#and when i came back a second time the people hosting recognized me so i had to explain myself

[museganjin]

edit: eye design on the pin is based off of this video tutorial by yurie sekiya, creator of pero pero sparkles.

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.3)

W/C: 3.1k #SFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, ABO elements, mentions of death, yuuji has entered the chat, gojo has entered the chat, idky this got sad tho lol

A/N: This bit made me very sad please suffer thank you!!! Also the main story will be wrapping soon (I think next part will be the last part?) and then after that, it'll probably be drabbles! There might be a 'sequel' that touches on the culling games tho because b r u h they've got some down time during that arc so hfhfhfhfhghghf imagine what I could do--

tags: @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah

A strict no-contact order had been placed on Yuuji, and, subsequently, Sukuna. Neither were to come into contact with you while you recovered, and neither were to be alone with you considering the control-slip incident. 

Still, the curse had been rampant in the young man’s mind, constantly pacing back and forth just behind his consciousness, waiting patiently as a predator should for Yuuji's guard to go down. Granted, even if Yuuji was caught by surprise, it'd still be near impossible to overtake the peppy twenty year-old. Sukuna didn't have an explanation, but it was what it was. 

He would have gladly seized control now, when you'd somehow managed to slip away from your recovery prison and get comfortable in Itadori Yuuji's bed. Sukuna would have slaughtered everyone at the academy for a second to touch you again, to breathe you in.

But the brat finally realized something was off, and woke to find your head tucked under his chin, his arms slung across your waist. Your breath fanned across his collarbone, tickling the sorcerer's touch-starved skin and feeding the fire burning in his cheeks–Sukuna, though, didn’t seem pleased his host was the one touching you. Yuuji counted that as a victory. 

Suck it, dickhead.

Hm? A stranger’s voice rippled instead of the king's. 

Yuuji jolted, his blood growing cold for a second before recognizing that voice–it came from that tidal wave of memories. But it didn't tick him off the way Sukuna's did. It was…nice.

Uh…you can hear me? Yuuji wondered. He tried to envision his voice as loud and clear as possible to help it reach you. 

Your brows twitched in your daze. Yes, I can hear you. There's no need to shout. 

Oh. Sorry. Uh, how'd you get in here? 

The door. 

Oh. Cool. Yuuji shifted a little. I'm not really supposed to, y'know, make contact with you or–

But you're warm. Your nails lightly dragged across his back, leaving trails of tingly pinpricks dancing across his skin. Yuuji swallowed a moan. God, why did the littlest touches feel so nice? 

Y-Yeah? My grandpa used to say I ran hot. Like a furnace or somethin’. 

I agree. You burn like firewood. And you smell warm. Like cedar and honey. You stretched languidly, and the younger stayed put, not strong enough to pull away from your praise and touch. Your teasing fingers raked through his hair daintily, and this time Yuuji did moan. Just the slightest bit before he snapped his mouth shut and bit his lip. 

You leave me wondering how you taste. 

“What?” Yuuji squawked. Your eyes lazily opened a crack, seemingly put off by the sudden break in room silence. It gave the sorcerer an opportunity to admire the golden glints of divinity hidden in the hue of your iris. 

But he found fear in that moment, too. Yuuji knew what most didn't–the curse sealed inside of him thought you to be his equal. You were the only beast Sukuna would bow before, the only one whose attention he craved and sought in his reign. 

You were, in a way, a king yourself.

Do you think I'll eat you, Yuuji? 

“I–uh–you–well–” Yuuji fumbled exceptionally, choking on flustered words. “I just--Sukuna ate people, right? So, uh. Maybe you did too?” 

You looked him over for a moment. Your gaze traced the cute curve of the younger's nose, the petite fangs worrying at his bottom lip, the caramel swirl of his eyes. He looked so much like Sukuna. It made you wonder. 

I've eaten humans, yes, You agreed, nonchalant. Do you want me to eat you?

“Eat me?” Yuuji deadpanned, unsure if he should feel just bothered or hot and bothered. “I, well–”

No. Sukuna’s voice cut like ice through Yuuji’s mind. For a second, it scared him. It reminded Yuuji of what exactly Sukuna was. What he’d do. 

So what would you do?

“Hey,” Yuuji started, suddenly calm, serious. “Why’re you on Sukuna’s side? You don’t seem like a bad person.”

You took a deep second to think before sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. Your tails curled weakly around your clothless frame, swallowing up any spot a young man’s curious gaze might wander in the secrecy of night. Maybe you’d been in this situation before. 

“‘Good.’ ‘Bad.’ We all have different definitions.” Your voice rattled and scraped out your tired throat, yet you didn’t look perturbed in the slightest. “I do what pleases me: garden, sew, eat. Sometimes, I may cause harm in the process. I care sometimes, and I don’t others. Does it make me evil to choose what I care about?” 

Yuuji’s head started to ache. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up with your fancy, archaic way of speaking, but he was sure as hell gonna try. 

The younger sat up, too, and ruffled up his hair. “I mean. Don’t you wanna try to, y’know, not hurt people? Not cause harm, ‘n stuff?”

“Is fire wicked? Or does it simply exist?” You posed. “In the control of man, it is sacred. It cooks food, illuminates the dark, cloaks you with warmth. Yet it burns down trees. Swallows homes. Devours crops. Kills.” 

You looked at Yuuji, rose-wrapped eyes resentful of something the sorcerer could not know. “Man regards fire as a blessing when controlled, yet it is a curse when it runs free with nature–existence, the black and white of the world, is in the eye of the beholder.” 

Yuuji didn’t like how much that made sense to him. Objectively, Sukuna was bad. He killed. He murdered for fun. He ate people–

Yet your words, your pretty way of speaking and philosophies gave Yuuji pause. It didn’t click, despite igniting grim sparks in the cogs hidden far behind his eyes. He already made his mind up about good and evil, yes and no, white and black, and yet–

You poked him in the forehead, between his eyes, and Yuuji blinked. 

“It’s merely food for thought, Yuuji.” Why did you know his name again? “Don’t burden yourself with making decisions or anything of the sort. I suppose my answer was long-winded in regards to your question.” 

“Yeah, kinda,” he laughed, rubbing his cheek. “But, uh…it helped, I guess.” Yuuji pulled your hand down from poking him. “You don’t think Sukuna’s bad,” he concluded.

“I think he was a force of nature.” Your head tilted. Your eyes softened. “A monster to some, a god to others.” 

“‘N to you?”

Your eyes caught the morning light, iris reflecting with waking embers. 

“He was everything.”

Gojo thought you were pretty in the same way Getou was pretty; you were handsome with fine features, you radiated with odd power, and you spoke with unmatched poise and purpose it almost made the man’s ego swoon. 

But you looked tired as Getou had, too. Skin void of blushing warmth, eyes distant and hazy, dark circles pulling your gaze away from him. He didn't like it. It made him remember that cold hand ripping his heart to pieces. 

“Look who’s awake!” Gojo cheered as he sauntered toward you, hands in his pockets and a smile adorning his face. “Hungry? I could getcha some–”

“You were listening, were you not?” You wondered, running your bony fingers through matted fur systematically. Your split nails picked and clawed through tangles and knots thoroughly, as though it’d make a difference in your beat-up appearance. 

Gojo tilted his head before settling down in the seat beside your bed. “Hm? Me? Listening? To–”

“Yuuji and I.”

“Ah! You mean the night you snuck out to do some naughty, naughty things with my student?” 

You deadpanned fiercely, looking at him the way someone else used to. “Ha. Hm. Surely you jest.”

Gojo waggled his brows as much as he could, hoping they’d peek out over the top of his blindfold. “Hah, you think I don’t know what my sweet, precious Yuuji does behind closed doors? I know everything! I’m–”

“You misunderstand,” you cut him off, looking more and more concerned with each passing second. “You are a teacher? Why? How? This does not seem ethical.”

Gojo died. Rather, his pride did. Which was essentially his lifeforce. 

“What are you–okay, I’m just gonna chalk it up to you being cranky after getting woken up, alright? I’ll give you a pass. Just once!” Gojo nodded as a benevolent creature should. “You should thank me.”

“I’d rather not.” You sighed and returned to your grooming. “If you wish to interrogate me, I require food first. Tofu, specifically”

Gojo laughed. “Man, you are one high-maintenance god. Alright, you want normie tofu, or agedashi tofu?” 

You blinked and looked at him, curious. 

“Agedashi tofu?”

You really liked agedashi tofu. You liked the little sauce it came with, you liked the other random shit Gojo bought to try and win over your compliance–well, honestly, he also just wanted an excuse to shower someone with the food and snacks he liked. It’d been a long time since he’d had the privilege to. 

“So,” Gojo said as he popped the marble into the ramune bottle for you and handed it over, “About you and Sukuna.” 

“Mhm?” Your eyes glittered in fascination as you took the drink and examined it from all angles, carefully tilting it here and there to watch the blue bubbles rise to the top as the glass ball rolled and spun in its tiny prison. 

Gojo almost lost his train of thought watching you, but he reigned it in quickly.

“Seems like you were close.” Were was important. You'd referred to the menace in past tense when speaking with Yuuji–clearly, you didn't realize the curse resided within the young sorcerer. Best to keep it that way.

You pursed your lips in thought for a moment.

“I suppose. Why?” 

“I'm just nosy!” 

“I know that already. But there exists intelligence behind your annoying behaviour.” Your gaze slid to him, staring through the veil of fabric and straight into his eyes. “You're a monster like he was, aren't you?” 

“Hah?! Rude!” Gojo whined, but regained composure just as fast. “Seems your intuition is pretty good, huh?”

“It's simply an understanding of nature.” 

“Is that what pulled you to him? His nature?” 

“No. I was given to him. As a gift. By a clan of sorcerers.”

“Huh. A gift.”

“Yes. The harvest festival required as much. He was revered as a godly creature. Something to be feared.” 

“And so were you,” Gojo guessed, and you frowned and looked away, instead picking through the treats and snacks brought to you. 

“The people saw us very differently.”

Sukuna didn't walk through the city below often–not until you decided you liked it down there. 

Finding out that you walked through those streets alone sent a trill of something unpleasant up Sukuna's spine; knowing you were alone, vulnerable and under the eyes of so many that so often cursed Sukuna and wished him dead made him…uneasy, maybe. You could handle yourself. Sukuna simply couldn't handle the disrespect.

But things weren’t as he assumed.

You walked through town, and the people revered you as they would Amaterasu incarnate. Most didn't address you, but all saw and accepted your presence with grace and kindness, nodding or flickering small smiles as you passed by with the king trailing behind. 

Sukuna could understand; you'd become something astoundingly breathtaking. Lush, full tails dipped and swayed as you walked with the poised elegance of royalty, the feeling only enhanced by the careful, intricate way you presented yourself in your attire. Sukuna knew you felt beautiful. You were beautiful. 

“It's (Name!)” A child cried, and Sukuna fought the urge to punt the little shit into the restaurant across the road when the tiny human grabbed at your clothes. 

But you smiled. You actually smiled when you patted the girl on the head and said your sweet hellos before ushering her along after her mother. The corners of your eyes crinkled for once, showing that, yes, you'd aged and felt joy and become so perfect because of it. And when you cooed sweet farewells to passing little ones, your fangs flickered against the colour of your lips, just for a second. 

Your gilded gaze caught his carmine stare, and you tilted your head. 

“Sukuna.” You held your hand out to him, and he took it. He had no choice. He was only human, and you were God. Walking through a city of mortals.

He let you lead on, wandering to the shops where you bought thread and fabric for your stupid little projects with money he didn't even know you had. You could have just taken everything you wanted, especially with the king stood right by your side, but you eased the shopkeeper's nerves with kind words and ample pay. 

Sukuna all but picked you up and launched you both back home the second you were done meandering. He had a job to do; he had to fully commit to siring a runt.

Now, Gojo didn't need to know all that, but it didn't stop your mind from wandering to that night; it was the first time he looked at you like that. It was the first time he decided against lording his power over you, instead holding you close and taking things slow. You missed it. You yearned for the night he stopped seeing you as a toy and saw you as you. The night he finally learned your name.

“They viewed me as something divine,” you continued, digging out of the warmth of memories. “Perhaps because I walked alongside someone like him.” 

“Well, only gods can walk through a volcano and come out unscathed, no?” Gojo smiled a bit as you looked away, embarrassed. 

“That's a poor analogy.”

“Eh?”

“How would one walk through a volcano? None would even think to get close enough to do so.”

“W-Wait–”

“You would be underground, would you not? With limbs melted, oneself ablaze? And one would not walk but wade through lava.” 

“It's just a metaphor!” Gojo wailed. 

“A poor one.” And you continued to pick through snacks, unbothered that you'd just destroyed the strongest man alive as you munched on cheese-flavoured rice puffs.

Gojo laughed, though. “I can see why he liked you. Supports the theory he's not the one who put you in the coffin.” 

“It wasn't him,” you snapped. Your ears flattened against your skull as you shrunk in on yourself. “At least…not directly.” 

Oh? Gojo leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees as he laced his fingers together.

“Then who was it? What happened?” 

“I don't fully understand it myself,” you confessed. Your voice was a whisper, cold and lonely like a far North winter. 

“Maybe I can help.” 

You looked to him and back down again. 

“There was a man. A sorcerer. I don't know his name–I never cared to learn it. He was odd.” You tore up little bits of hi-chew wrappers as you spoke. “He asked me if I would sacrifice myself for Sukuna.” 

“And?” Gojo prodded. 

“I would not,” you said. “Sukuna would never need my sacrifice, he'd never need my aid. He was the strongest.” A light frown tugged at the corners of your mouth. “That creature thought otherwise. He mentioned something about additional wombs, but I don't know what that means.” 

Fuck. Gojo nodded politely. “Gotcha, gotcha. What'd this guy look like? You remember?” 

“Unremarkable, save for the odd sutures across his forehead.” 

“Oh? Interesting. Alright, last question, my cute little kitsune–”

“(Name),” you cut in. “Address me as (Name).”

Gojo sparkled. “Waaah, I think our relationship just leveled up to A-tier! One more level and I can romance–”

“Please do not make me hurt you.” 

The white witch whined and deflated against his chair. “Boooring.”

You huffed and flicked your ear. “Ask your question, goblin.” 

Gojo took a breath before he spoke. 

“Are you with child right now?” 

The world changed suddenly. Seal papers coating the walls drowned in bones and flowers as the pungent sweetness of orchids and decay curled around Gojo. Around you, a cage began to rise, jutting out from the earth and encircling you like thousands of rigid arms holding you in an embrace. And your eyes–they shone with abhorrent divinity, outshining even the nine, pristine tails breathing with blackened fire. 

But there was screaming. Two voices intertwined. Little and distant, warped and outraged at–at something. Maybe Gojo? Maybe his accusations, his questions? 

Just when the sorcerer was about to act, your clasped a hand over your stomach, and you whispered with the thrum of a thousand voices:

“Be still.” 

It all moved slowly, then. The phenomenon–the apparent domain expansion–reversed, sinking back into the floors and walls with the soft sound of chittering and cooing taking the place of wicked screeches. You, too, cooed back to the twin voices, placating them with maternal ease. 

Your divinity faded with the last shreds of the illusion. Now, your colours faded further, painting you in desaturated tones of exhaustion and worry. Gojo hated that palette. It'd been used too many times on too many he doted on. God was stupid like that, creating such sad, worrisome colours.

The sorcerer took a deep breath in the silence of the room. He didn't know what to say, or how to say it. He was never good at this kind of thing. His other half was much better at this. 

But he had to try. The look on your face told him he had to try. 

What would he have done?

Gojo’s hand reached out as he leaned forward, and he caught your scarred, bony hand in his own. You didn’t pull away, you didn't fight him, you instead curled your fingers around his and held your breath while your gaze became unseeing, your heart ceased beating just as your breathing had. For a moment, you died.

“I'm sorry,” Gojo whispered. And you nodded. Somehow, he knew it meant, ‘me too.’ 

It was then, touching you, that he could feel the negative energy thrumming beneath a shell of divinity. Two different un-lives coiled inside of you, filled with bitter hate for man and undying love for their mother. For you. It wasn't unlike the bond shared between Yuuta and Rika, but this was not as simple. 

“Your ilk did not approve of Sukuna siring children,” you murmured. Your grip on his hand turned poisonous. “If you try to take them from me–”

“What'll you do?” He asked, knowing they'd never be born. 

“--I will turn everything to ash. Set fire to the skies. Just as I have once already.”

“Good.” Gojo smiled. “You'd be a good mother.” 

“I hope I one day can be.”

The masked menaced nodded again as he idly soothed his thumb across your knuckles. “Never say never, yenno? We'll figure something out for you. If you can do something to help the school–”

“I can give gifts. Once I have the energy.” You didn't sound like you did. Gojo wasn't sure if you ever would.

“Yeah? Like what?” He asked anyway. 

You looked at him, weak and defeated, yet still clinging to life. 

“My divine favour.”

[anime-owo-kage-san]

Okay, so I heard/read (can’t remember where) some person say that Husk, back when he was an overlord, was dubbed “The King Of Hearts”, because of all the heart prints in his body, (and bc his powers are connected to card stuff)

So now, I’m stuck imagining him being really popular with hundreds of admirers. He’s stolen more hearts than souls.

Which lead me to this random super crack scenario I came up with, after watching an old 2000s show lmao:

- Cannibal Town had injured people, after the extermination, and wrecked homes.

- Charlie decides to both help and use the situation as a redemption activity; earn enough money to finally support cannibal town’s people. (Ofc, she asked her dad to take care of it, may they fail to get enough money though.)

- Alastor suggests they host a ‘date auction’. Highest bidder willing to donate, gets a date.

Angel: “Gee. I’m flattered and all, Smiles. But, I’m kiiiinda on break today…”

Alastor: “Oh, don’t worry my effeminate fellow! I wasn’t suggesting to use you! Aside from the fact that another overlord owns you, and I don’t wish to deal with their jealous tantrums— I know someone who was quite the charmer, and still is if he puts himself back together! Right Husker?”

