#▲「 its not a mullet. 」 visage
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Penguins Have You Seen Me Missing Milk Jaromír Jágr T-Shirt
The t-shirt itself is a vibrant tribute to Jágr’s illustrious career, capturing the essence of his time with the Pittsburgh Penguins in the NHL. His unmistakable visage graces the fabric, his trademark mullet flowing behind him as he charges forward with the determination and finesse that made him a household name in the hockey world. Beneath his image, the enigmatic phrase “Penguins Have You Seen Me Missing Milk” is emblazoned in bold letters, leaving viewers intrigued and puzzled all at once.
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Whether you’re a die-hard hockey fan, a collector of unique memorabilia, or simply someone drawn to the whimsical and offbeat, the Penguins Have You Seen Me Missing Milk Jaromír Jágr t-shirt offers a delightful glimpse into the intersection of sports, humor, and nostalgia. And as visitors leave the shop, they carry with them not just a piece of fabric, but a story waiting to be shared and cherished—a testament to the enduring magic of sports and the joy found in the unexpected.
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Alien!Nico× Human!Reader (Sfw)
Bc i feel like it
This takes place AFTER you've been abducted. Bc idk how to write the experience or process of said abduction.
Context: Nico is an escaped prisoner of the prison ship NanbaMaru. He escaped to earth with his friends and fell in love with you, and gained your trust with a human disguise. He's going back to NanbaMaru and he wants to take you with him as his lover.
💫🔹️💫🔹️💫🔹️💫🔹️💜👾🔹️💫🔹️💫🔹️💫🔹️💫
You lay on the ground and look around to the unfamiliar room around you with a tired haze in your mind.. how did you get here? You were going to drift to sleep thinking it was a weird dream, but you were woken up by Nico's casual cheery voice.
"Hello, my cute little Chibi-Chan! You ok? I didn't think the teleportation had a sedative effect on humans."
You look at where you're laying, wait, this isn't the floor, its Nico's lap! You look up at him in confusion and see... he's... different. He looks mostly the same but he has two sets of antennae, one pair is a vibrant green like his hair, the other is the same color as his skin with eyes attached to the ends! He also has two pairs of floppy ears. He smiles lovingly at you and his teeth are different too, what used to be normal human teeth, is now a set of razor sharp teeth!
You roll off his lap and use your arms to prop yourself up, your legs for some reason won't let you stand up.
"Hey, what's wrong, darling, are you okay?"
"Nico?... is that you?"
"Yeah! I should've told you earlier that i was an alien, but seems Hajime-Chan captured us before I could even say it.. I'm sorry... But hey you still love me right? Now that you're here with me, we can live happily ever after! I love you!!"
You had to take a few minutes to process what you just heard, he's an alien? HE LOVED YOU??? AND WHO THE FLIP IS HAJIME????!
You were snapped out of your thoughts by Nico's warm hand on your shoulder. He had a worried expression on his face.
"Sweetie? Are you okay?"
You couldn't say anything. You loved him too, even if he's an alien, but with the current situation, you just couldn't find the right words to say. Not knowing what else to do you silently give him a hug. The hug lasted for at least a minute.. until you heard other voices, voices you've never heard before.
"I can't tell if It's happy about this or what."
"Jyugo, They're not an object. We gotta treat the cute little thing with respect. 😌"
"I wonder if they'll like my cooking :D"
You look up from Nico's shoulder to see three other aliens. One has black hair with red tips, four horns, three eyes, and what seems to be a pair of bat ears. Another has long blond and pink hair in a braid with a pair of jestears, four arms, and a long ruffled transparent tail glowing pink and yellow, similar to that of a jellyfish. The third one had purple and red hair in some kind of mullet/mohawk/undercut??? (Idk heck off) He had ears similar to Nico, two sets of horns, long claws on his hands and feet, and feathers along his arms and legs as well as a tail that separated into four claws that resembled a makeshift hand.
You let go of Nico and introduce yourself, you find out their names are Uno, Rock, and Jyugo. They then escaped the cell, courtesy of Jyugo picking the lock, in order to give you and Nico some privacy.
"So... are you okay?"
"Yeah.. i just don't know how to process this. I'm glad i'm here with you, and I love you too. But at the same time i have so many questions.."
"Eh? What kind of questions? I'll be happy to answer!"
You go ahead and ask the one thats been on your mind the most, your location.
"Well... where are we? I know we're in your cell, but where is this? Am I on some kind of spaceship??
"Yeah! Look outside, arent the stars pretty? Almost as beautiful as you, i'd say. ^^"
You weren't expecting to be right. But sure enough you were. You looked outside to see Earth, the moon, and millions of stars that freckled the universe's visage. You almost fainted right then and there.
"Sweetie pie? Are you alright? You look scared.."
"Nico... I don't know what to say.. I don't know how to handle this. Its new and its scary, i'm nowhere near home, nowhere near anything I know.."
"Darling.... do you want some time to think? I have some blankets and pillows if you need help relaxing."
"That sounds like a good idea.."
So Nico pulled out a Full sized mattress with the softest sheets and blankets you've ever felt. He settled you in and gave you a kiss on the forehead, then settled in next to you. You stared off into the wall, your thoughts on the situation filling your mind. What should I do... I don't want to lose Nico.. This can't be much worse than earth right?.. at least i don't have to pay taxes or medical bills...
After over half an hour of thought you made up your mind. Maybe staying here with Nico won't be so bad..
"Nico?"
"Hm? What is it Puppy?"
"I... wanna stay here and live with you."
"YOU DO?! YAAY!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!"
Before you could say you loved him too, you felt his soft warm lips on yours and his arms around you. You couldn't help but kiss him back. You could feel your face heating up as he squeezed you tighter. After a while you broke the kiss, you hug him and almost fall asleep before you hear Uno, Rock, and Jyugo being thrown back in the cell and the door violently slamming behind them. You look behind the barred window in the door and see an alien with Green, Blue, Violet, and Red ringed eyes, the only other detail you can spot is its grey skin. You can't make out much in the dark halls as he passes by the cell bars next to the door, but you can make out that he's large.... VERY large. He seems to have spikes running down his back and onto his tail.. four of said spikes glowing the same colors as his eyes. He then disappears into the hallways if the prison, devoid of light.
"...was that the Hajime guy you talked about, Nico?"
"Yep thats him. I'm lowkey surprised he hasn't slaughtered us yet.. the Kraizen just havent been the same since the 180."
You wanted to ask for more context, you wanted more information, more knowledge, but something in your stomach said not to. You didn't know what it was, but Hajime gave you very, VERY frightening, twisted, messed up vibes.
"So Nico, what did they say? Are they staying with us?"
"Yep!"
"Noice. -u-"
"Welp, not the first bet I've lost to Uno."
"Won't be the last either!"
With that, Nico pulls you away again. He leads you back to the den of pillows and blankets from earlier. He lays on his side and out stretches his arm as a signal for you to join him, so you do. As you lay on your back, Nico rolls over onto you and squeezes you close, letting out a cute little groan of effort. After a while of snuggles and covering eachother in kisses, you start to get sleepy. A yawn from Nico and the pressure of his head on your chest tells you that he feels the same.
"You sleepy too?.."
"Yeah... today was.. something. To say the least."
Nico laughs a bit, before he can say something though, he looks up to see your unconscious frame. With a smile he tucks the both of you in and wraps his limbs and tail around you.
"Goodnight, Sweetie..."
☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️🌙⭐☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️
Aight hope yall enjoyed.
Unfortunately requests are still closed. This will be a time for me to work on unfinished drafts and unanswered asks.
(However i'm too lazy to actually come back and edit this when the requests DO open back up, so just check my profile pls)
Heres Nico, have a noice day. 💚
#konata izumi kin writes#nico x reader#nanbaka nico x reader#nanbaka nico#nico x reader nanbaka#nanbaka#nanbaka x reader
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Love is a Dog From Hell, 1/5 (Rosnali) - Mattels
is it really that complicated that denali wants to be the best? all signs from the figure-skating gods seem to point to yes. (especially with her decidedly adult and mature hatred of coach rosé, who keeps wearing those god awful skin-tight ski-pants.)
aka denali’s a figure skating coach, rosé’s a ski coach; the rest is history
https://archiveofourown.org/works/29861322/chapters/73479360
-
November is sacred to Denali.
Although she’s a full-time figure-skating coach year round, boasting a full clientele of Olympic level students alongside a waiting list that seems to be growing by the year, November always manages to remind her why she started teaching to begin with.
Bonneville Academy, despite Denali considering its title of ‘academy’ being a stretch, has managed to wedge itself into her life, year after year. She spends six months of her year in Chicago, teaching private lessons to overenthusiastic and grossly rich teenagers, but from November through to April, she spends in Utah, working with the students to tighten their quadruple lutzes and receiving a paycheck that leaves her feeling pretty comfortable until the next November.
Although the school is technically a legitimate boarding school, offering fairly okay-quality education alongside the best training in the country all year, a lot of the students only attend for the ski season, unable or unwilling to fund a whole year.
