#let's not even discuss uhhhh the fact that I got *another* idea last night

[imwritesometimes]

lmao part 2 of the 5+1 isn't finished and it's nearly 2k words 🙃🙃🙃

[sideb00000b]

zuko x fem!reader

a/n: hi! i’ve never written smut before, so I apologize in advance. i tried my best to do my main man Zuko justice :) it gets a bit bumpy and also a bit steamy, so uhhhh enjoy!

word count: 3.9k (it’s a long one folks)

context: After the war had ended, you had returned to the fire nation and served as a loyal general to the newly crowned firelord. Naturally, the new position required that you spent a lot of time around Zuko, even more so than when you had both traveled the world with the gaang. The two of you became extremely close, best friends, confidants. The sexual and romantic tension was very obvious to everyone... except the two of you, you were both oblivious. However, your love for eachother reached a pivotal point, two days ago when you shared a romantic smooch under the stars. Each of you had avoided the other since then, scared that a romance would get in the way of civil responsibilities or obligations toward the fire nation citizens. Now, both of you were attending a fire nation royal ball, in celebration of something neither of you knew or cared about. The longer you spent apart, denying the tension, the more it grew.

(firebender!fem!reader pov)

 I didn't even know why I was here. The dancing lights, crowds of people, I could leave right now, firebend a hole in the wall and escape, and nobody would notice. On second thought, someone would notice. Zuko would. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of me the entire night, not once. I looked across the room, and there he was, in all of his glory, staring me down. I looked away quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed. I suddenly became very aware of how tight my red dress was and how I was standing. I adjusted my stance, attempting to blend in with the group of people chatting beside me. He was no longer in my range of view, but I didn’t need to see him to know that those golden eyes of his were fixed on me.

 I tried desperately to distract myself by diving into conversation with some of the strangers around me. Their voices bored me, their topics bland. There was only one voice I wanted to hear, one person that I cared to discuss. That person was across the room. That person also happened to be the firelord, my boss and my best friend. I laughed at myself, who was I to have fallen head over heels for the most important person in the entire nation?

 Sure, the whole world now knew my name thanks to my adventures with the gaang, but I could never escape the fact that only months ago I had been a lowly fire nation deserter hiding in Ba Sing Se. I cringed at the memory. To this day, I still found it hard to believe that I had once been a fire nation soldier. I had run away because I was scared, because I knew what I was fighting for was wrong. After I deserted the rest of my troop, as well as my uniform, I had fled to Ba Sing Se, where I later met Zuko (although, I then knew him by the name Lee) in his uncles tea shop. We were fast friends from the very beginning, sharing late night talks by the water fountain and glances over the rims of tea cups. He had been the very first person I shared my true identity with, and he entrusted his true name to me as well. However, after the fight in the crystal caves below the city, I chose to leave with Aang, Katara, Toph and Sokka. I knew that my destiny was to help the avatar, to help defeat the Sozin,unfortunately that meant leaving the troubled Zuko behind.

 I fit in with the gaang perfectly, exchanging jokes with Sokka, wrestling with Toph, secretly treating Appa every chance I got. Often times, flying through the air on Appa, I found myself thinking of the mysterious Zuko I had met in Ba Sing Se, I missed him. I had briefly attempted to teach Aang firebending, however, it became painfully clear I was not a great teacher. Later, when Zuko showed up at the eastern air temple, I did not hesitate to run into his arms. From that point on, Zuko and I had been inseparable.

 As I finished reminiscing, I realized that the party-goers around me had been asking me questions, silently waiting for a reply. I ushered a quick apology and excused myself. I didn’t belong with them, it was clear to me now who I really belonged with. It had always been Zuko. From when I first saw him, I knew that my heart was already his. I can’t believe it had taken me this long to realize that he was the one. The one that would truly be there for me, the one that would hold me in is arms at the end of the day, the one that would love me for lifetimes.

 I stumbled through the crowds, shoving through the seemingly endless waves of people, ignoring the rude glances I was given. They didn’t matter, nothing did anymore, except for Zuko. I shoved through a particularly dense wall of people and found myself in a clearing. I desperately scanned the crowds for him, face to face, person to person. My eyes landed on a tall figure scrambling through the crowd. It was Zuko! We had apparently had the same idea, his golden eyes scanning the crowd, and I knew it was my face he was looking for. I watched him, transfixed on his every movement. After some struggle, he finally made his way into the clearing.

 He was positively stunning. He wore flattering red robes, traditional firelord attire, that hugged his figure in all of the right places. His hair was up, although he knew I always preferred it down. I scanned his body, my eyes connecting with his. He had been observing, memorizing every inch of me as well. I wanted to say so many things to him, to do so many things to him. I couldn’t stand another moment being apart, and I found myself running forward. I had no plan, I was just desperate for any part of him. He did the same, the two of us rushing toward eachother at an alarming speed. I knew people were staring, I didn’t care. The universe existed just for us. 

 We collided, our lips crashing into eachother. I wrapped my hands around his neck, his hands finding their way to my hips. Lights from the party danced on my eyelids, electricity flowed through my veins. Life should always be like this. What had taken us so long? Zuko’s tongue ran across my bottom lip, asking for entrance. I happily obliged. He began to explore every inch of my mouth and I pulled him closer. The taste of him was addictive, and I found myself never wanting this moment to end, but desperately needing air. I reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, the both of us gasping for breath. I glanced around us, the whole room was staring. I blushed profusely, what would they think of us? What would they think of the firelord dating a deserter-turned-general? I felt a hand grab ahold of my chin, my attention returning to the man standing in front of me. He turned my head so I was staring directly into his eyes. In those endless golden orbs, I could see sadness, guilt and other emotions from his complicated past. I also saw love. I knew it was for me. 

 His eyes left mine to slowly observe my body, staring at my lips for a particularly long time. I let out a giggle, this man had no shame. I also became very aware of the feeling growing between my legs... we needed to get out of here. I grabbed his wrist tightly. “Follow me”. I instructed as I began weaving through the crowd. The longer it took to leave the party, the more impatient I grew. If I didn’t get my hands on Zuko soon, I was going to explode. Zuko’s front stayed pressed to my back as I guided us through the groups of people. My brain became dysfunctional, blurred with arousal. There were so many things I wanted to do to him, I wondered briefly if Zuko was thinking the same thing. After what seemed like forever, the two of us broke through the last of the crowd, finding ourselves in an empty hallway. I had no idea where I was or where to go, so I decided to just pick a door. The first door I opened revealed an empty bedroom with a large bed. I silently gave myself a pat on the back.

I had barely made my way through the door before Zuko had me pressed against the nearest wall. He reached behind my back, smoothly locking the door. I was so turned on, I couldn’t think straight. I grabbed the front of Zuko’s robe, bringing his closer, our noses barely touching. I stared up at him, the firelord looking down at me, as if seeing eachother for the first time. With another tug to his robe, our lips met for the second time that night. This time, the kiss started slow, passionate. I relished every second, but I was becoming impatient. I deepened the kiss, Zuko matching my eager energy. Our teeth clattered, tongues danced. Continuing to press me against the wall, Zuko took off my dress while I kicked off my shoes. I then made a feeble attempt at taking off his robe, failing miserably. He broke our kiss, flung his robe to the floor and returned to my lips hungrily.

  Zuko began vigorously kissing my neck, no doubt leaving bruises. I needed more, rubbing my thighs together to get some relief. Zuko noticed my desperate actions, moving his hands towards my underwear. He roughly slid the palm of his hand along the thin fabric, flawlessly hitting my clit. I whimpered, temporarily collapsing into Zukos chest as my knees threatened to give out. I blushed, it was a little embarrassing knowing the effect this man had on me with a small movement of his hand. I looked up at Zuko, who was smirking at me like he had just won the Olympics. I wanted payback, I wanted to make him scream my name. I composed myself, using what strength I could to push myself off the wall, trading places with the firelord. I pinned his wrists above his head, moving my lips to the edge of his ear. “Hello, Zuko here”, I whispered, mocking the first words he had said to the gaang when he showed up at the air temple. I laughed at my own joke, leaving a bite to his earlobe as I returned to my place in front of him. Zuko began to protest against my teasing, put I firmly wrapped a hand around his throat, silencing him.

 Zuko looked at me, eyes wide and ablaze, trying to anticipate what my next move would be. My hand still around his neck, I took a moment to appreciate the sight in front of me. A thin layer of sweat covered his body, making his abs shine. His hands had found their way to my hips, his arm muscles on display. With each breath, the muscles in his torso moved, somehow making him impossibly more sexy. I was practically drooling. I tightened my grip around his neck, eliciting a whimper. I released his wrists from above his head, using my free hand to touch every piece of skin I had access to. I pressed a quick kiss to Zuko’s lips, biting his bottom lip. I removed my hand from his neck, now using both hands to feel my way down his torso, pressing kisses along the way, as I dropped to my knees. Zuko didn’t take his eyes off me once, and judging by the look in his eyes and the bulge in his underwear, he was enjoying this just as much as I was.

 I wasted no time in ripping off his underwear, releasing his huge dick. Honestly, did I really expect it to be anything big? I wondered briefly if I could even fit my mouth around him. Only one way to find out. I wrapped my lips around him, making my way to the base. Zuko let out an unholy moan steadying himself on my shoulders before entangling his fingers in my hair. His moans turned me on even more and I made it my mission to hear as many as I could. He pulled on my hair and I hummed around his dick in response. “Fuck”, Zuko groaned between gritted teeth. I pulled back, swirling my tongue around the tip and moving a hand to massage his balls. I pulled off completely, looking up at Zuko. He was a mess, eyes closed, cheeks bright red, breathing erotic. The most powerful man in the entire nation was putty in my hands. 

 He looked down at me desperately, no doubt wondering why I stopped. I looked at him through my eyelashes, nodding. I wanted him to face fuck me. Zuko understood, excitedly tightening his grip on my hair. I took him back in my mouth, Zuko beginning to guide my head, starting slow. I removed my hand from his balls, steadying myself with his thighs. His hips picked up speed, becoming more erratic. Tears threatened to roll down my cheeks, loud strings of moans coming from Zukos mouth. My mind blurred, reveling in the glory of being face fucked by the firelord. His thrusts became messy, my name and a multitude of different curses flowing from his lips like a mantra. I opened my throat, eager to swallow. Instead of cumming in my mouth, Zuko pulled my hair roughly, forcing me to my feet. 

 His eyes were dark, clouded with lust. My eyes widened, the confidence from earlier quickly disappearing. His hair had fallen out of his bun, now hanging around his face. I could see tear streaks down his cheeks, his chest heaving. I was breathless, nearing an orgasm at the mere sight of him. He wrapped his hand around my throat, like I had done to him earlier. His hands were by far my new favorite necklace, I made a mental note to tell him that later. He leaned in, lips touching mine, yet not kissing me. “Prepare for the fuck of your life, Y/N” he growled. Any thought I had of questioning his authority over me, fled my mind. I bit my lip, if he wasn’t inside me soon, I was going to throw a fit. Zuko seemed to sense my frustrations and removed his hand from my neck, it felt empty. His hands traveled down my back and to my thighs, preparing to lift me up. All too happily, I jumped into his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck. He walked the two of us over to the bed, never breaking eye contact once.

 He threw me onto the soft mattress, staring down at me hungrily. I became very aware of my body, but instead of shying away from the intimidating man in front of me, I let him look, I trusted him. The wild, erotic Zuko vanished for a few moments, a floppy grin lighting up his face. He grabbed my hips, pulling me to the edge of the bed. Zuko ripped my underwear, burning them to a crisp as he threw them to the floor. I bit my lip once again, he really was going to give me the fuck of my life. He pressed a few kisses to my inner thighs before disappearing between my legs. Before I could even process what I was in for, I felt two fingers inside me and a mouth sucking on my clit. I screamed. “HOLY SHIT, ZUKO!” I arched my back off the bed, pleasure taking over my senses. Zuko continued his movements, pumping his fingers in and out of me, swirling his tongue around my clit. My mind failed to function, Zuko’s name the only thing on my tongue. I tugged on his hair, desperate. He moaned around me in response, sending me into a frenzy. “Zuko! I’m gonna-” He hummed a second time and I cut myself off, moaning erotically.

 The knot in my stomach grew, my orgasm closing in. I tightened my grip on his hair, hanging on for dear life. Zuko curled his fingers, a whole new sensation taking me over the edge. I screamed his name as I came, my back arching impossibly further off the bed. My chest heaving, seeing stars, I realized that Zuko had not stopped, and showed no signs of slowing. His mouth continued to suck on my clit, his curled fingers pounding into me. Tears flowed down my cheeks, the pleasure overwhelming. “Zuko.... I can’t” I whimpered between moans. Zuko ceased his actions, looking up at me from between my legs. His lips were swollen, some of his hair matted to his face. “You want me to stop?” he asked innocently. I looked down at him desperately. He knew full well I didn’t actually want him too. He grinned at me, diving back in. He resumed his actions from before, only his curled fingers pounding into me harder, swirling his tongue around my clit faster. I screamed his name, my second orgasm fast approaching. Zuko’s free hand traveled up to my mouth, tapping on my lips, asking me to suck on two of his fingers. I happily obliged, my throat sore. I tried my best to concentrate on swirling my tongue between his digits, but the pleasure was too much, I couldn’t think. I wrapped my legs around Zuko’s head as my second orgasm hit me like a train. I bit down on his fingers, Zuko’s resulting moan sending vibrations to my core. My legs shook uncontrollably, trying to regain my breath.

 Zuko emerged from between my legs, removing his fingers from my mouth and wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he crawled up my torso. Even though my clit throbbed, I was still incredibly tuned on and I wanted more. I giggled breathlessly as Zuko loomed over me. This man really would be the death of me. I grabbed the back of his neck, quickly pulling him in for a passionate kiss. I could taste myself on his lips, the insatiable need for him growing. He broke from the kiss, cupping my face in his hands as he sat back on his heels. The heated moment morphed into a sweet delicate one as Zuko stared into my eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked softly. My brain, in its current state of messy arousal, struggled to comprehend his words. I finally realized that he was asking for consent...of course he was. I couldn’t control the huge smile that spread across my face, how did I get so lucky?

 I propped myself onto my elbows so I could look into Zuko’s eyes properly. “Im sure”, I replied.”Now, I need you to fuck me, firelord Zuko.” He chuckled lightly, his eyes getting darker. His hands skillfully undid my bra, tossing it to the ground. I had forgotten about the piece of clothing, happy to be rid of it. Zuko attacked my lips once again, groaning slightly as my bare breasts touched his chest. I rolled my hips upwards, Zuko’s cock sliding through my slick folds. I threw my head back, Zuko sitting upright. He looked into my eyes one last time, looking for any signs of hesitation. Zuko growled, low and sexy. “Prepare for the fuck of your life, Y/N”. With that, he started pounding into me, each thrust deep and quick. Any coherent thoughts fled my mind, my back arching off the bed. I screamed his name, struggling to keep my eyes open. I moved my arms to Zuko’s shoulders, electricity shooting through my fingers. I dragged my hands down his back , no doubt leaving scratch marks. Zuko tossed his head back, moaning loudly, thrusting into me harder. At this point, if he became any more sexy, it would be a crime.

