#just nobody said this when tim was first starting out el oh el

[sourslices]

hc that the titans know/knew dick better than the batfam — and it makes sense, but i dont feel like elaborating on this part. anyway...

it'd be nice to see too, yk... considering dick is the eldest in the batfam and (in at least fan content) he's known to be very caring about family and yadda yadda.

dick was the first. the first child hero/sidekick, the first robin... the leader of the titans. a charismatic leader, a faithful friend. most people idolise him, and even if you get disillusioned after getting to know him personally, there's still a certain amount of admiration and respect that will never go away when it comes to nightwing.

this also works with the yj universe — esp yj because dick's the youngest out of all of them (not too sure abt the titans, but ik he isnt the youngest)

damian's perhaps the closest to dick out of the batfam. most people are aware of the distance between them and him but jason and tim don't realise that they don't know a lot about his brother...

it starts with cass calling him out for pretending to be okay and even trying to adjust his body language to hide his fatigue and his wounds. it goes on with jason commenting about a movie night that dick had wrestled everyone into (the movie had been steph's choice btw) and then either roy or kori respond like this.

jason: *off-handedly commenting abt the movie night and dick*

roy/kori: ???

roy/kori: we saw that movie when it came out. dick hated it and swore not to watch it ever again lmaooo

or maybe it was food. jason talks abt alfred's meals and then kori chuckles and recalls how dick had told her that he wasn't too fond of alfred's cooking. jason had been like "???" because dick always acted like he loved it and then roy goes like no lmaooo dick finds most of alfred's food kinda tasteless. something about british men and not knowing how to put seasoning

when jason confronts dick, dick admits to it

dick: okay yeah true

dick: i didnt rlly like alfie's cooking when i first came here but he got better... gradually. it's better than before but

dick: ...if you ask me, i prefer his baking.

jason: roy said smth about him trying to make one of your ma's recipes

dick: i never asked him again.

dick: (starts thinking about how he had nobody to teach him how to cook like his parents did and becomes SadTM)

and then cass damian and duke all go like "??? im not alone ??" because in reality they all find alfred's cooking a little... subpar. its not bad per say but u have to rmbr alfred is old white british man and there are battles you lose. anyway, cass damian duke and dick all bond over this because they thought it was only them who found the meals prepared a little... yk. alfred still works on getting better but there is nothing that will beat food made by hands who know how it shld taste yk...

(sorry about the alfred slander)

anyway, tim starts to realise despite being dick's little brother, and the only little brother dickie had for a while, there's a lot he still doesnt know abt the guy. which is funny because tim used to essentially stalk him

kori and dick make up after a long discussion about assault and victim blaming and there are a lot of apologies and they resolve their remaining issues (that doesn't mean what happened was okay, or it was forgotten or whatever)

dick actually asks for some space and tells her their friendship will probably never be what it was and kori is sad but is like. okay. they're still friends after a few months of distance and a lot of therapy on dick's side. he didn't blame her for any of it but he still needed... time

roy and dick also sort their shit out. im unclear as to what that shit actually is because roy used to adore dick when they were speedy and robin but whatever they sort it out and there's some homoerotic tension between them im telling u... dick still asks for space el oh el it takes a while to recover from years of distance and they're not the same

but just because they aren't the same doesn't mean everything's different.

the titans are subjected to the changes in dick and they watch him interact with the batfam, meanwhile batfam realises they don't know a lot abt dickie while watching the titans take care of him in several different ways while they, despite being a family of investigators, didnt know smth was up. it's mostly donna who does the "taking care of"

ik i actually didn't mention many of the titans but... yeah

[spicycreativity]

Flufftober Day 1 - Winning a Tedddy Bear for the Other

This is the only October prompt fic I was able to write, so uh. Hopefully you enjoy it!

2.5k words, pairings are pre-Logince, Dukexiety, and pre-Moceit

Nobody actually wins a teddy bear for anyone, despite their best efforts

Truly have no idea if this is solely an American hick town thing or not, but where I'm from, all the summer drama took place at the county fair; the hook-ups and break-ups and all the stuff that people would gossip about at the beginning of the school year. Except! The crew have just graduated and this is kind of their last hurrah before college and work and what have you.

Roman closed his eyes and tried to focus. He turned the basketball over in his hands, privately grossed out by the weird, sticky texture beneath his fingertips. He let the ambient noise of the county fair fade into the background. Focus. He just had to focus.

Then Virgil's voice shattered his concentration: "You know this game is rigged, right?"

Roman opened his eyes and, catching an annoyed glance from the carnival worker, sighed and hurled the ball at the hoop. It soared a neat arc and fell neatly through the center of the hoop. Ha. "I'll have you know I played basketball in middle school." He puffed out his chest a little and raised his arms so Virgil could admire his killer delts. 

"And how old are you now?" Virgil leaned into Remus, who was lurking over his shoulder like some kind of lanky cathedral goblin. How Remus had landed a boyfriend before he did, Roman would never know.

The worker handed Roman another ball, which Roman accepted with a half-hearted "Thanks."

"It's true, though," Remus said, placing his chin on Virgil's shoulder. "The hoops are ovals."

"Everybody knows that," Roman huffed, and threw the ball.

"Yeet!" said Remus. Idiot.

The ball bounced off the rim. "You distracted me!" Roman huffed. The carnival worker held out another ball, but Roman dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Oh, forget it!" Two baskets would only get him a stupid Minions keychain, and he definitely didn't want something that cursed in his possession. He turned and walked away, half-hoping Remus and Virgil wouldn't follow him. 

"Dude, you paid for three tries," Virgil said.

Roman stopped and turned around and nearly got trampled by a herd of excited pre-teens. "You don't get it!" He gestured at Virgil and Remus' intertwined fingers, even now unable to fight back the wave of jealousy and longing that rose up inside him. "You guys already have your fairy--" He paused, corrected himself. "Your weird, creepy, Tim Burton fairytale dream. I have one shot to impress Logan tonight and I need to make the most of it!"

"Hold on, hold on, hold on!" Remus grabbed Roman by the wrist (ewww, Roman, just try not to think about where his hands have been) and dragged him over to a bench. "Your grand plan is to win Logan some lame carnival prize before he even gets here?"

"Oh, buddy." The mocking pity on Virgil's face was enough to make Roman blush. Jerk. All he'd had to do was sit around and wait for Remus to make the first move. "What makes you think that's even going to work?"

Roman stood up again, motioning for Virgil and Remus to stay seated. He'd had enough. "Because it's a grand, romantic gesture and I am a grand, romantic prince. Now leave me alone! You're wrecking my concentration and I'm supposed to meet Logan in an hour!" And he stalked off, soon getting lost in the crowd.

Virgil looked at Remus, who was wearing a look of undisguised masochistic glee. Still, Virgil ventured, more to soothe his own conscience than anything, "Should we try to help him?" 

"Look!" Remus shot to his feet, pointing off into the distance. "Deep fried pickles!" He took off, nearly jerking Virgil's shoulder out of socket.

Virgil dodged an elderly woman and nearly tripped over his boots. "Roman?"

"No, I'm Remus."

"No, I mean, should we try-- Oh, forget it." Virgil wrapped his free hand around the back of Remus' and let Remus yank him through the crowd. There was a long line for the cart selling deep fried monstrosities because this was the county fair and people lost their humanity upon stepping through the gates. Not Virgil. He would sooner lick the door of the horse barn than consume anything from this horrorshow of a food cart. That was one thing Virgil and Roman could agree on: fair food was disgusting. Ah, poor Roman. "You do have to feel a little sorry for him, though," Virgil said, admiring the shiny piercings decorating the shell of Remus' ear.

"Who?" said Remus, standing on tiptoe and examining the crowd. 

"Ro--"

"Oh, Roman?" Remus landed hard on his heels and nudged Virgil with his hip. "No I don't. A little heartbreak might take Sir Brags-a-Lot down a peg." Something caught his eye and he jerked his head away with a smile. "Hey. V. I'd like to dip my pickle in your deep fryer."

Virgil made a face, but soldiered on. "But he's had a crush on Logan since, what? As long as I've known him."

"Longer." Remus stuck out his tongue. "He and Logan were lab partners Freshman year. And I had to hear about him every single night." He lowered his voice into a passable imitation of Roman's, gesticulating with abandon. "'Ugh, Remus, this boy in my science class is so annoying; he knows about dumb shit like protons and covalent bonds. Who even cares about that? I don't. So I'm gonna keep talking about it for the entire bus ride home.' Nightmare."

"Exactly!" said Virgil, though he had kind of forgotten what he was getting at. What had he been getting at? He shuffled forward as the line moved and turned his fractured attention to the menu.

"Hey," said Remus, now drumming on Virgil's shoulder with his fingertips. "When was the last time you saw Pat and the Hat?"

"Who?"

"Come on, that was clever."

Virgil tapped his lower lip. "You mean Patton and Janus?" Remus just blinked at him. "I dunno, didn't they say they were buying tickets?"

"Yeah, like, 30 minutes ago.

The line moved forward again. Remus ordered his horrifying hell-pickle. Virgil ordered a lemonade, knowing full well that Remus would insist on paying anyway.

"Maybe," said Virgil, side-stepping away from the order window and deliberately ignoring the way Remus was running his tongue all up and down his deep-fried pickle, "they went to the petting zoo."

"Well, let's go get 'em," Remus said. "They don't get to ditch us just because Patton wanted to see the bunny rabbits."

The setting sun painted the clouds a brilliant orange. Patton sighed and stared out at the expanse of the fairgrounds beneath him. One by one, rides were starting to turn their lights on. It was exactly the most romantic time of evening, exactly how he'd wanted things to go when he suggested they take a quick ride on the Ferris wheel before tracking down the others.

Well.

Almost exactly.

"I should sue," Janus said. Again. He looked over the edge of their basket where it dangled almost exactly at the top of the Ferris wheel. "How long would you say we've been stuck up here?"

"Um," said Patton, trying to wiggle his phone out of his pocket.

"What if I was diabetic, hm? What if one of us needed to take life-saving medication and couldn't because we were stuck at the top of this death trap?"

"But Janus." Patton waited for Janus to meet his eyes, then smiled. "We don't."

The magic didn't last. "It's the principle of the thing!" Janus said explosively, looking away in obvious agitation.

Patton rallied and tried again. "You don't think it's kinda romantic? I mean, look out there." He gestured at the lit-up fairgrounds and the golden haloes of clouds.

Janus huffed and didn't look. "I don't see what's so romantic about a potential reckless endangerment lawsuit." And he was off again, ranting about confusing legal concepts and other things Patton wouldn't care about, except that they were important to Janus.

Oh, well. He sighed and watched the blinking lights of El Niño. If they got down soon, maybe he could win Janus a teddy bear or something and make his confession then.

"What color?"

Roman ran a hand through his hair. Of all the games to have a knack for, he hadn't expected darts. "Pink, I guess-- No, wait, the blue one."

The attendant nodded and handed Roman a flimsy acoustic guitar. "Congrats, man."

"Thanks." Roman turned to go. He had to meet Logan at the gates soon. At least he wasn't doing it empty-handed, not that a barely-playable guitar was a particularly romantic gift. Realy, who was he kidding? Logan didn't want the guitar and Logan didn't want him.

The fairground lights lit everything up a sickly green. Roman scanned the crowd at the midway, trying to determine the best way through, when his gaze fell on a familiar pair of glasses.

He was still trying to decide how to react when Logan reached him, his arms full of brightly-colored stuffed lemurs. "Hello, Roman."

