#I’m slowly churning these refs out

[bloblobber-propaganda]

Do we fw him splat gang

[leafs-lover]

Here For You

A/N: So many unholy thoughts this man has caused the past week

Warnings: Swearing, smut - fingering and unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), cream pies (because ya know 😉) dominance kink, maybe a slight size kink, dirty talk, it’s a little darker, rougher – choking, being tied up, think that's it

Word Count: 3000

Worry.

Watching Auston go down behind the Carolina net with seconds left in the game, you felt worried.

It was far too long before he got up. The trainer hovered over him, checking his symptoms, discussing what happened. Fred and other players stood awkwardly off to the side, hoping he would be okay. Sitting on the couch (only 500 fans were allowed back inside at this point) you were on edge. Normally in the WAG box, someone from the team would fill you in on his status or you could go down to the trainer’s room to see for yourself. Instead you had to sit alone, watching them replay the fall, followed by the inadvertent knee to the head. Your stomach churned every time they showed it, and from every imaginable angle, his name constantly coming up during the broadcast. It wasn’t until his name popped up on your screen, a simple ‘I’m okay’ text, did your heartrate begin to drop.

Panic.

Watching Auston skate face first into the net then skate towards the dressing room hunched over in pain, you felt panicked.

Then you remembered days before when he took the accidental knee to the head and a part of you thought the worst. Nobody came to get you or provided an update, Steph tried to reassure you that meant he was going to be fine.

The minutes before you saw your boyfriend step back onto the ice were agonizing, felt like hours slowly inching by. Even then you were still panicked. Auston would do just about anything to get back out onto the ice, even if it meant playing through an injury – something he has done far too many times before.

It wasn’t until he stepped into the hall, tie discarded and dress shirt partially undone, a fat swollen lip and sad puppy eyes were you reassured he was going to be okay.

He was clingy.

He came home, complaining that his face hurt and pinned you under him - he basically slept on top of you that night. He was moody, hungry - but everything hurt to eat. He was whiny and miserable, seeing him in pain always triggered something in you.

You immediately welcomed him and the cuddles, wrapped in his arms softly running your hands through his hair. It was a slow recovery, eventually he could smile and not wince in pain, or didn’t speak with a lisp caused from the stitches inside his mouth.

Conflicted.

Watching the puck go in the net, followed by Auston instantly yelling at the ref, you were conflicted.

The loss sucked. You felt for the guys having pushed so hard for a comeback only for it to unravel due to a missed penalty. Even though you were sympathetic towards the team, something about your boyfriend getting infuriated on the ice - a side rarely shown by him - you felt hot. Hot and disappointed all at once.

“You doing okay babe?” Auston stopped on the ice beside you during the family skate and leaned against the boards. “Seems like you’re struggling a little out there,” he grinned down at you.

“I never was an amazing skater,” you play it off, knowing that isn’t what he meant.

“Mhm,” he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. “Seems like you’re limping or something,” he teased. “Like you got stretched out too far,” he brought his mouth closer to your ear, “too hard.”

Steph who was nearby, choked on her water as you tried to show zero response. Sometimes after a game like that Auston wants to talk, sometimes he wants to be left alone, or to have a stiff drink. That night Auston took every emotion he had been feeling and directed it to you.

When you climbed out of bed the next morning with a slight limp, Auston immediately noticed and hasn’t missed an opportunity to remind you of it, of what he did to you. You could barely stand after the first time, then he wanted to go again. Faint bruises on your hips, and an aching in your core, all remind you of what happened only two days ago.

Wet.

Eager.

Ignited.

Watching Auston get into a shoving match and then be ushered into the penalty box during the Heritage Classic, you felt wet, eager and ignited. Steph gave you a nudge and sent a knowing glance, heat rose to your cheeks and your thighs inadvertently clenched. Glancing to the clock, you wished the game was done only because of what is to come.

During the drive he groaned, cursed under his breath and grunted, rarely saying anything to you. It’s not until the car in front of you stops at a yellow light, a yellow light Auston thought they could have made, does the dam let loose.

“Fuck,” he brakes a little harder than normal. When the vehicle stops you turn to him, your eyes reactively gone wide. “He could have made that,” he tosses one hand into the air.

“I know,” you quickly reply, dropping the shocked expression from your face.

“Fucking stupid,” he turns his attention back in front of him. “You could have fucking made it, goon!” Vitriol becomes thicker with every word. “This whole fucking night. The fucking goal – he called no goal on the ice. The fucking reffing, it’s been so bad the last bit. And not just for us, so much shit across the league.”

“I know,” you absentmindedly reply, knowing he is speaking to himself more than you.  He doesn’t want you to respond or try to make it better, he just needs to vent.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he bites, pulling into the parking garage.

The car is off in under a second, and he is out of the car walking through the garage. Quickly grabbing your toque and purse, you scramble after him. Upon hearing the slight heel of your boots click against the concrete, he slows his stride, but he doesn’t actually stop and wait like he does every other night.

The entire elevator ride was filled with more mumbling under his breath, random, mostly incoherent thoughts. It’s not until you unlock the door to an excited Felix that he actually speaks.

“I’m going to take him out. I’ll be back.”

There is no invitation to join him like most nights. In fact it is the opposite, a statement that he will go alone.

When he returns you are in the bathroom, wearing your pajamas and washing the day from your face. The heavy tread against the wood floor, the harder than usual closing of the closet door, all an indication the time alone didn’t help to calm him down.

“Hey,” you say, getting the idea he is finally ready to listen. Bringing a hand up, you draw it along the side of his face, chasing his jaw bone - anger rolls off him in waves. “It’s over, you can’t change it.” There is a slight twitch to his forehead as his jaw clenches, not interested in your comfort. “You can’t do anything about it now,” you repeat.

“Wrong,” he turns to look at you, his once golden brown eyes now red with fire. “There is something I can do about it.”

Reaching up, his large hand easily wraps around your wrist. Stepping towards you, you stumble slightly to maintain your footing, until your body is thrown onto the mattress.

“Something will make me feel better,” he declares. Ripping the dark blue cotton from his chest, it’s tossed to the corner as his large body cages you to the bed.

With barely a second to take in the curves of his muscles, his hand grips the elastic of your pajamas and yanks them from your body, tossing it aside - your shirt not far behind. Cursing under your breath, he cups your heat, grinning at the slick has been developing for hours.

“Seems like you want to make me feel better,” he traces his cool tongue over the mark on your neck. Without warning two fingers dive between your folds, a jolt of electricity erupts through you when his thumb begins to circle your clit. Your gasp echoes through the room and he sets a fast pace that has you almost instantly seeing stars. Your walls hungrily clamping around his thick digits as he begins fucking them in and out.

The sound leaving between your legs is disgusting, a sopping slurp, only getting louder with each thrust. He’s loving it. Moving his lips to your chest, he swirls it around your nipple, sucks on your flesh and grazes his teeth against it. Sensitivity is running high, a bubbling building low in your belly.

It’s exactly what he wants. But when your hips thrust up and your back arches, toes curling against the sheet, he fully stops. Forcing his head up, a ring of fire surrounding his pupils, his voice is dark, “stay still.” It’s more than a warning.

Pulling his fingers out and thrusting them back in, his thick digits graze your sweet spot, your hips once again lifting under the pressure.

“Y/N,” he warns, thumb circling harshly against your clit.

The taste of copper is heavy on your tongue, only then the realization of how hard you’d been biting your bottom lip hits you. You can’t help the arching of your back when he once again tugs on the string, further unravelling your knot with every thrust.

“YN.” Shaking his head he pulls his fingers out, wiping the mess against your bare stomach. “I’m not in the mood to repeat myself.”

A faint smirk hits his face as he gets up and walks to his closet. Returning a moment later he forces your arms above your head. Using the tie he pulled from the closet, he wraps it around your wrists and attaches it to the headboard. Tight. Until blood flow is becoming restricted.

Forcing your knees open wide he positions himself inches from your heat, staring directly at the slick before him. Your breathing becomes uneasy and anticipation builds, the air becoming hot, thick. Auston’s smirk becomes darker, along with the chuckle he lets out.

He has you exactly what he wants. Well almost.

Gripping both your ankles, he throws them over his shoulders and presses forward. Bending your knees until they are almost flush to your chest, his fingers grasp your hips, finding the lingering bruises from a few nights prior.

It’s fast.

Barely a second before his mouth attaches to your clit and your entire body jolts. The resistance of his hands and tie keep you locked in place, and you feel him smile from beneath you. This is what he wanted.

The scruff of his beard burns. The touch of his calloused fingers anchoring your skin, hurts. The stroke of his tongue is smooth while also aggressive – a man feasting on his last meal. Your coil is tight, then tighter, and tighter. Then is snaps. Euphoria floods your veins, curse words fill the air, and your pleasure coats his tongue.

He makes no attempt to stop. Bringing the hand of his tattooed arm down he momentarily pulls away. Just long enough to bring them to his lips, lathering them in a mixture of spit and cum – and shoves them through your folds, making you cry out in pleasure.

“Aus,” you gasp.

The laugh of you boyfriend can only be described as sadistic, psychotic, because you both know he is nowhere near done. Flicking his tongue to your clit, thrusting his fingers in and out of your dripping heat, every part of you tingles.

He quickly has you back to the cliff, teetering against your orgasm. Tightening your thighs, smothering him against your cunt, he only groans, dragging his digits against your sweet spot with every thrust.

“Babe,” you whine.

Auston doesn’t respond, at least not with words - the twisting of his fingers and harsh suck on your clit answer enough.

Fireworks eviscerate your core and vision whites out. The fingers on your hip anchor in harder than before and a slew of curse words are spilling from your lips. After sufficiently cleaning the mess, Auston pulls away - a sticky white warmth drenching his face.

“Shit baby,” the breath traps in your throat, and you struggle to find the strength to smile.

“I’m not even close to done.”

Those six simple words make your entire body tremble. Your heart beats out of your chest as he drops your knees, slowly maneuvering up your body - biting, sucking, licking every ounce of skin, leaving nothing untouched. He is giving you some time to recover, which would be considerate if he wasn’t toying with you along the way.

His erection is painfully hard as it drives into your thigh. The numbness of your hands, radiates down your forearm, but Auston takes his time. Its minutes after you’ve recovered that he finally reaches for the tie on your wrists, a burst of blood rushing in.

“Flip,” he demands, climbing off the bed to remove his boxers.

Standing at the end of the bed he grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge. Manipulating your body, he grabs a handful of hair and pulls you up against him, the tip of his cock – drenched in pre-cum - prodding your sopping cunt.

Over your time together you thought you had grown used to the stretch needed to accommodate his girth. You were wrong. One swift thrust, followed by another, he is fully buried inside you.

He knows you need the time from the strangled, incoherent sound you barely form. He doesn’t give it. He just lets loose.

Yanking your neck back his mouth finds the exposed skin of your clavicle. Rocking back and forth inside you, he sinks his teeth in, another deep heavy laugh coming from behind. His chest to your back, hands firmly tugging at your roots, thick cock sliding in and out.

“Shit,” you cry out a little, rolling your hips to further entice his movements.

Wanting stability, your body involuntarily leans forward, searching out the mattress to support your frame. The tug on the hair stops you first, but it’s the melancholic laugh that ripples down your spine and to your core, that freezes you in position.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Pulling you back against his sweaty chest, the hand slides around to the front, wrapping around your throat. Long, deep thrusts, pounding relentlessly against your heat, actively searching for your third release of the night.

