#finally know how to colour black and white properly though so that's a win

[hansensgirl]

push it to the limit.

summary. | As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him.

warnings. | Non/Dubcon, watersports, obsessive behaviour, coercion, bribery, dark themes, drinking (champagne), hate fucking, unprotected sex, rough sex, public sex, dumbification, degradation, dirty talk, humiliation, breeding kink, choking, allusions to anal, reader is really rude (so is Niki), *sexism/misogyny/paying for sex (see a/n), and more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.4k

pairings. | Dark!Niki Lauda x Reader, James Hunt x Reader (it’s one-sided).

author’s note. | please enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. *he talks about paying you for sex as a way to degrade you, it’s brief and in german! it does not reflect anything about me or my blog. we are pro-sex work here! it’s just fiction.

“Look! There he is!” a small voice tells you, pointing somewhere with a great distance. You’re not sure how he manages to spot his favourite racer from so far. Among the sea of heads, your younger brother sits on your shoulders. You can feel him touching you down to your bones, and you try to ignore the pain just for him. “You sure? You said that five times before, y’know,” you denote, and you hear the six-year-old groan. “Yes, I’m sure! Look, he’s drinking that nasty stuff like always,” he adds, and you realize he’s talking about James’s signature champagne.

“It’s not nasty,” you mumble under your breath, remembering the way the pleasant liquid felt and tasted against your tongue. Sticky gold is what you’d describe it as, and you recall how it stained your skin. Shaky hands are bound to tremor even more under pressure, and your friend is an absolute clutz. It’s no wonder she made such a mess, as it is one of her best traits. But a particular pair of hands that seemed to have Midas’s touch cleaned you up, and you still to this day wish you were awake to thank them. You have many regrets, but that’s just a small one.

“Can we go closer to the fence? I want to try and talk to him,” your brother politely requests, and you let out a heavy sigh. Your mouth is pressed in a line, and you begin to shift your feet. You’ve got boots made of suede, a brown colour that always seems to go best with your all-black outfits. There’s a matching jacket on you as well, and it has fur on the cuffs and collar.

“What’s the marvel of watching it in person rather than watching it on television? Out here, we struggle so much, and you can barely even watch them properly. On the television, well, you see it all, and you can be as comfortable as you want,” you wonder out loud, and the child holds onto you tightly. He squeezes your head tightly, and the ribbon in your hair begins to fall in your face. It’s white silk, with a lovely hem to it. You save it for these races your sibling always wants to go to. Your other coloured ones are left for daily excursions, and sometimes a good party, too.

“Excuse me!” you loudly call out, and other women cast you nasty glares. You’ve seen those same looks one too many times, and you don’t pay any mind to them. If they truly care about their spots, they’d stand up and fight for them. But they’re just like babies with a piece of candy in their tiny fists. Maybe a jellybean, or perhaps even a pack of those oh so enjoyable Sour Patch Kids. “Why do you like only him?” you ask, raising both your eyebrows as you get closer to the fence. “I like James and Niki!” he exclaims loudly, and you loop your fingers between the holes of the fence.

“Niki? As in Niki Lauda? That arrogant, Austrian asshole?” you question in shock, not minding your foul language at all. “Yes! The guy that Dad hates. He’s cool, and he’s fast,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “Honestly? There’s nothing cool about him. He’s just… fast. James is the cool one,” you argue, and you can hear him groaning. “You like James Hunt because he looked at you that one time,” he snaps back in annoyance, and you sigh dreamily in remembrance. “Exactly! Now I need to look for Niki, I wanna say hi to him!” your brother exclaims, and your eyes scan the entrance area for Niki Lauda.

“Don’t just say hi to him; ask him for an autograph! We can sell it to one of his fans afterwards. They’re always dying for anything of his,” you propose, and your brother simply ignores the swindling ways that you’ve inherited from your grandfather since you were a kid. It’s the reason why you tend to find purses with deep pockets and smooth zippers that don’t pinch on the inner fabric. You reach into your bag, and you grab a marker that you’ve always got with you.

The crowd gets louder and louder, almost as if you’ve got headphones on your head and you want to turn down the volume, but you keep hitting the wrong button. A woman shrieks in your left ear, and a man whoops in the other. More bodies press against you, and with the marker in between two of your digits, you hope that you don’t return home with billions of bruises. On the big screen, recaps from the previous races are being played. It’s win after win, all on behalf of Niki Lauda and his incredible luck that doesn’t seem to have any end.

You’re finally able to make out what people are screaming; the curly-haired man’s name. “Niki! I love you!” they all shout, and you wonder if any of them like James. It seems like you haven’t found your people, and maybe just for today, you’re the odd one out. “Seems like you’re not the only one that has Niki amongst their favourites,” you grumble, and your brother lets out a giggle. A few moments later, he sits up far more proper on your shoulders. The hand with the marker in it grabs onto one of his legs, and you make sure he doesn’t fall down and ends up being the true loser of this race.

“Niki! I’m your biggest fan!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, using his full voice and then some. You look over to the entrance, and you spot the brooding Austrian wrapped in red walking out with a deep frown on his face. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but your brother doesn’t care about your deep annoyance towards his idol. Niki shoots a look over to where you’re both standing, and your brother waves his arms from side to side, trying to get the racer’s attention. Even if he doesn’t, you have a feeling that Niki will be more displeased than anything.

It only makes sense, as he always acts that way with his fans though they’re the only people who appreciate him.

His nose is upturned, and he tries to pinpoint your brother and his powerful screams. High-pitched yet so loud, it’s no wonder why his tantrums are the root for almost all household headaches. “He’s looking over here,” you tell him, and your brother nods. “Yeah, because of me! He’s going to come, and I’m going to meet him!” he squeals, somehow connecting none existent dots to fuel a form of hope that dwindles inside him. You can be mean, but you’re not cruel. So you won’t be a realist, and you’ll let the youth on your shoulders believe what he wants to think.

“And when you meet him, ask him to sign something,” you advise, not letting go of your chance to make a few hundred dollars. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s pondering whether or not he should do it. “Niki! I love you!” the woman next to you screams as if she’s using every bit of her energy to get him to notice her. Your head already starts to ache just a bit, and you wish you brought some form of a pain killer. Niki saunters over to the fence, and for some reason, you don’t feel proper behind the fence.

It’s the way he carries himself with the highest of heads, a sort of confidence dragging with his every step. He knows he can do anything right now, and everybody except you would love him for it. He could make an entire turn and not greet his fans, and they’ll laugh it off. You’ve witnessed his haughtiness, and there’s no doubt inside you that you’ll see it again. “Niki! Good luck on the race!” a person says, and the rest of the crowd laughs at them.

“Dude, he doesn’t need your luck,” someone next to them says before elbowing the poor fan’s ribs. You can hear them wince in pain before they start to scream at the racer once again. Niki raises his hands up to his chest, almost as if he’s surrendering to something. That bratty smirk of his is replaced by a cheerful smile, and while everyone adores it, you see right through the façade. “Hello, everyone!” he greets, and you already want to roll your eyes until they fall back into your skull.

Niki stands right in front of you, and you try to look somewhere other than his face. Your view darts wildly until you finally settle on looking at the exceptionally boring asphalt underneath your feet. The screaming quiets down, and you wonder if everything is okay. “Uhm, Mr. Niki Lauda? I love you! I’m such a big fan! I watch all of your races, and I try to go to them all! Can I have an autograph?” your brother gleefully expresses, and you snap your head up at his words.

Much to your dismay, you lock gazes with the man you hate most in this entire stadium. His eyes are rather dull, yet they’ve got a sort of darkness in them that makes you feel just a tad bit uneasy. Both begrudgingly and excitedly, you hand the marker to your brother, who, in turn, gives it to his idol. Niki takes it gratefully, and he raises his least dominant hand. The other fans try to reach for it, for him. But he ignores them, and he gives a high-five to your brother.

You can’t hear the sound of their palms meeting because the displeasure of the crowd drowns it all out. “What do you want me to write it on?” Niki questions, taking the cap off of the marker. “Uhm, my shirt?” he offers, stretching the red fabric towards the elder. You observe as the racer awkwardly signs his name on your brother’s clothing, and you know that your Mother is going to be more than angry. Your Father, on the other hand, will be filled with pride and excitement.

“Thank you so much!” the child squeals, and Niki simply waves his hand as if it was no big deal to him. But you know that deep down inside, he was probably a bit annoyed. “Do you want an autograph, Miss?” Niki asks, and you take note of how his demeanour has changed. His features are softer, and his eyes seem to be lit up. “Oh, uh, no, thank you. I’m waiting for James. I love him a lot,” you tell him, pushing your shoulders back in confidence. The people around you let out gasps, and they follow their sounds up with whispers that aren’t so hushed.

Niki’s face drops, and you give him your fakest smile. He stares at you, almost as if he wants to lash out and scream. Maybe even call you a name or two. “That’s alright,” he assures after a while, and you have the urge to say something snarky. He hands the marker back to your brother, who is too busy being in awe of his favourite racer to listen to you being on your worst behaviour. Niki walks off, but this time, his stride lacks his boldness. “He’s so cool!” your brother squeals, staring at the Sharpie. You sigh, knowing that you two will constantly butt heads over Niki.

“Well, I beg to disagree.”

“Niki! Is everything okay?” one of the mechanics asks, and the star nods his head mindlessly. Instead of pressing him for some sort of answer, he leaves Niki alone to mull all by himself. There is not one person who dares to talk to him before the race unless it has to do with the car or the competition itself. It’s out of pure fear because nobody likes to face the Austrian’s wrath. From screaming way too loudly to piercing, uncomfortable stares, he never knows how to properly communicate with others.

He gazes at you from just a few mere metres away. His eyes are like ice, and he hopes you can feel the coldness from where you are. He really fucking hopes you do. You’ve got that sultry look to you, and it’s not cast towards him. No, it isn’t at all, and it irks him all the way to his bones. You ogle James fucking Hunt. Of all the other inferior racers there, you choose to admire James, and Niki hates you both for that. At every single race, he’s seen you show up to, you never look at him.

You don’t acknowledge him at all. It doesn't just hurt his ego; it also breaks his heart. Your preference and love for the Englishman injure those butterflies inside Niki’s stomach, and yet they still continue to flutter. The funniest, most ironic part of everything is that the races you attend always end with Niki being the winner. Never James. But you still idolize him over the Austrian, and he’s tired of it.

“Make sure it goes fast, okay? Fast, but nothing should catch on fire or malfunction,” Niki tells his technicians, and they halt what they’re doing. “But, Sir-” one of them starts, and Niki closes his fist for them. “No,” he simply states before crossing his arms once again. Niki looks back over to you, and you’ve now got a smile on your face. He loves the sight, but he knows his adoration will turn sour in a few seconds once he follows your line of gaze. So he chooses not to, and he decides to use you as his motivation.

The racers all go to their cars, and they pull their helmets on. Some are dressed in black, some in white, and only two in red. James and Niki. Niki is surrounded by his team, and James has twice the number of people next to him. Along with mechanics are girls in short skirts with jackets similar to yours. Deep down, you wish you could switch places with one of them, but maybe it isn’t as good as it seems to be. Perhaps your spot behind the fence with your younger sibling is what’s meant for you.

Your neck is more than exhausted. Your shoulders have a unique pain to them, one that not even doctors can begin to describe. Your bones are in desperate need of a crack, and your muscles crave a lengthy stretch that’ll leave you shaking. Yet, you continue to stand there with no complaints ready to fly off your tongue. The whooping behind you is so loud, but you’ve gotten used to it. “C’mon, Niki! You can do it!” your brother cries out, clapping his hands in excitement.

Niki flashes a thumbs up, and he looks at you one last time. As he watches you ogle the man who would pop champagne moments before touching heaven, he puts his foot on the gas pedal and his hand on one of the levers, ready to push it to the limit. Maybe this time, you’ll finally notice him. Perhaps this time, you’ll realize he’s the best racer there is. He takes a deep breath, and he reassures himself that he’ll win as always.

“I have a feeling Niki is going to win this one,” the lady next to you says, and her friends nod their heads in utter agreement. You want to ask why she thinks that, but you’ve already left a bad taste in the crowd’s mouth. “Do you think Niki will win?” you ask your brother, looking up at him as best as you can. “I think so, but maybe James will surprise us!” he predicts, and you nod your head. “I hope James wins,” you whisper under your breath. Your bottom lip falls victim to your teeth, and you gnaw on it out of stress.

You keep your sights on James, and occasionally, you glance at Niki. Perhaps it’s simply just morbid curiosity that’s eating at you because there’s no way you’d just casually look at a man you despise with all your heart. As all the racers go to their designated spots in their cars, excitement fills your stomach. But it’s mixed with fear, as anything can go wrong at these tracks, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You get lost in your thoughts, thinking about all possibilities.

Who will win? Who will get hurt? Who will get angry? Who will become sad? You ask yourself all these questions that don’t truly matter much to your life, and yet you still try to find an answer inside of you.

Suddenly, the sound of engines revving and then taking off fills your ears. Screams follow them up, and you realize that the race has started. You wait until every single car leaves your view before looking at the scoreboard. You can’t bear to watch them risk their lives while you stand not so comfortably yet safe behind a fence. “Oh my God! James is in the first place!” you squeal like a kid in a candy store, and your brother claps.

Some of the people around you cheer for James, and others for Niki. But you ignore them, and you simply focus on what the orangish-yellow neon lights say. Some names switch spots rapidly, perhaps too quickly for you to keep up with. But you stay trained on the upper two; I. HUN, II. LAU. The former stays on top for most of the race, and the latter switches with him every now and then. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” you nervously mumble, hoping that the Englishman stays on top.

“Seems like your favourite is going to win,” the known lady cleverly smirks, and you give her the side-eye. “Yes, because he’s good at what he does,” you confidently agree, hoping that you won’t have to eat your words in the next few minutes. She chuckles before shaking her head. “No wonder you don’t like Niki Lauda,” she expresses, shaking her head practically in some form of awe. “What are you talking about?” you annoyingly press, already growing tired of whatever conversation she’s trying to make.

“You’re both egotistical and full of yourselves. You do it because that’s who you are, and Niki does it for his own reasons, like pure enjoyment. It’s so obvious for you to dislike him because he’s a reflection of you, and you hate that,” she states, proud of herself for whatever reasons. “That’s dumb, and so are you. He does it because that’s who he is. I do it because I don’t like some people—such as yourself—and because I have plenty of reasons to be prideful. Not egotistical,” you snap, and she raises her hands as if she’s surrendering.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Your mood has turned absolutely irritable, and the bitterness has claimed you entirely. You realize that you haven’t checked the places since before speaking to the lady, and you get excited. Flicking your head up, you expect to have your preferred person’s name at the very top, but instead, you see the name of the one and only Niki Lauda. I. LAU, II. HUN. “No, no, no!” you panic, watching as James stays in second place. None of the names change places at all, and you find yourself to be absolutely crushed. “Yes, yes, yes!” the crowd cheers and your face has fallen in disappointment.

Niki’s name gets announced, and everyone is absolutely elated. Everyone apart from you. Your brother celebrates the win from his high spot, and everybody jumps for joy. You stay silent, and you try your hardest to not swallow your pride. Each driver gets out of their cars slowly, and they congratulate the Austrian with smiles on their faces. You stare at him callously before you notice that James is still grinning. Despite not winning entirely, he never actually lost. So there’s no reason for you to be so dull and gloomy.

He walks off with his posse of men and women, and you realize maybe it’s time for you to head home as well. “So, your favourite won,” you say to your brother, and he giggles. “Yep! And yours lost!” he jokes, and you let out a forced giggle. “Yeah, yeah,” you brush off, making your way through the energetic body of people you strongly dislike.

Niki is engulfed in overly suffocating hugs. Some hands shake him, and some even slap him on the back, not so lightly. He doesn’t know which pairs belong to which bodies, and yet he goes with them all anyway. “You did great, Niki!” one voice praises. “Yeah, great job, Niki!” another adds. He thanks everybody in one sentence, and he pulls away once they start to mingle amongst themselves. The fantastic win of his isn’t what’s on his mind. It’s the thing that’s been etched and burned into his brain for him to think about, even though it should be appreciated now.

No. You’re what’s on Niki’s mind, and he has no intention of letting you leave.

He looks over at the swarm of heads that may have drowned you, and he can’t find you there. Not one trace of you is left behind, and his blood boils. Do you truly hate him to the point where you can’t even stay back for a few more seconds? Niki swears in Austrian under his breath, and he frustratingly walks over to the crowd. Fingers that aren’t yours reach out for him, and he ignores them all. “Have any of you seen that woman with the little boy on her shoulders?” he angrily questions, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

His heart is still clamouring wildly in his chest, practically beating against him to be let out. “Uhm, she just left… She went that way! But I could easily replace her if you want…” a woman flirts, and Niki completely ignores her words after he gets what he wants. He leaves abruptly, and they are still yelling after him. “So eine verdammte Schlampe. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dir eine Lektion zu erteilen, du hast darum gebettelt, seit ich dich gesehen habe,” he grumbles, walking through the crowded entrance.

Niki emerges with perseverance and even more anger than before. He searches through the sea of racing enthusiasts, and he spots you being bent over. It’s a wildly lewd position for you to be in, and Niki finds himself feeling flushed and displeased at the way you let others leer at you. He should be the only one to see you that way, nobody else. The Austrian wants to storm his way to you, to grab you and drag you somewhere more private so that he can put you in your place, but he knows the current setting isn’t right.

“Uhm, Mr. Lauda? Would you like a drink in honour of your win? It’ll be on us!” a shy waitress offers, appearing out of nowhere. He jumps in fear, but he quickly calms down. “Well…” he ponders, even though he’s not a fan of drinking after a race. In a trice, the lightbulb in his brain goes off. It shines brightly, and a clever idea starts to nag him. “Do you, uh, mind doing me a favour? I’ll even pay you extra,” he quickly prompts, and the waitress smirks. “Sure!” she agrees, carefully balancing the glasses on her tray.

“I need you to take all these glasses—maybe add some more champagne and make sure they’re really full—to that person over there,” he instructs, pointing to where you are. He watches as you wave to your family, who drives off without you. “The one with the brown jacket?” she double checks, and he nods in assurance. “Yeah, that one. Take them to her, and tell her they’re from someone who adores her and her love for champagne quite a bit,” Niki directs while trying to hold in a villain-like laugh.

“Ok! Then I just leave?” she asks, tilting her head innocently. “Yes. And don’t mention my name or anything about me at all,” he adds quickly before placing a hundred-dollar bill on the tray. The waitress slips it into her pocket before walking to where you’re standing idly. Niki watches the innocent worker make her way towards you until he realizes he should hide away before she makes a mistake.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Hi, I have something for you,” a waitress tells you, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- What? I never ordered anything, I think you have the wrong person,” you tell her, turning your back and facing elsewhere. “No! I have the right person. They said they’re someone who adores you and your love for champagne!” she gleefully clarifies, and only one person comes to mind. James. You let out an excited, eager gasp. One that can’t be rivalled by any of Niki’s fans from his win.

She hands you the two full glasses, and you can just tell that the golden liquid is of high quality. You get drunk quickly, perhaps a little too easily. But that’s never stopped you from enjoying yourself at all. “Thank you so much! Oh, and I’m sorry for being rude at first,” you softly whisper to her, and she simply waves you away. “No worries,” she reassures, and she walks off before you can finish your first glass.

Tilting your head back, you bring the first flute to your mouth and you down everything it has to offer in just a few gulps. The drink slides down your throat with such ease. It’s brut, and it has a sort of bitter yet sweet taste to it. Sighing, you smack your lips and take whatever is left of the first glass gratefully. You then switch the glasses around with shaky yet skillful hands. “Thank you, James, for being such a lovely guy,” you murmur to yourself, dragging out the last letters of each word.

The alcohol quickly settles inside you, and it starts to distort you as always. Blurry eyes and a hazy mind, you’ve turned into a drunken mess in a matter of a few seconds. You slowly sip on your second and last glass before your temptations grow tired of your sluggishness. You down the entire thing until there’s a small drop at the bottom that just won’t budge. You let out a tiny sound of amazement, and you find yourself wanting to have some more. You lick your lips, trying to search for a slight hint of the sort of melon flavour until it goes away.

“Uhm? Does anyone know where that waitress went?” you ask loudly, and those who hear you shake their heads ‘no.’ “Damn,” you frustratingly mutter, lightly stomping your foot against the concrete. You roll your head backwards, in both a stretch and a habit. Your mind feels heavy, but your bones and muscles are even more burdensome. You bring your skull back to its normal position, and you decide to go look for her. Stumbling clumsily, you walk back into the dreaded arena where everyone is still celebrating Niki Lauda’s victory.

Niki watches you amongst a crowd of fans who are trying to form some sort of discussion with him. They hound him with all kinds of questions, some about the race itself and some about the esteemed racer and his personal life. Like a hunter stalking his prey, his eyes stay trained on you until you disappear behind the red door that leads to rooms that only named people are allowed to go to. “So, what are you going to do now, Mr. Lauda? How are you going to celebrate?” one of them asks, with a sort of sultry tone to their voice that he fails to notice.

“I have plans with a friend of mine for tonight,” he briefly states before pushing through them and following you into the stadium. “Can I join?” another asks, and he simply ignores them as they call after Niki with even more curiosity. It’s not hard to spot someone in bright red overalls suddenly walking into somewhere he shouldn’t be, but it’s easy to pay no mind to him because he’s a champion and most people who see him aren’t.

“Where, where, where are you, kleine Maus?” he hauntingly calls out, and his voice echoes back. Niki can hear the sound of your shoes clicking against the ground, and he decides to follow it. He tries his hardest to calm his heart down, but it’s hard to both hold your breath and make sure you’re not nearing cardiac arrest. The racer quickens the paces of his feet, practically jogging towards you as you decide to turn around and forget about the champagne.

Your jacket slips off your shoulders as you whip your body around, and suddenly, you’re pushed against a wall. The brick is painted over with a sort of cream colour. You begin to panic as strong hands keep you from fighting your attacker. “Du bellst wohl nicht nur, kleine Maus,” he notes out loud, and you don’t understand a word of what he’s saying. The voice is familiar, though, except for the fact it’s a few octaves deeper than you last heard.

“Niki?” you question, halting your flailing fists and restless legs. “Yes, kleine Maus?” the man questions and your jaw drops in shock. “What the fuck?! Are you insane? Get off of me!” you scream loudly, and his hopes of getting you still begin to die like a flower in the wintertime. Niki grabs ahold of your wrists in his dominant hand, and he swiftly turns you around and stomps on your ankles. “Help!” you cry out, but his other hand presses your face against the wall.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” he orders in your ear, pushing your white ribbon out of your face. You listen to him, but you disobey his commands at the same time. Writhing around, you try to escape the claws that squeeze you tightly, and you fail miserably. “Cute. Now stop fighting me, or else I’ll hurt you so badly you wouldn’t be able to go to anyone for help,” he threatens, and you gulp thickly in fear. Your saliva tastes of alcohol still, and you regret ever coming to the race.

“Good girl. See? That wasn’t so hard. All you need to do is listen to me,” Niki instructs, talking down to you like you’re some child who doesn’t know any better. “Why?” you choke out through gritted teeth. Your cheekbones rub against the brick, and the pain is gruesome. “Because I need to put you in your place. Do you seriously think you can just mouth off to me like that? To disrespect me like that? To prefer that pathetic racer over me?” he asks, and you let out a whimper. Each of his words sinks into you like needles filled with anesthesia.