Or maybe, Denali considers with a smile, nobody wants to live in the middle of nowhere, locked away in the mountains like a fucking yeti.
Michelle Visage, school director, emails Denali every year about working for them full-time, but every year Denali finds herself unable to leave Chicago behind. She loves her cozy city life, thank you very much. Living alone in her uptown apartment has yet to be beaten, even with the promise of the best skating facilities money can buy.
Half of the kids who attend don’t even realise how lucky they are, she finds herself thinking as her rental car starts the ascent to the school. It’s a long drive, the journey from Salt Lake to Bonneville is deliberately out of most peoples’ way, ensuring the cleanest snow and freshest powder for its plethora of skiers and snowboarders. She’d definitely have killed for something like this when she was still training.
The school is specialised, known for its premium winter sports programme raved about by former Olympians and their coaches. Everything is fully equipped, facilities and machines inside the camp always sparkling new and top of the line; huge dance studios with scary Russian ballet teachers to help her skaters achieve their best on the ice; big gyms and personal trainers; meals specially catered and designed to build muscle and strengthen bones.
It’s also really fucking expensive; Denali sees the checks on Michelle’s desk with their seemingly endless zeroes, given by mothers determined to boast that their little Sally went to Bonneville! But the elusive RuPaul, who Denali knows funds the school, but has never seen or heard much about, hands out plenty of scholarships to kids she deems talented and hard-working enough to thrive.
Denali’s car turns the corner, giving her a view of Bonneville’s ski slopes. She spots a couple of instructors already at the top of the chairlifts, riding down the mountain in neat lines as they enjoy the start of what’s looking to be a beautiful season. It’s still early, but it’s snowing heavily, Denali’s windscreen wipers working hard to keep the snowflakes off her windscreen.
As Denali pulls up to their entrance, she spots a couple of other employees hanging around outside, boisterous laughter coming from their conversations. They’re all old-timers, Denali is sure one or two of them have worked at the school since its opening in the late nineties.
She immediately spots the inky black mullet that belongs to Mik, one of the snowboarding coaches for the younger kids. She’s standing alone, narrow back pressed up against a red bricked wall as she smokes a cigarette, flicking ash off of the end into the thin layer of snow below her feet.
She gets out of her car, passing her keys over to the valet Michelle hires unnecessarily every year, always insisting, rather pointedly if you ask Denali, who seems to consistently be at the receiving end of the seemingly never-ending gripe, that she knows that someone’ll fuck up her parking arrangement, Denali.
It’s a fair point– Denali would never be bothered to follow Michelle’s colour-coordinated and meticulously planned spreadsheet, in which she’s grouped all the instructors of the same sport together in the carpark, as if it matters to anyone which spot they have.
The valet takes her bags too, which she’s perpetually grateful for; her suitcases are almost always overweight in the airport, despite taking three of her big ones with her. They’ll take them down to her room for her too, as if she’s staying in a nice hotel, not just a ridiculously boujee school.
Mik spots her, dropping the cigarette she was smoking and stubbing it against her chunky boots, jogging over to catch Denali in a tight hug. “Hey slut!”
Denali laughs, embracing her. “Nice to see you too, Mickey.”
Mik shrugs, letting her go with a smile. “You know you missed me, don’t even try it.” Denali rolls her eyes but can’t deny it, grinning when Mik wraps an arm around her shoulders.
“Denali Foxx!” Michelle greets her loudly, ticking her name off on a clipboard. “Usual room,” she says, fishing a key out of her pocket and passing it to Denali.
“Roomies!” Mik says, laughing with an eye-roll when Denali pretends to shover her fingers down her throat complete with exaggerated gagging sounds.
Denali’s always grateful to room with Mik, the rooms are a slightly awkward size– too big to stay in alone, a little too small for two people. Mik works at the school year round, and Denali knows she’s equally grateful to have someone to share with, forever complaining about how empty it feels when she’s by herself with two beds.
“Almost everyone else is already on the slopes,” Michelle notes, turning around so she can point out people on the mountain behind them. “You’ve got a couple days until the kids are allowed out, so better make the most of it.”
The school is laid out like a small village, boys on one side and girls on another, divided in almost everything except meals, which they have in the dining hall all together. The dorms are split into age, six buildings facing parallel to one another in a large U-shape, each with attached communal bathrooms and showers for the students. The buildings are all deliberately short so you can gape at Utah’s mountains practically anywhere on campus.
“I’ve been waiting for you to go out,” Mik says, grabbing Denali’s hand between her cold fingers, trying to drag her down the asphalt leading to the sports instructors’ rooming in the centre of the U.
The academics take place a couple miles down the road in a big building that actually looks like a school, which Michelle swears helps the students to stay focused, but Denali can’t say she’s totally convinced. She’s seen them get off the bus after school, racing one another to be the first in the chairlift queue.
“I really don’t want to go.” Denali whines, but lets Mik tug her down the path regardless. She’s not the best snowboarder even on her best days, and Mik always wants to take her down the especially mogul-ly runs, zipping in between trees and dodging ice patches that are still missing snow.
“Yes you do!” She says, practically skipping down the road. “There’s only a couple of us here anyways, and the kids aren’t allowed to carve up the snow yet– it’ll be fun!”
Denali rolls her eyes, with a sigh. “I’m only doing green runs!”
“Only red runs? Perfect!”
“No, fuck, come on Mik,” she huffs, her breath coming out in sharp puffs in the cold air. “I’m out of practice, this isn’t fair.”
Mik looks at her, shrugging her narrow shoulders, “how’s that my issue, gorge?”
She groans loudly as they approach the staff building, letting Mik lead the way to their room, unlocking the door with her own key.
Mik keeps their room uncharacteristically clean, especially in comparison to her wardrobe filled with clothes piled up on the bottom rather than on their hangers. Denali is pleased to see her blue suitcases on the side of the room Mik’s left for her, both her skating and snowboard boot bags by the end of her bed.
Mik talks aimlessly about the year so far as Denali changes out of her oversized shirt and equally oversized jeans combo. She rifles through her suitcases, half listening to the other girl, searching for her snow-pants and a hoodie, adhering to Mik’s advice to forgo her ski-jacket as it’s still early in the season and sunny enough, despite the snowfall.
She makes her help her lace up her boots properly, watching Mik’s skilled hands tightening them in record time. “Are you borrowing a board?” She asks.
“Mm,” Denali confirms, “are they ready?”
“You can literally borrow mine,” Mik squints up at her from her kneeling position, “we’re like, basically the same height.”
Denali scoffs at this, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “No fucking way am I borrowing one of yours, they’re all deathtraps.”
“They’re literally normal boards.”
“No, they’re all weirdly thin and flexible, I’ll literally break my neck.”
Mik frowns, “ok, first of all, rude. Second of all, I’ll have you know my boards are perfectly safe–”
“–did you or did you not snap one in half last year?”
“That was one time!”
“And that’s one time too many, doll.” Denali says, leaning down to tuck the laces into the tongue of her boot, pulling down her pants so they rest over the top. She reaches out a palm, helping Mik up from her kneeling position. “Get ready and I’ll meet you by the chairlift, okay?”
Mik rolls her eyes, reaching into Denali’s suitcase to attach her goggles to her helmet, passing it over with her gloves tucked neatly inside, as she would with her ten year-olds. Denali yells a thanks over her shoulder as she leaves, weaving her way out of their building to run down to their small ski shop.
☆☆☆☆☆
Humiliatingly enough, Mik makes Denali carry her snowboard with her on the chairlift, refusing to let her sit with one foot strapped in like a normal person would.
“You’re gonna knock your teeth out,” she laughs when Denali complains loudly about it. “Like fully splat, bitch.”
“I know how to ride a chairlift, thank you very much.” Denali grumbles, clutching her board tightly in her arms and sitting down. Mik reaches behind them, pulling down the safety bar, which Denali rests her feet on.
“Can’t have any casualties on day one, gorge.”
“The only casualty will be from me wringing your skinny little neck out when you push me down the mountain, you fucking bitch.” She groans, looking at the run below them.
There’s a pack of skiers weaving their way down tightly together under the poles of the lift. She can already see the deep valleys of moguls, even with her terrible eyesight. One of them looks up at their chair, waving at them with a grin.
Denali squints and she can see it’s Tayce, one of the newer instructors at the school. They had made fast friends last year, gossiping together about who hooked up with who over Thanksgiving– no, no, no, it’s clearly Brooklyn and Vanessa, they keep eyeing each other up–, which of their kids were likely to actually make the Olympic team– all of mine, thank you very much, Taycey–, who they might fuck given the chance– have you not seen A’Whora in the physio suite? I’d let her curb-stomp my neck– et cetera, et cetera.
“Everyone else is coming up tonight and tomorrow,” Mik remarks, waving over-exaggeratedly waving down to Tayce like she’s in a pantomime. “Tayce is like the only bitch I can stand here, as of currently”
“ As of currently? I’m here, as of currently! ”
“My point still stands, gorge.”
“After this run can you join up with them?” Denali groans, “Tayce’ll go super-speed with you. And she’ll let you harass her without breaking your nose.”