 Tears flowed down my cheeks again, my makeup from the party before no doubt a mess. In between my moans and screams, a part of me decided it was my turn to be in control again. I put my hands on his chest, pushing him off of me and to the side. He looked suprsied, while I rushed to crawl on top of him. Somehow, he was still inside of me, and I gave myself a second pat on the back. I smirked down at a wide eyed Zuko, happy with myself. I breifly thought of what it would be like to peg him, before reminding myself of the task at hand. I squeezed my walls around him, Zuko growling in return, his hands flying to my hips. I pulled out slowly, slamming back down. Zuko watched me intently, struggling to keep his eyes open. I realized my chest was fully exposed, no doubt giving him a show as I bounced up at down. I threw my head back in pure ecstasy, bringing my hand behind me to support myself on his knees. Zuko moaned my name, breathing hard. My thighs began to burn, and I questioned how long I could keep this up for. Zuko glanced at me quickly, feeling my pace falter. 

 He sat up, catching me in a heated kiss. I bit his lip, hard. “Hands and knees, now”, He ordered. I did as told, whimpering at Zukos authoritative, rough tone. I felt his hands dig into my hips, probably leaving bruises. I loved it. My breath quickened, waiting for Zuko to fuck me senseless again. I felt him enter me, however, his pace was agonizingly slow. Disappointed, I wiggled my hips, letting him know I wanted him to pick up the pace. Zuko ignored me, relishing in my suffering. He was teasing me. I huffed, about to voice my frustrations. Before I could get the words out, Zuko’s hand covered my mouth, silencing me. At the same time, he slammed into me, pounding into me faster than I could have ever hoped. My eyes rolled back, moaning into Zuko’s hand. My arms, which had been holding me up, gave out and my face was buried into the blankets. My new position deepened Zuko’s thrusts. I cried out, sobbing into his hand and the sheets. He removed his hand from my mouth, instead bringing it down to my clit, furiously rubbing circles. “FUCK, ZUKO!” I screamed. The pleasure was becoming too much, I knew I wouldn't last much longer. Zuko’s moans became louder, his thrusts sloppier. 

 He slammed into me impossibly faster, calling my name. I grabbed the sheets, hanging on for dear life. Pleasure took over every part of my body, all of my senses. I screamed his name one last time, seeing stars as I climaxed, moaning uncontrollably. Zuko came a few seconds afterwards, his cum filling me to the brim. He pulled out, crashing down next to me as I flipped onto my back. Our heavy breathing filled the room, my legs shaking uncontrollably. His hand moved down to rest on my thigh, bringing me back down to earth. We turned our heads to face eachother, breathless. I smiled. “Did we really just do that?” I asked, attempting to process the events that had taken place throughout the night. Zuko was silent beside me, watching me. 

 “I love you.” He told me. He said the phrase so simply, so honestly, I knew I wanted to marry him. I giggled, climbing on to his lap. “I love you too.” I replied breathlessly. I meant it with every part of my being. Love for him filled me up, making me forget about everything else besides the two of us. Whatever shit I had gone through, whatever shit the future was going to throw at me, I knew I would always find my way back to him. My Zuko. I leaned down to kiss him, knowing he understood. He pulled me closer, kissing me passionately. I suddenly pulled back, sitting up. I covered my mouth, realizing something. “What is it?” Zuko asked, concerned. My eyes widened. “I just fucked the firelord and made him my boyfriend”. I confessed to him in a playful tone. He laughed, glowing. Holy shit. This boy was going to be the death of me.

[atths--twice]

Rumor Has It...

Going through my stories and I don’t think I’ve posted this here before. I honestly was not super aware of how to post stories here for the longest time. Anyway, even if I had, no reason not to post it again, eh? We could always use more fics to read, right? 

This story was written for the summer fanfic exchange last year. The prompt was this: “Something a la Gillovny Cutting Room party era rumors, but MSR.” Now... this was a little tricky, but I got the job done. : ) 

Hope you enjoy. : ) 

The basement in the J. Edgar Hoover building, was always subject to rumor and urban legend. Even when no one worked down there, nor had any desire to, it was still discussed. Boxes, old files, and copy machines were all that occupied the space for years, and yet stories were still told of it.

There were far too many dark corners where a person could meet for a rendezvous with another for there not to be rumors. No one ventured down there too often, so the space was perfect. The whispers that reached the ears of agents becoming a mixture of fact and fiction.

While time had changed some things, it had not changed everything. The copy machines were taken out, files cleared away, and boxes tossed as they became too weak and ripped when relocation was attempted. A small bathroom was added to the space, and a storage area was walled off to better confine, contain, and organize the  files, keeping them out of the open area and behind a locked door where they could no longer be easily rummaged through. People agreed it looked much better, but still it was not an area with heavy foot traffic or spoken of too often.

That is, until the day Fox “Spooky” Mulder took up residence down there. That was when the rumors really began. He was thought to be a crazy alien nut who liked the weird cases. Cases others would not touch. He was hardly seen wandering the halls. Instead, he immersed himself in his ideas and theories.

Fox Mulder was brilliant, and also quite handsome. Some women overlooked his “spookiness” and tried to get his attention. They flirted when they saw him and asked him about the cases he worked on, but none of them stuck around long. His answers were so long winded that those who asked often required a bread crumb trail to find their way back to reality.

No, for the majority of his time in the basement office, Mulder was considered weird and generally avoided by his colleagues who did not wish to be treated to a story about Sasquatch or aliens. The rumors about him were rampant, but for the most part, Mulder was left to his own devices.

That all changed the day he was assigned a new partner, Dana Scully. She was a fairly new agent, a medical doctor recruited to join the FBI as a forensic pathologist. Dana Scully had arrived with rumors of her own.

“Do you really think that’s her natural hair color?”

“Did you hear she dated Jack Willis? He’s so much older than her. I guess he likes them young.”

Perhaps one of the worst rumors, especially considering she did date Jack, was the name she acquired at the academy: The Ice Queen. She was rumored to turn down men and not “put out,”even after being wined and dined. She was also rumored to be a ball buster who was frigid because she did not date fellow agents. As if her dating life was a measure of who she was as a person.

Women who tried to get Mulder’s attention before Scully showed up, were envious and rude towards her, leaving her disinterested in forming relationships, even with colleagues her same age who had similar backgrounds. This only served to perpetuate the rumors circulated, but Scully did not let the rumors affect her, knowing it would make no difference if she tried to quell them or not. She was not one who required many friends, and she enjoyed her work. She kept her head down and worked, not worrying over relationships, hers or anyone else’s.

Not until early on a Tuesday morning, when a wild rumor flew resulting in them being called to Skinner’s office to answer some questions, did she give it much thought.

Sitting outside his office, waiting for Mulder to arrive, Scully clasped and unclasped her hands, breathing deeply. Closing her eyes, she put her head down, the call to come to Skinner’s office still ringing in her ear, his shout like an echo.

“Hey." She heard Mulder say quietly as he sat next to her on the couch. She opened her eyes and looked at him, watching him smooth down his tie as he smiled slightly at her. “So how angry is he?” He tilted his head toward the door and Scully shook her head.

“Agents? You can go in now,” said Arlene, Skinner’s secretary, with a slight smile. Scully sighed as she stood up and walked toward the door with Mulder following close behind her.

Entering the room, Skinner had his back to them, looking out the window. No one else was in the room, and Scully sighed again as she sat down, Mulder taking the seat beside her. He glanced at her, but she did not look at him, her eyes facing forward waiting for Skinner to turn around.

A few minutes passed before Mulder cleared his throat, and Skinner’s shoulders slumped before he turned around. He stared at both of them, his gaze holding on Scully’s as he breathed deeply.

“I take no pleasure in calling both of you in here to discuss the things that have come to my attention. I believe you know that Agent Scully, considering our phone call earlier,” Skinner said, his eyes burning into hers. She sighed and nodded slightly.

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m out of the loop. Agent Scully said you wanted to see us, but …” Mulder said in confusion, and Skinner sighed.

“Agent Mulder, I’m referring to some information that has reached my ears regarding this past weekend at the team building workshop. More to the point, after said workshop … in the ... hotel lounge area.”

Scully watched Mulder as Skinner spoke and saw his face change, his eyes unable to meet hers save for the quick flick her way. He lowered his head as he leaned forward and locked his fingers together.

“Sir, I’m still confused. As I told you earlier, I don’t remember much about that night. I … I had a couple of glasses of wine and …” she said, looking at Mulder before looking back at Skinner. “I didn’t … I know I wouldn’t get up on stage and sing. Much less play a tambourine …”

“Scully …” Mulder said in a whisper, his head shaking imperceptibly. She kept staring at him, and he finally glanced her way, nodding his head.

“What?” she asked, horrified.

“Sir, could we have-”

“Why don’t I-” Skinner said over Mulder, tilting his head towards the door as he made his exit, leaving the two of them alone.

Scully watched him leave and then turned back to Mulder, her eyebrows raised. “What the hell, Mulder?” she said quietly.

“Scully, it wasn’t just a couple of glasses of wine,” he sighed and stared at her.

“Maybe a mixed drink too, but, I wasn’t out of control. And, Jesus, if I was having fun whose business is it here? It was after the stupid workshop, on my own time,” she said, her anger rising. “I don’t need to be lectured like a child and be forced to apologize for my actions. I’m not going to sit here and listen to this,” she said, starting to stand only to be stopped by Mulder.

“I don’t believe that is why we're here today, Scully,” he quietly said as he held tight to her arm. “Half the people at the workshop were drinking and acting the fool, much worse than you.” She glared at him and angrily shrugged his hand off her arm. “I’m not implying you were acting like a fool, just stating how others were behaving,” he quickly added, smiling slightly.

“If that’s the case, then why the hell am I being singled out? Because I’m a woman? A woman who generally doesn’t “act a fool” as you say, and so I have to be made an example of for the men in the office? You know, this is the kind of bullshit that stops women from pursuing careers in these fields. This boys club mentality that exists and women never have a chance-”

“It’s because I punched Tom Colton for the things he said about you,” came Mulder’s raised voice, immediately silencing her. She stared at him in utter disbelief and he nodded his head.

“What?” she whispered. “Tom? I have no recollection of him being there. Not in any capacity.” She shook her head, and he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“He wasn’t there in connection to the weekend, he was just … there. I saw him when I was at the bar waiting for our drinks, which were definitely not wine,” he sighed, looking down at his hands before looking at her. “Scully, you were standing on the stage and singing or attempting to, and someone did hand you a tambourine.” He stared at her, and she shook her head, to which he nodded, a small smile on his face.

“Mulder … I have no memory of that, not even a little …” she stopped as she suddenly did have a recollection of standing and shaking a tambourine, people singing and talking loudly, the room unbearably hot. “Oh my God, Mulder.” The door opened as she felt her cheeks flush, embarrassed beyond belief.

“Sir, we’ve come to an understanding and I want to apologize for what I did, and I will speak to Agent Colton and apologize to him as well as soon as we leave your office,” Mulder said, standing up as Skinner entered the room.

“Agent Colton?” Skinner asked, his face puzzled.

“Yes, Sir. Is this not about me punching Agent Colton in the face?”

“You did what, Agent Mulder?” Skinner shouted, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Uhhhh,” Mulder stammered and looked down at Scully for help, but she was still seated and had her hand partially covering her face.

“Agent Mulder, this meeting was about … things that were witnessed and heard outside of Agent Scully’s hotel room. And downstairs by the elevators beforehand,” Skinner said pointedly.

“The ... elevators? Oh ...” Mulder said and sat back down with a sigh, as Scully looked at him, confusion on her face.

Skinner sighed, sitting down behind his desk, and Scully looked between them, waiting for one of them to speak. “Mulder, why did you punch Agent Colton? Do I need to make a call?” Skinner finally asked quietly.

“I … uh, I don’t think so, if he hasn’t said anything?” Mulder said, not sounding entirely certain.

“What would make you punch him, Mulder?” Scully asked him and he looked at her, his eyes telling her she did not need to hear it. “Mulder?” He sighed and shook his head, but she continued staring at him, forcing him to speak.

“He made comments about you that were not becoming of one agent about another. I made myself known and told him to watch his words. He and his buddies seemed to think that was funny, and then he said something else … so I punched him. He deserved it, and I don’t regret it,” Mulder said to her with a glance at Skinner who sighed and shook his head.

“What did he say, Mulder?” she whispered.

“Scully,” he said with a shake of his head.

“I need to know.”

“You don’t,” he told her gently. “That guy is an asshole and that punch was a long time coming. I don’t regret it one bit, other than it took so long.” He smiled, and she stared at him, searching his face. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, her head down.

Skinner cleared his throat and she looked up. “That uh, it doesn’t cover why I called you both here as at least one of those things is not a problem.”

“Neither of them is a problem if you know Agent Colton,” Mulder murmured, and Scully shook her head.

Skinner sighed again and looked down at the desk. “There were a few agents who expressed concern over … actions they saw between the two of you.” He looked up, and Scully frowned at him, still not knowing what he meant. He looked at Mulder who nodded and shook his head, which caused Skinner to sigh once more. “Look, I know that … male/female partnerships are subject to scrutiny more so than traditional same sex partnerships, I do. Just … you two seem to attract more attention, and when I hear things from others …”  he sighed again, and Scully stood abruptly to her feet, finally realizing what they were talking about.

She looked at each of them, unable to speak, her anger and embarrassment too high. Turning around she walked out of the office, past Arlene and to the stairwell, not having any patience or desire to wait for the elevator to take her to the basement office.

Two flights down though, she stopped and sat on the steps, her head in her hands. The night was coming back to her now, tumbling through her brain, almost begging to be remembered.

The heat of the room and the feel of the tambourine in her hands, made her feel happy and giggly, definitely past tipsy but not completely drunk. A drink was handed to her, and she saw Mulder’s smile as he shook his head and stepped back into the crowd.

She drank it down quickly, the alcohol burning her throat and then her stomach, but making her feel braver and bolder. The song ended and the crowd cheered. She laughed and handed the tambourine to some woman next to her, her eyes searching for Mulder as she did.

Stumbling down the small stage, she felt a hand on her elbow and looked to see Mulder beside her, his smile huge. “You’re just full of surprises, Scully,” he said close to her ear as a new song started and everyone cheered again.  

As they came through the crowd of people, she turned to look at him, losing her footing resulting in his arms catching her before she fell. The closeness of him made her dizzy, more so than any alcohol. He smelled so good and she told him so, his eyes widening in response. She laughed and pulled on his tie, bringing him closer to her, and allowing her to smell him closer.

“Scully,” he breathed, his voice low and close to her ear.

“Mulder. God, you make me …” she said, her words drowned out as the crowd erupted again.

Her eyes flew open as she remembered what she said and the words burned like hot lava inside her, destroying everything in its path. How was she supposed to be around him now that she remembered what she said? She needed to leave and never come back, the words too embarrassing to live with, much less think of every day with his eyes watching her.

“Oh my God,” she said, her voice echoing in the empty stairwell, as she suddenly remembered it was more than simply the words she said to him. There had been … touching.

