#he didn’t say he demands a replay but he said he thinks the outcome of decisions like this should be a replay

[whitehartlane]

ppl agreeing with klopp and saying a replay should be the outcome of mistakes like this, erm … think about it practically. does liverpool start with 9 men or do they send the two who were sent off (correctly and by law!) at the time they were sent off? when do we play the game? if the lineups are supposed to stay the same, what about gakpo who’s injured and son who’s carrying a knock? or do we choose different lineups? do we start 0-1 to liverpool? do we start 0-0? who officiates? what changes with var if anything? what precedent does it set for the rest of the league? who can appeal? what can they appeal? how many times can they appeal? what happens if the appeal is unsuccessful? is the appeal only restricted to refereeing errors or are var errors also part of it? and most importantly, why do spurs players have to be put through a replay for a mistake they did not commit?

[darthwheezely]

sand and stone - g.w. - 1

summary: marine biologist y/n has made a major discovery - george, prince of the north reef and heir to the throne of oceanic royals. but when sinister forces threaten his very life - and the life of his family - will they be able to make it out of this alive?

pairing: merman!george weasley x marine biologist!reader

warnings: cussing, light angst (in this chapter!) possible sex in future chapters (if so: I’ll add nsfw warnings to each chapter when that occurs!), cruelty

a/n: it’s taken ages for me to update my series’ and for that i am so sorry :,) i just needed to bust out smaller projects like one shots to bring my head space back and i PROMISE i walk chapter 5 will be next as i’ve been actively tackling it for a HOT second now, it just has some intense content to write so it’s been hard for me to tackle yk?

Fred replayed the scene over and over, he knew there was nothing that could bring George back, nor heal his guilt in the process. Fred was older, he should’ve been wiser by default, he was always the protector and for the first time in his life he had chosen his own mischief over George.

“Fred!”

“George!”

And in his mind the outcome would always be the same:

George was gone.

And it was his fault.

Palace life was more stifling than it ever was, with Fred next in line as coronation as the next High Prince with a few more titles after his elder brother Percy, a marital match was next, and for some odd reason (Fred noted) that was taking a higher value than searching for his own brother.

And that didn’t really make sense to him.

Fred had asked every living merperson in the court if they had seen the ship, what it looked like, where it was going, anything to conclude that information was out there. But alas, none of them knew anything important.

King Arthur, on the other hand, didn’t seem to want to help at all.

So here was Fred, now pushing his way through the doors of the main throne room, watching with vile contempt as his father and his oldest brother Bill chatted about something making them laugh so hard they were wheezing.

“Son! How lovely a surprise,” Arthur had looked bemusedly at his fourth and bullheaded son.

“Don’t bore me with your bullshit, Father, I know nothing I have to say will probably mean anything to you anyways,” Fred snapped, prompting Bill to rise from his seat.

“Fred, what is going on with you as of late? What makes you think you can address our father, the King mind you, like this-“

“Because with all due respect, big brother” he shifted his eyes from Bill back to their father, who was looking coldly back at him with less than no remorse, “I’ve come to ask about the search party for George.”

“Then, ask, son, you know your brother and I can’t do your little tease all day,” Arthur coughed, waving his aide to bring him his handkerchief.

“How has the party been? Has anyone found anything new since the discovery that it was a boat that took him?” Fred was pacing, tapping his chin, a mannerism he always did when he was in thought.

Arthur sighed in frustration, “we would have told you if there was any other news, now get dressed for your courtship ball tonight-“

“No.” Fred said simply.

“N-no?”

“Yes, no, as in no, I will not be attending the courtship ball tonight.” He crossed his arms and looked from Bill back to his now flabbergasted father. “Is there a problem?”

It was now Bill who answered an exasperated, “yes, there’s a problem, all the eligible women for currents on end will be in attendance and you need a wife before the kelp harvest, you know this-“

“Ah, forgive me, because a wife and a mindless piece of grass is more important than my own goddamn brother,” Fred spat, “my mistake, your Majesty.”

Arthur rose from his seat and started in towards Fred. “Frederick, Prince of the North Reef, you’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here and-“

“Demanding justice for your own child?”

The room was silent for a moment, Fred looking mightily angry but also pleased in the fact that yes, he had gotten his father right where he wanted him.

“Son. I’ll strike you a deal,” he said quietly. Fred scoffed and rolled his eyes, heading towards the exit.

“Father, I know the extent of your deals and as such, I’m not going to participate in your little games,” he called from behind.

“You don’t want to find George yourself?”

Fred stopped dead in his tracks.

“Freddie...a father knows his sons better than they expect...and George is your other half and...” he swallowed, “this search isn’t going as well as it should and we all need answers,” he finished softly. Fred turned around and tears pricked at his eyes.

“If you choose to find your brother on land and you do so in one week’s time,” he closed his eyes and inhaled, “you’ll never need marry-“

“Father-!” Bill sputtered.

“-and never need settle in any of the Reef palaces I’ve created. Son, you’ll be-“

“I’ll be free of royal life if I so choose” he rubbed his jaw, taking a moment to think.

“You’re the best brother I’ve ever had, Freddie!”

“And you’re my best friend, Georgie!”

“And we’ll never be apart-“

“Not as long as we live-“

“-forever,” Fred said to himself softly, before nodding.

“If I’m not back in a week - send the search. You don’t want two dead sons on your hands,” he paced back to the door, pushing both sides open with both hands.

“...and I’ve got answers to find.”

As soon as Fred left the room, Arthur chuckled deeply.

“Bill?”

“Yes, father?”

“Keep an eye on him. We don’t need him getting out and stirring up any more trouble.” He rose from his throne, eyes still staring at the door.

“My son must learn to be quiet.”

—

George was back in the water, he knew that much. His head lolled back and forth as he slowly regained composure, seeing his tail as shiny and new as ever, but somehow unable to move it. He felt exhausted, like he’d swam to the South Reef and back like he used to do with-

“Fred...” he murmured, not really to anyone, just calling out to him somewhere. He realizes after a couple minutes that he was slowly sinking, his eyes fluttering open and shut again slowly in time before he hit the ground.

It was sand. He was in water, he knew that much, immediately jolting up swimming forward until-

“Neptune, what the fuck is this?” He rubbed his head, hitting something unbeknownst to him. He slapped and hit at the surface in front of him, making a sound of echo and reverb as he squinted his eyes and saw:

This was not home.

“Hey - hey let me out!” He shouted, banging on the clear surface, clearly seeing -

“Humans...” he mumbled, the laden horror setting in, backing up in shock and swimming for dear life before he hit the other side of this surface, repeating the same banging, desperate to be freed.

“Let me out! Let me go, I need to find my brother, please!” He cried out, swimming every way possible way, hitting the hard and translucent surface every time.

“What’s he doing?” A voice said, a younger woman for sure.

“He’s trying to break free, but unfortunately for him: that’s plexiglass.” A distinctly deeper and more even voice replied.

“He - he wants out.”

That voice. George stopped and turned around, he’d heard that voice before.

“I shouldn’t have brought him back, Dr. Lockhart-“

“No-“

“Yes, and - and now we’ve stranded him here, I mean, we don’t even know how long he’ll survive under isolation-“

“That’s enough, Miss Y/L/N!” The man shouted, stilling the voices in the laboratory. He cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses before smiling tightly at the girl.

“You forget yourself, Miss Y/L/N,” he said softly. “You may be a fantastic marine student, but you are still just that: a student. And until you reach a higher potential,” George watched with rapt eyes as the man made his way to her pressing a button.

“That is all you will be. A very. Smart. Student.” He clipped, turning a gauge.

George heard a very loud sound, looking up and seeing a large square thing coming down to the top of the encasement he was in. He scrambled to swim up, attempting to push it up and off, but it was too heavy and eventually he realized -

“I’m trapped,” he said hollowly, looking out at the people in the lab, now looking highly uncomfortable and exiting the room.

“Please - please I need to get back home,” he pleaded. “No, no, please” he banged harder on the plexiglass, “let me out! Please, let me out, I’m begging you!”

He saw her then, her face of...sadness. And remorse. And maybe something else.

“Please,” he whispered at her, before she swallowed, keeping her eyes to the floor and exiting the laboratory.

George, Prince of the North Reef was alone.

•••

taglist! check my compass for the link to be added! taglist! @4amhotchner @harrysweasleys @wandsandwheezes @valwritesx @lumosandnoxwriting @billyhxrgrove @mothermantids @cyliamarti @shakinganxiety @godricsswords @rosietoesy @jorduhnn @sinfulweasley @wand3ringr0s3 @jaywritesstuff0 @anchoeritic @amourtentiaa @miraclesoflove @lilypad-55449 @miarivic @loony-loopy-lupinn @wzrd-wheezes @writingsomewrongs

[vro0m]

vro0m’s rewatch - 13/288

2007 Italian GP

(recap + gifs)

Ayo it’s Monza !

First things first we learn that Raikkonen crashed hard during quali. It’s a McLaren front row with Alonso in pole. Massa third.

Annnnnnd the Ferrari-McLaren espionage saga continues. The World Motorsport Council is meeting next week AND there’s an Italian police investigation into McLaren supposed spying activities now. The FIA couldn’t penalize McLaren because they didn’t have any hard evidence that they used the information from Ferrari to make their car faster. The next meeting on Thursday is to hear new evidence that could prove precisely that. The FIA demanded that all 3 McLaren drivers (meaning Lewis, Alonso and Pedro de la Rosa) surrender any email that mentions Ferrari while assuring them that in return they wouldn’t be punished. Alonso refused to talk about said emails to itv.

Lewis says his job is to race, not to care about these matters. He tried not to think about it too much. He says he has 100% confidence in his team. He’s a bit emotional. He says that depending on the verdict, he might not have a job next week so yeah.

He’s supportive of Ron Dennis who’s been supportive of him since he was 13.

Now we see Raikkonen’s crash. It’s a big one, wow. In post-quali interviews, he explains “I just locked the rear brakes and unfortunately it turned right and not left”. Wtf. Lewis says it’s nice to have a McLaren front row on Ferrari’s turf : “We just need to make sure we try and bring it home same positions tomorrow… Or similar positions.”

He then talks about his last year in Monza. That’s when he got his GP2 title and learned he was going to be a F1 driver. He tells the story of how he was discussing it with Ron Dennis throughout the year begging him not to give the seat away to someone else, trying to convince him he’d be ready. In Monza, after the F1 quali as Raikkonen was celebrating his pole, he pulled Lewis aside and said “I’m gonna give you a chance.” Lewis describes him as being all quiet and serious and says he wasn’t sure what he meant at the time : testing? the actual seat? He knew it was a good thing whatever it was and was buzzing inside but put on a “professional smile” and just said thank you lol.

Anyway, the cars are getting on the grid. Formation lap.

And they’re racing !

Great start though aggressive from Lewis who almost pushes Massa out in the grass but the Ferraris catch up to him. He still manages to get through while defending and keeps his place. His driving is a bit frantic, Massa is fighting hard.

Oh no big crash! Coulthard is off the track in the barriers. The replay shows it’s actually not as bad as it looked thankfully. Safety Car is out though, but they couldn’t catch up to the leaders so they’re in the middle of the pack lol.

We see a replay of the start : there’s actually been contact between Massa and Lewis, which explains why he missed the apex of the second corner. In the meantime, the whole SC situation sorted itself out and the cars are now in correct order behind it. Rosberg also cut the second chicane which might be investigated too. Apparently McLaren directly contacted Charlie Whiting (lol so that happened back then already?) to ask what they wanted to do about Lewis cutting the corner but he just didn’t answer.

Safety Car in at the end of the fifth lap. Unscheduled pitstop for Massa on lap 10, wonder what that was about. Seems there’s an issue with the car? Yep. One lap later, they retire the car. Raikkonen in 3rd is now 10 seconds behind Lewis, himself 1.7 seconds behind Alonso.

18 laps in, Lewis pits for new hard tyres which means there will have to be a second stop to put on the softs. He locked up coming in to hit the pitlane speed limit, hopefully he did that in time… Now Alonso also pits and comes back out in front.

So Raikkonen is leading and the Ferrari strategy makes McLaren very nervous. He looks like he’s on a 1-stop strategy which might change the outcome of the race. But we’ll see, as he now pits. Depending on how long it takes = how much fuel they put in = how long he can stay out, we’ll know. And that’s 11 seconds! Definitely a one stopper. The McLarens go past as Raikkonen exits the pitlane but they have to stop again and he doesn’t! However, he’s also now much heavier than them. They need to pull a gap significant enough that they can make the second stop and still come out in front of him.

Alonso is 2.8 clear of Lewis who is already 19 seconds ahead of Raikkonen. It’s probably not gonna work out for Ferrari, they just don’t have the pace this weekend.

Ah but now with 17 laps to go Lewis seriously needs to accelerate if he wants to keep his second spot on the podium! Alonso is safe in front though. And there we go, 4 laps later it’s happening. Will he make it? The pitstop only lasts 6 seconds which is very quick for 2007. But here is Raikkonen! Yep. Lewis is now third. He didn’t make it. That’s gonna be rough.

OH NO WAY! He OVERTOOK Raikkonen! Yes show them boy! It was so unexpected we didn’t even get to see it happen. Come on show us a replay already. Oooooh it was daring.

10 laps to go and… it’s the end of the race!

In the post-race interview, Alonso is asked about what it means to win here after such a hard week for the team. He answers in a very egocentric manner talking only about what it means to him given he had never won there before. Doesn’t say one word about the team. Lewis is asked his own questions and unprompted says how important it was for him to keep the 1-2 for the team, whatever it took, because they’ve worked so hard lately. The difference in character is louder and louder imho.

Ron Dennis is seen getting an ovation from the whole McLaren team. He’s very emotional, as he was on the podium.

Lewis is still leading the WDC but only by 3 points now.

[eternalstarrlight]

You Mean Your Crush Is!?

As Felix tries to kiss Ladybug, Chat Noir appears and ends up finding out some very interesting information about his Lady...

Based on a previous post I did after being inspired by the Felix promo... Figured, why not share before the episode airs?? Lol Enjoy! 

                                                  ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~

Ladybug’s eyelids squeeze tight as Adrien closes the distance between them. Her mind races, trying to figure out a plan to get her out of this predicament. More than anything she wanted to run away, but he had her pinned up against a wall. Quite literally.  

It just didn’t make any sense; she’d never seen Adrien act this way before! And as much as she’d normally like to kiss him… this didn’t seem right… he didn’t seem right.

She swallows hard, she didn’t want to hurt him, but the best way out of this was probably to give him a quick shove… but just as she’s about to execute her plan, he’s torn away right before her eyes.

She blinks, eyelashes fluttering with confusion as she tries to regain her focus and comprehend what’d just happened. Her gaze zeros in on the culprit behind the disappearance and she gapes as she identifies the familiar black spandex of her partner.

Standing near the edge of the roof, Chat Noir had a white-knuckled grip on Adrien’s shirt… and he certainly did not look happy… no, not at all. In fact, he appeared to be seething with anger.

She gasps as everything suddenly makes sense. Oh no… He must’ve seen--

Chat’s voice draws her from her frantic thoughts, “What do you think you’re doing!?” The demand is clear as he gives the blond model a rough shake. He doesn’t wait for a reply before his eyes dart worriedly to hers, “Are you alright, My Lady?”

She stares at him silently for a moment, a bit taken aback at how quickly his look of rage had melted into such a soft look of concern. His emerald gaze burns into hers as he awaits her answer. Has his eyes always been such a lush shade of-- She give herself a mental shake and reminds herself to breathe, “I-I…“ thoughts still a bit jumbled, she flounders over her words. “I-I’m fine,” she finally says after taking an few seconds to assess herself.

She notices the way his shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh of relief before he refocuses his attention to Adrien, “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to force yourself on a woman!?” His voice was hard as granite, and a queasiness settles in her stomach as Chat’s fist clenches even tighter on her classmate’s shirtfront, “I outta throw you straight off this building you piece of--”

“No!” Without thought, the word flies from her mouth as she stumbles a step forward and her hands raise placatingly in front of her, “Don’t hurt him!”

At her passionate outburst, Chat’s head whips toward her, eyes wide in shock.

She inwardly sighs at how this must all appear to her kitty... His reaction was more than understandable; afterall, he’d just witnessed her being semi-accosted, so what possible reason could she have to stop him from fulfilling his threat? Might as well tell Chaton the truth…  or as much of it as I can, anyway… She takes a quick breath before trying to explain, “W-What I mean is…” She winces at the information she knows she shouldn’t be sharing, “I-I kind of… know him.” 

Chat completely freezes and his eyes glaze over with an emotion she can’t quite place… He’s so still she swears he could be mistaken for one of the wax statues at the museum she’d just visited the other day with her friends.

When he finally speaks, she barely catches his words they’re spoken so low, “You do?”

