited?” Shawn asked, hitting the five button, and you felt yourself smiling again as you realized he’d remembered what floor you said you lived on.

“I only cried for two whole days after I got the call,” you giggled as the doors opened onto your floor, and Shawn laughed with you.

“I’ll take that as a resounding yes,” he said as you set the box down at the door and fished in your shorts’ back pocket for the new key to your apartment. You pushed the key in the lock and flung the door open, pushing your box inside to join the pile of all the others.

“Forgot how empty these things look at first,” Shawn remarked, gingerly placing the box in his hands down with the rest.

“I kind of like it,” you responded, taking in the space that was now all yours. Your kitchen was off to the left, and there was a large open space in front of you waiting to be converted into a living room. Your bedroom and bathroom were just beyond the kitchen, and there was a floor to ceiling window that revealed your quaint balcony and a decent view of the Toronto skyline directly across the room from the front door. “Kind of like a blank slate that I can do whatever I want with.”

“I don’t suppose you have furniture packed away in those boxes?” Shawn joked, stepping further into your empty apartment.

“Nope,” you giggled. “It’ll be me and my air mattress tonight. But most of the furniture I ordered should be coming Friday...which I guess is tomorrow.”

“We’ve got a three-game series against the White Sox starting tomorrow. The Friday and Saturday games are pretty late, but the Sunday game is early...I think it’s at one in the afternoon. I should be home by six, and I’m more than happy to help you with any furniture assembling. N-not that I think you can’t do it by yourself,” he rushed to add, eliciting a giggle from you.  

“I’d like that,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek to restrain your giddy smile. “Hopefully I won’t have too much trouble, but I already know I won’t be able to do it all myself.”

“Cool,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black shorts. “I’ll swing by. And, um...You know...If you’re ever free on any of my off-days and you want someone to show you around the city or something, I’d be more than happy to.”

“I’d like that, too,” you smile, your quickened pulse echoing in your ears.

He grinned. “Perfect. We’ll figure something out.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and good luck tomorrow night,” you called as he began making his way towards the door. “Not like you need it.”

He turned around, his eyes bright and a smile playing on his lips. “Will you be watching?”

“Yeah, on the TV that I don’t have yet,” you giggled, and he smiled and ducked his head.

“Right, right. But knowing you, you’ll find a way.”

“Oh, I definitely will. With an extra-trained eye on number 98.”

“No pressure,” he chuckled, running his inked hand through his brown curls.

“You’ll play amazing,” you said seriously, folding your arms around yourself. “You always do. And thanks for the help today, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s nice to know someone else living here.” He swung the door open, stepping halfway in and halfway out of the entryway. “I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Mhm. And I’ll see you on the big screen tomorrow.”

“Hopefully I don’t disappoint,” he laughed, and you did too. “Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Shawn,” you answered, and with that the door was closed behind him.

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

Come Sunday afternoon, you’d managed to assemble most of your furniture with the exception of your bed. The pieces were heavy, and there were too many of them for you to figure out exactly what part went where. As you walked out of your apartment’s sole bedroom and into the kitchen to make lunch, you remembered that day’s Blue Jays game was on at 1; in ten minutes.

Your television had come in last night, and it had taken a while but you’d managed to set it up by yourself. You had nothing planned in the days before you started at your internship, and though assembling your apartment was grueling, you found yourself grateful for the fact that you had something to occupy your time with.

You sauntered over to where you’d put the small TV, reaching for the remote and flipping the channel to the Blue Jays game. Your heart nearly dropped when you saw that the cameras were currently focused on a pre-game interview between one of the announcers and Shawn. You flung yourself down on your new couch, cranking the volume and completely disregarding the fact that you’d meant to make lunch.

The brim of Shawn’s baseball cap concealed most of his forehead (and those perfect brown curls), but the camera still picked up the youthful excitement behind his eyes as he spoke. He had fresh eye black painted under his eyes, and you knew that the two strips would quickly become smeared once the game started and progressed.

“With the White Sox winning the first two games in this series,” the announcer began, Shawn leaning in and listening intently, “What do you think is going to be the key to stopping their streak and winning this game?”

Shawn answered immediately, and you were shocked by how well-spoken he was. You’d heard him speak before, of course, but now you found yourself paying extra attention to every detail about him. “I think we just have to focus,” Shawn started, adjusting his hat. “We have to not get caught up in the last two games because right now, today’s game is all that matters. We took some tough losses but we fought hard, and today we need to fight a little harder.”

You smiled, folding your knees up under your chin and resting your head on top. Good answer. The announcer continued. “I’m sure you’ve been following what the sportscasters have been saying, so I have to ask how you feel about the buzz for you to win Rookie of the Year.”

“I’m honored that they see so much potential in me, but it’s still so early in the season. Right now I’m just trying to focus on playing my position and helping my team win games.”

“Good man,” the announcer said, laughing as he clapped Shawn on the back. “Thanks for your time, and good luck today.”

“Thank you, man,” Shawn said, and with that he was off camera as he made his way back to the Blue Jays’ dugout on the third base side of the field.

The announcer sent the program over to a commercial, telling the audience to stick around because the first pitch was right after the break. You took this as your chance to finally make lunch, throwing together a sandwich with the few groceries you’d picked up from the store yesterday and then making your way back over to the couch. You pulled the blanket you’d laid over the back of the sofa down and covered yourself with it, the blasting air conditioning leaving you a little chilly in your spandex and old Maple Leafs t-shirt. Now that you were settled, you were ready to be glued to the screen for the next three and a half hours.

The game passed uneventfully, both teams’ pitchers throwing an amazing game. The score was still 0-0 in the bottom of the sixth inning, but the White Sox pitcher’s arm was clearly starting to get tired, evidenced in the two consecutive hits he’d given up. You perked up a little bit at the potential scoring opportunity, with only one out and Blue Jays players at first and second base. A single would score one, and a double or triple would likely get both runners home. You could hear the crowd through the TV, and your stomach swirled with the excitement of knowing that you’d be a part of this atmosphere in just over a week. You waited with anticipation to see which Blue Jays player was up to bat next, and you almost screamed when you saw that it was Shawn.

A graphic displaying his statistics flashed on the screen, the announcers gushing over the Blue Jays’ beloved young rookie. Shawn stepped into the batter’s box, raising his bat over his shoulder and watching the pitcher with anticipation. Your eyes raked up and down his body, his arms flexed beneath his jersey from the weight of the bat and his white baseball pants hugging all the right parts of his lower half.

The pitcher started his windup, refocusing your attention on the game and sending a pitch flying over the plate for a strike that Shawn didn’t swing at. The screen said the ball came across at 83 miles per hour, which was beyond slow for the kind of pitch he’d thrown. His arm was tired, and your legs were bouncing up and down as you silently prayed that Shawn could take advantage of the opportunity. Another pitch--this one ruled a ball. As the pitcher began his third wind up of the at-bat, your breath hitched. The ball hurdled towards the plate as Shawn brought his bat around, a crack echoing as the barrel made contact, sending the pitch soaring into left field between the left and center fielders, who both went chasing after it. Both runners had crossed the plate, scoring two for the Blue Jays, and Shawn slid headfirst into second base to avoid being tagged out. The umpire called him safe, and dirt was stained all down the front of Shawn’s uniform as he popped up from the slide.

You could hear the crowd going crazy just like you were, reflexively jumping up from the couch and cheering as the camera showed the Blue Jays dugout high-fiving the runners that had just scored. The White Sox manager walked out to the mound, signaling for a new pitcher to come in and replace the current one. With the score now 0-2, Toronto winning, the game had a new life to it--and you were as hooked as always.

The game went by pretty quickly after that, each team managing to score another run, which left the final score as 1-3 Blue Jays. You smiled, clicking off the TV to get back to work until Shawn (hopefully) stopped by in a couple of hours.

You walked over to the pile of boxes, most of which you’d emptied, and chose a random one to begin unpacking. As you looked inside, you laughed to yourself; it was the box you’d spilled in front of Shawn. You pulled your hair into a sloppy ponytail and set about unpacking, placing photographs where you wanted them and arranging the decor from your last apartment how you liked it in your new one.

Before you knew it the sun was starting to go down, and you’d unpacked the rest of your boxes. You took a proud look around your apartment, satisfied with how everything had turned out. There were still a few tweaks you wanted to make here and there, but for three days’ work you were pretty damn happy.

You’d walked over to the kitchen to get a glass of water when there was a knock on your door, and you dashed over to open it, practically sliding across the hardwood floors in your fuzzy socks. You swung the door open to reveal Shawn, wearing black workout shorts and a white Blue Jays t-shirt, his hair slightly damp from the shower he’d surely had after the game.

“Hey MVP,” you grinned.

“So you’re a hockey fan, too?” Shawn asked, pointing at the Maple Leafs shirt you had on.

“I’m an every sport fan,” you giggled, turning and allowing him to pass by you into the apartment. “Even football.”

“A Canadian who likes football,” Shawn mused as you shut the door. “Don’t come by those too often.”

“You’d be surprised,” you said, walking into the center of your apartment as Shawn took in his surroundings.

“You really whipped this place into shape.”

“Makes it easy when you’re stuck here all day with nothing else to do.”

Shawn smiled. “Well, how can I help you finish up?”

“I actually need help with my bed,” you said sheepishly, running your fingers through the ends of your hair. “The pieces are too heavy for me to lift on my own.”

“No problem,” Shawn answered cheerily, following you down the short hallway into your room.

“Oh, and good game today,” you remarked as you walked.

He smiled, his cheeks getting rosy. “You watched?”

“Of course I did,” you laughed. “Every minute of it.”

“Well, thank you. Glad we could win at least one game in the series.”

“And there will be many more wins where that came from, especially if you all keep hitting as well as you did today.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I hope you’re right.”

The two of you set to work on the piece of furniture, assembling the frame and attaching it to the headboard. What you couldn’t even finish on your own only took half an hour with Shawn’s help, and there was, of course, the added bonus of getting to see his muscles bulging under his shirt as he did your heavy lifting. You pulled your new queen-sized mattress from where it was pushed up against the wall, tossing it down so that it fit perfectly inside the white bed frame, and let out a little cheer over the finished project.

“That’s everything!” you exclaimed.

Shawn grinned, brushing his hands off and moving over to where you stood. “Feels good to be all moved in, doesn’t it?”

“No kidding,” you laughed. “Now, how about a drink?”

“Oh, I don’t really drink much during the season. Thank you, though,” Shawn sighed, but you weren’t having it.

“Come on!” you teased. “You just helped me with half an hour of heavy lifting after you played a hell of a game. Tomorrow’s a travel day for the team, anyways. All you’re going to do is sit on a jet for however many hours until you get to San Francisco. I think you can afford one glass of wine, and it’s the least I could do for your help.”

“Of course you’ve memorized the team’s schedule,” Shawn chuckled, and you felt a wave of heat rising to your cheeks. “But I guess you’re right. Pour me a glass.”

“Always am,” you teased, heading to the fridge. “Red or white?”

“Whichever you’re having. You’re pretty convincing, you know,” Shawn continued as you poured two glasses of red wine, handing one to him and leaning your back against the counter right next to where he stood. “And you always know what you’re talking about. I have a feeling this internship is going to turn into a job more quickly than you think.”

You let out a sigh, tilting your glass back to let the wine past your lips. “I seriously hope you’re right. I need a big-girl job at some point.”

“What day do you officially start?” Shawn asked, angling his body so that he was leaning up against the side of the counter and facing you.

“A week from Monday. Same day as the first home game back versus--”

“Boston,” Shawn finished, and you both laughed. “I’ve heard.”

“Sorry,” you giggled, picking up your glass for another sip.

“Don’t apologize. It’s cute how you know everything.” At this you almost choked on your wine, but you managed to force it down and suppress your coughs. Shawn kept talking, which you were exceedingly grateful for; you wouldn’t have immediately been able to form the right words to respond to his compliment. “There’s a long corridor at the stadium that connects the offices to the Blue Jays locker rooms, and there are a bunch of random rooms off to the sides of that hallway. If you can manage to get away, you should meet me in the one closest to the locker room, like, fifteen minutes before the game starts. I wanna hear about your first day.”

You smiled at him over the rim of your wine glass, trying to keep your butterflies in check. “Fifteen minutes before game time...got it. I’ll do my best.”

You smirked. You’d do more than your best; you’d be there like your life depended on it.

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

The rest of the days went slowly, with you desperate to pass the empty time in any way you could. You arranged your artwork, then rearranged it, then rearranged it again. You paid several visits to the apartment complex’s gym--something you’d normally never do, but resorted to out of pure boredom. You went on walks to explore the area around your apartment, identifying which restaurants looked good and the shops you wanted to look in when you finally (hopefully) had money to spend. You watched every Blue Jays game from the comfort of your couch, now with the added excitement of seeing Shawn on TV while also knowing him personally.  

When Monday morning finally rolled around, you were out of bed much earlier than you probably needed to be. You put on the flowy dress you’d picked out, which was blue with white polka dots to match the team’s colors. It was cute but still professional, and when paired with simple jewelry and sandals it was perfect. You did your hair how you liked it and put on a touch more makeup than you normally would, checking the time to see that you still had an hour to be at the stadium and it was only a twenty-minute walk.

You headed into your kitchen and brewed yourself some coffee, making sure that it was decaf; you didn’t need caffeine adding to the jitters you already had. You sat at your kitchen counter and sipped it slowly, trying to think about anything but how nervous you were. When half an hour had passed you opted to start your walk, grabbing your purse from the hook you’d put by the front door and plugging your headphones into your phone to listen to music on your way.

You arrived at the stadium offices with seven minutes to spare, as you weren’t set to meet with Greg until nine o’clock. You were hit with a rush of excitement as you walked through the office doors, Home of the Toronto Blue Jays proudly displayed on a blue banner directly above the entrance. Once inside, you felt like a kid in a candy store. You could see past the receptionist’s desk, the front of which was adorned with a giant Blue Jays flag, to all of the cubicles in the center of the large space. The walls were lined all down the sides with door after door concealing the offices of higher-ups in the organization, shiny plaques displaying each occupant’s last name pasted to the doors. Additionally, there were two silver-doored elevators tucked into the left corner by the front, where you’d come in. The walls inside the reception area were lined with framed newspaper clippings, photographs, and jerseys, and everyone working seemed to have at least one article of clothing that matched the team’s blue; the entire space was a giant homage to the Blue Jays.

