#imagine the score is 0-0 going into the third and you get called back out to play 0.6 seconds of the period

[stromer]

clocked him a bit

[pelova4president]

Shadows are to protect IV

Victoria Pelova x Putellas!Reader

shadows are to protect I, II, III

summary~ You finally get your happy ending.

So you disappeared. You booked a flight to The Netherlands and didn’t tell anyone. You wanted to see the country Victoria talked about so much. The little cafes and restaurants she visited when she was there.

You built your own little world, a bubble where no one could hurt you and you couldn’t hurt anyone you cared about. You wouldn’t mind living here. Everyone did their own thing and there were dogs and parks everywhere.

De Oranje Leeuwinnen were playing a few days after you had arrived and you couldn’t let the chance of seeing Victoria play in front of her own people slip.

The stadium was absolutely packed. The orange shirts with the names of female players on them and red, white and blue flags on everyone’s cheeks. Even though Spain had won the World Cup there wasn’t this much attention for the Spanish team. It was something you were jealous of.

It’s been days since you disappeared, Alexia hasn’t texted or called you yet and you were grateful for that. She never knows what’s going through your head but if you don’t reach out in a situation like this, she knew she had to leave you be. She’d be there if you wanted to talk and you didn’t really desire that the past few days. But now you did.

In the hopes that she would pick up in the middle of the day you called. You sat in a little bakery somewhere in The Hague and it felt like the right time.

Three rings had gone by before you got someone on the other end of the phone. “Hola hermanita… Hola?” she said. “Ale, you got time?” you asked her. You heard her laugh, “Not really but you know i’ve always got time for my pequeña princesa.” you could imagine the big grin on her face. You groaned at the stupid nickname. She knew you hated it when she called you that.

“Whatever, i’m talking about like at least an hour. I’ve got a lot to tell you.” you said taking a sip from the overpriced latte. “Sí, i’ve got time for you.” she sighed.

She knew you probably had a lot to talk about. Alexia hadn’t really pushed you to talk about it because she knew you weren’t a great talker and if you really wanted to and if she needed to know, you would tell her.

And so you told her everything, about going to Arsenal and how it had been the first few weeks. How it wasn’t your home and how you felt so so lost there. You told her about Alessia, that she had your heart and she broke it just like that. That you didn’t really want to come out of bed the days after and that that was the reason why you visited her when you did. And about Victoria Pelova, the girl that has been nothing but good to you. Alexia laughed at that, she knew you’d get along, that’s why she told you to give the girl a chance.

“I’m in The Netherlands now Ale, i don’t know what to do now.” You sighed into your phone. “Joder hermanita, you already know what to do. I already know you got your ticket to the game. Dile que la amas.” Alexia always knew what to say. Sometimes it was nice to have a big sister that can tell you what to do. “And next time we play against England, just know i’ll get back at Russo.” she deadpanned. And a sister to protect you.

You had texted Victoria good luck before the game. ‘Hey Vicky, i just wanted to let you know i’ll be at your game today. Please listen to the voicemail i’ve left you a few days ago. Ik hou van jou, je kan het.’ you sent her.

Sitting on the third row you got a pretty good views of the game. It wasn’t a really important game or anything and the chance the orange team won was very high so you weren’t that nervous for the brunette.

In the 17th minute Brugts scored from the penalty area and not long after van de Donk scored too. The first half ended in 3-0.

As the players walked to the changing room you looked for Victoria. When you finally found her eyes, hers were already focused on you. Your lips formed an apologetic smile and you waved at her. She gave you a little smile before disappearing into the tunnel.

The second half went even smoother for the home side. Esmee Brugts got her hattrick and Damaris and Roord scored one each. It was the 88th minute when Kerstin Casparij made a dribble forward. She passed two midfielders and made a perfect cross. The white ball landed on Vic’s foot and she volleyed the ball into the corner of the net.

It was just an Euros qualifier but for you it was much more. You knew today was now or never. It was 8-0 but the crowd was just as loud as it was when the first goal was scored.

The game was over and you saw the team do their lap around the field. You loved how involved they were with their fans, especially the kids. Victoria was somewhere at the back, still signing a little girl’s Arsenal shirt when Damaris spotted you and ran towards your section.

You knew the player well. Damaris used to play for Spain but decided to move to the Dutch team and you got why. She was the first one to do something about the Spanish management and you admired her for it. Your ex-teammate climbed over the fences and when she finally got to you she was out of breath. She gave you a hug and greeted you. “Don’t tell Vic i know but she listened to your message before the game. She’s been sad all camp and doesn’t want to listen to anyone. Just wait at our hotel and i’ll get you in.” she told you before sprinting off again.

So now you were waiting on the orange bus full of players to arrive at some fancy hotel in Amsterdam. You looked like a stalker, dressed in all black with Victoria’s black hat and hoodie on.

After fifteen minutes of waiting the Dutch team finally arrived. All the girls walked past, well everyone except for Vic and Dama.

Damaris walked towards you with two bags in her hands, one with 21 on it and the other with number 17. Victoria walked behind her, confused as why she was carrying her bag inside until she saw you.

“Victoria, you better figure this out because i know you want her and she wants you, okay?” she told the girls strictly. The Arsenal player nodded silently and stood still in front of you.

“Did you hear the voicemail i left you?” you asked her. Her eyes weren’t focused on you but on the big neon letters of the hotel. The blue light was shining on her, making it look like she coloured her hair blue.

“Yeah. I got it, so tell me then, what happened?” her eyes traveled to your face. It was hard to read her at the moment.

“When i came into Arsenal i didn’t know anyone and i was scared and tired of being alone. Alessia helped me at that time until she didn’t need me anymore. One evening i found out she had a boyfriend all along. I was having a hard time after that and went to Alexia for a few days when you texted me.” you smiled at the thought of her text, she really did help you. “Alexia told me to give you a chance and i’m happy i did because you mean so much to me. I don’t think i would be playing football anymore if it wasn’t for you. And then Alessia didn’t like that, she kissed me that evening when you saw us but i told her that i didn’t want her. I swear. I only want you. Te amo, Vicky.” you pleaded.

You were still standing before her, you took your hat off and your right hand was in your pocket while your left was fidgeting with the strings of the black hoodie. “Say something, please.” you begged the brunette. Her silence was killing you.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve just let you explain but i didn’t. It’s just that when i heard Alessia talking to you and then kissing you..” Victoria sighed.

“I get it, you shouldn’t say sorry for that. Can we try again, i really want us to work out.” you smiled.

Victoria’s signature smirk appeared on her face and she leaned in for a kiss. “por supuesto cualquier cosa para ti” she grinned into your neck. “You’ve done your Duolingo sí?” you laughed at her.

“I did, just for you. And maybe just a little bit for when i meet your sister, got to make a good impression on La Reina hmm?” she teased.

A/N finally done!!! I don’t even know how this whole series was planned but this is it, happy ending and all

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

What're your thoughts on everyone's MC names? Or maybe your ratings out of 10?

This is going to be a roasting session because I do not have high opinions of any of them.

Buster Bros - B.B., M. B., and L. B. These all get one bullet point because they are pretty much the same thing. Therefore their score will be cut into thirds for each Bro. Unfortunately, that score is not going to be high because the creativity level on this set of names is just about negative. A lot of the MC names are based on kanji readings or other things in Japanese that I’m sure I would find incredibly clever if I didn’t understand English. Unfortunately, I do, so characters named “First Son”, “Second Son”, and “Third Son” going by “Big Brother”, “Middle Brother”, and “Little Brother” utterly fail to impress me. Rating: 1 out of 10 (1/3 out of 10 for each)

Samatoki - Mr. Hardcore Oh, he’s trying. Samatoki feels like one of those people who tries so hard to prove how badass and tough he is while I’m loudly yelling from the sideline, “You’re doing great, sweetie! Tell your little friends we have Capri Suns and fruit snacks when you’re done with your playdate!” A perfect man child. Rating: Nemu’s secondhand embarrassment out of 10

Juuto - 45 Rabbit This one feels really impersonal. The 45 is from one of the Yokohama telephone area codes (afaik) and the rabbit is from the kanji for rabbit in his name. It doesn’t tell me anything about Juuto’s personality, though. I feel like MTC probably all had animal names once upon a time before they realized that “bush warbler” (Riou) and “horse” (Samatoki) aren’t exactly the most intimidating of titles. I mean... it’s okay. Could be worse. Rating: 4 out of 10

Riou - Crazy M This one confuses the hell out of me. Why, out of the entire cast, did they give the title “crazy” to the character who most strongly resembles a grandma? I also find it bizarre that they chose to honor the “M” from his middle name, but I think the writers at Hypmic are so titillated by the concept of middle names that they don’t know how to handle them responsibly. Rating: ??? out of 10

Ramuda - Easy R I really dislike this one for no good reason, but it does imply the existence of a “Hard R” which is very useful for making infantile jokes. Rating: 69 out of 10

Gentarou - Phantom This one isn’t bad. I think it’s a bit of an odd choice in English, but I completely understand where it comes from in Japanese. I’m assuming they wanted the word 幻影 which means an illusion or a vision. It fits with his whole theme and Fling Posse’s theme as a whole, so I’ll give it to them. Rating: 8 out of 10

Dice - Dead or Alive Outside of an 80′s British pop band, I have no idea what this name is supposed to make me think of. Perhaps it’s foreshadowing for the dark turn the FP storyline takes later on...? This is another odd one. I’d like to imagine that Dice and Riou came up with their MC names together while absolutely hammered, and when their teammates went, “Really?” they were at that point too hungover to think of anything better. Rating: ??? out of 10

Jakurai - illDoc When I was first doing the job interview for my current job a few years back, I had to listen as my now-boss, a white, old, upper-middle class, absolutely disillusioned about everything old codger, called himself “the OG” to my face. “It means Old Guy,” he told me. I smiled and nodded, because I wanted money, and in the meantime I wondered who the fuck called him an “original gangster” and then never properly explained what it meant. This is the exact same way I feel about this name, but Jakurai doesn’t pay me, so I can say whatever the hell I want about his tenuous grasp of slang. Rating: God no out of 10

Hifumi - GIGOLO Appropriately for Hifumi, I am of two minds about this. On the one hand, I hate it. On the other hand, Hifumi’s name is written as “1 2 3″ in kanji, and “jigoro” is pronounced as “4 5 6″, so that is very clever. Rating: 7 out of 8

Doppo - DOPPO I hate this one so much. I seriously wonder if this is a leftover relic from very early planning sessions where Gentarou was a part of Matenrou or something. (I say this because “Doppo” would be fine for an author character, as many classical authors are referred to by their given names. But it makes no sense for an office worker.) I have no idea what the point of this is. He didn’t even try. I headcanon that Hifumi wrote it down on their DRB entry forms as “Doppo-chin”, Doppo saw it last minute, and barely had the time to change it or come up with anything better. Rating: 0 out of 10

Sasara - Tragic Comedy This is a nice little reference to Sasara’s backstory and his inner monologue. It’s cute, if a little ham-fisted. Rating: 7 out of 10

Roshou - Wisdom Ugggggh. This is the most math teacher thing I have ever heard. I can imagine no less than three of my coworkers trying to choose some variation of this name if we were tasked to give ourselves MC names. He lives on teacher Facebook. I just know it. Rating: C- out of 10

Rei - Mastermind I think this is too on-the-nose to be clever, but I do really like the in-universe implications of him very casually calling himself that in public. Just throwing out to the world that he can make Chuuouku do whatever he wants. That’s a power move, and I respect that. Rating: 9 out of 10

Kuukou - Evil Monk Like Gentarou’s, I can tell what they were going for, but they kind of missed the mark in English. Kuukou is sometimes called a “bad monk”, but I think that’s more because he’s bad at being a monk in some respects (like not swearing every five minutes). It’s appropriately stupid for him, though, and I love it. Rating: 10 out of 10

Juushi - 14th Moon Someone really likes the number 14, huh. Rating: 14 out of 100

Hitoya - Heaven & Hell This is literally his name. He stuck an “and” between his surname and his given name and called it a day. Are you kidding me? I know lawyers are too busy to waste a lot of time on shit, but come on. You did not even try. This is so lazy it doesn’t even deserve a rating.

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 33

A/N:  Hope you guys enjoy this one...⛪️

August 7th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was nervous as fuck.  

It was Game 4, less than 24 hours after giving up a 3-0 lead, and the Leafs were on the brink of elimination.  The boys were quiet.  Focused.  Only had one thing on their mind.  They didn’t want to leave the bubble.  They wanted to prove everybody wrong – everybody.  Their coaches.  Their bosses.  Their fans.  Their haters.  The media.  Themselves.  This was their opportunity to show everybody what they could do.  

Aberdeen couldn’t even think about it without trembling.  She never in a million years thought hockey would make her feel this way.  It didn’t help the love of her life was a major part of it.  And it didn’t help that Alec had texted her early this morning.

Looks like the boys might cost you a writing job if they get eliminated early.  Not many shenanigans to get up to in, what, ten days?  Article might be a bust.

I’ll have 10,000 words written for you as promised was what she texted back.  She didn’t want to stroke his ego, play along with his games, or have him think she wasn’t going to produce just because he thought they might leave early.  It didn’t matter to her.  Even if they did leave early, she could still do it.  She knew she could.  She knew she had to, because she couldn’t blow this opportunity.

They morning had been anxiety-ridden at best.  She hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep, tossing and turning after getting off the phone with William, and then because of the text, she was barely eating breakfast.  Apparently, it was noticeable to the boys, because John had come over to her table and brought her a plate stacked fruit.  “If we can eat, you can eat,” he said as he set it in front of her.  Mitch ended up coming to sit across from her at the table, and John took the other seat.  William approached, standing six feet away, and Auston too.  They were congregating, which made her even more nervous.  

“Thanks,” she mumbled, forking a strawberry and putting it into her mouth reluctantly.  “You guys aren’t nervous?” she posed the question to all of them.

John shrugged.  “We know what we need to do.  We just have to go out there and do it.”

Aberdeen didn’t know how he could be so calm, as the captain of the team.  Then again, he was John fucking Tavares, and calm seemed to be his middle name.  She nodded her head.  “I don’t mean to be a nervous wreck.  I’m just not used to playoff hockey, as you can imagine.  This is all new.  I never knew I could feel this way about a sport.”

That made John laugh a bit.  “Not about a sport, but definitely about a book, right?”

She couldn’t help but smile slightly as she forked at a piece of watermelon.  “Definitely about a book.”

“How’s the article coming along?” William asked.

Aberdeen almost dropped her fork on her plate.  All the guys turned their heads towards him at the same time skeptically, then towards her at the same time, their eyebrows furrowed.  Her body felt like it was on fire.  She hadn’t told anybody about the article – except William, of course.  She assumed Brendan sort-of-kind-of knew since he set her up for it, but she hadn’t said anything to him.  William was the only one who knew.  Her cheeks flushed red.  

“What article?” Mitch asked, turning his head back and forth between the two of them once more.

“Yeah, what article?” Auston asked.

“It uh, it’s—um, it’s a thing for Toronto Life,” Aberdeen stuttered out.  

“Toronto Life?!” Mitch repeated excitedly.  

“Yeah,” she nodded slowly.  “Brendan uh, Brendan put me up for it.  It’s, like…an audition.  I don’t know.”

“An audition?  So like if it’s good they’ll publish it?” Mitch kept asking questions.

“Basically, yeah.”

“Well what’s it about?”

Aberdeen gulped.  “Um, life in the bubble.”

The boys looked taken aback for a brief moment.  She knew they were trying to hold back the emotion, but she could see it in their eyes.  She wondered if they were thinking the worst now.  She wondered if Auston was looking at her and thinking that all she wanted to do in this bubble was get a scoop like Steve Simmons.  She wondered if Mitch was looking at her and thinking that she was going to write some scathing article about how he was being paid $10.8 million to not show up in the playoffs, like most articles were saying.  She prepared for the worst, honestly.  She really did.  Because she knew these guys had been betrayed before.  She knew the media were constantly down their throats.  She knew all they wanted was a little reprieve from that.  And now, someone they knew, someone they worked with – someone they trusted completely – was writing something about life in the bubble?  When she was in the bubble with them?

“Life in the bubble, huh?  So, like how we play video games the entire day ‘cause we can’t do anything else in here?” Mitch asked.

Her stomach was in knots.  But that follow-up from Mitch was definitely not was she was expecting.  Truth be told, she didn’t know what she was expecting – anger, maybe?  Caution?  Suspicion? – but it definitely wasn’t Mitch saying that.  “Something like that,” she said.  “I’m trying to, like, capture how hard it is for you guys to be in here.  How hard it is to be away from your families.  How you guys are…you know, human, and not just hockey players.”

Mitch smiled.  “I think it’s gonna be a great article, then.”

“How’d William know?” Auston asked.  “How’d he know before any of us?”

William knew he had to think fast.  “I saw her writing it the other day when we went out to the gym,” he said.  He had approached her on the sidelines that day for a brief minute or two, during a break in his workout, so if anyone was paying attention and saw them, it was an entirely plausible scenario.  “She told me what she was writing.”

“Why didn’t you tell any of us?” Auston asked him.

“Because it was Aberdeen’s news to tell, not mine,” William said.

Auston looked towards Aberdeen.  “You’re not writing, like, gossip about us, are you?” he asked.

“Auston, what the fuck—” William began.

“Buddy—” Mitch intervened.

“Hey now—” John piped up.

“No no, it’s fine,” she waved the boys off, staring directly at Auston.  She knew exactly where Auston was coming from.  She knew he trusted her.  He admitted so during the phone call when his Covid-19 story became national news.  She knew she had to be one hundred percent honest with him if he was going to have no qualms or suspicions about this article.  “They want me to.  They want me to write about shenanigans.  The stereotypical stuff.  But I’m not.  I refuse to.  I wouldn’t…you guys know I wouldn’t do that to you.  And I mean…I—I haven’t told them yet that I refuse to pander to that shit, but they’ll know when they get my article.”

Auston’s entire demeanour softened at her words.  It was like his entire body relaxed.  He knew – he always knew – he just needed the affirmation.  But then he realized what that meant.  “But then what happens if you don’t get the job because you don’t give them what they want?” he asked.  

Aberdeen shrugged.  “Then I have keep looking for writing jobs at other magazines.”

Then and there, he realized what was on the line for Aberdeen.

***

As Aberdeen wallowed in her room, she was nervous.  As she showered before the game, she was nervous.  As she did her hair, she was nervous.  As she got dressed, she was nervous.  As she opened her door and walked out into the hallway, meeting some of the guys, she was nervous.  When she got off the bus and the team went one way while she, Brendan, and Kyle went another, she clutched at her iPad pro.  She looked at the boys one last time, catching Willy’s eye, before the disappeared down the hallway, where no doubt a photographer was waiting to get pictures of their outfits before they went into the locker room.

As she sat in the box with Brendan and Kyle, as always, she saw Brendan look her way.  “Don’t even think about asking me how it’s gonna go tonight,” she said before he could even open his mouth.  

He held his hands up in front of him.  “Excuuuuuuse me.”

“I’m so nervous.  I barely ate today,” she elaborated.

“Somebody get Aberdeen a Coca Cola,” he called out to no-one in particular.  “She’s gonna need the sugar and the caffeine or else she’ll crash by the third period.”

She couldn’t believe how light-hearted he was being.  She didn’t know if it was some type of coping mechanism or if it was because he was generally in a good mood.  “How can you be so…calm?  Such a jokester?”

Brendan shrugged.  “If I was doom and gloom all the time, I wouldn’t still be president.”

***

Aberdeen was on the verge of tears.  

Cam Atkinson had scored in the first period.  Vladislav Gavrikov scored in the second period.  Her heart was heavy.  Her stomach was in knots.  And now, the impossible: she was watching Jason Spezza fighting.  The last person who should be fighting.  A part of her understood what he was doing, somewhat – trying to fire up the guys – but the other part of her kept asking why the fuck does he have to do this?  Where the fuck are they?  Why aren’t they playing?  WHY AREN’T THEY PLAYING?!

“I can’t believe they’re fucking doing this to him,” she mumbled under her breath through gritted teeth as she watched Jason skate off the ice.  Her knuckles were white for how tightly her hands were in fists in front of her mask.  Her leg was bouncing uncontrollably.  She couldn’t believe what was happening.

“What was that?” Brendan asked, apparently hearing her, his own voice indiscernible but also just…void of any emotion.  

She glanced at him quickly before shaking her head.  “Nothing.”  She looked over at Kyle.  She couldn’t tell what he was feeling, either.  What was it with these men and being so stoic?  

She pressed the palms of her hands together and intertwined her fingers.  “God, if you love me…” she began, mumbling into her hands.  “If you love me, God, don’t let them go out like this.  Not.  Like.  This.”

***

Boone Jenner scored in the third period.  It was 3-0.  This was it.  

Aberdeen had to come to terms with the fact that they were leaving early.  She had to come to terms with the fact that the boys would lose, again.  They’d be out of the bubble.  She knew that was probably a silver lining, but these guys so desperately just wanted to play hockey and play hockey and win, and for them to crash out like this was just going to be the worst.  They’d never hear the end of it.  Bee McTavish told her about last year, about how they lost to the Boston Bruins in Game 7 and how hard it was on the boys, particularly Morgan, and how awful the media was to them, and Aberdeen didn’t want to think about what the media would say now.  She didn’t want to think about what they’d say about Fred.  About Mitch.  About Morgan.  About John.

About William.  

But just as Aberdeen came out of her thoughts, she noticed something weird on the ice.  It wasn’t the regular line out there.  Sheldon was doing something different.  It was…well, it seemed to be the nuclear option.  All the top goal scorers were on the ice.  William, Mitch, Zach, Auston, and John.  Hustling all over the ice.  Passing the puck.  Shooting at the net.

And then, with just less than four minutes left, William scored.

Aberdeen jumped out of her seat and screamed.  The boys celebrated briefly, but they knew more work needed to be done.  She looked over at Brendan, who wasn’t blinking as he looked down at the ice.  She looked at Kyle, who wasn’t blinking either.  

“Please God…please…” she whispered to herself.

Sheldon kept out the nuclear option.  They were young.  They could do it.  

John Tavares scored only forty seconds later.  

“Holy fucking shit,” Aberdeen stood up from her seat, saying her words loud enough for Brendan and Kyle to hear.  “Holy fucking shit.  Holy fucking shit.”  

She barely breathed a single breath for the next two and a half minutes.  She was standing with her hands over her mouth over her mask and her body was completely still as she watched every move on the ice like a hawk.

William, to Auston, to Zach, who scored to tie it at 3-3.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!!” she screamed as the boys really celebrated on the ice now.  She banged her fists on the counter in front of her as she watched Zach jump on top of William as all the boys on the ice huddled together excitedly.  She swore she heard some happy swears from Kyle, and she definitely heard some happy swears from the extra players who were sitting in the seats right below them where the seat covers ended.  She barely remembered the period ending.  

“They’re gonna fucking do it,” she said to no-one in particular.  “They’re gonna fucking do it.  They’re gonna make a comeback.”

Everything was a blur as Aberdeen sat back down into her seat.  The overtime period.  The lines.  The minutes.  She felt like she was in the twilight zone – some alternate universe where time stood still and nothing else mattered besides hockey.  Not even just hockey – nothing else mattered besides this game and what was happening right here, right now.  Seven minutes into overtime, Morgan drew a tripping penalty.  An enraged Nick Foligno was sent to the penalty box.  The puck dropped.  It was passed.  Marner to Tavares.  Tavares to Matthews.

Auston let it rip and scored.

