#Slow Train to Switzerland

[juliosswisslitblog]

Week 3 Blog

This week I read pages 70-90 of the book Slow Train To Switzerland.

The most important quote can be found on page 75: "Perhaps appreciation is only a matter of time". I feel like this quote is important because the author goes deeper into it, he explains on how some things can only get appreciated as time goes on, for example he begins to talk about a village, that at the time as seen as "too new and too large" , and also how maybe in 150 years from now maybe our glass-and-concrete constructions are also going to be regarded with affection, maybe as a historical monuments.

I enjoyed quite a lot this section of the book, since I got to know more about certain parts of Switzerland, it felt like I am actually traveling with the author. Currently, he's traveling near the chamonix, which, even though it's not in Switzerland, it is pretty close to its border in the Alps, so not only do I get to "travel" to Switzerland I also get to travel to France and Italy. I also learned a lot of facts, such as how the Hotel Royal, where Thomas Cook stayed became a cassino, or how the company Chamonix Guides' was founded in 1821, making it the oldest company of mountains guides in the world, I never thought that that would be an actual information that I would learn.

[fredwkong]

Taking a Trip

Arne was more than excited to visit Vancouver for the first time. Everyone said that he could have easily seen beautiful mountains on a trip to Switzerland, but Arne wanted something a little bit extra inspiring on a continent he had never seen before. His life at home had become a little monotonous at his corporate job, and the dating pool was as unpromising as ever for a shy, reclusive man in his mid-20s.

With his frugal nature, Arne balked at the hotel prices in the city, and quickly found himself looking at short-term rental sites. The prices were, if possible, even worse. Finally, he followed a link to a retro-looking gay room-sharing website and saw an ad that read: “Shared room, accessible, perfect for tourists.” The price was well within Arne’s range, and it was within walking distance of transit. He booked it without a second thought.

It was only as the taxi drove away after dropping Arne and his suitcase on the curb that he had second thoughts. He followed the instructions the owner, Julian, had sent him and went around the small house to the back, where there was an external door to the basement. All around the door were skateboards, leaning on the concrete foundation, each with a unique design painted on its underside. As he knocked, Arne felt a tremor up his spine, like an anticipation of danger.

Before he could react in any way, he heard heavy feet and voices behind the door. With a clunk of the latch, the door swung open to reveal a young man with dark, curly hair and a thin moustache with no shirt on his tanned, muscular body. “What’s up, bro? You must be Arne,” he said in a deep, slow voice, holding out a big hand that engulfed Arne’s, even though they were the same size. “I’m Julian, your host.”

Arne opened his mouth to reply, but he lost his train of thought as an eye-watering stench poured off Julian’s bare, hairy muscles. He almost seemed to steam in the cold air. The smell was a mix of stale sweat, cooking spices, musky body odour, and, over all of it, the stench of weed.

After a moment, as Arne struggled to control the cough that threatened to burst out of him, Julian seemed to realise he was bare from the hips up. “Oh, sorry, bro,” he said, lazily backing away into the basement apartment. “I was, uh, busy.” He chuckled and moved away, grabbing a stained green shirt from an equally stained couch.

Reluctantly, Arne followed Julian through the doorway, and immediately realised that it was not only Julian who stank. The smell permeated the whole space, making Arne lightheaded. He wished that he had thought to bring air freshener in his luggage.

The basement suite was small, with low ceilings. Behind the couch was a counter to delineate the tiled kitchen, while in front of the couch was a low, beat-up table with a bong and other smoking paraphernalia scattered across it. To the side, a couple of doors led to what Arne hoped were the bedrooms and bathroom.

One door banged open, and another guy stumbled out into the living room. With a beanie over his dishevelled hair and his shirt on inside out, it was clear that he had dressed hurriedly. He looked over Arne with bloodshot eyes, his movements clumsy as he pulled on a thin jacket. “Hey man,” he grunted. As the man waved, another scent washed over Arne. This time, the skunk-smell was tempered with dried cum and a tangy, earthy flavour that hit the back of his throat.

“We lost track of time. Omar was just leaving.” At Julian’s gesture, Omar brushed past Arne and out the door. Arne turned to see him grab one of the skateboards leaning against the concrete stairs before the door shut behind him.

Arne was still shaking his head in an attempt to clear out Omar’s stench when Julian grabbed his bag. “In here, dude.”

Julian led Arne back through the door Omar had burst through into a room with two twin beds, exactly as small as Arne had feared. “Obvi, I won’t have guys over while you’re here, bro,” Julian said, handing Arne a spare key. “But if you like, we can always push the beds together for extra sleeping space.” He raised a lascivious eyebrow at Arne.

Blushing furiously, Arne made several aborted gestures. “Uh, no, no, no thank you,” he muttered, his accent thickening.

“Your loss, bro.” Julian raised both his arms to show his hairy armpits, posing as his musk assaulted Arne’s nostrils. “Just tell me if you change your mind, right? If you need me, I’ll prob-ly either be here smoking and painting, or over at the skate park, smoking and skating.”

Chuckling dumbly, Julian left the room. Moments later, while he sat on his bed and trying to work up the courage to leave, Arne’s nose was tickled by a waft of thick, numbing pot smoke.

It was just a few days, Arne reasoned. He’d be out all day anyway. He probably wouldn’t even see Julian that much, even if they did sleep in the same room. Plus, with a quick check of his bank balance, Arne knew that any alternative sleeping arrangements would be utterly impossible.

Arne forced himself to stay out late that night, exploring Davie Street, but his jet-lagged brain forced him back to the basement suite by midnight. Disheartened at the sight of a light on in the tiny ground-level window, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Julian was painting a skateboard in the living room, a half-smoked blunt in one hand. Not even the acrid smell of the paints and lacquer could overpower the stench of weed and musk in the tiny space. “Evenin’, bro,” Julian slurred as Arne blinked his eyes and tried to adjust to the thick, musky atmosphere. “Hey, come sit with me.”

“I have to go to sleep,” Arne protested, even as he walked to the spare seat on the couch and lowered himself into it. He remembered that he had resolved earlier not to touch the couch, since it was covered in who knew what kind of stains, but it was already done.

“No worries, this’ll help you sleep, bro,” Julian said, waving away Arne’s excuse with his blunt and then taking a deep pull off of it. He blew a stream of smoke into Arne’s face.

Arne spluttered. “Wh-what the hell!” He’d smoked a few times, but he was hardly a stoner. He could already feel a contact high working its way through his system, loosening his muscles and overwhelming him with sleepiness. For some reason, it also left his body feeling strangely tight.

“What design should I put on this board?” As he spoke, Julian leaned back on the couch and laid his arm across the back. Through the haze in his mind, Arne realised Julian was shirtless again, with musky sweat dripping down his sides from the bushes in his armpits.

Julian was still talking, something about dragons and complementary colours, and Arne just nodded along, too fixated on Julian’s body to care. He had never liked smelly guys, but something about Julian had Arne’s cock flooding his boxers with precum.

As Julian took another hit off his blunt, Arne realised that he could smell the salty tang of his precum in the air. Looking down, he could see a slick, spreading stain on his jeans. How long had he been sitting here? He thought that he should be embarrassed, but working up shame seemed like so much effort. He was so relaxed, sitting here on the couch, breathing in Julian’s sexy musk and clouds of pot smoke.

The rest of the night was a blur. Arne was so tired. He vaguely remembered Julian’s face looming over his, dripping sweat into Arne’s mouth. At some point, Arne thought he must have taken his shirt off because he got so warm and sweaty sitting on the couch. Finally, they had moved to the bedroom, where Julian had kept talking while Arne tried to calm his dripping cock enough to fall asleep.

Arne woke up slowly the next morning, cocooned in the scent of musk and weed. He started to roll over, but realised suddenly that there was a pair of sweaty arms around his chest. One of Julian’s fingers brushed across Arne’s bare nipple, and he moaned uncontrollably as a spark of pleasure shot to his slick, precum-smelling crotch.

His face burning with embarrassment, Arne carefully extricated himself from Julian’s bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He wondered why his body felt strange and top-heavy until he switched on the light. In the mirror, he saw a pair of massive pecs on top of his slender torso, the big nipples erect and pink.

Despite his horror, Arne still found himself feeling oddly horny. Looking further down, he saw an unfamiliar, half-hard cock between his bare legs—he had slept naked!—still leaking thick, clear precum that gathered in big drops before falling to the floor.

There was something seriously wrong with this apartment, and with Julian. Arne struggled to think, but the scent of his precum was quickly filling the little bathroom, making his head foggy. He had to…He had to…He had to touch his fat man tits.

Arne watched in the mirror as he popped his sweaty pecs, and then grabbed them with one hand. Not only were they real, they bounced hypnotically as he kneaded at the muscle. A finger brushed over his pert nipple, and Arne moaned again. His voice sounded strange. A little bit too deep, and slower than he was used to.

Would he feel even better if he pinched his nipple? As Arne went to grab his opposite nip, he struggled to remember what he had been thinking about. It had been something way more important than his bouncing pecs…

The thoughts dissolved as Arne started to tug on his sensitive nipple. He moaned loudly, his legs buckling as jolts of pleasure engulfed his body. The trickle of precum from his cock grew into a continuous stream as he knelt on the bathroom floor, mindlessly tugging on his pecs.

Arne barely noticed the bathroom door open until a pair of strong arms grabbed him under his shoulders and started to haul him to his feet. “No cumming yet, bro,” said Julian’s relaxed drawl next to his ear. “You’re not nearly done yet.”

By the time Julian handed Arne a plate of poptarts, Arne’s horniness had mostly faded back to a low hum, which spiked at the scent of Julian’s unwashed armpits. Arne wondered if he should feel embarrassed to be sat, naked, on Julian’s couch, his insistent cock still slowly leaking tangy precum onto the seat.

“Yesterday was a lot for you, huh bro?” Julian said through a mouthful of poptart. “I bet you just wanna stay here and hang out with me all day.”

Arne frowned. He was supposed to go to the suspension bridge today…No, that sounded like a lot of work. He’d much rather hang out with Julian. He had no idea why he’d thought Julian was gross or uncool. His smell was utterly intoxicating.

“What were you planning to do today?” Arne asked, after he’d eaten a few bites.

Julian shrugged, shedding runnels of sweat from his pits. “I was gonna go to the skate park and hang with some bros, but you need me more, bro.”

“What do you mean?” Arne was independent! He didn’t need Julian around! But it did feel nice to have someone hot and manly like Julian looking out for him, he realised.

“You can’t be left alone right now, bro.” Julian had finished his breakfast, and started to set up the bong on the coffee table. “So we’re gonna hang out, I’m gonna smoke, and then you’re gonna help me with some boards.”

Before long, Arne was floating comfortably, a little stoned from how much smoke billowed out of Julian’s sexy mouth. Julian got to work painting a skateboard, but after a few minutes he turned to look at Arne, a strange smile on his face.

“Come over and help me, bro.”

When Arne slid down to the floor next to Julian, his host raised one tanned, muscular arm. “I’m so sweaty, bro,” Julian said. Arne agreed, watching a rivulet of sweat emerge from the dark hair in Julian’s armpit, adding to the heady musk in the room. “If you could just, like, lick it up for me, I’ll be able to focus so much better.”

Arne frowned. That didn’t seem like it would help at all. But before he could protest, he felt a strong hand on the back of his head, and Julian was pushing him into his musky armpit.

The smell overpowered any of his protests. Julian’s musk was baked into his skin, and taking it straight from the source was far more intense than smelling him at range. The smell of sweat filled Arne’s mind, and he started to lick and suck at Julian’s armpit hair without realising it. The rank taste filled his mouth and trickled down his throat, and Arne felt his leaky cock start to flow again. He couldn’t imagine anything hotter than this. As Julian kept painting, he moaned whenever Arne’s tongue pushed against an especially sensitive spot.

As he laved his tongue over Julian’s tight belly button a while later—time didn’t really matter—Arne started to feel itchy all over his body. As he ran a hand over his arms, he felt the resistance of thick hair. All over his body, Arne felt long hair growing. Before long, his precum didn’t even fall onto the skin of his hairy thighs, it just got lost in the hair.

With his new fur, Arne found himself sweating at least as much as Julian in the heat of the little room. When Julian took a break from painting to grab some lunch, Arne noticed a new smell filling the air. He was emitting his own flavour of musk now, like Julian’s, but with a bit more of a richness to it from the precum dripping between his legs. He couldn’t help but give his armpits a sniff, licking up what he could reach of his own taste.

Julian returned and grinned at Arne. “Damn, bro, you’re almost ready.”

“What?” Arne looked up at Julian. It felt like he was seeing through a thick haze. It was so hard to think. He had to get outside and get some fresh air. But where were his clothes?

Julian held out a brownie for Arne. “Here, bro, this’ll help that brain of yours along. It’s my special blend.” He winked a dark eye, and Arne obediently took a bite of the brownie from Julian’s hand.

While Julian got back to his painting, Arne felt himself feeling slowly, but insistently, hornier. From licking up the sweat at the top of Julian’s back, he moved lower and lower, until he was licking at the very top of Julian’s musky asscrack. His cock felt iron-hard and huge against his thigh, a continuous stream of precum trickling into his sweaty leg hair.

Julian groaned. “Oh, bro, if you’re gonna get in there, let’s do it for real.” Putting the freshly finished board aside, Julian rose to his feet and pulled Arne up as well.

