#a qualifying round that’s called ‘last chance’???

[nnato]

Just catching up on the Indy500 qualification and how are there 84 drivers on the list???

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving VI

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your schedules don't match

You love Alexia.

You were only little when your father died. You didn't quite understand it.

Your father was a football fan, a big Barcelona supporter so all of his daughters got taken to games with him.

Alba was never that into sports, even just watching them.

Alexia was definitely sporty. You think she was what your father really wanted. She plays football and she adores it.

Your father was already sick by the time you were born. He was already struggling but he still took you to matches. It didn't click with you like it did with Alexia but he could still some athletic speck in you.

He took you to a tennis match instead. He'd never had much interest in tennis but he seemed to know what would appeal to you. You were tiny and Mama had been worried that you wouldn't be able to sit through a match.

But you did.

You sat through a whole match and fell in love then and there.

You were still little though and your father was still sick but he took you to as many lessons as he could.

He was a football fan but he could learn tennis for you.

He never could in the end, not when he died so suddenly.

But then Alexia took over. She didn't understand tennis and she still doesn't understand but she took you to every lesson and went to every match.

You just wish she understood the difference in your schedules.

She was getting ready for another round of Euro qualifiers even though Spain had already qualified. You were at Wimbledon, trading shots with Iga on the practice courts.

"Have you called your sister yet?" She asks, sitting down next to you as you guzzle down your water.

You roll your eyes. "In a minute."

"Do it now."

"What are you? One of my sisters?"

You're teasing her.

Iga is the world number one, by a lot of points. You sit just outside of the top ten. It's a little annoying, your own inconsistency. You can pull it out of the bag during big matches like Grand Slams but you suffer a bit in some of the less grand tournaments.

You're officially the youngest player this tour so you know you're getting babied by some of the other players, Iga especially.

You hadn't thought she had even known who you were until your coach told you she was the one who pushed him to take you on.

She thought you were on your way to being one of the greats.

She also thought you would make a great doubles partner one day.

It was different moving to Poland, away from your Mama and your sisters but Iga made it easy.

She was easy-going and you practically lived at her place so, yeah, you guess she took the more sisterly role in your life with Alexia and Alba at home in Spain.

"Go and call your sister," Iga laughs, spraying you with her bottle until you shriek and run off," And grab me a protein bar or something!"

You roll your eyes but head off, pulling out your phone to video call your sister.

It rings for barely a second.

"Hi Jenni," You say," Can you give Alexia back her phone? I need to talk to her."

"You don't want to talk to me, mini Putellas? I'm offended!"

"If I wanted to talk to you, I'd have called you!"

Jenni laughs before Alexia appears on screen, snatching the phone away from her ex.

"How are you?" Alexia asks, cramming her face onto the screen.

"I'm good!" You laugh," You look good too. Covered in sweat."

"You can talk," Alexia teases back," Have you just had a workout?"

"Practice pitch with Iga," You say," We've got matches coming up."

Alexia frowns. "What do you mean?"

"We've got matches in the next few days. It's Wimbledon, remember?"

Alexia shakes her head. "No. That was last year."

"It happens every year, Ale," You remind her," Me and Iga are competing and then it's a quick turnaround for the Olympics."

Alexia's frowning. "No, because I've got a match on the twelfth. You're flying out with Mama and Alba."

"The Wimbledon final is on the thirteenth. I need to stay."

"What?"

"Iga's out and I've got a real chance. I could really do it."

"But...What about my match?"

"What about mine?" You counter with a sigh," Ale, our schedules just don't match this time. I'm sorry."

"But..."

It's clear to the other girls in the room that Alexia's getting a bit distressed as her mouth opens and closes as she tries to formulate a response.

"But..."

"Listen, I've got to go. I'll talk to you later."

"Hey, wait-"

You put the phone down and Alexia just stares down at it, frozen as she looks at your profile picture.

"What's up with the long face?" Jenni pokes her in the cheek. "You're more frowny than usual."

"Nothing. I just...My sister can't come to the game."

"Well, duh, Alexia. She's got Wimbledon to win. She can't just fly out to us."

"I know but..." She blows out all her air. "Never mind. I'm just...I'm gonna go."

When you were little, Alexia tried to go to as many of your matches as she could manage. Sometimes she would come straight from her own games, still in full kit to catch your last ten minutes or so.

It was difficult but it worked.

You've gone professional now and branched out, travelling the world to take part in tournaments and games so you can work your way up and become the world number one.

She shouldn't be upset about you missing her match and her missing yours because that's just how sports work. So many went on at the same time that it was impossible to make every match but, still, a deep pit forms in Alexia's stomach as she thinks about missing your final.

Across the world, you prepare.

You practice on the courts with Iga and your coach. You eat well. You sleep well. You watch Alexia's match on the tv and wish you could be there but Alexia's no longer the only athlete in the family.

She had her career and you have yours.

Paolini is who you face in the final and she keeps you on your toes the entire time. She hits hard and fast and you go one set down immediately.

You pull it back though, managing to equalise the next set and then it's all to play for.

You take a few gasping breaths as you guzzle down your water, leaning back in your seat.

You look up at your box, where your family is watching.

Mama is there, of course, and so is Alba. Alba looks incredibly bored. You know she only comes to the tennis because of you and you're glad she's trying to be supportive but she truly looks like she's about to fall asleep in her seat.

Mama looks much more engaged. She'd told you once that she preferred the pace of tennis to football. There was less risk of injuries in tennis, no one around to slide tackle you or crash into you.

The most harm your opponent could do was smash a ball into your face and that rarely happened. Sure, you could slip and fall but it's not like footballers didn't do that too.

Out of the two sports her daughters played, Mama always found herself calmer at the tennis.

Mama waves at you and nudges Alba in the ribs so she can look up from her phone to wave too.

Your brows draw together in confusion.

There's an empty seat between them and you can't understand why.

So, you just kind of stare as you puzzle out who could be sitting there.

It's not until she comes back, with two beers and a hotdog that you realise who is filling that seat.

She looks exhausted. You can tell even through those stupid big sunglasses and the even stupider hat she's wearing.

She must have gone straight from her match to the airport to get here in time and crashed in Mama and Alba's room to keep it all a secret.

So, Alexia sits in her seat and you grab your racket.

You've got a set to win.

[mywritersmind]

how bout lando x sainz!reader like carlos’ little sister but carlos doesn’t know about their relationship?

PRICK AND A TEASE - LN4

listen up : sainz!reader!! inappropriate use of a lollipop. jealous lando.

word count : 755

note : dare i say this is my fav request yet!! sainz!reader will forever eat <33

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“My baby sister!” Carlos says to me as he and Lando round the corner, joining them as they walk. The pair are in orange and red racing suits, Lando’s is unzipped and criminally attractive. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence after hiding away with Alexandra all today.”

I roll my eyes, “I’m not even going to congratulate you on your quali today.” He jabs me in the side and I punch him in the arm.

“I didn’t know you were coming this weekend, Y/n.” Lando says from Carlos’ side, lying right through his teeth.

I smile innocently as if he wasn’t in my bed last night, “Yup! Decided to surprise Carlos.” Decided to surprise Carlos and come two days earlier to spend time with Lando.

Carlos has no clue Lando and I are… In a relationship? It’s unclear but it’s quite fun.

I know I fancy him and he fancies me.

Lando smiles softly at me, the look he gives me that makes my knees go weak.

We make it to the ferrari hospitality and I go straight for the lollis in the corner. I unwrap my favorite flavor, strawberry, and pop it into my mouth while texting.

Carlos and Lando talk rapidly about qualifying and some poor results from other teams. It’s not until Carlos gets pulled away by his manager when I realize that Lando has been staring at me.

I wiggle my fingers at him a bit, Carlos’ back facing me. He smirks a bit as I run my tongue over the candy. I see Lando swallow and decide to be a bit of trouble.

Carlos’ manager leaves and as my brother sits across from Lando, I slip the lollipop into my mouth again.

Lando clears his throat and changes his position, my brother keeps talking as I move my tongue around more.

Lando’s eyes won’t stop flickering to me, Carlos eventually notices and turns around to look at what he’s distracted by.

I fake innocence by watching the f2 cars on the track, “So that Colapinto kid is good huh? Funny, too.”

Carlos stands to join me, Lando follows, “You’ve spoken to him?” my boy asks.

“Mhm. A real flirt.” I see Lando roll his eyes.

Carlos raises a brow, “Seems like the type. Sort of reminds me of a young Lando.” He claps his hand on Lando’s shoulder as Lan eyes me.

“Think he’d go for me?” I ask the two, lollipop in hand.

My brother frowns, “No chance, Y/n.”

“You think he wouldn’t?” Lando asks his friend.

“He definitely would. But you know how I feel about it-”

I mock him as he says the same words, “No dating boys on the grid’ yeah I know.” I sigh, “You never let me have fun.”

Carlos pulls a disgusted look, “I’m sure you’re fine.” I glance at Lando, I definitely am fine. Carlos checks his phone and swears, “I’m so late. I’ll be back soon Y/n!”

Carlos rushes out and Lando is next to me in seconds, “You’re a prick.” he says as the candy goes back in my mouth, “And a tease.” he grabs the candy and tastes it.

“And yours.” I add, this makes him smile proudly.

“I’m going to tell Franco to fuck off.” he leans against me a bit.

“And explain that how? Oh yeah! You’re fucking your best mates sister behind his back and still haven’t asked her to be your girlfriend?” I call him out in one move.

He eyes me, his hand going to my waist before turning to me, “Dinner, tonight? I’ll make you forget Franco.”

I roll my eyes, still smiling at him. I’m about to say yes but the door swings open, Carlos walks in quickly and Lando’s hand is off me in seconds. “Back so soon?” Lando asks.

Carlos grabs his hat from the couch, “Nah, Forgot this.” He does a double take at us and I pray that he doesn’t notice that the lolli in Lando’s mouth has my lipstick on it.

“You alright?” I ask him as he slowly backs away.

“Yeah…” he says suspiciously, “You coming soon, Lan?” Lando nods, stepping away from me and following my brother.

“Bye Y/n!” Carlos tells before practically running out.

“Bye Y/n.” Lando turns around to look at me, winking and waving the hand that holds the lollipop. I sigh when they’re gone, leaning against the glass and watching the cars go past.

[imaginaryf1shots]

Here For You | Lewis Hamilton

Words count: 1K

Lewis Hamilton X reader (established relationship)

Summery: When Lewis gets a podium and his team is nowhere to be found, but you stand there in a sea of red

Warnings: none

A/N: unedited

it really broke my heart seeing Lewis so alone after the race, the way he sat down waiting for his turn, while Carlando had their teams there. He looked so tired and defeted, thanks to the Ferrari and Mclaren who congratulated him.

Masterlist

Lewis Masterlist

Singapore 2023, Sunday.

What an intense race, one of the best of the season so far. It was so close from start to finish, those last ten laps had you on your toes in anticipation. Leg bouncing up and down as you stared at the screen, Carlos, Lando, George and Lewis were stuck in a DRS train all for P1, George couldn’t overtake Lando no matter what he did. It’s under a lap left when the younger Mercedes driver drives straight into the barrier, your eyes open in shock, everyone is surprised, disappointment on everyone's faces in the Mercedes garage. Frustrated mechanics and just about everyone. 

Your eyes don’t leave the screen, eyes on your boyfriend, but as the three round the last turn, he couldn’t overtake Lando, but he’s P3. you’re happy for him, so happy. You feel bad for George, he’s been doing amazing through the race, he was doing so good all weekend, and to end it like this breaks your heart. However Lewis is your number one concern, and he made it to podium after so long, and you knew given one more lap he could’ve overtaken Lando for P2. 

Despite having one podium win, the mood in the garage was sombre. Everyone is so upset about George, you bit your lip as you waited for them to go to the barrier under the podium to meet their winning driver but no one made an effort to go and see him, despite them all going to congratulate George the day before when he qualified second. 

You’ve been going to races for years, having been with Lewis a long time and every week you had free of work you were in the country he’s in supporting him every chance, sometimes you’d be there for a day or two, never missing an opportunity to be by his side, and you aren’t about to start now. So after two minutes you decided to just leave the garage, ignoring everyone, you couldn’t even see Toto anywhere. 

Already Ferrari and Mcalren were at the barriers so you’d have to fight your way to the front. The heat had you a little sweaty as you squeezed yourself between the orange and red dressed people around you, trying to be heard as you moved but your voice fell onto deaf ears under the loud sounds and talking. Lucky for you Fred Vasseur Ferrari’s principal saw you struggling, the older man had talked to you multiple times, he and Lewis are on good terms and talk from time to time. He gestures for his team to let you through, and thankfully you make it to the front.

“God! Thank you so much.” You breathe out, huffing, you’re thankful you decided to have your hair in an updo today, feeling the heat from the crowd around you add to the heat of Singapore. 

“It’s okay, it looked like you were about to die in there.” He joked, as you both turned to the front, Lewis was waiting to get weighted, your eyes stayed on him once they found him with a smile on your face as you answered Fred.

“Felt like it.” He laughs and pats your back, you look around the barrier for a moment, once Lewis is on the scale(?). No sign of a single Mercedes team member. 

“What are you looking for?” Fred asks, also looking around.

“Mercedes.” was all you said, the man realises the absence of the team which is very odd. Lewis has been the forefront of the team for years, whether it’s a win or not, they should be cheering for him. 

Lewis takes off his helmet and balaclava, he doesn't see you though. “Lewis!”

You call but your voice get drowned in the other sounds around you, your saving grace comes in Lando, he was walking to the wait for his interview when he saw and heard you, patting Lewis on his arm to get his attention, he points at you. The moment he sees you, you smile so wide at him.

Lewis also smiles, seeing you, when he got out of the car and couldn’t spot you or any of his team he felt crushed, he’s tired the race has been hard and having kept it together the whole race, doing better than the last few weeks, it definitely dampened his mood not seeing his team here for him. Seeing you now however brought him happiness that he’s grateful for. 

Walking you to you, the driver wraps his arms around you, sweat and all, you holding as close as you could through the barrier, you close your eyes getting a tad bit emotional.

“I’m so proud of you my love, you did so great.” Kissing his cheek. Around you Ferrari cheered for you, making you laugh and pull back a little, but Lewis wasn’t ready to let you go yet, he held your arms in his.

“I couldn’t see you when I came in.” He tells you, you give him a sad smile.

“Fred rescued me, was fighting my way through to get to the front.” You say with a small giggle, he once again pulls you in for a second hug. “I love you so much Lewis.”

“I love you too… Thank you for always being here for me.” Lewis says low enough so only you could hear him.

“Always, I’ll always be here for you, you can count on that.” You run your hand up and down his back, hearing Lando do his interview. “It’s your turn soon, I’ll be waiting for you after the podiums.”

Lewis pulls back and quickly picks your lips, it’s rare that he shows PDA but in that moment he couldn’t help it. Lewis is a private man, and he likes to keep anything beyond the surface about the two of you away from the public eyes, so you know that your feed will be filled with edits and screenshots from your moment.

Watching Lewis on the podium with a proud smile you clap and cheer for him, as if it’s your first time seeing him on a podium, celebrating him as if he won a WDC. you couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel so you’d be alone with him and enjoy the night alone, just the two of you.

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me Issue #3

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You are determined to meet your Spider-benefactor face to face and you go to ever increasing extreme lengths to do so. Problem is, Miguel O'hara is very uncooperative to your plans.

Word count: 5,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, so slow you wonder if it's even burning. Near death experiences, the state of the economy and how expensive it is to live in a big city, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[Previous issue] [Next Issue]

You saw them in the window display of a bakery in Greenwich Village. Round sugar cookies with red frosting and white eyes, decorated as a tribute to everyone's favorite neighborhood Spiderman.

Before you had time to properly think things over (would he even like the cookies? Is he on a strict superhero diet and workout plan? What if he's gluten intolerant?) you were already standing in front of the cash register having a dozen of them wrapped up in fancy crinkly paper and were $72 dollars poorer. 

Charging six dollars per cookie is practically highway robbery, but that's par for the course with New York bakeries. You wouldn’t be surprised if every bakery in New York was already a part of Wilson Fisk’s criminal empire. 

As you push open the door, box in hand, you wonder wryly to yourself why Spiderman’s ruder alter ego isn't there to save you from that.

You wonder, for Superheroes, what classifies as an event worth intervening in and what everyday citizens need to be saved from?

Financial ailment doesn't quite seem to qualify from what you've been able to glean so far.

Tony Stark, for all the wealth he’s amassed (a large enough treasure hoard that he would be capable of buying the whole planet of Mars according to Forbes) isn't massively involved with charities. He only donates to the one: his own. And the Stark Foundation is really just Tony Stark paying reparations for the damage he and his buddies caused in the first place.