“WHAT!!!!!  WHAT!!!!!” Aberdeen screamed louder than she ever had in her life as she jumped up from her seat like a rocket and threw the pen she was holding out into the stands.  She began pumping her fist in front of her and pointing out onto the ice.  “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, BABY!  THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” she shrieked, her jaw somewhere between her face and the floor but her smile taking up her entire face.  Then came the excited, can’t-believe-what-I-just-witnessed high pitched uncontrollable laughs.  She looked over to Brendan and Kyle.  They were stoic.  She liked to believe they already freaked out and she missed it.

“Down 3-0 in the third period!” she screamed at them.  “Down 3-0 in the third period!  Can you believe it?!”

“What are you doing waiting up here?  Go down there,” Brendan said, nodding his head towards the exit.  

Aberdeen bolted out of the box and rushed towards the locker room as quickly as her feet could take her.  Once she got there, she saw the boys filing in, screaming ‘Woooo!’s and ‘Let’s fucking go, baby!’s.  William entered the locker room first.  He noticed her standing in the room almost immediately and rushed over to her.

She held her breath.  

He picked her up and spun her around, causing her to squeal until he set her down.  He was wet and sweaty and she could see the droplets of sweat dripping down his face but God if he didn’t look incredible and like the perfect human specimen.  “Let’s gooooo!” he screamed once he set her down.

“Let’s gooooo!” she repeated, noticing more of the boys make their way in.  Clifford.  Spezza.  Kerfoot.  Barrie.  Kasperi.  Hyman.  Engvall.  Rielly.  Tavares.  Holl.  Dermott.  Everybody.  Everybody.  They all came in screaming and did the exact same thing that William did, lifting her up and spinning her around excitedly as they continued to scream and go their stalls and start stripping in front of her.  They probably weren’t allowed to do that – they definitely weren’t allowed to do that, be that close together – but it didn’t matter right now.  Nobody cared.

“You guys gave me a fucking heart attack!” she yelled at them, clutching her heart as she looked around the room at all of them.  She saw a couple of them giggling as they undid their hockey tape and threw it into the garbage.

“Wouldn’t have been a Leafs series without one!” Morgan joked.

Sheldon walked into the room and high-fived Aberdeen.  Then Auston walked in and the boys started screaming and yelling all over again.  “Let’s fucking goooo, Aberdeen!” he screamed as he picked her up too, one last twirl, before setting her down.  “Let’s fucking go, baby!” he screamed to everyone in the room.

It was at that point that Brendan and Kyle walked into the room.  Aberdeen composed herself as much as possible as she faded into the background, watching Sheldon give his post-game speech.  Everybody looked so happy.  So excited.

They could fucking do this.

***

Aberdeen was typing like a furious mad woman in the Notes on her phone.  She wanted to write – needed to write all the authentic feelings that were in the air right now as she waited on the bus for everyone.  She needed to remember this moment.  Every single detail of it.  What was said.  What was heard.  The smiles.  The spins.  How she was still dizzy.  

“Hey Aberdeen!  You made it on to TV!” Mitch yelled from the middle of the bus.

Everyone’s head popped up, and she watched as all the guys already on the bus took off their headphones.  “What?!” she shrieked.

“They caught you celebrating in the box!” he said, turning his phone and showing her the video.

Aberdeen heard all of the boys get up out of their seats and crowd behind her to watch the video.  She noticed the Sportsnet logo on the bottom of screen first and foremost, then listened as she heard the announcers describing the scene, which they replayed in slow fucking motion.  “I think that young lady is indicative of most of Leafs Nation right now!” she heard Jim Hughson’s voice as the video showed her jumping up from her seat and throwing her pen.  The boys behind her were howling as they watched, and when she began pumping her fist in front of her, they laughed some more.  Slightly embarrassed, Aberdeen buried her head in her hands and shook her head.  “It’s always me!  Why is it always me that gets caught doing these things?!”

“The camera loves you, Aberdeen!” Mitch giggled.  

“It happens to all the wives and girlfriends at some point,” Morgan said as most of the guys went back to their seats on the bus.  

“But I’m not a wife.  Or a girlfriend!”

She could tell Morgan was smiling behind his mask.  “Not yet,” he mumbled to himself, shrugging.

Aberdeen turned red.  She sat back down in her seat and continued typing away on her phone furiously, making sure nobody saw her skin hue.

***

It was only when everybody got back to the hotel when Aberdeen had to stop typing, but by then, she was sure she’d gotten every feeling.  Everybody was still buzzed as they rode two at a time in the elevator up to their floor, and she could still feel the energy even when she was bottled up in her room – like everybody else – and it was eerily silent after just having been so loud.

She had just finished changing into her pajamas when she heard her phone buzz.  She knew it was William texting, so she grabbed her phone immediately, ready for his request to FaceTime.

open ur door really slowly so it doesn’t make any noise

Her eyes bulged out of her head.  She set her phone down and rushed over to her door, not bothering to look out the peephole, but doing exactly what she was told.  She opened it slowly, carefully, making sure not to make a peep.  She looked out into the hallway, down to the other wing, and saw William’s head popping out of his own room.  He rushed out, closing the door quietly before rushing over to her wing.

“William,” she whispered.  Her heart was beating out of her chest.  He was not allowed to do this.  He was not allowed to do this.  She watched as he made his way over.  “William what are you—”

She was silenced by his slipping past her and into her room, putting his hand over hers to shut the door slowly so it didn’t make a clicking sound.  When it was closed, she tried one more time.  “Willy—”

Her attempt was futile.  He crashed his lips against hers, wrapping his arms around her as he squeezed her against his body, so much so that he could lift her up in his arms and she could wrap her legs around his torso.  He stuck his tongue down her throat.  She moaned out at the sensation before realizing that he was walking them into her bathroom – her bathroom that faced the open area in front of the elevators, and not facing or sharing a wall with her room neighbour.  He kicked the door closed with his foot before setting her down on the marble vanity sink, her legs still wrapped around his body keeping him close.

“Take this off,” he mumbled as he tugged violently at her pajama shirt, almost ripping it as she shoved her off her body and threw it across the bathroom.  She pulled on his t-shirt too, throwing it in the same direction as they crashed their lips against each other’s again.  

“We’re not supposed to be doing this,” she whispered out after he bit down on her bottom lip and pulled it away from her.  “You’re not supposed to be in my room.  We’re breaking the rules.”

“Isn’t that half the fun?” he quipped, a small smirk on his face.  Aberdeen could feel her body get hot – hotter than it already was.  This was so wrong.  So wrong.  He wasn’t supposed to be in her room.  They weren’t supposed to be touching.  They weren’t supposed to be kissing.  They weren’t supposed to be doing any of it, yet here Aberdeen was, her body heating up and her core getting even hotter.  She scratched her nails down William’s broad and toned chest as he kissed a trail down her neck and to her breasts, sucking and biting down at her nipples gently, causing her to gasp out.

He immediately put his hand over her mouth.  Her eyes went wide.  He looked up at her from where he was at her breasts.  “You can’t be too loud or else we’ll get caught.”

Oh my fucking God.  Now she really felt her body light up like a fire.  She whimpered slightly.  “But Willy—” she tried to mumble against his hand.

“Shhhh…” he cooed.  “Can you be quiet, Aberdeen?  Can you be quiet while I fuck you?”  He was waiting for an answer.  She felt a shiver run up her spine.  She nodded her head.  “That’s my girl.”

William continued paying attention to her breasts before kissing his way back up to her lips and sticking his tongue down her throat again.  Aberdeen ran her fingers through his hair and tugged on it slightly before scratching down his back and pulling down his trackpants and underwear.  He did the same to her, letting his fingers play with the wet folds of her pussy until he heard whimpers from her again.  “Quiiiiiet, Aberdeen,” he cooed once more, bringing his hand that was just playing with her pussy up to her lips.  

She grabbed his hand in both her hands and sucked his fingers into her mouth.  “I’m not going to be able to,” she whispered, shaking her head.  

William pulled her off the marble vanity, grabbing her hips and spinning her around so her back was against his chest.  They were able to see each other through the mirror.  Aberdeen watched as William’s hand snaked around her body and down to her hot core again.  “You’re going to have to be quiet or we’ll get caught,” he whispered huskily in her ear as he played with her core again.  Her legs were shaking at the feeling.  She gripped on to the vanity.  

“Fuck me raw, Willy,” she begged.  She had her own tricks up her sleeve.  If William was going to play this game, she was going to play hers.  She watched his reaction in the mirror and could see his pupils dilate.  “I started birth control.  It’s okay.”

“You what?”

“I started birth control a month ago.  It was supposed to be a surprise but—”

“—Aberdeen—”

“—Please Willy,” she begged, her voice breathless.  She could feel his hard cock against her body and was so desperate for it, she didn’t care how wrong this was.  “Fuck me raw.  Fuck.  Me.  Raw.”

He bent her over the vanity.  She stuck her ass out and kept her eyes on him through the mirror, watching as he positioned himself at her entrance, sliding into her easily.  She cried out at the sensation, feeling his hand almost automatically cover her mouth to silence her.  When he began moving in and out of her, the sound of their flesh smacking together, she didn’t know if she should close her eyes to revel in the feeling of his slick, hard cock filling her up, or if she should keep her eyes open to watch him fucking her hard and fast through the mirror.  She chose the latter.  She and William had had many sexual escapades before (sexcapades, if you will), but nothing had been as hot or as raw or as dangerous as this was.  The exhilaration of doing a completely banned act – banned since they figured out they were working together, even more so banned now – was giving her the ultimate rush.  

His hand was still over her mouth as she arched her back and William pulled her back against his chest.  She could feel herself getting close, and when William’s other hand snaked around once more to play with her clit, she tried to cry out but couldn’t.  “Are you gonna be quiet when I make you cum?”

She shook her head.  “I won’t.  I can’t.”

He thrusted into her harder, trying to make a point.  She whimpered again and his hand somehow tightened around her mouth.  “Are you gonna be quiet?” he asked again.  She looked at him through the mirror, seeing the absolute fire in his eyes.  She knew what he was looking for.  She knew he would tease her and tease her and tease her until she agreed to what he was asking.  She nodded slowly.  He smiled.  “Good.”

He quickened his pace, harder and faster and rougher than before, and Aberdeen continued to watch them fucking through the mirror until she could feel closer and closer to her sweet release.  Eventually, her legs began to shake, and she could feel an intense orgasm rush through every single inch of her body.  She tried to stay as quiet as possible, but the feeling was too much, and her whimpers escaped her, though they were much quieter than the usual vocal performances she usually gave when she and William had sex, and though William still had his hand over her mouth.  At the sound of her stifled whimpers she could feel William’s hot cum spill inside her.  The feeling was hot and raw and simultaneously everything she imagined it would be and feel like but also completely new and unlike anything she could have ever expected.  His own small grunts escaped his mouth as he felt himself empty inside of her, revelling in the feeling of filling her completely.  He eventually let go of her mouth, and her body bent over against the marble vanity again, unable to stand up straight due to the long, intense orgasm.  He tried to catch his breath as he continued to watch her body shake, the last of her orgasm rushing through her.  He could see her chest rising and falling from her trying to catch her breath.

It was a few minutes before Aberdeen and William could regain their breaths.  He slipped out of her slowly, and she whimpered again at the loss of him, still bent over the vanity, though she could still feel a slickness between her thighs.  She felt his body bend too, his chest on her back, and felt him kiss her shoulders delicately.  She craned her neck to get a look at him.  “I better get a writing job soon.  I don’t think we’re gonna be able to hold it back for much longer,” she whispered.

William giggled – a low, rumbly giggle from his chest as he smiled and continued placing kisses on her shoulder.  “I agree,” he whispered back.  “We gotta make sure you get that Toronto Life job.”

She bit her lip.  “Did it feel good for you?”

He nodded.  “Of course.  What about for you?  Did it feel different?”

“It felt fucking amazing,” she nodded.  “It…it did feel different.  I…you’re the first one I’ve ever let fuck me raw,” she admitted.

William nodded in understanding.  He knew what she was really saying – that this was, at least physically, the ultimate form of trust, and he was the only one in her life, ever, who she trusted that much.  “We can keep doing whatever you’re more comfortable with,” he said.

“I liked this.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back,” she giggled slightly.  

William smiled.  He pulled her back upright and, at that point, she could stand on her own again.  She spun around so she was facing him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to kiss him.  They stood in her bathroom kissing for a while until William pulled away slightly.  “I love you so much,” he mumbled.

“I love you too.”

“Sorry I made you break the rules…yet again,” he smiled mischievously.  

Aberdeen winked.  “Isn’t that half the fun?”

[sondepoch]

Chapter 4

Hearts on Three (Satan x Reader)

The athlete and the nerd. The rich kid and the scholarship student. The girl who will constantly joke about breaking your knee caps and the boy who will actually do it. There are so many ways to describe your relationship with Satan. Too many, if you’re being honest. He’s your best friend. The smartest tutor you’ve ever had. He also spends thousands of dollars for you at the drop of a hat and holds your hand when you’re feeling down. And in the beginning, that's okay. Neither of you let yourselves get bogged down by labels, both of you content to just savor this newfound friendship. But deeper feelings always have a way of complicating things. And for better or for worse, you and Satan are no exception.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

MASTERLIST

“Bro, you good?”

Satan blinks the sleep from his eyes at the feeling of a pencil tapping against his shoulder, groggily turning to face the owner of the voice that tore him from his precious slumber.

“...bwha?” is the educated response Satan can come up with in his sleep-addled mind.

Solomon snorts.

“Dude, this is the third time you’ve fallen asleep in class this week.” The white-haired athlete grins. “Keep this up and I’m gonna score better than you on tomorrow’s test.”

“We have a…”

Satan groans inwardly. He has a test tomorrow? The blonde blinks up at the board. It takes a second for his vision to clear, but then it registers that he’s in math class, and everything else falls into place. A quick scan over the whiteboard confirms that Satan didn’t miss anything important, that the chapter the teacher is covering is something Satan taught himself roughly two years back, but the boy still groans to himself in frustration. He doesn’t like to sleep through class. Ever.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Satan mumbles to his friend when he glances at the clock. It seems that Solomon let him doze for nearly the entire period, opting to wake him up a mere minute before the bell should ring. 

“No problem. But seriously, I’ve never seen you slack this hard. You good?”

“I’m fine. I’m just tired because…” Satan trails off, hesitant to confess that the reason he’s so exhausted is because of you. No doubt, Solomon would read way too deeply into that—nope, wait, it looks like Solomon figured it out on his own from the shit-eating grin he’s now sporting.

“Ah, your future girlfriend, is it?” Solomon leans back in his chair, grinning. “The love life is rough, buddy. Make sure you’re using protection at night, though.”

Satan has never been more relieved to hear a bell ring.

“Would you lower your voice?” He growls when a couple of kids passing by give him weird looks. Satan glares hard at Solomon, but the latter gives a grand total of zero (0) shits.

“Sorry,” Solomon says in a voice that makes it all too clear that he’s not sorry.

Satan has never hated his schedule more than in the next moment when he realizes that Solomon is in his next class and that they can’t split ways. Worse yet, it’s Physical Education—the stupidest course of all time because all it consists of is kids walking in circles for an entire hour and being “encouraged” to run. And somehow, to top it off, Satan always ends up walking with Solomon. 

“We’re not together,” Satan grunts to his friend when they’re outside doing laps around the track. “It’s just that it’s fucking hard to balance club duties, her volleyball schedule, and my own studies.” 

“I totally get it,” Solomon blurts. “But you’ve gotta get used to it, bro. Imagine how much harder it’s gonna be to when the two of you start dating! You’ll have to take her out on dates, and—fuck—have you ever been to one of her games? She has crazy stamina, man. The two of you’ll be at it all night.”

Satan thinks back to freshman orientation, wondering why, of all the places to sit, he chose the seat next to the most annoying person in the entire academy. 

“Solomon, can you shut the fuck up?”

Solomon, unsurprisingly, does not shut the fuck up.

With enough difficulty, Satan does finally manage to steer the topic away from Solomon’s matchmaking attempts and towards more normal topics. Namely, Satan’s matchmaking attempts. Of course, just as Satan places no weight on Solomon’s opinions on his love life, Solomon completely ignores Satan’s advice to stop beating around the bush and just ask Asmo out, the athlete having the nerve to say “I’ll ask Asmo out when you ask our volleyball captain out”—as if you and Satan have a remotely similar history to Asmo and Solomon, who, as now known by the entire campus, are both desperately pining for each other but are too dumb to see it.

Satan sighs, shaking his head.

Idiots, he thinks. I’m surrounded by idiots.

It’s to this thought that Satan hears someone calling his name in the distance: an extremely familiar voice, almost grating on the ears, but a voice he knows he should not be hearing. 

Satan shakes his head, deciding that he’ll clear up his schedule today so he gets a nap in because surely, surely he must be imagining you calling his voice. Surely you’re not actually on this track field. Surely you’re not cutting English, of all courses, a subject that Satan insists you pay extra attention to because it’s the single course you're most likely to fail.

“Bro,” Solomon whispers, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Satan closes his eyes, trying to see if pretending that he doesn’t hear your footsteps sprinting closer and closer towards him will make it so that they’re not real.

It doesn’t work.

“Satan!” You shriek, now close enough that he can’t pretend you’re a figment of his imagination anymore. “Satan! Satan, Satan, Satan!”

The blonde continues staring resolutely forward, committing himself to the ideology of I do not see it, therefore it is not happening.

Unfortunately, Satan sees it. And so it happens.

Without any warning whatsoever, you lurch forward and grapple on to Satan, wrapping your limbs around him like a literal koala as you yeet yourself onto him with enough force that Satan is just barely able to remain standing when you attach yourself to him while shrieking: ”Satan! Guess what, guess what!”

The blonde is at a loss for words, so dumbfounded and taken aback that it’s all he can do to sputter out a confused “w-what?” 

You grin at him with a smile so wide it looks like it hurts, and Satan can only stare as you reveal what made you so happy.

“I got an 85 on the Shakespeare test!” 

The Shakespeare test, the man thinks, trying to remember.

The Shakespeare test, he repeats in his mind, a vision of you cram-reading the final acts of King Lear flashing through his mind

The Shakespeare test! Satan realizes with a start, suddenly recalling how it was a test he expected you to fail.

Satan’s mouth drops open at that. He had been prepared for you to get a 20, a 30; the highest you told him to expect was a 60, and even that was below the fail margin, but an 85? Holy shit, Satan might cry if he got a grade like that, but for you, it’s a genuine accomplishment, and he’s fucking proud.

“You’re joking,” he blurts, already calculating how this will affect your average and, holy shit, it’s actually going to pull you up to a passing grade.

“I’m not!” you declare with so much happiness that it’s infectious, and then the two of you are hugging and laughing except that Satan’s literally carrying you so it’s awkward, but neither of you care because this is the highest grade you’ve pulled all year, and Satan is finally beginning to feel like the late hours and the sleepless nights are all worth it.

The two of you are grinning and beaming at each other even when you finally de-koala yourself from Satan and land on the ground; and it’s at this precise moment that Satan realizes just how many people are watching. 

The blonde clears his throat awkwardly. 

It felt so natural when you tackled Satan midair, but he’s now beginning to realize just how intimate that whole scene looked to any onlookers. He stiffens, and you seem to notice, your own demeanor turning sheepish in turn.

A low whistle from next to you diffuses the situation.

“An 85, huh?” Solomon slings an arm around your shoulder, sandwiching you between him and Satan as the three of you continue walking along the track field—effectively sending a message to anyone watching that the show is over. “Not bad, Captain, not bad.”

“It’s amazing, Solomon!” you cry out in turn, grinning as you lean into his shoulder. (Satan doesn’t feel weird when he sees that, he swears he doesn’t.) “I haven’t scored this high since, well, I dunno. I don’t really pay attention to the scores I get because they’re always so low!”

Solomon laughs at that, definitely remembering when he was the same way. 

“It’s all thanks to Satan, no?” Solomon prods, and the blonde shoots a sharp look at his friend. He’s up to something. Satan isn’t sure if he wants to know what.

“Oh, definitely! He literally read every single text out loud to me! I left this one book for the very last day, and he actually stayed with me and—”

“You need to get back to class,” Satan swiftly interrupts, his ears turning red. “You did well on one test, but you need to pay attention if you want to continue.”

“Oh, but—”

Satan practically shoves you away, gesturing wildly the whole time with a vigor that has you confused but compliant as you slowly depart, doubtlessly making your way back to the English building as slowly as you possibly can.

When you’re gone, Solomon snorts.

“You read to her?” He asks, expression brimming with mirth.

“It’s not—it’s an effective studying technique that we use to save time—”

“Oh my god,” Solomon mumbles under his breath, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “Next thing you know, I’ll find out that she’s sleeping on your shoulder or something. Seriously, Satan, way to make a move early on.”

Satan is incredibly grateful that Solomon doesn’t see how his face changes at that part, a flush rising on his cheeks when he realizes that you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder not once, now, but several times. 

“Shut up,” Satan grumbles, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“No way, man!” Solomon cackles with laughter, finding great amusement in his friend’s frustration. “Oh my god, the two of you are so perfect for each other that it hurts! Here, take a look at this—”

Solomon pulls up his phone and opens up his Photo Gallery, swiping twice before handing it over to Satan.

“Just look at that, dude—” he gestures vaguely at the picture. “You two already look like you’re dating.”

Satan stares at the image, his feet slowing down. It’s a picture of you and Satan hugging, taken conveniently when you were still koala-ing Satan with your entire body because of course Solomon was able to get a picture that quickly, and although Satan can’t see either of your faces due to the side angle, even he has to acknowledge that the two of you really do look like a couple.

“It’s not like that,” Satan mumbles, shaking his head as he hands the phone back to Solomon. 

This might be the first time, though, that he actually entertains the thought of what it would be if it was like that.

It’s not a terrible thought.

You hate away-scrimmages for a lot of reasons.

The first reason is that, more often than not, the environment is hostile. The other team is always bound to have more support, more cheering, more motivation powering them forward while yours has nothing more than the girls on the bench and the loud voice of your coach. 

The second reason is that they always feel like a waste of time. Scrimmages, by nature, are meant to be an extension of practice. So what’s the point of a scrimmage if you spend more time driving to the school than you spend playing against the school? It’s totally backwards, in your opinion, and pretty stupid.

The third reason is the most compelling reason, though. And it’s probably because this is the issue you’re dealing with right now: the fact that at away-scrimmages, if there does happen to be someone from your school who puts in the time and effort to come watch, the pressure on your shoulders instantly triples. Scrimmages are supposed to be fun, enjoyable. They’re nothing more than practice matches to collect data and get ready for when you’ll go against the school for real—but when people from your school travel such a long distance to watch you play not even a game but a scrimmage, it feels like you owe it to them to bring home a win, to succeed, to make the match worth their while.

And while Satan doubtlessly had no intentions of adding to your stress when he asked to watch you play at today's scrimmage, that’s exactly what has happened.

“Listen, girls,” your voice is low as your team groups up in what will likely be the last huddle of the match. “I want us to win this. Really badly. Do what it takes, but bring home that victory.” You take a moment to recite the weaknesses of the other team, trying to downplay their skill and build confidence in your own teammates, but ultimately, you all know the truth. “It all comes down to how we play this point, girls, so let’s play our best.”

You glance around at your teammates, stealing a glance at the bleachers where Satan sits, watching the scrimmage.

You want to make him proud.

“Wolves on three: one, two, three—”

“Wolves!” your teammates echo, raising their fists as the lot of you split off into your serve receive positions.

As it stands, match point is weighing against you, and your team is at a heavy disadvantage. From what you’ve gathered on the opposing team, their libero is a literal legend when it comes to front row saves, and they have an amazing right-side hitter, one that easily rivals your own skill. This entire game, their team has been leading, but all your team needs to secure victory is a measly three points, three points that you know you can obtain if you try hard enough.

You crouch low, getting ready for the opposing team’s serve.

