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troubatrain · 4 years ago

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want you to want me - m. tkachuk

a/n: i’m awful at intros but this fic is my whole ass child. i started it months ago and i picked it up back and then i just couldn’t stop writing. now we’re at a whopping 10k words and i’m really happy with the way this one came out. i hope you guys like it as much as i loved writing it.

big thanks to @hookingminor @igor-shestyorkin & @tkafuckit for reading this as i wrote it and gassing me up ily all sm

warnings: smut

You were Matthew’s dream girl, and you didn’t have a fucking clue. You were leaning against the cold metal bleachers of your former high school, chatting with whatever teacher probably wanted to hear all about that shiny NWSL contract you signed right out of college with the Chicago Red Stars. It was well deserved, a few national titles in college put you in the position in the first place, and Matthew respected the hell out of you. You wouldn’t know, by the way he never seems like he actually wants to speak to you and the few snide remarks about your sport in general. That started forever ago, when Matthew royally fucked up any chance he had with you later in life because he was a competitive asshole.

It started when you were twelve, and middle school was nothing short of a mess. Matthew was growing into his own, adding a near foot to his height over one summer while his father and coaches doted on the fact that he was getting bigger. Getting bigger meant getting better, and for a few years winning was the most important thing in the world. But, becoming a hormonal preteen came with something else, feelings about the girl who sat three rows behind him in almost all of his classes.

Then third period gym class came around, and Matthew was a competitive monster. The kind of kid who took that way too seriously, and you accidentally became public enemy number one. You were the only person in his class who could even come close to beating him at anything, because you were just as much of an athlete as he was. Soccer had become your craft, and much like Matthew, you declared you’d go pro one day. So, Matthew did what any other insecure twelve year old boy would, he teased you relentlessly. It was awful, but by the time Matthew had gone off to play for the National team you had forgotten about his bullshit.

Apparently, you’d done something in a past life to warrant dealing with Matthew for longer than you ever anticipated. Jamie was your little sister, and Taryn’s best friend. Best friend was probably understatement, the pair were inseparable on and off the field. They trained together, they played on the same teams and that meant way too much time with the rest of the Tkachuk’s. You learned quickly, that the rest of their family was wonderful and Matthew seemed to be too thick headed to fall in line.

You tolerated Matthew, brushing his silly remarks off just like you did when you were younger. The thing was, Matthew didn’t want you to just tolerate him, but he didn’t know how to get you to stop hating him. You make your way over to Matthew who’d been standing next to his brother since the start of your sister’s game.

“Hi Brady,” You greet, tapping Brady on the shoulder who pulled you into a bone crushing hug. That annoyed Matthew the most, the way you seemed to love his siblings and despise him. In your defense, nobody was more supportive of your professional career than Brady, who’d made a promise to catch a game the second he could, “Hi Matthew.”

You were waiting for something from Matthew, an acknowledgement for finally achieving a dream of yours. You’d gotten the congratulations from the rest of his family, a massive celebration because Keith thought you deserved it. Matthew probably didn’t think you did. You could practically hear his smug little voice about how much his recently inked contract was compared to yours, because you’d heard it since you were kids. He used to rip on your athletic abilities every chance he could, something about how it didn’t matter how hard you could kick a ball you couldn’t hold a hockey stick so he was just better.

“You’re here!” You hear the chipper voice of your little sister approach, Jamie’s sweaty postgame arms wrapped around your waist. You’d been in Chicago, signing some paperwork and looking into finding a place to stay when you had to go for camp. You promised you’d make it back in time, and your flight landed less than five hours ago but you made it.

Matthew bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile to himself, watching his own sister push past him to see you. Taryn loved you, because sometimes she just needed a big sister and her brothers were in another country most

of the time. It was the part that killed him the most, seeing you with his family. You fit right in, a fierce athlete with drive that rivaled his own. Brady side-eyed his own brother, watching him instead of the scene unfolding in front of him. He was frustrated with his own brother for not just telling you the truth, that he teased you because he was an idiot who didn’t know how to handle having a crush on you.

But Brady was going to do it himself if his brother didn’t.

***

Matt, you don’t have a girlfriend right?

Matthew knew damn well he should not have answered his sister’s question, but when he realized her best friend had been sitting right next to her in the kitchen, his curiosity got the best of him. So he did, telling his sister he was single and sparing her details of any of the girls he’d gone on dates with the past year. That was his life is Calgary, a constant revolving door so no one would see what was underneath layers of sarcasm and angst. But every summer, he’d come home and wonder when he’d start to build a life for himself, and if he’d ever find that person to do it with. That was when his brain would start to wander, fantasies of a future that always seemed to involve you. He loved to imagine it, the years that you’d both spend supporting the other’s dream. Matthew would do anything to make sure you achieved yours, and he thought you’d do the same. Then you’d both settle down, the big house with the white picket fence and a shiny ring on your finger Matthew put there himself and years of arguing about what sport your future children would play - he’d even consider letting you have just one.

Unfortunately, none of that could be real until he figured out how to get you to hate him less. Taryn apparently had the same idea, and had been scheming with your sister for months. The two girls were looking at Matthew with devilish grins on their faces, like whatever they came up with would totally work.

“Y/N doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Your sister hums, sipping the smoothie they forced Matthew to drive them to go get, “It’s sad actually-”

“We think you should date,” Taryn explains, Matthew’s eyes went wide. His sister didn’t know the whole story, or just how far back this stupid fued went. Taryn always loved you, so Matthew just kept his remarks to himself.

“I know you know Y/N doesn’t like me very much,” Matthew explains, “So tell me how that’s going to work.”

“Apologize to her, if she can forgive me for anything she’ll forgive you,” Jamie sighs, thinking of all the times you’d shown her mercy when she didn’t deserve it.

“You’ve got to be sorry,” Brady interrupts, mouth full of food while he goes to go look for more in the fridge. He turns around, Matthew’s eyes giving him daggers, “What? You were a dick to her for years, you’ve got to fix that first.”

It didn’t take much convincing after that, Taryn had already planned out what Matthew should say to you. Matthew wasn’t going to repeat those words, because he knew exactly what he’d say to you if he ever got the chance. He was trying to fix his past, because the way he acted towards you was the one thing he regrets.

So with the help of your little sister and the Find my Friends app, Matthew was pulling up to a soccer field he’d been to plenty of times. He used to run through the park nearby, catching a glimpse of your practices when you were in high school and Matthew was an afterthought. He hops out of his car, smiling when he could see you running drills alone. You were dribbling the ball, counting to yourself while you were weaving through cones you set up.

“I’ve never been good at those,” Matthew calls out, walking over to you while you stopped and caught your breath, “I kick the cones with my skate every single time.”

“Maybe you’re not as good as you think you are,” You tease, grabbing your water and guzzling it down, “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I came to apologize?” Matthew admits, knowing his face was probably bright red. He was nervous, the good kind like he got before a big game, “I was just an insecure kid then, and you didn’t deserve what I did just because I was afraid you’d beat in something.”

Matthew left out the part where he felt like he was still that kid all the time. All of those insecurities about himself seemed to be picked up by every reporter in Canada when he was there. You bit your lip, pretending like you were trying to debate whether or not you should forgive Matthew at all. In reality, you would have forgiven him ages ago if he’d just apologized sooner. It was so long ago, and sometimes you thought Matthew’s constant taunting made you better. He was pleading, baby blue eyes staring at you sadly while he waited for your answer. He looked like he didn’t think he deserved to be forgiven, shoulders slumped while he tried to read your body language. It was something you noticed about Matthew forever ago, he could have everything in the world but when he looked at you he seemed almost sad.

“I mean I could forgive you, but only if you beat me,” You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at Matthew, “If I win, I don’t have to and if you win all is forgiven.”

“Really? Isn’t that why we were in this situation to begin with?” Matthew points out, crossing his arms at you.

“I thought you weren’t that kid anymore,” You remind of his own words, testing him to see if he’d put his money where his mouth was. Matthew smirks, chuckling to himself, “C’mon Tkachuk let’s see what you got.”

Matthew shook his head, laughing and lining up next to you. You both counted to three, sprinting down the field at full force. Matthew knew his height was the only thing working to his advantage while he tried to keep up with you. You were nearing your finish line, and Matthew didn’t think he was going to win. You were going to forgive him regardless, but Matthew didn’t know that. His arms stretched out, grabbing your waist and pulling you into his chest. Matthew turned his body around, stepping over the line before you did.

“God, you’re such a fucking cheater Matthew,” You hit his chest, Matthew’s hands still firmly placed on your hips.

“I didn’t want to lose,” Matthew admits, all of his smug attitude diminishing immediately, “Just want you to forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you if you never pull that shit on me again,” You poke his chest, slipping out of his grip and running to your stuff before he could notice how nervous he was making you.

No. Absolutely not. You told yourself while you checked your phone, rolling your eyes at the warning text from Jamie that Matthew was on his way, you couldn’t have anything but indifference to Matthew Tkachuk. It got harder everytime you saw him, the past few years had been nothing short of kind to him, he was growing from a dumb immature boy to a man more and more every summer. You turn around, peeking at Matthew who was sitting down and catching his breath, a winning smile on his face, the same kind he had the very first time he schooled everyone at floor hockey in middle school.

Maybe you could be friends.

***

Matthew liked having you as a friend, mostly because as of right now that was all he was going to get. You definitely didn’t trust him, which was valid considering Matthew had been a dick to you for years, but he was working on it. He had to, that uncontrollable feeling that he cared about you was getting harder to shove back down with every year that passed.

“You’re friends now, you don’t need to stare at her like a creep anymore,” Brady scoffs, watching his brother gawk at you from afar. Matthew couldn’t help it, you just had a glow about you, you always did, but somehow in the summer you were golden. Tonight you looked even better, maybe it’s because you smiled at him when he walked instead of scowling like you usually did.

“He’s in love with you,” Steph giggles, sipping her drink and giving Matthew a side eye, “He’s been staring at you all night.”

“He apologized to me,” You confess, holding in that little secret about Matthew’s visit to the field even from your best friend. You had the same friends, the same group of people who’d been pushing the two of you to work it out for years. It wasn’t that you didn’t want them to know that they no longer had to worry about one of you blowing up because the other was there, you just wanted everyone to let it go too. Matthew deserved a little forgiveness, you could only imagine the pressure he felt on himself back then, and while he didn’t totally deserve your protection - you were going to give it to him, “Don’t-”

“Oh wonder why, I know it’s because he looooves you,” Steph teases, “Did you forgive him?”

“Yeah I mean we’re both older and I’d like to think he’s wiser, and besides our parents are way too close,” You knew this was going to be your excuse for a while. It was better for everyone that you forgave him, Jamie and Taryn spent more time together than you’d spend with anyone and you're just as close with the rest of their family. It wasn’t untrue that it was in fact for the best, but that didn’t mean Matthew’s stupid dimples didn’t persuade you before you could think about anyone else, “Can we stop talking about this?”

Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave you once that night, especially after the way Steph downed tequila shots and convinced you to join her. You deserved to celebrate, you’d accomplished something Matthew knew was your biggest dream because it was the same as his. He was proud of you, not that he’d gotten a chance to show it.

“If you’re going to go pro Y/N, you’ve got to start keeping up,” Brady chirps, watching you stumble over your own feet to walk over to him and Matthew. Matthew had seen this once before, a level of drunkenness where you turned into bambi but that was so long ago he never thought he’d see it again.

“I’ll go pro in beating your ass Brady,” You snap back, shooting daggers over Brady who was already cracking up, “Hi Matthew.”

“Hi,” Matthew’s voice was small, a weird sound considering he was usually the loudest in the room. Brady scoffs, walking away from the two of you before he snaps at how hopelessly in love his brother was. You turn your head in confusion, your mind far too hazy to realize why Brady was so annoyed in the first place, causing Matthew to chuckle, “Want to play? Might be best if we’re on the same team.”

Matthew’s thumb shot over to the beer pong set up on the other side of the room, a mischievous smirk on face, “I mean if it’s for the best.”

Matthew’s arm wrapped around your shoulders holding you close to his chest while you both played pong was definitely not for the best, and it wasn’t helping that stupid crush you had on him. You could feel Steph’s stare from the corner of the room, and you look at her to mouth a don’t at her. It was nice having Matthew on your team, finally a moment where instead of arguing with each other about who’s elbow was clearly over the table - you got to do the same thing to Brady.

“Brady you’re cheating,” You call out, Matthew’s head thrown back in laughter at your seriousness.

“You heard her Brady, elbows over the table,” Matthew breathes out, his body still rumbling with laughter at his little brother’s expense.

“Oh look at you two, you’re just gonna raise some winners one day aren’t you?” Brady chirps back, both happy to see you getting along and annoyed once he realizes that means he was going to get roasted by both of you now. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, tucking your face into Matthew’s arm in hopes no one saw the way you shrunk at that stupid joke.

“We’re winners right now,” Matthew calls out, his last ball landing in the cup and sealing the game for the two of you. Matthew would raise winners with you, it was something he thought about from time to time, but those thoughts were never going to see the light of day, “Alright drunky I think it’s time to get you home.”

“You can stay, I’ll just catch a ride with someone,” You waive Matthew off, who shook his head no at you before you even started speaking.

“One, my dad would kick my ass if he knew I left you,” Matthew starts with, holding up one finger with another on the way, “Two, we’re friends now and I’d like to make sure you don’t die before you see a pro game.”

Matthew had seen you this drunk before, but what he didn’t know was that getting you home would be more difficult than he thought. You started in the direction of your house, but apparently you were a runner and a speedy one at that. Now you were barely two blocks away from Matthew’s parents place and if he could at least get you there he’d be able to call it a night - which wasn’t fucking easy.

“Alright I’ve had enough,” Matthew huffs, jogging to catch up with you and scooping you into his arms. You were hanging over his shoulder, Matthew making his way down the street with the house in his sightline. You could have cared less, laughing your ass off while Matthew walked up the stairs and finally placed you back down on your feet, “Be quiet, go up to my room and get some clothes and go sleep in the guest room.”

You weren’t quiet, not at all and Matthew was amazed not one of his parents came down to see what all the chaos was about. After Matthew had to walk you up the stairs, running back down for some water and hoping you weren’t a disaster by the time he got back - he found you in his bed. You were curled up right in the middle, an old London Knights shirt on your body, Matthew’s favorite. Matthew grabs his comforter, throwing it over your body. He sighs, leaning against his door frame and smiling to himself at how comfortable you looked, flicking off the light and retreating to the guest room.

Matthew hated the guest room. He hated how hard the mattress was and after a few hours of no sleep and tossing and turning - he gave up. Matthew hoped no one else was up, but not to his surprise his mother was already in the kitchen, and judging by the look on her face, she knew who was upstairs.

“Care to explain?” Chantal smirks, raising her eyebrows at her son. Matthew’s face got red, his landing on the back of his neck to cover the blush.

“She fell asleep before I could even get her to the guest room,” Matthew shrugs, hoping his mom wouldn’t push it any further, “I, uh, apologized the other day.”

“Good,” Chantal hums, a knowing look on her face. She didn’t like to push Matthew, her one kid who seemed to be a little rougher around the edges than the others, but that silly feud never sat right with her, “Here, bring her a coffee, I’m sure she needs it.”

Matthew nods, grabbing the mug his mother was holding out and starting to make his way up the stairs. He heard the tell her you made it from his mother and shook his head. He knew what she was thinking, especially with the way Chantal seemed to talk about you. His mother thought you were nothing short of perfect, and Matthew would be a liar if he didn’t think the same thing.

“Did I fall asleep here?” You’d woken up confused, your question only answered by the jerseys hanging on the walls, you were in Matthew’s room. You rub your eyes, the door creaking open way too loudly for how dead you felt.

“Only after you almost fell down the stairs and ran three blocks in the wrong direction,” Matthew chuckles, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing you the mug, “You know you’re fast right?”

“Yeah,” You muse, smirking to yourself and taking a sip of coffee, “I’m sorry I did that to you, and stole your bed - I can go.”

Matthew stopped you, telling to finish your coffee and relax and he’d drive you home after. You fell into a comfortable conversation, something Matthew never thought would happen.

And watching you walk up to your steps in his shirt still wasn’t something he thought he’d see, but it was better than he imagined.

***

“Hey it’s Jamie, can’t get to the phone right now…”

You groan, tossing your phone onto your bed and continuing your pace around the room. It was well after midnight, and your sister had been out all night, and past her curfew. Usually you’d cover for her, definitely taking the prize home for the cool older sister who picks her siblings and their friends up from parties. That’s what had you so worried. Sure, Jamie was a teenager and she snuck in a few little white lies with your parents just like you’d done, but Jamie always told you the truth. She’d check in with you more than her parents, letting you know that she’s going to be out late but she’s safe and if she needed anything she knew who to call. You texted sometime around ten, just checking in since it was Saturday and you were sure she had a more riveting social life than yourself. No answer. Then eleven rolled around and you didn’t hear anything, so naturally you double texted and now it’s twelve thirty and you still haven’t heard anything. You cross your arms, looking at your phone as if you could will an answer into existence. You grab it, dialing a number you weren’t even sure would work.