She gives a hesitant nod, glancing around the rooftop to avoid Chat’s searching gaze. I hope that doesn’t give him any clues to who I am… Despite the nervousness, the concern for her classmate keeps her talking, “Adrien usually isn’t like this, perhaps if we just talked—”

Her leather clad partner’s gaze swings back to Adrien, almost as if he’d forgotten he was there. Chat peers from her to Adrien, back-and-forth several times, as if trying to piece out some unseen puzzle. His eyes finally find a resting place as they locate hers, “My Lady, this guy is not Adrien Agreste.”

Her eyes flicker from her partner to the boy held in his grasp as her brow furrows with confusion. Did her kitty’s eyes need checked? That was clearly Adrien, the one who’s face was plastered on posters all over Paris. Wait… Her eyes squint as searches “Adriens’” face with careful scrutiny… No, there were differences. Like the shape of his eyes, his jawline… If she thought about it, even the way he’d spoken to her earlier had been different… Chat Noir was right, this wasn’t Adrien Agreste!

She gapes in bewilderment; did he have some long-lost twin she never knew about!? “But w-wha— Then who—"

The would-be Adrien imposter smirks, “It seems I’ve been found out. It’s true, I am not Adrien. I’m his much better looking cou--”

His words abruptly end as Chat yanks the guy’s collar hard, “Let me return this little fraud home LB, I’ll be right back.”

Without another word, her kitty vaults off the roof, whooshing away with the other boy. She blinks several times in an attempt to understand what had just happened. Huh, that really wasn’t Adrien… but how did Chat know that wasn’t really him? She gasps, horrified at the next thought that comes to mind. What if Chaton knows Adrien too!? She nervously bites her lip as her mind races with all the possible outcomes of this little fiasco.

Her feet begin to walk her around the rooftop, “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” she whispers out loud, “What am I gonna doooo!?” Her hands find their way to either side of her head as she concludes that the only thing she could do was to wait for her partner to return.

                                               ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~

A few minutes later, after returning Felix to the Agreste Mansion...

Chat leaps from building to building as he makes his way back to Ladybug. Hundreds of thoughts fill his mind as he replays the incident in his head. How hadn’t he noticed Felix swiping his phone earlier? And how dare he try to kiss his Lady—

Urgh! He gives a rough shake of his head to regain focus, there were far more important things to think about right now.

Like, how did Ladybug know him, Adrien? Did they really know each other? The way she’d said it had implied she knew him on a much more personal level than just knowing him from ads around the city… or even the time she asked him to be the wearer of the snake miraculous… In fact, what had given her so much confidence to even ask him to do that? Did they know one another outside the mask? Were they close or just acquaintances? Friends, maybe??

He’s jolted from his ponderings as he spots her red clad form pacing the hotel’s roof.

She turns, seeing him just as he drops down beside her. Her mouth opens, but before she can speak, he blurts out the most burning question on his mind, “Mind telling me how exactly you know Adrien Agreste, M’Lady?” He leans in, closing the distance between them, “And why would you be so overprotective of him like that after he tried to--”

“That wasn’t Adrien.” She hurriedly interjects, eyes darting from his as she tries to avoid the question.

“C’mon LB,” he says a bit impatiently while rolling his eyes, “you know what I mean, at the time you thought he was him.”

A faint splash of pink tinges her cheeks as she appears to mentally debate on how to answer, “Adrien is—” She halts, sucking in a quick breath, “H-He’s someone… important to me,” she mumbles the last part.

His eyes narrow at her vague answer, not missing how she navigated around the first question, “Important how?”

A full-out blush erupts on her face as she looks at her feet, embarrassed, “H-He…” Her sapphire eyes flit around anxiously without meeting his gaze, “I m-mean…”

At her stuttering, his brow draws together in confusion. Why is she acting so weird… you don’t just freak out because someone’s “important” to you… Unless…

Chat’s mouth goes dry as the obvious crashes into him.  “No way,” he whispers in disbelief.

Ladybug continues to stare anywhere but him.

He blinks, thoroughly dazed, “Are you telling me… that this whole time... your crush, the one you keep rejecting me for, is Adrien Agreste?”

She winces, swallowing hard before finally meeting his sea green gaze, “I know it’s stupid, okay!?” Her hands rise to sail around in sporadic gestures, “I have absolutely no chance with him! But I can’t help it! Ever since he gave me his umbrella at the beginning of school I--”

His breath catches at the word. School? She met me at school? We… We go to the same school! He processes the new information amidst her ramblings. Wait… But there’s only one girl I’ve ever given an umbrella to... A gasp rips from his lips as he stares at her for several long seconds, completely speechless.

It’s her.

Still marveling at his new revelation, he fades back into the present and catches her midsentence, “--I can’t even form coherent sentences around him, and he probably thinks I’m an idiot and--”

He immediately stops her, “You’re wrong.” He could never think of her that way, she was absolutely amazing… and in all actuality, he was the real idiot for not realizing all this before now.

At his statement, her tyrant ceases and all movement pauses as she gawks at him with uncertainty, “What?”

He drinks in the sight of her standing before him. Ahh… She’s so adorable. How did he never realize? The same raven locks, her height, the faint constellation of freckles that sprinkled across her cheeks… and those eyes, only one set of those eyes could ever exist in this world. They were a cerulean lake made just for him; he wanted to dive into their depths and never arise from them.

He was beyond elated at his discovery. For once, he’d finally found himself lucky…

“You’re wrong, Bugaboo. He doesn’t think you’re an idiot... and I’d say you have more than just a mere chance with him.” A besotted grin pulls at his mouth, “In fact, there’s no doubt in my mind that he returns your feelings.”

Her brow creases in annoyance as her hands find her hips, “How could you possibly know that!?”

He chuckles at the irony, leaning back on his heals as he murmurs under his breath, “How could I not?”

She blinks, most likely wondering if he’d lost his mind, “What?”

A smirk plays on his lips as he replies, “Because, he’s standing right in front of you... Marinette.”

                                                 ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~ o ~

Bonus:

LB: “So, that’s how you knew he wasn’t Adrien, because you’re Adrien!”

Chat Noir: “Pretty much, yeah.”

LB: “I can’t believe I just told you my identity!”

Chat Noir: “You might’ve let the cat out of the bag, M’Lady, but I’m rather paw-leased about it.”

LB: “Of course, you are! Wait, this means… I can’t believe that this whole time I was rejecting you for you!”

Chat Noir: “Yeah… I’m sorry I friend-zoned you Buginette… I was just so in love with… well, you.”

LB: “OhmyGod, we’re such idiots.”

Chat Noir: “At least we’re idiots together, Princess.”

LB: “Could I— um, I mean, can I… hug you?”

Chat Noir: “Why is your face so red, Bugaboo?”

LB: “I-I…”

Chat Noir: “Wow, I never thought I’d see a day when—”

LB: *In her frustration, pulls him into a glorious, spine-tingling, toe-curling kiss.*

Chat Noir: …

LB: “Who’s the red one now, Chaton?”

[stained-carmine]

Stepping foot into his office—the office he had just inherited from his father—Eliyah slowly sauntered over to his new desk, running his fingers along its wooden surface. Placing a hand upon the chair, he let out a soft exhale as he pulled it back. Taking a seat, azure eyes would gaze ahead aimlessly.

He’d done it. He had succeeded his father and become the head of the High Council of Aciernha’s merchant guild, just as he had promised he would.

So why didn’t he feel accomplished? Why was there still a void in his soul? A chasm in his heart that had yet to be filled. Glancing around, he took in his surroundings, committing every detail to memory.

As he sat in silence, the soft patter of rain drops could be heard against the window. Turning his head to the darkened scenery beyond the glass, he somberly stared out the window as the fall of the rain grew heavier, until it became a downpour, droplets relentlessly pelting against the glass with no end in sight. With a sigh, he turned away from the dreary weather and focused his attention on the desk at which he sat.

Sorrowful blue hues would linger upon the scuffs and scratches that marred the wood. Running his fingers along the indentations, he thought about his life thus far. The choices he had made, and the circumstances that had brought him to this very moment.

“Is that true?” A girl’s voice called out, snapping the boy out of his daze.

“A-ah...Y-yes, my father is the head of the High Council of the merchant guild. He runs the guild and keeps everything functioning properly. Without the guild, there would be no one to manage trade in and out of the city, as well as to maintain the city’s market prices. The guild is very important to the health of the economy.” Keeping his eyes glued to the ground as he spoke, he wouldn’t notice the young noble’s look of disinterest that came over her as he began to explain the inner workings of the guild.

“Mm...I suppose so.” She said with a small frown. Letting out a soft sigh, she shook her head a little. “No, that is not what I meant. I meant is it true that you are to succeed him one day?”

“Ah, y-yes...it is. When I come of age I am to begin my apprenticeship working under him. I will learn all I need to know in order for me to succeed him and become the next head of the High Counc—”

“Is that what you want?” She said firmly, a serious gaze turned towards him.

“Eh?” Lifting his head, wide eyes stared at the girl for a moment, gaze wandering until his eyes met hers, causing his heart to skip a beat as her crimson hues stared into him. For some reason, her eyes were so powerful to him. He was by no means assertive, so her commanding gaze subdued the meek boy with ease. His eyes averted once he noticed their gazes had locked, cheeks flushing faintly as he tried to calm his nervous heart. “I...uh...” He stammered as he tried to find the words to answer her.

The young duchess remained silent, frowning slightly at his anxious reaction, but paying it no more mind than that. This boy had always been a nervous wreck, ever since the day they first met. Though he was getting better at conversing with her, he still had a long way to go, and his progress had been a slow crawl. He could still hardly look her in the eye, his gaze averting whenever she turned her crimson orbs his way.

The girl’s eyes narrowed for a moment, taking on a somber light as she recalled her brief interactions with the children of the other noble families of Aciernha.

Ivalinne had always been somewhat of an oddity among her peers, not only for the strange color of her eyes, but also because of her uncharacteristically rough behavior. She didn’t quite fit in with the other children. She was too rowdy for the girls, who would rather remain indoors, playing with dolls and dressing up in their mother’s old clothes, than running through the gardens that dotted their families’ estates. As for the boys, they were hesitant to even play with a girl like her, thinking her to be like their sisters. Needless to say, they were surprised to see that she could not only keep up with them, but also give them a run for their money.

Her gaze lowered to the ground as she recalled one incident from when she was younger. One of the boys had challenged her to a race of sorts, to see who could find the other faster. Of course, she was the victor by a fair margin. As she gleefully boasted over her victory, the boy yelled at her, accusing her of cheating, to which she insisted that she didn’t. From there, it quickly devolved into a shouting match that resulted in the boy taking a swing at her. Fortunately, an adult had stepped in and put an end to the fight before anyone was hurt, but ever since, the other noble children kept their distance from her. It didn’t bother her much, she never really felt welcomed by them in the first place. The way they looked at her and whispered to one another about her odd behavior, it was clear they viewed her as an outsider, something different from them. Whether it was because her family’s superior status to the other noble families, or if it was because her eccentricities, she didn’t care. If they couldn’t judge her for who she was—if they couldn’t look past her status or appearance, things which held no bearing on who she was as a person—then she had no interest in them. She wasn’t going to pretend to be friends with people whose company she didn’t enjoy, it just wasn’t her.

Letting out a sigh, she purged those thoughts from her mind. This boy who sat here before her wasn’t like those noble brats who shunned her for her quirks. After all, he wouldn’t have continued to come back if he didn’t enjoy her company, right? Turning her gaze back to him, she interrupted his stutters with a firm voice.

“Is that truly what you wish to do?” The boy flinched as she spoke, mouth agape, unable to counter her words. “You say that is what your father has told you, what he has decided for you, but do you truly want that?”

“I-I...” He whimpered weakly in response. He didn’t know what to say, how to answer her inquiry. He had never questioned it, whether what his father had laid out for him was what he truly wished to do with his life. At a loss of how to answer her, and paralyzed by her gaze, all he could do was stare back in awe of her, this girl who had such a firm grasp on her own identity.

Seeing his dumbfounded expression, her features softened as she smiled at the boy. “...You should make your own choices, choose your own path. It is your life, you should live it how you wish.” She said as she turned her gaze out towards the vibrant flowers that surrounded them in this magnificent garden.

“To have the freedom to do as you please, to go where you want, to be anything your heart desires...” The young duchess paused as she closed her eyes and inhaled, taking in the medley of floral aromas that filled the air. Letting out a gentle exhale, her lips curled into a smile as she turned to face the boy.

“Is that not one of the greatest pleasures one can achieve? To see the world beyond the confines of this infinitesimally small garden? To reach out and grasp your dreams, to make them a reality, and to not be shackled to the will of another...is that not something you yearn for as well, Eliyah?”

Exhaling, the young man slowly opened his eyes. Somber blue orbs gazed downward, focused on nothing in particular, his mind still fixating on her smile as the words she gave him on that day so many years ago replayed within his head. A smile he’d never get to see again.

Letting out a sigh, he turned his head away, as if trying to avert his eyes from the past. It still hurt, even three years after her passing, the wound was still fresh, still so raw. When would his heart begin to mend? He thought fulfilling his promise to her would bring him closure—that keeping his word would change something, make him feel a little less broken.

But here he was, still hurting from her loss even after succeeding at that goal. Was there something missing? Something he had overlooked? Had he made the right choice? Regrets weighed upon his heart, tugging at the wound. What ifs would play out in his mind, fantasies that hurt to indulge in. The thought that maybe he could have done something that would have changed the outcome, that perhaps if he had chosen a different course of action, maybe she’d still be here.

Resting his arms upon his desk, the young man placed his head upon them. “Ivalinne, I have done as I promised you...so why do I not feel fulfilled?” He muttered to himself, words that sought no verbal answer. “...What would you say to me if you were still here with me now?” A solemn frown creased his lips as he listened to the sound of the rain against the window, the only sound that broke the silence.

Eyes lowered slowly in the wake of that suffocating loneliness that pressed against his soul. If only she were here. The light to guide his path. That warm, bright smile that gave him the courage to stand on his own. How dearly he missed it. Closing his eyes, he would imagine it, what that vivacious girl would say to him if she could see him now.

“...” Lips parted as it dawned upon him. The answer was so clear when he stopped to think about it. That unruly girl would surely be upset upon seeing that sad look in his eyes, as if he had lost hope for the future. Along the way, through the struggle to come to terms with his loss, he had forgotten that to succeed his father was not the only thing he promised.

“...Of course.” He mused aloud, lips curling into a faint, somber smile. “You would most certainly chastise me for being so melancholic. No doubt you would selfishly demand that I cheer up immediately, saying that I am not allowed to look so miserable in your presence...” A soft, self-pitying chuckle escaped him as he lifted his head. “...I was so fixated upon the first promise that I had forgotten about all the rest.” Gaze lowering as he spoke, he recalled the day he had made those promises to his beloved. “To be happy that it happened, and to not let the sadness and grief of that precious time coming to a close change us...” As the memory of that moment surfaced in his mind, faint traces of tears began to accumulate in the corners of his eyes. “Oh how I miss you...I am sorry, I had nearly forgotten my own words to you, Ivalinne.” Wiping the tears from his eyes, he took a deep breath, reaffirming his convictions. “I am not yet done here, I still have to fulfill my promise to you...”

Shifting in his chair, Eliyah turned to the side and reached for the leather bag which sat at the side of his desk. Opening it up, he retrieved an unlabeled notebook from within—the one he had recovered from the late Duke’s study in the spring. Flipping through its pages, he came to the notes concerning Anton Rozka’cer’s suspicions regarding Cyril of Falorre. “...I see now why you chose not to act, Anton.” He said as he glanced over the entry that detailed the man’s concerns over the Ardenian noble. Written in his notes were the late Duke’s speculations on the matter—theories that lacked the evidence to prove them true. To act upon his intuition at the time, when he had nothing to back it up, would have been a risky move. One that would have caused tension between the two cities. Strained relations would have been a detriment to Aciernha’s economy. In the worst case scenario, refusal based upon idle speculation could have resulted in war. It had been a precarious situation that required a delicate hand. The Duke had done all he could with the information available to him at the time.

But now things were different. What Anton had needed to prove his theories true had made itself known. The son of Arledge who had been hidden away, the woman who the Duke of Falorre had bribed to keep quiet about the child, the manipulation of factors to ensure he would be chosen as the man Ivalinne was to wed. The rotten stench of that man’s evils couldn’t be hidden any longer. With his passing, the web of lies had begun to unravel. How deep did it go? The corruption of the Falorre House. The informant that Anton had hired had confirmed what the Rozka’cers had been told, but couldn’t find evidence to support the Duke’s theory. Cyril had hidden his secrets well. No doubt this was merely the tip of the iceberg, that there was much more to uncover. An arduous journey lied ahead, one that required a careful approach, else what Anton tried to accomplish by agreeing to the engagement, the continuation of amicable relations and peace between the two cities—what the Rozka’cer family died protecting—would be thrown into jeopardy.

From here on out, the real struggle began. He had once sworn to uncover that man’s evils, to bring to light all of the awful deeds committed by Cyril of Falorre. Now, he was in a position to do so. No longer a mere child, powerless to change the world around him, Eliyah could finally bring about the realization of those dreams to honor her memory. He wasn’t helpless anymore.