"How long have you been here?" Roman demanded. The idea that Logan had been sneaking around, avoiding him, sat heavy in his stomach.

But to Roman's surprise, Logan blushed. "Not long," he said, shifting his weight. "I wanted-- Well, it seems foolish now."

Roman forgot his anger in an instant. "What? C'mon, Lo, I don't think you're even capable of being foolish."

"I had thought," Logan dropped his gaze to the stuffed lemurs in his arms, "I had thought that if I came early, I might be able to win something big and--" He cleared his throat. "And give it to you."

"Why?" Roman demanded. Why would Logan copy his plan? 

"Well, Roman," Logan said in such a clipped, professional voice that he might have been delivering the weather report, "traditionally, winning a large prize for your sweetheart at the county fair is a romantic gesture."

"But I'm not your sw-- Oh." Roman's jaw dropped. The guitar's strings dug into his fingers. Then he started to laugh. Logan's expression hardened, but he stayed put, staring intently at Roman. "I'm sorry!" Roman choked out, brandishing the guitar at Logan as some sort of peace offering, though Logan didn't have a free hand to take it. "I was--" Tears streamed hot and ticklish down Roman's cheeks, his entire body still spasming with stifled laughs. "I was trying to do the same thing! That's how I got this stupid guitar."

"Oh," said Logan. "Oh, dear."

"Come on, let's sort this out." Roman stood on his tiptoes, spotted an empty bench, and led Logan to it.

"This is terribly awkward," Logan said, adjusting the lemurs in his arms. "Do you even want these?"

"Not really," Roman said. He held up the guitar. "Do you want this?"

"I don't."

They smiled at each other. "You know," said Roman, hurriedly counting Logan's stuffed lemurs. "You can trade six of those in for a kiss."

"Piercings!" Remus tugged on Virgil's sleeve and gestured at the booth. 

"I thought we were looking for Patton and Janus," Virgil said, already trying to think of a way to keep Remus from getting an ill-advised piercing.

"Forget them! I wanna get my tongue done."

"Here?" Virgil asked as Remus tugged him closer and closer to the piercing booth. "We're, like, six feet away from a horse barn. You're gonna get an infection."

"Damn, V, it's not like I'm gonna French kiss the horses."

Virgil bit his lip and made a second attempt. "Don't you have enough holes punched in yourself?"

"Nope!" They reached the booth and Remus bounced on his toes while he studied the laminated photographs pinned to one of the tent walls.

"Fine, but don't expect any kisses until that piercing is fully healed," Virgil said, struck by an eleventh-hour moment of genius.

"Hold up." Remus turned around and stared at Virgil. "What?"

"You heard me." Advantage secured, Virgil relaxed a little and even managed a sneer. "No kisses until I'm 100% sure you're not gonna get blood or anything else in my mouth."

"Baaaabe." Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil's shoulders and let Virgil take some of his weight. "You're killing me! What about my self-expression?"

"You can get your tongue pierced," Virgil said, "just not at some shady horse barn-adjacent piercing booth run by a bunch of traveling randos."

"I'm an American," Remus mumbled into Virg's collarbone. "It's my God-given right to die of a horse infection because I got my tongue pierced at a-- Whatever you said."

"C'mon." Virgil stood Remus upright and took him by the hand. "I'll pay for you to get your tongue pierced at that nice place downtown. Or I'll get Janus to pay for it. Next birthday. I promise."

"Thanks, I guess," Remus muttered. He was obviously trying to pout, but his face kept cracking into a smile.

"And as for your self-expression…" Face-painting booths were a dime a dozen at the fair; you practically couldn't turn a corner without running into some kid with their face painted to look like Spider-Man. Virgil pointed to the closest one and continued to lead Remus toward it. "I'm thinking spider eyes for me, kraken for you?" Remus took a breath, but Virgil knew better. "There's no way anyone is going to paint a photorealistic dick on your face."

"Alriiiiight," Remus said. "Kraken it is."

The sun was now nearly gone over the horizon, only visible as a faint golden line. Janus had finally worn himself out and gone silent, though even in the darkness, Patton could see the annoyance smoldering in his eyes.

Oh, he was so cute. Even when he was annoyed. Which, granted, seemed to be most of them time, although some of it had to be an act. He smiled sometimes, when he thought Patton wasn't looking.

It was those secret smiles that had given Patton the courage to make this plan. He jiggled his leg and swallowed as nerves sent flutters of nausea through his belly. "Um, Janus?"

"Hm?"

"I mean," Patton started, "since we're stuck up here and everything."

"Don't remind me."

"I mean, you know, It's not all bad. If I have to be stuck at the top of a Ferris wheel, I'm glad it's with you. I… I'm glad it's us."

For a moment, Janus was silent. Then he said, in a tone of suspicion: "You're trying to cheer me up."

Patton sighed. As smart as Janus was, he just didn't seem to be putting the pieces together. Although, that was as much Patton's fault as it was Janus'. Well, it was mostly Patton's fault. He just had to be brave. "Look, Janus, I had this whole plan where we were gonna ride the Ferris wheel together and it was gonna pause at the top and while we were looking out over the fairground, I--" His breath hitched.

"...Was going to push me over the edge?" Janus asked.

"I was gonna do this." Rainbow lights from the Ferris wheel spokes danced across Janus' face. Patton leaned over and took his hands. "Janus, I really like you. And I want--"

"Yes," said Janus. "Whatever you're about to say, yes."

So Patton kissed him. 

[ithinkimblue]

Can I have a dance ?

100 ways to say I love you:

Number 14 - “Can I have a dance?”

Rating: K

Relationship: Tim Drake x Conner Kent/Kon-El

Fluff, Romance

1 chapter / 1k words

Link Ao3

Summary: Today was prom day and Conner was kind of stress cause i still didn't have a plus one. He wanted to invite his best friend/date-if-Tim-wanted-to but men! It was hard to confess his love. 

Hello everyone! English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for the spelling mistakes that you might see. This fic pop in my mind because of one post on @blondetins’ tumblr named “100 ways to say I love you” Recently, my love for the Batfamily reached the high of the Wayne Tower, and I think about them and their different love stories all the time. I was time to write something about it! Happy reading!

If you asked him, this night was the most stressful moment in Conner’s short life. Even going on mission and facing the end of the world seems less stressful.

But this night was also one of the most beautiful that in ever lived.

The day before begun quite casually. As usual, Kon woke up late and was force to use his super speed to prepare his stuffs so he wouldn’t be late.

He flew to his high school, landed behind an empty building nearby and ran at normal speed the few meters’ left.

As soon as his feet touch the ground, his ears were overwhelmed by all the chatters filling the school.

Of course! With his super busy schedule, Kon had totally forgotten that prom was tonight… And he didn’t have a date yet.

Well, that wasn’t exactly right. He could have found one month ago, but he declined every request. Not that he wanted to go alone. In fact, he knew exactly who he wanted to invite but the situation was way more complicated than it sounded. Cause he lived in a small town in the depths of Kansas and he wanted to invite a boy and not a just a friend and not any boy: Tim Drake-Wayne himself. And if this wasn’t complicated enough, Tim didn’t know what Conner felt about him. They were just supposed to be best friends and Kon still hadn’t got the guts to tell him. But if he didn’t want to go to prom alone, he knew exactly what he had to do.

With that idea in mind, Conner spent his entire morning thinking about what he’ll say, what he’ll do, so much that at the end of his last class of the day, before midday, he didn’t even remember a thing his teachers said. But… clearly, he didn’t give a fuck. He had other things to do.

Soon as the last bell rang, he left his school and fly as fast as possible to the Kent’s farm. There, he sent a simple text to Tim, asking to meet him if he wasn’t not too busy.

As usual, his best friend was more than ready to sacrifice a few of his working hours to spend time with him and said yes almost instantly.

Full of stress, Conner put his Superboy outfit, his earrings and some make-up on before living for Gotham. Usually, he avoided wear make-up at Smallville. It was a small town and people already looked at him weirdly since he began living with Pa’ and Ma’ at the farm.

But he wanted to be as handsome as he could be before seeing Tim and he also felt more like himself as Superboy than as Conner, the farm boy, copy of Clark Kent. He liked too much his piercings and leather jacket.

Finally ready, he took one minute to warn Pa’ and Ma’ that he was going out before taking off.

Direction Gotham, and more precisely Wayne Enterprise’s roof top.

The fly was actually really helpful for his stress. Kon always loved flying. It made him calmer and helped him think more clearly.

So, when he arrived in Gotham, he was relaxed and super happy to see his best friend/maybe-boyfriend-if-Tim-loved-him-back.

As soon as he entered the city, he immediately spotted Tim’s heartbeat, harmonious as usual. This was always reassuring knowing, even miles away, he could hear that nothing was wrong and that Rob’ was okay.

Arriving near WE, it took him two seconds to see Tim, sat down on the edge of the roof, watching the horizon. And he took him the exact same time to join him with a cheerful “Hello.”

Tim responded with a smile before offering Kon some M&M’s© that he probably stole from the vending machine he installed next to his office (he could totally pay for it, but it was more funny to steel it since Jason told him how). Being the CEO offered so advantages.

“So. What’s up?” Tim started talking. He’s always the one who start when he saw that Kon wanted to but could find the words.

“Oh. Nothing out of the ordinary. Kansas is boring, so is school and I just wanted to spend some quality time with my best friend.”

“Not wrong. School is boring. But are you sure everything is alright? Not like I dislike seeing you more often but it’s rare that you offer a meeting in the middle of the week and in the middle of a day without reasons. I mean, we’re going to see each other in less than two days at the Tower so… I was just wondering.”

Deciding that that was never be a right moment and that Tim made it easy for him by insisting, Kon had tried.

“Actually… You’re right! I wanted to see you cause I’ve got something to ask. But… It’s kinda hard to say so… please don’t interrupt me…” Kon’s tone sounded like begging but he didn’t care.

“As you wish.”

“So… since I’ve officially start high school, I began to learn all the things that teenagers are supposed to do. Things that aren’t saving the world every Tuesday.” Tim laughed at his joke and Kon relaxed. “One of those things is… prom. And especially the tradition to invite a plus one. But… like the idiot I am, I totally forgot about that and… It’s not like I don’t know who inviting. In fact, I know exactly who I want to spend my night with but… it’s complicated.”

“All of our lives are complicated anyway.”

“I said no interruption!” Kon pretended to be mad and apparently, his fake angry face was like by Tim who let a small grin slip on his face. “I was saying. It’s complicated… See… you’re my best friend. I’ve known who since forever, and I don’t want to ruin or friendship or anything but… I want to ask you something.”

“Hey!” Tim stopped him and gentle stroke his hand on Kon’s cheek. “Nothing can ruin our friendship. You hear me? Nothing! You can tell me anything, and I’ll always be her for you, no matter what."

Kon blushed a little. Tim’s eyes stared at his. There were so beautiful, so full of… everything… Quietly, Conner pressed his hand against Tim’s, still on his cheek.

“I…” He took a long breathing and finally asked. “Do you want to go to prom with me? As a more than friend plus one!” That’s it! He said it.

For a few seconds (to long if you asked Kon), Tim seemed surprise. But a tender smile quickly replaced his startled expression.

“If you mean in a boyfriend kind of way, then I’ll be happy to go with you.”

It was now Conner’s time to be surprised.

“You… you… what does that mean?”

“It means that I like you too dummy!”

“Oh” Kon was incapable of saying anything else, in choc to see his feelings returned.

~o~

That’s how Kon ended up, in an old Clark’s suit, in the ball room/gymnasium of his high school, waiting for his date (who was late).

