#if you try to engage with it authentically its just. terrible. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sapphicellegreenaway · 3 years ago

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once more to see you

hockey player!aaron hotchner x figure skater!fem!reader

switching training facilities before your most important season should have been a complete disaster, but you manage to find love along the way

word count: 15.0k

warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, moderate description of injury, needles

a/n: hi! this is the first and only time i'll publish anything in relation to the men of the bau because i wanted this story to live and exist in the world in an iteration that felt was authentic and how i originally pictured it. anyways enjoy nhl superstar aaron hotchner (yes he plays for philly bc they're my dumb little team)

⭒⭑⭒

Aaron swears he’s going to kill whoever’s in charge of renting out the practice facility. At the very least he’s going to give them a piece of his mind.

Realistically, he knows it’s impossible. The rink can be rented by anyone when the Flyers aren’t using it and he typically thinks it’s a great way to promote ice sports in the community. Aaron just wishes the facilities manager didn’t rent it out to figure skaters. They destroy the ice with their toe picks and leave it in terrible shape, which makes it hard to properly execute plays that could be the difference between a win or a loss in a game. It frustrates him because while community engagement is important, his career and the team take precedence on the rink owned by the organization that has him on payroll.

No one else seems to be bothered by the recent decline in ice conditions. Most of his teammates are used to poor ice, growing up playing pond hockey and at rinks that also housed figure skating clubs. While Aaron had those experiences as well, it’s clear he never developed the same nonchalance as everyone else. He complains in the dressing room after every practice until Derek finally says something.

“Christ Hotch, relax. It’s only for another month until renovations at the other rink finish.”

Others chime in, telling him to not take it so seriously, with a couple of them defending the right of the other athletes to use the ice as they please. The grief Aaron catches is enough to shut him up, but he still stews privately over the fact figure skaters are destroying his happy place.

⭑

You want nothing more than to return to your home rink. The Flyers Skate Zone has been nice, the staff incredibly accommodating, but something feels off. You’re having a harder time landing jumps and skating clean programs than you’ve had at another rink. The change in routine is enough to knock you off your game, which is something you absolutely can’t have. You’re coming off a breakthrough season, finishing on the podium at nationals and landing a spot on your first world championship roster. People are expecting you to replicate your success and you want to do that and more.

US Figure Skating has taken a chance placing you on the national team for the current season. Though it was expected, they could have easily chosen the fourth place skater instead. She’s much younger than you, barely fifteen, and is yet to have a serious injury. At twenty-one you’re barely an adult, but this could be the last time you get an opportunity like this. The sport keeps getting younger and you could get left behind if you don’t prove yourself. The grand prix circuit was kind to you throughout the summer and fall, allowing you to earn medals at some of the smaller competitions and hold your own against the big dogs in the majors like NHK Trophy. With its conclusion all your attention is on landing higher on the podium at nationals.

⭑

“Try the triple flip again,” Brenda, your coach, instructs. “You could be more solid on the landing.”

“It’s this fucking ice! I can do one at home that would get me a high GOE,” you complain.

She rolls her eyes and thinks about telling you off, but decides against it. No matter how many times she tells you it’s a mental block you need to get over, you find a way to blame the training facility. “Just give me five solid ones and we’ll call it quits.”

It’s your turn to show frustration, leaving the boards with an impression of your pick, but you peel away from them anyways. Some juniors are mingling in a corner and you warn them to watch out as you skate by, gaining speed in hopes of actually executing the element correctly. The first attempt feels natural, and though you could have been a little stronger on the exit it’s a significant improvement from what you were doing earlier in the session. Jumps two and three also go well, but things go wrong on the fourth try. You catch a bad edge just before takeoff and aren’t able to correct your centre of gravity while in the air. Two and a half rotations happen before you slam into the ground and the entire right side of your body feels like it’s been run over by a bus.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration as you pick yourself up off the ice. Everything throbs, and it takes an inner strength you didn’t know you possessed to not take your skates off and throw them in a garbage can. You’re tired of the regression that’s plagued you since coming to train here. Circling back to examine just how bad the edge was you notice your pick created much too large a hole, something you’d get points deducted for in competition. Brenda signals you over to her, and your head hangs low as you skate over to the woman who looks just as defeated as you feel.

“You’re done,” she sighs. You can tell it pains her to see your progress plateau, but you’re doing everything you can to get out of this rut — nothing is working. Before you can protest, try to convince her to let you stay on, she’s speaking again. “Our ice time is just about up. Go cool down and meet me in the conference room when you’re done.”

There’s nothing for you to do but sulk off the ice. The other skaters clear out of your way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of your anger. You direct it at the dressing room door, kicking it open so harshly it flies back on the hinges. It makes you feel a bit better, but you’re still in a sour mood as you untie your skates. It’s frustrating not being able to perform at the level you know you can, even in practice. If you could just get out of this rink and back into the one you’re most comfortable at.

After a much longer stretching routine than normal, you pack up your bag and head upstairs for what will no doubt be one of those meetings where you sit silently and take the heat. You realize that your behaviour today was childish, but you couldn’t help but let your emotions overcome you. The next group is well into their ice time when you pass by, and you notice it’s the hockey team that the building is named after. Most of them don’t acknowledge you and keep running drills, but one who looks to be your age is sending you daggers. His anger confuses you, and somehow fuels your own because there’s no reason for him to look at you like that.

The meeting goes much better than you thought it would. Brenda takes your anger in stride and lets you apologize for your outburst before shifting the conversation to altering your training plan. She suggests you take a few days off from the rink, working strictly off-ice, and you begrudgingly agree. There isn’t anything you can do or say to change her mind so you take the updated workout plans with a fake smile. She also tells you that your appointment with your sports psychologist has been moved up a couple of days, which you’re grateful for. It will do you good to work through the things you’re feeling with someone who can actually provide strategies for coping. Things then move to talking strategy and watching tape of competitors to see what to expect at this year’s nationals. The event is in just over a month, and you have the goal of landing on the podium once again, hopefully with the gold medal dangling around your neck.

A couple of hours pass with the pair of you holed up in the conference room, and it’s dark when you gather your stuff and head for home. The complex is deserted and you assume no one but the staff are still here. It turns out someone else was there, and they follow you out, their own gear bag slung over their shoulder. You don’t really pay them any mind, holding the door open out of habit, and fail to recognize the person as the boy who glared while you walked by hours prior. He notices you, however, and makes a point to voice his distaste.

“Hey!” he calls out, “Next time you eat shit don’t put such a big hole in the ice. Other people need it to make money.”

“Get fucked,” you yell back. You really don’t have the time or energy to be accosted by a hockey player. He continues to talk, but you don’t hear it because you slam your car door shut and drive off into the darkness.

⭑

Aaron doesn’t feel like he was in the wrong about the situation until Gideon suggests he apologize a few days later. In his mind, he has every right to be upset about you damaging the ice because it directly affected him. The hole you caused couldn’t be fully repaired, and he tripped at a really key moment during the scrimmage. His bad day was your fault.

“You can’t blame a tough practice on her man,” the captain says as the two of them skate a few warm-up laps. Hopefully taking the moment to talk to the youngster will help him understand that other people are allowed to struggle. “She didn’t mean to fall. Hell, she didn’t want to do it.”

“I get it, or whatever, but it’s still her fault. We’re professional athletes, we need to be at the top of our games.”

He gives Aaron a pointed look and taps the raven-haired winger with the nearest stick “So is she! Did you know that she’s favoured to win both the national and world championships? That things look good for her to be on the Olympic team next year?”

Aaron didn’t know, and guilt twinges his stomach. The next time he runs into you he’s going to apologize.

⭑

You spend your time away from the rink conditioning and regaining focus. The first couple of days are tough, but then you settle into a routine you believe will ultimately make you a better athlete and competitor. Your cardio and weights are upped, and you’re anxious to see how the increase improves your endurance — too often have you been out of breath at the end of a performance. At the suggestion of your psychologist you take a few more days off than originally planned, but it’s the best thing you could have done. You return to the rink ready to nail the final few weeks of training before nationals.

Any other coach would have detested you for taking a week off this close to a major competition, but not Brenda. She understands that you needed the time to refocus and that you’ll work harder than anyone else in the time until you leave for Salt Lake City. Your first practice is fantastic — every element is clean when isolated and within your programs. The timing is off a bit during your free skate on the first run-through but your nerves settle quickly and the next one is spot on. It feels good to be back in control of things.

“I think you’re over that mental block kid,” Brenda laughs when you stop along the boards to get some water. “You’re skating better here than at home.”

You can’t help but agree, a small smile breaking out on your face. “You know, I hate it here slightly less than two weeks ago. Think we should move here permanently?” The comment earns you a slightly aggressive hair ruffling, but it’s worth it. You spend the last hour of ice time alone, running through both of your programs in a mock competition setting.

It’s nearly silent in the complex when Aaron sneaks through the doors. The only thing he can hear is the faint sounds of music he presumes belongs to you from inside the pad. He had begun to think you were never going to reappear at the rink, but learned you were just taking a break when he cornered your coach in the parking lot. The middle-aged lady had told him when you’d be returning and Aaron immediately put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget. Now, as he stands against the glass watching you, he’s slightly nervous. What if you don’t accept his apology? No one has ever rebuffed him in the manner you had, not even opponents on rival teams, and he hates the idea of someone smearing his name in the media.

Aaron knew you were good. Well, he was pretty sure you were. He spent the short three-day road trip to Florida watching as many videos of you competing on YouTube as he could find. Though he’s murky on the specifics of what makes a good figure skater, he knows you put heart and soul into every performance and that your elements are strong technically — your scores reflect those facts. Regardless, Aaron is surprised how much better you seem when he’s watching you from the corner of the rink.

You’re looser than in the videos he’s seen, probably because there isn’t any pressure, but you don’t give it any less than a hundred percent. The music drives you forward in a way he’s never seen before — you’re an extension of it, and it of you. As you round a corner to pick up speed Aaron finds himself holding his breath. From watching footage of this program on the plane home, he knows you’re about to attempt the hardest element in it. The quadruple salchow is one of the most difficult jumps female skaters are attempting at the moment, according to his research, and it’s been your most inconsistent element this season from comments online. You’re completing the jump before Aaron even realizes you’ve taken off the ground, but you don’t fall. He exhales and watches the rest of the program with a reserved awe and intrigue. Top-quality athletes recognize greatness, and he now understands everything the team has been trying to tell him for months — he just had to see it to believe it.

When the music stops and you float back to reality from wherever it is you go in the moment to take in your surroundings, you notice the applause. Thinking it’s just from Brenda, you shrug it off, but when you turn around she isn’t clapping. It’s coming from someone else — the boy who was a douchebag the last day before your break. The chances of him being here to make another snide comment are hight, but Brenda insists you should talk to him. You wave him over to a section near the benches that doesn't have glass so you can hear him over the sound of other people’s blades scraping the ice.

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly, taking a sip of water.

Aaron’s taken aback by your abrasiveness but does his best to recover quickly. After all, he’s more than deserving of it. “I wanted to apologize for what I said last week. That wasn’t very, uh, professional of me. I was having a bad day and took out on you, I’m sorry,” he rambles, reminding you he’s human and trying to figure out life the same way you are. “And you’re really talented.”

“It wasn’t fucking cool,” you agree, not quite ready to drop the frosty tone your voice holds, “But it’s fine. I had just been kicked off the ice for a week when you caught me, so I’m sorry too. For snapping.” There’s nothing more for either of you to say, and Brenda is calling your name, so you skate away from him. Over your shoulder you call out, “Thanks for the compliment unnamed Flyers player!”

“It’s Aaron!” he responds. “Aaron Hotchner.”

⭑

A sort of truce befalls the two of you. More of your ice time overlaps, but neither acknowledge each other more than the occasional nod in each other’s direction. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest because preparing for nationals is the only thing that matters currently, and trying to navigate a possible friendship would be too much of a distraction. Aaron is a little put off you don’t try to extend pleasantries, but when it’s explained to him that you’re entering a period that is similar to the lead-up to playoffs he understands. It’s becoming clear that the lives you lead are more similar than he ever could have imagined.

Despite there being no reason to do so, he finds himself making up excuses to stay at the rink to watch you practice. He blows off dinner with Reid and drinks with Morgan when you have the slot after their practice, and when you skate before him he’s at the rink hours early. His schoolboy crush becomes the topic of locker room gossip. Though Aaron swears up and down that he just likes to watch you skate, no one believes him. They don’t go as far as to embarrass him in your presence, but Derek certainly tries on numerous occasions. It’s Aaron’s steely resolve and deadpan expressions that normally save him from public ridicule, but when the guys aren’t looking he sneaks you a small smile to signal he isn’t upset with anything you’ve done. What he doesn’t know is that you’re developing the same sort of fascination with him. You find yourself turning on every Flyers game you can fit into your schedule, watching him intently, and keeping an eye on his stats. The official NHL app now sits on your homescreen, nestled between various social media platforms.

“That boy sure has a lot of interest in you,” Brenda muses one day while you’re talking strategy on how to increase the points total on your short program.

“It’s really nothing, Hotch is just curious about the sport and I’m the most available one for him to latch onto,” you sigh, hoping she doesn’t question you further. “So I was thinking, if I raise my arms during the triple lutz it should give me at least three more points.”

She looks at you like you’ve gained two extra heads. “Are you insane? You’ve never raised your arms during a triple.”

Your smile turns into a wicked smirk. “It can’t be that hard.”

It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Though you’ve added the extra step to jumps in the past, it’s been on singles and doubles to rack up points and GOE scores. Jumping has never been your strong suit, and trying to navigate the change in your centre of gravity is difficult. You spend the rest of your ice time popping, under-rotating, or slamming into the ground. A couple of juniors snicker at your failed attempts, but when you remind them they’re stuck on a double loop they stop laughing. It was a little mean, and you remember how hard it was to prove yourself when climbing up the ranks, but you can’t find it in you to care. There’s no need to laugh at someone trying to improve their performance. After a few more failed attempts you cut your losses and head off the ice, more than exhausted.

Bruises start to form on your sides from falling the exact same way so many times, and you trace them lightly through the thin material of your compression top. They’re going to look nasty in a few hours if you don’t ice them soon. A knock on the locker room door stops your actions, and you invite the person on the other side in. To your surprise it’s Aaron, and he’s holding an ice pack.

“I thought you might need one of these,” he says, extending it to you.

You thank him and hiss slightly when the cold hits your skin. There’s a beat of awkward silence before he speaks again. “Can I ask why you’re trying to change that jump?”

“You noticed that?” you know it isn’t a response to his question, but you’re shocked. “Didn’t realize a hot shot like you would actually pay attention to what I do.”

Aaron smirks and shrugs with a nonchalance that seems a little too forced. You explain how changing the position of your arms increases the difficulty of the jump and therefore raises the amount of points it can receive. “So you’re doing it to get more points?”

“Pretty much. It’s a gamble this close to competition, but I’m confident it’ll work out.”

“You’re afraid your program won’t gain enough points to put you in a good position for the free skate,” he notes, “Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Once again, you��re floored by his understanding of your sport. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say as confidently as you can. “But maybe I just want the challenge.” If Aaron notices the shake in your voice and the worried look in your eye he doesn’t say anything.

You go through your cool-down routine but are surprised Aaron doesn’t leave. In fact, he stays at the rink until you’re finished and follows you to the parking lot. His car is parked a few spots over from you, so you have to raise your voice a little to get him to hear you. “Hey Aaron,” you call, “Do you not have practice?”

“Day off,” he yells back. He’s grinning like an idiot, which prompts you to ask him why. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” The smile on his face doesn’t go away, and you try to settle the butterflies in your stomach as you drive home.

⭑

Something shifts between you after that day. It’s subtle, but you’re well on your way to becoming friends. Phone numbers are exchanged, with him insisting his contact name be ‘Hotch’ and nothing else, and the two of you chat regularly outside of the rink. He still watches as many training sessions as he can, and you start making appearances at his practices. It’s far more awkward for you but you push through it for no other reason than wanting to be a good sport. You’re sure there have been times where he wanted to go home but stayed seated on the cold concrete bleachers to offer his support on a hard day. Once Aaron’s teammates catch wind of your budding friendship, they’re pestering you to go to a game. You politely decline each time, explaining that your training schedule is rather rigid and you can’t change it so close to nationals. The competition is just over a week out, and you’re catching a flight to Utah in three days.

Aaron doesn’t let you know he’s a little upset you won’t shift your schedule for him. He understands, he really does, but sometimes he worries you don’t care enough about him to actually put work into the friendship. Instead, he brings you lunch on days where you’re at the rink for eight hours and does his individual workouts alongside yours. The two of you fall into the easy routine of enjoying each other’s company and everyone else is beginning to take notice.

“So,” you say with a mouth full of the pita Aaron brought you, “What are your plans for the All-Star break?”

He’s been toying with an idea for a few weeks now, but Aaron’s keeping it a secret. “I’m just gonna spend it at home with my family,” he shrugs.

“You’re fucking joking. Aaron, you could be somewhere warm and enjoying the beach!”

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” Aaron snorts.

You open your mouth to argue with him, because you’re of the opinion that everyone should love the beach, but you’re cut off by Brenda calling you to return to the ice. “This conversation isn’t over Hotchner,” you say sternly, poking him in the chest to prove your point. He rolls his eyes.

“I’ve gotta be at Wells Fargo in an hour for a team meeting, so I can’t watch this session,” he tells you. You’re a little deflated but understand he can’t play hookie from his job to watch you do your own. Brenda is banging a skate guard on the boards to get your attention, so you wave goodbye and jog over to her. “Y/N,” Aaron yells loud enough that you’ll hear him over the chatter on the ice, “Keep your core tight!”

Your coaching team is perplexed at the comment because it’s second nature to you at this point, but you think it’s sweet. Some of the other girls poke fun at your ‘boyfriend’ and it makes you irritable. Brenda tells them off and suggests they get back to work which makes you feel better. You keep Aaron’s advice in the back of your mind for the rest of your practice, and land every jump almost flawlessly.

The day before you board your flight you have a terrible practice. Brenda chalks it up to nerves, but you know that’s not it. You feel good about the competition and are confident it will go well. Something is off — you just can’t put a finger on it. Frustration eventually boils over and practice is called early. Everyone stays out of your way, letting you cool off, and you huff out a goodbye after promising to meet Brenda at the airport in the morning. Before you’re even out the door you’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for Aaron to pick up. The Flyers got to start their break a day early due to a scheduling conflict and you hope he doesn’t fly home tonight.

“What’s up?” Aaron’s tone is relaxed and casual, the complete opposite of how you currently feel. Judging by the background noise he’s playing video games, no doubt some dumb first-person shooter game he seems to play constantly. The sound of his voice is enough to send you into tears and make a reply impossible to choke out. His tone changes instantly when he realizes your distress and all activity on the other line halts — the game paused and forgotten about. “Hey,” he soothes, “What’s wrong?”

“Practice was bad,” you choke out, “Like really bad. I don’t think I can do this. Why did I ever think I could do this?” Now across the parking lot and faced with the task of driving home, you throw your bag in the trunk and crumble into the driver’s seat.

“Of course you can, you’re the only person I know that could do it,” he reassures, “I’ll meet you at your place,” The light jangle of keys lets you know Aaron isn’t going to take no for an answer. You don’t fight him, not having the energy to defend your normal pre-competition ritual of radio silence with the rest of the world, and hang up only after insisting you’re okay to drive the twenty minutes to your apartment.

Aaron must have drove well above the speed limit because he pulls into the parking lot at the same time as you. His engine is turned off jarringly fast, and he’s popping your trunk to grab your bag before your gears have settled in park. Though you put up some rather weak protests about carrying your own stuff, Aaron ignores them and hikes your bag higher on his shoulder. When you insist on holding something he tosses you the bag of food he brought with him. Opening it up, you realize he stopped at your favourite sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like the food. A smile creeps onto your face, possibly the first one all day, and you lean into Aaron slightly when he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

After unlocking your door and settling, both of you flop onto the couch, chopsticks in hand. There’s a blanket of silence over the room as you eat, but it’s far from awkward. Countless hours have been spent just like this, both of you caught up in your own heads and thinking about your futures in sport for there to be discomfort at the lack of conversation. Aaron’s waiting for you to open up, knows you will eventually, and you’re trying to find the words. However, they’re yet to appear, so you let him pull you into his side and turn the television on to some basketball game.

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as the commercials switch on at the end of the first half.