He doesn’t tighten the hand on your neck, likely because it’s not something you have done before. But his hand is perfectly placed and you want, no need him to squeeze.

Bringing your hand on top of his doesn’t send the message. Louder, heavier groans have little effect. He just uses it to hold you in place, keep you upright after slamming his hips against your ass, driving his length as far as it will go.

“Thought you had an aggressive side Matthews,” you mock. “Clearly it’s all for show.”

He is momentarily taken aback, stiffening behind you. Never, during your entire relationship have you called him Matthews.

“Fuck it,” he mutters and tightens his fingers, oxygen slowly being forced out. Following the moan that slips your parted lips, he tightens again. The tips of his calloused fingers dance along your neck as his lips move closer to your ear. “You okay YN?” genuine concern is in his question as his hips come to a halt.

“Afraid you’re going to break me?” you tease, tongue tucked between your teeth. “Go tighter.”

“Fuuuuck,” his lips are hot against your ear lobe. Never being the one to be told twice, he follows your direction and tightens his grip, resuming the sloppy thrusts into your sensitive heat.

“Oh baby, you’re taking me so well,” Auston praises over the sound of his cock drenched in your mess. “You always take me so well.”

His bicep flexes and he tightens the hold on you. “This what you wanted?” he punctuates with another deep thrust. “Me to be rough?”

You feel yourself get wetter with the sinful filth he continues to mutter in your ear. He fucks you like this— all deep, rippling thrusts and dirty words— as if he’s a man possessed, and you’re exactly what he needs. With a decrease in oxygen, tears build in your eyes and your vision start to go blurry. Your entire body begins the shudder, his lips heavy against your skin.

“That’s it YN,” he coaxes you, hitting the sensitive spot over and over. “Coat my cock. I want to feel you drip down it.”

“Mgnh,” you cry through tightly pressed lips. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, currently starved of all moisture. Your juices spurt out soaking his dick as your body goes limp. Auston pulls you back to rest your head on his shoulder, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.

“I’m gonna cum inside you.” It’s a statement, not a question.

A few shallow thrusts and a grunt later, a white sticky seed is flooding your cunt, coating your walls. As he stills you fall onto the bed, still struggling to function. Staring down at your naked body, a fucked out blissful look plastered on your face, a glob of cum sticking to the inside of your thigh, he smiles. “I will never tire of seeing you like this.”

Cleaning the both of you, Auston finds a new pair of boxers. He helps you back into your pajamas and hands you some water, before letting you collapse into his arms. One bicep is your pillow, cradling you to his chest as his other reaches for the blinking phone on the night stand. Exhaustion begins to consume you, eyes struggling to stay open.

“What?” you murmur, feeling Auston tense up beside you.

“Have a hearing tomorrow,” he sighs, putting his phone down.

“What’s that mean?” you ask, forcing your eyes open and up to his face.

“Could be a warning, fine or a suspension,” his jaw tightens.

“No matter the outcome, I’m here for you.”

“Oh I know baby,” Auston smirks. Leaning down he gently pecks the tip of your nose and calls for Felix. His nails click against the floor and you feel him jump on the bed and curl up on the other side of you just as Auston turns off the bedside lamp.

[thedistantdusk]

Thanks to @jenoramaca @gryffindorhealer and @secretkeeper13 for the quick beta work!

A gift for my beloved @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey.

CW: Language and domestic fluff

______

Trying

From the second he walks through the door, Harry can sense that something’s changed. It takes him thirty minutes to suss out why.

In retrospect, the smells coming from the kitchen probably tipped him off. Or maybe it was Ginny’s distracted hum, followed by the tinkling of plates and cutlery. Perhaps it was the fact that she prepared a full dinner, long before he even got home.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t worry about it too much as he greets her with a kiss, his hands cupping her chin. When he sits across from her at the table, there’s something furtive and curious lurking behind her eyes, but their meal is so peppered with normalcy that he doesn’t bring it up. They banter and laugh about Luna and Robards and wonder what they’ll bring to the Burrow on Sunday.

But when they’ve reached the stage of chasing stray noodles around their plates, Ginny finally clears her throat… and just like that, the nearly imperceptible shift he’d sensed earlier turns into something very perceptible, indeed. “Can I erm. Talk to you about something?”

He pauses, mid-bite, and takes her in. Her lip’s worried between her teeth, her hands fidgeting. Even her hair, normally strewn about her shoulders or parted to the side with a sort of effortless grace, is tied back and resting low at the base of her neck.

Ginny’s not normally this… serious. And he’d be lying to say it didn’t frighten him.

So he blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “Who died?”

There’s a half-second pause in which his chest clenches, his stomach churns. Could it be Molly? Or Arthur? George hasn’t been great either, not that—

But Ginny just reels back, confused… and it’s not until then that Harry realizes he’s really, really misread something.

“I… w-what?” she stammers, brow furrowing. She peers at him for a pained moment before her face relaxes into a look of understanding. “Oh. Oh! For fuck’s sake,” she mutters, rubbing her forehead. “I guess I’m thicker than usual, should’ve known you’d read it that way.”

Harry snorts. “Erm… darling, as many things as I legitimately don’t understand, I’m fairly sure this one isn’t on me.”

Ginny ignores this. “Did you seriously think that something dreadful happened and I’d just spring that on you in the middle of your bolognese?” Her lips twitch into a smirk. “Here’s some pasta. By the way, a fire burned a puppy orphanage to the ground. Could you pass the salt?”

He gives her a plain stare. Nice try. Years ago, he might’ve taken the bait and chased her down that rabbit hole. They might’ve had an hour-long, spirited debate on the existence of puppy-specific orphanages. But after three years of marriage, he knows better.

And she knows he knows.

Ginny finally draws a resigned breath. “No,” she says slowly. “No one died, ok? Or is even… I don’t know, sick or infirmed or threatened.” She waves her hand and continues babbling. “Last I checked, even Muriel’s still going strong, somehow. I’m jealous of that, you know— being old enough to just say whatever the fuck you’d like and have no one question it because—”

“—Ginny,” he cuts across on an exasperated sigh. “As chuffed as I am to chat about Muriel all night, I’d really like to know what’s bothering you. Please?”

There’s another pause as she bites her lip. Then, in one swift motion, she attempts to rise to her feet and push her chair in on her way over to him.

But somewhere along the way, something gets crossed— and Harry watches in bewildered horror as her foot catches on the leg of the chair. Then, right in front of his eyes, she lets out a startled gasp, her arms flailing, before she lands with a thump.

He’s out of his seat and on the floor beside her before he even realizes she’s cried out in pain and surprise. “Are you ok?” he demands, pushing her jeans up around her ankle… her tricky ankle, the one she hurt rather badly at the playoffs last month. Hm. It's a bit red.

Honestly, she hasn’t been this clumsy since she was 10 years old and near a butter dish. This does nothing to alleviate his fears that there’s something Very Wrong.”

“It’s not even my ankle that hurts,” Ginny grits, pushing up on her palms. “Wait— Harry, what are you—”

“Need to ask Gwenog,” he says urgently, running to the other side of the table for his wand. “She said that if anything happens to your ankle to tell her straight away, remember? Better safe than—”

She scoffs. “Seriously, Harry, I’m fine! I didn’t even land on my—”

He arches an eyebrow. “Have you suddenly forgotten the Puddlemere match? When your ankle broke clean through the skin?” Even now, the memory makes him shudder. “You heard Gwenog— without magic, you might not have walked again.”

“But there was magic,” she says, almost pleading. “And seriously, I’m fine!”

Harry finds he has limited patience for her heroics, though, while she’s sprawled out on the floor and nursing a bruise on her arse. “Gwenog’s instructions were quite clear,” he says firmly. “Having a pro athlete as a wife is a group task. It’s taxing on your body. I’ve got to make sure there’s enough of you left to enjoy our lives.”

Ginny clears her throat. “Erm… but what if you… haven’t actually got a pro athlete as a wife. Technically speaking.”

Harry swallows. He’s sure he’s heard her wrong. “What?”

With a wince, she adjusts herself against the wall. “I’m sorry… this isn’t how I’d planned to tell you. I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”

Normally, Harry might press a bit harder. Normally he’d demand answers— and now. But as he peers at her on the floor, there’s something soft and uncertain behind her eyes… something timid. So he decides to do something he knows he’s good at— something she doesn’t let many other people do: take care of her.

With a sigh, he scoops her from the floor and brings her to the sofa. Then he props her against the pillows, putting her legs across his lap.

And he waits.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, peering at her downcast face, before she finally says it in a rush.

“Iwanttohaveababy.”

It comes on a whisper. A breathed admission. He knows, just from her expression, that she’s never said it aloud.

But he must have misunderstood. There’s no way he’s not projecting, inserting the reality he wants instead. “Could you… could you repeat that?” he manages, his voice gruff and shaken.

Ginny just sits up straighter; her cheeks as red as her hair. “I want to have a baby,” she repeats, the confidence building with every word.

Oh. Looks like he was right after all.

Harry blinks at the carpet, his head spinning, mortified with the tears that have sprung, unbidden, to the corners of his eyes.

A baby. Their baby. A smile plays at his lips as he stares at her ankle in distracted bliss. He’s been ready for ages… longer than anyone he knows. It’s hard to remember a time when he didn’t want a family with her. When he didn’t want to watch her grow and change. To become more beautiful with every passing day until…

He swallows back another round of tears; he’d never forgive himself if he forced this… if he swayed her, in any way, despite what he wants so badly it squeezes his insides.

“But what about quidditch?” His voice cracks; he clears his throat to cover it. “Honestly Ginny, I’ll wait, as long as you’d like. We’re young. Think of what you’d deal with, loads of assumptions and press and comments.”

She turns to him with an arched brow. “And since when have I ever cared about comments? Since when have you cared about comments?”

He spreads his palms in resignation; it was a particularly weak argument. “I know. I just… don’t want to make your life more difficult.”

“Well...” She draws a deep breath and peers down at her nails. “I’ve erm. Actually quit the Harpies, all by myself.” Her cheeks begin to redden again. “I’ve already sent the owl and everything. Resigned. No intent to return next season.”

Oh.

That’s what she meant, then, about not being married to a professional athlete. Harry blinks a few more times as she plows through an explanation that could honestly be something from a dream.

“I’ve… I’ve just been thinking about it. A lot,” she adds, focus returning to her cuticles. “The Harpies are out for the rest of the season— that fucking Puddlemere match and that bullshit ref.” She glares at the pillow to her right. “Nothing like blind favoritism. Fucking prick should’ve been fired!”

All Harry can manage is a feeble chuckle, his hand moving to caress her knee. This time, he can’t bring himself to stop her spiral.

“Maybe it’s not just that match, though,” she admits, rubbing her ankle. “It’s also just… so much bloody work. I’ve been at it three whole seasons, you know? I’m a bit tired of missing birthdays. And family events. And only dreaming of bludgers and snitches. And attending the mandatory press interviews to avoid getting fined, and then giving polite answers to personal questions when I really just want to hex them, and—”

Harry laughs. “I think Sandra Richardson might disagree about the polite answers bit, darling.”

