#very like. There's Been a Conspiracy and You Should Believe Me Because I Sound Confident and Friendly and Like I'm On Your Side.

[aeide-thea]

truly just SUCH a typical tumblr experience but like.

Familiar Tumblr Name makes a post that's like: 'you know how fast fashion perpetuates itself by selling us clothing that gets dingy and grody really fast, so we have to replace it yearly?'

me: uh, no, actually—historically i've found that the few fast fashion pieces i acquired long outstayed their welcome, and were perfectly wearable long after i was heartily sick of them! but go on, i guess

FTN: 'let me tell you about this traditional domestic wisdom (implied: that's been lost because of, uh, capitalism) that will fix this problem (that you, too, definitely have) for you!'

me, googling: okay so this residue that FTN said was somehow a Fast Fashion thing is apparently generally caused by like. fabric softener and/or hard water. using discount detergents that skimp on active ingredients. using too much detergent so it doesn't wash out. letting your bedding go too long between washes. letting your washer go too long between cleans. etc. anyway. lots of specific factors here, many of which may in fact not apply to you in particular!

but like. why get specific when instead we could assert You Know This Problem, Right? This Lost Traditional Wisdom Will Definitely Help You Personally!!

[thrillered]

"You Know I Mountain Dew It For Ya" | Spencer Agnew x Reader | Pt. 6

Pt. 6: the pod

-

-

-

-

-

You sat at the smosh mouth desk, sipping on a mountain dew kickstart that you stole from Spencer. You figured if you were going to talk about your song you should have mt dew, as fanservice. The crew was finalizing camera settings and waiting for Amanda and Shayne. 

“This kinda sucks” You said, taking another sip of your drink. 

“Ouuu, i’m gonna tell spencer.” Kiana teased. Earning an eye roll from you.

After a few minutes everyone was ready to record. “Hello everyone and welcome back to Smosh Mouth, I’m Shayne.” 

“And I’m Amanda. And today we have a very very special guest, all the way from big hollywood and the desk around the corner from mine, Y/N” 

“Big Hollywood wow” You laughed. 

“You have skyrocketed in fame.” Shayne comments. 

You sighed deeply, “Yeah…” 

“Uh Oh, that doesn’t sound good.” Amanda responds. 

“No no It’s really awesome it’s just been different, I guess.” You began, “I’ve been in the public eye for quite a while now but, obviously, never like this.”

“Let’s rewind a little,” Shayne interjected, “you guys know Y/N, she’s been with Smosh for years now. At this point, dare I say, one of the most loved cast members.”

“Oh stop it.” You giggled.

“Well it’s true, everyone loves you. Especially me.” Amanda jokes.

“I can see the fan edits already. Wait, we need to stare at each other longingly.” You piled on. 

“Anyway,” Shayne laughed, “What a lot of people don’t know, well not anymore, is that you are a musician as well.” 

“Yes, I’ve been writing music my entire life but I started producing my music about a year before I joined Smosh. I got much more serious about it thanks to Josh, shoutout josh.” You explained. “I have a stockpile of songs, I’ve only released a few though.” 

“You have two albums out right?” Amanda asked.

“Yeah I have two albums, three EPs, and three singles, the newest being everyone's favorite Espresso.”

You continued bantering, answering questions and talking about your career. You enjoyed how much both Shayne and Amanda cared about what you had to say, being able to deepdive into some of your music was a lot of fun. You even learned that Shayne listened to your entire discography over the weekend. 

“Let’s get into the juicy stuff” Amanda began, “We sent out a community post where people could ask Y/N questions so let’s get into some of those.” 

“First up is from Gianna L: What was the inspiration behind Espresso?” 

“I really just wanted to make something fun and bright. A lot of my music comes from a very vulnerable place but I’ve just been so happy that this song stems from that. I’ve felt like myself and truly I have smosh to thank for that.” You rambled, “Okay to wrap it up, Espresso was inspired by being confident and loving yourself because it makes you irresistible.”

“I actually love that so much,” Amanda smiles. 

“Yeah that type of thinking is important,” Shayne adds, “I would know, I have a psychology degree.” 

You answered some more questions regarding your creative process and your lyrics. You got to talk about how you make coffee for the whole office almost everyday in regards to the lyric: “That morning coffee brewed it for ya”. Then the inevitable happened.

“The most asked questions are about Spencer.” Shayne began, “For those of you who don’t know, Spencer is the director of the games channel and is often in videos as well.” 

“But most importantly,” You cut Shayne off, “he’s my best friend.” You finished, earning a few ‘awww’s from the room. “Believe me, I have seen the conspiracy theories and comments about “Spenspresso”-- great name by the way. And yes, some of the lyrics were inspired by my dear friend. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without him and since this song is about finding confidence I had to give a nod to my best buddy, one of the people who have always supported me and made me into the best version of myself.” 

You laughed, “I wish I could give a more juicy answer but it’s just a little thank you to my best friend. That doesn’t mean I want the edits to stop, I do love those, and the fan art. Me and Spencer send them to each other constantly.” 

You wrapped up the podcast, hoping confessing your platonic love for Spencer was enough to keep the heat off of you for a while. That is until you stare at Spencer for too long in the next games video and people clip it. 

—

“How was the pod?” Spencer asked, setting his lunch down and sitting in the chair next to you.

“It went well, It was actually so much fun to talk about myself for so long,” You jested. “You’re gonna get an ego boost out of it though.” 

“And why is that?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow and sending you a knowing smirk, the action making the tips of your ears hot. 

“Oh shut up.” You shoved his chair away playfully. He quickly scooted it back to you, even closer than before, your knees bumping each other. 

You both finished your lunches quickly, Spencer opting to head back to his desk to work. You followed him, sitting on a couch near him, scrolling through your phone until you heard a few muffled “fuck fuck fuck”s coming from Spencer. 

You got up and stood behind him looking at his monitor. “What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“Nothing, it’s just an issue with the audio of the last games video, I don’t think it’ll be able to be recovered” He responded, his shoulders tightening as he rubbed a stressed hand over his face. 

You knew Spencer worked really hard on that video, he had been so excited to have the cast play the game and now it seems like it will never see the light of day. 

“I’m sorry Spence,” you said, knowing there wasn’t much you could do to help. Noticing how tense he was you placed your hands on his shoulders and began massaging them, working at the many knots. 

He let out a low groan as you pushed into a particularly nasty spot on his shoulder. As you worked your fingers through his neck and shoulders his groans turned into sighs of relief. 

“That feel any better?” You asked, hoping you could assist your friend. 

He rolled his neck a few times, “Holy fuck, that’s actually so much better. How did you do that?” 

“I took a single massage class in college for a random credit I needed.” you replied, running your fingers through his hair as he tilted his head back to look at you. 

“You’ve gotta do that more often, I feel like I got my damn neck replaced.” He laughed. 

“You just let me know, I learned back, hands, and legs too so..” You trailed off, winking at him, relishing in the pink hue that graced his features. “Lunch is almost over, I gotta go, I’m filming ‘you posted that?’. I’ll see you later, love ya Spency”  You smiled, grabbing his hand and leaving a feather light kiss on his knuckles before walking away. 

“You are so whipped dude.” 

Spencer spun around to the source of the sound, seeing Alex Tran standing on the other side of the desks. 

“God, is it really that obvious?” Spencer questioned. 

“I wish you could’ve seen the googly eyes you were just sending Y/N,” Alex laughed, “Like, the whole office can feel the tension.” 

“It’s not tension if it’s one sided.” Spencer rebutted. 

“One sided my ass, she’s totally into you, has been forever, if I had to guess.”

Spencer thought about Alex’s words. Could you really feel the same way as him? He’s a smart guy, he knows that, so could he really have been so stupid this whole time to think you were just friends? 

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

One of the things I find most tragic about oop is the loss of Ingo and Irida's relationship. She clearly really likes and respects him, she values his advice and took his lessons to heart, she valued him as a friend and a mentor. But she was talked into making a very stupid decision that she regrets deeply, and that she is trying very hard not to regret, because she doesn't want to admit to herself that she betrayed someone who trusted her. I think it's easy to believe that she's a bad person for her disastrous choice, but she's also very young, and personally I think it's actually worse that she's not a bad person with malicious or apathetic intent, because it's very human that a moment of weakness, an older adult taking advantage of her insecurities and fear, was all it took to hurt someone she cares about and ruin their entire relationship. It's so scary how easy it is for people to believe conspiracy theories, when the person telling it is so confident and tells it in a way that seems rational and compelling. And it does often hurt irl relationships. So it's all just very sad to me. Ingo doesn't begrudge her yet, and Irida hasn't admitted just how badly she messed up, but slowly they seem to both be getting there. And once they do, even if they rebuild what they lost, it's going to haunt her forever.

<33333 YEAH YEAH YEAH!!

genuinely what i wanna get across with oop is that yeah, irida fucked up, but that was a position she never should have been in in the first place. several different characters can point out that irida has a habit of falling back on other peoples' judgement when she's unsure of herself, without really trying to make a decision on her own—which is really not something you can blame her for! because she is barely not a child and has been thrust into this extremely daunting position of leadership, of course she looks to any guidance she can find that she thinks she can justify taking. the problem is the fact that those people aren't leading, and aren't the ones taking responsibility—she is. and then on top of that, with kamado, it was not only him but also calaba—these two people she saw as much more experienced and capable than herself, both in agreement about this decision. really, of course she fell for it. of course she believed kamado when he sounded so certain.

i guess it's also worth saying that all of this is absolutely something that ingo is very aware of. not the exact circumstances of her conversation w/ kamado, but her general capabilities and shortcomings as a leader. so he's probably going to have a difficult time really blaming entirely and only her for it, since like... people could have seen this coming. it wouldn't be fair to her to hold her responsible for all the ways other people have failed her over the years.

...of course, also, right now neither of them know what the real stakes of that decision were. finding out the end of what kamado was planning re: the prisoners might change ingo's mood just a little bit

[talkingpointsusa]

Charlie Kirk warns against trusting in experts - instead urges his audience to put their faith into random accounts on Twitter

In our last post, we discussed how Charlie Kirk used his coverage of the Columbia University encampment to spin baseless conspiracy theories about how the campus protests are being funded by George Soros because he noticed that the tents that the protestors were using looked kind of similar. Well, I thought that would be the end of Charlie Kirk's brilliant coverage but boy was I wrong. Charlie's May 6th episode was just pure uncut stupidity. Lets get into it.

Charlie starts by laying out the theme of this episode, no it's not who's funding the campus protestors like the episodes title promises. It's "I don't like smart people and why don't colleges just teach people what I think they should be taught".

15:30, Charlie Kirk: "The more college educated you are, the more likely you are to support Joe Biden. The more degrees you have, the more support you are (sic) of what Joe Biden is doing to this country. The more time you have spent on a university campus, the more you think Joe Biden is crushing it."

I said this in the last post but I'll say it again, colleges aren't teaching some net doctrine to students, they're teaching students what they're paying to be taught. Engineering students aren't doing dissertations on leftist political theory.

Charlie elaborates on this a bit more after the radio break.

22:51, Charlie Kirk: "Ok everyone, welcome back. So, the more time you spend on a college campus, the more degrees you have, the more trusting you are of flashy titles. When you hear a title you say 'Oooh, he must be very smart. He must know what he's talking about.' You see, this is what Plato talked about as the philosopher kings."

That's not what a philosopher king is. The term philosopher king refers to a ruler who governs utilizing both philosophy and political knowledge. Plato was actually quite for this as he believed that an ideal state could only be brought into being by a ruler who possessed philosophical knowledge so Charlie pretending that Plato viewed philosopher kings as a bad thing is kind of funny if you have even a directional idea of what that term means.

This isn't even the first time that Charlie has misused this term on this blog. The meaning that Charlie ascribes to it shifts around constantly and I'm 100% convinced that he just views it as "scary phrase that makes me sound smart".

24:13, Charlie Kirk: "Experts say, experts say, experts say. Experts have done more damage to this country than the working class ever could imagine."

This is kind of Charlie's show in a nutshell. "Yeah, don't trust the experts. Look, I used the term philosopher king incorrectly so I know what I'm talking about. Now buy my crap."

24:24, Charlie Kirk: "Doctor Fauci should be in Gitmo for what he did. The experts shut down our schools, the experts masked our kids, the experts had lunatics driving alone in their cars masked and afraid that the radio was going to emit COVID."

Still being pissed about wearing a mask in 2024 is a bold move. It's an absolutely whiny and stupid one but a bold one. I have no idea what he's talking about with the radio emitting COVID but he has zero right to talk about crazy scientific beliefs. Charlie Kirk thinks that birth control makes people Democrats and that the height of your apartment building determines your political orientation.

24:43, Charlie Kirk: "We have become so trusting of experts and thanks to social media and thanks to Elon Musk opening up X so that we can see who they really are we realize that the people who are in charge of our society, that have been given all of this power, who were never been elected, they've never run for office, they never had to answer tough questions. Not only are they morons, they're not wise, but they're incredibly confident."

Yeah, so Charlie's whole point in this segment is that you shouldn't trust the people who have merely dedicated their lives to studying certain subjects and have extremely broad knowledge of what they're talking about....no, you should trust random people on Twitter. Really, what Charlie is doing here is supporting his grift. As long as people aren't accessing actual information from experts who know what they're talking about and staying in their right-wing media bubble, Charlie Kirk makes money.

Charlie's whole definition of an expert is so vague by the way. I guess they're some sort of academic ruling class that Charlie is speculating runs the nation. But I can't really take Charlie's hatred of the "experts" all that seriously when he's also posting videos with titles like this:

"And he knows what he's talking about because he's an exper-oh-oops"

25:12, Charlie Kirk: "I get asked all the time, I say 'Charlie, why do you go to college campuses and talk to these kids?' Outside of the obvious answer that-"

Is that obvious answer that a lot of people subscribe to your YouTube channel when you post clickbaity debates with people who don't have actual interview and debate training while also selectively cutting out the ones that make you look like a complete idiot?

25:19, Charlie Kirk: "That they're the future of the country and they're voters."

Oh, how silly of me.

Charlie does an ad break for the radio, does an ad for gold, and then launches back to his extremely stupid tirade against "experts".

36:50, Charlie Kirk: "The yielding to the experts is the deterioration of the sovereign citizen, you're no longer thinking for yourself. Being a sovereign citizen means I might buy silver and gold, I might not take the shot, I'm not going to just feed my kid high fructose corn syrup, I'm not going to listen to the government when it says that the people who give birth aren't women but birthing people."

It's so telling that the first thing a sovereign citizen does on the Charlie Kirk Show is buy into the gold scam he's been plugging. The birthing people thing is stupid too. There are plenty of trans males who still have the biological capacity to give birth. It just boils down yet again to the rights lack of knowledge over the difference between sex and gender.

Charlie Kirk rants about Jared Bernstein making a gaffe for a bit and then complains that people are going to protest his event in Seattle.

40:52, Charlie Kirk: "Meanwhile you got these protestors with a bunch of -- you got tent city, the ugliest laziest people that society has to offer."

Nothing screams lazy quite like....protesting? I don't even know what he's talking about anymore.

41:01, Charlie Kirk: "I don't mean ugly even from an aesthetic standpoint, I want to be very clear. I mean, you can't control your looks and you should never make fun of how somebody looks. I mean ugly from how they present themselves to society, I mean the choices of how they dress. I think that's very important."

"Yeah, I don't mean ugly from an aesthetic standpoint. I mean ugly from an AESTHETIC standpoint, get it right guys."

41:23, Charlie Kirk: "I'm talking about when you double nose pierce your nose -- pierce your nose. You've got tattoos all over the place, you haven't showered in three weeks, and you've got purple hair. You're ugly."

Some hard hitting criticism that sounds like it came from your 76 year old uncle complaining about how kids these days get all these tattoos and dye their hair and back in my day that satanic claptrap was never tolerated.

Now it's time for Charlie Kirk's analysis about the election. He somehow manages to make himself sound stupider as he goes along.

42:01, Charlie Kirk: "And it really is going to be, as Andrew put in the previous episode with Josh Hammer, the country class versus the ruling class."

I really am baffled by the cognitive dissonance required to believe that the "ruling class" aren't on the right. Charlie was literally just praising Elon Musk, a guy worth $196.9 billion dollars, for "opening up" Twitter (read: allowing the Nazi stuff that Charlie likes back on). Charlie himself lives in a $4.75 million dollar house in a gated community that charges nearly half a million dollars for a country club membership. Charlie Kirk, the people who pay him, and the people who he supports are the elites that Charlie fearmongers about so much.

42:23, Charlie Kirk: "Who is actually supporting the Democrat coalition? They have more support than ever from college educated women, college educated women have an attachment to the Democrat Party like Catholics have to the eucharist. College educated women are one of the most difficult demographics for Republicans to break. They consume NPR, New York Times, many of them think it's great that their kids are getting transed. The downfall of Colorado can be best described as the college educated female demographic so we're gonna have to navigate that."

Golly, I wonder why women are for the Democrats. Could it have something to do with the fact that the Republicans are working overtime to strip their rights and bodily autonomy away? There's just no self awareness here. Of course the Republicans are going to alienate groups that they take rights away from, it only makes sense.

Charlie doesn't seem to understand how the grotesque actions of his party have led to this consequence and instead seems to have came to the conclusion that "Oh, these women are just college educated. Yeah, that's the problem. These women really are the downfall of America. They gotta just start pumping out babies".

The next hour is Charlie interviewing Glenn Greenwald, Michael Knowles would be stunned at how leftist Glenn is here. I'm not going over any of it.

Conclusion:

Well, this episode was kind of anticlimactic. I was excited to hear Charlie's bombshell evidence about how the campus protests are secretly funded by the left and instead I got him going on misogynistic rants and complaining about "experts and the elite". Maybe he got into it in the interviews but I guess this is what I'd do too if my evidence was "Hey, look at those tents".

Original Video:

“Who Backs Campus Rioters? + Speech in Peril + Faith against the Darkness | LIVE 5.6.24.” Rumble.com, 6 May 2024.

Sources:

Study.com, 2023, study.com/academy/lesson/philosopher-king-history-examples.html.

“How Trump’s MAGA Movement Helped a 29-Year-Old Activist Become a Millionaire.” AP News, 10 Oct. 2023.

[adorethedistance]

City Slicker, Cowboyfriend - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, nerves, mentions of covid.

Words: 2163

Summary: You’re starting to have doubts about moving all the way to Norman until a shopping trip to Ikea turns into the meet-cute you’ve been waiting for.

A/n: This isn’t a request or one of my Valentines day fics, this is just something that I have had stuck in my head ever since Owen posted this on IG and bc I’m facing total writers block with my other pieces I cranked this one out in a few hours to get the ball rolling again. Hopefully. Enjoy this totally unproofed, fluffy madness!! (Because who doesn’t need more Owen content in their life?)

There are perks to moving and one of them is undoubtedly: shopping. For furniture, home decor, kitchen utensils, whatever! Granted, shopping alone can be tedious and, for some, like pulling teeth, thus, I’ve enlisted the help of my best friends Leila and Chelsea. I didn’t even have to bribe them to come because everyone loves getting lost in Ikea. It’s one of the best things about the human experience.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been in an Ikea,” Leila says to no one in particular as we walk through the onslaught of staged bedrooms.

“What?! Are you telling me you don’t get meatballs and lawn chairs on a weekly basis?” My exaggeration makes Leila laugh as she steps into one of the display kitchens. Looking between me and Chelsea she asks,

“What would you do if I turned the handle then a jet of water sprayed out?”

“Die, I guess.”

The three of us continue through the faux house displays and past the mattresses despite Leila’s urge to jump on every single one. As we walk through the section of different lighting features, I sigh with a frown as I think about college. I changed my bachelor’s to an associate’s so I could graduate in two years. Chelsea’s parents moved out here at the end of our senior year in high school, and she moved with them to study in Norman. Leila in turn went to Arizona for an athletic physical therapy gig, leaving me to face college alone in L.A.. In the two years the three of us were apart, we missed each other more and more, and after determining which of the three states we lived in was cheapest, we packed up and headed East. Covid kind of delayed our plans. But after a few months, I picked Leila up from Arizona and together we chased open job opportunities into Norman, Oklahoma. The three of us found an apartment space to live in together and thus, we ended up in Ikea on this fine Sunday afternoon.

Snapping back into reality I see Leila standing directly under a light that’s hanging very low from the ceiling. Once standing directly underneath it, she pulls down her mask and opens her mouth, rising to her toes to eat the fixture.

“Leila, don’t you dare fellate that light bulb! You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

I swear I’m practically their mom when it comes to behaving in public. Figuring they can’t hurt themselves in the college dorm section, I lead them quickly through it and into the giant furniture warehouse section. On the far wall, I see a large poster of a couple smiling brightly behind Chelsea, but I don’t bother to read the text. Leila and I spot the poster at the same time, and the imagery jogs her memory.

“Chelsea, how’s Hunter? Haven’t heard from him slash about him in like a week,” she asks about Chelsea’s boyfriend of a year.

“Oh, yeah, he tore a ligament in his wrist.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, I guess he moved it wrong or something and put too much stress on the area that it just tore. He was moving hay bales into the horse stables.”

“As opposed to the chicken stables,” Leila judges under her breath, which makes me snicker as a result.

“I still can’t believe you’re dating a literal cowboy,” I interject, “Like, I know we’re in Oklahoma, and he’s from Tennessee, but we saw Texas on the way out here and that’s cowboy country. Norman seems more...” I trail off in search of delicate phrasing.

“Just barely marry your cousin territory, but still downing chewing tobacco whilst driving a lifted truck?” Leila hits the nail squarely on the head.

“Yeah, that sounds about right-” Before I can continue giving my thoughts on Norman, I cut myself off at the sound of laughter behind me.

“Sorry. We weren’t trying to eavesdrop, that was just really funny.” When I turn around, I see a guy roughly our age dressed in all black with bleach-blonde hair, speaking through light, broken laughter.

“No worries,” I dismiss the apology as we pass by one another, and out from the dressers section. The three of us continue into the different sections, and come to a stop once I see we’re exactly where we need to be: dining room shit!

“Cowboy boyfriends aside- oh my gosh: cowboy boyfriends. Cowboyfriends,” I say getting lost in my new terminology. Both of my friends share a mix of laughter and gasps and my ingeniousness. “Anyway. Cowboyfriends aside, how is Avery?” I ask Leila who begins blushing madly.

“She’s really good. We were just making plans for our three year anniversary, which reminds me to tell y’all I’m flying back to Phoenix to surprise her.”

“Awwww,” I nearly tear up and the sweet image of Leila and her girlfriend reuniting, “Y’all are so cute. Both of you and your partners. You know, being the only single friend in this group has made life suck a lot. Y’all are so happy and in love and not dead inside. Honestly? Get fucked both of you.” Despite my harsh words, the three of us break into a lighthearted conglomerate of laughter.