They numb your mind until you realize what’s really happening, but by then, it’s too late.

“Well, obviously, I prefer James over you! Look at you, you’re rude, and you’re a horrible, shitty person. Now get off of me!” you lash out, even though your body doesn’t move. Niki simply laughs like a maniac, and you find yourself wanting to take back your words. “Maybe I’m so rude because I like you. Like how little boys tease little girls when they have crushes. You do know what a crush is, right? Just making sure since you’re so cold-hearted. Bet you don’t know anything other than hatred,” he spits, and you’re pretty offended.

“I know what you’re talking about! I’ve had feelings for people, okay?” you bite back, and Niki becomes curious. “Really? Let me guess. James Hunt? Some old boyfriend of yours? A man at a party who cleaned you up because you don’t know how to take care of yourself?” the Austrian questions, and you don’t realize who he’s talking about until you look at his hands. They’re the same as those gracious ones, except they’re more rough and lack gentleness. “That was you?” you ask, and you’ve lost all fight in your body at the realization.

“Well, of course, kleine Maus. Someone had to watch your back, and that someone is me! Du bist nicht so klug, wie du dich selbst darstellst, ganz ehrlich. But that’s okay, it’ll be okay. It’ll be just alright now that I’m here to put you in your place,” he reassures you, and you don’t even have the energy to ask him what he means. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve learnt my lesson now, can you let me go? I won’t tell anyone, Sir, I promise!” you plea and your words start to blur into one another.

“I don’t think you’re sorry, kleine Maus. I need to do what’s necessary because I’m fucking tired of you and your bullshit,” Niki snaps, and you whimper from the harsh tone of his words. His change in behaviour gives you whiplash, and you realize that there’s no way out of whatever he has planned for you. “So careless, so mean, so ignorant… So clumsy. I guess you aren’t as independent or as strong as you claim to be,” he whispers, and he causes tears to sting your almost empty eyes. They hurt, and they carry such maliciousness to them that you can’t help but be terrified of Niki.

A hand comes up to the waist of your jeans. They flare out at the bottom, and well, they look pretty damn good on you. But maybe a little too good because they make Niki think wild thoughts. He expertly takes the buttons out of their holes, and he unzips your rusted zipper. “P- Please, Niki,” you beg one last time, but Niki ignores you. He pulls down your pants against your protests, and he lets them get tangled with your tired feet. Your bare ass is exposed to the cool air of the arena, and goosebumps begin to rise on your skin.

“Such a lovely ass, kleine Maus. Maybe I should fuck it instead of doing what I had planned. Would you like that?” Niki politely asks, and your eyes nearly fall out of your skull. “N- No, thank you, Niki,” you shakily reject, and he nods. “You see, unlike you, I’m not so mean. So I’ll spare you, but only this once,” he cheerfully tells you, acting as if you’re supposed to start jumping up and down at his words. The closest thing to gratitude he’ll ever get from you is silence.

Niki still has a tight grip on your hands, and with your legs now immobilized from the mess by your feet, you can’t do much to save yourself. He wraps his arm around your waist, and he grabs at the crotch of your panties with no care at all. The cotton bunches up, and his fingers graze lightly against your folds. You try to ignore his touch, but he does the opposite and forces you to focus on it. He’s frozen, and you’re waiting for his next malevolent move. You can hear his heavy breathing, and he angles his digits upwards so he can touch you even more.

You press a fist against the wall, and you try to brace yourself as best as you can. Unexpectedly, a fierce pain strikes you in your hips, and it hurts more than you can describe. His hand has left you, and you can feel the air breeze against your pussy. Your panties are on the floor, ripped into a shred of fabric that no longer has any good use other than reminding you of how you could’ve avoided this entire situation. “I’ll get you better ones, don’t worry,” he reassures you in a humorous manner, and you squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance.

Instead of having your hips jut out for easy access, he pushes your torso against the wall until there’s a pressure inside your stomach. Instead of pain, it’s a sort of tingling sensation that makes your eyes bulge out in shock. “Uhm...” you hesitate, and his ears perk up. “What is it?” he frustratingly asks you, and his harsh tone snivelling. “N- Nevermind,” you mumble, and you just try to take deep breaths. “Are you ever going to shut up?” Niki questions as his other hand skillfully unzips his red overalls.

He’s wearing a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt for the hot weather and occasional coolness. You keep quiet, not sure if you should answer him or not. Niki grumbles in another language that you don’t understand, and you realize that no matter what you do, you’ll always make him angry. Even your begging doesn’t bring you any fruits of labour. Only disappointment.

His shorts join the pile of clothing on the ground, many colours clashing that leave his eyes to be sore. Sunset pink panties, pale blue jeans, vibrant red overalls, and black shorts. It’s a fashionista’s worst nightmare. His hard cock is left in his boxers, and he’s just too impatient to fully undress. He throbs out of want and need, with a swollen tip that leaks with pre-cum. “I know this isn’t so… What’s the word you people use? ...Ah, romantic! I know this isn’t so romantic, but it’s not supposed to be. I’m the only one who’s supposed to enjoy this, not you. So I don’t care if you want to fake a smile or anything like that, all you need to do is not say anything,” he explains, and you nod your head.

“O- Okay, Niki,” you assure, and he lets out a groan that is followed by his tongue clicking against his pearly teeth. “Dumb whore,” he spits, and his hand wraps around your throat. You’re inebriated beyond belief, and you don’t realize he can crush your windpipe in a split second until he whispers in your ear. “Can’t do one thing right, can you?” he retorts. The grip he has on your wrists suddenly loosens up, but you’re too sluggish to fight him. And even if you try, you’ll end up a pathetic loser with even less honour than before.

The fat tip of his large cock presses against your mildly slick pussy. “You’re already wet for me, kleine Maus! Oh, such a whore. You say you don’t want this, yet your little cunt is telling me otherwise. Maybe you should use it to think instead of your empty brain. You’d end up in better places if you did so,” he advises, and you try to tune him out. But he’s like an alarm that just won’t stop until you do something, and yet, you’re helpless. “Ich kann es kaum erwarten, dich zu meiner Hure zu machen. Wie viel verlangen Sie? Einen Dollar? So oder so, du wirst von mir gefickt werden,” Niki snickers, and you have a feeling his words lack kindness.

But who the hell are you to worry about kindness?

Niki pushes his hips forward as his cock slowly sheathes itself inside of your tight pussy. The way you hug him makes him moan immediately, and he wonders if he’s the first you’ve ever had. “Jesus Fucking Christ, you’re so right, kleine Maus,” he groans, slowly bottoming out inside of you. You’re biting down on your wobbly bottom lip, trying your hardest to keep quiet and not let out any cries. The pain is searing. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever felt, and it ingrains itself into your mind until it’s all but an illusion. You’re practically about to be torn in half from his cock, and you’re at an impasse.

The racer curses as his balls rest against your ass, heavy and swollen. He’s deep inside you, filling you up until you’re bursting and you don’t know what to focus on; the pressure in your stomach that just seems to grow with each passing second, or the pain that leisurely turns into pleasure you’ll be addicted to? Everything is so much all at once. “Feel that, kleine Maus? Do you feel how deep inside you I am? Good, because you’ll have to get used to it,” he tells you, and you writhe around.

“So desperate already…” he whispers, watching as you can’t stand still at all. Niki’s hand leaves the base of his cock, as he thrusts his hips forward to elicit a reaction from you. He holds onto you tightly, and your body jerks from his movement. Your swollen stomach is pushed further against the wall, much to your dismay. You let out a gasp, and you try to close your legs as much as Niki will let you. He chuckles before he drags his cock backwards. His tip is the only thing inside you, and he suddenly begins to pump into you roughly. “Oh my God,” you whimper quietly, and your words are drowned out by the sound of skin against skin.

He thrusts up into you at a quick pace, one that your fingers or past lovers could never rival. It seems as though he’s fast when it comes to almost anything. “Die beste Muschi, die ich je hatte,” Niki whispers. Your pussy slickens up as he fucks you, coating him with your sticky wetness. The sight is something to behold, and his cock slips in and out of you with each thrust. “Make some pretty noises, kleine Maus. I want to hear how much of a slut you are for my cock,” he demands, and a loud moan moves past your lips without warning. It’s lewd and pornographic, yet it’s not as debauched as the sounds your wet pussy makes.

“Yeah, that’s more like it, hure,” Niki praises, and you mewl once his cock begins to touch that sweet spot of yours. It makes you go dizzy and hazy, and it also makes your legs weak. You involuntarily stop clenching your thighs together. Each thrust brings you against the wall, and you feel like you’re about to explode. Your pussy clenches down on Niki’s cock tightly, and his motions stutter. “Are you going to come already, my little slut?” he questions, slowing down his thrusts just to see you get frustrated. But the reaction you have is quite the opposite of what he wants, and he’s confused.

You let out a shaky breath that is filled with relief. You try to cross your legs together and push your ass backwards so that you’re far from the wall, even if it means that you’re closer to Niki. Your efforts don’t do much, and you want to wail in defeat. Niki observes you carefully before he shoves you back against the wall. You cry out before whispering a simple ‘please’ to him. He doesn’t realize what you’re talking about until he watches you place one of your hands on your stomach. You splay your fingers out delicately, and Niki chuckles.

The hold he has on your hips goes away, and he reaches for your hand. “Shh, it’s okay,” he reassures, and you furrow your eyebrows in both confusion and surprise. Niki pulls his cock out of you until you’re an empty, gaping mess. Suddenly, he presses down on your bladder until warmth trickles down your legs, soaking the fabric at your feet. A few tears leak from your eyes, and Niki watches as you burn up with embarrassment and shame. The pain and pressure in your abdomen go away as you finally alleviate yourself.

“Dreckig, dreckig, kleine Maus,” he degrades, and you don’t have it in you to be offended. The streams of liquid eventually come to an end, and you’re so ashamed. You press your face against the wall and wait for Niki’s next word. But he doesn’t say anything at all. Zip, zilch, nada. Instead, he pulls his hand away from your stomach and uses it to silently guide his cock back to your drooling, aching hole. “Couldn’t help yourself, I know. It’s okay, it’s not entirely your fault, liebling,” Niki tells you, even though he’s more patronizing than comforting.

“Es ist nicht deine Schuld, dass du nicht weißt, wie man etwas richtig macht. Keine Manieren, keine Höflichkeiten... Ich verstehe, dass du so bist, aber ich bin hier, um dich zu ändern. Ich bin hier, um dir beizubringen, dass du unter mir stehst und dass du nichts anderes tun solltest, als meine Hure zu sein und mich zu verehren,” he continues, and you’ve decided to give up entirely. You forehead rests on the white brick, and Niki begins to fuck you roughly once again.

He pounds against your sweet spot relentlessly, not one error in his rhythmic thrusts. “Poor little thing acts all tough until it comes down to it… And now look at you, you’re a complete mess with my cock stuffed inside this perfect pussy,” Niki grunts, leaning his body forward. His chest is right up against your back, and his chin rests on your sweaty shoulder. Your white ribbon is a tangled mess, the two ends of it twisting together and falling in your face. The silk material is no longer cooling, and the styling purpose of it has lost its touch.

The plunges of his cock are more deep than quick, and each shove of his hips sends you spiralling in pleasure. “F- Fuck,” you moan, seeing stars in your vision as your legs twitch from overwhelming gratification. “Yeah, you like that? You like the way my cock makes your pussy feel, kleine Maus?” he questions, and he further pushes his head down until his mentum digs into your skin. You wail loudly out of pain before nodding your head desperately. Niki squeezes the sides of your neck even more, but he also pushes down on your windpipe until you’re gasping for air.

You wheeze resoundingly, and the sound of you suffering for breath sends even more blood down to Niki’s pulsating cock. “Say it, tell me how much you love my cock and how much of a slut you are for me,” he demands, and you grasp at whatever’s left in your vocabulary. “I- I love your cock, Niki. I’m such a slut for you and your cock. You make me feel so good. I love your cock so much,” you pathetically mewl, and you can feel a form of tightening building up in you. Your lower abdomen burns up with searing flames, ones that trail all the way down to where you’re both connected.

You get wetter and wetter, more loud and desirous as your climax builds up. It’s like a staggering tower that reaches up to the sky and past the clouds; it has an end, but it keeps growing. “Are you going to come, kleine Maus? Are you going to come around my fat cock? I know you are. C’mon, do it,” Niki urges, and you moan his name loudly. “Do it, come on my cock right fucking now, or else I’ll make this worse for you,” he demands, and your back arches violently. You let out a gasp as your jaw goes slack. Red fills your vision, and you’re clamping down on his cock.

You moan his name loudly, and your juices coat his already sticky cock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mewl, digging your nails into your skin as you struggle to keep quiet like he ordered you to do. Your pussy spasms wildly, and your clit throbs, desperate for a few fingers to rub it. Your legs shake just a little bit, and you find yourself meeting Niki at his every thrust, desperate to keep going. Your ass moves backwards, and his hips move forwards, and the Austrian fucks you through your orgasm. Your nerves have sparks flying from them, and every part of you is sensitive.

“You’re so pretty when you come, kleine Maus. You look just like a desperate whore,” Niki grunts, and he can feel himself inching closer to his own climax. It’s like the light at the end of a tunnel or the chequered flag that usually waits for him at the race track before he’s announced to be the winner. “I’m gonna come inside you, kleine Maus, even if you don’t want me to. I’m going to fill you up with my seed and make you all nice and round. That way, you’ll know who you belong to, and you won’t be whoring around for the James Hunt you love so much,” he whispers in your ear, and you rapidly shake your head.

No, no, no, no.

“Yes, yes, yes, kleine Maus, you’re going to take my seed because I said so. Now stop fighting me,” he moans in your ear, and his thrusts grow sloppy and lazy. Niki shallowly fucks into you, and his balls begin to tighten up. His chest rises and falls, and he can feel his high beginning to climb up to the sky. Up, up, up, and away. Niki moans out the little pet name he’s applied to you, and he entirely shoves his cock inside you until he can’t move anymore. Growling, he comes inside you without a care in the world.

The raging, red tip of his fat cock is so deep. White ropes of his seed shoot into your womb, filling you up until you’re an upset, messy cumdump. “This is all you’re good for, kleine Maus,” Niki whispers in your ear, reminding you of your so-called place that he believes you belong in. His cum drips down your inner walls and leaks past his cock, and your fluids mix with each other. Niki’s cock twitches inside of you, but he remains as hard as a rock.

“Can’t wait to see you with my baby, kleine Maus. And I can’t wait to see James’s face when he sees you with me. Er wird so schockiert sein, dass sein Gesichtsausdruck unbezahlbar sein wird,” Niki laughs wickedly, and you can’t imagine you’ll ever meet anyone as cruel or as twisted as he is. “Can you get off of me now? I want to go home, and I want to stay as far away from you as I can,” you snap in both annoyance and exhaustion. “Nu-uh,” he tuts in a disciplinary manner. “You’re not going anywhere, kleine Maus,” Niki tells you. He tilts his head up until his lips touch the skin of your ear.

“I still have to celebrate my win with you, and I’ll make sure to push you to the limit, kleine Maus.”

[simplee-dreaming]

The Party

A/N: I spent far too much time deciding how all of their outfits were gonna look so I hope it paid off. Also, I know some things I mention have different names in different countries but I've gone for what I only know as the British version. Hope you like it! (Totally didn't get inspiration for this idea from driving past a joke shop myself...)

Word count: 2951

Summary: The reader attends her first themed party hosted by RDJ, but her outfit lands her in trouble.

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Tonight was the night. The night you had been waiting for for weeks. A party at Robert Downey Jr’s house. But not just any old party, oh no, a party for the Avengers cast. Not even just a party - a themed party.

See, Robert is well known for his themed parties. Of course he’s done the classics such as the black and white theme, the 80s theme, even the “dress as your favourite superhero” theme - what could be more suited? But he’s also well known for his unique themes. For example: dress as what you wanted to be when you were a kid; dress as your favourite fruit or veg; dress as another member of the cast; dress as your favourite gay icon. The list goes on.

This was your very first party with the cast though. Being the newest member, you were super excited to have a great night with them all outside of work - plus little Tom couldn’t stop guessing what this theme could be. It was, of course:

“Dress as your favourite board game.”

Yep. Board games.

You spent ages trying to figure out what board game you were going to dress up as. The main rule of the themed parties was that you couldn’t tell other people what you were going as unless you deliberately needed someone else to complete your outfit.

You were desperate for ideas now that the party was only a week away. It wasn’t until you were walking down the highstreet, and something in the shop window caught your eye, that you finally had an idea. You were standing outside of a joke shop, and in the window stood a dress...designed like a Twister mat.

Perfect.

The day had finally arrived. No one was filming today so you had all day to get yourself ready. Hair and makeup done, Twister dress on, ready to rumble.

You made your way to RDJ’s house at half 8 - late enough to not be the first one there but early enough to enjoy everyone’s company for longer. You smiled with glee as you stepped into the house. You were tingling with excitement as you walked towards the room where the music played. The minute you walked into the room, everyone approached you. And one by one you scanned them all to see what they were dressed as.

The first person you saw was Anthony, he was dressed up as Cards Against Humanity. Not quite a board game but funny nonetheless. The front of his outfit was completely black and the back was completely white. The writing on his front read “I drink to forget _____”, and the writing on his back read “Tom Holland”. You giggled.

Next was Scarlett. She decided to come dressed as Pictionary. Part of her outfit was made with polyester and nylon, and she carried around a whiteboard marker so that anyone could draw a picture on her outfit and others had to guess what it was. This could also be wiped off easily, ready for the next person to draw.

Sebastian was next, you snorted when you saw him. He was dressed as Frustration. His outfit was divided into the four colours: his top right being yellow, top left being green, bottom right being blue and bottom left being red. He had placed a semisphere plastic hat over his head and inside lay a foam dice which jumped about whenever he shook his head.

After Seb came Liz. She was dressed up as Uno. Her front and back were two different colours of the uno reverse card - the front being red and the back being green. The point of this is that whenever someone asked her to do something she didn’t wanna do, she’d just point to her outfit and get out of doing it.

Next was Paul B. He came as Trivial Pursuit. Random questions and answers were plastered all over his suit, such as: “how many feet are there in a fathom? 6”; “What three-word slogan was named the most popular advertisement ever in a 2000 poll? Beanz Meanz Heinz”; and his own personal saying, “Where do snitches end up? In ditches”.

Following Paul was the unsurprising double act. Big Tom and Hemsy. They had come dressed as Snakes and Ladders. Tom had glued a giant toy python to his all-black outfit, and Chris had stuck a cardboard ladder to the front and back of his all-white outfit. Simple, yet effective.

Then came Evans who was dressed as Noughts and Crosses, despite numerous comments from RDJ about it not being a board game. His back was full of paper noughts and crosses stuck to his top but his front had a similar material to Scarlett’s where the cast could play their own game on his front and then wipe it off for the next players.

You scanned little Tom next. He had gone all out with his outfit, dressing up as Operation. He was wearing a light pink coloured top and matching trousers and had stapled all the pieces of operation to their correct areas, such as the butterfly, the spare rib and the wish bone. He’d also used face paint to paint his nose a dark shade of red. Adorably creepy in a way.

Last, but certainly not least, was the man himself. Robert Downey Jr. He came as the popular game Cluedo. And boy did he look fancy. He wore a top hat that had a giant question mark stuck to it, and a tuxedo with a long sweeping tail attached to the jacket. Neatly placed all over his black suit were the names of the suspects, the names of the rooms and the names of the weapons - all written in white. He looked splendid.

“Twister. How unusual. I love it,” Robert said, the others nodded in agreement.

“Thanks, you all look incredible,” you said.

Little Tom held out his arm and led you to the dance floor where you spent the next hour dancing the night away. Big Tom and Hemsy were owning the dance floor with their moves. Many party classics blared through the speakers, including 5,6,7,8...which you knew the dance off by heart but RDJ had to be taught the moves by you and little Tom.

Another hour passed and you were sat with Scarlett, Liz and Paul in the other room where the music wasn’t so loud. Seb was with you but he had asked Liz to get him a drink and she played the uno reversal so now he was on drinks duty.

“Paul, can I borrow your suit just so I can literally look smarter?” You asked, he chuckled.

“Maybe I can just follow you around and relay the facts for you,”

“You could be the Yoda to my Luke. Though I think you’re too big to sit on my back,” you said.

“Here’s your punch,” said Seb, returning with two cups for him and Liz.

“Finally, what took you so long?” she asked.

“I stopped in the party room, Anthony and little Tom are having a competition to see who can do the macarena better,” he said.

“But...the macarena is the macarena…” you said, confused.

“Try telling them that. Tom insisted that the Brits do it better apparently.”

“Well, we do have some absolute bangers,” you chuckled. Paul agreed.

“So where did you get that dress?” Scarlett asked you.

“The joke shop down the highstreet. I was walking past it last week and found it in the window. Thought it would be perfect,” you shrugged.

“Until Mackie gets over excited and plays Twister on you,” Seb said.

“I’d like to see him try,” you replied.

“Ah, here’s the gang. What are you all doing in here?” Robert said, entering the room with big Tom and Evans.

“We’re just sat chatting….wait, have you left Holland and Mackie alone?” Seb asked.

“They’re fine, Chris is with them,” Tom replied. You tilted your head at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe I should check on them…” Tom said, you nodded and he left the room.

“Soooo, how’s it going?” Evans asked everyone.

“We’re all fine but Y/N is a bit twisted,” Seb said. Everyone laughed but you bonked him on the head, making the dice jolt.

“Oi!”

You giggled and slapped the plastic hat again, the dice landed on a 6.

“Eyy I get another go!” You cheered before bonking him on the head again. He sighed but chuckled.

“Well it’s nice to see her dressed as an actual board game,” Robert said, turning to Evans.

“Hey, that’s not fair! Noughts and crosses is a board game!” Evans protested.

“I wanna play,” you said. Evans smiled at you.

You got Liz to play with you and you went first. You decided to play as noughts and took the bottom left corner. After a few rounds, you got a straight diagonal line. You cheered as Liz huffed, but she congratulated you nonetheless.

“I wanna play pictionary now,” you said, turning to Scarlett. She smiled and handed you a whiteboard pen. You thought for a moment then began drawing.

You pressed down on Scarlett’s outfit to make sure you could draw properly. You ran the pen down her stomach and she giggled.

“Hey, careful, that tickles,” she said. You blushed and apologised but continued. Everytime the pen went over a certain spot Scarlett would giggle but she never flinched.

“Okay, I’m done,” you announced. Everyone leaned forward and groaned once they saw it.

“Really? You know none of us can say that,” Seb said.

“First one to say it correctly wins,” you shrugged. You had drawn Mjolnir, something that everyone struggled to say.

“Midge-oh-lair,” said Liz.

“Mjohn-ler,” said Seb.

“Me-joln-ier,” said Evans.

“Hey! It’s Mjolnir!” came a voice from the door. Hemsy had just walked in with Mackie, little Tom and big Tom.

“We have a winner,” you grinned and everyone groaned again.

“Okay now I wanna play snakes and ladders,” you said. You scrambled to your feet and launched yourself at Hemsy, climbing up his tall body and clinging to him like a koala. He laughed.

“Okay, and what do we do now?” He chuckled. You shrugged and hugged him tighter, he returned the favour.