Now, he could change the world.

Setting the journal down upon his desk, the newly appointed head of the High Council of Aciernha’s merchant guild pulled out an empty notebook. Retrieving a quill from the holder that sat upon the desk, the young man dipped the pen into the inkwell as he opened to the first page of the book.

Azure hues would gaze upon the blank page before him. A somber light reflected in his eyes for a moment as his courage wavered. Doubts arose in his mind as he thought about the daunting tasks ahead of him. With the Rozka’cer Dukedom no more, the duty of governing Aciernha had fallen to the guild in the absence of its leaders. With his succession, the responsibility of keeping Aciernha afloat landed squarely upon his shoulders. His once simplistic life of playing in the gardens of the Rozka’cer estate with his dear friend were long gone.

What lied before him was a treacherous path covered in thorns, one that seemed endless from where he stood. Would he really be able to do it? Was he up to the task? Was this the right choice to make? And would she be proud of him for what he was about to do? Gripping the quill a little tighter, Eliyah would swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. I cannot give in to my insecurities now, not after coming so far... He thought to himself as he closed his eyes and focused his mind upon the memory of her smile. No, I must not falter in pursuit of this goal. I owe it to her, to Anton, to Aciernha... Reopening his eyes, azure hues burned with determination. I shall keep my promises to you, Ivalinne. I swear it upon my very life.

With his purpose renewed, the young man inhaled deeply, before letting out a calming exhale. Putting pen to paper, he uttered a single phrase to himself to steel himself against the challenges that awaited him in the future, a quiet affirmation of his chosen course, and the resolution to see it through.

“Let us begin.”

[eclairz1]

A Flip Zimmerman Fanfiction (2/5) Chapter 2:

They had two days, two days before Flip went to the first in-person meeting with the Klansman that Ron had been talking with on the phone. The team prepared with diligence, they looked up the name that the guy on the phone had given Ron, the bar he asked Ron to meet him at, went over the transcripts of their conversations over and over again, debated on what the contingency plans would be, how to get Flip out of there if anything went wrong, best and worst outcomes.  

The hours were grueling and demanding, they often didn’t stop for long, even when they took breaks. The team worked from early in the morning to late into the night. The conversations were peppered with humor and were always interesting, food was shared and Coffee flowed like a river. Ron was funny and level-headed, a little too invested in the case but it was hard not to be. They bonded well, over the anxiety, ambition, hunger, lack of sleep and tiring hours. It felt like they had always known each other like this wasn’t new.  

Lola felt exhausted from just doing all the research and thinking, she couldn’t imagine how Flip felt. He was hard to read, complex because he swung from being serious, guarded and private to friendly, funny and suddenly opening up when you least expected it. She stared at him, lost in her analysis of him, the dark hair that wove around his head, wild and crazy, the expressive eyes, the long nose, and the fullest lips she had ever seen on a man. He wore warm, comfortable flannel plaid shirts with jeans that highlighted his broad shoulders, and long, muscled legs. He was attractive, to say the least. Lola tried to not to think about that. She was here with a purpose and being able to work on this case was an absolute treat, the fact that the officer working the case was a complete dreamboat was just an added bonus.  

She forced herself to drag her eyes away from him and refocus on her task. Reading and re-reading the local files for any details she missed on Walter. The decision that Lola wouldn’t go with Ron and Jimmy was not her favorite, but she was a researcher, not a cop. She would only be a burden and a liability without the proper training. She would have to wait till the next day to know what happened but Ron promised to call her if something went wrong.  

She looked at the clock and realized that it was time to get going. She motioned to Jimmy and they silently rose to bring in the mic and tape system. The team was quiet now, minds occupied by the impending events of the night.  

They were in a small room, the door closed, each lost in their own thoughts until Jimmy made a joke and broke the tension. Lola walked up to the Flip who was sitting on the desk with the mic and a piece of tape in her hand.  He looked up slowly, surprised to see her in front of him. Their eyes locked, as he slowly unbuttoned his red flannel. She looked at him with renewed interest as she stepped even closer, she could smell the clean smell of aftershave, and the oil that he used to tend to his gun holster that was now on the table. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of the man who she tried not to be attracted to. When she opened her eyes, she noted that he was looking at her with equal interest.  

He peeled off the shirt off of his back and sat on the table in his undershirt without moving. She put her hand flat on his chest as an anchor and started sticking the mic to his chest. The board muscles under her palm tempted her to move her hand, touch him more, explore his expansive chest and shoulders but she took a deep breath to steady herself. Her mind screaming at her to act nonchalant even though her body wanted more.  

She suddenly remembered all the times his fingers lingered on hers as they passed papers and files, how he looked at her every day when she came in and always talked to her immediately when he noticed another officer looking at her, how he had asked every day if she needed a ride home and dropped her home when she said yes. The funny jokes he made as they worked together and the seriousness in his work when he focused on it. She suddenly felt scared. Scared for him. Her fingers brushed the attached mic and his chest one more time even as she told herself to stop touching him.

Their eyes met again. Fear bloomed in her. What if something happened to him tonight? Something happened to him before she could see if they had a chance. Oh no. In a rush, she realized that she had a crush on Flip and never acted on it and now he was going to walk out of this room on an undercover operation infiltrating a group of dangerous people.  

Lola took several steps back as she slowed her thoughts and tried to figure out a way to do something without giving too much away. The team broke up after a quick discussion and reiteration of the plans.  

Ron left to load up the covert listening system into his car, Flip walked to the door, trying not to think of her warm and soft fingers brushing over his shirt for that little extra second that seemed too short to him. He tried to still his thoughts, a cold numb feeling taking over him as he knew that the next few hours depended on him being collected and in control.  

“Flip?” her voice cut through his thoughts.  He turned around wishing he could say something to her. He wanted to talk to her a little more, ask her out maybe? Hell, he didn’t have time to date, between leading investigations for the intelligence team and remembering to feed himself, he never really cared for relationships with women. He had sex with a girl who was a waitress at a local pub once in a while but that was just sex. No strings attached. Lola’s bold humor, loud laughs, big dark eyes and curvaceous body with her long legs made him want to touch her and see her more.  

“Do you want to get some Coffee and Donuts sometime? Just you and me?” She asked looking a little unsure of herself.  

“Coffee and Donuts?” Say yes, not ask questions his mind screamed at him as the words left his mouth.

“I heard rumors that it was the preferred cuisine” She smirked at him.

He burst out laughing. He opened his mouth to respond, mildly surprised that she had asked him out but loving that she had. He was always direct about his thoughts and appreciated the same from other people.  

Jimmy cut in. “Maybe not the best idea to be seen with someone who looks like you while he tries to join the Klan?” He said it in a friendly tone but Lola’s face dropped. For a second a different Lola came to surface. Eyes filled with pain and lips trembling as her teeth bit down, her face crumpled. Then just as quickly a carefully doctored mask replaced the raw emotion Flip witnessed. A new smile, tight and without the ease of her usual smile stretched on her face. She nodded.  

“Of course.” it was barely a whisper but she turned away before Flip could say anything.

“Best of luck boys! I’ll see you tomorrow” she announced cheerily as she walked out of the room.

Flip cursed under her breath, this wasn’t the right time for this but he hated the glimpse of pain that he saw her face.  

He hadn’t ever thought about how the color of a woman’s skin could dictate who she could be with. He shook his head as he felt a sliver of the pain she felt.  

Flip let out a long sigh, he was in his truck driving back home, the joining form for the KKK nestled in the pocket of his jeans and it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. He was giving that damn thing to Ron the first chance he got the next morning. The whole encounter shook Flip, he worked with the gory and the gruesome on a day to day basis but never encountered so much hate in one night. He felt drained, the beers he drank in the bar with those racist assholes did nothing to calm his mind or heart. Suddenly he felt a huge weight settle on his chest, he couldn’t shake it off or let it go. He was wound up too tight, emotions flooded his mind, something that seldom happened.  The slurs, the cruelty, the hate for people, people like Ron, people like Lola and most surprisingly people like him.  

Lola! He replayed what happened at the station in his mind, her face, dammit. He took a different turn, swerving off the path to his ranch-style house in a more secluded part of the town. He drove the rest of the way lost in his thoughts and only realized what he was doing as he rang the doorbell.

A small woman with short brown hair and a friendly face opened the door almost immediately, she looked at him quizzically.  

He felt stupider by the minute, he didn’t even know what time it was.  

“Umm, I’m here for Lola?” he asked uncertainly of what was happening.  

The door opened wider and the woman turned around and walked into the house, not waiting for him to follow.  

“Are you the guy she works with?” She asked voice pleasant.

He nodded not knowing what to say.  

“Lola’s upstairs in her bedroom” she walked away towards the kitchen, sizzling sounds filled the air as an aroma freshly cooked food wafted through the open doorway.  

Flip looked around for the stairs, feeling more and more stupid. He scaled the short flight of stairs two at a time and looked up and down the landing, soft music played from one of the rooms that had its door half open. He felt an odd thrill of excitement, more excited than anything he felt lately and knocked as the voice of Aretha Franklin flowed from the room.

“Come in” Lola yelled over the music.

He entered wishing he had said something more to make sure she knew it was him. Well too late now.  

There was a burst of color that was everywhere in her room, posters, plants, Knick-knacks, and books covered the surfaces and a queen bed with colorful bedding sat against the wall and Lola was laying down in the middle of it with a book in front of her. The pastel-colored cotton nightgown contrasted beautifully with her deep skin tone, her hair was flowing down to touch the sheets and her eyes were focused on the page.

“Is dinner ready?" She mumbled. When she didn’t get an answer, she looked up and gasped as surprise filled her eyes. She jumped off the bed and grabbed a robe that was hanging off the wall on the hook and quickly draped it around her curvy body and fastened it.  

Flip just stood still, watching, not knowing what to say, he had come because he was emotionally drained after the events of the night. He wanted to be with her, laugh at her clever jokes and take his mind off of work. That’s what he told himself. Looking at her bare long legs, he could think of a hundred other reasons why he was in her bedroom.  

“Hey” he murmured trying to figure out what to say.  

She moved to him, with long strides, “Hey, is everything okay? Are you okay?” her concern overwhelmed him, after blocking all his feeling for most of the night, emotions came at him like angry swirls of hot water barraging a dam wall. He broke, face filling with emotion as he stepped into her path. She hugged him and it felt natural. He sunk into it, letting her warm soft body comfort him. Her hands reached around him and rested on his back. She stood still letting him regain control of himself. He could smell her now, a clean, fresh citrusy scent that infiltrated his senses. He buried his head in her hair.  

“Yeah, I just wanted to come to see you,” he told her, hoping that it would be enough.  

She nodded understanding. It would be a lie to say that she hadn’t been thinking about him.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I was going to say yes. For the coffee and donuts”  

She pulled back from the hug and moved away, he missed her instantly.  

“Maybe it's not a good idea, you heard what Jimmy said” she added the last part looking away from him.  

“Since when did you let a middle-aged white man tell you what to do?” the humor in his voice making Lola laugh.

“I would hate for anything bad to happen to you because of me.”

“That is my line. I’m the secretive cop”

She smiled at him, the walls she set up around her melting.  

“Are you sure?” she still sounded a little unsure.  

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you out but am glad you asked first.”

“Why? Because you would never ask otherwise?” They both burst out laughing.

They went down to eat, Flip met Lola’s roommate, Roxie and enjoyed the simple pasta dinner with them. The conversation flowed, the women were educated, witty and funny. Flip found himself relaxed and at ease for the first time that night. They teased each other about the classes they took, their friends and the people in their lives.  

Hours later when she walked him to the door, the harrowing events of the night seemed a little less scarring. They stood in the empty room, in dull light, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He knew he had to leave but didn’t want to leave and he couldn’t get his feet moving out of the door.  

She suddenly seemed nervous as well, unable to think of words to fill this magical moment that stretched between them, when Flip leaned in, Lola reminded herself to breathe just as his warm lips touched hers. That was the last thought she had for the next several minutes.  

Fireworks went off in Flip’s head as her soft lips molded to his, she was in his arms, he let his hands rest on her hips as he entwined himself in her smell, her hair, and her soft body. He kissed her slowly at first, exploring, her sweet taste flooded his senses and he needed more.  

He pushed at her lips with his tongue and she opened her mouth for him, dipping her head back with a small mewl that zapped his body into hyperfocus. He explored every inch of her mouth languidly, with his tongue and lips. She moved in his arms, unable to stay still while this stallion of a man uncovered her inch by inch. Her responsiveness was the answer that he was looking for. He walked her back, not breaking the kiss, not letting her go until her back hit a wall.  

He broke the kiss then, moving his lips to her jaw, kissing as he explored her soft skin. She mewled again low and soft, he pulled back to see her eyes closed, lips parted, and trying to catch her breath.

He dragged his warm lips from her jaw to her neck and kissed and nibbled on her soft glowing skin as he moved down till he hit her collarbone. He couldn’t stop, not after he got her taste swimming in his head. He felt her arch against the wall for him, her face moving to the side to give him more room to find the treasures he knew only she would hold for him now. She didn’t know how to respond, no words formed in her head so she wrapped one leg around his hip. He loved it, loved how close to him she was, trapped between him and the hard wall, he moved his arm to help her wrap her other leg around his hips and just like that she was off the ground.  

His hands fisted in her sides as he pinned her against him and explored her body, lips moving further and further south. His fingers brushed her soft and supple breast and heard her gasp.  

His lips, tongue, and teeth attacked her with renewed passion. She moaned soft and sensual, the feminine sound drove him crazy.

“I think that's the first time I’ve heard you moan…it was like a fucking melody.”

[bewareofchris]

Macaroons and Sex

PG-13 | Bucky/Tony | all Canon events?

a/n so obviously this isn’t a full story, just a bit of fun exploring the idea from this post.  Set directly have the bombing in Civil War, before the other bullshit

VIENNA

Tony had seen men jumping to conclusion before, but he couldn’t pinpoint a finer leap than the one the mass of blustery government men made to get from point a (a grainy bit of security video) to point b (the return of the Winter Soldier).  They could have made a go at Olympic Pole Vaulting, they didn’t even need the poles.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said he, the civilian non-combatant that was only present as a courtesy and a just in case. Tony was a nice smiling face for the public, an important figure in support of the Accords, but he wasn’t there to make choices about what men they were going to kill on sight.  “What software are you using to enhance the footage?”

The technician, sweating bullets in his seat, had never been so offended in the whole of his short professional career.  Here was a young man with integrity, a young man with morals, a young man that had just uncovered the sort of thing that made a career. Here was a man who was going to sail by for weeks never having to buy a drink, retelling the story of how he’d enhanced that video you saw on the news.  He’d brought down the Winter Soldier, the notorious Hydra assassin. 

“Do you have something useful to add, Mr. Stark?”  The fussy little man to his direct left was something of an intermediary, the man that was here like a placeholder for men who knew more about these sorts of things.  This was another man working to make his career be more memorable than his current record of sixteen trips from his desk to the company water cooler in a single day.  

Tony had something of great significance to add; it was just that he wasn’t about to go off and throw gasoline on this pile of bullshit.  “Get me someone with clearance, someone that—  If I find out that you,” he pointed at the sweaty technician making puddles in his seat, “leaked this footage to the press?”  He didn’t add a threat because men were good enough at threatening themselves. “And you, Hagget, get me someone in charge.  I’ve got to make a phone call.”

--

It was two phone calls, actually.  The first one to Natasha, doing a credible impersonation of a person who couldn’t be rattled by something as simple as near death by bombing. “Why are you calling me?”

“I was concerned?”  

“Why are you really calling?”

Oh, well, because he knew Steve’s phone number but he needed just a little time, just a tiny, insignificant bit of time left before he had to go through the whole pleasant ordeal of talking to the man. Because he’d always preferred to rip the bandage off in one go rather than drawing it out.  “I need Steve, find him and convince him to meet me.  I’ll text you the address.”

“Steve is at a funeral.”

The TV was interrupting their conversations to announce breaking news.  The drippy technician had abandoned his seat in search of towels (or shelter), and there was no way to stop the shitstorm that was about to follow.  “Someone’s framing Bucky, Natasha.  Get to Steve before he does something we can’t fix.”  

If Natasha wanted to know more (and she always did) she didn’t have the opportunity to ask before he hung up the phone.

--

The second one started like this, “oh hi honey,” said with a smile, in front of an audience of nosy ears and big-fat-eyes, all of them hoping to find out something worth repeating.  (Whatever happened to integrity in this day and age?  Whatever happened to keeping secrets that needed keeping?)

“I’m watching the news.”  Bucky had a quality to his voice, this unique quietness that came out when he experienced stress that hit too close to his chest.  It was the sound of a man who had no hope of escaping his past, the one that knew he had a bomb strapped to his chest.  “So, are you calling to ask me if I did it?  Or to tell me to go quietly when the taskforce gets here?”

