#a chance to shove his face into a slice of humble pie

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

“We're all Mad here."

This is the first of a 7-part headcanon series for the Rollo at the Writing Desk blog event; the theme is basically "Rollo pays a visit to each of the dorms, and then chaos ensues". He'll have a chance to reconnect with old enemies friends from Glorious Masquerade, as well as meet new deplorable mages people! First up, an oldie but a goodie... Heartslabyul! (This one is extremely long because there are so many characters to account for 🤡)

A Big Heartslabyul Welcome to Rollo!

His nose is assaulted with the overpowering aroma of roses as soon as he steps foot into the garden. In his hand is an invitation to Heartslabyul: it's the 5th of the month, and therefore, they will be holding a tea party as per the rules of the Queen of Hearts. The guest of honor? Him: Rollo Flamme.

He's immediately flanked by two lines of Heartslabyul students in dorm uniforms, their faces painted with a card suit and trumpets in hand. The brass instruments sound loudly as he passes.

The dorm has gone out of its way to prepare for this occasion: they've strung up lots of flags and lanterns, brought out their best tablecloths and fanciest silverware. The roses are both red and white today too--the colors together, signaling the arrival of a new acquaintance.

Rollo grimaces at the fanfare, the colorful decorations strung up, the sickeningly sweet smells wafting over. It's an ill reminder of Topsy-Turvy Day back home, how all the locals delight in the sin called magic.

Waiting for Rollo deep in the rose garden is the dorm leader and his second-in-command to greet him. Riddle offers a small, polite smile and extends a hand. "Rollo-senpai." (His thinking is, "Rollo-senpai is the headmaster's esteemed guest. Regardless of what happened in the past, we must maintain decorum for the duration of his stay.") Trey nods and gives a slight tip his hat.

Rollo meets them with a stiff smile of his own. His grasp on Riddle’s hand is impersonal, cold. “Riddle-kun and company. I am humbled to be invited to participate in your dormitory’s time-honored traditions.” (It’s a lie, but no one needs to know.)

The celebration begins! Rollo is allowed to sit near the head of the table, and he’s presented with a generous selection of familiar foods: croissants, madeleines, mousses, choux pastries, macarons, tarte tarin… even accursed savarin, the cake he considered the least appetizing.

“I did some research on the City of Flowers,” Trey casually explains. “I heard that’s where you’re from, so I wanted to give you a taste of home away from home.” (And in spite of how much he loathes mages, even Rollo is impressed. “Hmm, most astute. I must say, I commend your diligence.”)

Deuce offers to help Trey serve the guests. He's clumsy as he goes about pouring tea and passing out treats, but he's trying his best! When Deuce gets to Rollo, he attempts to bow in reverence--but ends up smacking his head into Rollo's chin and spilling tea all over him instead!

... Needless to say, Rollo is NOT happy about it, especially not when Riddle intervenes with magic to clean him up against his wishes. Deuce apologizes profusely to him for the rest of the day.

With the abundance of sweets, poor Cater's suffering out here. He makes whatever excuses he can to shove off his desserts onto Rollo, gushing about how "We gotta spoil our guest with Heartslabyul hospitality! Go on, have some of Cay-kun's cakes!"

Riddle offers Rollo a strawberry tart as a sort of... peace offering? Rollo accepts it, but he takes only a small sliver from the whole tart and nibbles on that like a starving man might ration his last loaf of bread. It raises eyebrows, but Riddle wisely chooses to not comment. It doesn't go unnoticed by Rollo, who simply replies, "Everything in moderation."

There's some tension amongst the group, on account of what went down in the City of Flowers having been told to a few select dorm members. Ace in particular is eyeing Rollo suspiciously while he munched on a slice of cherry pie.

"This dorm can barely handle one anger-prone arsonist," he had told Deuce prior to the party, "now we're supposed to deal with TWO? You might as well just set the whole garden on fire to save us some time." (But to Ace's surprise, Deuce actually defended Rollo. "He deserves a chance to redeem himself! If I'm aiming to go from delinquent to honor student, then I should have the same faith in others to change too!")

Whenever Rollo has his back to the first years, Ace makes faces at him or mimics the uptight way Rollo sits—back straight, fingers laced, expression neutral yet stern. When Rollo looks back, Ace returns to acting like everything is totally normal.

Shockingly, it’s Rollo that makes the first faux paus of the afternoon. After the incident with Deuce, he requests coffee in lieu of tea, which earns audible gasps from around the garden. Rollo stares at all the mobs gawking at him as though he has committed a heinous crime. Riddle looks like he's going to strangle a cat. “… Have I said something out of turn?”

Trey intervenes with a fresh cup of tea and tells everyone to relax, whispering to Rollo that coffee is only for birthdays. Really, Trey ends up playing mediator for the entire party.

It's then that Rollo learns that there exists a set of rules penned by the Queen of Hearts herself. Riddle proudly declares that he knows all 810 of them by heart (and that he expects all of his dorm members to do the same to honor the Queen's spirit of strictness). "Oh? And just what might these rules be?" Rollo asks.

Riddle's more than happy to oblige with a looong lecture about the 810 rules. He starts a pop quiz on the spot to test Rollo, and, to everyone's shock, he answers each and every one of them correctly. "I guess you're not student council president of Noble Bell College for nothing," Riddle mutters. "You have an impressive memory." (In truth, Rollo only made an effort to perform well out of sheer spite.)

Cater mentions that he thinks Riddle and Rollo are a lot alike. This riles them both up, and they simultaneously shout, “In what way am I like him?!” (“Ooh, you even share the same thoughts. That’s big twin energy,” Cater laughs.)

While talking over tea, Cater learns that Rollo writes letters instead of using social media. "Eeeeh, there are people that live in this day and age without a Magicam account?! How do you survive..." Cater proceeds to spend the rest of the party chatting him up and trying to convince him to make an account so he can keep in touch (terrible, really--Cater is exactly the type of noisy, frivolous person Rollo detests), all the while Rollo tries his best to dodge questions.

The meal is finished without further (major) incidents--but roughly 15 minutes in, Riddle claps his hands and announces that everyone must leave the table, as per rule 271. Rollo starts to excuse himself, Trey lays a hand on his shoulder and beams. "We need one more player for croquet."

And so Rollo is dragged into playing a round with the Heartslabyul boys. He's told the rules and handed a red flamingo and hedgehog (both of which stare at him dubiously as he handles them as though they're diseased).

On his first turn, Rollo struggles to get his mallet and ball to behave! The flamingo keeps twisting its neck instead of staying straight for his shot, and the hedgehog keeps scampering away!! "Strange, they usually behave so well," Riddle notes. ("They must not like the cartoon supervillain vibes he's giving off," Ace grumbles in the background. "A-Ace! You can't just say that!" Deuce protests. "What if he hears?!")

His hedgehog sneezes when he at last punts it, which brings the game to a screeching halt as all the card soldiers burst out into song. (Rule 304, Rollo lamented. Why can't they be silent like unrung bells?! His blood pressure is rising, his ears ringing. He tries to focus on the match to distract himself.)

Over time, Rollo becomes more accustomed with how to get a control of his mallet and ball--he's back in the game! (It's not that he's particularly competitive, but he absolutely refuses to be outdone by these haughty NRC mages... especially not Riddle, who's smirking at him so smugly!)

Unfortunately for Rollo, he can't beat Riddle despite his best efforts--though he does manage to snag second place, pulling a little ahead of Trey. There's polite clapping from the other players to congratulate them (though a few look worried).

As Rollo is returning his equipment, a horrible realization dawns on him: rule 703: Whoever comes in 2nd place during a croquet match must serve tea to the Queen the next day. He slowly turns to Riddle, whose arms are folded expectantly. "I eagerly await my tea," the redhead tells him.

Rollo feels faint. He dabs at his forehead with his handkerchief in a vain attempt to dispel some of his dread. (It doesn't help one bit.)