“As nice as this is, princess, I can’t carry you around the rest of the evening,” Hemsy said.

“Alright, hang on. Gotta complete the game,” you said. You motioned big Tom to come nearer and leaned over to hug him. Your legs followed and wrapped around his waist before you slid down his body and landed on the floor. Tom laughed.

“Impressive,” he said. You lay flat at the floor and looked at him, giggling.

“You’re very playful today,” big Tom said.

“I’m just happy to be here,” you giggled, he smiled at you.

“Alright my turn, I wanna play twister,” Mackie said, launching himself at you.

“WAIT!” You cried, panicked by his sudden movement. Mackie didn’t listen.

“I’m not doing anything! I need someone to give me an instruction,” he said.

“Right foot red,” Seb said. Mackie lifted his foot and put it on the first red spot he could see, directly on your tummy. You giggled as he adjusted his foot, rubbing it against your tummy.

“Noho Anthony!”

He looked and realised what he was doing, then smirked and vibrated his foot on your tummy again. You giggled louder.

“The twister mat is making noises, how do I turn it off?” He asked.

“Um, try putting your left hand on yellow,” little Tom piped up. Mackie grinned as he spotted a yellow spot on your ribs. He put his hand down and gave them an “accidental” squeeze.

“Hehey!” You shrieked.

“Didn’t work Holland, anyone else?” Mackie said.

“Try right hand green,” Scar said, smirking. Mackie placed his right hand on the green spot on your side and squeezed again.

“Stohop!” You cried.

“Right well that didn’t work, and I can’t put my left foot on it otherwise I would break it. Any other ideas?” he said.

“You may have to push a few buttons, try turning it off and on again,” Paul said. Mackie squeezed your ribs and sides again and shook his foot on your tummy. You screeched loudly.

“Nope, still making noises,”

“Let me have a look,” Liz said. Mackie had you pinned below his hands and foot. You started to giggle as you felt a single finger run up your neck.

“Nonono Lizzie!” You squeaked as she dragged a nail up the other side.

“There must be an off button around here,” she teased. She gently scribbled all her nails into your neck. You scrunched up your shoulders and shrieked.

“NOHOHOHO!”

“Definitely not here, you sure it’s not there Mackie?” Lizzie asked. Mackie squeezed your ribs and sides again and your giggles turned to laughter.

“Nope, no no, that’s made it worse,” he said. “Someone try a blue spot!”

Evans jumped up and ran over to help. He found a blue spot right on your hip, he placed his hand over it and started squeezing.

“NAHAHAHAHAHA!” You screamed. Trying to buck your body was impossible with Mackie still pinning you.

“Dammit Evans you turned the volume up!” Mackie yelled.

“Maybe the problem lies outside of the mat itself,” big Tom piped up.

“What you saying Hiddleston? That we’re the problem?” Mackie asked.

“Not at all, just that there appears to be parts connected to the mat, but not part of the mat itself,” Tom said, putting his hand on his chin. He slowly approached you and swiped a single finger under your knee. You kicked it away.

“Now it’s malfunctioning,” Mackie informed him. Tom hummed and swiped a finger under your other knee. You kicked again. He then spider tickled under both your knees and you shrieked loudly.

“PLEHEHEASE I’M NOHOT BROKEN!” You screamed.

“God DAMN you made it talk!” Mackie yelled.

“I know what the issue is,” Robert said, stepping forward.

“Do go on?” big Tom said.

“You need to hit all the pressure points at once. It’s like a giant reset button, wear it down till it reboots itself,” he said. Everyone looked at each other.

“Position yourselves,” Robert instructed.

Mackie stepped off of your stomach and knelt by your left side, Seb knelt by your right. Lizzie was still up by your neck and big Tom by your knees. Scarlett was by your right shoulder, Paul by your left. Evans positioned himself by your hips, little Tom the other side by your thighs. Hemsworth and Robert sat next to your feet.

“Nonononono please!” You cried.

“Rebooting systems in 3…” Robert began.

“No please!”

“2…”

“Wait!”

“1…”

“No wait I’m not brOHOHOHOKEN!” You cried as everyone attacked you at once. No one was pinning you down but you could hardly twist and turn with 10 people tickling all your spots at once. They were all ruthless and yet...you sort of loved it.

“PLEHEHEHASE NOHOHOHO!” You cried, flailing your arms around. Mackie and Seb were squeezing up and down your sides and across your tummy, Lizzie was tickling deep into your neck, Scar and Paul had just caught an arm each and pinned it upwards so they could tickle your underarms, big Tom was scratching under your knees and squeezing the tops, Evans was squeezing and scribbling into your hips, little Tom was scratching up and down your thighs and Hemsy and Robert had grabbed a foot each to tickle. It was pure torture.

“KEEP GOING, IT’LL WEAR DOWN EVENTUALLY!” Robert yelled over your screams of laughter. Everyone picked up the speed and you screamed louder than ever before.

You now had your arms and legs pinned by Scar, Paul, Robert and Hemsworth so you tried to buck your hips as much as possible and scrunch up your shoulders to protect your neck but it was no use.

“NOHOHOHO MOHOHORE!” You cried. You let out another loud scream and fell into a silent laughter. Tears filled your eyes to the point where you couldn’t even see Lizzie kneeling over you.

“Reboot complete,” Robert instructed. He stopped tickling your foot and one by one the rest of the cast followed and ceased their attack. You lay there, taking in deep breaths of air.

“You alright twisty?” Mackie asked, sliding up to your head. You nodded, letting out residue giggles. Evans gave you a hand up and propped you up against the sofa.

“You...are...all...evil…” you breathed out. Everyone chuckled.

“You were in a playful mood, we wanted to join,” Evans said, winking at you.

“I never knew you were so ticklish,” Hemsworth said.

“So would you be if 10 people ganged up on you,” you replied. He laughed and nodded in agreement. Little Tom sat down next to you.

“You okay?” He asked, pulling you in for a hug. You nodded.

“Yeah...that was fun,” you clamped your mouth shut after realising what you just said.

“Fun eh?” little Tom teased, quickly spidering your side to make you giggle again.

“We had fun too if that’s any consolation? Could go for round two if you want,” big Tom said. You looked at him and smiled.

“Not today I don’t think, you guys well and truly broke me,” you said, everyone laughed.

“I think I’ve already decided on the theme for next year,” Robert said. Everyone turned to him.

“Tickle Me Y/N,” he said, “where everyone has to bring a random object to tickle Y/N with. First to make her say stop wins.” He winked at you and you blushed and hid your head in little Tom’s shoulder. He chuckled and stroked your head.

“Now that will be a fun theme,” Mackie replied.

[sunlightandsuffering]

just daydreaming about ice hockey player eren who tapes his gf’s name on his stick… he tells mikasa she’s his good luck charm and one day he gets properly injured on the ice by a totally foul move from a salty player on the other team and mikasa is PANICKING and forces her way onto the ice despite being battered and having concussion, eren is still being stupid and fading out of consciousness he’s like “wow guys look there’s a pretty girl here… hey.. pretty girl.. can I get ur number..”

OBSESSED WITH THIS HC!!! LOVE U FOR SENDING THIS ANON!!! AHHH, so I think this would have to take place when he's in a minor league, no way it's happening in the NHL 😂 but maybe it's like a farm team or something, something smaller basically where it's possible for her to get out onto the ice, Mikasa is probably a sleepy nursing student too! So she's even more stressed out.

Mikasa drags herself right from class after her last exam home and immediately changes into something warmer, a big black parka. It's almost 7 and Eren's game starts at 7:30, their ice time much later due to other events taking up the earlier slots, figure skating lessons you name it. It sucks, because everything is late at night and she's tired from classes all week, nursing school is hard but she loves her boyfriend, so she makes every effort to see him play. She knows one day it'll pay off, hell it's already paying off he's getting paid to be on a team. It might not be a big team just yet, but she knows one day, and if he's lucky he'll get to play on a bigger team even if for now it's just the farm team it's better than nothing.

Lately, the games haven't been as packed though, she assumes its due to the busy winter season and how late their games are, it's just not as crazy as it is at the beginning, people gravitating towards the bigger hockey teams instead. So, Mikasa grabs her scarf, her jacket, bundles up and heads to his game. It shouldn't be too late today she hopes, she'd like to at least go home with Eren instead of by herself. She hasn't seen him much all week, him busy with practice and his own school while she has class until 6 at least.

Unfortunately Mikasa doesn't get there before the game starts, she arrives a little into the second period after parking, getting a snack and finally finding her seat. The game is going well, the score is 2-1, and Eren is doing well on defence, he's made some good clean hits and she's proud of the fact that he's not fighting with anyone today, especially with how rowdy the other team seems to be. The refs are barely calling penalties and it's pissing Mikasa off, she's not usually one to get upset at games but she wants to join in with the other fans in booing the refs honestly. Number 23 on the other team makes a few aggressive moves towards Eren and she almost gets up to yell, but thankfully her boyfriend reacts pretty calmly, doesn't even go in for any retaliation hits, just keeps on playing the game, blocking shots, passing where he needs and she's so proud of him. At the next intermission she slinks her way to the players half of the arena and she finds him waiting for her at the checkpoint chatting to a security guard. When she launches herself at him he waves off said security guard, "It's just my girlfriend, think she missed me."

Mikasa snuggles into his sweaty hockey gear, still dressed in everything even his skates. She grins up at him, he smells terrible and his hair is soaked with sweat but she loves him and she kisses his cheek messily. "Just wanted to give you a good luck kiss before last period, I know you'll win." "It's because I have my good luck charm," he holds up his stick, taped at the end in bright colours her name 'Mikasa' inscribed with a heart there and she smiles giddily.

"You're such a cheese ball," she teases him and he peppers her face with a few more kisses. He grins before they hear a very tell-tale call of, "Where is Yeager?" and Eren's face turns a little white. "Anyway I gotta go, but meet me here after, I'll take you out for dinner." Mikasa is exhausted and she wants nothing more than to just go home and cuddle with him, but if her boyfriend wants to take her out, she's not going to say no.

She nods, waving as she watches him awkwardly make his way back towards the locker room, ice skates and all and laughs at what a dork he is, but she really loves him.

When Mikasa makes her way back up to her seat they're already back on the ice for the first face off and she gets settled, she's in a good spot at centre ice, pretty close to the player's entrance, so close she could hope over and get on the ice if she really wanted to. She doesn't anticipate she'll be needing to do that anytime soon though. Unfortunately, #23 disagrees with her and with a minute left in the third period and after agitating Eren all night comes up from behind her boyfriend and checks him into the boards so aggressively the plexiglass shatters and Mikasa stands up, hands cupping over her mouth.

The game goes on for a few seconds after but Mikasa is already scrambling down the bleachers before the refs can blow their whistles, it was obviously a dirty hit, from behind Eren had no time to react and then for the glass to shatter on top of it, it's everywhere all over the ice and thankfully the audience is already moving away from that part of the bleachers.

But Eren isn't moving, he's just laying on the ice, his prone form stuck there and she'd watched his head hit the ice with brutal clarity, thank god for his helmet but she doesn't doubt there's going to be another concussion out of this one and she hopes thats the worst of the damage.

She leaps over the barrier before the refs can even begin to assess him. Everyone is too focused on Eren to pay any attention to the dark haired girl in the parka fighting her way onto the ice. It takes very little for her to open the door leading onto the ice, everyone is far to focused on where the refs are now leaning down to look Eren over, #23 standing guiltily a few meters away.

He's still not getting up and it stresses her out, but nothing will stop her at this point from getting to her boyfriend, she puts her booted feet onto the ice and begins the slow torturous task of trying not to slip and fall on her ass as she makes her way towards her boyfriend. She wants to cry but also she just wants to see him, she's never seen him be down for this long before, he must have really gotten hit hard, especially if the glass is anything to go by.

Finally, the refs whistle and some people who actually know first aid are called, and everyone finally notices the her trying to reach her boyfriend. "Hey you can't be on the ice," someone yells at her but Mikasa doesn't stop, she almost slips several times but she's getting closer to him.

Thankfully, Jean and Armin, two of Eren's teammates also notice her and they skate over, snagging her by the arms and gently tow her closer to her boyfriend. "Always a troublemaker aren't you Mikasa?" She scowls, tearing up a little, because what if he's not okay, this is his third concussion this year, "Just like my boyfriend," she responds to Armin before dropping on her knees next to her stupid boy, who's kind of just blinking up at her.

The ref looks like he's going to protest but she cuts him a dirty look, "Nice job not calling any of those other dirty hits, this is your fault."

Armin cuts off whatever the ref was going to say, "This is his girlfriend, Mikasa."

Eren is still just kind of staring up at her from the ice in wonderment, not moving too much, eyes glassy and yeah he's definitely concussed.

"Eren are you okay?" She asks worriedly, hands trying to find skin under all his gear, she just needs to touch, him needs the contact to know he's alright.

Third concussion, he's heading towards CTE at this point, what if it does permanent damage, there's so many things that could go wrong with just a concussion. And then her beloved boyfriend breaks her out of her panic with one stupid line.

"Mhmm, wow you're really pretty you know."

She lets out a choked little laugh, shaking her head, what a loser.

"Wow, must be my lucky day, a pretty girl comes to my rescue. Can I ask do you have a boyfriend?"

She leans down, brushing some of the glass from his chest, trying not to jostle him too much. "Yeah, he's kind of an idiot though." Eren kind of nods and she freaks out a little, "Don't move you could have a spinal cord injury."

"Hey pretty girl, I know you have a boyfriend, but since he's such an idiot you think I could have your number?"

Everyone around them, is kind of laughing now, Jean is shaking his head in bemusement and Mikasa grins.

"I don't think he'd be super happy if I gave my number out to some random guy, but I'll let you in on a little secret okay Eren, I'm your girlfriend."

He practically beams up at her, his mouth splitting into a dopey grin. "Damn, I really scored huh?"

Mikasa giggles and Eren kind of looks around a bit at his teammates, "See guys, look at her isn't she beautiful, take that!"

He's all smug now and Mikasa can't help her grin as she finally finds his hand, slipping off a glove, "You guys are totally jealous, wish you had a girl like this." "You're an idiot." He pouts, "'M not, I'm just excited that my girlfriend is so pretty, I bet I even taped your name to my stick too didn't I?"

She leans down, sliding his helmet up just a little, "Yeah you did, now can you sit still until the first aid gets here dummy?" "Yeah Mika," and the nickname just slips out and she's received a little, only momentary memory confusion.

Everyone teases Eren about it for months afterward, including Mikasa, but he doesn't care, shrugs every time. "Why would I be embarrassed it's true, they're totally jealous, my girlfriend is a knockout and a little spitfire who loves me so much she forces her way onto the ice when I'm injured, what more could I ask for?"

She grins, he's not wrong.

[voltimer]

'The Magic of Johto's Level Curve'

(or, 'a leisurely analysis of the singleplayer balance of Pokemon GSC and HGSS')

The Johto games - especially HeartGold and SoulSilver - seem to have a very good reputation. Some often put the aforementioned HGSS into their top 3 or describe it as the core Pokemon experience. I personally agree with this sentiment and HGSS is either #2 or #1 depending on my mood (it usually competes with Black 2 and White 2).

Despite all its praise though, there seems to be an incredibly consistent point raised against it: the level curve. I see it described as unbalanced, janky, and generally bad.

There are two main problems people tend to cite. First is the level progression in Johto itself, with Gyms 5, 6, and 7 not exactly being a smooth progression upwards and then Team Rocket's Archer and the 8th Gym having a notable level spike compared to those last three. Wild Pokemon levels are also usually a lot lower than the major boss fights they are ahead of, making raising new 'mons harder and grinding for boss fights longer. The other problem is Kanto, whose problems can essentially be said to take Johto's levelling issues and ramp them up. The jump from fighting Blue to the Elite Four rematches and Red is also very significant.

What I'm not going to do here is refute that the above isn't true - these level scaling inconsistencies are certainly present. It's also very different to the vast majority of main series entries, whose level curves are more linear and gradual. Gens 5 and 7 even have a feature which multiplies exp gain based on how much lower or higher you are than the Pokemon you defeat which in a way acts like a rubber band around each game's level curve, ensuring you can catch up easily but not go too overlevelled either. Playing GSC and HGSS when the rest of those entries are like that is a bit jarring. Pokemon is so well-known for having quite a formulaic design across its main series and when compared to that formula with regards to level progression and the like, the Johto games do seem a bit off-colour.

What I am going to do though is try to explain why this so-called bad level curve is at the very least not actually that bad, or, if I can convince you well enough, that the Johto games actually have a unique and (what I call) magical singleplayer game design not properly replicated in any other entry. It goes to the core essence of Pokemon's theming, and it fits with the fact that Johto's narrative also happens to put the most focus on those themes than the rest of the series.

When I say the core essence of theming, I mean the very basics of every Pokemon adventure: you, the player, leave home to go on a journey around your region, meeting various people and overcoming various challenges along the way together with your partner Pokemon. Challenges you overcome are all thanks to the bonds you share with your partners and how you raise them with love and care. As you get older, this is the sort of thing in Pokemon that you probably end up taking for granted. It's typical "power of friendship" stuff, and most people will tend to come to conclude through learning about the game mechanics that this sort of thing is superficial and that stats are all that matter in the end. The more modern Pokemon games also have such a big focus on larger-than-life stories with big climaxes featuring the box Legendaries that it's easy to lose this basic level, down-to-earth narrative theming.

Johto is significant for not having any larger-than-life aspects overshadowing its core. Instead, the core takes centre stage. There is no real overarching story besides your adventure. Team Rocket's antics take a sub-plot role but in the end act as a foil to your story, being one of the more major obstacles you overcome. Catching Ho-oh or Lugia is no cataclysm either, but rather a reward for your achievements throughout the game and thanks to your good and pure heart - recognised by the Legendary in question. Moments throughout the game like how you deal with the situation at the Lake of Rage, or the Dragon's Den trial where you're asked questions to test your ideals as a trainer (which, of course, you pass with flying colours) all contribute to this core as well.

The way Professor Oak congratulates you after defeating Lance ties the knot perfectly on the main campaign:

"Ah, <player>! It's been a long while. You certainly look more impressive. Your conquest of the League is just fantastic! Your dedication, love, and trust for your Pokémon made this happen. Your Pokémon were outstanding, too. Because they believed in you as a Trainer, they persevered. Congratulations, <player>!"

These are just examples of the main story events, though,and Johto has a lot more than that. The region is filled with things to do beside the main campaign - Berries/Apricorns, Pokegear calls, the Ruins of Alph and other optional caves, the Bug Catching Contest, and (in HGSS) the Pokeathlon and Safari Zone, just to name a few of the more notable ones. Tama Hero's review of Pokemon GSC talks a lot about this and it's well-worth a watch even beyond the section describing the games' breadth of side content.

Tama Hero also touches upon the supposed level scaling issue, and her response to the complaints is that there is a "sprinkling" of opportunities for small bits of exp gain throughout the game which should help you stay on track in most cases, and where you can't match levels, you can outplay your opponent.

I certainly agree with the latter. It always feels entirely possible to beat bosses at a level deficit throughout Johto. The Johto League is one of the key cases where you'll probably end up at level disadvantage, but I've consistently been able to defeat it with a team of lv 40s on average (so nearly 10 levels behind Lance's peak), and I'm pretty certain that my not-even-10-year-old self did so as well, even though it took me many, many attempts. From various people I've talked to and bits of let's plays I've seen over the years, this seems to be the common experience too. I think only a minority of people have had to grind to match Lance's levels in order to beat him at all. Granted, it might take you a couple of tries at that level disadvantage (or a great couple of tries more, like little ol' me), but that's surely not an unreasonable expectation. The concept of getting stuck at a difficult stage in a game could be called a universal one, and I think most people agree that it's always pretty satisfying to finally surmount a challenge like that. This can even be said about other Pokemon games - Kanto, Hoenn and Sinnoh also all have large level spikes at the end. In fact, at least when it comes to the end of the maingame, I'd argue Hoenn and Sinnoh have a larger level spike than Johto, but they're not considered impossible or anything

Regardless, though: it's certainly possible to win difficult battles in Pokemon at a level disadvantage. Tama Hero argues that the strategy required to do so isn't something the game teaches you very well, but I think this is a tad pessimistic. In the end I think that most wins will just come down to understanding of more fundamental skills that you've probably learned through the course of the game naturally - using type matchups (gyms are all type themed), using moves with stat changes (the earlygame is full of moves like Growl and Tail Whip), using status moves (no doubt you're going to see the effects of Paralysis and Burns throughout the game at least), and apt use of items (bosses always use potions and often use held items). Players also have more control over the battle than the enemy, with the default Switch mode and a huge amount more items available. It's true that the games don't teach you the deeper, untold mechanics very well, but learning about those only unlock even more ways to succeed for the numbers-minded veterans.

On the topic of those deeper, untold mechanics I also want to talk about something which Tama Hero doesn't mention at all - Effort Values, or EVs. Most of you reading will probably know about these by now, but for those who don't, EVs are hidden values which can increase a Pokemon's raw stats by a certain amount based on the other Pokemon they defeat. They were present in a slightly different form in Gens 1 and 2 in the form of "stat exp" but the premise was the same: your Pokemon grow twofold when you defeat Pokemon, by gaining visible exp for levelling up and visibly gaining stats every time that exp bar fills, but also by gaining stats little by little every time they defeat any Pokemon. Your Pokemon's EVs weren't visible to you in-game until Gen 6 with the Super Training graphic, and numerically weren't until Gen 7 where you can press X on the Pokemon's stat screen to show what are called "base stats".

EV optimisation is crucial to competitive play because the stat boosts they give are quite significant. Competitive players will "min-max" spreads, putting as much as possible into 2 stats to maximise strengths and not wasting any on stats they aren't making use of. In maingame playthroughs, though, EVs will usually end up being a balanced spread because you'll invetivably be facing a variety of Pokemon with different EV yields throughout the game. EVs can also be increased with the Vitamin items (Protein, Calcium, etc.) which you find a handful of throughout the game (and can buy at a premium) and can be used to manually raise EVs, though only to a certain point.

In Gens 3 and onward, a Pokemon can have up to 252 EVs in 1 stat, and 510 in total. At Lv 100, 4 EVs in a stat grant 1 point extra to it. For the singleplayer campaign the conditions are a bit different, but if we assume as a standard that by the Elite Four your EV total is maxed out and you have an even spread, your stats will all be up to 10 points higher than they would be without EVs. In Gens 1 and 2, you can actually max out all of a Pokemon's stat exp values but you're unlikely to cap them all for a good while beyond the maingame so we can consider them about the same as in the later gens for this.

But why is this important?

Firstly, the difference EVs make in the above scenario account for what is usually about 5 levels' worth of stats. Depending on your exact distribution, it could be a couple more or less levels' worth in each stat but the bottom line is that they make your Pokemon's strength higher than it may seem based on level alone.

This means that the wild Pokemon grinding that is criticised for being too tedious in Johto as a result of low levels is also better than it seems because even when you don't level up, you're gaining EVs for every one of those you defeat. The stagnant levels in the midgame of Johto also contribute more to your Pokemon's growth than it may seem from the slow level gain. The Pokegear rematches which you gain access to after defeating Team Rocket before Gym 8 may also be a little infrequent, but they also very often give you Vitamins afterwards to add to all of this.