Ginny gives a dignified sniff and continues as if she hasn’t heard him. “Annnyway,” she says, toying with a piece of lint. “I… feel like I’m ready to move on. So.” Her face splits into a grin as she gestures to the corridor. “On with it.”

He clears his throat. “As much as I’d love to take you up on that, I’m confused about how this relates to quitting your job. You could’ve kept playing. Or—”

“—Why is it so hard to believe this is something I want?”

There’s a beat. He doesn’t have a good answer.

“What if I wanted to quit before I got pregnant?” she continues, her tone growing more demanding. “What if I was done with playing, regardless — and genuinely wanted to have children? Your children.”

She lets out an incredulous laugh, tossing her hands in the air. “I have to say, Harry, this feels an awful lot like you’re doubting what I actually want to fit a narrative of what you think I want.” Her eyes narrow again. “Is that really respecting my wishes?”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. He’d never thought about it like that before… how it might be insulting, really, to question what she’s ready for. He laces their fingers together, feeling properly chastened. “I’m sorry. I never meant to… suggest you don’t know what you want. Or something.”

He hears the timid smile in her voice as she squeezes his hand back. “Do you still want a baby, then?” she asks. “Or are you just in it for the practice?”

A smile creeps across his face, his eyes still focused on her hands. “I… think you know the answer to that one.”

“Well, I’m not sure I do,” Ginny says flatly. “Because I just told someone who wants two million babies that I’m ready to carry his first child. Forgive me if I expected a bit more excited fanfare than acting like I drowned your kitten.”

“What’s with you and baby animals today?” he murmurs, inching her pant leg a bit higher.

“Wonder why I’ve got babies on the brain,” she quips, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe because I want one.”

Harry releases a resigned sigh. She’s clearly done playing. “Honestly…” He bites his lip. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, I’m obviously on board. Obviously.” His eyes flit to hers. “I just… I don’t want to be responsible for something you end up regretting.”

It’s the truth of the matter, really; the thing that tugs at him the hardest. The fear he’d ever burden her… the worry he’d ever make her less than happy.

Ginny gives him a small smile, her hand coming to cup his jaw. “I’m going to take that as a weird, sad Harry thing instead of an attempt to remove my womanly agency.” She narrows her eyes. “But that’s your final warning.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s on his feet in a split-second, gathering her into his arms with the stupidest grin he’s ever worn. Trying. Is that what they call this? Are they actually properly trying now?

“Get used to this,” she says as he strides into the bedroom. “Because once you knock me up— on purpose, mind— I’m going to request a lot more transportation.”

“I think I can live with that,” Harry murmurs against her lips, draping her across the bed.

And to avoid a well-deserved slap, he doesn’t say the final bit: As long as you can live with me.

[angermango]

Character design portraits for a random FNAF Pokémon AU that started out more of an exercise developing a cartoon style for humans and suddenly exploded into me churning out designs like whoa nelly

it’s one of those “X franchise if they were in the Pokémon world” types of crossover/AU where it’s more on the side of the scale where i’ve grafted FNAF canon characters  (both from books and games) into a Pokémon setting. I’m not ashamed to admit that since the first seed of the idea appeared I’ve since developed a near-complete plot for what’s basically like a whole ass Pokémon game campaign featuring these guys plus potentially more. Pokémon shown here are not the complete/final teams, just some lil dudes where i could fit them who also serve as bonus little refs/Easter Eggs ;)

A TL;DR rundown of everyone’s roles in this AU:-

Charlie: Our protag/Player Character equivalent

John and Jessica: The ‘Friendly Rivals’ who are like the two trainers that get the other starters Charlie didn’t choose and closely follow Charlie on her adventures

Carlton, Marla, Lamar: Charlie’s other friends who follow her, John and Jessica on her journey while also doing their own things

Henry: Charlie’s not-dead but deadbeat dad. Fun fact he owns a shiny Bewear (not pictured).

Professor Hawthorn: Basically Phone Guy but with a PhD

William Afton: Totally A Normal Upstanding Citizen and Respectable Businessman

Baby: The more ‘real’ rival to Charlie who’s all sugar and frills at first but slowly starts having it out for Charlie and her friends

???: The second ‘real’ rival who pops up occasionally in Charlie’s way but isn’t all that they seem

(Honestly you can probably guess who the last two guys really are lol)

[wwenhlimagines]

Hurts So Good

Requested by @yoncelikeliquor

Warnings: cussing, dirty talk, smut(?)

Sitting at home, you feel your stomach churn as you watch the tv to see Dolph's face turn bright red with pain and anger. Otis had gone for the Caterpillar just when Dolph got his knees up and although they had practiced, Dolph's left knee got tweaked. Now, your boyfriend is holding his knee and stomping his right foot on the mat to tell the ref he is really injured. Robert Roode helps him get up and guides him backstage to the trainer's room. You can't even watch the rest of the show as you think about how you are going to help Dolph recover. Luckily, the show tonight is only a few hours away, so you won't have to wait long to see him.

Your phone starts to ring and you pick it up frantically, "Babe, are you okay? Oh my god, you are probably in so much pain. I'm so sorry I'm not there right now. I'll get in the car if you need-" "Whoa whoa whoa...Take a deep breath sweetheart. No need to get in the car, Robert is going to give me a ride home so don't worry about it. I just need you to get ready to be my nurse for a while." You take a deep breath before replying, "Okay...so what's the injury?" He sighs, "We'll have to get it checked out on Monday, but for now they think it could be just a dislocated kneecap." His voice gets lower as if he doesn't want anyone to hear, "Either way, I just want to be home and relaxing with my baby, so we are going to take this one day at a time and enjoy our time together. Does that sound good babe?" The tone of his voice makes your skin crawl as you await his return. "Of course baby, I'll make sure you enjoy every second in many ways." He chuckles slowly, "I like the sound of that. Be ready for me when I get home babe. I'm all yours in a few hours." "Just how I like it. See you in a few hours...Daddy." Dolph groans and he tries to cover it up as he grabs his knee when Robert looks at him suspiciously. "I gotta go before you make it even harder to hang up." "I thought harder was the goal Daddy, I know you like it hard...and slow." You moan lightly as the words leave your mouth to tease him and because your own words are turning you on. "Fuck babe, you've got to wait for me. Chill out and take a bath. I'll be home in a couple hours." You finally decided to stop teasing, "Okay, I'll be waiting for you babe." You hung up the phone and decided to take Dolph's advice and ran yourself a bath.

A couple hours later, you have cleaned up the house and yourself in preparation for Dolph's arrival. Eventually, you see the lights of a car shine through the window, so you rush outside to help Dolph inside. Robert got his bags as you help Dolph hobble his way into the house. "He's all yours now, good luck! He didn't stop complaining the whole way here." He turns to Dolph and pats him on the shoulder. "Be nice to your woman, otherwise I'll come back and make you hurt some more." Dolph laughs and puts his arms around you. "Don't worry, I'm always a gentleman to my baby girl." You smile and thank Robert as he walks out the front door.

You turned to face Dolph and sighed, "Welcome home babe, I've got the bedroom ready for you." He smiles at you and tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and he reaches down to give you the sweetest kiss. As you pull away, you can see the sleepiness show in his eyes. "Let's get you to bed baby, you look tired." He nods his head slightly, "Okay but I'm making it up to you tomorrow." You giggle and get some extra pillows for him to prop his leg up on to reduce swelling along with some pain meds and a glass of water. He settles into the bed and you get his leg propped up before you go over to your side of the bed and cuddle up next to him. "Goodnight babygirl, thank you for taking care of me." "Goodnight Dolph, you're welcome, now get some sleep." He sighs, "You know I love you right?" You giggle, "Of course and I love you too." He smiles to himself as he falls asleep with his favorite girl next to him.

All weekend, you take care of Dolph getting him ice, food, and meds whenever he needs it. You watch a lot of Netflix and just relax together the whole time. Despite the spicy talk on the phone before he came home, you both decided it was best to wait for doctor's approval before engaging in any physical activity.

Finally, Monday morning came and Dolph needed your help to take a shower before his doctor's appointment. You step into the shower and let him get settled before you start shampooing his luscious locks and giving him a nice head massage. He moans lightly at the touch of your fingers to his scalp and you smile as you wash out the shampoo and start to condition his hair. Next, you take some soap in your hands and start to wash his shoulders and arms before moving to his back and lightly dragging your nails down his back teasingly. "Babe, you know we have to wait. Don't tease me." He lightly pants and waits for you to finish cleaning him. You grab his ass and squeeze it before moving to stand in front of him. "Sorry, I just really like what I see and I literally can't keep my hands off you." He smirks as you start to wash his chest and abs tracing every line you see and licking your lips in the process. "Focus baby girl, we've got an appointment to get to." You smirk as you sink down to your knees to clean his legs and carefully take care of his knee. You look up at him to see him biting his lip and looking away to stop from moaning. Soon enough, you let the water wash off all of the soap and then help him get out of the shower. You quickly take your own shower and then get both of you dressed before driving to the doctor's office.

You pull into the parking lot and help Dolph into the building and wait for his appointment. The doctor takes Dolph back to get x-rays and an MRI done. When they come back out, Dolph has a big smile on his face. You stand up and walk over to them to hear what the doctor has to say. "Nothing seems to be broken, but we will need to look at the MRI to make sure the ligaments aren't too damaged. He needs to stay off of it for the most part, but he needs to try to move it for a few minutes every couple of hours." You look at Dolph who still has a giant smile on his face then you look at the doctor. "So can we...umm..." The doctor cuts you off chuckling lightly, "That was his first question. I told him as long as you take the responsibility of watching his knee, you can be sexually active." Dolph wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the side of your head. "Thanks doc, my girl will take great care of me. I'll see you in a week for the results." You thank the doctor and wave goodbye as Dolph tries to lead you out to the car. You get him in his side and then get in the driver's seat. Before you can even put the car in reverse, Dolph's hand is resting on your thigh. You look up at him suspiciously, "Dolph...I'm driving." You back the car out and start your way down the road. "Well, I'm impatient and I want to taste you so you better drive faster." His fingers start to creep their way up your shorts and you groan. "How about you just tell me what you want to do to me Dolph? No touching until we get home." By the smirk on his face, you knew he was down. He leaned closer and started to whisper into your ear. "I want you sitting on my face moaning my name as I lick on suck on your clit until you soak my face. Then I'm going to make you cry out my name as you ride my hard cock and grind your pussy down on me. My hands are going grab your ass as it bounces perfectly up and down and then I'm going to cum inside you and really make you feel how much you mean to me babe." Just as he finishes his fantasy, you pull into the driveway and drag him inside to put his plan and many others to work for the rest of the day.

[evelynns-sugar-bby]

Will you write a lil scene where Lexa gets hurt during a game with Clarke watching in the stands?

The arena is quiet as she walks down through the stands to get to the front wall. She basks in the near silence for a moment, knowing it will be gone in a few hours as the fans scream and cheer for their favorite team. Her eyes are drawn to the field as she descends the steps, watching intently as the team does some light drills.

Her eyes fall to the number 14 as she gracefully catches a ball on her foot, controlling it in front of her before she chips it over the goalies head and into the goal. The team cheers around her as the goalie drops to her knees. Her girlfriend turns around with a smug grin and a glint of mischief in her eyes. 

