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sirfrogsworth · 5 months

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I posted the below on my Facebook. I am secretly trying to head things off at the pass. Every time people see pictures of me out and about, they think I have been magically cured or my health status has improved. And I know going to Florida is going to give people that impression.

But also, I just wish a few of my relatives could understand my situation better. And why I didn't come to Christmas. And why I might try to come to Christmas now.

I guess I'll see how this goes.

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One of the biggest struggles I've had my entire adult life is explaining why I appear fine whenever people see me. I say I am very sick and bed-bound and then they see me and I am out of bed and talking and joking and... a normal healthy person.

What many don't realize is I am making a choice.

A choice to get sick.

I can use up all my energy in a short time frame to accomplish a difficult chore or entertain a friend or go to a doctor, but that is going to have a consequence.

The more I do, the more severe the consequence.

In the ME/CFS world this is called "post-exertional malaise." (for those interested, you can read more about it here: https://rthm.com/art.../what-is-post-exertional-malaise-pem/ )

Imagine every time you wanted to do something, you were *choosing* to get the flu.

Take a walk, get the flu.

Exercise, get the flu.

Spend a night out with friends, get the flu.

And you might be thinking, "Okay, it can't be as bad as the flu. I've had the flu and the flu sucks. No one would choose that."

I may not get the nasty respiratory symptoms, but everything else is pretty much the same. Crippling fatigue, horrible aches, and the loss of the will to do much of anything. Sometimes it is much worse than the flu. Some people don't know how much being this exhausted can hurt. They have never used up enough energy that their body is unable to power itself properly. I usually say it is like every cell in my body is starving and screaming for energy. I feel it in every inch of my body—and not just on the surface... through and through. So, like... cubic inches.

Sometimes I don't even have the energy to power my legs. Trying to stand feels exactly the same as trying to lift a barbell with way more weight than you can lift. I can't get upstairs or even walk to the kitchen. It's a concentrated misery that defies description, despite my constant attempts to try.

Sometimes I get lucky and this flu lasts for a day or two. But the more active I am, the longer it can last. And the severity increases as well. There is also a cumulative version of this—where if I do a bunch of little things over a longer period of time, eventually it will catch up to me and I may be stuck in bed for a few weeks.

And when I say "stuck in bed" I mean stuck in bed.

Short trips to the bathroom and a few minutes in the kitchen to make food. If I spend too much time upright, my legs will literally give out and I will be stuck on the floor until I recharge enough energy to get up again. It would be like every time you needed to get up, you had to hold your breath. Not to mention, the more I do, the longer the recovery will take.

For a long time I chose to never get the flu. I stayed in bed and did just enough to avoid the worst of PEM. I skipped family get-togethers. I didn't see my friends. And I lived my life inside the computer. Some may find that sad, but I actually found a way to make this work. I ran a successful blog that was seen by millions of people and I met my two best friends who I now consider my new family.

One thing that allowed me to choose not to get the flu was my parents. I fear some thought they were spoiling me. They did my laundry. They helped clean my room. They got my groceries. They cooked my food. They took on any chore they could so I could avoid the flu and live some semblance of a life on my computer. There is a lot of guilt wrapped up in that. I didn't ask them to do that. They just sort of... did. And I am so grateful to them.

To be fair, they would have to do these chores for themselves anyway, and tacking on my stuff wasn't a huge deal. But I know it caused them a little extra pain and a few post exertional consequences of their own. So I appreciated that sacrifice more than I can put into words.

But then they both got very sick. And not only could they not help me with my stuff, I had to help them with their stuff. And this was a difficult transition. I had to choose to get the flu to take care of my parents, but then if I got the flu, and I couldn't take care of my parents. I believe this is called a catch-22.

My initial solution was to just not take care of myself. At all. My health and mental well-being was set aside and I just gave all of my energy to them. I didn't shower. I forgot to take important medicines. I didn't do a single thing that brought me joy. And I'm reminded of that analogy of the airplane emergency where the oxygen masks drop. You put on your mask first before you put one on your child. Your instinct is to save them first at all costs. But if you pass out, they are screwed.

So I kept getting that cumulative version of the flu. I'd help them as much as I could for a week or a month and then I'd be useless to them for just as long. Living in the basement did not help. Stairs were very hard for me and constantly going up and down was a huge waste of energy.

And I'm sad to say, the level of care I gave to my mom was not great. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't understand how to balance my needs with hers. And it led to costly mistakes. She had several preventable falls that caused injuries. At one point she spent hours on the floor because I fell asleep and did not check on her. When you know someone needs regular supervision, you need to synchronize sleepy time.

Thankfully I learned from all of these lessons. Maybe not as quickly as I would have liked, but I did figure it out. I just wish I had learned them before my mom passed. I just wasn't able to give her the help she needed.

And you can tell me "you did your best" all you like, but this isn't a guilt I am choosing. It's just there and I feel it no matter what anyone says. In time I am hoping it will get lighter, but I'm afraid it cannot be wiped away with a well-intentioned platitude.

But with my dad, I decided to move upstairs. That was something I should have done much sooner. But I liked having my personal space and that was hard to give up. When he slept, I slept. When he spent 4 hours at dialysis 3x per week, I would make sure to take care of any personal needs. I would do chores a tiny bit at a time. 5 minutes here, 5 minutes there. And then I would lay on the couch in between and regain my strength. I did everything possible to not get the flu. And I got my flu shots so I wouldn't get the actual flu. (Get your flu shot! 50K die from it every year!) The only hitch in my plan was when I got a kidney stone at the same time my dad was in rehab. I have no idea how I got us through that.

I was very proud of the care I was able to give my dad. And I'm so grateful I was able to pay back just a tiny bit of what my parents did to help me. And the care I gave my father is the only thing that helps me feel better about my failures with my mom.

But now I am entering a new chapter of my life. And I find myself choosing to get the flu more often. I have decided sometimes it is worth the consequences. Part of that is because I am more used to it after dealing with it for 20 years. I have coping mechanisms and procedures and techniques to manage the symptoms. It doesn't make them suck any less, but it definitely makes it more manageable. It's akin to people with chronic pain who still feel the pain just as profoundly as when it was new, but they get so used to it that they forget that isn't how they are supposed to feel.

I approached this scientifically. I did tests. I went to the movies. I tried once a week and that was too much. Then I scaled it back and that was more manageable. Then I realized I had movies at home and decided to end that experiment.

I started to put my energy into something I enjoyed more. My photography. So I have been finding new ways to take pictures again. More experiments. I'm designing a simpler studio that requires much less energy. I'm creating a little product photography workstation where I don't have to set up everything each time I want to take a cool picture of an object. It will just be "turn on the lights" and "take the pictures."

Figuring all of this out made me realize how much I missed photography. And since I have been shooting test pictures here and there, my mental health has been noticeably better. And once I get this all figured out and set up, I am hoping some of you will let me take your photo. Or a photo of your kid. Or a pet. Whatever you have that needs photographing, I'm game.

I'm not going to charge. It's not going to be a business. I do not have the energy to "hustle." And asking people for money just sucked all of the fun out of my beloved art form. It corrupted it. I just love taking pictures and if you need a photo, I'd like to do that for you. I also restore old photos for fun. I'll talk about all of this more in another post when I am ready to start.

And then my grand experiment is coming next week.

I am going to travel.

I am going to see my best friend in Florida for two days. Two days of travel and two days of visiting. This is a scary choice. I know the aftermath is going to be difficult. But I need to get out of this house. I need to see my chosen family in person. And I have never been on a plane and I love the perspective from high places. I know people hate air travel, but for me, looking out that viewport is stunning television that cannot be matched.

Purposely making myself sick sounds like a bad idea. But it isn't life threatening. I have the free time to recover as long as I need to. And I can always choose not to get sick for a while if it gets too hard.

I just ask that people not see this as going from a worse life to a better one. I was really proud of the life I was able to create for myself while staying in bed. That took a long time to figure out. I met some of my favorite people. And I accomplished things I couldn't imagine in my wildest dreams. Please do not shit on that life and think it was sad or meaningless. I was given that life as a gift from my parents and it kept me alive. It has always been a huge insult when people pitied that precious gift they gave me.

This is not a better life that I am trying to figure out. It is just better for me right now. My needs have changed. I have changed. So I am trying to adapt. I just ask that people understand when I go out and do something, please remember the choice I am making.

You may be tempted to say, "You are doing so much better!" I am not any better than I was 10 years ago. Actually, my health has degraded. It's just that before I didn't think getting the flu every time I did something was worth it. And I would hope everyone would understand that was a valid choice.

And now I am inviting those consequences.

On purpose.

Give me the flu, I guess.

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fiercynn · 6 months

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queer short cuts week 31: free palestine

queer short cuts is a biweekly newsletter where i share queer & trans short film recommendations; each set of films is themed and comes out to no more than one hour cumulatively. content notes are included at the end of each post. you can also check out the full spreadsheet of films i've recommended.

this week, i am recommending short films created by or about queer palestinians. and i wish it were a given that i could write this week’s newsletter without first having to explain why it’s necessary to support palestinian liberation. but i’m seeing some of the worst misinformation and suppression of pro-palestinian speech, and the worst dehumanization of palestinian people, that i have seen in my entire life. if you feel unequivocal of your support for palestine, then you can skip down to the second section in the link where i talk about films, but if you are on the fence in any way, please do read the whole intro.

check out the film recs

and along with watching this week’s films, please do what you can to fight for palestinian freedom:

donate, if you have the means, to organizations working on the ground in occupied palestine, like baitulmaal, medical aid for palestine, palestine children’s relief fund, and doctors without borders

contact your local leaders to demand support for palestine – people in the u.s. can send emails and/or make calls to your legislators, and people in the u.s., u.k., and canada can use these templates created by palestinian organizers to write to politicians, universities, news outlets, businesses, and more

learn more about the fight for palestinian liberation through decolonize palestine, the palestine resource library, coverage at jadaliyya, and free e-books offered by haymarket books, and about jewish support for palestinians and opposition to zionism at jewish currents and jewish voices for peace

uplift palestinian voices and combat misinformation you’re seeing and hearing on social media or in your communities

#free palestine #queer short cuts #queer film #short film #palestinian film #id in alt text

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dumbledavisjr · 1 year

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Hello my fellow writers I have a resource to share with you!

Last year, I challenged myself to write just 200 words every day, and I ended up writing more than 80,000 words (8000 more words than the annual goal!) throughout the whole year! How did I stick to this goal considering I have ADHD and struggle with executive dysfunction? I made a spreadsheet to keep track of it.

I made a customizable spreadsheet for anyone to do the same:

(I'm not a programmer by any means, just an average spreadsheet user)

The first page is to record your word count. Off to the right, there's a box where you can change your daily goal. I have it set to 200, but you can make it whatever you want and the rest of the tracker functions should change to match it.

There are several different tracking features, such as the weekly goal tracker, a cumulative progress tracker next to it, monthly and daily trackers down at the bottom, and a tracker that adds up your yearly total.

The colors for the months are just something I added for fun and to help me make the monthly trackers. You can change the colors or get rid of them altogether. The daily trackers are also just for fun. They can help you see which days of the week you write the most on in the long run.

