#If this lasts more than half a year it may even challenge my other massive gay crackship hyperfixation that happened two years ago

[brainrot-yumm]

I’m 5k words deep into this fucking crackfic. I’m designing outifts for their dates. I literally check the bowuigi AO3 tab every single day to see it update. I’m emulating mario games so I can more properly get character vibes. This is totally a sign that I’m normal in the head

If someone told me even two months ago that the mario trailer would trigger a MASSIVE gay crackship hyperfixation in me, I would probably believe you but be significantly disappointed in myself that my dumb brain chose fucking bowser and luigi to obsess over

btw since I’ve given in and am actually tagging this post, the crackfic will be “Bowser gets his hands on the Bowsette crown and, due to many wacky events, accidentally starts dating Luigi and experiences Hallmark levels of romcom” and “Luigi develops a crush on the same person twice while developing the assumption that this new princess is potentially Bowser Jr.’s mom” 

EDIT: woah I did it?!?!?!? I posted chapter 1. It’s “Ette and Er” on AO3. I do not hold myself accountable for my actions, or am under the assumption that I know what I’m talking about, and as long as you're aware of that it’ll be a fun romp.

[griseldabanks]

Maybelle and the Beast

My contribution to the @inklings-challenge Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge. This was my back-up idea for last year, so I was excited to have an excuse to finally write it out! Beauty and the Beast is my favorite fairy tale, and I have a feeling I may revisit this particular version again in the future, because I could definitely turn this into a novel ;) I'll admit to taking a lot of inspiration from Robin McKinley's retellings of this fairy tale.

Maybelle stared at the tall, imposing mahogany door. She felt just as reluctant to open it as if it had been the barred portal to a dungeon—like the cold stone chamber she'd explored early on in her stay here, which she expected had been a dungeon once but was now a wine cellar.

More to stall for time than anything else, Maybelle brushed off her rust red skirt and straightened her collar. It was a nervous habit, but in a way it also served to remind her of why she was here, because of who had given her these clothes. Days, weeks, months in this huge, empty mansion, alone except for one companion. The companion who had slammed this very door not half an hour ago.

Taking a deep breath, Maybelle knocked firmly on the door.

“Go 'way,” a muffled voice growled out to her.

Letting out her breath again in an impatient huff, Maybelle crossed her arms. “Are you still sulking, Agnes?”

“I am not sulking,” the voice insisted sulkily.

“Right. You're lying in bed at three in the afternoon, glaring a hole in the ceiling, for your health.”

After a heavy silence, a loud click told her the key had turned in the hole. Taking that as an invitation, Maybelle opened the door and stepped inside.

The heavy drapes had been pulled closed, leaving the bedroom in a stuffy half-light. The only illumination came from the embers of the fire dying in the fireplace. She could barely even make out the silhouette of a large bulk lying in the huge four-poster. It was like stepping into a sickroom.

Rolling her eyes at the drama of it all, Maybelle closed the door with a snap and made a beeline for the window closest to the fireplace. She pulled the curtains aside, letting a band of lazy afternoon sunlight stretch across the carpet, revealing the twisting patterns of vines and roses. After a moment's consideration, Maybelle decided not to open the curtains of the other window nearest the bed. Best not to annoy Agnes any further with a sunbeam in her eyes. She would probably just wave her hand and make the curtains close, then stick together so Maybelle couldn't open them again. Instead, Maybelle contented herself with throwing the window open and letting in the delicious scents of flowers and the buzzing of bees from the gardens.

“There,” she said, drawing in a deep breath of the fresh smell of spring. “Much better.”

With a grunt, the huge lump on the bed rolled over.

Maybelle walked up to the foot of the bed and stood there with her hands on her hips, just waiting. How strange, to remember how frightened she had been the first time she'd ventured into this room. Or how her knees had nearly given out the first time she'd dared to meet the gaze of the terrible Beast who was to be her captor.

It had been months since she'd ceased to be the Beast, and became instead...simply Agnes.

“Well?” Maybelle said, when it became clear Agnes wasn't about to break the silence. “Aren't we going to at least talk about this?”

The long tail lying on top of the blue bedspread flicked irritably, like a huge cat's. “What's to talk about?” Agnes retorted, her voice grumbling like a motorcar in her massive chest. “Clearly, you don't care what happens to me, as long as you get to go have fun without me.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Maybelle sent up a silent prayer for patience. “Well, for starters,” she said, her voice coming out more sharply than she'd intended, “you called me an awful lot of horrid names, and I thought perhaps you might want to apologize.”

A long, pregnant pause. Finally, with a long-suffering groan from the bed, Agnes rolled over onto her back, her arms tucked up against her chest almost like a dog waiting for a belly rub. The long, black skirt did little to hide her bowed legs ending in sharp claws, and from this angle, her long saber teeth and curled goat-like horns were no longer hidden in her mountain of pillows.

Agnes sighed in resignation. “Sorry for calling you a selfish, bird-brained floozy.”

Maybelle nodded. “Apology accepted. And...I'm sorry too. For calling you a heartless, hairy pig.”

Their eyes met across the room. Agnes let out a snort, followed by a loud guffaw, and suddenly Maybelle found herself laughing as well. The tight coil of anger and bitterness loosened in her chest as she tipped her head back and let her higher-pitched laughter harmonize with Agnes' deep, hefty chuckles.

Still giggling, Maybelle crossed over and flopped onto the huge bed beside Agnes. She felt so tiny in this bed, like a doll. And yet, even though she was sure Agnes could snap her like a twig if she so desired, Maybelle didn't feel a shred of fear to lie a mere foot away from her.

For a couple minutes, they merely lay there, staring up into the canopy over the four-poster. Maybelle had just realized the stars embroidered there formed constellations and was looking for Orion when Agnes broke the silence.

“You were right, you know.” Her voice was a low, sad rumble like a locomotive rushing past in the night. “I am a pig.”

“Oh, no!” Maybelle raised herself on one elbow, looking over in alarm. “Please, forget those awful things I said. It was very wrong of me to call you that.”

Agnes turned her head aside, but Maybelle thought she caught the sight of a tear glistening in one eye. “You were only speaking the truth. Like you always do. I am heartless. Because I care more about not being alone than I do about you getting a chance to see your family. Even when all you ask is to go to your sister's wedding...I'm too selfish to let you go.”

Slowly, Maybelle lowered herself to her pillow again. She wasn't quite sure what to say, so she spoke slowly, picking her words carefully. “I wasn't thinking of you either. I'm sorry, Agnes. I know...I mean, I can imagine how lonely it must get here, in this huge mansion all alone. But it would only be for the weekend. Just enough to meet Edward and see Adeline off. I'd be back before you could miss me too much.”

“You...would come back?”

Agnes' voice sounded so hesitant and tremulous, Maybelle looked over in surprise, but she couldn't make out her friend's expression past the horn and the unruly mane of hair. “Of course I'll come back. That's part of the deal.”

The silence seemed to congeal between them. Neither of them had mentioned the deal Agnes and Maybelle's father had worked out, not since...Maybelle couldn't even remember. During the past several months, it had become easy to forget how all of this began. When Maybelle had first arrived at the mansion, she'd shut thoughts of home out of her mind as much as possible, to make her dreadful fate a little more bearable. If she weren't constantly thinking of the little cottage or trying to imagine what her father and sisters were up to, perhaps she could carve a small measure of contentment out of her exile. It was a small price to pay for her father's life, after all.

But it had been months since Maybelle had seriously believed that Agnes would have eaten her father. Not after she'd seen the delicate way Agnes handled the gardening tools when she tended to her enchanted rose bushes. Not after the way she'd cradled that finch's body in her enormous hands, huge tears rolling down her hairy face as she muttered spell after spell that fizzled out, unable to bring the tiny animal back to life.

Not after scores upon scores of cozy evenings by the fire, laughing together as Maybelle tried to teach Agnes how to knit with two iron pokers, or taking turns reading from one of the books in the huge library.

For the first time, Maybelle tried to imagine what life must have been like for Agnes in all the years before her father had shown up on the doorstep. Sitting alone in front of a guttering fire. Pacing the dark, dusty hallways, with nothing to hear but the echoes of her own footsteps. Wandering the grounds, able to turn the seasons at a word and the weather at a glance, but with nothing but the birds and bees to listen to her words. A library that magically seemed to provide exactly the book she wanted to read, but all the stories of friendship and adventure only serving to mock her solitude.

“I promise I'll come back,” Maybelle said firmly. “Deal or no deal. I won't leave you alone forever.”

A strange, strangled sound escaped Agnes, quickly disguised in a clearing of her throat. “Well,” she said gruffly, “good. But if you don't come back in three days, I'll die.”

Maybelle rolled her eyes. Always so dramatic.

-----

It was raining when Maybelle returned to the mansion. Since it was midsummer out in the rest of the world, she hadn't thought to pack a coat, so she just ducked her head and hurried up the gravel walk to the great front doors. This wasn't a summer rain, either; the chilly breeze cut right through the thin sleeves of the flower-patterned dress Violette had made for her.

The front doors seemed heavier than usual. Normally, they swung open at the first touch of her hand, but this time Maybelle had to throw her shoulder against one to open it. Perhaps Agnes had left a window open somewhere and there was a draft. Though that seemed strange; surely Agnes would have either closed the window or shifted the weather instead of letting all this cold rain blow in.

Maybelle turned back to glance out the door. It looked like Agnes had fully committed to a dreary late November today. The bare branches of the trees clacked together while the wind howled through them, cold raindrops splashing in puddles that turned the walkways to mud. It made her wonder if the rain had kept up the whole time she'd been away.

Shivering, Maybelle heaved the front door closed again, picked up her bag, and started towards the stairs. “Agnes!” she called, her voice echoing around the huge entryway. “I'm home!”

She was halfway up the stairs, struggling with her free hand to unpin her hair and wring out some of the water, when she realized the lamps were dark. Her feet slowed to a stop in the lush carpeting, and she frowned up at the huge chandelier that hung over the open space. Every time she'd set foot in this hall—or anywhere else in the house, for that matter—candles lit themselves and lamps burst to life. At first, she'd found it frightening, especially when she would walk down a long, straight corridor with the candles flaring up in front of her and winking out behind her, leaving her in a bubble of illumination.

But after all these months, she'd grown used to such things. Doors opening at a touch, lamps lighting on their own, plates of food and cups of tea appearing on tables right when she wanted them, a bath drawn and waiting for her without even the hint of a servant in sight. It was all part of the magic of this place. Agnes' magic.

In the cold darkness and silence, Maybelle suddenly remembered what Agnes had said before her trip. If you don't come back in three days, I'll die.

A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with her soaked dress. Surely Agnes had just been exaggerating, the way she so often did. Like that time she'd said she felt like she'd been alone in this mansion for a hundred years. Or when she said she lived under a curse.

But still...where was she? After all the fuss she'd made when Maybelle had first asked to leave, why wasn't she waiting for her? Was she sulking in her room again?

“Agnes!” Maybelle called again, slowly climbing the rest of the stairs. “I'm back! Where are you?”

Nothing but silence to welcome her.

Her footsteps slowed as she reached the top of the stairs and turned to the right, heading for her room. The corridor was wide enough that there wasn't much danger of bumping into things, but it was all so eerie without candles lighting her way. She paused at the corner, where a tall window offered a bit of cold illumination.

Shivering, Maybelle looked out at the darkening grounds, still lashed by the driving rain. The rosebushes looked like they were taking a beating, magic or no magic. Even as she watched, the wind stripped leaves off the branches, and most of the brightly-colored petals were already gone. What on earth was Agnes thinking? Even in her most fickle moods, she would usually relent if she realized it would endanger her precious roses....

Maybelle frowned. What was that dark lump in the middle of the path? She hadn't noticed it as she rushed up the front drive, but from this higher vantage point, she could see it clearly. Was it a tarp caught under a wheelbarrow, knocked onto its side in all this wind?

No. Those weren't the handles of a wheelbarrow. They were horns. Two horns, curled like a goat's, rising from a big hairy head lying in the mud....

Dropping everything, Maybelle grabbed her dripping skirts and raced back down the corridor. She hopped up onto the banister as she'd done so many times before and slid expertly to the bottom. Laughing as Agnes tried to imitate her and toppled over the side in a heap.

She ran to the front door and heaved it open, letting go as the howling wind gusted in and slammed it back against the wall. “Last one inside's a rotten egg!”

The rain almost seemed to be falling horizontally, the wind was so strong. Holding up an arm to shield her face, Maybelle splashed along the muddy path as fast as she could. Walking along the path, crunching through the snow, leaving behind a neat row of shoe prints and paw prints side-by-side.

“Agnes!” Maybelle screamed, the wind stealing her voice, as she turned down an aisle between the rosebushes. “You were wrong when you said there was nothing beautiful about you, Agnes. Just look at your roses!”

There she lay, like a mound of dirt, one arm flung around a rosebush as if to protect it, the other curled tight against her chest. She wasn't moving.

“Agnes?” Maybelle dropped to her knees in a puddle by Agnes' side. Throwing her weight against Agnes' huge shoulder, she managed to roll her onto her back. But how would she ever drag her up into the house?

A weak groan escaped Agnes' lips, and her eyelids fluttered, then slid open. “May...belle?”

Hot tears stung Maybelle's eyes. “Thank goodness!” she cried, grasping Agnes' hand in both of hers. “I thought you were....”

Agnes slowly opened her hand, and Maybelle saw that it was cupped around a small, bedraggled red rose. Most of the petals were gone, and those that remained looked wilted.

“Last one,” Agnes grunted. “Not much...time now.”

“It's all right,” Maybelle said, trying to give her an encouraging smile. “We can replant. Once you're feeling a little stronger, maybe you can turn the weather back to spring and—“

“No.” A shudder ran through Agnes' whole body, and her face twisted in a horrible grimace of pain. “No starting over. No...No use.”

“What are you talking about?” Maybelle patted her friend's hand. “Of course we can start over. We can always start over.”

“But...we sh-shouldn't.” Agnes' voice grew fainter by the minute, and Maybelle had to lean closer to hear. “Just...go back home...Maybelle.”

Icy fingers of dread closed around Maybelle's heart. “What? No! I made a promise, remember? I'm to stay here in my father's place—“

“I release you.” Her big amber eyes rolled to meet Maybelle's, bloodshot and exhausted, but crystal clear. “It was...wrong. I...was wrong. To make you stay...against your will. So...I...re...lease...you....”

With that final whisper, her eyes slid closed, and her head lolled back onto the ground. A shiver, like a tiny electric pulse, ran through Maybelle's whole body, and she knew that some sort of spell had just ended.

“No, Agnes!” Frantically, Maybelle chafed Agnes' hands, patted her cheeks, loosened her collar. “Agnes, you don't understand! I'm not here against my will! We're friends, Agnes! I want to be here!”

The huge beast didn't move. This wasn't like the times Agnes sulked and refused to talk to Maybelle. She couldn't even tell if Agnes was breathing anymore.

Desperate to do something, Maybelle tried to heave Agnes into her arms, but the most she could manage was to cradle Agnes' head in her lap. Tears mingled with rainwater on her furry cheeks.

What if she were dead already? What would Maybelle do then? Go back to her family? But there would be no more strolling through the gardens in the evening, no more reading by firelight, no more long conversations or teaching each other games or trying to braid each other's hair or teaching Agnes how to dance or listening to her wonderful singing voice or laughing at each other's silly jokes or....

“Don't be stupid, Agnes!” Maybelle sobbed. “You're my best friend. The best friend I've ever had. No one knows me like you do. No one cares like you do. If I knew this would happen to you, I never would have gone away.”

Maybelle rested her cheek against Agnes' forehead, in between the horns, and rocked back and forth, holding her best friend close. “I'm sorry, Agnes...I'm sorry.... I never wanted to lose you. I just...I just wanted to keep being your friend. Always. Forever.” A painful sob ripped out of her chest as her best friend's body lay cold and still in her arms. “I love you, Agnes.”

Faintly, Maybelle was aware that the wind had died down, and raindrops no longer pounded down on her head and shoulders. The realization of what that meant only made her cry harder. Her fingers tangled in Agnes' mane of hair as she mumbled over and over again, “I love you, Agnes...I love you....”

“Love you too.”

Maybelle looked up at those gruff words, then gave a great start as she realized she held a complete stranger in her arms.

The woman she held was large, with broad shoulders and a squarish jaw. She was no great beauty, especially not with disheveled brown hair straggling all over the place or her body swimming in Agnes' oversized dress, but there was something comfortable and familiar about....

Wait. “Ag...nes?”

Moving stiffly, the woman held her own hands up in front of her face and turned them around, as if she'd never seen them before. Slowly, a wondering smile crossed her face, and Maybelle noticed this woman's front teeth protruded slightly.

Not too unlike the huge fangs that had curved from Agnes' lips.