Clarke cups her hands over her mouth and cheers, gaining the soccer players attention. With a bright smile, Lexa picks up her pace and jogs right past the teams line and straight to the stadium wall that separates the seats from the field. 

“That was sexy.” Clarke says with a smirk as her girlfriend pulls herself up on the wall. Lexa shimmies her body up and sits sideways on the edge, letting her feet dangle. She presses two sweet kisses to her girlfriend’s lips and smiles softly. “Am I going to see that again later today?”

“I will try my best.” Lexa answers with a chuckle. “No promises though, Endler is a beast and one hell of a goalie.”

“Nuh uh.” Clarke says with a shake of her head. “That’s not what I want to hear, try again babe.” Lexa rolls her eyes with a fond smile.

“Yes, Clarke, my love. I promise to score a sexy goal just like that later today… better?”

“Much.” She leans forward and kisses the soccer player, savoring it for a second longer. When she pulls away she takes a moment to glance down at the blue team warm-ups her girlfriend looks so fine in. “Have I mentioned how good you look in this?” She says while biting her lip causing Lexa to laugh.

“Once or twice, I think?” 

Clarke bites her tongue and smiles cheekily.

“Where are the others?”

“Grabbing some food and beer at concessions.” She leans in and whispers, “Don’t tell Miller, he doesn’t know.” Lexa lets out a hearty laugh and Clarke kisses her cheek in response.

“How scandalous, the girls of Arrival take a cheat day without telling their trainer. I’m selling this story to TMZ immediately.”

Clarke gasps in faux surprise, her hand coming to rest on her chest. “Alexandria. You wouldn’t!”

A shrill whistle pulls their attention away from each other and back to the field where they find the team looking at them.

“Woods, get down from that wall before you break something! We’re running it again, you’re up!” The coach calls. 

“Duty calls. I love you.” She says, pressing a quick kiss to the blonde’s lips before she drops to the ground landing stealthily on her feet.

“Good luck beautiful.” Clarke says with a loving smile as she steps back and plops into her seat directly in the middle of the stadium. She watches Lexa jog back to the field.

“You and Wilder are ridiculous.” The coach mumbles as Lexa runs past him. She turns and starts jogging backwards towards the line so she can face her coach. 

“Young love, my good sir!”

“You’re 27 woods, that’s not young love. Get your ass back in line!”

“You’re going to have to go through the same thing again in 30 seconds, Raven’s on her way down right now!” She nods back to the stands and sees the rest of the girl band and Lincoln walking in.

“Ow ow #6! Looking good!” They hear Raven yell as she watches Anya juggle the ball over her feet. The coach lets out a stressed sigh, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Anya kicks the ball to her nearest teammate before jogging to the same spot Lexa was just in.

“We’ll get the job done sir, we always do!” Lexa finishes before she turns to start the drill.

“I know you do Woods… I know.” He whispers with a fond smile as he watches Lexa kick a bullet of a ball into the back of the net.

\\\

Lexa wasn’t lying when she said Endler is a beast. 20 minutes into the first half and the score is 0 - 0, Endler having saved every ball that has been shot at her. Some were basic goalie saves, but others… dear god Clarke found herself wondering how she could make some saves like that. 

Lexa and Anya have been working their butts off to set up quality goals but Endler stays strong in the net. It’s frustrating.

She continues to watch as the US steals the ball and works their way back up the field into an offensive position. Lexa is positioned just in front of the circle at the center of the pitch when the defender passes her the ball, but it’s loosely knocked away as a Chilean defender heads it upwards. With her back to the goal, she watches the ball slowly float up and looks around her to see there are no immediate defenders. She has plenty of room to secure the ball.

But much to everyone’s surprise, Lexa Woods doesn’t let the ball drop on her chest in order to control it and regain possession… no. She throws her body back, straightening her legs and extending them upwards in a bicycle kick. Her foot connects to the rubber of the ball and she sends it upwards and across the field. 

The stadium goes quiet as it watches the ball soar across the field. Everyone on the field stops, Lexa rolls over onto her stomach and they all just watch.

“It’s too high.” Raven shakes her head as they watch the ball arch higher. And fuck she’s right, it’s going to go over the net.

But then it starts to drop. 

A collective, “Oh my god.” is gasped out by the group as they watch it continue to drop in a perfect arch.

Christiane Endler jumps to block it, but even with her being 6 feet she’s too far forward to stop it.

The ball soars into the top left corner of the goal.

The stadium erupts into a deafening cheer, and Clarke would argue to say it’s more euphoric than hearing a crowd chant her lyrics back to her. Being there to witness a goal like that, from near center circle, let alone witnessing her girlfriend scoring a goal like that, then to hear the reaction? It’s indescribable.

Lexa pushes herself to her knees, points her hands upwards and lets her head drop back as she cheers. She punches her right fist in the air three times before she’s tackled to the ground by Anya, the rest of the team following.

An echoing chant of “Lexa! Lexa! Lexa!” ricochets through the stadium, Clarke and the group vocalizing with them. When the team finishes their celebration, and giving Lexa congratulatory pats and shoulder rubs, the soccer star makes eye contact with her girlfriend in the stands. With her eyebrows quirked and a smug smile she shrugs her shoulders in question, her hands facing upward as if asking,

‘Was that sexy enough?’

Clarke nods in response, her smile too wide to control. Because yes, that was sexy enough.

\\\

There’s three minutes of added time in the first half. Lexa’s iconic goals remains as the only goal scored so far, leaving the US up 1 - 0 against Chile. The US controls the ball and passes it back and forth, keeping it away from Chile as they run out the time.

In the final minute, Chile gets anxious and puts pressure on the ball causing the passes to become rushed and off target. In a quick moment, two players connect with the ball causing it to fly up in the air. 

Not wanting a repeat of what happened last time, three defenders cover Lexa as the ball drops towards her. They all jump at the same time, and move their heads to connect with the ball. Lexa makes contact and gets the ball out, the Chilean defender makes contact too… not with the ball, but with Lexa’s face. 

When they come down, Lexa doesn’t get up. She rolls over and stays rooted on her stomach, her head dipped slightly. The US kicks the ball out of bounds allowing the ref to stop play. Immediately, the medics are running onto the field and Clarke’s stomach churns. She’s up on her feet watching intently as they move Lexa onto her knees. 

And it’s then she realizes why Lexa stayed rooted on her stomach with her head tucked slightly. 

Her nose is gushing blood. 

She gasps, her hands coming up to her face in shock. She can’t move, forgets to breathe. There should never be that much blood coming from someone’s nose. 

“That’s broken.” Raven decides next to her, and it’s the voice next to her that snaps her back into reality.

Lexa’s hurt, Lexa’s in pain, she needs to be by Lexa. It’s as if everyone in the group knows what she’s thinking because as soon as she places her hand on the rail an arm is around her stomach.

“Don’t, Clarke.” Lincoln whispers softly in her ear.

“Lincoln let go of me!” She yells as she tries to wiggle out of his grasp. But he’s too strong. They’re causing a scene but Clarke can’t bring herself to care. These people can stare all they want, but she has to get to Lexa. She needs to take care of her and make sure she’s okay.

“Clarke.” He says calmly, but the blonde continues to fight. “Clarke!” He finally snaps, his voice harsh. He feels guilty given the circumstances, but he needed to have Clarke’s attention. “Jumping onto the field in an anxious haste is the last thing you should be doing.”

“I need to be with her. I need to help!” Clarke worries, her eyes flashing between Lincoln and the field where the medics and holding a towel over Lexa’s face.

“What are you going to do Clarke?” He asks and the blonde startles.

“What?”

“What could you possibly do in this situation? Are you trained in how to fix broken noses?”

“No, Lincoln.” She gasps exasperatedly, “She’s my girlfriend, I need to be by her side!”

“If you go down there, you will only get in the way of the medics who actually know how to fix her nose.” She sighs and Lincoln knows he’s finally talked some sense into her. “Look at Anya.”

They turn to the field and see Anya watching the medics and Lexa intently as she paces the field, a far distance away. “See how nervous she is? That’s her best friend. She is just as scared as you are, she wants to help just as much as you do. But she’s staying away. Because she knows, there is nothing she can do right now.”

The blonde deflates, collapsing into Lincoln’s arms. She presses her forehead against his chest, closes her eyes and sighs heavily. He wraps his arms tightly around her and the pressure helps. She feels two more sets of hands softly rubbing circles on her shoulders and lower back.

“It’s alright, Clarke.” Octavia whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head. They hear the stadium erupt into soft cheers as Lexa is escorted off the field and immediately taken to the tunnel. Clarke whimpers as she sees the white gatorade towel is now completely red, Lexa still pressing it to her face gingerly as she disappears to the locker room.

They play out the remaining 30 seconds, nothing happening. Anya is the first one to run off the field as soon as the whistle blows.

\\\

It seems like they wait forever. It’s only been 20 minutes, but that seems like an eternity when you’re waiting to hear back about your girlfriend’s bad nose injury. 

They watch the team jog out back onto the field; the stadium cheers but Clarke, Raven, Octavia, and Lincoln watch adamantly. Anya is the last one to jog out of the tunnel, her head down and her shoulders slouched slightly. They’re not surprised when they don’t see Lexa, they figured she wouldn’t come back out after an injury like that but they still deflate at the reality of it.

Clarke’s stomach doesn’t stop fluttering with anxiety and guilt. 

‘I should be with her right now.’

“Excuse me, Ms. Griffin?” her head shoots down to the field where two security guards in bright neon jackets are looking up at them. “If you’ll come with us, we’re here to escort you to the training room. Lexa is asking for you.”

She doesn’t have to think twice before she is swinging a leg over the railing. She gets both legs over before she lowers herself and lets her legs dangle. It’s then that she realizes the drop is farther than she thought. How Lexa managed to just jump, and land like it was no big deal is beyond her. She feels a pair of hands tightly grab her waist.

“I’m here.” The security guards says, and Clarke releases her hands, letting the guard guide her to the ground. 

“Thanks.” She huffs, rubbing the soreness from her hands. She looks up to her group. “I’ll be back.”

“Keep us updated.” Raven says and Clarke nods out a yes as she walks, the security guards on either side of her. She ignores the cheers of her name as she walks past the fans and towards the tunnel. It’s a quiet walk, but it’s quick, the training room being just up the hallway and to the right.

One of the guards opens the door for her and her eyes immediately find green. Lexa’s nose is slightly swollen and covered in medical tape, the area under her eyes a deep purple. It’s worse up close.

“Lexa.” She whimpers, rushing into the room to be by the soccer stars side. Lexa smiles as big as she can without causing herself pain.

“Hey beautiful.” She grimaces slightly. “How about that goal?”

Clarke startles for a second, before breaking into a watery laugh. “Are you serious?” She chuckles.

“What?” Lexa asks curiously.

“You break your nose and the first thing you ask me is, ‘how about that goal’?” Lexa just smiles brightly, seemingly forgetting about the broken nose. She fights off a whimper. “God I love you.” Clarke says through a laugh then kisses Lexa’s forehead. 

She presses their foreheads together and takes a second to breathe. Lexa’s alright. She’s her same usual goofy self. She’s okay.

“How long?” Clarke whispers gently, pulling away slightly to look at the damage.

“At least a month, then we’ll reassess.” She answers, her voice laden with sadness. “I’ll get to wear a sexy face mask when I come back.” She smirks slightly, her eyebrows raising teasingly but Clarke ignores her.