“Hello?” Matthew’s voice appeared on the other side of the line, clear confusion in his voice. You let out a sigh of relief, hoping Matthew would have the answer you wanted to hear so desperately.

“Is my sister at your house?” You ask, biting your lip and throwing on a pair of sweats so you could pick her up and murder her for scaring you like that. You were sure it was innocent, Jamie slept over at Taryn’s all the time, staying up way too late watching movies or when Jamie would hide going to a party from your much stricter parents.

Matthew tells you to give him a minute, and you can hear him walking through the house. By the time you heard a door open and a small fuck under his breath, your stomach dropped, “She was supposed to be home by midnight.”

“Alright, thanks anyways,” You sigh, “Do you know where they might have gone? It’s just, Jamie hasn’t answered me in hours and she usually does even if she’s out past curfew and I’m just-”

“I’ll be at your house in ten,” Matthew says, his keys alright in his hand and his foot halfway out the door. He was more mad than worried, sure his sister was out a party past curfew. Matthew was her biggest brother, and he was far more protective over her than Brady ever could be. He hated when she did this, and Matthew was pissed. You waited on your steps, Matthew car coming into view while you sprung up and practically sprinted into his car.

“You look mad,” You observe, as if it wasn’t completely obvious. You knew why, trying countless times to remind Taryn that her brother loves her and that’s why he’s like that. You thought he could go a little easier on her, but you wouldn’t dare get in the middle of that.

“I am mad,” Matthew grits out, knuckles white on his steering wheel while he drives slowly down the street. You just drove, in hopes you’d find what was obviously a house party and hopes your sisters were inside. You squint, hoping your eyes weren’t fooling you.

“Wait, pull over I think I see my neighbor,” You yell, Matthew’s foot flying on the break and you hop out. You were right, the bright orange tuft of hair you saw was like a miracle, “Hey Henry have you seen my sister?”

“Oh yeah I think she’s still inside,” Henry points to the house behind him, music blasting and a party in full swing, “I think she’s with Taryn.”

Matthew hops out of the car, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the house with him. Matthew’s fingers were laced with yours with every step he took, weaving through the crowd in hopes you’d see them. It took three bedrooms and a laundry room until you finally saw Taryn standing in the doorway. Her eyes went wide, and you pushed past them both to see Jamie with her head in the toilet. She was fine, well she was definitely in deep shit, but it wasn’t the worst thing to stumble upon. You throw her hair up, your attention moving to Matthew yelling at his sister in the hallway.

“Why didn’t you call someone,” Matthew yells, trying so damn hard to not completely snap on his baby sister. Taryn yells that her phone had died and then Jamie got sick and she didn’t know what to do. Of course they didn’t. You were probably more sympathetic, and you knew just how pissed off Matthew could get. You get up, pushing Taryn back into the bathroom and telling her to watch your sister.

“Calm down before you talk to her, please,” You plead, grabbing Matthew’s shoulders, “Besides, I sort of need some help right now.”

There it was. The very moment Matthew realized all along you could’ve been helping him. Your hands were wrapped around his biceps, a finger gently rubbing the skin right under the sleeve of his shirt. Every bit of anger disappeared from his body, a calm feeling replacing it. He knew you were right, and he’d be thankful for it later. Matthew knew he had to do the right thing by you, and he nodded, willing to follow any directions you gave him.

Matthew carried Jamie out of the house, getting both of your sisters in the car and finally heading back to your house. You knew he was still pissed off, a present frown on his face so you just took the chance. Just like he’d done before for you, you grabbed one of his hands from his steering wheel, lacing your fingers together. You caught the smile on his face, your thumb rubbing over his hand while his shoulders seemed to just relax. Once

Matthew finally helped you get Jamie inside, a night of laying on her floor to make sure she was okay ahead of you stood in the doorway with Matthew across from you.

“Thank you, I know we’re working on this friendship thing but you really didn’t have to do that,” You were eternally grateful, wrapping your arms around Matthew’s waist and tucking your head into his chest.

“You’d do the same thing for Taryn,” Matthew hums, knowing full well he definitely owed you for being Taryn’s replacement sibling with him and Brady in Canada for most of the year, “Get some rest okay?”

“Wait,” You stop Matthew, grabbing his hand one more time, “Don’t kill your sister, please she’s just a kid-”

“You’re way too easy on them,” Matthew chuckles, shaking his head at you. He knew Taryn was probably scared, and after he calmed a bit he understood where you were coming from. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tell her that if she ever pulls that shit again - he was going to rat her out to their parents.

And when Matthew finally got back in the car, he could see his sister’s grin in the backseat, “Don’t say it.”

She held your hand, are you sure you’re not going to malfunction now?

***

Maybe you were spiraling.

You’d been waiting for this moment your entire life, now you had a few more weeks until camp started and you were afraid. You knew you were good enough, you had to be. But what if you weren’t? You could feel the anxiety settling in, a feeling you hadn’t felt since Matthew told you soccer wasn’t a real sport in fourth grace. It’d been eating at you for weeks, deteriorating any confidence you had left in yourself. So you started pushing yourself even harder. The harder you worked the less like you were to fuck it all up. Your muscles were sore, your body was tired and it was just all becoming too much.

And Matthew noticed.

You were pushing yourself too hard, even the time you were supposed to relax with your families before your seasons started was being spent training. He understood it, the term first round exit lived rent free in his head every single time his skate hit the ice over the summer, but that didn’t make it okay. You looked tired, sluggish while you moved because you were running twice a day and training in between. And he was pissed everyone seemed to be fine with it. You should start working harder then Matthew. If it bothers you so much maybe you could join her. It wasn’t that he was jealous of your work ethic, he was worried. Matthew’s eyes followed you as you ran past his house again. The third time in one day, he’d finally decided he had enough.

Matthew took the walk to your house, charming the pants off your mother for her to tell him you were upstairs because you just got back in. He knocks twice, hearing a come in from the other side.

“What are you doing here?” You question, rolling one of your ankles that just seemed to be getting more swollen every time you started to practice. Matthew noticed it, your hands freezing one you caught his gaze.

“You’re overworking yourself,” Matthew stands his ground, he knew you could have told him to fuck off because no one hates advice they didn’t ask for quite like him, “Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“That’s rich coming from the kid who’s played with more broken bones than anyone I know,” You remind him of a few mistakes Matthew’s made playing through injuries he really shouldn’t, “I’m not fucking frail.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Matthew scoffs, it never once crossed his mind that he thought he was tough enough to play through injuries but you weren’t, “It’s about taking a break so you don’t get hurt.”

“I’m fine,” You huff, getting up and trying your best to hide the pain in your ankle when you stood on it. You fell forward, Matthew catching you in his arms and putting you back down the edge of your bed.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” Matthew asks with soft eyes, he bent down to take your ankle in his hand and inspect it the best he could. It was swelling, probably from the amount of pressure you’d been putting on your body with no breaks.

“What if I never score a goal?” You whisper, teary eyes finally meeting Matthew’s. His brows shot up, alarmed at how one of the best athletes he’s ever seen could feel the same way he felt right before his first NHL game. Matthew sits down next to you, hand on your thigh while you let out a cry, “What if I’m just a bust? Like I get there and nothing works and I suck.”

“You’ll score eventually,” Matthew scoffs, understanding how ridiculous you sounded but just how you felt at the same time, “Everyone does.”

“You scored like four games into your fucking career Matt,” You remind him, Matthew smiling a bit that you knew that to begin with. It would have been impossible not to know, or pretend like you didn’t keep a few tabs on his career. Matthew Tkachuk was a legend in the making, and whether or not you could feel butterflies in your stomach every time he dropped the gloves was a secret you’d take to the grave.

“I got suspended my first season too,” Matthew jokes, a teary eyed laugh escaping your lips, “I’d put down money you score in your first game.”

“Well good thing you have money to lose,” You sigh dramatically, the fear of fucking up still on your mind.

“You’ll find your groove, all legends do,” Matthew promises, throwing his arm around your shoulders. You snuggled into his side, a realization that he was becoming a comforting presence in your life with each passing day, “And if you don’t, you can always hide out in Canada with me.”

“Matty!” The same silly nickname Matthew introduced himself to you on your very first day of kindergarten slipped through your lips without realizing it. Matthew hadn’t been called that in ages, but it was welcome from you. You push his chest, “That’s not making me feel any better.”

“What if I told you the only reason I was so mean to you was because I was intimidated by how talented you were?” Matthew confesses, scratching your head with his fingers, “If I win a cup one day I think I owe you one.”

Matthew didn’t mention that in his wildest fantasies of raising that cup over his head, you were there. He’d owe you one and he hoped it was because you were there for him until he got there. Matthew saw it the same way every time, you’d tell him to go see his parents first but he’d fly right past them to get to you - the person who accidentally pushed him to be his best. He had plenty of daydreams about you winning too, remembering times you used to brag you’d go to the Olympics one day, and he hoped you were right. He wanted to see you succeed, more than anything, and he thought it would work.

“Legally you have to let me drink out of it,” You muse, shutting your eyes and letting yourself just rest against Matthew.

“It has to be Bud Light,” Matthew teases while watching you fake a gag. You grab his outstretched hand, letting him pull you up. His hands rested on the side of your face, eyes flickering to your lips for just a second. He wanted to kiss you, but he knew he had to wait. Wait for you to be ready. Wait for you to settle down. Or even just wait until he thought he had a real shot at forever.

Forever with you.

***

Matthew was kind of pissed off.

The press didn’t bother him, none of that mattered and at the end of the day Matthew was able to sleep at night knowing he was a good teammate and a decent person most of the time. This one got him though, some writer criticizing the A on his jersey, and how someone who plays like he does didn’t deserve a letter.

A letter he earned.

You could tell something was off, the way Matthew had been running alongside you was aggressive to say the least. He insisted he came with you, something about forcing you to take breaks. He was being your friend, even though your sisters seemed to disagree. Taryn’s words were replaying in your head, Matt doesn’t even care if I get hurt. That didn’t mean anything, those two had no idea what love was and Matthew caring about you a little bit didn’t mean he loved you. Besides, the way he was acting right now told a completely different story.

“Are you mad at me?” You finally slow down, sitting on a rock that was next to the hiking trail you were on.

“No?” Matthew stops dead in his tracks, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach that he fucked this up too, “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“No, tell me what’s wrong,” You push, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes at Matthew. You could tell he was pressed about something, his neck covered in a red flush the same way it used to.

“Some stupid article about my letter, don’t worry about it,” Matthew grits, repeating his words again. His defense was up, even after you confessed to him that you were scared of not being enough.

“Get the fuck out of here with the tough guy act Matthew,” You challenge him, poking him right in the chest, “If we’re going to be friends you need to cut that shit out.”

“You really want to hear it?” Matthew barks back, fully yelling at you, “I’m tired of people thinking I don’t deserve things because I threw a few bad hits. Do you know how it feels to have everyone think you’re shitty? No you don’t, because you’re so fucking perfect that my own parents like you more than me.”

You stood there, silent while you tried to figure out how to tell him that simply wasn’t true. His entire body was shaking, the anger coursing through his veins like you’d seen many times before that. Matthew looked like he did the first time you hit a homerun in gym class, except this time it was because that same pressure never got released. You couldn’t come close to understanding the way he probably felt. You didn’t have the comparables in your own family, the constant reminders of Brady’s points tally compared to his, let alone the career his father had.

“Matty,” You whisper, grabbing his hand and running your fingers over the scars on his knuckles, “Why is this bothering you so much?”

You were sure this wasn’t the first time someone’s said he was a pest, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the last. Matthew sighed, the better part of his brain screaming at him to stop before he lost you too.

“I’ve felt like this forever,” Matthew whispers, eyes fixated on your hand in his, “From the moment I started getting bigger, there’s just been this pressure to play a certain way and act a certain way. I was a fucking kid, and while all of my friends got to go wherever they wanted all I ever did was practice. Then I finally get to where I wanted and I’m still getting shit on.”

“Except no one thinks you don’t deserve to be where you are,” You whisper, quiet words as if you were going to startle him, “And I know it doesn’t make up for things people say, but the people who love you think you deserve it.”

Matthew nods, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. Your arms wrapped around his waist, his words mumbled against your forehead, “I needed that.”

“I know,” You nod, smiling wide up at him, “And we need to practice more because you’re too slow, soooo catch me if you can!”

You slipped out of his arms, running away with a giggle and a smile. Matthew stopped for a second, his Neanderthal brain checking out your ass while you jogged away and his more logical one trying to process what just happened.

But what mattered most was that whatever you did worked and that meant something to Matthew.

***

Just admit you think he’s hot.

You wanted to kill your sister for making this weekend harder than it had to be. You were doing a good job at just friends with Matthew until Jamie was curled up in your bed while you packed for a lake trip with your friends. She pushed it for hours, rambling on about Matthew is actually your type and Taryn swears he’d be a good boyfriend if someone just understood him. The problem was, you were starting to see her point. Matthew had a glow up a few years ago, like one summer he’d gotten home and you were infatuated with him. It used to annoy you, because he’d been such an ass to you that you hated how attractive he was. Then things changed, and now looking at him was just frustrating you. You were terrified about the way he made you feel, like everything would be okay with one look of those blue eyes and a smirk. You felt like he had your back, a vast change from how you used to feel and it was just getting hard to hide it anymore.

Especially when Matthew looked like he did right now. He was holding himself up on the dock, shoulders broad and glistening in the moonlight above you. All your friends were inside, moving their party away from the water as the night lingered on. You wanted to run your fingers through his wet curls, the temptation was almost too much.

“I’ll be in Chicago a few times you know,” Matthew hums, enjoying the time alone he was getting with you. Anytime without Brady teasing him about what the Tkachuk’s had been referring to as the hand holding incident. He didn’t want them to think he didn’t want you, because he did, but he just needed to move at his own pace.

“You want to come see me play?” You ask, leaning back on the palms of your hands. You were surprised by the kind of man Matthew had become, it was a completely different person that he used to be. He cared so much about his loved ones, and you were starting to feel like maybe you had a place there.

“Actually thinking you could come see me play,” Matthew teases, sarcasm dripping from his words. You lifted your foot up, kicking some of the water below you to splash him, but he’d caught your ankle before you could. He stopped for a moment, running a thumb over your skin, “This looks better.”

“Don’t make you admit you were right,” You whine, Matthew swiftly pulling you into the water with him. You yelp, the water way too cold for any normal person, “It’s freezing.”

“C’mere then,” Matthew grabs your waist, pulling your body against his. His hands were splayed across your back, heat radiating off of them. One of your hands was on his shoulder, your other on his chest. You could feel his heart beating quickly, his eyes locked on yours, “Middle school Matthew would be so jealous of me right now.”

“Why’s that?” You hum, running your fingers along Matthew to play connect the dots with the beauty marks on his skin.

“Because he had the biggest crush on you,” Matthew confesses, his grip on you a little tighter, as if he was afraid you’d slip right through his fingers again, “But he was too thick headed to do anything about it.”

“What about grown up Matthew?” You ask, biting your lip. Matthew was practically holding you both up in the water, pressed so close together you could hear the hitch in his breath at your question, “Is he too thick headed to do something too?”

You wrapped your legs around Matthew’s waist, pressing your lips to his and tugging on the curls at the base of his neck. He pushed you up against the dock, helping you back up and pulling himself up next to you. You grabbed the back of his neck, latching your lips back on his. His hand was on your back, fingers toying with the back of your bathing suit, “Think we can get upstairs without anyone noticing?”

Matthew was cool most of the time. He never faltered under the pressure from his career, most of the time, and he definitely didn’t fold when it came to a pretty girl. You had him in the palm of your hand, every part of his brain malfunctioning in response to your words. You bit your lip, wondering if you’d read this entire situation. Matthew rubs a thumb along your lip, “When are you going to realize I’d do whatever you asked me to?”

The two of you snuck up the stairs, giggles and stolen kisses left in your wake. You open the door, Matthew’s hands still toying your bathing suit top, “Just take it off already Matty.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Matthew breathes, his lips pressed against your neck while the garment falls to the floor, “So fucking beautiful.”

You back hit the mattress, Matthew’s hands running up your body slowly. Slow wasn’t in Matthew’s vocabulary, but he was taking his time just in case he never got this opportunity again. His fingers hooked under your bathing suit bottoms, sliding the wet fabric down your legs. You looked so beautiful, spread out just for Matthew like he’d dreamed about numerous times. His lips moved down to your breasts, teeth grazing against your skin while his tongue swirled against your nipple. You let out a breathy moan, Matthew’s ego boosting from the sound. You plucked at his curls while his mouth moved down to where you were craving him most, a gentle kiss to your clit, “Matty, please.”

“I didn’t peg you for the type to beg,” Matthew hums, pressing feather light kisses around your core. He stopped, gripping your thighs and looking up at you, “You sure about this?”

