#much thanks for something to read while I try to rest my wrists. carpal tunnel BAD. (ignore that I wrote this I've got braces ok it's fine)

[eyrieofsynapses]

why Aurora's art is genius

It's break for me, and I've been meaning to sit down and read the Aurora webcomic (https://comicaurora.com/, @comicaurora on Tumblr) for quite a bit. So I did that over the last few days.

And… y'know. I can't actually say "I should've read this earlier," because otherwise I would've been up at 2:30-3am when I had responsibilities in the morning and I couldn't have properly enjoyed it, but. Holy shit guys THIS COMIC.

I intended to just do a generalized "hello this is all the things I love about this story," and I wrote a paragraph or two about art style. …and then another. And another. And I realized I needed to actually reference things so I would stop being too vague. I was reading the comic on my tablet or phone, because I wanted to stay curled up in my chair, but I type at a big monitor and so I saw more details… aaaaaand it turned into its own giant-ass post.

SO. Enjoy a few thousand words of me nerding out about this insanely cool art style and how fucking gorgeous this comic is? (There are screenshots, I promise it isn't just a wall of text.) In my defense, I just spent two semesters in graphic design classes focusing on the Adobe Suite, so… I get to be a nerd about pretty things…???

All positive feedback btw! No downers here. <3

---

I cannot emphasize enough how much I love the beautiful, simple stylistic method of drawing characters and figures. It is absolutely stunning and effortless and utterly graceful—it is so hard to capture the sheer beauty and fluidity of the human form in such a fashion. Even a simple outline of a character feels dynamic! It's gorgeous!

Though I do have a love-hate relationship with this, because my artistic side looks at that lovely simplicity, goes "I CAN DO THAT!" and then I sit down and go to the paper and realize that no, in fact, I cannot do that yet, because that simplicity is born of a hell of a lot of practice and understanding of bodies and actually is really hard to do. It's a very developed style that only looks simple because the artist knows what they're doing. The human body is hard to pull off, and this comic does so beautifully and makes it look effortless.

Also: line weight line weight line weight. It's especially important in simplified shapes and figures like this, and hoo boy is it used excellently. It's especially apparent the newer the pages get—I love watching that improvement over time—but with simpler figures and lines, you get nice light lines to emphasize both smaller details, like in the draping of clothing and the curls of hair—which, hello, yes—and thicker lines to emphasize bigger and more important details and silhouettes. It's the sort of thing that's essential to most illustrations, but I wanted to make a note of it because it's so vital to this art style.

THE USE OF LAYER BLENDING MODES OH MY GODS. (...uhhh, apologies to the people who don't know what that means, it's a digital art program thing? This article explains it for beginners.)

Bear with me, I just finished my second Photoshop course, I spent months and months working on projects with this shit so I see the genius use of Screen and/or its siblings (of which there are many—if I say "Screen" here, assume I mean the entire umbrella of Screen blending modes and possibly Overlay) and go nuts, but seriously it's so clever and also fucking gorgeous:

Firstly: the use of screened-on sound effect words over an action? A "CRACK" written over a branch and then put on Screen in glowy green so that it's subtle enough that it doesn't disrupt the visual flow, but still sticks out enough to make itself heard? Little "scritches" that are transparent where they're laid on without outlines to emphasize the sound without disrupting the underlying image? FUCK YES. I haven't seen this done literally anywhere else—granted, I haven't read a massive amount of comics, but I've read enough—and it is so clever and I adore it. Examples:

Secondly: The beautiful lighting effects. The curling leaves, all the magic, the various glowing eyes, the fog, the way it's all so vividly colored but doesn't burn your eyeballs out—a balance that's way harder to achieve than you'd think—and the soft glows around them, eeeee it's so pretty so pretty SO PRETTY. Not sure if some of these are Outer/Inner Glow/Shadow layer effects or if it's entirely hand-drawn, but major kudos either way; I can see the beautiful use of blending modes and I SALUTE YOUR GENIUS.

I keep looking at some of this stuff and go "is that a layer effect or is it done by hand?" Because you can make some similar things with the Satin layer effect in Photoshop (I don't know if other programs have this? I'm gonna have to find out since I won't have access to PS for much longer ;-;) that resembles some of the swirly inner bits on some of the lit effects, but I'm not sure if it is that or not. Or you could mask over textures? There's... many ways to do it.

If done by hand: oh my gods the patience, how. If done with layer effects: really clever work that knows how to stop said effects from looking wonky, because ugh those things get temperamental. If done with a layer of texture that's been masked over: very, very good masking work. No matter the method, pretty shimmers and swirly bits inside the bigger pretty swirls!

Next: The way color contrast is used! I will never be over the glowy green-on-black Primordial Life vibes when Alinua gets dropped into that… unconscious space?? with Life, for example, and the sharp contrast of vines and crack and branches and leaves against pitch black is just visually stunning. The way the roots sink into the ground and the three-dimensional sensation of it is particularly badass here:

Friggin. How does this imply depth like that. HOW. IT'S SO FREAKING COOL.

A huge point here is also color language and use! Everybody has their own particular shade, generally matching their eyes, magic, and personality, and I adore how this is used to make it clear who's talking or who's doing an action. That was especially apparent to me with Dainix and Falst in the caves—their colors are both fairly warm, but quite distinct, and I love how this clarifies who's doing what in panels with a lot of action from both of them. There is a particular bit that stuck out to me, so I dug up the panels (see this page and the following one https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-30/):

(Gods it looks even prettier now that I put it against a plain background. Also, appreciation to Falst for managing a bridal-carry midair, damn.)

The way that their colors MERGE here! And the immense attention to detail in doing so—Dainix is higher up than Falst is in the first panel, so Dainix's orange fades into Falst's orange at the base. The next panel has gold up top and orange on bottom; we can't really tell in that panel where each of them are, but that's carried over to the next panel—

—where we now see that Falst's position is raised above Dainix's due to the way he's carrying him. (Points for continuity!) And, of course, we see the little "huffs" flowing from orange to yellow over their heads (where Dainix's head is higher than Falst's) to merge the sound of their breathing, which is absurdly clever because it emphasizes to the viewer how we hear two sets of huffing overlaying each other, not one. Absolutely brilliant.

(A few other notes of appreciation to that panel: beautiful glows around them, the sparks, the jagged silhouette of the spider legs, the lovely colors that have no right to make the area around a spider corpse that pretty, the excellent texturing on the cave walls plus perspective, the way Falst's movements imply Dainix's hefty weight, the natural posing of the characters, their on-point expressions that convey exactly how fuckin terrifying everything is right now, the slight glows to their eyes, and also they're just handsome boys <3)

Next up: Rain!!!! So well done! It's subtle enough that it never ever disrupts the impact of the focal point, but evident enough you can tell! And more importantly: THE MIST OFF THE CHARACTERS. Rain does this irl, it has that little vapor that comes off you and makes that little misty effect that plays with lighting, it's so cool-looking and here it's used to such pretty effect!

One of the panel captions says something about it blurring out all the injuries on the characters but like THAT AIN'T TOO BIG OF A PROBLEM when it gets across the environmental vibes, and also that'd be how it would look in real life too so like… outside viewer's angle is the same as the characters', mostly? my point is: that's the environment!!! that's the vibes, that's the feel! It gets it across and it does so in the most pretty way possible!

And another thing re: rain, the use of it to establish perspective, particularly in panels like this—

—where we can tell we're looking down at Tynan due to the perspective on the rain and where it's pointing. Excellent. (Also, kudos for looking down and emphasizing how Tynan's losing his advantage—lovely use of visual storytelling.)

Additionally, the misting here:

We see it most heavily in the leftmost panel, where it's quite foggy as you would expect in a rainstorm, especially in an environment with a lot of heat, but it's also lightly powdered on in the following two panels and tends to follow light sources, which makes complete sense given how light bounces off particles in the air.

A major point of strength in these too is a thorough understanding of lighting, like rim lighting, the various hues and shades, and an intricate understanding of how light bounces off surfaces even when they're in shadow (we'll see a faint glow in spots where characters are half in shadow, but that's how it would work in real life, because of how light bounces around).

Bringing some of these points together: the fluidity of the lines in magic, and the way simple glowing lines are used to emphasize motion and the magic itself, is deeply clever. I'm basically pulling at random from panels and there's definitely even better examples, but here's one (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-16-33/):

First panel, listed in numbers because these build on each other:

The tension of the lines in Tess's magic here. This works on a couple levels: first, the way she's holding her fists, as if she's pulling a rope taut.

The way there's one primary line, emphasizing the rope feeling, accompanied by smaller ones.

The additional lines starbursting around her hands, to indicate the energy crackling in her hands and how she's doing a good bit more than just holding it. (That combined with the fists suggests some tension to the magic, too.) Also the variations in brightness, a feature you'll find in actual lightning. :D Additional kudos for how the lightning sparks and breaks off the metal of the sword.

A handful of miscellaneous notes on the second panel:

The reflection of the flames in Erin's typically dark blue eyes (which bears a remarkable resemblance to Dainix, incidentally—almost a thematic sort of parallel given Erin's using the same magic Dainix specializes in?)

The flowing of fabric in the wind and associated variation in the lineart

The way Erin's tattoos interact with the fire he's pulling to his hand

The way the rain overlays some of the fainter areas of fire (attention! to! detail! hell yeah!)

I could go on. I won't because this is a lot of writing already.

Third panel gets paragraphs, not bullets:

Erin's giant-ass "FWOOM" of fire there, and the way the outline of the word is puffy-edged and gradated to feel almost three-dimensional, plus once again using Screen or a variation on it so that the stars show up in the background. All this against that stunning plume of fire, which ripples and sparks so gorgeously, and the ending "om" of the onomatopoeia is emphasized incredibly brightly against that, adding to the punch of it and making the plume feel even brighter.

Also, once again, rain helping establish perspective, especially in how it's very angular in the left side of the panel and then slowly becomes more like a point to the right to indicate it's falling directly down on the viewer. Add in the bright, beautiful glow effects, fainter but no less important black lines beneath them to emphasize the sky and smoke and the like, and the stunningly beautiful lighting and gradated glows surrounding Erin plus the lightning jagging up at him from below, and you get one hell of an impactful panel right there. (And there is definitely more in there I could break down, this is just a lot already.)

And in general: The colors in this? Incredible. The blues and purples and oranges and golds compliment so well, and it's all so rich.

Like, seriously, just throughout the whole comic, the use of gradients, blending modes, color balance and hues, all the things, all the things, it makes for the most beautiful effects and glows and such a rich environment. There's a very distinct style to this comic in its simplified backgrounds (which I recognize are done partly because it's way easier and also backgrounds are so time-consuming dear gods but lemme say this) and vivid, smoothly drawn characters; the simplicity lets them come to the front and gives room for those beautiful, richly saturated focal points, letting the stylized designs of the magic and characters shine. The use of distinct silhouettes is insanely good. Honestly, complex backgrounds might run the risk of making everything too visually busy in this case. It's just, augh, so GORGEOUS.

Another bit, take a look at this page (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-15-28/):

It's not quite as evident here as it is in the next page, but this one does some other fun things so I'm grabbing it. Points:

Once again, using different colors to represent different character actions. The "WHAM" of Kendal hitting the ground is caused by Dainix's force, so it's orange (and kudos for doubling the word over to add a shake effect). But we see blue layered underneath, which could be an environmental choice, but might also be because it's Kendal, whose color is blue.

And speaking off, take a look at the right-most panel on top, where Kendal grabs the spear: his motion is, again, illustrated in bright blue, versus the atmospheric screened-on orange lines that point toward him around the whole panel (I'm sure these have a name, I think they might be more of a manga thing though and the only experience I have in manga is reading a bit of Fullmetal Alchemist). Those lines emphasize the weight of the spear being shoved at him, and their color tells us Dainix is responsible for it.

One of my all-time favorite effects in this comic is the way cracks manifest across Dainix's body to represent when he starts to lose control; it is utterly gorgeous and wonderfully thematic. These are more evident in the page before and after this one, but you get a decent idea here. I love the way they glow softly, the way the fire juuuust flickers through at the start and then becomes more evident over time, and the cracks feel so realistic, like his skin is made of pottery. Additional points for how fire begins to creep into his hair.

A small detail that's generally consistent across the comic, but which I want to make note of here because you can see it pretty well: Kendal's eyes glow about the same as the jewel in his sword, mirroring his connection to said sword and calling back to how the jewel became Vash's eye temporarily and thus was once Kendal's eye. You can always see this connection (though there might be some spots where this also changes in a symbolic manner; I went through it quickly on the first time around, so I'll pay more attention when I inevitably reread this), where Kendal's always got that little shine of blue in his eyes the same as the jewel. It's a beautiful visual parallel that encourages the reader to subconsciously link them together, especially since the lines used to illustrate character movements typically mirror their eye color. It's an extension of Kendal.

Did I mention how ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL the colors in this are?

Also, the mythological/legend-type scenes are illustrated in familiar style often used for that type of story, a simple and heavily symbolic two-dimensional cave-painting-like look. They are absolutely beautiful on many levels, employing simple, lovely gradients, slightly rougher and thicker lineart that is nonetheless smoothly beautiful, and working with clear silhouettes (a major strength of this art style, but also a strength in the comic overall). But in particular, I wanted to call attention to a particular thing (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-12-4/):

The flowing symbolic lineart surrounding each character. This is actually quite consistent across characters—see also Life's typical lines and how they curl:

What's particularly interesting here is how these symbols are often similar, but not the same. Vash's lines are always smooth, clean curls, often playing off each other and echoing one another like ripples in a pond. You'd think they'd look too similar to Life's—but they don't. Life's curl like vines, and they remain connected; where one curve might echo another but exist entirely detached from each other in Vash's, Life's lines still remain wound together, because vines are continuous and don't float around. :P

Tahraim's are less continuous, often breaking up with significantly smaller bits and pieces floating around like—of course—sparks, and come to sharper points. These are also constants: we see the vines repeated over and over in Alinua's dreams of Life, and the echoing ripples of Vash are consistent wherever we encounter him. Kendal's dream of the ghost citizens of the city of Vash in the last few chapters is filled with these rippling, echoing patterns, to beautiful effect (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-14/):

They ripple and spiral, often in long, sinuous curves, with smooth elegance. It reminds me a great deal of images of space and sine waves and the like. This establishes a definite feel to these different characters and their magic. And the thing is, that's not something that had to be done—the colors are good at emphasizing who's who. But it was done, and it adds a whole other dimension to the story. Whenever you're in a deity's domain, you know whose it is no matter the color.

Regarding that shape language, I wanted to make another note, too—Vash is sometimes described as chaotic and doing what he likes, which is interesting to me, because smooth, elegant curves and the color blue aren't generally associated with chaos. So while Vash might behave like that on the surface, I'm guessing he's got a lot more going on underneath; he's probably much more intentional in his actions than you'd think at a glance, and he is certainly quite caring with his city. The other thing is that this suits Kendal perfectly. He's a paragon character; he is kind, virtuous, and self-sacrificing, and often we see him aiming to calm others and keep them safe. Blue is such a good color for him. There is… probably more to this, but I'm not deep enough in yet to say.

And here's the thing: I'm only scratching the surface. There is so much more here I'm not covering (color palettes! outfits! character design! environment! the deities! so much more!) and a lot more I can't cover, because I don't have the experience; this is me as a hobbyist artist who happened to take a couple design classes because I wanted to. The art style to this comic is so clever and creative and beautiful, though, I just had to go off about it. <3

...brownie points for getting all the way down here? Have a cookie.

#aurora comic #aurora webcomic #comicaurora #art analysis #...I hope those are the right tags??? #new fandom new tagging practices to learn ig #much thanks for something to read while I try to rest my wrists. carpal tunnel BAD. (ignore that I wrote this I've got braces ok it's fine) #anyway! I HAVE. MANY MORE THOUGHTS. ON THE STORY ITSELF. THIS LOVELY STORY #also a collection of reactions to a chunk of the comic before I hit the point where I was too busy reading to write anything down #idk how to format those tho #...yeet them into one post...??? #eh I usually don't go off this much these days but this seems like a smaller tight-knit fandom so... might as well help build it? #and I have a little more time thanks to break so #oh yes also shoutout to my insanely awesome professor for teaching me all the technical stuff from this he is LOVELY #made an incredibly complex program into something comprehensible <3 #synapse talks

[fantasydaydreamers]

“Behind Brothel Doors”

Summary: Not being in a relationship is a challenge to your sex life. Fed up with your complaints, your best friend gives you a certificate to a seductive one-night stay at an elite brothel. While laughing off the situation and mocking her, once you find yourself in front of alluring scarlet eyes...maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Words: 4,479

Warnings: Smut

Author’s Note: NEW SERIES!!!

✨ Please keep in mind this is a quirkless au✨

✨Part 2✨ •✨Part 3✨

The dry spell you've been having was starting to get to you. Typically, you weren't the type of person who would want to go to drastic measures, but this was ridiculous. It's gotten to the point now where you just wanted to be sated. To have at least some kind of release not caused by yourself...was that honestly too much to ask for?

"Oh really?" Your best friend was currently sprawled out on your bed flipping through a magazine, absently looking up once in a while to glance at you pacing back and forth across your room. From her lack of enthusiasm in response to your rant, you stop suddenly in your tracks and sigh, collapsing to the ground dramatically.

"Pay attention to me! I know you don't understand what I'm talking about, but you could at least listen," you huff out, glaring daggers at the only person here in a stable relationship. Your best friend and her boyfriend have been together for years, and as happy as you were for her, you were getting tired of being the third wheel. Going out with them and watching them make kissy-faces at each other made you gag.

Is it cute? I guess. Were you happy for them? Totally. Do you enjoy listening to her vent about their sexual activities? Absolutely not. Yeah, okay, girl code and gossip is in every friend group, but when all you have is your hand and an extra pair of two AAA batteries, that's not gossip...it's downright sad and you were frustrated by it all.

She smirks and closes the magazine to look at you, leaning her cheek in the palm of her hand. "I don't understand why you're so upset. There's nothing wrong with being single and wanting to get laid. That's called being horny, sweetheart."

Holding back the urge to scream, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. "I know what the fuck it is, thank you. Unfortunately, you bitch, I think I'm starting to get carpal tunnel in my wrists. At this rate, by the time something happens, I'm going to be old and crippled."

Your best friend snorts and covers her mouth. "At least you'll have nothing but gums." Screaming, you look at her in shock watching her roll onto her side laughing. You stare in disbelief at her gasping figure. I hate her.

"W-wait." She rolls back on her stomach while trying to catch her breath. "I know how much this has been bothering you, so don't say I wasn't listening," she points an accusing finger at you sternly. "I have a present for you." Getting up from your bed, she walks over to her purse and pulls out a large envelope. "Here."