- Then Alastor goes on and on about how Husk was constantly targeted by admirers, without even trying. And how, regardless of being stripped of his status, he knows sinners and hell borns would die (a second time) to have one day with the King of Hearts all to themselves.

Alastor: “Trust me, Husker. There were once rumors that the King of Hearts ‘captured’ my heart, so I gambled for your soul because I wanted you all to myself. As repulsive and incorrect as those baseless claims were, it proves that their are still sinners out there, desperate for you, and weren’t happy the day you were taken down.”

- Sooo… They did the auction. Husk reassured Charlie that he was fine with it. (Besides, Alastor let him wear a suit similar to his old one.) Not many sinners showed up, because not everyone could afford to buy out the King of Hearts for the day.

- The bidding starts somewhere around 1,000, slowly getting higher, raising a sign with their number label on it as they scream out one high price above the other, until…

???: “60 grand.”

- Everyone turns to see a really hot, busty, woman in the middle of the crowd, holding up her number.

- Angel’s eyes are wide in disbelief. He’d recognize those jugs anywhere!

Angel: *hissing under his breath* “Tit-fucker..!”

Vaggie: “Wait. What?”

- Like hell Angel was going to let “Tiffany Tit-fucker” buy Husk out for a whole fucking day!

- So he shoves one of the bidders away, stealing their number sign.

Angel: “Um… 60, 001?”

Tiffany: “70 grand.”

Angel: “70, 001?”

Tiffany: “80 grand.”

Angel: “80, 00—Fuck it…” *tosses sign to the ground* “No amount of dick sucking is gonna get me that much cash…”

- So, Tiffany buys out Husk, The King of Hearts, for the whole day, and a jealous Angel (and Niffty, just because I want her there) spies on them during the whole date.

[pitchsidestories]

New Year's Eve Party (1) II Fridolina Rolfö x Bonmati!Reader

New Year's Eve Party Masterlist I Word count: 1275

With a playful smile you started playing the song Gimme Gimme Gimme which was immediately recognized by your Swedish girlfriend.

From the speakers, the two female leading voices sung passionately, There's not a soul out there. No one to hear my prayer. Amused she turned around to look into your eyes:” You know just because I’m Swedish I don’t automatically love ABBA.”

“But you love that song.”, you reminded her with an innocent grin. “Okay, yes. But not all ABBA songs.”, she sighed but could not help beaming as you were whispering the lyrics into her ear. Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away?

“Maybe Aitana afterwards?”, you suggested while you were trying to hang up some fairy lights to brighten up your home. Both of you were happy about being the host for this Barcelona Team New Year Eve’s party. Amused Fridolina remarked: “Just because she’s called like your sister.” “Yeah true.”, you giggled.

Slightly concerned the tall Blonde furrowed her brows at you:” What are you doing, huh?” “Trying to hang up the fairy lights?”, you responded nervously. She shook her head in disbelief: “There?!” “Yes, I thought it would look pretty.”, you shrugged your shoulders. Clearing her throat Fridolina proposed her idea: “Wouldn’t it look better over there?” “No.” “No?”

“We can try It there and when decide where to put them up.”, you offered her as a peace sign. The Swedish forward observed smirking: “It doesn’t matter to you anyway you can’t reach it.”  “Rude! Maybe with a little bit of help from your side I could reach it.”, you told her.

With ease Fridolina lifted you up so you could put up the fairy lights: “Hurry up, you’re heavy.” “Done.”, you cheered only a few seconds later. Relieved the blonde let you down to your own feet again:” Good. Because I probably shouldn’t lift people with my knee.”

“Oh dios mio, I’m sorry, mi amor.”, you immediately apologized to her tracing kisses all over her to make the pain go by faster. A slight blush creeped up the cheeks of your girlfriend as she reassured you:”I’m okay, don’t worry.”  “Okay, good.”, you replied. Both of you got lost in each other’s eyes.

The warm lights made your brown eyes look golden which fascinated Fridolina very much before a glance at the clock made her realize you two were running out of time sooner than she expected:” But we have to hurry up.” “Right, the first guests will arrive soon.”, you agreed with her more serious in tone than before. Motivated the Blonde clapped in her hands:” And we still have to get ready. So help me put the garlands up.”

“That’s true.“ , you nodded while holding up the other side of the garland so Fridolina could tape it to the wall. You let your gaze drift through the room that now looked more like party location than your home.

“Do you think Lucy will tell her crush how she feels? I mean the whole team knows by now except the one important person.“, you thought out loud, a hint of a smile in your voice. Your girlfriend snorted in reply; “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s Lucy. She’s way too proud for that.“ “Yes but that’s so stupid, Frido.“, you sighed.

Fridolina casually took the garland out of your hand to attach the other side to the wall as well. “We can’t make her see that.“, she shrugged. “Sadly. Leila is coming too, right?", you decide to change the subject while placing some shimmering confetti on the tables that you know you will regret putting there weeks after the party. Taking a step back, your girlfriend eyed her work critically; “Yes, she’s. She wanted to visit her friends here.“

A smile immediately spread on your face, happy that your former team mate came for a visit; “That’s cute.“ “I know, right?“ “Yes, you know back when she played for Barcelona I always felt like Leila and one of our midfielders had that special chemistry.“, you told her with a conspirational wink.

Instead of asking who it was, as you expected, Fridolina just gave you a stern look: “No. Stop trying to play cupid“. “Sorry, I love doing it.“, you blinked at her with big, innocent eyes. Your girlfriend pointed to the cardboard box full of decorations; “Yes, but now we have to focus on the decoration.“ “You’re right.“, you gave in and continued to help her.

A little later, the walls of your house were covered with garlands, balloons and a huge sign that said “2024“. You were very happy with the result. With all the lights and the glitter everywhere, you could feel the excitement rise.

Nervously, you grabbed your phone to check the time and noticed a string of messages from your team mates; “Oh no. The girls on their ways, we need to change into our party clothes!“

“Wait.“, Fridolina called you back. You gave her a puzzled look; “What?“ “We forgot to put up that huge mirrorball.“ You blew out a breath and clapped your hands together; “We need to do this before our guests arrive.“ “Do you think we can reach the ceiling?“, your girlfriend asked while thoughtfully looking upwards. With a shrug, you took the ball; “We can try.“ “I’ll pick you up.“, she decided.

Before you could protest that she shouldn’t do that with her injured knee, you were already in her arms. With a bit of stretching and some accidental kicking of Fridolina, you managed to attach the mirrorball to the ceiling. You had to admit, the room looked even better with all the light being reflected now.

“What do you think you’re doing?“, a voice called from behind them. You both flinched. Startled, Fridolina lost her grip on you, but managed to regain it before you actually fell. “Oh my god, don’t scare us like that!“, she scolded, once your feet were back on the ground. Alexia and her wife stood next to each other in matching dresses and you were immediately reminded that you were still in sweats.

Guiltily you bit your lip before exclaiming:” Honestly we thought you and your wife would be the last to arrive!” “Mama came early.”, Alexia explained, her voice less stern than it was before.  Knowing her teammate and the love she had for her daughter Victoria Alba all too well Fridolina couldn’t help but to tease her a bit: “And will leave early?” “As usual.”, you added.

“It’s good that you’re already here though. The catering service will bring the food any minute now, maybe you can let them in, so we can get dressed in the meantime?”, the Swedish forward asked the wives. The team’s captain did not need long to think about that proposal: “Yes, no worries, I can do that even with my knee.” Relieved you hugged your first visitors before you headed to the bathroom with Fridolina:” Thank you!”

As you were getting ready side by side you could not help but to pause for a second to take the beauty in that was your girlfriend:” You look beautiful Frido.” “Thank you. So do you.”, the Scandinavian woman answered while pressing a soft kiss to your cheek careful not to ruin the makeup you applied a few seconds ago.

The anticipation of the awaiting evening and night got under your skin as you wanted to know from her: “Ready for tonight?”  “Very. I can’t wait.”, Fridolina replied honest.

With a look through the window you saw Mapi, Ingrid, their girlfriend, Patri, Claudia and your sister arriving at your : “Oh yes, seems like the party is about to begin.”

Let us know if you enjoyed Part 1 💙

[th3casscad3]

Time Gone Wrong??

After Rummaging Through Your Dusty Old Attic, You Found A Box Full Of Your Grandparents Things From The 1930's. Curious, You Touch A Watch That Leads You Back To Its Time. Suddenly, You Find Yourself Standing On The Sidewalk Dressed In 1930's Fashion.. Warnings/Triggers: Dark Humor, Time Error, Going Back In Time, Time Traveling, Serial Killer Radio Host, G!N Reader. Characters: 3, 568 ************************************************************************ It Was A Boring Weekend, Around The Time Of Spring Cleaning. So Today, You Decided To Tackle Through Your Attic, You Figured You Could Turn It Into Something New. So, As You Were Going Through And Cleaning Out Old Boxes You Found A Box With Your Grandparents Name On It. Curious, You Decide To Pause Your Cleaning And Take The Box Downstairs To Your Living Room. You Find Picture Albums, Jewelry, Letters, And What Seemed To Be An Old Pocket Watch. However, It Held A Name You Didn't Recognized. You Read The Name Aloud " Alastor, 1930's. " You Admired The Silver Watch. It Had A Beautiful Silver Chain Connected To It And It Seemed To Be In Delicate Shape. When You Opened The Watch Up You Were Suddenly Sleepy. You Closed Your Eyes For A Quick Second. When You Opened Your Eyes Again You Found Yourself Outside..? You Were On The Sidewalk Passing People Who Were Dressed In 1930's Attire. Strange, You Thought. You Looked Down At Your Hand To Find The Watch Still In. You Placed It Around Your Neck. Thats When You Caught A Full Glimpse Of Your Attire, You Were Dressed Head To Toe In 1930 Apparel. " What The Fu- " You Said But You Were Suddenly Cut Off With The Laughter Of A Man. You Looked Up To See A Tall Man Standing In Front Of You. He Wore A White Buttoned Shirt With A Brown Vest And Bow Tie. His Bottoms Were Black Slacks And Dress Down Shoes. You Noticed He Wore Black Gloves. He Had Honey Skin And Beautiful Chocolate Eyes. He Wore Round Glasses And His Hair Was A Dusty Brown Color. " Pardon Me, I Had To Interrupt Your Little Breakdown But I Believe You Are Wearing My Pocket Watch, Yes..? " He Wore A Wide Smile And Stuck Out His Hand. You Simply Blinked At Him With A Dumbfounded Expression. " Are You Alastor 1930's? " You Blurted Out, A Bit Louder Than You Had Hoped. " Why, The One And Only! You Might Have Heard Of Me From My Radio Show! " His Smile Grew As So Did His Hand. " Now, Be A Dear And Hand Me Back What's Mine. " You Nodded And Gave Him Back His Watch. Something About This Man Put A Weird Smile On Your Face. You Noticed Him About To Leave When Suddenly You Asked " Wait, Alastor! Do You Mind Showing Me Around. I'm Quite New Here. " You Gave A Nervous Smile, Not Wanting To Be Alone In A Unfamiliar Place. Alastor Smiled And Wrapped Your Arm Around His, Guiding You Around The Town " Why You Must Have Came Here After The Stock Market Crash Of 1929! My It Was A Real Limb Pulling Experience, Ha Ha Ha! " You Gave Out A Laugh, Finding His Dark Sense Of Humor Funny. You Couldn't Help But Crack A Joke Of Your Own. " My, I Have Many Jokes About Unemployed People. Sadly, None Of Them Work! " Alastor Blurted Out With Laughter, He Then Spoke With A Wheeze " Wait Wait! How About This One, You're Not Completely Useless.. You Can Serve As A Bad Example!! " You And Alastor Both Found Yourself In A Fit Of Laughter. You Had Both Been Pulling So Many Joked You Didn't Even Realize You Had Finished The Tour. However, You Weren't Quite Ready For The Fun To End Yet. Just Then, A Question Popped Into Your Head. " Hey, You Wouldn't Happen To Know (Grandparents Name) Do You? " He Then Smiled Brightly And Nodded His Head Yes. " But Of Course! They Are Quite The Company, Such Good Fellows. Always Helping Me "Drop The Load" If You Know What I Mean! " " Quite, I'd Say They've Always Known How To "Kick The Bucket", Say You Wouldn't Mind If I "Crashed" At Your Place. " You Answered With A Sly Grin. " Why, Of Course Not. Say, Did You Hear About The Guy Who Got His Left Side Chopped Off..? He's All Right Now! "

[1-800reki]

❝Haruhi has a What?!❞

summary: Oneshot with Haruhi Fujioka!

Description: You and Haruhi have been dating for some time but don't attend the same school. So you decide to visit her!

Pairings: Haruhi Fujioka x GN reader

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Haruhi picked up her phone that's been ringing for the past 5 minutes. She checked the contact to see the name 'Y/n <3'. She smiled slightly before picking it up. "Hello?" She asked into the phone. A few seconds of silence before a voice spoke out to her. "Haruhi! I just got out of school early so I thought what better way to spend it then to spend it with you!" You say happily into the phone riding the train.

"You're coming now? I mean it's sweet and all but I'm still here after school." She said before noticing Kyoya looking at her. "I have to go but if you do drop by I'm in Music Room 3." Haruhi said before hanging up. When you heard the phone beep you pouted slightly. You didn't even get to say 'I love you' to her!

"Please silence your phone next time Haruhi. You can't pick up a call when with customers." Kyoya said with a smile on his face as she nodded. "Got it senpai.." She said before going to back to the girls she was talking to.

Soon enough you opened the door to Music Room 3 to look for Haruhi. Besides it was almost time for her to go home. You scanned the room when Kyoya walked up to you. "Pardon me but I don't think I recognize you. Do you come to this school?" He asked you with a smile as he held his notebook. You shook your head no. "I don't go here. I'm only picking up my girlfriend." You say looking away from him to scan for Haruhi. "I see. What's your girlfriend's name?" He asked you. Before you could answer Haruhi came over when he saw you.

"Y/n? You actually came?" Haruhi asked with a slightly shocked expression. You beamed and engulfed Haruhi in a hug. "Of course I came silly! I think your dad would scold me if I let you walk by yourself." You say with a smile. Haruhi chuckles slightly. "Yeah I guess you're right." She said hugging you back. Kyoya seemed slightly shocked before he smiled giving you two some space.

Haruhi still had to stay for a bit longer to wrap up the end of the host club. So like a good partner you waited outside till she said you could go back in. You got a few weird looks from students passing by but they minded their business nonetheless. Once she said you could come in you happily followed her as she needed to grab her stuff.

Though the host club was staring at you while you waited. It was a few seconds before two twins came up to you. "We've never seen you around before." Said one of them. "Yeah. How are you so close to Haruhi?" asked the other. You just simply smiled. "Well she's my girlfriend? I go to a different school that's why." You answered them. They looked quite shocked before smirking. They turned their head to look over to where the other people are standing and said in unison "Oh Boss! Guess what!" A blonde guy looked at them and tilted his head.

"What is it? Hikaru? Kaoru?" He asked. The twins, Hikaru and Kaoru, beckoned him to come over as the slung their arms over your shoulder. "This person right here. Is your Haruhi's little partner." They said in unison. The blonde guy froze in shock before he sulked in the corner. Haruhi came back with her stuff ready to leave when she saw what was happening. She only sighed knowing they found out. "Leave them alone Hikaru and Kaoru." Haruhi said with a sigh walking towards you.

The looked at each other and shrugged letting go of you. "Before all of you start asking questions this is my partner Y/n L/n." Haruhi said gesturing to you to which you wave at them. They didn't have a chance to speak before Haruhi took your hand and pulled you away. She didn't want to deal with their questions about you and her.

The club stood there for a few minutes before all collectively thought one thing. Haruhi has a what?!

a/n: is this skibidi 😕

[dankfarrikfifi]

The Birthday Bash

Pt 1 of Some Version of You, 4.8k

A/N: contains mentions of smoking and drug use, a cute first encounter, and a few kisses. reader is not described other than being shorter than Frankie, wearing glasses, and having hair long enough to braid. This is my first ever fic, I’m hoping you guys like it! Reader has a name in my mind but I liked keeping it open for you to decide. Let me know what you think! Hopefully I’ll have the second part up soon :) Will get more explicit as the story goes on.

For as long as you could remember, your birthday was never your own. Sometimes it was a point of contention, but because it was shared with your lifelong best friend, Benny Miller, you couldn’t be too mad about it. Since you were 4 and Benny was 6, the two of you had shared a party, your “Birthday Bash” as it had come to be called. By the time you were turning 24, this had not changed.

People were piled into every corner of the backyard of the house you shared with Benny, some your closest friends, others very vague connections that were simply capitalizing on the opportunity to party. There was a fire blazing in the pit, and the pool was threatening to spill over with the amount of bodies filling it, despite the slight chill that had settled in the air. Benny, being the social butterfly that he is, was wandering around, greeting guests and chatting with anyone who came his way. You, on the other hand, were observing from a distance, perched on the retaining wall in the back of the yard with Benny’s brother. Will Miller, being the oldest and more reserved of the brothers, was content to share a quiet moment with you, passing a joint back and forth.

“Ya know,” Will said before releasing the smoke he had been holding in his mouth, “You should probably go greet some of your guests, be a nice host.”

“As if,” you nudge his shoulder with yours, almost knocking the both of you over in your haze. You erupt in a fit of giggles, a sound that should not come out of a man his size escaping Will. “We all know Benny is the social twin and I’m the antisocial one.”

“I thought twins were normally the same age,” he has made this argument countless times, and it’s almost automatic at this point, “And also, had the same parents.”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to fall into the trap of arguing this one out with a high Miller boy. Instead, you motion for the joint, pulling your hands around the lighter as the flame flickers. You’re midway through a deep inhale when you look up and notice the two men walking towards you. And at the sight of the taller one, the breath gets caught in your throat, and the coughing starts up. You feel like you can’t breathe, from the combination of smoke burning in your lungs and the incredibly attractive man.

