#like hes a right winger & he hurt my friend but also hes just so fucking annoying

[loverboybreakdowns]

tfw when you cant tell whether you hate someone rationally or irrationally

#like hes a right winger & he hurt my friend but also hes just so fucking annoying #uggghhhh #rambling

[alukardtheabysswalker]

If I'm to ever leave you with something while scrolling through my blog or finding my posts randomly I hope is this:

Morals, good morals, even leftist morals, are NOT indicative of emotional maturity and responsibility.

What do I mean by this? Let me give you some examples from my life:

My parents have always been leftists. My mom's been to every strike and walk in there's been fighting for the rights of many, organized and even made Molotov cocktails for her comrades. My dad has always used his position to fight for social justice, especially for the legalization of free abortion in my country, to the point that in the 80s he left his political party because his colleagues considered him "too radical". My mom gives free education to needy kids and my dad uses his platform as a journalist to make topics that are politically important be heard. They are both deeply involved with social justice. They also have the emotional intelligence of a four year old and should have never had children. They ruined my brother's and I mental health and will not acknowledge anything of what they did.

My first friend group from my teenage years was the most toxic, abusive, misogynistic, homophobic and probably all kinds of bigotry there was. We treated each other badly and attacked each other harshly. You know what was one of our favorite shows to watch together? Steven Universe.

We ate that shit, we loved the characters, we would sing the songs about compassion and love and go right back to making each other miserable. It got so bad that one of them was a fan of "What's the use of feeling blue?" You know, that song that's about how you can't keep your emotions bottled up because they will eventually rise and hurt you even more, so it's sung from a character's POV that's trying to argue that emotions are useless but by the end of it she can't hold back anymore.

He LOVED it, but not the actual message no. He loved that there was a song about how cool it is to not feel anything and how sensitivity is stupid.

Another friend who in my early twenties basically got me into feminism. He very calmly helped understand the issues with the patriarchy, he introduced me to Judith Butler and we had a workshop about gender, sexuality and gender roles. He also loved SU deeply, got all the art books and comics and made posts thanking Rebecca Sugar for her thoughtful representation of LGBT people.

He shut up a mutual friend who was trying to come out as bi telling her she was "probably confused". Later he gaslighted me when I was worried that our friend group might not like me, telling me it was all in my head and that I had to stop being so paranoid, to then talk shit about me behind my back and convince them to kick me out of the group like we were some kindergarten kid's band.

I could go on but hopefully I made my point clear.

And btw this is not an invitation to right wingers to comment "ohhhhh see? The left is just as bad/See? Y'all are hypocrits". No, shut the fuck up, this is not about you, at best you are someone who desperately needs therapy and it's making it everyone else's problem and at worst you're a Nazi so I don't give a fuck about your opinion.

The point I'm trying to make is that emotional maturity requieres work, and many people are not willing to make it. But if you are, you need to be aware that even if those around you or the new people you meet have morals that align with yours doesn't mean they can't be shitty people who might hurt you. For your own good you need to be clear in communication, setting boundaries and leaving when someone is just not good for you.

#emotional maturity #emotional responsibility #emotional intelligence #abusive behavior #I am not quite sure how I should tag this post so I'm going with these ones for now #hope everyone else out there is safe #i love you so much 💜

[anarcho-sexual]

hoooollly fuuuuuuck dude

it’s so agonizing

it’s so infuriating being smarter than 99% of the strangers I interact with

It’s miserable

I don’t know how these people come up with such utterly stupid things that make no sense & also aren’t connected in any way to what the topic is

It’s so agonizing & I don’t care if I’m being arrogant I wouldn’t say I’m smarter than someone if I weren’t.

No need to be afraid to interact with me cause I’ll think you’re stupid. I won’t most likely. If you’re just kind I have no issue with you.

But these strangers that I’m arguing with about significant things are so dumb I can hardly handle it

Some guy tried to tell me BLM, yes the entirety of the BLM movement, is dumb because George Floyd was a bad person & we all worship him like a hero. Then after I explained that nobody worships him, we all know he was a shithead, & that the state murdering people isn’t okay just because they’re bad people, this dumb cunt cake back & claimed once more that Americans worship George Floyd. But it wasn’t like refuting my claim. No it was just another statement of the idea that he is worshipped. He just doubled down. We’re all fucking morons for being upset that police murder people for the color of their skin just because George Floyd was a bad person. Like holy fuck. I wouldn’t care at all if another citizen murdered Floyd for being a domestic abuser (if that’s even true). Wouldn’t care & would say he deserved it. But it’s never okay for the police to break the damn law & murder someone. That will never be justice. Besides, the cops couldn’t have known everything about Floyd when they killed him. But it’s okay i guess to murder people for being black if you later find out they were a bad person.

I just can’t stand it. & that guy was from fucking SWEDEN!!!!!!! I thought they had a good education system in european countries ffs!! & he told me that people will break the hands of theives & kill domestic abusers (he kept saying woman abuser cause i guess that’s the only person it’s wrong to abuse idk). Yeah that’s right he fucking compared private citizens hurting “bad” people to agents of the American state murdering people extrajudicially.

Sometimes i think suicide would be better than having to keep interacting with people like this

once again, if you want to interact with me please don’t feel nervous. I won’t think you’re stupid. It’s just these people I argue with & I most likely only argue with right wingers because I have productive discussions with leftists. I won’t judge you unless you’re a bigot & I truly love interacting with kind people as well as making new friends. Just don’t choose to be stupid & we’re good. I’m talking the level of stupid it takes to read something I said & then respond as if I said something completely 100% different & unrelated to the topic at all. If you can comprehend words & sentences at the level of at least a 6 year old we’ll get along just fine I promise.

& like i said stupidity is a choice that’s why it makes me so angry. being ignorant is not always a choice. being uneducated is not always a choice, especially when it comes to lacking a formal education. but stupidity is always a choice. can’t stand it.

#me

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

As you all may know, my mother is on a ventilator for covid 19. She didn’t believe in covid. I tried to tell her but she didn’t believe it. She tried to tell me some kind of Qanon bologne when I’d try to tell her. I would give anything to have more time with my mother. There is some signs of improvement in her feeling better but I am not wanting to become too hopeful. She was on the phone with one of my elder sisters for six minutes rather than two the other day. She was angry at her for letting her kids come in to her house knowing they had covid.

I’m very angry at her doctor who told her she didn’t need the covid shot, in fact just telling her she is healthy. She has a small body frame and is on the shorter side but weighs nearly three hundred pounds and struggles to get around. She’s 59 years old and works as a nurse at a nursing home and works way too hard on minimum wage, has given birth to six children, has always had asthma and is prone to bronchitis and pneumonia. She’s a prime candidate for covid, in fact she is who I thought about the day I remember reading about covid. It’s like this disease was designed to kill my mother.

They sent her to southern Idaho for a ventilator. She is lucky to get one. They’ve run out in many of these red states that didn’t take covid seriously enough. It does not bring me any joy that right wingers and people who didn’t believe in the shot are dying. I’ve had liberal friends say over simplistic things about people from red states getting what’s coming to them and so forth, and people have rejoiced at the idea of trump supporters getting sick and suffering and dying.

I am left leaning, but I never want to get so caught up in my political ego that I eradicate any notion of humanity to the people I don’t agree with or might not even like. Their pain and lives are real and legitimate as anyone else’s. Their families matter too. They are wrong, my mother is wrong. She’s been backwards about a lot of the world my whole life.

But she’s also a very kind person. She is always giving to people and has contradictory, while supporting a fucking horrible president, also put up for and fought her job because of racism she was seeing all around her. She doesn’t really think like a conservative and her way of approaching life didn’t really ever reflect a deeper conservative value or drive. I’ve noticed other conservatives never liked her.

She believed the wrong things because she was driven by religious faith and loneliness to believe the rabbit hole of alt right Facebook. She doesn’t have much of an education, was bullied and abused for most of her childhood. she went to over twenty different schools and moved a lot throughout her childhood. She got married and started having children very young. She always worked as a bartender, or as a caretaker to children with disabilities or elderly folk. She barely understood the internet. She believed in god and joined religious groups on Facebook very open and blindly without even understanding propaganda or the political climate of what is being fought for, which pretty much took her down this poisonous road. And now she’s barely able to talk in an icu all alone, as this virus that she didn’t believe in tries to kill her.

Moving to the city and always being left leaning, but being from a rural area of the inland north west, where I was outnumbered and lived amongst these folk who didn’t like me all that much but I was always having to find ways to accept and understand sometimes gives me a perspective perhaps that maybe liberal kids from middle class families from liberal cities have missed out on. I will never be able to see it as black and white. It would be easy to just say that the people in Bible Belt areas deserve this and be rid of any sadness or guilt. I was disgusted by the anti intellectualism I was surrounded by and I lived for most of my twenties in my own world to avoid it when I was growing up and lived in my home state which is fairly red. But people are the same everywhere. They really are.

Her recovery is slow and I worry something terrible is happening to her organs and lungs as she has fights for her life. I hope her body is strong enough to keep fighting. I appreciate the care and labor and sacrifice the hospitals have given to keep people alive. There is so much anguish. We have lost a mural of so many wonderful and beautiful souls to covid. It’s hard to even fathom the grief and pain it’s left in its wake. I can barely cope with my own.

I took a walk today to think. I haven’t wanted to listen to music in a long while because my mood is on my mother’s condition, but I put in John Prine. He was one of the first people to die of covid that I cared about, albeit indirectly as I only know him through his songs. I had a ticket to go see him play before covid took his life. It was going to be small and intimate outdoor concert in town. His music was always so real and down to earth. He sings about the quiet sad things of getting old and the way that love is about the daily existence with other people. How you build and cope with things.

One of his last songs on the album before he died was about how science has no business tinkering with nature. It’s so genuine. And ironic. Not everyone shares this belief, but I think that the covid flu was made in a lab and someone made a mistake and let it out into the public. I believe it was just human error in Wuhan. Nobody, no government or anything wanted this. And the Chinese government did everything they could to avoid fessing up to the mistake. So the idea of a lab grown virus being what killed John Prine kind of hurts in a way, though he also often sang about being comfortable with death and having peace with a life that was happy.

There are countless people I could blame for my mother’s disease. I could blame the dystopian Chinese government and their inability to admit fault, I could blame our government and our long-standing capitalist system that monetary prioritizes gain over human life, I could blame my mother’s cruel upbringing for not giving her the tools she needed to make wise choices about the world around her, or she herself for not taking care of her body. I could blame her mother and father and brothers.

I could blame my sisters kids for their lack of consideration of what covid would do to my mother’s health knowing she was high risk, or my eldest sister herself for being lazy and letting them go to my moms house knowingly.

I could blame some mentally unwell woman named Susan who my mother might have vaguely known for inviting her to a Facebook group of hate and conspiracy, or blame the nuns who drove religion into my mother’s head as a child. I could blame the easy to punch Ted Cruz or Tucker Carleson or any of the right wing mouth pieces for spreading lies and misinformation to the people they are supposedly speaking up for on behalf of about covid. I could blame it on our artificially based two party system that prevents real discussion from ever happening.

In the end, there is a myriad of things I could blame. So many pieces to the puzzle I could write volumes. But it doesn’t change where we are at now. And I have little control of the world around me. Or what made it that way. It’s disappointing. And in a way, John Prine has that message too. I’m just sad. I try to remember that my mom of the many people I have known was very accepting of death. Maybe it’s because she’s a person of faith, but she has a practical dark humor about her too that makes her accept it. I know she wouldn’t want me to be sad, but I am all the same.

It’s happened at this point where I am genuinely feeling my age and kind of at a crossroads in who I am as a person and what I want to do. I’ll talk about that some other time though. There is only so much a person can read.

[fruitcoops]

A part 3 to homophobic rookie? I've just been rereading and rereading the first 2 lol. Its just so good!

Aww, thank you! I’m genuinely surprised by how many people enjoyed those oneshots--I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Tanner recently and figured it was time to sprinkle some redemption in there. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Tanner is mine!

Part 1 Part 2

Tanner had never been to a team party before. Looking back, he could understand why—nobody wanted assholes bringing down the mood. Dumo’s house was nice and his family was adorable; the Lions really were like a family, which made the contrast to his position even clearer.

He knew he was still on thin ice with the guys. Cap and Loops didn’t bring up the elephant in the room, but he could feel the prickling stares on the back of his neck every time an interviewer approached him after a game. The few invitations he had received to hang out with everyone had been tentative at best.

Kasey had given him a true goalie stare when he told Tanner about Adele Dumais’ birthday party, making unblinking eye contact with him as he outlined the basic information. Bring a gift, a smile, and a good attitude, or we’ll end you then and there was the underlying tone of that conversation.

Tanner hoped Adele enjoyed her book. She looked quite happy, running around the backyard with her siblings and friends in tow as the adults milled around and chatted. Dumo said she liked butterflies, so he’d found a science book that seemed age appropriate. He knew nothing about fourteen-year-old girls.

“Hey, Chase, what’s up?” Talker handed him a diet coke and leaned on the wall a few feet away. The distance hadn’t let up, either.

“Not much, man. Neat party. I’d better go find Bliz and thank him for the invite, eh?”

“Probably.”

Tanner hesitated for a moment. “I’m—I’m really sorry about what I said earlier, by the way.” Talker took a long drink of pepsi. “In the workout room.”

“No, I know what you’re talking about.”

“It was stupid of me.”

“Yep.”

“And ignorant.”

“It was.”

“And I’m working on it. I’ve been working on it since you guys called me out. Cap and Loops earned that respect.”

“They did.”

“…do you accept my apology?”

“I’m not the one you need to talk to, Chase.” He finished his drink and straightened up. “Have you actually looked them in the eyes and apologized?”

“Not yet,” Tanner admitted.

“You should. Enjoy the party.”

Tanner watched him recycle his can before sweeping a young boy with floppy brown hair into the air, turning him upside-down until he gasped with giggles. Cap laughed so hard he had to lean on the table, but his smile dimmed when he looked up and saw Tanner looking over. Fuck. Tanner quickly glanced away and sipped his coke.

A shadow stretched across the grass to his left. “You came,” Loops remarked without looking at him. He waved to the young boy as Talker set him down.

“Bliz invited me.”

“Hmm.”

“If you want me to leave—”

“That’s not my call.” He took a bite of birthday cake from the butterfly paper plate. “This is Adele’s party. If Dumo didn’t think you could handle yourself, he wouldn’t have let you through the front yard.”

“I’m sorry.” The words came out easier than Tanner expected. Loops hummed. “Loops—”

“You can call me Remus, you know.” There was no mockery in his voice; it caught Tanner a little off-guard.

He cleared his throat. “Remus, I’m sorry for being an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, you were just rude and presumptive. It wouldn’t have been as bad if you were an idiot.”

“I’m sorry for making assumptions about you and your boyfriend.”

“Fiancé.”

“Fiancé,” Tanner corrected. “I’m sorry for making homophobic comments as well. It was out of line and I should have known better.”

Remus nodded and turned to face him. “Alright. Apology accepted. Don’t do it again, yeah?”

“Got it.” Tanner’s mouth was dry, but he let out a slow breath. “Thank you.”

Remus seemed surprised by that. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re working on it. Wingers need to stick together, right?”

Tanner nodded silently and Remus left; Cap was walking around with the boy from earlier on his feet, taking huge steps until Remus tapped him on the elbow. Tanner’s stomach dropped to his feet as Cap glanced over to him. There was something about his eyes, so pale against his dark hair, that was almost like a spotlight on every mistake Tanner had made.

He swallowed, and did not look away.

Sirius said something to the boy, who let go of his hands and ran off to get more cake as he dragged Remus along by the hand. “Cute kid,” Tanner said when Sirius walked over to him.

“Jules, the younger Lupin.” Fondness washed across his face for a moment and Tanner relaxed; Cap didn’t seem like the type to start yelling at a birthday party. “What’s up?”

“What?”

“Re said I should talk to you.”

“Oh.” For someone who wasn’t intending to talk to anybody unless absolutely necessary, Tanner was really making the rounds. “I’m sorry.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Are you?”

“I am. Honestly, I am so sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t be yourself. I made hurtful comments to your closest friends, which was a dick move and also homophobic. You deserve respect regardless of who you love and—and looking back, it’s so stupid that I thought your relationship was any of my business.”

Sirius paused for a moment. “Feel better?”

“Yeah, actually. Holy shit.” Tanner ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“I can tell.” He cocked his head to the side. “Apology accepted. You’re what, nineteen?”

“In a month, yeah.”

“You’ve got a lot of living ahead of you. Don’t stop thinking and you’ll be fine.”

Tanner met his gaze. “Thanks for…everything. It would have been really easy for you to be a dick, but you weren’t.”

“Being a dick doesn’t win games. Building a team does. Have you had any cake yet?”

“Uh, no.”

“Celeste made it. You should have some before the kids blow through it.” Sirius clapped him on the shoulder before heading back to the main group. “See you around, Tanner.”

[achliegh]

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

@clearsuitcasecookienerd helped me out with this one!

