#but that's one of the joys of their relationship anyway: no matter the particular flavor the love never falters

[tathrin]

An Elvish Lure

Somebody said “using yourself as bait” and my brain spat this disconnected snippet out, so: enjoy a scene in which the Three Hunters try an alternate plan by which to catch-up with the orcs and free Merry and Pippin.

"No," Gimli said.

"Gimli—"

"No," he said again, shaking his head hard enough to make the braids of his beard slap against his shoulders. "No, absolutely not."

"Gimli," Aragorn tried again, "this plan is our best chance to—"

"I said no!" Gimli roared. "I will not have it! Aragorn, I will not!"

It was not Aragorn who answered him. "Gimli, be calm." 

Gimli squeezed his eyes shut at that voice, as though he could shut-out the words as easily as he did the sight of the narrow, beardless lips from which they had issues; that golden head; those mithril-bright eyes. Fingers as long and spindly as bare twigs closed on his shoulder, their grip tight enough that he could feel it even through his shirt of mail.

"This is our best chance to save Merry and Pippin," Legolas said. "Perhaps our only chance. Gimli, I am not afraid—"

"Can I not be afraid for you, then?" Gimli asked wildly, grabbing those long fingers and holding them tight. He looked up at Legolas, then very quickly closed his eyes again. He pressed the archer's captured hand to his cheek and held it there, as though he might hold the elf back from this reckless plan as easily. "Orcs hate elves so much, Legolas…"

"That is why it has a chance of working," Legolas said. He sounded so unbearably calm, his woodland accent giving his speech the lilting cant of birdsong. He had sounded so strange to Gimli's ears, once. When had that fair voice stopped sounding strange?

"And if it does?" Gimli retorted. His grip on Legolas's hand tightened. "When it does? What then, Legolas?"

Legolas's narrow shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Then we will fight them."

"Then you will fight them, all alone, until we can come to your aid," Gimli corrected him. "Legolas…" His voice failed him and he had to clear his throat twice before he could force the words out. "Legolas, what if we come too late?"

"It is a risk I am prepared to face," Legolas said simply. "And at any rate, Gimli, I do not believe you will. I have more faith in you and Aragorn both than to let myself fear that I will have to face all the orcs alone. And besides!" he continued with a sudden, fey laugh. "Should it not be the orcs who should fear to face my blade and bow? I slew many of their fellows at Amon Hen, and I will slay many more in these sweet green fields if they will but do me the favor of coming within range of my arrows!"

Gimli looked up at the laughing elf in sad, silent horror.

"We will not have to hide ourselves so far away from Legolas that he will be alone for long," Aragorn said, stepping forward to lay his hand on Gimli's other shoulder, the one that did not burn yet with the memory of Legolas's touch upon his mail. "Orcs are keen of smell, but their eyes are not so sharp in daylight, and their ears will have a hard time hearing anything over the thunder of their own feet upon these plains. Besides, Gimli, we have the cloaks given us by the Lady of Lórien; was it not said that they would help to hide us from unfriendly eyes?"

"It was," Gimli agreed heavily. "But these orcs are fast. And what if they have archers among them?"

"What of it?" Legolas shrugged again, scoffing. "I do not fear crude orcish arrows."

"A crude arrow can kill as readily as a finely-wrought one," Gimli reminded him.

Legolas tossed his head, his golden braids rippling in the dawn. "Only if they strike their target."

Gimli gaped at him in exasperation. "Legolas—"

"No, Gimli, I do not ask you to like this plan, but please. Are we not friends now?" Legolas dropped abruptly to his knees in the soft grass, a position which put his eyes nearly on the same level as the dwarf's. It was Legolas who looked up at him now, his pale eyes glittering as sharply as a sword. "Then please, my friend, cast aside your doubts. Trust me to do this."

"I do trust you, Legolas," Gimli responded automatically. "I do not doubt you. But—"

"Then it is settled." Legolas made to stand, to turn away, but Gimli caught him by the arm and held him still.

"But," Gimli said, his voice a stony growl, "I do not like the idea of you making yourself bait for orcs."

Legolas swiveled on his heels, elvish grace keeping him upright despite the sharp tug of a strong dwarven arm yanking him off balance, and stared up at Gimli. The smile he gave the dwarf was small and fleeting, and there was a heavy sadness in the curve of it that reminded Gimli, suddenly and painfully, of the grey woods of Lothlórien.

"I do not say that I like it either, Gimli," Legolas said softly. "But we cannot outrun the orcs. If they cannot be made to pause their march, they will vanish into Isengard with Merry and Pippin and all chance of saving our friends will be lost." He pressed his free hand to Gimli's cheek and gently stroked the downy hairs there. "I would risk a thousand such dangers for the chance to stop that foul fate from befalling those dear young Hobbits—and I know you would, too, Gimli."

Gimli swallowed, but the aching lump in his throat did not dissipate. "Legolas…"

"The fact that the orcs left the field of battle while the three of us yet lived worries my heart greatly," Aragorn said. His voice, too, was quiet, but a dark tension thrummed through his words like the warning rumble of stone on the brink of a cave-in. "That they put their need to carry away their captives over their desire for slaughter and torment…that worries me, Gimli. Worries me greatly."

Aragorn did not have the keen eyes of the elves, but his sharp grey gaze rose over the plains nonetheless and he stared off into the distance as though staring at the shadows of that terrible band of orcs nonetheless. "I do not know if even this will cause them to turn aside from their path…but if anything will entice them to delay their task, it will be the chance to make sport of a lone and injured elf."

