#I’m being a bad referee somebody come get me

[cfv-week]

CFVG BRACKET SIDE A ROUND 1

[professorxwolf]

professor-shaw​:

Jason had really not been paying attention, pretty much set on finishing off what he’d decided was his last drink for the night but, soon, something became awfully hard to ignore. Sitting a couple of tables ahead, was somebody that could only be described using the words ‘bad news’ apparently harassing one of the youngest members of staff: a boy in his early twenties, if he was not mistaken. As always, it had all started with a few choice words about his appearance and well, then there had been that unsolicited touching which eventually led to the boy being asked to join the table.

There was only so much Jace could do from where he was sitting and fuck, he really tried not to get involved -big time- but when he saw him lean in to kiss his neck, the werewolf’s restraint seemed to give. Within seconds, Shaw crossed the space in a couple of strides, clasped the back of the man’s shirt and narrowly missing his drink, slammed his face hard against the wooden surface of the table. “The fuck you think you’re doing..pal.” Jace growled, squeezing and pressing hard, “..I was going to ignore this whole thing but damn, are you some stupid son of a bitch.”

Just when he thought it was safe to sneak away to his office to get a little work done... Ciaran honestly should have known better. There were nights when an hour or so before closing really was the best time for such escapes but that night something had just been hanging in the air. Some feeling that the night was going to end in some sort of shit show and he should have stayed behind the bar to referee. Or, better yet, should have closed early. But did the wolf listen to his instincts? That would be a fuckin’ big nope...

Hearing the commotion, he quickly went back into the pub proper, pinching the bridge of his nose at the sight before him. Seriously...? “Okay, nothin’ to see here, ya prats. No last call, time to go. Yeah yeah, I know. Go home and cry in your pillows. Guess what, I’m the owner so I can do whatever the fuck I want, how’s that? Ya okay then, aye? Okay? Go in the break room, take a minute. Come see me before ya go home. And as for ya...” After barking orders in record time, the wolf grabbed Shaw by the back of his neck like the pup that he was, leading the other back to his office and kicking the door closed. “The actual fuck mate...”

​

[prorevenge]

Bully me for months? I'll hit you where it hurts the most, literally.

I want to preface this by saying I'm not proud of what I've done here. To the casual observer, what I did might seem like justice, but, really, I wish it didn't have to go as far as it did. I want my story to be a cautionary tale of what happens when bullying isn't taken seriously. I don't want this story to inspire you to do what I did, but as to what happens when people don't make the right choices the first time. Also, TL;DR at the bottom, the quotes aren't exact, and apologies if this seems a little all over the place. It's not easy for me to bring up stories like this, but I felt maybe I'd do some good by sharing it.

For as long as I can remember, I had a habit of bottling up my emotions. My single father is a staunch believer in traditional masculinity, including the idea that men and boys shouldn't cry. By my early to mid teens, I succumbed to this outdated idea, and accepted my fate as a quiet, stoic drone that just took orders, respected authority, and did hard work (especially manual labor.)

Enter my high school, which had a huge problem with bullying. The worst kids by far were the trashy "gangsta" kids (their words, not mine) from the inner city who targeted anybody they considered weaker than them. I was a pretty muscular 15 year old, but that didn't stop them from saying things like "Dude, you're so fat," or "Wassamatta, fattie? Lose your Twinkies on the way over?" In class, it was mostly petty annoyance: taking my pencil, sticking gum in my hair, insults. They got physical when the teachers weren't looking. Tripping me in the hall and pretending it was an accident; slamming my head against the locker, hitting me with footballs or soccer balls and saying a fake "whoops, sorry!" By themselves, it didn't seem that bad, but enough grains of sand add up to a huge pile, and, at that point, I was up to my waist in it.

Of course, the school didn't do anything about it. Teachers would either tell me "I'll take care of it," and then nothing ever changed, or I'd get something stupid like "I didn't see it. There's nothing I can do" or "You know, if I stopped class every time a kid was acting up, we'd never get anything done." Sure, and if a tree falls in the forest, it didn't make a sound because you didn't hear it. My father wasn't any help either. He'd tell me things like "there's gonna be people like that everywhere you go," or "if you're crying about this, you'll never make it in life," basically telling me to go suck it up because there are worse things out there. As a kid, I was hurt by this, but I was 15, so my self-esteem had been run over by a Combine a few times by now. For months, I just kept ignoring and waiting, hoping my teachers would keep their word about dealing with this problem. Sadly, it seemed they'd rather prioritize pep rallies and Career Aptitude Tests than do their job in keeping kids safe.

By around Spring, I'd had enough. By now, my sadness and annoyance had transmuted into boiling rage that I'd been keeping in me for far too long. If nobody was going to fight for me, I'd do it for myself, literally. I devoted the majority of my weekend to prepping for a showdown on Monday.

One of the few good things about my father is that how knowledgeable he is in self-defense. He believed it was important for a man to learn to fight, so he had me take several different kinds of martial art classes. If I was gonna fight a bully, I had to make it a proper fight. I then researched about Krav Maga, a branch of martial arts that's basically a military-style form of self defense, meant to train you how to fight if you were ever in danger "outside the arena." No rules, no balanced teams, no referees; just you and your need for survival. One of the components of Krav Maga is knowing the body's biggest "weak spots," ones that maximize the most amount of pain when hurt. Things like the groin, toes, and eyes were obvious, but you could also hit the knees, solar plexus, and even the spine. Since my classes didn't teach Krav Maga (you had to be 16 at the time,) I watched many online videos, making mental notes of the techniques used. It was almost always the same kid or group of kids that bullied me, so I already knew what they looked like, and, more importantly, where to strike.

On Monday, I waited for the next chance to come for the bullies to attack. To my surprise, they kept quiet for the most part. Maybe this was one of my lucky days where I'd actually get some work done. Then, while I was crunching for an exam during lunch, one of the bullies, a regular, spilled my water all over my textbook, and saying, "Whoops, sorry!" As he and his pals started walking away laughing, I got a good look at the back of the guy's neck. I raised my fist, aiming for the middle where I'd likely hit his spinal column.

WHAM! I knocked the guy over to the ground. That's when all Hell broke lose. His friends tried tackling me away, and I tried remembering to hit all their weak points: eyes, throat, groin, and jaw. It was fairly sloppy attempt at Krav Maga given my inexperience, and the other kids trying to fight back, but it got the effect I wanted. Of course, I didn't come out unscathed. I got punched in the jaw, a bloody nose, a bruise to the forehead, and more than a few kicks in the family jewels. The other kids noticed us fighting, with some going to get a teacher while others watched in a mix of shock and excitement. Eventually, the principal and a few other teachers pulled us apart, and sent us to the office, after our injuries were treated.

The principal talked with us individually while the assistant principal called all our parents. When it was my turn, I explained what happened. At some point, the principal said, "Why didn't you tell the teacher?" At that moment, I just snapped, somehow managing to sound even angrier than when I was fighting a few minutes ago. "I ALREADY TOLD THE DAMNED TEACHERS, LIKE A MILLION FUCKING TIMES, BUT NOBODY WAS DOING SHIT ABOUT IT! NOBODY! YOU TELL ME OVER AND OVER 'I'LL TAKE CARE OF IT, I'LL TAKE CARE OF IT,' BUT NOBODY EVER FUCKING DOES! I WOULDN'T HAVE FELT LIKE I HAD TO DO THIS OF SOMEBODY HERE ACTUALLY DID THEIR DAMNED JOB FOR ONCE!" I got an extra week of suspension for yelling.

Much to my surprise, my father was rather quiet about the whole thing. Normally, my father had the temperament of a dragon, but maybe this whole fight touched his inner "macho man" that made him go easier on me.

On the car ride home, he said calmly, but firmly, "What happened? And tell me the truth." I told him, "They wouldn't stop picking on me, so I defended myself." I waited to hear my father make some snide remark about hurt feelings, but he just said, "Were you in danger?" I paused for a moment, and said, "...Yes." I knew I was exaggerating, but maybe this could open my father's eyes to see how much I was hurting. He was quiet for a minute, and then said, "I can't judge on your situation 'cause I wasn't there, but it's in a boy's nature to be aggressive sometimes, and it sounds like those bullies were just using it for harm. I also know you well enough t'know you wouldn't lay a finger on somebody unless you felt like you had to." I nodded, holding back tears. "Next time you're ever in that kinda danger, call me. Don't wait for the teachers to fail you again. I'll give 'em Hell." I was stunned, and, once I realized what'd just happened, I smiled. That's one of the few redeeming qualities about my father. As toxic and narcissistic as he was, he was an expert on bringing vengeance to those who deserved it.

During my suspension, one of the bullies' parents wanted to press assault charges on me, but my father threatened to counter-sue the school AND the parents for letting the bullying go on for so long. Thankfully, nobody had to go to court as the bullies' credibility sank faster than the Titanic. Once word got around that I fought back to stop the bullying (rather than the strong, quiet guy going psycho,) more kids decided to come forward to the principal about their experience being bullied, too, and how they also went to the teachers for help. This included a few girls who were being sexually harassed by these kids. This was a PR nightmare for the school that left a permanent stain on their reputation among the locals. In the end, the bullies got expelled, some faced charges for sexual harassment, and I got transferred to a different high school. I guess I'm a little proud that I inspired some other troubled kids to come forward, but I really didn't like violence. I'm built for self-defense, but I don't like hurting anybody unless it's to protect those I love. I would've much preferred if teachers actually did their job, and "took care of it" before I had to.

I did get a gift certificate for summer classes in Krav Maga for my Sweet 16. Thankfully, I've never had to use it yet.

TL;DR: Bullies spend months torturing me, and teachers won't do anything, so I researched and imitated an advanced martial arts to bring maximum physical pain to my bullies.

(source) story by (/u/aitacrybaby)

[bubblegumlover99]

The Truth

(This is my take on the end of Not Great Double Date. I know I’ve RP’ed this part with two friends already, buuuuuut this just has to be done <:3)

-

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“OOOOOOOONNN TTTTHHHHHEEEEEEEE LLLIIIPPPPPSSSSSSSSSS!!!”

“KIIIIIIIISSSSSSSS!!!”

How did this all happen in one night?

With one…

White…

Lie.

That lie was only enough to stop CJ from almost killing Mordecai, Margaret, and her parents at the 1000th Chopper Flight Party. Except that lie was balled up like a piece of paper and held in Margaret’s palm when CJ came by and invited Margaret and her “boyfriend” Del to a double date with her and Mordecai as a genuine attempt to make amends. But all of that would’ve been avoided if Margaret just told her the truth as Eileen first suggested. She didn’t know CJ like her friends did; all she knew about her was that she had a bad temper and was prone to jealousy and jumping to conclusions at the slightest of misunderstandings between Mordecai and Margaret. And that’s what kept her from telling the truth in the first place. She was afraid of what CJ’s reaction would be if Margaret told her at her place. Hell, she might as well have had astraphobia from their last encounter.

Everything was in slow motion at The Side Line. The KissCam was all set on Margaret and Del. Margaret was in a dip as Del prepared to give her a big ole smooch. And that was what got Margaret to cut the act.

“NOOO!” she shrieked, pulling away from Del, “YOU’RE NOT MY BOYFRIEND!!”

The crowd gasped in shock at the revelation, and Mordecai and CJ were also shocked as they watched the scene unfold in front of them.

“Change the slide, Marcus!” the blonde referee guy whispered to the fellow cameraman next to him.

Marcus did so and changed the KissCam slide to a DumpCan slide, which replaced the heart with a toilet.

“D-D-D-D-DumpCam!” the announcer boomed as the words in red ‘YOU’RE DUMPED’ was stamped on the slide, “You’re dumped!”

Del stepped back from Margaret while CJ walked towards her, arms crossed and a confused look on her face before she asked the robin, “What do you mean he’s not your boyfriend?”

All eyes were on Margaret now. She hesitated to speak, seeing CJ’s eyebrows furrow down in an upset manner as she awaited her answer.

“Eileen was right,” Margaret thought, “I can’t hide the truth forever.”

Then she let it out.

“I’m sorry. I… I lied about the whole thing.” she started, “It seemed like the only way to make you okay with me being around.”

She mustered her courage and matched CJ’s position and expression, looking her dead in the eyes while she continued, “But what was I supposed to do? You were trying to kill me, Mordecai and my parents at the party over a misunderstanding on the chopper, CJ! I didn’t have a choice!”

CJ was taken aback by the sudden angry tone in Margaret’s voice. When she mentioned the party, her expression softened into guilt while Mordecai looked down in solemn despair.

“I’m sorry CJ, but somebody had to say something about this,” Margaret continued, not holding back on anything else that would come out of her mouth, “It’s been like this ever since the Christmas party, and I’m really getting sick of it! So yes, I’m single, I dated Mordecai for a while, and I keep trying to hang out with him, but that’s because he’s my friend! Not my soulmate, not my longtime lover, just my friend! I was in college, and I missed hanging out with Mordecai, Rigby, and Eileen, and all the crazy stuff that they would go through. I understand why you didn’t like me back then, but I just wish you would stop, look and listen before you suddenly assume that Mordecai and I are still dating!”

The robin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly from her nose, trying to calm herself down as CJ also looked down with embarrassment.

“So…” CJ started slowly, “all that stuff that happened in the chopper…”

“It wasn’t intentional, CJ,” Margaret said, “It was all because of the turbulence in the chopper, and it gave you more bad impressions.”

“Oh… crap.” Shamefully, CJ ran her hand across her hair, sending little bits of cloud in the air.

“CJ,” Margaret said, calming down and looking at her acquaintance with gentle eyes, “I know you care about Mordecai. I care about him too, but not in the way you think. Mordecai deserves to be happy with you.”

That made Mordecai look back up and smile at Margaret. “You’re a really cool person, CJ, and I do want to get to know you better, maybe even be friends. I know I should’ve told you the truth sooner at my place like Eileen told me to before all of this happened, but I was just worried about how you would react, because I don’t know you like she does. That’s what kept me from telling you sooner. I was just scared and tired of everything being awkward. And the truth is, I’m sick of feeling like a tourist around my own friends.”

Everything was silent for a moment, and Margaret slowly rubbed her arm as she waited for a response. The TV screen switched its focus on CJ, who was still silent and guilty about everything. Margaret saw CJ’s color starting to change to a dark gray while she uttered some faint thundery sounds. She braced herself for an incoming lightning bolt or a burst of wind that would destroy the whole building out of despair.

But that didn’t happen.

CJ came up to Margaret and wrapped her arms around her, crying softly on her shoulder. Margaret didn’t feel any ping of a small lightning bolt during the hug, but she felt a vibration from the vague thunder the poor cloud girl emitted as she cried. “I-I’m sorry…” she whimpered, “you were only trying to be careful around me, and I just… I just pushed you away from us… it’s all my fault…!”

Mordecai slowly walked over to the girls and rubbed his girlfriend’s back. She flinched a little from the touch, and more tears came when she thought about how much pressure she put on Mordecai with her mistrust with Margaret. “I’m such an awful girlfriend… and an awful friend…” she sobbed.

The birds’ expressions changed to a shocked face when she said that. “No, you’re not, CJ,” Margaret said, “You’re both an awesome friend and an awesome girlfriend for Mordecai. Like I said, I’m happy for you two. Yeah, what you did wasn’t… the best choice, but your feelings were valid, and I forgive you. I promise, you’re good.”

CJ sniffled a little and wiped her tears as she gave Margaret a small smile before turning to Mordecai, who said with a smile of his own, “You know, if Eileen was here to see this, she’d be very happy.”

The cloud girl smiled more as her color changed back to her pure white complexion. “Yeah,” she replied, calming down some more, “she definitely would.”

“She’s very lucky to have you as a friend,” Margaret reassured.

“Same with you, Margaret,” CJ complimented, before clearing her throat, “so… what do you say that we start over, either tonight or tomorrow? No more secrets, no more lies, no more misunderstandings… and definitely no more awkwardness.”

It was Margaret’s turn to smile as she said, “I’d love that.”

The girls then shared a genuine hug while Mordecai smiled greatly, happy that the awkward atmosphere had finally cleared up. The crowd filled the air with a resounding “Awwww!” from their friendship. Even Del was happy for the two. The blonde referee guy nudged Marcus to change the slide again, and the slide was a diamond focusing on Margaret and CJ.

“FFFFFFFFFriendship Cam!” the announcer rang.

“Aaaaaand, scene!” Del exclaimed.

(And, scene indeed xP I hope u guys liked this story <:3)

[dakotakaiskicks]

Bad Timing- RuLiv

Ruby just wants to tell Liv how she feels, but the universe has other plans.

A/N: This is dedicated to @relentlessriott as always, seeing as how she is the undisputed captain of the RuLiv ship.

When Ruby wakes up, things just feel...different. Not usually a morning person, she has a glow about her almost. She was trying to convince herself that is had nothing to do with the blonde sleeping soundly beside her, but that would have been an absolute lie.

Ruby had always felt differently about Liv, but she tried to pass it off as a super close friendship. That seemed to work for the people around them, but the tattooed woman began to be tormented by her feelings. Liv was none the wiser, continuing to be her usual affectionate self, which did nothing to help.

Which brings us back to our current situation: the blond with her arms locked firmly around Ruby’s midsection, and a million thoughts running through the older woman’s head.

‘I’m gonna tell her. Today’s the day,’ she thought, the words repeating in her head like it was her personal mantra. In a way, it was. She had lost count of how many times she had said those words to herself, only to chicken out at the last second. Not this time, though. She was going to tell Liv she loved her if it was the last thing she did. Deciding to not prolong her agonizing thoughts, she gently shook the blonde’s shoulder, rousing her from her slumber.

“Rue? What’s wrong? Are we running late again?” Ruby had to let out a soft chuckle at that question, the younger woman’s penchant for sleeping in causing them to almost miss shows numerous times.

The older woman had gotten distracted by the combination of Liv’s raspy morning voice and adorable bedhead, but quickly shook it off before responding.

“No, we’ve still got plenty of time,” her voice shook slightly as she spoke. “I need to-” They were interrupted by Liv’s phone ringing, her brother’s name popping up on the caller ID.

“Hold that thought,” Liv said, moving to answer the phone.

‘I’ve been holding this thought for years,’ Ruby thought, biting her lip as the nerves crept up on her again. She tried to busy herself by looking at random things around the room, but found herself drawn back to the blonde as she laughed at something her brother had said. She eventually settled for braiding her hair, watching as the varying shades of green intertwined with one another.