Secondly is what seems to be a fairly unknown fact: in-game trainers do not have any EV spreads. Thanks to the work of speedrunners, we have exact data of enemy trainers' Pokemon to show this. Trainers do have IV spreads based on their "AI level" (more 'advanced' AI levels will have up to 30 IVs across the board) but the difference near-perfect IVs will have on their Pokemon is not as great as the combination of random IV spreads and relatively balanced EV spreads yours.

That 10 level deficit vs Lance is suddenly more like 5 in practice. Some of his Pokemon also happen to have pretty high stats naturally in Gyarados and the Dragonites, and the level deficit will still be slightly present, but once we factor in strategy again, you can abuse their type weaknesses and make good use of items, status and whatever else have you to swing the odds in your favour.

The only way you can find out anything about EVs in Johto is from a NPC in Blackthorn City who gives your Pokemon the Effort Ribbon if they have reached their total of 510, and the only practical way for a player without the technical knowledge to have achieved this is to have spent time throughout the game doing lots of little bits of training - in other words, putting in the effort - to have incidentally capped their Pokemon's EV total. It's only fitting that you find this NPC towards the end of the Johto campaign because it's likely that by this point a couple of your team members will be eligible for the ribbon.

This finally ties back to the point of core theming. EVs are an invisible stat giving your Pokemon an extra edge over their in-game opponents, or, at worst, one closing a gap in strength between them, as a result of all of the time you've spent raising those Pokemon throughout the game. In other words, EVs are essentially the statistical representation of the "dedication, love, and trust" you have for your Pokemon which gets you through seemingly difficult challenges. Levels, then, are only a surface representation of your Pokemon's strength: they create the feeling of an uphill battle, but you can win against the odds by believing in yourself and your partners. It's probably exactly what you thought as the naive and uncynical child playing through a Pokemon game for the first time, and probably one of the ways you made such fond memories of it. In hindsight, this is definitely how it was for me. It is a sort of magic, really.

There is still a big Red elephant in the room, and I do think that the level gap between the end of the Kanto Gyms and Red is maybe too hard to go and beat immediately after even with the power of EVs and such, but Red is by all means a superboss and final challenge of the Johto games, and I don't think it's unreasonable to have to grind for a while to build up for and to finally be able to take his team of Lv 80s on. The same can be said about the Elite Four Rematches in this game and others, Steven in Emerald, or that one Barry fight in Platinum if you do decide to beat the E4 rematches 20 times to make his levels nearly match Red's. If you're setting out to fight a superboss like this, the grind is part of the prerequesites. It's definitely still possible to beat someone like Red with a 10 or even 20 level deficit if you play well, though. I admit, I haven't beaten Red in a long time, but I have beaten Emerald Steven with a ~15 level gap before. Tama Hero also said she has beaten Red with a team of level 50s in Crystal in the review.

I said before that the other games in the series haven't replicated this sort of thing as well. Gen 5 was the beginning of a marked shift away from this design, with its overarching story-driven style and a change to exp gain which would honestly be incompatible with the level curve in Johto. Gen 6, whilst returning to the exp system without level deficit multipliers, saw different means of statistical representations of the 'dedication, love and trust' trio in Pokemon Amie, which can break the game almost as much as the Exp Share when enough Affection is built up. Gen 7 brings back Gen 5's exp system whilst retaining the Exp Share and Affection systems, and actually ends up even diverging from the EV design which went before by having in-game trainers and Totem Pokemon with competitive, min-maxed EV spreads from as early as the Trainer's School. Whilst I am yet to play Let's Go and Sword and Shield, their Exp system with a 'permanent Exp Share' of sorts makes it a huge amount different and from what I've seen and heard, overlevelling is quite easy despite the game being designed around the feature. I really hope that Brilliant Diamond and Shining Pearl at least return to Gen 6's exp mechanics, or better, reunite us with the held-item version of the Exp Share which doesn't make me feel like I'm cheating whenever I use it.

Before I go too off-topic, though, I should probably return to the original thread of this post to make some concluding remarks. What can't be denied that the way GSC and HGSS are designed may not be for everyone. I know for sure that a lot of people prefer to be able to breeze through a Pokemon game at a brisk pace without many roadblocks, but as someone who in recent years has come to appreciate much slower-paced and immersive singleplayer Pokemon playthroughs, I can't help but love the way GSC and HGSS are designed in the way I've explained, or appreciate their unique identity amongst the rest of the series. Coming to think about this has also shed light on why I adored HeartGold as much as I did when I first played it way back 11 years ago. I poured hours and hours into the game, and as a result, its magical design put me under its spell.

_____________________________________________________________

Though I linked to the references I did use when they appeared, here they are again. Do check them out if they're of interest to you!

Tama Hero's GSC review: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FgtMVKP2T6Y

speedrun.com trainer data for HGSS: https://www.speedrun.com/pkmnhgss/guide/k2zij

speedrun.com trainer data for SuMo: https://www.speedrun.com/pkmnsunmoon/guide/d2683

Tama Hero (YT) is one of the few people I know who actually makes longer-form Pokemon analysis content besides Aleczandxr (also YT), who whilst not being a 'PokeTuber' has made some brilliant analyses of storytelling through setting in Sinnoh, Hoenn, Johto, and just recently, Unova. I did not refer to them here but I can highly recommend their content, at least.

Thank you very much for reading to the very bottom here. This is my first time writing something like this and I appreciate it.

[sk8thereki]

Here guys this is a quick Renga fic I wrote because I thought of the idea late at night when I couldn't sleep

Based on the ending of ep 11

TW: Blood, injury, hospital, blacking out, Ad*m

What Could Have Been

The race was nearing its finale, Reki's adrenaline rushing through his system like a strong current in a river, he could feel it, could feel the strength it was giving him as his wheels start to falter. He knew ADAM was growing near, nearer and nearer, his anger emanating from him in waves and daring to bring Reki down a peg, yet he could not let that distract him. Reki knew his wheels would not last much longer, he could feel them, he could almost pinpoint the exact moment where they would come off and spiral him out of control.

Reki let out a cry as the finish line grew close, ADAM crying out with him as the crowd around them frenzied. Just a little further, come on was all Reki could think before disaster struck him and he knew his luck had run out - his front left wheel flew out from under his board earlier than anticipated and sealing his fate. He had to act fast, do anything in his power to even stand a chance at winning, this was his final chance. With the crowd crying out his name, he pushes himself and his skateboard upwards as to not fall too soon and crossed the line with ADAM by his side.

Everything seemed silent if only for a moment, time had come to a standstill as the two of them crossed the line, slowing enough for everyone to see who the true winner was. When it all sped back up again everything came crashing down at once, - it was at this moment Reki knew that his time had come. With his adrenaline running out and the pain coming back to him at full force, his skateboard fell out from beneath him and sent him crashing into the concrete ground, his body being the only thing to skid him to a painful stop.

Reki could hear the cheers of the crowd, the chanting of his own name even though he knew he had lost, however it all seemed so faint, so quiet to him. Had he hit his head on his way down? Or was everything coming to him at once that his mind just couldn't process it all? He didn't know. All Reki could feel was the wet blood on his back, the blood on his face and the pain surrounding his core and paralysing him so that he could not move a muscle. Despite everything Reki could feel a smile on his face, he could feel laughter bubble from within him, all he could think about was the fact that this is what is felt like to be the one people are rooting for.

In a second Langa was by his side, carefully placing his hands on Reki's side in comfort as he feared for his friend's wellbeing. His careful hands on Reki had Reki smiling even more, the laughter bubbling within threatening to burst - after all he had made ADAM, the king of 'S', a laughing stock! But when the laughter did break free it wasn't what either Reki or Langa were expecting. As soon as Reki opened his mouth to laugh a spurt of blood came out in a fit of coughs that shook Reki's body, forcing him to curl up in pain.

The adrenaline had retired and a searing, agonising pain was hired in its place, much much worse than before. It had Langa crying his name, shouting something to the others who had rushed to Reki's side. Reki could see the blurred silhouettes of Miya, Joe and Cherry as they spoke to one another, scared for the safety of their friend. Langa seemed the most affected as Reki could only slightly make out the faded sight of tears on his face before his vision faded to black.

It was a day later when Reki awoke, his whole body numb and tired. He could barely even figure out where he was let alone what had happened to get him here. As his sight slowly returned to him, the blurriness fading away, he realised that the place he was in was a pure, blinding white and for a moment Reki thought he was dead. To his right was a table with cards, flowers and what appears to be a small box all wrapped up, to his left was a big machine gently beeping away with vital signs, numbers and all sorts of weird symbols. As soon as Reki could comprehend he was in a hospital he sprang up and looked around in a panicked manner, how did he get here? How did the race end? What happened? In his panic Reki sat his sights on someone he didn't even realise was resting himself on his legs, someone with hair as soft as snow and the colour of the sky.

"Langa?" Reki spoke, his voice raspy and scratched.

Langa blinked his sleepy eyes open and smiled up at Reki before sitting upright in his chair and stretching his arms out in front of him. Once he realised that Reki was awake and alert he threw himself at him, wrapping his arms around Reki's neck and burying his face in Reki's shoulder.

"Reki! Oh, Reki, you're awake..." His voice was quiet and gentle, sending shivers down Reki's back as he spoke against Reki's skin. Reki wrapped his arms around Langa's chest in return, noticing the bandages adorning his arms. How hurt was he? He could barely feel his own pain which was probably due to all the medication he'd been given. "You're awake.. you idiot, you're awake."

Holding back a laugh, Reki spoke back, remembering the race he had with ADAM and how close of a call it was, remembering the lengths he went to to make sure he would reach the finish line. It hurt to think about, but the race had not ruined his pride, only fuelled it. "You know a beef like that wouldn't take me out, right?" ""It could have done, with all the injuries you've received." Reki gave Langa a toothed smile and a head tilt that set off fireworks in Langa's heart. "Please, like a few injuries would get to me!"

Langa moved his head back to give Reki a look before laughing in relief, holding Reki closer to himself. Langa had watched it all unfold, how he saw Reki fall unconscious before his very eyes, how ADAM dared to try and walk closer to finish Reki off, and how everyone put themselves in front of Reki to protect him. Joe was the one to get ADAM to properly back off and Langa owed him the world for it as he would do anything to make sure Reki was safe. Once everything was clear Cherry announced that he'd called an ambulance and gave everyone the meeting spot for it, mentioning that it wouldn't take long for it to get there. Without a second thought, Langa had taken Reki into his arms and had raced off, only wanting to get Reki to that spot as soon as possible. Since then Langa's been waiting for Reki to wake up in this hospital, waiting and waiting, fearing the worst after he was made stable.

"You gave us a scare is all." Langa sighed, moving himself back so that he can stare into Reki's amber eyes, the light in them proving he's alive. Langa would have found himself entranced had it not been for Reki speaking up. "All of you?" "Yes, everyone came to pay you a visit, even Shadow stopped by to make sure you were okay." Reki's look dims. "Shadow... is he okay?" "He's fine, are you?" Reki pauses for a moment to think over the question. Was he okay? He still felt incredibly numb and he had, he's assuming, bandages all over his body, but despite all that? "You're here, of course I'm fine."

They smiled at each other before Langa pulled away and took Reki's hands in his own, keeping his gaze on Reki as they shared a silent but passionate moment of peace. Reki might not have won the race but as long as he had Langa by his side he'd already won at life.

[himbeaux-on-ice]

Who are your top five NHL teams and why?

Ooooo this is fun! Thanks anon!

Short list:

Habs ❤️🤍💙

Pens 🐧

Canucks 🌈🌊

Caps 🦅

Leafs 🟦🍁🟦 (no really! I know I don’t talk about them much but its true!)

Over-wordy explanations/backstory for my relationship to each of these teams below the cut for those interested!

Montreal Canadiens. My dearly beloved Nana, who half-raised me, is a lifelong diehard Habs fan who grew up listening to their games on the radio and then later as an adult watching them duel with the Leafs on Saturday nights on a black-and-white tv (also a BIG Carey Price stan). Needless to say she rubbed off on me immensely, and I remember saying to myself at some point “well, if that’s Nana’s team, that’s gonna be my team too” and it stuck for life. I also had a friend in middle school who was a RELIGIOUS Habs fan who also worshipped at the altar of Jesus Price in those early 2010’s, so I heard a LOT about all of that every lunch break as he argued with friends who were Pens and Bruins fans lol. We went on the Bell Centre tour during the annual 9th grade French class trip to Quebec, and while I was mostly focused on getting to the gift shop to buy Nana a souvenir, I swear my friend’s eyes were the size of quarters the whole time lmao. (Would LOVE to go back now that I care a lot). Basically the Habs are the closest thing to a local NHL team our region has bc we get their broadcasts (though people choose their own team allegiances for various random personal reasons), and I grew up absorbing through osmosis both the legends of yore and the latest updates on whatever Carey and PK and the lads were up to. (Also I’ve been quietly in love with Price myself since at least the 2014 Olympics lol. My first best fav ❤️) Bottom line the Habs are My Team, the “I’m gonna be here even when it sucks, even when players move on, this is attached to me in a way I can’t quite explain” team that every hockey fan has in their heart. GO HABS GO!

Pittsburgh Penguins. If you were an elementary school kid in Nova Scotia when Sidney Crosby was first released and up through the 2010’s, you had two options: love him, or hate him, but you better accept you’re gonna be hearing about him a LOT. I settled on “vague fondness” and followed Sid from a newspaper-scanning distance and vaguely rooted for him because when he brought the Cup home it felt like we all won. And like I said, lots of passionate Pens fans in my grade school classes to hear from (he’s also the only non-Habs player my Nana likes lol). Then I got into hockey properly last year and learned about Geno beyond just knowing his name, and my chronic affection for large loveable Russians got combined with my longstanding vague “I hope the Penguins win” feelings and my “time to get the full story on the Sidney Crosby’s Penguins narrative I only ever watched from a distance” research, in a manner not unlike the creation of the PowerPuff Girls ([chemical X] etc etc lol) to create a potent adoration for this team that rocketed them to second place in my heart. Also the fandom is just so damn fun and makes such great content, and that definitely feeds my level of engagement with the Pens!! Sometimes, when I want an emotional pick-me-up I watch one of their last 3 championship films just to remember what joy and optimism is — I would love to be present as a real-time fan for another adventure like that. With how much I know about them and how much I care, they’re my #2 for sure. I love those flightless fucks!!

Vancouver Canucks. So I started watching live NHL hockey games last summer around I think game 2 of the Habs’ first round series against the Flyers (I saw Price’s “Miracle Save” on twitter while following along bc I was intrigued by the fact that they made it through the play-ins, and was like “OKAY NOW I GOTTA SEE THIS SHIT LIVE”). That was really fun! Riiiight up until the Habs got eliminated. :/ And I was like “well, shit. I’m enjoying this hockey thing too much to stop now. who else is still around I can root for?” And the Canucks were the last Canadian team still in it, and there was buzz about their miraculous first-round win but also uncertainty I believe Markstrom had *just* got injured. So I started watching, ended up witnessing the Bubble Demko Miracle unfold live, had my heart charmed off me by “whatever the hell those two lil blonde bitches have going on” and a delightful underdog story, and here I am. Hitched to the Canuck wagon whether I enjoy it or not. Here for whatever happens! (Doesn’t hurt that I love me some Elton John too 😉)

Washington Capitals. I’m a person who is more likely to be really engaged with a team that has super interesting personalities, characters, and narratives around it — and my GOD are the Capitals good for that. I absolutely definitely started down this road with that mic’d up video from the 2018 final of Ovi telling Nicke “after me, I give it to you baby!” re: the Cup. Like I can pinpoint that there was a day I saw that for the first time in a gifset, squinted at the screen, said “you’re fucking with me...”, went to youtube, watched it be for reals, and was like “well. now I need to know more about ALL this.” After watching games and learning more about the team, I really enjoy the Caps’ “big dumb found family of stone-cold total weirdos” energy, their fun collective chemistry, their Cup story, etc. And oh BOY the fandom is fun during game lb’s! I love all the in-jokes and player nicknames, our delight with the quirks of our colourful wonderful broadcast crew (shoutout Wine Uncles & Co), the way we cheer for record-breaking milestones like they’re a first NHL goal! Being a fan of the Caps AND the Pens can be a bit awkward sometimes, and the team certainly has its blemishes, but my heart is big enough for two Metro teams for sure, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Toronto Maple Leafs. So like, as you can imagine from my previously described upbringing in Hab Land, “haha Leafs suck” is a punchline I have long been familiar with and trained to recite. I got a solid 3 days of laughter and entertainment out of the whole Zamboni Driver Saga last February, oh boy did I ever. But the thing is.... I have the Leafs to thank for the fact that I watch hockey now. See, the entire reason I started paying proper attention to the playoff bubble last summer was because one day, I happened to see the phrase “WHAT IS HAPPENING” trending at 16k tweets on twitter, and clicked on it like “huh?”. Turns out the Leafs were in the middle of their miraculous 3-minute comeback against Columbus and the country was losing its mind. And when they won, I was like “huh... the Zamboni Team is doing THIS??? I may have to start paying attention to this playoffs thing, because if they go All The Way I think that might be the only thing funnier than the Zamboni Incident”. Aaaaand when they immediately lost the next game and were eliminated I was like “lol, sounds about right” and was then immediately distracted by news of the Habs winning the play-in round. So then I spent several months watching playoffs and forgetting about the Leafs. And then one day in early October, looking on YouTube for more hockey to watch after the playoffs ended, I stumbled across something called a Hat Pick, and boy I actually enjoyed this shouty man’s sense of humour and takes on the game... and then when I ran out of Hat Picks and Dangits I watched some Trade Trees, which pulled back the curtain on the business side of the game... and then I discovered LFR’s, which were good background noise for doing tasks... and then I was recommended the episode of the Steve Dangle Podcast about Mitch Marner and The List... and next thing I knew I was listening to more of this podcast, because I found Steve and the guys to be insightful and funny and there was no hockey to watch, and I was trepidatious about accidentally stumbling into the more toxic corners of hockey fandom if I branched out for other content... and, well. If you spend enough hours listening to people passionately analyze every facet of a team, shout and cheer over a team, make fun of that team, nearly cry over that team... it’s really REALLY hard to not start to care about it. Leafs analysis was basically how I learned most of what I’ve learned about hockey this past year! And kudos to Steve and Adam and Jesse, their passionate investment in the Leafs and great content has got ME invested in the Leafs mainly because I want to see things go well for them. I want Charlie Brown to kick the football! I love a triumph over adversity story! Also, I think if the Leafs did Do The Thing it would basically be the combination of “Cubs win the World Series” and “Raptors are the champs” and I wanna watch the city of Toronto go fully apeshit from a safe distance. I don’t adore many their individual players as much as I do some other teams higher on this list, and I still laugh far too much when things go super comically impossibly badly for them, but I am actually pulling for the Leafs!! I want to see it all pay off for them. I want them to go all the way. Gimme that “LEAFS WIN!!!” (Unless it’s against someone above them on this list lol)

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #474

Top Ten Characters Who Came Back from the Dead

I am stunned – stunned! – that I’ve not done this one before. I mean, come on! It’s right there.

So there’s obviously a thematic resonance going on here. This weekend – the weekend you’re meant to be reading this – is famous where I come from because of a story where someone came back from the dead. Unlike other holidays – Christmas, Halloween, the release of a Star War – I’ve actually been a little slow off the mark in making lists that celebrate Easter. I’ve done eggs and bunnies, but incredibly I’ve never done resurrections, which really is the day’s whole deal. I mean, if you get down to brass tacks, it’s kinda the big selling point of the entire religion really. I hesitate to say “USP” because, well, it’s been done elsewhere, but it’s still supposed to be one of the big Christian takeaways (there’s definitely a chain of Christian takeaways in the States, isn’t there?).

Anyway, resurrection. It’s actually more common than you might think. Certainly in terms of comics there are probably more characters who’ve “died and come back” than have never “died” at all. But! And this is where I get pernickety. Most characters who “die” don’t actually die. Take Batman for instance: he’s shot in the face by Darkseid, and then Superman ups and finds his charred corpse, but – shocker! – he’s not actually dead, he was just sent back in time, where he Quantum Leaps his way back to the present day, accumulating enough Omega Energy with each leap that by the time he reaches the present day he’s blow a hole in reality. Or something, I’ve not read that story for quite a few years. Anyway: he wasn’t dead. Neither was Sherlock Holmes, or for that matter Dirty Den. Generally speaking, if someone dies in a story and then reappears, they’re not dead. Not really.

So this list here is supposed to be people who actually died. Now, even here, it’s debatable; I mean, is E.T. dead, or does his body just go into some kind of hibernation? If Optimus Prime’s brainwaves survive, does he ever really die? Is a clone someone coming back to life or not? It’s all a bit wishy-washy really, which kind of makes sense when you’re talking about resurrection. And let’s not get onto the chief resurrector, the Doctor; do they die every time they regenerate? Or is the regeneration itself a way of staving off death? When David Tennant turned into Matt Smith, did the Tennant-Doctor die? “I don’t want to go,” and all that; there’s always a subtle (or not-so-subtle) change in personality. Does that count? Well, for the purposes of this list, I’ve kinda decided it doesn’t. But it’s an interesting discussion to have, if you’re a big old nerd like me.

So yeah: people who have died – properly, I suppose – and then come back to life. That’s the list. No fakery, to mistaken identity, no alternate universe shenanigans; they were dead but they got better (no Chev Chelios either; sorry, Stath stans). No zombies either! Or vampires! They’re not undead; they were dead, and now they’re alive again. That’s the rule. Also I’ve seriously tried to limit comic book characters. And I’m sure there are some big omissions (like, I know there’s one from Game of Thrones that’s not on here, but that’s because I’ve not seen that far into the show yet; I know, I know). But I reckon these are the best at being back.

Optimus Prime (Transformers franchise, from about 1987): OP is the OG when it comes to coming back to life. Dying and then stopping being dead is pretty much his thing. Technically the first time he came back from the dead was in the original animation; famously being offed by Megatron in The Transformers: The Movie (1986), he came back to life a year later. Subsequent media have frequently killed him and brought him back, even in the live-action movies, but I want to talk about the comics. Because the original Marvel run killed off Optimus at a similar time as the cartoon; he’s blown up in slightly contrived circumstances, but his brain is saved on a floppy disk. Two years later he has his body rebuilt and his brain restored and he’s off to the races once more. Then in 1991, when facing down planet-eating mega-bastard Unicron, he sacrifices himself again, but this time his personality has begun to merge with that of his ostensibly-human companion Hi-Q. Hi-Q/Prime is converted/rebuilt into a new body, and he wins the war. So there you go: even in this one sliver of continued continuity – not including off-shoots or spin-offs, let alone other iterations of the overall franchise – Optimus Prime died and came back to life twice. Beat that, Easter.

E.T. (E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, 1982): not much to say here that we don’t already know from the Book of Spielberg. E.T., doddery little alien magic-man, grows sicker and sicker as he’s stuck on Earth, until in a thrillingly-edited set-piece he seems to expire, human doctors unable to help him. “I know you’re gone,” says best bud Elliot, “because I don’t know what to feel.” But then! His heart glows! His colour returns! And he positively yells, “E.T. phone hooooooome!” – and Elliot’s euphoric laugh is just devastating. The whole sequence – what is it, ten minutes? Fifteen? – is masterful in every way, from the technical to the performative to the emotional. Bloody magic is what it is.