The first two points are easy for your team to get: the first point comes when the opposing team’s outside hitter rams the ball into the net, and the second comes when your team's right-side hitter manages a clean hit through a line of defense that jumped a second too late.

The final point, as always, is the hardest to get.

It just so happens that it’s your serve, so you consciously aim at what you think is the weakest link in the opposing team, but they’re able to recover. From then on, it’s an intense volley back and forth until it’s just you versus the right-side hitter, #18, the two of you fighting it out in a rhythmic contest of pass-set-hit that just won’t end.

It’s at this time that you feel the pressure beating down on you heavier than ever before. More than anything, you want to win. Not just because you’re naturally competitive, not just because you really fucking hate #18 right now (seriously, what business does she have being as good as you?), but because you know that Satan is watching. 

You really, really, really want to bring home a win for him.

It’s to this thought that you set the ball over on the first touch, sabotaging the flow of the game and ruining the other team’s momentum. 

It happens in slow motion as the ball falls, slowly, slowly.

The entire room seems to hold its breath as three girls on the opposing team, #18 included, all pancake-dive for the ball. Sensing their success, you bend your knees, preparing for the ball’s return.

It never comes.

The blow of the ref’s whistle is surreal, almost as faraway as the subsequent cheers of your own team, so empty and distant as they instantly group up for a team tackle—but for the first time, you don’t join them. 

Instead, you’re left staring up at Satan who, from his spot on the bleachers, is grinning down at you with a proud look on his face.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so happy to win a scrimmage. 

Everything else passes by in a blur. Your team regroups and changes out of your uniforms, and the lot of you board the bus that’s set to bring you back to the Royal Academy of Barbatos. 

You, however, stay back.

“I’ll get a ride from my tutor,” you tell your coach, bidding farewell to your friends. 

The man arches an eyebrow at you, asking once and then twice if you’re certain you don’t want to stay with the team, but you nod your head. 

Weird, you think as you go to find Satan, who’s waiting for you at his car. This must be the first time I’ve prioritized someone else over the team.

You decide not to dwell on that thought. 

Instead, you choose to think about how sick Satan’s ride is.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, gawking as soon as you see the car. “Satan, I knew you were loaded, but I had no clue you were this loaded.”

Satan laughs at your reaction, grinning when you can do nothing but stand and stare at the sheer beauty of it: a slick, black Bugatti with a single green stripe down the middle. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” you coo, marveling at the interior when you slide into the passenger seat and slug your volleyball bag unceremoniously in the back. “Satan, I think I like this car better than I like you.”

The blonde gives a short laugh, rolling his eyes as he gets inside next to you. “I’ll let you drive it someday,” he offers.

You’re quick to decline, shuddering to think about how many more sports scholarships you’d need to ever pay such a thing off if you were to crash it. 

Satan can only smile at that, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t hear.

“Your match was amazing, by the way,” he says before you can probe him about what he said. “It looked really intense. It’s impressive that you were able to keep a level head even at the end.”

You don’t tell Satan that your head wasn’t level, that you were practically dizzy with fear from the possibility of losing in front of him.

“It comes with practice,” you instead choose to say. “Something we’ve gotta do tonight!”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

You shoot Satan an innocent smile in response.

“Your match lasted a good hour, and I saw you practicing with your team before your bus left.” Satan shakes his head, a frown beginning to spread across his lips. “You’re going to destroy your muscles if you try to do any more. Even you need to rest.”

“Yeah, but resting is boring.” You lean back in your seat and stare at your palms. “Besides, that scrimmage was way too close for comfort. Didn’t you see number eighteen? She was, like, really good. If both our teams make it to the state tournament, we’re going to have a lot of trouble dealing with her unless we practice like crazy until then.”

“Exactly,” Satan says. “Your team needs to practice, not you. The best thing you can do for them is relax and make sure you don’t overexert yourself.”

“But don't you want to reward me for getting a good grade on my Shakespeare test?” A smile curls onto your lips because you know that's something Satan has been thinking about. “Come on, just a few balls? It’ll be quick, I promise. I just want to try a few moves out.”

Satan lets out an exasperated sigh that lets you know he’s agreeing.

“Yes!” You exclaim, resisting the urge to jump out of your seat and hug him because he probably won't be as inclined to help you if you make him crash his car. “Thank you so much, Satan! I won’t be long, I promise!”

The blonde doesn’t say anything to that, sighing softly as he switches his destination from the student parking lot to the on-campus gym you usually conduct your practice sessions in. It takes a while, but when the two of you get there, the spot Satan pulls into is far from the doors. It's a necessity since all the other spots are taken, but it makes you raise an eyebrow because this is the first time you’ve seen this gym even remotely filled up.

You nudge Satan out of his car regardless.

“Alright, so today I want you to make my tosses higher than normal. Number eighteen was taller than me, so I’ll need to increase my jump height if I want to be able to break past her defense.” You pull him to the door, wasting no time to get inside. “And don’t worry if your tosses aren’t perfect! It’ll be good practice for...for when…”

Your train of thought is disrupted when you see how packed the gym is.

“Damn,” Satan mumbles next to you, frowning. 

There must be some kind of athletic event coming up. That's the only explanation you can think of for the picture in front of you. As it stands, there are tons of students inside this gym, everyone practicing their own sport. It’s ridiculous, honestly, because even sports that are traditionally outdoors are practicing inside. You can see Solomon leading his soccer team through a few drills on the far side of the court, taking up one half of one of the six nets set up in the gym.

“They must be here because it’s so muddy outside. All the outdoor sports are practicing inside.” Satan crosses his arms. “Let’s come back tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to get an effective practice in.”

“No!” you immediately exclaim, if only because you see a group of people setting up to leave. “Look, we can take that side of the court. Let’s go! I don’t want someone else to get there first.”

It’s a bit harder to find a spare cart of volleyballs than it was to find a spot to practice, but after checking enough supply rooms, you finally find what you’re looking for. After that, it takes you all of two minutes to wheel the cart over to Satan where you present your findings to him proudly.

“Shouldn’t you stretch first?” He frowns. “I don’t want you to get injured.”

“Come on, Satan. I just came back from a match! My muscles are all loosened up, so let’s get straight into it! The faster we can get this done, the faster we can return to the dorm, so let’s hurry!”

The boy doesn’t look wholly convinced, but he acquiesces to your request nonetheless, throwing you a toss higher than usual as you jump to slam it down.

It’s only once the two of you have returned to your usual rhythm that you begin to feel the stretch in your thighs, and for a moment, you stop to consider the fact that it might have been better if you’d stretched after all, but you ultimately decide that you’ve already started so there’s no point in stopping.

The practice whizzes by, as usual. It's almost pitiful how quickly the end of it nears.

“Three more balls,” Satan says, glancing at the number of balls left in the cart. “Then we go back, alright?”

“Sure thing!” you exclaim with pride, the familiar sense of satisfaction after a practice session well-done setting in.

Satan tosses you the third-last ball, and your feet begin following it as soon as it leaves his fingers. Your feet follow a familiar pattern—left, right, left, jump!—and you force yourself to put in a little bit of extra power to increase the height of your jump, letting your palm collide with the ball just a few inches beneath the peak of the arc to let it slam onto the court at an angle so steep that even a reinforced defense wouldn’t have been able to save it.

“Perfect!” you shout the moment your feet land on the floor. “Two more like that, and we’re set!”

Even Satan can’t hold off a smile at that.

Already in-tune with you, he doesn’t bother asking if you’re ready before throwing the next ball into the air. 

Again, you go through the motions that have been ingrained into your muscle memory since you were eight years old. The sting of pain against your palm is familiar, too familiar, and you’re still high in your jump when the ball spikes down onto the floor.

What isn’t familiar is the immediate calls of concern from across the court.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion.

You turn your head to the source of the noise, the loud group of soccer players who are on the far side of the gym and are all shouting to watch out. You stare at them in confusion for a moment, squinting to look for what they're all pointing at, because right now you don’t see anything to watch out for, and why—

Your eyebrows furrow.

Why are they all looking at you?

That thought is the only warning you get before your feet land—and the first thing you realize is that you landed way too early, that you should have been in the air for longer given the height of your jump. That’s when you realize that you haven’t landed, that your foot is instead twisting on top of a soccer ball that’s rolled directly underneath you.

Your hands go out to catch yourself when you fall, but there’s nothing you can do about the swell of pain that bursts from your ankle when the soccer ball pops out from underneath you.

There’s a moment of trepidation, a single second where your body is completely suspended in the air, and the gym is silent.

In that quiet moment, you hear Satan call out your name in a terrified voice.

Then, the ground collides with you and hard, and there’s nothing you can do as the pain you’d been feeling earlier blossoms out from all parts of your body.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: ive returneddd :D this chapter is dedicated to the vball captain who, in my freshman year of high school, injured herself. her injury was more dramatic, given that it was way more severe and it was during an important match, but irene, i carry you in my heart <3

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[victimhood]

The one in which the Euros 3rd place playoff is abolished after Italia 1980, and then restored at short notice for Italia 2028, making it the historic occasion in which a whole country cockblocked their captain Nicolò di Genova.

It is June 1980. The European Championship is taking place in Italy. It is the first edition of the tournament with eight teams, divided into two groups. The winners of each group move on to play in the final, and the runners up of each group move on to battle for third place.

It is the final edition of the Euros to have the third place playoff. With dwindling attendances and television viewers, UEFA deems the fixture unnecessary for future editions of the tournament. Italy hold Czechoslovakia to a 1-1 draw, and the match is decided on penalties. The final outcome? 9-8 to Czechoslovakia.

For as long as it has existed, there has been vocal opposition to the third place match. There are those who question its purpose, who see it as a meaningless extension of the tournament for advertisement money. A kinder commentary on offer is from those who see it as cruel to make losers play yet another competitive fixture, for little to no reward. Just think of the fourth-placed team—they played better than the rest of the competition except three—yet they must go home with the bitter memory of having lost twice.

On the other camp, there are those who recall with great fondness the third place match of the 2002 World Cup between host nation South Korea and Turkey. If that doesn’t work for you, what about the consolation it offered to the host nation in the 1990 World Cup, a breakout tournament for Italy’s Roberto Baggio?

Now we skip to June 2028. The European Championship is once more taking place in Italy. There are twenty four teams divided into groups, followed by a knockout stage. There is no third place fixture on the schedule. The much-beloved Italian captain takes his team on a blistering dream run, in front of an adoring home crowd, beating a well-regarded Portugal and incumbent holders Belgium along the way. He has declared his intention to retire for good, once this tournament is over.

Picture this: you are Italy. You play England in the semifinal in Napoli, at the Stadio San Paolo, also known as the Stadio Diego Armando Maradona. You arrive in the stadium, or you watch from home, full of hope, with faith in your captain and your squad. Your team scores one at the 20th minute. Perfect opening. England try but they can’t get past the deadbolt across goal, past your much vaunted defensive line. At the 63rd minute, Foden puts one past your goalie, but VAR rules it offside. At the 89th minute, the scoreline is still 1-0 and you’re nearly through, and some egregious fans are already cheering, and then Foden gets it in for real in a stroke of sheer luck. The ball hits the crossbar but somehow bounces downward into goal. The game goes into extra time, and then to penalties. The final result? England wins 4-3 on penalties. This is a brutal game. At the end of your match, your captain sheds tears and apologizes for not being able to do more to push the team through to the finals. No! You want to scream. Caro Nicolò, il nostro capitano, it’s not your fault. You have done so much for us. You begin to blame yourself: it’s us, it’s our fault. We dared to dream too early. You were so busy dreaming of your beloved captain raising the trophy that you forgot the game wasn’t over. In fact, even before this semifinal you were already dreaming of the trophy. This is how fate punishes you. You hate to see him end his career this way. He didn’t let you down, you let your captain down! Can we do this one over? You’ll do right by your captain this time.

Picture this: you’re the president of UEFA, and the tournament is hosted in your home country. It would have been the honor of honors, to award the winner’s medals to your compatriots. The papers are raging over the match outcome: England squeaked through on a razor’s blade, and Italy were the more inspired team. The fans are out in the streets. The people have spoken! Let us bring back the third place match! Let us see our captain off with dignity and honor! Your colleagues say: this is preposterous. We got rid of it years ago, because of Italia 1980. But does anyone really remember why? The advertisers tell you they’re willing to pay. One extra match means extra revenues. Worse things have happened in the pursuit for money. What’s the harm in a consolation match? An emergency meeting is called. Who’s playing in the second semifinal? France and the Netherlands. Both their feds agree to the third place match. From the next tournament onwards, there’ll even be a sweet cherry of a coefficient bonus—all the feds agree to this, but it would not be fair to the rest to apply it this ongoing tournament (and you hear minor grumbles from the FIGC, FFF and KNVB, who think they should be compensated for the inconvenience). No matter; the people have been given what they want! Another football match in the grand machine of things! The meeting takes so long that France beats the Netherlands 3-2 in the meantime, and now someone has to do the unpleasant job of telling the players. Were any of them consulted in this affair? What a preposterous concept. That’s not how UEFA works. UEFA says jump and they say how high.

Picture this: you are Nicolò Di Genova, and you’ve played the final match of your professional career. It did not end in the way you wanted, but such is life. You are ready to put your former self in the grave. You say goodbye to your treasured teammates, and the very next morning you check out of the training center to make your way to Turin, to see your fidanzato in the semifinals. Well, he crashes out too, his downfall orchestrated by that paraculo of your club teammate, Sébastien of the number 23. And so it is England vs France in the final, to be played in Italy. The thought of it turns even the strongest stomach of any citizen of this noble country. The only silver lining to this cursed final lineup is getting to whisk the love of your life off into the secluded countryside, and maybe with a few rounds of passionate lovemaking you can even forget the pain of loss.

You’re in the car. You just picked up your inamorato from his team hotel. You want to push him into the backseat and blow the brains out of him but you have better self control than that.

“How does retirement feel like?” he cracks a joke at you.

“You know full well my plans,” you return cheekily.

You’re driving off into the E70 when your phone rings. It doesn’t stop ringing so you pull over to take the call.

It’s your national team coach. “They just restored the third place match. Can you come back to the training ground?”

Who agreed to this? Your mind is reeling from the preposterousness of it all.

“They love you, Nichi. The people want you back.”

You exchange a look with your lover. Now his phone is ringing too. It’s his coach.

Due to this unfortunate turn of events you end up having an argument with your lover. You are principled, and having principles means not giving in to this total farce of a circus show, the third place match. Your lover is an incurable romantic, and pleads on behalf of your people. They did this all for you—show them some love in return. And what was the meaning of the past 31 years of your life again? You have already given them everything.

If only the people of Italy knew how much they had to thank Yusuf Al Kaysani. It’s because of him—it’s because of his beautiful deep brown eyes that glisten with all the stars of this universe that you cave and you agree.

“Get out, let’s switch. I’ll drive, and you call your mom and tell her the news.”

How do you begin to articulate how much this man knows the answers in your heart before your brain catches up to the same conclusions?

And so, like Lazarus, on the fourth day of your death you come back to life.

ITA vs NED

Picture this: you’re the cameraman, in the tunnel. The teams are lining up. The two captains emerge from the dressing room and compliment each other on their good looks with wry smiles. Some good natured ribbing, you think. They’re old friends. They played together for eight years at the same club. The Italian captain puts his hands on the Dutch captain, and then, like magnets, his hands seem incapable of leaving the Dutch captain’s back. You start to feel uncomfortable, like you’re seeing something that you shouldn’t be seeing. You look around. Everyone else in the double file of blue and orange is just chatting away, acting normal. Maybe...it’s just your imagination? You train your camera on the chatting crowd, giving the captains space. The match officials appear, taking the lead in front of both teams. You get in position for the money shot, following the two teams out of the tunnel and into the adoring crowd.

Picture this: you have never missed a single football match your grandson plays in. So when there’s a surprise third place match announced, you have to bail on karaoke night with the girls to watch the match on tv. Your friends don’t watch football, but if they do, they watch for the “hot guys on the Italian team”. Oh yeah, he’s playing Italy, you tell them. Feel free to come over to my place, if they don’t mind your oldest son and your rowdy grandchildren. Karaoke night swiftly becomes football night. There is an argument between Hamza and his dad over the pointlessness of the third place playoff. So...your family has been behaving in an unusual manner for several months now, and you suspect it’s because your grandson said he is gay. The papers here don’t report it, because they still want to claim him to some extent, but you have noted that the coverage is more conditional than before. You don’t live under a rock, and you’ve seen the news on YouTube even if no one around you is prepared to talk about it. As the two teams walk out of the tunnel and onto the pitch, you notice the Italian captain letting his hand slip from your grandson’s back, and Hamza suddenly jumps in front of the TV screen to adjust the volume.

“What the heck are you doing?” Mehdi, Hamza’s father and your eldest son, yells.

“The audio was...wonky,” Hamza replies sheepishly. “But I think it’s okay now.”

The match begins. At a corner kick, the Italian captain practically plasters himself all over your grandson, and it’s Hamza messing with the TV remote again, this time accidentally switching channels. Mehdi slaps him in the back of the head. You think that maybe it’s time you called Ibrahim. Someone needs to tell you the truth they’ve been so bad at hiding. Your grandson is not just gay, he seems to have a lover, and it’s that evil-eyed captain, the man who curses all who cross him.

Picture this: you’re a fan from the friendly town of Muggenbeet, watching from the San Siro. You came all this way to support the Oranje and they had to concede that final goal to France in front of your face. Sore and in denial about your loss, you start to make jokes about Waterloo to cope, handing the French off to the English. And then—out of nowhere, UEFA announces that they’ll restore the third place match. You think it’s the most shameless attempt for the host country to award themselves something ever. But, you know, does anyone really want to watch an England-France final? No. Never. For forever. We hate them both. It’s not football. It’s a circus of clowns. The viewership for this third place match is through the roof, higher than for your semifinal vs France. Let’s just treat this as the real final. What a galaxy-brained idea. Your country could steal it from the hosts—no hard feelings to Italy. You’ve enjoyed the pizza and the pasta, maybe it would be fun to crush their team like little peppercorns to sprinkle on your food. Based. Now you want a cacio e pepe after the match. Wait, you’re not in Rome, where the real (fake news!) final is. Boo. There is a corner, right at the end where you are sitting. Poepjes is taking it. Dekmijn and Blootgat are running up. Your captain is being felt up by the Italian captain. (No literally, that guy isn’t even looking at the goal? He’s just...pressing himself against your captain? Why are his hands encircled around Al Kaysani’s waist like so?) Anyway, the ball pings between the Italian keeper and Blootgat, and then it flies into Di Genova’s rather shapely calves...and bounces into the goal.

Uhhhhhh, THANK YOU? Grazie mille Nicolò Di Genova!!!! You gave us one goal!!!

The Italian fans must be flabbergasted. Isn’t this the dude’s retirement match? Or whatever. Who knows. Italy is a place of the greatest contradictions, so you’ve been told. But you’ll take what you can get. You kinda feel bad for the guy, who has buried his face in his hands. Maybe...you should cheer for him. And so...the lot of you, the orange lot, sitting in the Curva Sud, you start singing for the Italian captain. Nicolò Di Genova! There’s only one Di Genova!

The third place match is the most lawless ninety minutes in the historical timeline.

Picture this: you’re an Interista and season ticket holder. And of course you support your national team. You were heartbroken when the England keeper denied Marcuzzi to progress to the finals. You cried when your captain cried. And then, out of nowhere, they said, let’s bring back the third place match. The finals are in the Stadio Olimpico, so...maybe let’s have the third place match in the San Siro? You score a ticket at your usual seat. You get to see your captain one more time before he rides off into the sunset? What more can you ask for? This is romance of the highest order. The San Siro loves Nichi, of course all the staff and volunteers come together to make the event happen in a matter of days. You can’t believe this is happening. And then...your captain opens the scoring with an own goal. The Dutch fans are singing for him. What do you do? Well, if you can’t beat them, join them—you can sing louder for your captain! He’s your captain! And you know, their captain, he’s kinda your guy too, because Sempre Inter. Revenge is served, sweet and cold like a scoop of gelato, when your captain heads in the equalizer. The crowd goes wild. He’s taking this match seriously, but you knew he always would—that’s why you love him. He could ask for your firstborn and you would gladly give it up. You can always trust your capitano. There is a penalty call in the second half of the match and his teammates give it to him—a little unorthodox—but like a deadly sniper your captain sneaks a cool and calculated one past the Dutch keeper. You cheer. Does it count as a hat trick when you’ve scored at both ends? What a scoreline to retire to!

Picture this: you’re Yusuf Al Kaysani. You just lost in the third place match, a match widely panned as the least necessary match in a tournament by those who don’t know better. And yet, the third place match is the purest expression of love for the beautiful game. All other matches are clouded by the temptations of fame and fortune. The third place match you play for love and honor. You watch from the sidelines as your boyfriend leads his team to collect the medals, from none other than Paolo Maldini. Maldini, who’s doing an admirable job as UEFA President. Who knows where and how they got these medals at short notice—sometimes this country pulls miracles like a rabbit out from the magician’s hat of chaos. Everyone in the stadium is acting like this is the final. It’s not—it’s something a little better, a match born of love, played for love, with nothing to win and nothing to lose.

There is no trophy to lift, so Nico’s teammates lift him. They’re yelling for you. You’ve played with and against at least 90% of that team. Come join us, the men in blue say, and everyone forms a circle, arm linking arm, bouncing to the music. There are no losers here—your whole team is invited to the celebrations. The Dutch fans are singing: Second place! Second place! Let’s pretend we’re second place!

Let’s be real, for this one night, in this exact stadium, there’s only one captain, and the ones in the know push you towards him. Here’s your man, the unspoken acknowledgement. But you know your place—this is not your night. This night is for him. It’s for the country that loves him, and for him to say one last goodbye. Daniele Pirozzi jumps on the captain’s back, and the captain carries him for a while, laughing away. Pirozzi, whom you spent countless hours training how to read the field, in a fashion after yours. And then there’s Boselli, Marcuzzi, Poepjes and more. From one generation to another, the baton is passed. Nico, look around, these are our boys, as good as any. They’ll be better than us, and we are happy to see it, for the love of the game. Pirozzi jumps off the captain’s back and jumps onto you, asking you if you want to lift the captain together. You laugh and agree. On the count of three, uno, due—

Picture this: you’re Nicolò Di Genova, and you’re sitting on the shoulders of your protegé and your lover. Here we can mark the passing of the guard—tonight you are unburdened and the only thing that’s left, you realize, is love. Yusuf was right. Look, look how much they love you. Even San Paolo did this for you. Could you ever have denied all of them this? You almost screwed it up at the beginning, but perhaps God was just reminding you to take your responsibilities seriously. You are but a servant of the game and this ground is your ground, your hallowed ground, the church of your sins and glory.

It’s the final competitive match of your career, and you get to walk off the field, arm in arm with the love of your life, cheered on by a country you gave everything to.

Now, for the rest of your life to begin.

(chapter 106: nel blu, dipinto di blu, of The Beautiful Game)

[potahun]

“Wo Men De Ge” Archery competition /translation

Translation of some of the archery bits in this special edition of Ep.11 of Season 1, because it was hilarious at the time and this week’s episode in S2 made me a nostalgic bastard on main again. Starts from approx. 1:52 onwards and ends around 14:39.

MC Lin Hai welcomes Na Ying back, who makes her entrance by singing a song from Fei Yuqing. Lin Hai notes that Ayanga isn’t there yet (he was on the plane), so he would pair up with Fei Yuqing in Ayanga’s stead. 

The order of performance in the Episode is to be decided via one round of archery and one round of draws.

MC: So let’s do it like this. The youngest ones here are our Shen Shen and our Yi Qiao. Therefore, you two have the right to decide. You can pick your opponents. 