Sitting up from your position on the floor, you take the envelope from her hand, confused. "A present? Why?" You thumb the edge of the flap hesitantly, suspicious by the sudden surprise. Knowing what you were thinking, she rolls her eyes and motions with her hand to open it. Breaking the seal, you pull out a red and black piece of paper.

By the time you were done reading, your jaw was practically on the ground as you tried to process what the hell was going on. "You're going this weekend," she calls out to you, a teasing taunt to her voice.

"I-a brothel?! You're sending me to a whore house?! Who? What? When? Why?" Finally looking up at her, you find the words to speak, complete shock and embarrassment washing over your body. The realization that she bought this for you made it even more shameful and you felt guilty.

"I went there the other day and bought you a full night. What's the harm in going to one? They exist for a reason and your horny ass is killing me." She answers all your questions while giggling, watching you struggle to sort your emotions and comprehend the situation.  

"Yeah? Well at this point my 'horny ass' getting strangled sounds like a great time to me." You pause, eyes fluttering close in disbelief of those words coming out of your mouth. Of course, that's the first thing my brain settles on. The howl of laughter erupting from your best friend has you shaking your head silently, glancing over the seductive words again before whipping your head to look at her in shock.

"Wait. My horny ass is killing you?! Are you even aware of the shit you tell me?" You point an accusing finger at her and see a faint blush cover her cheeks as she rolls her eyes. Oh, you bitch. You could bring up every dirty secret she's ever told you and shut down her argument completely.

"Oh by the way, when I went there the other night, the guy working the receptionist desk was so flirty and funny. They didn't lie about 'charming words.'" She says, avoiding your question. That's what I thought.

"Tell me about him," you demand intrigued, deciding to let her slide on her response.

"Well, he had blonde hair with a black streak through it and the most hypnotizing eyes. When I asked him if they do certificates, he was trying to lure me in too. He wrote your name down, of course, and that I bought you one night, but-oh! His hand brushed mine and I felt a spark, (Y/n)! I'm in a relationship! I can't-" While she seems to recall the boy, you feel a sudden anticipation rise within you at the thought of this happening. Would the stranger even think I'm sexy? Wait. That's probably not the problem here. Ethics? Gone. Should I? No! Well-

"...I think you should go in there acting like you know what you're doing and own it." She concludes crossing her arms over her chest. "Wear some sexy lingerie under your clothes, moisturize and deep condition. Have the boys shocked for once because they probably don't get customers that put the effort in often."

You hum in thought and tuck the certificate back into the envelope. "I'm really doing this, huh?"

"Bitch, you better! I paid for it, and trust me, from what I experienced with the guy at the front desk, this is something you're going to enjoy." By her response, her confident tone doesn't leave you room to argue. "Okay...this weekend then," you agree, butterflies in your stomach.

Suddenly you're tackled into a hug. "Tell me everything when you get back. No detail left behind and you can finally shut up about buying batteries all the time." She grumbles into your hair, and you can almost picture her rolling her eyes. Pulling back from the embrace you stand up and place the envelope on your desk, lingering anxiety bubbling in your stomach. I have a week to prepare.

Ignoring the feeling, you walk to your closet to get out spare blankets for her to sleepover. "Hey! I switched to rechargeable batteries!" 

"That's not the point."

~*~*~*~*

The week seemed to go by unbelievably fast and the promise you made to prepare yourself mentally may or may not have slipped your mind. However, the night you were getting ready to leave, you did remember to do a little physical self-care before leaving the house. Meaning: you were fully moisturized and currently wearing an intricately laced teddy underneath your clothes. I am staying the night but do I share a bed with this guy after...? Is he going to kick me out in the morning like hotels do?

Pulling up to the brothel did nothing but make you regret your decision to do this.

The manor stood gracefully but intimidating as you walked up to it. Clutching your overnight bag to your side, you gulped staring up at the fancy building. The towering bricks seemed to grow taller as your eyes trailed up further, glancing at the few windows with balconies overlooking the outskirts of the city. Some doors were open and you could see an outline of a curtain flowing gently with the cool night wind. The thought of some of those rooms being occupied made shivers run up your spine as you shook your head, anxiety spiking more than what it was already.

Walking through the doors, you are greeted by a lavish foyer, vacant black stain couches arranged perfectly together. Your eyes immediately find the receptionist looking bored while scrolling on his phone. Shaking off the rest of your nerves, you walk up to the black-haired man. He didn't look up at you as you approached, a loud yawn coming out of his mouth. Uh... 

You clear your throat awkwardly making his head pop up in surprise. Seeing the male made your eyes widen in shock, a flush creeping up your face. Your eyes met his striking blue ones first before they trailed over the few piercings adorning his face, glinting in the low lighting, and down to the tattoos covering his neck and arms. "Oh? I haven't seen you around here before." He smirked, leaning his chin into the palm of his hand. His eyes raked your figure up and down, his smirk widening as he watches you squirm under his gaze.

Shifting under his intense stare, you meet his eyes again before looking up to his right eyebrow where two more piercings stood out. He tilted his head slightly and the barbell piercing through his ear catches your eye along with the small studs on his lobe. Distracted by the thought of him having more body piercings, you clear your throat realizing he asked you a question.

"Hi, uh... I'm new here." You pull the envelope from your bag and hand it to him, biting your lip nervously, watching his eyes take in the movement. He hums lowly in his throat in acknowledgment or a groan, you couldn't tell.

"So it seems." He reaches for the paper, his fingers brushing against yours, and begins to pull the certificate out. "I would've remembered if I've seen you before, dollface." The nickname left his lips teasingly, his eyes trailing back up yours, catching the deepening flush growing on your cheeks. He scans over the paper and leans over the counter, on his arms, closing in on your space. "So what can I do for you?"

The husky whisper sent chills down your spine as you felt a dangerous aurora surround you. A hidden trace of cigarette smoke clouded your nose, making you feel dazed as you tried to gather your thoughts. "I-um would like a room, please." The response leaves your lips in a breathy sigh, hypnotized by the man's gaze. Why can't I talk properly?! Words, (Y/n)! Use them!

"Hm...and she has manners." The low whistle that left the man's lips almost made you whimper from the praise. He leans back to grab something from under the desk, a small smirk still on his lips as he hands over what looks to be a menu of sorts. "Since it's your first time and you don't know anyone around here, you get to pick. Choose carefully." He warned teasingly.

Your eyebrows furrow at the unexpected reply. I thought they would just put me in a random room...if they all looked like this man here, I wouldn't mind. You take the laminated book from him and lay it on the counter in front of you, getting comfortable. Opening to the first page, you see an image of a green-haired male with freckles sprawled out on the bed, only covered by a thin blanket, innocent eyes staring up at the camera. A blush immediately rises to your cheeks and you hear a snort.

Pursing your lips in thought, you quickly flip through the pages of men, not bothering to analyze them before glancing up confused. "Wait. Are you not in here?" I thought there was supposed to be a blonde-haired man with a black stripe in his hair...? The question seemed to startle yourself as you watched the man's eyes widened in surprise briefly before he chuckled darkly.

He reaches over the counter, his fingers gripping your chin softly, but firmly. "You're full of surprises aren't you, dollface?" His thumb rubs softly under your bottom lip as he drags it under the spot where you were biting, holding it there. The movement almost makes you lick your lips but you stop yourself, holding your breath.

His eyes search your face as you look back at him with a longing sense of anticipation. Humming contently, he trails his eyes back down to your lips before pulling back completely. "I do work here just not in that department."

Feeling him pull away made you sigh in relief, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Departments? "What do you mean?" This place was just getting more and more interesting. The man reaches behind the desk and pulls out another menu and hands it over, snickering.

"I work underground." He nods his head to the side and you follow the movement to the far wall, between two large pillars was a dark red door. Above the door was a white neon sign labeled 'Sinners.' "We specialize in more intense activities if you know what I mean."

This place has more rooms?! Opening and closing your mouth silently, you open the new menu he gave you, flipping to find his page.

Once again you were left speechless as you finished looking over the description. Clearing your throat, you close the book calmly and slide it off to the side. "And what makes you think I wouldn't be into the more 'intense' activities?" You question with half seriousness, looking back up at him trying to keep your embarrassment at bay.

Dabi leans across the counter, his lips brushing against your ear and you feel a finger trace along your collarbones. "Are you? I would love to wrap my hands around your pretty little throat, dollface. Watch you gasp for air while begging me to fuck you like the good girl you are, right (Y/n)?"

This time, your name falls from his lips in a purr and he pulls back to look at you expectantly. By now, you could feel the heat radiating off your face, suddenly feeling lightheaded as the soft wisps of cigarette smoke and desire cloud your senses. "Hm...it's too bad it couldn't be tonight though. My boss has me working at the front desk." He sits back in his seat, his eyes flashing for a second before he takes the 'Sinners' Menu you pushed off to the side back behind the counter.

Feeling the ghost of his finger dance across your skin, you shakingly reach for the regular menu and open back to the first page. Not knowing how to respond, you keep your eyes steady on the pages, analyzing the different profiles while trying to ignore the gaze burning into your head.

After reading about Todoroki, you flip the page and your heart jumps in your throat. Lidded scarlet eyes caught your attention first, along with a cocky smirk all topped with a spiked blonde undercut. "Him." It's the only word you manage to whisper out, captured by the pure sex appeal radiating from the page. Bakugou. You sense Dabi leaning over, but don't bother looking up.

"Interesting." Dabi muses, his eyes widening, before taking the menu from you. He turns suddenly and you peek your head around him, confused. Picking up the phone he presses a few numbers and waits. "You have one coming up," Dabi says monotoned and glances over at you eavesdropping. You quickly collect yourself and look off to the side, pretending to look around the lobby. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him smirk and turn away from you slightly, murmuring into the phone. "She's new and absolutely adorable. Treat her nicely because if you don't, I already promised her I will."

It was silent for a few seconds until you heard angry shouts coming from his receiver which made him pull the phone away and hang up. He then grabs something else off the table, chuckling softly. "Here's your room key. He's on the fourth floor and his name is outside his door. Enjoy your night, dollface." Stuttering out a 'thank you,' you make your way to the elevators pressing the 'up' button. Thankfully it arrived quickly and once you were inside, you felt as if you could breathe properly again.

Pressing the button to the fourth floor, you close your eyes and rest against the wall trying to prepare yourself for what could come next after barely processing what just happened in the lobby. The fact that now the real thing was about to happen made more pleasure erupt through your body, rather than nerves. The thought of meeting this man making your thighs rub together impatient.

The doors closed and you felt your heart rate speed up the higher the elevator climbed.

~*~*~*~*

Standing outside his door, you toyed with the edge of the room key knowing that you should use it but also feeling like you should knock. '...go in there acting like you know what you're doing and own it.' You hear your best friends' words echoing in your head and you snap yourself out of it, putting the card into the slot.

The door clicks opens and you step in the room, quietly closing it behind you. Slowly, you walk into the room, taking in the spacious setting. You pass the bathroom and work your way further down the hall, where a soft light was emitting from. The first thing you notice was a black satin king-size bed lined with pillows and fur blankets, a red canopy draping over the top.

"Wow." You breathe out, dropping your bag absently on the ground.

"Shouldn't that be your reaction to seeing me, dumbass?" A husky voice calls out to you. Startled, you whip your head to the side and see Bakugou standing by the doors to the balcony holding a bottle of water. He was shirtless, only clothed by a pair of loose black sweatpants that hung low on his hips. Scarlet eyes were glaring at you while muscular arms crossed over his chest.

Seeing the male in person was nothing you could've ever prepared for. Noticing your mouth had dropped open, you regain your composure, clearing the now dry spot in your throat. "Wow." You choke out this time, your voice cracking slightly. Bakugou noticed and smirked slightly, his free hand reaching up to run through his wild blonde hair, purposely flexing, knowing that you were watching his every move.

The smirk stays on his face as he stalks towards you, placing his water down on a passing table. "That's better." His deep voice reverberated throughout the room sending shivers down your spine. You eye the solid muscular chest as it gets closer to your field of vision and gulp, eyes roaming over the defined pecs and abs. I'm screwed. Well, I'm going to get screwed. Why on earth did I do this again I'm such a...

"D-dumbass?" You squeak out, finally realizing what he called you. Bakugou comes to a stop inches away from you and scoffs. His overwhelming presence makes you take a step back, a whiff of caramel following your movement.

Bakugou sees you backing off slightly and frowns, pulling back himself. However, he recovers quickly, a teasing grin now gracing his lips. "Tell me your name if you don't like it."

"(Y/n)." Deciding to brush it off, you smile up at him, grateful he seems to understand your space. He nods slowly, eyes roaming over your body only to linger on your legs.

"So, (Y/n)," his eyes flicker back up to yours, "we have a whole night to ourselves. Is there anything you have in mind?" The corner of his mouth curves up teasingly and his expression is calculating making you feel as if you're being tested.

Does he want me to say what I think he wants me to say? Do I pounce on him? He could probably catch me too...

"I picked you for a reason so shouldn't you be 'dominant by nature' and have your way with me?" The response leaves your lips harsher than intended and you feel your body tense up by the shocked looked on Bakugou's face. '...go in there acting like you know what you're doing' my ass. Why am I like this?

Suddenly, abrupt laughter fills the room and you're torn whether to run away or fake laugh along. You watch as the laughter dies down and his eyes turn dark and intimidating. "How fucking adorable. Here I was going slow for you since you're new, but now that I know I can have my way with you...strip for me."

"I-" you start, but see his eyes narrow dangerously making you close your mouth. Biting your lip, you play with the bottom of your shirt before slowly pulling it off your head, trying to keep eye contact with him. His eyebrows raise with interest seeing the teddy being revealed and he closes the space between you two.

"Look at me." Embarrassment clear on your face, Bakugou drinks in your expression, amused, and snorts. "I already have my shirt off...I'm just making things even yet here you are trying to seduce me." His warm palms land on your waist, one hand tracing up and down the exposed part of the teddy you were wearing. A satisfied groan leaves his mouth watching the color rise on your face.

He brings his mouth down to your ear and bites down on the lobe, pulling it. "That's supposed to be my job." Sounding impressed, the words vibrate against your ear as he releases the lobe, kissing his way down your neck. Gasping, you grab onto his shoulders for support as he starts to suck at your pulse.

His hands travel from the small of your back to your ass, pulling you flush against him. A low groan coming from the back of his throat as he squeezes harshly, lifting one hand to smack the cheek before settling back into the rough massage. You moan against his neck, subconsciously arching your back so your chest presses firmly against his.

"Heh. You like that?" Bakugou pulls away from the rough treatment on your neck and does it again, making you whimper. In the low lighting you look up to him, his hooded eyes and challenging smirk watching you intensely with every reaction.

Your hands slowly make their way up to his neck, scraping your nails lightly against his skin before reaching up into his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. Once your lips meet, you wrap both arms around his neck pulling him even closer. His lips moved smoothly over yours and you could almost taste the smirk as he dominated the rhythm, the kiss starting with intense passion before fading into slower and deep kisses.

Moaning softly, you unwrap your arms from his neck and trail back down his body, feeling his muscles twitch slightly from your touch. Bakugou pulls away first, leaving you dazed, and watches, satisfied, as you try to catch your breath. Not being able to wait anymore, you fumble with your pants and the straps to the teddy, pulling them off eagerly and throwing them by your discarded bag.

Once you have them off, Bakugou wastes no time in picking you up and laying you on the bed. Leaning up on your elbows, you watch him slowly dip his hands into his sweatpants and seductively slide them down his legs. His cock springs up against his stomach and you bite your tongue, holding back any sounds that threaten to come out. So big...

He slowly crawls up the bed, staring in your eyes as his kisses his way up your leg, teasingly along your inner thigh. "Please," you whine, watching him enjoy seeing you embarrassed.

"Please what?" He taunts, his hands gripping under your thighs while looking at you expectantly.

"Please fuck me, Bakugou." The words left your mouth shyly and Bakugou growled.

With his hands under your thighs, he pulls you towards him, releasing one hand to reach down and feel your entrance. "So damn wet..." He pushes in one finger and your back arches off the bed at the feeling of something finally in you not caused by your doing.

One hand still holding your thigh up, his finger worked expertly, curling up against your g-spot watching your body tremble in pleasure. He adds another one and you moan louder, gripping the sheets to ground yourself.

"Bakugou...please..." You call out, wanting to finally feel him inside. Bakugou groans and pulls his fingers out, giving his neglected dick a few pumps while using your juices to lube it. He positions himself above you and slides in slowly, feeling your textured walls stroke his cock in deeper.

Feeling him push himself inside of you had broken whines fall from your lips as he bottoms out. Watching his expression, you moan seeing him grit his teeth and pant harshly trying to adjust to the tightness.

Smirking to yourself, you roll your hips up and Bakugou moans, hands flying to your waist to stop you. "I've been doing this for a while and I've never had a pussy this good. It's pulsing around me so nicely, (Y/n). I'm going to fuck you so hard and make this pussy mine." Bakugou rasps out thrusting in firmly.

The dirty promise made more mewls fall from your mouth as Bakugou began a steady pace, building up his speed. "Feels good~ yours Bakugou. I'm yours!" Bakugou groans in response, picking up the pace, firm strokes hitting your sweet spot every time. Your hands fly to his shoulders, nails gripping into his skin before raking down his back. "C-close~"

Bakugou reaches for your breasts, pinching your nipples, sending you over the edge. "I'm cumming," you cry out, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. Bakugou leans down and bites your neck, speeding up his thrusts, while trying to muffle his own moans. Hot blinding pleasure washes over you as you arch up into him while clamping down on his cock.

"Fuck!" Bakugou thrusts one last time before releasing himself inside. The warm liquid filling you up sends another shockwave of pleasure through you as you finish riding the waves of your own orgasm. 

Sweat rolls down Bakugou's body as he tries to catch his breath. He pulls out and collapses next to you, his hand coming up to push his hair back. He chuckles darkly and leans up to look at your blissed-out expression. "We're only getting started, (Y/n)."