Gandalf (The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, 1954): Gandalf the Grey famously leads the Fellowship of the Ring across the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, where he faces off against a Balrog. After a bit of “you shall not pass” and all that, they both fall from the bridge, battling each other on the way down, before both perishing at the bottom. Gandalf, though, is not really Gandalf, but Olórin, one of the Maiar – basically a kind of angel, I guess. He is returned to Earth by the powers-that-be to complete his mission, and is promoted to Gandalf the White, supplanting the corrupt wizard Saruman. This new iteration of Gandalf is a bit more serious and steadfast, although he does retain his fascination with hobbits. Regardless, he gets a terrific death scene and a triumphant resurrection, and how it ties into Tolkien’s wider mythology is interesting.

Superman (DC Comics, 1993): comic book characters die and come back all the time; it’s pretty much a staple of the medium. I guess Jean Grey/Phoenix is probably the most famous, but they’ve all done at some point (even if, like in my Batman example earlier, sometimes they don’t actually die). Anyway, Superman died, very famously, after getting into a tremendous barney with genetically-engineered super-git Doomsday (as famously, and atrociously, depicted in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice). The whole “Death of Superman” arc is interesting and entertaining as an example of mid-nineties big-panel EXTREME storytelling: as the issues tick down to the fateful scrap in Metropolis, the number of panels-per-page is reduced until the final issue is basically just full of splash pages. It’s a terrific, exhilarating rumble, really selling the heft of the confrontation. Interestingly, the comic spends a lot of time afterwards dealing with life without Superman, as a raft of imitators/wannabe successors emerge from the woodwork; these include the best-ever Superboy, Conner Kent, and Steel, who’s basically Superman meets Iron Man. Eventually, of course, Superman comes back, his body essentially having been sent to a Kryptonian day spa to recuperate; he emerges clad in black and with a mullet, so death obviously has some lasting repercussions. Overall, it’s a whopping arc with long-term consequences, and whilst it’s easy to make Christ parallels when discussing Superman, this story doesn’t really hew that way (unlike the Snyder-verse which really goes all-in on that plot point, much to the films’ detriment). One of the better aspects is how, even in death, Superman is an inspiration, which in itself has a long trail; leading, eventually, to Batman’s famous withering diss, “the last time you inspired someone was when you where dead.” Anyway, I’ve gone on about this far too long.

Spock (Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, 1984): let’s start by acknowledging just how great Spock’s death is in Wrath of Khan. As a plot point within the film, as a piece of staging and performance, and as a landmark moment in this franchise, it was seminal; a death for the ages (as an aside, it’s crazy to think Star Trek as a whole was only sixteen years old when Spock died; the MCU was eleven when Tony Stark clicked the bucket). Anyway, they built an entire film around how to bring him back, and Spock as we know him is absent for much of it; a presence looming over everything as he rapidly ages, going through his Vulcan super-puberty and everything. It’s actually a rather sombre film as Kirk’s son is killed and the Enterprise blows up; bringing back Spock comes with a very real cost. Trek III is not one of the top-tier films – in the loose trilogy that comprises Khan, Spock, and The Voyage Home it’s certainly the weakest – but it’s still pretty good, often underrated. And, of course, it brings back Spock, which is nice.

Agent Coulson (Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., 2013): Coulson’s death in Avengers comes as a huge shock, one of the fan-favourite characters being brutally offed in surprising fashion. In a film chock full of super-people, it’s the ordinary guy who buys it tragically. However, did any of us really think he was dead-dead? And so barely a year later he pops back up in the TV series Agents of SHIELD. However, his reincarnation became a recurring plot point; his references to spending time in Tahiti (“It’s a magical place”) becoming increasingly sinister as we come to understand even he doesn’t know how he’s back up and running. The eventual truth – Nick Fury using painful and transformative alien tech to basically bring Coulson back to life – may be a bit underwhelming, but it gave Clark Gregg a lot of meat to chew on dramatically speaking, and it underscored a lot of his character development going forward (especially when he, yes, died again, and then sort-of came back, twice).

Buffy Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 2001): full disclosure: I never watched Buffy religiously. I think I just missed it at the start and it was only when all my friends were talking about how great it was that I started tuning in more regularly. Weirdly, I think the most I watched it was around the time Buffy died and came back. It’s fascinating, really, and full credit to the show for the way they explored it; in a series full of magic, the afterlife, and the undead, bringing a character back to life isn’t too shocking. Willow, Buffy’s witchy mate, resurrects her with magic; but in an excellent twist, it turns out that she was in Heaven, and is super pissed off to be pulled out of paradise and stuck back on Earth, leading to her feeling depressed and alienated all season. That’s a great hook for bringing a character back, and leads to some meaty stuff for Sarah Michelle Geller to do.

Agent Smith (The Matrix Reloaded, 2003): do you ever feel that The Matrix has slipped from popular culture a little bit? Twenty years ago it was ascendent, rivalling Lord of the Rings for the title of “the new Star Wars”. Everyone was copying it. but now hardly anyone talks about it. probably because it hasn’t had a multimedia shelf-life comprising dozens of games and spin-off shows. Maybe the new film will change that. But I digress; Hugo Weaving is tremendous as Agent Smith in the first film, and is exploded at the end (spoilers) by Keanu Reeves’ Neo. Unsurprisingly – especially as he’s, well, just bits of code – he’s back in the sequel. However, he’s now been corrupted; he becomes, basically, a virus, self-replicating and threatening not just our heroes but the Matrix itself. This builds across two films, as Neo has to fight dozens of Smiths in the famous “Burly Brawl”, before the final conflict in The Matrix Revolutions when it seems everyone in the program has been Smithed. It offers Weaving a lot of scenery to chew on and makes for some great set-piece battles, even if the films themselves are a little disappointing.

Olaf (Frozen II, 2019): let’s not beat around the bush here – Olaf carks it in Frozen II. Okay, maybe Elsa dies; maybe Anna dies in the first film. They’re frozen, right, but I feel like it’s “magic ice” and there’s something going on there. Do they come back to life or were they ever really dead? Anyway, Elsa is effectively “gone” but we get a protracted death scene for the comic relief talking snowman. He literally fades away, slowly dying in Anna’s arms, and melts into a flurry of snow that blows away. People talk about Bambi’s mum all the time, but mark my words; “Olaf’s death” is going to be cited as a major traumatic incident for twenty-year-olds in 2030. His resurrection, truth be told, is slightly less great, Elsa just straight-up bringing him back to life, reminding us that “water has memory” to let us know that it’s the same Olaf and he remembers everything (including, presumably, dying? That’s creepy). And that, to be honest, is where I draw the line; sentient wind and rock monsters I can handle, but we all know homeopathy is bollocks.

Emperor Palpatine (Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, 2019): look, I hate this. But let’s deal with it anyway, because I have a funny feeling it’s going to lead to some quite interesting stories being told in spin-off Star Wars fiction. I personally feel quite strongly that Palpatine should have stayed dead. And maybe he did? We are led to believe that the Palpatine we see in Rise is a clone; there are jars of stilted Snokes floating in the background. He’s all knackered and broken, eyes blackened and fingers dropping off; clearly he’s not well. So is he really the same character at all? Is his Sith essence somehow fed into this new body, the way Prime’s mind is downloaded from a floppy disk (“run prime.exe”)? Let’s say it counts, let’s say he’s the same slimy Palps we know and love. He is, at least, a sinister presence, and like I say, the whys and wherefores of how he came to be back is quite interesting. There’s a fascinating story to be told about the rise of Snoke and the seduction of Ben Solo – a more interesting story than anything told in The Rise of Skywalker, for starters. Moff Gideon in The Mandalorian seems to be researching cloning and seeks to extract midichlorians from a Force-sensitive being; are we to conclude that this in service of making a new body for the Emperor? All this – stuff hinted at but not explored in the film itself – is, like I say, interesting if not outright fascinating. And I agree, there is a certain degree of circularity in bringing back the series’ Big Bad for the final instalment. But I still feel, hand on heart, that it undoes a lot of the victory of Return of the Jedi (as did The Force Awakens, if I’m honest), as well as throwing away all the development of Rey and Kylo in The Last Jedi. So: Palpatine is cool, his presence and backstory in Rise of Skywalker is suitably creepy and interesting, but on the whole it’s crap and they shouldn’t have brought him back. The end.

Ten people who definitely died and definitely un-died! What could be more Easter-y? Honourable mention goes to the episode of Red Dwarf where Rimmer changes history and ends up not being a hologram, only to accidentally blow himself up in the final seconds.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Try It On, Take It Off - Orson Krennic x Reader (Rogue One)

100 Sentence Challenge Request

Orson Krennic + 95 -  “Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.” Requested by @mysticaltimemachinewench

Author’s Note: Roll with the idea of Halloween and October 31st being things in the Star Wars universe just for this fic, please! This boy is so whiny, I spent all week writing for him last week and he’s still like “write more!” so, I thought I’d post one. It’s because he’s all the bottom of my drafts now I’m sure of it. Boots & Boys - Kesha  Okay, so I was looking for songs to do with dressing up. And I found a bunch of cute love songs about wearing your SOs clothing, but... This one is fun and I needed fun for the premise-!

Disclaimer: Rogue One Characters/SW Universe not mine. / Requested  premise / lyrics & gifs not mine.

Premise: Every Halloween it’s the same thing, and Krennic is sick of people dressing like him. This year he’s determined to get to the bottom of things...

Words: 2010

Warnings: Swearing / Sexual connotations/Pre-Amble

_____

Think it's time that I mention I've got myself an obsession For the smell, for the touch I know I've got myself a habit But I gotta have it now I don't care where, work it out Let me break it down I try it on, I take it off So what you got? Something 'bout boots and boys They bring me so much joy I gotta say I wear 'em both so pretty as I walk in the city Give me boots and boys I'm keeping quite the collection Take nothing less than perfection My men drop beats like a bomb Wind me up, spin me round Oh, lookie what I found (ooh!) I'm crazy for you, crazy for you Hey hey, whatcha looking at? Hey hey, something you can't have They've got me looking rad You feeling that?

---

October 31st was always a date Krennic hated seeing in his calendar. The Death Star had not been a project spanning months by any stretch of the imagination. Orson was many, many years into this – and he was now accustomed to his workers Halloween traditions. He couldn’t say it wasn’t one of the reasons he was glad that it was nearing completion. That, and he might finally get the recognition he deserved. At least for now he had you. Given, you were relatively new to the project when he looked at the timeline as a whole, but you were certainly a necessary piece – and Krennic actually liked you. A lot of the other employees, if he were honest with himself, he actually could have done without. Which is probably why you’d grown close – and then maybe a little too close. But Orson wasn’t going back on that now. This was the day Krennic didn’t want to leave his office – inevitably, it was also the day that everyone would have him chasing all over the structure. Why? Oh, because they all knew how much he hated today too! So as soon as the email pinged in from the other side of the Death Star, Krennic tried everything he could to get them to come to him, or to send him documents, pictures, anything that meant he didn’t have to go on an annoyingly long walk. Orson used practically every persuasive trick in the book, to no avail. Eventually he had to concede rising from his desk, sighing angrily, and gathering his things to head to the problem. Almost immediately he was assaulted with the kind of visuals he’d become accustomed to. It seemed every other person on this damned vessel took today to dress up as him. Now, whilst dressing in the full white Intelligence Bureau tunic would have been against protocol and would have meant he could reprimand them, everyone decided to wear capes of various different colours instead. Some, like his, matched their uniforms – and if it wasn’t also for the fact they copied the way he walked and carried himself, with an unconvincing attempt at his accent and speech patterns, he’d find it quite tasteful. Krennic would almost be flattered, he supposed - perhaps even feel like a trend setter – had the crew not being doing it for any other reason than to mock him. God forbid any of them attempt Lexrulian; one day it was going to make his ears bleed. Others decided to wear their ‘capes’ in the gaudiest colours imaginable, and sometimes Orson felt like he was going to be physically ill just staring at them.

Still, technically all of this was against regulation – and although he probably couldn’t take on the entire staff and win, he took pleasure in chastising those he disliked most. “Isn’t that a little against your uniform regulation?” “Take that off now – before I have you reported.” “Next time I catch you in something like this, you’re off the project.” Annoyingly, he could never keep how irked he was out of his voice – and they took great joy out of that, and never bothered hiding it. When they did take these ridiculous attempts at mocking him off (Though it worked. He supposed.), Krennic knew they’d be pulled back on before he rounded the next corner – but for now at least, Orson could be smug in his little bit of power. The fact he could actually force the crew to remove them. He often pondered how this started. Tarkin, he had no doubt. Krennic wasn’t going to blame himself after all, he knew his uniform looked damn good. He just wasn’t fool enough to think this was respectful admiration. Eventually he reached the person who emailed him and, as predicted, it was an easy fix that Krennic could have done in less than five minutes on his tablet back in his office. The Director almost punished them on the spot for that, but by this time was already too pissed off with the situation to trust himself not to lose complete control. Not that that didn’t happen a lot, especially when everything was stalling – but today that was what everyone wanted. ‘If I see another bad attempt at ridiculing my uniform I’ll scream…’  Orson’s jaw was beginning to ache with the way he was tightening it. Half way back to his office, Krennic took a detour. By now he really was yelling at people – Orson was this close to drawing weapons and kicking them off the station, Project Stardust be damned. Desperately seeking respite, he wandered back to his quarters and as the corridors began to quieten, scuffled along in his boots, sulking. ‘What did I ever do to deserve this-!?’ Reaching the door to his room, Krennic gave a small smile – he would receive relief in here. Well at least she will be sweet... I can tell her my frustrations and she’ll sympathize… As Krennic keyed himself in and the door slid open, he realised just how wrong he could be. You were walking up and down the main room and studying yourself in about every reflective surface you could find. If this wasn’t you, Krennic would have blown it, and immediately all his irritations came flooding back. You were, of course – with access to his wardrobe - pacing around in his uniform. Full Intelligence white, rank bar included. Sure, the sleeves were rolled up – which pained him because it’d take an age to get those creases out - and the cape was a little long for you, but, you had the whole thing on, right down to the boots. Usually Krennic might smirk and call you out on wearing his clothes, after all you did look good in his tailored shirts. Any other day of the week he’d probably be pretty turned on right now. But NOT today. As the door slid closed behind him and beeped locked, you whirled around. The cape moved with you and your eyes fell to it; immediately distracted. Krennic’s uniform was gorgeous on him, but the feeling of power you got when wearing it for yourself was indescribable. You liked running your hands over it – the feeling of the fabric between your fingers very nearly bordering obsessive with your need to do it at every chance you could; it was so perfectly weighted that, in all honesty, the tailoring was a marvel to you. You always made a mental note to thank the designers and sewers for their impeccable work. (On Orson’s entire wardrobe, actually.) “Director.” You presented yourself and looked back to him, “What do you think?” Orson very nearly shivered, and if he wasn’t so pissed he’d probably have let himself. That was Lexrulian – and compared to everything else he’d heard today, was very nearly music to his ears. “What are you doing-!?” There was a snap in the undertone of his voice – agitated, to match the way his jaw tightened. You answered cheerily, nonetheless. “It’s Halloween. So, I’m you! I mean you could be me if you wanted, but I’m not sure the uniform would fit-!” You giggled slightly at the mental image of him in your tight black jacket – no, maybe it wouldn’t fit properly, but it might look really good. If only for a second. Although Krennic was glaring at you by now. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, is all this YOUR idea-!?” For a moment you looked innocent, “No! You mean the fact everyone else does it? I didn’t start it, but I felt I could damn well finish it. Besides, LOOK!, I can do it better than everyone else!” “No! No! Y/N-!” You scrambled up onto the table, and cleared your throat. It was clear to Krennic you’d been practicing, because you had his stance down and his mannerisms almost perfect. He was almost impressed. “The POWER we are dealing with here is immeasurable! Single reactor ignition would be just an inkling of it’s true destructive potential! And I will not fail!” He blinked slowly, thinking you were mixing up at least three of his previous conversations there. There was a long pause before Krennic stepped forward, pointing at you. “GET. DOWN! Do you have any idea how expensive that table was-!?” “Awwww, Orson, c’mon!!” “I’m NOT impressed, GET DOWN!” “Baaabe.” “Don’t whine..!” You backed up just out of his reach, even your best innocent eyes weren’t saving you today – he must have been furious. “But it took me so long, I’ve tried on all the variants, I tried on your dress uniform even-! And it isn’t complete without the cape, and the rain one doesn’t have a patch on the glory of this one!! I thought it wouldn’t drag if I put on my heeled boots, but that didn’t get the look right either! And it’s you – so, it had to be perfect…” Your eyes glittered gently as you tried to plead with him, “I thought if I did it properly, it might make you smile. That it might be more… respectful. I dunno I-” He cut you off, demanding, “OFF. THE. TABLE.” “Well, what are you gonna do-!?!” Krennic was quick on his feet, and even though you’d backed yourself up he still managed to grab your wrist and drag you down. You might have been in his uniform, but you were nowhere near his height; and you might have had his traits down, but you didn’t have his strength either. Meaning within seconds he had you shoved up against a wall – with a squeak – before his lips were on yours, wrists pinned by your sides. He might have been angry, but that only made this kiss hotter, and you practically melted into him. Orson was showing you absolutely no mercy – and you weren’t sure if you really deserved it, but you were at least a little glad of it. Eventually he pulled away from you; leaving you gasping and panting for breath. But you whined, wanting more from him. “Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.” Krennic had, many a time. Which is one of the reasons you wanted to do this, because he might feel a little better if you were doing it right. Clearly you were in the wrong ballpark. You thought about nodding in admittance, but thought maybe continuing to be playful would get you what you wanted. “Don’t think you did – maybe you did. You should remind me.” “Oh, I think I will.” His smirk was back as you let him run his hands through the fastenings of the tunic and unzip your pants. Oh, yeah, he wanted this uniform off bad. You bit your lip, “It does look sexy on you though, is it surprising everyone wants to copy it? I mean I like trying it on and taking it off.” Orson nipped your neck, eliciting a gasp from you; “Evidently I might too.” Then he chuckled at your sigh, running his hands over your warm skin, “That doesn’t make me hate today any less. I mean it’s hardly tribute, is it?” You tipped your head, “I mean, I tried.” “Oh, don’t think I didn’t hear that mocking tone.” He grazed his lips to yours, and it was hardly rewarding, you pined for more but he held you away from him – still immobilized against the wall, “Still, I’ll admit so much… you do look very pretty in white.” You did very nearly blush, but knew that his mind wouldn’t be going to something as virtuous as weddings or dresses; probably a different kind of white lace altogether. “Can I keep the cape at least?” Maybe he’d enjoy you wearing that and very little else. That would be like a ‘sexy’ Halloween costume, would it not? Even if it was just for him. Maybe that’s what Krennic needed if he detested today so much. He growled, kissing you again before you let him slide the jacket from your shoulders and it fell to the floor; “If you’re good, we’ll see.”

--- Thank you very much for reading! It’s been a while since Krennic has been posted too, I’ll admit! 🙏❤

2/16 down!

[fallenfurther]

A break in the clouds - Part 4

It’s debrief time and it’s up to Grandma to keep the little cutie out of trouble. I sit there and want to cuddle the little boy myself. I so see this little boy pouting just like Alan does. 

Scott, Virgil, Gordon

*********

Grandma

Sally held the hand of her great grandson as he made his way down the steps, one at a time. The boy had been a surprise, but one that had made all their lives better. She adored him and his cheeky personality. A miniature Scott in so many ways that there were times she was transported back thirty years. Sometimes more when bits of Jeff shone through. There were even glimpses of Lucille that slipped through from time to time. Sally was sure she would be able to see the boy’s mother in him, if she knew the woman a little more, but the woman had preferred to keep her distance. There had been one visit to the island while the boy was baby, but it had not suited her. Her life was on the mainland.

Considering the state of her grandsons, Sally knew she was going to need to give them time and space to get through the debrief. It was going to be tough one, and certainly not suitable for young ears. Smiling at her foresight, she had the perfect task that would keep the little one busy.

“Go sit at the table, sweetheart. I’ve got something fun for you that I’ve hidden in the kitchen.”

Sally headed towards the kitchen cupboards, keeping a constant eye on the child as he pulled himself up onto one of the dinning room chairs. It wasn’t the most graceful method she’d ever seen, but he managed it. A gleeful smile came her way as he bounced on his knees, hands on the table. Opening the cupboard, Sally carefully retrieved the sprout box from the top shelf and carried it over.

“Sit down properly now, and I’ll show you what I’ve got in here.”

Her great grandson lent forward before plopping himself back down on his bottom. She knew he’s be on his knees again in no time, but his excitement at what was in the box was winning right now, and she was going to make the most of it. Carefully opening the flaps, with the child straining his neck to peek inside, Sally removed the rocket shaped cookies and placed them before him. The gasp was accompanied by reaching hands, but Sally raised her finger up and he pulled his hands back before she could ask him to. Next to be placed in front of the boy was the tubes of coloured icing and a packet of jellybeans. Sally was relieved to see the vegetable box had done the trick as nothing was missing or opened. The look of pure joy that lit up the child’s face was priceless, though what little boy wouldn’t be excited with a box of cookies.

“These are not for eating.”

The sorrow that filled those blue was genuine as a single small hand reached out. A little lip puckered.

“But cookies?”

“These cookies are for you to decorate for your Dad and uncles. Don’t you think it would help cheer them up if you made them some cookies?”

A slow nod was his response.

“And if you ask them nicely, they might let you have one.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

The grin was back, and his little hand was reaching for the colourful tubes. Sally nudged the box closer, allowing the child to open the packet. Stepping away quickly, she grabbed a clean tray, chopping board and piled on the ingredients she required for sandwiches. As she approached a blue tube was waved in her direction.

“Open please.”

Smiling at him, she placed her tray down and took the tube. Twisting off the stiff lids, she piled them to the side, knowing it was pointless to try keep them in any order. She would be lucky of there was any icing left to save after this little monster had finished with them. Slipping the tray from the bottom of her pile, she placed it before her great grandson before grabbing a wet wipe. She gave his hands the once over and finally opened box of cookies. His hand immediately darted in and grabbed one. As she used the rest of the cloth to clean her own hands, she gazed down at the boy as he squeezed blue squiggles over the first rocket.

“You can put three of these on each cookie, understand?”

Sally held up the packet of jellybeans to some furious nodding. Slipping the zip lock open she lay it beside the cookie box. Probing fingers reached in.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

There was much concentration on that small round face as he counted, and it melted Sally’s heart. He could count so well thanks to the Thunderbirds that were hidden deep within the island. Each uncle helping by teaching him the number of their craft. Shifting her ingredients to the side, she started to prepare lunch for her family. They may not appreciate her cooking, but she was perfectly capable of making a decent sandwich. As long as she restrained herself from adding any ‘special ingredient’ the boys would eat them happily. It made food less interesting, but Sally could live with it every now and then. Keeping half an eye on the opposite side of the table. She buttered bread and layered up cooked ham, lettuce, tomatoes and cheese, before cutting the sandwiches into triangles.  Before long she had used up and entire loaf and was in need of another packet of ham. Nipping into the kitchen she grabbed what she needed as well as an extra couple of plates. In the reflection on the automated kitchen unit, she spotted a hand dart into the sweet packet before heading straight to an awaiting mouth.

“I saw that!”

She didn’t turn around to speak, preferring the element of surprise. Her great grandson’s reflection jumped as he turned her way, a face etched with shock. Picking up the items, she turned to face him. She fought the smile that always threatened when she’d caught someone in the act. Big guilty eyes pleaded with her.