He was happily speaking to his friends about gossips, classes and unimportant stuffs trying to kill time.

But he couldn’t hide that he was a little bit worried. It took balls to invite a guy to dance in one of the most homophobic state in USA.

So Kon wasn’t hiding that he was kind of scared of the reactions of his friends, of the reputation he was going to give the Kent.

However, at the second he heard known and really specific footsteps, he turned his eyes to the entrance just in time to see Tim waking in. And just like that, Conner forgot every fear that he had. Tim was… radiant.

Knowing him, he certainly randomly picked one of his suit. It was simple, like every other boy in the room. But he wore it like he was born in it and Conner couldn’t detach his eyes of him.

His friends tried to understand what was happening to him but he ignored them.

Rapidly, he hurried in Tim’s direction, a big smile stuck on his face.

“Hello beautiful, you’ve got wonderful eyes you know that?” Kon was sure his stupid line will please Tim, or at least made him blush.

“You dork.” Ah! Tim was discreetly laughing! And blushing! Objectives completed. “Show me the bar instead of playing the idiot. I’m thirsty and everyone is starring.”

“Oh… Yeah. You’re right. This way.” Rao… He already started babbling. And Tim was right, everyone was starring and some in the crowd even recognize Tim. It must be said: Tim was known by the tabloid and even in a modest town as Smallville, people known him.

During a hot minute, Conner started regretting ask him to come.

But a hand on his made him forgot all the bad thoughts he had. Tim put a worried look on him and Kon smile at him, silently saying “Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry.”

Smiling back, Tim put down his drink on the table nearby and pulled Kon toward the dance floor.

 “Can I have this dance?”

Kon laugh at the question and switch roles. He was now pulling Tim towards the other dancers.

They quickly faced each other et started dance like nobody was watching them. And he didn’t take long for them to bring each other closer.

At the end of the dance, they ended up chest against chest, breathless. Looking at each other, the logical choice for Kon was to lean toward Tim’s face. Tim’s eyes couldn’t leave his. And the young CEO’s face seemed saying one thing “Kiss me”.

So Kon obeyed and kiss him.

[justlookatthosesausages]

‘Emergence’ - an interactive fanfic

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CHAPTER 10 - Epilogue

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It was a known fact now that Honeymaren and Elsa lived together. It took a while for both women to take that decision. For Elsa, because she needed a long time of reflection for such a decision than the one of welcoming Honeymaren in her tent to live with her; and for Honeymaren herself, who usually was fast in taking decisions, but who kept insisting to her girlfriend that she had all the time in the world to agree on that change, even if mutual. 

Which, Ryder underlined, was the worst idea ever. 

“She'll take forever to decide now.” Sighed the Northuldra. 

Honeymaren had punched his arm at his sentence. 

“Aoh! Why are you always so violent when I talk about her?”

“Stop being mean about Elsa if you don’t want me to kill you.”

“Oh yeah. Because my sister is famously known for being a massive murderer. You wouldn’t even kill a moth last summer.” 

He got kicked to the ground by Honeymaren’s staff, and he didn’t add anything for the whole day. And took a mental note to never anger his sister during morning fight session. 

Honeymaren wiped the sweat off her face with her towel as she giggled with other Sami girls. Sighing in the typical happiness after early training, she walked to Elsa’s tent - their tent, she corrected her thoughts.

She walked for a while. The Fifth Spirit’s tent was isolated from others. It was at one of the borders of the village, but not too far so nobody felt like she was out of the camp, and children were happy to have space around the tent to play with her ice games when she made some. 

The brunette smiled at the memory of the moment she had asked Elsa how okay she was to not have her little fortress of solitude for herself anymore. Elsa had laughed openly in a soft way, and assured her that she had Ahtohallan for that. Another thing that Anna was right about. 

With a smile, Honeymaren entered the tent... And she suddenly blinked at the surprising heat in it.

“WAOW! What the--”

She looked around for Elsa.

“What the heck happened here? Did you make a fire??”

Elsa stopped right in her move, a wood log in her hand, about to add it to the stove in the middle of the room. She looked at her girlfriend with wide eyes, her mouth still.

“I thought you were going to like it.”

“Like it?” Scoffed Honeymaren. “Elsa, it’s like a thousand degrees in there! I feel like I just stepped into a volcano!”

The Spirit frowned. “You once went into a volcano?”

She then realized how stupid she could get when her brain was too distracted on Honeymaren.

“No, of course you haven’t.” She muttered, shaking her head.

The Northuldra stepped in, fanning her collar.

“I’m so sorry”, rushed to say Elsa, spraying ice into the stove. “I just have no idea what chilling air is. I don’t know what’s the discomfort limit, and as I used to live alone in this tent until now, I thought it would be too cold for you and that--”

Honeymaren put her hand on her shoulder to interrupt her. It was really efficient, for every time she touched Elsa, she instantly stopped talking and thinking.

“I’m fine. It’s perfect. I actually needed that heat, it’s getting cold outside. But nuances and appropriate measures are something we need to work on, okay?”

“Definitely.” Exhaled Elsa, agreeing. She really needed to know what was best for them both.

There was a silence.

“You can lower the temperature of a dozen degrees at least.” Indicated Honeymaren.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Hurried Elsa, and she refreshed the logs.

The Sami looked at her with a touched smile. “No need to apologize, you did nothing wrong. I truly appreciate the gesture.”

A smile appeared at the corner of Elsa’s lips.

“I’m quite surprised that you didn’t set the tent on fire.” Joked Honeymaren.

Elsa stuck her tongue out. 

“How was training?” She asked, changing the topic. 

“Great as always.”

“Did you let Ryder win?” 

“Pff. No.”

“Honeeeeey...” Sighed Elsa, bending her head. “You should let him win someday.”

“What? Oh, you’re so soft. He has to earn his victory. If he can’t beat me, he has to train more.” Smirked the Northuldra, cracking her fingers. 

Elsa shook her head. 

“Let me guess, you let Anna win from time to time so she doesn’t get angry?” Eye-rolled Honeymaren. 

“She actually win sometimes. And I don’t really have a competitive mind.” 

Her girlfriend giggled. She knew that very well. 

“Say, are you done with the... Whatever that obsession with making me comfortable was?” She asked, smiling. “Because I need your help on something. Are you available?” 

Elsa nodded.

“I’m all yours. No, wait, that sounded weird, I’m taking that back. I’m... Available.”

They laughed, and went out of the tent.

A little blue ball bounced from a nearby log and uncurled, jumping on Elsa. Hopefully, she was used to those unprompted surprises from the salamander, and welcomed him with a giggle.

“Hi, Bruni. What’s up?”

The Fire Spirit smiled and cuddled in Elsa’s palms. The latter absentmindedly showered him with snowflakes, and turned to Honeymaren. “So? What is it? What did you want to show me?” 

"Follow me.” 

That was an odd thing to ask, and quite useless, given that the Sami girl had grabbed Elsa's hand and started to walk to an isolated place of the forest. Bruni, curious like always, followed them - curiosity really was the character trait that all the Spirits had in common, thought Honeymaren as she looked at how the salamander walked behind them with its tiny adorable steps. 

"Where are you taking me?" Asked Elsa, smiling. 

The brunette didn't answer, and gave a stare to Bruni with a silence sign, putting her finger on her mouth. The Fire Spirit tilted his head to the side, trying to understand why she looked like she wanted to make him keep a secret.

Elsa turned her head to him, sharing the confusion. Suddenly, Honeymaren kissed Elsa on the lips, and she blinked of surprise, then smiled and kissed her back. What started as an improvised kiss turned into a passionate one, and they kept their love rhythm for a long time. 

Bruni squealed in embarrassment, and he closed his eyes as he became pink, his magic fire glowing like a blush. When he gave a peek by slowly opening his eyes, Honeymaren and Elsa had parted the kiss, and looked at each other with such devotion that it was obvious that they had forgotten Bruni's presence. They were looking into each other's eyes with their arms on each other's waist, relaxed and happy. Bruni perceived the message - mostly "Shoo! It's a private moment!" - and trotted away with a giggling squeal. 

Honeymaren stared at Elsa. 

"You're not blushing." She noticed. 

"Should I?" Teased the blonde. 

The Northuldra’s hold on Elsa’s hip got stronger. 

“No, I'm happy that you've used to our intimacy now. And as we'll live in the same tent starting from today, I just wanted to make sure...” 

“That I won't get embarrassed? Or bashful?" Completed Elsa.  

"Yes." Nodded her girlfriend. 

Now it was Elsa's hold which got stronger. And Honeymaren gasped, because she was pretty sure that it was even tighter than her own touch. 

"You’ll have to be the one who’s going to get used to me in the tent." Smiled Elsa. 

There was a beat. 

“Wait... Did my sentence make any sense?" 

Honeymaren laughed, and she hugged her close. "Not really, but I got it. By the way, you're a terrible flirt." 

Elsa pouted, but knew that it was true. 

"But it's okay!" Smiled Honeymaren on a reassuring tone. "You'll learn." 

The Fifth Spirit switched to sarcasm. "What? From you?" 

"Am I not a model?" Smiled the brunette, getting even closer to her, and now their noses were touching. 

"Certainly not.” Puffed Elsa. 

She then looked around. "But we can learn from each other." 

They got even closer, if that was even possible. 

"I'd love that." Grinned Honeymaren. 

She kissed her, and started to walk away the instant that followed. "Let's go take care of the reindeer." 

Elsa grabbed her arm. "Wait. Didn’t you need my help on something?" 

Honeymaren thought that she was trying to hold her for more cuddling, but she was genuine. She puffed at Elsa's big caring eyes. She really did have a long work to do to make her better at flirting... 

"Of course not, you ethereal idiot. That was a ruse to make you follow me without asking questions. You're the attentive and protective type. And it obviously worked." 

Elsa pouted once again, but admitted that she was right, once again. 

"So you don't need my help to take care of the reindeer?" Said Elsa, lifting an eyebrow. 

Honeymaren’s mouth opened in a perfect O when she heard her sarcasm. "Hold on, that's not what I meant." 

"Byyyye", smirked Elsa, waving and turning around. 

"No wait, Els, you know it’s always easier when you use your magic! Hey, come here you dork!”

=======

Several days later, or rather nights, the peaceful silence in Elsa’s and Honeymaren’s tent was interrupted by a light scratching of pen on paper.

Honeymaren finished noting the soup recipe Kristoff had asked for, taping her pen on her lips as she checked that she didn’t forget any advice in the composition, and exact ingredients. She wanted to make sure that Kristoff would cook the best version of the soup. He had asked the recipe discreetly on his last visit, for he wanted to cook it for Anna on the upcoming cold Winter evenings, when she was so busy with royal paperwork that she barely had the time to eat.

The Northuldra smirked as she added ‘Mix the butternut first if you want the soup to be even sweeter’ in a corner of her notebook page. Once she was done, she detached the page and folded it at the light of the lantern next to her on the nightstand. She then closed her notebook and put it next to Elsa’s on the ice cabinet. Honeymaren stretched her arm as she reached the surface, her tongue out, doing all the effort necessary to not go off the sheets to not wake Elsa up.

The blonde was sleeping next to her on the bed, but practically on her, one arm against her on her pillow, and the other on Honeymaren. The woman sighed at how beautiful she was in that position, and yet she had no clue. Honeymaren had lost the count of how many times she had told Elsa how beautiful she was in casual moments and that the latter had looked at her with a surprised face and a ‘I do?’. 

Elsa was a real extra and dramatic person who loved sparkly outfits, noticed Honeymaren, but paradoxically she had no idea how she was admired in daily moments where she didn’t even bother about her appearance.