Then she raised her eyes to meet Maybelle's, and there was no doubt. Those were the amber-brown eyes of her best friend.

“Agnes!”

They threw their arms around each other, and they were crying, but they were also laughing, and Agnes was trying to tell her something about a fairy and a flower and a curse, but Maybelle was too distracted by how small Agnes was in her arms. How high Agnes' voice was.

“How?” she gulped, pulling back and holding Agnes at arms' length. “How did this happen?”

“It's all you, silly!” Agnes laughed, swiping her sleeve over Maybelle's cheeks to dry her tears. She still moved carefully, as if afraid of accidentally swiping Maybelle with nonexistent claws. “True love breaks any curse, don't you know that?”

“True love?” Maybelle sniffled.

Tears spilled out of Agnes' beautiful amber eyes and rolled down her round, rosy cheeks. “What love could be truer than this?” she said with a shaky laugh. “That you'd still want to be friends with someone as beastly as me?”

“Oh, you're not as bad as all that.”

Agnes raised her eyebrows. “Really? Even after all those nasty things I said to scare you on your first night here? Or when I threw a chair at you and screamed when you went exploring in the west wing?”

“Well....” Maybelle didn't know how to deny it without completely lying, so she hastily changed the subject. “I don't regret anything, though. I don't regret coming here. I don't regret deciding to be your friend.”

With a watery chuckle, Agnes rested their foreheads together. “I don't regret it either.”

[shinysamurott9]

2024 Games: Pokemon Sword

So this was a bit of a weird time. This is a pretty long read as after playing this game after so many years that, along with the borderline nuclear fallout that was the fandom reaction to it, was a major contributor to me kind of falling out of active interest in pokemon, my ultimate takeaway was that the game was actually not that bad. It was pretty fun, a little underrated even.

My history with this game starts around 2018ish. USUM had come out and I really liked that game. Gen 7 was an all around good time overall which I still appreciate today. The release that year was Let's Go, which I'll be real, I wasn't a fan of it in premise, I'm still not tbh. I could go into that but, in short, it was a game I had little to no interest in and I ultimately decided to skip it to see whatever was next. I bring this up because I think this was the start of me falling out of interest in pokemon, at least for a while. But while Let's Go may have planted the seed, SwSh was what solidified it.

Enter the announcement of Sword and Shield, my friends and I were pretty excited for it, the game looked pretty interesting, a region based on England? That's pretty neat. The new pokemon looked really cool too, we were genuinely excited about it. But if you're familiar with this game's history, you know exactly what happened. In the middle of the game’s hype cycle, GameFreak announced the titanically controversial decision to not include roughly half the existing pokedex in the game meaning that many pokemon would simply not exist in Pokemon SwSh. This was probably one of the biggest Internet shitstorms I've ever been witness to, and the whole thing, both the actual decision and visceral reaction, only made worse by bad actors in the community fanning the flame, just really turned me off SwSh and Pokemon as a whole in a way. In some ways it was a good thing, in the time I wasn't playing Pokemon I was exploring other series I was less familiar with like Devil May Cry, Zelda or Xenoblade or further exploring series I hadn't fully played yet like Metroid or Mega Man, most of which are series I absolutely adore today.

I still kept up with Pokemon to some extent, mostly playing the games while keeping my distance from the wider community. I played BDSP when it released and was not as disappointed as everyone else while still feeling fairly apathetic to it. Played Legends Arceus when it came out and genuinely loved it for it's fresh take on pokemon while also offering a ton of history and lore on Sinnoh that I really appreciated and I played Scarlet and dropped it a couple days in after discovering Pokeball warps and absolutely breaking the game letting me do a lap around the whole region and getting a lvl 40 starter before ever entering the school. Yhe vast majority of my time with pokemon was playing older games in Gen 3 or shiny hunting. That was til about 6 months ago. I had been playing Emerald and I wanted to take on the Battle Frontier and get the Gold Symbols. While I was prepping to do this I was watching a couple videos on the Ribbon Master Challenge and since I was already doing the Frontier and with the looming closure of Pokemon Bank, I thought that I wanted to take that on. And it's been something I've been working on the past few months. Massive shoutouts to CannedWolfMeat and SirToastyToes for their excellent videos that inspired me to do this. And now I'm here basically at the end,prepping to play through Scarlet for the the last few Ribbons in that game.

Of course though, In order to get the ribbons in Sword, I had to actually play through it for the first time. The playthrough, while really easy Leon and early Klara not withstanding, was extremely strong in terms of options for team members, especially with Isle of Armor options thrown in. I love pokemon games that offer a large variety of team members to use, it's a big reason I enjoy XY more than most. I found myself using 10 whole team members by the end of the playthrough. Would have had more but I literally never found Applin and Cursola is Shield exclusive. Many of these were new Galarian Pokemon which are for the most part fantastic. Galar imo has one of the strongest lineups of new pokemon in the series, though I feel Alola did regional forms better. Seriously though, I was using all these guys by the end.

Something thatvalso surprised me was the locations. While the Wild Area is a little boring, I found myself enjoying many of the locations. The two big cities, Hammerlocke and Motostoke are cool and feel very large, Ballonlea and the Glimwood Tangle are actually really great areas visually and Wyndon is imo, one of the best cities we've seen in a Pokemon Game in terms of both scale and looks. While I do like these areas, I will say progressing through them is extremely linear, it feels like there's very little opportunity to go off the beaten path. It's a pretty big shame when even more linear games like XY or Gen 7 had at least a couple of optional areas to explore.

I will say the main story isn’t great. I enjoyed some of the characters. Bede had a neat story with him basically trying to get validation from a father figure who doesn't seem to care much about him. Marnie was an all around good character with some fun interactions who genuinely is just doing her best for her home town and much of the dlc cast like Mustard, Klara and Peony were genuinely entertaining. I did enjoy some of the main game side characters too like Bea and Piers.

Where the plot falls is, well, the plot, not a lot really happens. The game does build up Rose's plan with Eternatus, but you're kept out of the action for most of the events leading up to it. The game basically doesn't have an antagonist until right at the end, where it just kinda feels forced. Everything with Macro Cosmos at Rose Tower only happens because Leon was meeting Rose and we didn't like that for some reason? And of course there's the climax with Eternatus, where as everyone and their mother has pointed out, Rose basically unleashes the apocalypse because he couldn't wait one day to solve a problem 1000 years away. I do like how nonchalant he is about it though, that's kind of funny and Eternatus is actually a pretty cool legendary, though there really isn't much on it storywise beyond the fact it crashed to Earth 3000 years ago and it is the source of Dynamax.

The DLCs though do have more interesting stories. With Isle of Armor focusing on Klara and her being humbled through the dojo and then bonding with Kubfu to raise him to his ultimate form. And Crown Tundra was actually really interesting as you have Calyrex be an actual character. The king of the land who lost his power over time, seemingly losing faith in himself and subsequently losing the people's worship and his steeds. Heck the fact that Calyrex properly talks to you really helps make him and his story stand out from other legendaries and is really neat I think.

I will say, there may be something to be said about how many of the best parts of this game are locked behind DLC. I don't think that's inherently a bad thing, the DLC itself definitely justifies its purchase, but I do agree that the main game is a little lacking in some areas that the DLC does help make up for but that of course has the price tag attached. I also have to say the way the DLC is designed is a liitle strange. While Isle of armor does a decent job being something you can do at any point. Having access to the Crown Tundra as early as the Wild Area is extremely weird. The levels don't scale like the Wild Area or Isle of Armor so no matter when you go there you'll be fighting stuff in the high 50s or low 60s. While this does mean you can't catch anything in the wild, there is absolutely nothing stopping you from doing the Dynamax adventures and catching not just a massive variety of overleveled fully evolved mons but basically any legendary from the previous generations. And with that stuff, it's not unreasonable to be able to do literally everything in the Tundra after that except for catching Calyrex. While I would agree this is a fair decision, when you're already handing me literally anything I could want to steamroll the game, blocking off Calyrex and only Calyrex just seems weird.

For some other Miscellaneous stuff. The Battle Tower: It's pathetically easy, especially by previous Tower standards. The NPCs are limited to the Pokedex available at launch and you have no restrictions on useable mons. I'm not really complaining about this as it felt good to have a Facility that was basically just a victory lap after doing every other Tower in the past 6 months or so, and it is very worthwhile to do for rewards like Bottle Caps, Candies and the Nature Mints. 50 BP for one mint sounds like a lot but it's really not as bad as it sounds. But it is slso incredibly funny that shit like this is allowed.

Speaking of, the Nature Mints, those are a genuinely fantastic addition to the series. I'm very happy to see how accessible optimising pokemon has become since Gen 7. Between Hyper Training, Very easy levelling with jow many candies you can get through Raids, Nature Mints, easily accessible EV Training through the dojo and items like the Ability Capsule and Patch (Even with how expensive the patch is in SwSh), you can make pretty much any pokemon perfectly optimised for competitive use with, for the most part, not much time investment, it's genuinely great.

One thing I have to say as someone who enjoys a bit of Shiny Hunting, SwSh are kind of a slap in tge face with how many mons are shiny locked. Stuff like Type Null which was huntable in Gen 7, the starters which are a cardinal sin to shiny lock imo, and Cosmog who has literally no practical reason to be shiny locked when you can get Solgaleo or Lunala from the Max Lair with massively boosted shiny odds. It only really reinforces how little reason there actually is to shiny lock stuff imo and SwSh has among the most in the series. It's extremely annoying. Doesn't help that the game’s shiny hunting method is kinda eh, and wasn't properly figured out til ages after it's release.

So overall, I do think SwSh is a pretty flawed game, but I feel like it has a lot of strong aspects that get overlooked due to how initial reactions colored people's opinion on the game. Is it the best pokemon game? Not by a long shot imo. Is it still good though? I would say so yeah. I'd put it around B Tier I think. It has made me pretty interested to get to SV, which I'll have to do soon for the last few ribbons.

[formosusiniquis]

what if i said multiples of 5 for the writing asks 👀

What if you did say that? Most of them are below the cut cause I don't know when to shut up 💕

and here are the writing asks for anyone else who wants to send some

5. What's a tag you never want to use for your works even when it applies?

Angst, like just the straight up angst tag for some reason I'm worried is going to deter people from reading so I end up softening it with something else instead. So it's always fluff and angst or angst with a happy ending.

10. Top three favourite fic tropes.

Enemies to lovers, Soulmates, Fake Dating - this was the hardest one to answer. It's like getting asked what your favorite book is and you don't remember how to read or what books look like.

15. What's your favourite plotless fic you have written?

This describes half of my catalog, plot I do not know her it is only vibes.

I'm gonna go with the bells, the joy (together in darkness) my Stobin hivemind fic which is plotless in the sense that it's more of an exploration of new Stobin unity and what a hivemind with humans would even look like. And any time I get to write Steve and Robin I have a good time

20. Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you?

Many at the same time, it does not work for me but it is what I do all the same. My writing tracker (where everything goes once more than 10 words have been written on a project) has 33 entries currently from the last year or so that are unfinished and in varying stages of progress. But if I start something and don't finish it immediately esp one shots they tend to get abandoned on the pile.

At least until they're lucky enough to grab my attention on a procrastination re-read and I finish them in one sitting (looking at you have your cake)

25. Is writing the whole thing beforehand better or worse than writing it as you go?

For me personally, I have unfortunately realized I have to have the whole thing or almost the whole thing completely written beforehand. I think I may be used to be able to publish as I wrote (like back in high school when I was writing The Mentalist stuff on ff.net under a pseud none of you will ever find). But with my chronic pick it up and abandon it once i'm bored disease I'm just to bad about actually finishing stuff. (RIP mi media naranja some day I will at least post the other chapters I have written that I've felt too bad about posting since it's been so long. but also i still want to finish you)

30. Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn't.

I hate saying it didn't happen, because if it's a Wip in my folder there's always a chance I'll finish it one of these days. And I'm so one track minded that I rarely make massive changes to fics once I start them that drastically alter the plot from what they could have been.

That said it's been so long since I've written anything for Vandal that I feel pretty safe describing this Wip that will possibly never see the light of day.

It was one of those fics where the title comes to you first, y'know. So it was going to be called intricate rituals and it was a soulmate and magic au, convoluted already I know, where soulmates amplify your natural abilities through proximity and touch. Gabi has found hers in Jenna and Sam is a little upset about it. So he performs an ~intricate ritual~ that's supposed to bring his soulmate to him. This is of course where Peter comes in and they bond interpersonally but never touch because of character anxieties and social taboos so they don't realize they're soulmates for ages. There was probably also going to be a miscommunication element where they've touched but not touched like a hand through a shirt not counting it has to be skin on skin contact.

35. Thoughts on writing challenges/contests.

I enjoy them! I always end up trying (and usually failing) nanowrimo every year. I've participated in both a big bang and reverse bang now, and am currently white knuckling my way through this year's steddie bang. I like a challenge to get more creative and a deadline and accountability to actually finish something with some plot.

40. Write a 9-word fic.

Eyes met for a first time, Steve's first time.

[nickgerlich]

Spin To Win

The last few years have provided me with an endless array of stories to tell and opportunities to   scrutinize both the good and bad as companies tried to survive. Some rolled over and died quickly, while others put up a valiant fight, little different from that scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The Black Knight refused to die, to the point of silly resistance. Bravado can only carry the day for so long.

To be honest, a few months ago I would have thought that Peloton was the new Black Knight. Having ridden the crest of stationary bike and treadmill sales during COVID, the company found itself in deep trouble once restrictions lifted and people started going outdoors once more. Suddenly they were stuck with massive amounts of unsold inventory, and their DTC (direct-to-consumer) business model was failing. After all, it can be a hard sell spending more than $2000 sight unseen.

But after numerous personnel changes, distribution agreements with Dick’s Sporting Goods and Amazon, outsourcing manufacturing, inking a deal with Hilton for exclusivity in hotel gyms, and the launch of a subscription program to structure workouts, the company is actually showing some signs of life. It’s almost like the Black Knight sprouted new limbs.

Not all is perfect, of course, but things are much better. Cash burn last quarter was “only” $94 million, while a year ago it was $547 million. Sales of hardware are down, but subs are up. As a result, investors are becoming cautiously bullish on Peloton stock, which surged 26% yesterday.

Letting others bear the burdens of manufacturing and distribution is genius. Essentially, Peloton is now in the software subscription business, which allows them to be a much leaner corporation.

The challenge will be in getting all those previous customers to sign up. At least new customers will know in advance that this is the drill. I have to wonder how many of those Peloton bikes and treadmills purchased during COVID have now become expensive clothing racks. Home exercise equipment often winds up this way.

And then there is the difficulty of retaining subscribers once you have them. I consider indoor training to be cruel and unusual punishment. I would much rather beg outdoors on my bike than creating a puddle beneath my trainer. Even in winter, I am outdoors about half the time, but in summer, it is all the time.



Even still, I cannot get on board with a workout tied to software. I know…some people can. Yesterday I simply fired up a concert video on YouTube, turned up the volume, and did my hour of self-inflicted agony. It was better than nothing—the couch always beckons, you know—and the dopamine was flowing nicely afterward, but I would much rather be burning up the road.

While there are some serious glimmers of hope for Peloton, I am not completely convinced they will make it. We have entered into the subscription overload zone these days, between streaming this and that, activity trackers, and so forth. They all sound so cheap in isolation, but taken together can become quite a drain on monthly incomes.

And yet Peloton is still here, beaten and bruised, but not yet down for the count. This may be one of those stories we tell years ahead of a company clenching victory from the jaws of death. As long as they can keep it on the road, though.

Dr “Keep The Rubber Side Down“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[charles-rxwlands]

lay all your love on me

okay!! so this is my fic for @magpiencrow's 1.2k writing challenge.

this is based off of the song lay all your love on me, slowed, by putin

pairing: nikolai/reader

rating: general

tags: gn!reader w/ gn pronouns, fluff

summary: falling in love with nikolai lantsov told through several vignettes

or: mindless nikolai/reader fluff with a alina and ivan being little shits

warnings: right off the bat there's a nightmare about drowning in the ocean, and there's one (1) swear word at the end, but other than that, there's nothing

word count: 4.1k

read on ao3

constructive criticism, feedback, and reblogs are greatly appreciated !

I haven't written anything in a while, so i may be a bit rusty, but please enjoy :)

You were drowning, and also pretty damn sure you were going to die out here. Your lungs were on fire, screaming for air, but you couldn't emerge from the ocean for long enough to suck in a breath. Sure, your hand or head breached the surface every now and then, but a wave would come crashing down on you immediately after, destroying all your progress.

      The undulating waves threw you around like a football - a very pathetic one, at that. As hard as you tried to fight the current, it still insisted on moving against you (stubborn bastard), so really you weren't going anywhere. Just pathetically bobbing around in the same pathetic place. You couldn't feel your limbs - the only thing you could feel was the agonising ache in your chest. It was as if your arms and legs had frozen over along with your will to live.

