#he’s sure he’s their last line of defense against the court

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

The first mission the Court send their newly minted Talon on is an assassination attempt on the ward of one Bruce Wayne… Dick Grayson.

Calvin— can’t kill Dick. He can’t.

He didn’t know it would be the boy he grew up in the circus with they want him to murder in cold blood. He didn’t know— didn’t recognize him until the knife was already at his throat.

But he remembers now. And he won’t do it. Never. Never.

He’ll run. Disappear. Dick doesn’t know who he is, it’s better that way, and if he’s lucky the Court will be too busy hunting him to care about the failed assassination.

Unfortunately for Calvin, Dick does remember; Recognizes the Talon.

And he’s not inclined to let his childhood best friend slip through his fingers again after years of believing him dead.

[beachbxtchforev]

I’m Wearing UNC Blue for Him

after you support Rafe at his big game, he shows his appreciation for you on the way home.

pairing: basketballplayer!Rafe x fem!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: 18+, fingering, slow burn, some curse words, use of “baby”

1:37 left on the clock. the Heels lead the Huskies 78-72. Connecticut possession.

this was one of Rafe’s biggest games of the season. going against last year’s NCAA conference champs, UNC needs to pull off this win to secure a top bracket position. the roar of Chapel Hill was mind numbing, your ears were ringing from the chanting that surrounded you. today, you opted to sit with the Cameron’s instead of cheering from the student section because they often secured seats closer to the court. you wanted to be able to see Rafe up close, maybe even give him a glimpse of you showing your support for extra motivation.

the ball is thrown in from the sideline, making its way up the court towards UConn’s basket. their player goes for a layup and makes it. 78-74. 1:24. Kelce checks the ball to Rafe, with the two of them making their way back towards their hoop. UConn’s impressive defense forces the ball to be passed until Rafe can make his way into the paint. he once again gets the ball and is quickly fouled. just as you expected. you hate when the game is close in the end with both teams doing whatever it takes to prevent points.

you stand for Rafe’s free-throws, thumb nail up to your mouth out of habit, feeling the stress of 20,000 fans watching his every move. he bounces the ball, shoots, and sinks it. thank god, now just do it again. and he does. 80-74. 1:10.

the minute left of game play really takes ten, anxiety seeping into your every move. Rafe has the ball with four seconds left, taking a shot from the 3 point line. its in! the Heels win!

you fly out of your seat, hands reaching the air, quickly turning to Sarah at your side to embrace out of relief. Ward high fives you as Rose’s smile beams.

-

Rafe always takes a while to join the group after a game, especially one as big as tonight’s. when he comes out of the locker room you are so excited to see him that you run to jump into his arms. “you did it baby! im so proud of you,” you exclaim as you wrap your legs around his torso. he chuckles at your enthusiasm, pecking the side of your head.

once he lets you go, he shares moments with each of his family members and you walk hand in hand out of the facility.

a winning game day is always your favorite because it ensures a good mood from your boyfriend for the rest of the night.

“I can’t believe that last shot you made, you just had to rub the win in their face babe?” you jokingly question as he opens the passenger door to his truck for you.

“what can I say, im tryin to make some noise in prep for the tourney, baby. plus I really want to start getting NBA scouts’ attention.”

you watch as he rounds the front of the truck to get in.“well you got my attention, that’s for sure.” you smile at him, leaning over the center console to give him a peck on the mouth.

putting the car in drive, you guys head back towards his apartment. Drake plays through his speakers as you look out the window at your beautiful campus lit up by the moon. you’re pulled out of your trance by Rafe’s hand reaching out for your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. just like you predicted, he’s in a good mood from his win, so you might as well let him bask in it.

you’re wearing just a UNC vintage pullover that you stole from Rafe and some jean shorts, which you feel his hand working towards. biting your lip and sneaking a glance at him, you decide to unbutton the denim and slide it down your legs, revealing your lacey thong to the darkness of the truck. Rafe’s hand moves higher, grazing over the fabric of your shorts to meet the now bare skin of your hip, while his left hand controls the wheel. you let out a gasp when his fingers dip into the top of your panties, grazing your slit.

his actions are followed by a whimper from your mouth, already feeling yourself getting soaked. however, you have been turned on since you saw him in his Heel blue jersey on the court. his fingers apply pressure, finding your clit and moving in circles. your legs spread, giving him better access as he multitasks his way into giving you and orgasm. what can’t this man do?

“Rafey, inside me. please” you beg, wanting to feel his fingers.

“ya baby? want to get fucked by my fingers? huh?” he teases as he continues to maneuver the truck through the emptying streets.

“y-yes! yes, pl-“ your words are cut off my your own moan as Rafe’s middle and ring finger thrust into your entrance. he too groans at the feeling of your gummy walls around his fingers, blood rushing to his cock.

his fingers move in and out, working you open. he adjusts his hand so the heel of his palm can apply pressure to your clit while his fingers work your hole, warmth invading them. he adds a curling motion to his thrusts, finding the spot that almost always has you cumming.

“shit y/n. squeezing my fingers baby? you gonna cum?”

“please Rafe! im so close,” you moan out. band in your stomach ready to snap.

as soon as he turns the truck into the parking garage, fingers moving rapidly, you release, wetness coating his hand, your heavy breaths filling the cab. after a couple more pumps, he removes his fingers from you and slides them between his lips, collecting your juices. you turn your head to face him, hair slightly disheveled and sticking to your forehead.

“you taste so good baby,” he says, as he takes his fingers out of his mouth and tucks a misplaced piece of hair behind your ear.

leaning over to give you a needy kiss, he grasps your wrist, pulling your hand to feel his hardened cock.

“now how about we go upstairs and you give me a three celebratory rounds for that 3 pointer that impressed you so much?

-

let me know what you think ✨

[asuyaka]

This one is for you, baby!

★ - hellooo!!! original idea comes from sanjisboyfie <33 (user s so real but m more of a Zoro guy ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ )

☆ - Basketball Player Gojo Satoru x Male Reader!

♡ - CW: homophobia but you and Satoru deal with it!

If there's anything to know about Gojo Satoru, the top scorer of the 'Jujutsu' basketball team, is that he has a boyfriend.

And God does he love [Name] to the ends of infinity and back.

It was a scandal when the press first saw you two technically three since Satoru's best friend Suguru was there too together, doing the unthinkable.

Holding hands.

Articles and Magazines came out with headlines like "Player for the Kaisen Basketball team, Gojo Satoru is gay?!" or "Should kids be allowed to watch Gojo Satoru play?" came out. Every time during a game, there would always be someone who, without a doubt, asked if the rumors were true.

Their coach, Yaga Masamichi, advised Satoru to stay neutral on the situation until it blew over. But if there's one thing Gojo Satoru is not good at doing, it's following orders.

So, he brought you to a game one day. Bout you a court-side seat (even though it was expensive as hell), and made sure you were wearing his jersey.

He was playing against an almost equally talented team, the 'Cursed' with their star player, Itadori Sukuna (older brother to the friend of Satoru's son).

Thirty seconds before the last quarter ended, the score was tied, 104 to 104. Satoru had the ball, dribbling it down the court as time seemed to move faster.

He passed to Suguru, running down to the three-point line to make the last shot of the game.

Your heart was thumping violently against your chest, hands gripping the hem of Satoru's jersey as you watched the ball swish through the net as the end-game buzzer went off.

Cheers immediately erupted from the crowd as the ball bounced on the floor two final times, securing the Championship for Satoru's team.

What he does next surprises you. Satoru and Suguru don't do their usual handshake after winning a game—no— he makes a beeline towards you, using his wide arms to pick you up by your waist, and then he kisses you.

On National TV, in front of several people, with absolutely no shame.

Satoru smiles at you, it's full of teeth and nevertheless beautiful before putting you down.

That was when the public knew about how kind Gojo Satoru could be when he was not on the court and the only person who managed to pull that personality out of him.

Back to the present, you're sitting court-side again, way after the game was over, relaxing on your phone while Satoru and Suguru were looking to see who could make the most free-throws to decide who was paying for their victory food.

It was pointless, really, because they're both rich as shit so the competition was stupid, and Suguru was most likely going to win since free-throws were how he scored points 96.99% of the time.

Your throat feels a bit parched from all the cheering you were doing, so you get up with a yawn, stretching your body and rubbing your eyes slightly. "I'm gonna go get something to drink, maybe use the bathroom too."

Satoru turns to look at you with a smile. "Use my card and be back quick! Watch me dunk on Suguru's head!"

A ball slams against the back of his hair, a loud laugh erupting from behind him. "You can't score on me, your defense is ass."

Satoru grabs the ball with new-found malice in his eyes. "One-on-one, right now. Loser has to post whatever the other says on their Twitter account."

Suguru smirks. "Bet."

You roll your eyes at their antics as you put on Satoru's jacket. Satoru is tall, much bigger than you so the sleeves fall right past your arms. It looks like a dress on you, but that's how most of Satoru's clothes look, you've gotten used to it.

You use the bathroom, rolling Satoru's sleeves up as you start to wash your hands. The door opens, and a man walks in.

It's a bathroom, people are obviously going to enter inside so you pay it no mind. It starts to raise a few flags in your head when the man stays there, too close for comfort as his shoulder brushes against yours.

"You're dating that gay dude, right?"

The question takes you by surprise. You slowly go back to drying your hands, looking at the man through the mirror with a blank look on your face. "Excuse me?"

The man scoffs. "Don't play stupid. Gojo? You're the gaybo that's dating him, right?"

Now, you aren't a rude person. You don't believe in violence and while you'll stand up for yourself when needed, you aren't one to sit down and let yourself get disrespected. "Yes, I'm dating Satoru. Is that a problem?"

The man's face contorts in obvious disgust before turning into something malicious. "Fuckin' thought so. Now that your little boyfriend isn't here, me and you can talk, right?"

You unroll Satoru's sleeves and pull up the zipper. "I'm not interested, thank you though." You respond in a passive-aggressive tone, moving towards the door before a hand pushes you back.

"I said, we're going to talk, right?"

Your face hardens and you cross your arms. "And I said, I'm not interested. Now if you excuse me, I have a boyfriend that's waiting for me on the court."

The man stands before the door, using his frame to block the exit. Instantly dropping the 'nice guy' act, he stares at you like you're dirt underneath his shoe. "I never understood why people are gay. You seriously like taking it up the ass?"

That's where this was going.

You rub your temples as a long sigh leaves your lips. "Okay, great, can I leave now?"

"Can't you understand what I'm saying?!" The man raises his voice. "You're supposed to like—"

"Listen man," You interrupt with a bored expression. "I really don't care what you think of my relationship. I love Satoru, Satoru loves me, we're happy. Now, if you don't have anything else you want to tell me, I'll be leaving now."

As soon as you reach for the door knob, it slams open, colliding the man (and your hand) with the wall.

You wince harshly as you wave it around, profusely blowing on it as if it'd relieve the pain. Satoru's expression turns from confused to concerned very easily.

"Baby? Oh shit, I'm sorry..." He shushes you softly, bringing your hand to the sink to run some cold water over it.

"I won, by the way, Suguru sucks at basketball." Satoru mutters softly, like he's trying to distract you from the throbbing pain in your hand.

You nod gently as the pain slowly subsides. It isn't all the way gone, but it's bearable enough for you not to feel it as much. Satoru notices easily, bringing your hand up to place a kiss on it. "Feelin' better?"

"Yeah... thanks Satoru."

He smiles—it's the smile he only uses with you, it makes your heart giddy— placing a kiss on your forehead as he takes your other (unbruised) hand, leading you outside the bathroom.

Suguru is waiting, plainly dressed in a black turtleneck and black cargo pants, tearing his eyes away from his phone when he notices the two of you.

Satoru takes his bags and your bag, briefly leaving his hand from yours as he slings them over his shoulder. He's quick to reconnect them, putting his signature glasses on his face. "Ready, Suguru?"