“Yes, please,” You whine, pussy dripping from Matthew’s hot breath fanning over it. Matthew chuckles darkly, fingers digging into your thighs when he flicked his tongue over your clit. You moan, completely unbothered by the blaring music a floor below you. Matthew didn’t seem to be bothered either, his tongue teasing your entrance while his nose rubbed against your clit, living for the way you were whimpering above him, “Matty-”

“Close baby?” Matthew groans, slipping a finger inside of you and curling it. You back arched, his name falling through your lips was enough to answer his question. Your legs shook, pleasure washing over your body from Matthew and all of it just felt so right. Matthew’s lips were latched to your skin until he finally met your eyes again. He smiles softly, nudging his nose with yours while you caught your breath, “So good for me.”

“Should’ve known you were that good with your mouth with the way you run it,” You tease smiling against his lips.

“Not with you, not anymore,” Matthew promises, soft blue eyes looking into yours, he meant it. He didn’t know how else to make it clearer, he wanted you. You kissed him slowly, hands trailing down his abs and stopping where his shorts hit his waist. Matthew kicks off his swim trunks, cock springing free. You grab the back of his neck, pulling your lips to his and rolling over top of him and straddling his waist. It was criminal how good you looked on top of him, “Gonna ride me babe?”

You nod, lining his dick up your core and lowering yourself on top of him. You let out a whine, Matthew’s smug smile on full display once he realized it was because of how big he was, “We don’t have to if my dick’s too big.”

“Oh shut up,” You roll your hips, watching the way Matthew’s head fell back, smirking because he really thought he had control here. Matthew’s hands gripped your waist, moving your hips faster. His finger flicked over your clit, causing you to lunge forward on top of him. Matthew flipped you over, wrapping a leg around his waist so he could hit your g-spot. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails leaving scratches Matthew was going to wear pride later. You were seeing stars, noises leaving your throat you’d never even heard yourself make, “Fuck, Matty, I’m gonna cum again.”

“Look at me,” Matthew grabs your chin, pressing his forehead against yours and watching while your eyes roll back with pleasure. Your pussy clenched around him, his own cum spilling into you from the sensation, a loud groan following. Matthew pressed a kiss to your forehead, his cock still buried inside of you, “I wasn’t bullshitting you, I mean every word Y/N.”

“Matthew,” You whisper, running a finger along his back, “The distance…”

You didn’t mention everything, the way that if this was real it meant it would end up ripping you both apart. You were set to live in a different city, Matthew all the way in another country. The way your dreams included a spot on the U.S. National team, and the idea that wanting to be with Matthew would hold you back was terrifying. The way his dreams probably meant staying in Calgary forever, a C on his jersey and a cup over his head. It wasn’t going to be easy, you weren’t ever going to be the doting girlfriend he probably needed. There would be years of travel schedules and games that overlapped, and a part of you thought that maybe Matthew wouldn’t be able to do it. You’d get a year in and he’d find someone who would be there more and finally you’d end it.

“We can make it work, baby I want you, I always have and I probably always will,” Matthew starts, baring his soul to another person for the first time in his goddamn life, “I want to support your dreams and have you be there for mine. I’m all in here, I don’t know how else to tell you.”

“Can I have some time?” You plead, holding onto Matthew’s shoulders because you knew he could leave and tell you to never speak to him again. Matthew sighs, understanding the way you were shitting yourself about starting your own professional career, remembering the way rookie Matthew would have died before he considered settling down that first year, “Please don’t leave me-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Matthew promises, rolling over and letting your rest on his chest, “I’ll wait for you.”

You smile, snuggling closer to him. Matthew didn’t sleep a minute that night, running every single scenario that could possibly happen with the two of you. Matthew was sure it would work out, it had to, because if it didn’t he wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover.

So now all he could was wait.

***

You know this is creepy right?

Matthew stares at Sam, punching his teammate in the arm lightly and telling him to shut up. He had a night off in Chicago, and after four straight hours of staring at your contact in his phone, Matthew finally just bought the tickets. He’d been good at keeping his distance, you needed space and he respected you enough to try and give it to you. He wasn’t doing so hot, Matthew consuming more soccer games than hockey games at this point. It started with your first game, because how was he supposed to just pretend like it wasn’t happening? You scored too, and it took everything in his power not to call you to tell you that not only was he right, he was insanely proud of you.

And he’d been hearing it from everyone. Your sister thought it was bullshit, Taryn and Jamie almost had Matthew on a flight to Chicago ready to show up like a terrible Lifetime movie. Brady thought it was hilarious the way Matthew was simping like this for one girl. Now, his teammates were on him, wondering why on Earth their friend who historically ran through women faster than he did mouthguards could be this hung up on someone he had a crush on in middle school.

“What number is she?” Sam asks, sipping the beer he forced Matthew to buy after making him go along with this.

“Nineteen,” Matthew smiles, pointing down at you on the field. You looked so happy, warming up with one of your teammates and a bright smile on your face. It seemed like a good fit, your team and your new city, and it made Matthew’s heart grow four sizes.

“Did she choose your number?” Sam jokes and Matthew mumbles something under his breath, “What?”

“It was her number first,” Matthew admits, not wanting to ever confess to another soul that you crossed his mind when he kept that camp number. Sam howled next to him, leaning over his seat and cracking up at his teammate.

You looked out in the crowd about halfway through the game, rubbing your eyes to make sure you weren’t seeing things. That tuft of curls was hard to miss, not to mention you knew just how big Matthew was. He was far too into the game to realize you caught him, up in arms about a call against your team that was valid but he’d argue it wasn’t. You asked for space, and it was getting harder to stick to your guns. Especially when he was making it so clear that he wanted this.

And whether or not you went to his game the next night, was a secret you’d take to the grave.

***

You were so close you could have tasted it.

While the final seconds of your season came to a close, all you could do was hold your head in your hands and hope no one caught the tears. A semi-final loss was devastating, but a semi-final loss where there wasn’t anything you could have done differently was even worse. Every athlete had off nights, a point Keith pushed right before you left to start your season, and he was right. Unfortunately, that was this game. Your biggest fear had come true and there was nothing you could do about it now. The game was over and you weren’t moving on.

And Matthew watched it.

Matthew promised you space, and he swore he’d give you the time you needed to settle down. But, this was something he couldn’t ignore. He could tell you were off, your entire rookie season was almost perfect and watching the way you folded during this game was gut wrenching. Matthew knew better than anyone, losing sucked. So he took the chance, grabbing his phone and shooting you a text he’d been waiting to send.

Doors open in Calgary.

and I’m so fucking proud of you.

It was the very last text you saw before you went to bed that night, tossing and turning for a few hours thinking about that loss. You couldn’t stop, every bone in your body was aching and you didn’t know what to do. So you bought a flight, packed your shit and was walking down the hallway to Matthew’s apartment without a second thought. You’d left him on read, calling Brady in the middle of the night and asking for his address, who gave it to you reluctantly with a reminder that if you needed to see him this badly you should rethink the needing time thing.

Matthew let out a groan when he had a bang at his door at three in the morning. Noah definitely was trying to walk into the wrong apartment again, and Matthew was grouchy when he whipped his door open. Except it wasn’t Noah after he’d had too many. It was you, teary eyed with your shit in a suitcase and a broken heart.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” You admit, whispering something you never thought you’d say to anyone, “I just didn’t do enough-”

Matthew didn’t say a word, pulling you into a bone crushing hug and holding you as tightly as he could. You didn’t need to hear it from him, about how things were out of your control and you did your best. You didn’t want that right now, you wanted him, “Baby…”

“Everything hurts,” You whimper, finally just letting it all out. You were bruised and battered from the season, the physical pain alone was enough to upset you, let alone the loss you just took. Matthew carded his fingers through your hair, letting you soak his bare chest with your tears because he wouldn’t have it any other way. You came back to him. You came back to him when things got too tough because you trusted him to bring you some peace, and he was happy about it.

You passed out sometime after that, your tears finally running dry and the exchaustion taking over your body. Matthew woke up early the next day, grateful for the optional morning skate so he could stay with you for just a little bit longer. The sun was just starting to peek through the curtains in his room, a calm snowy morning in Calgary so the city was just a bit quieter.

Matthew settled on breakfast, working away in his kitchen with the only thing he knew how to make. Tell her you made it, his mom’s words from just a few months prior in his head while he cooked. You padded out his bedroom, one of Matthew’s god awful beer shirts hanging from your frame while you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed a kiss into his back, “It’s cold here.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Matthew hums, internally pumping his fist when he felt your lips form a smile against his skin. You turned your head, pressing your cheek against his against and letting out a laugh, “What’s so funny?”

“You framed my jersey?” You ask, your eye catching a jersey that was way too familiar. It was hung up beside Matthew’s from his first all star game, both number nineteens staring back at you.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my favorite player,” Matthew hums, a blush covering his cheeks, “I’m so proud of you.”

“You keep saying that,” Matthew finally turns around, pressing a quick peck to your lips.

“I’ll keep saying it long after we both retire,” Matthew speaks, words clear and sure because he’s had plenty of time to practice this one, “I’ll say it when you win a World Cup gold, I’ll say it when we have kids, I’ll say when you play at the Olympics. I’m going to say it over and over again.”

“But…” You trail off, all of those same demons you’d been fighting when it came to your whatever this was with Matthew, “What I’m not around enough for you?”

Matthew knew what you were thinking about, he’d thought about it plenty too. There were countless sleepless nights where all he did was wonder if you’d find someone in Chicago who could support you better than he could. He’d do his best, he swore he would, but in order for you to be happy, your passion came first. There was always going to be times when he couldn’t be there and it killed him.

“You’re more than enough,” Matthew promises, his lips ghosting over yours, “I want you to seize every opportunity in the world, I just want to be there to tell you that I love you and use the goat emoji on Instagram when you do.”

You let out a laugh, Matthew’s smile wide enough to see his dimples you loved so much, “I think I want to stay a little while.”

“I think you should,” Matthew agrees, capturing your lips in his, “Besides I’m playing tonight and I think I need to show off now.”

“You’re a cocky asshole.”

“But now I’m your cocky asshole.”

***

One year Later

You had a good reason to be late.

You swore Matthew couldn’t possibly be mad at you for this one. You’d missed your flight to Calgary, a few days post a second loss in the semi finals that you’d been taking much better this time around. Mainly because Matthew wasn’t there, but his stupid smile and words of encouragement where there on facetime hours later. That wasn’t the reason you were late, the reason you were late was because you’d received the most insane news of your life and it was an important phone or that flight. You’d caught the next one, legs shaking not to just call him and share the news, but you needed to tell him in person.

You’d finally gotten by the doors to the locker room entrance, out of breath from spriting there from your cab. There was Matthew, tapping his phone and staring at the clock on his phone with furrowed eyebrows. He was still in his suit, tie pulled a little looser, a nervous habit you realized he had some time ago, “Matty-”

“Don’t call me that just because you know you’re late,” Matthew huffs, already ready for the pout that would have followed so he’d forget all about the fact that you promised you’d make it on time. He holds his hand out, waiting for the handshake he made up in the car on the way to the first game you went to after he finally locked it down. You laugh, slapping your hand against his and letting him pull you closer for a kiss.

“They want me on the National Team,” You mumble against his lips, the words spilling out of your mouth when you pull away with an excited smile. Matthew stood there stunned, while you shuffled your feet in the little dance you did when you were really happy. He grabs your cheeks, pressing kisses to your lips again and again.

“We’re celebrating after this, holy shit,” Matthew cheers, still stunned by your news, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, now go score a few goals so we have even more to celebrate,” You kiss him one more time, pushing him before the door before he was late.

“Anything I do seems unimportant now!” Matthew calls out, a light laugh to his voice as he watched you walk away to go sit in the stands.

And that’s how Matthew thought it should be.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #my writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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dixie12 · 4 years ago

Text

so much angst

why do some real work when i can write 1700 words of angsty jonny in the aftermath of pat’s 400th goal!

Jonny had spent the last three days practicing looking and sounding excited. He knew Patrick would be calling him to celebrate after his 400th goal, especially since Chicago was still mostly on lockdown, and it wasn’t like he could go out and party with the guys. He was determined not to bring Patrick down, not to make yet another conversation about him and his issues. Patrick deserved to be the center of attention, and Jonny was damn well going to give him that.

He texted with Sharpy a bit before the game, predicting when they thought Pat would score. After the frustrating loss in their last game, Jonny had has money on Patrick scoring early. Thankfully, Sharpy didn’t ask how he was feeling; he must have known that he wouldn’t get much of an answer out of Jon, anyway.

Jon watched the game with increasing tension as time wound down and Pat still hadn’t scored, his body moving unconsciously on the couch as he deked along with Patrick. When the puck finally found the back of the net, after that beautiful hesitation move, Jonny whooped in joy, throwing his arms up before he even realized what he was doing. Not like he had any neighbors to bother, though, tucked away in isolation at his cabin. He pulled out his phone and sent Patrick a quick text, even though he knew Pat would be overwhelmed with congratulations over the next few days.

Jonny pulled up Twitter and watched the goal a few more times, scrolling through reactions from the Blackhawks, NBC sports, the NHL, other Chicago athletes, and pretty much everyone involved in hockey.

As the accolades added up, a familiar heaviness settled into his chest, weighing down his excitement. Patrick was somehow getting better with age (“like a fine wine, baby,” Patrick had teased him, once), and while Jonny couldn’t be prouder of him, of what they’d accomplished together and what Patrick was continuing to accomplish on his own, he couldn’t help but compare himself to Patrick, and it wasn’t pretty.

Everyone knew that the organization was grooming Kirby to take over for him. If it hadn’t been for that freak injury at World Juniors, the kid would be out there centering the first line right now, in the spot that had belonged to Jonny since 2007. Jesus, Kirby was six when Jonny started his first game in the NHL. How was he supposed to compete with that? Sure he had the “respect of the room” and the experience, but Jonny himself had taken on the captaincy before he turned 21; there was no reason Kirby couldn’t do the same.

He tried not to check message boards too frequently, but sometimes even his willpower wasn’t enough, and he was already feeling sorry for himself, brief elation at Kaner’s goal subsumed into the ever-present anxiety he felt these days. He poured himself a few fingers of whiskey, knocking them back quickly and setting up a refill before he opened up a thread on Reddit talking about the salary cap and bad contracts.

It wasn’t as bad as what Seabrook got, but the general consensus, Jonny learned, was that he was way past his prime. There were a lot of posts that “wished him all the best” but pointed out how much cap relief the Hawks would get if Jonny never came back. “I’ll never forget what he did for Chicago, bringing hockey back with Kaner,” one poster wrote, “but Toews should recognize that his contract is a fucking albatross on the team.”

Albatross. Decline. Overpaid. Lost a step. Lost a lot of steps.

Jonny kept scrolling, barely reading the individual words anymore. Six months ago he may have laughed them off, would have turned to Pat to show him the most ridiculous comments. Now, though. He was pretty sure they were right, and he didn’t really know what to do with that.

The ringing of his phone, signaling an incoming FaceTime call, startled him out of his spiral. Oh fuck, that was Patrick. He hadn’t realized how much time he’d lost reading, nodding his head in bitter agreement as poster after poster pointed out all of his flaws.

Showtime, he told himself. This was what he’d been preparing for. He hit accept, willing his smile into something bright and natural.

“Congratulations, babe!” he said, a little too loud to his own ears. Maybe the volume would make up for any lack of enthusiasm. “That goal was a beauty, Patrick,” he continued, more quietly and more sincerely. You can do this, he repeated in his head. Do this for Patrick. Be there for him.

Patrick just stared at him for a second, worn out from the game and all the post-game media, probably, but then he broke into a grin.

“Yea, you liked that, didn’t you?” He replied, letting himself be way cockier than he’d act to the press.

“You know I did, Peeks,” Jonny told him truthfully. “Was so stressed just watching, can’t imagine how you held it together out there.”

“Just imagined you were there yelling at me, telling me to keep my head in the game. I told you to fuck off a few times, just fyi.” Patrick was still smiling, now chugging a Gatorade and stripping out of his suit while they talked.

Jonny was distracted by the broad lines of Patrick’s shoulders, his strong chest and arms now visible as Pat settled down on his bed. Without thinking, he mumbled “better get used to imagining it, man.” He felt his face flush as the words came out. Ugh he sounded pathetic. Patrick deserved so much better than this, especially tonight.

“What do you mean, Jonny?” Patrick asked immediately, languor gone, tension snapping into his muscles as he sat up.

“Nothing, nothing,” Jonny hurried to add. “You can imagine what you want, but I’m imagining being there in your bed right now,” he tried, desperate to distract Patrick and get the evening back on track.

Patrick looked like he might push it, but Jonny took his momentary silence to strip off his shirt, as well. He saw Patrick’s eyes flick down to his chest and abs, and yea, at least he was still able to work out enough that Patrick still thought he looked good.