“Jesus, dude, what’s wrong with you?” Will is laughing, patting your back in a lame attempt at easing your suffering. You finally manage a deep breath in as the two men finally reach you. The shorter of the two looks around 30, short kept curly hair and some stubble across his cheek. You vaguely recognize him, trying to place his face while also checking out the other one. He’s tall. Like really tall, at least compared to you. His handsome, boyish face is clean shaven, and his dark brown hair looks as if it’s a few months out from a buzz cut.

“I’m good, I’m good,” you manage to get out, “lost my breath there for a second.”

“It’s because we’re just that damn good looking, Miller.” the shorter one greets with a sharp grin on his face. Will flips him the finger, before standing up and man-hugging them each. They pat each other on the back and grin, and you realize why they had looked so familiar. You had seen them in the pictures Will had saved from the army.

“Santi, glad to see you’re still an arrogant asshole,” Will shoots back as he sits next to you, gesturing for the men to sit on the bench situated across from the two of you. “Fish, looking good, how are you doing?”

“Doing good, Will, doing good.” The taller one, Fish as Will had called him, grumbles, his deep voice resonating in your mind. He turns to you, holding a hand out in greeting, “I’m Frankie, nice to meet you.”

You blush, hoping the night hides it from the attractive man in front of you, grasping his hand in yours. It’s huge in comparison, warm and calloused. You introduce yourself to him before turning and doing the same to his friend.

“Ah, the birthday girl!” He grins at you, “Very nice to meet you. I’m Santi, we were in Delta Force with Will.”

“Oh cool!” you smile at the two of them, holding out the joint in a silent offer that they both take you up on, “Will’s talked about you guys a lot, nice to meet you. What brings you to town?”

The four of you get to talking, Santi explaining that he and Frankie had needed a change of scenery after leaving the army, and Will had talked so highly of the town they now all lived in. Frankie chimed in with some details here and there, but otherwise didn’t talk as much as his counterpart. Despite this, you feel your eyes drifting to him more, catching his own already looking at you. You learn that Santi had joined Will in his recent purchase of a local gym, down the street from the coffee shop you worked at.

“Little Mike’s, seriously?” you laugh, the name always bringing you amusement, “I love that place! Benny and I work out there all the time. Please tell me you’re not changing the name.”

“Of course not!” Santi assures you. “I don’t even know who Mike is, though.

“No one does, that’s what makes it so amazing. It’s a mystery.” you joke, and you internally cheer when it gets Frankie to laugh a little. You turn your attention to him.

“What about you, Frankie?” you ask him, trying to learn more about the quiet man. He clears his throat slightly before speaking, the joint held delicately in his fingers.

“I’m actually working as a mechanic, at the shop on Central?” he maintains eye contact the entire time, making you feel like it is just the two of you for a brief moment.

“You two will definitely be seeing each other a lot, then,” Will laughs, and you yet again shove your shoulder against his, “Frankie’s a coffee addict, and you can’t keep a car running to save your life.”

He wasn’t wrong, and you can’t help but laugh along with him. And when Benny stumbles up to the group, you and Will are still giggling uncontrollably, made worse by Benny almost wiping out.

“Shut up, assholes,” he grumbles at you, straightening out before greeting everyone. “Boys, good to see you, welcome to the birthday bash!”

He grabs you by the arm, pulling you into his side and pressing a kiss to your head. You scrunch your face in mock disgust and roll your eyes, used in full at this point to Benny and his overly affectionate nature.

“You ready for cake, birthday girl?” He asks, spinning you around and catching you when the spin has a little too much force behind it.

“Absolutely birthday boy, lead the way.”

The two of you stumble in towards the house, and along the way Benny starts to yell: “Time for cake!”. People cheer, following into the back door while you grab the cake from the fridge. As per usual, you had one cake, specially decorated for you and Benny, and several other sheets of cupcakes for everyone else to share. Benny sticks some candles in the top of the cake, 24 for you and 26 for him, and leans in to light them. At once, everyone starts singing happy birthday. When you look up, you can’t help but latch your eyes onto Frankie, who you hadn’t noticed was right in front of you.

“Happy birthday to you!” they all finish, a loud cheer filling the living room. And, as tradition dictated, you and Benny each grabbed a handful of cake, shoving it in each other's faces. You’re laughing uncontrollably, and eventually everyone starts filing back out to the pool after grabbing their sweet treats. You turn to the kitchen, ready to wipe the frosting off your face, and run straight into a solid chest. Frankie catches you, hands wrapping firmly around your shoulders.

“Shit, sorry,” he slurs ever so slightly, and you realize he’s just as faded as you are right now, “Happy birthday. Didn’t say that earlier.”

“Thanks,” you blush, noticing his hands are still on your shoulders. He seems to notice at the same time, pulling them back to rest at his sides. His dark eyes remain fixed on you, a heavy gaze that leaves your head spinning.

“I, uh, I’m stoned,” he grins at you and you can’t help but return the smile, the two of you unconsciously making your way through the house, away from the crowd. You find yourselves in the living room, where a few people, including Will and Santi, sat scattered around. You half expected that you would go and join the two of them, but instead Frankie steers you towards the love seat, sinking down into it with a groan.

“This is the best couch I’ve ever sat on,” He looks up at you, an amused glint in his hazy eyes. Something in that look fuels your confidence enough that you sit down next to him, the furniture not allowing quite enough room for you both without being pressed together. If your head was less fuzzy, from the weed and the festivities and the very cute man sitting next to you, you probably would not have had the courage to lean into him as you begin conversing.

You quickly find that you and Frankie get along well. You share stories of your childhoods, discuss favorite foods, movies, any topic that pops into either of your heads. The rest of the party seems to fade away as you chat and chat, occasionally parting when someone approaches to say goodbye to you and Benny as the night grows to a close. Before long, there are 5 bodies left in the room; Will, sprawled back in the arm chair; Santi and Benny, playing a game of cribbage on the floor; you and Frankie on the love seat, him sprawled out and slouched back, you with your knees to your chest and feet tucked under his thigh.

“Earth to Frankie!” Santi calls from across the room, startling the two of you out of your enthralling conversation on coffee. “I asked if you wanted to play?”

Frankie blushes slightly, something that does not go unnoticed by you. You lock eyes with Benny, who has a sly grin plastered on his face. Will’s expression is much the same. You start to wonder how long they had been trying to get Frankie’s attention while you were talking.

“What are you two even talking about?” Benny teases, as if he can read your mind. You narrow your eyes at him without responding. Instead, you stand up and stretch, yawning as well.

“I don’t know about you boys, but it’s past my bedtime.” you change the subject, having realized it’s nearing 1 in the morning and you’re opening crew at the shop in 5 hours. You bid goodnight to them all, with the promise to see them soon, and head up to your room. Getting ready for bed in record time, you’re soon nestled under the covers, attempting to fall asleep. But something is stopping you from fully relaxing. After several minutes of tossing and turning, you finally drift off.

———————————————————————————

It feels like you’ve been asleep for maybe half an hour when your first alarm goes off. As usual, you snooze without thinking. Not long after, your “I really have to leave now” alarm is going off. You groan, exhausted and just the slightest bit hungover, giving yourself a second to be miserable before pushing back the covers to start your day.

It doesn’t take you long to get ready, and soon you’re off for the day. The 8 minute drive to work gives you just enough time to think about last night, and by the time you arrive your mind can barely focus on your opening tasks. All you can focus on is the man you met last night, Frankie. The two of you had clicked so effortlessly, an instant connection that you hadn’t felt with anyone in the past. And although he seemed a handful of years older than you, that didn’t stop the budding romantic feelings from taking root in your chest. Finally, you have the shop set up to your liking, a song playing softly in the background and tables organized to optimize space.

The shop promises to be open at 7, and although you don’t always make that it looks like today will be better than most. At 6:58 you’re unlocking the door and propping it open, letting the early morning sunlight shine across the hardwood floor. And soon, you’re able to lose yourself in the day. Alia, you’re cashier and partner in crime for the day, bustles in a few minutes late with an apologetic kiss to your cheek. Soon after, the pre-work rush begins and you don’t have a moment to think of last night as you work to make latte after latte. By the time the rush has passed you’re sweating and need to take a break.

“Alia, I’m taking a fifteen, just holler if someone comes in, will ya?”

She confirms with you, and you gather your bag from behind the register and head to the very back corner of the store. You love it back here, sitting in the corner of two benches, with enough table space to lay out your supplies. Your favorite part of the day, any day, is when you get to hide back here and write to your heart's content. It’s usually only as long as the lull between the breakfast and lunch rush, but you still try to lose yourself. It’s so far a success, until you feel a shadow slip over the table, blurring the words you had just been scribbling. You glance up, and you can’t quite believe your eyes.

Frankie is towering over you, a sly grin on his face as you startle slightly.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, and when you nod your head at him he slides into the chair across from you, smiling all the while. You can’t help the tug of your lips as you smile back. Frankie gestures towards your notebook.

“Do you write?” he questions, and you feel a slight flush rising on your cheeks.

“Yea, any chance I get.” You reply, and without thinking you’re sharing your latest story with him. You’re soon lost in discussion, only interrupted by Alia. She blinks for a second, looking between the two of you, before she turns to you with an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry, can you come and make a few drinks. They’re a little outside of my wheelhouse.”

“Oh of course, I’ll be right back,” you say to Frankie and rushes to the counter. Never in your life have you made a London fog and mocha faster, but after a few minutes you’re able to return to your spot. To your surprise and genuine enjoyment, Frankie is still there. He grins as you set a cup of black coffee in front of him.

“I didn’t know how you liked it,” you say, almost shy.

“Sure you did,” he laughs, holding the cup up towards you in a mock toast. “Black as can be, that’s how it’s meant to be.”

“Ok fair, black coffee is good, but sometimes the fru-fru stuff is the best.”

And so launches a fierce debate between you, while the air of levitivity remains. You get up every once in a while to make a drink, but mostly remain at the table, chatting with your new friend. Finally, Frankie looks at his watch and startles.

“Shit, lost track of time, my shift started 10 minutes ago!” You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling honored that he was late for work because he had been so engaged with you. You said your goodbyes as he rushed out of the shop, trying to sneakily leave a 20 in the tip jar. You waved for a beat too long, realizing it with a flutter in your stomach. A nervous excitement has filled you during your time together, and you aren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“So, you gonna tell me who that handsome man was?” Alia startles you as she slides up to your side. “Are you seeing him?”

“No! I just met him last night, he’s a friend of Will’s,” you explain to her, without giving away too much. Being the perceptive girl she is, you’re sure she’ll see through to the truth of how you’re feeling. However, she must be feeling merciful, as she doesn’t push you, leaving you to think it through yourself. It, of course being, your newfound feelings for Frankie.

——————————————————————-

It’s been a few days since you last saw Frankie. Picking up some extra shifts had left you with little free time, and the spare minutes you did have were reserved for working on your writing. A fresh idea had popped into your head midway through your shift Monday, and by Friday you had a very, very rough draft. You were sitting on the loveseat in comfy clothes, hair braided on each side and your ridiculously large “artsy glasses” (as Benny had dubbed them) perched atop your nose. You’re so focused on the keyboard at your fingers that you barely notice the knock at the door.

“I got it!” Benny bellows, rushing towards the door like a golden retriever. He yanks it open to reveal Santi, Will and Frankie standing on the steps. You still aren’t wholly paying attention, not until you hear Frankie’s deep chuckle coming from the doorway of the living room. Your head shoots up and you meet his eyes. You can’t help the grin on your face.

“Hi.” You say in simple greeting, quickly saving the document you had been working on and shoving your computer under the coffee table.

“Hey there,” Frankie responds, settling into the seat next to you. It isn’t until that moment that you realize the amount of skin shown off by your comfy outfit. He’s wearing shorts, and your bare legs press together on the tight couch. It sends a rush down your spine, and you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as the rest of the boys file in, a riot of laughter at some unheard joke.

“Sorry bud, hope you don’t mind,” Benny says to you as they all settle into their various spots. “We were gonna watch the fight at Will’s but his power went out.”

“No worries Ben, I’ll leave you guys to it.” You move to stand, but are surprised when a hand wraps around your wrist. You glance down at Frankie, who is now leveling you with some serious puppy dog eyes.

“Stay with us, we’re ordering food.” You almost think you can see a blush on his cheeks, and you acquiesce.

“Ok, if you insist,” you joke, “Just let me go get changed out of my pajamas for the first time today.”

You rush upstairs, throwing on some less revealing yet still comfortable clothes, before stopping in the mirror. You can’t help but check, see if you’re looking as cute as you want. Before you can second guess, you rush back downstairs as Benny starts hollering your name.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you yell back. You trounce back into the living room, hoping that you’re not imagining the glance Frankie chances at the sliver of skin between your sweatpants and t-shirt.

“Pepperoni and pineapple, coke to drink?” Benny confirms with you, as if you hadn’t had the same order for the past 20 years. You nod at him before settling back in next to Frankie. It takes a while for the food to get to the house, all the while you are trying to ignore every point your bodies come in contact with one another. It’s a futile effort, especially when he seems to be inching closer every few minutes. Once the food is delivered, and everyone else was distracted by that, Frankie finally has a moment alone with you.

“So, how’s your week been?” he asks you, arm slung across the back of the cushions, just barely dragging against your shoulder. You can’t help but lean into the touch.

“Pretty good, you?” you ask back.

“Pretty good, worked some extra shifts, had some amazing coffee,” he winks at you when he says that point, the blush that seemed ever present around him spreading across your cheeks, “How’s the writing going?”

Your face involuntarily lights up, always excited to share some of your ideas with someone with a bit more reading tendencies than Benny. Before you can start word-vomiting about your current piece, Santi appears out of thin air, motioning the two of you to the kitchen.

“Ben’s bulking, might want to get in there before it’s all gone.”

You both thank him and rush into the kitchen, grabbing a sufficient amount of food. You grin when Frankie bumps his hip against yours, not quite sure if it was on purpose or not. Whichever it was, it made you smile and think maybe it wasn’t just you with the ever growing feelings. You try not to dwell on it too much, instead following Frankie back to the living room and falling back into what you are quickly finding to be your assigned seat.

This time you’re sitting cross legged, facing him on the love seat while he leans back, his legs spread ever so slightly to hold the plate of pizza on his lap. You’re all chatting, Benny and Will trying to start a fight with Santi over the best fighter in the ring tonight. You honestly couldn’t care less, and it seems Frankie is the same. Soon, the talking turns to cheering at the TV once the fight starts. You almost jump when Frankie leans in close, whispering in your ear.

“I had fun the other night,” he starts, gesturing with his head towards the back yard. “I brought my own stash, wanna share with me?”

You beam at him, and without explaining to the others, the two of you sneak out the sliding glass door to the back yard. With some fiddling you have the string lights illuminated, bathing the deck in a soft glow while Frankie preps a bowl for the two of you. He’s sitting on the outdoor couch, and you hesitate for a second, debating between sitting next to him or across on the bench. Before you can make a decision Frankie pats the seat next to him with one hand, not even looking up from what he’s doing.

“I figured I owed you for letting me smoke all of your weed the other day.” You laugh slightly and settle in next to him, using the slight bite in the air to stick close to his side.

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna ask, but thank you.”

He grins at you, offering the bowl to you for the first puff. You take it from his hand, your fingers brushing together. Without thinking you lean towards him and allow him to light it for you, his hands cupping the lighter to shield the flame. It causes you to be in very close proximity, and the flickering light illuminates his face in a way that you find irresistible. You breathe in deeply, relishing in the sweet burn before releasing the smoke in a curl around your heads. You pass the bowl back and forth, lighting for each other as an excuse to stay close.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can do anymore,” Frankie coughs, his eyes hooded. You giggle, agreeing with him. And yet, neither of you can move, remaining on the couch even as the air gets chillier and chillier. Eventually, you can’t help the shiver that runs through you. You go to suggest moving inside, but before you can the other boys are trampling out the back door.

“See I told you!” Benny is shouting at the other two, “I told you, KO’d in the third round!”

Santi wordlessly holds his hand out for Frankie’s pipe, lighting it and taking a deep drag. Frankie is suddenly lost in the conversation with the boys, but before you can get up to find something warm, he’s shrugging his flannel off and handing it to you, smiling warmly.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you’re suddenly nervous around him again as you pull his shirt around your shoulders and slip your arms down the sleeves. The cuffs go long past your hands and the spicy smell of him fills your weed-addled brain. You almost feel lightheaded, and take a moment to curl up, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This movement just happens to bring you closer to Frankie, something that you don’t think is unnoticed by him.

“You good?” he asks you, noticing your sudden quiet. You grin lazily at him, nodding your head and curling up tighter trying to get comfortable. He smiles and throws his arm around you. Benny and Santi are fake boxing, with Benny being the obvious winner, so you don’t have to worry about them commenting on your position. Will is not so easily distracted, and before you can move he’s grinning at you, your cheeks burning hot. You mouth some choice words at him, along the lines of “don’t you say anything” and he shakes his head, turning away. Even with the lasting edge of anxiety you are feeling, you can’t bring yourself to move away from the man next to you. He’s just so ...warm, comfy, and cute.

The last word startles you a bit, even just coming from your thoughts. You hadn’t really put much thought to it, the idea of being more than friends with this man you just recently met. Now, sitting here pressed against his side, his flannel wrapped around you and overwhelming your senses, it’s all you can think about.

————————————————————————-

It isn’t long until the boys start tapping out, one at a time excusing themselves to bed until it’s just you and Frankie left. You try not to think too much of it, but then he turns towards you, a sly smile on his face.

“Having a good time?” you ask him, trying to break the tension that is slowly building between the two of you.

“Oh yea, lots of fun,” he’s teasing, and you both know it. But some little part of you wants, needs the validation that what you think is happening really is.

“Frankie,” you start, shifting ever so slightly closer to his firm, warm body, “I think I want to kiss you. Would that be ok?”

