#hell I didn’t even expect them to make the playoffs but they did and won a game cool with me !

[litwhorees]

last year fucked up a lot of Cavs fans and it’s so funny to me because I never expected them to get out the first round regardless of who they were playing

[rocohen20]

Happiest Day of Your Life- Chapter 2

Chapter 1, AO3 (if you prefer to read the story there)

I'm fully aware of how much time it took me to update on the story, but I never forgotten about it. For the longest time I've been working on it. Originally I wanted to include more in this chapter so after I finished writing this part a few months ago I tried to continued writing the next part. Yesterday I realized that it would be better to just post this finished part already, and coninue on the rest later.

As for the rest of the story, I'm planning to spend more time on it and hopefully to update the story kind of regularly.

I hope you enjoy it!

~~~~~~

Despite all the time it took them to enter the hospital, once they actually got in it took them little to no time to navigate throughout the all too familiar maze of the hospital. During the walk to the room Tyler couldn't help himself and thought about the last time he was here in person- last night. During the visit his grandpa wasn't in the best of shape, yet he was in a great mood- talking about tomorrow's game and how he hoped to see his grandson lifting that Cup above his head tomorrow. They even talked about how weird it was as a family to root against The Leafs this year, despite it being a very long time since the last time the team was in the finals. So, when it was time for Tyler to leave and get back to a team related commitment, he felt great and energized. And he wouldn't have imagined in a million years that it would be his grandpa's last day on earth.

When they turned around the corner, to the hall of said room, they spotted their family outside of the room. With his last steps towards his family Tyler took a big breath and braced himself. He glossed over the different family members until he met the most important one- his grandmother. Usually, she was a short petit woman with short hair and a kind face. However now she looked totally different with a disheveled hair and dry tear-tracks down her face.

When Tyler got directly in front of her, she was quick to raise her face from the instanced place she was staring at. He could feel water gathering in his eyes as he was looking at her eyes, yet he still hadn't cried. He didn't want to be confronted about it so he tried to distract them with some words. However, with his blank mind he had nothing. He stood there silently until he was saved by his grandma, when she suddenly got out of her chair. As his grandmother was at the fine age where family members tended to help you out Tyler and several other family members tried to help her. However, she turned down any offer and got up on her own. Once she was standing up she got right back into her previous activity- staring soulfully into his watery eyes until she wrapped him into a tight hug. The hug took Tyler a step closer to lose it completely, yet he still hung up by a thread, barely.

He broke down once his grandma started running her hand through his hair, a motion she later on passed to her daughter. The embrace itself made him go back in time for when he was small and so loved that he really let himself go. He shut everything around him and just focused on the two of them. Eventually the tears subsided, aside a stray tear every odd moment. He allowed himself three extra moments filled with deep breaths with his face buried in a warm shoulder. However, he still had the real world to face. He raised his head and couldn't help but feel embarrassed and weak when the soft question of "Are you okay?" left her lips.  

He shrugged the question off and just focused on being normal. For some reason his hackles were up and he didn't feel fully comfortable with his family for them to see his real pain. There shouldn’t have been a reason for this, because he did love them and was close to most of them. But the idea of them seeing how hurt he was right now, how vulnerable he was, especially with them knowing the full weight of his loss, scared the hell out of him. That was part of the reason why he searched for an "out", anything that would make this awful nightmare end quicker.

The "out" came once he caught the eye of Luke, Brendon's oldest son, who was three years older than Tyler. Tyler and him were always really close, especially with the both of them being the oldest brother to two sisters, and that's why it didn't surprise Tyler in the slightest that one glance spurred Luke into action.  

"With everything that happened we wanted to wait for you. Grandpa is still in the room if you want to see him. And we could take you to the rest if you…"

Luke stopped midway through the sentence, after seeing the face Tyler pulled. Tyler prepared himself mentally, prior to the start of the playoffs, to the fact that his grandfather was probably going to die. It still hurt him, but in the depth of his heart he was kind of ready for this. And under any other circumstances he even would have been happy that he helped his grandpa's spirit in the last moments and weeks of his life.

However, this was not like the situation he prepared himself for. He was not ready for the added four bodies. He was not ready for the fact that it was his parents, it was his sisters. He just wasn't ready for this. And in a blink of an eye he was expected to deal with this and do the responsible right thing. All of a sudden, he felt suffocated and needed to have a few moments of his own. He got those moments by announcing he was getting coffee for himself. He hightailed out of there before anyone got the chance to volunteer themselves to tag along.

On his journey to the cafeteria, that was also too familiar, he realized how he did truly need coffee. He played in a fucking game seven of the Stanley fucking Cup and won the game for them. And lifted that Cup above his head, and from there he went directly to the hospital to deal with this fiasco. So a coffee at that moment sounded like the best thing in the world. He got himself a cup, sat at an empty table and started drinking with a blank expression on his face.

With the little piece and quiet that the cafeteria provided him, he was able to calm down enough to decide that he had to see the whole family. He didn't really know what to do or say once he'd be in any of those rooms, yet he had to do it. Especially with his immediate family he felt the need to see them. Mostly because he knew himself, and he had to get the conformation that indeed they were no longer among the living. With a plan in mind, he was ready to go back there.

He finished his coffee, got four more cups to the rest of the family, and headed back.

+++

He didn't spend much time with his grandfather. Most of the things that he wanted to say he already told him face to face. Yet he still had a few things left on his mind, so he tried to focus on the present and talk, and not on what was lurking next. Eventually he got out of that room sad yet whole in some sense.

Once outside he didn’t let himself spare much time. Quickly he asked Luke to lead the way to where his family was located. The road itself wasn't familiar to him in any way, especially after Luke told him that they were headed towards the hospital's morgue. Tyler let himself pay half a brain to where they were going and focused more on his raging mind. As they continued walking through the hallways they started to encounter less and less people, until they were the only two people walking those half-lit pass ways. Tyler knew that they arrived at last once Luke stopped abruptly in front of a grey double-door entrance.      

"We were told that you could take as long as you'd like. But afterwards they want to speak to you about your burial options and other bureaucratic stuff".

Tyler wasn't really one hundred percent there in order to register what he was told. That's why he didn't panic as he should have about the prospect of conducting and arranging a funeral for five people. What he was unsettled about was the fact that he was about to enter a place full of dead people, a room full of dead people that also had four special dead bodies.

he stalled in front of the doors and tried to mentally prepare himself to face the situation. As an athlete you get used to doing that before all sorts of situation, and he had gotten fairly good at that as his career went along. However, he never had to prepare himself to this kind of situation and didn't even know how to start wrapping his head around it. He must have stood there too long because Luke stepped up once again and told him "Hey, I know it's tough but you're strong. You can do it and we are right here behind you".

It did the trick because Tyler finally was ready to step inside the room. But he knew that he wanted to be there alone, not with Luke waiting outside the door for him. He asked his cousin to leave, in the most cowardly way, while his back was turned away from him. As the door closed behind him, he heard the muffled "Of course". Then he was the only living person in the room.

The morgue probably had more than one room, especially after considering the size of the hospital. Yet, this room was big enough on its own. It was parted into two unofficial parts. The smaller part with a table filled with overflown files, medical tray that held various medical tools, and a metal bed under surgical lights. He didn't need a medical degree to understand what that part was for. And as unwelcomed images popped in his mind, he transferred his focus onto the other part of the room. That part took the majority of the confined space. It was a wall-wide metal box filled with metal square shaped doors which presumably held various other bodies. He didn't need to guess in which cubicle his family was held- in the middle were four beds filled with bodies.

As he got closer to the beds he focused more and more on the white sheet they were fully covered with. He gently checked the notes attached to their toes and knew their order. They were laid by the order of births- his dad on the far left and his sister Cassidy on the far right. After getting that out of the way he scanned the room one last time. In the scan he was able to spot a metal chair that was located in the corner. He fetched it quickly and sat two meters in front of the beds, right in front of the blank space between his mom and Candance.

Once he settled in, he knew that it was expected of him to start talking. It didn't matter what he would talk about because the important part was that he did talk and used this opportunity. Yet, he didn't have anything to say. He just sat there, like a loser, for what seemed like an eternity in complete silence. The only difference from when he sat down was that now he started feeling the cold, as the freezing air conditioner worked, on top of everything.

What broke his silence was the articulated sentence of "I just won the Stanley Cup".

Along with the statement came a border-line insane laugh. And the manic laugh sat loose something in him and he just followed it with another statement of "I just won the Stanley Cup, I lost my grandfather, and for the cherry on top, there was a car accident that killed all of you guys while I was too busy playing a fucking hockey game".

With the fantastic start of an amazing speech, he started to talk to each and every one of them. He still sat on the chair, and didn't really look at them aside quick glances here and there. However, after he finished with the individual eulogies and the collective final words, he rose from the chair and tentatively started to rise the sheets off their faces, so he could see them one last time. To some of them he wished he hadn't touched the sheet, because he was pretty sure that those images would haunt him for the rest of his life.

+++

He stepped out of the morgue physically and emotionally drenched. He was done with this day, this reality, and the only thing that he craved in that moment was a warm bed to sleep the day off. Yet, he knew that his commitments weren't done, he had to talk to whomever that would be about the burial options.

With an evident reluctance he made himself desert the comfortable empty hallway and go back to the bustling hallway with the rest of his family. It took him a bit of navigation to get to a familiar area of the hospital, after all he wasn't really there to take in the way to the morgue, but he managed. While he walked in the familiar hallways, he started to form a plan for the rest of the evening. There wasn't much to the plan, but he did want to start execute it. In the targeted floor he entered the men's restrooms first.  

Thankfully, the room was empty and he was able to occupy a stall before he could second guess himself. Inside the stall he leaned on a clean looking wall and got his phone out of his pocket. The phone was off even before the game started, yet he couldn't help but stare at it with a horrified look. He felt like he wouldn't be able to deal with all the "congratulations" texts and the unanswered phone calls he undoubtedly had. He still felt that way as he waited for it to turn back on. He tried to mentally block the noise as much possible in the first two minutes as his phone kind of exploded from catching up to everything, but afterwards he just entered his text messages' app.

The first thing that gathered his attention were all the marked chats with unread messages. However, he powered through and tried to find the specific contact he searched for. Luckily for him the chat was fairly at the top so he clicked on that. As he entered the chat their texts' history opened up and the last unread texts from after the game caught his eye.

-You played amazing!!! I can't believe you scored the game winning goal in OT!!!  My boyfriend is so talented.

-I wish I was by your side right now. I miss you so much.

-You want to talk later? I'm celebrating with some friends so we could talk late.

After reading the last text that Emily left, he felt more at ease with sending her a 'Can we talk in about an hour? I have some things left to do but I want to talk to you before I sleep'.

Just him sending Emily that text was enough to elevate his spirit to the needed level to master the courage to get back out there and have an adult conversation about the next move.

+++

The hour they got to his grandparents' house was such a late hour that it was debatable whether it was still considered night. On the drive from the hospital all the adrenaline and playoff's induced pain killers were fading from his body. So, by the time he entered the house his end-of-playoff's body was screaming at him to get into a bed and sleep for a thousand years. He said a quick 'good night' to his grandma and walked towards his preferred guest room at their house. His grandma was the best grandmother in the world and already made the bed beforehand, and saving him the hassle.  

The soft bed practically lulled him right into drowsiness in mere seconds. However, he didn't want to sleep right away. He knew that he needed to talk to Emily. The realistic side of his mind knew that she was probably deep in her sleep and he was better off to speak to her in the morning, after a good night sleep. Yet, the selfish part of his mind wanted to talk to her right now. The honest part of his mind knew that tonight he would talk to her without any filters that would undoubtedly rise in the morning.

It was two against one, so he decided to call her that night.

As he listened to the seemingly never-ending line, waiting for Emily to pick up, he thought once again about how unnatural this relationship with Emily was. How he shouldn't feel that way about someone he met little over two months ago. How there shouldn't be anything between them after that first meeting.

They met on the final days of the regular season. The team finished all of their games, and secured the elicit playoff spot. Coach gave them the day off so they'd rest before the upcoming two months. Tyler's day started like any other off day. He walked the dogs, made brunch and mainly just stayed in his house chilling.

Yet, it took a turn for the worse once he woken up by a phone call from his nap. He took the call with grogginess and only really woken up when he realized it was his mom. She wanted to update him on grandpa's condition. Apparently, he had a setback and is now at the hospital. The thing that stuck with the most was the fact that it didn't look so good.

Following the call he needed a few minutes to get past all the confusion and just process the news. When he finished processing, the anger came pretty quickly and settled deep in his bones. He was aware that his grandpa's health wasn't in the best shape, yet he hadn't expected to hear this news. What hadn't helped his anger was the fact that he was living in Dallas and the rest of his family was located in Canada. Every time he would get news, of any kind, about a variant family member or childhood friend he would get irritated to be reminded of this fact. But now, this close to the start of the playoffs he knew that there wouldn't be that much opportunities for him to visit his grandpa in what would probably be his last moments on earth.

Those polarizing emotions made him feel restless. Plus, his brain went into overdrive and started playing hypothetical scenarios filled with all the things that could go wrong in the near future. By the first scenario he already wanted to shut his brain off. However, he didn't know how and was stuck inside his brain. As time passed, he felt sicker and sicker. And hour or so later he decided to turn to the only method he knew was for sure affective- alcohol.

He wasn't proud of that plan, it reminded him too many of his Boston's days. Yet, he knew that he would do this. The following day they had only an afternoon practice, so there weren't any responsibilities stopping him.

This plan was out of Young Tyler Seguin's playbook that he didn't feel like changing the details much. Just like past nights where he wanted to drink to oblivion, he wanted to be near people and not by himself. The only thing that changed tonight was that he wasn't up for any of his regular places, where people knew him. He searched in google a bar in Dallas where he hadn't been in yet and started to get ready for the night.

He got to the bar just before happy hour, by using uber, so the bar was kind of empty. It worked well for him as he made his way to one of the many vacant stools near the bar. He made himself comfortable in his seat of the next few hours, and looked at all the drinks that the bar had to offer. Before long the bar tender, a somewhat attractive guy in his middle twenties, approached him and asked him what he wanted. He ordered his go-to drink when he is in the mood to get drunk, handed over his credit card with the instruction to keep his tab open, and got started with the program.  

As the bar got fuller and louder, he didn't pay attention to his surroundings. He just kept to himself and if someone occasionally wanted to gather his attention he quickly blew them off. The seat beside him remained for the most part empty, until at some point a group of women took that open bar space. He didn't really pay attention to them, only registering basic things about the group such as them ordering shots and pretty much shouting at his ear. He was glad that after a few rounds of that they kind of split and only two of them stayed by the bar.  

He knew how to drink and he drank often, so he was able to estimate when he was buzzed and when he was shit faced drunk. Yet, he surprised himself when he accidently spilled his drink over the girl who sat closest to him. The glass itself didn't break, but she was still pretty mad at him. He grabbed the nearest napkins and started to clean, drunkenly, the places that it spilled over. He probably did more mess than help, because pretty quick she told him to stop with his attempts and continued to clean her arm and table from any spilled alcohol. Even though he stopped with the cleaning, he still kept with the apologies like the nice Canadian boy he was taught to be.

Because he wasn't busy with cleaning the mass, he looked at the girl properly for the first time. When the girl finished with all of the cleaning, she finally looked at him as well. Even in this slowed brain he figured out that she obviously recognized who that drunk person who sat next to her all night was, but he tried to act like he didn’t realize that she knew who he was. They stared awkwardly like that for a few more seconds, until either one of them realized that the other won't say anything. The moment snapped when she backed away from the bar, probably to wash her hands.

In the few seconds that he was left alone he contemplated whether he should go away from the bar. He felt like he was drunk, but not drunk like he hoped. Yet, he wasn't in the mood to interact with anyone, and he had the feeling that that girl would talk to him during the night. At the end he decided to stay, and leave if she would start to harass him.

Tyler still think that this was the best drunken decision he ever made.

By the time she came back to her seat he had a new drink in his hand. After that he continued like nothing happened, and the girl did as well. However, now that he paid attention to her, he could feel how every few seconds she drew sneaking glances out of the corner of her eyes. It wouldn't have mattered to him much, he kind of used to people doing this around him, if it weren't distracting him.

It got to the point that once she at last spoke up to him he felt relieved…well until he realized what she told him.

"Why are you acting like the world ended and you're not going to the playoffs?"

Something in the way that she asked that question grabbed his attention. It was genuine, and not gossipy like a lot of other fans would be like. Maybe because it sounded like she really cared, he answered honestly.

"Maybe I'm acting like that because my mom called me and basically told me that my grandfather is going to die, and I'm stuck here playing in the playoffs".

Her smile died off her face and she started with the standard answering of "I'm so sorry". However, what really amazed him was that she stuck around for the rest of the night. He learned that her name was Emily and she talked to him through all the shit that's happening. They stayed there for a while, only ending the night when it was apparent that it was time for him to go home. Emily was still worried about him, so she took his phone and helped him order the uber drive back to his house. In that same opportunity she also saved her phone number and begged him to shoot her a text when he came home to let her know that he was okay.

It was supposed to be it, just a random night where he loaded a bunch of crap and dark secrets on a stranger. However, in the morning he felt horrible as his sober mind replayed the night and realized how much of an asshole he was. So, he invited her to a dinner at a restaurant as a consolation prize. That dinner accidently was their first date, even though he genuinely offered that dinner without any ulterior motives.

His stroll through memory lane was cut short as the phone call finally got through and he heard the sleep-filled voice of Emily saying "Tyler? Why are you calling this late?"

Before he could second guess himself, he just said "I needed to talk to you tonight, something happened tonight".

[idontgiveaflyinggrayson69]

Dive

Author: Nat / @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69​

Requested: Yes – Anonymous

Tagging: @zuucc​ because you’re writing a Mat thing so here is my Mat thing

Fandom: NHL  

Relationship: Pre-Established; Mat Barzal x Reader

Song: Dive by Ed Sheeran  

Summary: Mat isn’t sure where you and he stand, so he shuts you out. Everything comes to a head when you confront him at his apartment.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Alcohol

Relationships were not as black and white as Mat wanted them to be. They were a muddy grey and more times than not, he didn’t know where the two of you stood. Some days he was smiling brightly, pulling you to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you. Other days he was clenching his jaw and wondering how any of this was happening.

Were the two of you together? Were you guys just ‘for fun’? Were you nothing more than friends pushing the boundaries of what it meant to be ‘just friends’? Mat didn’t know. And that not knowing absolutely killed him because he knew exactly what you were to him and exactly what he wanted the two of you to be.

The Isles eliminated the Rangers in the first round of the playoffs to advance to round two. And on home ice too. The whole team was just filled to the brim with adrenaline and excitement. Of course they ended up out on the town, at a club with a never ending supply of drinks. The girlfriends and wives without kids who wanted to be there were there, and you were tucked under Mat’s arm.

You, like the WAGs, were at the game. You had seen and cheered from the box as the Isles played and won, and when you saw Mat after the game, he pulled you into a tight hug.

But, you didn’t spend the whole night in Mat’s arms, much to his dismay. The drinks just kept coming. Mat did shots with Ross and Tito and you slipped away. He didn’t think anything of it. You were probably getting another drink or hanging with the girls.

Except, when Mat turned around to see where you were after Tito stepped away to go talk to Ebs, he saw that you were not getting another drink and you were not with the girls. Your ass was pressed into a guy who had his hands on your hips, one of your hands was up on his neck as you ground to the beat of the music.

Mat’s jaw clenched as he felt his stomach twist. He wanted to close his eyes, to look away, to take another shot and drink away whatever he was seeing in front of him, but all he could do was stare. His grip tightened on his beer glass and when he finally was able to pull his eyes off you, he ordered a pair of shots and downed both of them, ignoring the burn and taste with ease. Nothing could taste worse than looking at you grinding on another man.

“Are you okay?” Ross asked and Mat nodded, plastering a very fake smile on his lips.

“I’m fantastic. I love kicking Ranger ass.”

Ross spared him another look, but he let it go. Mat was right. They had just beat the Rangers, they were celebrating, there was no need to unpack feelings in the middle of a club in New York, especially when they were as drunk as they all were. That was something that could be handled at a later time.

The problem is is that Mat isn’t one to approach his feelings head on. So, he went full radio silent. You took an Uber home with Tito and Mat, which dropped you off at home before taking Tito and Mat to their apartment building. And then you didn’t hear from Mat again.

You would text Mat every day and you would hang out almost every day. Not to mention with the Isles advancing and the first round still being played, they had a couple days off. And Mat just didn’t answer your texts. Or your Snaps.

In the beginning you brushed it off. He was probably busy, be that with practice or the team off the ice, or maybe he was talking to his mom, maybe his family was going to fly in. Whatever it was, that was fine. Mat was busy, you didn’t need him to reply instantly. You just expected some sort of reply.

And you never got one.

You didn’t get a reply when you texted him asking how he felt about playing the Penguins in the second round and if he thought it would be more difficult since the Penguins would be out to avenge their first round sweep at the hands of the Isles the year before.

And he never texted you to ask if you wanted to go to the game like he normally did. You were never one to expect to be at a game, so you wouldn’t go if he didn’t ask. So, you watched the first game of the second round on your couch even though the game was happening not even fifteen minutes away from you.

But you drew the line at Mat not replying to you congratulating him on the game one victory. So, the next day you decided you were going to go over to his place and see what the hell was up with him and what exactly you had done to warrant radio silence from him.

You were calm all the way over to his apartment complex. You entered the code to the building and made your way to the elevator to go to his floor. As soon as you got to his floor, however, all the calm left your body and you were left with nothing but annoyance and rage.

You knocked on his door and waited. When he didn’t answer, you knocked again. You weren’t entirely sure he was even home, and if he wasn’t, you were going to camp out by his door until he showed up. Not that you needed to because a moment later Mat was opening his door.

His hair was a mess and he wore sweats with an Isles hoodie. But his jaw was clenched and if you were reading his eyes right, he wasn’t happy to see you. That made your anger even worse and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you going to let me in?”

He shrugged and stepped aside to let you in, closing the door behind you before walking back to the living room and plopping down on the couch. You followed him with your eyes and saw that he had Netflix on.

“It’s nice to see you too.” You said sarcastically, moving out of the entry into the kitchen to rest against the counter, keeping the island in between you and him. When Mat didn’t reply, you kept talking. “Are you going to talk to me? Like at all? At least tell me why you’re not talking to me?”

Mat shook his head with a shrug and turned to look at you. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Too busy to not answer any of my texts for the last five days?” You asked, trying your best to keep some of your bitterness out of your voice. You were mad but you also didn’t want to start a fight if you didn’t have too.

“Sorry.” Mat said with a shrug, but nothing about his tone said that he was sorry.

“What’s up with you?” You asked, shaking your head and uncrossing your arms. He shrugged again but didn’t say anything, so you continued. “Mat, you’re my friend. I’m here for you, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You’re my friend. Friend.

Mat rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for telling me what we are. I’ll do my best to keep things that way.” His tone was harsh and he turned away from you.

You jerked your head back and took a moment to process what he said and how you were going to answer him. You and Mat… You were close. Really close. More often than not you spent your time tucked under his arm or on his lap if there wasn’t room. And there had been a couple times when the two of you had kissed when you were both drunk.

But you were friends. You didn’t know that Mat thought differently or that he wanted things to be different. Honestly, it felt like the floor beneath you went from solid to shaky. You would be crazy to not think about Mat like that, but you had no idea that maybe, just maybe, Mat felt the same. Your heart skipped a beat at that possibility.

“What’s,” you started but your voice was a lot softer than you meant it to be so you cleared your throat before continuing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mat sighed and looked back at you. “It means I’m tired of the way things are with us. One night you’re in my arms and the next you’re grinding on the first guy you see. I just, I can’t keep doing this. So you have to tell me what you want from me because if we’re going to keep doing this, whatever this is, I can’t.” Mat paused before he added, his voice much softer. “I just can’t.”

If you thought your floor was shaky before, everything just got ripped out from beneath you. “I didn’t know you felt that way.” You whispered, stepping forwards, wanting to go to him.

“Don’t.” He warned, his voice more defeated than anything else.

“I honestly had no idea you felt that way.” You said again, stopping in your tracks at the edge of the kitchen.

He shook his head, turning away from you before he spoke with a crushed voice. “I don’t know how you couldn’t not know. It’s so fucking obvious. But I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Matty…” You tried, but he cut you off.

“Don’t call me ‘Matty,’ and don’t take that pitiful tone with me. I get it loud and clear. You don’t feel the same. Note taken. You can leave now.”

“Who said I don’t feel the same?” You asked, sure in your voice and words for the first time since the carpet was ripped from under you.

It was Mat’s turn to be surprised and he looked at you, his face soft with surprise and hope. “Don’t give me hope if you don’t mean it.”

You took a brave step forwards and he didn’t stop you so you closed the distance between two of you until he was just an arm’s reach away from you. “Mat you are the most amazing guy I have ever met. You make me smile and laugh. Your heart is bigger than Manhattan. And you’re literally the hottest guy in the league. Everyone is crazy about you, myself included.”

Mat was quiet for a moment before he reached out to brush your hand with his. “You think I’m hot?”

Your lips twitched up into a smile and you sat down next to him on the couch. “I think you’re smoking hot. I mean your thighs…” You let your eyes run down his body to his thighs before returning them to his face where he was wearing a light blush.

“I think you’re really beautiful.” He said softly, taking your hand into his properly. “And I would really like to call you beautiful every day.”

“I would really like that, and I would really like to run my fingers through your hair and be in your arms. And kiss you properly.” You answered.

“I want all of that.” He whispered and shifted the way he was sitting so that he was able to face you properly and brush your hair back before cupping your jaw. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t answer him, instead you leaned forwards to kiss him. His lips were soft, just like the kiss, and you moved your hands up to cup his cheeks. You had kissed him a couple times before, but every time you had both of you were completely sloshed. Those kisses were messy, some too quick and some too long. But the kiss now was perfect. You pulled back after a moment and Mat chased your lips, kissing you deeper than before, moving his hand to your hair.

When Mat eventually pulled back, he kept his eyes closed for a moment before he opened them. You had seen Mat through a lot. He liked to keep up a confident exterior, but looking into his eyes at that moment you saw nothing but pure vulnerable Mat.

“Be mine?” You whispered, moving one of your hands to cover his on your cheek.

Mat’s lips twitched up into a smile. “I would love to.”

[wheresmynaya]

Lost in the Lights Ch.6|Brittana

A/N - Happy Friday! I've actually had this one finished for a few days now since I've been writing lots to cope with the Steelers loss earlier this week LOL. Like the WMHS Titans, I think they needed the L to get their heads back in the game so hopefully we'll see a win this week. Enjoy!

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x)

The late night visits to Elliott's quickly becomes Brittany's favorite part of the week. Neither of them ever order any coffee since it's always so late by the time they get there, but hot chocolates do just fine.

After about two weeks, they've yet to run out of new things to talk about. They just sip on their drinks by the fire and chat about whatever comes to mind first. It's funny how easy they get along; sometimes it feels like they've been friends forever and that's probably the best part of all.

"So," Santana hums after licking whipped cream from her top lip, "How'd you start playing football?"