Mik laughs, “I don’t go that fast, bitch.”
“Have you ever seen that Disney movie Bolt ? Y’know the one with that dog who runs like, full speed of light? They could do a live-action version with you as the dog.”
“Woof!”
Denali’s face cracks into a grin as she rolls her eyes, “I’m serious! One minute you’re next to me, the next you’re–” she slides her gloved hands together in a forward motion “–zip . And then I’m the idiot who can’t get down.
“I’d never leave you!” Mik gasps, clapping a palm to her chest. “How dare you, fucking bitch.”
Denali scoffs loudly in response. Every year Mik tries to bully her into doing a couple runs together, and every year without fail Denali obliges, only to find herself stuck at the top of a mountain, Mik nowhere in sight.
“Head,” Mik announces, reminding Denali to duck her head so Mik can raise the safety bar, as they start to approach the end of the lift. Mik lines herself up to the drop-off, riding around the corner smoothly, giggling as Denali has to jog to keep up.
They both sit down to strap in, Mik tightening Denali’s bindings for her and pulling her up with a roll of her eyes.
“See you at the bottom?” Mik asks. Before Denali can answer, she’s slipped off, whooping as she hits a bump and flies upwards, grabbing the nose of her board as she hits the jump.
“So much for never leaving me, I guess,” Denali grumbles, carefully edging herself down the slopes with big sweeping S-shaped turns, she knows Mik will laugh at her about later, reminding her how her ten year-olds could easily out-board her.
Uh yeah, I’d fucking hope so, Denali thinks to herself, curving around onto the toe-edge of her board. Otherwise this’d be the biggest waste of money like, uh, ever.
The air that whips around her is cool, blowing snowflakes into her dark hair, but she doesn’t feel cold, happy in her thick sweatshirt and pants. Her feet are desperate to be unlatched from the board, feeling slightly unnatural to be locked in. She’s much more in her element spraying ice as she nails a complicated spin, she knows Mik would eat ass on.
Yeah, she thinks, fuck you and your ten year-olds, Mickey.
☆☆☆☆☆
“Michelle’s put the board up,” Tayce says in the late afternoon, sticking her head around Denali and Mik’s door propped open by a snowboard boot.
Denali looks up from the book she’s reading, comfortably curled up on her bed with her mandatory evening uniform of thick fluffy socks and sweats on. Mik, on the other hand, is still in her lycra leggings and hoodie, having made no effort to change since coming back, much to Denali’s disgust.
“Well?” Tayce asks in annoyance, cocking her hip, “you coming or what?”
Mik groans, rolling off of her bed and moving to stand next to Tayce in their doorway, bare feet on the cold linoleum. Denali carefully places her bookmark in her book, grabbing a pair of Nike slides– sponsored, thank you very much– and begrudgingly walking down the corridor to their big common room.
The Board– with an optional trademarked symbol from Mik– as it’s been aptly dubbed, is a large whiteboard divided neatly (by the increasingly anal Michelle) into a leaderboard. The top ten coaches are listed top to bottom, ordering the number of world title holders they’ve coached at Bonneville, bonus points being allotted to those whose kids win gold, and double points if the title being held was Olympian.
Michelle says it builds healthy competition. Denali says it builds a desire to Tonya Harding every other bitch in this place. Tomayto, tomahto.
Denali hadn’t even been on The Board, until she had returned three seasons ago with the last World Skating Championships under her belt, managing to land three podium spots. She proudly boasted for months to anyone that looked like they might listen that her girls had swept the categories, winning medals across the ladies’ single event, ice dance and pair skating.
Despite her allure of confidence, she knows she only made it up there because Michelle insists on starting fresh each year. She tries to tell them that she’s giving the new coaches a chance, but everyone knows it’s to keep egos in check.
Egos like mother-fucking Rosé McCorkell’s, who’s placed first on The Board two years running.
First as in one spot ahead of Denali’s second, first. First as in gloating in Denali’s face every opportunity she gets (and rest be assured, every opportunity means every opportunity ), first. First as in deliberately sabotaging Denali’s skaters, first– well, at least in Denali’s eyes.
Okay, whatever, yes it could have been a coincidence that one of her front runners’ sole came unglued from the attached blade on the morning of Nationals a year ago. And yeah, sure, maybe Rosé was like, several states away from the incident. And okay, yes, she still came in first after the whole thing, so it’s not it even really mattered after all. But Denali just knows Rosé had something to do with it, that bitch.
“Who’s on top of the pyramid this year?” Mik sing-songs when they approach The Board. Denali instinctively works her way through their photos from the bottom to the top, clapping Tayce lightly on the back when she sees her smack-dab in the centre.
She isn’t nervous; she knows she did well this year, the girls she had coached in the previous season competing in nationally-recognised competitions, pictures of them grinning up on their podiums, flowers in sequinned arms, emailed to her and the school. And it’s not even like it matters.
Her photo stands in line with another, both placed side-by-side at the top of the leaderboard. She can hear Mik mumble an oh shit, with a laugh as she realises that Denali is tied with Rosé at the top.
Okay, so maybe it matters a little bit.
Rosé’s photo looks down at her. She’s wearing her obnoxious signature pink ski jacket, her name embroidered into it in a sparkly silver thread. Her equally obnoxiouly signature curly pink hair has been tied up in a messy ponytail, and she stares at Denali with a big fucking grin on her face.
Denali wants to rip down the laminated photo, putting it into a paper shredder and watch as Rosé’s dumb face gets torn into ribbons.
“Healthy competition huh?” Tayce remarks, wrapping a long arm around Denali’s shoulders. “The cheek, the nerve, the audacity and the gumption, mama.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” A voice groans, Denali turns around and is met by the woman of the hour. Rosé looks her up and down, irritation flickering in her green eyes. “Stepping your shit up, this season ice princess?”
Denali arches an eyebrow in response. “Evidently, McCorkell.”
Rosé smiles at her, all pearly white teeth Denali is pretty sure are veneers– well, at least that’s the rumour she and Tayce started last year as a laugh.
All of a sudden, she feels like a shark’s prey, a minnow trapped inside the great white’s tank. Rosé doesn’t have to say anything for Denali to know that she’s going to be in for a tough season.
Better get that hammer ready, she thinks to herself, I am not the Nancy Kerrigan of this competition, bitch.
tags: rosé, denali foxx, gottmik, rosnali, rivals to lovers, coach au, figure skating au, skiing au, lesbian au, love is a dog from hell, mattels
show my blog ! <3
November is sacred to Denali.
Although she’s a full-time figure-skating coach year round, boasting a full clientele of Olympic level students alongside a waiting list that seems to be growing by the year, November always manages to remind her why she started teaching to begin with.
Bonneville Academy, despite Denali considering its title of ‘academy’ being a stretch, has managed to wedge itself into her life, year after year. She spends six months of her year in Chicago, teaching private lessons to overenthusiastic and grossly rich teenagers, but from November through to April, she spends in Utah, working with the students to tighten their quadruple lutzes and receiving a paycheck that leaves her feeling pretty comfortable until the next November.
Although the school is technically a legitimate boarding school, offering fairly okay-quality education alongside the best training in the country all year, a lot of the students only attend for the ski season, unable or unwilling to fund a whole year.
Or maybe, Denali considers with a smile, nobody wants to live in the middle of nowhere, locked away in the mountains like a fucking yeti.
Michelle Visage, school director, emails Denali every year about working for them full-time, but every year Denali finds herself unable to leave Chicago behind. She loves her cozy city life, thank you very much. Living alone in her uptown apartment has yet to be beaten, even with the promise of the best skating facilities money can buy.
Half of the kids who attend don’t even realise how lucky they are, she finds herself thinking as her rental car starts the ascent to the school. It’s a long drive, the journey from Salt Lake to Bonneville is deliberately out of most peoples’ way, ensuring the cleanest snow and freshest powder for its plethora of skiers and snowboarders. She’d definitely have killed for something like this when she was still training.
The school is specialised, known for its premium winter sports programme raved about by former Olympians and their coaches. Everything is fully equipped, facilities and machines inside the camp always sparkling new and top of the line; huge dance studios with scary Russian ballet teachers to help her skaters achieve their best on the ice; big gyms and personal trainers; meals specially catered and designed to build muscle and strengthen bones.
It’s also really fucking expensive; Denali sees the checks on Michelle’s desk with their seemingly endless zeroes, given by mothers determined to boast that their little Sally went to Bonneville! But the elusive RuPaul, who Denali knows funds the school, but has never seen or heard much about, hands out plenty of scholarships to kids she deems talented and hard-working enough to thrive.
Denali’s car turns the corner, giving her a view of Bonneville’s ski slopes. She spots a couple of instructors already at the top of the chairlifts, riding down the mountain in neat lines as they enjoy the start of what’s looking to be a beautiful season. It’s still early, but it’s snowing heavily, Denali’s windscreen wipers working hard to keep the snowflakes off her windscreen.
As Denali pulls up to their entrance, she spots a couple of other employees hanging around outside, boisterous laughter coming from their conversations. They’re all old-timers, Denali is sure one or two of them have worked at the school since its opening in the late nineties.