His smile blossoms, a warm, genuine thing that lights up your insides. He leans closer, bumping your noses together before fitting his lips to yours. You both make a noise, your soft moan covered by his deep one, and you reach your fingers up to tangle in his short hair. His hand grasps your waist, his other cradling your cheek in a tender touch that has your mind reeling. You sit there for a while, breathing each other in before parting. You’re just ever so slightly out of breath when you peel your eyes open to meet his gaze.

“Do you wanna go out tomorrow?” he asks you, his eyes heavy with the need for sleep but unable to pull himself away from you. “Just the two of us, a date?”

“Absolutely, I want to do that, yes,” you stumble on the words in their haste to escape you. He pulls your mouth back to his, another soft kiss that leaves you wanting more, but he pulls back.

“If I’m gonna make it home alive I gotta leave soon, sweetheart,” he grumbles, almost as if he’s mad at himself, “I’m falling asleep despite the amazing company.”

You roll your eyes at him and stand up, reaching down to pull him up with you. He stumbles a little with the force of your pull and finds your cheeks with his hands, pressing one more searing kiss to your lips.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, 6 o’clock, sound good?” he whispers against your lips. You nod, biting at your cheek to keep from grinning like a lunatic. You walk him to the front door, trying to keep from alerting Benny how late Frankie had stayed. With a few more kisses, he’s finally to his truck in the driveway, turning around to wave goodbye. You return it with a soft smile, watching as he backs out before heading back into the house.

You take your time getting ready for bed, doing every step of your routine thoroughly to savor the feelings fluttering in your chest. Eventually, you can barely keep your eyes open. The second your head hits the pillow, you’re out like a light.

[lordgrimwing]

Glorfindel the Child Balrog Slayer

The songs often spoke of the youthfulness of Glorfindel of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. That did not prepare Elrond to see the newly returned Balrog Slayer in person.

The young elf sat perched on the edge of his desk, golden hair spread around him in an unruly mane. He swung his feet as he waited, his keen gaze focused on one of the tapestries decorating and warming the Lord of Imladris’ office. This one depicted a scene from the triumph of the host of Valinor in defeating the Great Enemy once again. He was so absorbed in the images (did he recognize any of those Eldar? The tapestry was so skillfully crafted that Elrond would not be surprised if he did), that he gave no indication of noticing the appearance of the person for whom he was waiting.

“Welcome, Lord Glorfindel,” Elrond said, smoothing over his shock at seeing a youth hardly out of childhood when he expected a grown warrior. “It is an honor to meet you.”

Glorfindel hopped off the desk. His hair pulled a few loose papers out of place as it slid off to hang around his knees. The old tales certainly did not embellish that aspect of the lord of Gondolin. He bowed, hair sweeping forward to brush the floor (how often did he have to wash and clean it? Even in peace, hair that long wasn’t practical).

“My Lord Elrond,” He said in a voice as light as he was youthful. A broad smile brightened his face further as he straightened to address him, his eyes sparkling with a subtle light. “It is my honor to journey here to meet you. I follow where Manwë guides, but my heart grew gladder still when Círdan spoke somewhat of Imladris’s Lord, for I knew little of you and I worried somewhat in my mind over what sort of leader the Valar sent me to serve. But I see now my concerns were for not, for you are wiser and more just still even than Turgon.”

The torrent of words flooded over Elrond and he felt as though he must steady himself against the onslaught lest it sweep him off his feet. He gestured at the armchairs to one side of the office, inviting his guest to take a seat with him. 

Glorfindel did, easily tossing his hair to one side so he would not sit on it. 

“I admit,” Elrond said when they were both settled. “While Círdan sent a message explaining your return from the Halls of Mandos, I find myself unsure why you would be sent here.” The letter said the fallen hero came from across the sea with a message for High King Gil-Galad in Mithlond. That duty quickly completed, Elrond could see no reason for him to come so far east. Why not go back to Aman on one of Círdan ships? 

Glorfindel shrugged in his light travel tunic, apparently unbothered by the mystery. “They will that I serve you until such time as they bid otherwise.”

“Serve me?” Elrond repeated, trying to keep up. He was still trying to get used to the fact that this youth knew his grandparents and great-grandparents, and had slain a balrog in defense of his people.

Jumping up, the young elf reached toward his hip as though to unsheath a sword. Realizing that he wasn’t wearing one, he settled for placing his fist over his chest as he knelt on the thick rug at Elrond’s feet. He bowed his head and said, “Elrond of Many Houses, Lord of Imladris, Heir to Thingol and Fingolfin, Child of Melian and Friend of Men, I, Glorfindel, solemnly pledge my work and my life to your hands-” 

Elrond would have liked to stop him there before any promise could be sworn, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice fast enough. He did not want anyone, least of all someone barely older than his own sons, binding themself to him.

“-to serve and to follow in whatsoever part you desire until the breaking of the world or that day when the Valar have need of me again.”

This really was not how he wanted the day to go.

“I am yours to command.” Glorfindel finished. He stayed where he was, waiting for some sign from the lord he pledged himself to.

After several quiet seconds, Elrond said, “You are welcome to stay in Imladris and join my house, but we have no need for oaths here. Do not swear yourself to me or anyone else, but serve only for as long as you wish.” He crouched before him and, taking the youth by his strong shoulders, drew him up to stand with him.

Glorfindel quickly smiled before Elrond could see his expression. He did not wish to hurt him by rejecting the show of loyalty, but there was no need for those kinds of dangerous promises in this age. The number of former Fëanorians in the valley made promises stronger than ‘I will’ or ‘I will not’ something of a taboo. 

“My apologies, Lord Elrond,” Said Glorfindel with a small laugh. “I’ve missed a great many changes. Forgive my foolishness as I learn.”

Elrond smiled as he looked into his earnest eyes. It was strange being at eye level with one so young. Few elves who grew up in the light of the trees remained in Middle-earth, and fewer still in hidden Imladris. He sometimes forgot how tall they were. “Your apology is unneeded but accepted. My steward Lindir can help you get settled. Unless you’ve already done that?” 

He did not look or smell like he’d spent the last several weeks riding a horse through the wilds, so perhaps he’d seen to himself before coming to meet with him. There were plenty of families that would welcome a visitor to the valley. Though it was odd that he hadn’t changed out of his travel clothes.

Glorfindel shook his head, hair swinging side to side. “I came straight here. Well,” He corrected himself. “I bathed in a stream first and loosed the horse that bore me here to graze, then I came straight here.” 

The lord wondered which field the horse was in how and hoped whichever crop grew there would not hurt the animal. He’d send someone to find and bring it to the stables as soon as he finished here. “Lindir will happily help sort you out. If there is nothing else we need to discuss, I’ll let you go get settled.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Glorfindel bowed slightly again. 

“His office is up the flight of stairs through the west hall. If he isn’t there, ask anyone to help you find him.” Elrond said after him as he left.

Sitting down in the soft chair again, Elrond rubbed a hand over his tired eyes, the gem on his ring glittering in the light. An elf practically plucked straight from the old days of Gondolin and dropped into Imladris would be interesting if nothing else. He should probably let Erestor know about the arrival of one of the Gondolindrim before they accidentally bump into each other.

[stargazer-sims]

The Art of Redemption

(part 7)

previous // next // story index

__________

The Brindleton Bay Arena is the second-largest arena in the city. It's designated as a multi-sport facility, and that's technically accurate, but it's most commonly known for being the home of the Brindleton Bay Skating Club. It has three ice surfaces; a large main rink with seating for just over four thousand spectators, and two other regulation-sized ice surfaces with enough bench seating around them for about three hundred people each. The main rink is used for minor hockey and for public recreational skating as well as for figure skating, but the two smaller rinks are usually reserved for group skating classes and for the competitive skaters to practice on.

The only arena in town that's larger and more well known than this one is Seaport Place, where the Brindleton Bay Mariners hockey team practices and plays. Nikolai likes hockey. He enjoys attending Mariners home games whenever he can, and he likes the huge, bright and modern environment of Seaport Place. He's even competed there a few times, in events that anticipated far more spectators than the Brindleton Bay Arena could accommodate. He recalls the year Skate Canada was hosted there. That had been a proud moment for the city, and Nikolai had loved performing for the hometown crowd.

But, as beautiful and prestigious as Seaport Place is, it doesn't hold space in Nikolai’s heart like the old Brindleton Bay Arena does. This building is practically a second home to him.

At least it was.

Stepping through the doors of the arena with Beth-Anne doesn’t feel like the homecoming he imagined. It’s awkward and strange, and he thinks the sentiment is similar to that of two old friends who’ve drifted apart, inadvertently meeting on the street one day and realizing just how much each of them has changed. It’s true he hasn’t been away from the rink that long, only slightly more than a month, but being here now feels like he’s crossed into a parallel dimension. It’s as if the pocket universe inside the arena has altered itself just enough so that he’s no longer included in its timeline, as if he'd never existed here as a skater at all.

He feels like he's trespassing. He can’t come in here without his skates and without a scheduled ice time. He needs a reason, a purpose.

He stops walking, but he’s unaware of it until Beth-Anne is several strides ahead. She pauses, and looks over her shoulder at him.

"Nikolai, are you okay?" she asks.

He feels sick, and he almost tells her he wants to leave, but he scrapes together the shreds of his courage and says, "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Beth-Anne returns to his side and rests her hand on his forearm. "We're doing this at your pace, remember."

He swallows several times. It's one of his nervous habits, and he knows Beth-Anne will recognize it, but nevertheless he repeats, "No, I'm okay. It's just... weird. Coming here feels weird."

"I know," she says. "The first time I came here after I stopped competing felt weird to me too. Probably an understatement to say it was weird, actually. I never darkened the doorway of this place for over four years, and I had no intention of ever coming back, but Stan talked me into it. You know how he is when he gets onto an idea."

Nikolai manages a little smile. "Yeah. People don't really say no to Uncle Stan, do they?"

"Not if they know what's good for them," Beth-Anne says. She grins at him. "Or unless they're you. You're the reason he called me, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He couldn't handle you. Said you walked all over him."

"He likes me," Nikolai says. "I don't think it was so much that I said no to him, but that he couldn't bring himself to say no to me."

"A little of Column A and a little of Column B, I think," says Beth-Anne. "Anyway, he said you needed someone who'd love you and let you have fun, but who'd encourage you to focus and who wouldn't let you get away with your usual shit. For some reason, he thought of me, and he pretty much just told me to show up at a certain day and time."

'I remember that day."

"Me too. I felt like I was going to puke my guts out the second I came through the door, I was that nervous.”

"You didn't seem nervous."

"Because I'm good at bullshitting my way through situations," she says. “But, you know what? I’m glad I showed up, even though I was scared as hell. That was one of the best risks I ever took, and look what came out of it. Stan said you were special, and he wasn’t wrong.”

“Stan said I was special?”

“He did.”

“He never told me that. He usually said I was a huge pain in the ass.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive states of being.” She arches an eyebrow, amused. “You are a huge pain in the ass sometimes, but I love you and you’re worth the trouble. And you are special.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I love you too, but you probably already know that.”

“Yeah, but what do I always say? Never miss an opportunity to tell someone you love them.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, just so you know, I calmed down once I was here for a while on that first day. Being with people I love and doing something that makes me happy made a difference." She gives his arm a light, reassuring squeeze. "It does get easier, I promise."

"I trust you," he says, because he does. It's hard to believe it'll get easier, but if Beth-Anne says it will, then he can at least accept the possibility.

"You're not alone. You don't have to do any of this by yourself."

"I know," he says. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome. Now, do you think you're ready to keep going?"

He's not entirely certain he's ready, but he nods his affirmation. "Yeah. Let's do this."

He follows her through the foyer and down the corridor that leads to one of the practice ice surfaces. Part of the wall is constructed of shatterproof glass, and he can see three small children already on the ice and several adults seated on the benches.

Preschool group class.

He was part of a preschool group class once himself, although he only has the vaguest recollection of it. His most solid early memories of skating are from when he was about nine years old, practising at his old club and competing in local pre-Novice events. He hadn't done very well, and his teacher at the time had told his parents that he probably wouldn't still be skating past the age of ten or eleven.

His parents had taken that pronouncement at face value, and his father had broken it to him as delicately as he was able. Nikolai, however, was not ready to give up on his dream. He remembers running to his grandfather and sobbing in his arms while trying to relate the awful news.

Grandpa had understood the problem.

"Kolya, I want to tell you two very important things," he'd said. "The first is that not everyone can be good at the things they love, and I want you to understand, that's okay. But, the second thing is that no one should ever quit doing what they love just because someone else thinks they should. If you want to be a skater, then you should keep skating. Maybe you won't be good at it or maybe you'll be a world champion some day, but if you stop now, you'll never know."

"But, what about Papa and Mama?" he'd asked. "Papa said—"

"Never mind what he said. I'll talk to your parents," Grandpa had assured him. "And never mind that teacher, either. We'll look for someone who knows what they’re talking about. Someone who knows whether you've got real potential or not."

Making good on his word, Grandpa had more or less taken over supervising Nikolai's skating career after that. He found another coach, one who did indeed give an honest answer about Nikolai's potential. She was of the view that Nikolai wasn't doing well because he didn't get the individual attention he needed in group classes and was essentially being held back by everybody else. She agreed to take him on as an individual student, and by the time he entered the Novice division the following year and started competing seriously, he surprised everyone by winning a silver medal in his very first competition.

That was the day Grandpa gave him Champion the teddy bear. He'd tapped the little plastic gold medal around the bear's neck and told him, "Some day you'll have a real one of these, Kolya. A real gold medal, and I'm going to be right there to see it happen."

And he was. Grandpa was there for every competition for his entire time in Novice, travelling with him and Allison, his coach, to various parts of the country. He'd seen quite a lot of Nikolai's Junior division competitions too.

Then, when Nikolai was sixteen, the whole family had moved here to Brindleton Bay. The move was ostensibly for Grandpa's work, but it wasn't lost on Nikolai that Grandpa had made contact with the one and only Stanislav Kovac and somehow convinced him to be Nikolai's coach. Stan coached him for a year, and then Beth-Anne came along.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Maybe, he tells himself, it'll be the same with coaching as it was with his competitive career. He doesn't know if coaching is what he wants to do long-term or if he'll have any aptitude for teaching, but he won't have the answer to either of those questions until he makes the attempt. And Beth-Anne will be with him, just like always. Grandpa too, he realizes, and suddenly finds he can hardly wait to tell his grandfather about this latest development, as undefined as it is.

He's going to watch those preschoolers with all the attention he can muster.

Nikolai is busy coming up with basic skills he might look for in the little skaters as he and Beth-Anne approach the the entrance to the practice rink. They're only half a dozen steps away when the door swings open and someone dashes through it with a shout of, "Nikolai Pavlenko!"

The young woman runs straight toward Nikolai and flings herself at him so forcefully that Nikolai has to drop his crutches in order to catch her. He lets out an inelegant grunt as he's forced to put weight on his injured leg, but he stays upright, and that's something.

"Nikolai! Oh my God!" the girl exclaims. "You're okay! Uncle Stan said you were in the hospital, and we were all literally freaking out. I'm so happy you're all right and..." she interrupts herself with a squeal of joy, and squishes him in an exuberant embrace. "I missed you!"

It's difficult not to respond to such an enthusiastic welcome, and he smiles. "Hi, Mariah. I missed you too."

Beside him, Beth-Anne doesn't seem quite so pleased. She makes an exasperated huffing noise. "Mariah! For fuck's sake! Did you not see the crutches?"

"Oh! Sorry!" Mariah says, but she's not contrite. She releases Nikolai and then scrambles to collect his crutches for him. As she's helping him get situated with them again, she glances over at Beth-Anne. "My mom says you say the F-word too much, you know."

"Typical teenager," Beth-Anne grumbles. "Always making trouble."

"Yup," says Mariah, unfazed. Nikolai knows Beth-Anne isn't really angry, and Mariah clearly knows it too. "That's me, Mariah Torres. Making trouble since 1995."

Nikolai wants to laugh, and momentarily forgets that he's supposed to be anxious. He adores Mariah. The sixteen year old kind of reminds him of himself and Ginger at that age, full of energy and affection and harmless silliness. In hindsight, it's no wonder Stan hadn't been able to handle the two of them together.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" Beth-Anne is asking Mariah. "Your ice time isn't until three-thirty."

"I know," Mariah says. "My dad's away on business and my mom had to take my sisters to the dentist this morning, so like, somebody had to make sure my baby brother made it here for his ice time. But, don't worry," she adds. "Me and Gabriel have dentist appointments too, so once his class is over we're gonna go there, and then I'll go to school for the afternoon."

"Your little brother's in the preschool class?" Nikolai asks, intrigued.

"Uh-huh," says Mariah. "And he's awesome. I mean, not that anybody's actually good when they're four years old, but like, Gabriel hardly ever falls down, and he can skate on one foot a little bit."

"I'll keep an eye out for that."

"You're going to watch the class?"

"I'm going to be observing all morning," he says.

"Cool," says Mariah. "Come on. You can sit with me, and we'll observe together. We can pretend we're assistant coaches and make notes."'

Nikolai doesn't tell her that he's not going to be pretending. He and Mariah find a spot where they're able to see everything, and they settle in to watch what Gabriel and his friends are learning.

There are five kids in the class altogether, and it turns out that little Gabriel Torres really is the best of the bunch. Just as his sister claimed, he can skate on one leg, and he zips around the orange safety cones without falling down once. He can even skate backwards, although he does land on his bum several times while trying that. The only other child who comes close to him in skills is a little girl who has backward skating down to an art, but who can't seem to stop unless she crashes into something.

By the time the class ends, Nikolai can barely believe half an hour has already gone by. He’s getting more comfortable with l being here and he thinks he might even dare to say he's having a good time.

He says goodbye to Mariah and Gabriel, and tells Mariah he might see her later that day. She gives him a high-five before skipping off with her little brother in tow.

After the group class, Stan and Ginger show up for Ginger's ice time. Ginger greets Nikolai with just as much enthusiasm as Mariah had, but unlike her younger counterpart, she's careful of his leg and waits until he's sitting down again before she tackle-hugs him. She fusses over him for several minutes until Stan yells at her to quit her nonsense and get moving. Laughing, she pulls off her skate guards and hands them to Nikolai before making her way to the gate and stepping onto the ice.