"And so I shall play the bait," Legolas said, before he sprang to his feet, the movement too fast this time for Gimli to stop. He looked down and offered Gimli a fleeting, knifblade smile and declared, "And we Three Hunters will see if we can draw the hunt to us!"

Gimli should have cheered; the words were spoken in the sort of tone that rallied hearts and lifted spirits blazing into battle. But all Gimli could see in his mind was the terrible sight of Legolas left standing all alone, waiting for the orcs to come and find him while his friends hid and watched from safety.

"Legolas…"

"Peace." Elvish fingers pressed against Gimli's lips, stopping his words but not his fears. "Give me this chance, Gimli, and I will turn your doubts aside."

"I do not doubt you—" Gimli started to say again, his voice thick and strangled with the heavy feelings of his heart, but Legolas was already springing away, up the short and stony hillock. Gimli watched him go, his steps as light and swift as the flutter of butterfly wings.

"I do not doubt you, Legolas," he said, the words spoken now in a whisper so low that even elvish ears might struggle to hear them now. "But I fear for you."

Aragorn's hand closed on his shoulder again, warm and steady and lacking the silver-fire touch of Legolas's smooth brown skin. "Come," he said softly. "Let us get under cover, Gimli."

Gimli allowed himself to be drawn away, but his feet scuffed heavily on the uneven grass as he turned to stare behind him at the silhouette of Legolas standing tall and thin against the dawn, pale cloak and golden hair streaming out behind him. He made a fine target for arches up there, Gimli thought sourly; a fine target indeed.

Legolas drew his white knife, and Gimli turned away. He knew that the scent of elvish blood would be needed to draw the orcs' attention; knew further that only with the wind blowing strong and swift towards their quarry did this mad plan have any chance of success, and so he cursed the breeze. Had it only died or shifted, Aragorn and Legolas would have been forced to give up this chance; would have had no choice but to simply run instead, run until they dropped perhaps and even yet fail—but run together, rather than risking Legolas's life alone.

Gimli could not bear to watch Legolas take his blade to his own arm, spill his own blood, to lend verisimilitude to his role as bait; yet he fancied he could hear the sharp glide of knife over skin nonetheless, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight and let Aragorn lead him, stumbling, to the hollow in which they would hide together while Legolas stood out there, tempting danger, alone.

They huddled in their grey cloaks, hands on weapons and breath in their throats, and waited.

And then—and then Legolas screamed.

Gimli started upright, his own breath drawing in for an answering cry of rage and vengeance, but Aragorn grabbed his arms and held him fast. "No, Gimli!" he hissed, hauling the dwarf down bodily back into the small depression in the earth. "No, he is not hurt. This is the lure, Gimli! This is the plan. Be still!"

Gimli let himself be drawn back despite the thundering of his heart against his ribs. He pressed one bare palm against the earth, trying to draw strength from the touch of stone against his skin; trying to find the endurance for which the dwarves were so renowned. But he could not stop trembling; could not stop hearing the echoes of that terrible shrill scream inside his ears.

"I have never heard such a cry, Aragorn," he whispered.

Aragorn's grip on his arm tightened. "I have," he said. His voice was low, almost haunted in the shadows of their hiding-hole. "I am sure Legolas has as well, for his people have long fought the Shadow in Mirkwood—and," Aragorn added, swallowing hard as though against some terrible memory, "he could not have sounded so convincing, if he did not know the sound of an elf in torment."

Gimli's gut twisted and he bit his lip hard enough that he tasted a coppery spill of blood across his tongue. "I would that he did not know it," Gimli said hoarsely. He glared up at Aragorn and added in a sharp voice, "I would even more that he should never experience it himself."

"We are not far," Aragorn insisted. "If the orcs take the bait, we will know it; we are near enough to help. He will not stand alone."

"Not for long," Gimli muttered, "but perhaps for long enough." He held his axe very tightly and wished for a whole host of doughty dwarven warriors at his side—or better, at Legolas's side.

Another cry rose, more warbling than the first piercing shriek; more plaintive, like the screamer was weakening.

Gimli's grip on the haft of his axe tightened until his hand ached. "Aragorn…"

"He is not hurt, Gimli."

"Not yet."

Aragorn had no answer for that.

They sat in silence, straining their ears for the pounding thunder of orcish feet upon the earth; waiting to discover if the enemy would take the bait.

Waiting to learn if the three of them would live through it, if they did.

{read more gimleaf stories here}

#gimli #legolas #aragorn #three hunters #lotr #lotr fanfiction #gigolas #gimleaf #well unrealized gimleaf at the moment i suppose #could certainly be read platonically #but that's one of the joys of their relationship anyway: no matter the particular flavor the love never falters #they're every bit as devoted and delighted by one another whether there's a whiff of romance there or not #and i love that about them because there aren't many relationships you can say absolutely do not CHANGE based on whether it's romantic or no #even the ones that start as friendships and stay as friendships still tend to change somewhat if there's romance (or if there isn't) #but not legolas and gimli #you don't even need to decide which it is when you start writing a story with them because you're writing the same story either way #''you comfort me'' indeed #this ship sails itself all the way to valinor #my writing #my stuff

[parvuls]