Before you had time to ask the receptionist where you were supposed to go, you were met with the sight of a tall, bald man who couldn’t have been older than fifty walking briskly in your direction, his gray suit pressed to perfection and adorned with a royal blue tie. This man, you assumed, was Greg--the one who’d called you to give you the job.

“Are you my intern?” he asked cheerily, reaching out his hand for you to shake before you’d even given him an answer.

“Yes,” you smiled, shaking his hand. “Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Greg, and the pleasure’s all mine,” he said with a smile, and it seemed truly genuine. “Your application was beyond impressive, I remember it well.”

You blushed at his compliment, filled with pride for your hard work and dedication. You felt your nerves slowly slipping away in Greg’s presence, his exceedingly friendly demeanor making you more comfortable by the second.

“If you’d follow me,” he continued, setting off into the giant office area, “I’ll get you situated and introduce you to the other interns.”

“Are the others already here?” you asked, filled with a new wave of anxiety. You’d been almost ten minutes early, how had they all beaten you?

“Yes, but don’t worry--you’re not late. I told you all to come in fifteen minutes apart from one another so that you had time to adjust. It can be overwhelming on your first day, and I didn’t want the added pressure of a crowd,” he explained, sending you a smile from over his shoulder. You relaxed at this; not only was Greg friendly, but he was thoughtful. “I’ve got them all sitting in a conference room at the end of the offices--” he reached out to push in a door handle, “--right here.”

He led you into the room, where five people sat around a large conference table. Five men. They all stopped their side conversations, looking up to you. You felt the heat of five pairs of eyes sizing you up and down, and you swallowed hard in an effort to stay calm. Greg clapped his hands together once and took a seat at the table, you following suit.

“Alright,” he began, your eyes glued to him. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s introduce ourselves and then I’ll get you each started in your individual departments!”

You and the five other interns, who all appeared to be about your age, went around the table as though it were an icebreaker on the first day of high school and introduced yourselves with your name, hometown, and the department you were interning for. There was Chris who’d be interning with Finance, Matthew with Operations, David with Medical, Tony with Marketing, Brandon with Sales, and you with Public Relations. The difference between Finance and Sales, you learned from Chris (who seemed like a massive know-it-all), is that Finance deals with how the team spends money, whereas Sales is concerned with making money.

Once the rounds had been made Greg stood up, announcing that he’d take you one by one to your departments to get you situated. Know-it-all Chris was first, and as soon as he and Greg were gone the guys started talking to each other again. This left you sitting awkwardly, wanting to join their conversations but they were too quiet for you to hear. You tried to push the thought that they were excluding you on purpose into the back of your mind.

You looked down into your lap, pretending to be fascinated with a detail on your purse, when you felt the chair to your right slide out from under the table. Your head shot up, met with Brandon smiling warmly and sliding in next to you. “It’s Y/N, right?” he asked, and you nodded. “Brandon.”

“I remember,” you grinned, and he smiled back. Brandon had tan skin and light eyes, and he wore a black suit that seemed a little large on his frame despite the fact that his shoulders were so broad. His smile was friendly, and though it was early to tell, you thought he seemed kind.

He must have caught you noticing the size of his suit, because he ran his hands over it and let out a little chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s big. Couldn’t really afford a new suit, so I had to borrow this one from my dad. Anyways, I could tell the others were ignoring you so I wanted to come say hi. This place is nerve-wracking enough without having to be by yourself.”

“Thank you,” you shrugged, giving him a smile as you felt yourself relax. “You said you were from America, right?”

“Texas,” he confirmed, leaning back in his chair. “Really small town. Nobody ever moves in and nobody ever leaves.”

“Wow,” you quipped, intrigued. “What drew you to Toronto, then?”

“They took my application,” he answered, and you both laughed in mutual understanding of how challenging it was to secure a position like this. “I actually played baseball all through high school and college. Was projected to make the major leagues as soon as I graduated, but then I got hurt and nobody would sign me to play for them. But I knew even if I couldn’t play in the majors I wanted to work there, hence the reason why I’m hoping this internship leads to a higher position.”

“That’s quite a story,” you remarked, and Brandon shrugged. “I know what you mean about the internship, though. I hope it opens up something bigger for me, too.” Brandon nodded in understanding, continuing the small talk with you until Greg called him away.

You were the last intern that Greg pulled, and you were more than ready to finally have something to do after sitting in the conference room for an hour. “So you,” he started, leading the way towards the elevators, “are my lovely PR lady. Which means you are working to make sure that the team is positively received by the fans. You’ll mostly be making written contributions--conducting research and interviews to contribute to articles for the Blue Jays website--and eventually writing articles yourself once your training is done. The website is the main way we keep the community updated on the team both on and off the field, so it’s very important to the success of our organization. You’ll additionally get practice guiding post-game press conferences, which are also very important.”

You listened intently, making mental notes of everything Greg was saying. The man spoke very quickly, almost to the point where you couldn’t keep up, but your focus was razor-sharp.

The elevators opened onto the third floor of the stadium offices, where the PR department was housed, and you followed Greg as he stepped out onto the tiled floors. He took you into every single office, introducing you as The Intern to more people than you’d ever met in your life, whose names you only prayed you remembered.

Lastly, you were introduced to a woman named Cassidy, who didn’t seem much older than you. She stood up from behind her desk with a bright smile and, instead of greeting you with a handshake like everyone else had, she pulled you in for a hug. You learned from Greg that you’d be working very closely with Cassidy; she’d be your “mentor” throughout the internship, and your desk was inside her spacious office. Greg shook your hand one last time before saying he’d “leave you two to it,” and with that he started back down the hallway for the elevators.

Very quickly, you realized Cassidy was beyond cool. She was young, intelligent, and well-respected in her job; everything you aspired to be. She handed you a folder, containing the transcript of an interview she’d done with one of the players regarding his nonprofit work. She told you she was writing an article about how charitable the player was, and asked you to seed out several quotations that you thought would fit the article.

After several hours of doing back-and-forth work with Cassidy, breaking once for lunch and again for dinner, it was nearing 6:30--and that night’s game started at 7. “Me and some of the other PR staff are going to watch the game in the clubhouse, you’re more than welcome to join us,” she said, her eyes bright.

“I will!” you exclaimed, grabbing your purse and standing up from your desk. “I just have to check in with someone first.” Cassidy nodded and made her way out of the office, turning to lock the door as soon as the both of you were out. You were sure she assumed the person you had to check in with was Greg; little did she or anyone else know that you were about to sneak over to meet with Shawn Mendes. The simple thought of it sent adrenaline coursing through your body.

You took the elevator down to the first floor, retracing your steps back to the door you’d noticed was marked with Stadium Access. You checked to make sure that nobody was paying you any particular attention (as if anyone cared about The Intern), and you pushed the door open to reveal a long corridor much like the one Shawn had described.

You found the door closest to the locker rooms just as he had said, gingerly tugging it open and breathing a sigh of relief when you saw Shawn leaning against the wall in waiting. His head perked up at the sound of the door opening, and he smiled from ear to ear when he saw it was you.

“Your dress matches my uniform,” Shawn remarked, pulling you in for a hug after you’d shut the door behind you. This took you by surprise, but your arms found his waist as his squeezed around your shoulders.

“That was intentional,” you grinned, pulling away from him.

He smiled. “How was your first day?”

“Overwhelming,” you admitted. “I’m the only girl of the six interns, and only one of the guys has been all that nice to me. But there’s a girl named Cassidy who works in the same department as I do and she’s really cool, she’s not much older than me. I met a lot of people with such awesome jobs, though. I’d kill to be where they are.”

“First of all, those guys are insecure and you can’t let their fragile egos get inside your head, especially since you’re probably ten times smarter than them. And secondly, you’re gonna rock this internship. You will be where those people are, I know it.”

You smiled, suddenly shy from his compliments. “Thanks, Shawn. I really hope that’s true.”

“It is. How do you feel about the game?”

“You’re asking me how I feel about the game?” you laughed incredulously.

“Your opinion’s as good as any,” Shawn said, looking down at you with a closed-mouth smile that touched his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling your heart beat a little faster under the weight of his stare. “Well, I hear the Blue Jays’ rookie second baseman has quite the batting average right now. Think as long as he keeps hitting like he has been the game will be just fine.”

It was Shawn’s turn to be bashful from your playful compliment but, right as he was about to answer, you heard the loudspeaker announce that there were ten minutes until the first pitch.

You sighed. “You should go. You don’t even have your eye black on yet.”

“Do it for me?” he asked, reaching into the back pocket of his white pants and handing you the tube.

You felt another shy smile cross your face. “Move your hat,” you said softly, not wanting the cap’s brim in the way of the marks you were about to put under his eyes. Shawn reached up to take his hat off, placing it backwards on your head with a smug smile. You bit back a grin as you reached up to paint the lines on his face, gingerly taking hold of his chin to get a steadier hand. You could feel his gaze on you, and your heart was hammering in your chest so loudly you’d have sworn he could hear it.

“There,” you said, your voice scratchy as you slid the lid back onto the tube and handed it back to him. “Bright lights have nothing on Mendes now.”

There was a pause, each of you wishing you’d had more than five minutes with the other and knowing you both had to go. “Same time here tomorrow?” Shawn spoke up, evoking a confused frown from you.

“What do you mean?”

“Here, fifteen minutes before game time,” he answered matter-of-factly, and by this point you were grinning like a little kid.

“Okay, yeah. Same time tomorrow. But now,” you said, grabbing his hat off of your head and reaching up to place it back on him, “You have a game to win, and the team’s probably looking for you.”

He sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here. Give ‘em hell, rookie.”

“You too,” he grinned, and with that he left the room, his metal cleats echoing as he jogged down the hallway to the locker room.

You leaned back against the wall, feeling like your breathing had stopped and relishing in the fact that this was actually happening to you. You smoothed down your hair, tangled from where Shawn’s hat had been, and made your way back to the offices to watch the game.

Oh, how you were starting to love Toronto.

Feedback is so appreciated, and let me know if you want a part two!! 

[tariqsp8s]

Control the Controllables: Tariq Speights’s journey through football

Story by Jordan Rogers

PHOENIX – Tariq Speights rolls with the punches.

Though he is now playing football at Eastern Michigan University, his path to a Division 1 school was littered with roadblocks.

Through suffering a serious injury, being constantly overlooked, and enduring setback after setback, there was a time when playing college football didn’t seem like an option.

But his ability to persevere and battle adversity has led him to realizing his dreams as a football player.

Starting out at the flag level, Speights has been playing football since he was four years old.

“When I was younger, football was a way in which I could just get my energy out,” Speights said. “It was just fun, but as I started to grow up, I found a way to appreciate the art of the game.”

As football began to get more serious for Speights, he found his way to Valencia High School in Santa Clarita, Calif. To date, the school has won 11-straight Foothill League titles, including all four years Speights attended the school.

Though he got called up in both his freshman and sophomore seasons for playoffs, he did not play full time varsity-level football until his junior year. Valencia head coach, Larry Muir, was impressed with what Speights brought to the table.

“He (Speights) really exceeded expectations in the intangibles,” Muir said. “Obviously, physically he was a good player. He was aggressive, tough, strong, and just a really good athlete. But what really set him apart was his leadership.”

Speights was putting together a good junior season in his first full year at the varsity level. After earning his way onto the starting lineup, Speights recorded 52 tackles through just six games, which at that point lead the league in that category. Game seven brought an opponent he had extra anticipation for: Saugus High School.

“Saugus and I had kind of a personal rivalry because I played with all of those guys during my eighth-grade year,” Speights said. “Those were all of my boys, so it was a big game for me.”

Speights answered the bell. By halftime, he had recorded 11 tackles, one sack, and one forced fumble. And although he didn’t know it at the time, the career game he was putting together came at a very good time.

“My junior year is when I started to get college attention,” Speights said. “Someone had told me that one of the colleges I was talking to was at that game, but I didn’t know that until after the fact.”

Two plays into the second half, Speights was running towards the play to help out on a tackle. As he drew closer, a Saugus offensive lineman rolled into his knee and he collapsed. Speights said he felt a warm sensation in his leg.

Team trainers rushed to Speights’s location, and not thinking too much of it, he walked off the field under his own power. He did not return to the game.

“My knee just felt super loose,” Speights said. “It didn’t really hit me that it was actually hurt until after the game.”

Getting MRI’s are normally a process that is scheduled out weeks in advance, so Speights had to wait a month until he could learn exactly what happened to his knee.

“I had been rehabbing a sprained MCL in my other leg during the weeks before then,” Speights said. “It had literally healed right before the Saugus game. In my mind, it was the same thing that I had. I was like, ‘Oh it’s just a sprain, I’m going to be good.’”

Unfortunately for Speights, he was wrong. The MRI revealed that Speights had suffered from a torn his ACL, MCL, and meniscus.

Instead of making the situation about him, Speights told Muir about his injury and specifically asked him not to tell the rest of the team. He wanted the team to focus on the upcoming game.

“His communication, and his influence on the players around him, is incredible,” Muir said. “He’s just a guy that understands the meaning of teamwork and team chemistry. He’s not going to allow the people around him to slack off.”

When he learned of his injury, it was difficult for Speights to come to grips with it all. He decided to get another opinion.

He took the injury to the team doctors at Valencia and after they did their due diligence, they had decided that the initial MRI was correct.

“I was shocked,” Speights said. “I was starting to get college attention and I thought I was going to get a scholarship offer. Stuff was really going good, and then that hit and sent shock waves over everything. Colleges really started backing off of me.”

After having surgery, Speights’s junior season was over. But he realized he had another season to showcase his abilities, so he did his best to stay positive.

“Especially with injuries like that, if you don’t adapt and keep a positive mindset through this whole thing, that is when you see situations where guys don’t come back from their injuries,” Speights said. “It’s just as much a mental injury as it is a physical injury.”

Speights got to work on his recovery right away. But nothing would come easy to him. When the meniscus gets torn, the leg has to stay completely stationary in order to heal, so Speights had to keep his leg in a cast for a month.