      How easy it would be to just... 

...let the ocean take you...

      Suddenly, someone grabbed you by the wrist. You screamed, which was a mistake; immediately, salty seawater filled your mouth, making you gag and choke. Nevertheless, you valiantly tried to release yourself from whoever - whatever? - had their hold on you. 

      "Y/n, Y/n! Relax, darling, relax," a voice said, sounding out of breath. "It's me."

      You whirled your head around. Sagging with relief, you gasped out the name of your saviour. "Nikolai."

      "Yes. Yes, Y/n, my love, it's me. It's Nikolai," he soothed, running his hands over your wet hair.

      "Nikolai," you breathed. "Nikola-" - a wave reared up on its hind legs, ready to come crashing down onto your friend, ready to take him away - "no, no, Nikolai, NO-!"

   

You startled, eyes flying open. You were shaking like a leaf. Were you cold, or was it just the adrenaline from the nightmare still making its course? You shook your head as if to rid your mind of the dream. It wasn't real. Nikolai had saved you that night. It was fine. It wasn't real.

      But it could very well have been real, a traitorous voice in your mind whispered. Scowling, you cursed your pessimistic side. Even if a wave had separated you two, Nikolai would have fought tooth and nail to get to you again. You would have done the same. After all, you were childhood friends, and you knew better than anyone that Nikolai didn't let go of his loved ones so easily.

      He hadn't wanted you to accompany him on his journey overseas as Sturmhond. You insisted otherwise, channeling some of Nikolai's stubbornness that had rubbed off on you. ("You're not getting rid of me that easily, idiot. So let me come, unless you want me to steal your kneecaps."). 

      A half-smile appeared on your face as you thought back to the memory. Slowly, you got up from your bed. Your blanket was draped over your shoulders. You slipped out of your cabin quietly, walking down the hallway until you found yourself in front of Nikolai's room. He stirred in his sleep when you entered. The door creaked slightly, but it didn't seem like his distress was because of the noise.

      You sat on the edge of his bed. Nikolai, previously facing away, turned over to face you. His eyes were still screwed shut, eyebrows knitted together and an unhappy expression on his face. You frowned. 

      "Nikolai." you nudged him gently. "Wake up. You're okay, just wake up. It's just a dream."

      He opened his eyes, blinking at you. "Y/n?"

      "Hi," you said. A lock of golden hair fell over his forehead, and upon instinct, you reached to brush it away. He let you, not uttering any of his usual complaints. 

      "You were gone," he mumbled, undoubtedly referencing his nightmare. "I- I couldn't save you, and you were gone." 

      You shifted into a more comfortable position - your whole body was on the bed now, with your back against the headboard. He leaned his head against your chest, and you ran your fingers through his hair. "It wasn't real. It's okay. You saved me - I'm not going anywhere, 'Lai."

      "Me either," he agreed, wrapping his arms around your middle. A beat of silence. Then, "Thank you."

      You were more than content to fall asleep like this. Even if it meant waking up with an ache in your neck. Judging from the way he was curled up, practically drinking in your presence, Nikolai felt the same way.

      What a feeling it was to have found solace in Nikolai Lantsov, and to know he had found solace in you, too.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai's pov

Nikolai watched from the corner of the ballroom as you laughed at one of Ivan's jokes. One would say that he was scowling, but the Prince of Ravka didn't scowl. No - he was simply observing your conversation with the Heartrender with visible distaste. He was not scowling. And he was not jealous.

      You and Ivan were smiling at each other, standing by the refreshments table, mouths moving quickly, the both of you obviously interested in whatever you were talking about. You threw your head back in a laugh. You looked gorgeous. Nikolai wanted to make you laugh like that - more than he wanted to admit.

      The last straw was when Ivan lay a hand on your shoulder, and then snaked his arm around you. You didn't seem perturbed by his touch - no, actually, you leaned into it. He bent down to whisper something in your ear that made you duck your head in embarrassment and lightly hit his chest. 

      Nikolai's glare deepened, if that were even possible. Okay, fine, maybe he was jealous. Did he even have the right to be jealous, though? It wasn't as if he was dating you, as much as he'd like to be.

And oh boy, he'd like to be. 

      Suddenly, Alina appeared at his side, seemingly out of thin air. He flinched. "Alina." 

      The girl in question had a mischievous look in her eye. Her hands were clasped in front of her, the long, flowy sleeves of her dress falling just past her wrists. The bottom half of her gown was a sparkly gold, whereas the top half was a dark blue. The two colours faded into each other at the middle, creating a gradient effect. It was a beautiful dress. You had helped Alina pick it out yourself, if he remembered correctly.

      "Hello, loverboy." she poked him in the side, grinning knowingly. "How's your crush on Y/n going for you?"

      "I don't have a crush on them, Alina, for Saint's sake."

      "Oh, is that so? You do seem... ah, what was the word... utterly whipped for them, contrary to what you just said," she said, tilting her head to the side, feigning innocence.

      "Am not," he argued. "I-," Nikolai paused, taking notice of you and Ivan walking past a couple metres away. Unfortunately, you were too engrossed in your current conversation to notice him. His eyes lingered on you. He only looked away when you disappeared back into the throng of people. 

      Alina let out a triumphant 'ha!'. 

      He directed his attention back to her and glared. "Alina, I swear-,"

      "Utterly. Whipped," she mouthed.

      "I will behead you," he threatened.

      She laughed. "In all seriousness, I really don't think Y/n and Ivan like each other like that," Alina said.

      "Well, of course not," he agreed. "Y/n very clearly has eyes for me. I can't say I blame them - who could resist all this? Everyone's all over me, as I'm sure you've noticed." 

      Alina stared at him pointedly.

      "Ah, except for you, of course. You seem to be the only one immune to my charm and charisma. An odd one, you are."

       She rolled her eyes. "Why do I even bother," she groaned. "Just swear to me that you'll tell Y/n you like them soon. Within a week. Swear on... your dignity."

      "My dignity?" Nikolai drawled.

      "Yes, your dignity, because if you don't fess up soon, I'll have to tell Y/n about your crush on them myself," she grinned smugly, and darted off before Nikolai could retort. 

      He sighed. As he saw it, he had three options:

      1. Blackmail Alina (because of course she wouldn't give in to simple bribery)

      2. Get on his knees and beg Alina to not tell you of his massive crush (there! he admitted it; he had a massive crush on you! One that he'd been harbouring for just over a year now, too)

      3. Listen to Alina, and confess on his own terms

      All three were mortifying, and things he absolutely didn't want to do. However, the last was considerably easier to do, and came with the most benefits and the least consequences. You had already seen him through his most embarrassing moments (and he through yours) so even if you rejected him, the humiliation would be minimal. 

      And maybe he wanted to confess. And maybe there was hope that you liked him back. Nikolai wasn't stupid - he knew when people fancied him. He suspected you liked him back, but then again, that could've been wishful thinking, or maybe he was misreading the entire thing.

      He didn't even understand why he was so jealous of the way Ivan and you had interacted. Before he had fallen heads over heels in love with you, his childhood best friend, people flirting with you hadn't been a problem. He'd encouraged it, even. But now, bitterness flared up inside of him every time he saw someone getting a bit too cozy with you. 

      In short, his feelings for you had completely destroyed his facade of smooth, suave, sexy Prince of Ravka. And it kind of terrified him how poorly he hid it.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai had been acting strange lately, and it was bothering you. You feared the worst - had he finally caught on to your crush? You thought you'd been subtle until Ivan had approached you at the most recent party. Apparently, the scowl on your face as you watched Nikolai flirt with the guests had been fierce enough to kill.

      Ivan had given you (unsolicited) advice, telling you to be straightforward and direct. That was what he'd done with Fedyor, after all, and that had worked out well.

      You were pacing around your room. Ivan was perched on your bed, watching you have a borderline nervous breakdown like one would watch the view. 

      "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Ivan?" you demanded. "I'm about to make a life or death decision, and you're enjoying it."

      He chuckled. "I wouldn't call this a life or death decision, Y/n. If Nikolai rejects you, he rejects you, and it's his loss. If he reciprocates, good, and you'll be free to frolic in the meadows with him, all fine and dandy."

      You stared at him, your expression communicating, "Did you really just say that?", very clearly.

      "Okay, okay, fine, I'll be serious." Ivan relented. "Just tell him, Y/n. What's the worst that could happen?" 

      Just as you were about to respond - "Well, I don't know, what if he rejects me, things become eternally awkward between us, and our 10 year long friendship is ruined because I couldn't keep my mouth shut?" - someone knocked at the door. You opened it to find Nikolai waiting. His hair was perfectly styled, as always. He wore a dark turquoise suit jacket, and a simple white dress shirt underneath. The ghost of a smile appeared on your face; you had chosen the colour for him.

      "Hi, Nikolai," you greeted. 

      "Hello," he said. "Come on a walk with me. It's a lovely day outside, and both of us have been dreadfully busy lately - we may not get another chance to spend time together, I'm afraid."

      "Oh! Of course, just let me grab more suitable shoes- I'll be out in a minute- Ivan, move." You rummaged around your room in search of the sandals Nikolai had gifted you for your most recent birthday. Ivan flashed you a grin.

      "Tell him!" he whispered as you ducked out the door.

      You hoped you didn't seem too jittery as you took Nikolai's arm, even if your insides were filled with butterflies. He seemed deep in thought for the first few minutes of your walk. It wasn't until you were both outside that he finally spoke.

      "I hope you don't mind me asking, Y/n, but what was Ivan doing in your room?" he asked. 

      The question caught you off guard. Why was he so concerned about you and Ivan? It wasn't as if-

      Oh.

      Oh.

      "Nikolai, don't tell me- are you jealous?" you exclaimed.

      "Just answer the question, Y/n," he grumbled, which was enough of an answer for you.

      You laughed, only feeling a bit bad that you were so amused. Nikolai Lantsov, jealous. You found that incredibly funny. "Oh, I'm sorry for laughing," you apologised, even as another giggle escaped your mouth. "You don't have to worry, Ivan and I are strictly friends."

      He didn't seem convinced. "But the two of you at the party a few days ago-,"

      You cut him off. "Nikolai. I promise that there is nothing romantic going on with Ivan and I. And besides, I don't think I'm anywhere near his type."

      "Ivan likes men, Nikolai," you supplied, sensing his confusion. "Honestly, you need to keep up with gossip - he and Fedyor have been going strong for nearly three months now."

      "Oh," Nikolai said.

      "Yeah, oh."

      "And, uh, do you? Like men, I mean?" 

      You bit back another laugh. "Yes, I do. One man in particular, actually." 

      "Is that so? Care to clue me in on who this man is?"

      "You." 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai's pov

"You."

      As soon as that single word came out of your mouth, Nikolai's brain short-circuited, and several alarms blared in his mind. ALERT! ALERT! THE PERSON YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH LIKES YOU BACK! 

      He was too stunned to speak, which was definitely a first. So, naturally, he didn't speak, but instead leaned in to kiss you. His lips brushed chastely against yours. A pause. 

      "I- I'm really sorry, Y/n, I should have asked beforehand-,"

      "Nikolai." you took his face in your hands. "Shut up." 

      And then you kissed him, and if his brain had been short-circuiting before, this was a full blown system failure. Sparks flew inside of him, and he was acutely aware of you and you only. It was a wonderful feeling, one that he immediately missed when you pulled away.

      "Wow," you said. 

      He grinned. "I'm that good of a kisser, huh?"

      When usually you would come up with a witty response, you just smiled. It was a smile Nikolai was pretty sure he'd die to see again. 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Falling in love with Nikolai had been a long process. Your simple crush developed into something deeper like a leaky faucet dripping - slowly, but steadily. And then the realisation that you were in love with him hit you like a tidal wave. Drowning you, consuming every inch of your being, but not necessarily in a bad way.

       You came to your epiphany while laying awake in bed one night after a whole day spent with the esteemed King of Ravka. It was a wonder that you'd managed to spend a whole 10 hours or so in his company without getting fed up, Tamar had teased. He did annoy you - and had today - but you bullied him back plenty enough. It was easy being with him. Easier than you were used to. 

       You loved the way his eyes sparkled after correcting someone on their use of the word 'impossible'. Loved how he devoted himself to his country so selflessly. Loved how he smiled at you so genuinely and lovingly, even when you didn't have the energy to show your love in return after a bad day. Saints, you loved him so, so much, and you were so in love with him, too, and-

       Holy shit. You were in love with Nikolai.

       You were in love. With Nikolai.

       A childish giggle bubbled up inside of you, and you sighed happily. What a feeling it was to be in love with the King of Ravka, even if he didn't know it yet. 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

You twirled a small flower around in your hands as you walked side by side with Nikolai, your shoulders brushing occasionally. The taller blades of grass tickled your ankles, and a gentle breeze weaved through your hair. The sun peeked out from behind a few clouds, warming your face.

     Nikolai intertwined your fingers, sighing in content. He craned back his neck to meet the sunshine, eyes fluttering shut. He looked stunning, just standing there with his almost otherworldly beauty as light spilled over his fine features, highlighting every detail.

     "I'm in love with you," you blurted suddenly. "I love you, and I'm also in love with you, so. Yeah. I'm in love with you, Nikolai Lantsov."

     You gave yourself a mental round of applause for your eloquence and tact.

      He blinked. "Oh." The ghost of a smile appeared on his face, turning into a full-fledged grin when he finally processed your words. "Oh. I'm... I'm in love with you, too, Y/n L/n."

      You beamed back at him, and cupped his face in your hands. You gently ran your fingers against his cheeks, tracing a line down to the base of his chest. The fabric of his shirt was thin and soft, unlike the suffocating material his suits were made of. Lovingly, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you close. Your heart fluttered. Saints, you adored Nikolai. More than you could put into words. 

      "I love you," you whispered. "I love you so much, so intensely that it consumes me, and I'm drowning in it. But instead of it being hard to breathe, it makes breathing easier. It makes everything easier." 

      You interrupted your little speech by kissing him, just because it felt appropriate, and continued. "I was so lost without you, Nikolai. I didn't realise it, because as I've proved time and time again, I'm more than capable of holding my own-" you smirked as he rolled his eyes at the jab to his overprotectiveness "-but I was. I was a boat lost at sea, floating around in the waves, with no destination and no goal except surviving. Then you came along, and gave me solace. You were my salvation. You and your endearingly stupid jokes and your wild yet grounded behaviour. You're my anchor, Nikolai." 

      He laughed, but not in the mean way. In the happy way. 

      "I would pay you back with a monologue of my own," he said. "but all I can think of right now is how perfect you are, and how much I want to kiss you."

      Your smile widened, if that were even possible. You met him midway, lips connecting almost desperately. The only coherent thought running through your brain was 'Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai.'

      Nikolai.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

"That one looks like a dragon," you said, pointing out a lumpy cloud in the sky.

      Nikolai tilted his head to the left. It was rather cute - he looked like a puppy, trying to figure out what its owner was saying. His right eyebrow curved in an upward arch (you still had no idea how he managed to raise a single eyebrow at a time), and he pouted slightly. Adorable.

      "I don't see it," he deadpanned.

      You sighed and shook your head, dismissing the cute puppy ideology. "Nevermind," you huffed. As hard as you tried to pretend you were upset with him, a smile teased at the corners of your mouth, anyway.

      "I'm sorry, darling, but I really don't!" he exclaimed, flopping back into the picnic blanket you two had laid out. Really, it wasn't even a picnic blanket. It was just a blanket. The two of you hadn't had time to find a proper one before embarking on your impromptu picnic. Nikolai, ever the improviser, had then brandished a quilt from Saints knew where. You suspected it came from Vasily's room, because who else would be pompous enough to own a red velvet blanket the size of China?

      You dramatically exhaled again. "I already said nevermind. Not all of us can be blessed with a creative vision such as mine, after all."

      Nikolai laughed. And Saints, the sound was downright melodic. You didn't even want to begin thinking about all the things you'd do to hear it one more time.

      A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Eventually, he began stroking your palm with his callouses fingers. You bit back a smile, and linked your pinkies together. A gathering of clouds mostly covered the sun - enough to allow only a bit of warm, gold light to seep out. You wondered briefly how Nikolai looked right now, basking underneath the faint sunshine. 

      The answer came to you easily, even without looking at him: fucking beautiful. 

      However, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of staring at him. The last time he had caught you gaping at him like a lovesick fool, he had teased you endlessly. It was ridiculous. It wasn't as if he didn't stare at you. No, actually. He stared at you all the time. In fact, he was doing it right now.

      You bit back a grin when you felt his eyes on you. But before you could tease him for it, he got up suddenly, offering you a hand.

      "Come on," he urged. "Follow me."

      "Where to?" you questioned curiously.

      He smirked. Tugged on your hand. Winked. "You'll see." 

      "Right, that's not cryptic at all," you muttered. 