Tony was too smart to ask either.  Smart enough to have security cameras and smart enough to know that even if it were in Bucky’s best interest he wouldn’t go down without a fight.  That was just animal instinct.  “I think it’s about time we shared the good news.”

Bucky was sighing, probably shaking his head, probably trying to work out exactly how they’d gotten here from where they started.  How they could have ended up on opposites sides of a transatlantic call, watching the same news footage splash plausible theories as facts across the screen.  “Steve’s not going to like this.”

“I’ve taken care of that.”

“I didn’t mean me the frame up—which,” verged on being impressed, “is a very good job.  I meant the good news—are you being watched?”

“All the time,” Tony answered.  “I’ll call you back.”

“Watch your face,” Bucky said.

--

The man in charge, the man with clearance, the man that Tony had demanded to talk to was Everett K Ross (no relation, just unfortunate coincidence) a man who stood an impressive five foot seven and used every inch to convey fight me.  The rest of the room was filler, secretaries and agents and—

Natasha leading Steve in like a misbehaving mule.  The idiot was carrying a hat crushed in his fist, with sunglasses folded into the neckline of his shirt.  Behind him was his new best friend, looking like the two of them had just been doing the least credible version of acting casual any two people could possibly have managed.  Natasha left them near an easy exit, put her hands on Tony’s arm to pull his attention sideways so she could whisper, “I hope you appreciate how difficult it was to get him here, what the hell are you doing?”

Tony was ripping off the bandage.  “If I could get your attention—this won’t take very long at all, if I could just get everyone to look here.  Miss—if you could put down the palm pilot, and you if you could look up from the phone, right so—  James Barnes did not bomb the UN Complex.  You’ve got the wrong man.”

That was met with various responses, confusion, outrage, a wide assortment of slow blinks and sideglances.  They made the rounds, people trying to figure out how Tony could possibly have known but none of them more confused and angrier about this announcement than Everett K. Ross himself.  “I’m sorry, how could you possibly know that?”

Cap might have been more confused, but he wasn’t angrier. He was holding that in, waiting to see where this was going to go.  

“For one, this video,” Tony said.  “That can’t be admissible in court.  What program did you use to enhance that?  It’s just filling in the spaces it can’t make out clearly.  We see half his face?  That could be anyone.”

“It could be James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, a Hydra Agent that specialized in— 

(There was Cap’s anger, like indignant indigestion, coming up from his gut.)

“It really couldn’t have been,” Tony said.  (No, and why was that.) 

“Why?” Mr. Ross asked.  “If you don’t have a good, viable, intelligent reason why it couldn’t have been him we are going to proceed from this point under the assu—” 

Well that would have been outcome even less ideal than the one they found themselves in at the moment.  The whole room was full of men that were dying to know what he was going to say, a great sea of eyes staring right at his face, but Tony was looking back at Steve.  Right at his stupid face (right at the man who still hadn’t told him what he’d found out about how Tony’s parents died).  Tony lifted his phone just high enough to be sure it had been successful in establishing a link to all the screens in the room, he flicked it forward to broadcast the signal he’d queued up.   

There it was.  Repeated on every screen around the room, cell phones and computer screens and TVs, there was Bucky fucking Barnes, with an empty chip bag on the table in front of the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, watching the imposter on the news replaying over-and-over-and over. 

“Because I found Mr. Barnes eight months ago.  That’s my penthouse in New York, real time footage.  I don’t now who bombed the UN, but it wasn’t him.” 

Everett K. Ross was speechless, searching for a way to express you’re harboring a war criminal and well fuck me I was wrong and we have no idea whose responsible.  His anger was cooling off as his confusion overheated. 

But Steve, oh Steve was looking at Tony like a man who was plotting the perfect murder. 

(Watch your face, Bucky had said.)  Tony thumbed the screen to kill the feed and cleared his throat, “so,” he said.  “Maybe we should figure out who is responsible.”

[pagan-raider]

Conquer You - Chapter 9

I had planned to write some fluff for this chapter to give them a break before drama catches up with them again, but reading through it I realized that it turned out quite angsty.

Everytime I sit down to write a new chapter, I have a certain plan in my head and every single time the outcome is something completely different. I swear I have no control over that story!

So thank you all so much for sticking with me anyways!!

@tomboy-till-death @ladyvampirelove @neverlands-little-lost-girl @itharley @samantha24015 @peculiarleah @skeletoresinthebasement @thenorns-themoirai @kirah31 @ruler-of-hel @onjacks-blog @nothingbuthappydays  @vixsyncynco @djisfantastic @kawennote09 @wantingdreamsnotreality @shondlenoodle @ducklyz @lovelynerdytraveler

First Chapter - Previous Chapter

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As Thyra woke up there was a weight on her chest that wasn’t supposed to be there. Her eyes flew open and she was about to panic when she realized that it was Ivar’s arm, tightly wrapped around her, cradling her to his chest. She slowly relaxed as the events of the past night came back to her mind, making a smile spread over her face. She wiggled a little to loosen Ivar’s grip and turned to face him. To her surprise he was awake and watching her, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

“Good morning, my little shieldmaiden.”

She yawned. “For how long have you been awake?”

“A while.” He said absentmindedly, his fingertips drawing little circles on her upper arm.

“Why didn’t you wake me? It must be late already.” She asked, squinting her eyes against the sunlight that fell through the windows.

“It’s been a long night and there was no need to wake you.” Then his face turned into a crocked smile. “And besides, I couldn’t move. You were sleeping on my arm.”

“I’m sorry.” Thyra muttered, lifting her head.

“Nah, it’s fine. Since you’ve shifted your weight to turn around I can feel it again.”

Thyra laughed and playfully slapped his chest before snuggling against his shoulder. She couldn’t help but smile to herself. This was a completely new side of Ivar, one she hadn’t seen before and probably one that very few people would ever get to see.

Ivar pulled the furs up to shield them from the cool morning air since neither of them seemed to be willing to get up and light a fire. He drew her even closer to him and rested his head on top of hers. Thyra was surprised by how content and peaceful she felt. She wasn’t used to waking up in a man’s arms but she had to admit that it felt good. Ivar’s warmth and his strong arms around her made her feel safe and protected.

She had to slightly shake her head. This was so absurd! She had always taken pride in the fact that she could take care of herself and that she didn’t need anyone to protect her. But here she was, feeling so small against Ivar’s broad chest, coming to like the idea of him by her side, that he would always keep her safe. She shook her head again to chase those stupid and girlish thoughts away. Nothing was worked out between them, their future together more than uncertain. She wouldn’t allow herself to become weakened by him so easily.

For a long moment neither of them spoke or moved. They were just lying there cradled together enjoying the other’s warmth. The events of the past night replayed in Thyra’s mind and made a wide grin grow on her face, but with the content happiness came also curiosity.

“Ivar, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm.” It sounded as if he was half asleep.

“Last night before we fell asleep you said that it was different with me or something like that. What did you mean by it?”

She could feel him tense against her before he started to speak. “I can’t remember. I was probably just babbling in my sleep.”

Thyra thought about letting it go, it was obviously something he didn’t want to talk about. But she was also curious and felt like after she had confessed her feelings for him so openly and in front of everyone it was his turn to give a little, to take a small step towards her.

“No you were not.” She struggled out of his embrace to look at him. “Listen, Ivar. I came here last night because I really want to be with you. Hell, maybe you’re right, maybe this is what the gods want for me. But there are still so many things that are working against us. If we want to have any chance to make this work, then we have to trust each other. So please don’t shut me out.”

For a moment Ivar just glared at her, lips pressed together, reminding her so much of a stubborn child. But then - to much of her surprise - he sighed and his features softened visibly, although by the set of his jaw Thyra could tell how tense he still was.

It still took a while before he finally started to speak. “A few months ago my brothers brought me to that slave girl, Margrethe.” He paused and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as if he was readying for something unpleasant. “With her… I don’t know… I…” He paused again, looking frustrated. “I just couldn’t do it the way I should. I don’t know why.”

In that moment he looked so vulnerable, blue eyes wide and seemingly afraid how she would react. All the confidence he usually displayed so boldly was gone and Thyra realized that it was all an act. His witty jokes and his mockery, all that he used to hide how deeply hurt he actually was. She felt the urge to wrap him into her arms, to hold him close and tell him that everything was fine. Who would have thought that she would have those feelings for Ivar one day? She definitely wouldn’t have.

But before she had the chance to do anything Ivar continued to speak. “I thought I would never be able to please a woman and I never again wanted to share the bed with one. But then you showed up.” He had spoken fast, as if he wanted to get it all out in a hurry and just be over with it, but now he slowed, looking deep into her eyes. “Whenever I looked at you I couldn’t help but picture how it would be with you, whether it would be different. That day on the marketplace when you killed that man right in front of me, his blood splattering across your face, oh my fierce little shieldmaiden, never in my life have I been this hard. And I knew the gods were giving me a second chance.”

Thyra was almost surprised by his openness, even though she had demanded it, but then she realized that she shouldn’t be. Ivar was brave in every possible way. Wasn’t that part of why he fascinated her so much?

She slowly leaned in to place a soft kiss on his lips. “Last night was perfect to me.” She whispered.

Ivar smiled at her. It wasn’t his usual cocky grin, nor the intimidating evil smirk he so often wore on his face. It was a sincere smile of happiness and Thyra wondered if she had ever seen that on him before.

He raised his hand to caress her cheek, then slid it around to the back of her neck to pull her to him again. The kiss was soft at first but soon turned more hungry and heated. As they parted for air, Ivar kept her locked close to him and leaned his forehead against hers.

“How did you become Lagertha’s little pet?” He asked after a while. “Tell me something about you.”

Thyra grimaced at his choice of words but decided to let it go because he seemed to be sincerely interested. “My father died in Paris, fighting alongside yours. When he didn’t come back my mother said that she couldn’t stand the sight of our house any longer, not even that of Kattegat. It all reminded her too much of him, so we moved to Hedeby. I was five by that time. Lagertha offered my mother to work in her household and they became close friends. When I was twelve my mother was assaulted by thieves. She wasn’t a shiedmaiden, she never carried a weapon. They did not kill her but she was wounded, soon the wound got infected and she died anyways. It took days, I could watch her become weaker and weaker, a terrible way to die.” 

She had to pause as her feelings were threatening to overwhelm her. She usually did not talk about her mother and now that she did, it all came back to her. She fought the tears that were forming in her eyes but lost the battle. As the first tear ran down her cheek Ivar wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest.

“I know how you feel.” He whispered. “You don’t have to tell me more if you don’t want to.”

For the second time this morning Thyra was surprised by how safe and protected Ivar could make her feel. This time she didn’t fight it, she was too troubled at the moment.

She sniffled and waited until she felt ready to speak again. “On my mother’s death bed Lagertha promised her to take of me. And I promised myself not to die the way she did, to become a shieldmaiden and to make it as hard as possible for anyone to send me to Helheim. In Lagertha I had the perfect teacher and over the years she became a second mother to me.”

She half expected Ivar to say something nasty about Lagertha as he usually did, but he just kept stroking her back, seemingly lost in thoughts.

“What happened to those thieves?” He asked instead.

“Lagertha sent men after them, had them put in chains and brought them to me. Then she left, telling me to with them as I please.”

“And what did you do with them?” He wanted to know, eyes bright and expecting.

“I killed them. Slowly. One by one.” Even after all these years the memory eased her pain. She had done her duty, she had avenged her mother’s death. It hit her like lightning as she realized it was exactly that balm that had soothed her so many times - the knowledge that there had been justice - that she wanted to take away from Ivar. Her insides cringed at that realization but she couldn’t let him kill Lagertha, she just couldn’t.

To her relieve Ivar’s thoughts seemed to have gone in a complete opposite direction. He had his eyes closed and a pleased smile on his face.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked.

“About you.” He said, eyes still closed. “You are a Valkyrie, descended from Valhalla. All men should fear you.”

She grinned at that. “And do you fear me, Ivar the Boneless?”

“Sometimes.”  

Thyra didn’t get the chance to respond to that as the cabin door was opened. She pulled up the furs to cover herself as Ubbe stepped inside. Ivar pulled her closer to him, smugly grinning at his brother. Thyra didn’t like the thought of being showed off like a trophy, but after what Ivar had told her earlier she granted him that little triumph.

Ubbe gave an almost shy nod to greet her, then turned his attention to his younger brother. “Have you forgotten what we had planned for today? It is well past noon. Everyone is waiting for you.”

Ivar groaned. “Can we not do that tomorrow?”

“You are the one who keeps pressing about this. You are the one who doesn’t want to wait.” He spared Thyra a short side glance she couldn’t quite make sense of. “It all has to be well planned if we want to have a chance at success. You know that.”

Ivar rolled his eyes but nodded. “I’ll be there soon.”

“I’m counting on it, brother.” With that he left.

“What was that all about?” Thyra asked as soon as Ubbe had closed the door behind him.

“My brothers and I are assembling an army. It will be the largest army that has ever sail, from all over Scandinavia. And with that army we will go to England and avenge our father’s death.”

He had sounded completely calm and truthful, but the way his body had tensed against her’s left her thinking that this was only part of the truth.

She was still thinking about what he could be hiding from her as he suddenly rolled on top of her.

She let out a surprised squeal. “Ivar, what are you doing?”

He gave her a wolfish grin. “I have to practice my newly developed skills some more. I think that would be to both of our benefit.”

“But your brothers are waiting.” She objected half-heartedly, already feeling her body react to his weight on top of her.

“Let them wait.”

[oneletterwrites]

Subtly Gets You No Where

Longer title: Subtly and care get you no where when the person you’re trying to subtly and carefully woo thinks too negatively and won’t pick up your clues and it’s subtly driving you insane.

Pairing: Romantic Analogical (or platonic until the end)

Warnings: Some negative self talk, disappearing talk, very minimal. Some swears?

It seemed to start sometime after their first debate. Virgil would just be sitting around in his room or even venturing out to the commons in the odd moments he felt courageous enough to curl up on his extra cushioned rocking chair when he would be sought out. That itself annoyed him but he wouldn’t complain. It felt nice to be wanted.

He’s on his bed with his phone open to some simple word search app to keep his mind occupied. The voices in his head are quiet for once so he enjoys the silence without music while he can. His eyes scan the screen for the proper order of letters when there’s a knock on his door. He jerks at the sound but calms seeing who it is.

“Good afternoon Anxiety,” Logan greets him with whatever time of day it is, his hands clasped gently in front of him. Virgil wonders if it really is a ‘good’ afternoon. Then wonders what time it is because he’s sure he hasn’t been in bed all day. The clock on his wall that spins out of control is no help and his phone glitches over the time, so he believes Logan’s statement.

“Hey,” He greets simply not exactly sure why Logan is at his door. Logan clears his throat softly.

“I was wondering if you would be able to assist me for a moment,” He says. Like the times before, the conversation follows the same pattern. Virgil is sure the rest of the day will follow suit but he won’t hold his breath for it. He shrugs and manages to flop out of bed and follow the logical trait down to their room. They hold it open for him and he takes a spot he’s grown comfortable with on Logan’s floor.

“I wanted to know your opinion on something,” Logan tells him and Virgil snorts. It takes another question or two of prodding for him to open up, going off on worries and concerns and possible outcomes to the situation Logan has brought up. He has a notebook at the ready, taking notes or writing down things he notices Virgil isn’t sure. Somehow Logan always has something smart to shoot back at him.

This isn’t the first time. It scared him half to death the first time he had been searched for. Had he done something wrong? Is Logan mad? What is going on? The question turned his mind to mush until Logan had admitted to wanting to know what he thought. That brought down a whole new avalanche of questions that Virgil ignored in turn for getting the interaction over with as soon as possible.

It’s gotten better. Maybe. He doesn’t stutter and start his sentences over as much, and he can start talking sooner than the million specific questions Logan could ask to get the answers he wants. Virgil knows how to tangent and with the lack of judgement that Logan gives, it’s easy to just talk. It’s not bad when Logan tells him something new, when they talk over each other trying to get their own point across. Logan always seems satisfied with the end result.

It always surprises him when Logan knocks on his door or bothers him in the commons. He always suspects the last time will actually be the last time. He doesn’t expect Logan to show up. It’s nice he does though. It’s one of the few things he has that’s nice in the mind palace.

With the few and far between silence he receives in his own room and the once in a blue moon smile from Patton, there’s not much for him in the mind palace. There’s anger and fear and snide comments paired with snide looks. While his room doesn’t provide those things exactly, the barbed wire words don’t hold much more for him. A double edged sword and he’s getting cut either way.

“Thank you Anxiety for spending this time with me, it was very informative,” Logan stands from his desk and offers him a hand up. Virgil doesn’t take it, helping himself off the floor with a huff.

“You’re welcome I guess,” He says and sees himself out. He flops down to his bed face first. He talked a lot and the energy needed for such a thing is drained from entirely. Finding his headphones he plays something soft and low. It’s enough to keep voices from telling him he should have just stayed in his room.