“How?”

“I see everything. I thought you would know that by now, young man. If I see you do that again you’ll be getting no cookie today, understand?”

He responded with a small pout and solemn nod.

“Good. Do you want to finish those up? It’ll be lunch time soon.”

“Yes, Grammie!”

The two of them finished their work in companionable silence. The little boy’s tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on making colourful patterns on the rockets. There was no repeat of the sneaky escapade and Sally was able to tidy up as he finished the last one.

“All done!”

Sticky hands were thrown in the air with the exclamation. Sally grabbed a damp soapy cloth and headed over to the beaming boy for the inspection.

“Very good! I think your Dad and uncles are going to love them. Now, time to clean you up.”

Sally grabbed the boy’s arms and swiftly wiped the multicoloured stains from them, as well as the icing that had managed to get all up his arms and onto his shirt too. Once he was all clean, she playfully wiped his face, getting a disgruntled pout back. She gave a quick wipe over the few saveable tubes; black, brown and white. Sally slid the tray to the side and removed the temptation of the jellybeans.

“How about you help me prepare for lunch?”

“Okay.”

Sally ruffled the boy’s soft locks before retrieving two big sharing bags of chips and some bowls. Passing one to her great grandson, she observed him trying to pull it open. Opening hers, she offered it to him. The swap was accepted, and he gave her a cheeky grin as he snatched one out and ate it. Sally gasped comically, causing giggles to echo around the room.

“Put them in the bowl, please.”

Upending the bag over the bowl, the boy filled it up with some almighty shakes. Sally took the empty bag and turned a blind eye to the eating of the three chips that had missed their target. With footsteps approaching, Sally tipped the other bag into the remaining bowl. Her boys would be hungry. It was Scott who appeared first, his eyes already spotting the food on the table, though he headed straight for his son. Sally stepped away to fill a jug with water.

"Did you decorate all those cookies?"

Scott's voice was filled with the excitement and pride all parents expressed for their little one’s achievements.

"Yes!"

Sally cast a loving eye over the pair. Her grandson knelt next to the chair, so he was the same level as his son.

"You haven't eaten any already have you?"

"No."

There was so much pride in the little boy's voice as he soaked up his father’s attention. Scott lent in close and put his hand to the boy's ear.

"Did Grammie make them?"

Scott had hushed his voice, but she still heard. Sally held her tongue, holding in her normal response of 'I heard that'. Her great grandson was chuckling. She headed over and slide the tray from the table.

"I did not make them, and they are for after lunch. Now sit down, young man."

"I think I'm in trouble."

Scott whispered loudly to his son, before he scooped up the happy toddler and slipped into the vacated seat. There were enough chairs for everyone, but Scott needed the closeness. She could see the sadness in her grandson's blue eyes as clear as day. There was still healing that needed to be done. The rest of the family started to take their places at the table. Virgil joined her in the kitchen to grab plates and the jug of water. Sally carried glasses and joined her family for lunch, smiling as she watched many hands diving into the bowls of chips.

[sheliesshattered]

This Isn’t A Ghost Story - Chapter 2

Whouffaldi non-canon AU. 8 chapters, will be about 32,000 words when complete. Rated Mature for heavier themes in later chapters, please contact me privately if you’re worried about triggering topics. Clara Oswald/Twelfth Doctor. Mystery, pining and angst with a happy ending. Available on AO3 under the same username and title. Updates every Friday.

This Isn’t A Ghost Story

Chapter 2: The Box

When Clara’s stomach informed her that it had to be well past lunchtime, she glanced up from a shoebox full of black and white photos of her Gran’s travels and spotted the ghost standing in the far corner of the attic, staring at a dusty and crumbling box she didn’t recognise, a calculating expression wrinkling his brow.

“I forgot this was here,” he murmured so quietly she almost didn’t catch it.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Oh, just letters and photos and journals and such,” he said louder, not shifting his gaze. “The same as the rest.”

“I’m not sure I like the way you’re looking at it,” she told him playfully, shuffling through the photos in her hands. “What are you thinking?”

He hesitated. “I’m wondering if I can get it downstairs now,” he said slowly, “or if I’ll have to wait until after sunset to be able to move it.”

“Why do you want to take it downstairs?” she asked absently.

“That’s where the fireplace is. Probably ought to keep it contained. Don’t want to burn down the whole house.”

That caught her attention, and Clara put down the photos she’d been concentrating on, giving him her entire focus. “What? Why would you want to burn it?”

“It’s for the best,” he said obliquely.

“What is in that box?” she demanded, standing and crossing the cramped space towards him to get a better look at it.

“Clara,” he admonished, trying ineffectually to block her view of the box.

“That’s my family history you’re contemplating burning there, mister,” she told him. “I think I should at least get to see it first.”

“I would really rather you didn’t—”

She felt his cold touch brush against the back of her hand as she reached into the box, but it wasn’t nearly enough to deter her.

“These photos are ancient,” she said, noting the sepia colours of the few she’d managed to snag. “Who is the woman in these pictures? It’s not Gran.”

“Clara, would you please just—”

“You don’t want me to see these,” she said, putting together the pieces. “Why?”

“There are parts of the history of this house that you’re better off not knowing,” he said, more ominous than the rattling of cupboards that had scared away so many potential buyers.

“No, hang on a second,” she said, looking closer at the photos in the dim light. “Who is this? She looks exactly like—”

He winced. “Please don’t.”

“Exactly like me.”

“Clara, please.”

“What is going on with you?” she demanded, turning her gaze to him. “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never behaved like this.”

His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before he finally said, “That’s your great-grandmother. The one you’re named for.”

She peered at the photos, pacing closer to the bare lightbulb hanging from the slanting ceiling to try to see them better. “Okay, but that is actually creepy. I look just like her. Why has no one ever mentioned that?”

“No one alive now remembers what she looked like. She died when your grandmother was a baby, you know that.” 

“Why would you not want me to see these?” she asked, a chill working its way down her spine.

“Clara—”

“You’re scaring me,” she told him. “Really, properly scaring me, for the first time in my life. Why would you want to burn this box, rather than let me see these photos?”

“Sometimes the past is better left buried.”

“But this is ancient history! Nearly a century ago! What harm could it possibly—” she cut off as he abruptly disappeared, leaving her with the dust and her lingering questions and the echoes of familial pain.

--

After their confrontation in the attic, Clara didn’t want to leave the strange old box alone with her ghost, so she carefully carried it downstairs with her, setting it on the kitchen table as she scrounged up a make-shift lunch out of what little food there was on hand. The house had gone eerily silent after he’d disappeared, and she found herself humming under her breath as she ate and cleared up, trying to calm her jagged nerves.

“Could you not?” his voice came from behind her, and she jumped, spinning to face him. He was hazy and translucent in the early afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows near the table, but she could tell his eyes were fixed on the box and not on her.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” 

“Would ghostly footsteps really have been any better?” he asked sourly, cutting his gaze to her briefly.

“When I know they’re from you, yes! And since when has my humming bothered you?”

“It’s not the humming so much as your choice of song.”

Clara blinked at him, trying to remember the tune. “I don’t even know what it was.”

“That’s exactly my point.” She watched him try to grasp one corner of the box, his hand passing through it, as insubstantial as cobwebs. He made a face and dropped his arm, but didn’t move away from the box.

“You still want to burn it,” she said, not quite a question.

“I’m reconsidering my stance on burning down the entire house, if that’s what it takes. Would you still have to pay the tax bill if the house were no longer here? What’s the insurance situation like?”

“I cannot believe I have to say this, but please don’t burn down the house. I will figure out how to pay the taxes, one way or another. And whatever is in that box can’t possibly be that bad.”

He looked up at her and held her gaze across the width of the kitchen. “Can’t it?”

“What is it that you’re so afraid of me knowing?” Clara asked, and he turned away, staring down into the box again. “So I look like my great-grandmother, what of it? I’m named for her, too. It’s just family resemblance, it’s hardly surprising.” 

She honestly wasn’t sure which of them she was trying to convince. She’d hoped that in the bright daylight and modern setting of the kitchen, a reexamination of the photos would prove that she only somewhat resembled the long-dead woman, but her ghost’s odd behaviour was throwing that fragile hope into serious doubt.

“It’s more than that, and you know it,” he murmured, still faced away from her. “Deep down, you know it. And now it’s only a matter of time until you realise...”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and her heart thudded against her ribs. “Please tell me what’s going on,” she breathed.

He reached into the box, the shadow cast by its raised edge allowing him enough substance to shuffle through the contents within. “I never spoke to Margot — your grandmother,” he said, voice distant and detached. “Or anyone else after she was born, not until you were old enough to talk to me. But I’ve always been here. I moved things, when no one would notice. Hid things. I hid this box so long ago, I’d forgotten it was there. But I’m certain Margot never found it.”

“Why did you hide it from her? If it’s just old photos, then why—”

“I made a promise, Clara. I had a duty of care. Almost eighty-seven years keeping that promise, only for this box to resurface now.”

Clara frowned, confused. “But Gran wouldn’t have turned eighty-seven until next summer.”

“I didn’t make the promise to Margot. I made it to the only person I’ve spoken to since my death. The only one who could ever see me.”

“Besides me, you mean.” 

He glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression like an open wound. “Clara.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked again, trying to shake the unnerving feeling that look elicited. “There’s some deep, dark, family secret, I’m getting that much. But why does it have to remain a secret? Whatever it is, everyone connected with it is gone now. There’s only you and me left.”

He turned back to the box, gaze fixed on something inside that she couldn’t see. “I would like to think that I could tell you the basics of it and you’d leave it be. The trouble is, I know you too well for that. I know you won’t stop digging until you’ve uncovered all the gory details. If I can spare you any part of that pain...”

“I think I’d rather have the truth,” she told him bluntly.

“I know,” he said, sounding resigned. Carefully, as though it took all of his focus to accomplish, he lifted a single photograph from the box. When his hand cleared the edge of the box, the sunlight rendered it insubstantial again, and the photo drifted down to the tabletop, unsupported. “You always did demand absolute honesty from me, Clara, my Clara.” He met her eyes once more, and then was gone.

Alone again in the silence of the kitchen, Clara hesitated before crossing to the table to pick up the picture he’d taken from the box, curiosity eventually winning out over her lingering fear. 

Like the photos she’d seen earlier, it was composed of monotones of brown, surrounded by a thick off-white border, but it was the image captured there that made the breath catch in her throat. A man and a woman stood side by side, gazing at each other rather than out at the camera, both smiling broadly. He was dressed in a dark suit and crisp white shirt, and she wore a pale satin gown with a dropped waist and a boxy cut. She held a bouquet of flowers in her hands, and there were more flowers in her short dark hair, formed into a circlet that held a long lace veil in place.

Any hope that Clara might have clung to that she bore only a passing resemblance to her namesake was shattered, the longer she looked at the photo. The likeness was uncanny, and downright eerie given the fuss made over this box. So far as she could tell, they were identical in every way, from their height and their facial features to the dimple that only appeared when she smiled. It easily could have been her in that photo. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn that it was. 

And if there was any other face that she knew as well as her own, it was that of her ghost. His ageless, expressive face had been seared into her consciousness since childhood, doodled in the margins of homework assignments in adolescence, and featured in her dreams for as long as she could remember. There was absolutely no question in her mind, not at first glance nor after careful examination, that the man stood beside her great-grandmother was one and the same. She would know him anywhere. His hair was perhaps a touch longer now, more untamed, but he didn’t look like he had aged a day. 

Turning the photo over, she found a short inscription on the back. Clara and John, 12 May 1923 was written in large block letters, but John had been neatly crossed out, and above it small, looping handwriting had added the Doctor in its place. 

She’d never known her ghost’s name, and when she had prodded him for personal information as a child, he had given her only a few sparse details. It had never particularly bothered her — she knew him, so as a child she had simply accepted that he was her ghost, and she was his Clara, and that was all that mattered. Besides, it wasn’t as though she could speak to anyone else about him, certainly not after the way her Mum and Gran had reacted.

But she wondered at it now, at the life he had led, long before she was born. She wondered about the man in the photograph, John or the Doctor or whatever he preferred to be called, this man that was so clearly her ghost. Had he had a good life? And what had made him want to linger in this house after it had ended? 

She turned the photo back over, her eyes catching on his familiar face again. He looked so very happy in that frozen moment, gazing with absolute adoration at the woman who could have been her. Her great-grandmother wore a matching expression, giddy with happiness and clearly very much in love. Clara didn’t think she had ever looked at anyone that way. In her nearly twenty-eight years of life, she had never once felt for anyone what the two people in that photo so obviously felt for each other. Not anyone, except—

That thought cut short at the sound of music drifting down from upstairs, ethereal and haunting, even discounting the fact that she knew it was played by a man dead almost a century. Still cradling the photograph in both hands, Clara followed the music up the stairs, and found him in the dim back bedroom, perched on an old blanket chest with an acoustic guitar across his lap. He glanced up at her when she paused in the doorway, but didn’t stop playing. She didn’t want him to stop.

Clara watched his long fingers move effortlessly across the frets, felt the way the familiar melody reverberated out from the guitar, full of love and longing, and thought again about the expression he’d worn on that long ago day, captured in the photograph in her hands. As a teenager she had entertained fantasies that he might one day look at her like that, but as she’d gotten older she had come to accept the futility of it. He was a ghost, dead decades before she was born, and no matter how special he was to her, or she to him, there would never be any way to alter those facts.

But now she found herself confronted with something almost infinitely worse: here was her ghost directing that look at her great-grandmother. The familial implications were obvious, and distressing in a way she couldn’t even quite articulate to herself. It wasn’t just the likelihood that she was descended from this man who had featured so prominently in her life, or that he had never bothered to reveal that bit of information to her. It wasn’t even jealousy, exactly, but rather a sort of longing for what could have been. It could have been her in that photo. It should have been her.

She leaned in the doorway and listened to him play, and tried to imagine a world in which he wasn’t dead, and she was free to love him.

“That’s the song I was humming earlier,” she said softly, once the last note had faded away. “What’s it called?”

He was silent a long moment. “It’s called Clara,” he murmured, carefully setting aside the guitar and not meeting her gaze. “I wrote it, a very long time ago, for your great-grandmother. I used to hum it for you sometimes, when you were a baby. I don’t know if you were always that fussy, or if you’ve just never slept well in this house, but it seemed to... help, I suppose.”

“I didn’t know you appeared to me when I was a baby,” she said. “But I guess it makes sense.” She glanced down at the photograph in her hands, thought again on the familial relationship that could be inferred from it. “I’m not sure I have a first memory of you,” she told him honestly. “I remember the first time I spoke to you, the first time you responded, but even before that, you were always just there, every time I visited Gran.”

If she didn’t know his face so well, she would have missed the sad smile that briefly curled one corner of his mouth. “Ellie brought you here when you were a week old. Your grandfather’s health was failing, and he hadn’t been able to visit her in hospital. She let him hold you, but rather than look at him, you looked directly at me. Focused on me like I’ve never seen out of a newborn. It’d been fifty-eight years since anyone had seen me, and then there you were, staring right at me. My Clara.”

Her heart flipped over in her chest, and she looked down the photo again and willed herself to speak. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth.”

“And there you go again, demanding utmost honesty from me,” he said with fond ruefulness. 

She hesitated, chickening out and deciding to take a slightly different tack. She held up the photo so he could see it. “Is this you?”

He glanced from the photo up to her face, like he was surprised at the question. “Yes.”

“Are you my great-grandfather?” she blurted out before she could lose her nerve again.

He winced. “That’s a complicated question.”

“It’s really not,” she pressed, gripped with the need to know, no matter how much it might hurt. “Either you are or you’re not.”

“Clara—” 

“This is a photo of you and my great-grandmother, on what certainly looks like your wedding day,” she said, pushing the words out in a rush, as though that would make it easier. “You said you had a ‘duty of care’ for my Gran, a promise strong enough to keep you here for the last eighty-seven years. So are you or are you not my great-grandfather?”

He sputtered a moment, clearly not wanting to answer the question. “Legally, technically, yes,” he finally said. “If you go digging into the paperwork — wills and birth certificates, that sort of thing — you’ll find my name there. But in reality? Biologically? No. Margot wasn’t mine. There was no way she could have been mine, and your great-grandmother knew it.”

A strange sort of relief washed through her, quickly followed by confusion. “Wait, that’s the dark and terrible family secret?” she asked in disbelief. “That you’re not Gran’s father?”

He hesitated. “That’s part of it, yes,” he hedged. “And if anyone had ever found out, it would have cost her this house and the rest of her inheritance, every bit of anything that provided her with stability and security, as a girl orphaned at three months old.”

“That’s why you were trying to keep it hidden from her,” Clara realised. 

He nodded. “Margot lived her entire life never knowing the truth of her parentage, which is exactly what her mother wanted. That was part of the promise I made, to spare Margot from as much of that pain as I could.”

“Why have you never told me any of this before?”

“It didn’t seem right to speak of it while Margot was alive,” he shrugged. “But you’re right, there’s only the two of us left, now. And I suppose there are some things you are entitled to know, as much as I might wish for nothing to change.”

Clara watched him for a long moment, studying his face. “There’s more you’re not telling me,” she said, trying to keep her tone from turning accusatory. “What else is in that box?”

He held his hand out for the photo, taking it from her carefully when she offered it to him. “This was a good day,” he said, staring down at the man he had been, and the woman who could have been her. “We were very, very happy. But there were less happy days, memories I would protect you from, if I can. If you’ll let me.”

“You can’t protect me from everything,” she told him, gently but firmly. “I’m not part of your duty of care. I never asked you for that.”

He looked up from the photo to find her gaze again. “My Clara. You shouldn’t have to ask.”

--

Chapter 3: The Journal

[razieltwelve]

First 7 Win Draft! (MTG Arena)

In Magic: The Gathering, I’ve generally been better at constructed than draft. However, with the way MTG Arena is structured, getting better at draft was something I wanted to do.

So, over the past couple of months, I’ve been saving coins and even using gems to do drafts to try to improve. The first month was pretty awful. I’m not going to lie. The fact that I was also rare-drafting to help fill out my collection didn’t help either. It was also a way of mitigating my losses since I tended to be awful, so at least I’d walk away with some rare cards even if I bombed out. And there were most definitely drafts where I bombed out.

But I kept at it, and I started studying more. I read draft guides; I looked at tier lists; I practiced on Draftsim; and I watched a lot of more skilled drafters in action. I found the videos by Nizzahon Magic to be especially useful since he talks a lot about why he drafts the things he does or makes the plays he does, and I felt we had a similar approach to the game in general.

I also had to get used to the different rhythm of draft. When you’re playing constructed, just killing everything is an option because you can build a deck with enough removal to do that. In draft, you’ll basically never have more than a few pieces of removal, so you have to use them sparingly. Likewise, your threat density in draft is so much thinner than in constructed, so you have to be much more aware of how you manage your creatures. That 2/1 or 1/3 isn’t something you can throw away, and you’ve got to really shepherd your fliers and other evasion critters because they might be the only way you can get damage through later.

Today, I finally managed to get to 7 wins in premier Zendikar draft. 7 wins is special because once you get to 7 wins, the draft ends, and you get the highest level of rewards possible. I’ve never done it before. I’ve gone 6-3 a couple of times, but each time I stumbled on the final match. Not this time.

But let me set the stage...

I started off by doing a Theros quick draft since I wanted to get some drafting in, but I didn’t want to spend any gems. After drafting what I felt was a very solid deck with plenty of playable and more removal than I ever thought possible, I proceeded to go 2-3 after getting horribly mana screwed twice and getting run over by someone with a playset of Iroas’s Blessing and the sort of hyper aggressive B/R deck that you dream of drafting. Seriously, that deck was incredible. Looking at my deck, I thought it would go at least 4-3, but it just wasn’t to be.

I was a little bit aggravated by that, but at the same time, I was also very happy with the deck that I drafted. I thought it was super solid. I just didn’t get much help from the shuffler, and I ran into the equivalent of a rocket-propelled freight train. So I thought... why not give premier draft a go? My recent drafting attempts had managed to garner me a decent quantity of gems, and I had a good feeling about it since I feel I’ve got a better grasp of Zendikar draft than Theros.

So I paid up my 1500 gems and gave it a go. Of course, since I’m me, I decided I’d do some rare-drafting as well. 

The first pack wasn’t bad. I opened a Haggra Mauling for a super easy first pick that was also a rare that I wanted. I also picked up some nice playable like Shepherd of Heroes and Malakir Rebirth although I hadn’t settled yet on a colour to pair with black. About halfway through the pack, it became clear to me that black was relatively open since I was able to load up on plenty of mid-range (in quality) stuff to help round out the pack. I also dipped into red after Roil Eruption and Cinderclasm came by while white only had a few playables, but nothing as good as those two cards except the angel.

Pack two began with me picking the Mankindi Throne (yes, I know it’s draft garbage, but I needed it for my collection...) and finding out that red was getting cut by somebody else. I was a bit surprised since the Roil Eruption and Cinderclasm had gotten to me late in pack one, so I’d assumed red wasn’t taken, but I got nothing out of red from pack two. With red cut, I switched fully to white, which seemed to open up as a Canyon Jerboa and Felidar Retreat made their way to me mid-pack. At that point, I was questioning the sanity of some of my fellow drafters because I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Felidar Retreat go pick 7 before. That card is completely nuts and requires basically no commitment from your deck other than you have some plains in it. 

Despite only committing properly to white in pack two, I was extremely relieved to be able to pick up some solid playables for it. I even managed to snag a second Shepherd of Heroes, which had me feeling even better about my decision to switch from red to white.

Pack three began with some more good luck. I opened a Squad Commander for an easy pick, and there were suddenly some clerics available to help fill out the party sub-theme I had going. I grabbed a couple, and I must have sent a strong enough signal because a Cleric of Life’s Bond wheeled and made it’s way into my deck. I didn’t have enough for a full on cleric deck, but I had enough clerics + incidental life gain that I thought I could make it work. If nothing else, I did need a two drop to fill out my curve. Getting a Mankindi Stampede in pack three was great too, and I was pretty certain that, at most, only one other person was drafting white because I was getting some goodies in the mid-to-late pack that I wouldn’t be getting if more people were in white.

My deck ended up being a BW mid-range deck that used clerics and a party-sub-theme to get through the early game and put on some aggression before landfall stuff (e.g., Prowling Felidar, Dreadwurm, Canyon Jerboa, and Felidar Retreat) combined with my fliers stabilised and took control of the game.

It did not start well.

In fairly short order, I was 2-2 with my two losses being just brutal and my two wins being close fought. At that point, I was already consoling myself with the fact I’d managed to snag quite a few rare cards during the draft, and at least I’d get some gems back (albeit not many) for winning twice. I told myself that I just had to focus on getting one more win since three wins gets you most of your investment back.

That fifth game was extremely close. It basically came down to me surviving an onslaught of aggression and trading creatures until I finally managed to slam Felidar Retreat onto a basically empty board. Felidar Retreat then did what it does best, and I basically out-valued my opponent the rest of the way.

From there, I played three more close games. Seriously, the games were tight, and I don’t think I’ve ever played better in a a draft. I won all but one of them with barely any life left after always going second (I think I only went first once the whole time), and there were a stack of complex decisions to make about how to use the removal I had and about when to trade and when to just take damage. The only easy game I had was the one in which my opponent got stuck on three mana, and I drew like a boss to just run over them with Canyon Jerboa shenanigans.