      Eventually, after a minute or so of walking (and plenty of you trying to weasel more information out of him) the two of you had seemed to reach your destination. A huge tree hung above you, offering its shade. You plopped down, but Nikolai remained standing.

      Strangely, he was looking rather nervous. Repeatedly tugging at the collar of his beige button-up shirt, and kicking at the grass. 

      "Y/n, darling, don't just sit there, you're making me nervous," he whined. 

      You giggled, but stood up anyway. "I could say the same about you. What's on your mind, dear?"

      He took a deep breath, and looked you dead in the eyes. "I love you, Y/n. I love you, and I'm in love with you. I always have, and always have been. It's just- you're wonderful. And intelligent. And charming. And I am so, so glad you are my partner - in the romantic sense, and the platonic sense. If I'm being honest, I'm quite sure I'd be tearing at the seams without you to sew me back together every time I do something particularly foolish. 

      And I hope you'll always be there to ground me. Because I will always be there for you. Th-there's no other way to say this, my darling, but I'd quite like to spend the rest of my life with you, so..."

      He brandished a dark blue box from his back pocket (this probably wasn't the time, but you had to mention that you could never fit something that large in your pocket. Why did men's clothing always have bigger pockets?) and got down on one knee. 

      "Will you do me the honour of marrying me, Y/n?" he finished.

      Holy fuck. Holy mother of Saints. Holy everything. Was this real? Saints. This really was real, wasn't it? Nikolai Lantsov was proposing to you.

      A sob escaped from your throat, and you nodded frantically, not wanting him to think you were upset. "Yes," you said. "Saints, Nikolai, yes."

      He smiled. You knew that he smiled a lot, but this smile was different. Usually, he just grinned or smirked in a devilish way - this was more of a beam. He looked so genuinely happy (genuinely happy, because of you!) that it made your heart soar, and you were pretty sure you fell in love with him all over again for the second time. You'd never get tired of it, though. Not when it came to Nikolai (Nikolai, your husband-to-be!). Never when it came to Nikolai.

      You soon found yourself enveloped in a hug. He spun you around, both of you laughing (and crying). When he set you down, you could have sworn you saw his eyes welling up.

      "Now, my love, those better be happy tears," he tutted.

      "Of course they're happy tears, you stupid puppy dog!" you sniffed. "I love you."

      He beamed into your hair. "I love you, too, Y/n."

      What a feeling it was to be in love with Nikolai Lantsov, and to know that he was in love with you, too.

[chubbology]

Overindulged

prompt: feeder boyfriend quits his job and balloons as fat as his feedee/feeder girlfriend

He drove his sleek BMW up his driveway and into the middle garage just as dusk settled into night. He’d stayed overtime at work again, and to make it up to his girlfriend, three dozen fresh assorted donuts sat in the passenger seat.

Sure enough, immediately upon opening the back door with his stack of boxes, he heard her voice: “Late.”

“It’s the end of the month,” he said. “What do you expect? Brought you something though, so don’t be mad. Come in here.”

He set the boxes down on the granite island, then waited, sucking in a breath. His pupils dilated as his favorite person in the world waddled through the wide archway leading into the kitchen. After giving him a pout, she pulled the boxes toward her with arms that hung, at their heaviest, over half a foot with fat.

She was a beautiful, enormous woman. He had met her on a plane three years ago on a business trip to Paris. She’d pulled him into conversation like a warm whirlpool, and he’d listened in awe to her life story: miserable wife of a banker to a happily divorced entrepreneur, flying first class on her own dime.

With a smug, knowing smile, she talked about how she used to be skinny for her ex’s sake and now was free. He couldn’t help but let his gaze roam over her blatantly overweight body. Thighs pressing firm on either armrest of the wide seat, bust prominent and heavy, belly button deep and visible through her dress.

Bad news is, she’d concluded, I just settled a messy lawsuit that lost me my career and nearly bankrupted me. But she shrugged, as if such was life. I’m taking my last-hurrah vacation until I have no choice but to eat tiny, unsatisfying meals again.

He decided that couldn’t come to pass, so he spent as much time with her outside his business obligations as he could, taking her to meal after meal, falling in love as she ate to her heart’s content and shamelessly talked about how she’d rather fallen in love with gaining weight. It titillated and empowered her. By the end of their two week stay in Paris, she was twelve pounds bigger and he had invited her to live with him for a while as she looked for a new career path. She accepted.

Three years later, she’d found her calling without having to leave his luxurious, spacious home. Doing what she loved.

She was almost four hundred and fifty pounds now, last he was updated. She always wore leggings that clung to every lump and bulge of cellulite, and she liked to tease him by wearing crop tops, letting her massive belly and side rolls hang out and wobble as they pleased.

He watched with soft eyes as she stuffed herself with four jelly-filled doughnuts. Between bites she said, “These long hours at your soulless job are no good. My fans want to see more of you.” More eating. “The last time you fed me on camera was weeks ago!”

She gave him an imploring look as she ate a fifth doughnut. Boston creme. Her face, once conventionally pretty, now had a sexy overindulged look. She’d lost her jawline to additional chins and neck fat, and her round, fatty cheeks quivered as she chewed. Even before she finished the fifth doughnut, she picked up a sixth. “And don’t think they haven’t noticed that little tummy you have now.”

“What?” He looked down at himself, blushing at how his tie sat out a bit on slightly stretched white buttons.

Before he could say anything, she pushed a chocolate doughnut in his hand. “I know people willing to pay a pretty petty to see you chunk out.” She smirked. “Pop a couple of those buttons.”

He laughed dismissively, but as he ate the doughnut, he contemplated the press of his new chub against his shirt. His pants felt a little tight in the ass, too, now that he thought about it. What if? he thought.

Suddenly, he found himself admitting: “I’ve been thinking of quitting.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“I want to spend more time with you,” he explained. He hadn’t meant to talk about it now, but here he was. Out of nervousness, he pulled one of the boxes toward himself and picked another doughnut, this one caving in under its sprinkles. He took a heavenly bite. “I have plenty of money saved and invested to take care of both of us for a long time. I just don’t see why I…”

She waddled over to his side of the island and took his free hand. “You know I’d support you.” Then she pulled him closer, into a smiling kiss. “I’ll support you real good.”

*

Before his two week notice even ended, he was eight pounds heavier, and he relished how his coworkers’ eyes lingered on his burgeoning waistline. Soon, his tummy was pushing over his pants. His chest felt thicker. He felt his ass spread wider when he sat down. He ate desserts all the time, and his girlfriend lavished him with attention (food) at every opportunity when he was home, encouraging him to eat in amounts he’d never let himself eat before. She started filming - with his consent, as always - the development of his chubbing up. Her fans loved him even more than they already did, compliments coming in faster than he could read them.

One month into being an unemployed man, she stuffed him on camera until one of his shirt buttons popped off. The experience was more of a revelation for him than even becoming officially overweight; that night, after she went to sleep, he got out of bed, squeezed into an old pair of slacks that barely fit him, then gorged himself in the kitchen until he gasped at the relief of his ass seam tearing open, unable to accommodate his butt, which everyone online said was growing gorgeously fat. His heart fluttered just thinking about it, and he hoped his ass kept growing.

It did.

“I admit, I never thought you’d be this much of a pear,” his girlfriend told him, six months into his steady ballooning. They were admiring his progress in the large bathroom mirror. He may have looked small relative to his partner’s morbid obesity, but somehow, they were both more fascinated with his growth at the moment. She outlined his bottom heavy figure with her hands. Fat had indeed stored most eagerly in his ass, thighs, and hips. His belly drooped soft and wide.

“I love it,” she said. “Love everything about you.” But then something else came into her expression. “Except how you’ve stopped picking up after yourself.”

He swallowed, and said honestly, “Sorry. I know I’m getting lazier.”

“We’ll have to hire a maid.” She grinned wickedly. “Or do two pigs deserve to roll in their sty?”

*

A year into living on his passive income and her subscribers, the couple had not yet hired any cleaning services, and his country club house was...well. Not trashed, but messy and disorganized. She blamed the five pounds she’d lost over the past month on having to constantly throw his trash away. She punished him by making him stand while drinking a whole liter of full-sugar soda. Since he’d developed a strong distaste for any physical effort as he sunk deeper into obesity, he grumbled the whole time. When he finally fell back on the couch, she sat too. Together, they took up most of it. But while she looked perfectly composed, he was panting raggedly, slightly sweaty, a food stain on his pants.

“Look.” She reached out and held his chubby wrist. “I can tell that the fatter you get, the more your natural inclination is to be a pig.” She spoke with total matter-of-factness. As if the emergence of his inner pig was unsurprising and inevitable. “It’s not uncommon in men - that urge to oink and eat as a way of life. But we share this space. I help pay off this house. Please throw away your take out containers.”

Then she added, at his long-suffering sigh, “I’ll reward you.”

He met her gaze. “Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

*

This time, there were no cameras. There was just her, sitting on one side of their king bed and him on the other, breathing heavy, taking her reward one bite at a time.

Everywhere in their bed were containers and packages and napkins and soda bottles. He had eaten mexican and noodles and burgers and fries. He’d eaten candy bars and sundaes and milkshakes and chunky cookies. He was so full he could feel the skin of his belly stretching. He could practically feel the skin of his thighs stretching, as if they were filling up heavier with fat right then, as he was determinedly overfed. He swallowed another bite of greasy cheeseburger.

“Keep going. I can tell you're slowing down, but I’ll have none of that yet. I want to see progress from you.”

“I don’t know…”

“Do you want to feel the ecstasy of squeezing through a doorframe or are you going to plateau at being just fat?”

He let out a breathy moan as he ate another bite of the cheeseburger. His girlfriend knew him too well. She knew he liked the new challenges being big was causing him. She knew it turned him on that he sat so much fatter in his own car, belly pressing against everything, ass barely fitting at all. She knew his hands had begun cupping his hips as a half-unconscious habit, admiring his own width.

He liked how his thighs had to push past each other, jiggling every time. He even liked when he accidentally bumped into things, because it was a hot reminder that he wasn’t the same. He was like her now. He was fat. He was a pig. He wanted to eat and get so big he could barely even waddle. He wanted to squeeze through doorways. He wanted to get stuck.

“I want everything,” he said. And she smiled, temporarily pleased.

*

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 4

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 2877

Additional note: This is the final chapter. There'll be an epilogue, but you'll have to wait a bit because there are a lot of challenges I've signed up for and I'm way behind schedule.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

Devastated and angry at the world. That's how Ivar is feeling.

Holed up in his room since the night before, and despite Lagertha incessant requests, he doesn’t plan to come out, not now at least. Come to think of it, he might as well decide never to leave his room again.

He can't stand the idea of facing his brothers. He doesn't want to have to tell them about his failure. He doesn't want to endure Ubbe's pity and condescendence. He doesn't want to see the look of triumph on Sigurd's face. The thought makes his stomach lurch while at the same time a murderous urge creeps into his mind. No, he definitely can't see his brothers.

Surprisingly, and unlike Lagertha, his brothers have left him alone, as if sensing that entering his room would be as moving into a minefield. Only Hvitserk had taken a chance earlier, cautiously poking his head through the door. His disapproving look obvious when his eyes had taken in the scene before him, Ivar's belongings scattered on the floor, some of them smashed into pieces.

"I got you a chocolate muffin from the kitchen, baby bro," he had explained, putting it on a nearby shelf, and it had almost brought a smile to Ivar's face. To Hvitserk, there's no predicament that can't be improved with comfort food.

"Look, Ivar," scratching his neck, Hvitserk had then said, "I don't know what happened and I don't want to pressure you. You tell me when you're ready, if you are. But I'm here, okay? Whatever the time of day or night, you don't have to be alone if you don't want to. If I'm upstairs, just call me, okay?" With these words, he was gone, the door closed.

Ivar can't get the events of the previous evening out of his mind. Like a waking nightmare, they are playing over and over in his head: how he had freaked out when he heard the beeps; the confused and then so disappointed look you had given him when he sputtered his need to leave; finally, his shameful escape into the night.

What could he have done? What should he have done?

He does know the answer. He should have been more cautious. He should have checked the time, asked for your number and just walked away.

On the other hand, what difference would it have made? He would still have no future with you, right? He would still be a cripple, and you would still be... you... perfect... too good for him.

So yeah, he had run away like a coward. He lets out a bitter chuckle to himself. Run away? Who is he kidding? He hadn't run away, that would have been too easy. Cripples don't run away. Without his cane – why the fuck did he leave it behind?? – he had pathetically limped away, stumbling, his feet sinking into the sand. He had still been on the beach when the battery had died. He had had no other choice but to crawl like a worm the rest of the way, silently praying to the gods that the darkness of the night would prevent you from seeing him like this.

Tears of despair run down his cheeks for the umpteenth time. He's used to feeling humiliated, but feeling humiliated and heartbroken simultaneously is really too much to take. He feels like he's dying from the inside over and over again, cursing himself for wanting to attend the party, for wanting to see you again. He should never have let his walls down, he should never have dared to hope. What was he thinking? He may have walked, and even danced with you, but at the end of the day, he still is a pitiable cripple with stupid, crooked legs, in love with a girl way out of his league.

If he's being honest, that's what hurts the most. He now realizes how delusional he had been. Holding on to a dead dream for years, he had not forseen the painful yet unavoidable reality check. And now, it's like he's been hit by a train. Because there's no denying it, dreaming of a life with you is no longer an option, not after last night. And even though it's almost unbearable, he knows now he has to let go of you, of the idea of you and him being together. As much as this mere thought is devastating, he has no other choice. He has to stop fooling himself, for his own sanity, if nothing else.

Giving a guttural cry, much like that of a wounded animal, Ivar doesn't hear when the front doorbell rings. Not that he would have reacted even if he had heard it, too busy wallowing in self-pity.

***

"Thank you for having us here on such short notice, my dear." Your uncle states joyfully, his eyes sparkling, as Lagertha greets him with a handshake and a tight-lipped smile. Even though you don't know why, it's obvious that she's not his biggest fan.

Your uncle, who doesn't seem to notice – or doesn't care, you're not sure – keeps giving her a beaming smile. "My niece here," he turns his head toward you for a short moment, "has a weird request. She met a boy yesterday, during the party. He lost something and my sweet Y/N has been adamant since this morning that she wants to find him and personally return it to him. We were wondering," he turns his gaze in the direction of the couch, "if it could be one of your wards."

There are indeed three young men, half sprawled on the couch, who get up as one when Lagertha gives them a stern look. If you vaguely remember having seen them before, a single glance is enough for you to know that the one you're looking for is not among them.

You're on the verge of saying so but your uncle doesn't give you a chance to. "See boys," he unceremoniously grabs the cane you're holding behind your back, "here is the lost item. A cane! Fairly uncommon, if you ask me. Anyway... Does this... thing belong to any of you?"

Since you know it doesn't, you're surprised when two of the guys both take a step forward. "Actually, it's mine," they say in unison, each of them only then becoming aware that the other is speaking.

Dumbstruck, you look at one then the other successively. They've got a lot of nerve! You know they're lying, and you would have known it even if these two idiots hadn't spoken at the same time. They just look nothing like your handsome stranger – if he's a stranger.

"Sigurd, you know it's mine!"

"Don't play dumb, you never use a cane, Ubbe! Whereas me, I do sometimes. Everyone knows artists tend to be eccentric, right?"

The blondest one – Sigurd if you heard right – points his finger at a guitar leaning against the wall and then winks at you, "I'm a musician, you know?" You don't even have time to roll your eyes as the other one – Ubbe? – yells, his nostrils flaring.

"Shut up Sig, you're so full of shit! You know I've got a sprained ankle!"

"A sprained ankle, no kidding? Who did a ten-kilometer run today, huh? It's not me! So, you are the one going to shut up, you fucking douchebag!"

It's almost funny to watch them arguing back and forth. If you weren't so pissed off, you'd laugh. But right now, you're mostly mad at them. Their blatant lies make your blood boil with anger.

Are they really thinking you're a complete idiot? That you can be fooled so easily? Who do they think they are? Who do they think you are? Some stupid chick ready to fall for their good looks? If they think that, they're kidding themselves.

"You're the fucking douchebag, Sig!! Don’t forget I'm the oldest!"

"And what's the difference, huh? You can't have all the girls, Ubbe! Keep fucking Margrethe and just let me be! Stop being a controlling asshole!"

"STOP!!!! BOTH OF YOU!!!"

Lagertha's shout is deafening and if looks could kill, these two morons would be lying dead on the floor right here, right now.

"Y/N, my dear," Lagertha gives you an apologetic smile, "I'm so sorry for that. I swear they usually know how to behave, better than that at least. Guess they don't know how to handle your striking beauty. Now sweetheart, tell me, is one of these two knuckleheads the one you were with last night?"