She immediately spots the inky black mullet that belongs to Mik, one of the snowboarding coaches for the younger kids. She’s standing alone, narrow back pressed up against a red bricked wall as she smokes a cigarette, flicking ash off of the end into the thin layer of snow below her feet.
She gets out of her car, passing her keys over to the valet Michelle hires unnecessarily every year, always insisting, rather pointedly if you ask Denali, who seems to consistently be at the receiving end of the seemingly never-ending gripe, that she knows that someone’ll fuck up her parking arrangement, Denali.
It’s a fair point– Denali would never be bothered to follow Michelle’s colour-coordinated and meticulously planned spreadsheet, in which she’s grouped all the instructors of the same sport together in the carpark, as if it matters to anyone which spot they have.
The valet takes her bags too, which she’s perpetually grateful for; her suitcases are almost always overweight in the airport, despite taking three of her big ones with her. They’ll take them down to her room for her too, as if she’s staying in a nice hotel, not just a ridiculously boujee school.
Mik spots her, dropping the cigarette she was smoking and stubbing it against her chunky boots, jogging over to catch Denali in a tight hug. “Hey slut!”
Denali laughs, embracing her. “Nice to see you too, Mickey.”
Mik shrugs, letting her go with a smile. “You know you missed me, don’t even try it.” Denali rolls her eyes but can’t deny it, grinning when Mik wraps an arm around her shoulders.
“Denali Foxx!” Michelle greets her loudly, ticking her name off on a clipboard. “Usual room,” she says, fishing a key out of her pocket and passing it to Denali.
“Roomies!” Mik says, laughing with an eye-roll when Denali pretends to shover her fingers down her throat complete with exaggerated gagging sounds.
Denali’s always grateful to room with Mik, the rooms are a slightly awkward size– too big to stay in alone, a little too small for two people. Mik works at the school year round, and Denali knows she’s equally grateful to have someone to share with, forever complaining about how empty it feels when she’s by herself with two beds.
“Almost everyone else is already on the slopes,” Michelle notes, turning around so she can point out people on the mountain behind them. “You’ve got a couple days until the kids are allowed out, so better make the most of it.”
The school is laid out like a small village, boys on one side and girls on another, divided in almost everything except meals, which they have in the dining hall all together. The dorms are split into age, six buildings facing parallel to one another in a large U-shape, each with attached communal bathrooms and showers for the students. The buildings are all deliberately short so you can gape at Utah’s mountains practically anywhere on campus.
“I’ve been waiting for you to go out,” Mik says, grabbing Denali’s hand between her cold fingers, trying to drag her down the asphalt leading to the sports instructors’ rooming in the centre of the U.
The academics take place a couple miles down the road in a big building that actually looks like a school, which Michelle swears helps the students to stay focused, but Denali can’t say she’s totally convinced. She’s seen them get off the bus after school, racing one another to be the first in the chairlift que.
“I really don’t want to go.” Denali whines, but lets Mik tug her down the path regardless. She’s not the best snowboarder even on her best days, and Mik always wants to take her down the especially mogul-ly runs, zipping in between trees and dodging ice patches that are still missing snow.
“Yes you do!” She says, practically skipping down the road. “There’s only a couple of us here anyways, and the kids aren’t allowed to carve up the snow yet– it’ll be fun!”
Denali rolls her eyes, with a sigh. “I’m only doing green runs!”
“Only red runs? Perfect!”
“No, fuck, come on Mik,” she huffs, her breath coming out in sharp puffs in the cold air. “I’m out of practice, this isn’t fair.”
Mik looks at her, shrugging her narrow shoulders, “how’s that my issue, gorge?”
She groans loudly as they approach the staff building, letting Mik lead the way to their room, unlocking the door with her own key.
Mik keeps their room uncharacteristically clean, especially in comparison to her wardrobe filled with clothes piled up on the bottom rather than on their hangers. Denali is pleased to see her blue suitcases on the side of the room Mik’s left for her, both her skating and snowboard boot bags by the end of her bed.
Mik talks aimlessly about the year so far as Denali changes out of her oversized shirt and equally oversized jeans combo. She rifles through her suitcases, half listening to the other girl, searching for her snow-pants and a hoodie, adhering to Mik’s advice to forgo her ski-jacket as it’s still early in the season and sunny enough, despite the snowfall.
She makes her help her lace up her boots properly, watching Mik’s skilled hands tightening them in record time. “Are you borrowing a board?” She asks.
“Mm,” Denali confirms, “are they ready?”
“You can literally borrow mine,” Mik squints up at her from her kneeling position, “we’re like, basically the same height.”
Denali scoffs at this, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “No fucking way am I borrowing one of yours, they’re all deathtraps.”
“They’re literally normal boards.”
“No, they’re all weirdly thin and flexible, I’ll literally break my neck.”
Mik frowns, “ok, first of all, rude. Second of all, I’ll have you know my boards are perfectly safe–”
“–didn’t you snap one in half last year?”
“That was one time!”
“And that’s one time too many, doll.” Denali says, leaning down to tuck the laces into the tongue of her boot, pulling down her pants so they rest over the top. She reaches out a palm, helping Mik up from her kneeling position. “Get ready and I’ll meet you by the chairlift, okay?”
Mik rolls her eyes, reaching into Denali’s suitcase to attach her goggles to her helmet, passing it over with her gloves tucked neatly inside, as she would with her ten year-olds. Denali yells a thanks over her shoulder as she leaves, weaving her way out of their building to run down to their small ski shop.
☆☆☆☆☆
Humiliatingly enough, Mik makes Denali carry her snowboard with her on the chairlift, refusing to let her sit with one foot strapped in like a normal person would.
“You’re gonna knock your teeth out,” she laughs when Denali complains loudly about it. “Like fully, splat, bitch.”
“I know how to ride a chairlift, thank you very much.” Denali grumbles, clutching her board tightly in her arms and sitting down. Mik reaches behind them, pulling down the safety bar, which Denali rests her feet on.
“Can’t have any casualties on day one, gorge.”
“The only casualty will be from me wringing your skinny little neck out when you push me down the mountain, you fucking bitch.” She groans, looking at the run below them.
There’s a pack of skiers weaving their way down tightly together under the poles of the lift. She can already see the deep valleys of moguls, even with her terrible eyesight. One of them looks up at their chair, waving at them with a grin.
Denali squints and she can see it’s Tayce, one of the newer instructors at the school. They had made fast friends last year, gossiping together about who hooked up with who over Thanksgiving– no, no, no, it’s clearly Brooklyn and Vanessa, they keep eyeing each other up–, which of their kids were likely to actually make the Olympic team– all of mine, thank you very much, Taycey–, who they might fuck given the chance– have you not seen A’Whora in the physio suite? I’d let her curb-stomp my neck– et cetera, et cetera.
“Everyone else is coming up tonight and tomorrow,” Mik remarks, waving over-exaggeratedly waving down to Tayce like she’s in a pantomime. “Tayce is like the only bitch I can stand here, as of currently”
“As of currently? I’m here, as of currently!”
“My point still stands, gorge.”
“After this run can you join up with them?” Denali groans, “Tayce’ll go super-speed with you. And she’ll let you harass her without breaking your nose.”
Mik laughs, “I don’t go that fast, bitch.”
“Have you ever seen that Disney movie Bolt? Y’know the one with that dog who runs like, full speed of light? They could do a live-action version with you as the dog.”
“Woof!”
Denali’s face cracks into a grin as she rolls her eyes, “I’m serious! One minute you’re next to me, the next you’re–” she slides her gloved hands together in a forward motion “–zip. And then I’m the idiot who can’t get down.
“I’d never leave you!” Mik gasps, clapping a palm to her chest. “How dare you, fucking bitch.”
Denali scoffs loudly in response. Every year Mik tries to bully her into doing a couple runs together, and every year without fail Denali obliges, only to find herself stuck at the top of a mountain, Mik nowhere in sight.
“Head,” Mik announces, reminding Denali to duck her head so Mik can raise the safety bar, as they start to approach the end of the lift. Mik lines herself up to the drop-off, riding around the corner smoothly, giggling as Denali has to jog to keep up.
They both sit down to strap in, Mik tightening Denali’s bindings for her and pulling her up with a roll of her eyes.
“See you at the bottom?” Mik asks. Before Denali can answer, she’s slipped off, whooping as she hits a bump and flies upwards, grabbing the nose of her board as she hits the jump.
“So much for never leaving me, I guess,” Denali grumbles, carefully edging herself down the slopes with big sweeping S-shaped turns, she knows Mik will laugh at her about later, reminding her how her ten year-olds could easily out-board her.
Uh yeah, I’d fucking hope so, Denali thinks to herself, curving around onto the toe-edge of her board. Otherwise this’d be the biggest waste of money like, uh, ever.
The air that whips around her is cool, blowing snowflakes into her dark hair, but she doesn’t feel cold, happy in her thick sweatshirt and pants. Her feet are desperate to be unlatched from the board, feeling slightly unnatural to be locked in. She’s much more in her element spraying ice as she nails a complicated spin, she knows Mik would eat ass on.