“We’ll find you someone… eventually.” Leila pretends she also can’t hear the last part of her sentence despite being the one saying it.

“I know, but I don’t think it’s in the cards for me to find love in Norman. I don’t need a cowboyfriend, and we’re not gonna find a true city slicker here either.”

When I finish my statement, I see our blonde friend seems to have followed us. I observe he comes to a stop in front of another guy in a flannel with a shopping cart. The way they jump into conversation with one another parallels the animated body language Leila, Chelsey, and I share. I continue to watch their exchange as Chelsea speaks up.

“Maybe you need someone right down the middle.”

“Yeah, like a guy who drives a truck but uses it to transport Ikea furniture instead of a whole ass tree that he’ll carve into a chair.” A small laugh escapes my lips, at both Leila’s statement, and the scene ahead of Blondie pretending to strangle his friend over something. I’m snapped out of my nosy yet endeared stare as a third guy appears. He’s a sandy blonde with billowing locks tucked under a trucker hat. And he came from behind me and my two friends to place something in their cart which keeps his back toward me. When he turns back around, my mind goes blank. Any thoughts of shopping for dining room chairs has left my mind. He is wearing a face mask, but he has such nice eyes that he could have a giraffe snout under the mask for all I care. I see him look up from the shelves, directly into my eyes. We stay locked for a moment before he breaks away and turns to his friends. I slowly turn to my friends too who are both giving me the exact same look of excitement and conspiracy.

“He’s really cute,” I sigh out with a laugh, swooning much louder than I’d have preferred.

“He has a face mask on,” Leila points out, her expression dropping from excited to cynical.

“Still! I can just tell.”

“Girl, what are you doing? Talk to him!” Chelsea whisper-shrieks.

“Shhh, I cannot take you anywhere!”

Glancing back at the handsome stranger, we connect eyes once more and I feel my face heat furiously as I realize he was already looking at me. I’m the first to break; I consult my friends for the best course of action and as I’m turned 180 to face them, Chelsea starts pretending to hyperventilate excitedly. Leila looks over my shoulder for me, discreetly surveying the other trio in the dining chairs aisle.

“Don’t look now, but he’s talking to his friends and looking between them and you.” I can hear in her voice she’s trying her best not to smile despite wearing a face mask.

“Should I give him my number?”

“Yes!”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I’m nervous! What if he’s gay?”

“Will you just get over there? I promise you a gay man would not be wearing what he’s wearing right now. Maybe a lesbian,” Leila adds for good measure.

“You guys are freaking me out, I need you to leave so I know you’re not judging my flirting.” I shoo my best friends out of the aisle as inconspicuous as possible. Kinda wish blondie would’ve done the same because when I turn back around, the other trio hasn’t moved and the only one looking at me is the one in all black. He quickly averts his eyes though and I take one last deep breath before walking over to the stranger. I tilt my chin up ever so slightly to fake a sense of confidence that I unmistakably don’t have right now.

“Hey.” Really, Y/n? Hey??

“Hey,” he greets back breathily. Why is he nervous? I’m the one who gets to be nervous! Man, he’s really cute. I can’t fuck this one up. I’m not doing so stellar right now. Perhaps you should say something else, dipshit?

“Uhm,” I should’ve scripted this. “I just wanted to say that-” You’ve got this. Don’t be a bummer. “I-uh, I think you’re really cute and I was wondering if I could give you my number?” My speech is slow, each word deliberate in spite of the fact that I feel like I’m having an out of body experience right now. I’m not the one in control of the words that are coming out of my mouth.

Upon realizing why I walked over, blondie’s friends take the question as a sign to leave and less than inconspicuously back away from the two of us. Trucker hat spares them one last glance over his left shoulder and judging by the look flannel gives him, they were definitely talking about me in their team huddle.

“Uh, yeah. I was gonna ask for your instagram- if you have one, that is.”

“I’m cool with both.” The two of us reach for our phones and unlock them with anxious hands. I move to hand him my phone with instagram open, and he trades me for his which has a new contact open. I type my name and put my favorite heart emoji next to it after triple checking the number is correct. Wow, you’re just so ballsy today, Y/n!!!!! I give him back the phone, scanning the instagram account he’s just opened and followed for me. I hear him exhale a little harder as a small laugh and can only imagine it’s from the stupid heart emoji.

“Owen,” I say in a hushed, endeared voice, fully not intending to say it out loud. “You have a million followers?! Oh, you’re an actor. OH… You’re an actor.” I really don’t need to be speaking my entire thought process right now in the middle of this Ikea. Exhaling a small laugh of my own, I see we already have a small bunch of mutuals, one of which is… Chelsea??? Looking up from my phone I turn around to see Chelsea and Leila watching the interaction from around the corner of one of the industrial shelves.

In the flurry of scattered likes, I see him find my account and follow me back. I accept the request, nervous of what he thinks of me without a face mask on. What do I think of him without a face mask on? Going back to his account, seeing his entire face is even better than just his eyes. I was right, Leila: he is cute.

“You’re really pretty,” I hear him almost sigh as he combs through the grid of my account. The comment makes my heart beat all the much faster and I finally look upward to get a glimpse of Owen in the flesh. Still as beautiful as the last time I checked!

Sparing a quick glance over my shoulder, he looks back down at me and laughs,

“I think your friends got tired of waiting.”

“I think yours did, too.” The other members of our trios come back into the aisle we had kicked them from more or less two minutes ago. We connect eyes once more and stare longingly, wordlessly at one another, so lost in each other’s beauty our friends have to break up the staring contest of infatuation.

“Y/n?” I hear Leila behind me.

“Uh, well, I have to get back to chair shopping, but- text me later?”

“For sure.”

“For sure,” I mimic his voice.

“Guess I’ll see you later. Y/n.”

“Yeah.” And with that, we’re pulled apart by our respective best friends, through the vast expanse of the Norman Ikea.

“What was that?” Chelsea asks, excitedly linking arms with me.

“I don’t know I- Wait, you have some explaining to do!”

*** 

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell @n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret​ @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner​ @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading​ @dmcfarland1@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul @lilyjoyner 

[uomo-accattivante]

This is so wild! Oscar Isaac is planning to act for Francis Ford Coppola in this film and play him in another film (Francis and the Godfather).

Coppola on Megalopolis: “It’s based on The Catiline Conspiracy, which comes to us from ancient Rome. This was a famous duel between a patrician, Catiline, and that part will be played by Oscar Isaac, and the famous Cicero, who will be Forest Whitaker.” Filming is planned for the Fall of 2022.

EXCLUSIVE: Breathtaking bets on his vision established him as one of the greatest living American filmmakers and a vineyard magnate. Now, Francis Coppola is ready to put a lot of his hard-won chips on the table one more time to make his epic dream project, Megalopolis.

While the financial configuration is still evolving, Coppola at 82 years young is betting big on himself once again, by sharing the financial risks of a film that will cost between $100 million-$120 million. He is in deep discussions with a stellar cast of actors eager to work with the director of The Godfather trilogy, Apocalypse Now!, The Conversation and other classics, on a seminal picture that is decades in the making.

While some conversations are further along then others, the actors Coppola is discussing roles with include Oscar Isaac, Forest Whitaker, Cate Blanchett and Jon Voight, with Zendaya, Michelle Pfeiffer and Jessica Lange also among those he is seeking. He will also reunite with James Caan, whose role as Sonny Corleone in Coppola’s The Godfather made Caan one of the biggest stars of that era. This for a big tapestry film that will have many other actors in the cast.

Deadline has written about Coppola’s Megalopolis hopes for several years – I’ve seen second-unit footage of Manhattan architecture and street sounds that was shot 20 years ago, a campaign that ended after 9/11 shook Manhattan to its core. Coppola’s enthusiasm never wavered.

Emboldened by the recent sale of a portion of his considerable vineyard holdings in Sonoma County to Delicato Family Wines, Coppola has fortified his resources to borrow against, and is ready to gamble once again on his vision to make a movie he feels can be a North Star for a younger audience, and society in general, searching for optimism in a moment where global warming is taking its toll, and polarizing politics and digital misinformation are so pronounced that half the country is resisting Covid vaccines that scientists honed in a remarkably short time to combat a global pandemic.

“It has become like a religious war, in that it’s not about anything logical,” Coppola told Deadline. “I think the big news here is that I am still the same as I was 20 years ago or 40 years ago. I’m still willing to do the dream picture, even if I have to put up my own money, and I am capable of putting up $100 million if I have to here. I don’t want to, but I will do it if I have to.

“I’m committed to making this movie, I’d like to make it in the fall of 2022,” Coppola revealed. “I don’t have all my cast approved, but I have enough of them to have confidence that it is going to be a very exciting cast. The picture’s going to cost between $100 million and $120 million. Needless to say, I hope it’s closer to $100 million. I’m prepared to match some outside financing, almost dollar for dollar. In other words, I’m willing to put my money where my mouth is. What’s interesting about that is, there was a documentary about my dream studio, when I owned Zoetrope Studios and I was unafraid to risk everything I had in order to make my dream come true. Well, I really haven’t changed my personality, at all.”

While waiting for this Megalopolis moment, Coppola has spent the last few years preparing himself. He has kept off the weight he shed several years ago, and his stamina is in evidence in the way he created new versions of some of his past films, most notably the final installment of The Godfather trilogy that he retitled The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone, Apocalypse Now and The Cotton Club. I hear he will be at Telluride this weekend to unveil restored versions of his films The Rain People, and The Outsiders: The Complete Novel. After doing the work and feeling at peace with those past great films, as Coppola holds court at that festival, I expect the dominant conversation will be about how he is looking forward, toward Megalopolis.

While few filmmakers would ever put their own money on the table, Coppola detailed to Deadline his big bets in the past when studios wouldn’t back him,; the musical One From the Heart plunged him into Chapter 11 back in the early ‘90s, and his risk-taking on Apocalypse Now once threated to cost him the vineyards whose revenues now dwarf his Hollywood earnings. Each time, Coppola found his way back from adversity. The classic Apocalypse Now continues to give him financial comfort.

“You know that I own the negative of Apocalypse Now, and do you know why I own it? Because nobody wanted it,” he said. “And Apocalypse Now these years earns almost as much as we get from The Godfather. Pictures like this [are difficult]; everyone wants to make the next Marvel movie, but no one wants to make a picture that really talks to young people in a hopeful way, that we are in a position to get together and solve any problem thrown at us. That is what I believe, and it is what the theme of the picture really is. Utopia is talking about how we can make the society we live in solve these problems. I believe it is an exciting change from the kinds of movies being offered to the public,” he said. “Mainly because it puts forward a fundamental message that it’s time for us to consider that the society we live in isn’t the only alternative available to us. And that utopia isn’t so much a little experimental place in the country; utopia is a discussion of people, asking the right questions on if the society we’re living in is the only alternative or, if for the sake of young people, there are better choices that should be discussed. That is the influence I dream of this movie having. And for that reason I am willing and capable of investing at a high number, to make it come true. I’m putting together the means of doing that.”

While Coppola set his script in a contemporary city and explores timely themes, the sprawling tale has its origins in ancient Rome.

“The concept of the film is a Roman epic, in the traditional Cecile B. DeMille or Ben-Hur way, but told as a modern counterpart focusing on America,” he said. “It’s based on The Catiline Conspiracy, which comes to us from ancient Rome. This was a famous duel between a patrician, Catiline, and that part will be played by Oscar Isaac, and the famous Cicero, who will be Forest Whitaker. He is now the beleaguered mayor of New York, during a financial crisis, close to the one that Mayor Dinkins had. This story takes place in a new Rome, a Roman epic sent in modern times. The time set is not a specific year in modern New York, it’s an impression of modern New York, which I call New Rome.”

Coppola realizes these serious themes leave him swimming against the tide in an industry fixated with franchises, high concepts and familiar formulas. But he’s been a maverick his whole life and would like to stake himself this one more time, hoping to prevail again.

“This film I want to make, I believe is an exciting change from the kinds of movies being offered to the public,” Coppola said. “Mainly because it puts forward a fundamental message that it’s time for us to consider that the society we live in isn’t the only alternative available to us. And that a utopia isn’t so much a little experimental place in the country; a utopia is a discussion of people asking the right questions on just that subject, and if the society we’re living in is the only alternative or, if for the sake of young people, there are better choices that should be discussed. Hopefully that is the influence I dream of this movie having. And for that reason I am willing and capable of investing at a high number, to make it come true. I’m putting together the means of doing that.

He also understands this turn of events brings him full circle, and it seems to energize him.

“I have some private financiers who want to come in on a partner basis, and I’m willing to match their funds, if I have to,” he said. “Obviously the more money I have to put up, the more complications it gives me, but I am capable of doing it. I am capable of going the whole distance if I really had to. It would be hard for me or anyone to put up $100 million to make a utopian dream of a film, but it is not impossible for that to happen. It has been in the news I just sold one of my wineries to another company. So I’m a position where I don’t have the money but I can borrow it. So basically I am the same position as I was in that Dream Studio period, where I want to see the dream come true and I am not afraid to risk my own money to make it happen.”

###

[wing-ed-thing]

Fraternizing and Spineless (Kabuto x Reader, FINALE)

Synopsis: Kabuto has a fixation and you sometimes apologize to inanimate objects. Ever since one fateful day, you’ve been drawn to each other from opposite sides of the battlefield.

Word Count: 3,169

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Language Probably, Canon Divergence, Alcohol, Implied Torture, Espionage, Fem!Reader @tiktoktheclockisticking​

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Finale

Notes: I can’t believe it’s over. Damn... okay.

Kabuto sat at the bar. He fiddled with the neck of his near-empty bottle.

You hadn’t been home for about three days.

Even in a village full of trained shinobi, no one seemed to notice him. But with all his years in espionage, Kabuto would be surprised if anyone did. The bartender came over, motioning to take the glassware, but Kabuto held up a hand with the shake of his head. The bottle stayed. He originally intended for the bottle to be more of a prop than an actual drink, but the more he asked about you and the more people didn’t seem to know, the less decorative the liquid became. No one seemed to know your name and if they did, they certainly didn’t acknowledge it. Kabuto only heard the same story and not much more: that a terror attack was carried out on the Leaf by the Sound. While Orochimaru did send men after you, Kabuto saw that crater with his own eyes. He knew two things for sure: your chakra signature and that the Leaf was trying to cover it up. Kabuto took a deep breath, assuring himself that he just hadn’t found the right person to talk to yet.

“That was a pretty deep sigh there.” Kabuto turned to his right. The man next to him leaned on his elbows, slightly hunched over the counter. A few wisps of hair fell from his high ponytail. He took a sip of his drink, nose scrunching at the strength. The scar across his face flexed with his red-tinted cheeks. The man met Kabuto’s gaze. He motioned to Kabuto’s, unknown to him, stolen vest. “Are they working you Jounin as hard as I’ve heard?” Kabuto faked a slight laugh.

“Oh yes they are,” he answered, bobbing his head a few times. Kabuto fully intended on leaving the conversation there, but he took a momentary pause and studied the man out of the corner of his eye. Kabuto bit the inside of his lip before turning fully on his stool to offer his hand to the stranger. “Asai Takehiko,” he lied. The man grabbed his hand without a moment of hesitation.

“Umino Iruka.” The Leaf ninja introduced himself before downing the rest of his drink before waving the bartender over for another. Iruka motioned towards Kabuto. “I’ve never seen you around.”

“I graduated to Jounin recently. You know how it is with new meat on the battlefield. I suppose being thrown in at the deep end is one way to gain experience.” Iruka chuckled.

“So you must not have been home for a while then. I’ll cheers to that.” He lifted his glass and Kabuto fingers wrapped around the neck of his own bottle. The glasses clinked together. Kabuto held his to his lips, pretending to take a sip as he studied the dwindling liquid of Iruka’s cup. After a few seconds, Iruka came up for air. “Not taking the Jounin exam is definitely something I don’t regret.” Kabuto quirked an eyebrow.

“What are they having you do?”

“I teach.” Kabuto’s eyes flickered in amusement. He restrained the corners of his lips from turning upward, covering his mouth with one hand in order to not give himself away.

“You teach? I’m assuming at the Academy?” Iruka nodded and Kabuto snorted, hitting Iruka playfully on the arm. “You work with kids and you’re day drinking on a weekday?” The mocking tone translated nicely into playfulness.

“It’s been that kind of week, my friend.” Iruka’s smile faltered, his gaze focused on blank space as he seemed to recall a particularly bitter memory. Kabuto’s expression narrowed. He had a hunch, but he wasn’t about to reveal his hand yet. Perhaps luck shone down on him after all. Kabuto took another swig from his drink with a casual shrug.

“I think everyone’s been kinda on edge. You know, with what happened. An attack in the middle of the village is some real scary stuff.” Iruka pursed his lips, a subtle display of body language that was not lost on Kabuto. He went on. “You know, just being a new rank in this line of work. I have family around where it happened. I’m afraid that I won’t be there to protect them if something like this happens again.” Iruka shook his head.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said with a fair amount of hesitation. He gulped, running a palm across his face. “With all the precautions being taken by the Hokage I’m sure that it won’t happen again any time soon.” Kabuto crossed his legs and tilted his head.

“You seem to have more information than I do. And you seem pretty upset.” Iruka let out a bitter huff.

“Yeah, I think that’s an understatement.” Kabuto paused, giving time for his victim to marinate in his thoughts before he probed further. Iruka’s chest puffed out as he filled his lungs with air. Another heavy huff. “It’s all just… very confusing and conflicting and I haven’t been able to get proper sleep for a while because for some weird reason I feel responsible.” Iruka didn’t bat an eye at his own confession or at the fact that he was venting to a stranger. Kabuto’s interest, however, was piqued.

“Responsible, huh?” He put a hand on Iruka’s shoulder and pointed a finger at his chest with the other. “You sound like you’re being way too hard on yourself.”

“I wish I was.” Yet another sigh from Iruka. “I really do…” Kabuto frowned, faux confusion washing over his features.

“It was the Sound Village, my man. I think you’ve had one too many to be thinking that kinda stuff.” Iruka hesitated as he looked around wildly. The bar had, for the most part, cleared out to leave Kabuto, Iruka, and a single stranger at the very end of the bar. The bartender had stepped out at some point during their conversation. Iruka leaned in a bit closer.

“Okay, you promise that this stays between you and me?” Kabuto inwardly celebrated his victory but kept his expression concerned and humble. Demeanor sympathetic, he nodded. Iruka looked around again before whispering, “The Hidden Sound didn’t attack the Leaf. At least not directly.” Kabuto blinked, mouth agape in faux surprise.

“What does that mean?” He started to grow just the slightest bit impatient, but Kabuto reminded himself that after days of information gathering, he had struck gold. He was going to find you, no matter what it took.

“It means that the Hokage is investigating one of our own for conspiracy and treason.” Kabuto covered his mouth before letting his wrist fall back onto his lap.

“No. Conspiracy against the village?” Kabuto couldn’t help the slightest bit of guilt gnaw at him. Maybe he hadn’t been as careful visiting you as he thought he had been, but for the moment he pushed those thoughts from his mind. He tilted his head towards the ceiling, eyes moving back and forth in pretend thought. “This wouldn’t be a friend of yours would it?” Kabuto met Iruka’s surprised eyes.

“How did you know?” Iruka’s guard was officially down. Kabuto offered a friendly smile.

“Well because you’re so distraught! Anyone could take a guess. Have you at least gotten a chance to talk to her?” Iruka recognized something off about his new friend’s statement, but he couldn’t pinpoint it in his intoxication. He nodded, describing the journey to your cell and your painful conversation.

But Kabuto didn’t care much for the bit about your conversation. Rather, he sat in quiet, victorious awe as the building you were in and the floor number slipped from Iruka’s lips. In the end, that’s all he would need. Iruka, at least at the moment, didn’t suspect a thing.

***

The blood remained smeared across your skin despite your injuries healing hours before. The Leaf had gotten creative.

You were certain that Iruka didn’t believe your story, so you were confident that the Torture and Interrigation Force didn’t either. Even if it was the truth. You steadied yourself and slowly leaned back to lay down on your cot. In spite of your closed wounds, your muscles stretched in soreness. You shifted to one side, spine cracking along your back. The taste of your own blood lingered in your mouth.

The moon shone through the sliver of a window near the ceiling of your cell. Looking up, you couldn’t help but wonder what Kabuto was doing. You wondered if he was looking for you. You cringed at the memory of your last conversation. The night where you practically threw yourself at him in desperation, spouting feelings that perhaps should have gone unspoken. Maybe Iruka was right. Maybe you really weren’t making any sense. You sighed aloud to yourself. Yeah, you sure scared him off alright.

You let your eyes flutter shut. You hadn’t been allowed to enjoy a full night of sleep and you knew that it would only be a matter of time before someone came to drag you away again. You didn’t suppose that many fraternized with Sound ninja just for the companionship. The Leaf expected a grander plot. Part of you considered making up a lie, that maybe you’d be let go if you told them what they wanted to hear, but you knew no matter what you said you’d be stuck. Your breathing slowed quickly and for once since you had been locked up, a semblance of peace overcame you.

By the time you heard the door open, you didn’t even know whether or not you had actually had any time to rest. You were still exhausted, but the moment you heard the tinkering of keys at your cell door you bolted straight up. Out of it, you didn’t even register standing until after the fact. Two shinobi entered your confines. You could hardly muster a coherent thought and you certainly couldn’t process the body of the unconscious guard that fell at your feet.

“You weren’t away that long that you forgot about me, were you, dear?”

You dragged your eyes up, heart beating faster and faster. Kabuto stood before you. He still held his kunai. The Konoha Jounin uniform fit him nicely, a vision of what might have been in another world. He grinned ear to ear, smug smirk plastered onto his lips. Your eyes widened. Without a moment's hesitation, you went to him and he accepted you with open arms. His weapon clattered to the floor. Your lips crashed into one another’s like waves on the shore. Kabuto held you close. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your fingers tangled in his hair. Kabuto’s stolen hitai-ate fell down around his eyes. He pushed it back up and you both parted. He was there, right there under your fingertips. You couldn’t stop shaking. You buried your face in his shoulder and he caressed the back of your head. Hot tears ran down your cheeks and down his vest. You didn’t even realize that you were crying.

“I wasn’t that bad, was I? I know this wasn’t really my style, but they’re really stingy with the keys around here.” And Kabuto laughed, blinking back the drops that threatened to spill over his own waterline. He wasn’t ever one to cry and he’d be damned if he looked like anything less than a hero during your rescue. You snickered with him and clenched your eyes shut, further staining your cheeks. The side of your face melted into his palm and Kabuto leaned his forehead against yours.

“You came back for me,” You breathed, inhaling his familiar scent. He smelled like the village, something akin to mornings in the forest. “H-h-how, how did you? What did, did you?” You could hardly find the words. Kabuto grasped your hand.