The phone call was soon over, but Ruby’s confidence had diminished by then.

“Sorry about that. What were you saying?”

“I was just gonna see if you wanted to go get breakfast before we had to head out.” Maybe if they spent more time together, the tattooed woman could find the confidence to tell Liv how she feels.

“Sounds good, I could go for some waffles right now,” Liv said. As she got out of bed and stretched, Ruby had to avert her gaze to avoid staring at the blonde’s exposed abdomen as she raised her arms above her head.

Both women eventually started getting ready, opting for comfort over style, seeing as how it was still fairly early. Liv was wearing an oversized hoodie with a pair of leggings, and even though most people wouldn’t have thought much of such a casual outfit, Ruby thought Liv looked just as beautiful right then as she did all dressed up. It was then that the older woman realized just how in love she was.

The pair made their way to a diner they had passed on the way into town, Liv singing her heart out to every song they heard on the radio, even if she didn’t necessarily know the words. Ruby was equal parts glad and terrified that the blonde had offered to drive. Glad because she got to sneak glances at the younger woman when she wasn’t looking, and terrified because, well, everyone knows Liv’s skill level when it comes to driving.

They managed to make it to the diner in one piece, and were quickly seated and given menus, though Liv knew exactly what she wanted. Ruby ordered the same thing the blonde had, not sure she would actually be able to eat anything due to the butterflies in her stomach. She was sure she was going to tell Liv this time, she had to! She took a deep breath before getting Liv’s attention, the younger woman looking up from folding her napkin into a paper football to see what Ruby wanted.

“What’s up, Rue?” Liv tilted her head to the side and smiled at Ruby, the butterflies in the tattooed woman’s stomach multiplying tenfold.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you? Because the last time somebody said that to me, it was when Sarah told me she was pregnant.”

Ruby had just taken a sip of her coffee as the words Liv said had soaked in, causing her to spit the drink out all over their table.

“What? No! Why would you ask me that?” Ruby was petrified as she cleaned up the mess she had made.

Liv shrugged, crinkling her nose up. “I don’t know what you do when we’re not together. I mean, I know we only have eyes for each other, but still. We’re both grown.”

Ruby knew that Liv was more than likely joking, but little did she know how true the statement was on her end. She opened her mouth to speak again, those three words on the tip of her tongue, when their waitress came out with their food.

‘What the hell does the universe have against me today?’

Liv had all but forgotten about their conversation the moment the plate of waffles had been placed in front of her. While the blonde was stuffing her face, Ruby was simply pushing her food around on her plate, her confidence dwindling once again. The younger woman had finished eating in record time, looking up to see Ruby’s food having hardly been touched.

“Rue, are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” Concern shone in Liv’s eyes, truly worried about her friend.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just nervous about tonight.” That definitely wasn’t a lie. Tonight, they had a tag title match against Nia and Shayna, which in and of itself was nerve wracking. Not to mention Nia’s track record of injuring others. While Ruby was worried about herself, she was moreso worried about the blonde seated across from her. The tattooed woman couldn’t live with herself if Liv got hurt, especially if she was there to witness it.

“I feel you, but you gotta think positive! Win or lose, we have each other, and that’t what matters most,” Liv said, placing her hand gently over Ruby’s which was resting on the table.

Thinking positive was exactly what the older woman was doing. She was positive that she was going to tell Liv how she felt tonight. And she was going to get interrupted this time, she was going to make sure of it.

*Time skip to the match*

When Ruby and Liv looked across the ring, all the saw was Nia’s angry glare and Shayna’s smug grin. Needless to say, they were terrified. They were trying to decide who was going to start the match, but Ruby decided for the both of them when she saw Shayna step out to the ring apron. She was more willing to put herself in harm’s way at Nia’s hands than she would’ve been to risk letting Liv get ragdolled.

The match started out calm enough, Ruby getting a fair amount of offense in on Nia. That all changed when Ruby went for a DDT which the larger woman reversed into a carelessly executed Samoan Drop, slamming the tattooed woman to the mat right on her shoulder. Liv was obviously concerned, and even Shayna cringed a little at the awkward landing. Nia went for a pin, which ruby was barely able to muster up the strength to kick out of.

As the match went on, Shayna had been tagged in, and to her credit, she was much more careful with Ruby. Everything was pretty one-sided, Ruby being too injured to either fight back or make it to their corner to make the tag to Liv. However, after a poorly timed submission attempt on Shayna’s part, Ruby was able to drag herself to her partner and tag herself out of the match. Liv’s first order of business was to go to the opposite corner and punch Nia in the face, effectively knocking her out.

“That’s what you get, bitch!” Liv was angry that the woman had been so careless with Ruby, so she felt she needed to exact a bit of revenge. For her part, Ruby looked shocked, not knowing the smaller woman had it in her to do that.

Shayna had the upper hand for much of their exchange; that was, until fatigue started to set in, giving Liv the opening to land a few well-placed kicks to the Queen of Spades’ legs and midsection. Before anyone realized what was happening, Liv had hit her finished and the match was over.

It hadn’t really sunk in for Ruby until Liv started screaming and crying, the older woman joining in. When the referee handed over the titles, Ruby nearly dropped hers, too busy staring at Liv’s smiling face to pay attention. Their celebration in the ring didn’t last long as Ruby, despite her aching shoulder, grabbed the blonde by the hand and dragged her backstage. Past the crowd of wrestlers in the back waiting to congratulate them, past Charly who wanted an interview, and into...a storage closet?

“What are we doing in here, Rue?”

“I love you, Liv. I’ve been trying to tell you all day, but the universe apparently hates me because we kept getting interrupted. So, I brought you here to tell you, which I realize was kind of dumb because this is probably the least romantic setting-”

Ruby was cut off by Liv kissing her softly, her hand running through the tattooed woman’s green hair. She was almost too shocked to respond, but luckily her brain decided to cooperate with her enough to kiss the blonde back. They eventually had to pull away for air, megawatt smiles on both of their faces for multiple reasons.

“I love you, too, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

Ruby smirked before pulling Liv in again. “I don’t know, I’m not really convinced. I’m gonna need you to do that again.”

The blonde giggled before reaching behind them to make sure the door was locked. “I think I can manage that. But what’s gonna happen when people come looking for us?”

“Well, that’s just bad timing on their part,” Ruby said, kissing Liv once again.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

An Ending Within-Ch. 12

Chapter 12

           A flash of memory. Thrown back to that moment ringside at Wrestlemania right after my accident. Being there and watching Dean and Roman fight for the Universal title. For an instant, I thought I could feel my wheelchair beneath me.

           I snapped back to reality just as the bell rang. Sammy and Kenny circled each other in the ring. The referee was Aubrey. Damnit, I thought. Ever since that stunt at Revolution, she’d kept a close eye on any of us in the Inner Circle when we were at ringside.

           Matt was in the opposite corner, standing at the post and leaning against the apron. I paced along the side of the ring, eyes darting from Sammy and Kenny to Aubrey to Matt and back again. My thoughts were racing as I tried to come up with a game plan.

           I hadn’t prepared for this. We’d prepared for Kenny’s busted hand, but not for a companion. Matt had called a fucking audible being at ringside.

           The match started with a flurry of motion. A quick succession of waist locks, wrist locks, leapfrogs, and flips.

           Sammy hit his opponent high in the chest with a drop kick. It knocked Kenny flat on his back, momentum sending him rolling beneath the bottom rope to the floor. The second he hit, I swung around the post toward him. But before I could get close Matt came charging over, glaring as if he dared me to do anything.

           “What are you gonna do, Jackson?” I snarled, throwing my arms out. “Are you gonna hit me?”

           He ignored me, grabbing Kenny by the arms and practically throwing him back into the ring. Then, as if nothing happened, he took up his position in Kenny’s corner.

           Almost as soon as the match resumed, Sammy was on the offensive. He whipped Kenny against the ropes and slammed his forearm over his throat, leaning him back over the top rope until he was balanced on his tip toes. Aubrey counted the five and then broke them apart. Sammy backed up just far enough to avoid being disqualified then hit Kenny hard in the face.

           He rolled out of the ring on the entrance side, wiping at watery eyes and staggering toward the barricade. I took a step toward him, only to find that Matt mirrored every move. I’d lost my chance to get in a cheap shot because of it. Sammy came after his opponent, chasing him around the outside of the ring. He caught him near Matt, who backed away, as Sammy slammed Kenny’s head and injured hand against the apron. He let out a shout and hit his knees. Sammy dragged him up and ran him into the barriers, shoving him up into a corner and smacking him in the head.

           I crept as close as I could, knowing Matt was marking every move I made. Anger slammed through me. I liked the Elite. They were great guys, but it was ridiculously unfair to use their EVP position to rewrite the show in their favor.

           Screw it, I thought vehemently just as Kenny tried to mount some defense. He tried to whip Sammy into the barricade, but Sammy vaulted over it instead, landing catlike in place. The camera followed him. Aubrey’s attention was on him, trying to decide if she needed to start the count. I dropped to all fours and crawled along the side of the ring toward the post. I glanced around it to look for Matt, pleased to find him around toward the entrance side looking for me.

           Before anyone could stop me, I rose into a crouch, darted around the post, and kicked Kenny in the hand with the heel of my boot. He cursed. I grabbed him by the hair, tugging him up to look at me.

           “If the Elite can play dirty, so can we, EVP,” I spat. I drew my hand back, ready to smack him hard across the face. Before the blow could fall, fingers wrapped hard around my wrist, yanking me straight to my feet.

           Matt whipped me around to face him. He practically dragged me around the ring back to Sammy’s corner. “Bad move, Black,” he said, loud enough that the cameras picked it up. He practically shoved me against the apron. “Stay here. And stay out of it.”

           “You stay out of it, Jackson. You’re the one sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

           “Me?” Matt yelled, jamming his finger into his chest. “Last I looked, I’m not the one pulling cheap shots.”

           I hauled back and slapped him hard across the cheek. As soon as I did it, I regretted how much force I’d put into it. Matt rocked to the side. His hand came up against his face, surprised to actually find blood on his lips.

           He smirked and tapped his fingers on his other cheek. “Try it again, Leighton. I dare you.”

           I was ready to scream. I wanted to scream. Rage and frustration and a deep sense of unfairness burned in me.

           Something slammed into my shoulder, throwing me sideways into the barricade. Matt looked shocked and took a step toward me. I blinked as spots flashed in my vision, my head bouncing hard against the metal and then the concrete.

           I swore and tried to get my bearings back. For a moment, I felt nauseous. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. Blinked to get rid of the spots dancing in front of my eyes.

           “Leighton, you good?” Matt said quietly, leaning over me. The camera had swung back to the ring, giving us a bit of privacy. “Hey?”

           I nodded, nausea roiling in my stomach. Jesus Christ, I hope I don’t have a concussion, I thought, sitting up slowly. It took a moment to get my bearings as I pulled myself up with the railing.

           In the ring, Kenny hit the V-trigger, pinning Sammy clean to keep his title. Aubrey held up his hand, gave him his belt, and then went to check on Sammy. As soon as I was on my feet, Matt rushed away to join Kenny.

           Empty. Hollow. The adrenaline and anger of the last half hour bled away in a flash. My leg ached… I’d landed on it funny. A headache started at the back of my skull.

           Sammy rolled beneath the bottom rope and I limped over to join him. He threw his arm around my shoulder. “You good,” I asked through gritted teeth.

           “Yeah. You?”

           I shook my head a little, immediately regretting it. “Bashed my head. Someone hit me into the barricade.”

           We made it backstage. Surprisingly, Matt and Kenny were waiting for us. Jericho was nearby, as was a medic.

           “Go,” Jericho said sharply, jerking his head between me and the medic. “Jesus, Black, you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

           If my head didn’t hurt so much, I’d have rolled my eyes. Sammy handed me off to the medic. I sighed. “Somebody call Colby. If he saw that, he’s going to be a mess.”

Tag List

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[maxielxy]

Max’s highlights at 2019 press conferences

Australia Thursday

Q：Max, you said some things could have been better. What could have been better?

MV: Some things. I cannot go into detail, can I? No, I can’t.

Q：What was the nicest, funniest or weirdest thing you’ve done in the winter of 2018/2019?

MV：Some more exciting things happened, some less exciting things happened but should I share them? I don’t think so.

Spain Sunday

Q：What are the strengths of your car? What are the good characteristics?

MV: I think at the moment we’re not really better in any corner than Mercedes.

Monaco Wednesday

Q: Now, with many people saying you are in the best moment as a driver, does it disturb you, to think to enjoy your moment, to change your history in this grand prix?

MV: I’ve done four, hopefully I’ll do another 20, so I have a lot of chances to do a good result.

Q:  They always say ‘after that, he became more mature.’ How do you see that yourself?

MV：Well, I think not only after that, I think in general, it’s life. I’m getting older, general life experience but yes, sometimes you have to make mistakes to become a better driver and so this was one of them.

Monaco Saturday

Q: What was the target, what was realistic and are you satisfied with third place?

MV：I think this is my first qualifying here but I’ve only done three now.

Austria Thursday

Q: Just tell us a little bit about the performance of the car？

MV: Great!

Q：How would you like a race on London streets – or would you rather stay at Silverstone if it was one or the other?

MV: Silverstone is a great track, so, if they want a street circuit it needs to be an extra grand prix then.

Q: How do you like the idea to have only ex-Formula One drivers as stewards?

MV: For me, I think it’s not good to have the same stewards all the time – because it’s the same in football: if you have a referee who doesn’t like you, and you always have to play with that same referee, I don’t think it’s a lot of fun.

Q：As drivers, do you feel the sport’s in crisis?

CL: As Checo said, already from having a closer field would help, cars that can follow closer to each other will help also for overtaking and these are done by a few things and these other points agreed inside the… FDA!? No?!

MV: Ferrari driver academy?

CL: … the GPDA

MV： At the end of the day, even with the new rules coming at the moment, everybody is just speaking for their own advantage. Maybe it’s just better to leave out all the teams from the discussions and just say these are the rules and you deal with it.

Q:   Is it more skewed to qualifying than the race and is it still that balance of car and engine that’s holding you back?

MV: I think I explained that in the beginning of the press conference where I see I’m losing, compared to Mercedes and Ferrari. Probably somebody recorded it so you can look back at it.

Austria Saturday

Q: Yesterday Helmut Marko confirmed there is an escape clause in your contract. Can you tell the details about it?

MV: What do you think, my friend? Of course not! Why would I? I know, but I don’t care.

Austria Sunday

Q:Juan Pablo Montoya said yesterday that he wanted to be a race steward,  are you happy with that? 

MV: I think he was quite a hard racer himself so I would definitely support him being a steward. I think he would be my mate.

Germany Sunday

Q: How does it compare to the other six wins?

MV: Are you going to keep asking me that question: ‘how does it feel compared to the other ones’? I don’t know. It’s always different.  I mean now, after the race, I can say I did that 360 for the crowd, but at the time it was a bit tricky out there with the medium tyre, very low grip.

Q: Seb, do you consider this second place almost as a victory from what happened yesterday, from what happened today?

SV：For us it’s dull, as drivers so I think we rather enjoy here, close to the Netherlands with a lot of Dutch people coming…

MV: It was a bit tricky today because it was orange against red, you know those colours don’t really match.

SV: Well, they’re similar. I was taking the orange as well on my side.

MV: When they were going up, right?

Hungary Saturday

Q: Lewis, seven years ago you were here the winner but 2012 we had six champions in the peloton and you were only a one-time champion. Today we have only three champions in the peloton and you are a five-time champion.

MV: I didn’t know we had a peloton…

Q：Max is the top scorer in the last four races?

MV: You need to be the top scorer over the whole season, that’s what counts.

Q:  Max, throughout your career so far you’ve held the majority of records for being the youngest driver to hit certain achievements. This is one of the few things you’ve missed out on. Do you care much for those kind of accolades and records – or not really?

MV: No. I don't’ know, I can make it a long story but it’s not so. It’s nice but it doesn’t make me sleep better, or anything.

Q: Renault claims that the engine is now at 1000bhp. What about Honda and Mercedes engines in this case? And an engineer said it’s impossible right now in this state to break this, also for Ferrari.

MV: Well, if they claim to have a thousand horsepower they have a really bad car! I think it’s better to do the talking on the track than in the media anyway.

Hungary Sunday

Q: How do you feel close with nine championship titles.

MV: I don’t know what to say! I have none! I don’t know what to comment on this! I still have a few years, hopefully in F1, so hopefully one day I can add one. Yeah. That’s it, I think.

Belgium Thursday

Q:We know you for five seasons already and every time we are writing ‘Max is a very good young driver’. What do you think? How long can you be a young driver?

MV: Until I’m old. Is it 30 that you get old? Thirty. OK. Well, I guess there’s eight and a half more years.

Japan Thursday

Q: Do you want to be consulted when it comes to deciding whether it goes ahead on Saturday?

MV: I’ve got my speedboat on standby so I’m ready to go for Saturday.

United States Thursday

Q:Lewis had some comments to say about you after the last race. Said he affords you more space than other drivers in fear of being torpedoed. And I think Seb also said that he copy-and-pasted what Lewis had to say. I was wondering what your feeling is about those two comments?

MV: From my side, yeah, it was a bit of a silly comment to make. I think I’m always a hard racer but fair. I think it’s just not correct – but of course it’s easy to have a dig at someone. From my side, it’s fine. It’s always positive when the talk about you. That means you’re in their head, So, for my side, I just focus on my driving and I think that’s enough said.

Q: Do you think that you’re getting dug out by Lewis, by Sebastian? They don’t seem to dig anyone else out, it just seems to be you; you seem to be the centre of attention a lot of time.

MV: I think from my side it only shows that I’m in their heads and I guess that’s a good thing but from my side I don’t need to dig in to other people in the press conferences because first of all I think it’s a bit disrespectful as well and I prefer to fight on track which I love to do and of course I like to fight hard but on the edge. Otherwise, if they want me to stay behind, it’s also better to stay at home. I really want to take the fight to them because that’s what we are here for. We are racers, we in Formula One, I think we are the best out there and we do fight for victories because that’s what I live for.

Abu Dhabi Thursday

Q: Max, you’d like to offer your worst of the season?

MV: Er, no – save the time.

Q:  If you were the director of the Drive to Survive documentary on Netflix, what moment of the season would you definitely put in?

MV: Hockenheim.

Q: Do you every focus yourself like looking at Lewis, maybe winning six?