A lot of touching.

She stood up and continued hurriedly down the stairs, determined to grab her things and get out of the office before Mulder saw her. Pushing the door open she looked left and right, walking past shelves of boxes, trying not to be seen.

Unlocking their office door, she put her keys in her pocket and quickly went to grab her bag and her phone. Items secured, she reached for the doorknob as the door opened and there stood Mulder. He stared at her in surprise and then frowned when he saw her bag in her hand.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, closing the door behind him. She could not look at him, the words she said to him that night burning in her mind, teasing her tongue to tell him again.

“Mulder. God, you make me … so wet.”

“I … uh yeah … I forgot I have … um ...” she stammered and tried to step past him, but his hand on her wrist stopped her, forcing her eyes to meet his. Hazel and full of worry and concern, they were the same as that night …

The feel of his hands around her waist, his gasp of surprise at her words, his breath smelling of alcohol, made her knees weak as she stumbled into him. He tightened his grip before pulling back slightly to look at her. His eyes were open, and she felt she could see into his very soul if she looked long enough.

She wrapped his tie around her hand and tugged, bringing his mouth close to hers. Their breath intermingled as his fingers dug into her waist. Someone bumped her from behind, and she fell into his chest. His hard, muscular chest.

But that was not all that was hard.

He groaned and he pulled her closer, making her gasp. “Scully,” he breathed in her ear, and she shuddered against him. “I think … think we should head upstairs.” She nodded against his chest, and he pulled back to look at her. His eyes moved all over her face, and she smiled.

He turned her and led her out, walking behind her. Her pulse was racing. Every place he touched her felt like fire. One she never wanted to extinguish.

At the bank of elevators, he pushed the UP button and as he turned around, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket. She pulled hard until his mouth was on hers, and she kissed him. His hands went to her waist and then he was pulling her into the elevator, his mouth fuzed to hers. He pulled back, breathing hard, shaking his head.

“Mulder,” she moaned, reaching for his tie, but he stopped her, holding her hands between their bodies. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. He kept a hold on her hand and walked her down the hall.

At her door, she pulled him in for another kiss, falling against the door as he pushed into her, his tongue exploring her mouth. Her hands went to his hair, and she dug her nails into his neck, making him audibly groan.

He pulled back again, resting his forehead against hers. “Scully,” he whispered and she scraped her fingers along his neck, breathing hard. “Where is your room key?”

“Pocket, I think,” she said, her words feeling and sounding slurry even to her own ears. Mulder nodded and felt in her suit jacket pockets before he found it and opened her door.

She stumbled back, taking her shoes off as she walked inside the room, then trying to unbutton her jacket but her fingers did not cooperate. Forgetting about it, she stumbled to the bed and sat down. The room began to spin and she shook her head, before she fell back and remembered no more.

“I need to go, Mulder,” she said, barely above a whisper, and suppressing a sob. “Please … let me go.”

“You remember,” he said, a statement, not a question, and she nodded, her eyes downcast, embarrassment washing over her. “What do you remember?” Her head snapped up, and she found his eyes soft and understanding, not teasing and not judging.

“I remember …” she began, and he took the bag from her hand, setting it on the small desk, his eyes never leaving hers. “Uhhh …”

“Do you remember my hands being on your waist?” he asked as he put them there once again. “Do you remember how close you were to me? How it felt as though our very breath was mating?” She closed her eyes and leaned into him, whimpering quietly as she did. “Do you remember how my heart was racing? How my breath felt frozen in my chest because of your words, and the thoughts they created in my head?” He pulled her toward him, and she reached for his tie, realizing this was going to end way better than she thought it would when she had considered bolting out the door.

“Do … do you remember how your tie felt like silk when I touched it? How I wanted to run it over other parts of my body to see if it was as soft there, as it was in between my fingers?” she whispered, tugging his tie and making him moan her name. “Do you remember how the heat of the room made me want to strip all my clothes off, but I would have still been too hot, your touch making me ache? Do you remember that, Mulder?” She pulled back to look at him, her eyes seeking that he felt the same way she did, one hundred percent.

“I remember all of that, Scully,” he whispered. “I remember that and so much more.”

“Show me, Mulder,” she said, her fingers under his tie and seeking out the buttons on his shirt, pushing the first one she found through the buttonhole. One finger slid inside and scratched at the heated skin she found there. “Show me everything you remember.”

He stared at her for seconds that felt like forever, before he leaned in and kissed her, his lips just as soft as she remembered. His fingers gripped her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck, his hair and skin as soft and warm as she remembered. He groaned in his throat as his tongue once again explored her mouth, as amazing and delicious as she remembered.

And once again, when she whispered in his ear the effect he had on her, his eyes widened, and he gasped, just as she remembered.

Yes, the basement office in the J. Edgar Hoover building, the one that was home to Fox Mulder and Dana Scully (although her name plate had been ordered, received, and lay in the desk drawer, the execution of it being hung up by either of them had failed) was known for being where odd things resided and strange theories were discussed. On that Tuesday morning, however, there was nothing odd about what was happening up against the wall, causing the doorknob to rattle, and moans to escalate to louder and louder decibels.

Times change, but places where memories have been made, especially the really good ones, the very walls themselves have a tendency to remember. In particular, the walls of a shared basement office, that was avoided by so many and thus created a rather private space for a tryst that had been waiting patiently for seven long years.

[sometimesstorieshappen]

Over/Under

Barian had been mopping the floor for approximately 12 minutes when he was interrupted. Not that he didn't welcome the interruption, for usually cleaning was a job he assigned to someone else, but nevertheless he found himself mildly annoyed as a man materialised in front of him with a muffled crack. He stepped back to avoid getting water on his immaculately white suit.

"Please. We have a front desk for a reason you know." Barian said as he waved the smell of sulphur away. He had often wondered why he wasn't used to it by now, as despite smelling it almost on a daily basis it still forced him to crinkle his nose.

"Uhhhh...."

"Desk. At the front. Big queue, you can't miss it." At the man's continued confusion Barian sighed and dropped his mop. "Alright then, I'll help you this time. But only this time." He practically dragged the man to his feet and set off towards the door.

"Who...who are you?" The man asked with a quivering voice. He was dressed in clothes that looked tattered and torn, as though he had been mauled by a bear, and next to Barian's gelled hair and white suit he looked even worse.

"I am Barian, general manager and secretary to Lucifer himself. And you are?"

"Leo. I don't – I don't have any titles."

Barian shrugged. "Doesn't matter too much down here." As they exited the room Leo was given a sight of what looked like the entrance to a bank, albeit a very, VERY large one. A line of desks stretched into the distance, far beyond the limit of Leo's eyesight, and in front of each one was a queue of between 100 and 250 people. Behind the desks was one long wall, punctuated by doors every so often, and it was from one of these doors that the pair had come out of. Barian looked at the queues and groaned.

"I forgot, there's a war going on at the moment. Tell you what, since I'd rather sort you out quickly I'll take you to the boss myself. If anyone asks then you waited in the queue. Got it?"

Leo had enough sense to nod. "But who is your boss?"

Barian stared. "You kidding me? I even told you his name already! Come on, you seriously never heard of – ah forget it. Come on." Barian pulled out a set of keys that jangled loudly, putting one in the door they had come out of. After some jiggling and muttered curses, the lock turned and the door opened. Except it was not the same room. Inside was what looked like a large ballroom, occupied by nothing but a desk with a computer on it. A man sat at the desk, studiously typing away, and there was another empty chair for visitors to sit on. Barian dragged Leo to the chair and sat him on it.

"Did you finish up in 37B Barian?" The man asked.

"Not yet, got interrupted. Queue jumper. I'll leave him with you." Barian turned on his heel and left, the sound of his jangling keys following him. The man typed for a few seconds longer before pushing the computer to the side and addressing Leo.

"Now then, my name is Lucifer. I hear you appear to have skipped the queues out there."

"I don't know how I got here, I just –"

"Alright alright, first things first. Let me find you on the system." Lucifer typed for a few seconds, and Leo took the opportunity to look at him. He was dressed simply, a plain black shirt and jeans, hair cut very short. No rings, necklaces, jewellery of any kind. Suddenly something clicked for Leo: Barian had mentioned the queues were due to war, and the boss was called Lucifer...

"Am I in hell?" Leo blurted out. Lucifer looked up at him.

"I should think that's a bit obvious. It's not exactly easy to arrive here accidentally. Though..." He frowned. "I can't find you on here. Now it could be a computer error but Belerus assures me that is not possible. So option two is that you are not meant to be here." Leo squirmed in his seat as warmth flushed through him.

"Am I... am I dead?"

"Well now that's an interesting question. The fact that you are here suggests yes, but if you're not on the system then you are not officially terminated." Leo felt warmth flush through him again, stronger this time, and little beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. "I believe the best thing to do is to give it some time, allow your representation to –"

With a crack and a smell of sulphur, Leo disappeared again. Lucifer frowned, and after a moment's contemplation pulled a mobile out of his back pocket and pressed a speed dial.

"Belerus? It's me. I need you to run something through the simulations for me. Yes, that one. Yes, I just want to check it. Okay. No, I'm not your chef, there's a snack machine in the corridor. You asked for the damn thing. Okay. Okay bye." Lucifer pocketed the phone, sighed, and returned to his computer.

Leo opened his eyes. Or rather, he opened one of them – the other had something in it. His right arm was held in a cage of twisted metal, the bicep pierced by what looked like part of a door. One of his legs was dangling in front of him, the joint twisted beyond normal angles. He was held in place by something that he recognised as a seat belt, the ends disappearing into the broken branches and car parts around him. There was a person crouched over him, beaming. Leo couldn't quite tell what was happy about this situation, but then he did not have the context. The defibrillators should have been a giveaway.

For 2 minutes and 13 seconds, Leo Brazikin had been clinically dead.

*

"Look, do you realise the implications of what you're asking me to do?" The doctor put his pen down, giving Leo his full attention. "You're not even off crutches, let alone healthy enough to undergo this sort of thing."

"2 months ago I died, Dr Massan. I died, and I saw where I was going. Now I want to go back, and this is the only way I know how." Leo shifted in the chair. It was an uncomfortable plastic one, and with his leg still in plaster it was proving impossible to find a good position. He sighed. "Look at me. They say the leg will never heal fully, the break was too severe. I'll have problems for the rest of my life."

"The fact that you even have a life is enough reason to reconsider. You have no idea how lucky you were to live. The fact they didn't amputate that leg is even more astonishing."

"It might as well have been amputated." Leo said with a frown. "I've looked everywhere, you're the only person who could undertake this. You've been researching clinical death for nearly 20 years."

"Yes, preventing it. Not causing it." Massan dragged a hand down his face. "This is clinical death, not clinical sleep, or clinical rest. Death. The risks in doing this are immense."

"With respect Doctor, it is not your place to decide what I can or cannot do with my life."

"With respect," Massan retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm not just worried about you. Let's say something goes wrong. I'm left standing over a dead body that I personally killed. Manslaughter, 5 years minimum. And there's no way out, it's only your word that can save me, and it's not like I can drag that out of you when you're a slab of cold meat on the table. This is just as risky for you as it is for me!"

"Doctor, please. I... I don't have anywhere else to go." Leo looked down for a moment, gathering himself. Massan let the silence hang in the air for several seconds before breaking it.

"If we're going to attempt this we need rules."

Leo looked up in joy. "Oh thank you so –"

"Shush. Rules. Listen. First rule is that you write a will extenuating me should you die. Unfortunately that's pretty much going to be a signed suicide note, so you cannot show or discuss this with anyone."

"I'm single and my parents are long gone. Who would I talk to?"

"Alright. Second rule is length. No longer than 30 seconds."

Leo frowned. "Why?"

"The longer you're out the greater the risk of brain injury. 3 minutes is the cutoff point for full recovery, After that it's virtually guaranteed you'll wake up with some brain damage. The only way to extend that is through induced hypothermia and I don't want to risk any further complications. You've already been through a 2 minute death, doing another one is asking for trouble." Massan stood up, pushing his chair back and walking to the window.

"Anything else?"

"Last rule." Massan turned to face Leo. "You do everything I say. If I say jump you say how high. Most of the potential damage from this will be while you're conscious, and if I can't do the proper procedures then the chances of brain damage are very high. So Listen. To. Me." Massan smacked his hand on the windowsill to emphasise each word. "I'll need to prepare a room out of the way, plus get hold of some equipment. I'll message you the address and date.

Leo stood up. "Thank you Doctor. You have no idea what this means to me."

Massan sighed and turned back to the window. "No, I don't. I never do. I just do what I think is right. Don't prove me wrong. Now get out before I change my mind."

*

"Uhh. Hi God. It's me." Leo looked up. The stained glass window above him was supposed to depict some kind of religious scene, but he couldn't really tell what exactly. He didn't exactly live in the most opulent area, and so he reasoned that it was likely done a little cheaply. "So it's been a while huh? A few years I think. Okay a lot of years. I'm not good at this." Leo looked around. He was sitting on one of the front pews of the church, bathed in orange and yellow light from the window. Or he would have been if the weather wasn't cloudy.

"I don't know if I should kneel, or like, bow. Or do something besides sitting. Not sure if it even matters. You're probably ignoring me anyway. I would." Leo sighed. "So I'm here because, well, I guess you could call it an old habit. My mother used to bring me here, take me to confession. I would sit in a booth and tell some guy that I took a chocolate from the sweet cupboard at night, and he would tell me to say some prayer I don't remember, then everything would be fine. You were supposed to admit your sins or something. And that's what I'm here for. I want to get something off my chest." He paused for a second. "Am I crazy?" He waited for an answer. For a godly sign, a beam of light coming from the heavens. But there was nothing. "I died, then I lived, now I'm about to die again. Except this time I'm dragging someone else into it. If I die, he takes the blame. I feel...guilty. You know? Like he has to deal with me because I can't. I don't know if that counts as a sin or not, but it's worth admitting I think." For a moment the sun found a gap through the clouds, shining through the main window onto Leo. Had it been slightly earlier it could have looked like a godly sign, however now it just looked like the sun shining through a slightly crappy stained glass window. Leo looked at his phone again, at the single message from Dr Massan. He sighed and stood up as the light faded.

"Keep an eye out for me God. I know I've been a dick in the past but just this one time. I'll say however many prayers you want. I'll even go to church. I really will. Do this for me and I'll do something for you. I promise. For whatever that's worth." Leo stood up and made to leave, but he stopped for just a second. He gave as much time as he dared for an answer to materialise. But nothing came, and he carried on out of the church muttering to himself. "I'm asking a goddamn window if I'm crazy. Way to go Leo, good job. Gold star."

*

"Ah there you are. Come on, quickly." Massan led Leo down, down, into the basement of the building. After a few too many stairs for Leo's liking they arrived at the designated room. It was large but undecorated, with a cracked concrete floor and ventilation pipes snaking through the roof like worms; the sort of room you held kidnapped people in, Leo thought with a morbid smirk. In the middle was a hospital bed, with several other pieces of equipment surrounding it. Most were complicated looking medical machines that Leo did not recognise, all hooked up to an extension lead going to the corner of the room. One looked rather worryingly like a refrigerator.