Beth-Anne comes to sit with him, and they watch together as Ginger rehearses her programs for Worlds. Beth-Anne suggests things for Nikolai to pay attention to, and he does his best to follow everything Ginger is doing. He's watched hundreds of videos of himself and other skaters over the years that he's had to study, but he could pause those whenever he wanted and rewind as many times as necessary. Analyzing someone's routine in real time is a lot more challenging than he expected. He can't say he dislikes it, though. It's fascinating, and just as Beth-Anne predicted, it does change his perspective.

After Ginger's practice, they all have time for a break. Stan and Beth-Anne go off somewhere together, presumably to discuss something coaching-related, while Nikolai and Ginger make their way out to the vending machines in the foyer. Ginger digs around in her bag for some change, and then gets a bottle of orange Gatorade and a bag of pretzels, which they share. Beth-Anne would be horrified to see them drinking from the same bottle, but neither Nikolai nor Ginger is particularly worried. This isn't the first time they've shared a drink, and it most likely won't be the last.

They chat for a while about inconsequential things and make plans to go bowling once Nikolai no longer needs his crutches. She should know better than to challenge him to a bowling match, he says. She's terrible at it and he invariably wins.

"Hope springs eternal and all that," she says airily. She doesn't care if she doesn't win. She just wants to be with him, to laugh and eat pizza and listen to the bowling alley's old-timey soundtrack.

He tells her he'd like that. He's happy whenever he gets to be with her, and a best friend date with greasy bowling alley pizza and old time rock 'n roll sounds fantastic to him.

When the pretzels and Gatorade are gone, Ginger checks the time on her fitness tracker and says she has to run. She has a massage therapy appointment and then a session at the dance studio afterwards. She kisses him on the cheek before she leaves, and says she hopes he enjoys the rest of his day.

Now that he's feeling more at ease, he fully intends to enjoy the rest of his day. It's all going so well — much better than he feared it might, in fact — and he has to admit he’s surprised by that.

He gathers his crutches and makes his way back to the practice rink. Beth-Anne isn't back yet, and nobody else is there.

Nikolai reclaims the seat he'd occupied for most of the morning and waits. It's nearly eleven o'clock, which Beth-Anne had said was Brett's scheduled ice time and also when Nikolai's first tentative assistant coaching assignment would begin. He's looking forward to studying Brett's performance. The junior skater is obviously very good, and Nikolai wants to see exactly what it is that earned him a qualification for the World Junior Figure Skating Championship.

He doesn't have to wait long for Brett to appear. The wooden bench has barely warmed beneath him when Brett Eriksson enters through the door from the men's locker room. The fourteen year old is small, but Nikolai can tell from the way he moves that there's nothing fragile or weak about him. He's clad in grey athletic pants and a form-hugging blue top, with a blue toque pulled down over his mass of white-blond curls. His expression is grim, incongruous with his cherubic features.

Brett skates around the perimeter of the ice surface in long, slow, fluid strides. He doesn't seem to realize Nikolai is there at first, but when he finally does notice, he slides to an abrupt halt, sending a small shower of snow over his skates and the surrounding ice.

There's no other way to describe it; Brett glares at him.

"You," he says. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Watch your language," Nikolai says. It's the first thing that springs into his mind, and he doesn't have the willpower to filter it.

Brett glides up to the boards and then just stands there for several seconds, still glaring at Nikolai. He folds his slender arms over his narrow chest and demands. "Where's Beth-Anne? Or am I skating alone again today?"

"She's here," Nikolai says.

"With you."

"What does that have to do with anything? Beth-Anne's here. You're going to get your ice time with her."

"Am I?" says Brett. "I missed three days because of you. Because Beth-Anne thinks you're more important than the rest of us, apparently. Your career's fucking done, and she still pays more attention to you than she does to me."

That's not—" Nikolai begins, but trails off because it's pointless to deny that Beth-Anne has been devoting her time exclusively to him for the past several days. Brett can't possibly know everything that's transpired, but Nikolai can still see his point of view. No doubt he'd feel ignored and he'd be angry too, if his and Brett's roles were reversed. Still, nothing that's happened is Nikolai's fault, and he thinks it's unfair for Brett to blame him.

He shakes his head and admonishes himself, Brett's just a kid. Don't get yourself into a stupid argument with a kid.

Taking a deep breath, he tries again. "Brett, I'm sorry you lost a few training days, but that's not something I had any control over."

"Like hell it isn't!" Brett retorts. "You've got Beth-Anne wrapped around your finger so tight, she'd come running if you had a fucking paper cut. And don't try to say that's not true, 'cause we all know it is. So, you whine about some dumb little thing and she up and leaves us to fend for ourselves. You think that's something you can't control?"

"It wasn't a paper cut. I was in the hospital."

"So what? You've got a mom and dad and a wife. They're the ones who're supposed to be taking care of you, not your coach. Our coach. She knows I have a big competition in a few weeks, and yet she's still putting you ahead of me, and that's literally fucking wrong."

"Maybe, but it's still not my fault," Nikolai says. He tries to keep his tone steady, but he's starting to feel panicky again and he's scared his self-control will slip. "If you have a problem with how Beth-Anne is managing your training, she's the one you should be talking to about it, not me."

"Oh, yeah? Talk to her about it and hear what, exactly?" He pitches his voice in a high, mocking tone. "Nikolai needs me. Blah... blah..."

That... that is not fair! You—"

"No!" Brett cuts him off. "You know what's not fair? You barging into my practice session is not fair. You think Beth-Anne is going to waste even half a brain cell on me with you sitting right there?”

“She’ll give you all her attention. This is your practice time.”

“Yeah, my practice time,” Brett echoes fiercely. “You don't belong here, Nikolai. Not in my practice session and not anywhere in this whole damn arena! You're not a skater any more, and we all know it, so why don't you quit taking up space around here and just leave already?"

For what feels like an eternity, Nikolai is unable to move or speak. He has no response in any case, even if he could find his voice. The edges of his vision darken and his heart hammers so hard and fast inside his chest that he can barely breathe.

Not now, he pleads, but hot tears fill his eyes despite his silent begging to whatever powers control such things.

On the ice, Brett is laughing. He shouts something unmistakably mocking and derogatory, but Nikolai’s brain can’t process the individual words.

Nikolai jumps up from the bench. Forgetting that he's supposed to be on crutches, he tries to run and then gasps in pain when his bad leg takes his full body weight. He can’t see clearly through his tears, but he can make out the shape of his crutches and he knows where the exit is. He scoops up his crutches from where they're leaning against the bench, gets them positioned, and then hobbles toward the door as fast as he’s able.

He doesn't see Beth-Anne coming and nearly collides with her on the way out. She squeaks in surprise, and says, "Nikolai! What's going on?"

He doesn't answer her. He just keeps limping along the corridor, head down, concentrating on every agonizing step.

"Where are you going?" Beth-Anne calls after him.

"Home," he says. It comes out quiet and strained, and he doesn't know if she hears him or not. "I... I need to go home."

[priestessofspiders]

Missed Opportunities

Do you ever think about how many people you used to know? All those lost connections, friends and relatives you haven’t seen in years, people whose names you’ve forgotten and who now exist only as faint, gentle memories.

I was on Facebook one evening, looking to see what my high school friends had been up to in the intervening years, when I received a private message from a profile I didn’t recognize, simply saying <Hello.> Her name was Stephanie London, and the profile picture was a conventionally attractive blonde woman, smiling for the camera. To be honest, there was a part of me that just wanted to block her on instinct, I’m far too used to spambots at this point to readily trust strangers messaging me apropos of nothing. But there was something faintly familiar about her face and name, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, that made me choose to respond instead.

<Hello!> I typed, <Sorry, I’m afraid I’m not quite sure who you are. Do you know me from somewhere?> I braced myself for a shady link to some porn site or something like that, but I was surprised to get an actually coherent response.

<We used to be friends in high school. I’d have reached out sooner, but it took me a while to find you. I hope it’s not weird to say, but I like your new name. Rose suits you far better than James lol.>

At this point the itch in the back of my mind was becoming excruciating, it felt like I was missing something incredibly obvious. There was something so familiar about her but I just couldn’t place it. After racking my brain unsuccessfully for a few minutes, I finally replied.

<Aw thanks! I’m very sorry, I am trying really hard to remember who you are, but for some reason it’s just not clicking. It’s been a while since high school though, and I’m sure you can remember how much of a scatterbrain I was back then, especially before I got on ADHD meds. Would you mind jogging my memory a bit?> Her reply was instant.

<You used to call me Stefan.>

Instantly it came flooding back, memories of a lanky teenage boy with thick glasses, of cracked voice laughter at cringy videos, of being taught how to port forward my IP address in order to host late night gaming sessions. I clicked back to Stephanie’s profile picture, checking again. Faintly, past the makeup and the hair, I could see remnants of her old face, a familiar twinkle in the eyes. She must have gotten a lot of work done, I remember thinking, she looks like a completely different person.

<HOLY SHIT> I typed, frantically, <I didn’t even recognize you!! Congratulations, I suppose! How have you been?>

Her response, like the last one, was immediate. I almost thought she may have written it out in advance, copypasting it from a text file.

<I know this is a little out of nowhere, and I understand if you can’t or don’t want to, but would you be down to meet up tonight?>

I was a little taken aback. I mean, how often does a long-lost friend from high school turn up out of nowhere in your direct messages with a request to hang out that same day? Additionally, I found her directness slightly disconcerting.

<Tonight?> I asked, <I mean, I’d love to hang out with you sometime but that’s a little soon, isn’t it?>

Another instantaneous reply.

<Do you have something else you’d otherwise be doing? Again, I understand if you don’t want to.> I thought about it for a second. I didn’t have anything else on my schedule, no excuse I could throw out to justify why I wouldn’t be able to. I’ve never been particularly good at lying either.

<I suppose not,> I said, <but I don’t know, it’s just one of those things, isn’t it? No offense but one kind of expects advance warning for this sort of thing.>

This time there was a pause, as though she were thinking carefully before replying.

<I’m very sorry. I’d have asked sooner, but this is really the only night I have free for a very long time. I’m sorry if this sounds weird to say, but I’ve missed you. We used to hang out basically every day back in high school, and I’ve just been pretty lonely recently to be honest. Anyway, I completely understand if you’re not able to.>

I felt a pang of guilt when she said she missed me. I hadn’t meant for us to drift apart, the winds of fate just seemed to blow in opposite directions for the both of us. I’d moved away for a while to complete college, and while we kept in contact for a year or two, we eventually just stopped keeping up. Since then I hadn’t even bothered to try talking with her. I made up my mind then and there.

<Don’t worry about it,> I typed, <I just was a little surprised is all. I’d be happy to hang out. Where are you staying at these days?> <The same old house as always,> she replied, <I never left.>

- - -

We talked for a little bit more before deciding on a time for me to arrive. Fortunately my apartment was pretty close to where I used to live back in high school, so it wasn’t a particularly long drive to reach Stephanie’s house.

As I pulled up in front of the familiar suburban home that I’d spent so many pleasant afternoons at as a youth, I was overwhelmed with an intense wave of nostalgia. It didn’t seem to have changed in the slightest detail. The tacky lawn gnomes that her mother had insisted on putting up, the lawn that was perpetually brown because her father refused to ever use the sprinklers, the faint scent of the roses which lined the gravel path up to the inviting green door, all of it was exactly as I remembered. Every step I took awoke pleasant memories of summers long past, from a childhood that seemed now so far away.

And yet… something wasn’t quite right. I suppose it seemed almost too perfect, too unchanged. Stephanie hadn’t mentioned her parents, so I assumed she must be living alone now, but if that were true, why would so much of the house have remained utterly unchanged? I especially remembered her complaining when we were kids about the how kitschy the garden gnomes were, and it was a little strange to see them still standing.

I wasn’t able to think much of it, however, before the door to the house opened, and I saw Stephanie smiling shyly in the open doorway.

Now I’m not one who typically notices beauty in others. I’ve always held that it is what’s inside that counts, and if anything it feels disrespectful to pay too close attention to someone’s appearance. But with Stephanie, frankly I couldn’t look away.

It was easier to ignore when it was just her profile picture, but in person it was much more pronounced. There is a certain kind of beauty which isn’t supposed to exist, the faces you see in the movies, on billboards, the instagrams of celebrities. It is a standard you are meant to compare yourself to, but never reach, because no living human being looks like that. And yet, looking at Stephanie, I could see that same sort of beauty, the impossible ideal made flesh. Perfect symmetry, skin as smooth and unblemished as plastic, full lips, defined cheekbones, every single part of her seemed as though it had been perfectly sculpted by a master artisan. I was a little embarrassed to be looking at her; it felt like I had walked into a black tie event dressed in a t-shirt and shorts.

Nevertheless, I called out a hearty “Hello!” and moved in for the sort of hug you give to old friends you haven’t seen in quite a long while. She hesitated for a moment, as if unused to the concept, but then quickly seemed to understand, reciprocating and hugging back perhaps a bit tighter and longer than was to be expected.

“Look at you!” I exclaimed, gesturing vaguely at her, “You’ve really done well for yourself in the past… gosh has it really been 7 years?”

“I could say the same about you,” she replied, still gently smiling, “come on inside.”

Her voice was at once familiar yet strange. Most folks don’t really know this, but hormone replacement for trans women doesn’t alter your voice; if you want to sound more feminine, you just have to practice over time, altering your pitch and tone until it sounds right. Often we don’t really sound at all like how we used to before undergoing voice training. But with Stephanie, it just felt as though someone flipped a switch; she sounded exactly like the friend I had in my youth, but as a woman now.

The interior of the house was slightly less familiar than the exterior, but still felt like an intense blast from the past. Sure there were things moved here and there, and it seemed like all of the knick-knacks and trinkets that belonged to Stephanie’s parents were gone, but the furniture was all the same, and not much else had been altered.

“So uh, I didn’t really ask about it earlier, but your parents didn’t, y’know, die or anything did they?” Realizing how utterly insane that sounded, I added, “I mean, I’m just wondering because obviously you’re living on your own, and you didn’t move into a new place or anything.”

Fortunately, she didn’t seem to take any offense at my question, instead just chuckling a little.

“No, they’re both quite alright. They just moved away is all. They were kind enough to leave the house to me though. It feels nice, having the place to myself.”

I nodded awkwardly, still feeling as though I’d made a fool of myself.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

“A rum & coke if you can manage it,” I replied.

She nodded and started walking to the kitchen. I followed behind, looking around at all the familiar details of the house and trying to quell a growing nervousness in my chest. I’d always felt slightly uncomfortable around beautiful women, as though my presence was in some way inappropriate. This feeling of inadequacy was melting together with the intense nostalgia and faint uncanniness of Stephanie’s remarkable transition to form a lingering undertone of anxiety that I was eager to dull with alcohol.

I was extremely grateful when she handed me my drink, and gulped it down as quickly as felt socially appropriate. I’ve always been a bit of a lightweight, and estradiol hadn’t helped in that regard, so pretty soon my previous worry was deadened by the pleasant buzz of intoxication.

“So,” Stephanie began, “what have you been up to?”

- - -

We talked for hours, well past the point at which I had been planning to head back home. With the liquor serving as a social lubricant, I quickly found that, despite appearances, Stephanie hadn’t changed too much in the intervening years. Old inside jokes I hadn’t thought about in over half a decade just clicked back into place in my brain, the memories so fresh it was as if I had never forgotten them at all.

She showed an intense interest in basically anything I had to say, encouraging me to talk about each topic at length. Occasionally I would similarly try to encourage her to talk about her life, but she always seemed to redirect the topic of conversation back to me. I didn’t press the issue, figuring that if she didn’t want to talk about herself as much that was perfectly reasonable.

However, there were some points in the conversation that seemed a little bit… off. Once my filters had been sufficiently erased by drink, I asked a couple questions about her transition. I wasn’t necessarily surprised by it, in retrospect Stephanie had always showed the sorts of proclivities that most of us do before our eggs crack, so to speak, but I’ll admit that I was very curious as to how she’d achieved such a remarkable change.

Her responses were always quite vague, and she often seemed to not know what I was talking about. For example, at one point I asked something about if she was on pills, patches, or injections for her estrogen, and she just sort of looked at me blankly for a moment before asking me what I used. I told her I was using patches, and she nodded and said that’s what she was on as well. After a couple such moments, I got the impression she just didn’t want to talk about that sort of thing, and I dropped the topic. I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, and I know that every trans person has a different experience with this sort of thing. If she wanted to keep her transition more private, that was perfectly reasonable.

It was around 1 in the morning when Stephanie suggested that I stay the night, and I accepted easily. I’d been having such a pleasant time, and even given the late hour I didn’t feel like going home just yet. I asked her if she had a spare bedroom or if I should just crash on the couch, and at that she just got very quiet, picking at her fingers a little bit as she avoided making direct eye contact.

“Don’t worry if it’s a mess or whatever, I don’t mind,” I said, trying to sound reassuring.

“No, no it’s not that,” she said, her voice sounding a little distant. I was a little confused.

“Oookay, so what exactly is the problem?” I asked.

Still unable to look up at me, Stephanie murmured out “Can you promise not to laugh?”

“Of course.”

She sighed, before straightening up a little bit, but still looking at her hands, now placed firmly on her lap.

“I never really knew how to say it but… I’ve always had a crush on you. Even before you…” she paused and gestured vaguely at me. “I mean even all the way back in high school. I just never said anything because, you know, I worried about what you’d think, what my parents would think, and just… I don’t know, I probably sound really stupid o-or creepy or something. I guess part of why I invited you here tonight was, well, I just didn’t want it all to have been a big missed opportunity. I wanted a chance to tell you.”

I was a little shocked. Not upset, mind you, but certainly surprised. I was silent for a few seconds, choosing my next words carefully and trying to think about how I felt about all this. I noticed a tear running down Stephanie’s cheek. It didn’t seem to leave any streaks in her makeup. I took a breath before responding.