Yeah, she thinks, fuck you and your ten year-olds, Mickey.
☆☆☆☆☆
“Michelle’s put the board up,” Tayce says in the late afternoon, sticking her head around Denali and Mik’s door propped open by a snowboard boot.
Denali looks up from the book she’s reading, comfortably curled up on her bed with her mandatory evening uniform of thick fluffy socks and sweats on. Mik, on the other hand, is still in her lycra leggings and hoodie, having made no effort to change since coming back, much to Denali’s disgust.
“Well?” Tayce asks in annoyance, cocking her hip, “you coming or what?”
Mik groans, rolling off of her bed and moving to stand next to Tayce in their doorway, bare feet on the cold linoleum. Denali carefully places her bookmark in her book, grabbing a pair of Nike slides– sponsored, thank you very much– and begrudgingly walking down the corridor to their big common room.
The Board– with an optional trademarked symbol from Mik– as it’s been aptly dubbed, is a large whiteboard divided neatly (by the increasingly anal Michelle) into a leaderboard. The top ten coaches are listed top to bottom, ordering the number of world title holders they’ve coached at Bonneville, bonus points being allotted to those whose kids win gold, and double points if the title being held was Olympian.
Michelle says it builds healthy competition. Denali says it builds a desire to Tonya Harding every other bitch in this place. Tomayto, tomahto.
Denali hadn’t even been on The Board, until she had returned three seasons ago with the last World Skating Championships under her belt, managing to land three podium spots. She proudly boasted for months to anyone that looked like they might listen that her girls had swept the categories, winning medals across the ladies’ single event, ice dance and pair skating.
Despite her allure of confidence, she knows she only made it up there because Michelle insists on starting fresh each year. She tries to tell them that she’s giving the new coaches a chance, but everyone knows it’s to keep egos in check.
Egos like mother-fucking Rosé McCorkell’s, who’s placed first on the board two years running.
First as in one spot ahead of Denali’s second, first. First as in gloating in Denali’s face every opportunity she gets (and rest be assured, every opportunity means every opportunity), first. First as in deliberately sabotaging Denali’s skaters, first– well, at least in Denali’s eyes.
Okay, whatever, yes it could have been a coincidence that one of her front runners’ sole came unglued from the attached blade on the morning of Nationals a year ago. And yeah, sure, maybe Rosé was like, several states away from the incident. And okay, yes, she still came in first after the whole thing, so it’s not it even really mattered after all. But Denali just knows Rosé had something to do with it, that bitch.
“Who’s on top of the pyramid this year?” Mik sing-songs when they approach The Board. Denali instinctively works her way through their photos from the bottom to the top, clapping Tayce lightly on the back when she sees her smack-dab in the centre.
She isn’t nervous; she knows she did well this year, the girls she had coached in the previous season competing in nationally-recognised competitions, pictures of them grinning up on their podiums, flowers in sequinned arms, emailed to her and the school. And it’s not even like it matters.
Her photo stands in line with another, both at the top of the leaderboard. She can hear Mik mumble an oh shit, with a laugh as she realises that Denali is tied with Rosé at the top.
Okay, so maybe it matters a little bit.
Rosé’s photo looks down at her. She’s wearing her obnoxious signature pink ski jacket, her name embroidered into it in a sparkly silver thread. Her equally obnoxiouly signature curly pink hair has been tied up in a messy ponytail, and she stares at Denali with a big fucking grin on her face.
Denali wants to rip down the laminated photo, putting it into a paper shredder and watch as Rosé’s dumb face gets torn into ribbons.
“Healthy competition huh?” Tayce remarks, wrapping a long arm around Denali’s shoulders. “The cheek, the nerve, the audacity and the gumption, mama.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” A voice groans, Denali turns around and is met by the woman of the hour. Rosé looks her up and down, irritation flickering in her green eyes. “Stepping your shit up, this season ice princess?”
Denali arches an eyebrow in response. “Evidently, McCorkell.”
Rosé smiles at her, all pearly white teeth Denali is pretty sure are veneers– well, at least that’s the rumour she and Tayce started last year as a laugh.
All of a sudden, she feels like a shark’s prey, a minnow trapped inside the great white’s tank. Rosé doesn’t have to say anything for Denali to know that she’s going to be in for a tough season.
Better get that hammer ready, she thinks to herself, I am not the Nancy Kerrigan of this competition, bitch.
#please remember your tags! -v#rpdr fanfiction#rosé#denali foxx#gottmik#tayce#rosnali#lesbian au#s13#love is a dog from hell#mattels
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SOME NEW TAGS. misc + verses.
because they were all broken so why not.
#▲「 fanning the flames. 」 ic#▲「 incoming transmission. 」 ask#▲「 a wish upon a star. 」 wishlist#▲「 about the best boy. 」 hc#▲「 I know who I am. 」 about#▲「 it makes me feel at peace. 」 likes#▲「 all it takes is a spark. 」 desires#▲「 if its not red or black then whats the point? 」 aesthetic#▲「 its not a mullet. 」 visage#▲「 not quite lions but just as great. 」 cats#▲「 out or armor. 」 ooc#▲「 muns art. 」#▲「 muns edits. 」#▲「 keith talk. 」#▲「 stars shining bright. 」 promo#▲「 saved. 」#▲「 space traveling tunes. 」 music#▲「 intercepted transmission. 」 dash comm.#▲「 I say vol. you say... voltron? 」 crack#▲「 anomaly of the cosmos. 」 misc.#★「 guardian spirit of fire. 」 v; red paladin#★「 guardian spirit of the air. 」 v; black paladin#★「 rules are meant to be broken. 」 v; cadet#★「 victory. knowledge. or death. 」 v; galra#★「 more than a soldier’s replacement. 」 v; altean#★「 rebel with a cause. 」 v; college#★「 of in and irons. 」 v; tattoo artist#★「 third times the charm. 」 v; witch#★「 forged by way of fire. 」 v; firebender#★「 a tamer of beasts as wild as he. 」 v; dragon trainer
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Todesreich - Chapter I: The Halls of Power
Washington DC, 1962
“General Clay just called, sir. He’s reached the embassy.”
The President exhaled; he seemed to relax ever so slightly.
“Thank Christ,” he muttered.
Blue rubbed her hand slightly as he rubbed his temple, gazing down at his oak deck. He wiped a band of sweat from his forehead and straightened his tie. His beady eyes scanned the room and briefly met hers - in them, she could see conflict. Here he was, sending an envoy to the greatest enemy America had ever faced to create a lasting peace. In some ways, setting a table for Hitler was a betrayal, and both knew it.
“Mr. President?”
She’d only been a baby, and he’d been in the South Pacific, that autumn day in 1943, when America had learned of it’s greatest military disaster. Thirty thousand men lay dead on a beach in southern Italy, with the loss of fifteen warships - the mournful words of General Eisenhower, taking full responsibility for the failure, echoed on every radio in America. Yet for both of them it had changed everything. She grew up in a world terrified of fascism hiding behind every curtain, and he’d built a career on it. Yet now, they were here to make peace.
The press were already repeating the wry comment; ���only Nixon could go to Berlin.’
Richard M. Nixon, President of the United States, arch grey-baiter and cold warrior, reached for the telephone. He dialed the number of the American Embassy in Berlin, before turning back to his staff.
“I’d like to be alone for this,” he said.
Slowly, the men in grey suits began to file out. Blue followed, stepping out into the hallway and taking a deep breath. It almost felt like she’d emerged from underwater.
She knew they needed to do this, but she couldn’t help but feel sick. The idea of offering the olive branch to the Nazis, considering what their thugs would do to someone like her if she lived in Germany… it just felt wrong. It made her skin crawl.
Yet, she supposed, this was politics. She’d expected as much when she took this job, and seen just how low it went. She’d seen Joe Kennedy’s campaigns; how he’d tried to smear one of Vice-President Rockefeller’s aides as a homosexual (and it wounded her that people thought that was wrong.) You had to swim in the muck to make it. And maybe they could change things in Germany. Maybe they could make it freer.
Maybe she was being too optimistic.
----
Berlin, 1962
Lance McClain hated Berlin, and he’d only been here a day.
The marine sighed as he stood in the guard tower, his heavy rifle leaning against the wall and his helmet removed. Sentry duty was a boring and lonely job on its own, and he was already over it before he’d even reached his post.
But then, the real kicker—he learned that guard duty was not fated to be a thankless job, and he would have a partner. That effectively lifted his spirits, and then dropped them with twenty times more disappointment when he spotted a familiar, dark-haired mullet approach the spot during the same shift change.
How’d Hunk get out of this?
If he was up with Hunk, it’d be fine - they could at least talk. But Keith Kogane? This guy. The stick up his ass had a stick up its ass. He just stood there, quietly watching the deserted streets around them, his face set into a frown. God, his whole aura just radiated with that smug undertone of I’m-better-than-you, so much so that on top of that there was an added layer of I’m-too-good-to-talk-to-you-because-I’m-so-much-better-than-you.