Unless. Unless he was looking at Jonny and judging. Looking at Jonny and thinking of how much better he’d look if he were training full-time. How much better Jonny used to look, when they shared the rink and the locker room and the gym, not just each other’s phone screens.

“Jonny..” Patrick’s voice sounded hesitant. Focus up, he told himself fiercely.

“Just thinking about your goal, Pat. Gets me hot,” Jonny said suggestively, letting his voice drop lower, one hand drifting down to his chest, fingers sweeping over a nipple like Patrick liked to do.

It wasn’t the best phone sex Jonny had been a part of, though Patrick seemed to enjoy it well enough, based on how hard he came, and how quickly he hung up afterwards, telling Jonny he was about to pass out. Jonny had to work way more than usual at just getting himself hard, getting himself off, but he got there eventually, a minute or two after Patrick.

He usually slept pretty well after an orgasm, and he’d actually been jerking off more often lately just to get himself to sleep. Tonight, though, every time he closed his eyes those comment threads started running through his head. He laid in bed for close to an hour, trying to force himself to sleep before giving up, throwing off the covers and wandering into the living room.

He opened his laptop, even though he knew that if he couldn’t sleep, he shouldn’t be messing around on his computer, either. Nothing good would come of it, not at this hour.

Instead of message boards, he opened YouTube, pulling up old highlights of himself. He watched his hands, his edges. He watched himself lift the cup three times, remembering the roar of the home crowd that third time, how he felt on top of the world.

His eyes were burning, suddenly. He rubbed at them, clenching his jaw and fighting back tears. He was so tired. Tired of the uncertainty. Tired of the tests. Tired of the well-meaning questions. Tired of being left behind as Patrick continued to exceed all expectations. He didn’t cry, not quite, but it was a close thing. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, breath coming in gulps as he fought for control of his body.

He spent the rest of the night like that, sleep never quite finding him, but not really awake, either.

The doorbell rang at 7:00, making him jump. Only a few people even knew where he was, and none of them should be showing up this early on a random Monday morning. He stumbled to the door, the old afghan from his couch wrapped around his shoulders. He was probably a mess, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

He opened the door slowly, not sure who to expect, and then he saw the flash of Patrick’s curls. Patrick shouldered in, not even waiting for Jonny to finish opening the door.

“Patrick, what-” he started, but Patrick cut him off right away.

“Jesus, Jonny, you look terrible,” he said, reaching one arm out as he spoke, pulling Jonny in towards him. Jonny tripped, feet heavy with exhaustion, but Pat supported him like it was nothing. “You’re still a terrible actor, man. You were messed up last night, don’t even try to lie.”

Jonny didn’t know what to say to that, brain moving too slowly. Patrick was here. The Hawks had a three day break, their last one of the shortened season, and instead of getting some rest, or maybe seeing his family, Patrick was here. He wasn’t even sure how Patrick had managed to get here this early in the morning.

“How,” he tried again, but Patrick just tugged him in tighter.

“Shhh, Jonny,” he said, stroking one hand over Jonny’s neck. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet. Let’s just get you to bed.” Patrick started walking Jonny back towards the bedroom, steering with the weight of his hand on Jonny’s neck.

They stripped quietly, not bothering with pajamas. Patrick settled them on their sides, facing each other, foreheads almost touching. Jonny finally felt his body relax, muscles sinking into the bed. Here in this space, sharing breath with Patrick, he let the tears come.

#blackhawks fic #1988 #kazer #o captain my captain #angst #just to be safe #tw: depression #jonny is having a rough time #pat is here to make it better #get well soon jonny

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theepoetrygod · 5 years ago

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Things I Love in Wrestling Pt. 2

I love a great rivalry. Whether it be fueled by emotion, storytelling, or just flat-out competition, a great rivalry gives us wrestling fans a reason to love what goes on in the squared circle. Here are some honorable mentions:

Shawn Michaels vs Triple H

This is one of the main examples of enemies to friends to lovers in the wrestling world. They fought wars against each other, banded together to fight wars against others in the ring, and had spectacular matches in their singles careers. This rivalry constantly has people debating who was the better man, but what us undeniable is that this feud was red hot. Notable matches in their rivalry would Armageddon '02, Survivor Series '02, and Bad Blood '04.

Kane vs Undertaker

The old saying goes that nobody wins when the family feuds, but I'll be damned if the fights aren't entertaining. Bump and Boo the Spooky Two, aka Kane and Undertaker, were brothers from Parts Unknown who had amazing in ring work rates. Just like Triple H vs HBK, Kane and Taker were friends, enemies, and brothers. In all three of those aspects, the two had great matches. Their prime has since passed, but their impact is felt forever in the hearts of wrestling fans. Their best matches were at Wrestlemania 20, as well as a few episodes of Smackdown from '06-'08.

And now on to some of my favorites!

Lita vs Trish Stratus

(Left to right: Lita, Trish Stratus)

Two generational wrestlers with completely different styles, Lita and Trish Stratus have participated in amazing feuds in their careers. During a time when the women of WWE were (sometimes) treated like dogs, these two were at the forefront of why women's wrestling was important. Other game changers in the 2000s include Jazz, Mickey James, and Gail Kim. Their most notable match was at Wrestlemania X-8 in Toronto, Ontario, Canada for the Women's Championship (pictured).

The Four Horsewomen vs Each Other

(Left to right: Bayley, Sasha Banks, Charlotte Flair, Becky Lynch)

Moving from the Ruthless Aggression Era to the NXT Era, these four women revolutionized women's wrestling in NXT. Before them, NXT was recognized as WWE's developmental brand where wrestlers went when they weren't good enough to work on Raw and Smackdown. After them, NXT was recognized as Smackdown and Raw's equal and a proper third brand. One of the reasons why? The Four Horsewomen. They've had singles matches, tag matches, title matches, Wrestlemania matches, and as of May 14th, 2020, one (1) fatal four way match involving them. I honestly implore you to watch this rivalry. Starting in NXT back in 2014 to the present day, the Four Horsewomen are a beacon of hope in a sport that, at times, seems extremely bleak as far as storylines. The most notable matches are Sasha Banks vs Bayley for the NXT Women's Championship at NXT Takeover Brooklyn 1, Becky Lynch vs Charlotte in a Last Woman Standing Match for the Smackdown Women's Championship at Evolution 1, and Sasha Banks vs Charlotte at Hell in a Cell 2016.

Also, congratulations to Becky Lynch on your pregnancy, here's to your years of service, have an amazing maternity leave! 🍾

Keith Lee vs Dominik Dijakovic

(Left to right: Dominik Dijakovic, Keith Lee)

How to describe this feud in tumblr terms...? Ah! I got it!

Big Beefy Bois Doing Things That Beefy Bois Shouldn't Be Able To Do.

The most recent example of Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better, Dijakovic and Lee started lighting up NXT last year, and have put on entertaining matches every time they step into the ring.

This feud has everything: Mutual respect, likeable characters, fan support, and most of all, really really good wrestling. Every match of their matches are amazing, watch all of them.

Shane McMahon vs Vince McMahon

This rivalry has a lot of layers that honestly make it seen like a fever dream. Here's some of them:

Infidelity

Buying the competition

Treating Trish Stratus like a dog

Levels of resentment that are ABSOLUTELY MENTAL

And the worst example of father-son bonding

This storyline is a soap opera from start to finish, and if you're a fan of twists and turns, this is the one for you. Their blowoff match was a Street Fight at Wrestlemania X-7 in Houston, Texas, but the entire feud is absolutely bananas.

The Rock vs Stone Cold Steve Austin

Moving from one Attitude Era rivalry to another, it's the most electrifying game of You Think That's Good? Hold My Beer. A lot of people only know The Rock as a movie star, but he was also an excellent wrestler. His matches were amazing, his promos were breathtaking, and the one wrestler to truly match that energy is Stone Cold. Austin also cut great promos, his best one coming after he won King of the Ring in 1996. The crowd reactions when they walk out is like nothing else, and there's nothing that has come close to it ever since. Their notable matches being the Wrestlemania Trilogy at 15, X-7, and 19 (pictured).

Tomasso Ciampa vs Johnny Gargano

(Left to right: Tomasso Ciampa, Johnny Gargano)

From the greatest Attitude Era rivalry to NXT's portrayal of Friends to Enemies to Lovers to Enemies again, Gargano vs Ciampa is the greatest story in NXT.

They burst onto the scene as Projecy DIY, a tag team that lit the yellow brand on fire. The two wrestlers were over like rover with the fans, but could never quite win the big one. During their run, Gargano and Ciampa had a one on one match during the first Ceuiserweight Classic, with Ciampa winning. This where the dissention started to show. They won the tag titles at NXT Takeover Toronto, and all was safe... for now. At NXT Takeover Chicago 1, they lost the titles, and Project DIY was over. And so began the greatest rivalry in NXT history. Through injury, emotion, and immaculate storytelling, this is an Oscar-winning piece of wrestling history.

Just like Lee vs Dijakovic, all their matches are great, and the storyline is like no other.

And that's some of my favorite wrestling rivalries! What are some of yours? Let me know!

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roscoe-me-and-this-fuckin-kid · 5 years ago

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My Ryden Recs

not in any particular order

The Heart Rate of a Mouse Series (11/10)

~513k words

Ryan "Heterosexual" Ross and his incredibly popular prog rock band, The Followers, start their summer tour for their new hit album "Boneless" in June of 1974. However, Ryan begins to take a shine to their new roadie, the ever mysterious Brendon No-Last-Name-Given, who dodges questions about his past and flaunts his flamboyant homosexuality. After an assault by a member of the supporting act, Brendon and Ryan get their payback, and begin to bond. But much to Ryan's confusion and alarm, he starts to want something he can't let himself have, starts to feel something he can't let himself feel.

--Okay I kinda lied. This list is in no particular order EXCEPT for this one. This one is the best. Anna Green owns my ass. I'm not someone who's picky about first vs third person, but if you are, then just this once throw that out the window and read this utter masterpiece. Ryan's character development throughout is so touching, but my god he fucks up a lot. One of my friends who has gone through the process of buying the physical copies and annotating them says that Ryan majorly fucks up over 50 times. Emotional rollercoaster straight ahead!--

Freaks (7/10)

~45k words

Ryan's face was permanently disfigured when he was 12 years old, and since then, the only person who has ever stood by his side is his best friend Spencer. After earning the nickname "Freak" in high school, he finally accepts that nobody will ever want him, or ever treat him normally again. But after an accident that lands him temporarily in the hospital, he meets Brendon. They get along great, and Ryan begins to fall in love. One small problem though:

Brendon had been recently blinded. Neither of them know if it's permanent, and Ryan is sure that if Brendon knew about his face, he would leave him forever.

--I really liked this one. It makes you sit on edge and every single time you think that Ryan will finally confess and tell the truth, he blue balls you like an asshole. This story is so sad and so sweet, I definitely recommend. Also, there's some background Joncer, which is really cute. Definitely a worthy read if you're looking for some angsty fluff. Oh, and a little aside: the author, spazzyskittles on LJ, actually beta-ed a lot of Anna Green's Ryden fics, including THROAM! So do with that what you will ;)--

The Red Eyed Owl Series (10/10)

~403k words

As one of the best players of one of the best National Hockey League teams, the Chicago Hounds, Ryan Ross has everything he could ever want. Young, famous, and free to do whatever he damn well pleases, the world either wants him or wants to be him. But after a leg injury that could potentially ruin his career, Ryan begins to realise that perhaps he doesn't have everything. Perhaps some things can mean so much more than women throwing themselves at you every chance they get and receiving bottomless drinks at sports bars. Perhaps he could fall in love.

--This was actually recommended to me by @wandering-verses and it was 100% worth the read. I broke out crying in the middle of class during the second book, and I cried again at 3 am when I stayed up all night to finish it. It's one of those that fucks you up so bad that you can't read anything else for a little while after finishing. Now, both the authors are from Spain, so English isn't their native tongue, but it's so well written that I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't read the notes at the very beginning. An all time Ryden fave.--

Missing In Action (10/10)

~204k words

In where the American Civil War goes differently, the nation once known as the United States of America is instead separated into two: DURA and Beauregia. The latter didn't change much in terms of their economy. Slavery is still legal, and the kingdom is ruled under a tight, Christian monarchy. Their king is Boyd Beauregard. His only son, crown Prince Brendon Beauregard, heir to the throne, resides in the highly respected Saint Francis' Academy. DURA on the other hand developed quickly, a democracy founded on new technology and equitable ideals.

Everyday, bipartisanship seems farther away from grasp, and DURA, realising that cooperation is impossible, creates the DURA investigative bureau. Identifying the crown prince as the Royal Family's weakest link, they realise that he could become an infinitely invaluable asset to them. Agent Ross, under the pseudonym "Ryan Hastings", is chosen to go undercover, enroll in Saint Francis' boarding school, infiltrate the Prince's friend group, and gain his trust by any means necessary.

--I'm ashamed to admit that I let this one pass me by for a while. I read the words "American Civil War" and I automatically assumed that this would be a mid 1800's Civil War fic about closeted gay soilders, and I'm not against that, but the premise didn't really interest me. But once I finally caved and started reading, I quickly realised not only was the premise entirely different, but it was really fuckin' good. Read this!!!!--

Esoteric Contagion (8/10)

~18k words

He wakes up with a note stuck to his forehead that reads, “You traded your memory in a spell. It was worth it.” The note is signed George Ross. He wonders if that’s his name.

In which things are lost and gained and remembered and forgotten, in that order.

--Despite being the shortest on this list, I loved it to death. You will cry so hard, I promise. This story is so sad. The author can deal so many shocking blows in less than 20,000 words, and you will be completely invested. I don't want to spoil anything, but it's massively underrated, and it will fuck you up.--

Two Vatos Locos Series (7/10)

~311k words

When you have your first dream with your soulmate, everything changes. But after years and years of watching all his friends have their dreams and fall in love, Ryan started to wonder if he would ever has his dream. At twenty, Ryan started to get desperate. He went to doctors, therapists, even a fucking palm reader. No one could tell him what was wrong with him. There was only one explanation: his soulmate had to be dead.

Ryan spent endless hours laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, begging, wishing, praying to have his dream and meet his soulmate. One day, with blood gushing down his face and vomit coating his tongue, his prayers were finally answered.

And now, as he stares at this scared, helpless boy, with bloodied rope burns around his wrists and tears staining his cheeks, he wishes that they never were.

--The title "Dos Vatos Locos Lleno de Carnalismo y Inamorates" roughly translates to "Two Crazy Dudes Full of Carnality and Infatuation," which is definitely accurate. I did enjoy this fic; it was cute, sad, and very interesting, but if you are interested in reading, you will need to be patient at times. Some passages seem like filler and the writing in a few places is kinda dry or cringey. But it's still overall a good story though. WARNING: Brendon is underage for most of this fic, but nothing sexual happens until he is of age.--

The Way Home From Nowhere Series (9/10)

~158k words

After his parents find out about his relationship with another boy, Brendon Urie makes a snap decision to flee from his abusive home. After a quick makeover to hide his identity, he decides to thumb a ride. He starts living the life he never even dreamed he could. Talking openly about things like sex, condoms, and homosexuality- he's happier then he's ever been.

There's one problem though.

His new roommates, Ryan and Spencer, have no idea that he is the missing Mormon boy from the nearby town of Summerlin.

--Ladies and gents, welcome to my first ever Ryden fic! This will always be a favourite of mine. Both Brendon's arc and Ryan's are are so heartbreaking, and there were so many times that I wanted to reach into the story and give Dallon a hug. So many tragedies in this story, and not all of them solved. I don't have any empathy for Brendon's parents in this story, but I feel so hard for his siblings, and for Marc. I just wish they knew. This story is so heartbreaking and yet so happy. Will play with your emotions like they're a shiny new toy.--

Filthy Lucre (10/10)

~362k words

Ryan Ross is living the American wet dream. He’s rich, he’s good looking, he gets paid just to turn up at parties and he spends his days drinking, doing drugs and climbing into bed with eager and willing boys and girls. His parents and PA beg him to quit, and his brother turns up his noise at his destructive lifestyle, but Ryan is desperate to sink into the void, escape the memories of what his father's friend did to him when he was fifteen.

Brendon Urie is a man bordering on desperation. He whores himself out to millionaire bankers and CEOs to fund his boyfriend's heroin addiction and pay off his ungrateful father's medical bills. Things could be worse, though. He's lucky enough to have a roof over his head, to be living with the love of his life, to no longer have to hook on the street, but instead be privileged enough to turn tricks in the wealthy circles of Wall Street and Goldman Sachs.

Where a broken boy meets another broken boy, and falls in love.