“Stephanie, you’re not a creep. I’m a little surprised, but you don’t have anything to be ashamed of. I’m not offended or anything like that. I mean obviously I’m a little tired right now, so I’m not going to, y’know, decide anything immediately, but you didn’t do anything wrong by telling me. If anything I’m flattered. But, uh,” I scratched my neck, a little confused, “what exactly does this have to do with whether or not you have a spare bedroom.”

Stephanie muttered something I couldn’t quite hear.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t really catch that.” “I was just wondering if maybe you’d… want to share a bed. Nothing sexual, or anything like that, nothing like that, but just… I’ve never had that before. I’ve always slept alone, and I just… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, I’ll set up the cou-”

I cut her off before she could finish, “Stephanie, it’s fine. And I’d be happy to. You haven’t talked much about yourself tonight, and I get the feeling that’s probably because you haven’t really had a good past few years. Even if you didn’t have a crush and just wanted the company, that’s fine. You’re my friend and I trust you. Besides, it’s kind of cold in here anyway, and I’m sure body heat is cheaper than turning up the central heating.”

She smiled, finally looking up and making slightly teary eye contact with me. She seemed happier than I’d ever seen her before.

“Thank you.”

- - -

I hadn’t brought a set of nightclothes with me, but Stephanie was kind enough to let me borrow one of her nightgowns. Her bedroom was different from what I remembered, but that’s to be expected after 7 years. It felt more mature, streamlined, with minimal decorations compared to the poster covered chamber that I remembered from youth.

I set a timer on my phone to wake me in the morning. After that Stephanie and I slipped into bed.

I can imagine some people may have been more uncomfortable than I was in such circumstances, but sleeping in the same bed as friends had become pretty normal for me over the past few years. I hadn’t told Stephanie, as I wasn’t quite sure how she’d react, but casual sexual encounters between friends had been a not infrequent occurrence in my life for quite some time now, so this kind of casual intimacy wasn’t anything especially weird to me.

For her part, Stephanie seemed very polite, shy even. She was practically falling off the bed out of an attempt to ensure that I had sufficient personal space until I told her that I didn’t mind if she wanted to be closer. Even then it still took her a little while to gradually inch nearer before she finally felt comfortable actually touching me.

It was odd, her touch. She was very cold, colder than anyone else I’d ever touched. It was to the extent that I was slightly worried about her, but I tried to pass it off as a case of poor circulation. She’d seemed completely healthy during the night’s discussion, and I didn’t want to come across as rude, so I simply ignored it and did my best not to shiver too much. Her breath, too, felt almost icy on my neck.

No matter how close she got, no matter how much I warmed the blankets, she always seemed to stay cold.

- - -

I awoke with a start to the sound of my phone’s alarm going off. There was a brief moment of confusion where I didn’t know where I was. I blinked rapidly in the bright sunlight shining in from the window, trying to get a read on my surroundings.

Even after my vision cleared, it still took me a while to realize where I was.

The room was utterly barren, save for bed frame and mattress. There was no other furniture. There wasn’t even a blanket. My clothes sat in a neat pile on the floor. I changed out of the nightgown I had borrowed, though I didn’t exactly know where to put it, so I just swung it over my shoulder for the time being.

“Hello?” I called out, “Stephanie? Are you there?”

There was no reply.

I left the bedroom, checking around the rest of the house for my host. Each room was just as empty as the bedroom, utterly devoid of furniture or decoration. I was getting a bit freaked out, as I genuinely could not think of a single explanation as to what was going on.

Eventually I just left the house entirely. Stepping outside, the front yard with its gnomes and roses had been completely redone, changed to a simple, bare lawn. There was a realtor’s sign advertising that the house was available for sale.

It was as if the previous night had never happened at all. The only proof I had was the nightgown on my shoulder.

- - -

When I got home, I tried to find the messages I’d received the previous day. There was nothing, not even so much as an error message indicating the profile had been deleted.

I tried searching Facebook for the name Stephanie London, but found nothing. After a few tries, I searched Stefan London instead.

It didn’t take me long to find the profile. The picture there was much more familiar; a young man with thick glasses, smiling for the camera blandly, a twinkle in his eye. Checking the profile, I noticed that it hadn’t been updated in quite some time, with the last post having been made exactly 4 years ago to the day.

That final post reads as follows:

<Hello all. This is Stefan’s mother. I’m very sorry to announce that Stefan committed suicide last night. I don’t really know what to say, other than that he will be missed, and that he was dearly loved. I’ll be posting details as to the funeral arrangements when we’ve gotten them figured out. I’m going to be leaving this page active as a memorial to him. I love you son, and I hope you’re in a better place now.>

I think I’m probably the only person who ever got to see the real Stephanie London. I think that she needed to express who she really was, just once, before she faded away. I hope that I was able to give her the closure she needed.

[deliverred]

"Heeeeey. Lukas, right?" She's pretty sure, but she also wouldn't be surprised if she missed his name between sticky marshmallows and sticky situations during that campfire. Yunaka grins and gives a friendly little wave as she approaches.

"Fun show you and that other guy put on for the students there. Never hurts to keep people on their toes and ready to react." Be bad if they had a habit of getting comfortable in situations where they shouldn't.

"But, uh...you weren't really, actually willing to fight him, were you? Just like that?"

He blinks at the unfamiliar voice, though his expression settles into vague pleasantry when he recognizes her face as one that had been around the campfire. "At your service," he smiles, inclining his head slightly before continuing, "Forgive me, I don't believe I properly got your name that night. Rude of me not to ask until just now."

Lukas makes a faint noise in the back of his throat, not quite regret mixed with something like a chide.

"It was unfortunate that it happened so...early into that gathering, but it can hardly be taken back now." Nor did he particularly feel it was something in need of amendment. "If he had pressed violence a second time, and that was the only way to settle the argument, I have no qualms about standing up for myself in such a manner. It's not how I prefer to handle myself, but for some, there is no other way to get through to them."

His only regret over the altercation was that it had happened in front of students. In the ramifications of the game, it needed to happen, but outside of those boundaries...It settled a similar weight on his mind as the result of that foolish duel just outside the southern outpost.

His smile broadens enough to look amused.

"However, it was an enlightening interaction. He thinks I am incapable of seeing and understanding his motivations, but he is not so complicated as he believes. He thinks of his sister, and subsequently, he thinks of himself. He stated it plain enough to us that night. Should he perceive his sister to be in danger, he will do what he must to rescue her from it -- betrayal was a fair option to him."

Which means he will also do whatever he must to ensure he stays where he can reach his sister. Everyone and everything else came secondary to these goals.

"We're being whittled down, and we'll only lose more people as the week comes to a close. It might be time to think of who is best suited to your team's needs in the end, and who you can trust to carry you all through whatever final competition our hosts have in store."

After all, Maria did not share her brother's team colors, so if there was to be a collapse from the inside of one of the teams...

[the-zapped-part-timer]

Penn Zerothon Day 7

Defending the Earth🛸

My Ramblings: Another Boone's phobia episode, this time public speaking! Question: have you ever tried the method of picturing everyone in their underwear? I haven't. Where did that come from? Why is the an acceptable and normal thing to do? I wanna know the origin.

Another Boone wearing something dress-like and just be like: Oh ok, girl mode, activated. Don't worry, your time will come.

Imagine if that was the whole mission, just signing papers and going to meetings or passing bills. Thank goodness for the double alien invasion.

Instant attack mode with the Trio, finding out ways to murder these aliens. Penn telling Boone to stay focused with such a quiet voice while giving an alien a wedgie is top notch.

Ah yes, the three laser modes: Cat toy, laser eye surgery and oh yeah, destory planet! Really enjoy Rippen's movements and blinking.

"I don't know. This isn't me." How he delivers that, just sounds like a guy. One of the few times Rippen has a different name, there was Farpling, now it's General Ugthar the Ugly. "No, that can't be my name."

Why is Bruce Vilanch here?

Chris Parnell, I recognize that voice anywhere! Can never escape him... I like Judge Blort Clooney, I bet it's that unsettling smile that gets me.

When did Larry move away from Rippen and into the crowds? How did you get over there? Lot's of fun cameos of other aliens all over this episode.

I like that Blort has this all-powerful gavel and is still terrified of Jorlanx. Also of course Blort is a father.

W-I-L-H-E-L-M!

It's pessimist in me that's more on Rippen's side, but come on, you can give better reasons than just potholes, holding music and people who talk too loudy on their phones at restaurants. But those are all very relatable things to be peeved about, Rippen's is just the grumpy adult in all of us.

TIME TO ROLL THE DICE OF CLOSING LEGAL ARGUMENTS THAT AUGMENT BUT DON'T TAKE THE PLACE OF STATEMENTS PREVIOUSLY ARGUED IN THESE PROCEEDINGS. Everyone's favorite part!

So... talking underwear that sounds like a doofy Penn, am I right? Anyways, good speech, Boone. You did a good job! You can clap along if you wish.

Rippen attempting murder is hilarious because he always fails to kill the person. Sure he got the gavel, but he couldn't even hold onto for 10 seconds.

Man, they must have really not liked General Ugthar the Ugly. I wonder what ice cream flavors his fleet is gonna get without him as he gets smacked to death in space.

I would watch Outer Space Court. And I would really liked to know if the alien language they use is something they completely came up with and if anyone one could possibly decode it. Not for the meaning, just because it'd be fun to use.

~The Characters~

Penn Zero: Got his ass smacked on live television for billions to see. What a sad day for the US President.

Boone Wiseman: Another fear conquered! I must say, this feels more earned than his aquaphobia, which is a shame considering that fear really affected his life. Also, while his speech was supposed to be this nice and heartfelt, I wouldn't be totally convinced. But it's not his fault. Just what we know of Earth... just blow it up!

Sashi Kobayashi: Tried to stop a baby Hubarian Quirm from smacking the President's ass and failed on live television for billions to see.

Rippen: You have better reasons to blow up the Earth! Talk about the school education system or you know... war!

Larry: He's friends with one of the contestants.

Dimension(s): Game show... but in space! Fun idea, but it only works if the host is just as good and Blort Clooney? He's great! He was so entertaining. Wouldn't have minded if they came back to this dimension just for him!

Forms: Meh, nothing standing out for me with the Trio. Rippen and Larry's designs go pretty hard for sure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Number One Number Two🏹

My Ramblings: RIPPEN AND LARRY EPISODE! LET'S GO!

HEY! Haven't we seen this all before? Rippen delivering a banger line of: "You may not be a real hero, but you're going to perish like one." And about to blast Penn to smithereens until Larry accidentally messes it all up, the inciting incident for this episode!? HMM!? Except this time, we get to see them almost die in the vacuum of space!

AND! We get to see the inside of Fish Stick on a Stick for the first time! I need a "I hearts jetpacks" sweater. Stat!

WE ALSO SEE RIPPEN'S APARTMENT! YAY! Poor bastard lives by train tracks and has a billboard that says "vacation" on the top of his building, and life wasn't cruel enough to him.

So, we can all agree that Larry made that Past Failures scrapbook, right? He's the one that takes all those photos in other dimensions (nice setup) and somehow brings them back, and that's his handwriting! The little i's dotted with hearts! We also know that Rippen has terrible handwriting.

He's too entertaining for me, Rippen needs to be stopped. His expressions, his voice, his mannerisms, HIS EVERYTHING! His dorky high school photo! This man is the reason I growl so much. We need a growl compilation. Stat!

HIS STUPID CLOWN GIGGLE! STOP! Mr. Molina, how do you do that to your voice? How do you just laugh like that!?

Larry was way too enthusiastic about doing a trouser swap, but god is it funny!

Oh no... Larry's heart is freaking breaking in half! HIS FACE! MY HEART! It shows just how much he cares about Rippen, him not wanting to show the utter pain and heartbreak, but god, does he want to scream! He's been nothing but loyal and then out if the blue, replaced! I understand Rippen, I really do, but we will see why Larry is the GOAT!

So Boone is Shak-a-speare, right? Cool. "Pulleth mine finger" was funny.

What was that British accent from the "newsie" boy!? But who's worse, him or Penn's indistinguishable accent?

I like how this world seems normal, just old English and then, oh yeah, there is a dragon... not important but it's there. It's only used for when Rippen literally (accidentally) kills a man by accidentally shooting it. Just straight up dead!

Remove Penn from this whole thing and you get a dating show. Rippen does say he's looking for an evil soul mate... so. I know, doesn't mean romantic, but it is funny to think about. We know he's very romantical. They even do the rose thing but with an arrow!

Montage Time! Penn out doing everyone while Larry's tries his hardest. Yes, he does almost get Rippen gored by bull, but dammit, he's determined!

Interesting that Larry was wearing one of those royal guard outfits for the jousting, weird. Why the costume change? Penn didn't do it.

All the tryouts are like: "what the hell is Jamaica?" Anyways, right before Rippen announces the winner, on of the guys is rubbing his arm in a very cute and bashful way. Also these horses are ugly.

"Will you accept my arrow?" RIPPEN STOP THAT'S A MINOR! Why does he have to say it so sultry? I love it... but Penn, get out of here!

THE FAKE OUT! How he says "Wait. Larry." I WANT TO SCREAM! I WANT TO EAT MY HANDS! They knew what they were doing! I cannot be normal about this episode, I'm sorry...

This confirms that Rippen is not an actual British person or was born in England, of he was, he would've know Westminstershireville isn't real. We know where he's actually from.

It would be so hilarious if Rippen didn't know who Leonardo Da Vinci was. But I think he does, especially given his other job, he should know. But imagine, and even more clueless Rippen only knowing Leonard Da Vinci as the "local face painter."

Rippen saying hardcore...

Just say thank you to Larry, you jackass! I get his thinking process but please, my man needs a win!

We need another compilation of Rippen looking through monocular or binoculars, he does it so often. Love it when he comments on the Trio's appearances, mocking of complimenting them. This time around it's mocking. Speaking of sort of compliments, so far, Rippen has stopped acknowledging Sashi's competence and has insulted her status as a sidekick. Just interesting to note.

Good use of "In the Hall of the Mountain King." Another classic. This whole scene of Penn swapping back and forth, and the back and forthing with himself is amusing. He gets really into it. Him just forgetting the mask, gosh, perfect!

CROW BURN!

It's the willy to the Wilhelm Scream!

Love how Larry just pointed very hard, thank you for your help apprehending Penn. It would be funny if everyone saw Penn put the mask on and just think Rippen was an idiot. Another funny thing! Rippen calls Penn in disguise, Number Two, as if it's his birth name... no fake name!?

How nice of Number Two to help Leonardo Da Vinci.

Uh oh, Penn's been caught! But how could ol' thick-skulled Rip have possibly figured it out? Well, a true villain would never help Leonardo Da Vinci, of course! Damn that face painter! Rippen thought Penn was so cool.

"You may not be a real villain, but you're going to perish like one." Bring it back around!

I find this quote very interesting:

Rippen: Oh, you fool. Don't you know that you should never rely on anyone, especially your Number Two?

Is this the reason he doesn't like or fully trust Larry, besides his annoyances? Where did this come from, his upbringing? Training? Who knows! I just find it interesting that he does team-up with someone in a certain episode. Did he just abandoned that belief after this or is it because that person isn't his "number two" and it's just for that world? I WANNA KNOW! Just how he says "Number Two" in that line implies things that I might just be making up! Doesn't seem like any betrayals happened to him... possibly.

ALSO! Was he just gonna zap back and ask Phil to zap one of these random English guys and be like: "Hey, yeah, Phil? Can you zap that guy? He's my new Number Two now!" I guess it could be that easy.

How the trees? HOW THE TREES!?

Real new Number Two's got the right way of thinking. Also, his voice? Just ye olden time, deeper Rippen. The heartbreak in Rippen's voice, he calls out for LARRY'S HELP! AAAAHHHHHH! Poor man being carried off like a cat to the jail wagon! POOR SAD WET CAT-MAN!

Interesting that ex-real new Number Two almost looks like he felt bad that he sold Rippen out for a coin. Or something like that.

Hey, where has Larry been since Penn's failed gold snatching? TWIST! He was dressed up as one of the royal guards that was taking Rippen away! Big brain moment for him, everybody, CLAP! Thanks goodness that he was the exact height as the rest of them.

THEY'RE HUGGING!!! ARRRRGGGHHH!!! I'M GONNA EXPLODE!!!

Right before he does Rippen looks around, making sure no one will see. Don't be so insecure big guy! It's ok! He doesn't care when Phil sees at least. Good.

"Yes, we're hugging. Get over it." Iconic.

~The Characters~

Penn Zero: Do you think he had fun for a while with Rippen? It's like he had weird bonding time with his part-time uncle.

Boone Wiseman: Shak-a-speare.

Sashi Kobayashi: I wanna see how she trained those animals. And of course, her making the sets, but mainly the animals. No, wait, I wanna know- HOW THE TREES!?

Rippen: Look, I get why, but the pain of watching Larry die inside was too much. How dare you, evil sir! Besides that, he was too entertaining for his own good, by far the funniest. We also get to see how he interacts with people without Larry, and he's silly goofy!? You should be silly goofy with him!

Larry: Biggest L and W for him this episode! It was a rollercoaster of emotions for him. He tried so hard to impress Rippen and win the contest, but he's just not cut out for it. Yet he's still there to help! I hope that Rippen will treasure this man with all his heart!

Dimension(s): Just old English town...

Forms: Evil Robin Hood Rippen... that's all that matters. I kid, the ither designs are alright.

[kjs-s]

HEIST RESCUE

Pairing: Frank Castle x reader It can be read as romantic or platonic

Summary: Frank helps the reader during and after a robbery

 Word Count: 1252

Warnings: mention of bank robbery, injuries, and threats, nothing graphic

Prompt: “You weren’t supposed to survive this heist.”

A/N This is my second entry for @caplanbuckybarnes's  foreverwriting challenge.

You opened your eyes and had no idea where you were. Looking around you realized that you apparently were lying on a couch in a house you have never been in. Feeling a little dizzy you tried to piece together what you could remember about your day fearing the worst about your current state. However, the throbbing headache you were experiencing on the back of your head wasn't helping you concentrate at all. So, instead you wobbly started to get up so you can leave before the person that brought you here came back.