Brittany chuckles at the random question; just before they had been talking about what they'd take with them if they were stranded on a deserted island. Santana said she'd bring a survival expert because no way I'm doing all the work myself while Brittany thought a phone would be a good idea – she didn't think about there not being any service out there though.

"How anybody starts playing, I guess?" Brittany shrugs as she cups her mug, "I just tried out."

Santana gives her a look before she smirks, "No I mean, what made you like it enough that you wanted to play on a team?"

"Oh!" Brittany has to stop and think, "I've always liked sports, I think. I like being active. When I was younger my parents couldn't get me to sit still. Sports were a way I could use up all of that energy. I was such a handful, Pete can be like that too."

"Really?" Santana looks surprised, "He's always so chill the times I've seen him."

Brittany snickers, "That's probably because he has a teeny tiny crush on you and you make him all shy."

"He does not," Santana laughs, "So did your parents make you try out for everything or did you have a choice?"

"A little of both, I think?" Brittany says, "My parents always encouraged me to try new things. They never really made me do anything. If I ended up not liking a certain sport, they let me quit. I think football is the most challenging for me though. That's probably why I like it so much."

Santana nods before going to take another sip, "That's really cool that your parents are so supportive of you."

"Yeah. What about you?" Brittany wonders, "How'd you get into cheering?"

Santana averts her gaze to her drink, "That's not really an interesting story. I did it solely for the popularity boost. I learned early on that getting into the right clique is the only way to make it through high school so Quinn and I joined as soon as we could. Besides, I doubt my dad would never let me get into contact sports – he's not a fan of the injury risks."

"I get that," Brittany nods, "Do you like it at least? Cheering?"

"I do now," Santana shrugs, "At the start, not so much. The Captain before us was such a bitch, she made our lives a living hell. Coach Sylvester is kind of a tyrant too but I adapted to her. The uniform makes up for all the trouble though, it's like wearing armor. No one can usually touch you and so many people are suckers for the skirt."

Brittany shakes her head at the way Santana starts to smirk, "I bet you've broken many hearts with that one."

Santana laughs, "Not on purpose."

Brittany giggles along with her and they spend the rest of their time talking about whatever comes next until their cups are empty.

Brittany loves this part; the whole getting to know someone better. She was worried she'd never get the chance with Santana, but she's seen a shift in her demeanor since Homecoming. The Co-Captain is still guarded but Brittany can tell that she's trying to be better and that's all that really matters to her.

\\

The next day, Brittany's at school going through her regular routine of trying to avoid the stares.

Since being crowned Homecoming King, she has a lot more people coming up to talk to her – either about the game on Friday (which the Titans won) or how awesome they think she is. It's super weird having the whole school treat you like some sort of celebrity, but she rather have that then the constant dirty looks the guys on the Hockey team still give her and all the other Titans.

When she gets to her final class of the day she finds Santana is just getting settled in her seat. Ms. Holliday lingers by the door and hands Brittany her usual warm-up activity as she greets her.

"Thanks Ms. Holliday," Brittany says in passing before she comes to her shared desk and shrugs off her bookbag, "Hey Santana."

"Hi," Santana greets with a smile before nodding to her worksheet, "Wanna do this together?"

"Yeah, sure!" Brittany grins.

"While you guys work on that," Ms. Holliday announces as she begins her rounds around the classroom, "I'm going to start handing back your papers that took me forever to grade. That's the last time I assign anything longer than a two page limit."

Brittany groans; she's been dreading this day for awhile.

English has never been her best subject and she particularly struggles with the writing assignments which happens to be her first big assessment of the semester. She remembers Santana offering to help, but Brittany never took her up on it. They weren't really friends at the time and she's a little closed off when it comes to studying with others.

When Ms. Holliday comes around to slide a paper face down on Brittany's desk, it takes her a moment before she's hesitantly peeling back the corner to reveal the grade.

"Crap," Brittany mutters when she sees the bright red C- along with an array of red markings littering the page.

"Not what you were expecting?" Ms. Holliday asks softly.

"Not quite," Brittany frowns as she starts to read her teacher's comments. None of the critiques surprise her, but the grade still doesn't sit well with her.

"Have you considered looking for a study buddy?" Ms. Holliday suggests lightly as she hands Santana her paper next.

Brittany glances to her side just in time to see the bright red A+ on Santana's paper. She tries to be inconspicuous but Santana catches her staring as Ms. Holliday walks away.

"I'm kind of a whizz at this stuff," Santana jokes before offering, "I could tutor you if you want?"

Brittany quickly shakes her head, "Oh no, I couldn't ask you to do all that. I'm not sure when I'd even have the time between practice and weight training."

"You'd probably want to make time," Santana replies as she tucks away her paper without a second look, "I've heard Coach Beiste is pretty hard on the players when it comes to maintaining their GPAs. Total opposite of Coach Sylvester who doesn't give a shit as long as you're nailing the routines. There was once a girl on the squad that had a 0.0. I didn't know GPAs went that low."

"Great," Brittany slumps back, "I can usually skate by, but the grading scale here is so different from my old school. This would be a solid B- over there."

"Like I said, I can help you?" Santana offers again but this time she pairs it with a smile.

Brittany bites her lip at the sight of it; those smiles are starting to get a little distracting.

"I don't know," She replies shyly, "It kind of takes me a second to catch onto things, my past tutors have gotten a little impatient with me. I wouldn't want to waste your time."

"I promise it won't be a waste of my time," Santana tells her earnestly, "I've tutored a couple of Titans before and I can tell just by how you've formatted your paper that you're a lot smarter than you think."

Brittany bites her lip at that and starts to consider her offer, "I'm not sure when we'd be able to meet. I get out of practice around 6 at the earliest."

"That's loads of time. I'm pretty flexible," She says then quickly clarifies, "With scheduling, I mean. Cheerios practice usually finishes up before yours and we have the same days off. We can even get together at Elliott's? Although I think the Lima Bean is closer, but whatever's easiest for you."

Brittany glances at Santana again and she's kind of surprised how willing she is to help with her studies. Even her friends back home were always a little hesitant when it came to studying with her, so to see Santana being so eager eases most of Brittany's reservations.

"Okay," Brittany finally relents, "Only if you want to. I don't want to take up too much of your time though."

Santana just sighs through her smile, "You're too considerate for your own good sometimes, Pierce."

Brittany blushes at that, "I just don't have a very good track record when it comes to this stuff."

"Well, I don't mind," Santana assures her, "Seriously. I wouldn't offer if I did so don't worry about it."

"Okay," Brittany nods bashfully, "Thanks."

Santana just shrugs dismissively before turning back to her worksheet.

\\

In addition to how everything's going with Santana, things seem to have shifted for the better when it comes to the Titans too. For the most part, Brittany's gained the team's respect and their dynamic is the strongest its ever been. There's an even bigger push for harder training now that they're getting closer to the playoffs, but despite most of the team being on the same page there are still two that love to stand out.

Karofsky and Azimio.

It's towards the end of practice and they're running a couple different plays and the infamous duo have been insufferable the entire time. Coach Beiste has yet to get involved, but that's on Brittany. She wants to be able to control her team, she doesn't want to have to go running to the Coach just because of a couple guys that won't get with it.

But those two never just do as they're told, there's always some backhanded comment and Brittany's getting sick of it. The only reason she hasn't snapped is because she doesn't want to let her emotions get the best of her. They've used that against her before and she knows if she were to have an outburst again they'd just do the same thing. That's the most frustrating part about working with ignorant assholes, arguing with them doesn't do a damn thing – until today.

Brittany goes to gather her offense for a quick huddle so that she can run through the next play and Azimio is already on her with the belittling nicknames.

"Alright Princess," He groans, "What are you having us do this time?"

"Not another play-action," Karofsky jokes.

Brittany's jaw tenses and she's about to go off on the both of them when Finn – of all people – beats her to it.

"God, when are you two going to give it up already?" He snaps, "The pushback is so annoying!"

"Woah!" Karofsky raises his hands dramatically, "Has Hudson been body snatched?"

"No," Finn replies, "I've just realized that fighting all of this progress gets you nowhere! Seriously, have you guys not noticed? We're actually winning this season."

Azimio shakes his head and slaps at Karofsky's shoulder like he can't believe his ears.

"Look around you man," Finn tells him, "No one's laughing with you anymore."

Their faces fall into grimaces while Finn looks to Brittany.

"I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but Britt's taught me what a real leader looks like and I think that's cool. Not gonna lie, I was mad that she replaced me but now that I've gotten to know her, I'm happy she's here. Actually, I'm glad she replaced me so we can finally have a damn chance!" Finn explains with a dopy grin before he hardens his gaze and looks back Azimio and Karofsky, "Maybe it's time you both learn something too?"

"Yeah," Puck chimes in as he flinches at them with his fists balled, "Like keeping your damn traps shut. You know, just for this bullshit – I don't want to see your faces at my place next week for Halloween."

"Dude! What?" Azimio scoffs.

Karofsky looks like he's about to cry. It nearly makes Brittany laugh; who knew getting an invite revoked could be so hurtful to those guys. Meanwhile, Brittany's still on the fence about going.

Puck just crosses his arms, "I'm with Finn here. You two need to cut the shit already."

"You say you want to win?" Finn asks them, "Well Britt's our best shot at that so just fall in line already."

"Or quit the team so the rest of us can focus," Sam suggests.

Mike nods along with him.

Azimio and Karofsky just stew in their annoyance, but they don't fight the other players. Brittany hopes that this is the last she'll hear from them, but she has a feeling they still have a little left in them.

But Finn smiles proudly and looks back to Brittany as he holds out his fist to her, "Take us to 8-1, Cap."

Brittany can't help but smile as she bumps her fist with his.

This is what a real team looks like, this is what she's been trying to show them all this time. You have each other's back and you respect one another, that's what you're meant to do when you're apart of a team and Brittany feel so proud to see this kind of progress.

"Alright, last play of the day. Up the Guts and Pop Right. Titans on three. One…two…three," She says followed by a loud clap, "Titans!"

Everyone falls into position and there's not a single word uttered from Azimio and Karofsky for the first time all afternoon.

\\

When Brittany gets to her locker later the next day, she frowns when she doesn't see Santana there yet. She's wondering if maybe she missed her again or maybe she's too early when she spots Kurt and Mercedes walking towards her.

"Hey guys!" Brittany greets before putting in her locker combo.

"Your majesty," Kurt bows playfully.

Brittany chuckles, "You've got to stop doing that before it catches on."

"How you been?" Mercedes asks as she leans against Santana's locker.

Brittany's glad that she gets hers open in time because the door just so happens to block them from seeing her smile.

She really can't help it, because when she thinks of how she's been she thinks of the weekend. She's reminded of all the times she's made Santana laugh with something silly she said. She's reminded of how different Santana looks dressed in something other than her Cheerios uniform. She's reminded of how Santana's nose crinkles when she smiles really big and how it makes Brittany's heart flip at the sight of it.

"Good," Brittany answers casually.

"What have you been up to?" Mercedes wonders, "What was your weekend like?"

"Yeah," Kurt adds, "I didn't even see you leave after the game on Friday."

Brittany continues to play it coy as she pulls her books out, "I was hanging out with Santana."

"Again?" Mercedes asks.

Brittany let's out a quiet sigh. She let it slip once before that she and Santana hung out, but it seems like her friends haven't forgotten about it like she'd hope they would. She thinks it's a great thing that she's getting to know Santana better, but others – like Kurt and Mercedes – seem to disagree and she's starting to understand why Santana's always so guarded.

"Yeah," Brittany shrugs casually, "Santana's tutoring me for English."

"On a Friday night?" Mercedes questions.

Brittany doesn't get what the big deal is and nods.

"You've gotten quite close since Homecoming," Kurt comments and Brittany already hates where this is going.

"We're friends."

Mercedes sputters out a laugh, "That girl doesn't have friends. She has Quinn and people she wants to crush."

"Or crush on…" Kurt smirks at Brittany.

"What?" Mercedes looks confused.

The blonde's brows furrow too, "Yeah. What?"

"Maybe she likes you?" Kurt suggests, "That has to be it; that's the only logical explanation. Santana Lopez doesn't usually get close to anyone unless there's something in it for her."

"Or she's trying to throw sticks at your head," Mercedes adds, "Her aim is awful."

Kurt nods, "You're climbing ranks pretty fast, Britt, she probably just needs the popularity boost."

"Preach," Mercedes says with the wave of her hand.

Brittany frowns at the pair. She can't believe she's hearing them talk about Santana like this. It's actually making her a little annoyed, but she keeps her cool for now as she explains, "I don't think it's like that. Santana's nice. Maybe her stick throwing days are behind her?"

"Nice?" Mercedes' brows rise, "She doesn't know how to do that."

"Sure she does," Brittany responds; she can feel herself getting defensive but she keeps her cool.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Kurt says warily, "Just be careful around her. Other than Quinn and her reputation, there's not much else Santana cares about."

"You guys are making a lot of assumptions about someone you don't even talk to," Brittany points out as she stuffs the last book she needs into her bookbag. She tries to keep her voice even although she feels the back of her neck heat up, "Or do you talk?"

"Oh, I've tried talking to her," Kurt says.

"When?" Mercedes questions disbelievingly.

"Last year," Kurt says, "Remember? I extended an olive branch and she hit me with it."

"Okay, what's with all the sticks and branches?" Brittany sighs because she's struggling to keep up.

"I'm meaning figuratively," Kurt clarifies, "I've tried to make nice with her and it did not go well. She went off on me in front of everyone."

"I remember that. People don't call her Satan for nothing," Mercedes reasons, "And I thought Bree was bad."

"Oh no, she was way worse than Santana," Kurt says, "For obvious reasons, of course."

Brittany starts to wonder what he means and who this Bree person is.

"True," Mercedes replies with the shake of her head, "They were both nightmares. I'm glad we only have to deal with one of them now even if it has to be Satan."

And that's what puts Brittany over the edge.

She slams her locker shut, "Alright, that's enough. I don't think it's cool how you're talking about my friend like that."

Kurt's taken aback, "Wait, we're sorry. We got carried away. Santana's just…she's got a history of not being a nice person. We just don't want you getting hurt."

Brittany furrows her brows as she pulls on her bookbag, "Does it look like I can't take care of myself?"

Kurt and Mercedes look to each other guiltily.

"Look, I appreciate you both looking out for me but Santana is my friend," Brittany tells them firmly, "And I'm not going to listen to either of you talk about her when you don't even know her. God, you have no idea what goes on behind the scenes for her. You have no idea what she struggles with."

"Britt," Kurt tries, "We didn't mean to upset you, but like – what could she possibly have to struggle with other than the obvious? She's at the top of the food chain. She's popular, she's loaded, she's Santana Lopez."

"Everyone has something. Maybe you should think about that the next time either of you judge someone without knowing them," Brittany says. She hasn't been angry like this in awhile and she's sure it shows, "You're in the Glee Club, you know what it's like to be pushed down for being yourselves but at least you have a group of people who support you. She doesn't, so where's your damn compassion?"

She doesn't let them get in another word before she storms off to her last class of the day.

\\

Santana's already seated in her usual seat when Brittany arrives to Ms. Holliday's classroom. She's still fuming, but she tries her best to mask it as she approaches their shared desk.

Clearly she doesn't do a very good job of it.

"You alright?" Santana asks as Brittany gets settled.

"Yeah?" Brittany tries to play it cool, "Why?"

She's organizing her binder and pulling out her pen just as Ms. Holliday starts to go through the warm up activity, but she can feel that Santana is still staring.

"You're all…pink in the face," Santana notes with a brow raised.

"Oh," Brittany rubs the back of her hand against her cheek like it's going to make it go away, "I forgot something in my locker and had to run back before the bell rang."

It's a lame excuse but she panicked.

She couldn't tell Santana that the real reason is because her so-called friends had just been talking down on her and it pissed Brittany off. She guesses she could, but she doesn't want Santana to retaliate and further prove that Kurt and Mercedes were right about her.

It's just hard for Brittany to believe that Santana could be anything like the stories they've told. Other than how she threatened JBI weeks ago, Brittany hasn't really witnessed that part of her before. Then again, she was pretty rude to Brittany when she first started at McKinley so that makes her wonder maybe there might be some truth behind her friends' warnings?

"Question," Brittany whispers to Santana.

"Yeah?"

Brittany bites her lip, "You've…never thrown sticks at my head, right?"

Santana chokes out a laugh and looks to Brittany only to find her looking back with this serious expression on her face. Santana softens, "No. I've never thrown sticks at your head."

"Have you thrown sticks at anyone's head before?" Brittany asks.

Santana tilts her head to the side, "I don't think so. Maybe when I was a little kid?"

"Okay," Brittany nods before going back to her work, "Just checking."

Santana only gives her a curious look before going back to do her activity too.

While Brittany answers the questions, she can't help but think back to her conversation with Kurt and Mercedes. The more time she spends getting to know Santana, the less she believes that this so-called Satan version exists.

If it did, then Brittany must be immune to it. Still though, she wonders about all the missing pieces to Santana that she has yet to learn like what went down last year and who this Bree girl is and why is everyone so bitchy to each other?

\\

It's not until the next day that Brittany's curiosity finally gets the best of her.

She and Santana are studying together at the Lima Bean one afternoon and she's trying her hardest to focus on the examples Santana's going over, but there's too many nagging questions in her head and none of them are about Ms. Holliday's class.

"I have a question," Brittany finally says.

Santana pauses and looks up at Brittany, "Yeah?"

Brittany shifts a little in her seat, "It's not about this though."

Santana puts down her pen, "Okay?"

"Who's Bree?"

"Bree?" Santana blinks at her like she's not sure if she heard correctly.

Brittany nods, "Kurt and Mercedes mentioned something about her and you – "

"What'd they say?" She interrupts. There's a noticeable change right away as Santana sits straighter, her chin just slightly raised as if to say hit me with your best shot.

"Nothing really," Brittany assures her, "They just brought her up and how she wasn't really a nice person. I wanted to hear from you though because they kind of compared you...to her."

Santana instantly scoffs as she averts her gaze, "I'm nothing like her, that bitch was pure evil."

Brittany's brows rise at Santana's tone, but Santana softens just a little at the sight.

"Sorry. I guess I should be thankful that you didn't hear about it sooner," Santana sighs, "God knows people at this school love to start drama for no reason."

Brittany bites her lip at the sound of Santana being so bitter again. It reminds her of their conversation at the Homecoming Dance and how she could see Santana struggling with so much inside of her. She's never met someone who had such a hard time being themselves.

"Is this about last year?" Brittany wonders.

Santana lets out a deep sigh again. She's yet to look at Brittany as she answers, "Yeah."

"Oh," Brittany breathes out, "Well, I don't want you to feel pressured to talk about it if you're not ready. I was just wondering, you don't have to explain or whatever. We can go back to studying."

Santana chances a glance at Brittany rambling. Her voice is soft and small, "No, I want to tell you."

Blue eyes flicker between dark brown, "Are you sure?"

Santana nods, "I rather you hear it from me then someone else. At least you'll get the truth."

"Okay."

It takes Santana a moment before she begins to tell her story, but Brittany just sits there patiently waiting. There's another exhale and a glance at Brittany before Santana starts.

"So when Quinn and I joined the Cheerios in our Freshman year, Bree was the Captain," Santana explains, "That was back when there was only one. Anyway, she was a year older and didn't really like us from the very start. Not many girls on the squad were fond of her either, because she was a major bitch. A bigger one than me if you can imagine that."

Santana laughs at her own expense but Brittany only frowns.

"I can imagine that because I don't think you're a bitch," Brittany tells her earnestly.

Santana only smirks, "Well you're the only one. Anyway, we developed this rivalry pretty early on because I guess she felt threatened by Quinn and I? It only got worse as the year progressed. By Sophomore year, Quinn and I managed to convince Coach Sylvester that two Captains were better than one and Bree was demoted to the bottom of the pyramid."

"Woah," Brittany gasped.

"Yeah," Santana looks proud of herself, "Bree didn't like that very much, of course."

"I bet," Brittany chuckled.

"That was also around the time that I started to realize that I was," Santana pauses and at first she looks unsure but then she looks to Brittany, "I was realizing that I was gay."

Brittany tries to keep her proud smile small and nods for her to keep going.

"There was this girl," Santana admits, "She was a Junior – same as Bree – at Carmel High and a cheerleader too so we knew a little of each other since we often competed against them. She was like the only girl in this town that was openly gay – kind of like you, she was sure of who she was, confident. I thought she was so cool for that."

Brittany begins to smirk, "Does that mean you think I'm cool too?"

Santana begins to blush, "No."

"Convincing," Brittany chuckles, "Go on."

"Well, she became the first girl I knowingly had a crush on," Santana explains then quickly follows up with, "I don't know if it was an actual crush or if I was just amazed by how she carried herself. Like was it envy or did I really like her, you know?"

"I definitely know," Brittany says, "Do you want to be her or be on her, right?"

Santana looks a little surprised by Brittany's example, "Yeah, that. Anyway, she actually use to work at Elliott's as a barista. That's why I use to go there all the time. I was way too afraid to actually talk to her so I spent so much money on ordering drinks instead."

"Really?" Brittany begins to smirk, "That's kind of cute, Santana. It's kind of hard to imagine you being that shy."

"Shut up," Santana grumbles through an embarrassed smile, "As if you've never had a crush on someone you thought was out of your league."

Brittany chuckles, "You'd be surprised."

"I really would be," Santana replies, "I was terrified of anyone at school finding out so I tried my hardest to hide it. I dated guy after guy just trying to force the feeling away. I just wanted to be like everyone else – normal."

"It is normal," Brittany assures her.

"I didn't think so back then," Santana admits sadly, "I'm still trying to work on that now. It's hard when you're brought up a certain way with all this pressure to be the perfect whatever – student, daughter, girlfriend, cheerleader. Hiding who I was got tiring but at Elliott's – I felt safe, like I could be myself. No one from McKinley usually came out that way so there wasn't much risk of running into anyone I knew. I started to gain a little confidence and ended up going there every day for like a year just so I could talking to this girl for literally 5 minutes, it was so bad."

Brittany teases playfully, "Who knew you were such a romantic."

Santana smirks, "I guess I knew what I was doing because all that hard work finally turned into something. One day during my Junior year, she asked me if I wanted to hang out with her on her break. It was crazy; I didn't even think, I just said yes and we went out back and sat on the stoop just talking. She actually gave me my first cigarette that day. I felt so cool."

Brittany shakes her head at how Santana puffs out her chest a little, "Of course you did."

"What I didn't know was that Bree had been keeping tabs on me for the longest time," Santana continues, "At first she was thinking that I was making nice with someone on the Carmel squad and you know how deep this rivalry goes. No one is to fraternize with the enemy, so this was the perfect opportunity for Bree to get enough dirt on me so that she could take my spot as Co-Captain before she graduated."

Brittany starts to frown as she realizes where this might be going.

"She ended up getting way more than she asked for that day," Santana says ominously, "While she was staging some sort of stake out, Bree witnessed the moment I found out that this girl liked me too. We were sitting out on the back porch when she leaned over and kissed me. It was just on the cheek but still – I'd never been kissed by someone that I could actually have a chance with. It was the greatest moment of all time and Bree stole it from me by catching the whole thing on camera."

"Shit," Brittany gasped, "What?"

"The next day I came to school and the halls had been covered in pictures of the kiss," Santana whispers, "I was mortified. Quinn tried taking down as many as she could, but there were too many. People had already seen and Bree was just churning out rumor after rumor. Some were a little true and some weren't, but it didn't matter by then. I was in no position to even try and defend myself, especially when JBI started airing the video clip. The whole school had been exposed before I could do anything about it. I felt so…small I guess? I ran out of there crying."

"Oh my God, Santana," Brittany's heart feels so heavy, "That's horrible, I'm so sorry."

Santana shrugs, "Bree and JBI got suspended for a bit but the damage was done. They loved finally getting a chance to take their shots at one of McKinley's baddest. People either wanted to be me or feared me before that happened, but after? It was hard to bounce back. It's a good thing I have tough skin. Someone always has something to say, even now."

"It shouldn't have to be like that," Brittany shakes her head, "I don't get this school. I don't get how people can be so mean to each other. This is you, this is who you are and you're awesome. Why should you have to hide any of that?"

"Look, I'm not innocent either," Santana replies, "I've been a bitch to so many people. I guess it was like karma or something. Maybe I deserved it for the things I've said to people?"

Brittany reaches out to cover Santana's hand with her own. She moves without thinking, but she felt like it needed to be done. She needed some way to ground Santana enough so that she'd hear her and this was the best she could come up with.

"No one deserves to be outed," Brittany tells her, "No one."

Santana nods as she glances down at the hand on hers, "There's more."

Brittany's brows furrow as she pulls away.

"Not only did that video circulate in school, it went viral – even my parents saw," Santana continues, "I've never seen my dad so angry. Not only did I fuck up our family's reputation, I jeopardized my chance at getting into an Ivy League school. He's pretty well known and to have his only daughter being exposed in such a light…it was scandalous."

Brittany frowns at the sarcasm, "What about your mom?"

"It took her a second to understand but she's getting there. She's a little more supportive," Santana shrugs, "The biggest issue is with my dad. Reputation has always been of high importance on his side of the family so…it's been hard."

"I can only imagine," Brittany sighs.

"I missed so much school last year too because I was just so distracted with everything going on. I really screwed myself so he's been on my case this year to make sure I'm still in a position to get into a good school," Santana says.

"God Santana," Brittany replies, "I'm so sorry. I know I keep saying that but just…I can't think of anything else to say. I'm so speechless."

Santana nods and for a moment there's this faraway look on her face, "It's whatever now. I just… I wasn't ready, you know? I didn't even get a chance to tell my parents properly before they found out. I always was so careful. Dated the hottest guys, stayed on top of my grades, I was Co-Captain; I had this whole school wrapped around my finger just so no one would suspect a thing. I thought I could keep it up until graduation. I just thought I had more time to get everything figured out, you know?"

Brittany stays quiet this time, just soaking in everything Santana's said. It's all so heartbreaking. She can't imagine going through what Santana did. It must've felt like the whole world had turned its back on her and Brittany feels for her.

"So now you know about that," Santana says awkwardly as if she's trying to fill the silence, "This is why I'm a pain in the ass when it comes to my sexuality. Kurt and Mercedes have probably told you how cruel I've been to them and they're right about me there."

Brittany is quick to argue, "You were hurt, it takes time to heal especially from something like this."

"I was a bully and there's no excuse for it," Santana tells her, "I did what I did and I can't really take that back. I'm trying to be better now, but it's still hard for me to find the balance of what's me and what isn't. The lines have been blurred for so long."

"Well, I wasn't around to witness whatever happened between you and them or whoever you may have treated badly," Brittany says, "But this Santana I've come to know…she isn't a bully, she's my friend. She's considerate and patient. She volunteers her time to help me study and most importantly…she's nice."