Before he's able to leave, Cater pulls in him by the arm, his phone at the ready. "We should totes take a group selfie to commemorate the occasion~ Since you don't have a Magicam account, I'll print up a copy for you to pick up when you drop by tomorrow!"

Rollo doesn't have the chance to protest before Heartslabyul members crowd around him, squeezing in for the photo. It's hard for him to breathe, trapped between all these writhing bodies and surrounded by boisterous laughter.

He catches the eye of Riddle beside him and manages to choke out, "How you manage with this kind of madness every day, I'll never understand."

"It is mad, yes," Riddle says with a knowing smile, "and there are days when my dorm members drive me up the wall and leave me with no choice but to collar them in retaliation. Still... I think that's part of the fun. The chaos is ours to share. It's something I've never experienced in the small world I came from."

"Preposterous. There is no conceivable way anyone in their right mind would be endeared to this."

... Right?

Just as the tendril of doubt makes itself known… SNAP! The picture is taken, forever immortalizing the moment.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #Riddle Rosehearts #twisted wonderland headcanons #Rollo Flamme #disney twisted wonderland #Ace Trappola #Deuce Spade #Trey Clover #Cater Diamond #Rollo at the Writing Desk #Heartslabyul

[tumblingxelian]

There were really only two antagonists Steven defeated by being nice to them: Lapis and the Cluster, both of whom were only antagonists because of the cruelty or apathy of other people. As a result, both were problems that could not be solved with violence.

Spinel didn't stop being an antagonist until she lost every possible way of lashing out and HAD to accept help.

Blue Diamond only changed her ways upon realizing just WHY her younger sister had left, and defeated Yellow through what ultimately amounted to a guilt-trip.

Jasper, Eyeball, and Bismuth weren't defeated through kindness, as Bismuth could only be redeemed through being shown definitive proof that Steven wasn't Rose Quartz, Jasper basically only stopped being a villain because the Diamonds stopped being villains, and Eyeball never "learned her lesson".

White Diamond only changed her ways because Pink Steven proved that her victory was completely and utterly impossible. There was nothing she could do to hurt or control Steven, and she had permanently lost her chance to reconcile with her daughter.

Peridot basically had to eat a huge slice of humble pie and have the Diamonds' petty cruelty shoved into her face before she fully defected.

The fact that there were MULTIPLE episodes that demonstrated that Steven COULDN'T befriend all his enemies makes that criticism even MORE baffling!

Excellent post, I have nothing to add, kudos!

[cucumbers-and-olives]

When All Is Said And Done

⚠️stop! have you read part one, the winner takes it all yet? if not, click the link and read it cause idk if this will make much sense!

Summary: You slowly repair you relationship with Reggie as you get closer to the end of the show.

Category: high school au, musical au?

Fandom: JATP

Paring: Reggie x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Includes: mentions of cheating

A/N: this is for @reggiepetersappreciationweek day 5? whatever yesterday was, i have a trash memory, and i forgot to post this so... whoops!

(also @williexmercer asked to be tagged in this so.... ta da?)

Mandatory Thanking of the Betas: ahhhh ty so so much @wrhen for helping me give this story the ending it deserved, i had no idea how to end it, so thank you!

AO3 link here (nope)

Please don’t repost my work without my permission, in part or whole. My work can also be found on AO3 under the same username. Thank you!

Here's to us

One more toast

And then we'll pay the bill

Closing night was always a sad thing. But after the last three months, all of the drama, and the nightmares… You could tell that the smile on Reggie’s face was his, and he was happy. Truly happy.

Deep inside

Both of us

Can feel the autumn chill

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I want to explain, so I’ll be at our spot at 7 pm tomorrow.” You listened to his voicemail over and over, trying to decide if you should trust him this time. You got one of these voicemails every week on Monday. It had been a month since “the incident” and he wasn’t giving up.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I’ll be-” You tossed your phone at the wall as hard as possible, but with your bad luck it landed on the soft white sheets of your bed and you let out a scream. It was loud and heart-wrenching, and you collapsed into the shag carpet. The soft blue carpet he had bought for you when you found out you had landed the role.

And from your spot on the floor, there was the photo of the two of you that you had framed after your second date. When you knew he was the one. He had taken you to the fair, and one of his friends had come over to take a photo of the two of you, but someone had bumped into him, and there was a ton of bright pink cotton candy in his hair. That was your favorite moment with him.

You rolled over, and like a bad omen, your phone played the voicemail again. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I want to explain, so I’ll be at our spot at 7 pm tomorrow.” You had crawled onto your bed to turn it off when you heard him whisper something he hadn’t in any of the other voicemails. “I love you.”

As you lay down to sleep that night, your brain looped his words. I love you, I love you, I love you. I. Love. You.

He hadn’t ever said it before.

Birds of passage

You and me

We fly instinctively

The cast all had slight tears in their eyes. Most of them were seniors, including you and Reggie, so this was your last show at a school you had grown to love.

When the summer's over

And the dark clouds hide the sun

Neither you nor I'm to blame

“Y/N and Reggie.” Your science teacher moved on and continued calling out other pairs to work together.

He moved to where you were sitting. It seemed as if his personality had changed. He was no longer the confident, happy boy you knew, but a shy, quiet one. “I- I can ask for a different partner. You probably don’t, don’t want to work with me.” His eyes were transfixed on the desk.

You don’t know what led you to do this, but you slipped a finger under his chin and tilted his face to look at you. “We have 5 minutes left in this period, and then we have rehearsal. You have that long to come up with a convincing argument as to why I should trust you, go it?”

He nodded softly, and you released his face. Now you had that long to figure out if you should trust him again.

As the bell rang you began to pack up your stuff when a note fell out of your bag. You picked it up and began to read it.

“Y/N. I kissed him. I’m not trying to cover for him, it’s the honest truth.” You looked up at your teacher.

“Y/L/N, get to rehearsal, or at least get out of my classroom.”

“Yeah, sorry!” You said, hurrying out of her classroom. You stepped into the hall, and you continued to read the note.

“I know it sounds like I’m covering for him. I’m not. I came into his dressing room, I kissed him. (I’ll spare you the details) But you two are an amazing couple, and he’s been a mess without you. There’s a hole in his heart that only you can fix.”

And just like the “I love you,” those last words rang in your head through rehearsal.

“There’s a hole in his heart that only you can fix.”

When all is said and done

In our lives

We have walked

Some strange and lonely treks

He crossed the stage and looked back at you. The strength it would take the entire cast to not laugh like children would be incredible.

Slightly worn

But dignified

And not too old for sex

We're still striving for the sky

No taste for humble pie

“Thank you.” He said, passing you a coke. “The pie will be out in a second.”

The booth in the back of the diner was a quiet one, but there were so many memories here. Your first date, your first kiss, Reggie asking you to be his girlfriend, and getting cast as Donna and Sam. You had found out sitting in this booth.

The waitress came over. “Two slices of apple pie, enjoy you two,” She said, with a little wink.

You took a fork and stabbed the pie like an enemy. “Talk.”

“I didn’t mean to. She came in, and she started it, I-” You shoved some pie in his mouth. His face was alarmed for a second, and then he smiled.

“Not about that, idiot, about the project. We have to present tomorrow.” You took a bite of your pie.

“I thought…” He was lost in thought for a moment and then he spoke. “I was thinking we could alternate slides? Or if you just want to do the chunks you wrote, that’s cool too!” He said, eating some more of his pie.

“That sounds good, we can alternate slides. Also, could you help me with my math homework? I’m- well, I’ve got a D. Can you help me? I brought it with me if you want to now, I have it with me, or we can do it later?” You rambled off.

“Scooch over,” He said, standing up. As you did, he sat down next to you. “Okay, pull it out, and show me what you’re struggling with. We’re not leaving till you have it down.”

