#havoc on the half-pipe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ma1dita · 4 months

Text

said he likes crazy

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 2.1k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's been avoiding you since your first kiss. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: SAID HE LIKES CRAZY GIRLS, BUT HE HATES WHEN I ACT CRAZY guys i didnt sleep for this pls tell me its ok

(posted 1/29/24, beta’d by the lovely ellie @lixzey )

—

He’s been avoiding you.

To be specific, Luke’s been running away from you. Typical son of Hermes, and a typical teenage boy at that. But if anyone’s asked you what’s up (which, they all have, after almost 4 years of seeing you two not go a day without bickering), it’s just easier to say you’ve been busy.

Okay, so perhaps you’ve been avoiding him too.

Annabeth clocked you as soon as you turned tail after almost bumping into him after archery practice. Damn children of Athena; it’d be nice if they weren’t so perceptive sometimes.

“What did he do this time?” she pipes up, filling the silence of the Big House. It’s late now, and the cabin counselors’ meeting just ended.

“Seeing as you’re the one helping me with the paperwork tonight and not him, you can take a good guess, Annie,” you sigh.

Honestly though, who the fuck kisses someone senseless and then runs away? (Luke Castellan, that’s who.) You weren’t sure what to make of it. You’re a daughter of chaos, after all, not love. But if there’s anyone who can read your emotions better than yourself, it’s him.

Annabeth stares at her idiot brother through the window as he wanders in the grass outside the Big House.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s just…being Luke,” you say, blinking slowly as you shuffle through the last of the files you need to put on your dad’s desk before you mutter, “I’m just having a bad day.”

A noise of concern makes its way up Annabeth’s throat. You haven’t had a bad day in a while, in all honesty, not one that makes you act like this, admittedly not one that makes you act like you— the daughter of Dionysus, god of insanity, and not the daughter of Mr. D, camp director.

It was just a bad day until it turned into a bad week, and the voices in your head were starting to get loud without Luke distracting you. Because that’s what he ultimately is, a distraction from your camp duties.

There’s so much to do and so little time, however, that you hide away your microexpressions that seem to be clawing at you from the inside. The anger, the mania, the hurt. If you unleash it, only the gods can predict how much of camp would be affected by your ‘outbursts’, as your dad likes to call them. Not like you had a choice in the matter. Your days of wreaking havoc are behind you, now presenting yourself as the stellar star of the Camp Half-Blood show. It’s almost a one-woman production with you picking up after your father and trying to tame the traits he passed down.

Thanks for that, D.

So you give and you give and you give—all your attention and time and effort into keeping camp upright, into being the perfect daughter, that at the end of the day, you’ve drained yourself of who you are with who you try to be.

You look at your tired reflection in the window, before your eyebrow raises at the sight of Luke blending in with the shadows of the tree he’s leaning against. Idiot.

“Annie, would you mind…”

“Yeah, I’ll do cabin checks myself. Might drag your brother to do them with me,” she smiles, patting your arm before grabbing her bag.

“If he complains, let me know. Pollux has heard me bitch enough today.” The small girl raises an eyebrow at that, biting her tongue from responding. You chewed out a lot of people today, acting extra uptight and demanding of the counselors to “just do the right thing.” It was almost insufferable, but despite you trying to hold it in, your emotions bled into their own. Everyone was agitated by the end of the meeting, filing out quickly with biting words and hot tempers. You couldn’t help but notice Luke led them all out of there, and they also somehow got the feeling that he was to blame.

Smiling at Annabeth in thanks, you watch her walk out to Luke before punching him in the stomach as he grimaces, meeting your violet gaze through the window as he raises a hand. It’s hard to tell if it’s to signal a truce or his embarrassment, but he trudges the way up the path and the door creaks open.

“Heard you were having a bad day,” he mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. You look at him from the corner of your eye as you continue to write down the weekly to-dos and organize papers for your dad to sign and send back to Zeus.

“Why are you here, Castellan?”

“So we’re back to that? I thought…” his voice trails off at the sound of his last name, not Luke, not angelface, or anything in between, and both of you are unsure how to proceed. Neither of you have done this before, at least not with each other. You tilt your head to the side, daring him to speak, and it reminds him of a week ago, you bathed in sunlight when he leaned in and kissed you. Though if he did that right now, he’s not sure how you’d react.

“It’s just a bad day,” you whisper in defeat, lilac eyes wilting in front of him like an overwatered flower.

He realizes then that he cares for you more than he knows how to. And Luke knows what it means when you’re having a bad day.

There’s a deranged look in your eye, a subtle eye twitch and clench of your jaw that is almost insusceptible to the average demigod, but he knows you’re on edge, having taunted you mercilessly until you scream, cry, laugh, or all of the above. But most of all you look tired and in need of someone who knows how it feels to be underappreciated.

“D’s a great dad to the twins. But I just feel like… maybe he wasn’t meant to be mine,” you whisper, rolling your tongue against the front of your teeth to push back the sob a 14-year-old version of you would let out deep in the dark of cabin 11, having been there for months and knowing Dionysus was your father and waiting for him to see you. To know you.

“Giving me a hard time about all of this,” you say, hands gesturing to the things you have to prepare for him by morning. You’re overworked, underpaid, and definitely not appreciated— and Luke decides he hates your dad for what he puts you through, not just as a shitty camp director but as a shitty dad. He’s learned to live with the hurt—to use it to fuel his vengeance for how he plans to make the world better. But your ambition makes you change yourself constantly to try to be better. Both fatal flaws are fueled by the ignorance of your fathers. He knows the feeling all too well. He knows you.

“What do you need?” he asks simply, stepping closer to your form hunched over the desk.

“I can do it, you know. D’s wrong about me,” you whisper, and the words come out sounding so desperate for him to believe the performance you always put on that you avert your eyes.

He doesn’t need to be convinced; instead, he holds his arms out waiting for you to let you make the next move. Luke is neither a fool nor a knave— there are no tricks here, no hidden agenda as he watches you try to compose yourself with a deep breath instead of showing him the real you. The one who’s beneath the mask of being head counselor, your father’s saving grace, and the one who carries her responsibilities like Atlas carries the weight of the sky.

“I know you can. You always have. You really think I’m here to help you file paperwork?” He means it.

“Will you let me?” Whether he meant sharing the workload or being there for you, you wouldn’t dare to ask. It’s all the same, anyway—laying yourself bare for someone to peek into your mind and have them not laugh at it.

Suddenly you speak, and the intensity of your tone makes him straighten his posture.

“Sometimes… Do you ever feel the need to just…”

“What?” He reaches out to tug your hair, and in the dim light, he can see the bloom of your cheeks. You’re shy, and Luke thinks you look soft like this, wary of how he perceives you.

“I shouldn’t.” Fuck the gods. He can see the thought form in your eyes, the heat of your stare tearing through his, and his lips pull into a smirk.

“What was that, trouble?”

“Luke, don’t be an asshole…” You say warily, biting the inside of your cheek. There’s no way you’re going down in the history books for cursing the gods because Luke Castellan of all people made you.

“I thought you liked me like that,” he’s grinning now, and grabbing your chin lightly, mouthing the words to echo your thoughts.

Fuck the gods.

“Fuck.” you whisper, before your voice fails you, your eyes closing both from his touch and the genuine fear of the heavens falling down from the sacrilege falling from your lips.

“Louder,” he whispers, pulling your face up close to his, “come on, you used to be more fun, trouble. I believe in you.”

“Fuck!” you say louder and he’s whispering in your ear, urging you to toe the line between perfect child and degenerate.

“Say it again.”

“FUCK! FUCK THE…” you yell before you sigh exasperatedly, eyes widening as you feel the breath release from your chest before your head lolls onto his shoulder.

“Gods, you’re fucking insane, Castellan.”