Keeping that positive mindset he stressed, Speights did whatever he could to stay in shape, including lifting in his free time at Valencia in his free time.

Six to nine months is the timeline it takes for the knee to recover, and in six months Speights was ready to begin strengthening his knee. But just like many others, Speights had to learn to trust his knee.

“That was the hardest thing,” Speights said. “It’s something that my physical trainer really helped me do. If you don’t trust it, you’re going to lose that quick step that makes people so great. It was a whole other mental process for me aside from letting my knee heal.”

After his recovery, Speights came back and was handed third-team reps. He would have to earn his way back onto the starting lineup. Valencia had other talented players, so he wasn’t going to just be handed his spot back upon his return.

Speights took it as a challenge. To this day, he believes having to work his way back up made him a better football player and allowed him to appreciate the game even more.

“He just came back on a mission,” Muir said. “He just had laser focus to getting back to playing at a high level. There was just no question he was on a mission to come back from that devastating injury.”

That laser-like focus didn’t end in the offseason. After re-earning his starting spot, Speights had yet another good season and was compensated with a First-Team All-Defense selection.

Despite his successful time on the field at Valencia, Speights still was still navigating through the recruiting process. He had some interest, but nothing serious.

“I knew in my heart that I could play at the Division 1 level,” Speights said. “It was something I was stressing to myself since my freshman year. But especially after my ACL injury, getting to play at a FBS school was kind of a far reach. Realistically, FCS football was probably my best bet.”

Speights, along with Muir, sat down and emailed every FCS school in the country, attempting to showcase himself in a way that a team would be interested. Northern Arizona University responded, saying they would come by for a workout.

“[My family and I] had actually visited all of the Arizona schools earlier,” Speights said. “So even before football became an option, I loved NAU.”

The special teams coordinator showed up to a practice in the spring. After he and Speights exchanged some contact info and ended up choosing to go to NAU with a preferred walk-on spot he was told her would receive.

Unfortunately for many student-athletes, they get told things that aren’t always true. Speights’s case at NAU was no different.

“He didn’t promise anything, but he eluded to things in a way that he probably didn’t have any authority to elude to,” Speights said. “Once I got there, the situation wasn’t what I was told it would be.”

That previously offered walk-on spot would not be given to Speights upon his arrival at the school. But like Speights had done at Valencia, he continued to push through when things got rough.

Speights was strung along. He was basically told week-by-week that he would be added to the roster, but that never ended up happening. What made things even more difficult was that he was sharing a dorm with other guys on the football team, but he was not playing. Speights had hit a low.

Much of the relationship between a college coaching staff and its players is built on trust, and after spending an entire year not playing football, Speights had no trust for the coaching staff at NAU.

But Speights wasn’t done playing football. He decided to go back home and walk on at College of the Canyons, a junior college located in Santa Clarita.

Luckily for Speights, Canyons was more than happy to have the opportunity to have him, as they had recruited him out of Valencia and lost out on him to Northern Arizona.

“He actually had practiced with us once or twice during his senior year,” Canyons coach Ted Iacenda said. “We were just ecstatic, I mean, we were so excited to have him. We wanted him badly.”

Junior college football is often fantasized and carries many stereotypes. The show “Last Chance U” was made to highlight all of those. But Iacenda, who is entering his eighth season as head coach of the Cougars, knows it is nothing like that.

“Our program couldn’t be any further from what that show depicted,” Iacenda said. “The one common denominator you see at our level is you see young men that are hungry for an opportunity. You see young men that are hungry to be coached, to be taught, to be developed, and to get to that promise land and chase those dreams.”

At 5’10”, 230 pounds, Speights has been slapped with an “undersized” tag since he started playing football. He’d been overlooked and undervalued. He fit Iacenda’s “common denominator” to a tee.

As soon as Speights got to COC, he got to work. He knew moving home de-motivates a lot of people, so he got into a routine. Whether he had classes that day or not, he would go to campus and knock out his homework early so he could spend more time working on his game, whether that be working out or watching film.

“In the back of my head, I knew it was a sink or swim moment,” Speights said. “For me, I had the mindset that COC was going to be the steppingstone for the Division 1 college that I want to play at. If I don’t give my all right now, I might not play this game ever again. I was going to work my butt off and I was going to put myself in the best position to have an opportunity to play at the next level.”

Speights’s hard work was again rewarded. As the heart and soul of a defense that allowed just 9.5 points per game and ranked No. 1 in the state of California, Speights lead COC to an undefeated regular season.

He was named National Division, Northern League Defensive Player of the Year and received an All-American selection. Speights recorded 76 total tackles, four sacks, two forced fumbles, and two fumble recoveries.

Iacenda found his time at the school very efficient. To him, Speights carried traits that are not normal for most people to have.

“He just had a tenacity that most kids or most human being in general don’t have,” Iacenda said. “Most people don’t possess one-tenth of his persistence and his ability to push through adversity. He had the positivity and the optimism to see that even though this was a bump in the road for him, he was still going to go chase his dreams.”

Again, despite his personal success and accolade-filled season, he wasn’t getting a lot of recruitment attention.

“Especially after the year I just had where I showed that I could play, I think people were just scared,” Speights said. “I think people were just worried about the height issues. I saw a lot of schools come in and not talk to me because that’s all they saw.”

But late in the game, Eastern Michigan University stepped in and took a closer look at Speights and his body of work. The school had just lost one of their linebackers and needed to fill that void. They thought Speights may just be the one to fill that void.

“Through recruiting, our linebackers coach went and saw a practice,” Eastern Michigan coach Chris Creighton said. “He called me up and said, ‘I’m not saying the talent level is the same, but this guy might be Mike Singletary junior.’ He was just running the whole defense and running the practice.”

It finally seemed as though Speights’s dream of playing at a Division 1 school was coming true. But when Eastern Michigan was looking at Speights, they were out of scholarships at the time, so Speights had to make a decision to go to the school and bet on himself by waiting for one to come his way.

After taking it upon himself to tour the school, he decided to go to Eastern Michigan. To this day he is very happy with the decision he made, and Creighton believes Speights has fit right in with the team.

“He’s been a perfect fit,” Creighton said. “He’s an outstanding human being. He really cares about other people and about this team and is obsessed with getting better. That’s what makes him a perfect fit.”

Two weeks into being with the team at Eastern Michigan, Speights was awarded a scholarship. He had finally reached a goal that meant so much to him.

He had always wanted to find a way to pay his parents back for everything they had done for him, and he could now do that.

“They have my brother and sister that they have to put through college,” Speights said. “It’s the reason why my injury in high school was such an emotional shock. I had always thought that if I could use my athletic talents to help out my parents then I would. Having that happen was a really big moment for me.”

After appearing in eight games a season ago for the Eagles, Speights has worked his way into the opportunity to receive starting reps this upcoming season. And for him, everything he has worked for will be coming to a head when he gets that first start.

For others who are facing adversity such as Speights has, his advice is to keep a positive mindset.

“If people would step back and understand that a lot of this stuff that is happening is completely under their control, it will change so many things in people’s lives,” Speights said. “Just control the controllables.”

[symphonic-scream]

Turning Point (150 follower Special)

It's been maybe eight years since they all graduated together. Eight years since they took down the League of Villains. Eight years since since they all stood arm in arm as they left UA campus for the last time as 3A.

Its surreal, to Hitoshi. He may not have been in 1A from the start, but he considers the others his family; almost moreso than his foster parents. He'd met his husband, his best friends, and even his mentor there. And it's been over for eight years.

Of course, they see each other all the time. A month after graduation, they were all dancing and drinking the night away in a hotel ballroom, celebrating the wedding of Katsuki and Eijirou. A few weeks, and Izuku and Shouto. Then Tsuyu and Ochako.

Hitoshi could list them all, but there were so many weddings. He himself had married the love of his life, Mashirao, just less then a year after graduating. It wasn't just weddings. Every three months, they'd host a big dinner and sleepover, and the whole class would (schedules permitting) spend the night with their UA family.

It was one such night. It was going to be the first one since graduation that they'd all be there for the entire night, which made it special. Tenya had even handed planning over to Mina and Tooru, despite being present at their first rager in their third year.

And Hitoshi couldn't wait.

He and Mashirao were a little late, coming from the next city over, but still managed to get in before Momo, Kyouka, Katsuki and Eijirou. It seemed as if the most punctual couples were dead last, which of course led to tons of small jokes once they showed up ten minutes later.

The first portion was a free area, for catching up. Hitoshi found himself engrossed in a conversation with Denki, who was waving his arms wildly as he explained why Hanta was wrong, and he should definitely grow a super rad soul patch.

"It'll be legendary, bro!" The sparkster grinned, showing another picture of some movie star with the facial feature. "I'll look like a model! My fans will go wild!"

Kyouka, who had been sitting and listening in, snorted, lightly digging her fist into his arm. "As if, Pikachu. You'll just look like a pervert."

He whined, turning his full attention on the punk lesbian. "Kyo! No! I'll look hot as hell!"

"Then why is Hanta so against it?" Hitoshi added his two cents. If the man's husband was against it, there had to be a reason.

Denki froze, before stumbling through a rushed response. "He's just jealous cause he knows I'll be the hot one! He knows he'll never let me leave our bed!"

Kyouka's nose scrunched up, making a sound of disgust. "Dude, too much. And I can guarantee it's because he knows you'll look like a pedophile."

Hitoshi snuck away as Denki practically weaped his defense out, as he already knew the result. He'd look like everyone on the sex offender list. He passed by Yuuga, Mina, and Mashirao on his way to the kitchen of their rented beach house, hoping to find a drink, and maybe someone who he hadn't seen in the last few months.

He was successful on both fronts, running into Ochako and Katsuki, who were cracking open beers after their reunion sparring. Both were glimmering with sweat, but had matching grins on their faces.

"Mind Fucker." Katsuki greeted, taking a sip of his alcohol. That was his 'fun' nickname for Hitoshi, and despite being a little harsh, it was far better than 'Dopey', or 'Half-and-half bastard', both of which had survived the tests of time.

"Murder Bitch." He responded in kind, causing the blond to smirk in approval. "So, who won this time?"

Ochako grinned wider, nudging her partner in the ribs. "I got the best of him this time. Katsuki here got distracted, and I knocked him down easily."

Katsuki just grunted in response, running a hand roughly through her once presentable hair. "Yeah, and if I hadn't, it would've been me acting all smug."

The pair laugh, and Hitoshi marvels in how far Katsuki has come. From an angry, arrogant, mean ass hat to this. It was impressive.

"So, Hitoshi." Ochako began, turning the attention of the conversation on him. "How's life been treating you?"

"Pretty well, actually." And it was the truth. "Mashiro and I just made a down payment on a house, and we're thinking of maybe adopting one day."

Katsuki's eyebrows drew inwards, as Ochako gasped. "Oh! Hitoshi, that's so exciting!"

He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling lightly. "Yeah, we actually started talking because we heard Neijire and Yuuyu announced the birth of their daughter in May."

Their once seniors had gone public about their second child, but had yet to go into further details with the press. As an old friend, Hitoshi knew both children were biological, due to long term successionn planning on Yuuyu's part.

"The same for me and Tsu!" Ochako giggled, holding her hands to her cheeks. "Except, well, we're her godparents, and we thought about having our own!"

Hitoshi smiled, although the look Katsuki was giving them was off-putting. "What about you, K.E.M., have you and Ei talked about having kids?"

Katsuki, sticking to his favourite form of communication, grunted. "None of your damn business."

Huh. Well, that was one way to answer.

Soon, they were all called together for group games, which usually started as Never Have I Ever and ended with drunken screaming. Last year at their April meeting, Fumikage had gotten drunk far too quickly, and watched the rest of the game perched on the fridge, throwing individual Fruit Loops at the group.

Tooru, ever the enthusiastic hostess, had everyone's choice drink ready, even providing Momo with a non-alcoholic fruit juice. Strange. Momo hadn't opted out of alcohol during these games since Kyouka introduced her to the idea of mixing it into fruit juices.

"Never have I ever," Tooru began, curling into her wife's side, a bottle of tequila sitting on the coffee table between their matching glasses. "Cheated on my Significant Other."

No one drank of course, but Mina did have a cheesy grin on her face as she gave her wife a kiss. She cleared her throat, obviously ready for her turn. "Never have I ever had an elemental quirk."

Shouto, Denki, Katsuki, and Momo all took a shot, although Momo had to defend her claim.

"I create matter, which requires the elements." She explained, folding her hands into her lap.

It went like that for a couple more turns, with very few actually having to drink, except for when Katsuki pulled the "never have I ever not been Bakugou Katsuki" move.

Now it was Kyouka's turn, and the most tipsy person in the room was Denki. Kyouka whispered something to her wife, who nodded at her before taking her hand.

"Never have I ever been pregnant."

The whole room watched in shock and amazement as Momo straight up took a swig from her bottle of watermelon juice. It was silent for a few moments, everyone's dazed minds stumbling towards a connection.

"Yaomomo!" Kouji gasped, excitement pouring out of him in waves. Then it clicked for Hitoshi. Momo was pregnant.

"No way!" Mina cried, rocketing forwards in her seat. "You guys!"

Kyouka and Momo flushed, grinning as they folded into each other. Momo was practically glowing, half to tears.

Izuku's eyes were comically wide as he leaned over Shouto to get a better look at the apparent mothers-to-be. "How far along?"

"About three months." Kyouka stated with pride, placing one of her hand protectively over her wife's belly. "Our due date's in March."

Excited chatter erupted throughout the room, until in was shut down by Katsuki standing up, and stalking towards the couple. He shook his head, before pointing a finger directly at Momo. "Thought you could steal the spotlight, did you?"

Momo laughed, pushing his hand back. "Be thankful, we gave you an opportunity. Now you won't have to start any awkward interruptions."

Okay, now Hitoshi was confused. What on Earth could that mean?

Katsuki pulled Eijirou up from his spot on on of the beanbag chairs Denki had dragged in. "We're expecting too. Same program."

"Program?" Ochako squeaked, torn between confusion and happiness.

"The new research about gays, quirks and kids." Eijirou explained, taking his husband's hand nervously. "We all volunteered to be the first cases, and, well, it worked!"