“Doesn’t matter.” He breathed in. He wasn’t too late.

***

Konoha, despite its strength, was in many ways a dated nation. The alarm bells didn’t even begin to ring until you and Kabuto were half way across town. You had to hurry. Leaf shinobi acted quickly and every second a new set of peering eyes were being awakened from their beds.

You followed Kabuto closely. You didn’t get to ask any questions, you didn’t have time. All that you knew for sure is that Kabuto, once again, came to your rescue. What that meant, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t about to question it.

Kabuto stopped in front of you and knelt down.

“You go ahead.” You became very aware of the bags under your eyes and the bolt of adrenaline in your veins. He began to unpack a few items from his equipment, attaching paper bombs to kunai and preparing traps that you couldn’t process properly in your tired haze.

“What are you going to do?” The corners of Kabuto’s lips tugged into a sly grin. He took a bit too much pleasure in moments like these. Nimble fingers pulled knots tightly. By the time he rose back up again, he could’ve easily been mistaken for a walking arsonal.

“Buy us a little more time… and little insurance,” he said, not even bothering to hide the glee in his eyes, “It’s a straight shot from here. You know where to meet me. Wait for me there.” As he turned away you grasped onto his sleeve.

“Wait,” You gulped, casting your eyes downward with hot cheeks. Kabuto let out an amused scoff before leaning to plant a quick kiss on your lips.

“As much as I appreciate the concern, we’re getting low on time, dear.” He dragged a finger across the outline of your ear, tucking a few strands on hair back. “I’ve got this handled. Go, I’ll be there before you even know I’m gone.”

And with one last squeeze of his wrist, he went. You let out a shaky breath before facing the opposite direction. You had started to build up some nerve a while ago. It was recent, but nonetheless you’ve started… so you supposed you shouldn’t stop now. Jumping from your place, you began running across the rooftops. Your eyes locked onto the forest. You sped to your top speed, darting into the woods. Free. The branches and leaves blurred together as you continued on. You took a sharp inhale. You knew that you wouldn’t be back here anytime soon.

You ran until the exhaustion caught up with you. Your back felt drenched with sweat, you stopped at a small clearing among the trees. Leaning up against the bark, you forced air into your lungs in an attempt to sate the burning within them. Your head pounded as fatigue gripped your muscles. The meeting spot wasn’t too far ahead. An often overlooked piece of the forest, you were sure that no one would find you here.

A rustling came from nearby.

“You know, when you said that you’d be back before I knew you were gone I didn’t think you’d be back that…” You trailed off. The man that stood in front of you was not Kabuto, but Iruka. He wore half civilian clothes. The scar on his face and his hitai-ate were the only articles that could have truly signified that he was a shinobi. His determined eyes met yours unyieldingly as he panted from his travel. You were in no shape to fight him. “How did you find me?”

“You’re leaving,” he noted, exasperated. His eyes were opened slightly wider than usual. Perhaps even he didn’t know what he was seeing. The trees rustled above you. Quiet overtook the landscape. It was only you and Iruka. “This was the only direction you could have taken and not have gotten caught. Direct path from the compound...”

“Yeah,” You answered, heart beating rapidly in your chest. “I…” Your features softened. Your shoulders slumped and you let out a heavy sigh. Iruka remained silent. “You know I can’t stay here. I-I can’t just stay locked up like that.” He hung his head, arms coming to cross in front of his chest. He nodded, bobbing his head a few times. Iruka’s hand came to run through his hair.

“I… I know.” He pursed his lips, stammering over his words. “You didn’t, uh…”

“I didn’t kill anyone.” You defended yourself quickly. A shiver worked its way down your spine. “Anyone else I should say.” You mirrored him and crossed your arms.

A pause. Iruka could have taken you in, but something told you that he wasn’t going to.

“I’m sorry for not having more faith in you. I’m sorry if I could have done something to prevent all of this.” The honesty in his admission shot straight to your heart. You weren’t leaving behind a lot that you would miss in the Leaf, but Iruka was most definitely one of them.

“This was inevitable. You… thought what anyone would think. I can’t blame you for that.” You gestured to yourself. “I’m sorry for what I said and I just want you to know that I’ve always appreciated our friendship.”

“No,” Iruka waved a hand before it returned back to the crook of his elbow. “I—”

“Why don’t you tell me next time?” Iruka’s gaze snapped up to meet yours. You shrugged with a smile. “There’s a lot to talk about. A lot to apologize for. Let’s just… save it for the next time we see each other. Because you’re not losing me for good. We’ll just… catch up a lot later than we meant to.” Iruka’s expression melted into something resembling sentiment.

“Yeah. For sure. We’ll catch up later.” You approached him and you enveloped each other in a sweaty hug. You took him in, the last of your life in Konohagakure. He rested his chin on your head. “He better treat you right.”

“He will. He does. You don’t have to worry about that.” You parted, Iruka’s hands remained on your shoulders. A rustling came from behind you and both of you turned to look as Kabuto appeared at the other end of the small clearing. He had two bags slung over his shoulders. He gave a respectful nod towards Iruka who gave a small wave back.

“Umino Iruka, nice seeing you again.” Iruka pointed a finger towards the rogue ninja with playfulness in his voice.

“You, sir, are a menace to spies everywhere.” Kabuto cracked a smile with a snort.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

And with one last contrite look, you and Iruka parted ways. He jumped out into the wilderness and you turned to Kabuto. Leaflitter crunched under your feet as you made your way over. You wrapped your arms around him. He murmured a few sweet words into your ear and your lips brushed against his cheek.

“So where are we going?” You asked as you took one of the bags with the assumption that it was for you.

“Wherever you’d like to go.” Kabuto’s fingers laced between yours. “I don’t know. I don’t have a plan from here if you’d believe that, my dear.” You gave his hand a squeeze.

“Perfect.”

Notes: Does anyone else smell a sequel series ‘cause, uh, I left things very open for a reason? Like any finale I’d love to hear what you have to say!

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[acourtofsnakes]

Of Crowns and Armour, part 2| Bodyguard! Mando x Royal! Reader

Summary: Will Mando be true to his word about sneaking you out? Or will everything go wrong at the last moment

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, brief mentions of death, subtle references to sex (not explicit), not completely canon

Pairings: Bodyguard! Mando x Royal! Reader

Word Count: 4.3k+ 

Square filed: Bodyguard AU/ Taken Captive (hinting and leading into it ahead of next chapter) AN: @mandalorianbingo 

This is the outfit for the bar and here is Din’s car! And yes, that IS Billy Russo’s car from Punisher

Bingo Masterlist

Of Crowns and Armour: Part 1| Part 2

Permanent taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal​

The following day, you both had a meeting with your Grandma about public appearances and such, and then the Mandalorian escorted you back to your room, and promptly disappeared. 

You didn’t see him for the rest of the day.  

He wasn’t present at dinner and you couldn’t find him anywhere. 

By the time 8 o’clock rolled around, you had decided to believe he’d changed his mind about getting you to the bar. 

Still, maybe you should just sneak out. Everyone was expecting you and like Hell were you going to let them down. 

Besides, you weren’t afraid of the Mandalorian, or his threats. Your grandparents had already said the worst things they could have done, so what else did you have to lose? Short of locking you in a tower, they couldn’t do much else. 

And so, that’s why you were sat at your dressing table, finishing off the last of your makeup when there was a knock on the door. “Darling?”

Your grandmother. Shit. 

Hurriedly, you rose from your dressing table, looking for your robe, anything to cover your outfit. If she saw you, you’d be thrown in that metaphorical tower quicker than expected. 

“The Mandalorian said you weren’t very well, that you’d taken ill after dinner. I just wanted to see if you needed anything.” 

That froze you. 

The Mandalorian had lied to your grandmother? The Queen… on his first day?

He had lied. To cover you so you could go out with your friends. 

Just what kind of game was he playing? Was this an attempt to get you to like him? Did he just... not care? Or was this all some big elaborate trick designed to see if you would finally listen to your grandparents. 

Before the conspiracies could suck you too deep, you realised you should probably answer her. 

You worked to make your voice sound muted, tired, “Yes, he’s right… I was out for a walk in the garden and took a turn. I almost fainted.” You shrugged helplessly at the print of a forest hung on the wall, not knowing what else to think of. 

“Fainted? Oh, darling, do you need me to call for the nurse? I can have her here straight away to check you-“

“No! No, that’s okay… I think… I think I just need some rest.” You bit your lip, praying that would be enough and then you threw in a very believable yawn. 

You heard your grandma hesitate, “Okay… But if you aren’t any better by the morning, I’ll call for the nurse. Sleep well, darling.”

“Thank you… I will.” You knew she remained unconvinced, but her footsteps retreated from the door, leaving you bewildered still. 

Why on Earth would he lie on his first day? 

Shaking your head, you finished off getting ready, wondering if you should put on your heels or trainers – would you be going there like a normal person… or sneaking out of the palace gardens? 

Just when you were about to reach for the trainers, there was another knock, freezing you in place. 

“Princess?” Your bodyguard’s deep baritone rumbled through the wooden door. 

You sighed in relief, instead grabbing the heels and padding barefoot to the door, which you pulled open, “Hey.” 

Mando stood there, dressed in a similar dark suit to yesterday, same boots and same gloves. 

And the same helmet. 

You really needed to ask him about that.  

It was still facing you, and the Mandalorian was… silent. 

You raised an eyebrow, cocking your head, “Uh, can I help you?” You waved a hand in front his visor, and a tingle passed over your skin, almost as if… as if someone had raked an eye down you. 

The Mandalorian’s gloved hands flexed, “Your outfit…” His voice… was it a little huskier than usual? 

You looked down at your outfit, a pair of slim black jeans and a sheer mesh top embroidered with flowers. “Is there something wrong with it?” It wasn’t over the top, or even inappropriate. Sure, it bared off your belly and the very top of your waist, but it was tasteful. 

Mando’s helmet glinted with the light as he shook his head, “No, no, it’s…” He trailed off, clearing his throat and then he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, “Ready to go?” 

Strange. 

You nodded, raising your heels, “One second.” As you stooped down to put them on, you couldn’t help but ask, “Can I ask why you lied to the Queen on the first day of your job?” 

You heard, rather than saw him shrug, “You asked me to find a way to get you to see your friends. So I did.”

Not a good enough explanation. 

You cast a glance up through your eyelashes as you secured the stap of one heel round your ankle, “But you’re my personal protection officer. The whole point is keeping me in and doing what my grandma asks you to do.” 

Mando tilted his head down to look at you, the movement oddly…. Attractive, “No, my job is to keep you safe. And your grandma asked me to also keep you cared for. And if finding a way to get you to see your friends safely where I can watch you every single second, is keeping you cared for… then I’m not breaking the rules. I would rather know where you are than encourage you to sneak off.” 

You contemplated that as you strapped up the other ankle, “Hmm.” Rising to your feet, you shut your bedroom door, “You’re an odd one, aren’t you?” 

It felt like Mando may have flashed you a grin under the helmet, but instead, he just offered you his arm, “Likewise, princess.” 

He led you out of the palace, avoiding the butlers and guards, and took you out the way you snuck out yourself. A long-forgotten door behind a willow tree in the garden. 

Of course he knew. 

But that didn’t matter because…

On the street outside, was parked an absolutely gorgeous sleek black car, sitting pretty and beautiful in the dusky light. 

The soft squeak of joy that escaped your lips was inevitable, “You drive a Wraith?!” You slipped your arm free of his, hurrying over to examine every inch of the car. 

“You like cars?” The Mandalorian couldn’t hide his surprise, watching you move around his vehicle and carefully touch the gloss paintwork. 

You peered over the bonnet at him, raising an eyebrow, “Surprised?” Turning your attention back to the car, you nodded, “Always. I used to go to car shows with my dad all the time…” You looked at the car again, thinking back to those times. 

Mando cocked his head slightly, a move that you were starting to recognise as a sort of trademark for him, but he didn’t push what you said “It’s not my everyday car. This is for work.” He walked to the passenger door, opening it for you and standing behind is as he watched you almost reluctantly make your way to his side. 

“It’s beautiful…” As you walked round, you paused as you noticed the number plate. You frowned at the letters and numbers for a second, before realising what they spelt, “Razor Crest? What’s that?” 

He merely shrugged, motioning for you to get in, not giving anything away.

Another thing to add to the list. 

Still, you settled into the car, watching him come around to the driver’s side. 

He moved with easy grace, a confident walk that was both balanced and silent. All of his movements were graceful, actually. Like he was moving to some inner tune only he could hear. Each sweep of his arm, shift of his body seemed perfectly choreographed, even with the helmet that you knew would block his peripheral. 

“You’re staring.” He closed his door, turning the engine on and it purred to life, earning a sigh of delight from yourself. 

“You move like you’re trained in dance. Or battle.” You mimicked his pondering head tilt as you watched him put on his belt. 

How could he even drive in that thing? Surely it was illegal.

The Mandalorian let out a soft huff that might have been a laugh and lifted his hand to the wheel, “That might be the first compliment you’ve given me since I started.” 

Your reply came late, because immediately, you had zeroed in what had just been revealed by his movement. 

The angle of his hands on the wheel had caused the sleeve of his suit jacket to rise up, exposing a strip of tanned, olive skin before it flowed into his leather glove. 

It sent a lick of heat through you, making you aware of the small space, the smell of is cologne, and the darkness around you. 

You just… couldn’t stop staring. 

Sure, you’d only known him a few hours, but… that strip of skin was almost like he was naked. It was smooth, the tendons of his inner wrist jutting out in a way that almost made your mouth water, before you realised exactly what you were doing. 

Quickly, you scrambled for a response, “Well, it hasn’t even been a day. Give it time.” It was an almost herculean effort to tear your eyes away from his skin. 

God’s above, get a grip. You’re not some repressed Victorian catching a glimpse of a lady’s ankle.

~~

~~~~

The night was shaping up to be really quite lovely. 

Before going to the bar, the Mandalorian had parked in the next street over and introduced you to the team he had handpicked for the night. 

No palace guards of course, since this was all strictly hush-hush. 

His team was small, consisting of two women – one who was broader built and wore a few braids in the side of her dark hair whom Mando introduced as Cara and the other slender and built almost like an assassin from the books you loved to read. She was called Fennec. They both seemed lovely, and respectful. 

There had been another man, wearing a similar helmet to Mando’s, who simply called himself ‘Fett’ in a gravelly voice. 

The final member of his team was a tall, older looking man, with rich skin and an even richer personality. He was open and bold, very friendly and didn’t stop complimenting you, and introduced himself as Greef. 

They had also informed you that your codename was Nova. Which you had to admit, did thrill you. Just a bit. 

You had a codename.

Mando and his team had watched you go in, staying a few steps behind in the line before nodding to the bouncer at the door and heading in themselves. He’d taken up a position in a shadowy alcove, and… you actually didn’t see much of him for the rest of the night. 

He stayed pretty well concealed, even when he was out in the open. Even with that helmet on. 

His team had too. The only time you noticed any of them, was when you really tried hard to look. 

Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if they had to stay. At least these guys knew how to keep the distance and not hover over you like some kind of helicopter. It allowed you to feel… normal. 

Finn’s performance had been amazing as usual, and you’d all gushed as much when he’d returned to the table with a round of shots. 

Casting a glance round for them out of curiosity, you met the gaze of the woman near the stage, her chin length red hair flashing green for a moment as a laser light passed over it. 

You’d noticed her quite a lot tonight, starting from almost as soon as you walked over to your usual table to meet the gang. 

She’d been standing near a potted fir tree and looked dead at you as you approached. 

You put it down to someone who recognised you as the princess – it wasn’t uncommon. People had a habit of staring at someone well-known. 

Turing your attention back to your friends, you re-joined the conversation.

“So, grandma really won’t let up with the PPO thing then?” Finn sipped his beer, crossing one leg over the other and he looked at you. 

Groaning, you shook your head, “Nope. Not at all.” You had just given them all a quick rundown of what had happened yesterday – Poe already knowing of course. “She says this is it now. The Mandalorian is here to stay.” You sighed, swirling your cocktail around its glass. 

Rey let out a thoughtful hum, “My step-dad told me about something a little while ago… He said back when he was an agent, there were a group of people who were like… major under-cover Special Ops. Sort of like bounty hunters, I guess. They were trained to take out any threat before it even happened, with no trace or evidence” 

Poe snorted, “So, you’re saying her PPO is an assassin?” He laughed, looking at you, “Careful you don’t piss him off, he might slit your throat in the dead of night.” 

Rey threw an olive from her drink at him, “No, you asshole. They’re not assassins. They were sent out on some of the most dangerous missions. Not a lot of people knew about them, they were like ghosts. Luke said he knew some, and the stories he would tell were… horrific. They got caught up in some really brutal things. Lots of people hated them, and there was this big scandal between the Mandalorian’s and this other group. They released hundreds of secure files, revealing the identities of the Mandalorian operatives. A whole bunch of them were killed and so were their families. That’s why they keep the helmets, even now. So no one knows who they are… so they can protect their families back home.” 

Your drink turned a little sour in your mouth as Rey finished speaking. You had called him a circus freak, laughed at his helmet… what if he was one of those operatives? What if he had been… tortured… watched his family killed? 

A cold sweat licked down your spine, bringing with it the memories of blood, of that awful, awful night you lost your parents. 

Quickly downing the rest of your cocktail, you stood up, “I’m just gonna run to the bathroom, don’t start the next round of shots without me.” You pointed at Finn, who had a tendency to be an eager beaver when it came to shots. 

“Want me to come with you?” Rey looked up from her drink, tilting her head curiously, her eyes showing concern. 

You laughed, brushing it off and scooping up your bag, “Rey, this isn’t Hutt’s.”

Hutt’s was one of the more… interesting bars you and your group often frequented. 

It was more on the side of what your grandmother would call, ‘unsavoury.’ But as long as you didn’t cause too much trouble for the guards, it was a fun night out. It also came with the guarantee of no-one looking too closely at your ID and realising who you were – of course, you had a fake ID. Not fake for the age… just the last name.

Poe laughed, shooting you a grin, “Oh, honey, you know how to have a good time at Hutt’s.” He dropped you a wink, referring to the night in question that had gotten you into that final point of trouble. 

The night of the body shots and table dancing. There had been more, but thankfully, your grandma didn’t know that. 

You raised your eyebrows, wearing a matching grin to Poe’s, “And so do you, if I recall correctly.” Amongst you all, Poe was known as… not exactly a player, but he did have a certain way with the ladies – and the occasional man. 

Finn laughed, clapping, “Ooooh, she’s right! Do you remember – “ 

Before you got sucked into a game of reliving your messiest nights, you slipped away to the bathroom. 

Just before you reached the door, you noticed the red-headed lady standing near a large potted plant, watching you again. 

Weird. Maybe you should go and see if she knows you. 

You shrugged, pushing open the door and heading inside. 

~~

~~~

God, Mando hated parties. 

Well, you couldn’t exactly call this a party. 

This was… actually kind of better than most of what he’d been stationed in previously. 

This place, Tano’s, was rather inviting, with rich décor and open spaces. There were lush plants everywhere, softening the sleek lines of the furniture.  The warm lighting was reminiscent of a sunset, providing a lovely ambience. It helped that he knew the lady who had once owned it, before passing it on to a friend. 

The bar was wide, a big sort of U shape with lots of seats. There were multiple raised seating areas, and a sunken area that faced the big stage where the princess’ friend has sung a little while ago. He was actually pretty good. 

But everything else… the clustered groups of people, the changing music, the flashing lights… 

He had never come to care for it. 

Give him open space and gentle quiet any day of the week. 

Too much noise and movement brought him back to that place. 

Reminded him of the things that had been done. 

Maybe he should go out for a breath of air. 

He almost laughed aloud at that thought. Like he would take off the helmet here. 

Too many people to see him, too many phones and cameras which might capture his face and release it to the world – to his enemies. 

God, he was on edge tonight. 

Of course, it had everything to do with the surroundings and nothing to do with the grins and flirting that the princess had exchanged with her dark headed friend. 

Or the way they had danced earlier. 

Or the way he casually slipped his arm round her shoulders as they watched Finn perform. 

He was aware that Dameron was a close friend of the princess’ but… something had flickered inside him as he’d watched. 

But that was to do with the surroundings. 

Suddenly, Fennec Shand was at his side, “Is Nova with you?” She leant against the bar casually, head tilted up like they were just having a normal, easy conversation. 

Mando straightened instantly, turning his head to her and he tried to keep his voice steady, “What? No. She was going to the bathroom. I can’t exactly go in there can I. You were going in with her.” 

“I watched her go in, but I thought you had someone in there? So… where is she?” Fennec was reaching for her comm’s earpiece, listening to the volley of updates from everyone stationed around the room  

Mando looked sideways at Fennec, his eyes almost burning holes through the visor of his helmet, “What do you mean ‘where is she?’ You were supposed to be tailing her into the bathroom.”

Fennec stared at him, shaking her head, “No, you told me to watch the door and wait for her, so it didn’t attract attention.” She scanned the room, searching the crowds of people for any sight of the Princess. 

Mando growled, his hand coming up to the top of his helmet, like he wanted to rake his gloved fingers through his hair, “I didn’t… Fuck! It doesn’t matter. We need to find her. Go.”

He practically flew across the room on a storm cloud, eyes focused on the group of friends. 

The clock began, your safety at the top and the hands od danger getting read to mark away seconds of your life.

The other girl, Rey, looked up when she saw Mando approach, “Oh! Hey, are you-“

Mando cut her off, not to be rude, but because that clock was already beginning to tick, “Have you seen her? Has she come back from the bathroom?” His voice was tight, slipping out through gritted teeth and the helmet made it sound rougher than he intended.��

Rey blinked a few times, a small frown appearing between her eyes and she looked around, realising, “I… No. She hasn’t. We thought she’d gone to find you.” Her eyes were confused, at the urgency. 

Mando stifled a hiss of annoyance, “No. I haven’t seen her come out.” 

Finn looked at him next, laughing a little, “Relax, man. It’s not unusual that she slips off at some point in the night. We’re always losing her.” He shared a laugh with Rey, who nodded affectionately. 

Did they not realise what was happening here? How were they being so… so blasé about this?

Finn was still talking, “She shows up eventually, usually with some wild story that puts us all to shame.” He grinned, a grin that said exactly what kind of story you came back with and Mando realised it wasn’t that they didn’t care, it was that they were used to her running off. 

But this feeling… the pricking in the back of his neck… 

This wasn’t just some romp in the night with a stranger. 

It was more than this. 

He knew it was. 

Some wild part of Mando snapped, and he grabbed Finn by the front of his leather jacket, hauling him up out of the chair in one fluid mood, “This is not a fucking joke.” His voice was a rough snarl, that beast poised and snapping its teeth, “Your friend is missing, and you’re sitting there laughing about it and thinking she’s run off for a quick fuck with a stranger? You really think so little of her?” Mando’s free hand twitched, a cloud of fury surging over him and almost choking him. 