–

“I have a more.. personal topic if you don’t mind for today,” Logan says, almost apprehensively. Virgil just blinks at him from his spot on the floor. He has claimed the spot for himself whenever Logan indulges in listening to him ramble. It’s less awkward than the bed and more comfortable than the other chair closer to the other that Logan offers every time. He can sprawl out and not feel cramped either.

Logan’s room is crisp and clean, everything in it’s spot and nothing out of place. Well, except for Virgil that is. His dark clothing doesn’t necessarily contradict the blues and whites but it sure doesn’t blend well enough. He pulls his legs to his chest.

Maybe this is bonding? Logan doesn’t talk to the others as much, tending to stick to himself or a book. Sure he and Patton need to talk out lifestyle stuff for Thomas sometimes, and the whole internal conflict of if he needs to grow up more put them on a bit of a schedule but that’s scheduled talks they have. This is Logan searching him out of his own volition. 

“I mean, I guess that’s okay.” He shrugs. He’s not sure what would happen if he said no. Logan would probably accept the response and move on to something else, but insidious thoughts have him thinking down a different path.

“Though not the main proponent to Thomas’s feelings, I wanted to know your opinion on love and-” Virgil snorts, lifting a hand to cover his mouth to hid the beginnings of a smile. That smile falls immediately seeing the perplexed look on the logical trait’s face.

“Is this topic not to your liking?” Logan asks plainly. Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Pleeeassee,” He levels Logan with a sneer that’s not as mean as it could be. Logan sits a little straighter in his desk chair.

“Relationships and romantic feelings, no matter how much I don’t understand, have been proven needed for a fulfilling lifestyle,” He says. Virgil snorts again.

“Relationships are bullshit alright? Love is ridiculous,” He shakes his head as the ideas flow into his mind.

“It makes you act stupid, you’re constantly worried about what you’re saying and doing,” He holds out his fingers as he brings up point after point. Logan is glancing at him then back to his notebook rapidly as he scrawls down what he deems important.

“Plus! Either way it’s going to end. You’ll either get broken up with or someone is going to die and leave you alone, and both of those options suck.” He finishes. Logan rubs at his chin thoughtfully.

“You don’t think there’s good in having that time together?” His voice is softer as he asks. Virgil scrunches up his face like someone asked him to eat garbage.

“Not really,” There’s something burning in the pit of his stomach at the flash of dejection that passes through Logan’s eyes. It sets him panicking. He pushes off the floor.

“I’m going to go take a nap,” He rushes out the words. Logan tilts his head.

“You just woke up an hour ago.”

“Time isn’t real,” Virgil lets himself out and shuts the door behind him quietly. He can hear Patton and Roman in the commons. He slinks past and into his room as quietly as he can, the only noise being the light click of the door when it shuts him in his darkened room.

He doesn’t fall onto his bed at first. He sits just at the base of it on the floor, curling up and replaying his words in his head. This has happened before but this time, it’s worse. He left really early, their somewhat conversation and debate barely even getting started when he felt the need to get out. Now that he’s out, he’s not sure it had been a good idea.

“Shit,” He mumbles and manages to curl up even more in himself. Why didn’t he just shut his big mouth and let Logan be right? Why didn’t he stay to hear what Logan would say? Why did he join him in the first place? Should have stayed in his room, should have never left, should have never, never, never.

He grits his teeth hard. Every time. Every time he thinks he’s doing okay, he ruins it. Him and Roman had the smallest of understandings after their Disney debacle, but none of it mattered the next time, they talked like it never happened. Patton didn’t take his side at all after Virgil tried to get them both to a happier place. Logan came to talk to him after their debates sure, when Virgil participated, but this? He’s sure it will never happen again. It’s all his fault.

–

Logan looks… desperate. He’s mouth is running a mile a minute about some curve thing that Virgil isn’t sure he’s actually helpful towards but Logan has a way of making him believe whatever he’s saying with his reasoning. His face scrunches up in disbelief anyway.

He just wanted to go away. To leave. To make everything easier on himself and Thomas and the others but it couldn’t be that could it. They had to come searching for him, to come barreling into the center of his room and demand to speak with him. Why couldn’t they just let him go?

“Anxiety please,” Thomas is begging him and it hurts. He did this, he hurt Thomas. He shakes his head and once more Logan is talking.

“You’re important, you help Thomas more than you realize,” He says hurriedly. He’s trying so hard and Virgil can tell. After he walked out Logan didn’t stop asking him to debates, but Virgil stopped really participating, which is almost worst than not going at all. Logan didn’t deserve his half assed replies, deserved better.

“You’re that feeling of tinglyness!” Patton throws out louder than he means too. Virgil jumps at the outburst then jumps at Logan screaming after. He puts a hand to his head, sick of it all. It’s not like they were the last straw to try and leave. He couldn’t blame them, they tried at least.

Roman just had to speak up though. Apologizing in his own special way. Maybe that’s what Virgil had been after. Some kind of acknowledgement from the one that had been ragging on him from the beginning. It fills that little bit of nagging in the back of his mind. Any sense of fulfillment is quickly ripped away by the panic in Logan’s voice, circling his graph with fever.

“Breathe, that’s good,” He coaches Thomas safely out of his room’s center and back to safety. There’s a calm settled over them. A calm he can actually relax in. Be comfortable in.

“It’s the vigilant people who work the hardest,” Logan points out. There’s a smile on his face that’s rare on it’s own, one that Virgil finds himself returning, even if only to his feet. He does take a quick glance up to Logan though who looks relaxed now that they’re back where they should be.

“No pressure,” Logan reassures him, soothing and calm. Virgil takes a deep breath.

“My name is Virgil,” He ends up shouting louder than he means too.

–

It’s awkward. Just a little. Ever since he told them his name, the others treat him differently. More kindly and with more involvement. It’s not something he’s used to, yet finds himself enjoying. He can talk movies with Roman, and bake with Patton, and have weird eye contact with Logan as he enters a room then decides the awkward isn’t worth his mental health and leaves.

It sends a pit of something awful spiraling into his stomach. Logan doesn’t say anything to him. Did he do something wrong? They haven’t had a debate in so long. Yes he stopped really participating, but Logan also stopped asking. He blames himself for that.

He’s sitting in his chair in the commons, playing on his phone when Logan enters. He jerks having not spotted him before and immediately begins to shift out of his spot as the logical trait settles into his easy chair. Virgil almost trips over himself in his effort to leave.

“You can stay if you like.” The voice calls to him. Logan’s voice sounds weird. Virgil shrinks in on himself as he turns to look at the other. Their awkward staring contest doesn’t last long. Logan pauses, giving him a skeptical look, when he shakes his head. Virgil gestures vaguely to his chair opposite Logan’s.

“You don’t mind?” He says it with more disbelief than he means. The surprised look Logan gives him after messes with that pit of awful in his stomach, but then Logan sighs and smiles to him, not taking Virgil’s doubt harshly.

“Not in the slightest. You’re one of the only people I can have a comfortable silence with,” Logan tells him honestly, head angling down to be lost in the pages of his book. Virgil stares in a stunned shock. He didn’t think after all this time they would be able to handle silence. A smile twitches onto his face as he takes back his chair, going back to his phone, and ignoring the pleased smile Logan has for himself. He chalks it up to something interesting in the story he’s reading.

He hides the smile that just won’t leave in his hand. He’s missed his moments with Logan. The silence is far more comfortable than he could ever imagine.

–

There’s a knock on his door, it jerks him upright, fumbling with his phone and accidentally throwing it half way across the room. He blinks at Logan dumbly from where they stand in the doorway. It takes at least two deep breathes for him to be able to talk.

“Hey?” He asks. Logan shifts from foot to foot, not saying anything. It does very little for Virgil’s own nerves.

“Can I help you?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance in his voice but part of him knows Logan won’t mind. Finally the logical trait snaps into action, clasping his hands and clearing his throat softly.

“May I speak to you for a moment?” He asks. Virgil shrugs and goes to get out of bed to follow Logan to his room as he’s used to but Logan steps inside and shuts the door.

“Uhh,” Virgil’s eyes go wide as Logan comes closer. He takes a seat on the edge of Virgil’s bed and rests his elbows on his knees in a contemplation pose. Virgil continues to stare at him because he’s not sure what to do.

“Virgil,” Logan says first. Reflexively Virgil’s face twists up, still very unused to hearing it said aloud. The twist sticks around as Logan doesn’t say anything after that. It does nothing for the anxiety that bubbles up inside him.

“Do you remember our small debate about relationships?” Is what he says and Virgil groans in annoyance. He detangles himself from his covers to sit criss-cross next to Logan.

“Wouldn’t call it much of a debate seeing I left ten minutes into it.”

“So you do, wonderful,” Logan ignores what he says and Virgil rolls his eyes. There’s a stiff awkwardness in Logan’s posture that has him on edge though. Part of him thinks it’s his room, but they aren’t in the center of it so it wouldn’t be that.

“It has come to my attention that-” Logan cuts himself off, but at least his words have stopped Virgil’s downward spiral of thoughts. He waits as patiently as possible but even as they discussed before, he’s not very patient.

“I would very much.. appreciate,” Logan stops again, grimacing to himself and trying to find the right words. Virgil raises his eyebrows in shock of Logan being lost for words. It makes him more nervous.

“The opportunity, to be.. Involved.. In a romantic relationship. With you. Specifically.” He finally finishes his thought only to look over at Virgil who couldn’t snap his fallen jaw shut if he tried. His entire body is dropped in confusion and staring at Logan if he has two heads. Maybe three.

“What.” Is all he manages to say. Logan clears his throat.

“I understand if you do not, of course,” Though he says so, there’s a small something sad in his eyes. Virgil’s fidgeting begins slowly but soon his whole body is rocking back and forth.

“I don’t know how to deal with that,” His voice is a little strained but he can’t care about that right now. Logan nods in understanding, like he always has.

“Like, are you serious? I’m a fucking mess, I don’t know how you expect to deal with me,” Virgil goes on and Logan snaps his head to look at him deadly serious.

“I do not deal with you,” He puts air quotes up at the word.

“I enjoy your company and find myself wanting to do more romantically inclined activities with you.” Logan’s confidence is back and has taken a turn towards the tone he uses when they debate. Slightly condescending but wanting to prove the point. That Virgil can handle.

“Romantically inclined. You want to go on dates and have dinner and hold hands?” Virgil snarks. Logan scoffs.

“If that is what you want in a relationship then I will happily provide. I understand the properties that go into a romantic partner and can see no other I would want to be with.” He says, turning to face Virgil more so. He’s moving his hands the way he does when he’s trying to convey his meaning exactly.

“Is this a game or something? Some puzzle or experiment?” Is maybe one of Virgil’s last ditch arguments but he’s seen Logan do dumb things just to see the outcome so it’s not outlandish. Logan either way leans back offended as ever.

“I would never toy with feelings in such a trivial manner. Surely you must know that.” Logan directs at him, the makings of a smirk on his face. Virgil rolls his eyes.

“And how do you know this is true feelings or some made up malarkey that you just-”

“I would have never come to say what I did if I had not been sure. I went to an expert before hand to make sure what I feel is real and when given a complete rundown and this conclusion, decided to do something about it,” Logan tells him succinctly. Virgil narrows his eyes.

“Is Patton the expert?”

“Patton is the expert yes.” Virgil snorts and lifts a hand to cover his face. Of course. Of course Logan would go to Patton, the all knowing feeling master, to figure out what is going on with him. When he finally looks up there’s a slight smile on Logan’s face. He returns it a little and shrugs.

“Like I said I understand if you do not feel the same, but I do enjoy your presence immensely, and would leap at the chance to be romantically involved.” Logan folds his hands but he’s calmer now. Virgil huffs, blowing the air up at his bangs.

“You would leap huh?” He asks in more of a challenge than anything. Logan takes a moment to process but grimaces when he does. He clears his throat.

“Well perhaps not leap specifically. Maybe something a little less…” Logan makes a pose that resembles a certain royal but his face all screwed up makes Virgil hide his face again. In the sudden silence there is comfort. He bites his lip in thought, questions burning in his brain but none so prominent as the one he finds the courage to ask.

“How.. long? Have you felt like this..” The question weighs heavy in his mouth. It makes him keep his eyes to the ground and away from the one who will answer. He jerks at the sudden touch to his hand but Logan takes it gently in his to caress it softly.

“I myself have come to this conclusion just earlier today,” Logan tells him evenly. 

“But according to Patton, months. Long enough for him to say I should do something about it.” He squeezes Virgil’s hand. Earlier today, meaning it’s why Virgil hadn’t been called for food when it’s normally ready, meaning Logan had been able to just follow through with a plan the moment he thought of it and not think of thirteen different terrible outcomes that could arise. Virgil swallows hard.

Logan waits patiently, so patiently like he always does, for him to answer. Virgil is the one to squeeze their hands now though he is not as soft as Logan. He squeezes tight as thoughts form and take shape. It’s not that he doesn’t like Logan, no he’s so nice to be around, a sense of comfort he doesn’t get with anyone else. He’s calming, and grounding, and so nice to be around.

“Maybe we could.. take it slow? Ish?” He says tentatively before he can think of all the terrible ways this can go wrong. The feel of the hand in his is pleasant, and if being romantically involved will get him more of that, more of the soft and nice smiles and Logan, he can’t think of a better alternative. Logan seems to beam at the idea. He nods along. Virgil takes a deep breath.

“Maybe we could.. start debating again?” He throws the suggestion out there, having missed the time together, the time not spent wondering if whatever he’s doing is wrong. Logan beams brighter at that suggestion.

“I would love to,” He smiles. The corner of Virgil’s mouth twitches up and he hides it in his hand. He’s got an idea for their topic of choice, then he can really grill Logan on how he expects this to work. Virgil is hoping for secure statements and plain reassurance that it will be okay. That it can last.

“Have you eaten?” Logan asks suddenly, a look of worry on his face. Virgil twists up his face, ready to brush past that statement when his stomach growls. He glares at a corner as Logan huffs.

“I knew it, you have been in bed all day. I am making food, please join me,” Logan stands and walks out, giving Virgil one more pointed stare before shutting his door. Virgil shakes his head, curling up in himself. Thoughts tell him whatever just happened isn’t real. The warmth of his hand where Logan touched tells him otherwise. Things seemed to go like that when the logical trait is involved. Logan has a way of making Virgil believe, and this would be something he really would want to believe.

[bomberlandia]

Bombers Weekend: All the Reasons the McKenna Fallout Was a Disaster

It finally happened.

The AFL had its first positive test for COVID-19. It was Conor McKenna from Essendon. Also newsflash: AFL is the most COVID-19 friendly sport in the world. It was bound to happen. Things have moved quickly since Saturday.

The Melbourne game got postponed. The AFL went into chaos. We spent our time refreshing our digital feeds for the latest updates on what the AFL was going to do, where McKenna got the virus from, how he got the virus, did McKenna break protocol, whether or not Essendon would forfeit their points, and are other players impacted. The entire football community went insane in the space of 72 hours. And then sometime Tuesday afternoon we all learned that McKenna tested negative, along with the entire Essendon Football Club.

This was a dream outcome for Essendon. Whatever thoughts you had about McKenna were gone with that negative test. The Melbourne game will be rescheduled after round six. And apart from James Stewart, the rest of the Essendon squad are free and healthy to play this weekend against Carlton. Everything – sort of – went back to normal.

*

It’s hard to fully appreciate what happened since Saturday but after absorbing it all a few things stood out. Below is more on that and everything else that went wrong this week surrounding Conor McKenna.

David King and Cam Mooney both said inflammatory and damaging things about McKenna

King fired these bullets this week:

“I have no sympathy for Conor and he’s got to face what comes but what it does to the game is disastrous really. The protocols are there for everyone and he’s clearly gone outside of those. We may never see him play a game in the AFL.” – North Melbourne great, David King, SEN.

Then Cam Mooney joined the party with:  “I’m a little bit dirty on him and I think we all should be a little bit dirty on him.”

They didn’t have to say those things. McKenna felt like garbage already. Imagine being McKenna, testing positive for COVID-19, and then the knives come out. All this before verifying the positive result with another test. All this before verifying whether or not he broke the AFL’s protocols – which he didn’t.  The AFL is more aware of mental health issues of coaches and players now than ever before. King and Mooney were reaching for reactions on low hanging fruit which is the lowest form of media.

Troll culture in full force

The pitchforks were out demanding blue hell. Some of the vitriol was expected but the level of vitriol was at extreme levels between Saturday and Tuesday midday. “Call the season off and suspend Essendon FC for 2 years,” one comment read on the Herald Sun.  “We expelled Essendon once before and our heads didn’t explode. Do it again,” said another. “I am afraid, back to Ireland for this young man never to be seen again,” wrote another. “He needs to be fined and deregistered for breaking clear advice,” wrote another.