ZS: I’ve already decided about my opponent. I believe everyone here knows the theory of Tian Ji’s strategy for horse-racing. The weakest *designates himself* should pick the strongest....teacher Hua Jian.

ZHJ: !! *sings while shaking ZS’s hand* You look deeply at me~

ZS: *sings in the same tune* Last time you overtook me by a whole lap~ (at kart racing)

MC (to ZS): So your picking teacher Hua Jian today, is it for revenge?

ZS: I’m....helping everyone to get rid of the strongest first. *laughs*

ZHJ: He fell for it.

MC: Then, Yi Qiao, he took your master away. What about you?

YQ: I think...how about teacher Keqin? 

LKQ: *waves hi*

YQ: I think he’s pretty strong too, so I want to have a match.

LKQ: I’m good at a lot of sports....except archery.

MC: Then, the next one will be interesting: Xiao Zhan. You pick. Do you want to go against me or Xiao Ge? Your pick.

XZ: Then I’ll pick....Teacher Fei. (FYQ: Ey. Alright.)

NY (to XZ): Yes. Elder brother (Fei Yuqing), he’s got hyperopia.  (FYQ: Aayy *laughs* XZ: !!!!!!!!) He won’t be able to do it. It’ll all be blurry -- he’ll just see a pile of circles. No problem! He won’t shoot accurately. 

MC: Alright. Then, Na Jie, I’ll accompany you. Alright? 

First group up: Zhou Hua Jian vs Zhou Shen (Zhou-Zhou shooting)

Everyone shouts encouragements from the back of the room, while Zhou Hua Jian prepares to shoot. His first arrow scores a 5.

ZS: Wooow~

YQ: Not bad!

MC, singing: Aaaaahh Fifth Ring~ (Everyone laughs)  (T/N: It’s a famous song about Beijing’s ring roads that was a bit of a gag, called the 5th Ring Road Song)

ZHJ, pretending to be dissatisfied: The wind is too strong! Can someone turn off the aircon? 

Meanwhile, Zhou Shen struggles to even nock the arrow. 

ZS, laughing: Aiya...my arrow keeps on falling... (LKQ, watching him from behind: *snorts* Aiyo ya.)

After much struggle, Zhou Shen shoots a 0. Li Keqin stands up:

LKQ: OK OK! OK! OK! It’s better than I imagined! It’s better than your driving!!

Zhou Shen turns around to laugh back at him. Meanwhile, Zhou Hua Jian shoots his 2nd arrow...which also turns out to be a 0. 

NY: Ohh, which one is that?

ZHJ: No, no. That fell outside the target.

LKQ, standing up again: Zhou Shen! You can do it!

ZS, shouting towards the back of the room:  I THINK I CHOSE THE RIGHT PERSON. *cackles soundlessly*

ZHJ: You insult me! *laughs*

ZS: I’ve never participated in such a fair competition!! (ZHJ bursts out laughing)

FYQ: This arrow is an important one. 

LKQ (to ZS): A bit higher! A bit higher!

Zhou Shen shoots a 5. Much wow-ing and clapping ensues.

ZHJ, giving him a high-five: Whoaaa!! You’re too much, you! You’re too much! (ZS laughs)

XZ: Whoa, fate changed with just one arrow...!

ZS (to the back of the room): THE SCORES ARE VERY EVENLY MATCHED. *laughs impishly*

ZHJ: Alright alright. I’ve been too generous! I can’t let you win anymore.

ZS, leaning towards him: You certainly talk big. *cackles impishly* 

ZHJ, preparing to shoot: Whooa. OK! Here I go.

ZS, teasing him: It’s off, it’s off. A bit lower. It’s off, it’s off, it’s off...

Zhou Hua Jian shoots another 0 (it actually turns out Zhou Shen was right, it was way too high). 

ZHJ, laughing (to ZS): No matter where you shoot, you’ve won now. (ZS makes a face) What’s that expression for?? 

ZS: If I shoot above yours, I’ve lost. (ZHJ laughs)

Zhou Shen finally shoots his 3rd arrow. It’s a 3. Zhou Shen won against Zhou Hua Jian by 3 points.

ZS (to the others): Who would have thought I’d win on the account of the person I picked? *laughs*

Second group: Li Keqin vs Jiang Yi Qiao.

LKQ (to the others): I’ll tell you, I saw it earlier on TV, everything else is unimportant -- the most important thing is the mouth. *does a big-lipped fish expression*

ZHJ: Alright then, let’s have a look at how his mouth is doing.

Li Keqin actually does the thing with his mouth and shoots a very stable 7. Xiao Zhan proceeds to imitate the pose in an attempt to learn. Meanwhile, Jiang Yi Qiao is struggling.

YQ: Hold on, I’m shaking a little....

LKQ, laughing: Your mouth has to be like this. *does the fish lips again*

Yi Qiao tries it, shoots 3 arrows back-to-back and gets 0, 2, and 0 points respectively. Zhou Hua Jian and Zhou Shen are both dying at the back of the room.

ZHJ, standing up: You guys should check! *points at Yi Qiao’s last arrow on the wall* I’m sure a fly just died over there.

Meanwhile, Li Keqin shoots a 5 and a 4. Qin Shen Shen leads for the moment being, with 24 vs 7 points. 

ZS, clapping and welcoming LKQ back: Awesome, awesome, awesome.

LKQ: Ehhh, it’s all thanks to youuu.

Third Group: Lin Hai (standing in for Ayanga) vs. Na Ying.

Na Ying goes first.

NY: Eh. *winces as she shoots a 0 point on the wall* Eh...

XZ: It’s okay, it’s okay!

ZHJ, pointing at XZ: Yeah, it’s okay, there’s him going behind you, there’s still him.

ZS: It’s okay, there’s still Xiao Zhan!

XZ: What if they all go off-track? *laughs*

Na Ying shoots her other arrows and they’re all 0s. 

ZHJ, laughing: Hey, they’re all way up there!

Na Ying’s arrows:

LKQ: Great aim. All 3 arrows are around the same area... (ZHJ: If you move the whole target upwards, she’d be smack in the middle. )

For some reason, Na Ying nocks another arrow and slowly turns it towards MC Lin Hai.

ZHJ, from the back of the room: Na Jie, don’t direct your arrow at him.

MC, finally noticing the danger: Eh?! *jumps back and laughs nervously* Um...uh?

NY, smiling sweetly but in a vaguely threatening manner: Hehe. What I mean to say is...you’re up against someone old, so....

MC, reassuring but backing up slowly: No, no, no, I’ve got it. I’ve got it.

NY, still vaguely threatening: You get me, right...?

MC, with his arrow nocked (to NY): I know. *turns his head towards her* I’ll just shoot while looking at you.

MC Lin Hai shoots a 10 (full score) while looking at Na Ying. The whole room loses it, Zhou Hua Jian most of all. 

MC, half-collapsed and laughing (to NY): I...I was really looking at you just now! I just--

NY, in equal disbelief: My God!! You’re playing this hand against me...? That’s really too good!! Seriously...what’s the expression again, this is like playing the pig to eat the tiger!! Aiyoo.... (MC: I didn’t...!)

XZ: Is that a 10?? (ZS: Yeah it is.) *has a mental breakdown*

NY (to XZ): He went straight for that yellow eye! (XZ: He’s too good!)

MC Lin Hai shoots a 3 this time and takes a few timid steps backwards, backing away from Na Ying.

NY: That’s still very good. That’s still very good...

ZS, yelling into his hands: Lin Hai, have mercy! (XZ: Have mercy!!)

MC (to the others): I’m just building some foundation for Xiao Ge.

FYQ, with utmost comfort: First place confirmed~ (The others laugh)

MC Lin Hai’s last arrow is a 5. Fei Yuqing claps for him, while Na Ying makes a small salute, fist against palm. MC Lin Hai returns the salute.

NY (to MC): That was really cool. (MC Lin Hai bows)

Last group: Xiao Zhan vs Fei Yuqing

Before they start, Lin Hai realises that Xiao Zhan has some prior experience with archery because he did it in the Untamed/CQL. Na Ying proceeds to add to Fei Yuqing that he probably won’t win, because Xiao Zhan has the basics down. Xiao Zhan protests he was only playing around at the time. 

His first arrow is nonetheless an 8. Everyone cheers. 

FYQ, smiling: It’s starting.

Xiao Zhan gets a 6 in the meantime. Fei Yuqing casually gets ready to shoot; he’s not even holding his arrow the standard way.

LKQ, quietly: Xiao Ge is probably gonna be really good.

MC: Xiao Ge, you can do it!

Fei Yuqing lets off his arrow and shoots a 10, while the whole room collectively loses it. 

Everyone: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LKQ, excitedly (to ZHJ): I JUST SAID THAT! I JUST SAID THAT!

ZHJ (back to LKQ): YOU JUST SAID THAT!! 

ZS, looking like his soul’s been sucked out: Wooho ho ho.....A 10.......!

Fei Yuqing proceeds to engage in his own brand of celebratory dance:

FYQ (to the others): Hey, this wasn’t a fluke...! *does a cute silent giggle*

XZ, feeling pressured again: Na Jie...!!

Xiao Zhan shoots his last arrow and gets a 4. 

NY: Good. Good. Good, good. (to FYQ) We’re already at this stage, actually, so you can just use your usual state of mind.

While Fei Yuqing prepares to shoot his 2nd arrow, Na Ying starts to sing one of his old songs to distract him, and he ends up getting a 0.

FYQ: Aiya. (the others fall down laughing behind him) Who sang that? Who sang that?

ZHJ (to NY): It’s definitely you who distracted him!

FYQ: Who sang “Nan Ping Wan Zhong”? *turns back around and prepares to shoot* I can’t let my guard down...

NY: Come on, I’ll do another song. “Yi Jian Mei |One Trim of Plum Blossom”. *starts singing with Zhou Shen*

Fei Yuqing gets a 0 again. Everyone collapses in laughter, while Fei Yuqing laughs helplessly. Xiao Zhan bows to him. 

MC (to NY): The song you’re singing, are you sure it’s not “One Arrow’s Gone?” (T/N: Also “Yi Jian Mei”, but with a different intonation)

Fei Yuqing finally returns to the table, laughing:

FYQ (to NY): The more you sing, the further away from the centre I get! 

NY, apologetic and laughing at the same time: Elder brother...Elder brother, I’m sorry...! Elder brother, let me tell you, I’m part of those who are a little mean in variety shows.

FYQ, singing the tune of a famous song: You’ve wounded me~ (NY, singing together with him: And yet just laugh it off~!)

[dianapana]

SasuHina Month 2020- Day 1.1

Hello everyone, as usually i come out of my cave once a year and start posting original stuff of the Sh month :) i’m very excited this year once more. Kisses and love ~ Dia

prompt: – Cafuné: Running Your Fingers through the Hair of Someone You Love

Long Distance – Part 1

Hinata POV

The noise in the stadium is deafening, the adrenaline levels are very high and I too am jumping from one foot to the other screaming as loud as I can. I always go and watch every home game but tonight I made the 4-hour ride to Suna for an away game, this is the decisive game; if Sasuke’s team wins, they enter the Final Four; Gosh I hope that’s the case. The first 2 periods are over and the score is still 0-0. Naruto is in the penalty box and Kiba left the ice at the end of the second period to get stitches. The game is more violent than any other I’ve seen in the few months since I started dating Sasuke when my interest in hokey started. The refs aren’t calling as many hits as they should because of the intensity of the match. Sasuke took a few hits that made me shiver and gasp in pain.

Naruto finally returns and about 5 minutes later so does Kiba; it isn’t until the last minute of the third period that Naruto scores one point with Sasuke’s assist. I jump and scream so loud one would think they’ve won. But there’s another period to be played; I hope they can keep their advantage and don’t have to go in overtime. The last period starts and it’s even more intense. Naruto takes a very hard hit, it takes him a moment to regroup and I’m worried he hit his head badly…almost the next moment Sasuke pushes the same player that hit Naruto into the plexi wall so hard that it makes me look away. One of Suna’s players gets a breakaway but thankfully doesn’t score. The match goes on for a bit longer and nobody scores.

There are 3 more minutes and the score is still 1-0 for Sasuke’s and I’m praying to God to let this match end like this. Kiba took another hit and one of his stitches broke and the bleeding started again over his eye so he was pulled from the game again. The good thing is that Suna’s main scorer is in the penalty box.

The clock ticks and tick and those 3 minutes feel like an eternity; they all skate so fast it’s hard to keep up with who is where and where the puck is. I can’t even imagine being down there. I hold my breath as we near the end of the game and I only exhale when the game ends. They’ve won. Thank God.

The majority of the crowd is Suna supporters since for them it’s a home game. They all look really pissy and I know how much it sucks to lose a home game. Konoha lost unexpectedly to Kiri a few weeks back and it was such a downer. That loss is also the reason why they needed this win in order to make it to the final four.

I make my way to the corridor to wait for Sasuke. It’s just me and a few other girls waiting. Usually when it’s a home game for Konoha the corridor is packed with groupies, friends, fans, family and significant others. After about 15 minutes the door opens and the players start walking out, they’re all smiling and making jokes but I can see how tired they are. Naruto and Sasuke come next and I can’t help but run to them. I don’t throw myself at Sasuke even if I want to. He took some really hard hits and I don’t want to hurt him further. Kiba comes out too and he is holding an icepack over his left eye where the stitches were.

“Congrats on winning. The game was merciless” Sasuke kisses me on my check and we start making our way to the outside. Under normal circumstances they would all need to take the bus and drive back to campus, but it’s was a Friday game so those that wish to return to the campus go on the bus and those that want to stay for the night in Suna do that.

Most players choose to go home; me and Sasuke walk to where I parked my car. Since I made the drive here, we decided beforehand to stay the night in Suna and I’ll drive up to my home Saturday in the morning and Sasuke can catch a bus to go back to Konoha Uni. I climb in the driver’s seat as Sasuke slides in his seat and throws in the back seat his bag.

I notice him wincing when he moves certain ways. He’s also really quiet which means the adrenaline rush ended and he’s tired and in pain. He leans his head against the seat and closes his eyes. His hand resting on my tight.

Before I started dating Sasuke I didn’t expect him to be this touchy and affectionate; whenever we’re in close proximity he likes to touch, whether it’s a hand on my leg, an arm around my shoulder or just his shoe touching mine under the table when we’re sitting face to face. I suspect it’s also because we don’t get to spend as much time together as we would like. KU is 2 hours away from my Uni and we both have pretty busy schedules.

“The game was brutal. You should take an ice bath when we get to our room” I tell him and he only mhmms. So, I decide not to talk on the drive anymore. I park the car in front of the hotel that we’re staying at. Sasuke takes his gear from the backseat while I take the bag, I packed with clothes for both of us to sleep in and change tomorrow and other such things. We walk hand in hand to the elevator and to our room. I got to Suna a bit earlier since I had almost a 2 hours advantage and checked us in before the game.

The first thing Sasuke does is flops on his back on the bed and even that makes him wince. I want to go to the bathroom to start filling the tub with cold water but he stops me.

“Come here baby” his voice is low and smooth and despite being tired and in pain he smirks at me and it makes my knees go weak.

“No love, you need to go to take a cold bath. You’ll regret it in the morning if you don’t” He’s sitting on the bed now and pulls me between his legs. I’ll keep protesting but I know I’ve lost.

“I will a bit later. It’s still early; it’s only about 10:30pm” his hands slide up and down my back and his stare is smoldering. I sigh and raise my hands to his face; I’m scared to touch anywhere else. I touch his cheek with one hand and I run my fingers thought his hair with the other.

“Fuck babe that feels great”

I smile at him and place a few soft kisses on his cheeks and jaw. “How about we go to the bathroom; you soak in ice water and I’ll run my hands thought your hair?” I whisper against his lips “Does that sound good?”

As I’ve said before, Sasuke is very affectionate. He loves when I play with his hair. At time when he stays over at my house during the weekend, he puts his head in my lap as I study and I run my hands thought his hair for hours. Whenever I stop even for a moment, he makes this adorable dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat and rubs his head in my lap looking for my hand, almost like a cat.

“Mhmm…yea that sounds good” As soon as he agrees I step away from him and start the tub. He’s still on the bed where I left him; the tub will take a few minutes to fill so I go back between his legs. He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me to him and rests his head against my belly.

“You played really well today. All of you were on fire” I resume playing with his hair “You’re in the final four now” He doesn’t say anything and I’m scared he’ll fall asleep so I take a step back and look at his face; his eyes are closed so I wasn’t wrong.

“Come on Sasuke, time to go to the bath. Clothes off” That makes him laugh a little.

“Babe if you want to see me naked all you have to do is ask” But he does get up and starts undressing. He tries to do it fast and smooth but I can see that it hurts him to do even that so I go help him specially to take off his shirt. I look at his torso and I gasp, there are blue and purple bruises on his ribs already forming; his left shoulder is also a bit swollen and red.

“Awe baby” I step closer to him and kiss him over his heart. I don’t want to kiss the bruises afraid that even that small contact will hurt. “Come on the bath awaits”

In the bathroom he takes off his boxers as well and gets into the tub. That wakes him up. “Shit Hina this is so fucking cold”

“I know love, but you’ll feel better tomorrow and you know it” I go back into the room and take one of the small chairs that are used as nightstands and put it next to the tub where Sasuke’s head is. He titles it back and I start running my hands thought it. He took a shower after the game so his hair is still a bit damp from that but it’s smooth and silky too.

“I’m really hungry; we should order something to eat” He says. I can tell the ice bath was a good idea. He’s not as sleepy anymore. I take my phone from my pocket and open the delivery app I have. With one hand I scroll thought it and with the other I still play with his hair.

“What do you want to eat? Hamburgers?” That’s his go to meal after a game.

“Yep”

“Ok I’ll order 2 burgers, fries, sodas and do you want onion rings too?”

“Hmmm, sure why not. Order some extra sauces too”

“Oki doki. Do you want a cheeseburger? I’ll get myself a veggie burger”

“Yea a cheeseburger is good. And I want Pepsi. Can you order some dessert too?”

I look at the sweets option and choose an apple pie since it isn’t extremely sweet and Sasuke isn’t a huge sweets fan. I place the order and resume running my fingers thought his hair softly; from now and gain I scratch his scalp just the tiniest bit because I know he enjoys that too.

After about 20 minutes or so Sasuke decides that’s enough for his icebath. “How long till the food is here?”

“It’s been 20 minutes and it said it should be about an hour, so maybe 40 mins?”

“Mhmm ok.” He gets out of the tub and dries himself with a towel. I follow him back into the room and give him a new pair of boxers and an older t-shirt.

“I’m going to take a quick shower before the food gets here” I say as I look for my body wash and face cream. Sasuke comes behind me and lightly smacks my butt.

“So, we’re taking a shower. Good thing I didn’t put my clothes on yet” He says and pulls me into the bathroom as I laugh. He sits on the chair I sat before and smirks at me. “Strip”

I can’t help rolling my eyes at him. He’s such a goof right now. But I do as he says and take off all my clothes and put my hair in a bun so I don’t get it wet. I go to start the shower water and Sasuke follows me. He starts kissing down my neck but stops soon and just holds me close and breaths me in.

“I love you so much” he says, his words are a bit muffled by my skin but I heard them loud and clear.

“I love you too” I say as I run my hands thought his hair. We proceed to take a shower and then get dressed in out pjs. Sasuke just sat himself down on the bed when my phone rings letting my know that our food will be here in less than 2 minutes. We eat everything and climb in bed. Under normal circumstances I’d sleep pretty much on top of Sasuke but I can’t do that due to his aching body so I sit a bit higher than him, curl into myself and pull his head to my chest. His right side isn’t that badly hurt so he sneaks his arm under my legs and curls it around my butt. I start running my hands thought his hair again, as much as he loves me doing this, I think I like it more. I place a kiss on the crown of his head and we stay like that until we fall asleep.

[am-imagines]

1...2...3...Love. - Alex Morgan Imagine.

This was requested!!: hiii can i have an imagine where alex and r have a small squabble before a match but it’s mostly like alex’s fault and she feels so bad bc they didn’t do their ritual (handshake, hug, etc) before the match so she scores every goal for r and points at r every time and r is just like oh stop it u on the field? I hope I did this justice, anon!

Frustration and anger are clear on your face when you sit on the bench.

You’re not even of the substitutes, but you can’t exactly book it back home while on the victory tour. Not like you would even if that was a possibility. So, you sit down next to Ash and Kelley. They’re pretty much in the same position you are.

Being a substitute or a reserve doesn’t bother you per se. Every member of this team is very talented and rotation is a common thing on the sport; moreso with so many talented players around. There are days when you get to play the entire match, and some when you don’t play at all. That’s fair; part of the game, but you don’t like when your playing time gets decided by someone other than Jill.

“You’ll get to play next game,” Ash says.

You smile despite yourself because Harris has taken you under her wing since day one. Ali doing the same no long after; so you became the Krashlyn kid even when you’re in your mid twenties. It feels good to be cared for.

“Yeah.”

That doesn’t make the frustration go away completely, but the anger is no longer present. You watch as the initial eleven makes it to the field and your gaze falls on one Alex Morgan.

The huff escaping your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by your fellow bench mates.

“She just cares about you,” Kelley says although it’s clear she doesn’t agree with Alex.

“I know.”

That’s part of your dilemma; you love Alex with all your heart but she can be too overprotective at times. It’s understandable; she doesn’t want to see you hurt, but she’s also one of the team captains. Your personal relationship shouldn’t get in the way of rationality, it shouldn’t obscure her objectivity, but it does.

Last match wasn’t your best; you admit as much, and at some point you suffered a nasty fall that left an even nastier bruise on your right shoulder. Jill subbed you out to ensure your safety, but the medics cleared you out that very same afternoon.

It hadn’t been more than a hard hit without any lasting consequences.

You were excited about this game. Maybe getting a few minutes in the second half and do what you love the most.

Honestly, everyone wanted to see you on the field because you truly enjoyed it. Dunn and Sonnet had made comments about your energy being a game changer. It was infectious, and if you powered through, the entire team would follow.

Then, Alex had made a pointed comment here and there for Jill to “casually” hear. Within minutes, your name had been removed from the substitute list. It wasn’t a subtle move by any means, but you wouldn’t go against your coach’s words.

For the look on Alex’s face, you knew this was as deliberate as it could be. Her plan had worked and it infuriated you.

Okay. You were Krashlyn’s surrogate kid, but you weren’t a baby.

You knew how to follow instructions and would never jeopardize your health for the sake of a few minutes of play. The team knows it. Alex knows it, and yet, she’s stubborn as all hell.

It frustrates you to no end because you’re not really angry.

Alex cares about you and it’s clear missing one match isn’t too bad if you get to play the next five. But you wish she could take a deep breath, let go of her fear and trust the entire medical team getting care of you in ways she can’t.

You didn’t start a shouting contest in the locker room because that’s not who you are. Your blood was boiling, but whenever you have a problem with each other, it’s something discussed in the privacy of your room. It gives you both a chance to cool off, to think things over instead of going at it hot heated and ready to hurt.

Still, the whole team could see you fuming and in your annoyance, you totally forgot about the handshake.

It’s a stupid ritual that started thanks to Kelley and Sonnett. Who else?

They came to you one day, babbling something about building team chemistry and how cool it is to have a secret handshake. Mind you, the only one to get it right every time was Tobin, and it can’t really be a secret when twenty-three women knew it.

That didn’t stop you from joking about Heath being the only cool member of the USWNT.

A wave of ridiculous and over-complicated handshakes among your teammates; including Alex and you. But while everyone gradually stopped, you two continued. It became just perfect when you added a kiss at the very end; for extra luck.

So far, it had worked like a charm.

Not this time though. You’re on the bench looking as the match unfolds.