Thor is an actual deity, and you still remember that write-up in Esquire magazine, where local waiters in New Mexico had called him a terrible tipper and a habitual smasher of glassware.

Assault and battery is up in the air. There are accounts of Superheroes intervening; that Tiktok videos of She-Hulk breaking up a bar fight that went viral a few weeks back. But then equally, there are memes of Doctor Strange peeking out the window of Sanctum Sanctorum watching a street fight unfold,, utterly uninterested in getting involved. The internet labeled it as "mood". 

As for murder and mayhem, there's a longstanding public debate as to whether Superheroes cause more than they prevent. Case in point: that Moon Knight guy that paints the streets of London red.

There is no rule book written to explain how Superheroes decides who is worth saving and who is not.

Does one have to be important and have a material effect on the state of the world?

If so, you fall pitifully short. The most world-changing decision you made as of late was deciding to opt out of utensils on your last GrubHub order to help save the environment.

So it makes you wonder: Why on earth has this non-costume accurate Spiderman saved you, not once, not twice, but 13 times to date?

That’s just the first of many questions you’d like to ask him. What does he know that you don’t? Does he know why the universe seems to be out to get you lately? Or why death itself is following you everywhere you go, nipping at your heels?

You haven’t had the chance to ask him anything, because despite all of your encounters, you haven't met him face to face since that very first time. 

Inconveniently, you don't exactly have a way of contacting him. Superheroes aren't listed in the phone book. 

With no other way to reach out, you go at it the old fashioned way. You write him a note from a page you've ripped out of your notebook:

‘Thank you for saving me. Can we meet? I have questions.’

You place the note on the window sill. Setting the plate with $72 dollars worth of Spiderman cookies on top of the left corner of the paper to make sure it doesn't get blown away in the wind. Then you leave the window open for the first time since you've moved into this apartment before heading to bed.

There's nothing else to do but to wait. 

You wake to the spit and splatter of rain against your window. It's gray outside, and the cookies you set out the night before remain untouched. You frown at the sight, but you can't say you're surprised.

There was never any real indication that he was lurking around you. Superheroes are bound to have more interesting things on their schedule than stalking a random insurance employee.

You don't know why you thought this would work in the first place.

Getting out of bed, you walk up to your window to inspect the scene. The note is where you have left it, ink a little smeared from the rain, where the plate has kept it in place on the right corner.

That seems odd, now that you think about it. You stare at the note, eye drawn to the watermarks. Why are there water stains bleeding into the paper if your window was closed? As crappy as your rundown apartment can be, water damage is the one thing you haven't had issues with.

You draw your eyes to the closed window being smattered with the rain outside. Didn't you leave the window open last night? You're pretty sure you did, hoping that the open window would be seen as a gesture of invitation. You had left it open… right?

You did.

You're sure you did.

He must’ve been here.

Rude, not-costume-accurate Spiderman was here.

Right?

Your eyes flicker back to the window.

Or maybe you did close the window?

You close your eyes trying to recall your evening, packing the length of your apartment as you replay the memory. Suddenly, you're not so sure anymore. You always close your window, and even though you had every intention of keeping it open last night, who is to say you didn't close it out of sheer habit?

It's strange. Because if he was here, he would've spotted the note. But it's in the same spot you left it yesterday right under the plate on the left side of it...

You eye the undisturbed note tucked under the right corner of the plate.

Wait, wait. Didn't you put the note under the left side of the plate?

You did.

Yes, you definitely did.

Which means, he was here... Right?

You feel like you are going insane.

Are you seeing things that are not there? Was he actually here and if so why did he go to such lengths to pretend otherwise. Why would he passive-aggressively gaslight you into thinking he was never here?

You decide on a redo.

Because if you can't trust yourself and your questionable memory, you can trust a recording.

A teddy bear nanny cam sets you back $50. Not cheap, but not as outrageous as your stale-cardboard-tasting Spiderman cookies. 

You set it up on your dresser opposite your window and link it to your phone as per the instructions.

As for the bait. After having tasted those brick cookies for yourself, putting it out for a second night for a man who has saved your life repeatedly didn't seem right. You decide to bake them yourself this time.

The added bonus is that you get to mix blue food coloring into the frosting for the decoration that goes on top. In retrospect, the red Spiderman cookies from last time might’ve implied that you’re calling him a knock-off Spiderman. 

Besides, even with the cost of living crisis: a bag of flour, baking powder, unsalted butter, sugar and eggs cost a lot less than $72 dollars.

This time, you don't write him a sloppily put together note. You decide to write him a proper letter. 

If he did visit your apartment, (and you're not just going insane) the fact that he moved the note meant that he must've read it. 

This note didn’t work. 

It must not have been compelling enough, you were kind of in a hurry… 

You’ll have to write something better this time. Longer. More emotionally compelling. Surely if you take the time to really explain your plight, you can make him understand why it’s so important he talks to you! 

The problem is that it’s hard to sound serious when it’s written on lined paper from your ruled notebook. 

That won’t do. You go to the nearest stationery store in your neighborhood, a chain outlet of Paper Source to get yourself some decent looking stationary paper with a matching colored envelope to boot. 

You immediately regret this part of your plan, because it ends up setting you back another $26 dollars. Why is 6 pieces of paper so damn expensive anyhow? Surely there’s a few trees left in the world to chop down?!

$102 dollars down in your bank balance, you sit down at your dining table that night, pen in hand and begin writing. You pour your heart onto the pages, setting out in as precise words as you can manage the effect your near death incidents have had on you. 

How scared you are, how confused you are, but also how grateful you are that he's saved you, again and again and again. That you believe if you and him can just meet in person and talk, if you could ask questions and figure out why this is happening, then maybe you can find a way to stop it from happening again.

Then you fold the letter and tuck it neatly into the matching envelope and slide it under the left side of the cookie plate and go to sleep.

When you wake the next morning, nothing seems out of the ordinary.

The cookies are still neatly arranged on your plate. The letter snugly tucked underneath it.

On the left side this time, you note. 

It doesn’t look like he came. 

The only thing is that you swear that the envelope is now several inches further to the left than where you left it last night.

Again, maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

You pull up your phone, opening the app linked to the nanny cam and press play.

There is nothing but the still frame of your studio apartment, your bed to the right and your window square in the camera-view. You speed up the video, but the only thing that takes you by surprise is that you apparently toss a lot more in your sleep than you thought.

The camera footage goes well into 3am, and you’re resigning yourself to the fact that this was all down to your imagination.

He didn't come last night. Probably didn't come the night before. Most likely you woke up from the rain, closed the window and were too sleepy to remember.

You sigh, setting down your phone on the table, prepared to let this whole endeavor go.

On your screen, a smudged shadow appears in the corner of the window. You jump to your feet from your seat, knocking your chair over in the process with a raucous thud. The dark figure grows larger on your screen, dark navy blue and lines of stark red that perches itself onto your window sill.

YES! yes-yes-yes! You knew it. You fucking goddamn knew it!

You were right.

Adrenaline buzzes victoriously in your veins, and you grip your phone harder. Your heart is pounding so fast and hard in your chest you can hear the drumming beat of it in your ears.

He was here!

(You're not cuckoo for cocoa puffs).

You watch as his large figure sits on your window sill. He's still wearing his mask, and while you can't make out the expressions underneath, the outline where his eyes would have been, painted in dark blue, now narrow into a slit on your screen. 

There's a hostility emanating from that glare that you are able to sense all the way from the opposite side of the screen. He stares down at the plate of cookies suspiciously. Then he just stays there, unmoving, having a staring competition with the cookies you baked in his image.

In the privacy of your living room, you have the luxury of taking the time to get a proper look at him without interruption. It's hard to ignore the fact of just how tightly fitted to his skin that suit is. The dark blue fabric clings to every line of muscles on his body and it makes your cheek prickle with heat when you look. It feels voyeuristic somehow, but you can't help but think that the more modest alternative would be if he had worn nothing at all.

He's absurdly ripped. Muscular doesn't even begin to describe it. Broad shoulders and a narrow tapered waist segueing into obscenely thick and defined thighs that have your eyes linger for far too long. You shake your head to snap yourself out of it, Jesus you are acting like a creep. This isn’t OnlyFans, though lord knows you paid for this privilege! $102 for a cam video! 

On the footage, there is finally movement. He reaches for a cookie, bringing it to his mouth. The blue fabric dematerializes on his lower face until it reveals his tanned skin and that ridiculously cut jaw of his.

His mouth parts. Fangs protrude where his canine teeth are supposed to be and the sight makes you nearly drop your phone in shock.

Is this Spiderman a vampire? Or is he like a tarantula Spiderman with fangs to match?

You watch in suspended horror as he bites into the cookie, those sharp fangs of his are in plain view as he chews. 

He leans over to reach for a second cookie and all your trepidation is forgotten for a second, because if he’s reaching for a second one, it must mean he likes them. You grin at your screen, culinary pride beating out any caution or fear you may have had. 

Then he lifts up the plate, picking up the letter. The anticipation is too much. You press your face closer to the screen to try to get closer, because your screen is too small to pick up any possible nuances in his expression. 

He's carefully opening the envelope as he starts to read. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking. There's no visible change of facial expressions in the outline of his masked eyes. His mouth, which is bared to you, doesn't so much as twitch.

It doesn’t take long for him to read it. When he's done, he tucks the letter back under the plate. Then he bends down over the plate of cookies, and for a moment you think he’s going in for a third. Instead his hand lingers on the plate, before he starts to slide the remaining cookies around the plate to your confusion. You watch in confusion as he picks up the cookies one by one to space them out more evenly. You don't quite understand what he's trying to do, wait… is Vampire spider man re-arranging the cookies to make it less obvious he’s eaten them?!  

The bastard really was trying to gaslight you into thinking he was never here.

Once he’s seemingly satisfied with his work, he straightens up, turning until his back is against the camera preparing to leave.

To your surprise his face turns around to take one last look inside. The direction of his gaze settles on your bed where you're sleeping. His eyes lingers there for a handful of moments, inscrutable over the mask.

Is he sad? Angry? You can't tell.

He finally looks away and then he leaps off the window.

Politely asking him in writing is clearly not working out for you.

You decide the only recourse you have left is to try and physically catch him.

Such a simple sentiment that had sounded so easy in your head, but you quickly run into logistical issues when you try to put it into practice.

The man is built like a tank. Can leap off of skyscrapers (and the window of your sixth floor) without breaking a sweat. Potentially also a vampire.

You're not exactly sure how you're supposed to catch someone like that.

Your google research is off to a shaky start. Somehow you end up down a rabbit hole of tutorials for non-lethal mouse traps. It's not very useful inspiration. Because you can't exactly build a 7 foot large cage trap to catch him the next time he comes around to help himself to cookies.

But the concept of having a lure trap set with bait seemed transferable and so you decide to go for a classic spring trap that you’ll modify. No cage, instead you set up a DIY contraption with a sturdy string attached to a bell meant to quickly alert you to his presence next time he comes around. 

The game plan is to wake up and corner him before he has a chance to abscond.

As for bait, you google things that vampires might like in a half-thought of plan it might be applicable. Unfortunately, there are no young virgin maidens you know of as far as the eye can see in New York (yourself included) so that was a no go. 

So you default back to cookies (because hey, at least it worked last time).

Amazon has your whole set up shipped and delivered by the next day and you implement phase 3 of your rapidly escalating attempts to reach out to him.

Unfortunately, it doesn't work. For one he doesn’t show up that night. Or the night after. It takes him four whole days to show up again and when he does, he spots your trap a mile away. When you review the footage on the cam the next day, he avoids the rope and the whole mechanism effortlessly. 

There's no sound on the nanny cam so you can't be sure of it. But you think from the way the line of his shoulders shake as he steps over the rope that he might be laughing at you. He’s definitely seen through few supervillain traps in his days so in hindsight the probability of success here was low.

He does however eat three of your cookies this time.

You get a little bit more desperate after that.

You decide that if a trigger trap to wake you won't work, then obviously, the next best thing is for you to simply stay awake.

The problem is that he doesn't show up every night. His visits are entirely random without an obvious pattern. Sometimes he shows up two nights in a row, sometimes he goes several days without making a guest appearance on your nanny cam footage.

It means you end up downing a whole carafe of coffee, and several energy drinks, every night for a week straight. Entirely unable to predict what night he's going to appear, you keep dooming your already tiny bladder to a dozen visits to the bathroom before the clock has even struck nine.

The saddest part of it is that despite being wired on enough coffee to power a nuclear power station by yourself, you never end up staying awake the whole night through. 

More often than not you end up falling asleep sitting upright by the dining table waiting up for him. Then the next morning you wake with a wry neck, a sore back and your face pressing up uncomfortably against the wooden surface.

But you're nothing if not tenacious. Tonight makes it the sixth night in a row that you’re doing this. You stare down the can of red bull on your dining table as you pick it up and lift it to your mouth. You’re going to keep going, hardness of the wooden table be damned.

You're surprised to find yourself waking up feeling well rested without any aches. Surrounded by the softness of your quilt and your even softer memory foam pillow. 

The luxurious comfort of it all is such a relief that you don't even question it at first. Don't question why you're in bed when the last thing you remember was nodding off against the palm of your hand and the hard discomfort of your dining chair.

In the sanctuary of your bed, you just dig your face deeper into your pillow and snooze for as long as you can. Ignoring the bright sun pouring in from your windows until it sears unforgivingly against your skin and you decide that it’s finally time to start your day.

By habit, the first thing you do as you get up from bed is to pull up the nanny cam app on your phone and press play on last night's recording.

There's nothing of interest. Seeing yourself read a book by the dining table and chugging down a series of Red Bull is hardly riveting television.

Yesterday you barely even make it until midnight because you can see yourself nod off at the table, head sliding off your palm and plonking down on the dining table. You flinch at the impact, vaguely impressed that the collision didn't wake you.

Your (maybe vampire) Spiderman turns up at 3 am.

Much like the times before, he perches himself on your window sill, peering inside (presumably to check for any new traps you might have laid out for him).

His broad frame stiffens, and then, with a smooth leap, he's inside your apartment.

Excitement rushes to your head, because this is the furthest he’s gone and the first time he's come all the way inside instead of just lurking on the window sill. 

He goes over to your bed, flinging the quilt to the side. He seems stressed, the dark shape of his eyes wide as he stands over the empty bed when it dawns on you what’s happening on screen right now. 

Oh, he's worried.

He looks over at you, hunched over the dining table, sound asleep and oh god, is that drool on your cheek? 

The line of his shoulder relaxes. The broadness of his chest rises then dips with a heavy exhale. Something warm trickles in your stomach at his obvious concern for you.

The mystery is confounding. You don't know him. You've never met him, but for some unfathomable reason he cares enough about you to genuinely care about your safety and you want to know why. 

He makes his way over to the table where you are. The mask slowly ebbs away, uncovering his familiar chin, cheeks and then finally his eyes. An other-worldly shade of crimson that has you spellbound and transfixed on the screen. 

You find yourself raising your phone closer to your face, trying to get a better look at him. Cursing the crappy quality of the video. You don't know what to make of the way he's looking at you. It's intensely focused, almost sad, and… and… And you don't know what, but it makes your heart leap up into your throat, chest clenching tight.

He bends over, wrapping his broad arms under your knees. He’s careful in his movements, cupping your head as it lolls to the side until you’re comfortably resting against his shoulders. It’s a practiced movement, as if he’s done this a hundred times before as he picks you up and carries you bridal style to your bed. Gingerly tucking you under the quilt with something that looks a lot like tenderness. 

It leaves you with more questions than ever.

Ever since you started your caffeine chugging marathon, work has become a new kind of hell.

You're already half-asleep and nodding off at your desk by 10.30. Eyes sore and strained as you stare at the bright screen and try to make sense of the endless columns that are all different and also all the same until your brain refuses to try to make sense of any of it anymore.

You need to go for a walk. Clear your head.

Maybe pop out for a coffee... smoothie. Definitely smoothie.

Outside, the heat is oppressive, far too hot for only being May. Definitely too hot when there are this many tourists around. The street is so crowded you can barely make an inch of headway, trapped behind a family with a stroller in front, trapped in front of a pushy businessman who keeps stepping on your heels every two steps, and trapped next to a guy who is really into his airpods.

With the excess of caffeine still trying to make its way out of your system and the unforgiving heat of the sun beating against your back, it all has the effect of making you feel like you’re hung over. Your breakfast is roiling in your stomach. Sweat plastered against every inch of clothing. You don't know why you do this to yourself.

Every morning you tell yourself never again, and yet every night, there you were, spending half of your disposable income on energy drinks.

Starting from today, you're going cold turkey on the stuff. You've finally given up on trying to stay awake long enough to catch your super-stalker in his cookie burglar routine. Endlessly chugging down caffeine every night is not working out for you. Neither are the DIY mouse traps.