Arne felt so tall. The floor was so far away. All he could see was his hairy belly and thick, drippy cock as he followed Julian through the door to the bedroom. Then, all he could see was Julian, lying on his back with his legs hooked over Arne’s hairy shoulders. At last, Arne was back in a place that made sense, looking into Julian’s asscrack, licking up the musky sweat on his firm cheeks.

As his tongue dove into Julian’s hole, Arne remembered the first time they had skateboarded together. With his natural musk, it was hard for Arne to make friends with other skaters, but Julian had skated right up to him and invited him back to his place.

As he lined his cock up with Julian and rubbed his copious precum over the shaft, Arne remembered growing up in Vancouver. Dealing weed had been fun before legalisation, but now his job at the dispensary was pretty easy. Arne spent most of his time perfecting his skating tricks or smoking up with Julian or their other musky skater friends.

As he thrust against Julian’s prostate and felt the smaller man begin to tighten around him and cum, Arne remembered how much he loved his buddies. He was the big guy of the group, with his big, hairy muscles and fat, leaky cock. He wasn’t much of a thinker, but he’d do anything for Julian and his bros.

With that thought, Arne felt his balls tighten against him as he unloaded a huge, creamy load in Julian’s ass. As he shuddered, collapsing on top of his bro, there was a knock at the door.

“Fuuuuuck, that’s my next guest,” Julian groaned, whining a little as Arne pulled out. In addition to selling custom skateboards, Julian made extra cash by renting part of his room to gay tourists. Arne loved Julian’s musky, pot-smelling basement, so he thought that sharing the space a bit more was a great idea.

Julian pulled a pair of relatively clean sweatpants up his legs and wiped the worst of his cum off his chest with one of the shirts on the floor. “Just grab some clothes, bro,” he said over his shoulder as he shut the door behind himself.

As he pulled on his XL sweatpants and grabbed his hoodie, Arne listened to Julian introducing himself to this new guy. “What’s up, bro? You must be Yadu. I’m Julian, your host.” The spiel sounded strangely familiar. Careful to leave the hoodie unzipped so he wouldn’t stimulate his oversensitive nipples, and careless of Julian's cum slowly drying in his chest hair, Arne crammed a beanie over his hair and stepped into the living room.

A shrimpy African guy was looking in horror at the room, a small suitcase hanging from his weedy arm. Arne waved at him, and the guy looked like he was about to gag as a wave of Arne’s thick, precummy musk washed over him.

“Sorry, bro, we lost track of time.” Julian was pulling on a shirt in the kitchen. “Arne was just leaving.”

Nodding to Julian, Arne brushed past Yadu and headed out the door, grabbing his skateboard from where it was leaning against the wall. He had to go meet up with Omar at the skate park anyway.

This story is a belated holiday gift for @rakurairagnarok! Here's to a very sexy, transformative new year, my friend ;)

[saltofmercury]

HII! so i saw this tiktok and it was an insecure konig cosplay and it was a scenario where someone pulled his mask off in front of everyone and y/n so i was wondering if you can write that or something similar but where y/n comforts him about it, they confess their feelings for each other and it’s just pure fluff🤍🤍 of course if you feel comfortable writing it🤍

btw the sound goes like “she pulled off my tag in front of everyone, she basically made a total fool out of me and the worst part is, she did it in front of ben.”

”Watch your left maus!”

His voice had come into your walkie, you turned around, seeking the piece of shit trying to hide from you. You pulled your gun out, but König had already got him. The man limped forward, blood gushing out of his head, then was picked up, stabbed multiple times by him.

By the time you reached him, he had crinkles in his eyes, looking at you.

“You’re too slow maus!”

“I could’ve got him, but you like the gore”

A soft, breathless laugh.

“I think you would be dead if not for me.”

Since KorTac joined the team, you had been very thankful to the big guy that had your back on missions. There had been two missions where your group and KorTac had to get along in order to complete the final mission both of you had been sent on.

Gaz and Soap did not agree on your friendship, claiming that the Austrian had other motives. But he was respectful if not overprotective on the field. They couldn’t deny that. Actually they were pretty happy that he had covered you, and they could get to business not worried about their partner.

You two had developed a friendship in the gym— you, complimenting him on how much he benched. Gym dates happened every afternoon, him helping you with your upper body strength, and you learning more about his life.

“I was in Jagdkommando at 17, I think our training is a little worse than yours” he was telling you about the rigorous training he had gone through, being specially selected among many, many men. It was fun getting to know him, sooner or later it would be one of your last missions together and you don’t think he would keep in touch with you.

You hated to admit it, but you had developed a small crush on the guy. He was mysterious, funny, and overall just a good person. He had been hiding this person underneath his height and mask.

He had his sweet moments like the time you were passing through Switzerland and you had told him about the game you played as a child, and in this game people in Switzerland had the best chocolate. The way he saw your eyes light up describing the chocolate in the story made his heart yearn, but he knew Swiss chocolate was not the best.

He was about to miss the boarding plane, when you saw him charging down the aisle, waving at you, and then checking in. He was out of breath, held up a golden package, beautifully wrapped with gold, green, and pink ribbon.

“I got you something.”

The entire plane ride to the base, you two had indulged in the chocolates on the plane, laughing at how ridiculous it was that he got you chocolates. But part of your heart melted because he made that trip to entertain the idea that had bloomed in your head as a child.

Soap had told you, “You hangout with this guy all day but you’ve got no idea what he looks like under that mask.”

It didn’t matter to you, it was just something you didn’t want to pry. Ghost had his mask on. Once you told Soap that, he laid off a bit. Realizing that it would be hypocritical for him to even keep pressing the issue.

There was a time you had asked him about the mask.

“König, why do you wear it everywhere?”

“It’s for the sunburn, maus”

“It’s a raggedy t-shirt on your head, maus”

“Would you prefer I look like Ghost? Shall I buy a skull mask too?”

You two laughed at each other, and you simply dropped it.

There was nothing more to share.

*

Walking through a jungle, König, Gaz, Soap, and yourself had been dropped off looking for your next target.

You had a bad feeling about this mission. Darkness filled the pit of your stomach, knowing something was lurking around the corner.

Something hit the floor, before all four of you realized what it was.

“Grenade!”

König had pulled you up, running at full speed , before crashing down a couple feet and on protecting you.

The wind was knocked out of you, but you got up. König was nowhere near you. Gaz had run up to you, checking if you were alright.

“Where’s König?”

*

Tied up and held hostage, you recognized his build from far away. You let Soap know you found him. He was slumped, sitting on the floor, his mask was gone. He had been knocked out. You went to wake him up, untying the rope around his hands wondering who could possibly take him down.

“König? Wake up, we gotta get outta here.”

He had been in and out of it, and you searched for something to try and cover him up.

He mumbled something about the room across the hall. Sure enough, Gaz had walked across the hall and taken down the fuckers hiding and waiting for you.

By the time he had woken up, he realized there was nothing covering his face. Wide eyed and vulnerable in front of Soap, Gaz, and you.

You had held out your hand towards him, as a sign to get going, but he didn’t budge. He stood up on his own, walked ahead of everyone and boarded the humvee.

What the fuck?

*

Five days had passed, he returned, pissed and distant from you. You couldn’t understand why. Was he upset that you rescued him this time? You had tried to go to his room, tried to find him at the gym, but there was no luck. You resorted to walking the track.

You had walked and walked the track attempting to clear your mind. What did you do wrong? Out of the corner of your eye you spotted him, he was jogging in place, and stretching his legs.

You ran towards him, trying to push him on the floor.

“What the hell?”

“You’re just going to ignore me?”

“I’m not ignoring you, I’m doing things”

“Our gym dates? Our checker games? What the hell is going on with you?”

You had tears in your eyes, “Is it because I saved your life? Are you THAT prideful?”

He had looked at you, clearly defeated.

“Those fuckers pulled my mask off. I’m not upset at you, or angry with you, I’m angry that they caught me off guard and they revealed my face.”

“It doesn’t seem like a big deal to you, but that was—“

He stopped for a second and didn’t look towards you. He huffed, made eye contact with you,

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“You don’t have to talk about it. But at least, don’t hate me for it.”

He looked at you, his eyes widened behind the mask.

“Schatz I don’t hate you, I’m glad you saved me. I just wished it was under better circumstances that you saw my face.”

You poked your cheek with your tongue, trying to prevent yourself from spilling your feelings.

“Mask or no mask, I just wanted to spend time with you.”

He peered down at you, you could see the confusion in his eyes, his low self esteem eating away at his thoughts.

“You don’t care that you saw my face?”

“No”

You walked up to him standing on your tiptoes, pulling the hem of the mask up, getting underneath it. You softly placed a kiss on his chin.

He grabbed a hold of your waist, surrounding you with his mask, and kissed you deeply underneath it. He pulls back, but you’re not leaving the darkness of his mask.

He looks at your eyes through the small eye holes he’s ripped out.

“Lets stay here for a bit...Underneath my mask.”

[formulakatya]

SLOW DOWN | MICK SCHUMACHER

“slow down, you crazy child, you’re so ambitious for a juvenile but then if you’re so smart tell me why are you still so afraid?”

not my gif :)

summary: falling victim to your high ambition and expectations, you’re lucky that mick is there to help you work through the burn out

pairing: mick schumacher x reader

notes: idk i just love ‘vienna’ by billy joel, unedited (sorry) because my best ideas come quickly and im writing on tumblr for whatever reason when i should’ve done this on google docs

warnings: mentions of burnout and mental health

—

“this is so stupid!”

your statement catching his attention, mick looked up from his phone as angie quickly ran over to you as you lightly threw your pen on the table. staring at the physics question again, you quickly picked your pen back up before furiously scribbling your answer to the question.

you were close to ripping your hair out at this point, trying to figure out where you had gone wrong as you repeated the question under your breath, justifying each step of your answer.

and though your oblivion to the state you were slowly spiralling into, mick had recognised it all too well as your current position only confirmed the suspicion he had for the past 2 days or so.

“you should take a break, liebling,” mick spoke, petting angie as the dog came back to him as he sat on the edge of your shared bed. “come on!”

“mick, i can’t,” you sighed, not looking up from your notebook as you furiously scribbled on your notebook, putting your pen down so you could turn to look at him. “i’ve got so much to do and there’s so little time! there’s just too much going on…”

“what do you have to do? i can try to help…”

“past papers, some revision and more studying, i’ve finished my homework but i have loads of studying to do for finals that are in like two weeks,” you let out a sigh as you flipped through the papers scattered on your desk. “then i have to go to the gym and i’ve got training, my tennis match is coming up.”

“slow down,” mick chuckled, “you’ve done enough studying, more than enough throughout the past month or so. you’ll be fine, you don’t have to keep pushing this much.”

“but my grade mick! my grade!” you stressed, desperation evident as you spoke, “it has to be good! it’s either great or nothing. and i still have more to do, i still haven’t brought angie out on a walk and i have to run errands and get some stuff.”

you were spiralling, it was obvious. and with so much on your plate, mick couldn’t blame you for it. though he understood your worries and ambition, he still couldn’t help but want you to slow down and take a break. maybe it was out a selfishness, having wanting to spend a day with you ever since he came back to switzerland but it was also out of concern.

he needed you to cool down before you completely burnt out.

you were highly ambitious and a high achiever for as long as he had known you— only ever wanting to be the best in nearly everything you did from sports to academics. and though the results showed it’s benefits, the mindset also came with its downsides.

“it’s okay to take a break for a day or two, and most importantly, it’s okay to rest. you’re only ever human, and so you can’t do everything at once. there’s no reason to feel guilty,” he let out a laugh as he replied to the response he could foresee coming. “you can finish this last bit of work but promise me you’ll take a break.”

“yeah but-“

“no arguments,” mick cut you off before you could continue. “we’ll bring angie out and get some ice cream or we can do something else. i don’t want you burning out. doing things at a slow pace with breaks will always be better than overdoing things and burning out because reigniting a flame isn’t always easy”

[wanderlustinwonderland18]

Turkkila & Versluis: “We Want To Differentiate Ourselves From Previous Years”

Earlier this month, ice dance couple Juulia Turkkila and Matthias Versluis skated in the show L'Apprenti Sorcier (The Sorcerer's Apprentice) organized in Champéry, Switzerland. The choreography was done by Salome Brunner and Stéphane Lambiel. The Finns were the only ice dancers in the show. How did they end up there?

“Last year, I edited the music for Deniss Vasiljevs' free program The Lion King,” Matthias says. This season, Matthias has done ten different music cuts for Lambiel's students.

“Towards the end of May, Stéphane asked us if we would be interested in joining the show. It was a great honor,” he continues.

“We were with an amazing group of skaters, some of the world's best. It's unique to skate with a live pianist,” Juulia shares.

In the show, Juulia and Matthias performed to Franz Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No 2. They presented wonderful lifts and spectacular movements. The international audience was impressed by the couple's soulful performance.

Finland's top couple has been training hard throughout the summer.

“Early May, we went to Rome for new choreography. In June, we had some vacation time and in July, we went to the Czech Republic for five weeks of summer camp,” Juulia says.

The rhythm dance theme for the 2024–25 season is Social Dancing from the 1950s–1970s.

“We chose music from the 1960s because we suspect that many teams will use disco from the 70s,” Juulia explains.