The last two games were nerve-wracking. In the game for my sixth win, I was up against this white-green party build. The early game was basically me getting punched in the face over and over again as they curved out like a champ and used three copies of Practiced Tactics to blow me out. After the second one, I thought, there’s no way they can have a third... and they did.

The pivotal moment in the game came when they went in to attack with their entire team, and I was able to engineer a situation that resulted in my team trading for theirs thanks to a Practiced Tactics of my own on a key creature. With the board clear, I was able to find my fliers, and they soared over for the win.

In the game for my seventh win, I was again on the back foot early. I went second, and the opponent was playing this awesome three colour landfall build with a party sub-theme. I was knocked down to 10 life in a real hurry as his landfall creatures outclassed mine, and I couldn’t find good spots to trade. I even got stuck on four mana for a bit. Finally, though, I found a Shepherd of Heroes and Felidar Retreat to stabilise with the lands to make them work. Unfortunately, they had a Territorial Scythecat, a Canyon Jerboa, and a bunch of creatures on their side with a Seagte Banneret threatening to pump their team. 

The game stalled out, but the biggest moment came when I could have played a spell on my turn but elected not to because I wanted to bluff a trick after showing him a combat trick earlier. I didn’t have anything, but the game was so close that I felt sure they wouldn’t attack into five open mana with three cards in my hand.

They played Mind Drain. In my hand were two cards that I didn’t super need... and my one copy of Mankindi Stampede. If I had played a spell, I would have been forced to discard it since I’d be left with only two cards in hand. Instead, I got to keep it, and I was able to gradually add to my board even as he forced through damage using Angelheart Protector to make his gigantic Scythecat indestructible. 

Since they weren’t in blue (they were running BWG), I knew that if I could just get enough creatures on the board, then my Stampede would win me the game. Unfortunately, I stopped drawing lands, so I couldn’t keep using Felidar Retreat to go wide, but I did draw a few creatures. However, they were drawing plenty of creatures themselves, and that Scythecat just kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger.

At this point, with the board basically stalled out, I had a slight edge since I had the only flier on the board. I was slowly but surely chipping away at their life total, but then they made their move. They had played a Tajuru Blightblade earlier, but they’d kept it back to dissuade my reasonably large Prowling Felidar from cracking back at them. That’s when they drew a Taunting Arbormage.

I knew exactly what they were thinking. The kicked Taunting Arbormage would force everything to block the Blightblade, so that when they swung with the rest of their team, I wouldn’t be able to block, and I’d be dead.

There was just one problem: I was holding my Practiced Tactics in hand.

I blew up the Blightblade and started assigning blockers. The end result was me being alive and them without any blockers left to stop my counter swing for lethal. Once the dust cleared, they conceded, and I had my seventh win.

I might have done a little dance around the room when I realised that I’d finally gotten it.

7-2. 

Not bad. And the six packs I got as part of the prize? Solid hits on all of them.

Best night on Arena ever.

[taeguboi]

“Would You Rather…?” Drabble 03 - Reader x Jungkook

Would you rather. . . 🤔🤔 go to the roller rink (roller skating woo) with Jungkook or . . . One of those trampoline rooms with Hoseok?

Send me BTS “Would You Rather…?” questions in my ask box for a drabble

I’d be down for both tbh but I thought a 1980s!au might be quite cute 

*******

“Take a Date to Skate”

This was one of the various posters that met your eyes upon walking into the building for the roller rink. Alongside this one were posters for the junk food from the diner, a game themed poster for what was probably one of the arcade games here, and one poster for the latest movie in the cinemas which you had actually already seen last week.

You and Jungkook had been seeing each other for almost a couple of months now and were just seeing where things took you from spending time together after taking a liking to each other when you met in the store he works in. It eventually became an unspoken protocol that Thursday night was date night since after every date, you’d both agree to see each other ‘this time next week?’

Neither you nor Jungkook had really ever done this before or at least for a long time; so you had a pair of skates as a toddler that you can recall growing out of within the year, and there was the odd roller skate party you went to as a preteen but you didn’t really express and interest in the activity.

However, the idea of going to the roller rink on a date actually sounded fun, Jungkook’s suggestion last week when he walked you home from the movies. The expectation was that though none of you will exactly be superstars at it, it would be a laugh. Besides, there’s plenty of other things on offer too such as arcade games and pigging out on junk food.

Jungkook is sporting a fairly coordinated outfit, though he insists the matching sweater and skates were merely a coincidence as he steadily brings himself to his feet after putting on the wheels.

“I just bought these from some thrift store because I didn’t wanna come unprepared; I wish I had realised you could rent them out here” he laughs nervously.

A baggy colour block sweater hung over his muscular frame. Three main colours: green, then yellow, then red. Black sleeves, white collar. His roller skates follow a similar theme with the yellow and red stripes layered over the black background all attached to yellow wheels and green toe stops.

You also follow a simple attire for the evening, donning just the primary colours with your blue jeans, yellow crop top, red cardigan and belt to match.

The two of you roll your way to the rink already feeling uplifted by the background music, Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough”, the music video being projected onto a large screen which overlooks the rink.

“I love this song!” smiles Jungkook, taking your hand as you both step onto the main floor. You each then grab onto the hand rail trying your best not to fall straight onto your butts in front of one another.

Picking up some momentum, you go ahead of Jungkook as you gain moderate speed to let go and begin skating with and you let yourself glide free with your date following behind.

Sure, it’s mostly travelling straight forward until you reach a corner and so on but as Jungkook catches up with you and skates by your side, it’s each other’s company that you really bask in. Holding hands, preventing each other from falling, trying your best to both chat and not slip up at the same time, it feels quite liberating to roam in this way.

After a few laps though, you feel yourself being dragged to the ground as Jungkook takes a fall and didn’t let go of your hand. Finding yourself practically on top of him, you both laugh awkwardly at the contact; in these little dates, you haven’t really gone beyond the hand holding, occasional hugs and a goodbye kiss.

“Sorry I-I er…” he stammers.

“It’s time for couples only!” announces a male over the PA system as a the more gentle “Take My Breath Away” plays through the speakers.

You are then quick to climb off Jungkook and bring yourself to your feet. 

“I don’t know about you, but…” you nervously begin, unsure of how to say you don’t really want to do this couples only thing.

“Don’t worry” he replies. “Me neither” he chuckles. “Shall we grab a bite to eat?”

“I think a drink is in order first” you giggle. “This thirsty work deserves a smoothie!”

“Your wish is my command” he jokes, taking your hand to lead you to the concession stand.

You both sit on the nearest bench to take off the skates and you wander around in just your socks to see what tickles your fancy.

“Ooh, there's a pool table!” you note.

“Here’s some pennies” Jungkook smiles. “You get the cues and I’ll get the drinks” he instructs, planting a kiss on your cheek affectionately before walking towards the bar.

The games of pool that followed were super fun; you agreed to go for best of three. Jungkook won the first, you won the second, and then a very tense third game followed but ultimately Jungkook won.

“Oh! No way!” you exclaim as that final black ball is pocketed by him.

“Ha ha! Yes way!” he celebrates. “I am the pool king!”

“Come on, let’s go to the arcades” you suggest, trying to conceal your pout.

“Aww… is somebody a sore loser?” he teases, pulling you in by your waist for a cuddle.

Out of all the boys you’ve dated, Jungkook has to be the jackpot of them so far. He has such beautiful eyes that stare at you endearingly with such affection. You’ve already seen that he has a good body too from the one date he wore a vest to the beach and took it off to go for a dip. Okay so a good personality is usually the desired trait in any guy you get involved with, but come on, one with amazing abs is always a bonus!

“I’m not a sore loser” you protest with a coy smile. “I was just so close to winning”

“Aww!” he chuckles sympathetically. “Well you are on a date with a winner, so how does that feel?” 

“Alright, I guess that is pretty good” you admit, smiling at all the things you like about Jungkook.

“Actually, um..” begins Jungkook, pulling away from the hug to properly look at you. He looks serious which makes your heart skip a beat - what does he want to say?

“I was actually thinking the other night, that um… Well you know we’ve been on like six dates now?” he stammers.

“Seven if you count this one” you correct him, a hand on your hip to be sassy with it.

“Okay, seven dates,” he reiterates. “How would you feel about… taking things a step further? You know, like… introduce you to my parents?”

“Your parents?” you repeat, unsure of how to respond.

“It’s totally fine if not” he tells you, careful to not make you feel pressured. “It’s just… well there’s only so long, as I’m sure you know, that I could tell them I was going out at the same time every week just to study with friends…” he explains, hand rubbing on his neck.

“Yeah, of course” you agree. “Are they okay with it?”

“They’re completely fine with it, they said as long as I’m happy then so are they, but… well to be honest, I’ve never managed to hold on this long to a girl I’ve been interested in” he admits.

This surprises you a little. You always had the impression that if he wanted to, Jungkook could have any girl he wants and for any amount of time he wants; you had concluded from that that he hadn’t had much interest in pursuing a girl prior to the dates with you.

“Aw, well I’m flattered” you appreciatively tell him.

“You can tell me if I’m taking things too fast…”

“Okay, sure, sure…” you assure him, anticipating his next sentence.

“My parents are doing a Sunday dinner type deal this week, you know, on Sunday” he nervously explains. “They told me I’m more than welcome to invite you along”

Your grin spreads from ear to ear at hearing this. You really like this guy, and there’s actually a real chance that he’s starting to feel the same way.

You take hold of his hand and bring him in for a kiss.

“Can I take that as a yes?” he beams.

“I’d love to”

Fiction Masterlist

[writing-in-verse]

Helen and Aline Coffe-Shop Fic!

Okay, so I wrote this weeks ago and I’m only just getting around to putting it up but it’s here now and that’s what counts.

It’s a simple Coffe-Shop AU about Aline and Helen meeting and stuff. I wrote this to get me out of the slump and I think I’m quite proud of it in all honesty. Please thank @ti-bae-rius for proof-reading this for me (it contained, and I quote, ‘the single worst sentence I have ever read’ which thankfully no longer exists) she’s always so supportive of my writing and I appreciate it to no end.

But yes, please let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy it!

A Coffe-Shop Romance

“Small flat white to go please,” said the man stood across the counter in a tone of voice that indicated he was anything but being polite. “And a Bakewell tart also to go.”

“Is that everything I get for you today?” came the reply to which the man nodded with a look that said everything he wasn’t saying, and the barista tapped away on her screen. “Well that’ll be three pounds and 80 pence.”

The man, in a business suit and sporting a haircut which told everyone he thought too much of himself and too little of everyone else, scanned his card and walked out of the queue to wait on his order.

“Sally, could you get me a flat white to go please and, Chris, if you could sort out the Bakewell tart while I’m taking orders?” The other two Baristas got to work giving the first Barista time to get the next order. “What can I get you?” She asked without really looking up.

“Could I erm…could I get a medium cappuccino p-please.” It was then that Aline did look up and saw the woman opposite her and saw the wide, blue-green eyes staring intently back at her. Normally, Aline would internally sigh at the umpteenth customer stumbling over their order – she was patient the more anxious people she served but there were some that paid more attention to their phone than whoever was taking their order, instead expecting you to riddle out their order – but she felt just as speechless looking at this woman whose eyes Aline could write poetry about.

“Yes, of course.” Aline smiled and tried to play it cool, but she felt her cheeks burning and suddenly wanted to melt into the floor. “Is that everything?”

“Uh-yeah, yes. Yes, that’s everything. Thank you so much.” The woman scanned her card before Aline could say anything else and practically stumbled over herself backing away from the counter to wait for her order.

She took the orders of two other people – a pair of university regulars who always ordered hot chocolate – and watched them go over to where the woman with the blue-green eyes was waiting. Or at least she should have been, but in the short time Aline had been distracted she’d taken her order and vanished.

She didn’t have time to do more than glance around the cafe for a flash of white-blonde hair – which she did not catch at any of the tables she could see – before she was preparing more orders. Aline worked through the day with the smell of coffee on her clothes and those tranquil, oceanic eyes on her mind. She went home wondering if she’d see the woman again. Maybe next time she’d take in more than her unusual eye colour.

 Aline was in early the next day and spent the quiet morning watching tired people wander in as if their life depended on the caffeine they bought. It wasn’t until the mid-afternoon, when Aline was both taking and preparing the post-lunchtime orders, that the woman with the pretty eyes wandered in, a laptop bag over one shoulder. It looked as though one wrong word would tip her over the edge.

She’s in a bad mood, Aline thought and sighed internally. The woman didn’t order anything but went into a corner of the cafe and, sitting at one of the tables, put her head in her hands.

“Aline, go tell her she needs to order something if she’s sitting here,” Sally said as she walked past. “Also, it’s your break in five minutes, hun.”

“Okay, I’ll just take her order before clocking off.” Aline looked toward the table and smiled despite herself.

Approximately five minutes later she was stood in front of the woman’s table and, sitting down on the opposite side, placed a medium cappuccino and a white chocolate cookie in front of her. The woman looked up, eyes wide, and stared across at Aline.

“It’s on the house; looked like you could use the pick-me-up.” Aline smiled, trying to look as friendly as possible. The other woman smiled and took a sip of the coffee. “Also, Sally wanted me to kick you out if you didn’t order.”

“Well, I should thank you for coming to my rescue.” Her eyes crinkled as she looked across and Aline had to stop herself biting her lip.

God, she’s so hot. Aline felt herself blush and hoped to any higher power that this woman couldn’t read minds. Wait until you find out she’s straight, just you wait.

“I’m Helen, by the way.”

Aline was brought back to reality and realised, somehow managing to go an even darker shade of red, she’d been staring.

“H-Helen,” Aline repeated trying to regain her composure. “A pretty name for a pretty woman. I’m Aline.”

Aline held out her hand and Helen shook it.

“Aline, my heroine’s beauty matches her name; how lucky.” Helen smiled and it was her turn to blush.

Okay, definitely not straight.

“Helen is just as beautiful, if not more so. You have Helen of Troy as your namesake.”

Helen smirked, her eyes creasing again and this time Aline did bite her lip.

“My mum wanted to call me Alessa – it was a name she picked up when she lived in Sweden – but my dad is more into Greek myth and he happened to win out.”

“Well I didn’t have quite the same fight over my name; I’ve always been Aline Penhallow.”

Helen laughed.

“You do have a flair for the dramatic,” she said.

Helen pushed her light blonde hair back from her face and started to speak before there was a call from the counter.

“Aline, hun, I’m going on my break,” Sally called before heading toward the staff only door.

“Well, that’s my cue,” Aline said. “It’s been nice speaking to you, Helen. Maybe we can do it again sometime?”

“I’d like that,” Helen replied.

 Aline spent her weekend off work doing anything other than enjoying her free time. She’d made sure she didn’t have any plans or obligations this weekend so she could take time for herself; a long bath, some quality reading time, and maybe she’d finally dust off the games console under the TV. Instead she spent her bath doing far too much thinking about Helen, her book lay discarded as she paced her flat unable to sit still with the woman’s startling blue-green eyes refusing to leave her mind, and that games console continued to go unused as she laid on the couch only half listening to the TV as Helen’s blonde hair enraptured her mental focus.

Monday finally arrived and Aline had never wanted to go to work more. Well, to be more exact, she wanted to go on her break so she could spend her precious minutes away from customers with the one memorable person she’d ever met at this job.

As Aline began her shift, she kept glancing around expectantly. She felt as though she was back in school searching for a friend in the hallway, but Helen was nowhere to be found. Her heart sank in time when the first half of her shift passed with no sign of Helen by the time her break was due.

“Excuse me, could I get a small cappuccino and a cinnamon latte please?”

Aline looked up to see those ocean-green eyes staring back at her, pupils dilating, her blonde hair framing her angular features.

“Two drinks? Who’s your date?” Aline asked with a slight smirk.

“Well your break’s coming up so...” Helen smiled down at her, her sentence trailing off bashfully. “I’ll foot the bill this time.”

Aline prepared the drinks, taking some cake with her, and sat down at the corner table with Helen.

Throughout her break Aline took the time to properly appreciate Helen’s features; she was all angles, high cheekbones and a jaw that could have been carved from ice; her nose was the only rounded part of her features, adding a softness that was accentuated by her pale skin. Sure her hair was blonde, but there were so many shades brought out by the artificial light and it was only when she brushed her hair back that Aline noticed her ears were slightly pointed -- yet more angles.

“They’re a hereditary thing; my mum’s side of the family has always had them,” Helen smiled and Aline felt herself blush in embarrassment.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to stare I think they’re beautiful – you’re beautiful.” Aline stopped rambling as Helen smiled more, blushing in turn.

Helen made a pleased, choked noise. “Coming from you.” Aline expected Helen to avert her eyes but she stared right into Aline’s eyes like her pupils were nothing but deep black windows, like she could peer right into Aline’s brain. Aline wondered if she could see her own name racing back and forth in there. And there was nothing else important to Aline, just those eyes that could start battles and sink ships.

 Aline went home that night with Helen on her mind – something she was quickly getting used to – and went to bed thinking of Helen. She dreamt about Helen’s hair and rolled around among the waves in her eyes; she felt along her jawline, felt how her ears poked through her blonde hair, making her look like a wood nymph. She woke up thinking of Helen and realised there was such a thing as dream-induced afterglow. She walked to work feeling lighter than she had in weeks, maybe even months, and was almost excited to go work; a miracle in itself.

Her morning started like the last; watching, waiting, hoping to see Helen appear and elevate her morning. But Helen didn’t come. There was no sign of her before Aline took her lunch and she had to spend it alone at the corner table they’d sat at the previous two days.

The afternoon shift was always busier than the morning, which gave Aline plenty of distraction as she received, prepared, and gave out orders with Sally and Chris. It was in these moments she enjoyed her job; she didn’t always like dealing with the people but working with her teammates was always satisfying.

It was near closing when Aline’s thoughts turned back to Helen and she wondered what had happened to the other woman. It wasn’t as though they knew each other particularly well -- they’d only been talking for a few days -- but Helen had made Aline’s job less of a chore simply by being there. Aline wanted to learn more about this woman who had wandered into her life with blonde hair and piercing eyes – God, she couldn’t stop thinking about Helen’s eyes – and she wanted to know what she did, what drove her to get out of bed, what made her feel alive.

Aline finished her shift with her thoughts still flooded with the same name and went to grab her things. She took her coat and boots from the staff room – she liked long coats and high boots; it made her feel powerful – and strode through the coffee shop waving to Sally, who was just finishing up, as she left. It wasn’t until she got outside that she saw the silk-spun hair, the colour deepened in the evening light, that had framed her thoughts as much as it framed Helen’s beautiful face.

“Miss me?” she smiled, leaning back against her chair with her right brow arched, and fixed Aline with a challenging look.

“I-erm-well I’ve… erm… work’s been pretty busy.” Aline was in two minds to continue walking just so Helen couldn’t see her blush. Helen’s eyes lit up with her increasing smile and knew that everything she’d been thinking had been laid bare on her face. “But-but my break was so much quieter without you.”

“Is that a compliment or a condemnation?” Her voice took on a teasing tone and Aline almost collapsed.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” she replied as she sat down. More to hide her wobbly legs than anything else.

“Well, why don’t we talk about how wanted I am over dinner?” She looked down at her disposable coffee cup and it was her turn to blush. “I have a table booked for half and hour from now,” – She saw Aline glance down at her work clothes – “I promise it’s nothing too fancy and besides, I think you look cute in a uniform.”

Aline looked over at Helen, at this woman she’d barely known a week, who was the only person she’d met who could make her feel flustered. She took in her eyes – always the eyes, they were magnetic -- how they were open and inviting. She looked at her hair, how it spilled to her shoulders and framed her angular face, making her seem angelic. Aline wondered if a woman so radiant, so perfect, could possible be asking her on an impromptu date? She was still expecting to wake up from what could only be a dream – she even pinched her leg, just to be sure – but this felt too real for her, Helen felt too real. Aline smiled across the table.

“Lead the way, Miss Blackthorn.”

Aline decided she could get used to that name.

[forbetterorworsefinalspace]

Soul Case

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Final Space

Part: 7

Link-  🌌

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While recovering from her injuries, Sheryl's past comes back in a muddle mess. What really happened and what didn't? The world may never know.

_______________________________________________________

The outbacks of Australia were hot and dusty. The wind blew harshly, pelting Sheryl with dirt specks and sand. The sun over head was broiling and her mouth felt dry. As she walked she passed abandoned vehicles and garbage, almost tripping on an exposed fender.

She licked her lips dryly, trying to shield her eyes from the sun. She didn’t recall how she got here, dad likely dumped her again. Well that was no problem, she just needed to wait for the stars to come out and follow their directions until she could see the Mountain, then trek her way home.

It was just gonna be a while.

As she went Sheryl noted something in the distance, standing on four legs. Cautiously she went closer, finally seeing it for what it was.

A Blue Heeler.

Oh bugger all! She scowled. If there was one thing she hated, it was dogs, and if there was one dog she hated, it was Blue Heelers. Fuckin things!

Almost as if it could hear her thoughts, the dog ran for her, barking and snarling. Sheryl had no time to react as it closed the distance in the blink of an eye, before coming down on her. She yelled as the dog bowled into her, teeth snapping. She kicked, trying to fight back, but she couldn’t get enough power into her hits. Somehow it snapped it jaws onto her head, starting to drag her along the ground.

She screeched, hands scrambling for something to grab onto, when one closed around something sharp. It hurt, but she quickly slashed up at the dog wildly.

It almost seemed to sense the impending attack though, as it let her go and jumped back, growling harshly.

Panting the girl got to her feet, hair a mess and head bleeding. She and the dog had a slight standoff, both snarling at each other and bearing their teeth. It was clear the dog didn’t intent to leave, so Sheryl started to back away. Thankfully it seemed disinterested in following after her now, since she could defend herself.

A few feet away, Sheryl looked down at her hand, finding an old combat knife that she was holding by the blade.

She rectified that and kept going. ……..

It was so bloody hot.

It was sunset and the temperature wasn’t much better. Sheryl stumbled along, wiping sweat and blood from her brow.

Must be 40 degrees out here at least! Odd at this time of day.

As she walked Sheryl stumbled, tried, alone and hungry.

Pull yourself together. Your pathetic.

She tried to stand straighter at the thought.

Sunset turned to twilight, everything blanketed in darkness and the sky a melted orange. The abandoned relics of the past around her were painted in the warm colours. Sheryl stopped by an overturned battle truck, licking her lips dryly. As she leaned against the truck something scuttled over her hand, glancing to it she found a cockroach running around, antennas twitching.

She quickly smash it under her hand and rammed it in her mouth, chewing the crunchy creature apart before swallowing.

Ok, got food, now she just needed water.

Thankfully if there were roaches here then that meant water was close. She went looking, until she located a small muddy puddle with an old tank barrel sticking out of it. She dropped to all fours, drinking out of it like an animal, her hair dipping in around her face and turning brown.

God it was warm, why was it so warm?!

A distal howl sent a chill down Sheryl spine, she sat up to look at her surroundings wildly, before some creatures start to emerge from the wreckage around her.

Dingos.

Sheryl stood, pulling out her knife. She didn’t really stand a chance against these things, not when there were so many! She backed up as more and more Dingos slipped from the darkness. With very little options left Sheryl turned and began to run.