For some background:

Leo is a bull rider as a side hustle.

His parents breed Tennessee Walking Horses ($$$$$)

His father died when he was 16 so he dropped out of school to help his mother and cousins run the ranch.

During the winter The Ranch hands take over the Ranch so Leo and his Mother can go visit family all over the country. During the Summer Leo and his cousins handle the ranch.

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Prologue:

Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy

And James was thrown off the mechanical bull for the third time! It seems as though no one on the team could stay on that thing long enough to win the prize of a free beer tab. Finn and Logan were standing hip to hip, forearms resting on the short fence surrounding the mechanical bull in this crowded bar. They were passing a cigarette back and forth as they made fun of Thomas and James as they rode this ferocious animal on the beginner setting.

They just got done for the day at a training camp designed to make them more agile on the ice, only the wingers and centers were there. It was being put on at the old professional hockey rink in New Orleans so it can get some use. The only reason why they choose this hick bar is because it was close to the rink and apparently LGBTQ+ friendly because some kid comes here and gets in fights with people who are homophobic.

A true hero.

Finn and Logan have been friend with benefits since college, did they plan to fuck again tonight? Yee-haw! They both had feelings for each other but refused to admit them because that's the one thing you aren’t supposed to do in a friends with benefits situation. Not fall in love. Everyone knew they were completely head over heels for each other but everyone also knew something was missing for them to be able to work. Usually they only talked about their feelings when they were angry.

Everyone in the bar was friendly, all locals too, so they would tell fun stories about what has gone down in this bar. Two names that would come up frequently and always together were, Leo and Clayton. Apparently, they are best friends and the most beloved frequenters of the bar. Yes, they were undersage. Yes, they did like to fight. No, no one snitches on them. Yes, Leo is a gay boy and Clayton is a Bi boy and they ran this town.

Both are apparently from very rich old parents who only ever had one child, so they treated each other like brothers. No one messed with them. Don't forget they know how to have a good time. Finn had squished his hand into Logan's back pocket while they listened to the local next to them at the fence talk about the two boys.

Then the double wood door to the bar was slammed open, two very tall specimens sauntered in, there was whooping and hollering as they walked past people. Tipping hats and throwing winks. The local leaned over and whispered to Finn and Logan who took a glance at the door and then back at the bull tossing their friends like a fucking salad.

“Speak of the devils.” Logan's attention was brought to the two men when they hopped over the fence to help James stand back up and dust him off. Cracking jokes with him, while the other went to the machine panel to change the setting. Logan took in their appearances.

The one with James had caramel toned skin with black coily hair under a dirty baseball cap. He was very well built and looked like his muscles were made of rock, Logan guessed he was around the same height as Finn. He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeve cut off low enough to show off his abdomen. He had on some dark dusty jeans and brown square toes boots, looks like he just got off work somewhere dusty. The man looked up to check out the crowd of newbies to the bar and Logan took note of his dark dark brown eyes, which landed on him and he saw the man smirk a little before leaning over to James to ask for the names of Finn and Logan. Rolling his eyes a little he decided to look at the other man.

Oh my.

Logan felt like he had been punched in the gut, this man had soft blonde curls wrapping around the rim of his old baseball cap that's backwards on his head. He was also tan but looked more golden like he was tanned under the sun. He couldn’t see his face from under the man's hat but he could see his hard muscles from under his incredibly tight tank top. He too was wearing jeans and square toed boots. Logan could tell this guy was taller than the other and he just wanted him. The veins in his arms and the strength of his hands made his grip tighten on his drink. He knew Finn was looking to by the way he could feel his hand flexing on his ass.

There was a song playing in the background that portrayed exactly how they felt.

“SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWBOY!” The bar cheered as the blonde boy swung his leg on the bull and grabbed the handle, nodding at his friend. The bull started thrashing around and all Finn and Logan could focus on was the way this guy isolated his body so the top half of him barely moved while his hips rotated with the machine, smoothly. As the bull got faster the tighter the guy gripped the handle the more veins showed in his arms. Logan took a drink while Finn took a drag.

When the man was finally flung off, he had won what Thomas and James were trying so desperately trying to win. When the man stood up he was right in front of Logan and Finn. Logan just about spit out his drink when he saw this man's face. Like it was chiseled from fucking god, dimples, electric blue eyes that shot electricity to their groins, sculpted eyebrows and a scar on bridge of his nose. He smiled and his teeth were perfect beside a chip on his left front tooth.

They had to have him. After hours of teasing looks and sexy line dances, which was a sentence Finn swore he would never say, they finally got this angel of a cowboy into their hotel room. His name was Leo, and god damn was he packing.

He was fucking into Logan as the smaller man fingered Finn open and sucked him off at the same time, Leo shifted a little to hit Logan's prostate, a loud moan was heard from around Finn’s cock. Logan pulled off of Finn and Pushed back on Leo like he couldn’t help it, catching Leo by surprise and asking him to pull out. Leo did because he was a literal angel.

Leo sat back on his heels and smoothed his hands over Logan's hips with a worried look in his eyes. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” His voice was heavy with lust and worry, that thick southern accent caused the other two to groan.

“Don’t you remember what song was playing when we first saw you?” Logan and Finn were now on their knees facing each other but looking at Leo with hungry eyes. Leo looked down as he thought for a moment, then it dawned on him. He looked up at them and smiled a little shy, he was about to say something but he was pushed back to lay down. He shuffles a little to get more comfortable, Finn and Logan both mentioned that they were switches so he had no clue what to expect when two extremely sex hockey players asked him into their bed. Clayton was jealous.

He groans as he feels Finn grind back onto his cock, he looks up at the red head and smiles Finn is definitely enjoying himself. Leo placed his hands on Finn’s hips to help him sink down on his cock, furrowing his brows he tries his best not to fuck up into Finn as he gets used to Leo. Which they did mention Finn hasn’t bottomed in a while but he really wanted to with Leo and that made him feel special. Leo opens his eyes from when he scrunched them shut to control himself, he sees Logan watching Finn and stroking himself. An idea comes onto Leo’s head, tapping on Logan's arm he wraps his hand around his bicep and pulls him over to him.

“How about you ride my face, sugarbug? Hmm?” Leo is pulled into an intense kiss as Finn finally sets a comfortable pace of fucking himself down on Leo. Logan maneuvers himself so he is straddling Leo’s face and facing Finn.

Leo grabs Logan's hips to pull him down on his face, nipping lightly at his rim he smirks at the shiver he feels from Logan, hearing the smacking of kisses he knows they are desperately close already. Leo starts working Logan open with his tongue as he plants his heels on the bed and fucks up into Finn. The boys are moaning his name loud enough he bets the people in the room next to them are hearing everything. Leo is getting close and he knows Logan is barely holding on, plunging his middle finger and tongue into his smaller lover, hitting his prostate head on, he feels Logan clench around him as a wet heat is felt on his chest.

Logan Moans out Leo’s name and then Finn’s as he pulls the red head into a sloppy kiss as Leo keeps his rhythm with Finn, fucking him steady and deep. Finn changes the rhythm and starts moving faster, desperate for that release. Logan reaches between them and starts to jerk Finn off in time with his thrusts, after a few strokes he feels Finn spilling into his hand. Leo groans and bites down on Logan's left booty cheek as he muffles his moan when he releases into the condom he's wearing. Resting his head back on the pillow he feels logan crawl off him.

Finn pulled off him and collapsed onto Leo’s chest with an oof. Leo chuckles and runs his hands through Finn’s hair, mesmerized by the red flowing through hands. He just wanted to hold these boys close and relax, which he hasn’t done in a while. Kissing the top of Finn’s head he hears a cute whimper from the man on top of him. Hiding his laugh in his hair Leo looks up at Logan who wanders back into the room with a warm washcloth. He slaps Finn’s ass causing the man to jolt and glare at Logan.

“Excuse you, I was being snuggled by a hot cowboy who just fucked the life out of me.” Leo laughs as Finn rolls off him, Logan tries to hide his smile but fails as he wipes the other two down. Hopping on top of them and wiggling his way between them and smiles.

“Well I want to cuddle the hot cowboy who just ate my soul out of my ass.” Leo laughs again and shakes his head wrapping his arms around bothering them.

“Shh! I want to silently cuddle with two hockey players who I just had the most intense orgasm with!” They all laugh and fall into comfortable silence with comforting touches and caresses until they fall asleep.

When Finn and Logan woke up in the morning Leo was already dressed and writing his number on the notepad next to Logan’s phone. He turns to look back at the bed and smiles when he sees the boys both sleepily reach for him. He crawls on the bed still having not put on his boots yet and gives them both a sweet kiss goodbye.

“Text me or call me anytime you want to talk.” He whispers to them as he pushes some hair out of Logan's face and rests his forehead on Finn’s cheek. He crawls away shoving his boots on and walking out the door. Morning chores need to be done.

They all felt it when Leo left, cold.

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

[andrebearakovsky]

Folks, I promised you an essay with all my thoughts and feelings, and I'm giving you an essay with all my thoughts and feelings. Buckle your seatbelts because we are going on a bumpy ride. My essay, directed to GMBM.

I'm going to start off with: this trade makes absolutely no fucking sense. PARTS of it, maybe, but as a whole? No fucking way. The Caps sent a HUGE package to the Wings. They sent off Vrana, Panik, a 2021 1st, AND a 2022 2nd. For just Mantha. I don't know about you, but that seems EXTREMELY lopsided. Like Mantha's good I guess, but not enough to command ALL that. And he's signed for three more years beyond this, which like as face value demands a little bit more in return, but once again, not ALL that!!!

I'm gonna be honest I could not tell you much of anything about Mantha and how good he is. I see highlights of him sometimes, which means he's got some talent, but like he's still a big question mark. And he's a big power forward, which like on the one hand fits the model of the Caps, but on the other hand you ALREADY have SO MANY dudes on your roster who do exactly what he does. Vrana gave you speed and skill which you didn't have with just about anyone else on the roster, and now you have barely any of that which concerns me.

I have some serious concerns about the direction the team is going with this move. This team is OLD and SLOW. There's something to be said for experience but uhhhhh. The ENTIRE roster can't be old that's not a good move. And by trading Vrana you get rid of someone who is the opposite of both of those things, which was adding balance to your roster. And like Mantha's not old, he's 26, but that's still older than Vrana, who is 25. You're not helping yourself here. AND getting rid of this year's first when your roster is old as dirt is REALLY concerning to me. AND you're gonna be slower, did I mention that? Which also concerns a LOT. The only one here with any speed at all now is Carl Hagelin. Which is like. Alarming. I see teams like the Rangers skate around them and make them look like fools and this is not going to help.

So I guess my main point here on the logic side is that I don't understand the point? How are you improving? You're not getting anything new; everything he brings is something you already have. The fact that they traded Vrana is not exactly surprising, given his diminished ice time and recent scratches, but what they traded him for doesn't make sense.

And like I'm not SUPER upset Richard Panik is gone, he wasn't adding a whole lot to the lineup, but I am gonna be sad about the fucking destruction of the Czechoslovakian Mafia. You took away their leader (Vrana) and destroyed it in one fell swoop. I know all the Czechs and Slovaks were all friends so that aspect in them being gone makes me sad.

NOW it's time for my feelings. FIRST of all, how DARE you!!! How D A R E you!!!!!! I love that sweet boy!!! No thoughts head empty!!! An absolute delight!!!!!! His facial expressions so good, his interviews so funny, and I just!!! Seeing him always made me smile!!!!! And now I am ANGRY and HURT and UPSET and DEPRESSED!!!!! How DARE you take this joy away from me!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK YOU. I have so many good memories of him during the Cup run and now I think of them and want to cry. I get no more Jakub memories now. And you, personally, ruined this.

More hurt feelings: Vitek Vanecek and Jakub Vrana have been very close buddies since they were drafted in the same draft in 2014. They're both Czech, and they both came up in the system together. Joined at the hip in the minors. There was one prospect camp where Jakub fuckin translated everything for Vitek because Vitek like hardly knew any English at that point (there's even a sweet moment in this video when Jakub asks also-a-tiny-prospect-at-that-point Pheonix Copley to make sure Vitek gets to all the right goalie stuff). Jakub made it to the NHL much earlier, but when Vitek finally, finally, FINALLY got his break and made it to the NHL, Jakub was SOOOO happy for him!! And they were finally going to be able to live out the dream and play in the NHL together on the same team and you RIPPED THAT AWAY YOU FUCKING BASTARD.

My feelings are big hurt. You can't just trade Madison Bowey and then Christian Djoos and then Jakub Vrana on THREE CONSECUTIVE TRADE DEADLINES that's just illegal to my feelings. And a hate crime. I remember this article about all three of them coming up together in 2017-18 and now I'm extremely upset again. The ONLY silver lining here is that Christian Djoos is also in Detroit so he and Vrana will get to be reunited (unfortunately they missed Bowey by just a hair; the Wings didn't sign him over the offseason, so he went to Chicago and then today just got traded to Caps West in Vancouver).

You know I really thought the Raffl trade was the trade I was going to get Big Mad over today, but I literally didn't even get a chance to be mad about that. That one's fine I guess, a nothing move really. He's Austrian, and the Caps do love to collect their different nationalities. However I am still concerned about the age; the Caps trade two of their youngest players in Vrana and Siegenthaler for two players in Mantha and Raffle who are older. Mantha's not MUCH older but it's still older and a little bit concerning.

Also, Mantha is signed for SO MANY MORE YEARS. And like ugh I don't know if I want that. I know nothing about him but three more years sounds UGH right now. I don't want it. Go away. I get the feeling I'm gonna feel about him like I feel about Nick Jensen: you were traded for and replaced a sweet boy that I loved, so now you are my enemy. It's no fault of your own, but you're my enemy. I at least hope you're better at hockey than Nick Jensen.

Oh, and one more thing: the deadline came and went, you made all these moves and STILL DIDN'T GET A FUCKING DEPTH CENTER. You got TWO WINGERS. GMBM did you not see the circus that was the "everyone is hurt and we're resorting to having TJ Oshie play center" part of the season? If there was going to be ONE thing I would have asked for at the deadline, it would have been a depth center. Because currently on your roster you have literally no money to call anyone up, and if any one of the four centers go down it's big trouble, and TJ should NOT be playing center again!!!!!! Dear god!!! You failed on your one (1) task!!! Neither of these guys you got are centers!!!! What are you doing!!!!!!!

GMBM…blockbuster moves at the deadline have never been your forte. Remember the disaster that was the Kevin Shattenkirk trade? Stop doing this shit. You know what works? Supplemental moves that don't disrupt the balance of the whole team. Stick to the Brenden Dillon and Carl Hagelin level trades. You know what your gold mine of a deadline trade was? The Michal Kempny trade. Which was, surprise, a supplemental move and not a blockbuster one. And I'm gonna tell you that outright: you're never going to strike oil like that again. Not ever again. A Michal Kempny only happens once. Please stop trying to force something magic to happen by doing something crazy and stupid. You can't just go LOOKING for a Michal Kempny on purpose, and the big trades where you ship off an important, beloved top 6 member of your team is certainly not where you're going to find it. I'm just…stop.

Frankly, GMBM, I'm getting tired of you. You've tested my patience. You emotionally destroyed me to my core with the Marcus Johansson trade (which I STILL have not forgiven you for, and never will), and banishing Vrana to Detroit of all places might be the last straw. I'm gonna say the same thing I always do when trades like this happen: prove me wrong. I fuckin DARE you to prove me wrong. I for one am VERY displeased with this move in every possible way, both in my feelings and my logical hockey brain. Show me that I am wrong, otherwise it's going to be bad news for you in the future. I really think you made the wrong, wrong move here.

#i'm so upset #but mainly angry #enjoy my essay #i worked real hard #jakub vrana #washington capitals #original post

[renardtrickster]

What's your overall opinion on the Kyle Rittenhouse case now that it's over? I think he should've rot in prison or gotten tge death sentence, personally

My take on the case is that Kittenhouse had his mom drive him from one state to another, grabbed a gun his friend bought for him, and then joined a vigilante/militia effort to protect a car dealership that he was not obligated to defend and had no reason to do so. He and the other LARPers then stood in front of the place of business which the protestors passed over, having successfully defended a car dealership. For some fucking reason, he then left the car dealership, followed the protestors, and then committed the 100% Legal Self Defense that he had probably purposefully sought out. The following statements can all be true at once.

One, even if you're a Blue Lives Matter probable Proud Boy who is open carrying at a counter-protest (among the many reasons wrong with this includes lack of discipline and organization, and the fact that open-carrying is cringe LARPy penis extension shit and CC is better), doesn't mean attacking you becomes legal. Although you can make the case (and bring up) that Grosskreutz and maybe Huber were acting in self-defense, because if I heard gunshots, saw a guy with a gun, and heard people shouting "he just shot someone", I would assume he just murdered someone and act accordingly. You can also argue that Rittenhouse had a gun and Rosenbaum was unarmed so running is infinitely more sensible than actually shooting. Ultimately, I'm not versed in legal-ese and I haven't been following the case that closely. I know there's some weird shit like the judge apparently acting like a sussy obstinate baka, or the "you can't say 'shooting victim' because referring to people who got shot as shooting victims biases the case, do call them looters and arsonists and pigfuckers though" ruling. And I think there was something absurd about "zooming in on a video counts as manipulating footage and thus can't be shown as evidence"? But legally, the self-defense case seems solid from what I am aware of.