Hanta cheered, spilling his drink over Denki as he careened sideways. "I can't believe it!"

Both sets of parents-to-be beamed, before the questions came up again.

The game was at the back of everyone's mind, as the remaining of their group congratulated the expecting parents. Hitoshi waited for the group to dissipate more before making his way over to Kyouka and Momo.

"Congrats to you, ladies." He greeted, smiling softly.

Kyouka grinned as Momo giggled. "Why, thank you, Hitoshi."

"Yeah, wicked thanks, dude."

Hitoshi let his eyes drift to the small photo in Kyouka's hand. "Is that an ultrasound image?"

Momo's eyes lit up, coaxing her wife into lifting the photo to allow Hitoshi to see it. It was black and white, as ultrasounds are, but the vaguely human shaped spot in the centre is what truly made his heart skip a beat.

"Wow," he muttered, in awe of the small form. "Do you, I mean, know? The sex?"

Kyouka nodded, tucking the photo back into her wallet. "We're going to be having a son."

"Oh my." Hitoshi was, for once, without words. Nothing could describe the feeling bubbling in his chest. He raised his eyes back to his friends, the women who were going to be having a son in March. "You're going to be wonderful parents. He's a very lucky boy."

Momo teared right up, offering a watery smile. "Thank you, Hitoshi, thank you so-"

Mina slammed into the couple at that point, squealing up a storm. "You guys, you guys, you guys!" Tooru, Tsuyu, and Ochako quickly followed, crowding their fellow women.

Leaving the women to be swarmed by the other four, Hitoshi turned his attention on the men of the hour. He's overheard them mention they we're in the early weeks, and it was 50/50 whether it would stick or not.

It was a lot to take in. Momo and Kyouka, and Katsuki and Eijirou were going to be parents in less than a year. It felt like they had graduated just yesterday, but the news struck the firm number of eight years into his mind. How had the time flown right past him?

Hitoshi shook his head. No, it had crept. Every moment without them was awful. But, he had a suspicion it wouldn't be that way for long. With two legacy babies on the way and multiple couples planning, Hitoshi knew they were going to get closer once more.

And, later, when he's carrying a young, sleeping Kazuya back home after a particularly exhausting playdate, Hitoshi muses that he had been right. Their children were strengthening the bonds between them once more.

[ailithnight]

I had an idea and kind of ran with it. The idea was, what if all the characters Thomas ever plays pop up in the mindscape, but they fade away when Thomas doesn’t ‘use’ them. So... this happened. Enjoy!

Title: Remy the Character and Virgil the Side Word Count: 2951 Content Warnings: Major Character Death, Crying, Mild Self Deprecation, Minor Anxiety, Angst

Tagslist: @moose-squirrel05​, @didsomeonesayprince​, @readeatfightlove13​, @theamberrose97​, @anxious-vigil​, @helianthusaster​ If I missed you, my apologies. My Tagslist note got deleted and I’m working on memory. Feel free to shoot me a message.

When he first popped up in the mindscape, Virgil’s heartrate went out of control. It wasn’t that he was startled by the new character popping up. Characters popped up in Thomas’s head all the time. Any character he had ever played; even one off, nameless, barely even different from Thomas shorts characters. Virgil had lost count of how many characters had popped up from various vines. Most of them had faded within a week. Occasionally one would stick around longer. Stitch Thomas, Stewie Thomas, Narrator Thomas, they were all still hanging in the mindscape. It just depended on how much Thomas used them and explored them and fed life into them. If Thomas didn’t do that, they faded. It’s okay. That’s just how his mind worked. Surprise wasn’t what kicked Virgil’s heart into high gear. No, it was something much more painful than that.

“Virgil! Come meet the new character!” Virgil had finally rolled out of bed at 10am. Patton was in the kitchen cooking, not abnormal for the fatherly trait. Roman and Logan were on the couch with someone new between them. Roman had been the one to call for Virgil’s attention, consequently calling the new guy’s attention to him. Their head turned. Virgil saw a pair of dark shades perched in their hair before his eyes travelled lower to meet theirs.

“Hey Gurl! I’m Sleep, but you can call me Remy. How you doin?” Every time Roman boasted his incomparable beauty, Logan liked to point out that they all had the same face and therefore must all be equally beautiful. Roman always responded, no, they were different. To be honest, Virgil had never understood that sentiment before. But in that moment, he did. He was pretty sure not he, nor any of the others, had ever looked as attractive as this man was before him now. Virgil was grateful for his pale foundation. Otherwise, he’d probably look lit up like a Christmas tree right now. It took him a few moments to regain motor control, after which he promptly ducked his head and mumbled.

“Hey. Anxiety. Virgil. Good. You?” The choppy sentence drew concerned gazes from Logan and Roman, but a gleeful laugh from Remy. Virgil swore he heard angels at the sound of it.

“I was doing fantastic.” Virgil’s heart stuttered at the use of past tense. “But even better now that you’re here.” Oh. Okay. Yep, definitely. Definitely blushing right now. Virgil shuffled his feet down off the stairs, too embarrassed to look up and make eye contact again. But despite the mild discomfort of embarrassment, Virgil still felt very light and happy. The erratic beating of his heart was not accompanied by panic and paranoia. Quite the opposite in fact. Virgil felt calmer then than he had since probably his first role in the Sanders Sides series. Thankfully, Virgil’s shy disposition seemed to do nothing against Remy’s spirit. “Ooh, Gurl, that eye shadow is on point. But that foundation is a bit uneven. We have got to swap make-up tips sometime.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. But, breakfast right now.” Virgil shuffled his way across the room. Patton had placed a plate of eggs and bacon and a cup of coffee on the breakfast bar. Virgil quietly thanked him and sat down to eat while Roman and Logan continued whatever conversation they were having with Remy before he came down. While they conversed, Virgil tried to place the strange feeling that had grown in his chest. It was similar to how he felt around the other sides, but also different. Kind of… bouncier. And much more sudden. It had taken a while for Virgil to really grow to like the other sides. Sure, he’d loved them the moment he formed, a generic side, a carbon copy of Thomas, before Thomas had created a character for him. Virgil had loved the others from his first breath and would until his last. The actual liking part hadn’t happened until post Accepting Anxiety when they started hanging out more and Virgil got to know them as people instead of functions with faces that hated his guts. This feeling was almost like that love. But still not the same. Not as deep. So, it’s not quite love but not friendship either. It’s light and bouncy. Calm, but also excited. A tiny bit nervous. It’s. It’s.

“It’s a crush, Kiddo.” Virgil nearly dropped the fork half way to his mouth. Patton had leaned over and whispered in his ear, then pulled back. A cheeky, knowing grin was spread across his face. Virgil eyed him suspiciously, but Patton just chuckled and spoke lowly, so as not to alert the others. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Roman.” Virgil felt his checks light up again at the thought of talking to Roman about his feelings. They weren’t quite that far into their friendship yet.

“No, I’ll. I’ll take your word for it.” It did make sense after all. Virgil had never had a crush, but he’d had plenty of second hand experience through Thomas. A small smile tugged at Virgil’s lips as his mind played with the idea of a crush. Then a new thought occurred to him that instantly soured Virgil’s mood.

“What kind of character is Remy?” Patton gave him a strange look and Virgil realized he had spoken louder than intended.

“I’m a shorts character, like Brain. Why?”

“Just… curious.” Virgil resolutely returned to eating. If Remy was just a shorts character, in all likelihood, he’d be faded by next week, next month if he was lucky. Virgil suppressed a sigh. His first and possibly only crush, and the guy wouldn’t even be around all that long. Virgil barely knew the guy, but the thought of him fading gave Virgil’s heart a painful squeeze. Perhaps it would be best to just avoid Remy. Don’t feed into this feeling when it’s already doomed. Yes, Virgil decided. He’d do the make-up tips then avoid Remy at all costs. Guy probably wouldn’t even like him much anyway. Virgil was way out of Remy’s league. Why even bother when at best, Remy would fade and at worst, Virgil would make an absolute fool of himself. Nope. No thank you. This crush is officially cancelled.

The crush was so not cancelled. After breakfast, Virgil had taken Remy up to his room. Remy didn’t have his own room since he was a character, not a side. Normally, characters chilled in the commons or Roman’s realm (Again, the differences between side and character playing to their advantage as they were unaffected by the rooms). But after their exchange of make-up knowledge, it had become almost impossible to get Remy to leave Virgil’s room unless Virgil himself did. Most of the time, he chilled downstairs in the replica of Thomas’s living room, even sleeping on the sofa down there. Virgil was usually on the computer in the bedroom, so they didn’t actually do that much interaction. But the knowledge that he was there was enough to feed hope into Virgil’s heart. And occasionally, Virgil would join Remy downstairs and watch something on the tv. And they would chat sometimes, then Virgil would go back upstairs. Then they’d go get something to eat and probably talk more then. Then they’d go back to Virgil’s room or one of the others or another character would catch Remy and he’d go hang with them. But he’d always end up back in Virgil’s room. It was weird. But nice. But also painfully. Every day, Remy became a little less solid, a little more transparent, a little less there, a little more faded. And as Remy was fading, Virgil’s crush was developing into something stronger. The entire time, Remy’s flirtatious demeanor never changed. One night, during a Disney movie marathon, Remy slid his arms around Virgil’s shoulder, eliciting a stark contrast of giddiness and pain. After a couple of weeks, Virgil couldn’t take it anymore.

“Could you knock it off!”

“Knock what off, Virge?” That smug smirk. Virgil couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch his lips or kiss them. Probably both what with the acrobatic act he was putting his heart through.

“This… flirtatious shit or whatever it is. If you can’t stop, go do it to someone else why don’t you?”

“I don’t want to flirt with anyone else.”

“Well why not? I’m sure just about anyone else would be better at it than me.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. Besides, I don’t want to flirt with anyone else cause I don’t like anyone else.”

“I thought you were friends with everyone else.”

“Aw. You’re adorable, did you know that?” Virgil’s face flushed red and he ducked his head. A finger came over and lifted his chin and suddenly, Remy’s face was millimeters from Virgil’s. Whatever anxious or self-deprecating thought had been running through Virgil’s had in that moment, it stopped, along with just about everything else in his brain. “Virgil, I like you. As in, like like. I’ve had a crush on you since you first walked down those stairs when I first showed up.” Virgil felt his face heat up more, which he was certain Remy could feel from proximity. The character chuckled and closed the gaps between their faces. The kiss was short, but it made Virgil’s heart jump in a way that was both exhilarating and painful. When Remy pulled away, Virgil struggled to form a coherent sentence. He opened his mouth and breathed out, perhaps for the first time in the last 40 seconds. A single word worked its way put with the breath.

“Why?” Remy flashed a broad grin that had Virgil’s heart spasming all over again.

“Because you’re cute. A like you’re style. Roman, Patton, and Logan were all telling me about you just before you showed up. You exceeded all the standards they set. You fascinate me. Should I go on?” That smug smirk was back and Virgil wanted to slide over and force it away. In a rare show of bravery, he did. Everything else was forgotten about right then. Virgil’s own nervousness, his self-deprecation, his fear of Remy fading. All of that was abandoned in favor of wiping that irresistible smirk off Remy’s features.

The next few months were some of the best of Virgil’s existence. He had decided to fuck it, he was already in too deep to get out, might as well dive into this relationship and enjoy it while it lasted. And, to his surprise, Thomas actually made a few more shorts with the sleep character. Not quite enough for him to physically manifest like some of the others, as well as Virgil, Patton, Logan, and Roman could. But it was enough to keep him hanging around, so Virgil was content. The other had easily accepted their relationship. It wasn’t that strange. Roman had a long-standing relationship with the Narrator and Patton had his eye on a certain Dr. Picani, though they weren’t official yet. Logan claimed to like no one, but that might have been because of the not so pleasant ending to the small fling he’d had with Motivation and Inspiration while they were around. Those two… they were something else. Not the kind of people you really wanted to be in a relationship with. All in all, things were good for Virgil. Until they weren’t.

Thomas had been super busy the last couple of months. Several big projects had been coming together all at once and Thomas was running from one to the next with barely a breath in between to take care of himself. Shorts had all but stopped since there was no time to sit and plan any out. The ones that were made were usually spur of the moment, random bouts of inspiration with a one-off character. In the mean-time, Remy had grown distant. Before, they had grown so close, even saying I love you to each other, which was a big thing to Virgil. But suddenly, Remy just wasn’t there when he woke up. At first, Virgil had panicked, but he quickly pushed it away and regained control. First, he looked all through his own room. Not finding his partner there, Virgil went out into the commons. After all, Remy did have a life outside of Virgil. It’s not like they were together 24/7. More like, 21/6, if you counted sleeping.

Virgil went downstairs and Remy was there, talking with Roman. Virgil smiled, all traces of panic evaporating. He snuck up on Remy, who had his back to the stairs, and wrapped his arms around him. “Good Morning.” Remy froze and a spike a fear pushed through Virgil’s heart. Had he done something wrong? Before he could dwell on that too long, Remy thawed in his arms, twisting around to meet Virgil’s gaze.

“Good Morning, Honey. Sleep well?” Virgil eyed his boyfriend critically. Something was off about him.

“Yeah. You?”

“Gurl, I am Sleep.” It finally struck Virgil what was off. Remy’s make-up, specifically his foundation, was uneven.

“Rem, are you okay?” Remy blinked at him a couple times. Roman spoke up from the sofa.

“He’s-” Remy cut him off before he got any further in whatever he was going to say.

“I’m fine. Maybe didn’t sleep so well last night. But I’m fine. It happens, y’know.” Virgil did know. Rather well actually. Bouts of insomnia were not uncommon for the personification of anxiety.

“Virgil, breakfast!” Patton called from the kitchen. Virgil looked to the breakfast bar were fresh pancakes and a steaming mug were waiting. Virgil looked at Remy, who smiled at him.

“Already ate. Your turn.” Virgil nodded and gave Remy a quick peck on the check before claiming his meal. He should have noticed then how cold Remy’s check was. And if he didn’t notice anything then, he really should have when Remy added gloves and eventually switched his jacket for Virgil’s old hoodie and certainly as he grew more and more distant. Virgil started seeing less and less of his boyfriend, only really spending time together while they slept. It hurt. But Virgil didn’t want to push Remy. Besides, he was also awful busy what with the chaos that was Thomas’s life at that time. Being the Anxiety of a big time You-Tuber was stressful. But Virgil really wished he had noticed before it was too late. He wished he hadn’t had to wake up one morning, his boyfriend stone cold in his arms, barely breathing and impossible to wake. Virgil found a note on his dresser.