The pair found a go-go jive song that they immediately liked, and combined it with James Brown's classic I Got You.

“We wanted high energy music that the audience can recognize. There is no slow part in our rhythm dance. It is challenging,” Juulia reflects.

The couple's free dance is the Argentine Tango La Rubia Mirella, which is based on true events. The story was introduced to the couple by an Argentinian tango dancer, who worked with them on and off the ice.

“The beginning is quite soft, but the end is really strong. We want to show that we can be strong and fast. The language of movement is traditional tango, but the program is not built from typical dance movements,” Matthias shares.

Juulia plays a strong woman initially, but is used and abused by men. Matthias plays the role of a villain. The ending is dramatic.

“When there is a clear story, you have to bring in more emotion and drama,” Juulia states.

The pair's programs will first be seen in the Challenger Series competitions, followed by the Grand Prix events in Finland and China.

“We are aiming for medal positions in both GP competitions, and thus a place in the GP final. We are trying to collect world ranking points so that we can start competitions in the right groups during the Olympic season,” the couple says in unison.

With a fierce tango, Juulia and Matthias will be taking a different path this upcoming season, changing their image as classical lyrical skaters.

“We want to differentiate ourselves from previous years. A new combination lift is in the works for the free program, and the choreographic elements will be totally in character with the tango,” Juulia sums up.

[romione-trope-fest]

Rouge Chapter 1: Queen-Sized Beds.

By hinnycanons

Trope: Only One Bed

Brief Summary: During a trip to Switzerland that Hermione Granger had planned thoroughly was going downward. Especially when she has to share a bed with her long-time crush, Ron Weasley.

Word Count: 2562

Rating: 13+

***

This trip couldn’t get any worse. Hermione had come on this trip with her friends and it was turning into a disaster. All of them had already booked their rooms and Hermione was the only one who hadn’t.

She was power walking, dragging her suitcase along the floor, trying her best to make it to the counter as quickly as she possibly could.

They were in Zurich, Switzerland, a place that they had wanted to go to for months and had been planning for as long. They had booked the tickets the moment they got the chance, but on different flights and Hermione had unfortunately been on a delayed one.

With Ron.

Once they found out that the train ride took ten hours, going on a plane was a no-brainer. Of course, some of them had never been on planes because they were used to Portkeys. Hermione had to repeatedly tell Ron that it was safe, but he was anxious the whole ride.

So now, they were both sprinting to the counter in Hotel Schweizerhof, in the hopes of finding a room with two queen-sized beds.

“Hermione don’t you think you should slow down a bit?” Ron said in a concerned tone.

“Nope,” she replied as she kept walking faster. “We’re already behind, I’m not wasting any more time.”

Once they reached the counter, they were completely out of breath, but there was no one sitting at the desk.

“Ugh, where are they?” Hermione groaned. She looked around but didn’t see a worker in sight.

“Just relax, we’re here now. Everyone’s still in their rooms,” Ron muttered to her. He always tried to calm her when she was in a spiral. His calming voice sounded in her ears and she tried to pay attention to it.

She sighed. “I know. We just need to get a room and then we’ll meet everyone there.”

Finally, a woman came up to the desk and seemed panicked. “So sorry about that, there was a problem on the third floor.”

Hermione, being more calm than before, smiled kindly at her. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“We’re looking for two rooms. Or one room with two beds,” Ron told her. The woman then began doing something on the computer.

“Okay, we’re good, it’s all gonna be okay,” Hermione mumbled to herself and Ron smiled at her.

“So, all the other rooms are booked, and we only have one room,” the woman stated.

Hermione’s calm instantly went away. “Is there at least two beds?”

“I’m afraid there’s only one bed.”

That’s exactly what she didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to share a bed with Ron, it was going to be awkward!

While Ron and Hermione had been friends for years and spent all their time in Hogwarts together, Hermione began seeing Ron in a new light by the time they graduated. She started to be eager to talk to him, be near him, and generally just see him. It was a big crush.

Ron also seemed to be surprised by this as he stared at the counter. Hermione feared he was disappointed at the aspect of sharing a bed with her. That made her feel worse.

“Will that be okay?” The woman’s voice broke Hermione out of her reverie.

“Um…” she looked at Ron to see if he had anything to say. She hoped he did.

“I- I think it’ll be okay,” he said slowly. Hermione nodded once at him turning back to the woman and tried to smile.

“We’ll take the room.”

She gave Ron and Hermione their room card and they were off. They walked in silence to the elevator, neither of them knowing what to say.

Once the elevator doors closed and Hermione clicked the button to take them to the seventh floor, Ron spoke up. 

“I’m…sorry. I hope you’re not upset.”

She looked at him quickly. “No, no. I’m not upset, it’s fine.” She was just relieved Ron wasn’t upset.

“If you want I can sleep on the floor,” he suggested.

“No, it’s okay, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable,” she replied honestly. As much as she would never say it out loud, the thought of sleeping in the same bed as him was thrilling. A few years ago, she would’ve hated it because of their bickering and how messy he was, but now there was a completely new reason.

There was a ding and the elevator doors opened, allowing Ron and Hermione to step out and find their room. 

“The room number is 303,” Hermione told him, looking down at the card.

They found the room easily and Hermione used to card to unlock it. Ron’s eyes widened. “How’d you open it with that?” Ron pointed at the card.

“Muggle technology,” Hermione answered, turning the knob. “It senses the card.”

“That’s bloody brilliant.” Hermione laughed at his expression as they both went inside. As said, there was a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room that was neatly made with white, clean sheets. The curtain was open and light spilled into the room from the big window. You could see the city from it. Hermione opened a door that was the way to the bathroom. It was nicely decorated and everything was clean. She felt like she was in a dream.

“This is the best! I’m so glad we were able to find such a good hotel!” She put her suitcase against the wall as Ron sat down on the bed.

“And the bed is super comfortable.” He then dramatically sighed. “Sucks that I have to share it with someone.”

Hermione knew he was trying to lighten the mood and she rolled her eyes, smiling. “I’m not exactly happy about sharing either.” She plopped down on the bed and found it was comfortable. She could stay here forever.

“Harry and Ginny’s room number is 310, they’re on the same floor. Should we go?”

They left their stuff in the hotel room and walked down the corridor to Harry and Ginny’s room. It was very quiet and Hermione could only hear talking in the distance.

“Why does this corridor look so scary?” Ron whispered.

Hermione sighed. “I never should’ve shown you all those Muggle horror movies.”

They stopped outside of room 310 and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, Ginny appeared in the doorway with a smile. “Finally, you’re here!”

She stepped out of the way to let them enter and Hermione noticed that their room looked the same as hers and Ron’s. They also had one queen-sized bed with a big window, letting all the light in.

“Hey, guys!” Harry said. He was sitting on one of the sofas. “How was the flight?”

“It was so cool! I was calm the entire time!”

“You are a terrible liar, Ron,” Ginny chuckled and Harry and Hermione laughed.

“Ginny, do you have the list of places that we were gonna visit?” Hermione asked. She had spent hours researching sights to see and made a neat, but long list.

“Yeah, I’ll get it,” Ginny said before going to her bag.

“You made a list?” Ron questioned. Hermione nodded as she took the paper from Ginny’s hand.

“Hmm…” Hermione furrowed her brows as she scanned the list carefully. “Maybe we should check out one of these dinner places first.”

“Oh, that’s sound nice!” Harry exclaimed.

“Okay, let’s go!” Ginny got off her bed.

“Harry’s paying!” Ron shouted as they left the room and Harry scowled at him.

-

The restaurant was much fancier than they all thought. Everyone was dressed in dresses or suits and a man was playing the piano in the corner.

“Bloody hell, this is a place for the rich,” Ron muttered in Hermione’s ear. Her heart skipped a beat at the sudden proximity. She looked up at him and made the mistake of looking right into his eyes. She blinked as she tried to think of a response.

She smiled at him. “Thank Merlin you’re making Harry pay then.” Ron snorted at her comment.

“Do you guys have a reservation?” A waiter came to ask them.

“No, we don’t,” Ginny answered.

“Well, unfortunately, all our tables are full and there may be a wait.”

Great, Hermione thought, sighing. She turned to everyone else and then back at the waiter. “How long will the wait be?”

“About an hour and a half.”

She looked back at everyone else. “Are you all okay with waiting?”

After a few seconds of considering, they nodded. “Yeah, we’ll just come back,” Harry replied.

They left the restaurant and decided to talk around a bit.

“An hour and a half wait for a table!” Ginny stressed. “We don’t even know if it’s worth it or not!”

“I mean, given the amount of people in it, it should be,” Harry reasoned, putting an arm around Ginny’s shoulder, and she leaned into him.

They walked around the plaza for a bit, walking into shops, and enjoying the warm, summer air.

“Did you and Ron manage to get rooms on the same floor?” Harry asked.

Hermione tried not to blush. “Y- yeah. We did. But we had to share a room,” she answered, not looking at him. She didn’t want them knowing they had to not only share a room but also a bed. Ron didn’t say anything and pretended to look very interested on the sidewalk.

“But they said that there were only rooms with one bed?” Ginny asked, looking confused. After a few seconds of silence from Ron and Hermione, Ginny gasped. “You have to share a bed!”

Harry scoffed. “That’s brilliant.” Ron glared at him. Harry turned to Hermione, ignoring Ron’s stare. “Good luck with that, he’s the messiest.”

Ginny let go of Harry and linked her arm with Hermione’s and they started walking, Ron and Harry behind them.

“So, how are you feeling about sharing a bed with him?” Ginny knew all about Hermione’s crush on Ron.

Hermione tried to answer. “Well…It’s fine. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Really?” Ginny raised her eyebrows at her, not convinced. “I’ve read those Muggle books and in these situations, something good always happens.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Nothing is going to happen between us.” She felt a pang in her chest as she talked.

“You don’t know that,” she grinned.

Once they got back to the restaurant, there was a table ready for them and they were all relieved.

-

It was officially midnight and they decided to turn in because they had a lot of things they wanted to do tomorrow. While Ron was tired, he was nervous at the aspect of sharing a bed with Hermione. The woman that he’s had a crush on for as long as he could remember.

They got into their room, and Hermione went into the bathroom to change. Ron looked out the window, taking in the scenery. He sighed just as Hermione exited the washroom.

“You okay?” She asked as she sat down on the bed.

Ron turned to look at her. “Yeah, just watching the view.”

Hermione got out a book she brought with her and began to read it. Ron smiled at her, being reminded of when they were young in Hogwarts. She had that same concentrated look on her face.

Ron ended up sitting beside her, reading the book with her. However, he wasn’t entirely focused on it, his gaze flickering to Hermione once in a while. It was hard to take his eyes off her.

He leaned in closer to her, not aware he was doing. He felt Hermione tense up beside him. She suddenly cleared her throat. “Are you actually reading it or…?” Hermione asked, not taking her eyes off the book.

Ron chuckled. “Sort of.”

Hermione sighed. “I think you could probably relate to the main character, actually.”

Ron tilted his head. “Why is that?”

Hermione smirked, turning the page. “It’s about a boy who attends Hogwarts with big ambitions and dreams, but he has a special power no one knows about.”

Ron was still confused. “How does that relate to me?”

She grinned at him. “His best friend is an intelligent girl who’s always at the top of her class. They bicker a lot.”

Ron laughed. “Oh, I see it now. That might be us.” He noticed the way that Hermione’s cheeks reddened and he felt pleased with himself.

They ended up staying up later than they thought, and Hermione hastily put her book away at seeing the time.

“We’re going to meet Harry and Ginny early tomorrow in the lobby. We’re going to see some landmarks,” Hermione got into the covers as Ron nodded along to what she was saying.

Ron almost got off the bed to go to his bed, but then remembered that they were sharing and he got nervous. He got off the bed to go turn off the lights and he came back to see Hermione was already lying down.

When he lay down beside her they were face to face and Ron’s breath hitched when he looked at her. She was even more beautiful up close.

He resisted the urge to brush her bushy hair out of her face. Hermione broke the silence. “This isn’t…uncomfortable, is it?” She whispered.

Ron slowly shook his head. “Of course not. Is it for you?”

Hermione smiled slightly. “Of course not.” He caught the way her eyes glanced at his lips for just a second.

“Well,” he gulped under her gaze. “Good night, Hermione.”

“Good night, Ron,” and she closed her eyes, not turning to the other side.

Ron wishes he could hold her and kiss her to sleep. The thought was intense and Ron didn’t know how he would fall asleep. But looking at her peaceful state made him feel more relaxed and he fell asleep, feeling comfortable beside her.

-

Bright light streamed through the window of the hotel which caused Hermione to wake up. She groaned and squinted as the light hit her eyes and she tried to get up.

Except she was being held down by something.

She looked down and saw that she was not lying on her pillow. She lying on Ron’s chest. She noticed that his arm was around her, holding her to him securely.

Ron was still deep asleep and Hermione didn’t know how she was going to get up.

Strikingly, she found that she was too comfortable to get up. It felt nice to be so close to him and she smiled, despite her slight alarm before. She decided that it was not a big deal and she could stay snuggled against for a while more.

Ron stirred and put his other arm around her and Hermione had to resist the urge to giggle. She looked up at his face. She thought he was cute when he was sleeping. She brushed his hair out of his eyes before she knew what she was doing.