All your annoyance is forgotten when Alex gets fouled. You shout at the ref much to Ash’s amusement, but hey! You’re still somewhat mad at your girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean you want to see her hurt.

Thankfully, Alex is okay. She goes back to her feet, fights for the ball, hustles to the last inch and wins. After all, she’s Alex Morgan.

It doesn’t take long for her to score and she’s smiling at you as she celebrates.

The sight is enough to make you blush, but sitting next to Ashlyn and O’Hara, you try your best to act cool. They see right through you facade. The blush is still present and comes back full force when they start teasing you.

It doesn’t help that Alex scores again ten minutes later.

This time smiling your way doesn’t seem enough for her. She makes sure the whole bench, team, and probably stadium knows she’s scoring for you. To do that, she points your way before blowing you a kiss.

“Charming,” Kelley comments.

Meanwhile, you’re trying to hide on Ash’s arms because Alex is stupidly cute and you should be mad at her, damn it! But you aren’t. Not anymore. Instead, you’re a blushing mess, squirming in the goalkeeper’s arms.

“Is this a moment of gay panic?” She asks; amusement clear in her voice.

You wonder if Ashlyn Harris knows what gay panic is. She’s absolutely smooth when Ali is around, and you can only aspire to be like her one day.

“Yes,” you finally answer.

“Y/n, Y/n, you’re too gay for this, aren’t you?”

“Have you seen my girlfriend? Of course I’m too gay for this! Tell her to stop.”

“Tell her yourself. It’s almost halftime.”

Kelley is right, a couple of minutes later you’re in the locker room while Jill goes over the plan for the second half. The team has done great so far and it’s mostly about keeping the pressure up. When she’s done, there are five minutes left of the halftime break.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispers against your neck as she hugs you from behind.

“You should be.”

Despite your words, you lean into her; enjoying her embrace for those precious seconds. Any trace of tension fades from your shoulders when she nuzzles you lovingly. After another minute, you turn in her arms to have a very much needed conversation with your girlfriend.

It isn’t exactly private, but the team leaves you alone in a corner.

“I know why you did it,” you start, “but don’t overprotect me. I’m not made of glass, and will not break because of a bruise here and there. I’m not going to protest if Jill benches me, but I want to know that’s her decision, and not one she made because of you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She looks remorseful. Honesty shines in her eyes and you nod; leaving her off the hook.

You’re already halfway to the bench when she calls you.

“Hey! What about our handshake?”

“You do better when I don’t kiss you,” you reply with a smile.

“That’s not fair.”

The pout is clear in her voice but you don’t turn to see it; leaving her behind to join the rest of the team.

The second half has a quicker pace, and before you know it the score is 4-0. Goals from Lavelle and Press. You cheer them on from the bench and every girl around you joins in whatever silly chant you’re creating.

Even the crowd seems louder this time around, but when Alex scores for the third time, it’s total madness.

That’s a hat-trick for your girlfriend and instead of acting like the world champion she is, Alex is making the heart sign with her hands and blowing you another kiss.

That sends you into gay panic overdrive.

“So, what are the odds of our relationship still being a secret?”

“Was it ever?” Kelley asks. “You two were never subtle.”

She has a point and when the match is over you run towards Alex; jump on her arms and kiss her.

Alex can be a tad stubborn, overprotective like a bear, and offensively attractive. Not like it offends you in a personal way because you reap the perks of those really strong muscles. Still, she’s going to kill you one day; one way or another.

And the truth is, you couldn’t love her more than you already do; with all your heart.

[onslaughtsixdotcom]

Gold For XP: A History

Experience points are a method for the game master to reward desirable player behaviour. It is a tool by the game designer (and the game master) to direct players to do things that they might otherwise not do, and to inform the players what sort of things they are “supposed” to be doing in this particular game.

The game of Dungeons & Dragons (broadly defined as any official edition of the game, OSR hacks and Pathfinder spinoffs) is a game about armed medieval characters going into a dangerous place (broadly defined here as “the dungeon”), killing or avoiding whatever lives there (defined hereafter as “monsters”) and taking their stuff (defined as “treasure.”) They do this because gaining treasure makes them more powerful, allowing them to get into more dangerous dungeons and fight more dangerous monsters, in order to gain more treasure.

There is no goal that a player character could conceivably have that wouldn’t be helped out by having a shitload of money. I challenge any reader to come up with a plausible goal that would not be expedited or solved by finding 100,000 gold pieces.

As a result, Dungeons & Dragons originally awarded experience points for the recovery of treasure guarded by monsters.

In this article, I will go through the history of every edition of D&D’s experience points, as long as they involve the recovery of treasure. Somewhere around 2nd Edition (1989) they transitioned solely to rewarding XP for killing monsters; the recovery of treasure was only worth the literal worth of gold, and gave no XP.

This article will also contain commentary on each method, and discuss ways you can use this in a modern game, whether that be 5e, Old School Essentials, Pathfinder, or whatever game you like to run.

For the future of the article, we are assuming a gameplay loop of town > wilderness > dungeon > wilderness > town. The players stay in town and stock up on supplies, travel the wilderness to the entrance of the dungeon, delve as deep as they can while keeping their resources intact, bail out of the dungeon when their resources are depleted or almost depleted, travel back over the wilderness, and rest in town again until they are once again ready to depart for the dungeon. 

From OD&D (1974)’s first book, Men & Magic, page 16:

Experience  Points:  Experience  points  are  awarded  to  players  by  the  referee  with  appropriate  bonuses  or  penalties  for  prime  requisite  scores.  As  characters  meet monsters in mortal combat and defeat them, and when they obtain various forms of treasure (money, gems, jewelry, magical items, etc.), they gain “experience.” This adds to their experience point total, gradually moving them upwards through  the  levels.  Gains  in  experience  points  will  be  relative;  thus  an  8th-level  Magic-User operating on the 5th dungeon level would be awarded 5/8 experi-ence. Let us assume he gains 7,000 Gold Pieces by defeating a troll (which is a 7th-level monster, as it has over 6 hit dice). Had the monster been only a 5th-level one, experience would be awarded on a 5/8 basis as already stated, but as the monster guarding the treasure was a 7th-level one, experience would be awarded on a 7/8 basis thus; 7,000 GP + 700 for killing the troll = 7,700 divided by 8 = 962.5 × 7 = 6,037.5. Experience points are never awarded above a 1 for 1 basis,  so  even  if  a  character  defeats  a  higher-level  monster  he  will  not  receive  experience  points  above  the  total  of  treasure  combined  with  the  monster’s  kill  value. It is also recommended that no more experience points be awarded for any single adventure than will suffice to move the character upwards one level. Thus a “veteran” (1st level) gains what would ordinarily be 5,000 experience points; however, as this would move him upwards two levels, the referee should award only sufficient points to bring him to “warrior” (2nd level), say 3,999 if the character began with 0 experience points.

This is FUCKED. I can’t even begin to wrap my head around the composite math equations you would need to make this work. Keep in mind the reference above to prime requisites; in OD&D, each class had a prime requisite, what we would probably call today their “main stat.” Fighters had Strength, Clerics Wisdom, and Magic Users Intelligence. I believe in OD&D, a character did not require a minimum score to qualify for a class* but if you had a low score, you would receive less XP. A Fighter with 15 or more Strength would get 10% extra XP. This is, of course, after all the bullshit where you calculate the monster hit dice against what level of the dungeon there is (?!) so you would then take the 6037.5 XP above and multiply it by 1.1 in order to get your final XP earned. This is so insane that I can’t imagine any sane person doing it. So going forward we’re going to consider OD&D’s method worthless. It is, however, the first time we care about what level the monster is, rather than just the raw amount of treasure, which I suppose is the root of giving XP for simply killing monsters...

*I cannot find a reference to it in the Men & Magic book, at least. Feel free to correct me if you find it!

Let’s move on to the 1977 Holmes Basic set, aka the “Blue Box”:

EXPERIENCE   POINTS   AND   EXPERIENCE   LEVELS: Accumulated   experience   is   measured   by   experience points. Experience points are awarded on the basis  of treasure  obtained  and  monsters killed  or subdued. Experience for treasure recovered is on the basis of 1  point for every gold piece. Convert jewelry, gems, etc.  into  gold  piece  value.  (For  more  information  regarding  treasure,  see  TREASURE  and  BASE  TREASURE VALUES.)  Treasure  is  usually  divided  equally  among members  of the  party  and  therefore  the experience  is also.  If, for some reason, one character gets more of the loot, such as a thief stealing gems from the saddle bags on the way home, then  he should get the additional experience points. Monsters  killed  or  overcome  by  magic  or wits are worth experience points to be divided among the entire party.

This is the first time that we announce up front that 1 gp is worth 1 XP, throwing away the “Experience points are never awarded above a 1 for 1 basis” declaration from OD&D. We’re still modifying it later, but the basis of 1gp = 1 XP is solidly established here, and I doubt that will change as we move through.

This is the first reference we have to monsters giving XP, but it’s not very much. There’s a table of monster XP by hit dice, but it tops out at about 6HD for 225 XP, plus an additional 175 XP for every “special ability” the monsters have. Meanwhile the main method of gaining XP is the acquisition of gold. It seems in this version we are explicitly about the acquisition of gold. I am under the impression that some early version of the game is concerned with the recovery of gold; as in, the literal process of getting it out of the dungeon and taking it home. Holmes Basic is vague about this in the rulebook because of its reference to the thief stealing from the saddle bags; so when is XP awarded? When they return to town, presumably after the adventure? 

Moving forward:

If  the  defeated  monster  is  lower  in  level  than  the character   who   overcomes   him,    less   experience   is gained. The experience points for the kill are multiplied by  a  fraction:  monster's  level/character's  level.  For example,  if  a  third  level  fighting  man  killed  the  first level  orc  he  generates   1/3  the  experience  points.  The Dungeon  Master  usually takes all  the experience  earned  by  the  party,  treasure  and  monsters  defeated,  and divides  it equally among all surviving  members of the expedition. 

The  Dungeon  Master  should  have  the  option  of lowering  the  number  of  experience  points  gained  under  special  circumstances.  If  one  character  sneaks  out of  the  dungeon  with  all  the  treasure  while  the  rest  of the  party  is  being  eaten,  he  should  gain  some  experience points but not necessarily all of them!

Remember that characters with high scores in  their prime requisite get a bonus of experience points. 

No more experience points should  be awarded for a single game than will  move  a character  up one experience "level." Thus if a first level fighting men earns 5000 experience points this would ordinarily move him up  two  levels  (see  table  below).  He  is therefore  only allowed the number of points that would take him  up to second  level  and  almost  up  to  third.   He  therefore receives  3,999  experience  points,  not  5,000,  because 4,000 points would move him  up two levels. 

So we are still modifying XP based on your level compared to the monster’s level (basically, their hit dice). This is so annoying, I can see why they dropped it. Plus, we’re also still messing about with artificially gating player levels behind how much XP they earn. Frankly, this is all within the purview of the DM anyway--they decide how much treasure to award, so if you know the fighter will level up twice at 4000, why not simply not put more than 4000gp in the dungeon?

I moved forward a little to this version’s printing of B1: Into the Unknown to see what it says about awarding XP. In an edition of the game lacking a DMG, this is the closest thing we have to one:

At the conclusion of an adventure (the party's emergence from the dungeon), the surviving characters divide the treasure (with equal shares generally awarded to each and magical or special items diced for by eligible characters) and experience is computed. Henchmen and hirelings usually get an equal share of any treasure, although their experience point award may vary at the Dungeon Master's discretion from half to the full amount awarded to player characters, depending upon their accomplishments.

This is where it’s explicitly the party’s emergence from the dungeon. Apparently this is not when they reach town, at least by my interpretation. So you gain XP as soon as you leave the dungeon but before the travel back through the wilderness? Or does Holmes Basic assume that the trip back to town from the dungeon will be uneventful? Perhaps later versions will shed some light on this.

This is also the first reference we have to giving hirelings a share of the experience. OD&D said that they should be divided equally amongst “the entire party,” which under some definitions would probably include hirelings, but calling them out explicitly here and giving them the option of having a lesser XP share is good.

Now from the AD&D Player’s Handbook, 1977, on page 106 (what the fuck!), here’s what Gary has to say about awarding XP:

Experience is the measure of  a character's ability in his or her chosen profession, the character's class. Each player character begins the campaign at 1st level with no experience points accumulated. Thereafter, as he or  she completes adventures and returns to an established base of operations, the Dungeon Master will award experience  points  to  the character for treasure gained and opponents captured or slain and for solving or overcoming problems through professional means. 

…

Gaining experience points through the acquisition of gold pieces and by slaying monsters might  be  questioned  by some individuals is non-representative of how an actual character would become more able in his or her class. Admittedly, this is so, if the existence of spell costing clerics, druids,  magic-users, and illusionists is (unrealistically) granted; likewise, dwarven superheroes, paladins, elven thieves, half-orc assassins, and the like might gain real experience from altogether different sorts of activities. This is a game, however, a fantasy game, and suspension of disbelief is required. If one can accept the existence of 12' tall giants, why not the rewarding  of  experience points for treasure gained? While praying and religious-oriented acts are more properly the activities for which a  cleric would  gain experience points,  this is not the  stuff  of  exciting swords & sorcery adventure. So too, fighters  need physical training and weapons practice, magic-users long hours of study in tomes of arcane  lore, and thieves the repetition of their manual skills and discernitory prowess; but none of this is suitable to gaming. It is, therefore, discarded and subsumed as taking place on a character's "off hours". 

As a  rule, one point  of  experience will be awarded for  one gold piece gained by a character, with copper pieces, silver pieces, electrum pieces, platinum pieces, gems, jewelry,  and like treasure being converted to a gold piece value. Magic items gained  and  retained  have  only  a low experience point value, for  they benefit the character through their use. Magic items gained and sold immediately are treated as gold pieces, the selling price bringing an award in experience on the stated one for  one basis. Experience points awarded  for treasure gained - monetary  or magical - are  modified downward if the  guardian  of  the treasure (whether a monster, device, or  obstacle, such as a secret door or maze) was generally weaker than the character who  overcame it. A  4th level character versus a single orc is an overmatch, and only about 10% of the treasure value gained could count towards experience points; but if nine or  ten orcs were involved, the experience points awarded would generally be on the one for one bosis. 

Monsters captured or slain always bring a  full experience point  award. Captured monsters ransomed or sold bring a gold piece: experience point ratio  award. Monsters slain  gain  a set point  award. Low hit point/dice monsters have a low experience point  amount. Monsters with  high  hit point/dice have large experience point awards.  Special abilities such as magic resistance, spell capability, gaze or breath weapons, regeneration, and the like also increase experience points amounts.

Finally, clerics' major aims are to use their spell abilities to aid during any given encounter, fighters aim to  engage in combat,  magic-users aim to cast spells, thieves aim to make gain by stealth, and monks aim to use their unusual talents to come to successful ends. If characters gain treasure by pursuit of their major aims, then they are generally entitled to a full share of earned experience points awarded by the DM. 

Oh, Gary. Jesus Christ. Alright, let’s roll up our sleeves and see what’s actually relevant here.

XP in 1e is explicitly only awarded for gaining treasure and killing monsters. Magic items are no longer awarding XP for their worth in gold, as in Holmes Basic. We are also still fucking around with caring about how difficult the monster who was guarding the treasure is to defeat--I don’t understand this. I don’t really understand why you would sit around and need to worry about awarding more gold than XP and creating a situation where you would have 2000 gp guarded by a couple of kobolds against a 5th level party. Y’know?

The final paragraph just confuses me. Yeah, no shit the characters will do the things that get them XP, so give them the full amount of XP…? Gary, you suck at writing.

Furthermore, at least here in the PHB, Gary does not seem all that concerned about when to award XP. I don’t have the stomach right now to dig through the DMG, so we’ll put it off for a moment. After all, it wasn’t released until 1979.

Save me, Tom Moldvay. Save me from the wretched insanity!

When the adventure  is over, the  DM gives experience points to the surviving  characters.  Experience  points  (abbreviated  XP,  as  ep stands for electrum  pieces)  are given  for  non-magical treasure and for  defeating   monsters.  For  every   1  gp  value   of  non-magical treasure  the  characters  recover,  the  DM should  give  1 XP to  the party  (this  will be divided  among  all the player characters). Experience  points  are  not  given  for  magic  items.  The  characters  will divide the treasure  among themselves, but the  DM handles  all the experience.  EXAMPLE: A treasure  of 750 sp, a rug worth  100 gp,3  gems  each  worth  100  gp, and  a potion  of  healing  would  be worth a total of 475 XP (75 +  100  +  300  +  0).Experience  points  are  also  given  for  monsters  killed  or  overcome by magic, fighting,  or wits. Use the Experience Points  for Monsters  table  (below)  to  determine  how  many  points  to  give  the party.

Simple, straightforward, to the point. If they recover 1gp, give them 1XP. 

ADJUSTMENTS TO XP: The  DM may treat an unusually "tough" situation  or  monster  as  one  category  better  (use  the  next  line down). Situations  might  also  allow  the  DM to  give  partial  experi-ence  if the characters learned  from  the encounter  without  actually defeating  the  monster. The  DM may also award  extra  XP to characters  who deserve  them  (fighting  a dangerous  monster  alone, or saving the  party  with a great  idea), and  less XP to characters who did  less  than  their  fair  share  ("do-nothing"  characters).  The  DM should  consider  the  character's  alignment  and  class  carefully,  and should remember that guarding the rear is an important role in any party.

Unlike 1e, here Moldvay proposes that the players should never receive a penalty for fighting a weak monster guarding a shitload of treasure, but only get additional rewards for doing exceptional things. Of course there’s a suggestion that the DM can fuck over a lazy player but that seems...very subjective and could lead to a lot of issues. How do you define a character who “did less than their fair share?” Is the thief staying back behind cover and taking potshots less important to the encounter as a front line fighter? Whatever.

DIVIDING  XP:  Treasure  is  divided  by  the  party,  but  the  DM handles  all the  XP  awards.  At the  end  of  an  adventure,  the  DM totals  the  XP  from  all  treasures  recovered  plus  all  monsters  defeated  and  then  divides the total  by the  number  of  surviving characters  (both player characters and  NPCs)  in the party. EXAMPLE: A  party  of  7  (5 player  characters  and  2  NPCs)  goes  on  an  adventure  but  only  6  come  back  alive.  They  killed  monsters  for  a total  of 800  XP and also collected 5800 gp in treasure, for a total  of 6600  XP. Each  character  receives  1100  XP at the  end  of the adventure.  (The  DM may  give  each  NPC  1/2 normal  experience  —550  XP  in  this  case  —  since  the  NPCs  were  "directed"  and  thus benefit  less from the adventure.)

Again, the same stuff here about equally dividing XP treasure. Interestingly the reference to the “thief stealing gems from the saddle bags” for extra XP is gone here, probably because that caused more problems than it solved. The thief stealing extra gold shouldn’t receive more XP; the gold is its own reward.

By 1981 B1 has been replaced with the iconic B2: Keep on the Borderlands. Here’s what Gary has to say in it about XP:

Exploration  of  the  CAVES  OF  CHAOS  will  take  more  than  one game  session.  When  the  players  want  to  stop  play,  they must  find  an  exit  and  (preferably)  return  to  the  KEEP.  You May  divide  treasure  and  award  experience  when  this occurs. Remember to make adjustments to the areas they visited -the  monsters  may  build  new  defenses,  occupy areas  that  were  cleaned  out,  and  so  forth.

As far as I can tell this is the first explicit reference that XP should be awarded in town, and it’s a good time to do so. Of course, it could have always been done at that point, but it wasn’t as explicit in the modern sense.

Time for 1983’s Mentzer Basic, which became BECMI. This version of the game is often derided for its more childlike or all ages tone, and it’s easy to see why. Here’s what Mentzer says about XP:

For  the  treasure  you  found,  you  get 200  XP  (one  experience  point  per  gold piece  value).  For  killing  the  monsters, you  get  30  more.  That  adds  up  to  230XP, but  it's not  your  total.  You  also  get a bonus  because   you  are  a  Fighter   and have  an  above  average  Strength  score.This  bonus  is  +  10%  of  your  XP.  Sinceyou   earned   230,   you   get   23   bonus points,  for   a  total   of  253  XP.  In   theExperience  box  at  the  bottom   of   the page,  write  "253."

Did  you  notice  that  you  get  a  lot  of experience  for  treasure,  and  not  much of  killing  monsters?  It's  better  to  avoid killing,  if  you  can,  by  tricking  monsters or  using  magic  to  calm  them  down.  You can sometimes avoid the  risks of  combat. But  you  will  have  to  fight  many  monsters  to  get  their  treasures

Yeah, it’s really simply written. However, this is the absolute simplest XP system yet: 1gp is 1 XP.

Okay, cool, but where is the carousing rules? I keep hearing about these and how they existed, but I have yet to see them and we’re in 1983!

It’s at this point that I recognize I’ve missed the other materials. There’s Gary’s Greyhawk and Arenson’s The First Fantasy Campaign, which detailed Blackmoor. Ugh, I’m not looking forward to digging through these just for this, and I don’t want to go through the 1e DMG today either.

Old School Essentials, based on the B/X text, is probably the simplest system, but it still doesn’t do what I want. I like the idea of the carousing rules, but they enforce a certain flavour that I don’t enjoy--most players want to be a heroic dude who wouldn’t spend their time and money partying in town, and that doesn’t really help with Gary’s problem of addressing where the experience comes from.