“Hey!! Hey, let’s not start fighting with ourselves, here.” Poe had jumped up, and was facing Mando, tapping his arm, “Relax, okay? I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for this. Finn never once said she sleeps around, or even implied that. She just… really lets it all go some nights, which you can’t blame her for. She wouldn’t have run off for no reason, so just… relax.” He raised his eyebrows, his voice calm, trying to diffuse the situation. 

Mando blinked behind his helmet, the haze clearing from his vision as he saw Finn’s wide eyes, the faint tracery of concern and a little fear in his expression. 

Horror overtook the fear, wiping it out and Mando let Finn go quickly, soothing his jacket and he raised his hands, “I’m sorry. Just… Text her. Please.” He stumbled back one ungraceful step, and then turned, almost lurching with the uncharacteristic, unsteady gait as he walked away, feeling her friend’s eyes on the back of his polished head. 

The urge he had to throttle Finn almost terrified him and he realised with a shock that in merely fifteen hours, he had become that protective of the princess.

But that was his job. 

And this… this wouldn’t be the same as last time. 

He pressed a button on his helmet which activated the comms system, “I need eyes on Nova. Now. She was last seen heading to the bathroom. Fennec is checking there, making sure she didn’t get out. 

Fett, I want you on the terrace.” He moved through the crowd, trying his hardest not to shove people out of the way, “Cara, Greef, cover both doors. No one in and no one out until we find her.” 

~

The clock continued ticking down, each second signing away another portion of her life. 

The princess had just… vanished. 

I will tear down this whole building. 

Mando raked his eyes over every single face he came across, and that wild, untamed part of him wanted to scream at everyone, threaten them until they gave up where she’d gone. 

The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an hour. 

I will tear down the whole city. 

How could he have been so stupid? He had his best team, his most trusted people in the room tonight. Not the palace guards or security, his handpicked agents from his highest team. 

And they had still managed to lose her. 

~The sounds of screams filled the room, echoing over and over along with the unspoken truth that would haunt him until the day he died. 

He had failed.~

The Mandalorian began to make his way through the crowd to the bathroom. 

Maybe Fennec would tell him she was in there, or even that she had slipped out of the windows like an alley cat and snuck away into the night. 

Yeah, that’s probably what happened. Maybe she had… maybe she had gone to meet someone. Didn’t want babysitters trailing after her. 

The Queen had told him that she’d be a handful, that he would have to always have one eye on the surroundings and one eye on her. 

~He’d been too late. 

Too late to realise, too late to get moving. 

Too late to save them.~ 

She’d escaped, that’s all. 

The feeling in his gut told him otherwise. 

He met Fennec as she came out of the bathroom, “No one in there. None of the windows were busted either, they’re too small to let anyone out. She didn’t escape.” 

Fuck.

Trying not to think too hard about the cool sweat beginning to prickle his skin, he turned, giving the room one last sweep. 

Dameron and the others were clustered at their table, looking at their phones and shaking their heads, concern on their faces. 

They hadn’t heard from her. 

It was true then. The sinking feeling in his bones, in his heart… it was right. 

Mando reached to activate his comms, a coloured spotlight from the stage bouncing over the bar. 

If he hadn’t been so alert, he never would have seen it. 

A flash of light, like metal reflecting. 

Mando walked across the floor, slipping around a laughing couple and reaching the bar, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling in anticipation – and dread. 

There, lying on top of a discarded beer mat, was a small, metal object. 

Mando scooped it up, holding it up in his gloved palm so he could see it through the visor. A tiny little thing, smaller than a keychain…

But it felt like he was holding a live grenade. 

The object was shaped a little like the letter V, but the top sections were flared out, sort of like an arrow. 

To anyone, it would mean nothing. 

To a certain few, they would be able to notice that it looked similar to the Mandalorian’s own visor. 

But, to a select handful of people… They would know this symbol. Know which woman is belonged to.

Which was why Mando felt the world slip out from under his booted feet, the noise of the bar turning into the sound of screaming, a child’s screams, his child, begging and pleading. The lights reflecting off the wall turned into flames and the burst of a gun, flashing across his vision. He saw blood, saw the bodies littering the floor. Felt his own failure and sick terror turn his blood to ice. 

It was happening again.

She hadn’t slipped away. 

She’d been taken. 

By Bo-Katan. 

Previous| Next

[burnedbyshoto]

that final phone call

— Miruko is one tough rabbit, but eventually even the toughest of people need a helping hand. — 

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: usagiyama rumi (miruko) x fem!reader

warnings: angst, cursing, blood

word count: 5,836

a/n: this is for the bnharem angst april collaboration!!! here for the best girl miruko. I would die for her and yuh, im so tired its 5:40 am and I just finished this LMAOOO and its scheduled for 9am posting. lets hope for the best, enjoy bbs. angst masterlist here.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Riiing.

“Pick up…”

Riiing.

“Don’t ignore this…”

Riiingggg.

“P-Please pick up,” Rumi mumbled into the phone, her head spinning, her breathing weak and faint. “Pick up the phone, y/n…”

Riiing.

“Please…”

Riiing.

Rii—

“H-Hello?” your tired voice answered, and just like that, warmth flooded Rumi’s chest. She had to resist the urge from cringing; there was no reason to cringe, she berated herself, accept your feelings Rumi. “If this a prank call, I swear—”

“Y/n,” Rumi finally whispered, the energy that always existed within her fading quickly.

She didn’t need to be in the same room with you; she already knew what you were doing. How your back stiffened at the sound of her voice and how your stomach clenched, remembering what had happened two months ago.

“Why are you calling?” you said so emotionlessly that it was a sucker punch to Rumi’s stomach. A sharp reminder of what she did to you, of what had happened because she was weak. 

A ragged breath escaped Rumi’s lips while she closed her eyes, her head laying against the cold concrete, listening to the lull of the line.

“I needed to hear your voice…”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

One and a half years ago.

Usagiyama Rumi, better known as the Number Five Pro Hero Miruko was — to put it lightly — a powerhouse.

Known for her almost brash entrances, sturdy legs, and quick temper, it made sense as to why she wasn’t known as the Bunny Hero. She wasn’t soft enough to be a bunny, nor was she meek or gentle. No, Rumi was a hurricane of energy. She was fast, vibrant, and deadly. She was unmatched in her field of expertise, and she had no problem demanding people know that about her. She dived into her work, no matter how big or how small she handled everything with her fullest capability.

She was obsessed with her job because she always had something to prove.

But even a workaholic such as herself needed a break — or at least time outside of her uniform.

It was nearing midnight, and Rumi was strolling the dark streets of Hiroshima, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets. At the same time, she observed the neighborhoods she protected. It was a Saturday night, meaning that street life was quite busy. After working for two months straight without a single day off, her office staff had forced a two-day vacation on her. Still, it didn’t stop her from scouting these blocks for any sign of criminal activity. 

But she stilled when she heard loud arguing many alleys ahead, and with an excited smirk, Rumi took off.

It took her approximately thirty seconds to travel an entire block and into an alleyway where a large and burly man was arguing with a small woman. Rumi stilled, her eyebrow quirking in her confusion, what was going on?

“You have to let me in!” you insist again, your nose scrunching in your annoyance, your chest puffing out, and your eyes blazing. “I have reason to believe that there is a drug-pushing gang in this very club!”

Rumi shifted closer to you, and this now apparent bouncer who was looking less than impressed with you. A drug-pushing gang? She had been trying to find intel on that gang but had been coming up dry, she wanted to know more, to find out more. It seemed that it was her lucky day that she wasn’t relaxing at home because it seemed that you had information she could use. It was ballsy of you to show up at a hideout with such demands… she liked that. Rumi’s eyes looked over at you, and her smirk turned into a grin.

You wore a charcoal grey pantsuit, a white shirt underneath the opened blazer with the first two buttons undone. Her eyes noticed the scruffed up short heels you wore, and the way that your hair was in a chaotic bun. How amusing.

“Oh yeah, little miss nosey? And who the hell do you think you are exactly?” he sneered, taking an intimidating step forward.

The bouncer was easily twice your height, and Rumi watched you, expecting you to take a submissive step back, but was surprised to see you hold your ground.

“The investigative journalist for The Daily Hiro!” you inform back, your eyes daring him without a single bit of nervousness in their blaze. 

The bouncer opened his mouth, obviously ready to kick your poor journalist ass when another voice from the alleyway spoke up.

“She is not an investigative journalist,” the voice clipped, evidently very annoyed with your words. “She’s an intern. She makes coffee runs and edits my works, ignore her.”

Rumi’s eyes shifted on an angry reporter she knew by name. Hirano Naoko. A ruthless reporter that she often found herself at odds with because he didn’t agree with her... enthusiastic approach to being a hero.

A pained yelp escaped your lips when he grabbed your bicep and pulled you to him.

To an average person, there would be no way to hear the conversation between the reporter and the intern. Still, Rumi was not an ordinary person, after all.

“I thought I told you to take witness’s statements,” he hissed pulling you away into the darkness. “Not stir up fucking trouble! Drop the fucking gang shit before you get wrapped up in things you don’t want to get caught in.”

“But you don’t understand Hirano-sama, I saw—”

“I could give two shits about what you saw! That doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want! This isn’t some fucking cop show, grow the fuck up. You’re an intern, not a reporter!”

Rumi figured she had enough.

“Hold on!” she yelled, her voice bouncing off the walls of the alleyway, and all three heads snapped her way. Her arms folded across her chest while she tilted her head. There was nothing like the way all three eyes widening when they recognized the famed Rabbit Hero standing before them with a feral grin and civilian clothes. “I want to see if this intern is right, open the door, bouncer.”

The bouncer was like a mountain to the Rabbit.

Tall, muscular, and frightening in this dim and yellow light.

“M-Miruko!” he stammered, his fingers searching for something, and Rumi lowered her stance. Was he trying to inform them that she was here? “What a pleasure seeing you here!”

Then she heard it, the familiar noise of shuffling plastic. He was trying to alert someone.

In an instant, she was before him, her heel slamming onto his chin and sending him flying, knocked out cold.

“This is why we wear heels,” she snickered, watching the mountain of a man crumble to his face. How weak, pathetic. Her attention turned to you, the intern who looked both ready to pass out from this scare and vibrating with excitement. “Intern, you promise those villains are in there?!”

Your eyes flutter, and Rumi takes you all in. Strands of hair fall over your eyes, your painted lips pulled into a large ‘o’ from your shock, but there was that confidence in your eyes that made her lick her lips in anticipation.

“On my life.”

Rumi snickered, now that was an answer she wanted to hear.

And as a one-woman show goes, she flung open the door and, in under twenty minutes, single-handedly brought down the most extensive drug unit within Hiroshima. She had defeated them all, leaving her with significant cuts on her cheeks and arms, a fat lip, a broken heel, and bruises on her toes. But damn did she feel alive.

Rumi watched with a broad grin when the twenty-three men were put into police cars, their injuries far worse than her own. How amazing was that! Months of worrying disappearing on a leisurely night stroll! She couldn’t have done it without… her mouth frowned.

She did it with help?

Her eyes flew over to you, an intern, talking to the cops with a whole file that seemed to come from nowhere with incriminating evidence against this group. Rumi shoved off the medics that were applying more useless bandages on her and walked over to you.

“Oi, intern!” she called, and both you and the police officer turned around. Thankfully, the police officer was either done interviewing you or smart enough to leave once Rumi approached with her trademark grin. “You did good work out there.”

“Miruko-san, oh, um, thank you!” you smiled in return, bowing in greeting when she stopped in front of you. “Congratulations on closing that case!”

“How did you crack them? I’ve been working on finding them slip up for months now, but you figured it out?” Rumi asked, her arms folding and head tilting. “What did you see that I missed?”

Rumi could hear your heart stop and watched the way your eyes widened significantly. “O-Oh, well, I don’t know… I guess I have a knack of being at the right place at the right time?” you laughed, rubbing the back of your head. “To be honest, it was probably more important to me than it was to you… so I able to crack it before you?”

“What makes you say that?” Rumi asks, unsure if she should be offended or not. “Are you trying to say that I’m not working hard enough?!”

“Oh my god, no!” you panic, your hands out in a motion of retreat, your head shaking quickly. Rumi wanted to open her mouth and grill you for answers, but there was something about you that made her hesitate, that made her still. You shrug your shoulders, your hands clasping together. “My future career was riding on this case. The company thinks I’m a nutjob, so if I could prove my ‘conspiracy theories’ were right, I could finally be appointed a job as a journalist!”

Rumi hummed, taking a step closer to you, enjoying the way that your heart sped up when she did so, her head tilting in her amusement, “Well, you did what you had to do, congrats.”

“T-Thank you!” you brighten at the praise, and Rumi does everything she can to not throw an arm around you.

“Usagiyama Rumi,” she introduced herself to you, her hand extended.

You stared at her hand as if she was some goddess instead of a person. But that fire that had interested her well before that erupted back in your eyes. You extended your hand, grasping hers firmly.

“Y/l/n y/n,” you grin, and it’s at this very moment that Rumi solidifies that she indeed likes you.

You were a quiet fire, unlike her own raging one, but she was no idiot. You were something that would burn the entire world down because no one would see you coming, and she liked it.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Six months later.

“RUMI!” your voice shrieks from the kitchen. “HAVE YOU SEEN MY LAPTOP?!”

Rumi was soaking in a bath right now, her eyes closed while absorbing the warm water. Two weeks of straight and intense battles had left her body a bit beat up, but hey, she was currently in her girlfriend’s apartment presently being taught how to relax. 

Yes, shocking, her girlfriend’s apartment.

It took a solid week for Rumi to realize that she had feelings for her, something that took a while for her to sort out because she thought she was mentally ill for a second. Nevertheless, her good friend Hawks laughed in her face about how she was not dying but instead just having romantic feelings for you. After that, it took two seconds for her to confess and three minutes for you to say yes. 

It was very new for both of you, but Rumi was very pleased with where everything was going at the moment. Dating certainly wasn’t something on her radar for years now, but for some reason, that fire that burned through your soul was enough to pique her interest.

“Check under the bed!” she called back, listening to your feet shuffling against the wooden floor to get to the bedroom.

“Aha, I found it!”

Rumi cracked open a single eye to watch you waddle into the bathroom with the laptop in your hands and a wide grin on your face.

“So, I’m a junior journalist now, nothing too big or fancy, but… I think I have something outstanding in the making!” you excitedly inform her, throwing open the laptop while sinking to the floor next to the tub. 

“I thought you said bath time was a no-work zone,” Rumi teases her lips perking and her red eyes drilling into your own. 

An embarrassed look flashed across your face, but as you always did, you stood your ground and challenged her.

“I can give my information to a hero who wants it then!” you huff, moving to close the electronic device. “Like you care about my rule, anyways!”

“What a brat!” Rumi barks with laughter, her shoulders rolling in the warm and murky water. Her eyes watched the way her long white hair gently flowed in the water, something you had pointed out looked like moonbeams one night. It had been stupidly stupid, and she would forever remember the way you curled in a ball at your embarrassment. “Tell me!”

Snickering, you nodded, your fingers moving quickly against your keyboard while you searched for the document.

“I have information on the soon to be most dangerous crime group out there,” you inform her, your voice taking on a serious note when you look up at her. “Name it, they’ve done it, and worse yet, they’re a cultish family.”

Rumi felt a chill run down her spine at that information. That wasn’t a title you gave out quickly, nor with such confidence. Together the two of you had taken down four villain groups, and some of them had been nasty fuckers. 

“What’s their name?”

“They go by the name Shinseina,” you inform her, your knees pulling up to your chest, the laptop balanced on your knees to show Rumi your document. “I got one tip about two months ago, and that’s all I’ve managed to find on them.”

Rumi stared at the document.

‘Organization Name: Shinseina

Symbol: A Black Sun

Number of Members: ???

Warnings: ???

Leaders: ???

Location of Base: HQ thought to be in Hiroshima, the possibility of there being more is very high

Crimes: Quirk canceling drugs, quirk enhancing drugs, murder, gang affiliation, rape, robbery, theft, illegal quirk usage, money laundering, and 12 more.

Number of Heroes Killed: 16+.’

Two months of hard work, and that was all you had managed.

Rumi didn’t even need to use her quirk to hear your hammering heart, this was obviously upsetting you.

Sighing, she pulled her wrinkled hand out of the tub to motion for you to place the laptop away, her eyes holding yours when you do as commanded. “Come here, loser.”

“That’s rude,” you grumble, but still, you slide to the edge of the tub and watch Rumi.

Rumi sits up in the tub, her lips pressing against yours in a sweet embrace.

Your eyes flutter close at the feeling of her soft and smooth lips against yours. The slight coldness of her skin from just sitting in this water, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine. Rumi chuckled, and the next thing you knew, she was dragging you in.

Rumi relished in the way your pitched screams echoed off the walls, your denial of being brought into the water was useless. Eventually, she pulled your fully clothed body into the lukewarm water with her, and your cries of disapproval faded into beautiful laughter.

Your cheeks burned while Rumi’s fur stood up in triumphant victory.

“I told ya, squirt, I don’t lose.”

You slammed your head against her collarbone, moaning loudly in your defeat, “I hate you!!!”

“Sure, you do!”

Rumi could only dodge out of your way when you went in for a weak attack. It was okay though, she thought, teasing you again for your weak punch. She would always protect you.

Her eyes rapidly blinked when those thoughts fully sank into her mind.

Excuse me?

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Six months later.

“An obstacle course?” you repeated, your eyes looking at the bouncy house that was apparently a place for a date. While you pursed your lips, Rumi looked back at her friends who seemed excited. “I’m sorry, but in what world do you expect me — a journalist — to be able to keep up with you Heroes?

Rumi once again turned back to look at Hawks and his intern, who both seem ready to compete. So she turned back around to face you and nodded in egotistical confidence. Your mouth dropped when she finished nodding.

“The only time I exercise is when I chase after people who run away from me!” You cry, obviously not at all prepared to compete against people who practically worked out for living!

“Don’t worry, they won’t use their quirks, and this is a team obstacle course!” Rumi laughs, her arms flexing to show you that there was nothing to worry about. She would make sure you both won even if that meant she would have to carry you to the finish line. “I won’t let you get hurt,”

She knew you wouldn’t like the idea of it; after all, you hated losing. But you were not one to back away from a challenge, and Rumi loved that about you.

“Fine,” you huff, turning towards the obstacle course.

With a loud hoot, Rumi bounced after you, an arm wrapping tightly around your shoulders.

“This’ll be fun.”

The objective of the course was to get across some pretty insane things together. There was a maze, obstacles to climb over, crawl over, powerfully slam through, all leading up to a freakishly tall wall to go down a slide, which was the finish line. Rumi was brimming with excitement, if she had to launch you across the course, she would. No way in hell was she going to let Hawks of all people beat her.

Shoes came off, and Rumi bounced on her toes at the entrance. She was shoulder to shoulder with both you and Hawks, and her eyes were on the finish line. She was going to win with you, that was the truth.

The employee working the festival stand sighed, staring at the four of you and getting an okay from his coworker.

“You both need to be at the final obstacle at the very end, but only one person needs to cross the finish line to be the winner,” he explained, and his hand raised for a countdown. “Ready?”

Rumi turned toward you, her hand reaching out and grabbing yours and placing a reassuring kiss on the back of your hand.

“Set.”

“Stop being so gay, Rumi, how embarrassing,” Hawks teased to her right.

“Suck my lesbian ass, pigeon.”

“Go.”

Rumi took off instantly, tugging you along with her, and before she knew it, the two of you were on the course. It was actually going better than she was expecting, you weren’t as incapable as you thought. You were able to keep up with a bit of struggle, but Hawks had smacked into a wall earlier, so she wasn’t concerned.

Obstacle after obstacle, the two of you conquered until you reached the wall.

Rumi looked back and noticed that Hawks and his intern were still stuck on the second to last course. That maze had been pretty bullshit.

“I’ll climb first!” Rumi explained, and you agreed with a pant.

Rumi turned back to the wall and began climbing the poorly reinforced steps that were there. It was obviously constructed to be able to withstand a child’s footing and not anyone over the age of seven. So as it was already stupidly tall, it was a struggle to climb.

Rumi was almost to the top when she looked down at you. You were a few steps down, your face twisted in your attempt to concentrate, your arms wobbling under the strain of trying to support yourself. Her attention snapped over to Hawks, who seemed to be scaling the wall, and her eyes widened. 

She needed to win.

She scampered up a few more steps before a cry came out.

“R-Rumi!”

Her focus slammed back to you and the way that your fingers slipped from the grasp, and in slow motion, you tumbled. It was without a doubt that this fall wouldn’t have hurt you, not a chance in hell would you have been injured, but Rumi’s instincts took over, and before she knew it, her arms were wrapped around you.

The trampoline bottom crashed onto her back, and you slammed onto her stomach.

Rumi had caught you.

She groaned at the discomfort caused by this action but lay still her hands stroking your cheek. Your eyes were wide, staring up at your girlfriend in complete shock. 

“Are you okay?” Rumi asks in a rare moment of softness. “You weren’t hurt, right?”

“Why did you jump after me?!” you yell that amusement she loved so much burning brightly in your gaze. “I wouldn’t have been hurt, you dork!”

“I promised I wouldn’t let you get hurt,” Rumi insists, rubbing her nose against yours. 

Once again, she can hear your hammering heart, and it relaxes her.

“But you let Hawks win!”

Rumi blinks at the realization, and suddenly the wheels in her head are turning rapidly.

“Would you ladies mind moving? The champions are ready to visit other stands unless you don’t wanna hang with us anymore!” Hawks calls out to both Rumi and you.

Rumi watches silently when you push off her, pressing a grateful kiss to her lips before responding back to the Pro Hero. 

“Oh, Hawks! Has Rumi told you about the new detail about the Shinseina case I’m working on?” you called off, skipping to catch up with her friend that she had allowed to win.

Rumi gave up a victory for you… she threw it away to save you from nothing… she thought that there were things about you that she loved. It didn’t sit well in her chest, and she watched with a twitching nose when you exited the course with that captivating bright smile. 

She couldn’t be in love… no, there was no way!

Love made you weak! Love made you insignificant! Love was a demonstration that you weren’t strong enough on your own, and to Rumi — no, to Miruko — that wasn’t okay.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Four months later.

Rumi at the edge of your bed, her head down, ears wilted, nose twitching, and face clouded.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Bunny?” your tired voice called out in the silence of the night.

The noise surprised Rumi. It had so quiet until then, and it had completely caught her off guard. Her! The Pro Hero with some of the best ears around! Who could hear the quietest things meters away!

“Are you okay?”

Rumi wasn’t okay.