I’m Fading Virge. Not much longer now, I can feel it. I really should have stopped flirting when you asked me to. Shouldn’t have started in the first place really. I was selfish. I know it’s kind of written into my character. But you were written to be a villain. If you could defy it, I should have too. But I didn’t. I’m sorry. I love you. ~Remy. P.S. Don’t forget to go eat some breakfast.

It hurt. Oh, how it hurt. Virgil cried. Loudly. Loud enough that someone came in. Virgil didn’t know who. He couldn’t focus enough to tell. Whoever they were, they tried to take him away from Remy. Virgil fought. But he wasn’t strong enough. Next thing he knew, Virgil was in the commons, on the couch, his family around him. Virgil cried. Virgil begged Roman to give Thomas a shorts idea with Remy.

“I’m sorry Virgil. I tried. He keeps dismissing me. He’s busy right now. Everything we’ve worked so hard for… he doesn’t have the time to spare.” Virgil cried. He tried manifesting to Thomas and asking him directly to make a short. Something. Anything. Just play the Sleep character. Thomas dismissed him.

“I can’t right now, Virge. It’s almost time.” Virgil went back to the mindscape. Virgil cried. Patton tried to soothe him. Logan tried to distract him. Eventually, it worked. Virgil stopped crying. But there was a hollow ache in his chest that Virgil didn’t know how to deal with. Patton was the heart. But Patton might not know either. Thomas had never lost a partner like this. None of them had. No one really knew how to help and console Virgil. Virgil didn’t know either.

Fading was not a quick and clean affair. First, the character started going cold, then transparent. After a while, they starting losing energy, becoming lethargic. Eventually, they’d go to sleep and not wake up. After that, they’d keep fading until soon, all that was left was an outline, an echo, a motionless ghost. It was some time before Virgil could go back to his room. When he did, he couldn’t bear to stay in the bedroom. He slept on the couch. It still hurt, but less. Thomas moved on from his busy spell. Things got back to normal. Eventually, Virgil learned to live, even with the hollow ache he felt would never go away. 

They all found ways to give closure. Roman summoned a gravestone in the yard outside the common house. Logan taught Virgil a lot about grief and getting over the loss of a loved one. Patton gave warm hugs and cookies and listened to Virgil talk and reminisce. It helped. Mostly. Eventually, Virgil gave Thomas the okay to make another sleep short. Thomas had wanted to do so as soon as he could, but Virgil had refused then. While Thomas made the short, Virgil hung in the background, just outside the camera’s sight. It hurt, watching Thomas dress up and portray him. But, it was important too. Virgil was glad it happened. It hurt less. Especially when he went back to his room and faced the familiar shape lying on his bed.

[elizas-writing]

When Wish Fulfillment Fantasies Meet Reality: A Re-Examination of Twilight

 **CW/TW: The following piece discusses dating violence with brief mentions to sexual assault and self-harm.**

This year, the last Fifty Shades movie finally came and went, and as its popularity slowly morphs into a bad memory for pop culture, I’m thinking again about the fiction’s effect on reality, particularly wish fulfillment fantasies, self-insert stories, etc etc.

This train of thought began with the Twilight series after watching Lindsay Ellis’s video essay, “Dear Stephenie Meyer,” where she revisits the hatred surrounding said franchise. While it’s definitely not without serious flaws, Twilight was not really as bad as people made it out to be. And most of the criticism was solely about millions of young girls and their moms liking a thing because, what a shock, our society tends to hate anything feminine. I was definitely one of those teenage girls who wanted nothing to do with Twilight, surprising no one probably. Even though I had enough plot summary from friends to pick up the actual problems of the story, I just had fun hating it for the sake of hating it and disassociating with anything feminine because I was neck-deep in my weeaboo phase.

Cut to about seven years later, I took a Vampires in Pop Culture class and Twilight (the first of the series) was on the reading list. With a more mature mind, I sat down, read it, and yeah, it really was not as bad as I thought. Yes, Bella’s too one-dimensional, Edward’s still pretty creepy, and the dialogue and prose is at best, ridiculous and at worst, stale. It knows its target audience is tweens and reads as such, which unfortunately doesn’t grip me as an adult. I gave up at the baseball scene cause I was ready to gouge my eyes out if I read one more description of the weather. And give credit where it’s due, the side characters have way more fascinating stories than Bella or Edward, and it’s a shame Meyer didn’t take a chance to further expand them instead. I couldn’t find much to be angry about with the first book, and I was honestly more bored than anything. But I also cannot deny the wish fulfillment fantasy driving the narrative which drew in a large audience all those years ago.

And wish fulfillment is fine. Self-insert is fine. Teenage girls are just figuring out what confidence is, and there is some reassurance in a fantasy where the totally out-of-league man of your dreams still finds you the most fascinating human being in the world and wants to give you all his undivided attention. Not every female lead needs to be a strong independent woman who don’t need no man. I still see people write self-insert fanfictions from time to time, and they’re very sweet and tender to imagine being loved by a favorite character. We actually consume these stories more than we like to admit.

Hell, one of my favorite guilty pleasure films is The Princess Diaries. In many ways, it hits the same notes as Twilight. It’s a pure wish fulfillment fantasy where the main girl is smart, but clumsy and awkward and just wants to be invisible. Yet she finds herself on a whirlwind journey of self-discovery where others find value in her, and she even falls in love with a boy who adores her regardless of how she perceives herself. Yet The Princess Diaries is such a popular chick flick among people my age. So why is something like The Princess Diaries fondly remembered as an integral part of a millenial/Gen Z childhood while Twilight is met with disdain and disgust?

The major differences boil down to the main female protagonists: Mia and Bella. While not an overly complex character, Mia has, well, a personality. Her journey is more personal of overcoming her social anxiety and realizing how much she can contribute to the world as a public figure if she just takes the leap of faith. Getting a romance in the end is just icing on the cake when she remembers who was there for her even when she was the awkward nerd and will love her regardless of appearance or social status. It’s cheesy and hokey as chick flicks do, but it’s a satisfying wish fulfillment fantasy where the protagonist is better off than where she started and what she was looking for was right there all along.

With Bella, I barely know who she is outside of her romantic interests. Sure, the books go into more detail of her intelligence and social anxiety, but it’s never seen in film. Her life completely revolves around her relationships to the point of obsession, but we never almost see what she’s like when not caught up in the supernatural love triangle. And unfortunately, it’s a problem which worsens with each sequel. The Twilight franchise frames romance as something Bella can’t live without to the point of shutting herself in for months when the Cullens leave in New Moon, refusing to talk to her friends and family, and getting night terrors. It’s intended to make you feel sorry for Bella, but her backwards priorities make her completely pathetic on how much of her life she misses because of some boy who didn’t hesitate to cut her from his life, and she was totally fine with him leaving if he didn’t turn her into a vampire.

Prioritizing unrequited love over your own well being is such an unhealthy idea to romanticize because there is far more to life than some dumb boy who won’t return your feelings. I saw my fair share of unsatisfying romances in young adulthood hanging on by a thread for some idealized love that’s never going to happen. Even though a break up is the simplest and most effective solution for both people to take care of themselves, they continue wasting their time being unhappy with each other and latching on to the rose-tinted view of how they first fell in love. I know some people don’t like the idea that you have to love yourself before someone else, but there’s still truth to the saying where you have to understand that being in a romantic relationship will not automatically fix all your problems and guarantee a happily ever after.

Aside from getting married and having a baby which almost kills her during pregnancy, Bella doesn’t grow as a character or develop any personality, and she just gets her happy ending anyway. The Volturi hint that Bella is special because she’s unaffected by vampire powers, but that detail is shuffled to the sidelines to get more of Jacob and Edward butting heads on who she’ll choose. Most of the story’s events are outside her control and she doesn’t explore further into what they mean about her being special, and even her turning into a vampire-- not even of her own volition, but as a last ditch attempt to save her while dying in childbirth-- doesn’t change that much about her except now she’s immortal and she can bang Edward without getting knocked unconscious again.

I know Twilight is commercial romantic fiction meant to go in one ear and out the other, but it’s still such a damn waste of great lore and  build up with no pay off. And Bella is such a bore of a protagonist to follow the entire time even for a blank slate who is meant to be easily identifiable for teenage readers. Again, not every female character needs to wield a sword or be flawless at everything they do, but having an engaging arc is the simplest bare minimum when writing your story’s protagonist. But that got lost in drawn out weather descriptions and, of course, the unhealthiest romances in fiction.

In a 2013 interview with TIME about her book, The Host, Meyer says she never thinks much about if her protagonists are good role models because “it’s fiction... I don’t think you should be using fictional characters as role models.” To that, I strongly disagree and am rather surprised to hear from Meyer given the great battles of Team Edward vs Team Jacob as each of the films released in theaters. Granted, this is an old interview, and I don’t know how much her opinion changed, but it still irks me.

Whether you like to admit it or not-- especially on the wonderful world of Tumblr.com--, fiction affects our reality. It alters our perception on politics, race, gender, lifestyles, and yes, even romance. Especially as kids and teenagers, we can’t help but find role models to base our ever-changing identities on and look up to so we can be better people for ourselves and society. It’s the reason why so many people define themselves on what Hogwarts house they’re in, why Disney milks Star Wars as long as they can, and why black communities arranged trips for everyone to see Black Panther. And unfortunately, I can’t bring myself to say Twilight is completely harmless in how it portrays the romances.

Just type in any search engine about abusive relationships in Twilight, and you get millions upon millions of analyses on how Edward and Jacob check off as abusers. They’re controlling, aggressive, easy to become jealous, and lacking any notion of personal boundaries. However, one abuser often forgotten in this conversation is Bella, who is such a despicable, emotional manipulator.

Remember how ridiculously depressed she gets in New Moon when Edward leaves? Well, she starts seeing visions of Edward checking in on her whenever she seems to be in danger. And she gets the bright idea to keep purposefully doing so-- including hanging out with shady gang members, crashing a motorcycle and jumping off a cliff-- just to get his attention and hopefully coax him to return to Forks. I’m surprised she didn’t just straight up say “If you leave me, I’ll kill myself” because it’s such textbook gaslighting. And when Edward is led to believe Bella died, then he attempts suicide! And she’s seriously surprised he would given how much needless self-harm she did over the months? What else did you think was going to happen?! I can’t even laugh at some of the badness of New Moon because Bella’s toxic behavior leaves such a sour taste in my mouth. Her severe romantic dependency went from being a damsel-in-distress to an abusive, emotionally manipulative screwball. And that’s just scraping the tip of the iceberg, folks.

Upon actually watching all the films for the first time, Edward’s behavior isn’t nearly as bad as my first perceptions when I was in middle school, but his possessiveness and lack of personal space are still incredibly uncomfortable. I know we all wrote that fanfiction where person A gets saved by person B from attempted gang rape, but Edward is so overbearingly and exhaustively protective, and it just gets worse in the sequels up until Bella’s finally transformed into a vampire. It is to the point where he hardly trusts Bella to do anything by herself knowing how massive of a klutz she is, and will pop into her home without permission, warning or respect of her personal space. As such, she never grows independence, much less learn how to protect herself or be prepared when supernatural forces come for her while the Cullens leave.

Edward may have good intentions to think of Bella’s safety with the context of other vampires mercilessly killing humans in Washington state, but he’s also on a slippery slope of controlling nearly every aspect of her life, especially when she might start feeling romantic for someone else, because guess what dude? You left for over half a year. This continuing behavior throughout the series heavily contributes to Bella’s unhealthy dependency on a romantic partner to the point where she feels like she can’t live without them. Granted, that doesn’t excuse her emotional manipulation, but because she never learns self-defense on the off chance no one else is there to save her, it’s no wonder why she has severe issues with separation and loneliness. Like I said before, you can’t have a healthy romantic relationship if you think it’s going to automatically fix all your problems. Your romantic partner isn’t your therapist or coping mechanism, especially if you can’t handle a simple break up or if said partner wasn’t even that great to begin with.

You’d think Jacob would be off the hook since he at least doesn’t watch Bella while she’s sleeping, but he’s not escaping unscathed. Despite how the series tries to explain what imprinting is, it’s glanced over so quickly on the now creepy relationship between Jacob and Bella’s daughter, even all things considered for a rapidly growing vampire child. He also has a ton of aggressive tendencies as part of the werewolf gene to the point where he will inevitably hurt Bella-- as illustrated with another pack member’s live-in girlfriend who has scars across her face--, and has zero respect for consent as he forcibly kisses her on multiple occasions. Yeah, cause painting your Native American characters-- and only prominent characters of color-- as inevitable, aggressive predators sure is good representation and definitely not some awful racial stereotype. Jacob embodies the most basic descriptors of toxic masculinity between his sense of entitlement that Bella should choose him over Edward and the “boys will be boys” mentality as though Jacob is completely incapable of any self-control, werewolf or not. Given the recent news surrounding Brett Kavanaugh’s nomination and his defenders claiming “what boy hasn’t done this” and that he shouldn’t be punished for his actions as a young man, Jacob’s character is one of the most dangerous aspects of the series to be romanticized as a wish fulfillment fantasy. He’s not only based on gross racial stereotypes, but also on harmful patriarchal ideas of men thinking they’re entitled to women without any consideration to their autonomy. Normalizing this behavior as attractive qualities in a partner allows men to run from their actions without consequence.

And this toxic masculinity only heightened when Fifty Shades of Grey entered the spotlight for pop culture to bash, but had much more legitimate criticisms to garner hatred.

Fifty Shades of Grey changes up the wish fulfillment fantasy where instead of a vampire, the clumsy and awkward female lead, Anastasia Steele, is swept away by billionaire, Christian Grey, who’s happy to spoil her with grand luxuries but has a troubled past which makes it difficult for him to love. Oh, and he’s into BDSM and writes up a questionable contract for Anastasia on all the kinky shit he wants to do. And Anastasia is so sweet and innocent she doesn’t even know what an anal plug is (like, it’s right there in the name, sweetheart. You can’t be this dumb). As you do, things go wrong, they take a break, Christian dumps his tragic anime backstory on Anastasia as a pathetic excuse to apologize, people from his past show up because reasons, and they eventually live happily ever after, married with a baby on the way.