Suguru flips him off, stuffing his phone in his pocket and fishing out his car keys. "You two make me homophobic."

"T'aww," Satoru teases, using his elbow to nudge it into Suguru's bicep. "Suguru jealous that he's single? That he won't have the privilege of dating the beautiful, handsome, pretty, attractive, alluring, eye-catching—"

"Oh my God, shut up!"

You laugh softly, thanking Satoru as he opens the door for you, closing it when you're secured inside and quickly going to the seat beside you.

The pain is your hand becomes an after thought as Suguru and Satoru keep bickering over the tiniest things, like the car mist Suguru uses, to how cold it is, and Suguru's lack of a significant other.

You sigh. Why would you pay attention to the pain in your hand when you have your boyfriend to look at?

He's a beautiful man after all, a man that you love from infinity and beyond.

Stars in the sky ☆

@sanjisboyfie

[azzifudd]

i don't wanna see you with anyone but me

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: Azzi gets nervous before games. She always has. No matter how low or high the stakes, whether it’s a regular season game against a team clearly a cut below her own or the state championships, the moment she sets foot on the court, her palms break out into a sweat and her stomach churns with nerves.

Today though, she’s not nervous at all. She’s pissed.

rated: teen

3.0k words

disclaimer: as always, this is fictional

[AO3 Link]

Azzi gets nervous before games. She always has. No matter how low or high the stakes, whether it’s a regular season game against a team clearly a cut below her own or the state championships, the moment she sets foot on the court, her palms break out into a sweat and her stomach churns with nerves.

Today though, she’s not nervous at all. She’s pissed. It’s already been a bad morning. Early morning games are always tough on the team, and they’d gotten to the hotel late last night because of an expected traffic jam, leading to even less sleep.

And now, instead of helping her warm up and hyping her up like she normally is, Paige is at the opposite end of the court giggling with some girl on the other team.

They only have a few weeks left together before Paige has to go home, and instead of being with Azzi, she’s off flirting with someone else.

Azzi takes another shot, grunting when it bounces off the rim. The ref finally blows his whistle, signaling the teams to line up for tip off. Paige starts to walk back toward their side of the court, but not before that girl says goodbye with a hand pressed to Paige’s arm.

Azzi’s petty enough that she pretends she doesn’t see Paige’s offered high five before she runs onto the court.

Azzi plays like a woman possessed. By the time the final buzzer sounds, they’re up 25 points after her efficient 33.

“Okay, killa!” When Paige bounds up to her, bumping into her with her chest and trying to wrap her arms around her, she shrugs her off.

“Why don’t you go comfort your new friend?” Azzi heads to the bench to take a much needed drink of water. Paige trails close behind her.

“What are you talking about?”

“Her.” Azzi flicks her head in the girl’s direction. Azzi has to admit she’s pretty; with dark skin, dark hair, and big brown eyes. She’d probably enjoyed it a little too much when her crossover had landed the girl on her ass, but like she’s said, she’s petty.

“Why would I do that? I don’t even know her.” Paige looks dumbfounded.

“You seemed to know her well enough that you spent all of pregame talking to her instead of helping me warm up.” She tries to keep her voice low, knowing that their voices would echo easily in the gym no matter how loud the other games were.

“She said she was a fan! I was just being nice!” Paige crowds into her space, voice defensive.

“Oh, I’m sure you were.”

“Azzi, come on, you’re being crazy.”

Azzi sees red, elbowing Paige in the stomach, pushing her lanky body out of the way easily. “Get away from me.”

“Fine!” Paige throws up her hands. “Come find me when you’re done being crazy.”

The rest of the day drags as they have to take the long drive home together in the car with Azzi’s family. Her parents clearly want nothing to do with their drama, ignoring the two ticking time bombs in the backseat.

When they finally make it back to the house, Azzi storms inside, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

“So… what happened, big dawg?” Tim asks Paige as she helps him unload their bags from the car.

“I didn’t even do anything!” Paige huffs, frustrated.

“I didn’t say you did.” He replies, patient.

Paige hesitates, suddenly feeling awkward about talking about this with her what are they? her girl? her Azzi’s dad, but he stops her before she has to.

“You don’t have to tell me the details, but give her some time to cool down, and then just talk to her. You know how she can be, I mean both of you are stubborn as hell, but when has she ever stayed mad at you for long?

That’s true. It’s one of the things that Paige likes the most about Azzi, that no matter how annoying Paige is being, Azzi still wants her around.

When they’re done unpacking, Paige goes to find Azzi. She stops in the kitchen to grab some reinforcements. When she gets to Azzi’s door, she hesitates. She’s never had to knock before. But before she even needs to, it opens.

She and Azzi stare at each other for a moment before they’re both blurting out, “I’m sorry.”

Then they’re both giggling and Azzi pulls Paige into her room, shutting the door behind her.

“I brought this, in case you were still mad at me.” Paige holds up a cartoon of ice cream and a spoon.

“Only one spoon?”

“In case you were still mad at me,” Paige repeats. Azzi laughs and tugs Paige over to sit on the bed, where they take turns eating bites of the ice cream.

“I’m sorry I called you crazy.” Paige says, wincing as she remembers it. “I shoulda seen how upset you were.”

“And I’m sorry that I overreacted when I saw you talking to someone else.” Azzi twists her fingers together. “I just got so mad when I saw you talking to her. And I know how popular you are, and you deserve every bit of it, but…”

Paige just waits because she knows Azzi needs to talk it out herself, and that she just needs Paige to listen.

“I know it’s selfish, but part of me just wants to keep you to myself. Because as soon as everyone finds out about you, they’re gonna want you.” Azzi glances at Paige then, almost certain she’ll see a cocky grin on her face, but Paige just listens.

Paige gets it. Sometimes someone can just look at Azzi for a second too long and it makes her want to just take Azzi and hide her away. But she can’t, so she just reaches out to hold Azzi’s hand.

There are so many things she wishes she could say to Azzi, things that she can barely stand to consider because they scare the shit out of her.

So she just settles for saying the one thing she knows to be true.

“I’m yours.”

Paige watches Azzi blush, stunned and speechless.

“Can I kiss you now? Lowkey it was so hot how jealous you got.” Paige laughs when Azzi pushes her with a hand to her face.

But then that same hand is gripping at her collar and pulling her on top of Azzi and then there’s no more talking.

//

It’s a Friday night, and Paige is sober.

It’s not the most uncommon occurrence, not anymore. After her ACL, she has learned to be a bit more responsible, a bit more grown up. So when the girls had decided to go out that night, she volunteered to be DD.

And if that gives her a chance to watch over Azzi a little more closely she will take it. The younger girl has been acting off in the past weeks. On the outside, she doubts that anyone else has noticed, but she almost knows Azzi better than she knows herself.

It becomes even clearer that something’s wrong when Azzi returns over and over to the bar, taking way more shots than she usually does.

And now, a few hours into their night, she has disappeared. It’s a small bar, in a small town, so Paige isn’t too worried, but Azzi has never been one to wander off, and especially not on her own.

Paige pokes her head through the door to the back patio which consists of a few picnic tables, lit up with fairy lights. She almost heads back inside when she hears a familiar laugh from the far end of the patio.

When her eyes adjust to the light, she sees Azzi sitting on a table, a tall form looming over her.

“Azzi!” She barks out, strides long as she rushes forward. The figure steps back from her friend, and Paige vaguely recognizes her as one of the members of the girls volleyball team.

“What?!” Azzi fires back, stopping Paige in her tracks.

“What are you doing? Who is this?”

“I’m talking to a friend.” Paige fights the familiar twist in her stomach at the sight of Azzi’s hand on the other girl’s arm. “Is that okay with you? Or are you the only one allowed to flirt with every woman who throws themselves at you?”

Paige feels like she’s been punched in the gut. She sees a hint of regret on Azzi’s face before she turns her head away.

The stranger looks like she would rather be anywhere else, and Paige would be more embarrassed if she wasn’t so focused on Azzi.

“I’ll see you in class, Azzi?” When Azzi gives a jerky nod in response, the girl takes her leave, giving Paige a cold look as she goes.

Azzi’s eyes are glassy, her cheeks obviously flushed even under the dim lights. She takes a heaving breath, face turned away while she clearly fights tears, and Paige hates that she is the reason for her best friend’s pain.

“Az-” Her hands reach up to find their usual place at Azzi’s waist, but she freezes when Azzi flinches away from her. Her fists clench as she drops them at her side.

“Am I not enough?”

“What?” Paige chokes out. The thought is inconceivable. She reaches out again, grasping at where Azzi has wrapped her arms around herself.

Azzi still isn’t looking her in the eye.

“Azzi, come on.” Paige sighs in relief when Azzi allows her touch, hands warm against the skin exposed by her crop top.

Azzi’s eyes brim with tears. “Can we just forget I said anything?”

That’s when Paige knows something really might be wrong. Azzi is always the one pulling her out of her shell when she’s upset, and she wasn’t usually one to hide her own feelings.

“It’s just us. Me and you.” Paige brings one hand up to cup her jaw and brings their gazes together. “Talk to me. We promised that we’d always talk to each other.”

Azzi takes a deep, steadying breath. And then another.

“I know that we agreed when you came here that we’d pull back and keep it more casual.”

You wanted that! Paige wants to say, but she can’t deny that she took advantage of it, loved it at times even. She can’t deny that sometimes it was nice to be able to talk to, flirt with, and kiss girls who didn’t hold the power to crush her with one word.

But none of those girls ever made her feel even half of how Azzi did, like she could conquer the world if only Azzi was at her side, holding her hand.

“And I know that we decided last year that it was best for the team and for everyone if we just.. didn’t complicate things.”

She keeps it unspoken that it was never that simple, and that it had tested their relationship more than ever having each other so close, but being unable to really be together the way they both hoped the other wanted. And then the season had ended with that devastating loss, and neither of them had had the emotional capacity to deal with all of it.

And then her ACL had happened, and just when Paige had thought that she couldn’t be forced any lower, there was Azzi. Azzi, who had just shown up to hold her, and let her yell and cry, and not be okay, for once.

It still sucks, and there are days where she’s so desperate to play that she cries, but she’s not alone in it. She’ll never be alone again, not as long as she has Azzi. And she knows now, sure as anything, that Azzi is all she’ll ever want.

“I thought something had changed between us this summer, and I’ve been waiting for you to be ready, to tell me you were ready.”

Paige feels like this is a conversation she has been waiting to have for a very long time.

“Do you know what my first thought was the first time I saw you? ”

Azzi huffs in frustration. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you shoot a basketball for the first time, and thought, damn, I have to play with her, and then I did, and it was better than I even imagined it would be. Then I got to sit next to you on that plane, and got to really know you, and then I knew that I just wanted you in my life forever. So don’t ever think that you’re not enough. You’re all I’ve wanted since I was sixteen years old.”

Azzi’s eyes shimmer with tears, but the smile on her face is radiant. Paige tugs her even closer by the waist until Azzi hooks her arms around her shoulders.

“I wish I was as good with words as you are,” Azzi says, pressing their foreheads together. “I wish I could tell you what you mean to me.”

But Paige doesn’t need Azzi to say it. She can feel it in the way Azzi’s heart pounds against her chest where they are pressed together. She can see it in the way her lips tremble like they’re about to kiss for the first time.

And she can feel it in the way Azzi presses their lips together, like she never wants to stop, like breathing matters less than kissing her.

//

Paige is unzipping her luggage when her phone rings with a Facetime call from KK. She taps accept and as the screen fills with an image, she realizes it isn’t a normal call.

The angle is askew and the camera is out of focus showing a gym with a few figures in the distant background. Somehow KK must’ve accidentally called her. She hears KK’s voice loud and clear joking around with someone with an Australian accent. She smiles, happy that her little freshman is getting along with everyone at the Dawg Camp. She almost hangs up the call when the camera focuses itself and the figures in the background become clear.