* adapted from @librajiminn on twitter

a fun game to celebrate 2020 ending! the rules are simple: recommend your favorite omgcp fics so everyone can enjoy them, while trying to fill in enough slots to get a bingo! i ordered my recs starting from top left; my filled bingo card is at the end ✨

most recent fic you bookmarked don't tell your mother by seeingrightly [rating: unrated, probably t | words: 1k] essentially: jack is in madison, and things aren’t easy but at least they’re together. i have an unhealthy obsession with madison/4th of july fics, and every new one i discover brings me joy. i liked this one in particular because of the lovely, clean flow of the writing, and for its attention to the problematic environment: the (assumed) homophobic nature of georgia, and bitty's tension when he’s home as a result.

a fic that made you cry Your heart hurts, mine does too by the_p_in_raspberry (@thepinraspberry) [rating: t | words: 19k] essentially: this fic fills the prompt ‘what if bitty hadn’t come out to shitty?’ the fic deals with exactly the subject material implied, and is inherently painful. this what if version of bitty’s journey with his sexuality was so, so raw, but it was the good kind of pain. i’ll say that while this fic is jack/bitty at its core, i really think its real strength is the team dynamics. they are so there for each other, and it was a beautiful read.

a fic you’ve re-read multiple times Prove To Me You Got Some Coordination by amalnahurriyeh [rating: explicit | words: 17k; the series is 24.5k] “In which Jack Zimmermann has a favorite stripper, some very strong feelings about labour relations, and a good heart.“ when i prepared myself for reading a stripper au, this is not what i expected. this fic is one of my all-time favorites. i adored the politics angle, jack's awkward Helpless Good Guy gestures, and bitty being a complete badass. their soft flirting, the realistic (but positive!) take on sex work, and the careful handling of a potential unequal power dynamic. i don’t think i can count on one hand the amount of times i read this fic.

a fic from your to-read list Never Will You Ever by thefiveboxingwizards (@thefiveboxingwizards) [rating: explicit | words: ~25k (WIP)] essentially: during fall semester of Y2 the team plays never have i ever, which results in jack coming out to bitty. bitty decides to move on, just as jack starts to realize his own feelings. this is the first time i’m reccing a fic i haven’t actually read. i have a strict rule against reading wips for my own mental health (although i have great appreciation for all writers who decide to post them; kudos to you). the premise of this fic sounds so alluring, however, that i couldn’t help but marking it for later and then checking if it’s updated every few days. can’t wait to read it when it’s finished!

FREE SLOT and now what words do I have? by MyCupOfTea (@marchingatmidnight) [rating: m | words: 10k] essentially: jack and bitty love each other. bitty moves to france. jack and bitty continue to love each other, even when it’s hard. this fic could’ve fit several of my slots, but eventually i decided to just rec it on its own. it’s one of my absolute favorites in this fandom. i love it for the writing, the pacing, the decision to tackle a real obstacle in a relationship without unnecessary dramatization. i love the softness the pining trope is painted with; how the distance is awful but they deal with it so well, so healthily. i love when angst is used to build and show the strengths of a relationship, not just to hurt.

a pwp With New Eyes by luckie_dee (@luckiedee) [rating: m | words: 3.5k] essentially: mirror sex with a flavor of intercrural. this fic is set during bitty’s first visit to providence, which shifts the entire tone of the fic accordingly. everything is so tentative and new, and i just really liked how gentle jack and bitty are with each other, how they savor new things. the setting and bitty's thoughts and the whole thing was perfect, and so in character.

a fic that is pure fluff Over Heels by anonymous [rating: gen | words: 2.5k] essentially: jack and bitty and marriage. this is such a soft portrayal that it made my chest ache. it isn’t Y4-compliant, but it is so goddamn cute it doesn’t matter. i especially loved the communication between them, the choice of rings (plus the subtle mentions of jack stimming), and this sort of low key, understated proposal. the last scene with jack kissing the ring clinched it for me: i could picture it so clearly my heart flipped.

a fic with your favorite trope How to Blow a Fuck Ton of Meal Points in 1.5 Semesters. by YourPalYourBuddy (@ivecarvedawoodenheart) [rating: t | words: 5k] essentially: jack finds himself with more meal points than he could ever need, and proceeds to spend them on his team (read: bitty) - which leads to some realizations. the trope this fits is ‘year 2 canon-divergence getting together’, and it’s one trope i will never tire of. i absolutely loved the set up of this because it's so college. i loved jack's characterization, and also their conversations, how well bitty's feelings are translated through jack's eyes even when jack's not completely aware of them, and the ending.

a fic with a trope you don’t usually read Tipping the Scales by akaparalian (@floralegia) [rating: t | words : 7.5k] “Prince Eric, training for a tournament to prove his worth as a knight, goes for a ride in the woods. He accidentally finds a dragon, who accidentally became a dragon because he pissed off the wrong witch.” i’m not normally a fan of fantasy or royalty AUs, but something drew me to this fic anyway. i was not disappointed. i laughed out loud several times during this fic. i adored the translations of their personalities into a knight and a dragon (for example, jack's reaction to training - dying, dead, oh my god).

a drabble that made you want more Picture Us Together by RabbitRunnah (@doggernaut) [rating: t | words: 800] essentially: bitty sets a picture of his boyfriend as his lock screen during the madison visit, and jack finds out. it seems only fitting that i put more than one rec taking place during 4th of july on this list. the prompt was so simple, but the execution was so lovely i wished it would go on and on. things between them at this time were so new and fragile and sweet that i just never want it to end.

a fic with domestic fluff I'll settle in and dream by Stultiloquentia [rating: t | words: 9k] essentially: a future fic with emphasis on jack’s and bitty’s adult life. the realistic domesticity in this killed me dead. it is so, so lovely and soft. i enjoyed every detail, from the dog to the scenery descriptions to jack's hockey arc. every setting was so easy to imagine, and i really enjoyed the journey this fic takes the reader on.