Not only does Christian hit the same abuser red flags as Edward, Jacob and Bella on top of being the worst dom in history, but the series passes off that anyone can be fixed with the power of love. Once again, your romantic partner isn’t your therapist. Trauma may explain his behavior, but that doesn’t excuse what he put Anastasia through, and neither is it suddenly her job to fix him. And abusers like Christian are never reformed so easily with love; more often than not, they use it as leverage to manipulate and keep the relationship going for the sake of control. Sure, it sounds hot to be in a BDSM relationship with a billionaire ready to spoil you, but do the ends really justify the means of that sweet wish fulfillment? Is it really that great of a fantasy to play your partner’s therapist and humor their extreme control and possessiveness to the point where you’re almost not allowed to be an individual?

It’s one thing to have guilty pleasures and wish fulfillment fantasies. But after a while, you wonder what it is about a certain piece of media which makes it a guilty pleasure. It’s one thing if Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey are guilty pleasures in some of the enjoyably bad writing, unnatural dialogue or squandered potential. But upholding these romances as ideal and disregarding all the blatant warning signs of abusive relationships? That’s where we really need to take a step back and wonder why this is remotely okay to normalize, especially for impressionable teenage girls. Even though I was mostly amused by the films’ bad writing and these poor actors pushing through for their paychecks, there was also a fair amount of content which was too uncomfortable to laugh at-- Bella’s emotional manipulation, the portrayal of werewolves, and the unsubtle anti-abortion message in Breaking Dawn: Part 1 just to name a few. It’s baffling how these properties became cultural phenomenons for their “romances of the century” when most of these character really need couples’ counseling.

Thankfully, these franchises didn’t made too lasting impressions and for the most part are forgotten. Stephenie Meyer quietly retired to continue taking care of her kids, and EL James just kinda disappeared from the media spotlight since the last film released. Maybe Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey aren’t the worst series to happen to mainstream media, but they still heavily reflect a society which to this day hesitates to call dating violence what it is. Where finding love in another takes priority over self-care. Where people still struggle to define abuse because “if that’s abuse, then everyone I know has been abused.” Where despite sexual assault survivors’ testimonies, polygraph tests, supporters, and grueling mental exhaustion to tell their stories, their abusers roam free without consequence and are still allowed power with their nasty holier-than-thou attitudes to silence anyone who dares question their character.

We’re slowly getting better in these kind of fantasies for teens with films like Love, Simon and To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before with genuinely health romances where the characters have to confront their flaws and grow. We’re a lot more critical of relationship dynamics in film than we were over a decade ago, especially with #MeToo in the last year. But part of me is still worried if we’ll have another trend like Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey where it’s blindly defended because it’s fiction and disregard when people romanticize the severely problematic elements which don’t guarantee happily-ever-afters for couples’ in reality. As the possibility of reverting to pre-Roe vs. Wade days becomes more of a likelihood, at what point do we finally acknowledge that a simple fantasy isn’t automatically above criticism?

If you enjoyed this analysis and what I do here, consider buying me a ko-fi to show your support!

[avnkin]

he know’s spider-man

A/N: this is an imagine i originally posted on my wattpad account but i’m just going to stick with tumblr and post all my imagine’s here (also i’m the queen of bad titles okay bye)

summary: Ned blurts out in gym class that Peter knows Spider-Man when he hears you talk about how much the guy in red and blue fascinates you.

pairing peter parker x reader

request prompts from this list 

As you sat on the bleachers talking to your friends about nothing in particular New York’s finest hero suddenly came up in one of your conversations and you couldn't hold back the smile that crept its way onto your lips whenever someone brought him up.

“It’s just Spider-Man” you mumbled putting your head in your hand as you smiled dreamily thinking about the man in red and blue “oh my gosh she’s crushing on spider man” one of your friends chuckled earning light smack on the back of her head from you “ow” she mumbled rubbing the spot where you had hit her, you only smiled satisfied as you continued writing your notes for the upcoming math test you had later this week.

“You seriously like Spider-Man?” Liz asked you plopping down next to you as she shooed the girl that had previously been sitting there away “I can’t like him! I don't even know what he looks like I just find him fascinating that’s all” you frowned trying your best to avoid the topic.

Peter's eyes opened wide as he heard the words that came out of your mouth you had a crush on Spider-Man? He thought, feeling his stomach fill with butterflies as he stared so helplessly at the girl he had been in love with for the past two years. He was certain you didn’t know who he was since you were popular and he, well he was not.

He liked to keep to himself and the only friend he had was Ned who was just as much of a nerd as him, Ned knew about Peter’s massive crush on you since it was fairly obvious, Peter would constantly stare at you and rant about how cute you were so Ned took this as his chance to get you to notice him “Peter knows Spider-Man” he suddenly yelled and everything went quite.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at Peter, including you. It was like time had stopped and everyone just stared at him in shock, Peter was mortified as he looked at Ned with a death stare he absolutely hated being the center of attention. He then turned his head and as his eyes met yours, he felt his cheeks turn Scarlet as you smiled in his direction.

As soon as gym was over he stood up and hurried into the changing rooms to get back into his normal clothes which consisted of a white t-shirt, grey jacket and blue jeans. Ned followed after him and waited for him as he changed clothes.

“Why the hell would you do that Ned!?” Peter scolded his best friend whilst he pulled the white t-shirt over his head “because Y/N was talking about how much she likes Spider-Man and well I just wanted her to notice you since it’s no secret that you like her” Ned said shrugging his shoulders as he took a bite out of the chocolate bar that had been in his pocket for the last three weeks.

“I can't believe you everyone looked at me like a was a complete freak” Peter groaned sitting down next to Ned “and Y/N she stared as well” Peter said, she was truly the only reason he felt so embarrassed about the entire ordeal “what do you mean she smiled at you! she noticed you” Ned said putting his arm around Peter’s shoulders as he took another bite of his chocolate “isn’t that like two weeks old?” Peter asked scrunching his face up in disgust “nope three weeks” Ned respondes swallowing the rest of it and throwing the plastic that had been wrapped around it into the trash.

“Much better” Peter said sarcastically as they both walked down the school hallways to their next class, which was history a class you were also in and he couldn’t help the nerves filling his stomach as he sat in the back of the classroom like usual waiting anxiously for you to walk into the room. You eventually did and did something Peter did not expect.

When your eyes met Peter’s you smiled and waved at him his eyes widening as he started looking around the room to see if you were waving at him or someone else.

You giggled at this and walked to the back of the classroom and plopped down in the seat next to him, you had never seen anyone as shocked as he was in that moment “hi I'm Y/N” you smiled towards him and offered him your hand to shake “I-I uh hi I'm uh Parker” his eyes widened "Peter Parker sorry" he chucked awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

You found it adorable how he stumbled over his words and blushed every time you spoke to him or looked at him, you couldn’t deny the fact he was pretty fucking cute. His sharp jaw, his lips and adorable brown eyes.

You had always noticed Peter in every single one of your classes you actually envied him a lot because of how smart he was but there was just something about him that drew you to him so you found yourself starting to take in every detail about him.

How he would stick his tongue out ever so slightly when he was concentrating and how he would anxiously bite his nails every time the teacher said that he was picking one person to come up to the board and solve what they had been doing.

Your staring didn’t go unnoticed by Peter and he stared growing more and more nervous every time you looked his way, was there something wrong with the way he dressed did he have something on his face? Those were the only things he could think about.

He had never been so grateful to hear the unpleasant noise of the bell signaling that class was over, he quickly gathered his books and made his way out of the classroom as quickly as he possibly could “Peter!” you called after him but he pretended not to hear you as he continued walking down the hallway and towards the exit.

You were a little hurt by this but decided to just forget about it and go home. You walked towards your locker and shoved all of your stuff in there slamming it shut and walking out of school.

It usually took you about 20-25 minutes to walk home but you remembered that there was a much shorter way you could go that would only take you 10 minutes but you had to go through a dark alleyway that always creeped you out and was the only reason you didn't go the short cut, but you thought nothing of it today as the sun was shining and you were feeling brave.

But that all changed when you were about mid way through the alley “look at what we have here” you heard a mans voice slur obviously meaning that he was extremely drunk.

You started walking faster clutching your backpack tightly, slowly letting out a breath you didn't know you had been holding in. The man quickly caught up to you and grabbed your shoulder and threw you to the ground and straight into a puddle completely drenching you.

“Please don't” you cried the man only kicking you in response “shut up you bi-” the man was cut off by someone kicking him to the ground that person being none other than Spider-Man himself.

“Y/N are you okay!?” Spider-Man asked pulling you up to your feet, you were shocked how does Spider-Man know my name? You thought “ho-how do you know my name” you finally managed to get out “oh i-uh i just you know” you heard him begin to ramble and you immediately realized who your savior was.

“Peter?” you asked slowly pulling the mask off of his head, he didn't try to stop you and as soon as you saw the all to familiar face of Peter Parker you smiled and connected your lips to his as a thank you. He was shocked but reacted quickly by wrapping his arms around your waist.

When you pulled away his cheeks were as red as they could possibly be “please don't tell anyone” was the first thing he said and you nodded mumbling a ‘I would never’ him only nodding before pulling the mask back over his head right before disappearing out of sight.

“She kissed you!?” the voice of Ned ran through out the entire house, Peter didn’t say anything instead he just smiled the most happiest smile he had smiled since uncle Ben died. He felt as happy as he could ever be and it was like nothing could bring him down in that moment.

“Yes she did it was amazing” Peter gushed feeling his cheeks turn a deep shade of red at the thought of your lips pressed against his.

“See being Spider-Man has it's pros” Ned said pausing the movie that had been quietly playing in the background that the boys had stopped watching a while ago “but it also has its cons like risking my life every single day!” Peter said raising an eyebrow at Ned “whatever dude you kissed Y/N one of the most attractive girls at school”

Peter couldn't argue with Ned anymore so he just nodded feeling as lucky as ever that a girl like Y/N had kissed him, she was way out of his league and he was sure everyone knew that but in that moment it didn't matter the only thing that mattered was that she kissed him.

Y/N kissed him.

[namisashimi]

Yicun: ‘League of Legends deserves to be understood by more.’

source. yicun special column (mirror) by danneergou (丹尼二狗) and yicun (一村) for pentaq. images by yicun.

translator. it’s been forever, but maya brought my attention to this article by the lpl photographer, yicun, on his experiences at worlds this year. it’s actually a really fascinating and very personal reflection, and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did.

Because for those who don't understand, there's so much more excitement to be experienced.

From our first interview with him during the 2016 Mid-Autumn Festival, PentaQ has known this LPL photographer for more than a year. Since we didn’t meet him on the competitive stage, our understanding and knowledge of Yicun comes more from his photography - in it, you can find all that is League of Legends. That five-colored stage, that youthful, passionately shouting audience, the champions lifting their trophy and their glory, the losers crying in the corner, or even those busy passerbys coming and going.

Before the 2017 World Finals began, PentaQ published a series of 'Pre-Game Special Columns,' one of which was on Yicun. In that article, Yicun used photography to reminisce about how from when he first encountered League of Legends at All-Stars 2013 to now. After the finals, we once again contacted Yicun in hopes that we could hear his new feelings after the entire Worlds weekend.

And so, in the same place we saw the same old Yicun – dressed in athletic gear, full of life. From his arrival in Wuhan on 9/20 to his return to Shanghai on 11/5, he said this hectic yet fulfilling journey of a month and a half let him once again see the heyday of esports.

post-worlds memory: a heart under the giant championship cup.

the longest, yet the happiest worlds.

If I had to remember the last time I worked for this long, I would look back to Season 5 Worlds, two years ago. If I calculated carefully, it would only be shorter than this year’s by a few days – that was 9/26/2015, when I and some friends went to watch a concert by Rene Liu, then hurried to Paris.

A person in a foreign country will have a lot of boring moments, a lot of spare time – after all, that place is someone else's center stage, and where you live will not be that close to the players and the competition. But when this year’s Worlds came to China, my life had nothing else. Every day was Season 7 Worlds; there was no spare time, no leisurely moments – just focusing on one thing. Time really flew.

yicun in 2015: carrying his bag and his camera, he followed the world championships across europe.

Looking back on S5, the biggest feeling at the time was regret, but this year - perhaps some people might disagree with me, but I think SSG lives up to this championship. When I experienced this year’s Worlds, I realized the championship was not just determined by strength on paper, but rather by willpower. Sometimes, what we are battling with is not just skill and strategy, not just the player’s in-game performance, but rather their mental strength - in groups, SSG didn’t perform well and lost two matches in a row to RNG, but once they entered the playoffs, they became the team that wanted to win the most.

In competitive sports, ‘the one who is brave wins on a narrow path.’ In that moment, whoever could endure to the end won.

No matter what, looking back on that one and a half months - perhaps it was a shot that was both the longest and yet felt the shortest. It seems like only yesterday that I was preparing my luggage, yet now, the battle in the Bird’s Nest has drawn its curtains.

from short sleeves to long sleeves, from Wuhan to Guangzhou, to Shanghai, to Beijing - a month and a half’s ‘strange journey.’

from play-ins to groups, from excitement and worry to pity.

Most of the time, my photography plan isn’t officially set, but rather determined by myself. To me, photographing Worlds is a kind of mission, a kind of responsibility. It’s not that someone else is making me take these, but rather that I want to take them. To be honest, the official commission I received didn’t include Play-Ins, but I felt that anywhere that had LPL teams, I should attend.

Because I hoped that no matter what the result, even if WE could not make it out of Play-Ins, I could still faithfully chronicle this moment.

Throughout the entirety of Play-Ins, WE still had some stumbles. Apart from the LCK, this was almost a rehearsal for the performance of the other major regions, so even though the wind was calm, the waves were choppy. Compared to later rounds, I was more anxious during Play-Ins, because this was the first year this stage existed and many didn’t consider it a serious competition. As a result, I was all the more worried that WE might not make it out. However, even as I worried over this, I saw the analyst team working to help the LPL. At the time, the three teams had already come to Wuhan and started practicing, and we could once again see the strength of the LPL working together.

the play-ins were a part of we’s world championship experience.