They’re a bit far away, but Paige would recognize that form anywhere. Azzi stands at the opposite court putting up shots, though her feet stay planted on the ground. Her stroke is still smooth as butter though, and she’s so strong that the shots swish through the net even if she can’t get off the ground yet.

Someone’s under the net, someone tall with dirty blonde hair, rebounding for Azzi, and she says something, too quiet for Paige to hear from this far away, but she does hear Azzi’s responding laugh.

The sound, one of Paige’s favorite sounds, one that normally never fails to bring a smile to Paige’s face, instead sends an uncontrollable roll of unease through her gut.

She knows it’s irrational, to still get jealous when someone else makes Azzi smile. She’s never been more secure in their relationship than she is now, but apparently that jealous part of her is still alive as she squints down angrily at her phone, watching fucking Kate Martin?! standing way too close to her girl.

“What the hell?” She mutters, and then the phone is moving and KK’s face fills the screen.

“Oh, what the? P. Boogers! My bad, how long have you been on my phone?”

“Kamorea!”

KK jumps from the unexpected growl in Paige’s voice. “Damn what’s gotten up your butt? Say hi to Georgia.”

“Hi,” Paige says, brusquely. She swipes the FaceTime to the corner of the screen, tapping open Instagram and navigating to Azzi’s profile.

“Jeez, tough crowd.” She hears Georgia say as she taps on Azzi’s following, scoffing when she sees Azzi’s most recent follow.

“Dude, lemme talk to Azzi.”

“Y’all fightin’ or somethin’? She seemed all goofy after she talked to you last night.” KK thinks for a second. “Oh was it because you were cheesin’ at those dancers?”

“What?” Paige sputters. “I was just being polite!”

“Mm, sure.”

“Whatever, just let me talk to her, bro come on.” Paige nods, impatiently.

KK rolls her eyes, but still walks down the court. “Azzi,” she calls out. “Dumbass on the line for you.”

Paige watches Azzi’s face come into focus, first looking confused before a smile blooms on her face, dimple creasing her cheek.

“Babe, hey.”

Paige feels all the uncertainty and jealousy just fade away at the sight of that smile.

“Hey,” she replies, softly.

“Did something happen?” Azzi’s brow creases with worry, and she walks a bit away so they can speak in a more private spot.

“No,” Paige lies, suddenly embarrassed about how much she overreacted. “I just miss you.”

“Paige.” Azzi's smile grows even wider. “You called KK to tell her how much you missed me? You just saw me like two days ago.”

“Well, she pocket dialed me, and I saw you, so-” She cuts herself off. “Yeah.”

“I miss you too, dummy.”

Azzi’s smile is softer now, the sight of it fills Paige’s chest with warmth, so different from the mess of emotions she felt just minutes ago. Azzi has always been that for Paige, her safe place, her peace, her home.

Paige hears the noise in the background pick up and Azzi looks up, past the camera.

“You gotta go?”

“I’ll call you later?”

“You better.” Paige smirks and Azzi rolls her eyes fondly.

“Okay, I gotta go.”

“Wait,” Azzi pauses with a finger over the screen. “Is Martin still there?”

Azzi looks confused, but she still calls out, “Kate!”

Kate appears over Azzi’s shoulder, looking slightly puzzled at being summoned, but with a friendly smile anyways. “Hey, Paige.”

“Hey, how are ya?”

“Good, happy to be here, you know? Just taking it all in. Azzi’s been really nice about helping me actually. Since she’s been here before.” Kate smiles at Azzi, who returns it.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great, huh?” Paige winks and Azzi snorts softly. But then she says, voice serious, “Keep an eye on her for me, would ya? She doesn’t like to ask for help for herself sometimes.”

“You got it, Paige. Good to see you.” Kate jogs off to join the others in the now starting scrimmage.

When Paige looks back to Azzi, she almost blushes at the look in her eye.

“You’re always taking care of me.”

“Well, I kinda love you a little, so.” Paige scratches the bridge of her nose, feeling bashful all of a sudden.

“I kinda love you a little too.”

[greenorangevioletgrass]

fever pitch (b.b) - prologue

soundtrack: mastermind - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: Bradley shoots his shot in public, but will he fumble when he meets you in person? warnings: language, drinking, meet cute notes: my first series in a while! this is shamelessly based on the epic Taylor Swift/Travis Kelce saga currently happening rn, and combine that with my innate love of football (the kicking kind, not the NFL kind) and... voila! I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think in the comments, reblogs, and asks. Happy reading! <3 ✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

Soccer Sensation Bradley Bradshaw Fails To Shoot His Shoot With Y/N At Her Concert?

Arsenal captain Bradley Bradshaw may be among his club’s top scorers this season, but even he misses a chance in romance like the rest of us.

The 29-year-old athlete spoke about his missed opportunity with the multi-platinum songstress Y/N while speaking to his former teammate Héctor Bellerín on the latter’s podcast, “More Than A Footballer”, earlier this week.

When asked about any fun stuff he did last weekend, Bradshaw replied,

“I went to the Y/N concert at Wembley [Stadium]... it was awesome. It was pouring rain, but it was amazing. I don’t remember Wembley ever being that electric aside from, like, cup finals. She was sensational.”

Bellerín nods in agreement, having heard great things about the famed singer-songwriter’s live concerts.

Unprompted, the American midfielder then continued,

“If you’ve heard about the tour, there’s this tradition of trading friendship bracelets. And I actually made one with my number on it, hoping I could give it to her after the show…”

The Cockney-raised Spaniard cackled in surprise and teased him, “But she didn’t wanna see you, bruv? [That is] legend!”

“No hard feelings!” Bradshaw raised his hands in defense over the Zoom call. “She needed to dry off and get warm. Gotta make sure she stays healthy, protect those vocal cords. But yeah, I was a bit bummed out about it.”

Bellerín laughed and jokingly addressed the camera, “Y/N, if you’re watching, give my boy a chance, will you?”

Mononymous pop sensation Y/N is hot off of her Kaleidoscope North American Tour, which wrapped in September. Her six-show run at Wembley Stadium this November officially kicks off the European leg of her sold-out tour. 

Will they be the next pop royalty and conquer the stadiums with their own crafts, or will this fizzle out as this week’s viral anecdote? The ball is in your court, Y/N.

Y/N’s representatives have not responded for comment.

***

Your Miu Miu heels click and clack against the ground. The pavement gleams after the rain and glistens under the streetlights. Everywhere you look, your eyes hurt. Down, and you worry about slipping into a puddle and falling on your ass. Forward, and a million camera flashes are ready to give you an aneurysm.

All in the name of reporting your night off of work, performing live in front of 90,000 people in a stadium.

In other words, all in a day’s work.

There’s a moment of reprieve, when the silvery white blitzes disappear into the dim tangerine lighting of the lobby. The flight down the stairs is so dark, you’re seeing green. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but as soon as they do, the thumping bass line of some dance music hits your ears. Clashing perfumes doused on the dancing, dressed-up bodies that you have to weave through.

You are seriously regretting your girl friends’ invite to a night out. You could’ve just had them over to your hotel, open a bunch of red wine, and you would’ve still had a blast. But no. You had to say yes to going to the Cuckoo Club with Lacey, Amara, and Jo.

And this evening is making you feel quite cuckoo.

There’s champagne at your booth and you’re much too eager to take a glass and start a toast. “Cheers, bitches!” you yell over the music, clinking your glass against theirs before downing the whole thing in one go.

It’s nowhere near enough.

There’s not enough buzz to dull the assault to your senses—not even after the three glasses of wine at dinner earlier. Everything is still too loud, too bright, too crowded, too… much.

“Hey!” you nudge Amara, who is sitting right next to you. “Let’s do shots!”

She turns to you, eyes widening at the slightest. “I thought you wanted to take it easy tonight!” 

“Changed my mind,” you shrug, as you get up to the bar.

While you make your way through the crowd on the dance floor, Bradley Bradshaw looks up from his booth and does a double-take at the girl who just walked by. Even in a high-end club full of the well-dressed and well-heeled, people still get starstruck. And why wouldn’t they? You’re about as famous as an iPhone. 

His eyes widen and immediately whips out his phone to shoot a text to his oldest and most trusted friend Natasha Trace.

‘Dude, I’m in the club and Y/N just walked in. What do I do??’

Natasha thankfully texts back almost immediately. Then again, maybe being a Communications Director for a major company requires her to be a good texter. ‘Wdym what do you do? Just go talk to her.’

‘You were supposed to introduce us!’ Bradley replies, eyes darting between his phone and you at the bar, conflicted.

Natasha is a mutual friend of yours, too, and when the Bracelet-gate clip went viral, she laughed in his face for a full 5 minutes before deciding to set the two of you up. But the schedule never really aligned, so he hasn’t got a chance to see you. Not even after he went to your concert with a friendship bracelet and a dream.

And now, seeing you here in the same room at the same time as him…

‘What do you want me to do, get down there and do it for you?’

‘...Can you?’

He senses the judgment even as the three dots appear on his screen. 

‘Stop being a pussy, Bradshaw. Let me Netflix and chill with my gf in peace.’

Bradley scoffs, half-annoyed and half-fond. ‘Asshole. Have fun.’

The dance floor clears up, just enough to see that you’re right there. Leaning against the bar in your dress like a dirty daydream, talking to the bartender, and he couldn’t just let you go without a word. He thought about it, and he simply couldn’t.

“Oi, where are you off to?” His teammate Martin hollers, while the others watch him make his way to the bar in determined strides.

He squeezes past patrons across this jungle of a club, hoping to God that somebody hasn’t beaten him to talk to you yet, or you haven’t ducked out completely. Oh fuck. You’re still there, though. Good. You’re still at the bar, still glimmering under the mirrorball. Just a tap on the shoulder away. You can do it, Bradshaw…

“Excuse me, I—”

You feel the hand on your shoulder just as you turn and stand up, and in a flurry of miscoordination, looks up just as the other person moves in.

In a stroke of dumb luck, Bradley feels the top of your head slamming up against his nose and he groans in pain. “Ohh!”

“Shit! Oh my God…” you gasp, reaching out to the man in front of you. He’s tall, very tall, and you can’t quite see his face with his massive hand clutching his nose. “I’m so sorry…”

“No, it’s okay. My bad…” It really doesn’t seem like it, so he lets go of his nose and smiles sheepishly. Gosh, he must’ve looked stupid right now.

But you see it differently. What you see is a dashing man in a sleek tieless navy suit and a well-groomed mustache, straight out of a Cinemascope flick, ever so handsome despite his reddened nose from the way you just accidentally headbutted him. “No, that was totally mine. Are you okay?”

Your eyes are crystal clear even in the dim light, the concern is palpable in your gaze—and rightly so. It’s just that he’d take the headbutt any day, if it means he can look at your beautiful face. “I’m… I’m swell. Y/N, right?”

There’s a shift in your gaze. First, alert—you’re assessing how much of a potential threat this person is, whether they’re gonna be weird about you— and then it relaxes. Not a threat. Then a slightest hint of mischief, like she wants to know what kind of dynamics they would have. “Have we met?”

And boy, can he.

“We haven’t, actually. But I went to your show at Wembley earlier this week. You were amazing.” He offers a handshake. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

You didn’t quite catch his name over the blaring music, although you shake his hand anyway. “Sorry?” 

He leans into your ear, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw.”

You don’t know which one makes your heart skip, the sudden close proximity, the warmth of his timbre, or the whiff of his perfume.

“Right. Nice to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You accept his handshake, hoping he doesn’t see how flustered you are in the strobing purple light.

“Likewise.” He nods with a smile. “And may I just say… you look stunning.”

“What, this old thing?” You brush down the art nouveau-inspired Balmain dress on your body. You’re just being modest, of course; you know you’re dressed to the nines. You have never been much into facial hair, but somehow that mustache suits him very well. “You don’t look so bad yourself. You remind me of a… young Robert Mitchum. Or Paul Newman— or one of those Golden Age leading men.”