Ron let out a contented sigh. “Hermione,” he mumbled and she stilled, thinking he had woken up. But then the sound of his soft breathing filled the room. Hermione found it endearing how he said her name and knew that it would be etched in her mind forever.

As she glanced at his still-sleeping form, she realized that what she thought was a crush was love. She loved Ron. More than he probably loved her

[random-french-girl]

Since I was asked for headcanons a million years ago and never had time to do it... here you go @sshepardcommander merry crisis

I think the first time Ava uses Bea as a pillow happens on their way to the Alps. After Lilith teleport them to safety, after they meet up with mother Superion and agree that Beatrice will take Ava away to one of the OCS's hideouts in Switzerland. After Bea and Ava hastily change out of their bloody combat clothes, and make their way to a bus terminal in the southern suburbs of Rome - "less crowded than the train station, less risks that someone will notice us" Beatrice explains, as they buy tickets for the last bus to Milan. It's a night bus, not too full, but all the passengers are talking about the Vatican attack, and Bea and Ava sit in the back, both exhausted and vibrating with adrenaline, tense and silent the whole journey, unable to even close their eyes. From Milan, in the early morning, they take a train to Interlachen, then hop on a slower, older, smaller train that takes them into the Swiss Alps proper - and it's in this slow, small, old train, in the middle of the day, that Ava finally passes out from sheer exhaustion.

They're sitting next to each other, Ava near the window, Bea by the aisle. Beatrice is still alert despite her fatigue, standing guard, focused and professional, until suddenly there's a weight on her shoulder : Ava's head. For several minutes, Beatrice doesn't dare move. Ava's breath tickles her neck, displacing the small strands of hair that have escaped Bea's bun. Ava's nose bumps against her skin, her lips too close to Beatrice's pulse. Then the old, small, rickety train shakes and rattles and jostles them both as it passes through a tunnel, and Ava lets out a tiny disgruntled whimper of discomfort as she startles awake, and Beatrice doesn't even think before she gently guides Ava down to lay her head on Bea's lap. She doesn't need to say anything - Ava doesn't resist. Simply curls up on the train seat, feet tucked under the armrest, one hand resting on Bea's knee, her cheek on Bea's thigh. She mumbles something that sounds like sorry, or thank you, or good night. Beatrice hesitates this time, hand hovering above Ava's body, before she places one arm around Ava's shoulder, then brings her other hand to Ava's head. She strokes Ava's hair softly. There's a little contented noise as Ava snuggles deeper into Bea's lap. Maybe Beatrice's heart skips a beat, maybe her chest tightens suddenly - who's to say, really.

What matters is: Ava falls back asleep immediately. Bea watches her sleep for the remaining hours of their trip, wide awake, keeping Ava's sleeping body safe in her hands.

[prairiesongserial]

24.17

Kaoru stood awkwardly in the aisle next to his seat. Valerie did the same. It felt wrong to sit down, even if all that was left to do now was wait. Once that stewardess followed through on whatever emergency protocols the company had in place, Kaoru would take his chance to pop into the next car and grab those briefcases. He would know when the time came.

Kaoru straightened his wimple and finally retook the seat next to Sister Catherine. He ignored the multiple eyes on him. The train car was oddly quiet all of a sudden. Kaoru had just come tearing through with a stewardess and a strange man, so he couldn’t exactly be surprised. That was just the sort of secular excitement that got a nun’s heart racing.

Kaoru rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Well, whatever. Let them think what they liked. The train was beginning to slow. This would be Freiburg, the last stop before they reached Switzerland. Kaoru breathed deeply through his nose. He was running out of time. He didn't like his chances of ever seeing home again if he crossed the Italian border. He had to get off the train in Basel no matter what.

Valerie reached across the aisle, waving gently in Kaoru’s line of sight.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked.

Kaoru’s face warmed up. The nuns had made a few distracted attempts to revitalize the conversations they’d been having before Kaoru came back. Now, however, Kaoru could’ve heard a pin drop. All eyes were on him and the strange man.

Valerie winced on his behalf. He’d said himself that he used to be a nun–he knew exactly what he’d just done. Valerie held eye contact, the firmness of his expression communicating that there was at least a good reason for it.

Kaoru got up from his seat and crossed the aisle. He sat back down across from the two men–Valerie and his traveling companion. The other man had long blond hair twisted into a knot at the base of his neck and light, uneven stubble over his chin. He stared at Kaoru with a steeliness that usually accompanied violence.

“Um, what is it?” Kaoru said cautiously.

“I don’t think we can trust that stewardess,” Valerie said. “She…”

The man next to Valerie raised his eyebrows, just a touch. Valerie cut himself off.

“I think we need to stop the train ourselves,” Valerie said. “Do you trust me?”

Kaoru’s chest tightened. Had Valerie and this man caught on to something that Kaoru had missed? Who was this man, anyway? Why would a former priest be traveling with someone like this?

“Will you go to the conductor? Please?” Kaoru asked. He laid it on thick in front of the traveling companion. “I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”

“I don’t speak any German. I need you.”

Valerie’s unabashed sincerity gave Kaoru a brutal case of secondhand embarrassment. He flushed, cringing internally, while every nun on the pilgrimage stared at the two of them with eyes as round as communion wafers. Valerie kept his voice low, and most of them wouldn’t be able to keep up with English–but all the nuns could see Kaoru’s pink cheeks loud and clear.

Valerie lowered his voice even further. “Something isn’t right, and it might be dangerous. I’m so sorry to ask, but there’s a lot at stake.”

Kaoru’s lip twitched. Seriously, who the hell was this guy? What happened to the Moto Hagio eyes? Kaoru wanted his innocent patsy back.

“Sister Grace?” Valerie prompted.

“I–I’ll be brave,” Kaoru said. “I’ll go with you. I trust you.”

Valerie sighed with relief. The man next to him wore the same steely expression as when this conversation had begun. Kaoru quickly looked away again, twisting his hands in his lap.

The intercom announced Freiburg and the train came to a stop.

“Let's wait until the aisles are clear, then…” Val trailed off.

There was a loud, metallic clang that echoed down the train car. It was quickly followed by another, and another, as well as heavier thuds that seemed to Kaoru to be the more brutal sound. The sounds were coming from the neighboring car–Car 7. 

The nuns were all out of their seats, half of them in a panic, half trying to bring the flock back under control. The passengers boarding at Freiburg either turned back onto the platform in a hurry or came jogging down the aisle away from the commotion, children and suitcases banging along behind them.

Kaoru jerked to his feet and ran for the door, bullying his way against the tide.

This was his chance. If there was a fight in Hennig’s car, then the briefcases–

His whole body suddenly jerked back as a force closed around his wrist. He growled in frustration and broke the hold with a twist, then continued his sprint for the door. He passed into the vestibule with the stairs to the upper deck, then cautiously slid the door open onto Car 7.

He hastily closed it again as an entire row of seats came sailing into the door. The vibrations from the collision ran from his feet to the top of his head. Kaoru filled his lungs twice before opening the door again.

Inside Car 7, there was a blur of red as one of the cardinals attacked someone–she was using some form of martial art, and she clearly had metal vambraces or something under her sleeves, because each strike landed with a clang. 

The other fighter was much smaller than she was; it was the man in gray who’d been sitting across the aisle from the two cardinals in Car 10. His locs bounced around his ears as he defended against the onslaught. He was just as fast as she was, which was hard to believe–Kaoru could barely keep track of their movements. The man was at a disadvantage, though–he had a huge machine gun strapped to his body, weighing him down, and the cardinal wasn’t giving him space to use it. Instead, the man was forced to use the gun to parry blows and serve as body armor when her hits broke through.

The cardinal ripped another train seat out of the floor with an awful screech of popping screws and began to use it as a blunt weapon. The man in gray deflected the first blow, then another; wherever it landed, the seat made huge dents in the aluminum.

The man in gray panted for breath as the cardinal raised the seat again–effortlessly. The man’s shirt sleeves were in tatters. The seams had all popped.

Kaoru blinked a few times. This wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for, but there was still a chance he’d find an opening to grab those briefcases. If need be, he’d cut around via the upper deck and enter Car 7 from the other side. It would be easier than passing through the middle of the fight, and the two fighters might not even notice him come and go if he used the far door. Kaoru had just decided to go with the up-and-around plan when his brain caught up to him.

There were no briefcases. He scanned the overhead racks again, and still there were no briefcases. Hennig and the other man weren’t there, and wherever they’d gone, they’d taken their briefcases with them.

A pair of arms wrapped around Kaoru from behind and hauled him out of the doorway just as the cardinal hurled another row of seats into the door frame. Kaoru’s teeth shook from the power of the collision. He wriggled against whoever had grabbed him from behind. It took a few seconds to break their hold and spin to face them.

It was Valerie. Kaoru felt a mix of relief and anger.

“What was that? You could have been killed,” Valerie huffed. He side-stepped Kaoru and calmly shut the door on the fight. The noise of the brawl cut down by half. “You don’t have to be that brave, a happy medium is fine.”

Abruptly, anger tipped the scales. Maybe it was the adrenaline from being grabbed, or the fact he was badly outclassed by the other Hemisphere operatives on this train. If nothing else, it was the fact that he no longer knew where the briefcases were, and he only had until the next stop to find them.

He completely lost it.

“Stop treating me like a woman,” Kaoru said, ‘Sister Grace’ all but forgotten. Valerie’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re treating me like–like–I don’t know, but it’s making my skin crawl.”

“Show me you don’t need to be protected, and I’ll treat you in kind,” Valerie said.

“Yeah, right. If I was a man, you wouldn’t have grabbed me like that,” Kaoru argued. He was wasting time–this was stupid, but yelling at Valerie was the only available vent for his feelings. Kaoru had been roleplaying sweet little Grace Marie for too long. Fuck field work; just as soon as he got home, he was chaining himself to his desk and swallowing the key. It struck him that he was completely terrified, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to cry in front of Valerie and lose whatever ground he had in this argument.

“I’m sorry,” Valerie said. He was giving Kaoru a funny look. Then, “But, Sister Grace?”

“What?” Kaoru snapped.

“You don’t need to act helpless. I’m going to help you no matter what. Just be yourself from now on.”

Kaoru seethed.

“Thank you,” he said, letting his voice drop into its natural range for the first time in days. Valerie could think what he liked. Valerie smiled at him.

“I promise I won’t do that again,” Valerie said. “I’ll trust you to take care of yourself.” He winced at the sound of a human body being slammed up against the sliding door. “Let’s go stop this train ourselves.”

It was posed as a question, and Kaoru nodded in response. Even though engaging the emergency brakes now–when Kaoru didn't know where the briefcases were and had no idea how he was going to find them in the resulting chaos–was a really stupid idea.

He’d think of something on the way.

24.16 || 24.18

[trainsinanime]

tell me about french train headlights

They're all the same! Or at least they were, from the mid-1950s to about the early 1990s. They all look like this:

Okay, some context for why I find this interesting. Suppose you see a picture of a train, especially one made in the second half of the 20th century, and you want to know where the train is from. The key trick to telling this at a glance is having a bit of autism, but more specifically, the headlights.

In Europe, all major and many minor countries used to have their own government-owned railroad and their own train-building industry, which would build trains to the specifications of their railroad company. There has always been some exporting going on, but for the most part, the trains you'd find in Germany, France, Switzerland, Austria and so on would be all completely different. This has changed drastically over the past 20ish years.

One thing about this old model is that railroad companies would standardise certain parts within their fleets, especially small parts that need servicing and replacing every now and then. It saves on how many different types of spare parts you need to have.

Headlights are the most notable among these by far: Every train needs to have some of them. All trains have basically the same requirements for their headlights, no matter how fast or slow or whatever they are. Before LEDs, you needed to service the headlights regularly to replace the light bulbs. Also they are glass parts at the front of a fast moving vehicle, they can get damaged, so spare parts logistics are an issue. And most importantly, we as railfans can easily see them. So you get something like this:

As a result, basically all railroad companies in post-war Europe standardised their head- and taillights for all or most of their trains. And all of them had completely different ideas. Fundamentally, all of them agreed that you need white headlights and red taillights, and since modern trains are easily reversible, you put both of them next to each other.

But do you make the white and red lights the same size (West Germany, Netherlands) or different sizes (Austria, East Germany)? Are they separate things, or do you combine them into one assembly (UK, Switzerland)? Do you make them anything approaching normal sized or gigantic (Poland)? Maybe I'll do an overview post over these later, but I don't have enough pictures in my library right now and I'd have to scour Wikipedia for them later.

The French headlight design shown here is in many ways just one of many, but also interesting in its own right: The actual lenses for red and white are the same size, but the white headlight gets this huge lens assembly that makes it look much more prominent. You can clearly see that different French designers had very different ideas about whether you align the center-lines (most of them), or the bottom of the lens assembly. Why is the headlight lens so big, and what are the metal tabs around the bottom half of the circle? I have no clue. My guess is to put some coloured glass panes in, but I have no idea why you'd need that. Also, note that the red taillight classically has a fresnel lens, that's unique as far as I can tell.