The silence that falls on the room after her question is so complete that you could hear a pin drop. Acutely aware that all eyes are on you, you shyly lower your gaze, shaking your head slightly, as you clasp your hands over your belly. You eventually speak, your eyes meeting Lagertha's, and you can see she knows what you're going to say. "No, the guy I was with last night is not one of them."

"How can you be so sure?" Sigurd's voice is soft and tentative now, and Ubbe adds, seemingly for once in agreement with his younger brother, "yeah, how can you? It was pretty dark after all."

You give them a smile. "How can I be so sure? You mean beside the fact that you obviously don't need a cane? Neither of you?" The third brother, who still hasn't opened his mouth, chuckles, giving you a thumbs up. "Look, I appreciate your interest, I really do, but neither of you are the one I am looking for. Therefore," you look at your uncle, "we should leave, don't you think?" Checking the time on your watch, you shrug. "What about the Eyvindsson family? Didn't you tell me about three brothers? We may have time to go and see them tonight if we hurry."

Your uncle nods, handing you back the cane. "You're right, Y/N, we should leave." Taking two steps forward, he grabs Lagertha's hand. "Sorry dear, we will waste no more of your time."

You're about to thank her when one of the boys clears his throat. "Ahem..."

Turning your head, you're surprised to see the third brother, the silent one, raising his hand. "I think I might know who this cane belongs to." Frowning, he glances at his brothers. "And you both know it too."

"Shut up, Hvitserk!" Sigurd spits, clenching his hands into fists. "Don't bring the fucking cripple into the conversation."

"Sigurd! Keep your mouth shut!" Lagertha glares at him for several long seconds then her face softens as she looks at Hvitserk, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What are you trying to say, Hvitserk? Do you think this cane belongs to your baby brother?"

Hvitserk nods. "I know it does, actually."

"Come on, Hvit, you're talking nonsense. It cannot be, it just cannot. That guy was standing. It wasn't our brother. Our brother wasn't there last night." Ubbe stubbornly insists, but Hvitserk just shakes his head.

"Of course, he was. I saw him. And don't bullshit me, Ubbe, you saw him too. With Y/N." Hvitserk states. That's when you realize that your palms are sweating and your pulse is racing.

Hvitserk keeps going, now speaking to his guardian. "I know what I saw, Lagertha. It was him. I don't know how, but he was standing, Ubbe is right. He was even walking. It may sound weird but I swear, it was him."

Lagertha nods. "I believe you, Hvitserk." A beaming smile spreads across her lips and she tilts her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if Floki had something to do with such a miracle. Go get your brother, Hvitserk, please."

Your heart leaps at these words, you're barely able to contain your excitement and as you let out a nervous chuckle, you cannot help but jump for joy. Needless to say, Ubbe and Sigurd seem much less enthusiastic than you.

***

Reluctantly following his brother, Ivar mutters under his breath, "you're pissing me off, Hvit. I'm fucking not in the mood for whatever you have in mind."

Hvitserk pays him no mind though, a small smile dancing on his lips. "Trust me, baby bro, you'll be in the mood."

Ivar wants to protest, or maybe just turn around and wheel back to his room but all at once the sound of your voice reaches his ears and he stops, frozen in place, his eyes wide open. He may have stopped breathing.

Patting his shoulder reassuringly, Hvitserk whispers, "It's Y/N, baby bro, but I have a feeling you already know. She's here for you, she was looking for you, Ivar. Go..." before giving a single push to his brother's wheelchair, his right hand on the backrest.

Ivar honestly doesn't know how he manages to wheel himself into the living room. What he does know, however, is that you're suddenly standing right in front of him. The heart stopping smile you flash him blows all the air out of his lungs, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, and the outside world – Lagertha, his brothers, Harald – ceases to exist.

A little voice tells him he should be feeling self-conscious with his hair all messy and wearing worn sweatpants, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you kneel in front of him with stars in your eyes.

"Here you are, finally," you breathe, gently placing a hand on his knee. Ivar didn't know until now that one could die of happiness, but that's exactly what he's feeling and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Swallowing, he blinks several times. When he speaks, his voice trembles, his bottom lip quivering. "Hello Y/N, you were... looking for... for me?" He has trouble getting the words out, his nervous fingers fidgeting on his lap.

Grabbing both his hands in yours, you nod, your thumbs stroking his knuckles tenderly. "I was, yes, and for a very long time."

Shyly lowering his head, Ivar, almost feeling dizzy, can't wrap his head around your words. They're just too good to be true. "But... why?"

"Why?" You giggle, your laughing eyes lighting up your face, and he's positive, you're even more beautiful like this. "Isn't it obvious? I want to know more about you, what's your favorite color, what you eat for breakfast, where you see yourself in ten years. I just want to spend time with you, Ivar."

'Ivar' You've just said his name and it's like the sweetest music to his ears. He can't believe it. Wow. "You... You recognized me?" There's so much hope and joy in his voice, he cringes.

You shrug, your smile never leaving your lips. "I wasn't sure at first. You've changed a lot." Your hand cups his cheek. The sensation on his skin is so overwhelming he has to hold back the tears threatening to gush. Yet, he can't help but think you're speaking about his legs.

He grits his teeth. "Yeah... Standing tall can change a man."

"No! no, no, no," you retort without missing a beat, "That's not what I meant. In my memory you still looked like you did when we were ten, but look at you now, all grown up! Your hair was so short back then." Reaching out, you brush a strand of hair back and tuck it behind his ear before letting your fingers run slowly down and up his bulging biceps, your hand finally lingering on his forearm, "Plus, you clearly work out a lot. So, yeah, I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure. When we were dancing last night, I thought I'd ask you right after, but then you left and... well... I didn't have a chance..."

Ivar wraps his fingers around yours, a frown creasing his forehead. "About that, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left like–"

You shush him, holding a finger to his lips. "It doesn't matter, Ivar. You don't have to explain. All that matters is that I found you." Standing up, you lean forward and gently kiss his cheek and he feels like he's floating. Intertwining his fingers with yours, you whisper in his ear, "I reckon we got some lost time to make up, you and me. Can we go stargazing now?"

Hearing this makes Ivar's insides turn to jelly. Barely able to think, he is on cloud nine and wishes with all his heart never to come back down to earth again. But despite the daze, despite the fog in his head, despite the blinding happiness, he knows one thing: no matter how many stars he sees, you'll be the brightest one.

"Yes, Y/N, you're right," bringing your hand to his mouth, he gives it a kiss, "let's go stargazing."

And as he leaves the room, you walking alongside him with your hand on his shoulder, his heart filled with joy and wonder, he doesn't miss the thumbs up Hvitserk gives him, nor the scowl on Ubbe's and Sigurd's faces.

For a fleeting second, he thinks he should – he could – taunt them. They deserve to be laughed at, don't they? But then, he realizes he doesn't have time for that. The time for happiness has come, and it's far more important.

Giving you a beaming smile, Ivar inhales deeply before releasing a sigh of satisfaction. Yeah. Happiness. Happiness sounds good.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar’s taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

[chudleycanonficfest]

Stars in the Night Sky

Day 3, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: Stars in the Night Sky

Author: adenei

Pairing: Jily (James Potter x Lily Evans)

Prompt: Stargazing

Rating: PG

TW: None :)

****************

The castle is peaceful as it nears midnight, a calm surrender to the usual bustling halls during the day. Rounds ended over an hour ago, but the quick pair of footsteps was not rushing through a late shift, they were on their way to the Astronomy Tower to meet their partner and begin Professor Sinistra’s constellation project. 

Allocation of the work was all in the luck of the draw. Where one half of the class drew a name, and the other pulled the astronomical phenomenon they were to study. Lily Evans had pulled the piece of parchment on stars and constellations, and according to the project’s outline, she and her partner would be tracking Orion, Cassiopeia, Gemini, and Canis Major for the next two weeks.

The project left Lily questioning why she chose to pursue the subject after passing her O.W.L.s. Maybe it was because she has always been fascinated by the subject, or maybe it’s for the sole fact that Astronomy is one of the subjects she can discuss with her family since it relates closely to muggle sciences. Regardless, she’s not sure it’s worth the lack of sleep she’s about to endure over the next few weeks.

As Lily climbs the steps of the Astronomy Tower, her heart thunders in her chest with anticipation about who her partner will be. The class is small, with only ten students, but she didn’t bother to hang around and discuss ‘who had who’ at the end of class. She had a meeting with Professor McGonagall about her Head Girl duties and couldn’t be bothered to worry about who her partner was. 

But now, after finding out through Mary that she’s been paired with Remus and Sirius pulled Benjy Fenwick’s name, Lily is nervous. Rumblings at dinner also confirmed that Calliope Forsythe of Hufflepuff was disappointed that she chose Bridgette Marls’s name instead of James’s, leaving Lily sweating the remaining possible outcomes. She doesn’t want to jinx it by getting her hopes up that James may have pulled her name out of the cauldron, and she’s mad at herself for wanting it so desperately.

We already spend enough time together with our Head duties. Plus, we’re friends now, so we can hang out whenever we like...just not alone.

Her last thought is only a partial lie, considering they’re ‘alone’ when creating schedules for rounds, but it never fails that some fifth or sixth-year students are always barging in to use the Prefect’s lounge to study, ruining any potential chance for either to make a move. Even when they’re on rounds, their conversation is constantly interrupted by catching a couple in a broom closet or empty classroom. 

Lily lets out a huff of frustration as she recalls the last time, when she was sure he was about to ask her to Hogsmeade, but then there was a loud clatter from a room up ahead, breaking the moment. So really, it’d be ideal if James were her partner for this project. She’s sick of the song and dance they’ve been playing since the start of term and wants nothing more than to find out whether he still fancies her or not. After all, it’s only a matter of time that some other girl will swoop in, causing his devilishly handsome smile to be trained on them instead.

As Lily approaches the foot of the stairs leading up to the observation room, she checks her watch. 11:59. Right on time. She holds her breath during the entire stair climb, and only when she rounds the corner to the dimly lit area with one singular candle on the table to take notes, does she see him. He’s leaning over the table, the light illuminating his messy black hair as his glasses slip down his nose. The sleeves on the white shirt of his uniform are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the sinewy muscles of his forearm as Lily stands there, getting lost in a daydream that finds those arms wrapped around her body.

The hoot of an owl in the distance snaps her out of her thoughts as she takes a few steps closer.

“I hope you haven’t started without me.” 

Lily’s light chiding gets James’s attention as a wide smirk dons his face. Her insides tremble as her heart pounds faster in her chest.

“How can I get started if I don’t know what we’re supposed to be looking at,” he remarks, eliciting a nervous laugh from her chest.

“Yeah, sorry for not sticking around after class. I had another appointment.”

“Well, I hope my reveal isn’t too much of a shock.”

“Better you than Mulciber or Avery,” she teases. “Why didn’t you ask Professor Sinistra what topic I pulled after you gave your information and got our timetable?”

James walks around the table to join her as she pulls out the project guidelines. She assumes he would have known what they were studying, considering everyone had to check-in and get their schedules from Professor Sinistra. Depending on what the group has chosen, their research times varied.

“Because I thought we were going for the surprise factor,” his cheeky grin matches the lightness in his voice. “Besides, I figured it’d be another excuse to pore over the parchment in close proximity.”

Lily searches the space next to her to see just how close James is before meeting his gaze. She becomes dizzy from the scent of his cologne, with hints of cinnamon and sandalwood invading her sense of smell. If she gives in to temptation now, they won’t accomplish anything on their first night.

Work first, play later.

Strengthening her resolve, Lily makes a swift turn and heads for the telescope. “We’re responsible for tracking the four constellations that are listed on the first page. I’ll see which one I can find first and we’ll go from there. We can take turns tracing, and observing if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure, I’ll get the parchment set up,” James agrees.

Lily’s not sure, but she thinks she may have heard a hint of disappointment in his tone. She pushes the thoughts aside and peers into the massive telescope that’s bolted down in the center of the room. It doesn’t take long to find Jupiter, and from there, she’s able to see a handful of the stars that make up Orion. The belt is the most prevalent as she takes mental notes to transfer on the paper.

Settling into a steady hum of working together, the pair take turns between the telescope and table, making light work of the night’s observations. When Lily checks her watch again, she realizes they’ve finished with time to spare. She wanders over to the railing, and even though she’s spent the better part of the last ninety minutes studying the stars, she finds herself looking up to the sky once more. Only this time, she’s stargazing with only the naked eye. 

She feels James approaching before he arrives at her side, gazing up at the twinkling stars among the backdrop of black and midnight blue.

“We make a pretty good team.” Her voice is soft as it carries through the air between them.

Lily’s exhaustion is prevalent as her eyelids become heavier, but she can’t be bothered to move away from James’s side. Not yet, anyways.

“You haven’t gathered that from our flawless round schedules and seamless Prefect meetings we’ve run so far as Heads?”

Lily can’t help the smile that creeps across her lips. He’s playing into her words in the exact way she was hoping for. “Of course, I’ve noticed. I was just thinking out loud…” she trails off, hoping she’s got him hooked and wanting to know what else she’s about to say.

“About what?” Barely a second passes before the question leaves his mouth.

She drags her teeth over her bottom lip as she looks up at him. Here goes nothing.

“Just about how our teamwork might work in other respects, too.”

His lips part as she hears a sharp intake of breath. “Evans,” he warns as he inches ever closer to her face.

“Potter,” she challenges right back.

They are mere centimeters away from each other now, and it’d be so easy to close the gap between them. James seems to have frozen in front of her as she finds herself leaning up on her tiptoes to press a feather-light kiss to his lips. She pulls away, not wanting to push her luck.

When he doesn’t move after she pulls away, her heart sinks. Lily grabs her bag and turns to head back to the common room. Clearly, I was mistaken.

“Sorry, I just thought—” but she never finished her apology.

Her foot grazes the top step of the staircase before a warm, strong hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her back, where she hits a wall of muscle. Her lips are on his again, and this time he’s kissing her back as her arms snake around his shoulders and her foot lifts off the ground of its own accord. 

James Potter is kissing me!

The moment only lasts a few moments before they pull apart, their breathing heavy under the starry night.

James breaks the silence after a minute. “So, er, Hogsmeade this weekend?”

Lily grins as she backs away slightly, leaving him standing there as she heads toward the stairs for the second time. She flashes a ‘come and get me’ look. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[agentnico]

Last Night In Soho (2021) Review

It seems that with this and Dune I really am challenging the critical status quo this year. I’m very much in the minority on my views with these two films. 

Plot: An aspiring fashion designer is mysteriously able to enter the 1960s, where she encounters a dazzling wannabe singer. However, the glamour is not all it appears to be, and the dreams of the past start to crack and splinter into something far darker.

Edgar Wright as a filmmaker always leaned primarily towards the comedy genre. Whether its the projects he collaborated with Simon Pegg and Nick Frost on or his bigger scale Hollywood projects such as Scott Pilgrim vs. the World or Baby Driver, they all had that sense of whimsy and sarcasm to them all. Heck, even his documentary this year about the Sparks band was filled to the brim with jokes. So Last Night In Soho is definitely a step in a different direction for Edgar Wright, and it is nice to see him finally be willing to experiment more and try out things outside his comfort zone. Gone is the humour and instead we have this visually rich creepy horror tale that jumps from modern day to the 1960s, and the result may be questionable, but I certainly admire Wright for his efforts to try something different. And yes, from that sentence and tone I think you may gather that I didn’t really like Last Night In Soho that much. And you would be right!!

The primary issue with Last Night In Soho in my humble opinion but an opinion I choose to post online for the world to see is that I feel like this film tries to take on too much all at once. What’s more it is evident Edgar Wright is a filmmaker but also a massive film buff himself, as you can see how much inspiration he’s taken from other movies to create this motion picture. Visually you can see Nicolas Winging Refn’s neon visuals all over this thing, and the gothic gory side of things is very Italian horror in nature with the prime example being Dario Argento movies, with the crazy amounts of fake looking paint blood and creepy ghosts, and then there is the central mystery that is very Agatha Christie in style that I was half expecting Hercules Poirot to walk on screen and be like “Piss off ghosts, there’s been a murder here and I am the only one to solve this as I am the greatest detective in the world!!”. Okay, I feel like a bit of Korg slipped into that line but hey, if Taika Waititi ever decides to take on Hercules Poirot as a role I would be open to it, for better or worse, just saying. Anyway, it’s all these different styles thrown into this one movie, and the result is really messy. It tries to do so much all at once, however if you look at the narrative, the main plot-line is actually overly simplistic, however Wright’s style unnecessarily overcomplicates it. In fact, I was really enjoying this movie up to the halfway point, but then it decides to go bonkers and throw a bunch of crazy nonsense at you and at that point it lost me. For one, you get introduced to these ghosts who are supposed to scary you, however every time they appeared I found myself wanting to laugh as they would all trot along together like a bunch of Minecraft characters and act all creepy, but it just came off weird and ridiculous more than anything else. I get what Edgar Wright was going for, as I remember him mentioning in an interview that he was inspired by Nicolas Roeg’s psychological horror film Don’t Look Now where in that movie too things start out pretty calm and civil, but then at the end things naturally go AWOL and nuts (damn that red hood!!), however in that film that transition seemed to go more seamlessly. In Last Night In Soho it feels really messy and disorganised. This movie should have either leaned more fully into it’s traditional horror elements or have been more of a straightforward mystery with flashbacks. Not try and do both those very different genres together in this way.