He smiled at you, and you knew you were back to normal now. Or at least, a new normal.

Thanks for all your generous love

And thanks for all the fun

Neither you nor I'm to blame

As he sang that line, you both glanced into the audience where your former-best-friend-now-acquaintance sat. Your relationship had healed over the last month. He and you were clearer, and when/if anything happened, you both gave each other a chance to explain your side of the story. It was better now.

When all is said and done

It's so strange

When you're down

And lying on the floor

“Okay look up when you open your eyes,” He said, removing his hands from your face. You looked out at the beautiful rolling hills and then up. Up to the sky, and the shining stars. You gasped as you saw them, each one more beautiful than the last.

“Woah, Reggie this is so beautiful, I-” You turned around to face him. He had a picnic all laid out. There was a full apple pie and ice cream, along with a bunch of your favorite sweets and some popcorn and pretzels.

“Reggie, when did you have the time for this? It’s almost tech week,” You said as you sat down next to him. “Not that I’m ungrateful but seriously, when did you-” He cut you off as he stuck a bit of pie in your mouth.

“Did you?” He nodded. “You bought a full pie from the diner?” You smiled at him so big. And it was a wonderful night.

How you rise

Shake your head

Get up and ask for more

Clear-headed and open-eyed

With nothing left untried

Standing calmly at the crossroads

No desire to run

“I’m scared Alex.” It was Reggie’s voice you heard as you walked up to the garage. Over the past 2 and a half months, your relationship had changed, and now, it was the Saturday before tech week.

You froze outside the garage as you listened to Reggie.

“I- I, I messed it all up before, and I keep feeling like I’m gonna mess up again,” Reggie said. His voice was shaking if it was even possible for a voice to do that.

“Reg,” Alex said. “What happened wasn’t your fault. They came in and kissed you.”

“I should’ve stopped it. I should have stopped them.”

“Reggie, she forgave you. And trust me, Y/N wouldn’t be with you if she thought you had done it on purpose.”

You knocked on the garage door. “Reg, you in there? We’re gonna be late to rehearsal!”

“Yeah- yeah, I’m coming, I’ll meet you in the car babe!” He hollered back.

There's no hurry anymore

When all is said and done

Then he did something unexpected. Something unscripted. You just felt him pulling you in and dipping you down, and for a moment in one amazing kiss, the audience wasn’t there.

You pulled away, smiling and breathless as the audience cheered.

~

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#reggieappweek #more tags coming soon (im slow okay) #reggie x reader #reggie peters #jatp #julie and the phantoms #fanfic #reggie fanfic

[curlynerd]

Happy Birthday Dean

Dean yawned as he padded down the bunker hallway in socked feet. He wished that was a sign of impending sleep, but unfortunately insomnia plagued him tonight. He hoped a glass of milk and a small snack would help him along.

But the kitchen light was on, and he could hear someone moving around in there. He frowned. Sam went to bed hours ago. Cas too, since he needed his beauty rest now that he was human. Jack was almost certainly engrossed in his newest Minecraft addiction.

So Dean tensed. He thought about going back to his room for a gun, but he knew it was almost certainly one of the other men, probably also searching for a midnight snack. Still, he crept as quietly as he could and peered around the corner, just to be safe.

It was only Cas, standing with his back turned to Dean, an unholy mess on the counter in front of him, hunched over watching something on his phone.

Dean relaxed and smiled. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” he said as he swaggered into the kitchen. Cas jumped, sending a canister of spices toppling over and spilling on the counter and across his apron. Correction, Dean’s apron. Dean’s grin widened.

“Dean!” Cas whirled around and clutched the counter behind him with his arms spread as wide as possible, like he could block the entire thing with his body. Dean raised an eyebrow. Suspicious. “What are you doing up?”

“A guy can’t grab a bite from his own kitchen?” Dean advanced on him, and Cas pressed up against the counter. Definitely trying to hide something. “Whatcha got going on over here, Julia Child?” Dean tried to lean around Cas, who tilted right there alongside him, but Dean could see flour, butter, brown sugar, and a big bag of apples.

“I’m just making a snack,” Cas huffed. His irritated sulk did nothing to cover up the unmistakable suspicion of his body language, nor the panicked flicker in his bright blue eyes.

“Mighty involved snack for two in the morning,” Dean remarked, undaunted. He kept dancing around Cas until Cas had no choice but to either let him see or shove him away. Cas chose the former, though he rolled his eyes spectacularly. There was a large lump of...well something. It was limp and soggy and had large, visible lumps of butter dotted throughout the flour mess. “Baking?”

Cas folded his arms. His black sleeping shirt was a mess of flour. His dark hair was dusted with white too. Dean bit his lip to fight down his own grin at how tragic and adorable he looked. “I can’t tell you.”

Well that caught Dean’s attention. “Why not?” he challenged, staring Cas down. 

Cas squinted at him and turned his lips down in his own very serious version of a pout. “It’ll ruin the surprise.”

Dean blinked. “Surprise? What--” And then he remembered what tomorrow was. “This for my birthday?”

Cas let out a beleaguered sigh. “You weren’t supposed to find out until morning.”

Warmth spread through Dean’s chest. Cas was baking something for him? He tried to squash down the tickling joy and chuckled. “Cas, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but that’s the worst attempt at a cake I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s going to be pie,” Cas said, his deep voice even heavier than usual with petulant remorse.

“Pie?” Now Dean was interested. He looked down at the pastry blob on the counter. “That’s never going to bake right.”

“Yes. Thank you. I was able to deduce that myself.” Cas turned back to his disaster. “I was trying to find a video to help fix it.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “I think you might have to scrap it and start over.”

Cas shook his head. “Nonsense. I just need to cut in more flour. The YouTube video says so.”

“You gonna trust some mommy blogger over me?”

“Absolutely.”

Ten minutes of bickering and one triumphant “I told you so” from Cas later, and their mostly correct-looking pastry dough was chilling in the fridge. Somehow Dean also wound up with flour all over his chest and pajama bottoms. Cas tried to give him his apron back, but Dean insisted he keep it on. Any opinions on how silly and domestic Cas looked in an apron were wisely kept to himself.

Dean clapped his hands together. A tiny puff cloud of flour ghosted around them. “Alright. Step one done. What next? The apples?” He patted Cas’ shoulder and grinned at the white handprint he left behind. “You peel, I’ll start measuring out the other ingredients.” Dean flashed his most innocent smile, feeling pretty smug that he’d pawned off the least desirable task on Cas. Cas eyed him for only a second, suspicious, before he went to work.

Dean first focused on wiping up the mess of cinnamon Cas had made when Dean came in and startled him. Once that was done he chanced a glance to Cas, who was mangling the hell out of his apple with the paring knife. Dean tisked at him. “Man, what’re you doing? You’re gonna peel off your own skin!” Dean reached over and yanked the knife from Cas’ hand. “Who the hell taught you how to use a blade?”

Cas handed the apple to Dean. “I was created with that knowledge,” he remarked dryly.

“Well we all know Chuck sucked at teaching anything.” Cas rolled his eyes, but Dean caught the tiny smile on his lips at Dean’s antics. Dean grinned as he held the apple and knife in front of him with a flourish. “Like this, man. Don’t slice off half the apple with the peel.” Dean demonstrated while Cas leaned in close to observe him. Dean could feel the warmth of his body practically touching him, distractingly close and smelling like his soap and the cinnamon all over his apron. Dean almost nicked himself. He cleared his throat and hastily shoved his supplies back into Cas’ hands. “You try.”

He only watched for about ten seconds before Dean was back to scolding Cas. “No that’s even worse! Your thumb is too close. Here--” And without thinking about it, Dean shuffled in closer and curled his hand around Cas’ to carefully arrange his grip. “Like this.”