"Oh ignore that." Massan noticed Leo staring at it. "It's an ice machine. We'll only need that if things go wrong. Lie down please."

Leo laid down on the bed, fully clothed, as Massan began attaching electrodes to various parts of his body.

"So you're not going to be in the same position as last time. Last time was full cardiac and respiratory cessation, due to shock and having a big hole in your lung." Massan finished attaching electrodes and turned to a machine behind him. Leo could hear the beep, beep, beep of his heart ticking away. The sound of his continued existence, spelled out in monotone notes. "I'm going to induce ventricular fibrillation using a large AC shock. I would tell you how big this shock will be, but to be honest I don't want to frighten you. Take off your shirt and spread this on your chest." Massan gave Leo what looked like a tub of hair gel.

"What's this for?"

"It's so you don't have defibrillator shaped scars on your chest. At this voltage these things will burn your skin without protection, and I don't have the equipment to deal with an infection here. Plus if you show up at a hospital with defibrillator burns they'll start asking questions, which is the last thing I need." Massan pulled out two paddles, rubbing them together as they charged. They made a faint high pitched whine as they did, and Leo eyed them nervously.

"Is this going to hurt?"

"I'm afraid so. I can't get hold of any decent painkillers without going through procedures and they would never approve this. Unless you want to start downing paracetamol now I suggest you don't think about it. It's a very short shock." Massan placed the paddles on Leo's chest, pulling out a stopwatch as he did so. "3, 2, 1, clear."

Leo looked up. The roof was far above him, which meant he was lying down. But he wasn't lying in the bed. Instead he was in a big room. Someone was looking down at him. Someone familiar.

"You again. Most perplexing." Lucifer shook his head. "Alright I'll bite. What do you want?"

"I want to understand." Leo said as he stood up, his legs shaky. His chest ached, a deep throbbing pain that reverberated through his body. "What is this place? How does it work? What happens?"

"I don't deal with the technical side of things down here. But I know someone who does." Lucifer walked towards the door, pulling out his keys as he did. After a quick fiddle with the lock the door opened to what looked like a laboratory, full of giant glass tubes and computer banks. A small man in a lab coat and sunglasses was busy at one of the machines.

"What now? I'm busy." The main said. His voice was nasally and thin, tinged with annoyance.

"Leo, this is Belerus. He's our chief of technology down here, and if anyone can tell you about how we work, it's him. Now don't bother me again unless it's important." Lucifer practically shoved Leo through the door and slammed it behind him. Belerus finished at his machine and turned around, grinning.

"I heard about you. Barian couldn't keep a secret if his lips were glued together. Although being asked to run some very specific simulations was a hint."

"What exactly is this place?"

"Really? That's the question you want to open with? I should think that was pretty obvious." He spread his arms. "Welcome to Hell. Purgatory. Shak'delar. The Cycle. Whatever you want to call it. Every culture has some inkling of what happens after death, and though the words change the intent is the same. This is where you go when you die."

"I thought there was a heaven as well as hell?" Leo frowned.

"Depends who you ask. As far as I know there's only one place after death, and that's here. Thing is what you're seeing is technically a communal mental representation of what you think this place looks like. Your subconscious is deciding everything for you." Belerus walked over to Leo, and as he did Leo realised just how small he was. The man was barely 4 feet tall, his lab coat tails dragging on the floor. His smile was greasy, a little too forced. "So right now your body is a subconscious mental projection of your self. Effectively you're walking around in your subconscious body. This place can therefore be treated as both heaven and hell in a sense. It's your subconscious that decides which one you see. You judge yourself guilty or innocent. It's quite beautiful actually."

Leo felt warmth flush through him and realised Massan was trying to bring him back. "What about you? Do you actually work here? What do you do?"

"Oh a bit of this, and a bit of that." Belerus pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. "That's not important though. I anticipate we're running out of time."

"What – how do you know?"

"You're not the first." Belerus said simply. "I'll explain later but I need more time to confirm. I need you to die for longer really. I don't have enough time to run any simulations on you. Come and see me again when you can stay for longer." Leo felt the warmth again, stronger, and he closed his eyes.

*

"Come on, stay with me. ShitShitShit!" Massan threw the set of paddles to the side and pulled out another pair, these ones hooked up to a car battery. He glanced at the clock. 51. 52. 53. "Come on you bastard, get back here! Come on!" He let the charge go, Leo's slight frame jumping as the electricity contracted his muscles. And then with a gasping breath he opened his eyes.

"I – urgh – ack" Leo tried to speak but found he couldn't.

"Quiet. Lie still." Massan began lumping ice onto the bed, covering Leo in it. Once done he pulled out a syringe, and after a quick inspection, promptly injected Leo in the neck with it.

"Urgh"

"What's your name?" At Leo's blank expression Massan sighed. "I need to know if there's any damage. Your speech will recover once blood circulates, cognitive function should be immediate. Name. Now."

"Leurgh"

"Close enough. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Fouurgh"

"Good." Massan sighed and collapsed into a nearby chair, wiping sweat off his forehead. "This is crazy. You're crazy. What the hell am I doing here performing the medical equivalent of mad science in the basement? That's it. No more. I'm done." The basement was quiet save for heavy breathing and the beeping of Leo's heart, still struggling onwards.

*

"No way. Not after last time."

"He told me I needed to die for longer."

"He could tell you to jump on one leg and sing songs for all I care!" Massan threw his hands up. "Who told you this anyway?"

"Belerus. He runs the technical side of things in the afterlife."

Massan tilted his head. "You know, at first I thought you were making this stuff up. But nobody is this exact with lies. You talk to me about the same things over and over, and you're almost convincing. But I just can't. I'm sorry, but last time was far too close. You were dead for 50 seconds, somehow you didn't suffer any major brain damage but god knows how."

Leo quietly wondered about that. His memory had been worse since he woke up, and he pondered if he really did avoid brain damage. Or if he would even notice it if it occurred. "Massan please. I'm begging you."

"You did that already, and It worked the first time. But no more." Massan sighed. "You have to understand how abhorrent this is to me. I took an oath, Leo. A code I've lived by for nearly 30 years. On top of that what you're asking me to do is something that I have been actively researching to prevent for 20 years. This is something I have dedicated my life against, and you're asking me to cause it. God knows why I even agreed to this in the first place, but it goes against everything I've lived and worked for. Please understand." He leaned back in his chair. "I don't have anything against you personally. I honestly hope you find someone else to help you in this, I really do. But it cannot be me anymore."

"I see." Leo slumped in his chair. Massan looked at him for a moment.

"Look I'll tell you what. You want purpose in this life? Let me give you something. I've got to clear all that stuff out of the basement later today, why don't you come help me with that? It'll take your mind off things."

Leo shrugged, but beneath the nonchalant exterior the gears of his mind were turning. "Guess I don't have anything else to do. What time?"

"7:30 exactly. There's a gap in the schedule that we have to hit. We'll have a 30 minute window, otherwise we'll be explaining why we're carrying hospital equipment to the next janitor. So be punctual." Massan turned to his computer, and Leo stood up to leave.

"Oh and Leo? Life is great. Trust me, I work at keeping it." Massan chuckled to himself.

"Yes. Yes it is." With that Leo left the room, crutches clicking as he walked.

*

Leo looked at his watch as he entered the basement. The equipment was all still there, the defirbillators, the hospital bed, unmade and covered in ice. It was odd to think that this was his deathbed, both metaphorically and literally. He brushed the ice off the bed, clicking on the machines as he did so. He wasn't sure what for but they felt necessary somehow. He couldn't find the electrodes however so instead of a steady repetitive beep the machine simply registered a flat monotone line. It was unsettling, as though he had already died. Another glance at his watch. 7:28. After a moment's searching he found the defibrillators, the cold metal heavy in his hands. A quick search found the switch to turn them on, hooked up to the extension lead, and Leo lay in the bed. He couldn't find the gel, so he simply left his shirt on. As the defibrillators charged with a faint whine he looked up at the roof, the fluorescent tube lighting illuminating the weathered ceiling, the silvery grey of ventilation pipes like jewellery on a scarred body. The earrings and tongue piercings of the building, Leo thought with a smirk. Funny what the mind jumps to when it's about to die. 7:29. Leo placed the defibrillators on his chest, and took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. He muttered "Clear." to nobody in particular. Then he pressed the button.

*

"How long was it between the sessions?"

"A day and a half, more or less." Leo thought back. "Why?"

"I need the data for the simulation. Come." Belerus beckoned Leo over to a large machine, typing some numbers on a small calculator he was holding. There was a screen at the bottom of the machine, and the scientist gave it a few meaningful taps. It began to show a complex mathematical formula, something Belerus evidently understood as he gave a few excited claps.

"And that is...."

"So time doesn't run parallel down here. At the point of death your mind speeds up, it works overtime to find a way to save you. As far as we can tell that overclocking of your brain carries over to down here, hence time runs faster down here than it does up there." Belerus waved his hands distractedly. "Well I say time runs faster, in fact that's a lie. You're just thinking faster. Time isn't a fixed linear progression, it's in a state of flux that varies depending on our perception of the world around us. You think that the passage of time influences your perception of the world, whereas it's the other way around. Your perception speeds up or slows down time."

"I don't get it." Leo was struggling to keep up, and Belerus sighed.

"Basically time runs faster here. The question was how much faster, and now I know." He gestured at the screen. "Taking your mental calculation speed as a base value time is exactly 12.67 seconds per second down here. For every second you spend up there, 12.67 seconds passes down here. Well I say exactly, it's pretty hard to calculate mindspeed but –"

"Wait, how long have we been here for?"

"About 20 minutes."

Leo's heart dropped. "Massan should be here by now. He should be trying to get me up. Where is he?"

"Massan?"

"Someone on the other side. A doctor. He's been getting me here. I.... I tricked him in order to come here this time." Leo looked up at the ceiling in hope.

*

"Sorry I'm late, I had to dodge a few questions. Some of my old colleagues work here and –" Massan stopped. He saw the bed. Leo asleep on it. The defibrillators half charged, dangling from the side. His formidable mind put the pieces of evidence together, sent the compiled report to his brain, and after digesting for a second it came to a conclusion.

"You didn't. No way. No bloody way." He ran over to the bed, but he knew in his heart that Leo wasn't just asleep. "You stupid, selfish, son of a-" He picked up the defibrillators left on the bed but they were still charging, useless to him. The backup pair were hooked up, and he pulled them out. The ECG was still registering no heartbeat, the electrodes dangling uselessly, and the tone mocked him as he pulled up the paddles. Without even hesitating he fired them. Compression. Wait. Discharge. Compression. Wait. Discharge. Compression. It wasn't working.

"Come on you bastard, come on. I'm not going to jail for you. Not like this. No way." He charged the paddles again.

*

"What are you waiting for?" Belerus had a notepad out and a pen poised and ready.

"It feels warm when he shocks me, like a hot flush. He should have arrived a minute ago. I should feel something, anything. But I don't." He noticed Belerus was scribbling furiously. "Will you stop that? This is serious!"

Belerus' phone rang, and he held up a finger at Leo as he pulled it out. After a moment's nodding, and a few affirmatives, he ended the call and turned to him.

"That was the boss, he rang to say you're officially turned up on the system." He held his hands apart. "Congratulations. You've officially died."

*

Massan leant back. The last charge had only produced meagre sparks: he was out of juice. The extension lead was no longer connected. He was out of options. He looked at Leo lying peacefully on the bed, the result of his endeavours. For the first time in 22 years, Massan sat on the floor and, in between muffled curses, began to quietly cry.

*

"What do you mean I'm dead?"

"I'm not sure how you can misinterpret that sentence." Belerus tilted his head. "Besides, what is one world to another? You can be perfectly happy down here. I could even take you on as my assistant."

"I can't." Leo was panicking now. "I have to get back." He grabbed Belerus by the shoulders, practically shaking the man. "You have to help me, there must be a way. There has to be."

"Well, there is a way." Belerus frowned. "Come with me. Quietly." He led Leo through a small door, closing it behind him. In the room was what looked like a table, upright, with manacles on the corners. Various equipment surrounded it, some appearing to be medical in nature, others...less so, Leo thought with a dull flash of fear.

"What is this place?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself about. Hop in." He gestured to the table. Leo stood against it and Belerus closed the manacles around his wrists and ankles.

"What happens when you kill something that's already dead?" Belerus muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Oh nothing. I must thank you really. I've wanted to try something like this for a while, and simulations are only so good. After a certain point more substantial evidence is required." Belerus turned away, and when he turned back he was holding what looked like a very large needle attached to a cable. "Don't worry about this, it'll hurt for only a moment. It looks scary but it's not that bad, I assure you. I have no other way of delivering the charge to your heart sadly."

"What?"

"I'm going to kill you." Belerus said with a grin. "I don't know if this will work or not, but we shall see. Are you ready?" Leo nodded. "Alright then. On the count of three. One. Two." Belerus plunged the needle into his chest and Leo's world flashed white.

*

Massan jumped. The last vestiges of electricity leaving Leo's body had caused it to jump. For just a second he thought it had made a noise. He looked at Leo intently for a few seconds, but the body was as still as a...well, as a corpse, Massan thought with a mirthless smile. He turned away again.

*

"Wait what was that? I need longer! That was no time at all!"

"I can't." Belerus threw the needle down, the cable clattering on the floor. "What did you see?"

"I saw... there. The real word. But only for a second." Leo looked down at his chest, at the hole the needle had produced. It reminded him of a particularly nasty insect sting, not something that he would associate with a hole going towards his heart.

"The time difference. You saw it for about a 12th of a second if my calculations are accurate."

"I need longer."

"I told you I can't." Belerus frowned. "The body that you see here is a coalescence of your subconscious. I ran a large charge through it for about 2 minutes already, any longer and it'll start to dissipate."

"What do you mean dissipate?"

"It just... goes." Belerus waved his hands in the air, then grimaced. "Look I'm a scientist, I don't like admitting that I don't know something. Down here there are things that I know or things that I will know, nothing else. The coalescence just vanishes if you run too much charge through it, I think it just destabilises the brain, cauterises it somehow."

"How can you know? You've never done this before."

"I told you before. There were others." Belerus said darkly, scratching the back of his head. "I'm not a good person. But I tell the truth. And before you ask no, we can't go again. Your subconscious needs time to settle. Maybe a week or two." He walked over and unbuckled Leo from the table as he talked.

"A week!? I – woah." Upon trying to stand Leo found it difficult to even stay upright.

"You're just had a massive charge run through you for nearly 2 continuous minutes. Your subconscious will struggle to stay together for a while, so take it easy."

"I'm coming back. As soon as I can, I'm coming back. If I have to get a message up there a half second at a time then I will."

Belerus shrugged. "It's your call. Just do me a favour and get some rest in between."

"No guarantees."

*

Detective Inspector Marinetto looked around. This late nobody was in the station, which was perfect for his needs. In the room in front of him was the victim of case 1437. Cause of death apparently defibrillation, suspect apprehended and convicted of manslaughter. Though the times varied slightly, every 4 days the body would jerk and make a noise. His superior had ordered him to get rid of the body, but he was a detective at heart, and he couldn't leave a problem unsolved. So he had pulled some strings to get it and place it under surveillance. He had pieced together the recordings of each noise, and something was starting to become clear. After nearly 12 incidents he had the makings of what looked like a word.