There’s still elements I enjoyed here. The 1960s sequences for the most part looked very dazzling and stellar with the fitting costumes of the time and the streets of London being lit up with the 60′s night lights and shiny old school cars driving past. The glamour was indeed present as they say. The cast performances too were solid for the most part. Thomasin McKenzie is our main character in modern day and we see the events transpire from her perspective, and at first she annoyed me a little, not sure if it was due to her delivery of lines or her facial expressions, but eventually I did warm up to her. Anya Taylor-Joy also appears but primarily in flashbacks, so unlike the trailers and marketing may make it seem she is not the main character and isn’t in the movie that much, but for the time she’s in she does well and can apparently sing so that should be news to everyone. Where both McKenzie and Taylor-Joy get there chance to stand out is in the first dream sequence where McKenzie first enters the 60′s through Taylor-Joy’s character’s body, and Wright shows off his main technical gimmick for this movie in that whenever Taylor-Joy passes, looks into or stands next to a mirror we see McKenzie in the reflection mimicking all her actions, and it was actually impressive seeing how in-sync they were. There’s also a Matt Smith being evil and doing evil things, and look, his demeanour fits a villainous role so it works. I don’t know why, but when I see Matt Smith’s face I always wonder if he may be a bit of a prick, hence why evil characters seem to bode well for him. Terence Stamp appears and is appropriately creepy and unsettling, and Diana Rigg appears posthumously in her final role as the landlord of McKenzie’s character and she did her part well but I felt really bad when the end credits rolled, as throughout the movie I kept thinking she was the “hag” from Hot Fuzz. Point to note, she’s is not.

Cast performances and 60′s costumers aside, I can’t say I bought into Last Night In Soho. It was too many ideas and styles thrown into one. It’s as if Edgar Wright wanted to break out of his comfort zone, but in doing so tried to take on everything all at once. You can tell that in this movie’s narrative as things are set up but aren’t paid off. For example, in the beginning when McKenzie’s character arrives in her new university halls, she has to deal with this group of “mean girls” which their leader evil-Rachel-McAdams-type being set up as someone who’d constantly be getting in her way. But no, there’s a bit of bickering and then that character is completely forgotten about until the very end of the movie where she appears again to give McKenzie the ol’ side-eye treatment. There’s a few of these story choices that are left undealt with, which the more signified how this movie doesn’t know what it wants to be. Regardless as I said I admire Wright for trying something new and as always I look forward to seeing what he cooks up next.

Overall score: 5/10

[valdomarx]

La Campanella

McShep + Rodney plays the piano Rodney never could resist a challenge, especially when it’s set by Sheppard.

Atlantis is a place of many wonders, but Rodney's favorite is this:

In a distant part of the northern pier is a short, squat tower which he and Sheppard investigate on a routine patrol.

And in that tower is a large, unassuming room like a lecture hall.

And in the center of the room is an object seven foot long and three feet high, elegant, delicate, and familiar.

“Is that…” Rodney practically runs over to touch it, as reckless as that urge can be in Atlantis, but he knows this isn’t a weapon or a piece of broken technology or some dangerous machine. It’s a thing of beauty.

It’s an instrument remarkably like a piano: white and black reversed, keys slightly different lengths, but the same 12-step configuration making up an octave. Keys which strike strings stretched over a wide frame with soft hammers, and this can’t be a coincidence.

“How... ” he starts, and then he answers his own question. “The Ancients must have invented this instrument and brought the concept with them to Earth. But that would overturn so much musical history they’ll have to rewrite the textbooks, can you even imagine the implications -”

John does not look as fascinated by the profound repercussions of this discovery on the history of western classical music as Rodney is.

He waves questions of history aside and sits on the low stool in front of the keyboard, blowing away the years of accumulated dust. His hands instinctively settle into arches, his wrists loose, and he plays a few simple scales. The notes sound out clear and true, but -

He frowns.

“Something wrong?” Sheppard is leaning over the instrument, studying him and it with interest.

“This is tuned half a tone lower than an Earth piano. Feels a bit weird, that’s all.”

“How do you know that?”

Rodney affects his smuggest smile. “Perfect pitch, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sheppard says, rolling his eyes.

Rodney looks around the room furtively, keen for reasons he can’t articulate that no one else should observe them, and he starts to play.

-

It becomes a habit, a place to unwind, somewhere they visit on off hours and in quiet moments.

Today Sheppard is flicking through a golf magazine while Rodney warms up with some Bach. The music is pleasing and orderly, and the sparse, bright notes explode in fractal-like patterns, unfurling and changing and becoming more complex the closer you look.

John tilts his head to one side and says, “You know there’s a whole bunch of classical music on the Atlantis server?”

Rodney grins. He did know that, in fact. Never get between a team of scientists and their file sharing. “I may have heard.”

“I listened to some of the Chopin you like. Then some other piano stuff as well.”

“Yeah?” Rodney picks at a fingernail. Something about the idea of John listening to music just because Rodney likes it makes his heart beat a little faster. “Find anything you liked?”

“A bunch actually. Have you heard of a piece called La Campanella? By a guy named Liszt?"

"Have I…" Has he heard of the single hardest piece in the entire solo piano repertoire? The fact he could never get those double stops right haunts him to this day. "Yeah, it rings a bell."

"I like that one," John says decisively. "It's nice."

Nice??? Sheppard thinks the most epic and demanding piece of all time is nice? Of course he does.

"You should learn to play it," John says casually, like he's suggesting they watch an action movie instead of a scifi.

"I should -" he splutters. "Do you have any idea how difficult that is? It's practically impossible."

John smirks and says, "I thought practically impossible was your specialty?"

Rodney is still spluttering when John throws him a wink and walks out.

-

And then, because despite being the finest mind in two galaxies, on some level he truly is an idiot, he stretches out his fingers and starts to practice.

-

It's not like he had copious free time to start with. But he makes space whenever he can to come to the piano room, chipping away at this ludicrous piece, bit by bit, phrase by phrase, over and over and over.

People think that learning to play is artistry, and maybe it is that too, but mostly it's a grind. You keep doing it again and again until you get it right. It's as much about stubbornness as about skill.

And stubbornness is something Rodney McKay has in abundance.

-

Liszt really was a sadistic old bastard, Rodney thinks sourly as he works on the right hand jumps until his fingers turn to lead.

-

Sometimes Sheppard comes and sits with him while he practices, and on those days he plays easier pieces, things which are familiar and casual. Not that John seems to pay much attention, but Rodney has the urge to impress him all the same.

He’s always having that urge around John.

-

He spends an entire week working on his goddamn trill.

It shouldn’t matter and it’s not like anyone will really listen to it. But it seems to represent something important — a sequence of paired adjacent notes, next to each other but never quite touching, bouncing off each other time and time again, a dance of two — though he doesn’t want to examine that too closely.

-

He doesn’t tell anyone else about the piano. He tells himself that’s because it’s convenient that he doesn’t have to share and can use it whenever he wants.

But really, he likes that it’s his and Sheppard’s; their own tiny secret in this vast and sprawling city.

-

He hears the piece in his sleep, and on missions, and when he’s working in his lab. It becomes a background hum of his brain, always there, a sort of yearning for the possible, the platonic ideal, the way that things could be.

He tries not to examine that too closely either, though the weight of the realization is becoming harder to ignore.

-

Eventually the piece is as ready as it's going to be. He scribbles a quick note during a meeting, folds it into a paper airplane, and throws it at Sheppard's head. He hits him right in the temple, and he manages to avoid cheering when Elizabeth glares at him.

I have something to play for you, the note reads. Meet you at 7? You know where. - R

He jots it down without really thinking, and only once he's thrown does it occur to him how soppy it sounds.

John doesn't seem too perturbed though. He smiles down at the note and meets Rodney's eye with a little eyebrow wiggle which Rodney takes to mean, Gonna impress me?

-

By the time John arrives, Rodney is all warmed up and more nervous than he's ever been about a performance. His heart is racing, and when John gives him a fond look and says, "Hey," it trips even faster.

Once he settles in to play though, there's a certain kind of mental clarity that settles over him. His hands know how to do this, he just has to sit back and let them.

His wrists are still tense as he sounds out the first few bars and then, all at once, he relaxes into it and lets the music carry him. Hours of repetition have made every chord, every melody, every insane and unreasonable jump into something almost effortless. He even forgets John is there: there’s only him, and the piano, and the music.

The music builds and builds, each section becoming more and more ornamented, more complex, more physically demanding, all at a relentless pace that sends most players reeling. But he's got this, he can do this, it turns out all he needed was a bit of motivation.

The penultimate section is his favorite: The technical parts are done and here he can throw himself into the wild, over the top glory of the final melody. And perhaps he shows off a little bit, catching John's eye and grinning at him, but that's all part of the fun.

The piece ends with a crashing, massive finale that makes him feel like a virtuoso, and then in a last few epic chords it's done, as tight and perfect a five minutes as you could wish for.

The final chord reverberates on and on through the stillness of the room, glowing out beyond the city and into the night.

"Wow." John's eyes are wide. "That was great."

Rodney preens, because that ineloquent little comment somehow means more to him than an auditorium full of ecstatic applause. Having John look at him like that makes the months of practice worth it.

"You liked it?" He's fishing for compliments, but he figures he's earned it.

"I did," John says, staring at Rodney's hands like they hold the secrets to the universe.

He looks up and blushes at having been caught staring. Then he deflects and shrugs one shoulder. “Honestly, though, it’s not my favorite piano piece.”

Rodney narrows his eyes. He has the distinct impression he’s been played. “What was your favorite then?”

"I prefer Songs Without Words."

"Mendelssohn?" he explodes. "You wanted Mendelssohn? Jesus Christ, I learned to play that when I was eight!"

John grins. "I appreciate simplicity in music."

"Then why on earth did you make me learn Liszt?!"

John has this joyous, manic light in his eyes, like he's having the time of his life here, messing around with Rodney, of all the things he could be doing. "I like watching you do impossible things."

He sucks in a breath. "I hate you."

"No you don't." John leans in, smug and delighted, and oh, Rodney is so in love with this ridiculous, infuriating man that he could burst. "You learned La Campanella for me."

"It wasn't that hard," he says quickly, because he has a reputation to maintain here. But John laughs and gives him this soft, teasing look, one eyebrow quirked at a ridiculous angle beneath the chaotic mess of his hair, and Rodney is defenseless.

"Whatever you say, McKay," John says, and Rodney has the feeling he sees straight through him. "Now play it again."

[sjmsstuff]

Light and Dark

Chapter 2

A/N: hey gang, it’s chapter 2! This is not really canon compliant but if you squint real hard it is. I wrote this at 2 am and edited it during French class so I have no idea what state it’s in, please enjoy x

Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Warnings: Swearing (duh, it’s me), minorly nsfw but like not really, references to sexual and child abuse (not so much this chapter but probably later)

The silence pressed in the second she disappeared.

He was such an idiot.

She had been wearing his necklace though. Cauldron, how could he even call it his necklace, she didn’t know it was from him. Azriel wasn’t even entirely sure why he had given it to her but seeing it in his pile of solstice presents… that led to thoughts of Elain and after the fiasco at solstice he’d tried his best to forget about her.

Too often however, his mind meandered back to thoughts of her face, her mouth. Usually those thoughts came barging into his head late at night, when company fell asleep and his shadows disapated. Recently however those thoughts had changed.

Since solstice that mousy brown hair had taken on hues of red. Turquoise eyes closed in the throes of pleasure and a slimmer body writhed beneath him.

He was so unbelievably fucked. Or maybe the issue was that he wasn’t getting fucked.

He should Rhys’s advice and find company at a pleasure house. He must really hate himself, to lust firstly after Mor, who had shown no interest in him in 200 years. Then Elain, who was mated, and now Gwyneth, with her history she probably wouldn’t want a male to look at her for too long.

Which made him some massive creep to think of her like that. Azriel really did try not to. But when she appeared unannounced, like last night, he couldn’t help but think…

No, he wouldn’t go down that road. Not until he was fully sure she wanted it.

Azriel had beeen so surprised when a shadow curled around his ear in the stormy night and whispered of a nymph girl climbing the stairs. He was out of his seat and down the steps faster than he could consider any potential consequences.

And there she had been, standing in the hallway, looking like she might want to turn right around and march back down, but a shadow flicked against his ear, singing softly and he spoke her name.

He wanted to reach out to her, his shadows took that as a cue and tried to reach out themselves before he pulled them back. Something about her was affecting them, drawing them in. Or maybe she was affecting him like that.

That was a dangerous thought.

She had stood silent, lithe frame backlit by the torches behind her and said,

“Would you like some company?”

Her voice was a melody. His shadows purred in answer.

The worlds axis must have shifted, he could probably look outside to find the stormy sky had turned as blue as her eyes he was taking too long to answer and she was looking at him oddly, perhaps noting the shadows flying around his shoulders.

They were so excitable in her presence, he couldn’t control them and that was extremely concerning. Az doesn’t like what he can’t control.

All worry was chased from his mind as he climbed the stairs and another topic was thrust into his brain.

Gwyn from the back was almost as glorious as she was from the front.

Gods what he wouldn’t do to grip those hips and grind that perfect little ass on his-

No.

He stopped himself, looking away before his control could be tested further. She said it herself, she was here for conversation and Mother damn him he would talk to her casually.

Gwyn was not going to be a repeat of Mor or Elain. He was not going to lust after another female that wanted nothing to do with him, and pine away until his demise.

Gwyn was going to mean more than that. He would keep her at arms length, so that he may keep her as a friend.

And he was making a fool of himself. She asked his favourite colour and the only colour left in the world was that of her eyes.

And he laughed, for the first time in weeks, stress melting from his weary bones after just minutes with this fabulous creature.

And he told her things he had never told anyone, that was dangerous.

He was a spymaster, mother damn him. A spymaster wasn’t much good if he told a female all his secrets after a few pretty smiles.

But gods, her smiles were pretty. He wondered how pretty her mouth would-

No. None of that.

He needed her out of here so he could collect pieces of his sanity before he spilled any other important secrets.

As she walked back towards the library however, he almost called her back. An unruly shadow seemed to take that as an opportunity to reach for her, but Az whipped it back.

Dangerous indeed.

And yet, that night he slept without dreams. He couldn’t remember the last time that happened. Well truthfully, he could, it was a time when his hands were unscarred.

Cassian was back the next morning. Ever his cheerful self since the mating ceremony almost a month ago. He had been unbearable for a week afterwards. Azriel had had to vacate the house of wind and call a halt to lessons as Cass had almost taken his head off and Nesta had growled at Emerie the first time she tried to enter the house.

Not to mention the scents and sounds emanating from different rooms. Azriel was happy for his brother, truly. Even if it did make him green with envy and blue with melancholy.

The following week, the happy couple were back training but Cass was so distracted Az managed to beat him into the dirt on no less than three occasions. Azriel waited another week before moving back into the House, still half considering Rhys’s offer to fumegate it.

He had kept occupied by tracking Koschei, or rather attempting to track him. The King had proven hard to pin down, a source of growing frustration to Azriel. He despised having to bring bad news to his High Lord, and now that Rhys had Nyx to worry about he hated it even more.

But Rhys maintained that they had faced threats before and triumphed but the failure still weighed heavy on Az that morning in the training ring.

He tried his hardest not to look at Gwyn. He couldn’t help it sometimes, her hair caught the light when she twirled under Emerie’s punch.

It looked like a flame come to life in the early morning sunlight and he challenged any living male not to loose breath.

It was with a warriors assessment that he allowed his gaze to rove over her slight body. He was admiring her form and positioning, definitely not imagining her in different positions. That would be both unsavoury and unprofessional. Which is why he hated himself for doing it.

Gwyn hardly noticed him, barely glancing in his direction and he had the strangest urge to pick a fight with Cassian in attempt to garner her attention.

That wasn’t good.

The warrior in question was flirting with his mate while she squatted, arching her back in a way that was unnecessary and counterproductive but Cassian didn’t call her up on it, he seemed too busy enjoying the show. Nesta however corrected herself and continued on while his lovesick brother pretended he hadn’t been leering at his mate.

Gwyn too had spotted the encounter laughed, a tinkling sound that lightened something dark in Azriels chest. She looked around to see if anyone else had caught what she had, and that’s when it happened. Her eyes met his and the world shifted again. He couldn’t help the smile that blossomed in the wake off her own. One thought consumed him as he turned back to his own priestesses and guided them through the next set. He was so unbelievably fucked.