He laughs lowly, and it sounds as sweet as sin. Your smiling lips make an imprint on his collarbone, and he wishes they would sear themselves on there for the rest of eternity.

“Hey, I get it from you. Feel better?”

To be seen is a fickle thing. But to be known is something more intimate, and nothing will be able to erase the connection you both share—fatal flaws and all. There are things you can’t change about people, what they are at their core, and so he takes what you hate about yourself with both hands and pulls you towards his chest until you settle against him with a sniffle. Luke tilts your chin up again, a rough thumb wiping away evidence of your watery smile. He thinks he sees a glimpse of a past you—a younger one that dyed his socks purple to make him feel like he belongs here. And he knows now that he does belong with you, right here as he holds you in the quiet of the Big House.

“Ugh, I’ll kiss you later, I still have to finish up here. You’re not off the hook, angelface.” You sigh, pushing away from him before he tugs you back, your feet stumbling as you roll your eyes at his impish expression.

“Let me make it up to you, trouble.”

“What, so you run away again?” you scoff, snickering at the sight of his ego being taken down a notch.

“I’ve just….I don’t know how to do all of this with you. Guess I’m worried it won’t meet your expectations, Miss Head Counselor.” A boyish sort of bashfulness crosses his features, and he’s twirling a piece of your hair in his hands like spinning silk.

“I just hope you never stop surprising me. That’s all I ask.”

Your hand touches his wrist lightly, and he sighs like you’ve already taken his breath away.

“I keep my promises. Do you?”

“Who said a kiss was a promise? I meant it as a threat,” you laugh before he’s pressing your hips into the table, nose nudging against yours and suddenly work is off the table for the rest of the night.

You on the table, however, well... that could be negotiated.

“I knew something was wrong with me when your so-called threats got less scary and more sexy,” Luke teases, running a finger on the side of your cheek. His breath tickles your lips, and you can imagine the rage your father would feel if he caught the two of you in his office like this. Besides the blatant defiance, you briefly wonder if your rebellion would get him to respect you more. An interesting thought.

“You’re absolutely terrible. I need to get this done… The gods don’t wait for us.”

A weak sigh leaves your mouth as your brain is already riddled with thoughts of him and he closes the gap between your lips.

“They can wait until morning. For now, you’re mine.”

—

“You can’t love someone unless you love yourself first — bullshit.

I have never loved myself.

But you —

Oh god, I loved you so much I forgot what hating myself felt like. (via swxrn-in)”

ask to be added to general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan fanfic #pjo x reader #pjo imagine #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

1K notes · View notes

gods-favorite-autistic · 3 months

Text

Love how Havoc on the Half-Pipe is basically just each of the players going “hey you know what’d be fuckin sick” and then either succeeding in the coolest way or failing miserably

#even the bike is like ‘master this is fucking sick’ hangman you will always be famous #shoutout to Kristen trying to join Riz on the half pipe and not only falling but falling to the middle and almost catching on fuckign fire #also Fabian doing the coolest thing with an enemy by throwing them off a cliff and then immediately falling on top of said enemy #fantasy high #autism (mads) speaks #the combat episodes have to be my favorites ngl

250 notes · View notes

arainywriter · 7 months

Text

havoc on the half-pipe is when the bad kids become the bad kids. it's the fight where they stop fighting as individuals and start fighting as a group. they finish the fight together, they realize that they go well together, and after this, they start hanging out outside of the mission. fabian buys the group presents. riz, kristen, fig, and adaine hang out at the luxury apartments. gorgug and fig actually start a band together. they're the bad kids now.

#dimension 20 #d20 #fantasy high #d20 fantasy high #the bad kids

278 notes · View notes

surplus-of-sarcasm · 2 months

Text

I Do

TW: Blood, bruises, and some angst

Ya girl has some off-days from college, and she's decided to use em. Missed y'all < 3

The villain's gloved fingers drummed impatiently on the table, his dark shadow looming over the hero with a promise of danger.

"What's it going to be, Hero? I sell those codes to Supervillain? Or you comply with our little agreement?" His tone was perfectly calm, eerily so, his eyes impossible to read behind the domino mask, but he still emanated danger, his lips drawn together in a tight line.

It was cruel calling it 'their' agreement because the hero had no hand in this. The suggestion had left her more shocked than angry, still reeling from the villain's words.

"Marry me," he'd said in a commanding tone. Like any other choice would've been the wrong answer, tilting her chin upwards ever so subtly.

And the hero held his gaze, transfixed, gasping and laughing and hoping this was nothing but a fever dream.

"Wha-" the hero choked out incoherently.

The villain had let go of her face, his hands resting on the top of her chair. "I can repeat it as many times as you want me to," he stage-whispered against the shell of her ear, his tone gentle and dangerous all at once.

"But, I don't understand. What could you possibly gain from this of all things? You despise me, Villain." She truly couldn't process any of what she was told, the mere idea of being tethered so bindingly to her worst enemy leaving her mind an ineffective, nervous wreck.

The villain huffed out a rough laugh, very genuine and horribly cruel. "Oh, but I do despise you. Very much. I despise how defeated and humiliated you left me in front of half the city . Despised the fact that you got me locked up. Despised how for the very first time, I actually felt like I lost the game, and I'm a rather sore loser, you know." The villain's demeanour was eerily calm, his shoulders straight, his resting face showing nothing but a placid neutrality as he turned to stand in front of the hero, but it was arguably more terrifying, more unpredictable.

"I just want to see you as defeated as I've been, Hero. Bound so intimately to your worst enemy, your greatest nightmare. If you do this, it means admitting to me, and more importantly, to yourself, that the only option you have is bending to my whims," he crooned, his lips curling into a wicked smirk.

The hero wanted to scream, to kick the villain in the teeth and watch the blood trickle down his lips and the bruising dye his skin a grotesque purple. She wanted to think of a clever solution that left the man's face contorted with a strange mix of hatred and respect, to blow his plan up in his face. Anything that would spare her this hell.

"Did I mention you have exactly five minutes to decide?" he piped up casually, examining his nails.

The hero swore and the villain let out a half-snicker. This was madness. A death sentence that would last for the rest of her life. And it didn't matter if she said no, if she undid whatever she could of the havoc those codes would wreak in Supervillain's hands. The conviction so heavily saturated in the villain's tone, the way his jaw clenched and his fists tightened was more than enough proof that he would spread more chaos, spark more fights, destroy an endless array of things and lives until she gave in to him.

The villain loved control like he loved the air he breathed, even more so, like a drug that left him intoxicated and lusting for more.

If she didn't listen, she was sending everyone she cared about, sending the city, the whole world if the villain had it his way, to hell.

The hero sucked in a measured breath, reading the contract word for word, from the title to the fine print, scouring it for a loophole she could use, for any more tricks up the villain's sleeve, just to find nothing. She tried to relax her tensed shoulders, her grip merciless on the pen in her erratically shaking hands, every curve and line of the letters of her name feeling like a blade was slicing through her heartstrings like how one would rip a stalk; slowly, unevenly, time seeming to slow down and the world seeming to freeze for a moment that felt like a thousand years and then some.

The villain didn't smile or laugh or let any display of emotion etch itself onto the harsh lines of his features. He nodded curtly instead, snatching the paper and folding it into a square and tucking it in a well-concealed pocket of his suit. "The cruelty only ends here," he attested, his voice tight and no longer playful, the way it was whenever he promised something.

The hero nodded, swallowing the humiliation at the back of her throat, even though she wasn't inclined to believe him.

"There's a ceremony. Nothing very insane, just you, me and an officiator. This is just a contract, not a marriage certificate, even if we both know which one of those is more binding. You'll show up today, if you know what's good for you, heroine."

The hero wasn't sure when she was up on her feet and slapping the villain harshly across the face, blood spurting from his mouth and staining his perfectly straight teeth, as he only grit them into a manic grin, shaking with a hoarse cackle as he wiped the blood of his face "Is that how you treat your husband, my dear? Do they forget to teach you manners at the hero agency?"