Needless to say, not much sleeping happened, but it was definitely one erotic night you might just have to revisit sometime. After all, there are many unopened doors left in the brothel that you have yet to look behind.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader lemon #bakugou x reader lemon #bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha x reader #mha x reader lemon #bnha x reader #bnha x reader lemon #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #my hero academia x reader #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #lemon #do i add dabi x reader bc technically yall had a MOMENT #fuck it i will #dabi x reader #just one

[amour-de-tous]

Finally, the update on my health

TW: lots and lots and lots of talk about health, and bad health, in particular, below.  So I know I never really updated everyone on What Was (is) Going On With My Health. It’s been a huge mess, and I run out of spoons every day just trying to eat meals at the right times to take my meds.  Shortest version possible (believe it or not): at the end of May last year, 2019, pretty much all my joints and extremities swelled up unbelievably. Like I couldn’t put my feet on the floor because they were so swollen it felt like the skin would split open. I had to sit in a chair all day with my feet elevated on a stool and pillows just to keep them from continuing to swell, and I had to sleep with pillows under my feet to keep them from swelling more during the night. I say “sleep” loosely, because I was getting about an hour to two hours of very interrupted sleep every night. The swelling was so bad that just to leave my chair where my feet were elevated, and go sit at the table to eat meals, my feet would swell so bad it was hard for me to walk from the table back to my chair. Then my hands started going numb and tingly, but not in a “my hands are asleep” kind of way, but more an “this is excruciatingly painful but I still can’t feel my hands” kind of way. I couldn’t close my hands into a fist, and I couldn’t open my hands either, they were frozen in a sort of half curled position. There were several weeks where I couldn’t hold a fork or spoon to feed myself. There were months upon months were I couldn’t brush or wash my hair by myself. I spent months with my hands/wrists/feet/ankles packed in ice every 20 minutes to try to control the swelling. I also had this awful brain fog situation where I couldn’t focus on anything. Even if I had been able to hold a book, tablet, or phone (which I couldn’t, because my hands were so bad), I couldn’t read because I had absolutely zero concentration or focus or comprehension. Even watching TV was almost impossible because I would zone out and come back to awareness and so much time had passed I’d have no idea what was going on. I literally spent three or four months just sitting in that chair in pain, staring at the ceiling, crying on and off. So, so much more below the cut.

I could barely attend my niece and nephews baptism. We were there for as long as it took for the actual service to happen, and while I tried to stay for the meal and gifts and such, I was in such excruciating pain--and using a cane to even be able to walk--that we had to leave early.  My niece’s 4th birthday was a few weeks later, in late June, and again I was there with a cane and in excruciating pain. I’m my niece’s favourite person and having to tell her Auntie couldn’t get down and play with her, or hold her, was terrible. By the end of June, my PCP had run enough tests to be outside his area of knowledge and referred me out to a rheumatologist. The earliest the one I wanted to see could see me was January. This was the first week of July. So I looked around for whoever could see me first and chose them. The soonest someone could see me was, unfortunately, on my birthday last year, July 15th. So I spent my birthday seeing the rheumatologist, being diagnosed with carpal tunnel, tendinitis, and what he suspected was rheumatoid arthritis. Once I left his office, I spent my birthday getting bloodwork (8 vials, yikes, which continued monthly for the remainder of 2019), and then getting fitted for a set of wrist braces that I would have to sleep in for maybe the rest of my life, and wear during the day when the pain was so bad. The rheumatologist literally said to me “well, none of your labwork confirms this and we don’t really know, but we’re gonna treat you as if you had rheumatoid arthritis”. Although he kept running tests to try to confirm the RA, he didn’t look anywhere else to try and figure out what I actually have. So they started me on medication(s), and referred me to occupational therapy and physical therapy. I was so bad when I started going that my PT consisted of sitting in a chair and (trying) to flex my ankles in different directions, and then a lymph massage to try to reduce swelling. My occupational therapy, when I started, consisted of trying to pick up pieces of sponges and put them in a cup. I was so bad that was actually almost impossible for me. They also referred me out to have a nerve conduction test, where they stuck needles all through my arms and electrified them. It was the worst thing ever, let me tell you. Then I got referred to a hand surgeon (who is lovely, actually) for surgery. He decided to hold off on surgery and see if steroid shots would help (they did, to an extent, and I am so grateful for that). Fast forwards through months and months of testing and bloodwork and physical and occupational therapies and medications, and the swelling had reduced enough that I could stand up or walk to the bathroom or eat dinner without swelling up so bad anymore. Being at PT and OT still meant I came home and had to pack my feet and wrists in ice and elevate to take care of the extra swelling, but it was better. Not good, not right, but better. Fast forward more, still, and it’s December. At that point I could stand long enough to help cook dinner, or even run an errand or two before I was in too much pain and had to sit and elevate again. In mid-March they released me from PT and OT. Not because I was better--I still couldn’t (and can’t, now) bend my wrists at all--but because the prescription had run out. I’d basically used all the allotted amount I had. This ended up being alright in the long run, since aside from one trip to the lab for bloodwork, I haven’t left my house since my last day of OT on March 13th, due to Covid. Turns out having an auto-immune disease and being on immunosuppresants makes you REAL high risk for Covid, and I’m just not playing that game. At the beginning of April, I finally got to see the rheumatologist I WANTED to see all along (via video visit! Didn’t even have to leave my house and be exposed!). She’s awesome and is really set on finding an ACTUAL diagnosis for me and not just saying “we don’t know”. Had 9 vials taken from me in her first round of bloodwork, and then she said it looked like it could be Lupus and did more tests. She’s now pretty certain I DON’T have Lupus OR rheumatoid arthritis. I had an appointment with her at the very end of July (video, again), and it turns out she thinks I have something called sarcoidosis. This is going to require a CT scan, for my lungs and heart, to see if the disease is in them. Evidently with this particular auto-immune disease, your body overreacts and encapsulates what it thinks are dangerous foreign bodies (but really are just part of your own immune system) and creates “granulomas” around them. Basically think of an oyster creating a pearl around an invading body, except in this case instead of pearls, I have lumps of stuff that hurts me.  Horrifying to know I have to walk into a hospital at this point in time, of my own free will. Like I said before, aside from one set of bloodwork, I haven’t been exposed or been out where I could be exposed at ALL. All that goes out the window once I walk into a hospital for a CT scan. :\ After the CT scan, depending on the results, there’s other tests I’ll need. Chest x-rays, EKGs, pulmonary function tests, lung biopsies (YIKES) and others. She seems fairly confident that this is the correct diagnosis for me, but wants confirmation and also to see progression of disease.  At any rate, she’ll be changing my medication. Which sucks for so many reasons, not the least of which is I just picked up 360 tablets of it that I now won’t be taking. :| Also the fact that now I get to try a new medication and do the “am I having side effects or am I just anxious” song and dance. She’s also talking about needing to put me on steroids which I am REALLY unhappy about. I suppose it’s better to go on steroids than to die, but I’m still really unhappy about it. In other, related news, I’ve developed hypercalcemia. Which means there’s too much calcium in my blood, which can cause a HOST of other problems. So I’ve been put on a no-dairy, low calcium diet. Do you know how many items have calcium in them? Almost everything, that’s what. Also, they fortify all the non-dairy “milk” products with calcium. They all have as much or MORE calcium than dairy milk. It’s been a NIGHTMARE, to the point where I’m actually afraid of food now. I’m obsessively reading labels and doing research online. “How much calcium is in 81 grams of kiwi, after all?”. Nightmare. Dairy was my #1 love and foodgroup, and having to suddenly figure out all new things to eat and ways to cook while simultaneously being in pain and *exhausted* 24/7 because auto-immune is not. fun. at. all. It’s already all my energy every day to help make, eat, and clean up a meal. I literally have to sit in my chair after a meal with my feet elevated to recover. Now having to spend all this energy on a whole new diet plan is a nightmare. Basically this whole thing has been a MESS. It’s been 15 months, I’ve been being treated for the wrong disease for 14 months, the news I’m getting now is worse than the news that flattened my emotional response all those months ago, I still can’t function, and I can’t work. Oh, yeah. I haven’t played an instrument since May 2019. My whole life revolved around my music, and now I can’t even play to make myself feel better, because my hands don’t work. I’ve also been out of work since then, too: my last concert was April 2019. I haven’t made any money since. But I have had co-pays out the wazoo! Which reminds me that they raised the price on two of my meds, because of course they did. Thanks, congress. This has been really, really hard. My anxiety has skyrocketed through this, and my depression isn’t doing much better. Although physically I’m not as bad as I was, I’m nowhere near normal, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back to my normal again, either. The best I’m hoping for at this point is to be able to eat calcium again someday, to not have my organs eaten up by this disease, and to continue existing. It’s been exhausting. It really, really has.  That’s not to mention the added stress and anxiety over Covid, and the fact that neither mom nor I can even go to a grocery store because of my high-risk status. We’re averaging getting groceries about once a month right now. It’s super fun now because I have to read the label on EVERYTHING but Aldi doesn’t post their nutrition labels online and!!! That means I have to either guess or not get things! Great!  All this to say that I miss being on tumblr. I miss all my friends here. I miss talking to you all and being able to laugh with you and geek out. Things have been really hard for me (and there are multitudes I haven’t included in here; even if my hands would allow that much typing, I’d probably hit a character limit. Just: I miss you all. I love you. I’ve been a wreck, but I think of you all often. <3

#health stuff #diagnosis #health talk #medication talk #eating talk #uhhhh what else #needles talk #blood talk #disability talk #I'M A MESS Y'ALL #i love you and miss you #ponderings and musings #asa health stuff

[csykora]

hey i was reading your post about evgeny kusnetsov and alexander semin (the friendship necklace one) and i got into hockey somewhat recently but i've heard/read some things about sasha and i was wondering if you could give me a rundown/what your perspective is? you mentioned cultural assimilation, but also social class, ethnic identity, ability, neurodiversity, and trauma and i was really curious what exactly you were talking about??

First, that’s cool you’re getting into hockey! How’s that going? I hope you’re having fun. Second…thanks for making me reread my old writing as we come up on the New Year ;)

That was one of my very first posts, and I think it reads like it—I definitely wasn’t much of a sports writer back then, and (I don’t think) I tell stories quite the same way now.

I don’t think some of those words I used mean much, except that I was angry. So I’d like to spell out what made, makes, me angry. The first half of this is stuff I’ve said before, more organized, with jokes. The second half is not fun, but it’s also something I think NHL fans have a duty to think about. So I want to try to talk about Lokomotiv.

Sasha Semin is the star and captain of a quite good, more fun KHL team. Today he was named to the All-Star team, actually. KHL All-Stars is a magical place where the players sing acoustic covers and routinely set things on fire, so hopefully they’ll let him bring his sword.

(I love the KHL)

Before that, he was the cool big brother of a generation of Russian stars. In the early 2000s the first post-Soviet young players were coming of age and working out what post-Soviet, now-Russian style hockey was going to be. In that moment we got two spectacular players: Sasha from Siberia, and Sasha from Moscow.

The Soviet style of play was supposed to be egalitarian—players skated the opposition sick and pass-pass-passed, always giving it to a teammate instead of taking chances, until whoever happened to have it had a sure shot. The Alexanders grew up in that style, and they grew up fuck-off strong. They started feeding off all their teammates’ passes and beginning to gun down goalies with one of two shots: Alex Ovechkin had the one-timer, and Alex Semin had the best wristshot in the game.

Did you watch Vegas’ magic season? Pull some clips of Wild Bill Karlsson. Imagine if he had upper body strength but was just as light on his feet. That’s how inexplicably electric young Semin was.

His and then Ovi’s performances at World Juniors were so explosive they convinced American businesses to risk money on something new. Semin was oldest, and the Capitals kind of sucked, so they got him first. Then a few years later they still sucked, so they got Ovi too. Then the two of them got Nicklas Backstrom and matching line promise necklaces and played really good hockey together for a number of years.

(If anyone would like 3,000 more nicer words about the above subjects, @ me)

A couple things shaped what happened after that:

▪ Semin’s unique wrister, twisted to be almost as hard as a slapper, is like spending every night downing jägerbombs with a shot of carpal tunnel. He seems to have chronic wrist and hand problems from inflammation, with apparent flare-ups that sometimes got rest and sometimes didn’t. So that’s a factor—not the only, but a—in why he had periods of poor shooting.

▪ Either because he never really went to school or just because he’s wired that way, Semin seems to suck at math.

▪ Ovi’s hot stick and the Sid Incident (Sidcident?): 

In their first interview together, Ovi described him and Sid as “partners”, and Sid asked for Ovi’s shirt. But over the first few years the League swung from branding them as buddies to making money off a rivalry, and Don Cherry started a string of bitter conflicts with Ovi.

Local journalists who knew him wrote about seeing Ovi flinch in interviews. They described him starting to hesitate, pale, tired, doubling back over answers to make sure they were watertight. We now know from Tatyana Ovechina that he was spending a lot of nights on the phone back home with her, asking if he was letting everybody down.

Sasha, who’s basically that guy on twitter who found kittens in his sock drawer and adopted them all, but with little brothers, got protective. He told Russian media that he thought Sid was a good player, but not his favorite, and said that the way the League was pushing media attention could make someone a ‘star’ even if they weren’t that good. The phrase he used means “dead wood”, or boring, useless person. The grammar he used means something like “even if he were (ie, he isn’t)”.

I think this was objectively very funny. And I still hold that anyone saying the level of exposure Sid endured was good for him or anyone sounds like the stage parents on Toddlers & Tiaras.)

But people get protective of their person, and most won’t stop for a grammar lesson before deciding what they think something meant. There was a media blitz, mostly accusing Sasha of wanting the attention Sid got, which made sense, if you didn’t know Russian or two things about him—that he’s best friends with Alex Ovechkin, and that he’d only just started to practice English with local reporters after several years. If he were an egomaniac, he was bad at it.

From his reaction it seems like he hadn’t thought his comment was that wild, and wasn’t prepared for the backlash. Next time he talked to local reporters, he brought the translator back. Asked routine questions he’d been getting for a couple years, he flinched and turned to them to rehearse every word of his answer. Asked what was up with the translator, he said “I just don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

Although teammates like Mike Knuble, Jeff Schultz, Backstrom and Ovechkin kept talking about his personable, joking side, and we’d see it plenty in practice, he started insisting to reporters that he didn’t know English and that he was boring anyway, claiming “I’m just an ordinary person, just like everybody else. The only difference is I’m out there on the ice and that’s it. I’d just rather talk about hockey.”

–> Without math or English, Semin’s career depended on his agent, Mark Gandler.

Try not to depend on Mark Gandler.

As the Globe and Mail put it, “to many Canadian hockey fans, Mark Gandler is nothing less than the Prince of Darkness.”

Mark Gandler’s business was based on presenting himself as a friendly face to young Russian athletes, and pissing of NHL franchises. I’m pro-pissing off the NHL in general; my problem with Gandler is that if he was sincerely trying to get the best deal for him clients, he was bad at it..

When anyone talks about something Semin decided, they’re talking about what Gandler decided for him. Semin was honest with the media that he had no fucking clue what Gandler was asking for in negotiations. The Caps and Gandler couldn’t agree on anything, so while Ovechkin was locked down for life, Semin was only ever signed to one and two year bridge contracts, constantly up, his performance a constant subject of discussion and every wobble obvious.

Note: the following is the bit where I got angry and A. asked why the hell I was looking at photos of this and told me to go lie on the floor and do my butterfly exercises for a while.

One year Semin’s game really sucked. It didn’t help that Ovechkin was sucking too—they both got benched, Coach got fired, and still the Capitals just kind of sucked. Around the league, Russian stars were mostly fizzling. That was the 2011-2012 season. 

On September 7, 2011, the airplane carrying the Lokomotiv Yaroslavl team, coaching staff, and four youth players had overrun the runway, struck a signal tower, crashed, and caught fire moments after takeoff. Every member of the team onboard was killed.

I can’t understand, so certainly can’t explain, how that day changed the community. I’m not trying to speculate too much on anyone’s personal situation, but to point out how much more profound it was than just some other league’s trivia.

I don’t think there’s a mainstream North American parallel for the hockey community in Eastern Europe. Players are raised in a small number of hockey schools, often at that time in dormitories like the one where Semin lived in Chelyabinsk. While young North Americans are quite strictly separated by age, the Russians are growing up with older and younger kids from the same school all around them. Older teens are encouraged to mentor younger ones—Kuznetsov’s attachment to Semin is endearing, but not really so weird. Stanislav Yarushin is several years older than Sasha, and he befriended him, and then down to Kuz. In a community like that, any one person is intimately connected to the others.

From the coaches to the rookies, someone from three generations across nine nations was killed in the disaster. Each of them was connected not only to their peers, but to players older and younger than them, and to the city that raised them. Every Russian, Czech, and Slovak in the NHL lost at least one person they knew deeply.

Just that spring, Kuznetsov won gold at World Juniors with a little clique of friends. Vladimir Tarasenko, Artemi Panarin, and Dmitry Orlov are stars now, and two of the others are dead.

Kuznetsov is the one draped in the flag. #14, with the awesome hair, smiling, is Danylo Sobchenko. #12, reaching up towards the cup, is Yuri Urychev. Urychev had been injured, and supposed to stay home the day of the disaster, but he asked to be allowed to fly with them, so he could cheer for his friends.

Tarasenko himself was born in Yaroslavl, and his father played for Lokomotiv; he knew even more of the team, and if he’d taken a hometown offer instead of signing with Sibir, he would have died that day too.

The thing about a loss like this is that it keeps budding with new losses. It hadn’t been a problem with the plane, or a freak accident. Over the following month a miserable investigation revealed that the airline had fudged documents, and the pilots just didn’t know what they were doing. So as well as losing friends, the younger players lost any trust that people in authority were going to keep them safe in the future.

After the disaster, Ovechkin, Semin, and Malkin had to hold their phones waiting while Alexander Galimov (a friend from nationals) was found with burns over 80% of his body, stabilized, transported, placed in a medically-induced coma and ventilated. He finally died five days later. The day he died Tarasenko and Kuznetsov and all the others got back on their own planes and kept playing, so the NHLers just had to keeping waiting up for them, too. Now Tarasenko and Kuznetsov have little brothers on those planes. They’re better fucking planes now, because the disaster changed Russian law, but they’re still not great.

In a grim way, Semin and Ovechkin were lucky, because they had each other. At the time almost no NHL team had as many Eastern Europeans as the Caps, meaning almost all the others were alone.

Of course it just wasn’t possible for the North American public to grieve with them the way that Europe did, but how quickly it was boxed away and forgotten as a factor in players’ lives just…sucks.

You don’t just grieve somebody when you lose them; people who aren’t sure what to say will say it fades with time, but what it really does is rise and fall in waves. You grieve them when you lose them, and again when you’re as old as they were and realize how insufficient it really was, and again, when you’re older than they’ll ever be, when you’re old enough to see children their age. Like injuring your wrist, you can get back to work, but never back to exactly what you were before. 

Five years later, when Tarasenko scored his 100th goal, he dedicated it to Sobchenko and Urychev. 

Most of a decade later, Alex Ovechkin wears the Lokomotiv crest on his chest protector, over his heart.

So if we know all that, we can start to imagine why they sucked at hockey.

Actually, after a slow start to the season, Sasha sucked the least of all the Capitals. Always a stronger possession player than Ovechkin, Sasha actually recovered after the Caps brought in Dale Hunter, who ripped up the Goals First, Goals Always game plan and tried to make Ovi play defense. Sasha ended the season with the best possession metrics on the team (yes, including Nicke Backstrom). 