As luck would have it your host opened the door at that moment carrying two grocery bags.

''You're awake, that's good. Don't get up just yet you might not be strong enough. How is your head? Does it still hurt?'' He put the bags down and fixed the ice pack that had been dropped to the floor when you woke up and moved your head. You didn't answer him because you recognized him. The man whose house you were in was none other than Frank Castle. You knew about him and were trying to figure out why he was seemingly taking care of you.

''Are you alright (Y/N)? I saw your name from your ID in your bag. You can check later that everything is there. But for now, just take it easy. I will make you something to eat and we can talk in the meanwhile.''

Still confused you decide to ask what was happening and what you were doing in his house. You had a ton of questions you could ask him but you were still a little apprehensive to just start questioning him.

''What is the last thing you remember about today?'' He brought a chair and placed it next to the couch to check on you a little bit.

''I woke up and had breakfast as usual. Then I went to work. '' You paused trying to figure out if anything out of the ordinary happened and then it hit you.

''I was talking to Joshua, the manager, in his office when I heard people yelling in the front. From then on nothing. What happened?'' You feared for the worst.

''I don't want to overwhelm you with too much right now but there was a heist. Everyone you work with is fine but the police are still looking for the people responsible. I managed to stop them. However, two of the people got away when I was trying to save you. I won't get into details right now. You were unconscious for eight hours so lay down while I’ll be making dinner. We will talk about everything in the morning.''

Dinner was good and you were grateful that Frank gave you his clothes to sleep in since yours would be uncomfortable.

True to his words he joined you for breakfast the next morning and filled you in on everything that transpired the day before.

''First of all, how are you feeling?''

''Better, thank you so much for everything. I don't think my head needs any more ice yet I can still feel the bump. Did I hit it somewhere during the heist?''

''Not exactly. Listen (Y/N), there is no easy way to say this but one of the reasons I was there to save you yesterday is that you weren't supposed to survive the heist.'' He gave you some time to process the information and continued narrating everything.

''I had been out gathering information on a gang the night before. While I was at a bar trying to listen to their plans I overheard them talking about the heist. They were so confident that nobody could hear them that they gave me all I needed to stop them. Including the part about your manager wanting you dead. I don't know why but he did. And I'm afraid he might track you down to try again.'' He felt like you would not believe him or accuse him of lying to you. Surprisingly you were calm about what he had just told you.

''I know exactly what this is about. Joshua, my manager, has been forging some of his paperwork and sending money to some of his and his wife's accounts. We wouldn't have found out anything if she hasn't complained about an issue with her transfer a month ago. The director of the bank asked me to look into this and that's when I found out what has been going on. I gathered some information and I actually have an appointment with someone at the Federal Trade Commission to hand them the evidence I found. I can't believe he would try to kill me.'' You tried to look calm even though you were terrified.

''He hit the back of your head with a heavy paperweight. He would use the heist to cover his actions. But you have nothing to worry about. As long as you are here I will protect you from him. Now, let's decide what you want for dinner.''

You had dinner and afterward, you went back to sleeping on the couch exhausted from the day you had.

When you woke up the next morning Frank had already left. He had made you breakfast and you found a note telling you that he would have been back at night and not to worry.

He came back late in the afternoon looking like he had been in a fight.

''Frank are you ok? Are you hurt?'' You checked to make sure.

''No, I'm not.'' He tried to step away from you to go further into the house so that nobody could see you.

''Then why are there bruises all over your face?'' You closed the door behind me and tried again to check if he was hurt anywhere.

 He was reluctant to talk but seeing you worried about him made him realize that you were trying to get your mind off of the danger you were in and the worry about your life.

''I tried to find out where the people that robbed the bank are. I found some of them and made sure they wouldn't bother anyone anymore. About Joshua, I heard that the police are still looking for him. I have someone I trust monitoring his house to check whether he will go back there.''

''Thank you for everything you are doing for me. I called a friend of mine earlier to ask him for some advice on everything that is going on.''

''Why would you do that? You have no idea if your friend is in on everything or not. Tell me his name so I can check him out.''

''There is no need. I completely trust him. But if you insist, his name is Matt Murdock. He is one of my lawyers.''

''I know him and you are absolutely right to trust him. So, what did he tell you?''

''Not much, just that if the police find Joshua that he would spend life in prison. And of course to stay hidden for now. I didn't mention you I only told him I am staying with a friend.''

''Very well, I am glad that you are not putting yourself in more danger. I can assure you that you are safe to stay here for as long as it takes.''

After months of staying with Frank Joshua was finally arrested. But because you needed to testify Frank offered you to stay with him until the end of the trial for your protection.

[valyalyon]

November 1, 2024

Raphael has arrived! This is the first scene I wrote for this story, it is very long. Changing post formats, this format will be the new norm :)

Please enjoy and see below for more Dreams, Ink and Embers.

DIE MASTER LIST OR #LYONDIE

That’s how it all started. Just a stupid party, just too many good drinks, the lights, the feeling of his hands, my dress coming off, then the crash onto the bed.

CW: explicit sexual content, “one night stand”, sex while both parties are intoxicated, unprotected sex, dubious consent.

It was all the breaths, all the whiskey enhanced kissing, the way he gripped my neck, the way our bodies collided.

I don’t even think I recognized him then, a part of me just knew him to be somebody else. Somebody that I met, somebody that I met a long time ago, in a dream some decade ago. In the dream he touched me the same way, made me feel all the same. And in the complicated coldness in between us, a fire was festering below the surface.

In all reality I’d only known him what? Six years. He never touched me before but he had a way with words in every stupid situation we’d find each other in. He always knew how to aggravate me, distort my way of thinking, make me lose all patience. And despite us never admitting it, we were sharing an awful secret that neither of us knew where it came from.

The secret? He was a man I could not have and I was a woman he could not have. In some destitute other world, we are each others, but here we stand with a divide in between us. Maybe he didn’t know why he wanted me so badly, I definitely knew why I wanted him though. Dreams play too grand a part in my life.

The night of the party was a different story. The party was for Halloween, a friend’s celebration of it. Only thing was that he was hosting it at his house. Normally I would’ve declined an invitation to be anywhere near him, but that night something came over me. I hadn’t told anyone I’d go, but made sure I had all the information correct to show up that day.

It was a costume party and no one was allowed in without a costume. Lucky enough for me, he over invited and way more people showed up, meaning that when I arrived I was able to just blend in with the crowd and disappear if need be. To be completely honest, not much was hidden, but I was wearing a skimpy princess mini dress with a tiara and a masquerade mask.

I wasn’t blending in awfully since everyone was dressed up and most of the girls were skimpy too.

Anyway, the next little bit is a blur because I smoked some pot and started going around drinking alcohol from the kitchen bar. i knew I shouldn't be mixing my alcohol and pot but I got crossfaded pretty often and had an idea of my limits.

Well, eventually I decided to sit at the kitchen island and just have a drink (on my second) and chill there for a bit and people watch. Julius was at this party and I was trying to avoid him too for the most part.

I don't think I recognized the man who until this point has gone nameless — his name is Raphael — even when he came up to me. He was wearing some black jeans and a red top that looked just a little too small for him, but I traced my eyes along his arms and muscles and then face and nothing clicked. it was like I had never seen him before in my life.

For years I spent them hating and arguing with this man, but now he was sitting beside me at the kitchen island and the whole party seemed to come to a slow. All of a sudden it felt like the alcohol came to overtake me.

He asks me who I am, says that the no face masks rule applies, and says I gotta take off my mask and show myself to him.

It feels almost like a joke. Even though I don’t recognize him, I still fight back with the usual anger, "Face masks shouldn't apply for half naked Princesses, sir. plus you're not the boss of the party. i know the guy hosting it and it ain't you.

He seemed to pause for a second, not sure what must have been going through his mind but he starts to smile. He leans towards me and asks, “want more whiskey?” He reaches for the bottle and starts to pour a little more into my cup, then some into a cup for himself.

“Thank you,” I told him, and then took the whole shot down in one gulp. I don’t know what came over me but I wanted to prove myself to him. I didn’t want him thinking he could walk all over me. I’d already experienced men like him before, “Shouldn’t approach women you don’t know demanding they show you their face. Sounds a bit creepy.”

He let out a laugh and took his shot, adding another to my cup and another to his, “fine. What if we go to one of the rooms and you show me your face there? I’m in charge of the doors and I gotta make sure you’re on his list. No one else has to see you though.”

Taking my now 4th shot I looked at him. Again my eyes ran over him for a second and I thought to myself “could I fight him off of me?” The idea of following this stranger into a private room was so out of this world insane but, there was just something different about this man. I kept thinking he seemed so familiar but like I had known him when I was a child and hadn’t seen him since. I finally answered agreeing to follow him into a room.

I thought how I was glad that this stranger was helping me, that I didn’t wanna be kicked out of this party for not complying with the host’s rules, and here they were letting me keep my identity a secret as long as they could confirm who I am.

To get to the room he took my hand and let me up the stairs of the house through crowds of people. I kept thinking that there were so many people there it was crazy that Raphael would have invited all those people.

Mind you, as the man is taking me to the room I still have no inclination that he is Raphael. I’ve never once touched Raphael. But in that moment he was touching me, holding my hand and pulling me around all the strange people. I felt like a doll to this man but I couldn’t pull away. I wanted him to know who I was.

Inside the room was another story entirely. As soon as we entered he asked, “could you take off your mask for me?”

I unlace my mask from the back and drop it into my hands. My eyes meet his again and yet again I am left breathless but unaware. I still do not recognize him.

“You’re definitely on the list,” he said under his breath. He hands me my cup and pours me another shot, then another for himself. He downs his first, I down mine as he starts to turn to me.

His hand falls on my thigh, his fingers move along my inner thigh, “I’ve been wanting to touch you since you walked past me. You didn’t even look in my direction. You ignored me and hugged some random.”

“How do you know they were random?” I asked trying to keep the distance between us but only feeling myself grow closer to him as he starts to spread my legs.

“You should only be around me don’t you think? Look at you and look at me, we’re on fire. This world is ours…” his fingers loop into the sides of my underwear.

He yanks and pulls down my panties, taking them off my feet. He makes eye contact with me as he gets closer to my pussy, his fingers move with a mind of their own. He starts using my body as his own play toy. I feel his fingers creep inside of me and all I can do is gasp.

"I don't just hook up with strangers," I told him, my hand tracing up his arm, trying to find the strength to push him off of me. Since the moment my eyes had fallen on him, I knew it was over but I was really trying to catch enough courage to ignore my desires.

It all seemed to good to be true, like he and I were not supposed to ever have met, and that least of all we weren't supposed to meet like this. This stranger being Raphael was something I couldn't wrap my head around, couldn't even in see in the stranger's eyes the uncanny anger that Raphael always festered in me. He just seemed to have come out of a dream, and I was trying to fight it.

He didn't seem to adhere to my gentle touches or incoherent begs, he just took one hand and placed it on my thigh, spreading my legs as his other hand continued to finger me. When my legs were open, he took his free hand and started to lift up my dress just a little at a time, "we don't have to be strangers."

Little moans by this point were escaping from my mouth. I had only known two other people that had been able to understand that my hesitation never meant no, it always meant convince me. While I never would encourage that behavior from other women, I knew myself to be a coy little fairy playing games with those that wanted me.

My rejection, my no's, were all encouragement to be cruel-er to me, to step on my toes and make me beg for you to continue. But here this strange man was, immediately recognizing what I needed from him. He made eye contact with me as his two fingers continued to thrust inside of me, my ass was now out in the air, my dress bunched at my waist, my tits absolutely throbbing from the heat that we were creating.

"How about this?" he asked, lifting me in one go off the floor and laying me down on the bed. He hovered over me, holding me down with his big hands, as he said, "how about... instead of us being strangers," his fingers started moving a little rougher inside of me, "I spell my name out for you."

"Spell... spell it out then!" I half shouted at him, in between moans and louder gasps. I made eye contact with him and realized he was only an inch from my face. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, I could feel the weight he was putting on me. I watched his lips, waiting for him to speak, but instead...

He went down. he kneeled down on the floor at the edge of the bed, and pressed his lips against my pussy. He started writing with his tongue inside of me, I clutched onto his hair, his free hand finished lifting my dress off me and he let it rest against my neck as the free hand began to squeeze and grope my tits.

"This is not... this is not... I don't know what you're spelling!" I moaned loudly and felt my vision spinning. I could hear the music outside thumping so loud the whole floor was shaking, but I thought it was the orgasms. One by one, my body began to let out orgasm after orgasm. Not entirely sure if he finished a letter, finished his name, or what, but my body would convulse and shake as cum began to slip down.

After about three minutes and several full body orgasms that left me almost mute, he picked his head up and I felt his free hand reach down in between us. He pressed his jeans to my opening, and I could feel his bulge squeezing the fabric of his jeans.

He continued to finger me as he rubbed himself against my clit, my eyes opened and I followed the path from his eyes down to his neck down to his arms, down to his pants. "Now that you know my name there shouldn't be a problem. I want to be inside of you. I want to feel you squeeze around me." He told me, his eyes gazing down at me with something like a volcanic fire that I had never seen before. He was confident, but his body, his eyes, his soul were all so violently on fire and frantic and it seemed like he knew me from a dream, too.

I knew this was the time to stop, I knew that if there was any moment to make it all end, I'd have to do it now. But, I didn't want it to end. All my life I had chased after the feelings from that dream, and now here the man was in front of me making me feel all those things. I didn't want to give it up, I wanted to play, I wanted to feel him. My hands made their way to his shirt, and pulling it from the bottom I got it off his body and I examined his bare chest.

The muscles were tight and big, and just his bicep alone was the size of my head. I felt like he could have his way with me even if I wasn't consenting, but it felt so good to see that he was letting me choose how I wanted it. My hands ran along his chest and then down to his belt, and I looked up at him again, "maybe we just... make this quick, pretend it never happened later. Just one moment that we never have to experience again."

He took off his belt for me, and put my hands securely together, wrapping and locking the belt around them. Quickly he reached down and unzipped his pants, letting them fall, and then he took his underwear and slid it off. He stood in front of me, one hand still fingering me furiously while the other hand began to stroke his cock.

When I finally looked at it I was excited and happy. He looked to be about 8 inches, rock hard and ready to perform, I looked back into his eyes as I felt the tip of his cock get pressed up to my clit, then I feel it slide down as he slips his fingers out of my hole. With his dick now throbbing at my entrance, I let out a quiet moan and reach out to kiss him. My arms are tied and I try to fight the restraints, but I move closer to him. I wanted to feel him.

He kissed me while starting to push his cock into me. The world seemed to slow down again like it had earlier. I felt pain immediately, his dick was big and my body was very small. While his kisses stifled me, I was still able to let out of a moan cry, feeling him slip deeper into me. He kept my legs nice and spread with his body, and just slowly slipped his throbbing erection into me.

His kisses only got harder when I got louder. His hands only got greedier, the more I tried to escape from his restraint. He began to pound in a rhythm, rubbing my clit while being inside my pussy. The feeling was magical. I was crying into his mouth, letting out louder and louder moans the more he inflicted on me. He seemed to just know me and my body, but I could have sworn I'd never met him in my life and his cunnilingus spelling did nothing to enlighten me.

My hips started moving to his rhythm, my body gave in so easy to him. He threw my dress off my neck and wrapped his hand around my neck instead. I was breathless without his kisses, I was staring up at him with an open mouth as he just continued to choke me. The feeling of his hips crashing into mine as I squeezed his cock inside of me made me feel nearly feral. We were like animals.

From there it all got rougher, got harder, he would smack me across the face and then kiss me, he would turn me over and spank me so hard I could've sworn there were marks, then he would fuck me from behind, pulling my hair and choking me. I kept up with him through it all, though my moans got louder, and with it I could barely tell if he was enjoying himself because he was pretty silent, but when he flipped me onto my back, climbed onto the bed with me, and pulled me close into his arms I knew he enjoyed it.

In that moment, squeezing my ass and slamming his cock into me, he came. He pushed as deep as possible, and I couldn't help but think that I had just let a stranger bust in me. I felt him pulsating as he came, and he continued letting out small thrusts to make sure all his nut was out.

I knew that I should stand, that I should leave, but he kissed me again, and against my better judgement I stayed. He kissed my neck and left hickies, sucked on my breast, and continued to fuck me. At first it was slower, and I could feel his semen and my cum compiling together inside of me, but soon he was back to going harder, meaner, and I was overflowing with our juices.

I don't remember how long it lasted. It could have been an hour, or five, but I knew he came three times, and each time he didn't pull out. It was like he was doing it on purpose, but I never told him to pull out. The more he came the more I wanted, but, eventually my body and brain tired out and I started to feel myself dozing off. He didn't even ask if we were stopping, he just pulled out of me and went to the bathroom connected to the room.

When he came back he began to clean me, and he helped me into my dress again. I was quite sleepy, my head barely staying up, and I kept opening my eyes to look at him. He was getting dressed and I kept noticing his dark hair and dark eyes. I wondered if I did know him, but I still couldn't put my finger on it.

"Good night, Dolores," he said, giving me a kiss and touching my back gently. He seemed so cautious over me all of a sudden, but it wasn't unwarranted.

"Wait," I called out as I saw him begin walking to the door, "stay with me until I fall asleep... Please."

He moved my hair out of my face and kissed my head, "alright." Then I felt him sit down beside me on the bed.

I scooted into him, thought for a second that I hadn't told him my name, wondered how he knew it, and then I passed out with my head on his lap.

[beatricebidelaire]

ulterior motives

Esme didn't meet Georgina like she same way she met most of the VFD members.

~2.7k, Georgina Orwell / Esme Squalor. pre-canon. also: Ernest Denouement. some background Ernest / Bertrand

for @asouefanworkevent‘s woevember event, day 2, firestarters.

****

Esme didn’t meet Georgina the same way she met most other VFD volunteers.