Because my hometown is Huangshi, Wuhan was very close to home. I had originally planned to visit home after Play-Ins ended, but for various reasons failed to do so - I’m usually someone who returns home periodically, but this Worlds, after Play-Ins began I didn’t go home at all.

In the groups, EDG was truly worth pitying. They really had the ability to get out of groups. Sometimes, though, you just get unlucky; that’s all that can be said.

You see, in this year’s Worlds, the Western teams really are not weak. From certain standpoints, the Western teams and the SEA teams have a greater tactical ability than LPL teams, or even LCK teams. Asian teams are more stable in their basic mechanics, in their fighting and teamwork than the West, but when something unusual happens, or when there’s a patch change, our ability to react is less than those of other regions. We are too used to following our own tempo in the game. So, even if it’s just my own opinion, when EDG faced C9, perhaps they had yet to adjust themselves to their best form.

If you want to talk about pain, this year’s EDG was not as painful as that of the past two years. After all, that year was far more regretful. Speaking of something that left a serious impression on me: after EDG lost, Clearlove walked off the stage. At that time, he hadn’t yet gotten his mindset out of the game, and as he walked onto the stairs and saw me, he said something like this.

‘What’s left depends on WE and RNG.’

So, I want to say - our players have their own shared honor, and this honor, it all exists in each of their hearts.

even if i can’t go on, then please take my hopes with you and go forward. this is the honor of a region.

to touch hearts, to leave no regrets.

Quarterfinals and semifinals - one in Guangzhou, one in Shanghai. Comparatively speaking, the quarterfinals most touched our hearts, while the semifinals most caught our attention and left us with no regrets.

Of my entire Worlds photography journey, the quarterfinals were the most unforgettable. Here, whether they sadly left the stage or continued on, each team had their own story to tell.

For example, FNC vs. RNG. I had followed FNC for a long time, while RNG was one of our LPL teams. I liked both teams a lot, so I felt like I had returned to that quarterfinals in 2015, where FNC faced EDG. Another game was MSF vs. SKT. MSF performed incredibly well, and I really hoped they could win. To me, the quarterfinals brought all the highlights from the group stages together. In groups, even if you lost every game the first week, you’d still have a thread of life to cling to in the second week. Quarterfinals were different. If you lost, you lost - win or die.

Luckily, both our LPL teams took the win.

Ah, the quarterfinals. How many years had it been since we last broke out of quarterfinals? That was really a different feeling. In past years, my heart would always feel empty after quarterfinals, because our team was out. Semifinals, finals - those photos were all taken for someone else to see.

The position I gave myself was not just for Worlds, but also for the LPL. So once the LPL teams had all left, my heart would feel that ‘emptiness.’ Even in the Bird’s Nest, it was the same. I knew that in my life, I wouldn’t have many opportunities to take photos in the Bird’s Nest, but as the as the 11/4 finals drew closer, I was more willing to ‘pull myself out’ and experience the match as a spectator - it had been a very long time since I last watched a game as an ordinary spectator.

So if the end result of the quarterfinals were happiness, then in Shanghai, in what could truly be called the ‘esports headquarters,’ what we welcomed was the pain of the LPL teams being eliminated.

Compared to those of the last two years, this year’s results are, of course, slightly better, and perhaps even reminiscent of S4 - really, so close. Even though the Chinese teams didn’t make it to the Bird’s Nest, this year was still a successful year for the LPL. Even if we didn’t have the best competitive results, through our matches we had broadcasted the culture that belonged to us, that belonged to League of Legends. The people around me who played other games had begun to appreciate League of Legends; my friends from other careers, who had no relationship to the game, were also supporting League of Legends, supporting the Bird’s Nest, supporting the S7 World Championships.

‘fighting’ might be the best descriptor of the lpl. it implies ‘no matter who wins or loses, we will put in our best effort.’

After the semi-finals ended, many people said it was like the end of youth.

Hearing this, I felt comforted rather than miserable. Whether our youth had come to an end was not for us to say, but if you could wholeheartedly say something like that, it meant League of Legends had completely affected you, that it had become a part of your youth. Those who said ‘my youth has ended,’ congratulations. You have become adults. But if you are willing to wait, League of Legends is really just like you. It too is growing up.

So, I don’t think ‘youth has ended’ is a sad topic. No matter what, it proves ‘once, it existed.’

So, I don’t care ‘whether youth has ended or not,’ ‘whether the game was deleted or not,’ what I care about is if it really gives you happiness.

league of legends deserves to be understood by more.

Honestly, that day in the Bird’s Nest, before the game started I was worrying the seats wouldn’t fill up, and then the photographs would look ugly. But after Jay Chou finished his song and Legends Never Die began, I looked all around me and discovered I had already sunk into a sea of people.

During the finals, I mostly enjoyed the game from a spectator perspective. Because I spent most of my time in the audience, my photographs were largely of the whole venue; because the stage was so distant, I didn’t take many pictures of the players or match details. There was one photograph - during the most critical moment in the third game of SKT vs SSG, I caught the last rays of the setting sun. The second the setting sun passed through the Bird’s Nest, Faker secured first blood. I had a strange premonition: this could be Faker’s last first blood in this year’s World Championships.

the last ray of the setting sun filters through the top of the Bird’s Nest, alighting on the faces of the audience.

-- but since I’ve been talking so much, many of these questions have been brought up already. So I wonder, is it still important to discuss the final victory more?

I think back to six or seven years ago, maybe 2011 or 2012. I was still in Beijing then and had yet to take up a League of Legends-related photography job. I would often go to the Water Cube to swim, and no matter how many times I saw the Bird’s Nest, how many times I saw the Water Cube, I would never have thought that one day, we would be hosting an esports competition there.

And now, in this very moment, it is truly a golden age, a golden age that belongs to esports.

I began to photograph esports in 2006. In these ten years, I have been through the rise and fall of many games, and I have experienced many of what I felt were golden ages. When I photographed CS, I found like that was a golden age; when I photographed DOTA, I felt like that was also a golden age. But thinking about it now, for those of us in the gaming sphere that was definitely the case, but that’s only a small group of people who love games. It is still a very small circle.

Whereas now, I truly feel the real golden age is not just something that occurs within the community. It needs to influence more people, more people outside its usual sphere of influence, like your parents, like your friends, like those strangers who walk past you - allowing those beside us, who have no understanding of the game, to still feel the beauty of esports. This is something that League of Legends’ World Championships has accomplished.

these musicians from all around the world - in their creations is the best evidence of the golden age.

It’s just like the Kaiyung golden age in the Tang Dynasty. The development of our economy, the strength of our country - those were only internal things. What really radiated out and influenced the whole world was our history, our culture. This kind of intangible power is what endures.

League of Legends is the same way; it is not just a competitive sport. It has the positive energy of a competitive sport, the ability to excite people, but now and in the near future, we can still have more - music, movies, and even more forms of art. We will always be growing. We have not stalled.

In the past, when I photographed esports and games, I’d always have this desire to photograph ‘culture’ - at that time, I didn’t realize what I photographed was actually ‘culture.’

League of Legends deserves to be understood by more.

And to those who do not understand it, I say - there’s so much more excitement to experience.

yicun has many good photographs, but few are of him. this one, taken by ren yijun, is of him at the sixth anniversary celebration.

postscript: a moment for those who left.

'Taking photos is like being a historian. Even if they're not pretty, I still need to document them.'

'Even after so many years of photography, I wouldn't rate my skill too highly. I don't think I'm a talented photographer, but I do think I'm one with a sense of responsibility.'

'I don't take photos just to please people, but rather I hope they'll be like a slice of time, a truthful reflection of what happened.'

'I like photographs with stories. Only those have life.'

As a photographer, Yicun is constantly adjusting his own trajectory, constantly questioning what kind of photographer he wants to be, what kind of photos he wants to take. But his target has never changed: to chase the truth of a photo, to use the photo to tell a story.

So, at the end of this article, we've included some of Yicun's photographs. These represent the departure of the LPL teams from the 2017 World Championships, and in their moments, a story from Yicun's first-person perspective.

Of course, this kind of outcome may have left some people sad, but as Yicun wrote in his previous column, for some things 'the longer we wait, the happier we are when they are fulfilled.'

The night EDG was eliminated, after everyone had left, I went to their practice room and happened to encounter Meiko and iBoy. They were packing their things and preparing to leave. I noticed a commemorative coin left had been left on the desk; each player only got one, so it was especially precious. I asked them, why aren't you taking it? Meiko looked at it and said he was afraid that seeing it later would make him sad, that I should take it as a gift.

The day RNG was eliminated, Mlxg was the last to leave the stage. Even off-stage, he still sat taciturn in his seat, giving the impression that he had turned to stone.

11/14, after the final battle in the Bird's Nest, shouts of 'RNG' were suddenly heard on the stream. At that time, Ming sent me a message – he said, when he heard the audience shouting RNG's name, his heart felt 'empty.' In that moment, I could feel how his heart had stirred, how much he wished that the team appearing there was really RNG.

WE was eliminated in the quarterfinals. After the game, Condi kept smacking the hand-warmers against the chair, hitting it again and again. To him, that may have been a way to vent.

The night WE was eliminated, Mystic and his little sister were outside the hotel. To Mystic, China will always be a foreign country, yet he has made it his home for the sake of his dreams. When he meets his countrymen, his real family, that strong feeling of closeness will burst out.

In the end – thank you, Yicun, for making time for us.

[junker-town]

6 winners and 5 losers from Day 2 of the NFL Draft

AJ Epenesa, Jonathan Taylor, and Xavier McKinney were all Day 2 picks in the 2020 NFL Draft.

The Ravens’ running game got better, Carson Wentz is on notice, and Roger Goodell needs a nap.

Day 2 of the 2020 NFL Draft is over, and 74 more college stars saw their pro dreams come true. Players coming from programs ranging from LSU and Ohio State to Lenoir-Rhyne and Dayton heard NFL commissioner Roger Goodell call their names to shove them off on their NFL journeys.

The ripples of Friday night’s decisions won’t be fully understood for at least a decade as early-round picks fizzle and overlooked prospects rise to the top of the NFL. Even so, we can gather a pretty good idea of which players, teams, and college programs are celebrating a little bit harder than others as the draft nears its halfway point.

So who looks best after a quick glance in the rear view mirror? And which teams may need to stick their landing on Day 3?

Winner: Every team that got a first-round talent on Day 2

On Thursday night, 32 elite football players were welcomed into the NFL fraternity. But the amount of sheer talent that was still waiting to be drafted was incredible:

One personnel director calls this “the deepest second round in the last 25 years.” He believes there are 20 players available tonight that could have been first-round picks; there usually are 7-10. “There will be as many starters in this round that there are in the first round.”

— Adam Schefter (@AdamSchefter) April 24, 2020

So many names who were expected to be drafted in the first round — and might have been in any other year — remained on the board. Safety Xavier McKinney was a popular mock draft pick for the Cowboys or Dolphins. So was cornerback Kristian Fulton to the Raiders, edge A.J. Epenesa to the Patriots, cornerback Jaylon Johnson to the Vikings, OT Josh Jones to the Dolphins, and WR Denzel Mims to the Packers, among others.

Other players who could’ve sneaked into Round 1 included safety Antoine Winfield Jr, OT Ezra Cleveland, and even running backs D’Andre Swift, Jonathan Taylor or J.K. Dobbins. (Please, no debates about the value of a first-round running back right now.)

All of those players were available heading into Day 2. Teams like the Colts (Taylor, Michael Pittman Jr.), Cowboys (Trevon Diggs, Neville Gallimore), Giants (McKinney), Bills (Epenesa), Jets (Mims), and Cardinals (Jones) were the ones to benefit most.

Winner: The scary as hell Ravens running game

No team had more rushing yards than the Ravens in 2019.

Lamar Jackson earned MVP honors by becoming the first NFL quarterback to ever eclipse 1,200 rushing yards. He was joined in the Baltimore backfield by Mark Ingram, who racked up 1,018 rushing yards and 10 touchdowns. Oh, and don’t forget about Gus Edwards, who averaged 5.3 yards per carry.

That unstoppable ground game somehow got even better Friday when the Ravens added J.K. Dobbins with the 55th pick.

Dobbins rushed for at least 1,000 yards in all three of his seasons at Ohio State. In 2019, he became the first Buckeyes running back ever to have a 2,000-yard season. That’s something Eddie George, Ezekiel Elliott, Archie Griffin, and many other great running backs didn’t accomplish.

Baltimore definitely didn’t need Dobbins’ help. Unfortunately for the entire AFC, he’ll make the Ravens — who are putting together an excellent draft — even harder to stop.

Loser: Carson Wentz

Aaron Rodgers landed on our list of Day 1 losers because the Packers drafted Utah State quarterback Jordan Love. But at least that pick made some sense. Yes, Green Bay could’ve provided Rodgers with the help he needs to win a Super Bowl, but he’s 36 and the Packers need to consider life after his retirement.

That logic can’t be applied to the Eagles’ pick, though.

Wentz is 27 and has five seasons left on his contract. It’s hard to figure out what exactly the team was thinking when it drafted Jalen Hurts in the middle of the second round. While Philadelphia knows all about the benefits of a quality backup quarterback, there were plenty of better ways to improve the roster.

Instead, there’s legitimate reason to question Wentz’s future with the franchise. A team doesn’t draft someone in the second round unless it foresees that player being a long-term fixture.

Winner: Drew Lock

The Broncos’ 2019 second-round pick gave them a lot of reason to be optimistic last year. Lock finished his rookie season 4-1 as a starter with seven touchdowns and three interceptions.

On Thursday, Denver gave him some help by picking Alabama receiver Jerry Jeudy with the No. 15 pick. Unsurprisingly, Lock was happy about it:

— Drew Lock (@DrewLock23) April 24, 2020

The Broncos didn’t stop there, though. In the second round, they Penn State receiver KJ Hamler with the 46th pick. Lock was excited about that too:

— Drew Lock (@DrewLock23) April 25, 2020

Suddenly, Lock has a quite the arsenal. Jeudy and Hamler are joining an offense that already had receiver Courtland Sutton and 2019 first-round tight end Noah Fant. Adding center Lloyd Cushenberry in the third round was just the icing on the cake.