MV: I was thinking about ten.

Abu Dhabi Sunday

Q: Were you surprised by your dominance today, because you were 13 seconds ahead of Max after 20 laps?

LH: Yeah, I definitely wasn’t expecting to haver the pace advantage to that extent.

MV: You could have slowed down!

[keijitranslates]

[KH side story translation] TOTAL ECLIPSE

When I close my eyes to go to sleep, I start to hear the sound of waves. Then all I see is a deep blue, and I can eventually start to make out the blue sky and sea. I’m on the shore, looking at that sky and sea. I’m in one of my very precious memories, memories that I can only see in dreams now.

Riku.

Sora runs up like he always does, kicking up sand as he approaches.

You’re the one being lame and just laying on the ground when we came all the way out here, Sora complains, pouting.

…nah, nothing really.

Sora grabs his knees and sits down.

I mean, Riku, all you do lately is sit and look at the ocean.

Wakka and Selphie can be heard yelling as they play in the distance.

You know the ocean’s never going to change no matter how long you look at it, right?

Sora tilts his head.

What are you two doing?

A smile appears on Sora’s face.

It’s Kairi.

Ah, you’re doing nothing, are you?

Kairi sits next to Sora.

Nothing sure is boring, huh? Sora says to Kairi.

I think it’s nice to sit and look at the ocean every once in a while.

Sora pouts again.

Hey, Riku, wanna do the usual?

Sora turns around toward Riku.

A beach race! It’s been forever! I think the last time we did that was…

 If I were to keep losing like Sora does, would I keep on trying until I win?

 Hooray!

Sora does a little jump.

I’ll be the referee, Kairi says.

If I win, I’m captain! Sora proclaims.

We’re trying to build a raft right now.

In order to go somewhere that isn’t here – to go somewhere else, beyond the sea.

And if you win…

Sora tries to continue, but then he physically stops in his tracks.

Huh? Wha, wait a minute…

Sora gets flustered.

The two who have shared the fruit of that tree shall be tied together for eternity.

 Ready? On your marks!

Kairi’s voice echoes over the beach.

3, 2, 1…go!

Sora had opted to run along the beach route.

He practically ran for his life.

That drawing in the cave.

 Sora looks like he is running behind.

Someday I might lose to him.

 Sora is still behind me.

He finally jumps up from the ground and touches the paopu tree.

Then Kairi is staring at Sora.

Sora runs in a daze.

That’s definitely why I can’t beat Sora.

 Whoooo! I did it! Sora yells, falling down on the beach.

He then puffs his cheeks, sulking.

Uh, a-about that thing you said… Sora asked.

Kairi runs up to “the two”.

Congratulations, Sora!

Sora answers by raising a fist.

What were you two talking about? Where are you going?

Kairi tilts her head a little.

And you won’t beat me next time, either! Sora shouts.

On the cliff. The horizon.

There’s no way I can lose to Sora.

I’m jealous of him.

I can’t desperately push myself like he did back there, and I can’t smile like him either.

Why am I the only one who’s a year older?

If Sora weren’t here – or if Kairi weren’t here – I’d probably get along fine with whoever was here.

But this world is so cruel that I dream of both a world without Sora and a separate world without Kairi.

Is this wind coming from the sea?

Or is it coming from the sky?

The sea and the sky in front of me are the same as always – and this world will never change.

The blue of the sea and the sky is burning into my eyes.

I wanted to be pulled out of this unchanging world.

 The door will soon open.

 Suddenly, I hear a voice from somewhere, among the cries of the seagulls and the sound of the waves.

The door will soon open.

I have heard this voice before.

Yes – I know whose voice this is.

 You understand the darkness within you, don’t you?

 The voice I can hear from the darkness within my heart – Ansem’s voice.

Then why won’t you submit to it? Just go ahead and destroy Sora, or Kairi.

Darkness.

I can’t see the blue anymore. I can no longer see the sky and sea I remember fondly.

 “Riku!”

Riku’s upper body jerks up in response.

“Are you OK? It looked like you were having a terrible nightmare.”

The King – Mickey – was looking over him with concern, draped in a black coat.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry to make you worry, Mickey.”

Riku manages a stiff smile. He’d had a dream, a dream about the home world he missed.

“Ansem is still in your heart, isn’t he?”

“…seems like it.”

Riku hangs his head.

He could still detect Ansem’s smell. But he’d known that when he left the castle.

It was already three days since they’d left Castle Oblivion. Every night, he was struck with the same kind of nightmare. The beginning was different every time, but the ending was always the same. He hears Ansem’s voice, and he jerks awake.

Is the world of dreams a dark interval between light and darkness - an interval that allows an erratic existence like Ansem to appear with its own intent?

The dream itself was a message conveying the reality that Ansem – darkness – was still buried in his heart, and it was enough to make Riku want to wallow in despair.

But Mickey had once said - “even in the deepest darkness, you’ll always find a light”.

“Are you sleeping OK?”

Mickey peeks in at Riku’s face, which was covered by a hood, worried.

“Of course.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ouch. Guess you don’t even trust me.” Riku sneers.

Mickey shakes his head, responding to the sentiment, then smiles.

“Of course I believe you! But even I can’t go all the way into a dream to help you.”

“Sorry, Mickey.”

Riku looks down just a little bit.

“Why are you apologizing? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Mickey’s words leave Riku even more dejected.

Haven’t done anything wrong? Really? But I’ve thought about a world without Sora, and a world without Kairi. I’ve actually hurt both of them. And you’re trying to tell me I haven’t done anything wrong?

“I called the darkness inside of you.”

Riku shudders in response to the sudden voice. He had to make sure Mickey wouldn’t notice.

“I am you. You are me. We are darkness.”

I want to shout “that’s not true!”. But I don’t. I know that I have darkness in my heart. That’s why I decided to live with the darkness. I won’t lose to the darkness in my heart.

After all, I may have dreamed up a world without Sora, and a world without Kairi, but in the end, I couldn’t get rid of either Sora or Kairi. That’s because they’re my precious friends.

“Riku?”

“It’s nothing, Mickey. Let’s sleep a little more,” Riku says, smiling at him.

“Good idea.”

Mickey lies down on his side.

“Submit to me, Riku.”

I mustn’t submit. And I can’t stay so close to Mickey anymore. It isn’t right to worry him so much. My heart feels like it would break if I was by somebody’s side any longer. I must fight the Ansem in my heart all by myself.

I’ll be OK. After all, I know that the light won’t ever give up on me. Even if I descend to the deepest darkness, light will reach me. I also have many friends I’m important to.

So, I won’t be defeated. Everything will turn out fine.

Riku fixes his eyes on Mickey, who was just falling asleep beside him.

“Sorry, Mickey,” he whispers, standing up.

Setting himself on the twilight path, the road toward dawn, Riku begins to walk alone.

(Because I feel a bit bad just posting something so long without this, you can find the novel at the following link!  It has a lot of other short stories that aren’t quite as interesting but still fun to read if you know Japanese, and of course some Shiro Amano illustrations - though none for this story in particular: https://www.amazon.co.jp/gp/product/4757521529)

[ununniliad]

Burst Beetle Tweseveny #9: “2007: The Umpire's Call and the Last Rung's Fall!“

The figure lands lightly on her feet, wearing insectoid armor in shining black and white! She snaps her fingers, pointing at Tweseveny, then whips her head around and points the finger at M-Plot!

"And I think it needs a referee! Someone like... Burst Beetle XOX!" The camera zooms around XOX and she poses, showing off her cool armor!

Her chest plate has a diagonal checkerboard pattern with white Xes on the black squares and black Os on the white squares. Hanging from her neck is an enormous crimson whistle. Her arms and legs are vertically striped in black and white, and she wears black gloves and boots with white trim. At her crimson belt is a buckle with two chess clocks on them, one with Tweseveny's armored face on it, the other with M-Plot. Her face is a criss-cross tic-tac-toe board, and her eyes are black, circular lenses, one with a raised white letter X in it, the other with a raised white letter O. At her neck is a black bowtie with a ruby at the center, and on her forehead is a ruby chess clock, with white numbers and a black hand!

Tweseveny shakes her head. "Burst Beetle... Zocks?"

"Right, but you spell it capital ecks capital oh capital ecks."

"What is this!?" M-Plot stalks forward. "Who sent you? What are you!?"

XOX holds out a hand and presses it to M-Plot's chest plate. "Babe, I'm not a player in this game. I'm just here to make sure it's fair."

M-Plot pulls back angrily. "This isn't a game."

"Yeah, and if it was, we'd be winning!" Mother Time holds up the Hourglass of wReamThermodynamics and blasts a seething stream of temporal rays at XOX!

Who holds up a single hand and lets the stream splash uselessly against it! "Attacking the ref, that's a penalty!" She reaches down and grabs the whistle, holding it up in the air. She presses a button on it, and as a shrill noise rings out, the Hourglass vanishes - and appears in Time-Waster Lad's hands!

"Hey, what--" He juggles the item of power-- manages to grab it, but drops the Rung of Revamp!

"GOT IT--" Mother Time leaps forward--

And the Time Crapper is there, between her and XOX, M-Plot just to the side.

"STOP."

he speaks in a voice that vibrates thru the bones of all present.

And they do.

He looks up at XOX. "What are the rules of your game?"

XOX nods cheerfully, putting one hand on her hip and pointing the other at him. "You, you get it." She looks back and forth. "It'll seem pretty familiar. Two teams, three of you versus two of you--" She points at Tweseveny. "Transform, please."

Tweseveny lets out a breath - given what happened to the Hourglass, she wasn't sure what would happen if she'd tried. "With pleasure." She presses the pink gem on her buckle, and sheets of printer paper wrap around her, bursting into her armor.

"There we go," says XOX. "And if you can get the Rung and the Hourglass both on one side, you win."

"So," says M-Plot, evenly, fists clenched. "What's the catch?"

"We're moving to a bit of a different playing field. Goes something like..." She looks at Tweseveny and pushes down the button on her Tweseveny clock, holding it down. "You play!" She looks at M-Plot and pushes her M-Plot button, holding it down. "We play!" She looks up in the air. "Let's play!"

She releases both buttons at once, and the corridors of LNHQ shake wildly, knocking everyone off their feet! The roof seems to open up, and suddenly, Tweseveny is being carried up on some kind of white, blocky platform, rising high into a sunny blue sky!

Below, she can see the corridors growing and twisting, forming a maze! At the center of the maze is the Plot Device Room, and she can see Time-Waster Lad running out of it, carrying the Hourglass - and Mother Time giving chase!

All around her, platforms like something out of a video game are rising up - and spelling out words! In fact, they're spelling out "Infinite Leadership Cry.sig"!

This is really weird!! But Tweseveny feels alive! She sees a staircase running down from the 'g', into the LNHQ, a way to help-- and she sees M-Plot standing in front of it, brandishing a blade forged from a clock hand!

"Well," says M-Plot, widening her stance. "Two powerful net.villains against one of the weakest members of the LNH. Perhaps she was on my side after all." She swings the blade around in her hand. "Tweseveny... time to meet the boss of this level!"

She charges forward, and the two clash!

Far below, the Time Crapper picks up the Rung. "Tamela, we've got what we wanted..." He watches her run down the corridor, and sighs, walking after.

Mother Time fires temporal blasts from her scythe, ranting and screaming. "You didn't mean anything you said, did you?! It was all just a trick to get me to lower my guard!"

Time-Waster Lad ducks and dodges. "I really did, tho!" He looks over his shoulder for a moment, then eeps and darts to the side, out of the way of a burst of energy that turns a original painted cel of Manga Girl into crayon art on construction paper. "I like helping! It's good!!"

"Fuck that!!" She slices thru a decorative armoire in her rage. "I don't need anything except what's mine, and that's everything! That's me and my boy! We're strong enough to stand together against the whole universe!!"

Tweseveny dances in tight combat with M-Plot! She can hold her own, but she can't push forward - can't get past to help Time-Waster Lad!

"Hear that, Tweseveny?" says M-Plot, a smirk in her voice as she thrusts, narrowly missing Tweseveny's midsection. "You couldn't make them better! They're just as bad as before! You've failed, utterly!"

Tweseveny grits her teeth. It's true, and it stabs at her, but her head is clear, for the moment, of despair, and she's thinking...

M-Plot is nothing if not smart, and... yes, she's right. The Time Crapper and Mother Time - they're beyond Tweseveny's ability to fix, and, from what he'd said, beyond any hero's. They just need to break up...

...no, not just break up. They'd already tried to push off from each other, time after time. But they're too caught in each other's orbit, helplessly spinning back together. They need to be broken up - forcefully pushed out of each other's lives, too fast and hard to come back together. And maybe they'd end up being toxic in somebody else's direction - but at least there would be a chance!

And then, a second realization - yes, she can hear that! Somehow, she can hear what's going on far down below with perfect clarity. Which means...

Tweseveny throws herself into an aggressive attack, one which M-Plot will have to focus all her skills on dodging! And she raises her voice so all can hear! "Time-Waster Lad!"

Time-Waster Lad skids around a corner, panting as he runs as fast as he can. "Y-yeah?"

"Remember!" Tweseveny shouts. "Flame Wars II!" And then she has to dodge M-Plot's counterattack with all her might!

"Flame Wars II, what--" His eyes go wide, and he glances down at the Hourglass in his hands. "They can't win if..." He smiles the smile of someone with a plan!

He takes a turn, and a turn, and another turn-- and he's back in the lobby of the LNHQ. He runs behind the desk, where he can see the whole room.

Mother Time runs in, stops short. She glares at him, scythe burning with energies, eyes flicking around, trying to figure out why he stopped.

The Time Crapper walks in behind her, one hand seething with entropy, the other holding the Rung. "Give it up, boy. We've already won."

"Yeah!" Mother Time points the scythe at him. "You're just wasting time!"

Time-Waster Lad grins wide. "Yep!" He holds the Hourglass up in the air, and focuses. Once, he was able to waste millions, billions of years. Twenty-four hours should be a piece of cake!

"What..." The Time Crapper turns, looks out the window-- sees the angle of the light shifting, shadows moving, sun lowering towards the horizon-- "No!"

"GRAH!" Mother Time tries to blast him, but the energy skitters off the surface of the Hourglass! The sun sets, the moon rises--

The Time Crapper runs forward, heedless, hoping he's in time--

Time-Waster Lad looks up in the air and waves. "Bye, Tweseveny! Thanks!"

Somewhere far away, a clock strikes midnight, and Time-Waster Lad vanishes, Hourglass of wReamThermodynamics and all.

"No..." says the Time Crapper, inches from where he'd been. He turns, and sees Tamela-- "NO!"

"I don't..." Tamela looks confused, looking off into space, seeing something else, some other existence. Around her, figures appear for a brief moment, figures of herself, a cloud of selves singing, laughing, yelling, dying, living. She looks up at the Time Crapper, eyes wide, guileless. "I don't... remember you..."

The Time Crapper grabs her hand, pulling her away from herselves, but her hand comes apart in his, dissolving into a cloud, as brief a moment as all those others; and as her existence comes apart, she, and her selves, disappear from LNHQ, and from this moment altogether.

The Time Crapper falls to his knees, hand still extended, hidden gaze staring off at where she had been.

High above, the platforms rumble and come apart, separating Tweseveny and M-Plot, as LNHQ draws back together, seeming like a building again, instead of a dizzying labyrinth.

M-Plot's platform settles down next to the Time Crapper. He stares off, in a terrible freefall as the bottom drops out of his life. Then he looks up at M-Plot, voice helpless, beseeching. "What do I do now?"

M-Plot puts her hand on his shoulder, and speaks, not unkindly. "The only thing left for you to do. The thing you've needed to do for a long time. Move on."

The Time Crapper looks down, down into the depths of the universe, and nods, once. "To the past..." He sighs. "Always to the past." He holds out the Rung of Revamp, and M-Plot takes it.

Tweseveny's platform settles across from him. "Time Crapper, wait a second..."

He looks up at her. The bitterness is gone from his vacant gaze, but so too is the hope. "Yes, Burst Beetle Tweseveny?"

"I..." She still feels the shame, but... it'd be worse if she didn't say it. "I meant what I said. You should figure out what you really want, now that... now that this is all over."

The Time Crapper nods. "Thank you. Truly. But..." He looks off into the distance. "I am afraid I have but two choices. One, to separate entirely from humanity - to become fully cosmic, and take part in that great dance. It sounds beautiful... but I'm afraid I'm too weak to choose something so noble." He shakes his head, great sadness hanging off of him. "Thus, I will take the other choice - to stay a net.villain, and seek even greater power. I..."

He hesitates. "Somewhere out there, now, she has resumed her life, with nothing left of me in it..." He shakes his head. I will not seek to bring her back to me. Thank you for teaching me that. But..."

The Time Crapper draws himself up. The shadows within his robe seem to become deeper, and Tweseveny has a strange sensation of vertigo, like she's looking into the depths of space, beyond galaxies and clusters. "In her memory, I will find the greatest powers of this cosmos, and I will take them for my own. And I will force this Looniverse to become what I need it to be." His robe blows in an unseen wind, and the lights of the lobby dim. "And the LNH will battle me, and perhaps one of them will finally, finally, tell me what I need to be. That, Tweseveny, is what I desire."

Gazing into that awful deep darkness, Tweseveny sees one more awful truth. This man isn't the Time Crapper yet. Not the one from the Cosmic Plot Device Caper, from Cry.sig, from Retcon Hour. And he was going to go back, and carry out all those awful plans, and--

"Wait, please, let's..." The words die on her lips.

"Talk about it?" The Time Crapper nods, as one by one, the lights of the lobby wink out. "No, thank you. One day, we shall talk, one last time. But for now... goodbye, Tweseveny. I hope the path you walk is better than mine."

And for a brief moment, all is dark; and when light returns, he is gone.

For a moment, Tweseveny is silent. She turns to M-Plot, and says but one word: "Why?"

M-Plot folds her arms. "Because he's going to save the world." Unlike before, she is not happy, she is not gleeful, she is simply... carrying out a duty.

"Save the world!?" Tweseveny gestures wildly. "He's going to cause so much destruction! We could have stopped it!"

M-Plot shakes her head. "He will provide a valuable counterbalance. If not for his greed, if not for his desire, the Crossover Queen would have taken this world when it was weak."

"But--" Tweseveny clenches her fist. "There could have, must have been--"

"Better women than you have TRIED." M-Plot slams her fist into the wall! "WE ARE NOT THE ONES WHO WILL SAVE HIM."