The second page is for you to track which projects you're working on. You can do whatever you want there. I like to color code when I start a project and when I finish one, but that's just a suggestion.

Anyway I just wanted to share because this really helped me build a habit! You don't have to write every day in order to meet your word count, and don't beat yourself up if you don't meet it.

For me, I stopped skipping days around the end of May and I started meeting my word count every single day in October because I realized that was the easiest way to meet the weekly word count.

Happy new year and happy writing :) Feel free to dm me with any questions!

#writing #writing resource #creative writing #writing challenge #writer #writers block #writers on tumblr #writer problems #writeblr

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sumoattack-gooddog · 6 days

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Here’s the thing about WatcherTV,

Let’s talk about what’s being offered —

Let’s talk the financial —

Let’s talk the unanswered —

Let’s talk the solution —

Cumulatively since they began — trailers included — Watcher has 377 videos available for view. Netflix has 17,000 titles. Episodes, movies, and most recently games. If the minimum price of Netflix at $6.99/month provides that, how can one justify $6/month for WatcherTV? 2.2% of Netflix’s size is what Watcher is offering — all of which are currently free on YouTube.

The closer similarity, of course, would not be Netflix but Dropout. The prices of their subscriptions are equivalent, but again, what isn’t, is the amount of content. There is already a significant backlog of videos that can be consumed for new subscribers AND three different shows which post weekly. Had the company come forward with a backlog of new media at the ready to be watched, people would have been far more receptive to this proposal.

I understand that, as a creative, you have certain aspirations for making the best version of your idea. You want what you put out in the world to be as close to the image in your head as possible. Sometimes there are constraints due to time, due to money, due to manpower — so on and so forth. I recognize that. I, myself, have worked professionally, academically, and privately in film/media production. I Understand.

What I do not understand is the decision to ostracize a larger portion of your audience. Not everyone can afford a new streaming service — especially one that offers such little in return for the cost. But beyond the American-centric perspective of it. This platform isolates the majority of foreign fans, especially those who are subject to exchange rates. What I have seen some refer to as “the price of a single coffee,” for others is a week’s worth of food.

This community was beautiful and passionate and diverse as a result of its ability to be easily and freely consumed. That will be lost without change.

Furthermore, we see issue derived from the lack of transparency as to what is being offered. We are being promised “bigger and better,” new things, and the return of collapsed things. However, there is a significant lack of clarity and it is felt. Beyond Travel Season and its upcoming May time release, there is no clarity as to what (beyond the old content) people are getting. Yes, there is the vague promise of future seasons of the fan favorites, but there is no clear time as to when. If people subscribe now, how long will they be waiting for content that isn’t already free?

How can this be fixed? Frankly, good fucking question. Perusing through the comments, it’s pretty clear that a majority of fans feel blindsided and lied to. Watcher has consistently denounced capitalism and condemned corporate greed, and to what extent this behavior falls into it definitely raises some questions. I think it is worth acknowledging, they are a company that has grown to put out content. That means they are responsible for 27 (I believe) paychecks, beyond their own. But that is not the only explanation for why they’re doing this. Or their most prominent one — I’ve already acknowledged their bigger and better mindset, but their other reasoning was that they are at the mercy of advertisements. And that this will stop those.

Well, what if it didn’t? The most obvious compromise, in my mind, would be something like Peacock’s cheapest streaming option of roughly $1/month which includes ads to make up the subscription cost disparity from their ad free option. That is far more manageable for most, even with exchange rates, than $6. It would still be a luxury beyond free, but most people would be able to justify a 1 USD splurge especially while waiting for content backlogs to actually come out.

I don’t hate the Watcher company after this, but I am frustrated and disappointed by their announcement. I am sure it was not done without thought, but it does not feel like it given what they have to actually show for this decision. I have been a consumer of their content for 10yrs, and it is what helps me during troubling times — Just as Shane acknowledged caring about. I would hate to lose the connection to this wonderful community because of a narrow minded perspective on the future. I urge @wearewatcher to consider this moving forward.

#watcher #watcher tv #watcher entertainment #ryan bergara #shane madej #steven lim

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 1 year

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a/n: this one was fuuuun. this is the kind of extra wag i would be so i loved coming up with the little ideas lol. and yes, the photo in the cover is one i took at josh bailey’s 1000th game ceremony 😌 also, happy birthday to the big boy! legit can’t believe i got this done in time, but that’s what happens when it’s a cold and miserable rainy saturday in new york lol

word count: 8.1k 😅

tw: two smut scenes

summary: it’s andrei’s 1000th game and ceremony!

You let your fingertips trace lightly over the back of Andrei’s neck. His face is mashed into the pillow, cheek pressed flat, and a low hum is drawn from his throat. It’s still early, before either of your alarms are set to go off, but you couldn’t sleep very well. With cranky kids and the anticipation of today, you managed a few hours of tossing and turning before finally giving up.

“Solnyshka?” Andrei mumbles your nickname and your fingers still. You hadn’t really wanted to wake him up.

“Go back to sleep,” you whisper, pulling your hand back to your body.

He hums again and rolls onto his side, blinking warm brown eyes at you as he wakes up a little more. “Wasn’t asleep,” he says, a yawn cutting through his words and proving his lie.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you,” you apologize, still propped up on your elbow.

Andrei squints at the alarm clock over your shoulder - the clock blinks 4:30 in red numbers - and shrugs with the shoulder not pressed into the mattress. “I think the crack of dawn is the only time we get to be alone anymore,” he laughs, reaching for you and pulling you into his arms.

You snuggle against his broad chest, brushing your nose against his collarbone. After a few moments of silence, you murmur, “big day today.”

“Mhm,” Andrei hums against your hair.

“A thousand games,” you continue, completely awed by your husband. “That’s, Drei, that’s so amazing.”

“It doesn’t feel real,” he admits, chuckling a bit. “It feels like another game day.”

At the end of the day, it really is just another game, but it’s also a cumulation of all the hard work Andrei’s put in over the last fifteen years. Not many players make it to a thousand games and you’re indescribably proud of Andrei for reaching the milestone.

You tangle your legs with his. “It’s a big day though. Even if the ceremony isn’t until this weekend.”

Even though his thousandth game is a Monday night home game, it was worked out that the ceremony would be on Saturday, since that game is an afternoon one - making it so much easier to bring the girls to the game. Only Evie, at six, would be able to handle the 7:30 ceremony start time and even she could be questionable, depending on the mood she comes home from school in. No, it’s so much easier to corral three girls in the middle of the afternoon.

“I’m glad you and Mama and Papa are coming tonight though,” he says, twisting your hair in his fingers. Your parents are coming over to watch the girls, that way you can join Andrei’s parents at the game. It works out for everyone - the girls get time with their grandparents and you get a child-free night to drink a cocktail and enjoy watching your husband play. Elena and Igor have been in town for a week and are staying for another two, that way they can be there for the ceremony and to spend time with the girls too.

“I don’t know who’s going to cry more tonight, me or your mom,” you tease, knowing Elena will probably take top prize. She’s been watching Andrei live his childhood dream for longer than you have.

Andrei laughs lowly and lets his hands roam over your back. You can tell he’s getting introspective, thinking about his career to this point, and you kiss his sternum. Your hand slides up under the hem of his shirt - the days of sleeping naked are long over for you both, with the oldest two girls constantly getting out of their beds to crash in yours. His skin is warm under your touch and Andrei sighs, his stomach contracting as your fingers dance over the ridged muscles.

“I’m so proud of you,” you murmur, throwing your leg over his hip and rolling Andrei onto his back. His erection is hot and hard against your thigh and you grin down at him. “One thousand games,” you says, wiggling your eyebrows, “your stamina is impressive, Mister Svechnikov.”

His grin is all teeth and dimples. “I’ll show you stamina,” he says, gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. He pulls you forward so you rub over his cock and you gasp at the contact, even though the layers of his boxer-briefs and your panties. You lean down, one hand braced next to his head, and kiss him deeply, rolling your hips over his.

Andrei bites your lower lip gently, sucking it into his mouth. One of his hands slides under your oversized shirt, his fingers playing at the edges of your panties, brushing sensitive skin. “Drei,” you gasp his name when his fingers disappear under the damp fabric, sliding against your skin. His thumb finds your clit and he presses down, surging up to capture your moan with his mouth.

“I was supposed to take care of you,” you mutter, clenching around Andrei’s fingers. “We’re celebrating your achievement.”

He laughs. “Maybe this is how I want to celebrate, solnyshka.”

You grind down on him and he groans, involuntarily bucking his hips up into yours.

“Mama?” A little voice breaks through the fuzz in your brain and you yelp, rolling off of Andrei with a painful tweak of your hip. His hand is still halfway caught in your panties and he mutters a string of Russian curses.

You lift your head and there’s Alina, backlit by the light from the hallway, clutching her stuffed puppy by the ears. Her eyes are wide in her face and she looks near tears.

“Alya, what happened?” You ask, trying to keep your tone soothing even as your heart is pounding out of your chest.

Your four-year-old rubs at her eyes and her lower lip wobbles, “I had a bad dream.”

Andrei looks over at you, holding his breath a little. He closes his eyes and it looks like he’s trying to do extremely complex math in his head. You sigh. “Baby, it was just a dream and it’s early, why don’t you go back to bed?”

“Can I sleep with you and Daddy?” She asks, eyes welling with tears. She chews on one of the dog’s ears and you melt.

“Come on up, Alya,” Andrei sighs and you really wish you hadn’t gotten as far as you did before Alina interrupted. She comes running for the bed and flings her little body at the mattress, needing Andrei’s help to climb on completely. She clambers over his body and tucks herself against your side.

You cuddle her close and she twists her little fingers in your shirt. Over her head, you catch Andrei’s eye and mouth, “to be continued.”

He grins and whispers, “I’m holding you to that.”

Alina falls back asleep quickly, ending up horizontal with her feet in Andrei’s side and her head on your chest. You stroke her hair off her face and close your own eyes. The next time you wake up, it’s to the buzzing of your 6 a.m. alarm. Andrei’s getting up too, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head.

“Glad we went for the California King,” you comment, tucking the sheet around Alina’s starfished form. Andrei settles her stuffed dog within arm’s reach.

“For such a little thing, she takes up so much room,” he laughs, greeting you with a kiss. “Good morning.”

“For the second time,” you laugh. “You ready for the day?”

“It’s just a game, solnyshka,” he repeats his earlier refrain, but you can see the extra spark in his eyes. He tangles his hand in your hair and pulls your head back gently to kiss you.

You blink a little when he pulls back, resting your hands on his hips. “You’re allowed to be excited, Drei. You’re allowed to think it’s a big deal,” you say. “To get here, after the pandemic seasons, after your ACL, this is such an achievement.”

He sighs. “I know,” his forehead furrows. “I think it’s just…so much of hockey is behind me now. Not that much left in front of me.”

Oh.

This is his hockey mid-life crisis.

“Drei, baby, you still have so much time left to play,” you smooth your hands through his hair. “I bet you have another seven, eight years of playing.”

He drops his forehead to yours. “Thank you, solnyshka. I’ll get excited, I just need to start the day.”