The hero was too dazed with rage to speak, trying to mar the villain's visage with another rough blow to it, until he caught her hand with an iron fist. "I said I'd never hurt you for nothing, but not that I'd let you do to me what you please without consequence. So play nice, darling." The villain let go of her arm slowly, the bruises he left in his wake more than enough of a warning.

The second he left, the hero didn't cry as she thought she would, she didn't scream, she didn't destroy everything around her or rip through her hair. Instead, she slid down against the wall, expressionless but breathing hard, her lungs hungry for air that seemed so unfairly little, her heart playing songs of anxiety and fury and sorrow every horrible emotion she'd ever known.

She was marrying the villain. Marrying the villain, and she couldn't do a thing about it. Marrying him and no one would come to save her.

Sometimes being a hero means saving the whole world except yourself.

✨️Timeskip✨️

Sure enough, the villain was there in a tailored suit, in front of his house her new prison, where he'd told her to show up, the officiator standing with a solemn expression on his face.

The villain wasn't supposed to be handsome, the dark brown hair she was normally used to seeing messy and caked with blood slightly damp with gel and mostly hanging in loose, luscious waves, his eyes a dazzling green-blue, long, dark lashes framing them in a way that put the best kinds of kohl to shame and his cheekbones sharp and high-set, the split on his lip hardly distracting from the rest of his appearance. It was so unbelievably stupid, so inconsequential, and yet the hero hated him even more for his tantalisingly beautiful features, for the way his grin would've fooled her into thinking he truly was in love, if she didn't notice how it didn't reach up to his eyes.

The hero hadn't paid any mind to whatever the officiator had said until it was her turn to say 'I do', flashing the villain a terribly fake smile that wasn't half as charming as his, but it would have to do as she slid a simple platinum ring on his finger, and he slid a diamond ring onto hers.

"Let's go," the villain said when they were finally done, gently taking the hero's gloved hand in his and leading her up the stairs and into the mansion.

The heroine was not one to admit defeat and snap in half in the fashion that a twig would. Many a battle would need to be lost for a victory in the war, many a sacrifice would have to be made for a greater reward. She would take the pain like stone would take a blunt pickaxe, just to twist a knife in the villain's chest when he least expected. Because history forgets everyone but those who laugh the last.

Tagging for this: @hufflepuffwritingstuff2

Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @adamswrongchild @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth @dragonmine-24 @detectivepetrichor @orangeduckweed @red-is-the-reputation4444 @alexii117

#hero x villain #prompt #snippet #fiction #angst #tw blood #tw bruises #natalia's writing #forced marriage #hero/villain #writers on tumblr #female writers #ok ok idk what this even is atp #it just happened #also hero c'mon WHY are you mad he's hot #that's a plus 😭#enemies to. . .uhh you'll see #maybe idk my schedule is unpredictable and so is my muse

147 notes · View notes

jadelion · 1 month

Text

All Fabadine moments in Fantasy High Freshman Year:

(Sophomore Year)

Episode 1 - The Beginning Begins:

Adaine asks if they can just do lines in detention instead of talking about their feelings and Fabian agrees.

Episode 3 - After the Afterlife:

Adaine says that they need to get a teacher and Fabian immediately agrees (nobody else does).

Fabian calls Adaine incredibly heroic.

Adaine and Fabian are the last two to get picked up by their parents.

Episode 5 - The Pixie and the Palimpsest:

When the Bad Kids split up in the Black Pit Adaine goes to find somewhere quiet and Fabian goes with her.

Episode 6 - Brawl at the Black Pit:

Adaine is absolutely Hallariel's favourite out of Fabian's friends.

Also, in regards to Adaine, Hallariel tells Fabian he is a "heartbreaker through and through", to which he gets embarrassed.

Episode 8 - Havoc on the Half-Pipe:

When discussing Adaine with the Hangman Fabian calls her "quite impressive" and "rather cute".

Episode 10 - Battle of the Bloodrush Brethren:

Adaine tells Ragh to vote for Fabian for Prom King.

Episode 11 - Cool Kids, Cold Case:

Fabian tells Adaine that he thinks she would look lovely as a sailor and that he thinks she looks just fine in her uniform.

Fabian is so excited when he finds out that Aelwyn is Adaine's sister. (It's just giving he has a crush on Adaine and doesn't know how to deal with it)

If you have anything I missed tell me and I'll add it!

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #adaine abernant #fabian seacaster #fabadine #adaine x fabian #fabian x adaine

45 notes · View notes

thewintersoldierdisaster · 1 year

Text

a/n: another little focus on dad drei! no worries, we’re moving on to some smut and the early years of the relationship with the next few fics lol. hahah i literally did not think this would be done today but work was quiet so i got to write and post and be the superstitious bitch that i am. so here we go, posting right before i watch the isles/caps game (on tv this time). i love love love the headcanon prompts and i will 100% be getting to all of them at some point, so be on the lookout 🥰

word count: 2.3k

tw: nothing really, a little innuendo

summary: andrei took care of all four kids while you were out and you come home to delightful chaos

“Hey, Nykki, I’m at the door, I have to go,” you wedge your phone in between your shoulder and cheek and juggle your bags. “I hope D’s awake because my boobs are ready to explode.”

Your friend laughs on the other end of the line, “oh my god, better get inside then. I’ll talk to you later about coordinating the kids for game day this week.”

“Perfect! I know I said I wasn’t going to, but I’ll probably bring D along, like it’s just easier to strap him to my chest and go,” you shrug as you push the front door open. “Fourth kid problems, just have to come along everywhere. Thank god he sleeps anywhere.”

Nykki wishes her own youngest would sleep anywhere and says good-bye, promising to text later about the plans. You slide your phone into the back pocket of your jeans and step inside the house, immediately hit with the soundtrack to The Little Mermaid. The movie is blaring, echoing around the house. You set your bags on the floor and kick off your sneakers and pad into the den, the source of the movie’s noise.

The movie’s playing on the big screen TV, Ariel singing about wanting to be where the people are, and your husband and kids are sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. You giggle, muffling the noise behind your hand, when you get a good look at Andrei and the kids. The girls are in full princess regalia - Evie as Sleeping Beauty, Alina as Belle, and Kira as Rapunzel - the costume dresses swishing around as they move. Andrei has two pairs of fairy wings strapped to his back, the elastic armholes stretched to their limits. Dimitri is in his arms, draped face down over one of Andrei’s forearms, his little cheek squished to the side against the crook of Andrei’s elbow. You can see that the three-month-old is awake, watching his crazy big sisters dance around.

“Looks like I missed quite the party,” you tease, drawing four pairs of eyes to you. Andrei grins and you can’t stop the laughter that escapes when you see the smears of kid make-up all over his face. There are butterfly clips in his hair, holding back the overgrown strands in a haphazard style.

“Mommy!” Three little voices combine into one as they rush you, hugging at your legs.

“Hi, my little loves,” you lift Kira onto your hip and kiss the two older girls on top of their heads. “Did you have fun with Daddy?”

“Daddy’s pretty,” Kira chips, smiling widely. Andrei laughs, adjusting Dimitri in his arms.

You smile a crinkle-eyed smile at Kira and agree, “Daddy’s really pretty.”

Evie pipes up, “he came to the salon today and got the works!” You smother a laugh because where did she even hear that?

“He needs to look pretty because he’s got a date tonight,” Alina chimes in and you lift an eyebrow at your husband and kids.

“Oh, a big date, huh?” You tease. “She must be someone special, for you to go to the salon for the works.”

Andrei nods, the glittery eyeshadow smeared across the top half of his face catching the light, “the most special. She’s the love of my life.”