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #omgcp fic #zimbits #fic recs #* #tag me if you do this! i'm always looking for new fics to read :)

[amanda-glassen]

Reality Bites

It's the last day of school in 1992 and Alex is finally going to tell Olivia how she feels...if only she can get five minutes alone with her.

Previous chapters can be found here.

Chapter 7: Slushies and A Hickey the Size of Texas

She may have only known her for about seven hours, but Olivia had already gotten her into the backseat of her car...just not in the way that she had expected. The car had won her a superlative and she was probably the only girl to win the category of Coolest Car in their school’s history, but popularity contests didn’t matter to Olivia and it was evident by the way Olivia tried to shrug it all off while they flipped through the yearbook in the parking lot of a convenience store by their school. 

“You look so cute in this picture!” Alex told her and she did look cute posing for the superlative picture with her red 1991 Mustang GT. Olivia’s car was her pride and joy and, although Alex always skipped the superlative pages in the yearbook, she didn’t want to stop looking at Olivia’s picture. 

Olivia covered the picture with her hand. “Stop! I do not look cute! Superlatives are nothing more than a lame popularity contest, anyway. They don’t mean anything.”

“Says the girl who won one of these lame popularity contests.”

When Alex became distracted with stirring her blue bubblegum flavored slushie－trying to make sure it had the correct ice to syrup ratio－Olivia  grabbed the yearbook and put it in the front seat. Alex began to wonder why Olivia didn’t want to look through the yearbook with her until she remembered the superlative on the next page was “Most Desirable Girl” and along with that title came a picture of Jenna Crossley. Jenna－Liv’s fling throughout the entire school year－and the girl she hoped she wouldn’t spend the rest of the summer comparing herself to. Did she hook up with Jenna in this very backseat?

Olivia scooted over as close as she could so she could rest her head on Alex’s shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking and, no, I didn’t hook up with Jenna or any other girl in this backseat. You’re it for me and, if we ever break up, I’m swearing off women forever. I’ll never love again.”

“You need to stop that,” Alex laughed.

“What?” Olivia asked. She had slurped too much of her cherry slushie, bringing on the inevitable brain freeze. “Son of a...ow…ouch...why do I do this to myself every time? I never learn.” She held her hand to her forehead and squirmed in her seat－anything to keep her mind off of her brain freeze. “Okay, I’m better now.”

Alex noticed Olivia had moved further away when she was squirming, so she wrapped her arm around her waist and pulled her in again. “Every time I try to be introspective, you pull me out of it. You need to stop that and let me wallow in self pity about not having the nerve to ask you out on the first day of school.”

Olivia took another sip of her slushie and, it dawned on Alex that Olivia really never really did learn her lesson, but she thought the brain freeze was cute nonetheless. “Like I said earlier today, it’s my compulsive adorable syndrome,” Olivia responded, trying to downplay the effect of her second brain freeze. “And you can’t place the blame on yourself. I could have asked you out, too. I could have asked you out every single weekend. Plus, there was prom and homecoming and winter formal and Sadies, but we can’t waste our time thinking about that. We just have to make the most of the next three months.”

That morning, Alex’s friends had asked her what she liked about Olivia. She told them, physically, she liked everything about Olivia and she did, but with every passing moment, the list of things she liked about Olivia grew longer. Beyond just her smile and her figure－the two things that first attracted her to Olivia－Alex liked how Olivia’s hands fit so perfectly with hers, how Olivia’s lips felt against hers, how Olivia, in such a short period of time, had seamlessly integrated her into her world and, it made Alex smile to think about it, but she even liked how Olivia used three Ninja Turtles band-aids on her knee to cover some scrapes that she got from a failed skateboarding trick. Most importantly, there was now the list of non-superficial things she liked about Olivia. No one had ever made her laugh the way Olivia did. No one had ever comforted her the same way Olivia did and no one had ever made her feel as alive as Olivia did.

During the drive to the convenience store, they both discovered that the other had a love for the classics and, although they were still in the parking lot, they left the radio on so they could listen to some of the feel good songs that reminded them of childhood or, in Alex’s case, the childhood that she had fantasized about having. When a Beach Boys song came on, Alex noticed Olivia smile uncontrollably.

“I heard this song with Tim the other day and it gave him the not-so-brilliant idea that he and I should go surfing this summer,” Olivia shook her head. “Because he said, and I quote, surfing is just like skateboarding but on water.”

“Are you going to try it?”

“No way! It’s nothing like being on a skateboard. I can’t get swept away by some strong current or bitten by a shark while skateboarding. There’s no way in hell I’ll try it and nothing can change my mind.”

Alex gave her a chaste kiss and it made her heart happy to see how that single kiss made Olivia shy all of a sudden. “That’s too bad because I think you’d look so hot on a surfboard. I can already picture you in a wetsuit top and some bikini bottoms. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’ll try it!” Olivia said almost too enthusiastically. “And, yes, I’m well aware of how easy you can make me change my mind about anything in your own...special...way and I’m okay with that.”

Seeing that Olivia was finished with her slushie, she took the cup from her and put it in the cupholder in the front seat along with her own. While bent over the center console, she rummaged through her backpack until Olivia playfully pulled her back over and she accidentally or maybe not so accidentally landed on top of her. “Liv!”

“What?” Olivia laughed. “As much as I was enjoying the view of you in that position, I missed you.” 