I've taken all these pictures in the Cité du Train, the big central French railroad museum in Mulhouse. (That's why I was posting about traveling to Basel early this weekend. Mulhouse is actually really close to Basel, and going via Switzerland is the most practical—and most scenic—route for me) The oldest locomotive I could find with these headlights was CC-7107:

During high speed trails in the early 1950s, this locomotive reached a speed of 326 km/h (203 mph). That made it only second best behind the other locomotive at the trials, BB-9004:

This one reached 331 km/h (206 mph), a world record that would not be beaten for a long time. The difference was nothing to do with technical performance. Instead, both locomotives melted their pantograph, the part on top that touches the overhead line to get power, at around 320 km/h (200 mph). BB-9004 had a second one that it could lift up to continue accelerating, while CC-7107 only had the one. For a long time, SNCF pretended that both locomotives had reached 331 km/h, to protect the reputation of both manufacturers.

What's notable for our purposes is that BB-9004 has different headlights. As far as I can tell, these seem to be an earlier standard design, also found e.g. on the CC-65001 diesel locomotive:

And even on steam locomotives, like this class 141 R:

So CC-7107 lost on the high speed world record, but it was the way of the future when it came to headlights. These headlights then started cropping up everywhere. From the detail pictures I've shown you above, we have e.g. Le Petit Gris (the small grey one, an EMU for suburban services in Paris):

A CC-6500, dressed up with a nameplate for the express train it was hauling. Fun fact: One locomotive of this type (not this one) was used in the US for a while, as Amtrak was trying out new electric locomotives to use. They weren't happy with it and bought a Swedish one instead, mostly because this locomotive's suspension did not work well with the American track quality.

A Z 2200, a diesel railcar for rural lines designed to be cheap first, second and third.

A BB-26000, which feels altogether way to new to be in this museum.

It's from the 1980s, so I guess the first are reaching retirement age. But at the same time: The train I took from Basel to Mulhouse was still pulled by one of these BB-26000.

Other favourites include the BB-25600 with its rare diagonal light arrangement:

Or the really terribly lit gas turbine train RTG, which puts the headlight on stalks:

Fun fact: Amtrak did end up buying a few these. They didn't use the same white headlights (although they did use the same stalks), but they did use the same fresnel lens red taillights.

And the headlights went all the way up to the top. To the TGV. Only these headlights aren't very aerodynamic, so for their high-speed train, SNCF decided to cover them up.

As far as I can tell, SNCF used these headlights in the TGVs up to the Réseau series, including the Eurostar. That meant that they're also found, though behind faded glass, on the TGV Atlantique 325 in the outdoor area. Number 325 is notable because it was involved in another high speed trial, and reached 515.3 km/h (320.3 mph) on May 18th, 1990.

That was a world record, of course; in fact only the French ever exceeded 500 km/h on conventional railroads. So these headlights did get their world record after all. They didn't get to keep it for long, though. In 2007, a newer TGV reached 574.8 km/h (357.2 mph). That one is still in service, though, and it was equipped with newer LED headlights. I think it's highly unlikely that this record will be broken anytime soon, but if anyone does, I wouldn't be surprised if it were the French again, they like that sort of stuff.

Some final odds an ends with the headlights, though: Here's CC-40101, which isn't actually relevant, I just like the way it looks.

Designed for service in France, Belgium, the Netherlands and Germany, with four different voltages and four different train control systems, and that with mid-1960s technology. It wasn't quite as successful as hoped, and in service it only ever reached Belgium, but still, look at that design. The front is supposed to evoke an athlete, a sprinter about to start, but this type of design has instead become known as "Nez cassé", broken nose.

BB-9291 shows a rare early version without red tail lights at all. Someone thought they were saving money.

This small work train has a free-standing version of the headlight, which shows us how deep it really is. Apparently, the French headlight is actually not that deep, and isn't that a nice summary for this post?

And a personal favourite of mine, I even bought a T-Shirt with it on it, the Z 600:

The design, in particular the side windows (recessed instead of flush, no outside visible gasket) says Swiss, the headlight and SNCF logo says French, it's narrow gauge and it has a third rail to provide power. Just all around a weird little train, for the weird little line known as the Mont-Blanc Express from France via Switzerland to the bottom of the Mont-Blanc mountain. The train was built in Switzerland, experts of building small trains for mountains, but for the French part of that rail line, so it got French headlights.

Headlights with exporting is a fun topic in its own right. Do you keep the headlights from the country of origin, or demand your own? You will find both approaches. Both Portugal and the Netherlands bought very similar electric locomotives from France. Portugal has French headlights, the Netherlands insisted on (less interesting) dutch ones.

These days, of course, you will still find these headlights, but they're getting rarer. They stopped being used in new trains around the mid-1990s. What's more, the ones you do find, like on this MI-84 in Paris, probably don't have the fresnel lens taillight anymore. Instead, those were replaced with LEDs.

LED lights for railroads make a lot of sense. They last forever and require less power. And since most railroads have standardised their head- and taillights, you just need to design one replacement light for most of France, and then keep building that one until SNCF stops giving you money.

(Since we're showing a picture from Paris, a quick note: These headlights were never used on passenger-carrying trains for the Paris metro. However, some work trains do have them.)

These days, standard headlights are completely gone. LEDs don't need a lot of replacing, and they give you much more freedom to do things like shapes and patterns and designs. Also, we don't have the "one country, one railroad, one rail industry" pattern anymore. Instead now we have multi-national rail conglomerates. Alstom is technically French, but arguably just as much German, ever since they bought Bombardier's rail division, nominally Canadian. Stadler is Swiss, except for the stuff they build in Germany or Poland or Belarus or Hungary or…, and some of their most interesting products right now are built and designed in Spain.

The end result of that is this:

That's a company I saw at a trade fair (Innotrans, Berlin, 2022) that makes LED train headlights, and specifically they make… all of them? Okay, I'm exaggerating, but this is a great picture to drive a European rail fan insane as they try to assign the different headlights to different trains. You get Stuttgart trams, German (and Turkish) high speed trains, lots and lots of Swiss stuff. Nothing specifically French that I could tell, but at least the German high speed train regularly travels to Paris.

The standard headlights, or their LED variants, were still in use for work trains until fairly recently. There are not that many companies that make rail grinders or ballast tampers, and those tend to just use whatever headlight their customer tells them to. But these days they go for shaped LED headlights as well, because they're just better, and because thanks to European standardisation, a headlight approved in one country can (generally) be used in all European countries.

(All pictures © me, feel free to use them under CC-BY-SA 3.0 DE if you want)

[heroesfromtheashes]

Till The End Of The Line

Steve was still not used to his new body.. despite it being months later. He still had moments where he woke up and expected to be 90 pounds and sick as a dog. Instead he woke up in his bunk and nearly banged his head on the rack. Today was quite important they’d gotten intel about Armin Zola’s trip back to Switzerland and they needed to capture the man. It would help them turn the tide of the war further into their favor. The man was obviously the scientific brain behind HYDRA.

He had a bad feeling about the mission, but without evidence this was the best chance they had to snatch the Swiss man. The beginning of the mission went well, till him and Bucky got separated. When the train door slammed it slammed with all the finality of fate. He fought to get back to and had just barely manage to find Bucky when there was an explosion. It rocked the train and them with it.

Steve did his best to hold onto the crumbling side of the train, and reach for Bucky’s hand. His shield falling into the train as the metal that made up the train crunched and rolled under his fingers. He could feel it giving. Felt his palm slick up with sweat. Everything happened in slow motion.

The metal gave away, Bucky was yelling but all he heard was his blood rushing through his veins. Pounding in his ears. Blue eyes widened in fear, as his grasp failed. The train rocking with the pressure of rumbling over the mountain and he 

F

E

L

L.

@tormentedsoldier

[mikimeiko]

Day 20 - From Germany, through Switzerland, towards home

I'm having breakfast peacefully when I get an alert from the train app that says that my train has been cancelled. Cancelled?! My 5 hours and a half train back home? What?!

And then I open the app, panic for a bit trying to understand how can I get to Basel (the train wasn't entirely cancelled and would start from there), and I realize that the alert framed the situation in the worst way possible, and there's actually a substitute train from here to Basel and I don't have to do anything? Come on! (I am of course happy that this is the case, but still annoyed at the unnecessary panic XD).

The tram stop near the train station is actually on a bridge that connects directly to the platforms, a really interesting solution for commuters who have to change here.

I arrive in Basel, and while still on the train there's an announcement that the passenger who are traveling onwards to Milan should get the train at the platform opposite the one where the train will arrive. I get on that train, but its destination is Lugano, not Milan? The route is the same, and I overhear other passengers saying that you have to change to Milan once in Lugano, but looking at the predicted arrival time in Lugano is more than half an hour later that it was supposed to arrive there? (Also, the stops are at the exact same time until Aldorf, then in Bellinzona is suddenly 40 minutes more? D:)

Using the VERY SLOW train wifi I managed to find out that the train will take longer because the Gotthard base tunnel is closed and the trains are being deviated on the panoramic route. On one hand I really didn't want to spend MORE time on the train today, but on the other a PANORAMIC route through THE ALPS? :D

I make the mistake of getting a coffee from the bistro of a SWISS TRAIN: 4,60 euro for an espresso is a new (horrifying) high XD

Ah, beautiful Alps, my babies, I missed you so. Even in this hazy light you are magnificent.

I do manage to get on the connecting train in Lugano and find a seat - and even though I'm still going backwards at least I am not on the on the side of the sun this time.

Also Lugano station is up on the mountain, and from there there's a beautiful view of the lake.

(no, this is not the view from Lugano station, this is the "back in Italy!" photo I sent my mum the second I had my data plan back XD)

From Milan central station I take a local train to go home and finally, finally!, there's proper air conditioning XD thank you Trenord for this welcome home gift XD

And that's a wrap on this not actually interrail, central European trip :D

[aggressivelyaverage21]

Once A Rookie Chapter 3

Beatrice didn’t know it, but things were going well. As far as she was concerned, though, she was barely holding on. Outside of Sister Shannon’s quiet encouragement and taking time to sit with her at meals, she felt completely lost. Like she was blowing it.

She’d walked out of her room after she’d completed her extra training to make up for missing the month, only to be scolded by Mother Superion. “Sister Beatrice. That is not how we wear our habits. Being a novitiate is not an excuse. I suggest you fix it immediately.”

Beatrice's skin went ice cold at the words. Her stomach dropped and twisted with the mortification of being wrong enough to warrant that sort of reaction. She didn’t find the outfit particularly comfortable, but those words had her neck burning in an entirely different way as she scurried into the closest bathroom to see what she’d messed up so severely.

As she studied herself in the mirror, she couldn’t figure it out for the life of her. She didn’t see anything wrong. But the bite to Mother Superion’s voice had been real. Real enough that she had to be missing something. “Think. Beatrice. Think and look. Attention to detail.”

The stern expression had been dripping with disapproval and aimed directly at her. It twisted her stomach up so much Beatrice wasn’t entirely confident that she wouldn’t throw up as she tossed up silent prayers asking for God to give her another chance, not to let this be what gets her sent away.

She braced her hands against the cool porcelain of the sink as she looked in the mirror and coached herself through her rising heart rate. “Slow down. Breathe. Just look closely. You can do this.” She watched herself so closely in that mirror until she couldn’t.

Beatrice had never liked her reflection much. She never felt like herself. Like she never quite looked how she thought she should. Like she was herself, just in some weird avatar. Now didn’t feel any different.

Those were her eyes looking back at her. Golden brown and clear. The one feature of herself that she didn’t outright not want to think about. Those were her freckles sitting high on those cheekbones. It was her face looking back at her. “It’s ok. You’re ok.”  

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, calming her breathing. Letting the air fill her lungs before she focused on pushing it back out. Letting her heartbeat slowly settle from hammering against the inside of her ribs. It didn’t help that the collar of the habit felt like it was choking her, but it didn’t matter. She just tried to keep breathing.

Clearly, the Habit was taking some getting used to. It was tighter around her chest and torso than she was used to wearing. She’d always preferred loose fighting clothing when her mother would allow it. Being away in Switzerland, she might have been alone, but at least she could somewhat get away with being in clothing that didn’t make her want to crawl out of her skin. She never much liked skirts either, but at least for most of the day, she was in training clothes.

If she needed to suck it up for a few hours of prayer and Evening Mass, she could do that. She’d been wearing worse for longer her entire life. She needed to get used to this eventually. She didn’t have much of a choice.

That’s what did her in again, thinking about how there wasn’t a choice. How she never got a choice. “Stop. Stop being so dramatic. You chose this. No one is making you be here.”

Her words didn’t matter. The fabric around her neck felt like it was somehow constricting on its own. Tight and itchy. Maybe this was how her brother felt, tucked into tall over-starched collars all the time. He’d complain and complain, telling her that she just didn’t know how uncomfortable they were as he fidgeted with his tie and scratched at his neck.

Like Beatrice wasn’t made to wear far more uncomfortable things.

He never got scolded as Beatrice did for feeling uncomfortable in her clothes. He wasn’t told to be more manly like she was told to be more ladylike. Her father had just fixed his upper button undone and placed the tie so it would hide it and offered him a wink. Like it was their little secret. Man to man.

Beatrice always thought she’d prefer a scratchy neck to how she felt in the dresses her mother would choose for her. This felt like some horrible amalgamation of both.

“They’re always so itchy at first.” A gentle voice startles Beatrice back from the mirror she’d been examining her neck as she tries to get the habit to lay properly around her shoulders. Looking up in the mirror, instead of landing on that face she hardly recognized, it was Sister Shannon’s warm smile.  