Your stomach flutters with butterflies, still affected by this man after all these years. Just when you think you can’t love him more, you come home to this sight, Andrei with your babies surrounding him and being the best dad in the world. Tears well up in your eyes and you wonder if the postpartum hormones are still wreaking havoc. You wipe at your eyes with the side of your index finger and grin. “Well,” you pause, still emotional, “I think she’s just going to love what your stylists have done.”

“Mommy,” Evie whispers, looking at you like she feels bad that you’re so dumb, “Daddy’s date is you!”

“Oh!” You fake gasp, making Kira giggle. “Really? You guys got Daddy all fancied up for me?”

Alina cracks up, dancing around the couch cushions that have somehow ended up on the floor. “Daddy says that he’s takin’ you to dinner tonight and me an’ Evie said we needed to make him pretty ‘cause you get pretty before dinner. I did his yipstick!”

You love the way she mispronounces words and have basically forbidden anyone from correcting her. “I love his yipstick,” you tell her seriously. The hot pink smudged all around his lips is probably going to stain his face and beard, but he puckers his lips at you, making kissing noises.

“Tell Mommy that she should kiss me,” Andrei says. “I’ll share the yipstick with her.”

Alina’s mispronunciation in his accent makes you laugh and the girls tug at your hands, chanting “kiss Daddy! Kiss Daddy!” Unable to resist your kids and the prospect of an Andrei kiss, you lean down, holding Kira with one arm and cupping Andrei’s cheek with the other hand so you can kiss him chastely. One of his hands reaches out to curl around your thigh, squeezing gently. He laughs when you pull back, “hot pink is your color.”

“Mommy’s pretty now!” Kira giggles, patting your cheek. You press a smacking kiss to her cheek, blowing a little raspberry and she shrieks with laughter. There’s a hot pink smudge on her cheek now too.

Andrei looks between you and Kira and his eyes twinkle with mischief. “I think that Ev and Alya need some yipstick too,” he says and reaches out with his free hand to pull Evie in close. He kisses her cheeks and forehead, making her laugh, and getting kiss marks on her skin.

You do the same to Alina, who struggles and fights like she’s fighting for her life. Her laughter is the only sign that she’s enjoying the kiss attack. “No, Mommy! No more kisses!” She wiggles away from you, grinning her little gap-toothed smile. You love that little smile.

Dimitri babbles in Andrei’s arms and you feel bad because you had almost forgotten about him while you were teasing Andrei - that seems to be a negative of being the fourth kid. But now that he’s made his presence known, your overly-full boobs ache a little and you remember exactly what you needed to do when you came inside, before you were distracted by Andrei’s makeover. You settle Kira on the couch and she immediately slides off to run after her big sisters where they’re performing a little show in front of the TV, giving you and Andrei a minute to breathe.

“Give me my baby,” you say. Andrei hands him over and gets to his feet, shaking out the arm that Dimitri had been resting on. He struggles to get his arms out of the fairy wings, getting tangled in the two pairs for a second before finally freeing himself. He folds them carefully and sets the costume pieces on the couch. You cuddle the baby close and shift him to one arm so you can pull down the neck of your shoulder and pop one boob out of the top of your bra. Once Dimitri is comfortably latched, you head for the kitchen, needing just a little privacy because the girls are way too honest with what they see around the house. You’re not really looking for a commentary on your pancake boobs right now.

“Feeling a little more steady?” Andrei asks quietly, kissing the top of your head when you sit down on one of the counter stools. He moves around the kitchen easily, making you a turkey and cheese sandwich as you talk.

“Mhm,” you hum, watching him move. After an overwhelming few days with Andrei on the road, he’d noticed that you were short-tempered this morning and ushered you out the door, reassuring you that he would handle the kids for a few hours while you did whatever you wanted. “I needed to get out of the house without eight little hands attached to me.” You chuckle a little, but the sensation of being touched out is definitely a real thing.

“Good,” he says, licking the mustard off the butter knife when he’s done with it. You hate that habit of his - one day he’s going to slice his tongue off and then where will you both be? “You look calmer.”

You shrug a bit. “Looks like you had everything handled,” you say and it’s not even a tease, because the house has definitely looked worse when it’s just you and the kids.

Andrei sets the sandwich in front of you and you take a huge bite, starving. “I ran them around outside for a bit,” he says. “The play set got a lot of use and Alina tried to swing herself to the moon. Dimka was getting cranky out in the cold though, so we came inside, had some lunch. The girls wanted to watch a movie and Evie wanted me to paint her nails. Which turned into this,” he grins, gesturing vaguely at his face and hair with one hand.

“I really like that,” you reply, waving your free hand in front of his face in the same vague gesture. “And what’s that I heard about taking Mommy on a date, Mister Svechnikov?”

His eyes twinkle dangerously and he leans forward, palms flat on the counter, veins in his forearms bulging. The glittery makeup and hair clips really should ruin the image, but only add to his appeal. “Daddy,” his voice deepens and grows raspy, “wants to take care of Mommy and show her how much he appreciates everything she does for the family.”

Your thighs clench together instinctively, a rush of warmth filling your body. Your cheeks heat up and you chew on your lower lip. “I like the sound of that,” you whisper, casting a glance over your shoulder at the girls. They’re totally absorbed in the movie, little mouths hanging open and eyes wide and focused.

Andrei smirks at you, cradling your jaw in one hand and titling your chin up so he can lean down and kiss you. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip and your mouth falls open for him. His thumb and index finger tighten around your chin gently and you squirm in your seat, letting out a soft gasp. Dimitri stabs at your chest with those sharp baby fingernails and you yelp, pulling back. “Ow,” you grumble, squinting down at the baby. It’s not like he was getting squished in between the two of you.

“Spoilsport,” Andrei jokes, brushing the tip of his finger over the slope of the baby’s nose. Dimitri wrinkles his nose and his mouth falls off your breast with a little pop. “Whoops,” Andrei winces and you quickly shuffle around, switching him to the other boob before he can start to cry.

“Crisis averted,” you sigh at the relief of the baby eating. Your breasts already feel less achy. “So, where are we going on this date?”

Andrei helps you get your other breast back in your bra, taking an extra few seconds to fondle you, your sensitive nipples reacting to the touch of his fingers. “I thought the new Greek place downtown,” he says.

“That sounds like a fantastic plan,” you grin, already thinking of how delicious the food is going to be. A thought occurs to you. “Who’s watching the kids?”

“Marty and Nykki,” Andrei replies, a smug smile frown on your face when he sees the implication dawn on your face.

“You had this planned? Nykki didn’t say anything when I was talking to her earlier!” You laugh at the surprise. “They’re going to watch our four and their two?”

Andrei nods. “I asked them two days ago and they’re happy to chip in. Half the kids should be asleep by the time they get here anyway,” he leans in to kiss you sweetly. “I told you, solnyshka, I want to show you how much I appreciate the sacrifice you make during the season. A little planning ahead is nothing.”

“Drei,” your voice catches on emotion, “you’re the best husband. Honestly, what did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re just you,” he replies simply. “My best friend, love of my life, mother to the best kids in the world.”

“Stop it,” you cry, waving a hand at him. “I just stopped feeling like I’m going to cry at everything. Don’t be so sweet to me.”

He laughs and grabs your hand out of the air, squeezing your hand gently before kissing the tips of your fingers. “Would it help if I said I wanted to get you pregnant again soon?” His smile is cheeky and you know he’s not entirely joking.

You scoff, wiping at the last of your tears. “Yes, that does help, you lunatic neanderthal,” you deadpan.

“I’m not kidding,” he says. “I think the boys are outnumbered here, Dimka needs a brother.” He traces the tip of his index finger over the lines on your palm.

It is something you’ve wondered about, but not really discussed, whether Andrei would want to give your son a little brother. It’s not an entirely terrible thought. The Svechnikov Brothers, 2.0. Splitting time watching hockey in two different cities in another eighteen years. Following in Dad and Uncle Geno’s footsteps.