“What did you miss?” Alex asked playfully.

“Kissing you,” Olivia responded before gently biting Alex’s lower lip. “Touching you.” 

Alex didn’t know what had come over her and the girl she was that morning wouldn’t have believed it, but she straddled Olivia right then and there in the backseat of her car. “Is this okay?” she asked, her shyness suddenly returning to her.

“Alex,” Olivia said softly, her hands now caressing Alex’s back, underneath her Harvard t-shirt. “Anything you ever want to do in this position is okay with me.”

“Liv!” Alex blushed.

“I’m serious!” Olivia said in between kisses. “With a single kiss, you convinced me to go surfing. I don’t even want to know other ways you can convince me to do things. Wait, nevermind. I actually do want to know all the ways you can convince me to do things.”

“Olivia!” Alex laughed. She wanted to maintain her composure, but instead she leaned in so she could bury her face in the crook of Olivia’s neck. She started to delicately kiss her neck, smiling when she noticed one of her kisses had tickled Olivia, but it wasn’t long until the playful gesture wasn’t enough for Alex. She gently nibbled on her neck, tasting just a hint of saltiness on her skin. Alex didn’t want to admit it, but even the taste of Olivia’s sweat turned her on. Was it Olivia’s sex pheromones or some other term from 10th grade honors biology causing this? Why am I thinking of my 10th grade bio class right now? But when Alex heard Olivia moan, she no longer cared about that class or anything other than making Olivia elicit that sound again.

“Kiss me,” Olivia said, the tone of her voice making her words sound somewhere between a question and a command. 

Alex felt Olivia’s hands gripping her thighs, pulling her in even closer. Olivia’s hands on her body made her feel even more turned on than she had ever felt before, almost to the point where it hurt and feeling Olivia’s tongue in her mouth did nothing to ease her tension. It wasn’t her first time making out with Olivia that day, but Alex knew this was different－unbridled even－and the way she felt Olivia’s tongue moving in her mouth made her wish she could feel it on one part of her body in particular.

...and that’s when she heard the perfect song start playing on the radio. It was the perfect song while she made out with her perfect girl. The song was nearly thirty years old and, whenever she listened to it in her bedroom on one of her mom’s old 45s, she thought about Olivia and what it would be like to kiss her and slow dance with her. Slow dancing with her would have to wait until tomorrow night, but until then she was still able to kiss her as much as she wanted. She hoped Olivia wouldn’t notice, but her mind started to wander. With every kiss, she realized it wouldn’t be long before she fell in love with Olivia－if she wasn’t falling in love with her already. 

Alex had found the 45 in a trinket box in the attic just a few months ago. There were five trinket boxes that Alex had rummaged through one autumn night. Each box was identical except for the boy’s name that it was labelled with and inside were old photographs, love letters, and records with love notes written on the sleeve. These boys were all a part of her mother’s youth－the carefree time in her life before she had a husband and children. Mrs. Cabot never kept her children’s old art projects and Mother’s Day cards, but she kept all of her old photographs and love letters there in the attic as a testament to who she once was and Alex wished she could have known this version of her mother. 

With Olivia leaving in three months, she began to wonder if their relationship would eventually become nothing more than little trinkets in a box that she’d occasionally revisit. She figured the two of them would continue a long-distance relationship for the first semester until winter break when Olivia would tell her that she had met someone－maybe she lived down the hall or they met at a party－Alex wasn’t sure, but she knew it’d be Olivia that would find someone because being clear across the country from her family and friends would leave her wanting to feel something or even someone again. They’d share a night of angry breakup sex, or so Alex assumed based on what she had seen in movies, before never seeing each other until their later in their adult lives, at their 20-year high school reunion or some other cliche meetup. They’d both be someone’s wife and maybe even someone’s mother. The two of them would share a few minutes of awkward conversation and, in that brief period of time, she’d wonder what might have been before realizing Olivia was no longer that playful, grungy girl with piercings and a Ninja Turtle band-aid, but it wouldn’t matter because that eighteen-year-old girl would live on in that trinket box filled with some mixtapes and whatever else Alex was able to collect during the summer and maybe autumn of 1992. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Olivia pulling away from her kiss. Those dark brown eyes were looking into hers with so much concern and so much sincerity that they were all Alex could focus on until Olivia started to kiss her newly-formed tears. “Let’s stop, okay?”

“Why?” Alex asked, although she felt it was obvious why Olivia wanted to stop.

Olivia held her as close as she could while Alex rested her head on her shoulder. “Because the place you were in right now－where making out is just going through the motions while you’re thinking of something or someone else－I’ve been there before and I know how much it hurts.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I’m just thinking about the future and－”

“And me leaving in September?” Olivia asked as she continued to hold Alex. “Like I said on the football field, I’m leaving this state, but I’m not leaving you. But, really, you don’t know me that well yet, Alex. Maybe in September, you’ll be glad I’m leaving.”

“That’s impossible.”

“You say that now, but wait until we have an entire three months at each other’s side,” Olivia teased. “Let’s see...my IQ goes down a few points every time I hang out with my brother and Travis. My favorite show is Beavis and Butt-head. You just witnessed that I never learn my lesson with brain freezes. My parents think I spend most of my life looking like I just woke up. That’ll go over well with your parents at the country club. Can you imagine? They’re expecting their daughter’s girlfriend to be some cute, preppy girl and instead they’ll get me in ripped jeans and a men’s flannel shirt. No, I’ll clean up nice for them and I’ll make sure to clean up nice for you tomorrow night. I’m sure there’s a presentable young woman somewhere underneath all of this.”