“I was so scared.” Clarke admits. “I almost jumped onto the field. Lincoln had to stop me.” 

“I heard.” Lexa chuckles.

“You heard?” Clarke asks with a confused quirk of her brow. 

“The entire bench heard your little scene. Once they realized I was okay Ontari and Sonnett acted it out for me.” Clarke groans and pulls away from the soccer player.

“Those little shits.” 

Lexa lets out a full bellied laugh for two seconds until the pain kicks in and it’s too much. “Ow ow.” She whimpers, and waits for the pain to fade away before she begins talking.

“I’m glad they told me.” She starts, her hands grabbing at Clarke’s waist to pull her closer. “I’m beyond lucky to have someone like you, who cares about me so much. Thank you, Clarke.” With a soft smile, Clarke leans in and presses a kiss to Lexa’s lips. An unusual, high pitched cry comes from the back of Lexa’s throat causing Clarke to pull away quickly.

Lexa is holding her head back, her eyes watering as she tries not to let the tears drop. 

“I’m so sorry!” Clarke worries, her hands cradling Lexa’s face.

“That has to be the worst part about this.” Lexa says through a harsh breath as she tries to control her breathing to ease the pain.

“What? The pain?” Clarke wonders.

“God no, not being able to kiss you.” Clarke laughs.

“Well you can’t kiss me because it hurts too much, so technically… it’s the pain.”

“Alright smart ass.” Lexa says with a smile and a pinch to the singer’s side. Clarke squeals. Lexa straightens up, her face looking square at her girlfriend. “So, how do I look?”

Clarke presses a gentle hand to the side of Lexa’s face. Even with a nasty injury she still is the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen. With a soft smile she whispers, “The gauze really brings out the green in your eyes.”

[jlf23tumble]

Agree so much with your post about the teams and fan engagement ! And love the way you articulated all of that. Although now I definitely am interested in knowing what your notes about the specificity of each team/artist cause I feel like they'd be fascinating to read. Hope you'll post them some day, and thank you for sharing your thoughts with us ! 😊

Awwww, that’s very kind! It’s definitely head canon city, I litcherally have ZERO clue what goes on behind the scenes (and I can’t stress this enough, none of us do), so this’ll look hilariously dated when we find out that blah woof was true all along, lmao (me @ myself, thinking of some random Grimshaw interviews from last fall, oh, bless). Let’s dig in!!

For those of you who just stumbled upon this post, it’s related to the one I made last night about how I think the management teams of all these men (mid-20s means = you’re a man, not a boy) are not, in fact, sabotaging them. They negotiate a lot of tricky interconnected arrangements that none of us are privy, to, plus they’re at least trying to achieve the goals their clients are going for. And they’re doing it—the trick is these goals are highly individual and not 100% sensical (at least given our own view from the afternoon, Arctic Monkeys ref, holllllllah!!!).

In addition, these goals constantly shift, as does the music industry itself—I drive my own self loony when I lurk on blogs that are seemingly broadcasting from 2012, confused by why xx’s team is so “terrible” because they aren’t throwing good money after bad to get on a radio playlist, or why they haven’t announced yy “properly,” as if they’re being paid to worry about this level of shit (which fires me up on about five levels, deep breaths in, deep breaths out). I’m much nosier about the signals we’re getting when we hear them talk in their beautifully media-trained way about their musical interests, when we get some of that sweet, sweet fan service with a Gallagher or a Capaldi, when we get that heads up about who’s attending what concert, stuff like that. These signals don’t necessarily indicate future collaborations, but they DO indicate what kind of image these guys want to have, the kind of music they want the public to associate them with.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself…their personalities and goals at the moment are all so vastly different, and I truly do love seeing how their teams are workin’ it accordingly. Again, please @ god, don’t @ me…opinions, massively unpopular opinions, dead ahead!

* Zayn. My read on Zayn is that he enjoys the creative process, loves writing and singing, digs collabing with people, but he doesn’t seem to give two shits about the biz side (and why should he? that’s called living the dream at this particular point in his career). His website recently added “tour,” which EYEBALL EYEBALL, but he doesn’t seem to be all that interested in putting himself back out on stage or into radio/print/etc. anytime soon, and again, why should he? His numbers are HUGE without pushing himself through the anxiety-provoking churn he endured for four years, so there’s no real drive for him to do any promo if he doesn’t want to (see: the netflix-like binge dump of Icarus Falls, which could be “sabotage,” or it could just be, “fineeeeeeee, here’s some stuff for you, enjoy”). What other artist gifts his fans with gorgeous covers of such a wide variety of songs that indicate he’s more interested in sharing them than selling them. Accordingly, his fan interactions seem fairly pure and not all that promo-y: he has a keen interest in fanart, he’s done some fan pop-ups/listening parties that are pretty low-key and *seemingly* fan-focused, and recently (with zero anything to really promote), he’s been posing for cute pics and chatting with randos on the streets of NYC. I recently read that his mgmt team is no longer with him, but that sort of folds into my feeling that he’s not pursuing anything biz-wise, hence no need to jump through those particular hoops (I think he’s also struggled with a lot of demons, so yeah, why add one more). Could he be adrift? Maybe, but the next guy is the posterman for lack of focus….

* Liam. Honestly, I worry about Liam most of all. His post-1D career seems very much adrift, and I like to joke that he’s giving me that tell-all about the D one sentence at a time, but goddamn, are people listening? The struggles with alcohol, the lack of focus on every level, the reliance on his dad’s career advice (which more clearly reflects his dad’s financial class, background, and history than it does Liam’s), and the overall confusion about look, sound, and direction also flow back directly into his team. I get the feeling that they aren’t sure what to do because LIAM isn’t sure what to do or what he wants, so they follow in his wake. He’s agreeable to a fault, so seeing him at a meet-and-greet at an HMV in Birmingham last week felt like a step back into 2010 for no real reason, just like hearing that he was more or less coerced into full nude photoshoots for an underwear ad (the decisions to say yes to both of those—who’s steering this ship? If it’s Liam, he needs to tell the team his overall goal, so they can plot a course he and his fans can follow; if it’s the team, ditto). Like Niall, Liam’s actually pretty good at the SM game: lots of selfies, snapchat filters, outfits, gym service, twitter interactions. But generally speaking, his promo is confusing, and that’s probably because there isn’t much *to* promote at this point, other than a mix of collabs, clothing endorsements, spon con, horse farms, and an album that’s always on the horizon. This might be tied to the general post-1D jolt they all went through, like a plane coming off autopilot and into the hands of someone who’s just learning how to fly it. Zayn debuted at number one, so his bump wasn’t as harsh, but the others are slowly, steadily finding their footing after taking some time to find themselves and their sound, releasing songs/albums, performing (or in Louis’s case, going through unspeakable tragedy). Liam’s still adrift…and somewhat admittedly, which is kind of telling in its own way. Just know that my nervousness on his behalf ratchets up every time he feels the urge to assure us all that he’s happy.

* Niall. Truly the one following the original 1D template, right down to working with most of the same people but with more of the overall control in his hands instead of a faceless management squad. Of any of them, he seems the most ambitious, the most scientific about the sound he’s after and how he’s gonna get there. His promo is a mix of new and traditional—radio shows, talk shows, podcasts, special events, twitter interactions with fans, twitter interactions with entertaining celebrities—and it’s all hustle hustle hustle, build build build, as if he were a new ingenue instead of coming up hard on solo album number two. He’s explicit in his goals, which is refreshing, but it means he walks a weird line with fans: on one hand, he’s done with their bullshit, get ready to get rekt if you start commenting on his boring food seasoning or home décor. But on the other hand, he fully recognizes how much he needs them, which is why we get so many peeks into his “normal” life (yet zero percent of his actual personal life). It’s also probably why the blatant tweets of the last two days seem so jarring to me (I might be alone on this one, but I’m not a fan of directives in general, and asking me to call radio stations on behalf of a rich white man to become even richer just rubs me the wrong way, same with asking me to stream stuff to get you to number one…you’ve been there, buddy, how about you calm down and build some character at number 51). And speaking of calming down, it does fascinate me that both Niall and Louis namecheck Taylor Swift as someone who gets the whole fandom push/pull thing right, so watching them try to reverse-engineer her secrets is fun. Louis nails it (that hotspot treasure hunt: chef’s kiss), but Niall’s heavy-handed easter egg dump in NTMY, she would never!! I think Niall’s team needs to watch “Calm Down” about five more times before they try that again.

* Louis. I think Louis honestly has an AMAZING team in place, and they’re all clearly on his side, which makes for a refreshing change. Like Niall, he has publicly praised Taylor Swift for how she engages with her fans, but I think he’s missing a key point: she doesn’t let her fans dictate strategy, and I HOPE that’s the case for Louis, too. His old team *was* shit, so yeah, encouraging people to do fan projects to get the word out was a good idea, but turning that spigot off to let a good (paid) team step in and take over has been, uh, challenging. He’s dealt with more than his fair share of personal tragedy, but every time he gets some momentum going, it feels like something bts pushes him back off track, and he tends to keep it private, which only makes his hardest-core fans scream “sabotage.” Rightly so, he’s focusing on his personal life, and rightly so, his team is giving him the space to do that, even when it costs cash money and throws a lot of shit seriously for a loop. It makes my heart soar to see the potential of what his team can do/is doing, how much space he’s being allowed to process what he needs to process. Weirdly, that’s an unpopular opinion, and a lot of people want to indulge in an angst wank fest where Louis’s the victim of a terrible team that won’t DO anything (nevermind the fact that he’s probably ASKED them not to do anything), so they undertake a tremendous amount of performative unpaid labor that ends up being counterproductive on just about every front. Even worse, most of them can’t seem to process the fact that losing your mum is a blow, losing your SISTER is a blow, juggling other siblings or close friends handling some serious demons of their own in the aftermath of all of *that* is a blow, let alone handling your own personal coping mechanisms, nope, they want Louis to release release release, perform perform perform, c’mon, what’s holding him back, he *said* he wanted to release an album this year, there’s “no reason” for a delay, gotta be his shitty team, free him. It drives me ‘round the bend because it’s the same talk from late last year, you know, when we later found out that at least one family member was losing a fight with drug addiction. Louis’s fan engagement/promo is therefore hella fraught: he has to balance LouisTM on twitter (Mr. Donny, he’s hard, mate), his werk IG posts, and his constant edging because nobody can remember or trust that he’s got this, that multiple things are in play. But he also knows his fanbase, knows that it’s resistant to any kind of change, so I hope he pushes through and stays true to what he wants to do. I was really encouraged with his last promo round because he seems to have narrowed in on a something solid, he’s got a plan, and it’s not, “hey mr dj, put my record on,” it’s getting his fans to trust that he and his team know what the fuck they’re doing, and spoiler alert, it ain’t radio, but go ahead and keep pissing off djs by sending angry tweets their way. (Related: why is it so bad to avoid the radio when all of us admit that radio music is garbage? Is it because it’s more about you than him? Much to think about.)