Aaron sends a smile your way, which you do your best to reciprocate. “It’s what friends are for.”

Slowly you open up about practice, venting about how you skated sloppily and couldn’t nail any element no matter how simple it was. You tell him about how tense your muscles are and how scared you are that your fifteen minutes of fame are over, that you’ll never get another chance to represent America on the world stage. Aaron listens attentively, letting you speak for as long as you need. At some point you start crying again and he holds you tighter, making sure you’re comfortable and providing a space to let it all out . Your tears soak through his sweatshirt but he could care less. When you’ve laid all your emotions out on the table he speaks gently, dispelling your doubts and letting you know that you can do it and he believes in you. Aaron’s words make it easier to believe in yourself.

The two of you spend the night on the couch, end up falling asleep, and you’re disheartened when your alarm goes off in the morning. You can’t stay in the little bubble Aaron created for the two of you — the world and its responsibilities taking precedence over the fantasy you wish never had to dissipate. He drives you to the airport, rationalizing it by telling you it’ll be safer to keep your car at home. Realistically there isn’t a difference, but you thank him anyways. Parking was the least of your worries, but the gesture is sweet and you aren’t quite ready to say goodbye yet. When you reach the airport entrance, Aaron pulls into the idling lane and steps out of the car. You follow him, dragging your feet a bit because though you’re excited for nationals you don’t want to leave. This will be the longest time the two of you have been apart since the meteoric rise to friendship

“Make sure you don’t forget about me when you win and get all famous,” Aaron jokes, handing you your suitcase.

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Like you’d let that happen.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

He takes you in his arms. You’ve hugged Aaron a couple of times before, but they didn’t feel as serious as this. This time he’s holding you for a purpose and you’re gripping the back of his jacket tightly because you don’t want him to let go. It’s longer than people who are just friends are meant to hug for, so you begrudgingly pull away. Besides, Brenda and some of your teammates are waiting.

“Have a good time at home,” you mumble.

He wraps a single arm around you for one more squeeze. “You have a good time,” he says seriously, with only the gleam in his eyes letting you know you aren’t getting scolded. “Remember to enjoy the moment. I’ll be watching on T.V.”

With your goodbyes said you wander into the airport, suitcase trailing behind you. Aaron stays parked in his spot until he sees you embrace Brenda before driving off. The boarding process is painless, and once on the plane you take your seat beside a junior and put your headphones on. Downloaded to your Spotify is one of Aaron’s classic rock playlists, and though it’s the farthest thing from the music you enjoy you listen to it the whole way.

⭑

Utah’s nice, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing — Aaron’s missing. You’ve become so accustomed to him watching you train, clapping like an idiot every time you land a jump, that the silence is unnerving. Everyone notices the shift in your performance, and eventually Brenda crumbles and uses your phone to facetime him while you practice. It’s a decent enough substitute — he watches your pixelated figure zip around the ice and though he doesn’t always make comments, just knowing Aaron’s with you in some capacity is enough to let your mind focus on the task at hand. You do the best you can at pushing away the butterflies that appear every time you think about how he’s giving up his freedom to make sure you succeed.

When you aren’t training or doing press you’re talking to Aaron. You call him constantly, narrating what you see on walks around town to settle your nerves and eating at the same time to make it feel like you’re together. The only person to support you in Salt Lake City is Brenda, so talking to him frequently makes you feel far less alone. You wish he could be here with you, but understand he needs time to recharge and can’t just follow you around the country no matter how much you’d like him to.

“What time do you skate tomorrow?” Aaron asks, mouth full of the pizza he’s enjoying. The features behind are different, so you assume he’s settled into his childhood home.

“Um, I think 11:35? I’m not entirely sure,” you respond. Due to the way the event is seeded you’re skating second last, which both settles your nerves and makes you more anxious. There isn’t the pressure of closing out the event, but there’s hope that you’ll score high enough to win the short program and skate last in the free skate.

Aaron hums pensively. “I’ll check the website.” He confirms you do in fact skate after 11:30, and conversation shifts away from skating, which you’re grateful for. It’s the last thing you currently want to think about. You listen with interest as Aaron recounts stories of the pond hockey matches he’s played since getting home. The two of you are on the phone until nearly ten, when you have to say goodnight and head to bed. Tomorrow marks the start of the biggest week of your year.

You follow your pre-competition routine to the letter. At other events this season you’ve been more relaxed, but your professional skating career depends on your performance at nationals so you aren’t taking chances. Five-thirty comes faster than you thought it would, but you’re out of bed and eating your first breakfast quickly. A quick two mile run follows, and then you’re having a shower and grabbing a second breakfast to eat at the rink. You meet Brenda in the hotel lobby before catching a taxi to the rink in an effort to not be late. A solid practice follows, and you manage to keep your imposter syndrome on a leash in the presence of the other skaters.

The time between practice and your warmup is spent pacing the halls of the dressing and equipment rooms, doing your best to keep your mind off the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Some of the other girls send you odd looks as you pass, hair wild and running shoes untied, but you know you’re doing what you have to. After what feels like decades you finish getting ready and go to find Brenda and go over any last minute tweaks. You find her walking down the hall towards you, holding your phone that’s already lit up with an answered call.

“It’s Hotchner,” Brenda says as she tosses you the device.

“Hey,” you say, squeezing the device between your ear and shoulder. “I don’t have much time to talk. My warm up call is soon.”

Aaron laughs and you find yourself cracking a smile at the sound. “I know, I just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous for a competition.”

His response is cut off by a loud noise. “Where are you?” you ask, slightly started.

“Just at home,” he says quickly. “My sister has some friends over and they’re being loud.”

The line is compelling enough that you don’t question how hastily it was delivered. Aaron stays on the phone until you have to go, keeping your mind off the jittery feeling that’s taken root in your bones. The television cameras catch you talking but you give them a cheery wave and continue telling Aaron about how good the soap at your hotel smells. You hang up when they call your flight to take to the ice for warmup and give your phone back to Brenda for safe keeping.

⭑

Aaron tries hard not to feel too out of place while he takes his seat. For someone who practically lives in arenas he feels like it’s his first time within fifty yards of one. Everyone around him is dressed nicely, and he’s acutely aware of the fact there is a neon orange pom-pom attached to the top of his hat.

As much as he feels like a baby deer trying to stand, Aaron is beyond excited to be in Salt Lake City. It’s been a while since he’s gone somewhere that wasn’t hockey related and getting to support you while he does it is the best scenario ever. There are some potential looks of recognition from those around him, but thankfully no one approaches.

Skaters begin to take the ice and he scans vigilantly for you. You’re doing the best you can to stay warm, jacket zipped all the way up and thick gloves on your hands. Aaron notices you seem to be the loosest of the girls below him but isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. You skate a few quick laps before warming up some jumps. Everything goes well, though he can tell you under-rotated a few of them and didn’t attempt the one quad in your program. The warm up is over as quickly as it began and you’re herded off the ice. Aaron sinks a little further in his seat as gets ready to watch your competitors, doing poorly to hide the nerves he has on your behalf.

⭑

There’s just over five minutes until you take to the ice. You keep your body moving, walking up and down the corridor, and blast your pre-competition playlist so loud you’ll probably have hearing damage when you’re older. No one is in the hall with you but it feels too small, as if the walls are in danger of closing in. Brenda comes to grab you and the pair of you walk to the side of the boards. You don’t watch who’s currently skating, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your feet slightly in your skates.

“Go out there and put on a show,” Brenda says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Fuck the judges.”

You laugh at her remark. “Okay Bren, when I lose points for flipping them off I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I have a bone to pick with Mark Johnson anyways.”

The scores for the previous girl are being announced, so you peel your jacket from your frame and do a couple more laps. Right before your name is announced you press your forehead to Brenda’s. It’s a ritual you started back when you were barely as tall as the boards and you’ve done it every single competition since. You feel grounded looking in her eyes, and you break with a fist bump. It’s show time.

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire. You didn’t come to play, and leave everything on the ice. The skate isn’t completely clean, you stumbled on the landing of a triple axel, but you’re happy with it. Despite your fears, both the triple lutz and quad salchow go smoothly. Audience engagement was at an all time high and you finished to deafening applause. Brenda wraps you in a tight hug when you step off the ice before leading you over to the kiss and cry. You chat idly with her and your choreographer, trying to catch your breath, while you wait for your score.

The announcer’s booming voice crackles over the PA as he reads the judges’ decision. “The scores for Y/N Y/L/N please.” You don’t pay attention to the individual numbers, which won’t do you any favours with analytics people, just the final total. “For a total score of 74.83.”

It’s lower than you had anticipated. Not by much, just two or three points, but it could mean all the difference in tomorrow’s skate. Brenda pats your leg sympathetically and whispers in your, “It’s alright. You skated well.” She means well, but you aren’t convinced.

You head back to the dressing room to watch the final skater on the small screen of your phone while you get undressed, too upset to continue being rinkside like some of the other competitors. She’s phenomenal, and you end the day falling to third place. The playlist Aaron made you blasts through your headphones as you do your cool down routine. The average tempo is upbeat and helps to take your mind off the fact you’re not where you want to be, and it’s working as a substitute for the fact he isn’t here with you. Just as you’re about to exit the room and find Brenda to talk strategy, there's a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” you say dejectedly, the word coming out as more of a sigh than you had intended.

The door cracks open slightly, and the head of your best friend peeks out from around it. “Fancy seeing you here,” Aaron says softly, stepping further into the room. Once you comprehend that he’s really here you’re sprinting in his direction, jumping into his open arms. Aaron’s laugh reverberates in his chest, and you feel it as you settle further into him.

“Why are you here?” you whisper. Though you’re elated to see him, you’re confused as to why he would want to spend his break in Utah and not with the family and friends he doesn’t get to see during the season.

He lets you down gently and shrugs. “I had to see if you’d land the quad.” There’s a gleam in his eye that hints at something more but you’re just so happy to see him you don’t care about his intentions. Aaron’s smile matches yours as you shake your head.

“You’re fucking insane,” you quip, but there’s no malice in your voice.

Before you can pester Aaron into answering all your questions about how he got here you’re whisked away to a press conference. Talking to the media is something you don’t particularly enjoy, and it’s even more difficult to stay present when you know you could be spending time with your best friend. Most of the questions are directed towards the girls who placed higher than you, which you’re thankful for. It’s easier for you to zone out, and you root through your mind of places around the city to take Aaron.

“Y/N, how tough will it be for you to better your scores in tomorrow’s free skate?”

The question is one that you expected, luckily, and you’re able to recite the response you worked out with Brenda without really engaging with the reporter. “I mean I obviously didn’t aim to be in third place heading into tomorrow,” you joke, “But I’m fairly happy with where I ended up. The other girls had fantastic skates and deserve to be above me. My plan for tomorrow is to leave everything on the ice, skate cleanly, and be proud of myself regardless of what happens.”

Pens scribble furiously by those that don’t have recording devices to get your words down on paper. There’s some chatter, questions for the other girls, before a young reporter fresh out of journalism school is allowed to speak. He identifies himself as Theo Rateliff before jumping in. “Y/N,” he says, “How excited are you to get back to training on home ice when you get back to Jersey?”

“Um, I didn’t know the renovations were finished,” you stammer. “As far as I know, I’ll be at Flyers SkateZone until the end of the season.”

Theo shakes his head. “My partner was informed this morning that the rink will be good to go by the time you get back.”

You turn to the side to look at Brenda, who just shrugs. “Well, to be quite honest I’ll miss being in Voorhees. I had fun skating there and feel like the rink prepared me well for this competition.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Theo retorts, not missing a beat. “Your odds of winning dropped by seventy-seven percent.”

“Thank you for the reminder Theo,” you snap. “Are we done here?”

The press-coordinator shakes their head in confirmation, and you rip the microphone off your jacket before stomping off. People clear a path for you, not wanting to get caught in your storm. You run right to Aaron, who lets you direct him out of the arena, leaving a gawking crowd behind, and into the cab he called while you were wrapping up.

It’s a silent ride, as Aaron knows you aren’t in the mood for light conversation. There’s no pressing you to talk during the elevator or as you struggle to unlock the door with the temperamental room key you were given. He lets you take a ridiculously long shower and orders take out that arrives just as you step out of the bathroom.

“Where are you staying?” you ask as you detangle your hair.

“Nowhere yet,” Aaron says, looking up from the article on his phone. “I got in early this morning and went straight to the rink.”

You think carefully about your next words before you speak. Your competition routines can be excessive and annoying, and you don’t want to inconvenience him. “You could just stay here. The room is massive and there’s more than enough space for both of us in the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice taking a soft lilt. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Aaron smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him do before. The two of you sit comfortably in bed, eating the burritos he bought and going down a conspiracy theory wormhole on YouTube. He asks how you feel about him coming to watch your evening training session you have to leave for in twenty minutes. You earnestly tell him you’d be angry if he didn’t stand beside your coach and clap like an idiot every time you landed a jump.

It’s chilly but the sun is shining bright, so you decide to bundle up and walk to the rink. Aaron pokes fun at your beanie and thick scarf, and you swat him in the chest, shutting him up for the time being after his giggles subside. The view is gorgeous, mountains framing the setting sun. You squeeze Aaron’s bicep to get his attention and relish the feeling of his muscle in your grip.

“Look! An owl!”

Sure enough, a barn owl is flying over top of you, in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City. “That’s my good luck charm. Means I’ll skate well tomorrow.”

Aaron pokes your cheek lightly. “I thought I was your good luck charm,” he gasps in a playful manner that has a smile creep onto your face before you could help it.

You roll your eyes. “I guess you can be my secondary one.” Aaron doesn’t seem to mind the fact your arms are still wrapped around his, so you stay that way until for the rest of the journey.

⭑

The night goes according to plan. You skate well in practice and feel as comfortable as possible for tomorrow given the circumstances. Aaron executes his role perfectly, cheering when you do things well and squirting water at you to make you squeal in laughter when things get a little too serious. Once back at the hotel, you collapse into bed almost immediately. You’re so exhausted you can’t even be bothered to climb under the covers, and wait until Aaron pulls them back for himself to crawl in. There’s no awkwardness at sharing a bed, and you sigh contently as he pulls you into his side. Sleep comes easily for the both of you.

You wake before both your alarm and Aaron. It takes you a second to get your bearings and realize you’re pinned against his body, though it’s pleasant and you truly don’t mind. There’s worse places to be stuck. You lay curled into Aaron for as long as you can, but eventually you have to shake him awake.

“Hotch,” you whisper, ruffling his hair, “You’ve gotta let me out.”

He groans something unintelligible but instead of heeding your words pulls you closer. “Aaron, come on,” you try again, “I’ve really gotta get up. Need to shower before I get to the rink.”

He listens this time, but only lets you go after squeezing you tight for a second. You go about your routine with Aaron still passed out in bed and giggle at the way his hair curls around his ears when you pass by. As you’re leaving to get to your practice ice slot he wakes up, lumbering into the bathroom. He reappears a minute or two later to say goodbye.

“Will I see you after practice?” Aaron asks, voice still gruff with sleep.

“Probably not,” you reply, leaning down to tie your shoes. “I won’t be coming back here until after everything is done.”

Aaron nods and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to do great,” he says as he pulls away. “I’ll be there, cheering so fucking loud.”

“I expect you to throw a teddy bear on the ice after I finish.”

The walk to the arena is lonely without Aaron to keep you company, but you do the best you can to push the thoughts of him out of your mind. You need to stay focused on putting on the skate of your life in a few hours and not on how lately you’ve been having more-than-friendly thoughts about your best friend. Brenda is there when you arrive, asking polite questions about what the two of you got up to last night before explaining how you’re going to run your practice.

Your hour of semi-private ice passes in the blink of an eye. The other girls in your flight are just as tense as you, popping jumps and doing a lot of skating to loosen up. A lot is riding on today’s event and you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the pressure. When you get back to the dressing room and check your phone, you notice there’s a text from Aaron.

Don’t want to disrupt your incredibly rigid pre-comp routine (I’m mostly joking), but I thought I’d share a playlist. It’s songs that remind me of you.

Included is a link to a Spotify playlist entitled ‘my golden girl’. You open it with a smile, noticing that it starts with some of your favourite songs even though they aren’t the kind of thing he regularly listens to before turning into things you’ve never heard before.

Thanks <3, you respond, going to listen to it during my off-ice.

That’s exactly what you do. It filters through your headphones for hours as you stretch, do a quick interview for those watching on television, and get dressed. Though it’s a break from your typical routine, it’s welcome. Knowing Aaron thought about you enough to make you a playlist and send it to you helps calm your nerves.

“Hey kiddo,” Brenda says as she walks to where you’ve taken up root on the floor. Your left hamstring is tight, and you’re trying desperately to fix it before you have to go on the ice. “Go out there and absolutely kill it. This is your best program, and I haven’t seen anyone skate better than what you can do today.”

“Gee thanks for the confidence booster Bren,” you chuckle before hoisting yourself onto the bench to tie your skates.

She doesn’t laugh. “I mean it Y/N. You can still win this thing.”

You’re left alone to finish getting ready and then join the other girls in the tunnel. No one talks, which you’re grateful for. When you were younger and coming up through the ranks the other competitors liked to gossip while they waited, and it was your least favourite part of an entire competition. A camera man waits at the end of the walkway, filming your arrival to the ice pad, and you wave cheerily as you pass by. It can never hurt to endear yourself to those watching at home – maybe they’ll be nicer to you on the internet if things go poorly.

Aaron is standing at the edge of the boards open to spectators during your warmup, watching and cheering intently. In a moment of insane confidence you blow him a kiss as you skate past, and giggle hysterically when he catches it and holds it close to his chest. You’re called off the ice then and spend the time in between your skate really getting into the zone. So much hinges on the four minutes of ice time you have left.

It’s considered bad luck to watch the performances before your own, so you face the wall as you jog lightly in place to keep your body temperature up and the adrenaline flowing. Much sooner than you’d like it’s your turn to take your guards and jacket off. Brenda holds your shaking hands as she whispers last minute words of encouragement, and you stumble through the traditional handshake before presenting yourself to the crowd.

Once the music starts your brain checks out and instinct takes over. You learned when you were younger that your best skates happened when you just allowed yourself to feel every beat of the music, and you desperately need the skate of a lifetime. Going into the first jumping pass you can feel yourself tense up so you think about Aaron’s smile while you guys sat by the lake last night. It works to loosen you up, and you spend the rest of the program thinking of your favourite moments with him. The music fades from your consciousness slightly, but you’re still transporting the crowd to the fantasy world you created. As you strike your final pose the music fades out completely and the roars of applause cascade in. You know you had a flawless performance, beaming as you fist pump the air in the same dramatic manner you chirp Aaron for doing when he celebrates goals.

You bow to the crowd in all directions, waving and laughing as flowers and teddy bears fall onto the ice in front of you. An orange blob of fur catches your eye, and you skate to pick it up before one of the volunteers could put it in the bag that will join your gear in the dressing room. You know Aaron is the one who threw the Gritty toy — no one else really knows of your affiliations with the team outside of the training facility. As you sit in the kiss and cry awaiting your results, you examine the stuffed animal. Instead of the regular Gritty jersey, Aaron replaced it with his own, the number flashing vividly at you and pulling a smile from your nervous features.

Brenda keeps her hand clasped tightly in yours as the PA system crackles to life. “And the scores for Y/N Y/L/N are,” the announcer begins, and your knee begins bouncing rapidly, heartbeat so pronounced in your ears you have to strain to hear. “The free skate score is 155.79, for a total score of 230.62.”

You jump up in amazement. Despite your slow start to the competition you managed to get a season’s best. You’re also five points ahead of the second place skater, guaranteeing you a place on the podium and depending on the final results, a spot at worlds. A volunteer ushers you out of the kiss and cry and you skip all the way down the tunnel. To get out some of the adrenaline you jog the corridor a few times before returning to Brenda.

“Come on,” she laughs, “Aaron’s waiting at the edge of the public area. We can watch the final skate together.”

At the mention of his name you’re jogging again, wanting to see him as fast as possible. “Hotch!” you shriek as you approach, launching into the elaborate handshake the two of you have perfected at this point.

“Hey, golden girl,” he chuckles, returning your actions with just as much enthusiasm. “You looked great out there. I see you got my gift.”

The Gritty doll is still in your hands but there’s no shame. Instead, you tuck it under your arm and rest your head against Aaron’s shoulder to watch the final skater. The girl after you had fallen a number of times, dropping her total significantly and landing her in fifth place. Victory is so close you can almost taste it.