His goal-scoring didn’t recover, but that was because Coach Dale was basically treating him like Ovi’s security blanket, putting him on the second line with Mojo so Ovi couldn’t cuddle him until Ovi backchecked. Mojo (this is a Science fact) is not Nicke Backstrom.

The reason the Capitals traded Semin is they desperately needed to trade someone to make up for the team’s collective failures that year, he could be traded due to his shitty contracts, and he was worth trading. 

I’m not actually angry the Caps traded Semin. It made sense. I am mad the Habs did, because it was one of many decisions made by Marc Bergevin coughing up a heavily-gelled hairball on a depth chart, but hey.

Sports is hard. I don’t mean that teams should keep players who aren’t playing the way that team needs them to out of sympathy. I mean that it’s possible to say that Semin or Ovechkin sometimes play badly without saying they don’t care. It’s possible to name a practical problem without making it a moral one.

Because when we see someone not doing what we want, and we make it moral, we say, “well gosh, I can’t imagine a reason why they aren’t jazzed to do what I want right now, so there can’t be a reason, they just suck,” we’re always wrong, because we miss shit!

In 2011, the common complaint that Russian players “don’t seem to care” went from boring to breathtakingly cruel. 

It’s a collective failure of empathy, where a lot of us didn’t even know that empathy’s needed. How many NHL fans don’t know Lokomotiv existed? If we don’t even know what weight another person’s carrying, we can’t possibly judge them rightly! 

The athletes we’re watching aren’t just cartoon characters for American consumption, who always act and react in easily-readable ways. They’re people with beliefs, behaviors, and problems which might be meaningfully different from what we’re personally familiar with and really hard to sympathize with.  

But when we see someone struggling to do what we want them to, we have to wonder why, and look around to learn more about moments like this, and then offer empathy. I believe that if we have information, most people use it to be kind. So we really fucking need historical information.

I’m back on the floor and don’t have a closer, so here’s a picture of a cat with big mitts like Sasha. His name is Peppers.

[sol1056]

I’m not ignoring any of you.

normally I’d just roll my eyes at the ‘sol are you there / hey sol / come back to the computer / hey sooooool’ messages -- I mean, people, I do have a job. If the sun is shining on the mississippi river, you probably won’t get an immediate response. you’ll get one that night, or the next morning, or a day later with apologies if work has been too hectic. 

that’s not the case this time, though. and I just haven’t been up to typing this out over and over for each new person in line who wants to know why I’m not responding.

short answer: I have only minimal feeling in six fingers, and that’s actually an improvement.

long answer: since early april, I’ve been dealing with a combination of tendonitis in my elbows and severe carpal tunnel in my wrists, exacerbated by (what so far thankfully appears to be only the earliest stages of) HAV. 

as I’ve mentioned to some of you, I’m getting my house ready for sale, and there’s always a hundred little things to fix or update or replace. no problem. I've done all this before and then some. I’ve framed walls, put up drywall, ripped out old cabinets, laid tile, installed trim, replaced outlets, installed faucets, updated lights, nbd. the get-ready-to-sell list was long but not that hard, imo. 

where I miscalculated was thinking I’d do all that in a three-week stretch, while also working full-time. it ended up a pretty intense schedule, if I’m honest. worse, many of my workhorse power tools are vibrating hell machines. I just wasn’t doing things that I could’ve used any of my newer (read: designed to vibrate slightly less) tools for. 

ever been outside without gloves when the windchill is really harsh? you come inside and blood rushes back to your fingers and you get that prickly-sharp sensation where every touch is heightened and painful? it’s like that. (if you can’t imagine that, then think of having every finger slammed in a door. twice.) 

then imagine trying to pick up anything sharp, like a screw. it’ll feel like your fingers are being sliced open. or trying to do delicate work: you can’t. the nerves in your fingers are too busy screaming, and that muddies every signal. I touch-type, but if you can’t even tell if you really hit the keyboard b/c every touch makes you stop and squeeze your hands until the pain subsides...

and that’s not counting how the muscles or nerves or whatever will suddenly go haywire. imagine the biggest IV needle you can, stabbing you in the palm or the back of your hand. and it doesn’t stop, you just keep flexing your hands waiting for this time for it to not hurt. or pressing thumb to fingertip, testing. at night, you lay there wide-awake with nothing to distract you, and now you can feel all of it and then some. 

plus, this all means you lose all strength in your hands/fingers. gripping anything, pressing down on something? if it doesn’t hurt and/or produce more numb-tingly pain, then you fingers just fail and you drop whatever you’re holding. it’s like your hands just can’t seem to close. 

bottom line is: too much to do, in too little time, without enough rest between. recipe for disaster.

there have been days where it seems to hurt less. I’d post, comment, chat, and each time realized too late perhaps that it’s still too soon. so I’ve dropped out of conversations, haven’t replied to comments, haven’t written a chapter of anything. hell, I’ve got two dozen tabs of open asks I’ve been wanting to answer but haven’t. all of it requires using my hands, and my hands haven’t been up to it, and this is why. 

it took me five days to write this, in bits and pieces. but on the plus side, my ring-fingers are almost back to normal. four fingers down, six more to go. perhaps I’ll even have this todo list finished by then, and life can get back to normal. or at least what passes for normal around here. 

thanks for your patience.

#real life intrudes sometimes

[welllpthisishappening]

The Period of the Long Change (15/15)

It’s quick. One second she’s standing there and everything is fine and then Emma looks up and it’s not. It’s awful. And the lights are too bright and there are too many rooms and too many opinions and her phone won’t stop ringing because everything seems to be changing all at once. She’s never been great at coping with change. But, maybe, if she can just figure it out and stay right where she is, with Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, at her side, it’ll be alright.

It’s slow. One second he’s standing there and everything is fine and then Killian’s breath catches and it’s not. It’s terrifying. And the noises are too loud and there are too many questions and he can’t find the right answers to any of them, not sure how to cope with everything changing all at once. That’s never really been his forte. But, maybe, if he can just figure it out and stay right where he is, with Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations, at his side, it’ll be alright.

It’s another season and another challenge and Emma and Killian are both struggling to get over the boards.

Rating: Mature Word Count: Like...9.5K. It’s the last chapter. It’s long.  AN: Hey! This story is over! If you’ve been clicking and reading and sticking around, I cannot possibly tell you how much I appreciate it. Even the idea of you guys being interested in this silly, over-sized hockey family blows my mind. So, thank you. For realz. I have a questionable number of one-shots still sitting in my docs and I don’t know that I’ll ever actually close the book on this verse officially, so there’s probably some more adjectives to come. Thanks for reading, internet. 

Also on Ao3 and FF.net and Tumblr if that’s your jam.

“A little up on the right.” Emma grunted, trying to shift the kid in her arms and that only ended with a foot in her thigh and a mumbled apology and they were going to rip the sign. And maybe the balloons had been overkill. They’d been Mary Margaret’s idea anyway.

“Reese’s, my arms are going to fall off my body,” Emma warned, glancing over her shoulder when she heard something that sounded a hell of a lot like several hockey sticks crashing to the ground. “Margaret,” she snapped, met with a pair of wide eyes and an innocent face that Emma was fairly positive her other kid was practicing. “What did we say about running around?” “C’mere, Pegs,” Mary Margaret said, holding her hand out and pulling the nearly two-year-old and decidedly rambunctious kid against her thigh. “That was totally my fault anyway, I got distracted by how crooked the sign is.”a

Emma sighed, letting her head fall against Matt’s back which wasn’t really helping her general state of being at all because she could feel the stitching of the lettering press against her forehead and that just kind of felt over the top.

More than the balloons.

God, there were so many balloons.

“I thought we only had to go a little up on the right,” Emma muttered. Her arms were going to be incredible toned by the end of this. “A little does not suggest that it’s incredibly crooked.” “I didn’t use that word.”

“There was an implication. And maybe we should be using actual words. So my arms don’t fall off before we even get to puck drop.” “Your arms are going to fall off?” Matt asked, twisting against Emma and landing another kick. She grimaced.

“Not if I can avoid it. And why do you sound so interested in that, huh?’

Emma made a face, arms grateful when Matt rested his feet on one of the lower cubbies in the locker they were currently decorating and he laughed when she peppered his face with kisses. “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom,” he said, voice getting louder with every shout. They were playing a dangerous balancing game, but the jersey he had on was new and Peggy’s was almost comically large, even after being custom-made because they were those kinds of people now and decorating Killian’s locker with signs their kids made the night before suddenly didn’t seem quite as ridiculous.

It was, after all, kind of momentous.

The Post headline had been almost clever that morning – Jones’ing for a Comeback, which played very well to the collective sense of humor of most of the New York Rangers first line and the Vankald-Jones group text message, but David thought it was lazy and Killian had rolled his eyes when Emma showed him her phone.

And then kissed her because it was the season opener and it didn’t land on Matt’s birthday this year, but that was only three days away and it was a comeback and she wasn’t really nervous.

Honestly.

She was excited and a little anxious and a little frustrated, really, because it was raining and the tent guys from Bed-Stuy had been incredibly difficult in the last week. She’d filled out so much paperwork she was positive she had carpal tunnel in both wrists.

Just to prove a point or something.

Emma wasn’t nervous.

At all.

She was fine. It was going to be fine. Killian had played in preseason games anyway and nothing had happened and practice was great and he really hadn’t argued Ariel’s PT schedule much that summer, so that was some kind of miracle and it was going to be great.

That was even better than fine.

Great, good, fantastic, one-hundred percent totally ok.

Ok was not a good adjective for this situation.

She hoped he didn’t get hit. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do if he got hit.

“Mom,” Matt whispered, pulling on the front of Emma’s shirt and she hadn’t actually changed into something professional yet. She wasn’t entirely sure she was going to. The Jones in between her shoulder blades matched her kids.

And at some point she’d become some kind of sentimental freak.

Probably after reading that Post story while Killian watched pre-game film with Matt and Peggy.

“Yeah, kid,” Emma said quickly, shaking her head like she was trying to get rid of conversational and vaguely emotional cobwebs. She wasn’t entirely sure it worked. She might have been a little worried. But only a little.

Not a lot.

That would have been insane.

He’d played in preseason games already.

This was not a preseason game.

“Can we fix Dad’s sign now?”

Emma blinked, licking her lips like that would fix whatever was clearly wrong with her heartbeat and they needed to order new walkie talkies because the one hanging from her belt was doing an absolute garbage job of delivering whatever message Merida was shouting.

If it had to do with the tents Emma was going to scream.

“We can absolutely do that,” she nodded. “Ok, come here, and try not to flail your legs out when you move.

Matt grinned – which seemed like an unfair card for the universe to play in whatever twisted game it was currently competing in with Emma – twisting and wobbling a little and one of his feet fell off the shelf. It slammed into Emma’s right shin.

She couldn’t quite stop her exclamation of pain, hissing in a breath of air and squeezing her eyes shut, but that only led to her being entirely unprepared for the rest of Matt’s body to collide with her chest and they should have staged some kind of walk through for this.

There hadn’t been time.

And Matt had gone to the actual walk through anyway.

“Are you ok?” Mary Margaret asked, genuine concern in the question. Emma nodded, but she couldn’t actually voice her guarantee, slightly worried about the bruise she swore she could feel blossoming on her skin.

“Sorry, Mom,” Matt whispered. That was like several aces and some kind of royal flush and Emma didn’t really know any other card games, but the universe was definitely the dealer in this strange metaphor and had definitely drawn Blackjack as soon as it flipped its cards over.

Emma wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, ignoring the slight scratch of brand-new jersey fabric under her cheek when she leaned forward and he didn’t squirm against her kiss. So, maybe, she was the one winning the metaphor.

She’d lost track of it anyway.

“You know what I think we need?” Emma asked, Matt’s hair nearly finding its way into her mouth when he shook her head. “More stick tape.” Mary Margaret laughed behind her, a wide smile on her face when Emma twisted around. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of that before. That’s definitely what the whole project was missing.” “Well, we can’t afford to let these priceless works of art and questionable number of balloons suffer for our lack of planning, can we?” “That would be irresponsible.”

Emma’s arms ached, still or probably always would after this, but she swore the happiness was literally bubbling out of her soul at this point and she’d have to apologize to Kristoff for stealing all the stick tape.

“Can you see any in Dad’s locker, Mattie?”

He made a contradictory noise – which was only slightly like Killian and a bit like Will when he didn’t appreciate particular whistles, and Mary Margaret’s eyes bugged slightly when she realized what was happening. Emma’s cheek muscles were starting to ache too.

She dropped Matt back onto his feet, fingers moving with almost practiced ease through the drawer he’d been standing on and he yelled look when he found a half-finished roll.

“That’s perfect kid,” Emma said, pulling the tape out of his hand and neither she nor Mary Margaret were surprised when he grabbed a puck too.

“Put it in your pocket so no one sees you take it when we go back upstairs,” Mary Margaret suggested. Emma’s jaw cracked when it dropped.

“I don’t even know who you are right now, Reese’s.” Mary Margaret shrugged, but she’d snuck balloons into Madison Square Garden several hours before a season-opening event and puck drop against the Flyers and Emma probably should have expected that too.

She was fairly positive David was playing lookout at the other end of the hallway.

“Someone who bought real, high-quality balloons for more than one celebration.” Emma blinked. “What?” “You heard me.” “Are you kidding me?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “That makes no sense at all.” “Yeah, well I don’t want to be accused of not being able to keep a secret later on,” Mary Margaret said. “But I’d maybe reconsider sneaking out of the Garden later.” “What?” “You said that already.”

“I know, I know,” Emma stammered, mind racing and trying to figure out what was going on at the same time she was trying to understand what the hell Merida was talking about on the walkie-talkie. They needed to get out of that locker room. Soon. They had to go stand in the rain. Or not in the rain.

She’d punch all the tent people if there was actually rain involved.

“But, like….what?” Emma asked. Peggy wiggled against Mary Margaret’s side, dangerously close to a wail and that was not going to end well if they were still in the locker room.

“You can sneak out of the restaurant later,” Mary Margaret answered. “Just maybe don’t leave the Garden without going uptown first.” “We live uptown.” “You’re being difficult on purpose now,” Mary Margaret accused, but she couldn’t stop smiling and Killian’s locker was going to be covered completely in stick tape by the time Matt was done with it.

Emma shook her head. “I’m not, honestly. I am…”

She drifted off, teeth sinking into her lower lip and shoulders heaving when she inhaled deeply and it would have been stupid to start crying in the middle of the New York Rangers locker room. So she blinked instead.

That was way better.

Definitely.

For sure.

“Yeah, that was totally the goal,” Mary Margaret said. “Don’t bother asking if that was an intentional pun, it was and I expect you tell everyone how absolutely hysterical you think I am later on tonight.” “Hopefully after some real goals.” “I’ve got no doubt whatsoever.”

“Ah, that was good.” “Not the longest hope speech I’ve ever given, but it really is supposed to be a surprise.” “Still hit the mark,” Emma promised, letting Peggy grab ahold of her fingers when she managed to get back on the ground. Mary Margaret’s upper body strength was no match for her quasi-namesake.

“And,” Ruby added, coming around the corner like she’d simply been waiting to hit her mark in the conversation. Emma rolled her eyes. “She and Cap would totally sneak out of the Garden if they could. So we had to be proactive about this.”

“Don’t you have media to keep at bay?” Emma asked.

“Obviously not or I wouldn’t be here. And they got their stuff already because, you know, we’ve got that whole pre-game thing happening. With your carpet.” “How’s it look?” “The carpet?” “Yeah. Appropriately blue? Not damp.” “They put tents up, Em,” Ruby said slowly, like she was talking to a person who was slightly to moderately terrified of what would happen when her hockey-playing husband inevitably got hit against the boards that night.

It was hockey. That was how it worked.

Maybe Emma was worried.

Maybe might have meant definitely.

“And they look ok?”

Ruby nodded, smile spreading across her face like it was trying to set a record for being slightly frustrating. “I think they knew you’d threaten to run them over with several large machines if they didn’t do it perfectly.” “Aw, that’s kind of rough,” Emma sighed, but also kind of true and the footprints on one of the signs was only because Peggy had been trying to imitate her pacing in her office the night before. Merida had probably told Ruby that.

“And accurate. The tents look fine. The stands look fine. The carpet is exceptionally blue because it is the same carpet we’ve been using for decades.” “We haven’t been here that long,” Mary Margaret mumbled.

“Really? God, that can’t be right. It feels like forever.” “And that seems kind of depressing,” Emma pointed out. “Mattie, I think we’re good with the tape. Put that back where you found it, ok?” He made a noise, a jumbled string of words that made a hell of a lot more sense when Emma twisted to find he’d used all the tape and she should have been ready for that. Ruby tried to turn her laughter into a convincing cough.

“You are an artist, mini-Jones,” she proclaimed, crouching down to wrap both arms around him. “Hey, how many hours until we hit the five-year-old mark?” “Sixty-three,” he yelled. Emma blinked again. Mary Margaret might have actually cackled. Peggy didn’t seem to appreciate either. She quite clearly wanted to knock over more equipment.

“That’s actually pretty close,” Ruby said. The smile on her face widened, but it might have also gotten a little softer and she was definitely in the running for biggest pushover when it came to being charmed by Matthew David Jones, particularly three days before his fifth birthday. “We’ve been practicing,” she added, glancing up at Emma’s undoubtedly stunned expression. “Your kid’s going to be a mathematical genius by the time I’m done with him.” “That sounded really aggressive,” Emma muttered.

“It’s because we’ve been using major New York Rangers dates in history to help explain it.” “And that sounds like cheating,” Mary Margaret said.

Ruby shrugged. “Whatever works, right? As long as he knows how to add by the end of it.” “I think that’s what school is for, actually.” “You can help with the lessons too if you want, M’s.” “I mean, obviously, that’s what I want.”

Emma opened her mouth, not entirely sure what she was going to say, but sure it was going to be something good and she was only a little disappointed when nothing came out. Her teeth clicked when she snapped her jaw again, another crack she didn’t entirely appreciate.

Ruby arched an eyebrow. “You freaking out yet?”

“No,” Emma lied.

“That was awful. Really. Like. As bad as it could possibly have been.”

“Yeah, well, you’re apparently staging math lessons with my kid in secret, so--”

“--So, that is not even remotely the same thing. You know it’s going to be fine. He’s probably going to hat trick.” “Please don’t,” Emma started, but it was already too late and Matt’s shouts were very likely doing damage to the paint in the locker room. And their eardrums.

Ruby winced, every single one of her teeth on display as she and Mary Margaret both tried to quiet the almost five-year-old kid who was actually jumping up and down with excitement.

And Killian would probably score a hat trick.

Just to prove a goddamn point.