“Sorry?” She dropped her hands to her waist, adjusting the band around it as she’d just noticed it was sitting a little bit crooked, the seam on the wrong side. At least she’d found what Mother Superion was referring to. At least, she hoped she had.

The more she thought about what else might be wrong, the more it made everything feel so much more uncomfortable. Horrible thoughts. About how Shannon would judge her and maybe even report back to Mother Superion about everything Beatrice was failing at. Or worse, that she’d stop sitting with her at dinner.

Every part of the fabric that was touching her felt scratchy. The cuffs around her wrist felt wrong . Tight and itchy. The same way the collar did. The clothes felt too heavy. The loose sleeves were nice, but that was the only part that didn’t make her skin crawl.

“Your habit,” Shannon motions to it, plain blue, without the cruciform cross sitting at her waist. Sisters only wore it after they’d completed their training and had been accepted into the order. It was a badge of honor to wear. One that came at a price hard-earned.

One Beatrice was pretty sure she would never earn. Not at this rate, at least.

“Right. Sorry.” Beatrice turned toward her hands, folded in front of herself to make sure they didn’t do anything to tell. Like picking at her fingernails, something she’d been craving to do for days.

Shannon wanted so badly to reach out to the girl and wrap her in a hug. She’d heard her talking to herself in the bathroom and decided to wait to avoid embarrassing her back into hiding. They had made some progress at dinner. Beatrice had even asked her a question last night. “Can you pass the salt and pepper?” But still, it counted. It was progress and far more than the tiniest head shake when Shannon asked if the seat across from her was taken.

“It’ll get more comfortable. The secret is lots and lots of fabric softener.” Shannon carefully held her fingers up to the sides of Beatrice’s neck, silently asking for permission again before touching. Beatrice didn’t protest though Shannon was pretty sure she was holding her breath as she adjusted the inner portion of the collar for her so it wasn’t as bunched up beneath the top layer.

It didn’t take much. Shannon wasn’t even sure why she’d done it. It looked fine. The adjustment wouldn’t even help that much, but she almost needed to do something, anything, to comfort the girl in front of her. All doe eyes and rigid posture. “I’m doing a load this evening.” She wasn’t planning on it, she didn’t really need to, but she was doing it now. She’d have Mary and Lilith toss in whatever they needed too. “Come and find me, and you can toss it in with mine, okay?”

“That’s alright. You don’t have to. It’s not that bad.” Beatrice wiped her hands down the front of her habit, ensuring it was straight. It looked like it was, but she wasn’t sure, and she really wasn’t sure if she could, or should, ask Shannon if it was right. And – and–

“Beatrice.” Shannon gently called Beatrice’s attention back to her with a soft voice, her hands unconsciously straightening the cruciform cross sitting at her midsection like she’d seen her father do many times with the gig-line of his dress uniform growing up. Weird how habits like that somehow became hereditary.

“Yes, Sister Shannon?”

Shannon took a deep breath and let out a sigh. This kid was going to be the death of her. Those wounded eyes, the nervous lit hidden behind the properness in her voice. What made you this way? Who made you feel like you had to walk on eggshells? Those were not questions for today. That was not something Shannon could help with. At least not yet.

She could, however, do one small thing and hope it was enough to be a start.

“These aren’t meant to be so uncomfortable you want to rip it off. That would be very un-nun-like.” Shannon chucked at her joke like it wasn’t just a little bit on the suggestive side of things to say, in a convent, no less. Beatrice wasn’t sure if she should be scandalized, give a sympathy laugh, or a tiny smile.

Unfortunately for Shannon, she settled for none of the above. Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird. What was the hardest part of–oh! Right! The veil. “Did they give you a veil as well? One of the white ones?”

“Yes,” Forgetting herself for a moment, Beatrice reached up to scratch at the back of her neck. “but I, um,”

“You don’t have to wear it.” Shannon rushed to reassure her, not wanting Beatrice to think that she was in any way scolding her for doing something wrong when she wasn’t. “I’m sure Mother Superion told you. It’s your choice, but if the reason you aren’t wearing it is that you don’t know how, I would be happy to show you.”

“No, um…” It was part of it. She didn’t know how to really put it into words. She felt like no matter how hard she tried here; she wasn’t really fitting in with her classmates. They didn’t seem to mind that she was quiet, but they also didn’t seem to be super fond of her excelling as much as she had. She’d offered some advice here and there, or to help with things when she actually knew what she was doing, but that didn’t seem like it was much appreciated. No one likes a know-it-all, Beatrice.  

They had all taken vows. Beatrice knew that much. They all wore the full habit. They all had made that commitment Beatrice couldn’t yet. It didn’t matter that hers was because of her age, Beatrice still didn’t feel like she belonged. A white veil would make her stick out even worse. At least here, not everyone wore their veils all the time, so it wasn’t exactly uncommon. She hadn’t seen a single other white veil in two weeks.

Come to find out; it was incredibly rare for the OCS to take a novitiate. Beatrice knew that, or at least she had come to that conclusion with some of the hoops she had jumped through initially, but she also partly thought that was to do with her age. “ No. I mean, I don’t know how, but I also don’t want to-”

“Stick out any more than you feel like you already do?” Shannon fills in, her smile softening at the edges as she considers the young sister. It was like looking into a mirror. It was painful in a way she hadn’t expected it to be.

Lilith had shown up so strong. So sure of herself and what she wanted. Or what she was told she wanted. She’d gone pretty much balls to the wall from the start. She knew how to wear a habit. She knew what to expect. She’d been well practiced on all the skills prospective sister warriors were evaluated on. People grumbled in the beginning about the legacy, but as soon as Lilith had started training, she’d proven she belonged just as much as the rest of them. Maybe even more so.

Mary had absolutely nothing to go on, but Mary also didn’t care. She didn’t need to. She didn’t have any expectations. She had no desire to take vows or intentions of following the more restrictive principles of The Church.  Mary was allowed to be Mary, and while she excelled at training in her own right, she had a sort of freedom in the way she did it.

Shannon hadn’t had either of those things. She didn’t think Beatrice did either.

Despite how well she was doing, there was an undertone of uncertainty. Like Beatrice wasn’t sure how things were going. Like she was completely unaware that she was currently sitting at the top of her class after only a couple of weeks. Like there weren’t talks of her making the list of potential Halo Bearers. Like if she so much as breathed wrong, she’d be back out on the street or wherever it was she came from.

Beatrice’s eyes widened as she looked back up at Shannon, some sort of question sitting in her gaze. “I was a novitiate, like you. When I got here. I think I was a little older, though,” Shannon confirmed for her with a gentle smile, always teasing just a little bit.

“You were?” They let you stay?

read more

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 5: A Sleepless Dream

Fandom: Inception

Pairing: Robert Fischer x OC

Summary: Robert’s slip of the tongue after a heated confrontation with a friend causes a misunderstanding.     

Word Count: 2,967

Notes: Warnings for depictions of sexist language. 

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 7: The Longing

“Hey. Listen,” he rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Tomorrow night, some of the guys from school wanted to know if I could join them for dinner.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“If you’d like to come along…”

“No, no. It’s fine,” tapping her pencil against the pages of the day planner in front of her, she tugged off her reading glasses, tossing them onto her desk. They’d been back in Sydney for a little less than a week, the day to day work finally growing into a familiar routine. A self deprecating smile pulled at her lips. “I doubt they’d be too thrilled at you bringing me.”

Robert’s brows pinched, sinking slowly into the chair across from her as he frowned. “Yeah. You’re probably right,” he finally admitted with a heaving sigh.

“You don’t seem particularly enthused.”

Robert rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I can’t stand any of them.”

Her eyebrows practically shot up to her hairline. “Really?”

“They’re all just so…” he trailed off, letting his hand fall loosely onto the armrest. “Stuck-up. And fake. Some of them are outright nasty. I don’t know how I never noticed it before while in college,” he shook his head. “I guess maybe I’ve outgrown that type of scene. Or maybe I never actually enjoyed it as much as I thought I did.”

“I’m sorry,” while she’d never particularly liked any of his friends from college, she was sure that it felt awful; to realize that his friends were not the people he’d thought they were. Robert just shrugged, but she could see the lonely sadness flashing behind his eyes. “Do you have to go?” 

“Yeah. I’ve been blowing everyone off for a while. People are starting to notice,” he began fiddling with his tie, brushing off imaginary crumbs and lint from it. “Uncle Peter thinks I’m becoming a hermit. Besides, Todd will be there. He’s been pissed at me since I skipped out on his last two parties. Dad wants me to smooth things over with him. Figured I might as well just get it over with,” he stopped messing with his tie only to begin fiddling with his wrist watch instead. 

“Why do you have to make nice with him?” 

“Dad is afraid that if Todd’s angry with me, and his dad finds out about it, he’ll pull the contracts they’ve provided us with.”

“Damn. Even when hanging out with friends you’re expected to be working,” she observed. It was no wonder why he seemed so eternally exhausted. “When was the last time you even took a vacation? A real vacation.” 

“I’m not always working when I’m with you,” he pointed out.

“Don’t try to change the subject by being charming,” she bit her lip as she smiled.

“I…don’t know.”

“Well it’s no wonder you seem so burned out then,” her chair squeaked slightly as she leaned back in it. “We should go somewhere.”

Robert snorted. “Where?”

“I don’t know. We could go skiing. In Switzerland. Or maybe Venice. If you try to take any work calls I could throw your phone in the canal.”

That drew a barking laugh from his lips, head tilting back with it while the skin around his eyes crinkled. There was the carefree, sweet hearted boy she remembered from childhood. Much better.

He leaned forward, hands reaching out to cradle hers. His thumb stroked over her knuckles in slow movements. As if he were trying to memorize every line, divot, and detail.

“How long will you be at dinner?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, eyes trained on their hands. He looked so damn miserable and lost all Alice wanted to do was reach across the desk and hug him. Instead she just gave his hands a tight squeeze.

“Hey. It’ll be okay.”

Glancing up at her, he sucked in a deep breath, nodding slowly as he tried to smile back, though it didn’t come close to touching his eyes.

∗ ∗ ∗

Sipping at the amber liquid in his drink, the burn of alcohol didn’t do much to alleviate his bad mood. Greetings and false smiles had been exchanged; dinner ordered and consumed. Most of the other men that had come were off at the bar, attempting to woo the women seated there, or in the bathroom, likely ingesting an alarming cocktail of drugs into their systems. 

“Anyone over there catch your eye?” Todd asked. They were the only two still sitting in the booth, Todd leaning back with an arm thrown over the back of his seat, swirling the whiskey in his glass, the little ice cubes clinking against each other with each little swirl.  

Robert shot another look at the bar. A few women had tried to approach him earlier in the evening, but he’d managed to shake them off with an awkward, apologetic smile. “No.”

Todd raised an eyebrow but said nothing, just continued to rotate his glass before finally taking a sip. Robert sighed. He was supposed to be trying to mend bridges with Todd. “Listen,” he shifted back and forth in his seat, wishing that he was literally anywhere else. “I’m sorry that I’ve been…”

“Avoiding everyone?” Todd finished.

“Yeah. I’ve just…not been feeling up to seeing people lately, I guess.”

“You need to get laid,” Todd said. Robert was tempted to slam his head against the table. This was why he never spoke to any of his so-called friends about anything outside of surface-level, superficial topics. He supposed that he should have been prepared for this. All Todd ever seemed to want to talk about was girls and sex. 

“I really don’t think that’s the problem,” he said.

“I hear that Peter’s assistant, Natasha’s got a thing for you.”

He took a large gulp of his drink. “Yeah. I know. I’m not interested.”

“You’re really not interested in Natasha? She seems like she’d be exactly your type–” 

“Todd,” there was a sternness in his tone that sounded alarmingly like his father, but more exhausted. “I really don’t want to talk about that.”

Todd’s brows rose slightly, and while he held his hands up in surrender, there was a gleam of annoyed irritation in his eyes. Damn it. Rubbing a hand across his face, he looked out the window. It was raining, just slightly. A small drizzle that was just enough to drive everyone indoors. 

“So. What’s with this thing of you and that,” Todd coughed awkwardly at the warning look Robert shot him before he could finish his sentence. “What’s with you hiring Emerson as your assistant?”

Robert eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Todd straightened, setting his glass down on the table and clasping his hands in front of him. “You had your pick of babes to choose from and you go with her? I mean, Robert, come on. Emerson’s cute, I guess, but she’s nothing to write home about. You remember that girl you dated about a year ago, the blonde with the enormous tits? You could have had a woman like that around you all the time. At your beck and call.”

“I don’t want anyone at my beck and call,” Robert complained softly. He hated the way that Todd talked sometimes. He always sounded so…skeezy. It made Robert’s skin crawl. “I figured it would be best to hire someone who I could stand to be around for most hours of the day.”

“Ah, I see,” Todd said, nodding, as if he had any sort of understanding of what was going on. “I get it. You gotta toss those homely girls a bone every once in a while, right?” he winked. Robert ground his teeth together but said nothing. “And it makes you really appreciate the ones who actually deserve your time and attention.”

“That’s enough, Todd.”  

 Todd ignored him. “She must give some fucking amazing head to make up for–”

“Will you shut the fuck up!?”

For a moment, they both gaped at each other, both too surprised at Robert’s outburst to speak. And then Robert stood, leaving his unfinished drink on the table and grabbing his jacket.