You're running low on ideas of how to trap him. You have nothing else to go on anymore. No idea on how to summon the man. The only time you know he'll be there is the moment before each near-death when he's there to save you.

What are you supposed to do with that? Purposely throw yourself off another building to lure him out?

That's crazy!

…Right?

But maybe... No! Definitely crazy.

Someone screams, and you snap out of your thoughts. There's yelling and terrified shrieks all around you. You're caught in the throng of people, panicked bodies pushing and pressing up against you, all of them trying to run the other way.

You dig in your heels, bracing yourself against the stampede of people. They’re pushing in from every direction until it’s impossible to move an inch. It’s hard to turn your body, when second after second, someone is pummeling into your side, knocking into your bruising shoulder. You barely manage to crane your neck back far enough when you finally spot it. 

A red-green truck with a gigantic taco on its roof is careening towards you across the pavement, no driver behind the wheel. The sea of bodies parts around the out-of-control vehicle, people running left, right and forward to escape being crushed under the wheels.

There’s no time to react. It’s too close. Too fast. 

A hand clutches at your wrist and pulls you backwards, your vision obscured as your face is pressed up against a familiar solid warmth. 

"Hold onto me," he tells you, and you do. 

You're held firm against him as the ground underneath your feet disappears, and everything feels weightless. Then all you hear is a loud thunderous crash.

Your feet touch back down on the ground, and the strong protective hold on you unravels.

When you open your eyes he's already gone. You're left on the corner of Lexington Avenue, still trying to catch your breath. The mob of people is still there all around you, but the panic has passed now, everyone is standing still. Everyone is observing the wreckage of the run amok truck that is now flipped onto its side, rendered harmless.

Miraculously, somehow, nobody around you seems visibly injured.

From a distance, you can hear sirens approaching with a deafening wail. 

But your mind is elsewhere, on the shade of the familiar dark blue and red as you were being saved seconds ago. On his gentle voice in your ear that still thrums pleasantly in your chest. 

You want to see him again. 

It's Friday, and you break half an hour early for your designated 40 minutes of lunch, taking the elevator directly to the 72nd floor, which is under construction to renovate it into an open observation deck for the public next year.

The thing with commercial skyscrapers is that nowadays most of them have safety glass panels on all outside spaces of the upper floors to ensure that it is impossible to climb up the buildings and jump.

It's a safety feature that became standard after the financial crisis of 2008.

Turns out that imposing an 80 hour work week on your employees, where they don't get to see their family or friends or have a life outside of work, and then stripping them of their financial security makes a lot of people miserable and suicidal (who knew?)

The elevator pings open, and you exit into the construction zone, carefully avoiding the various tools scattered across the half-finished deck. On Fridays, the construction workers on the site leave by lunchtime, and the space is empty of people. 

Step by step, you walk up towards the edge of the terrasse, until you stand before the temporary safety rail, looking out over the sprawling city below you. Cars look like tiny moving pebbles and the people, a hive of ants scurrying from street to street.

It’s a dizzying view. Both beautiful and grotesque in its grandeur. The 72nd floor will be 28 more floors to fall from than the 44th was.

The air around you seems to thin, and your stomach wants to crawl down to your feet and hold on to steady ground.

Taking a deep breath, you lift the hem of your shirt, running your hand over the safety harness strapped around your waist, reassuring yourself it's still there. Then you feel along the attached cord, using the carabiner at the end to clip it around the rod of the safety rail. 

Being impulsive and daring in your quest is one thing. Reckless and stupid is another.

It’s not a real climbing rope and harness. Turns out professional safety gear is shockingly expensive, but you found a knock-off resistance training set, complete with harness and stretchy bungee cord rope, on Amazon for a very reasonable $15. You’ve already spent $72 on cookies, $50 dollars for a nanny cam set, and an extortionate $26 for stationary paper in your never-ending quest to lure out Fake Spiderman. You figure a rope is a rope, and you're not paying $100 more to get ripped off by the big climbing corporations. But you’re also not willing to go without.

After all, you've already fallen from the Chrysler building once, and you're not angling for a repeat.

As intent as you are on seeing your Spider-benefactor eye to eye, you're not quite prepared to die for the privilege. Your plan is just to make it look like you are going to jump.

Any superhero worth his dime wouldn't actually let you fall before they would be willing to save you.

That would be a real dick move.

You give your impromptu safety rig one last tug to make sure it's secure, then straighten your posture. Grabbing a hold of the metal rail, you hoist yourself up. You clamber onto it, gripping tight with shaking hands as you swing a leg over, straddling the bar.

Left leg then the right, until all of you are on the other side of the railing.

Then you stay there.

One second. Then two. You close your eyes and try not to look down at the many, many floors below, and how one gust of strong wind could probably knock you over and have you falling down the building again. You count the seconds that pass you by. 

Five. Six. Seven.

A strong gust of wind blows through your side, and your legs buckle at the strong resistance, hand gripping down on the metal railing to hold yourself steady so you don't fall off.

Eightnineten! Ok. Fuck. No. You're good. Fuck this! He's not going to come.

If he didn’t come when you climbed over, he's not going to turn up now.

You briefly let go of the railing with one hand, adjusting your grip so you can climb back to safety. The sun beating down on your back disappears and is eaten up by a large and looming shadow. Every hair on the back of your neck prickles in warning.

Your reaction is too slow, you don't even have time to turn around to see what caused it. Then all you hear is an angry booming voice right next to your ear.

"Have you lost your goddamned mind?!"

You panic, flinging out your hand to catch the bar, but the hard metal of the railings isn't there anymore.

There is a sharp metallic snap. The safety rope around your waist splits from the hasp.

He’s calling your name.

The world tilts and everything goes upside down along with it. Your stomach sinks with a sickening plummet, legs dropping through into zero gravity as you find yourself staring up at the blue and endless New York sky.

Then you're falling from the Chrysler building.

Again.

Fuck!

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my dearest @thirstworldproblemss who has to constantly listen to me jabber on about this day and night endlessly and forever. She is in every sense of the word a collaborator on this project. She brainstorms, she pitches in, she edits and she beta-reads. This and so many of my works would not exist without her, please send her all the love if you enjoyed this story.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[xxblairexxss]

Jealousy (part 4)

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Angst / fluff

The end! Thank you for loving the short series. I think this might be my best one yet because I didn’t limit myself to include everything but it was longer than my usual ones. Apologies it long fics are not your thing!

Your week went by with no more phone calls. Charles didn’t ask for another chance to speak to you and you were so glad he didn’t because you weren’t sure if you were gonna find it appealing or irritating. Deep down, you knew there was still an enraged flame in your heart that you couldn’t ignore regardless of your feelings for him.

You stopped replying to his texts too but you still read it from the notifications bar. He would tell you about what he did on the day, would ask you if you had eaten, how was your day but none of his questions were answered. He went to Maranello right away and stayed there until the next race so you were glad you didn’t have to meet him.

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Charles was demented with worry. He knew he was hoping too much when you unblocked his number but he never thought you would stop replying to his texts. He didn’t know what you were up to and that made him agitated.

Y/F/N has added to their story

You hadn’t unblock him on his Instagram but he would still be able to see your friend’s. He saw pictures of you on your friend’s Instagram story, all smiles and grinning ear to ear. He missed you a lot. He would stare at his phone every night before he went to sleep, anticipating your name popping up in his notification or phone call but none of it actually came. He was disappointed, of course, but he knew he deserved this.

But he still hadn’t lose you, had he?

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You had declined Charles’s offer to join him on his private flight to Mexico because you still had things to do at work on Friday so you had to miss practice rounds. You even forced Y/F/N to come with you so you wouldn’t be left alone with Charles because you didn’t know how to act and what to say around him. As if he wasn’t your boyfriend for 2 years.

“Please come with me! Please please please!”

Y/F/N rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning her back on you to which earned her a pillow threw at her head. “No, thank you. Hey!” She then sat up and threw it back at you and chortled at the face you made.

“I need you there! I can’t be with him alone!”

“He was your boyfriend for 2 years. Why are you acting as if you haven’t done anything nasty with him.” You stopped peeking inside your closet and glared at her.

“That was so unrelated.”

“You get what I mean! If you don’t want to be left alone then just ignore him! Plus, he’s gonna be so busy he won’t have time to chase after you.” Y/F/N shook her head at the navy top you showed her and you placed it back into the rows of clothes.

“I know but he even asked me to go to the after party. You know what happened the last time I went to a social event.” You picked another top and earned a yes from Y/F/N so you folded it into your small luggage.

“There’s a party?” You heard her sounded intrigued. You should have known this better. She would never say no to parties. The conversations could have been a plain sailing one if only you mentioned this topic first.

“Yeah. There’ll be hot guys everywhere. It’s a shame you couldn’t come.” You packed another pair of pants and saw in the corner of your eyes Y/F/N scrammed away, leaving the room.

“Wait for me!”

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You arrived at the hotel early in the morning and Charles had arranged everything. Y/F/N was passed out as soon as you guys checked in while you immediately gotten ready to go to the paddock before the qualifying round started.

Once you arrived, there were still a lot of people waiting at the entrance meanwhile the paddock was already packed with a few interviews being done at every spots. You only took a few steps when you heard your phone rang.

“Hi.”

You looked up from your phone and saw your boyfriend, or ex boyfriend, whichever you preferred walking towards you and you hated yourself for feeling this way. You felt like a kid who bumped into their crush at a school hallway. That silly, giddy with excitement as if it was your first time meeting him. Your heart was throbbing so loud that if he told you he could hear your heartbeat, you would have believed him right away. The butterflies in your stomach went wild and it made your knees weak. You smiled back at him and he took your hand in his, clasping it as he turned and walked back to the entrance. The sound of the fans around the paddock area screaming his name turned into a mumble as you kept your eyes on his back.

You were so glad you didn’t get to see and talk to him that much throughout the rest of the qualifying round. You didn’t even stay until the end though he offered you a ride back to the hotel.

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“How was it?”

“It was okay?”

Y/F/N mocked your face and you squinted your eyes at her. “What?”

“Tell me more! Did he say anything? Did he hug you? Tried to kiss you maybe?”

“No! He just held my hand. It’s not like he had any free time to even talk about us.” You took off your earrings and tied your hair in a bun.

“Such an asshole, isn’t he? When is he gonna apologise? Is he even gonna say sorry? Does he know how to say sorry?” You heard her blabbered with a mouth full of chips.

“We are not talking about this anymore. I’m gonna take a bath.”

As you started shampooing your roots, you heard the doorbell ring and thought it was just another room service that your best friend might had ordered.

“Hi, can I talk to Y/N?”

“She’s busy. We’re busy.” Y/F/N looked at the guy up and down and was going to close the door on him when he propelled it back.

“Wait! Please, I just want to give her something.”

Y/F/N stretched her arm forward and Charles blinked in confusion. “Give it to me. I’ll pass it to her.”

“Can I see her instead?”

“No. Either you pass it to me to you can go back to your room.” She replied sternly to which made him obediently handed the paper bags to her and walked away.

“Look,” Charles stopped in his trail when he heard her broke the silence.

“I’m not mad at you. Wait, I am mad at you. I’m pissed off, actually. But as much as I want her to leave your ass, she still loves you and I think that’s more than enough confirmation you need. I’ll give you a space to talk to her tomorrow so do whatever you need to do.” Charles was going to say something but the door slammed on his face faster than he could even blink.

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“Who was that? Did you order room service?” You walked out the bathroom in robes with wet hair, gasping when you saw boxes of pizza and doughnuts on the coffee table. “This is a lot! When did you buy them? Oh, this is my favourite!”

“I didn’t. The delivery guy came all the way to our room to deliver these.” You saw the displeased face on her and frowned in confusion.

“He also left you that. I don’t know what you told him but you could open a Dior pop-up shop with those stuffs.”

You looked to the side and saw a Dior paper bag full of different shades of the new lip gloss. It was the one you briefly mentioned in your last phone call with him. There was also a small note written on it. “I might forgot or had missed you said your favourite shade during our last call so I got them all. And I don’t think you have eaten anything after the qualifying round today so enjoy the food.”

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The race ended with Charles getting P3, letting him to get the podium spot again after missing it a few races. Y/F/N has asked you to head back early because she needed hours to make sure she looked hot to flirt all the guys at the afterparty. It always made you wonder how both of you ended up being best friends even with all those contrasts in your personalities.

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You arrived with Y/F/N a few minutes late so it was already crowded with people. As much as it made you feel nervous, Y/F/N was thrilled.

“You look beautiful, angel.”

“Oh?” You turned around and was greeted with Charles, hands in his pocket, a few steps away from you. You opened your mouth to reply to the compliment, but Y/F/N cut you off.

“Right? Too beautiful to be treated like a shit.”

You nudged her on her waist and glowered. “Okay, this is not the time!”

“I’m off! Charles, she’s yours.” Y/F/N fixed your hair before leaving both of you, too fast that you couldn’t even catch her arm to force her to stay with you.

“Thank you..” You awkwardly smiled, your hands were clasp together, trying not to look at his green eyes that much.

“Thank you?”

“For yesterday. You really didn’t have to, but , thank you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing compared to what you actually deserved. Anyway, do you want to—“ Charles turned around and saw one of his friends calling out to him. You looked at the source of the voice and saw his group of friends standing at the end of the room.

“You should go with them.”

“No, come with me.” He was going to seize your hand when you stepped back in defence.

“It’s fine, I’ll be somewhere else.”

“Y/F/N will kill me if she finds you alone. I know you hate me and you don’t want to be left alone with me but stay with me this time. Please?”

You felt his hand gently taking yours in his as he looked into your eyes, as if he was asking for consent and you gave in. Sure, you despised him a lot but the moment he held your hand, feeling his thumb stroking your knuckles, it reminded you that he had always been your solace in life. It took everything in you to not embrace him right there and then.

He introduced you to the rest of the groups and immediately engaged in a full conversations. His hand never left yours. You were just standing by his side, playing around with your heels when you were greeted with Y/F/N and a few people with her. She would always brought her group of friends with you at any party just to introduce you, her best friends with her new friends. Charles turned around when he felt you accidentally tugged on his hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You were so glad for Y/F/N and was simply amazed with her social skills. Though you had a hard time engaging in a conversation and preferred to just listened, she kept on pulling you into the conversation by constantly asking you series of questions.

“That’s the worse. Right, Y/N?”

“Isn’t Y/N so pretty? I did her hair.”

“Y/N is very good at mix and match her clothes. Right, Y/N? But she still needed my help.”

Throughout the conversations, Charles still kept your hand in his but then it got uncomfortable when your hand started sweating so you ended up holding his pinky finger, occasionally fiddled with his fingers since you didn’t have your ring on. You thought he would pull away but he didn’t. He didn’t even budge.

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“Do you wanna go back to the hotel?”

“Can we?”

“Of course, angel. Let’s go.”

Charles had took you back to the hotel but it was only when you had arrived in front of your room when you realised you didn’t have your access card with you. He had asked you to stay in his room first until Y/F/N called.

It had been a while since the last time you were with him in a small space. As soon as you walked in, you were greeted with his smell, the mixture of scent between the different collection of his perfumes, the smell of his shower gels it was all too overwhelming it made your eyes teared up instantly.

“Sit down, silly. Why are you standing?”

You let out a sob, looking down and he stoop down to look at your face, sounding all worried and anxious. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Y/N?”

You continued to sob uncontrollably and he enfolded you in his arms, one hand around the back of your head and another one wrapped on your waist. “It’s okay, angel. I got you.”

“I hate you.”

His arms around your figure tighten when your body shook and he planted a kiss on the side of your head. “It’s okay, I hate myself too.”

“But I miss you so much, I miss your touch, your kiss, your voice, everything about you. I tried so hard to ignore you because maybe it would be easier for me to end everything, to end us but it was so hard.” The silent tears kept on running down your cheeks that you were so sure his shirt was already soaked.

Charles’s blood ran cold when you mentioned about ending things. Both of you had always been so optimistic with the relationship. You would always talked about how you would grow old together and he would have to assure you that he would always find you beautiful or you would have sulk.

He pulled away and crouched down to hold your cheeks in his hands and level his eyes with yours. “No, please, no. Please don’t leave me. Please, angel. I know I fucked up but give me another chance to be better. To fix this. I know it makes me selfish but I can’t see you with anyone else. Please.”

You didn’t reply but kept on wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, harshly, because of how frustrating everything was.

“I’ll kneel down if you want. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I can’t lose you. I really, really can’t.” His eyes were red from holding his tears and it smashed your heart. He looked so broken with compunction it made you cry even more.

“I’m sorry for what I did. I should have listened to you. I just got so mad when I saw you with other guys when I should have known better. I was too blinded with jealousy.” He took a shaky breath and wrapped you back in his arms so you wouldn’t see him cry.