"Thanks," Santana says shyly, "It's kind of cool having someone in my corner for once – other than Quinn, obviously. You're different. You make everything sound so simple, you know? You're just really wise, I guess."

Brittany chuckles at that, "I don't know about wise. I grew up in a very different place than you and I guess it shows."

"It really does," Santana agrees, "I hope I can get to where you are one day."

"You will," Brittany assures her.

"Thanks."

After a pause Brittany begins to wonder, "So whatever happened to the girl? The barista?"

"Oh," Santana frowns, "Nothing really, I just didn't know how to move forward after everything I put her through, you know? I felt bad about it all. She was really understanding I guess. Once she graduated a few months later, I never heard from her again."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

Santana shrugs, "I wasn't like in love with her or anything. Honestly, I didn't expect her to stick around anyway. It was just too complicated. Sometimes it still feels that way, like I'm spinning my wheels and getting nowhere."

"Well, for what it's worth I think you're making great progress," Brittany says kindly.

"You think so?"

"Totally!" Brittany grins, "I mean, we went to Homecoming together. As friends, but did you ever imagine that would be something you'd do in high school? Have a cute girl like me for a date?"

Santana rolls her eyes at the teasing tone, "No one said you were cute."

"It doesn't have to be said," Brittany jokes.

Santana fights the blush, "To answer your question…No, I guess that's not something I imagined doing in high school."

"Consider it forward progress then," Brittany winks.

"Is that one of your football terms?"

"Yeah," Brittany giggles.

Santana shakes her head, "You're a dork."

"Rude," Brittany chuckles, "So what was this mysterious crush's name or is that top secret?"

"No it isn't top secret," Santana laughs. She softens a little like it's the first time she's said it out loud in awhile. In reality, it is. "Her name was Dani."

Brittany nods solemnly before reaching for her drink. It's cold by now but Brittany doesn't pay too much attention to it, she's still trying to process everything Santana's told her. She isn't surprised by how the kids at McKinley reacted to Santana's sexuality, but damn…she can't believe Santana went through something like that and she's still trying secure her spot at the top of the food chain.

That shows resilience and Brittany wonders if Santana knows how amazing she is for that. She notices how hard she struggles internally just from the couple of times they've talked about something other than school. Santana comments a lot on Brittany's traits and wanting to be like her one day, but Brittany finds herself wanting to embody just an ounce of what Santana has.

Other than her dad, Brittany doesn't think she's met anyone stronger than Santana and she really admires that about her.

"Sorry for bringing the mood down," Santana comments to fill the void. She has her pen in her hand again as she turns back to their work, "We can get back to this."

Brittany shakes away her thoughts, "No, don't be sorry. I was the one who asked, you didn't bring it down."

Santana smirks, "That's not what your face says."

Brittany relaxes, "I was just thinking – "

"About ending this session early?" Santana jokes.

"No," Brittany rolls her eyes playfully, "I was just thinking about how brave you are."

Santana looks surprised, almost disbelieving.

"All that stuff that happened to you; you could've switched schools, you could've changed your name and got a face lift, "Brittany rambles, "You could've dropped off the face of the Earth but you didn't. You still walk around the school like you own it even if you're afraid. I think that makes you brave."

"Or stubborn," Santana smirks, "Apparently I get that from my dad's side."

"Damnit Santana," Brittany grumbles though she smiles, "I'm trying to compliment you. Can you just take it? You don't always have to fight me. You do have good qualities about you even if everyone's trying to tell you otherwise."

Santana rests back in her chair and her brow is quirked but it's not in that challenging way Brittany's used to. It's more so impressed or maybe surprised? Either way, the smirk remains and Brittany awaits whatever snarky thing she's bound to say in reply.

"You've had chocolate powder on your nose this entire time," Santana notes instead, "Right on the tip. It's been very distracting."

Brittany's jaw drops and she quickly goes to wipe it off with the back of her hand. Sure enough, there's chocolate powder there and her cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment while Santana laughs her ass off.

"You're so hilarious, Santana," Brittany says sarcastically before she's reaching for Santana's discarded marshmallows and winds up to hurl one at her.

"Don't you dare, Pierce!" Santana laughs as she goes to hide behind her book.

"It's payback!"

"Take the high road!"

"Never!"

Soon marshmallows and wadded up napkins are being thrown back and forth while the baristas just watch from behind the counter laughing, "You guys are cleaning that up!"

Brittany just gives them a thumbs up before Santana's pelting her with a ball of crumbled up notebook paper.

\\\\\

For once, Santana actually feels genuine happiness.

It's been a long time, so long in fact that she can't remember the last time she felt happy but she's sure it doesn't involve Brittany. The past two weeks have been a blur for her. Not because they're so monotonous that the days blend into one, but because of how much lighter she feels now that she's being honest and open about everything.

Okay, maybe not everything and maybe she's not being honest and open with everyone but she's trying. For the first time, she actually feels like she's getting somewhere. With Brittany around, Santana feels like so much more is possible. To have someone like her rooting for her is something Santana's rarely experienced.

Sure, she has Quinn but with Brittany it hits differently and Santana might think she knows why.

It's silly, but she's started to count the number of times Brittany has smiled at her. Sometimes they're whispering about something in class and Santana will catch it from the corner of her eye. Sometimes she sees it from the other end of the hallway through the sea of students – it's like a beacon, a the light from a lighthouse guiding her through. Sometimes it's the first thing she sees when Brittany pulls off her helmet at the end of a game.

Santana finds her gaze lingering longer on those pretty pink lips, just watching the way they move around words that never quite reach her ears because her pounding heart drowns them out.

Santana has a pretty good streak going so far when it comes to seeing Brittany smile her way, but she's sure she would die the day she break it – if that day were to ever come.

She's hoping it never does.

But, Santana isn't the only one who has taken a closer look at their budding friendship.

\\

Santana's on her way to her locker with her books clutched against her chest and her head held high like always when out of nowhere JBI slides into her path.

She instantly scoffs at him.

"Why are you in my way?" She demands.

"Santana Lopez, Co-Captain of the Cheerios and dating the star quarterback Brittany S. Pierce," JBI says into his mic with that smug grin of his on his face.

Santana grits her teeth even though the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. It's a big accusation and Santana hates how her heart both skips a beat before it plummets.

"Care to comment?" JBI prompts.

"We're not dating," Santana says firmly before shoving the mic out of her face. She tries to walk around him and get out of there as fast as she can but he cuts her off again.

"Our sources have spotted you two together at numerous locations over the last couple of weeks," JBI replies, "Seems like we're going to get a repeat of last year?"

Santana rolls her eyes. If she wasn't holding onto her books, her fists would be balled at her sides, itching to punch him square in the throat. That's exactly what he wants out of her though. He wants a show and he knows just what to say to get one.

"We were studying," Santana says evenly. Really, she shouldn't even be explaining herself but there's this tug of fear at the back of her mind that urges her to be on the defense.

"Studying? Is that what the kids call it these days?" He asks slyly.

Santana gives him a look, "What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means you two are totally hooking up," JBI looks pleased with himself. He can see he's starting to wear Santana down and if he keeps at it, she'll give him a show.

"How do you come to that conclusion?" Santana she retorts before brushing past him. She can see what he's doing and yet she still manages to get one foot caught in his web.

She tries to walk away, but she goes about three steps before he's reeling her back in. 

"You tell me," JBI sneers, "You're the one with a history of sucking face in public areas. Who's to say Brittany isn't your new conquest? I’m sure no one at this school would complain if another video of you and – "

Santana whirls on him and she's griping her books so tightly they're sure to snap. She's about two seconds away from losing it, so she tries to at least breathe before she accidentally kicks JBI's ass. 

“It’s not going to happen,” Santana threatens, "Leave her out of this."

JBI only grins, “So there is something going on between you two?”

Santana just huffs, “Fuck off, JBI.”

"Now you're refusing to answer the question? Interesting. Your closeness at Homecoming should've been the first indicator that something was up," JBI smirks as he turns to his camera friend, “You heard it here first, McKinley.”

Santana shakes her head, "You know what? I'm not doing this. I'm not going to get dragged onto your bullshit gossip blog again. Nothing is going on, so drop this before I go all Lima Heights on your ass."

"You don't scare me anymore," JBI stands tall, "Not after your very public downfall. That video of you running down the hall crying last year still has the most hits out of all my vids."

Santana's chest feels tight and she's afraid if she were to speak her voice would crack. She's both infuriated and humiliated but which overpowers the other? Is she going to let JBI run his mouth? Should she just ignore him and go about her day? She can't; she can't let him get away with peddling rumors about her again – not when they involve Brittany too.

She feels so conflicted, because despite how false these rumors are no one would believe her if she told the truth anyway. This school is so damn backwards they’ll listen to this dweeb with a mic before they hear the truth – especially when it comes to her private life. This is why she’s so hellbent on keeping everything she feels under wraps! You give these people an inch and they take a mile.

"Listen," Santana takes a threatening step forward. Her voice drips into something low and gravely, "You got away with it last time but I'm not playing games with you anymore so watch your goddamn mouth. This isn't like last year. Bree's not around to back you up."

"I don't need Bree," He says shakily, "You're not as high and mighty as you think you are. Your only saving grace now is that you're still somehow a Cheerio. Other than that? You're all talk."

Santana looks back at him in disbelief, "Is that so?"

JBI doesn't get a chance to reply before Santana's dropping her books and going to kick him between the legs. The shriek he lets out echoes down the hall but Santana doesn't stop. She goes for the camera-kid next and rips the camera from his hands before smashing it on the ground, pleased to see it shatter into chunks of plastic.

JBI scrambles to his feet and they begin to shove at each other while the camera-kid just stares wide-eyed at the mess that was once his beloved camera.

All Santana sees is red as students start to gather around them. Despite what she might say, Santana's not much of a fighter but JBI isn't much of one either so the match up is pretty even. Santana just swings her arms, hoping to land at least half of the blows she wants. All of this pent of frustration that's been building since last year has finally found an exit and its target is JBI.

It isn't until Mr. Schue notices the ruckus and rushes in to break it up.

"Woah!" He shouts, "What is going on here?"

"She assaulted me!" JBI cries before hiding behind the teacher.

"Like hell I did," Santana snaps and lunges at JBI again, "You haven't seen assault yet!"

"Hey!" Mr. Schue holds her back, "Principal's office, both of you. Let's go."

Santana only manages to grab her books before she's being pushed to towards the office with Mr. Schue's hand on her shoulder and JBI whimpering next to her. God, all she wants to do is kick him again for the dramatics – he really knows how to play an audience.

Just as they're about to cross the science wing, Santana spots her best friend in the crowd. Quinn is giving her a worried look but Santana's sure that one glance at JBI will have her connecting the dots. With him around, trouble always follows closely behind Santana.

Afterall, how long is she meant to take all of this crap before she actually does something about it? She didn't lash out at Bree. She didn't lash out with JBI. She didn't lash out at the entire school, so what the hell do they expect from her now?

She's been angry and frustrated about everything for so long and she has been bottling it up, trying to save face and make it to graduation but at what cost? She has to deal with it at school and at home and she can't do it anymore – something's gotta give, but what?

She's just tired.

She's been tired and she's so over being afraid of what everyone thinks about her. This isn’t anything like who she use to be. She use to feel confident in herself, she use to walk around the school like she owned – and maybe on the outside, it still looks that way. Inside though, she’s a wreck. Was it all an act or was she truly fearless? She’s been playing both sides for so long, she can’t even remember what’s real anymore.

All she knows it that she’s over it all and there comes a time when you have to start doing something about it.

For Santana, that time starts now.

[iamsho]

Blind

Soulmate au: where you can hear your soulmate when they sing

pairing: kuroo x reader

genre: idk? i supposed it's angst, but i didn't cry so lol.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: swearing

You are determined that he is yours. You knew that when you first met him because of a training camp, you were just a first-year student coach of Fukurodani. When you heard his voice, you immediately recognized that symphonious voice because you hear it every single day.

“Hi, I’m Kuroo Tetsurou” those four words were simple yet it changed your life.

You should be happy that you find your soulmate earlier than expected, right? But why do you feel anxious about it? Why? Is it because he doesn’t know? So why did you not tell him the moment you discovered you’re each other's soulmate? Why do you have to make your pride take all over you?

The wanting to prove that the voices you hear will not be the reason that the two of you fell in love with each other was strong that day and still now. You’re certain that there’s something more to the soulmate signs. You desire to fall for him in a normal way, for you to discover the person he is, and you want him to feel the same way to you.

As time passes by, you didn’t realize that you were another victim of the universe. You fell in love with him despite of having little interactions, you felt the cliché electricity that surges through your veins when he helps you set up the gym, when he offers his food, and sometimes accompanies you to eat during lunch break. Those interactions only happen during training camps, and training camps just last for two days or a week. So how the hell did you caught feelings to him.

And now, that it’s his last year. Still nothing happened. Friends, you’re still best buddies. You are getting antsy. Is it really worth waiting for? He’s already going to enter a new environment; you wanted your relationship with him to move. You were scared that you’re going to be alone, that he will neglect you even if you are his soulmate. You wanted to do something.

So here you are, Spring High-Tokyo Representative Playoffs, in another court. Coach Yamiji assigned you to observe Itachiyama’s match with Nohebi Academy, mainly instructed you to keep an eye on their precious ace. You were disappointed that you didn’t get the chance to look at your team’s match with Nekoma, because coach was certain that your team’s going to win that match, that’s why he sent you here to plan your strategies.  

First match, you were not really paying attention to the game, you were writing down the things you want to tell Kuroo, tell him how he makes you feel things, how his voice makes your day, how he would always approach you first and spends his time with you during training camp despite being in a different team. You fell in love with that Kuroo, not because you hear his voice everyday but because of how he is with you.

“That no. 10 sure is really good, they’re already in a match point” a random voice startled you from your deep thoughts. You looked around and see that it was indeed match point for the first round. You immediately scolded yourself for not focusing to your task, that he’s been in your mind, ever since you step foot in the gym.

Immediately tearing off the page that is full of confessions, you began writing down the strategies that you observed during the game. You kept your eyes on the ace, you knew him because of Bokuto, he always talks about him when the two of you are alone saying that he’s predictable just like him, that he still has flaws regardless of being in the top three aces in Japan.

So, you watched, observed, detect his flaws, the way he moves before doing that famous wrist spike that your captain tries to imitate but fails.

Their score 37-50, with Itachiyama winning two complete set. You still stayed there, trying to think of any additional plan to add to your notes. As the winning team bowed down and thanked their supporters. You didn’t notice that you’re actually on Itachiyama’s side and all eyes are on you.  

“Why are they here?”

“Isn’t that a Fukurodani uniform they’re wearing?”

“They’re spying on our team”

As you heard that, you immediately run and went to your own team. As you got near the court; you can now clearly hear the chants of cheering teams of each school. You can hear Konoha's name, and can really hear from the distance that Bokuto is now on emo mode again. Checking out the scoreboard, the Owls won first set and has now the set point for the second set, one more point and they’ll win this. Akaashi gave the last set to the ace, shouting his name to get his attention, and the match ended with him back on his usual cheery self.

“Congratulations to my team! Guess what?” you went to them and joined the group hug, as you’re waving the notebook, Bokuto instantly caught it and read it fast. While he was reading it, you looked around and saw him, your eyes met, without hesitating you gave him your usual bright smile, and he returned his. You wanted to approach him, but Bokuto tugged you and asked a lot of questions regarding to your notes because he didn’t understand a single thing you wrote, the only person who can was Akaashi and sometimes Konoha.

The coach in you started to kick in and unravel all your strategies to defeat Itachiyama. After explaining all of it, it was now time for the match. Apparently, the winning team will be the first to compete in the main court.

The first match is grabbed by your school, you were proud to say that your plan worked. One more set, and they’re going to win. Sadly, Itachiyama is catching up, their supposed flaws that you observed earlier are no longer there, they’re really catching up that the second set was snatched from your team.

They’re now competing for the first place; you were getting anxious and tried to distract yourself. Usually he is the one who puts you into peace, but you can’t find him anywhere.

22-24, with Itachiyama leading, you still can’t find him anywhere from the gym, even though all of his team mates are watching the match, he’s the only one who’s not present. With number 10’s hard spike in the wooden floor, it was decided that Itachiyama will be the Tokyo Prefecture's First Representative, while Fukurodani is the second.

Your team stayed to watch Nekoma’s match with Nohebi. You already knew that Nohebi is not a good opponent to deal with. That’s why all of you stayed in Nekoma’s stand and started cheering, Bokuto being the loudest.

As the first set started, it was just a normal set, Nekoma defending the court as usual. Akaashi nudged you as you were gripping your notebook really hard, “Don’t worry about them Y/n, they’re going to win” he took your notebook and gently placed it in his gym bag.

He rubs your back, “I know”, he knew that Kuroo is your soulmate, he can see it in your eyes. The way you acted differently when you’re with him, or how bright your eyes would be when he focuses all his attention to you.

“I think he feels the same way with you, but he doesn’t know how to” Akaashi’s eyes held assurance, he knew how to comfort you, he can easily read you, being his classmate and team mate for two years already made the two of you close to each other. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

Halfway through the second match, Kuroo tried to receive the ball in an overhand pass but failed. Looking at the him, you saw his pointer finger bleeding and called Shibayama for substitute, and immediately run towards the exit to go to the infirmary. You looked at Akaashi for approval and nodded. Bokuto being his best pal, was worried and went with you to check on him.

“I hope he’s okay” you uttered, it’s not like he was heavily injured like Yaku, so why are you worrying so much? “He’s fiiine, he’s a big lad” Bokuto said.

The two of you knocked at the door and a nurse opened it and greeted the two of you. Entering, you noticed that there are some players still in the infirmary, but what caught both of your eyes is Sakusa Kiyoomi, sitting in the corner holding a cold press on his wrist. Bokuto immediately went to the nurse and requested for a cold press too. Sakusa caught you staring at him and recognized you, he was about to say something to you but a voice called your name.

“Y/n you’re here too?” that goes your heart again, beating too fast just because you heard his voice. You almost think that you have a voice fetish. You advert yourself to the boy who got his finger injured, walking towards him, your ready to say it, to pour all out. It’s now or never.

“Y/n? Your best friend in Fukurodani?” an unfamiliar voice stopped you from moving.

“Hey, hey, I’m his best bro” Bokuto argued to the owner of the voice. Looking at the person, it was a girl, she was in Kuroo’s side holding his hands.

“They’re my best friend, and did I mention that they’re a student coach in Bokuto’s team” Kuroo answered the girl’s question, while pinching her cheeks. You kept your distance to them, you remain still, standing in front of them. You wish you have the voice to ask him.

“Y/n, this is Sara, my girlfriend” now that the question has been answered. You don’t know what to do. Since when?

As if Sara read your mind she answered, “Tetsu has been courting me since our second year, but I only answered him last month”. Second year? The time that we met, he already has his eyes on her. Where was I in his life, was I really a friend to him ever since then?  This is what you’ve been fearing that’ll happen in the future, you didn’t expect it’ll be this sooner. You wanted to scream at him, and tell him to break up with her because you're his soulmate, you wanted to be selfish, but the moment you tried to open your mouth you feel like you’re going to break.

You really don’t want to show to Kuroo how hurt you are, how betrayed you are. Akaashi’s words kept ringing in your head “I think he feels the same way with you, but he doesn’t know how to”, does he really? How can Akaashi say that to you, did he lie to you for comfort?

You’re minutes from breaking down, but a ring saved you from it. It was your phone, you excused yourself and went outside. Looking at the caller id, it was Akaashi, he saved you from embarrassment. It took you 10 seconds to accept the call. He said that it’s time to go home and Bokuto is not answering his phone. Bidding goodbye, you informed him that you’ll walk home and turned off your phone.

You want to cry, lash out and everything but you don’t know what to do first. While walking away from the gym, rain started to pour and to make things worse, you didn’t bring an umbrella to shield you from the weather.

Accepting the rain, you stayed in the sidewalk, standing, head’s empty, still processing that you got your heart broken minutes ago.

Looking up in the sky, you started to broke down, no one is going to see your tears as it was blended with the rain. You cried, you remembered that one time, in training camp in their school, you made it obvious that you’re soulmates by singing the song that you always sing at night. How can he not have recognized it? He’s not that stupid, but why? You’re already in front of him, but his eyes belong to someone else. How can he be so blind about it?

Without realizing it, you sang that song, every lyric felt bitter coming from your mouth. You held your chest tightly; you can’t take the pain that’s resting there.

The listener, hears you and can feel how painful your voice sounds like. He always wanted to know whose voice is this, he swears it is familiar, that he heard it before but can’t point who is. Every time he hears your voice, there’s comfort inside his heart.

Maybe in the next years you’ll meet, even so he is serious with Sara, he is committed to her. Maybe he doesn’t want to be with his soulmate, but he wants them to be okay, that everything will be alright although he doesn’t know who they are.

“Tetsu, are you okay?” Sara asked the boy. “Yeah, just can’t believe that we’re finally going to nationals.” Kuroo assures his partner and wrapped his hands around her.

Still in the sidewalk, you sat in the ground and lowered your head. So, this is it? You regret everything but you are happy to see that Kuroo is happy with her, so why not be happy for him? Don't want to think about him anymore, you continued to sing in the rain

“Oi!”

a/n: y'all please stop saying haikyu-bu is canon, 'cause like, it really hurts knowing that alisa and kuroo is a thing there. although i respect your ship but yeah. it hurts:'>... i don't know if i should make a part 2 of this or not.

all of what i write is inspired by my own dreams, this is my way of sharing it to anyone since i don't have many friends who listens to my bs

edit: i stumbled upon this tiktok, they're kinda similar so here

[makeyourdeanabi]

Finale Reaction- 2 months later

In the wee hours after the Supernatural Finale, after tossing and turning in my bed, I got up and wrote this... this was before I was actually active on Tumblr and I never thought I would share this because I was too self conscious.  I deleted it shortly after I wrote it because it brought me so much pain to relive it.  I have since watched the Finale again and have come to terms with it and I felt it was a good time to share my thoughts. I hope that my words may bring other people comfort who feel the same way.  Thanks for reading :)

Alisha

P.S. Sorry so long, I was feeling things and the words just kept coming and coming  ___________________________________________

I don’t blog.  Never in my life have I sat down to tell the world about my feelings in such a manner.  I may contribute on message boards and social media comments, but I never thought anything was worth my time to spill my guts into the ether when I am near certain that not a soul will read them.  But here I am.  I have to write because if I don’t get these thoughts out of my head, I am going to go full on insane.

That ending was bad. It was a disservice to the 15 years of an incredible show that was not only genre bending it was cultural norms bending.

I could mention the various tropes that this ending (and the previous episodes) invoked, but I am not well versed in them and would never want to do anyone a disservice with a comparison that wasn’t apt.

The buildup up of each character arc and then the glaring lack of conclusion for said character arc was laughable.

To say I am disappointed is an understatement.

To say I am heartbroken is an understatement.

I am destroyed.  

I am destroyed that the two men who have been with this franchise since day 1 wrote and directed an episode that they thought was the perfect ending. They thought this is what their devoted fandom wanted.  

I am destroyed that the lead actors signed off on this script and went so far as to call it their favorite.  I realize Jared was the only one calling it his favorite episode. Jensen admitted he had reservations about the episode and needed the wise words of creator Erik Kripke to accept it. I do have to say that taking the word of a man who left the show 10 seasons ago and hasn’t been involved in all the plot lines and inner workings since season 5 is probably not the best idea. I could be mistaken about the extent of Kripke’s involvement, but I am fairly certain that I am right in my assumptions.  

Dean spent 15 years (probably more) of his life feeling unloved, unworthy, self-conscious and convinced that his life had but one purpose and that purpose would ultimately be the death of him, and he had made peace with that.

He is given a best friend, potential love interest, who helps him to see that he is more than that, so much more than that.  He is selfless, he is caring, he is a lover, not a killer. His friend’s soulmate’s sacrifice is the catalyst for him believing that all these things are true. He even takes the step of admitting out loud that he knows he has changed.  He knows that his life is worth living to the fullest and appreciating what he has every day and honoring those they have “lost along the way.”  

To then kill him during a routine hunting trip in which the boys are up against a vampire nest they could take down in their sleep.  What could possibly have been the purpose for that?  To show that once they were no longer God’s little play toys their lives were expendable?  WHY?

Dean, arguably the greatest hunter in the SPN universe, was taken out by a fucking rusty piece of rebar, and instead of trying to call for help and get the man to a hospital (not sure it would have helped) he has his final monologue, the one he has been due for the latter half all of Season 15.  He died scared, in pain, and sad.

Dean goes to heaven, and its not the heaven we have been told of in the past where you are living in your memories.  Its truly life after death and its wonderful. He meets Bobby again and told that various people in Dean’s and Bobby’s life are close by.  His parents live down the road.  His father, who was never confirmed to be but was most likely an abusive bastard, lives just down the road with his mother.  Wonderful. (WTF?) He gets confirmation that Cas is out of the empty and he smiles, nothing more.  He sees baby and goes for a drive, not to find Cas and thank him for his ultimate sacrifice, but to just drive.  I like this part because we see a happy, content Dean, and we finally get to hear Kansas’s “Carry on Wayward Son” (DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE LACK OF THE ROAD SO FAR AT THE BEGINNING OF THE EPISODE). I just wish Dean’s path to heaven had been a little easier on him.

Dean deserved better.

Castiel, the selfless angel who just wanted to find purpose in his life and ultimately found it in death. He dies never being told that he is loved, after countless times of professing his love to his found family. The angel who sacrificed himself to the Empty, a horrible place of unspeakable torture, to protect the man he loves.  A man who, mere days later (in my mind anyway), arrives in heaven after being killed in a gruesome accident, rather than fulfilling his destiny that Cas fought so hard to protect.  Some sacrifice. It turns out that Cas is saved by the Empty from Jack, but we don’t get to see his joyful reunion with Dean, the man he loves.  

Cas deserved better.

Sam is left to live this life without his brother, and potentially the love of his life because the writers couldn’t be bothered to confirm Eileen’s re-existence after Chuck’s rapture.  He has a family, and he grows old (mind you with REALLY bad makeup in a show that is known for their incredible makeup/special effects departments).

He seems to be happy, but you can tell something is missing.  We come to see that he raised his son to be a hunter.  He raised his son in a life that, at the outset of this show, he was desperate to get out of and live a normal life.  Perhaps he no longer believes that anyone can live a normal life knowing what is out there. *EDIT* Looking back I don’t believe he raised his son to be a hunter, just gave him the tattoo in case.

He names his son Dean, because of course he does. He has a wife who we see from a distance and is never given the clarity if it is Eileen or not.  He finally dies after what looks like a slow and painful illness and is sent to heaven.

In heaven he meets up with Dean.  This was lovely.  The two of them meeting again after so long, for Sam, that is. Dean only had to seemingly wait for a few hours.

Sam deserved better.