[darkpotatorises]

So i had my first taste of Red Dead Online yesterday. Coming in knowing the experiences other people had with it and having already experienced GTAV Online, I got in with very low expectations. A watered down, mere shell of Single Player experience, A soulless husk with content hidden behind countless hours of grinding or optional paywall. After roughly 12-15 hours of gameplay with huge reservations towards the game, i have discovered that it actually has a potential greater than GTAV  in which i sank hundreds of hours of my life previously, just so i could say that i have self sustaining economy at least in a virtual world and a yacht. Let me start with some pros before dwelling into well known cons. Surprisingly, Western third person open world games are even harder to find than Pirate ones. (I’m looking at you Pirates of the Burning Sea *softly smooches it*) Pirates have been getting some love over the last few years, However Wild west always stayed in the realm of single player games and an occasional First Person Shooter. But we all know FPS’s can’t be immersive or often as vast of content as open world multiplayer games could. (*snickers in ERP tone) Making it a unique game that you can currently grab for aa entry frag of 4.99 euros. The content that it’s providing right now is well worth it, and a good investment considering the price will be rising 5 times. I just hope the content and care for the game rises just as much. On a more subjective note i must say how satisfying killing someone feels... In a game!.. Of course i meant in a game. While the world is devoid of great story and characters, it’s gameplay is still present, making it the only multiplayer shooter i actually enjoy playing with my gamepad. Now i’m gonna make a pretty questionable remark here even to myself as i highly enjoy more linear and story driven single player experience more than Empty huge Open worlds every new yearly Far Cry, Rainbow Six or anything Bethesda’s planning to ruin next, are providing. That being said those same huge storiless open worlds provide you a blank canvass only limited by your own imagination. There are people that you can meet out there in that wide wild west, things that you’re gonna do differently just because someone nudged you to... (*Insert that moment when he cleaned the whole camp full of Lemoyne Raiders only to be noticed by another stranger, who inquisitively and a bit scared asked about what transpired, visibly worried for the departed folk...While explaining him how they were bad men, i noticed they were guarding a lawman tied up and gagged, looking more scared of being noticed than relieved of being saved... I brought his presence to this new passerby, asking him if he might have any idea of what i should do with him? He replied in a manner of telling a short story with a surprising twist... “Well i’d untie him and then i’d blow his brains out”. It was at that moment, the lawman’s fate was sealed. I took my knife out, cut the rope and grabbed the surprised officer in blue that for the first time during the whole ordeal looked relieved for a moment...*The gunshot sound* This wouldn’t be possible in linear handholding experience every mission of single player was.  The NPC wouldn’t be programmed to push you and make decision like that on a whim.  I noticed lately is that any game can be enjoyed as much as you let it entertain you. So instead of getting polarized right from the start by looking into reviews such as this. In a perfect world one should experience the game first, and be the judge of its shortcomings, if he even notices them in the first place. Now lets get into the really gritty business. You get an abysmally low amount of money and gold pieces. Throwing accent on gold pieces as they are the main form of unlocking majority of the content hidden behind roles of: The Collector, Naturalist, Bounty Hunter, Trader and Moonshiner.  You need to pay a hefty amount of hard earned gold to buy any of this roles that you can earn back only by picking Bounty Hunter first as it’s the only role that earns you gold. Picking anything else would set you back to square 0. The system isn’t perfect. Not for the player. There’s a CEO out there laughing every time some poor tortured soul gets bored of grinding and goes for its Debit Card to buy some Gold Bars instead. There’s a positive thing about the value of Gold though, This game has a battle pass that became a staple of every multiplayer game. While it’s usually associated with Free to play games, as one of the sources of the income, It’s getting quite prominent shamelessly in top tier $60 games. Red Dead Online however lets you get the premium content of the Battle Pass for 40 Gold Bars. Now while its very welcome having this option present, It would be even more tolerable with the introduction of more Gold making methods. Which brings me to the state of game it is in now. Anyone who played GTA Online knows how broken the netcode is. RDO is unfortunately the same in that regard. During my 15 hours I have encountered  1 whitescreen glitch, 2 hackers and a lot of empty lobbies for game modes nobody plays. Which is probably because they tried playing it with insufficient amount of people for them to shine through. While some of them could be just pure trash... Like the train chasing, capture the wagon mode that instead working like king of the hill, where everybody is working together to overtake one overpowered player, here while doing that, other players work against each other too... Which makes it god awful considering everybody is spawning on same place near the moving train where it becomes Spawn Kill Simulator. Right now, Read Dead Online is in that stage before even getting its heists. It’s in its infancy. The Dark Age. My hopes are that enough people gets the $6 version of the game (Including those who already bought it once on console and want to secure the future of the game, and any new updates they might be having in store) Cause we all know GTAV is gonna get rere-released for at least 2 more console generations so why not just get it on PC and be done with it. Maybe united under one platform Rockstar finally starts paying attention to it as much as to its older cash cow brother. Recently i had a luck of experiencing tv show called Deadwood. If you’re not particularly into Westerns, but you loved Red Dead Redemption 2, and can’t find anything that fills that void in any other media i highly recommend you trying to get into it as it was the first thing that filled mine. That sounded dirty... Anyhow in that show people aspire to be Prospectors. I think that would be the perfect role for Red Dead Online. You must have encountered a person who struck gold trying to run away from you while hiding his nugget.Just imagine the possibilities....Working your own Mineral Deposit with a chance of Gold. Cause god knows having a working Gold claim would be too good to be true. Mining could either be another thing, we have a shovel, you might as well give us a Pickaxe.  It could be either incorporated in the role of Prospector or its own thing... Miner > Prospector,  Kinda like how Trader and Moonshiner work now.  Another chance of getting gold bars would be by preforming HEISTS. In GTA Online’s Casino Heist, you have a chance of getting more valuable score than cash. Those are Art, Diamonds and GOLD.  You take literal gold bars and put ‘em in your bag. Imagine how awesome would that be in RDO. Making robbing banks, freighters even goddamn trains all the more repeatable and invaluable. These are all dreams in best case scenario whatsoever.  Now excuse me, I gotta go feed my pets, And i might turn this into a Youtube video.

[ironwoman18]

The Worst Third Date Ever final part.

Chapter 32: A Clean Sweep for Team Reid.

Mount Pleasant Women's Correctional Facility.

"Hello Dr. Reid, it's been a while since I saw you" said the prison guard as he and Max walked in.

"Hello Officer Grey, it's good to see you, of course I would prefer it could be in better conditions" the man nodded.

"I'm agree. Please put your weapon here and everything that could be use as one for the prisoners" Spencer does it "who is she?"

"My wife" said Spencer.

"Oh congratulations doc. I didn't know you got married"

"We just got married so it's still something new" he smiled and the couple walked thru the metal detector and the officer lead them to the room where Catherine Adams will die "officer I would like to talk to her before you take her to her execution"

"You sure? I know she did some bad things to you"

"Yes sir, I'm sure" the guard nodded.

"Ok, ma'am the room you must go is at the end of the aisle then turn to the left" he pointed where she had to go.

Max nodded and kissed Spencer before said "be careful, she will try to get under your skin one more time before she left this world"

He looked in her eyes and nodded "I know but you will be in my mind" he smiled and left with the guard as Max walked where the office said so.

Spencer took of his wedding ring for the first time in a month. He wanted Cat to know that he got married while the needle was under her skin.

The officer left him in an interrogation room. The feeling of being in a prison again was terrible but he knew he would never return there.

Some mini later the guards sat Catherine in front of him "Spencie you came!" She said in an exciting tone and he rolled his eyes "you're one of the few men who fullfil their promises"

"Yeah, after everything we had been thru, it's the less I could do" he said with his poker face on "sadly I can't be the one who do the honor of stick that needle in your arm"

"Don't be mean Spencie, I know you will miss our little games" she said in a little girl tone "it's a shame... Maxie didn't end up here, huh? I guess you didn't send her to prison" he clenched his fist and Cat did a noise with her tongue "Spencie, a good FBI agent never pick sides" she smirked.

"I'm not here to talk about Max, I'm here to make sure they say you are gone for good and won't ruin another relationship I might have"

"I will be always in your mind Spencie, as you told me skating" she winked at him as some officer walked in to get her ready for the execution "bye bye Spencie... I had fun with you" she left smirking, thinking their score was 2-1, she lost against him twice in her mind but at the end she felt like she took away his chance to date someone.

Spencer took a deep breath, relaxing his muscles, he felt tense with her, he put back on his wedding ring and kissed it gently like if he was remembering that everything was fine and Max was his forever.

He stood up and walked back to Max. When he arrived she was there with some other members of the team. They wanted to see Cat finally gone for good.

Spencer walked straight to her and kissed her, it was needed, like he was a dying man and her lips were the water he needed to survive.

After it Max asked against his lips "How was it?"

"As annoying as you can imagine" he rubbed her cheeks gently and then they sat with their friends.

Spencer held Max's hand when the officers walked in with Catherine Adams and a priest to gave her some final words to see if she will change.

Max was annoyed to see her again but she decided to go there and witness her dead and to rub on her face that she outsmarted her.

After some words from the priest the execution started. An officer put the tourniquet around her arm, the doctor cleaned the area with a cotton with alcohol and then stick the needle after finding a vein.

They released the tourniquet and Max decided to make her move. She stood up and walked to be in front of the window. Cat's eyes showed the surprise of seeing her there.

Max put her wedding picture with Spencer against the glass with one hand and with the other a message.

"3-0. Perfect score, bitch. The Reid Family"

Cat's eyes were full of hatred and anger that everyone thought the killing liquid flowed faster.

"NOOOO.... I WON... YOU KILLED YOUR BOYFRIEND!!!" Cat screamed out at her.

Max smirked and shook her head. Cat's eyes realized what happened months ago and her face calmed down. You could read in her face that, a woman, a sister in this men's world betrayed her.

Then after several minutes Catherine Adams was declare dead. Spencer and the team hugged with Max. Finally the most dangerous hit woman they ever faced was dead.

After that Spencer felt like he could finally rest, he will stop looking his surrounding because everyone could be working for Cat, he was free and not only him but his wife and their children.

Some weeks later, they have an appointment to know the gender of their babies. They were excited about this. Max already ordered to paint the room. They painted it white and she decided to paint something on the wall.

If they have a boy and a girl, she will paint a train on a wall and a beautiful princess with some flowers on the other wall.

The doctor checked her blood pressure, weight and ran some blood test then they were to the ultrasound room where the doctor checked the babies.

"Ok Max and Spencer. I confirm that you will have twins. I can see them now. And I can tell you the gender of your babies. Do you want to know?" She asked. The couple nodded "ok, baby number one is a boy!" The couple had some tears of joy "and baby number two is a girl!" More tears of joy "congratulations, I will print the result for you. Do you want some copies" the nodded "ok I will get you some of them. You can clean the gel and walked back to my office" the doctor stood up leaving the couple alone.

"I still can't believe we will be parents" said Spencer helping Max sat down and kissed her forehead hugging her.

"Me neither but we are and it's the best feeling ever" she hugged him tight.

The rest of her pregnancy was calm. Her students cried the final day of classes and they gave her some toys they don't use for her kids, something they planned with their teachers.

Her co-workers at the school organized an early baby shower and each gave her a little present for the kids and for her. Max was hormonal all day and cried a lot.

She was thankful for that job and will miss them. They all hug and Spencer picked her up.

They decided to sell Spencer's old car and with that money and some more they saved, buy a bigger and more modern one for the babies.

As promised, Penelope hosted the official baby shower with all the BAU people and Max's family.

Dave and his wife gave them the cribs, one blue and the other pink; the Simmons gave them two baby bags and a first edition copy, signed by all of them plus David, of the "Simmons' Stories for Children"; Luke, Tara and Penelope joined to give them a set of feeding bottle with the engraving "genius babies" on each, three pink and three blue.

Derek and Savannah gave them Hank's first car seat and bought one for the extra baby; Max's family gave them a double baby stroller; Diana promised them some days ago knitted blankets for her grandchildren; Jack and Aaron gave them his collection of favorite books.

"My mom used to read me those" he said with some tears in his eyes "please read it to them" they nodded with tears in their eyes too.

JJ and her family gave them two changing tables for the kids. Ashley, the new team member, gave them some onesies, with different designs that matched Spencer and Max's personalities.

Last but not least, Emily and Andree gave them a rocking chair, Emily told them it was her mother's favorite when she was a child and she wanted to give to her BAU little brother. Spencer hugged her tight with tears in his eyes.

After that, the men helped Spencer moved everything to the babies rooms. The following week Max asked Penelope, her sisters and JJ to help her paint the train and princess with the flowers.

Spencer was teaching that day, they were having a good time with music and some ice tea. It was the third week of November and the babies were expected that week.

When they finished they decided to go to the living room and talk some more when Max showed a painful face. The women panicked but them JJ and Michelle recognized it... "My/Her water just broke" the three women said at the same time.

"Ok Max breath" said JJ with her 'unsub with a gun pointing at her' voice "Penelope go upstairs to get her bag with clothes and Eloise turn on the car" both women nodded and ran to do what she ordered "let's go Michelle, help me" they walked with Max, who was struggling to keep calm and breathing, to the car.

Penelope ran downstairs with the bag and she was calling Spencer but his phone was turned off.

"Damn it... Boy wonder must be in class" she said as they got in the car.

"It's ok. Leave him a message and he will go to the hospital" said JJ as she started to drive.

She drove fast to the hospital. Meanwhile Penelope sent a text to the team 'Houston we have a baby delivery x2' and hit sent.

They arrived to the hospital and immediately took Max to a room where she asked for her husband.

He arrived some minutes later. JJ decided to pick Diana up, her son was about to be a father, she needed to be there.

Michelle called her father to drive to the hospital with her son.

After some more hours waiting, Spencer finally walked out the delivery room with a big but tired smile.

"They are both perfectly fine. A handsome prince and a beautiful princess" he said and each of his friends and family hugged him "it's a small room so first my mom, Max's dad and sisters, JJ and Derek" they all nodded and follow Spencer.

In there were Max holding on of them, and the other was held by a nurse.

The nurse handed the baby to him "hi everyone" he said as if the baby talked "this is Jason Alexander Reid" the BAU members recognized the name of their former friend and co-founder of the unit and Max's family recognized the name of their uncle/ brother.

Spencer passed him to his mother, then Max said "and this is Rachel..." She held a sobb saying her mom's name, and so did her sisters and father "...Diana Reid, mommy's princess" she handed her to her father.

The two babies were sleeping and quiet, Diana had some tears in her eyes "I never thought I would see this day coming... My boy had two children and I couldn't be prouder" she kissed Spencer's cheek and then Jason's forehead.

She handed the boy to JJ and Don did the same to Michelle, each held the babies and left the room except JJ and Derek.

"JJ and Derek, you are like a brother and a sister to me and Max and I thought it could be fair to make you godparents of Jason and Rachel"

"Really?" Said JJ with tears, she held Jason in her arms and whispered "maybe I can call Caltech or Yale but I'm sure will take you to the zoo" she laughed and kissed her new godson and did the same with Rachel.

"Thank you little brother and I promise to spoil them with lot of sports" he laughed and hugged him.

Then the rest of the people walked in to meet the babies. Dave even cried when Spencer said the name of his son. He know Gideon would be proud of his boy.

"Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another." — Thomas Merton.

Fin?

OOooOOooOO

The final chapter! What a journey! Thank you for reading, thank you for commented it, thank you for recommending it. I enjoyed this experience, my first long story in a long time and in English!

I learned so much and made some friends with this. Hope you all read my new story Double Dates (mostly Garvez but with some other couples)

Again, thank you, gracias, danke! To @nerys2 @andiebeaword @dreatine @aperrywilliams @moviequeen51

[tigerkirby215]

5e Nunu and Willump, the Boy and his Yeti build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Riot Games)

You've got a friend in me; you've got a friend in me!

When the road looks rough ahead and you're miles and miles from your nice warm bed... You just remember what your old pal said:

Boy, you've got a friend in me. Yeah, you've got a friend in me!

GOALS

Every adventure is better with a friend! - Nunu is as much a boy as he is the friend of the Yeti.

It's a sword called Svellsongur! - The heart of a child can save the Frejlord, and in his heart is a song.

Gigantulossal snowball! - Ice can be nice, and it’s all in good fun to throw snowballs around!

RACE

Nunu’s a human... but he’s also a small child so we can instead make him a Halfling! As a Halfling your Dexterity score increases by 2. You have Halfling Nimbleness to move through the space of a creature that is bigger than you, and are Brave for advantage against being frightened. But most importantly you are Lucky: if you roll a 1 on a d20 you can reroll the dice! Consider it the yeti magic protecting your childlike innocence.

For subrace Lightfoot Halflings get a +1 increase to Charisma, and they are Naturally Stealthy and able to hide behind creatures that are one size larger than them. Want to play hide-and-seek with Willump? Hide behind him! He’ll never see you!

If you want a bit more magic in your life Lotusden Halflings from Wildemount get some innate (Wisdom-based) spellcasting. Most of it is nature based which isn’t too in-flavor for Nunu, but it’s fun!

ABILITY SCORES

15; CHARISMA - You managed to tame the fearsome yeti with nothing but your young innocence!

14; CONSTITUTION - More of Willump’s Constitution than your own, but the two of you share a health bar after all.

13; WISDOM - Nunu learnt many a lesson about the Frejlord from his mother, and always knows deep down how people feel.

12; DEXTERITY - Along with our racial improvement this is more than enough DEX; you’ll be riding Willump anyways, and he’s kinda bulky.

10; INTELLIGENCE - You’re a kid with child-like naivety, even with your big best friend helping you.

8; STRENGTH - It’s on Willump to do the heavy lifting; not you.

BACKGROUND

Nunu travels around the Frejlord, helping people out and fighting monsters. That’s a Folk Hero if I’ve ever seen one! As a Folk Hero you have Animal Handling proficiency to help Willump, and he has Survival proficiency to help you! You also get proficiency with Land vehicles as well as a tool of your choice. (Any tool will do but maybe keep away from the Brewer’s Supplies? You’re underage!)

Your feature Rustic Hospitality is there for people to help a boy and his yeti. Commoners will always be willing to help you, as long as you aren’t mean and no one mean’s looking for you.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - BARD 1

Of course you’re a Bard! As a Bard you get proficiency with 3 musical instruments, as well as any three skills! A Flute is MANDATORY as Nunu, and I’d suggest the other two wind instruments (Pan Flute / Shawm) as well, but of course pick whatever instrument your mother would teach you. As for skills Persuasion comes naturally to a kind-hearted boy, and your mom taught your plenty of History. You can pick whatever you think will be useful for your third skill but I opted for some Arcana knowledge thanks to Willump.

The main feature of a Bard is Bardic Inspiration. If your friends need a little help you can encourage them with a song on your flute to give them a d6 to an attack roll, ability check, or saving throw. You can inspire people a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier, and for now your inspiration comes back on a long rest.

But of course the other important part of being a Bard is spellcasting! You learn two cantrips from the Bard list: while it isn’t cold damage icy words from Vicious Mockery will let your enemies know that you’re here to defeat them with your big best friend! For some more fun magic Prestigitation will let you do all sorts of fun stuff! Fireworks! Cool pictures! Fire-wait fire? Regardless read the spell over to see all its effects.

For your leveled spells Animal Friendship is good to stop the big bad wolves from harming the townsfolk. Getting Willump to Detect Magic would be helpful, and while healing isn’t something you can normally do everyone appreciates a Healing Word! And for your final spell why not have a good laugh? Tasha’s Hideous Laughter forces an enemy to fall over laughing! All in good fun!

LEVEL 2 - BARD 2

Level 2 Bards get Jack of All Trades, letting you add half your proficiency bonus to any skill check you aren’t proficient in. You’re just a kid, so why not try EVERYTHING?

You also get Song of Rest. When taking a short rest you can play the flute to let anyone who’s recovering health with hit die recover an additional d6 of health. Nothing like stories by the fire.

You also get another spell at this level and there’s nothing like a bit of Heroism to keep fighting until the job’s done!

LEVEL 3 - BARD 3

Third level Bards get Expertise in two skills: Animal Handling will be the best to take care of Willump, and Persuasion will be the best way to unite the Frejlord!

You can also choose your Bard College at third level. Ugh; school? Regardless the College of Valor for a warrior who they sing songs about! As a Valor Bard you get proficiency with martial weapons, shields, and medium armor; that’s why I told you to keep your DEX at 14! Grab medium armor and a shield to keep yourself safe while Willump fights! You also get Combat Inspiration, letting your allies to add your Bardic Inspiration to their AC or their damage die with their weapons, which were basically the only two things you couldn’t add inspiration to before.

You can also now learn second level spells: freeze an enemy over with Hold Person to let your allies pelt ‘em with snowballs! ...Arrows work too...

LEVEL 4 - BARD 4

At fourth level you get an Ability Score Increase: naturally you should increase your Charisma for better Bard stuff! You could also learn another spell but for now I’m going to hold out until...

LEVEL 5 - BARD 5

At 5th level your Bardic Inspiration increases to a d8, which is great because you also get Font of Inspiration to get your inspiration dice back on a short rest!

And we’ve got a lotta magic to learn: one cantrip and two spells. For your cantrip have Willump make some Dancing Lights! For your leveled spells Leomund’s Tiny Hut is a good way to get a good night’s rest. (I feel like now would be a good time to mention that Bards can cast Ritual spells.) For a ranged Absolute Zero try Hypnotic Pattern to incapacitate everyone in a 30 foot cube.

LEVEL 6 - BARD 6

As a Valor Bard you get an Extra Attack at 6th level, allowing you to attack twice. Shame you won’t really be attacking much, but you can grab a sword if you want.

Back to magic! Enemies Abound will make an enemy think their friends are their enemies! I know it sounds confusing but basically they’ll hit anyone who’s close to them, so keep away!

Oh and right: you get Countercharm too. You can use your action to give an ally advantage against a charming or frightening effect. I suppose it’s helpful, and in-character.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 7 - BARD 7

7th level Bards can cast 4th level spells: why not make your own winter wonderland with Hallucinatory Terrain? You can make the terrain in a 150-foot cube in range look, sound, and even smell like some other sort of natural terrain. A snowy landscape is fun and all but this is a really crazy spell that you can do some awesome stuff with: make an enemy fall into a lake that they think isn’t actually there, or make them run around a lake that they think is there. All it takes is a little imagination!

LEVEL 8 - BARD 8

8th level Bards get an Ability Score Increase, so cap off your Charisma to be the best leader of the Frejlord a little boy can be!

You can also learn another spell and to create some more confusion how about the spell Confusion? Each creature in a 10-foot-radius sphere centered on a point you choose within range must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw when you cast this spell or be affected by it. When affected by confusion, they have to think really hard about what they’re doing! Roll a d10 to see what they do, and read the spell yourself to see what it can really do.

LEVEL 9 - BARD 9

9th level Bards see their Song of Rest increase to a d8. Does this ability scale really poorly? Yes!

You know what doesn’t scale poorly? Some 5th level spells! There’s a lot of great spells at 5th level but I’d like some more Absolute Zero. Synaptic Static is one of my favorite spells, doing a ton of psychic damage and also making it harder for enemies to fight!

LEVEL 10 - BARD 10

10th level Bards get a d10 Bardic Inspiration die, Expertise in 2 skills (honestly pick whatever since it’s unlikely you have many skills to choose from), and a new cantrip. (Mending would help if you accidentally break your flute.)

But most importantly: Magical Secrets! I’ve been mentioning Willump a lot but we’ve yet to get our furry friend. Well 10 levels later we can finally grab Find Greater Steed! You can summon any of the spirits listed to act as a mount: they have the statistics provided in the Monster Manual, though it is a celestial, fey, or a fiend instead of its normal creature type. (Fey would probably make the most sense for Willump?) If it has an Intelligence score of 5 or lower its Intelligence becomes 6, and it gains the ability to understand one language of your choice that you speak.

You control the mount in combat, and can communicate with it telepathically if it’s within 1 mile of you. While mounted you can make any spell you cast that targets only you also target the mount. The mount disappears temporarily when it drops to 0 hit points or when you dismiss it as an action, dropping any equipment it was wearing or carrying. Casting this spell again re-summons the bonded mount, with all its hit points restored and any conditions removed.

So... let’s talk Willump: if going by the officially listed creatures in Find Greater Steed’s description a Dire Wolf would probably be the best imitation of Willump, though a Saber-toothed Tiger or even Rhinoceros would also make sense. But if your DM is a cool DM ask them if you could actually summon a Yeti with some of its abilities nerfed.

The rules for mounted combat say that an intelligent creature (which Willump probably would be classified as) rolls for initiative as well, and acts independently. Find Greater Steed mounts will obey your commands thankfully, but if you don’t want to take your turn over two turns then just opt to have the mount move on your turn.

Now here’s where things get a little... Beastmaster Ranger. You know how I made it really hard for you to actually fight in melee range? Ask your DM if your mount can do the attack action instead of you. The way I see it this doesn’t really break anything, and this allows you to get value out of your extra attack at level 6. I really suggest talking about this spell with your DM before you take it as its one of the more overwhelming spells in D&D. But this is the only thing in this build that’s really going to ask a lot from your DM.

Now that everything’s been said about Willump: how about a more simple spell? Cone of Cold is half an Absolute Zero, letting you blast creatures in a 60 foot radius in front of you with ice and snow! It’s a nice, icy trick up your sleeve for a Bard who’s been mostly supportive so far. Yeah: could’ve taken Snilloc’s Snowball Swarm because it has “snowball” in the name, but Cone of Cold is like, a thousand times more awesome!

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 11 - BARD 11

11th level Bards can learn 6th level spells, so how about you take a page from Sona’s book with Otto's Irresistible Dance. Choose one creature to make them dance! Your friends have advantage to hit a dancing enemy, and they have disadvantage on dexterity saves. They can use their action to try to make another save against the effect, but it’s such a fun bard spell!

LEVEL 12 - BARD 12

12th level Bards get an Ability Score Improvement and since our Charisma is maxed out now would be a good time to finally grab the Inspiring Leader feat to help your friends charge into battle!