Castiel went very, very still. “Of...Of course, Dean,” he said, but his voice was tense and even deeper than normal, like he was doing everything in his power to keep it steady and sure. Dean looked up at his face, but Cas’ eyes were locked on their hands.

Dean yanked his hand away like it was electrocuted. He tried to cover his tracks by clearing his throat and rubbing them over his thighs. “Anyway. Uh. Yeah. Hold it like that.” 

Something quiet and sad flickered across Cas’ eyes, making Dean’s racing heart drop into his stomach. Dean forced a smile until Cas turned back to his peeling.

The silence in the kitchen was heavy. Memories of Cas’ confession weighed down the air, pressing against Dean and keeping him from saying anything more. His own fears choked him. Fears that Cas didn’t mean what he’d said, not in the way Dean wanted him to. And especially not now that he was human, with a human’s feelings, and a human’s experience and all of the mess and confusion and resentment that came with it.

Besides, Cas didn’t deserve someone broken like Dean. And Dean didn’t deserve someone amazing like Cas.

Because at the very least, Cas deserved someone who could look him in the eye when reminded of the fact that he loved him.

Dean scrubbed at his hair and bit back a sigh.

“If you’re just standing around, you can at least slice these,” Cas said, his voice steady and calm again, slicing through the awkward silence and Dean’s pitiful thoughts with the same ease as he cut through the apple peels now that Dean had shown him how. He held out a naked apple for Dean.

Dean immediately grabbed at the lifeline he was given. “You gonna make me cut my own apples for my own birthday pie, Cas?”

Cas’ gaze was unimpressed. “Yes.” He pressed the apple into Dean’s hand and turned back to his own task. Dean made a face at his serious profile, but did as he was told.

The silence surrounding them shifted gradually, moving from awkward to comfortable as they settled into something familiar, working side-by-side, not needing to say a word to fill the quiet between them.

After the third apple, thinly sliced and placed into a big mixing bowl, Dean chanced a glance at Cas. At this angle he could see wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, a clear sign of his humanity. Underneath them the skin was dark and heavy. He was obviously tired. But his eyes were still as bright as the day Dean met him, now shining with a quiet light of contentment.

Dean didn’t understand it 

How could someone look so happy just standing next to him? How could Cas, a former angel, find peace and purpose in doing something so humble?

Yet here he was, baking Dean a pie in the middle of the freaking night. Using his own two hands to make a nice surprise for his birthday. Dean couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done something like this for him. Maybe never. Even Mary’s pies were store bought.

Dean smiled as warm sunshine settled in his chest. Perhaps it didn’t matter if Dean understood it all, because Cas was happy where he was no matter what Dean thought. 

Cas must have sensed a shift in his posture, because he glanced over to him. “What?” He tilted his head at Dean. Dean shook his head a little and didn’t answer, only let his smile grow as he turned back to the apples. In the corner of his eye, he could see Cas still staring at him, but Cas didn’t press for more, and after a moment he returned to his peeling. When Dean glanced at him again, he was smiling too.

They worked in easy silence until the apples were all peeled and sliced. They bickered again as they made the filling, Cas insisting they follow the recipe to the letter while Dean insisted that no, it needed at least twice as much cinnamon. Dean won that round by playing the birthday card. As he rolled out the pie crust, Cas made a few passive aggressive comments about how following the recipe saved the pastry. And when Dean countered by looking him dead in the eye and adding even more cinnamon to the filling, Cas gifted him with a rare laugh that made Dean’s chest swell with smug pride and golden warmth.

They fell back into easy silence while Cas carefully lined their pie tin with pastry. Dean spooned the filling into the tin, packing in as much as he could. While Cas carefully laid the top crust over it and finished things off, Dean helped himself to the leftover slices of crunchy, spicy, sweetened apples.

“Damn Cas, I think I’ve outdone myself this time,” he said with an impertinent wink as Cas slid the pie into the preheated oven and set their kitchen timer. He held out a bite for Cas. “Try it. It’s awesome.”

“Dean, you’re not supposed to eat raw flour.”

Dean rolled his eyes and held up the fork even higher. “Quit being a baby, baby.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed, but he rose to Dean’s baiting. He wrapped his long fingers around Dean’s hand and maneuvered the bite of apple into his mouth. Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he watched his lips move, watched his tongue flick out to catch a speck of brown sugar. Dean’s pulse jumped into his throat.

“Very good,” Cas said with the patient duty of one who was humoring him. “But it will taste much better when it’s baked.” His hand was still wrapped around Dean’s wrist, but Dean hardly noticed. All he could pay attention to was the soft pink color of Cas’ lips as he smiled gently. The dark circles under his eyes, indicating he should have gone to bed hours ago, but he didn’t. He stayed up half the night to bake Dean a pie. To do something kind. Just for him. No expectation in return, just the desire to give Dean a happy surprise on his birthday.

Dean’s eyes fell back to Cas’ lips. He knew they’d taste like cinnamon.

So Dean didn’t think. He didn’t let his doubts take hold. He didn’t allow his own self-destructive fears stop him. He just acted.

Dean leaned in and kissed Castiel.

The kiss was gentle at first, little more than a soft brush of warm lips. He felt rather than heard Cas’ stunned gasp against his mouth, and Dean kissed him again. Dean half expected Cas to push him back. To demand an explanation. To tell him he was wrong about what Cas wanted or how he felt. 

He also half expected Cas to dive in head first. No plan, not knowing what he was doing, only trusting blindly, the way Cas so often did. Satisfaction rumbled in Dean's chest when Cas picked the latter.

The fork they were holding clattered to the floor as Cas threw his arms around Dean with reckless determination. Dean’s bubbling laugh interrupted their kiss, but only for a moment. He gripped Cas at his waist, using the tie strings of his apron to pull him forward until their bodies were pressed together.

Cas’ lips were cinnamon sweet, his mouth warm and inviting as Dean slipped his tongue inside with a soft sigh. Dean let his hands wander, up Cas’ back, down his thick arms, carding through his hair, and soon Cas did the same. They kissed until the kitchen timer started shrieking at them, reluctantly pulling them apart. Cas’ hair was wild, the flour almost completely brushed out of it by now. His lips were wet and kiss-bruised, their lovely pale pink now dark. Dean knew he wasn’t much better himself. The front of his pajamas were now stained with cinnamon from Cas’ apron. He was almost certain there were floury handprints on his ass.

He beamed at Cas and reached for the oven mitts. “Time for the big reveal.”

The pie was burnt at the edges, imperfect and too full, with filling bubbling out of the slits and leaving sticky syrup all over the top crust. But Dean grinned at it like it was the most beautiful pie he’d ever seen. “Hey, when’s the next state fair?” he joked as he set it on the metal counter to cool and turned the oven off. 

Cas was staring at him with awe and disbelief and so, so much love. It twisted in Dean’s chest, warm and comforting and terrifying in equal measure, and for once Dean didn’t force himself to push those feelings back down. Cas loved him. Wholly, unconditionally, knowing everything that Dean had done, everything Dean had been through. He loved him through all of that, without any expectations beyond what Dean was capable of giving him. 

And at forty-two, Dean was too damn old to keep pretending he didn’t love Cas the same way Cas so clearly loved him.

He stepped in close. Cas raised his hands like he wanted to reach out and touch Dean again, but he hesitated, so Dean settled his hands on Cas’ waist and waited for Cas to rest his hands on the small of his back. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He watched the light in Cas’ eyes soften into something sweet and fond. “For the pie,” he added, the giddiness in his heart making it difficult to stay quiet. He cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s great. It’s…” But Dean didn’t have the words to describe how much it all meant to him. How much Cas meant to him. So he leaned in and kissed Cas again, slow and tender. He smiled when he pulled back, and the grin on Cas’ face made it clear he understood everything Dean couldn’t say.

Dean dragged Cas back to his bedroom, where they continued to miss out on some much needed sleep. Some things were worth a little sleep deprivation. But when Dean woke up on the morning of his birthday with Cas resting his head on his chest, looking soft and peaceful and warm, he decided this was the best part of it all.