“Olivia!” Alex laughed. Although she wasn’t out to her parents yet and she didn’t know when or if her parents would actually meet her, Olivia had managed yet again to make her laugh when she was feeling low.

“There’s my girl. You have the cutest laugh and I’m willing to do anything to make you laugh, even if it’s at my own expense.”

Alex was about to kiss Olivia again when they heard the sound of someone hitting Olivia’s driver’s side window with the palms of their hands. “Get it, sis!”

“Tim!” Olivia glared at him. Olivia may have been frustrated, but Alex found the whole situation amusing and she knew that as long as she was with Olivia, she’d be subjected to teasing from Olivia’s stepbrother and their friends.

“Get out of the car. I gotta show you something.”

Olivia gave Alex one last kiss. “Let me go settle him. I’ll be right back.”

“Brainiac Barbie, too,” Tim told her. “I have a present for her. Wait, the grape slushie is here now? Old Man Henderson said not until July.”

“...no?” Olivia gave him a confused look.

When they got out of the car, Alex noticed Travis was now standing out there with Tim. There were two guys in the backseat of Tim’s car and it didn’t take long for Alex to realize it was her brother and her brother’s best friend, Carisi. 

“Minor niners, out of the car!” Tim ordered.

Carisi was completely unscathed, but Alex tried to control her laughter when she saw her brother. Tim had put maroon lipstick on him, some glittery eyeshadow, and an obnoxious amount of bright pink blush on his cheeks. “Forget something?” her brother Josh asked. “You and Olivia promised that you’d be there early to pick me up.”

Their fifteen minute window of opportunity to get slushies before picking up Josh had turned into the two of them hanging out in the backseat of Olivia’s car for nearly an hour. “Josh, I’m sorry.” Alex tried to sound sincere, but her laughter made Josh think otherwise.

“Sure, you are,” Josh folded his arms and glared at his sister. “I got dirt on you, Alex, so you－wait, why is your tongue purple?” His tone of voice was no longer angry. “Is the grape slushie here now? Old Man Henderson said not until July.”

Before she could respond, she noticed Casey pulled up into the parking lot with Connie in the front seat and Amanda Rollins in the back. “Amanda’s gonna see me like this?” Josh smacked Tim on the arm and Tim shoved him in return. 

“Like you had a chance,” Tim snickered. “Amanda doesn’t like either of you clowns.” 

With Connie, Casey, and Amanda now with them, Alex felt bad for how embarrassed her brother was until she remembered that he was probably going to spend the rest of the summer blackmailing her. 

“Change of plans,” Casey told Alex. “We’re not going to the park.”

“We’re going swimming at Abbie’s instead,” Connie added. Swimming at Abbie’s house? That means Olivia in a bikini.

“But Georgia Peach, here, still has to do our snack run,” Casey pointed out.

“A snack run?” Josh asked in disbelief. “Is that what girl hazing is?” But the girls ignored him while they looked at Alex and Olivia.

“The grape slushie is here?” Casey asked in disbelief. “Last week, Old Man Henderson said it wouldn’t be here until July.”

“What’s everyone’s obsession with the grape slushie?” Olivia asked. 

“Look where you’re at,” Connie reminded Olivia. “You’re not in Manhattan anymore. The only thing to look forward to in this town is a new slushie flavor.”

“Wait a minute, you weren’t even excited about the grape slushie,” Josh reminded his sister. “You’re predictable when it comes to slushies. You always get blue bubblegum.”

“Liv always gets cherry,” Tim added. “I tease her every time about her wanting a cherry in her mouth and then she slugs me in the arm. It’s a thing we have.”

“There’s no grape slushie!” Olivia said in a frustrated tone of voice. “Why do you all think Alex and I had grape slushies? I had cherry. Alex had blue bubblegum. Can we shift our focus to something else now?”

Casey started laughing uncontrollably before hugging Alex. “I’m so happy for you. You, too, Olivia.”

“What’s going on?” Carisi asked. “Old Man Henderson wasn’t lying? There’s really no grape slushie?”

“You guys are so dense,” Amanda told him. “Think back to kindergarten. Combining red and blue gives you…”

“Purple!” Josh responded. “If Alex had a blue slushie and Olivia had a red slushie and both of them have purple tongues...then that means...eww, that’s disgusting! I got hazed, Alex, because you were too busy sucking face with Olivia to pick me up?”

Alex didn’t know whether she wanted to keep laughing at her brother’s misfortune or hide because of how he had just announced to everyone what she and Olivia had been doing, but just as she had been doing all day, her girl made it better for her.

“Leave her alone,” Olivia told him and she put her arm around Alex to hold her close to her side. “...or I’ll make you leave her alone. What Tim did is nothing compared to what I can do to you.”

Tim roughly patted Josh’s shoulder. “She’s not lying, man. She is not lying. By the way, Liv, you got a hickey the size of Texas on your neck. Tomorrow’s your graduation day and you know Mom and Dad are gonna lose it.”

Alex expected Olivia to be as embarrassed as she was, but Olivia was in control of the situation. “I’ll just put some neutralizer and foundation over it,” Olivia smirked. “No big. Being with Alex is worth any trouble I’ll get in.”

“Don’t soil our valedictorian’s good name,” Travis said jokingly. 

“She’s soiling it herself,” Casey responded. “Finally!”