It’s the longest six minutes of your life. Watching the final skater increases your anxiety tenfold — she’s good, has almost as great a skate as you, but she under-rotated a jump and rushed through her program so there was extra music at the end. The clock above your head rings throughout the silent corridor as everyone awaits the scores with baited breath. In under a minute you’ll know whether you’re returning to New Jersey with a gold or silver medal in your suitcase.

You don’t hear anything as they announce her score – just see the numbers flash on the small screen and calculate that it’s not enough for her to beat you. After years of blood, sweat, and an immeasurable amount of tears you’ve crossed another goal off your list. Those around you are jumping and screaming, Brenda evenletting a few tears escape. All you can think about is Aaron, who’s celebrating like he just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup finals, and how much you love him.

Without thinking, you smash your lips against Aaron’s. It’s adrenaline filled and mostly teeth until he wraps one hand around your waist and places the other along your jaw. Then it becomes purposeful, both of you moving in tandem and never wanting it to stop. When Aaron finally pulls away and rests his forehead against yours you can’t stop smiling. The kiss might have happened in the heat of the moment, but you know it’s the culmination of feelings building inside of you for months.

“You’re a national champion,” Aaron mumbles, pulling you flush against his chest in the biggest hug you’ve ever received.

“I’m your national champion,” you whisper back, so much love in your voice it’s threatening to spill over.

He pulls back and grins, kissing you again. “You’re my national champion. My golden girl.”

The rest of your stay in Salt Lake City is a blur. You’re swept up in the numerous press events, galas, and enjoying your blossoming relationship with Aaron. When you finally got back to the hotel after what seemed like hours of people complimenting your comeback, the two of you sat down and talked about the kiss and what you wanted to happen next. It was scary, being so vulnerable, but it needed to happen — you’re both adults and communication is important. So, you’re returning home with a gold medal and boyfriend, two things you’re ecstatic about.

⭑

“A, it’s not straight,” you giggle. Aaron’s trying, and failing miserably, to hang the shadow box with your nationals medal in it above your couch. It’s been almost a month since you returned home, but you’ve been so busy that decorating the apartment you barely spend time in has been at the bottom of your to-do list.

He grunts out a response. “Fuck. Do I have to go left or right?”

“Left.” The picture shifts in the opposite direction. “The other left, Aaron!”

A few minutes later the decoration is sitting perfectly in place. Your child of a boyfriend insists on getting rewarded for his achievement, so the two of you bundle up and get dinner. It’s nothing fancy — just sandwiches from the deli down the street from your apartment, but spending time with him is nice. Aaron’s been on a string of short road trips and you’ve been training anxiously, waiting for US Figure Skating to announce who they’re sending to the world championship.

“How’s practice been lately?” Aaron asks, mouth full with a bite of his BLT. “I miss being able to watch you skate whenever I want.”

After returning from Utah you were immediately shuttled into the freshly renovated rink of your skating club. It’s a little farther into Jersey and certainly not as convenient for him to get to, especially now that the NHL season is picking up and the Flyers are clinging desperately to the final playoff spot. “It’s been interesting,” you shrug, “I’m skating well, and physically I feel great. There’s a mental block or something though because everything feels a little bit off.”

The smile that graces Aaron’s face can only be described as shit-eating. “Duh, I’m not there.”

“Fuck off.” Though you try to make the words come out in a serious tone, there’s no malice in them.

Conversation flips to some ridiculous story Derek told at practice that morning, and you giggle as it gets recounted with flailing arms. You tell a few stories of your own, that leave him in stitches, and as you walk home hand in hand he asks you again to come to a game. With your schedule a little more flexible as you wait for a decision about the upcoming competition stint it will be much easier to see Aaron play. You say yes with a shy smile and don’t miss the way the boy beside you blushes under the streetlights.

Aaron stays over, and the next two nights after that. It’s nice, falling into a relationship with your best friend, because there’s no awkwardness. You know what kind of cereal to keep in your pantry and he knows you don’t eat meat on Mondays. Everything is easy. There are a few bumps in the road, as can be expected with any budding relationship, but for the most part your lives fit seamlessly together.

After some meticulous planning, you found a home game on the Flyers schedule that will coincide with yours. It’s a Friday night near the end of February, and it’s actually the last day US Figure Skating can announce their assignments for worlds. You figure watching your boyfriend is the perfect way to distract yourself from the decision, whatever it may be. Aaron’s ecstatic about your attendance, wanting you to be immersed in as many aspects of his life as possible. The entire day he’s bouncing around your apartment, beyond ready for puck drop.

“It’s literally three in the afternoon,” you grumble as Aaron corrals you into the hall to put your shoes on. “You never leave this early! Why do we have to do it today?” In an attempt to save gas and lower your carbon footprint you’re carpooling with him into downtown.

“Because being in this house is making you more anxious,” he points out. “I’ve caught you staring into the distance one too many times today. Besides, this way you can meet up with some of the other girls and relax before the game.”

Aaron’s right, as he so often is. Your agent hasn’t called to let you know if you made the team or not, nor have any announcements been made on social media. In response to the radio silence you’ve spent the entire day pacing back and forth around your living room and fretting that perhaps the best performance of your season wasn’t good enough. He twirls his car keys around his index finger in an attempt to speed you along and you roll your eyes at his impatience and necessity to be early to imaginary deadlines he set himself..

After ensuring your home is safely secured you hit the road. The drive into Philadelphia is easy, with little traffic, and you spend it laughing at Aaron’s ridiculous Axl Rose impression. It doesn’t surprise you that the staff lot at the Wells Fargo Centre is sparsely populated — most of the guys don’t show up until around five, Aaron included. However, a group of women are standing near the entrance. While this isn’t the first time you’ve met significant others of your boyfriend’s teammates, it’s the first time he won’t be around.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers as the car settles into park. You offer a small smile that mustn't have been convincing because Aaron lifts the hand that’s intertwined with his to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the knuckles. The smile becomes genuine and you tease him the entire walk to the door about his proclivity for cheesy gestures.

Aaron greets the other girls before setting his bag down on the concrete and wrapping you in a hug. “Have fun,” you say softly against his lips, landing a short kiss. He winks and opens the door, disappearing inside and leaving you in a fit of giggles that the onlooking girls understand all too well.

There was no reason for you to be nervous — everyone is incredibly kind without their significant others around, just as Aaron promised. You seem to be the youngest in the group, but the other girls pay no mind and treat you as one of their own. There’s a small amount of confusion when your phone chimes with a notification, a few glances of possible distaste, but as soon as you explain you’re waiting on a very important call they understand. Dinner is wonderful, filled with sincere questions about your skating career and how you and Aaron got together. By the time you get back to the arena for the game it feels as though you’ve been a part of the group for years.

You spend the game in the family and friends box, sipping a glass of wine and training your eyes to follow Aaron around the ice. Practice is early in the morning and you want to be productive, so you’re relaxed in your alcohol consumption compared to some of the others. One of the older girls, though you can’t remember what player is her significant other, recently got engaged and is celebrating with as many drinks as those around her will allow. It’s fun to experience a hockey game in this way, but you’re a little on edge. You haven’t heard anything about assignments all day and the organization doesn’t typically leave the announcement until this late in the evening. There’s seven minutes left in the game when your phone rings. You quickly excuse yourself from the group and step into the hall.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” the chipper voice of your agent Megan says, “How are you?”

A nervous laughter tumbles from your lips. “I think that depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I imagined you’d say something along those lines,” she responds. “You’ve always been quite witty.” Before you ask her to just get to the point of the phone call, Megan speaks. “I have some good news and some bad news for you. You’re going to the World Championships, but you aren’t leading the team like we hoped.”

It’s not as bad as she made it sound. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes, and you try your best to remain professional in the hallway of the arena. “Honestly,” you sigh, “I think that’s better. There’s going to be a lot less pressure for me to bring home three Olympic spots. Thanks for letting me know Meg.” She hangs up then, no doubt having to tell another girl she didn’t make the cut.

When you slip back through the door, you find all eyes on you. “What was that about?”

“I made the roster for worlds.”

Earth-shattering applause erupts from everyone in the room, and no one pays attention to what happens on the ice for the remainder of the game. The congratulations continue until you’re waiting outside the dressing room for Aaron to exit. He had a good game, featuring two assists and a blocked shot, and smiles lazily when he sees you leaning against the brick wall.

“This is something I could get used to,” he chuckles, pulling you into him by the belt loops of your jeans. The two of you kiss for a moment, keeping it relatively chaste in fear of getting chirped by his teammates.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically, drawing out the suspense of what you’re about to say, “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for it to become a regular occurrence. My training schedule just increased exponentially.”

Aaron sits on your words for a moment before it registers. “No fucking way!” he shouts, picking you up by the waist as if the two of you are a pairs team. “You got the spot?”

Having Aaron be so excited about the accomplishment makes it seem that much more real. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head up and down to signal he’s correct. Aaron presses his lips to yours once again, this time not caring about any insults his friends could throw at him. The kiss makes you feel loved, fully and completely, and you hope you’re conveying the same amount of emotion he is.

“That’s my girl.”

⭑

“Oh my fucking god,” you grumble, picking yourself off the ice for what feels like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. There’s two weeks until you leave for Milan and it looks like you’ve never skated before. Jumps are being under-rotated, spins aren’t being entered properly, and your footwork sequence is abysmal. Nothing about the way you’re performing would let a newcomer to the rink know you’re a world class athlete.

Brenda gives you a sympathetic smile. “Just try again, kiddo.”

You do try again — fifteen more times to be exact. Each attempt at a triple axel is getting farther and farther from what it should be. Before you get even more frustrated you abandon the element altogether, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown. No one questions it when you shift disciplines completely and move about the ice completing a simple foxtrot pattern. Ice dance has always been a great de-stresser for you, and after a few passes you feel your heart rate return to normal. At some point during your break Aaron had entered the rink and is now standing beside your coach, making pleasant conversation. You smile as you skate towards them, ecstatic that the two most important parts of your life blend seamlessly.

“Hotchner!” you shout when you get close enough for him to hear you. At the sound of your voice Aaron smiles, turning to pick up your water bottle and toss it in your general direction.

“I’m wounded, babe,” he feigns pain as you take a drink, “I really thought that we were on at least a first name basis.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and playfully squirt water at him. “I’ll call you whatever I want. What brings you this far into Jersey?”

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch after you were done. We’ve got a late practice today,” he explains. “Whatever you want, eh? Does that mean I can call you whatever I want?” You don’t miss the suggestive tone to his voice, but choose to ignore it because investigating him never leads to anything good.

Aaron watches the rest of your practice from his spot at the boards and lays himself across the dressing room bench as you complete a quick cool down routine. You have a meeting with your massage therapist in the afternoon, so you follow Aaron to the restaurant he chose. It’s a small vegan place that you sometimes stop at on your way home from the rink. They have the best burrito bowls you’ve ever tasted, and since you’ve gotten together Aaron has become rather fond of them as well.

The two of you sit outside on the curb. New Jersey is uncharacteristically warm for March, and you want to enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. The rest of the day will be spent in dark rooms receiving physical therapy and trying to ease your tired muscles. There isn’t much conversation, but you’re more than content just to be with Aaron. Life moves incredibly fast and your schedules don’t always line up nicely. It’s difficult to spend time with him, especially when you’re weeks out from a major competition, but small moments like this keep you from missing your boyfriend too much.

“Have I asked you to take me to the airport yet? I can’t remember,” you admit as you finish the last bite of your meal.

Aaron laughs at your lapse in memory, knowing he gets the same way when high stakes games roll around. “No, but you would like me to?”

“Do you mind?” you ask, “That way I don’t have to leave my car at the airport for a week and a half. But if you can't, don't worry about it, I’ll grab an uber.”

“Babe, the uber will be like fifty bucks. I’ll take you. What time do you have to be there?”

You give him a much too detailed itinerary of your departure plans and listen to him talk about the drills they’re going to run at practice. Time passes much quicker than you would have liked, and soon you’re kissing him goodbye and watching him wave from your rearview mirror.

It’s almost a week later when you see him again, showing up at a Flyers practice for the first time since training moved back to your home rink. You’ve been instructed to have a rest day, the team not wanting to push you too hard before taking off for Europe. The arena attendants know you well at this point, and chat with you as you sit on a bench away from the media. You know better than you alert them of your presence — some of them no doubt want a comment from you about worlds and how you expect the competition to go. Aaron has no idea you’re even there until long after practice ends, when he sees you leaning casually against the driver’s side door of your car, conveniently parked next to his.

“Hey there, all-star,” you say as casually as possible, twirling your keys around your index finger.

He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and though you probably shouldn’t in a parking lot, you push your body closer to his in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Aaron obliges you, tongue gently slipping into your mouth, staying there until you both hear the shouts of his teammates.

“Fuck off,” he yells at Morgan and Reid, the two of them hollering so loud people can probably hear them all the way back in Philadelphia. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a day off,” you smile, “and I thought I’d come see if I could hitch a ride to your place.” You had originally planned to attend the game in person, but a rough day of training yesterday had you too sore to do much other than lay on the couch.

“The chariot awaits, m’lady,” he says in a terrible British accent, bowing for good measure as he opens the door. Your car will be fine in the parking lot overnight, so you slip in and enjoy the journey into the city.

Aaron’s pre-game routine changes only slightly with you in his apartment — instead of napping alone, you curl into his chest and snore softly, lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had. You tie his tie for him and riffle his hair before kissing him good luck. Being alone in Aaron’s apartment isn’t as strange as you thought it would be, and you familiarize yourself with his kitchen while you make dinner. The pre-game show plays quietly in the background, and when they mention how well Aaron is playing you can’t help but smile.

It’s much more comfortable to watch the game in your boyfriend’s hoodie and pyjama pants on the couch than it would be to sit in the stiff arena seats. Time passes at a pretty leisurely pace, with nothing too exciting going on within the game, and sometime in the third period you fall asleep. The rest of the game and all the media appearances pass you by. Aaron figures you must be sleeping when he doesn’t get a congratulatory text when he pulls off a buzzer beater to win. His suspensions are confirmed when he slips through his front door to see you drooling slightly on the throw pillow his mom bought him as a housewarming gift.

You don’t remember climbing into bed, but you wake up with Aaron’s socked feet pressed against your calves. He stirs behind you and mummers something unintelligible.

“What was that, sleepyhead?” you giggle, turning around to run a hand through his hair. It’s rather unruly at the moment and you find it adorable.

“Good morning,” he repeats.

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

The two of you lay in bed for a few more minutes before starting the day. You navigate around Aaron flawlessly — like you’re there every morning. Breakfast is quick and you’re out the door before you have a chance to cherish the domesticity of it all. You have a pretty intense day of training and Aaron has to be at the airport in two hours for a trip to Toronto. He drops you off in Voorhees, kissing you gently before making his way back into the city. You hate to see him go, wishing you could spend more time together before you head to worlds, but you know you’re both adults with real-world responsibilities.

For the first time in this final push you have a practice that is up to standard. Things click into place and you feel good. Really good. Each time you skate a program it’s clean, and the elements don’t feel weak when completed individually. Maybe you’ll actually be able to pull this off.

⭑

Italy is beautiful, but you don’t get much time to enjoy it. A scheduling mishap has team USA leaving two days later than you were supposed to and now you’re all scrambling to find a groove. Every moment is being spent preparing for the competition — off ice training, multiple practices a day, and press conferences. When you get a moment to spare you call Aaron, but oftentimes he’s at practice or fulfilling other obligations. The time difference is brutal and souring your mood. You feel alone, and just wish Aaron could be by your side like he was at nationals.

The morning air is brisk as you exit the rental car US Figure Skating provided and head for the arena doors. It’s quiet while you get ready for the first of the day’s three practice sessions, but as soon as you step on the ice something feels wrong. You run through a mental checklist and assure that nothing is — your skates feel the way they should and you didn’t forget any gear at the hotel. It has to be nerves. The competition officially starts tomorrow and you’re eager to cheer on the pairs teams America has brought. You do your best to skate it out, and by the time you’re allowed to have the ice to yourself you’ve almost convinced yourself everything will be fine.

The music starts and you snap into character. Your short program music is punchy and so are you — all sass and sharp angles as you navigate the opening step sequence. A lump forms in your throat as you set up the first first jumping pass, but you push it down. You’ve done a thousand triple lutz-triple toe-loop combinations and could execute it flawlessly in your sleep.

Everything happens so fast. One second you’re rotating through the air and the next you’re sprawled across the ice. Nothing feels off from a regular fall until you try to pick yourself up. When you can’t move your left leg you look to see what the issue is and find your kneecap where it most certainly should not be. It’s rotated nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, now residing in the back instead of the front.

“Help me!” you scream, mostly out of shock. There’s no pain, which surprises you, but you know it definitely should hurt. Everyone around the ice surface is frozen in place, not knowing what happened or what to do, and you continue to sob helplessly.

Someone sprints to get the onsite emergency responders and Brenda runs to you as fast as her dress shoes will allow. “Don’t look at it honey,” she soothes. “It’s just going to make things worse.”

“It should hurt,” you croak out through the tears, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you can’t feel anything,” the EMT explains in flawless English. “Can we take your skates off?”

You nod, and the right skate comes off breezily. Brenda unlaces your left skate and the medical team works to pry the boot from your foot. A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you wail in agony. “Shh, it’s okay,” your coach coos, “The skate is going to stay on until we get to the hospital.”

The ride to the hospital feels like time is moving through sludge. The paramedics keep an eye on your blood pressure and do their best to keep you calm. Brenda is typing furiously on her phone, and you ask what she’s doing as the vehicle pulls into the ambulance bay.

“The ISU rep told me to keep him updated,” she explains. “And I’m trying to vote on which alternate is going to take your place.”

You knew that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly skate, but it makes you unbelievably sad. All your hard work is going to amount to nothing. No one cares about national champions who don’t place at worlds, and the injury is going to sideline you in next year’s olympic race. A string of tears fall from your eyes as the stretcher you occupy is wheeled into the building, mostly for lost opportunities but also because your nerve receptors are beginning to recognize pain again. The emergency room has a bed ready for you, and the doctor arrives as you’re being transferred into it.

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m Dr. Morelli. We’re going to put your patella back into place. It’s going to be incredibly painful, so we’re to sedate you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you say as strongly as you can, though it comes out feeble and hoarse. A nurse inserts an IV into your arm and smiles at you. They have you count backwards from ten, and by the time you get to eight you’re asleep.

There’s a brief moment of panic when you wake up as you forgot where you are. “You’re awake,” Brenda speaks softly from the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know. They’re going to come get you for x-rays in a few minutes and then we’ll go back to the hotel once you’ve been cleared.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve gotta call Aaron. Bren, give me your phone.”

Laughter comes from the device’s speakers, and you realize she’s one step ahead of you.

“There’s my girl,” Aaron whispers, eyes landing on yours as the phone lands in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question makes you laugh. “You’re quite the comedian Mr. Hotchner. Of course I’m not okay. My leg is currently being held together by a brace and my dreams are ruined.” You soften when you realize how upset he looks. “I’ll be fine A, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“There’s nothing you could have done, Aaron. It was a freak accident. You can pick me up from the airport.”

He agrees in a heartbeat and tells you about his day to distract you from the pain. You’ll have to ask the nurses for some medication before you leave. A nurse comes to take you to the radiology department, and you hang up after reassuring Aaron for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need to fly to Italy to bring you home himself.

Brenda holds you that night as the adrenaline wears off and your legs twitches rapidly as a trauma response. She helps you navigate around the small room and makes sure you’re able to use the bathroom. Luckily none of her other skaters are competing, and she’s able to travel back to Philadelphia with you once the doctor clears you. It’s a rough flight – there’s a fair amount of turbulence and each bump makes your leg throb. You don’t get a wink of sleep and are grumpy by the time you touch down in Philly. People steer clear of an angry-looking girl in a wheelchair, and the two of you get through customs incredibly fast. Aaron’s waiting at arrivals with a giant sign and a sweet smile. You wheel yourself over to him as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms.

“Welcome home, baby,” he whispers, leaning down to catch your lips in an airport appropriate kiss. The reason you’re home so early isn’t brought up which you're incredibly grateful for. Your untimely withdrawal is still a very sore spot, and most likely will be for a while.

“I wasn’t gone long,” you laugh, trying to poke fun at the situation before reality gets you too down.