“Well, you can go handle Evie wake-up then,” you smile. “She’ll put you in a good mood.”

Andrei beams and bounces off out of the room. He and Evie have the exact same personality and you know that by the time you get ready and get Kira up, father and daughter will have already had each other in spasms of laughter and Andrei will be less in his head. You leave Alina sleeping and change quickly into jeans and a sweater. You’ve found that you get so much more done when you put on real clothes.

“Good morning, my little chickadee,” you coo, spotting Kira standing up in her crib.

The eighteen-month-old gives you a big toothy smile and shouts, “mama!” while making grabby-hands at you. Her hair, blonde fuzz at birth and turning darker by the day, is sticking out all over the place. You lift her onto your hip, pressing kisses all over her face, making her laugh.

“You woke up on the right side of the crib today, huh?” You laugh, making quick work of her diaper and dressing her in a little lounge set. You smooth down her hair and use a little bow to keep it in place.

“See Dada!” She grins and you shake your head. Of course.

You pull a face at your youngest. “You want to see Dada? Everyone wants to see Dada today.”

Evie’s bedroom door is open and you poke your head inside, but her bed is empty. There’s noise coming from the kitchen and you follow the sounds, walking in on Andrei and Evie making eggs. Andrei has Evie standing on a step stool and he’s guiding her hand while the scrambled eggs cook. Evie’s dancing on the stool, wiggling her little body along to a tune only she knows. “Hey, remember, we have to be careful when cooking, right?” Andrei reminds her, tapping her shoulder so she can focus.

“Dada!” Kira shrieks, drawing Evie and Andrei’s attention. Andrei’s smile widens and Evie jumps down from the stool to rush over and squish Kira’s cheeks in between her hands.

“Hiiii Kira,” she singsongs, brown eyes dancing when her baby sister giggles. You grin at the sight and set Kira on her feet. Evie plops down on the floor to entertain her sister and you take the opportunity to take over the egg making from Andrei.

He kisses your cheek, “I’ll be right back. Going to get ready.”

“Don’t wake the bear,” you warn, knowing Alina will be a holy terror if she doesn’t get enough sleep. Andrei salutes you, smirking, well aware of the perils of waking your middle daughter.

You finish the eggs, doling them out on plates for everyone and add toast and fruit to the girls’ plates before starting a protein shake for Andrei. “Okay, little misses, breakfast,” you announce, setting the plates on the table. Evie climbs into her seat and digs in, Kira slower behind.

With her mouth full of partially chewed food, Evie asks, “Mama, can I stay home from school and play with the sissies?”

“Chew, please,” you remind her, putting Kira in the highchair and giving her a strip of toast. “And no. You have to go to school, but remember Nana and Pop are going to be here when you get home.”

“Oh right!” She bounces in her seat, messy blonde hair flying everywhere. Where this kid gets so much energy at seven in the morning, well, you know it comes from Andrei, but you wish you could bottle it. “How come they’re gonna be here? It’s Monday.”

You scrape at the frying pan. “Remember today is a special day for Daddy, he’s played one thousand hockey games.”

Evie’s eyes go comically wide. “That’s a lotta hockey,” she says seriously.

“It is a lot of hockey,” you agree. “So I’m going to the game to cheer him on.”

You conveniently leave out the fact that Elena and Igor are coming too, because if Evie gets wind of the fact that Andrei’s parents are going, she’ll absolutely insist on coming. You love how much the girls love their grandparents, but tonight is not the night for wrangling children.

“Can we watch Daddy play on the TV?” She asks, propping her chin in her hand.

“Sure can,” you nod, putting the frying pan back in the cabinet. “But you have to go to bed when Nana and Pop say so.”

Kira drops a handful of egg on the floor and you sort of wish you had a dog to hoover it up, but three kids and a dog, when Andrei’s out of town half the time? No way in hell was that happening. Instead, you wipe up the eggs and point at Evie, “please go get dressed okay? And do not wake up your sister.”

Evie nods and shoves another strawberry in her mouth, running off upstairs while you shout after her to chew. You look at Kira, with her strawberry covered face and toothy grin, and wrinkle your nose at her, “today is a crazy day, huh, chickadee?”

“Kay-zee!” Kira chirps, mimicking you.

You get her cleaned up and by then, Andrei’s back downstairs with Evie clinging to his back and Alina wrapped like a koala around his leg. He grins at you, clearly thrilled by the chaos. “Alya has decided that she’s going to drive Evie to school today,” he informs you.

“Oh, is that right?” You raise an eyebrow down at your middle daughter. “When did you get a driver’s license?”

Alina, the cheeky little child, pipes up, “I don’t even need one ‘cause I’m fast like a runner and I can drive better than Daddy.”

Her explanation makes zero sense, but then again, half of what she says is insanity, so you just nod. “How about you have some breakfast and then you can take Evie to school?”

“Is it oatmeal?” Alina unhooks from Andrei’s leg and scampers to the table, peeking over the top.

“Yes, it’s oatmeal,” you reply, grabbing her under the armpits and swooping her up onto the chair. Alina’s on an oatmeal kick. It’s all she wants to eat and you’re tired of coming up with different way to doctor it up so she’s getting nutrients. Andrei had the genius idea of pureeing beets into it for dinner the other night and calling it Barbie oatmeal. Alone ate it up, literally and figuratively.

Andrei sucks back his protein shake, listening intently as Evie tells him all about her playground drama. She tells the story with her whole body, hands flying in the air, facial expressions exaggerated. Andrei provides the appropriate reactions too, gasping in shock when he’s supposed to. “Okay,” he cuts in apologetically, “finish the story on the road, zaychik. You’re going to be late.”

“I’m coming too!” Alina shrieks from the table, still dressed in her pajamas. Andrei laughs and gathers her up in his arms.

“Of course, we can’t go anywhere without the driver,” he kisses her forehead and ushers both girls out of the house, all three of them shouting good-bye to you.

Once the door closes behind them, the silence is deafening. You blink and lean against the counter, always a little dazed after the morning routine. Kira sighs in her highchair and pouts, “sissers?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “your sisters are gone for now. But they’ll be back, don’t you worry.”

Andrei returns an hour later with Alina in his arms and a carry-out tray of coffees. Alina nibbles happily on a cake pop and you shoot Andrei a look.

“It was this or have her keep screaming bloody murder in the middle of Starbucks,” he mutters, setting her down on the couch. “I chose sugar.”

“Wise man,” you say, taking your coffee from the holder and sucking back a huge sip. “Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.”

Andrei works on his own coffee - an iced white chocolate mocha - even as you tease him for his sweet tooth. He’s nonplussed, used to the ribbing from the boys. Once you’re both caffeinated, you split the morning tasks, Andrei taking the kitchen and keeping a vague eye on Alina and Kira in the living room, and you heading upstairs to make bed and clean up the clothes that have been left out.

You meet back up in the kitchen with the house a little tidier than before. “Morning skate is 11:45 today,” Andrei says, reading from a text. “So I should be home around 1:30?”

“Perfect, just in time to nap with the zoo animals and eat dinner,” you lean up to kiss him quickly. “Any special requests for dinner?”

Andrei shrugs, “whatever you’re making is fine. I’m not picky.” A slow, lazy smile curls at his lips, “I do know what I want for dessert though.”

“I’ll make something special,” you decide, ignoring the heat in your cheeks and the rush of want in your stomach. You’re still thinking about the denied orgasm from this morning.

“Daddy!” Alina shouts. “Come watch Bluey with me.”

“Duty calls,” you giggle, watching Andrei head into the living room. He sits on the couch and Alina and Kira are immediately draped over his lap. Alina has her little water bottle in one hand and her leg kicked up in the air, singing along to the Bluey theme song and Kira has her thumb planted in her mouth. Your heart melts when you see Andrei gently dislodge her thumb, holding her little hand with his so she can’t try and suck her thumb again.

Eventually, he has to get up, apologizing to the girls for having to leave. They pout and cry and reach for him and you can see Andrei’s heart break at having to go to work. You distract them with crayons as best as you can and pull them into hugs and a silly dance when he leaves.

Luckily, twenty minutes after Andrei leaves, Elena and Igor are at the door. Babushka and dedushka are the perfect distraction for when the girls miss Daddy.

“Baba! Dedu!” Alina shrieks, flinging her body into Igor’s knees. He laughs and lifts her onto his hip, kissing her cheek. “Come watch Bluey with me!”

Elena smothers Kira in kisses and you thank God that they’re laughing again, not crying. “That is the little dog, yes?” She asks Alina, shooting you a little wink.

“Yes! Bluey and Bingo are puppies,” Alina informs her grandmother very seriously. “And they’re sisters like me an’ Evie an’ Kira. And like Daddy and Uncle Geno!”

“Daddy and Uncle Geno are brothers,” you correct Alina, laughing.

“No, they’re sisters like me!” She pouts stubbornly.

It’s useless to try and fight with her, so you just nod and get the girls set up with Bluey. The screen time isn’t your favorite, but needs must. Once they’re distracted, you grin widely and turn to Elena. “I am so glad you guys are here. We have like an hour and half before Drei gets back from morning skate. I have a banner ready to be hung up, balloons in the garage, a cake in the downstairs fridge, and my parents should be here within the hour with Evie.”

You have a whole little surprise party planned for when Andrei gets back from morning skate and you’re so excited to pull it all together. Andrei’s parents jump in to help, decorating the open plan of the living room and kitchen and setting Kira and Alina up with crayons and construction paper to make cards.

“How do you spell bestest daddy in the whole world?” Alina asks, printing her name in big letters under a crayon drawing of Andrei and Stormy the pig. Elena sits down in one of the child-sized chairs and suggests that she help Alina write out her message. You four-year-old concedes the crayon to her grandmother with a benevolent sigh.

The house is mostly decorated when the front door bangs open and Evie rushes inside, her princess backpack bouncing against her back. “Mama!” she shouts, breathless. “Did you know Nana and Pop took me outta school early?”

Her eyes widen as she takes in the decorations and Andrei’s parents. You wait, totally delighted by the shock on her face.

“Oh my gosh! Baba and Dedu are here too?” She yelps, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “This is the BEST DAY EVER!”

Evie discards her backpack, jacket, and sneakers in a heap and throws herself into Elena’s arms for a hug. She kisses her cheek and snuggles up before whipping her head over to look at you, “wait, Mama, does Daddy know that EVERYONE is here? Because he didn’t say a single word!”

“Daddy doesn’t know,” you grin, picking up her backpack. “It’s a surprise for his special game, so why don’t you take your sisters upstairs and put on the shirts that are on your beds? Then you can come back and make Daddy a card.”

“Oh, I’m gonna make the best card ever!” She leaps off Elena’s lap and grabs Kira under the armpits, hauling her to her feet, much to the toddler’s protests. “Come on, Kiry, Mommy said to go change.”

“No!” Kira shrieks and your mom cuts in to hoist Kira onto her hip and usher Evie and Alina from the room, saying, “let’s not get your sister upset before your dad comes home. How about we practice our surprise faces!”

You look around at the adults and sigh, “seriously, thank you all so much for your help. I don’t think I could’ve wrangled them all on my own and get this set up.”