Winner: Good dogs

A fully virtual NFL Draft promised us one very important thing: a lot of good dogs on TV. But the first day was a little bit disappointing. While Giants coach Joe Judge talked about how well-versed his golden retriever Abby is about the 2020 class, she didn’t make a single appearance.

Fortunately, there was a much larger dog presence in Day 2. Bill Belichick even turned into one:

No wonder the Patriots dominated the last two decades.

Loser: Tom Brady

Thursday was a great day for Touchdown Tom, with the Buccaneers moving up one spot in the draft order to secure Iowa offensive tackle Tristan Wirfs. It’s a good thing they did, because the rest of the NFC South spent Friday loading up on players to take Brady down.

First, the Panthers took Penn State edge rusher Yetur Gross-Matos with the 38th pick. He made it clear what his immediate NFL goal is for the 2020 season.

Yetur Gross-Matos: I want to sack Tom Brady.

— Jourdan Rodrigue (@JourdanRodrigue) April 25, 2020

The Atlanta Falcons were next when they picked Auburn pass rusher Marlon Davidson at 47th overall. The All-SEC defensive lineman will likely line up at defensive tackle in Dan Quinn’s defense, which added Dante Fowler Jr. earlier in the offseason.

New Orleans got in on the pass rush party too. After not picking in the second round, the Saints traded away a 2021 third-round pick to move up and take Wisconsin edge rusher Zack Baun at 74th overall.

Brady got some help of his own in Day 2. The Buccaneers added running back Ke’Shawn Vaughn in the third round (and safety Antoine Winfield Jr. in the second round, which probably only reminded Brady of how old he is). But that didn’t do much to change the fact that he’s clearly in the crosshairs of the other NFC South teams.

Loser: Aaron Rodgers, again

Rodgers didn’t get his first-round wideout. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; borderline Day 1 talents like Tee Higgins, Laviska Shenault, Denzel Mims, and Michael Pittman Jr. were all on the board to begin Day 2. With a little luck or another trade up the draft board — like the club did to select Rodgers’ possible replacement, Jordan Love — one of those players would be the next big addition to the Packers’ receiving corps.

Green Bay got none of those players. It got a Boston College power back with 21 collegiate receptions to his name (AJ Dillon) and a third-round tight end out of Cincinnati who had 92 catches and 1,117 receiving yards ... in four years with the Bearcats (Josiah Deguara). Instead of getting an immediate boost to his passing game, Rodgers got a couple of lottery tickets who may not make his offense any better.

Winner: Matt Hennessy

The former Temple offensive lineman didn’t just get drafted with the 14th pick in the third round Friday night by the Falcons. As the 3.14 pick, he also won a shit load of pizza.

As the 78th pick, Matt Hennessy gets free @pizzahut for a year. As the 2020 Pizza Hut Pi Pick

— vaughn mcclure (@vxmcclure23) April 25, 2020

That’s an award that should only go to offensive linemen. Congrats on the pizza, Matt.

Loser: Roger Goodell’s gas tank

The commissioner’s doing more work than usual during the draft. In a typical year, Goodell would only announce the first-round picks. The other rounds have recently been handled by trash-talking NFL alumni (who could forget Drew Pearson roasting Philadelphia?), animals, and league representatives other than Goodell reading the picks.

But this year Goodell has to read off all the selections and it seems to be wearing him out. Just look at him by the time the back half of the third round rolled around.

Roger Goodell is exhausted pic.twitter.com/TYHRjV5F8A

— SB Nation (@SBNation) April 25, 2020

There’s another 149 draft picks coming Saturday. Is Goodell going to make it?

Loser: QB Jake Fromm

Fromm had to go through the first two nights of the draft without hearing his name called. What’s even worse is that there was a camera in his living room that captured him having to wait in agony:

We still don’t understand why Fromm declared for the NFL Draft this year. He had three OK seasons in Athens, but he was also coming off his least efficient year and failed to impress at the NFL Combine.

If he had returned in 2020, his team could’ve still won the SEC East division and he would’ve gotten a chance to his boost his NFL resume with a bounce-back year. Sure, maybe he didn’t want to come out in 2021, the same year as Clemson’s Trevor Lawrence and Ohio State’s Justin Fields (aka Fromm’s former backup). But he’s already seen five quarterbacks go ahead of him this year. Who knows how much longer he’ll be waiting alongside his generically handsome family.

Winner: Tight ends

There were six tight ends taken in the first rounds of the last three drafts. That streak ended this year, when zero tight ends went off the board on the first night of the draft. It wasn’t a shock, by any stretch. But it confirmed what many already thought about the positional group: It’s the weakest of the draft class.

The second night of the draft was another story. Now, as many tight ends (five) as quarterbacks have been selected through two nights of the draft.

Tight ends started making their comeback one-third of the way through the second round, when the Bears took Notre Dame’s Cole Kmet with the No. 43 overall pick. (Did the Bears need a tight end? Probably not.)

The third round is where things really started to pick up, though. Four different tight ends heard their name called by an increasingly sleepy Goodell: UCLA’s Devin Asiasi, Cincinnati’s Josiah Deguara, Virginia Tech’s Dalton Keene, and Dayton’s (yes, Dayton!) Adam Trautman.

Two of them, Asiasi and Keene, have been the Patriots’ only two offensive draftees so far. Belichick might not be done, either, with players like the highly athletic Albert Okwuegbunam and “Randy Moss is my dad” Thaddeus Moss still available on Day 3.

[themezzotint]

    A terribly cold and starless night; so bitter, in fact, the old draft horse's breath froze, turning to sparkling ice crystals which seemed to hang within a twinkling mist about his muzzle the moment he exhaled.  The narrow merchant road was steeped in snow and the tires of the ale-cart would skid and slip on nearly every rotation as they proceeded down the dusky corridor.

    Edark Markham drew the collar of his ragged coat closer about his neck and shivered momentarily as he lightly flicked the reins to signal his old horse to move a little quicker.  He turned, twice, in his seat to peer uneasily into the darkest shadows along the road's edge, searching the blackness until he convinced himself that the only other sound besides that of his plodding horse and creaking wagon must only be the occasional plop of snow falling from over-weighted branches. 

    "It feels as if the air is twice as cold as an hour ago!" He muttered into the lonely blackness.  "By thunder, I do b'lieve thet even a flame would freeze solid tonight..."

    He reached with a mittened hand and patted one of the barrels stacked behind him, considering how marvelously warm sipping only a few mouthfuls of the wonderful brew they contained would make him feel.  But he thought of this for only a moment, and quickly drew his hand back into a coat pocket; of how many vintners had he heard found frozen to death, cast eternally in ice, with the ridiculous smile of a drunkard upon their blue faces? He shivered again at the thought.  An ale merchant who tippled into one of his own barrels on such a night's delivery was nothing more than a bacchant disgrace.

    On he drove, mystified that a night without any wind could be so savagely frigid.  Only a true craftsman, bound sincerely to his life's art and occupation, would even set foot out of doors on such a harrowing eve; leaving his warm home and loving family to trudge to the stable, tack up his rig in knee-deep snow and make a special delivery four leagues across iced highways.  Ah, but just such an artisan and brewmaster was he, indeed! And this, no ordinary delivery.  Far from any common ale to be taken to a loud and libacious rathskeller where hackneyed farmers and field men gathered to eat and drink.  No! Seven barrels of his finest brew; Honey-Mead.  Aged and perfected over a year for a special Christmas delivery.  And on this blackest night, Christmas Eve, Edark drove his creaking ale-cart down the last section of the inky lane leading to Castle Erheim.

    He smiled, narrowly, and for a moment bitterly.  Lord Erheim had, thirty years before, ordered the close of his fathers moothouse.  If not for that decree, vein in origin, he would not now be a poorly brewer driving through the bitter black darkness.  A simple clash of wills; his father against Varnet Erheim.  An insult on a blend of wines ... returned by the insinuation of a connoisseur lacking discern and discrimination.  Harsh words.  Loud Threats.  And finally, a notice of eviction.  His father had died penniless, for no commoner may prosper for besmirching the taste of a nobleman. 

    He shook his head, regretfully.  Through the snow-capped trees he made out the yellow-orange windows of the large manor in the distance.  The Erheims gathered together and feasted, jovially, tonight in their warm, stone hall. 

    His labors had taken him twenty years; the better part of his life to bring back the honor to his own family name.  But for his intense efforts, endless nights of brewing and kettling, and keen wariness to never speak afoul of any aristocrat, Edark Markham had gained notable renown as an aleman.  His grogery was comfortably successful, and his life mainly happy.  He took this night's delivery as a token of his own achievement, a sign he had become a master of his art.  His only thought of his long dead father was the man, sadly, had never reached such a point of personal contentment.

    Upon reaching the steep drive which lead up the hill to Castle Erheim, his draft horse snorted out a message of complaint.

    "Easy old man," Edark said, "Our work is nearly done."

    A quarter of an hour later, as the moon broke out of the heavy, black clouds and illuminated the pale, snow covered fields, Edark leapt stiffly from his wooden seat and waved to the valet at the great door to the chateau.  Half a dozen butlers issued forth and helped him carry the sloshing barrels of liquor inside.

    Edark unbuttoned his coat and sighed at the touch of the warm air.  Several more servants came and he followed them as they took the barrels down a well lighted passage towards a large chamber where the flickering light of flames, sounds of laughter and chords of carols poured out along with the tantalizing smell of roasted poultry and smoked venison.  Inside he glanced across a roomful of gaily dressed revelers.  Children, young lads and lasses and a dozen old men assembled on this holiday eve.  Most were gathered round a long table heaped with meats, fruits and pastries.  A large hearth crackled with leaping flames at the end of the room, and sleeping without a care before the iron grate were two large hounds.

    The workboys rolled the barrels beside the great table, and one of the older men, the oldest man, called loudly for Edark to join him beside his plate.  Edark came about and was seated in a large, oaken chair next to the old Lord.  He was given a full plate by one of the maids and honored by the first toast with his very own mead.

    Old Varnet Erheim spoke loudly, slurring his words and Edark recognized the Lord was already more than a little drunk, he must have been raising his elbow for some time, judging by his fuddled appearance.

    "To the regions best grogger ... hic ... a master, as I am told ..."

    With this the old man drained half the mead from his crystal bumper and all were silent, waiting for his next word.

    "Indeed!" he said with a grin, "A true artist with the spirits! Who will refill my cup?"

    Edark smiled, himself, partially with gratitude, partially in relief, and swallowed a mouthful of his sweet, hearty, Honeymead.  This was surely the best he had ever brewed! The taste carried the great purity of lavender honey, yet hinted, subtly, a touch of wild elderberries.  He swirled the liquid gently within its crystal tumbler, holding it up to the bright glow of the fire and admired the golden liquid which seemed to have a light mist floating within; Ah! The traditional mystique of Antipodal Mead; his families ancient recipe!

    He ate and drank beside his robust and red-faced host, frowning a little at how quickly, and somewhat carelessly, his wonderful honey wine was being downed by the celebrating family.  Mead, he thought, was to be savored for the ambrosia it was; not tossed down the gullet like a commonplace wine! But he was also gladdened by the thought of the payment forthcoming, and how he would ride home with a full purse ... Ah alas! And oh well! To their health!  He thought and downed his cup.

    He felt his own face begin to glow, and settled quietly back in his large chair and listened with half an ear to the conversation about him.

    "Yes, but a tax any higher and my tenants will certainly repress their true profits from me, I am at an impasse!" (A middle-aged nobleman to his left)

    "Fool you are, and will always be, boy!" (The old lord) "Do you honestly suppose they do not behave thusly now? Consistency and intimidation ... Fear and will! Aye! That is the way!"

    "Uncle is the master of discipline, my cousin ..." (Gentleman across the table) "His word is law!"

    The crowd laughed in hollow unison and Edark began to think more and more of getting home to his own wife and family.  He was weighing out the different hints he could use to ask for payment when, suddenly, at his side the old Lord lurched out of his chair and began to behave in the strangest and most curious manner; leaping about-throwing his arms violently before him as if to repel an unseen attacker,

    "Auugh! Get away! Get awaaay!"

    Several cousins leapt from their seats to try and assist the old man, shouting, "What see you, old fellow?" and, "Settle, sir! Settle!" or, "He has made one too many toasts!"

    Lord Erheim sputtered and coughed and backed himself away from the group.

    "No, there be daemons!" said another, his face aghast, "See how they crawl down the walls!"

    In a matter of heartbeats and seconds the entire throng was up and screaming about the chamber.  The children, terrified by their parent's behavior, dashed out of the hall.  The hounds bayed madly, howling until the room echoed with their cries.

    "What chicanery is this?" thundered the old Lord, pointing a pudgy finger at Edark, "Witchery and devil's magic!" he roared.  He made to advance, and Edark rose, toppling his chair.  He could see no daemons or spirits, the family had gone mad! The angry face of Lord Varnet Erheim was beguiled with rage, veins protruded from his forehead, his eyes were those of a man possessed, and he ambled forth, closing in on the bewildered brewer.  Then, with a loathful cry, the old lord fell to his knees, covering his eyes with his hands, weeping like a deranged and terrified child.

    "Your sire! Your father ..." he blubbered.

    And Edark Markham scrambled for the door, dodging all of the slavering and shrieking noblemen as best he could, leaving them gesticulating and seizing in their paroxysms of madness, turning back only once for a last look into the room of lunatics.  Was it not a group of leering black shadows he had seen, swimming, hazily through the air, encircling the cowering people with their grey, vaporous bodies? Had he not glimpsed one red-eyed creature towering within smoking firelight at the center of the chamber, laughing, menacingly at its doomed prey?

    "Nae! Nae!" he murmured over and over as he hunched down in his jostling wagon all the way home through the moon-lit Christmas Night.

    It was often remarked, from that time on, how truly marvelous it was that Edark Markham's wines and ales could be so startlingly exquisite in taste and astounding in quality, yet the master ... never drank.  Marvelous, indeed, yet not quite as noted as his rare, and legendary Christmas Mead.