In this specific moment, Elsa had crafted herself a quick ice night gown that was like a second skin, too tired to make herself something more fancy before falling into bed. As Honeymaren was outside telling a story to the children, Elsa had entered their tent, turned her outfit into something lighter, fell on the sheets, and curled herself against the coat which the Northuldra had left on the bed that morning. Elsa obviously wasn’t doing this to warm herself up; she liked the smell of her girlfriend in the winter clothes, and when Honeymaren entered the tent an hour afterwards, she wasn’t surprised to see her sleeping tight to it with a smile at the corner of her lips. The blonde was holding her coat like a child would do with a comforter.

Elsa was exhausted, after spending her whole days helping the Giants build a valley up West to make an access for merchants. She was deep into slumber, and was sleeping with her mouth slightly open, breathing calmly. Honeymaren smiled as she observed her. She was very glad that Elsa was a Spirit with still a human body, and could feel tiredness and had to sleep, so she could admire her as she did so.

The Sami woman blew the candle out in the lantern she had lit up to write the recipe, and slid down the bed under the covers to be at Elsa’s level. Only the light of the Moon passing at the top of the tent lit up her face, but her platinum blonde hair looked like it shone in the dark. Honeymaren smiled and softly put a kiss on her forehead.

Elsa moved at the sensation, waking up a bit, but falling right back to sleep.

“Yep, you’re wrecked.” Murmured Honeymaren.

She put the blanked on them both, even though, she knew, that it was of no use on Elsa, and she would soon toss it away in her dreams. She felt Elsa getting closer to her, and that was so soothing that she found sleep in no time.

=======

They enjoyed the rise of the sun as they had their breakfast, and Honeymaren nudged her girlfriend as they ate.

“How powerful are you, exactly?”

Elsa looked down with a smile. The brunette was lied down, her head next to her. Honeymaren’s voice, as she asked that, was filled with concern and fascination at the same time.

“Well, we were bored on a rainy day with Anna once, and we kind of did the maths…”

“I thought that you couldn’t estimate your magic with numbers.”

“It’s an expression.” Smirked Elsa.

Honeymaren stared at her girlfriend with a challenging look, and twirled so her chin would be on her hands, lying on her stomach. “What is the most powerful thing you’ve ever done with your magic?”

The blonde smiled, and looked at the horizon.

“I switched an entire kingdom from Summer to Winter, once. Just because I was upset.”

The Northuldra’s jaw dropped, and the Fifth Spirit laughed at her reaction. She nudged Elsa. “You’ve never told me that!!”

“Well, I don’t really like to talk about it. It was four years ago, and I still am a bit ashamed about it…”

“I understand. But when blondie is upset, she’s upset!” Giggled Honeymaren. “I’ve seen the state you can get into when you’re angry. I pity the poor enemies.”

Elsa wasn’t smiling, however. Honeymaren’s smile therefore vanished.

“You don’t get it. I wasn’t upset in that way.” Stated Elsa, now grave. “I was scared, overwhelmed, and I lost control. I didn’t do it on purpose. Also, that wasn’t a foe kingdom. It was Arendelle.”

The Sami woman got speechless. All those informations at a time… Her eyes widened as she processed everything.

“Elsa…” She muttered instinctively.

But to her surprise, the Spirit didn’t seem to be sad in any way. Like it was all part of the past, and she had completely healed from it. The blonde looked down at the hand Honeymaren had just put on hers.

“I’m okay.” Smiled Elsa, a bit weakly. “Anna helped. And I managed to thaw it all and bring back Summer. Thanks to her. She helped through the years, as well.”

“To move on?”

The blonde nodded. “The Arendellians also were comprehensive and supportive. I didn’t expect it, and it was really heartwarming.”

Honeymaren smiled. “Even if some of them got severe colds?” She joked.

Elsa giggled at her humor. And the brunette enjoyed the return of happiness on her face in the early sun rays.

“Apparently, nobody got harmed. It’s a miracle.”

“Your magic is a miracle.” Slipped Honeymaren.

Elsa turned to her with a touched expression and a light blush.

“…Thanks.” Muttered the blonde.

The brunette took another chocolate treat from the box - Arendelle’s finest, that Anna had brought as a gift - and a silence passed.

Elsa cleared her throat.

“So, yeah. That was the most powerful thing I’ve ever done. I think.”

“This, and stopping a gigantic tidal wave.”

“Oh, yes, also that.”

“Hey, you did that sudden Winter accidentally. Imagine what you could do on purpose.”

Elsa smiled. “Anna comments on that quite often. She says that if Arendelle is ever attacked or at war, we’ll be safe and done with it before the first day of fight is even over.”

The Northuldra laughed. “Especially with the help of the Spirits.”

“Especially with the help of the Spirits”, nodded Elsa, sharing her laugh.

She looked at Bruni, several meters below, playing with Gale and sticking his tongue out as he flew in the air.  

“Well, some of us really aren’t the fighting type.”

Honeymaren smiled, and took a chocolate treat from the box.

“Think fast!”

“Uh?”

A chocolate treat bumped Elsa’s mouth, and she grunted at the sudden shock.

“The heck?!”

Honeymaren cackled.

“Yep, your reflexes are really bad. We’re screwed.”

“Come here, you’ll see if my reflexes are bad!” Threatened Elsa with a smile, suddenly standing up to tickle Honeymaren.

The latter hurried to roll away and stand up too, and gasped with a giggle as she ran out of her reach.

Elsa tried to catch her, grabbing her waist, and they kept running after each other in the forest, filling the woods with laughter.

======= 

THE END 

=======

*bows* Here we go! :D I hope you enjoyed this fanfic just as much as I enjoyed writing it (read: a LOT). Thank you SO MUCH for all the awesome feedback you gave me so far, you all, it’s really meaningful and touching. Whether you tell me you laughed, or cried, or squealed, it shows that you loved my work and I’m very happy!

The best compliment you guys gave me and that seems to come back again and again (to my delight) is that everything is “totally in-character”. It’s amazing.

I’m glad you like my style! If you want to read more of it, check out Untangling the Frozen Knots, my Frozen x Tangled crossover fanfic novel. It’s 140K words long and available in paperback version. So comfyyyy!

Cheers and thank you all again! See you on the next fanfic or drabble! ;)

[1ff]

The Society of Multiples, chapter 4

Second draft of my story about an alternate world where almost everybody is multiple. If you read it, you agree to leave at least two words in response. Constructive criticism welcome.

Okay- I will probably need help with upcoming chapters, because (sorry, tiny Spoiler) there is a romantic interest and I’m pretty much entirely aro/ace. Please point out when things are cheesy/unrealistic/unconvincing/etc.

(Chapter 1)

(Chapter 2)

(Chapter 3)

If you want to be @ mentioned when I post a chapter, let me know. Also, if it helps, all posts will be tagged with #thesocietyofmultiples

@nevermindbinarity

Chapter 4

I stayed with Eris and Kane for a few days while my faces seemed to be on every channel and website. The three of us had made a quick and careful trip to my old apartment to pick up my things, but when we discovered the door unlocked and some of my things upturned, we quickly left empty-handed. I was pretty shaken by this- I was supposedly the hero, not the villain here. Why would anyone do that? What would they gain? Eris and Kane had no easy explanations.

On the drive home, we tried to reason through what we saw.

“Sometimes we wonder whether there is some sort of military or government interest in finding us and rounding us up,” Kane said bleakly. I keep trying to tell myself that it’s paranoia. But maybe it isn’t.”

“Or maybe it’s one of those creepy fetishists,” Eris added, rolling her eyes. “We know they exist. They come looking for us, and they claim to be allies, but you need to be very careful.”

“But nobody knows I’m singlet- how could they?”

Kane sighed. “You’re a completely unregistered system. That makes people suspicious.”

“Suspicious enough to search my apartment?”

Neither of them had an answer.

When we made it back to Eris and Kane’s apartment, we dropped our empty duffle bags on the coffee table and sat around wordlessly for a few minutes. Kane went off to the kitchen to make tea.

“It’s not a big deal really,” I said with a shrug. “The things in my apartment don’t really matter anyways. They were really Jan’s and Eron’s and Tigh’s. I can’t use any of those fakes now. I���m going to have to cut all ties to my past lives completely and start over.”

Eris caught Kane’s eye, and he nodded. “We can help. We’ve been saving some money for emergencies- not a lot, but enough that if anyone in our circle of singlets needed to get out  of a bad situation, we would use that money to help. It’s enough for some new clothes, new makeup, new apartment, that kind of thing. There’s other help we can offer, too.”

“Including introducing you to the rest of your community,” Kane added. “Tomorrow night we’re having a meeting. There’s some generous people there who would love to help out a new friend in need. We look out for each other.”

I was nervous, but also excited. I barely slept that night- not just because of the strange, uncomfortable futon in their apartment. I felt like I had gone from drifting alone in the ocean to finally hitting land. My life was suddenly full of faceless dangers, but I’d never felt more safe.

The next afternoon, Kane took me aside and set me up with hair and makeup. In order to take me outside unrecognized, some extra disguise would be necessary, and he was especially skilled. For years he’d pulled off a mix of male and female identities that were thoroughly convincing; Eris was skilled too, but Kane could create very impressive illusions that could have earned him a profession in cosmetics. He confessed he’d always been worried about drawing too much attention. As he went to town on my new appearance, we invented my first new fake identity: skin tone a few shades darker from mine, hair dark brown with a red tint. Dark brown eyes. Thin, very straight nose. I looked masculine, but with a relaxed, almost feminine beauty. It was totally unlike any look I’d ever tried before, which was the point. As the makeup went on we worked out a the basics of this identity- Jonas, age 17, calm and demure and also a bit aloof; very attractive, but with limited sexual interest.

“Good job, gentlemen” Eris said beaming, emerging from the switchroom in a plain loose shirt and ripped jeans. She’d put on some vibrant punk-rock makeup and lightened her hair with tinted hairspray, which was holding it up into an interesting wave.

I felt a knot in my stomach. “Doesn’t all of this… kind of draw attention to ourselves? I’ve always tried to look as plain as possible. I don’t want to get noticed.”

“That’s the point, though. Everybody is trying to draw attention to themselves, express themselves as strongly as possible. If you try to look too plain you stick out like a sore thumb.” She slipped on some shiny jangly bracelets. “if you look like you’re trying not to be seen, you’ll look like you’re hiding something.” She looked in the mirror. “There. Looks good, right? Sometimes this is fun. When we’re out of the house, call me “Mary.” She’s the one who dresses like this. Bit of a 80’s party girl.”

“You sound like you’re actually enjoying this,” I said in disbelief.

She shrugged. “It’s something we have to do. Since we don’t really have any choice, why not have a little fun with it?”

This week’s meeting was at the home of Nora, publically known as Tim, Dianne, Dora, and Grace. She was older, tall, and gave a first impression as stern and untrusting. At her apartment door, she looked me up and down, nodded slowly.

“You’re the new stray then,” she said, offering her hand. “What should we call you?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled with a quiet shrug, shaking her hand.

She looked me up and down discerningly. “Funny. All the new ones start off with that name. Well, come on in, then.”

Nora’s apartment looked oddly stereotypical for a grandmother in her sixties, with haphazardly-dusted tchotchkes and a box of tissues in every corner. A huge mother-in-law’s-tongue plant almost blocked the hall at one point, which I found a little humorous.