"I'm." He muttered to himself. The body was saying something, and it began with I'm. I'm what? Alive? Here? Marinetto shivered. Eventually he would figure it out. He always did in the end. It was just a matter of time. He clicked his pen, shut his notebook, and without another sound left the station, leaving the body to wail its message into the waiting lens of the camera and the open arms of the dark night.

[drunkenonmysofa]

SKIN (AN FWB!MICHAEL SMUT)

+mobile masterlist

requested?: yes!

summary: okay, maybe falling in love with a fuck buddy isn’t a good idea, but michael does it anyway.

word count: 2,001

warnings: smut. really BAD smut. this is my first time doing it so it just feels awkward to me i dont know uhhhh

There’s something about the way his skin encompasses yours as you both lose yourself in your rendezvous. When he’s kissing down your neck and his hands are gripping at your waist and you’re certain you’re going to get bruises, you’re still so lost in him and it’s clear that he’s driving you crazy.

What you don’t know is that you’re driving him crazy, too. With your fingers running through his blonde hair and scratching down his bare back when he hits just the right spot. But he doesn’t mind that it hurts, because being so close to you could make all the stinging of the marks go away.

So when you’re knocking on his apartment door in urgency, he doesn’t hesitate to let you in and immediately connects his lips to yours. Suddenly, the air is thick and it’s getting hard to breathe when you’re both so close to each other, something that was usual but never talked about between the two of you. And you let it be, along with tongues fighting for dominance and the friction in both of your jeans.

The fact of the matter is, you don’t mention what kind of relationship you’re in, because anyone who knows the both of you is aware that you two are fucking, yet only act as friends.

“You’re together, aren’t you?” Luke asked while Michael went to the restroom, leaving you and the two other boys for a short moment. You know exactly what he’s talking about. The question made the other two, who were previously in a heated discussion about Jessica Alba, stare and wait for your answer.

You laughed. “No, what makes you say that?”

“Both of you showed up thirty minutes late with hickeys on your necks.” Calum smirked, as if he found out something so valuable.

The theory made you smile, because it definitely wasn’t a theory at all. But you’d never tell, since it was entertaining to watch them come up with stuff that you’d never even thought of. “Think what you want to think, but we’re not together.”

There were never really any rules in your ‘relationship’ with Michael. You both knew what you were diving into and it definitely, definitely did not include commitment. The whole situation seemed too playful and light to consider something so serious and heavy.

It started when you were both left behind on the Gus bus somewhere in Mountain View. It was obvious that you and Michael were the closest out of all the five of you since Calum, your cousin, invited you to tour for a few weeks. You were taking shots of cheap vodka and rum and the next thing you knew, you were touching him in a way that you would never do when you were sober.

And now, it’s happening again.

You enter his apartment the way you usually do nowadays, gripping at his shirt and pulling him down to meet your lips with feverish kisses. And though Michael’s caught off guard, it takes him less than two seconds to reciprocate the amount of dominance you put into your lip-locking. Eight, nine, ten, eleven seconds pass and the door behind you is now closed and locked and, fuck, Michael’s hands are under your thighs, pushing you up against the door and his lips are already roaming your neck.

The both of you has been through this a lot of times, initially trying to pass the night in Mountain View as a mistake yet giving into it a few days after. It’s been a few months since then, and you’ve decided to take the casual road of being friends with benefits rather than complicating things in your friendship. He’s already memorized your sweet spots by the third time you’ve had sex and you’ve memorized his on the fourth.

His hands lift up your thighs and you wrap your legs around his waist, already feeling his member growing hard under his jeans that was constricting him too much. Michael makes a mental note to just wear sweatpants when you text him you’re coming over before carrying you to his room and king-sized bed.

With his arms next to the sides of your head, he holds himself up as he peppers your face with kisses, an action that he normally does since he knew it would tickle you and make you laugh. So you do, giggles lighting up the harsh and passionate tension in the room and he chuckles with you.

Michael stops for a second, panting and taking heavy breaths with a pink tint on his cheeks and slightly swollen lips. Then he takes of his shirt, throwing it to the other side of the room before helping you take off yours, too. He groans at the sight of your body, kissing at the parts of your breasts that wasn’t covered by the lacy bra he knew you put on for him. He notices your chest heaving, and he almost loses his mind with the words you’re about to say.

“Stop teasing, I want you to fuck me, already.” Whining, you pull at his hair and make him stop giving you marks on your breasts, slightly pushing him down to the hem of your jeans.

The blonde chuckles at your desperation, lightly shaking his head in amusement before popping your button open and pulling your jeans down, leaving you in just your underwear. There’s a glint in his eye as he puts his hands on the side of your waist and rolls you over onto your knees, but tells you to keep your face down against the sheets.

Not even two minutes later, he’s inside you and slamming into you rough and hard, just the way you like it. He loves the way your face contorts in pleasure and you love the feeling of his thick member hugging your walls. “H-Harder.” You moan, feeling his hands wrapping around your waist once more, driving his cock harder and harder into you before hitting just the right spot, making the headboard of his bed slightly hit the wall each time. And you would scream if you weren’t positioned face down and ass up.

He doesn’t stop thrusting into you, even when his fingers are bruising you because of how tight he’s holding your waist. He doesn’t stop even though he feels so good that his knees are beginning to buckle. He doesn’t stop even when you climax and you shake and you feel your legs going limp. He doesn’t stop even when his pounding is getting sloppy and out of rhythm. But he stops once he’s climaxed into the condom, only milking in a few thrusts before felling beside you in exhaustion.

Michael is not too sure when or where, if it either happened before or after the night in San Francisco, but he’s only certain about one thing. He’s in love with you. The thought always crosses Michael’s head when both of you finish fucking each other’s brains out, but he never really spoke to you about it. Because what if it damages what we already have and she’ll never speak to me again? And you already made it seem like you would only go this far with him, so what was the point?

After a few minutes of silence between you two, both of your heavy breathing returned to normal. Michael was stuck staring at your eyes long enough that you felt his gaze. “Staring isn’t nice,” You breathed out, catching Michael’s gaze as he smiled softly at you.

“But it’s not a crime, is it?” He smirks, wiping your hair out of your face, a sheen of sweat slightly covering it. But he likes how it looks on you, anyways.

You give him a smile but it falters the next second, your expressions showing the bit of dread coursing through you as you now had to tell him something you wish you never had to.

He notices quickly and props himself up with his arm to look at your face better. “What’s wrong?”

“I met someone.”

The pale blonde paused for a second, recollecting his thoughts and hoping, hoping that you weren’t saying what he thinks you’re saying. “What?”

“I don’t think we can do this anymore.”

A part of Michael wanted to unhear it, because for every word you said equaled to a stab in his chest. Now, it’s got him thinking that if he actually told you he loved you a long time ago, you wouldn’t meet someone new and he wouldn’t be just another friend you used to fuck.

His eyes retreated from yours. “I hope this doesn’t change anything.”

But it did. The moment you kissed changed everything between the both of you, and now Michael doesn’t understand how your relationship meant nothing to you.

“Michael?” You queried, his quiet demeanor worrying you.

Michael thought it was now or never. “I’m in love with you.” The statement was enough to silence you. You couldn’t necessarily say that you didn’t see this coming, but you did. You brushed off the thought back then, because that’s not who Michael is. He never fell in love, he’s told you that over a hundred times. But suddenly he is and he tells you right after you tell him about Jake.

“What do you want me to say?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows and staring at every thing that wasn’t Michael. “You can’t drop that bomb on me and expect me to say that I love you back.”

“I don’t expect you to say anything.” Michael sighs, turning his back to you and sitting at the edge of the bed. A few silent seconds pass and Michael is still staring at the Metallica poster across him, trying to wrap his mind around this situation and how he’s going to end up without you.

You’re stuck staring at his back with tears pricking the corners of your eyes, because I used to love you but I thought you only loved the sex but you can’t say that now. It was unfair and the world had it’s stupid ways to make two people fall for each other in the wrong times. The air fell silent and the tension was too thick, you decided it was time to go. “I think I’ll head out now.”

It took you just a few seconds to get fully dressed, not noticing Michael doing the same thing before walking over to you as he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace. Your hair is tickling his rosy cheeks and it smells of strawberries and he tries his best to memorize it because this might be the last time he’s going to hold you this close. Then he says it one more time. “I love you.”

You nod into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist for a moment before leaning up to him. He gives you one last kiss, gentle and soft and full of love. It was a kiss that contradicted the ones with clashing teeth and dominance, as if he was afraid you would break if he pressed too much.

The both of you pull away at the same time. Then a minute and 17 seconds later, he’s escorting you to the door even though you’ve been here enough times to know where it is. Then he says goodbye with a sad smile, and you do too.

And the door is closed and Michael is stuck with his own thoughts again.

There’s something about the way his skin used to encompass yours as you both lose yourself in your old rendezvous. When he used to kiss down your neck and when his hands used to grip at your waist and you had bruises, he found himself lost in you and it’s clear, it’s so fucking clear that you’re still making him crazy. Even after you left.

What he doesn’t know is that he made you crazy, too. And maybe he’ll bring that feeling back into you again.

[kittymonks-fanfiction]

Genderswapped Nations Review - Chapter 4

Welcome back to Genderswapped Nations, the fanfic where it’s possible for nine American minors in Germany without passports to buy nine plane tickets all heading to eight different countries at the same time using USD. There were less attempted sexual assaults last time, which is always a plus, but I can’t say that there won’t be any attempted crimes against minors this time around. What do I mean by that? Let’s jump in and figure that out.

Chapter 4: Substitutes and Suitcases

Believe it or not, this is actually one of the better chapter titles in Genderswapped Nations…even if, as you’ll find out later, the ‘suitcases’ aspect of the title has very little to do with the plot of the chapter.

The plane landed, and Ariana got off. She was immediately greeted by businessmen, who looked at her nicely at first but then looked confused. “What?” Ariana asked.

“We were expecting Mr. Kirkland,” one of the businessmen replied.

“Wait a minute…you’re not our boss who’s hundreds of years old and is the embodiment of the country we live in! Harvey, you said he would be on this flight!”

And wasn’t she just getting off a normal passenger flight? If they were expecting England, why would they intercept a thirteen year old girl?

“You mean England?” Ariana asked. “Shouldn’t he be here right now?”

“No, he left yesterday on classified matters,” another one of the businessmen said.

Oh cool, so nobody knows why he left to go to Germany. That’s why he…left businessmen at the airport so they could talk to him once he got off the plane with his genderbend? Sorry to say, but it’s not ‘classified’ anymore if these guys witness you getting off a plane with a younger female version of yourself after the fact.

“Oh, is that so?” Ariana said. “I’ll fill in for him until he gets back.”

Uhhhh, what? Why would this be the first thing she suggests? She’s only come to Britain so she can…um, avoid England (I think?). If he’s only going to be gone for a little while longer, why would she volunteer to take control of the entire country? Isn’t there a prime minister to do that? Isn’t there the UK Parliament? I mean hell, if you really want to prove that you’re an idiot, past me, you could even claim that Queen Elizabeth II is in charge—she’s not, but it would make more sense than what’s going on here.

“And why would we put a teenager in charge of Great Britain?” one of the businessmen asked.

“I can cook better,” Ariana said.

“Oh, well, that was the only thing that we thought was wrong with Mr. Kirkland. And since you are technically just him in a dress, I guess you could fill in for him for a while.” One of the businessmen decided.

“Great!” Ariana exclaimed.

This reads like a fucking parody. But no, this is real canon! She just shows up, volunteers to take control of the country while England is away, and they let her do it because she can cook better (despite the fact that she shouldn’t know that England’s a bad cook since she’s never even met the guy). This is like the plot to some Disney Channel movie, it’s insane.

This was also the case for the other girls; they all filled in for their counterparts while they were away.

And as if it couldn’t get any more ridiculous, the same thing happens to all of the other girls. Even Allison, who’s not even old enough to register for an account on YouTube according to its terms of service. Wow.

Later, Ariana got a phone call after she was brought to England’s house. She answered it, and was greeted by Louella. “Ariana, the countries are having a meeting. Get to Berlin.”

But…didn’t they just leave Berlin? And I’m sure that if England left Berlin right after Ariana, he should be back by now. And if he hasn’t left yet because of flight delays, then you’re going right back to him!

“Why do we have to have a meeting now?” Ariana asked.

“None of the other countries know we’re filling in for the real ones,” Louella explained. “We need to introduce ourselves.”

“Right,” Ariana said.

You couldn’t just use Skype or hold a press conference or something? They don’t hold entire world meetings every time a new president/prime minister gets elected. It makes it seem like Louella wants to hold this meeting just to brag or something. In fact, by the time this meeting ends, all of the nations are going to be home and ready to take control again! What’s the point?

She got money to board a plane to Berlin, and did just that. When she entered the meeting room, she noticed all the nations, except the gender swapped ones, were staring at her. When she sat down, Louella stood.

Well that’s a familiar occurrence. I have to wonder if Ariana was really the last to arrive though. How did the North Americans arrive in Berlin within the same day that they were asked to go there, even arriving BEFORE another European did?

“May I have your attention, please?” She asked firmly. The other nations gave her their attention, but many still had confused faces. “First, I want to discuss-”

“Why are we being bossed around by a thirteen year old girl?” one of the nations questioned.

I don’t know what nation this was supposed to be (I think I sort of headcanoned that it was Romano or Belarus or someone??) but I love them. They should be the main character of the fanfiction instead of Mary-Sue Ariana.

“I was getting to that,” Louella growled, before regaining her normal voice. “As you can see, a few of the attendees are the thirteen year old female counterparts of our respective countries.”

“So, where are the original ones?” another voice asked Louella.

They should know where they are if they had a meeting just a few days ago about Prussia kidnapping these girls in the first place.  Obviously they’re away ‘rescuing’ the thirteen year old girls that have now replaced them.

By the way, past me, you missed a good opportunity to have someone freak out and think that the original countries were killed and these children are trying to replace them. It would have made this meeting have an actual point because that would’ve been funny as hell with Louella on the spot having to prove that they don’t have nefarious intentions and that the originals are probably fine.

“I’ve consulted the other gender swaps, and the original countries are away on ‘classified matters’.” The counterpart answered.

“Was that it?” Another country asked.

“I guess, I don’t really have any other important things to talk about,” Louella said. Some of the nations grumbled as they all stood up and left the gender swaps in the room alone. “How did I do?” Louella asked.

That was, without a doubt, the best political meeting I’ve ever witnessed in my life. Wow. If all UN meetings are like that, where they only discuss one point of business that only affects nine countries and immediately becomes irrelevant a few hours later, then I should really look into joining the UN. It would be a walk in the park. I am the Shenandoah River, after all. That counts as a nation that can be united with other nations, right? I have poisonous fish who can vouch for me!

“You just let some of them walk all over you.” Ariana said.