--Normally, I would never recommend an unfinished fic, let alone fic that hasn't been updated in four years, unless it was it was so good and so engaging that it made me literally scream. Trust me when I say that you have not experienced true hatred until you read this fic. I have literally never hated a character more in my entire life, and I know who Dolores Umbridge is, for reference. The best thing about this fic, in my opinion, is that the characters, whether good guys or bad guys, do evil. And they do it on purpose. Because the characters feel and act as though they're real, and real people fucking suck.--

The Black Rose Season (8/10)

~158k words

Ryan Ross' life is essentially over when his scholarship is inexplicably cancelled and he will be forced to pay his way through school. As a young, broke college student, Ryan is desperate to find cash fast, but to no avail. Just when he thinks all hope is lost, a mysterious benefactor promises to pay his tuition in full, on one condition: Ryan is infiltrate Sigma Chi Beta, the most prestigious and cultish fraternity that Swan University has to offer. And if, by some miracle, Ryan succeeds, his mission is clear:

Befriend Brendon Urie, fellow Swan Sigma, and, more importantly, alleged leader of Sigma Chi Beta's secret society, which might not even exist. He is to document his findings, and send them to his benefactor. One small problem though: Brendon fucking hates his guts.

--Did I mention that Anna Green owns my ass? Because Anna Green owns my ass. This one is so fleshed out, and there are some moments where it really spikes you in the chest. Every time that Patrick comes onto the page, my interest piques, and I remember That One Scene™ that completely changed my perspective of him (You'll understand once you read). Besides... college AU? Secret societies? Betrayal? Enemies to lovers? Sexual tension? Need I say more?--

I have more fics to recommend if you guys like this list, so tell me if you want more fic recs

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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learning to be silent (multi) — chapter one - Roza

[ summary ] : figure skating is a tough sport and the reality of the situation is beginning to hit the fan for all the skaters: old and new as grand prix qualifications begin and winter olympic prep is upon them, some crack under the pressure while some are simply happy to be living their passion in full throttle. ( figure skating au )

[ author's note ] : this is a figure skating au and not a yoi au btw!!! I think the show is great, this is just its own original thing and has nothing to do with the show, hope y'all enjoy and the world and tags will definitely grow as chapters progress, have to give a shout-out to @freykitten on tumblr who really helped me develop some good concepts !! enjoy xx — lily.

AO3 / My Tumblr / (*˘︶˘*).｡*♡

— ✧*。

"Again!"

Shea shook her head, feeling a deep sense of disbelief run through her veins as she adjusted the sleeves of her jacket as she pulled down her black leggings to her Edea skates, making sure to hit her leg and have it tightly fit, her and Trinity consistently argued on the ice, even in competition season, if pulling your leggings down to your skates really have you the look and attraction of longer legs.

Her skate's lifted off the ice as she circled around the center of the rink, unable to focus with Grand Prix qualifications starting soon, she had qualified her way through which with American skating being so overcrowded and packed with talent, wasn't easy.

"Don't get in your head girl, you have to be in France next week." Trinity spoke up from the sides of the rink, leaning against Detox who stood with her arms crossed, rubbing her partner's shoulders even though she wore Detox's own lavendar jacket with her initials engraved that Alaska had bought her when they made it to the senior team. "Shea, don't be so tense just wait until the Olympic qualifications in a few months for that, stop stressing!"

The Chicago native gave a thumbs up to indicate she was listening but truthfully, how could she? Internationaux de France this year was a complete madhouse and was considered the blood bath qualifying round of the season. That damn paper had so many suprisingly good rookies and seasoned professionals it physically made Shea sink into their break room couch when she found out on the livestream her and Trixie watched from their training rink.

Internationaux de France Entries (Ladies) :

—

Australia: Courtney Act

Canada: Brook Lynn Hytes

China: Yuhua Hamasaki

Norway: Thorgy Galligan

Russia: Jinkx Monsoon, Sasha Velour

Spain: Shuga Cain

USA: Shea Couleé, Aquaria Coady, Adore Delano

—

"Shea, get into position, please." Bob spoke up, her coach spoke up as she got back to her spot near the rink, watching closely though the frustration building on her skater's face was visible as can be and she bitterly groaned, "Yes, I know, got it!"

Bob frowned seeing Shea so abrasive, it wasn't like her to lash out even in small doses unless someone really was pissing her off and deserved it or she was stressed: Bob knew it was the latter and didn't take it too personal considering what an athletic ball of energy she was when she was still a competitive skater.

"Play!" She instructed to Detox who nodded and pressed play on the phone, already hooked up to the rink's speakers and ready to use.

Shea had begged, had pleaded, had absolutely driven Bob to madness since her junior years to finally use Moulin Rouge as her long program music, her short program was strong as is but they always stuck a bit more traditional in that route but the long program was completely and utterly her own choice of style and music, as long as her coach approved which she luckily, finally did.

"Bitch, I always wanted to do Sparkling Diamonds, this ain't fair!" Trinity moaned about as Detox snickered, holding her hand as they stood watching intently. Trinity trained with Bob since her junior years but Detox was simply here for support and a visit, the American skaters usually mixed and mingled with eachother's rinks, not too serious when competition was overwhelming.

Shea breathed in deeply, a cross across her chest before she felt the music in her, she knew the song for years and years, as if she didn't completely obsess over the musical when she was a teenager, it seemed to come truly full circle once her competition dress had been designed and sent to her: it was stunning, completely stoned with crystals as most dresses were and had impeccable craftsmanship, short sleeved and looked just like a reimagining of Madonna's iconic "Material Girl" outfit which is what Shea was going for.

Pink, White and Iridescent shimmers, it definitely helped her gain some momentum with the song.

Being a senior for over five years had taught her a lot, she had won two international competitions, won over ten national ones and somehow managed to beat Katya Zamolodchikova, Russia's IT girl for a silver medal in Worlds though it was now retiree and coach, Morgan McMichaels who took gold, her biggest achievement since she hadn't qualified for the Olympics yet.

Her main goal of the season was to finally get that damn quad down, all the Russian juniors could do it yet eighty percent of all Senior skaters couldn't, it was both incredible and terrifying.

Some of the girls she knew personally in good and in bad ways, she loved Adore and knew Bianca was always a coach to take in advice from, Aquaria was just entering her first season as a senior but everyone had known her for years, she was Sharon's daughter after all and Sharon Coady was the absolute beacon of hope when it came to coaches, she was the coach international girl's wanted.

Courtney and Brooke were all business and bustling with talent though Courtney had a reputation in the sport as someone who couldn't keep a secret or go one competition without complaining about bias judging, Brooke was simply serious and didn't like to speak too much in interviews and kept to herself which Shea could respect.

Sasha she knew of extremely well. She was stunning, Shea was jealous of how one girl could possibly be so damn beautiful and intelligent. She had been watching her in senior competition's since she became a part of the Russian senior team at 16, she could do just about every trick in the book but everyone watched her for her style and how beautifully she portrayed a story on ice. She was the one to beat along with Katya (who was always fiercely competition) and almost all the Russian girls.

Focusing on her triple axel she skated forward waiting for the cue of the music, attempting to stay completely engulfed in character before slamming her toe pick and jumping, rotating and landing backwards as she glided, arms open. Judging by Trinity's loud scream she either did incredible or underrotated it yet again.

She finished on a high note with claps from Detox and Trinity, Bob gesturing her over as she skated towards the wall of the ice rink, "So was it great or just good again?" She managed to ask before Bob snickered, nodding, "You were great in technique, which is good, but now I'm worried you aren't giving enough of yourself in the story, the character, I'm just surprised because that's usually what you do best."

It was very true and blunt, Shea wasn't known for the cleanest and prettiest lutz or axel jumps (hey, she still did them!) but she racked up presentation points like absolutely nobody's business.

"Well shit." The reply came before she apologized for cursing, it still felt weird even though she was an adult to curse in front of her coach, she truthfully felt like a junior again. "Take ten minutes and then I want to run both back to back, I need you to realize how different your music is and how to get into character." Bob walking off to go and get some hot tea, offering Detox who politely declined to jump onto the ice over the wall, yelling.

Trinity shook her head as she took of a sip of her iced tea bottle, walking over to Shea once she put her skate guards on, touching her friend's hands with their gloves still on, Shea only did it for costume purposes but Florida born and raised Trinity wasn't too keen yet on the cold, any costume she could wear gloves with she completely gushed over just because it was more warm.

"You're gonna do absolutely amazing, you know I'm coming to France already, I finished my competition and now I need you to beat my score and continue the journey to the Grand Prix."

Trinity had skated a week prior in Skate Canada, she placed fifth which wasn't what ideally she hoped for, the minimum score for qualification was 142.5 in Ladies Single skating and she had managed a 179.9 but she had taken a nasty fall in her short and did not recover too well after that but she still had a chance, a tiny, itty bitty chance though she simply moved on from it the day after once she cried into Alaska's shoulder for a straight hour knowing her chances were completely diminished.

"Focus on the Olympics, that's where it matters."

Detox skated around, aimlessly, doing a scratch spin in the center of the ice before letting herself sit completely wide open on the floor, the ice was nice and clean and private, the price you paid for that was worth it to have time without other skaters. "So, have you heard about Katya?"

"Heard what?"

"She quit on her coach, she's moving to Trixie's training camp over in Michigan, she got so aggravated finally that she literally up and left."

Shea gasped, impressed it took that long, she knew it was bound to happen she had heard multiple stories of how awful Russian skaters were treated by the large and in charge coaches, subjected to extremely harsh diets, training constantly, the media ate it up even if it was unfortunately true in some circumstances.

"So that means she's with Chad now?"

Detox nodded, Chad was a coach legend, he coached some of the best including Bob, Bianca and Morgan though their relationship got extremely tense and messy once the Scottish skater, now coach, blamed her career ending injury on Chad, who now would only beat herself up over the damn thing.

"That's good, I think he needs someone just as ambitious and witty as Morgan on her grounds again."

"We'll see, I think she'll crack under the new expectations and routine."

*.✧

Katya slammed the door of her St. Petersburg condo and cursed, wanting to burst into tears, unable to take any of it anymore. She had been living here for almost four years after Lobnya and opened her eyes and extra room to Sasha, a sweet and endearing girl who had since become her younger sister figure, she didn't have a wonderful support system so the older skater took it upon herself to make sure she was taken care of though she was soon to relocate alone and closer to the rink.

Sasha was never an issue, she was perfect, an angel, she was never ever yelled at in camp or at training, she was known as "Саша, дорогая" ( Sasha, darling ) for a damn reason, she did everything with no complaints yet was selfless and always stuck up for her fellow skaters who were ill, younger, struggling.

"What's wrong?" She asked with her nose in her textbooks, Sasha was still determined to finish her schooling one day though it probably wouldn't come soon with her fame and success.

"I quit."

Instantly her book was shut and the blonde looked up, her thick hair parting in front of her face as she nervously questioned what exactly that response exactly meant, "What— what, do you mean by that?" .

"I called him a fucking pig in front of the seniors, I threw my gold medal at him and then took my skates off and left, I called someone who had been interested in me for years to coach me and she immediately offered me a yes and it includes housing, I'm moving to America to train."

Sasha's entire face bleached white, she had no one else she was close to besides Jinkx who was always with another coach than she was and it was unsettling to think about the scene and commotion she must have caused and how it reflected on Sasha who they all called her darling "sister". Katya's hands anxiously ran down her arms, "I can't do this anymore Sasha, I'm turning to drugs again and I can't do that during competition season, I promised I'd be sober to and fuck!" She yelled, throwing her skates across the room as she stared at her own reflection in the large glass panel windows that adorned her comfortable living room, a view of the city perfectly placed.

The other blonde reached out to touch her shoulders and give her a soothing hug, knowing the extent of her history with issues like drugs and alcohol and knowing she was better than this, than to train in America. "Katya, Let's talk, please..." yet she was stopped with a firm slap on her wrist.

"Я не хочу с тобой разговаривать!" She screamed at Sasha, eyes completely ablaze with frustration, the younger skater quickly froze and closed her eyes, breathing slowly and took it in, she wasn't sensitive to someone screaming, she was just surprised Katya had finally reached such a breaking point she managed to yell at her own sister. Katya quickly snapped from her complete alternative reality and groaned at herself, "Sashi, I'm so sorry." She whispered before taking the younger girl in her arms who's eyes were puffing and red, sniffles once her face hit the Russian's national team jacket.

"I didn't mean to scream at you, I'm so sorry." Her apology soft as her fingers ran through the blonde's hair who cried on her chest, mumbling how awful it would be in Russia without her everyday which Katya responded with a firm, "But Sashi, we will always have camps and competitions and off seasons."

"Are you coming to France?"

What a stupid question.

"Of course I am, Sashi, nothing is going to change between us, I'm simply taking my training somewhere else and changing my coach. I still represent and compete for Russia!" She laughed while hugging her closest friend and roomie.

Sasha nodded and let go of her grasp before clearing her throat, "Good, I want to win extremely bad." Katya scoffed, "You act as if any of those other girls even have a chance against you." The younger girl felt her face light up as she clutched her phone close to her chest, "Well actually, there is one American skater who is really, really great and she's so beautiful to..." Katya nervously snapping at her face, "Don't let me lose you to a crush on an American skater, who even is it?"

"It's Shea, the same one who got second at World's three years ago."

The memory definitely stung hard, Katya had never wanted so badly to be top of the podium especially since it was Morgan's last skate before unexpected retirement. Shea was extremely hard working and talented but she was still competition and shouldn't pose Sasha a threat judging by their pure program components.

"Jesus Christ, out of every girl you're going to crush on it has to be her?"

Sasha moaned In disbelief at her response, "Crush?! She is simply competition and I admit her style, she's extremely beautiful and I will respect her from a distance." That sounded like a promise but something in the Russian's heart raced at the programs she had already done and that were uploaded to various social media's, she never took time to really know most other skaters but followed her on Instagram, not expecting much of a response back but instead she indeed returned the follow, there was at the very least a small respect for eachother hidden under all the competition.

"You keep on telling yourself that, now help me pack, I'm flying out in two days."

*.✧

Stress wasn't exactly the first word that Aquaria had hoped would come to mind when thinking about her first senior competition but how could it possibly not, now it was a completely ballgame and she had nothing but experienced and fierce competition, Adore being there with her made a bit less worried with press and interviews even if her own mother was coming since she was her coach, of course.

Her "mom" of over seven years had vied for her to finally become a senior and represent America after she permanently moved from Milan, passion blazing and talent endless. Sharon was beyond happy to have her newfound "daughter" with her at every corner though she still had other skater's to focus on but it was definitely difficult to not put blantant favoritism towards your own daughter, let's be completely honest.

"You ready for France?" Alaska asked the younger girl as she tightly pulled on her skate's laces, Aquaria shook her head, pulling her platinum hair into a high ponytail so the strands of hair would be away from her face while she trained, pulling her leggings over her skates as she responded with a nervously riddled, "Not really, I have some really huge competition and I don't know if I'm exactly up to the level yet, no matter what she has to say." Referring to Sharon who always placed her cards down for Aquaria to succeed and she dominated the junior level for a long time but now it was serious and where it counted, her entire career started here.

Alaska wrapped an arm around her shoulders and nodded, remembering the days of her first starting qualifications at the senior level, she had still an extremely controversial skating style and range of music, she never liked the classical music done over and over again. She'd rather skate to Stevie Nicks than to fucking Carmen for the fifth time straight like some of her competitors. Adore Delano was the same way and it made for them to become great friends, even if it felt as if they were intentionally underscored for their taste in genres.

"Well, your style is beautiful and the judges will appreciate it, make it to the damn Grand Prix girl!" Slapping her shoulders she helped the shorter and younger girl from the bench as she walked by Sharon, her black skate guards over the blade as she leaned into the crook of her neck, "Does it feel weird to see how far she's come?" The whisper making the coach jump a bit but she chuckled in response.

"It is, this is how life works though, I'm just hoping it's a good first impression for her, she deserves it."

Alaska took her hand and smiled, "You worry too fucking much." She mumbled, Sharon kissing her hand and tightly keeping the hold of her fingertips, interlocking them as she continued on with Aquaria who had been staring at them and smiling to herself, she always understood the extent of their "friendship" as Sharon put it though she wasn't an idiot: kissing her hand constantly, holding her waist, being extra touchy during training and ice time, showing up to practices and competitions with well covered bruises and hickey's.

"Alright, play!" She yelled to Latrice who gave a smile and nodded, letting the phone begin it's track as Aquaria molded into starting position, center of the ice as always.

Her program was a difficult one, in terms of components she had the most though Sasha Velour, her biggest competition, still had more quad's and bigger points to rack up though Aquaria was attempting a quad lutz finally out of the harness, if she was going to win she needed to atleast begin measuring up to her Russian competitors who always seemed an entire staircase above the rest of the skaters when it came to jumps and tricks though Aquaria wasn't sure she would ever sacrifice her sanity for a medal.

Sharon had brainstormed with her at home, on the counter nonetheless what the theme of her program should be, she said it was always the most important thing to consider because it helped with performance. Alaska had unsuprisingly chosen Rebellion and Aquaria went with Dreams, an odd choice but she liked the concepts and her songs.