His face lights up. It’s hardly the first time he received that kind of compliment, but when it came from you, it feels… different. It feels special. It makes him just a little bolder. “Yeah? Maybe after a few drinks, I’ll be quoting lines from Butch Cassidy. Or would you prefer Cat On A Hot Tin Roof?”

This piques your interest. A man of culture, it seems. But of course, you can’t be too sure. “I’m more of a Paris Blues kinda gal, I’m afraid.”

Gosh, you don’t swoon so easily and he likes you so much for that. “Makes sense.”

“How so?”

“It’s a good underrated musical movie, for the musically gifted… And Sidney Poitier was just fantastic in that.”

“Huh.” You raise your eyebrows. You honestly thought he was just spouting the famous titles. But the fact that he has likely seen this hidden gem might just mean he’s really into it. “Aren’t you full of surprises.”

He leans in to speak in your ear yet again. “If you stick with me for a bit, I might show you another surprise or two.”

The music drowns out your racing heart just barely, and the bartender places a whole set of tequila shots on the bar top, and it snaps you out of your reverie for a moment. 

“Wanna get some air?”

He seems surprised, but of course he wasn’t gonna throw away this shot. “Sure. Why not?”

You instruct the bartender to send the shots to your booth, not even spending ten seconds to ponder staying in this deafening hell hole. Not when this man looks like peace. Perhaps an undercurrent of mystery underneath, but his whole demeanor is as calm and comforting as those old-school movies you put on to fall asleep. At the same time, something about this person pulls you in, it’s almost magnetic, and you can’t help wanting to see this through.

[camoftarakas]

Gonna be super for real, here is my masterpost of why its important for me that you take advantage of your right to vote to choose Kamala Harris.

Section 1: Personal Issues

I am a transgender person. I live where i'm pretty sure it will be safe to do so for the next 4 years, but not only should i not risk it, i shouldn't be willing to send my trans family into danger, especially the young ones. Republicans are making a big point out of removing the Trans agenda from schools. what the fuck does this mean? right now the target is that teachers, counselors, school faculty who hear a child is trans will be obliged to report it to their home. this is a direct danger to the next generation. If you do not hide who you are, it may be ripped out of you. Children will feel they are better dead than being out. and adults who abuse queer kids will not be held accountable.

I am an autistic and disabled person. Donald Trump and his cronies think vaccines cause autism. this is absurdly hateful, but beyond that they call for pullbacks and regulation for vaccines. For an incredibly safe, incredibly guarded piece of protection against disease, regulation means less access to medicine. More epidemics, more sick people, shorter lives for the disabled.

Section 2: Domestic Issues

the full access to abortion and childcare must be restored. the two are forever linked, and both are essential healthcare. people in my life benefit from this, your neighbors benefit from this, human beings benefit from this.

whoever is in charge has the sole ability to appoint supreme court judges for 4 years. The court can not become further packed against us, whoever you are, because they are not shy about infringing the rights of your neighbors or your family on party lines.

the ability for people to only just get by under a Republican presidency will be gutted. tax cuts for the wealthy are not just immoral, but the government can not operate on less income. The burden comes down on those who deserve it least. Hunger, homelessness, freezing, overheating, death.

voting rights are the target of Republicans, especially for the most reliable opposition: Black and Latino Americans. this is happening now in states desperate to suppress minority voices, or to assimilate them into a regressive white culture of last century. If that isn't bad enough, voter suppression is sure to expand to any dissident population. The future is on the line.

Section 3: Global Issues

Donald Trump uses dog whistles to express israeli support. He calls democrats "Hamas", claims they are "Destroying Israel", calls jewish people delusional for supporting them. There isn't a perfect palestinian candidate. that is all but explicitly banned in politics. Vice president Harris will be clipped out of context saying that she vaguely supports Israel's right to self defense, because that is the most she can say without causing panic and confusion. If elected, Kamala Harris would be the most pro-Palestinian president ever, and it's not any amount of praise to say that. But she seeks solution, the end of Israel's control of them, the acknowledgement that what is happening there is unconscionable. MAGA has trained us to think that a vote to a candidate is a total endorsement of all their actions and word-of-mouth values, but it is the NORMAL and DECENT thing to do to demand better from the person you elect. Donald Trump is in Netanyahu's pocket, you won't get anywhere asking him not to rain terror on Palestine.

Ukraine has a right to self-governance as well. Republicans would pull support, and hold more conferences with Putin than with our allies across the world.

Republicans will refuse investment into clean energy. Trump's last presidency saw a resurgence in Coal, and ramblings about dead birds. Republican control will hold back any responses to the climate disaster another 4 years.

Section 4: Closing Thoughts

A US president can not fix the world. A US president can't even fix their own country. But god damn it don't give in to assured worsening. don't vote for third party; they're not gonna win, they're not gonna win next time, the point you want to make will fall on deaf ears; the time and place is not now or here. don't skip voting, 1/3 of americans don't vote because they don't think their voice makes a difference. vote in every category, there are important issues left to you. You may not turn your state, but you can turn a policy, or your city, or your county, or your representative, or make sure people in your district get a fair trail with a good judge, or that a good person is in charge of your schools. vote like your neighbors life depends on it; it does. vote like the world depends on it; it does. vote like it's the least you can do; it is. You have to participate in this one simple task, flawed as it may be, to not be a hypocrite when you ask for change, when you ask for progress, when you ask for justice. You can elect people who serve you, not who demand you serve them. You can choose to take a step forward, instead of standing still while you're dragged backwards with the rest of us. you can save lives, real lives! you fucking matter, every time, but please for the love of god, do the bare minimum at least this time. And after we're done, we'll go out, and ask for more, ask for better, because government is for us and they need to listen to us, forever, whoever.

[shanastoryteller]

happy halloween! can I have Hades :D

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5

Meg likes Thanatos. What's not to like? He's polite and hard working and never causes her any problems.

She's pretty sure he likes her too, but he's been awkward lately. Well, more awkward than usual, and she doesn't understand why when he could so easily solve his own problem.

Just because she and Zagreus are sleeping together again doesn't mean he's off limits. Frankly, Zagreus is easy and he loves Thanatos and if he wanted to tumble Zagreus into his rarely used bed, Meg is sure that all he would have to do is ask.

But he's not in the practice of having to ask for what he wants. Zagreus knows him so well that it's rare he has to use his words, which is really backfiring for him right now.

But all of that aside, he's the only person she can go to with this. She thinks Nyx might be on Zagreus's side and she knows Dusa is fond of him, but they have their reasons to be loyal to the house too. Maybe the rumors are nothing, or maybe they're something, and if they are she doesn't want to risk Zagreus if she doesn't have to.

She tracks down Thanatos just as he's dropping off another set of souls. He pauses when he sees her, giving her a short nod. "Megara. Do you need something?"

Meg doesn't roll her eyes at his stiffness only because giving him a reason to be defensive won't help her here. "Have you heard the rumors about Zagreus?"

He blinks at her.

Uhg. He's such a workaholic. "There's talk of two courts within one house. Of Zagreus wielding a power that's not borrowed."

Thanatos's gaze sharpens. "That's impossible. All that exists in the underworld falls under Hades's purview."

Impossible. Everyone keeps saying that, as if their queen isn't back due to the impossible, as if Zagreus hasn't fought his father and won enough times that she's stopped bothering to keep track.

Thanatos must be thinking along similar lines, because he says, "Zagreus doesn't want to be in charge of anything." He could challenge his father for the throne, and he'd win it, but he hasn't. Thanatos has a point. "He hates the bureaucracy of it all. And besides," he hesitates, then eventually says, "his skill may have improved, but he doesn't have much power himself. It's all thanks to the gods' boons."

"Do you really believe that?" she asks. There are plenty of spirits that are blessed by the gods even in death, yet she doubts Theseus would last even a minute against Hades.

Zagreus had never been especially powerful before, not beyond the gifts all immortals are granted, but - he's different, now.

Thanatos shrugs and her avoids her gaze.

She doesn't press, just sighs and says, "Keep an ear and eye out, yeah? Maybe it's just gossip. But if Zagreus is getting himself into trouble, it's better we find out about before anyone else does."

"I thought you didn't like him," he says then his pale face drains of even more color.

Anyone else she'd snap their neck, but this is Thanatos. "Liking him was never the problem. He's very likable."

"I know," Thanatos says, and that's apparently all the mortification he can stand, because he's gone in the next second.

Meg hopes he can get to the bottom of this, if there's even anything to find.

[azriel-scum]

It wasn’t supposed to be this way - Chapter 1

My first ACOTAR fanfic! 

Original character with eventual inner circle interactions

Most recent update: 1/22/23

Warnings for the series: domestic abuse 

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

Elara Haverstrom was a highly respected member of the night court. Officially, her title was the Governess of Velaris; a keeper of sorts, her main responsibilities were overseeing the city of starlight and being the last line of defense for the sacred city. Warrior in nature and Illyrian trained, there were very few enemies who would even fathom the thought of breaching the borders with her at the helm. 

Despite tales of her on the battlefield, of what she was willing and capable of doing, the people of Velaris never feared her; fondly giving her the nickname Lady Starlight. Elara was far too humble to ever accept the title, knowing if anyone was to be called Lady Starlight, it would be the high lady of the court herself. 

Elara never relished in her abilities to cut enemies limb from limb. In her heart she was sensitive, caring, and protective, but she’d stop at nothing to defend her people, even if it meant doing things that made her sick to her stomach and sent her spiraling into a storm of questions about her own existence and morals. 

While she wouldn’t consider herself part of the inner circle, she was well acquainted and truly could not imagine working with anyone else. She directly reported to Feyre and Rhysand, but found herself frequently seeking consult from the rest of the group. 

As governess over the city, she had nearly an entire wing of the house of wind to herself, although she rarely chose to take up residence there. she lived with her partner in an apartment near the river; the rest of her family, her mother and siblings lived in a townhouse in the heart of the city. Her official office and work space was there as well, but she much more preferred to be out on the streets when possible, conversing with her people and seeing the state of the city firsthand. 

Her mother was somewhat of a legend among Illyrian females. Laurel Haverstrom had three children and upon the birth of her youngest son, Endor, she escaped out of the Illyrian camps, fleeing the oppressive laws against females and her own husband’s abuse and cruelty. Upon their arrival in Velaris, Rhysand had welcomed them in, well aware of what the family had suffered at the hands of Elara’s father. Her and her younger siblings, Elvira and Endor, had trained their entire childhood, Laurel trying her best to stamp out the hopelessness and fear they had learned in their home. 

Elvira and especially Endor were too young to have truly been affected by their father’s tyranny. Remnants of what he had done stuck around in their brains, but they were much better adjusted than Elara ever hoped to be. After hundreds of years she had surely expected to be able to leave the past in the past, but she feared there was something truly wrong with the very make up of her body, of her mind. She had been forever altered by the horrors she saw in the Illyrian camps and she was still dealing with the consequences of it to this day. 

Laurel Haverstrom, while she had once been as close to immortal as she possibly could be, had been given a death sentence. She was slowly dying and had been for the last 100 years. While her family had never been able to uncover the specifics of their mother’s mysterious illness, they had suspicions their father was involved. The best Madja had been able to ascertain was that there was a poison flowing through Laurel’s veins with no known cure and while it was working through her body slowly, her siblings felt the weight of passing time everyday, fearing they had already borrowed too much. 

And then there was Merikh. Elara’s partner. They were not married nor mated and to be quite honest she really wasn’t sure what they were or what they were doing. She had once been in love and perhaps he had been too, but they had spiraled into something that was cruel, twisted, and ugly. 