The pie didn't make it past noon. Not with Dean insisting that it was his birthday and he could eat whatever he wanted for breakfast. And brunch. And lunch.

Sam complained that he didn't save a slice for Eileen, but that was alright. When she showed up that night for pizza and games, she came bearing a tray of rice krispie treats dotted with birthday candles. She didn't even make it all the way down the stairs before Dean wrapped her in a gleeful bear hug.

#Happy Birthday Dean Winchester #destiel #deancas #my fanfic #katie writes things #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic

[sero-sphere]

L.O.V Christmas Party

Warnings: Alcohol comsumption, swearing and dildos?

Word Count: 1,900

Really just wanted to write a soft shiggy, but here we are with this crack fic. ( League of Villians x f reader)

( ＾◡＾)っ✂( ＾◡＾)っ✂( ＾◡＾)っ✂( ＾◡＾)っ✂( ＾◡＾)っ✂( ＾◡＾)っ✂

A Christmas party? For villains? It was a bad idea, but yet here you were wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and Santa hat. Toga was in charge of decorating and you had to admit she did a good job, but there was fucking glitter everywhere. You peered down into your drink and held it up to the light, only to see it glisten as you swished it around.

“Ah tis’ the season I guess” You said to Spinner who was looking at you like you were crazy for even drinking that.

“You act like that’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen me do…. We were literally just out on a mission together.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right” and with that Spinner took off to the bar. Your eyes followed him as he passed the pile of shittly wrapped gifts in the center of the room,that were for a game of yankee swap later. You could only imagine the gifts that everyone had picked out. You then glanced over to the bar where you noticed a bunch of food set up. “I really hope there’s pie” you mumbled to yourself as you made your way over.

"Hey where did we get all this, it looks fucking amazing!" "I compressed a catering truck, sweetie...." Compress looked over to you, admiring your outfit. He himself was wearing a Christmas sweater, along with his usual mask and hat. "Nice dude! Those poor people!" Twice interjected before you had a chance to reply. He was in a Santa suit, minus the beard and hat. Instead of a Santa hat, he was wearing an elf’s hat in its place.You figured it was probably just his way of expressing himself. You pretty much pushed him out of the way when you saw what was directly behind him on the table.

“Oh, this pie is delicious!!” Your voice was barely understandable as you shoved a whole piece of the pecan pie into your mouth, filling up your cheeks like a chipmunk. Compress and Twice were staring at this point.

“Would you guys stop, I just really like pie ok?” You said while you were still chewing, making yourself look like an even bigger dumbass by talking with all that food in your mouth.

“So conceited, like I would be looking at you. You look so cute let me pinch em’!” Twice smirked as he made a pinching motion at your cheeks with his left hand, and pointed directly behind you with his right.

“No, we’re really not looking at you, don’t worry.” Mr. Compress nodded and suggested for you look over your shoulder. You turned around and came face to face with Tomura. You nearly choked when you noticed what he was wearing.

“Oh hi!!” You managed to whisper to the boy who was standing no less than half a foot away from your face. A Santa hat with thick white fur sat on the top of his head. You followed the tip down to where it hung over his shoulders. His hands were in his pockets instead of scratching at his neck for once. In place of his usual black shirt, he was wearing a thick, red knit, turtle neck sweater. It bunched up perfectly around his face.

“Hey, we match…I guess” His hand left his pocket and gestured to the hat you forgot you were even wearing at this point.

“That’s cute, I’m going to be sick.”  Twice scoffed.

“I’m going to go get a drink, you guys want one? Just kidding, I know you all do, I’ll be right back.” You left the three of them together as you made your way across the party to get some more drinks. You had to get away before you embarrassed yourself. Shigaraki was looking just too nice in his Christmas attire and you knew your drunk self couldn’t behave.

Kurogiri was tending the bar per usual.

“Gimme something that just screams ‘holiday season’ please sir.” You grabbed a candy cane from the table and started to unwind it from the plastic as he handed you some nasty eggnog drink. “Ugh really. Maybe something else?” You could have sworn you saw what you thought was an eye roll but you weren’t sure, could he even do that?

“Better?” Kurogiri passed you a red, but somehow still glittery drink. You took the candy cane out from your mouth and tasted it.

“Yes, thank you! Two more please.” Once the drinks were made you plopped the candy cane back in your mouth and carefully grabbed all 4 glasses at once and started off towards everyone else.

“Hey Shiggy, you want this eggnog? It’s gross so you'd probably like it.” You handed him the drink as you put the others down on the table for everyone else to grab.

“It’s probably not bad, Eggnog is pretty good. Especially if its’ got whiskey or bourbon in it…” a voice behind you spoke up.

“Dabi!!”  You trapped him in a hug immediately.

“Calm down doll, I’m not that special” Dabi leaned over and wrapped an arm around your waist, dragging you closer to him. He, like the party pooper he was, wore his regular clothes, nothing Christmas about him. It wasn’t new for him to be handsy either, he was touchy feely with pretty much everyone.

Shigaraki took a sip and nodded in agreement with Dabi.

“He really likes that?”  You thought to yourself. “Whatever tickles his pickle….oh god what have I done. Now I can’t stop thinking about his…”

“Y/n? You alright? Your face is bright red, it looks like you’re about to…” Dabi teased. You spoke up before he got to finish.

“I’ll be fine, I’m going to find Toga! I wanna tell her what an awesome job she did giving everyone craft store herpes!” You heard a few laughs as you took off in search of her. She was sitting on a love seat by the fire place chatting with Spinner. You went over to join her. She was wearing an oversized Christmas sweater and reindeer ears. She looked like a little kid.

After a few minutes of chatting she got up leaving the reindeer ears she was wearing behind. Dabi swiftly replaced her spot beside you.

“What’cha got there doll?”

“Hmmm, let me show you!” You reached over as he leaned closer to you, allowing you to put the ears on him.

“Ohh, he is just soo cute!!” Toga exclaimed. She was skipping back over towards the two of you, with a plate of goodies in her hand.

“That pie is to die for, ugghhhhhmmm” You moaned as you thought about having another slice….this would be your… what, third piece? You couldn’t remember, wait why couldn’t you remember? Oh right, the alcohol. How many drinks have you had at this point? Why couldn’t you remember that either? Oh right, because you were thinking about Shigarakis pickle and needed something to distract you.

Now,here you were, thinking about Shigarakis dick for the 2nd time tonight. Not that you hadn’t thought about it before, but now that you were this drunk it was dangerous.  Between all the drinks, and your thoughts, you were hot. Very hot. Dabi sitting so close didn’t help either, with his quirk and all. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, so you decided to take off your Christmas sweater, leaving you in nothing but the skimpy red tank top you had on underneath.

Shigaraki, who was sitting by the bar watched your every move. He even watched as you skipped along to kiss Toga under the mistletoe. His stares were interrupted when Dabi, who had also moved from his seated position, crept to the bar where Shiggy was, for another drink.

"You know you can do more than just stare at her, right? Like maybe you could even go and give her a gift...."

“I mean, I could…but why? Christmas is stupid.” He tried to play it off like it wasn’t a great idea.

“Yeah it is.” Dabi groaned in agreement.  “but she's drunk as fuck, and probably hasn't gotten a Christmas gift...like ever. I don’t even know why I'm giving you advice… but man you look like a creep just staring at her all night.”

Dabi handed him another drink for encouragement and sent him on his ‘merry’ way.  As Tomura walked over towards you, he took a pit stop to swipe the first gift he saw from the huge pile of gifts in the center of the room. “eh, this will be fine I guess”......

“Hey, I caught someone trying to steal your sweater before so I gave it to Kurogiri to hold on for you.” He said grabbing your attention.