For a show that had the potential to go out on a historically significant high, this is disappointing, to say the least.  The story had the potential to end with 2 brothers who have sacrificed so much and saved so many people, find a happy ending.  Not only that but find a happy ending with a deaf partner and a gay angel. If that isn’t breaking barriers and bending norms, I don’t know what is.  I really would like to know what prevented this from happening.  Be it the CW from restricting them or maybe the absolute lack of originality from the writers, I am curious as to their reasoning. Maybe it was COVID.  Maybe because they couldn’t have those two actors physically on set due to protocols, they didn’t want to shortchange them by having them appear otherwise: disembodied voice, phone call (DONT TOUCH ME) or even a flashback… hell STOCK FOOTAGE! I don’t know and I clearly can’t imagine the reason.

I realize that there is nothing that can be done about this episode now and that accepting it and moving on is really the only way forward.  But the legacy this show has left, and its lasting impact on me and my life, cannot be ignored.  I was looking forward to indulging in past episodes of this show for the rest of my life. It is going to be a long time before I can watch an episode without anger and resentment towards what I know to be their eventual end.  That, to me, is unforgiveable.  

I don’t expect anyone to actually read this because I do not have any followers. I have never blogged in my entire life and was only recently introduced to the online fandom, but I needed to write this.  I needed to share the impact that this episode had on me.  I do hope that it does reach those in the fandom that may have similar feelings and are able to use my words to help express how they are feeling.  We can move on, and we will move on, but we need to do it together.

I know that there are people who, if they read this, would shake their head in disbelief that I became so emotionally invested in this show that watching a bad ending would take such a toll on my mental health.  

To them I say, imagine this… The Pittsburgh Steelers (my favorite team, they can imagine their own) have an incredible season.  A season where they saw a myriad of highs and lows. Veteran players making incredible comebacks, rookie players coming in to their own.  Season ending injuries that lead to the next man stepping up and contributing in ways they weren’t sure possible.  Now imagine they make it to the Superbowl and after 3 tough quarters, in which they played their best, getting better with each quarter, they lose it in the final minutes.  All that blood, sweat, and tears for nothing.  Now imagine that was their last season and the Pittsburgh Steelers are no longer an NFL team.  They are done.  No “we’ll get ‘em next season.”  No “it’s just a game and there is always another one”.  Just done.  Their entire franchise, for a brief moment in time, reduced to those final minutes where they failed to win.  Devastating. Of course, in the long run that is not what they will be remembered for.  I mean, after all, they have won 6 Lombardi trophies, and no one is taking that away from them.  But the sting will remain for a while. *EDIT* This was as close to prophecy as I will ever get, the Steelers did all of the above until the playoffs, but THANK GOD, there will be another season.

If I can’t make you understand with a sports metaphor than I will never make you understand.  

I love this show and this loss is devastating.  I do hope that it is remembered for more than their last-minute loss.  I hope it is remembered for the joy and acceptance that their fandom felt with each episode, for the laugher on set and the gag reels. I hope it is remembered for the individual players who gave it their all. I know it will be, but for me personally, this sting is going to last for a while.  

[puckinginsane]

My Playoff Thoughts

Novel under the cut

I think this is as complete as I'm going to be able to put my thoughts together. I'm sure I'll think of more at some point, but this is my raw emotions as of right now. 

There's so much you can take away from these playoffs that were just amazing. Dobby keeping them in it night in and night out. Guys stepping up that you wouldn't expect to. The hat tricks. Joel Kiviranta. The captain showing exactly why he is their leader. Miro doing Miro things. Rooting for Corey Perry. Pavelski showing exactly why they signed him.

What was incredible was the no quit attitude. The relentlessness. The way they were able to shut teams down and close out  games. You weren't worried if they were down because you knew they'd find a way to come back. These are the themes that will be repeated throughout this mess. This is the team I hope comes back next season. We only got 2 months of that kind of hockey. Imagine what they could do in a full season. Imagine where they can go from here.

I refuse to talk about the negatives and the what could have beens and the what the hell happeneds. This loss hurts enough and we all know what we wish could have been better.

When the round robin started, which seems like years ago, I can truthfully say that I didn’t have high hopes for the Stars. I wasn’t in total panic mode. I had an idea that maybe they weren’t playing as hard as they could be since the games didn’t mean anything. I don’t really like the idea of acting like one game isn’t as important as another, but after all of the hockey they wound up playing I get it. For the most part. I would have loved to see them dominate and start out strong, but it is what it is. No harm, no foul. It just didn’t give me any idea of what we were in for for the following two months. They had the luxury of taking it a little more easy and they took it. They were able to ease into the playoffs when other teams had to come out guns blazing. 

Something happened in that Flames series. The Stars came out with this level of play that we've never really seen before. It was incredible. That series also feels a lifetime ago and I wish I would have taken notes on my thoughts in the moment because so much has happened since then and it's hard to think back to the emotions. I just remember the no quit attitude in these guys. They kept looking like they were down and out and kept coming back, that was the turning point. It changed everything. I never gave up on them. I remember tweeting there's still a lot of hockey left and people thought I was crazy but I had a belief in them. More importantly, they had belief in each other. That was the Stars hockey I could get behind and feel good about.

I wish I had more to say but I can't even think back to those games and remember. My tweets were crazy, that's for sure. 

Game 1 of the Avs series I tweeted Win the period. Win the game. Win the series. Win the cup. I truly believed that if they got past the Avs then they could get past anyone. The Avs were the favorites, right? They had all of the talent. Even that series feels like it was so long ago. For these guys to beat that team, that was something special. No one thought they could do it. They kept fighting and fighting and fighting. Prove them wrong, right? Every step of the way. 

By the Vegas series I was confident in our boys. I knew they had the talent, but I wasn't scared of them. Lehner was a beast, though, and he'd be the hardest to crack. I knew it wasn't impossible. The Canucks managed to shut them out, surely they could figure it out. I didn't have a doubt in my mind that they'd make it out of that series on top. You know that it'll get harder and harder. No one said it's going to be easy, just that it'll be worth it in the end…if you win. I truly thought the cup was theirs and they were going to do it. It didn't seem like anyone would be able to stop them. 

Then comes Tampa Bay.

The bias towards the Lightning was unbelievable and frustrating. I'm talking about the media mostly. It's a hard enough road to battle without everyone saying that you're not going to make it. That has to weigh on them in some way. I'm not saying that was a factor. I'm just saying they didn't deserve that. 

The no quit attitude in these guys never stopped. Not for one second.

By the end of the final they were beaten up, out of gas, losing key members of the team. They were missing some real difference makers. I'm not using that as an excuse. I feel like anyone in that bubble could have stepped up and scored some goals no matter what the circumstance, but you have to give it to Tampa, they were just better. I can admit that. I'm not saying the Stars couldn't pull it off, I'm saying they had the cards stacked against them. It's probably the most Stars thing ever to be shut out 2-0 in the deciding game. God, it sucks. It feels so close that way. Just 2 goals. When you say it like that it seems so achievable. Then you forget that there's another team there that doesn't want you to score 2 goals and they want to win just as bad as they do and they'll stop at nothing to stop them, just like the Stars would stop at nothing to win that game. Of course I felt like they've come back so many times before, they'll do it, but you gotta give it to Tampa for shutting them down. It pains me to, it really does.

What makes it worse is that those goals didn't need to happen. A PPG and Maroon hitting that damn pass out of mid air. You try not to think of the what ifs but it's hard. They were so close and it just hurts so much.

They tried so. damn. hard. You can't say they didn't want it and you can't say they didn't give it everything they had. They just came up short. I'm so incredibly proud of that team for everything they accomplished in that bubble. It's hard to be happy they're western conference champions when they didn't win the ultimate prize but, shit, they're the western conference champions and that's something you can't take away from them. They battled for that title. They earned it. It should be celebrated.

As the minutes ticked down they did everything they could to score just one goal. Even when the minutes turned to seconds and 2 goals became impossible, they never gave up. They tried like hell for just one. I couldn't watch them lose. I didn't want to see their defeated faces. I couldn't handle it. I turned the game off with less than a minute to go, went into my room, sat on the edge of my bed, and cried like a damn baby. I still can't think about it without tears in my eyes. I can't watch the celebrations. All of it hurts too much.

If you follow me on Twitter then I guess I have to apologize. I tweeted a lot during the playoffs. That's how I talk to the guys when I'm at the games. Always talking, always encouraging, always positive. You feel helpless sitting at home and watching these guys fight for a dream they've had since they were very little. You want to help in any way you can so I thought if I put those positive vibes into the universe, the universe would pass that along. It's way more fun having faith and believe then feeling the doom and gloom. Even though it was nerve wracking as hell and my heart rate was through the roof every night, it was a lot of fun to watch.

I would walk my dog during intermissions, talking to the universe. Willing them to win. I'm not religious so I wouldn't call it praying but I would have done just about anything to have those guys come out on top. I was just trying to put more positive vibes out there and hoping that maybe, just maybe, it would work. I'm sure it sounds crazy and even I was like this probably isn't even doing anything but I wasn't able to take that chance so that's what I did every game night. I talked positivity into the air.

The closer they got to it, the more you could taste it for them, but also it got harder and harder and seemed further and further away. You immediately start to think what if that was it? What if they don't get another chance? It's heartbreaking. It's devastating. You get so emotionally invested in these guys and you just want to see them happy. You want to see them lift that cup over their heads with that smile on their faces that only winning that big shiny trophy can put there. I wanted them to win it for obvious reasons but then the more everyone kept counting them out, the more I wanted them to win it to shut everyone up. Prove them wrong. That's been the battle cry for 7 years now, and I guess it's going to have to continue.

All throughout the playoffs, during every series the Stars played, someone at some point said during one or more games of each series “this is the best hockey I’ve seen this playoffs” or something along those lines. Every. Single. Series. It’s not because of the other teams, the common denominator was the Stars. The Stars brought amazing, best hockey of the playoffs to every series they played in so why is it that everyone in the media kept counting them out? Why did they keep making excuses why they lucked into moving on? Why did no one give them the credit they deserved for playing hard to get where they were? It’s infuriating. It makes me SO angry that these men, who sacrificed SO much to get where they were, were not given ANY credit for getting to the Stanley Cup Final. You don’t just luck into winning 14 games in the playoffs. YOU. JUST. DON’T.

I saw something that said this is what should have happened. Like, if the Stars would have won the cup they would have acted like they didn’t deserve it. They’re not the ones who should have won. Why the hell not? Did they not prove time and time again that they would stop at nothing to win? Did they not battle hard to get to where they were? If they won the last two games THAT is what should have happened because THAT is what happened and they would have made that happen. It is unfair to act like the Stars were there because of a fluke. Give some credit where credit is due. It’s not a crime, you know. 

I kept saying it throughout the playoffs. Everyone roots for the underdog until the underdog is the Stars. Underdog isn’t even the right word. Underappreciated. Undervalued. After everything they’ve been through and overcome this season how could people not pull for them? I'm not saying the Stars were perfect because obviously they had their issues, but don't sit there and tell me they didn't deserve it. I'm not saying they deserved it more or less than Tampa, I'm just saying they deserved to be there and deserved to win. They just couldn't make it happen.

[thecollegefootballguy]

2021 Big Ten Coaching Power Rankings

Hello everybody, welcome back to the Coaching Power Rankings. I’m rating coaches against their peers conference by conference. Remember, with power rankings I weigh both recent and overall career success. Let’s see where each man stands.

Check out last year’s rankings here.

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The Big Ten had a strange season in 2020. Regular powers Michigan and Penn State both had crippling losing season while Wisconsin took a step back. This vacuum allowed Indiana and Northwestern to flourish. Ohio State still won the league, of course. The Buckeyes don’t seem to be going anywhere and should be expected to run the conference for the foreseeable future.

The only coach that was fired was Lovie Smith at Illinois. I’m not sure if that was the right call, especially since the Illini finally made a bowl in 2019.

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14. Mel Tucker

Record at Michigan State: 2-5 Overall Record: 7-12

Movement: Same

It was year 1 for Mel Tucker in East Lansing so I’m not too concerned about the 2-5 record. The Spartans managed to beat Michigan so I think you can still call it a successful season.

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13. Mike Locksley

Record at Maryland: 6-17 Overall Record: 8-43

Movement: Same

Maryland showed some signs of life in 2020, especially with their road win over rival Penn State. If Locksley can translate that improvement into more wins he’ll start moving up the list.

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12. Bret Bielema

Overall Record: 97-58

Movement: N/A

Welcome back to the Big Ten, Bret Bielema! Bielema was of course the coach at Wisconsin from 2006 to 2012 and he led the Badgers to three consecutive Rose Bowls. I have my doubts that he can replicate that kind of success at Illinois, but here’s to hoping.

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11. Greg Schiano

Record at Rutgers: 71-73

Movement: Down 1 spot

It took Greg Schiano 5 years to get to a winning record at Rutgers the first time he was a had coach there, so we need to give him some time to turn things around in Piscataway.

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10. Tom Allen

Record at Indiana: 24-22

Movement: Up 1 spot

Indiana had a hell of a year under Tom Allen. The Hoosiers went 6-2, finishing 2nd place in the Big Ten West. It was their best season in decades and if a full 12 game schedule had been played there’s a decent chance that IU would have gotten to 10+ wins. I hope Allen can keep things running smoothly at Indiana, it’s always great to see long downtrodden programs rise up to compete with the big boys.

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9. Scott Frost

Record at Nebraska: 12-20 Overall Record: 31-27

Movement: Same

Is Scott Frost the guy who can turn around Nebraska? I don’t know, he’s starting his 4th year and is still attempting to make his first bowl as Cornhusker head coach. I know the program has taken a nosedive and realistically will never be on Ohio State’s level anymore, but in the Big Ten West you should be able to find 6 wins in a season. Any day now.

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8. Jeff Brohm

Record at Purdue: 17-21 Overall Record: 47-31

Movement: Same

I have half a mind to move Brohm and Frost even lower given their specific circumstances, but I’ll trust in them a bit longer since they both did so well at their previous stops. Brohm’s Purdue Boilermakers have been struggling in the past few years despite their initial success. I honestly have no idea if Brohm can right the ship a second time, I know fans are disappointed how things have played out considering the promising start of his tenure.

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7. P. J. Fleck

Record at Minnesota: 26-19 Overall Record: 56-41 Division Titles: 1 (2019)

Movement: Down 1 spot

Minnesota regressed in Fleck’s fourth season at the helm. Given the 11 win season in 2019 I think Fleck has earned some patience. He’ll rise back up in the rankings as long as the Gophers continue to build up their program under his careful guidance.

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6. Jim Harbaugh

Record at Michigan: 49-22 Overall Record: 107-49 Division Championships: 1 (2018)

Movement: Down 1 spot

Jim Harbaugh tumbles out of the top 5 after Michigan suffered their first losing season under his leadership. I know the dramatic regression came as a surprise to Wolverine fans, many of whom are concerned with the direction things are heading with the program. It’s a tough position for the coach and the administration, who will struggle to beat Ohio State no matter who is coaching the team. We’ll see if Harbaugh can turn things around in Ann Arbor, he might not get too many chances if things don’t break his way in 2021.

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5. Paul Chryst

Record at Wisconsin: 56-19 Overall Record: 37-13 Division Championships: 3 (2016, 2017, 2019)

Movement: Down 1 spot

Wisconsin was fine in 2020. I expect them to compete for division titles every year and they did, the Badgers just didn’t win this time. Better luck next year. Wisconsin hasn’t gone two years without at least tying for the West title so I am confident that they’ll be competing in 2021.

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4. James Franklin

Record at Penn State: 60-28 Overall Record: 84-43 Division Championships: 1 (2016) Conference Championships: 1 (2016)

Movement: Down 1 spot

Much like Michigan, Penn State suffered from a similarly horrible year. James Franklin has done much for the Nittany Lions, bringing their program back into regular competition with the top flight of college football. However, losing seasons don’t come out of the blue very often to a well run program. We’ll see if this downturn is just an aberration. Franklin certainly still seems like he’s capable of turning things back around.

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3. Pat Fitzgerald

Record at Northwestern: 106-81 Division Championships: 2 (2018, 2020)

Movement: Up 4 spots

Pat Fitzgerald really outdid himself in 2020. The completely unheralded Wildcats went out and beat both Iowa and Wisconsin to win the Big Ten West for the second time in three years. NU continues to punch above its weight and it’s all thanks to the hard work of Pat Fitzgerald and his staff. I don’t know if Northwestern can ever really be a year in and year out competitor in league play, but if anybody can do it Fitzgerald can.

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2. Kirk Ferentz

Record at Iowa: 168-106 Overall Record: 180-127 Division Championships: 1 (2015) Conference Championships: 2 (2002, 2004)

Movement: Down 1 spot

The longest tenured coach in FBS football has slipped down one spot. It’s not really his fault, it’s hard to keep pace with a guy who’s making the Playoff every year. Ferentz is a living legend and as long as he’s around Iowa is going to be just fine. The Hawkeyes continue to battle it out with Wisconsin for West Division supremacy and I don’t think that will change for the time being.

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1. Ryan Day

Record at Ohio State: 23-2 Division Championships: 2 (2019, 2020) Conference Championships: 2 (2019, 2020)

Movement: Up 1 spot

Ryan Day hasn’t crashed the Ferarri yet. Ohio State was the second best team in the country last year after an Alabama squad that might have been the greatest ever. That’s not bad competition. The Buckeyes seem well served by Day so far and will compete for Big Ten and national championships for the foreseeable future as long as he’s in Columbus.

[thebluenoteblog]

Need You Now

Summary: You never expected a break up to hit you this hard. Now its the middle of the night and you’re making a phone call that you know you shouldn’t.

Player: Colton Parayko

Word Count: 2k

*Inspired by Lady Antebellum’s Need You Now*

Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor

Reaching for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?

For me it happens all the time

You were officially declaring yourself mentally incompetent. This was it. You had finally lost your mind. Here you were, two months out from the break up, sitting on the floor of your living room with a bottle of wine in your hand and pictures of the two of you spread out in a massive circle around you as NHL.TV played the most recent Blues game that you had already watched live.

You were pathetic.

This was pathetic.

You had ended relationships before, but never, ever, had you been in this much pain. You’d cried for a few days and moved on with your life. This time around, you hadn’t done your makeup since the day you’d moved out of Colton’s house and back in with your parents. You’d continued to go to work, barely scraping by with polite smiles to your co-workers. The most productive you had been was moving into your new apartment and that was mostly your sister. You still hadn’t unpacked anything that your sister and friends hadn’t unboxed with you the day you’d moved in.

Again, pathetic.

Acceptance was the first step to recovery, right?

Your only hope was that he was just as miserable as you were. Maybe not. You wouldn’t wish that on anyone, and he hadn’t even done this to your relationship. You had. You were the one who had broken things.

You were so stupid that you had to decide you couldn’t deal with his crazy schedule and the women falling at his feet and his being away all the time anymore. Now instead of getting to have him a quarter of the time you got to have him none of the time.

Smart.

You took a long drink from the bottle in your hand and picked up a picture of you and Colton, taken just after the blues had won the second round of the playoffs. He looked so happy. But he wasn’t looking at the camera like you were, he was looking at you. It was hard to find a picture of you together where he was looking at the camera, because his eyes were always on you.

It made your heart hurt.

You glanced over at the clock on the wall, your brother in law had hung it. It was a present from them, to make the place feel homier. But this apartment would never feel like home because Colton wasn’t here.

It was just after midnight. There was no way he was asleep. He was either out with the guys or he was at home relaxing after the game. He took a nap before games, so he usually didn’t go to bed as soon as he got home.

You knew you shouldn’t. You knew it would just rub salt in the wound, especially if he didn’t answer, or god forbid he did answer, and you could hear a girl in the background. But something drew you to the phone. Like you had no control over your actions, maybe it was the nearly full bottle of wine you’d had in the past hour. Maybe it was all these perfect memories of the two of you all over the floor, reduced to nothing because of your stupidity. Or maybe you were dehydrated and delirious from all the tears you’d shed in the past two months. All were possibilities.

He was still the number one favorite in your phone, you could never bring yourself to change it. You expected it to go to voicemail. Really. So, when he picked up on the first ring, you didn’t know exactly what you planned to say to him and your drunk brain wasn’t working properly.

“(Y/N)?” He said softly, and if you weren’t mistaken there was a bit of hope under the confusion in his voice. When you didn’t say anything he asked, “(Y/N), did you mean to call me?”

That you could answer, “Yes.”

He paused for a long moment and you just listened to each other breathe. Finally, he asked, “Why did you call?” There was no malice, he wasn’t asking you because he wanted you to hang up, at least that’s what you hoped, it sounded like he was prodding for an answer that he wanted to hear.

“Do you miss me?” You asked, “Do you still think about me?” Then you shook your head, immediately breaking through the haze of your wine and sadness and realizing the weight of the mistake you had just made, “Colton, I’m sorry. I’m drunk-.”

“I think about you nonstop, (Y/N).” He said, his voice quiet. You could hear him shifting on his end of the phone. “I miss you all the time. I have to stop myself from calling you every five minutes I have free time because I remind myself that you don’t want to be with… with me.”

“That isn’t true,” You said softly. “That isn’t true at all.”

“Don’t say things like that if you can’t follow through with them.” He said, and his voice sounded so… broken. “Please.”

“I…”

“I need to go. Call me whenever you want, I’ll answer whenever I can.”

Then the line went dead, and you were left sitting in a pile of memories with the realization that you could fix this. You had the power to fix this.

Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door

Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before

Colton wouldn’t exactly know what words to use to describe what he was feeling at the moment that he got off the phone with you, but the closest he could think of was fucking miserable. He was glad he’d been able to hear your voice for the first time in two… long… long months but now he was about ready to crawl out of his fucking skin.

Because here were the facts: He loved you. He loved you more than anything in the world. However, you flat out said you couldn’t be with a professional athlete anymore and no matter how much he loved you, he could never give up his dream. He’d worked too damn hard to get to where he was to walk away. There were too many people counting on him to pull through. He couldn’t retire at twenty-six.

So, he did the most logical thing that one does after receiving a phone call from the girl you dated for two years and planned on marrying but instead had walked out your door with all her stuff in tow. He headed for the whiskey.

He wasn’t a light weight and it took a lot to get him drunk. Hell, it took quite a bit to even make him feel the alcohol. Side effect of being fucking huge and a professional athlete who’d done his fair share of partying since his early twenties. Sometimes it was a blessing, sometimes it was a curse.

He was leaning towards curse for tonight when he heard a knock on his front door.

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now

And I said I wouldn't call but I'm a little drunk and I need you now

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now

I just need you now

Oh, baby, I need you now

Who the fuck was knocking on his door at one o’clock in the morning?

He decided that he was going to ignore it and poured himself another shot, but the knocking grew louder. Finally, he threw back the shot and headed into the entry way not bothering to put on a shirt. Fuck whoever thought they could barge into his house in the middle of the night and expect fucking St. Albert hospitality. Take the hint when he didn’t answer the first three knocks.

He swung the door open and his eyes went wide. There you were, standing out in the cold December air. Your hair thrown up in a messy bun like you didn’t care how you looked but this was in stark contrast to your perfectly done makeup and the outfit that you were wearing that he recognized as one of his favorites. Tight in all the right places and the color of the shirt made your eyes stand out in all the right ways.

But you weren’t wearing a coat and it was twenty degrees outside. “Why aren’t you wearing a coat?” He asked.

You frowned, “I was in a rush?”

“Aren’t you drunk?” He asked as he pulled you inside and closed the door behind you, “How did you get here?”

“Uber. And no, I’m just a little tipsy now.” You stood a few feet away from him.

He nodded, “Okay, and what are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.” You said.

He would swear that his heart skipped a beat when he heard those words leave the lips he’d kissed more times than he could count but were now off limits. “Why?” He asked, forcing himself to keep his distance from you. As much of a distance as he was capable of.

“I wanted to fix the mess I made,” You said, fiddling with the strap of the Michael Koras purse he’d bought you just a month before you’d split.

For a minute he forgot how to breathe. He’d imagined it so many times, you standing here saying that you wanted him again, but he never thought it would happen. “But you said you weren’t happy. I want you to be happy (Y/N), more than I care about making myself happy.”

You shook your head quickly, tears springing to your eyes. Afraid for the first time since you’d decided to come over to his house that this wasn’t going to go the way you had imagined. “I never said I wasn’t happy with you. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my entire life. I thought it was too much for me, only having you around a quarter of the year but not having you at all is so much worse.”

You paused, swiping your hand at a tear that was falling down your cheek, “I love you. I need you. You made me happier then I can ever remember being in my life. I just hated that you were never around. I hated worrying about other girls. I hated going months without seeing you during the summer when all of our friends got to spend actual time together for the first time in a year.” You looked up into his eyes, a feat in and of itself and finished your speech, hoping against all odds that it would be enough to convince him that he was what you really wanted. “But it’s worth it. It's all worth it if I can have you even if it's just phone calls and text messages most of the time. It's worth it and I’m sorry it took all of this for me to realize that.”

He was a big man, a big hockey playing man who had taken pucks to the mouth and sticks to his jaw and barely flinched but god damn if he wasn’t as stubborn as he was he may have actually cried. His eyes were watering when you finished your speech, but he didn’t let the tears fall, instead he took the two steps forward that would close the gap between you and wrapped you in his arms. He lifted you into the air and your legs wrapped around his waist as he guided you in for a kiss.

When you pulled back, you looked at him still blinking back tears and asked, “So will you give me another chance?”

“Do you even need to ask?” He smiled down at you and with the hand that wasn’t holding you up and against him, he brushed your hair back out of your face, “I’ve been dreaming of this since the minute you walked out that door.”

[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 Challenge Day 30 - End

Summary: Well... Alistair’s dying again. At least this time, he took the Reapers out with him.

(Mentions of blood, some limb loss without description) 

---

Yep... he was dying alright. This was definitely the worse of his two deaths.

Alistair could barely groan as he lay there among the rubble, coughing up what was probably blood. It was hard to see then... one eye was definitely fucked up, possibly gone. Ironically it was the one he had lost the first time. Talk about things coming full circle.

At least the Child was gone.

Yes, there in the ruined Citadel chamber, he was finally alone. The conductor lay smoking in the distance when he had finally managed to shoot something from a distance. Things had gotten crazy after that... now he was laying in a pile of rocks, actively bleeding out.

And he had thought the crushing pressure of space was bad.

Somewhere nearby lay the modified body of the Illusive Man. Had he the strength to get up, he would've gone over to give the corpse a good kick. Then again... Anderson was close at hand too. He shouldn't see something like that.

Well... he would be joining him soon.

“Least it's over...”

Blood bubbled at his lips as he gazed up at the ceiling. It was starting to get hard to see – probably the blood loss. Either that or the massive ache at the base of his skull that could have only been a malfunctioning biotic amp about to blow. Part of him wanted to see what would kill him first. Either way, he was about to be the third body.

At least he would be the last body of the Reaper War.

Even though he couldn't see it, Alistair felt it. That one shot had ended it all. The Reapers had lost at last, after untold millennia of fucking up sentient species for the hell of it. They had lost to an idiot with limited depth perception, generalized anxiety, and an inability to control his blood sugar.

Take that, you synthetic fucks.