“I pulled a kick today,” she whispered to you, her hands shifting into fists on her lap. She shook with rage, her body trembling like a leaf.

“Is that a… a bad thing?” you yawn, shifting on the bed and finding her body, relaxing at the heat she gives off.

“Yes.” Rumi snaps, her body stiffening against your touch. “Yes, it’s obviously a bad thing.”

“Why?”

Why?

Rumi’s eyes concentrate on her bruised thighs, her frown increasing. How could she tell you the truth? How could she say that you were her weakness?

For years she had been a headstrong hero, someone who didn’t think but reacted. She lived her life to the fullest every day, and she gave it her all every chance she got. It applied to her social life and her work life, especially her work life. She wasn’t one to laze about; she would die on the job if she had to, and her opponents always knew that, but lately, things had changed. 

She found herself praying to some god about making sure she lived through these battles so she could go home to you. She prayed that someone else would find the Shinseina and bring them down so she wouldn’t be taken down. Being weak wasn’t a problem; after all, she was motherfucking Miruko, so she was used to building on her weaknesses, but this was different. No matter what she did, she couldn’t love you any less. Fuck, did she love you.

She loved the way your eyes narrowed whenever you interviewed people. She loved how you were quickly gaining traction in the media for being the best investigative journalist ever. She was so in love with you, and that’s where the problem was. Her love for you was so pure, so genuine, she wanted to give you the fairy tale ending. She tried to think before she acted, and villains were starting to notice.

Villains were threatening to hurt you, and Rumi was trapped.

“We need to break up.”

You weren’t expecting that, not in the slightest.

“W-What?”

“I don’t want to be with you anymore,” Rumi lies, and she feels you move away from her body, and it takes everything in her to not cry.

“Why not?” you ask, your voice steely smooth.

“You were access to the information I wanted. My office team is ass, and you were always getting your hands dirty with cases I needed to solve. But it seems that you’re nowhere near close to figuring out the last group I care about,” Rumi wills herself to say, her ears moving back up to show that she wasn’t lying. “I pretended for a year to be in love with you, but I can’t anymore.”

“Y-You’re not a great liar,” you state, challenging her false words.

Rumi loved it when you challenged her, but there was no time for that. So with a tight chest and flaring red eyes, she snapped around towards you, lips pulled into a snarl.

“Do you think I’m lying, y/l/n? I stuck around because you made me stronger, but now? You’re no better than the dirt on my shoes. Pathetic, useless, and a disgrace. I don’t need you anymore, so I’m cutting this off because I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Standing up, Rumi storms over to the door, ready to leave.

She wishes she could say that it ended there, but it didn’t. Not even close to being done.

You spat acid at her, and she returned it at the same toxicity. Over and over again, the two of you verbally battled. False emotions taking the better of you both until you were in her face, tears streaming down your face, fingers shaking in her face.

“You are a fucking coward, Usagiyama,” you sneer, the effect only dramatized by your red eyes and deep eye bags. “Get over your stupid fucking commitment issues, being apart of a team i-is not weak! I’m here to make you stronger, not for you to want to be a one-man squad again! You’ll die alone that way!”

“I know being apart of a team isn’t weak,” Rumi states, her heart long frozen over. “I just don’t want to be apart of yours anymore.”

A humorless laugh escapes your mouth, and you shake your head, “Don’t show your face here again, if I see you, I’ll call the cops.”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“— and Miruko, you’ll enter first. You’ll be alone for about five minutes if that’s okay.”

Rumi looked up, her mind freed from her daydream about what was happening.

It was two months since she had broken up with you, and things had only taken a turn for the worse. She threw herself into work. Overusing her quirk in ways that over-injured villains who were petty thieves, or underusing it in ways that she kept landing herself in the hospital. To put it simply, the rabbit hero was a mess. 

“Yeah, got it,” she nodded.

Things with the Shinseina ended up being brought to the light finally by you. You had noticed a slight clue in your office that had been undetected and ended up having you thrown into the Witness Protection Program due to the severity of the secret. But still, you provided an updated and completed information:

‘Organization Name: Shinseina

Symbol: A Black Sun

Number of Members: 237 thugs and lower cult members, 57 leaders and mid cult members, 12 senior members of the cult, 1 leader.

Warnings: All have dangerous quirks that can be used for assassination.

Leaders: Hirano Naoko

Location of Base: HQ - Hiroshima. Other sites detailed in the secondary report.

Crimes: Quirk canceling drugs, quirk enhancing drugs, murder, gang affiliation, rape, robbery, theft, illegal quirk usage, money laundering, and 12 more.

Number of Heroes Killed: 84’

“Hey, you get one call on this, we don’t want them finding anything on us in case we fail,” the leader spoke to her. Miruko breathed in deeply, accepting the cellphone that was given to her.

“Got it, thank you,” she muttered, and with that, they headed out.

Five minutes, that’s all it was.

Five minutes for Miruko, the Rabbit Hero, was nothing. Especially when she was zipping through room to room, taking out cult member after cult member. Everything was a blur, and she could only see her streaming hair following her like moonbeams in her wake.

Moonbeams…

Rumi thought of you, your face when you were happy when you were sad, and that night you broke up. Her lip trembled when her foot connected with someone’s chin sending them flying. Panting harshly, she stood in a room full of unconscious cult members. She had three minutes before backup would storm through the door, but which door to—

“SHIT!”

She just felt the impact. An intense tingle, similar to a severe electric shock coursing through her body. Rumi realized then that thousands upon thousands of circuits have just been broken, and it was burning her up. The heat was nothing she could have ever imagined, festering strongly in her bleeding wound. But there was still no pain when her foot connected with the man’s throat, instantly knocking him out. 

He had snuck up on her, his quirk concealing him even from her rabbit ears.

Rumi whimpered when she fell to the ground, blood pouring from her wound despite her best efforts. He had managed to land seven blows on her, and the world was darkening quickly.

Three more minutes until they came, but she could call them now…

When Rumi collapsed on the floor, her vision swam when she pulled out the phone, a warm and sticky puddle forming underneath her, staining everything that was white about her. Rumi’s fingers punching in the number she wanted to call.

Riiing.

“Pick up…”

Riiing.

“Don’t ignore this…”

Riiingggg.

“P-Please pick up,” Rumi mumbled into the phone, her head spinning, her breathing weak and faint. “Pick up the phone, y/n…”

Riiing.

“Please…”

Riiing.

Rii—

“H-Hello?” your tired voice answered, and just like that, warmth flooded Rumi’s chest. She had to resist the urge from cringing; there was no reason to cringe, she berated herself, accept your feelings Rumi. “If this a prank call, I swear—”

“Y/n,” Rumi finally whispered, the energy that always existed within her fading quickly.

She didn’t need to be in the same room with you; she already knew what you were doing. How your back stiffened at the sound of her voice and how your stomach clenched, remembering what had happened two months ago.

“Why are you calling?” you said so emotionlessly that it was a sucker punch to Rumi’s stomach. A sharp reminder of what she did to you, of what had happened because she was weak. 

A ragged breath escaped Rumi’s lips while she closed her eyes, her head laying against the cold concrete, listening to the lull of the line.

“I needed to hear your voice…” 

“Do you even know what time it is?” you almost growl, and that fighting spirit sends a warm feeling in Rumi’s chest. “What in the fuck do you need?”

“It’s two a.m., I know that, but I need you right now,” Rumi staggers into the mic, your spirit bleeding through the call. 

The line goes silent for a bit, and Rumi’s eyes feel heavier with every passing second. She wants to tell you she loves you, please give her the chance to say it.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t go back to you anymore,” you curtly respond. “You made sure of that.”

How ironic, Rumi thought, because now she would never go back to you anymore… never…

“I know,” she hoarsely responds back, her mouth trembling and tears slowly pouring from her eyes. It hurt so much, how horrible it was to go out because of stab wounds. Of all ways to go out, she never expected it to be like this, nor did she expect it to be done with regret in her actions. Because fuck, she regretted how she ended it with you. She regretted letting you go. She thought of your face and how you looked the first time she admitted she loved you, of how dorky you were for your first anniversary. How your eyes glowed whenever you corned the people you were investigating with something that seemed straight from a story. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, y/n…”

“Are… are you okay, Usagiyama?”

“I love you…” she whispered before the phone fell from her fingers, crashing onto the bloodied floor.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

You stared at the phone, confused. 

Frowning you placed it down, the call had ended, but why was she calling you?

How this stupid bunny pissed you off sometimes. Turning your phone back on, you went to recent calls and recalled the number she had reached you on.

Riiing.

Riiing.

Riiing.

“Sorry, but the number you’ve tried to call is no longer available, please try again. Thank you!”

Beep.

You frowned a pit forming in your stomach, but you put your phone away, and for some reason, you couldn’t fall back asleep that night. 

It was eight in the morning when your phone blew up, and with a heavy hand, you grabbed your phone and looked at the billowing messages. And at the headliner, your stomach dropped to your toes, and bile climbed to your mouth.

‘RABBIT HERO: MIRUKO KILLED IN ACTION DURING Shinseina RAID!: It’s being reported that she was stabbed several times while alone, and while she was given a phone for backup, she used it on a call they cant trace.’

You couldn’t read it anymore, your heart hammering erratically while a blood-curdling scream escaped your mouth.

She was gone, she had called you last night to say goodbye, and you didn’t give her the time of day. She was gone, and you would never get the chance to convince her that having a life partner wasn’t weak.

Usagiyama Rumi was gone, and no amount of hoping, praying, or crying was going to bring her back to you or to redo that final phone call.

[mossflowermouse]

This is a gift for @ah-nakin as part of the @starwarssecretsanta exchange - I hope you like it! Massive thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for organizing this, it’s been so much fun <3

(1.5k. In which Obi-Wan’s padawan and grandpadawan kids decide he needs a rest, pretty much everyone agrees with them, and nobody in this lineage is capable of doing anything without being Dramatic about it.)

Anakin and Ahsoka have been plotting something.

Not that there’s any real proof of it, mind you – they’ve become far too careful with their schemes lately to actually risk him overhearing anything – but Obi-Wan’s seen them trading glances, and he knows that look. At the very least, it means mischief. At its worst, well, quite a few officials are still scratching their heads over how anyone had managed to divert two-thirds of a parade plus cheering onlookers through the middle of the Temple last Republic Day. Although in fairness to the two of them, that one hadn’t been entirely their fault. It would have been resolved far more quickly had Master Yoda not chosen to interpret “please help” as “please help Anakin and Ahsoka” and gone to assure a bemused steward that of course this was the correct route for the parade, keep going you should, enjoying it the younglings are. 

(Mace had eyed Obi-Wan a little suspiciously when he’d informed the Council of that part. Obi-Wan had given his friend his most innocent I’m-a-responsible-Jedi-Master look in return; after all, his intention in going to Master Yoda had been to get the misunderstanding cleared up. And if it hadn’t been, Mace can’t prove it.)

Now, though, his padawans seem to be taking steps to avoid including him in their newest plot. Which means he’s almost certainly the target.

Ah well. Whatever it is will most likely be a nuisance, but a harmless one. There’s no point worrying about it now. Obi-Wan has more pressing matters to address, like the stack of paperwork he really ought to make a start on before the Council meeting at noon, and then there are a few odds and ends to check with Anakin about, and then –

There’s a knock at the door. He knows before answering it that Anakin and Ahsoka are standing outside, their familiar Force signatures bright with amusement. Well then. Perhaps he won’t have to wait that long to find out what they’re up to after all.

The first thing Obi-Wan sees as the door slides open is Anakin’s grin, which more or less confirms his hunch; Ahsoka is out of sight.

“Anakin. I wasn’t expecting to see you up this early. What brings you here?”

Anakin smiles innocently at him, which is never a good sign. “Well, Ahsoka and I were talking, and we think you should take more days off. Starting today. Take a break, Master, it’ll be good for you.”

Obi-Wan wonders, a little guiltily, if he’s misjudged his padawan’s intentions. “I appreciate the thought, Anakin, but I really can’t take today off. There’s an awful lot to sort out while we’re still on Coruscant, so…”

He trails off, suspicions returning in full force as Anakin’s smile widens. “Oh, don’t worry, Master. We’ve got everything planned out.” This is definitely what they’ve been scheming about, then. Obi-Wan wonders if he ought to have a bad feeling about it.

And speaking of we – Obi-Wan narrows his eyes. “Anakin, why is Ahsoka hiding in the corridor? We all know I know she’s there.”

Anakin steps back from the door and gestures to his left, inviting Obi-Wan to take a look. He does. Standing in the corridor and trying desperately to look serious is Ahsoka, wearing a set of Obi-Wan’s robes and a cloak that trails on the floor and a – he squints at the piece of orange fabric stuck to her chin – is that meant to be his beard? It’s awfully scruffy. And rather hastily made, from the looks of it. He blinks a few times in confusion.

“I’m going to be you for the day!” Ahsoka announces. “So you can rest and you don’t have to worry about missing anything.”

Obi-Wan really doesn’t think that’s how this works, but he’s prevented from saying so by Anakin chiming in again. “That’s right. Look, Master, the resemblance is striking. Nobody will even know the difference.”

Obi-Wan stares pointedly at Ahsoka’s montrals and terrible fake beard, then raises an eyebrow at Anakin, who just snickers a little. Before Obi-Wan can rebuke him, though, Ahsoka fixes Anakin with a look of mild disapproval, rubs her temples wearily, and says “Anakin” in an uncannily precise imitation of Obi-Wan’s Coruscanti accent. If he’s being honest, it’s a little surreal.

“Now, Snips, don’t tease Obi-Wan,” Anakin chides. Obi-Wan’s not sure he’s ever heard him sound less sincere. “But she’s right, you know, Master. We can handle everything.”

This is a little ridiculous. “Anakin, I have a Council meeting today - ”

“Don’t worry, Master, we already knew about it,” Anakin interrupts cheerfully. “Ahsoka can manage.”

Ahsoka, who if Obi-Wan recalls correctly was complaining about having to attend so many long briefings just last Taungsday, nods confidently and gives him a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this, Master Kenobi. Just relax!”

“Ahsoka will be there right on time for the meeting, won’t you, Snips?”

Obi-Wan can’t believe this. They can’t be serious.

He looks at them again and sighs internally. No, they are.

***

“ – and I checked with Cody and he told me you didn’t have anything urgent to sort out for the 212th while everyone is on shore leave, and that just leaves your meeting, and we’ve already got that sorted out, trust me, so – ”

“Anakin. I believe you. And I already said I’ll take the day to relax, you don’t have to keep trying to convince me.” It’s…mostly true, though Obi-Wan’s still planning to get a little of that paperwork done once they’ve left to go and cause chaos.

Anakin beams, basking in the success of a plan well executed. “That’s great, Master. Oh, I almost forgot! One other thing before we go – Ahsoka, that cloak’s way too long, you’d better leave it here.”

Ahsoka’s face lights up; clearly this part was planned, because right on cue, she shrugs out of the cloak with a level of exaggerated melodrama that rivals her grandmaster. Obi-Wan’s honestly a little proud to see it.

Anakin picks up the discarded cloak, wraps it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders with a flourish, and steers him firmly back into his room. On his way out, he calls over his shoulder, “By the way, Cody took your ‘pad earlier, so you’re not wriggling out of a day off by doing paperwork either. Relax, Master!”

So even Cody has joined the conspiracy against him. Obi-Wan will admit the betrayal stings a little. He sinks into a chair and resigns himself to a day of doing nothing in particular.

Two and a half cups of tea and half an hour of meditation later, Obi-Wan’s decided this might not be so bad after all. Though he ought to comm someone to explain. Yoda perhaps. Or – no, Yoda will just laugh, better to speak to Mace. And maybe make sure Anakin and Ahsoka don’t cause too much of a disturbance in his absence.

***

“Good morning, Padawan Tano,” holo-Mace says, completely deadpan. “Can I help you with anything?”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to turn the comm back off and throw it across the room; instead, he settles for giving his friend a deeply unimpressed look almost uniquely reserved for Anakin at his most irresponsible. “Mace. If this is meant as revenge for helping them with Republic Day…”

The corner of Mace’s mouth twitches, subtle enough that most would pass it off as a flicker of the holo without a second thought. “Certainly not, padawan.” Yes, it absolutely is. “You seem frustrated. Is there a problem?”

Obi-Wan huffs with exaggerated displeasure that entirely fails to make Mace look even a little bit sorry. “I was planning to explain my absence from the meeting and apologize in advance for anything Ahsoka and Anakin might get up to, but it seems there’s no need. Just how many people did they rope into this, Mace?”

Mace chuckles, dropping the act. “The rest of the Council, Skywalker’s droids, and I expect half your battalion will be in on it too by the end of the day. If you insist on working through every spare minute you shouldn’t be surprised when people notice it, Obi-Wan. They’re only trying to make sure you look after yourself.”

“This seems like far too much effort just to get me to take a day off. You could have just asked.”

“Perhaps,” Mace admits. “But it was funnier to see what Tano and Skywalker would come up with. Although I may regret saying that in a few hours.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, smiling fondly.

The same smile returns early that evening when his padawans drop in, Ahsoka now sporting an even more ridiculous fake beard and Anakin carefully balancing three cups of tea. Obi-Wan invites them both to sit down and gently straightens Ahsoka’s new beard – made by Quinlan this time, apparently, and it covers half her face and is longer than her lekku and honestly, where did Quinlan even get the time to make this? – before taking a seat again himself. As Anakin passes out the tea and Ahsoka excitedly begins to tell him about what Master Plo said to her in the Council meeting, Obi-Wan realises he’s quite intrigued by the inevitably chaotic details of their day. Particularly since with the rest of the Council enabling them this time, nobody can falsely claim he’s responsible for any of it. 

He takes a sip of his tea and settles in to listen.

[shmegmilton]

Could you do something about how Theo's death changed Burr? You said that her death 'permanently changed Burr’s demeanor' and I can't find much about Burr's later years so I wondered if you could explain it to me. Thank you.

      Yeah, that sounds about right. A lot of the info we know about Burr in the last 20ish years of his life (after returning from Europe, so 1812-1836) has sort of been haphazardly cobbled together by historians, so you only really get a ‘clear’ picture across multiple Burr biographies. We know that he continued to practice law in New York, but most of the supplementary information we have comes from other people; first-hand accounts by friends, newspaper articles, anecdotes, etc. 
Burr himself was obscenely quiet during this time period, partly (I assume) to lay low from debt collectors & people who want to chastise him for being the evil mastermind who shot Hamilton in cold blood or whatever. And partly because he was depressed for a very long time, it seems.

    The first thing that should be noted is Theo’s death came about 6 months after her son (& Burr’s grandson) Aaron Burr Alston, who he was also very attached to & called him Gampy (Burr’s nickname was Gamp so he was Gampy ie. Little Gamp). Gampy’s death effected Burr in an entirely different way, because every instance we have of Burr interacting with children was largely positive—he loved children. After Gampy’s death he seemed to go out of his way to be kind to children & to spoil them with all of the treats and gifts he never got to give Gampy. Something extra sad to note is that he loved to give little coins to children (either out of his own pocket or a pot on his desk), and one of the gifts he had been stockpiling for Gampy was coins…

Now for Theo, I haven’t been able to find any of Burr’s letters to her during this time (I’m not sure if they even survived), but we know that he tried his best to console her & convinced her to be with him in New York. It took about 6 months for her to finally say yes, so he ordered a ship (The Patriot) & a family friend named Timothy Green (who also died on the ship) to escort her from SC to NY. They of course never made it be NY, and to this day not only do we not know what happened to the ship, but we literally don’t even know where the shipwreck is other than its probably somewhere off the coast of North Carolina. There were some theories about a possibly pirate attack (The Patriot was a former privateer ship) but Burr choose not to believe it.

Burr & Joseph Alston (her husband) took up a correspondence during this time (strangely, we have some of Alston’s letters but none of Burr’s seem to have been found) where they confided to each other about their worries. Alston makes a very poignant implication during one of the surviving letters where he says that Burr must feel “severed from the human race.”

Theo wasn’t just Burr’s daughter—she was his only child to survive to adulthood, and one of his closest political & social allies, considering that the majority of the country now hated Burr for the 1804 Duel and the 1807 Conspiracy. She was really all he had for comfort, & Burr constantly mentions how much he misses her (& Gampy) in his European Journal. I can only imagine how devastated he was.

Another note, Charles Burdett (Burr’s adopted son who I’ll talk about in a moment) published a book with some of Burr’s old letters (that he must have been personally given, because I haven’t seen them published anywhere else.) One letter was written during this time period to a woman named “Kate” & he basically admits being too depressed to reply to people.

Burr also allegedly spent weeks or even months visiting the docks every day with the hope that The Patriot might be there. The death of his daughter gained Burr a bit more public sympathy, but the attention was still largely negative. People treated him like a cryptid almost. Not just because he was notorious, but because he was so socially withdrawn that it was rare to see him in public.

—

In 1878, Charles Burr Todd wrote A General History of the Burr Family in America (with Genealogical Records from 1570 to 1878). It’s a handy book with some unique information about Burr that I have yet to see in any other biographies, including a full physical description of what Burr looked & sounded like in his later years ([HERE]), and an interesting essay that Judge John Greenwood, who worked under Burr as a clerk from 1814-1820, presented to the Manhattan Historical Society after Burr’s death ([HERE]).

The Greenwood essay mentions that Burr owned a cat, which he definitely did not own during his 4 years in Europe as there was no mention of it. This implies to me that he purchased and/or adopted it because he was lonely, because there is no other account of Burr owning a pet of any kind before or after this.

Burr also adopted two children around this time, Charles Burdett & Aaron Columbus Burr (Aaron Burr Colombe). ACB is a strange case because, despite having a very public adult life—no one can seem to agree if he was French or American? Or who his mother was? Or his birth year? Some sources say 1808 and others say 1816? It’s bizarre. People also can’t seem to agree whether Charles Burdett was born in 1814 or 1815. There is also a third child (Henry Oscar Taylor, born 1818) who is documented having lived with Burr by 1833.

All of these boys are a mystery because no birth or adoption certificate exists (did they even have those back then?) so it’s unclear where they came from, who their mothers were, or at what point they came into Burr’s life—Burr’s movement & the timelines of their birth make it a bit too hard to say for sure. My personal theory is that (regardless if they were biologically his or not) Burr chose to take these children in to try and alleviate his own loneliness.

One last thing of note about Burr’s later life is that in 1823 he chose to take in Luther Martin (the lawyer who argued his 1807 case), who had recently had a stroke and had nowhere to live. He took care of him until he passed away in Burr’s home in 1827.

Burr would of course die a little less than 10 years after that (the majority of it spent fighting his divorce & dealing with his own strokes). I wish I could write more about this time period, but that is truly all we know about it.

I guess the key takeaway from this is Burr ultimately devoted a lot of his time to charity work & helping others, most likely as a way to deal with grief or find meaning in his life again.