Tagging: @bookstantrash @perseusannabeth @champanheandluxxury @princessofmerchants @princessofmerchants-reads @azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @lovelywordsandwine @thron3ofbooks @velaaaris @illyrian-valkyrie

Chapter 3

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list for my writing or this fic x

[13uswntimagines]

Prank Your Way Into My Heart (Alex Morgan x Reader)

Request: @Androgynousmoneyflowervoid: Alex Morgan is mean because she is scared of her feelings for the reader and reader thinks Alex hates her. Reader confronts Alex and they get into a fight and Alex tells the reader that she had feelings for her.

Pranks were a massive part of the USWNT culture. You had known that going in. You had accepted that you were most likely going to be the target of many of the team’s shenanigans because everyone liked to pick on the newbie. The baby, the rookie of the team as they had taken to calling you. To your surprise, the team had pretty much welcomed you with open arms. Krashlyn immediately taking you under their wing, and the youngins accepting you into their group with little fuss. 

Everyone seemed to like you. Everyone except Alex. It was like she had made it her personal duty to make your life a living hell. You took the first few pranks on the chin, smiling along with the rest of the team when you walked into your shared room after practice to find it plastered with sticky notes. Or when you woke up for practice only to be trapped in your bed by thousands of cups half-filled with water. Or when she had saran wrapped all of the pieces of your soccer kit. 

The pranks had been harmless, and in the beginning, you thought that it was just a tradition for a singular veteran to mess with their rookie, but then the pranks didn’t stop. You didn’t mind at first. You might have even secretly enjoyed the way Alex’s dimples looked after one of her tricks on you. Or how her cackle filled the room. You hadn’t minded being the butt of the joke if you got to hear that giggle. She was fucking gorgeous, and you may have had a tiny (massive) crush on the forward since before you even joined the team. The problem though was that the pranks hadn’t stopped. No, they seemed to be getting worse, and today you were truly not in the mood to deal with this shit. 

Team practice hadn’t gone well for you. You just couldn’t seem to get into a rhythm. You were groggy from being woken up at 3 am by your roommate Alex’s brilliant idea to dump ice water on you, and your sleepiness made it laughably easy for Emily to defend all of your attacks on goal. Your passes were sloppy and not even Lindsey’s jokes could lift your grumpy mood. You were incredibly relieved when Vlatko called practice and released you to all go change in the locker room. All you wanted to was to get back to the hotel and go to sleep. 

You ripped your soaked tank top over your head, tossing it on the bench beside you, and began digging through your bag in search of your favorite sweatshirt in hopes that it would provide some of the comfort that you were desperately craving. You groaned when you realized that it was missing. You dropped the bag, whipping around and glaring at the blue-eyed woman who was already smirking at you from across the room. 

“Ok, where the fuck is my shirt?” You growled, marching over to Alex. Her Cheshire cat-like smile widened at your rage, her eyes shining in the most hypnotizing way. 

“Why are you asking me, rookie?” She shrugged, bringing both of her hands up behind her head and stretching out her legs. God, she was enjoying the way your abs flexed with each annoyed breath you took. 

“Because you’re the only one who can’t seem to stop messing with my stuff,” You spat back, pointing your finger in her face. Her eyes left yours and shifted to the way your bicep was put on display with each angry jab of your finger. 

“What can’t take a joke?” She laughed, wiggling her eyebrows, proud that she could get this far under your skin. Sure there were more… pleasurable ways, but your adorable angry face made her hesitant to stop. That and the fact that you were almost 10 years younger than her. If she couldn’t have you the way that she wanted, well, this was a good substitute. 

“Not when I’m the only one who’s getting messed with,” You scowled, taking a step closer to the woman with each word until your finger is planted firmly in her chest. You try not to think about how her heart feels hammering against your finger, or how good she smells. You’re supposed to be angry, outraged. 

“Slow down kid. Why don’t you go shower first? By the time you get out, I’m sure your clothes will have turned up,” Ashlyn intervenes, appearing out of nowhere to wrap an arm around your middle and pull you away from Alex, who looks more amused than afraid. You weren’t known for being a hothead, but none of the girls had ever seen you get so pissed off. 

“No. Last time I showered in the locker room, someone dumped ice on me, and the time before that she doused my favorite sweats in paint. All I want is my shirt so I can get on the freaking bus,” You snarled, shoving your self-appointed team mom’s arm away from you. Alex didn’t want you here, that much was obvious. But you were here none the less and didn’t understand why she couldn’t just leave you the fuck alone. 

“I told you that I don’t have it,” She smirked, showing off her dimples as she raised her hands in innocence. She really didn’t have it, not anymore. It wasn’t her fault that you were generous enough to… donate it to a few of the kids who had snuck into the stadium to watch the practice. You lunged at the woman, the angry words coming out of your mouth as garbled gibberish, only to be stopped again by Ashlyn’s arm. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough. Take mine, and go get on the bus, and you stay away from her,” Ali said, with authority, stepping in between your very angry form and Alex’s laughing body. You struggled for a few more seconds, the team watching as frustrated tears left your eyes before you finally went limp. You shrugged Ashlyn’s arm off, pulling on the shirt Tobin offered you and huffed out the door. 

The room was silent, most of your team shocked by your outburst. You were usually like a little ray of sunshine, always smiling and laughing. They had never seen you so angry. Alex’s eyes were glazed over, staring into space. Who the fuck gave you the right to look so hot and adorable at the same time when you were pissed?

“You know, I think you’d have better luck if you just told her how you felt instead of acting like a middle school boy,” Kelley said after a few minutes, settling down beside the star forward and pulling her out of her thoughts. She sighed. She didn’t like that she had hurt you, but finally admitting her feelings for you was too terrifying to even consider. Yes, she was acting like a child, but having you this way was better than having you avoid her because she freaked you out. Was it healthy to push you away to avoid rejection? No. But if she never told you how she felt, then you could never turn her down. 

“But she’s so cute when she’s mad, and have you seen those abs,” Alex murmured, biting her lip. Kelley shook her head. How oblivious could two people be? The two of you were always sharing longing glances, and you kept trying to be Alex’s friend, despite her horrible treatment of you. You both stared at each other like lovesick puppies, and she was tired of you getting hurt. 

“I’m sure she’d willingly show them to you if you asked, rather than destroy her property,” Kelley grumbled, and the rest of the room snorted. Just because the two of you were oblivious to each other didn’t mean the rest of the team followed suit. If they could just convince Alex to get over her hesitance due to the age issue, or the fear of rejection, then the entire team dynamic would be better off. They really needed to get rid of the sexual tension that followed the two of you as it was always a bit distracting.

“Hm…” Alex hummed back noncommittally. Why would you pick her over someone like Mal, or Emily or any one of the other youngins you were always hanging with? In her mind you wouldn’t, and why would she need to tell you about her feelings if the plan was already set into place for her to see your abs again. The team shared worried looks, knowing what Alex’s demeanor meant, they could only hope that it wasn’t as bad as the time she had turned all of your t-shirts into crop tops.  

*****

They would find out exactly what she had done not even two hours later. Most of the team was gathered in the conference room munching on whatever food the staff had put out for them. They hoped that excitement for the day was done, but Alex’s smirk and the bouncing of her leg told them that it wasn’t.

You had avoided everyone when you arrived at the hotel, longing for a hot shower and a good nap before you had to deal with the fallout of your outburst. Everything had been going fine until you caught a glance at yourself in the steamy mirror. Your normal Y/H/C was far from its normal shade. 

“What the actual fuck Alex,” You yelled, slamming open the dining-room door, and storming up the women in question. She took in your very angry, very wet form staring down at her clad in nothing but a sports bra and some basketball shorts. She could only assume that you had seen your hair before you had the chance to put on a shirt. 

“How do you know that it was me?” She smiled up innocently at you, biting her lip at the fact that your abs (which just happened to have little water droplets dripping down them) were mere inches from her face. 

“Because who the fuck else would think dying my hair pink was a good idea, and you’re the only one that had the other key to our room” You spat, clacking your teeth and lifting a strand of the hair in question.

“Well, you did say that you needed to liven it up a little bit,” She shrugged. Maybe it was more of the fact that she had thought you would look better in pink, the same shade of pink as her favorite pre-wrap. At least she hadn’t been wrong. 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” You glowered, running a frustrated hand through you now ruined hair. You had wanted to do something cool, like different shades of blue and teal, but now you looked like a fucking flamingo. 

“Mmm, did I?” She challenged and her interest peaking as you turned your glare to the floor. It seemed that all Alex wanted was to humiliate you in front of the world, and now she had gotten her wish. You shook your head, it was fine when the pranks were kept within the team, but this was so much farther beyond that. There would be no way for you to hide this from the media, and you weren’t looking forward to their mean comments. 

“You know what, I don’t know what your fucking problem is with me, but I’m sick of you fucking picking on me,” You growled, channeling your frustration and raising to your full height. She may never feel the way you felt about her, but that didn’t give her the right to be an asshole.  

“I don’t have a problem,” She denied, but the gloating smile on her face told you differently. 

“I’d beg to differ. What did I ever do to you to make you fucking hate me?” You finally broke, unable to hold back your frustrated tears any longer. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words would come out. Your fingers tugged roughly at your hair. 

“I don’t hate you Y/n,” Alex said softly, her joyful demeanor crumbling, her shoulders slumping. She hadn’t meant to push this far, it had just been so hard to stop. 

“Do you just think I’m not good enough? I swear that I won’t bring the team down. I can get-” You started to ramble, your tears making it very difficult to understand what you were saying. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you failed to notice the soft hands gripping your shoulders or the fact that Alex’s face was getting very close to your own. 

Her lips touched yours midway through your self deprecating rant, your eyes growing wide when her soft flesh touched your own, before slamming shut and remembering that it was probably a good idea to kiss her back. And you did. Your lips moved in harmony, a symphony of fireworks exploding behind your eyes.

You had dreamed of this moment for as long as you would remember, praying that one day you would finally be given the chance to fight for the woman’s heart. You had all but given up hope that she felt the way you did, but with her tongue gently probing your bottom lip, you couldn’t help the butterflies that filled your chest. Her hands migrated from your shoulders to the baby hairs at the back of your neck, pulling your closer, while yours found the curve of her hips. 

Air became an issue within seconds, and you reluctantly pulled away, taking in large gulping breaths, and instead of taking a step back, Alex followed you, connecting your foreheads. 

“What?” You asked breathlessly, trying to ignore both the loud wolf whistles of your teammates and the heat from your blushing cheeks. 

“I’m was being an ass, and I’m sorry,” “It’s just, I didn’t know how to tell you. You’re just so young, and to be honest, the way you make me feel scares the crap out of me,” She confessed, and you could see the honesty and insecurity in her bright blue eyes. You placed a sweet kiss on her lips, realizing that you were slowly becoming addicted to them. 

“So you thought it was better to push me away then to tell me that you liked me?” It was your turn to smirk at her. 

“It’s not an excuse. I’m so sorry that I hurt you, and if you hated me, I would understand,” She mumbled, leaning peck your lips this time, and you huffed. 

“I don’t hate you. I’ve actually had a crush on you for the longest time…” You giggled, pinching the skin that was exposed by her shirt riding up. You would never admit it, but you had plastered your walls with posters of the women’s national team growing up, and you may or may not have had a propensity doodle your favorite players number all over all of your notebooks. 

“Hmm,” Alex hummed against your lips, wondering exactly how long ‘the longest time’ was, and thanking her lucky stars that she hadn’t entirely fucked up her chances with you. 

“Does this mean you’ll stop messing with me,” You whined, pulling away from her face and burying your nose in her neck. 

“As long as I don’t have to steal your stuff anymore to see those abs,” She giggled at your adorableness, running her hands through your newly pink hair. You sighed in contentment into her neck. 

“Why don’t you buy me dinner first,” You muttered sarcastically raising your eyebrow and, leaning back to finally look her in the eyes. 

“I think that can be arranged,” She shot you a wide smile, her cheeks turning blood red when your teammates started cheering again, bantering about how you two finally got your shit together. 

“I can’t believe Alex basically pranked her way into your pants,’ Kelley snorted after a few minutes, and you couldn’t help the cackle that left your lips. You were smooth, but no one was smoother than Alex. Hopefully, she could woo you as well as she could prank you.

[footballandgirls2]

Some thoughts about each player’s performance which no one asked for but you’re getting anyway because I have Opinions That I Need To Share.

Jane Campbell

With the US back line being so solid means that their keepers are rarely challenged. It boils down to concentration for if/when the back line slips up, which is rarely more than once or twice a match. Jane kept her concentration and came off her line quickly when needed (like, twice) so in that aspect, which is pretty much the only aspect we can analyse against lesser teams, she delivered.

Becky Sauerbrunn

The back line is so good because Becky is SO good. I can only remember one pass that wasn’t executed perfectly. Diagonal balls fantastic, as usual. Wouldn’t expect anything less. Clearly doing a great job as (official) captain.

Tierna Davidson

Baby T looked so at home out there that it’s easy to forget she’s just 22. So mature, so calm. Good positional awareness and fantastic forward passes. Would love to see her tested against bigger teams because she’s held her own so far. Would be difficult to leave out Becky or Abby but if either can’t play for whatever reason, Tierna deserves to be straight in there.

Kelley O’Hara

Funny to see a pre-planned sub at 30 minutes rather than 60 minutes?! Either way, in those 30 minutes she was classic Kelley, getting high up the field and overlapping with the midfield seamlessly. If that knock is still bothering her, you couldn’t tell. Still the number one RB choice.

Emily Sonnett

What a difference a game makes. Massively struggled against Brazil which is to be expected against the likes of Marta but her decision making in that match was questionable. Much better in this game and managed to play her way out of trouble really well a few times. Got higher up the pitch which led to some decent crosses in the box. Also, SO versatile - 3 positions in one match requires quick adaptation which Vlatko no doubt appreciated.

Casey Krueger

Didn’t come up short (👀 - sorry!). Would never have guessed she wasn’t a starter because she absolutely smashed that LB position. Link up play with Kristie down the left side was spot on and her diagonal balls to switch the play were amazing too. May be too late for the Olympics 18 but showed she has a few years left on the national team.

Midge Purce

Is a great defender considering she’s not a defender. Decent passes into the box and tracked back quickly when necessary. Would love to see her get more solid minutes.

Julie Ertz

Played so deep she was literally on the back line half the time? Weird considering Argentina weren’t a huge attacking threat. Wasn’t as instrumental as she normally is. Sure she’ll be back though - it would take a miracle for her to not make the Olympic roster.

Rose Lavelle

A fairly quiet game by Rose’s standards but that’s a testament to how incredible she usually is. Probably tired from carrying the midfield in the last two matches! She’s literally everywhere and overlaps beautifully with everyone. Her creativity was missed when she wasn’t on the pitch. How someone is so fluid on the pitch but so awkward off it is baffling. Love it.

Lindsey Horan

As above in terms of being relatively quiet. Seemed to tone down the physicality, for better or worse. Don’t think she’s an inherently aggressive player but is just so god damn strong that she wins nearly every one-on-one without even tackling. Impressive, really. Managed to get loose in the box on set pieces and unfortunate not to connect for a classic Horan header.

Kristie Mewis

W. O. W. Deserved the start and proved it throughout the 90 minutes. Fantastic movement and turn for her goal. Maybe doesn’t press as hard as other midfielders but her positioning is amazing. Making a BIG case for taking her to Tokyo.

Jaelin Howell

Fit in easily in midfield which is hugely promising in such a talented team. Would like to see her get more minutes. Can’t see her making the Olympic roster just yet but definitely a bright future.

Sophia Smith

Got in some good positions in the box and was stopped only by an Argentina who marked so closely in the second half. Also needs more minutes because there’s no way she’s replacing Tobin as the right forward. Yet.

Christen Press

Every minute she plays, she gets closer to being back to her best. Still think she’s got a way to go because when she’s on fire ain’t nobody stopping her. Would like to see her take on more players 1v1 because as showed against Brazil she’s more than capable. Good positioning in the box waiting to poach for her goal.

Megan Rapinoe

If you think she’s too old, she’s not. She’s slightly slowing down physically for sure but not mentally. She’s on this team to get goals and she delivered by having the awareness to get into good positions and the confidence to take on the shot. Nowhere near a write off.

Carli Lloyd

She IS too old but she’s still not slowed to a point where you can easily drop her. Having said that, she should be more clinical because she could have had two or three. Still kinda hoping she reaches 300 caps she’ll retire from the national team and give way to others. But it’s Carli, so, who knows. She’d be playing with Charlie, Roux and Sloane if she had her way.