He coughed again – it was getting weaker now. His vision was starting to fade even more. Maybe he had a minute or two left before the end. Alistair wondered if he shouldn't have been more upset, but then again this wasn't his first time dying. He had been living on borrowed time... now it was his chance to return it.

His only regret was never getting to see Bo or Garrus again.

That hurt almost as much as his amp overloading. His last memories of either of them were on the chaos of the battle for Earth. Hell, for all he knew they were dead. The Reapers could have shot the Normandy down when they were evacuating and he just hadn't seen it.

If it had... well... he was in for some nasty words on the other side. At least he and Joker would be even at one death a piece.

“I wish I could've said more...”

It was getting harder to speak now. The overwhelming, unbearable pain in multiple parts of his body was starting to ebb away. No doubt about it, this was the end. All he could do was prepare for what was to come.

At least he closed his eyes. He had never liked coming upon bodies all splayed out, wide-eyed and staring at the living. It was kind of gross. Then again, Alistair doubted anyone was going to be able to find him before he was a skeleton.

Maybe that was for the best... bodies got kind of gross.

As his world went black and all feeling ceased, Alistair had one last thought. The sun was going to rise on Earth tomorrow. It was still there, even if he wasn't. They had managed to do what not even the Protheans could. It was over.

It was over... and so was he. So he let himself go, floating away to wherever he went the first time. At least this time, there were no Collectors.

---

The funny thing about dying was that it wasn't supposed to fucking hurt so badly.

'You aren't through yet.'

Shut the fuck up and let him die in peace... noisy ass ghost or god or whatever.

'Strange, you aren't normally this rude. Oh well... they're waiting for you.'

A haze of dull agony surrounded him like a blanket. Funny, the first time he had died it had been over rather quickly. One moment he was floating in the blackness of space as pressure crushed him like a tin can... and then he was waking up on a Cerberus base as it all went to hell.

…

Fuck you have GOT to be kidding him. Was he ever going to get to die in peace?

The first feeling he got back was the tips of his fingers. Toes came back too, not enough to wiggle but he felt the pain no matter what. On a scale of 1 to 10, it was get him some fucking pain medicine or finish killing him.

There was noise somewhere, he wasn't sure where. It sounded...

“Folks, it's the bottom of the 7th inning, the bases are loaded and the score is tied 5-5. Batting fifth for the Luna Bats is Luna colony's very own Jim O'Reilly.

Like a baseball game. And if he heard that score right, his Bats were tied with their best pitch hitter up!

“I can't believe he's fucking missing this.”

“So if he hits the ball and nobody catches it, that means they run around the squares and score?”

“Bases, Mandibles, I already explained it to you. Damn it, Al, you got me explaining baseball now.”

He knew those voices. They belonged to Bo and to Garrus. Unless they were all dead and watching baseball from the afterlife, then they were alive and well enough to complain. Given the fact his sister hated baseball... that was another point to him being alive.

That's a strike.”

“It's a ball, it was outside the box.” Another groan. “For fuck's sake.”

The count is now 3-2. And the pitch-

Alistair could feel his heart pump faster at the sound of a bat somewhere cracking when it made contact with the ball. He could picture it, flying far off into the center field stands and above the head of the outfielders.

And he was missing it...

“Fuck... it's a grand slam.”

Miracles did happen. Not only had they saved the universe from the Reapers, but his Bats had pulled a grand slam out of their ass.

By now, there was more feeling in his body. He couldn't move, not yet anyway. However, he was starting to get the feeling he could make his mouth move. It took effort, far more than he had, but he managed to get a sound out. He would have called it a groan, but that was being generous. A death murmur was more like it... only he wasn't dead.

Slowly, he managed to maneuver his eyes to opening. Then he shut them – too bright. Wherever he was glowed brighter than when he had shot to end it all. Now he was starting to get a headache – what a thing to add to his problems.

He still couldn't sit up... but he could probably try to talk.

“Are we winning?”

That sent crazy amounts of motion into play. Someone – he assumed Garrus from the sound of talons on tile – ran off to probably get a doctor. Something landed heavy at his side – that was probably Bo. She was close enough that he could feel her shaking.

She was pissed.

“I can't fucking...” despite that, she laughed. “Fucking Luna Bats, I should've known that would bring you back.”

Alistair's head was pounding, but he could still talk. “How long?”

It had to be some time – before the Bats had suspended their season due to the war, it had been at the very beginning. From the sound of things, they were going into a playoff run. At the very least... months. Possibly years, if they were finally good.

Nah, probably not years – O'Reilly probably only had two seasons left in him at this rate.

“Over two months, you asshole. You died twice.” Her voice was thick with emotion she was barely containing. “And in the end it's the fucking Luna Bats that bring you back. Not me, not Garrus, but the Bats!”

She was laughing still, despite how annoyed she sound. It was probably the best sound Alistair had ever heard. He would have probably laughed too, but it fucking hurt too much. Hopefully wherever his boyfriend was, he was getting a doctor with some heavy duty pain medicine.

“It took a miracle I guess...” he cracked one eye open. “What's their record?”

It was a miracle he didn't get socked in the arm, but Alistair quickly realized that was because he didn't have one. It had just been a brief glance, but there was definitely something missing on his right side. No wonder he couldn't wiggle his fingers on the right side: they were gone.

But... if their record was winning.

“I'd say your priorities were fucking awful, but you did kind of save the universe so I'll give you a pass.”

“Thanks.”

Couldn't move the toes on his left foot either... bad sign there. At least he still had all his fingers on his dominant hand. The universe had been kind for once.

Still... it was true. He was in a hospital, there was a doctor coming with hopeful amounts of pain medicine to help him. All of this  meant one simple thing: the Reapers were gone. Well, either that or they also liked the Luna Bats.

It was maybe the only thing they agreed on.

“So... we won then.”

Bo sounded calmer as she got up – probably for whatever medical staff was coming. “Yeah. We won. We won and we got you back. Forget hamsters, you're a fucking cat with how many lives you got to burn there.”

Well, he was good at stopping at life 4 or 5. Dying was unpleasant and he had done it way more than anyone had right to do and still come back. This was the last time, he promised to whatever universal figure was listening.

Still, as the medical staff freaked out around him upon his waking up, Alistair found he was pretty relaxed. Whatever happened, nothing could have been worse than facing down the Reapers and making the choice left to him. He could get past anything after that.

But... yeah... the pain meds would definitely help. His brain was throbbing. At least he was pretty sure his amp hadn’t exploded, because then yeah he would have definitely been dead...

Honestly, an injury update would have been lovely, if just to know how many parts he was missing and what he had broken in his final hit on the Reapers. At any rate, he was going to need to know how bad off he was once he put his papers in. After all, if he was going to live... might as well do it as a free man.

It wasn’t quite the end he had expected, but it was his. At least he had most of his limbs? Or at the very least half... he would have to ask about that later, once it was easier to see in a bright room.

Again, pain meds, great idea...

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (16/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: If you like, read, kudo, comment, tag flail, reblog, or anything else, I see you, and I appreciate you! Honestly, it’s the coolest thing how many of you are out there, and every time I find out someone else has been reading, my heart grows Grinch style ❤️

We’re off to London in this chapter and the next one! Fun fact: the Yankees and Red Sox really did play a series in London this year! 

AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

“This is weird,” Will mutters as they walk the unfamiliar hallways of London Stadium on their way out to the field to practice. “I’m not used to being unfamiliar with a place where we’re about to play, and I swear that I’m still jet-lagged. Why did they think we were going to get used to the time change in one day?”

Instinctively, Killian wants to get onto Will about complaining since that’s become his thing as of late, but every point that he’s made is valid. It’s weird to be in a place that he doesn’t know. He’s familiar enough with half of the baseball stadiums in America to be able to give a tour like he made the blue prints for them, but they are decidedly not in America.

They’re in London.

To play the Red Sox.

So. Fucking. Cool.

His job awards him more opportunities than he ever could have dreamed about as a kid from Ohio, and while he’s had the opportunity to travel to Mexico and Canada, he’s never been overseas like this. He meant to go years ago, but then the accident happened and all of his plans went down the drain. He could have gone then too. He had all of the time in the world on his hands, and he squandered it by sitting on his ass and not traveling or doing all of the other things he’s always wanted to do.

He’ll have all the time in the world when he’s retired.

Woah, no. That’s not happening anytime soon, and he is not going down that road when things are going so well right now.

They’re going to kick some Red Sox ass even while in England.

His family didn’t fly all the way over here on vacation just for them to lose. Addy and Lucy would be very disappointed in him if they did because he knows for a fact that they only care about being here for the baseball and Addy’s birthday party tomorrow.

All of the cool kids turn six in London, obviously, and Addison Jones is the coolest of the kids.

It’s all she’s been talking about for weeks now, going on and on about how she was going to have an English birthday party and be English like Peppa Pig and Meghan Markle. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that Peppa Pig is animated and that Meghan Markle was technically American first, but some things kids just don’t have to know. All she knows is that a real-life prince and his wife are going to be at the game today, and she thinks that’s the coolest thing in the world.

It kind of is even if he had to study a protocol list for when he met them earlier in the locker room.

Killian’s life is so goddamn weird, but he loves it.

The fact that Emma got to travel here as well, even if she’s not doing on-camera coverage and is simply here as a print journalist for the team, makes it all the better. He may not get to see her on-field during the game, but he’ll see her afterwards.

Hopefully.

They haven’t been here long, but it’s already difficult to find time away from his family to see her, even if it’s only for a moment.

He’d give anything to have those little moments.

“I have no idea,” Killian yawns, finally responding to Will as they push the doors open and walk out to the field. He can tell that the set-up is going to throw him off, the way the stadium is equal on every side, and that the AstroTurf feels odd below his feet. But that’s why they practice. “We’ll suffer through it, and drink lots and lots of coffee.”

“I think they drink tea over here.”

“I believe that they drink coffee too. You want to start in the outfield and work our way back in?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

The two of them are quiet as they take it all in and try to get used to this new place. Music blares over the speakers, and the rest of the team filters in and out as they go through their warm-ups. He’s not sure if he really needs coffee for how hyped up he is to be here and to be playing their biggest rivals, and the crash of caffeine always seems so inevitable. The crash of adrenaline, not so much. Most of the time.

It’s a quick warm-up, one that doesn’t extend too much effort on his part, and his shoulder is feeling loose after the massage Archie gave it. They’ve won each of their series against the Sox so far this season, and he doesn’t plan on that changing now. When they finally travel to Boston next month, sure. But not today.

No part of him should be thinking this, especially with how unreliable his arm can be, but they’re playing so well this season that he can’t imagine them not making the playoffs and then being in the final two.

They could be back-to-back World Series Champions.

But that’s very much counting his chickens before they hatch, and that always leads to disappointment.

He simply can’t go there even if his brain keeps trying to.

“You guys make any wedding plans yet?” he asks Will as they walk back infield to practice a few pitches on the mound.

“We’ve been engaged for exactly a week, so no, we haven’t made any official plans. Belle has all of these ideas, though, and she’s been talking through them with her parents. Honestly, I think we may get married in December or January of this year since she doesn’t want to do it during the season.”

Killian nods his head in agreement as he tucks his chain back into his uniform from where it had fallen out. “That makes sense. It’s always hell trying to plan anything during the season. Even making dinner plans can be difficult.”

“Well,” Will says, clicking his tongue, “it’s not like you have anyone to be going out to dinner with. We don’t count. Neither does Liam.”

A protest is on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say anything, not yet. He and Emma are going to talk about that after this trip, and even if they do, he’s not sure he’ll be able to tell Will. He should. Will and Robin. And Eric and Ariel. But no one else on the team. It’s just too risky.

That might put a damper in his plan to kiss her before every game.

But the time will come. It has to. And baby steps are fine with him when they mean that steps are happening. He completely and totally understands Emma and her reasons for not wanting their relationship out in the open, and he agrees. It’s better for her, for both of them, and they’ve only been together for two months. In the grand scheme of things, that’s not that long. It doesn’t matter that he fell hard and fast. That doesn’t escalate things.

It just…complicates his feelings.

This thing won’t be hidden away forever, not if they want any kind of future, and while he’d never presume to speak for Emma, he damn well intends to have that future.

“I could be dating,” Killian scoffs at Will who only rolls his eyes in response. “What? I could.”

“Nothing,” Will shrugs, taking position behind home plate. “I’m just saying, for a man who everyone thinks is going home with a new woman every night, you are particularly lacking in the women department.”

His jaw ticks, and he’s not even sure why. He’s never minded talking about his relationships in the past, not to Will, but it’s probably the lie. Of course it’s the lie.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Will grunts as he throws the ball back to him, a light thwacking sound hitting his glove. “Do whatever the hell you want. I’m not someone to tell you what to do with your life. I’m just saying, I’m much happier having Belle be a part of my life.”

“Look at you being all sweet.”

“I have my moments.”

“I’m totally giving a speech at your wedding about the night that I kept you from throwing up on her.”

“I would have expected nothing less from you. In fact, I’ve already warned Belle. It was in my proposal speech.”

“Shut up, you asshole.”

“Never. I know you love the sound of my voice.”

“It is rather dreamy.”

“You two are talking too much to be practicing,” Eric huffs as walks toward them with his bat in hand, fiddling with it the slightest bit. “What are we talking about?”

“Killian’s lack of a love life.”

Eric grunts at that, eyes scanning between the two of them. “That sounds like a conversation that I don’t want to be in because Ariel will somehow know and insist we talk about it later. She’ll have you set up on ten blind dates before midnight.”

“It’s in my contract that she can’t meddle in my dating life.”

“Really?” Eric and Will ask at once, their eyes going wide.

“No,” Killian chuckles as he stretches out his shoulder and bends his legs a bit, squatting down to stretch out some more, “but sometimes I wish that it was. Where has she been all day, by the way?”

“She’s helping set up Addison’s birthday party for tomorrow, apparently. She’s somehow gotten them a separate suite here, and they’re doing some sort of tea party during the game. You have even been given express permission to sit with your family instead of in the dugout with us.”

Of course. He could have done that anyways, but leave it to Ariel to make sure that there is no way in hell that he’s missing his niece’s sixth birthday party. She is pure magic, that woman.

“Your wife is something else,” he chuckles, deciding to step closer to them so that he doesn’t have to shout, “but you guys know that Addy is fully going to expect all of you to show up at some point.”

“Her present is in my suitcase.” Will smiles as he says it with a slight shake of his head. “I could never forget my biggest fan since Roland seems to betray me on who his favorite player is every week.”

Killian clicks his tongue. “Eh, just to be clear, I’m Addison’s favorite player. I’m not letting you steal that title from me.”

-/-

Killian spots Emma sitting nine rows up behind third base when they’re in the second inning.

She’s wearing a jersey…his jersey, and when he notices it, he nearly pegs Johnson with a ball.

Holy fuck.

It sends blood straight to his groin, and the only thing that stops it is him thinking about Emma making a joke about him having a boner on the mound. She’s so ridiculously funny in her bad jokes, and it brings a smile to his face that he has to control as he focuses on the game. He can’t be losing it when he’s in the middle of a game.

But damn. His girlfriend is wearing his jersey, his name and number printed on the back, and she’s got a baseball cap pulled low over her forehead with her blonde ponytail sticking out behind her. He wouldn’t have recognized her if he didn’t know every inch of her body.

He’ll play in London every day of the week if it means Emma can watch as a semi-spectator without anyone recognizing her.

A bloody siren. That’s what she is.

-/-

They win that night.

-/-

After the game when Emma walks into the locker room, her phone in hand for questions, she’s not wearing the jersey anymore. It’s been removed, and she’s wearing a black blouse that’s low cut enough that he can see the slightest bit of the cups of her bra. He’d bet that she didn’t think through having to remove his jersey when she got dressed, but he doesn’t mind how she looks.

He never does.

(She wore his fucking jersey.)

Except he can’t do anything about it but smile and answer her questions as well as everyone else’s. It’s a bit odd for her to not have Jeff following her around with the camera, but he knows that this means she’ll be writing an article instead. She’s always loved that.

Once all of the press members ask their questions, most of them British journalists, they filter out of the locker room, leaving everyone to strip out of their uniforms and move to take a shower. He’s taking off his belt when Arthur speaks, and his fingers still over the leather.

“I don’t know how any of us aren’t fucking Emma,” he grumbles, and the words make disgust drip down Killian’s spine. “Have you seen her body? I bet she’s fucking amazing in bed. I’d fuck her in a heartbeat. Damn am I glad women work in baseball now.”

The room goes silent, every man stopping what he’s doing, and Killian has words on the tip of his tongue but can’t say anything because Will is already talking.

“Fuck off, King,” Will curses, throwing his gear down on the ground. “I mean, seriously. What the bloody fuck? How shitty do you have to be to talk about someone like that? I knew you were an ass, but God, that’s next level. First of all, you’re fucking married, and even if you weren’t, that woman is a human being. You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

“Oh, come on, man. We’re all thinking it. Did you see her boobs just now? It’s nothing to get riled up about.”

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Will huffs as he crosses his arms over his chest. “The fact that you don’t realize that is just plain sad. She’s not coming in here to get ogled by you. She’s coming in here to do her job, and she’s damn good at it.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, and Killian’s blood boils even more. “Jones asked her out. How is that not the same thing?”

“Because he didn’t ask her out because he thinks of her as a sex object,” Will spits all the while Killian can barely hear any of this from the way his heart is thumping between his ears, a drum beat that’s louder than anything he’s ever heard.

Arthur darkly chuckles, and it’s that sound that has the drumline stopping so that his eyes snap over across the room. Killian didn’t even realize that he was clenching his fists, but when he looks down, he can see the red imprints of blood from where his nails were digging into his skin.

“Jones,” Arthur yells, “aren’t you going to back me up here? Isn’t she a fine piece of ass?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Killian yells before standing from the seat in his locker, quickly striding across the room until he and Arthur are eye-to-eye and completely lined up. Arthur’s got this disgusting cocky grin on his face, one that makes unpleasant chills run down his spine, and it’s taking everything in him not to punch the ever-loving shit out of the man. “Will is right. You’re an asshole, and you can’t be talking about her that way.”

“Why do you care so much? What, are you fucking her?”

And that’s when his first rises and slams into Arthur’s jaw, a sting spreading through his knuckles and up to his elbow. The drum starts beating in his head again, his heart pumping blood through him faster than normal, and everything is a blur as he moves his head to dodge Arthur’s punch and as someone grabs onto elbows and pulls him back and out of the room all the while a screaming match goes on in the locker room, every word muted to him except for the one name that keeps getting repeated.

Emma.

“Are you insane?” Robin gasps, and when Killian looks around, he can see that he’s been pulled off to the weight room that they’re using in this stadium. He didn’t even know Robin was in the locker room at the time. “You can’t punch Arthur no matter how big of an asshole he is. You’re going to fuck up your arm, and you can get suspended for weeks.”

“I don’t really care about either of those things right now.”

“Well you should,” Robin huffs, running his hands through his hair as he paces back and forth over the carpeted floor. “He’s an asshole. We all know that, and I wanted to punch him too…but you just can’t, mate. He’ll get his due, and it won’t come at the cost of your career.”

Robin is right. Robin is always right, but how is he supposed to sit there and let Arthur talk about his girlfriend like that? How is he supposed to let him talk about any woman like that? He simply can’t, and even though his knuckles hurt like hell right now and Archie is most definitely going to kill him, he doesn’t regret it. He can’t, and he’d bet that Will doesn’t either.

“Fuck,” Killian mutters, sitting down on a weight bench and burying his face in his hands as he tries to flex some of his fingers out. “Dammit. This isn’t how today was supposed to go. I’m not supposed to be punching our outfielder in a locker room in fucking London. I’m supposed to be enjoying my time and sipping tea at my niece’s birthday party because I’m this good guy that she looks up to when really everyone is a piece of shit.”

“Dramatic much?”

“Shut up.”

“Never,” Robin laughs as the door opens and Al stumbles inside, his long dark hair pushed back behind his ears and his tanned skin painted red in what Killian hopes is a sunburn and not anger.

“What the hell, Jones?” Al screeches, waling right up to him so that the tips of their shoes touch. “You punched King? With your right arm? What is going on in that head of yours?”

Killian groans, already ready to have his ego bruised and his career kicked by a man who is only four years older than him, and he straights his back so that Al isn’t look down at him as much as he should be.

“Are you in here to suspend me?”

Al’s brows furrow together. “What? No. Why would I suspend you?”

“Because I punched Arthur?”

Al waves him away, backing up the slightest bit. “No, I’m not going to suspend you for that. King can be a piece of shit sometimes, and I heard some of the stuff he was saying. He deserved that. My team are not going to be a bunch of sexist assholes who talk about our reporters that way. I can’t guarantee that there won’t be some kind of league suspension, but I doubt King takes it anywhere since then he’s had to explain the stuff he was saying.”

“Then why are you yelling at me?”

“Because you punched someone with your pitching arm, and I can’t have you messing up your arm again. Go see Archie right now, and get some damn ice on the thing.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Killian mock salutes, his head still spinning with everything that’s happened in the past fifteen minutes.

He takes it back. His life isn’t weird. It’s batshit crazy.

-/-

Ariel has been yelling at him in his hotel room for the past fifteen minutes. This is after Liam and Elsa yelled at him for twenty minutes, each, and he’s so damn tired of having to listen to this. He’s aware of the fact that he could have messed up part of his season today, but he still doesn’t regret it. He could have made better choices, yes, but Arthur deserved it. And he’s fine. He’ll probably only have a slight bruise. The only significant damage is the fact that their already frayed relationship that only truly exists because they’re teammates and his wife is friends with Ariel is pretty much destroyed now. That’s fine with him. He doesn’t want anything to do with the asshole.

And he has no idea what he’s going to tell Emma about this. His knuckles have cuts and bruises on them already, his fingers aching when he stretches them out, and if she comes to his room tonight, there’s no way in hell she’s not going to notice.

Maybe he should cancel on her.

He doesn’t want to cancel on her.

He wants to spend time with her and simply be in her company, maybe even get to figure out the subway routes (or should he call them the underground here?) and find a secluded place to go out to dinner. But he’s got to explain his hand, and he’s really not sure how lying is going to go here.

Lying to Emma really isn’t his best idea, so he most likely shouldn’t do it.

“Are you even listening to me, KJ?” Ariel huffs, stopping her pacing and placing her hands on her hips. “You look like you’re not listening.”

“I’m not.” She reaches up to slap the back of his hand, but he grabs her wrist to stop her, putting it back by her side. “I’ve heard all of it before, okay? And I’m going to hear it again. I know, I know, I fucking know. It was dumb, but I couldn’t stand by and listen to that. Will couldn’t either, but he’s got enough brains to know better than to punch someone.”

“That is not a sentence I ever thought you would say.”

“Life is funny like that,” Killian chuckles before falling back against his hotel bed. Whoever is booking their hotel rooms this year obviously has no sense of a budget because he hasn’t had a roommate once. It’s glorious. “A, I have no idea why you care about me so much. I’m such a pain in your ass.”

“Yeah,” Ariel sighs, sitting down next to his shoulder on the bed so that she can look over at him, her red hair framing her face, “you are, but I love you, so I don’t mind too much. And you give me something to focus on other than my idiot husband.”

“Please, you and Eric have one fight a year, and it lasts about five minutes.”

“I’ll have you know that we fought just yesterday over what to have for dinner. It was a real battle. I nearly punched him, but I had enough sense to stop myself.”

His eyes roll, but he can feel the smile stretching across his lips as he twists his head to look at Ariel. “I love you too, by the way. You and Elsa and Anna are pretty much the three sisters I never had. And you’re much nicer to me than Liam ever was.”

“Please, Liam is your hero.”

“Yeah, but when I was eight and he was sixteen, I was not his favorite person in the world. I think you guys would have been much nicer to me.”

Ariel’s lips flatten as she nods her head, sarcasm practically penned across the lines on her forehead. “Sure, sweetie. That’s what would have happened. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” She simply arches her brow. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just a shitty afternoon. As long as I don’t get yelled at anymore, I think I’ll be perfect and ready to go for Addy’s birthday party tomorrow. Thanks for setting that up, by the way. I think you may actually be magic for how you convince people to do your bidding.”

“I know,” she says, a grin plastered on her lips. “I’m pretty much the best. Do you want to come and get dinner with me and Eric?”

“Raincheck on that one?”

“I’m holding you to that this time,” Ariel sighs, patting his shoulder before she rises from the mattress. “Keep putting ice on your hand, and doing your stretches. We’ve got a long season ahead of us, and you are not allowed to mess it up.”

“Understood, love. Have fun at dinner. Feel free not to yell at me tomorrow even though I know that you will.”

Ariel waves him away before picking up her purse and walking out the door while he stays stretched out on his mattress, wondering if he can convince whoever owns this hotel to send this mattress and these sheets to his apartment because it’s glorious. Maybe it’s not really and it’s simply the fact that he’s still jetlagged and has had an extremely long day, but he doubts it.

This is the best comforter in the world.

And he’s never going to move from it.

So, of course, there’s a knock on his hotel door. Of course.

Groaning, he pulls himself up to rise from the bed, the muscles in his backing aching the slightest bit, and steps over to the door, checking the peephole and finding Emma on the other side. He should have known, and honestly, of all of the people seeking him out tonight, she is his favorite.

Until he opens the door, lets her inside, and the first thing that she does is hit him in the chest.

What the hell?

“What the hell?” Emma fumes, echoing his thoughts. “You punched Arthur King today?”

Bloody hell.

Bloody hell? Is he British now? How long has he been using that phrase and hasn’t even realized it? This is what he gets for hanging out with Robin so much.

“Aye,” he sighs as his unbruised hand immediately goes up to scratch behind his ear. She doesn’t look angry, the same soft smile that’s usually painted on her face still there, but there’s fire behind the green of her eyes. “How do you know about that?”

“Belle told me.”

He arches a brow. “Belle?”

“Yeah, I ran into her when I was leaving the stadium, and we got to talking and she starts telling me all about you and Will getting into a fight with Arthur over me. I mean, seriously, Killian. How could you be so dumb to punch him? You’re lucky you didn’t fuck up your arm and that you aren’t getting sanctions against you.”

He should really start putting money on how many times he can be told that in one night. He’s betting at least once more tonight and then seven times tomorrow.

“Swan, I know, okay? I promise you I’ve already had my head chewed off about this enough times. I get it, but he was being an asshole and deserved it. Will confronted him first going on and on about how he was a sexist pig, and then Arthur brought me into it by asking how him talking about wanting to fuck you was any different than me asking you out on a date. Then I told him to stop, which only escalated into him asking you if I’m defending you because I’m fucking you. And obviously, I am, but that’s not why I was defending you. He doesn’t get to say shit like that about anyone, but especially not you.”

He releases a breath when he finishes his ramble, which is really only an abbreviated version of the events, but he’s going to lose his mind if he has to go through it one more time. Seriously. But the way Emma’s mouth keeps opening and closing, the right words obviously not coming to her, has him rethinking this and starting from the beginning. It’s not pretty, but she deserves to know.