“Long enough for me to miss you a tremendous amount.”

The three of you exit the airport, and Aaron drops Brenda off at her house before taking you back to his place. Flyers management is allowing him to miss a few games until you become more mobile and can exist on your own for a few hours. Aaron’s bed is calling out to you, but he insists you’ll feel better after a shower, and you know he’s right. Showering isn’t something you can do yourself, so he keeps your leg straight and elevated as you sit on the stool he bought while waiting for you to return. The grime of travelling is washed away and you feel lighter when you swing into bed, stubbornly refusing Aaron’s help.

You convince him to let you watch the broadcast of the event you were supposed to be skating in. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you want to see how everyone does. Aaron sits besides you, arm wrapped around your shoulder, and listens to you explain the rationale behind every element’s score. When your replacement takes the ice you go silent. It’s too much to see her skating in your place so you bury your face into Aaron’s neck. There’s no jealousy like you thought there would be, just an infinite amount of sadness that you’re not able to be there.

“You’ll be able to get back there,” Aaron reassures you when he feels a tear soak through his sweater.

“That’s not guaranteed,” you sniffle. “I might not ever skate again, let alone compete at any level.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, leading you to quirk a brow. “I know you. You’re going to do it. It won’t be easy, but you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. People bounce back after major injuries all the time. I’ll be by your side the entire time, helping you through.”

“I love you,” you blurt out. The gravity of your words sinks in and you gasp. You haven’t said those words to each other yet, but they feel right.

“I love you too,” Aaron smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “Now pay attention, that girl you beat at Skate Canada is up next.”

⭑

Recovery hasn’t been easy. There have been so many days where all you want to do is throw in the towel and cry, but Aaron keeps you going. He insists you do your physical therapy exercises with him so you aren’t alone, and he comes to as many doctor’s appointments as he possibly can. After the Flyers get eliminated from the playoffs he doesn’t return home for the summer, choosing to stay in the Philly area with you. Having him there is a massive help, and you power through the pain.

The Flyers are hosting a family skate before training camp, and it will be your first time on skates in nearly six months. Your doctors have cleared it as long as you take it slow and basically let Aaron pull you around the rink but you don’t care. It gives you hope that one day you’ll be back to full strength.

“Ready to do this thing?” Aaron asks, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

You nod enthusiastically and let him lead you from the bench to the tunnel and down to the boards. Aaron steps on the ice first, keeping his hands up in case you need them for support. A few of the significant others notice what’s happening and they erupt in applause once both your feet are planted on the surface. Aaron joins them, his eyes watering when he sees how happy you are to be skating again.

“I do believe you promised me a few laps, lover boy,” you wink.

“Yes ma’am,” Aaron giggles as he mock salutes. He places his hands in yours and guides you gently, careful not to go too fast or get too close to other groups. The two of you giggle and stop to kiss frequently but no one says anything. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get here and they’re perfectly content letting you have your moment. Standing at centre ice you feel complete, and you know it’s all thanks to Aaron.

⭒⭑⭒

consider reblogging and giving feedback if you enjoyed! it helps a lot x

#aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #this is: a fic #sapphicellegreenaway.writes

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mischas · 2 years ago

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the description of mischa that's kind of always rung true to me is that she was an indie kid born IT girl beautiful. so while it's true she was a party girl, she probably felt a disconnect there with her identity. there's also a cultural element - party girl specifically implies *LA* party girl and in turn a particular stereotype when mischa seems to really view herself through British/New York upbringing lens. think that's also why she bristles at the comment.

(cont.) there's probably PR elements too, and i'm sure the more wholesome image was being peddled to separate her from the paris, nicole and lindsay which is mired in its own problematic implications, and was just kind of false since she was at least in that orbit for a while. but i do think there's a lot of nuance here and ironically this kind tension/duality is what really made her fitting for marissa.

True, she was absolutely trying to distance herself from Lindsay/Paris/Nicole at the time. And even if it's true they were never truly friends, she was papped with them and in those environments on more than one occasion. And at that time those pictures were worth a lot of money. I don't blame her PR for trying to downplay it. I think she definitely towed the line of that indie Brit/LA party girl thing but it sounds hollow to read these interviews with a 2022 lens knowing that she was indeed partying and playing in those circles. Even just for a while, it wasn't a secret. I think media back then with young actresses was calculated in a different way to now where ~authenticity~ and audience engagement is key. Social media is largely a farce masquerading as real life, but I think you know what I mean.

I just have a problem with Marissa during that time always being painted as this prissy, irredeemable shell of a character. I was like 8 when the show was first airing so my impression of the show was only when I watched in 2009/10. I didn't grow up buying these magazines and reading about how terrible Marissa was, you know? Mischa is totally fine believing then and now what she believes but it sucks as a Marissa stan is all.

#ask #anonymous #mischa barton

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

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Humans are Space Orcs, “Acting.”

A continuation to the Hybrid arc. Hope you all enjoy this morning.

Adam dropped her hand as soon as they were through the door reaching down with one hand to engage the augmented hearing from his open implant. He leaned his head to the side listening with his eyes closed. Sunny covered him from the side.

Straining to hear down the hall, he tilted his head and turned up the volume.

“So, what do you say?”

“IS that even legal?”

“And how long have you two been in a relationship….” There was silence, “exactly, excuse us for thinking legal wasn’t your thing.”

“Look I get what you’re doing, and I’m not going to stop you, but the people around here have enough problems as it is without you going around and giving them hope like that just to scam them out of their money.”

‘It isn’t a scam, we can do exactly what we told you we can do.”

“Yeah, and I’m chairman of the galactic assembly.”

Footsteps and protests.

Commander Vir turned to Sunny a rather disconcerting expression spreading across his face, “You ready?”

“Ready for what.”

“Now, Don’t freak out ok.”

Tilting his head he could hear footsteps moving up the hall and annoyed muttering voices.

Sunny watched in confusion as the man lifted his head to stare at the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, and then with a single breath he just burst into tears face in his hands.

Sunny took a step back in complete and utter confusion.

Sobbing the man slid down the nearest wall head in hands, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I… I’m a h-horrible partner.”

Sunny stood nonplussed at the center of the hallway for a second before regaining her senses.

What the hell was he doing?

She walked over and knelt next to him a hand on his arm, “What are you talking about.”

“I’m-m s-sorry my brother….he-he's having another…. Baby and I. You and I…. Will n-never.” He choked off.

The hell was happening, Adam wasn’t this good of an Actor as far as she remembered.

“What started all this? Why-”

“Because I kn-know how important having a large family is in…. Your culture and I. I just feel like a failure because…. I-its not fair.”

The footsteps from earlier had stopped, but they were still close by.

Adam raised his head tears streaming down his face, but looking into his eyes, Sunny watched as he motioned towards the hallway with them. Shit, he really was faking it.

When the hell had he learned how to face like that.

She scooted closer and wrapped her arms around him as he continued to sob into her chest, “Shhh, it's alright. If I really needed that there is always…. Adoption is it?”

HE choked out a bitter laugh, “The GA would never allow that. They hate us.” He broke down into sobs again.

“Things can change, you of all people should know that.” She paused glancing towards the hallway, “What brought this on anyway.”

Sniff, “Just, got a text from my brother-another ….p-picture of his new baby, I-I’’m so sick and tired of being the black sheep in the family. Mom always wanted grandkids and, and I’m the screw up son that just can’t….”

Wow, she would have felt sorry for him if she had been watching.

How the hell was he doing that.

“Come on Adam, you’re drunk, lets get you home.”

Still had to make this authentic.

She pulled him to his feet arm around her as he leaned against her shoulder, “I’m sorry.” He muttered again.

“Me too.” She added slowly walking them down the other end of the hallway.

Glancing over at Adam, she could see he still had the tears flowing, but the expression in his eyes was one of concentration, head tilted towards the noise behind them. The two traits thrown together like that was more than a little unsettling.

“We have a tail.” He muttered quietly leaning his head against her and wrapping an arm around hers. His gate was uneven as if he were slightly inebriated, and she did her best to support him. They stepped out onto the street walking slowly. He allowed his breathing to slow and relax and the expression on his face moved from one of exhaustion to one of intent focus as he listened behind them.

“Close?” She whispered.

“Yes, hold on.” He staggered a bit more letting his legs give out as he sat next to the wall.

“Adam!Are you ok!”

“Yeah…. I.” He put his head in his hands, “Just nauseous. I’ll be ok in a minute.”

Sunny turned her head towards the end of the alley where a pair of figures were now backlit against the neon blue lighting of the nearest club.

She recognized them.

The two Tesraki approached slowly as Adam rocked back and forth next to the wall, “Is your companion well?” One of them asked, sounding worried.

“Do we need to call someone for you?” Another asked

She patted his back, “No he will be alright in a minute. Just drank too much, I think.”

Adam lifted his head slowly tilting his head as he looked blearily up at the Tesraki, “Hey…. haven't we seen you before. Earlier tonight at the club?”

The two of them nodded, “Yes we did happen to be leaving at the same time.”

“I… thought it was kind of weird to see two Tesraki, since, you know it's an interspecies club and all.”

They glanced between each other, “Well, yes, but we were there for a bit of business, you know some advertising. Your friends happen to be a target demographic for our market.”

Adam wiped at his face, “And what is your market.”

“Here let us find you some water, and then maybe we can talk more openly.”

***

Midnight at a 24-hour diner. Adam had some water and the two Tesraki sat across from them.

“To start off with, you are under no obligation to agree to anything of course, this is simply a pitch meeting of our…. Service.”

“And what is your service.”

The two glanced between each other, “Well have you ever heard of genetic splicing.”

“Uh no, can’t say I have.”

“Well it is a very complicated procedure which requires the careful integration of genetic material…. From two species into one cohesive hole.”

Adam blinked and leaned back, “W…. what are you saying.”

“I am saying that we can make hybrids. The procedure is admittedly very expensive as it has to be done with the utmost care and consideration, but it is something we have recently perfected with a little help.”

“Hybrids…. like …. like “

“Like Drev human hybrids.”

They glanced at each other with wide eyes, “Say again?”

“Drev human hybrids.”

He turned to look at Sunny grabbing her by the arm, “You hear that.”

“Yeah yeah, but let's not get our hopes up just yet.” She turned to look at the Tesraki “And how do we know you aren’t lying?”

“Well we have a few images, but of course those could have been doctored. Still, if you are interested we would be wiling to bring you in to tour the facility.” One of them reached into his bag and pulled out a set of photographs which he passed across the table.

Sunny and Adam leaned in together to look at the images.

The first one was a picture of a sleeping baby, it looked human, except for the bright purple tint of its hair and nails, and a slight shimmering about the skin. Two little holes at the base of it’s neck indicated a possible auxiliary breathing system just like a Drev.

“Sweet Jupiter.” Adam muttered turning to the next picture.

This one was a baby Drev, but missing a pair of arms and with five fingers on either hand. It’s open eyes were clearly very human.

They kept turning through the pages.

“Other companies have tried this before for various reasons. However, the mistake them often make is trying to make a fifty, fifty genetic variants. Try blending DNA at a fifty-fity split and the child turns out to be deformed, in pain and unable to sustain itself in order to live. The key is to bring it to a 80 20 or 70-30 split or some other variation. They tend to look more like one species than the other, but they do still have the genetics of both the parents.

Adam’s eyes widened, “Wow… that’s amazing, but…. Is that…. illegal?”

“Should it be illegal to keep people from having happy families?”

“I suppose not.”

“Very well.”

Sunny crossed her arms, “I would have to have more proof than this.”

“Of course, of course you would, and that can be done. We can bring you to the facility as long as you sign some nondisclosure forms

‘Or you could simply be kidnapping us.”

“And you could be cops.”

“I guess that leaves us at an impasse.” Sunny said crossing her arms.

Adam leaned forward, “But Chalan…. please. If they can help us…”

“Adam, I don’t trust it.”

She watched him pause for a minute second conjuring up his acting skills from earlier as tears welled in his eyes, “But what if this is our only chance….” His chin trembled

Shit, he was good

She sighed, “Ok, ok,what do we do?”

“Give us your contact information, and we will come to you.”

They did and the four of tem stood shaking hands in the traditional human way before stepping to walk outside. Sunny could see the Tesraki watching them, so she grabbed Adam by the hand and pulled him in close to her, a fact that seems to surprise him.

They walked out and the Teraki waved a farewell to them walking down the street.

Adam tried to let go, but sunny shook her head, ‘They’re still watching us. I swear those guys are suspicious.”

“Wouldn't you be.”

She huffed, and instead of talking more she grabbed him by the arms keeping one eye out for the Tesraki as she pulled him closer and gently pressed her forehead against his. He grew very still, but she took one hand of his and pressed it against the side of her face.

He was very stiff

“Don’t blow our cover.”

She muttered

She watched his eyes turn back to hers, and he took a deep breath relaxing.

A thumb bushed over her cheek.

They were looking straight into each others eyes now.

She pulled him just a bit closer.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched the Tesraki disappear behind the nearest building. She gripped Adam tighter holding the position for a good twenty seconds just in case.

Eventually she let him go keeping a hold of his hand.

He was blinking rather faster than normal.

His hand was slick with sweat.

He was terrible at undercover work.

She tugged hi up the street, “So do you want to tell me when you became such a good actor.”

He snorted, “Oh no, fake crying is about the only thing I can do. Thomas taught me when I was a kid. I can cry on command.”

“How?”

“Well I t sort of involves thinking about how we had to put down our old family dog. I really don’t like to think about it. Gets me every time.”

She shook her head, “You are a well of surprised aren’t you.”

“Just a little.”

She sighed, “Now all we have to do is stop a genetic tampering ring.”

“Just another Monday.”

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engimono · 4 years ago

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@more-than-a-princess: “ i’m sorry, i’m not what you think i am. ” (Whichever verse you like! This could work for more than Post-DR2 if you prefer another verse) // sent from: prompts for your feels

HOPE MIGHT BLIND HIM SOMETIMES BUT HIS FAITH IN OTHERS IS ALWAYS SO CRYSTAL CLEAR !

Away from the hospital’s COLD fluorescence and into the WARM sunlight was their meeting relocated, a sorely needed change of scenery that she had been kind enough to indulge. Thanks to the future foundation’s strict regulations regarding the former Remnants and Naegi’s ongoing commitments to his own branch, options were woefully limited but the hospital’s outside terrace won out in the end and proved to be exactly what he was after. Shortly after their breakfast did he suggest that they meet for a cup of tea and some conversation, led by his sole discretion and mostly free of allusions to heavier topics that were ill-suited for a morning discussion. Understandably, however, references to the past or the current status of her friends always felt like it understated the conversation and he knew there was little that he could to dispel its indelible presence.

They may not have developed a reliable rapport yet but given the circumstances, their encounters weren’t terribly awkward. Any lulls in their conversation felt comfortable and went without a compulsory need to fill the dead air; there was no such aversion to the silence, or the pauses that allowed them to taste their words beforehand. All things considered, his efforts to try and engage her were met with varying degrees of success but he had yet to feel demoralized or unwelcome during his brief visits. As it was, she was never under any obligation to entertain his whims or stay longer than her personal desire prescribed so her continued presence received the brunt of his appreciation ---- especially when the conversation became weighed down with a spell of dejection, not entirely unlike the present.

❝ Hey, listen ---- you don’t have to apologize. If anything, I should be the one apologizing to you for making you feel that way. ❞ Swiftly was the apology dissuaded as Naegi leaned forward in his chair and caught the princess’ eye, his solicitude and undivided attention at the forefront for her to see. ❝ I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression that you’re letting me down, Sonia-san ---- that’s not what I wanted, and that’s far from the truth. I know that I’ve got high expectations of you and the others but it’s only because based off what I’ve already seen, I genuinely believe that you can live up to them. I realize now, though, that maybe it came across the wrong way. I never intended to push those standards onto you or make you feel like you’re disappointing me by falling short of them --- it wouldn’t be fair of me if I did. ❞

Reassurances were summoned straight from his inherent sense of probity, proffered with every intention to attenuate the dissonance between who he believed her to be and who she was. Prior to their recent encounters after the survivors were released from the shackles of the Neo-World Program, there wasn’t a great deal of information to base his views on and blind faith had consequently filled in the gaps. Real people were more complicated than the attributes in their profiles or their previous loyalties when society as they knew it began to crumble. Real people couldn’t compare to the idolized standards of hope, and they shouldn’t have been expected to ---- sometimes hope was merely the starting point, not the final destination.

❝ At the end of the day, you’re the only one in control of who you are and there’s nothing I can do to change that ---- not that I’d ever want to. I want you to be your authentic self, whoever that may be --- no matter how different it is from my existing impression of you. Just be you, and let me deal with the rest. ❞ Hazel eyes fleetingly relinquished their hold on hers to lower down onto his cup of tea, lifting it to his lips for a sip before carefully setting it back on the table’s surface, ❝ For what it’s worth, though, nothing you’ve done or said so far has disappointed me in the slightest. ❞

#morethanaprincess #｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ANSWERED #｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ V; v. FUTURE FOUNDATION #((i'm always a sucker for post-sdr2 so..))

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pk-majora · 3 years ago

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exploring my natal chart like pt 13 i think. found another really great website for a free chart astro-charts.com

I was born during a waning crescent moon and a lot of planets were in retrograde when i was born.

"A Waning Crescent is a wise, aged moon that has already experienced every phase in the cycle. This causes people born under a Waning Crescent to possess special talents or knowledge. Having this unique perspective can lead to a life of success, imagination, and fulfillment."

SOURCES: https://www.yourmoonphase.com/blogs/your-moon-phase/what-the-moon-phase-on-your-birthday-says-about-you#:~:text=A%20Waning%20Crescent%20is%20a,success%2C%20imagination%2C%20and%20fulfillment.

"Retrograde Mercury: These people absorb thoughts and ideas through repetition and osmosis rather than careful, deliberate study. Constantly editing, reviewing, rethinking, replaying it in their mind. Own best teacher. Questions what others accept as gospel. More capable of dealing with abstractions and impressions than those with Mercury direct.

Retrograde Jupiter: These people are capable of taking advantage of opportunities that others ignore or pass by. They prefer to “take another crack” at things others have tried and failed. Their moral and ethical code, religion, and philosophy are their own. They seek answers from within rather than subscribing to the dogma of the outside world. They seek abundance in new, untried, and unproven areas.

Retrograde Saturn: These people may doubt their worthiness as human beings. May avoid taking responsibility for their mistakes and be fearful of taking chances. There is often subconscious fear of rejection and loss. Their limitations and burdens are self-imposed. This may be the most difficult retrograde.

Retrograde Uranus: Here is a natural-born rebel. Strong reformer instincts — for everybody else. These folks have a strong inner need and desire to persistently test their personal abilities against those of others. They must constantly prove themselves to themselves. In seeking greater freedom for themselves, they may limit the freedom of others.

Retrograde Neptune: These people may be confused inwardly as to whether they are “virtuous” or not. Persistently seek to help others, whether their help is wanted or not. They are more susceptible and more easily taken in by others."

SOURCES: https://www.mollysastrology.com/lessons/retrograde-planets/

Some other information about my chart:

"Most of the inner planets are located in the top hemisphere

Mars is on the Midheaven

Ascendant and Mc are in 9 aspects

Venus in Libra and Uranus in Aquarius are in the signs of their rulership.

The Square aspect occurs the most, a total of 11 times

Uranus and Neptune are rising

The bottom right quadrant is empty

The Fixed mode is dominant among the inner planets"

SOURCES: astro-charts.com (they give you all that info if it applies to you when you make your chart super cool website)

Based on my chart from cafeastrology.com I have:

6 masculine/4 feminine placements

3 cardinal/4 fixed/3 mutable mode placements

and my breakdown by element is 3 fire/3 earth/3 air/and 1 water sign lmfao which is my scorpio mars + midheaven lmfao.

Going to see if I can find out what that all means too lmfao.

Also found some really cool websites with info on chiron and lillith placements.

"Chiron is the wounded healer and shows our long-term wounds that often come from a past lifetime. Chiron in Libra is the particular wound of relationships.

We tend to overcompensate in Chiron areas by becoming a bit extreme. It’s natural to try and “fix” the wound, but often I find that we chase a solution to fix our Chiron, instead of uncovering the solution inside of us.

Unlike other planets, it’s hard to ignore your Chiron. It will hit you in the face, over and over, and can make your life pretty terrible, especially if you don’t know how to work with it. The Chiron in Libra wound is especially difficult because it’s all about relationships, something we deal with almost every day.