Lance sighed heavily and pursed his lips together. He blew against them, making a popping noise - pop!
Keith’s hands seemed to grip his rifle ever-so-slightly tighter. Lance noticed. He tucked his hands behind his back, like an officer inspecting his troops, and gazed off into the distance. For a few seconds, all was silent.
Pop!
Keith’s shoulders visibly raised, but his focus remained purposefully forward, on the streets. His breathing seemed to become more laboured, his brow furrowing-
Pop!
His breathing was definitely louder now, and Lance could hear his teeth grinding against each other. Smirk widening, he leaned in close to Keith’s ear, as if he was about to share a deep, dark secret. His face was set into the single most trollish expression he could possibly manage.
…
…
Pop!
Keith’s rifle shot back, the butt slamming right into Lance’s most prized possessions. He winced and cried out, collapsing to the floor and clutching his privates, wheezing and moaning. He spluttered in a raspy voice; “Man down! Man down!”
“You gentlemen wanna explain what you’re doing?”
Lance glanced down. Through his swimming vision he could see the gruff visage of Colonel Iverson, his arms crossed and his lips thin.
“I’ve been viciously assaulted, sir!”
“Sir, Private McClain was deliberately trying to annoy me, sir.”
“I was not! I was just making noises!”
“Shut up!”
Iverson pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Private Kogane,” he said. “Don’t react. It’s what he wants you to do. You’re a marine, you need to be a professional, you understand?”
“Yes sir!” Keith salutes.
“Private McClain?”
“Yes sir?”
“You’re an asshole.”
He sighed heavily and walked away.
Lance climbed to his feet and leaned against the wall, sweating. Keith rolled his eyes as the marine dry-heaved over the side, still squatting from the sudden and unexpected attack on his nether regions.
“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” he grunted.
“I may never have children,” Lance cried melodramatically.
He glanced down, watching as another two marines opened the gate. The Ambassador’s car - a hot-pink Chevrolet limousine, chosen as a symbol of American wealth, drove out onto the street and off towards the government quarter.
“Hey Keith, ever wonder why we can’t have cars like that?”
“Hey Lance, ever wonder what it’s like to be hit in the nuts twice in five minutes?”
“Fine, shutting up…”
-----
The Volkshalle was a breathtaking monument to hideous waste.
Shiro glanced up at the cavernous roof above the enormous assembly room, covered in gold regalia of Germany and the Nazis. Everything about it was built on a massive scale - the paintings, the sculptures, the truly enormous marble statue of Adolf Hitler at the end of the room. Yet if one looked closely, between the lines in the concrete, one could see the mold building in the cracks. You could smell a strange dampness in the air, leaving a chill in its wake that crept far lower than bone-deep.
“It’s almost symbolic,” Matt whispered, and Shiro was rather inclined to agree.
They were walking to a meeting room, Ambassador Clay deep in conversation with their tall, wiry technocrat of a host. Albert Speer was grey and balding, but time hadn’t diminished his passion for architecture. He was pointing at every aspect of the Volkshalle he found interesting and describing it in detail - and Clay was nodding politely and making a heroic effort not to appear as bored as he surely was. Speer wore a leather coat over his traditional brown party uniform, and part of Shiro thought he looked like a Nazi biker.
Next to them was John Profumo, British Ambassador - an up-and-coming Tory with an eye on the Prime Minister’s seat. He’d been forced to spend the morning looking at Speer’s models for grand new buildings, but it was an open secret in political circles that Profumo had an interest in models of a very different kind; specifically of a young and curvaceous kind. Yet he was also a professional and well-regarded, to the point where it was suspected that Prime Minister Butler had dispatched him to Berlin to prevent him from taking his job.
Before long they had left the grand atrium and were walking down a corridor, heading to the big wooden doors that led to one of the Nazi Party meeting rooms. On either side of the door was a guard - a member of the Führerbegleitkommando. These men, who these days were clad in the same tan-brown party uniforms and peaked caps as a party officer, were technically under control of the SS, but in actuality they answered directly to Hitler (or at least the minions who claimed to speak for him.) Shiro locked eyes with one of them - a grizzled, scarred veteran of a thousand nightmares in the East, by the look of him - and fought the urge to shudder.
They saluted, but Speer paid them no heed as he pushed open the door. He led the party inside, snapped to attention, and raised his arm.
“Heil Hitler!”
“Heil Hitler.”
The room was grandly furnished with red carpet and drapes; a massive painting of a caped Hitler, surveying a map of his European conquests like a Roman emperor, covered the opposite wall, and swastikas adorned every pillar. Below the painting of the Fuhrer sat three men, none of whom looked particularly excited about their company. Shiro thought back to his briefings on these men back in Washington.
To the left, Martin Bormann - short, portly, round-faced, his constant expression stern and slightly bewildered. There were few frills on his uniform - just the standard party badge over his breast. On paper, Bormann was little more than Hitler’s secretary, yet this position offered power. He could and did control who could see the Fuhrer and when. Furthermore, as head of the Chancellory, he had official control of the Nazi Party itself, and while it was difficult to call Nazis a unified entity these days, it still counted for something when dealing with an errant clerk or rogue governor.
In the middle, Herman Goering, the portly, flamboyant head of the Luftwaffe - which, under Goering’s personal insistence, had expanded to include not only planes but considerable ground troops. The once black-haired Goering had gone bald at some point in the late 1950s, something that clearly irritated him given his insistence on wearing grand, gold-braided hats indoors. Some thought him a drug-addled joke; yet he held the feared Gestapo under his belt, having wrestled it from the SS in the fifties, and under his boisterous, charming mask was a cruel streak a mile wide.
To the right was a hunched, gaunt man, his face almost resembling a skull. This was Joseph Goebbels, the Minister for Propaganda, who had expanded his fief to include the Berlin Police, the city’s garrison, the Hitler Youth and the brand new television stations. It was Goebbels who had flooded the European airwaves with crude, anti-Semitic caricatures and pulpy, one-dimensional tales of martial derring do. It was he who controlled what was known and what wasn’t known. It was he who ensured the dark rumours of what was happening in the East remained merely that - rumours.
These were the so-called ‘moderates’ - a tentative, creaking faction defined only by a mutual opposition to Heinrich Himmler and the SS, and a determination to avoid the collapse of the Reich.
The others took their seats, but Shiro made sure to stand, as inconspicuous as possible, by the door.
“Ambassador Clay! Ambassador Profumo!” Goering extended his arms, beaming. “I trust you’ve enjoyed Berlin?”
“Yes, it has been a delight,” Clay lied smoothly.
“Indeed,” said Profumo. “But we really ought to get down to business, Herr Reichsmarschall. Her Majesty’s Government is keen to get this trade deal sorted.”
“You were a general under Eisenhower, were you not?” asked Goering, smiling plainly at Clay. “I always felt he was cruelly treated by the American government, you know? I-”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Goering,” said Clay. “President Nixon has a few preconditions to opening trade with your nation, which I’ve taken the liberty of writing down.”
He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a scrap of paper.
“Uh, Herr Ambassador, surely we should start by telling you what we want out of-” Speer began.
Clay raised his brow.
“Mr. Speer, let me be frank,” he said. “Germany’s credit rating is atrocious. One American dollar buys ten Reichsmarks. You have no international market for any of your products. Americans don’t want Fanta and Volkswagens, they want Coca-Cola and Fords. Your bargaining power is nearly nonexistent. Depending on what we negotiate, all that might change, but let me make this entirely clear, gentlemen; you are not in a position of power right now.”
He paused, letting his words sink in. Speer seemed to pale slightly, and Bormann sank in his chair. Goebbels didn’t initially seem to move, but Shiro could just about see his hands shaking. Goering still smiled, but it seemed decidedly pained.
He took a deep breath. “Right,” he said, his voice laboured. “Of course. Please, Herr Clay, your proposal.”
Clay leaned forward.
“Caucasus oil. Ruhr coal. Steel. Rubber. Maize from the Ukraine. These are the things America wants, not your dinky little Beetles.”
“Please, the Fuhrer doesn’t like the term Bee-” interrupted Bormann.
Clay raised his hand to shut him up.
“Most of all,” continued Clay. “We want uranium. We know there are deposits in the former Soviet Union. We want it; we want to survey for it, we want to build mines, we want uranium from the existing mines.”
He slipped the paper over to Goering.
“Here’s our offer.”
Goering picked up the paper, scrutinising it carefully. His face blanched, and he handed it over to Goebbels, shaking his head.
“The offer is… I’m going to be quite honest, Herr Clay, we expected-”
“That is the President’s proposal, Mr. Goering,” Clay replied simply.
“But… but the prices…” Goering blinked, slowly and deliberately. “And… the American market…”
“Once we have traded for a few years, we can talk about selling German products on American markets,” said Clay.
“I…”
“This is robbery!” Goebbels sprung to his feet, shaking with rage as he pointed at Clay. “This is banditry! You would drain Germany dry for a third of the market price, and we would gain nothing!”
“We would jumpstart your economy,” said Clay.
“You would hold us hostage!” screeched Goebbels, slamming his fist on the table. “You thieves! You Shylocks! No self-respecting nation would ever sign such a deal!”