She led us into her living room, where a group of people were already sitting and waiting. There were six of them, not including Nora, Eris, Kane, and myself. It was so strange knowing that a count of heads would be a count of persons here- only ten of us altogether, and nobody hidden behind another face. Everyone here was like me. That made me feel giddy and terrified and safe and awkward- I felt like I was juggling so many strange emotions that I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Nora presented me to the group. “Folks, this is ‘I don’t know,’ some fresh blood for our little community. Please make ‘I don’t know’ feel welcome.” There were a few nervous giggles. I realized that I must invite some anxiety and fear in them; would there be people out there wanting to infiltrate a group like this? Journalists, researchers, maybe even domestic intelligence or law enforcement? We weren’t doing anything wrong, but that wouldn’t matter for a lot of people. It wouldn’t matter what we did, but who we are that would make us criminal.

“Have a seat,” Nora said, warming up to me. “Can I get you anything to drink? I have fresh tea, coffee, and a well-stocked liquor cabinet.” She ushered me to a large and comfortable chair.

“I’ll have coffee,” I said weakly, sort of falling into the chair.

“With Irish cream?”

“Huh? Oh, um- sure. A little.”

Nora winked as she went off to the kitchen.

Sitting next to me was a young woman about my age- my real age, 24. She was eyeing me suspiciously through bright green eyes that I assumed must be contacts.

“You haven’t picked a name for yourself?” She asked, with a very smooth and beautiful francophone accent.

I shook my head. “I never wanted to. It seemed sad to me that it would be only for myself. Why have a name that nobody calls you? Just so you can say it to yourself?”

She laughed. “Parfois, je me parle à moi-même. Et puis on rit tous els deux.”

“Sorry, I’m not very bilingual.”

“It means… it’s an expression. Um, basically, ‘Sometimes, I talk to myself. And then the two of us have a good laugh.’ It’s funny, being so lonely, we probably talk to ourselves more than the multiples do, even though there’s only our one self to talk to.”

I tried rolling the expression around on my tongue. “Can you say it again?” Nora was pushing a cup of coffee into my hands. “Thank you, Nora.”

“Parfois, je me parle à moi-même... Et puis on rit tous els deux.”

I took a sip of my coffee; there was more than ‘a little bit’ of Irish creme. “Moi-même?”

“My self,” she said with a smile. “Maybe that would be a good name for you. It’s better than ‘J’e sais pas.’”

“Mem,” I said, listening to the sound of it. Like memory, remember, member, meme. A name that means ‘myself,’ in the singular. “I like it.”

“Nice to meet you, Mem. My name is Emma.” We shook hands; she had a warm smile.

[michaelfallcon]

I’m Just Digging Out From My Email

“Press back to return to the video player. Press back to return to the video player. Press back to return to the video player…”

I woke up with a start, neck crooked, with a cold sheen of sweat on my brow. The headphones were still somehow in my ears, but the movie, another vainglorious biopic, had long since ended. Lights were on in the cabin; the drink cart jostled my elbow.

How did I sleep? There was the worst fucking turbulence for a couple of minutes, and then I was just…went out for an hour and a half at least, maybe longer, in a twilight, twinkly state of half-rest.

I’d slept through my allotted in-flight work time, which was extremely unusual. Totally unlike me, honestly, but this was a long, long travel day, a set of two international flights over unfamiliar destinations, split up by a three hour layover. And that meant I could make it up in the International Lounge.

Flights like this—work flights—afford few if any luxuries. Once, exactly once, I was upgraded to Delta One, for reasons I don’t totally understand. I know other people in this business who fly business class every time: the international CEOs, the Executive Directors Emeritus, the consultants who demand it in their dignity riders, and the sort of folks for whom money doesn’t matter, whose careers in coffee are really more like hobbies.

The rest of us sit in coach.

But the International Lounge, well. On flights like these, access is complimentary, which means between flights I can put my feet up, grab a handful of snack mix, maybe a soda water with lime, and relax for once in my life. I hate traveling for work, and affliction I can’t seem to shrug off or numb myself out to it no matter how much I fly. It’s something really hard to explain to people who never travel for work, and look at travel as being intrinsically connected with holidays and fun. Traveling for work is neither. But the lounge, of all things… I find myself looking forward to it.

In what felt like a fast-forward batch of seconds we landed an de-planed. My feet were numb. My hands, too, numb all through my extremities, first like my fingers and toes had been rounded into clubs, and the there were thousand fire ants inside my skin. I couldn’t shake it off. I started doing a little dance, right there in the aisle, the people around me politely looking away into their cell phones. It faded a bit but not completely as I walked out into the terminal.

“May I see your ticket please?” She stood tall, blonde, in a perfectly manicured blue and grey uniform with a tiny silver nametag. It read Leentje. 

I handed my ticket to Leentje, awaiting her next direction. It came efficiently. “Oh! Welcome Mr. Mike-El-Man, you are welcome to International Courtesy lounge at Gate 52. It is this way.” She pointed down a vast concourse of numbered gates.

“Thank you, Leentje.” I’m pretty sure I pronounced it right.

I walked and walked, in what felt like another batch of fast-forward moments, still just slightly numb, shaking off the combination of a flight and a nap, running through my task queue in my head. I owed a bunch of email replies; I’d assigned myself a couple of stories to edit; I needed to dig out from a half-dozen different things.

At the lounge they checked my ticket—their nametags read Marieke and Jopie—looked at their computer, checked my ticket again, looked at another computer, and then finally admitted me. I glanced at the ticket before tucking it back into my passport, and for just a second it looked jumbled, like the words and letters were all mixed up. Have you ever broken a digital display screen? It looked like that, but on paper, and for just an instant.

The lounge was massive, an interconnected series of rooms dotted by service areas with row upon row of breads, cold salads, Segafreddo superautomatic coffee makers, self-service Diageo booze, and entry level charcuterie. I wasn’t hungry, but my feet still hurt, and I needed somewhere to set down my shit, plug in to a power source, and start finishing all my work.

There was every possible seating configuration: low tables, private desk nooks, huge high-backed privacy swivel chairs, bar stools near the food, and a set of long lounger daybeds with a raised portion, like what you lay down on in a cartoon shrink’s office. I chose that one, finding a lounger with nobody else on either side. A small mercy that lasted just a moment, barely enough time to put on my headphones and plug in my laptop.

He was maybe 50, or 55, and had that rumpled suit coat with shiny elbows thing that people get when they live their lives in the same set of suit coats. He sat down on the lounge directly next to me and made hard eye contact.

I looked up from the computer.

“Hey! How ya doing? Crazy running into you here!”

“Sorry, I don’t really like to smalltalk when I travel,” I heard myself saying in reply, which is what I always say in these situations. Yes, I know it’s rude, but it’s rudeness as a sort of self-defense, which I consider at worst a menial sin. “I have travel anxiety,” I said; I like to add this bit in to sort of buttress the self-defense posture. It’s not my fault I don’t want to talk to you, it’s my medical condition, you understand.

He didn’t understand.

“Whoa, sorry, hey—you’re the guy from Sprudge, right?”

I was.

“I’m sorry, hey! Good to see you!”

I always say this—good to see you—because I’m shit at remembering if I’ve met someone before, and so good to see you functions as kind of a catch-all salutation without causing offense. Of course I’ve seen you before, and I remember, and so it’s good to see you—but if we have never met once on this earth in life or death, well, it’s still really good to see you now, in this moment we’re sharing.

“Good to see you, too! I’m really glad to catch you here, you know. I sent you that email last week but maybe we can just talk about it now? I’m gonna run to the bar and grab a hot toddy, you want anything?”

I did not want anything. I wanted to be left alone. What I wanted most of all was for him to get up and walk away so that I could furiously check my inbox, and cross check its contents with this interaction so as to best figure out who this person was, what they wanted to talk about, and how to manage the rest of this interaction as efficiently and inoffensively as possible.

“No I’m good, let’s talk when you come back! I’m just digging out from my email.”

The man walked away in his rumpled suit coat, leaving his bag behind in the lounger next to mine. I had to know this dude, but I couldn’t for the life of me… couldn’t remember. So I opened the laptop.

100 new messages

My heart started pounding very quickly. My cortisol levels spiked. I had just looked through this shit before the 10 hour flight and there was what, maybe a dozen emails that needed replying? I had to scroll back to a second page of the inbox to get to the last tronche of read messages. I started to feel the fire ants again running up and down my legs…

Maybe I need some tea or something, or a glass of whatever shitty wine they’re pouring. It’s unhealthy to go straight from a flight to more work, after all. A big glass of spa water—that’s the best thing they serve here, you know, in these lounges, is the tower of water with cup up fruit inside. I stood up from the lounger, surveyed the room, and in that very instant felt the creepy-crawly sensation of a hundred eyes upon me.

I knew everyone in the room. And, I suspected, they were waiting on me for an email.

They were all there. Rob Riggle, Director of Coffee at Pik-Kwik Coffee in Nashua. Helga Ingiborg Gunnarsdottir, the international green coffee buyer and coffee competition judge. Ezekiel Christian, owner/founder/marketing manager at Hallowed Coffee Roasters of Grand Rapids. Jon Luis Fitzcarraldo, a third generation Salvadoran land owner and general manager of a network of washing stations. Dizzy Morris, editor of the industry-focused trade publication Bean Teen Magazine. Hector Hernandez of Finca Hernandez in Chiapas, whose Finca Hernandez Yellow Bourbon (roasted by Goatyard Coffee) just received an unheard of 96 rating on Coffee Scores. Tina Sonsgard and Ricky Kim, who owned Construction Yard Coffee Roasters in the Bay Area. Constance Marino, the national barista champ and green coffee buyer. Hercules Siffaretti, the current international president of the World Coffee Association. Julio Trocas, the land management advisor and UC Davis trained agro-chemical salesman.

There was Lev Piav, the Ukrainian-cum-Australian international coffee consultant. Next to him sipping an Amstel was Matty Morely, son of Mickey Morely, who since the 80s had run Morely Roast Academy, a ten day $12,000 independent coffee shop owner certification. Hiroko Mayamara, who had personally judged more coffee competitions than any living person, and lived in a state of perpetual travel. Tim Wright, the Dean of Coffee Studies at Texas A&G. Dane Copeland, the hard-living Gen X bad boy founder of Little Beirut Coffee Roasters. Giacomo Olio and his team of staff representing La San Luigi Produzione, makers of the world’s most expensive espresso machines.

It went on. The entire coffee industry, it seemed, was sitting in this lounge, as though it were one of those invite-only executive after parties that pop up around the international trade shows.

I sat back down. I rubbed my eyes. My hands were completely numb, and fumbling, stumbling, I opened my laptop.

1,000 new messages

The words and addresses became like a floating jumble of crushed LED display. The whole lounge started to float. The man—I still didn’t know his name—came back over and sat down next to me, holding two large glasses of liquid.

“I went ahead and got ya a spa water, looks like you need it. You look tired! Ahawhawhaw…”

“Oh, yeah, you know, long flight—so do you!”

I hate it when someone says that—”you look tired!”—as a way of making conversation. I don’t look tired, you look tired. Of course I’m tired, I just flew 10 hours, and I’m starting to get the sinking suspicion that in fact I am dead, and this is hell, or at least purgatory.

“Listen—that thing I wanted to talk to you about. I just think it’s crazy that nobody is reporting on it yet!”

“Oh definitely, me too, me too. Listen—these days for news tips your best bet is to email my colleagues directly…”

“Of course,” said the man—I still didn’t know his name—”but since I’ve got you here right now I just figured…” but his dialogue was broken by a second man, looming before us, his enormous mustache gleaming in the early morning airport lounge light.

“Jon Luis Fitzcarraldo, what are the odds!”