“You and three other people were the only ones who got to speak,” Kierra said.

“Yeah! Those meetings are nothing when I don’t get to speak!” Allison complained.

All of those are completely justified criticisms because really, the meeting didn’t have a point at all. And would you be surprised if I told you that this exact same thing essentially happens next chapter too??

Louella nodded. “Well, we should get going now. Be sure to visit Germany more often, okay?” She asked her friends.

She doesn’t have anything to say to these criticisms. She knows that it was a pointless meeting, she just wanted to make everyone respect her authority by forcing them to come to Berlin for two minutes for a pointless meeting.

Everyone nodded, except Francisca. “It’s very unusual that you aren’t speaking for once, Francisca,” Ariana teased.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with you? You’ve seemed worried this whole meeting.” Louella said.

“It’s just…” Francisca began. “I don’t think it was very smart to say out counterparts weren’t present. Some countries would take our ‘Substitution’ as an opportunity to take over our countries.”

This is almost a decent point, but the United States doesn’t get conquered every time the president leaves to go meet with foreign leaders. I’m American, so I can’t speak for Europe on this point. For all I know, the presidency in France could be trading hands quicker than a hot potato right now.  

And hahahahahaha Francisca said Substitution like the chapter title Substitution and Suitcases oh how charming.

Kierra nodded in agreement. “I’d say the only one safe from that would be Iscah.”

“And why wouldn’t I be safe?” Allison questioned.

“Seriously?” Ariana said. “Just because you’re in the west doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

“So why is Iscah safe?” Allison questioned, but quickly took it back, remembering the night she hid in Ariana’s closet to keep away from the creepy girl.

It’s super funny, the way the fic just keeps telling us how creepy Iscah is even though Iscah never does anything creepy. I also have to point out the fact that not only is Iscah safe because ‘she’s creepy’, but it’s implied to be (I think) wintertime and, well…ask Napoleon how well invading Russia on foot during the winter usually goes.

Aaaand Allison should be safer from active ‘invasion’ compared to the European countries because if America’s already on his way back from Europe, then it would be impossible for someone currently in Berlin to leave this meeting to go to America and invade while he’s still on the plane. Since he left to go to the same place way before they did, it goes without saying that they wouldn’t get to America before he would. Not only that, but, the U.S. has the second largest military in the world. I don’t care how ‘evil’ you think you are, it would be a pretty bad idea to single-handedly troll a country that throws as much money at its military as the U.S. does.

“We should be getting back then,” Ariana said.

“Remember! Don’t forget to visit Germany!” Louella called as the nations walked away.

“If there is one, aru,” Yiesha muttered.

Oh god, edgy. Anyway, as you can see, it was by this point that I caught on to China’s verbal tick from the Japanese version of Hetalia and threw it in for good measure. It…doesn’t make much sense, really. That’s all there really is to say about it.

Meanwhile, England’s plane landed. He got his bags, and was confused not to find any businessmen waiting for him like they were told to.

So he straight up just told those businessmen to amble about aimlessly until he came back? But why? The mission was ‘classified’, so what were they there for?

He decided to walk back to his house himself, but when he got there, the door was locked.

Is that…unusual? Doesn’t he normally leave the country’s capital locked when he leaves on business trips? No wonder everyone thinks that their countries are going to get conquered, England doesn’t leave his door locked when he leaves!! Who knows who else could be leaving their doors wide open right now??

He rang the doorbell, aggravated enough to kick down the door but not wanting to harm his house.

And he doesn’t have his key? This almost seems offensive to people from the UK. This is the sort of forgetfulness you’d expect out of a character like America or Italy, definitely not England.

…unless the joke is that he’s old and forgetful, in which case…ha? There’s not much of a punch line if it’s a joke. It’s more of a nuisance than anything.

Ariana heard the chime of the doorbell, and ran to the door.

OH GOD I think I have whiplash, that POV change was so sudden.

But she was shocked, because when she opened the door, England was there, and he threw one of his briefcases at her about two seconds after the door was opened, assuming it was France or some other perverted intruder.

What the shit?? Why would he throw his suitcase at the first person who opened the door assuming that someone broke into his house?  Does he not have maids and butlers? Why would he ring the doorbell if he expected a home intruder to answer?

Oh and by the way Ariana’s totally dead now. England might not be the strongest but he is a grown man and he threw that briefcase directly at her face. Someone needs to call the funeral home up the street.

He soon apologized as Ariana lifted the suitcase off her face and they recognized each other.

“That’s the same guy from Prussia’s house,” Ariana thought. “Prudence was lying!”

She may not be dead, but she definitely has some brain damage. Seriously, that should be abundantly obvious now. Nobody put two and two together and assumed that the countries were away looking for their genderbends since they couldn’t find the real guys anywhere in the capital buildings of these countries?

“Who are you?” England asked.

“Ariana,” the girl replied. “And you must be England.”

“Yeah.” The man replied.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a minute or two, until this silence was broken by a phone call.

What a fantastic exchange. This is exactly how I would greet my genderbent counterpart upon first meeting them and walloping them with a suitcase. At least Ariana’s completely fine after having been physically assaulted by a grown man though, that’s a relief.

Ariana walked over and answered. “Hello, England, Ariana speaking,” she said.

“This is the awesome Prussia,” the other line said. “And I’m coming over there soon!”

What the fuck??

“What?” Ariana asked. England ran over to his counterpart and yanked the phone from her hand.

“Hey! Who’s this?” he demanded.

England just telepathically knows that the phone call was bad news from Ariana’s only reply being a calm—and not incredulous—“What?”

“This is the awesome me,” Prussia repeated. “And I’m guessing this is England now.”

WHY DID HE ASSUME THAT ENGLAND WASN’T HOME YET??? It’s bizarre enough that it took him this long! Assuming that it would take him even longer is just insane!!

“You’re bloody right this is England now!” England shouted. “Now what did you just say to my counterpart?”

“Eh, nothing.” Prussia said. He hung up.

Hold on, what the hell just happened?? No, seriously! Does this imply that Prussia planned for the girls to take over their host countries? Did he place a diversion to keep the countries from getting home in a timely manner so he could single-handedly conquer them? What’s this Batman Gambit bullshit??

“So, what did he say to you?” England said in a normal but slightly aggravated tone.

“He said he was invading,” Ariana replied. “But I guess he quit out on it when he realized you’re here.”

“Probably,” England muttered.

Is this…a common occurrence? If our president leaves again anytime soon, can I call the White House and threaten to invade in the hopes that they’ll just give me the job instead? I’m way too young, but I’m sure I can cook better than our current president can. That’s all the work experience I need to run a country, after all.

Then, the phone rang again. Ariana walked over to pick it up, but England stopped her and answered it himself. “What is it?” he questioned.

“Hey, it’s France,” the phone said. “I just wanted to brag about how cute my gender swap is!”

“Really?” England asked.

Did…nobody else get a threatening call from Prussia? Just England for some reason? None of the countries actually bordering Germany? Like, say…France??

Not to mention that it’s squicky for a grown man to gush about how cute a little girl is to another grown man, like, 99% of the time.

(Note: The other 1% is just Maes Hughes raving about how much he loves his daughter. In all other contexts, it’s squicky.)

“Who is it?” Ariana asked loudly.

England covered the speaking part of the phone as h answered, “It’s just France.” Ariana nodded in understanding, and England brought the phone back to his ear.

There was no purpose for that little segment of England explaining who was on the line since all it did was repeat to the audience, “Hey, the person on the other end of the phone is France.” That was the perfect opportunity to tell a joke via Ariana’s reaction to this information and you blew it.

“Yes, she’s so cute! And by that background voice I just heard, yours must be dreadfully ugly!” France responded.

“That’s not true!” England vindicated.

Do I need to remind my audience of the ‘fun fact’ I pulled out in chapter one about England’s English VA?? I don’t like having to share that information more than I have to, but I’ll do it. I’ll fricking do it man.

He abrubtly got another phone call, and he made France hold as he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, British dude, it’s America,” the phone said.

…British dude. I’ll let that speak for itself. Just…British dude. This man raised you when you were a child!!

“And I bet this is about your gender swap,” England sighed.

“Hey, how’d you know?” America asked.

“Lucky guess.” England replied sarcastically. America, though, did not catch this sarcasm, and instead continued to talk.

What are the chances that both countries would call England specifically at the same time to give him the same information? If England just got home, shouldn’t America still be on his plane going over the Atlantic Ocean? There’s no way a flight from Berlin to London would take the same amount of time as a flight from Berlin to Washington, D.C..

“I just wanted to say, my gender swap is awesome! She likes all the same foods I do, and she gets along well with Mr. Tony!”

Does…Does America usually call him ‘Mr. Tony’? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I remember him being referred to as just Tony.

in the background, England could lightly hear the alien mentioned muttering swears, probably knowing England was on the phone. Then, America hung up.

That’s just it? No reply? He just hangs up when he’s finished talking? That’s cold.

England redialed France, and the French man asked, “Who was calling?”

“Who do you think?” England questioned.

France seemed to understand who England meant.

Great, now they both have telepathy.

“Well, anyway, I just wanted to say that my gender swap is better than yours.”

France hung up before England could protest.

How productive a conversation that was. It was so unnecessary that it hurt. When you have a German extremist kidnapping children from America, brainwashing them, and threatening to conquer Europe, is bragging to your rival over the phone really your biggest concern?

He unplugged his phone, and faced Ariana and said, “Still sorry about the suitcase thing.”

“No problem,” Ariana replied with a smile.

“It’s okay, I just have a broken nose and five missing teeth. All is forgiven.” “Besides, it makes me look more British anyways!”

I’ve finally caught on to the China ‘aru’ thing, even if the only China reference was one line by China’s counterpart.

Yes, because that was the only thing wrong with this fic.

It seems like it’s over again, right? You should know better by now that something like this is not the kind of ending I throw into the end of FanFics. Seriously, remember Chapter 2, ‘Conversation and Costumes’? It’s like that ending.

Oh, you mean how it ended on a cliffhanger of ‘are the countries going to accept the girls or not?’ Because no, this ending is nothing like that. The plot should actually be over now, with maybe just one more chapter where Prussia gets punished somehow for kidnapping a bunch of little girls.

And it’s weird that I capitalized both ‘f’s in ‘fanfics’. I don’t know why that is. Maybe I assumed it looked cooler.

Also, *spoiler alert* the next chapter will feature Allison and America! Because neither of them has said ‘I’m the hero’ yet, and I thought that would only be appropriate :3

Fan-fricking-tastic. Because America and his counterpart weren’t Flanderized enough as it was.

Well, that was chapter 4 and my god was it a clusterfuck of horrible decisions and insane world politics. Anyway, be sure to come back next time for more pointless meetings, senseless violence, and the beginning of World War III. No, seriously.  I’m not exaggerating. And the abuse counter doubles, if you were worried that Alexis wasn’t being tortured enough as it was.

(CANADA/ALEXIS ABUSE COUNTER=5)

[samanthasroberts]

Pretty Little Liars Recap: Confessions Of A Mid-20’s Drama Queen

Welcome back to another week where I sit through my own personal hell, aka , and try not to put myself into an alcohol-induced coma. And shoutout to all the keyboard warriors who love to type shit in the commentsyall take this show way too seriously.

We start with Mona and Emily discussing Charlotte, who apparently stood Mona up the night of the murder. What kind of loser gets stood up by another chick at a shitty diner?

Emily is like and Monas like, uh no? I feel like thats pretty much the only answer you can give at that point. Emily figures that Mona changed her mind in the trial so that Charlotte would be out of jail and Mona could get to her, which is like real far-fetched.

Mona is like and OKAY thats a line straight out of .

Chris Hanson: Did you know that this was a 13 year old girl? Mona: I, uh, just came to talk to her.

Monas like *what would you do if your son was at home, cryin all alone on the bedroom floor.* and Ems like Monas like, well even if I wanted to kill her, she fucking stood me up so yeah. Of course, this whole conversation is overheard by A.

Aria is like,lets tell the police it wasnt me at the diner! Arias really seen some shit lately. She got burnt and questioned by the police. All Hannas had done to her is getting shitty room service food with a cryptic note. Spencer is like,

Lucas is back. Goddammit. Anyways, he overhears Hanna talking to weird ass Jordan on the phone, and is like Hannas like, Where are you gonna seat him Han? No one wants to sit next to the virginal weird kid from high school. You cant just mix the band geeks with the Plastics, thats not how this works.

Besides, there is this scenario:

Priest: Speak now or forever hold your pe- Lucas: MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Hanna is like, . Wear those ties Lucas, you look like a second place winner at a science fair. He tells Hanna that hes thinking of buying some factory and giving Rosewood a second chance. LOL rookie mistake.

Ali and Snaggletooth are being sexually aggressive in some shit bed and breakfast somewhere in bumfuck nowhere, East Coast. The Ali from Season 3 would have been honeymooning in fucking Paris rn. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Speaking of falling, Ali trips on her skanky heel and takes a tumble down the stairs, effectively knocking herself out. OKAY, did I not set that up just perfectly?

Alis in the hospital with a concussion, and Snaggle is like, you need to stay in the hospital. Shes like and its like, because thats how injuries work dumbass. The manager of the shit hotel is like and its like duh you know that shit is tampered with.

Ali: I was really happy before I fell, maybe this is my karma Snaggle: Thats not how the Universe works

ARE YOU SURE? Because pretty sure its an established fact that what goes up, must come down. Also, Ali its not karma, you just clearly dont know how to put one foot in front of the other and walk like a normal fucking human.

Snaggle is like, its an accident and he would know all about those, since his face looks like it was a victim of a tragic lawn mower accident. Ali decides to text her friends a selfie of her in the hospital, because concussion photoshoots, so hot right now.

All the Liars are like . They have 3 days to give up the murderer, because A is a psycho. All the girls are shit talking Mona and Hanna comes to her defense, because Hanna is like, such a good friend.

Aria and Ezra are getting ready to go to a dinner with their boss and Ezras talking about how he doesnt like the book ending or some shit. Arias like and that shit is about to go from an Ernest Hemingway to a really quick with Ezras freaky self.

Hanna goes to visit Ali in the hospital and Ali tells her she is going back to Rosewood when she can gtfo of this hospital. Ali has flowers all over the room, because apparently people like her, wtf?, and Ali says that they are all from Snaggle.

Of course, Hanna is looking at all the flowers and sees a very creepy card that has pictures of a staircase, and all of them on it. Either Snaggle is one fucked up dude, or A is just like, really a dick. Honestly, probs both. Obvi, Hanna steals the card.

Emily facetimes Spencer a video of Mona and Sara Harveys body guard dude chatting it up. Weve all seen , Im expecting some bodyguard three-way action ASAP. Also, how did Emily even remember that body guard? I watch this show every fucking week and make it a point to write down every flaw they have, and even I didnt remember this. Wow, I need to get it together.

Also, them talking looks like any relationship I have ever had: Mona talking shit and the dude sitting there looking awkward. Spencer and Emily follow the bodyguard when he leaves.

Back to Snaggle and Hans. Hanna is like, And Snaggle is like, Im sure you said the same thing about that B and B, you human chipmunk. Hes like and its like cough, cough, lesbianssssss.