[atheistforhumanity]

My Experience With Magical Thinking

When I was a young child church was not a part of my life, although I'm sure God was a character I was aware of from grown-up's everyday talk. It wasn't until around 7-8 that my father was pulled into the LDS church. As a kid I had two personal struggles going on. The first was my conflict with being in this place with the nerdy goody-goodies. The second was with whether I actually believed in all this god stuff. The second dilemma rarely got any serious thought. However, it had definitely seeped into my way of thinking and God became ubiquitous part of life. I won my fight to stop going to church at 13, but before I left I had one experience where I took God seriously. At around the age of 11-12, I was in LDS boy-scouts and away at camp. Our tents were like the old fashion military tents with giant green blankets thrown over two poles and staked into the ground. They were permanently open on both sides. Inside our cots were on a half-foot wooden platform to keep us off the ground. One night bears roamed into our camp. I cannot remember if we didn't dispose of our garbage correctly, but I could hear the bears circling my tent. My bunk mate was sound asleep at first. As I listened to their large heavy movements only a couple feet from my head on the other side of this thick blanket-like tarp, my anxiety increased greatly. I was sweating and struggling to breath correctly. One of the bears stuck their massive head into the tent, sniffing the floor just two feet from me. I was scared senseless. At some point my bunk mate woke up and asked what we should do. My response was to pray you F'n ass off.

The years went on and I continued to live under the assumption that God was real, because everyone I knew thought so, even if you weren't a follower of his. As a young adult, I found myself in need to clean up my life and make some serious changes. I joined a fellowship of like minded people and became “spiritual, not religious.” This concept can be summed up as believing there is a god that I can have a relationship with, but that doesn't mean all those crazy stories are true. I was very serious about this for 6-7 years, and I did make great strides in personal growth. It was around this time that my education was expanding and changing the way I look at the world. It occurred to me that I wanted to have the most accurate world view possible, being critical and honest about my views, not just wishful or wantful. A big part of my spiritual beliefs had been that god worked in our lives and we had to be conscious of these signs and benefits. However, during my reexamination of my world view I could not find any critical evidence of such 'workings.' I had to be brutally honest with myself and the idea of 'knowing' god's will was a highly subjective game of trial and error. No one or thing had ever spoken to me. I saw that positive coincidences do not constitute proof of magical interference in the world (perhaps I'll do another post specifically about that). I shifted my belief to be that I thought a god existed, but he made no interference in the physical world, expect to provide me the mental and emotional strength to deal with life. This may not seem like a huge shift, but this simple version of believe was directly in conflict with all my friends and family.

It was another 3-4 years before this middle ground position was unbearable and indefensible. Further education and study of philosophy forced me to face one simple question. If I did not discover god's existence through some path of evidence, then what reason is there to assume he actually exists? Only after studying many other myths and conspiracy theories did this principle I used over and over finally seem applicable to my own belief. I had literally zero reasons to believe that any gods existed ever! Anytime you are dealing with a question that is factual in nature (i.e. does blank exist), if the thing in question does not arise from a set of facts or hard evidence then the thing in question can only have been fabricated in the mind. This was my epiphany that brought me to the conclusion of atheism. Simply applying this question to any type of magical thinking that exists (i.e. astrology, witch-craft, etc.) radically changed how I viewed the whole world.

I was a believer in some type of magical thinking for roughly 2/3s of my life. After all that time, I can say with confidence that those beliefs were born of two qualities, and those are wishfulness and selfishness. When I was a child, I had a habit of wishing for things so hard I'm shocked I never had an aneurysm. No one really corrected this belief though. All my children's shows implied that wishing was a valid method to achieve a goal, and parents are always telling kids 'maybe.' This worldview about wishfulness later manifests in a belief in god or religion, because we all SO desperately want to believe that there is some sense of cosmic justice. Every culture in the world is obsessed with the ideas of living forever and cosmic justice. Human beings have always skipped the question of what is true for the question of what do we want to be true. The operation has been that if this idea I have about a god is true then it makes my life better, therefore I believe it is true. That's where the selfishness kicks in. One thing I observed about myself and other people is that we hold our world views extremely close to our hearts. When I had to clean up my life and make changes, I also had to accept that my entire worldview was incorrect and needed a total revision. This experience was unbelievably taxing and painful mentally and emotionally. I dare say, such a core change borders on traumatizing for the mind. As human beings we are incredibly selfish in that we refuse to even entertain that we may need to subject ourselves to that pain. This is why people willingly do amazing mental gymnastics to preserve their important worldviews. Obviously, religion or other forms of magical thinking are usually at the top of the chart for prized personal beliefs. We're too selfish to face the pain of being wrong.

This has been a short summary of my experience with magical thinking. In the future, I would like to explore the question of whether humans are constitutionally capable of escaping magical thinking. Thank you for reading.

[avionvadion]

More of my old pokemon drawings! Since... I’m apparently back in that obsession now. Frick. Oh well. These were for chapters 10 and 12 respectively. The Underground Hideout and The Taste of Freedom. 

Basil: Bulbasaur. Belladonna: Weepinbell. Ansem: Eevee. 

There is a lot of dark topics surrounding this story, such as kidnapping, trauma, and abuse, so... if that makes you uncomfortable please don’t keep reading. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998952/chapters/54987940

Grunt, the girl, is  thirteen. Various factors such as stress, depression, and malnourishment had caused her growth to be greatly stunted so she looks like a small child. One of her hands is crooked from an injury she received growing up in Team Rocket, the majority of her arm numb as a result of poor healing. She met Steven YEARS ago, which is the very start of the story, when he was ten and she was four. They made a promise over a broken dawn stone to meet again after she was taken in by social services, but then Team Rocket happened. Because of her lack of a name they called her “Grunt” to mock her future as a Team Rocket grunt. 

As a result of learning from the news that his very new friend got taken, Steven makes it a goal to track them down. Several years pass with no luck and everyone convinces him to give up, so he focuses on his career instead. But then... the headquarters blows up, because a certain legendary pokemon was told the truth and escaped. And he picks up where he left off, aiming to avenge the friend everyone is convinced is long dead or a member of Team Rocket, with Wallace and Winona’s help. (This is where the conspiracy theorist Steven drawing desire comes in, since he has all these old newspapers and stuff for all the Team Rocket sightings and missing children/pokemon) 

Meanwhile, Grunt- having recently escaped due to the explosion- ends up journeying, very reluctantly might I add, with Brock and eventually Blue, to strengthen her pokemon by taking on the gym leaders, heading back to Hoenn, and freeing all the children/pokemon being held captive by Team Rocket, and hopefully reunite with that friend she can no longer truly remember- the dawn stone being the only thing she had that reminds her that he had once existed. 

The man antagonists in this story are Richard (Rich) and Velga, Giovanni, and all of Team Rocket. (Jesse and James will make their appearance in ORAS) 

Chapter 10 Bit: I had been more than prepared to defend myself against anything the adult could have done. The battle went by easier than expected, especially compared to Rich and Velga, and his tactics reminded me more of those random goons found lurking about in Mt. Moon when Brock and I had been searching for the fossils. What neither of us had been expecting, however, was what happened after I defeated him.

"Wh… What!?"

"I told you before," I growled, starting to feel the familiar sensation of frustration as my words continued to fail in being understood by this person, "I'm not joining you."

"But… with your skills you could totally become a top leader!" He protested. "Your pōkemon and leadership are incredible!" When he saw I was not being swayed he faltered, taking several steps back. His teeth ground together and his eyes lit up with rage, frustration on his face. "You and that boy… damn it all! Do you realize what you're turning down!? You selfish, spoiled little kids will never understand what it's like to be part of something great! Not like this! So I guess… I'll just have to show you."

"Explain!" Brock frowned deeply when the adult started to cackle, the teen stepping forward and readying to summon a pokemon at a moment's notice. "What are you trying to do? Why does Team Rocket want to use kids so badly?"

"Hm?" He tilted his head, blinking. "Oh, you haven't figured it out? You really are just a child."

I closed my eyes, expression growing empty and solemn. It was such an obvious answer, one I had learned a long time ago. Considering how he's acted so far, I knew my travelling companion would not like the answer. Ignorance, in cases like these, was complete and total bliss. But when living under such terrible conditions like I had for so long ignorance was a curse and knowledge was power. With his view of the world, I knew the truth would only enrage him further should he find out.

"Brock, don't…"

The boy looked back at me, confused when he heard my voice trail off and go quiet. "But you want to know, right? You deserve to know! Grunt, you-"

"Grunt?" The adult echoed. Realization dawned on his face and he whirled around, staring at me with big eyes. "You can't be… no, no, no- hold on. Yes, of course! How did I not realize!? You were there that day, weren't you? The day the headquarters blew up…"

The hate on his face intensified and Brock tensed, chills going down his spine as he took a fearful step back, holding a shaky arm up in front of me, the boy bravely pushing me behind him. His actions no longer surprised me, though the logic behind them did. "It wasn't her fault!" He protested, defending me. The way he said it made it almost sound like that sentence would solve everything; that it would make all the hurt go away. Brock, despite his fear, spoke with confidence.

Unfortunately, he knew nothing. I still haven't explained everything to him.

Him believing that I didn't know why children were being used was proof of that. I knew all too well why kids like me were targeted; I just… found it hard to speak about it. I think I just didn't want to upset him anymore than he already was over my situation, which was weird. He shouldn't be so upset about it; it wasn't like my life was something particularly special that should be deserving of attention, and yet… here we are.

He said I was the one who cared too much, but it was so obviously the other way around. This only showed more with Brock's kind words.

Unfortunately, the person across from us did not care to listen. He was bristling with rage, only hearing and focusing on what he wanted to. "It was… It was you! You little brat- my friend died in that fire!"

I flinched at those words, the guilt washing over me like a tidal wave. It was suffocating, the weight of the lives taken crushing me inside. My head ducked down as he continued to scream, Brock's back being the only thing blocking him from my view. The boy kept me behind him as best as he could as we started to become surrounded- all the trainers from before crowding around us and removing their disguises, revealing the large red R that was plastered over all of their chests.

"That's not on you," I heard Brock say firmly, speaking to me and momentarily snapping me out of my darker thoughts, his attention never leaving the evil trainers around us, "you didn't mean for it to happen."

But... I still caused it. I freed the legendary pōkemon that exploded the building.

Their deaths were on my hands. I murdered them.

And these people… those that were little kids had actually been wearing well-made masks, revealing very small adults. They were all Team Rocket. In my panic to rescue Blue I made a very grave mistake; I stopped observing. If I had paid the slightest bit of attention to their attire or appearance anymore than I had then this could have been avoided. I knew their tactics inside-out and yet I let this happen.

I… I screwed up. Frick.

Why do I keep making the simplest of mistakes? Was it because this was the outside world?

It was so much larger and vast than I had ever expected it to be, and despite my reluctance to trust strangers I still found myself letting down my guard, fooled by the kindness that had been shown to me by so many. This was going to cost us dearly.

The people started to grow closer and I tensed, watching as Ansem and Basil growled at the Team Rocket members. There were so many of them; I could handle one or two of them easily, but six? The leader yelled at me, cursing my existence, and without realizing I found myself grabbing onto the hem of Brock's jacket, scared as the consequences of my foolishness caught up with me, clinging onto the newer light shining before me in desperation for comfort.

I… caused this.

I failed. Just like back in the caves, I… couldn't protect anyone.

We were totally trapped.

Brock glanced over his shoulder at me before turning around, wrapping his arms around me. I was shaking, barely breathing as horror and guilt took over, the older teen keeping me pressed close to his chest protectively. He called out to my pōkemon, catching their attention as I started to shut down and surrender to my darker emotions. "Ansem, Belladonna, Basil! Get us out of here!"

"Oh, no you don't! Aerodactyl, go!" The violet-haired man raised a hand outwards, eyes flashing dangerously. A large gust of wind appeared, nearly blowing us all off our feet. Suddenly a big pōkemon appeared from a pōkeball, flying high into the air, beating its wings. An ear-piercing screech erupted from its throat, making it difficult to hear the goon speak. "If it weren't for the boss wanting you alive, I'd kill you myself! So instead, I'll have you all suffer! "

The ground began to shake, and Brock stumbled sideways- being forced to let go as I staggered backwards. Basil panicked and leapt into his arms, scared of being seperated, and Ansem started to bark again and dashed towards me, Belladonna right behind him.

Just where was this earthquake coming from? It wasn't from his Aerodactyl; it was coming from…

...underground?

Oh frick, oh frick, oh Arceus, oh gods-

I'm so sorry-!

We're going to be killed!

I screwed up!

This is all my fault!

Why did I escape so soon!?

The ground itself began to open up, shifting as two metal slabs drifted apart, and as I sat there frozen in terror Brock was shouting, calling out me as he stumbled over, trying to get to me and the rest of my pōkemon. Basil wailed loudly, tears in his eyes, and in my shock it took me a second too long to notice Brock's outstretched hand. I struggled to move, constantly knocked back down by the violent shaking of the earth, and in my desperation I reached out for him.

This was all too familiar.

In the recesses of my mind, buried deep into my memory from a time long ago, I remembered. It wasn't the first time I bore witness to such a thing, but I was certainly never on it when it happened. It was just like how the Hoenn base opened up when I was first stolen away and… when I left to Kanto on that cursed helicopter Rich and Velga made me ride.

And, deeper still, I had the feeling that I once reached out like this for someone. Who, I wasn't sure, but the sensation of a memory was there- trying to claw its way to the surface and tearing at my brain, forcing my skull to throb even more than it already was.

The Team Rocket goon raised his voice, shouting at us with a crazed grin, rage in his eyes. "Your pōkemon, your supplies; they'll all be ours!" He declared. "And you, Grunt, traitor to our kind, will suffer alongside your foolish companion!"

That was when the ground beneath me gave way, crumbling to pieces, and as I fell through the trap door I saw a quick flash of green-and-brown as Brock leapt after, following me down into the underground like a fool.

"Together forever! Trapped in the underground maze we've created!"

Rather than air, I thought of water- cold, freezing water that was filled with debris, and skies that seemed to boil with heat. Falling deeper and deeper, sinking below the surface.

Stuck… in the terrifying abyss of darkness.

As we tumbled deep into the black I muttered not so much as a word, not even able to scream, only watching with wide eyes as the light above us vanished. For a moment, as the trap doors closed and we continued to fall, all hope was lost. I found myself wondering if this was truly the end.

"A-Are you okay? What's wrong?"

It was still there- buried in the recesses of my mind. As much as I felt I should start ignoring it, I couldn't help but find that the traces of connection still held strong. My heart just couldn't let go. Everything always went back to that one person, after all, and I spent so long surviving on the pure hope of seeing him again. Even now he was haunting me, the memory of that promise keeping me rooted to this earth.

Earth…

So many years I spent living on this planet; obeying orders, acting as the puppet I was groomed to be, and plotting schemes that were only doomed to fail. Everything I ever dreamed of or desired to obtain was just too far out of reach, and they were all centered around that boy I had met so long ago. As time past my goals did shift, focusing more on the rescue of the other children, but the fact remained- I wanted to see him again.

To thank him for saving me so many times.

But… it was all an illusion. Even this freedom I have now is false.

I'm still trapped by Team Rocket.

And now… I've never felt more useless. Falling endlessly through nothingness, mind and heart slowly giving up as everything went downhill once more. It wasn't as if I truly desired to go on this journey in the first place; all I wanted was to find the police, inform them of the hideout, and then go on my way to find that mysterious boy whom I made a promise to. Yet… those plans failed too.

Everything I come up with just… fails.

Perhaps this was the world's cruel sense of justice- to get back at me for causing such a tragedy. Team Rocket was full of cruel and terrible people; they were evil beyond belief. But that didn't mean the deserved to die. Those evil enough to kidnap children and torture them, stealing them away from their families, and even go so far as to experiment on innocent pōkemon…

They needed to be imprisoned. That fate, that kind of suffering, was far worse and more befitting.

But… I was starting to believe that there was no such thing as justice. Only karma, the world making twists and turns to toy with the lives of those that lived on its back.

"Don't forget about me, you hear!?"

I'm sorry. I did. I remember your words, though the voice that once accompanied them is long gone. It was thanks to you that I became so good at surviving, yet I'm afraid that that itself was a grave mistake. My existence only ever seemed to cause others to hurt. Whether it be by putting them in danger or inadvertently hurting them with words…

I'm starting to think you should have let me rot on that street.

"Veeevaa!"

That cry snapped me back into my senses.

The world around me seemed to recollect sound and my eyes slowly opened, vision taking a while to adjust to the dark. In the distance, somewhere nearby, I could hear Ansem barking. Brock was screaming- calling out to me and trying to locate where I was. The guilt hit full force as I thought about the family that was waiting for him. They had told me to protect him, to keep him safe, and here he is falling to his death because of me.

There's… no way I can just let him die, can I?

Not like this.

Basil, Belladonna… they were all so innocent. Like the kind strangers I've met, they've only done things to help me. The pōkemon chose me as their trainer.

Did that… Did that condemn them to this fate? Because they outstretched their hands to me?

I don't… want that. I don't want them to suffer because of me.

Too much blood has already been spilled.

I can't help people; I'm only ever good at endangering them. My only real accomplishment was staying alive- so, that means… I just have to figure out a way to extend that to those I surrounded myself with. The determination to reach my goal, the willingness to do whatever it took to reach the finish line. The reluctance of falling back into the arms of those who would hurt me, to accept those who would gather me.

Obligation, obedience. Fear, guilt. Cowardice, courage.

Hate… and love.

My eyes squeezed tightly shut, burning with tears as so many emotions welled up inside me, mixing together and creation a concoction that was far from healthy. As they bubbled up, some strange sensation rising in the back of my throat, I opened my mouth and out came a cry- a scream full of rage and frustration, aggravating my still-not-quite-healed vocal chords. A howl echoed out afterwards, coming from the ever loyal Ansem, the pōkemon reacting quite intensely to my overflowing emotions. My arms shot out and I reached blindly in the direction I heard them, body coiling around a large and soft body, fur tickling my face.

It was so dark I couldn't see anything and it hurt so much to keep my eyes open, but I have to get us through this! I have to survive, so they can survive! It's the only thing my foolish self is good at!

I had no idea how much longer we had before we splat against the ground, as we had been falling for quite a while, and as a result of this knowledge adrenaline started to pump through my veins, causing my heart to race as I hiccuped and choked, mind reeling with ideas and solutions to the problem we found ourselves in. That goon said we were heading into an underground maze, which meant it could very well be a Team Rocket hideout they've created. Our pōkemon, our supplies- he said they would be theirs.

This trap was most likely designed to capture those who refused their offer to join the organization, made with the intention of stealing their money and pōkemon.

That meant that there had to be some sort of safety mechanism at the bottom- or maybe they expected us to call the pōkemon back into their pōkeballs to save them, leaving us humans to splatter into goop at the bottom. Regardless the reason, the design, or their plans, we couldn't risk just falling forever until we became sludge on the ground. We had to take precautions. And, as someone who grown up learning how to plot and scheme by the very criminals that were entrapping us, they were greatly underestimating me.

No… they were underestimating us.

I'm not alone anymore. Brock, the pōkemon… we're all here working together. Journeying together. We're friends.

And Brock just so happened to be a retired gym leader, who owned a pōkemon that was so large that he could easily stop our fall if he so wished.

If memory served correctly, and I'm praying it did because I'm panicking so badly right now that it was rather hard to think straight, Onix was a pōkemon who liked to burrow in underground places. He could even evolve naturally into some kind of steel-type pōkemon once deep enough, becoming embedded with either crystals or diamonds, or maybe both.

It might hurt a bit, but… we could use him to our advantage here. Feeling Ansem nuzzle his face into the curve of my bandaged neck, I called out as loudly as I could, ignoring the sensation of what felt like glass piercing the inside of my throat. "Brooooock!"

"Grunt!?" The boy was alarmed. It sounded like he was coming somewhere from my… left… yet higher up. He jumped in after me, so it makes sense that I'm farther down than him. "Grunt, where are you!?"

"O-Over here!"

Ansem started to bark, sensing my pain as I started to cough. Frick- I seriously needed a drink now. It felt like needles were stabbing my neck from the inside. It was almost as if the pōkemon was trying to alert the others to our presence, so that I wouldn't have to.

Still, if we couldn't reach each other… the plan might not work. "Can you hear me!? G-Grab my hand!"

"Where!?"

I reached out above me, following the sound of his voice, trying to grasp some part of him.

Something brushed my fingers and, before I even had a chance to latch on, his hand grabbed onto my wrist and suddenly I was being pulling forward. I barely had time to let out a yelp before his arms were around my back, holding me and Ansem to him, the boy cradling the back of my head as if to shield my skull from anymore injury. I wasn't quite sure when it happened, how it happened, but sometime during the past few days his touches were starting to become less anxiety inducing and more comforting.

"I've got you!"

I didn't flinch away as much in the hospital when he was braiding my hair back then, either, so I could only assume it was because of something during my wretched stay there. Something that was actually making me reach out for touch. Keeping one hand on his shoulder and the other wrapped around Ansem so not to drop him, I was about to suggest my idea when Brock yelled again.

"W-We need to do something quick!"

"I-I know, just- where's Onix!?"

"Onix? Oh, of course!" Keeping an arm around my waist, Ansem wailing as his claws dug deep into my shoulder, Basil clinging to Brock's backpack while Belladonna cried from somewhere nearby, Brock reached out to his belt. Snatching a pōkeball and enlargening it, he held it up into the air and yelled, "Onix, come out! I choose you!"

Chapter 12 Bit: 

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, bringing the dawn stone up and resting my knuckles against my lips. My voice was muffled, but I didn't care. Everything just hurt so much, yet somehow not enough all the same. The cold, the numbness- it was all there. Amplified. Suffocating. Choking. I could barely think.

"H-he gave… he gave me the stone… t-to remind me. To remind him in case he… he forgot about me."

"...I see." Brock gave my shoulder a light squeeze, seeing how hard I was trying not to break down. "I'm glad he found you, then."

Yeah. But…

"I-I don't remember." Brock's eyebrows shot up, alarmed when he heard the sudden crack in my voice. I looked up at him, bottom lip quivering as a fresh wave of tears welled up. "I-I don't remember him, Brock. H-His face, his name, I- I can't… I can't r-recall…"

I can't recall anything.

Before he could say something to that and before I could say anything else, the woman suddenly spoke up- near flinching back when Ansem snarled at her. "W-We're here! T-Take this staircase and go through the teleporter, and you'll find the control room. See? I-I'll… I'll show you!"