Chiron in Libra means that you feel like there is something missing from your life. Usually, this “something” is your soul mate.

The Chiron in Libra wound might feel like a hole inside you. You may spend time trying to fill it with things from the outside world. You might also feel as though the world is just a bit off-balance at all times.

With Chiron in Libra, you are hurt by loneliness, but you are also hurt by relationships. Whether you’re in a relationship or are alone, the wound is there. Chiron in Libra shows itself no matter how hard you try to hide it.

There can be a lot of anxiety and guilt surrounding the Chiron in Libra wound. These people typically feel inadequate socially as a child, regardless of whether or not this is apparent to others.

This Chiron in Libra wound can show itself in a variety of ways. Often, these people feel alone and incomplete without a relationship, but they never find the fulfillment that they’re looking for in any relationship, either.

The Chiron in Libra wound usually manifests as conflict in interpersonal relationships. It is really difficult for these folks to have relationships without triggering the wound. This can include conflicts in romantic relationships, as well as partnerships and friendships. If you have Chiron in Libra, be wary of self-neglect in relationships.

Most relationships for the Chiron in Libra person will be karmic. It is important for these folks to focus on relationships in order to heal the wound, but this spotlight must have the intention of learning and working on ways to approach relationships that are more authentic.

It’s not abnormal for the Chiron in Libra person to wear a mask in a relationship. It might be really hard for them to show their true self to their partner for fear of losing the relationship.

The terror of being alone makes it hard for a Chiron in Libra person to get out of a relationship, even if it becomes unhealthy. It’s not uncommon for these relationships to have some sort of abuse involved in them, mainly because the Chiron in Libra person is passive and malleable, so they’re really a prime target.

I find that those with Chiron in Libra tend to give far more than they receive. This is most likely due to their fear of being left alone. There are definitely “people-pleaser” tendencies with this placement; these are the classic conflict-avoidant individuals.

Alternatively, the Chiron in Libra individual can be so afraid of being alone that they refuse to engage in relationships at all. I don’t see this outcome as much, but it is certainly a possibility. These people are often able to give others relationship advice that they can’t follow themselves.

Typically, the Chiron in Libra person gets into relationships with those who show a mirror image of the qualities they can’t see in themselves. They might also give to their partners what they aren’t able to give to their inner selves.

A Chiron in Libra individual might live a double life. It’s easy for them to hide who they truly are inside if they feel that they must put on a face in order to stay in a relationship. Sometimes, these people will do this for years, even while living with a partner.

This really is the classic Romeo & Juliet placement. Chiron in Libra is all about sacrificing yourself for the partner. Often, individuals do this because they are desperately trying to heal the wound, but it doesn’t fix it.

I find that most Chiron in Libra placements are developed in a past life. Unlike other wounds, this wound is about karmic relationships, so Chiron in Libra people will usually meet the same souls over and over until the wound is healed.

Sometimes, these Chironic beliefs are cemented by parents or through other early life experience, but the original wound almost always comes from a relationship trauma in a past life.

The first step to healing Chiron in Libra is to recognize that the true soul mate is within. The Chiron in Libra person is constantly looking to fill that “soul mate” void with other people, but they will only feel truly complete by connecting with the inner self.

You will find with this placement that others reflect your own needs back to you. If you see qualities in others that you feel you lack, then it’s time to try and discover those qualities within yourself instead of outsourcing.

You will need to learn how to be authentic in a relationship, without hiding any part of yourself. You probably feel fear that you might be left alone if you do reveal your true self, but this is fear that you have to process and move through. It’s okay to be afraid. The lesson with Chiron in Libra is to do it anyways!

Unconditional love for the self is something that will be helpful for you to develop. You will learn, by doing this work, that separateness and aloneness were simply illusions. I find that energy work can be especially helpful, as well as meditation and inner work."

SOURCES: https://teaandrosemary.com/chiron-in-libra/

(Lillith in Virgo) "Rebellion against order; provocative humour.

Their sensuality is strongly suppressed by trying to appear calm; emotional conflicts often occur because it is very difficult for these people to feel relaxed. They want to suppress their instincts or they appear to be cold and perverted.

Beware of alcoholism and surgery of the intestines."

SOURCES: https://horoscopes.astro-seek.com/lilith-in-virgo-sign-astrology-meaning

I also have something called a yod that i dont quite understand yet lol. it looks like an isosceles triangle in my chart between my MC, North Node, and Saturn and it looks like its pointing at my saturn but idk what that means lol. the chart on astro-charts.com just let me know i have it lmfao.

#my natal chart #pt 13

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otherworldlybooksgoddess · 4 years ago

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Five Exceptional Fantasy Books Based in Non-European Myth

Photo by Josh Hild

Don’t misunderstand me: I love reading well-written fantasy with roots in the familiar Celtic and English folklore of my childhood, but with the vast majority of High Fantasy being set in worlds closely akin to Medieval Europe, and a large amount of of Mythic Fiction drawing on legends of similar origin, sometimes the ground begins to feel too well trodden. There is, after all, an entire world of lore out there to draw from. That’s why I’m always thrilled to find excellent works of what I call “the Realistic Sub-Genres of Fantasy” based in or inspired by myths from other cultures. Such books not only support inclusiveness, but also expand readers’ experiences with lore and provide a wide range of new, exciting realities to explore. So, if you are looking for something different in the realm of Fantasy, the following novels will provide a breath of fresh air.

The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wrecker

In this beautifully written novel, Wrecker draws on both Middle-Eastern and Jewish mythology to tell the stories of two unwilling immigrants in Edwardian New York and the unlikely friendship that springs up between them. Chava, an unusually lifelike golem created for peculiar purposes, has only days worth of memories and is practically childlike in her innocence. Ahmad the Jinni has lived for centuries, but is trying to reclaim his forgotten past. The former is as steady and calm as the earth she’s made from while the latter is as volatile and free-spirited as the fire within him. Both must learn to live in an unfamiliar new culture and find their places in a city too modern for myths even as they hide their true natures. It’s a wonderful metaphor for the experiences of immigrants everywhere, who often find themselves feeling like outsiders—isolated and even overwhelmed— as they struggle to adapt to life in an alien society.

Full of memorable characters, vivid descriptions, and interesting twists, The Golem and the Jinni takes readers on a journey that is driven as much by internal conflict as external action. The setting of 1900’s Manhattan is well-researched and spectacular in its detail. Wrecker blends two old-world mythologies into the relatively modern Edwardian world with a deft hand. The result is not only fascinating, but also serves to illustrate the common early-twentieth-century experience of an immigrant past colliding with an American future.

The Tail of the Blue Bird by Nii Ayikwei Parkes

One part Detective Mystery and one part Magical Realism, this novel invites readers to experience modern-day Ghana in a way that is both authentic and profound. When Kayo, a forensic pathologist just beginning his career, is pushed into investigating a suspected murder in the rural village of Sonokrom, the last thing he expects is to have a life-changing experience. Soon, however, he gets the acute sense that the villagers may know more than they’re letting on. When all of the latest scientific and investigative techniques fail him, even as odd occurrences keep dogging his steps, Kayo is finally forced to accept that there is something stranger than he thought about this case. Solving the crime will require more than intelligence and deduction; it will require setting his disbelief aside and taking the traditional tales and folklore of an old hunter seriously. Because whatever is happening in Sonokrom, it isn’t entirely natural.

This novel is brilliant not only because of its deep understanding of Ghanaian society and realistic setting, but also because of Parkes writing style. The narrative is gorgeously lyrical and everything within it is described with a keen, insightful eye. The dialogue is full of local color, and while some may find the pidgin English and native colloquialisms difficult to follow, I found that the context was usually enough to explain any unfamiliar terms. Sometimes the narrative feels a little dreamlike, but that is exactly the way great Magical Realism should be. The Tail of the Blue Bird insistently tugs readers to a place where reality intertwines with myth and magic, all while providing an authentic taste of Ghanaian culture.

The Deer and the Cauldron by Jin Yong

During the reign of Manchu Emperor Kang Xi, China is in a state of barely-controlled sociopolitical unrest. Many of the older generation remember the previous dynasty, and there still remain vestiges of a resistance movement hidden among the populace. As his forces continue to hunt down the malefactors, called the Triad Societies, the boy-emperor turns to his unlikely friend and ally: a young rascal known only as Trinket. This protagonist is a study in contrasts: lazy yet ambitious, cunning yet humorous, roguish yet likable, foul-mouthed yet persuasive. Born in a brothel, Trinket has made his way by his wits alone. At age twelve, he accidentally sneaked into the Forbidden City—a bizarre occurrence in itself—afterward befriending Kang Xi. Now, rising quickly through the ranks, he is on a mission to (ostensibly) find and weed out the Triad Societies, and he uses the opportunity to infiltrate various organizations, playing their leaders against one another for his own gain. With a dangerous conspiracy brewing in the Forbidden City itself, however, he is forced to choose sides and decide what is most important to him: friendship, fortune, or freedom. Supernatural occurrences, daring escapades, and moments of deep introspection abound as Trinket struggles to navigate the perilous maze his life has become.

This novel is like a gemstone: bright, alluring, and many faceted. At times it may seem somewhat simple on the surface, but looking closer reveals new depths and multiple layers. Full of intrigue, action, horror, and even laughs, The Deer and the Cauldron mirrors not only the complexities of its setting, but those of the China the author himself knew during the Communist revolution. By blending together history, fantasy, realism, humor, and subtle political commentary, Yong not only beautifully captures these social intricacies but also creates a narrative that is as thoroughly engaging as it is unapologetically unique.

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel

Magical realism related to food has almost become a movement in itself, with novels like Aimee Bender’s The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Joanne Harris’ Chocolat, and Sarah Addison Allen’s Garden Spells all finding their places in readers’ hearts. Originally published in 1992, Like Water for Chocolate helped create this fascinating trend, and it has become something of a modern classic in the fantasy genre.

The narrative centers around Tita de la Garza, a mid-twentieth century Mexican woman possessing deep sensitivity, a strong will, and a special talent for cooking. Born prematurely, Tita arrived in her family’s kitchen, tears already in her eyes. It is in that room where she spends most of her childhood, being nurtured and taught by the elderly cook, Nacha. The relationship that flourishes between Tita and her caregiver is a special gift, as it provides the girl not only with the compassion and support her own mother denies, but also with a passion and skill for creating incredible, mouth-watering dishes. At Nacha’s side, Tita learns the secrets of life and cookery, but she also learns one terrible fact: thanks to a family tradition, she is destined never to have love, marriage, or a child of her own. Her fate, rather, is to care for her tyrannical widowed mother, Mama Elena, until the day the older woman dies. With a vibrant, independent spirit, sixteen-year-old Tita flouts this rule, falling deeply in love with a man named Pedro who asks for, and is denied, her hand in marriage. Undaunted, the young man agrees to wed one of Tita’s older sisters, Rosaura, instead, as he believes this to be the only way he can be close to the woman he loves. Thus begins a life-long struggle between freedom and tradition, love and duty, which is peppered throughout with supernatural events and delicious cuisine. So great is her skill in cooking that the meals Tita prepares take on magical qualities all their own, reflecting and amplifying her emotions upon everyone who enjoys them. Controlled and confined for much of her existence, food becomes her outlet for all the things she cannot say or do. The narrative itself echoes this, by turns as spicy, sweet, and bitter as the flavors Tita combines. At its heart, this is as much a tale about how important the simple things, like a good meal, can be as it is a story about a woman determined to be her own person and choose her own fate.

Cuisine is fundamental to this novel, with recipes woven throughout the narrative, but that is only a part of its charm. In the English translation, the language is beautiful in its simplicity. The characters often reveal hidden depths, especially as Tita grows up and is able to better understand the people around her. Heartfelt in its joys and sorrows, Like Water for Chocolate glows with cultural flavor and a sense of wonder. It’s a feast for the spirit, and like an exquisite meal, it never fails to surprise those who enjoy it.

The City of Brass by S. A. Chakraborty

When I first read this novel, I found the early chapters enjoyable and engaging, but felt the story was no more than a typical, if especially well-written, work of mythic fiction. The deeper I got into the narrative, however, the more wrong I was proven. The City of Brass is anything but ordinary. While basing her work in Middle-Eastern lore and history, Chakraborty nonetheless manages to create a setting and story that are both wonderfully unique. Lush, detailed, and bursting with magic and intrigue, this book spans the lines between several sub-genres of fantasy without ever losing its balance.

Beginning in eighteenth-century Egypt, the narrative follows a quick-witted antiheroine. Nahri doesn’t live by the rules of her society. She doesn’t believe in magic or fate or even religion. Orphaned for most of her life, survival has required her to become a con artist and a thief. As a result, she is practical and pragmatic, a realist who has never even considered donning rose-colored glasses, and the last person who would ever expect anything supernatural to occur. Which, of course, means that it does, but the way in which it is handled is intricate and interesting enough not to feel trite. When Nahri’s latest con—a ceremony she is pretending to perform and doesn’t believe in even slightly—goes awry, and the cynical young woman finds herself face to face with a Daeva. Magical beings, it transpires, are real after all, and this one is furious. To both of their dismay, he’s also bound to Nahri, who soon realizes that he has an agenda of his own. In return for rescuing her (and refraining from killing her himself) Dara, the Daeva warrior Nahri accidentally summoned, wants her to pull of the biggest con of her life: pretending to be the half-human heir to the throne of his people. Worse still, she soon realizes that Dara, whose mentality sometimes seems a little less-than-stable, actually believes she may be exactly who he claims. He has something planned, and his intentions may not be in her best interest. Dragged unwillingly into a strange world of court intrigue, danger, social upheaval, and magic, Nahri quickly discovers that some things remain familiar. People are ruled by prejudices, the strong prey on the weak, and she can’t fully trust anyone. The stakes, however, are higher than ever, and Nahri will need all of her wits, cunning, and audacity if she wants to survive.

This novel was thoroughly enjoyable, and in fact prompted me to buy the following books in the trilogy as they became available. Chakraborty’s style is lyrical, her world building is superb, her plot is intricate, and her characters are well-developed. She not only frames unfamiliar words and ideas is easily-comprehensible contexts, but weaves those explanations smoothly into the narrative. The culture, mythology, and history surrounding her tale are all carefully researched, but the tale itself is nonetheless unique. What begins feeling like a fairly ordinary mythic fiction novel will pleasantly exceed readers’ expectations.

So, while we, as fantasy readers, love the works of authors like J. R. R. Tolkien, Marion Zimmer Bradley, and Charles de Lint, there is also a plethora of other enchanting books to enjoy. Exploring magical realism and mythic fiction based in cultures and folklore from all around the globe ensures that our to-read lists will always hold something unexpected and exciting to surprise us. So, if you’re starting to feel like you’re in a bit of a reading rut, or if you’re simply looking to expand your horizons, open up new realms of imagination by opening up one of the novels above. Who knows see where it will lead you? You may just discover a new favorite to add to your bookshelf. Happy reading!

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infelixxanima · 4 years ago

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🎪 8)

THINGS TO DO IN OCTOBER: STARTERS & DRABBLES | Accepting

🎪 - go to a creepy carnival

Kai had heard the twinkling haunting melodies and the shrieks and immediately was drawn to the carnival, followed by the sweet smell of candy apples and the familiar twang of deep fried sweets. He hadn’t exactly said he wanted to go see what all the fuss was about but he couldn’t help but avert his attention to the sound of announcers and cheers whenever it was loud enough to reach their ears.

“You know,” Vittoria inquired, “I hate to admit it, but I’m curious about that carnival thing that’s going on.” She gave the skin tight black leather gloves on her hands a quick tug, looking off in the direction Kai was. “If you’re up for a late night, I say we skip your ‘curfew’ and you can easily stay with me tonight and we go see what all that screaming is about.”

She earns no hesitation from Kai and with a smile, they headed on their way. The first thing she noticed, it was loud. So many adults and kids dressed up for this temporary amusement park and Vittoria was oh so fascinated by them all. Despite the distraction however, she ushered Kai to stop, reached into her bag and removed his plague mask, and a small satchel of herbs. She tucked that into the very tip and pleased that it wouldn’t slip out, offered it to him.

“In the spirit of Halloween, but also, it will be rather crowded.”

He takes the item in his hands and it’s heavier than he remembers. The old cheap plastic thing he’d had before was no more and curiously he turned it over in his hands. It looked...dare he say, authentic. His gaze travels to Vittoria who is watching him intently, now holding a pair of gloves almost similar to her own in her hands, simply smaller.

“I took the liberty of purchasing one that was a little more real. This one has those two holes with filters installed and it secures on the face to minimize particulates. I thought you’d appreciate something a little more than just a cheap halloween mask.” But she adds on with a wink, “I did keep the other one though, it’s on your bed at home.”

She hands him the gloves and he takes them, slides them on hover his hands before securing the mask in place and feels a sort of mild relief. He feels secured. Content that Kai seemed to be ready, they made their way into the park.

The experience wasn’t quite what he expected. He figured they’d try the foods, the games, and they did, but what he found the most entertaining was the terror of the small children Vittoria seemed to be drawn to scaring. She’d been grabbing a rather large plush they’d won together and she was insisting they give them the one wrapped up and unopened when a small rowdy group of children had come, rudely, to inspect Kai and his mask.

Needless to say the shadows that dangled from the mask opening to show rows of sharp, what seemed to be teeth and the hiss the mirage let out was just enough to send them screaming.

One almost fainted when she turned to see her shadow standing in front of her. The ordeal has little to no effect but Vittoria (who is hardly sad, let alone mad) approaches, her grin a little too tight.

“I should’ve convinced them it was a demon. Goodness I would’ve loved to see that trauma ten years from now--”

He is offered the leoze, its a stuffed Hawks, and she’s giving him that dopey grin.

“I couldn’t help it. I know you two are close, I thought this would be nice--”

A thought occurs and she seems to perk up, looking over her shoulder, “We should get food to go when we leave and drop it by Hawks’ place. I bet he’d appreciate that and the chance to get to see you.”

She was so bubbly. So excited. Despite his attempts to use his sarcasm and unrestrained wit to dim it, it simply wouldn’t. And he couldn’t lie to himself, he was having fun.

They explored the fun houses, attended a magic show gone ‘terribly wrong’, but his favorite, perhaps, was the haunted house. The gleam in Vittoria’s eye as they entered should’ve tipped him off to her shenanigans but still, he couldn’t help himself but chuckle when grown men ran screaming at the woman who could peel herself from walls, or the shadows that seemed to speak.

They stayed until the carnival closed, her hands laden with a few bags containing deep fried Oreos, Chicken Three Ways (wings, on a stick, and in a basket), and a manner of prizes and more treats.

As they walked, headed home (it was late after all, they’d take Hawks their little gifts in the morning) Kai muttered the words he’d been thinking all night.

“V.”

Her attention was on him instantly and sometimes it confused the kid. How with one word he could have her undivided attention.

“Tomorrow, I don’t wanna go home.”

It doesn’t take long for her to understand what he meant. They’d been toying around with the idea of months now, of Kai leaving home to reside with her for good, but the legal battle to obtain that would be long and brutal, a fight she’d only engage in when Kai was ready to pull that trigger.

And tonight he was ready to fire that shot.

He’d never seen her face so serious. She’d given him nod, her mind kicking into overdrive.

“If there’s anything of particular importance you want from there, we’ll retrieve it. We can build you a brand new wardrobe and anything else that you would need replaced.”

As they reached home and gathered inside, spilling their spoils from battle onto the kitchen table, Vittoria took at moment to level with him.

“It won’t be pretty,” she muttered, “People are going to say things, things that fighting and snarky comments won’t resolve. We’ll have to play it smart and if we do, we can stand a chance of winning a legal court battle for custody.”

“But I’ll do it for you, if it’s what you really want.”

Before he could answer, the old out of date flip phone provided to him by his mother rattled on the kitchen table. His mother name dully lit like a warning. He stares at it, cogs whirring and turning in his mind before he nods.

“I want to stay.”

Vittoria nods once more and reaches out for the phone in the palm of her hand. A shadow curls around it and it opens too far, bending back on itself before it cracks, then shattered into two unusable pieces. There’s no going back. He huffs and tries to push away a tendril that pokes at his cheek and grumbles for a moment before letting it be.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and wash up and I’ll deal with this and clean up. Tomorrow we can talk a little more about what the next steps are going to be. But for tonight I think we’ve had enough excitement.”