"Enough." Burst Beetle XOX is suddenly there, next to them, her arms crossed, lenses focused on M-Plot. "I know who you are. I know who empowered you. And I know what your mission is."

"..." M-Plot turns away. "Which one?"

"Both of them."

"Er..." Tweseveny raises her hand. "Could I know?"

XOX turns to Tweseveny, and there was a smile in her voice. "Not yet." She looks back at M-Plot. "She'll tell you."

"The hell I will!" M-Plot snarls, still turned away.

"Yes, yes." XOX waves her hand casually, voice lightening. "But why worry about that, when there's still just one more thing for you to take care of?"

"Ah..." M-Plot looks at her hand, still holding the Rung of Revamp. "So there is."

She holds the Rung high in the air. Tweseveny wonders-- is M-Plot going to use it to power up, give herself some new form or weapon to use in their battles?

But no. The Rung begins to glow, but its light does not spread to M-Plot's body; the Rung itself grows brighter, and brighter, and Tweseveny suddenly understands - M-Plot is using the Rung of Revamp on the Rung of Revamp!

"No longer will the Rung of Revamp simply empower!" speaks M-Plot, voice ringing with an echoing thunder. "Once, its purpose was to create a character anew, to rewrite identities! Now, it returns to that purpose! I cast thee back in time - I cast thee to - Jungle Cheesecake!"

From far away, there is a deep BONG, echoing as if reflected between great cilffs, valleys and mountains; and with each echo, the Rung's light, and the Rung itself, fades, until it is gone.

M-Plot dusts off her hands. "It will have to be found again, ere net.hero or net.villain can use it."

"So..." says Tweseveny, raising an eyebrow. "You're not just here to mess with me."

"Yes," says M-Plot, strained calm in her voice. "I have my own duties to the Looniverses." She looks at Tweseveny, and in her lenses, a resentful glow burns. "And they include ending your playtime, Tweseveny. You are a reckless, irresponsible factor in these histories."

"But--"

XOX steps between them, and looks M-Plot in the face. "Go."

"Fine." The deep BONG sounds again, and M-Plot begins to fade. "You will see me again soon, Tweseveny! Beware! Bewaaaaaare..."

XOX shakes her head. "What a drama queen."

Suddenly, the lobby doors open and net.heroes pour in, fleshy humans and mechanical duplicates alike. They crowd around the Burst Beetles, full of confusion - it seemed that they had returned from their missions during the time that had been wasted, and found themselves outside at just past midnight.

Tweseveny feels light-headed, overwhelmed, and sways on her feet - into XOX's arms. The latter hero holds her close and addresses the crowd: "I promise an explanation, but first - time out!" She presses the ruby on her head, and everything seems to freeze around the two of them.

"Oh," says Tweseveny, trying to stand up. "Very good..." She stumbles again.

"Hey," says XOX, holding her up. "You started net.heroing in the evening after a tiring day of work, and between Carolyn and Time-Waster Lad, you've spent a whole 'nother day doing things. I'm not going to say you need some sleep... but yes I am. You need some sleep."

"...oh." Tweseveny yaaaaaaaawns, wide and deep, and her armor poofs away, leaving her in that same beige skirt and sensible blouse. "Sleep... it's a weird thing for a net.hero to do..."

XOX shakes her head. "We all do it, I promise. Just, usually off-panel." She guides Tweseveny down the corridors. "I don't think Time-Waster Lad will mind you using his room."

"Heh... no, I guess not..." She stumbles along, and it doesn't seem to take them much time at all to reach the door, for XOX to open it, and help her to the bed. She kicks off her shoes, and looks up to see XOX turning to go. "Hey, wait..."

XOX turns back. "Yes?"

"Is..." She rubs at her eye. "Is this... really happening? Am I really Burst Beetle Tweseveny, or is Glenda Gwynnych just pretending to be something more?"

XOX kneels down, takes her by the shoulders, and looks into her eyes, mask to face. "You are... yourself. I can't tell you what that is, but I know this. If you want to be Tweseveny, you don't have to be On all the time. You can have human needs, human flaws, and yet be far more than what they think a human is. That's what this place, this world, is about."

Tweseveny smiles. "Yes... thank you." She reaches up to stroke the mask. "And when will you be Off?"

The smile in XOX's voice is clear thru her mask. "At the end of the game." She stands up, turns away, opening the door to leave; but lingers in the doorway, helmet turning just so, a glance back at Tweseveny; one that makes Tweseveny oddly warm inside, oddly soft, oddly safe.

"Or perhaps... at halftime."

<<<*>>>

Author's Note: Whew! Finally! @-@v Two years in the making.

So what happens with Tweseveny next? Well, my plan is for a 27-issue series, plus a big "movie" special. I have no idea how long that'll take, of course. X3 And I might change my plans along the way. But I'm not gonna worry too much - I'm just gonna have fun, as much as I can. :>

One more continuity note: I noticed that in Infinite Leadership Crisis-era stories, the Rung of Revamp increased several characters' powers without altering them. I think there might be an interesting story in how that came about, but I figured I'd leave that one open, and just draw a line under the whole deal.

Also, after I talked to confidate Emma McGill about Time-Waster Lad, she came up with a list of potential habits for him:

Hair is always a different color

Has a bunch of tattoos that he did himself (pen & ink)

Chronic Doodler

Nails are often painted with whatever is lying around

Master whittler

Definitely picks at everything

Incredible at video games

Known to just start walking in a random direction with no destination in mind

Pretty good at trick shots, lacks the discipline to go pro.

Chronic thread unraveler

Is annoyed that Criticker only has a 0-100 rating system

Has a serious TV Tropes problem

Middling bass player, mostly just likes to 'jam' in his free time

Hair is either buzzed, or a very uneven shag (he cuts it himself)

People think he's very "zen"; he isnt

Chronic list starter

Owns the most elaborate fidget spinner the world has ever seen.

Never leaves home without a ballpoint pen, Sharpie, gum, some kind of fidget toy, & eyeliner

Can turn nearly any thin, flat surface into an airplane

Can play arbitrary numbers of songs' drum lines on arbitrary surfaces

[cozy-the-overlord]

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

A/N: Based on the Taylor Swift song of the same name. MAATHP is my favorite song off of Lover, and ever since I heard it this is what I saw in my head. I don’t know what that says about me, but here we go. This is my first time posting on Tumblr, so I’m sorry if this absolutely sucks.....

She came to the school when she was young.

They all do. They arrive as children and leave as adults, marching through the arched gateway with crowns on their heads and smiles on their faces as they turn their sights onto the world at large. And above them, their queen of kings, watching over them all in her sparkling gown and prom picture smile.

Miss Americana.

The girl knew from the moment that she stepped through those doors that someday she would be that woman, that pure and powerful figure who stood above the rest, raised to a pedestal by her doting peers to represent them as a class and as a people. Here, on the ground, she was no one, voiceless, meaningless… up there, she would be everything.

To get her classmates to adore her was critical, and yet it was so simple. She went to games and rallies, plays and parties, cementing her face and figure firmly at the core of school spirit so that they could not think ok one without the other. She danced on the football field with the other cheerleaders as the boys plowed through the enemy and skipped over the line, ball in hand. She relished in the roar that echoed through the stadium and beyond, the sound of screams, of chants, of victory.

“GO! FIGHT! WIN!”

She sat stick straight at the desk in the front of the room, making a show of how attentive and responsible she was by scribbling down notes every time the teachers opened their mouths. Classes didn’t matter as much, though—people looked for devotion, not intelligence.

And so, she rose through the ranks. The Future Majesty, they called her. The Best of All of Us. They clapped for her as she walked through the halls, patted her on the back while telling her she was destined for great things, and she smiled and thanked them because she knew it was true. She basked in the glory of their worship and bathed in the validation that was their love.

They weren’t completely devoted, however. There was one, one boy who sat next to her in the front of the room, who said nothing. He sat at his desk and wrote in his notebook and slunk out of the room with his head down, never sparing her a second glance. She didn’t spare him many glances either. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. Many girls had looked at him with hearts in their eyes and hope in their chest, but he looked past all of them. He was weird, one weird boy in a class of a hundred normal ones, and he didn’t matter.  

Still, she wondered about him. Outside of class, she never saw him. Not at the football games, not at the theater troupe’s performances, not at the many dances throughout the year. She had never known a fellow student to have so little spirit. He was an oddity, a challenge. Miss Americana was meant to inspire spirit—surely she could stoke up the fire of patriotism within him?

And so, one day, she leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Are you excited for this Friday’s ceremony?” she asked.

He looked up at her. Looking at his face, she could see why so many fell for him. His eyes were deep and promising, the sparkling shade of a glacier.

“What’s happening this Friday?” he asked, his voice low and disinterested.

“Why, the End of Year Ceremony! You know, when this year’s Miss Americana is crowned and a football game is played in her honor? It’s going to be fabulous, I just know! I can’t wait to see who Miss Americana will be!”

He turned back to his notebook. “You will.”

She smiled and gave her well-practiced soft giggle. “Do you really think so? I’m not sure. There are so many girls who are worthy of it, you know--”

“You will,” He scratched out a mark on the paper as he spoke. “They’ll call your name and put a crown on your head and everyone will clap and lose their minds over it.”

She frowned. “You’re speaking as though you won’t be there.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, but you must come!” She wrapped her hands around his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’s our last big hurrah before we graduate! Don’t you want to savor every moment of it before we leave forever?”

He pulled his arm free and pushed her away. “No. I’m counting the seconds until I can leave and never come back.”

This wasn’t working. How could someone be so stubborn, so cold? “But… why? This is your home, it’s been your home for years--”

“Just because I’ve lived here doesn’t mean it’s home.”

“But it’s been such a wonderful home--”

“Are you really that blind?” He stood up abruptly, snatching his books from his desk. “Do you honestly believe that this is heaven on Earth? Open your eyes. We’re losing.”

She prickled. “We’re undefeated in all of our sports--”

“No. We’re losing to ourselves. We’ve been losing for a long time.” He turned to leave the classroom. “It’s about time you saw that.”

She huffed, her face burning in embarrassment. If that was the way he felt, fine. She didn’t need his support. She didn’t need his love. She didn’t need anything from him. She already had everything.

They crowned her just as he predicted they would. She was all smiles and waves as she ascended to her throne, the picture of grace as she lifted the red silk of her gown oh so slightly to walk up the steps. They cheered, her subjects, her peers, her friends; they all cheered and clapped and roared for her as the crown was placed atop her curls.

“Thank you!” she said. “Thank you so very much! I love you all!”

And then the game began.

It felt odd to watch the cheerleaders run onto the field, waving their red and blue pom poms as they danced to the band’s chant. She was so used to being there, on the grass, welcoming the players herself. It looked a bit different from up here on the podium. Everyone seemed angrier, rougher than usual. But what did it matter? She was Miss Americana.

Until the first snap, and the players rushed at each other. She screamed when boy attacked boy, the football lying forgotten in the grass as players pounded their opponents to the ground, bashing their ribs, their shoulders, their skulls into the dirt, staining the field with splashes of red.

“What are they doing?” she yelled. “Stop them, somebody stop them!”

Everyone else was yelling too, standing on their feet, jumping up and down as they clapped and cheered.

On the sidelines, the cheerleaders screamed.

“GO! FIGHT! WIN!”

She stood up, whipped around to the wizened old man who stood next to her, the one who had crowned her only moments before. “What’s wrong with them? You have to stop them!”

He gave her a quizzical look. “They’re just playing the game.”

“No, they’re not! They’re killing each other!” A new set of players lined up on the field for the next snap, kicking aside the lifeless bodies on the bloodstained grass.

The whistle blew, and the ball went flying, the sound of crushing bones and mangled cries drowned out by the frenzied applause. The man nodded. “They’re winning.”

“Are you blind?” she shrieked. “That’s not winning! They’re hurting each other!”

“My dear, that’s football. It’s fine. The referee will call a foul if things get too bad.”

The referee stood on the sidelines, whistle resting languidly against his chest.

“Are you crazy?” she hissed.

“GO! FIGHT! WIN!” The cheerleaders danced across corpses, their white shoes stained red.

Someone on the sidelines hurtled a rock at one of the players. It struck him in the shoulder, causing him to drop the boy he had been throttling. With a roar, the player rushed at the guilty party, ripping off his helmet to beat his opponent with it. The audience whooped and cheered.

She was shaking. “This isn’t my school.”

The old man smiled. “Yes, it is. We’re winners here. Can’t you see that we’re winning?”

She ran.

She ran away from the screams and the cheers, tripping on her heels as she tumbled down the stairway. The hem of her gown, her gorgeous red gown on which they had spent hours sewing every tiny red sequin, caught between her foot and the floor, and she winced as fabric ripped and sent her sprawling.

“GO! FIGHT! WIN!”

Behind her, they were screaming. Were they coming for her? Did they thirst for her blood as well? She was afraid to look behind her. Kicking off her shoes, she scrambled down the hallway barefoot.

The floor was slick and wet. Blood? How? How could it be here? Lockers flew by her, dented doors barely hanging on to their hinges.

It couldn’t be. She panted as she rushed down the hallway, skidding to avoid the shards of glass that littered the bloodstained floor. It couldn’t be like this. Her school was beautiful, kind, a beacon meant to make the world a better place. Her classmates weren’t savages; they loved and cared for each other and wanted the best for everyone. They elected her to represent that to the rest of the country. This wasn’t right!

Open your eyes. We’re losing.

She tripped, her lips kissing blood as she hit the tile. Frantically, she tried to stand, but the floor was so slippery, there was nothing to hold on to, there was nothing—

Arms wrapped around her waist and she shrieked, writhing like a feral animal as they hauled her to her feet. She whipped around, ready to fight for her life….

The boy from class stood behind her. He cocked his head as he studied her, his glacier eyes piercing deep into her soul. She grabbed his wrist.

“We’ve got to get out of here—out there, did you see? It’s a massacre—”

“I know.” His voice was low and quiet, his eyes never leaving hers as he spoke. He tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear.

“Has it always been like this?” she asked. “Every game?”

He nodded. “And the rallies. And parties. And everything else.”

She inhaled. “How did I never see?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Nobody seems to see. I thought I was the only one.” He offered a hand. “We should go… It’s not safe here. Probably never was.”

Her eyes followed his hand, but she didn’t take it. “Why are you here?” she finally asked. “If you could see everything, the whole time, why did you stay?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes seemed to be clouded, the glaciers obscured by a fog. “I hated it here. But leaving… never felt right.”

“But it does now?”

“Yes. It does now.” He lifted his gaze back to hers and let out a breath of a laugh, the tiniest smile cracking across his lips. “Maybe I was waiting for you.”

She laughed too.

He thrust his hand towards her again, as if to emphasize its existence. “Well… shall we?”

The girl smiled, the shouts and screams of the field melting away into nothingness. “Lead the way.”

[kumkaniudaku]

Wild N Out

A/N: A request for the amazing and patient @queenbutterfly2018 . This was a challenge that I did not expect but had a lot of fun with. I hope you enjoy! If it isn’t what you want, let me know and we’ll take another stab at it. 

“Wild’n, wild’n...”

Chadwick stood in the hallway of the downtown Los Angeles venue, bouncing on his toes to shake some of his anxious energy away. When he got an invite to appear on the improv comedy show hosted by Nick Cannon, he allowed his wife to pressure him into accepting the invitation against his better judgment. To Chadwick, sketch comedy wasn’t his idea of a good time. He didn’t mind watching live during a date night with CoCo, or even spending hours of mindless time watch the popular television show, but participating was a different beast.

“I got somebody that’s gon’ try and take my comedy crown. You seen him be Jackie Robinson, James Brown, T’Challa and probably ya uncle. Tonight, he’s the Captain of the Black Squad. Y’all know him, Chadwick Boseman!”

Taking one last deep breath, Chadwick started a slow trot to the stage. In the short time beneath the bright lights, he noticed that the person responsible for his appearance on the show was suddenly absent from her front row seat. There was no time to process Tasha’s absence before he was pulled into a dap and hug by Nick Cannon.

“Now I know you like the Master Actor out here these days, but we've never seen you in a comedy role. You think you can hang tonight.”

Chadwick scoffed and smiled, “C’mon man. I’m me.”

“Alright, alright,” Nick laughed in the midst of the oohs and ahhs from the crown. “See, I knew you were coming, so I made sure the Red Squad was stacked. We had to bring out the big guns.”

“Hopefully it’s a ghostwriter. I’ve seen you in the wild style and it ain’t nice.”

“It’s terrible,” Emmanuel Hudson yelled from across the stage. “Worst shit I ever heard. You should throw all of your studio equipment in the middle of the ocean. Then jump in behind it. And drown.”

A chorus of laughter erupted in the building, becoming contagious as Chadwick let go of a few chuckles and some of his nerves.”

“Anyway,” Nick interrupted. “For the first time in Wild N Out history, I’m giving up my captain’s seat to somebody that I know can beat you. She told me to call her the HBIC and the B stands for Boseman. We got your lady in the house, Tashaaaa Boseman!”

With “Last Time That I Checc’d,” playing as her walk out music, CoCo confidently strolled onto the stage with a smug smile and a mischievous grin on her face. She’d been intentionally quiet about her invitation to appear being the catalyst behind her working double time to convince her husband to step out of his comfort zone.

Once Chadwick was over the shock of seeing Tasha step through the tunnel, his eyes flickered with a competitive drive.

“Hey, baby,” Tasha sultry voice spoke into the microphone. “You ready for me to whoop that ass in front of all these people?”

“I hear you talking big shit. Just don’t be surprised when I have on my championship belt in the bedroom tonight, Co.”

After sharing a friendly kiss, Chadwick and Tasha turned to join their respective teams and listen to the instructions for the first game.

“Alright, the name of the game is Got Damned,” Emmanuel started, imitating an old school referee. Even though they were on opposite teams, Chad and CoCo caught eyes and burst into giggles at the act.

A member of each team was called to the center of the stage to participate in an old fashioned game of the dozens. By the middle of the game, Chadwick was in tears from the sheer absurdity of the jokes. Tasha wanted in on the action.

“Give me Tasha! Give me Justina!”

The crowd’s cheers became lost in the background as Tasha stepped forward and grinned from ear to ear.

“Girl, if you don’t get your 'Thank you for being a friend,' Golden Girls old ass outta here,” Justina started.