Merikh had once been a fierce protector of her siblings and a gentle caretaker for her mother, but resentment and restlessness had filled his brain and fueled his decisions. Elara had sought counsel from Cassian and Rhysand to see if there had been a role for Merikh, something to release the tension and untempered energy. Cassian had appointed him as an emissary to the Illyrian camps. It was a job very few people wanted to do and it allowed Cassian to focus his efforts elsewhere. On the bad nights, Elara feared that sending her partner into the Illyrian camps where he was exposed to their ideas and practices regarding females might one day be her downfall. 

Tonight could definitely be considered as one of those bad nights. After returning from a long day of walking through the north and eastern sections of the city, Elara unknowingly returned home to a war zone. As she walked through the door of their apartment, all she wanted to do was eat dinner, take a warm bath, avoid Merikh as much as possible, and lay in her bed. 

Merikh clearly had other plans. 

“Have you thought at all about what to do with your mother?” He asked it casually, but there was an edge to his voice. One that meant he knew he was testing his partner, that he knew he would be starting a fight. 

He was asking as if she was a burden, a task to be dealt with, an inconvenience to be handled. 

This was a recurring argument between the two of them and had sparked many a fight in the past. Merikh wanted to send her mother to an elderly home. A place where they would have no ideas how to handle her mother’s illness, who had no history or context of the poison flowing through her veins, where she would be lonely and isolated, away from her family. He thought that Elara was spending too much money to have nurses with her mother 24/7 and resented the amount of time she spent at the townhouse with her and her siblings. The first time he had broached the topic, she had refused outright. Merikh hadn’t appreciated being told no with such finality and authority. The fallout from that fight had been devastating to Elara, the first time he had truly been violent with her. 

Before responding, Elara ran through her mental checklist; steeling her mental shields, checking her discipline and self control, relaxing the feelings of rage that rushed through her veins. She would not feed into his clear desire to have a fight this evening. She would eat dinner, ensure Merikh left the house to go do whatever it was he did around Velaris at night and she could have some sense of peace and go to bed without incident. 

She took a deep breath and responded “My mother is staying at the townhouse, where Madja can visit her easily and where she is comfortable and close to her family.” 

“I can’t imagine having children and then expecting them to serve at your every beck and call.” he had responded with venom in his voice.

Elara stopped in her tracks. Her eyes glazed over, her hearing went out. All she saw was red. All she heard was rage. 

“My mother gave us a life of freedom and happiness. My mother gave me everything I have. Might I remind you that neither of us would have anything if it weren’t for her?” 

In a second, she was slammed against the wall. His hands were around her neck, his hot breath in her face.

“I don’t know where the fuck you get off speaking to me like that, but you’re lucky your leash is as long as it is. You need to watch yourself Elara.”

Before she had the chance to react or respond, he had dropped her from the chokehold and watched her crumple to the ground. Gasping for breath. He stood there for a beat, considering her. In a flash, he had pulled out his knife and savagely swiped at her crumpled form. The slashes were clumsy and haphazard, but hit their mark all the same. 

Blood flowed out of her wings and pool around her. She was gasping for air as hot tears painfully spilled down her face. It was the most devastatingly pathetic situation she had ever found herself in. A brief ghost of regret flashed across Merikh’s face. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone and so was he.

There was no way to tell how long she had been laying on the floor. A few moments or a few hours she had no idea. Her head was spinning, she was dizzy and nauseous. Confusion swirled through her brain and muddled her thoughts. She tried to stand but any movement of her muscles, of her wings especially, resulted in a searing pain. Eventually, she drug herself to their shared bed and laid on her stomach, praying to the mother that Merikh would stay away for the night. 

Could she have tried speaking through her mind to Feyre or Rhysand? Probably. Could she have fought back against Merikh? Absolutely. He had less than half the training and discipline that Elara possessed. Could she have drug herself down the hall to the neighbors? Less likely but she might would’ve managed. But she didn’t do any of that and couldn’t even pinpoint the reason why. 

The hours after nightfall came and went. Midnight, one, two, three in the morning. As the clock neared four, Elara convinced herself she would leave. She would take all of her stuff to the house of wind. She would seek out Feyre and Rhysand and tell them what happened. She would make things right. Start to really live and be free, but by the time the sun rose, she had talked herself out of it and couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. 

As the sun rose, she finally got out of bed, careful to avoid grazing her wings.High fae healed quickly, but there was something about being hurt by someone you once loved, someone you had once committed your life to, that severely slowed the healing. As if the wrongness of it lingered in her bones; the fabric of the world had been wrinkled and altered. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

Normally, she’d fly up to the training rings to start her morning, but even if she could get over the insurmountable task of using her wings to get up there, she’d never survive a round of training in this state. Instead, she used her time to try and mask her injuries and emotions the best she could. Delicately, she dressed herself in casual clothes. A set of blue flowing pants and a loose white shirt. Her original plan was to walk the streets of the city, making her usual rounds, but the thought of anyone accidentally seeing her bruises or tense movements made her sick. A moment of conflict went back and forth through her brain. If she couldn’t fly, she couldn’t get to the house of wind without help, but she was clearly in no state to see her people around the city today. 

The only option was to take the day off - which honestly made her equally as sick. She could spend the day with her mother and siblings in the heart of the city; they were much less aware of what she did on a daily basis and could easily play off her injuries as a result of training or a mission she had been asked to go on. 

Wrenching open the defenses around her mind, Elara opened just a sliver of space to call out into the void. 

Good morning high lady

After just a moment a response shot down into her mind. 

Good morning Elara Starlight, is everything okay?

Elara’s heart clenched at the sweetness and concern in her voice, at the endearing nickname she used. But she quickly stifled that bit of emotion, lest Feyre sense her fragility. 

Everything’s alright but I wanted to let you know I’m taking the day off. I need to speak with my mother’s nurses and check in to make sure everything’s going okay. I’ll be available for emergencies though if anything comes up. 

With no hesitation Feyre shot a response into her mind. 

Finally, the governess takes a well deserved day of time off. Elara can sense Feyre’s smile and genuine care. Take the day and don’t worry about us. Rhys and I send Laurel our best wishes 

Thank you. She hoped Feyre could sense your genuine gratitude. 

And with that, she was off. Normally she would’ve just flown to her family’s townhouse, but that just wasn’t an option. Walking would have to do. 

As she walked through the city, taking less travelled paths to run into as few people as possible, two things became abundantly clear. 

1. Merikh was not the love of her life and everything about them had been destined to fail - even from the beginning. At some level she had always known this, but what she hadn’t realized was that her heart was never truly open for anyone, least all of all someone as revolting as Merikh. His cruelty and twisted ugliness had made her forget the true loves of her life. This city, the place that had given her true purpose in life, her family, most of all her siblings, and the people she was sworn to serve and protect. Her heart belonged wholeheartedly to all these things and whoever she found one day to love and settle down with had to be just as taken with those things as she was. 

2. She had to leave. She wasn’t exactly sure how or what the aftermath would look like, but things could not go on this way. 

As she winded through the city toward the townhouse her mind created a spiraling of thoughts that wound deeper and deeper into her soul. Each thought was more painful than the next, but she needed the pain. She needed the sharp prick of realization, the shock of knowing undoubtedly she had to act. Had to stand up and do something. With each painful thought she neared closer to the reality of leaving him and with each painful step she neared closer to her mother’s house. 

[alynnl]

A line I read in one of the Sherlock short stories ("My friend never stood on the dock") and my recent fixation on the Ace Attorney series led to me asking one question.

"What if Sherlock Holmes did go on trial, being accused of murder?"

The short story title would refer to the courthouse (maybe The Old Bailey, referenced in The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles.)

Immediately following his arrest, Holmes sends a message to Watson. In the note, he tells Watson not to get sentimental and visit him in jail that night, but instead to investigate the scene of the crime, and see what he can deduce from it. Showing great trust in his friend, Watson does just that and takes very detailed notes on his findings.

"There was never a greater test of my own powers of observation."

And because of Holmes's status as a sort of celebrity, he will have a closed trial, with only members of the judiciary and key people on the case attending. This is to prevent the trial from becoming a media circus, and ensure the verdict will be reached by evidence and testimony rather than public opinion.

Godfrey Norton, who is now Irene Adler's husband, is serving as Holmes's defense counsel. Irene herself is attending the trial, watching from the gallery. (This is the final way Irene outsmarted Holmes in A Scandal in Bohemia - everyone believed Norton was a prosecutor working on her behalf, when he was actually a public defender.)

The opposing counsel is Charles Culverton-Smith, a prosecutor who is on track to become Director of Public Prosecutions. There’s a possibility that he took the case to add to his reputation (but that’s just speculation on Watson and Norton’s part.)

Watson tells Holmes of this theory when they speak in the defendant's lobby just before the trial, but Holmes is skeptical.

"If Culverton-Smith truly wanted to bolster his reputation, he would insist on a public trial where he could show his legal prowess to a larger audience. There is something else at play here, something far more sinister."

The trial begins. Both Norton and Culverton-Smith give their legal arguments, supporting their stances with evidence and witness testimony.

Watson is the final witness to speak in the trial. He describes his findings at the crime scene, and tries to use factual language (as Holmes remarked to him before, when talking about his writings.) Everyone in the courtroom (including the judge and the prosecution) believe Watson's observations to be so important, that they agree to call for a thirty minute recess. During the pause in proceedings, Lestrade and other policemen to look over the crime scene one more time alongside Watson to confirm what he said was true.

Sure enough, Watson's deductions prove that Sherlock Holmes couldn't have been the killer. When court is back in session, Lestrade gives his report. Based on the new information, the judge hands down a verdict of "not guilty" to Sherlock Holmes.

There is little time to celebrate, as Holmes immediately whisks Watson away to the streets of London. He insists they make haste the nearest carriage, because "There's still time to catch the true mastermind behind this devious plot!"

Lestrade picks up on Holmes's pursuit and decides to lead his own forces to block one of the main exits to London.

Meanwhile, Holmes and Watson enter a high speed chase against the true culprit, who's been behind at least two other incidents of framing people for murders he committed.

At the end of the chase, the criminal is surrounded by Lestrade and his police force on one side, along with Holmes and Watson (who is armed with his revolver) on the other side. He finally surrenders and gives himself up, at last being taken into custody.

Watson is astonished at this turn of events. "My dear Holmes, you've done it again! I'm speechless!"

"Indeed I have, but I insist you don't undersell your role in this, dear Watson. This case would have a much darker conclusion without your thoughtful analysis. I trust that you will reflect that in your writings, if there is ever a time you will be permitted to release the details to the public."

Charles Culverton-Smith catches up with Holmes and Watson. He didn't get a chance to speak with them after the trial, but wanted them to know that he harbored no ill will towards Holmes. He was simply doing his job as a man who practices law, and couldn't imagine leaving the trial to anyone else. Because everyone deserves a fair trial, and many other lawyers are biased either for or against Holmes, depending on how his actions affected their cases.

Holmes comments that Culverton-Smith will make a fine Director of Public Prosecutions when the time comes, since his integrity speaks for itself.

"If I am ever on the dock in the future, I would trust your judgment."

Watson insists Holmes not talk about "the next time in court" because he doesn't want there to be a "next time."

Holmes agrees to move on from the subject. He points out there is still ample time for breakfast and sets off to find the nearest place that will serve Watson's favorite dishes. "My treat, naturally."

Watson concludes the story mentioning that five years have passed since the first and only trial of his friend, Sherlock Holmes. The events in the closed courtroom have been made public, to teach students of law how to conduct a fair trial of a famous (or infamous) client.

[watchingyoufromthestars]

Having so many thoughts about the new episode, take my kiddads chess analogy:

Terry is Queen, Lark is King, Grant is Knight, Sparrow is Bishop, Nicky is Rook

(spoilers for ep45 in Terry’s section)

Terry: Queen

Sure, the King is the leader, but the Queen is the one with the most power on the board.