He nods, because it’s true. he is exhausted from the day but even as he goes to make his way toward the stairs and Vittoria busies herself with their things, she calls out after him, “Love you Kai, in case you didn’t know.”

He knew. She wouldn’t let him forget honestly. And he thought to respond with that in mind, but instead, standing on the first step of the staircase, he says a little hesitantly, “Love you too, ma,” before heading for his room. He doubted, for a moment, if that was the right thing to do, to say those words so cavalier and so serious.

But if her audible gasp and the sudden sound of Vittoria knocking over everything in her sudden meltdown meant anything, it means he made the right choice. And V was just the right choice.

#ofbacteria #★❈--𝒜𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹--❈★#QueuedToPurgatory #//i'm not even sorry for how long this is lol

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ninamontagutbordas · 4 years ago

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HOW CAN I KNOW WHO I AM IF SOCIAL MEDIA DICTATES WHO I SHOULD BE?

The first time I joined Facebook, I was thirteen years old. It was 2008 at the time and none of the existing social media platforms were a big thing in Spain yet. I had a total of seven facebook friends and I only used it to talk to my sister, who introduced me to the social network, while she was away during the summer. Actually, facebook was just a great solution to connect with people traveling or living abroad.

I didn’t understand the power of social media then and, to be honest, it’s still difficult for me to have an accurate understanding of how its power can affect people. It sure has affected me countless times to the point where social media was controlling the way I felt and, it still controls me sometimes.

I am about to turn twenty-five and I am very happy with who I’ve become this past decade. Obviously, I had to go through all the faces the majority of kids go through between the ages of fifteen and the mid-twenties (hopefully I’m not the only one!): I was a stupid teenager at times (to be fair, sometimes still am), there were moments were I behaved as a bad daughter, a bad sister, a bad friend, a bad girlfriend and as a bad “all the roles that a human being can possibly be”, but, still, I am very happy with who I am today and I have forgiven myself for all the damage I may have made.

During this past decade, I’ve managed to create different abilities that helped me understand a bit more how to navigate the awkward early twenties, such as pushing away toxicity, standing up for myself, accepting constructive criticism, and facing mistakes as soon as possible.

BUT, what if social media is dictating what’s toxic and what’s not, when do I need to stand up for myself and when I don’t, which criticism is constructive and which is not and which are the things I should see as mistakes and which are not?

It got me thinking.

I feel like the power of this digital “era” we are living in (is it even an era anymore or at this point is just our reality?) has brought us a lot of good, but also a lot of bad. There have been moments in my life where I found social media was actually very dangerous for me and reflecting on it now, I think my experience may be helpful to some of you as well.

At the beginning of this crazy 2020, I was in a very bad place. I had just quitted a job that was very damaging for me, I wasn’t comfortable with the way I looked, and I felt very isolated from the important things in life. I have suffered from severe anxiety since I was twelve and had to learn to manage that at a very early stage in my life, but it had never been as bad as it was in January. First world problems? Indeed. I totally agree, but it was a very dark period of time for myself and there was nothing I could do to feel better -or at least I thought so-.

I have the most amazing parents and the most amazing family, a great group of friends who have always supported me no matter what and I had a great loving boyfriend who not once made me feel non-deserving of a happiness that seemed impossible to reach at the time. My support system wasn’t the problem.

SO, why wasn’t I happy?

I knew I had to stop complaining and start doing things that would make me feel better, which would make me heel. Had I known at the time social media was a key element to get there, it would have been a lot easier.

My body had changed a lot during the past few years, I wasn’t exercising, and I handled my anxiety by eating literally my feelings. My pants didn’t fit, my body was way different than my friend’s bodies (yeah, I know, “don’t compare yourself to others” and “all bodies are beautiful” but still, we all know how it works) and I felt very insecure in general. I never have had the patience or the strength before to beat my laziness and it’s safe to say I had zero trust in myself then, but again, it was time. I had to do something.

I decided to start a severe diet.

If you know me, you know I have had a terrible habit in the past where I start things and never finish them, so of course, I didn’t think I was going to go through with an entire diet. I didn’t see myself capable.

It took me six months and nine days to finally feel healthy and good again, but I did it. (Two out of six months I was quarantined at home, which was not great neither mentally nor physically for the process I was going through). I discovered a lot of myself during that time though.

However, not everything I discovered was actually good, believe it or not. I discovered a lot of bad stuff and not necessarily was I aware of all the negative inputs I was receiving from the internet. One of those things was the social media strategies to engage with users in the wrong way and how that can control a person’s feelings. I was a victim of social media.

During the lockdown, I had to beat my anxiety in different ways so that none of them lead me up to interrupting the diet-plan my doctor had provided me. I had a commitment to myself and the more I proved myself wrong, the better I felt. I’m not a quitter and I wasn’t a quitter back then, but I just didn’t know it yet.

One of the ways to beat my anxiety, strangely enough, was sitting home to my computer and lose myself on social media, as many of us did during the quarantine. Without even noticing it, I ended up falling into a rabbit hole: Instagram food accounts.

Isn’t it so paradoxical? I was doing a diet but still, I was spending my hours looking at thousands of videos of people baking cakes, cooking pasta, and reading recipes I know I couldn’t have as long as I wanted to keep doing this.

Some said I should be proud of myself - being able to look at these videos and not once cheat or interrupt my diet is a great way “to train my strength”. I fully disagree. To me, this was not about strength, to me this was about how the channels in my brain had been educated to think this was normal behavior. It was not. Social media was tempting me.

What I’ve realized through this process is that, it wasn’t actually my choice whether to stop looking at them or not. The less I wanted to see, the more videos I had access to because of the complexity of the social media algorithms. They decided I needed to see that kind of content.

Social media was proving myself and it became an interesting yet dangerous dynamic for me, which is why I find myself writing down this essay. For months, I’ve been having conversations with my parents and my friends about the danger of social media.

BUT, where is the real danger?

In the months that followed, I was starting to feel better. Actually, I was feeling pretty good. Not just physically, but also mentally. I was better than ever and people around me started noticing the inside glow I was feeling.

The problem is that feeling good and being in charge of your own life are two very different things. I was happy but my life was not under control, quite the opposite. I wasn’t in control. Social media algorithms were controlling me.

That’s when it got tricky for me – How could I be the happiest I’ve ever been but feel so frustrated? Was I really happy? Was I pretending to be happy because everyone else seemed so happy? Was I really being myself or was I just pretending to be somebody who I wasn’t? Was social media training myself to think I was happy? Was social media LYING to me?

All of these questions were hunting me, and I just did not know what to do. I was back in shape yet all the pictures I saw on Instagram of these beautiful women in their amazing bikinis during their amazing vacations made me feel self-conscious about myself.

Why did I do this diet? Did I do it for myself or for the benefit of a social network that had thousands of pictures of myself where I could prove to people graphically I had lost a lot of weight?

Social media has an interesting way to make people feel bad and create this interesting millennial feeling of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) – the problem is, we only share 10% of what’s really going on with us. That’s why it was important to me to share this story – I wanted to use social media in a different way. Maybe I’m oversharing, but at least I’m oversharing in a true and authentic way, not in an unrealistic scenario.

A while ago, I decided I would delete all the pictures on my Instagram page and I was only going to leave there the ones that captured the moments where I was really happy and really present. From around 600 pictures I had posted over the years, I chose around 20. They could stay. Twenty-something pictures that reminded me of the important things in life, at least the important things to me. But then I said to myself: “Did I just chose when I felt happy because I deleted some Instagram pictures? This makes me so sad”.

Going through these old pictures, I could clearly tell how my body has changed “for the better” this past nine months but I realized very quickly something very unexpected - I was really happy back then. For sure I had that puffy face and a bigger body, but I was really happy and really secure. And that’s when I realized, social media was dictating what should I do and who I should be. Not because I decided to, but because I allowed it to.

The thing is that I don’t feel threatened by social media itself. I feel threatened by the way we consume digital content without even thinking of the impact this can have not only on ourselves but on others.

We get carried away because we don’t use social media in a smart way. We use it to compare ourselves and our life with others, directly or indirectly, whether we like it or not. We don’t consume media to complete ourselves with information and use it for our own profits. We consume media to fill the blanks we are missing in our journeys.

I’m scared of how fast the world is evolving and how fast digital progress is happening. Let’s see where my relationship with the internet stands in five years when my twenties are over. Until then, I’ll try to use social media for the benefit of the people around me. I feel like we all have a responsibility and, I’m going to commit to it.

The question is, are you?

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yoon-kooks · 6 years ago

Text

Blossom🌸- pt.2

Pairing: Stripper!Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Stripper!AU, College!AU

Summary: You decide to give the strip club another chance when your stripper neighbor promises to give you a special treat afterwards.

Warnings: lap dances, stripping, dry humping, blindfolds, thigh riding

Word Count: 4.9k

⤐ Story 2 in the Blossom!Universe; Read Blossom-pt.1 on my masterlist!

A/N: i cant believe i actual wrote d** h****** but it be like that sometime 😔

You’re not one to believe in love so easily, but your latest art assignment calls for something with “pure love”, and what you’re witnessing comes pretty close. So you casually pull out your sketchbook and begin outlining a rough sketch of the scene in front of you.

Your subjects wrestle around, unaware of your gaze, drowning each other in kisses and affection. She sits on top of him as she nips at his skin. He chuckles as he blocks her little bites until he can no longer resist, succumbing to her demands for more attention.

The giggles only stop several minutes later when one of your subjects finally takes notice of you with your pencil in hand.

“Drawing me again, huh?” Jimin sits up on his bed and glances over at you while his white puppy continues to lick his chin. “What’s the assignment this time?”

“To draw something that symbolizes pure love,” you wave the boy over to come take a look at your sketchbook. Intrigued by the topic, Jimin hops off the bed.

“Oh? Am I what comes to mind when you think of pure lo-” He meant to tease you about your potential crush on him, but he can only laugh when he sees your idea of pure love. Him playing with his puppy.

“So pure, right?” You point out a couple of things you’re especially proud of, like the details on the puppy’s paw pads and the feathering of its wagging tail.

“Right…” His lips slowly fall into the shape of a pout as he examines your sketch further. “But why did you draw her so much better than you drew me?”

You know he’s just messing with you, but the dedicated artist in you takes Jimin’s criticism to heart. Looking back at your sketch, it’s true that his body came out looking a lot more underdeveloped like a stick person next to a very realistic puppy with individual strokes of fur. And as funny as it is to look at, it’s a technical issue with your art that you’ve been trying to fix.

“I already told you I have a lot more experience drawing animals than I do with humans,” you explain. It’s not that you’re necessarily terrible at drawing humans, but your lack of comfort with them really shows in comparison to animals. That’s why you’ve recruited your stripper neighbor as your muse to help you find that comfort.

“I guess you just need more experience with humans then,” Jimin cocks his head to the side, not-so-subtly taking your hand into his. He attempts to interlace his fingers with yours, but you can’t take a hint so he settles for a very friendzoned handshake. “Think about it: you started with drawing only animals, then you drew me a couple of times, and then you moved up to animal-to-human interactions. Shouldn’t the next step be human-to-human interactions?”

“You have a point,” you nod, rather enjoying the pleasant feeling of holding his hand. “But I only have one human model, aka you.”

The boy stares your hands still clasped together and laughs, “Are you not a human?”

“I can’t be my own model and draw at the same time…” You do a messy scribbling gesture with your free hand.

“You don't have to draw at the same time,” Jimin captures your free hand and pulls you down onto the bed with him. You’d think laying on a bed with a stripper would be overwhelming for someone as wholesome as yourself, but you do get a sense of ease with him. Maybe it’s his eyesmile, or the clumps of dog fur on his dark shirt that remind you he’s still your dorky boy next door. Either way, you feel comfortable because it’s him you’re with. “Just experience it with me.”

“Experience what?” You feel his warmth radiating towards your body. Another pleasant feeling. “Handholding? Hugs? Kisses? Cuddling? Sleeping together? Se-”

“A lot of things if you’d like,” Jimin shushes you with an alluring stare. “Do you want to do all those things?”

“That would be ideal, yes,” you nod eagerly. If it means your art will feel more authentic and sentimental, you’d gladly engage in these interactions with Jimin. “For science, of course.”

“Right… for science…” He gives you a thumbs-up, although the corners of his lips seem to curve downward.

The frown doesn’t sit well with you, so you wiggle your hands out of his grasp and simply mirror them against his palms. Slowly you interlace each of your fingers between his, one-by-one until there’s no finger left behind. You pay special attention to the boy’s expression when you do this, but it softens less than you had hoped.

“Actually…” Jimin say, breaking the handhold. He runs his fingers through his hair a couple of times before rolling off the bed. “I forgot about work.”

“Oh right…” It’s your turn to frown. You forgot about it too. Not just the fact that the boy has work in an hour, but also that his job requires him to satisfy the naughty needs of other people besides yourself. You’re not the only one who wants a taste of Park Jimin. “I should let you go then.”

Jimin watches as you gather your art supplies off his desk and crouch down to say farewell to the white puppy. He doesn’t say anything until your hand is on the doorknob. “You can tag along if you’d like, Y/N.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I really shouldn’t g-” Your eyes and mind drift away as the boy strips his shirt off with his back to you. You never knew back muscles could look like that—good to know for future reference. After he throws on a clean shirt free of dog fur, however, you push the boy’s toned body out of mind to finish your sentence. “I shouldn’t go since strip clubs aren’t really my thing, remember? Besides, I need to work on this art assignment some more. It’s due in a week.”

“A week is more than enough time,” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you and your sketchbook. “And do I need to remind you that the strip club is where you found art inspiration in me? So it couldn’t hurt to go again, right?”

You don’t answer him because you feel like it could hurt to go again. Not in regards to your art, but to something else.

“If you come, I’ll treat you to something really special afterwards. How about that?” He holds out his hand, giving you one last chance to change your mind. The special treat is tempting, especially if it’s your favorite sweet dessert. Besides, you’ve been working diligently with your art, so you know you’ve earned yourself a treat of some sort. And if Jimin is thoughtful enough to offer you that treat, who are you to refuse?

After a back and forth debate in your head, you finally take his hand and allow yourself to be pulled back to the place where you and the boy first met.

“What’s this special treat you’re talking about?”

“Oh you’ll see,” the boy snickers in a rather sinister tone.

Something about the strip club has changed since your first visit. There are still attractive strippers, there are still generous tippers, and there’s still your favorite spot in the secluded corner of the room. But it’s the whole vibe that’s changed. You don’t feel as intimidated by the sweaty bare bodies of the strippers or the thirsty screams of the audience. It could be because, unlike before, you know you’re not alone this time.

Jimin sits you down at your favorite spot and waits for you to get all situated with your sketchbook. “Can I buy you a drink before I have to go get ready for the show?”

“Just some water, please,” you say. The boy only laughs at your innocent response before disappearing into the crowd to fetch your requested beverage from the bar. After a short minute, your eye catches him striding back with a fancy glass of ice water in hand. He isn’t doing anything special, but he still manages to look stunning amongst everyone else. You even notice he’s turning quite a few heads, despite all the on-duty strippers vying for their attention. It’s as if the spotlight’s on him.

“Y/N, you’re already drooling and I haven’t even performed yet,” he teases as he hands you your water. You chug it down, hoping to relieve your thirst, but it’s not enough.

“Then go,” you give him a light shove with a hmph to send him off. “I’ll be waiting for my special treat afterwards.”

“Anticipate it, Kitten.” He has the audacity to not only call you Kitten, but also give you the cockiest smirk you have ever witnessed before heading backstage. You suppose that’s just his flirty stripper switch turning on.

Once you finally have some time to yourself, you sip on your water, casually people-watching from your quiet corner. The rest of the room is flooded with excitement, flashing with sparking lights, a mixure of moving color. If you had to pick a color palette for a strip club, what would it be? That depends on whether a certain boy is in the room or not.

You glance over to a familiar mint-haired stripper getting intimate with a gorgeous female in a nearby booth. She bites her ruby red lips, snaking her arms around his waist and pulling him closer to slip a generous handful of cash into his ass pocket. As thanks, the stripper hovers over her lap with swaying hips to the beat of the stereo as he lets her hands explore his bare upper half. Their eyes are locked, exchanging looks of… lust? Satisfaction? Greed? As a mere bystander, you’re unsure of the mood, so your color palette would be a rainbow muddled with a lot of grey area.

“Oh I remember you, Baby Picasso.” The mint stripper somehow made his way over to your corner while you were busy swatching your palette. The nearly blank page in your sketchbook catches his eye. “Here to draw our Jiminie again?” Yes.

“Not necessarily,” you say. “But he was the one who brought me back here.”

“Ah, customer loyalty at its finest,” he nods. “That kid attracts most of our regulars.”

“Is he really that popular?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the aura’s different when he’s on stage.” He leans over your table and points at your grey-toned swatches in the corner of the sketch page. “Doesn’t it feel like the club becomes more… vibrant when Jiminie’s around?”

“It does, doesn’t it,” you press a finger to your lips as the wheels start turning in your head.

“But don’t let yourself get too caught in The Jiminie Effect. Otherwise you might end up getting hurt.” The mint stripper shrugs at you before the arm of a bold customer swipes him away. “Let me know if you ever want a taste of The Suga Rush, Baby Picasso~”

You wanted to ask what he meant by “getting hurt” from Jimin, but you’re pretty sure you already know. Jimin is an incredibly charming boy with a way of captivating an entire room, and you’re happy he’s found success as a popular stripper. That being said, you can’t help but also feel a little disheartened that there are so many others who share the same feelings for him.

Regardless, you’re at the strip club to support Jimin and collect the special treat that he promised you. Surely your relationship with the boy holds a bit more weight than the others. So you decide to get out of your own head.

Scarlet red. That’s the color you see when Jimin comes out onto the main stage with a silky red blindfold covering his eyes. The first thing you think is: wow, how the fuck is this guy not tripping or falling off the stage when he can’t even see in front of him? The second thing you think is: tiddies.

His open blazer flashes his nipples (and the rest of his gorgeous chest) as he graces the stage. It honestly looks more like a sensual take on contemporary dance rather than stripping at first. Even his hip thrusts have a flare of elegance to them. After all, Jimin’s a contemporary dance student, but the way he incorporates such a graceful genre of dance into his stripping performance shows how much of an artist he truly is.

But once the blindfold comes off, so does everything else. Jimin’s killer gaze, in addition to his taunting tongue, earns him a shower of bills on the floor of the stage as his performance comes to a close. Unlike the other strippers at the club, he does not interact as closely with the audience or make his rounds through the room. Instead, he makes a proposal.

“Tonight, I’m doing something a little different.” He picks his blindfold up off the floor and strokes it as he speaks to the audience. “I’ll be giving one lucky person a private lap dance and-”

An eruption of screams fills the room along with a surge of money being waved around before Jimin can even finish his sentence. He waits for everyone to quiet down, but the aroused crowd does the opposite. The rowdiness persists because everyone’s trying to be louder than the person next to them in order to catch their favorite stripper’s attention. That must be The Jiminie Effect.

And although the boy never got to finish his explanation, you assume the private lap dance has something to do with the red blindfold in his hand and will most likely be given to the highest tipper. Lucky them, you suppose.

Rather than throw some of your nonexistent money at the boy, you instead take the opportunity to do some quick sketches of Jimin’s contemporary performance while it’s still fresh in your memory. You want to capture his fluid motions and his undying passion for performing. With all of this and the blindfold in mind, you decide on a color palette. Scarlet red, a color of burning passion and sensuality, is an obvious pick. However, there’s another color you wish to incorporate-

When you take a peek back up at the stage for that other color, you’re surprised to see Jimin staring right at you, despite a huge sum of money being waved right in front of him by an expensive-looking woman. He mouths something for you to interpret.

“You,” his lips read.

“Me?” You don’t exactly know how to feel about the situation, but it doesn’t sit well with you. “Not me.”

He nods at you, still wanting it to be you.

You shake your head to end the conversation, but when people start turning around in your direction to see who has Jimin’s attention, you get up from your seat. Not to take Jimin up on his offer, but to excuse yourself from the club. You dislike strip clubs after all.

Back at your dorm, you sit at your desk, fleshing out some of your sketches of the blindfolded Jimin. You sculpt out his toned body and shade in a vibrant red flare to emphasize his illuminating aura on stage. Even then, your sketch is missing something. You’re missing something.