Calling the season off was never going to happen. A two-year club suspension for McKenna’s positive test is longer than the ASADA ban. Geez. The deportation message, send McKenna back to Ireland, also extreme (FYI: there’s only two ways you can be deported from Australia and what happened to McKenna isn’t one of them). The themes among the trollers were aimed at penalizing the club, aimed at McKenna and aimed at suspending the Bombers for the year. I must of read 80 comments on Twitter and there’s a lot of pent up aggression out there. McKenna’s positive test, without much support from the AFL, made it easy to troll. Also, too, opposition fans don’t care that we’re living through a pandemic. They’re as vocal as ever before. No empathy. Isn’t that weird?

AFL has adopted a name and shame culture through this pandemic

The AFL clearly have no problems dragging a player and football club through the mud when it comes to naming publicly who has tested positive for COVID-19. This should concern football clubs moving forward. I think the best way to handle this is what the NHL have done.

The key part of the NHL’s statement:

“The NHL will provide a weekly update on the number of tests administered to players and the results of those tests. The league will not be providing information on the identity of the players or their clubs.”

In the AFL, why does the public need to know who tests positive? Those players would be sent home to quarantine anyway. No-one needs to know about it. Naming and shaming invites trolls and would be hard for those players to deal with if they’re already suffering from private mental health issues. It begs the question: why aren’t health records not private anymore? COVID-19 has the potential to kill and it spreads like wildfire. It’s different to gastro or an ankle injury. The AFL need to stop treating it like the normal flu because it’s not the normal flu.

McKenna’s footage of the act of spitting had everyone gasping

The video showing McKenna spitting on the ground at training had football fans appalled. I mean, it’s gross. But, that’s what happens at training and in games, at every club. T.V stations made a point of replaying the vision below multiple times. In. Slow. Motion. It prompted one Blues fan to write “No way it’s safe to play against this group,” on Twitter. Another fan wrote “It’s one of the reasons this State is losing the battle against COVID-19.” What I learned: Football fans are scared about a one-second farmer’s nose blow but are ok with 36 players tackling each other for 100 minutes.

The AFL’s inconsistencies and hypocrisies are being exposed

Had the AFL ruled out visiting house inspections, that would’ve made McKenna’s case  more clear cut. But the protocol for moving house is vague. How can you move house if you can’t buy or rent your future house? These are some of the holes that have been exposed in the AFL’s COVID-19 blueprint this week. Now, there’s no tackling at training because of McKenna, but there’s still in-game tackling? Football goes against social distancing practises. The same rules you abide by going to get groceries. The same rules enforced by government health officials. We’re living in weird times.

[thetactilepope]

Lessons in Thermodynamics: Chapter 7

{Previous Chapter} | [Chapter Index] | {Next Chapter}

A Matter of Pride

Thirty-one days until winter break

Friday

 Momo sat in the restaurant booth, surrounded by her friends, feeling relaxed and happy. She wasn’t totally at ease, but as she laughed along with Kyouka and Hagakure at Mina’s jokes, it was tempting to forget she had a deadline hanging over her head and that in almost exactly four weeks, her fate at Yuuei would be determined.

“I needed this, especially after everything that happened.” Frowning at the thought, she remembered her visit with Todoroki’s mother, and then his confession about his scar, the frankly disastrous study session afterwards, and his abrupt departure.

Most of her Saturday had been spent replaying that moment on the sidewalk over and over in her head, trying to figure out what to do with her newfound insight regarding Todoroki’s past.

In the end, she hadn’t been able to settle on any course of action, a dissatisfactory outcome, even if things had worked out in the end.

“Our meeting on Monday could have gone better,’ She mused, fiddling with the straw in her milkshake, ‘that’s for certain…”

---

“Yaoyorozu-san, you’ve got nothing to apologize for.” Todoroki had said, cutting her off before she could finish her apology.

Momo sighed, shifting the papers in front of her around, “Then stop treating me like I do.”

He seemed perplexed by her words, utterly unware of the tension between them.

“Just… Never mind, let’s just get started,” Fuming, she opened the novel, resigning herself to the silence.

---

They only managed to go through around half of the assigned chapter, thanks to her partner zoning out every few minutes. It had irritated her to no end, but thankfully, she hadn’t had to endure many sessions like that.

Kyouka, after listening to her problem, had been the one to suggest simply explaining her feelings to Todoroki clearly. It was a solution she’d overlooked, and one that allowed them to return to the easy camaraderie she enjoyed.

“What’cha smiling about, Yaomomo?” Mina asked, a mischievous grin stretching across her face, “Someone finally capture your debutante heart?”

“What?” Despite her efforts to retain her composure, her cheeks began to warm as she attempted to rebuff the question, “N-No, it’s nothing like that. I was just remembering…”

Mina leaned forward eagerly, grin growing wider, “Remembering… what?”

“Yeah, tell us!” Hagakure clapped, as she mimicked Mina’s motion.

Glancing at Kyouka, eyes pleading for an assist, Momo struggled to think of something innocuous to say, that wouldn’t pique their interest

“I saw… a-a… a cute cat the other day,’ She offered weakly, ‘While I was… walking to the store with Todoroki.”

“AHA! I knew it!” The gleeful exclamation was accompanied by a squeal of surprise from Hagakure, and stifled laughter from Kyouka. Shooting her best friend a look that demanded ‘how could you?’ Momo suddenly wished she hadn’t taken the seat by the window. It meant exiting early would be far from a graceful affair.

“You an’ Mr. Hot-and-Cold have been spending an awful lot of time together recently.” Mina began, her pointer finger tapping on the table to punctuate each point, “Not to mention how secretive you’ve been about that fact.”

“Furthermore, you’ve been actin’ awful jumpy in class. As if there’s something on your mind. Yeah, there’s no doubt about it, Yaoyorozu Momo, you…”

Momo stiffened, fearing the worst. She had tried so hard to hide her failure from the class, but she should have realized that she wouldn’t be able to forever. No doubt her friends would be hurt by her secrecy.

“You’re dating Todoroki-kun! Right, right?” Hagakure said brightly, interrupting Mina’s string of observations.

Indignantly, the pink-haired girl crossed her arms, “Hey, I was getting to that!”  

“They just think we’re dating…” The thought was accompanied by a wave of relief, which quickly turned to embarrassment as the accusation sunk in.

With her cheeks approaching the colour of her hero suit, Momo considered what to say. On one hand, it would be incredibly presumptuous of her to buy into the lie. But correcting her classmates would most likely involve fessing up about her failed test…

“I could just… not say anything.” She thought, her hand clenching under the table, bunching up a small section of her skirt, “Todoroki and I are so far from involved like that, denying it isn’t necessary.”

Even in her head, the words rang hollow, tinged with the familiar fear of failure. As she finally rolled her eyes at Toru’s remark, Momo plastered an easy-going smile to her face, pushing all the doubt to a far-off corner of her mind.

She’d just have to deal with this later.

…

Once she was back at the dorm, Momo was eager to return to her room.

“A break with my friends is nice’, she sighed, ‘but I can’t blow off homework. Not completely, at least.”

Climbing the steps, she paused near the top, her attention caught by the sounds of a not-quite-peaceful discussion.

“C’mon, man, just tell us!” Kaminari’s voice whined, carrying down the hall.

The next voice that spoke brought a frown to her face, “Yeah! What’s the deal with you and our babe of a vice-rep?”

“Mineta. Ugh.” God forbid she make it to her room without getting harassed once.

“Deal? What do you mean by that?” Todoroki’s calm tone responded, but she could tell his patience was wearing thin. She could practically picture the disinterest on his face.

Kaminari sighed, and then continued, “Dude, are you guys, like, together? You’ve been hanging around each other a lot, an’ I-’

There was a sound like an elbow connecting with a kneecap, and a grunt of pain from the blond, as well as a loudly muttered ‘Ow!’

“Sorry, we,’ He stressed the word, ‘don’t wanna step on your toes or nothing. Considering you could probably destroy us.”

The silence stretched for longer than was comfortable, and the temperature seemed to drop noticeably. Momo held her breath, hoping her study partner wasn’t about to tell them anything.

“Yaoyorozu-san is more than capable of doing that herself, you know. Destroying you, I mean.” Todoroki spoke with confidence, and she could clearly envision the set of his jaw, “And besides, my relationship with her shouldn’t matter more than her own feelings.”

A crackling sound filled the air – that chill hadn’t just been her imagination, then – accompanied by exclamations of surprise.

“Please, take Kaminari! This was all his idea!”

“Hey! It was not, you gremlin!”

A pause, and then the electricity user spoke again, “Uh, no need to start freezing things, Todoroki. We’ll just… be going, then. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

Suppressing a laugh, she turned the corner just in time to see the two other boys disappear up the stairs, bickering about whose fault the incident was, and observed Todoroki using his left hand to melt a patch of ice on his doorframe.

“Oh, Yaomomo,’ He turned to look at her, ‘how was everyone? Did you have fun?”

“When did he start calling me that?” She wondered, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Not that she minded. It was nice, the way he had warmed up to her.

With a shrug, she made a so-so motion with her other hand, “Everyone’s a little stressed right now. But, yes, I did have fun. You… should come with us, one of these days.”

His answer was simply a non-committal huff, but one that meant he’d consider it. She knew Todoroki still felt awkward around many of his classmates, but was making strides to be more social.

Still, Momo couldn’t shake the lingering memory of the conversation she had listened in on.

“I heard what you told those two.” She confessed, “Thank you.”

He smiled softly, shaking his head, “Ah, it was nothing. Just the truth.”

“Well, I appreciate it nevertheless.”

Fumbling for other conversation topics, she asked if he was going to be ready for their session on Monday. After an assurance that he would, she bid him goodnight, finally returning to her room.

…

Homework nearly complete, Momo glanced over at her phone as it buzzed yet again, finally catching her attention. She stood up from her desk and grabbed it, before sprawling onto her bed with a huff. Her phone had practically blown up with notifications.

“I hope nothing happened.” Usually, it only got this busy the night before a test, as many of her classmates asked last minute questions.

The messages, and there were a lot of them, were from a group chat Mina had set up, one that was used to plan things like that afternoon’s outing. Momo was tuning in just in time to catch the middle of a conversation.

{Class 1-A Girl Power!!}

∞ girl [whaaaat? yaomomo and todoroki are really dating??!! FOR REAL??!]

pinky <3 [YEAH!! i asked her today lol!]

[she was p tight-lipped about it tho…]

hijacks [c’mon yaomomo never actualy *said* they were] [haga-chan, back me up!]

see-thru [i mean…]

[Jirou is kinda right?]

pinky <3 [*hmph* w/e she just doesn’t wanna admit they’re really together] [bc she didn’t know either] [ >8P ]

hijack [hey mina] [🖕🖕]

pinky <3 [ily 2, boo ;)]

∞ girl [deku says todoroki hasnt mentioned anything abt this?] [also that kaminari and the purple one were gonna check w/todoroki]

[he’s gonna ask around see if anyone else knows]

hijack [uraraka] [urararararaka]

[YOU TOLD MIDORIYA???]

∞ girl [oh]

[oops]

Several people are typing…

 The only reason Momo cursed out loud was because she let her phone drop out of shock, hitting herself square in the forehead. Not because it would take a miracle to prevent the rest of her classmates from latching onto the rumor about her and Todoroki.

Definitely not that.

With a groan, she rolled over, burying her face in her pillow, muttering muffled by the plush fabric, “Perfect, absolutely perfect.”

To join the group chat now would be like jumping into a shark tank with an open wound. Extremely awkward, to say the least.

She wracked her brains for a solution, but was too drained think of anything, “We’re definitely going to need to meet before Monday, and figure out what to do…”

“Yes, having yet another private chat with Todoroki would certainly go a long way to clearing up these suspicions,” Her doubtful side deadpanned, “Nothing flawed with that logic.”

With another groan, she pushed her face deeper into the pillow, “I just want to pass the test, is that so much to ask?”

There are twenty-four days until the Retest.

[artificialqueens]

These Uncertain Requiems (Sashea) - May

a/n: This is my shot at the fic challenge and also my first time writing Sashea, I really enjoyed both and hope you guys do as well! 

 [Also, I started this before all the finale spoilers leaked, so it’s written as though the finale runs the way it has in previous seasons]

 Words used: Admission // Knife // Snarl (7)

Sasha hadn’t really talked to Shea since they’d filmed the finale. Truth be told, there’d been almost complete radio silence between the two of them, since that one moment when they’d said goodbye. The goodbye that had, to Sasha at least, still sounded full of promise. A goodbye that ends with a kiss, lingering for just a second too long, in a now quiet dressing room surely didn’t mean a parting of ways like this.

 But that didn’t change the fact that Sasha and Shea had barely interacted at all. And it was fair, after all the two of them were two of the hottest and most in-demand drag queens right in this moment. They were busy - Sasha was both physically and emotionally drained almost every night. In the early hours of the morning almost every night he’d drag himself through the door of his Brooklyn apartment, or foreign hotel room and collapse on the nearest flat and soft surface. He knew it was only going to get more intense after the finale aired, and regarded that moment with a kind of apprehension.

The air date was a date that Sasha had circled with trepidation. Not only in regards to the actual outcome of the show, but in regards to seeing Shea again. His mind was flitting around, too fast, like a swarm of hummingbirds, and his stomach swooped and swirled in a dizzying, nauseating rhythm. Overthinking had always been Sasha’s thing, and no matter how hard he had tried, he couldn’t help but bite at his thumbnails, sure that Shea was avoiding him, that every advance he had made on the show, and after the show had been one sided.

He had sent one text to Shea since the finale had been filmed. “Last night was amazing, hope to see you before next time?” He’d spent a ridiculous amount of time deciding which emoji to use - the black heart seemed too indifferent, the pink whizzing ones too sincere. He’d shook his head at himself, sitting there contemplating emojis? He was a grown man, not a fifteen year old after all. He chose the yellow heart in the end - bright and cheerful, and it didn’t say “I’m so desperate to talk to you for every single second of every single day and all I want is you.”

The “next time” in his message referred to the viewing party that all of the Top 4 were going to be at - when they would see who had taken out the title of America’s Next Drag Superstar.

The last night in question was so much more special to Sasha. After what had potentially been the most gruelling night he’d ever experienced, he and Shea had found themselves alone, together in a dressing room as they cleaned up, eyelashes and used make up wipes littering every surface in an explosive cacophony of clutter. The room had been warm, and there’d been enough alcohol shared to have Sasha on edge, the buzz of tipsy that occurs before the blackout. 

“We would be so happy,” Shea had said, in a lapse in the dying conversation. “We’d what?” responded Sasha, a little confused by the spontaneity of the statement. “If we did end up together,” Shea responded matter-of-factly, running a hand through his hair, trying to get some volume back after having it pressed down under a wig for hours. Shea’s admission sounded completely natural, and it made Sasha forget every word in the English language as she struggled to piece together a response that didn’t make him sound cheesy or fake. He opted for silence as Shea laughed, a low quiet noise that somehow managed to reverberate around the dressing room as though it had been fed through a microphone.

“Did that scare you? I’m sorry,” Shea’s words were languid, and a small part of Sasha wondered if it was only because of the drinks they’d had earlier in the night that Shea was saying all this. Get a grip, he thought to himself as he replied to Shea, adrenaline leaving his voice slightly higher and raspier than usual. “No, no, God no,” he responded, somewhat weakly in his own opinion. “I think we’d be happy too.”

That was when Shea had put down the bottle of whatever it had been he had been holding and grabbed Sasha so tightly by the arm the bald queen had been slightly worried what was about to happen. That worry faded when he noticed Shea’s dark eyes watching him with a peculiar expression; almost a look of questioning and apprehension. Sasha’s breath had hitched in his throat and a nervous chuckle had escaped his throat, and Shea’s mouth had quirked ever so slightly, and Sasha could have described a thousand little other things in that single moment, he was so hyper-aware of each particle surrounding him. “Shea-” Sasha never got to finish his question, as he was cut off by Shea yanking Sasha closer towards him, and pressing his mouth to Sasha’s in an intense kiss. Although Sasha would never admit it, he’d imagined kissing Shea’s plump lips more than once, but his imaginations paled in comparison to the real thing, warm and soft, yet exciting, with an edge that was like no other kiss he’d ever had before. A small noise escaped his lips as he pulled Shea closer to him, intending to deepen the kiss when Shea pulled away, a smile painted on his face that was somewhat dreamy, that Sasha supposed was written all over his own face.

Shea turned to pick up his things, and once everything was gathered, he left the dressing room, pausing only to press a kiss to Sasha’s temple and whisper: “think about how happy we’d be.” And just like that, Sasha was left alone in the dressing room, shivering despite the heating coursing through the room.

All that had happened weeks ago, and Sasha had replayed it, over and over in his head, trying to quell his subconscious which told him in a horrific snarl that Shea was only drunk and didn’t mean anything. Almost an entire month of wondering whether he should confront Shea, whether he shouldn’t danced through his head, into a more and more confusing rhythm, until Sasha couldn’t tell pro from con and started dreading the moment he would have to next see Shea. Which coincidentally would be in only a few minutes whenever the taller queen decided to arrive, and enter the dressing room. Sasha felt like he might be sick, and rested his head in hands.