What are the odds indeed. I stood with my spa water, smiled at both men, and began walking back through the lounge. There was Lettie Dinklage, PR emissary for Toraji Springs Syrup Company. I had to write her back. There was Duke Iannucci, who I’d known for a decade, whose nominal job was fixing espresso machines for Metallico Espresso but who functioned as a sort of all-around brand emissary for the company. He’d emailed me two weeks ago asking for travel recommendations and I just… well, I still needed to dig out. I hadn’t written back. I kept walking, my eyes focused, my numb hands slipping on the water glass, back to the front of the lounge.

Marieke and Jopie were still there, standing in their crisply pressed blue suits. I approached with my ticket and passport in hand.

“Listen… your colleague Leentje sent me here… am I pronouncing that right?

“Leentje, yes.”

“Anyway, is there a way I can get on an earlier flight today? There’s something weird going on here and I need to… know my options.”

“Yes of course,” said Jopie, in no-nonsense lilting English. “Let me check your layover.”

“I think it was just supposed to be like, three hours. I have it in my email…” Reflexively I looked down at my phone, opening the Gmail app. My lock screen was now a digital spiral, like a black hole or a vortex or the gaping mouth of hell IDK…

10,000 new messages

“Were you on the 8am from Portland?” asked Marijke.

“I… was but something is… very wrong…”

“The computer here says there was a delay in your connection,” I heard Jopie say. “You will be delayed on your next flight. I suggest you enjoy the lounge, and we will call your name when there is an update.”

I paused for just a beat. My head felt numb now, like my extremities had from the moment I woke up on the flight. The lounge buzzed and hummed behind me, a service cart of fresh pastries clattering through the room.

“Give it to me straight, Jopie. Am I dead? Did my plain crash? Is this hell?”

She paused for a moment. Jopie and Marijke looked at each other, spoke briefly in Dutch, and turned back to me with a smile.

“Our records show you will be here for some time. The WiFi password is ‘relax’ spelled in English. That’s R-E-L-A-X.”

“I know how to fucking spell relax!”

“Alright sir. Perhaps you want to chat with the other guests in the lounge, and enjoy a complimentary drink? Or use this time to catch up on some emails?”

I thanked them, Jopie and Marijke, and apologized for raising my voice. How terribly American and embarrassing of me, to act like that. Totally unlike me, really. I try to be the most polite American of all time when I travel. It’s just, this had been such a long travel day, and it was only getting longer.

It’ll be fine. I’ll just go sit back down in the Lounge. You know, I do have some stuff to dig out from. I did have some emails to send.

Jordan Michelman (@suitcasewine) is a co-founder and editor at Sprudge Media Network. Read more Jordan Michelman on Sprudge.

The post I’m Just Digging Out From My Email appeared first on Sprudge.

I’m Just Digging Out From My Email published first on https://medium.com/@LinLinCoffee

[shebreathesslowly]

I’m Just Digging Out From My Email

“Press back to return to the video player. Press back to return to the video player. Press back to return to the video player…”

I woke up with a start, neck crooked, with a cold sheen of sweat on my brow. The headphones were still somehow in my ears, but the movie, another vainglorious biopic, had long since ended. Lights were on in the cabin; the drink cart jostled my elbow.

How did I sleep? There was the worst fucking turbulence for a couple of minutes, and then I was just…went out for an hour and a half at least, maybe longer, in a twilight, twinkly state of half-rest.

I’d slept through my allotted in-flight work time, which was extremely unusual. Totally unlike me, honestly, but this was a long, long travel day, a set of two international flights over unfamiliar destinations, split up by a three hour layover. And that meant I could make it up in the International Lounge.

Flights like this—work flights—afford few if any luxuries. Once, exactly once, I was upgraded to Delta One, for reasons I don’t totally understand. I know other people in this business who fly business class every time: the international CEOs, the Executive Directors Emeritus, the consultants who demand it in their dignity riders, and the sort of folks for whom money doesn’t matter, whose careers in coffee are really more like hobbies.

The rest of us sit in coach.

But the International Lounge, well. On flights like these, access is complimentary, which means between flights I can put my feet up, grab a handful of snack mix, maybe a soda water with lime, and relax for once in my life. I hate traveling for work, and affliction I can’t seem to shrug off or numb myself out to it no matter how much I fly. It’s something really hard to explain to people who never travel for work, and look at travel as being intrinsically connected with holidays and fun. Traveling for work is neither. But the lounge, of all things… I find myself looking forward to it.

In what felt like a fast-forward batch of seconds we landed an de-planed. My feet were numb. My hands, too, numb all through my extremities, first like my fingers and toes had been rounded into clubs, and the there were thousand fire ants inside my skin. I couldn’t shake it off. I started doing a little dance, right there in the aisle, the people around me politely looking away into their cell phones. It faded a bit but not completely as I walked out into the terminal.

“May I see your ticket please?” She stood tall, blonde, in a perfectly manicured blue and grey uniform with a tiny silver nametag. It read Leentje. 

I handed my ticket to Leentje, awaiting her next direction. It came efficiently. “Oh! Welcome Mr. Mike-El-Man, you are welcome to International Courtesy lounge at Gate 52. It is this way.” She pointed down a vast concourse of numbered gates.

“Thank you, Leentje.” I’m pretty sure I pronounced it right.

I walked and walked, in what felt like another batch of fast-forward moments, still just slightly numb, shaking off the combination of a flight and a nap, running through my task queue in my head. I owed a bunch of email replies; I’d assigned myself a couple of stories to edit; I needed to dig out from a half-dozen different things.

At the lounge they checked my ticket—their nametags read Marieke and Jopie—looked at their computer, checked my ticket again, looked at another computer, and then finally admitted me. I glanced at the ticket before tucking it back into my passport, and for just a second it looked jumbled, like the words and letters were all mixed up. Have you ever broken a digital display screen? It looked like that, but on paper, and for just an instant.

The lounge was massive, an interconnected series of rooms dotted by service areas with row upon row of breads, cold salads, Segafreddo superautomatic coffee makers, self-service Diageo booze, and entry level charcuterie. I wasn’t hungry, but my feet still hurt, and I needed somewhere to set down my shit, plug in to a power source, and start finishing all my work.

There was every possible seating configuration: low tables, private desk nooks, huge high-backed privacy swivel chairs, bar stools near the food, and a set of long lounger daybeds with a raised portion, like what you lay down on in a cartoon shrink’s office. I chose that one, finding a lounger with nobody else on either side. A small mercy that lasted just a moment, barely enough time to put on my headphones and plug in my laptop.

He was maybe 50, or 55, and had that rumpled suit coat with shiny elbows thing that people get when they live their lives in the same set of suit coats. He sat down on the lounge directly next to me and made hard eye contact.

I looked up from the computer.

“Hey! How ya doing? Crazy running into you here!”

“Sorry, I don’t really like to smalltalk when I travel,” I heard myself saying in reply, which is what I always say in these situations. Yes, I know it’s rude, but it’s rudeness as a sort of self-defense, which I consider at worst a menial sin. “I have travel anxiety,” I said; I like to add this bit in to sort of buttress the self-defense posture. It’s not my fault I don’t want to talk to you, it’s my medical condition, you understand.

He didn’t understand.

“Whoa, sorry, hey—you’re the guy from Sprudge, right?”

I was.

“I’m sorry, hey! Good to see you!”

I always say this—good to see you—because I’m shit at remembering if I’ve met someone before, and so good to see you functions as kind of a catch-all salutation without causing offense. Of course I’ve seen you before, and I remember, and so it’s good to see you—but if we have never met once on this earth in life or death, well, it’s still really good to see you now, in this moment we’re sharing.

“Good to see you, too! I’m really glad to catch you here, you know. I sent you that email last week but maybe we can just talk about it now? I’m gonna run to the bar and grab a hot toddy, you want anything?”

I did not want anything. I wanted to be left alone. What I wanted most of all was for him to get up and walk away so that I could furiously check my inbox, and cross check its contents with this interaction so as to best figure out who this person was, what they wanted to talk about, and how to manage the rest of this interaction as efficiently and inoffensively as possible.

“No I’m good, let’s talk when you come back! I’m just digging out from my email.”

The man walked away in his rumpled suit coat, leaving his bag behind in the lounger next to mine. I had to know this dude, but I couldn’t for the life of me… couldn’t remember. So I opened the laptop.

100 new messages

My heart started pounding very quickly. My cortisol levels spiked. I had just looked through this shit before the 10 hour flight and there was what, maybe a dozen emails that needed replying? I had to scroll back to a second page of the inbox to get to the last tronche of read messages. I started to feel the fire ants again running up and down my legs…

Maybe I need some tea or something, or a glass of whatever shitty wine they’re pouring. It’s unhealthy to go straight from a flight to more work, after all. A big glass of spa water—that’s the best thing they serve here, you know, in these lounges, is the tower of water with cup up fruit inside. I stood up from the lounger, surveyed the room, and in that very instant felt the creepy-crawly sensation of a hundred eyes upon me.

I knew everyone in the room. And, I suspected, they were waiting on me for an email.

They were all there. Rob Riggle, Director of Coffee at Pik-Kwik Coffee in Nashua. Helga Ingiborg Gunnarsdottir, the international green coffee buyer and coffee competition judge. Ezekiel Christian, owner/founder/marketing manager at Hallowed Coffee Roasters of Grand Rapids. Jon Luis Fitzcarraldo, a third generation Salvadoran land owner and general manager of a network of washing stations. Dizzy Morris, editor of the industry-focused trade publication Bean Teen Magazine. Hector Hernandez of Finca Hernandez in Chiapas, whose Finca Hernandez Yellow Bourbon (roasted by Goatyard Coffee) just received an unheard of 96 rating on Coffee Scores. Tina Sonsgard and Ricky Kim, who owned Construction Yard Coffee Roasters in the Bay Area. Constance Marino, the national barista champ and green coffee buyer. Hercules Siffaretti, the current international president of the World Coffee Association. Julio Trocas, the land management advisor and UC Davis trained agro-chemical salesman.

There was Lev Piav, the Ukrainian-cum-Australian international coffee consultant. Next to him sipping an Amstel was Matty Morely, son of Mickey Morely, who since the 80s had run Morely Roast Academy, a ten day $12,000 independent coffee shop owner certification. Hiroko Mayamara, who had personally judged more coffee competitions than any living person, and lived in a state of perpetual travel. Tim Wright, the Dean of Coffee Studies at Texas A&G. Dane Copeland, the hard-living Gen X bad boy founder of Little Beirut Coffee Roasters. Giacomo Olio and his team of staff representing La San Luigi Produzione, makers of the world’s most expensive espresso machines.

It went on. The entire coffee industry, it seemed, was sitting in this lounge, as though it were one of those invite-only executive after parties that pop up around the international trade shows.

I sat back down. I rubbed my eyes. My hands were completely numb, and fumbling, stumbling, I opened my laptop.

1,000 new messages

The words and addresses became like a floating jumble of crushed LED display. The whole lounge started to float. The man—I still didn’t know his name—came back over and sat down next to me, holding two large glasses of liquid.

“I went ahead and got ya a spa water, looks like you need it. You look tired! Ahawhawhaw…”

“Oh, yeah, you know, long flight—so do you!”

I hate it when someone says that—”you look tired!”—as a way of making conversation. I don’t look tired, you look tired. Of course I’m tired, I just flew 10 hours, and I’m starting to get the sinking suspicion that in fact I am dead, and this is hell, or at least purgatory.

“Listen—that thing I wanted to talk to you about. I just think it’s crazy that nobody is reporting on it yet!”