Or inspire a slightly more creative New York Post headline.

There were more footsteps coming around the doorway, a flash of blue and far-too-long curls and Emma was still a little surprised how tall Henry was every single time she saw him. It wasn’t his birthday yet either.

David was the worst lookout in the history of the world.

“Hey,” Roland said. “We heard yelling. What’s going on?” “What are you guys doing down here?” Emma asked. “Shouldn’t you be outside?” “It’s raining. And we were waiting for you guys. Mer said you were here and we kind of wanted food.” “There’s food outside.” Roland muttered ehhh and Henry didn’t quite swat at his shoulder, but it was pretty close, knees barely buckling when Matt slammed into his side. The kid was never going to stop shouting about hat tricks now. “There’s definitely food outside,” Henry promised. “And the tents look really good, but Mer did tell us you were here and we didn’t really want to wait in line.” “Man, you guys have got it good, don’t you?” Ruby asked knowingly, standing back up and immediately hitting her head with a balloon. “Where the hell did these even come from?” “Mom and Dad ordered ‘em,” Roland shrugged, a surprising sentence for several reasons, least of all the actual words he used, but mostly because that meant the balloons had been ordered and this plan was extensive.

“Only because it was cheaper that way,” Mary Margaret explained.

Emma nodded, fingers drifting towards her left wrist out of instinct and she flexed her hand half a dozen times when she remembered. Ruby’s smile looked vaguely predatory now. And far too knowing. Henry laughed.

“It’s going to be fine, you know that, right?” he asked.

“Don’t try and get adult with me, kid,” Emma muttered, but Ruby whispered freaking out under her breath and Mary Margaret was going to give them all detention.

Henry pressed his tongue into the corner of his mouth, running a hand through his hair – which felt like some kind of power play by the universe. “I’m not. I’m pointing out facts. Did Rubes tell you about the hat trick guarantee yet because she should have.” “You’re giving away all my secrets,” Ruby groaned. “And, before you freak out, Em, or you, mini-Jones.” Matt snapped to attention, eyes wide and a little familiar, but he’d never put that puck back in Killian's locker. “Cap did not guarantee a hat trick. That’s just--” “--Us,” Roland finished. He pulled his own puck out of his back pocket, and Emma couldn't really twist her wrists still because that still kind of hurt, but she hadn’t had a ton of time and it had been a spur of the moment decision anyway.

“How much do you get if you win?” she asked.

“A lot. Uncle Will thinks he’ll only get three points, but Hook hat tricked in a gold medal game, so this seems pretty par for the course.” “You’re mixing up your sports and clichés. Don’t let Anna hear that.” “Nah, she won’t. She was promising Kristoff we wouldn’t trash the locker room too much when we decorated.” “We?” “We all are awful at keeping secrets,” Mary Margaret said. Her eyes were glossy.

Emma hummed, mouth twisted and two different kids trying to hang off her side at the same time. She wasn’t ever going to change her shirt. “How’d you get the balloons into the Garden?” “David flashed his badge. I baked that one security guard more cookies. And both Roland and Henry promised they’d get said security guard’s granddaughter an autograph from Rook because she’s got a crush on him.”

“Does he know that?” “He’s been in media, Em,” Ruby reasoned. “Some of us are actually doing our jobs.” “Oh, low blow,” Emma muttered, but she couldn’t actually feel bad and Merida deserved the entire state of New York at this point. She glanced back at the teenager and almost grown adult in front of her – each of them decked out in head-to-toe blue and she hadn’t noticed Roland had both Robin and Killian’s number on his cheeks before.

It all felt a little full-circle.

And emotional.

Decidedly emotional.

“Anna did it,” he said, answering the question Emma hadn’t asked. Mary Margaret had lost the battle against crying. “And, uh…” “Here,” Henry finished, holding out a sheet of printer paper with half a dozen folds and one of the corners had ripped. “It’s raining. We had to take drastic measures. And we didn’t have, you know, crayons at home.” “You used crayons?” Ruby asked skeptically, Emma’s hands shaking a bit when she reached out and she knew every single person in that locker room was staring at her left wrist.

“We used markers that we just bought in the Duane Reade around the block,” Roland shrugged. “But we figured we should get in on the decorating action too.” It looked as drastic as Henry promised it was, the markers running a bit on the slightly damp paper and they’d clearly run out of room with the block letters, but the SKATE FAST was still obvious even through Emma’s slightly blurry vision.

“It’s going to be good, Emma,” Henry promised, squeezing her shoulder and smiling with a confidence she was certain sparked a small, metaphorical fire in the pit of her stomach. “Plus Rol really wants his money.” “We’ve turned you all into degenerates,” Mary Margaret sighed, but Emma was already shaking her head and they needed to get out of that locker room.

She was fairly positive one of the sticks Peggy had knocked over was broken.

“No, no, it’s nice. That’s a super lame word, huh?” “Luckily you’re not the one writing the headlines tonight,” Ruby grinned. “Hey, he know what you did yet?” Emma shook her head – met with several decidedly emotional and possibly proud looks and Ruby muttered oh this is going to be fun while Roland pulled another roll of stick tape out of Robin’s locker.

The rain wasn’t as bad as Emma had convinced herself it had to be, like the weather was being held to some kind of emotional marker, but it still took some finangling to get everyone who needed to be in the marked off section of the stands, into the marked off section of the stands and Anna could barely hold onto her phone.

“Mattie,” Emma said, doing her best to sound adult in a situation where she couldn’t bend her wrist and her walkie-talkie was definitely broken. “What did we say were the rules while you’re up here?” “No jumping, no running away from Anna, no throwing the puck.”

The last one was a recent addition – Anna’s eyebrows flying into her hair when Matt listed off the rules – and Emma nodded deftly. “That’s right. And Pegs,” she turned towards the toddler already displeased with her options of being held by either David or Mary Margaret. Whoever wasn’t holding Leo. “No trying to run anywhere, even when Dad is--”

She nearly growled when her phone buzzed in her pocket, sure it was something to do with the cars or the scheduled player arrivals and Emma wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a fan brawl happening somewhere, just to keep her on her toes.

It wasn’t any of those things.

Did you know that the Garden ceiling is the only arena ceiling in the world that’s concave. Something about better sound. So I expect good cheers tonight.

“Em,” David muttered. “You’ve got to finish your mom speech or we’re going to end up with some very frustrated two year olds here.”

Emma shook her head. Her phone buzzed again.

The first version of the Garden was built before b asketball was invented. That’s not relevant to our current sports interests, but is at least kind of interesting.

The Garden is the only venue where all four Beatles have played solo concerts. They never played here together.

The torch from the Statue of Liberty was kept on display at the Garden from 1876 to 1882.

Swan.

Swan.

Swan, you’ve got to at least acknowledge that you’re impressed by these facts, otherwise it’s no fun at all.

She didn’t quite giggle, but it was pretty damn close and David stopped yelling about responsibility when her fingers started flying over her phone screen.

The Post is probably going to use your name in a pun tomorrow morning.

Is that a fact?

You want to bet?

Emma heard the cheers before she could even come up with something witty to send back, knuckles turning white so she didn’t drop her phone. Anna took another picture.

Matt started jumping.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.

And it wasn’t going to do much to her responsible marker, but Emma was having a difficult time focusing on anything except the smile on his face and the look in his eyes, gaze darting around the crowd like he was trying to find something and her heart possibly exploded when he found exactly what he wanted.

Killian grinned, running a hand through slightly damp hair because they couldn’t get the tents all the way to the end of the block. The city of New York, Emma was certain, was bound and determined to cause her as much frustration as possible, but any sense of that was gone as soon as her brain processed how goddamn good Killian looked in his suit.

Blue.

Obviously.

The headlines probably wouldn’t mention how he actually ran down the carpet, sure steps that put Emma’s heart back together only so it could explode again, but it was all she’d be able to think about for weeks after the season opener and the fans around them yelled when Killian moved up the stairs.

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” Emma muttered, a distinct lack of anything except swooning in the sentence.

Killian grinned wider. His eyes were incredibly distracting.

“Ah, well, I figured it was more fun to present my facts in person,” he said. He had to bend his knees to grab Matt, both arms wrapped around him and laughter lingering in the air and the rain drops and several different adults yelled be careful, Cap at him.

Emma didn’t move.

She might have blinked again.

“I think you’re trying to show off,” she said.

“That’s an absolute guarantee. How’s it going?” “It’s way too easy, honestly.” Killian laughed – normal and confident and several other very positive adjectives and Emma forgot about her walkie-talkie entirely. His eyes traced over her again, like he was taking inventory or stock and it was equal parts overwhelming and something that made more sense than nice, but his mouth opened slightly when he realized she’d never actually changed.

“Oh, that’s not even fair, Swan.” “Maybe I’m just trying to inspire or something.” “Something?” “Something,” she repeated, pulling lightly on his tie when it threatened to twist underneath Matt. “A point. Or whatever.” “One point seems kind of lame, don’t you think?” The crowd around them cheered again – phones out and cameras recording and David kept shaking his head, like he hadn’t also been part of the hat trick bet. Emma did her best not to look too impressed, honestly, she did, but Matt was shouting hat trick, hat trick, hat trick like they were the only two words he’d ever learned and both Roland and Henry were humming the goal song.

Killian did something entirely unfair with his eyebrows.

“A hat trick,” he said, not a question and they were going to cause seismic activity right there on 34th Street.

“If it’s not too much trouble, Hook,” Roland added. Whatever noise Anna made was not entirely human, Emma’s eyes widening to a size that was did more damage than her exploding heart.

Killian and David were both hysterical.

“What do you think, Swan?” he asked. “Seems reasonable, don’t you think?”

She nodded, still not entirely sure if she could remember the English language when he looked at her like that – as if he could absolutely score a hat trick based solely on emotion and feeling and want and that last one was a little out of place on the corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue.

Or it would have been.

Once upon a time with a different set of beliefs and a different set of dreams and hopes and a distinct lack of either, but that was then and now there was a comeback and headlines and--

“Maybe just a breakaway,” Emma shrugged.

Killian’s lips twitched. “Yeah?” “Yeah. For posterity’s sake or whatever. Full circle.” “Seems rather reflective, love.” “I might be in that kind of mood.” He had to shift Matt to catch her around the forearm, fingers warm despite the distinct chill in the air and it felt like standing on Chase Bridge and balancing above center ice, but Emma’s breath didn’t catch when he kissed her.

On the goddamn corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue.

The fans cheered again.

“A breakaway it is,” Killian said, not bothering to pull away and it was only a matter of time before Emma’s phone buzzed again because this whole thing was probably being live-streamed on the subReddit.

She didn’t know if that was possible. She did not care.

“Dad,” Matt said, twisting in Killian’s arms with one leg hitched over his hip. “Did you see your locker yet?” Emma squeezed her eyes closed, not able to keep her sigh in her body where a responsible adult would have been able to. Mary Margaret cursed softly.

“I absolutely refuse to be labeled worst secret keeper now,” Anna announced.

“He’s five, Banana. I think he gets a pass.” “No, no, Dad,” Matt argued. “Not for another sixty-one hours!”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s freaky how close it is, isn’t it?” Emma asked, and Killian nodded slowly. “Apparently there have been math classes that I’ve been unaware of and it was a whole thing, but, uh...you should see your locker. And just the general locker room.” “None of this is making much sense, Swan.” “That’s because it’s all supposed to be a surprise.” “Who’s teaching Matt birthday-based math?”

“That was a good alliteration, and Ruby. I think it’s a play in whatever war she’s consistently staging with Scarlet, but that’s only an assumption from me.” “Probably a correct one.” “Charmer.” He grinned, eyebrows twisting and turning and Emma had never thought either of those things were possible until she’d met Killian Jones, but that might have been par for the course and now she was stealing a teenager’s clichés.

“How many headlines do you think we can get if I kiss you again?” “At least five.” “Aiming low, Swan.” “Shut up,” she mumbled, reaching forward to grab the lapels of his jacket. He didn’t stumble when he moved forward, but his hand landed on her hips and it felt a bit like every inch of her was touching him and she could just make out several different whistles directed at them.

One of them was definitely Will.

It didn’t make much of a difference – Emma kissed Killian and Killian kissed Emma and they both ignored whatever it was Will was shouting from the carpet.

“Go check out your locker,” Emma said, voice shaking a bit when his mouth brushed over the curve of her jaw.

“There are several different major news outlets here,” Will called. “All of them witnessing whatever the hell it is you two are doing up there!” “Shut up, Scarlet,” Robin said. “But also we do have to acknowledge some of the fans you aren’t married to, Cap.”

Killian hummed, not moving immediately and Emma tried to keep her wrist out of his line of vision. It was a secret. Or something. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous.

“I think that’s my cue,” he muttered.

Emma nodded. “Please don’t mess up my event. And one breakaway goal.” “Done and done. Scouting report?”

Matt’s whole face lit up, and Emma had to bite her lip to make sure she didn’t embarrass herself at her own event. It didn’t take long – he wasn’t even five, but Matt knew as much about the Philadelphia Flyers as anyone who was paid to know that and most of his advice focused on screening the net and blocking the goalie and Killian nodded like he was listening to Arthur. He wouldn't have done that in front of Arthur.

“Thanks kid,” he said as soon as Matt ran out of facts and oxygen. “Don’t jump here, ok, Mattie?” Matt froze, several other shutter snaps echoing around them, and Killian made a face at Peggy before he jogged back down the steps and signed a few autographs and Emma’s phone buzzed, right on cue, as soon as they set foot in the team suite.

I couldn’t have done any of it without you.

Emma bit her lip again.

By her, admittedly, unofficial count, Arthur had smashed four whiteboards in the first two periods, pacing in the back of the bench with an expression that likely could have turned several humans to actual stone.

They weren’t even losing. They were tied, but there were only twenty minutes left and they hadn’t really looked great yet and there was something to be said for season-opening jitters.

Mary Margaret used that word.

Emma couldn’t really talk.

She kept walking, tracing the same semicircle around the same chair in the team suite while several different pairs of eyes flitted her direction once every ten seconds.

To her credit, she hadn’t actually gasped the first time Killian got hit – slammed into the boards at the far end of the ice, which, as David was quick to point out, was probably for the best because Emma wasn’t sure what she’d have done if it had closer to them. Probably just fallen over or something.

“You’re going to do damage to your hamstrings,” David muttered, a wry smile on his face when he twisted in his own chair. He couldn't move much more. Both Peggy and Leo were on top of them and Leo had fallen asleep at some point in the second period, but Peggy seemed fascinated by the whole game and Emma was going to brag about that for at least the first month of the season.

“I don’t think that’s how the human body works,” Emma argued.

“Ah, that may be true. Don’t your feet hurt though?” “I haven’t really thought about that, honestly.” David nodded. “Yeah, that’s almost too obvious.” “Then you should not be asking questions you already know the answer to and let me continue pacing out a hole in this ugly carpet.” “It’s a coping device,” Mary Margaret reasoned. She hadn’t sat down since five minutes into the first, screaming a string of insults that definitely got more pointed with each season and Emma only paused pacing long enough in the second to record a snippet and sent to Ruby.

Her answering ha had lasted for several scrolls of text message.

Anna had her phone out as well - panning around the room until Liam inevitably started yelling about focusing on the ice and Regina kept pointing out that they could watch it on TV. “It’s delayed for us though,” Liam sighed.

“He’s really the most impatient person in the world,” Elsa added. “But seriously, Anna, on the ice and only the ice.” Anna groaned. “You guys are boring. I’m trying to give you the insider’s view.” “They don’t really need that,” Emma said. She swung her leg out when she rounded another corner, keeping her eyes trained on her feet so she wouldn’t lose her balance.

“Boring. Boring. Boring.” “They’ve got to score again, eventually, right?” Mary Margaret asked. Henry shook his head. “The Flyers are big on--” “--Shot blocking,” Matt yelled, and every single head in the entire team suite snapped towards him. His ears didn’t turn red, exactly, but he looked a little stunned and a little embarrassed and Emma had to stop pacing when he ran back towards her.

He wrapped both his arms around her waist, burying his head into her t-shirt and both Vankald sisters aw’ed in tandem. “They practiced that when they were kids,” Liam said, but he sounded a little proud too.

“How’d you know that, Mattie?” Emma asked. She pulled him with her when she moved closer to the windows, standing next to Mary Margaret in spots that she was sure, eventually, would just have their footprints embedded in the carpet.

That carpet was so ugly.

“Dad and me watched the game from last year. Vestrov...Vestrovs…” “Vestrovsky,” Roland finished. He dropped onto the exceptionally ugly carpet on Emma’s other side, the numbers on his cheeks a little streaky now, but Matt moved onto his legs as soon as he held his arms out. “He’s right too,” he added. “Gets in lanes and uses his legs and it’s ridiculous what he does to stop shots. The Flyers goalie should be buying him gifts after every game.” “A rather pointed opinion of the Flyers goalie.” “Not a bad team, might even threaten for a Wild Card this year, but their goalie is atrocious. I’d hate to play on a team like that.” “I think you’ve got some time.” “Never too early to scout. Ask Hook.” “I don’t need to be proved wrong on two different counts,” Emma said, brushing curls away from his eyes and earning a disgruntled noise for her efforts. Liam cursed. Loudly. In Norwegian.

And so did Anna.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she mumbled, picking her phone up from where it had fallen on the floor and Emma was glad she’d been distracted.

It wasn’t a bad hit – not by any means. It was a normal hit and a normal moment because this was professional hockey, but the replay looked worse every time they showed it on that incredibly ostentatious scoreboard and Robin was actively trying to hold Will back from slamming his fist into that guy’s face.

Killian shook his head, leaning against the Rangers bench and Emma knew, reasonably, his eyes didn’t actually flicker towards the team suite, but she wanted them too and it was almost comforting to imagine.

She glanced at Matt, not sure what she was expecting to find, but it absolutely was not a kid pounding the glass in front of him shouting two minutes like he was also the head referee. He had a very busy schedule that night – ref, coach, number one fan.

It was impressive.

“Hook better screen that goalie,” Roland mumbled, doing his best to keep Matt from jumping on his outstretched angle. “Or all that talk last season is going to be embarrassing.”

Emma laughed, a shaky, undeniably nervous sound because standing in front of the net wasn’t dangerous , but it was the first time in a long time and she needed to come up with another word for fine.

“C’mere, babe,” she said, pulling Peggy away from David and muttering a string of nonsense in her daughter’s ear that was as much for her developmental growth as it was for Emma’s third period sanity. “You think we’re going to score? You think Dad’s going to score? We going to let that guy block all our shot attempts?” “Vestrovsky,” Henry repeated.

“Yeah, I really don’t care.” He grinned, nose scrunched and hand back in his hair and neither of them mentioned how nervous they both obviously were. Regina had taken up Emma’s pacing.