“And when I saw what happened to you that night, I was just so furious at myself for being so stupid and allowing that to happen to you so I just blew up at you when all you needed was just my commiseration and assurance.” He left a few lingering kisses to the crown of your head and mumbled against your hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, angel.”

“Do you miss me?”

You felt his chest quivered as he tittered to your silly question. Had you got a glimpse of his life during the absence of you, you would have seen how miserable he actually was. “I don’t think the words I miss you is enough to express how much I long for you.”

You were no longer hugging his middle but your body was flushed against him as you stroke his cheek, feeling it damp from the tears that he tried to hide from you.

His arms left your waist briefly as he unhooked the necklace around his neck, pulling the end of it so the ring would slip out into his palm. “Do you… accept my apology?”

“I’ll think about it.” You giggled when he looked taken aback. “You are forgiven, Charles.”

“Can I put this back on you?” He looked nervous, as if he was going through every words he was about to say, too scared if you would slip off his fingers again.

“Are you proposing to me?”

“Not yet but I will. Mark my words.” He slid the ring back into your ring finger and lifted your hand to peck on it. Your arms circled around his neck as he locked you in his embrace. Your face was just an inch away from him that your nose would collide into his every time you moved your head a little. “I love you, Y/N.”

“And I love you more, Charles.” He dipped his head down and pressed his lips to yours, his arms cinching you to him as you kissed him back, your hands feeling the silken strands of his hair against your fingers.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Hello?” Charles squinted his eyes and put the phone to his ear, slightly whispering to not wake up the sleeping beauty in his arms.

“Charles? Do you happened to know where Y/N is? I just realised she’s not in the room.”

He laid his head back on the pillow and yawned. “Go to sleep, Y/F/N.”

“Where’s Y/N, you dick!”

“My girlfriend’s here with me. All safe and sound. You don’t have to worry.” His hand ran up and down against your back,when he felt you stirred on his chest.

“Oh, okay. I thought she was kidnapped or something. Break her heart again and I’ll make sure you won’t get any podium in your entire career. I mean it.”

You tilted your head a little to look at him, your eyes barely open. “Who was it?”

“It was just your guardian angel making sure I don’t fuck things up again. Let’s go back to sleep, baby.”

✧.* tags! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @buendiabebeta @needtokeepfeelingsincheck @ironmaiden1313 @teenagedreams-cl @sheslikeacurse @love4lando @charli123456789 @ru-kru @httpspedri26 @honey6578 @sealsu @shyartisanvoidwagon @changetyre @aundercover

Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added in the tag list!

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Jee Dates

Enjoy some tooth rotting fluff...I love Uncle Buck and Uncle Tommy. 🥰 I have been writing so much but I guess it's because I definitely won't have the time once school starts back up!

_______________________________________

"Tommy, wake up," Buck said softly, gently shaking his boyfriend's shoulder. "It's Jee date day."

Tommy stirred, a smile spreading across his face even before he opened his eyes. "Already? What time is it?"

"Early," Buck chuckled, "but you know how excited she gets. We promised to pick her up at 9."

As Tommy got out of bed, stretching, Buck couldn't help but reflect on how they'd gotten to this point. He wasn't quite sure how it happened. He had always been close to his niece, but once he and Tommy started dating, she was drawn to Tommy like a magnet. And Tommy definitely didn't mind his adoring fan.

At first, it was casual outings - they would take her to the park or out for ice cream, or she'd come to their house for pancakes. But somehow, those casual meetups evolved into what they now called "Jee dates."

Now they had a standing date once a month where they would spend the whole day with Jee, doing activities of her choice. It had become something all three of them looked forward to, a special tradition that strengthened their bond as a family.

"So, remind me what the plan is for today?" Tommy asked as he pulled on a t-shirt.

Buck's grin widened. "To your delight, and Maddie's dismay, Jee has chosen the Monster Truck rally."

Tommy's face lit up with excitement. "Yes! I knew that kid had good taste."

"Well, she certainly takes after her Uncle Tommy in some ways," Buck laughed. "Maddie's convinced you're corrupting her daughter."

"Hey, expanding her interests is not corruption," Tommy defended playfully. "Besides, Jee loved Disney on Ice last month. She's a well-rounded kid."

Buck nodded, remembering how Jee's eyes had lit up watching her favorite characters glide across the ice. "That's true. From Disney princesses to monster trucks – our girl's got range."

"Exactly," Tommy agreed. "And who knows, maybe she'll grow up to be a professional ice skater who drives monster trucks in her spare time."

Buck couldn't help but laugh at the image. "Now that would be something to see. Maddie would probably blame us for that career choice too."

As they continued to get ready, both men felt a surge of anticipation for the day ahead. These "Jee dates" had become more than just a fun outing - they were a chance for Buck and Tommy to share their love, to be role models, and to create lasting memories with the little girl who had stolen both their hearts.

"Ready to go pick up our favorite girl?" Buck asked, keys in hand.

Tommy nodded, a soft smile on his face. "Always. Let's make this a Jee date to remember."

With that, they headed out, ready for a day full of monster trucks, cotton candy, and the unbridled joy of a child they both adored.

As they got into the car, Tommy grinned and said, "Ready for another adventure with Jee-bug, fellow Guncle?"

Buck rolled his eyes fondly. "You know, technically that's not quite right. I'm not gay, I'm bi."

Tommy's face took on an exaggerated look of shock, his voice deadpan and dripping with sarcasm. "Wait, you're bi? How come you never told me?"

Buck couldn't help but laugh, playfully shoving Tommy's shoulder. "Oh, shut up. You know what I mean."

Tommy's facade cracked as he chuckled. "I know, I know. But 'Quncles' doesn't roll off the tongue quite as well, does it?"

"True," Buck agreed, still grinning. "Though Maddie still thinks the qualifier isn't necessary."

Tommy nodded, his expression softening. "Right, because we're both just Jee's loving uncles, regardless of our sexuality."

"Exactly," Buck said. "But I have to admit, I do like our little 'Guncles' thing, even if it's not technically accurate for me."

As they pulled up to Maddie and Chimney's house, they could see Jee's excited face peering out the window, clearly having been watching for their arrival.

"Guncles!" she squealed as she ran out the door, Maddie following close behind with a backpack full of Jee's things.

Maddie shook her head with a fond smile. "I still say you're just uncles, but I guess I'm outvoted on this one."

Tommy grinned. "What can we say? The kid has spoken."

Buck just laughed as he got out of the car to scoop up their excited niece. "Ready for some monster trucks, Jee-bug?"

As they drove towards the Monster Truck rally, Jee chatted away happily in the backseat. Suddenly, she piped up with a series of questions that caught both men off guard.

"Hey Uncle Buck, how come you date boys? Are you guys ever gonna get married and be husbands? Can I be the flower girl if you do? And please don't get married at the hospital like Mommy and Daddy did, okay? And how come Mara and Denny have 2 Mommies? Are you ever gonna have a kid? Will your baby have 2 Daddies? If they do, will they be sad they don't have a Mommy? Will they call both of you Daddy?"

"Well, Jee-bug, that's a lot of questions," Buck started, his voice gentle. "I'll try to answer them all. I date boys, or in this case, your Uncle Tommy, because that's who I fell in love with. Some people love boys, some love girls, and some, like me, can love both."

Tommy nodded, adding, "And yes, we do plan to get married and be husbands someday. When we do, we'd love for you to be our flower girl."

"And we promise not to get married in a hospital," Buck chimed in with a grin. "We'll pick somewhere much more fun."

"As for Mara and Denny having two mommies," Tommy continued, "families come in all different shapes and sizes. Some have a mom and a dad, some have two moms or two dads, and some have just one parent."

Buck picked up the thread, "Tommy and I would love to have a family someday. And yes, if we do, your cousin will have two dads."

"But they won't be sad about not having a mommy," Tommy added. "Because they'll have two parents who love them very much, just like your mom and dad love you."

"And if we do have kids," Buck concluded, "they might call us both Daddy, or we might use different names to avoid confusion. We'll figure that out when the time comes."

Jee seemed to consider this for a moment. "Okay," she said finally. "Can we get cotton candy at the monster trucks?"

Buck and Tommy both chuckled at the abrupt change of subject, typical of a child Jee's age.

"Sure thing, Jee-bug," Tommy said, catching Buck's eye with a warm smile. They both felt a surge of love - for each other, for Jee, and for the family they would have someday.

[haddonfieldwhore]

scary dog privilege pt2- ethan landry

ethan landry x alt! reader

❤️🔪 spoilers for scream 6 🔪❤️

❤️🔪 spoilers for scream 6 🔪❤️

2.2k words // part 1

warnings: mentions of death, violence, blood/gore language, one instance of y/n, not edited

❥ taglist: @breadbowser @lillunna @fanboyluvr @wroetoslut @gojosbucket

in the last 12 hours, you and ethan had grown very close, despite the more than unusal circumstances; or maybe because of them. both having been thrown into such a crazy situation, with a masked killer on the loose, it made it a little better that you weren’t going through it alone. everyone in the group had someone - tara and sam had eachother, same with chad and mindy. ethan and you were by far the most outcasted from the group, so in a weird way it brought you together.

sam and tara had been attacked by a killer in a ghostface mask at a bodega on the way to the police station last night, confirming that the murder that had happened a few hours before was in fact no coincidence. woodsboro had followed sam and tara and their friends to new york, and by association, you, ethan and everyone else were potential targets as well as potential suspects.

it was now daytime, sam and tara having spent all night at the police station. everyone except danny, sam’s neighbour friend, were sat outside the college campus, listening to mindy go over the rules of a franchise; which is what she determined you were all in at this point. sitting on the bench next to ethan with your legs across his lap, as mindy stood in front of the group.

“listen up nerds. as terrifying as this situation is, i’m actually glad i get the chance i get to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time. now, it seems like the killer is out to make a sequel to the requel,” mindy began.

“um- what’s a requel?” anika asked, raising her hand.

“sweetie, you’re beautiful. let’s hold all questions till the end,” mindy said.

“stab 1 took place in woodsboro…. stab 2 took place in…college,” sam recalled.

“i don’t like this,” ethan shook his head.

“do we think the killer is following the movies?” tara asked.

“it’s possible, and it would make sense if this was a regular sequel. but nobody just makes sequels anymore, we’re in a franchise! and there are certain rules to surviving a franchise!” mindy explained.

“i had a feeling,” sam sighed.

“everything has to be bigger than last time. forget about the legacy characters; canon fodder at this point. only brought back to be killed of in a cheap bit for nostalgia bit. it’s all about doing something different to keep people coming back: longer chase scenes, higher body count. if the killers last time were whiney, snowflake film nerds with letterboxd accounts instead of personalities, you can expect it to be the opposite this time. new city, suspicious new characters added to the friend group to round out the suspect list. and that’s not even the worst part,” mindy went on.

“oh this is where she tells us the worst part,” chad chimes in.

“the thing about franchises is that they’re ongoing episodic storylines… which means that main characters are expendable now too. meaning any of us could bite it at any time… especially sam and tara.”

“wait- am i in the friend group?” ethan asked, and mindy nodded.

“yeah i feel like i don’t really qualify,” you added. “i didn’t even know you guys 2 days ago.”

“this is true. it would seem you just have terrible timing. plus- you are from woodsboro, so that probably counts for something,” chad said, and unfortunately you realized he was probably right.

“but-i’m not like… one of the targets?” ethan asked, to which mindy nodded again and responded with a simple ‘mhm’.

“am i gonna die a virgin?” ethan asked, perhaps not realizing he said it out loud.

“that was a weird overshare.” mindy said, making a face.

“and by the looks of it i don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” chad teased, gesturing to you and ethan. a blush formed on ethan’s face and you gave chad the finger, although you weren’t really that offended. he returned the gesture with a smile, and you knew he had just been teasing.

“first up; ethan, the shy and dorky guy who no one suspects because he’s so shy and dorky-“ mindy continued her speech.

“watch it,” you threatened, giving her a nasty look.

“why am i on the suspect list? because i’m randomly chads roomate?” ethan asked.

“roomate lotteries can be juked- you could’ve fixed it to get next to us!” she said, turning her attention to you. “and you- clearly you have some unresolved anger issues, and you suspiciously found your way into our friend group the night the killings started. not to mention the fact that you look like you know how to murder someone and get away with it.”

“for the record - i was not exactly trying to join your friend group; no offence.”

“so how did you end up with us last night?” tara asked genuinely.

“we were together at the frat party when you all left,” ethan explained. “we have econ together.”

“together.. at the party?” chad asked suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows, and tara slapped his arm. “sorry.”

“i’m in your film studies class too,” you said to mindy, ignoring chads question.

“interesting. so you also have a connection to the first victim.”

“mindy- i know you’re having your patented monologue moment, but i was at the same party as you when the murder happened. and i was in the apartment with you when sam and tara were attacked- we all were.”

“there’s always more than one killer- which brings us back to ….quinn - the slutty roomate; a horror movie classic.”

“sex positive, and… thank you?” she said, a confused look on her face.

“how exactly did you come to live with sam and tara?”

“i answered their ad online-“

“okay, say no more; you’ve already implicated yourself enough,” mindy interrupted.

“it was an anonymous ad mindy, plus her dad is a cop-“

“and that makes it more likely that she’s the killer becasue having a cop dad is a great cover- do you not remember how these movies work tara?” she yelled. “and finally; anika,” she said gesturing to her girlfriend, who blew a kiss at her, which mindy returned. “never trust the love interest.” her eyes narrowed, and anikas smile dropped.

“okay.. so we have our rules. and we have our suspects.”

“uhh what about you guys?” ethan suggested, referring to the four survivors from last years attacks.

“i think it’s safe to rule out the four of us who went through this last year,” mindy smiled.

“agreed.” chad said, pointing at her.

“well what if it is one of you. i mean what if the trauma from the last killing spree got to be too much and one… or more of you snapped.” quinn suggested.

“or- what if all of the killings made you thirsty for more? i mean to be honest some of the theories online about sam…” ethan started.

“don’t you fucking dare.” tara snapped, and he raised his eyebrows, but didn’t continue his sentence.

“ok let’s just face facts. if we’re all suspects, you’re all suspects.” anika said.

everyone silently agreed, eyeing eachother nervously as you

///

everyone was back at sam and tara’s apartment, except for ethan, who had said he was going to econ. with everything going on you decided not to go, as well you thought better to stay with the group than split up. you had tried to convince ethan to stay as well, but he said his dad would kill him if he didn’t go - he was super uptight about grades and stuff.

sitting on the couch with anika as chad, mindy, tara and sam were in the kitchen, you started to wish you had gone with ethan. what if something happened to him?

“shit,” you muttered under your breath, and anika looked over at you.

“hey… if you’re worried about ethan, i’m sure he’s fine. he’s with a bunch of people in class right?” she smiled. you were thankful for the reassurance, and to her surprise you smiled back.

“you’re right… thank you.”

“you seem cool. i wish we met under better circumstances,” she admitted, and you were a little surprised; she was one on the only people in ethan’s friend group who had been nice to you.

“yeah, me too.”

“so.. you and ethan?” she asked playfully, and you shrugged, looking at your phone awkwardly, secretly hoping he would text to say he was alive or something.

“i don’t know. we made out at the party and then… all this happened.” you said. it had been a crazy 24 hours to say the least. you wondered what you would be doing right now if you hadn’t talked to ethan at the party. “he’s cute though. it’s nice to have a … friend through all this i guess.” you weren’t sure why you were being so open with her, but you couldn’t help but feel a little better after talking about how you were feeling.

“well, i think after all this is over we could be friends. isn’t stuff like this supposed to bring people together?” she said, and you felt your phone buzz in your lap. “is that him?”

“yeah; he’s just checking in,” you answered, before typing a reply to ethan to let him know you were all okay. you typed out “i miss you” but decided against sending it, instead erasing the message and dropping your phone back on your lap. it soon buzzed again, and you picked it up, expecting it to be ethan again.

banging sounds could be heard from quinn’s bedroom, and you assumed it was her and her guest going at it again, until you heard the four voices in the dining room hush and someone mutter a quiet “oh my god.”

looking at your phone, you opened a text from an unknown number to be met with a photo of someone in a ghostface costume holding a bloody quinn, just on the other side of the door. everyone gathered next to you and anika in the living room, and you all stood in silence staring at the door to quinn’s room.