Short program to Oh So Quiet by Björk, Long program was a medley they put together for Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty, trying to make it cohesive and Aquaria certainly liked the mix. Her original plan was to do some songs from Chicago but Alaska begged her not to so they could do it for the exhibition gala's together claiming they'd look basic but amazing.

The key to a good performance truthfully was just embodying the song, the skating and skill would follow that but if you couldn't even get the message or portrayal of the song what was the point, certain skaters would utterly destroy the others in technical score and fall flat on performance, on the look and energy.

Sharon breathed deeply seeing Aquaria stumble just a bit on the opening jump, "Arms straight out!" She yelled as the blonde adjusted, performing a layback spin and turning on her skate with the back outside edge and slamming her toe pick into the ice before performing her quad lutz with success, smiling in pure delusional happiness hearing Alaska utterly scream in support before she tuned her out and continued the program, trying not to let it get to her head when she still had other elements to perform.

The end was always the hardest, to maintain momentum and wrap the program up in a gift wrapped present with the bow on top, this song luckily was a fun one and had a lot of indication in the beats placed on the music where to hit certain poses, positions and when to jump.

Finishing with a clean salchow and camel spin, ending in the center where she started though she finished on her knees, it wasn't the most pleasant but it got the feeling of the song she wanted so it was her artistic direction for this one and not Sharon's.

"Yes!" Sharon yelled laughing clapping, Alaska cheered on her teammate with pride and joy, "So fucking good." She groaned before attempting to run with skates on to choke Aquaria in a tight hug, Sharon joining in on the hug, feeling pride though she had her stumbles and her edges could definitely be improved but she had the charisma, the jumps, even got the quad she wanted.

"The edges are a bit rough but we can work on that, I'm so proud." Sharon breathed on her neck as they embraced as a mother and daughter pair did, Alaska rolled her eyes, she knew it was Sharon's damn job to nitpick every small thing in her programs however, especially since this was Aquaria and someone she took care of personally: she wanted to do the best she possibly could with the competition that laid ahead.

"Now get off, Alaska and I have to work since she's been a lazy bitch."

Aquaria didn't complain at the chance to take a break, get water and unlace her skates, quickly getting off the ice as Alaska hopped on, circling the ice rink as she hummed, running movements in her head. Alaska had drawn the Rostelecom Cup and was beyond glad that Detox had as well so she couldn't feel as alone propped in her hotel room.

"Latrice please!" Sharon yelled at the girl who gave a nod before pressing play again, this time Sharon was on the ice so she could help Alaska out more with tracking the number, she looked to be marking it constantly and that was worrysome enough.

"Are you following me because you're so in love with me you simply can't stay away?" A kiss pressed to her lips, hands on her cheeks while Aquaria was turned away, Sharon licked her lips and laughed, "Wish it was, you just aren't skating very great right now."

Alaska was taken back just a bit but shook it off, knowing how much belief Sharon had in her to succeed even with her odd music choices, she was a performer and she averaged a bronze medal almost every competition, it was still atleast some kind of money, achievement and medal. They had known eachother since their childhood in Pennsylvania. Sharon might have been about four years older and a coach now but that didn't mean Alaska still didn't mind on reminiscing the days they both skated together on Chad's team of established skaters.

"Wait until my costume, I'll be completely galvanized and in perfect character." She promised with a sly wink before stretching out her arms and going in the center, Aquaria watching with curiousity. She always enjoyed Alaska's blantant disregard for what the judges wanted in her music and skating, claiming she was too athletic which Alaska called out as bullshit, they just didn't like she wasn't a pretty ice princess doing Don Quixote or Schindler's List and actually had variety in genre.

The ISU still approved all her music programs for competitions which was all she cared about. Sharon fought diplomatically as she could when it came to Coaches and Media bashing Alaska's skating.

I'll win a medal and then you'll finally be proud of me.

#rpdr fanfiction #sashea #detox x trinity #shalaska #sasha velour #shea coulee #trinity taylor #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #bob the drag queen #aquaria #katya zamolodchikova #lesbian au #figure skating au #learning to be silent #roza #concrit welcome #detox icunt

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club40audio · 5 years ago

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The Olde Towen Buffet

I will be posting, Chapter by chapter, my #Lovecraftian #CosmicHorror #Horror Novel “The Olde Towen Buffet” If you enjoy what you are reading, I encourage you to get ahead of the curve and buy the complete book for $5 (Kindle, $15 in print), or read it #Free on #KindleUnlimited. Also this novel is written, edited, and corrected by me alone, I would be grateful to you #GrammarNazis if you would point out my missteps, and how to correct them in the comments. So that I can improve the #Kindle book. Respectful Criticism, is welcome. I am interested to know your thoughts Chapter by Chapter! (I will not be correcting the bad "returns" and such that seem to be happening as I copy and paste. If this is a problem for you, again, please read the book off of the Kindle book, where these problems do not exist.:) )

Prologue:

He stood there in the darkness. The sound of chanting voices filling the chamber. He could feel the power pulsing through him, the same power that held him in place and made him unable to move, like a painless, paralyzing, electricity. This was it. This was what he had longed for all his life. He wanted this. When the time came he would do anything for it. The changes had already begun to take place in him, and oh how wonderful they were. There had been no resistance. When the work was begun in him he hardly knew anything was happening at all… But soon it had been undeniable. Now he stood in the darkness as the flames danced before him casting his shadow on the wall. From somewhere off to his left, he heard the distant wailing cries of the woman he had once thought of as his wife; the woman who he once thought the most important thing in his puny existence. But now he understood so much more. Now he was part of something bigger. Something... cosmic. She was nothing. Her sobbing would soon be silenced and no longer of any account. She cried his name over and over; pleading with him to break free, to come away with her, but freedom was an illusion, and it meant nothing without power. And this was power. Her face was beaten and bloody, and seeing that might have once elicited some emotion from him, but now he was beyond such things. Let it happen. Let it come now. No more waiting. He wanted it to be over. He wanted it to begin. He wanted the power; the strength. All the might which had been conveyed upon him this night was but a taste of what was to come. When he had fully given himself over, when the darkness was embraced, then he would know this strength a thousand-fold. He would do anything, give anything; be anything that was required of him, so long as he could have this. He had always thought that if somehow this boon was bestowed upon him, that his first goal would be vengeance. He had been sure that he would hunt down all those who had wounded him every day of his life; his father first and foremost of all. He remembered the plans he had for the boss at the job he had so recently been fired from; Mr. Williams. The man for whom he had worked for nearly fifteen years and who now had ruined him. His life and career were over, not only at his law office, but for all legal work. He thought of hunting down the girls who had rejected him in High School and even the bullies of the playground. Yes! How they would have all paid for what they had done. Anyone who had ever laughed at him, or made him feel small. He would grind their bones to meal. He remembered when he was a child how nearly every day, they had circled him chanting, “Stubby Stanley! Stubby Stanley!” and “Fatty fatty, two by four, can’t fit through the kitchen door.” and the perennial favorite, “U-G-L-Y, you ain’t got no alibi!”How they had guffawed when he couldn’t reach the monkey bars from the highest of the supports, let alone hold himself up as he tried to make his way from one bar to the next. Every time he would flop down in the hard-packed dirt below like a sack of moldy potatoes. Then his memories swirled round to the girls who had rejected him because he was shorter than they, and the slow agony he would have extracted from them. Even now when he was becoming something beyond any of their understanding, their words echoed and raced through his mind, solidifying his choice: _“What girl wants a guy they have to get down on one knee to kiss? Tony, now there’s a real man! Six-foot, two and he might get even taller!” __“Maybe I’ll let you take me out when the school has a “Date a Hobbit Dance!” “Do I look like my name is Esmeralda? ‘Cause I sure ain’t walking around on the arm of no Quasimodo!” _“Hey, short stuff! Get that ball from off the wall rack!” The coach had shouted at him, knowing he would have to climb up the rack to reach the only ball that was left at the very top. And when the rack had tipped over, as he knew it would, smashing him to the floor bruising his ribs, the coach had called out as the other boys laughed, “If you can’t get hold of a ball when it's sitting on a rack, how do you ever expect to play on my team? Get off the field, and don’t come back Short Stuff!” Then there had been his father: _“Look at him Natalie, he’s sixteen and he barely comes up to my chest! He’ll never bee any good at sports! He’s too small and weak for football. He’s far too short for basketball and he’s got zero hand-eye coordination! My only son is a runt! He’s not even good at academics! And here you are, mollycoddling him! He’s never going to amount to anything!”_ All this and more swirled about in his head, but now he had no thought for revenge, it was all behind him. So small and petty. Now he had worlds to conquer, soon all would bow before the might that was flowing into him. He could feel it coiling through him like a plant; like a vine, it was wrapping around his limbs and sinking into them, imbuing them with a virility he had never known, never could have known, but for the events of this strange night. The sound of chanting in the darkness had ceased. Had it only stopped now, or was it some time ago? Trapped in a delicious trance of power and haze of remembrance he couldn’t be sure. But now the shadows on the wall were changing, were different, undulating with a light far stranger than any fire could produce. He knew, at last, the time had come. He was about to gaze upon his new master for the first time. He would joyfully submit. He would accept any contract, make any deal. This was all he had ever wanted. He felt the restraining power lift from him, and he could move once again. He lifted his eyes to see a sight that might have driven others mad. But to him it was beautiful. It was this one who had made a new life possible, and from somewhere deep inside himself, he heard his master’s voice speak his name for the first time.

1 “Doggone it!” Ally cursed, straining, stretching as high as she could, “Who built this place! Andre the Giant?” “No, it just wasn’t built for Gnomes.” Said her husband, effortlessly reaching up and taking down the suitcase, he had placed on the rack the night before, the handle of which had just evaded his wife’s grasp. He handed it over to her as she huffed a begrudging, “Thanks.” And then mumbled, _“For nothing.” _Under her breath. Mark laughed, “Hey don’t hold it against me, I didn’t write your genetic code.” He flopped on to the bed, making the suitcase wobble, as his wife was reloaded it with all of her do-dads and whatnots that seemed so necessary for the care of her appearance. The trip was only going to last a week, but she seemed to have brought enough clothes for three. Then there were the two extra, small suitcases, full of nothing but beauty care. The total of 4 suitcases had taken up all the space that was leftover in the trunk of Marks Chevy Malibu, once the small toolbox, jack, and four-way lug wrench were pushed to the side. Mark had to put his one small suitcase in the back seat. Now, three days later, they were on their way back from California to Chicago. They had spent the night in Aurora, about 35 miles south of Boulder. They were now only 17 hours from home. It would have been 15 hours, but a major road construction project had begun just after they had passed through on Route 76, on the way to California. Already at 9 am, traffic was backed up. According to the Mapping app on their phones, going back that way would have added nearly five hours to their trip. Mark had asked his wife to remind him to take route 70, in the morning so they could avoid that nightmare. It came to her mind as she fit her curling iron and hairdryer back into the already cramped suitcase. “I wish we didn’t have to go around the construction, I hate Kansas.” “What’s the matter with Kansas?” asked Mark, “I love all that farmland, especially this time of year, just before the harvest. All those fields of green. It's beautiful.” “It's boring. Flat straight and goes on for what feels like forever! Did you know there are more single-vehicle accidents in Kansas per-capita than any other state? People get hypnotized out there driving on the roads alone, and when the road turns, they don’t. They go flying off into a ditch somewhere, and drown in a creek bed.” “Where did you read that?” Mark asked laughing to himself. “Oh on the internet somewhere…. Which reminds me I better check my phone while we still have service, I just know we’re going to get out there and lose signal.” “Our service plan covers 95% of the landmass of the continental US, according to the commercials.” “Yeah, and we are going to be driving right through that remaining 5%.” She said snapping the clasps on the suitcase into place, “I guess that’s everything.” “Don’t forget your make-up kit, Shawty,” Mark said, affecting an accent. Ally looked up and groaned. There, on top of the rack was her black plastic make up kit, with all her various blushes and brushes. “I’m never going to reach that. Why did you put it up there?” “Why did you even unpack it?” Mark replied, not moving from the bed, “When we were in LA, that made sense, you were getting all gussied up for the dinner. That made sense.” He repeated. “But last night you were getting ready for bed, and you took it out of your suitcase. There’s nobody here but me, and you know you shouldn't wear makeup to bed. And then, you didn’t even use it.” “I was setting it out for the morning, I was planning to put my face on before we left, but I couldn’t find it. I figured it had gotten buried in the clothes and I didn’t want to dig it out.” Ally said, annoyed. “Put your face on? For what? The drive home? You and me and miles and miles of corn?” He got up off the bed and moved toward her. “Besides I think my wittle munchkin looks so much better without her make-up.” He said affecting a “baby-talk” voice. She punched him in the bicep, hard enough to sting but not to truly hurt. “Ouch!” he said, playing it up. “Stop picking on my height. You know I’m sensitive about it.” “But you are just so cude!” He said, still in baby-talk, wrapping her in his arms, which from fingertip to fingertip of the opposite hand, were exactly 5 feet, 11 inches, perfectly proportionate to his height, “I wuv my Widdle Baby Wifey!” He picked her up and spun her around. “Stop that!” She said half laughing, “Put me down!” she said, even though he already had. “I may be only 5 feet tall but I’ll kick your butt anyway.” He laughed and reached up for the make-up kit, handing it to her. “Here you go Smurfette.” She ignored the jibe and reopened her make up suitcase, “Why’d you put it up so high?” “Because you had it on the sink and I needed to shave. I didn’t want to ruin anything, with drops of water flying everywhere…. And I did that so you’d need me to get it down for you later… I have to remind you how much you need me every once in a while… Just in case you get complacent, or think you can do better.” Ally laughed, snapping the suitcase closed again, “I know I can do better, I’ve just grown accustomed to you.” “You know, that’s right.” Mark said with a toothy grin.

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kellyannecontent · 5 years ago

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#NotMe; How Men in Power Treat the Women they *Don’t* Want to F*ck

“The fact is that women are vulnerable to men they report to whether or not those men find them attractive, and sometimes this vulnerability comes precisely from being considered unattractive“

It came to my attention recently that a local newspaper with a large readership published a glowing review of a former employer; a lengthy puff-piece about his facility. This, like most press I hear of this person and his institute receiving, incensed me. For the purposes of this article I will be avoiding naming this person or describing his facility too specifically. The fact of the matter is; this person is wealthy, powerful, and well-regarded by a large portion of my community. Along with this, I find it necessary to air my grievances about this guy, the overwhelming sexism with which myself and others were treated during the period of time I had a professional relationship with him, and the wider implications of his treatment in the wake of the #MeToo movement, wherein men in power are being put to task for their unprofessional and unethical behavior. For the purposes of this article I’ll be referring to him as “Sonny.”

I frequented the business Sonny owns and operates as a client and student initially, before eventually moving on to work for him. From my very first interactions with Sonny, I could see that his manner of addressing women was unprofessional and inappropriate. At the time I worked as a Massage Therapist. The spa industry is still to this day, and was especially then, a field heavily populated by women, and prone to scandal from bosses and exploitation of workers. Most of the women in Sonny’s employ were young and attractive, and he addressed them as “darlin’,” “baby,” “honey,” and the like. To take it a step further, he was often touching these women inappropriately; grabbing them by the waist, sometimes kissing them, and engaging in highly inappropriate conversations with them; wishing to discuss at lengths the protocol of one employee’s other job at Victoria’s Secret, where she fit customers for lingerie.

He would make sure to “check in” on pop-up continuing education workshops for bodyworkers held at the facility. In these years, the facility taught an adulterated version of the what the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California, teaches as it’s signature style of massage, or “Esalen Massage.” This style involves very minimal draping, most of the client’s body is exposed; while they are prone only a slim cloth is placed over their buttocks. When supine, a small cloth covers the genitals and another is placed across the breasts. In the style of Donald Trump trolling beauty pageants, Sonny would 'do the rounds' while these clinical workshops were going on. Not teaching, not a student, merely the owner of the facility, saying his hellos while seeing what he could see. I found it incredibly invasive, the transparent attempt at ogling quite obvious and quite unwelcome, and deeply unethical when it comes to bodywork that’s very intimate and held (due to its draping style) to a higher standard of ethical decorum. I'm convinced to this day that these workshops specifically were where he got ideas about who from the student population to hire onto his staff.

While all of this is despicable and likely worthy of its own article, I, as a woman Sonny was clearly not attracted to, was treated much differently than the “darlins” and the “babies.” A style of treatment that, as a woman raised under patriarchy, I’ve noticed as a broader pattern in the way men regard and treat women. Let me be clear in saying that I don’t want to belittle or be dismissive about the traumatic experiences that constitute sexual assault and sexual harassment. Further, in no way did I want sexual harassment, uncomfortable conversations, or unwelcome touch from this person, regardless of the good favor within his facility that seemed to come along with his inappropriate advances. On the other side of the same coin, the coin being misogyny, I did not want to be treated as insignificant and unworthy of regard. Which I was. It was insidiously and often directly made clear by Sonny himself that his very rude treatment was because I was unattractive. There were no creepily warm smiles or pet names for me from Sonny, and my time under his employ was an uphill battle for respect that never came.