They were teased mercilessly for the next few minutes, but none of it phased Olivia. In fact, she took it in stride. She held Alex and kissed her cheek and told her how beautiful she was regardless of how much teasing they got for it. Before long, Alex stopped caring about the teasing and just revelled in the feeling of being in Olivia’s arms. Pretty soon, her world would change and she knew she’d miss this when she moved to Boston－hanging out with her friends and her girl in the parking lot of a convenience store in a town where a new slushie flavor and a new couple were a big deal.

“So, there’s really no grape slushie yet?” Josh asked. “You’re saying if I go in there and ask Old Man Henderson－”

“For the last time, Josh,” Olivia began. “There is no grape slushie and if you ask about it again...”

#cabenson #alex cabot #olivia benson

[fromtheburn-withlove]

Prompt #27: Palaver

Tearful personal catharsis and moments of enlightenment didn’t quite have the same tang as the anger in the midst of dirty bar brawls. It lacked the particular deep notes of bereavement at well-attended funerals, fell utterly short by comparison to the potent, complex cocktail you could sip on slowly at any local gentleman’s club where shame, disgust, and arousal kicked up like a fine dust in the wake of any dancer’s saunter. This group focused on couples talking about their issues, and thereby made the embedded sentiments far less palatable so far removed from the source. It would have been far better to sit in on a romantic relationship souring from the comfort of their kitchen table where one woman said she never missed an opportunity to emasculate her husband over dinner, who in turn withheld all forms of affection until she felt unlovable. Delicious, but not filling.

“...And what about you, Katarina?”

Her eyes snapped up as though she’d only just remembered she was a real, present person and not a fly on the wall of their misery, a mere spectator in this bloodsport.

"Me? Oh...no. No, no. I’m not married," she retorts with a grin, kicking back in her chair. Her fingers lace together over her stomach as her boots rest on the table next to a blotchy man's uneaten pastry. "I've never even had a real relationship. I don't know what that's like. I know what it's like to undress for a stranger—a lot of them, actually—but actually dealing with them in the long-term? Absolutely not. It's so much work that I'm not sure why anyone bothers or what they really get out of it except misery in the end. It's hard enough being in charge of your own issues without getting your hands full of someone else's particular variety.”

Her feet swing off the table and she leans forward to pluck the uneaten food off the plate, speaking with a bite in one cheek. “Oh, don't look at me like that. I just sat here and listened to all of you complain about each other, lament past loves, pine after better days, and argue in front of a group of strangers. Were any of you listening to yourselves?" She gives an incredulous laugh. "Do you feel anything but a thousand flavors of rote contempt? Where is the artfulness? When you go at each other’s throats, you don’t even care enough about them to do it creatively. I mean..." She takes a moment to swallow. “Withholding sex is just an invitation for them to get it elsewhere. What you’ve got to do is figure out how to weaponize it.”

Perhaps a few glances were exchanged, but she remained undaunted. "Look, I thought I loved a few people, but I'm not so sure anymore. I think it was something less, but don't ask me what to call it. I never wanted their problems, I only wanted them to give me their attention. I offered the same in return, and it seems like a pretty good deal compared to the rest of you, if you think about it. You make my way of doing things look downright ingenious. Every man for himself, except in the overlap of sharing a bed and having someone who will weather your jokes when you're not. And even the latter is usually in service to the former, so maybe you can really just boil it down to this: The only thing you're worth is how much shit someone has to put up with in order to fuck you."

"It's not as crazy as it sounds. And you know what? It's even fun to test the limits. How much is someone willing to go through to keep bedding you? Maybe it's not much. There's an advantage if you're beautiful, of course, which ups the tolerance considerably. Take it from me, it matters quite a lot. But then, the amount decreases depending on just how absolutely fucked you are beneath it. Beauty helps, but crazy hurts." Kat rests her chin on her fist thoughtfully, her bright eyes gazing off at the ceiling, away from the gathering. "Bet there's some sort of ratio on that, but I can't be arsed to discover it. I've read the books on psychodynamics and I remain skeptical."

"Anyway, you know, I don’t even think I know how to love anyone the right way to begin with. Does that sound stupid?” She pauses, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. Her dark brows swoop lower. “It kind of does, doesn’t it? It’s one of those self-evidently stupid statements you say when you’re trying to dip your toe into being vulnerable and you’re looking for that one emotional high that will encapsulate the more complex miasma just below the surface. Just one single concept that hits the nail square on the head and distills your own personal disasters into a single, crystalline, beautiful, coherent gem that you can possess." She holds her fingers up as though examining a diamond in the light and smiles sadly before she crushes the imaginary stone by closing thumb and index together.

"The climax never comes, though. I've been everywhere looking for it. I've seen people buried that I couldn't pick out of a criminal lineup. I've attended weddings, right on the periphery, just to get a hit of joy. I'm getting edged to death by these sad little attempts at feeling just the right thing. That's what it's like for me. Getting emotionally blueballed until I die. No, what I said? That's not how I feel at all. No climax for me, not in front of this group." She turns her eyes back to the ring of perplexed, surprised, shocked, and even vaguely humored faces around her and offers a gentle smile. "Wouldn't be the first time if I did." She starts to laugh, a ringing sound in the silence of the room. "Come on, nobody? Ahh, what a pity. This persona isn't for everyone, I'm finding out. This wasn’t helpful, was it? Not for me, not for you...well, then, I wish you all the very best of luck in fixing your absolutely horrid-sounding relationships."