Especially given the Betrayal memory from Terry in ep45, he was clearly the Idea Guy as he once said he’d be back when all the kiddads were getting driving lessons.

Honestly I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots sooner on Terry being the one to shoot Nicky’s arm off. “What do you do when your arm itches: you cut it off” was a line from HIM.

The Queen is the only piece that can jump over obstacles and capture the Rook.

With Nicky as our Rook, Terry shot past the obstacle of Nicky and blew his arm off.

When you lose your queen, you lose the power of your fight. You can still win, but losing the Queen takes the sting out of your punch.

Things started to go way more downhill for the kiddads when Granted sniped him. Just insert all the kiddad scenes from ep37/38 here and how the teens reacted to Terry’s death in regards to Grant, Lark, and Sparrow.

Lark: King

The King is the Will of the board. If you lose your Will to accomplish what the board represents, it’s game over. The board only exists because the King does.

Lark is the Beginning of it all. Sure, the Lord of Chaos is a duo unit, but Lark wielded the knife that unlocked the horrors he continues to fight against 25 years later. The Doodler was released because Lark followed through on the prophecy.

It made sense to think Lark was fully in charge and leading the fight, but I’m now seeing him as a figurehead rather than high power. He doesn’t have the patience or calm emotions enough to be the head of operations.

Grant: Knight

Fun Fact! This piece is called a “Queen Killer”.

I won’t lie, that’s the main and only reason I assigned him Knight lol

Sparrow: Bishop

The Bishop represents the church the royal courts revered and the religion they upheld.

Out of any of them, Sparrow is definitely the most spiritual, which is what the Bishop represents.

The Bishop stands close to the King and Queen. The church representative acted as advisory to the King in all political activities.

Ignoring the Queen, Sparrow is for better or worse attached to Lark at the hip, and Lark to him.

Nicky: Rook

The Rook is the castle. The walls. The protector of the city. Castles are used to defend the country and royals from invaders and revolts.

Nicky is the Prince of Hell. He’s also fiercely devoted to his people, the last line of defense against the other kiddads from destroying Hell with another swap.

The Rook is brute force.

Anthony: So in terms of things that Nicky can do that are nonviolent, he can't.

Freddie: He’s built to kill!

This was started from making a chess analogy between Terry and Lark but I figured I should assign the other three some pieces as well and Nicky’s worked so well?? Anyways this episode did something to me. What that was I don’t know but I’ve felt so many emotions about literally every character.

[trlvsn]

ok id didn't have any coherent thought either just. jfa is such a game yknow. so many complicated emotions just underneath the surface... and they're so strong too. they control the flow of the narrative even. i'm gonna try my best to put some of phoenix and franziska into words (and fail miserably)

after edgeworth chose death... they were both "betrayed" by him (recall the poisoning and betrayal line). they're just... they're both in court to prove a point to themself. they're both trying to get closure.

and they very clearly both look down on each other. phoenix is just very aggressive in jfa in general... but something that makes me feel some way is the way they both criticize each other for running from their past

phoenix thinks she's running from the fact that her father is dead and franziska thinks he's running from edgeworth's "death" (and they're not wrong... although one is more obvious than the other)

i think it boils down to what point they're trying to prove to themself... and idk how much this goes into speculation territory cuz i'm not exactly coherent rn sorry

with franziska i'm pretty sure she's trying to convince herself that she's worthy of being a von karma/a prosecutor by being perfect aka winning against phoenix wright. the ending of jfa is evidence

with phoenix though... a running theme of jfa is suspicion. in the first case phoenix is so skeptical about maggey (yeah he's lost his memories but still) and in the second one yeah he will always defend maya, but mia had to give him that final puch to believe in her fully. big top is just... idk how to interpret that cuz i didnt trust anyone in that case while playing it. farewell my turnabout? speaks for itself

and maya's case being the first one he took on after edgeworth choose death (im pretty sure) even the gap between aa1-4 and aa1-5 says a lot

what im saying is... i think he was trying to prove to himself that there was a point in being a defence attorney even though the guy he became a defense attorney for was dead. and that the point was to "defend those who had no one on their side/innocent people" like maya. having said that... the last case suddenly looks kinda different

a lot of people tend to ignore that a significant part of his crisis in the last case was him having to defend someone guilty. he WAS having a crisis on what the point of being a defense attorney was (edgeworth wasnt just ignoring the main issue he was addressing another one) cuz he'd spent the first half of the game telling himself it was something that was crumbling down around him

i think if he had been in franziska's place in jfa, by which i mean that if he had lost those two cases against her, he would have lost faith in himself as a defense attorney like she did. which is what i mean. theyre so similar, it's just that one of them won and the other one lost

also jfa is a good game

(i know this is long but i would love to hear your thoughts even if theyre really just in general. i need to organise my brain.)

anon i'm so sorry it took me this long to answer you asks. in my defense i was reading umineko and couldn't think about any characters from outside that universe

but yeah, i still very much agree with a lot of points?? phoenix and franziska aren't really obvious mirrors of each other like edgeworth and gant or franziska and adrian but they do still share some similarities and end up teaching each other huge lessons. I really need to talk about the significance of phoenix giving edgeworth the whip by the end of aa2-4 in a separate post, but other than that, some things i can point out are:

- anger as a coping mechanism and a method to keep going, in both cases directed outward when in fact they are more angry at themselves

- expanding on the point you made about phoenix trying to understand how to be a defense attorney and franziska finding her way as a prosecutor - edgeworth coming back does end up teaching a lesson to both of them

- they both have a very... wrong understanding of each other. phoenix immediately assumes franziska is there to get revenge for manfred and franziska villianizes phoenix for the completely wrong thing too

- also they kind of get angry at each other as a substitute for getting angry at edgeworth?? phoenix loooves to win against the prideful von karma child and franziska loves to whip the man who's the reason her father is in prison. you know

- ugh it's mainly about the whip and i don't want to talk about the whip without relaying aa2-4 first. no one say anything about the whip i will say it myself later pls

also the dynamic they have in aa3 is like balm for my soul. top ten things that heal you

[avatarmerida]

The Messenger

Mini sequel to this. Basically a slight AU where Hunter doesn’t meet Willow by joining the flyer derby team but still falls very hard. Early Huntlow vibes.

———

Hunter kept his promise to interrogate Luz the next day, ambushing her the moment she entered the edge of the market. She wandered into a rope trap he had carefully planted, lifting her up on to the roof where he waited and quickly wrapped another rope around her to ensure he got the answers he sought.

“I already told you I don’t know anything about what Lillith said!” Luz exclaimed, struggling to break free as Hunter emerged from his hiding spot in the shadows. “What do you want, dude?”

“Hey now, I’m not here to cause any trouble! I just wanna talk!”

“Really?” Luz said skeptical. “Talk about what?”

“Well gee, I dunno...Hm, how’s your friend? The one with the braids? The Captain?” Hunter asked as though he had just stumbled upon the topic randomly and her name had slipped his mind and wasn’t replaying over and over in his head.

“Do you mean Willow?”

“Oh, yes that’s the one,” said Hunter, clearing his throat as though he was making casual conversation and hadn’t just ambushed her. “How is she?”

“She’s... good?” Luz replied, confused and cautious. This definitely wasn’t the line of questioning she was expecting.

“Has she... asked about me?” Hunter asked somewhat quietly.

“Did you kidnap me just to ask me about Willow?”

“No!” said Hunter far too defensively for that to be true. “It’s my job to... stay informed on the well being and activity of all citizens.”

“You never ask me what I’m doing.”

“Well that’s because I already know what you’re doing you’re causing trouble and giving me a headache,” said Hunter quickly before changing the subject returned him to a calmer demeanor. “Now, back to Willow... is she seeing anyone?”

“Why?” asked Luz with a dopey grin.

Hunter blushed wildly. “I already told you! Not that it’s any of your business anyway, but it’s not like that! She just seems like a good candidate for the Emperor’s Coven and so the Emperor would want me to keep tabs on her. To make sure she’s... eligible.”

“Oh, she’s eligible alright,” laughed Luz. “You trying to recruit her to be Mrs. Golden Guard?”

“You’re wasting my time,” said Hunter, walking away in a huff. “I don’t know why I thought you could take this seriously!”

“Hey! Wait! Aren’t you gonna untie me?”

“If I do...” he said turning around and folding his hands as he picked the words. “Can you give her something... from me?”

“Ooooh is it a love note?”

“What? No! Of course not! Why would I... it’s confidential! Can you deliver it or not?”

“Well, first I gotta make sure you’re not sending my friend something dangerous or explosive or tacky.”

“It’s nothing like that,” said Hunter, averting his eyes to the ground where the bag that contained the gift rested. “It’s just something that... reminded me of her.”

“Something you want to remind her of you I bet,” laughed Luz. “Do you court all recruits so thoroughly?”

“Oh, whatever!” scoffed Hunter walking away again.

“Heeeey!” Luz called back, attempting to hop forward but her confined arms made any movement difficult and she fell over. “Oof! C’mon dude, I’m only teasing! Willow is great, it makes sense you’d have a crush on her!”

“I don’t want to crush her! I want to... express my respect for her.” Hunter insisted, getting more upset for reason he did not understand.

“Yeah, I know,” said Luz as she adjusted herself to sit up to face him. “I get it, believe me; I’ve been there before myself! I bet you’re feeling sweaty and dizzy when you think about her right?”

“My vitals are none of your business!”

“So that’s a yes,” chuckled Luz. “Look dude, I don’t know Willow’s type exactly and considering my last crush did literally try to crush me, I can’t advise against... whatever this turns out to be. But I will say that if you wanna know more about Willow the best person to ask is probably Willow.”

“I just didn’t want to impose or inconvenience her.”

“Oh, but you have no issue inconveniencing me?”

“Of course not,” said Hunter simply. “But Willow is a captain, she has responsibilities, things to accomplish, and I don’t want to interrupt her plans just because I-.”

“Because you...?” prompted Luz.

“...because I admire her.” inished Hunter.

“Hmm, now that you mention it she did ask about you,” said Luz slyly, noticing the uncharacteristically soft look on his face.

“Really? What did she say?” Hunter inquired eagerly before adjusting his tone back to his idea of aloof. “I mean... oh? What did she say?”

“Ask her yourself.”

“I don’t know,” said Hunter, attempting to conceal his insecurity as he started to pace. “I wouldn’t know how to approach her. I mean it could be very... intimidating.”

“Have you seen her play flyer derby? I don’t think you have to worry about intimidating her.”

“I wasn’t talking about me intimidating her,” he admitted bashfully.

“Woah, you’re really serious about this, huh?” Luz marveled to which Hunter meekly nodded. “Well, if you want Willow to like you I think a step in the right direction would be to stop kidnapping her friends.”

“Oh really? She really said that?” Hunter deadpanned.

“If I may offer some sage advice from the human realm,” said Luz. “If you wanna be her lover, you gotta get with her friends. That’ll make it last forever, because friendship never ends.”

Hunter looked at her in disbelief.

“Please untie me, my wrists are starting to hurt” She pleased quietly, wincing.

“Ugh, fine,” Hunter begrudgingly bent down to undo his knots. “But this isn’t because of Willow, this is totally unrelatedly I just have... somewhere else to be.”

“Hmm I wonder where that could be.”

———

Luz got her answer later that day as she walked by the flyer derby field to walk Willow home after practice. She ran up to greet her friend with a big hug when something in the distance caught her attention.

“Oh Willow,” Luz sang in a low voice. “I think someone’s here to see you.”

Willow turned to see who else but the Golden Guard standing at the edge of the field, looking authoritative as ever but extremely out of place. Willow slung her bag over her shoulder as she walked over to him. He was grateful that as long he wore his mask she couldn’t see his nervous expression and surely seemed totally cool and put together.

“Hey,” she said with a small wave. “Can I help you?”

“A special delivery,” he said, disguising his voice the best he could as he held out a small potted plant to her face, his arm perfectly outstretched to create distance between them.