“We’re just so excited to celebrate Andrei,” Elena claps her hands together. “This is such a big moment for him.”

“He’s going to be so surprised,” you giggle just thinking about his reaction. “Oh, I wish he’d get home now.”

It’ll be at least another twenty or thirty minutes before he’s home, so once the girls are back downstairs in their matching shirts (red, with black wording proclaiming “Daddy’s 1000th Game!” with the date underneath and Svechnikov scrawled across the backs- an Etsy purchase you were extremely thrilled with), you set them to finishing their cards and drawings. Now that everything’s calmed down a bit, you inscribe your own message on the card you had also special ordered from Etsy (a cartoon-ish drawing of Andrei from the back with the Canes’ logo and a prominent 1,000 across the top).

Andrei texts that he’s on the way and you grin, “okay, be ready! Should we hide? No that’s silly. Just, we’ll all be in the living room with the balloons. That’s perfect.”

Evie and Alina are vibrating with excitement and Kira is in your dad’s arms, very ready for her nap. You just hope she’ll hold out for the surprise.

You’re checking Find My Friends, and once you spot Andrei’s little dot pulling into the driveway, you usher everyone into place. “Okay, girls, remember when Daddy comes in, we’re all going to shout ‘congratulations’.” You nod at them and they nod back, understanding the assignment.

The excitement builds and you’re ready to burst when Andrei finally gets through the door and shouts, “solnyshka, I’m back!”

You press your finger to your lips at the girls and then call out, “I’m in the living room, Drei!”

The second Andrei is in sight, you all shout, “CONGRATULATIONS!” and he rears back a step or two, clearly surprised. The girls rush him, grabbing at his legs and he rests his hands on their heads, trying to get oriented. Your heart skips when he takes in the banner pinned to the wall - CONGRATULATIONS ON 1000 ANDREI - and the gold mylar balloons, a one, three zeros, and a capital K, floating underneath.

“I…what?” He’s speechless.

“Daddy, you played so much hockey!” Evie yelps, tugging at his jacket sleeve. “Mama said we get to celebrate you!”

“I maded a picture!” Alina shoves the construction paper in his face and Andrei laughs.

“This is…I’m overwhelmed, solnyshka,” he says, giant grin on his face. He’s hefted both girls into his arms and they wrap their little arms around his neck in hugs.

You dance over to him and lean up to kiss him softly. “Are you surprised?” You beam and he nods.

“Very!”

He kisses his mother and your mother hello and somehow ends up with Kira in his arms too. That reminds you, before she ends up conking out for a nap, you want to get a picture. You hand your phone to Elena and pose with Andrei and the girls under the banner. You give each girl a zero balloon and Andrei takes the one, leaving you with the K. “Say one thousand!”

The girls chorus as best they can, smiling for the camera.

Looking at the pictures, you can see just how much each girl looks like Andrei. The four of them have matching brown eyes, all used to varying success when trying to manipulate you into doing something. Evie looks the most like Andrei, but Alina has his nose and the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Kira has his smile - dimple and all - which means you love that she’s such a happy kid. It used to drive you crazy, how little they looked like you, but now you just love having your mini-Andrei clones.

Kira’s nodding off in Andrei’s arms and you send him off for his pre-game nap. The two older girls follow along like ducklings and you know they’ll all climb into bed with him and snuggle until you wake them up. He kisses you on his way upstairs, murmuring, “I can’t believe you did all this.”

“We love you,” you reply simply.

After an hour or so, once you’re done making an early dinner for Andrei, you head upstairs to wake him up so he can get ready. As you thought, the girls are all nestled in bed with him, looking sweet and peaceful while they sleep. You snap a quick picture and thread your fingers through Andrei’s hair to wake him up.

“Hey Sleeping Beauty,” you whisper. “Time for you to get ready for the main event.”

He chuckles and rolls onto his side to look at you. “You’re amazing,” he whispers back. “My parents, the decorations, the matching shirts. It’s a lot.”

“More where that came from,” you wiggle your eyebrows and step over to your dresser, pulling out a small wrapped box. “A little gift,” you say, placing it on the mattress next to his hand.

Being careful not to wake the girls, Andrei shifts so he’s sitting up and carefully unwraps the gift. A pair of silver cuff links glint up at him, engraved with the Canes logo and a little 1K on one and the date on the other. Andrei smiles slowly as he takes them in and swallows back emotion. “Thank you, solnyshka,” he murmurs, cupping your face in one hand. “I love them.” He brings your face to his and kisses you deeply.

“Wear them tonight for luck,” you murmur against his lips, your forehead resting against his.

PNC is louder than you’ve ever heard it when you get there later. There’s a buzz in their air and you decide to take a lap of the concourse while Elena and Igor go to the seats. There’s more Svechnikov jerseys being worn than you’ve ever seen and everyone seems to be talking about Andrei’s milestone. You’re sure you look crazy, wandering around with a smile on your face, but you’re so proud of him and everything he’s accomplished. A few fans recognize you from social media and stop to say hi and ask you to congratulate Andrei for them.

That’s one of the things you’ve loved over the years being with Andrei and living in Raleigh - the fans are incredible and most of them are so polite and friendly. It feels like you’re celebrating Andrei with thousands of your friends.

Just before warmups start, you shoot Andrei your usual pre-game text and include a selfie, blowing him a kiss.

He sends back a selfie where he’s doing a thumbs-up in full gear, Pyotr and Sebastian photobombing in the background. The picture makes you laugh and you join Elena and Igor at your seats.

The three of you are decked out in Canes gear - matching Svechnikov jerseys included. Elena’s is bedazzled and she keeps catching the light from the overheads. “One thousand games,” she says, already looking a little teary. “From when he was a little boy and the stick was nearly bigger than he was, to all this.” She waves her hand in a vague gesture encompassing the inside of the arena.

Igor rubs her shoulder, smiling. “It’s been a ride, hasn’t it?”

You’re getting emotional now too and wipe carefully at your eyes when the guys start onto the ice for warmups. You spot Andrei immediately, even though, as a tribute, all the guys are wearing Svechnikov 37 jerseys. You laugh, not realizing that the team was going to do that. You’re sure Andrei is embarrassed as hell, but you take plenty of pictures, warmth settling in your stomach. Andrei tosses pucks over the glass to some of the kids gathered and waves to the crowd. His smile is evident even from a distance.

Andrei is in the starting line and the crowd erupts when he’s announced. You and Elena simultaneously reach for each other’s hands, screaming and cheering his name. The puck drops and Andrei’s officially off, playing in his one thousandth NHL game.

The game itself is nothing out of the ordinary - a Canes win, with Andrei picking up points for a goal and an assist. He’s named the first star of the game and you’re pretty sure you scream yourself hoarse cheering for him.

By the time all the fun is done, Elena and Igor head back to their hotel and you head home to relieve your parents and wait for Andrei. The girls are long passed out, Evie and Alina snuggled together in the guest bed. You’re curious as to how that happened, but if they stay asleep, you don’t really care.

“They were so cute,” your mom says, showing you a video of the two oldest girls cheering in front of the TV. “Evie kept saying how her dad’s the best hockey player of all time.”

You snort a laugh, “I think Wayne Gretzky might have something to say about that, but yeah. we’re pretty fond of number thirty seven in this house.”

“Neither one made it past the half-way point of the first,” your dad adds. “I think it may have been the sugar crash.”

“Yeah, I noticed that there’s very little cake left,” you reply, shooting both your parents a side-eye. “Thanks for that.”

They shrug, non-repentant grandparents spoiling the grandkids, and you thank them for babysitting, kissing them good-bye. Andrei should be home in a little bit, so you tidy up and change into something else - the red and black lingerie set purchased specifically for this occasion - and settle on the couch to scroll social media until he comes home.

You hear the car pull into the driveway and bounce up, kneeling on the couch and looking over the back of it towards the door. A few minutes later, Andrei comes inside quietly, not wanting to wake the girls. You hop off the couch and rush to him, jumping into his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist. He catches you easily and huffs in surprise.

“I am so proud of you,” you whisper in between short kisses. Your hands cradle his face and your thumbs stroke his cheekbones. “Did you hear how crazy the arena was? That’s all for you.”

“It was exciting,” he admits, grinning. “But, uh, I like this better.” His hand palms your ass, fingers catching on the lace.

“Good,” you murmur, kissing his jaw. “I was hoping you would.”

“Can I take it off of you now?” He asks, very politely, even though his eyes are more pupil than iris and his fingers are slipping under the hem of the lace.

You nod, giggling when he practically runs up the stairs to your room. He sets you on the bed gently and leans one knee on the edge of the mattress, grabbing hold of your ankles and pulling you towards him. His hands are warm and rough over your skin and it would be embarrassing how wet you are for him if you hadn’t been married to him for so many years and he wasn’t so handsome.

“This was the best day, solnyshka,” he murmurs, lifting one leg so he can kiss the inside of your ankle. You shiver at the caress of his hot breath on your skin.

“I’m glad,” you sigh, cutting off into a little whine when Andrei lets go of your leg to take off his suit jacket and toss it to the floor. The cuff links glint in the dim lighting and it’s practically Pavlovian how you react to the clinking of Andrei undoing his belt buckle.

He looms over you, belt undone and fly of his pants open. You reach up and grab at his tie, yanking his face down to yours so you can kiss him, your other hand tangling in his hair. Andrei traces his tongue over your lower lip, smoothing his hand over your hip and trailing his fingers to the front of your panties, pressing against damp fabric hard enough to have your hips bucking involuntarily.

You gasp, breaking the kiss. “I’m hoping the girls stay asleep,” you laugh, breathless, “but I don’t know if we’ll be able to make tonight a long one.”

“That’s fine,” Andrei laughs, carefully undoing the cuff links and his watch and setting them on his night table. He rolls up the sleeves of his button down and you stare at the prominent veins on his forearms. “I’ve been waiting to get my dick into you all day, ever since this morning. I can’t wait much longer.”

Your legs fall open and Andrei grins. “I don’t think I can wait too much longer either,” you confess, arching your back when Andrei pulls you closer and hooks your ankles at his shoulders. He’s kneeling a bit and his mouth is on you immediately, tongue flattening over you through lace. “Ohhh fuck, Drei!” you yelp, instinctively clenching your thighs together.

He chuckles and keeps your legs spread, holding your ass with one hand and pushing aside the lace with the other. “Solnyshka, you promised me dessert,” he brushes his nose against the juncture of your thighs. “I’m starving.”

“I…oh, god, right there,” your hands fist the sheets, heels scrabbling against Andrei’s shoulders while he gets to work. He licks and sucks, heat and desire pooling low in your stomach. His nose bumps against your clit and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your scream.

“Too bad we’re not alone,” he murmurs, scrapping. his teeth and stubble over your heated flesh. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

“Next time -“ you break off into a muffle moan when he clamps his lips around your clit and sucks, once, hard, your vision briefly going white when you come. “Fuck,” you mumble, boneless.

Andrei’s head pops up from in between your legs, the lower half of his face wet and shining. He’s got that mischievous twinkle in his eyes and he kisses the inside of your knee. “That’s one,” he says.

“One?” you murmur, registering that he’s releasing your legs and discarding his tie and button down.