“I know you ain’t talking with your big back, Clay Matthews from the Packers built ass.”

“If I’m built like Clay Matthews then you must be Spock with them gahdamn Star Trek ass ears.”

Tasha took the joke like a pro while assessing the competition. “Sis, if you don’t get your Frank Sinatra’s face, Khloe Kardashian’s old body having ass outta here!”

When Justine opened her mouth to counter, her speech faltered, causing her to stutter. The misstep garnered a reaction from the audience and the cast on the stage.

“You’re out!” Emmanuel’s declaration came with a gesture for Justine to rejoin her team a bell indicating that the red squad had received the point.

“DJ D-Wreck, who won that game, man?”

“It was close but, it looks like the Red Squad got that one!”

Tasha felt a surge of pride, knowing that she contributed to the win. Her pride matched Chadwick, who tried to keep his admiration lowkey.

If anyone were to ask him, his wife was everything light and fun in their relationship. She had the better jokes, was voted best song singer by the kids and always became the life of the party when they would have their famous monthly gatherings. If circumstances were different and they weren’t on different teams, he’d be congratulating her on her went. Unfortunately, he was forced to defeat his wife on national television. He could apologize for the beatdown later.

Nick continued to fly through games, some that neither Tasha or Chadwick felt qualified to participate. They were content to bobbing their heads along with the rap portions or adding a couple of chuckles to the mesh with the audiences’ laughter. In others, like Plead the Fifth, the Black Squad took the lead when Tasha and Chadwick were pitted against each other.

“Mrs. Boseman. I hear your nickname is CoCo. Can I call you CoCo,” Conceited asked.

“Never in your life, sweetheart, but continue.”

“Oh-kay! I just have one question. On a scale of 1 to 10… how much does Chadwick...hate working with those white people at Marvel. We’ve seen the pictures! How much does he hate it, Tasha!”

Chadwick looked at his wife’s eyes shut, and her lips become tucked into her mouth as she tried to stifle a laugh, half hoping she wouldn’t answer for a variety of reasons.

“Oh my God,” Tasha groaned while “answer him” chants grew in intensity. “I...plead the fifth.”

When the next segment was introduced, the couple made it a point to try and interact with their respective teams.

“ATL makes some noise! We back like we never left. It’s been a wild night all because of Ms. Tashaaaa.”

CoCo made sure to make an animated face in the camera before waving to the crowd.

“Damn, you just gon’ act like I ain’t playing? I mean, my team is winning.”

“Not for long! I’m coming for your ass tonight,” Tasha hollered across the stage.

“Is that a promise?” Chadwick’s suggestive comment didn’t go unnoticed by Tasha or the crowd, earning a mixed back of reactions and a subtle wink from his wife.

“Okay, okay. Sound like y’all are ready for the next game. What you got for us D-Wreck?”

“This next one is called Let Me Holla. We’ll bring a Wild N Out girl to the stage, and each team takes turns trying to holla at her. Good pick up lines get a bell; bad ones get a buzzer. Let’s get a Wild N Out girl to the stage?”

As the pretty blonde made her way into the spotlight, both Chadwick and Tasha made it a point to turn the friendly competition up a notch. Both teams went back and forth with pick-up lines varying from hilariously innocent to suggestive and downright raunchy. After B. Simone received a buzzer on the Black Squad, the scores were even, leaving the door wide open for a win.

Chico Bean was next to step to the young lady. “Hey, baby, do you have sex with men you meet the first night?”

“Uh...no?”

“Good, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tasha could feel her face getting sore from laughter that halted the moment the noise from D-Wreck’s bell turned into excited cheers from the crowd. Looking over, she was shocked to see Chadwick swagging his way to woman on stage. In a rush of adrenaline, Tasha dashed to join him on stage, sandwiching the woman between them.

Neither Tasha or Chadwick spoke. Instead, they took turns pointing between each other and the young woman while smiling. When that didn’t work, Chadwick reached across to pull Tasha into a kiss before pulling away and resuming the silent charade. Their display of affection and its not so hidden meaning made the blonde’s face flush as she bit her lip. Finally, she linked arms with both of her “suitors” and began to walk off stage, giving both teams a bell and ending the game.

Nick Cannon’s face, a mix of shock and intrigue, was priceless as he stepped on stage to mediate as Tasha and Chadwick exchanged a high five and returned to their respective teams.

“We wild’n out for real, huh? That one was too close to call, D-Wreck. Tell us who won.”

“Even with the double bell, the Red Squad had the most luck with the ladies. Give it up for them!”

“Aye, we all tied up around here, and we’re coming back to settle it the Wild Style battle. So, sit ya ass down because we’re coming right back!”

Tasha felt her stomach churn at the mention of the final battle. There was a laundry list of things she didn’t consider herself good at, and freestyle rapping was at the top. A quick break for some crowd shenanigans gave Chadwick time to break away from his group and check on CoCo.

“You good,” he asked as he handed her a bottle of water and bumped her shoulder. “Ready for this to be over as much as I am?”

“If I could end it right here and not have to rap in front of all these people, I’d gladly take my win and leave.”

“Oh, so you think you can just beat me without a fight, Cookie. Nuh uh! We play all the way through in this household.”

“But I can’t rap!”

“And I can’t do improv,” he laughed. “But I did that stupid props game and ended up winning. I got out of my comfort zone, and now it’s your turn.” A quick signal from a producer on set let the couple know that it was time to split up and wrap the taping, prompting Chadwick to end the conversation. “Get on out there Champ. If I lose, I want it to be because you beat me. Got it?”

His reassuring smile came with an extended fist which CoCo bumped to complete the gesture. “I got it. But if I suck, we never speak of it again.”

“Now you know damn well I can’t do that.”

She didn’t have time to respond before Nick was returning from the planned television break and introducing the Wild Style battle. Though nervous, CoCo tried to push all thoughts of possible humiliation from her mind and focus on coming up with rhyming words while others around her rapped. With the number of people on stage, she hoped she’d easily be looked over. Most hosts that weren’t known musicians or comedians tended to skip out on participating even if bated. Tasha hoped she could do the same.

“Aye, Tasha.” The mention of her name made her body still with fear before settling back into reality. “Bring that ass here, girl!”

CoCo’s mind pinged with all of the ways being called out by resident funny guy, DC Young Fly, could turn into a disaster. He was known for not only being outlandish in his delivery but also being good at his craft. She’d watched him completely eviscerate opponents all night and joining in on a laugh here and there. Now, she was on the receiving end and terrified of what was coming.

She didn’t move from the back of the pack under her own power. All she felt was several hands pushing her forward as she willed her facial expressions to morph into something that screamed confidence.

“Now Ms. Tasha, I know you old but I still think you groovy, so when are you gon’ stop fucking this nigga that gets his ass whooped in all his movies?”

Chadwick took the joke in stride with a cool laugh and shook his head. With the end of the game drawing closer, he didn’t care what went on as long as it was on its way to being over. Instead, he chose to give Tasha a subtle nod for encouragement.

Tasha had two options. She could laugh and return to the crowd without a rebuttal or take a stab at defending her man. CoCo chose the latter. Grabbing the mic, she took a deep breath and prepared to give her first televised freestyle a fair shot.

“DC, I’ll tell you a secret, real quick, don’t no woman want a man built like a used toothpick.”

The reaction to her response was instantaneous laughter from both teams and the audience. D-Wreck rewarded her effort with a quick bell before the battle progressed to an old school showdown between Chico and Karlous. She was excited and proud at the same time as she moved back to the side to make room in the center of the group. Chadwick was happy for her too, giving her a subtle wink and nod from across the room.

By the end of the battle, the bells and buzzers had become so mixed in everyone’s heads that no one was aware of the score until Nick called over to the DJ booth for an official tally.

“I got a feeling I get to keep my comedy belt this time, D-Wreck, but who won that game, man?”

“That battle was crazy...but the Black Squad got more bells in the end for the win!”

Chadwick smiled as he was presented with the gold plated souvenir and led to the spot beside Nick Cannon to end the show.

“You came in here, stole, and stole my belt. What you got to say to the people?” “Not much, man. Thank you for having me out here to whoop yo ass and give my lady and me something new to add to the trophy case. C’mere girl.”

Tasha smiled as Chadwick pulled her to his side and handed her the mic. “Let the record reflect that I technically won too because what’s his is mine,” she laughed.

“There it is! Let’s get to it. Everybody get out ya seats, turn your TV up and make some noise for Lil Baby!”

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[captainkippen]

Could you write a hockey themed Tyrus fic at some point?

SEND ME FIC PROMPTS

Hockey, as a whole, means nothing to Cyrus Goodman. It doesn’t matter that his school’s team is a part of the Big Ten. He doesn’t care that they’ve made it to the Frozen Four of the NCAA tournament three years in a row now. When his friends talk about it (and they talk about it a lot) he mostly just tunes it out. Sports, in general, aren’t really his thing, but hockey especially isn’t. It’s violent. It involves shoes with knives on them sliding around on the most dangerous surface possible. It completely goes against all of his pacifistic sensibilities.

Which is why he’s not sure how he’s ended up getting dragged to a game tonight.

“Seriously, would you stop complaining?” Buffy sighs at him. “It’s not even that cold in here.”

“I just don’t understand why I have to be here,” Says Cyrus. “You guys have never cared if I stayed behind before.”

That much is true. Buffy, Jonah and Andi are all regulars at the games. They’re avid fans of the NHL in their spare time and that enthusiasm seems to have translated to college hockey too. Buffy is dating one of the third-line forwards, Marty, and as a result, all three of them are currently sporting his jersey as they yell their support from the stands. They’ve never felt the need to include Cyrus in this before, usually very understanding that he’s allergic to almost all forms of physical activity that do not involve dancing badly to Carly Rae Jepsen when he’s in a particularly good mood, but tonight Buffy had insisted he come.

She rolls her eyes at him. “I wasn’t about to let you mope around in the library again. You need a life outside of studying and class, you know that right?”

“I have a life! I’m part of like three different societies!”

“Do you ever go to their meetings or socials?” She asks with a raised eyebrow.

He grimaces back at her. She has a point. Cyrus is pretty good at socialising when it comes to it, but the idea of jumping in feet first with large groups of new people makes his palms sweat. He prefers to stick to talking to classmates and dorm neighbours.

“Exactly,” Buffy says with a smug look. “You don’t talk to anybody!”

“I talk to you guys!”

Dragging her eyes away from the pretty blonde sat two rows ahead, Andi jumps to Cyrus’ defence, obviously having had enough of this bickering match. “And he talks to that guy in his American Lit class, don’t you, Cyrus? What’s his name again?”

Cyrus nods and forces himself not to smile. American Literature has become one of his favourite classes of the semester and it’s not because of the course content. “TJ,” he replies. He tries to keep the dreaminess out of his voice but it must not work as well as he intended as the girls exchange looks of amused exasperation.

“Are you planning to ask him out any time soon or are you just going to keep mooning over him silently?” Buffy asks.

“Excuse me, I do not moon.”

Andi snorts. “No, you’re right. You drool.”

He smacks her in the shoulder and almost slides right out of his seat trying to avoid the jab to his rib she gives him in return. Fortunately for him, this battle is quickly broken up by the return of Jonah bearing armfuls of popcorn and soda.

“So apparently,” he says as he sits down and passes out the snacks. “Kippen is in tonight.”

Buffy’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Really? I thought he had another game left on his ban.”

“Who’s Kippen?” Andi asks. She likes the game well enough and will cheer just as hard as the other two when it comes to watching games but she doesn’t keep up with the standings or lineups like Buffy and Jonah do.

“One of our d-men,” Jonah replies. “He got suspended for like six games for roughing.”

“I thought roughing only gets penalties?” Cyrus asks. As much as he’d like to know absolutely nothing about the game, some information sinks in from time to time.

“Not if you go too far with it. Anyway, the team appealed the decision and the league lowered it. I think they argued he didn’t instigate the last fight.”

“Huh. Well… can’t hurt to have him back. Is he back on first line?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.”

*

As the game starts Cyrus learns two things:

He was right. Hockey is not his thing.

Student-athletes are terrifying but their fans are worse.

The crowd is so loud they might actually blow the roof off the arena. He sits, a little afraid, in a sea of blue and gold as people scream over one another in anger every time a referee makes a call. It doesn’t seem to matter what the call actually is, they’re all mad about it each time. He feels a little bad for the officials - it can’t be fun to be the guy that makes all the tough decisions. Especially when people threaten to fight you every chance they get. He decides to distract himself from the frenzy around him by actually focusing on the guys on the ice. They’ve got pretty good seats, low in the stands and close to the glass because ‘Marty is a blessing’ according to Jonah. He keeps an eye out for him, as he’s the only player he knows he figures he might as well be ready to get excited if he scores or something, but another guy catches his eye too.

‘KIPPEN’ reads the back of his jersey as he barrels into an unsuspecting member of the opposition, squishing him against the boards like a bug. Oh. So that’s who the others had been talking about. He’s not close enough for Cyrus to make out his face, helmet obscuring his features somewhat, but something about him rings a bell in Cyrus’ mind.

Five minutes later, he figures out why.

One of Kippen’s teammates gets cross-checked and goes down hard. It takes nought point two seconds for Kippen himself to come flying in, drop his gloves and grab the guy responsible for the check. At some point in all the chaos, Cyrus finds himself caught up with the rest of the crowd stood up and screaming. Fists are flying. The officials can’t get near enough to pull them apart. Kippen’s helmet comes off.

He gets the takedown, the crowd cheers jubilantly, and as he straightens up a shock of recognition floods Cyrus’ system. He smacks Andi on the arm.

“Ow! What?!”

“That’s TJ!” He exclaims.

“TJ? As in American Lit TJ? As in American Lit TJ who you’ve been crushing on since classes started?”

He nods.

“Holy crap.”

That just about sums it up.

*

TJ Kippen is the softest, funniest and sweetest guy Cyrus has ever met. Except, he’s not apparently. Apparently, this whole time has been wandering around thinking he was some sort of coffee shop poet he’s actually been skating around throwing hits and earning the ire of several opposing teams while drawing the adoration of half the school. Cyrus isn’t sure what to do with this information.

“Cyrus, Cyrus! Hey!” A voice breaks through the hustle and bustle of the crowded parking lot. They’re hanging around waiting for Marty so they can go and get pizza to celebrate the win. It seems like half the team’s fans are waiting outside for the boys to emerge too. Cyrus wonders what that’s like, to have fans while at college. He turns and sees TJ jogging over to him. He must’ve moved at the speed of light to get showered and changed so fast. He looks so soft in his button-down shirt, wet hair flopping into his eyes.

“Hey,” TJ pants slightly, stopping next to him and leaning one hand on Jonah’s car. “I saw you in the stands… I didn’t realise you came to our games.”

“I don’t usually,” Cyrus explains. “I’m not really good with sports. I’m friends with Buffy? She’s dating one of your teammates-”

“Oh, Marty’s girlfriend? Yeah, she’s cool. She’s on the basketball team, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“Awesome,” TJ grins at him, goofy and wide. It’s almost enough to distract Cyrus from the bruise forming around his eye, but not quite.

“Are you okay?” He asks, starting to reach out to touch it then aborting the gesture last minute. “Maybe you should go see somebody about that.”

TJ waves him off with a casual hand. “It’s fine, I already got it checked. It’ll be okay. Thanks for the concern though… I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t expecting to see you until Monday.”

“That makes two of us,” Cyrus laughs. “I didn’t know you played hockey. Congrats on the win, though.”

“Thanks, I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other, huh?” He rubs the back of his neck and smiles. Cyrus feels warm to his toes. “Actually, I was wondering… could we fix that? Would you maybe like to grab a drink with me or something? To get to know each other? No old white American authors or anything. Just the two of us.”

Oh. OH.

“That sounds great… but I already agreed to go out with my friends-”

“We’ll save you some pizza,” Andi cuts in suddenly, then turns to TJ. “He’d love to go.”

Cyrus looks at her, wide-eyed, and she gives him a stern look in response. Well, she’s not wrong. He looks back to TJ.

“I’d love to,” he confirms.

The winning smile he gets in return is more than enough to make up for being dragged out to a sports game. Huh, maybe hockey isn’t so bad after all.

[ladynuwanda]

The End of the World as We Know It - Part 2 (Michael LangdonXFemale Reader AU)

A/N: I can’t thank you enough for all the feedback I’ve received to the introduction of this story. So now’s when it actually starts to unravel... but I don’t think it works without the first part, so I suggest you click here before reading it 👉 Part 1. Or not. You know. I’m not the boss of you. 😜

Warnings: Same as Part 1, I guess. It’s a Mental Hospital AU, so Mental Health is gonna be mentioned. But I’m doing my very best to keep it light... Don’t be afraid to tell me if you find it triggering in any way.

Word Count: 3,9K

It was an obscenely cold morning for outdoor activities, but I didn’t even have to voice my protests at Doctor Mead, Coco and Gallant were already doing that, loud and clear, enough to compensate for the rest of our little shivering crowd. Nobody seemed happy to be outside except, of course, Dinah Stevens. She was telling the newcomer how very “invigorating” the fresh morning air was and he was listening politely, but probably too cold to reply.

But we definitely could use some distraction from recent events involving Tim and Emily For all the time they had been there, we have been watching over Hawthorne Hospital’s star-crossed lovers. But like the responsible adults we were, we always tried to make sure they weren’t braking any of the hospital’s rules. Specially the ones that were supposed to limit the level of intimacy between patients. You could barely say they were more than teenagers, but if they felt happy in each other’s company or looking doe-eyed at each other from across the room, holding hands under the table or even stealing kisses in remote corners of the halls, we would be glad to pretend to look the other way. They were not hurting anyone, and if this could make their recovery a little easier, who were we to judge? But isn’t it intriguing that they had been the first people Michael Langdon spoke to when he entered Wing 3 and then, only a couple of days later, the young couple had been caught having sex in a broom-closet by a member of the hospital staff? What a funny coincidence.

That’s the kind of thing that made it impossible for me to trust Michael Langdon. I probably shouldn’t blame him for the naughty behaviour of horny teenagers, but I just couldn’t help it. When Doctor Mead announced that we would be playing a game of Dodgeball in that freezing morning, I kinda enjoyed the possibility of hitting that smug perfect face of his with a ball. Accidentally, of course. Mead’s announcement was met with a look of pure dismay shared by nine pairs of eyes under woollen hats, mouths and noses covered by scarves. Not that it would ever be enough to brake Doctor Meads spirits. She said Dodgeball would be perfect to get everybody’s blood flowing, and we would all be feeling a lot warmer in no time.