You’re a professional goddamnit, he thought, shaking his head as though his own hesitation were water blocking his ears. You can work with one other person for one night without it being awkward.

 He was just looking at himself in the mirror, trying to ignore the metaphorical knife stabbing into his gut as he desperately try to slow down his breathing, nerves fluttering through his stomach with no regard to how Sasha wanted to feel. His breathing was shallow and fast, he could feel it, but it all but stopped when Shea entered the room.

Shea was breathtaking, just like Sasha had known he would be. His makeup unfinished, but still polished and beautiful, raw strokes of colour and shadow carving his face, unblended, strong and fierce. Sasha swallowed, feeling even more uneasy than he had before, when he was alone with his thoughts for company.

Deja vu. Once again, they’re alone in a dressing room, except this time there’s not alcohol, not adrenaline, for Sasha there’s millions of emotions, running around his head. Everything he’s felt over the past weeks bubbles back up to the surface; rage at being ignored, the disappointment of picking up his phone to thousands of notifications but not one from the person he wanted most. Confusion from trying to work out if Shea wants him, and if he even wants Shea. Does he? Is a season’s worth of pining and looks from across the room enough to warrant attraction?

 “Hey,” said Shea, his voice taking Sasha back to every little moment the two had shared, and in this moment Sasha is fairly certain he knows the answer to the question he’s been asking himself throughout these past few, uncertain, confusing weeks.

 Sasha’s a smart guy, and an even more intelligent queen, and he has so many emotions he wants to voice. So many concepts, even, running through his head, forming long and eloquent sentences that would speak to Shea and tell the other queen how, yes, I would be happy. He would be more than happy, he’d be ecstatic, he’d be thrilled, he’d be all this and more. Everything runs around his head, which he distills down to the following question.

“Why didn’t you answer my text?”

As soon as the words left Sasha’s mouth he cringed internally. Instead of sounding like a friend, a lover, even a close acquaintance, he sounds like a desperate, clingy ex. He could almost feel the blood spread into a blush over his bald head as Shea chuckled nervously.

 Shea smiled, a little sadly. “Sasha, you can’t tell me you don’t understand how busy I’ve been?” he said, and Sasha just felt even more embarrassed. “Sorry,” he squeaked out, in his head muttering a prayer that the ground would open up and swallow him whole, or better yet, the whole conversation could be rewound. However, Shea ran a hand through his wig, and sighed. “That’s not really a good enough excuse is it though?” he remarked, a peculiar tone to his voice, that made Sasha jittery inside. “Truthfully, I had no clue what to say, I was so scared you didn’t care, or thought I was coming on too strong-” Sasha cut Shea off, forcing the taller queen to look into his eyes by grabbing his hand. “You’re so stupid Shea Coulee.” “I know, I’m sorry, I just knew I’d made a mistake telling you that because I’m so scared of what I feel, and I thought you wouldn’t feel the same. And I’m right, I know I am.” Sasha was unaware he was holding his breath until Shea looks at him, really looks at him with a smouldering gaze. “Tell me I’m right.” Sasha can’t believe he’s here, can’t believe what he’s about to say. He feels as though he’s about to melt, the only thing staying strong about him is his grip on Shea’s hand and his voice when he finally speaks.

“You could not be more wrong.”

 This time, Sasha was the one who leant in. This time was so much different to the last - they both were cautious of the other’s makeup, there was no carelessness this time. The kiss meant something, it wasn’t drunk or tentative. Shea’s lips were intense on hers, but also with a gentleness that made Sasha shiver all over. Sasha bit down on Shea’s lip, gently, and feeling a rush of pleasure at the sound of the low moan that was elicited from Shea. Shea’s hands were roving on his back, moving in circles, pulling him closer, the two of them tangled and lost in the moment.

After what felt like only a few seconds but also like hours had passed, the two queens pulled apart, both of their faces stretched into wide smiles. “I told you we’d be so happy,” said Shea. “I never doubted you, bitch!” Shea laughed, a free happy sound, that Sasha thought he could listen to for hours and hours. Still smiling, Sasha grabbed Shea’s hand and pulled on it gently, indicating the door with his head. “Now come on, we’ve got a finale to watch.” 

[footprintpath]

witch’s impasse

Code Geass | C.C. x Lelouch Lamperouge | 1,724 Words

Lelouch laments over his failed attempt at rescuing Nunnally from her position as the viceroy of Area 11. Luckily for him, C.C. is there to help him keep it together.

“Ah, finally, some peace and quiet.” C.C. whined.

Lelouch sat contemplatively at his desk, folded hands resting at his chin, gazing out of the window in front of him at nothing in particular. It was a serene night, much like any other; albeit perhaps a little quieter than usual -- what with the absence of Sayoko and Nunnally. It was moreso their presence that was lacking, however, as the two of them were never particularly noisy.

Through his peripheral vision, Lelouch could see C.C. drape herself lazily over his unmade bed as per the usual, though he paid it little mind. He was too absorbed in thought. Consumed with the details of what had occurred just hours prior. It was more than a few moments before the silence was cut harshly by the sardonic drone of C.C.’s voice.

“Thinking hard?” the words came out slightly muffled through the makeshift cocoon of sheets she’d bunched up around herself. “You’ve been staring for quite a while now, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re even still awake.”

“Shut up.” Lelouch tossed caustically in response, barely seeming to have processed what he’d heard. C.C. sat up, her face adorned with a playful grin.

“Oh, so you are awake.”

“I said shut up, witch.” Lelouch pressed his eyes shut in irritance. He wasn’t in the mood to hear C.C.’s usual quips. His attempt at retrieving Nunnally from her newly acquired position as viceroy had resulted in failure. It had only been a few hours since his return, but returning to Ashford Academy after such endeavors always made them feel like a distant memory. He couldn’t stop his mind from replaying the scene as his looming regret hung over him. What went wrong, he pondered to himself. What could I have done differently?

“Hmph.” C.C. flopped dramatically back onto the bed, any trace of a smile gone from her expression. “It was inevitable, you know. This failure. Nunnally’s morals are too upstanding for her to be willing to cooperate with Zero.”

“Even so,” Lelouch unclasped his hands and leaned back in his chair, “I won’t have that man besmirch her name. This is all a formality, I’m positive that she isn’t being taken seriously as viceroy.”

“Didn’t she say that she volunteered herself for the position?” C.C. inquired, “Despite being demure in nature, Nunnally is certainly steadfast in her decisions. I find it hard to believe that she would let herself be walked over by her advisors.”

“Yes, but still-” Lelouch clenched his fists -- he couldn’t get the image of Nunnally’s face out of his mind. Her face when she heard Suzaku call out to her had been one of relief, contrary to the stern and somewhat nervous gaze she’d affixed on him...

No, that’s not right. That gaze had been towards Zero, the leader of the Black Knights. That gaze was from a viceroy to a terrorist, not a sister to her brother.

“Are you afraid to use your geass on her?” Having rolled onto her stomach and with legs kicking whimsically in the air, C.C. teased Lelouch with questions she needn’t ask. She knew Lelouch inside and out by now, after all. Not because they were particularly close, or because he was particularly easy to read; it was more like they had developed a deep bond, one that went beyond description. A bond in which you could sense the other’s thoughts or actions simply through an occasional glance in their direction. It was as if they were living each other’s lives in addition to their own, vicariously, through merely observing the other.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know I can’t do that.”

“Oh? And why not? It seems like the most simple solution, doesn’t it?” Patronizing as ever. Lelouch lurched forward and cast her a vicious look of pure vitriol, to which she seemed to back down somewhat.

It’s not as if Lelouch wasn’t one to brood, he most certainly was. He just had a tendency to rationalize as much as possible, coming up with a reason by which to turn a failure into a success. He was an optimist, more or less. A glass half full sort of person.

“This is probably the best outcome for both parties, in retrospect. I can’t think of a place safer for Nunnally than with Suzaku. I also don’t want a reason to fear her being taken again.” Lelouch let out a breathy sigh. He was mostly reassuring himself under the guise of responding to C.C.’s pressing. Though it didn’t go unnoticed by her, she opted to ignore it.

“You mean what happened at the Black Rebellion?” now fully immersed in the bedding, C.C. peered at Lelouch through only slightly open eyes.

“Yes. I can’t risk losing the trust of the Black Knights for a second time, not after they’ve had to forgive me once,” He gently crossed a leg up over his knee to support his forearms as he hunched over, “Besides, my fight is no longer just about Nunnally.”

“My, has the demon opened his heart to those other than his sister?” the words bounced back to Lelouch through playful decorum. It was just like C.C. to tease him over a slight change in heart. He merely scoffed, however, seemingly unscathed by her pseudo-insult.

“You’re one to talk, C.C.”

“Am I?” She turned over and tilted her head toward the ceiling, languid eyes glazed over in introspection, “Perhaps you’re right. Geass is a power that isolates its user. Even your allies can’t fully be trusted.” As she spoke, Lelouch’s eyes traced the strands of her long, tousled green hair that lay strewn about her. C.C.’s words cut deeper than she had likely intended.

It was all too true, after all. Geass had isolated him further than he ever could have hoped to on his own. That hardly bothered him, however. He knew long before acquiring the power of geass that taking down Britannia would require a great deal of isolation on his part. And yet, something about what C.C. said upset him more than it should have. It was as if every time he felt closer to unraveling her esoteric thought process, she said something that had him taken aback. He knew what she would say next, he could easily predict how she might react to something, but he still couldn’t read into her stifled sense of self. Despite knowing exactly what she was thinking, her lack of any harbored humanity made it near impossible to tell what she was feeling.

“When are you going to put your trust in me, C.C.?” Lelouch’s voice came out more sincere than he had anticipated, and C.C. noticed. She turned back to face him, eyes wide and more awake now than she had been since they’d arrived back at the school.

“What do you mean? We’re allies, of course I trust you, Lelouch.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Lelouch righted himself by uncrossing his legs and turned to face her more directly. Straightening his posture, he glared at her with a look of hegemony, similar to the look she imagined he sported under his mask as Zero. A look that demanded cooperation, but one that’s impact was entirely lost on her. “When are you going to tell me the details of your contract?”

“Oh.” C.C.’s gaze returned to the ceiling as her expression relaxed once more, “That’s what you want to know? That has nothing to do with trust, Lelouch.” She let out a sigh of exasperation, “I’ll tell you the details when the time comes. Doing so now is unnecessary.” Her response allowed Lelouch to relax somewhat, his posture and expression softening. It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for, but was enough to quell his inquiries for the time being. A wry smile crept upon the corners of his mouth as his gaze met hers.

“I see. That’s just like you, C.C.” His eyes were met with a smile of her own.

“You seem to know me better than I thought you did, Lelouch.”

For a while, the two of them said nothing. They simply stared knowingly at each other, their gazes locked long past the point of intimacy. The two of them didn’t often share moments such as these, however, the connection between them always lingered.

“You may be the only ally I can trust.” Lelouch replied mirthfully as he rose from his seat and approached his bed where C.C. lie. She sat up, clearly intending to relinquish the bed to it’s owner, but to her surprise, Lelouch waved his hand in dismissal.

“There’s no need to get up.”

“Are you going to be a gentleman and sleep on the floor? I didn’t know you were so-” her sarcastic remark was cut short when Lelouch lifted the covers to settle in beside her. “L-Lelouch?”

“Just stay like this for now,” He peeled his shoes off the heels of his feet, allowing them to drop to the floor as he sidled under the multitude of blankets C.C. had wrapped herself in. “Just until the morning.”

As soon as he got comfortable, Lelouch wrapped his arms around C.C. She could feel heat rising in her cheeks, unsure of how to react as she felt Lelouch’s hand cradle the back of her head. What is this? He wants to share the bed with me? What is he playing at?

Tentatively, she shifted her hands up to Lelouch’s chest, hesitating slightly before relinquishing herself to the tug of his arms around her. She folded gently into the warmth of his torso, heartbeat racing. The soft caress of Lelouch’s breathing enveloped her, the breath of each exhale ghosting the top of her head. She felt as though she could melt into him.

“Lelouch…” her voice a barely audible whisper.

“Goodnight, C.C.” Lelouch spoke with a slight trepidation in his voice, trepidation that he had clearly been trying to suppress until now. All of the burdens of Zero and the Black Knights and Britannia came seeping through his words the moment he dropped his filter. C.C. smiled.

Oh, I see. So that’s what you were thinking.

“Goodnight, Lelouch.”

It would be fine to stay like this for now.

[walriding]

💙💚 💜💔 ❣ 💕 (or ex) 💓

    Peer into my muse’s memories

💙- A sad memory that makes them cry, 💚- A memory that makes them feel guilty, 💜- A memory about one of their loved ones, happy or sad, 💔- A memory that leaves them feeling lonely, ❣- A memory that leaves them laughing  (asked in another prompt), 💕- A memory about their significant other (an ex, briefly mentioned), 💓- A memory about their friends      

     He hesitates before calling, as per usual. 

     Seated on the crumbling cement outside of his motel room, Miles pulls the last cigarette out of the box in his pocket, lights it, and takes in a mouthful of smoky air. It’s early evening, the clouds starting to bleed pastel colors as the sun sinks towards the horizon. The weather is mild, just cool enough that he threw his favorite leather jacket around his shoulders before stepping outside. His room is on the second floor of the little complex. There are outdoor corridors in lieu of balconies, typical for the roadside dumps he frequents, but he can still sit and hang his legs off the walkway and get a little air that doesn’t taste stale. 

     Christmas Eve, and this is how he’s spending it.

     Finally, he hits the call button. It rings and rings and rings before there’s an answer.

     “Miles? You didn’t butt dial me again, did you?”

     He smiles.

     “Merry Christmas, Sam.”

     He calls his family when he can manage to, which is still less often than he probably should. Even without the traveling, the time zone differences, and the demands of his job, there are still points of contention. Still arguments. But it’s easier with his sisters. They chide him, of course, for not being more conscientious, but they don’t pick fights as much as his parents are prone to do. Besides, they’re really the only friends he has left. Calling Samantha, his oldest sibling, is the safest bet.

     “Merry Christmas, Miles,” and he can hear her responding smile through the phone.

     “You at Mom and Dad’s yet? Forgot it’d still be afternoon for you guys.”

     “I’m here. Figured I’d give Mom a hand in the kitchen, but she got pissed about having “too many cooks” and kicked everyone out. I’m hiding in the living room.”

     “How is everyone?”

     “Fine, fine. We’re the only ones here so far, though. Ana’s bringing her whole clan, apparently, so Mom’s excited about that.” 

     Wise decision in who he dialed. His mother would’ve diverted that into questions for him. Are you seeing anyone? When was the last time you spoke to Jack? He was nice, Miles, I’m sure he’d love to hear from you again. It’s not too late. Have you thought about a house, an apartment, a family?

     “How’s Dad?”

     “Same as always. Still working hard, still complaining about everything – and Mom’s still trying to get him to quit smoking. Think she wrapped a box of those Nicoderm patches as a gift.”

     “Yeah?” Miles laughs, stubbing out his half-finished cigarette on the cracked concrete in a sudden fit of self consciousness. His mother would kill him if she knew he’d adopted the habit even occasionally. Just another way he’d disappointed her. “Who knows, maybe 2013 is the year the “no smoking” resolution will last more than a week.”

     She laughs, too, and then the line is quiet for a moment. If he softens his breathing, Miles can hear noise in the background. Cabinets squeaking open on unoiled hinges, pots clanging together and clashing against utensils, static-laced music from a radio with poor reception. Silence where he is, stretching along the empty road to the rosy horizon in the distance. Dusk on Christmas Eve; no one’s out driving. 

     Everyone is already where they need to be.

     “Miles?”

     “Yeah, I’m… still here, sorry. Just–”

     “Thinking?”

     “Mmm.”

     Shouldn’t have wasted that cigarette.

     “Hey, y’know, Rosie’s gonna be five in March, and I’d think she’d like it if her favorite cool uncle showed up to the party.”

     “Her only cool uncle, you mean. I’m running unopposed.”

     “You know what I mean, Miles,” she sighs, though the amusement isn’t completely buried under the exasperation. 

     “And you know I can’t promise,” he murmurs, as if by lowering his voice he can soften the disappointment. “I can try, but… no guarantees.”

     “Same as always.”

     Miles winces.

     “Want me to put Mom or Dad on?” Sam asks, clearly trying to divert the subject. “Dad’s trying to help put Rosie’s bike together, but Mom might be able to say hi for a sec.”

     “No, it’s alright. I called to talk to you, I’m gonna call them closer to New Year’s.”

     “I’m the safe, neutral party again, huh?” Light. Teasing. “Christmas bomb defusal.”

     “What can I say, you’re a pro.”

     Serious, then, when she says, “Miles, look… They still love you. You know that, right? I know they’ve said some shit over the years, but… it’s been a while since we’ve seen you. Come home. One holiday, that’s all I ask. Stop for coffee and then run, but please. They really wanna have you here again.”

     His mouth feels dry, and he’s contemplating relighting the bent and bedraggled cigarette butt just to have something to distract him. Instead, he replies, “Next Christmas, maybe.”