“Mhm,” he hums, grasping himself through the fabric of his boxer-briefs and stroking a few times. “If the rest of the day was about celebrating me, tonight is about celebrating you. I couldn’t have made it a thousand games without you by my side for over six hundred of them.”

His face is soft, boyish, when he says it, love for you written all over his features.

You giggle a little, “has it really been that many games?”

Andrei lies down on the mattress next to you and your hand comes up to trace the angles of his collarbone. He shivers a little under your light touch. “Doesn’t feel like it, right?” He asks, pulling you closer and kissing you sweetly.

“Time really flew,” you sigh, swinging a leg over Andrei’s hip and pushing at the waistband of his suit pants and underwear. “One thousand games, ten years, and three kids,” you smile down at him, wrapping your hands around his cock and pulling it out so it curves up towards his stomach. “How did we get so lucky?”

“Because you’re the rock,” he says, tangling his fingers in the lace at your waist. He tugs, not gently, and it rips, baring you to him.

“Hey!” You laugh, faux-indignant, “I liked those.”

“I’ll buy you more,” he promises, lifting you by the hips and guiding you so you’re hovering over him. You brace your hands on his chest and nod and he settles you down. You sink onto him until he’s fully inside of you and it’s the best feeling. You roll your hips slightly and Andrei groans. “Right there, solnyshka.”

Neither one of you talks while you settle into a rhythm, just enjoying the feeling of each other’s bodies. Andrei brushes his fingers against your clit, beads of sweat gathering at your hairline while your thighs tremble from riding him. He rolls you onto your back and kisses your neck, thrusting into you. With the change in position, you wrap your legs around his waist, digging your heels into the hard muscle of his ass. The chain around his neck sways as he thrusts, bumping against your chin.

Your nails dig into his back, scratching his skin and Andrei grunts, sucking a mark behind your ear. “Moya koroleva,” he mumbles. “Love of my life, come for me. I want to see you fall apart.”

Starbursts blink in your vision and Andrei slips one hand between your bodies, his fingers slipping over the swollen bud of your clit. You cry out and Andrei muffles the sound with a kiss, pumping into you twice more before you’re pushed over the edge and coming around him. He keeps kissing you until he’s done filling you and then you’re both limp and splayed out on the bed. Andrei’s body is half on top of yours, his weight crushing in a good way. He kicks his legs lazily, discarding his suit pants and boxer-briefs to the floor. You huff a laugh into his neck, “I can’t believe you just fucked me with your pants on like we’re a pair of horny teenagers.”

“You said we might be interrupted,” he protests, kissing your shoulder. His teeth snag on the strap of your lingerie and he pouts. “I wanted to rip this off with my teeth.”

“Another night,” you push at his shoulder so he’ll roll off of you. You need to go pee before you get back in bed. After you clean yourself up and make your way back to bed, you find Andrei back in his boxer-briefs and under the covers. He smiles sleepily at you, that post-orgasm haze in his eyes, and opens his arms.

You climb in and tuck yourself against his side, playing with the chain around his neck. “Just think, we get to do this all over again on Saturday, you know, celebrate you,” you say around a yawn.

“Do you have another one of these little sets waiting?” Andrei teases, running a finger over the lace cup.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” You tangle your legs with his and before you know it, you’re both asleep.

The week speeds by in a blur of travel for Andrei and child-rearing for you, until all of a sudden it’s Saturday morning and the house is happy chaos. All four grandparents arrived bright and early, bringing coffee and breakfast, so you don’t have to cook and make a mess. There’s no morning skate since it’s a noon start time, but Andrei still has to get to the arena early and he leaves while the girls are still asleep, kissing you goodbye and wishing you luck.

“Thanks a lot,” you deadpan.

“I’ll see you soon,” he winks.

The grandparents are lifesavers and help get the girls dressed - all in matching Svechnikov jerseys, little black tutus, and red cowboy boots. Evie had picked the outfits and it’s honestly the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Mama, do I get to make a speech?” Evie asks while you fix her hair in two little space buns on the top of her head.

You smother a laugh and reply, “no, baby. No speeches. But we get to walk out on the ice and Daddy’s going to get some presents from the team and there will be a little video.”

“Oh,” she squints at her reflection in the mirror thoughtfully. “Am I in the video?”

“No again, little bug. It’s a video about Daddy’s time playing hockey and his teammates will talk about him. Is that okay with you?” You tie off the second space bun.

Evie nods, “yeah, since Daddy plays so much hockey I think it’s okay that the video is only about him.”

“That’s very generous of you,” you pat her on the shoulder. “Now please go sit with Pop and Dedushka until it’s time to leave.”

She scampers off, tutu swishing, and you check in with the moms - yours has Kira and Andrei’s has Alina. Everything is handled there, so you take the time to get yourself ready, curling your hair and doing your makeup before getting dressed. You’re all ready to go by 10:30, which feels like a miracle. The drive to the arena is smooth and the girls are beyond excited when they get to go through the back entrance and wait outside the locker room.

Andrei, dressed in full gear, steps out and they rush him, shouting “Daddy!” He gathers them into his arms and kisses their cheeks. “You two look like supermodels,” he grins. “Did you bring me a tutu too?”

“No, Daddy!” Alina giggles. “That’s silly!”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “Are you ready to get on the ice?”

Evie nods and wriggles out of his arms to bounce in her boots. “Can we say hi to everyone?” She tries to look around Andrei into the locker room, but you snag her hand to hold her back.

“They have to get ready for the game and we have to get into our spots, okay?” You explain. “Plus we have to go get babushka and dedushka, they’re coming onto the ice with us.”

“Oh!” Evie’s eyes go wide. “Can they skate too?”

Andrei laughs a little. “There’s going to be a carpet, no one is skating, zaychik.”

“That stinks,” Evie mutters. “I’m really good at skating, I could’ve showed everybody.”

She pouts the entire way back up to the suite, until a pretzel is handed to her by your dad and she’s all smiles again. You leave your purse and everyone’s jackets with your parents and settle in to watch a little bit of warmups before you’re ushered back down to wait in the zamboni tunnel while warmups end and the carpet gets laid out.

You hold Kira on your hip and Andrei’s parents gently usher the older girls out to meet Andrei on the ice. He grins and kisses you on the cheek and then kisses Elena’s cheek. She’s already crying and the tribute hasn’t even started.

“Hi,” he whispers to you, looking like the fresh-faced 22-year-old man you fell in love with.

“Hi,” you whisper back. “Ready?”

The lights in the arena dim and you all look up at the Jumbotron as the tribute video starts to play. The girls bounce around, pointing and gasping when video of Andrei doing The Michigan plays. Rod’s on screen, talking about Andrei’s career. Pyotr speaks, grinning when he recounts the early years that Andrei served as his translator.

Elena and Igor get video spots, talking about Andrei’s love of the game even as a child. When Geno’s on screen, Andrei smiles widely and shakes his head, brushing his cheek against the shoulder of his jersey. His eyes look misty in the dim lighting.

Jordan, retired for a few years now, speaks last, “from one Canes Captain to another, we’re so proud of you, Svechy. Here’s to another thousand games.”

You sniffle a little, eyes welling up with emotion. The girls are clinging to Andrei’s hands, dancing in place and Kira is taking in all of the sights. Once the lights go back on, Brady, Sebastian, and Jarvy skate over with bouquets of flowers for you, Elena, and the girls.

“Congratulations,” Brady grins at you, handing over your flowers and Kira’s. “Svechy’s lucky to have you.”

“You’re going to make me cry,” you say with a smile, “again!”

Andrei’s gifted a silver stick - which the girls immediately start to inspect. Brady and Jarvy pull the red curtains off of a framed, team-signed jersey with 1000 instead of 37 on the back and a painting of Andrei’s Stanley Cup winning goal from two years ago.

“Daddy,” Evie tugs on his jersey, whispering, “that’s not the right number on your jersey!”

“That’s because it’s a special jersey for all the games I’ve played,” Andrei explains while ushering them into position as the entire team skates over for a group picture. Evie and Alina ham it up for the picture, but there’s nothing you can do about that except smile.

Andrei kisses you before you leave the ice, “I love you, solnyshka.”

“I love you too, Mister Svechnikov,” you grin against his mouth. “Now go win a game.”

He winks at you before skating back to the bench.

“Now what?” Evie asks as you walk down the tunnel. She’s holding Elena’s hand and swinging it back and forth.

“Now,” you grin at her, giving a little shimmy of excitement that gets Kira giggling, “we party in the suite!”

The girls cheer and rush ahead, staying within eyesight. Igor trails after them and Elena falls into step next to you. Kira leans from your arms and reaches for Elena, so you transfer her over. She snuggles into Elena’s neck.

“This one,” Elena smiles, patting Kira’s back softly, “is just like Andreyusha at the same age. All cuddles and those big eyes, watching everything, planning.”

“They’re all little Drei clones,” you laugh. “We’re lucky to have him. Thank you for raising him into such a wonderful man.”

Elena squeezes your forearm. “Igor and I took Andrei so far, but you and he, you are a wonderful team, wonderful parents. We are so proud to have you as our daughter.”

You wipe at your eyes and laugh wetly, “too bad PNC doesn’t run on tears. We could’ve had this place powered up for a year.”

The girls absolutely thrive in the suite, dancing to the music and eating as many snacks as they can get their little hands on. At one point, you’re on the Jumbotron for the Kiss Cam and the girls scream with delight when they each plant a kiss on your cheeks. It’s one of the more fun games you can remember, mostly because the girls are engaged and excited, and Andrei is clearly having the time of his life on the ice.

When he scores, he points up at your suite and you blow him a kiss that he probably can’t even see, remembering the first time he scored after you had started dating, when you were sitting right behind the Canes bench and he had pointed right at you, grinning with the dimple.

If you could tell that girl that one day she’d be here, ten years later, living her dream life and watching that same twenty-two year old with his little hair wings and dimple celebrate his one thousandth game, you don’t think she’d believe you.

#andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov x you #andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov fic

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mythserene · 3 months

Text

LEWISOHN: Let's crowdsource this bastard.

Check a footnote.

Whether you heroically tear straight into him like @wingsoverlagos or you find one thing like @delightfullyatomicfest did, it matters! What I hoped for and imagined from the beginning was some sort of crowdsourced work. There is too much for any one person, and one of the biggest problems with Beatles' sources is that they're not all equally easy to get to for everyone. And although this has become personal for me, it is an objectively huge problem for all Beatles fans and scholars that the man who has collectively been called the Beatles historian has—and I cannot say this clearly enough—BEEN JUST MAKING SHIT UP.

He literally ends ‘Tune In’ with a fabricated line that he sources to John Lennon. (!!!)

(Which I might not have realized for ages—if ever—if not for this @wingsoverlagos post)

Lewisohn has no shame.

And while it may seem like we are screaming into the void right now, I will tell you that we are not. I fear jinxing anything so I won't say more now, but our work is not in vain. People are paying attention. How can they help but pay attention? It's too shocking a betrayal. Too great a breach of trust. It has become overwhelming and impossible to ignore, and it has happened so quickly. Just by a few people taking the time to do the work.