Two, Kyle Rittenhouse is a dumbfuck conservative teenager who was seen hanging out with Proud Boys and flashing the OK sign in a bar, and whose branch is probably cut from the same tree of mentally ill right-wingers who blow their cash on "tacticool" gun gear as they fantasize about the day BLM snaps and begins "invading the suburbs" and ravaging "suburban" women, so they can fight back, becoming the vanguard and killing all the political undesirables while being able to morally withstand it by framing it through the act of self-defense. This event was the inevitable conclusion of our country's problem with right-wing militia-wannabees, and even as someone who's pro-gun the fact that Kyle was able to get his hands on a rifle and serve in a militia line that easily and with so little scrutiny is absurd.

Three, please shut up. "I think he should've gotten the death sentence" I think he's a little snot who's going to be turned into a icon by the culture war and Republican politicians in a few years, and I'm definitely not looking forward to the conservatives who are going to a) be endlessly smug about it forever and b) feel empowered by this. But at the same time, I still hold that neither the state nor prisons should be killing prisoners because life in prison is the most extreme and arguably worse punishment you can hand out, and "but we need to kill him" is ripe for abuse and mainly done out of some caveman-brained impulse to hurt whoever "wronged you" because an eye for an eye is totally a sensible policy guise. And I'm not going to renege on that position because now we're talking about some punk with a gun. If your feelings on Rittenhouse are deeper than "dagnab that kid my political lawn OOO", what you want from a Rittenhouse conviction is a few months in the clink to discourage other people from forming armed militia forces to defend property, then him getting rehabilitated into something more conducive to being-a-person-in-society than someone who buys into the "BLM literally burnt down the entire city it's all gone" memes and then acts on them, followed by making sure nothing like this ever happens again.

Four, and to lighten the mood, look at this meme.

#in short legally i'm not well versed but morally i condemn him and find the situation absurd #but i'm more concerned about the background and ramifications of this incident than the actual incident #infoxicated #oh no renardie is posting #also enjoying the nikocado avocado meme is apolitical

[csykora]

After ‘84, Igor felt the pieces were beginning to fall off the Red Machine. 

He hated being called a robot as much as he hated being called a soldier. He didn’t know what the world wanted the Green Unit to do on the ice or off it, how they had to behave, before someone would believe they had feelings. On the worst days they were too tired and numb to feel anything else.  

When he’d met Bobby Clarke, who he thought looked like a hockey angel with a blond halo and no teeth, Bobby commented about the Soviet presence in Afghanistan. Igor didn’t know how to say that he’d definitely never been allowed to go to Afghanistan, and under the uniform he didn’t deserve to be a soldier, for good or bad. The national team was a tool of the Soviet government: at the same time it was a comfort for ordinary people in cold little apartments in mining towns where the players grew up and also a prop in the illusions that kept everything how it was. 

The illusion went skin deep: every time they left Russia, Igor was issued a snappy winter coat and brand-name Western clothes, so no one would think the Soviets looked poor.

[A black and white photo of the Green Unit posing, smiling except for Igor, in matching windbreakers with saddle shoulders and bold stripes. This was a hot look, about 10 years before the Soviet Union Costuming Department thought it was a hot look]

Underneath the coat or the beautiful red sweater, everything was a mess. At one point, at a tournament in Canada, a Canadian player would hit Igor from behind. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except the Soviet management hadn’t provided enough hockey pads. Igor was wearing a partial set he’d borrowed from a high school team that played in the host arena earlier that day. (Across Europe and Canada I bet there are grown men, still hockey fans now, who have no idea they once owned game-worn gear from the world’s top scorers. To Igor’s fans those pieces might be worth as much as he ever earned in his CSKA career.) He would play the rest of that tournament with broken ribs.

The only outsider he’d met who seemed to understand, however briefly, was their friend Vanya. Asked what it was like playing against those Russian robots, Wayne said, 

“Robots don’t hurt when they lose.”

By June 1985, Slava was recovering from that knee injury that had sidelined him for half the last season. He and his little brother Tolya, now a CSKA rookie, drove back for the start of training. Their car was hit, and Tolya was killed. Slava thought about leaving that season, but their parents told him to keep going, and just try to live for two people.

In November, the players at Arkhangel heard a rumor: someone had written an article, in a Soviet paper, that criticized the hockey program. Anything that wasn’t awe was criticism. Someone got their hands on a copy, and Igor, Vova, Sergei, and Slava huddled around their usual table that evening, hiding each other as they read it in turns. Igor reread it twice. He’d read Canadian and American papers that dragged the Soviet system, but never something like this, that got it--almost--right. It didn’t have all the details to understand the illusion--how they trained, how Tikhonov acted behind Arkhangel’s walls--but it guessed some.

Glasnost was beginning, a long rustling cracking thaw opening new streams of information and communication like Igor had dreamed. The Canucks drafted him that year, and then Vova. The Devils had dibsed Slava and Lyosha a few years before, and the Flames wanted Sergei. There was a place for them, waiting, if they could ever get to the NHL. But there wouldn’t be any thaw in Arkhangel as long as Tikhonov ruled it.

The ’85 World Championships were held in Prague, and ’86 in Moscow. Igor played both, and nothing else. For two years, no one saw him outside the Soviet Union. 

In December of ‘85, CSKA was supposed to tour North America. Igor was dressed and ready. Then he heard his passport, which he had used a hundred times before, had run into problems. Coach told him not to worry, but to stay behind in Russia and--how convenient--keep training for the championships in Moscow. Igor woke up at three in the morning to watch the games he was supposed to be playing. He learned that Canadian journalists were asking about him: apparently, he had tonsillitis. Igor wasn’t entirely sure where his tonsils were. 

Two months later CSKA played in Sweden. Strange, how his tonsils still weren’t better, and his passport was still missing. Two nights before they were set to leave Tikhonov called him into the office, in front of the team, and told him so. But the next evening Tretiak, now a more senior officer, came out to visit the barracks. He hugged Igor and promised him he would do what he could to get the passport by the time they were supposed to leave the next morning. Igor went to bed hoping. At 4:30 AM the coaches woke him just to tell him the passport wasn’t there yet, so the team really would be leaving without him. 

The third time it happened, he was told to go back to the passport office to file everything all over again--maybe he had fucked up his passport. He didn’t bother. Taking away travel had been one thing. But doing it in front of the team, in front of the Green Unit, so that he knew that they knew that he had let them down somehow, broke his heart. 

He was still allowed to play inside the Soviet Union. As long as he was with CSKA, the other Greens treated him the same as always. If they had known how bad things were going to get, Igor thought they would have done more sooner, but he knew that they didn’t understand what was happening. In between games, he spent his days in office buildings, being grilled about suspicious activities like listening to rock music, calling his mom too often, or kissing Canadians. 

“I was at fault all around. That I gladly gave interviews to journalists. That I liked the NHL...that I like rock music. That the living standard there impressed me. All this was raked up into a pile. I was the enemy. Because, you see, if I liked the American way of life, then in general I was an American by heart. All of this they said about me.

By nature, I am clearly a Russian. I do not like everything in America. It cannot be that somewhere is as in a fairytale, and somewhere else is total darkness.

Particularly, it seemed, my [friendliness] offended the preservers of government secrets….I also knew a little English. Therefore I had the possibility to rub elbows with whomever I might come in contact: hockey players, journalists and even immigrants. And, they assumed, to each of them I could give important information--everyone getting an equal share, no doubt, in order to be fair.”

He couldn’t talk to his friends from other countries, or his Russian friends either when they traveled without him. On the street outside between the rink and the party offices, none of his former fans would speak to him, except to ask or tell him their opinion if he really was a traitor.

He was wanted everywhere but home. Obviously, no other country believed that a 25 year-old athlete who had been the best in the world six months before had been brought down by tonsillitis multiple times in a row. There’s only so many tonsils a person can have. Obviously, every other country thought Igor must want to defect, the one thing he did not want and couldn’t convince anyone of. So each host on the international hockey circuit was bouncing on their toes, first Canada, then Sweden and so on, thinking maybe the Soviet Union would slip up and let him come to their tournament, he'd defect, and then they’d get to keep him. Obviously, the Soviets noticed that, and squeezed tighter.

Each time the team left on tour, he was told to spend his time alone training harder and hope. If he was good enough, maybe he’d make the next tournament. His body, always a battle-ground with Coach Tikhonov, became a hostage situation. The more Tikhonov told him to train, the less he ate. Eventually he was eating mostly fruit, and restricting his water intake. 

He stopped pretending to defer to anyone.  He used to be the sober one between his hot-head wingers, and now he egged every fight on. Sometimes he faked an American accent, calling Coach “Tikhonoff” the way American broadcasters had at the '81 Olympics.

One day at the rink he bumped into figure skater Lena Batanova, who “knew nothing about hockey and could not have cared less.” She had been through worse training than he had growing up, only to win two World Championships, and then be slighted from a third. They understood each other without having to say anything.

[Igor washing dishes in their Moscow apartment, turning to glance at Lena pressing up him.]

That summer he stayed up late talking with his friends, and realized he wanted to marry Lena. He asked her the next morning, and she said yes. Behind Igor’s back, Slava, Vova, Sergei, and Lyosha went to Coach Tikhonov’s office, and told him that they would play every other day of the year if they had to, but they would be going to Igor’s wedding. Coach wouldn’t allow the three days for a traditional Russian wedding, but he had to give Igor one.

Waking up the morning after the wedding, Igor checked the mail and found a summons to appear before the Central Committee of the Communist Party. His friends, who I imagine lying hungover on his and Lena’s new couch and floor, rushed for their unused books to help him study up on Communist doctrine, in case he got quizzed. This is presumably when Lena woke up, realized she’d married a whole line of hockey players for their one communal brain cell, and rolled back over. Igor reported the next morning, probably with flashcards Vova had made for him in his pocket.

The Party officials congratulated him on getting married and gave him the wedding gift they were sure no one else would have gotten: his passport. We have to guess the logic here, if there was one. It’s possible the Party thought he wouldn’t risk his wife, or that two years had just been enough to realize the team wasn’t working without him. 

But he was allowed to go to Canada for the Calgary Cup before the end of ‘86, and everyone had questions about his two years of tonsillitis. Igor, for the first time in his life, didn’t talk. But that just left the hockey world to gossip. Two months later it was announced he’d be in Quebec City for another tournament, and right before they arrived a Quebec newspaper printed a version of the night out with Gretzky--with quotes, they claimed, from Wayne. This time the tournament organizers called someone from every team up for a pregame presser. I imagine Igor shrugging at his KGB handlers and sliding away to the stage: nothing could stop him talking now.

Except the Canadian journalists. They wanted to interview Team Canada first. Igor stewed, and then looked up to see an oncoming Wayne. Someone had asked him about the alleged quotes in the article, which Igor had snagged a copy of to read the second they let him loose in Canada. Apparently Wayne hadn’t. 

“‘Believe me, Igor,’” Igor remembers Wayne blurting out. “‘I didn’t say what was printed in the paper. I’ll tell them it didn’t happen! But what is your position now?’”

“‘Do not worry,” Igor promised him. “‘Now, everything is okay.’”

“Oh, awesome,” (I’m assuming again) Wayne said. “So do you want to come over later and hang out in my mom’s basement?!”

“If the KGB pulls a gun, then call me.” --Wayne Gretzky

Weirdly, I’ve never seen this inspirational quote cross-stitched on someone’s wall. 

The next Canada Cup was held in August ‘87 in Hamilton, Ontario, which is like, basically next door to Wayne’s parents’ house. So the afternoon before the first game, Wayne sent his dad Walter to the hotel where the Soviet team was staying. Walter asked in Ukrainian if he could chat with Igor, who had to come down to the hotel lobby to meet him, since visitors were absolutely not allowed to wander up to players’ rooms. Walter invited his son’s friend over for dinner. Igor cut eyes at the KGB agent in the corner, and said he had to go upstairs and ask Coach. Tikhonov said no before Igor started talking.

Igor came back downstairs and apologized to Walter, who thought hard for a minute. He told Igor to ask what if the whole Green Unit went to Wayne’s house for team bonding? Coach Tikhonov considered, and said no, and Igor went back to Walter. 

Walter hitched up his suspenders, and announced to the KGB that he would talk go to Coach Tikhonov now.

He told Tikhonov he would be honored if Coach came to dinner at his house that evening, and if Coach felt like it, he might bring the boys over too. Tikhonov said he’d love to. 

Tikhonov, Igor, Vova, Sergei, Slava, Lyosha, and a KGB operative spent a delightful half hour packed in a car together driving to the Gretzkys' house, where Walter and Phyllis were throwing a cookout. Walter and some of his local buddies had barbecue and corn on the cob on the grill, and Phyllis had quizzed her son about his Moscow trip before throwing up her hands in despair and making a big batch of her mother’s Polish dumplings and sausage.

Nothing makes me happier than the image of Wayne Gretzky, beaming from ear to ear, handing famously fussy little Igor Larionov a piece of barbecued corn on the cob. Igor had to explain that yes, they had corn in Russia, but they ate it on a plate and not like squirrels. Walter offered him a beer, and Igor looked to Coach Tikhonov before saying no. Tikhonov allowed the players to have a soda.

Wayne started asking him how everything had been since the last time they hung out, and didn’t get why his friend wouldn’t talk to him at first. Igor might answer one question, and then act like he didn’t understand. Sergei and Vova really didn’t speak English, and kept elbowing Igor to explain what was going on and why Wayne was smiling at them like that, but Igor was still pretending he only spoke Russian and hesitated to translate for them. Finally Wayne realized Igor was clamming up every time Tikhonov got within earshot.

Wayne went to Walter to change the game plan. Walter would use his Ukrainian to ask Coach Tikhonov about his many amazing accomplishments, while Wayne told the whole party he wanted to show the other boys his medals, which were all down in the basement. Unfortunately the Gretzky family’s basement was very small, and housed Wayne’s many, many medals, so only two people could possibly fit down there at a time: one Gretzky, and one Russian. Tikhonov thought about it, decided he didn’t care about someone else’s medals, and gave the okay.

 Just in case, Wayne deputized his dad’s buddy Charlie, who did not speak Russian or anything like it but was somebody’s dad from suburban Ontario, to chat up the KGB agent.

So Wayne began to escort the Green Unit, one by one, down to his family’s basement. At the bottom of the stairs, he handed them a beer. The two of them chugged their beers together, trying not to take suspiciously long or laugh too loud, and then ran back up to change out for the next boy.

Nothing happened that night. It didn’t change anything, except that Tikhonov never found out. The Greens had been able to get one over on him, because they didn’t have to do it alone.

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#green unit #igor larionov #wayne gretzky #slava fetisov #sergei makarov #vladimir krutov

[judediangelo75]

Under the Celestial Lights

Hi everyone! First I would like to thank you guys for my first post for the TalbottxMC fandom. I appreciate it a lot. So this is my second contribution, this time covering the Celestial Ball. 

As you all already know, Talbott is not option (tragic I know) so this is gonna be a hint of a love triangle situation. Playing the game, I did go with Andre because I found him to be rather sweet (and cute). It was either him or Barnaby, sue me. But I pick our favorite style wizard.

I would entertain my MC liking Andre as a bit, but her endgame is Talbott. And she feels terrible for having to choose and breaking someone’s heart in that process. She doesn’t like to hurt anyone she considers a good friend.

Also this is featuring my best friend in this story, we’re co-writing our Hogwarts experience from the game.

So here it is, my version of the Celestial Ball featuring our favorite bird boy, Talbott Winger. Hope you all like it!

-------------------------------

(Talbott Winger)

The Celestial Ball.

Something that caused a stir in the student population at Hogwarts. Where everyone seems to be anxious on what they will wear and who their guest will be as they'll dance the night away.

Not my scene.

Or so I thought before I saw her.

On Andre's arm was my secret crush. Judith Harris.

If I thought she looked beautiful before, she was absolutely stunning now...

If I were in my human form, I would most definitely be blushing. The dress seem to be made just to fit her and her alone. Red and gold complimenting her skin and eyes. Even the slit of the dress that showed off her leg did funny things to me. Her dark brown hair styled in curls flowing around her shoulders and upper back. Her gold eyes were outlined in black, making her eyes sharp and enticing. The dark brown, nearly black, shadow added depth to her eyes. Her lips looked soft and a bit shiny.

Andre looked like he was walking on air, a hint of a blush can found on his cheeks paired with the biggest smile on his face. He gazed at Judith with a soft lovesick expression.

'Lucky bloke...' I mentally huffed as I shifted in my little corner by the windows. I didn't even plan on going to the Ball but after a certain conversation with Judith early this morning.