LEVEL 13 - BARD 13

At 13th level your Song of Rest increases to a d10, but more importantly you can now cast 7th level spells like Mirage Arcane, which is basically just a better version of Hallucinatory Terrain.

LEVEL 14 - BARD 14

14th level Valor Bards get Battle Magic, letting Willump attack as a bonus action after you cast a spell. But more importantly you get more Magical Secrets!

Investiture of Ice from the Elemental Evil Player's Companion is perfect for a boy from the Frejlord. You get immunity to cold damage and resistance to fire and the ability to move across snow and ice without extra movement. Your Frozen Heart makes the area within 10 feet of you difficult terrain for anyone other than you (and I’d argue it wouldn’t be hard for Willump either), and you can use your action to toss some snowballs! Each creature in a 15-foot cone must make a Constitution saving throw or take 4d6 cold damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a success. A creature that fails its save against this effect has its speed halved until the start of your next turn.

For a more controlling Absolute Zero that won’t munch on your spell slots Sleet Storm will summon a blizzard to heavily obscure an area and make it very hard for an enemy to walk through the area.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 15 - BARD 15

15th level Bards get the most inspiration possible with a d12 Bardic Inspiration die! You can also cast 8th level spells but the truth is that the high level Bard spells aren’t too impressive. Regardless Power Word Stun will finally let you, well, stun people!

LEVEL 16 - BARD 16

16th level Bards get another Ability Score Improvement but at this point you can probably invest in some more Feats. Lucky is always nice?

LEVEL 17 - BARD 17

17th level Bards finally see their Song of Rest increase to a d12... yeah this ability scales poorly...

But you get the ULTIMATE YETI POWER of a 9th level spell, and it’s about time for true Absolute Zero! Psychic Scream lets you force up to 10 targets to make an Intelligence saving throw. On a failed save, a target takes 14d6 psychic damage and is stunned. On a successful save, a target takes half as much damage and isn’t stunned. A stunned target can make an Intelligence saving throw at the end of each of its turns. On a successful save, the stunning effect ends.

Oh and their heads explode if this kills them. Just... felt the need to point that out.

LEVEL 18 - BARD 18

18th level Bards get their last two Magical Secrets and I think it’s time for some fun stuff:

Illusory Dragon lets you summon a giant dragon! When the illusion appears, enemies that can see it must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or become frightened of it for 1 minute. If a frightened creature ends its turn in a location where it doesn’t have line of sight to the illusion, it can repeat the saving throw, ending the effect on itself on a success.

As a bonus action you can move the illusion up to 60 feet. At any point during its movement, you can cause it to exhale a blast of energy in a 60-foot cone originating from its space. When you create the dragon, choose a damage type: acid, cold, fire, lightning, necrotic, or poison. Each creature in the cone must make an Intelligence saving throw, taking 7d6 damage of the chosen damage type on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one.

The illusion is tangible but attacks miss it automatically, it succeeds on all saving throws, and it is immune to all damage and conditions. A creature that uses an action to examine the dragon can determine that it is an illusion by succeeding on an Investigation check against your spell save DC. If a creature discerns the illusion for what it is, they can see through it and has advantage on saving throws against its breath.

And for your other Magical Secret... Wish. I think you know what Wish does, because it does anything you want! (Within reason.) My suggestion: Wish 1 get your mom back, Wish 2 make Willump your immortal best friend forever, Wish 3... ice cream!

LEVEL 19 - BARD 19

19th level Bards get their last Ability Score Improvement: again look into some good Feats you may want. My suggestion: give Willump some Toughness so you can have a total of 38 extra HP!

LEVEL 20 - WARLOCK 1

Ah I’m just screwing with you.

BARD 20

20th level Bards get Superior Inspiration, allowing them to regain one use of Bardic Inspiration as they roll initiative if they have none when combat starts. Is this a weak capstone? Yeah, but you also get more spells and stuff which is neat too.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Let's put the venture, in adventure! - For once this isn’t a multiclass nonsense build: just straightforward spellcaster levels. That means you get access to some of the strongest spells available, including Wish thanks to your Magical Secrets!

Battle is the song I came to sing! - You are the king of inspiration: a d12 that allies can add to ability checks, attack rolls, saving throws, damage throws, and their AC! With a d12 of extra AC even the Wizard won’t be hit, and an extra d12 to damage is never a bad thing!

Everyone knows heroes are brave - You are skilled in literally everything thanks to Jack of All Trades, and there’s pretty much zero chance any of your Persuasion checks will fail.

CONS

A Frostguard walks into a mead hall and... - Who would’ve guessed a child isn’t the brightest bulb? The only stat you invested in is Charisma, and while Feats are cool and all your saving throws are rather subpar. Jack of All Trades will still help you with skills but a -1 to Strength saves isn’t great, and a mere +2 to Constitution saves means you’ll drop concentration a lot.

Make way for the yeti! - Some of your spells, especially your lower level ones are fun but very situational. By the time you’re facing some really big bads Heroism and Hideous Laughter will be rather subpar.

Willump's not a monster - Controlling two characters can be hard, and a DM may not be completely okay with it. Be sure to cover everything with them before you go in and summon your yeti pall to fight by your side.

But heroes can’t do everything. I mean they can, but they’ve gotta struggle a bit! Hero’s journey! But a hero is nothing without their mighty steed, their trusted squire... and their best friend.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

[boeserbby]

Only Time Will Tell- Brock Boeser 1.3

about/request: I really wanted to explore a relationship where you are ‘the other woman’ this is the result of that. I’m not sure how long this will end up so…. sorry.

warnings: cursing, i think that's it??

authors note: Sorry I took such a long time bringing this out, I didn’t know if anyone actually liked this or not. Remember that a lot of details in this story are made up or changed. Make sure to check out parts one and two, I fixed some mistakes and made some corrections. 

timeline: march 2017

word count: 2614

    Hockey used to be a life for not just me, but my whole family. Three nights a week we would hop in my dad’s old work truck to cruise over to wherever Charlie, and in turn Brock, played. Often times we would meet up with the Boeser’s to grab the best seats right by the ice. Here my mom would yell to “Shoot the puck!” or boo at whatever call she felt didn't fit the crime. My dad would grab a couple of beers while talking to some guys he knew from his work. Small towns mean most people there he knew so he would rarely sit with us the whole game. Sometimes I would sit by my mom and Brock’s mom and sisters. Sometimes there would be kids from school or members from the team who were scratched I would sit by instead. Wren was often the one scratched. He never made it to practice on time and when he did he would spend more time talking to guys on the team then practicing. He was nice and seen grew to be one of the guys on the team I felt fully comfortable with. He understood what it was like to be the younger sibling and live in the shadow of our elders. His older brother Josh was team captain and lead them to 3 state titles in a row.

    After the game, all of us would go out to eat. The Boeser’s and the Y/L/N’s and whomever joined along from the team. Dad would tell Charlie what to do better, of course Dad knew what it was like to play hockey. He played for the University of Minnesota until a really bad accident his sophomore year took him out. Charlie, and me too (at least for a little bit), just wanted to impress him. Often times dad would rag on Charlie until they got into a mini fight. Charlie would hitch a ride back with Brock and his family. My dad would then spend the whole drive home complaining that Charlie was never going to be as good as him if Charlie didn't take his advice. 

    Although the bad seeped into the good. The hockey rink was were my family was one. We all would come together to scream when number 6 would skate out. Cause no matter how awful things were going at home, the rink was a time of escape. It was when hot chocolate would warm cold fingers in the late second period or the high of sugar rush from skittles in the second intermission. It was a time to giggle at the little kids they brought out between periods. They wouldn’t yet be comfortable on skates so they would slip and fall or miss the puck completely. I couldn’t remember what it was like when Charlie and I were that young playing, but I like thinking we were better than that.

    After he had died, I didn’t go to many games. There was no more hot chocolate or skittles high. No little kids falling or scoring on their own net. We never went out to eat after the games. There were no more arguments between dad and Charlie. The nearby rink which once held the best memories was purposely avoided at all times. Life went on, but each day seemed to hold some emotional punch of remembrance. Like one day, about 3 months after he died I came home from school and my mom had cleaned out his room. Neat piles of his clothes and pictures were placed in bins labeled “attic” or “giveaway.” His first skates, his autographed Detroit Red Wings Steve Yzerman jersey, and so much more was packed away to be set aside. His posters, CDs and other trinkets were thrown out or donated to a thrift store. I remember yelling at my mom that this is his room. She told me she needed to heal and that dad had been asking her to do it for two weeks. It was time to move on.

    Since moving I had gone to no hockey games. And the Vancouver Canucks were not a bad team. They had just been having a difficult time in recent years. That didn’t make city pride for them any less. Any game night and the always crowded downtown streets turned into an obstacle only the bravest could handle. I never purposely put myself in a position to make the drive down to the stadium in the past 2 years of living in Vancouver. Occasionally I was invited to games by friends and classmates. I managed to get out of it every time too, but somehow escaping this invite seemed impossible.

    It was Brock’s mother’s last night in the city before she had to fly back down to Minnesota to care for Brock’s younger siblings. I was extended an invite due to my ‘gracious’ hosting, my mother called me and told me how Laurie, Brock’s mother, raved how I grew into such a beautiful and caring young woman. So there I was crammed in Rogers Arena with 18,000 or so people. Laurie was on one side of me wearing a new Boeser jersey. I, even though I lived there awhile, owned no such fan gear and instead dressed in a thick sweatshirt. Natalie tried to get me to wear her old Trevor Linden jersey, but I high tailed it out of there before she could fish it out of her closet. 

    I loved hockey growing up, but standing here made me feel so out of place. Life had changed so much in the past two years. I was no longer the little tomboy with scraped knees and a messy ponytail. I longer wanted to play hockey. Now, I had put hockey out of my life so much that welcoming it back in right now felt traitorous to everything I had done to avoid coming here. Laurie was cheering and dancing. I guess there is nothing quite like the debut of your child in the NHL. Warm ups had just started so every guy was on the ice. It was easy to spot him in the white 6 with the dark blue background. I got chills the first time I saw it. Boeser was spelled out in big letters across his back. I imagined at that moment seeing Charlie out there. He would mess around and probably fall trying to impress some girls he would see on the front row. But he would be here, and he would be happy.

    “I’m gonna go grab a beer, want one?” I asked his mom. Canada drinking laws are sort of amazing. I remember getting carded at a bar when I first turned 19. There was a split second of panic before I remembered I didn’t really need to be 21 up here. 

    “No, hun, I’m going to facetime the girls so they can see Brock on the ice,” she said grabbing her phone.

    People were still pouring in from the front doors. Lines were long for everything even the escultors. I recognized some people from college and waved. They sported brand new jerseys and held in their arms peanuts and beers and popcorn. “We are gonna win!” They all said. People were invigorated with the call up of Brock. I was invigorated to get a beer in me that's for sure. Fifteen minutes and 16 bucks later I carried my two beers back to our spot. Laurie was finishing up her call to Jessica and Paul, Brock siblings along with Duke. I waved and said hi to everyone. 

    “Kid, you gotta come back more often,” Paul said. Paul was Brock’s oldest sibling and he always acted like he was so much older than the rest of us. Add on to the fact that I was the youngest in our family friend group, “Kid” has been my nickname well into my early teens. 

    “I will soon, I have just been super busy with college and all.”

    It had been mine excuse through out my time here. For the first 8 months my parents begged me to come home. At this point they didn't even call me anymore. I guess it's far cause I don't call them up much too. 

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay back home,” Laurie said. “Are you guys staying up to watch the game?”

“Only for a little bit, I work early in the morning.” Jessica said. West coast games ended way too late to stay up watching them in Minnesota. While it was only 7:00 our time it was 9 there so the game could last until 12 or 1 am. 

We all said our goodbyes as the lights dimmed. The Canucks opening video was being shown on the big screen while music blared in the arena. This was pump up time. As our guys skated out people cheered loudly. This game was supposed to be good. The Ducks always had a little rivalry with us. Add on to the fact that this was Boeser’s first home game and we were on a two-game losing streak. The team, and the fans, were hungry for a win.

    Unfortunately moral lasted until the ducks scored for the third time in the first period. Add on when Montour scored to make it 4-0 in the second, people began realising that not much has changed even with Brock. As the zamboni entered the ice for second intermission, Laurie turns to me. 

    “So, your mom told me your in college,” she started. God, she was fishing. Mom’s think they are clever trying to get information by stating the conversation at a wide base value and steer it to the cavity in the situation. 

“Yep, I go to the University of British Columbia for journalism,” I said sipping water I got after downing both beers in the first period. 

“That must be a lot of work, what do you do for work?” she asks.

“I actually write for Vancouver’s newspaper, they pay pretty good, and I do work study, so they pay for so much of my tuition that isn’t covered by my scholarships and then I get some of the money”

“What do you do for work study?” she asks.

“My English professor needs an assistant. I’m basically his gopher. If he needs a book from the library or a coffee I go get it. I transcribe his lectures for any kid who misses class. Sometimes I will tutor kids or help them find good sources for their papers. It’s not too bad, maybe three or four hours per day and I get like 6 credits towards my English major.”

“Gosh, that's a lot. He needs you to do all of that?”

 I shrug, “It sucks sometimes but the professor is nice so…”

“Your mom said that you haven’t come home since moving here.” They way she phrases the end of it is hard to respond to. It's not a question, more of a statement. She didn't sound mad or upset like my mom does when she says it. Laurie just sounds concerned. Her voice feels like a hug.

“It’s just soo much,” I start. “Charlie’s gone and mom and dad are splitting up. Mom met this new guy and he is so proper. Dad hasn’t even called me in two months because I said I’m not coming home for his huge labor day party. Plus I just got so much going on.”

“It’s okay to be hurt by what's going on, but don’t hide from it. Your parents love you a lot. They just don’t know how to love each other with so much hurt.”

“I don't know how to love them with so much hurt.” I mutter.

    Everyone is buzzing as the crowd makes its way out of the arena. We may have lost, but Brock put one in the beginning of the third to excite the crowd. Laurie and I hang back to give Brock time to get ready. The team could have lost 10-1 and she still would have been glowing with excitement for Brock. His life was changing, and he was no longer the little boy who fell over on the ice. Where most parents would have been freaking out, Laurie handled with grace, something she has done her entire life. No matter the situation Laurie put on her big girl pants and muddled through.

We meandered our way to the locker room, showing our passes to the security guard. In the hallway we waited as different guys from the team joined up with their wives or girlfriends. They all hugged Laurie telling her how wonderful her son is. Everyone loved Brock. Well almost everyone.

    Brock finally made his way out. His hair was still wet from what I was hoping was a shower and not sweat. He and Laurie hugged when he reached us. It was an awkward second or two while we figured out if we would hug or not. Wrapping my arms around him felt weird, almost as weird as the time we kissed. Yet there was a nostalgia in it too; we went always so awkward. In fact I remember a time in my life where I never thought we would ever be strangers. I remember once when I was about 12 and Brock was about 13, I had a dream that Brock and I were dating. The next day I remember being shy and awkward especially when he called me “Kid”. I went all pink and Charlie would not let it go for a whole year. Finally, when Brock asked a different girl to the joint 7th-8th grade dance Charlie let it go. I spent the whole night crying and accepted Thomas Miller’s invite. He had braces and dark hair and spent all night trying to kiss me. After the second slow dance song I joined up with my friends instead. The next day I heard a rumor going around that he said not only had we kissed, but that I let him touch my boobs. Charlie had been mad and cornered me about it. When I admitted it false, he said he taught Thomas a lesson. The next week someone “anonymously” shared a picture of Thomas at a birthday party sucking on his thumb with a stuffed animal. From there rumors spread he wet the bed every night.

    We always had each others backs. It made we wonder how things ended up so differently. We all walked out together. As I reached into my pocket to order an Uber, Laurie offered to have them drive me back to my apartment.

    “It’s too late for a young woman like you to hop in some random mans car.” she insisted.

    “”I couldn’t bother you guys,” I said.

    “No bother,” Brock said. “Might be nice to see more of the city anyway.”

    Thirty minutes later I lay in bed without make up and in an old, ripped up shirt from Natalie’s older brother that he left here. Natalie was already deep asleep when I got home with one of the Harry Potter movies on full volume. With school for both of us the next day, it was important to get as much sleep as possible. But as I laid there all I could think about was Brock’s hair and his cologne. I wished things could have ended better for us all those years ago. Maybe there’s time for change now. A girl could hope.

    As I finally started to drift asleep my phone’s ping jolts me awake.

Brock Boeser has texted you.

Thanks for coming tonight. I hope to see you soon.

    God, it’s going to be a long night.

[lokisgame]

A Generous Donation [11]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10]

They woke up together, early, because she needed to stop by her place to change for the day. "There's a new toothbrush in the cabinet," he grinned, kissing her good morning and earning a poke under the rib, laughing. "Good, you should use it sometimes," she said, and sat up, stretching arms over her head. "I should bring something to sleep in next time." Mulder grinned and ran one hand down her bare back. "I'm not complaining." "Something silk and short, you'd love it." "More than what you're wearing now? I doubt it." "Flatterer," she teased and went for the bathroom, wearing nothing and wearing it well.

Ten minutes later she was downstairs, taking the coffee he offered. They stood next to each other, leaning against the counter, she in her yesterday's business casual, he in loose swats and a t-shirt, scratching his cheek. The day settling in. "What time do you think they'll have the results." "Sometime before lunch," she said, "they'll call." "I can't imagine you did this for weeks." "What?" "Waiting, it's killing me." He said, but then checked himself, "bad joke, sorry." "Transplant ward humour," she smiled, bumping his shoulder, "you're a natural." "Type 0 negative, take what you want." "More dad jokes?" "As long they are not dead jokes." "You're hilarious," she deadpanned making him laugh, for real this time. "I have to go, thanks for the toothbrush." She put the mug in the sink and as she looked up, he touched her chin, bringing her lips to his, kissing them softly. "What's that for?" "Luck," he said and kissed her again. He got the call around noon.

Scully stood a few feet from the door to Will's room, waiting for Walter to be done talking to the head nurse, realising, she was biting her nails. "You're a mess," she told herself under her breath, trying to calm her heart and conjure some leftover confidence. "Shall we?" Walter said and together they went in. "Will," she greeted him, crossing the room as he looked up from the book he was reading. He smiled, if faintly, his eyes fixed on the man behind her. "Hi mom," he said and nodded, "Sir." "How are you doing Will," Skinner asked, shaking his hand. "Not too bad," Will said, closing the book. "Mom? What's going on." "We found a donor." She said, moving straight to the point. "Yes," Skinner nodded, standing by the foot of his bed. "And since you're legally an adult, we need your consent to start with the treatment." "You got a pen?" Will said, turning pale but sitting straight. "It's not like I have much choice." "You always have a choice," Skinner said, resting his hands on the footboard. "Hear him out, Will." Scully said, putting her arm around him. "I'm obligated to explain to you the procedure, before you sign anything, so listen carefully." Will nodded. "Before we get you better, we will have to make you worse, a lot worse." "Chemo, I know." "You have to understand, we have to wipe out your immune system and destroy your own bone marrow, to get you ready for the donor cells. It won't be pretty, you will have to go through a very aggressive regimen of chemotherapy, during which you will remain in isolation to limit any risk of infection." "How long that will take?" "About two days, it will hurt like hell and there might be complications." "What then." "While you go through the preparations, we will take marrow from the donor and store it, until you are ready for transplant." "Then?" "Then once you're ready, you’ll receive the new, healthy marrow, and then we wait." "How will that look like?" "Like a blood transfusion, the cells are transferred into your bloodstream and through that, settle in your bones, where they'll hopefully stay and start to grow, rebuilding your blood and immune system, while you remain in observation." "And how long that might be?" "Usually around 100 days," Skinner said, "during that time we will monitor your condition, watching blood cell counts and keep an eye out for any signs of graft rejection." "So we're looking at three months." "At the hospital, after that, you will remain under supervision, but hopefully on an out-patient basis." "Alright, when do we start?" "As soon as we get you transferred to isolation." "Don't worry," Scully said, drawing him closer, "I'll be as close to you as I can." "I know you will." He said, leaning a little into her. "Okay, where do I sign?" "Here are the forms," Skinner said, handing him a stack of papers with a pen. "I'll leave you for a moment, I have to talk to the nurses." "Thanks." Will said and started scribbling his name on dotted lines, his hand shaking a little. He was almost done with the paperwork when he spoke again, careful not to look up. "Mom?" "Yes?" "Who is it?" He asked quietly, "The donor, anyone we know?" Scully took a deep breath, finding her voice, then whispered. "It's Mulder." Will nodded, writing his name one last time with a flourish.

He answered the phone on third ring. "Mulder." "Hey, it's me." Her voice on the other end sounded small. "How is he?" "It's bad, the things he went through so far, are nothing compared to this." "It's necessary." "I know," she sighed, "but it doesn't make it any easier." "You'll stay with him all night?" "I need to, I can't leave him." "Of course, but try to get some sleep, for me, please?" "I'll try, and how are you doing?" "Nervous," he said, closing his eyes, "it's not like I'll be peeing into a plastic cup." She huffed out quarter of a laugh. "No, it's not," "Good to know there's still one laughing bone left in you intact," he teased softly, "you'll be okay. Both of you will." "You want me to take you home after?" "No, you don't have to." "Someone should keep an eye on you," Mulder laughed, warmed by her concern. "Scully, baby, you can't be in all places at once, and right now, Will needs you more than I do." "But it's the least I can do." "I talked to some friends, they'll come pick me up." "But," "Relax, I'll be alright. When do you think they will," "Thursday, if there's no complications." "Thanksgiving," Mulder said. "Yeah, let's hope we'll have something to be thankful for." Silence stretched, humming with anxiety. "Does he know it's me?" Mulder asked finally and Scully sighed, he could almost hear her shoulders slump. "Yes," she said, "I'm sorry, he asked." "No, it's okay," Mulder said gently, "he would've figured it out, eventually." Someone said something in the background and Scully said she'll be right with them. "I have to go," she said to the phone, "they're starting Will on another round." "Sure, go, we'll talk tomorrow." "Wait, what time is it?" "Almost eleven, go, be with your kid." "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "I," she choked on words and pain in her voice tore at his heart some more. "I know, go," he said and hung up.

The ballpark was full, Fenway Park packed to capacity with red, white and blue. Heavy clouds gathered in the east, threatening to dump their load and end the game before the Red Sox had any chance at fighting back. The score was tied and the tall, chestnut haired kid in the field already earned two strikes. Opposite him stood a giant, clad in Yankee midnight blue, his face merciless like the face of baseball God. Mulder watched the boy fix his grip on the bat. "Remember," he muttered under his voice, "hips before hands…" The ball flew, the boy swung the bat… "How are we doing, mr Mulder?" Boomed a voice, yanking him out of the dream and blowing it away in seconds, while reality rushed in. The sky outside looked painted with red and orange, sun finally peeking through to say goodnight. A tall, bald doctor was walking in, the one who was in charge of the procedure. Skinner was the name, Mulder remembered, gathering himself to sit up. "I had worse," he said while the mans' hands were on him, businesslike but not callous, checking pulse and bandages. He looked through Mulders' chart and satisfied, started making notes on some new papers he brought. "Well, you look fine enough to go home for the rest of the day. Most of the side effects should be gone by the end of the week," Skinner said, signing the release form, "but it can take up to a month for you to completely recover, so my advice is to try to take it easy." "I will," Mulder said and shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you." "No, Mr Mulder, thank you. You quite possibly saved a young mans' life, and my friends' son, I'm truly grateful." "He's a great kid." "He sure is." Skinner smiled and left the room. The tv hummed in the background and Mulder glanced at the clothes laid out on the bed. His back ached and the thought of pulling on pants filled him with dread, but he bit the bullet and, perched on the edge of the mattress, gingerly started to dress. "I can do this," he said to himself, moving at a glacial pace when a voice came from the doorway. "We volunteer to pick you up and this is what we get in return?" Mulder sighed and looked at the two men standing in the doorway. Both of them were around his age, but as he aged with grace and dignity, they looked basically as they did the day they met. Basements of MIT held some pretty interesting relics. "Stop passing judgment," he said to the tall one, "it's like Arctic in here." "No it's not," the man replied and walked in. "You sure you're okay to go home?" Asked the shorter one, pushing a wheelchair in front of him. "Frohike, get that thing away from me." "Hospital policy," the tall one grinned, adding, "old man." "Blow me, Langly," Mulder said, pulling himself to his feet, but then he hissed and wobbled. Langly caught him and helped him into the chair. "Easy." "Thanks." Frohike took the bag and the jacket from the bed and glanced around the room. "You had anything else with you?" "No," Mulder said, trying to control his breathing while his stomach auditioned for Cirque du Soleil. "Hey, you sure you okay?" "Yeah," he swallowed hard and finally looked up. "I'm just worried, I can do that at home as well." "If you say so." Frohike said pulling the doors open and Langly pushed the chair, with Mulder in it, towards the elevators and the parking lot.