“You, Killian Jones,” she laments, stepping closer to him and wrapping her arms around his waist in an unexpected move so that he can smell the vanilla of her perfume, “are an idiot asshole who I’m still very much mad at for messing with your hand like that, but I’m also thankful that you and Will didn’t let someone talk about me like that. I’ve been through so much like that already, and I’m glad I have you guys on my side.”

“You have everyone else in that locker room on your side, love,” he says as her rubs his hands up and down her back and rests his chin against her temple, twisting his head to the side so that he can press his lips into her hair. “Me most of all. Then Will, I’ve discovered today, and everyone else is somewhere in there, rankings improving as long as I’m always at the top.”

“You’re so stupid,” she laughs into his chest, the vibrations of it running through him.

“I’ve gotten that a lot today, but you obviously like me a little bit since I saw you wearing my jersey.”

Emma pulls back from the hug to look up at him, a bit of red painting her cheeks. “So, you saw that, did you?”

“I did. I have an eagle eye for my biggest fan.”

“I like you a lot, but I don’t think that I’m your biggest fan. Your nieces have me beat. I didn’t know tomorrow was Addy’s birthday.”

“Aye,” he smiles, fingers inching up her back and tugging her closer to him, “she is turning six, and Ariel has arranged for her to have a tea party in one of the suites separate from the team suites. You should come with me.”

“Killian.” The way she says his name has all of his hope deflating, and he immediately dips his head down to run his lips across the apple of her cheek while his thumbs rub circles into her lower back. “I can’t. You know that.”

“You can. You don’t have to come as my girlfriend. You can simply come as part of the team. I’ll say I ran into you in the hallway or something and insisted that you come along. Come on,” he begs, finally kissing her lips, lingering a moment too long for it to be chaste, “come with me. It’ll be a fun time, and you can meet my family without any of the pressure of meeting them as my girlfriend.”

“But I will be meeting them as your girlfriend.”

“They don’t know that.”

“I’m not sure how that makes me feel. I know I want to meet your family and for you to meet mine. It was my idea and all, but now that the reality is in front of me, I think I might need some more time.” She pulls back from him, releasing his waist and trailing her fingers along his arms until Emma’s holding his hands, soft thumb tracing over the rough parts of his knuckles as her brows furrow together. She’s inspecting to him, and nerves rile in his stomach until she looks up at him with a sympathetic smile. “Can I think on it tonight at least? I don’t have a present for Addy.”

Killian shrugs. “We can sneak out and go buy her something, or,” he twines their fingers together and tugs her toward the bed, “we can spend a little time in here with you on your back because it really wouldn’t make sense for you to have a present if you weren’t technically planning on coming to the party.” “Watching TV?”

“Sure. We can keep it on while I fuck you with the image of you wearing nothing but my jersey playing in my mind.”

Emma laughs, something loud and boisterous, and he’s never been quite so thankful for the way that she enjoys his flirting. “I mean, that is the most typical athlete thing I’ve ever heard in my life, but we could always make it a reality.”

“Really now?”

“Mhm,” she hums, backing up into the mattress and sitting down, “but only because I liked the way you looked today when you realized I was wearing it. Plus, you defended me and all like a good human being, and I like good human beings.”

And I love you, he wants to say, but doesn’t, biting his tongue while he leans over her, hovering just above her face so that she blinks several times while looking up at him, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth.

“Well, only if you insist.”

[prorevenge]

Creepy, Evil Wrestling Coach Gets What's Coming To Him

Disclaimer: This is a story that happened to me in high school over 5 years ago and I was encouraged to share it. This is a really long one, but you'll love how it ends. I promise.

TL;DR added to the bottom.

Background: My parents separated early in my childhood (around 5-6 y/o), but both remained very cordial and friendly with each other. They agreed that both parents should be involved so they shared custody of my younger brother and I. Shortly after separating, they both started seeing other people and they have been a part of my life ever since. They are, in essence, my step parents without the official title. There is no animosity between my parents and stepparents whatsoever. Now, my mom does not wear make-up, but she looks really young. Like, she has been confused on MANY occasions to be my sister. I don't know if its her genes or she found the fountain of youth, but she is very attractive. This is all important as you'll see.

Story:

So in middle school, I joined the intramural wrestling team because I was bullied a lot and needed a place to let off some steam. I was a sensitive teenager and going to wrestling practice was my form of therapy. I even joined an outside wrestling club a few towns away I'll call "WC". While there, I had many coaches including the main coach of the story I'll call Coach Mitch. Mitch was a total douche bag; one of those jocks who brags about how drunk he got, how many girls he banged, and how many illegal things he did. He would walk into WC with this black leather jacket, a backwards cap, and sunglasses and talk up a storm about his nightly conquests. Wrestling was his life and his job at WC was the most important thing to him. On the mat, he was a rough and strict coach who prided himself on his insane cardio training program. If you did anything not to his standards, you would get a stare full of anger and hate we called the "Mitch Glare" and sent to run gassers. I went to every single one of those practices and he remembered my face.

I joined high school and the high school wrestling team as a freshmen, but ultimately didn't wrestle much due to a concussion and other injuries. After the wrestling season ended, the head coach announced he was leaving the team to help his wife diagnosed with breast cancer and there would be a new head coach next year. Sophomore year rolls around and there was an announcement for students to meet the new wrestling head coach after school. So I go with a bunch old teammates and new recruits and in walks Mitch with a leather jacket and a stride full of swagger. My heart sank. After the meeting, Mitch pulled me aside and told me he expected great things from me after wrestling in his WC program.

The first year under Mitch was hell and difficult to adjust to, but I managed. I made varsity for the first time, but I wasn't skilled enough to win many of my matches which Mitch did not let me live down. Every opportunity he got after a loss to make his frustration known, he seized. I would often look to the sidelines to see him giving me the Mitch Glare. I was disappointed with my season and desperately wanted to improve.

I went back to WC that summer with a renewed sense of purpose. I went to every single practice that spring and summer including Mitch's session and the improvements were noticeable to everyone. Everyone except Mitch. After one practice in the summer, Coach Mitch told me that he wanted me and another wrestler to come 30 minutes ahead of practices to practice take-downs. I agreed I would, eager to hopefully get on his good side. I should have said no.

One day over the summer, my mom drove me to WC and we arrived before Mitch so the doors were locked. Since it was a hot, sunny day, my mom stayed until Mitch came. We were chatting when around the corner came Mitch's black Cadillac and parked right next to us. I thanked my mom for the ride and got out of the car to greet Mitch. As I walk a few feet away, my mom rolls down the passenger window and yells to me that I forgot my water bottle. I go back and reach through the window to grab my water bottle and turn around to get a face full of Mitch. I was about to say something, but Mitch, in one fluid motion, shoved me aside with his left arm, pull his right hand on the roof above the passenger window, and reached his head inside the passenger window. To my horror, he begins to flirt with my mom right in front of me! At first, Mitch thought that she was my older sister, but then he realized she was my mom which made him VERY interested. I managed to extract him from the window and we went inside. Once inside, he refused to do anything except talk about my mom. It was very unsettling to hear a 30 y/o man talk about getting with your mom. When I told him that she was with my stepdad, he scoffed and said for now.

The rest of the summer and into my junior year was constant torment from Mitch about my mom. It was not long until Mitch brought up to all the wrestlers and my teammates how hot my mom was, how he was going to rock her world and bed, and how he was going to replace my stepdad and I would call him dad. My teammates laughed and joined in on the tormenting. They even replaced the words of that classic song "Stacey's Mom" to my mom. Every single bus ride to a meet or tournament, Mitch would blast that song. Every. Single. One. Teammates and Mitch would send texts in the group chat about my mom and videos of them singing to that damn song. Mitch would often look up into the stands for my mom (who was a regular at my meets) and would tell me while I'm warming up that she'll be coming home with him afterwards. While this was all going on, I felt embarrassed and powerless, but also angry. I kept my head down and pretended like it didn't affect me despite the fact it did. I thought if I pretended like it didn't affect me, then he would lose interest and stop. But it never stopped.

My junior season was incredible from a wrestling standpoint; I won numerous tournaments including sectionals and went to states where I lost the round prior to placing. Sectionals and states are the equivalent to the playoffs in football/baseball/etc. I vowed to return next year and place at states. Senior year came, and I was winning tournaments and matches again. And while Mitch never got on me for my wrestling, the tormenting of my mom continued despite the fact at this point he had a girlfriend. Many times after walking off the mat, Mitch would come up to me and tell me that it was a good thing I won because he didn't want his stepson to be a loser. This made me rage on the inside, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of a response. But there is only so much that I could take and there was gonna be a day that I finally snap.

It was the weekend before sectionals and we were at the league tournament where I was about to face my arch rival from a few towns away in the finals. I was pumped because we had faced each other in the finals of last year's league tournament and I won. I was warming up off to the side with my mom, stepdad, and dad all sitting together in the stands. I was on deck when Mitch strolled over to me and told me that I better beat this punk or I wouldn't have a bed when he and my mom got married. I pretended to not hear him, but that made my blood boil.

I ended up losing the match and was really upset with myself as I ran off the mat to retrieve my clothes. And seeing the opportunity to kick me while I'm down, Mitch barrels towards me, gets chest-to-chest with me, and starts yelling in my face in front of the whole gym although not loud enough for everyone to hear. He was telling me that I should be embarrassed, that I would never amount to anything, and that he doesn't know if he could marry my mom anymore because he would be associated with a loser. I LOST IT! I shoved Mitch away, told him to fuck off, and stormed out of the gym into the parking lot through the back doors. I was so angry and frustrated that I was seeing red. My parents saw what happened (but could not hear it) and my dad ran after me. He caught me in the parking lot, shaking from anger and helplessness. I wouldn't talk to him and told him him to leave me alone. As he turned to leave, Mitch entered the parking lot (Mitch Glare in full affect) and told me that I was suspended indefinitely from the wrestling team. I didn't say anything to him as he walked away. I turned to my dad and told him we needed to talk tonight and to grab my mom and stepdad. It was time to to get my revenge on the man who tortured me for years.

I return inside to collect my medal and to take a few forced pictures on the podium. I did not return to the team bus and instead had my mom and stepdad drive me home. I spilled EVERYTHING during that car ride home. Their collective reaction was of horror, rage, and disgust. My stepdad, who is a avid health nut and gym rat as well as a former wrestler, wanted to introduce Mitch to his fists; but we convinced him that was not the way to settle this. They vowed to not let this go unpunished and together we hatched a plan. We were gonna take everything from him.

That Monday came and my mom, dad, and I called a meeting with the vice principal, the principal, the athletic director, and the superintendent. I recounted the entire saga all the way back to WC and showed them the texts and videos from the group chat. Unbeknownst to me at the time, my dad, who always videotaped my matches so I could review them later, caught the exchange between Mitch and me but without the audio. The men stared in horror as I shared everything, like wide-eyed fish gasping for air. Then, my mom turns to the men and tells them that she has been in contact with a lawyer and that they are plan on suing under Title IX against the district for sexual harassment unless something was done immediately. I did not know if we actually could sue and if this was a bluff, but the effect was instantaneous. I have never seen a group of four men flinch in unison together and stumble over one another to assure us that they would take action immediately. Mitch was fired that day.

But we did not stop there.

Mitch was so enchanted by my mom, right? So much so he sent text messages and videos to proclaim how much he wanted to be with my mom. Well, I found Mitch's girlfriend on Facebook and sent her over all those messages/videos and told her how he had tortured me for close to two years. SHE WAS LIVID! I wish I could have been there for the fight that ensued, but she dumped his ass and her relationship status turned to single.

But we did not stop there.

My mom and I then returned to WC later that spring and talked to the manager and other coaches about Mitch's behavior towards me while a member of WC. At first they didn't fully believe the story, but after showing them the messages and videos as well as having some legal persuasion from my mom, they quickly backpedaled and assured us that there was no place for that behavior at WC. We stood at the counter with the manager as Mitch walked through the door. The look of horror that crossed Mitch's face was absolutely priceless. While we could not be present for the dismissal in the office, we watched as Mitch reappeared from the office and left WC with his stupid Mitch Glare on his face. My mom and I high-fived in the car and laughed the entire way home.

To finish the season, my suspension was revoked and the assistant coach was promoted to interim head coach. I ended up placing fourth at states that year and it was the proudest moment of my life. I had dealt with so much drama that I felt all of it was finally worth it and I had accomplished my ultimate goal. We had won the battle against Mitch, I placed at states, and I was going to a great college to wrestle with a nice scholarship.

But it does not end there!

That summer going into my first year at college, I dislocated my arm at the shoulder and tore my labrum which required surgery. The morning of the surgery came and my mom was driving me to the hospital when we came across a brown and grey pick-up truck broken down in the right shoulder. My mom slows down because it a one lane road with on-coming traffic on the left. As we pull alongside the truck, from the front of the truck around the driver side stepped Mitch in a yellow safety-vest and tan cargo shorts. Time seemed to slow as we made eye contact and his face twisted into that Mitch Glare. Gone was his nice black Cadillac and nice clothes and replaced with a broken pick-up truck and construction attire. As we drove by, my mom and I looked at each other, asked if we both saw him, and then laughed ourselves all the way to the hospital. Karma is great!

To this day, I still cannot listen to Stacey's Mom.

​

TL;DR - Sadistic wrestling coach harasses me for years including making sexual comments about my mom. I take away his head coaching position, his job, and his girlfriend.

(source) story by (/u/Large_Fail)

[rossmccallsqueen]

Magic Words (Vinnie Malzhan - Undrafted Smut)

Pairing: Vinnie Malzhan x Reader

Summary: Vinnie has started to be known for being late, and he decides he wants to be late one more time. Definitely worth it!

Word count: 2.2K

Warnings: SO MUCH SMUT OMF, face riding, unprotected sex, lots of dirty talk, little bit of dom reader??

Requested: Kind of? Y’all wanted me to write other undrafted boys so here we go!!

—————

You were convinced now more than ever that Vinnie had some kind of thing where he was always late to things. You didn’t know if it was a habit or a disease but whatever it was, he had it. It wasn’t like he tried to be late, it just happened. No matter what you did to try and get him out the door, he was determined to be late. If you did manage to make it to something on time, it was an actual miracle.

“Come on babe we gotta go! You know Ty will kill us if were late for another game.” You already had Vinnie’s extra D-backs jersey on ready to walk out the door.

“I’m not ready yet!” He yelled from upstairs.

“You said you were almost ready 20 minutes ago!” You yelled back, rolling your eyes a little.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to get Vinnie down the stairs without going up to see what he was up to. That was a dangerous game he liked to play, getting you to come upstairs or not. Usually, if you did he often had other ideas that did not involve leaving for the game or wherever you needed to be.

“Vinnie Malzhan I swear if you aren’t ready to go when I get up these stairs, you are NOT getting any ice cream today.” Usually, if you threatened his rainbow sprinkles he got moving pretty dang fast.

You reached the top of the stairs slowly, not sure if you were ready for what was going to be waiting for you. When you reached your room, you saw Vinnie still sitting on the bed. No pants, and definitely not wearing a baseball jersey.

“I thought you were getting dressed!” You put your hands on your hips.

“I had another idea…” He smirked, letting you know what he was up to.

“Vinnie we don’t have time! Its a playoff game! Ty will literally kill you, and me, if we’re late!” You tried telling him. He got up to walk over to you until he was so close to you that you couldn’t even fit a piece of paper there if you wanted to. So this was how he was going to play his little game today…

“Seriously babe we have to go…!” You attempted to say, but got cut off when he bent down and started placing hot kisses against your neck.

“What if I said I wanted you to ride my face?” He whispered, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll make you feel so good baby I promise.” You looked up at him with a new hunger in your eyes, he had already won the game today and he knew it.

“On the bed. NOW MALZHAN.” You commanded him. If you were going to do this, it was going to have to be fast. Vinnie smiled wide and climbed back on the bed. He laid back on your pillows from your still unmade bed from the night before.

You crawled up onto him, bringing his underwear down his legs and throwing them across the room. His eyes widened a little, he definitely wasn’t expecting you to take control of the situation and you were going to play that to your advantage.

“Frisky today babe?” He asked.

“You have NO idea.” You teased, placing kisses up and down each of his thighs. You carefully made your way to his cock, and he was resisting every urge not to push your head right where he wanted it. Vinnie knew that if he did you would stop. He was definitely not going to risk you stopping anytime soon.

Your tongue licked up and down his shaft, eventually taking every bit of it you could in your mouth. You bottomed out, almost choking on his length but you didn’t care. You felt his hands entangle in your hair, encouraging you even more. As your head was bobbing up and down on his length you used your hand to work whatever wasn’t fitting in your mouth.

You could tell he was really enjoying it, and that was the ultimate goal. Your other hand played with his balls a little bit, causing Vinnie to thrust up into your mouth hard. He continuously started bucking his hips, having absolutely no control over what his body was doing thanks to your mouth.

“You’re SO fucking good at this baby holy sHI-” He cut off when you bottomed out on him again, almost causing him to cum right then and there. But you knew that he was close. You weren’t going to let him cum that easily, he was going to have to work for it.

“Not so fast baby, you’re going to have to work a little harder than that.” You winked at him from the bottom of the bed. He smirked back at you, knowing exactly what you wanted. He let go of your hair with one of his hands and signaled for you to make your way up to his face.

Your absolute favorite thing was riding Vinnie’s face, second only to his cock of course. There was something about his tongue that you couldn’t resist, he always knew where you needed it. You liked to say that his tongue was his magic power.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know what right?” You asked him.

“Sit on my fucking face babe, I wanna taste you.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.”

With the smirk that he had on his face, you were more than ready. You straddled your legs on either side of his head, getting into position. Your favorite position.

Vinnie wasted absolutely no time, bringing his arms up around your thighs and pressing you into his face as much as he could. A moan escaped your lips as soon as he ran his tongue along your folds. His lips attached to you almost immediately, sucking and licking any place he could reach. Your hips start to grind your pussy against his face which spurned this heat in Vinnie that you had never seen before.

He continues sucking against every part of your folds, flattening his tongue against your clit. You grab the headboard hoping to steady yourself in some way but finding almost no relief in doing so. This man really fucking knows what he's doing, you think.

“VINNIE FUCK. FUCK ME.” You scream out, grinding as hard as you could onto his tongue.

He lets go of your thighs for a quick second, putting his hands upon your breasts and squeezing. He loved worshipping your breasts just as he loved worshipping your clit. He moans into you as he grabs them, sending vibrations up into your core that you’d never thought possible.

You looked down at him and saw his eyes burning with need. He stops massaging your breasts and brings a hand down to smack your ass as you’re still making eye contact.

“I said FUCK MY FACE BABY.” And Vinnie slapped your ass again. His words vibrated your clit, and he began sucking vigorously on your folds. He continued to lick and suck, almost never stopping to breathe. Letting go of the headboard you wrap your fingers into his hair, almost as if you wanted to pull his mouth up into your pussy

His tongue was hitting all the right spots but you needed him to go deeper. You knew you were close, his tongue was absolute magic, but the feeling was sitting on the edge and you didn’t know what you needed to reach it. This man was literally going to town on you and eating you like you were his favorite meal.

His hands are resting on your back, encouraging you to rub your clit against his face. He wanted you all over him, not just his mouth and you fucking loved it. You tugged even harder at his hair telling him that you wanted more.

It was at that moment that his tongue drove farther into you, and he brought one of his hands up to attack your clit at the same time. You were grinding so fast on him you didn’t know how you could go any faster but you were. His fingers were driving in and out of you just as his tongue was, absolutely fucking you out of your mind.

You roll your hips against his mouth one more time, desperately trying to find that sweet spot you needed him to find. He always found it but he was sure as hell taking his sweet time today.

“VINNIE FUCKING HELL I NEED TO CUM. FUCK MY PUSSY. DEEPER. COME ON VINNIE JESUS FUCK.” It was almost as if you yelling his name flipped a switch. He ravished your pussy like never before, nipping and licking your clit feverishly.

He didn’t show any signs of slowing down and used his fingers to help him even more. Combined with his fingers and his tongue you could feel your orgasm building.

“JUST LIKE THAT BABY JUST LIKE THAT.” You encouraged him, feeling one of his arms wrap around your thigh to bring you closer.

“Fucking cum on my face baby, come all over my face.” Like you’d said before, you didn’t need to be told twice. You grabbed onto the headboard and grinded all over his face. His tongue reached that magic spot on your clit and sending you over the edge. You couldn’t even control your movements it was that powerful, rubbing your cum all over his face.

It took you a few minutes to come down from your high, and when you did you backed up onto his stomach. Your cum literally was all over his face, and you smiled.

“Now that was a beautiful baby. You ready to go?” He asks as if you hadn’t just cum all over his face.

“Ready to go? After that? You haven’t even cum yet baby, not so fast.” You told him and you kept backing up until you were sitting on top of his very hard cock.

“How about I ride something else?”

“Fuck yes baby let’s fuckin go.” Vinnie was nodding his head so fast you thought he might get whiplash. Carefully you lifted yourself up and sank down on his cock.

You still felt sensitive from riding his face but you didn’t care. You felt him shift a little bit and he sat up so his face was right against yours. He placed love bites all over each of your breasts, thrusting into you as if his life depended on it.

“If we’re gonna be late we might as well make it count huh babe?” You asked and Vinnie responded by meeting the rolls of your hips with his thrusts.

“I’m so fucking close baby right there for me, right fucking there.” Vinnie chanted in your ear. You could feel your second orgasm building as well. You held onto his neck like a lifeline, you rolled your hips and Vinnie hit your sweet spot over and over again. Soon he was cumming all over your walls, only stilling after a couple minutes.

“Vinnie Malzhan did you just cum inside me?” You asked, looking down at him. You didn’t have a problem with it, you knew you’d start a family sooner or later.

“Maybe….”

“I swear if our future children ever find out this is how they were conceived I’m cutting your dick off.” You climbed off of him.

“My lips are sealed baby girl. Now how about we go to the game?” Vinnie asked, and you slapped his arm playfully as you walked out the door. You didn’t mind being late all of a sudden.

Pulling up to the field, you saw that the boys were already warming up. Late to Ty was still a little early for everyone else, but he would still say you were late. Oops?

“VINNIE YOU’RE LATE.” You heard Ty yell as soon as you stepped out of the car. Both of you couldn’t help but laugh. You gave Vinnie a quick kiss before you went to take your seat next to the other girlfriends and families. You knew Ty wasn’t gonna let up for awhile but it was still worth it.

Vinnie took his seat next to Dells on the bench, still breathing a little heavy. Dells gave him a look and you heard him say “What is it Dells? Do I have something on my face?”

Oh shit.

“Well no.. but I do have a question.” Dells said.

“What is it Dells?”

“She let you ride her face didn’t she?” You could see Vinnie’s face and he just looked so confused. And then you realized, his hair looked like a damn mess and not even his hair could hide it.

“Maybe…?”

“You really should brush your hair when you’re done dude.” You just watched as Garvey, Dells, and Murray started to laugh.

“VINNIE ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU’RE LATE BECAUSE YOU HAD TO GET SOME?” Ty yelled, leering the entire complex know that you two did it. You didn’t even care, you were laughing way to hard to even notice anyone looking. You just shared a look with Vinnie who looked at you and mouthed “Worth it.”

————

Undrafted taglist: @joemhazzello

Permanent taglist: @borhap-socials @jiswoogannon @aussienerdgirl @im-justatrashcan @one-thousandlies @fatbottomedcurls @imamazzellhoe @sohoneyspreadyourwings @tichtaylor @goodoldfashionrogerboy @rogerina-deacon @punkgeekchic @super-hereos-are-my-life

[bthenoise]

Super Bowl 54 As Predicted By Members Of State Champs, Set It Off, Counterparts, Four Year Strong & More

Alright football fans, it’s that time of year – time for the biggest day in sports: the Super Bowl. The Big Game. The Colossal Showdown. The Sunday, Sunday, Sunday Chiefs fans have been waiting for since… January 11, 1970 aka the last time the Kansas City franchise won a Super Bowl.

Now, knowing most of you are probably absolutely thrilled to not watch another Tom Brady-led Super Bowl and instead a Patrick Mahomes vs Jimmy Garoppolo matchup of the ages, we wanted to do our best to help build anticipation.  

In order to get you even more excited for this Sunday’s championship game between the Kansas City Chiefs and San Francisco 49ers, we reached out to a handful of sports-savvy artists to see who they think will win it all.

To see what members of Set It Off, State Champs, The Word Alive, Fit For A King, Four Year Strong and more had to say about Super Bowl 54, be sure to look below. Afterward, make sure to tweet us @TheNoise and let us know who you have winning!

Cody Carson - Set It Off

This is going to be one hell of a game. The 49ers running game is a force to be reckoned with and if the Chiefs can’t stop it, it’s going to cause them problems because it’ll keep Mahomes off the field for longer. And that’s the other side, Mahomes will not be stopped. So it’s run vs. pass and I’ll take pass all day. It’s gonna be close but I think it’ll be 31-28, Chiefs win.

Tyler Szalkowski - State Champs 

I predict that the San Francisco 49ers will win the Super Bowl 31-24. I expect to see some high powered offense from both sides but I think the 49ers defense will be terrorizing Mahomes the whole game. I sure hope this ages well!

Telle Smith - The Word Alive

49ers 27 - 21. The reason I think the 49ers are going to win is because I was reading a bunch of stuff on how this matchup is going to go. One, I think with the 49ers all year, everyone was saying like, ‘Oh they're not gonna win.’ The Chiefs [on the other hand] were pretty much Super Bowl favorites from day one and I love watching them, they're really fun to watch. But the 49ers defense, they play the one kind of defense that Mahomes has struggled against -- which is cover three. I really feel like, unless they make some strong adjustments, it's not going to be as easy for the Chiefs to go off offensively. That's what's really won them games [this season]. It hasn’t been their defense. Their offense has just been so good that it didn't matter how many points the other team was scoring. The thing about the 49ers too, like they did last week, they can win with six completions and 80 yards passing or Garoppolo can throw for 300-plus yards and they can win that way. So, I think [the 49ers] just have a better base-level, how-you-play-football team. I think with the Chiefs’ offense, if you could pick any one offense in the NFL, you'd probably take them. That's my prediction.

Ryan Kirby - Fit For A King

I'm going with the Chiefs, 35-21. I really feel like the Chiefs have an offense you can't slow down. The 49ers are great but don't have the offense to keep up with them and I don't think their defense will be as effective because of how explosive Mahomes and the Chiefs offense is.

Alex Biro - Selfish Things

31-28 SF. Beyond the Vikings, the 49ers have always been one of my favorite football teams. KC has a strong defense but SF has been rushing well through the playoffs and looked pretty untouchable last weekend. 4th quarter field goal with under two minutes left seals it for the 49ers.

Dan O'Connor - Four Year Strong

I’ll go with the 49ers. Garoppolo knows how to work the pocket and keep the ball moving down the field. [If] their offensive line doesn’t have a lot of luck running the ball they will have to rely on his pass game. I think it will come down to the wire with the 49ers on top. 