---------

"Hey Talbott..." I glanced at the Hufflepuff sitting next to me. After breakfast in the Great Hall, Judith decided to join me in my hiding spot in the Courtyard.

"Yes, Judith," I asked. On the way here, she seemed to thinking about something.

"I was wondering... you plan on going to the Ball?" I rolled my eyes.

"I see no real point to go. Sure, there are people I know that'll be there, but it's not like they're looking to spend time with the weird looking loner. Plus, it's not my scene to begin with," I shrugged. I didn't notice a crestfallen expression on Judith's face.

"O-Oh... Just wondering..." I turned to the Hufflepuff who was facing the opposite direction.

"I'm going. I'm sure it'll be fun..." I arched at brow.

"You going with a guest?"

"No one asked me. I guess I'm going to be third wheeling Brooke and Penny. No wizard would want me as their guest..." I frowned. I would want her to be my guest. I opened my mouth to say something but the girl abruptly stood up.

"I got to go, I'm pretty sure getting ready for the Ball will take forever. Might as well and get a head start. I'll... I'll see you around, Talbott..." were her final words before walking back into the castle. I was left alone in the quiet Courtyard, feeling like I ruined something...

-----------

Turns out Judith did find a guest, but her eyes didn't hold it's usual spark. Whenever she was alone, I notice the look on her face. Her eyes were half lidded, it almost made her eyes enticing. But by closer inspection, her eyes looked slightly clouded and dazed. Like she wasn't truly present. She would look outside, her expression wistful before morphing to a smile when one of her friends or Andre approach her. But I know what I saw.

A look I've seen in our long classes. A look that reads she rather be somewhere else.

Or maybe in this case, with someone else...

"Heyyyyyy Talbott~" I blinked as I turned to Brooke, who was now casually leaning against the windowsill. She looked amazing, I wouldn't be surprised if she was the master mind behind her and her best friend's outfits. But that's not what I wondering about.

Just how did she see me and why is she talking to me...

"So I noticed you here all by your lonesome so I decided to come keep you company with awhile." I detect a bit of lying in that statement. I blinked at her unimpressed.

"Hey! What's with that look? I can't check up on one of my friends?" I don't know, can you? I gave her a head tilt as answer. She rolled my eyes.

"Why can I tell that you're being sarcastic with me right now?" Maybe because I am. She sighed, exasperated.

"Alright, alright. So I have a bit of an ulterior motive here, but it's nothing bad. I promise!" If I could raise a brow at her, I would. I simply sat there, waiting for her to continue.

"So I know that you fucked up, but I'm here to help you..." I flapped my wings, slightly bewildered. What was that suppose to mean? The girl rolled her eyes.

"I promised I wouldn't interfere too much but I can push you in the right direction..." I still not following completely...

"The Ball will be over soon and I wouldn't stand to see my best friend sulk any longer! So here's the plan: I gonna convince Judith to help me with something and I separate her from Andre for little while. You're gonna be hiding out in the Courtyard. While Judith is "helping" me, I gonna go back to the Great Hall and you'll make your grand entrance. I think a dance with you will make her night ten times better. You got all that, bird boy?" I simply turned around and flew out of the open window behind me.

I guess a quick stop to my room wouldn't hurt...

------------------------

(Judith Harris)

I'm ready to just crash in my bed right now. I'm over it.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be at the Celestial Ball. After all this timing planning, it great to see that it was all worth it. Though one detail that just made me see dim colors.

I wasn't with the person I wanted to go with.

I have no clue where I possibly got the idea that Talbott would be interested in me and would go to the Ball with me. Once I heard that he wasn't going, I just mentally gave up and walked away before I could make a bigger fool of myself. I was internally wallowing in my self pity when I unknowingly bumped into Andre.

The boy seem anxious for whatever reason. I softly asked the style wizard if everything was okay. And that's when he shyly asked me if I was going to the Ball with anyone. Still kinda down about how the situation played out with Talbott, I told the stylish Ravenclaw no. Perking up a bit, he asked if I would like to go with him.

The silence that ensued was deafening. I meant what I said that I doubt any wizard would consider asking me to be their guest to the Ball. Look at the universe proving me wrong and shit. I shyly accepted Andre's offer. We're going as friends.

The universe was partially laughing at me.

I was enjoying my time with Andre, don't get me wrong. He's the definition of a gentleman. Making sure that I was okay, getting me drinks or little snacks if I needed it, showering me in compliments. Everything.

And I admit, he looked rather handsome tonight. The lights bringing out a shine in those brown eyes that never seem to leave me. Even when I was in his arms for a particular slow dance, he looked down at me with a fond expression. The way his hand was holding my own and the way its twin held by the curve of my waist was rather... intimate. The way he spoke is low hush tones as we quietly spoke during our dance felt private. For the life of me, I couldn't stop blushing because of how being that close to him made me feel. The dance was rather sweet but I knew my heart wasn't in it, which made me feel a bit guilty.

His arms weren't the ones I wanted to be in.

His brown eyes weren't the eyes I wanted looking at me with adoration and shy affection.

Andre wasn't the one I wanted to be with.

I consider him to be a good friend, an amazing mate at that. But that's as far as I'll ever see him.

I let out a soft sigh, gazing out one of the windows of the Great Hall. I wonder how Talbott is spending his night. I felt someone grab my hand, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"I brought you some more punch, Judith," Andre said, holding a goblet in his other hand. I gave him a small smile.

"Thank you, Andre..." Taking the goblet, I drank the cool beverage. Shit, I need it. With trying to help Brooke with her chaotic love life and making sure a jealous Penny doesn't rip Diego a new one, I deserve a small breather. Especially when I had to steal Diego away temporarily for a dance. Diego was a hint to overzealous about this and didn't hesitate to sweep me across the dance floor. Just as I was regretting my decisions in life when Diego talked about a possible "date", Brooke stepped in and saved my ass. I was surprised I was able to dart away so quickly in heels.

Needless to say, I need a little something to relax me.

"Heyyyyy Judith~" Oh for crying out loud, what now? I side eyed my best friend as she gave me a guileless smile.

"What did you do this time," I asked. Brooke looked at me slightly offended.

"Psh, me?! I didn't do any-" I gave her a pointed look. She had the decency to look embarrassed.

"It's nothing bad, I was wondering if you can help me find my earring..." Looking closer, I noticed that one of her clip on dragon earrings was indeed missing.

"How the heck did you manage to lose it," I asked, confused.

"I went to the Courtyard to get some air because it was getting hot in here and it must've fallen off my ear." I raised a brow.

"Wouldn't you have felt it come off? Plus, isn't it metal? So you would've heard it hit the ground," I pointed out.

"I was wondering around and was lost in my thoughts, Judith. You know I wouldn't be paying attention like that," she said with an eye roll.

"But you should've been able to find it, you do have sharp eyesight thanks to your glasses," I hinted. The girl was an avian Animagus. She should have ridiculously good eyesight.

"I must've been so much in a panic looking for it, I gonna need a second pair of eyes."

"But-"

"Oh my gosh, Judith. Are you gonna help me or not?!" I sighed and nodded to my best friend. I turned to Andre, who was smirking down at me.

"The Sorting Hat certainly was right about you having the qualities to be a Ravenclaw, Judith," he said. I rolled my eyes and let out a soft chuckle.

"But I'm not. I just tend to think about certain things more. I'll be back later..." Andre nodded, taking my hand and kissing the back of it. I was a little stunned, even as Brooke quickly dragged me to the Courtyard.

Oh Andre, why must you make this difficult?

"I'm gonna look at this side of the Courtyard and you'll look over there? Alright," Brooke said as she walked over to one end of the Courtyard. I rolled my eyes. Okay, I guess. I casted Lumos and began to search for the earring. After awhile, I came up with nothing.

"Brooke, I can't find the damn thing, you sure you dropped it out here?"

"Hello Judith..." ...that's not Brooke...

I slowly turned to find myself looking into red eyes. I felt my heart stall in my chest for a few moments.

"T-Talbott?! What are you doing here," I asked, my face felt like it was burning. The quiet Ravenclaw boy sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly unsure of himself.

"I-I... um... I'm actually here to see you..."

"R-really," I asked shyly. Sugar Honey Ice Tea, is this really happening right now? Talbott stepped closer and held my right hand, tying something around my wrist. I looked closer and blushed.

A red camellia with a gold ribbon...

You're a flame in my heart...

Do. Not. Faint.

"I know I said I didn't want to go to the Ball, b-but... I was wondering if you're willing to spare me a dance," he whispered. I looked into his eyes. His red eyes screamed his fear... but whispered his hope. My heart was jack hammering against my ribcage as I made my decision.

"I-I... I would love to dance with you..." Talbott gave me a small smile, relief washing over his features. That's when I took a moment to study him. Surprisingly, he wasn't in his class robes. His usual black slacks and dress shoes were present, but a red short sleeve dress shirt with gold tribal designs on his right side took the place of his usual vest and robe.

Has he always been this handsome?

Stupid question, yes he has been. Dear Gods, help me...

His hand slipped into my own as he led me to the middle of Courtyard. I felt my heart race as he paused to look at me. I suddenly became self conscious.

"W-what? Is there something on my face," I asked shyly. Talbott shook his head and let out a shaky sigh.

"N-no... I just... you look stunning tonight, Judith... I almost can't believe that you agreed to do this with me..." Mind if I swoon right now?

"T-thank you, Talbott... and if I can be honest right now..." I took a deep breath, my heart just threatening to make me pass out right now. Talbott's red eyes staring into my own.

"I-I-I... I actually wanted to go to the Ball with you," I confessed. Talbott froze, for a second I thought he forget to breathe. He let out a low chuckle and dropped his head.

"No wonder she said I fucked up... because I did," he mumbled, running his fingers through his hair. I blushed a bit at the sight of him looking slightly disheveled. But I picked up on what he said and mentally slapped my forehead.

Brooke...

As much as I wanna find her and shake her stupid...

She did give me an opportunity...

I reached up, taking the Ravenclaw's face in between my hands so he could look at me.

"Hey, that doesn't matter right now. We're here, aren't we? So let's make the most of it," I whispered. Talbott bit his lip before nodding. One hand found the small of my back while it's twin held my right hand. I rested my remaining hand on his shoulder, stepping closer.

Why does this feel so familiar...

"There isn't any real music for us to dance to," I pointed out. The boy smiled at me.

"I know a song... from my childhood... something my parents use to dance to. I'll share with you one day, but for right now, do you trust me," he asked, looking slightly unsure of himself. I squeezed his hand.

"I trust you, Talbott..." That was all he needed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7JXLczaxJs

Talbott led the dance. It was surprisingly slow in the beginning but picking up speed and fluidity as the song played in Talbott's head. Even more surprisingly, how I was able to keep up with him and never heard the melody. I could only imagine seeing Talbott as a little boy, sitting and watching his parents dance the same way he is now...

With me, of all people...

I snapped out of my thoughts as I felt him release my hand in favor of the holding the curve of my waist. I instinctively gripped both his shoulders and he picked me and spun me around. I couldn't help the carefree laughter that escaped me. The warmth the bubbled within my heart spread throughout my body as I looked down at him. This moment...

His eyes were shining bright under the moon light, shadowed by his dark lashes. His full lips spread into a small smile, but something about this smile was different.

It held a level of warmth and sincerity.

Fondness and affection.

Shyness and caution.

His expression spoke of emotion I wouldn't dare to name aloud. Talbott has been alone for a good portion of his life, for him to lo...

Me?

I didn't dare put any hope on it, in case I was wrong. I don't wish to be on the receiving end of a broken heart. I've seen it happened to Brooke, and I don't think I ready to face such a thing myself.

Talbott set me down, resuming our initial position and continuing our dance.

"I've never known you to be playful, Talbott," I chuckled as gazed into those captivating red eyes. He smirked at me.

"There are many things you don't know about me, Judith," he said, spinning me under his arm. I let out a laugh.

"'Tis true, Mr. Winger. You are a Keeper of Secrets, everything hidden away under an cold lock," I teased as I found myself back in his arms. The hand on my back pressed me closer to him and for a split second I almost forgot how to breathe.

"You may be on to something, Miss Harris... maybe you hold the key to that lock..." I-

I didn't get the chance to reply as Talbott braced his arm around me, dipping me with surprising grace. Time seem to slow down as he pulled me back up, both of us spinning around with grace and poise. We slowed to a stop. I felt him release my hand to find my waist yet again, pulling me closer. Both my hands pressed against his chest, leaning into him. Neither of us spoke, simply taking in the moment. Our faces were surprisingly close, our eyes half lid as we silently stared at each other.

Red and gold...

I took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne, which reminds the crisp morning air in the forest. My eyes fluttered dainty as I felt my knees weaken. Talbott's grip tighten on me, keeping me upright.

"Talbott..." came my breathless whisper.

"Yes, Judith," he whispered back. I don't know what came over me. Maybe because of the adrenaline from our dance. Maybe it was because of the comforting scent of his cologne that was just so him. Maybe it's because of how I'm noticing how dashingly handsome the loner Ravenclaw boy was, especially until the mystical moonlight.

Maybe it's because I like him more than I'm willing to admit at this current point in time...

I leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek. I heard his breath hitch but he didn't push me away. I let myself to linger for a few moments, longer than necessary. I didn't want to part with him so soon, but I knew I had to go back to the Ball and Andre...

I pulled away, giving the blushing boy a smile.

"Thank you for the dance, Talbott... you made my night..." Talbott returned the smile.

"Anything for you, Judith. I know you have to go back but..." he took one of my right hand, kissing my knuckles while he looked into my eyes.

"Goodnight, little bird. Sweet dreams," he said softly. If he keeps this up, I'm gonna swoon for real...

"Goodnight, Talbott. Sweet dreams," I softly replied. I slowly began to walk away, our hands lingering until I was too far away to hold on anymore. As I approached the entrance of the castle, I glanced over my shoulder. The aloof Ravenclaw graced me with one last smile before transforming into his massive Golden Eagle and taking off. I sighed, gazing at the flower around my wrist before holding it close over my heart.

What a night under the Celestial Lights...

#andre egwu #talbott winger #andre x mc #talbott x jacob's sibling #talbott x mc #hphm talbott #hphm andre #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mc #judith harris

[slutabed]

I wasn’t going to watch Advanced Dungeons & Dragons since I didn’t even know about it until like a month ago but I’m weak so I watched it and holy fuck that is a dark episode even for Community

Jeff just getting furious at Pierce without an ounce of humor behind it and Neil legitimately crying like what the fuck they didn’t really need to do all that. Like this wasn’t even classic Community-levels of emotion, this just fucking hurt. And yeah most of my complaints about Community episodes come from the fact that it’s a sitcom and so is only the length of a sitcom, but I feel like they definitely needed Jeff to have a moment with Neil at the end? And also Jeff “Body Image” Winger coming up with the nickname “Fat Neil” probably would have been a thing to address??? Fuck I don’t even know I just felt so sad for Neil the whole time.

just constantly feeling like a fucking hypocrite because I’m fat positive/body positive and all for reclaiming fat for just the descriptive word that it is but fuck when it’s used as an insult like that even against a character it shrinks me right down to childhood and adolescence never feeling good enough because I was fatter than all of my friends and I just want to cry with Neil because fuck. what the fuck.

Fuck. That like...wasn’t a fun episode at all lol. It honestly started out as one of the funnier episodes I’ve seen in a while, between Jeff’s reaction to Britta saying he’s bad at sex to the whole Annie-and-Abed sex scene, but it just got so fucking dark and sad I don’t know if it even balances out. I can’t even tell if I’m overreacting or just projecting my own body image issues but like fuck dude. 

#tw: body image #like i know 'pierce was the one who saved neil' but also #fuck pierce hawthorne #abed was exquisite in this episode as usual #also i regrettably fall more in love with jeff winger each day #the women were also fantastic in this #troy was underutilized #uh yeah kind of fuck this episode i think??? #idk if i'll ever rewatch it to see if i ever get a different opinion lmao #community #advanced dungeons & dragons #also I know it was removed for the blackface issue obviously #but it honestly felt like one of those ‘lost episodes’ that get removed from circulation #just for being too fucking dark #and then pop up on YouTube and you’d watch them at a sleepover at 3 AM

[billdenbrough]

hi i’ve had a headache all day (my fault for staying up until 5am smh) and am coming down with a cold (outrageous, fuck u winter) so i’m not sure how coherent this is but @trentadepresso was having a rough day which is a Crime™ bc andrea is an angel, and she really loves stenbrough, so i thought i’d try my hand at this to cheer her up a little? andrea, babes, i have v little experience/thought w them so i hope i do them justice for u!! i love u v much. also i’m mobile as per so like. apologies in advance for any typos

STENBROUGH + 30. you don’t see me

It’s a Thursday, so it should be a quiet night, but there are about twenty people crammed into various nooks and crannies of the dorm that Bill, Richie and Ben share.