She met some of them in theater, who eventually introduced her to the others. To be precise, she met Beatrice and Olaf first. They were part of the theater group that hosted an audition that Esme went and tried out the role of a side character for. The two were almost inseparable during that period, never seeing one without the other, involved in some shenanigan or other. 

Despite the fact that they looked nothing alike aside from the mischief brewing in their eyes, they were nicknamed The Terror Twins by others in the theater group - and it’s easy to see how, Esme quickly learned. They were respectively the female-lead and male-lead of the show that Esme auditioned for, playing the roles of brother and sister in the show. They had almost the same dynamic outside the show and inside the show.

She met Olaf’s girlfriend Kit Snicket and Beatrice’s boyfriend Lemony Snicket when they came to the set to visit them, and once Kit and Lemony’s older brother Jacques. Aren’t the two families of yours a little too entwined? She remarked once, before getting confused looks from the others. After a moment, Beatrice was the quickest to get what she meant, to Esme’s displeasure - Beatrice had been proven to be very quick-witted and observant and intelligent, which was annoying because she’s already beautiful and popular without even trying, and it’s unfair that she’s also so clever and understanding as well, it’s like she’s getting everything.

“O and I aren’t actually siblings, despite what people call us,” she explained, with a very on brand grin. Casual and a little smug, and vaguely condescending when talking to Esme (and Esme only but not anyone else, or so Esme thought), which Esme wanted to wipe off her face, perhaps by biting, if necessary.

****

Georgina, though -

It was different with Georgina.

****

In retrospect, the fact that the first time Esme saw Georgina Orwell was when they’re at a high society social gathering was quite unusual. Mostly because social gatherings were not really Georgina’s thing. She made allowances for medical conferences, of course, but that’s it. Georgina did not like socializing with others.

Esme didn’t know that during their first meeting, yet. Just like she didn’t know back then that Georgina was part of VFD - she had never met her through Beatrice and Olaf and their group of theater-kid-adjacent friends, nor heard her name mentioned by them.

Georgina Orwell was wearing a purple suit that day, wielding an impressive looking cane, chatting with a man in a gray suit. Esme overheard other people referring to them as “Dr. Orwell and Mr. Denouement”.

Dr. Orwell was tall and stunning, wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses that didn’t hide away the sharp and shrewdness of her eyes, and a pair of pants that very neatly covered up her ankle, which contributed to the reason that Esme didn’t recognize her as VFD in the beginning. Her smile was a blend of perfunctory politeness and condescension, which instantly put Beatrice’s usual condescension to shame - for this is the real master of such technique here, Esme thought.

She only looked in Dr. Orwell’s direction for a few seconds before Dr. Orwell quickly noticed, and turned her eyes on Esme, piercing and sharp. Esme was not embarrassed at having been caught, and walked over directly, greeting her, “Good evening, Dr. Orwell.”

The man beside her chuckled, “Your reputation precedes you, Georgina.”

Georgina Orwell ignored him. “Miss Esme, I presume.”

“You’ve heard of me,” Esme remarked.

“You’ve recently made the news,” Georgina shrugged, studying Esme.

“Dearest Geraldine has always been the most entertaining,” the man supplied. He smiled at Esme, “Hello, I’m Ernest Denouement.”

Esme recognized the Denouement name when the others told her that the man talking to Dr. Orwell is Mr. Denouement. Must either be one of the managers at Hotel Denouement, or someone related to them, Esme thought. (Back then, she didn’t know the Denouements’ and their hotel’s relation to VFD, nor about the famous Duchess of Winnipeg - who was also at the gathering - being a friend of Beatrice and Olaf, and a volunteer.)

“Why don’t you go grab a drink and mingle, Denouement?” Georgina suggested, rather pointedly. She and Ernest Denouement exchanged a look that Esme couldn’t really decipher, before Ernest grinned, drily amused, and said, in a sly tone, “Of course.”

“So, tell me about the play the newspaper said you’re in,” Georgina suggested after Ernest left.

Esme raised an eyebrow - while she was always pleased to talk about her acting career, she rather suspected that Dr. Georgina Orwell was not the type of person who cared about plays. Perhaps she was simply making conversations? Or was she preparing to ease into some other subject?

Nevertheless, Esme gave a brief overview of the play she was in - rather professionally, she might add, and not even getting into complaining about Beatrice. There’s something about chatting with someone with a certain aura like Georgina Orwell that made her feel almost childish for bringing up the petty grievances she had with Beatrice. She wanted to be shown to be above that, somehow, right here at this moment. But also, Esme had met too many Beatrice Baudelaire fans who only approached Esme to ask about the beloved darling of everyone, Beatrice Baudelaire. While Georgina Orwell certainly didn’t look like one, Esme knew that not bringing up Beatrice was often a good test to see if the other person brings up Beatrice in the conversation first.

Georgina Orwell did not bring up Beatrice, and simply nodded along to Esme’s introduction to the play, occasionally making some comment about the plot, or complimenting Esme. At the compliments, Esme gradually relaxed, and started to suspect the real reason behind Georgina and Ernest’s unfathomable exchange of glances.

Georgina’s interested in her.

It was a thrilling and flattering thought, one she wasn’t completely sure if it was correct. But how else would she be able to explain someone like Dr. Orwell taking interest in her plays? She could believe that Georgina was interested in her, but interested in theater plays? Somehow, judging by Dr. Orwell’s reputation she’d heard so far, didn’t seem likely.

Esme decided to test out her little theory by some accidental touches - leaning closer as they chat, elbow bumping into her arm, placing a hand on her upper arm when they exchanged a particularly funny joke and both of them were laughing.

Less than 30 minutes later, they were furiously kissing in one of the hallways outside, and Georgina invited Esme to the hotel she was staying at.

It was a delightful night, all things considered.

They didn’t exchange contact information afterwards, but since they’re both semi-famous people, it was fairly easy for them to look each other up after that night. Esme realized that Georgina Orwell didn’t live in The City, but instead opened a clinic in Paltryville. Although it did seem like she visited The City regularly, and apparently stayed at Hotel Denouement often - it wasn’t the one she was staying when Esme first met her, but according to Esme’s sources, it was indeed her most often choice. Georgina even offered optometry consultation sessions there, in one of the rooms of Hotel Denouement, when she was staying there.

So that’s her business with Ernest Denouement, Esme thought.

A little digging into Ernest Denouement revealed that he and his twin Frank Denouement ran their family owned hotel. Despite the popularity of the hotel and how it was listed in travel books as one of the top choices for people visiting The City, the rumor around The City was that the twin brothers didn’t get along, presumably due to arguments about the management of the hotel and some financial-related reason.

****

When Esme heard that Georgina Orwell was in The City again, this time staying at Hotel Denouement and offering optometry consultation sessions, she immediately booked one.  She spoke to Georgina’s secretary on the phone when she called in to book an appointment - the secretary was a man who sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t recall where exactly had she heard this voice before.

The room at Hotel Denouement was pretty luxurious, and somehow the consultation session quickly turned into the two of them enjoying a bath in the huge, granite stone bathtub in the hotel room. After their first one-night-stand and subsequent no particular contact, it was surprisingly not awkward, and Esme was pleased to discover that on their second time meeting, they still got along rather splendidly.

The awkwardness came when Esme was ready to leave, stepping out of the room and into the corridor, and promptly running into Kit’s friend who Esme remembered also came to the theater occasionally. 

“Hello, Esme,” Bertrand said. “How was your session?”

It clicked.

“You’re the secretary!” She exclaimed.

The wheels in her head started spinning. Why was Kit’s friend - who was also part of Beatrice and Olaf’s group - working for Georgina? Did it mean Georgina was also one of VFD? Or she just happened to fall under the radar of VFD, who sent one of them along to spy on her for some reason? But also - when Georgina said that she recognized Esme from the papers, was that the whole truth? If Georgina knew Bertrand, who knew Beatrice’s little group, what’s the chance that she’d learned about Esme from them instead?

“I see you’ve met,” Georgina’s drawl came from behind Esme as the optometrist stepped out of the room.

“Do you also know Beatrice?” Esme blurted out.

Georgina sighed, long-sufferingly. “Unfortunately.”

Bertrand’s mouth twisted, just a little.

“I find her quite overrated,” Georgina added, and Esme found herself soothed, her posture relaxing.

“Beatrice often inspired strong emotions from people,” Bertrand says. “People either love or hate her.”

“I don’t,” Georgina said blandly. “I do not care for her enough to hate her. I just find her overrated. Run along, now. I won’t be needing you for the rest of the day.”

Bertrand’s eyes narrowed slightly, before he nodded and said, “As you wish, G.”

For a moment, Esme thought that she saw fury spreading across Georgina’s eyes - so fast that she wondered if she’d imagined it.

The initial was what clued Esme in to the fact that Georgina was most likely one of them - not a theater person like Beatrice and Olaf, but part of the bigger group they were all in - the mysterious group called VFD that Esme was still not completely sure what they were, aside from that Beatrice was apparently a beloved figure in the group, and therefore they probably all had terrible tastes or something.

Well, at least Georgina didn’t seem to care for Beatrice.

But still, knowing that Georgina was part of this VFD - Esme suddenly wasn’t sure what to think.

****

Ernest was one of the first people to know about Georgina’s betrayal of VFD.

Of course, Georgina herself didn’t call it betrayal - first of all, she claimed that one had to have loyalty in the first place for it to become a betrayal. Secondly, she was certainly not joining the firestarters like he had, as she’d repeatedly clarified to him. In fact, she found them to be just as distasteful as the volunteers. But she didn’t mind working with them, when there were mutual benefits, just like she didn’t mind continuing working with the volunteers, given enough benefits.

“I’m a free agent,” she would often say, and Ernest would scoff at that, because it was easier to pretend to be contemptuous of that and think that they were all bound in one way or another. Easier than admitting to himself the fact that she was indeed very, very much free in comparison to him.

Ernest’s bosses had taken interest in the new actress who started hanging out around Beatrice and Olaf at the theaters, saying that she had potential. Esme. Ernest had read the file on her, and how his bosses thought that she could not only be an excellent addition to their side, but also used to recruit Olaf, if they played it right.

Ernest had been to the social gathering to observe Esme, and also bringing in Georgina Orwell for her expertise. Georgina may not be a people person, but she did know how to read people, and was one of the most intelligent volunteers Ernest had met back in VFD, and also one who had loose morals and did not mind working for different sides.

Georgina agreed to the job, but aside from her usual payment, she also added in a condition - she wanted to sleep with Esme. Apparently, the high and mighty, cool and condescending optometrist had taken interest in the novice actress.

Personally, Ernest couldn’t see the appeal. But he couldn’t see the appeal of Beatrice Baudelaire either, and look how many people are flocking towards her. So to each of their own, he thought. Plus, it might make convincing Esme to join them easier - presumably after Georgina got bored and agreed to hypnotize the actress into cooperating with their side.

After the first night, Ernest quickly realized that Georgina had kept the information of herself being in any way related to VFD away from Esme. When asked, she just frowned impatiently and said that it was simpler. Plus, apparently Esme did not like VFD very much despite not knowing much about it yet - good for your side, by the way, she added as she gave Ernest a look - so it was simpler if she didn’t know my connection to it. Even if I’m far from loyal to it, she added lazily.

“If she kept hanging out with Baudelaire and her merry crew,” Ernest warned. “She might find out eventually anyway. You best be prepared for it.”

Georgina shrugged. “Well, she’s pretty, but I’m sure I can always find someone else to occupy my free time.”

Despite Georgina’s words, though, Ernest knew that Georgina quite liked Esme, and while she would have no problems moving on, she’d also prefer to enjoy this a little longer when she still could.

****

In the end, Esme didn’t find out about Georgina’s VFD connections through Beatrice, but rather Bertrand.

Or perhaps Georgina herself was partly to blame, Ernest thought, for allowing Esme to come over to the hotel, where she knew that Esme most definitely could run into Bertrand, who was currently Georgina’s secretary when she’s in The City. Or maybe Georgina wasn’t aware that Esme and Bertrand had personally met before, or thought that simply having Bertrand as secretary didn’t necessarily imply that she was part of VFD, and that she could probably mislead Esme into thinking that her employment of Bertrand was something outside of VFD business.

And from what he found out later after, it was probably Esme’s assumption, until Bertrand called Georgina by her initial “G” instead of “Dr. Orwell” in front of Esme.

An almost amateur mistake that Ernest knew he wouldn’t have made in front of people who weren’t aware of VFD’s existence.

In fact, he was almost sure that it was done on purpose - Ernest knew from Frank that VFD had taken notice of Georgina and Esme’s mutual interest in each other, and considered it a concern, and there had been talk of wanting to do something about it, introduce distrust between them so the two formidable woman with looser morals don’t teamup. Whether Bertrand was under specific orders to reveal Georgina’s VFD connections, or knew of the general consensus and made a quick decision when he was given the opportunity, Ernest wasn’t sure.

It didn’t really matter either way, now that it’s done, but it certainly caused some troubles for him, as an irritated Georgina Orwell meant more work on top of his busy enough schedule.

Ernest sighed, and then rolled onto his side on his king-sized bed, inching closer to the other occupant on the bed.

“You know,” he murmured into the side of Bertrand’s neck. “You do what you have to do, I don’t mind that. But you’re going to need to make it up to me.”

He could hear the hint of a smile in Bertrand’s voice when he replied, “Promise?”

[thebreakfastgenie]

Directors commentary on the play's the thing 👀? (which I meant to ask this morning and then didn't, please forgive me)

I did this one before and got carried away so I had to think of something I didn't talk about there.

I mentioned the line about sleeping perchance to dream before, but that was the payoff for this line, which I didn't talk about:

How the hours between studying and sleep keep growing longer, and it’s not because he’s studying less. How even with the extra lab, he’s finding himself with too much time on his hands. 

He's not sleeping, or he's not sleeping well, or enough. We see Hawkeye have issues with sleep in the show, and while that could easily be just a product of the war, I like the idea that he had problems with sleep on and off before, too. A lot of that is, admittedly, projection, but it also goes with the idea of Hawkeye as someone who's a little off because people who want to be surgeons tend to be a little off. And here, he's not being destructive, at least in the short term. He's doing extra work and studying and leading the class and taking on an extra hobby. Eventually, he'll probably collapse. Or he'll start sleeping better again.

Brian Thompson (Polonius)’s apartment. He closes his eyes and imagines it. Polonius has a phonograph, a good one. Claudius—what was his name? Greg something

“Hey,” a voice calls out. “There’s Hamlet!” 

He gazes up at Ophelia looming over him, her breasts exposed, her hair loose around her shoulders. 

She pulls back again, this time to tug at his shirt. It’s a doublet, really, he hasn’t changed—he’s still dressed as Hamlet. 

These lines all go together, the recurring theme of the boundary between play and reality getting a little fuzzy. I had a lot of fun with that, especially using it intermittently.

The scene between Hawkeye and Gloria includes Hawkeye quoting some lines from Hamlet and when I first wrote this I just searched for some Hamlet-to-Ophelia lines to use as placeholders. When I looked more closely, I ended up keeping almost all of them! I think I just tweaked the order a bit so it would make more sense.

The interjections, beginning with "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance–," were @hamiltonsteele's suggestion, especially because I already had the "Her perfume smells like wildflowers," line, and I was so skeptical. But I tried it and it ended up being great. I'm glad I did it.

Speaking of interjections, the limited parts that are from other POVs being parenthetical is something I've never done before (or since, but I would do it again if the fic called for it) and I really love how it turned out. It started as a practical thing, because I wanted to stick with Hawkeye's POV, and I didn't have any full scenes from other POVs, but there were a couple of things I simply could not leave out. The original one was John Grable seeing the play:

He recognizes the skull, but not the student--

I think I decided that scene would flow better with more than just his reaction, if I was doing the parenthetical scene. And I think I came up with a second one fairly early on and wanted to fill it out. It was also important, I think, to show how people reacted to Hawkeye as Hamlet. So I wrote all those little OCs and the hardest part by far was coming up with names. I always use my relatives for Maine people and I'm running out so I had to supplement. I had fun with the rest of it.

She reaches for one, covertly, but the movement draws the man on the stage right to her.

I always felt like I could have written this a little more naturally, but this was the best I could get it. That moment of eye contact is really striking in my mind.

Doing the parentheticals also allowed me to give that little moment to Gloria. I really wanted that, Gloria telling the host "there’s a freshman in the bedroom who’s had too much to drink" because we know and in my opinion, though this is up to interpretation, she knows there's something else going on, but she doesn't know how to explain that. She's also trying to be tactful, because everyone understands a young guy drinking too much at a party, and she doesn't use his name.

I had at least one commenter remark that it was sad that Gloria didn't know who his friends were, but I never thought of it that way. I honestly just saw it as Gloria going to a different school and not really knowing these guys outside of the play (she meets Hawkeye to go over lines, but she wouldn't do that with most of the others). So that comment was really fun because it was a different perspective I hadn't anticipated!

He hears whispers, people asking if that striking young fellow is playing the lead again, and it doesn’t occur to him until later that they were talking about him. 

I really liked the idea that Hawkeye doesn't really know what that was all about with the play, so of course he doesn't realize they're talking about him, but I also wanted to hint at the way other people might feel. What was the impact of this kid doing this incredible performance as Hamlet and then just disappearing?

“No kidding.” Sidney stares at him, and he has a funny feeling he can see all of it. 

Sidney sees right through him, of course. That's what causes the "sudden attack of stage fright." This fic was finished and maybe even posted before I realized the parallel between Gloria thinking he has stage fright at the beginning and the sudden attack of stage fright here.

“You’re a great actor, Hawk, but you’re a terrible liar,” he said, but he laughed, and they got on with rehearsal. 

I wanted to pull in "I lied to you about Hamlet,” because I fully believe (obviously, given the fic) that he was lying then. And it clearly doesn't work, because Sidney still wants him to participate in the reenactment. So, you know, he's a bad liar. We don't see Hawkeye lie often, so I found that believable. The exact meaning of the last line, and of it ending there, is unclear to me. It feels like it means something. So if you have an idea, I'd love to hear it.