“Oh definitely, me too, me too. Listen—these days for news tips your best bet is to email my colleagues directly…”

“Of course,” said the man—I still didn’t know his name—”but since I’ve got you here right now I just figured…” but his dialogue was broken by a second man, looming before us, his enormous mustache gleaming in the early morning airport lounge light.

“Jon Luis Fitzcarraldo, what are the odds!”

What are the odds indeed. I stood with my spa water, smiled at both men, and began walking back through the lounge. There was Lettie Dinklage, PR emissary for Toraji Springs Syrup Company. I had to write her back. There was Duke Iannucci, who I’d known for a decade, whose nominal job was fixing espresso machines for Metallico Espresso but who functioned as a sort of all-around brand emissary for the company. He’d emailed me two weeks ago asking for travel recommendations and I just… well, I still needed to dig out. I hadn’t written back. I kept walking, my eyes focused, my numb hands slipping on the water glass, back to the front of the lounge.

Marieke and Jopie were still there, standing in their crisply pressed blue suits. I approached with my ticket and passport in hand.

“Listen… your colleague Leentje sent me here… am I pronouncing that right?

“Leentje, yes.”

“Anyway, is there a way I can get on an earlier flight today? There’s something weird going on here and I need to… know my options.”

“Yes of course,” said Jopie, in no-nonsense lilting English. “Let me check your layover.”

“I think it was just supposed to be like, three hours. I have it in my email…” Reflexively I looked down at my phone, opening the Gmail app. My lock screen was now a digital spiral, like a black hole or a vortex or the gaping mouth of hell IDK…

10,000 new messages

“Were you on the 8am from Portland?” asked Marijke.

“I… was but something is… very wrong…”

“The computer here says there was a delay in your connection,” I heard Jopie say. “You will be delayed on your next flight. I suggest you enjoy the lounge, and we will call your name when there is an update.”

I paused for just a beat. My head felt numb now, like my extremities had from the moment I woke up on the flight. The lounge buzzed and hummed behind me, a service cart of fresh pastries clattering through the room.

“Give it to me straight, Jopie. Am I dead? Did my plain crash? Is this hell?”

She paused for a moment. Jopie and Marijke looked at each other, spoke briefly in Dutch, and turned back to me with a smile.

“Our records show you will be here for some time. The WiFi password is ‘relax’ spelled in English. That’s R-E-L-A-X.”

“I know how to fucking spell relax!”

“Alright sir. Perhaps you want to chat with the other guests in the lounge, and enjoy a complimentary drink? Or use this time to catch up on some emails?”

I thanked them, Jopie and Marijke, and apologized for raising my voice. How terribly American and embarrassing of me, to act like that. Totally unlike me, really. I try to be the most polite American of all time when I travel. It’s just, this had been such a long travel day, and it was only getting longer.

It’ll be fine. I’ll just go sit back down in the Lounge. You know, I do have some stuff to dig out from. I did have some emails to send.

Jordan Michelman (@suitcasewine) is a co-founder and editor at Sprudge Media Network. Read more Jordan Michelman on Sprudge.

The post I’m Just Digging Out From My Email appeared first on Sprudge.

from Sprudge https://ift.tt/2Pwglhb

[watchingthesuperbowl]

Notes taken during Super Bowl XLV

PREGAME

This is a Fox broadcast. Looks like it has at least some of the pregame show.

NFL presents Walter Payton Award to Madieu Williams of the Minnesota Vikings. He wasn't able to be there because he was overseas visiting soldiers in Iraq.

Lea Michele from Glee sings America The Beautiful. Slightly botches (or maybe intentionally changes) the lyrics. It's subtle, but it's there. "Purple mountain majesties."

Cutaway, G.W. and Laura Bush.

Star Spangled Banner. Christina Aguilera, ending the streak of three consecutive American Idol contestants to perform the national anthem. Aguilera badly screws up the lyrics. Seriously? It's not that hard.

Coin toss. New members of the Hall of Fame. Chris Hanburger, Richard Dent, Shannon Sharpe, Marshall Faulk, Deion Sanders. Steelers call tails. Deion Sanders tosses the coin. It's heads. NFC somehow wins the toss AGAIN. Green Bay defers, Pittsburgh will receive. This is the 14th consecutive coin toss win for the NFC.

Packers CB Charles Woodson: Told teammates don't think about anything else, just winning.

Steelers coach Mike Tomlin: Don't know how much experience helps. Both teams fired up. We're here to play and here to win.

FIRST QUARTER

Good return from Antonio Brown. 37 yard runback to the Pittsburgh 36.

Steelers C Doug Legursky starting his first NFL game at center.

First play, quick outside pass to Hines Ward for four yards.

Steelers go three and out. Three plays, zero yards, one punt.

The Steelers' Jeremy Kapinos to punt. I have no idea who that is. Tramon Williams back to receive.

Williams drops it! He nearly got trucked by a teammate (Sam Shields) as he tried to catch the ball. Packers recover. They got lucky. I have no clue what in the world Shields was doing.

Dude. Sam. Let the guy catch the ball.

Third and 9, Pack converts. Rodgers downfield to Donald Driver. First down near midfield.

They couldn't convert the next third down. Aaron Rodgers makes a perfect throw downfield to Jordy Nelson, who can't make the catch. Tim Masthay will punt it away.

(Annoyed grunt)

Masthay kicks it into the end zone.

Nice run off tackle by Mendenhall. 15 yard carry. Next play, another 10 yards. Ripping off chucks of yardage - they ran the same play twice in a row.

Steelers try to throw downfield on third and two. Incomplete pass and Kapinos returns. He punts it into the end zone.

Packers have 15 players on IR, 6 opening day starters among them.

Early, it looks like the Packers are able to throw but not run and the Steelers are able to run but not throw.

Oh, look, it's Cameron Diaz feeding Alex Rodriguez.

A lot going on here: John Madden is texting, President Bush is reading something, Laura Bush is extremely happy, Condi Rice is having an enjoyable conversation, Emmitt Smith looks forlorn, Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones are watching themselves on the big screen, there’s a cheesehead kid two rows behind Laura Bush, and the kid next to Catherine Zeta Jones looks like he’s taken too much acid.

Packers steadily driving downfield. They're closing in on the Pittsburgh 30 with just under 5 minutes left in the quarter.

3rd and 1, absolutely perfect throw from Aaron Rodgers to Jordy Nelson. There was only one person on the field who could have gotten to that ball and it was Nelson. 29 yard touchdown pass. 7-0 Packers, late first quarter.

Good return by Antonio Brown, out past the 40. It's coming back though - block in the back. Half the distance to the goal - Steelers start inside their own 10.

Absolutely horrible throw by Roethlisberger on first down. He just heaved it downfield in the face of the pass rush. Nick Collins picks it off and runs it all the way back for a touchdown. 14-0 Packers. Aikman says Roethlisberger couldn't get anything on the throw and it just hung in the air.

Excessive celebration on the Packers - Crosby kicks off from his own 15. Steelers get the ball at their own 36 to start their next drive.

Packers: 14 points in 24 seconds.

Chris Myers: Steelers DB Bryant McFadden was off the field injured during the Nelson TD pass, but is back and ready to play.

Roethlisberger slips and falls on a second down pass incompletion. His left knee just gave out. He's extremely gimpy out there and it's 3rd and 9 from the Steeler 49.

It’s not great when your quarterback does that during a follow through.

Nah, his knee is fine. There's nobody open on the next play and Roethlisberger scrambles for 17 yards or so. First down at the Packers' 33 as the first quarter ends. 14-0 Packers.

SECOND QUARTER

Steelers backup QB Byron Leftwich loosening up on the sideline just in case. Roethlisberger stays in the game for now.

Second and 12, Tremon Williams with a great play to knock the ball away from Emmanuel Sanders.

Next play, Sanders slips and falls while running his route and Roethlisberger hits him while he's still on his knees. Nice throw for a first down.

Sanders limps off, looks upset, and throws his helmet to the ground. He looks like someone who knows he's legitimately injured.

Steelers throw underneath to Wallace on third and 7. Gains four yards. Here's former BGSU Falcon Shaun Suisham for a field goal attempt. Got it. 14-3 Pack, 11:01 left in the half.

Emmanuel Sanders being carted to the locker room. Some kind of ankle or foot injury.

Stop me if you've heard this one: Packers throw underneath on third and 5, they gain 4 and Tim Masthay will punt.

Replay shows Packers receiver Donald Driver twisted his leg underneath him during a tackle.

Whoa, Fox actually mentioning Ben Roethlisberger's suspension for "violating league policy", which is a polite way to say he maybe possibly sorta kinda sexually assaulted someone, allegedly. He wasn't charged. I should make that very clear.

Donald Driver walking to the Packer locker room under the care of trainers.

Steelers facing a first and 20 deep in their own territory, throw for 16 on first down, then Mewelde Moore runs it for seven yards on second down. Steelers moving.

Buck: Steelers moving the ball well on the ground. Aikman: Yeah, they are, but I'm not sure how worried the Packers will be about that. If Roethlisberger is hobbling and the pass rush can get to him, the Steeler passing game will have problems.

Chris Myers: Team doctor talked to Roethlisberger before this series, Ben said he was able to run.

3rd and 6, what a throw from Roethlisberger to Randle-El for a first down. There was only one person who could have caught it.

Buck: Clay Matthews says he'll mirror Roethlisberger a lot - sometimes he'll blitz, but often he'll be ready to stop a scramble.

Near midfield, Roethlisberger forces a throw into traffic and Jared Bush picks it off. Bush faked blitz, dropped into zone, and read the QB's eyes. Nice play.

Bush is #24.

Packers have four minutes to score before halftime. Rodgers to Nelson on an out to the Pittsburgh 33. James Starks runs for 12 more on the next play. First and 10 from the Steelers' 21 with 2:40 in the half.

Rodgers. What a quarterback. He rifles one across the middle to Greg Jennings at the goal line for a 21 yard touchdown. Troy Polamalu decks the receiver as the ball arrives, but Jennings makes the grab. 21-3 Packers with 2:24 left in the half.

It was that close to being knocked down.

Fox graphic: Packers have led every postseason game this year by 11+ points at the half.

Antonio Brown returns the kickoff to the 23. 2:18 left.

Roethlisberger : 8-14, 66 yards, 2 INT. 29.8 passer rating.

First play, Roethlisberger goes deep. Just barely gets the ball over the outstretched hand of a defender. 37 yard completion to Randle El. DB Sam Shields is injured on the tackle and walking to the locker room as we hit the two minute warning.

Now Charles Woodson is injured. Falls on his shoulder as the first down pass falls incomplete. Both starting cornerbacks are now hurt for the Packers.

Woodson goes to the locker room as Roethlisberger completes a third and 10 pass to Hines Ward for 14. At the very least, the Steelers are in field goal range.

Now Roethlisberger to Hines Ward at the 8. Less than a minute left, 1st and goal.

Next play, Roethlisberger buys some time and finds Ward alone in the end zone. 21-10 Packers, 0:39 left in the half.

Now Nick Collins is going to the locker room injured for the Packers. The Green Bay defensive backs are dropping like flies.

Packers don't have a ton of interest in moving the ball here. They hand it off to Starks up the middle, he gains a few yards, and they call it a half. It's 21-10 at the long break.

HALFTIME

Commercials: A creepy "people in uncanny valley fairy tale costumes" for AT&T. Troy Aikman for Reliant Energy, which I think is a local ad. KDFW morning news promo.

Bradshaw: Packers offense has done a great job of mixing it up. They did everything except roll Rodgers out.