     “But you can’t promise.”

     “What if I do, this time? What if I promise?”

     “Only counts if you mean it.”

     Without entirely intending to, Miles says, “I do mean it. Next Christmas, I promise.”

     “I’ll hold you to that.” She sounds unconvinced, but he’ll take it. His mother’s voice surfaces in the background, then, calling for Sam’s help. “I gotta go, but… stay safe out there, okay? We all worry about you, Miles. Be careful.”

     “’Careful’ is my middle name,” he replies, pulling himself off the pavement and turning around to lean back on the handrail. “Tell everyone I said hi, and let Mom know I’ll call later in the week. And think of me while you’re inhaling real, decent, non-microwavable food.”

     “I’ll eat extra helpings just for you. Love you, Miles.”

     “Love you, too, Sam.”

     Click.

     Silence. 

     He returns to his room, to his desk and his computer and his work, tries and fails to focus, and eventually decides to just turn in early. The phone conversation replays over in his mind until he falls asleep. He’s sure the outcome will feature mixed results, but a promise is a promise: next year, Miles will go home for the holidays.

     Hindsight makes it hard to remember that call with anything but guilt and regret. Especially when, the following year, Christmas finds him beating a Murkoff executive’s head against a brick wall while snow falls quietly in the street. When it’s done, when screams turn to whimpers turn to death, Miles comes to his senses. And he looks down, looks at himself – at the blood and brains on his hands – and all he can think about is how his family must be sitting down to dinner right now, miles away from where he’s standing.

     They probably aren’t even surprised that he’s missing.

     Alone in the bloodied snow, for the first time since leaving Mount Massive, Miles sinks to his knees and sobs.

[anthonykrierion]

Customer Motivation: How a craft brewery tapped into the element that most affects conversion

If you want conversion rate increases, the No. 1 factor to consider is customer motivation, according to the Conversion Sequence Heuristic from MECLABS Institute (parent research organization of MarketingExperiments).

That’s why the letter “m” has the biggest multiplier (4) in the heuristic.

When we talk about motivation, we often talk at a granular level — understanding where traffic is coming from or where customers are in the thought sequence to help your landing page optimization.

I recently came across a great example of an entire product built solely on customer motivation: A small brand went up against a giant competitor by tapping deeply into customer motivation. You may not be able to go this far with your products, but extreme examples like this are nice because they help us brainstorm possible outside-the-box ideas we can do with our own marketing.

“It begins with an ancient story”

Our story begins with the 2017 AFC Championship football game. The Jacksonville Jaguars versus the New England Patriots. David versus Goliath. If you’re unfamiliar with this part of the story, John Malkovich tells it far better than I can.

Except, when David slew Goliath, there were no referees involved to influence the outcome. In the case of the Jaguars versus the Patriots, a controversial call by the refs decided the outcome of the game. Goliath (the Pats) went on to the Super Bowl, and David (the Jags) was sent into a long offseason.

In case you’re unfamiliar with football, I’ll briefly overexplain what happened. If you’re totally uninterested in football, feel free to skip the next two paragraphs.

The most controversial call in the game came when Jaguars linebacker Myles Jack stripped the ball (took it away) from Patriots running back Dion Lewis in the fourth quarter of the game. After stripping the ball, Jack got up and started running to the end zone for a touchdown. But he stopped because the refs blew the whistle, in effect saying he was touched by Lewis, meaning he was down by contact and the play was over.

However, upon looking at the slow-motion replay, it appears that Lewis didn’t touch Jack, and therefore Jack wasn’t down. However, once a play is blown dead by the refs’ whistle in the NFL, they can’t overturn the call from the instant replay. If the refs had waited on the whistle, allowed the play to run its course, Jack likely would have scored a touchdown, the replay would have shown he was never touched and therefore never down, the Jaguars would have had an insurmountable lead and headed to their first Super Bowl.

Instead, Goliath won.

This botched call became a thing. A meme. It went viral. Whatever you want to call it, it created a deep and abiding motivation in a large percentage of people living in the Jacksonville area.

Which also created an opportunity.

Every marketer faces their own Goliath

Before I complete the story, let’s jump to a challenge you likely face — how to compete with a larger rival. How do you defeat your industry’s Goliath? Unless your brand dominates its market, you likely have to face a larger competitor. In ecommerce, that competitor is Amazon. In B2B, it might be IBM. In the beer industry, that company is Anheuser-Busch InBev SA/NV and its $246.13 billion in assets.

Intuition Ale Works is a Jacksonville-based craft brewery and taproom. I don’t know the value of its assets, but it is significantly less than AB InBev.

So how to compete?

You need a compelling story powered by a forceful value proposition because you’re fighting against a whole lot of money. Money that can drive logistical efficiencies that allow your bigger competitor to be profitable at a much lower cost than you can bear. Money that can buy loads of advertising and sponsorships and endorsement and expertise.

For Intuition Ale Works, part of its value proposition is beer brewed in Jacksonville. But actually, that isn’t unique. AB InBev also has a brewery in Jacksonville.

Another part of its value prop is that Intuition has a greater degree of intimacy with its customers. It is better able to tap into their motivations.

“We try to keep a close eye on the buying patterns of our customers,” Brad Lange, Chief Operating Officer, Intuition Ale Works said. “Every morning our sales team reviews updated metrics that show how our core beers are performing. (Core beers are available year-round in package and draft format throughout Jacksonville, as opposed to seasonal, specialty and limited-release beers that have shorter lifespans). We also check the previous day’s sales report in our taproom.”

He continued, “This gives us insight into how our seasonal and specialty beers have been selling. I’d say that we are obsessed with data, at least when it comes to consumer interest in our beers. Part of this interest is business related. But at a deeper level, we want to provide Intuition drinkers with beer that they are excited about. We let the sales numbers tell us what consumers like and what they don’t.”

Customers vote for their motivations with their wallets

Intuition had a new beer in the works, brewed by owner and founder Ben Davis, that needed a name. “Our brand is typically more outdoorsy and Florida-related, and the beer names are simple and straightforward. For example, Jon Boat Coastal Ale, I-10 IPA, and King Street Stout,” Lange told me.

However, they knew the whistle heard around the city had an undeniable allure to their customers. So they decided to stray from the brand in order to tap into the customer’s motivations. The customer’s motivations trumped the company-derived brand.

“As most people in Jacksonville know by now, the phrase ‘Myles Jack Wasn’t Down’ has gone viral locally. It’s become a rallying cry, of sorts. Ben mentioned it and we all thought it was great, even though it is completely off-brand in terms of how we normally name our beers,” Lange said.

And so Myles Jack Wasn’t Down! became the name of the brewery’s latest product.

Not all purchases are logical. Customers aren’t dismal scientists, coldly calculating how supply and demand affect their decisions. The purchases that tap most deeply into their motivations are based less on product features and benefits and more on an ability to express themselves in a cold, noisy and overpowering world. “I’m here. I matter. And this is what matters to me.”

Apple understood that with its legendary Think Different campaign. “I’m a misfit, I’m a rebel, I can’t buy a PC.”

Patagonia has tapped deeply into customer motivations with its environmental activism (probably less as a marketing strategy and more as a core belief). As a result, revenue and profit have quadrupled over the past 10 years, and the company now sells about $1 billion per year in outdoor clothing and gear.

It’s difficult for a customer to logically compare the features and functions of every jacket on the market and determine which will best serve their short- and long-term needs. However, it’s easy for a customer to understand that they have a deep motivation to support public lands. And they see Patagonia is fighting for public lands against Goliath (even though the refs are being unfair). So they subconsciously think, “While I might be a mere speck of dust in this universe, I’m going to stand with Patagonia and public lands and the environment by buying this jacket.”

And so it is with beer as well. While the actual product and the football play really have nothing to do with each other, the Myles Jack Wasn’t Down! beer name has had an undeniable effect. “It has sold incredibly well. We don’t try to actively market our beers. But once we announced the name, it sort of took on a life of its own. People came in right away to try it. A lot of them have been wearing Jaguars gear. It has been a pleasant surprise for sure. Myles Jack’s family actually contacted us and are planning on stopping by to try it,” Lange said.

While Lange says they don’t actively market their beers, I will disagree. Sure, in the typical business connotation they don’t. They don’t buy advertising, hold focus groups or build an official marketing plan. They don’t have a drip campaign built into their marketing automation platform.

But customer-first marketing doesn’t always look like the traditional definition of marketing at first glance. The core of customer-first marketing is understanding and serving a customer and then creating messaging so the customer perceives that your product will serve them. All that other stuff is just a means to get that message to your ideal customer. And in that sense, I think Lange and his team engage in some serious marketing.

It’s not always sunny in Jacksonville, Florida

I could have ended the story right there, on an up note. But the sun doesn’t always shine in the Sunshine State. As we’ve seen, David doesn’t always defeat Goliath. And sometimes, dark clouds form around products as well.

Part of customer intimacy and deeply understanding customer motivations is being able to say goodbye to products. Customer motivations aren’t static. They change. As your customers age. As new technology is developed. As competitors get a better fix on what customers want. As the shifting tide of trends and public opinions ebbs and flows.

For example, Intuition recently decided to retire one of its first beers.

“This was a really difficult decision because it played such a key role in the development of our brand the past seven-and-a-half years. When a beer doesn’t sell as well as it once did, it tells us that something has changed. Maybe a style isn’t that popular in the market anymore. Or we’ve developed a similar beer that just tastes better, and our customers prefer it. It’s our job to figure out why sales fell off and then to create something different that our customers will be excited about,” Lange said.

Grab your slingshot and go into battle

If your brand is facing down its own Goliath, I hope this story provided a bit of inspiration in your day. Remember, size isn’t everything.

Your slingshot is your understanding of the customer — whether you’re using data analysis or A/B testing, sales reports or in-person customer interviews.

Whichever brand understands customer motivations best, wins.

Related Resources

Five Questions to Ask to Understand Customer Motivation

Analyzing Customer Motivation to Create Campaign Incentives that Resonate

Harnessing Customer Motivation: How one company increased conversion by 65% by aligning page elements with customer desire

Customer Motivation: How a craft brewery tapped into the element that most affects conversion was originally posted by Video And Blog Marketing

[cheshire88-blog]

Star Wars and Eva, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the reboots

    Star wars is this huge media franchise that has grown by leaps and bounds since it’s creation. I think the only other series I often compare it to would probably be the anime franchise Neon Genesis Evangelion. Think about it, both shows technically started as bold new experiments in their respective mediums. Both would go on to gain world wide fandom, and spawn endless merchandise, all to a level neither of their creators could have anticipated.

     But the most interesting comparison I found came from my own personal feelings regarding the new generation of Star wars films, particularly the very controversial Episode VIII, The Last Jedi.

     Many fans are already pretty torn on the new movie, I personally really enjoyed it, but I’ve been trying to sum up exactly why it is this new trilogy has satisfied me, while disappointing so many, even those I normally agree with.

     This brings me to my main comparison, between the two juggernaut franchises’. Both Eva and Star wars have enjoyed a rebirth of sorts, or one could even say a “Rebuild”. For Star wars I’m obviously talking about the new sequel trilogy that started with The Force Awakens. And with Eva I am referring to the, somewhat, recent batch of new “Rebuild” movies that seek to both retell, and reimagine, the original TV series.

    In both cases a now classic, and Iconic, series is brought back into the main stream lime light. And in both cases we have what, more or less, amounts to a retelling of a now familiar story.

       So get this, both “Eva 1.0 YOU ARE NOT ALONE” and “The Force Awakens” very closely, and deliberately, replay all of the same narrative beats that their respective predecessors did, With many variations, both big and small.

       And yes, as a quick side note, I am aware that the new Eva films remake the Eva story, whereas the new Star wars films are a continuation, but stick with me here.

    And then there are the sequels, or middle movies, to these new next gen reboots, and that’s where my comparison really hits home. Eva 2.0/3.0 and of course The Last Jedi, both reboots i.e. rebuilds, take the familiar foundation they started on and smash them to bits in ways that have both enraged, and enthralled it’s respective fan base.

    For both franchises fans have thumbed their noses at the bold, and contradicting ways, these stories carve out new paths for themselves, for the sake of continued relevance, and discussion.

    For Evangelion this fan outrage is often aimed at the transition to a more spectacle driven format, and structure, as opposed to the slow, and more intimate, serial pacing of the original series. With many Eva fans claiming that this more streamline direction betrays the carefully laid psychological thesis that underlined it’s tortured characters.

    In the case of Star Wars the fandom circles couldn’t be more mixed, and varied in their opinions, especially since it’s been around far longer then Eva, and  has cradled at least three generations of fans.

  Regardless, reactions to the latest Star wars film are certainly similar to those of the new Eva films, especially “3.0 YOU CAN NOT REDO” like “The Last Jedi” 3.0 was perhaps the most controversial of the new Eva films. The story for 3.0 is quite a divergence from the original TV series. We get a ten year time jump, along with a sharp change in tone, and visuals that totally upend what fans normally expect from the Eva universe. Perhaps most shocking of all would be the role reversals for it’s main cast of characters. Main protagonist Shinji Ikari has long been known for his reluctance to pilot the Eva mechs, i.e. play the assertive hero role, yet in this film he finds himself stifled not by his own doubt but by the very same support team that edged him on to the frontlines in prior films.

       Misato, once the kind hearted big sister figure pushing to free Shinji from his withdrawn demeanor, and become the hero needed to fight the Angels. In 3.0 she is revealed to have shifted into a cold, war weary, commander much closer in nature to Shinji’s father Gendo. The world Shinji knew has changed, and so has his role in the series, the nature of the Eva itself has been flipped. No longer the reluctant hero struggling with his personal fears, while his friends demand he stand up and fight, instead we see a boy who has finally found that courage, and takes action in spite of his elder’s attempts to keep him grounded.

        The Last Jedi performs a similar flipping of our expectations, a film that, from a distance, seems to be replicating the narrative fabric of The Empire Strikes Back. However, early on we can see tears that rip away such notions, Rey’s meeting with Luke, for example, is clearly a twist on the master student role between Luke and Yoda. She seeks out the old Jedi legend hoping to a find strong confident teacher. Instead we learn that Luke has lost his faith in the force, and hear his grave resignation “it is time for the Jedi… to end”. Luke has no interest in training Rey, In fact he is revealed to be so stuck in the midst of his past failure, with former pupil Kylo Ren, that Rey decides to take action into her own hands, leaving Luke behind, and forging her own destiny. Through this reversal we see a parallel to how Luke left the wise and mindful Yoda before completing his training. Only hear it is the master who’s foolish behavior has failed the student.

    Another example of this could be seen in the throne room scene, where Rey and Kylo Ren briefly join forces to overthrow the sinister, and deliberately very Palpatine like tyrant, Supreme Leader Snoke. This scene is a wonderful subversion of a similar moment in Return of the Jedi, with Snoke repeating many of the same lines as the evil emperor from that film. He seems all powerful, an unstoppable, all knowing, dictator. But the outcome reveals him to be easily bested by the two young warriors who decide, if only for a moment, to quickly put aside the legacy of opposition that has dominated this series since it’s inception.

    Yet perhaps the biggest surprise to break away from the standard Star wars mold, is the reveal that follows after that epic team up. We learn that Rey’s parents weren’t the sort of force wielding legends that run through the Skywalker bloodline. They were merely junkers that sold her into labor for drinking money, a reveal that in every way directly contrast that of Luke’s tragic discovery in The Empire Strikes Back.

    And just like that, a series once concerned with bloodlines, heritage, and familial legacy, evolves into a story  about drawing power, not from shadows of the past, but from within the self, in the present. In the absence of a great legacy, Rey learns to leave the past behind and create her own legacy, free from the shackles of what came before.

    So both films, from these two iconic sagas, can be seen as pivotal peaks of liberation, what was once familiar becomes fresh yet again. Playing on our expectations, not to anger the fans, but to give them a chance to gasp again, to feel awe once more. Rather then simply service the fans, these reboots seek to rejuvenate our interest, to challenge the foundations that made us fans to begin with.

    So yes, perhaps the new Star wars films now come with a layer of gloss and marketing glamor that would seem to go against the low budget pioneering spirit that first gave it life. The same could be said of the newly minted Eva films and how they contrast the more subtle nuanced pacing of the original series.

     But is this wrong?, both Star wars and Eva are the kind of big, successful works of fiction that will live on, so long as there is an audience support them. Nowadays these reboots are on the rise, whether we want them or not, studios will still make the attempt to bring back a beloved franchise. Yet why shun the existence of a reboot that actually succeeds in bringing new ideas to the table?. If the original work is still around for us to cherish, and a new variation of that same story can take us to new places we didn’t know existed, then why not at least welcome that chance.

    After all, what good is a reboot, or continuation, if it is only content to mirror what came before?. Of course not every attempt at flipping the table, and defying our expectations will be successful, but even so, I’ll take even a messy table flip any day over the safer cleaner approach. At least that gives us all something to talk about, regardless of whether we love, or hate the result.