The problem is in that most fields (be they professional or social realms), for women, f*ckability equals agency. In many cases, I’ve found that as a woman, when dealing with men of a certain makeup, I only have agency to the degree that I’m considered f*ckable. Sonny has exactly this makeup; successful, wealthy, taken seriously by other men because of his background in professional sports. Possessing of a type of privilege that allows him to treat people, especially women, however he wishes, with no consequences, and positive press to boot.

Even joining Sonny’s team was a struggle. I was told that he disapproved of my style as a holistic therapist. In the culture of his facility, deep-tissue massage was the name of the game. Extreme pressure was exerted onto clients by bodyworkers. All massages were deep-tissue in nature or considered poor quality. If this type of extreme pressure wasn’t employed, one was considered an ineffective therapist. At the time I went along with this mentality, although I now feel quite the opposite about bodywork, that in fact a comprehensive approach can employ touch that is firm and confident but doesn’t need to include grinding pressure. The mentality in Sonny’s business with regards to pressure is interesting to me because I find it to be metaphoric of a wider attitude of the facility, one where the gross is taken in favor of the subtle, where outward appearances are foregrounded to inner substance and character, and generally, yang outshines yin. Nevertheless, in my 20s, this was where I wanted to be. I looked up to the therapists working there, I bought the milieu the spa was selling, and I wanted to be a part of its in-crowd.

After some persuading by my contemporaries, Sonny finally agreed to a clinical interview with me, in which I had to give him a massage in order to prove my craft as a therapist. I worked my hardest, putting every ounce of my bodyweight into exerting pressure onto this man’s musculature. It was a grueling unpaid hour+ to secure my place on the team. My thumbs felt like raw meat afterward. As I was leaving the treatment room, he remarked glibly, “well, you’re awfully strong for a skinny little shit.” This should’ve been my cue to gather my pride and exit permanently, but I was actually happy to hear what felt like a sort of praise, meaning I’d be hired, and took it in stride as a necessary step in getting to where I wanted to be. I learned later that therapists he found attractive were given generous tips from him after their clinical interviews. I was offered nothing but the back-handed compliment.

Contemporary feminists maintain that most men regard common politeness from women as flirting or romantic advances, evidenced by how incredibly impolite men are to women they aren’t sexually or romantically interested in. This stands to bear given Sonny’s attitude. His coldness toward me and his treatment of me as though I was unworthy of even basic niceties was trying in a hectic workplace environment.

A few months before Sonny’s family terminated me from their business, I was treated sexually inappropriately by a bodyworker who was a friend of Sonny’s, who we will call Joe. Joe would fly in to Chicago periodically to spend time with Sonny and to make money by offering bodywork sessions to the employees of Sonny’s business. At the time, the style of bodywork Joe offered was very rare to come by in Chicago. I was interested. I signed up for a session. This session took place after hours, with only myself and Joe present at the facility, which we were in charge of locking up. Like Esalen, Joe’s modality involved minimal draping and applied oil in sweeping, full-body strokes. I’ve had hundreds of massages and bodywork treatments in my life. I know what does and doesn’t constitute inappropriate behavior from a therapist. Joe’s draping was off, to put it mildly. At one point in the session my nipples were exposed, I kept pulling the drape back over myself and Joe insisted that he needed the drape that way in order to properly work on my pectoral muscles. Below my waist, his hands went beneath the drape and way too close to my genitals. At one point I told him that I didn’t need my upper legs worked on anymore, in an attempt to stop his straying touch. Along with this, Joe conversationally compared my body to that of other women on Sonny’s staff that he’d worked on. I felt disgusting after the session. The ultimate insult was having to pay Joe in cash. For an hour of being harrassed I paid him over 5 times what Sonny paid his therapists as an hourly commission.

I arranged a meeting with one of Sonny’s family members, a prominent figure on the staff at the facility, and importantly, a woman, to discuss this. I explained what happened and she listened neutrally, saying she’d talk with Sonny and go from there. Word came back that first of all, the draping in Joe’s modality was minimal, he hadn’t been inappropriate there, he’d simply been working according to his modality’s style. Further, Joe meant nothing by his comments, and because Joe “didn’t ask [me] out on a date during the session,” his behavior was innocent, and didn’t violate ethics. Absolutely ludicrous logic. She offered that of course my feelings were valid, but nonetheless, I “must have misinterpreted Joe’s playful comments, he’s got a weird sense of humor.” Translation: because Sonny didn’t think I was attractive enough to be sexually harrassed, Joe must not have been sexually harassing me. Because Joe was Sonny’s friend, and I was just some chick on staff that Sonny disliked, no action would be taken.

What’s the point of all of this, aside from ‘Sonny is a huge scumbag undeserving of glowing advertisements in nationally published newspapers?’ I think it’s important that we glean from the #MeToo movement not only the disturbing truth that women are all too frequently assaulted, sexually harrassed, and given disturbing ultimatums due to their gender, but additionally, that women’s attractiveness or lack thereof (objective or subjective) way too often comes into play in our professional lives. The fact is that women are vulnerable to men they report to whether or not those men find them attractive, and sometimes this vulnerability comes precisely from being considered unattractive, as it did in my case with Sonny. I knew from square one that I was going to have a difficult time earning this man’s favor because he didn’t flirt inappropriately with me like he did other students and staff members. Something is very wrong with a young woman having that kind of knowingness about her older male boss.

Women are more than sex objects. We’re more than pretty (or not so pretty) faces. We’re human beings deserving of agency, dignity, and voices, just like men. Regardless of how sexy or unsexy we are, we’ve got ideas, attitudes, and worth to contribute to our workplaces. It’s time for men in power to start looking at us that way. Whether or not they like what they see when they look at us the way they shouldn’t be looking at us in the first place.

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misssophiachase · 6 years ago

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So, I got this request a while ago but for some reason couldn’t answer it but have done a screen shot so I can reply. I hope you can find this Alice : ) To be honest my NFL knowledge is extremely low but I tried to incorporate some of the things you suggested. And by the way, great idea! Caroline would be an absolute boss in the NFL (she’d be an absolute boss anywhere though, right?)

Playing to Win

Monday - Philadelphia, PA

Klaus Mikaelson hated a lot of things but nothing more than this ridiculous ‘sport’ he was witnessing from the stands. Obviously the sold out crowd at Lincoln Financial Field didn’t agree with his assessment of ‘football.’ Klaus may have been thinking it but the air quotes were still relevant. But they were Americans after all.

Klaus wasn’t a huge sport fan, he did however appreciate real football (sans air quotes). Those Americans who called it soccer obviously did not.

Klaus reminded himself, albeit grudgingly, he was only here for work and after he completed this one, tedious interview for Marcel he’d have his exclusive with famed artist Bonnie Bennett at her anticipated exhibition opening the following night.

“Please tell me I’m not stuck with another Bears fan,” the older woman to his immediate right, who had been wildly cheering only moments earlier, drawled.

“The Bears?” He asked, his lips moving before his brain could catch up.

“You know the opposing team from Chicago?” She shot back, pointing towards the huge scoreboard across the field. “Not the brown, furry kind.”

“Oh,” he conceded, consulting it properly for the first time. “No, I’m not from Chicago.”

“I’m not sure whether to be relieved that you’re not a Bears supporter or alarmed that you seem to have no football knowledge whatsoever.”

“No need to be alarmed, it’s not the end of the world,” he quipped, flashing her his best smile and hoping to end the awkward conversation sooner rather than later.

“You’re not the one who’s going to be hit with a barrage of questions about how the game works.”

“I’m fine, I assure you, Ma’am,” he replied politely.

“So, what exactly is an English, clearly non-football fan doing here at a game in Philadelphia?”

“Who exactly was going to be asking that barrage of questions?” He teased.

“Well, it’s half time. I’m bored and peckish to be honest,” she explained, before snatching his left over popcorn. “And I’m also extremely nosy when I want to be, just ask my daughter. She also happens to be single, you know in case you were wondering.”

Klaus shook his head wondering how this conversation he hadn’t entertained had turned from football to a possible blind date.

“Oh well, if she’s like you then I don’t think we’d have too much in common,” he observed.

“For once, I think you’re right,” she chuckled before adding. “But they do say opposites attract.” Klaus mentally rolled his eyes thinking this woman was extremely persistent.

And he was right.

She proceeded to coach him on the rules from the sidelines even though he never asked. The Eagles were triumphant and Klaus couldn’t help but feel a little buoyed by the fact as the excited crowd cheered around him. Not that he’d admit that to his insistent, but friendly, neighbour.

1 hour later....

Caroline Forbes hated interviews.

With a passion.

So much so that her palms were sweaty and no matter how many times she ran them over her jeans it made no difference. In public she oozed confidence and professionalism but unexpected questions seemed to make her incredibly nervous.

When she’d made her way up to the professional coaching level for the Philadelphia Eagles last year, Caroline wasn’t quite sure how she’d be perceived.

She wasn’t the first ever female coach in the NFL. Jen Welter from the Atlanta Cardinals had become one of her inspirations in 2015 after her promotion and it had given Caroline the confidence to try and emulate her journey in the male dominated NFL.

Of course it wasn’t an easy road. She had cheered at High School and through College, something idiotic males liked to remind her about at every opportunity. But it had been her mom, the local town Sheriff and huge football fan, who’d made Caroline believe anything was possible.

Being named as coach was one of the best days of her professional career but for some reason the fact she was blonde and pretty was more interesting than her actual experience and CV.

When the New York Times had approached Caroline for an interview on the eve of the finals she’d been dubious. But she had eventually relented, mainly because her publicist, and best friend since kindergarten, Katherine had threatened to reveal her innermost sexual fantasies to the press. She realised then that you should never mix business with pleasure.

After all the jokes, Katherine had told her that Marcel Gerard was a good guy she could trust even if his wife Rebekah had some icy tendencies.

“Miss Forbes?” Caroline had to admit the low, almost sexual rumble he emitted was messing with her concentration and she hadn’t even seen him yet. She decided to blame it on nerves.

Although upon turning around, Caroline realised her first instincts were correct. Not only did he sound delicious he looked it too. Dressed in a navy henley and dark jeans with deep, crimson lips and a set of disarming dimples this guy was not what she was expecting.

At all.

“That’s me, who are you?”

“Well, last time I checked, I was interviewing you for the Times,” he offered gingerly. “I’m Klaus Mikaelson.”

“I was expecting the Sports Editor, Marcel Gerard.” Marcel was the most well-known reporter in the game and probably why she’d been so nervous to meet him. But instead she had this gorgeous replacement.

Caroline couldn’t decide which was more nerve wracking.

“He had to cancel due to personal issues,” he responded. By his expression and tone, Caroline knew there was more to the story.

“Fine,” she exhaled, moving towards the couch. “Let’s get this over and done with then.”

“Charming,” he joked sarcastically, taking his place on the couch and removing his equipment. It was difficult to miss the way his henley moved up and exposed his the pale but smooth skin of his lower back.

Caroline shook her head, wondering if being flustered was better than being nervous. “So, which team do you follow?” It was usually a safe, opening question that invited discussion and the right amount of banter.

“Team? In the NFL?” He paused momentarily, Caroline slightly intrigued by his eventual response.

“No, the English Premier League,” she chuckled. “You know that other football.”

“There’s only one...” he shot back before stopping and intriguing Caroline more. “If you must know I’m a big Chicago Bears fan.”

“Wow, this isn’t going to be an awkward interview at all, sorry about that whole losing thing tonight.”

“I’m okay with losing,” he offered. “But how do you deal with it?”

“Well, I suppose I just take it in my stride,” she bristled. “Nobody likes a sore loser.”

“Yet, your body language is telling me something else entirely,” he observed. “You hate to lose.”

“If that’s your angle Mr Mikaelson then it’s not very original from a football standpoint. There’s nothing wrong with a healthy, competitive streak. I’m sure you feel the same way when Mitch Trubisky is making his way to the goal line.”

“Well...”

“Mitch Trubisky you say? The Quarterback from the Bears,” a voice interrupted. Caroline’s eyes diverted to the doorway noticing her familiar visitor.

“Just invite yourself in mom,” she drawled sarcastically.

“Mum?” The curious journalist inquired, his attention now firmly focused on the door too. Caroline had no idea what was happening but it was never a good idea for her mom to be present during interviews because she liked to share each and every childhood memory no matter how mortifyingly embarrassing.

“Liz Forbes, nice to meet you,” she greeted, making her way into the room and sitting by his side. If Caroline was being honest, they seemed almost comfortable with each other. “I thought I’d sit in on the interview.”

Caroline obviously had no choice and it seemed that given his confused expression Klaus felt the same way.

Tuesday - Philadelphia, PA

Klaus was still trying to work out when things went wrong. His only job was to interview Eagles Coach Caroline Forbes for Marcel and then move on to his real assignment.

But for some reason, rather than feeling excited for his exclusive with Bonnie Bennett at her gallery, Klaus could only replay last night’s events on a continual loop in his head.

It had started well enough, even though he knew nothing about American Football. He’d been rattled from the outset because Caroline Forbes wasn’t what he was expecting. Sure he’d seen photos before and she was beautiful but the passionate, forthright and intelligent woman he met only made him want to know more.

Much more.

Until her mother, who just happened to be his neighbour during the game, appeared mid interview. His mind played back to their conversation and her daughter’s single status and the fact she wanted to play matchmaker.

The interview went south very quickly and the fact he knew nothing about football was the least of his worries. It ended with Caroline annoyed that he hadn’t bothered to do his research or take her seriously. If Klaus was being honest she was right but it also had a lot to do with her mother’s presence and obvious intentions to matchmake.

His cell buzzed indicating a call from his brother-in-law. He’d already let the last three go to voicemail so figured he should just answer.

“What in the hell did you do?”

“No hello, how are you, mate?”

“Don’t mate me,” he growled. “What did you do to Caroline Forbes? You do realise that her publicist has the ability to emasculate someone over the phone, right?”

“And did she?”

“No comment,” he muttered like a true journalist, telling Klaus that she most definitely had. He didn’t know the woman but his respect for her had skyrocketed in that moment.

Although he and Marcel were brothers and now colleagues at the Times, Klaus loved to tease him incessantly. If someone had told him years ago that they’d all be working together as a family he would have laughed. They were all billionaires and the Mikaelson Publishing empire boasted a multitude of newspapers across the globe but Esther’s last wish in her will was that they’d work together on the New York Times in all capacities.

For a family that had spent so much time apart, Esther was determined to do what she could to bring them together. Sure they fought, a lot, but Klaus had decided it wasn’t half bad. He loved the arts scene and was happy to be the editor of that section. In New York, especially, it was one of the most read, no doubt due to his knowledge and passion for the subject.

“You realise I’m not into NFL at all, right?”

“That’s why I gave you all that information to study on the airplane, genius,” he drawled. “It is called research.”

“I started but then fell asleep it was that boring.”

“Of course you did,” he shot back. “But I know you are the king of pretence, so what actually happened?”

“Nothing,” Klaus lied.

“So convincing,” he growled. “What happened? Otherwise I call Bonnie’s publicist, who by the way happens to be the emasculating one, and cancel the interview.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Then obviously you don’t know me very well after all these years,” he goaded.

“Turns out I was seated next to her mother during the game who was hellbent on matchmaking us,” he explained. “Then she appeared during the interview and given my brief knowledge of the NFL and that added surprise things kind of became awkward and fell apart.”

“So you were attracted to her?”

“Excuse me?”

“Klaus Mikaelson can pretend in any situation, I’ve witnessed it. Seems like you really like this one. I’m sure Rebekah will be happy to know that you have a heart buried under all that hostility.”

“You have every right to question my professionalism Marcellus but this conversation is entering into something resembling the twilight zone. And I have an interview to do.”

“This isn’t over,” he warned before disconnecting. Klaus knew he had other more pressing concerns and felt bad that his behaviour had interrupted that.

Removing his coat and scarf on entry to the gallery, Klaus looked around curiously. The artwork adorning the walls was stunning as expected but the best view was at 3 o’clock.

He wasn’t expecting her but it seemed as if the universe was giving him a second chance. She looked beautiful, obviously it was her default setting, and was standing by the artist in question sipping champagne.

Klaus was a confident person for the most part but he felt rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do or say. This was most definitely a first.

“So, you’re the arrogant reporter Marcel sent?” She deduced. Klaus hadn’t even realised her presence until then.

“I’m assuming you’re the woman who can emasculate without any warning? Kudos to you, I’ve always wanted that power over my brother-in-law just to mess with him.”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” she chuckled. “Marcel likes to pretend he’s the man but...”

“He’s really not,” Klaus finished. “To be fair he’s been dealing with a few issues on the home front. So, sending me wasn’t his fault.”

“I only emasculate for fun,” she murmured, a new sincerity creeping into her voice. “Marcel is a good guy and I’m sure whatever he’s dealing with will turn out okay.”