Kevin Jordan - This Wild Life

Based entirely off of their team names I think the 49ers will score exactly 49 points then just take a knee. We played a show at a Chief’s Bar once and their fans were gigantic and scary so I can only imagine how much more gigantic and scary the actual players are so they will score 98 points.

Dan O'Connor - Four Year Strong PART TWO

I think it will be a close game, but at the last second Tom Brady will descend from the heavens, QB sneak the final touchdown and win the game for the Patriots.

Brendan Murphy - Counterparts 

Fuck the Super Bowl it’s the BrennyBowl™️ now.

Tom Williams - Stray From The Path

Purple Gatorade to be dumped on the [winning] head coach. +1650. Risk $50 to win $825. TAILS on the pre-game coin toss. -115. Risk $230 to win $200. TAILS NEVER FAILS. KANSAS CITY CHIEFS TO WIN. Risk $690 to win $607.

WATCH MORE:

[welllpthisishappening]

The Period of the Long Change (14/15)

It’s quick. One second she’s standing there and everything is fine and then Emma looks up and it’s not. It’s awful. And the lights are too bright and there are too many rooms and too many opinions and her phone won’t stop ringing because everything seems to be changing all at once. She’s never been great at coping with change. But, maybe, if she can just figure it out and stay right where she is, with Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, at her side, it’ll be alright.

It’s slow. One second he’s standing there and everything is fine and then Killian’s breath catches and it’s not. It’s terrifying. And the noises are too loud and there are too many questions and he can’t find the right answers to any of them, not sure how to cope with everything changing all at once. That’s never really been his forte. But, maybe, if he can just figure it out and stay right where he is, with Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations, at his side, it’ll be alright.

It’s another season and another challenge and Emma and Killian are both struggling to get over the boards.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 8K and change AN: If you’ve been reading and sticking along and clicking on this, I really appreciate it a lot. We’re almost done. 

Also on Ao3 and FF.net and Tumblr if that’s your jam.

The ice didn’t feel any different.

He wasn’t sure what he expected it to feel like. Ice was ice. There wasn’t much give to it and it was cold and solid and it was ice. Nothing was different, but it kind of felt like everything was different and Killian’s skates felt far too tight.

That might have been his lungs, actually.

It kind of felt like his lungs were shrinking.

And expanding.

And just generically not working.

He hadn’t even skated away from the boards yet.

He wasn’t sure his legs would work either.

“Cap,” Robin called, standing at the far end of the rink with a stick in one hand and several blurs that were actually several different kids moving around him. “It’s not going to melt as soon as you touch it.”

“He’s touching it now,” Will reasoned. Killian turned to see him walking down the tunnel, a smile on his face and a bag of pucks in his hands and his skates probably didn’t feel as if they were doing permanent damage to several different toes.

Killian should have asked Kristoff about his skates. But that would probably require him to admit to several things he wasn’t sure he was ever willing to admit to and being nervous about skating was, easily, the most absurd thing that had ever happened to him.

“You going to move Cap or, like, what’s your deal?” Will continued, bumping shoulders with Killian when he tried to move over the boards.

“Can you control any part of your body? Or are you just trying to be a complete and utter asshole?” “The fact that you’re using all of those words gives me pause.” “And not your inability to get over the boards two weeks after the season ended?” Will shrugged and rolled his eyes and did something with his legs that could not have been good for his hips, but his skates didn’t skid when they landed on the ice and he stared at Killian like he’d just scored a hat trick and won another Stanley Cup.

They hadn’t.

Again.

And, really, that was the last thing Killian was worried about, but it had been a kind of strange last few months and not even making the playoffs was a strange change of pace for the New York Rangers.

That was kind of the subheadline for the entire season.

The actual headline was far less respectful.

There’d been questions and less-than-ideal Photoshops on the back page of The Post and Killian wasn’t ever searching out subReddit posts, but they was difficult to avoid when he spent so much time around recently-named Sergeant David Nolan and it seemed like every single cab driver he’d hailed in the last two and a half months had several, very vocal opinions to share on the state of the Rangers front office.

And its decision to send Husinger back to the AHL after the trade deadline.

They’d brought in a new guy and he wasn’t great, but Killian didn’t feel the innate urge to punch him every time he thought about him.

“I think you’re deflecting on things here, Cap,” Will muttered. He dropped the pucks at his feet, a sound that seemed to echo off the walls of the otherwise empty Garden and, possibly, in between Killian’s ears and this whole thing was actually pretty ridiculous.

He’d been on the ice before.

He’d stood at center ice, advised a power play that, despite the lack of a playoff berth, was actually pretty goddamn good by the end of the season, and followed a PT schedule with only a minimal amount of complaining. He and his kids had watched more film in the last two months than they had in the last four years, a jumble of limbs and thoughts on the couch and, more often than not, Emma came home to find all three of them tangled and asleep, with the tablet dead on the coffee table.

Killian could never remember to charge the tablet.

It was fine and good and as great as it could be when he wasn’t actually playing, but they’d agreed not to rush this and Ariel had done so much research about everything that sometimes Killian swore his head was spinning at even the mere thought of it.

And, naturally, Ariel had told Emma who made a schedule and made him promise not to push it and Killian had agreed to that willingly.

He knew he was coming back.

It didn’t matter when.

But when was now and now the ice didn’t feel different, but it didn’t feel quite like the home it had always been and that was an even more ridiculous thought than the rest of the absolutely insane thoughts he’d been thinking all day.

His skates were way too tight.

God, Will was totally right.

“We don’t have to do this now,” Will muttered, moving the blade of his stick under the closest puck so he could bounce it in the air. Killian arched an eyebrow. “It’s a nervous habit,” he explained. “Because you’re making me nervous. What are you thinking?” “That’s a very loaded question, actually.” “Yeah?” Killian nodded, cursing softly when Robin appeared in front of him and doused the front of his too-small skates with a fresh coat of ice. “What the hell, Locksley?” “You going to move or what are we doing?” Robin asked, but his eyes darted towards Will and Killian didn’t try to suppress his sigh.

“We’re moving. We’re just--” “--Thinking about it, apparently,” Will mumbled.

Robin made a noise, not quite an agreement and possibly a little mocking and Killian forgot he was holding a stick until he realized he was resting most of his weight against it. Kristoff would kill him if he broke a stick and complained about his skates.

And then Anna would kill him and that was just going to get messy.

He didn’t have time for that.

He had to move.

“And were we going to address those thoughts?” Robin pressed. He leaned forward to grab another puck, handling like he was moving between sixty-seven defenders and this all felt a little full-circle. Matt and Roland were yelling at Henry about getting in goal on the other side of the ice and Dylan kept shooting at the boards and they didn’t have a ton of time.

This wasn’t, technically, a practice or anything more than an optional skate that Killian knew Arthur had only scheduled so he could get on the ice. Arthur was probably lurking somewhere in one of the suites upstairs.

With Victor.

And Ariel.

And maybe Emma.

No, Emma had some season ticket thing to worry about – end of the season wrap ups and future outlooks and offseason events to prep for because they were all going to be a little busy for the next few days and Matthew Jones was graduating preschool.

That was way more exciting than events or not-quite legitimate practices.

“I guess not,” Will shrugged when Killian didn’t answer Robin’s question, and he sighed again.

“You’re the two most impatient people on the planet, you know that?” Killian asked, but his voice lacked the edge he wanted it to and Matthew Jones probably wished he could skip preschool graduation so he could stay on the ice for the foreseeable future.

They’d gotten Henry into the net.

“What are the thoughts, Cap?” Robin demanded. He flicked his wrists, a quick twist and turn and the puck didn’t quite slam into Killian’s skate, but it was awfully close.

“Are you kidding me?” “An answer to the question or I’m going to keep pelting you with pucks.” “That sounds ridiculous.” “And kind of immature too,” Will added, still bouncing his own puck and he must have taken an entire box out of equipment. They were never going to use that many pucks. There were three of them.

Robin shook his head. “You do not get to say those words, Scarlet. You were the one trying to get Matt and Rol to race before so you could win--” “--Ah, c’mon, we agreed we weren’t going to talk about that in front of Cap. He’s going to slam us into the boards.” “I made no such agreement and that’s just incredibly untrue.”

“Which part, exactly?” Killian asked, pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn’t quite as annoyed as he was intrigued and it sounded like his kid had just scored. That was probably the reason for whatever he was feeling.

“You’re not going to slam anyone into the boards because you can’t even get on the ice. Also because you know A is lurking somewhere, watching this and you don’t want to deal with that.” “Ok, that’s just rude, Locksley,” Ariel yelled, a disembodied voice that probably would have been impressive if it weren’t also kind of terrifying.

“Oh my God,” Killian mumbled. He ran his hand through his hair, standing up straighter and glancing around like that would summon Ariel and it kind of worked. He heard her shoes before he saw her, a squeak and a bit of a stomp and the boards got in her way when she tried to launch herself at Robin.

Will caught her around the waist.

“Where were you hiding?” Killian asked. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“I wasn’t hiding. I was...” “Lurking?” Will laughed, an arm still around her and she’d somehow managed to perch on the edge of the boards, feet dangling over the ice and one shoe threatening to fall off.

“Screw you, Scarlet. I was not lurking either. I was watching and doing my job, which, incidentally Cap, it doesn’t seem like you’re doing much of.” “It’s the offseason,” Killian pointed out. “Technically speaking I don’t have a job. I am on vacation. This is voluntary skate.” “Have you ever not skated at a voluntary skate? Or an involuntary one?” “That sounds like torture skate.” “God, you’re annoying, you know that?” Killian grinned, turning a bit and the ice really didn’t feel different when he moved. His lungs were starting to feel a bit normal again. “And,” Ariel added. “Just because you’re cool to skate now does not mean you get to ignore me, you know that right?”

“I would never ignore you, Red.” “Do not lie straight to my face. Don't insult me like that.” “Is he totally cured if he can’t even skate to the circle?” Will asked, and they’d apparently moved out of the understanding portion of the conversation.

Ariel made a face. “He’s not ever totally cured. That’s not how concussions work.” “Don’t act like Scarlet should know that,” Robin muttered. Will flipped him off. And both Killian and Ariel mumbled there are kids here under their breath. He skated backwards, one hand held up in surrender and a knowing smile on his face. “Aye, aye Mom and Dad.” “Oh, shut up,” Ariel grumbled, another insult that lacked any sort of actual insult and they were all far too comfortable with each other. “I’m serious though, Cap. Walking and we’re going to do some of those balance things.” “It really does take away from the seriousness of it when you call it things, you know,” Killian said. Ariel tried to kick at him, but it only ended with her right shoe sailing across the entire goddamn rink and it was a miracle any of them stayed standing.

Killian was very thankful for the stick in his hand.

Ariel yelled a string of insults at them again, cursing them to several different hells and underworlds and none of them made a move to go get her shoe. “You guys are the worst,” Ariel shouted, trying to keep her bare foot away from the ice and Killian’s sides were starting to ache.

He was fairly certain Will had tears in his eyes.

Robin couldn’t even stand up.

“Will one of you seriously go get my shoe?” Ariel asked. “I”m not walking back to my office with one shoe.” “No one is kicking you off the ice, A,” Robin muttered, laughter clinging to the words he could barely get out.

“I’m going to tell Gina to lock you out of your apartment later.” “Nah, the kids are with me. She won’t do that. I win.” “Screw you, Locksley.” “Ariel,” Will gasped, a hand to his practice jersey and a scandalized look on his face. “The children! Your child! Think of the children!” It looked like she was trying to shoot lasers out of her eyes at them.

“Get my goddamn shoe!”

“This is why you shouldn’t resort to violence like that,” Robin grinned. He was still trying to stick handle against no one. Killian was going to tell Gina that later.

“We’re trying to better the game,” Will added. “Also, as an aside, where were you lurking?”

Ariel growled. “Stop using that word!” “Not an answer.” “I was walking here. There was no hiding. There was no lurking. I was late because, unlike you guys, I still have stuff to do in the offseason and things to get ready for later.” Killian blinked at the tone of her voice, Ariel’s eyes widening and her lips pulled back behind her teeth as soon as she realized what she’d said. Will whistled. “What does that mean, exactly?” Killian asked.

Her shoe was probably going to stick to the ice.

“Nothing.” “I thought you didn’t want to hear the lies.” “Only when it came to you and skating, which, you know, you’re still not doing.” “You’re a worse liar than Emma is.” “I’m going to tell her that,” Ariel warned, but Killian shrugged. Will whistled again. “It’s very frustrating when you won’t take my insults or threats seriously.” “It’s probably got something to do with us knowing each other for so long,” Will said. The puck on his blade fell back to the ice, another crash that sounded far too loud and this conversation was confusing. They needed to pick a lane – serious or teasing or something that didn’t affect Killian’s lungs quite so much.

He hoped Emma ate lunch. He hadn’t had to bribe Merida in weeks, had spent most of March actually eating lunch with his wife and hot chocolate dates turned into walks up Broadway and actually going to that Shake Shack a few blocks away and coming back to kiss her in her office and deserted hallways and they’d only been caught by Mary Margaret that one time, which was only kind of awkward, but Emma was right and she really should have called.

And Mary Margaret was right, Emma would have ignored her text messages anyway.

“Yeah, probably,” Ariel agreed. It sounded like the words physically pained her. “Seriously can I have my shoe back? It’s freezing in here.”

“Why aren’t you tying your shoes better, Red?” Killian asked, and he still hadn’t moved, which, honestly was only slightly troubling, but he was still kind of laughing and he hoped Arthur was in one of the suites if only he could witness all of this in person.

“Because I was trying to get down here. Obviously.” He stopped laughing almost immediately, lungs not entirely appreciating the distinct lack of oxygen he was providing them and if Dylan didn’t stop shooting at the boards, Killian was fairly certain he was going to go insane.

Matt was singing the goal song again.

He must have scored. Again.

“Yeah, got you know, don’t I?” Ariel asked, working a quiet scoff out of Killian. “You feel appropriately bad now?”

“Were you trying to make me feel bad?” “Nah, you’ve had enough of that this season, honestly.” “That was actually kind of nice.”

“We’ve circled right back around to cognitive balance. Assume that was my plan along. It makes me sound way smarter than I was planning on.” Killian grinned, digging the toe of his skate into the ice and the air was cold when he inhaled. That felt normal. That felt right. That felt the way it always had.

Because the ice hadn’t changed at all.

It was goddamn ice.

It was what it always was.

He moved.

And he’d never really been one for riding bikes – probably would have scandalized Mrs. Vankald if he’d ever suggested any of them rode a bike anywhere – but Killian assumed this whole thing was kind of similar, muscle memory and second nature and never being able to forget something that was so incredibly important.

The first time he skated on Garden ice he was fourteen and playing in some showcase and he didn’t score a single goal. Liam scored twice.

And he’d been so incredibly pissed off, he was still a little surprised he hadn’t tried to drop gloves with Liam in the middle of the visitor’s locker room.

They’d gotten dressed in the visitor’s locker room.

It was the only time he’d been in that part of the Garden.

He didn’t though. He walked out of the locker room with his skates tied together and hanging over his shoulder and his stick in his left hand, a scowl on his face that probably would have stayed there for, at least, several months if Mr. Vankald hadn’t been waiting for him at the end of the hallway.

Killian had swallowed, glancing up at the man in front of him and not arguing when he held his hand out, an unspoken command to give over the stick. “Let’s take a walk,” Mr. Vankald had said, and they probably weren’t supposed to be there, but no one was going to question them.

They’d ended up in section two hundred and eight.

They stood there for what felt like hours or days or another fourteen years of trying, desperately, to be enough and score enough and Mr. Vankald didn’t say anything at first.

He didn’t give Killian back his stick.

“You didn’t fall,” Mr. Vankald said eventually, not taking his eyes away from the ice.

Killian nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“There’s no guessing. You didn’t.” “I didn’t score, either.” “That doesn’t matter.” Killian glanced at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open and his lips went dry from breathing so heavily. “What?” he balked. “But, that’s...scoring is…” “Not the only part of the game. And not the only part of your game.”

He wanted to argue. He had every reason to argue. Killian scored goals. He skated fast and put the puck in the back of the net and Mr. Vankald still didn’t really understand what icing was at that point.

He didn’t say any of that.

“You think?” Killian asked instead, and Mr. Vankald nodded once. “Because Liam is--” “--Not you, Killian. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s a very good thing. It means you get to play your own game and decide if you even want to play.” “Of course I want to play!”

Mr. Vankald laughed, finally turning his head and Killian didn’t remember much about his dad, just knew he existed somewhere, but, in that moment, none of that really mattered because he was fairly sure the man in front of him was everything a father was supposed to be or could be and he’d figure out what icing was eventually.

“Then you will,” Mr. Vankald said easily. “And you’ll be as good as you can be. You’ll get back on this ice and you’ll skate as fast as I know you can and you’ll probably set some kind of scoring record for whatever team you play for.” “You think?” Killian asked again, voice a little softer and a little more cautious. Mr. Vankald didn’t blink – in the years after that was always the one thing that stood out the most, the easy sense of confidence that seemed to exist around him, as if he was just constantly certain everything would work simply because he deemed it so.

And because Matias Vankald may have been the single most stubborn person on the planet.

That was probably where Killian learned it from.

“I know,” Mr. Vankald promised.

He held the stick back out, lips quirking up when Killian had to shift the skates still hanging off his shoulder to wrap his left hand around it. “I think,” Killian muttered, staring at his feet, and Mr. Vanklad didn’t interrupt him. He waited. And believed. “I think I might want to play here.” “Here?” “Yeah. I mean...the Rangers haven’t won a Cup in awhile. It’d be kind of cool to do that and I know that’s not how the draft works or if I could even get there, but--” “--Hey,” Mr. Vankald cut in sharply, and Killian’s eyes nearly fell out of his head when he met the man’s gaze. Certain. Confident. And absurdly proud of his kid. His kid. “That might not be how the draft normally works, but if anyone’s going to take center ice at the Garden, it’s going to be you. I know it.”

“Not quite center. I play on the wing.” Mr Vankald laughed loudly, head thrown back and eyes closed and Killian stumbled over his own feet when he felt an arm around his shoulders. “That’s a very good point, my boy. Of course. Killian Jones, just right of center ice.”

It wasn’t the last time he’d hug Mr. Vankald – far from it, honestly – but it always felt like something changed then and there were some who said Killian was too confident, too sure of his own talent and his own scoring ability, but he never fell on Garden ice.

And this was no different, skating on ice that was the same as it always was because the game was the same as it always was and Killian wanted as much as he had when he was fourteen.

For his kid this time.

And his family.

And the gaze he could feel on the back of his head as soon as his fingers landed on the top of Ariel’s goddamn shoe.

She cheered when he picked it up, eyes bright and distractingly green and she wasn’t sitting in the seats, but Emma clapped as soon as Killian stood back up.

“Nice move,” she yelled.

“You impressed, Swan?” “If I tell you consistently is that going to do dangerous things to your ego?” “Undoubtedly,” Killian admitted, his lungs finally functioning like normal parts of a human body and Ariel was still shouting about her footwear and how cold the ice was.

“Ah, then better not risk it, huh?” “Probably not.”

Emma’s smile widened, shaking her hair back over her shoulders and it was a testament to everything that Killian hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t alone. Anna rolled her eyes from her seat, feet propped up on the row in front of her and a Rangers t-shirt on that she’d absolutely stolen from Kristoff.

No one except team members got those developmental camp t-shirts.

She was holding Peggy again.

“You didn’t fall over, KJ,” Anna said, not quite yelling, but not quite loud either and she had her phone out as well. He had some very strong suspicions about what Ariel absolutely, positively did not know.

“Yeah, that hasn’t happened in awhile.” “Seems like a good sign.” “Doesn’t it?”

Anna laughed softly, shaking her head like she couldn’t quite believe the scene in front of her and that was fair because she probably knew about that walk several decades before and he’d been blatantly flirting with Emma.

“You might want to give Ariel back her shoe though,” Emma said, nodding back towards the boards and Ariel groaned when Killian shrugged again.

“She can wait two seconds. How come you’re up there?” “I don’t think we’re supposed to be, if I’m being honest.” “Nah, that’s not what I meant. How come you’re not here?” “Where?” “Here,” Killian repeated, and he really should have been ready for it, but the very solid body colliding with his right thigh still managed to take him by surprise. He dropped Ariel’s shoe again. “You’re going to hurt your throat if you keep sighing that dramatically, Red,” he yelled, not bothering to turn around and Will chuckled when she inevitably stuck her tongue out at him again. Matt was already talking into his leg.

And trying to get him to move.

“Dad, can we race?”

“What?” “This is a very unorganized conversation,” Emma muttered, and he wasn’t sure how he heard her over the sound of pucks and Roland and Henry arguing about goalie interference, but no one knew what that was anyway and it probably had something to do with the flirting.

“That’s why we’ve got El,” Anna reasoned. Ariel sighed again. “Ah, damn. KJ, you better act surprised or I’m never going to talk to you again.”

“I mean…” “Do not do that, KJ. I’ll come down on the ice and challenge you to a fight, I swear.” “Please don’t do that,” Emma said. She pulled Peggy away from Anna, letting her feet rest on the ground and Killian resisted the very real urge to tell Ariel his seventeen-month-old daughter managed to keep both her shoes on at all times.

It didn’t matter anyway – Will was doing it.

“She’s not nearly as much of a threat as she thinks she is, Swan,” Killian reasoned, twisting Matt in front of him so he could rest both his forearms on his kid’s shoulders. “I’m serious, though, how come you’re up there? Is there anyone else lurking up there with you?” “Lurking?” “He’s got a very limited vocabulary, Em,” Will yelled. “But if you come down here, you think you can steal some more pucks? Little Vankald, go tell your boyfriend to steal more pucks.” “He’s in charge of the pucks, Scarlet. I don’t think he can steal them.” “Ah, yeah, that’s true.” “Are you telling me you stole pucks this afternoon?” Anna asked pointedly, an eyebrow trick that the entire Vankald family should probably have gotten patented at some point. They were all missing out on a very large residual income.

Will flushed, Roland laughing under his breath when he skated by to grab another puck. “I think she’s got you, Uncle Will.” “You are not the lawyer in this family, Little Vankald,” Will said, and the clack of heels coming down the tunnel was almost too obvious. “I don’t have to answer to you.” “Is that supposed to make a difference?” Ruby asked archly. “And should you be up there, A? That doesn’t look safe at all.” “I wouldn’t be if Cap would bring me my goddamn shoe,” Ariel hissed.

“Did you say shoe?” “It’s a very long story, Lucas,” Killian explained, and Matt was starting to get frustrated they weren’t skating anymore. “I know, kid, I know. We’ll move again in a second, once Mom gets down here.” He glanced up at Emma, her mouth open slightly and he was absolutely a selfish ass because he was absolutely trying to impress her still and always and indefinitely, but she knew that and knew everything and he had some suspicions about who planned Liam and Elsa’s flight.

Again.

Or always.

Something less dramatic than that.

“I really don’t think we’re supposed to be down there,” Emma said. “Technically.” “Technically.” “You’re an incredible rule breaker.” “Yes.” “Wow,” she laughed. “Not even like a little bit of an argument, huh?”

Killian shook his head, hair moving in the process and Matt was trying to stage a passing drill with Roland while also keeping himself plastered to his side. “Seemed kind of pointless, you know? Something, something open book.” “Does that work both ways?” “This is gross,” Will announced, Robin humming in agreement as he tried to get Regina on the ice. Her heels kept slipping. “See, I’ve got the majority, that’s how it works, right, little Vankald?” “You were very quick to point out my lack of law degree, Scarlett,” Anna said. “You don’t get to backtrack on that.” “Ah, worth the effort. I was serious about those pucks though.” “Do you own dirty work.”

Will groaned, but he didn’t argue anymore, skating back towards the far blue line so he could snap his stick against Roland’s ankles. That got him to stop arguing about goalie interference.

At least for now.

“It absolutely works both ways,” Killian guaranteed, suddenly remembering he hadn’t answered Emma’s questions and her smile was drifting away from amused and a bit closer to charmed and that felt like another hat trick and another return to the ice and he hoped he didn’t ever have to do the second one again.

“Good to know. Arthur’s going to be pissed if we take over his practice.” “It’s not much of a practice to begin with. No contact. Voluntary.” “And,” Ruby added, perched next to Ariel on the boards and she’d already taken her own shoes off to avoid a repeat performance. “He’s sitting in the team box with just a questionable amount of paperwork and plans and I think several dozen whiteboards. So it’s not like he’s not aware of what’s going on.” Killian’s laugh seemed to fly out of him, body sagging forward and the kid still standing there did not appreciate it much at all. He didn’t fall over either.

Trends or history or whatever.

It absolutely did not matter.

As long as it kept happening.

Indefinite sounded a lot better in that context.

“See, Swan,” he said, moving an arm around Matt’s middle and resting his chin on top of his head. Anna took a picture. “No reason to object now.” “C’mon Mom,” Matt yelled. “You can race too!”

Killian widened his eyes, skating backwards and he didn’t let go of Matt, pulling him across the ice with laughter ringing in the air around him. Emma bit her lip. “If we all get fined for this, I’m going to make Scarlet pay for it,” she said.

“That’s totally fair.” “That’s not fair at all,” Will argued, but Emma was already moving and Anna might have been cackling, thumb hitting against her phone screen so quickly it was almost a blur in whatever section they were actually standing in.

“I think you’ve just gotten lawyer’ed, Scarlet.” “And that doesn’t make sense!” “Too late, don’t care!”

It took less than ten minutes for Emma and Anna to get to ice-level, but it felt like several lifetimes and Killian was absolutely impatient and he couldn’t stop moving. Neither could Matt, a fact both Robin and Will made sure to point out several times.

“Is this what he was like when he was a kid?” Robin asked when Anna swung her legs over the boards. “Wow, that was actually a pretty impressive move.” “Do not go all prehistoric on me, Locksley,” Anna warned. “I know how to get on the ice. And yes, to answer your question. Although Matt’s way more adorable than KJ ever was.” “That’s rude, Banana,” Killian muttered, Emma swatting his hand away when she moved onto the boards. He grinned.

“Also your kid is a way better skater at four--”

“--Four and a half,” Matt shouted. He nearly lost his balance when he tried to jump on his skates, an indignant look on his face that would have made all of them laugh if they weren’t too busy trying to make sure he didn’t fall over.

Roland’s hand landed on his back, just under the name between his shoulder blades and it could not have been healthy for all of them to be this emotional. Or supportive. It was definitely supportive.

That sounded better in this context too.

“Easy, Mattie,” Roland muttered, Henry a few feet away with his gloves already off like that would make it easier to catch one or both of them.

Killian glanced at Emma, her lips pressed together tightly like she was trying to avoid biting them. He skated half an inch to his right, hand back out and she took it that time, fingers lacing through his at the same time both Will and Robin groaned.

“Aw, shut up,” Emma mumbled, squeezing Killian’s hand and Ariel hadn’t ever tried to put her shoe back on.

Killian was going to bring that up later too.