“Oh, thanks,” said Willow, carefully taking the pot from him, the flower small but a vibrant yellow. “Its so cute; who is it from?”

“Hunter.”

“Hunter?”

“Ya know uh the guy who was here the other day,” stuttered the Golden Guard. “He uh, wanted to congratulate you on your victory.”

“Oh, well that’s very sweet of him,” said Willow, admiring the plant. “Can you tell him thank you for me?”

“Of course ma’am,” the Golden Guard replied with a bow. “It would be my pleasure.”

He stood there for a moment in silence, as thought waiting for something else to happen.

“Was there anything el-.”

“He had a message for you!”

“Oh, okay what is it?”

He took a deep breath before responding. “Hi.”

“Hi?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, well can you tell him ‘hi’ from me too?”

“Affirmative,” he responded with a nod. “Is there uh, anything else you wish to tell him?”

“Well I dunno, is there anything else he wants to hear?”

“He uh... well I can ask him and then get back to you with that information,” said the Golden Guard. “After I touch base. Where uh would be the best place to find you?”

“Oh, well here I guess,” replied Willow. “But isn’t the Golden Guard a little too busy to be acting as a messenger?”

“Oh, uh it’s no trouble really,” he insisted.

“Okay, well l just in case, how about I give you my penstagram info to give to him,” said Willow as she crouched down to get a piece of paper out of her bag. “In case he wants to talk to me himself.”

“I will be sure to pass that on, of course,” he said taking the paper from her with gusto. “I ... just don’t know if he has an account so would it be okay if I-?”

“-tell him we’ve got a game next week,” said Willow with a smile. “If he wants to come, I’d love to see him again.”

“Right! Yes! Of course!” Hunter beamed beneath his mask. “I will tell him that! And also hi! Okay. Well, nice meeting you civilian!”

“Nice meeting you-.” Before Willow could finish her farewell, the Golden Guard had teleported away, worried that if he stayed a moment longer he would ruin his carefully crafted moment.

“Wow, he got you a flower, huh?” noticed Luz as she stood beside her as they watched Hunter run the rest the way, unaware they could still see him.

“Yeah,” sighed Willow as she admired her gift. “Does Hunter not know I can tell he’s the Golden Guard or-?”

“I think his plan is to use the Golden Guard to ask you what you think about Hunter because I wouldn’t tell him.”

“Oh,” said Willow, admiring the Golden flower in her hands and it’s resemblance to its originator. A faint touch of pink graced the tips of her ears as she smiled. “He asked about me?”

[tokk-idokki]

“ACE!” A Haikyuu Fan Comic + One-Shot

“You got this, Tadashi. Just serve the ball…” Karasuno’s number twelve muttered to himself grimly, bouncing the ball off the ground with a powerful snap of his wrist.

Tadashi Yamaguchi had never been confident when it came to serving, or much of anything for that matter. Instead he took to dawdling on the sidelines, fine with floating along like an empty bobbin on the shoreline; though recently, that had completely changed.

Since joining Karasuno, the mighty flock of crows, Tadashi had found a new drive, a new power that brimmed just below the surface. I mean, with so many talented and constantly evolving players, who wouldn’t feel outmatched?

He took the ball in his hands with a deep breath, running his palms over the gently cooled surface. The cold bit off the sting that tainted his hands, soothing the pain of spiking.

Here goes nothing.

Tadashi’s sneakers squealed against the ground as he took off, his muscles rippling as he sprang into action. The world blurred around him as his eyes locked onto the ball, performing a dance only he knew how to finish.

A loud grunt exerted itself from deep within Tadashi’s lungs, forced out of his body as he snapped into a powerful hit; his hand meeting the ball with vicious intent.

‘WHAM!!’

The ball screeched into action, pulsating with power before tearing off into the court on a rampage. Its blurred form flew straight for the libero’s arms, already poised and locked for the pass, but at the last second it veered harshly to the right, whizzing past the defense. The teenager’s hair whipped around his face in cascades as it got caught in the crosshairs of such a powerful serve, the ball slamming so ferociously into the oaken floor that it seemed to flatten out for a brief moment.

At that point all seemed quiet. Tadashi wasn’t sure if it was his nerves blocking out his hearing or if the world had just gone silent, but his ears quickly caught a familiar sound an eternity later. The harsh crinkling of fabric startled his mind from anxiety, his eyes snapping to the line judge.

“IT’S IN!!” An enthusiastic voice cheered behind him, the tone practically leaping with joy. Sure enough, the judge’s bright red flag pointed straight down, signaling with its poise the brilliant news.

“It- It’s in!!!” Tadashi repeated, his green eyes blazing with the fiery glint of excitement. He turned around, fists pumping while the backtrack of the ref’s whistle pierced the air.

“It’s in!!” He declared once more, a triumphant streak lining his voice. This time he was met with the roar of the crowd, a myriad of cheers mingling in his ears.

Pure joy coursed through Tadashi’s very veins, sending his heart into a stuttering overdrive as he beamed uncontrollably.

“Oof!” Number twelve let out a weak grunt as a sudden slap sent dull shivers of pain through his back. Whipping around on his heels, Tadashi came face to face with Kei Tsukishima… or rather face to shoulders. Immediately, Tadashi’s angry look melted off his sharp features.

“Hey, uhm…” Kei’s deep voice rumbled lowly as he clasped the back of his neck awkwardly. His harsh, yellow eyes wafted towards the sidelines for a moment before he let out a big sigh. “nice serve.”

Now Tadashi might’ve entertained frustration if he received such a weak compliment from anyone else, but that was just the point. This was not just anyone else, it was Kei. The stoic giant with towering height and sandy, short hair that swept his brow, who never EVER showed even a drop of excitement.

A trembling frown tugged at the corners of Tadashi’s lips before cracking into a massive grin.

Yeah, this really was an ace after all.

[mariacallous]

Fears over the death of privacy in the United States are turning some of Washington’s most pronounced enemies into the strangest of bedfellows. Lawmakers usually thought incapable of reconciling even the smallest of differences are finding rare common ground over a shared mistrust of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and a mutual disdain for domestic spying.

At a committee hearing Wednesday, US Representative Zoe Lofgren of California called out the FBI's director, Christopher Wray, over a disclosure he’d reluctantly made in March: Not long ago, he said, the FBI had circumvented the need to obtain search warrants by buying commercial data that revealed the whereabouts of an unknown number of Americans. Buying this data, rather than compelling its disclosure, allowed the FBI to forgo asking a judge’s permission—a requirement as of 2018, thanks to the Supreme Court decision Carpenter v. United States.

Disturbed by this revelation, Lofgren—a 14-term Democrat and leader of past efforts to curb government surveillance on US soil—used the hearing to take a deeper interest in Wray’s claim that the data was originally collected for advertising purposes. Wray showed resistance to revealing anything new, saying only that the deal was legal and that his staff would follow up with Lofgren; that way, he added, “I don’t leave something important out.”

With limited time, Lofgren moved on to other concerns. But as her time expired she ended with a warning: “We’ll be looking into those warrant requirements later.” Jim Jordan, the committee's Republican chair, chimed in as Lofrgen’s microphone went dead. “We sure will,” he said. “We sure will.”

Since last year's raid on ex-president Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago residence, the FBI has been persona non grata in most conservative circles. Widely despised on the right, the bureau is a boogeyman featured in many right-wing conspiracy theories, largely designed to explain away Trump’s election defeat and the role of his supporters in the insurrection that followed. Many of the questions that top Republicans put to Wray on Wednesday were seemingly designed to lend credence to these theories. A few members, like Matt Gaetz of Florida, dove deep into InfoWars-like waters.

One line of questioning was plainly meant to implicate the FBI in helping to plant a bomb outside of a Democratic Party building on the day of the insurrection. Unfortunately, it’s the bureau’s own troubled history that makes it so difficult to defend against such claims.

It fell mostly on Democrats like Lofgren to point out the irony in labeling an organization known for its Christian conservative leanings of being secretly chock-full of anarchists. Congressman Ken Buck of Colorado noted that Wray’s Wikipedia page lists him as a registered Republican. “I hope," he said, "you don’t change your party affiliation after this hearing is over.”

One of the farthest-right members in the House, Gaetz took his turn questioning Wray immediately after Lofgren. His first words were in her defense. “The American people need to understand what just happened,” he railed. “My Democratic colleague just asked the director of the FBI whether or not they are buying information about our fellow Americans, and the answer is, ‘Well, we’ll just have to get back to you.’”

In an exchange overheard by an Associated Press reporter present for the hearing, Gaetz also heaped praise on another political rival moments after she, too, laid into the director. (“That was terrific," he reportedly said.)

Congresswoman Pramila Jayapal of Washington had dedicated much of her time to drawing attention to a report declassified last month by Avril Haines, the director of national intelligence and America’s “top spy.” The report states that the purchasing of personal information typically protected under the US constitution—GPS data pulled largely from cell phones, in particular—is a widespread practice throughout the intelligence community (of which, notably, the FBI is a member).

The report deems the data being actively collected by the US government to be both “sensitive and intimate.” In the wrong hands, a group of former spies turned advisers to Haines wrote, Americans would be vulnerable to serious crimes like harassment, identity theft, and blackmail. Intelligence agencies collect this data, nevertheless, the report states, using a legal theory that paying for it removes any need to obtain a search warrant.

Privacy experts at digital rights groups, including Demand Progress and the American Civil Liberties Union, consider this practice a legal loophole at odds with the US Constitution's goal of protecting against unlawful searches and seizures. Many lawmakers, including Jayapal and Lofgren, feel similarly.

Wray went on to explain that his story had not changed since he first disclosed the purchases in March and that the FBI was not actively purchasing location data at this moment. It is unclear what exactly became of the data it did purchase or how it was used, if at all. The FBI has said the data was collected by private companies for advertising purposes and that it was acquired by the government for a vague “pilot project.” An FBI spokesperson did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

The protection of location and web browsing data were not the only concern raised by lawmakers Wednesday. Republican Thomas Massie would also pepper Wray with questions about another FBI request for “gun purchase records” reportedly issued to a major US bank. The records, Massie claimed, had “no geographical boundaries,” meaning the request was likely not limited to a particular area, city, or state.

Wray resisted the questions, as he had for most of the hearing. “What I do know,” the director said, “is that a number of business community partners all the time—including financial institutions–share information with us about possible criminal activity.” Massie then asked Wray to clarify whether the bank had volunteered the data or whether the FBI had requested it first.

Wray declined to respond to the question, saying he could not “speak to specifics.”

Wray was not entirely opposed to the idea of bettering privacy protections for at least some Americans. Law enforcement officers, he noted, face threats of violence every day as a result of being doxed online. “The more information, personalized information, about law enforcement professionals that is on the internet, the more people who may be unstable or inclined to violence there are out there who can choose to act on it,” he said.

But police officers, who are armed and trained to defend themselves from a variety of dangers, are not the only people who face such threats. As past reporting has shown, however, they are, on occasion, the ones who are doing the doxing.

Separately, another House committee on Thursday advanced an amendment to a “must-pass” defense spending bill that would order all US military departments to forgo purchasing data that would “otherwise require a warrant, court order, or subpoena.” This would include the same type of location-based purchases previously acknowledged by the FBI, though the FBI itself is not bound by the amendment. The new law would, instead, cover roughly half of the US intelligence community’s 17 members—those, such as the National Security Agency and Office of Naval Intelligence, that fall under the Defense Department’s umbrella.

Previously, several agencies reporting to the Defense Department, including special operations teams and the Defense Intelligence Agency, have acknowledged purchasing commercial data that would normally have required a warrant.

Whether the defense amendment—introduced by Warren Davidson, a Republican—will survive Congress and eventually become law is impossible to say at this juncture. But the fact that it was adopted by the House of Representatives at all is nothing short of a watershed moment for privacy defenders; a reflection of the growing unease among US lawmakers with the government's current outlook on its authority to warrantlessly surveil its own citizens.