Spencer and Emily follow the bodyguard and act like idiots on crack and pretend to hit the bodyguards car. Hes like uhhhh no its fine, and Spencer somehow manages to get information on the papers he is holding. I have seen better body guarding by the fucking preteens in Project X. Seriously who is this dude?

Spencer learns that the documents our shit security guard has are blueprints to Radley, because of fucking course. Do they just hand out blueprints willy nilly in this town? God I hate myself every time I watch this stupid fucking show.

Aria is reading Ezras newest chapter and it flashes back to a conversation with Ezra and Nicole. Ezra is begging Nicole to come with him, but shes like

Anyways, Ezra goes to his typical EZRA MAD, EZRA SMASH mode and basically yells at her and leaves fucking pissed off. And yeah, thats the last time he saw his girlfriend. One girlfriend you took advantage of when she was a teenager, the other you let get kidnapped by terrorists. Let that soak in.

Hes like , and Arias like,

Emily follows the bodyguard to a fucking ice cream truck? Wtf? And hes just casually sitting there, licking a Drumstick, when Sara Harvey drives up and gets something from him. Wait a second, she cant text and grip shit because of her hands, but she can drive? The streets of Rosewood are not safe. Maybe she was the girl who tried to run over Emily at the diner. She wasnt really trying to run her over, she was just making a very sloppy three point turn.

Hanna shows Caleb the staircase card. Caleb is like why did you come to me? And Hanna is like They decide to call As bluff, because that plan has worked every time before.

Spencer is on the phone with Emily, when she is greeted by her boyfriend and his ex. What a time to be alive. They act super weird, and then Hanna makes up some bullshit story about how she killed Charlotte. She starts crying to Spencer and Spencer is like YOOOOO THIS IS HEAVY SHIT.

Then Hannas like PSYCH and tells Caleb Well thats the stupidest shit Ive ever heard. Caleb is like and its like NO WTF HANNA DOESNT KNOW JACK SHIT. LITERALLY ANYTHING AT ALL. NOTHING. SHE KNOWS NOTHING. Why doesnt anyone understand this?

Aria and Ezra are at dinner with the editor and shes like, l Arias like and Ezra is like NAH I GOT U FAM, Ill have it to you by next week. Ezras that dick in every college class who votes against the deadline extension. There is a special place in hell for you.

Hanna and Caleb are pleading their case to Emily and Emilys like And for once, I agree with her. Spencer backs up Caleb and Hanna and is like, *under her breath* . This sounds like every parental argument.

Emily/Dad: We cant support our daughter moving in with her boyfriend Spencer/Mom: We need to support her, because if we dont shell work against us. And I want grandbabies!

Hanna is like and grabs Calebs hand very lovingly. Spencers like and its all v awkward. Spencer does what I would 100% do in this situationmake snarky jealous comments and guzzle a shit ton of red wine. I am Spencer, we are all Spencer (without the bangs, obviously.)

Emily also suggests they visit Ye Old Lizard King Toby and let him know about this whole shindig. Again, this idea never works out.

The editor lady tells her that Liam isnt on the team anymore and Aria is like, uhhhh okay. So I guess that relationship is pretty much dead. Good talk.

Spencer flashes back to a night with Caleb in Europe, talking about art and his foster homes or some shit. Yawn. For once, Spencer actually looks good in a nice dress. You did okay PLL wardrobe, dont get too excited over your one time you didnt fail.

Its a pretty pointless flashback, except it shows major sexual tension between Spencer and Caleb in Europe, which is like right after they both broke up with their significant others. See, I told you it was pointless?

Caleb goes to drop Hanna off at Lucas place and he asks Caleb on a very awkward man date. Below are the actual quotes:

Lucas: Do you lunch? Caleb: Uh, yeah I lunch. Lucas: Lets lunch!

A whole portion of dialogue that could have been summed up to we should get lunch sometime. Fuck yourself, Freeform.

Lucas shows Hanna the factory he wants to build and is like Shes like If she even THINKS her shit is going to be better than Clothes Over Bros, shes straight trippin. Lucas is like Bitches love companies.

Okay my high school friends will barely buy me a beer, let alone give me a fucking factory.

Ali has a dream of some kind and sees her mom, dressed in a fugly green top and with some bushy ass hair. I know they have leave-in conditioner in heaven, you lazy bitch. She tells Ali that Snaggle will take care of her and that she loves her, yadda yadda. For a loving mother, she also looks like she lowkey wants to strangle the shit out of Ali.

Mona and Sara meet up, the two sketchiest bitches on the block. Sara looks like Miley Cyrus if she ate herself and took makeup inspiration from a raccoon. Seriously there is like 6 pounds of eyeliner on this bitch.

Mona is like and Sara is like Sara is like, . Oh stfu Sara. You look like a balloon shaped like Nick Carter and your only friend is a dude who eats ice cream on a street corner like a fucking poverty stricken 6-year-old.

Ezra and Aria are having tea like a bunch of pussies and Aria drops the A bomb on him. She goes from 0 to 100 real quick and is like I HAVE TO END THIS.

Back to Ali and Snaggle. Lucky us. Ali tells Snaggle to go to his conference in Chicago and that when he gets back theyll resume their daily programing of boning each other (what a fucking gross mental picture.)

Caleb and Hanna present their shit idea to the group, who all agreeits a shit idea. Caleb is like . Hes getting awfully close to Hanna and Spencer looks like she is about to cut a bitch.

Caleb: This isnt a cheer-ocracy Spencer: Youre being a real cheer-tator, Caleb!

The plan starts by Hanna sending a message to A saying leave my friends alone and then a Carly Rae Jepsen-esqe version of Call Me comes on, while the binary code of her text shows up on the screen. A gets the text of that dumbass admitting to murder. Its about to go down.

div.body_middle_part_right .bodypart:nth-child(n+2), a.prevBody{display: none;}

Source: http://allofbeer.com/pretty-little-liars-recap-confessions-of-a-mid-20s-drama-queen/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/12/17/pretty-little-liars-recap-confessions-of-a-mid-20s-drama-queen/

[adambstingus]

Pretty Little Liars Recap: Confessions Of A Mid-20’s Drama Queen

Welcome back to another week where I sit through my own personal hell, aka , and try not to put myself into an alcohol-induced coma. And shoutout to all the keyboard warriors who love to type shit in the commentsyall take this show way too seriously.

We start with Mona and Emily discussing Charlotte, who apparently stood Mona up the night of the murder. What kind of loser gets stood up by another chick at a shitty diner?

Emily is like and Monas like, uh no? I feel like thats pretty much the only answer you can give at that point. Emily figures that Mona changed her mind in the trial so that Charlotte would be out of jail and Mona could get to her, which is like real far-fetched.

Mona is like and OKAY thats a line straight out of .

Chris Hanson: Did you know that this was a 13 year old girl? Mona: I, uh, just came to talk to her.

Monas like *what would you do if your son was at home, cryin all alone on the bedroom floor.* and Ems like Monas like, well even if I wanted to kill her, she fucking stood me up so yeah. Of course, this whole conversation is overheard by A.

Aria is like,lets tell the police it wasnt me at the diner! Arias really seen some shit lately. She got burnt and questioned by the police. All Hannas had done to her is getting shitty room service food with a cryptic note. Spencer is like,

Lucas is back. Goddammit. Anyways, he overhears Hanna talking to weird ass Jordan on the phone, and is like Hannas like, Where are you gonna seat him Han? No one wants to sit next to the virginal weird kid from high school. You cant just mix the band geeks with the Plastics, thats not how this works.

Besides, there is this scenario:

Priest: Speak now or forever hold your pe- Lucas: MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Hanna is like, . Wear those ties Lucas, you look like a second place winner at a science fair. He tells Hanna that hes thinking of buying some factory and giving Rosewood a second chance. LOL rookie mistake.

Ali and Snaggletooth are being sexually aggressive in some shit bed and breakfast somewhere in bumfuck nowhere, East Coast. The Ali from Season 3 would have been honeymooning in fucking Paris rn. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Speaking of falling, Ali trips on her skanky heel and takes a tumble down the stairs, effectively knocking herself out. OKAY, did I not set that up just perfectly?

Alis in the hospital with a concussion, and Snaggle is like, you need to stay in the hospital. Shes like and its like, because thats how injuries work dumbass. The manager of the shit hotel is like and its like duh you know that shit is tampered with.

Ali: I was really happy before I fell, maybe this is my karma Snaggle: Thats not how the Universe works

ARE YOU SURE? Because pretty sure its an established fact that what goes up, must come down. Also, Ali its not karma, you just clearly dont know how to put one foot in front of the other and walk like a normal fucking human.

Snaggle is like, its an accident and he would know all about those, since his face looks like it was a victim of a tragic lawn mower accident. Ali decides to text her friends a selfie of her in the hospital, because concussion photoshoots, so hot right now.

All the Liars are like . They have 3 days to give up the murderer, because A is a psycho. All the girls are shit talking Mona and Hanna comes to her defense, because Hanna is like, such a good friend.

Aria and Ezra are getting ready to go to a dinner with their boss and Ezras talking about how he doesnt like the book ending or some shit. Arias like and that shit is about to go from an Ernest Hemingway to a really quick with Ezras freaky self.

Hanna goes to visit Ali in the hospital and Ali tells her she is going back to Rosewood when she can gtfo of this hospital. Ali has flowers all over the room, because apparently people like her, wtf?, and Ali says that they are all from Snaggle.

Of course, Hanna is looking at all the flowers and sees a very creepy card that has pictures of a staircase, and all of them on it. Either Snaggle is one fucked up dude, or A is just like, really a dick. Honestly, probs both. Obvi, Hanna steals the card.

Emily facetimes Spencer a video of Mona and Sara Harveys body guard dude chatting it up. Weve all seen , Im expecting some bodyguard three-way action ASAP. Also, how did Emily even remember that body guard? I watch this show every fucking week and make it a point to write down every flaw they have, and even I didnt remember this. Wow, I need to get it together.

Also, them talking looks like any relationship I have ever had: Mona talking shit and the dude sitting there looking awkward. Spencer and Emily follow the bodyguard when he leaves.

Back to Snaggle and Hans. Hanna is like, And Snaggle is like, Im sure you said the same thing about that B and B, you human chipmunk. Hes like and its like cough, cough, lesbianssssss.

Spencer and Emily follow the bodyguard and act like idiots on crack and pretend to hit the bodyguards car. Hes like uhhhh no its fine, and Spencer somehow manages to get information on the papers he is holding. I have seen better body guarding by the fucking preteens in Project X. Seriously who is this dude?

Spencer learns that the documents our shit security guard has are blueprints to Radley, because of fucking course. Do they just hand out blueprints willy nilly in this town? God I hate myself every time I watch this stupid fucking show.

Aria is reading Ezras newest chapter and it flashes back to a conversation with Ezra and Nicole. Ezra is begging Nicole to come with him, but shes like

Anyways, Ezra goes to his typical EZRA MAD, EZRA SMASH mode and basically yells at her and leaves fucking pissed off. And yeah, thats the last time he saw his girlfriend. One girlfriend you took advantage of when she was a teenager, the other you let get kidnapped by terrorists. Let that soak in.

Hes like , and Arias like,

Emily follows the bodyguard to a fucking ice cream truck? Wtf? And hes just casually sitting there, licking a Drumstick, when Sara Harvey drives up and gets something from him. Wait a second, she cant text and grip shit because of her hands, but she can drive? The streets of Rosewood are not safe. Maybe she was the girl who tried to run over Emily at the diner. She wasnt really trying to run her over, she was just making a very sloppy three point turn.

Hanna shows Caleb the staircase card. Caleb is like why did you come to me? And Hanna is like They decide to call As bluff, because that plan has worked every time before.

Spencer is on the phone with Emily, when she is greeted by her boyfriend and his ex. What a time to be alive. They act super weird, and then Hanna makes up some bullshit story about how she killed Charlotte. She starts crying to Spencer and Spencer is like YOOOOO THIS IS HEAVY SHIT.

Then Hannas like PSYCH and tells Caleb Well thats the stupidest shit Ive ever heard. Caleb is like and its like NO WTF HANNA DOESNT KNOW JACK SHIT. LITERALLY ANYTHING AT ALL. NOTHING. SHE KNOWS NOTHING. Why doesnt anyone understand this?

Aria and Ezra are at dinner with the editor and shes like, l Arias like and Ezra is like NAH I GOT U FAM, Ill have it to you by next week. Ezras that dick in every college class who votes against the deadline extension. There is a special place in hell for you.

Hanna and Caleb are pleading their case to Emily and Emilys like And for once, I agree with her. Spencer backs up Caleb and Hanna and is like, *under her breath* . This sounds like every parental argument.

Emily/Dad: We cant support our daughter moving in with her boyfriend Spencer/Mom: We need to support her, because if we dont shell work against us. And I want grandbabies!

Hanna is like and grabs Calebs hand very lovingly. Spencers like and its all v awkward. Spencer does what I would 100% do in this situationmake snarky jealous comments and guzzle a shit ton of red wine. I am Spencer, we are all Spencer (without the bangs, obviously.)

Emily also suggests they visit Ye Old Lizard King Toby and let him know about this whole shindig. Again, this idea never works out.

The editor lady tells her that Liam isnt on the team anymore and Aria is like, uhhhh okay. So I guess that relationship is pretty much dead. Good talk.

Spencer flashes back to a night with Caleb in Europe, talking about art and his foster homes or some shit. Yawn. For once, Spencer actually looks good in a nice dress. You did okay PLL wardrobe, dont get too excited over your one time you didnt fail.

Its a pretty pointless flashback, except it shows major sexual tension between Spencer and Caleb in Europe, which is like right after they both broke up with their significant others. See, I told you it was pointless?

Caleb goes to drop Hanna off at Lucas place and he asks Caleb on a very awkward man date. Below are the actual quotes:

Lucas: Do you lunch? Caleb: Uh, yeah I lunch. Lucas: Lets lunch!

A whole portion of dialogue that could have been summed up to we should get lunch sometime. Fuck yourself, Freeform.

Lucas shows Hanna the factory he wants to build and is like Shes like If she even THINKS her shit is going to be better than Clothes Over Bros, shes straight trippin. Lucas is like Bitches love companies.

Okay my high school friends will barely buy me a beer, let alone give me a fucking factory.

Ali has a dream of some kind and sees her mom, dressed in a fugly green top and with some bushy ass hair. I know they have leave-in conditioner in heaven, you lazy bitch. She tells Ali that Snaggle will take care of her and that she loves her, yadda yadda. For a loving mother, she also looks like she lowkey wants to strangle the shit out of Ali.

Mona and Sara meet up, the two sketchiest bitches on the block. Sara looks like Miley Cyrus if she ate herself and took makeup inspiration from a raccoon. Seriously there is like 6 pounds of eyeliner on this bitch.

Mona is like and Sara is like Sara is like, . Oh stfu Sara. You look like a balloon shaped like Nick Carter and your only friend is a dude who eats ice cream on a street corner like a fucking poverty stricken 6-year-old.