“Holy fuck. You’ve actually got it bad for her, don’t you?” Todd said, a combination of disbelief and something Robert was pretty sure was disgust in his voice. He didn’t say anything as he stormed towards the door, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. 

For a moment an anxious sickness settled in his gut as he thought about what his father would say when he found out what he’d just done. But one thought back to what Todd had said made the feeling vanish.

Fuck the contracts. They were Fischer Morrow, they could always get others.  

∗ ∗ ∗

The rain had finally tapered off, leaving the air cool. The earth still smelled pleasantly of rain. Peering out the window, Alice examined the deep teal blue of the water in the pool outside. Illuminated by the lights lining it. Maybe she should go for a swim. It would beat sitting there, curled up on the couch with nothing to do.

She’d been doing better, for the most part. But still, sometimes, when she was alone, the guilt and fear began to slowly gnaw at her again. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her pocket watch, opening it to watch as the second hand moved backward, in a counterclockwise circle. Still in reality, then. It only ever ran forward when in dreams that were not her own.    

The front door slammed open, security panel beeping as the code was entered into it before it could go off. Robert’s shoes thudded against the floor before he appeared, already in the process of shedding his suit jacket and tossing it onto the back of a nearby chair. He went to the bar, grabbing a bottle of what she could only assume was incredibly expensive whiskey and pouring an alarming amount into a glass.  

“Hey. Did you have fun?�� she asked, even as he answered her question by downing his drink in one gulp and immediately pouring another.

“No.”

“What happened?”

“Todd happened.”

“Oh.” 

He came over to sit beside her, just sipping at his second glass of whiskey before setting it on the side table and rubbing at his eyes. When she reached out a hand to rub at his shoulder, she found the muscle to be alarmingly tense beneath her palm.

“Todd’s a skeeze,” she offered.

“You read my mind.”

“What did he do?

Robert hesitated. “Oh…you know. His usual shit.”

“Kept trying to set you up with every woman in the vicinity?”

Robert let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Something like that,” he rested both hands over his face, falling back against the cushions of the couch with a loud groan. “Fuck.”

“Stressed?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you should have gone home with one of the women Todd was pushing on you,” she tried to keep the light humor in her voice, even as the thought twisted painfully at her heart.

Robert dropped his hands from his face, looking at her with a seriousness that surprised her. Frowning, he reached out a cautious hand to stroke along her cheek before cupping it. There was a trace of blurriness in his eyes, and she was suddenly very aware that, considering that the glass of whiskey he’d consumed upon coming home likely wasn’t his first, he was probably well on his way to being drunk.

“You’re the only woman I want to go home with.”

She almost fell off the couch. Eyes bulging, mouth falling open in shock, entire body going stiff. Robert seemed to realize what he had just said, cheeks turning scarlet while his eyes widened.

“I-I don’t-I didn’t mean it like that.”

Okay, ouch.

“I just…” he ran a hand anxiously through his hair, not really looking at her. 

“Are very drunk?” she offered, hoping that her voice didn’t betray any of the hurt that the indirect rejection was causing her.

Robert whined and buried his tomato red face in his hands. And despite the agonizing shredding of her breaking heart in her chest, she couldn’t help but consider how cute he always was when he got flustered.

“Yeah,” his voice was muffled by his hands. She smiled and rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades until he finally peeked at her from between two fingers. At her wobbly, encouraging smile, he dropped his hands into his lap. “I just mean…you’re my best friend, Alice.”

And that’s all I’ll ever be. She bit her lip. She couldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.

“You’re my best friend, too.”

He smiled at that, looking down at his hands a little shyly. “I should probably just go to bed.”

“Probably,” she agreed, a surprised huff leaving her when he turned and suddenly hugged her, burying his head in her neck while his arms wrapped around her waist.

“Thank you for being here.”

She ran her fingers through his unfairly soft hair, massaging his scalp carefully. “Of course.”

She waited until he was up off the couch, footsteps retreating upstairs, the soft sound of his bedroom door closing, and then she buried her face in her hands, and allowed herself to release a few heartbroken, self-pitying tears.

Stupid girl, for thinking that she might just have a chance. He’d never see her as anything more than the friend he used to race through playgrounds with as a child. This was a man who could have anyone he wanted; supermodels, movie stars, gorgeous socialites, why the hell would he waste his time with her?

∗ ∗ ∗

“You wanted to see me?” Robert asked, stepping cautiously into his father’s office, closing the door behind him. His father gestured for him to sit down in one of the chairs across from him. The leather creaked ever so slightly beneath him as he settled against it, mentally preparing himself for the verbal beating he was about to receive.

“There’s a gala coming up soon.”

He blinked, surprised that was what his father wanted to discuss. “Um, yeah…”

“There’s going to be lots of very important people there.”

“Right…”

“Including Mr. Hadley and his daughter.”

Robert did not like where this was headed.

Mr. Hadley was someone who his father had wanted to do business with for a long, long time. But the man was old, and cranky, and more than a little uneasy about collaborating with anybody.

“Peter and I will work on Mr. Hadley, but I want you to focus on his daughter.”

And there it was.

Robert swallowed hard, fingers running over the band of his watch. “Dad…”

“Just escort her around, talk up the company, make her like you. She’s a partner in her father’s businesses. She has his ear. If she thinks positively of you, she may be willing to argue in our favor.”

No matter how many times it happened, Robert never really got used to being used as a bargaining chip in his father’s business deals. The sting of betrayal was always there. He was probably lucky that his father hadn’t attempted to arrange a marriage for him in order to help strengthen the company, all things considered.  

“Do I…” he swallowed back his fear, forcing himself to remain strong. “Do I have to?”

Maurice looked at him for a long time. “Mr. Hadley’s daughter is a very attractive woman, Robert.”

“I’m-I’m sure, but-”

“Does this have to do with Emerson?”

“No!” Yes. “I’m just…I don’t see why we can’t find some other way to convince Mr. Hadley.”

“After losing the contracts with Todd and his father, I think that this is the least you could do to help the company recover.”

Flinching, Robert looked down. There was a clamminess in his palms. “Dad, please, don’t make me do it again…”

Maurice’s hands slammed with a boom onto the table, so sudden Robert nearly leapt from his seat, shoulders scrunching down as he cowered in the chair. “You will do what I fucking tell you to.”

Robert remained perfectly still, like he was made of stone, eyes focused on a single point on the carpet in front of him.

“I am not asking, I am telling. This pathetic moping is going to stop. You are going to pull yourself together. You are going to impress Mr. Hadley’s daughter, by any means necessary. Buy her drinks. Flirt with her. Fuck her, if you have to. Just make sure that she is in our corner. Do you understand me, Robert?”

“Yes,” his voice came out in barely a whisper, still unmoving, barely even breathing.

“Get out.”

He walked back to his office in a silent, timid shuffle, wincing at the slightest noises. The ding of the elevator. The snap of a stapler. Pushing through the door to his office, he barely managed to get it closed and collapse into his chair before the panic attack gripped him. Breaths growing frantic and uneven, he buried his head in his hands, whimpering quietly as a few tears rolled down his cheeks.

It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to do this anymore. The seducing of socialites, the endless piles of paperwork. The fake smiles and phone calls. 

He wanted to burn Fischer Morrow to the ground.

Forcing himself to breathe more deeply and regularly, he closed his eyes. He hated them all: his father, his godfather, the entire goddamn company and everyone in it. But most of all, he hated himself. Who he was when forced to conduct company business. No better than the rest of them. Spoiled and entitled and rotten to the core…

He didn’t want Alice to see him like that. Some days he could barely look at himself in the mirror. What was she going to think of him?

Come the night of the gala, he supposed he would find out. 

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[surreality51]

For the fedal promp thing, maybe fedal with the Federer children or meeting babyrafa? 🥺

You know, funny you should mention the Federer children, because I just happened to have a ficlet sitting on my laptop that includes guest appearances from the Federer children. You've inspired me to finish it. Here you go:

Roger didn’t mean to build a compound for himself and Rafa along the shores of Lake Zurich. It certainly didn’t start out that way. How it really started was with the idea that he wouldn’t mind doing mini coaching sessions every now and then in his retirement, especially with young up-and-coming players, but not full-time coaching and the tour travel that came with it. No, he promised Mirka and the kids that he would stay home for a while, get adjusted to life after the tour, do some more biking and hiking, and keep working on his knee. But during one of the Laver Cup post-match interviews, he mentioned the idea of inviting young players to visit him at home in Switzerland for short coaching stints. He didn’t think much of it at the time; it was a throwaway comment in the midst of the media blitz around his retirement. Plus, he invited young pros all the time to be his practice partner when he was training in Dubai or before tournaments. It wasn’t like this was new.

Much to his surprise—but not Tony’s or Mirka’s, or apparently anyone else on his team—the inquiries started coming in immediately.

Exponentially.

Torrentially.

“Roger,” said Tony, pinching the bridge of his nose, “what were you thinking? Of course people are going to be interested in being coached by you. Why would you even throw that out there as a possibility if you’re not really interested in it right now?”

Roger shrugged. “I meant in the future, in a ‘never say never’ type of way. How was I supposed to know that people would take it literally?”

“Roger,” Tony growled, as his phone pinged for the hundredth time that hour. “It’s not rocket science. The ball kids could’ve seen this coming. The janitor could’ve seen this coming. The fucking fish & chips guy outside the O2 could’ve seen this coming.”

“Oh, you got chips from Mick recently? How are his daughters?”

“They’re good, the older one is at university now and—hey, don’t deflect, I’m not done being pissed at you.”

Tony swatted at him. Roger cackled and ducked behind Seve.

The inquiries and entreaties pouring in were endless: When would he be able to take on a student? How many would he be willing to take at a time? This one was willing to travel here from the US, that one all the way from Argentina. So-and-so was a future number one, if only Roger would work with him. Tony looked like he wanted to flatten Roger with the sheer power of his exasperation as he politely fielded all the calls, emails, texts, and, on one memorable occasion, a swan ice sculpture delivered to the Team8 office with the inquiry folded in its beak. Roger couldn’t do anything besides shrug sheepishly. 

But the idea still appealed to him: the notion that he could have the best of both worlds, stay involved by helping young players evolve and also have dinner with his family every night. So in between making waffles with the kids, hitting the ball around on local practice courts, rehabbing his knee, and attending to his sponsorship duties—one aspect that certainly had not slowed down despite his retirement—the idea started to take form in his mind. The players would definitely need to come to him here, they would need to stay for at least a few weeks at a time, and it would need to be somewhere close. But he also knew that not every promising young player could afford to live out of a hotel or rented house for several weeks in his multimillion franc neighborhood. He decided early on that he didn’t want money or means to be a barrier for talent. But where would they stay? And what about their parents, coaches, or other members of their team?

It became obvious that if Roger was serious about this, then he would need to provide room and board. Somewhere close by, ideally walking distance, or maybe even on his property. They already had one guest house planned for their new home that was under construction. Maybe they could repurpose that, and there would need to be a gym attached, and—

“No, not next to the court. Nobody wants to feel like they’re sleeping on a tennis court,” said Mirka.

She was slicing some fruit for breakfast, her hair pulled back in an immaculate bun but the rest of her still wrapped in a robe.

Roger opened his mouth but Mirka cut him off.

“Nobody sane wants to sleep on a tennis court,” she amended, her hands moving efficiently with the knife.

Roger grinned and popped a bite of cinnamon roll into his mouth.

“Okay, what if we set it a little back, along the back line of our plot? Maybe create a little walking path down to the court. They’ll have some privacy; you can’t even see the main house from back there because of the trees.”

“Roger,” she said, patiently, “we talked about you retiring from the tour. We did not discuss you bringing the tour home with you.”

“But what if they followed me home? I can’t just leave them out in the cold. Have some pity.”

A corner of Mirka’s lips curled up against her will. “No.”

Roger groaned dramatically. Mirka serenely deposited the fruit into the bowl.

“Fine,” he said, draping himself over her back and nuzzling her neck, his arms encircling her waist. “I’ll just have to sneak them in behind your back. Secretly put them up in the guest house. Slip out for midnight practice sessions while you sleep. Come back all sweaty with flimsy excuses.”

That got a derisive huff out of her. “If you can arrange a secret tennis affair behind my back, much less on our property without my knowing, I will be impressed.”

Roger conceded that she had a point.

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

Of course, Mirka wasn’t truly against the idea. If she really was, she would’ve made that clear right from the start. Roger knew from all these years that she liked to work through the logistics on her own first. He just needed to wait, and she would come back with a full 5-year plan.

“What about for their parent or coach? Not everyone wants to live with their team in the same house,” she said from the couch, laptop propped open on the arm.

“Two guest houses, then,” Roger replied easily as he scanned the live scores on his phone. “And their own pool.”

“Oh? You realize that they’re here to work, not for holiday.”

“True, but it’s nice to have a long soak after a hard day of playing tennis against the great Roger Federer, and I don’t want them to have to use our jacuzzi.”

That earned him a snort.

“So now we’re talking about two guest houses plus a building with a gym, a pool, and a jacuzzi for your prospective students.”

Roger hummed, distracted. Schwartzmann really did need to work on his serving.

“Maybe three guest houses—one for them, one for their trainers, and one for extras like parents or tutors,” he said.