It took, exactly, forty-seven seconds, two rather obnoxious whistles and one faceoff win in the zone.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t know if she was breathing, really. But her arms didn’t threaten to strangle her own kid, so anything else felt like a victory.

Which is what they got. 

Robin won the faceoff, pushing the puck back towards Will who was still planting himself on the edge of the circle like he believed he was the offensive threat he absolutely was, and there was a collective gasp from all of them, including the two in Colorado, as soon as he pulled his stick back.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Emma mumbled. She clearly was not above begging the universe.

But the universe was, sometimes, a bit of a dick and consistently liked to surprise her and Vestrovsky couldn't block Will’s shot without threatening to break his own leg. And Killian was very good at screening the goalie.

He kept his stick on the ice, battling for position against two Philadelphia jerseys and Emma wasn’t sure he’d actually tipped the puck into the net until both Matt and Roland yelled “Dad” and “Hook” at the same time.

Figured.

Liam cursed again. In English.

Emma got some fairly good air on her jump, Peggy yelling and David screaming and Mary Margaret kept sniffling, a far cry from the vaguely ruthless cheers she’d been dishing out at puck drop.

“Goal, goal, goal, goal, goal,” Peggy chanted, an impressive show of context clues and they were obviously the best parents in the history of several different universes.

Emma was absolutely crying too.

All things considered, she thought that was fair, the cheering in the suite nothing compared to the cheering in the stands and the celebration on the ice, a rush of blue jerseys and discarded sticks and someone had lost one of their gloves.

It was probably Will.

But none of it mattered when Killian celebrated the same way he celebrated every single goal, arms wide and mouth wider and Emma was sure she could hear it in her soul or something equally absurd. She was going to cry for the first week of the season, at least.

Totally reasonable.

The entire goddamn Garden sang the goal song even after the next faceoff, chanting and shouting and they were going to buy frames for all the inevitable headlines the next morning.

“We did it,” Emma mumbled, pressing the words to Peggy’s shoulders and kissing across her face as Matt recounted the goal until the final buzzer went off.

She did, still, have a job to do and Merida was going to wind up being President by the end of it all, but Emma made it through the to-do-list and only kind of ran to the locker room, slightly frustrated by how out of breath she was at the end of it.

Emma spun on the spot, looking for someone or an assistant coach or possibly Kristoff so she could apologize for what they’d done to the locker room. There wasn’t anyone. At least not at first and it was a testament to the sound of her own pulse hammering in her ears that she didn’t hear his footsteps. “Swan?”

Emma turned again, nearly dislocating both her ankles in the process, and it was good neither of them were holding anything.

She basically launched herself at him.

Killian didn’t stumble backwards, didn’t even flinch or grunt or do anything except wrap his arms around her and pull her flush against his chest and neither one of them did anything except hold onto the other.

A little desperately.

They stood there for days or weeks or the rest of the goddamn season, gripping t-shirts and ignoring the water dripping from the ends of Killian’s hair because he’d totally just gotten out of the shower and probably had media to deal with, but he also had some kind of absurd sixth-sense when it came to Emma and she was going to be selfish for, like, at least five minutes.

Possibly six.

Maybe a round ten.

She really wanted to sneak out of the Garden.

Emma squeezed her arms tighter, fisting the back of his shirt while his fingers traced light patterns over her spine and the name plastered across her. She closed her eyes, trying to force the moment into every single corner of her memory and she refused to ever be held accountable for the absolute romantic drivel that seemed to just fall out of her as soon as she felt his lips brush over her temple.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she muttered, pushing up on her toes like being closer to his actual face would make the words mean more. Or like she wanted to make sure she saw his inevitable smile as soon as he processed the words.

Either or, really.

All of it was moot, though, as soon as he bent his knees and her feet weren’t touching the floor anymore, arms slung over his shoulders and fingers carding through his hair and not kissing felt decidedly absurd. She felt his smile anyway.

They’d done this more times than she could count – hallways and those dark corners and their own goddamn bedroom and several dozen NHL arenas – but Emma was sure something flipped in that moment or turned back on and she was running out of energy puns rather quickly.

That was for the best.

Killian tilted his head slightly, tongue moving over her lower lip and fingers drifting dangerously under her shirt. Her toes dragged over the ground, but he didn’t let her back down and certainly didn’t let her fall, another cliché that felt a bit more like a guarantee.

“I love you too,” he whispered, dragging his lips back towards her neck and leaving open-mouthed kisses just behind her ear. “Wasn’t a breakaway though.” “I could not possibly care about that less.” “That’s rather sweeping, love.” “Yeah, I’m good with that. A fan of sweeping and series and it’s only the start of the season.” “This is getting pointed.” “And heavy-handed,” Emma agreed, appreciating whatever he did with his face when she laughed against him. “Plus another rather impressive display of upper-body strengths.” “She’s got to get the genetics from somewhere, right?” “Is that you suggesting I don’t have upper-body strength?” Killian shook his head, another quick kiss that evolved into a much longer kiss and they needed to move out of the middle of the hallway. If only so Emma could remember what gravity felt like. She seemed to have lost it somewhere in the middle of the winning and the screaming kids and the making out.

Mostly the making out.

“I’ve got all the belief in your upper-body strength, Swan,” Killian promised. “A little less in mine after seventeen minutes of ice time, but--” “--Why do you have that memorized?” “Don’t you?” “Obviously,” she said, swatting at his shoulder and rolling her eyes when he caught her around the wrist. “But I had to look at box scores for the site and the season tickets and...what?”

He didn’t blink, clearly breathing through his mouth when the one hand that was still, somehow, under her shirt stilled. Emma gritted her teeth.

And resolutely refused to look at him.

Her balance wasn’t perfect when Killian let her fall back to the ground, twisting against him in a way that, if he weren’t so busy staring at her left wrist, probably would have been way more distracting.

“Surprise,” Emma mumbled, waving her free hand through the air. Killian didn’t let go of her other one.

“Wasn’t that my locker? And...everyone else’s locker?” “That second part was a spur of the moment decision, really. Mostly because Rol and Herny’s sign was a spur of the moment decision and we figured it was the start of a new season and everyone else needed some balloons too.” “How’d you get the balloons into the Garden?” “There was cookie bribery involved.” “Ah, naturally.” Emma nodded, chewing on her lip when he didn’t say anything else and he was going to make her tell him. Stubborn ass. “There was a reason I didn’t have a sign too,” she started. “Although I do think Matt and Pegs would have been very angry if I stepped on their moment.” “Literally in some sign cases,” Killian grinned. He glanced up at her, staring from underneath his eyelashes and, honestly, the universe could suck it. That was absurd.

There was still a bandage on her wrist.

Emma might have been the worst at surprises. That was a disappointing discovery to make in the hallway.

“I think Peg’s going to start running marathons soon.” Killian chuckled, eyes flashing back to her wrist and his thumb had started moving at some point – right where Emma’s laces should have been. “She and I can start offseason training in Riverside Park.” “You say that like you’re not already plotting running routes right now in your head.”

He nodded, a smirk that was, at least partially, the reason for this whole preposterous, ridiculously romantic moment. “Where are your laces, Swan?” “You know that guy on Astor Place remembered me? From the first Cup and matching sets. He asked if I brought any champagne with me.” “Did you?” “Not this time.” “Maybe eventually though.” “Definitely.” “That confidence,” Killian muttered, a note of something that may have been all the reason behind the moment and Emma didn’t think before she pulled back the the edge of the bandage on her skin.

He didn’t say anything immediately, but she could see the muscles in his throat move when he swallowed and his shoulders dropped a bit when he exhaled, like he was getting rid of the weight of several different worlds.

It wasn’t really very big – partially because she was an enormous wimp and partially because she didn’t have time for anything more, but the numbers would be clear even if someone wasn’t looking for them. And even when she, eventually, put her laces back on her wrist.

“Something, something, I really like being able to make you kind of lose your head when I wear your number,” Emma said, thankful to the universe she’d been so intent on cursing earlier that her voice didn’t shake over the words.

Killian’s head snapped up, air rushing out of him and eyes frustratingly blue and there were, exactly, three droplets of water on his right temple. He didn’t try to brush them away. He just kept staring at Emma and she knew she was blushing, but she didn’t blink either, might have even tried to smile and it was all for naught when his lips crashed against hers.

His mumbled I love you felt like it moved into her as soon as he kissed her and it was a ludicrous thought, but Emma had gotten his goddamn number tattooed on her wrist, so she figured it was a reasonable thought in the moment.

And, really, this making out was better than the last one.

She pressed back on her toes, hands with minds of their own and wants of their own and Killian did groan when her hips canted up. They stumbled backwards or forwards and direction didn't matter when Emma’s shoulders collided with the nearest wall, laughing and happy and so incredibly confident she was certain she was made of it.

“It totally worked,” Killian said, another breathless promise in between kisses. There were a questionable number of kisses, and neither one of them heard the coughs or the scoffs or the camera shutters.

They weren’t really trying to hide, anyway.

They’d always been painfully bad at that.

They did, however, notice the two kids yelling their name and running into their bodies and yanking on clothing, neither one of them all that impressed with their parents’ propensity to making out in hallways.

“Goal,” Peggy shouted again, Killian’s eyes getting even wider and Emma shrugged. “I think we’re harping a little, but it’s impressive diction.” “Seriously,” he muttered, bending down to haul her against his side. “That was really good, Pegs. We’ll work on power play next, ok?” Emma scoffed, letting her head fall forward and he’d totally blown off media for this. “That seems like kind of a reach, don’t you think?” “Nah, parents of the year or decade or whatever.” “Decade, for sure.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous, isn’t it?” Robin asked, walking down the hallway with an arm around Roland’s shoulders and Henry a few steps behind. “You going to go back to media, Cap or you just going to suffer Lucas’ wrath later?” “I’ve got no plans to see Lucas, at all later, so that’s totally fine with me.” “Eh,” Emma objected. Matt was trying to talk about the goal again, clearly unimpressed by his sister’s speech patterns if it meant he wasn’t the sole focus of everyone’s attention. “There was apparently kind of a plan.” “And way more balloons uptown,” Will added. They were all, apparently, blowing off media.

“Do we know some kind of balloon supplier?” Killian asked.

“See, you make fun, but I’m fairly positive Gina does and probably glared at them until they gave her some kind of discount rate. Also Anna and Ariel spent a very long time decorating the restaurant today, the least you could do is not be a complete jerk about it.” “Complete jerk, huh?” “There are children present, Cap. Who just witnessed you and Em doing whatever it was you were doing.” “Making out,” Emma said, shrugging again when Will audibly gagged. “Go find your girlfriend, Scarlet.” “That’s what I was trying to do. Because I answered media questions. Because I am the most responsible athlete on this team and I would like the record to show that Cap’s very impressive, emotional goal would not have been possible without me.” “And you wouldn't have taken it if Cap didn’t tell you to get off the blue line last season,” Robin said.

“It was a really good goal,” Matt yelled, bobbing on the balls of his feet again and Emma took Peggy before he could jump at both her and Killian.

“That was only because I got a fantastic scouting report,” Killian grinned. He ignored the several pointed objections around him when he hauled Matt over his shoulder, winking at Emma. “We’ll watch it again later, ok?” “Can’t we do it tonight?”

“Somehow I doubt you’ll be awake that long.” “No!” “We’ll see, kid.” “Can we bet on it?” Will almost fell over. Henry and Roland both appeared to be choking on air.

“Why don’t we wait until after we eat for any money to exchange hands, ok, Mattie?” Emma asked, getting a grumbled agreement that was difficult to understand when spoken into Killian’s shoulder.

“You guys are a picture of responsibility,” Will laughed. “Seriously, Scarlet. Your girlfriend. Or a cab.” “That’s rude, Em. You wound me.” She rolled her eyes, but she was way too happy to actually be annoyed and Matt was talking a mile a minute again. “What did you do?” Emma asked.

Killian winked again. “We’re going to go answer some questions, Swan. That’s all. Five minutes, tops and then we’re spending less than an hour in this restaurant. Deal?” “Deal.” They spent three hours in the restaurant, but only because they kept laughing and posing for pictures and there were FaceTime phone calls to make and goals to reenact and Matt split an entire plate of onion rings with Emma before he, Roland and Henry fell asleep in one booth.

Anna took a picture of it.

And it was probably somewhere close to one in the morning when Emma felt her own eyelids fluttering, head lolling against Killian’s shoulder. Peggy had fallen asleep in the car uptown.

“You ready to go, love?” he asked softly, fingers brushing over the curve of her arm and back towards the side of her wrist.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered. “Let’s go home.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #blue line change #there are now just...a lot of hockey words on the internet

[ib-suffering]

Update

Hi to anyone who still follows this blog!

I graduated from high school over a year ago and honestly forgot to update this blog at the time (Whoops). But I was going back through my tumblr blogs (my main and the few side blogs I have) and decides to jump back on this one for a brief moment to discuss my IB results and my life since high school.

So, let's get everyone's first question out of the way: I passed! I received my diploma, and few things are as satisfying as the first time I held the paper proof of my diploma. It was confirmation that all my hard work paid off and that thing's getting framed asap lol.

But let's backtrack. Exams. My senior year I tested in: History HL, Chinese AB, Philosophy HL, and English HL (Lang A). And since I'm pretty sure I didn't ever discuss my junior year exams, I'll talk briefly about them here: Math SL and Biology SL.

So let's begin with Math and Bio. I received a 5 in both. I was nervous for my math exam since test prep in class was not going well for me. I kept getting 3s on cumulative exams, which was difficult to see in the weeks leading up to the exam. For those of you who may not know (I didn't before my first exam), there is a short reading period when the exam starts where you cannot write anything. Just read. And I remember flipping through the exam booklet and finding that I had a good idea on how to go about solving most of the problems. For the problems I wasn't sure about, I at least had an idea on how to start them. Math is one of those exams where showing your work can get you partial points, and I highly recommend attempting each and every problem. Two points can make the difference between a 4 and a 5, which increases your chance of getting that diploma overall. Biology, however, was a breeze for me, if I'm honest. I am actually continuing my education as a bio major, since it was something that I pick up on quickly. I still spent a lot of time studying, though, since the human biology portion was not something I was as familiar with as my school combines the AP and IB bio students (due to there being very few of us IB kids) and the IBO places much emphasis on anatomy than AP does. For those who find biology a daunting class, I highly recommend teaching the concepts to a friend/classmate. Have your notes with you and reference them as need be. If you feel confident discussing the ideas, then you can explain the ideas on paper. While this won't help on the multiple choice as much, this will help you sweep up those points in the written sections.

Moving on to my senior year exams. I received 4s in Chinese and History, a 5 in English, and a 6 in Philosophy. I took Chinese as an Ab Initio course because I didn't take a language my first year of high school. My teacher had done her best to get me up to speed, but nothing was more sobering than opening up that exam booklet and finding that I didn't understand much on that first page (and reading is definitely my best skill in the language). And I still had 4 minutes and 30 seconds left of the reading period. So how did I manage that 4, you may ask? Well, page 2 wasn't nearly as terrifying. I did recognize some of the characters on the first page, so I used what I had to infer what the questions were asking. Before the exam, I spent my studying time to practice characters, which helped when writing my essay as it had brought to mind some characters I had nearly forgotten about (though, to my horror, I found that I had repeatedly wrote a character wrong in my essay, but not terribly so, so I hope it wasn't a huge issues lol).

History was interesting. I was honestly shocked to see that I had only gotten a 4, since I received a 6 or 7 on every exam in class. But, I'll chalk that up to either my teacher having been a gracious grader or the prompts not being in my favour. (Not to mention that one of the days was the same day we tested in English, so writing was miserable after 6-7 hours- I swear I have carpal tunnel or something due to it since I still have mysterious wrist pain to this day from activities that never bothered me before like bowling). I wish I had some advice for how to get through history, but I'm not quite sure what I should have done differently to prepare.

Alright, English. I have to say, I am most proud of my IOC (though, I hear they're altering that aspect of the curriculum). We had rehearsed examples often in class, and I was lucky enough to have gotten a passage from the reading I loved the most and unpacked well. However, what benefitted myself, and my class overall, was that my teacher had selected books that were enjoyable to read and had clear themes to exploit in my essays. Thorough discussions in class allowed us to add to our notes, and soon my books were covered in writing in the margins. So, my best advice of this class is to turn it into book club. Get together with your friends, share your thoughts, and add on to other's. It may give you the idea you need to connect them together and write about in your exam.

Finally, philosophy. I actually had the same teacher for philosophy as I had for English. First things first, don't do what I did and finish your independent reading less than a half an hour before the exam. Though it was fresh in my mind, I probably shouldn't have procrastinated as much as I did. I read the prescribed chapters from Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex. 10/10 would recommend. I am a huge fan of existentialism (shout out to Albert Camus), so I found the concepts easy to navigate. If you're not a fan of existentialism, don't pick this book, by all means. For the rest of the exam, I highly recommend making a chart of philosophers and what they theorized. Use anybody and everybody's ideas as evidence or counterarguments in your essays. Having a good idea of how these philosophers used their claims helps you immensely. I would also recommend that when you practice philosophical writing, you create a chart with the elements (implications, relevance, critiques, etc.) you need with bullet points of your claims. Do this with your IA. I also did this with my EE since that was also a philosophy paper, but more about that in another post. Make this ideas as transparent as you can make them. You will thank yourself for it.

Alright, I know I implied that I'd discuss everything in this post, but it turned out to be much longer than I expected. So, I'll make separate posts about EE, CAS, IAs (if that comes up), getting my results, and how it compares to college life (and what the hell is going on with that now). Thanks for reading this far and don't be afraid to reach out to me for advice, as always. Just because I've graduated, that doesn't mean that I stopped supporting IB students and the struggle of going through it. My habits as a student in the programme still affect me as a college student and give me much to reflect on now. I will try to be more active from now on so as to give you all someone to go to with your questions!

#ib suffering #ib #international baccalaureate

[singingunderthecurtain]

Hand Gesture (손짓) Halloween One Shot

Also posted in AFF

Photos not mine. All found in Google. But I created the moodboard

Author: @loeyeolty AU: Canon Genre: Crack with a little Hurt/Comfort Pairing: Multiple EXO members x Multiple OCs Trigger Warning: None Word Count: 2,325

Plot: After Jongdae ends up things with Iseul, the good-looking man with the white mask and black tux didn't seem so bad...

This Oneshot follows the ‘Tear You Apart’ Universe but it’s not necessarily a sequel. It can be read as a standalone. 

"Is this..your autograph?"

"Yes, by now, you could guess who I am."

I squint at the signature on my cast, I rack my brains to recall but "I'm sorry, I don't recognize.."

"Okay, let's make a deal, you can ask questions about me, and I can ask questions about you and Jongdae's breakup."