I knew what she meant. Dodgeball was about self-preservation, team work and fighting back. Everything we lacked. She might actually be right, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that one of my frozen fingers would just fall off, if it got hit the wrong way by the ball. She said the new guy should be captain of one of the teams, and I volunteered to be the other. Easiest way to make sure we’d not be on the same team. “Ladies first”, Michael made a short curtesy and I made a conscious effort to think he was being polite, and not patronising. I wasn’t looking forward to the part where I’d have to choose the players - too many awful school memories - so I just picked Andre first. Not that I actually thought he was going play at all, I just wanted to make him feel included.

I got Andre, Emily and Gallant, Michael’s team had Coco, Tim and Dinah. Since we were now an odd number, Evie would be the referee. I wasn’t sure there even were referees in Dodgeball, but I couldn’t find the energy to question, eight grown-ups playing with balls on a freezing morning in a hospital yard was already weird enough for me. I was so focused on my intent of hitting Michael that I was probably single-handedly responsible for making our team lose. Well, that and the fact that Andre would barely move at all during the game. I felt bad for Gallant and Emily, they were actually taking the game seriously, bless their souls. Michael, on the other hand, didn’t throw the ball in my direction once. He wouldn’t even look at me. Not even when Dinah Stevens wanted so bad to rub their victory in our faces. Like winning that stupid game actually meant something, the insufferable cow.

My dislike for Michael Langdon had started with the Tim and Emily incident, but it was really set in stone during his first session in group therapy. I was trying to grow some sympathy for him back into my heart, when he began his story. I kept looking at the tell-tale bandages around his wrists and felt honestly sorry for him. Until he opened his mouth and stated, in so many words, that he was the son of the Devil. He said he had been born cursed. That his mother and twin brother had died so he could live. His mother’s widowed husband had never accepted the spawn of Satan in his house, so he was raised by his grandmother. I nearly laughed out loud when he got to the part where he had aged ten years overnight, but he was being dead serious. And worse: the others seemed to be buying into it, somehow. You hear a crazy story and you call bullshit, right? But then you see that everyone else is taking those words to their hearts, and looking teary-eyed at the person telling the story, you start wondering who’s really the crazy one in the room...

Doctor Mead was right, in the end, as the game went on we all ended up peeling off some of the layers of wool that covered our bodies. I had stayed a little behind, after the game, gathering my stuff to go back inside, but I couldn’t find my scarf. I looked up and the boy-Devil himself was holding it out for me. I reached out to grab it in a harsh movement, but he wouldn’t let go when I pulled. So I ended up pulling myself towards him by my own force instead, stumbling a little forward, both of us grabbing tightly to the piece of wool. I looked at him properly for the first time in that morning, with an angry frown on my face, and found the blue flames of his eyes blazing on mine.

“You really don’t like me.”, this wasn’t in any way a question, “You are so... angry.”

“Am I that obvious?”, I tried to keep my tone light, unsuccessfully.

“Not to everyone, but I was paying attention.”, he finally let go of my scarf “I know you’re in pain.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock! I have tried to kill myself and now I’m a patient in a mental institution... what makes you think I’m in pain? It’s probably because of your mad satanic powers...”, the painfully sad look on his eyes made me regret my words the moment they left my lips.

“I know how you feel because... I feel it too”, he looked down and bit into his lower lip before he continued, “I can help you. I am not unlike you.”

“Well, I am nothing like you.”, I turned on my heels and walked towards the main building, without looking back. Mostly because I didn’t want him to see the tears that were welling up in my eyes.

To be honest, I had never cried all the time I had been at Hawthorne, and I had no idea why a short interaction with Michael Langdon would make me want to. But even Doctor Venable seemed worried about me, when I was in her office that afternoon. Probably because I refused to sit down and kept pacing around the room, talking about my nemesis.

“It’s just so infuriating! How everyone has decided to humour him on his fantasies... like he can actually be who he says he is!”

“And that really bothers you?”

“Why? Doesn’t it bother you?”

“It doesn’t matter if it bothers me, or not. I’m not the patient. And for that matter, while we’re having our sessions in here, neither is him. You’re my only concern while your in therapy.”

There was a certain kindness to the way she said those words, but I still had to turn away and look out the window to hide my embarrassment. Doctor Venable was right. I should be using our time together to heal myself, and I had just spent almost half an hour talking about somebody else. She got up from her armchair and I heard her footsteps punctuated by the sound of her cane on the floor as she walked towards me.

“All the time you have been here, you’ve been my most cooperating patient, you’ve always been so committed to your treatment, and I thought we were making great progress...”

“I am committed to my treatment!”

“... the stories Michael Langdon tells are his way of coping with his own life story. The question is: how do you cope with your story?”

I had to think about it for a moment before responding “I don’t think I do...”, I said it in my smallest voice.

“Maybe that’s what bothers you so much about him. The way I see it, if he can make you this agitated just by being around you, it’s probably because you have something to learn from him...”

“Doctor Venable, I don’t wanna be a bitch... but what could I possibly learn from a guy that says the world is about to end, and that he’s here to lead the few chosen ones to safety?”

“Who’s to say he’s wrong? The end of the world doesn’t have to be something as dramatic as a literal nuclear blast, it can be anything! The point is: every end marks a new beginning... some things have to die for others to exist. This end could be just the breaking of a cycle, it could be freedom... but is it really the end that you fear, or whatever may come next?”

I left Venable’s office feeling slightly dizzy. I wanted nothing more than to go to my room and lay down for a while, to process everything my therapist had said. It was certainly a lot to take in, all at once. But as I passed the common room I saw that all the patients in Wing 3 were gathered around the sofa on one corner, with a few of the nurses. Michael had one arm around Gallant’s shoulder, while Gallant was resting his head in one of Michael’s. As approached the sofa, I heard the soft tones of Michael’s voice, as he leaned his face against the top of Gallant’s head, “She died peacefully in her sleep... she’s in a better place now, she’s free.”

I saw that Nurse Mallory was sitting on the sofa, with Coco kneeling on the floor beside her, Coco’s head resting on Mallory’s lap while silent tears fell from my fellow patient’s eyes. So, Evie. Evie was gone. Dinah was holding the hand of an indifferent Andre, and Tim and Emily were crying in each other’s arms, unashamed to be so open in front of everyone else. And it’s not like someone would have the heart to break them apart in that moment, either. Mallory looked at me, still gently running her fingers through Coco’s hair, and I saw there were unshed tears in the nurse’s eyes as well. She didn’t say a word, but the look she gave me spoke clearly enough: She was inviting me to join the mourning crowd. I froze in place for a second, merely shaking my head and mouthing “I can’t” at Mallory, and I left the common room as fast as I could without actually running.

I sought refuge in the “Arts and Crafts” room, a place I had avoided like the plague, so far. There were drawing and painting supplies in there, a typing machine and a piano. And also an entire wall covered by a mirror, where we were encouraged to dance until we were too exhausted to think about our problems, or until the exercise had given us enough endorphins so the problems wouldn’t seem so serious anymore. Whatever happened first. I kneeled on the floor and cried like I never had before. I let the tears roll down my cheeks freely, never bothering to wipe them away and howled the pain out of me like I was some wounded animal. I cried for Evie’s parting. I cried for Gallant and Coco, that were going to miss her the most. But I also cried for me. For what my life had become, for hurting my family and friends by trying to end my own life. For not being able to. For not believing I would ever feel well again. I just cried, until I saw my own glistening eyes in the mirror.

Taking slow deep breaths, I stood up and gave a long, good look at the girl staring back at me through the looking glass. It was something I hadn’t actually done, since “the incident”. I’d take quick glances in the bathroom mirror when I was brushing my teeth, or washing my face, but I would never really, properly look at myself. So that’s what I did now. The girl in the mirror was pale, like someone who hasn’t seen the sun in years, and had dark circles around her eyes. She was skinnier than I remembered, and not in a good way. But it was the utter sadness in her eyes that really worried me. She looked like she was never going to be able to feel hope again. But I remembered how fiercely she had fought to stay alive, when I tried to destroy her body. She had fought back whatever was trying to end her, and she defeated it. She was so strong! I had underestimated her so much...

I took my woollen hat off and let my hair down. Everyday I’d wash my hair in the shower and comb it afterwards, I didn’t want to be one of those depressed people with dirty, tangled hair. But then I’d just cover it with a hat, so I wouldn’t have to think about it again. Now it was no surprise that it would fall a little flat, looking thin and neglected. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to style it in way that wouldn’t be completely awful to my own eyes. The common room radio played in the arts & crafts room as well. Even though the speakers were off over there, in a sign of respect for Evie’s passing, somebody had forgotten to turn them off in here, and I heard the guitar intro to the song Time in a Bottle begin to play.

I moved my body ever so slightly to the irresistible melody. It was such a sweet song. I thought about the days when dancing was my entire life, when I had the dream of being a professional ballerina. I thought about the little girl that I was, giving everything she’d got in those ballet lessons, how happy she was before the illness that killed all the joy from her life. And I danced for her, for all her hopes and dreams. I simply moved my body to the song, waiting for my feet to remember the moves by themselves. I closed my eyes and just let go, moving around with nothing specific in mind, just feeling the music, the familiar soft impact of my feet on the floor. My muscles remembered, and they’re were happy to be dancing again. I was happy.

As the final chords of the song played I opened my eyes, and the girl in the mirror looked a lot better than before. I was relieved to notice she had flushed cheeks and a slight smile on her lips, but I was terrified to see a tall, blonde figure standing by the door. He started to apologise hastily the moment my eyes found his on the mirror “Please don’t be mad! I just wanted to see if you were ok. And then... you looked so blissful while you were dancing, I didn’t want to disturb you”, Michael Langdon’s words sounded sincere, but I still felt like he had walked in on me while I was in the shower.

“And you had to sneak around silently, like a snake?”

“In my defense, I don’t think you would have noticed me, even if I had stomped into the room like an elephant...” he chuckled a little shyly, walking in my direction.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed the show, at least...”, I really hoped he would just drop dead, he had no business being there, why couldn’t he just get hit by a lightning.

“To be honest, I think you were moving a little too fast for that song.”

“Excuse me???”, the absolute nerve on this guy!

“Nothing that would ruin the general picture, tho...”, he smirked standing in front of me.

“Well, I had no idea I was being judged by a specialist...”

“Not quite so, but my grandma loves jazz... she would teach me a few moves when she was in her good days”, I just stared at him at those words, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, and he continued “fine! She liked to dance when she was drunk, since there was no one else in the house to dance with her, she thought me a little as soon as she thought I was tall enough... satisfied?”

“That I can believe.”, he took one of my hands and held it to his chest, above his heart.

“You feel the song with your heart, and you dance following its beating...”, he gently tapped the long fingers of the hand that held mine on the back if my hand, following his own heartbeats.

That was the most intimate moment I had shared with anyone inside the hospital. I can’t remember the last time I had been close enough, and silent enough, to someone so I could just feel their heartbeats. My own heart felt like it was beating hard against my throat, and I could almost feel tears stinging my eyes again, but I couldn’t look away from him. Michael Langdon’s silvery blue eyes were sweet and warm, and I had no choice but to stand there, my palm on his chest, feeling his heart beating steadily. I realised that his heart had also fought hard for the right to keep on beating. And it did so now, strong and proud under my palm.

“We can draw a square on the floor with our feet, moving clockwise and starting right... your right, not mine: Because women are always right.”

“Your grandmother?”, I laughed for the first time in what felt like ages.

“She heard it from a jazz singer in a bar, when she was a teenager...”, he laughed back at me.

I knew the song that was playing now, it was called Devil’s Playground, by The Rigs, and I thought it was ironically appropriate. Michael never let go of my hand on his chest, but placed the other one on the small of my back, while I rested my free hand on his shoulder, and we started moving as he had said. He really was a good dance partner, his grandma had thought him well. He lead me around the room with smooth and sure steps, his sweet eyes on mine all the time.

Come, if you're curious to see

Pull the tricks out of my sleeve

All you find is yours to keep

Brave, are you brave enough to meet

The desires that you seek

Hold my hand, I'll set you free

As the song went on, our steps grew softer and smaller, until we were barely moving our feet at all. He pulled me a little closer and rested his cheek gently on mine, while our bodies slowly swayed together. After everything that’s happened to me, I‘d had the feeling that I would just crumble to dust if someone ever touched me again, but the skin-on-skin contact of his cheek on mine seemed to be the only thing anchoring me to the world right now. His body was so close, it felt so good, so safe. His warm embrace made me feel alive again. I had already forgotten what it felt like, the proximity of another human-being. He was so real, so alive, it was almost overwhelming. The earthly scent of his body was so human, I had no idea how much I had missed that until that moment. It was only then, when it was melting away inside Michael’s embrace, that I noticed how I had encased my heart in ice all this time. But it was gone, now. The ice never stood a chance to the gentle grip of his hand on mine, his firm hand on my back, the smooth touch of his cheek. I found myself running the fingers of my free hand through the silky stray hairs on the back of his neck, that had come loose from the knot he wore, and I felt his breath hitching on his throat at my touch.

Come, pull up your throne and sit

Where good and bad cease to exist

Here your command is our wish

Feast on the fruit of every tree

You can bathe in every dream

These chains of freedom are yours to keep

It happened so naturally, none of us would ever be able to tell who started it, but Michael and I were soon lost in each other’s lips. It was a kiss that felt as old as time, like it had been happening since the beginning of the world. But his tongue tasted like all things new, like being reborn. The fire I felt burning inside my chest made me wonder if I had ever really been alive before this moment. And the hunger on his hands and his tongue told me that he felt the same.

I felt my back being slammed against something flat and hard, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. The only thing I cared about was the weight of Michael’s body pinning me against the wall. His hands sliding down my thighs, catching me behind the knees and lifting me up from the ground. He pressed his body on mine even harder, grinding his hips for friction, moaning softly with desire. I felt a hardness against my core and we both whimpered lightly into each other’s mouths, breaking the kiss.

He pulled away a little, still holding me firmly against the wall, and rested his forehead on mine, both of us breathing hard. “We can’t do this.”, his voice was just a pained whisper, but it was enough to break the spell. He let my legs back down slowly, and didn’t remove his hands from my thighs until I was standing firmly on my own two feet. With a gentle hand on the back of my head, he kissed my forehead, and left the room without looking at me again. Leaving me there all alone, feeling colder and emptier than I’d ever felt.

Welcome to the devil's playground

You can tread where demons play

It's your Candyland where dreamers dance

And I promise that it's safe

Welcome to the devil's playground

You can look and you can touch

It's a real fine day at the black parade

And I swear it won't cost much

Taglist: @alexcornerblog @are-you-lilith-or-eve @ccodyfern @coloursunlimited @echo-nohar @henrycavillstalkingmustache @langdonsdemon @lathraios @michael-langdon-appreciation @mollymcbutter99 @mytrash-mylife @puppy5474 @queen-of-quotes @tsuukichan @wheredoiwhaaat25 (If anyone else wants in, just let me know... It will be my absolute pleasure to add you! ❤️)

[thinksideways]

27 or 28 for the writing prompt please :)?

27. — boxes

“We got you a fight,” Van Ness says, slapping the contract down in front of Burr, “new guy. Unbeaten as an amateur. Don’t know much about him, trying to find his videos online. You’ll be his debut.”

“They’re giving me an amateur?” Burr tries not to sound sullen, but he thought after his last fight - a one-punch KO in the second round - he’d get somebody with a bit of name recognition. Not some - he glances at the contract - Alexander Hamilton, whose amateur record was admittedly impressive, but who had yet to come into the big leagues.

Whatever. A paycheck’s a paycheck. Burr’s still got the title shot in his sights, and if he has to tear through some amateur on his way, so be it.

*

They find a few videos of Hamilton’s fights, and Burr scrutinizes them carefully. The kid’s got decent footwork, switching stances constantly, good about using his angles. But he opens up quick, exploding all his energy in the first flurries. He has a good number of knockouts, but in the fights where he goes the distance, Burr can tell he gasses, hands dropping, going flat-footed instead of balancing light on the balls of his feet.

He can work with that.

Burr redoubles his cardio, running, biking, throwing himself into whatever hellish workout Van Ness concocts.

He spars, too, finding guys in the gym whose style mimics Hamiltons’.  Circling in the ring, gloved hands up, he imagines it’s Hamilton across from him, trying to predict what he might do, anticipating it.

He wins more of the sparring rounds then he loses, and as the fight draws closer, Burr feels confident.

*

He arrives in Vegas several days before the fight, ready for the pre-card circus, media and open workouts. Not that Burr’s the main fight - he and Hamilton are on the undercard, not even close to the main event - but it’s still a big card, a huge main event, and Burr’s excited to be on it. It’s a good opportunity, and he’s riding a five-fight win streak (over less than stellar opposition, but still, a streak’s a streak), and he thinks, with a flashy enough finish, he might have a case for a title contender fight, if not the title fight itself.

*

Burr’s returning from his last workout - light, more to keep his muscles warm than anything else - when he sees a man across the hall. Latino, with longer hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail. His back’s to Burr, which gives Burr a great view of the man’s ass, shown off to the fullest extent in his workout shorts, and then the man turns and Burr almost curses out loud.

He’d been checking out Hamilton.

His hair’s longer than it had been in the videos, which is why Burr hadn’t recognized him immediately, but the features are the same. Fuck.

Burr looks away, embarrassed, as if Hamilton could somehow read his mind. He walks away as quick as he can, and pretends he doesn’t hear someone calling after him.

*

Burr doesn’t seen Hamilton again until weigh-ins. Hamilton weighs in first, and though Burr’s backstage and can’t see it, he hears the cheers and applause that suggest Hamilton made weight.

Burr’s name is called, and he walks out to his own cheers, quickly strips down to his shorts - not risking keeping anything on that might put him over the weight limit. He steps onto the scale, hears the number read out - 155 on the dot - and steps off to his own round of applause. He looks across the stage and sees Hamilton waiting for the face off.

Burr usually keeps his face offs professional, never feeling any real malice for his opponents - it’s just business - but that’s gotten him nowhere, so he strides up to Hamilton, forehead against his, hands raised.

Hamilton doesn’t miss a beat, presses back into him, and talks, low enough that only Burr can hear.