There are three girls sitting in a circle on Mike’s bed, braiding each other’s hair as they listen to him tell a story about Bill, Richie and an ornery goat that has Bev in stitches across the carpet; she’s sitting with some of Richie’s classmates from his Calculus class (“Rich, you’re doing an Arts degree,” Bev had pointed out with a laugh when he’d first slapped his schedule down in front of them all, which he’d met with an unrepentant shrug) at the foot of Ben’s bed, half-watching Community on Ben’s laptop, half-listening to Mike’s story; Ben and Richie playing a very intense game of Charades, along with about ten other people, in front of Richie’s bed, where Eddie is seated, watching the chaos between his fingers, laughing helplessly at absolutely every ridiculous impression Richie does; and finally, where Stan’s eyes always are, Bill, lying down on the carpet, lazily sketching some of the tableau in front of them.

Stan, for that matter, is sitting on the windowsill by the head of Ben’s bed, perched in a way that allows him to survey it all. He’d been talking to some of the braiding girls before Mike had started telling his story, and has since escaped to his raised position. Despite what Richie might say when teasing him, Stan likes these sorts of kick-backs, likes seeing his friends have fun, likes engaging with their peers. He’s not the most sought-out ever (that would be Richie, Bill, or maybe Bev), but that’s hardly a concern of his; he likes having his odder sense of humour, likes having shorter interactions with people, likes having less demands for his time and energy. Richie gets energy from other people’s attention. The only attention that sends a zing through Stan is that of the people he cares about.

There’s a girl giggling—well, there’s several, it’s Richie, but this one stands out in her intentionality—over Richie’s antics at Charades, and Stan winces. He thinks her name’s Belinda—or maybe Bethany?—which would already be a no from him, given how many fucking B-names his friends have, but he’s very certain she’s out of luck. She’s attractive, he supposes, and he could see Richie being interested for a night, but, well. They’ve never talked about it, but Stan is Richie’s best friend. He’s always been aware of how Richie’s eyes travel to Eddie after every antic, always craving his reaction more than anyone else’s. 

Of course, that goes two ways. Like, Eddie glancing back, sure, but that’s not what Stan means. He means that he’s pretty sure Richie’s aware of the way Stan’s always on the look out for a crop of auburn hair half a head above everyone but Richie or Mike, the way his gaze always—inevitably—finds Bill in any room, the way something in his heart hurts when it’s late at night and Bill’s looking at him with that sleepy smile.

There’s a shout of triumph, and Stan glances over at the charades crew, which seems to have grown in number. Richie’s whooping, Ben’s laughing at him, and Mike and Bev have ended up over there too, on either side of Eddie, shouting “best of three!” Richie glances at Ben, who shrugs, making Richie beam. “All right! This time, though, Eds, you’re playing,” Richie announces, and Stan stifles a laugh at the expression on Eddie’s face.

“Wait, Rich—” Eddie’s saying, and then Mike says, “C’mon, Eddie, I’ll be with you guys too. Who’s going to get Richie’s impressions faster than you?” and the expression on Eddie’s face... kind of knocks the breath out of Stan. He dearly wants to talk to him and figure out exactly what Mike’s words did to Eddie’s understanding of it all, but Richie’s still smiling brightly at Eddie, all hopeful eyes, and just like always, Eddie sighs, and nods. “Yeah, okay, as long as Mikey’s with us,” he says, and Richie whoops.

“Guess that means I’m with you,” Bev says to Ben, who smiles back. “Guess so,” he says. “Bill, do you want to play?” he asks, turning to where his roommate is still lying on the floor. Stan, again, stifles a laugh at the expression on Richie’s face (“He is entirely too good of a friend sometimes,” Richie had grumbled to Stan once, “like he and Bill are close, and Bill and Bev are totally over what the fuck ever you wanna call what they had going on for literally like, two weeks, so it’s not like he needs to do it to be a good friend to Bill anyway, but holy shit, I wish he’d realise that Bev, like, wants to hang out with him for him. Like, love yourself, dude.”), before his eyebrows shoot up at what Bill’s doing.

Because Bill is standing, shaking his head, and completely abandoning the two people who were lying beside him, not so subtly trying to get him to sketch them. “Nah, I wanna show Stan some of these,” he says, which is... odd. Not that he wants to show him things—Stan knows, realistically, that he’s one of the most important people in Bill’s life, and that Bill values his opinion—but just the timing of it all.

Ben nods, asking one of the girls braiding hair if she wants to join their team instead, but Bev’s eyes stay on Bill. There’s something knowing in them that Stan’s not entirely sure what to do with.

“Hey, you been having fun?” Bill asks, leaning against the wall just to the left of the head of the bed. He’s close enough that Stan can feel every movement brush against him.

“Yeah,” Stan says agreeably. “I mean, probably not as much as them—” he leans his head towards a few of the audience members for the charades shenanigans who seem to be drinking beer, even though Stan didn’t see any boxes around, “—but it’s been fine. What about you?” He nudges Bill, inclining his head towards the sketchbook Bill’s got under his arm. “Any good scenes?”

Bill’s lips, in a grimace at the drinking students, twist into an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I mean, kind of? Everyone’s having fun, and that’s, you know, soothing to draw.”

“Can I see?” Stan asks. He doesn’t usually ask. He’s the only one. He’s always been the most sensitive about the idea of Bill saying no. But. But Bill is warm and bright and next to him, and he said he wanted to show Stan some of them, and maybe Stan’s not foolish to believe it.

Bill glances at him in surprise. “You want—yeah, sure,” he says, and it sounds so easy in his mouth, even though it was accompanied with the kind of initial surprise that used to get him stuttering so hard that even their teachers referred to him by it. (That had always made Stanley angry, so angry; the idea that anyone could see Bill, with all of his bravery and determination and loyalty, his creativity and care and warmth, and think the thing that mattered most to define him was his fucking stutter.)

He pushes off from against the wall and tilts his head towards his now-empty bed, and Stan nods. He slips down from the windowsill onto Ben’s bed, gently closes Ben’s laptop mid-rant from Jeff Winger, and ends up sitting at the head of Bill’s bed while Bill drops himself into his desk chair. He passes Stan the sketchbook, and Stan opens it, drawing in a breath. The first one is of Richie, and it’s—fuck, it’s just beautiful. Richie’s always been so in motion that Stan would never have guessed he could see a paper page and feel like he could find his best friend in the lines on it, but Bill’s managed it. There’s something striking in the lines and slopes of Richie’s face, something frenetic in the feathering lines of his hands, something in the expression on his face that suggests of a laugh beginning to form. It’s bright and bold and fucking beautiful, and Stan was always sure Bill was talented, but he doesn’t have words for this.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, and he’s vaguely aware of Bill’s eyes on his, the weight of his gaze, but he’s mostly losing himself in the sketches. He flicks to the next page, and it’s Bev and Ben. Stan always thinks of the way Ben looks at Bev, maybe because he’s a little closer to Bev than he is to Ben, but Bill drew it the other way around. Ben’s the star of the piece, with his burly arms and wide, sweet face, and Bev’s looking at him, and the expression on her face is so fond and amused and fierce and affectionate that it hurts, because it’s so her, but Stan prides himself on being observant, and if he didn’t notice this tonight, then Ben definitely didn’t. Maybe if he sees it here, rendered in such vivid detail that it’s impossible not to swallow as something true, it’ll hit him.

“She looks at him like Eddie looks at Richie,” Bill says with a quiet chuckle, and Stan’s heart stops in his chest. Because, yeah, Richie and Eddie feel very obvious to Stan, especially Richie at Eddie. But he can’t fathom how Bill could possibly notice Bev looking at Ben and Eddie looking at Richie and not notice Stan’s eyes following him through every room. He flicks more hurriedly through the pages, soaking them all in, and they’re beautiful, all so beautiful. Mike’s strong and tall and genuine, laughing quietly with three girls on Bill’s bed; Bev’s legs are tangled in Richie’s from earlier in the night, the two of them setting up Community; Eddie’s laughing so hard that he’s breathless, leaning on Ben for support, and—

Wait.

Stan glances back at it, brow furrowing. The background is half filled-in, and something in Stan’s stomach lurches, because he remembers this moment. He’d been right there, on the other side of Ben, looking at Eddie with amusement. But he’s not in the sketch.

He flicks to the next page. It’s Mike and Bev, sitting cross-legged on the floor, well before most people arrived, and Stan’s frown deepens, because he knows he was there, standing behind Bev, hands resting on her shoulders. They’re bare in the pictures. He flicks forward again. Richie talking to Mike. Stan feels like he and Eddie should be laughing in the background, but they’re not. He’s not.

He flicks forward again. There are more of the kick-back, all these people Stan knows only vaguely, and yet. None of Stan. This whole night is basically immortalised in this sketchbook, but there’s none of Stan or Bill. He... really doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Stan?” Bill’s voice breaks through. “What’s wrong?”

Stan doesn’t look up. He’s thinking this through in his mind, examining it from every possible angle. He ends up with one possible conclusion, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“You don’t see me,” he says carefully. His heart thuds, but his voice is level. He finally looks up.

Bill blinks. “W-what?” Clearly, it’s the last thing he expected Stan to say. Some distant part of Stan notes that the stutter is back.

“There are like twenty pictures here,” Stan says, and does his voice sound too rigid? Too taut? He’s trying for patient, or at the very least, not hurt. “All from tonight.”

Bill nods, brow furrowed.

“Bill,” Stan says patiently, wondering why he’s even pursuing this. Because he’s a constant disappointment to himself, probably. “There are like twenty pictures in here, and none of them are of me.”

Bill’s eyes widen, and his mouth pops open ever so slightly. It hurts to look at it. Because that’s what he’d look like when he kisses someone, Stan imagines, and that’s never felt like less of a possibility for him to experience than now.

“It’s whatever,” Stan says, “I mean, you’re under no obligation to. I just... was surprised, I guess.” Because we’re best friends. Aren’t we? Because even if your heart doesn’t skip a beat when I smile at you, we’re still friends, aren’t we?

Bill still looks a little taken aback, but something Stan said must have gotten under his skin, because he opens his mouth furiously, before being cut off by a whoop from Bev (“Suck on that, Tozier!”). He closes his mouth instead, and looks at Stan with such intensity that Stan feels off-kilter.

“Stan,” he says quietly, fiercely. “Stan, I see you. You’re like, the only thing I see.”

And now Stan’s mouth is slightly open, because he doesn’t know what to do with that. How to compute that, how to make it align with the facts of the universe as he knows it, with what he’s surmised from the sketchbooks.

Bill, apparently, didn’t mean to say all that, because his face shuts down for a moment, before it takes on a determined set. He slides back slightly from the edge of the bed and rifles through his desk drawers—god, they’re a fucking disaster area, Stan notes with a wince—before pulling out another sketchbook.

“Th-th-this is the one I had before,” he says, and there’s something so familiar about Bill in this moment, stuttering yet determined, that it twists something in Stan’s chest. He pushes it towards Stan, who opens it.

The first picture is of Richie again. But it’s Richie with Stan, and Richie’s laughing, joy in motion, and yet. The sketch is focused on Stan, with his wry smile and dancing eyes and the way his shoulder sits under the arm Richie slung around it. The next one is Eddie and Richie, and Stan’s in the background, but he’s got as much detail in his expression as Richie does, despite his face being a fifth of the size. Stan flicks through. They’re all like that. There’s a fair few without him, of course, but all of the ones that feature him, it feels like the pencils came a little more alive when resting on him. He looks up at Bill, open-mouthed.

“You’re just,” Bill says, before laughing shakily. “You were the only thing I could see. So I had to start drawing the space around you. To cope, you know.”

Stan’s heart is thudding. He’s genuinely, for the first time in his life, speechless. Which is saying something, given how long he’s known Richie Tozier.

Bill flicks the pages of the sketchbook from tonight to the very back, and there’s Stan’s face, staring back at him. He’s grinning to the side, amusement in his eyes, and every line of it is so fond, so carefully rendered, that Stan’s heart genuinely hurts.

“Bill,” Stan says, and he doesn’t know what he’s saying. That he gets it, maybe. That his eyes find Bill in every room. That he fell in love with everything Bill drew tonight, that to see the way Bill sees him blows him completely away.

“I didn’t mean to drop this all on you,” Bill says, running his hands through his hair. “I just. Couldn’t stand the idea of you thinking you didn’t matter.”

Stan’s hands snake out and capture Bill’s. Bill glances up at him, eyes wide. Behind them, Stan can hear Eddie shouting something about an octopus—Richie must be having his turn—but Stan wills away those noises.

“You’re the first person I look for in any room,” Stan says, and when Bill’s breath hitches, Stan squeezes his hand. “You’re always the first thing I see.”

Bill looks like he’s been struck by lightning. “God,” he breathes. “We’re so fucking stupid.”

Stan huffs. “Okay, no. Richie and Eddie are idiots. Ben too. We’re just... mildly moronic.”

“Mildly moronic?” Bill sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I mean, we sorted it out in one conversation,” Stan says, ignoring the way his stomach is fluttering. “They’re all going to need at least three. Mike’s the only one I trust.”

Bill really does laugh then, and he’s sliding his chair forward, and Stan’s breath hitches. “Mike’s the smartest one of us all,” he agrees, speaking into the small space between them.

“Richie is so fucking clever, and yet,” Stan murmurs into the space between, and is it getting smaller...?

“No braincells,” Bill sighs, and then he’s sighing it into Stan’s mouth, and Stan was so wrong earlier, when he thought he’d never see what it looked like for Bill Denbrough to look at him like he meant to kiss him.

(When they separate, Stan’s flushed and Bill’s ears are red. The noise is still coming from the charades crew—Bev’s the one acting it out now—but Richie catches Stan’s eye, waggling his eyebrows, but the beam on his face is sincere, and the thumbs up he gives Stan completely genuine. Stan rolls his eyes back, but can’t stop the smile spreading across his face, least of all when he meets Bill’s gaze again, and sees the giddy grin on the taller boy’s face.)

#stenbrough #bill denbrough #stan uris #stanley uris #stanbrough #x #m #jane writes sometimes #andrea #stan #bill #the losers club #i rly dk what i'm doing babes i hope you liked it though <333 #also i've made the playlist for that post i made yesterday lmao mayhaps i will post it soon #stupid cw #ableist slur // #unedited as ever we die like men #what the fuck is this ending #UGH andrea i hope this is ok #this is almost 3k... why am i this way

[yellingmetatron]

I Just Need to Get This Out (Political Content Warning)

Now more than ever, I am going to be avoiding politics on Tumblr.  This is, with any luck, the last political post I will make on my blogs.  It is meant to serve as an explanation of why I’m going to be a lot less tolerant of political content on roleplaying blogs.  TL;DR, I don’t fit in on the right or left and I’m fucking tired of seeing politics everywhere.  I deal with it at work, and I deal with it at home.  I don’t want to deal with it here.  I’m going to start unfollowing people when I see it.  That doesn���t mean our friendship is over, it doesn’t mean we can’t RP.  But I’m so tired of it all. If you want the long explanation, keep reading.

From about middleschool to shortly before the election of the current president I considered myself an ardent conservative.  Listing out a lot of my positions, this might have seemed not to be the case: I’m not religious (try as I might to be so).  I’m pro-LGTBQ+.  I’ve always been a proud member of what Rush Limbaugh used to call the Wetland Gestapo. I think anthropogenic climate change is a real thing.  I want pot legalized.  I think military interventionism is a mistake in all but the rarest situations (granted this is a more recent position).  I think the welfare state is necessary and in places ought to be expanded.  I am enthusiastic about multiculturalism. On the other hand, I am pro-religion despite not being religious, and feel religious conservatives shouldn’t be compelled to violate their own religious beliefs as long as it’s not hurting anyone (and my definition of ‘not hurting anyone’ seems to be a bit broader than most progressives).  While I’m not anti-union, I think that unions can be corrupt as any other institution, particularly at a national level, and that the Left is too inclined to overlook that.  I’m solidly pro Second Amendment.  I consider illegal immigration a bad thing (mostly because it’s an excuse to exploit the poor and undocumented).  I think “states’ rights” is not just a dogwhistle term for racists, but something that really does need to be taken into account given the way the American republic works. I could have expanded the above to paragraphs, but they’re already ungainly and, I’m sure, a pain to read through.  Where am I going with all this?  Well, first I wanted to establish that I COULD consider myself “an ardent conservative” while holding a lot of varied opinions (like literally everyone on the planet has).  Secondly, I want to establish that I hold all of the above views, and have for some time, while bearing a specific label—right winger.  I’ve ended up rejecting that label, and rejecting what for want of a better term I’ll call “the conservative movement”, but my positions haven’t changed.  And, most importantly, stopping thinking of myself as a conservative DOES NOT mean I’ve come to think of myself as a progressive. Let me try to tell a story. I’m decent at stories. Metamun in middle school and high school was a lonely creature.  He was sick a lot, and pretty socially awkward, although he could make up for it by being funny and knowing some trivia.  But he mostly kept to himself.  Since being on the bus made him sick (it was at a time of life when people experimented with scents that screwed him up at close quarters) usually his dad picked him up after school.  That’s where Metamun picked up his politics, those drives home with dad.  Dad listened to a lot of Rush Limbaugh, and so Metamun did too.  Metamun was already sort of inclined to conservatism—he had a pessimistic view of the world, distrusting the US government and feeling that people ought to be able to protect themselves (i.e. own guns).  Rush did not convert Metamun, but he did affirm Metamun.  He didn’t usually say anything that seemed greatly outrageous to Metamun. (Mark that “usually”.) Now, as Metamun was living in suburban New England, it happened that conservative politics did not go unchallenged as they might have, say, farther south.  To Metamun it seemed as though he was in a tiny minority, especially where authority figures were concerned.  Looking back he’d realize this wasn’t the case— particularly not in terms of his actual views.  But remember, Metamun didn’t get out much.  And furthermore, although he considered himself conservative, he found he usually didn’t like the company of conservatives— they tended to be less interested in the things he was, like books and acting.  So most of his friends and acquaintances tended to be, if not self-identified progressives, at least the kind of people who sneered at conservatives and made the obligatory comparisons of Bush II to Hitler. Because that was who Metamun dealt with day-to-day, he was left with the impression that this was the norm for the society he lived in.  Most of what was on TV, with the exceptions of Fox News and South Park, seemed to confirm this. And so Metamun became genuinely terrified of people learning that he was not like the majority. Being homebound so often, Metamun spent a lot of time online.  That did nothing to lessen his terror.  Lonely as he was, Metamun went looking for conservative blogs.  Pajamas Media was the big one, but there were plenty of smaller ones.  One important thing he learned was that post 9/11, there were a lot of people who sort of fit his description—socially liberal, but mistrustful of leftist politics for various reasons.  Ex-leftists. Neo-Cons.