Alex Morgan

Fantastic positioning but the execution still isn’t fully there, but my god it is so close. Sucks that she’ll be judged on the opportunities she missed but that’s the life of a number 9. No doubt she’ll be back to form soon though, and it’ll pay Vlatko to be patient. Don’t think the rotation of the squad is doing her any favours and it’d probably help her to have consistent players either side of her, which may come at the Olympics.

What do you think? Agree or disagree?

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 1

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite, who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310, @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria. Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 1806

Additional note: I'm afraid I'll disappoint some of you. No more newspapers... The articles defined the setting of the story. From now on, it'll be a regular fic.

Hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

June 2021

Ivar yawns, rubbing his eyes, when he suddenly hears the front door open. The next moment, Ubbe shouts, "Hey baby bro, we're home!"

Slightly confused, Ivar looks at the time on his computer. Stunned, he blinks repeatedly, shakes his head and checks the time again, now looking at his watch. "Guess I lost track of time," he mumbles as he realizes it's really 5:30 pm. He clears his throat. "I'm coming!"

Yawning once more, he wheels to the kitchen. Hvitserk waves at him with one hand as Ubbe greets him with a grin and Sigurd... Well, Sigurd ignores him, as usual.

"Hello boys!" Lagertha smiles as she also enters the kitchen. "Did you go to the beach this afternoon?" It's a rethorical question, since sand can be seen on the tanned skin of his brothers, shirtless and wearing only swimming shorts.

When she looks down at him, her smile becomes softer. "Ivar, you seem tired. Did you work all day long?"

He nods, glad that for once she called him by his first name and not by one of those stupid nicknames that she likes but that make his skin crawl.

"Yep," he shrugs without smiling back, "I made good progress. The new version of your website is almost done. It could probably be online by the end of the week."

His stepmom flashes him a beaming smile. "Great, thanks!"

The conversation then moves on to the subject that everyone in Kattegat has been talking about for the last few days: the midsummer party thrown by their neighbor Harald Hårfager. Every June, it is Kattegat's not-to-be-missed event, to which every resident hopes to be invited.

Lagertha is invited every year, yet rarely attends; his brothers wouldn't miss it, not in a million years; Ivar never went.

He listens with half an ear as his brothers prattle on about the upcoming party, while taking a seat at the large, wooden kitchen table on which Lagertha has just put cakes and drinks.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Do you think Marit will attend this year?"

"Hopefully the music will be better than last year."

"Can't be as bad! What was the name of that reggae band?"

For a fleeting moment, Ivar entertains the thought of attending as well. Not that he's dying to, but… Sometimes, he feels a little bit like Cinderella in this house.

Don't get him wrong, it's not that bad.

First, his stepmom is not–

Wait, wait, wait, is Lagertha technically his stepmom? He's not sure. After all, she wasn't when his parents were alive, she was just his father's first wife. Anyway, she may be his guardian now, but he sees her as his stepmom and he honestly doesn’t give a shit if it's a little weird.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cinderella.

So obviously, Lagertha is not a wicked, haughty and abusive stepmom like this Lady Tremaine of the fairytale.

Actually, even if it pisses him off to admit it, she's pretty nice, patient and composed. Does he love her? Let's not exaggerate – he doesn't. She may love him though, which is a little bit uncanny, if he's being honest. He was the favorite son of her nemesis. Shouldn't she hate him? He would, if the situation was reversed.

The truth is, when he was younger, he tried, he really tried to hate her, blaming her for everything and anything. When too much pain prevented him from sleeping, he let his imagination run wild. There, bound to his bed of suffering, he could see Lagertha cutting the brakes on his mother's car, causing her crash, causing her death.

Of course, even then, he knew deep down that Lagertha had not killed his mother; that the story he told himself was just the product of his endless nights of insomnia. But what can he say? He needed this. Because blaming Lagertha rather than admitting that his beloved mother was at fault – by being distracted, or by falling asleep, he'll never know – was easier for the heartbroken boy he was.

Anyway... So yes, Lagertha is definitely not an evil stepmother like Cinderella's.

Also, he doesn't sleep on a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed either.

Actually, he has a very large room on the main floor, with a king-size memory foam bed, a walk-in – well, a wheel-in for his case – closet and his own, huge bathroom, fully equipped for his special needs.

Sure, the bathroom and the dressing room were already there when his parents were alive; however, the memory foam mattress had been Lagertha's idea.

Anyway... So yes, he can't exactly complain about his sleeping conditions, unlike Cinderella.

And obviously, he's not forced into servitude.

Actually, one might think so, but no, he's not. Sure, sometimes he works for his stepmom, like today. But so do his brothers. When she had taken them in, she was a powerful businesswoman, working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Once she had become their guardian, she had rearranged her working time and learned to delegate; but even so, she had often run out of time. Therefore, it had seemed normal to them – yes, even to him – to help her out, each of them according to their skills and abilities.

So, while Hvitserk almost always does the grocery shopping, while Sigurd vacuums and does the laundry, while Ubbe mows the lawn and trim the bushes, he, Ivar, runs her company's website and sometimes even does the accounting. And since he loves computers and numbers, it's not exactly a problem.

Anyway... So yes, he's not a slave in this house. Unlike Cinderella.

So, yes, to sum it up, he can't really complain and he's by far not Cinderella. And he knows it.

But... Yes, there's a but...

Sometimes, he feels trapped, as poor Cinderella must have felt.

Sometimes he feels like a spectator of a life he doesn't belong to.

Sure, he doesn't have to be homeschooled – but gods, he's glad he is. The reasons for him to be continuously bullied by classmates are endless. The simplest ones being: he is a cripple, an orphan, the son of a dead mob boss, the smartest one in the whole damn school, let alone his class. Take your pick. It's no fun, no fun at all. Being home alone is preferable to that alternative.

Therefore, barely leaving the house except for medical appointments, he has no friends. He doesn't do sports either – obviously – and yeah, he lives a lonely life, filled with video games and Netflix series. And he's okay with that. Well, most of the time.

Sure, his brothers, or at least Ubbe and Hvitserk, always try to include him as much as possible. But the truth is that because of his legs, there are many, many things he just can't do.

And the other truth, the less pleasant one, is that he partially did that to himself. He cut himself off from a world that hurt him, yet he still misses this world sometimes. At times, he blames himself. Because his life, honestly, is hardly what you would call a life, is it? Not when you're sixteen.

That's why sometimes, like now, he feels this longing, almost a need, to live. To really, truly, fully live. And that's why, for a brief moment, lulled by the light chitchat of his brothers, he considers attending Harald's midsummer party.

But he knows better. This life is not for him, never has been, never will be.

And so, shaking his head, he chases the thought away and, placing his hands on his push rims, he's about to leave the kitchen while the incessant babbling of his brothers goes on.

"I can't wait."

"Don't tell me! As every year, the most beautiful girls of Kattegat will be there."

"Remember that burger food truck? Best burgers ever!"

"I've heard Y/N would be attending this year."

"There'll be booze and girls! Sounds like Valh–"

Wait. His mind goes blank.

Fuck.

What? Did he hear right?

As he replays his brother's words in his head, it's like there's an earthquake happening inside of him.

Fuck.

He stops breathing. Blinks, then clamps his eyes shut.

Fuck.

When he finally manages to draw air into his lungs, he swallows loudly before asking in a weird, high-pitched voice, his heart pounding in his chest, "What– What did you say, brother?"

Hvitserk turns his head toward him and shrugs. "I just said there'll be boo–"

"No, not you!" Ivar snaps at his brother, pointing his pointer finger at Ubbe. "You, what did you fucking say?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lagertha frowning – 'no curse words in this house, boys'– and even if he barely contains an eye roll, he still mouths a quick 'sorry' at her before rewording his question, impatience coursing through him. "What did you say, dear brother? Who did you say would attend?"

Stunned, Ubbe looks at him with wide eyes. "Y/N? I said Y/N would come. That's what I heard anyway. She's Harald's niece. She was here once, right? Remember her, baby bro, huh?"

But Ivar is no longer listening, the blood draining from his face. Y/N... Y/N... Fuck. Finally. Fucking finally. After so long... He may see you again. Wow.

I'll go! I'll fucking go!

He barely contains the words, suddenly acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, his brothers shamelessly staring at him.

With her brows furrowed and her lips turned downward in a slight frown, Lagertha takes two steps forwards before crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right, sweetie? You're a little pale."

He barely hears when Sigurd giggles, "A little pale? He's greener than an alien!"

Lagertha shoots Sigurd a dirty look and then gently cups Ivar's cheek. "Do you know her, Ivar? Do you know Y/N?"

Overwhelmed, self-conscious, freaked out, caught off-guard, he doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? His brothers will mock him, for sure. What is the point of telling the truth? What good would it do? On the other hand, he could really use some advice. Yeah. Sure. Advice from Sigurd. Just the thought of it is enough to make him sick. Fuck, what is he going to do?

Rushed words are out of his mouth before he can even gather his thoughts. "No. No. I don't. I mean, yes, I think I do but–" He's being pathetic and he hates it. So after a sharp intake of breath, he shakes his head and eventually replies in a flat, calm voice, the white lie rolling off his tongue. "I know her, but I thought Ubbe was talking about someone else. Sorry."

With these words, he hastily leaves the room, his eyes riveted on his knees, his heart still drumming in his chest.

Y/N. Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings

[formula365]

Champions in the making - Emilia Romagna GP review

The breakthrough kid

It is not always possible to pinpoint the exact moment in which a driver goes from young promise to champion in the making. There can be breakthrough performances, in which a driver lays down a marker and announces himself to the world, but more often than not the progression is so gradual over a number of seasons that the driver eventually makes it to the top in slow steps, a sink filling up drop by drop from a leaky faucet.

But every once in a while, we get to witness a breakthrough moment, one of those weekends that, when looking back into a career, will be seen as a pivotal moment in which the promise has come good, which removes the doubt of whether that potential will be fulfilled. Moments like Sebastian Vettel winning in a Toro Rosso, or Max Verstappen becoming a Grand Prix winner on his Red Bull debut; we knew, there and then, what they would become.

It wasn’t his maiden win, but this is what we witnessed this weekend from Lando Norris.

Coming into this season, the young Brit knew this could be a make or break year for him. He had done really well to match his more experienced teammate in his first two seasons, but the challenge with his new partner was at a different level. No disrespect to Carlos Sainz, who is definitely a talented driver, but Daniel Ricciardo is a proven race winner, someone who had driven for Red Bull and been considered by Mercedes and Ferrari. The Aussie had spent the last two seasons destroying Nico Hulkenberg and Esteban Ocon, no slouches themselves, which meant there was a risk for Norris to be swallowed up by the Honey Badger’s performances.

His first two seasons had shown glimpses of his talent, but also a certain on-track shyness, in contrast to his expansive personality off it. He himself admitted during pre-season that he needed to improve on his aggressiveness and push harder on wheel to wheel battles; he had to drive the car ever closer to its limits. After a couple of seasons maturing and honing his skills, now was the time to be a more imposing figure behind the wheel, including within his own team.

Bahrain had already shown glimpses of that. He started the race behind his teammate, but passed him early on and never looked back. Imola, though, was something else. McLaren didn’t have the right set-up throughout Friday and both drivers seemed to be struggling, but on Saturday Norris looked to be one with his car. Bar a small mistake on his last run, he would have not only out-qualified his teammate, but also Verstappen in a much faster Red Bull. The track limits infringement left him P7 on the grid, but on Sunday he would more than make up for the mistake.

He had blistering pace from the get-go, to the point that he radioed his engineer when stuck behind his teammate to ask to be let through. In a moment that could be defining for the season, Ricciardo did let him through and then saw the youngster disappear down the road in the chase for the Ferraris. On the restart, he made light work of Leclerc (with much faster tyres, to be fair) and then fought Hamilton hard for several laps until the lack of grip on his rubber forced him to concede.

Overall, Norris showed a wide array of his skills at Imola: blistering one-lap pace, attacking, defending, tyre management, determination to come back after the mistake on Saturday, even authority in the team when he asked to be let through his teammate. A complete performance that leaves no doubt about his talent: he has the skills to be a future champion, the only question remaining is whether he will have the consistency to deliver over a full season. Given his mental approach - he is very open to speak about mental health - it seems he is addressing that side of his driving as well.

Until now, Norris had been the fun kid with a turn of pace, the meme-generator and half of a McLaren bromance. The end of the partnership with Sainz might have been a liberating factor for him: in order to be taken more seriously, the banter has to take second place to his driving, and with Ricciardo also looking to leave his more goofy side in the background, this can be the perfect time for Lando to do the same and let his driving do the talking. He certainly did that this weekend.

Talking points

* My oh my, do we have a fight on our hands. Verstappen v. Hamilton is already becoming such a compelling story it is hard not to make it the subject of every race review and preview; the feeling is that this will be a fight for the ages, that we will have a season to be remembered for many years to come. This time around it was the Dutchman who had the upper hand, with a superb start to go from P3 to P1 into Tamburello. He gave no quarters to Hamilton on the outside and then managed the race beautifully, although he was left unchallenged in the second half after Hamilton’s crash. The game is most definitely on.

* The reigning champion may have given some small signs of the pressure getting to him. Mostly unchallenged in recent years, Lewis made an uncharacteristic mistake when lapping back markers and then seemed to have had a scrambled brain moment as he struggled to get out of the run-off area. He is human, after all, some might have thought. The red flag gave him the opportunity to reset and come back to re-claim P2 and a podium place he would have certainly lost otherwise. He showed his mental resilience then, but it will be interesting to see how he (and Verstappen as well) will manage the pressure of a title fight (hopefully) over 23 races.

* One of the big talking points post-race was the massive crash between Bottas and Russell. Approaching Tamburello, drivers hit speeds above 300 kph, so it’s no surprise it was a nasty one, and that both drivers felt the other should have done more to avoid it. Controversy aside, the big question has to be why was Bottas defending P9 from a Williams. Like Monza, Turkey and Sakhir last year, when the Finn gets caught up in the midfield he struggles to move forward, and even manages to fall further back. To make matters worse, in all these races his teammate was caught in similar situations and had no problem cutting through the field. When the dust settles, Bottas will certainly have some soul searching to do.

* How good is it to see McLaren and Ferrari fighting each other for top spots? The two historic teams collected all positions from P3 to P6 and seem to be a step above the rest of the midfield contenders. This is one of the biggest, if not the biggest, rivalry in F1’s history, and it’s great for the sport to see it reignited.

* The only midfield team that seems to have the pace to challenge them is AlphaTauri, but they are struggling to convert their pace into points. Tsunoda ruined his weekend with two (very rookie) mistakes, while Gasly’s race was ruined by the decision to start on full wets. He still made a great recovery drive to finish P7, but this felt like another missed opportunity for AlphaTauri, specially at a track they know so well. They have a genuine shot at finishing in the top half of the table, which is Franz Tost’s goal for the team, but in order to achieve that they have to start using their pace to score points.

* If AlphaTauri will be left ruing their weekend, Williams will be doubly so. With two drivers qualifying in the top 14, they had genuine hope to score points for the first time since the crazy rain-soaked German GP in 2019, but two crashes negated their shot. Latifi barely got going so we will never know what he could have achieved, but Russell was clearly in the mix and will be left pondering how high he could have finished if he had been a bit more cautious. With scoring opportunities so limited, that might have been the wiser approach.

* The second Red Bull continues the saga of the topsy-turvy weekends. One of the narratives for Albon in 2020 was that he was not able to have a clean, incident-free weekend, and that was limiting his results. Perez is going down the same path, and although he did manage to salvage a P5 in Bahrain, here he was left empty-handed. It’s still very early, and the signs from the first race were positive, but for Red Bull to challenge Mercedes he needs to be up there consistently.

* Ahead of the season, very few people would have betted for Stroll and Ocon to be beating their teammates, either in qualifying or in the race. The two youngsters are showing that world titles (a combined 6 after all) aren’t a guarantee of continued success.

* On that topic, it is worth noting that most drivers that are newcomers to their respective teams are struggling at the moment. Sainz at Ferrari is the exception; Perez, Ricciardo, Alonso and Vettel are all underperforming, some more than others. This quartet is uber-talented, though, so expect them to get closer to their teammates as the season progresses and they become more accustomed to their new cars.

* Curb your enthusiasm, Yuki. We love to see his on-track flamboyance: he is one of the most exciting drivers to hit F1 in the last few years, but it can work against him too. He needs to find a balance but two races in these growing pains were to be expected. Once he finds that balance, he will be one hell of a driver.

Driver of the day: Lando Norris

Moment of the day

The battle between Hamilton and Norris. The young Brit managed to hold off the 7-times champion for a handful of laps, with tyres well past their expiry date and no DRS; Leclerc, for comparison, was on mediums and was passed by Hamilton on the first lap he didn’t have DRS. Norris’ positioning was perfect and he was brave on the brakes. Eventually the lack of grip and Hamilton’s bravery led to the inevitable, but Norris put up an excellent fight.