“So you’re the big bad Aaron Burr huh? Don’t look like much to me…”

“Glad they gave me some pansy-ass amateur,” Burr responds in the same low tone, and then he feels Washington’s arm at his chest, keeping them separate, and he finally looks at Hamilton. His hair’s pulled back, and he’s shirtless, and Burr can’t keep his eyes from going to Hamilton’s chest, his abs, every muscle pulled in taut definition from his weight cut.  

Burr swallows the decidedly out of place desire, locks eyes with Hamilton, a final challenge, and absolutely does not think about how stunning his eyes are.

*

Burr re-hydrates, enjoying his first proper meal in weeks (weight cutting’s what he likes least about the sport - punch him in the face any day, just don’t take away the carbs). He lays back on the hotel bed, visualizing the fight for the hundredth time.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep, and when he finally does the sleep is fitful. It always is, the night before a fight. Before walking into the lion’s den.

*

Burr walks out to applause that sounds thunderous. He doesn’t know what the gate for this event was, but the crowd’s easily in the thousands, probably the biggest crowd he’s ever fought in front of. He shakes his arms, trying to stay loose. His hands are tightly wrapped inside his boxing gloves. He stops in front of Van Ness, who pops his mouth guard in, undergoes the final check of his gloves, and then enters the spotlit ring.

His world narrows down to the ring, the noise of the crowd fading out, all his focus on Hamilton as he enters the ring.

It’s just business, but for now, as the referee steps out and the announcer begins, Hamilton’s his enemy. One more mountain to climb.

They step closer to one another. The ref speaks into the microphone the announcer holds out.

“All right guys, have a safe fight, and protect yourselves at all times. Touch gloves if you want.”

To Burr’s surprise, Hamilton extends his gloved fists. Burr taps them lightly. Hamilton gives a little nod, and Burr nods back, glad his antics at the weigh-ins didn’t sour this face off.

The bell rings.

*

Hamilton starts fast, like Burr had expected, throwing several punches in quick succession. Burr dodges several, though one glances off his chin, not full power, but he feels stupid for being caught like that. He fires off his own series of punches, feinting high then dropping his body, catching Hamilton in the stomach with a hard blow. Hamilton doubles over for a moment, then straightens, moves.

Burr continues his strikes to the body - that had been part of the game plan, wear him down his body shots early, which would pay dividends later one as the fight progressed and the shots made themselves known.

His focus lets up for a second, and Hamilton catches him with a hard right hook, rocking Burr’s head back. He hisses through his teeth, low, straightens, drives in with an uppercut that catches flush on Hamilton’s jaw. The crowd screams its encouragement, savage, and Hamilton falls, almost in slow motion.

He gets back up though, almost immediately, dives back in, and the men clinch up, driving into on another with short, inefficient strikes.This close, and he can hear Hamilton’s heavy breathing, which he takes as encouragement, Hamilton’s bruised body having increasing difficulty taking in air.

He drops Hamilton twice more, but each time he gets up. Hamilton’s movements slow, become more obvious, sloppy as he gasses, and Burr picks him apart.

He lands several shots that should have finished him, one knocking Hamilton back against the ring, and Hamilton’s head lifts, eyes meeting Burrs’, and he sees only determination as the other man pushes off the ropes and charges again.

*

He doesn’t finish Hamilton, which is disappointing, but he picks him apart in the final rounds, and when the final bell rings he throws his hands up in victory before it’s officially announced.

The scorecards reflect it, and Burr walks away with another W on his record, having handed Hamilton his first loss. After the announcement, Hamilton shakes his hand, graceful in defeat.

“Congratulations,” Hamilton says.

“Thanks,” Burr replies.

*

He watches the rest of the card, goes out to dinner, after, face already starting to swell. He’ll hurt for the next few days - Hamilton had landed some decent shots - but he’ll be back in training soon enough. He’d seen Washington after the fight, and he had teased a title elimination belt with Jefferson. Big things on the horizon.

He’s tired and when he finally makes it back to his hotel room he’s surprised to see someone waiting outside it.

He’s more surprised when the figure comes into view, and it’s Alexander Hamilton, one eye blackened and already swelling, hair still in the braids he’d worn for the fight.

“Can I help you?” he says, confused. Hamilton’s dresses in a t-shirt and jeans, and he looks good, despite the black eye.

“I want a rematch,” Hamilton says.

“Talk to Washington, not me.”

“Already did. He said no.”

“There you go.”

“Look, Alex, no offense, but I’m gunning for the title, not to beat up on amateurs.”

“Then train me.”

“What?”

“Let me come by the gym. Get some pointers. You could clearly teach me a thing or two.”

Hamilton’s looking at him now, and it makes Burr uneasy. The look is knowing, and far too intimate for two strangers.

“We’ll see.”

“Give me your number, at least.”

Burr sighs.

“Fine.”

They exchange numbers (well, he gives Hamilton his, and Hamilton immediately texts him), and Hamilton departs, leaving Burr to lay starfished on the too-big hotel bed, smelling like Biofreeze and Tiger Balm, trying to process the day.

*

He flies home the next day, takes several days to recover, and then is back in the gym, business as usual. Except - except, well, he finds himself still watching Hamilton’s fights. He finds the video of their weigh-in online, freezes it at the moment when he charged forward. The freeze-framed image is Hamilton, eyes intense and gleaming. And those fucking abs.

Maybe he screenshots it. Maybe.

*

He finds Hamilton’s Facebook fan page, where there’s some really…flattering promotional pictures. Burr likes the page but not the pictures. He doesn’t want to be creepy.

He gets a text all of fifteen minutes later.

I see you liked my page.

He gets another notification - Hamilton just liked his page, too. And a photo. And another photo. Another.

I see you liked mine, too.

You’re pretty talented. There’s a lot to like.

Burr stares at that text for way too long, as if trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphs. He gets another text.

Shit, sorry. You’re a good fighter, I mean.

Thanks.

This is where you say ‘you’re a good fighter, too.’

Your left hook is sloppy. You wind up too much. Easy to spot.

Asshole.

Just telling the truth.

*

They text a lot and Burr can’t tell if it’s flirting or if maybe this is just how people text the super hot guy they beat and now want to…

Well.

*

Burr wakes up to read a text sent at like 2 am.

I’m in town next week. Still want to train?

His stomach flutters a bit at the thought of seeing Hamilton again, even if it’s just business. He writes back.

Sure. I’m happy to whip your ass again.

Buy a guy a drink first, geez.

Okay, that’s definitely flirting. Naturally, he freezes up and doesn’t respond.

*

Hamilton meets him outside the gym before it’s even opened. It’s a weird familiarity, they’ve texted a fair amount, but this is the first time he’s ever been in real proximity to Hamilton without their fight looming over him. It’s weird, so Burr quickly suggests they get into the ring, do a little light sparring.

“Winner buys drinks?” Hamilton says, smiling, those eyes on him. Shit.

“Winner buys drinks,” Burr echoes. His throat’s suddenly quite dry.

“You’re on.”

They touch gloves.

[samwell-actually]

Holsom Fic-Rec

Although I have my all-time favorite OMGCP fic bookmarked on my Ao3 page, I wanted to compile a master list of all of my favorite OMGCP Ao3 fic to have in one place on my tumblr. And since I’m that neurotic, I thought it might also be nice to break-up each ship as well: 

Two Minutes for Holding | halfabreath One-Shot, 2k Ransom is a team physician and Holster is a referee. They first meet on the ice during a particularly physical Aces v. Falcs game.

not funny | applecrumbledore One-Shot, 9k This whole thing feels so weird, like they're betraying some clause of the homosocial bro code that says it's only for fun, you can't actually be gay, like they're letting someone down. But on the other hand, being with each other is the most natural thing they've ever done. Like a chemical reaction, or two halves of something whole, or one of those hand puzzles where the two pieces of metal are all twisted around each other, or the logical and satisfying conclusion of a really good book.

Score | emmagrant01 One-Shot, 12k Ransom and Holster like to score goals for each other, and they like to take care of each other. It was probably just a matter of time before those two things became entangled.

What I Wanted Was to Fall Asleep | halfabreath One-Shot, 5k The gods are real, which everyone knows, but when they’re not fighting among themselves they’re usually partying and humans have generally learned to accept their meddling without too much complaining. Ransom just never thought he’d actually know someone who’d been god-touched and he never, ever expected that it would be Holster. Alternatively: Holster becomes a tree.

Five Things Adam Birkholtz Learns in HDFS 332: Healthy Couple Relationships | EllyAvon Completed Multi-Chapter, 6k HDFS 332: Healthy Couple Relationships is just the night class Holster is taking with Lardo to fulfill one of his core requirements. He doesn't expect it to drastically change his life. OR: The Weirdest Healthy Relationships PSA Ever. OR: Wholesome Holsom

In a Different Frame | sunfair One-Shot, 4k Holster is determined to become somebody's boyfriend. Too bad he's kind of an idiot. He figures it out, though.

BFFWB | emmagrant01 One-Shot, 7k Ransom's schedule this semester leaves no time for a sex life. Holster has a solution for that. (Set fall 2014)

Seasonal Drinks | rhysiana Completed Multi-Chapter, 1k An AU in which Ransom and Holster never met in college. Thank goodness for the local coffee shop.

someone as good for me as you | astrolesbian One-Shot, 7k “So tell me,” Justin’s mother says, all business, “is your boy going to propose?” “What, Jack?” Justin says, and doesn’t really think much of it, because his mother eats up the details of Jack and Bitty and JackandBitty like Holster eats up rom-coms. His mother sighs, and he can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “No, baby, I meant Adam.”

what is the meaning of this? | kleinergruenerkaktus Multi-Part Series, 13k Ransom has a system, and it was working just fine before Holster came along.

There Were Fireflies | Schuyler One-Shot, 3k Holster has never been weird about shit like this before. They’ve been friends for, what? Almost a decade? And Holster has never said anything bad about guys who date other guys. Hell, they lived in a house with Jack and Bits. But Ransom goes on two dates with a guy and Holster goes ballistic.

blink back to let me know | nighimpossible One-Shot, 4k Justin is a medical student in Boston and Holster is working in New York.Things were a lot easier before they became real people.

Here’s a Man in Evenin’ Clothes | halfabreath One-Shot, 5k Ransom's estimating that they've got another 3.75 hours until the last people trickle out of the Haus. 3.75 hours, 225 minutes.Holster grins, flushed and disheveled and handsome as Justin has ever seen him, and suddenly he knows he's not going to be able to wait another 225 minutes before kissing him. Or: Epikegster toga porn

Keep It | petals42_tumbler (rosepetals42) Completed Multi-Chapter, 18k At the start of their senior year, Ransom is dating March and Holster is okay. Of course he is. Except when he's not.

cabin fever | theghostofjamespotter One-Shot, 5k “Dude. You didn’t score a single goal.” He’s beaming, chin resting on Ransom’s thigh. “And you came in like, under five minutes.” or, the forfeit fifa fic no one has asked for. just bros being bros and somehow accidentally hooking up.

How to Romance a Hockey Player | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells One-Shot, 7k After Holster comes out, Ransom needs a plan. A plan to make his best friend fall in love with him. What could possibly go wrong?

the lucky ones | screamlet Completed Multi-Chapter, 17k They made the decision to drive to Myrtle Beach when Holster found the fucking sweetest cottage near the beach.

guard/hit/hammer | halfabreath One-Shot, 2k Justin Oluransi is a gold medalist, and he has no idea what he's doing. (Ransom and Holster's first kiss happens on a tiny couch on the world's biggest stage.)

first love, late spring | lehtonen One-Shot, 12k “Right.” Ransom still looks serious, but there’s a sinister glint in his eye that Holster gloomily recognises as contemplation. “What’s in it for us?”Holster whips his head round to stare at him so fast his neck twinges in three different places. “Nothing is in it for us,” he hisses sotto voce, “or did you not hear the part where we’d be dating?”

Ransom and Holster’s Guide to Shennanigans | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells One-Shot, 8k Ransom and Holster have been together since June, but they keep it low key. Maybe even a little too low key. Shenanigans ensue because, hey, it's awfully hard for the team to set them up when they've already been dating for months.

Just bros being bros | blue_eyed, growlery One-Shot, 7k Rans and Holster have a busy semester, so they start planning their bro-time. But its not like they're dating, right?

all my time is yours as is mine | halfabreath One-Shot, 1k No one knows how long Holster's been alive. No one knows how much time Ransom has left. Everyone knows about things. Not everyone has one, but everyone that does has a different word for it. Gifts. Abilities. Talents. Purpose. Superpowers. Quirks. Most things are small, but sometimes, in very rare circumstances, they’re all encompassing and terrifying. There’s a reason Ransom and Holster call them curses.

Give a Little Bit (of Your Time to Me) | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells Completed Multi-Chapter, 21k In a world where Adam Birkholtz never went to Samwell, he loses a beer pong bet to Lardo and winds up refereeing a rec hockey game for one freshly broken-hearted Justin Oluransi. For once in his life, Justin is totally out of his league.

Adam Birkholtz's Foolproof Guide to the Perfect Birthday | akadiene One-Shot, 6k On March 28th, 2016, Justin Oluransi, co-captain of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team and love of Holster’s life, is turning 23. It's also the day Holster dies.

Always Halfway to Go | halfabreath Incomplete Multi-Chapter, 33k While at Samwell, Ransom gets a job at the Rec center teaching water aerobics. Generally his class is filled to the brim with old ladies and their husbands, so he’s shocked to arrive at class at the beginning of the semester and find Adam Birkholtz, ex-hockey player, who’s there to supplement his physical therapy with gentle cardio.Things only get more complicated from there.

Detachment Studies | Tiptoe39 Completed Multi-Chapter, 4k A soulmate doesn't always mean a lover. But it does mean an attachment that's hard when it breaks. Luckily, there's the field of detachment studies -- how to mitigate the cognitive damage done when one loses a soulmate. Ransom's going to become a specialist in the field and prove that there's life after detachment. And he's going to practice what he preaches -- by leaving his own soulmate behind.

Salt-Mates | orphan account One-Shot, 4k Losing is dog in the park, Adam Birkholtz is pretty sure he's about to experience his worst day. Until he finds his dog sat quietly with a gorgeous man on a bench, a Harry Potter book in his hand, giving a lecture to the animal about the tragedy that befell Remus Lupin. That's when things get a little bit...strange.

This is Why We’re Medical Proxies | SecretGeniusShittyKnight One-Shot, 4k Holster gets sick. Then he gets a hospital stay. Then he gets high. Then he gets a boyfriend.

pH balance | alcatraz One-Shot, 2k “I can’t believe you have a crush on a white boy who unironically wears cut-off sweatpants,” she says gleefully. “This is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.”

Have We Been Boyfriends This Whole Time? | rhysiana One-Shot, 1k Post-college socializing is harder to organize than Ransom expected. Fortunately, his best bro is there for him. In every way.

Future Perfect | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells Completed Multi-Chapter, 14k WANTED: COMMITTED MONOGAMOUS COUPLES Are you and your significant other in a committed, monogamous relationship? Have you been dating for at least six months? Are you living together? If you meet these criteria (and you are at least 18 years old), you may be eligible to participate in a COMPENSATED study (up to $300) on love and decision making. Please call 617-555-7864 or email romance.jenningslab@samwell.edu. The moment he sees the sign, Holster knows he's struck gold. The only problem is, he and Ransom aren't technically dating. But who are romance and technicalities to stand in the way of a business scheme that's bound to go according to plan?

Tailspinners | rhysiana One-Shot, 1k In which Holster runs a literacy non-profit, Ransom is a pediatrician new to town, and Bitty is the Youth Services librarian who brings them together.

don we now our fake romances | DizzyRedhead One-Shot, 4k Justin notices that Holster is looking a little run-down. But there's no problem that their awesome broness can't solve. Right?

wanna be your romeo | leetlebird Completed Multi-Chapter, 50k Holster's always said 'fuck the lax bros,' but when he meets Ransom, a new transfer student on the lacrosse team, Holster realizes he wants to be a gentleman and date a lax bro first. (Ransom doesn't think Holster's too bad, either.) As Ransom and Holster navigate their own secret relationship, their teams band together to get Nursey and Dex to stop fighting by any means necessary - even if that means setting them up on a date. (Romeo and Juliet AU + Much Ado about Nothing AU. Dramatic misunderstandings can only be solved with One Direction, secret make-out sessions, snickerdoodles, Jerry's dates, and - finally - some communication.)

Literary Inspirations | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells Multi-Part Series, 15k The possibilities of life are infinite, but time is not. Certain things, like college years, like hockey careers, like the time for your best friend to fall in love with you, have expiration dates. Justin's just afraid he's missed his chance.

the masculinisation and romanticisation of art criticism through the framework of sports-related injuries (or, gross and beautiful) | heyfightme One-Shot, 2k ransom is a gross pre-med hockey boy. holster indulges him. art is created.

The One with All the Kissing | halfabreath One-Shot, 2k In which Holster messes up, gets way more action than he anticipates, and really is Chandler.

The New Ref | rhysiana One-Shot, 1k Ransom is the on-call emergency dentist at the Falconers' games. Holster is the new ref. Lardo and Shitty are matchmaking busybodies.

The World Still Spins | lecrivaineanonyme One-Shot, 5k Justin had first learned about the theory of paradigm shifts back in junior year during his class on the history and philosophy of science. It was just another definition for one of the short answers in the midterm exam: a fundamental change in the basic concepts of and experimental practices within a given scientific discipline. It was a benign factoid to be stored away, something to be revisited in a later essay: compare and contrast the views of Thomas Kuhn and Karl Popper on the scientific process. He hadn’t understood just how jarring such a fundamental shift could be until he broke up with Adam. (Happy ending!)

Homecoming | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells One-Shot, 10k Each December, Justin brings Holster home for Christmas. Each time, it means something new.

Division One Defense Duo To Reunite Saturday | the ghostofjamespotter One-Shot, 1k Flyers Defenseman Justin Oluransi will play against Adam Birkholtz of the Pittsburgh Penguins, for the first time since the two were college D-partners.

Bittle Birkholtz Brousins | halfabreath Multi-Part Series, 19k When Eric Bittle is 8 years old his Aunt Judy marries a Northeasterner named Jacob Birkholtz and suddenly he’s not the weirdest cousin anymore, it’s this gangly 12 year old named Adam who Did Not Want to move to Georgia and now they’re stuck in the same town together.