Inhaling sharply, trying to distance myself from my emotions long enough to get through whatever the next encounter was, I pulled away from Brock and picked up the pace, moving my short legs as fast as they would go. I waited until the woman was through the teleporter to go myself, Ansem still being carried and stone back in my pocket, and Belladonna and Basil followed suit. Then it was Brock, then Machamp and Blue, and gradually the rest of the pōkemon…

But we weren't the only group here in the room. Without a word Machamp lowered Blue to the ground, leaving me to struggle in holding him up alone until Brock came over and grabbed the teen by the shoulders. Then the large muscular pōkemon stepped forward, standing in front of us three with Ansem and Umbreon on either side of him. Basil and Belladonna released the woman we were holding captive and she stumbled forward, rushing to the group of Team Rocket goons and… their pōkemon.

They were expecting us.

I mean, I can only imagine how much word got around about us kids when Brock was tending to Blue back in the lab- the people Belladonna knocked out must have woken up and alerted the higher-ups. These people, the adults, were more than ready to fight.

Or, rather, more than ready to have innocent pōkemon do the fighting for them.

The woman we had released whirled around with a gasp, striking the pose every goon had been forced to memorize. It took everything I had not to cringe at the sight of it, instead focusing on making sure I didn't topple over from Blue's body weight. "To infect the world with devastation, to blight all people in every nation! To denounce the goodness of truth and love, to extend our wrath to the stars above! We are Team Rocket circling the earth day and night, and you are just a bunch of brats in our way! C'mon, everyone- group attack!"

Oh no. Okay. Here we go.

A Tauros lowed and stomped a hoof against the floor, a Meowth residing atop its back. Two Zubats flew around them, flapping their wings as they stared at us nervously. Brock scowled, clicking his tongue and using one hand to reach to his belt. "Of course there are several here… Geodude, go! Help out the others!"

"M-Machamp…!" Blue began, voice hoarse from coughing. "Get them!"

"Ansem-!" I was unable to finish. Machamp was suddenly storming forward, locked onto its targets, swinging with all four fists at the Tauros when it charged. I cringed and ducked my head down upon hearing the bull-pōkemon's cries of pain, knowing full well it was fighting against its will. I hated this violence so much. "Belladonna, Basil…"

"Bulba!"

"Weeeepin!"

Vines erupted from their bodies and swung towards their foes, catching the Zubats before they could unleash a devasting flying-attack upon them. Meowth leapt up from the defeated Tauros' back, landing atop Machamp's head and using it to boost itself up again, and slashed at the vines. Basil cried out and loosened his hold, allowing a Zubat to escape, and the pōkemon hurriedly let loose several blades of wind.

Aerial Ace.

Belladonna was sent flying, several cuts lining her body as she crashed into the wall, vines retreated back into her body. Basil let out a concerned shout, but barely had time to recover himself when the second Zubat slammed itself right into him, head ramming into his side. No…

"Stand up!" My voice was panicked. Blue looked down at me in surprise as Brock ordered his Geodude to defend Belladonna as Meowth approached her. He never heard me sound so desperate and scared before. "Stand up now!"

Don't do this.

Don't you dare die.

"Basil!"

We haven't lost a single battle, so there was no way it could happen now. I won't let it.

Bulbasaur struggled to push himself up onto his feet, red eyes watering from the pain. Cuts now lined his legs from Zubat using Aerial Ace on him after the headbutt, but his expression was a determined one.

Ansem, seeing the way his companions were harmed, let out an angered roar, deciding to leave Meowth and Belladonna's Zubat alone for now, Geodude taking care of it with Machamp's help, and targeted Basil's Zubat instead. Stretching out his claws, Ansem jumped into the air as high as his legs would let him, and he caught his front paws on the pōkemon's wings, knocking it greatly off balance.

"Vaaaa!"

As they fell to the ground Ansem rolled over, biting down hard into its wings and tearing them. He was furious. The woman from before- the one we had guide us here- was glaring daggers at us, shaking with her fists held to her side in a rage. The other Team Rocket goons were both startled and very much angry, unable to believe they were now losing the battle. Worse of all, it was to a bunch of kids and their pōkemon.

Feeling Blue's weight increase I shifted in place, standing on my toes in an attempt to straighten my back and keep Blue from leaning over too much. Unfortunately, that was quite difficult as I was the smallest human in existence and these two were hecking towers in comparison. I could feel the heat coming off of Blue's face due to his fever- his heart pounding desperately in his chest in an attempt to keep him breathing. It was very unnerving.

"W-Weezings!" I glanced behind me as best as I could, trying to get a look at the other pōkemon, but auburn hair was in the way. "C-Can you help? Please?"

"Weeez?" They looked at me, surprised. "Weezing?"

The many Weezings looked at each other. If memory served right, these pōkemon had a variety of very useful moves- assuming they've already learned them, of course, and Belladonna was a bit too hurt to use her Sleeping Powder special on them.

"Weez…"

"Weez, Weezing!"

"Weez!"

"O-On the Team Rocket members!" I continued, voice cracking a little. Brock stopped issuing orders and looking back at me, alarmed. Then a bright grin spread across his face.

"Grunt, you're a genius!"

That was the wrong thing to say. The higher-up Team Rocket members shared a glance, their faces paling and somehow becoming disbelieving and enraged all at once. "Wait, what?"

"Grunt?"

One of them pointed at me, narrowing his eyes. "You're the escapee from headquarters? You? I knew you were a child, but… how old are you!? Eight?" The gaped, dumbfounded, and I tensed upon hearing their words. I was starting to believe that maybe going by my old title was a bad idea, and that maybe I should just go around titleless and nameless. "The fuck? Holy Arceus- if we bring you back to the boss…"

"We'll be promoted again!" A female Team Rocket member gasped, pressing her hands to her face. The woman from before looked exasperated by their behavior, her main goal being revenge for how we treated her. "And their pōkemon… they might be ours!"

"Who cares about that?" Another exclaimed. "Think of the pay raise!"

"Wow," Blue choked out, trying to joke, "you're famous, huh?"

My expression went blank at that, disliking the attention I was receiving. A flash of purple in the corner of my eyes snapped me back into attention, and I raised my head with wide eyes to see the many Weezings floating forward, Machamp carrying Belladonna and Basil back to us while Ansem removed his fangs from a fainted Zubat.

The Weezings continued forward, not stopping until they were past our pōkemon and residing over the fainted ones, facing the Team Rocket goons with a strange look in their eyes. The poison-type pōkemon looked angry, hurt, scared… and very fierce. "W-Weezings?"

Suddenly, and without warning, they all surged forward- flying over the crowd to the goons and headbutting them as hard as they possibly could. On impact the Weezings let out huge clouds of grey and purple smoke, causing the Team Rocket goons to start coughing as the smoke filled up the area. The many Zubats behind us, the ones we freed, decided they wanted to help out as well- swinging their wings forward and causing air blades to shoot towards them, slicing at the goons and tearing up their uniforms.

I tried not to flinch away this time upon hearing their screams, but it was too much. I just… couldn't not close my eyes. Machamp setting Basil and Belladonna by my feet, he dashed back into the action with Geodude, Ansem following behind. Together they all attacked the goons, knocking them out hard as they collapsed onto the ground. I think I heard a nasty crack from one of them, probably from the one Machamp punched in the ribs, but…

No. You know what? I'm not…

I'm not going to think about it. I cringed and shook my head, eyebrows knitting together as pain temporary flickered onto my expression. I tightened my hold on Blue's arm and waist, shifting once more as I nearly lost balance from standing on my toes for so long. "Um, frick. Okay. Uh- Brock, I-"

"I'm on it."

"Huh?" I blinked, eyes opening and turning to see him walking over there where the adults and pōkemon were, the Weezings' smoke clearing. He still had to hold part of his hood over his mouth so he wouldn't start coughing, since there was quite a bit left, but it was otherwise okay for him to head into it. "What are-"

Oh.

He knelt down, patting the adults down in an attempt to find what I could only assume to be a keycard or remote, or anything that would help us get out of here. He tossed whatever pōkeballs he found onto the ground, leaving Machamp to stomp on the empty ones- while freeing the others that remained inside. Brock also rummaged through their bags, pulling out several super potions and berries, and used those on the fainted and injured pōkemon.

Blue and I slowly waddled our way over there, and upon seeing the pōkemon's confused stares and the way the boys were looking at me… I had to greet the previously abused pōkemon. It was very awkward and uncomfortable, and it was only thanks to the other rescued pōkemon jumping into the conversation that the newly freed ones calmed down. It was mess.

Meowth looked especially lost.

"Meow…?"

A Weezing floated down and spoke to it. Understanding dawned on its face and relieved tears welled up in the pōkemon's eyes.

"Mrrooooooow!"

Haaaah, I need to get out of here. Brock shoved the remainder of the supplies into his own backpack, deciding that Team Rocket didn't need these supplies if they were just going to use them for villainy, and he slid the straps over his shoulders. Standing, he let out a heavy sigh and looked up, smiling softly at Geodude as he floated over. "Hey, buddy. You did great out there!" He raised a hand, petting the pōkemon lightly on the head.

"Geooo!" Geodude beamed, proud of himself. Shortly after, Brock recalled the pōkemon back into its ball. The boy turned, staring at the large array of computers behind him.

"I… think this might be the control panel you were talking about, Grunt."

Yeah. Yeah, he calls me by my title way too often.

He was a stupidly nice person, but every time he called me by that title it always sent whatever Team Rocket goon we were battling into a fury. And while, strategically, it could be a good thing as that meant the opponent would stop thinking clearly and act on impulse… it mostly depended on the person we were dealing with. And while deciding not to go by it anymore would prevent that from happening, chances are Team Rocket will now recognize me no matter what since so many have seen what I look like.

So… what should I do?

I bit down on my lip, thinking deeply as I glanced around at the many screens and buttons. They were all so familiar to me, yet strange all the same. How come? It wasn't from the Hoenn base, though I have seen many adults work with the computers there. I watched as Brock began to fiddle with the buttons, Basil marching up and nuzzling his leg, Belladonna and Ansem sitting at my feet. I've come to the conclusion that Basil really liked Brock, which just goes further to show what a kind person he is.

I'm surprised he didn't choose him as trainer instead.

[sarahwroteathing]

English 284 (1)

Word Count: 1495

Summary: Your proposal to teach a new class combining art and literature is accepted... under one little condition. (College AU)

Warnings: Language

A/N: We’re doing impulsive writing again because it worked well the last two times. Oof. Here we go again, folks. Image is of a painting mentioned in the chapter: “Ophelia” by Sir John Everett Millais. (Source)

Steve’s Perspective .

“Fellas, it’s happening!” you said, shoving the door of the lab open with your hip, laptop balanced precariously in your arms.

“Seriously? I changed the code yesterday! How did you get in here again?” Tony complained, letting his head fall forward onto the table with a dull thunk while Bruce scoffed.

“You changed it to my birthday, smartypants. Besides, my ID is still authorized on the card reader. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoy my company.” 

You pulled a spare chair over to the table where Tony and Bruce were working, planting your own laptop primly on a stack of battered notebooks. Bruce’s probably. Tony abandoned paper ages ago. 

Despite the token protest, Tony was actually your closest friend at work, a pairing that completely baffled your colleagues. The specific brands of eccentricity displayed by English professors and Engineering professors didn’t tend to mix well. But the Dean of Studies, Pepper Potts, had recommended befriending Tony on your first day, and his quick humor and ostentatious confidence had effectively drowned out the imposter syndrome that plagued you during your first semester teaching. You’d met Bruce Banner only a few days later, and sharing lunches in Tony’s lab in the basement of the Engineering building had solidified into sacred tradition by the end of your second week. 

“Did you hear back about the new course proposal?” Bruce asked.

“Yes! I got the email notification on my way over here, but I haven’t opened it yet. Tony, tell me your wife isn’t going to break my heart.”

“We don’t talk about work at home. But I read your proposal, and it sounded… Well, I wouldn’t take that class, but it sounded like something Pepper would be into.”

You squirmed anxiously in your seat, logging into your email with a deep breath. You’d worked on this course proposal for the better part of a month, editing and re-editing the syllabus at least a dozen times. You had titled the course “The Painted Word.” A full semester class studying famous myths, plays, poems, and novels and the works of art they inspired. 

The idea formed when a picture of Sir John Everett Millais’s “Ophelia” i had sparked a lively debate among the students in your Shakespeare seminar. You’d spent the next week researching artistic representation of iconic characters and stories, and when you’d given a few of your classes the soft pitch of the course, you’d acquired more than enough signatures on the interest form to issue a formal request with the Dean of Studies. Being met with such enthusiasm had lulled you into a sense of security and excitement. In your mind, the course was already set in stone. Which is exactly why the email on your screen landed like a gut punch. 

“She said no?” you asked faintly, your eyes scanning and rescanning the first sentence. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm and the care and attention you put into your work, I do not feel that I can approve the course as you’ve submitted it.” 

You blinked owlishly but made no move to intervene when Tony snatched your laptop from its place in front of you. Bruce rolled his chair to read over Tony’s shoulder, and they wore twin expressions of puzzled displeasure which would have made you laugh if not for the current state of your professional goals. 

“She didn’t say no! It’s conditional approval,” Tony corrected, his expression clearing as he reached to roll your chair closer to him. “Look.”

I’m intrigued by the course description you’ve laid out here, and it certainly has no equivalent in our current course catalogue. I think we would be remiss to limit the course to the English Department and encourage you to consider an interdisciplinary approach with the Art Department. If you’re willing to collaborate with one of their professors so that students can benefit from the expertise of both relevant disciplines and gain credit with either department, I’d be happy to approve the course for the spring semester. I’d recommend getting in touch with Steven G. Rogers. He has taught a number of interdisciplinary courses during his time here, and I believe he would be a helpful resource for you. 

“She doesn’t think I can handle this on my own?” you asked, running your hands through your hair in frustration. “I have a Ph. D, dammit! I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“I’m sure that’s not what she meant,” Bruce said, reaching around Tony to squeeze your shoulder. “She just wants to open up the class a little more. You know the college has been pushing for more interdisciplinary classes.”

“Who the hell is Steven G. Rogers, and why does she think the sun shines out of his ass,” you muttered grumpily, determined to hold onto your bitterness just a little longer. 

“The sun couldn’t possibly shine out of his ass with the stick he keeps up there,” Tony said mildly, shocking a laugh out of you.

“Oh, God, tell me I won’t be stuck teaching with a stuffy old grump for a whole semester.”

“I’ve never had someone ask me to lie to them before. This is a weird feeling. Takes the fun out of it, almost.”

“He’s not that bad,” Bruce protested. 

“How do you both know this guy? I’ve never heard of him before in my life. This is - ” 

You broke off with a sigh, reclaiming your laptop and searching the faculty directory. 

“Why does this stupid website never have any pictures,” you complained, scrolling through his profile. 

“Be grateful. It would only make it worse for you,” Tony said with a smirk before smacking your hand away from the keyboard. “Wait, wait, wait! Does that say ‘Gentle Yoga?’ What the hell does that mean?”

“Yoga but in a sweater? On a pile of pillows and he braids your hair after?”

Tony snorted and started to respond, but you clapped your hand over his mouth immediately.

“Shut up. I heard it as soon as I said it. Don’t make it worse.” 

“It’s just low impact yoga. Lighter stretches. For people who don’t feel comfortable or able to do standard level yoga. We usually get a few students with sports injuries or disabilities.”

You and Tony both turned to look at Bruce, staring in silent shock for a few moments before speaking.

“...Did you say we? Why did you say we?”

“Bruce, do you have something you’d like to tell me?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, pushing up from his seat and crossing to his bag on the other side of the room, very pointedly ignoring you and Tony who were frantically scooting after him in your rolly chairs. 

“Bruce!” 

He had pulled out his phone and was typing something, but he pivoted to block your view when you tried to peek.

“I’m texting Steve to see if he has any open spaces in his teaching schedule next semester. You’re welcome.” 

“Why do you have his number?”

“Because we take turns teaching gentle yoga, which I’m pretty sure you’ve already figured out at this point, so drop it. And Tony has his number too by the way.”

“What?”

“Judas.”

“I thought you said he had a stick up his ass?”

“Well, the stick is sometimes useful, okay? And he’s not the worst person I’ve met. After a few whiskeys, he even approaches fun.” 

You let out an incredulous laugh, abandoning your chair to pace the length of the lab. 

“So you’re saying I should give this guy a shot?” you asked, massaging your temples against the stress headache that was starting to creep in. 

Bruce’s phone chimed quietly.

“He says he has an open space. Should I put in a good word for you?”

You wandered back towards your laptop, looking wistfully over your syllabus. 

“What are the chances this class will still be recognizable after his input?” you asked mournfully.

“You can change your mind and say no if you disagree with him. Find someone else,” Bruce said with a shrug. 

“And he’ll pull his weight?”

“He’ll pull all the weight unless you strongarm him out of it,” Tony said with a laugh. “Look, Pep knows what she’s doing. If she thinks you two would work well together, she’s probably right. Her last recommendation turned out alright, didn’t it?”

“You keep trying to lock me out of your lab,” you pointed out half-heartedly, but you gave a nod to Bruce who immediately started typing. 

“Yeah, well. Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“He said to send him the syllabus and let him know when you can meet to talk about it,” Bruce cut in, tucking his phone back into his bag. 

You let out a deep sigh, nerves already fluttering to life in your stomach at the thought of having to pitch this class to a colleague again. 

“What are the chances this turns into a huge disaster?” 

“I’d say about 50/50. Either way, it’ll be entertaining.”

“Tony!”

“What? She asked!”

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

Alright guys, what do we think? Are you into it? Excited? How do you think the meeting will go? Do you wanna read more? Let me know! Asks, reblogs, and replies make the world go ‘round!

Part 2

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

Tags: @aubzylynn @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd-blog @kennadance14 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest  @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @jacks-on-krack @a-book-pressed-rose @fvckjamesbarnes @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @breezy1415 @orangespocks @multifandomgirl-us​ @majesticavenger​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @patzammit​ @pato-el-cerdito​

[welllpthisishappening]

Welllp These Are Books: the June 2021 Edition

I have read a lot of books this month. That should be stated upfront. Just an absolute metric ton of books. Some real good, some not-so good, some inadvertently hysterical. Also, I made that BINGO board. Because, like, you ever have a total crisis of writing-confidence and ignore that potential freakout and the tendency of your coworkers to miss deadlines by reading every free Amazon sports romance you can find? And several full YA series? In one month? No? My experiences are not universal, I understand. Anyway, there’s thoughts and opinions and spoilers under the cut. Everyone read the Once Upon a Con series, I’m begging you.

READ THIS SERIES! PLEASE! EVERY BOOK WAS SO CUTE! EVERYONE IN EVERY BOOK WAS SO CUTE! THE FANDOM STUFF DID NOT GIVE ME SECOND-HAND EMBARRASSMENT!

Geekerella by Ashley Poston Part romance, part love letter to nerd culture, and all totally adorbs, Geekerella is a fairy tale for anyone who believes in the magic of fandom. Geek girl Elle Wittimer lives and breathes Starfield, the classic sci-fi series she grew up watching with her late father. So when she sees a cosplay contest for a new Starfield movie, she has to enter. The prize? An invitation to the ExcelsiCon Cosplay Ball, and a meet-and-greet with the actor slated to play Federation Prince Carmindor in the reboot. With savings from her gig at the Magic Pumpkin food truck (and her dad’s old costume), Elle’s determined to win…unless her stepsisters get there first. Teen actor Darien Freeman used to live for cons—before he was famous. Now they’re nothing but autographs and awkward meet-and-greets. Playing Carmindor is all he’s ever wanted, but the Starfield fandom has written him off as just another dumb heartthrob. As ExcelsiCon draws near, Darien feels more and more like a fake—until he meets a girl who shows him otherwise. 

The Princess and the Fangirl by Ashley Poston Imogen Lovelace is an ordinary fangirl on an impossible mission: to save her favorite Starfield character, Princess Amara, from being killed off. On the other hand, the actress who plays Amara wouldn’t mind being axed. Jessica Stone doesn’t even like being part of the Starfield franchise—and she’s desperate to leave the intense scrutiny of fandom behind. Though Imogen and Jess have nothing in common, they do look strangely similar to one another—and a case of mistaken identity at ExcelsiCon sets off a chain of events that will change both of their lives. When the script for the Starfield sequel leaks, with all signs pointing to Jess, she and Imogen must trade places to find the person responsible. The deal: Imogen will play Jess at her signings and panels, and Jess will help Imogen’s best friend run their booth. But as these “princesses” race to find the script leaker—in each other’s shoes—they’re up against more than they bargained for. From the darker side of fandom to unexpected crushes, Imogen and Jess must find a way to rescue themselves from their own expectations...and redefine what it means to live happily ever after. 

Bookish and the Beast by Ashley Poston In this third book of the Once Upon a Con series, Rosie Thorne is feeling stuck—on her college application essays, in her small town, and on that mysterious General Sond cosplayer she met at ExcelsiCon. Most of all, she’s stuck in her grief over her mother’s death. Her only solace was her late mother’s library of rare Starfield novels, but even that disappeared when they sold it to pay off hospital bills. On the other hand, Vance Reigns has been Hollywood royalty for as long as he can remember—with all the privilege and scrutiny that entails. When a tabloid scandal catches up to him, he’s forced to hide out somewhere the paparazzi would never expect to find him: Small Town USA. At least there’s a library in the house. Too bad he doesn’t read. When Vance’s and Rosie’s paths collide, sparks do not fly. But as they begrudgingly get to know each other, their careful masks come off—and they may just find that there’s more risk in shutting each other out than in opening their hearts.

— I cannot possibly overstate what an absolute delight this series was. Cute and sweet and adorable. Like rot your teeth sweet with romances that my high-school self would have swooned over. (I would have been so in love with Darien Freeman as a 16 year old, it’s not even funny. Also, I would have been obsessed with Starfield.) Let’s be honest, my current self swooned quite a lot. Reading these books genuinely felt like a love letter to fandom. To the good and bad and trashy parts of it, and it made my heart swell thinking about these fictional kids and the community they found and how much they learned and then they FELL IN LOVE and, like, not to sound like an after-school special, but: THE REP IN THESE BOOKS?!?? HOLY S H I T. So good. So goddamn good. And not, like, shoved to the side. Like, Jess falls in love with a girl. And it gets its swoon-worthy moment as much as anyone else. Plus, bi-librarian dad who wears suspenders??? Sign. Me. Up. Twisting the fairy tales into the stories also worked really well in my opinion. Honestly my only gripe was that Darien found a cell phone number in the white pages, but, like, everything else was a joy. Please read these books. I promise they will make you smile.

IN WHICH I CAN NEVER TURN DOWN A BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

Cruel Beauty by Rosamund Hodge Betrothed to the evil ruler of her kingdom, Nyx has always known that her fate was to marry him, kill him, and free her people from his tyranny. But on her seventeenth birthday when she moves into his castle high on the kingdom's mountaintop, nothing is what she expected—particularly her charming and beguiling new husband. Nyx knows she must save her homeland at all costs, yet she can't resist the pull of her sworn enemy—who's gotten in her way by stealing her heart.