* Harry. My very favorite head canon is that Harry is Jeff’s nightmare client: what was perfection at first because the Azoffs are old-school promo all the way (no SM, baby, gimme that sweet, sweet paper), and that dovetailed nicely with post-1D Harry, but it quickly veered into mulish teeth pulling. Low profile can quickly spin into no profile, and that really doesn’t work too well when you’re trying to sell sell sell, even if your brand is Harry StylesTM. HS1 and Dunkirk in their own separate ways worked VERY hard to push past the still-persistent way the general public views Harry as boybander Harry Styles, or more accurately, former boybander Harry Styles who dated Taylor Swift (if you venture out and ask someone who’s not a fan), but what I love about Harry is that much like Zayn, he doesn’t seem to be too bothered by all that. Sure, he’s ambitious, he wants to challenge himself and do things, but he’s no Niall Horan. He’s put in his time! If he gets a number one, then cool, but he’s not gonna chase it. And this is where Harry’s team really reflects his goals and energy: sure, they want him to do some promo (that “Do” tweet, the entire bit about the fan in Australia and Harry Lambert’s follow, goddddd, I loved it, petty Harry, resigned Jeff), but they clearly aren’t forcing him. He drops a song that makes a HUGE splash, and the follow-up is…liking some tweets and going to a John Mayer concert (not a John Mayer fan, so that wouldn’t be my first choice, but I respond to the zero fucks given about the whole thing). The music industry has changed a LOT in just two years, so it’s kind of cool to see team Harry pivoting a bit, seeing more SM interaction, the kindness generator, etc., but that said, the team takes their cues from him, and he clearly doesn’t want to do a whole promo circuit beyond persons a, b, and c, and magazine R, F, and A. Does it make sense to have Rob Sheffield write a profile about Stevie Nicks-blessed shroom-eater Harry Styles when his new song sounds like the Zarry combo of my dreams? NOPE, but that’s okay, Harry wanted to talk to Rob, so that’s what happened. The new song is more streaming friendly, and thank CHRIST, a lot less crusty white dude stuck in the ‘70s, so I can only hope that the rest of the album is thus, but we shall see! We’ll also see if Harry’s fan engagement shifts any further into the active zone…so far, it’s been “I’m gonna follow some larries, like these fun generator posts, check out a few dads” and staged photo ops with the same familiar faces, but I think he’s dealing with his own major bts issues as well (album delayed at least twice; that entire stalking situation). I still contend the album’s coming in the next few weeks, so it’ll be interesting to see if/how any additional promo rolls out in this new world order post-gryles landscape, how many interviews he’ll do, but I like that there’s a strategy that seems less stodgy…kudos to the new SM team, at least!!

Oh man, that got really long! Hope you enjoyed, and YES, opinions opinions opinions, and they’ll be stupid in about three weeks’ time, thanks for coming to my already dated buzzfeed article

[mightytinygiant-sfw-blog]

"Up and up, she went. She found an old bird's nest; the moss inside was straw-dry. She climbed into it and lay for a while and, leaning over the edge, dropped crumbled pieces of dried moss through the tangled branches below her; to watch them plummet between the boughs gave her, she found, an increased sense of height, a delicious giddiness which, safely in the nest, she enjoyed. But having felt this safety, climbing out and on and up seemed far more dangerous... "One more pull and her head and shoulders were outside the hedge; the sun fell hot on her hair, and dazzled by the brightness, she screwed her eyes up as she gazed about her. "Hills and dales, valleys, fields and woods—dreaming in the sunshine. She saw there were cows in the next field but one. Approaching the wood, from a field on the lower side, she saw a man with a gun—very far away, he looked, very harmless. She saw the roof of Aunt Sophy's house and the kitchen chimney smoking. On the turn of a distant road, as it wound between the hedges, she saw a milk-cart: the sunlight flashed on the metal churn and she heard the faint fairylike tinkle of the harness brasses. "What a world—mile upon mile, thing after thing, layer upon layer of unimagined richness—and she might never have seen it! She might have lived and died, as so many of her relations had done, in dusty twilight—hidden behind a wainscot." --Excerpt from Borrowers Afield, by Mary Norton ----- I grew up with the Borrowers by Mary Norton, and I know the story well, but how on Earth did I manage to miss the memo that it's a series with FIVE BOOKS? One I realized the treasure trove I had discovered, I've been savoring them, working my way slowly through them as ebooks from the library. However, book two, Borrowers Afield, I had in hardcopy. I decided to share my favorite part here, along with the charming illustration of Arrietty in a bird's nest in a hedge, where she has her first real glimpse of the world beyond the home where she and her ancestors had lived for generations. All the books are full of these sweet and thoughtfully crafted drawings. I adore Studio Ghibli's The Secret World of Arrietty as much as the next sizeshifter, but for me the Borrowers began when I was a kid and my mom rented all six episodes of the 1992 BBC version. It seemed old even then, and I have no idea if it ages well, since all the DVDs I can find now online are set for UK only. But even as young as I was then, I can still close my eyes now and see Ian Holm as Pod and Penelope Wilton as Homily, both as perfectly cast as I could ever imagine. (He makes a FAR better Borrower as Pod than he does a Hobbit as Bilbo, though he was well cast in both roles. As I've read the books, both the actors' voices and mannerisms have come back to me, and it's almost too much nostalgia to handle. The books themselves are excellent, well-written, rich with description. I love Arrietty's unwavering enthusiasm and determination, and that she is a very spirited young female character, especially given that it was written in the 1950's. Her intelligence and confidence seem ahead of her time in the best way, as does her scientific explorer's mind and penchant for engineering. As a character she has aged very well, indeed. Best of all, the books make me feel tiny, which should come as no surprise. But they are so effective at triggering a sizeshift that I even intentionally kept book four, Borrowers Aloft, with me on an airplane trip where I struggle with claustrophobia. (The irony of reading about Borrowers engineering a hot air balloon while flying on a plane wasn't lost on me.) Does anyone else have trouble flying as a sizeshifter? One look out the plane window at all the tiny cars and houses, and I tend to feel instantly enormous--but it clashes awfully with the feeling of being crammed in a tin can with strangers taking over the armrest and brushing shoulders with me. I often mentally beg my brain to let me feel small in those situations, but it's often hard to maintain. Reading Mary Norton's vision of the world through the eyes of the Borrowers, though, I felt perfectly tiny and perfectly at ease. Not all parts of the books age well, of course. There are some blatantly racist elements surrounding an antagonist the Borrowers call Mild Eye, who is a gypsy and depicted in both text and illustration as an ignorant brute and criminal, with some other cringe-worthy stereotypes layered on top. Problematic themes aside, the world building and perspectives are what really mean the most to me. Sometimes I wonder if I would have size dysmorphia if I had never encountered The Borrowers at such an impressionable age. I don't mind, if so. I'm grateful to be able to see the world from such vastly different viewpoints. I still have one book left to go, and may post more images if anyone else seems interested. A link to the full book set: The Complete Adventures of the Borrowers https://www.amazon.com/dp/0152049150/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_apa_i_M4CdBbPDGN2P7

[utsukushiieren]

Inferno: Prologue (sample chapter)

There’s still plenty of time left in the Kickstarter campaign for the publication of my book. Enjoy the first chapter as a sample! If you’d like to support me and donate, just follow the link!

kickstarter.com/projects/1281378384/fantasy-novel-inferno-by-leslie-tyre?ref=nav_search&result=project&term=inferno%20leslie%20tyre

He wished they had sent someone else to the witch’s hovel. Anyone else. The soldiers stationed in the outpost at the edge of the wood avoided Durak Hollow. There was once a little village not far from the forest’s edge, but it was abandoned. The outpost was now the only settlement of any kind for miles. Hugging the southern flank of the Carim Mountains, the woodland was dense and dark. Though the noonday sun was high, hardly any light penetrated the thick canopy. It had once been a beautiful forest, flourishing and full of life. But decades ago, a sickness had fallen upon the wood. It wasn’t natural—like dark magic had seeped into the very roots of the trees, twisting and draining the life out of the forest. The atmosphere was oppressive, suffocating. Even the animals had fled, leaving behind an eerie stillness. Few dared to enter, leaving the once heavily used trail to be reclaimed by nature. And those poor souls who did brave the woods, never returned.

The young soldier shuddered as he trekked along the path. It was overgrown, strewn with dead leaves and fallen branches. There were stories about these woods, tales of monsters lurking in the shadows. It was unnaturally quiet, as if the earth itself were swallowing all sound. Despite the silence, there was a whispering in his ear—a soft mutter, the words indiscernible. He glanced over his shoulder, but no one was there. He was alone.

Climbing over a downed tree that cut across the path, chills crept up his spine. There wasn’t a soul for miles. He was totally isolated. If it hadn’t been for his commander’s direct orders, he would never have dreamed of entering these forsaken woods. After all, the commander’s orders came straight from the emperor himself. The young soldier kept his eyes on the shadows amidst the sea of trees, one hand on the hilt of his sword, and the voice still murmuring in his ear.

Through the gap in the trees, he glimpsed the outline of a dilapidated shack. Like the path, the old house had been reclaimed by the forest. It was as if it had become part of the trees themselves. What was left of the roof sagged, branches protruding from the splintered wood of the walls. The trunk of the tree had grown around the hovel, expanding to encompass the structure, effectively swallowing it. There were narrow gaps in the wood where windows should have been. As a cold wind whispered through the trees, he could have sworn he heard more voices. He strained to listen, but the noise was nothing more than a sigh. If it were voices, he could not decipher the words.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” a raspy female voice said from behind him.

He wheeled around, yanking his sword free from its sheath. A figure watched him from the shadow of the trees. The witch’s thin frame was cloaked in thick animal pelts. Drawn over her head like a hood was the skinned head of a wolf. She was gaunt, her sallow skin stretched taut over her bony body. The woman watched him closely, sunken red eyes gleaming from beneath the heavy pelts. She shuffled toward him, amulets of bone clacking together as she moved.

His grip tightened on the sword. His instincts urged him to turn and run, but he remained rooted to the spot. “Orders from the top, Madam Sorceress,” he managed, his voice cracking slightly

“My Lord Drakar sent you?”

He nodded.

She sidled past him, ambling toward the hovel. The old witch didn’t seem to care about his presence at all. Though she didn’t appear to wish him harm, something deep inside told him she couldn’t be trusted. She was a dark sorceress, drawing her power from ancient and forbidden magic. She opened the door, its rotting wood barely hanging onto the frame. She beckoned him to come with her. Hesitantly, he followed. The voices in the wind whispered to him, as if they were warning him.

“His Majesty is growing impatient,” he said, ducking through the sagging doorway. “He is demanding results. Have you located any of the Twelve?”

“It is not an easy task,” she said, in her raspy voice. “To find twelve people in this vast world is like trying to find individual grains of sand in the desert. To have all twelve of the elements of life reincarnated in the same lifetime…I know all too well why Lord Drakar is so eager to find them.”

The inside of her home was just as foreboding as the outside. It was everything the young soldier imagined a sorceress’s home to be. It consisted of a single room, crowded into the trunk of the twisted tree. What little furniture she possessed was old and rotting. The blankets draped over her meager bed were stained and fraying at the edges. Jars and bottles filled with strange herbs and ingredients were shoved into crudely made shelves. Clusters of dried meats and herbs hung from the eaves, dangling so low he had to duck around them. Masks and strange ritualistic objects littered the room. A cauldron stood in the center of the dwelling, the low-burning flames of the fire beneath it casting little light in the grimy house. A foul smell wafted from the vessel.

“I will find them soon enough.” She approached the bubbling vat and peered at the dark liquid brewing inside.