Knock. You check the time on your clock. It’s just past midnight, right around the time you’d assume strip clubs close for the night.

“Hi-” Jimin tries to say, but you close the door as soon as you open it.

Knock. You don’t open the door this time, so the boy starts talking from the other side.

“Y/N, I know you’re mad at me, but I-”

“Of course I’m mad at you,” you make a tsk sound. “I can’t believe you were going to choose me over all that money in front of you. Didn’t you see that Gucci lady at the front waving the wad of cash with your name on it? You almost gave up all that money for me. Fool.”

There’s a pause of silence before Jimin tries another attempt at getting you to open the door. Knock.

You open the door this time. The boy has a puzzled expression on his face.

“Wait, you’re not mad that your special treat went to someone else?” He blinks at you.

“A lap dance was the special treat you were talking about earlier?” You give him a duck face because you’ve made a grave mistake. “I thought we were getting ice cream or something.”

“Uhh well… we could get ice cream if you really want to? But my intention was for you to take that lap dance. It was meant for you, you know,” he chuckles over his failed plan.

“I really didn’t realize it was meant for me… I guess I’m really that dense, aren’t I?” Now you feel bad for thinking you’d be getting ice cream over a lap dance. Jimin was only trying to show that you were special to him, and you rejected him like an oblivious idiot. “I’m sorry, Jimin. If I had known, I’d-”

“We can still do it if you’d like.” He pulls out a silky red cloth from his pocket. “Perks of having a stripper neighbor, right?” You nod.

Waiting on your bed, you watch as the boy tries to hype himself up with the blindfold in his fists.

“I can help you tie it behind your head if you want.” You hop up from the bed to help him, but you’re wrong again. He backs you up until the back of your knees hit your bedframe and your ass falls onto the mattress. Suddenly his thighs surround your lap and his abs are in your face. Thankfully he decided to keep his shirt on for this one.

“Can I put the blindfold on you?” He dangles the red cloth before your eyes. It was for you, not him. And as intimidating as it is to make yourself so vulnerable, you’re intrigued.

“Sure… but you don’t want me to watch you?” You take one last look at his seductive gaze and voluptuous lips before your eyes are covered by the soft yet very kinky fabric.

“It’s something new that I wanted to try,” Jimin speaks in his normal voice before switching over to a lower, more suggestive tone. “As an artist, you rely a lot on your sight, right? Well I’m curious to see which senses will come alive when we take away your sight.”

Right away, you sniff out an alluring aroma of warm spices with naughty undertones. The blindfold must be drenched in cologne, but why are you only noticing it now? Or perhaps it’s the boy’s own intoxicating scent that you’re being enticed by. Either way, you must really like the scent because your nose is twitching like a bunny to get a better whiff.

The aroma continues to grow stronger as you feel finger tips graze ever so slightly against the back of your hand. The chilling sensation tickles more than anything, but then the boy lifts your hands and places them right at his waist.

“Tug if you want me closer, Kitten,” he whispers into your ear to give you a taste of the closeness before leaning back. Naturally, your eager little fingers curl into the threads of his shirt and tug as suggested. There’s a smooth shift in the boy’s body hovering over you. The soft sounds of his clothes rustling give you an indication of how close he must be.

To put it in perspective, you decide it’s a good idea to paint a picture of the scene in your head. A gorgeous boy is performing a lap dance on top of you as you sit blindfolded on the bed. His hands are pressed into the mattress on either side of you, his hips roll in a fluid motion, and his body grinds against an invisible wall that separates his crotch from yours. The mere thought of being under him is making it difficult for you to sit still.

You tug again and recline your back for Jimin to follow. The seams of his jeans drag gently along your outer thighs. His hot breaths tickle the exposed skin down your neck. “Do you want to feel me like this?” No, you want more.

Your fingers stray away from the boy’s hips, following the paths defined by his toned abdominals. Even through his shirt, you can easily map out the structure of his muscles, so you flesh out the details of the visual in your mind. This is much more engaging and “hands-on” than an anatomy textbook, you nod to yourself. But there seems to be a missed opportunity if the shirt stays on.

“Can you take off your shirt? For scientific purposes only.” You surprise yourself with the bold request, but the blindfold has made you feel some type of way. Shameless.

“Are you sure all of this is purely for science? Because I see you’ve already spread your legs out for me.” You hear a shirt being tossed aside before the mattress suddenly dips with something solid between your thighs. You assume it’s his knee when he nudges it into your crotch. Whatever it is, it’s making your body squirm for more contact.

“Maybe it’s a little more than just, uh, science.” You attempt to maintain a sturdy voice, but it’s hard not to pant when you’re overwhelmed with a heat you’ve never felt before.

“A little?” He questions you as his knee digs further into that spot between your legs. Oddly enough, you’re quite satisfied with the hot sensation created by all that friction, and you hope it doesn’t stop. “I think you’re more than a little wet down there, Kitten.”

“Oh,” you try to say, but it comes out more like a weak moan.

And of course, as soon as you show any sort of evidence of pleasure, Jimin decides to stop moving without saying a word. He stands there silently, probably smirking at how turned on he’s made you. He has to be teasing you, and you have to admit it’s working.

With his knee still wedged at your crotch, you situate yourself more towards his thigh and squeezes your own thighs around him. Your hips start moving on their own by instinct to find any sort of stimulation. It’s starts off as modest rocking back and forth against his body. You try to be subtle about it, as if the boy isn’t aware of your intentions. Surely riding his thigh whilst rubbing your wet lewd scents all over him won’t give it away.

“Oh, that’s your kink?” He sounds rather impressed. Once you finally find a good method and pace fore stimulating yourself on him, however, he pulls his knee back. “Let’s switch places.”

Next thing you know, your ass is sitting on top of Jimin’s lap with your legs wrapped around his waist for support. Without even thinking, your body continues to pleasure itself against boy, grinding and yearning for the wonders of sex.

You’d paint yourself a visual of the scene at hand to make everything more vivid, but you don’t really want to know what you must look like in such a helpless state. In times like this, you’re thankful for the blindfold-

“I wish you could see yourself, blindly humping and panting like a horny little puppy.”

You freeze at Jimin’s vivid narration of scene, regretfully imagining it as told. “Can I take the blindfold off?”

Unsure of whether you want to continue or end the stripper shenanigans once the blindfold comes off, the boy swiftly removes the cloth from your eyes and blinks at you. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the bright lights of your room, but when they’re back to normal, you remain seated in his lap and blink back at the shirtless boy.

For as intimate and steamy as it was a moment ago, neither of you know what to do or say. It’s a comfortable silence, although you do feel a bit embarrassed for showing the horny little puppy side of yourself to your neighbor. Besides that, you’re content. Your body finally relaxes, loosening its hold around the boy’s waist.

When Jimin comes to the conclusion that the stripper shenanigans are over, he lets out a chuckle to break the silence.

“What?” you pout.

“Nothing!” He throws his shirt back on, but not before you catch one last look of his tiddies and blossom tattoo. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get ice cream?”

“What were you laughing about earlier?” is the first thing you ask after taking a lick of your ice cream.

“You’re not gonna let that go, huh,” Jimin sighs into his strawberry sundae. “I was just laughing at you. Is that a crime, Officer?”

“But why?” You’d think you were holding an interrogation at your local late-night ice cream parlor. The boy in question rolls his eyes.

“You know how chemistry students always have to wear goggles during labs?”

“Yeah and when they take them off, they have this funny red imprint around their eyes,” you recall your old days in chem class. “Wait, are you trying to say I had funny red marks around my eyes after taking the blindfold off?”

Jimin shrugs.

“And that was funny to you?” You want to be annoyed by his childish humor, but you’re more so relieved that he wasn’t laughing about anything that happened while the blindfold was still on.

“It reminded me of how you always say it’s all for science,” he says, carving out a spoonful of strawberry syrup off the top of his ice cream with such precision. You know what he’s talking about—it’s your infamous excuse for wanting to get closer to the boy.

“Is it a crime for me to indulge in my scientific research, Officer Park?” You lick the ice cream off your lips with a playful tongue.

“Only if you abuse it,” he points at you as if to evoke fear before softening his expression. “But in your case, no.”

“Good.” You swipe a scoop of the boy’s sundae right in front of his face. “I don’t want you to think I’m just using you for your body so I can pass my art class...”

“I know that’s not the case, Y/N. Otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered with the whole blindfolded lap dance thing.” Jimin points to your ice cream cone, so naturally, you let him have a taste of it. “Because what’s the point of a handsome stripper giving you a lap dance if you can’t see what’s going on?”

“To feel things that you wouldn’t otherwise notice if you were too distracted by a naked body dancing over you?” you start munching on the waffle cone. “And by ‘feel things’, I mean emotions, not sexual pleasure. Just FYI.”

“Right, because you totally didn’t feel any sort of sexual pleasure while riding my thigh,” he nods.

“Right,” you nod along with a pretty good poker face. He’s on to you, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing what effect he has on your body. “Thank you, though, for not one, but two special treats.”

“There could’ve been a third if we’d just kept going-”

“Anyway,” you say, pulling out your sketchbook to change the subject. “That lap dance did give me some new art inspo.”

“It was quite the experience for a human-to-human interaction, huh.” Jimin scrapes the last bit of strawberry ice cream, watching as you flip through your sketches of him until you reach the ones from earlier that evening. You have a new color to add to the palette.

“Mhm,” you say, shading in the same color of the boy’s ice cream, the same color that his blossom tattoo represents. “But what do you think about this human-to-human interaction?” You wiggle your index finger back and forth between you and him.

“You mean us chatting over ice cream?” he asks and pauses for a second to think. “I like it. It’s a lot less, uh, intense than some of the other things you and I have done. But I like that.”

“Same. I think regardless of whether you’re a half-naked stripper or just a college kid eating ice cream, the world becomes more vibrant with you in it.” You flip your sketchbook around for Jimin to see.

“You drew me as a Super Saiyan?” He’s referring to his wicked blonde hair and the reddish-pink flare that surrounds his buff body. “Super Saiyans do make the world a better place, huh?”

“My human anatomy could still use some work, but you get the gist.” You don’t know whether to laugh or be offended by his weeb reference. Either way, he has a smug look on his face, as if being drawn as a Dragon Ball character is something to take pride in.

“Somehow the abs look super realistic though…” He strokes his nonexistent beard. “I wonder how that happened.”

You have flashbacks to when your fingers outlined a whole ass map of each individual muscle hiding beneath his shirt. You suppose your mental map translated well onto paper. “Yeah, that’s weird.”

“Let me know if you’re ever in need of another anatomy lesson,” he hums. “For science, right?”

“For science.”

#bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts fanfic #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #bts imagines #jimin #bts #bangtan #blossom

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heroquills-a · 5 years ago

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s1lentsnip3r replied to your post: hmmmmmmmmmm……….. i feel like doing a random mun...

bet

cracks knuckles.

@s1lentsnip3r @chaosmixed @metallumdash

words can’t describe how impressed i am by how much you bring your muses to life bwaze. i used to like, not really give a darn heck about metal sonic at all? but after that first thread we had where sonic and proxy got into a fight, i was immediately hooked. you just do such an incredible job at fleshing out characters that i otherwise wouldn’t have really thought much of before and you just have this unique and interesting spin on them that feels fresh. i love the way you play the chao and whisper’s wisps and atia is just a little gremlin but i love them so much, and i’ve literally never seen anyone play chaos before. you just have this way of utilizing that potential that your characters and concepts have and it’s just really awesome to watch. i love it. absolutely a stellar roleplayer. absolutely stellar mun!!

@skyfcx @masterprotector @cosmcther

ties you to a chair. listen here little mister. youre probably one of the OG ppl in this rpc that i’ve lowkey looked up to since first joining. you’ve already heard it plenty of times already but your writing is just ?? stellar ?? from the way you use colorful idioms, expressions, metaphors, to how you capture movement and action in such an engaging way. it’s always a treat to read. the way you portray your muses is just always spot on and i love how seamlessly you capture their mannerisms and speech patterns. your headcanons for tails and knuckles just make me so giddy they just feel so right for their characters, and as far as rosalina goes--- while i know next to nothing about the mario franchise or this character in particular i’m still intrigued enough to peek in on what she’s up to every now and then. over all, you’re a rad roleplayer and a fun person to chat with ooc !!

@chaosbcrne

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again. i adore how you write shadow. i’m constantly blown away by how authentic he always feels and how realistic you write him while still remaining accurate and true to his character. like i legit cannot even think of any other place or media i’ve seen besides the games themselves (before sega started botching up his character anyway) where he’s portrayed as accurately as you write him. you manage to balance the serious, aloof, hostile side of him with his playful, competitive, smug side AND the inner naive, almost child like side almost perfectly. and then there’s more, because you add so much depth to him and realistically expand on so many unexplored facets of his character and his roots !! you can just tell this is a character who’s endured so many hardships and is still trying to recover and move on, and despite everything that’s hardened him into the person he is today he still has that innocent curiosity about the world and it makes me so emo every. single. time. you just put so much work into him and it shows, from your icons to your headcanon posts, to even the most minute detail. even when you host events you just go So Hard at it you’re literally out here setting the standard dude. and don’t even get me started on your writing style. i was hooked by the very first thread we did, i felt like i could never hold a candle to it honestly. just. the way you narrate shadow’s feelings and thoughts, how you capture his actions, his movement, his speech patterns, is just so good. and your vocabulary is so colorful and rich. just. hgnfhg its top tier content ALRIGHT you inspire me to push myself and to keep improving all the time and i have to say i couldn’t ask for a better writing partner. i love you so much eph 💕💕💕

@1110-01111011

hello yes trikey i love your omega so much. i’ve never really thought much of the death bot before but seeing all the headcanons and fleshing out you do for him just makes him so much more interesting and fascinating. down to the most intrinsic detail you put in for him it’s just really cool to see and adds so much to him that just !! i love it man. every time i think abt omega now my mind just automatically goes back to your portrayal because he is Just omega. i appreciate all the depth you add to him and his relationships to the rest of his team, it’s so pleasing to see and really helps solidify how strong team dark’s dynamic truly is..... not to mention your art is hecking gorgeous??? like damn dude, goals. anyway,, thank u for the blessed omega content. absolutely 10/10

@coolxnxblue @oforbis @hcrofraid @mastcrplanncr @powderbluestreaks

toxi i immediately fell in love with your sonic the first time we ever interacted. you just capture his sass so well, i just could not stop giggling that first night. he’s still my favorite sonic in this rpc, to be honest. and don’t even get me started on your other muses. it still baffles me how you manage to take on such a huge raster of characters yet manage to flesh them out all so well. every one of them feels so evenly developed and solid and just like bwaze you make me care about characters that i otherwise wouldn’t have before. i feel like i have a huge newfound appreciation for eggman bc of you and unsurprisingly he’s now my fave eggman on here hands down. and it goes without saying your writing is just, phenomenal. you capture dialogue so beautifully, the way you narrate on the feelings your characters are experiencing is engaging, to the point i’m lowkey intimidated by it sometimes LMAO. also your AUs are just rad as hell? and rlly interesting?? and your art style too ????? 10/10 roleplayer, i just think youre neat.

@antibadnik @godcontained

hey you? yes you. i love your muses so much. i especially love how you write amy, to be honest. she’s been my favorite character since forever and like?? you do just such a good job with her? i appreciate that you choose not to erase her intense affection for sonic, because more often than not i see people tone it way down to almost non-existent and it really is just such a big part of her character. i like the way you delve into that mindset of her’s, and expand on it and how it affects her. i also just. love your writing too. you just have this way of conveying feeling in your writing that’s always a punch to the gut you can feel it that hard. your headcanons for elise are really interesting too and definitely nothing i’ve actually seen before, what with how her powers work and how having to go emotionally dormant has effected her after all this time. also, i love ava. she is baby. it’s so cool getting to see a mute character!! all in all, its just good content man. god i love football.

@team-phantom @heartfelt-silver

pandaaaa i adore you !!! you were like my first friend in this heckin rpc. all of our dash shenanigans always have me wheezing and i just love your boys so much. i can certainly say without a shadow of a doubt that zero is one of my favorite takes on infinite. its hard to believe that he’s the same jackal who almost completely helped eggman take over the world--- he’s just come so far, he seamlessly fits into the rest of the cast. i adore how he works off of his team, and all their own unique little quirks that set them apart from each other. your headcanons and lore for your muse is just so sweet. and god i can’t get enough of your art?? your doodles always are a blessing to see ;-; i always appreciate you youre just such a sweet and kind mun, you’re so welcoming of ppl here and have this way of making ppl feel at home in this community. it absolutely wouldn’t be the same without you. keep it up <3

@lightdash @heartlop @enrichedheart

YOU. yes you. ame you’re so freakin’ cool and sweet. you’re always so nice and welcoming to people in the rpc it’s always a treat getting the chance to talk to you !! you’re another one of those peeps i look up to in this community TBH and youre muses are just portrayed and written so well!! i can just tell you’ve poured many years of thought, consideration, and work into your muses to the point that they’re just so finely tuned. i love the aesthetic you utilize for you blogs, from your icons to just the way you go about formatting your threads? and not to mention, your art style ??? is just so cute ??? ngl i lowkey wanna collab with you one of these days bc i just adore how you draw the sonic cast ;_; thank you for being a part of this rpc !! you’re wonderful !

@projectlightfox

moggg you’re so nice and chill to talk to. i love volt and harmony so much... they fit in really good with sonic world and mesh well with just about any characters i’ve seen them interact with so far--- even if its someone they don’t get along with. i’ve said it before but theyre just a really charming little duo and im always happy to see them on my dashboard. i love the overall aesthetic they got going, two travelers roaming the world from dimension to dimension. harmony is just a little bundle of precious fluffy joy and her interactions with sonic always make me cry. and volt--- he’s such a good dad !! he’s a really neat character and i’m certainly interested in learning more about the both of them. and as i said, you’re a rad person to talk to, i appreciate how welcoming and supportive you are of people. and your art style? absolutely adorable. thank you for being in this rpc ;-;

@dieviskais @solfading

king!! i’ve never seen anyone write the way you do, choosing to shift the view point onto the reader as if they themselves are the muse. it’s such a unique and interesting way to look into your muse’s mindsets and express how they are feeling and what they’re doing. your take on silver is very fresh compared to the way he’s typically written. i appreciate you don’t take the baby silver uwu route like don’t get me wrong he IS baby but he’s not a baby. you certainly have really neat headcanons surrounding his backstory and how he grew up, it’s nice to see the grim reality of his harsh bleak life being represented. it’s good !! your other muses are intriguing too and i’m eager to learn more about them. i love auburn?? he’s a really cool oc dude his aesthetic and powers are A+. and you know, i may be terrible at expressing it but you’re a delight to talk to!! never feel bad or discouraged for popping into my dms i honestly appreciate the company ;-; thank u for being u

@orbviously / @cubeviously

THESE TWO BOTS. i love them so much. literally every time i see orbot or cubot now in any context i just think back to your portrayal of them hebby, they’re just so dang spot on and good. i love how you go about interacting with people with these two tbh it never fails to make me giggle. i love your art style too it’s just pleasing to look at! you have so many creative AUs for these bots i’m honestly impressed by how much you manage to create with these guys man--- from their human/bot designs to their mobianbot designs theyre just so cool ?? even your other muses are always entertaining to watch regardless of what fandom theyre from youre just so fun to interact with. and just, you’re always a pleasure to talk to ooc, youre always putting a smile on my face! youre awesome hebby

@fishing-purple-cat

yes hi. sunny your take on big is so blessed. you’ve done so much justice for him. i’ve always really liked big tbh but i just love how much depth you put into his character, his backstory and his mannerisms. i love that you like,, actually give him a personality outside being a slow thinker. i can tell you’ve really developed your writing style with him, it speaks volumes about how much work you really put into writing him and it shows? heck, you even go the extra mile to draw your own icons and hang on i need a second to gush about your art because holy DAMN dude. your anatomy and painting abilities are nothing short of impressive--- especially your nack for painting backgrounds. i srsly gotta commission you at some point when i’m able to, heck. anyway, the rpc certainly wouldn’t be the same without you here

@lnfinitc

dude i love your take on infinite. he’s just about everything he should have been in forces, and even more. i love how malicious and intimidating you write him and your take on his speech patterns is just straight up eye-candy. i love your writing style, its so flavorful and rich--- your headcanons and lore on how infinite works is just astounding. and i like how you incorporate your drawings into your replies or threads too like even if its just icons your style is so heckin pretty ?? gosh dang. i’m definitely looking forward to interacting more in the future bc ur muse is just really fun and you seem like such a rad person !!