[dankusner]

With title hopes on the line, Luka Doncic let the Mavericks down when they needed him most

Dallas needed more from its best player. Instead, Doncic fouled out of Game 3, a 106-99 loss to the Celtics.

Wednesday night was it.

Game 3 was the game that would determine whether this Finals is a series or not, whether Dallas could take ownership of its home court and cut the Celtics’ lead to

2-1. Suddenly a team without Kristaps Porzingis coming off the bench to protect the rim (he also averaged 16 points the first two games in Boston) would look much more beatable if Dallas were in position to tie it up Friday night.

The Mavericks couldn’t get there.

Specifically, Luka Doncic couldn’t get there — or even be there at the end after fouling out with four fourth-quarter fouls with more than four minutes to play — and so the series is over.

Perhaps Dallas is allowed the “gentlemen’s sweep.”

It won’t be entirely a surprise if Joe Mazzulla’s tired eight-man rotation allows the Mavericks a win Friday night before wrapping things up before their adoring home fans and Kyrie haters back in Boston Monday.

Doncic is not the reason the Mavericks are down 3-0 but his attitude and the boiling over of his frustrations Wednesday night was the reason this series got to where it is now.

Doncic was at times sensational in Boston where Irving could not get the crowd out of his head, shot poorly from the field, didn’t hit a single three in eight tries.

All of a sudden, Irving gets home and makes 4-of-5 threes Wednesday night?

Something strange about that, too.

But Luka has spent six years in the NBA getting on the refs for every perceived missed call.

Head coach Jason Kidd has mentioned the need for it to stop more than once, always choosing his words carefully which is the only way to go about it in the modern NBA.

But he has done it.

And he called him out for his defense after Game 3, suggesting Luka needs to play better at that end and rest a bit more on offense.

Not sure that’s happening any time soon.

There have been times Luka has reduced the whining, to be sure.

But when his team needed him the most Wednesday with the series going one way or the other, Luka committed one silly foul after another in frustration.

He’s still looking for touch foul calls that he might get in a February game against the Hornets, but the refs aren’t blowing the whistles for anyone on those plays in June.

And everybody knows and accepts it.

I didn’t see any more than the usual complaints after a tough call from Jaylen Brown or Jayson Tatum Wednesday.

They scored 61, nearly matching Luka and Kyrie‘s 65, but they did it more efficiently (48 shots to the Dallas pair’s 55 and 14 rebounds, 13 assists to Luka/Kyrie’s 9 and 8).

They mostly just played championship basketball.

Kidd’s seemingly harmless act of gamesmanship between Games 1 and 2, calling Brown the Celtics’ best player which stirred the pot just the way you suppose it would in Boston, turned them both into title hunters at the American Airlines Center.

But it was Brown, who guarded Luka — the Celtics do very little double-teaming compared to the rest of Dallas’ playoff foes — scoring 15 points in the third quarter when Boston outscored the Mavs, 35-19.

Yes, Dallas came charging back in the fourth to make it close but they had exhausted much of their resources by the time Luka committed the silliest of fouls, his sixth, trying to take a charge 35 feet from the basket against Brown.

There’s no shame in this result for Dallas.

Losing a Finals, even getting swept by a 64-win team that is 15-2 in the playoffs and has heard for three years that it needs to win a title soon, will not scar the Mavericks as they prepare for next season.

But in Year Seven, as Luka closes in on true league MVP status (he finished third this season), will he realize the steps needed to climb those last two spots on the ladder involve leadership, involve defense, involve setting the perfect tone for his teammates rather than chewing on Marc Davis and James Capers all night?

I get it, the man who has owned the team for two decades before selling the majority share this season still sits 10 feet from the Dallas bench, riding the refs relentlessly night after night.

It’s the worst example an owner that doesn’t want players to have excuses for losing can set.

It’s always been that way and I suppose he’ll be there next year, too.

Doesn’t mean Luka has to emulate him night after night. Doesn’t

mean the most talented Mavericks player ever can’t learn just a bit from his former European teammate here who’s still the most beloved athlete in this city in any sport.

It doesn’t really matter now.

Win Game 4, and the Mavs fly all the way back to Boston where Irving has shown he can’t deliver the road performance this team needs.

He was great at home Wednesday, but that was too little too late once Luka went off the rails and allowed the Celtics to take total control of this series.

”We understand JB and JT are our guys, and we trust them to make right plays at the right time," the Celtics’ Derrick White said late Wednesday. “Top to bottom we trust everybody and we compete at a high level."

That they do.

An 18th championship banner is on its way to Boston.

A second one could still be coming to Dallas in the near future.

But the Mavs’ best player becoming more of a complete player has to happen first.

I do appreciate the annoyance that some might feel, watching Luka Dončić, his arms outstretched, once again pleading with a referee for a call that will not be coming (as if arms, waved rapidly enough, with enough enthusiasm, can reverse not only time but what another person saw in a not-distant past).

I am as exhausted by it as you are, and yet, if you have just stumbled into a room where the game is playing with no sound, or if you have just found yourself turning channels with a low enough volume, there is also the romance that exists when unburdened by the realities of context. One man—eyes wide in disbelief‚ a disbelief so robust that it alerts the awakening of a smile—turning to another man, gesticulating as if to say: Did you see how I was held? Did you see the way I was touched up there, for a moment, in the air?

The New Yorker staff writer Louisa Thomas on the defining moments of Game Four of the N.B.A. Finals, in which the Dallas Mavericks beat the Boston Celtics 122–84, to stay alive in the series.

Luka Dončić is famous for his step-back threes, his space-bending passes, and his complaints toward the referees, which can be operative in their intensity.

During Game Three of the Finals, he seemed to spend more of his energy on those arias of grievance than on stopping the Celtics from scoring, for instance.

Everyone knew that the Mavericks, which came into Game Four down 3–0 in the series, had no chance unless Dončić stopped whining and started asserting himself on the defensive end.

Even Dončić understood that, apparently.

Dončić was one of the best defenders on the floor last night.

And when he was called for a foul partway through the second quarter, he not only stayed quiet but smiled.

“A totally different mind-set and approach tonight from Luka Dončić on both ends of the floor. And then, mentally, with the officials,” J. J. Reddick said on the TV broadcast. “Well, it helps to have a twenty-four-point lead,” Mike Breen responded.

[gduncan969]

What Does God Expect of Us?

Malachi 6: 6 - 8

“6 With what shall I come before the Lord, And bow myself before the High God? Shall I come before Him with burnt offerings, With calves a year old?

7 Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, Ten thousand rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, The fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?

8 He has shown you, O man, what is good; And what does the Lord require of you But to do justly, To love mercy, And to walk humbly with your God?”

I’m finding it very hard to believe what I saw on a video posted by Jesse Watters of Fox News last night. The judge currently hearing the civil case against Donald Trump regarding his supposed tax-avoidance has just posted pictures on the internet showing HIMSELF HALF-NAKED in his bathroom?? NOTE: not pictures of Donald Trump or anyone else but pictures of HIMSELF! Is this for real or is it some kind of “AI” creation meant to destroy the judge’s reputation? I’ve watched Jesse Watters’ show many, many times and I’ve never felt he was being deliberately dishonest in his assessment of current affairs and he generally goes to great lengths to verify what he broadcasts so despite how hard I find it to believe, it very likely is true: the 70+ year-old judge just posted half-naked images of himself on the internet! Wow! The discussion panel on Watters’ program rightly concluded the judge has simply gone insane—there can’t be any other explanation. This is the same judge who, at the start of the trial, appeared laughing and smiling before the court cameras and the world watched as he gleefully opened his notes to begin the trial being prosecuted by an admitted Trump-hater who ran her entire election campaign to become District Attorney on her promise to “get Trump”. Today, the news media announced the results of the Virginia State elections and yet again I am dumbfounded by a story arising from it. The Republicans did not do well but there was one seat they won from the incumbent democrat, a married woman in her late 30's/early 40's (I guess) and they won it by the slimmest of margins. The astounding announcement is that she lost her seat because the Republicans found several pornographic videos of her and her husband having sex together which they posted on line and made available to the public—for a fee! Lost by the slimmest of margins?? Who in their right minds would vote for such a perverted candidate?

Corroding Standards

Over the last few decades, we’ve all seen a serious corrosion of the moral and independence standards of our courts and legal profession but nothing even close to this has ever happened. How should the American people respond to such a disgusting act by a sitting judge? We all agree that our courts and especially our judges should maintain a rigid standard of fairness and strict impartiality, as well as a great deal of decorum. Judges must be free from any outside interference or political influence but these criteria seem to have evaporated in the current woke climate and they’ve been replaced by a political correctness and partisanship that has destroyed our confidence in the system. Once again, we are left crying out, “Lord, what on earth is happening?” It surely doesn’t matter if you hate Donald Trump or love him, no one deserves to be judged by such a perverted judge. We expect far, far more from our legal authorities and I hope I’m correct when I say we generally still get it but my confidence has been seriously shaken these days when I hear that cell phones of two Ottawa police officers called to give evidence in the Truckers Convoy trial currently underway in Ottawa have been “accidently” wiped clean and their contents therefore are not available to the defense team, or the blatant lies that are being proffered by our politicians, presidents and prime ministers who’ve been caught with their hands in the cookie jar; or, the police in the UK arresting for the third time a woman found silently praying near an abortion clinic—after a judge had already thrown out the first two charges. These are just a few of the many instances where we’ve been left utterly disheartened by the corruption that seems to abound all around us. We expect better!

What Does God Expect of Us?

At the heart of the matter is not so much what we expect of others but what does God expects of us? It is not helpful for us to immerse ourselves in the corruption of others and get thoroughly depressed until we have a clear picture of how we stand with the One who counts the most, Jesus Christ. He is the best cure for our depression. Dwelling on all the other stuff that’s going on only leads to discouragement and that’s not where the Lord wants to lead us. So, at a fundamental level, what does God expect of us? Malachi spells it out in the three verses above.

First, He doesn’t need or want our material and intellectual assets. No matter how rich we are or how clever we might think of ourselves, we cannot purchase His favor with either of these even if we were to include offering to sacrifice our nearest and dearest just to prove how serious our allegiance might be. Throughout human history, misguided people have cut themselves, bled themselves, flogged themselves and sacrificed their children all to prove to God how faithful they are to Him. Even the Old Testament Jews perverted the animal sacrifices God ordained as a covering for their sin to a “show of allegiance” to merit His favor. They even tried the trick of using the Ark of God as some kind of talisman that would guarantee victory in their battle against the Philistines (1 Samuel 4) when by their very lifestyles they denied the allegiance to God they claimed to have. Closer to the present, Christians have bankrupted themselves to the prosperity preachers to show God how serious they are in proving themselves worthy of His favor with the added hope of a 100-fold bonus on their investment.

Second, God is not impressed by such a show of allegiance when it stems from a rebellious mind rooted in a corrupted heart. He will never play the role of an Aladdin who answers the call to do our bidding if He’s rubbed the right way. Through all of this He’s calling out to His people, “Choose you now this day whom you will serve..” (Joshua 24:15) because He is fed up with our vacillating performances between living for Him and living for the world.

Third, we have no need to ask Him what we must do to get back on track because He has already made that very plain to us: “..to do justly, To love mercy, And to walk humbly with your God” (verse 8). It would seem that many have no idea what these terms, "do justly, love mercy and walk humbly" mean. We as a race are on a very dangerous precipice and unless our God intervenes, we are about to fall off into the unimaginable Hell Jesus describes in Matthew 24. We’d better be found hanging on tightly to His irrevocable promises for our dear lives if the world continues on its present course. If this blog has scared you, know that if you’ve committed yourself to Him you are safe and your future is secure but remember to keep doing justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with Him.