Mr. Phantom pitches a proposal I can't resist because, with the length of our conversation, I am just dying out of curiosity to know who he is.

"But how do you know that Jongdae and I?"

"Oppa knows everything."

Chohee POV

"Can you tone it down? Iseul is.."

Iseul is a fucking mess. I could barely mouth those words, staring at the disheveled girl shoving avocado ice cream down her throat and covered in snot.

"I just got our costumes from the mail, Iseul will be Regina George, Chohee you be Karen, while I'll be Gretchen because my hair is so big it's full of secrets.."

I made a hand gesture, slitting my hand against my throat towards Hyoeun, hoping that through my telepathic signals, she would shut up.

"You're Karen eonni because your boobs can tell the weather.." she didn't get the message.

"While Jongdae can be Aaron Samuels.." oh fuck Hyoeun said the worst word in this situation.

"JONGDAEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" Iseul wailed in the same manner as Jongdae's perilous 'ah wae'.

"Why, what's wrong?" Hyo approached the crying heartbroken girl and patted her in reassuring strokes.

"Shit Iseul, I didn't know.."

"That's because you rarely come home here. You practically live in Chanyeol's apartment!" Iseul hissed.

"What! No, I'm just..busy with..work.. you know.." she stuttered. "overtime is a killer."

I do not know how to break this down gently but, I butted in

"Jongdae wrote a song for their next album, about.." I cleared the lump in my throat, "Handjobs."

"You see, this," Iseul stretched out her right hand, in a tiny bandage.

"Ever since I started my new writing job, my carpal tunnel has gotten worse. The doctor explicitly told me to 'avoid all jobs involving your hands.’ "

Hyoeun smirked, seemingly understanding what the doctor meant.

"Doctor also told me to rest my left hand, as it was starting to show symptoms of carpal as well."

Hyo makes a joke, trying to lighten the situation, but failed. "Hmm.. the carpal tunnel of love."

"Iseul has been taking care of her hands for the past 6 months.." I grabbed a scoop of Iseul's ice cream, but she refused to share.

"This has been going on for 6 months? and I was not informed?" How irrational of Hyo.

"Little did I know that while I was taking care of my hands, someone else’s hands were taking care of Jongdae's.." Iseul bawls out again.

"Jongdae showed me the prototype lyrics of 'Sonjit', then I apologized for being a bad girlfriend for the past six months," due to a shortage of tissues,  Iseul found purchase on the next best thing to wipe her runny nose, Hyo's baggy sweater.

"Then he said..he was the one who should apologize because he has needs, and he has sourced out his needs elsewhere.."

"Jongdae's a fucking asshole. Where is he?" Hyo tightens her fist into a ball, ready to run out of the door.

"It's okay Hyo," Iseul pulls Hyo back, pinching her sweater, now covered with snot at the backside. "You haven't heard the worst yet."

"I screamed at him, I wanted to break up. The bitch had the fucking nerve to beg. He told me not to throw away the 4 years we were together, that I overlook this instance of his cheating.."

Iseul's breathing was gradually replaced by rapid pants, and more blows to Hyo's clothing, much to her annoyance.

"I just blacked out, and before I knew it, I had injured my left hand by slamming his door all too hastily and forcefully..hence the new bandage on my left hand."

"Oh Iseul honey, at this rate the only Halloween costume fitting for you would be Samurai X's Shishio Makoto.." Iseul buries herself in Hyo's comforting arms.

"Chanyeol and I are planning a Halloween after party at his place, we should all go, dance, drink, have fun and forget that shit of an asshole Jongdae."

"Chanyeol and you?" I raised my brow at the thought.

"I meant Chanyeol, I'm not involved in the planning whatsoever."

"You're so defensive," I quipped and rummaged through Hyo's Halloween costumes. "They're all pink."

"What if Jongdae's there?" Iseul sniffled.

"I'll make sure he isn't on the guest list." Hyo confidently surmised, wiping off the snot off her hoodie.

"You're in charge of the guest list? So I guess you and Chanyeol are really the hosts?" it's been a year since we caught them and honestly everyone is fucking tired of their secret rendezvous. "Just fucking admit it Hyo, everyone already knows."

Hyo rolls her eyes at me, ignoring my comment. Iseul changes the topic.

"But what about me? I will look like shit in any costume, I'm handicapped as fuck."

"We can fix that." Hyo beamed.

~~~~~

Iseul POV

A Baekhyun dressed in cony pajamas and eye mask greets us and hands us various drinks.

"Chohee!" He squealed. Wherever we go, Hyoeun and I disappear in Baekhyun's eyes, all he sees is Chohee Chohee Chohee.

"You are all dressed in pink, you look pretty tonight!" Baekhyun chugs down a pink-tinged drink, the bitter aftertaste reaches his throat, evident from the sour face he made.

"Thanks, I'm Gretchen Weiners, Chohee is Karen.." Hyo proudly shows off our pink tops and pink micro skirts then whisper something close to Baekhyun. The latter's face lights up, much to the suspense of Chohee and I.

"And you are?" Baekhyun turns to me.

"She's Regina George after she got hit by a bus.." Hyo I am going to fucking kill you.

Hyo deliberately dressed me up with a metal neck and body braces, with both of my hands bandaged.

"oh yeah, I recall she got hit by the bus.." Baekhyun giggled. Despite how embarrassing I looked, at least people recognized me as Regina George.

"Chohee," Baekhyun shoves me and Hyo away, making his way to Chohee. "So I heard your breasts can tell the weather?"

~~~~~

Let's all go to Chanyeol's Halloween Party. It would be fun they said. We'll never leave you alone they said. Of course, they're having fun. Hyo has run off with her iron man, Baekhyun remains captivated by Chohee's weather-predicting breasts. and I’m here stuck in a corner with my handicapped hands.

"I've never seen anyone with much dedication to their costume, even binding their hands in a cast," a guy, clad in a tux with a cape, but his face covered with a mask sits on the bar beside me.

"Oh they're real," I push myself to make conversation. Usually, I'm an introvert, having a boyfriend like Jongdae, you never had a shortage of people around you, but now I'm on my own.

"What? What happened to you Ms. Regina-George -after -the -bus -hit- her?" Mr. Phantom of the Opera grabs my wrists gently and examines them on the bar table.

"How did you know I was Regina George?" I was surprised.

"Someone stuck a sticker on your back, reading those exact words. You have good friends." He chuckled

Hyo..I will get my revenge on you..today..or someday. You'll see. My eyes narrowed involuntarily.

"Don't be so mad over Hyo. Or we can plot revenge over her. One blowjob please," he motions to the bartender.

"Are you a mind reader? who are you?"

"You don't know me Iseul?"

His hand tried to pry off his mask, only to put it back again.

"I'm the Phantom of the Opera."

"It wouldn't be fun if I revealed myself so easily, Iseul." So I see, this guy is trying to play a game. He better be handsome behind that mask or else I'm suing.

"I don't like talking to people who won't even tell me their name, thank you." I wanted to walk away but I realized I could not push myself off the bar stool without external help.

"Are you...trying to ..escape?"

The man laughed at my futile efforts, tears forming beside my eyes.

"Yes, but my hands hurt. I have carpal tunnel due for surgery next week.."

I tried pushing myself down, but to no avail, hearing his gentle chuckles only added fuel to the fire.

"Please stop laughing at my efforts."

"I would say you're so darn cute and pretty right now, only if you weren't Jongdae's girlfriend." He watched me struggle all the more.

"Thanks but complements won't help me get off this chair.."

"No, pls stay Iseul-ssi, I have lots of wisdom to impart to you as the phantom of the opera.."

"We don't have anything in common, I don't even know your name, Mister."

"We both have carpal tunnel."

And at that moment, I stopped trying to escape. Like a pickup line, We both have carpal tunnel, was magic to my ears, gravitating me towards him.

I shimmied back to my seat, "you have my attention now,"

Mr. Phantom was very knowledgeable. He shared with me his knowledge and experience regarding our common illness...oh god is this what understanding feels like? Being with Jongdae for a long time, I have felt his gradual coldness towards me, especially since I started getting sick with my hands and all that.

When I told Jongdae before that my wrists needed rest, all I got in return was a simple "mmm." followed up by a rather disgusting question, "so can you do things with your feet?'

I do not know how my romantic relationship with Jongdae turned into sour and soulless just there for sex relationship. I feel so used.

"Iseul-ssi are you alright?" Mr. Phantom has released my hand back to me, after drunkenly examining it.

"Sorry, I just got trapped in my thoughts," I noticed a not-so-tiny scribble on my left hand.

"Is this..your autograph?"

"Yes, by now, you could guess who I am."

I squint at the signature on my cast, I rack my brains to recall but "I'm sorry, I don't recognize.."

"Okay, let's make a deal, you can ask questions about me, and I can ask questions about you and Jongdae's breakup."

Mr. Phantom pitches a proposal I can't resist because, with the length of our conversation, I am just dying out of curiosity to know who he is.

"But how do you know that Jongdae and I?"

"Oppa knows everything."

We were momentarily distracted when Chanyeol (minus his ironman headgear) takes the DJ stage and starts playing his own mixes, screaming "everybody stand, put your hands up!"

Mr. Phantom follows suit, as well as everyone, leaving me glued to my seat.

Looking at everyone having fun, screaming at the top of their lungs, and all I could think about was how fun it would be if Jongdae were here. But no, he was not the one who has his hands nor heartbroken.

It was then that I realized that Mr. Phantom was looking at me, with concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry, I forgot you could not dance right now."

"No, it's okay, I think I'm not fit to party right now. I think I should head home, You should enjoy the party."

"No, don't go home. You'll be left alone with your thoughts, thinking about your break up over and over."

"It's kinda eerie that you know me so well. I wanna make a wild guess Phantom-ssi... are you Shinee's Jonghyun?"

"I'm actually offended that you thought of me as that.." he scoffed.

"Then... Taemin?" I cocked my head to the side, I honestly have no clue who this man is.

"Grab your friends, grab your lover, grab your dates, today's Hallow's eve, as we countdown to October 31!" Chanyeol growled through his mic.

"Chanyeol's weird, I've never heard of Halloween countdowns before," our eyes met and both of us shrugged in unison.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Baekhyun grab in his arms my friend, Chohee. Hyo was rushing to go to Chanyeol's Dj booth, among other couples, holding onto each other.

"This is rather awkward," my seatmate breathed.

"...Do you want to step out?" He added.

"That's a better suggestion. I'm getting claustrophobic in this party." Mr. Phantom offers his hand, helping you go down the bar stool, and slowly leads you the way out.

"This is better," you find the perfect spot on the rooftop of Chanyeol's apartment. Your companion looks dashing under the moonlight, the autumn breeze blowing thru his cape. You secretly wished the wind would blow away his mask too.

Common sense dictated that it is wrong to share secrets with a stranger, but he didn't seem like one at all. Your blow by blow account of Jongdae's disregard for your health and eventual breakup did not seem to shock him at all.

"You don't seem shocked by what I am saying," you paused and looked at your friend who was drawing comforting circles with his palm across your cold back.

"Because I know everything, I know the girl he cheated on you with. I feel guilty that I had known before but because it was your relationship, the rest of the boys decided to stay mum."

Despite his warm hand on your back, you felt chills run down your spine.

"You're cold," Mr phantom drapes his cape over you.

"So... you're one of EXO?" You gasped. "And who is this girl?"

"Make a guess," a faint smile cracked under his mask.

"Xiumin? Are you Xiumin?"

"Wrong."

"Kyungsoo?"

"Get your thoughts together Iseul, Kyungsoo was staring at us a while ago. He was that grudge kid… Final hint: Iseul I’ve always had a crush on you and I hated the fact that you were Jongdae's girlfriend. You are an awesome girl and.."

"Junmyeon?" Come to think of it. Jongdae rarely took you out with Suho. All of his friends that you’ve known were Chanyeol and Baekhyun. Sometimes Sehun, sometimes Kai. But almost never Suho.

Mr phantom slowly takes off his mask, revealing his impeccable facial features coupled with the smirk on his face

Like gravity, he pulls you in and you lean in as he gives you a soft peck on your lips,

He was slow and gentle enough, measuring if you were ready for more

Junmyeon immediately draws out, but not far enough from you. Your foreheads touching as he pleads

"I'm sorry."

"I'm drunk.." indeed he tasted like sweet liquor.

"It's okay, I'm sober, Junmyeon."

"Can I kiss you Iseul?"

You pull him in closer, stifling your giggles "you just did!"

The first time was a wonder, the second time was deeper.

"I have always found you interesting too but right now, I'm so angry over what happened..." You glance at Junmyeon who looks more handsome without the mask.

"It wasn't your fault Iseul. I guess Jongdae, he was an asshole. He had been stringing Seulgi all along you were dating."

Junmyeon reassuringly places your bandaged hands on his lap.

"And I’m so sorry this happened to you."

"None of this is your fault Junmyeon, I am just glad someone listened to me tonight."

You tried to smile at Junmyeon despite your throbbing aching heart, and he reciprocated with a heartwarming smile too.

"Iseul I still can’t believe he blamed his lack of handjobs to your carpal.. when in fact he has been cheating all along..."

Junmyeon shakes his head. "I am not angry at my friend but I am so disappointed in him."

"Hey my hands may be injured right now but I can still do other things.."

---END---

Y’ALL GIVE LOVE TO @loeyeolty for writing again after being slumped in life and work for months!!! 💖💖💖

#exowritersnet #kpopwritingnet #exo scenarios #scenarios #kpop scenarios #crack #kpop crack #exo crack #crack fic #angst #Chanyeol #Park Chanyeol #Baekhyun #Byun Baekhyun #Chen #Jongdae #Kim Jongdae #Suho #Junmyeon #Kim Junmyeon #exo fanfic #exo fan fic #exo fanfics #exo fan fics #exo fanfiction #exo fan fiction #exo fanfictions #exo fan fictions #mistress meaning #Mean Girls reference

[seraphichan]