And what is obvious now is that if you take a piece of source material that's referenced and go through it you will find butchered and fabricated quotes. And whether you do it that way or just check a footnote that interests you PLEASE TELL ME what you find! 🙏🏻

I am trying to gather all this up in one place. An ammo dump, if you will. If you want credit, tell me how you want to be credited, linked to, and any combination thereof. (I don't like taking credit for things I don't find, anyway.) But either shoot me a message or @ me or all of the above so we can collect all together and it can have the cumulative effect it deserves. (I will respond, but sometimes I am gone for a few days at a time, and occasionally for up to a week. I always come back, though.) #crowdsourcelewisohn

I have also set up an email for collecting funky footnotes: [email protected] (At this point I'm only checking this once a week.)

If you look, you almost certainly will find.

If you have any Beatle magazines or Pete Best's book, "Beatle!" you could be a superhero. (One chapter of Best's book is available online, but I haven't been able to find the rest.) Or if you have any less-available source material I am urging you—begging you—to jump in and check some footnotes. With Lewisohn as bold as he is in the easily searchable things just imagine the license he's taking in the rest. But whether hard to find or commonplace, check a source. It adds up and it kind of feels good to uncover some bullshit.

For your edification and motivation I am adding a clip — lightly edited to take out some Lewisohn devolutions (so here's the queued up link) — of Mark Lewisohn bragging and basking in the praise of being called a historian who should be ranked alongside the great LBJ biographer Robert Caro, of him saying that the Beatles should appreciate anyone writing a biography of this high a standard about them, and a momentary lapse into deep resentment that they don't appreciate him. And then he gives his little speech about the Beatles being about “truth with a capital ‘T’” and how he is writing a biography to match that truth.

“Truth” is a word Mark Lewisohn needs to keep out of his mouth. If you feel like he should be struck by lightening for uttering it, that is exactly what I am talking about.

We are that lightening.

Honestly, what AKOM started is so awesome. It gave this an outlet. (And I still go back and listen for both source material and motivation.)

It's sickening to listen to this now. Sickening because Lewisohn has been making us all his dupes for far too long. We have been his marks, and there's almost nothing I hate more than being conned.

#mark lewisohn #historiography #dr frankenquote #exact words #lewisohn lies #tune in #fine tuning #wingsoverlagos #a beatle didn't say that #paul mccartney #the beatles #check a footnote #crowdsource lewisohn #AKOM #I love you Phoebe and Daphne #lewi-sins

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amindofonesowne · 1 year

Text

You Okay, Baby?

Aaron Hotchner x Reader (You)

sub aaron hotchner, mommy kink, established relationship, hand jobs, bathtubs, romantic fluff, light angst 1.3k words, smut!

Summary: Aaron's exhausted after a stretch of never-ending cases.

You booked a fancy, weekend getaway for the two of you at an expensive city suite, but all Aaron needs right now is for Mommy to take care of everything.

It’s the end of a long month and your boyfriend is completely exhausted. The case had only wrapped up an hour ago, at eight in the evening, and your (re)rescheduled romantic dinner might not even survive the entrées considering the way he had to be guided into getting his order right, barely responding with a mumble of sounds nice at the waiter’s suggestions.

“Baby,” you say, sliding your hand across the table to touch at his knuckles, with half-healed scars from an incident he hasn’t yet divulged to you. “You okay?”

Aaron looks up at that, brows pushing into a shape of soft guilt—his eyes are clearly tired, the lines on his face marking all the cumulative hours of sleep missed over the past few weeks.

“Yes,” he says—lies—to your face. But you know he means well, so you offer a gentle smile. He only ever wants to make you happy, after all.

“We don’t have to stay for the whole meal,” you say, and he opens his mouth to argue, but you continue. “If you’re tired, we can get some of this food sent up to our suite, and anything else you want, too. Hot drinks, candles and a bath? We could even ask the string quartet to play on our balcony.”

After all, you are in a luxury hotel in New York—anything is possible. Especially with your well-deserved end-of-year bonus and your shiny new credit cards. Aaron wanted more than anything to celebrate with you, but seeing your boyfriend relaxed, well-fed and well-rested would be more than enough for you.

Aaron smiles, bashful. “I’m… not sure how the band would take to seeing me in the bath, but that all sounds nice.”

Aaron’s still not entirely used to all of this—the indulgence, the gifts, the attention. He was reluctant to accept it at first (more out of discomfort than displeasure), but after long cases like this, there was no point in denying one’s desires.

“I’m sure they would have no complaints,” you say, finishing up your flute of champagne, “although I’d much rather have you all to myself.”

There’s that sparkle in his eyes.

As you walk into your suite, you notice the way Aaron hovers tentatively by the door, glancing at the sheer size of the room; your cases are neatly displayed in the living room, which connects to the stone-tiled bathroom with see-through glass panels. The bedroom is situated behind through immaculately carved mahogany sliding doors.

As you start to run the bath, you watch in the reflection as Aaron quietly takes off his tie by the door and lets out the longest exhale. Following that, his shoes, his watch and his belt goes. You watch as he brings his things to the bedroom; after setting his things down on the king-sized bed, he simply stands there.

Bad case, you conclude. Neither of you speak about work much, which was an agreement both of you made at the beginning of your relationship. Both of you agreed it was for the best, and what Aaron needs in times like this is for you to accept him as he is, silent scars and all.

You watch as Aaron wanders over towards you in the bath, kneeled over as you’re testing the temperature of the water. The waters are warm and the milky orange bath soap already smells divine—you’re almost envious that you wouldn’t be able to fit inside while Aaron is there.

“Get inside, baby.”

You allow yourself a long and luxurious shower as your overtired boyfriend relaxes in the bath. By the time you come out in your robe, you can tell that he’s been waiting for you. He reaches out for your hand, drawing you in closer for a kiss as you kneel back down on the edge of the bath to meet his lips, warm and hungry.

Your fingers lock into his, and he brings another hand, splashing out from the water, to cup the back of your head and pull you in for more. He murmurs a quiet thank you, baby in between your open-mouthed kisses, wet and sweet with the lingering taste of his lemon and honey tea.

“I—need you tonight, Mommy,” he says, as your hand slips under the waters; you run your hand down his body, the soft hairs on his chest, down to his torso and thighs, until you find his very hard erection underneath.

You smile sweetly. “Don’t worry, baby. Mommy will always take care of you.”

He groans at that, as you grip harder and start stroking; tilting his head back, there’s something so utterly sexy about the way this large, intimidating man completely melts under your touch every time. From the second you met him, you knew that he’d never had anyone treat him like this—spoiling him to death, making sure that he didn’t have to worry or think about anything else whenever he was with you, it was as gratifying for you as it was for him.

“Have you not been taking care of yourself, Aaron? When Mommy’s away, tell me what you do for yourself,” you ask, stroking harder still.

He responds in a weak grunt.

“I’m sorry, Aaron, I can’t hear you?”

“Mm, nothing, ‘m sorry Mommy,” Aaron mumbles and writhes under your touch, eyes screwed shut.

“Why is that, baby?”

He whines harder as your grip on his dick tightens hard around the base, squeezing the air out of his chest and throat, gasping for more.

“Answer me, baby.”

“I—” Aaron tries, groans, then tries again in a weak voice, “I—I have to take care of my team. The case, everyone, they need me, and I… don’t have time for myself.”

He opens his eyes and looks at you, glancing right back with a forgiving look. You play with his dick a little more, thumbing at the tip and stroking all the way, as all he can do is watch, mesmerised.

“You know that’s not the answer I want to hear, Aaron.”

He looks guilty. “I know, but it’s the truth.”

“I know,” you say gently. “We can talk about it later. You what Mommy thinks, right? You’re a very good boy who deserves good things. If it was up to Mommy, I’d take care of you like this every day and every night. Whatever my good boy wants, Mommy will always give it to you.”

He nods, if not reluctantly; you kiss him to remind him how much you love him, and at that, Aaron gains the confidence to answer properly. “Yes, Mommy. I always try so hard to be a good boy. I wish I could have my Mommy take care of me all the time.”

The confession seems to wash a wave of relief over him, as he closes his eyes once more to let you take over. You brought a couple of toys with you, but he looks so relaxed at the moment. You don’t want to move him, or make him work any more than he has to.

So you bring him to orgasm as hard and as fast as you can, delighting in the stuttering moans that fall from his lips, his body trembling under your touch—you have to press down on his shoulder with your free hand to stop more water from spilling out. You can’t stop staring at his face as he comes, because Aaron is beyond gorgeous when he falls apart, moaning your name and groaning like an animal, and you never want to miss a single second.

Eventually, you pull your hand out of the bath, splashing away the mixture of cum, water and soap before running your fingers through his hair. You stare at each other, sated and soft—you’ve been so focused on the task at hand you’ve barely even clocked on to the fact that you’re also incredibly horny now, but Aaron seems to notice.

“That was exactly what I needed,” Aaron says, grateful and firm. His eyes are trailing across your body, as he pulls open your robe carefully, tracing his wet thumbs over your nipples. “Now tell me what you need tonight.”

His eyes darken as you feel the air around you getting thick—you breathe in once, collecting yourself, and then proceed to outline exactly what you want.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #fics #sub aaron hotchner #dom reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner smut

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spotsandsocks · 8 months

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Fuck it Friday

Another throw back for Fuck it Friday tagged by the wonderfully lovely @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela cover art for this fic from the talented @ronordmann

Tagging the creative and marvellous talents of @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus @honestlydarkprincess @loserdiaz @cowboy-buddie @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @elvensorceress @thewolvesof1998 @the-likesofus @like-the-rest-of-la @rogerzsteven @bekkachaos @jobairdxx @thekristen999 @stagefoureddiediaz @heartshapedvows @fiona-fififi @giddyupbuck @alyxmastershipper @spaceprincessem @canonicallyobserving911 @wildlife4life @princessfbi @housewifebuck @shortsighted-owl @buddierights @megsvstheworld if there is any art fics or edits to share

Like Lovers Do

Chim shrugs an apology as he makes a quick exit from the table and the situation he just created with a casual comment. Buck consoles himself with the fact that at least he looks a little sorry this time, not like the last time he dropped Buck in it over this particular mistake.

The atmosphere around the table had taken a sharp left turn into awkward when Chimney had jokingly referenced Buck’s brief and unfortunate liaison with the blonde currently laughing with Hen on the other side of the room.

Buck silently curses as Eddie stares him down from the opposite side of the table.

Chim’s long gone, he abandoned the situation the second he realised Eddie hadn’t known about the kiss, so now Buck’s all alone with his best friend; usually he likes being alone with Eddie but this is definitely not his idea of a good time.

Eddie’s looking at him with his lips pursed and eyebrows raised. It’s obvious he has questions about this new piece of information. Buck squirms under the scrutiny. He’d rather be anywhere else right now.

In a cool voice the questioning starts; “You kissed Lucy? You never told me that.”

That’s true he hadn’t told him. Buck had kind of been hoping Eddie would never have to find out because he’s not proud of that particular moment.