“Uh huh. Anything else? No courtesy car? Cafeteria? Sauna?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to spoil them,” said Roger, judiciously.

Mirka laughed.

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

Planning and construction on the two guest buildings took about 18 months from start to finish, and then putting in all the furnishings and finishing touches took another 5 months. Roger started thinking about them as cottages instead of guest houses and the open area they clustered around as the village square. Over the course of the construction, he sometimes found himself telling the kids that he was “going down to the village” to check the progress.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you’re subconsciously trying to build your own mini Manacor here,” said Mirka one evening on the couch after dinner, after the dishes were put away and everyone had retired to the living room with various books, screens, or textbooks—in the case of the children—in hand.

Roger nearly choked on his coffee.

“Wh-what makes-you say that?” he wheezed, setting his mug down on the coffee table before he got hot liquid where hot liquid should not go.

Mirka considered her own coffee for a moment.

“Well, the guest houses are nearly ready to go, and yet you haven’t talked to me or Tony at all about who you’d want to be your first student. Normally you’d already have a vision for who you want to invite first, when to extend the invitation, how you’d want to go about the coaching, and all the other details.”

“That’s because the cottages weren’t done yet,” he replied, summoning his most reasonable tone, because that was an absolutely reasonable reason.

“And now they are,” Mirka returned evenly, “or they will be by the end of next week. Normally you would’ve been going on and on about this project during the whole construction. You should be so excited about it that I’d have to tell you to go pester Tony instead. Has something changed? The only thing I can think of is that you don’t want to have students here anymore. Which means you had another purpose in mind for those houses, or else you wouldn’t have built them.”

“No, no, I still want students in there.”

Mirka gave him a look that suggested he refrain from insulting her intelligence. “You’ve always had a very strict boundary between work and home. Tennis is your public life, and you never bring your work home with you. That’s why I was surprised when you first suggested inviting young players to stay at our home, but I figured it was worth giving a try, so I didn’t say anything at the time. I was surprised when you wanted to build a full tennis court in the back too. You’ve always practiced at the local courts, because of the separation between your tennis life and home life. Now, suddenly, after all these years, you want to bring work home with you? I don’t think you really wanted to build those guest houses for prospective students, Roger.”

“Maybe it’s for the girls,” he tried.

The truth was, Mirka was right, and it bothered him because he was always very intentional about his decisions. It was unlike him to commit to something without fully understanding his reasons. He thought this was what he had wanted. Now he realized that, while he had kept the needs of a professional tennis player in mind during the design and construction of the guest houses, he hadn’t envisioned what it would be like to have a student actually living there once construction was finished. And it was because he still thought of the guest houses as part of his home, which meant family and close friends, not prospective students and their teams, who would be like strangers.

So if the guest houses were for family and friends, who did he really build them for? There was a tiny, niggling feeling in the vicinity of his chest that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

“The girls are getting older now,” he continued. “Someday soon they’ll need their own space, away from their uncool parents. This way they can at least be close by.”

Mirka rolled her eyes.

“I know the girls being 16 now is probably setting off all sorts of internal alarms, but you realize that just because you build houses for them doesn’t mean they’re not going to move out some day. You had already moved out by their age.”

“Yeah, and look how far that’s gotten me,” Roger said, gesturing at Robert reading a book on the other couch.

Robert very obviously ignored that with the wisdom of an experienced parent.

Mirka did too. She had over 24 years of experience pinning Roger down, figuratively and sometimes literally.

“If the houses aren’t for the kids when they grow up, then who are they for?”

Roger was quiet for a long while. He kept his eyes fixed in the distance and sipped his coffee. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft.

“Rafa is probably going to retire at the end of this year or next. He’s 39 now, you know.”

To some, it might seem like a non-sequitur, but Mirka knew instantly what he meant.

“Oh, Roger.”

She moved closer to him on the couch until they were leaning against each other, Mirka with her legs tucked up against his.

Roger sighed and leaned his head against hers.

“The first year is probably going to be fine for him,” he said. “He has the Academy, his foundation, the sponsors, his family. He’ll need at least the first year to decompress, just like I did. I think it’s the second or third year that might be hard for him. The tennis starts to fade because you’re not training as much. Because there’s no reason to.”

Mirka linked her arm with his and patted him comfortingly.

“He could use a friend and rival then,” she offered. “Someone on his level. The Academy kids are great, but it’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, just like he already knew that the young players he thought about coaching would not be the same. “Maybe we don’t have to visit him all the time in Mallorca. He can come visit us as well, bring the family, bring the kids. Stay for a while in the summer when it’s nice here. He’ll like the lake and the hiking.”

“You miss him.”

“Yeah.”

Mirka curled against his shoulder.

“You know you love him,” she said softly.

“Yes, of course I love him,” Roger said easily.

Mirka slanted a look at him like she was questioning his intelligence. “Rogi, you know what I mean. You don’t just love him, you’re in love with him.”

“I—.” He paused, careful, unsure where this was going but sensing dangerous territory. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Mirka rolled her eyes. “Rogi, don’t—don’t lie to yourself.”

He turned to study her face, brows furrowed. “Why are you saying this?”

“Dad, we could see your star-crossed romance from our box the whole time,” Myla interjected from the study desk by the window.

“Everyone in the stadium saw it on the big screen at your retirement. The whole Internet saw it,” Lenny snorted, not looking up from his homework.

“You guys were not subtle,” Charlene sniffed with the supreme confidence of a teenage girl when it came to analyzing other people’s love lives.

“What? What are you guys talking about?” Roger said, looking between them, but it sounded unconvincing even to his ears.

“Don’t worry, he feels the same about you,” Charlene said. “I caught him checking out your ass like ten times last summer when we were in Manacor.”

“What?! Wait a minute. He was not—I don’t think he would—are you sure? You didn’t tell me about any of this.”

“Yes, I’m sure, yes it was gross cuz you’re my dad, and of course I didn’t tell you. He tried to play it off, but he totally was. Myla caught him too”—Myla shrugged when Roger glanced at her—“plus he bribed me with a family outing on his boat if I kept quiet and didn’t tell you.”

Roger remembered that boat outing. It had been a fantastic day, but that was beside the point. “And so you lied to me and kept this from your dad?”

“Yeah, but I at least told Mom.”

Roger turned toward Mirka, who shrugged. He turned back to his family, his face halfway between incredulity and indignation.

“Who else knows about this?”

Every single hand went up—both girls, the boys, Mirka, even his own mom and dad.

“Everyone on Uncle Rafa’s side knows too,” Leo added helpfully.

“So I’m the only one who didn’t know?”

Mirka patted his arm sympathetically. “It’s not your fault. You assume and easily accept that everyone likes you, but you’ve always had a hard time accepting when people love you.”

Roger stared at his family, who all stared back at him expectantly. Finally, he threw his hands up. “Well what am I supposed to do with this knowledge now?”

Myla shrugged. “I think this is the part where the music kicks in and you run into each other’s arms and start making out in the rain. But that’s, like, eww, cuz you guys are old.”

Roger looked from his kids to his parents to Mirka and wondered how this conversation got so far off the rails. “How are you guys not shocked or bothered by this?”

Lenny rolled his eyes. “Dad, we’ve been calling him ‘Uncle Rafa’ since we were little. I thought he actually was my uncle until I was 8. I think I was more surprised to learn he wasn’t actually related to us than I was when I saw found out you two had the hots for each other.”

Roger could feel his face turning red. “I do not have 'the hots’ for anyone.”

Now it was Charlene’s turn to roll her eyes. “Dad, please. My friends were texting me links to the Tennis Channel Valentine’s post of you and Uncle Rafa. Some of those photos were from back before I was even born.”

Roger turned to Mirka helplessly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Mirka said, coming to the rescue. “Everyone back to their homework.”

[vyther16]

‘k fckn lives but with more trauma’ for the WIP ask pls

I’m so curious 👀👀👀👀👀

so this one is for The Devil Judge, and is about my boy K (as the title suggests)

Basically, the big canon-divergence moment for this au is that when Sunah shoots Kang Yohan while K is dangling by his wrists in episode 12, Yohan passes out before he makes it up the stairs. Sunah decides that K isn't worth killing herself and leaves him to hang, watching Yohan bleed to death.

Obviously, Lawyer Ko and the other people on Team Kang Yohan get to them before Yohan bleeds out and K loses all mobility in his arms.

The rest of the show proceeds as in canon, but K goes to Switzerland with Yohan & Elijah instead of being dead.

and an excerpt:

Jaehee puts her phone away, leaning towards K. “Let’s get this off of you,” she says, and rips the tape from his mouth. K coughs, spitting out the rag. He’s too busy getting his breath back to shout for Kang Yohan to leave to notice Jaehee getting ready to lever him over the railing.

He kicks out, struggling to keep Jaehee from dropping him over the ledge, but all he succeeds in doing is getting her to drop the remote long enough to actually shove him out into the air.

K winces at the sudden pressure on his shoulders and wrists, takes a moment to catch his breath. He shouts for Kang Yohan, trying to warn him away, to leave, and barely suppresses a scream as he’s dropped, coming to a sudden stop at the second landing, where the entrance and exit for the building is.

It’s a wonder his shoulders haven’t dislocated, he notes absently, too focused on the way Jung Sunah has a gun trained on Kang Yohan, the way Jaehee has the winch remote…

He blinks, and Jung Sunah’s gun is on the ground, and Jaehee has her gun aimed at Kang Yohan.

The gunshot echoes for what feels like forever. 

K can only watch, terrified, as Kang Yohan pulls a bloody hand away from his stomach. Jung Sunah starts up the stairs out of the corner of his eye, but K can only watch Kang Yohan stagger after her, and then, as if in slow motion, fall, sprawling out on the dirty concrete.

[strongwomenunited]

I posted 1,449 times in 2022

101 posts created (7%)

1,348 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@supercorpppp

@spaceman-earthgirl

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I tagged 1,010 of my posts in 2022

Only 30% of my posts had no tags

#warrior nun - 433 posts

#avatrice - 259 posts

#sister beatrice - 225 posts

#ava silva - 208 posts

#lena luthor - 70 posts

#supercorp - 55 posts

#bess till - 50 posts

#kara danvers - 50 posts

#miss audrey - 49 posts

#kristina tonteri young - 49 posts

Longest Tag: 129 characters

#i literally deleted one of my wips from ao3 because i was getting tired of people complaining that it wasn’t being updated enough

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I'm working on a wallpaper of 'Ava's Fall' in 2x05 when I came across this screencap. If you had no knowledge of this moment, I think we'd all be thinking the same thing.

106 notes - Posted December 10, 2022

#4

So I was a fan of Ava and Sister Beatrice in season 1 but I didn’t realize how much until I watched Season 2. The slow burn is real in season 2 but it’s so good. Normally when a show adds a male character in, the LGBT storyline kind of takes the way side, but not in this one. It’s made clear right from the start that Ava likes Beatrice and Beatrice likes Ava but the two of them are so focused on protecting each other, they don’t stop to experience what’s happening. That is until Ava goes into a fight she is expecting to die from. Then it all comes out. Wow. I can’t think of a single storyline that’s like this one. I absolutely loved it. So much so that I’m about 3,100, words into writing a post season 2 storyline because if you watched past the couple credits, you saw that it was clear Ava came back. You don’t see it, but you know it.

118 notes - Posted November 13, 2022

#3

In episode 2x04 before the church fight, I love how Ava and Beatrice got into that church via different means. Ava played along with the whole “I want to be saved by Adriel” by accepting him, and Beatrice chose violence, literally throwing the man into the church. Ava was just like “Si, Si, yes, awesome.” And Beatrice probably got asked the question, and immediately punched him in the face.

142 notes - Posted November 28, 2022

#2

I think one of the best behind the scenes things about Season 2 of Warrior Nun is that they wrote it before Season 1 even aired. So they had full intentions to make Avatrice canon, and have them hanging out in Switzerland for two months, getting closer day by day, living in an apartment, sleeping on one bed, Ava falling from a hotel, then falling love, all of it. They didn’t write it knowing that there were people that loved the fandom, they did it because that was the plan all along. So… now knowing how much of a following there is for Avatrice, I really want a season 3 to see just how far they take it. How do you write a season knowing that your ship, that you had created, actually is well loved among a lot of people? Im very curious.

Keep watching Warrior Nun. I don’t even know what playthrough I’m on now, but don’t stop.

177 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Next to Beatrice being tranquilized in 2x03, one of the most interesting parts of that episode was that Father Vincent had no clue what Ava and Beatrice were doing in Switzerland. So much so that when he caught them in Madrid, he immediately tranq’ed Beatrice thinking that would be enough to capture Ava. But what he didn’t realize was that Beatrice had been training Ava, so she was just as powerful of a fighter as Beatrice is.

In most things, video games, tv, whatever, you try to subdue the one that will cause you problems. In this situation, Father Vincent assumed Beatrice was the power player here, which she definitely is, but he wasn’t expecting Ava to actually have more of a grip on her halo powers. Had he gone after Ava first, he might have captured her… but I suspect not because as previously stated, there is a reason he went after Beatrice first. He knows he probably couldn’t beat her in a fight.

Basically, what I love most about this show is that there are so many angles to everything. You could look at a moment in a bunch of different ways, and still find it so interesting. At least that’s what I’m finding in all of my rewatches.

265 notes - Posted November 25, 2022

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