“run,” mindy spoke, and the door swung open, quinn’s body landing on you and anika, knocking you both to the floor. ghostface followed close behind and slashed at mindys arm, as chad and tara ran out of the apartment, leaving you, mindy, anika and sam. pushing quinn’s bloodied body off of the two of you, terror flashed in your eyes as the killer dove towards you, and you sent him backwards with a boot to the chest. he went after anika next, his hands wrapping around her throat and lifting her off the ground, and she squirmed around before he pinned her to the wall and drove his knife into her stomach. she screamed in pain as the killer twisted the knife and dragged it upwards, blood pouring from the wound before you picked up a dining room chair and slammed it over his back. the killer dropped anika to the ground, and you and mindy grabbed her and followed sam into quinn’s room, managing to slam the door just in time. the killer banged against it repeatedly and you turned the lock, leaning against the door as you breathed heavily.

“mindy- bathroom door,“ sam whispered, and mindy hurried to lock door on the other side of the room to the adjacent bathroom, where you heard her exclaim, you assumed at the sight of quinn’s lovers body, considering he was nowhere to be seen. sam followed walked over to the window, and you heard her slide it open as you held your hands against anikas stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.

sam and mindy screamed, the killer having come around to the other side of the door through the bathroom, throwing his body against it and trying to break open the lock. you and anika ran over, and tried to help mindy hold the door closed. after slashing at you with the knife, creating a deep gash in your shoulder blade, the four of you managed to push him out, barricading the door with a dresser. it wouldn’t hold him off for long, and he continued to kick at the door as danny, sams boyfriend next door slid a ladder over the expanse between the two windows for you all to crawl across.

“she’s loosing a lot of blood,” mindy said, referring to anika.

“say something more positive!” she cried in response, as sam started climbing out the window. sam made it across, calling for mindy to come next. you and her were using your weight to hold the dresser in place, trying to keep the killer out of the room with all of your strength.

“someone has to hold the door. y/n you go, i’ll get anika next.” she suggested instead, and you knew mindy just wanted to stay behind to protect her girlfriend. somehow even with everything that was currently happening, your mind flashed to ethan; and you were thankful that he wasn’t here, and that he was somewhere safe. “come on!”

you shrieked as the killer managed to get the door slightly open, and reach his arm through, the silver knife in his hand catching your cheekbone and leaving a long cut behind. mindy still leaning all of her weight against the dresser nodded at you to go, and you made your way to the window, grabbing hold of the ladder. sam and danny were holding it steady on the other side, and all you could think was

do not look down

do not look down

do not look down-

you crawled across the cold ladder over the alleyway below; which was surely a 30 foot drop if not further. you made it across and danny pulled you into the apartment, as sam called for anika to come next. her and mindy went back and forth on who should go across first, and anika promised to be right behind mindy. pressing a tearful kiss to her shaking girlfriends lips, mindy started her crawl across the ladder as you all held the ladder steady from the other side.

you watched as the dresser continued to shake from the killer kicking the door to get in, and anika cried that she couldn’t do it as she approached the window, her trembling hands gripping the ladder with blood covered fingers. she was bleeding badly from her stomach, but with reassurance from mindy and sam, she got onto the ladder and slowly started moving across it. she was about a third of the way across, and the four of you in danny’s apartment watched with wide eyes as the killer broke into the room with no one’s weight holding the dresser.

“what?” anika asked, noticing that all of you had gone silent.

“anika you need to move right now!” mindy and sam yelled, urging her to continue across the ladder. she looked back as the killer stabbed the knife into the windowsill, and grabbed hold of the ladder. anika screamed and held on for dear life as he began to shake the ladder up and down, and then from side to side; attempting to throw her off of it.

the four of you tried desperately to hold it steady, mindy in hysterics. begging the terrified to hurry across the ladder. she managed to move slightly forward and was almost close enough to reach sams outstretched hand, as she called for her to take it. the ladder shook hard as she tried to grab hold of sams hand, and the killer twisted it to side, causing anika to fall screaming to the ground below, her head slamming into the open dumpster below. mindy balled next to you, and you all stared across the alleyway at the killer, as he picked up the knife and walked out of view.

[fannyyann]

Matthew Tkachuk, the Panthers’ goalie-goading throwback, delivers hits — and wins — when it counts

by Hailey Salvian and Jeremy Rutherford 

Matthew Tkachuk put his father in “timeout.”

That’s why Keith Tkachuk, an 18-year veteran of the NHL and one of the league’s best American-born players, wasn’t available to talk about his son’s remarkable run that has taken the Panthers from “biggest disappointment” to one win from the Eastern Conference finals.

On a Toronto radio station in March, the elder Tkachuk called the Panthers “soft.” By many accounts, that assessment was accurate at the time, and the words seemed to light a fire under the team — as did Paul Maurice’s tirade on the bench the same day during a game against the Maple Leafs.

Florida won its next six games and went 6-1-1 down the stretch to qualify for the playoffs.

Now, there’s no time for distractions, and Matthew wants to keep a lid on his pops, who informed The Athletic of his “timeout” via text.

After upsetting the 65-win Bruins in the first round, the Panthers are the betting favorites to win the Stanley Cup, leading 3-0 in their second-round series against Toronto with a chance at a sweep Wednesday at FLA Live Arena.

And the 25-year-old Tkachuk — in the midst of another career year that would have been MVP-worthy had it not been for Connor McDavid’s otherworldly season — has led the way, from scoring game-winning goals and delivering rousing speeches in the room, to delivering cross checks and goading goaltenders into fights.

He’s the player people love to hate, and he’s building a following of haters as he pushes the Panthers along in the postseason.

And even though the person who’s been most influential in Matthew’s career isn’t talking, others are. The Athletic spoke with a dozen people who for years have tracked Tkachuk’s brand of hockey — he’s a highly skilled agitator (a modest 6-2, 201 pounds) who opponents hate to play against.

Keith — known as ‘Walt,’ a nickname given to him by Winnipeg Jets teammate Eddie Olczyk because his surname was so similar to former Ranger Walter Tkaczuk — was traded to the Blues in 2001. Matthew, only 3 years old at the time, would start playing hockey with a youth program in St. Louis. Let’s just say he wasn’t a phenom.

Chantal Tkachuk, Matthew’s mom: They thought they were getting this ringer of a kid. We went to his first game and he was terrible. He was by far the worst player on the ice.

But that wouldn’t last long. Tkachuk improved steadily, adding a diverse skillset, and working through minor hockey, the U.S. national team program and the Ontario Hockey League.

Jimmy O’Brien, longtime family friend, owns OB Clark’s bar in St. Louis: They had a goal in their backyard, and 50 pucks would be lying in the driveway. Anytime you pulled up to the back of the house, you had to watch from running over the pucks because the driveway was littered with them.

Jon Benne, longtime family friend and strength trainer: I used to take wrist shots at him, and he’d knock them into the net. So when I see him tip a goal in now, I’ve seen that a million times.

Jordan Janes, St. Louis Junior Blues coach (2009-10): Matthew would do some of these between-the-legs (moves) before anybody was doing that. I would always look over at Keith and smile because in my mind I’m thinking, “Holy s— ,” like this is incredible that a 14-year-old is doing this. But you could tell that Keith, who was a “go to the net hard” type of guy, it drove him crazy.

O’Brien: His father told him, “If you ever do that stuff in a game and it doesn’t work, you won’t get off the bench.”

Taryn Tkachuk, sister: He’s not going to do that stuff just to do it. The through-the-legs goal against Nashville, he was like, “There was no way I could’ve shot that regularly.” He practiced that all growing up, so he knows he’s going to be able to do it.

Rob Simpson, assistant general manager of the London Knights: He would try new things all the time. It speaks to how smart a player he is. He was always trying to be creative in different ways to produce or make plays based on what he is seeing against defenders or what they’ve done against him before. He’s always been a creative, out-of-the-box thinker.

There are elements of Tkachuk’s game that can be traced back to the fact that he is Keith Tkachuk’s son.

Don Granato, Tkachuk’s coach with the U.S. National Team Development Program (2013-15): I think you can give some credit to — if not genetics, then just being around his father over the years.

Chantal Tkachuk: When Keith was still playing, they got to go down to the rink, skate after practice. Some of the players would play around with them.

O’Brien: He was a rink rat. He was always hanging around his dad, always going to his practices.

Barret Jackman, Blues defenseman (2002-15): I remember the coaches would have to come by and say, “Hey Walt, practice was supposed to start 10 minutes ago. Can you get Matthew off the ice?”

Benne: Matthew would be sitting on the bench the whole practice, and Keith would come over and say, “Watch T.J. Oshie. Watch how he goes into that corner and comes out.” Matthew would just be sitting there with a helmet on, just absorbing it all.

O’Brien: It’s hard to get a better education in the hockey world than sitting there with professionals and watching them at a young age.

Chantal Tkachuk: Every night, we always watched hockey. The boys would get up before school and the first thing they would do is turn on NHL Network.

Taryn Tkachuk: That was the only thing we really watched on TV. We never really watched other shows on Disney channel.

Chantal Tkachuk: Keith retired in 2010 and stepped away from his career and took almost five years off. In that time, he totally devoted all his time to youth hockey. That happened to align with the most important developmental years of the boys’ lives.

Janes: Keith knew what it took to get there. He demanded a work ethic out of his boys. Goals or not, assists or not, he just wanted to see you work. If you worked, Keith was happy. He knew if you did that, everything else would come.

O’Brien: One of Walt’s favorite things to say is, “Hey, you didn’t win? Play better!”

Taryn Tkachuk: Oh, he says it all the time. If someone didn’t play as well and maybe they’re complaining, like, “The ref did this or that,” or, “The other team wasn’t letting me do this,” my dad is just like, “Play better!” Nothing else. It’s just “Play better!”

Janes: That quote is the most Keith quote I’ve ever heard.

Growing up, Matthew was always competing with his brother Brady (23), and sister Taryn (20). Whether it was roller hockey, basketball or a made-up game they called “trampoline football.”

Benne: Matthew, Brady and Taryn would be on the trampoline, which was enclosed, and I would throw the football in the air as high as I could into the trampoline. It became an MMA wrestling match to see who got the football.

Taryn Tkachuk: I don’t even know how the game got made up. I just remember it being very physical. Literally whoever had the ball, you were about to get decked.

O’Brien: We were playing a two-on-two basketball game, and there were some of the most violent fouls you’ll ever see in your life. I had a bloody nose when we were done.

Taryn Tkachuk: If we were playing basketball, Matthew would never let me just go in for an easy layup. Of course he was going to foul me.

Jackman: I remember during one of the lockouts, Matthew was 15 at the time, and he skated with some of the NHL guys. I went into the corner with him, thinking I was going to play him hard. He tried to reverse hit me, and then he came out of the corner with the puck on his stick. He didn’t back down, even at 15, and I was in my early 30s.

Chantal Tkachuk: The most somebody hates to lose, that would be him.

Tkachuk committed to play at the USA Hockey National Team Development Program a few years before his first season there. But, at 16 years old, there was a learning curve playing with the national team and in the USHL, an under-20 league. In his first USHL season, he scored only 17 points in 33 games. He would double that production one year later in fewer games.

Granato: We knew of his talent, but in his first year, his production wasn’t there.

Nick Fohr, U.S. NTDP associate coach (2013-15): He wouldn’t shoot it. He literally wanted to show off those hands all the time.

Granato: I would tease him a bit. I’d say, “Hey Matthew, do you like to score?” And he’d say, “Yeah.” And I’d say, “No, you like to stickhandle.” He was so good at it, but I needed him to see that he wasn’t going to be that up-and-down-the-rink player.

Fohr: He wanted to have that agitator piece to him because it was kind of ingrained into him at that point, but he wasn’t big enough or strong enough to do any of that stuff at 16 years old.

Chantal Tkachuk: It was the second year in the program. That was the point where we thought he could make it.

Fohr: He played most of his second year with Auston Matthews and Jack Roslovic, which was an unreal line. Auston was the marked man, and Matthew — after being around his dad — was like, well, “Auston is my center, nobody is touching him.” And he started to become that guy. Any little scrum, he was right in the middle of it to make sure that his teammates were taken care of.

Granato: By the midpoint of the second year, he was playing just like he plays in the NHL right now. He was great in the same areas of the ice, great in the same ways.

In the 2016 Memorial Cup Final, the London Knights were in overtime against the Rouyn-Noranda Huskies. Tkachuk, in his first (and only) season in the OHL, took the puck up the left side, toe-dragged around a defender and scored the game-winning goal.

Aaron Berisha, London Knights teammate: At first, it looked like he was on a harmless rush.

Simpson: Matthew could always elevate at the right times.

Robert Thomas, Knights teammate (2015-16), and family friend: We always joked that Christian Dvorak actually tipped it, but obviously Matthew got all the credit for it. Just a big-time player making a big-time play.

Simpson: It’s not just by coincidence that he’s big in the right moments. He puts in the work.

Fohr: He’s in those moments because it’s just who he is. You saw it on the overtime goal against Boston. He knows somebody’s got to go in there and get the puck, somebody’s got to go screen the goalie.

Simpson: He wasn’t the one who shot it in the net, but if he didn’t have the sense and savvy to pop out and screen the goalie, it doesn’t go in.

Fohr: It’s no surprise that you see him do it in overtime in Game 7 because he does it every shift, every game.

Janes: The way Matthew was (growing up) and the way he is today, he will do what it takes for his team to win a hockey game. Period.

Because of his ability to stir up drama on the ice and (at times) cross the line, Tkachuk is one of the most polarizing players in the league.

Fohr: He’s that guy that everybody hates unless he’s on your team.

Benne: I don’t think Matthew came into the league fearing anybody. He just played with that edge, like, “I’m here, I’ve arrived, and look out!”

Granato: He could stoke a situation and get it stoked and get everybody’s emotions running on overdrive. And then, even in a highly emotional state that he stirred up, he will execute where many, many skilled players cannot.

Fohr: If he’s agitated somebody somehow, now a little bit of their focus is on Matthew and it takes just a little bit of focus off what they’re good at and impacts so much of the game.

Granato: It’s like a diversionary tactic, and a highly effective skill that he brings. He’s always ready to score the goal after he disrupts the situation, where other guys just want to take his head off. He never loses sight of, OK, while you’re trying to do that, I’m going to be scoring a goal.

Benne: He’s just going to play hard. He’s going to hit you, and he expects to get hit himself. If you watch that game against Toronto, he hammered two guys, and then he got hammered. Not whining, that’s the way the game goes. That’s the way he plays. He’s pretty fearless out there, but I think he plays right on the line. That’s where he wants to be.

Thomas: It was in full force in London. He’d always find himself mixing it up. He’s feisty and he’s got all the skill in the world. Some people just have it, and he definitely has it.

Berisha: It’s funny when people play against him and say, “Man, I hate playing against him, he seems terrible.” He’s actually one of the best guys ever.

Taryn Tkachuk: Matthew has this switch. Off the ice, he’s a completely different person: super nice, super fun. Once he steps on the ice, the switch just goes off and he puts on these different goggles and just has this compete level that you don’t even know how to explain.

The most common ways to describe Tkachuk: He’s a throwback. He’s a unicorn. He’s just like Keith … and maybe better.

Eddie Olczyk, TNT analyst, former teammate of Keith (1991-96): You see (Matthew) and it’s like turning back the clock 25, 30 years to when we played with each other in Winnipeg.

O’Brien: Walt played in an extremely physical era, and the way Matthew plays is refreshing because it’s a throwback to how it was all the time.

Janes: One thing Keith taught these boys at a young age was, if you want to score, you’ve got to be around the net. They got that right from Keith. They just took it a step further as far as their skillset goes.

Fohr: It’s just a place he’s not afraid to go to. Some players are. They don’t want to go there because it’s a hard area to play in because the D are big and strong. There’s an art to getting there and doing it the right way and Matthew has mastered it.

O’Brien: When Walt was playing, you’d see a big guy out there and you wouldn’t think a guy like that has deft hands. But Walt had sick hands, especially tipping pucks. And that’s one of Matthew’s strengths, too.

Olczyk: Matthew will make a play and you go, “Well, there’s Walt.” It’s eerie, but it’s not surprising that the boys are a chip off the old block.

Chantal Tkachuk: To this day, they tease me because skating has always been Matthew’s deficiency, so they make fun of the fact that I taught him how to skate. Keith will take credit for everything else.

Granato: Matthew plays the same kind of style as his dad. He just does it with more talent.

Fohr: To be a thorn in the side of the opponents and then have that elite ability on top of it, that’s pretty special.

Simpson: It’s very hard to find hockey sense that is that elite but also comes with the poise to make the play when it matters most.

Taryn Tkachuk: He’s literally doing every single aspect of what different players bring in a hockey game. It just makes him so unique.

Benne: Matthew doesn’t care what the media writes about him. Matthew doesn’t care if the fans boo him. Boston is going to hate him now, and Toronto is going to hate him after this series. But that’s what drives him. He wants to perform. He wants to put on a show. But more important than anything, he just wants to win.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Blood Upon the Snow

Disavowed (Krauser x GN! Reader/Krauser x Leon) - Chapter 4

1998

Krauser finds what remains of the base in Finland . . . and its sole survivor.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

CW: gore, description of corpses

January 30th, 1998

08:15

Dorne Base, Finland

He could see the smoke before anything else, a plume of black against a waking sky. 