You shake your head. Nope, that has to be the baby hormones talking.

“Let’s see just how good dinner is and then we’ll talk,” you say faintly. Dimitri grumbles in your arms, done eating and ready to be burped. Andrei takes him while you fix yourself up and he knows exactly what he’s doing - displaying extreme paternal expertise and looking downright edible with the tiny baby in his arms. Damn him.

“Mommy! Alina said a bad word!”

“I did not! All I said was stupid head! That’s not a bad word! Evie’s a bad word!”

You look at Andrei with a raised eyebrow. “You want to add a fifth kid to this?”

“Why not?” He grins back, showing off his stupid dimple. “We make cute kids.”

“Alina,” you call back, shaking your head at Andrei and trying to tamp down a smile, “stupid head is not a nice word and it’s especially not nice to call your sisters stupid.”

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

185 notes · View notes

pearlypairings · 4 months

Note

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PEARLY!!! 🎉🎊🎂 the world is a better place because you’re in it.

Birthday prompt:

For the pairing - Jonathan and Chrissy 😜

Scene - baking a surprise birthday cake… but the two of them together, baking it for Joyce (instead of one surprising the other)

Dialogue - "put the icing DOWN."

jonathan x chrissy || fluff, comfort, group hugs || 704 words

A/N: losty! you're always so creative, thinking out of the box and it gave me one of my favorite photocheer hcs now🥰 hope you like this one! JOYCE BYERS, our beloved<3

yesterday's prompt

Chrissy’s face had three different colors of icing smeared from her cheeks up to her ears like a clown who couldn’t decide on a blush color and went with all of them. She’d been crouched at eye-level with the cake, three piping bags, and four icing spatulas for far too long. A bead of sweat threatened to blend the white, blue and purple icings together. Enough was enough, she was becoming obsessed. “Babe, babe.” Jonathan patted her shoulder gently. “Put the icing DOWN.” “One more minute, one-more-minute. I’m almost done with these peaks on the edge—they have to be perfect.” She pushed aside her frizzy bangs with her forearm, lowering the piping tip back to the top of the cake to finish the third decorative row. He helped her get those pesky hairs out of her vision, making sure to tuck the longer pieces behind her ears and smiling at how cute her forehead looked when she was focusing. Ever since she’d come up with the idea of surprising his mom with homemade birthday cake, Chrissy hadn’t stopped planning. Besides listing out ingredients and supplies to gather, there were at least half a dozen sketches she designed for the decorative top of the round cake. “She’s gonna love it no matter what, because we made it. No need to get stressed out over icing, that’s all. She wouldn’t want you losing your mind over something we’re all gonna be chewing up tonight.” Chrissy set down her tools finally and whirled around to look at him, exasperated. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip while she stretched, straightening her spine from the hunched position she worked under. “No, I know your mom is so good. Good to you, good to Will…” she trailed off to look at the sink full of bowls and utensils stacked high. “And she’s been so good to me, even though I’m not even family.” Jonathan sighed quietly, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss the sugar-coated, tired knuckles with a certain tenderness. “So that’s what this is about? You think you need to give her something perfect to deserve her affection?” “Well, I don’t know, no—maybe, ugh. I don’t know. I just want her to know I appreciate her and love her too.” Chrissy moved toward him, shaking her head and chewing the inside of her cheek like gum. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?” “Maybe,” he said, taking her hand to pull her in close and wrap his arms over her shoulders and down her back. “Or, maybe, part of you still worries that you have to earn things in our family. But the best thing about the Byers is that once you’re in, you’re in. There’s no escaping us once we care about you, we’re like.... a bottomless pit of endless concern and questions and surprise gifts of your favorite gum from the checkout counter. No strings—or perfectly detailed icing—attached.” “God, how did I get so lucky?” Her chin pressed hard against his chest as she embraced him. He didn’t even care that her flour-ey, sugary apron would wreak havoc all over his Smiths' shirt. He could stay like this forever if she wanted. “How did we get so lucky?” His mom walked into the kitchen from her shift, hearing Chrissy’s last question and answering the same exact way Jonathan would have responded. She shrugged off her dark maroon coat, dropping the bag she brought back and forth to work, and hurried over to squeeze them both, planting loud kisses on the tops of their heads. A sudden grasp nearly pinched his shoulder right off when his mom peeked at the counter from around their group hug. “Don’t even tell me that beautiful cake is for me!” Her voice poured out fast and soaked in joy. “You guys are too cute, baking together and making something so sweet for this grateful, old mom.” “Oh, we have candles for when Will gets home later,” Chrissy gushed, slipping her fingers between Jonathan’s. “And extra sprinkles if you wanted more of those and—” And Jonathan couldn’t hear the rest. He just kept thinking about how amazing the two women in his life were. He was the only lucky one here.

#pearly birthday prompts #second prompt!#losty's imagination astounds me #photocheer #jonathan x chrissy #joyce byers #getting the cake and love she deserves #fluff #comfort #birthday cake!#stranger things ficlet #firefly graphics divider

16 notes · View notes

m0ther-of-p3arl · 11 days

Note

hihi :3

I never actually finished watching sophomore year of fantasy high and it’s been long enough that I’m just going to binge all three seasons now :D (too bad I’ve already been spoiled a bit but whatevs)

I forgot how absolutely epic the ending to some of these battles (havoc on the half-pipe) were lmao

YOOOOOOO FUCKIN AWESOMEEEEEE LETS GOOOOOO

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!!!! BECUASE!!! I AM LOVING FANTASY HIGH SM RN.

#question spirals #fantasy high #d20

8 notes · View notes

actuallyastingray · 2 months

Text

Rookie of the Year - The "K" word

Life was full of disappointments.

Sometimes it was a flat tire, sometimes it was a cheating spouse, sometimes it was a flooded basement, and sometimes it was sleeping through your alarm.

And sometimes, after a nine-and-a-half-hour bus ride through driving snow and winding mountains, it was disappointing to show up at your hotel only to be told that your reserved rooms were currently flooded.

"Once again sir, I can't express how sorry I am for the inconvenience this has caused you. All this cold weather has been playing havoc with our pipes. Rest assured we will compensate you for the issues."

Coach was no stranger to disappointments in his line of work. A single misplay during a match was enough to unmake weeks of preparation and training. It would take a lot more than burst pipes and flooded rooms to faze him in the slightest. The hotel manager, a tall mustachioed man, was busy combing the room database in order to find proper accommodations for the team. Seeing as they would be camped out all week until the Iron Tank match, Coach at least wanted everyone to be comfortable, and not worrying about overflowing bathtubs during the stay.

After a good half hour of searching, questioning, and phone calls, the new reservations for Supa Strikas were finally close to completion.

"If I would give you some peace of mind sir, would you like me to show you around your rooms? I can have the porters start bringing up the luggage in the meantime."

Coach nodded in approval, "I don't see why not. If nothing else, it would help me in learning my way around the place."

The manager leaned slightly to the side to look over Coach's shoulder.

"And, err, this will be a...solo tour I take it?"

Coach smirked. He didn't need to turn around to see what the manager was glancing at. The Strika bus hadn't exactly been meant for long car rides, and nine hours stuck seated with minimal internet service would drive anyone crazy. He knew from experience that the team could be real drama queens when faced with discomfort. Today however, the boys had been real troopers toughing out the inconvenience with minimal complaints. After a long plane ride and equally long bus ride, the team were sore, tired, and hangry.

Though currently, they were sprawled across some of the lobby couches, either asleep, falling asleep, or in Dancing Rasta's case, feigning sleep.

"A solo tour is fine. Don't worry, I promise they won't be going anywhere or causing too much trouble while I'm away."

Still, as he made his way towards the waiting elevator behind the manager, Coach made sure to knock on the wooden paneling.