The Gunmen didn't try to pull him into their conversation, letting him rest, while Byers pitched his patience against late afternoon traffic. They took him straight home, arguing from where to order the pizza, and what should be on top. They made the call from the car to save time. Mulder managed the steps to his front door and headed straight for the couch, pulling the blanket over himself, barely any strength left to toe off his sneakers. "Did you talk to the good doctor today?" "Yeah, she called this morning." "Called." Langly said, dubious. "She's with her son, no point in her going in and out of quarantine zone just to talk." "Well," he began, but then thought better of it. "You're right." "Here are your meds," Byers said, putting a glass of water next to the bag on the coffee table. "You should take them after dinner." The doorbell rang and Langly went to get it, his wallet out to pay for the delivery. Mulder ate one slice, without getting up, took the pills and watched the game on tv, which someone had turned on. Low conversation hummed around him, comfortable, familiar, and completely undemanding. It was one of the little things he was grateful for most, having people he could count on without worrying about returning the favour. Food, meds and being home helped a lot, but his mind kept drifting to Scully, her nervous hands he wished he could hold, her tense shoulders he would gather under his arm. His brave, strong Scully, fighting for her son. Mulder's prayers were short and to the point, since he wasn't even sure, if there was an all-powerful God. He didn't need much from the one above, or below, or around for that matter, if one wanted to be fair to all, nothing more than not making them stand over a hole in the ground, because that hole would forever stay open in their hearts. He didn't watch the game end, or notice the boys look at him then at each other. The question that hung unspoken, finally ripened enough to be voiced. "Why do you do it?" Frohike said from the chair by the fireplace and Mulder sighed, pulling the blankets a little closer around himself. "If I ever had a kid," he said quietly, "I hope there would be someone, who would do the same for him." His friends looked at him for a long moment, expressions gradually softening, while they accepted the answer as true to Mulders' nature as they might ever expect. "Well, let's hope it works." Frohike said and smiled warmly. "Yeah, let's." Mulder relied and watched them get up to leave. "Take it easy," said Byers, shrugging into his long coat, "and call if you need anything." "Thanks." "Anytime man." Langly said and zipped up his leather jacket. Frohike patted his shoulder and they left, leaving Mulder with his fears and aches. His part was done, now all he could do was wait.

[be-dazzled]

#SIYC

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser FFnet: click here Tumblr: explore here Genre: Multi-chapter, Romance, Comedy Rating: M for sensitive content and language

Summary: Gray Fullbuster is a player both in love and in life. He plays Professional Basketball and is being groomed to be in line with Basketball Legends Michael Jordan, Lebron James, Kobe Bryant and Stephen Curry. There’s just one problem, Gray Fullbuster is a play-ah. His life is a giant mess of crazy parties, waking up with random women and waking up in random women’s apartments. Just living the life.

 The opinion of the public on him is waning. To save the million-dollar endorsements in the verge of disappearing, Gray needs to change his image. Therefore, Gray Fullbuster, Fiore Knight’s Team Captain and Most Valuable Player, will be in the next season of “My Star Can Dance”.

 There’s another problem: it seems like his star isn’t that bright since his partner, one of Fiore’s prominent ballerinas, doesn’t know him? His billboard is hanging in front of her dancing school! And it was a good billboard since all he was wearing was his six-pack and an Aztec bandana. How come she didn’t notice?

…

I sat down on a log, took her on my lap She said wait a minute bud, you got to see my pap He's gotta sixteen gauge choked down like a rifle He don't like a man that's gonna trifle.

– Shotgun Boogie, Tennessee Ernie Ford

…

 Gray drove down to Magnolia’s quietest and richest summer destination, just outside the city, where the most affluent upstate residents go to breathe some fresh air. Juvia sent him the address last night, informing him that the Juvia’s father invited him for the weekend at the Lockser townhouse.

 Apparently, His Excellency, Julian Lockser, Magnolia Ambassador to the Alvarez Empire, liked to grill during his free time. It had become some sort of tradition, whenever he came home from his official travels, to laze around and enjoy weekend barbecues with his family. Mostly, it was only him, Olivia and Juvia. For this weekend, however, they included Gray.

 After the initial surprise, and some sort of throwing his hands around he called his ‘happy dance’, a little devil Gray popped up on his shoulder to remind him that calling him down the beach paradise was Ambassador Julian Lockser’s version of showing him his gun collection. It was, after all, a time-honored dating tradition to torture the boyfriend. And the idea wasn’t too outside the ream of possibilities. The guy seemed like the type who’d seen things: ugly, under-the-radar, CIA information-acquiring secret techniques and looked like he watched and enjoyed it.

 Julian Lockser was a James Bond Russian Mafia Evil Boss replica.

 “I don’t know what you’re so worried about, Juvs. I’m a delight!” He spoke over, having Juvia on bluetooth.

 “I should have driven with you here.” Juvia said repentantly.

 “Relax, babe. The Camaro’s up for a long drive anyway. Besides, I got my girls here to entertain me.” Gray felt the sudden need to clear things up lest his girlfriend misunderstood. “I-I meant Mariah Carey, you know that right?”

 “Why? Are you driving with her to my house?”

 The two shared a soft chuckle, starting up their usual friendly banters. When that died down, silence followed. Gray easily read into that one.

 “You don’t need to worry about me, okay? I’m a grown man.”

 “Says who?”

 “You know, one of the many things I like about you is your impeccable sense of humor.” Gray brushed the jab at him off with humor.

 “Fine.” Juvia submitted. As much as she liked their verbal flirtations, Gray needed to focus on his driving. She wanted him to actually make it to her. “I’ll see you soon?” She asked, her voice now laced with tenderness and loving.

 “I’ll see you, baby.”

 Gray waited for the familiar sound of an ended call. He then removed the bluetooth piece off his ear and dropped the pod at what supposed to be the car’s cup holder. Finally off the phone, he expelled a sharp breath to ground the tension he had been feeling, and hiding, since the morning. Mask off.

 “Okay, Fullbuster.” He adjusted the rearview mirror, dark blue eyes stared sharply at his reflection and began a monologue. “You can do this. This is just a hiccup you can totally overcome.”

 His mind travelled back to the night he first met Julian Lockser.

 “You had your tongue down his daughter’s throat. Of course, he’s not gonna like you.”

 Way to make a first impression.

 The man definitely hated him. Instead of receiving a warm welcome, Gray had the door slammed at his face, twice. So, imagine his surprise when Juvia told him it was the Ambassador’s idea to have him over the weekend. He thought maybe he was warming up to him a little bit. So, Gray concocted a plan.

 “Hey, you’re a likeable guy. You just turn the charms on and win him over.”

 He winced. That plan worked on women, some males too, but he remembered how Juvia received him the first time they met and it wasn’t pretty.

 “Okay, maybe, maybe not your entire self. Let’s tone it down a notch.”

 A voice inside chided him. Since when did Gray Fullbuster ever tone himself down?

 “Or, just be the opposite. Totally opposite of yourself.”

 Could he?

 He sighed in exasperation. It was totally hopeless. But Gray Fullbuster never gave up. What kind of sport was he if he gave up the second life became inconvenient? He was the ‘Miracle Worker’ for goodness sake! Stealing winning shots left and right. No. ‘Giving Up’ wasn’t in his vocabulary. So, he showered himself more pep talks.

 “Mr. Lockser just probably wants to get to know you. Why else would he invite you down at his fortress for the weekend?”

 Maybe, he’s going to kill you and throw your body into the beach.

 His brain chose that moment to remind him of the evil eye Julian threw him the night before, paired with his ready-to-kill aura.

 “That’s it. Juvia and I would just have to elope.”

 Gray had resigned to his fate.

 Juvia had just got off the phone with Gray when her father Julian, clad in a pink apron, carrying a tray of raw meat, entered the house through the back door.

 “Was that Fullbuster?” He asked in a deep, monotone – unamused.

“Yes. He’s on his way.”

 Juvia followed the six-foot man around the kitchen as the latter scanned the table tops and searched the counters and cabinets for something.

 “Stop following me around.”

 “Are you looking for this?” Juvia held the silver clippers on display, taunting his father with it.

 “Yes!” He exclaimed. Julian stopped ransacking the drawers and cabinets to take the damn tong he’d been looking for.

 Juvia, however, had other plans. She held her father’s weakness away just as he was about to approach.

 “Will you promise to be nice?” She asked, threatening to withhold from him the man’s precious kitchenware.

 “I am nice.” He claimed, reaching out for the silverware only to grasp air. His blue piercing eyes said otherwise.

 “Dad.” Juvia challenged. She was quite sure her father was planning to make it hard on Gray.

 The two had some sort of father-daughter stand-off in the middle of the kitchen and none of them was willing to cave in; with Julian’s need for the clipper to start his barbecue party and Juvia’s desire for her dad to take it easy on Gray.

 “Fine.” His father conceded and dejectedly grabbed the kitchenware which Juvia generously handed to him. “But you two are sleeping in separate rooms.” He said, pointing the tong at Juvia as he enunciated the words, for emphasis, of course.

 Only daughter – 1; Doting father – 0. But no one was keeping scores.

 Just as Julian was about to grab the knob on the back door, Juvia threw her slender arms around the six-footer and hugged him from behind.

 “Thank you.” She said and squeezed the 182 lbs. as hard as her arms allowed. “I really like him.” She whispered for only her father to hear.

 “I know.” Julian loosened his daughter’s slender arms around his waist to turn around and face her.

 Julian Lockser might have lost to his only daughter in the stand-off. But the haughty glint in his rather piercing eyes implied that the man still had one trick up his sleeve.

 “I witnessed how much you like him, remember?” One thick brown quirked up at Juvia, making one shocked daughter let go of him.

 “Dad!” Juvia complained as Julian sauntered towards the backdoor to return to his grilling.

 Victory put a bounce on his walk and shame painted his daughter’s cheeks rosy.

 “You weren’t even supposed to be there!” She shouted after him.

 Guilty daughter – 1; Savage father – 1. Now, he was keeping scores.

 ...

 Juvia’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the first ring of the door bell. On the second and the third ones, her heart was starting a marathon.

 The older couple’s echoing laughter travelled into the house. Juvia decided not to disturb her folks sharing a good laugh out at the deck. That’s what Juvia wanted ever since she was a little girl: Sunday brunches, get-together with the family and talking about anything under the sun. Just like her mother, Juvia wanted to find a best-friend and a partner in one person.

 The fourth ring pulled Juvia out of her reverie and called her to the door. When she opened it, a beautiful bouquet of yellow peonies greeted her. She took them and smelled the beautiful aroma coming from them, peeking through the beautiful bouquet to see the handsome man leaning against the door frame.

 Gray Fullbuster was in his casual clothes, looking fresh and handsome. A sexy smirk complimented his just-woke-up look.

 “Hello, gorgeous.”

 It took so much from Juvia not to swoon or faint at Gray’s greeting. She should be immune from his charms by now. Yet two simple words from the guy had her stomach fluttering, knees buckling, and heart racing.

 “Chivalry isn’t dead, I guess.”

 They bantered with their words and flirted with their eyes. Gray’s surprise didn’t stop with the flowers. From behind, he took out a round pie covered with cling wrap he’d been hiding.

 “And my mother sends this. She made it herself.” Gray handed Juvia the offering, brushing her fingers with his as he did. “She said it’ll help me gain some points.”

 Juvia suddenly missed him; missed touching him, missed kissing him. She stepped up to him, smile coyly playing on her lips, to answer that ‘missing’ feeling. Gray was more than happy to become part of that answering. He peeled himself off the frame, shifted his weight equally and leaned down to end both their agony, only to stop midway. He scolded himself for having second thoughts. There were many times when Gray needed his brain to think rationally; like when he thought riding a horse butt-naked was a good idea, or skate on the ice with just his Christmas boxers on. Yet, it chose that moment, when his need to feel Juvia’s lips was about to be answered, when the kiss was just a breath away, his shitty brain chose that moment to consider and care about repercussions.

 “Is this a good idea?” He asked, peering over her shoulder for a certain national diplomat.

 “Honey, who is it?” Julian called out from the kitchen.

 Speak of the devil and he doth appear.

 “Probably, not.” Juvia whispered to Gray, fighting the sudden need to throw herself at him and Gray spicy freshness and raw scent of masculinity wasn’t helpful at all.

 “Gray’s here, dad.” She shouted back, her voice travelling to the kitchen.

 Juvia mouthed come in, inviting Gray to come inside the house. Gentleman as he was, he took the sweet treat out of Juvia’s hands as he crossed the threshold. Just as he was stepping into the lavish living room, admiring the impressive internal structure of what Gray could only call a mansion, the tall James Bond clone popped out the archway, which Gray assumed led to the kitchen.

 The pink apron, although looked funny, did little to nothing to sober the intimidation. It clung to the fifty-year old’s body, accentuating the older man’s toned and fit build. Not bad for someone in their fifties, he told himself. He wished he would look any close to this guy when he reached Julian’s age. Such realization made Gray more conscious around the Ambassador.

 “G-g-good day,” Gray cleared his throat, embarrassed at the little hiccup, “Sir Lockser.” He finished, offering his hand which, no matter how hard he tried, wouldn’t stop shaking.

 “Please, call me Mr. Lockser.”

 “Dad.” Juvia warned.

 “I was kidding. Julian is fine.”

 It didn’t feel like it though. The hard squeeze said otherwise. Gray had to pretend it didn’t hurt as he showed Juvia a strained smile.

 “Is that Gray?���

 The graceful Olivia emerged behind her husband. Her warm smile eased the tension Gray Fullbuster was feeling. But when she leaned in to give him a light hug, Gray could feel his body shudder under the husband’s watchful eyes.

 “Did it take you long to get here?”

 Gray thanked every god he knew when Olivia stepped back and returned to her husband’s side. She put a hand around his waist and leaned against the six footer as she made small talks with the nervous wreck.

 “No, not really.” He managed to say.

 “Well, c’mon out to the deck. Julian’s making barbecue.”

 “Lead the way.” Gray responded, eliciting a disapproving back-glance from the husband.

 He waited for the two to disappear behind the archway and turned to Juvia.

 “Your father hates me.” Gray mourned.

 “No, he doesn’t.” Juvia took a step closer and Gray almost recoiled.

 This whole thing with Juvia’s dad made him really jumpy and apparently allergic to Juvia’s touch. He didn’t like it. Gray wanted to be close to her as much as possible, wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her. If her father didn’t like that then screw him.

 No. No. No.

 He couldn’t screw up Juvia’s dad. He was there to please the man not hate him forever.

 “Hey.” Juvia stepped closer to him, look and voice filled with tenderness. She snaked her arms and wrapped them around his neck.

 Gray felt the flower stems poking the back of his head but it didn’t matter. He put his arms around Juvia’s waist and pulled her closer and against him. He didn’t flinch at the contact. He shouldn’t be. This was the most natural and the most wonderful feeling in the world. It felt nice sharing the warmth between them.

 It was what mattered.

 “He doesn’t hate you.” Juvia tried to convince him.

 “Really? Because it really feels like he does.”

 “He just needs to warm up to you a little.”

 Juvia had a way to soft-pedal things.

 “When?” The impatience showed in Gray’s face if his voice didn’t give him away.

 “Soon.”

 Juvia pulled him down by the neck and brushed her lips against his, briefly and playfully nibbling at his lower lip. It felt so good that Gray hissed at the lost of contact.

 “So, please bear with it for now.”

 Blue imploring eyes pleaded with Gray and he couldn’t help but get lost in those deep blue eyes.

 “Fine.” Gray conceded. He leaned down to steal another peck. One light brush could never appease his hunger for her. So, Gray struck a bargain, putting on that smile that ensured grant of his propositions. “If you promise to make it up to me.”

 A deal he knew he could gain the most.

 “You guys coming or what?”

 The familiar baritone made the couple jump away from each other. Both Gray and Juvia weren’t sure what the intruder saw but none of them could look the clean-cut gentleman in the eye.

 “W-w-we were just on our way.” Juvia answered to which Gray seconded.

 The ballerina stuttered at first, flustered at getting caught the second time. But she quickly regained her composure, even answered the raised eyebrow thrown the couple’s way with a chuckle albeit nervously.

 “Okay, but hurry. The barbecue’s gonna get cold.”

 Julian disappeared from sight first before Gray and Juvia looked at each other with guilty frowns on their faces.

 “We’ll never gonna get a break are we?”

 Gray walked ahead, shoulders slumped at defeat. Then, Juvia followed. Both kept their hands away from each other – much, much away.

 …

 The Lockser Mansion sat on an elevated land, merely few meters away from the beach lane. What a sweet set-up, Gray thought. The late morning breeze played with his hair and the scent from it tickled his nostrils. The scenery looked like it came from a painting and Gray was able to appreciate it despite the sharp eyes staring him down across the table.

 “So, Gray…”

 Gray stopped eating his barbecue midway, mouth hanged open, when Julian started a conversation. The four sat around the wooden patio table, facing each other. There was no where to hide for Gray, so he had to meet Julian’s menacing eyes with his mouth hanging open.

 “Go on. You can eat while we talk.”

 Gray took a bite from the skewer and almost, almost moaned at the first taste of the meat. The meat juice exploded in his mouth with flavor at first bite and his lids shut close on their own. The man might be mean but his barbecue was to die for.

 “Right? That’s my own recipe!”

Gray thought his ears deceived him. But when he opened his eyes to see, the excitement was all over Julian’s face. His menacing eyes softened and his mouth was twisted in a weird curve. Gray almost fell of his chair when he realized that Julian Lockser was actually smiling. At him. It’s the first he’d seen it – ever.

 “It’s so good, Mr. Lockser. I had to keep down the moan that was about to–.”

 Gray failed to finish that sentence when he saw the curve on Julian’s lips slowly drop. The smile in his eyes was slowly disappearing and when Gray glanced at Juvia; her face was twisted into an unexplainable expression – but he read disappointment and judging from it.

 “Why would you keep down the moan? Go for it!”

 It was the first time Gray heard the throaty laugh coming from the head of the Lockser Household. The contagious laughter spread across the table and the sun was finally smiling brightly at Gray. He had to thank his stomach and his love for good food for that.

 Finally, Gray was in.

 …

 After lunch, Juvia helped her mother clean up inside the house. Juvia’s childhood nanny, who just came in for her shift, took the used utensils out of their hands to place them to the sink. Juvia said her thanks and informed the seventy-year old help about the barbecues left outside. She invited her to enjoy them and to bring some for her grandchildren later when she leaves for home.

 The old nanny gave her a toothy smile, or what was left of it, and said something in her dialect. Then, she left and continued on her cleaning.

 Left with nothing else to do and a bad case of curiosity, Juvia walked near the sidelights and watched the two figures animatedly talking near the railing that bordered the deck. Juvia felt her mother’s presence approach her. The latter peered over what the young Lockser was looking at.

 “What do you think are they talking about?” Juvia asked the older Lockser, not taking her eyes off the two figures.

 “Well, you know your father. It could be anything.”

 Juvia shifted her attention to the woman next to her. She was in awe. Olivia Lockser had that familiar look in her eyes and she’d seen it too many times not to recognize it – a gaze full of affection. There was only one man Olivia could look at that way, Julian Lockser.

 One day she wished, she could give that same look to one man.

 “You just be glad they are getting along.”

 Juvia chuckled in agreement and returned her gaze to the raven-haired boy who just received a heavy swat on the shoulder from her father – Julian’s secret act of approval. She stepped away from watching them as the two figures started to walk back into the house. She only caught a tailspin of their conversation when the two finally stepped into the threshold.

 Juvia approached her man and Gray lagged behind. The momentary separation gave the couple a chance to catch up.

 “So, how did that happen?”

 “I don’t know.” Gray answered with a boy’s smile lingering on his lips. “He asked about me, what I do and we got to talking about basketball.”

 “Told you, he’s a big fan.” Juvia interjected.

 “And turns out, we hate the same guy!” He excitedly announced, ecstatic with the fact that he found common ground with the elusive Julian Lockser.

 “Really, who?”

 “The newbie from Lamia’s Scale”.

 “What? I like that guy.”

 The smile on Gray’s face dropped.

 “Are you serious?”

 Juvia received a rather disapproving glare at the man.

 “Lyon Vastia?”

 The tone of his voice made Juvia feel like she was wrong, so very wrong for liking this Lyon, whom Juvia only saw play on TV once. She didn’t really have any opinion on the guy but seeing how Gray was reacting to this piece of news, Juvia just wanted to yank on his chains.

 “Well, yeah. He’s good and kinda cute.”

 “He’s a jerk. Plus, he’s a ball-hogger. That’s why their team never wins. He thinks he’s some kind of basketball god or something.”

 Gray was at Juvia’s face making his case, trying to convince his woman why he should not think of Lyon as good at basketball or cute. She just shouldn’t.

 “The papers said he’s the next you.”

 Gray laughed at her face and Juvia could hear the insult in it.

 “Same papers which said you’re the next Michael Jackson?”

 Gray suddenly stopped laughing. Doubt clouded his deriding eyes. The irony wasn’t lost in him.

 “W-w-well, don’t believe everything you read in the papers.” Gray warned her, not hiding the fact that he just got trapped.

 “Oh!” Gray, defeated, tried to change the subject. “And did you know he’d been classmates with my step-father in High School?”

 “He was?”

 Juvia would rather have the excited little boy who seemed to have uncovered some big mystery, like Santa Claus or the tooth fairy, rather than jealous Gray – love or career-wise. Although, she had to admit, they were both cute sides of him.

 “Yeah! He told me stories about him–”

 “–Hey, Gray! Come here I’m going to show you something.”

 Gray was interrupted by Julian’s invitation into the living room.

 “Be right there, Sir!” He glanced back to Juvia with a proud smirk. “Your dad likes me.”

 “Yeah, yeah. What is he going to show you?”

 “Some pictures.” Gray kissed the back of Juvia’s hand before he excitedly bounced into the living room, not wanting to make the man in there wait.

 Juvia could finally breathe. The two men in her life weren’t only getting along; they were starting to become the best of pals. She got what she wanted. Juvia was at peace until a horrifying idea hit her like a bat and she almost staggered at the realization. There was only one album her father wanted to show and always showed the guests, an album full of Juvia’s pictures – childhood, monumental and all of sorts of embarrassing.

 “Wait, dad!”

Writer’s Corner: I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO UPDATE ON TUMBLR. Hahaha. This is why you guys should really subscribe to my fanfiction.net account. lol. Anyways, hope you guys like this update.

P.S. I’m supposed to upload Chapter 10 tonight. lol.