“Oh thanks, I kinda forgot about it…what’s that?” You pointed excitedly to the gift he had in his hand. There was no way it was for you, was it?  You watched as he handed it to you without even saying a word.

“It’s for me? Aw, thanks Shiggy, you shouldn’t have. I can’t even remember the last time I got a gift on Christmas….can I open it?” You said all too eagerly. Normally you would have been more humble about him giving you a gift, but you had drank too much to feel even the slightest bit of embarrassment tonight.

“Uhm, now? Are you sure?” Tomura admittedly didn’t even know what it was. What if it was something dumb and you hated it? He would have to come up with some reasoning for why he’d picked it out. He’d rather you wait, but he heard himself speak up.

“Yeah of course.”  What the fuck, he thought for sure he was going to tell you to wait, but he just said yes? He silently cursed himself as he watched you tear apart the gift, which he just now realized was wrapped with a little too much tape. Little bits were getting stuck all over you, so you jumped around a bit to try and shake them off. He couldn’t help himself as his gaze drifted down to your chest, almost zoning out. Watching as they jiggled slightly with every wave of motion. He didn’t even notice that you had successfully unwrapped the present, and were now staring up at him giggling.

“How’d you know! That’s just what I wanted!!! I mean like, I have been thinking about it all night.”

He glanced down at the gift in your hands, thankful that you actually liked it, and his stupid associates hadn’t picked out anything awful. Then he saw just what it was. Leave it to them to fucking pick this out. It was a big, pale blue, dildo. Almost exactly the same color of his hair. He was eternally screaming at this point. Since when did they make dildos in this shade? Why would someone buy that? He didn’t know what to do until he thought back to what you just said.

“Wait you said you were thinking about this all night?”

………………………………………………………………

“Yeah, were going to be one gift short, Shigaraki already swiped one, per my advice” Dabi stated as he was sitting down to start the game with everyone.

“Where is he anyway?” Toga chimed in. “And Y/N, haven’t seen them in a while”

“Who cares? I’m worried!” Twice roared from his seat beside Toga.

It wasn’t until they got the last of the gifts open that Spinner spoke up.

“Wait, I brought something hilarious, why haven’t any of you spoken up yet?”

“Dabi, said Tomura already took a gift for Y/N-chan remember…” Toga teased on.

Spinner put two and two together, and decided to let everyone else in on his gag gift. They all found it hilarious. Twice was rolling around on the floor almost in tears.

Yourself and Tomura decided to sneak back into the party at this point. Everyone was still laughing when you guys made your way in.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Tomura grumbled, startling everyone and making them jump.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki #league of villains #crack fic #bnha crack #bnha x reader

[3one3]

The Sequel - 810

How Long

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“What’s that delicious smell?”

“A whole salmon with honey, lemon, and garlic. I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m hungry, but I don’t know if I’m eat-a-whole-salmon hungry. How much salmon are we talking about?”

“Like...this much...maybe?”

André smiled at Christina’s “diligent face” while she tried to demonstrate the dimensions of the large piece of fish she found in the fresh market. Stefanie and Kyle were trying to work on their cooking skills, so after everyone did their riding on Saturday morning they convinced their coach to go shopping with them for ingredients to make “something good that we can eat for a few days”. They spent a lot of cash on dressing up their apartment and were spending quite a bit on eating out too. They wanted to eat healthier and cheaper, and not have to drive so much. Their place was not close to the barn at all. Extra driving on top of the commute was not appreciated. Stefanie was used to oatmeal, salads, and really basic dinners. Kyle was used to buying out the ready-made section at the grocery store, being taken out by his parents, and having their in-house cook prepare things for him to take home from family dinner. Christina detected some collaborative motivation going on, as if the two young riders were inspired to do better in the kitchen because it could be a team effort and maybe that was better than judging each other for their regular eating and cooking habits.

Their motivation worked out to her benefit, because they found out about a great fresh foods market in the city. They bought three nice looking Pink salmon, which were “whole” but not “wholly intact”, meaning they were ready to cook, no trimming necessary, a 6lb chuck roast, and tons of produce. Their riding trainer walked Stefanie and Kyle through two meals right in her own kitchen while everyone watched Dortmund lose by two goals to one at Hertha Berlin. She showed them how to make a hearty beef stew with onions, carrots, potatoes, turnips, and green beans, and graciously allowed them to take it home in one of her Dutch oven pots, then they made two of the fish, the same way the third one was cooking when André got home from the airport. It was baked in foil first with a liberal helping of the sauce made from coconut oil, raw honey, lemon juice, and garlic, and then caramelized quickly under the broiler. The explanation he got for the quantity of fish was the same as they got.

“You eat it hot tonight and then you can have it cold in a salad tomorrow, or even in an omelette, and Lukas loves it cold with anything. I can even mix it with some plain yogurt and onion and celery and give it to him like tuna salad for a sandwich,” Christina told him. As Stefanie and Kyle came to understand, there are tons of ways to eat leftover salmon for a few days. Christina had no intention of eating any of it, but she also got a bunch of other food at the colorful, bountiful, and reasonably priced market, so she had plenty to eat before she even got started on the footballer’s fish.

“Okay,” he laughed. It was quite novel for him to see his girl back in “I want to do nice things for you” mode. He liked it when she tried to be the perfect housewife, not because he valued housewife behavior but because she was always cute about it, and she wanted to take care of her people for her own satisfaction rather than some obligation. He was also just glad that she wasn’t bursting at the seams to deliver a lecture about his team’s performance, which was lethargic, inefficient, and careless. Tuchel committed the same crime as many others before him. He tried to rotate, but instead of changing one or two players and still preserving the balance, system, and shape of his team, he made three changes and changed everything. The system they started with was dysfunctional and made no use of anyone’s talents or strengths, Matze Ginter made a typical Matze Ginter mistake and gave up a goal, they got their act together with a major tactical overhaul at half time, Auba got an equalizer, things were finally coming good, Tuchel used substitutions to overload in attack, his defenders were exposed on the break and gave up many free kicks, and Hertha scored a winner from one of them. André missed a chance in the first two minutes because he was overeager and desperate to prove himself. Auba missed a clear chance set up from some great team play. Other opportunities were not capitalized on. André wasn’t happy with himself, with the teammates who missed his better runs or couldn’t make something of the chances he created for them, and the manager, for not figuring out sooner than the way he set his team out was useless and duly changing the system to get his two forwards more involved. He knew Christina must have wanted to break the TV throughout that game, and he was mostly right. She paid as much attention as she could while tutoring her riders in the basics of stews.

“Go change if you want. It’s done in two minutes,” she advised in the spacious foyer. It had its own wood-burning fireplace.

“Mausi isn’t still up, is he?” The BVB man leaned to the left for a more complete view of the living room behind her.

“He had the last of the pot pies and pot-pie-passed out. In the highchair. With his cup in his hand.” His wife imitated their son’s posture when he couldn’t wait for her to finish making the sauce for the fish on the stove, and just got a head start on bedtime. She then shoved him by the waist toward the stairs and told him to hurry up. He took two steps and then paused to watch her literally prance through the living room in her furry slippers. Christina was just in a hurry to get to the broiler and make sure she didn’t overcook her fish, but André read it as excitement. He thought she was that happy to have him home again.

He’d been involved in a repair campaign since she made it clear to him on Thursday that she was lonely and bored because he was hardly home, and not just because she missed London, had no close friends around to do things with, and had little on her work schedule beyond regular riding and teaching. They went out for dinner that night, and he talked her into saving her riding for the afternoon on Friday so that they could hang out with Lukas at home until he had to go to Brackel and the team hotel. Some small courtesies were part of his effort to make his wife feel more at home. For example, he programmed an easy to navigate to set of favorites on the TV with all the pertinent UK-originated channels so that she could find all her regular shows without having to browse through all the domestic channels. He texted more too while he was away. Significant football match or no significant football match, he wanted to make Christina want to be home more than she wanted to go back to London. There was still no sex, but she was at least a little warmer to him while he was there. Her eyes weren’t so empty or sad.