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

Shakes wasn't asleep, at least not yet. Realistically, he should have been asleep five hours ago during the road trip. Being a teenager meant he was hardwired to resist the allure of sleep regardless of how exhausted he was. Over the past few hours, he had used various distractions to keep himself awake; texting memes to Spenza, playing the demo for SL5000 XL, practicing Brislovian, and listening to podcasts. Haven long since exhausted all forms of distraction, and thus himself, he was reduced to scrolling through Nadder all while being sandwiched between Blok and the armrest.

Just a little longer. Just...a little...and then I can sleep in a real bed. I can have pillows...and blankets...and be warm...just...a...little...

His eyes drooped lower and lower. A voice inside him kept telling him to stay awake until Coach got back, but after so long without sleep he was shutting down. Somewhere nearby he could hear someone snoring, though he lacked the mental process to wonder who.

Maybe...just a few...and then I can...sleeeeeee.....

"PORTER? PORTER! PORTER!!!!!!"

In the enclosed space of the hotel lobby, the shrieks echoed like a roaring crowd of Super League fans. Shakes was jolted away from the blissful reprieve of sleep, accidentally kicking his shins on the underside of the coffee table. Pain and surprise combined to drag him back to wakefulness. Curled up on the couch, rubbing his shins and fighting back curses, he bore witness to the culprit behind his rude awakening.

Truthfully, he had only heard stories about these mythical beings. Once considered an alien concept to regions outside of North America, videos from Altivo Industries later made knowledge about them widespread. They supposedly had the power to numb others into states of rage and agony with their words alone and could reduce conversations to screaming matches in the blink of an eye. Those who survived an encounter with them were scarred for life and would commonly regale others online with bizarre and incredulous stories of their encounters.

Shakes had never encountered one of these creatures himself. He had only heard stories from Cool Joe, who was far more familiar with their kind. And yet, here it was before him, the Reaper of Retail, the Fiend of Food Service, the Neighborhoods Worst Nightmare.

The American Karen on holiday.

This particular specimen looked exactly like the stories described them: badly bleached blond hair styled in an inverted bob, tiger-striped yoga pants, faux fur coat, expensive handbag, and fake stick-on nails that looked more akin to talons. She stormed up to the booking desk where the scrawny, meek looking receptionist stood.

"EX-CA-UUUUUUSSSE ME! But WHEEEEEREE is everybody tonight? A guest has to walk into the hotel carrying her own luggage? No porter, no bellhop, no concierge, no valet? I was told this was an upscale establishment that would cater to my luxury experience, and yet ALLLLLL I have experienced so far is incompetence."

All this yelling was accompanied by vigorous finger snapping and foot stomping. To Shakes, now wide awake, it was a rather fantastic spectacle. He was used to El Matador acting like a five-year-old on occasion, but never so consciously, and never in public.

The poor receptionist had gone board stiff during the Karen's rant and looked ready to go bolting out the front door in terror. He must have been either well trained or well paid as he swallowed his fear and bravely engaged with the Karen.

"Sa-sa-so Sorry madame. We've, er, we've been having a lot of trouble with all the recent storms, so you see..."

"And HOOOWWWWWW is that my problem?" came the rude interruption.

The receptionist swallowed again, "We'll we...we are a bit short-staffed at the moment, a-and our current staff is busy accommodating our guests right now..."

"Well get them down here," Karen's screeching interruption came again, "I am a guest and I have not been accommodated in the slightest. I will not be treated like this. Get the staff down here and get my bags unloaded. RIGHT! NOW!"

Suffice to say, even exhausted Super Leaguers were incapable of sleeping through a screaming tirade of this magnitude. Grunts and curses resounded as the rest of the team struggled back to wakefulness. Needless to say, no one was pleased to see why they had been so rudely disturbed.

"Ugh, Karen alert." A still half-asleep North Shaw groaned out.

Cool Joe was the only once conscious enough to reply, "Maaaan, are we really doing this right now? This couch was just starting to be comfy too."

Amidst the complaints from Supa Strikas, Karen was still giving it her all up at the booking desk while the receptionist was barely keeping his head up.

"Honestly! WHYYYYYY is this so difficult? It's like you are intentionally trying to be difficult. I sincerely hope not ALLLLL of the staff here are completely incompetent."

"Ma-madame, there is no reason to go about insulting the staff. We are all doing our very...."

"'gasp' ARE YOU CA-UESTIONING ME!? I would very much hope not. I happen to be very good friends with the owner, who by the way promised that I would be absolutely pampered to during my stay here. Your behavior right now will affect how much money I will be spending here."

"I..I...madame I've said it will just be a few minutes while our staff collect themselves..."

"Well, those had better be some very short minutes now, won't they?"

Poor receptionist. He had turned the color of sour milk and looked about to be sick. It must have been his first Karen encounter. All he could do was take a shaky breath and try to compose himself.

"I...will see about getting them down here...as soon as possible. I...er...do you have a reservation, madame?"

Karen, huffing and puffing, turned away and waved a hand dismissively.

"Well of course I do you idiot, but considering how I've been treated so far I will be speaking to someone about getting an upgrade to my accommodations. Or do I need to call the owner?" She shot one last glare over her shoulder at the poor guy, "First you will see to bringing in my luggage, personally if necessary. Then I will be back to discuss my upgrade." The receptionist was left staring down at his desk, seemingly shell shocked by the whole encounter.

Back at the couches, Supa Strikas were shooting venomous glares at the Karen while trying to stay comfortable on the stiff couches. Shakes was still massaging his throbbing shins when his vision turned...orange tiger-striped patterned. His eyes had barely started to drift upwards when the loud retort brought everyone to attention.

"AH-H-HEMM"

It was perhaps the most forced sound anyone had ever made in the history of throat clearing, and had the situation been any different Shakes probably would have burst out laughing. Unfortunately, his sleep deprived brain decided to respond in the worst possible way to a Karen.

"Can I help you?"

The Karen looked positively bug-eyed as she scoffed down at him.

"UGH! Is it not common knowledge that a man has to give up his seat to a LADY? Clearly you have no culture or breeding."

They all eyed her with barely concealed annoyance.

"Uh, last I checked lady, there were about four other seating areas in this lobby." North Shaw jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to another richly decorated set of couches behind him, "Feel like, I dunno, maybe giving one of them a try?"

Karen didn't even have the grace to turn and face him as she answered, "I don't care what couches are over there. I NEEEEED these ones because I'm waiting on a reservation which is far more important than whatever you vagabonds are doing. Now get up and give me my seat."

Shakes, regarding her like a petulant child, sat back and made to make himself comfortable, "No"

"NO! WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO?!"

He shrugged, "No means no, and it's a complete sentence. So 'No' I'm not getting up."

"Yeah, and those rules don't apply here, crazy pants," Karen spun around to glare at a smirking El Matador, "You see, he may be a gentleman, but you're no lady."

Amidst the chuckles from Supa Strikas, Karen flushed a shade of red that matches their jackets, "HOW DAAAAAAAARE YOU! I will not stand here and tolerate these insults."

"Then stand somewhere else and we'll just insult you there too. Cause honestly, you're just making it too easy at this point," North Shaw piped up again.

The laughter and jokes at her expense seemed to be frying the Karen's brain. She turned a darker shade of red while glaring at each of the Strikas in turn before turning back towards her initial target. Or at least, whom she assumed was her initial target. Her french frying brain somehow seemed to have mistaken Blok for Shakes.

"Alright you, up and at em'," She barked, foot stomping again in earnest, "Cause judging by your size, lord KNOOOOOWS you could do with standing."

Blok simply crossed his arms and sat back, mirroring Shakes pose, "Grzzl!"

Karen looked like she had been shocked. Still red in the face, she stared bug eyed back at the defender with equal parts confusing and rage.

"W-What?"

Blok crossed his arms tighter, "Grzzl gru grzzl," he repeated more insistently.