Ezra and Aria are having tea like a bunch of pussies and Aria drops the A bomb on him. She goes from 0 to 100 real quick and is like I HAVE TO END THIS.

Back to Ali and Snaggle. Lucky us. Ali tells Snaggle to go to his conference in Chicago and that when he gets back theyll resume their daily programing of boning each other (what a fucking gross mental picture.)

Caleb and Hanna present their shit idea to the group, who all agreeits a shit idea. Caleb is like . Hes getting awfully close to Hanna and Spencer looks like she is about to cut a bitch.

Caleb: This isnt a cheer-ocracy Spencer: Youre being a real cheer-tator, Caleb!

The plan starts by Hanna sending a message to A saying leave my friends alone and then a Carly Rae Jepsen-esqe version of Call Me comes on, while the binary code of her text shows up on the screen. A gets the text of that dumbass admitting to murder. Its about to go down.

div.body_middle_part_right .bodypart:nth-child(n+2), a.prevBody{display: none;}

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/pretty-little-liars-recap-confessions-of-a-mid-20s-drama-queen/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/181188109727

[flauntpage]

A Guide to Understanding All the Clichés You'll Hear This NHL Season

A real pro's pro plays the game the right way, especially in the dirty areas, by getting pucks in deep and on net while consistently making good hockey play after good hockey play with a high compete level for a full 60 every time they step on the ice.

If you have literally no idea what that means, then this guide to hockey clichés is for you.

It's often not clear exactly what commentators, coaches, and players mean when they spit out cliché after cliché during day-to-day broadcasts, media scrums, and pressers, so let us enlighten you.

These are the gems you will hear most during the NHL season, and a translation of what they actually mean.

Play the Right Way

This versatile cliché is a favorite of both broadcasters and players alike, but the media especially likes to really lean on this baby. A commentator or analyst may use it in the context of praising a mediocre talent who has no notable skills or stand-out talents but is still somehow cashing a regular NHL paycheck. Can also be used to describe a team that sucks but is very entertaining to watch.

"They really play the game the right way."

Translation: This dude and/or team can't particularly skate, shoot, pass, create turnovers, score on the powerpay or kill penalties—and really does nothing of note, ever—but they're in the NHL somehow, so, here we are.

Pucks on Net

Legendary. This puppy has been around since the dawn of time and is most often used by players during pregame and intermission interviews, where deep, analytical in-game strategy such as this is discussed.

"Ahh, we just needa get more pucks on net and good things will happen."

Translation: Uhhhh, I got my head smashed into the glass several times in the first period, so, not exactly sure what you just asked me, but I do know we're just going to take some shots on that big ol’ mesh thing over there for the rest of the game and hope for the best.

Dirty Areas

Refers to anywhere on the ice where one boasts a particular high risk of getting destroyed via an elbow, shoulder or stick to the chops. These areas include along the boards, in front of the net, at each blueline, and in the corners. They are the spots where legends are made and brain cells are murdered at a rapid pace.

"We need to get to those dirty areas and fight for those pucks."

Translation: Lol by 'we' I mean that talentless goon playing on my left wing. I get paid to score, bruh—Imma chill right here in this cozy high-slot area until you find me.

Worst Lead in Hockey

This here is an extra weird one because no one can really figure out what the worst lead in hockey really is. Is a two-goal lead the worst lead in hockey? Or is it a three-goal lead? Both variations have been used time and time again, and both variations are extremely dumb. A broadcaster and commentator favorite.

"Everybody knows a three-goal lead is the worst lead in hockey!"

Translation: l don't understand simple math, as most would agree that one goal is, in fact, the worst lead in hockey.

You Know / And uhh, but uhh

These are space fillers used when the proper words simply aren't surfacing during a presser or postgame scrum. Some guys, like Brock Boeser for instance, have gloriously taken these to the next level.

Translation: l have no idea what I'm actually saying, nor do I even, in the slightest bit, wish to speak with you right now, peasant reporter.

Heavy Shot

Another way to describe a hard shot, for some reason. Really couldn't tell you the difference between heavy and hard (hint: there's none) when it comes to puck velocity, but many broadcasters and players will drop this term when someone who doesn't look like they can shoot hard actually does.

"His shot doesn't seem that hard but it's deceptively heavy."

Translation: That dude weights like a buck-30 and shouldn't be able to shoot that hard so we need to throw another adjective in there to confuse people as much as we are.

Along the Wall

One of the dirty areas. The trenches! That large plastic wall that surrounds the entire 200 by 85-foot ice surface, AKA, the boards.

"We need to play harder along the wall."

Translation: No one on our team wants to get their skulls crushed into the boards or glass to retrieve a stupid puck. We don't care THAT much.

Compete Level

A nice, less-insulting way of saying a player and/or team sucks ass. Also dropped commonly when a player or team as a whole is extremely hungover. Compete = work ethic.

"We know we have the skill and talent but our compete level just wasn't there today."

Translation: We didn’t work hard enough to win because we logged too many hours at The Tavern last night and most were scared to piss themselves right on the ice.

Goal-Scorer's Goal

Technically, every goal that enters the net is a goal-scorer's goal because, well, the person who scored is officially a goal-scorer and that would be their goal. However, this particular term refers to those highlight-reel tallies that really only a select few players can pull off.

"See Ovi on that one? Just an absolute goal-scorer's goal there, wow!"

Translation: Player who is good at scoring indeed scores a nice goal.

He's Going to Want That One Back

Very dumb term describing a goaltender's mindset after allowing a weak or soft goal which doesn't take into account the fact that every goalie who has ever played the position wants every single goal they've ever allowed back. Another commentator favorite.

"That one slid right through the wickets. Andersen is definitely going to want that one back."

Translation: I have zero idea how to analyze goaltending so I'm just going to shit this generic saying out of my mouth because I heard someone else say it before.

Pucks in Deep

The simple art of flipping the puck into the offensive zone or rimming it around the boards (rather than carrying it into the zone) with hopes that some good work along the wall will result in possession down low. "Deep" refers to behind the net, below the goal line, and in the corners. Some of the dirty areas, if you will.

"We gotta get more pucks in deep on this defense." Translation: Let's just dump the puck in constantly and crush some opposing defenseman's skull, shall we?

Good Stick

A player who is efficient at retrieving pucks and forcing turnovers is often said to have a good stick. A skater (or goalie) with the ability to sneak in some greasy, undetected slashes, spears and trips without getting penalized is also utilizing a good stick. Also referred to as active stick.

"Ahhh, Fergy had a good stick going tonight."

Translation: Fergy jabbed some dude right in the junk without getting caught. Good for him.

Play a Full 60

A hockey game is, usually, 60 minutes long, so this is, in fact, the least confusing of any clichés we've presented here. It literally just means a team or individual plays fairly well for the entire game and doesn't shit the bed for part of it.

"We needed to play a full 60 tonight but just didn't have it."

Translation: We're way too out of shape to giver full-out for that long every night.

A Good Hockey Play

Usually refers to an absolutely egregious hit or controversial penalty that Old School Hockey Men feel is a part of playing the game the right way (see above).

"You hate to see anyone get hurt but that hit was just a good hockey play."

Translation: Though it resulted in a severe concussion and spinal cord injury, that was very entertaining to watch from the stands or in front of my TV.

A Real Pro's Pro

Basically, a player who isn't very good but he sticks in the league because everybody likes him a lot.

"Bobby's best days are behind him but man oh man is he ever a real pro's pro."

Translation: Bobby can barely skate anymore but no one, and I mean no one, organizes team benders like him. We gotta keep him around.

A Character/Glue Guy

Similar to a pro's pro in the sense that the glue guy is universally loved and does a lot to keep morale in the dressing room high, but these are the lads who specifically take on the role of trying to beat the shit out of anyone who messes with their teammates.

"Chubbs is just oozing with character."

Translation: Chubbs is a meathead and is willing to punch anyone in the face who looks at him or his teammates sideways—we love Chubbs.

Giving it 110 Percent

Yeah, this one really sucks. Rather than break it down for you, we'll let this clip from arguably the greatest episode of The Simpsons take it from here:

We Wanted it More

No, I assure you that you did not.

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports CA.

A Guide to Understanding All the Clichés You'll Hear This NHL Season published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

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A Guide to Understanding All the Clichés You'll Hear This NHL Season

A real pro's pro plays the game the right way, especially in the dirty areas, by getting pucks in deep and on net while consistently making good hockey play after good hockey play with a high compete level for a full 60 every time they step on the ice.

If you have literally no idea what that means, then this guide to hockey clichés is for you.

It's often not clear exactly what commentators, coaches, and players mean when they spit out cliché after cliché during day-to-day broadcasts, media scrums, and pressers, so let us enlighten you.

These are the gems you will hear most during the NHL season, and a translation of what they actually mean.

Play the Right Way

This versatile cliché is a favorite of both broadcasters and players alike, but the media especially likes to really lean on this baby. A commentator or analyst may use it in the context of praising a mediocre talent who has no notable skills or stand-out talents but is still somehow cashing a regular NHL paycheck. Can also be used to describe a team that sucks but is very entertaining to watch.

"They really play the game the right way."

Translation: This dude and/or team can't particularly skate, shoot, pass, create turnovers, score on the powerpay or kill penalties—and really does nothing of note, ever—but they're in the NHL somehow, so, here we are.

Pucks on Net

Legendary. This puppy has been around since the dawn of time and is most often used by players during pregame and intermission interviews, where deep, analytical in-game strategy such as this is discussed.

"Ahh, we just needa get more pucks on net and good things will happen."

Translation: Uhhhh, I got my head smashed into the glass several times in the first period, so, not exactly sure what you just asked me, but I do know we're just going to take some shots on that big ol’ mesh thing over there for the rest of the game and hope for the best.

Dirty Areas

Refers to anywhere on the ice where one boasts a particular high risk of getting destroyed via an elbow, shoulder or stick to the chops. These areas include along the boards, in front of the net, at each blueline, and in the corners. They are the spots where legends are made and brain cells are murdered at a rapid pace.

"We need to get to those dirty areas and fight for those pucks."

Translation: Lol by 'we' I mean that talentless goon playing on my left wing. I get paid to score, bruh—Imma chill right here in this cozy high-slot area until you find me.

Worst Lead in Hockey

This here is an extra weird one because no one can really figure out what the worst lead in hockey really is. Is a two-goal lead the worst lead in hockey? Or is it a three-goal lead? Both variations have been used time and time again, and both variations are extremely dumb. A broadcaster and commentator favorite.

"Everybody knows a three-goal lead is the worst lead in hockey!"

Translation: l don't understand simple math, as most would agree that one goal is, in fact, the worst lead in hockey.

You Know / And uhh, but uhh

These are space fillers used when the proper words simply aren't surfacing during a presser or postgame scrum. Some guys, like Brock Boeser for instance, have gloriously taken these to the next level.

Translation: l have no idea what I'm actually saying, nor do I even, in the slightest bit, wish to speak with you right now, peasant reporter.

Heavy Shot

Another way to describe a hard shot, for some reason. Really couldn't tell you the difference between heavy and hard (hint: there's none) when it comes to puck velocity, but many broadcasters and players will drop this term when someone who doesn't look like they can shoot hard actually does.

"His shot doesn't seem that hard but it's deceptively heavy."

Translation: That dude weights like a buck-30 and shouldn't be able to shoot that hard so we need to throw another adjective in there to confuse people as much as we are.

Along the Wall

One of the dirty areas. The trenches! That large plastic wall that surrounds the entire 200 by 85-foot ice surface, AKA, the boards.

"We need to play harder along the wall."

Translation: No one on our team wants to get their skulls crushed into the boards or glass to retrieve a stupid puck. We don't care THAT much.

Compete Level

A nice, less-insulting way of saying a player and/or team sucks ass. Also dropped commonly when a player or team as a whole is extremely hungover. Compete = work ethic.

"We know we have the skill and talent but our compete level just wasn't there today."

Translation: We didn’t work hard enough to win because we logged too many hours at The Tavern last night and most were scared to piss themselves right on the ice.

Goal-Scorer's Goal

Technically, every goal that enters the net is a goal-scorer's goal because, well, the person who scored is officially a goal-scorer and that would be their goal. However, this particular term refers to those highlight-reel tallies that really only a select few players can pull off.

"See Ovi on that one? Just an absolute goal-scorer's goal there, wow!"

Translation: Player who is good at scoring indeed scores a nice goal.

He's Going to Want That One Back

Very dumb term describing a goaltender's mindset after allowing a weak or soft goal which doesn't take into account the fact that every goalie who has ever played the position wants every single goal they've ever allowed back. Another commentator favorite.

"That one slid right through the wickets. Andersen is definitely going to want that one back."

Translation: I have zero idea how to analyze goaltending so I'm just going to shit this generic saying out of my mouth because I heard someone else say it before.

Pucks in Deep

The simple art of flipping the puck into the offensive zone or rimming it around the boards (rather than carrying it into the zone) with hopes that some good work along the wall will result in possession down low. "Deep" refers to behind the net, below the goal line, and in the corners. Some of the dirty areas, if you will.

"We gotta get more pucks in deep on this defense." Translation: Let's just dump the puck in constantly and crush some opposing defenseman's skull, shall we?

Good Stick

A player who is efficient at retrieving pucks and forcing turnovers is often said to have a good stick. A skater (or goalie) with the ability to sneak in some greasy, undetected slashes, spears and trips without getting penalized is also utilizing a good stick. Also referred to as active stick.

"Ahhh, Fergy had a good stick going tonight."

Translation: Fergy jabbed some dude right in the junk without getting caught. Good for him.

Play a Full 60

A hockey game is, usually, 60 minutes long, so this is, in fact, the least confusing of any clichés we've presented here. It literally just means a team or individual plays fairly well for the entire game and doesn't shit the bed for part of it.

"We needed to play a full 60 tonight but just didn't have it."

Translation: We're way too out of shape to giver full-out for that long every night.

A Good Hockey Play

Usually refers to an absolutely egregious hit or controversial penalty that Old School Hockey Men feel is a part of playing the game the right way (see above).

"You hate to see anyone get hurt but that hit was just a good hockey play."

Translation: Though it resulted in a severe concussion and spinal cord injury, that was very entertaining to watch from the stands or in front of my TV.

A Real Pro's Pro

Basically, a player who isn't very good but he sticks in the league because everybody likes him a lot.

"Bobby's best days are behind him but man oh man is he ever a real pro's pro."

Translation: Bobby can barely skate anymore but no one, and I mean no one, organizes team benders like him. We gotta keep him around.

A Character/Glue Guy

Similar to a pro's pro in the sense that the glue guy is universally loved and does a lot to keep morale in the dressing room high, but these are the lads who specifically take on the role of trying to beat the shit out of anyone who messes with their teammates.

"Chubbs is just oozing with character."

Translation: Chubbs is a meathead and is willing to punch anyone in the face who looks at him or his teammates sideways—we love Chubbs.

Giving it 110 Percent

Yeah, this one really sucks. Rather than break it down for you, we'll let this clip from arguably the greatest episode of The Simpsons take it from here:

We Wanted it More

No, I assure you that you did not.

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports CA.

A Guide to Understanding All the Clichés You'll Hear This NHL Season published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/