Bull City Blues | rhysiana Incomplete Multi-Chapter, 11k In which Ransom chooses Duke for medical school, the boys move to Durham, and Holster has to figure out what to do with his life.

One Dance | palateens Complete Multi-Chapter, 7k If he remembers any part of them making out and promptly passing out on the couch the next morning, he doesn’t mention it. Justin would rather avoid making things weird with his best friend while he’s still searching for his soulmate. She’s out there somewhere, and she’s everything he’s ever dreamed of.

The Final Rose | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells Incomplete Multi-Chapter, 7k Justin Oluransi quits his job and goes on the reality dating TV show The Bachelor looking to find love. It should be simple, but what he finds is nothing he (or Bachelor host Adam Birkholtz) could ever have imagined of in their wildest dreams.

[kpopchangedme]

Capture the Flag: The Trade

Two teams, a lot of snow & a simple common goal. The only problem is that you’re on a losing streak and Jaebum, your nemesis, is way too good at this game...

GOT7 Masterlist

Protagonists: Im Jaebum & you

Word Count: 3.6k

Genre: SFW - Fluff - Enemies to Lovers - Highschool!AU - Inspiré par La Guerre Des Tuques

Lys’ note: Part of my VDay’ Collab for the @kpoptrashnetwork! Read @greasygyeom Yugyeom’s One Shot Capture The Flag: The Absconding!

In the middle of the white field of snow stands your old friend, Youngjae. His face is scrunched, whipped by the cold wind of the winter, if there were price to pay for not choosing a side it’d be that one; freezing to death. There’s absolutely no shelter from the bad weather in the neutral zone, the small flat ground separating the two enemy bases. Youngjae is still waiting to talk, trying to gather the attention of everybody across the playground, even though he’ll fail like always. You wiggle expectedly from one foot to the other, partly to not let your toes freeze, but also because you’re especially anxious today.

Nobody really knows how this all started, only that it’s been a school tradition between students for years; two teams, two elected Captains, a referee, a list of rules and two flags. Both teams spend weeks of winter building a snow stronghold, working on their strategies and praying for the weather to be on their side. Then comes the final week of the game; four evenings after school without adult supervision where the two teams face off with everything they’ve got.

“Captain Im is still staring at you, y/n.” Mark leans closer, nudging you with his elbow. “Try to not move around so much, perhaps he won’t notice how nervous you–”

“It’s freaking -15ºC, Tuan. Maybe if you thought harder about your strategies instead of studying where Jaebum is looking, you’d be able to beat Jinyoung at it for once!”

“Ouch, I’m hurt.” Mark touches his coat where his heart hides under, chuckling. “I don’t think my strategies are what’s causing our losing streak you know… I’m starting to believe your heart isn’t really in it!”

Gasping at the implication, you feel your cheeks heat behind the secrecy of your scarf. “Shut up!” You scowl and Mark laughs, only amused by your perpetual anger. He’s been bringing this up a lot these days, always teasing you about your rival. “As if, Jaebum’s the enemy and he’s an assh–”

“No fight within the teams!” Youngjae points to you both, raising his voice so everybody can hear. Your eyes catch a smile on Jaebum’s face at the other side of the playground and you curse him under your breath.

Today is the day you win; you’ll wipe that smug off his perfect face.

Im Jaebum. Your nemesis, the Captain of the Blue team. If he were Achilles, you’d be Hector and tonight; the battle of your life.

“Is everybody already here?” Youngjae clears his throat and both teams purposefully ignore him as always. “Great! Before beginning, let me remind you all one last time; no weapons are allowed on site!” There’s a collective groan from the two small crowds. “No fireworks this time! Snow and your open hands are your only tools, did you hear me Bambam?!” Youngjae sighs, discouraged. “That being said; we’ll proceed as always. You have to wear your hat from your team’s colour at all time! Each team will go back to its castle and its flag and you’ll only be allowed to leave when you hear my siren... If I see somebody trying to cross the neutral zone bef–”

“We get it! Everyday’s the same!”

“Thanks for the unnecessary intervention Jackson, but there’s no interrupting the referee!” Youngjae shakes his head, like his role is unbearable and you roll your eyes at his lack of authority. “Anyway, after the siren, you are free to leave your castle to invade the other team’s. The first team to successfully secure the other’s flag and bring it back to its own castle wins the battle! For the last fight of the year, the score is…” Youngjae pauses dramatically and you clench your teeth, annoyed. “3 – 0 for the Blue Team!”

There’s an uproar on the enemy’s side of the field while Red team stays quiet behind you. You stare at Jaebum’s silhouette as he proudly raises both arms under a thunder of claps, muffled by mittens. Show-off.

“Red team”, you growl, “I don’t care what it takes to defeat those jerks. Tonight, they’ll see RED!” There’s a loud racket of approval accompanying your words. Your teammates even begin to energetically jump, the sound of their boots on the solid snow reverberating through the air. Across the field, the smug on Jaebum’s lips straightens, usual arrogance cooled a bit by the high spirits of your troops. That’s right Im, you’d better prepare for a damn war. Your lips curl upwards, a new confidence warming your body; Red team would never go down without a mighty fight.

You barely avoid a chunk of ice flying near you by rolling on the ground and let out an angry hiss through your clench teeth. Ice is supposed to be prohibited, but amid a fight with snow flying all over the place, it’s hard to prove the throw was voluntary. Plus, you’re attacking the north facade of the Blue’s snow fort and Youngjae is monitoring the neutral zone where most people usually fight, which is south from here. The north facade isn’t usually guarded since it’s near the end of the playground, on the outskirts of the woods, and all entries to the Blue stronghold are facing the neutral zone. Still, a few enemies followed your troop there, probably suspicious you were on a special mission or something. They are right, but it’s part of Mark’s scheme. Around you, boys from all ages are fighting, pushing and throwing; your teammates are doing a great job creating a diversion.

The enemies don’t even give you a second glance; the girl attempting to climb the 7 feet ice wall. You usually go unnoticed, that’s partly why you were chosen for the special mission. In an almost all boys’ competition, you’d think they would give the only two girls playing a little attention, but they ignore you both and let you do what you want. Except Jaebum, that jerk is always picking a fight with you. For once, he’s probably fighting someone else at your own castle at this very moment.

As for the only other girl, she’s from Blue Team and a complete mystery to you. She’s a real danger though, they say she has a mind of her own and is a total badass. So far today, she’s nowhere to be seen, it’s worrisome but you can’t think about her. Right now, all your efforts are put in the endeavor that is the escalade of the ridiculously high fortification of the Blue fort. Seriously, how did they even successfully build that thing? No wonder the Red haven’t got a single win yet! Their stronghold is almost impenetrable this year. Jinyoung, their strategist, probably worked on the plans all Fall, he’s way too invested in the game, even more than you or Jaebum. The climb would be a nearly impossible challenge for anyone else, that’s why their walls aren’t guarded, but you aren’t anyone. Only Mark knew you spent all your summers climbing mountains all over the country with your father. That’s the other reason why you were chosen for the invasion today, put your skills to good use.

When you finally reach the edge of the fort, you throw both legs inside, not bothering to look to see if there’s an opponent. Down on the ground of the Blue’s castle, you lower your scarf under your chin to make your breathing easier and recover. You’re already all wet from the physical effort. There’s three openings in the huge fort, but they’re heavily guarded. They’ve been keeping the same defense strategy all week; four guys by each door while every other player is on the field. The whole point of your mission is to sneak in without a physical fight, Red has been failing all aggressive invading attempts these past days. You reach the center of the fort without any encounters, just like Mark predicted, the enemies are all out attacking your own castle.

You must hurry to grab their flag and go back before they succeed in stealing yours. You believe in your teammates back at the fort, but they can only push the Blue invaders back for so long before someone slips in and catch it. Mark is with most of your team, taking care of the defense of your Red banner. While Jaebum team’s usually opting for many strong attacks, yours voted for a defensive strategy with a single attacking troop for the last game; you and the diversion guys causing chaos outside. Tonight, things are looking great, the hard part is done, you’re now in the center of the rival stronghold, completely alone. Getting out with the banner will be easy since they won’t be expecting the enemy to come from inside their castle.

Wait a second, where’s the Blue flag? You freeze, looking at the empty lonely pole in the middle of the circular ice room. It’s not here. The flag is to never leave its original fort expect for the capture, it’s one of the rules! There’s no way someone from your team already stole it, the plan–

“Not on the defense duty today?” A boy you hadn’t spotted earlier walks out of one of the corridor in front of you, leisurely, almost teasing. He’s around 16 years old with sharp eyes and wears a blue hat pushed so far down you can barely see his eyebrows.

“Jaebum”, you groan, irritated. “Looks like we actually switched roles.�� He nods, taking a step to the right and you mirror him. You’re both used to meeting like this, since Jaebum’s his own strongest attacker while you usually assume the defense of your flag. The situation appears to be reversed for the last game, maybe it’s something like faith. You’re destined to fight each other, only tonight; you’ll win. Find his weakness – Achilles heel – make sure his arrogance is his own undoing.

“Well”, he cocks his head contemptuously and you just know he’s smirking under his scarf, “I’m glad, I was a bit sad when I thought about not seeing your pretty face today…”

“Shut up”, you’re both slowly tracing circles in the room, walking around the pole in the center. “Where’s the flag, dickhead?” Jaebum laughs at your insult, the sound making your skin crawl.

“Dickhead? Tst!” He takes a step forward and you back up by reflex, colliding with the ice wall. “The flag hasn’t leave my fort –” Jaebum throws his hands to the sides, gesturing the whole empty place. “You know I love to live by the rules…”

Grimacing, you study him anew; he’s wearing a simple black coat with snow pants of the same color and a scarf is covering most of his face. There’s only one place he would hide it; under his clothes. It’s nothing new, the Blue Team used that technique very often last year, back when Chansung was still in school and their elected chief.

“I guess I’ll have to come get it then.” Jaebum frowns at your confidence, uncertainty passing on his features for the second time today.

“I know you, y/n! You wouldn’t da–” He never gets to finish this sentence, because in no time, you’re jumping on him. The boy lets out a muffled grunt when the air is expelled out of his lungs and you both fall on the cold ground. “Are you nuts?”

Right now, you don’t care what it looks like. The Red team needs a win, you won’t go down in school’s history as the first female Captain with absolutely no win for your first winter. You’re sitting on top of him, trying to shove his zipper down while Jaebum’s wiggling, panicking under you. His reaction’s off; if he hid it under his coat, he should have expected somebody would try to steal it. The struggle is draining; there’s nothing quite as exhausting as wrestling in snowsuits. You’re almost thankful when Jaebum shifts his weight to flip you both and cages you between his knees.

“God, you’re heavy!” He fails to avoid your elbow flying to his head and you accidentally shove his scarf down, uncovering his face. “Hey! That’s an illega– humpf” Jaebum winces when your fist finds his stomach, although the hit is mostly absorbed by his layers of clothing.

“I’m not heavy, you asshole!” You’re about to hit him again, but he grabs both of your hands, pining them above your head.

“I know you want a win...” Jaebum pants, tired from the struggle. “But if you hit me again, girl… I swear, I won’t hold b–”

Without warning, you jump, pushing your hips away from the ground and trying to make him fall off you. You successfully destabilize him, but instead of using the opportunity to wiggle away, you’re completely frozen still. Jaebum may not have been expecting your hip thrust, but you definitely weren’t expecting his sudden proximity. To keep the upper hand and his balance, he lowered himself on you. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your cheek and see every single one of his dark eyelashes perfectly.

“What are you doing?” You wiggle, uncomfortable and trying to free your hands from his. If he were a gentleman, he’d let you go, but instead he holds the position, staring at you with his eyelids lazily half closed.

“Holding you down with my body.” His voice is hushed, so low it feels like he’s telling a secret. “Enjoy every second of this honey, you made me do it.” Your original confusion turns to anger at the pet name and you glare at him threateningly.

“Get off!” For a second, you still and he hesitates, seemingly pondering.

“I thought you wanted my flag.” Jaebum chuckles and hot air brushes your face. Despite yourself and the freezing weather, you shudder treacherously, body catching fire and cheeks tinting red.

“Well, there’s no way you’re giving me that…” You hate yourself for it, but when you murmur, without really meaning to, you glance at his mouth.

You’ve never been this close to a boy, let alone actually kiss one. Even if you’re fighting, this feels somewhat intimate. Jaebum lips seem so close, soft and intriguing. Blushing, you blink, trying to erase your thoughts and he shifts his weight, pressing you down on the cold ground even more. Jaebum exhales slowly, taking a moment to look around the empty room like he’s searching for somebody.

You can hear the screams mixed with laugher from the game raging on outside the fort. It’s only a question of time before one of his teammates comes in and finds you both like that. It’d be horribly humiliating, people would misread the whole situation. Jaebum has quite a heartbreaker reputation in school, he’d brush it off and laugh, but you couldn’t. You’re the one who’s the best at everything she tries, the one who intimidates the boys, you’re the first girl to be elected Captain of the Red Team; you don’t lose to anyone. Not even freaking Im Jaebum. That’s why this week of games has been hellish and you’re probably just losing your mind because of this arrogant jerk.

“I-I don’t know... I might.” When Jaebum looks back at you, you stop breathing.

“W-what?” You gulp and he chuckles again, glancing at your parted lips.

“We both have something the other wants”, he clears his throat, taking a more formal tone, “I’m proposing a secret trade.” You raise a brow with skepticism; you have absolutely nothing that Jaebum would need. “Captain to Captain.” He adds, lips curling upwards.

“Anything.” You breathe out and his expression flickers between shock and incredibility for a moment. He hadn’t realized you’d take the deal. “I really need that flag.” You need more than the Blue flag; you need to bring it back to your fort too. You need the Red Team to score one point, just one. Blue Team would still win this year’s games, but Red’s reputation would be saved. Now it’s a question of honor.

“Anything?” There’s a new longing to his voice and you hold his gaze, anxiety and perhaps something foreign growing in your stomach. You nod slowly, barely able to move as Jaebum licks his lips and glances at yours again, eyes feverish.

Maybe you’re not the only one losing your mind.

Is Im Jaebum about to kiss me? Why would he trade something as precious as a flag for that? The school heartthrob and you; it makes absolutely no sense. It’s supposed to be Red versus Blue, not Red making out with Blue. You’re both sworn enemies, this is wrong. Mark would never let you live if he found out you had your very first kiss with the infamous Im Jaebum. Still, against all better judgement, you close your eyes, waiting for something to happen. You hope you didn’t misunderstand him, you’d looked so foolish right now. Jaebum’s breath seems to creep on your cheek forever before his lips brush yours.

Right there, on the floor of the enemy’s castle, nothing so wrong has ever felt more right.

His kiss is delicate, gentle and short. He pulls back, but you stay still, eyes shut and toes curled tight, too timid to act. Jaebum chuckles lowly before leaning into you again, this time releasing your hands to rest on his elbows more comfortably.

The second kiss quickly evolves in something else, dangerous; annihilating space and time. You move too, molding into him in response and you both seem to forget yourselves. This is why people kiss so much, you think as you begin to question reality; this sensation is both blissful and alarming. Jaebum’s lips part, tongue testing your mouth. You allow him access, without really knowing how, but craving the taste of him. He explores you as you wrap yourself tighter around him, losing it.

You want more. Your tongue finds his, gently fighting and teasing it until a sound dawns in Jaebum’s chest. It’s another new discovery, an instinctive vibration that reverberates to your bones, something rough but delightful, savage but formidable. Another wrong that’s nothing but exquisitely right. You feel him smirk his usual stupid grin in your mouth, but for once you don’t mind. You want to hear him make that sound again, want to reexperience that vibration in him on your chest, without layers of clothing between your bodies.

Unfortunately, Jaebum pulls back panting like when you wrestled earlier. Fighting in snowsuit might be arduous but making out is even harder. He sits back in awe, finally getting off and releasing you. As you stand up too, still shaken up, you find the lack of him even worse than being trapped. Avoiding your gaze, he opens his coat and reaches under his sweater. He retrieves the folded precious navy flag and hands it to you with both hands, almost ceremoniously. You blush taking it, if you weren’t wearing giant gloves, you’d probably feel the warmth of his body lingering on it.

Jaebum clears his throat. “Remember that the trade must absolutely stay secret.” His words, spoken candidly, almost knock the air out of your chest. Of course, he’s ashamed he kissed you, he’s Jaebum and you’re y/n! Still, he’s the one who initiated the trade; the flag for a kiss. It wasn’t your idea.

“You think I’d boast about making a pact with the Devil? Trading a kiss for a win?” His face falls and he narrows his eyes. Already, you’re regretting your words. You don’t know much to relationships, but you’re pretty sure you shouldn’t let something fake, like this whole competition, taint something that felt as real as that kiss.

“Wow, who’s acting like an asshole now?” Jaebum frowns and you open your mouth to apologize, but he goes on: “I just meant that we’d get into trouble if people found out. Youngjae might not be a scary arbiter, but I assure you Jinyoung is terrifying. He’d never leave me alone if he knew I gave you this.”

“I’m sorry…” You nod, thinking about Mark and the rest of your Red teammates. They didn’t elect you Captain to make out with the enemy. You blush, embarrassed by your actions.

“But since you brought it up, we haven’t determined clearly what I get from this trade…” He closes the space between you, pushing until you’re trapped between the ice wall and his body. “You say I’m the Devil…”  You swallow when he leans in slowly, chills spreading on your whole body but not from the cold. He licks his lips again and you shut your eyes, expecting him to kiss you. Instead, Jaebum wet lips brush your ear, right where your red hat ends, and he blows softly, making you shiver. “Then I’ll be back to claim your soul next time.”

Your eyes shot open when he bursts out laughing, backing away. You smile, watching his eyes crease cutely. You get his reputation now; the Captain of Blue Team is deliciously handsome when he’s smiling and not being a jerk. After all, even Achilles was famous for his charming ways. A sudden profusion of loud screams outside catch your attention back and Jaebum groans, annoyed. Seems like your diversion is still ongoing.

“I believe that’s your cue; shouldn’t you make a run for it?”

You nod, looking around to plan your getaway. You’re conscious the deal was to give you the flag – not to ease your escape – but still, he points to one of the three ice corridors leading to an exit. You don’t even hesitate for second before deciding on this route, choosing to trust your occasional sworn enemy. You smile at Jaebum one last time, finally turning away and running to flee his fort. You just know you’re going to grin all the way to the Red Team’s ice fortress.

Perhaps you really traded your soul for a win after all.

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