The storm had left the world that stretched out beneath the chopper a pristine, untouched white, the snow contrasting harshly against the smoke and the blood red of the sunrise. Against the fires that still burned, albeit low.  

“Holy shit . . .” one of his men breathed, voicing aloud what Krauser was thinking himself. When the base had gone silent, they’d assumed it was the storm interfering with communications equipment. Then that storm had cleared . . . and still no word had come. No all-clear. So, the brief reprieve that Krauser and his men had been on had been cut short. They were the closest to check in on the base, and the most qualified if, somehow, something had gone wrong. 

And when Krauser heard where he was going, he’d known immediately that something had indeed gone wrong. 

Dorne Base in Finland. The very same he’d had on his mind a few times in the last month, all thanks to a proud and paternal Captain promising him a tour, should Krauser ever make his way that far north. A Captain who would have sent the all-clear, if he was able. 

A Captain who, Krauser realized as the chopper landed, was likely burning with the base before them. 

He set out running as soon as he was able, boots crunching against the fresh snow. His men were close behind him, each of them going with the same orders: search for hostiles and check for survivors. More help was on the way, Krauser had called it in as soon as the base came into view, but he knew that if anyone was somehow alive in there, he and his men were their best chance of survival. 

It didn’t take long before that pit in his gut grew wide enough it felt like he might collapse in on himself.

A pile of bodies greeted them as soon as they entered the walls, just under a dozen men, their corpses charred beyond recognition. The smell of ash and burning flesh lingered in the biting winter air, and as Krauser stared down at the remains, he thought only of the smiling faces he’d seen just over a month ago. One familiar and creased with age, the other new and proud. A face that Krauser had thought of more than a few times since you’d waltzed up to him at that bar. 

Was yours among the burnt bodies? Or Reynolds? 

He tried not to let those thoughts in, but it became more and more difficult as the collapsed buildings of Dorne base were searched. 

Shrapnel, debris, portions of buildings that had collapsed, others that had been blown outwards . . . no simple fire could have done this. No natural blaze would have resulted in bodies piled in the yard though, either. This was an attack, the evidence of it written in the burn marks, in the bullet casings he and his men found. Krauser had his weapon in hand, ready if he found the hostiles responsible for this, moving cautiously in case there were any more explosives left behind. Clearing an area was something he’d done dozens of times. Preparing for a fight was almost as easy as breathing to him, now. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of melted, misshapen flesh they found, peeking out of the rubble of a collapsed building. 

It . . . it was human. Or had been, once. Even with the way the fire had been at it, though, Krauser could make out the two legs and two arms, the round skull . . . but his mind could scarcely make sense of the huge, knife-like claws at the ends of those arms. Nor the sharp teeth that sprouted from its mouth. 

“What in the fucking ‘Thing’ is that?” Krauser’s Lieutenant had never sounded so utterly terrified, beholding the corpse like it could reanimate and slice them to ribbons in an instant. 

Krauser couldn’t blame him. 

He’d seen horrors, or, at least, he thought he had. He’d seen death. Not like this. Never like this. Because things like this weren’t supposed to happen. This was the stuff of those stupid horror movies, where men turned into monsters but were always stopped in the end. The heroes won most of the time in those movies, didn’t they? 

Krauser didn’t think anyone won here, though.  

“Leave it,” he said, even if he could see the dog tags wrapped around the thing’s throat. A soldier, once. Now . . . Krauser didn’t even want to guess. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t have his men touching it. Not that, nor any of the other twisted corpses they found. 

With each one, the Major had to ask himself the same question over and over - one that he knew may never be answered: what the hell happened here?

Corpse after corpse they passed, and the Major gave in to that dread choking him. No sense fighting that losing battle. 

No sense in hoping, when at last the parts of the base they could get to were cleared, and Krauser stepped out the opposite entrance from the one they’d come in, beholding the red on white of the sun . . . and the dark shapes lying in the snow in the distance. 

Krauser made his way forward, his men at his heels. “Two more bodies outside the perimeter,” he reported over his radio, hearing chatter from the men still inside. 

He’d seen comrades die over the years. It was a part of the job. He’d made his peace with it as much as any man could. 

Still, he felt something twist in him as he beheld the scene in front of him. 

What was left of Simon Reynolds’ face stared up at him, his remaining eye wide and white as the snow he rested on. Once handsome features were torn asunder, blown apart by bullets, the final blows to a body that seemed to have already taken so much punishment. Krauser glimpsed red staining Reynolds’ fatigues on his stomach - another gunshot wound - and a chunk torn free of his arm. Like something had bitten him. 

Reynolds, who had been there after Krauser had endured a blanket beating in the form of initiation on his first day of training. Who had patted him on the shoulder and told him he’d dealt with the same shit, that Jack couldn’t let it get to him. Reynolds, who had spoken so damn fondly of the men under his command. Who had shared a drink with Krauser not so long ago. His wife wouldn’t be able to see his face one final time, because there was so little of it that remained. Gone without a goodbye. Dead without the chance of aid. 

It ate Krauser alive, knowing that there was likely no scenario in which he could have helped. No way to save the man who’d been a guiding hand for him, once. 

The second body lying in the snow, several feet away, was just salt to his wound. 

“Not like I won’t be twenty-one in a few months anyway. I could die between now and then, you know.” 

Krauser had laughed at your words, back at the ball, writing them off as a smartass trying to get a drink. Now, they gave him nothing but a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Your eyes were glazed over, staring up at the dawning morning. Some other idiot might have thought you looked peaceful, but Krauser knew better. There was nothing peaceful about the way your belly was torn open, red soaking your uniform and pooling beneath you. Nothing beautifully tranquil about the pistol clutched in your gloved hand. There was no peace in whatever you had suffered, that much was clear, and Krauser felt his throat constrict at the sight of you. 

He moved closer, staring at the eyes that had been so bright-

Eyes that, he swore to God, blinked weakly against the morning light.

Krauser was on his knees in the snow in an instant, ripping his own glove off and pressing fingers against the side of your throat. 

When he felt the weak beat of your heart, his own nearly stopped. 

Alive. 

“This one’s still alive!” He called to everyone and no one, but he didn’t wait another second. Not when he wasn’t sure how many you had left. “Get a med kit ready! Now!” 

He stayed by your side as the medic stitched you up, grimacing as he saw the wounds on your stomach - he knew stab wounds and burns well enough from a lifetime of seeing both to recognize them in you. A botched cauterization job, it looked like. 

You should be dead, by all rights, but you held on. 

He hoped the hand he rested against your shoulder gave you further reason to fight on. 

When the stitching was done, he didn’t let himself breathe easy because even if the wounds were closed properly, you weren’t safe. 

You whimpered weakly when he lifted you into his arms, making him all the more careful of your wounds. “You stay awake,” he ordered, hoping his voice reached you in your delirium as he carried you through the snow, cutting as quick a path back to the chopper as he could. 

He almost smiled down at you as you muttered something he couldn’t even catch. Whatever it was, it was a sign of your life. Of your fight. That was enough. 

“That’s it, Sergeant,” he nodded, pressing on. “You make it through this, I’ll buy you all the bourbon you want.” 

You hissed and cried out, your head lolling against Krauser’s shoulder and then falling backwards, eyes blinking heavily. “S-s-” you struggled, but the word that finally formed just deepened the ache in Krauser’s chest. “Simon . . .” you called feebly to a dead man. One Krauser wouldn’t let you join. 

“Just hang on, soldier. That’s an order.” 

He was nearly there. Nearly at the chopper. One step closer to saving your life when- 

“Leave me.” The words were slurred, but Krauser could still make them out. A plea, desperate and empty. He wasn’t even sure you knew what you were saying, but it chipped away at him all the same. 

“You’re a fighter,” he said, shaking his head, knowing it in his heart because you had to be to have survived this hell. You had to have a goddamn heart of fire. He wasn’t going to leave you. He wasn’t going to let you die, because someone had to make it out of this, and based on what Krauser had seen all those weeks ago, Reynolds would have wanted it to be you. That was what he was sure of as he neared the helicopter at last, giving you one final order. One he willed to sink into your very bones. 

“So fight.” 

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Chapter Index

A/N: Yes the title is a Hozier song, and yes there was a reference to "The Thing" 1982 in there, what of it?

You guys got to be happy and unbothered for exactly 1 chapter - but hey, Krauser will get no better

[sflow-er]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you so much for the tag, @silvagrey!💜

How many works do you have on Ao3?

Eight.

What's your total Ao3 word count?

355,461 (that's a bit deceptive; one of my fics is 239k).

What fandoms do you write for?

Young Royals. I did write for other fandoms all through my teens, but those fics haven't been online for a long time now.

Top five fics by kudos:

Other people's secrets (1,215) Matters of adjustment (190) The real deal (180) Like you better (152) Last chance (126)

Do you respond to comments?

I respond to every comment on new fics and WIPs. Having discussions in the comments section is the best thing about sharing a story, and I love my little community of regular commenters!

However, I am currently learning not to beat myself up for not getting round to answering every backlogged comment on OPS. I still try my best, but I had to change my previous "always respond" policy when @willedeservesbetter left very long thought-provoking comments on the first 20+ chapters and I simply couldn't keep up... 😅 I'm trying to trust that people know life gets in the way sometimes.

That being said, I do reply to all comments where the reader has shared their personal thoughts on the ace rep! It may take me a while to get to them, but they never fall off my to-do list.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Årnäs, February 2016. I don't necessarily think the ending is "angsty", but it's a very bleak fic with no happy ending.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It's impossible to choose between all my Walty fics. Does the emotional payoff from all the angst make OPS the happiest ending? Or is it one of the fics that are sweet from start to finish?

Whichever one it is, I would like to think none of them are too sugary sweet. They are very happy on the romance front because I want them to be a comforting read, but there is usually at least something left for the characters to figure out on their own after the story with the insight/support/lessons they have gained.

Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully no. There is one rudely worded public bookmark on OPS, but it doesn't qualify as hate. Also, I once got a comment calling a plot point "ridiculous :D", but the person didn't mean any harm.

Do you write smut?

I did write a couple of scenes in my teens for one fic, just emulating what I had read. The feedback was good.

I think I've mentioned this on here before, but I actually tried to write some as an exercise last year! From a "technical" standpoint, it turned out okay, but from an emotional standpoint, it just made me cringe and roll my eyes a lot. I don't know if it's a grey thing or a me thing, but I just can't buy into it at all. And I'm not interested in writing allo PWP, so unless I decide to write an explicit ace sex scene one day, the answer is no. I don't write smut.

Craziest crossover:

I'm not really a crossover person.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Well, I did enlist my "live-in expert" as a consultant on ÅFeb16 (to help me get child August's POV right and sign off on Carl Johan's characterisation and all the bad stuff bubbling under). I really enjoyed the collaboration - but I don't think actually co-writing a text with anyone would be a good fit for my process. I wouldn't even want a regular beta reader because it would only stress me out.

All-time favourite ship?

To write? I don't have an all-time favourite, but since I started up again, I would obviously have to say ace Henry/allo Walter.

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I've got two WIPs at the moment. One is an unfinished and unpublished S3-compliant Walty fic, and the other is The real deal. At present, I'm feeling a resurgence of motivation for TRD, so the other fic is shelved for now. I do plan to finish it, though!

What are your writing strengths?

My planning and research game is pretty strong, as are my grammar and language skills. I guess the overall quality of my writing is decent when I'm not too stressed or low on creative energy. Many readers seem to find my writing fairly engaging, and they have said nice things about the dialogue, my characterisations, and the relationships between the characters.

Oh, and I think I'm pretty good at writing kissing scenes.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Perfectionism, self-criticism, "compulsive editing syndrome." When I'm unhappy with a passage, I tend to get stuck in a rewriting loop until I either get it right or spiral into writer's block and severe self-doubt. I also have a tendency to get swept away to the point where I neglect my wellbeing and burn myself out, which affects both my update schedule and the quality of my writing.

If you want more tangible weaknesses, I'm too wordy, my teenagers are unrealistically mature, and I occasionally overuse exposition.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

This is only my personal opinion and others are welcome to disagree! I'm not judging or criticising anyone in any fandom for using dialogue in another language in their own stories!

As a translator, my day job is all about conveying the same message in another language, and I can't just turn that logic off for writing. If the characters all speak one language throughout the text, it doesn't make sense to me personally to render some bits of dialogue in that language and others in English (unless those bits are truly untranslatable).

Not to mention that languages work differently, from word choice and grammar rules to the underlying communicative conventions and even thought patterns. Many people feel that using some sentences in the language that is actually being spoken adds authenticity, and that's a valid opinion! But to me personally, it's the other way around. I feel that the dialogue can only be consistently fluent in one language at a time, and if I'm writing the story in English, my dialogue will be an English rendering of what the characters would be saying in their own language. Similar to a translated book, only without a source text.

Now, if someone in the story is actually speaking another language, that's another matter! Dialogue in that language could be used very effectively in different situations, as in @silvagrey's example of Linda switching to Spanish to talk to Simon and Sara.

Again, this is just my personal opinion that I apply to my own writing! It is not the only valid opinion!

First fandom you wrote in?

If writing in my English notebook in lower secondary school counts, it was Final Fantasy X. The first fic I ever posted online was in an obscure anime/manga fandom in high school (and yes, I did use Japanese greetings and such back then).

Favourite fic you've written?

Other people's secrets. It's one of the best stories I've written, the one and only reason I'm still writing now, and one of the most meaningful things I've done for myself and my own ace identity (and apparently for some others too, which absolutely blows my mind). Furthermore, it was my first fic in over a decade and the biggest creative project I'd ever undertaken, so even just finishing it in a way I could be proud of was a huge accomplishment.

.

Thanks again for the tag, I had a great time answering these! 💜

No pressure tags: I honestly don't think I know any writers whom I haven't seen tagged yet (not ones who usually blog about their writing anyway)! So I'm just going to say if anyone reads this far and wants to play along, please tag me in your post. Or if you want to be tagged first, just let me know!

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Round 3, Poll 3

One Last Adventure v. Ghost of a Chance v. Guardian of Kings v. From the Pieces of Your Shattered Memories

THE POLL IS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE POST! CLICK "KEEP READING". (This is going to be a long one. 😅)

One Last Adventure: (Post-Canon AU)

Bilbo blinked, trying to get his bearings. Where was Ered Mithrim? And why do dwarves have so many lost kingdoms they are trying to get back into? And how was he the most qualified individual to do so? Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I think we’re going to have to start at the beginning here.” He determined.

The dwarves made a place for Bilbo to sit, offering him bits of their lunch that Bilbo felt would be rude to turn down even if his stomach was rolling. He learned their names: Brombrar, Gulrik, and Gimli. Bilbo blinked in surprise at the last one, staring at the red haired lad until finally he could place him with the image inside Gloin’s locket. It was clear that portrait had been made long ago as Gimli had a very fine beard, thicker than Fili or Kili’s but not quite long enough to hang off his chin. 

“And Gloin knows you’re out here recruiting me for some adventure?”

Gimli’s face turned bright red as he tried to mumble out some excuse. Bilbo felt his face drain of color. Did anyone know that these children were this far from Erebor? Was Bilbo going to be accused of kidnapping?

“Are any of you actually of age?” Bilbo asked, aghast.

“Gulrik and I both are.” The big one, Brombrar puffed up.

“So what are you doing here?” Bilbo accused Gimli.

“I’m the one His Majesty, Thorin Oakenshield approached!” Gimli defended. “Besides, I’m handy with an axe and it’s not like I’m a wee pebble.”

“So let’s get into that.” Bilbo sidestepped thinking about the angry calvary that was sure to come any second. “Tell me about Thorin.”

Gimli settled down enough to begin the story. He had been wandering the corridors of Erebor (where he wasn’t supposed to) when Thorin approached him. Gimli had been ‘struck by stone’ which Bilbo took to mean shocked. He immediately bowed and asked if it was really the fallen King, Thorin Oakenshield.

“And what did he say?” Bilbo pressed.

“He said, ‘Yes, Gimli, son of Gloin, it is I. Mahal has approached me with a great task that I now pass on to you. Inside Ered Mithrim is an object of great importance that needs to be reclaimed.’” Gimli paused at this point shifting in his seat. “And of course, I questioned it, Master Baggins. Whether or not this was really King Thorin, but he told me of a memory that we shared when it was just the two of us and I knew at that point it had to be him!”

Bilbo felt his heart speed up as his breath caught. It sounded so impossible. It was too good to be true. Bilbo had been there after all. He watched him die. How could he be back now? What kind of magic could do something like that? 