There was a plate on the counter for him with a big section of the delicate but meaty pink fish, dark orange and almost crisp on top, moist and tender inside. It was garnished with the remnants of two lemon slices from the packet it cooked in, fresh parsley, and coarse ground pepper. There was also brown rice and a pile of greens dressed in the sweet and lightly acidic honey, lemon, and garlic sauce. It smelled even better than when it was in the broiler, and much to André’s delight, there were two glasses of white wine at the tall stools.

“You ate already, Prinzessin?”

“I had the same with but with broiled chicken breast. Sit. Eat,” Christina ordered. She was refilling the dogs’ water bowl.

“Sit with me.”

“I’m going to.”

“This looks very nice. Did you try it? Salmon is a fish you pretend to tolerate when other people feed it to you.”

“No, but I made it earlier with Kyle and Stef too and they had it for dinner and loved it. I don’t know how hungry you are, but there’s more rice and more salad.”

“I just ate after the match a few hours ago, so this is plenty. Cheers, pretty girl.” André clinked his glass of chilled Viognier with hers when she climbed into the tall wooden stool beside his. The new ones had backs to them, and were more comfortable than the more humble and basic round ones of their old place. They were also a greater ask to sit in since the eating part of the vast island was raised a few inches above the work surface part and they were tall to compensate. She took a big gulp of her favorite wine and then watched on with anticipation as the player sampled the salmon.

His attempts to improve the current state of their relationship were not unnoticed. Christina appreciated them even though they didn’t do much for her core problems. Missing Juan was still difficult. Believing things would get markedly better with her partner was still difficult. Accepting that different isn’t automatically worse was still difficult. And it still felt like the life she wanted to live was the one that happened when she was with the Spaniard, no matter which country that happened in. Those times were “good” life, and all the travel and back and forth with André was the “bad” life. Settled in Dortmund wasn’t as good as the “good” yet. It was closer to the “bad”. The Londoner was trying to open herself up to feeling good about those things- to remain ready to receive a positive feeling instead of constantly expecting only negative. And it was killing her that André was hurting because of her. He wasn’t just annoyed, or frustrated, or hurrying past that which he didn’t want to acknowledge in favor of getting closer to that which he did. He was actively upset about the state of their relationship too. It was painful for him too despite his questions about it surely being different from Christina’s.

And then there was football. Whether he was or wasn’t putting enough person pressure on himself, she saw him unhappy about his performances and contributions much more often than he was happy. Making dinner for him was supposed to provide an avenue to celebrate a great appearance. The ginger bearded forward was supposed to justify his inclusion and shut up all the doubters. Instead he blew that early chance and set the wrong tone for the whole match. The commentators said he should have done better. His wife thought they didn’t look that closely. He had to rush the shot. A defender almost got a toe on it. He didn’t have all day. It was probably his second touch of the match, after the first one to take it into space to get the shot off. They harped on it through the whole game. At one point he was in a good spot in the box and literally slipped and fell down while trying to get on the end of a cross. It was unlikely he’d get to it anyway, but it still looked bad and no doubt had critics facepalming. Blaming André for club problems was becoming quite popular among a subset of the fans and many of the established bloggers. He did the post-match interviews and said they lost due to small details, and that he wasn’t blaming anyone. He said it was a frustrating afternoon. His wife didn’t see or hear frustration coming from him. All she saw was sadness and disappointment. During the game, that frustration was real. It bubbled over into a late challenge at one point. During the brief periods when everyone had some rhythm going, and interplay was quick and purposeful, André looked pretty strong and capable. Christina was sure he thought he was going to get a chance to make up for the early miss. He even had a good shot just before being subbed late on, missing only by inches. His girl knew that sadness and dejection and disappointment. Her fancy salmon became a consolation dinner.

“I know I say this every time you make something new, but you are the best wife,” the target of her culinary therapy nodded while he chewed. “This is fantastic. I’m gonna want this all the time now.” I have like half of the wife perks back now, he added to himself. Tonight, I want the sex part back. She is so ugh, nom when she prances around in the boyshorts and her slippers. I’ve hardly seen her legs since she moved in.

“Well it’s very easy to make and it takes 20 minutes total so you can have it whenever you like. I got tons of berries and fruit today too.”

“So you had a good day, yeah? You said the horses were all happy to work outside?”

“Mhm. How about you, boyfriend?” Christina took a smaller sip from her glass and then turned her lip over in a sympathetic pout. “Do you want to talk about the game?”

“Not really. I could have been better, everyone else could have been better, and Tuchel could have been better. I bet you already know how I feel about it,” André shrugged, eyes on his food. Getting the rice, the fish, and the bitter leaves all together made for a really nice bite. I would rather discuss the food. When I say I know she knows how I feel already what I really mean is I hope she does, because she used to be good at that, and because I don’t want to have to spell it out. I can tell she’s not in the mood to do “I told you so”, or she just knows I don’t want to hear it, he thought as he felt a small hand arrive near the middle of his back. So maybe she knows what’s up with me better than I know what’s up with her lately.

“I don’t understand why he chooses to play Matze when Papa is out. Like, don’t take out the best defender you have and put in the worst. If you need to give Matze playing time, put him next to Julian, or if it has to be at center back then do it when Papa is playing and he’s protected.”

“I don’t know. Where you going?” the player asked unhappily when he realized the comforting hand lifted from his back and its owner was sliding off her seat.

“To put the rest of the fish away. I need to get in the shower so my hair has time to dry before bed. Excessive vegetable peeling, chopping, and juicing makes my arms tired. I can’t hold a dryer.” Christina shot her “poor me” face over her shoulder at him at the same time as her phone vibrated where she left it on the counter.

“What about your wine?” What about sitting with me while I eat, André complained in silence, reaching for the device.

“Cute picture. Didn’t you say you slept all the time as a baby and your mum couldn’t wake you up to eat?” he read from the message preview while she assured him she’d finish her drink later. Did she take a picture of Mausi passed out in his chair and send it to him and not me? That’s not nice. He tapped in her passcode so that he could look at the context in which the message was sent, and sure enough his wife had sent his old teammate a photo of their little boy looking a bit like a drunk, hugging his drink to his chest but completely out. There was a picture before that of two big pieces of fish just like the one the German was eating. He glanced guiltily up at Christina’s back, checking to see how close she was to being done trying to cut the salmon into pieces she could stack in a large plastic container. Spying on her text conversations always felt a little intrusive to him, whether there was anything to hide in them or not. It made him feel like an overly protective parent checking up on a child, firstly, which was disrespectful to his grown up wife, and then he felt like a controlling husband, which made him ask himself if he had doubts about her truthfulness. He didn’t. He trusted her. He had to. So checking up on that trust didn’t feel right. He closed the messaging app and opened her photos instead, because he could justify that in a less distrusting way. He could argue, to himself mostly, that he just wanted to see what else he’d missed the photo-documentation of that perhaps the Spaniard hadn’t.

What he saw created a shuddering pain in his chest. There were tons of recent photos she never shared with him. Some weren’t meaningful to him anyway, like shots of her horses in their new home, Spencer and Lucky sleeping together in one of their cubby beds in the tack room, and disorganized mountains of moving boxes. Then there were pictures that did matter- tons of landscape shots of Mallorcan scenery, sleepy selfies his girl took while leaning on a chest that wasn’t his, “outfit of the day” type shots he knew she never posted on social media or anything, cute Lukas things like him sitting in a saddle on a saddle rack or leading one of the horses in the barn, and most concerning, selfies with more than just Juan’s headless torso. There were a handful of photos of them making silly faces together, or Christina kissing him. There were photos of just the other player by himself. None of it was limited to just one trip to see him or anything like that, and they weren’t even all photos she took herself. She’d collected photos from Sweden from the professional photographers, including her champagne spraying but also her hugging Juan outside the ring, and Juan in some kind of standoff with Dirk. The Spanish midfielder was wearing her horse show backpack and holding her show coat over one arm with a plastic cup of something in his hand, and Dirk clearly wanted whatever was in the cup. He had his bridle and ear net on, and his ears were back. He didn’t get as far as the mirror picture of Juan holding and kissing his naked wife. He didn’t need to. Everything after that was bad enough. The hurt in his heart mixed with sickness and he didn’t want to eat anymore.