“Four and a half,” Anna repeated. She had to hold onto Will when she reached forward to brush the hair out of Matt’s eyes, a move neither one of them entirely appreciated. “And still a better skater than KJ was when he was ten.” “I’d been playing for two years at that point,” Killian argued.

“Your kid is four and a half.” “You are just a fountain of support today, aren’t you, Banana?” She flashed him a grin, pushing off Will to glide across the ice and she didn’t fall over either. “Someone better have recorded that, I want to make sure I can brag to Liam and El when they get here.” “You know, you are absolutely terrible at keeping secrets,” Ruby muttered. She had her phone out. Or what Killian thought was her phone. “And Scarlet’s going to get a ton of new followers for these painfully adorable Instagram videos.” “Wait, what?” Will asked sharply.

Robin answered before Ruby could. “Your password is the easiest thing to break into in the world. Rol figured it out in two seconds.”

“Aw, Dad, c’mon,” Roland groaned, backing away from Will before he could check his ankles again. “But seriously Uncle Will, back to back and your number is just…” “Really, really easy to hack,” Henry finished.

“Yeah, exactly.” Ruby was cackling, Ariel wiping away tears and Emma hadn’t ever let go of Killian’s hand, slumping against his side a bit until he was supporting both her and Matt and he couldn't come up with a single reason to argue.

“This is a good thing, Scarlet,” Ruby continued. “I’ve got the ability to fix your sometimes questionable Instagram choices, plus record things for you when your phone is--” “--In my locker,” Will growled. “This is practice.” “Ok, but voluntary. And now we can record for posterity and you can keep bragging to Cap about your social media influence. Plus it’s great for the fans, right Em?”

Emma shrugged. “She’s kind of got a point.” “I hate both of you,” Will mumbled. “You better not delete any of my photos, Lucas.”

“How come Belle hasn’t ever told you to fix your passwords?” Henry asked. “She’s in charge of all that research and everything uptown. She knows how the internet works.” “Because my Instagram password is not the most important thing she’s got to deal with,” Will countered. “And how come your Instagram is just pictures of you and that girl from Casino Night? Who, let the record show, I know you were spotted with in several dark corners after the season ender.”

The whole lot of them exploded into laughter and shouts and both Regina and Robin were already asking questions – any worry about her heels and their ability to stay on the ice forgotten as soon as Henry blushed.

“Ok, that sentence isn’t even grammatically correct,” Henry mumbled, but the words got a bit lost when he was clearly trying to stare through the ice under his skates.

Will clicked his tongue. “You picking up corner tips from Cap and Emma?” “Jesus, Scarlet,” Killian yelled. Henry’s face, somehow, got redder.

“Yeah, yeah, you guys don’t even have to worry about corners anymore. You’re just like...stupid into each other in public at all times.” “Sneaking out of Casino Night,” Ariel coughed, bringing her hand to her mouth for emphasis and smiling when Killian glared at her. “If you even think about telling me you’re going to blow off PT once this offseason, Cap, I’ll get on this ice and kick you the shins.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, Emma’s body shaking against his and Peggy was trying to get on the ice. Or at least on the ground. The wobbling and weebling were almost consistently confident steps now and the baby locks on the lower cabinets in the kitchen didn’t know what hit them in the last few weeks.

She kept yanking on them like she was offended they wouldn’t immediately do her bidding.

“We didn’t really sneak,” Emma admitted, Ruby’s eyes widening and Robin’s knees bending when he laughed. “It wasn’t really a secret.” Ariel hummed. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. At least your kids are super cute and social media ready.” “And your threat is empty because you won’t put your shoes back on,” Robin pointed out.

“Eh, yeah, true, I guess. But only one shoe.” “You all know this is incredibly strange, yes?” Regina asked, earning a general hum of agreement and acceptance and she rolled her eyes towards the scoreboard that was inexplicably on for voluntary skate. Killian was fairly certain Arthur had just told someone to turn it on.

“Can we skate now?” Matt asked again, standing at the red line with a stick that was actually made for him. “I want to skate.”

“Ah, well, who are we to argue that, huh?” Killian laughed. He tapped his thumb against Emma’s wrist, landing just above her laces, before pushing forward, another easy movement that felt a bit like breathing, but that metaphor lost some of its weight when his lungs had been refusing to work earlier.

“Who you going to race against, mini-Jones?” Ruby asked. She was already looking at Roland, an expression on her face that had him rolling his eyes and mumbling I know, Rubes, I know, don’t go that fast under his breath.

“Can’t I skate with you, Dad?” Matt asked, and Killian was not ready for that. At all.

He should have been, should have expected it as much as he knew his four and a half year old kid still couldn’t really stop and they’d get to that part eventually, but his heart didn’t care and his lungs didn’t care and his eyes darted back towards Emma’s as soon as the question was out of Matt’s mouth.

She smiled. Again. Or still was. And either or were both pretty goddamn fantastic options.

“Sure, Mattie,” Killian said. “Blue lines?” Matt scrunched his nose – a perfect imitation of Emma that had several members of the New York Rangers peanut gallery practically guffawing from the bench. Killian crouched down, steady on skates and breathing evenly and he knew exactly what was going to happen next.

“You want to go fast, huh?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Matt said, rushing over the words until they were one enormous syllable of excitement and a complete inability to stop. “Can we?” “Absolutely.”

“Killian,” Emma muttered, at the same time both Will and Robin groaned “Cap” and he shook his head deftly.

“It’s fine, love. I’m fine.” “Cap, you couldn't get away from the bench ten minutes ago,” Will said, but Robin narrowed his eyes slightly and Killian got the distinct impression he was trying to read his mind. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, slinging an arm around Regina’s shoulders and nodding.

“Nah, he’ll be fine,” Robin promised. Emma gaped at him. “You can check me very hard if you’re wrong. No questions asked.” “Yeah, I will not just check you,” Emma said.

“I’ll probably help,” Regina admitted.

“It’s going to be fine, Swan,” Killian said again, standing back up and pulling the stick out of Matt’s hand. “Alright, kid listen. You’ve got to hold onto the blade, ok?” Emma’s eyes widened, mouth opening to protest, but Killian shook his head again and she’d let Anna help Peggy stand on the ice at some point. “If this ends badly, I’m going to let David arrest you later on tonight,” she muttered. “In front of your whole family.” “That’s reasonable.”

She groaned, but kissed him back when he ducked his head.

“Ok, Mattie,” Killian continued, pulling the stick against his side and he wasn’t entirely sure this would work, but he was somewhere in the realm of hopeful and skating and Emma had gotten Elsa and Liam to fly to New York again. And he wanted to go fast too. “You hold onto the blade and don’t let go. Got it? We’ll go around the rink and then I will hopefully still be in shape.” “Oh my God, Cap, you are not helping your cause,” Ariel groaned, pulling Dylan closer to her.

He ignored her. “Got it, Mattie?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s skate.” Killian nodded, gaze darting back towards Emma and she rolled her eyes when he winked, but he knew he didn’t imagine the hint of color in her cheeks or the way her fingers drifted towards her left wrist. He pushed off, a flush of adrenaline and experience and his lungs didn’t explode as soon as his skates moved over the ice, so he figured that was several steps in the right direction.

And it didn’t really take long to pick up speed – it never did at the Garden, moving over the emblem at center ice with practiced ease and years of doing just that and it kind of felt like his heart was beating in his ears, but he’d felt that way several decades before too.

Because it was the Garden and the taglines were there for a reason and the scoreboard was still kind of intimidating even after back to back Stanley Cups.

But it was also his and Killian had always been absurdly possessive of this team and this city and this ice and how easy it had been to find a rhythm on it. It didn’t take long to get back to that, legs moving and the stick was digging into his side, but pain was some kind of abstract concept at this point and they both kept their edge through the first turn.

It was the second one that did them in.

Killian turned, the back of his blade digging into the ice and that was not how that was supposed to work. His kid wasn’t supposed to slam into his back either and, really, they needed to pay more attention to stopping because the whole thing ended with the goddamn hockey stick digging into what might have been one of his kidneys and both he and Matt ended up in a heap next to an Enterprise car rental ad on the boards.

Killian groaned, head dropping back onto the ice and it was fucking freezing because it ice and there was a kid draped over his chest.

A laughing kid.

A very clearly happy kid.

“Killian,” Emma yelled, a note of terror in her voice that left several pounds of guilt sitting in his stomach. He couldn’t sit up, though, Matt still laughing in his ear with both arms wrapped around his middle and the stick was somewhere.

He hoped it was broken.

Emma couldn't really stop either when she slid towards them, hands flying up against the glass and body twisted above both Killian and Matt. Her shoulders heaved when she tried to take a deep breath.

“Mom, did you see that?” Matt asked, a knee in Killian’s hip when he moved. He was sitting on the ice. “We went so fast!”

Emma’s mouth dropped, more shouts coming and skates moving and Roland got there before anyone else did. “Are you ok, Hook?” he asked quickly.

Killian nodded, not able to stop the smile on his face and his eyes flickered towards Emma when she scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled, crouching down to try and make sure Matt’s limbs didn’t inflict anymore damage.

“Did we impress you, Swan?” “I hate you.” “I find that very difficult to believe.”

“You are the most stupid man I’ve ever met.” “Ask Henry about that sentence structure.”

“I’m serious about getting David to arrest you.” “Nah,” Killian argued, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and she huffed when one of her legs slipped underneath her. “I’m fine, Swan. We went very fast. Come here.”

Emma shook her head, lips a straight line and she was trying very hard to stay frustrated. Killian smiled and moved his eyebrows and Roland might have made some kind of noise of disgust. “I’m not sitting on this ice with you,” she said. “That’s not happening.” “Eh…”

She yelped when his free hand moved around her waist, pulling her onto his thighs and she wasn’t actually sitting on the ice, a fact he was more than willing to point out several dozen times if it got her to kiss him in the middle of the ice. “Lost my edge,” Killian muttered, pressing the words against the side of Emma’s jaw and she didn’t argue about the seating arrangements once. Her fingers moved into his hair instead.

Which, really, felt a little like cheating, but Killian wasn’t going to argue that and Ruby still had a phone in her hand.

“Eighty gazillion hits,” she said. “At least.”

“Is that the technical term for it, Lucas?” “You don’t get to try and charm me, Cap. I’m not married to you. You alright mini-Jones?” Matt nodded enthusiastically, already trying to get back up. “Did you see how fast Dad and I went, Ru?” “I did. And so did those eighty gazillion hits.” “Technical term,” Robin muttered. “Please don’t check me later, Emma.” She saluted, still on Killian's legs with an arm around her waist. Matt couldn’t find his balance again, feet slipping and sliding underneath him and the knees of his pants were probably beyond repair at this point.

He didn’t stop.

And that did something absolutely absurd to every single inch of Killian and every part of his soul and he felt Emma take a deep breath against him.

“One foot at a time, Mattie,” Killian said, holding his hand out and letting him use his shoulder as leverage. Roland kept hovering a few inches away. “You get back up and we’ll try skating again.” “Just maybe not that fast,” Emma mumbled.

“Mom,” Matt whined, but if Killian had some kind of pre-grounding face, then she had her own expression fine tuned and every single person in the Garden knew it.

“We’ve got to work on that one-timer anyway,” Roland said. That was enough to distract from racing for the moment. “Then you can brag to all those other kids at graduation tomorrow.” “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re trying to do,” Killian said.

“Are we not?”

“We absolutely are,” Emma answered, pushing against his chest to stand back up and he didn’t really need help getting back to his feet, but her hand felt incredibly good in his and he was definitely the most selfish person in New York.

Matt scored twice on Henry and three times on Will and only some of those were gimme goals and he absolutely bragged to the entire graduating class of Columbus Pre-School the next morning.

Or Killian assumed he did – it was difficult to hear over the cheering from the questionably loud and questionably large family in the back corner of the auditorium, all of them with phones out and Henry and Roland had made a sign and Emma might have cried, but she’d never admit to it and her hand didn’t leave Killian’s once.

“You know,” Liam said later, sitting on the kitchen counter in the brownstone with a drink in one hand and eyes that kept darting towards the door like he was waiting to be grounded. “I heard you couldn’t quite keep your edge on the ice yesterday, little brother.” Killian threw a pillow at Anna. He had no idea why there was a pillow in the kitchen. He was fairly certain it had something to do with the makeshift hockey game that was currently going on in the hallways and Mrs. Vankald might have actually been keeping score.

“It was on the internet, KJ,” Anna yelled. “You do not get to be mad about this.” “That is true,” Elsa added. She threw her legs over Anna’s outstretched ones, ignoring the cry of indignation it earned her and smiled like several metaphorical cats.

“She told you anyway, didn’t she?” Killian asked. Elsa nodded.

“Aw, c’mon, that’s not fair at all,” Anna cried.

Liam groaned. “You think you can bring it down, like, several decibels? Or is that just not part of your biological makeup?” “You’re just worried what Mom is going to say when she sees you sitting on the counter.” “That’s not true at all.” “Eh,” Elsa and Killian said at the same time. “Move over,” Killian added, kicking the refrigerator closed behind him and there wasn’t really that much room on the counter, but most of the chairs had been sacrificed to the hockey game.

They were probably all broken by now.

“You guys are all the worst,” Liam muttered. “And Killian was just trying to impress Emma yesterday, let’s not kid ourselves.” “It absolutely did not work,” Emma said, appearing in the doorway suddenly and Killian knew the tips of his ears had gone red. Elsa laughed.

“It’s wrong to just lie like that, Swan. It totally worked.” “You are way too confident for your own good.” “Nah, that’s historic KJ,” Elsa muttered as Emma moved across the room, tapping her finger on his knee so she could step between his legs.

“Ah, I don’t know about that,” Emma said. She didn’t turn around, didn’t say the rest of the words that loud, but they seemed to find their way into his very center and he needed to stop thinking about his soul so often. It was kind of morbid.

Or maybe a little romantic and that was probably more accurate where Emma was concerned.

He kissed her hair.

“Getting there though,” Emma added, and Killian refused to meet the gaze of anyone who grew up in that brownstone, far too certain of their expressions and their feelings and Anna sniffled.

“That’s absurdly emotional, Banana.” “Whatever,” she snapped. “Don’t act like you weren’t getting teary-eyed when Matt actually flipped his tassel.” “We practiced that.” “And that doesn't surprise me at all. You going to do the same thing for Pegs and all your inevitably cute kids?” “Are you aware of more?” Please,” Elsa said, waving a hand in Anna’s direction when her heel dug into her sister’s shin. “You guys are like....super parents.” “El, you’re, like, in charge of the entire state of Colorado,” Emma pointed out. Her voice shook a little though and one of her hands had moved back towards Killian’s leg, fingers gripping a bit tighter than usual. He rested his own hand on her shoulder.

“Only if she decides to actually run,” Liam mumbled. Elsa groaned.

“We were going to wait until later this week. We didn’t want to steal Matt’s thunder! This was not part of the plan, KJ.” “And what, exactly, was the plan, El?” She flushed, clicking her tongue, but she didn’t move her legs either and the footsteps in the hallway appeared to be waiting. Or eavesdropping. “To maybe run for the state house,” Elsa said quickly, and Emma didn’t screech, but Anna did and they both clapped their hands over their mouth.

“She’s definitely going to,” Liam said, a picture of certainty and support and they were all a bunch of stubborn idiots.

Elsa shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I am, but we weren’t trying to do this today. Anna and I had a whole announcement plan and...ah, damn.” “Remember this when you tell me I’m the worst secret keeper in this family, KJ,” Anna grinned.

“And that’s totally Reese’s,” Emma added.

Killian looked at her – both Anna and Elsa flushing red and tapping their fingers on the kitchen table and the floor creaked in the hallway. One of the kids shouted about offsides around the corner. “You’re staying aren’t you?” he asked, and she slumped in her chair.

“It’s no fun if you just know.” “Don’t ever play poker.” “Whatever.” “Honestly, Banana. Are you? For real?” “I mean, kind of,” Anna said. “I’m still going to be traveling, but Condé Nast is apparently defying the expectation of all magazines and actually hiring a staffer and you guys could probably use a babysitter and, so...yeah, I’m staying.”

He couldn’t move with Emma still standing in between his legs, but it didn’t really feel like that kind of moment and they all seemed to be blinking quite a bit.

Until Emma mumbled “I won the bet.”

Liam almost fell off the counter.

“How much?” Elsa asked. “And with who?” “Most of the first line. Rook got a little technical because he thought she’d stay, but wouldn’t say it until after the playoffs ended, and I thought that was stupid. Also I’d really like to take you up on those babysitting offers.” Anna beamed. “Deal.”

The floorboards creaked again, sure footsteps turning the corner and Mr. Vankald didn’t blink when he saw all of them sitting in the kitchen. “You two better get off of there before you do damage to the marble or your mother sees you.” And it wasn’t the first time that had happened – probably wouldn’t be the last, honestly, – but Emma’s hand moved back to Killian’s knee and he kissed her hair again and Liam nodded quickly, like that kind of thing happened every day.

Mr. Vankald was not the kind of guy who made mistakes.

He knew what he’d said.

And he’d meant it.

“Totally going to get grounded,” Anna mumbled, wiping under her eye.

“Also,” Mr. Vankald added, “your presence is all being demanded upstairs. The hallways a little wider up there, so we figured it was safer to start playing there.” “We weren’t worried about the stairs?” Liam asked, but his feet were already back on the ground and he was probably plotting plays and defensive schemes.

“Not if you lot make sure nothing happens.” “Sure, Mr. V.” Mr. Vankald nodded, the smile on his face feeling as natural as the pickup hockey game happening on the second floor and Emma smiled when she turned on Killian. “You want to go play?” she asked.

“Only if I can score on Liam.” Liam scoffed. “Yeah, I’d like to see you try.” He did. Twice. And Matt talked about nothing else for the rest of the summer.

[thenorthreport]

Have the Los Angles Lakers uncovered “The Secret”?

The date was November 5th, 2019, The Lakers were visiting Chicago Bulls in the United Center at the tail end of a three-game road trip. The Lakers were the hottest team in the league  coming off 5 straight wins since losing Los Angeles Clipper's opening night of the and are now sitting on top of the NBA rankings. Coming into this game I thought it was a no-brainer to who was going to win. So confident in the fact that I put a bet on them to come out with the “W”.

 All thought the first 75% of the game all I was able to think about was how much money I was going to lose. In the first three-quarters of this game, this Lakers team looked like they smoked one too many bowls. The turnovers kept raking up, the team looked lost offensively with Anthony Davis only being able to score four points in the first half and eight by the end of the third quarter (which he left early in because he got into foul trouble), and Kyle Kuzma looking like a deer in the headlights ever since coming back from an ankle injury. Also had to give a shout out to JaVale McGee for the pass in the third quarter to Otto Porter Jr. for this open three (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JPjTfIdF7eU from 6:00-6:08). It looked like one of those games where the team trailing behind could not for the life of them make a push back into the game and all looked lost when the team failed to bring it back into single digits at the end of the third quarter.

 But then it happened,

 In a situation like this one, there are two types of teams: the ones that will pull their pants down and take what they deserve and the ones who will fight back with BDE. This Lakers team was the latter. Surprisingly a 5-man unit of Alex Caruso, Quinn Cook, Troy Daniels, Kyle Kuzma and Dwight Howard were the ones to score 24 consecutive points for this team starting from the end of the third quarter into the mid-way point of the fourth quarter and it was unbelievable. For starters, Kuzma played aggressively for the limited amount of time he was given to l play in that fourth quarter and was able to put up 11 points on 5/7 shooting in the fourth alone including this sweet off the dribble pull up jumper from the top of the key (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mO798fl-uLo 10:04-10:12). Dwight "The Purpose" Howard was at the right place at the right time on the court coming up with big blocks and bigger rebounds throughout their fourth-quarter run. Caruso played solid on both sides on the ball including a huge steal which led to an and-one. Cook was doing his best Curry impression out there with all the backdoor cuts and off-ball screen including a potential four-point play. Finally, Troy Daniels, the fifth guy on the court who had the opportunity to watch this 14-0 run happen before being taken off for LeBron James. In the end, the Lakers took a cushioning 10-point lead in the last five minutes and didn’t look back and in the end, I won some money.

 After this game two thoughts occurred to me: 1. The bench actually resembled some NBA talent and 2. This Lakers team looked professional for the first time in almost 10 years. Now I know what some people might be saying: "This was a win against one of the worst teams in the league considering they are producing bottom 10 in the league in both offensive and defensive efficiency" and "It's too early to be saying nonsense like that" or even "Wait till January or February when Lebron is worn out, Anthony Davis is packing his bags for Chicago and Dwight is already two months released posting workouts videos on Instagram". I'm not saying this team is a favorite for the 2020 NBA finals just yet. The sports season is a long and treacherous journey with many bumps and obstacles on the way. This team will for sure be tested and will have nights where they will feel unstoppable and times where they will feel as if they hit rock bottom. I am not writing this article to jump to conclusions but to simply state facts and the fact here is the Lakers seem to have stumbled upon "The Secret".

 Know you may be asking yourselves: "What the hell is this hot shot up-and-coming sportswriter talking about and what secret is he is alluding to?" well person reading this article “The Secret” is something that has been around this league ever since it started and has been the driving force for every single NBA championship team. “The Secret” was first introduced to the general public by Isiah Thomas of the Detroit Pistons in the finals of 1989 where he offers to multiple reporters that he was going to offer the "secret to basketball". In short, he never really gave the answer to the question rather dodges it by telling stories and talking about team basketball. No one seems to mind this and for years “The Secret” isn't brought up again until the summer of 2007 by a writer by the name of Bill Simmons. There is a whole story about him meeting Isiah Thomas in his book "The Book of Basketball" which I highly recommend everyone read at some point in their lives. Back to "The Secret", this idea was eating up Bill Simmons on the inside ever since he was told the concept so when he finally got to meet him, he asked Isiah this question. Isiah impressed with Bill answered as follows: "The secret of basketball is that it's not about basketball".

  What the hell does that mean?  Well, the short answer to this is that teams were successful because teammates liked each other, knew their roles, ignored statistics and finally, put winning over everything else.

 This Lakers team is on a mission whether its LeBron writing off the haters in his 17th season in the NBA, Anthony Davis proving he can make a deep playoff run without any major injury or Howard trying to stay afloat in an NBA Which had turned their back on him. This squad is filled with veteran players who are at a point in their career where all they care about is winning a championship and/or are trying to prove they still belong in this league. This Lakers team seems to have boughten into a culture and the stats back it up.

 Something that LeBron James has been known for this past couple of years other than his bigger than basketball mentality is the lack of attention defensive end no joke the guy looks like he’s in dire need of some Adderall. Ever since his last season in Miami, LeBron’s defensive intensity and engagement dropped off a cliff which is understandable considering the offensive load this mans must carry not only day in, day out but by the season. Defense is his cruise control or self-drive (for all the tesla owners out there).

 But something changed,

 During an interview in training camp, Anthony Davis came out and told reporters he expected himself and (called out) LeBron to make All-Defensive team which at first seemed like a joke considering LeBron hasn’t been seen on the defensive end since Barak Obama was starting his second term as president. But now seven games into this season LeBron has been refreshing on that the end of the floor. LeBron’s defensive starts thus far are his best in years with his defensive win shares already almost one third he contributed in his last season in Cleveland according to Basketball Reference­—and we are only seven games into the season(note: I did not want to use his first season in LA as an example because he sat out for around a quarter of the season last year). As well he just looks like he gives more of a s--t on that side of the ball which is encouraging.  

 On a greater scale like Kanye West, this Lakers defense is going through a rebirth thanks to the coaching of 1A (Frank Vogel, 1B is Jason Kidd) and his defensive-minded attitude towards the game. This Lakers team looks poised on the side of the court everyone seems to have forgotten how to play in 2019. honors. Vogel’s defense is designed for a team like this, a squad of veteran players who know their role on the defensive end with one player who is a gifted player running or anchoring the whole thing which is Anthony Davis, and it is built beautifully for him. In the rotations alone there are six different players who at some point in their careers got All-Defensive team honors. The best example of their new defensive style can be seen when the Lakers were playing the Jazz in their second game in the season. During this game the Lakers game plan for Mike Conley was to weak high ball screen which is when you force the player the same direction every time, he is given a screen it contained him for being 3-11 from the field and 1-5 from three.

Some of the reason for this improvement from 13th in defensive efficiency rating (and before you say that isn’t so bad this teamed ranked bottom three in points allowed off turnovers and bottom ten in second point opportunity identifying these teams hustle was … sorry that was needed to be said) to 2nd is thanks to the likes of Danny Green’s “doing the little things” mentality whether that be closing out shooters, constantly being in help, or boxing out opposing big (yes this is done more than you think) and Dwight’s new “the purpose” role (I must say this is the second time I have made this joke now but can we please start calling Dwight Howard “The Purpose”?). Shout out to coach 1A for using the “no roll man left behind” scheme for Dwight Howard when he is on the floor. For those who don’t know the “no roll man left behind” is a scheme they have been using for Dwight Howard on defense where his job on a screen and roll is to make sure he stays under on screens and not to let the roller get past him to the basket as well not giving the ball handler a clear way to the basket. Other than that Dwight seems to be lighter and more active this year than in the past three seasons and is ranked second in blocks per game on the team at 2.1 behind Anthony Davis’s league-leading 3.0. Finally, the key reason behind this defensive rejuvenation is because of AD. The best way to describe Anthony Davis is a bigger, longer more athletic Draymond Green. The thing about AD on the defensive end is that he’s so gifted at reading the offense and being able to see things before they happen which is crazy to think and with his athleticism and length, he can easily tip passes, block shots and keep up with players on the perimeter. His help defense whether that is in the pick-and-roll or under the basket are elite.

As good as this defense has been there are still a couple of problems that need to be resolved if this team wants to take a deep playoff run. I still believe this team is missing a good on-ball defender to match up with bigger, more athletic wings and the Clippers have two of those. The only player matching up well with players like these is LeBron James and considering his offensive contribution and his mileage I doubt he has the energy to be able to guard a player like that and do what he does on offense. The solution to this would be to sign or trade for a defensive-minded wing-like Iggy (duh) or low-key Andre Robertson or Trevor Ariza (even though he looks like horse s—t thus far). Second, even though their defensive RTG has risen they still rank second-worst in the NBA in points off fast breaks which means they still need to improve on their hustle back to the other end of the floor. For more on this Laker's defense and to see how well they are performing, I suggest watching Laker Film Room on YouTube who do an excellent job breaking this stuff down.

 The bench productivity so far surprisingly been key to this Lakers team's success. A couple things that are needed to be improved on is their offensive efficiency off the bench which ranks in the bottom ten in the league but I also believe with Kyle Kuzma back in the rotation and staying on the bench this should improve their rating significantly. This benches defense has been their recipe to success so far so much so that their bench plus/minus is ranked second in the league only behind Dallas according to NBA.com. You can say this bench mob has put MUD to shame (only real Laker/NBA fans should get this). As long as this bench finds their groove on the offensive end and get to the middle of the pack efficiency-wise this bench has the potential to be one of the leagues best and be the key to keeping an aging LeBron and a injury-riddled Davis off the court and not needing them to play high 30’s, low 40’s minutes a night.

 After this win against this Bulls team the Lakers have shown their identity and their potential of what they are and maybe— what they can be.