Bilbo indicated for Gimli to continue. So he spoke of this object. Some sort of smooth ball of crystal that allowed one to speak to another with the same crystal ball.

Ghost of a Chance: (Haunted Wedding AU)

Bilbo could have kissed Thorin for getting him out of there so effortlessly. It wasn’t until they were out in the hallway that Tauriel spoke up. 

“This is such a disaster! Bilbo, I’m so sorry.”

Bilbo mentally did not have the energy to comfort the girl no matter how bad he wanted to. Thankful, Thorin took care of that for him as well.

“Tauriel, this isn’t your fault. Why don’t you guys all go out and do something. I’m going to take Bilbo up to his suite for a bit just to give him a chance to process. We’ll call you the moment he makes a decision.”

She nodded, tears in her eyes as Kili rubbed her back in comfort. They all wished Bilbo well in some form or fashion until it was just him and Thorin. It was funny. At the beginning of this week that was something Bilbo would have absolutely dreaded, but now he couldn’t stop himself from leaning a little further into the strong arms guiding him. That did remind him that they needed to talk and soon, but perhaps it could wait until after the shaking had subsided.

They made it to the floor of Bilbo’s room and he struggled to pull out his cardkey and insert it into the slot, but the moment the door closed behind him, it was like he could finally breathe again. A shaky sob came out instead.

“Oh, Bilbo. Come here.” Thorin purred, pulling Bilbo in close.

Bilbo didn’t actually cry, but he held on tight to Thorin as he fought through the hiccuping sounds his throat continued to produce. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Bilbo complained.

“I would say a string of bad luck but this seems even beyond that.” Thorin attempted to joke. 

“Thorin, that cabinet could of crushed me. How did it not crush me?” Bilbo asked in bewilderment.

“Your barstool.” Thorin explained. “You must have knocked it over when you jumped up. It wedged itself under the cabinet and kept it from falling all the way.”

Bilbo shook his head as he pulled away from Thorin to lay down on his bed, the heels of his hands pressing down on his eye sockets. 

“Thorin, what am I going to do? Apparently, there are ghosts out to get me.”

He let out a bitter huff at that which turned into a chuckle before escalating into full blown hysterical laughter. Thorin must think he was absolutely insane as he laughed so much his sides began to act and tears streamed lightly down his cheeks. However, Thorin didn’t say a word. He just sat down next to Bilbo, petting his hair back from his head. It was actually a lovely sensation now that he was paying attention to the rhythm of it, and slowly it was enough to calm Bilbo back down.

“How about room service?” Thorin offered when Bilbo was calm enough again.

“Sweet Yavanna, I should kiss you.” Bilbo groaned in appreciation.

Thorin froze which in turn made Bilbo freeze as his words dawned on him.

Guardian of Kings (sequel): (BAMF Bilbo Baggins)

“You can eat him or stuff him full of eggs for the losses you’ve suffered. It matters not to me, but our debt is paid with his blood.”

Bilbo tried to breathe through the roaring in his head. He needed to think. Neither one of those options sounded appealing in the slightest. A shiver rolled down his back. Yep, definitely needed to stop thinking about it. So what could he do to stall the orcs?

“So that’s it. You’re taking your orders from the spiders now.” He attempted to laugh.

“Shut it runt!” The orc pinning him down shouted as he kicked him in the side.

Bilbo winced, curling in on himself as he panted through the pain. His eyes were squeezed shut, but that didn’t stop him from speaking up still.

“I mean, Azog and Bolg are both dead. Who else could you have to look up to?”

“What did you say, you little rat?” The leader orc growled, picking Bilbo up by his hair.

Bilbo cried out, especially as it unfurrowed him around his hurt ribs. He peeked an eye open to see the orc holding Bilbo’s own blade against his chin. Bilbo could see in his eyes though that he was listening at least.

“The spiders aren’t as smart as you. They aren’t as strategic.” Bilbo grit through his teeth. “They can’t think past their stomachs. What right do they have to demand payment? They should be following your orders. Not the other way around.”

“He’s right!” One of the other orcs shouted.

“He’s just trying to get us all riled up.” The lead orc snapped back.

“We’re only in this mess with the spiders because of you!” Another orc growled.

“You’re alive and not at the end of a filthy elf’s arrow because of me!” The leader screamed, dropping Bilbo to the ground. “We escaped Azog’s war with Oakenshield by the skin of our teeth and the blood the spiders gave us. All it would cost us is this runt’s blood and we’re done with them.”

“Blood that could go to us! You think this thin elf would be enough to feed us!”

Bilbo had done what he set out to do. Now he had to get out of the way before this turned any uglier. He started wiggling like a worm until he got himself up on his knees. He started trying to crawl away when he heard the clicks and clatters of the spiders. He looked back over his shoulder to see them paused just in front of the orcs, their mandibles snapping in impatience. There were only about eight but that was more than Bilbo wanted to deal with at the moment. 

Suddenly, there was a jerk on the back of his jacket before he was dragged backwards and thrown back in front of the spiders. Bilbo could feel his face drain of color as his sword was thrown next to him.

“There! That’s the one, right? The one who slayed so many of you and mocked you as he did it!”

From the Pieces of Your Shattered Memories: (Amnesia Modern AU)

“I’m on holiday.” Bilbo explained. “But you owe me the favor after you called to have me change the lightbulbs for you and I promised not to report the incident.”

Odo’s face turned a spectacular shade of purple as he spluttered.

“That-! I-! Fine! What do you want?”

“I just need the keys to your car. I’ll bring it right back.” Bilbo added, hurrying to cut off his cousin’s protest.

“Bring it right-! Now see here, Bilbo Baggins! I am certainly not your taxi service!”

“Which is why I didn’t ask you to chauffeur.” Bilbo smirked. “Come on, Odo. You won’t even have time to miss it. I just need it for a quick trip to the burbs and I’ll bring it right back.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Bilbo frowned. He knew he shouldn’t have expected a mere favor to be returned. His cousin was far too stingy for that. 

“What do you want?”

“Run the Mathom House for me on Saturday.”

“Absolutely not! I’m not spending my whole day up here in this dusty mansion.”

“Fine, just close for me that night. Four hours max. I want to watch the king’s speech live. Our Erebor exhibit is our most popular after all!”

Bilbo would have pointed out it was because of the mystery surrounding the shiny mathoms, but didn’t want to have to get into it with Odo. A few hours weren’t the worst thing. He could bring up his novel considering he would expect just a ton of traffic during that time anyways.

“Fine. You have a deal.”

Odo merely smirked before backtracking on his perfectly functioning ankle to retrieve the keys. 

***

Roughly thirty minutes later, Bilbo was pulling up in front of a modest brick home with brightly colored flowers in the planter boxes in front of the porch. Oakenshield got out of the car first, taking in the house before looking down at his blood stained jacket with a grimace. Bilbo winced wishing he had thought of that earlier. He quickly shrugged his way out of the paramedic jacket he was still wearing.

“Here.” He offered.

Oakenshield looked at the jacket, but still refrained from taking it.

“You’re practically two sizes smaller than me.” He pointed out.

“A size at the most! And it’s not really my jacket. Just take it! It will at least cover up the more…concerning aspects.”

Oakenshield grumbled but agreed as he gingerly took over his old jacket to put the new one on. It was the arm length that really accented how ill fitting the jacket was. So he rolled the sleeves up his forearm in the hopes to disguise it. Bilbo nodded at the look admiring it a bit too much as he headed up the porch to ring Prim’s bell. 

His nerves started to act up as they waited for her footsteps to head their way. His cousin could sniff a story out faster than she could serve tea. Bilbo just knew showing up out of the blue, carting Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, she was going to give him that look. 

[woso-dreamzzz]

World Cup V

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first World Cup

Everyone dreams of scoring a goal in the World Cup final. Hell, everyone dreams of scoring in even the qualifying rounds for the World Cup.

But, to you, it was almost certainly going to be a dream.

You were goalkeeper. You didn't score goals. You stopped them.

It was your whole job.

Your first World Cup was an honour. You were still young but it had been timed perfectly. When you were first called up to join Sweden's team, it was as the third keeper.

The two keepers before you had retired just before the selection for the World Cup squad. Two new keepers for the squad (both older than you) had been selected but you were the number one - a combination of your talent, training and just how many more international caps you had over your counterparts.

Coach Emma had been wary about putting you as the first choice but your performances at Arsenal spoke for themselves. There wasn't much she could do. No one else seemed to quite fit the bill like you did.

It had been a hard won road with two rounds of penalties in the knockout stage that you refused to be cowed by.

It all came down to this.

Sweden vs England.

You recognised a few of the girls from playing in the WSL and you gave them each a tense smile as you run through warmups. You sit in your cubby during the last team talk where Emma speaks about the game plan and how much work this will be and how much everyone needs to give it their all. You put on Zećira's old World Cup gloves. You flex your hands before clenching.

You replace her's with your own and roll your shoulders.

You walk out to the cheers of the crowd and take your position.

England are out with a vengeance and you make a few daring saves in the first half but it's mainly Sweden who dominate possession.

You're deadlocked in nil-nil throughout the first half and then the second half.

You leak into nine minutes of injury when one of your midfielders is dispossessed. You can hear Coach Emma yelling something at your defenders but you don't look to see the disarray of your backline. An England kit comes streaking up your left wing. She shoots but you're not worried because you already know that she has a tendency to shoot wide.

You collect the ball for a goal kick and one of England's finest starts a run towards you, to put on the pressure.

You could think of nothing but making sure this forward didn't get anywhere near your box or your ball.

You booted it up the pitch.

To be honest, it was an accident.

It hadn't been you trying anything. All you could think about was making sure England didn't even have a chance to score a goal.

You assumed one of your forwards would pick it up - some of them had this uncanny ability to know what you would do before you did.

Either way, you watched the ball sail over everyone's head...

The keeper was about as far off her line as she could be.

It sailed over her head, bounced and rolled into the bottom right corner.

You freeze in shock.

You hadn't meant to do that.

The crowd behind you screamed and you didn't have time to think before you were completely dogpiled by your teammates.

"Get off!" You laugh, trying to shake them off.

"There's no chance now!" Someone says.

"Keep them away from my goal and then there will be no chance," You reply, still completely trapped.

"Which goals is yours again?" Someone else teases," Because I think you've staked a thorough claim on England's too."

Your cheeks flush red and you bat her away. "Shut up."

"Never!" Someone declares," I'm pretty sure our goalkeeper just won us the game! You're never hearing the end of this!"

"Go away," You laugh," Go on. We've still got a few more minutes to play. Keep them off my goal and I'll let you talk about it all you want."

And they do keep England off your goal.

You sink to your knees in shock as you're dogpiled again. Swedish is flowing easily into your ears but you can't understand any of it. You slowly get to your feet and walk strangely calmly over to the stands.

You pass Coach Emma on the way. She's smiling, clapping you on the back. You think she says something too but you're too busy listening to the roaring of blood in your ears.

You hop the barrier and move into Momma's arms.

She holds you nice and tight as you still stare in shock. You think you're crying but you're numb to most things.

Momma's talking but her words are just static in your ears as you're moved from her to Morsa to moster Frido and then finally to Zećira.

You come back into the present when you see her. Shakily, you remove your gloves and hold them out to her.

She smiles and takes them. "I'm so proud of you. Best keeper in the world."

More tears slip down your cheeks. Your voice breaks. "Thank you."

"So proud of you," Morsa says as she and Momma appear over your shoulders," Clearly you're just like your Momma. Scoring goals."

"Is was an accident," You say softly.

"And it was a perfect accident," Momma says," I couldn't have done it better myself."

You laugh a little wetly. "Well," You say," I must have picked it up from all those times you kicked at me in the garden."

"Champion of the world!" Moster Frido declares, clapping you on the back and planting a kiss on your head," World Champion! Best keeper in the world!"

"Well," Momma says," This keeper needs to head back down to receive her medal. Go on, off you go." She pushes you away lightly.

You hop the barrier again and line up with the others.

There's a sense of pride as you walk across the stage, receive your medal and kiss the trophy.

You feel a little shaky as the trophy is lifted and you celebrate, screaming out your victory for the whole world to see.

You jump around with your teammates, each of them strongarming you into taking a picture with you and the trophy.

By the time you manage to get away, you're jogging over to the England side. You strip your shirt and hold it up into the crowd.

A hand reaches down to take it.

You look up.

Leah stares down at you. She leans over the railing.

"I should be mad at you," She says," But that was the best goal I've seen in a while. I'm very proud of you. Are you sure I can't convince you to stay?"

You look down bashfully and confess," I think Arsenal's getting a bit too small for me."

Leah laughs. "Yeah, I reckon that too." She pulls your shirt over her head. "You'll come back and visit?"

You bump your fist against hers. "Well, North London is red."

She grins at you. "Go on, World Cup winner. Off you go. I'll see you around."

"Bye, Leah."

You jog towards the Sweden side of the crowd again, pumping up your fist as people scream your name.

You skid to a stop in front of Morsa. You drop your medal over her neck.

"For you," You say," For all the World Cup medals you gave me."

[sburbian-sage]

so i was gonna send this in last night but i decided to wait so i could proof read it and what not and now here i am basically re writing it

so first things first im gonna need you to have an open mind please, everything im about to say is gonna sound like bullshit, utter complete fucking bullshit and even if you dont believe me its still true because sburbs bullshittery seemingly knows no fucking bounds

there is currently a fucking massive void vessel above the session, like it vanishes into the ring on both sides and im sure it keeps going, brilliant white with leaf green highlights

was gathering some grist and it just fucking teleported it or some shit cause one second it wasn't there and then it was and it scared the fuck out of me

i spoke with the plant chick last night and while i learned some things it clearly wasn't enough because what the fuck is this?!

im hiding out of derse now and its just empty, there's no more of the little Carapacians, the 5 of our lands are also gone and i can see smaller ships going around frantically scanning local space so i assume they know i happened to get off land before it was taken (how do you take an entire land?!?!)

but before i get murderharvested or some shit here's what i was able to figure out

i managed to nab one of her computers and found that their language is seemingly similar to old alternian standard but it doesn't match to English at all and is more flowy? than jagged, as well as the letters seemingly having 2-5 characters stacked on one another, far beyond my translation capabilities

when i asked the difference between sessions she just said that there was less bees (what???)

didn't have enough time to see any structural changes from normal, other than more plants and things being kinda taller

when i asked culture questions she just laughed, called me a "curious cutie" (not sure i like how i feel about that) and said id learn soon which like FUCK ME was that a red flag apparently

not sure what to do anymore, im a rogue of void for fucks sake and even turning into nothing isn't enough to shake them, they find me within an hour and i have to flee, managed to pull off that teleportation trick that the other poster talked about but even that doesn't shake them, sending this out and then ill start moving again

ill keep in touch if i stay alive

I WAS JOKING. I WAS MAKING A JOKE WHEN I SUGGESTED SHE WAS TRYING TO CONTACT HOME BASE TO BOMB YOU GUYS TO OBLIVION AND DO GIGA-SPACE-COLONIALISM. I WASN'T MAKING A PREDICTION. FUCK.

And you are right, this does kinda sound like bullshit. There's mild precedent here, in that it is technically theoretically possible that before Entry happens and SBURB fucks an entire planet in half, that some of said homeworld's inhabitants might have boarded a ship, went into space, and managed to enter the Furthest Ring. I mean, that would require incredible foresight, highly advanced technology, surviving long enough despite the fact that the game is literally designed to kill non-players in the most ass-pull deus ex machina fashion possible, and that it is virtually impossible to enter the Furthest Ring without a Bargain. So it's a bit like sending Frosty the Snowman to the Sahara Desert to win a gladiator competition, and once he wins he has to do round two against a flamethrower squadron. Which is to say, I'll eat my own legs before I believe that you're being invaded by The Imperium of Man meets the fucking Vegandon from Johnny Test. Among the thousands of other severe questions this raises.

But on the off-chance that this isn't just a prank, here's my equally low-effort advice.

Running may not be able to solve your problems. You are a Rogue of Void who can teleport. This makes you THE most qualified person to break into their ship and sabotage the engines so shit explodes.

Running may be able to solve your problems. If you survive long enough, SBURB might suddenly remember that it's supposed to kill non-SBURB non-player entities, and so the flowery ground troopers might start tripping and shooting themselves in the fall, or the ship explodes anyway.

Threaten to Scratch the Session to get them to back off. It's basically the mother of all "I'm taking you all with me" threats, considering it will rewrite reality.

Actually, they might not know enough about the Scratch for that to intimidate them. Scratch anyway. Fuck these guys, they'll never suspect it and an alt-universe version of you gets the last laugh.

If they corner you, start coughing on them. If you win re-enacting the ending of War of the Worlds, that would be incredibly funny.