The faint, unearthly howl of an unknown creature echoed through the forest. The sound made the soldier jump. He glanced nervously at the gaps in the walls, hoping he would glimpse the animal that had made the noise. But all he could see were shadows. “What was that?”

“One of my children,” she said.

“Stop talking cryptically, witch!” he shouted. The soldier quickly clapped his hand over his mouth. To call a dark sorceress a witch was dangerous, especially in her own home. The moment the word left his lips, he knew he would be punished.

She lowered her hood, revealing a mess of tangled hair, the tips of wolf-like ears peeking out from behind her wild mane. The young man recoiled at the sight.

“A witch, am I?” She approached him slowly. “Is that what you call me?”

“F-forgive me, Madam Sorceress,” he stammered. “I meant no offense.”

The woman smiled, sharp canine teeth peeking out from behind her cracked lips. She took a step closer. “I was once a high priestess of the Great Mother. But I have since found more powerful magic even the blessed Mother could not provide to her devout children.” She drew back, sensing the fear and unease from the young man. “It doesn’t matter what you call me. Such names matter little to me.”

The same chilling howl rang out from the darkness of the trees—this time much closer. He could hear a strange chuffing from just outside the house. The sickening smell of rotting flesh wafted through the dwelling, making his stomach churn. He covered his mouth, trying to keep himself from heaving. A hulking shadow skulked past the window, making its way to the front of the home. In the doorway loomed a monster, the likes of which the soldier had never seen before. It was a gangly creature covered in greasy black fur. Its limbs were lanky and it sidled over in an awkward sideways gait. What should have been a normal animal face was instead a wolf skull. Red eyes, like the witch’s, glowed from the hollow sockets.

The soldier shrank back against the wall as the creature slunk around the cauldron toward the sorceress. She muttered something, cooing to it as though it were a harmless dog. She spoke in a language he didn’t understand.

“Wai un bursa, un kala?” she said tenderly.

The beast chuffed and grunted. The witch froze, a look of shock on her haggard old face.

“What is it?” the soldier croaked.

The beast made an odd grunting sound. The woman hissed, recoiling suddenly. She clambered to one of the dusty shelves, rummaging through the bottles. She snatched one and uncorked it. When she did so, the whispering voices grew louder. There was the faint sound of someone crying.

“What’s going on?”

“Solheim,” she hissed, her red eyes gleaming as she spoke. She poured a strange liquid into the bubbling vat, instantly silencing the crying voices. The concoction glowed faintly before becoming placid. The surface shimmered and a shadowy figure appeared on its surface. The soldier could tell it was a boy—a young man, perhaps—but the details were hazy. The image wavered for a second before fading completely.

The witch cursed loudly. “There is powerful magic blocking my scrying! May their soul be damned!”

“I thought your magic was stronger than any other?”

She rounded on him, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “There is much you don’t know. There are few magics more powerful than my own. But even my powers cannot do everything.”

He gulped. “I’m not sure I understand….”

“Your commander told you nothing of my magic before he sent you here, did he?”

The soldier’s hand trembled as he gripped the hilt of his sword. “No.”

The creature standing beside the sorceress whined softly, saliva dripping from its skinless jaws. It turned to the woman, sunken eyes watching her closely. The soldier tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Though he wanted to turn and run, the beast’s hungry gaze as it looked from its master back to him kept him frozen.

She reached out her bony hand toward him and, with a single finger, stroked the bottom of the soldier’s chin. “If one wishes to attain power, something of equal value must be given. And for my magic, nothing is more valuable than the life of another.”

The soldier turned on his heel, but the beast leaped over the cauldron, blocking his path. The creature growled, its jaws parting slightly as it padded closer. He drew his sword, but the monster swatted it aside as if it were a toy. The man’s breathing hitched, scanning the room for another exit. He heard the witch cackle behind him.

“Be a dear and lend me your soul,” she whispered in his ear.

The monster pounced. Fangs ripped through his jugular. His scream caught in his throat, drowned out by the blood filling his lungs. Sharp claws sunk deep into his chest, the creature shredding the soldier’s skin from his bones. He could hear the voices clearly now—the anguished cries of those the witch had killed. Murderer! Your soul be damned, witch, they shrieked. Their wails rang loud in his ears, mourning for him. His voice would soon join theirs. The woman grinned as if she enjoyed the sound of teeth tearing through flesh. A strange whiteness fringed his vision and all at once, there was nothing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Though his company was fleeting, the witch always enjoyed when they sent messengers. It gave her fresh ingredients for her spells. Usually His Majesty and his commanders sent disposable older servants. It was rare that she enjoyed the essence of such a young life. A white mist rose from the dying soldier’s mouth—his life force. His soul. It spiraled toward her. The sorceress reached out, letting the strange substance curl around her bony fingers. She inhaled deeply, taking the life into herself. She always liked the flavor fear added to a person’s soul. As she consumed his life force, her sallow skin fleshed out, filling in her skeletal frame. Her tangled mane was revitalized, the wiry strands now plump and soft. Nothing worked better than a fresh soul to make her young and beautiful.

“Take your meal outside if you wish to play with him. I don’t want you getting blood everywhere.”

The creature scooped the body up in its jaws and lumbered out the door. The sorceress gazed at her reflection in the cauldron. Plump lips, soft skin, and bright eyes as red as rubies. She smiled, running her slender fingers through her soft, dark curls.

“Those fools can’t do anything right.” Her voice was silky, not at all like an old woman’s. “Perhaps I had better pay them a visit myself.”

[criminalnourished]

Midnight Shenanigans

~ A Shayne Topp Imagine/Fluff ~

A/N: Look, I don’t write, I was going to make a short parody, but it kept getting longer and longer and I actually kinda liked how it turned out, so I thought I’d share it. It’s super long, so if you get through it, I applaud you!

Warnings: Fluff. Like, a lot of it. (also, alcohol? like, having a drink)

Words: way too many, I like my epithets.

Enjoy!

Winter Games.

The event of the season.

And it was going to be extra special this year. Why? Because you get to go!

As one of the newly established head writers and producer, you would be reffing this year’s Games, along with Sunny, Joe and Matt and you were hardly able to contain your excitement.

The venue was the same as the previous years’ one – Big Bear.

The evening before, you were starting the slow process of packing when it hit you.

You were a part of the Smosh family and have even been in the background of a few videos, though you were more of a ‘behind the scenes’ kind of person, so this was going to be a big step.  This would’ve been your first on-screen appearance that included talking. Oh geez. Your stomach churned. Oh holy geez. Mostly unscripted. Unscripted. I literally work with scripts, how in God’s name am I going to pull this off?, you thought to yourself.

Thankfully, you were taken out of your trance with a noise. That familiar iPhone ringtone we all know and never change. Standing up, crossing a mountain of bags, you reached for your phone and looked at the caller ID. Shayne. You smiled briefly before picking up. That guy always knew how to make you smile.

‘Hello?’ you said, going back to the suitcase. However, being the clumsy potato that you were, you caught your leg on a plastic bag, managing to lose your balance and fall directly on your bum, with a noisy *thud*.  A loud laugh escaped the phone.

‘I get that it’s part of your “brand” to just barely be capable of walking, but please try not to die, we prefer our writers alive’ Shayne joked.

‘Ha-ha’ you said sarcastically, picking yourself up from the floor. ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. Now that you’ve told me, I am sure to stop tripping and falling over’ you joked back.

‘Perfect! Don’t say that I never did anything for you!’

‘I shall remember this piece of advice till the day I die, which will inevitably be by slipping on a banana peel or tripping over my own two feet while carrying coffee.’ He laughed.

You started organizing your clothes into neat piles on your bed.

‘And your tombstone will say “Here lies our beloved (Y/N), who forgot to follow the Great Shayne’s advice.”’ You giggled, folding a shirt into your suitcase.

‘So anyways, what are you up to?’ he asked.

‘I just started packing’ you replied.

‘Oooh, right on time! It’s only…’ he stopped, presumably looking for the exact time. ’11:43pm!’

‘Hey, I only need about an hour, I have plenty of time. Have you already packed?’

‘Yup! All done, ready to go!’

You scoffed. ‘You must’ve forgotten something.’

‘I pretty sure I haven’t. Triple-checked.’

Another scoff from you.

‘And hey, if you “only need an hour”’ he mocked, ‘that’s great, you have enough time to get food with me!’

‘Oh, Shayne, it’s almost midnight, I don’t know, and-‘ you trailed off.

‘And?’

‘And… I don’t know, we need to be up in 5 to 6 hours?’

‘That’s a terrible excuse. You’re living on your own, you make your own rules and then break them, because rules are meant to be broken, dammit!’ he said, overly enthusiastic.

You kept folding clothes into your suitcase, silently. You wanted to go, really, it seemed so fun and like the epitome of ‘living’, from what you’ve seen in those typical young adult movies. Fun, you thought, not a good enough argument. All of a sudden, your stomach grumbled. Now that’s a good argument.

‘And also, I’m kinda maybe possibly in front of your building…’ Shayne added.

You dropped the dress you were neatly trying to fold.

‘You’re what?’

‘An evolved monkey’, he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

‘No, gah! Why are you-? How did you-?’ You tried to formulate a question but failed miserably. ‘Wait, let me buzz you in.’

‘No, no, I’ve got a better idea – you come with me. I’m already here and you already said that an hour is plenty of time for packing. Plus, I can help you with that later. So…. whaddaya say?’

You approached the window looking towards the building entrance, in disbelief, but sure enough, there he was, one hand in his pocket, pacing.

‘Alright’, you sighed, ‘give me three minutes to get down there.’

‘If you don’t make it, food’s on you. And your time… starts… now! Three minutes, go!’

You threw on the first shirt you saw – a baggy gray tee with the NASA logo on it, which was way too big, pairing it with boyfriend jeans.

Forty-five seconds to go.

You grabbed your little leather backpack, along with your phone, keys and wallet, stuffing them inside violently.

Twenty-seven seconds left.

You slammed the door, locking it quickly and sprinted down the stairs, skipping over multiple steps and almost dying thrice.

As you opened the big entrance gate to the building, you heard a beep. Shayne’s phone went off, signaling your three minutes had been over.

When you looked ahead, Shayne was peering back, a Cheshire cat-sized smile was plastered across his face.

‘No!’ you yelled, while bending over, resting your hands on your knees, trying to catch a breath. ‘Nonononono, I made it, I- I… I got out of the building!’

‘Nope! Doesn’t count! Looks like I’ll be enjoying some… whatever our food of choice turns out to be.’ Shayne said smugly, putting his hands behind his head.

When you finally got your air back, you stepped towards him, holding your side. You were really out of shape.

‘But I did it, the deal was to get down here in 3 minutes!’

You approached him, slouching. He threw an arm around you, as a way of greeting you and, well, because you looked like you were barely standing. This will have proven true merely moments later, when you shifted all of your weight off of your feet, forehead pressed against his clavicle.

‘Ah, yes, but you did not stop the alarm! That’s the unspoken rule of race-bets, always stop the clock!’ he said in a matter-of-fact tone, while patting the back of your head.

‘Fiiiine’, you let out a slow sigh, still in the same place. Maybe you were exhausted after a long day at work, maybe this three-minute workout from hell got to you or maybe this scenario felt pleasant, but you didn’t move. And neither did he. You just stood there, for a good while, taking it all in. You didn’t remember how long, but at some point he stopped patting your head and just rested his chin on the top, his arms around you. It was… nice. Man, male colognes are the best, you thought to yourself.