One important factor was patriotism: It seemed like all progressives genuinely hated the United States on principal.  Unflattering and quite often spurious comparisons to other countries seemed to abound on the Left.  One of Metamun’s new acquaintances explicitly wrote on their blog that they’d always wondered how the Right “co-opted” patriotism before concluding the Left simply threw it away. This acquaintance, a gay Seattleite, would be a touchstone for Metamun’s sense of political self for some time.  During the Tea Party era, the Right genuinely felt more fun and open than the Left.  Metamun still felt like an underdog, but also like he was part of a ragtag resistance movement with real emotional bonds.  And yet, even with all that, his prime political emotion was fear. (Mark the recurrent theme of fear.) Some of you might see the shape of this narrative and guess that Metamun was fed a steady diet of paranoia by nasty wingnuts.  Yes and no. The conservative blogosphere was a scary place—it told him that his basic values were under constant assault. That some of the “basic values” in the package were not actually his was beside the point, because Metamun just generally hated the thought of State force being used to coerce people into violating their own principals.  Metamun was happy to fight for values that were not his own, on that account.  It did bother him, sometimes, the assumptions conservatives made, but by this time he had gotten used to thinking of himself as a minority, so the majority being different wasn't so jarring.  Of course there would be a few differences of opinion. But the Right accepted those differences in the way that surely the Left would not.  And he knew that this was true, because he’d seen it with his own eyes. The Left was VICIOUS to conservatives, sometimes in a very personal way.  In some ways, sick and often absent though he was, Metamun still got the basic high school experience as he watched insults and worse fly fast and thick.  Leftists expressed GLEE at any conservative misfortune.  They made absolutely insane comparisons between conservative pundits and Nazis.  “Republican” was a punchline to very cruel (and sometimes racist and sexist) jokes. Sometimes they seemed to outright lie.  Metamun remembered a novelty song about Satan claim he was “in all Rush Limbaugh’s rants”, and Metamun KNEW that was untrue because he’d been listening to Rush for years and couldn’t recall the man even referencing scripture outside of holidays. Metamun heard people casually cite Glenn Beck as routinely opposing gay marriage when Metamun had heard the man himself arguing that the government shouldn’t even be involved with marriage (and thus that it couldn’t compel churches to validate gay marriages, sure, but that seemed a separate issue). But it was watching his conservative friends’ comments sections and twitter feed that solidified the image of progressive-as-persecutor.  It was blatantly apparent that these people hadn’t come to engage, they just wanted to take potshots.  Ad hominem abounded, total lack of reading comprehension was displayed, and just general delight in cruelty was rampant.  He was particularly appalled by the treatment of minority conservatives, who received all sorts of abuse based on race, sex, and orientation. Something that stuck with Metamun for years was watching conservative women get rape threats, death threats, and admonitions to kill themselves.  One of his best friends got such an admonition in response to mentioning on twitter it was her birthday.  That was it. Nothing political.  Just excitement for a special, personal day.  And none of his Leftist friends seemed to understand what their own wing was doing.  They talked about the Right doing such things, which baffled him—he’d never seen anything like that, or, if he did, it was only once or twice and never anybody HIS friends actually associated with.  Every movement has a few bad apples, right? (Mark the irony.) It didn’t help that once, depressed, Metamun DID admit on twitter that he was a conservative, and moreover that he was afraid people would stop being his friends over that. He promptly lost two friends. When he asked a third friend if they could please ask if he’d been unfollowed on purpose, they said they’d do it. And then THEY never talked to him again, even when he reached out.  He was convinced the only reason he didn’t lose everybody was that they hadn’t all seen the tweets—he deleted them quickly. So there Metamun was: Lonely, convinced that even if he didn’t line up perfectly with conservatism that at least conservatives accepted him, and very angry at the Other Tribe that was so cruel and callous to him and his friends.  But he was starting to grow up, and as he did he began noticing certain discrepancies.  Now and then the movement that was supposed to have a Big Tent felt oddly crowded. People sometimes rubbed each other the wrong way.  Metamun particularly hated it when the term RINO got thrown around, because he was all too aware that might apply to someone like him. Then there was the lack of nuance.  He slowly came to realize people on both sides of the aisle would sometimes use “nuanced” as a snide insult.  When the Dalai Lama described himself as anti-capitalist Metamun was disappointed, but understood (and also His Holiness was on record as saying when someone’s shooting at you it’s reasonable to shoot back, which Metamun thought made up for a lot). He did not expect certain conservatives to not only sneer at His Holinesses “nuanced” relationship with capitalism (accepting material support to fight against Mao) but actually accused him of being a PRC puppet. What?  Hadn’t they read anything about the man’s life?  Or his own writings?  Yes, he’d tried to work with Mao, but that fell through because Mao hated religion unequivocally—how could any religious leader work with that?  Why were they jumping to such insane conclusions?  This wasn’t what conservatives were supposed to do! There were a thousand other cracks in the façade, but two stand out. First, Metamun admitted to a dear friend, full of apprehension, that he voted for Mitt Romney. And not only did she not cut him out of her life, she explained WHY she wouldn’t do that.  Metamun was elated but also very confused—this wasn’t how the script in his head went.  He was admitting this because the pain of keeping a secret was too much, and he fully expected to pay a price for that.  He was (and remains) a drama-addled moron that way.  He was also a creature who put a lot of stock in narrative, and this narrative was nothing like he expected. Next, Metamun himself cut two friends out of his life over politics—years apart, but the number is important.  The first hurt, but felt very justified.  The second haunted him.  Metamun was easily haunted, but by this point he’d started really struggling with intrusive thoughts.  Around and around they went in his head, and although there was extreme, maddening monotony, now and then he’d see angles he’d missed before. The number was important. Two friends he’d definitely lost (he was never really sure of the third).  Two friends he’d rejected.  Why did he reject them?  Because he figured they’d hate him if they knew he didn’t agree with them.  He figured they had made their positions so strident that it was just inevitable that they would cut him out if he didn’t cut them out first. And he realized, stupidly, after years of realizing nothing, that maybe that’s exactly how the people who left him had felt.  Oh, perhaps they didn’t.  But what if they did?  What did that say about what, ultimately, they had in common? We’re getting closer to the present, so I’m going to start talking about myself in first person again. I recognize this version of myself more easily. As time went by I grew more and more jaded with American conservatism, but I still thought of myself as a conservative.  A lot of people were like that, children of the Tea Parties who had thought that the Right was the only alternative to all the abhorrent things we saw on the Left. But familiarity breeds contempt, and soon we were well acquainted with abhorrent things on the Right.  It seemed as if there was a rot spreading, something that had started as a speck and was now growing.  The spirit of fellow feeling was starting to evaporate.  There were a few things going on, but by this point I was barely paying attention to any of them.  I hadn’t looked at a conservative blog in years.  I didn’t listen to Rush.  The fracture of American conservatism could probably be better documented by someone who still gives a damn, but we all know what was the final crack in the glass. Donald Trump’s candidacy split the Right seemingly overnight, and not neatly down the middle. The big question is, of course “love him or hate him”, but even people who don’t go to those extremes get caught up in the animosity.  This, really, was when I couldn’t call myself a conservative anymore—no, not because his election was an indictment of conservatism, but because as the jagged rift grew, I suddenly realized that literally everything that scared me about the Left was present in the Right, both the MAGAheads and the Never Trumpers. All the bile.  All the cruelty.  All the callous disregard for our shared humanity.  All the absurd stereotyping and reductionism. Everything I’d seen on the Left that made me feel that the Right, imperfect as it was, was my only refuge, was suddenly EVERYWHERE, from quarters I’d thought were safe.  A lot of my conservative friends were hit even harder than I was; a few people desperately tried to reconcile people who had once laughed and dined together, but were now swearing never to speak again, or worse, verbally assaulting each other on a daily basis.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  This was not the way we were supposed to work.And then, at last, I realized that the only reason I was just seeing all this awfulness NOW was because it hadn’t been directed at me and mine in the past.  And here we come to the main point I want to impress on everybody who’s bothered to read this far: My short-sightedness was in no way unique. We always try to show our best face to our friends—and to our Tribe.  We are thoughtful and considerate of people on our side.  We roll our eyes at the people on our fringe—silly things, aren’t they?  Imagine someone taking them seriously. Our enemies do not see our best face.  They see our war face.  We fight them tooth and nail.  We exult in their defeats, which become our triumphs—somehow.  And we see this horrible, poisonous crest at the top of their wave that threatens to engulf everything—their fringe. A leftist is not going to be threatened and insulted for being a rightist—at least not consistently outside of “purity” arguments.  A leftist will be more cognizant of the threat posed by rightist fringes, because those fringes are not attacking the Right, per se.  And you know, this goes for all conflict.  You don’t see a problem as clearly if it’s not directly shoved in your face every day.  And you will become convinced that the problems that ARE shoved in your face every day are the only ones really getting worked up about, because everything else seems so ephemeral. I read people scoff at their own fringes—“Oh, nobody REALLY believes that stuff, and people who complain about it are just showing their white fragility/race baiting/gay agenda/whatever the key phrase to stop critical thought is in a given situation”. Guess what?  Those fringes are constantly needling at the other side. THEY are what is representative of your tribe to the Other Tribe.  They are loud, and they are cruel, and ignoring them because the other guys “deserve it” or you hope “now they’ll know how it feels” is fucking insane.  And yes, one of the reasons the Other Tribe sees it so often is that they go looking for it, but they go looking for it BECAUSE THEY ARE AFRAID OF IT and they want to make sure they know what it’s up to. The only thing worse than seeing the devil is losing sight of the devil. I’m no longer a conservative because that ideology is poisoned by hate.  But I didn’t become a progressive, because that ideology is also poisoned by hate.  Or maybe both ideologies have actually been abandoned, and now we just have two flavors of hate in opposition to each other.  Please believe me, I do not WANT to be apolitical.  Everybody hates the apolitical—we don’t even like ourselves much. And anyway, I’m one of nature’s conformists; I like belonging to a group.  But at this point committing to ANY political movement feels like I would be sacrificing my integrity.  And I would not want to be part of a movement that accepts people without integrity. I call myself a localist these days.  Something risk analyst Nassim Nicholas Taleb came up with.  Keep power close to the ground, don’t try to manage everything from the top down, resist interventionism in communities where you don’t have skin in the game.  Not aiming for a world without blowups, but keeping them at a smaller scale than we currently experience.  Forget fussing over socialism and capitalism; both are bad at large scales.  Both can work together at smaller scales.  The false dichotomy is a tool of tyrants. I want my country to get better.  But that’s not going to happen until people admit there are malicious, corrupting forces even in their own Tribes.  It’s not all the Other Tribe’s fault.  I still see people I love treating other people I love as subhuman.  And when I point this out, tentatively, people nod their heads and tell me I’m correct and then go back to thoughtless hatred. What I want people to understand, please, is that I want nothing to do with  political mass movements.  It’s all about different flavors of hatred.  It’s all about hurting people.  It’s all about hypocrisy and cruelty.  Fuck it. I am going to try to be a good person without hitching my ego to too many abstractions.  I am going to try to make the world around me a more pleasant place, and I am going to do that without giving a fuck about whatever sacred cows the Left Tribe and Right Tribe are busy genuflecting to. So.  I’m going to work harder not to deal with it here.

#out of voice #this is really just a personal political essay #it's not funny and it's not thought provoking #i've just been sitting on it for years #i don't fit in any political clique and i no longer have any desire to do so #block this tag if you don't want to see politics #update: maybe i just won't come back to tumblr #but this would be a decent epitaph

[the-fangirl-way]

6: Snow

When my alarm clock sounded the next morning, a low grumble made its way up my throat. It was Monday, and worse, Harry was downstairs asleep on my couch.

I forced myself to get out of bed, if I had it my way I would have stayed there all day under the warm blankets pretending that none of this ever happened and that I was back to my normal life before Harry Styles entered it and caused havoc.

The hardwood was cold as ice beneath my feet, the entire apartment always stayed cooler than necessary even with the heat on. I prompted for a quick ten minute shower to warm me and waken me for the hellish day I knew was to come; although it wouldn't be until I got my first caffeine fix of the morning would I truly feel alive.

I quickly got dressed dismissing the idea of looking decent today, it was Monday after all, pulling my hair up into a tight bun on my head and pinching my pale lifeless cheeks to give myself some color, England really was turning me into a ghost with the constant overcast.

I stepped out into the hallway and instantaneously my nostrils filled with the delightful scent of coffee beans, which meant two things, there was fresh brewed coffee, and Harry was awake downstairs.

I retreated slowly down the stairs, with any luck he was already gone and had just made himself a cup before leaving. I noticed the blanket he had used the previous night before was folded neatly and the pillow placed on top on the coffee table, he had at least taken the liberty of cleaning after himself.

I entered the kitchen and unfortunately found him leaning against the countertop gripping a mug in his hand looking pensively at the ground, his face changing when he noticed me coming through the doorway.

"Avery, good morning, you look-"

"Thrown together, I know, it's Monday."

"I was going to say lovely, actually, although I do prefer your hair down if I'm being honest."

I felt a small blush creep on my cheeks but dismissed it as I brushed past him to grab a thermos out of the cabinet, one cup wasn't going to do today.

"So Harry about last night-" I started, pouring coffee into the thermos.

"Save it," he said and I turned to look at him. "It was nothing, I know, you were exhausted, no doubt still high on adrenaline from everything that happened; really no big deal."

Taken back from his cool demeanor and politeness I just nodded, happy that things weren't awkward.

"How's the uh, stitches?" I asked stirring in the cream and sugar.

"Fine, a little sore but nothing I can't bounce back from." Harry said taking his last swig of coffee before washing the cup out and sitting it in the sink.

"Thank you, by the way." He said running a hand through his tousled hair.

"For?"

"For letting me stay here last night, I know Devlin wasn't keen on it."

"Devlin is just, indifferent."

"She shot me a glare this morning before she left." He said chuckling and I frowned.

"She's normally very hospitable."

"Hey, for her to let me sleep under the same roof for the night was plenty hospitality for me."

"So, where are you going to go?" I asked taking the first sip of my coffee, the steamy liquid arousing a little bit of life within me.

"Not entirely sure yet, I figured I'd walk around for awhile until I figured it out."

There it was again, the pang of guilt that I should not be feeling for Harry but yet, there it was. He was being so nice this morning, a huge shift from his normal cocky attitude, I guess that was another reason I blurted out my next sentence.

"I'll give you a ride. I mean, is there somewhere I can drop you off at? I really would hate for you to have to walk in this freezing cold."

Harry shrugged and ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous habit I suspected.

"I guess you could maybe drop me at my fathers, as much as I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see me, there's a few things I need to discuss with him."

"Right okay, no problem where does he live?"

"In West Worth Manor, the gated community."

West Worth Manor, that was a big rich community, then again his father had to be wealthy with him being able to bond Harry out.

"Sure, not a problem." I said taking another sip of my coffee, heading towards the door.

"Just let me grab my things and we can go."

Harry followed me into the living room where I gathered my laptop, purse and jacket, checking my phone I still had an hour before I had to be at work, I liked to get there early and beat morning traffic.

I grabbed my keys off the hook beside the door allowing Harry to step out into the hallway before myself, locking the door behind me.

It was cold in the hallway, colder than usual. We boarded the elevator in silence.