It was a mistake, such a huge mistake, one he preferred not to think about. He’d never cheated before, had always hated the concept and he knows he never would again. Buck had spent weeks trying to work out why he’d let it happen, why he’d kissed back, then kissed again. Even now he hates thinking about it although at least now he understands the why a bit more than he had then.

Being back in therapy will do that. Over the last year, longer really things had gotten pretty mixed up and dark in his head. He’d hardly noticed the spiral downwards, it had been so slow and steady, it had just become normal for him to feel that way. He hadn’t noticed but Eddie had.

He’d laugh if it was funny; as Eddie had worked through his issues and found his balance Buck had lost his, but Eddie had seen him, noticed what was happening and been there to steady him when he tripped and stumbled.

When things got really bad, the cumulative effects of so many parts of his life, Eddie had gently suggested Buck start talking to a therapist again. Eddie’s apparently a big fan of therapy these days.

So he had and now he’s spent a fair number of hours talking about all the things that pull at his heart and twist his thoughts and some of those things definitely contributed to the moment that Eddie’s only just found out about.

His best friend knows a lot about him but he doesn't know everything, god no, not everything. The kiss is only one of the things he’s been keeping to himself.

Eddie’s still waiting for details and he doesn’t look very impressed with the delay. Unable to see an escape Buck plunges in with the truth.

“It, it was just a stupid thing I did.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, Buck knows what he’s doing and falls for it anyway, he fills the gap with more words, desperate to avoid the silence.

“I was just embarrassed to tell you, you know, because of all the stupid. It wasn’t like I was deliberately not, not telling you.”

It totally was.

“it just didn’t come up.”

Eddie frowns “Why’d you do it?”

That’s a big question and the answer is more complicated than he wants to get into with the man opposite him. He goes with half an answer, half the truth, the parts that can safely be shared.

Avoiding Eddie’s eyes he explains the best he can “I was unhappy with Taylor.”

He doesn’t add the rest - because I wasn’t in love with her, I was just clinging to an illusion. Taylor had been another mistake he made. He knows more about that choice as well now.

“and I was drunk”

Eddie pulls a face, eyebrows shooting up even higher.

“Neither one is an excuse” he adds quickly “I know that.”

“When?”

He fudges that with “a while ago,” and a quieter, “when you were at dispatch”.

That’s all he’s going to say because the rest of the answer he needs to keep to himself. Eddie can’t know about all of it. They can’t talk about that.

Weeks of therapy have let Buck see what else played a part in his monumentally stupid decision that evening and he can hardly tell Eddie what he’s worked out.

No - he can’t imagine a universe where he drops that particular bombshell on his friend. As if he could just sit down next to Eddie and casually say, ‘hey, did you know I kissed Lucy once and guess what… I’ve worked out that I did it because I was miserable with Taylor and without you. I did it because you told me to move on and didn’t show up that night, because you left me behind and I didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

And the real kicker; his biggest secret, the root of the problem, the thing that they don’t (can’t?) talk about, the thing that laid the first stone in the path to his poor choices.

Well, how is he supposed to explain that, can he say ‘oh yeah and one more thing; you got shot in front of me and it changed me. I had your blood on my face, on my lips and I can still taste it.

continue on AO3

#buddie #911 fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 on fox #911fic #911 fic

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endlessdreamerxoxo · 2 years

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"Stop this War"

I will try to be nice with this post, but I really dislike people telling Hellcheer shippers to stop this war with st*ddies in the name of peace and harmony. Although, I do like the sentiment. I really do. I just can't be quiet about the bold harassment and the unnecessary toxicity against something I like and people I admire for their creativity. And I really do question whether those people truly understand the fundamental problem that Hellcheer shippers have with toxic st*ddies and the scope of the situation in general.

I'm checking the A03 tags as I write this post up and currently

we (Hellcheer) have 956 works on the website.

Steddie have 7,013 works on the website.

And Harringrove (a ship that has been around since 2017) has 8,415 works on the website.

For a better comparison, that means that Steddie has exactly 1,402 fics to go to meet the cumulative effort of 5 years hard work in a less than 3 months since the official creation of the ship. That's utterly insane. And if we did that math again, Steddie has 6,057 more fics than Hellcheer. That's the fucking scope that we are dealing with.

Their ship is the Lusitania, while our ship is a rowboat.

Many of us have always say this over and over, we were minding our business for a good solid week or two (I came around June 9th into the tumblr fandom) before claims were being made about Chrissy's age. Personally I didn't even know that people were shipping Steve x Eddie (cause they have no chemistry in my eyes) because no one was talking about them in the 'edssy' tags and I don't have twitter. People were just making fanart and other things to celebrate our cute ship. So I literally discovered Steddie's existence as we got called out for p*dophilia (which is not the correct term, but go off) and homophobia. From my viewpoint, we got dragged into a shipping war against our will as we kicked and screamed at the the top of our lungs that we didn't want a war. I know for my "Joe Quinn was Right" posts, I danced around my actual feelings to preserve peace and minimize hate. I know a lot of my mutuals did that and continue to do that with those who are stalking their accounts and sending them threats. We have been vocal about not caring whether someone ships St*ddie or Hellcheer. Nevertheless, we are also been very clear to point the obvious flaws in shipping Steddie and or their sketchy behavior, while acting as holy than thou than the rest of the fandom:

The misogynistic harassment of Grace (and Amybeth).

The biphobia and bi erasure.

The fetishization of attractive white gay men.

The constant whining for some or better wIw rep in Ronance, but than ignoring the canonical lesbian ship of Rockie in the show or failing to give Ronance the same amount of love as your mIm ship.

Only making Chrissy a lesbian because they want her away from Eddie under the guise of allyship.

The stealing of lines from other scenes or characters in order to make their ship more cute and fluffy.

The mass reporting of Hellcheer artwork.

The invalidation of people's queer identities/sexualities because they ship a heterosexual ship (or a straight passing if they see it that way).

The obsessive nature that people have formed a parasocial bond with Joe Quinn to the point where they are assuming his sexuality, stalking his family's social media for pics where he was a minor for some twisted reason, and harassing him on his family vacation.

Like we can't bring up those facts because we don't want a shipping war? We didn't even bring up those fact until recently because we have been poked for a entire two months straight. Grace literally thought her safety was in danger, going to an con because her friend was attending the same event. Are you really telling us not to say anything? Are you telling them to mind their own business and go to their corner of their internet with their 7,013 fics and their shit ton of fanart? Because the reality is this extremely tiny Hellcheer squad can't stop this war. Even if we decided not to call people out and did our own thing, people would still be harassed and made to feel like crap about themselves for liking this ship. Even if Joe came out tomorrow and say stop this war, toxic St*ddies would think that Grace is holding him hostage at knife point. St*ddies are the only one who can stop this war, but they wouldn't until they get Steve x Eddie as canon (which they will never have). We are truly just trying to defend ourselves and just want to be left alone.

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it-happened-one-fic · 1 year

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Introduction to Dance - Strictly NRC Dancing

Author Notes: A gift for you that no one asked for. My very own dance AU. This is an introduction post but it is also a fic and intro to the AU. I cannot claim to have come up with this AU on my own, my Mom and sister helped a lot in the formulation of it. Be warned, prefect is a female this time simply because I felt like writing a girl prefect. I hope everyone enjoys. You can view this is a very odd present from me to you. EDIT: I almost forgot! I can't not claim to have come up with this AU on my own. My mom and sister both helped me quite a bit in coming up with the specifics of how everything would work and choosing what dances to use.

If you would like to read more this AU the fics can be found here: Strictly NRC Dancing AU Masterlist.

Type: Dance Au/Introduction fic

Warning: Crowley

Word count: 981

“Dance, the rhythmic expression of music known to all.

Swaying Bodies….

Swirling Forms….

A Passionate Promenade!

Become a poem given life and music given form.

Should you reach out and claim it, this art is yours.

Press forward!

Do not Hesitate!

For the way of dancing is an arduous one,

But we walk it nonetheless with glorious dreams of rhythmic grandeur.

So come forth and confront

Your Introduction to Dance!”

Crowley gazed at us, the entire student body of NRC, with gleaming eyes from under his mask as he finished his grand speech.

Despite the impressive amount of showmanship and excessive pomp he’d displayed, we remained unmoved. Everyone stared back at him with lackluster gazes that were punctuated by occasional yawns. It perfectly relayed our cumulative lack of interest in Crowley’s newest scheme.

Slightly put out by the less-than-thrilled reaction he received, Crowley coughed lightly into his fist before resuming his speech.

“In the hopes of better preparing you all for your many and varied future walks of life, we have decided that mandatory dance lessons will be held. Each of you must take and pass at least one class, or you will be held back.”

This time he was met with a more emotionally charged reaction. Primarily complaints and loud protests that had him attempting to calm the crowd, “Now, now. I understand your hesitancy, but there is nothing to fear! All of the staff here have agreed to pitch in for your instruction, and by the end of the classes you will all be as graceful as swans!”

The cries of outrage simmered down to displeased grumbles, but I couldn’t help the creeping feeling that crawled along my spine the longer Crowley continued, “Now, the first lesson will begin in a week. Everyone will have the option to choose what style of dance they would like to learn. Should you refuse or take too long to choose, you will be shuttled into a random class.”

He paused, glancing around the room to ensure we were all still listening, before he continued, “Please, keep in mind that you must pass at least one class! At the end of each class ,you will perform in front of the student body and your judges with a partner, who will be decided by a game of straws. If you already know a dance, you may not take that class to meet your requirements.”

The principle beamed down at all of us, either unaware of the mass discontent that faced him or incredibly delighted by it. Knowing him, both options were perfectly possible.

With a characteristically large gesture, he waved the assembled students off and away, “Everyone, except for the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, is excused. Please return to your classes posthaste.”

And there it was, the reason I’d been so nervous ever since I’d heard the word, ‘dance.’ There was going to be some special detail involving myself, just as there always was.

As everyone else walked away, I approached the dais upon which Crowley stood, briefly making eye contact with Ace and Deuce, who both smiled weakly at me.

Despite my displeasure, Crowley met me with a grin and an incredibly affectionate pat on the shoulder, “I’m afraid your grading will be handled differently due to your gender Prefect.”

His comment caused me to wrinkle my nose immediately, smelling a rat already, “Why should me being a girl cause my grading to be different?”

He nodded understandingly, “Because in a traditional dance, the man leads. As the female partner, you will be at the mercy of your lead. As such, your grading will consist of dancing with a staff member.” He paused as I nodded, understanding his words to some extent and feeling surprised that he’d taken this into consideration.

“Additionally, you will be expected to take all of the classes and will dance with anyone who pulls the straw correlating to you being their partner.”

There it was. Leave it to Crowley to have some sort of side agenda.

I couldn’t even muster up the proper amount of righteous indignation because at this point, I wasn’t even surprised. Instead I had to settle for growling out my question, “What?”

He had the gall to look surprised at my reaction as well as the insulted yowl Grim let out on my behalf.

Crowley recovered quickly , flapping his hands as if that would ease our displeasure as he spouted his explanation, “Calm down, both of you. This will add a competitive streak to these classes that will help keep these masses of boys interested. If they’re lucky, they will get you as their partner and only have to dance once. Everyone else must dance twice. Once as the lead, where they will be graded, and once as the female partner.”