However, this suddenly made you feel extremely aware of the close proximity in which you were, making your cheeks a few dozen shades more red. You shifted a bit and Shayne, understanding the signal, let you go, scratching his head. You couldn’t help but think you’d seen a bit of red tint in his cheeks, only for a mere second, however, as it faded away quite quickly.

‘Um… so, since midnight snackage’s on you, it’s only fair that you get to pick the place.’

‘Hmmm… the closest ‘eat-now-regret-later’ place is McDonald’s. Does that work?’

‘Ughhh, fine’, he fake-complained, ‘No, yeah, sure! That’s a few streets down, though, might be a bit of a walk’ said Shayne.

‘Or we could take my car?’

‘Nooo, come on, look at this weather’ he said whinny, pointed to the sky. It was rather beautiful. The sky was completely clear, there were a few stars visible. The air was way too warm, considering it was technically winter, a light breeze was blowing. ‘It’d be a shame if we didn’t take advantage of this, doncha think? And if you get tired… I don’t know, I’ll just carry you or something, we’ll figure it out!’

‘Why don’t we go to the drive-through, get our food, drive up to the hills and eat there?  We can go for a walk and have a vehicle at our disposal, if we happen to need it! Boom, compromise!’

‘Deal!’ said Shayne, giggling slightly. You stepped towards your Mini Cooper.

‘I mean, hey, I know you’re in shape, but I feel like I could collapse any moment now’ you informed him. He chuckled, already seated in the passenger seat, seat belt on.

‘Ho, boy! Food – here we come!’

About 7 minutes later, you entered a McDonald’s drive-through, ordered way too much food, and soon enough, you were on your way for the hills.

‘Yo, drive-throughs’, said Shayne, with a mouthful of fries, ‘might be the best thing we ever came up with. No human interaction, you don’t even need to leave your car!’

‘Definitely. I’d say it’s up there with fire and the computer’ you replied.

You talked the whole ride, finding yourselves in sporadic fits of laughter. After 10ish minutes of traffic-free driving, you were there. Shayne insisted he should carry all the food, you knew that any attempt at arguing would be in vain. A short walk later, a small bench graced you with its presence and you decided to occupy it, the food bags taking most of the space.

‘Woah’, you exclaimed, trying to squeeze the BigMac™ into your mouth, ‘in the two years that I’ve lived in LA, I’ve never been here at night. It’s so peaceful and beautiful.’

‘Right? And the best part?’ he said inquisitively, looking at you, ‘The view!’ He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, with a rather constipated facial expression, barely holding in the giggles. You laughed and shook your head.

You sat there for moments? Minutes? Hours? Who knows how long, talking about… nothing yet everything, really, while eating you food as slowly as possible, and almost choking a couple of times due to excessive laughter. When you finished your meal, you felt 500lbs heavier and completely incapable of moving. Shayne removed the scrunched up wrappers and scooted a bit closer. You held your stomach and let out a long grunt, reminiscent of vocal fry.

‘I think… I think I’m just gonna stay here… live my life on this bench, y’know, become an urban myth’ you said, curling up into fetal position.

‘”The girl on bench” ’ he said, in an overly dramatic tone, patting your back, ‘some say you can still hear a faint rumble of her stomach trying to digest the ton of food she consumed on that faithful night.’ You giggled.

‘Why, oh why, cruel world must it taste so good but hurt so badly?!’ he yelled to the sky, his voice shaky.

‘Shayne! It’s midnight, keep it down’ you tried to stop laughing and act serious, but failed.

‘Whyyyy?!’ he cried, falling onto his knees in front of the bench. Your stomach started aching, this time from laughter. You stood up and approached him, with the intention of helping him get up, extending your arm, however, when he grabbed it, you wobbled in the air and ended up landing on top of him.

Good job, wow, you’ve really outdone yourself this time! you thought, while hoping for the ground to swallow you.

‘Oh my gosh’, you said, completely flustered, not looking at him. You turned your head to glance at him, noticing that his face was way closer than you initially calculated. ‘I- I- I am so sorry, that was so… Oh gosh, I’m sorry, are you okay?’ you rushed to get up. Shayne just looked at you, laughing, with an amused look on his face. He was going to make a joke, but upon seeing how utterly distressed you looked, he decided against it.

‘Of course I am, I’m great, couldn’t be better’ he stood up, holding his side, ‘minus the fractured rib you might’ve caused me, but hey, I’ll live!’

‘Hey, no, don’t’ worry, really, it’s all good!’ said Shayne, putting a hand on your scapula. A short period of silence followed. ‘Hey, wanna go pack?’

‘Oh, sure, but I can do it, really, I’d hate to keep you up, but thanks for-‘

‘Nooo, you’re not keeping me up’ he exclaimed, ‘I dragged you out, so I need to redeem myself!’

You sighed.

‘Okay, fine. But my apartment ‘s a mess, don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

Your face was still a bright shade of red, the embarrassment unbearable. You hugged yourself, as if you were cold, and kept murmuring many I’m sorry-s along the way to the car.

During the ride, the constantly opened window helped you calm down and your skin tone to go back to normal.

Much to your surprise, the mess you had left at your place before was still there. :(

‘Woah, was there a nuclear explosion here?’ Shayne asked, evidently trying to push your buttons.

‘Actually, yes, that’s very insensitive of you. How dare you bring that up?’ you played along, while taking two clean glasses from the cupboard. ‘Want some gin?’

‘Woah, hey, heyhey, I don’t know if… I..’ Shayne stuttered, evidently taken aback by this suggestion. ‘I had no idea you drank.’

‘Well… I’m full of surprises’ you said, with an over exaggerated wink. The corner of Shayne’s mouth twitched. ‘And besides, I just do it occasionally.’ He nodded. ‘So, do you want some?’

‘I… uh… sure!’ he replied, still a bit confounded.

You poured the liquid into the glasses and added two ice cubes. Taking both glasses, you approached Shayne, who was looking at the clothes you already packed and handed him the glass.

‘Y’know, I’m pretty sure you don’t really need a cocktail dress… and I’d say that’s more than enough T-Shirts for a week and a half’ he stated, taking the glass from your hand.

‘Yes I do! T-Shirts are comfortable and great for layering and that’s how you combat the cold, you layer and-‘

‘But you don’t layer T-Shirts on top of T-Shits!’

‘But- yeah, you’re right, I mostly sleep in T-Shirts’, Shayne turned his head towards you, ‘What? They’re comfy so I bring extra, in case some get dirty or sweaty, y’know.’ You took a swig of your drink, almost downing it all at once, stumbling a bit.

‘Woah, easy there, you don’t want to be hung-over for the trip’, said Shayne, steadying you.

‘Nah, don’t worry about it, it’s just gin…’

‘Okay, well, you need to pack!’

‘You said you’d help!’

‘I will! You need a supervisor, to maximize efficiency.’

‘So you’ll just sit and tell me what to do?’

‘No, don’t be silly… I might stand up eventually’, replied Shayne, evidently proud of his comeback, which earned him a disapproving headshake.

‘Oh really?’ you said, grabbing your bras and underwear from a drawer.

It was Shayne’s turn to change into a tomato, clearing his throat, trying to look anywhere else, scratching the back of his neck and basically doing every other tick in the book signaling he was uncomfortable.

You grinned mischievously, realizing what you’d done and quickly put it all away into the suitcase.

‘You can look now’, you said.

‘Oh, hah, psh, no, I- I wasn’t, I-‘ he tried to come across as calm, cool and collected, but ended up looking even more awkward. You awed and kept packing, moving on to sweaters.

You kept packing and at some point, the gin started kicking in, making you extremely sleepy. Surely enough, the process took more than an hour, even with Shayne’s eventual help. You collapsed onto your bed, headfirst, and he lied next to you, on his back.

‘This was exhausting’, you exclaimed.

‘Nah, I’d say it was fun!’ he replied. You rolled over so that you were also lying on your back.

‘Thanks for helping, I would’ve probably fallen asleep had you not been here’, you said, turning your head to look at him.

‘See?’ he beamed, ‘I told you!’ he chuckled.

This was the first time you got to look at him so closely – the laugh lines and those baby blues, the slight beard he was trying to cultivate, his radiant smile… You caught yourself staring and only then did you realize how close you actually were, which in turn made you blush profusely. He kept smiling, but his gaze trailed down your face and focusing on your lips, for a split second only. You batted your eyelashes, not knowing what to do. Sh-Should I do anything? you thought. This will just make things awkward, probably. Oh goodness I messed up again, what am I supposed to do, I-

At this point you could feel his breath on your nose. He moved his hand to brush off some of your hair. The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife, which made you panic even more. I gotta move, you thought, this will be way too weird in the long run, I should probably just cough or something or-

And then it happened. He moved just slightly towards you, closing the tiny gap that remained between the two of you. Your mind, while racing up until that point, was completely blank – no worry, no panic, just bliss. The kiss was shorter than you would’ve hoped for, yet still sweet, making you smile like a mad man, which in turn made his lips curve into a grin, as well.

Shayne was gently caressing your cheek. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by you initiating another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate than expected. He put one hand on the back of your neck and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer, while you held onto his shirt and neck. A few minutes later, you broke apart, neither of you able to stop smiling. You laid there for a few minutes, intertwined, without saying a word.

After some time, you tried to move, but Shayne’s embrace wouldn’t let you.

‘Shayne’, you called out. No response.

You looked up and saw him pretending to be asleep.

‘Shayne’, you repeated. No response. You tried wiggling out of his grip, but couldn’t. He started laughing, eyes still firmly shut.

You placed a kiss on his clavicle, which instantly made him open his eyes and look at you.

‘Wanna watch a movie?’ you asked.

‘Depends on what you got’, Shayne said, seemingly loosening his grip.

‘I’ve got whatever you want’, you beamed. ‘Well, I don’t, but the torrents do!’

‘”Space Jam” it is, woo!’ he exclaimed, throwing his arm in the air. You laughed and mimicked his ‘woo’.

‘Okay, I’ll go set it up, you refill our glasses and get the popcorn ready, there’s some in the cabinet.’

A few minutes later, everything was in order and you were huddled up on the sofa. The movie started playing and you immediately started commentating out loud, laughing. Neither of you said anything about what had happened, which was bound to backfire, but at the moment it seemed fine.

The file you had illegally downloaded was buffering quite a bit and you were really tired… I’ll close my eyes just for a few seconds, you thought.

And lo and behold, you fell asleep. As soon as he noticed, Shayne spent a few moments looking at you, wondering whether he should carry you to your bed or leave you be. He ended up choosing the latter, as your bed still contained the residue of a nuclear explosion that took place earlier. He tried to move, in search of a blanket, however, you fell asleep on him and he just didn’t have the heat to move you. Instead, he threw an arm around you and you got even comfier. Shayne lost track of time – for a certain period, he was just observing your serene expression, but he ended up falling asleep next to you.

Feedback is highly appreciated, hit up my inbox or leave a comment or sth, thanks. :3

[sapphiresilke]

I’m slowly but surely updating + finishing bios, and I’m also trying to churn out refs for all my muses. That’s gonna take a while, but I’ll get to everyone eventually!