When we got down to the lobby I noticed Harry smirking and I turned to see what he was looking at.

Fat white snowflakes were falling rapidly from the sky, and there was already a thick white blanket covering everything as far as the eye could see.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me." I said scrunching up my nose.

"What? It's just a little snow." Harry offered and I grumbled.

"I'm wearing heels, I'll break my neck!"

"Well why don't you go change?" He suggested and I shook my head.

"No, I don't have time, let's just go." I said and he nodded following me to the door.

Outside wind whipped around while the snowflakes peppered down fast and heavy, my nose burned with the familiar tingling sensation, it did this every time it snowed.

"Right so where are you parked?" Harry asked and I sighed.

"Normally I park in the car deck but it was full when I came home yesterday so I had to park...there." I said gesturing to my car, all the way across the parking lot, which at the moment was a frozen tundra of ice, a death trap waiting to happen.

"I can pull it around if you'd like?" Harry offered and I shook my head.

"No, no, I can do it." I insisted and he shrugged.

I hitched my bag up over my shoulder and started slowly but surely across the parking lot, if I didn't know any better I'd say I was ice skating all over again. The thin layer of ice hidden under the snow showed no mercy on me or my heels, and I almost ate the dust quite a few times, but; somehow successfully I had made it to my car.

"Okay, now I'll get in and-" I started to say when I lost my footing on a patch of particularly slicker ice.

"Avery!" I heard Harry's voice shout.

"Harry?" I said blinking up at him, the snow was falling rapidly against my face and it was bright, too bright, Harry's face looked concerned as he was peering down at me, his cheeks and nose rosy red from the chill biting at them, snow flakes peppering his hair, he looked adorable.

"Are you okay?" He asked and I nodded.

"I'm, I- ow!" I shouted suddenly, pain shooting up my elbow into my arm.

"I think, my arm-"

"You're laying on it weird, you landed on top of it, can you move it?" He asked and I very gingerly tugged at my arm beneath me and a whole new wave of pain skyrocketed through it.

"SHIT!" I yelled out and he raked a hand through his hair.

"I bet it's broken."

"Damn it, damn it, damn it."

"Here, we need to go to the hospital and get it looked at." Harry stated and I felt his arms under me again.

"I'm going to lift you, it's gonna hurt but I have to okay?" He asked and I sighed.

"Fine."

I felt him tug on my body and there was the shock of pain searing through my arm like white hot iron.

"Fuck!"

"Wow, someone's got a potty mouth." Harry joked and I shot him a glare.

"Sorry."

"Just hurry up." I whimpered and he opened the car door and with as much gentleness as he could, slid me into the passenger seat.

"Keys." He said holding out a hand and I reluctantly fished them out of my bag and handed them to him.

He stalked around to the other side and slid in smoothly, putting the key into the ignition my car roared to life.

"Nice car, what model is this?" He asked inquisitively.

"Harry." I grumbled.

"Right, sorry."

***

I broke my arm in two places, the doctor put me in a cast against my many attempts to talk him into just putting it into a brace, or a sling. He also took me out of work for a week to let it heal, all in all this Monday could have gone better.

"How do you feel?" Harry asked, the painkillers the doctor had prescribed me had started kicking in and at the moment I didn't feel any pain.

"Not bad, pretty good, kinda hungry."

He chuckled and turned on the radio, Crazy by Aerosmith was playing.

"Aerosmith huh? Classic rock fan?" He asked smirking and I nodded.

"Yeah, so? Problem?"

"No problem." He said shaking his head, it was at the end of the song and surprisingly enough he knew all the words.

The beginning chords of the next song made him turn and look at me.

"Wham? What kind of CD is this?" He asked as "Careless Whisper" began filling the car.

"A burnt CD, really old actually, Dev burnt this one for me on my eighteenth birthday, Eighteen And Life is on this one, and there's another one up there," I said gesturing to my CD case attached to my visor, "That has "Seventeen" By Winger on it, she kind of always made CD's for me for my birthday every year.

"Hmm, thoughtful, I like it. How long have you known Devlin?"

"Since we were kids. She lived down the street from me and we rode the bus together, we've always been inseparable, we've worked our entire lives around each other." I said and Harry nodded pursing his lips.

"Must be nice to have a friend like that."

"Yeah, have you never had a close friend?" I asked and he shrugged.

"Not really, I guess Doug would have been my best friend growing up.."

I felt a knot in my stomach.

"Aw Harry I'm sorry-"

"Don't, it's fine, it happens."

"It shouldn't happen though, no one should have to go that young."

"You're right." He agreed and then promptly began to sing along with the music to avoid any more sad conversation topics.

Surprisingly he had quite the singing voice, it took me by surprise but I pretended not to notice, afraid he might stop if I commented on it.

Soon enough we were pulling up at my apartment and Harry hopped out, coming over to my side where he opened the door and helped me out carefully.

"Here," he said looping my arm around his neck for support, "Don't want a repeat of that again."

I nodded and he helped me back across the parking lot, the snow still coming down in quarter sized flakes.

Once inside he shook the free snow from his hair and I took notice once again to his flushed complexion, matched with his wildly kept hair and bright colored eyes he was handsome without a doubt.

Get ahold of yourself Avery, you're gawking, it has to be the medicine.

We boarded the elevator and I leaned against the wall.

"I'm sorry your day didn't turn out quite like you'd have wanted it." Harry said and I shrugged.

"I'm honestly thankful you were there, if that had happened to me by myself, I'd of really been screwed."

He shrugged and I heard the ding of the elevator as we reached my floor, the doors opened up.

We stepped off and I immediately froze, there outside my apartment door, clad in his uniform stood Tristan.

#harrystylessmut #harrystyles #harry styles fandom #harry styles au #harry styles fanfction #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles

[slytherin-puffskein]

Kisses and Puffskeins

Based on this headcanon about Lau !

Note: the / / / symbol followed by italicized text symbolize a flashback.

* * *

/ / /

Little Laurent, five years old, was crying, because he had gotten a cut across his right knee. How did it happen ? Simple: he was running, and running, and running... and then tripped and ultimately fell, his knee scraping against a rock that just had to be there. Immediately, the child’s scream filled the air, and Jeanne Clemence came to the rescue, as she was nearby and tending to her garden. She saw her little boy, sitting next to the rock and clutching his knee, tears threatening to spill down his face. Immediately, she took action, gently taking her child in her arms and smiling down at him in an attempt to comfort him.

“Come on, sweetie... let mommy take care of you, ok ?”

She brought him to the porch and made him sit down on the wooden stairs. The entire time, Lau has been silent, and zero tears had streamed down his face. How was that even possible, for a child as young and as sensitive as him ?

Be brave, be brave for mommy..., he kept telling himself.

But as his mother came back with her first aid kit, she smiled at her child, sitting down next to him.

“You know, Lau, you are allowed to cry. This looks like a nasty cut, sometimes crying can make you feel better...”

She gently held Lau’s chin, making him look at her and giving him a lovely smile.

“It hurts a lot, right ?”

Lau nodded, and a tear finally rolled down his cheek. Jeanne leaned down, and kissed it away.

“D-Dad says-” Lau started.

But Jeanne was quick to interrupt him, raising her index finger in a ‘hush’ motion.

“Tut, tut ! Dad says what dad says. Mom, however, says that crying is ok... and between you and I, I think I know best”

She giggled, and Lau smiled at last, which was the most wonderful sight for the young mother.

“I don’t feel like crying, mommy... you made me feel better”

“Well, I’m glad you hear that. See ? This is why I love taking care of people: you make them happy. Isn’t that wonderful ?”

Indeed, it was, and Lau found himself fascinated. He watched as his mother soaked some cotton with alcohol, and she turned to her son.

“Now, it’s gonna sting a little, but don’t worry ! It’ll be soon over”

And she was right. It stung, but before Lau could notice, he had a bandaid over his knee, and he smiled.

“Thank you, Mommy...”

Jeanne smiled, and grabbed her son’s hand to gently kiss it, something she would usually do after taking care of him.

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Now, how about we bake some cookies together, hmm ?”

“Yes !!!”

/ / /

And that was why Lau had decided to offer his help to Madam Pomfrey, much to her delight. Each Wednesday and each Friday, he would watch over students admitted to the Hospital Wing and fix their minor injuries with equally minor spells, but the most important thing he did was that he talked to them. He gave them a distraction, something else to think about instead of their pain, and it was extremely beneficial. The students would smile at him, laugh at his jokes, and even start up a conversation, which Lau absolutely loved. He was delighted that he was able to help so many people at once... and he had every intention to keep doing this. Why would he ever stop making people happy ?

“Episkey !” he exclaimed.

A gross, crunchy noise occurred as Talbott Winger’s nose was put back into place, and the Ravenclaw grimaced.

“Urgh, I truly hate that spell”

“But see the silver lining: your nose is perfect, now !”

Indeed, it was much better than the mess it had been a few minutes ago. How did Talbott end up like that already ? Oh yeah, something about running into a wall or something. He gently patted Talbott’s shoulder, and the Ravenclaw dared to crack a smile.

“Thank you, Lau”

“No problem !”

And suddenly, he grabbed Talbott’s hand, and planted a kiss on the back.

( just like Ma used to do )

But then, he froze as he realized what he just did. He had

( this can’t be happening oh Merlin this CAN’T BE HAPPENING )

actually kissed Talbott Winger’s hand, and now the other guy was giving him a truly weird look. Immediately, Lau backed away, awkwardly rubbing his neck and giggling and stuttering.

“Ah-erm, sorry ! M-My maman used to do it... I mean, my mom. Yeah, my mom used to do it when I cried... I MEAN, when I was hurt ! So I sort of took the habit to do the same thi-”

“It’s alright” Talbott ended up saying.

It was as if he didn’t want Lau to stumble with his words for any longer, and frankly, the Slytherin was grateful for that. Winger politely nodded at him, and left the Hospital Wing. Letting out a heavy sigh, Laurent proceeded to take care of other students.

* * *

As he was about to finish his shift, Barnaby Lee suddenly walked inside of the Hospital Wing, with a bunch of nasty scars on his arm. Pomfrey, being already busy with a Quidditch player who had three broken ribs (why were badgers a thing !?) ordered Lau to take care of the Slytherin. Obviously, Lau accepted, and quickly made Barnaby sit on one of the beds.

“Merlin’s beard, Barnaby, what the hell happened !?” Lau exclaimed.

But Barnaby’s face turned crimson as soon as Lau finished asking his question, and he bit on his bottom lip.

“Do you... mind if I don’t tell... ?”

“Well, you sort of should. I need to know how you got this, maybe it will help me heal you properly...”

Tons of small scars were crisscrossing Barnaby’s arm, but thank Merlin, it wasn’t bleeding much. Grabbing a wet piece of cloth, Lau proceeded to clean Barnaby’s arm with impeccable professionalism. As his thin fingers brushed against Barnaby’s skin, the latter’s cheeks started heating up, and his heart skipped a beat.

“W-Well... I... got into the Magical Creatures Reserve...”

Lau immediately raised his head, his eyes widening in true shock.

“Without me !?”

Barnaby bit his lip, and awkwardly looked away in shame. Argh ! That was exactly what he was avoiding ! But... he had to tell everything now, right ? He finally let out a long sigh, and pouted before shyly looking back at Lau.

“I... wanted to borrow one of Kettleburn’s Puffskeins to show it to you... I know you love them a lot. But then, I saw Nifflers, and I thought ‘oh, they’re so cute ! I should try and feed them !’, but I haven’t realized they were still sort of wary of humans... so they scratched my arm”

“Ow, that must have hurt”

“Still ! I ran away, and I didn’t even get you your Puffskein. It was supposed to be a surprise !”

If it were humanly possible, Lau would have melted following Barnaby’s words. He wanted to get him a Puffskein that badly ? That was adorable... but also dangerous, if he considered Barnaby’s injured arm.

“It’s ok, Barnaby. We’ll go to the Magical Creatures Reserve once we’re free, alright ?”

Barnaby had a relieved smile, and happily nodded.

“Yes ! Of course !”

With that, Lau continued to take care of Barnaby’s multiple scars. Eventually, he was all done, and started wrapping his friend’s arm with a bandage. The Slytherin admired at him with a tender smile... and cleared his throat before speaking:

“Thank you, Lau... you-you’re truly good at this, you know ? I hear a lot of people that you healed talking about how good you are...”

Hearing Barnaby’s words, Lau started to blush, and giggled softly.

“Come on, I’m not that good. I use basic spells, as well as the usual healing techniques”

“Yeah but... you’re kind. You talk to them, you distract them. And it’s...”

He didn’t dare to look at Lau as he spoke the last words:

“It’s... pretty cute”

And at that moment, Lau’s cheeks turned as red as his hair, and he couldn’t find a decent answer. For a few seconds there was only silence between the two boys... at first, Barnaby thought he fucked up, but much to his relief Lau started to giggle.

“Thank you, Barny... there you go, you’re good to leave the Hospital Wing”

“Oh, sweet !” Barnaby exclaimed, looking at his bandaged arm. “I can barely feel any pain at all !”

Lau had a satisfied smile, and just as Barnaby was staring to get up, Lau unconsciously grabbed Barnaby’s hand, and kissed it gently.

“O-Oh ?” Barnaby squealed. “Y... You usually kiss it better ?”

( OH )

“W-What ?”

He looked at his hand. which was holding Barnaby’s... and what he just did suddenly rushed back into his mind.

( FUCK )

Immediately, Lau froze, and promptly let go of Barnaby’s hand. As he finally came back to his senses, a not so understandable string of explanations flowed out of his mouth.

“Kiss ! Mom ! Feel better ! It-It kiss ! To heal !”

( You. Fucking. Dumbass )

Barnaby raised an eyebrow, visibly not understand anything. To him, Laurent was just making weird faces and saying random word after random word... but eventually, his friend managed to blurt out something that made sense:

“Sorry... M-My mom used to kiss my hand whenever I got hurt. I sort of started doing it too...”

Barnaby could only nod, but his head was slamming against his ribcage, threatening to leap off his chest.

( he kissed my hand. He actually kissed my hand. Laurent Dorian King, the most beautiful guy of Hogwarts, kissed my HAND )

Well... the most beautiful guy of Hogwarts to Barnaby’s eyes, of course. The Slytherin finally gave Lau a reassuring smile, and Lau could feel himself relax. Phew, this won’t be as awkward as with Talbott...

“Well, it... felt nice” Barnaby admitted, his blush only gaining intensity.

He finally stood up, and Lau accompanied him to the Hospital Wing’s exit. However, before Barnaby could leave, he grabbed his sleeve.

“B-Barnaby ?”

“Yeah ?”

They looked at each other in silence, and Lau mustered up the courage to speak:

“I finish my shift soon... how about we visit the Puffskeins later ?”

A smile showed up on Barnaby’s lips, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“I’d love to, Lau”

#barnalau #barnaby lee #lau king #barnaby lee x mc #barnaby lee x jacob's sibling #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #hogwarts mystery mc #hphm jacob's sibling #hogwarts mystery jacob's sibling

[linkeai]

hockey boy → fan chengcheng ( nex7 / nine percent ) → summary: you know you should take your own advice and stay away from the hockey boys, but when he gives you that smile how can you say no? → warning(s): female reader, swearing, mentions of bullying (?), idk like nudes nd other messed up high school stuff,  → genre: hockey! au, fluff, bulletpoints → word count: 4,338

it’s not that there’s anything wrong with hockey players okay

usually, it’s a given that the boys who play on the hockey teams are irritatingly gorgeous for whatever reason

and there’s nothing like seeing the whole pack of them walk down the corridor in their jerseys, sporting flashy smiles and perfectly gelled hair

but that was all they really had going for them

they were pretty, sure - but hockey is a smelly sport!

not only that, but there’s also the stereotype that boys with pretty faces use them to do ugly things

and as far you were concerned, that’s exactly what the hockey boys at your school did

they were known for throwing expensive parties, getting an eyebrow-raising amount of instagram likes and snatching up all the pretty girls in the school

the thing was, once they got the girls, they never kept them around for long

they had this system - like a kill count

but instead of counting how many enemies they could take out on a video game, they counted how many girls they’d slept with

it was a pretty gross practice

sure, they were known for their pretty faces and their crazy parties

but they were also known for the group chats where they exchanged nude pictures girls had sent them - which regularly ended up with the whole school and probably more seeing the naked body of a poor girl who trusted a hockey player.

you were not going to be one of those girls.

you promised yourself when you went into high school that you would avoid the hockey players like the black plague. you had no time for their games.

it didn’t really matter anyway, it turned out, because you were never one of the girls they were after

until fan chengcheng

fan chengcheng was a winger on the team - with a bright smile and brown hair pushed back off his face

he was also ridiculously rich and when the hockey team was throwing a party, chengcheng was their man

he was one of the quieter ones though - when you overheard the boys talking about their gross little hobbies during class, he was always quiet with his face forward listening to the lesson

but you still rolled your eyes when he sent you the selfie you posted on your snapchat story with “ur cute lol wyd?”

yeah.. no thanks

and that was only the beginning

it had been incredibly awkward because he sat right next to you at the bench in biology - so close you were practically on top of him given the slight overcrowding of the AP class.

and when you went into the class the next day, you almost tripped over your own feet when he shot you a blinding grin from where he was already sitting in his designated seat, wearing the stupid red jersey with his chin propped on his hand

it really didn’t help that he was so attractive.

you mustered an awkward smile back as you took your seat beside him and started preparing for class

you almost stabbed yourself with your pencil when he swiveled his body to face you and said, “how come you didn’t answer me yesterday? that hurt my feelings, y’know.”

you swallowed, glancing over at him and seeing the pout on his lips and the sly look in his eyes.

and all you could think was, “guess i’ll die!”