— Yo. YO. Everyone in this book was horrible! And it was wonderful! I figured out the twist approximately point two seconds after the potential for a twist was possibly introduced and it did not diminish my enjoyment of this book for one second. I am such a sucker for any Beauty and the Beast AU, but this was way different than anything I’d read before and Nyx was a blood-thirsty terror and I loved her. The magic and the world building was fascinating in that I really did not expect Greek gods and goddess, but it was also a welcome turn in a weird, huh, that’s interesting sort of way. And the banter was a-plus, top tier. Even when they were snarking at each other. Especially when they were snarking at each other. (Still a pretty quick turn from enemies to lovers, but I’m willing to overlook that based almost solely on the snark.) Plus, the castle was fascinating. And there were more twists aside from the main twist, none of which I figured out. All of which I gasped over. The end was like—chef’s kiss, fantastic. I would like a novel-length sequel to tell me how everything worked out.

...BUT THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD ONE WASN’T AS GOOD

Crimson Bound by Rosamund Hodge When Rachelle was fifteen she was good—apprenticed to her aunt and in training to protect her village from dark magic. But she was also reckless—straying from the forest path in search of a way to free her world from the threat of eternal darkness. After an illicit meeting goes dreadfully wrong, Rachelle is forced to make a terrible choice that binds her to the very evil she had hoped to defeat.Three years later, Rachelle has given her life to serving the realm, fighting deadly creatures in a vain effort to atone. When the king orders her to guard his son Armand—the man she hates most—Rachelle forces Armand to help her hunt for the legendary sword that might save their world. Together, they navigate the opulent world of the courtly elite, where beauty and power reign and no one can be trusted. And as the two become unexpected allies, they discover far-reaching conspiracies, hidden magic . . . and a love that may be their undoing. Within a palace built on unbelievable wealth and dangerous secrets, can Rachelle discover the truth and stop the fall of endless night?

— As much as I loved Cruel Beauty, I was like ehhhh on this one. Which is part Little Red Riding Hood (although that seems like a stretch, honestly) and part The Girl With No Hands, which is a fairy tale I have literally never heard of before. Rachelle was just—sorta whiny? Which, y’know, she was cursed and had fucked up her entire life, so fair, but also...annoying. I kept reading mostly to try and understand what the FUCK was going on with the magic. I like to consider myself a relatively intelligent person who can understand most YA novels, but this one was tough to keep track of. Like, sure, the imagery of the Dark Forest was cool, but also what is a Gladspring? I’m still not sure I know. Also, this kind of dragged in some places. Lots of patrolling the palace (whining about life) and not enough magic-fighting or establishing any sort of relationship between Rachelle and Armand. Which just sort of happened? Amidst, approximately, twenty-four different twists that were admittedly cool, but also felt like they came out of nowhere. Everything that happened in Cruel Beauty made sense. Most of what happened here felt like it was shoehorned in for shock value.

YOU WANT MORAL AMBIGUITY? BOY HAVE I GOT MORAL AMBIGUITY FOR YOU. IN GODDAMN SPADES.

The Firebird Series by Claudia Gray Marguerite Caine's physicist parents are known for their groundbreaking achievements. Their most astonishing invention, called the Firebird, allows users to jump into multiple universes—and promises to revolutionize science forever. But then Marguerite's father is murdered, and the killer—her parent's handsome, enigmatic assistant Paul— escapes into another dimension before the law can touch him.Marguerite refuses to let the man who destroyed her family go free. So she races after Paul through different universes, always leaping into another version of herself. But she also meets alternate versions of the people she knows—including Paul, whose life entangles with hers in increasingly familiar ways. Before long she begins to question Paul's guilt—as well as her own heart. And soon she discovers the truth behind her father's death is far more sinister than she expected.

— Guys. GUYS. These books, oh my G O D. Little known fact about me, but I am trash for cross-dimensional soulmates. The concept of “we’ll find each other anywhere” is one of my favorites, so I was so psyched about these books. And for awhile that’s what I thought I was going to get out of them. But. BUT! What I actually got was something, not totally different, but not entirely great, either. The problem here was that when anyone used one of the Firebird devices to jump dimensions they TOOK OVER THE BODY THEY JUMPED INTO. So, like, that consciousness got shoved to the side while whatever prime!person just took over. Living that body’s life. In a different dimension. And that’s kinda fucked up, right??? Brings in all sorts of questions about consent and morality and let me tell you, guys, this YA series DID NOT ADDRESS A SINGLE ONE OF THEM. Which is also super fucked up!! So, like, Marguerite is just bouncing around dimensions taking over people’s bodies and lives and leaving this, frankly, trail of destruction in her wake. And as if that wasn’t enough!!! In the second book Paul’s soul gets, like, split and she’s got to round up the pieces through dimensions, meeting all sorts of Pauls who are occasionally kind of shit people and he eventually just, like, CANNOT COPE. Seriously, I could not stop reading these. Partially for the moral ambiguity. Partially because I could not figure out why Paul loved Marguerite. Also, capitalism was the ultimate villain. AS IT SHOULD BE, REALLY.

CREEPY FAE WERE KIND OF CREEPY AND THAT’S NOT BAD, BUT LIKE MAYBE THIS WASN’T A GOOD BOOK?

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson Isobel is an artistic prodigy with a dangerous set of clients: the sinister fair folk, immortal creatures who cannot bake bread or put a pen to paper without crumbling to dust. They crave human Craft with a terrible thirst, and Isobel’s paintings are highly prized. But when she receives her first royal patron—Rook, the autumn prince—she makes a terrible mistake. She paints mortal sorrow in his eyes—a weakness that could cost him his life. Furious, Rook spirits her away to his kingdom to stand trial for her crime. But something is seriously wrong in his world, and they are attacked from every side. With Isobel and Rook depending on each other for survival, their alliance blossoms into trust, then love—and that love violates the fair folks’ ruthless laws. Now both of their lives are forfeit, unless Isobel can use her skill as an artist to fight the fairy courts. Because secretly, her Craft represents a threat the fair folk have never faced in all the millennia of their unchanging lives: for the first time, her portraits have the power to make them feel.

— I’ve seen this book mentioned a lot. As good. And it wasn’t not good, but Isobel was pretty goddamn annoying and kind of dumb and a little self-important and I was mostly here for the creepy fae. That was fun. More fae should have antlers and stuff. Everything in this story happened ridiculously fast. I couldn’t believe it was over when it was over.

THE PROSE WAS VERY PRETTY. I’M NOT SURE WHY THE DRAGON HAD TO BE SUCH A MONUMENTAL DICK.

Uprooted  by Naomi Novik Agnieszka loves her valley home, her quiet village, the forests and the bright shining river. But the corrupted Wood stands on the border, full of malevolent power, and its shadow lies over her life. Her people rely on the cold, driven wizard known only as the Dragon to keep its powers at bay. But he demands a terrible price for his help: one young woman handed over to serve him for ten years, a fate almost as terrible as falling to the Wood. The next choosing is fast approaching, and Agnieszka is afraid. She knows—everyone knows—that the Dragon will take Kasia: beautiful, graceful, brave Kasia, all the things Agnieszka isn’t, and her dearest friend in the world. And there is no way to save her. But Agnieszka fears the wrong things. For when the Dragon comes, it is not Kasia he will choose.

— Let me just say first off, that this should have been two books. Everything happened so quickly, I swear I got whiplash. That being said, as a heroine, I liked Agnieszka a lot. She was understandably freaked by everything that happened, but once she kind of settled, she didn’t take The Dragon’s shit and that was good because The Dragon was kind of shitty. This is why it should have been two books. Because everything The Dragon did felt like it needed some kind of explanation. Or at least some sort of reasoning for why he was such a monumental bastard. Which is why I was a little confused that Agnieszka was in love with him? He was such a dick, honestly. The last third or so of this book was the best because Novik really does know how to write action and the magic itself was pretty fascinating. (I wish it went into more depth, but I think I’m spoiled by fic and that’s not actually how the publishing world works.) Kasia might have been the most interesting person in this story. Girl went through it and just became a total badass. I loved her.

MARAUDER FEELINGS! MARAUDER FEELINGS! SO! MANY! MARAUDER! FEELINGS!

The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater All her life, Blue has been warned that she will cause her true love's death. She doesn't believe in true love and never thought this would be a problem, but as her life becomes caught up in the strange and sinister world of the Raven Boys, she's not so sure anymore.

— RICHARD GANSEY, MY BELOVED. What a dweeb. A self-sacrificing, sorta sad dweeb. When he wrapped his jacket around Blue, my heart exploded. I think I spent the last fifteen or so chapters with disconcertingly wide eyes and possibly my hand over my mouth. Still not entirely sure why a Welsh king was in Virginia, but I loved it. Was real glad he was there. As promised by that one book rec list I read months ago, the Marauders vibes of these books were off the charts. It was a weird story with lots of weird things and I hope Mr. Grey gets to be happy one day and that Ronan and Adam make out some more eventually. I think they’ll both feel a lot better if they do. Like, about the world as a whole. Has anyone read the Ronan spinoff series? Should I read the Ronan spinoff series?

OK, THIS WASN’T THAT BAD, ACTUALLY

To Love Jason Thorn by Ella Maise Jason Thorn... My brother's childhood friend. Oh, how stupidly in love with that boy I was. He was the first boy that made me blush, my first official crush. Sounds beautiful so far, right? That excitement that bubbles up inside you, those famous butterflies you feel for the very first time--he was the reason for them all. But, you only get to live in that fairytale world until they crush your hopes and dreams and then stomp on your heart for good measure. And boy did he crush my little heart into pieces. After the stomping part he became the boy I did my best to stay away from--and let me tell you, it was pretty hard to do when he slept in the room right across from mine. When tragedy struck his family and they moved away, I was ready to forget he ever existed. Now he is a movie star, the one who makes women of all ages go into a screaming frenzy, the one who makes everyone swoon with that dimpled smile of his. Do you think that's dreamy? I certainly don't think so. How about me coming face to face with him? Nope still not dreamy. Not when I can't even manage to look him in the eye. Me? I'm Olive, a new writer. Actually, I'm THE writer of the book that inspired the movie he is about to star in on the big screen. As of late, I am also referred to as the oh-so-very-lucky girl who is about to become the wife of Jason Thorn. Maybe you're thinking yet again that this is all so dreamy? Nope, nothing dreamy going on here. Not even close.

— Ignoring the fact that this was almost blatant self-insert, this was a mostly good, occasionally trashy book with brother’s best friend and the one who got away tropes. Which, as we know, are my life’s blood. (Plus, surprise, fake marriage that isn’t really fake?!? Ok. OK!) My only eeek moment was when Olive got super drunk and wanted Jason to like—consummate the marriage and he was like, No Olive, you’re drunk. And then they ended up doing everything except having full-on sex, which felt a little creep and a lot sketch and then it was never mentioned again. Also, Olive needs to find some better friends, God.

EMERSON COD VOICE: HE’S STAAAAAALKING YOU

Marriage For One by Ella Maise Jack and I, we did everything backward. The day he lured me into his office-which was also the first day we met-he proposed. You'd think a guy who looked like him-a bit cold maybe, but still striking and very unattainable-would only ask the love of his life to marry him, right? You'd think he must be madly in love. Nope. It was me he asked. A complete stranger who had never even heard of him. A stranger who had been dumped by her fiancé only weeks before. You'd think I'd laugh in his face, call him insane-and a few other names-then walk away as quickly as possible. Well…I did all those things except the walking away part. It took him only minutes to talk me into a business deal…erm, I mean marriage, and only days for us to officially tie the knot. Happiest day of my life. Magical. Pop the champagne… Not. It was the worst day. Jack Hawthorne was nothing like what I'd imagined for myself. I blamed him for my lapse in judgment. I blamed his eyes, the ocean blue eyes that looked straight into mine unapologetically, and that frown on his face I had no idea I would become so fascinated with in time. It wasn't long after he said I was the biggest mistake of his life that things started to change. No, he still didn't talk much, but anyone can string a few words together. His actions spoke the loudest to me. And day after day my heart started to get a mind of its own.

— Ok, ok, ok, so I enjoyed the Jason Thorn book, right? Was, like, how bad could this other book be? And it wasn’t bad, but it was patently ridiculous. Let me explain what happened. Not entirely sorry for the spoilers. Jack the lawyer sees that Rose is only going to get the space for her coffee shop from her uncle’s will if she marries someone. She WAS engaged, but the guy split. For reasons no one can understand, especially Rose. She’s sad. She’s spent so much money on espresso machines! Enter Jack the lawyer who one random afternoon is like: HEY ROSE, YOU’RE MOSTLY A STRANGER, BUT I ALSO NEED TO GET MARRIED FOR REASONS I’LL ONLY SORTA EXPLAIN, LETS DO THAT. So they do???? And Jack the lawyer continues to be kinda weird and a little shady, but Rose has got the coffee shop and things are going well. Until! She’s got a leaky brain!!! That’s not a joke. Not a typo. Out of goddamn LEFT FIELD, Rose has got some horrible medical condition, so thank God she got married because Jack the lawyer’s got great health insurance. (this is ROMANTIC) and she’s got to have an operation and he stays with her and sleeps in the hospital chair and her coffee shop is somehow still going strong??? On Madison Avenue??? What sit-down coffee shop on Madison Avenue do you guys know that would succeed? None because it’s not downtown. I digress. Anyway, Rose makes a miraculous recovery, she and Jack the lawyer are now almost in love? At least having a shit ton of sex. They’re mostly happily married. Until, part two! The ex-fiance shows up and is like JACK THE LAWYER PAID ME TO BREAK UP WITH YOU. To which Rose is understandably flabbergasted. She confronts Jack the lawyer who fesses that he’s been seriously crushing on her since they met at her uncle’s Christmas party. She doesn’t remember this. He does. BECAUSE HE’S A STALKER. So, he knew about the will stipulation with marriage BACK THEN, which is why he used FIRM RESOURCES to investigate the ex-fiance and found out he was a con man, using Rose with plans to basically steal all her money. This infuriated Jack the lawyer because he thought Rose deserved better and then proceeded to basically con her himself, just in a different way. With marriage! He told her he needed to get married to show he was a family man to make partner. THAT WAS A LIE. He didn’t need it at all. He just—wanted to marry her??? To help her??? What a psycho. She leaves. He continues to lurk outside the coffee shop. They make up. No one mentions the stalking. The end.

I KEEP GIVING HELENA SECOND CHANCES AND SHE KEEPS...NOT DESERVING THEM

All In Series by Helena Hunting Sometimes I need an escape from the demands, the puck bunnies, and the notoriety that come with being an NHL team captain. I just want to be a normal guy for a few weeks. So when I leave Chicago for some peace and quiet, the last thing I expect is for a gorgeous woman to literally fall into my lap on a flight to Alaska. Even better, she has absolutely no idea who I am.Lainey is the perfect escape from my life. My plan for seclusion becomes a monthlong sex fest punctuated with domestic bliss. But it ends just as abruptly as it began. When I’m called away on a family emergency, I realize too late that I have no way to contact Lainey.A year later, a chance encounter throws Lainey and me together again. But I still have a lie hanging over my head, and Lainey’s keeping secrets of her own. With more than lust at stake, the truth may be our game changer.

— Last year I read a hockey romance by Helena Hunting that was very cute and traditionally published and she’s got a bunch more free Amazon books that, for some reason, I keep downloading and reading and they continue to be absolutely ridiculous. That first one was a not-so-secret accidental pregnancy (as previously discussed ONE TIME without a condom mention and bam pregnant) but the second one with Rook’s sister was actually pretty cute. I’m not sure why they all called him Rook. Almost all these series have at least one book with someone recovering from an injury and they inevitably fall in love with their physical therapist. So, that one was pretty ok. None of these, however, were quite as entertaining as (wait for it) QUEENIE AND KINGSTON. WHOSE FRIENDS AND TEAMMATES ALL CALL HIM KING. QUEENIE. AND. KING. Gag. I read it anyway. At least 99% of that decision was based solely on the fact that the story started just after King found out his sister was actually his mom. How am I supposed to stop reading THAT?!? I ask you. Highlights of Queenie and King’s romance included: him calling his mom/sister MOMSTER, Queenie being secretly married this whole time, WITHOUT KNOWING IT, his strawberry allergy that flared up because she’d had a strawberry milkshake and then GAVE HIM A BLOWJOB, her dad finding out they were dating because he was the GM of the team and saw that his starting goalie was having a MASSIVE allergic reaction, Queenie’s eventual ex-husband getting engaged to someone who previously tried to self-inseminate to trap Rook into a relationship (I am not making this up, I swear) and then when he found out that his fiancee’s kid wasn’t actually his, he got into a massive fight and earned a 20-game suspension. THAT’S A QUARTER OF AN NHL SEASON. Tom Wilson got fined five thousand dollars for practically killing Artemi Panarin on the ice! I did not read the last book in this series because it was MORE ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCY and because it was Queenie’s dad and King’s mom and that meant they’d share a sibling. Which is where I draw the line, guys.

THERE WERE SEVEN BOOKS IN THIS SERIES! EVERY SINGLE ONE HAD TO HAVE A SCENE WHERE THE DUDE UNDERSTOOD THAT PERIODS WERE A THING???? LIKE THAT WAS IMPRESSIVE SOMEHOW?!?!

Hot Jocks Series by Kendall Ryan I've never been so stupid in my entire life. My teammate's incredibly sweet and gorgeous younger sister should have been off-limits, but my hockey stick didn't get that memo. After our team won the championship, and plenty of alcohol, our flirting turned physical and I took her to bed. Shame sent her running the next morning from our catastrophic mistake. She thinks I don't remember that night—but every detail is burned into my brain so deeply, I’ll never forget. The feel of her in my arms, the soft whimpers of pleasure I coaxed from her perfect lips…And now I’ve spent three months trying to get her out of my head. Which has been futile, because I’m starting to understand she’s the only girl I’ll ever want. I have one shot to show her I can be exactly what she needs, but Elise won’t be easily convinced. That’s okay, because I’m good under pressure, and this time, I’m playing for keeps.

—I read all of these. All. Of. Them. They were exceptionally quick reads. Every single one had a copious amount of sex in it and a very weird, apparently required scene, where the dude had to be like I’M NOT SQUICKED OUT BY PERIODS AM I NOT THE ULTIMATE EXAMPLE OF MASCULINITY?? My favorite one was Grant and Ana’s, though, because it was so goddamn absurd I cannot believe someone wrote it. Basic gist was that Ana was dating someone on Grant’s team (he’s the captain, natch) but the guy was a dick and abusive and so one night Ana decides to leave, but she needs someone to help her and WHO DOES SHE TURN TO??? That’s right, reclusive captain Grant. Who’s spent the last few years watching his teammates marry-up and start families and he’s so jealous, but he can’t say anything because he’s a stoic MAN™. So he takes Ana and her dog (of course she’s got a dog) back to his super swanky bachelor pad and she just sort of...stays there? Video of the boyfriend accosting her at her job gets leaked and the boyfriend gets sent to the AHL which is not really how it would work, but fine. Naturally, Grant and Ana hook up. It’s emotional. Vaguely romantic. There’s no GODDAMN CONDOM. So, she gets pregnant. But, of course. Except! She doesn’t know if it’s dick boyfriend’s or Grant’s. Because he’s the male lead in a free sports romance on Amazon, Grant is the MOST understanding. He wants to help Ana. He would like to continue having sex with Ana. This is ready-made happily ever after. Only Ana’s like...eh?? She doesn’t want it to look like she bounced from one hockey player to the next, but also she sorta did and she kept telling Grant she just wanted to be friends, only to have sex, like, three chapters later. Then she just moved out! Just moved out. Seven months pregnant. Moving out. With her dog. Of course, this is a free sports romance on Amazon, so eventually she moved back in with Grant. Once she realized independence wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And because he left practice to be there when she had the baby. Oh! And she got a DNA test after. To see whose kid it was. Grant ripped that ‘ish up. Just ripped it up. Which is cool, I guess. But, like, you didn’t want to double check? What if that kid has to go to the hospital? Did she put Grant’s name on the birth certificate? What are his parental rights?? Anyway, they’re all set to live HEA when....THE DICK BOYFRIEND DIES. Straight up. No explanation. Nothing. Just Grant tells Ana he’s dead, she’s like, oh wow that’s sad, they send some flowers to the funeral and that’s THAT. I assume this was to close any potential plot holes on the father of this baby, but it was hysterical and I cannot stop thinking about it. Strangely enough, the one where the couple made a secret sex tape in college and then got back together because it got released may have been the healthiest relationship in this series.

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

Maybe this applies for all fandoms, but good god Queen fans could be so overdramatic and petty sometimes. Theres the Q+AL discourse, which is annoying but to be expected, then I saw discourse about the WWRY Pepsi commercial. Excuse me its just a commercial for a bloody soft drink brand and its a decent commercial anyways. There are massive threads dedicated to that saying its a ‘bad decision by Brian and Roger’, that they ‘disagree’ with the commercial. Lmfao what’s there to disagree with…. Its a Pepsi ad. Also some people are strangely fixated on believing that Brians constantly lying and using Freddie as a ‘scapegoat’ for Queen decisions after his death. Like Ive seen people say that Brian made up the ‘youre my Jimi Hendrix’ moment saying we have no proof of Freddie saying that, and how he also lied about how PR was a singer that Freddie admired because they all liked Free back in the days, so as to justify the Q+PR decision. According to them Freddie also never gave his blessing to Brian on releasing Driven By You as his solo song or on going ahead with his solo album because ‘we have no proof and he probably made it up to make himself look good’z And Ive seen people get mad at Brian for saying Freddie wasnt very confident with his guitar playing because they think hes trying to put Freddie down, even though its been said by other people, Freddie has joked about it in concerts and Brian has said hes actually very good and wrote songs like Ogre Battle on the guitar. Freddie could be decent at guitar but also self conscious about playing himself at the same time, its not mutually exclusive At this point theyre starting to sound like conspiracy theorists and its so annoying 😒

I’ve been in several fandoms but the Queen fandom needs to go outside the most.

What you mentioned here is actually kind of infuriating lol because there’s a running theme: shitting on Brian. These people are really claiming Brian lied about several things Freddie said to him, and they’re obviously doing so because it contradicts their narrative. They hate Brian and think he’s a hack who should have shut up after 1991, but Freddie always being supportive of Brian flies in the face of that, so these clowns would rather believe Freddie never said these things so they don’t have to re-examine their bullshit grudge against Brian. Honestly what kind of weird fuck are you to insist Brian is lying about what his dead friend said with zero evidence?

I don’t even wanna know what they say about a stupid Pepsi commercial lol. Queen songs have appeared in countless commercials. Who gives a shit? This fandom cannot cope with anything, and sometimes the shit they get mad over is so inconsequential.