Karen turned redder still. "What is wrong with you? Do you speak English? Are you even talking? What is even happening?"

"He's Brislovian lady," Shakes growled at her none too kindly, "He doesn't speak English, but he told you 'No' in case you were wondering. And for the record, we're closer to Brislovia then we are America so you shouldn't be judging people for not speaking English."

"Grggbl grub grzz burzzle grrr," Blok supplied helpfully, now pointing at the irate woman.

Karen, still pomegranate red, raised her voice to a shriek, "Don't you DAAAARE point at me. You are INVAAAAADING my personal space."

Blok smirked, then raising his voice a few octaves, repeated back, "Grzz gr GRAAABLE brzl burb."

He now had Karen's full attention, so she fortunately didn't notice Shakes trying to conceal fits of laughter.

"What are you SAAAAYING? Talk normal!"

Blok once again raised his pitch, now imitating a clear falsetto, "Brzzlr brug GUZZZBLR? Bruglr blurgh gruzz," His speak was complete with exaggerated pantomimes that had the rest of the team in stitches.

Karen's brain was now fully short circuiting. With her wide lower body and beetroot red face, she looked like a volcano ready to erupt, "...this place!....THIS PLAAAAAAACE!!!..."

Her shrieks had finally roused the receptionist, who bravely approached the raging she-devil.

"Ma-madame? Please I-I must insist that you lower your..."

Karen turned her fury upon this convenient new target.

"YOU!! THESE IMBICILES... THROW! THEM! OUT!"

"Wh-wh-WHAT? Madame I cannot possibly do that."

"You can and you will. They have intruded upon my luxury experience, and I have every right to demand them evicted from the premises. Now do as I say and get rid of these...HOBOS!!"

Behind her, an irate El Matador surged to his feet snarling, "Hobos?" and had to be pulled back into his seat by Big Bo

"Easy El Matador, Easy. She didn't mean it."

The poor receptionist was turning pale, either with fear or nerves, which contrasted magnificently with Karen's still tomato red face.

"M-m-madame, I...I cannot do that. You see they are..."

"They are a bunch of useless vagrants" (Big Bo and Dancing Rasta had to restrain El Matador this time) "You will evict them right away or I will be calling my lawyer AND the owner."

"Bu-but...it's Supa..."

"YOU DAAAAAARE TO QUESTION ME? I AM A CUSTOMER AND THE CUSTOMER IS KING!!"

The receptionist looked all the world like a kicked puppy in the rain; utterly defeated. He blinked a few times as if fighting back tears before making one last attempt to salvage the situation.

"Eh-emm, a-a-at least let me contact my superior before doing so."

Karen, her face only now starting to return to a more natural color, threw her hands up in the air.

"Finally, some progress. I have no idea why it takes forever to get anything done in this place. While you're at it we can see to my room upgrade. I expect a jacuzzi, fully stocked snacks and liquor bar, 24-hour room service..."

The duo marched back towards the front desk; Karen once again oblivious to the sneers directed at her back. Twisting Tiger was the first to break the silence.

"Can you believe people like that exist? I'd call her a witch, but I don't want to insult Grimm's fans."

Shakes was still glaring at Karen's retreating form, "Tell me about it. And here I thought Skarra had no class."

"Grubble Grrzzz," Blok chimed in with his own two cents. Then he did something quite unexpected.

Cupping one hand over his mouth, in a shape somewhat like a duck bill, he blew a loud raspberry in Karen's direction.

It was hard to say who had the more entertaining reaction: Karen, who immediately spun around now fully purple in the face, or Shakes, who had to chomp down on his jacket sleeve to stop himself from roaring with laughter.

Other than a few sniggers at Shakes' reaction, most everybody was silent as Karen stormed back over to the couches, looking all the world like a T-Rex bearing down on its prey.

"Who. Did. That?!" She was apparently so mad she briefly forgot to scream.

"Who did what?" Years of practice meant Dancing Rasta could pull off a mean poker face, especially when amused.

"That...NOISE! It was one of you. I know it was!"

"Seems to me ze only one making all ze noise around here is you," Klaus tried to sound sympathetic, which wasn't helped by the cheeky grin he was sporting.

The receptionist, noticing his charge had gone astray, came scurrying back over squeaking, "Madame, your room..." But it was too late.

Karen was now spinning in circles, arms flailing. The poor receptionist had to jump out of the way to avoid getting clobbered.

"I WANT A DISCOUNT! I WANT AN UPGRADE! I WANT THE MANAGEEEEERR!!!"

Her back turned once again, she missed Twisting Tiger lean over to Cool Joe and whisper, "She said the 'thing', pay up."

Nobody in the lobby was taking situation at all seriously anymore. How could they, when faced with a raging, blueberry faced, tiger stripped monstrosity who could only blubber out incomprehensible demands. The Strikas, the hotel staff who had crept out to see what all the fuss was about, even the formerly timid receptionist were laughing uproariously at the spectacle. Unfortunately, it wasn't over till the fat lady sang.

Karen seemed to be unable to handle the scenario she found herself in. Never before had she been faced with so many people blatantly disrespecting her. She kept spinning about, trying to fixate on a single appropriate target. Ultimately, she settled on her original target, the skinny teenager who was still snorting into his jacket sleeve.

Shakes was still blinking tears of mirth out of his eyes, so he was initially unaware of the approaching danger. Too late did he see the she-demon storming towards him, talons out and ready. He wasn't ready, but Blok was. Quicker than even Karen could react, the Brislovian defender was out of his seat and planted himself between the demoness and her quarry.

Dead silence. The team, now on high alert, were all on the edge of their seats in case they needed to react. The receptionist had seen an opening and scooted back to the front desk.

Blok and Karen stood facing each other. He had a good two feet on her, but her shapely thighs and ample waist meant she likely outweighed him. Blok broke the silence first, jabbing a finger at the still purple faced woman.

"Grrrrbl grrr gun grrrrrrrr"

One didn't need to speak Brislovian to hear how angry Blok sounded. He was more growling like an angry bear than speaking.

"DON'T you DAAAAAARE touch me," Karen hissed back. Once again oblivious to going on's behind her back, she failed to notice Dancing Rasta and Big Bo now on their feet.

"I tink it's best ya went off ta bed, madame. Don't be makin' dis worse or else..."

"OR WHAT? What are YOU going to do. I will have my lawyers sue you to pieces and thrown out on the streets. You beasts! YOU CRIMINALS! YOU..."

"WHAT'S GOING ON IN HERE?!!!"

Coach stood framed against the lights of the closing elevator doors, looking all the world like an avenging angel haloed by the sunrise. Slightly behind him, the mustachioed manager was took in the scene with a calm but perplexed expression before scurrying over to the front desk and the still pale receptionist.

This time, it was Karen who broke the silence with a loud, hissing inhalation. At first, Dancing Rasta assumed she was about to attack, or worse start yelling again, until he noticed the look of unholy glee on her face.

"FINALLY! The MANAGER!"

She clomped over to Coach, grinning like Skarra after a successful foul. Coach, unfazed, raised an eyebrow at the approaching threat.

"Is there something I can..."

"YES! You WILL be helping me. I expect no less from the manager."

If Coach could have raised an eyebrow any further, he would have, "And what exactly..."

"First of all, your staff is absolutely atrocious. I have had nothing but problems since I walked in the door. You would be wise to fire them all. Secondly, I was promised nothing but the best from the owner himself. By that, I mean that only the very best accommodations which YOU PERSONALLLLLLY shall check me into. I do not trust any of these other simpletons to handle my requests and quite frankly..."

She rambled on and on, never once pausing for a breath or to see if her demands were being met. Behind her back once again, the real manager looked like he wanted to interject, but was busy trying to talk the poor receptionist off a ledge. The rest of the staff were staring at the display with a mixture of apprehension and wonder. Meanwhile, Supa Strikas were staring with growing looks of horror. Nobody, absolutely nobody, ever got away with talking to Coach in such a way. This woman was so completely oblivious to the fact that she was signing her own death warrant.