Protean/Indigenous

(also on ao3)

~~~~~

It was one of those small, backwater towns where if you weren’t born there you stood out like a sore thumb.

Levi tended to stand out like a sore thumb anyway, so he was doubly damned as he drove through the square in his black hybrid, designer sunglasses on his face, Vivaldi blasting out of his speakers.

He probably could have done a better job of blending in - picked up a Garth Brooks album, wore camo, learned to spit, practiced saying the word “y’all” - but he refused to swap his pretty and posh style for poor and podunk just so he could blend in for the short time he would be there.

Levi parked his car in front of a squat brick building that was squeezed between the general store and the barber shop. The sign out front simply read Smith’s in large, golden letters, but there was other writing embossed on the windows detailing the business. It was a combination notary, attorney office, and - Levi squinted to make sure he was reading it right - home of the Arsene County Knitting Club.

That was...interesting.

Levi ran his hand through his hair and adjusted the knot of his scarf before he got out of his car and wandered inside. There was no one around when he entered, but the bell that rang above his head was sure to bring them eventually, so Levi passed the time inspecting one of the very intricate quilts that hung framed on the wall.

“Hello,” said a voice and Levi turned.

To find a fucking giant.

“I’m Erwin,” he said, holding out his hand. “You must be Levi.”

“Is it that obvious?” Levi asked after a moment, taking the man’s hand and shaking it, trying not to stare at his eyebrows.

“We don’t get much variety here, so I just assumed.”

“Well, you assumed right.”

Erwin smiled.

“My apologies for the wait. I was organizing some files in the back. I’ve been meaning to do it for ages,” he chuckled. “Anyway, I have your paperwork ready for review if you’d like to have a seat.”

He gestured to a plush chair in front of one of the desks. Levi sat and Erwin did the same on the other side, pulled a folder from a drawer, and opened it up.

“You were related to the late Mr. Ackerman through your mother?”

“Yeah.”

In fact his mother was the only reason he was here. Levi didn’t have many mementos of her, only a few photos and an embroidered handkerchief. Levi was hoping that Kenny might have something more - the man may have been a royal asshole, but he loved his sister - and decided he would take some time off to dig through Kenny’s things before putting it all up for auction.

“He was her brother. My uncle.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Levi nodded and shrugged, not really sure how to respond. Erwin seemed to pick up on this, dipping his head in apology and clearing his throat before delving into the rest of the information before him.

After what seemed like the longest hour of Levi’s life, and the beginning of carpal tunnel from all the papers he had to sign, they were finished. Erwin took a few moments to collect everything back into the folder before sliding it back into the desk.

“And that is that,” he sighed. “Now that we’ve gotten all the technical stuff out of the way, we can visit the house.”

We?

“It’s fine, I can go myself. I have the address.”

Erwin’s gaze flicked outside briefly to look at Levi’s car. “As capable as I’m sure your mode of transportation is, I would advise against using it. The road’s a bit...rough.”

Understatement of the fucking century.

Levi would have bottomed out his car in the very first pothole. Erwin’s truck sat higher and was much better suited for traversing this shit fest that he called a road. Still, Levi had to hold onto the door with one hand and the seat with the other to keep himself from rocking back and forth too violently and cracking his head open on the window. He also had to keep himself from accidentally biting his tongue off because Erwin insisted on making small talk as they plodded along.

“What do you do for work, Levi?”

“I’m a broker.”

“Oh? Do you like it?”

“It’s boring, but it pays.”

Erwin hummed. There was a short stretch of silence and then he asked

“How long do you plan on staying?”

“Two weeks. At most.”

“That’s a shame...Ah, here we are.”

They rounded a bend in the road, the house coming into view, and Levi grimaced.

It looked like a steaming pile of shit. The flowerbeds were overgrown, the roof desperately needed patched, all of the windows of the second floor were broken and boarded up, and the greenhouse - which would have been a redeeming addition to the property - was being used as a storage shed.

Of course, Levi imagined it was actually much nicer on the inside. Kenny was the kind of guy that would keep his house in ruins on the outside to throw people off. No one was going to attempt to rob an old man that lived in a dilapidated shack.

Erwin climbed the front porch stairs, Levi lingering back in case the creaking wood couldn’t hold both their weight at the same time, and opened the screen door.

Which promptly fell off of the frame leaving Erwin to stand there and awkwardly hold it upright by the handle.

“It seems,” he said as he propped it against the house, “that the hinges have rusted.”

Levi snorted. Another thing that Kenny most likely did on purpose. The back door would probably be a better entry point. Levi was about to suggest they try it when he heard a rustle and turned his head in time to watch a man taller than Erwin - were all people born in the sticks this huge? - emerge from the woods.

“Who the fuck?” Levi blurted.

At Levi’s question Erwin turned from his inspection of the door and made a noise of recognition.

“Mike? What brings you here?”

“Tracking that coon that’s been in our bins.”

“Any luck?”

Mike held up a burlap sack and grinned. “Yup.”

Oh my god.

Erwin smiled at him and came down the porch, Mike meeting him halfway and giving him a kiss. Levi’s eyebrows shot up. Maybe this town wasn’t as behind the times as he thought it was going to be, not that it erased the awkwardness of watching two people he didn’t know smooch a mere two feet away from him.

Mike nodded at Levi when they parted. “Who’s this?”

“Oh! Mike, Levi. Levi, Mike,” Erwin said, pointing between the two in way of introduction. “This is the person I mentioned the other night.”

“The only living relative you could find to take over that Kenny guy’s estate?”

“The very same.”

Mike gave Levi a quick once-over. “Nice scarf.”

Levi narrowed his eyes at Mike. Was this fucker making fun of him?

“I can’t pull one off.”

“They make him look like Freddy from Scooby-Doo,” Erwin added jovially.

Mike nudged him in the leg with the dead raccoon. “Looks good on you, though,” he said to Levi.

“It does,” Erwin agreed.

“Thanks?”

Levi’s mind was reeling. This was all so fucking weird. If it wasn’t for the still steady throbbing of his wrist he would swear he was having an out-of-body experience.

“Should we get back to looking at the house?” Erwin asked.

“Actually,” Levi began, “I’m kind of tired. From the drive.” And the headache that was developing from this entire situation. “Is there a place I can stay?”

Levi had looked for lodging beforehand. The closest place was thirty minutes out of town, some motel that probably should have been demolished in the 80s. He was hoping that there was something else, though, a local secret of sorts, not listed on the internet.

“We don’t have anything in town,” Mike said.

Fucking great.

“There’s that motel down the road,” Erwin chimed in, “but it’s a half an hour drive one way. To make that trip in the morning and then back at night after all the days of hard work you’ll be doing…”

Levi shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Nonsense.” He paused for a moment. “I know. Why don’t you stay with us?”

That caught Levi off-guard. “Uh,” he articulated.

“What do you think?” Erwin asked Mike.

“Sure. We’ve got the spare room.”

“Wonderful.” Erwin clapped his hands together, effectively ending the short, very one-sided conversation. “So what would you like for dinner?”

They both looked at Levi expectantly.

“Uh,” he repeated.

“What about this?” Mike asked, holding up the sack.

“There’s an idea. I haven’t had coon in a while,” Erwin said.

Wait, were they serious? How did you even eat a raccoon? Could you even eat one? Levi was beginning to feel sick just thinking about it.

“Soup or saute?” Mike asked.

“It’s still fairly early. I think there’s time for it to stew.”

Levi was in a daze as he followed them back to Erwin’s truck. They all climbed in, sandwiching Levi in the middle with the dead raccoon, and then they were bumping back down the road, Levi wondering what sort of fucked up Twilight Zone shit he had just gotten himself into.

#word a day fic #snk fic #mikeru #with the potential for mikeruri #should i continue this idea #modern au #kenny kicks it and levi has to go settle his estate #shenanigans ensue #under a read more because this is actually one of my longer ones #woot

[firstumcschenectady]

“Connecting Joy and Gratitude” based on Deuteronomy 26:1-11 and Philippians 4:4-9

Kevin and I have three cats, which is one more than we think we should have.  However, all three are very sweet, and unusually human-centric.  It is difficult to walk in our house without a cat underfoot, and unusual to sit without a cat making space for themselves on one's lap.  I cannot tell you how many sermons I've written with a cat sitting on a wrist, although before you worry too much, I've stopped allowing that out of fear of carpal tunnel.  

Because we have three, sweet, human-centric cats, we experience a lot of purring in our lives.  This is unconditionally a wonderful thing.  We fall asleep to cat purrs.  We wake up to cat purrs.  Often, our cats will walk up to us, look at us, and start purring – expecting that as soon as we see them, they will get petted.  (Yes, they are spoiled rotten, we know.)

It is so easy, if you are noticing it, to hear a cat's purr, or a brook's gurgle, or the wind whispering in the trees as songs of praise and contentedness to the God of Creation.  When listening to those sounds, it can feel like all is well in the world, and that as creation itself sings a love song to God, my soul is moved to join in.

I love those moments when it feels like all is well in the world, and the majesty and wonder of God is visible and celebrated in creation. I love it just as much as when I see unexpected grace and kindness between people – which also seems like the majesty and wonderful God being visible and celebrated in creation.

Those sorts of moments used to come to me a lot.  After all, I have been blessed to spend a lot of time in the beauty of creation and with wonderful people who show grace in shockingly beautiful ways.

One of the great honors of being a pastor is being allowed into the vulnerable parts of people's lives.  In moments of transition and identity shifting, to be welcomed in feels like a miracle.  I am always grateful when people are willing to let me be with them when things are at their hardest, and God feels particularly close when people are in their deepest needs.  God's care meets people's tenderness, and I get to see it happen.

Over the course of years, cumulative patterns within people's hardest times have formed for me.  Some of the patterns are beautiful and striking – from God's grace, to people's capacities for strength, to the ways we can build up each other's resilience.  However, some of the patterns have also been heartbreaking.  I am able to see the impact of poverty on people's lives, the prevalence of family violence, the profound lack of effective mental health care for the most vulnerable, the enormous number of traumas in our society, the depth of the impact of the -isms on individual and communal life, and the myriad of ways the church itself has harmed God's beloveds.

Some of you wish that I was more comforting in the pulpit, that I could ease the anxieties of life and lead you to a higher plane of praise. Dear ones, I do too.  I would love to ease your lives,  as well as to offer you comfort and hope for the future.  Those are reasonable desires, particularly when the world feels so heavy.  

The challenge is that the world feels heavy to me too.  Further, the brokenness I see in the world and the impact it has on wonderful people's lives feels like a broken promise to me.  I know that many people were raised to see the brokenness, in large part because they didn't have a choice not to, but I thought the world MOSTLY worked and only OCCASSIONALLY didn't, and when it didn't all we had to do was work together to fix it.  And I believed this for a very long time.  And still, today, I notice in myself that I'm shocked every time something I thought worked fine actually doesn't.  While my mental and spiritual analysis of the world is – I think – largely clear-sighted and aware of power and privilege, I'm still emotionally disquieted with every new piece of information about avoidable harm that is done.

While this may be appropriate human development in one's 30s (or, I fear, one's 20s – I may be behind based on how lucky I've been), many of you are well beyond it.  You've seen the brokenness, made peace with it, and are ready to focus on the good stuff again.  And you have every right to be impatient with me while I struggle to catch up with you.  In the model Marcus Borg suggests, I'm still working out critical thinking about how the world and God work, while many of you are already fully in post-critical naivete (which is a WONDERFUL idea and place to be), ready to make meaning out of life – however beautiful and broken it may be.

I'm pushing myself to try to catch up, but I'm not sure the pushing will work.  I'm pretty sure my only option is to be where I am, and try to hold in tension that other's aren't in the same place.  I do want you to know that I hear you, and I'm trying.  I am also open to learning from you, how you moved beyond being aghast at what is wrong and into a fuller connection to life as it is.

There is one trick I've found, and I think it might be useful to others, so I'm going to share it.  I've been taught to see anger as a USEFUL thing.  This was not immediately obvious to me.  My prior relationship with anger had been one of strict avoidance (in myself as well as with others).  The teachings of Nonviolent Communication say that anger is a red flag – not the bad kind- that lets us know that something we really value is being violated.  Thus, when we feel anger, we can know that something we care about is being harmed, and we can stop and find out what it is that we value so deeply.  That gives us two incredibly important gifts:  first, knowing what we value is always important to know (although it isn't always obvious to us), and secondly that now we have a potential productive path forward.  Anger itself is rarely productive, other than as a way to point out that something is deeply wrong.  However, once we know what we value, we are a big step closer to finding out how we might respond to that value and ask others to join us.

So, for example, there is a lot of anger in this church right now.  The work being done to attempt to balance the budget has arisen great passion.  Almost everyone is upset, most are angry, and many of you want to stay home and avoid the whole mess.  However, there have been some amazing insights from the anger, already, even though no resolution is in sight.  We are able to see clearly that MANY, MANY people care deeply about this church and are willing to show up to care for it.  Similarly, people are willing to sit through long and uncomfortable meetings out of their love for this church.  I'm hoping that some of that care and passion might be shared in stories (like the HW you got two weeks ago to share your faith stories with another member of this congregation, just in case you didn't do it yet...). One of the things I've heard most consistently, under the anger and under fear, is that people want this church to survive and continue to be a gift from God to its communities for the long run – and thus there is strong motivation not to make decisions that might harm the church's long term well-being.  That's a value on this community and its positive impact in the world.  Thanks be to God that so many people care so much about this church and its impact!!  

Similarly, I hear a lot of anger about the possibility of changing the way that we do some of our ministries, making it clear that the ministries we do are of value in people's lives and are worth taking very seriously.  I've also heard a passionate desire to be just in our decisions and to be good and fair employers, values that we advocate for in the world and want to enact in our lives together.  So, yeah, there is a lot of GOOD that anger is a clue for, and anger can be mined for many valuable insights.  

That is not to say that an obvious way forward has emerged from those passions or values.  To some degree, they conflict, and other constraints exist.  However, as long as everyone's passion comes out of a love for this community and a desire for it to be well, we have a better starting place to hear the possible ways forward.

For me, all of this is really about the gratitude we are encouraged towards in the Epistle reading which tells us to “rejoice in the Lord always, again I will say: Rejoice” and “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”  

It is easy to tell people to be grateful, and it is easy to show evidence that gratitude is a good spiritual gift that leads to improved lives.  I suspect that we all agree on gratitude being good. However, that doesn't make it easy.  Sometimes to get to gratitude we need to work through anger and notice what is actually wonderful and valuable underneath.  Sometimes we have to slow down and smell those proverbial roses.  Sometimes we just need a moment to savor a cat's purr.  

I do think that there is a whole lot more worth celebrating in life and in the world around us than we could name if we spent the rest of our lives naming things.  And I think spending a significant amount of our time working on noticing and appreciating those things is worthwhile. Even better, it think anytime we are getting angry, we have a clue about something we really care about – something we are already grateful for.  So, however you get there, may you find the ways to “rejoice in the Lord, always” because God IS good and creation has innumerable wonders for which we can give thanks.  May we do so.  Amen

Rev. Sara E. Baron First United Methodist Church of Schenectady 603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305 Pronouns: she/her/hers http://fumcschenectady.org/

November 24, 2019

#Thinking Church #Progressive Christianity #FUMC Schenectady #UMC #Schenectady #Sorry about the UMC #Rev Sara E Baron #Gratitude and Anger #Purrrrrrrrrrrr

[droneseco]

Evoluent Vertical Mouse: Do Your Wrist a Favor and Buy This Mouse

Our verdict of the Evoluent Wireless Vertical Mouse 4: Much more comfortable than a flat mouse, but slippery design can be frustrating if you need to move your mouse between workspaces. For most people however, this will almost certainly be better for your wrist and arm in the long term than a regular mouse. 810

Computer accessories are rarely designed with the ergonomics of the human body in mind. Function, price and looks are all prioritized, while our wrists and backs suffer as a consequence. For those us who sit at a desk and type all day, the possibility of developing Repetitive Strain Injury or Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is ever present. For some of you, it’s probably too late to do anything except manage the pain.

In either case: the Evoluent Wireless Vertical Mouse 4 promises to alleviate the strain a typical mouse can put on your forearm. Let’s take a closer look, and evaluate that claim. At the end of this review, we’re giving one away to a lucky reader.

Evoluent Vertical Mouse 4 "Regular Size" Right Hand (model # VM4R) - USB Wired Plus Jestik Microfiber Cloth - Value Bundle Evoluent Vertical Mouse 4 "Regular Size" Right Hand (model # VM4R) - USB Wired Plus Jestik Microfiber Cloth - Value Bundle Buy Now At Amazon $89.95

The Evoluent Wireless Vertical Mouse is available now for under $100, in right or left handed configurations, as well as small and standard size. We tested the right handed, standard size–their most popular model.

Design

If you’re buying a mouse to help prevent or ease the symptoms of a wrist strain injury, the looks of the device are probably not that high on your list of requirements. Which is good, because the incongruent design messages and mixed materials aren’t really something to shout about.

A large shiny chrome pad sits on the left hand side, where your thumb rests. This is plastic, and it’s likely the chrome paint will wear off after a while, as some Amazon reviews have noted. The majority of the mouse body is a slippery matt black texture that loves to expose greasy finger prints. I wouldn’t mind the fingerprints so much if it were a non-slip rubberised surface, but it isn’t. The buttons are different again: a metallic blue. The mouse wheel is rubber, with staggered rest stops so you can feel every 10 degrees or so of rotation.

The Evoluent logo lights up blue when active, and on top of the device, a small green LED indicates the current pointer speed.

On the base of the device you’ll find an embossed signature of the creator, Jack Lo. No, I’ve not heard of him either, and it comes across as a little self-indulgent design step that needlessly adds to manufacturing costs.

My biggest out of the box complaint is how slippery the body and chrome pad are, to the point that I immediately dropped it when unpacking. The instructions note that when trying to lift it up, the device should be tilted first.

The mouse is powered by a single AA battery (included), which slots into the base at a curious 45 degree angle. I appreciate the use of simple AA-batteries in any tech. Built-in Lithium Ion batteries tend to degrade significantly after 2-3 years. One might call that planned obsolescence. If the device uses AA batteries, you can replace them for new ones without assistance from the manufacturer or a third party repair service, so kudos on that choice.

The lack of a USB port for wired override is a missed trick, though. I often plug in my trackpad and use it while it recharges, or if the wireless connection has decided to play up, as wireless things are wont to do occasionally.

The standard size measures 8cm tall, 9cm wide at the base, 11cm in length, and weighs 166g.

How Does a Vertical Mouse Help?

Evoluent state that a classic horizontal mouse twists your forearm and places it at an awkward positioned. By flipping the mouse on the side, your forearm rests in a more natural and relaxed pose.

I’m somewhat skeptical, but only because it follows that the same issues would be present when using a keyboard. Would a vertical keyboard be better? Maybe. I use a Microsoft Sculpt Ergonomic keyboard daily, and it has a slight incline at the center, where it’s about an inch higher than at the sides. Yet Evoluent also sell keyboards, and the only design change there is to move the number pad to the left, so your arm has to travel less to the mouse. They’re otherwise completely flat. You’d think if the horizontal forearm position was so bad, they’d make more of an effort to design a more ergonomic keyboard to compliment the range. (In fact, vertical keyboards are a thing; perhaps they’re heavily patented).

I should also note, there’s no medical studies to backup the claims that a vertical mouse is better, so we only have anecdotes of users and reviewers to go on. Clearly, as a guy who makes his living giving anecdotal evidence for why one thing is better than another, I’d like to think we trust that sort of evidence, but take that as you will. The claim sounds logical enough: you can feel the strain yourself just by twisting your arm. Clearly, keeping your arm like that for long periods of time is not good; keeping it in a relaxed vertical should be better.

Buttons Galore

As well as a standard left and right mouse button, you’ll also find a middle button (remember those?), a scroll wheel, and two thumb buttons. To take full advantage of all those, you’ll need to install the Evoluent drivers.

The Mac driver isn’t signed, and as of 10.13 High Sierra, appears to need a permissions override in the Security tab of System Preferences. Mac OS warns you about this, and gives you a direct link to the relevant tab, but I found the Allow button didn’t actually do anything until about 30 seconds later. The driver install requires a restart too, which is mildly infuriating.

If your machine isn’t equipped with a Bluetooth 4.0 adaptor, you can use the included dongle. It’s a tiny little unobtrusive thing.

Once you’re all set up, the additional buttons are powerful, and can be integrated with any standard shortcuts or custom keyboard combinations.

After playing around with a few configurations, I setup to the thumb buttons as copy and paste. This is something I do a lot with URLs when editing reviews, so it made sense to put these as one button shortcuts.

My Experience with the Evoluent Vertical Mouse

I use a Microsoft Sculpt Ergonomic keyboard daily for all my typing, so I certainly recognise the value of comfortable input device for extended periods of use. For my pointer needs, I pair that with an Apple Magic Trackpad–the large white slab of frosted glass. While I appreciated being able to use the Evoluent’s extra buttons for some custom shortcuts, I found myself missing the gestures of the Trackpad even more. This was especially noticeable in Final Cut, where zooming in and out, and scrolling horizontally, just weren’t possible without additional keyboard strokes. The Apple Trackpad also has a delightful haptic motor inside, which clicks back at you in supported applications–such as lining things up in Pages or Keynote.

Of course, these aren’t complaints aimed at the Evoluent Vertical Mouse. My point is merely that if you’re going to spend $100 or so on a new pointing device, and you own a Mac, you might prefer to do away with mice entirely and get the Apple Trackpad, as I did.

Since most of my computing is done on the keyboard anyway, the sheer size of the Evoluent Vertical Mouse was a downside for me. I’m so used to just pivoting and sliding my right arm back to the keyboard. With the Evoluent device standing about 8cm high, that just wasn’t possible, and instead required me to lift my arm each time. This sounds inconsequential, but it’s not when you have to do that motion hundreds of times a day. It’s just quite an obnoxiously large obstacle on my way back to the keyboard.

So for me, the Apple Magic Trackpad remains superior to the Evoluent Vertical Mouse, outside of gaming. After a week of trying to use the Evoluent Vertical mouse instead, I’m sticking with my big Trackpad.

Is The Evoluent Vertical Mouse for You?

There’s no doubt that the Evoluent Vertical Mouse is a significant step up from regular mice for comfort. Logically, it should reduce long term wrist injuries and arm strain. The vertical design should really be the new standard in mice. It seems so obvious that you wonder why everyone else hasn’t done it already. It’s objectively better, and I shudder to think how many people are just now developing injuries from using a horrid flat mouse on a daily basis.

Evoluent Vertical Mouse 4 "Regular Size" Right Hand (model # VM4R) - USB Wired Plus Jestik Microfiber Cloth - Value Bundle Evoluent Vertical Mouse 4 "Regular Size" Right Hand (model # VM4R) - USB Wired Plus Jestik Microfiber Cloth - Value Bundle Buy Now At Amazon $89.95

Evoluent aren’t the only manufacturers of a vertical mouse of course, but they are one of the few with genuine Amazon reviews and satisfied users. If you’re suffering from RSI or wrist strain of any kind that you suspect might be due your mouse, try the Evoluent Vertical mouse. I guarantee it’ll be better than the cheap bundled thing you’re using now. Upgrade now and do your wrist a massive favor–you’ll thank me in 20 years. Check out our other computing health tips, too.

  Enter the Competition!

Evoluent Vertical Mouse Giveaway

Read the full article: Evoluent Vertical Mouse: Do Your Wrist a Favor and Buy This Mouse

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