Klaus wasn’t quite so sure but plastered the same brave face he’d mastered recently. “I’m sure. Although I’m curious why you’d let me interview Bonnie after what happened with...”

“Caroline? I’ll admit it was a concern but I’m going to put it out there and say other forces were at work last night.”

“Other forces?”

“Well, Liz for one thing. As much as I love her like a mother she can be extremely intense and nothing gets in the way of finding a suitable partner for Caroline.”

“I can concur,” he replied from experience.

“Plus, Caroline hasn’t stopped verbally abusing you since the interview and we all know what that means.”

“Means?”

“Look, your expertise and reach in the art world is amazing so interviewing Bonnie was a no brainer. But if it leads to something else with my other stubborn client, I’m not going to be upset.”

“Something else?” She breezed past him to avoid responding. Maybe he didn’t like her that much. His eyes found Carolines and suddenly Klaus felt stuck without much hope of moving. This was most definitely a first.

10 minutes later...

Why was he here, of all places?

Caroline wasn’t one to obsess over much but seeing Klaus here after last night was messing with her composure. After he fumbled through the interview, Caroline decided he was just like the others. For some reason it hurt more than she’d expected.

“I can see you thinking,” she quipped.

“I was thinking how amazing your work is, Bon,” she smiled, squeezing her hand and hoping her innermost thoughts weren’t really on display.

“Liar,” she joked. “Not about my art. Seems like someone else has gotten under your skin.”

“Just a lazy journalist who has now turned up to interview you, I hope he treats you better than he did me.”

“Have you spoken to Liz?”

“What does she have to do with this?” Caroline murmured, suddenly perplexed.

“Kat tells me she sat herself next to your ‘lazy’ journalist in hopes of matchmaking the two of you at the game from the outset, then turned up at the interview...”

“Oh god, no,” she hissed, head in hands. “Tell me it’s not true.” A few moments passed telling Caroline it was in fact the opposite. “If she wasn’t my mom...”

“It will be a cute story to tell your kids,” she joked.

“Kids?” She knew it was him before he arrived at such an awkward moment.

“An age you can relate to,” she bit out, unable to help herself.

“Ouch,” he acknowledged. “I get it, I was a bad interviewer for so many reasons but just know it was never personal. I happen to think what you’ve achieved is amazing.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes and the fact I know nothing about football probably wasn’t the best way to meet. I’m an arts editor and was filling in but I should have made more of an effort.”

“So, you’re not a Bear’s fan then?”

“I’m not a fan of any team,” he admitted sheepishly. “In America that is. Your mum was a really good coach when it came to it, well except for the whole matchmaking scheme.”

“And for that I am extremely sorry,” she smiled, glad that things between them had softened somewhat. She’d always been protective over her heart and it seemed easy to write Klaus off as just another ass but it turns out he had persisted. “Liz can be extremely intense.”

“I kind of liked her, even if she did steal my popcorn at half time. Plus she did coach me about everything NFL.”

“Explains a lot,” she offered. “I’d be happy to redo the interview tomorrow if you’re free and have of course studied up on the team?”

“I need to be back in New York unfortunately,” Klaus winced. “Not many people know this but my sister is unwell and expecting some test results tomorrow and it’s vital we all be there.”

Caroline didn’t need any more information, it was obvious this guy was loyal to his family. He also seemed to like her mom which was a big tick in her book. Maybe she’d misjudged him after all.

“Of course.”

“But I’d be more than happy to reschedule when you’re free?” Caroline paused for a moment, trying to hide her excitement.

“In the interest of full disclosure I thought you should know that I’m a Liverpool fan,” she said, her lips finding their way to his ear given the noise reverberating throughout the room.

“Then I’m not sure you and this Manchester United fan can be friends, love,” his knowing tone telling Caroline he was smirking. “But surely we can work something out?”

“Maybe we can.”

Turns out opposites did attract and Liz Forbes was a great match maker, not that Klaus or Caroline would admit it aloud.

#playing to win #misssophiachase #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #thanks alice #hope you like it

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liltcm · 5 years ago

Text

hylandtask001

lillian christine thomas: sept. 5th, 2019

“Hello, Ms LILLIAN THOMAS. My name is Detective Booth and I’m handling this case. I don’t need to go into details; you know why you’re here, and we already have you down as a suspect in her death. We’ve got witnesses to corroborate and a budding timeline, but we need more information from you directly. Make my day easier and cooperate with me on this, will ya’? I just need you to answer these questions for me. Do me a favor and don’t lie – you’re talking to a trained professional right now, I’ll be able to pick up on certain things whether you realize it or not. Lying will only come back to bite your ass later on. Just some food for thought. Let’s begin.

Lil did not want to talk to these people. She thought about her court hearing with Dominique; a charge for attempted murder only amounting to a shitty ten-day restraining order. She was livid, and didn’t want to cooperate. This was now the third time she’d been in a room like this, and she was getting sick and tired of it. She said nothing to his initial greeting, arms crossed over her chest, clearly irritated that this was happening.

Q: I’m gonna’ start light. I hate interrogators who go straight into the hard stuff, ya’ know? I find it impolite. So, tell me a little about yourself. Give me your full name.

“I’m Lillian Christine Thomas. I go to Hyland University, I’m a dance major and cultural anthropology minor. I work at the library so I don’t have to talk to people, and I’m president of Hyland Dance Alliance.”

Q: Alright. Tell me your date of birth and age.

“October 31st, 1999. I’m twenty going on twenty-one. How old are you?”

He laughed lightly, and she didn’t laugh back. He took that as a cue to continue.

Q: Where did you grow up? What was your home life like? Tell me about your family and your upbringing. Give me your story.

“I lived in Crystal Lake with my mom and dad for a while and then moved here to Chicago when they split. They had split custody so I was always going back and forth. Mom got remarried when I was seven to this Asian lady that I’d thought was my godmother. Life with moms was cool but dad was a little weird to be around; I think he resented my mom and I have her face. I have an older brother Charlie, who was mostly nice to me but still picked on me like a normal older brother. I danced. A lot.”

Q: Tell me about the most impactful people in your life. I’m not picky – they can be good or bad impacts.

“My sophomore year biology teacher pulled me aside to talk to me about how I was doing when I clearly wasn’t doing alright. I wasn’t raising my hand in class anymore even though I clearly loved science, I could hardly stay awake, and I never turned in homework on time. She was the only person to notice or ask me and just didn’t assume I was lazy.”

“Other than that, I would say... my dad. He’s a CEO and is on his second wife since divorcing my mom. We had a falling out when I came out of the closet to him, and things still aren’t fixed. But it’s more complicated than that, now. I think we were closer when I was younger, but age just divides people, I guess. Still, he’s had the most impact on me lately, so.”

Q: What are your goals in life? What would be your ideal final ending? What would help you reach these goals?

“Uh... I guess I just want to dance. If I could dance until I died I would. Like those people in France. They did that, right? The French? Diagnose me with that.”

Q: How would you describe yourself?

“Prickly. Dynamic. Harsh. But reliable, a team player. I’m good at understanding people but don’t have the patience to layer everything I say with bubble-wrap.”

The investigator, Booth, very badly covered a snort. Lil wasn’t trying to hold any barres; fuck these guys. They could interrogate her as much as they wanted and she’d still tell them the same things.

Q: What do you do in your free time? What’s your idea of fun? What sports or extracurriculars are you in at Hyland University?

“I dance in my free time. Dancing is my idea of fun. A good birthday party is my idea of fun. Pokemon. Normal shit. Fuck sports, but I do watch games sometimes to support friends even if I’m bored.”

Q: Do you drink? Smoke? Take drugs of any kind? Answer carefully on this one, kid.

“Do you count Zoloft? Because if you do then we’re probably going to have a problem.”

Q: Tell me about the relationships in your life. Friendships, romantic, everything in between.

“Romantic? None. Friendships... I’ve been friends with Caroline Kinsey since we were just being freed from the duck-foot trap that are diapers. We’re not particularly close but she’s been there long enough that I consider her important.”

“Reid Garwin gets on my nerves but he trusts me enough to have the key to his apartment for some reason and I’m planning on leaving a dog at his place. Is that a crime? Is that reverse stealing?”

Q: What’s the best thing that has ever happened to you? What’s the worst?

“My best moments happen on stage. Every time I can possibly think of I’m surrounded by all of the people that share my passion and support me and move with me.”

The detective seemed warmed by this, which is why she decided to attack him next.

“Both of the worst things that ever happened to me are probably in your fucking case file on me, considering I went to court for both of them. Thanks a whole lot, by the way. Fucking ace detective work, pretending giving someone something they’re allergic to and then literally stabbing them in the chest with an EpiPen isn’t attempted murder or at least assault. How much did Daddy pay you? This department is a little bitch. I bet if Morgan’s parents were paying you that much the case would be “solved” by now.”

His pleasant expression wiped clean off of his face. If he was going to try to incriminate her then she was going to shove blame right back onto him. “That case is closed.” He couldn’t say shit because Lil knew she was right. They both knew. Fucker.

Q: Let me throw in a fun one, lighten up the mood. Would you rather only be able to tell the truth or only be able to lie?

“The truth. Lying is stupid.”

He made a mark with his pen and Lil wondered what it was. The question was stupid, too. “I could’ve guessed that.” He admitted.

Q: Did you kill Morgan Parrish?

“I don’t see my lawyer around so I elect to say nothing on that.”

Q: Let’s get some background information on this. How do you know Morgan Parrish?

“We had the same freshman seminar class. We hit it off because we both liked to talk shit about people.”

Q: Explain the extent of your relationship with her. Was it platonic? Civil? Rocky? Romantic?

“Rocky and romantic. We dated for a while, but it didn’t always feel like dating. Have you seen those kinky porn videos where people get vibrators tied to them and they just have to sit there and suffer until they cum? That’s how it felt with Morgan, emotionally and physically. Suffering and catharsis until you’re kicking and screaming.”

The detective pulled a face of distaste; obviously, it was too much information but that was honestly how Lil would describe it. “What? Squimish, detective? I would’ve thought you’d heard everything by now.”

Q: In your own words, describe Morgan Parrish to me.

“A self-serving, lying, cheating, manipulative bitch. Do you want me to elaborate?”

Booth inhaled a deep breath, and if this were any other setting Lil would’ve been satisfied that she was aggravating him this much. She must be the most insufferable person he’d ever interrogated.

Q: Would you say your life got better or worse upon meeting Morgan Parrish?

“Sometimes it was worse, sometimes it was better, sometimes it was the same. You’re asking a lot of leading questions. You do realize humans are complex beings with complicated feelings? Or do you treat everyone that walks in here like a lizard person?”

Booth threw his pen onto the table, scrubbing his eyes with his hands and sitting up in his seat, staring at Lil with a stern expression on his face. “Miss Thomas-”

“It’s Lil.”

He ignored her. “Miss Thomas, you do understand that this is a serious investigation and that it would be in your best interest to answer these questions seriously and honestly.”

Lil sat up in her seat, leaning on the table. “What makes you think I’m not being serious? Was it my laughter? Or did my smile give it away?” she hadn’t given even a hint of a smile in three days, much less in this fucking room. “Do you want me to pretend this is a pleasant conversation? I don’t want to talk to you or even fucking look at you. I’m answering your questions. What else do you want?”

“Some respect would be nice.”

“You haven’t earned any.”

They both stared at each other hard. He slouched back into his chair, picking up his pen and fiddling with it before looking back down at his questions.

Q: What was your favorite thing about her?

“She was transparent. She knew who she was and owned up to it. I admired that about her.”

Q: What was your least favorite thing about her?

“She was cruel and mean and only cared about herself. Next?”

Q: Where were you the night of her murder?

“I don’t remember for sure. I want to say at rehearsals? They take attendance if you want to get that deep.”

Q: Where were you the day before?

“To be real with you probably the same place. Or at work or something.”

Q: Where were you after?

“Do you mean when they found her body? I don’t know. I saw it on the news while at school, eating lunch in the union. Needless to say I threw it up.”

Q: How did you feel about her passing?

“At the time I was just scared and freaked out. You don’t expect that kind of stuff to happen to people you know.”

Q: What do you think about the way she died? Just as a refresher, Morgan Parrish was drugged, strangled, beaten, and then shot.

“What do you mean what do I think? Do you want me to give my expert analysis since you guys haven’t had luck finding the killer yet? Either someone’s just demented as all fuck or they really hated her. Maybe both.”

The eye contact was intense but Lil didn’t back down from it. She supposed his approach to her sass was just going to be ignoring it from here on out.

Q: Did you make any sort of tribute to her death and put it on social m-

Lil’s answer would’ve been a huge big fat no, if she’d had time to answer the question, but then someone else was opening the door to the room she was in.

Another interrogator walks into the room. She’s holding a folder with your picture clipped to the front. She opens it in front of Detective Booth and whispers something into his ear. He shoots you a look and then excuses himself from the room. He returns twenty minutes later, features stony. He quickly writes something down on his notepad and then caps the pen.

Lil’s anxiety spiked, even though she knew they were trying to make her nervous on purpose. She’d been through this already, and she knew that she couldn’t slip up, and that she shouldn’t lie. She just hoped she didn’t lie inadvertently.

Q: Change of plans. I’m going to scrap the questions I had prepared and ask you what I see fit. Where were you exactly the night Morgan Parrish died?

“I already told you I was probably at rehearsals. April is when technical rehearsals kick up so I was probably at light tech.”

Q: Tell me all the details you can remember from that night.

“Uh. Assuming I’m correct about being at rehearsals, I would’ve been there at around 8pm and would’ve gotten out at around 10pm. Probably went to get food with my roommate really late at a drive-thru.”

Q: Were you intoxicated at any point?

“No.”

Q: Are there any witnesses able to corroborate your story?

“Over ten people, so yeah.”

Q: I feel like you’re leaving things out. Tell me all the details you can remember from that night.

The berating was grating on Lil’s nerves. What did they want from her? A confession? “I woke up at five am to get to work by six, because I always work at six. Worked for a few hours, went to my first class - I don’t remember which class it was so don’t fucking ask, thanks. Then I would’ve gotten food until my next class, and then eaten again and done homework in the library until I had rehearsals. And then you already know the rest.”

Q: … are you telling me the truth, kid? We got six other students we’re talking to today – sure would suck for you if one of ‘em was able to prove that something you’re saying is false.

“You’re asking me questions about something that happened over a year ago. Maybe you should do your job better and get on it faster and then maybe you’d get an exact account. If something I said ends up not being true it’s not because I did anything wrong on purpose. Fuck you.”

He was trying to scare her into saying something and she wasn’t going to have it.

Q: What was the last thing you said to Morgan?

“Probably that I fucking hated her guts. Why?”

Q: Have you ever gotten into a physical altercation with Morgan before?

“Yeah? And?”

Q: Have you ever fought verbally with Morgan?

“What the fuck do you think?”

He cleared his throat, and Lil looked away from him with an eye-roll.

Q: Would you say you felt safe around Morgan?

“No. Fuck Morgan.”

Q: Do you wish you had never met Morgan?

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Q: Do you own a gun?

These were the questions Lil hated. Morgan had been treated horribly before she died, but the nail in the coffin had been a bullet, and Lil had been trying hard not to think about it.

“No.”

Q: Have you handled a gun before?

“Yes.”

Q: Do you know someone who owns a gun?

“Yes.”

Her grandparents owned one and so did her dad. She’d shot before at the lake house, blasting cans off of the dock with her brother.

Q: Have you gotten into physical fights before?

“I know for sure that there’s shit in your file telling you I have so I don’t know why you even have to ask that fucking question but go off I guess.”

She was just tired and she didn’t want to be there anymore. She was ready to go home.

Q: Is there anyone who can prove where you say you were on the night of her death?

“Talk to the chair of the theater and dance office. She keeps attendance records.”

Q: Do you think Morgan deserved to die?

“Not the way she did, no.”

Q: Do you wish she was still alive?

“No.”

Q: Do you miss her?

“Fuck no.”

Q: Has your life gotten better or worse since her death?

“Worse.”

He seemed puzzled by that, but of all the questions he chose not to elaborate on, it was that one. That had been the whole point of contention in her case with Dominique, and here she was a few weeks later doing the same fucking thing. She didn’t know how they hadn’t arrested her already; it’d be easy to pin it on her. It wasn’t like they weren’t dealing out false verdicts anyways.

Q: If you could bring her back to life, would you?

“Hell no. The dead don’t like being brought back to life.”

Q: Are you hiding something from the people of Hyland? From your family? From me?

Lil sneered. “What? Even my brutal honesty isn’t enough for you?”

Q: Have you been telling the truth this entire time?

“To the best of my knowledge. Yes.”

Q: Did you kill Morgan Parrish?

“Ask me that again once I’ve spoken to a lawyer.”

The detective closed his case file, rubbing his temples and looking like Lil had given him a serious migraine. She probably had. “You’re free to go.” He waved her off, clearly exhausted. Lil pushed herself from the chair and said nothing as she left.

#hylandtask #[ lil task. ]

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