“Can you put the lids on these containers when you’re done eating?” she asked without turning around. “I don’t want to cover them while the fish is still warm. I used two separate containers so that they would finish cooling faster.”

“How long have you been in love with Juan again?” André asked back plainly. He heard something fall in the sink next to her. She takes selfies when she feels good about herself, or her thinks her makeup is really good. She only saves horse show pictures when the show meant something to her. She used to send me tons of Mausi photos- even uninteresting ones of him doing nothing- and I’ve never seen any of these. Who is she taking pictures of herself in the mirror for if not me and if not to post for her sponsors or whatever? They’re for him, he concluded for the second time since browsing her album. The rider briefly panicked, and dropped the pie server she’d been using to pick up the fish, assuming the noise made by her phone was Juan texting her something that wasn’t meant for André’s eyes. Her heart beat loud enough to hear it in her ears for a few seconds, and then the sound and the sensation quickly evaporated, replaced by something like relief.

“I’m not really sure,” she admitted, her back still to her partner. She was sure being rid of a sort of secret made her feel lighter on her feet. Each time she tried to talk to André about the core problems she believed had taken root in their relationship, she left out the fact that there was an outside influence at play too. She never framed any of her complaints or explanations in the context of the alternative she had going on- in context of the relationship that was highlighting all the ways her marriage was damaged and unsatisfying in that moment. The rider never really felt guilty about not giving André 100% of the details of the time she spent with Juan. She never felt guilty for not saying “You’re doing this, that, and the other thing all wrong and he does it right”, because she didn’t want it to be a contest. But she did feel like she was keeping something from everybody, and her partner had just nailed it. At some point, she went from loving her best friend to being in love with him again, despite her constant reassurances to herself that she wasn’t doing that, and wasn’t crossing a line, or giving to the Spaniard that which was supposed to be reserved for the other one- that thing that was supposed to demarcate the difference between her relationships with the two. She promised André that Juan wouldn’t become her partner. He wanted something reserved for him. Her hold on that gave out at some point.

“You told me a long time ago that you were trying to keep yourself away from him when things got too intense because you want to be with me, and didn’t want to put yourself in a situation that could lead to hurting us. So if you’re not doing that anymore, and you’re going on trips with him and having him at your horse shows, and being with him enough that you fall for him again, should I take that to mean you don’t want us to be together anymore?” he asked, tone still plain and steady. Christina squeezed her eyes shut for a second and then blinked a bunch of times, preparing herself to be completely honest. She was too chicken to personally shoot out the thread she believed her marriage was hanging on, but she wasn’t too chicken to load the gun and hand it to André. She’d tell him the truth and if it upset him enough, then it was he who would put an end to everything and not her.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I want us to be together no matter what anymore because I don’t know if either of us even likes being together anymore. I know that it’s so hard with you right now and it shouldn’t be. We’re finally in one place and everything should be great, and it’s not. It’s so easy with him. I feel good when I’m with him, and...I miss him when I’m not. I’m happy with him. You and I haven’t been happy together for more than a week at a time since last June, and even that was kind of an anomaly. Honestly, it’s not even a comparison situation anymore. It’s not like “which one is better?” It’s more like...I feel so good with him that it’s hard to ignore it. I used to just hang out with him all the time because I needed to get away from us fighting all the time. Now I want to be around him because...it’s just nice. Even when you and I aren’t actively involved in a war. It has nothing to do with you and me anymore. I go to him for him now, instead of going there for not-you, if you get what I mean. I don’t know. I can’t stop talking and I know it’s hurting you so can you say something so I can shut up? I don’t know. I guess the actual answer to your question is that I do still want us to be together, because I am here, and I am trying to give us a chance still, the way you asked me to.”

“But you’re not committed enough to giving it a chance that you keep yourself away from something that hurts that chance. Can you turn around? You can’t say these things to my face?” The BVB man put her phone down and took a sip of his wine and his girl did an about-face across the counter with a towel in her hands and a sorry, sad look on her face.

“I was hating it here when he asked me to go back for the match,” she explained, steady rather than protesting, or defensive. “It was before we talked the other day. I wanted to go back and be somewhere I’m happy for a day so that I wouldn’t just keep getting more frustrated and bored and lonely here. I had no plans to go anywhere until Omaha, because I know just leaving isn’t giving us a chance.”

��I don’t know why you can’t just tell me that something is wrong and give me a chance to help improve it. I don’t know why you have to just keep it to yourself and wait for me to figure it out while you run off and hide from it.”

“I did tell you. I told you on Thursday, and you have made it better. He asked me to come to the game an hour before we talked.”

“Yes, because you decided to tell him about it first. You called him when you were unhappy instead of me.”

“You were at training.”

“There was a time when you would have decided to wait and speak to me first, is all I’m saying. Protecting us used to be your priority.”

“And all that got me was 7 months of unhappiness and terrible riding. Sometimes I have to protect myself first, babe. Once in a while I have to put myself first instead of us, otherwise it actually gets harder for us.”

“Fine.” André picked up his fork and went back to his dinner. If the temperature of his fish were any indication, he wouldn’t have to wait very long to cover the leftovers. Christina even heated his plate first before putting the food on it, so the stuff in the containers was probably even colder. He had things to consider, and he didn’t want to hear any additional input from her. He wasn’t going to conclude that it was his fault that his girl was falling for someone else, but he wasn’t going to blame her for it either. For one thing, he gave her his blessing to have almost any kind of relationship with Juan that she wanted. For another, it wasn’t like things between them were great and she was still looking for something else. Christina was trying to tell him that it almost was like that, actually, because she really did believe she just loved being with the Spaniard and it had nothing to do with her husband, but he refused to believe that. Things were not good for them, and she was like pressure. She always sought to equalize herself. She’d always reach out for something good to counteract that which made her feel bad. Her husband knew his decisions and behavior over the previous year were responsible for the bad. Even before they decided to leave London, he stopped really engaging with her career and her passion, and that started the fights that existed in the background when it was time to start figuring out their future and the future of his career. He saw that when they began their horse show holiday. And he wasn’t like Juan. He didn’t believe that the strength of a relationship should lie in how it adapts to tough times. He believed it wasn’t fair to judge anything when their lives were so abnormal. For 7 months he’d been telling himself and his wife that they would be fine once they were together, and he needed that to happen for more than a week before he was willing to accept that their relationship couldn’t work anymore. Christina’s growing closer to his old friend did hurt him, a lot. He hated hearing everything she said. He’d fought through worse to hang onto her though, and he still wanted to hang on.

“Fine?”

“Chris, you haven’t been in love with me the way your phone pictures show you’re in love with him for like a year. Maybe until recently you just weren’t in love with anybody that way, and now it’s him. Or last spring you were in love with your career, and then no one, and now him. Whatever. I can’t really expect anything else when we haven’t been together enough in that time to be in love like we used to be. You have to do things together to be in love, and we don’t. Maybe I haven’t been in love with you for a long time either. I’ve always had to share you with the horses and with him. It’s fine. We start a new chapter now and as long as we treat each other like we want to be in love again, and we make decisions that go with that, then we’ll be good together again. That’s what I want. Like we said last week. The alternative is to separate, and then I don’t get what I want. So even though it’s hard, there is only one choice to take to possibly get what I want,” he finished up levelly, almost detached.