Jimmy Johnson: Packers tackling extremely well - Steelers not able to break big plays because the tackling is so solid.

Strahan: With all the injured defensive backs, the first drive of the second half is huge for the Packers' confidence.

Howie Long: Steelers have 25 players who have played in the Super Bowl. They won't panic in the second half.

Tom Brady unanimously named MVP. Got all 50 votes.

Least valuable hairstylist.

Black Eyed Peas. I Gotta Feeling. Fergie's microphone isn't on for the first few words she's singing. We didn't miss much. She sounds terrible. Dancers in light-up costumes making weird green arrows. At lead one of them is burned out. Oh, here's apl.de.ap and Taboo. Good for them. Nice to see you, fellas. Dancers attempting to make concentric circles around the stage and failing. Slash appears from below the stage. Will.i.am introduces him. Fergie sings Sweet Child O' Mine horribly. She sounds like someone at karaoke trying to do an Axl Rose impersonation. She also badly mimics his dance moves. Now she's grinding on Slash as he tries to do his job. Leave the man alone, Fergie. Pump It. Will.i.am is killing it, but he's alone in that category. Apl.de.ap is really selling the dance moves, so there's that. Let's Get It Started. Sounds like it's sped up. Inexplicably, Usher has appeared. He's obviously lip synching, which is something the Peas should have considered. This mix is horrendous. Fergie is a trillion times louder than Will. They've changed Usher's hit song to "Oh My Gosh". Overhead shot of the stage - it's supposed to say love, but part of the V doesn't light up. Where Is The Love? Now they're playing The Time. Fergie still can't sing. Rock That Body. The dancers look like what would happen if Daft Punk and Minecraft had children. Recorded voice at the end says "THAT WAS MEGA." That was...something.

Black Keys-backed highlight package as Fox comes back from commercial. Much better.

THIRD QUARTER

Pam Oliver: Charles Woodson has a collarbone injury and is out for the game. Sam Shields has a shoulder problem and will return.

Chris Myers: Emmanuel Sanders out with a foot injury for the Steelers. Ben Roethlisberger is fine but "hacked off" at the way things are going.

Two penalties in the first three attempts at a play for the Packers on the first possession of the quarter. Holding, 10 yard completion, false start. It's second and 15.

Oh, man, on third and 5 James Jones drops a perfectly thrown pass that would have been a touchdown. Instead Masthay punts. Not much of a return from Antonio Brown, but there's a flag on the play. It's a horrendous call. Packers are called for a personal foul facemask but the only contact that was made to the face was an unintenional brush as the defender's arm went past.

Steelers get the ball at midfield. Mendenhall runs for 17 on the first play of the drive and plows into a cameraman on the sideline. Mendenhall is injured, but it's unclear how badly he's hurt.

3rd and 1, backup running back Isaac Redman breaks free for around 15 yards. It's now first and goal from the 8.

Mendenhall back in the game and carries the rock into the end zone on first down. The left guard pulled right, blew a hole in the defense, and Mendenhall followed. 21-17 Packers, 10:19 left in the third.

That Steelers drive was 50 yards, all of it on the ground. Zero passing attempts.

Obligatory Fox graphic: Largest deficit overcome to win the Super Bowl. It's still 10 points: Washington in Super Bowl XXII and New Orleans in XLIV.

Pro-Steelers crowd getting into it. Buck mentions it's suddenly become a road game for the Packers.

Aikman: When the Steelers came back in Super Bowl XXX, it felt like 75% of the people in the stands were Pittsburgh fans.

Packers go three and out. Rodgers sacked by James Harrison on third and 7. Masthay gets more work. He'll boot it away. The Steelers are flying right now.

There's a shot of the Steelers' quarterbacks on the sideline. All three played in the MAC: Roethlisberger at Miami, Batch at Eastern Michigan, Leftwich at Marshall.

3rd and 1 near midfield, Roethlisberger burns a timeout. That might be big later.

Roethlisberger bobbles the snap on that third down play, hands it to Mewelde Moore. It looks like he's stopped, but Moore bounces it outside and the Packers lose contain on him. First down.

Now Roethlisberger to Ward inside the 30. Steelers looking sharp right now - very much on the front foot and the better team at the moment.

Steelers stall near the 35. Zombo sacks Roethlisberger on 3rd and 13. Suisham will try a field goal from 52. Goodness. It's wide left by a mile. Still 21-17 Packers with 4:29 left in the third quarter.

Not close.

First play after the missed field goal. Rodgers downfield to Jordy Nelson for 18. First down at the Pittsburgh 40.

Shot of Donald Driver on the sideline with a boot on his foot/ankle. I can't imagine he'll be back.

Steelers burn another timeout, this time on defense in the third quarter. Oof.

After the game, "TV's best comedy, Glee". I had no idea it was a comedy. Not a clue. All I know is that I never watched because I hate musicals.

Rodgers looks for a slant on third and 8. Overshoots his receiver. It's decision time. Masthay will punt from the Pittsburgh 38. Fair catch at the 12.

Steelers go three and out. Roethlisberger overthrows Wallace on third down. Not a great throw. Kapinos punts. Gets a great roll to the Green Bay 25.

Flag on the play. Tremon Williams of the Packers got upset that a Steeler tried to shove him into the punt, so he went upside that guy's head. Not a smart play. No idea why he was anywhere near the ball. Punt + penalty add up to 66 yards.

3rd and 10, Rodgers with a rifled throw to Swain. It's caught for a first down. Ball ripped out of his hands, Packers recover. Officials rule it an incomplete pass. Packers will challenge the call. I think they have a case on this - he took a couple of steps after catching the ball.

Mike Pereira, Fox expert, says they got the call correct on the field.

Replay: Catch, step, step, step, tackle. Ball out. Packers recover. I want a slow-mo replay. Pereira doesn't. Says you can make anything look like a catch in slow motion. Maybe he's right, particularly when the receiver takes three steps after catching the ball. You can definitely make that look like a catch.

I see catch, step, step, step, tackle, ball out. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Here's the call: Ruling confirmed. Incomplete pass. Okay, if you say so.

This will be the Packers' fourth punt of the quarter. Good kick. Packers called for ineligible man downfield. Former BGSU Falcon Diyral Briggs. Dang it, Diyral. Steelers will make them rekick the ball after a five yard penalty.

Not a good punt the second time. Brown catches it and is knocked out of bounds immediately at the Green Bay 41.

Steelers probably only have time for one play before the quarter ends. Mendenhall gains 8 on the ground. It's 21-17 Packers as we head to the fourth.

Commercials: AT&T. Troy Aikman for Reliant Energy again. Fox 4 News promo.

FOURTH QUARTER

First play of the quarter, Mendenhall runs. Ball pops out when he's hit - Packers recover. It's the third Steeler turnover of the game. They get the ball at their 45.

Fox graphic: Teams with 3+ takeaways in the Super Bowl are 30-4. I assume one of the four is the Cowboys in Super Bowl V. Can't think of the other three off the top of my head.

2nd and 10. Rodgers with another terrific throw to Jordy Nelson and it's another drop by Nelson. He's having a terrible game - three drops.

Jordy makes up for it and then some. Makes a catch coming across the middle against a blitzing defense and there's nobody out there to tackle him. Nelson out of bounds at the 2. First and goal, Packers.

Rodgers sacked on first down. Second down, gets it to Greg Jennings in the end zone. I'm not entirely certain he got both feet down at first glance. I guess he dragged his toe. Yep. He did. 28-17 Packers, 11:57 left in regulation.

If you give Aaron Rodgers and Greg Jennings that much open space, you’re hosed.

Commercials: Pepsi Max, Rio.

Steelers moving the ball well on their next drive. They're inside Green Bay territory in less than a minute.

Now a quick screen to Mike Wallace for 15 or so. Clock ticks below 10:00. Steelers still need two touchdowns, or at the very least a touchdown, a two point conversion, and a field goal.

Big holding penalty on Flozell Adams. Steelers have 1st and 20 from the Packer 43 as we approach 9:00 on the clock.

2nd and 18, Roethlisberger to Ward for 15 yards. Clock below 8:00, but 3rd and 3 is a whole lot better than 2nd and 18.

There's one of the touchdowns they need. Roethlisberger lofts one down the left sideline to Wallace. It beats a blitz and he scores easily. 28-23, Steelers going for 2.

Pittsburgh was 2-for-2 on two point conversions this year. Make it 3 for 3. Roethlisberger runs an option play, flips it to Antwaan Randle El, and it's a three-point game. 28-25. Steelers right back in this one.

I dig this play.

Steelers have never led in this game. Were down 14-0 and 21-3.

First play of the next drive, Rodgers sacked. Once again, Pittsburgh is fired up.

Packers: 37 pass plays, 9 rushing plays

3rd and 10, what a throw. Rodgers with a laser to Greg Jennings down the seam. About an inch past the defensive back's hands and right in stride.

Next play, Starks for 14 yards to the Steelers' 30. Clock now below 5:00, Packers still up 3 and approaching field goal range.

Pack killing clock now. Starks up the middle for a yard. Clock below 4:00, 2nd and 9.

Second down, Rodgers goes downfield to James Jones. Makes the grab and steps out of bounds at the Pittsburgh 8. First and goal.

First down, completion for one yard. Second down, completion for two yards. Clock now below 2:30. Sure would be nice for the Steelers to have those timeouts.

Incomplete into the end zone with 2:10 left. Presumably, Mason Crosby will come on for a chip shot field goal.

Yep. 23 yarder. Got it. Packers up 31-25 with 2:07 left.

Kickoff return to the 26. There's a flag down. Personal foul on the Steelers. OUCH. They'll start at their own 13, needing a touchdown. We've reached the two minute warning.

15 yard completion to Heath Miller. 1:40 and counting.

5 yard completion to Hines Ward in bounds. 1:10 and counting.

Roethlisbeger throws it away on second down. 1:02.

Replay shows the personal foul came after the kickoff return, when a Steeler just shoved a Packer out of frustration.

Roethlisberger overshoots everyone on third down. Buck and Aikman can't agree on who the throw was to - that's how wild the throws was.

4th and 5. 0:56 left. They need to convert or it's game over.

It's game over. Incomplete pass on fourth down. Fox commentators think WR Mike Wallace got mugged by the DB. Replay shows it was just a really nice defensive play.

Packers in the victory formation. Rodgers downs it on first down with 0:46 left. A bunch of people go running out onto the field for some reason. It's not over, you guys.

Okay, now it is. Rodgers downs it on second down. Game over. Final score: Packers 31, Steelers 25.

POSTGAME

Packers WR Greg Jennings: "It's a great day to be great, baby!"

Jennings: "To God be the glory." We've overcome adversity all year. Defensive captain gets hurt, #1 receiver gets hurt, we were able to overcome again.

Buck: Mike McCarthy grew up in Pittsburgh as a Steelers fan. Now he's a Super Bowl-winning coach of the Packers.

Packers' 13th NFL championship. All-time record.

Roger Staubach, Super Bowl VI MVP to present the trophy. They skipped Super Bowl V MVP Chuck Howley.

Mark Murphy, Packers president: We have the best fans in the league, couldn't do it without them.

Ted Thompson, GM: Very proud of this team.

Mike McCarthy: Emotional halftime, a bunch of bumps along the way, but the Lombardi Trophy is coming home to Green Bay.

Aaron Rodgers named MVP.

Rodgers: Great group of men. A lot of character. Proud to be able to share this with them.

Rodgers wins a Camaro convertible.

Cutaway: Bart Starr celebrating.