#ffxivwrite2019 #katarina #ffxiv #ff14 #writing #rp #roleplay #mateus #crystal rp

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

The Face of Grief (Post 59) 10-15-14

                        I started to write about a piano this week on Wednesday but was also finishing C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed and the book had such a profound effect on me that its subject interrupted my concentration on the other matter.  For me writing works best when the work writes itself.  When a particular subject encroaches on my piece of mind, it is usually best to submit to the invasion and not resist otherwise the act of composition becomes like listening to Charlotte Church in my left ear while My Charona plays in my right – humming along is not an option.   So, for this week, the piano will remain silent and ignored.  Instead I will write about grief.

C.S. Lewis, former atheist, brilliant writer, and one of Father Jerry’s favorites, wrote quite a bit of excellent Christian literature.  A confirmed bachelor, Lewis married Joy Davidman Gresham late in life in a civil ceremony to prevent the divorcee from being deported from England at the onset of cancer.  With her disease in remission, they later fell in love and remarried in the Church of England.  Soon after their remarriage Joy’s cancer returned and after several years she died leaving Lewis alone once again and grief ridden.   Because Lewis was who he was, he captured his impressions of grief in four old exam books that he found lying around the house.  

A Grief Observed is short and did not turn out as Lewis intended.  He sought to create a portrait of his grief, but he found that his grief was not a static creature but instead changed over time. He stopped after four chapters because he realized that the transformation of his pain would likely continue throughout the rest of his life, but his literary characterization of his initial grief would be all that was helpful to his readers.  He stopped at about sixty pages, exhausting all the discarded exam books he had lying about his house, called it done and published it under a pseudonym.  Lewis died only three years after Joy with whom I presume he was reunited soon thereafter.

His short book remains an incredibly helpful legacy to anyone who has suffered through the excruciation of the death of a loved one.  While his writing is not an elixir capable of curing the pain of loss, it is helpful to see how things mellowed for Lewis especially in his relationship with God. It took a genius to write the book and an incredible amount of character to publish a work of such intimate feelings. It seems to me that because of Lewis’ perspective, A Grief Observed might be more helpful to men, but as I have explained before, how women feel is very mysterious to me. It may be potentially more helpful to women, in fact.  If you think you need it, read it.  It is about 60 pages that are very readable if the English flavor of the Narnia books didn’t bore or bug you.

There was much that was helpful in the book for me, but there were also parts that seemed to be for other people.  Lewis describes two types of pain: one that is intermittent (like an air raid) and one that is constant and draining (like an artillery barrage). As a severely wounded serviceman in World War I and as a British civilian during the Nazi air blitz, Lewis spoke from experience about the two types of military actions.  From a pain standpoint his grief was likened to intermittent pain caused by extraneous thoughts or external random triggers, but he never suffered the endless waves of pain and depression that he watched Joy experience.  His experience is similar to mine in its intermittence if not in its intensity, as I too have never been subject to the barrage of unrelenting pain.  Like Lewis’ experience with Joy, I have watched my wife suffer through that type of prolonged pain.  Pam battled a deep depression for several years and then suffered another extended barrage when she fought confusion and fear in the first several weeks after her first craniotomy.  Both experiences left me in awe of my wife’s bravery and resilience and also in the power of the grace of God.

It is important for military officers to understand people’s body language and motivation, and by habit I study people’s faces and posture.  It can be a fascinating and distracting occupation.  I might notice a beautiful young girl in the choir or an alter server who resembles how I imagine the Virgin Mary to have looked at that age. Then I might notice that her posture indicates that she has low self-esteem and has no conception that God has chosen for her to resemble Our Mother – usually at that point Abby, or one of the kids, will remind me that the greatest miracle in the world is actually taking place on the altar if I would care to focus my attention properly. I sometimes lose focus in Adoration and end up praying for a person I notice whose face is covered in quiet tears. I imagine this is just a case of Jesus putting my ADD to some helpful use.

Anyway, I once sat through an hour long church function mesmerized by the face of a young woman stricken by grief.  Her plight was very disturbing to me, because I could tell that she was suffering through one of the prolonged attacks of pain through which I have never suffered. Her face was very beautiful which made the tableau especially troubling to me as she struggled not to move any of her features lest she lose her composure.

The situation was the worst of all situations for the male gender – identifying a serious problem and then standing by in total impotence.  Failure to intervene is frustration beyond frustration, but good manners, common decency and in some cases restraining orders prevent men from randomly comforting other people.  Superman and real heroes like policemen, firemen, priests, nurses and school teachers are allowed to break that rule in extremis situations.  For the rest of us men, not being able to attempt to fix an identified problem leaves us with a feeling of inadequacy that we demonstrate by getting angry with someone not involved in the situation over an unrelated issue. Trust me it all makes sense to us.

More importantly, with regard to the woman in pain, I can think of nothing constructive to do for her other than to pray.  Sometimes in these situations I pray that Pam will intercede for the person as well. She always understood my frustrations and inadequacies.  She also surely has a much better vantage point on whatever the woman’s situation is and can ask pertinent questions of Jesus that might possibly be answered more directly than I am accustomed.  If the woman is still in pain, I hope that other IHM parishioners notice her and pray for her as well.  My family has discovered how powerful our parish is when it sets its collective mind toward intercessory prayer.  Someday, I hope to see the young woman again once she has received some solace.  I expect that she has a pretty smile that Jesus loves to see.

#CS Lewis #A Grief Observed #grief #bereavement #God #Jesus #The Holy Spirit #Joy #Peace #Pain #Faith #cancer #suffering #husband #grace