"...and finally, I want these...these...ADDICTS thrown out immediately."

Everyone froze. Karen still had her back turned, but the Strikas could see Coach's eyes blazing at her words.

"...Excuse me?"

"Are you DEAF? I. WANT. THEM. THROWN. OUT. like the trash they are. I will not tolerate living on premises with such worthless people. If they weren't homeless trash already I would sue them, but that takes too much money. Just get rid of them any way possible thank you."

Silence.

Any other time the Strikas would have been incensed by her words, but she had made the fatal error of saying those words in front of Coach of all people. Coach hadn't moved a muscle during her rant, and the glint from his glasses kept them from reading his expression. It was highly unusual, very highly unusual for him to remain tolerant in such a situation, and the team were internally bracing for an eruption that would put even Karen to shame.

But it never came. Instead Coach did something that had everyone (expect Karen) even more frightened than before.

He smiled.

A small knowing smile that none of the Strikas had seen before. Then, without pause, looked over Karen's shoulder at the team watching with horrified expressions.

"Boys," His tone was soft and calm, and everyone's danger senses were suddenly going haywire, "Why don't you head up to your rooms on the fourth floor. I'll be up shortly after I... handle things here."

Another pause. The hotel staff didn't move. Basic training had never covered what to do in such a scenario. Then, quite gingerly, the team grabbed their bags and edged their way collectively towards the elevators. Distantly they could hear Karen's renewed screeches, but it was mostly drowned out by a white noise of fear. Coach had bravely turned his back on her to watch them go, and the last they saw of him before the elevator doors closed was that unnerving smile.

Nobody spoke on the ride up. They all just stood in silence while the elevator music provided an awkward replacement for the screaming she-devil in the lobby. When the elevators finally dinged open on the fourth floor, nobody was thinking about unpacking. They gathered in the hallway, staring back at the elevators as if expecting something terrible to come bursting out of them.

"I don't vant to go back down zere. I'm scared of what I might see."

"She's completely loco. Do you think Coach...?"

"I don't hear any police sirens...yet"

The converstaions continued until Dancing Rasta decided to break it all up.

"Alright guy. Let's, well, best we just get settled in for now. Nothin' we can do about it for now."

It was like a switch had been flicked, everyone suddenly remembered how tired they were.

"About time too. I'm ready to sleep until next season at this rate."

"Yeah, me too. Hey Shakes, before I forget, what was that thing Blok did to that psycho that freaked her out so much?"

Shakes paused halfway to his room. Behind him, North Shaw was waiting expecantly for his answer, and his silence now had the rest of the team hanging on as well.

"Oh, er, well, you see it's a Brislovian thing," He replied, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. The looks he and Blok were getting made it clear nobody was buying the answer.

"No duh, so is everything else Blok says, no offense big guy. So what made this so funny. C'mon bro I'm gonna up all night thinking about it at this rate."

Shakes tried to back up, but was still mostly surrounded by his teammates.

"Wellllll....Brislovians don't refer to Karens as, well, Karens. They have a way of...insulting somebody who is crazy belligerent in public like that. I read about it from my Brislovian guide on the bus."

Shakes pulled out the little red booklet from his pocket for emphasis. North Shaw was starting to look more and more amused as the reality sank in.

"Wait, so that thing he did was like giving someone the finger in Brislovian?"

"Err, kind of. Yes and no."

"Well what does it means?"

"I really shouldn't say North. It's...kind of colorful, and err, demeaning, and well....HEY!!!"

Dancing Rasta had come up behind Shakes and plucked the booklet out of his hands, then flipped through it to the page Shakes had bookmarked. His eyes went wide in shock and immediately snapped it shut.

"Oh my! Yes, VERY colorful indeed. Shakes, Blok, I do hope the both of ya aren't using dat sort of language in public?"

Shakes had the good grace to try and look offended.

"Whaaaaat? Noooooo, c'mon captain, you know us. We're way more mature then that."

He gave Dancing Rasta a good impression of puppy dog eyes for emphasis.

"Grouble gruzz gurg"

Blok stuck his lip out in an unmistakable pout as well. Together they made for one of the most unconvincing displays Dancing Rasta had ever seen. But he never had time to try chastising them for it.

*ding*

Everyone froze as the elevator doors slid open behind them. Coach stepped out looking pristine. Not a wrinkle in his jacket nor a crease in his tie. The smile was still present but was now more satisfied than sinister. Dusting himself off, he cooly regarded the collection of shocked expressions starting back at him.

"Settling in okay, boys?"

Klaus broke silence first.

"COACH, YOU'RE ALIVE! I mean, you didn't kill anyvon. I mean, is she still...?"

Coach held up a hand to silence the onslaught.

"Everything has been taken care of boys. Why don't you all get unpacked and I'll see you tomorrow for breakfast."

He walked calmly through the assembled Strikas to his room and swiped in, pausing only for a cheerful, "Goodnight." And then he was gone.

Still in the hallway, Blok whimpered something in Brislovian and held up his travel bag in front of him like a shield. Shakes patted him on the shoulder, looking shell shocked.

"Yeah, big guy. Very scary indeed"

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

As it turned out, the night one encounter with Karen was the most dynamic thing to happen to Supa Strikas that week. The blizzard raging outside had proven too much for the rest of the Supa League. Rumor had it that the Fortress Stadium was also suffering from frozen pipes and had to be closed down for emergency maintenance. All things considered, being stuck in a rustic hotel for a few days was quite nice.

Of course, the team was still dying to know what transpired between Coach and Karen after they left. Approaching Coach of course was not happening. Nobody was that brave. The hotel staff were being unnaturally quiet about the whole ordeal, out of either fear of awe. Most of them gave up the search after the first few days, though Klaus and El Matador still routinely checked under the lobby couches and tables for bloodstains.

Three days later, a pause in the weather allowed the Strika bus to roll in for emergency evacuation back to Strikaland. Another nine-and-a-half-hour bus ride, followed by another twelve-hour flight back home was not something Shakes was looking forward too. Fortunately, he'd spent the entire day before downloading everything from movies to podcasts to keep him entertained on the ride. As the team filed in, he pulled out one of Spenza's conspiracy playlists (How Technicalli were using cloning technology to win the Supa League) and prepared to bore himself to sleep. That was, until an insistent tapping on his shoulder jerked him out of his stupor.

"Blok? What is it?"

The Brislovian defender was grinning and pointing out the window towards something on the sidewalk. There she was, Karen in all her unholy glory. After a week of listening to Klaus' theories on how Coach could have made her disappear, Shakes was honestly surprised to see her in one piece. Well, mostly one piece. Her hair was a bit of a mess and she clearly had not put any makeup on recently. She was currently turned away from the Strika bus and glaring at the hotel, coffee cup clutched in her claws. Shakes looked back at Blok, the beginnings of a smirk forming.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Blok nodded, and they both took their seats closest to the windows.

A few minutes later, the Strika bus began its departure down the road towards where Karen was standing on the sidewalk. On reflex, she glanced at the large red bus coming her way just in time for two of the occupants to throw open the windows and jointly call at her.

"BYE KAREN!!"

*pbbbbbbbbbbbbt*

The banshee screeches that followed them down the mountain could have been mistaken for a pack of wild Grimm fans. But inside the bus, they were drowned out by the raucous laughter of the men in red.

Hey Supablr. Remember when I said I had no writing schedule? By that I didn't mean I was gonna disappear for three weeks, but between this monstrosity of a short and getting wrapped up in a dozen other drafts, I got overwhelmed. Next one hopefully won't take as long.

Also thinking I might put these on AO3 since this isn't going to be the only long story.

#supa strikas #supablr #rookie of the year

10 notes · View notes