“You asked a deal like this of the French,” muttered Holt.
Goebbels turned on him, and it was as if his eyes were orbs of fire.
“We conquered the French!” he bellowed. “They were crushed under the Fuhrer’s mighty heel! Where are your tanks? Where is your boot! We are not conquered? We are not cowed! We are German!”
“Now, now,” said Profumo, “we are not here to denigrate Germany or Mr. Hitler, we are simply offering a realistic-”
Goebbels now turned on the British ambassador, his fist again crashing against the oak table.
“You!” he bellowed. “Will address him as! The! FUHRER!”
He punched the table one last time and stormed towards the door.
“Mr. Goebbels, please!” exclaimed Clay. “President Nixon has only-”
“To hell with President Nixon!” spat Goebbels.
He slammed the door behind him.
Speer took a long, deep breath, cradling his temples.
“Well,” he said, “that went well.”
Goering bit his lip.
“Gentlemen, perhaps we can reconvene later, when Herr Goebbels has… calmed down,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt at Goebbels’ name.
“That would probably be for the best,” nodded Clay.
There were no further pleasantries - instead the group walked out in awkward, deafening silence.
#todesreich#voltron#steven universe#nazis#blue pearl#lance mcclain#keith kogane#shiro#sam holt#matt holt#richard nixon#albert speer#martin bormann#hermann göring#joseph goebbels
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Looking Back on POLTERGEIST II: THE OTHER SIDE
It’s been 32 years since the release of Brian Gibson’s follow up to the 1982 Tobe Hooper classic Poltergeist. The film is an interesting follow-up and the horror ante is definitely upped, and we aren’t just talking about JoBeth Williams’ perm and Craig T. Nelson’s mullet. Let’s take a look back at Poltergeist II: The Other Side.
Back with the Freelings
It’s been one year since the events of Poltergeist and Cueste Verde has been excavated. Tangina (Zelda Rubinstein), with the help of Taylor (Will Sampson), have discovered a mass grave located in a cave. And, of course, that mass grave sits right below where the Freeling’s home once stood. The many found dead died while following Reverend Henry Kane, a psychotic preacher whose spirit is after Carol Anne.
The “freaky Freelings” now live with Grandma Jess, Diane’s mother. With Steven (Craig T. Nelson) now selling vacuum cleaners and the family in a constant battle with the insurance company about their disappearing home. The insurance company keeps denying their claims, with the latest reason being “if the house disappeared then technically it’s just missing”. We quickly learn that Grandma Jess is clairvoyant and apparently its runs in the family, explaining Diane and Carol Anne’s abilities. Sadly, Grandma Jess passes away in the night and that’s when the trouble starts.
Kane comes in contact with the family several times, testing them, trying to enter their lives. With the help of Tangina’s friend Taylor, the Freelings are able to learn more about Kane and the monster he has become in death. In a particularly gross scene, Steven drinks alcohol with a worm in it that causes him to become possessed by Kane. After attempting to rape Diane, Steven vomits up the worm, now gruesomely evolved which quickly grows larger and larger. After Steven gets him to go away, the family decides it is time to return to Cueste Verde. There, they descend into the cave and are taken to the other side. Then they must defeat Kane, and Grandma Jess ensures Carol Anne is safely with her family once more.
Behind the Specters
While this film has its own scares, the tone of the film seems distinctly different. Yes there is a similar plot structure, but overall this film seems much darker. Part of this comes from the fact that the set itself was under a shadow. The most obvious thing missing from Poltergeist II: The Other Side is the presence of the oldest Freeling daughter, Dana, played by Dominique Dunne. While the film intended to have Dana going off to college, no real explanation is given during the film as to where Dana is. Sadly, Dominique Dunne was murdered by her ex-boyfriend in 1982, not long after the release of the first film.
While Julian Beck’s portrayal of the evil Reverend Henry Kane still scares me every time I watch it, there is a deep sadness to his performance in retrospect. Beck’s visage and voice always frightened me since childhood, and as the film’s villain that works great. But that sad truth is that Beck was in fact dying when he portrayed Kane. Beck was diagnosed with stomach cancer in 1983 and passed away in 1985, before the film was completed. As a result, voice actor Corey Burton was asked to record some of Kane’s uncompleted dialog. During filming, Julian Beck was very thin and you can see just how so in his face. Beck’s thin skin and sunken features give him a skeletal appearance that adds the Kane’s creepiness. As effective as it is visually, one cannot watch the film and not feel sadness.
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Amping up the Horror
Poltergeist fed our fear of clowns and televisions. Poltergeist II: The Other Side will make you question braces and toy phones. Instead of Carol Anne communicating with spirits via the family television, she talks to them via her toy telephone after she uses it to speak with Grandma Jess. Same rope, different means.
Personally, there are three scenes in this film that kick up the creep factor. The first one is when we first seen Julian Beck’s Kane walking toward Carol Anne. Gives me the shivers. Carol Anne can’t find Diane or Robbie and is calling out for them. Just then we see Kane approaching.He is translucent and moves right through others in the scene. It’s chilling and it sets the mood for Kane’s introduction.
The next frightening scene comes from Robbie’s braces. Every kid gets anxious and self-conscious about their braces. But what if your braces turned on you? Like literally. Well poor Robbie, that’s what happens the middle Freeling child. As if clown attacks, and tree attacks weren’t enough, now the poor kid has his braces attack him. The wires extend out from the braces and keep expanding until the kid is covered in wires. As Steven tries to free him from the wires, the wires attempt to strangle Steven, as well as move towards the light socket to electrocute them both. The zap finally frees them, but one can’t not feel sorry for anyone with braces watching the film.
The last scene that, for me at least, is very difficult the watch is Steven’s possession. From the disgusting worm swallowing, to the attempted rape of Diane, the scene is dark as can be. Then we are forced to watch Steven vomit up the mutated worm as Diane screams her head off. The whole thing feels so much more vicious that the horror scenes of the original film.
Native American Mysticism
While we’ve all heard the old “haunted house built of indian burial ground” schtick, this film seems to depend on the Native American angle a little too much. Taylor is depicted as this mystical shaman who uses mystical powers to help the Freeling’s defeat Kane. We see this in two instances.
Firstly, after Steven’s possession, Steven wards off Kane using a smoke spirit, given to him by Taylor. Then later in the cave, once we have ventured to the other side, Taylor provides Steven with a magical spear to destroy Kane. The original film had the Freeling’s turning to paranormal psychologists performing experiments and analyzing data to get Carol Anne back. But this time we are merely given a convenient solution to the problem, which is a little disappointing when compared to the intensity of the first film.
Poltergeist II: The Other Side was released May 23, 1986. The film grossed just under $41 million domestically, which was roughly only a third of what the original film had grossed. However, the film was nominated for an Academy Award for its visual effects. While Poltergeist II: The Other Side, doesn’t have the punch that Tobe Hooper’s original film did, Brian Gibson’s sequel is a good follow-up. Either way, there are plenty of 1980’s special effects and totally creepy moments to keep you’re eyes glued to the screen.
Let us know what you thought of Poltergeist II over in our Horror Group on Facebook!
The post Looking Back on POLTERGEIST II: THE OTHER SIDE appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street - Horror Movie Podcast, News and Reviews.
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Terminator 2: Judgement Day (1991) - Episode 22 - Decades of Horror 1990s
"Hasta La Vista, Baby." What?! Terminator 2 on a horror podcast? What kind of insanity is this? If you're asking those questions, it's only fair. Terminator 2 is far more beloved as a sci-fi actioner than for its horror thrills. Yet, looking at the T-1000 (Robert Patrick) and his cold pursuit of John Connor (Edward Furlong), it's pretty horrific. Kind of like a slasher film only with a sci-fi twist. He's an unstoppable killing machine out to destroy. The only thing that may stop him is the T-800 (Arnold Schwarzenegger). That is, if Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton) will allow the visage that killed John's father to help out. It's a story of survival, family and the run that made Tom Cruise famous.
Decades of Horror 1990s Episode 22 – Terminator 2: Judgement Day (1991)
Terminator 2 is inarguably the peak of writer/director James Cameron. It's an actioner full of set pieces most action films could only dream to have as their climactic finales. A sequel that ups the ante of the original Terminator's scrappy efficient thrills. We get full role reversals as the T-800 saves the day. Having to contend with Sarah Connor's doubt and John's affection while trying to defeat the sleek new model of the T-1000. And boy is he sleek. Winner of four Academy Awards, Terminator 2 revolutionized computer generated effects. Yet, much of what made such effects work is helped by the presence of practical effects alongside them. Afterall, would the T-1000's helicopter crash be nearly as good without an actual helicopter being crushed on the road? Probably not.
To help cover all the time paradoxes and high pitched noises from Edward Furlong, Thomas sends two perfect robot co-hosts back in time to cover Terminator 2; Christopher G. Moore and Shakyl Lambert. Together, these three ask the important questions. What is more terrifying: Robert Patrick's run or Danny Cooksey's mullet? Would Denzel Washington have been a better Miles Dyson? Will we see a nuclear holocaust as terrifying as the opening scene in our lifetime? All these and more are answered as Decades of Horror the 1990s finds out exactly why you cry.