“i, uh, forgot,” you chuckled weakly, opening your notebook and clicking your pencil.

he hummed, the tone suggesting that he didn’t believe you.

you were hoping the weird creatures in the jars lined up on the shelves would spring to life and eat you alive to save you from this situation.

he leaned forward slightly over the bench, forcing you to look at his face. when you did, you were startled into silence at how close he was.

“you’ll answer me next time, though, right?”

“uh.. yeah.”

dammit, y/n.

“cool!” he chirped, turning in his seat and flipping open his own notebook as the lesson started

somehow, you knew he was very serious about “next time.”

very soon after, you would found out that he most definitely was.

every day for the next week, he would somehow find you wherever you were and try to start a conversation with you

one day, you were in the art room during lunchtime finishing up a project when the quiet room was flooded with noise. looking up from your painting, you shrank into your seat as several boys from the hockey team traipsed around and crowded around a table where two other players sat finishing their projects quietly.

amongst them, one face you had been actively avoiding throughout the day

but you couldn’t look away as he looked up from his friends and started looking around the room like he was looking for someone.

was he looking for you?

you supposed he was, because when he saw you sinking deeper into your chair with a grimace on your face, he broke out into a grin.

he said something quickly to his friends and you winced as they all looked up, smiling wolfishly in your direction before looking away

oh god, why you?

chengcheng padded over across the room and chose the seat adjacent to you, completely disregarding the other girl who you didn’t know but usually sat with gawking at him in complete and utter confusion

“hey, y/n.” he greeted, turning the seat around and sitting with his arms folded over the back.

“hi,” you grumbled, trying to pretend like you weren’t flustered by both the situation and how devastatingly attractive he looked sitting in that position.

“woah, you’re really good at that!” he said loudly, shifting so he could get a better look at your painting.

you smiled, genuinely as you looked down at your painting of a park. it was coming along pretty good.

“thank you,” you said, not missing the gleam of determination in his eyes when you finally smiled at him.

“so, i have a proposal.” he says, clearing throat and looking at you seriously.

you raise an eyebrow, avoiding his face and touching up the shading on your painted lake. “okay..”

“go on a date with me.”

and just like that, there's a snake in the water.

you must have looked about as surprised as you felt because he laughed nervously, eyes avoiding yours.

“wait,” you said, setting down your paintbrush. “wait, like, really?”

he laid his head down on his folded arms, looking up at you like a puppy dog.

“yeah, really. i like you.”

“like me,” you sputtered before you could stop yourself. “why on earth do you like me?”

his head came back up and he tilted it slightly in confusion. “well I don’t know, y/n, why is the sky blue?” he said sarcastically. “I just like you. I think you’re cool.”

cool, you retorted inwardly. he thinks you’re cool

“and i also think you’re really pretty - and i like how you kind of keep to yourself, and also how you don’t seem at all interested in me.”

you blushed as red as the red paint all over the side of your hand - god, he was too smooth.

“when?” you conceded before you could stop yourself.

he smiled happily, and you watched, almost disturbed as his face glowed pink and he started mumbling and fidgeting in his pocket.

“um - uh, i mean, i’m free on like, wednesday?? it’s friday now right - hold on, why don’t you give me your um, number, i hate messaging on snapchat.”

you watched, amazed as he removed his phone from his pocket and dropped it on the floor with a muttered swear. he wiped his palms on his jeans before unlocking it and handing it to you with a nervous smile.

where did the confident hockey boy go?

you put your number in his phone and handed it back to him, watching as he fiddled with it for a second before sliding it back in his pocket.

“it’s supposed to rain on monday and i have practice on tuesday, so is wednesday good for you?” he asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

“wednesday is good for me,” you affirmed, stilled awed by the rich, handsome hockey player fan chengcheng actually blushing because of you - it was like you were in some weird alternate universe

his friends called out to him and seconds later the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch

he stood from his chair, already turning to leave when he looked back over his shoulder at you “so wednesday! how does skating sound?”

he was already walking away when you called back, “i can’t skate!”

halfway out the door, he just grinned and shouted “i’ll teach you!” before disappearing out into the noisy hallway after his rowdy friends

as he disappeared you slumped all the way down in your chair in defeat, closing your eyes before the girl next to you spoke to you for the first time.

“giiiiirllllll…….”

and that pretty much summed it up.

later on, you told your friends and they clowned you endlessly for agreeing to a date with a hockey player and breaking your own #1 rule of high school dating

somehow, you had a feeling you were going to be proven wrong by him, but a part of you still nagged that he was going to fuck you over

still, you couldn’t help but grin every time your phone dinged with another message from him or he sent you another snapchat of his face

from where you were standing, you had already fucked yourself over.

over the weekend and the two days leading up to your date, you texted him pretty much nonstop. he answered really fast, even telling you once on tuesday that he had to go practice because he was getting yelled at for texting you so much.

you were kind of confused - were you just falling for the trap? is that what these boys did? made you feel like they were different then broke your heart and added you to the kill count?

you couldn’t seem to ease the pit in your stomach as you waited for him to pick you up wednesday evening.

you had a pair of old white skates in your hand and you were dressed nice and warm for the winter - the skates were your mothers, and luckily they fit you well enough even though you had no idea how to tie them properly or, even more pressing, how to fucking skate.

chengcheng arrived in his beloved black truck, hopping out and jogging up to your door. you watched in amazement as he greeted your parents with a bright grin and a promise that he’d have you home before it was too late

your heart was beating painfully hard as you followed him down the driveway and got into the passenger side when he opened the door for you.

you saw the sheepish smile on his face as he closed the door after you and jogged around to sit in the driver's seat.

he got in and turned on the heater, rubbing his hands together and turning on the radio.

you were expecting the ride to wherever he was taking you to be awkward as hell, but chengcheng was full of surprises as always and launched into a detailed, passionate story about how one of his “dickhead friends” had hit him in the back with their stick the day before at practice and then something about his sister

you kind of missed the last part, mostly because of your heart falling out of your ass when he pulled up to a pond instead of a rink.

you were panicking inside as he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached around to grab his skates from the backseat.

he stopped to look at you before he got out, confused by you sitting frozen in the passenger's seat

“y/n?”

“right,” you said quickly, clearing your throat and unbuckling your seatbelt. “yeah, just hate the cold.”

he chuckled and you laughed nervously to mask the crippling fear that was overcoming you

you got out of the car and followed him to the wharf, slightly trembling as you stared at the few other people skating around on the frozen pond.

it was just starting to get dark, the sky was blue and everything looked sort of magical, but it was hard to feel the vibe when you were 100% sure you were going to drown

chengcheng sat down on a bench and took off his boots, slipping on his bulky hockey skates and tying them up with ease. you sat down beside him and awkwardly tried to mimic his movements.

he was finished quickly and looked around while you fumbled with your skates. you didn’t want to ask for help even though you desperately needed it

eventually, you sighed loudly and caught chengcheng’s attention, who immediately laughed when he saw the predicament you were in.

“you’re so cute,” he cooed and got up from the bench, kneeling in the snow in front of you. “here, let me help you.”

you bit your cheek as he propped your foot up on his knee and undid the mess you made and started tying them properly.

you were hoping the red on your cheeks could be played off as frostbite.

he finished quickly and smiled up at you, extending a hand and helping you onto your feet.

you clung onto his arm, relying on him to keep you from falling as you tried to walk with the skates on in the stupid snow.

as you neared the pond, your heart started to beat faster and you realized just how much you really, really didn’t wanna go on the ice

unconsciously, your once timid hold on chengcheng’s arm turned into a death grip and he stopped walking, turning his head to look at you.

“are you okay?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

you nodded meekly, swallowing the lump in your throat. you were so sure that you were going to fall in even though logic said you’d be fine

“no you’re not,” he frowned. “you’re scared. hold on.”

he brushed snow off a large rock beside you and sat you down on it, kneeling down so he could be at your level

you blushed bright red - to other people around, you looked like a scared toddler being consoled.

“it’s okay,” he reassured you sweetly, patting your leg. “is it the pond? did i tie the skates too tight? it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

you shook your head, looking down at the white skates on your feet.

“what is it, y/n? do you want me to take you home? is everything okay?”

he sounded so genuinely concerned that it hardened the lump in your throat. “no,” you said quickly. “no, i just…”

you took a deep breath, trying to talk over the embarrassment. “the ice.. it won’t.. it won’t break, right?”

chengcheng breathed a soft laugh, gripping your gloved hand in his. he was really warm despite the cold.

“y/n, i promise the ice won’t break.” he said gently. the hand not holding yours came up with his pinky extended. “pinky promise.”

you chuckled, locking your pinky with his.

he was still smiling, and you felt your heart tug at how cute he looked all bundled up with rosy cheeks from the cold.

“okay.. but chengcheng, i really can’t skate, like at all.”

he laughed again, pulling you up from the rock and continuing toward the ice. “it’s okay, i’ll help you.”

you sighed, steeling your nerves as he stepped out onto the ice with a scrape and turned back to you. he reached up and with two hands on your waist, lifted you over the snowy ridge and onto the pond.

you held your breath, gripping onto his arms when your feet were on the ice, sliding on the slippery surface beneath you and feeling entirely out of your element.

“it’s okay,” he reminded you quickly, steadying you and holding onto your hands instead of your sides. “see, it’s alright!”

you grimaced at him, feeling slightly sick at the idea of a few layers of meltable ice separating you from a cold, watery death

chengcheng chuckled

“come on,” he chided, skating backward and taking you with him. you hissed as you started gliding after him, holding onto his hands so tight it was a wonder he wasn’t complaining

“stop looking down,” he scolded you and you quickly looked up from where you were eyeballing the ice beneath your feet. when you met his eyes, he grinned that grin you’d become so well acquainted with. “that’s better. hi.”

you laughed, moving your feet slightly and accidentally skating a little to close to him. he quickly skated backward, avoiding the collision. “that’s good,” he commented, a nervous edge to his voice. “move your feet like you’re walking.”

he sounded so sure of himself that you trusted him enough to do as you were told, staring at his checkered scarf instead of your feet and taking baby steps forward.

“there you go!” he cheered, even though you weren’t really moving at all. he continued skating backward slowly with his hands in yours, reassuring you it was okay to take bigger steps

over the course of the next hour, he tirelessly encouraged you and taught you how to skate until you were moving forward in time with him moving backward.

“you’ve got it! watch -“ he let go of your hands suddenly and you screeched something that was a cross between his name and a swear, losing your balance due to the surprise and stumbling forward and crashing into him.

he caught you, stumbling slightly with a sharp scrape of his skates on the ice. he quickly stood you upright and steadied you. before he could say anything, you delivered a powerful punch to his arm that was mostly protected by his heavy coat

“ow!” he cried through his laughter, keeling over and laughing a loud, dumb laugh while still holding onto you with an arm wound around your waist.

“dickhead!” you bit, though you were laughing too.

he stood up and wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes, his laughter dissolving into giggling.

“sorry,” he apologized cutely. “that was so cute.”

“if i could skate away from you, i would.” you told him, faking anger and turning away to hide the smile on your face.

he chuckled, and your eyes widened in surprise as his other arm wound around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest and placing his chin on your shoulder. “too bad you can’t,” he cooed against your ear.

feeling the hot blush dissipate all the cold from your body, you shrugged him off and pulled away, still holding onto his hand. the two of you giggled giddily and you felt a whole new batch of butterflies set loose in your stomach.

you skated around for another twenty minutes before you both returned to the bench and he removed your skates and then his. the two of you sat there for a while in the twilight, talking about a variety of different things.

you were struck by how pretty the pond looked at night - a few kids still skated around on its surface, their laughter filling the silence. everything was some magical shade of blue, and the lampposts spread around the pond shed warm amber light on the snowy trails that weaved around it. you stared at the skate marks in the ice and smiled, knowing that two sets of them were belonging to you and chengcheng

eventually, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. something had been nagging at you all night, and in a moment of both bitterness and sudden insecurity, you said something before you could stop yourself.

“so, do you take all the girls here?”

chengcheng didn’t laugh. he was quiet for a long moment that forced you to look over at him. he was frowning, eyebrows drawn together as he scowled at the pond. sensing your eyes on him, he looked over. you swallowed thickly when you saw the playful glint in his eyes had vanished and was replaced by anger.

“what is that supposed to mean?” he asked coldly. he knew what you were hinting it and it appeared you had struck a cord.

“sorry,” you tried to laugh it off but it ended up sounding very forced. “i just.. i just thought..”

“you just thought i was another fuckboy hockey player.” he finished bitterly, looking away from you and back at the pond.

“chengcheng,” you said cautiously. you really hadn’t meant to make him angry.

“no, i get it, y/n.” he sighed, kicking his skate absently where it rested at his feet, “you know what my friends are like, right? so you figured i must just be another one of them.”

“yeah,” you admitted in a small voice. “yeah i guess i did.”

he laughed humourlessly, but you could see that you’d hurt his feelings. “do you still think that way about me? you do, right?”

he turned his face to look at you again and you nibbled on your bottom lip, examining his eyes. they were filled with hurt.

“no,” you said honestly. “no, i don’t.”

his eyes softened a little, but the air was still tight with tension.

“no,” he said, a little bit softer. “i don’t take all the girls here. there are no other girls.”

you pursed your lips, turning back to the pond and watching the kids skate around.

“why me, though?” you couldn’t help but ask. may as well get all the questions out on the table, you thought.

“i told you,” he said. “you’re special. i just like you.”

you smiled down at your feet. that was enough - it made sense. you felt the same way about him. there was just something about him that was special.

“i like you, too.” you said. “i’m sorry for assuming things. i trust you.”

you felt him looking at you and turned your head, feeling your heart jump at the soft eyes and smile staring back at you, no traces of the previous anger.

“it’s okay,” he forgave you. “i’m sorry for not making myself clear from the beginning.”

you fell into comfortable silence for another moment before chengcheng spoke again.

“um, i really wanna kiss you but i don’t know how that would look on my part.”

you laughed loudly, staring on in disbelief at the sheepish look on his face. how could you have ever thought such a sweet boy was just another asshole?

“i think a kiss is okay,” you said quietly, turning slightly to face him. your heart was racing faster now than it had been when you were on the ice, seeing the soft glazed look in his eyes as well as the nervous smile.

without another word, he pressed a gloved hand to the nape of your neck and brought your face closer to his, pausing for a second to look in your eyes before he closed the last tiny bit of distance and kissed you.

his lips were warm despite the bitter cold, though they were a little chapped. it made the kiss even better for some reason, and you found yourself chasing him when he pulled away.

he kissed you again, shortly and sweetly before he pulled away. even in the dark, you could tell that red flush on his face was from a little more than the cold.

from there, the two of you clambered back into his truck and laughed the whole way home. when you finally arrived outside your house, you were hesitant to leave.

he got out and came around to let you out and walk you to your door.

standing on the porch, he scratched the back of his neck and avoided your eyes before, sheepishly, he spoke.

“so.. do you think i could, like, take out again another time?”

you smiled, nodding your head quickly. “i think i’d like that very much,” you responded softly, still not wanting to leave and let the night come to an end.

he bit his lips like it would hide the goofy grin spreading across his face. he failed, and you both laughed nervously before his cold, gloveless hands took hold of your face and he kissed you one last time.

“goodnight, y/n. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

you watched on as he went down over the porch steps, still looking over his shoulder. you couldn’t wait to see him again already and he was still right in front of you.

“goodnight, chengcheng.”

you watched him walk back to his car and get back in the driver's side, starting the engine and giving you a wave before he pulled away. you watched his truck disappear, grinning like an idiot the whole time, standing on your porch in the cold winter night.

maybe hockey players weren’t so bad after all.

#i've had the idea of hockey! chengcheng sitting around for MONTHS #im a whole hoe for hockey aus #maybe a canadian thing? probably. #fan chengcheng #NINE PERCENT #nine percent scenarios #nine percent imagines #nine percent reactions #nine percent smut #nine percent fluff #nine percent angst #nex7 scenarios #nex7 reactions #nex7 fluff #nex7 angst #nex7 smut #idol producer #idol producer scenarios #idol producer reactions #idol producer smut #idol producer fluff #idol producer angst #idol producer imagines #nex7 fanfic #nine percent fanfic #cpop scenarios #cpop imagines