A tiny part of me didn't want to believe what I was hearing, but I knew, all too well, that it was true. It sounded exactly like some sort of plot this man would cook up. A new way to keep me busy and not hounding him about finding a way home for me.

He smiled again, misinterpreting my infuriated silence as worry, “You needn't worry, hatchling. Crewel, Trein, Vargas, and Sam have all volunteered to handle your lessons separately from the boys. In fact, Crewel only requested that you wear his newest line of dancing clothes. Lovely dresses, I’m sure.”

He spouted that final bit of info as if it were a perk that I was supposed to be excited about. But fancy clothes were the least of my worries. I apparently had a bunch of dances to learn and perform.

“Dress-up and dance classes,” Grim rolled his eyes, “That’s a dream come true for sure.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, but Crowley merely nodded enthusiastically. Obviously unaware, or more likely, unconcerned, about the amount of disgust he’d garnered for himself today.

If you would like to read more:

#Twisted wonderland imagines #Strictly NRC Dancing #dance AU #female reader #Writing an AU is so exciting #I wasn't expecting that #female prefect #Crowley #Grim #Twisted wonderland x reader #Twisted wonderland #Twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x y/n #reader is prefect #Twst x you #twst x reader #twst x y/n

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prettyiwa · 2 years

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I do not authorize the translation or reposting of my work anywhere. Do not mention me or my work on Tik-Tok.

Relationship: Iwaizumi Hajime x GN!Reader Content Warnings: Fluff, Slice of Life, Neighbor!Iwaizumi, Little Bits of Clueless!Reader, Post-Graduation, Mentions of Minor Character Death, Manga Spoilers Summary: You and Iwaizumi always seemed to drift in and out of each other's lives like two parallel lines never quite destined to touch, until one day, you do. Word Count: 2,175

A/N: I'm a fucking liar (my excuse is this is short). Anyway, I broke @tyga-lily's heart this morning and promised some fluff, so here? I hope this helps make up for it~ (don't judge me for switching to a different project momentarily)

It starts slow, the dissolution of your friendship with Iwaizumi.

He moves away to California and you no longer get to see him on a daily basis. Your walks to your favorite cafe are now solitary and when you get home late, you know you can’t expect to see him stargazing, almost like he was waiting just to chat even though he wasn’t (doesn’t stop you from looking over every single time, disappointed that he’s not here). You two were nothing special, not best friends and definitely not anything resembling dating, but you quickly realize how accustomed you had grown to his quiet presence in your life.

He must feel it, too, because not two weeks go by before he calls you out of the blue, just to chat. It surprises you if only because he’s had your number for years but never once did he use it. But you listen to him tell you of life in California, how everything is so big and busy and lonely. He tells you how different it is, moving to another country, one almost wholly unfamiliar with his native tongue, how he’s a little anxious to start classes next week. And when he asks about you, how your past two weeks have been, you find yourself telling him a little bit more than you thought you would. Like, how you never before noticed the beauty of the trees on the walks you used to take with him, how your studies are getting more difficult but how you like it, how your shift manager is getting on your nerves.

And you start to notice things that you never paid attention to before. He doesn’t listen to respond, like many of your other friends do, but actually listens to what you have to say. Though he may be abrasive about it, he cares about the well-being of his friends, fussing over whether you’ve eaten and whether you’re sleeping. And he’s much more nervous than he lets on (and he’s letting on). It’s a cumulation of little things that you start to appreciate and you find it a little funny it took him being 8,619 kilometers away for you to see them.

The calls become a regular thing, happening at least once a week. Sometimes the two of you catch up, tell each other about your weeks, and sometimes it’s just you two studying together, having virtual parallel play sessions. And it lasts, for a time, but the end of his school year has him stressed out and he’s starting to make friends in California and the calls become less frequent, turning to weekly texts. You feel bad, knowing you could be the one to reach out, but school’s getting busier and your mother’s gotten sick.

He calls after she passes, about two months later, months of hardly any conversation, and it warms your heart. The two of you video chat for hours, talking about everything and nothing, and it ends with a promise from him to come see you when he visits in two months. It’s a small spark, a tiny thing to look forward to, but life happens and he comes but you’re busy so it never happens. You apologize over text and he tells you not to worry, but the two of you hardly chat after that.

And… that’s it. It’s the quiet fizzle of a candle having run out of wick, turning into a fond memory of the boy who grew up next door. You think of him infrequently, seeing a Godzilla charm and thinking, “Oh, Iwaizumi would like this,” or catching a volleyball game on television with your friends, but you don’t reach out.

It starts slow, the reintroduction of Iwaizumi into your life.

When you accepted the position with the women’s volleyball team, you never, ever expected to see him. It’s not often that you cross paths with him, especially as he works as an athletic trainer for the men’s team and you’re the performance analyst for the women’s team, but each time you do, it almost feels like coming home. With health and safety restrictions being what they are, there’s not a whole lot of room for casual conversation, but that doesn’t stop him from shooting you a text.

Work keeps you both busy—his a little more, given the exuberant personalities of the male athletes—but the texts come pretty frequently. The conversation’s always light, asking after the other’s day, talking about work, sending pictures of team shenanigans, but he’s opened that door again. More often than not, it’s him texting you, and more often than not, he does it without expecting much of a response in return.

After the completion of the games, you’re sure that things will trickle back to normal, that he’ll find somewhere to stay in Tokyo and life will sweep you both away once more, but that’s not what happens.

When you return to your home in Sendai, tired after another long day, you find Iwaizumi, stargazing as he used to. The shock you feel is shared, evident in his wide eyes and confused smile, though it quickly melts into something a little more genuine. Your exhaustion vanishes and you both laugh at the strong sensation of déjà vu before you two start talking like you used to in university.

He tells you how he’s staying in Japan for a bit, trying to figure out what his next step is, to sort through offers and figure out where he’s going. You, in turn, tell him that you’re looking for work internationally, wanting to see more of the world than just Sendai. It’s light and familiar and you aren’t sure what it is, but you sleep a little easier that night.

Sometimes you’ll go to that cafe together and other times you’ll both end up working alongside each other in relative silence. He’ll leave for an interview or for a personal job and you won’t see him for a week or two and it’s fine. You don’t think anything of the way you two seem to slip in and out of each other’s lives, how comfortable you two are with what little you have.

Things change when your athletic trainer quits and his name is brought up as a possible replacement. You mention knowing him, respecting his work and the next thing you know, they’re bringing him in for an interview, almost hiring him on the spot. Talking a couple times a week turns into professionally coordinating with one another turns into commuting together turns into him bringing you the soup his mother used to make when you’re sick because he got used to having lunch with you.

It starts slow, the recognition of your feelings for Iwa.

You think you feel a flutter in your stomach when he catches you after you trip, ready to faceplant into the street after misstepping on the curb. He smiles and teases you, calling you a clumsy idiot, but you don’t think much of it. It’s just the adrenaline from embarrassment, nothing more.

But as time passes, you start to notice little things about him, things you didn’t quite appreciate before. Like how the sound of his laugh changes depending on what he’s laughing at and how he’s feeling, or how he never fakes a laugh. How his smiles are always genuine, all or nothing kinda things that are dangerously contagious. How he can quell almost any argument or bickering with a single, disapproving look. How he pushes everyone to be their best, working within their limits and appreciating their strengths to encourage them to keep going.

And when he complains about the people who ask him out clearly only wanting one thing, you can’t help yourself from blurting out in agreement, “Well, they aren’t wrong in thinking you’re attractive. Have you seen yourself? You’re so pretty it’s stupid. But it’s a shame they don’t know how wonderful everything else about you is.” Your eyes widen and heat spreads across your cheeks but it’s not like he’s any different. His face is red and he’s looking at you in absolute shock but… you kind of like it. And it’s not like you regret saying what you said, not like you didn’t mean it.

He bows his head and you notice the tips of his ears are red, too, and you think you see his cheeks lift from a smile. When he looks back up, his blush is contained (though his ears are still red) and his smile has turned into a haughty smirk and there’s something in his eyes that prevent you from looking away. “You think so? Cause I think I don’t even hold a candle to you.”

It’s your turn to fluster, to feel heat spread across your cheeks, to try to hide your face. He laughs, different from before, and he brushes his hand against yours on the table. You look up at him, find him staring at you with singular intensity, eyes flickering to your lips for but a moment. “Honestly, I wouldn’t say no to a date if you were the one asking,” he tells you and it’s like you’re finally getting it.

The way your heart flutters around him, the way you look forward to morning coffee and the commute home, the way your eyes search for him throughout the day. You realize how he’s embedded himself into your life and you aren’t upset by it (if anything you’re upset it took you so long to realize). In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind asking, wouldn’t mind bringing him closer, being aware of the constant presence he’s had in your life.

“Yeah. So do you want to?”

“Is this you asking?”

“I could change my mind.”

“Please don’t,” he laughs, bowing his head again. “I didn’t know how to ask you all this time.”

“Well, now you don’t need to,” you laugh, covering his hand with yours.

It’s fast, how quickly you fall for Hajime.

You didn’t expect much to change, not when you see him express his love to everyone else in a million little ways, but it does. Eating breakfast with him turns into him making breakfast for you, trying to learn what you like and don’t like with your food. Trips to your favorite cafe turn into mini-dates with the owners gushing over you two each and every time while you two laugh and learn as much as you can about the other. Instead of coming home late to him stargazing, he makes sure you get off on time so you two can stargaze together.

His affection is given freely, whenever you seek it, whenever you ask. You never have to wonder, never have to question how he feels or what he’s thinking because he tells you everything, more than happy to share. And you start to wonder how long you’ve felt like this, how long he’s felt like home, how long he’s been something irreplaceable in your life.

When you get the job offer from that school in the U.S., he’s excited for you, telling you how proud he is of you, celebrating your hard work instead of worrying over what will become of you two (and part of you is glad he isn’t worrying and part of you is upset because you’re worrying). You bring it up, ask him what he wants and what he wants to do, and he smiles, no sign of stress to be seen.

“I’m happy to support you in whatever you want to do. I’d like to be with you every step of the way, but only if it’s what you want, too. What do you want?”

So you tell him that you’re afraid. You’re afraid because it’s a new land and you won’t know anyone and you’re worried about the language barrier (because you know English but you’ve never had to communicate in nothing but English before). You’re excited because it’s the opportunity to experience something new, different from the comfortable and safe life you’ve built for yourself in Sendai. And you’re worried, really worried because—

“What if I said that I don’t want to lose what we have? What if I said that I wanted to take you with me?”

“Then say it. I still have connections from Irvine and I’ll make it work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If you still want me, I’m not going anywhere.”

It makes you smile, his constant reassurance, knowing he doesn’t say these words lightly, that he’s never been the type to say something he doesn’t mean. So you two plan, work towards making your dream a reality. He finds an opening at a university not too far from yours and they aren’t stupid enough to turn down the athletic trainer of Japan’s national volleyball team.

Not even six months into living in America, you propose, simple and sweet, late at night while you’re both stargazing. He doesn’t hesitate to say yes.

It started slow, your romance, but there’s not any point in your story that you would trade.

Haikyuu!! Masterlist

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