@pistolbitten

uhhh hello yes... while we haven’t interacted very much so far i JUST GOTTA SAY, i super enjoy your take on fang. from what i can tell he’s very well-rounded and fleshed out and a really interesting villain. i may or may not’ve been lowkey paying attention to that angel’s thesis thread you were doing w bwaze and aaron and i gotta say. holy damn. fang just done FUCKED UP. im certainly looking forward to him and shade interacting lmao. your writing style is so good too hh... just yeah i don’t have a whole lot to say if only because we haven’t interacted as much as i have with some of the other ppl on here BUT i certainly am looking forward to bc you seem cool. i’m loving what i’m seeing so far. have nack shoot sonic. DO IT.

@mobian-merc @funis-infinite

duuuudeeee. i’ll be honest i was super intimidated by you at first asdkjsah i don’t even know why i was ??? but like. you’re so hecking nice and fun to talk to ;_; scourge is an actual literal dipshit yet you manage to make him very likable and you have such a fun take on him. i’ve always been a little conflicted on the character tbh because of how popular he is and he seems like the type i’d like but i knew nothing about him and was kinda put off by the over hype sometimes, but honestly? your portrayal won me over. i love him now. he’s so stupid and hE’S GREAT. your infinite also seems so cool too i gotta hecking respond to that starter you made me when i get the chance, im looking forward to infinite & sonic just. talking and sassing eachother probably. i really like your writing style too!!! and your icons are absolutely gorgeous ok. alright, that is all.

@flyinginfreedom

uhhhhhhh hello i love your rouge so much ???? she’s literally so cool... you capture her aesthetic and over all mysterious yet cunning vibe perfectly and it’s just always a pleasure to see her on my dash. i loved her interactions with sonic during eph’s roadtrip event so much. your headcanons just feel so her and spot on, and you still manage to add so much depth and personality to her i just love it so much. i love your blog’s aesthetic down to the icons, and even the way you format your threads. over all just a stellar rouge blog and a really cool & chill mun!!

@rosehammcr @antihedgehog

hi rosie uhm i love your amy so much ok. she’s such a sweet heart, i love how you incorporate her tarot cards ?? it’s literally so cool... and the accuracy on those readings is shocking. she’s just such a sweet heart god i’m getting emo thinking abt her tbh like amy is !! one of my fave characters and !! you write her so well !! and your eggman too, god he’s incredible. i love how sinister yet goofy he can be he’s just a perfect combination of intimidating and silly. your takes on orbot and cubot also bring a smile to my face and i love how you incorporate them into your interactions!! you also just seem like a rlly rad person and i’d love to interact more !! yeah !

@a-wind-of-freedom

yuniiiiiiIII !! you’re such a sweet heart and your sonic is too. i’ve never seen someone play sonic the way you do before and it’s certainly interesting and unique !! you’ve got so many neat an thought out verses and AUs too, theyre all really intriguing ! our interactions with our sonics are always rlly blessed tbh starlight is just precious. i always appreciate getting to work with you as well for commission stuff, you’ve really been helping me out in that regard. plus you give me something artistic to work on and the chance to push my talents ! ;-; all in all you’re just a really sweet person and have a kind aura about you ! ;;

@champiionic

clears throat. hi yes you’ve been one of my fave sonics since day one. you’re just so creative with your muse its honestly impressive how many things you’ve able to come up with for sonic. from the portrayal you bring to the table down to your muse aesthetic its always just spot on you’ve got the blue speedster’s whole vibe down to a T. and your writing is just ? kisses my fingers. beautiful. your sonic is just so dang authentic, seeing him on my dash is always a pleasant sight. and i know this post is namely about sonic rpc muns & muses but i already love bubbles and blossom. i used to watch powerpuff girls when i was rlly little so its a real nostalgia trip to see them on my dashboard.

@hcpebloom @rcsebloom

bunny !! ur heckin sweet.. i love ur amy so much HSDFHDJ she’s just so soft. and unique too!! your headcanons for her are just so cute and make her stand out in her own way and i just appreciate that yo. and i admittedly don’t know a whole lot about cosmo since i havent really watched that far into sonic x but you’ve certainly got my attention with her. we just gotta interact more man ur muses are so precious !! ;_;

@fortruechaos

you !! your shadow is so good dude ! your portrayal of him is just so hecking accurate,, i highly appreciate how noble you write him to be. he’s serious, he’s prickly, but he’s got the world’s best interest at heart and it makes my heart do the fluttery thing. your writing is so good too gosh. no to mention youre just so hecking nice ??? youre just overall a rlly sweet mun & i appreciate your presence here in the rpc

@glittcrngcld @livelifc

hey fretcher ? ily. your muses are just so good from your canon characters to your ocs, i just love them sm?? and your ART? i swoon every time i see your doodles on my dash i’m still not over those doodles of lilly and azure ;-; not to mention your edits are scarily good like shit dude teach me your ways. your takes on your muses are awesome man i love ur sonic he’s such a MEME. and elise !!! she makes me so emo god. thank u for your blessed portrayals of these characters ! @elektrisch-felidae

YOU. precious is just, precious?? HAH. i love her, she’s so cool tbh. she’s so chill and laid back and seems like the kinda cool cat sonic can totally vibe with. you yourself are also rlly chill and fun to interact with--- even if we haven’t much so far. its no secret i just love sonic ocs so much and precious is just awesome. i love the idea of electricity powers. absolutely need to have sonic hang with her more ;;

@coldheartbeauty

SPEAKING of cool cats with cool powers, i love raven. her sass is just super entertaining to see on the dashboard tbh. i have to see her and sonic get into a sass off one of these days. her powers are also really cool too ? she reminds me of blaze in a sense, but just completely different in her own right. i also just hella love your art style its so cute, your doodles are always adorable to see!!

INHALES. ok. im done. if i missed anyone i am so sorry i ran out of steam. thank you all so much for making this rpc such an entertaining, dynamic, and creative place to be !!!

#🌀 — later guys! i’m outta here! ❪ ooc. ❫#i'm not tagging y'all down here LMAO it'll take me forever to #but yes #y'all are fuckin talented i have a whole lot of love for this rpc #lays down #okay im done #i'll be over in my sap corner if you need me

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draconia-bsd · 5 years ago

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FkuMori- New Year's Kiss

Hey, hi, hello, I have no justification for writing somethig so painfully long, but I hope you like it @vanafloria ♡ uwu

Crimson sunlight barged through the forest of skyscrapers and motels, allowing only a few remaining rays to stumble in a wide white office of a new clinic center, meeting their end either on a tidy desk or on a spotless lab coat of dr. Mori. He owned and managed the whole complex for barely eight months now, and despite it seeming out of place, the surrounding neighbourhood warmly welcomed this new branch of the health industry. Before its arrival, small gangs had a habbit of housebreaking and robbing the entire area, spreading fear amongst its residents and ultimately leading to a decay in economy, which most considered beyond repair. Yet, thanks to the generous heart of this ex war doctor, these problems were solved in the shortest possible time, leading quite a large number of people into an almost religious worship of his being. Fully aware of the fact, Mori dedicated vast amounts of energy in maintaining his public image- as long as the ordinary people were happy with his honey-glazed mask and dulcet words no problems will be caused, they will act as sheep following their shepherd through the fog. This logic, however, was not something he shared with his employees, more precisely his bodyguard, Fukuzawa- a man roughly his own age, but of strong stature. He oftentimes communicated in such a blunt and harsh manner that Mori felt obliged to step in the conversation for the tensions to settle. It was exhausting, especially after explaining him the meaning of his actions numerous times, but in the end, he couldn't afford better. Not only from a materialistic standpoint, but also because Fukuzawa was the best man in his line of work, rising up almost to a level of legend. Even upon a mere mention of his nickname, "The Silver Wolf", most of the underworld's bravest members would quiver, for the man's natural bloodthirst was a force colder and more ruthless than a Russian winter. He was far too valuable for Mori to dismiss and leave in another person's grasp.

In spite of this minor problem though, the business ran precisely as intended. The whole area became a neutral zone after doctor himself spread the word of his refusal to associate with the law enforcement. Sure, he faced hardships and doubt at first, but being spared and trusted by the two biggest crime organisations in town helped significantly. Everyone he knew now thought he was just a simple man who wanted to help people, which, in a way, wasn't even that far from the truth. Thinking about this, Mori didn't even realise he neglected his work until the phone-alarm notified him it was time for his lunchbreak. Feeling only slight discomfort about the matter, he swiftly he draped himself within his feather jacket and headed straight to the nearby bakery. Having stepped outside, his eyes narrowed due to the force of a razor sharp wind jolting his hair, leaving him with a view field wide just enough to get him to the desired destination. The bakery was small, albeit tastefully decorated. It possessed a rustic aesthetic, with its wooden, dark amber walls and shelves that blended so well with them it would be impossible to imagine one without the other, alongside two big square windows, one placed next to the door and the other on the West wall, allowing sunlight to highlight all of the beauty inside. Naturally, as it was Christmas time, decorations added to the aesthetics too, making even the baked goods taste more delicious than usual.

Upon entering, Mori fixed his hair and stepped into the line for making orders. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to get, but the queue was long enough for him to comfortably decide, or so he thought. Suddenly, an old woman came up to him and started a smalltalk asking him about the clinic and poking fun at his hair that he "ought to shorten". This was all an everyday occurrence to which he had gotten used to, up until one question.

"So, how will you spend the New Year's eve, dear?" she said with genuine curiosity.

"Oh, as usual, I shall occupy myself with work." the doctor replied and he truly did mean it. Over time holidays lost their value to him, and while a necessity in this society, he did not enjoy them for the most part, as he felt even more empty during those times, thus trying not to pay them too much attention was the best possible solution.

"Oooh." mumbled the lady "That's noble, but it must be terribly lonely, especially after having spent Christmas at work as well."

Admittedly, Mori was stunned by her bluntness, but he couldn't deny her words, even with his employees by his side, he felt the same as always during this time period. Still, he had to reply with something, so he conveniently used the exact thing he was thinking about for inspiration.

"Don't worry, Fukuzawa will be with me. After all, we are like brothers." he exclaimed, but for some reason didn't understand why he only mentioned this one man.

While they could surely be brothers by age, there wasn't much, apart from his skills, that dazzled him about Fukuzawa. So, brushing this off as a simple element of chitchatting, he continued to talk to the lady until he took his order and left the bakery, sprinting back to his office.

Having walked so fast he almost had difficulty maintaining a normal breathing pattern, he stopped in the entry room to gain some strength. It was now noticeably warmer compared ti the outside, but still, he felt no need to take off his jacked as he felt winter might bite down to his bones. Sitting there like a student in the school yard, he started thinking about his words once again. This time he had the freedom to explore all the possibilities, and an interesting idea occured to him. Mori then finished his meal as usual and headed back to his office, having a few buissnes partners already waiting for him. Unon greeting them politely,he called on Fukuzawa to guard the room until the meeting was over.

...

As dawn neared it's peak, the doctors hands lost their usual composure and craved for a resting place to stop their fatigue caused tremor, but contrary to his body's wishes, Mori took care of his equipment, changed his clothes and ramained to wait for the new shift to start. He didn't have to do this, obviously, but a part of him thought it was right and he hadn't done anything like that in a while. His mind was absent as he gazed into the rising Sun, mesmerised by it's colours and the flickering snow contrasting it. Losing track of time, and eventually his consciousness, the next thing amethyst eyes saw were white strands of hair shimmering next to them, appearing so light and soft they may have been unreal for all Mori knew. This fascination could have continued, but soon a deep voice broke off the illusion and reality came back into place. Fukuzawa was arched over his employer, looking at the weak body with concern.

"Shouldn't you go home and rest properly?" he asked as the younger man shook from his drowse and offered a hand to help him get out of his chair.

It took him quite a while to voice his answer, but nevertheless, Mori agreed with this and the two decided to head towards their homes together. However unusual it may seem, this isn't the first time they travelled together, it happened every once in a while and they would often engage in awkward conversations during it, but lately their communication improved (partially because of their debates about the neighbourhoods residents) so it was definitely a nice opportunity to snatch. Mori freezed as soon as he stepped outside, giving him a subjective feeling that his eyebags suddenly became a few shades darker. Jokingly commenting on this, he was greeted with an attempt of a reply "That's why you shouldn't wear jackets inside." and a smile. Fukuzawa may have been older, but he was definitely the one who had to learn when it came to these things. Still, Mori didn't mind his bodyguard's awkwardness when it was directed at him. He could never pinpoint the exact emotion he felt at those moments, but he knew it was something warm and for a long time he didn't think anything of it, but as of yesterday he became quite keen on exploring it, so he lead the conversation further until the blue eyes had lost their usual harshness. It is true that most of the trip had already passed by that point, but at least it was worthy. Now was the right time to ask:

"Say, what are your plans for the New Year's eve?" Mori continued with his usual tone.

"I assume I will spend it working." Fukuzawa replied coldly, retrieving to his natural attitude.

"Well if that's so, wouldn't you like to make me company during the countdown? It's not like we will leave the clinic, but it's nice to celebrate a bit, no?"

"I- I would have to agree, but what about the patients or the lurking danger?" the silver haired man asked with a serious voices , averting his sky blue orbs to his side.

"Hmm, a few drunks here and there shouldn't be much of a problem. I've had these experiences before, you know?" Mori proclaimed in a pensive tone.

"I don't see anything wrong with it then." Fukuzawa said, much to Mori's delight.

As planned, two men parted ways soon after, heading for their respective homes for a good rest, but somehow neither felt tired anymore.

...

Before coming to his clinic that evening, Mori stoped by an acquaintance's shop at the back of an alley near the town center. The man was a smuggling genius, holding seven mass storages, both in and out of the city, filled with opiates of various kinds, but at this small shop he brought only the finest of alcohol- be it original or fake, he had it all, oftentimes so well matched in characteristics that the drink's authenticity was for the consumer to evaluate. Despite this tho, he would never put Mori in the said position, for he owed him greatly. The store itself had two levels, the lower being almost twice as big as the one above, but nonetheless well-equipped with rare finds. Overall aesthetic was quite modern, filled with various shades grey as well as few metallic surfaces (shelves and the register most notably), but it would've been extremely bland if there werent a few pop art paintings hanging on the walls and bringing some actual colour in the room. Not really how most would imagine a liquor store, but it possessed a certain charm, especially for upstart people who stood in awe upon entering, with greedy eyes drinking from every bottle they recognized from a magazine they read before that one party in order to impress a lovely nobleman. But unlike these people, Mori wasn't all that impressed by this space, he already set his goal and this was simply the best way to fulfil it. He followed his acquaintance to a certain part of the store and upon a short wait, the man came back with what the doctor wanted- a bottle of Highland Park '68 . With a delighted smirk on his face Mori expressed his gratefulness and exchanged a few business related ideas with the smuggler.

Having put the bottle of expensive whisky in his bag, he set for the clinic, arriving earlier than usual although there wasn't much he planned to do but sorting some paperwork. Emerged in work, time flew by and before he knew it the clock hit nine, marking the beginning of Fukuzawa's work hours. Forseeably, he arrived on time and made his presence known to Mori immediately. Though his tone and words were professional, there were hints of insecurity behind them as he didn't quite know how to hold himself that night. As it is only natural, the dark haired man noticed this and decided to put his plan to action. Dramatically proclaiming his exhaustion, Mori suggested they both take a glass of whisky and without hesitation Fukuzawa accepted this offer. After all, the Silver Wolf was no stranger to alcohol, most notably spirits. He didn't know exactly why he liked this type of liquor to such an extent, but he never concerned himself with that question- the taste and the high was all that mattered, and surprisingly, this drink possessed both of the said qualities. Sitting in chairs, much like a doctor and a patient would, they sipped their drinks slowly, expressing thoughts of it's taste, colour and scent, but other than that the conversation seemed to end, making the whole situation awkward for a short while- until the rush of alcohol hit them. It did require two glasses of whisky, but it was worthy, as Fukuzawa relaxed significantly after every sip he took. Mori wasn't much of a drinker himself, so seeing this big, strong man getting tipsy before him was a pleasant surprise, and not only that, but his cheeks were slightly red emphasizing his blue eyes to the point where Mori had to put extreme effort not to stare at their beauty. Instead, the doctor started talking about their common mentor- Natsume Soseki. This proved to be a good topic of choice as Fukuzawa lead the story of their meeting and later anecdotes from trainings. Like the one time his sensei tried to catch a butterfly with his bare hands, or the time he casually lounged not on the regular sitting area of the couch but on it's back. This made Mori laugh more than he had imagined, to the point his abdominal muscles hurt, actually. This reminded him of his experience with Natsume-sensei, so naturally, he decided to share his discovery of the mentors unreasonably big collection of cardboard boxes.

Stories of their mentor soon turned into jokes, but after continuous use of whisky, the conversation took a more serious turn. They didn't remember how they got to the topic of loneliness, but it was obvious neither of them particularly enjoyed the subject.

"Loneliness increases inner strength and individuality, but our human nature is always there to chain our improvement." Fukuzawa claimed.

"Isn't it also in our human nature to adapt and evolve? While it is necessary, is it truly the only way we can help our growth? After all, even plants die if watered too much, don't they?" the younger man replied, but was met with silence.

"Well, it is New Year's eve after all, we shouldn't be talking about such things!" Mori added in a silvery voice, putting his usual smile on.

Forcing a smile on his face, the older of the two extended his arm to get his glass "If that's the case, why don't you pour me another one, doctor?"

Almost mechanically doing as he was asked, Mori suddenly remembered "Ah, wait!" he exclaimed as he jerked the bottle "It's not midnight yet, we should wait for the countdown, look how little we have left!"

Blue orbs focused on the bottle and blinked in surprise "Wow, that much? I mean, we drank that much."

Mori laughed to this reaction and fell off his chair from the force he used to nod his head, which in response caused Fukuzawa to snort as he lent him a helping hand. As expected from a drunk person though, the fallen didn't get up, but instead pulled the the other one down with him. With both of them on the floor now, they continued giggling like a pair of teenagers smoking behind their school, hoping not to get caught. It was strange how well they can get along, given the chance. As they sat next to each other, Fukuzawa took Mori's hand without a word and moved it close to him, causing the other man to blush, but before he could do anything the Silver Wolf narrowed his eyes and drew his head close to the handwatch to examine it.

"Two more minutes until countdown!" he said as he turned around to face Mori, who at this point had a perplexed look on his face and was only able to utter an "oh".

Fukuzawa then quickly crawled to the table an brought the bottle to a still confused doctor.

"Eh and the glasses?" Mori asked.

"Ugh. Who cares." the other replied with a sigh.

With their eyes fixed on the watch, these two anxiously waited for the final ten seconds. It seemed that time passed much slower now that they stopped talking, but that didn't really bother Mori. He could feel the pressure of his head leaning against the other and soft white hair caressing his cheek- in a way, he even wanted this to continue. Alas, the time they waited for came and both of them counted until zero, but before doctor wished his bodyguard a happy New Year, Fukuzawa was already taking a sup of the old whisky. It was unlike his usual, compound self, to disrespect a custom, but he was extremely drunk by this point, so the younger man took it as such. Sensing that the time is right, he started gently removing the bottle from Fukuzawa's mouth, advising him not to swallow the drink as he cupped the confused man's face and moved his own body close to his, giving him a deep and slow kiss. It was bitter and it burned, but he would give anything to do it over and over again.

"Happy New Year." he said weakly upon breaking the kiss and catching his breath.

"Yeah. You too." a flustered Fukuzawa replied, still in shock over what had just happened.

After remaining in the same position for a few seconds, Mori decided to back away, thinking this was all a bad idea to begin with, but as he was about to move, he felt strong arms holding him back and draging him even closer to them.

"Mmm? What?" he asked teasingly, but his lips were locked in a kiss before he knew it.

Who coud have guessed such passion laid behind those cold blue eyes? Those who seemed so detached and out of reach, slowly luring him into lust day by day... are they even the same as these fierce, devine eyes before him? Mori wondered, but that was a question that had to wait for the next day. All he craved now was to be liberated from his bottled up desires, and his saviour was ready.

#my writing #bungou stray dogs #bsd #fukumori #mori ougai #bsd mori #fukuzawa yukichi #bsd fukuzawa

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