Contact Us
We want to hear from you – the coolest, most gruesome fans: leave us a message or leave a comment on the site or email the Decades of Horror 1990s podcast hosts at [email protected] or tweet Thomas @NotTheWhosTommy. Also, make sure to give us some love via iTunes reviews and ratings. Helps us get more notice along the way.
If you’re in the Atlanta area during Labor Day Weekend (Sept 1-4), make sure to visit us at Dragon Con Horror Track!
The intro and outro is “Suck City” by Black Math. Look for more of their music via Free Music Archive.
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Stephen King's It (1990)
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There's No One There, 2/? (Group Fic) - Marmalade
A/N: I don’t know if I need to put another author’s note so just have some more of this
“The more I look at it, the more I actually like it.”
“…That’s the Stockholm Syndrome kicking in.”
As far as anyone could tell, Gigi was invested in her compact mirror as she checked her makeup, but that girl who was always getting in trouble for dying her hair had walked into class this morning with a mullet that she evidently gave herself and Gigi couldn’t stop herself from listening in on her conversation with Jaida, the school’s reigning debate championship winner, of all people. She may as well listen in, the desk besides hers was still empty and Jackie’s reassurance was starting to wear thin.
“Is Jan still not here yet? Did you see here this morning?”
“Yeah, she told me that she was going for a morning walk but then I didn’t see her at breakfast.”
Gigi snapped closed her compact. Girls were still filtering in and moving to their seats but as the class bell came and went, a single desk in the front row remained empty.
It was probably just a coincidence.
It was a private school, the class sizes were significantly smaller than what they would be at a normal campus, absences just seemed to stand out more because of how small the classes are.
Most of the girls shared so many classes that if more than a few girls were sick at a time, of course the absences would overlap.
So many explanations and yet not one of them made Gigi feel better. The compact was started to jostle and shake in her palm so she put it down and rested her hands on her desk before anyone noticed. She almost wanted to turn around and question them but Mr. Matthews walked in and told the class it was time to start for the day.
-
With Jan unaccounted for since breakfast, Crystal walked with Jaida to the nurse’s office to see if she was there. The nurse was seated in her side office while Jackie, the nurse’s aide, sat on a chair at the end of a cot doing her homework. All of the cots were empty, answering their main question early on but Jackie noticed them before they could sneak away.
Her eyes lit up and she immediately put aside her binder and stood up, her position as in the nurse’s office may only be because of her mother phoning the school to set it up in order to build up her resume rather than actually wanting to be there but having to spend her study hall alone made Jackie happy just to have something to do. Granted, most girls just came down to get tampons or a bandage. If things were serious, then it was an ice pack or a nap on the cot, anything more extreme than that and the actual nurse would set up an appointment with an actual doctor.
“What’s going on, what do you guys need?” The two girls looked at each other and Crystal’s expression made it clear that she didn’t think she’d be pulled into a conversation. Jaida, on the other hand, was unflappable and spoke up.
“We were actually wondering if Jan was in here sometime this morning.”
Jackie’s smile fell and her brows knitted together. “…Seriously?”
Now it was Jaida’s turn to furrow her brow and lean forward as if she had misheard Jackie.
“Wo-would we see if Jan was here as a joke?” Crystal exclaimed. This caught the nurse’s attention and she poked her head out to see if she was needed but Jackie waved her off.
“No, she hasn’t come in, why?” Jackie asked, taking a step closer to them and speaking in a low, quickened tone.
“This morning she told me she was going for a walk and I haven’t seen her since.”
“-We were wondering about Nicky too, we heard she was sick,” Crystal added. “was she here last week?” Jackie shook her head. She took a steep back and smoothed her hands down her hijab.
“We…we should go to the office and ask if their families pulled them out of class.” She couldn’t stop thinking about how she told Gigi not to worry, it was probably nothing it had to be, but if it wasn’t and there really was something going on than Jackie could have kept Gigi from reporting important information for almost a week.
Slipping out of the nurse’s office was easy, all Jackie had to do was say a girl left her blazer and that she was going to bring it to her. The front office wasn’t far and thankfully neither Vice Principal Visage nor the headmaster were out to question them.
The receptionist was a cheery woman that stocked a small bowl of candies from all around the world, one that Crystal reached into as soon as they arrived. They wasted no time getting to the core of why they were here- politely of course.
“Hi, a friend of ours’ missed class this morning and we were wondering if she was checked out this morning.”
“Oh, sorry sweethearts, but I can’t give out that kind of information to students. I wish I could help.” She paused but when the girls didn’t immediately leave, she pressed her lips into a thin line and looked around. “I can see you’re worried and you’re not the only ones who’ve asked me about absences today, there hasn’t been any long strings of unexcused absences, I can say that much. Now run along, you really should be in class.”
That wasn’t the answer Jackie had wanted but it did make her shoulders relax. That didn’t answer much about Jan but it meant that nothing weird had happened to Nicky. With the receptionist unwilling to answer anymore questions, the girls filed back into the hall where Gigi seemed to be waiting for them.
“Did you follow us and then wait outside?” Crystal asked as she unwrapped one of the candies she had taken and popped it into her mouth.
“Did she give you the same spiel about not being able to give out information?”
“You don’t believe it?” Jaida asked.
“It just doesn’t sit well with me. Nicky would have said something if she was going to leave. Then I heard you talking about Jan- it’s too soon for me.”
“Nicky got pulled out of class, yeah, we don’t know why but she must have an actual reason for it. Jan being gone is definitely weird but it hasn’t even been a full day. For all we know, Jan could have decided to reinvent herself as a delinquent and started skipping class. Why don’t we wait and see if she comes back to the dorm tonight and if she doesn’t, we’ll look into it again?” The four girls looked at one another, none of them had ever hung out together outside of a class project but it didn’t take long for each of them to nod and agree.
Jaida waited in her dorm that night for Jan to walk in but she never did.
-
Jaida was the one who arranged their meeting the next day. They snuck out of the mess hall during lunch to meet in the sewing room, the room was hardly ever locked and was empty during lunch, plus she was certain that Gigi and Crystal knew where the classroom was and could guide Jackie if she didn’t. They weren’t supposed to be in their dorms during school hours and the school was over two hundred years old and an absolute labyrinth, they needed some place that most of them could find easily. They arrived soon after Jaida did, already knowing what Jaida was going to say as they gathered around the table.
“Jan didn’t come back to our dorm. The receptionist ain’t gonna tell us shit and we gotta wait another full day before you can report someone as missing. Last few days, you know, Jan was acting kind of strange.”
“Usually in drama club, Jan is ‘let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!’” Jackie clapped her hands after each ‘go!’ “but she started missing a few meetings and you know what the strangest part is? The drama teacher offered her a lead role in the musical they’re putting on for the end of the year and she didn’t want it.”
“Me and Jaida we wondering if she was stressed out about exams and that’s why she wasn’t being as active in clubs but Jan wasn’t doing bad in any of her classes, was she?” Crystal added.
“All A’s and B’s as far as I know”
Jaida pursed her lips. “She kept telling me that I wouldn’t understand. I doubt the bitch would have been so cagey even if she was worried about flunking.” By this point Jackie, who had come prepared, withdrew a fresh notebook from her backpack and flipped it open, making quick notes.
JAN:
- Less active in clubs
- Distressed days before disappearance
- Would not tell Jaida what was wrong
- Possibly worried about exam but her grades are fine as far as we know
- Told Jaida she was going for a walk and didn’t come back
Despite Nicky being more or less accounted for, Jackie wrote her name down in its own section.
“Gigi, was there anything out of the ordinary going on with Nicky before she left?”
“Well… I know she hasn’t been sleeping well. Out of nowhere she started staying up as late as she could even though she’d be super grouchy in the morning. She was staying up reading or doing homework so I didn’t push her too much on it.”
NICKY:
- Been gone for almost a week but her absences are excused
- Left at some point during school (exact time unknown)
- Didn’t say goodbye to friends
- Sudden insomnia
It was weird but looking at the two lists, there wasn’t much of a pattern between them. Both girls began acting out of character and then disappeared but their odd behavior didn’t match and the manner in which they disappeared differed as well. The other three girls peered over the table to look at Jackie’s notes, Crystal eventually grabbed the notebook and looked at it closely like there was some hidden clue, Gigi was the first to lean back in her seat.
“So- what now? Do we wait out the other twenty-four hours and if she still doesn’t turn up, go to the police?”
“Hey Jaida, when did Jan start acting strangely?” Crystal asked, holding the notebook very close to her face.
“I started noticing it about two weeks ago but she didn’t get really freaked out ‘til about three days ago. Why?” Crystal put the notebook down and looked up at her.
“Widow’s been acting weird for about the same time.”
“Think she knows something?”
#rpdr fanfiction#jackie cox#gigi goode#crystal methyd#jaida essence hall#mystery#high school au#no ships#there's no one there#marmalade#concrit welcome#submission#s12
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