They were right behind her and Sheryl was so focused on getting away, that she didn't really pay attention to where she was going. She was glancing over her shoulder at a sharp set of teeth, when she rushed right over a steep embankment. The world was a tumbling mess of dry dirt, rocks, heat and darkness before she landed in a shallow puddle. Coughing Sheryl got to her hands and knees, shaking when she heard the wild dogs scrambling down the hill towards her.

Where was her knife?! Where was it!?

Her hands splash in the thick, cloudy water for her missing weapon, as it had tumbled out of her hands during the fall. Rocks started skittered down around her as the pack got closer, Sheryl still fruitlessly searching.

BARK! BARK!

Something came from the opposite direction, leaping over Sheryl, much to her shock. She spun around, watching as a new dog started to fight off the Dingos with ease. At first the wild dogs refused to back down, but when it became clear they weren’t going to win, they finally had to retreat.

Yelping and whining the Dingos ran off, tails between their legs.

The dog snorted, shaking his fur out with a snuff before starting to walk back to where he had come from. Sheryl stared after it in disbelief, getting to her hands and knees again when it crossed the puddle to the other side. There the chocolate lab stopped to stare back at her, waiting.

Sheryl shifted, not sure what to do,

Something shimmered below her and Sheryl looked down as her reflection in the mud puddle below her swirled into an ominous shape.

‘Sheryl Goodspeed.’ The figure had deer like horns and a skull face, two burning eyes pierced her soul. Somehow she knew this demons name.

“Oreskis?” She asked in a wheezing, scratchy voice.

‘You need to wake up Sheryl Goodspeed. Your dying.’

Yip! Yip!

Sheryl looked behind her in time to see a tiny Golden puppy bounding up behind her. It jumped on top of her, submerging her face in the mud puddle- -----

“GASP!!” Sheryl’s lungs were full of water and she struggled to find the strength to sit up. She coughed and hacked harshly, shaking away a pair of tiny hands when they tried to help her.

“Mom!” Gary shouted, sounding relieved. “Your awake!”

“A-ar-” Sheryl coughed some more, body wracking heavily. “Are you trying t-to- (COUGH!) Dr-o-own me?!”

She was soaked from her head to toes, her sleep shirt heavy and sticky, even her pants and feet were wet. How much fuckin’ water had that kid poured on her.

“I’m sorry!” Gary said quickly, wringing his hands. “B-but you been sleeping for two days almost and you started talking in your sleep, and your voice was all cracking and you sounded thirsty so I grab a cup and-”

“How long?!” Sheryl looked at him in shock, only to find Gary out of focus, despite being right beside her. In Fact the entire camper was fuzzy…

Wait, confused, vision impaired, soaked even where water wasn’t poured, and the heat from her dreams hadn’t dissipated upon waking. Sheryl swore and forced herself up, despite sleep calling to her like a siren. She yanked her pants down a bit to get access to her injury, pulling off the wrap to find it red and angry.

She grunted. “Well congrats Gary, the wound you gave me is infected…”

“What?!” He looked to her leg quickly. “W-what do we do then?! We can fix this right!?”

“Get my first aid kit from my bag, the big one.” She ordered briskly, pulling on the wound a bit to see it was closing at all. Burned like a mother fucker, but it seemed to be sealing shut.

“This one?!” Gary asked, running back with a large black case.

“Give.”Sheryl took it with a nod. It opened and she pulled out a few different boxes of medical supplies until she came to the bottom. She yanked out something that looked like an air jet gun nozzle, with an empty space at the back and a large needle in front.

She heard Gary whine at the sight of it, but she didn’t look at him. Instead she tried to find the right vile inside the case, she should have multiple of them… She couldn’t read the tiny print, her vision was blurry, and Gary didn’t know what to look for, thankfully though the viles also had brail imprinted into the glass. She ran her fingers over a few before finding the one she wanted.

Rocephin.

She jammed it into the end of the gun, which beeped when the seal to the vile opened properly. She tapped the bubbles out of it, then lined it up to the wound.

Sheryl paused, taking a very, very deep breath, then rammed it into her thigh as hard as she could.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Ahhh!” Gary screamed as well at the sight, before he dropped to the floor, almost fainting.

The gun injected the Rocephin into her once it was needle deep. Faster than the blink of an eye. Still made her vision white, especially around the injury. She pulled it back out, wheezing tightly and shuttering.

"FUCK! FUck! fuck! fuck."

Fuckin’ hell.

“T-there!” Sheryl coughed, blowing her hair out of her face. “All done.” She released the vile and tossed it into the case, then ejected the needle to be tossed in the garbage.

Gary clawed his way back to his knees with the help of the bed blankets. “Your better? Just like that?”

“What? No!” Sheryl glared at him and the boy withered. “Nothing works like that, you idiot. It takes time to recover from anything. Your mistakes never just ‘go’ away.”

“Oh…”

“God knows how much this will take me off track.” Sheryl grumbled. “I have shit to do, this is the last bloody- grah!”

“W-when will you be better?”

“I DON’T FUCKIN’ KNOW!” Sheryl snapped at him. She could see Gary’s blurry form flinch at her tone. She in turn pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to calm down. “Ok...Alright… I’ve done all I can for now. I just need more sleep… and to clean myself up.” She pulled at her sweat soaked shirt. “Go run me a bath if you want to be helpful-”

Gary was gone before she finished.

Sheryl harrumphed.

She wiped her face, thinking about her fever dream. It was a made up mess of things and she wasn’t sure what it meant… but Oreskis was in it and she wasn’t drunk this time… Did that mean he really was real?

She hoped so.

This had better be worth the trouble.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

Arma mulieremque cano.

I've been in a mood for heavy angst, so keep that in mind. Reader discretion is advised here. This was inspired by a two-page doujin my good friend Azure linked in our Discord server. I got intoigued, then got in a mood to make people suffer, and boom! this was born. hell yeah. Also my deathfics are shorter than my usual stuff, so I guess my heavy angst is to be consumed in a concentrated form? It felt weird to write and feels weird to backread, so I'm posting it now for the sake of gaining experience and showing a more daring side of my writing.

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An Oath is an Oath

Summary: ...so you should know better than swear two that contradict each other, especially during a war.

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses (Post-Timeskip) Ship: Ingrid/Sylvain (implied)

Wordcount: 1.5K words

Content Warnings: Depictions of violence, major character death

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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I’ll never lose someone again, Ingrid had promised herself when she had gotten over most of her grief. I won’t let anyone kill someone dear to me ever again. I’ll stop them before they can.

Back then, she hadn’t had the powers to stop Glenn from meeting his undeserved demise. Years later, she had that power she had once lacked, hands strong enough to act on her will. She wouldn’t let herself taste powerlessness again she thought and swore, not now that she had become the warrior she wanted herself to turn into as she’d grow up.

 But war is war. It tears people apart with no mercy, disregarding affections and feelings, until soldiers fighting for their life and their nation’s honour had their minds numbed and hearts changed into stone, having become soulless killing machines. No matter how many fairy tales of brave knights saving whom and what they loved she read and inserted herself into, it couldn’t change war into anything prettier than men and women killing each other for a greater cause.

And, no matter how much she tried to be the ideal warrior she had imagined Glenn to have been when he was still alive, Ingrid couldn’t deny the horrors of it as, firmly armed with her lance, she faced a very familiar face, wearing different colours and branding a different animal, the dreadful realization making itself known too quickly for her brain to even attempt ignoring.

 She’d have to break her promise with her own two hands.

 A bittersweet long time no see, huh graced her as she arrived to face the next unit in the war. She almost went mute as she realized she’d be fighting one of the people closest to her right at this instant; but she shook her head and made his smirk disappear.

“This is war,” she replied, “and you know what this means, don’t you?”

“Oh, I sure do.” His expression put on a coat of seriousness unlike anything she had quite seen from him. “I’m afraid this will be the last time we see each other.”

The pressure on his axe strengthened.

“I wish it wouldn’t have ended this way, Ingrid. We were friends.”

“I could say the same of you, Sylvain. I’m disappointed by the choices you’ve made in this conflict, yet wish we’d have fought for the same cause.”

“When haven’t I disappointed you anyway, huh?” He scoffed. “That was yesterday, though, and today is something else. We’re not friends anymore, are we? To say that I’ve missed you…”

His chit-chat was annoying to hear, nagging at her loyalty and sense of morale. He had always tried to escape inconvenient situations with not-so-beautiful words and purple prose she had only seen through.

“We’re merely soldiers fighting on different sides, now. Shall we begin? I don’t want to lose more time speaking to the enemy.”

 The harsh tone in her voice sounded fake to her but seemed to have sounded convincing to him, as she could theorize from the way he rose his axe at her. She could read conflict on his face too, the dilemma neither of them wanted to face, yet had to in order to make their side win. That was war, after all, and they were only the tiniest part of it.

Ingrid’s heart wanted to fight against her lance and the way her wrist moved itself in swift moves to brandish her weapon of choice against the face of a man that, five years ago, she’d have protected from himself; but her mind was stronger, it had always been, and her mind was loyal to King Dimitri and the Blue Lions. Not her fault if Sylvain thought the grass was greener elsewhere.

Not her fault, not her fault if he was dumb, not her fault if he wasn’t loyal, not her fault if he was running after Goddess-knew-what, not her fault if he was going to die by her hands.

 That was war and she couldn’t do anything about it, that was how things were and had always been; yet her eyes still squeezed shut as she made her mount delve down in his direction, white feathers blowing in the wind, her lance’s tip heading down, metal shining against the light of the sun, fingers trembling, hands clammy, eyes wet and will wavering with the wind blowing through her hair.

Forgive me, Goddess.

Her lance plunged with her horse.

Forgive me, Glenn.

A noise of flesh rupturing, of metal meeting metal, of hooves crushing the dirt and the leaves.

Forgive me, Sylvain.

 She had to feel something warm splatter over her face and gliding down her armour to open them again, to dare face her deeds, face the feelings she hadn’t wanted to cultivate and scythe away without harvesting any fruit like you’d pick up rotting apples on the ground of the perishing acre.

I beg of you, please forgive me.

 Her lance had slipped through a hole in his own armour, drippling in red as she got it out of his body, blood painting the grass behind them. He fell from his wyvern, who escaped the field as its knight had disappeared from its back, black wings vanishing away from her sight and under the sun.

Even as her fellow warriors pursued the fight, their cries echoing in the distance, she instructed her mount to land, getting down of it in a rush and kneeling next to whom had been more than just a foe to vanquish in a war that had almost numbed her sense of empathy, steel boots clinking against the ground, red and green printing onto it and dirtying its shine.

 Without thinking more than a moment about it, Ingrid picked Sylvain in her arms, a quick glance examining the wound: right in the lung, most likely in-between the ribs, a fatal wound if left untreated properly. But she was no healer, no ally of him, merely a former friend who had had to kill her enemy in battle if she wanted to win and keep her life. It was expected of her not to do anything about it, to just let the course of things be, so why was she so reluctant to watch this, to do this?

There was nothing she could about it, so why was she on the verge of crying, of weeping like the young girl who had never had to kill someone with her two hands? Was her heart still this tender, this naïve? What had made her so sensitive, so emotional over doing what she had done countless times by now, in the span of five years? Was it the memories of their playing time, the bond they had previously shared, the promise she had made under the stars on one calm but sorrowful night?

 “Should’ve seen it comin’…” He coughed out, blood dripping down from his mouth, lungs congesting. “You’ve always been better at fighting than me…”

“I trained while you were busy skirt-chasing,” she replied, calmly, trying to keep it together. It’d be a disgrace to her king and comrades if she started bawling in the middle of the battlefield for the fallen enemy.

“Still… I’m almost glad it’s you who killed me… At least, you were a worthy opponent…”

“I could say the same about you, I suppose.”

He tried to laugh, but all that came from it was red almost splashing on her.

“I’ll finally stop causing you problems,” he finally said, eyes closing on themselves. “That’s a good thing, no…?”

 Ingrid didn’t reply, her mind unable to come out with anything satisfactory. Teasing the enemy seemed fine, until she remembered that, in death, allies and enemies barely made sense. Her sense of allegiance had left the premise for a moment, the notion of picking a side suddenly stopping to beat with her heart.

He seemed to notice her lack of reply with this smirk giving stead to a serious expression.

“Y’know, Ingrid… Even like that… I don’t hate you...”

 There was no right answer to give him, obviously, as words were already an act of treason to her cause. Honour before feelings and all that. Proverbs stopped making sense, but she was still following their principles anyway.

“In the end, I realize that… neither do I.”

“Good… ’d’ve been a shame if you did…” His lips reached an all-time low. “It’s all messed up anyway… World’s mess’d up…”

His eyes shut never to open again, his warmth already slipping between his armour’s holes, pouring from his wound, joining the sky above.

“See ya on the other side, Ing… ’t was nice knowing you, even if it ended like that…”

“Farewell, Sylvain.”

 I’m sorry; so, so sorry. I couldn’t keep my word.

 In this battle of a name that escaped from her memory, sorrowful Ingrid had broken the promise she had made to herself as she cradled next to her sob-rattled chest the still-warm, smirking, lifeless body of her dearest friend, knowing the battle would rage on with or without her, with or without him. As she resolved herself to either let what was left behind there or bury the remains, one question came to her mind, burning her tongue, scorching her throat, singing her chest from the inside:

When had she become a gravedigger?

[almaasi]

reaction post typed while watching SPN 14x13 “Lebanon” (300th episode)

in which i compare this episode to pumpkin soup, because I’m craving more Cas

03:30pm

all righty, thing is still downloading, and there’s a 720p version queued up so that’ll be downloaded by the time i’ve watched half. i have snacks, i’m gonna half close my blinds so i can see, but I DON’T HAVE HEADPHONES AGAIN which is the worst. why do headphones break so easily, that’s what i want to know. (just gotta pray there’s a good sound quality i guess. my laptop speakers suck)

...2 minutes left on the download c’moooooon

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03:35

OKAY DONE!!!!

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03:36

“dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days”

i don’t know if it’s dean’s little baby voice (HE’S MY AGE CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?? I CAN’T) or the laptop speakers or the video sound quality, but dean sounds like a kid in a 1980s disney cartoon, with that vintage prickle in my ears and i love it

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03:38

okay look it’s super hot 'cause it’s summer, and my fan is on, and there’s cicadas... i think i gotta shut the window and turn the fan off aND SLOWLY ROAST IN HERE BECAUSE I CAN’T HEAR THIS PROPERLY

i’m 9 seconds into the recap u_u

it’s gonna be one of those days i guess

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03:41

is that the monkey again?

yeah it’s the monkey again

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03:45

dead black guy already????????????????????

really?????

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03:46

are those kids meant to look like the kids from stranger things? because they kind of do. and the movie theatre as well

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03:47

cas is in this episode, right??

if he isn’t i’m gonna scream

misha had a tv guide cover so maybe

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03:39

every single one of these kids is cute and i’m offended

“weird sidekick with the trenchcoat” i am further offended, but also smiling

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03:50

SHE GAY

SHE VERY GAY

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the plaid though. she’s a dean mirror 100%

edit: i did doubt this for a second but nope, i was completely right

i mean, she drives the car as well

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03:52

tHE IMPALA JUST SCOOTED OFF THE SCREEN AND I ALMOST CHOKED OH MY GOD that was hilarious

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03:54

dean doing the puppy eyes is 

a) cute

b) FUCKING TERRIFYING BECAUSE THIS POOR WOMAN’S TRYING TO PROTECT AN UNDERAGE GIRL AND IT SHOULD NOT BE THAT EASY

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03:57

the hand that popped out of the smoky cigar box

SUPER COOL AND SUPER CREEPY EW

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03:59

dean: “this is like the best/worst thing that’s ever happened to you. ‘cause you love serial killers but you hate clowns”

ahahhahaha

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04:02

sam: “are you sure you don’t wanna call mom, or wait for cas”

YES PLEASE DO BOTH OF THOSE THINGS ;A;

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“michael out of my head”

HAVE YOU NEVER PAID ATTENTION TO ALL THE WISHES THAT GO WRONG??? YOU GOTTA BE MORE SPECIFIC DUDE. TAKING MICHAEL OUT YOUR HEAD JUST TAKES HIM OUT, YOU GOTTA KILL HIM TOO DAMMIT

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04:05

john: “now you live in a secret bunker with an angel and lucifer’s kid”

he took that surprisingly well

 a little too well

probably part of dean’s wish that he takes it well

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04:08

OH BOY

the face he made when he saw mary sdjgfd

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04:09

ahahah dean and sam awkwardly leaving while their parents make out

dean kinda looked like he was gonna stay, lil bean

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04:11

the fact dean was so adamant that he said he wanted michael out of his head, but then is now defending the fact he wished for his dad back instead

says a lot about what dean says he wants =/= what dean actually wants

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04:13

john is much sweeter and more understanding than anyone remembers him (at least than i remember him, or could infer from all the stories about him)

i really do think dean brought him back nicer

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04:15

i love seeing sam have emotions, it’s so refreshing

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sam kinda looked like he panicked when john touched him aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

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04:17

there’s a sign for “castle storage” in the background and i think about that sometimes. hill of a forty dogs or something??? i forget, it was so long ago

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ALSO WHERE’S CAS

also switching to 720p now

never mind switching back, the sound was better on the lower quality video u_u

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04:22

oh no, nobody knows them

IS CAS NOT GONNA KNOW THEM

OH NO

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04:23

this universe-sam: *kinda smug* “god bless kale, am i right?”

I CRINGED SO HARD

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04:25

OH BOY IT’S HAPPENING

(well SOMETHING IS HAPPENING)

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04:26

zachariah: “c’mon, constantine”

cas: “i don’t understand that reference”

zach: “you wouldn’t”

i kinda missed this cas though. like. i’m not even mad

ONE PROBLEM: HE’S PROBABLY NOT HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH DEAN

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04:28

life goal of mine: have a sign like that in my house as decor

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04:29

THE BACKWARDS TIE

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04:35

okay first off i got so involved watching cas beat dean up (again) and dean being unable to stop him (D: D: D:) (kind of expected dean to croak “i love you” but um no....... that didn’t happen)

and then mary’s egg timer went off 

and it reminded me i’m hungry again so brb

well actually i’m not hungry..... but my body is shutting down because i need fat and magnesium to function which means i need to eat or else i can’t see, but same difference

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04:43pm

okay i’m back

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04:45

DEAN FINALLY HEARING HIS DADDY SAY HE’S PROUD OF HIM

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04:46

john: “i thought you’d get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family”

dean: “i have a family”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

]]]]]] I REALLY FUCKING WANT JOHN TO MEET CAS [[[[[[[

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04:48

THERE’S SALAD ON THE PLATES HALLELUJAH

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04:49

sam: “did you see them, at dinner, the way they looked at each other, they seemed happy”

and then there’s the way max looked at the girl she was crushing on

AND THEN THERE’S THE WAY DEAN LOOKS AT CAS LET’S GET SOME OF THAT IN HERE PLEEEEEASE

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04:51

it stresses me out when people wash dishes but only rinse using the dirty water not fresh tap water

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04:53

they’re about to send john back, he’s holding mary’s hand

all the rainbows behind dean’s head

betcha he’s thinkin about cas

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04:56

john: “i love you both, so much”

dean...................

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“i love you too”

OH MY HEART

he says it ......he never used to say it to anyone

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04:59

YEEEEE

BUT ALSO THIS ONLY LASTED 0.5 SECONDS WHY

but also???????

TALL GUY = SAM

PLAID GIRL = DEAN

COAT GIRL = CAS

IS ANYONE ELSE GETTING THIS

WHY DIDN’T THIS SHOT LAST LONGER SO PEOPLE WOULD BE ABLE TO SEE WITHOUT PAUSING

CURSE YOU EDITORS

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05:02

so....... that end scene where john’s like “i’m on my way back, i’ll see you soon”

was that meant to be in the past, 2003 era? the flip phone would say so, but his visible age kind of confuses matters

i mean i get that it’s hard to make someone look 16 years younger

but still

unsure about that

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05:04

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm it’s over

i dunno

that was definitely a special and important episode, and i appreciated seeing this side of john, this is gonna make it way easier to write fanfic of him without the story ending up as a trauma survival fic

but

i was kind of underwhelmed

things i rEALLY REALLY WANTED that didn’t happen:

john actually reacting to dean saying they made friends with an angel (and a werewolf, a vampire, demons, etc etc)

john meeting cas

cas being part of that family meal (i get that the point was he was 2003!cas and not there, but still)

jack being in this even a little bit??

and as the story went on and reached the end, what it really lacked, for me, was a comparison where we can then see how john/mary & max/her crush = dean/cas...........and that just didn’t happen

i think it just ended too soon, really

and there was a lot more they could’ve done with the altered timeline, could’ve brought a whooooooooole lot back from past seasons and just made it a smorgasbord of nostalgia

i get that it was focused solely on john, which gave it an emotional core, so there’s not actually a problem there, i loved that

but it felt kind of dull and slow and....... soupy..........?

(i just mean. the emotional feeling in my brain as i think about it. feels like soup. specifically pumpkin soup. warm and spicy and goopy and nutritious but ultimately not very filling)

then again, if the pacing had been sped up, i would’ve complained it was too rushed. so there’s no winning, it was probably fine ?

i think my favourite part was the kids. i loved the kids. i love the lil gay romance going there. i loved the fact it was a destiel/team free will parallel (even if that part of it was OVER SO DAMN QUICKLY MOST PEOPLE MISSED IT). i loved the kid in the hat, he reminded me a lot of the actor thomas brodie-sangster, and also johnathan byers from “stranger things”

also enjoyed sam vs. the serial killer clown, and that whole aspect of hunting that we haven’t seen in a while, felt very nostalgic

also enjoyed 2003!cas, but was both distressed and frustrated by him fighting dean and then NOT GETTING ANY CLOSURE ON THAT WHATSOEVER. the point was to make dean and sam realise they really needed to send john back, so essentially, in some respect, they did choose cas being their friend over john being around, but that part of the overall problem was never mentioned at all, cas wasn’t mentioned at all after the fight

i’m just looking forward to coda fics that start where this episode leaves off, and dean talks to cas, because i am craving that SO FUCKING BADLY i can’t even express. like. it’s becoming maddening. i just. want. them. to have. a conversation

and the black guy dying at the start?? and the other black kid running away from the ghost and never being seen again? and besides the unnamed diner guy offering info on skip day, being the ONLY PEOPLE OF COLOUR IN THE ENTIRE STORY??? NOT COOL, not a fan >:{ (still better than it used to be, but soooooooooo many white people. so many. so. many)

anyway. um

so that wasn’t my favourite episode, but not because it was bad, but because it didn’t live up to expectations. i tried not to have any expectations (i really tried) but there were just... basic things this episode needed that i felt it was lacking (*cough* cas *cough*), and i can’t really shake that feeling

HOWEVER, having seen 2003!cas be the thoughtless drone that he was, i can appreciate just HOW MUCH character development has happened while he’s been around, which.... i suppose, is a sort of nod to his entire existence ???

anyway, 9/10, and a big ol shrug

but yeah. seeing john be kind and understanding was amazing (and completely changes how i’m gonna write him in my fics in the future, since he’s probably gonna be in the fic instead of just mentioned) and having him say he’s proud of dean and he loves him was just a super nice treat c:

sam being emotional is the best, too. sam confronting his feelings 10/10

i just. i want aaaaaall of this. but with cas. i really want that. so goddamn much. ;~;