[hollow-keys]

I saw Wonder Woman #2 today and I decided to read it out of morbid curiousity, so mamma mia, here we go again:

I read Tom King's Wonder Woman so you don't have to, round two (link to round one here).

First off, framing. Yet again, this issue is narrated by the Sovereign, but this time it's narrated to someone. And that someone is Trinity, Diana's daughter that Tom King created. She gets no lines and she doesn't appear on panel, but given the Sovereign refers to Diana as "your mother," there's only one character it could be. First of all, this is Diana's book, it should be told from her perspective. We get no insight from her, nothing from her perspective, she shows even less emotion than in the last issue. This is not the treatment Tom King gave Batman. Second, I do not care about the OC daughter. I do not want to hear about her.

But on to the actual story. So, it starts with Diana on an open field being approached by Steve Trevor, who is acting on behalf of the US government and is telling her to stand down because she can't win.

Look, I didn't think I'd ever complain about Steve Trevor, incredibly basic WW supporting character, being mischaracterised but. Isn't he meant Wonder Woman's staunch friend who pretty much always takes her side? Hasn't he seen Diana in enough battles to know she doesn't just lose? She's fought gods, armies from outer space, the forces of Apokolips, why does he think the US army is beyond her? He's underestimating her for no reason.

And more importantly, because she is the title character, why doesn't Diana seem to care that her long time ally is being a coward?

And why does Diana care about the soldiers wellbeing at this point? Why is she trying to get them to go home with no consequence and no hint of anger about how her or her fellow Amazons have been treated when they've already made their stance quite clear? People are dead! They've already made their decision, you already tried to extend them mercy. Now you fight. The thing about Diana is that mercy is always her first port of call, but when the other side has made their choice she meets them and she does have anger about the injustices they've committed. Here, she just doesn't seem to care.

Also, Diana's nihilism about the ways of men, that they will always "crash upon the rocks" is at odds with her optimism. She knows that humanity contains multitudes, some crash, some don't.

Anyway, the whole issue parallels her fight against the army with flashbacks to her final fight on Themyscira to prove herself worthy of being the Amazon's champion and Wonder Woman. This parallel makes no sense to me. Those fights were completely different.

One is against an army to defend herself and her people from enemies who want them dead, the other is against an ally in a tournament, a battle where no one's in real danger. Or at least, that's how it should be. Usually when this moment is shown, it's a good faith tournament to find out who the most qualified person to serve as champion is, they're all allies who respect each other. Here, the opponent is shown to be hateful towards Diana, genuinely seriously injure her and there's no sense of camaraderie between them.

While Diana and her opponent are trading barbs before their fight, the other Amazon gives her a chance to surrender. Diana responds "Honour is won with swords, not surrender," which is incredibly out of character for her. Yes, there are cases where Diana would consider surrender dishonourable, but it's not an absolute rule. She believes in compassion and peace, which means surrender is sometimes the right course of action. The framing of it as an absolute here does a disservice to her.

Steve Trevor would not fucking say that, Amazons do not fucking act like that and the last panel makes no sense. It's said by present Diana but only makes sense as a continuation of past Diana's sentence. present WW just said "To tell me who I am." with no words before that. To parallel these conversations, present Diana talking to Steve would have had to have said "Neither you nor anyone else has ever earned the right..." in the fifth panel so the seventh panel made sense for both sides. The composition here was thoughtless. Yes this is a nitpick, but details matter. Where are the editors? Sidenote: her mask is ugly.

Anyway, then we get these choice narration boxes from the Sovereign.

It's just. So bad. I want to make it clear that at no point is the Sovereign framed as an unreliable narrator, despite being the villain who's diametrically opposed to Diana. This just appears to be, Tom King's genuine take on things. I would ask if he understands that you cannot believe in peace and do nothing in the face of violent status quo, but I don't have to. Of course he doesn't. And of course he calls her an idiot while he's at it. Remind me, did he ever call Batman anything like that?

We then get more pathetic "Of course I want Diana to win, I'm still gonna serve with her enemies though" Steve Trevor. I should make it clear tho that he's not actually fighting against her, he's just watching the fight and updating Sargeant Steel.

Anyway, then we get a bit of narration that says:

"Infantry. Be it conscripts or... Well it's always just conscripts. If you can't do it from afar...Or with haste... Then get the grunts to rush in close and kill and die in what you will tell their children was a patriotic mission."

Tom King, stop processing your war trauma here. Any one of these soldiers could have stood down, they chose to enforce a genocidal policy. It's on them. Stop framing them as victims who were taken advantage of, they're grown adults who chose to be there.

Anyway. Another caption box from the still-inexplicably-narrating-this Sovereign:

"...And prepared to meet the onslaught of angry men with the grace of a princess born and proven."

I ask this again, did he ever treat Batman like this? Does he ever emphasise Batman's grace and frame him as being above anger? Why does Diana need to be like this?

And now for an unnecessary Macbeth reference.

"For some time the missiles rained down. No man of woman born could have survived such a salvo. But of course. She was neither a man nor born of woman. She was Amazon. Forged first of clay. Then steel."

I don't think this reference makes sense considering the line in Macbeth is a prophecy, a warning that Macbeth missed. But here it's a measure of power. She's powerful enough because she's not a man of woman born, which makes no sense because that has nothing to do with power. I'm nitpicking. Again. I know. But the Macbeth reference is such a shallow attempt at being badass. And as a sidenote, it should say "She was AN Amazon."

"Potty train." "A pup." God this dialogue is so bad. Amazons do not fucking speak like that.

Then Diana smashes a tank with another tank and there are cartoon stars on the impact sight. This is meant to be a serious battle, why are they there?

"Many people lie about your mother. About her family, her origins, her abilities, her wants her needs. Every tale of the great Wonder Woman provides us with more insight into the teller than into their supposed protagonist. They faithfully project their own fears onto her with the aspiration that her legend can ease their daily panic."

So close to self awareness and yet so far. It's so ironic.

"Men in the field, I admire your courage! I honor your service and your loyalty! I do not wish to harm you! But if you proceed... I will... Over and over... Drop a 55-ton abrams tank on your pathetic little heads!"

Again, why does she not seem to care about the violence they've committed against her and her people? Why does she continue to respect them and wish no harm upon them? Where's her sadness, her righteous fury? And the bit where she says she'll drop a tank on their "pathetic little heads" is so out of character and it's such bad dialogue. When Diana makes threats, it's not like that.

Anyway, y'know the flashback fight? Yeah, well, the issue ends with the reveal that her opponent is the Amazon that committed the massacre which kick started this whole thing, which is such a cheap retcon it makes me roll my eyes.

After all this, I think I put more thought into this post than Tom King puts into any of his writing. I hope the next issue isn't bad enough that it inspires me to do this again. I'm tired.

[popcornforone]

The Interview

Part of the Attending Mr York Fan Fic Series

Master list

I just couldn’t put the Dave I created down. You got the last chapter in April of the original story but I actually finished writing it in March, & I missed him & the little world I created for them. So here I am back with my Stabby… ready for more fun.

Synopsis: You’ve applied for a housekeeper & Nanny job that you know you won’t get, but the perks & money were to tempting to not go for. So your shocked when your asked to come & be interviewed at the York residence, & meet the family who’s needs you will be attending.

Word count: 3200

Warnings: this is tame for me & Dave. Swearing & alcohol, pining, imagining what Dave might do to you, descriptions of oral sex are mentioned, along with blood, cuts, injuries & sick.This is the first time you come across Dave so it’s rather soft. However the rest of the series won’t be & as always DAVE YORK COMES WITH HIS OWN WARNING!

Thanks as always for the read people, all feedback is always welcome

Job interviews are never the easiest thing in the world, for a normal job. You never know if the vibe is going to click & if you will just get on, & be the person they are looking for. However this interview is one that you don’t think you will get, not in 100 years. You’re not really qualified for it but the perks that come with the job are most intriguing & you knew it was too good an opportunity to miss out on applying for. You were shocked when you got a phone call from them to say they wanted to speak to you. Obviously The Yorks have seen a quality in your cv that they think will suit this role.

Finding The York residency is easy. Considering what they want & how on the application they have described their lives, you thought they would have a much grander house in a much more affluent area. But here you are on a Wednesday afternoon, pulling up across their drive looking at this family home, which doesn’t look like it’s rather special but does seem homely from the outside. You make sure your hair is okay & that your outfit isn’t creased. You’ve worn a day dress but one that’s easy to move about in, if they tell you to go & interact with their kids. After all this is a job for a Nanny & House Keeper, surly whatever kids they have, must like you if your to get the job, not that you think you stand any chance of getting it at all.

You hear the doorbell echo across the house as you press it & wait patiently for someone to greet you, admiring the pot plants by the path. The front door opens & you are greeted by name “welcome, im Carol, we spoke on the phone last week, thank you for coming to listen to us” she says as she welcomes you in & you shake her hand. “My husband is just finishing a phone call but he will join us shortly, come with me to the kitchen, would you like water, tea or coffee?” Mrs York asks ushering you in & taking your coat. The house is homely but there’s no art on the wall, everything is very clean & white & in its right place. Clearly Mrs York likes this, it’s all very to the point & perfect. Until you get to the kitchen.

It’s a grand kitchen. A walk in pantry, an island counter with low lights hanging down, perfect for entertaining, a little kids play area a few steps down, a sofa & a round table which you can tell has been cleaned for this chat today. It’s too clean. This is clearly where their life happens & you suddenly feel very at home in this room. This is where memories are made for the Yorks. You watch as Carol makes you coffee & just have a nice chat about your drive & the weekend thats been & the next one to come.

“Sorry darling, you know how Daniels gets in the phone” a voice bellows from behind you which came from nowhere. It’s deep & sharp & you turn around to introduce yourself & shake his hand, but instead you almost drop your coffee cup. You’re frozen to the spot. You don’t believe in love at first sight, but you now think lust at first touch might be true. Large & broad, towering above you. His eyes dancing across you looking for any hit of weakness & vulnerability. His light blue shirt & dark pants are crisp, that belt buckle is polished & shoes so shiny you could see your face in them. Those eyes that are giving you the once over, are dark pools of delight. Rich caramels, taking in every inch of his prospective house keeper. Clean shaven as his large hand goes around his neck into this thick dark short hair. Those lips probably smile & seduce but the sternness in his face makes you think they haven’t smiled in a while. He has a mysterious aura around him, one of danger & to not get too close. But you can’t help it, the second his hand firmly shakes yours, you are his. It doesn’t matter his wife is standing next to you answering him back, you’re transfixed on her husband & you need to snap out of the trance quickly. “I’m Mr York… David York”

The next few minutes are a blur, watching this powerful man, who has somehow in all of 5 words, got all the power in the world over you. You’d do anything for this man, & you have only met him for a few minutes. The way he hold his mug, that chiseled jaw extending, the way he slurps his coffee. Seeing his lips kiss his wife’s cheek, you feel jealous. & that’s what makes you snap out of your trance, that & Carols voice asking you “come sit down deary, we can then go though your cv together.” You remember where you are & you join Mr & Mrs York at the circular table to discuss why you are even a candidates for this job. This does mean facing David & making eye contract as you answer his questions. Maybe you can just focus on Carol, not that you think you can actually concentrate on anything at all.

You take your seat ready for their questions. You look nervous but you can easily pass it on for interview nerves, not the fact that the man sitting opposite you is stunningly handsome & that you are wondering how good his plump lips would feel on your pussy, lapping away at your clit as you beg him for more. You need to remember why you are here, for an interview, not to gawp at your possible employer.

“So…” Carols starts with some pretty mundane questions about your back ground & education, all the old chestnuts from a classic interview. You answer them well & you see David roll his eyes a little at them. At question 5 he interjects.

“Why apply for this role?” He asks “clearly your into art, graphics & design, your cv screams it, why apply to be a house keeper?” He has a very good point & it throws you a little bit, but you have a prepared answer which probably isn’t one that they will appreciate but is honest.

“The job said beck & call but free time & support whenever it’s needed. Most normal jobs want a 8:30 to 6 that I apply for. Once you add a commute & eating in, that’s no home time. Here you have said weekends & yea there are early starts but you said support in whatever else I need. I’m sure that there will be days you just need me to pick your kids up & do dinner & some days when you need me to stay over, but I’m sure that when I’m not needed I would have the time to create some art, get my creative juices flowing again. I also think it would be good for your kids if you allowed them, to join me working on my art. A good creative outlet from them, let them find another type of inspiration.” David looks inquisitively at you looking you up & down “I know that wasn’t the answer you wanted, but I’m honest & im here to support you. I want to make sure that when I’m here, all you need to stress about is what’s going on in your own mind, not a grocery run or cooking pasta or running errands. I want you to stress about just your work & normal life like the rest of the world does” that’s when you see a small smirk across David’s face as you finish this statement with “I’m here for all your needs & to attend to you all”. His eyes dart across you not impressed just by your words but by your attitude & willingness.

“Art?” Carol chirps up before he can respond, he mouth & sentence hanging in mid air before he could even get the words out “that would be good for the kids for sure” she then talks about how she like minimal art but can’t find the right thing for the house to put up. A few more mundane questions happen before David then asks “Do you have first aid or life saving courses under your belt? Obviously with 2 small girls who you will meet another day, if we think you’re suitable, bumps & bruises happen all the time. You’re okay with looking after them if they cut themselves? you’re not going to freak out at a bit of sick or blood?” David is asking this because it’s part of the interview, but he knows it’s likely at some point you will find out what he does for a living. He’s an assassin, one of the best in the world, & he knows there maybe a day soon when he needs your help to stitch him up or take him to hospital.

“Yes I can do that, I have a friend who has fits, we as a group all make sure we stay up to date with as much as we can. I’m happy to take more courses if you need me too.” Is your reply. Firm & confident. You know it’s been a while since you’ve done a course in this but you still know what to do. Nothing your innocent king think, that an ice pack or a plaster can’t solve.

The interview starts to draw to a close & they start talking to you about your life in general. “Obviously there maybe a few days when we need you to stay over if you get this job to take the girls to nursery & school early if were not both back, or if you’ve stayed late” Carol implys “would that be okay? Are you comfortable with that? We have Cctv in every room so you will always be safe here without us”

“Yes Mrs York” your mind wonders why they have cctv but that’s a question for another day, not one when your trying to get a job “would my boyfriend be able to stay over, if I needed him too? It wouldn’t be something I would do until we were all completely comfortable with each other & you trust me & id let you meet him first” David raises an eyebrow when the word boyfriend is brought up “how serious is your boyfriend?” He asks “David!” Carol scoffs & playfully hits him “that’s none of your business” she say before he reply “if he’s a serious man in her life, I see there being no problem, stability means loyalty & trust, but if he’s just a fuck buddy then that raises more questions for me” you look a bit shocked. You’ve never been to an interview before where the interviewer has sworn let alone use the word fuck. He clearly is testing you to get a reaction from you. “I’ve been with him 18months” you reply calmly like you have done every question. “Harry & I have talked about moving in together soon, so that’s how loyal I am” David nods “well answered” he states writing the word not available on his own notes, which you don’t see.

The final question they ask you is if you have any questions for them at this stage. They have been clear throughout the interview that there would be a second interview with the girls on Sunday, if today went well to see how you get on with them & they have been very frank about what they expect from you. You sit there for a second & then ask something bold, which might mean you don’t get a call back for another day. “why interview me? You said yourself I’m not a house keeper or have nanny experience, why ask me?” Carol has a small chuckle & goes to answer but David buts in.

“We’ve interviewed 4 other people before you, all Nanny’s or house keeper, but none had any idea of what the real world is. We want our kids to have some of that in their lives & your CV was the next one on the pile. You have life experience & from what you’ve told us about you today, you have had some struggles in the past & you just bring across this soothing calm approach now we’ve met you, don’t you agree darling?” He asks his wife stroking her hand looking lovingly at her “yes dear” she says “we wanted to see what the rest of the world offered, not just those that fall into that bracket” you all just nod in agreement with each other. There is a very strong vibe & connection here & you think that maybe you do stand a chance, just as long as you connect with those girls. Or maybe you are just falling deeper for the talk dark & handsome man sitting opposite you. Each time those large rich brown eyes glance at you, you feel seen.

The Yorks then finish up & David looks at his phone. Carol shakes your hand & asks if you’re free at 3pm on Sunday to meet the girls & have early dinner with them, which you accept. You have a second interview in the bag. David nods. “I’ll walk her out honey, I need to make my way to the actual office” David says & you thank Carol, grab your coat & have David walk you out of the house. His hand pushes you forward touching the lower of your back. Not to low but enough to make you blush, but enough that to yourself it shows that this man has an effect on you. Thank god you are walking in front of him & he can’t see the true effect he has on you.

“I just want you to know…” David says as he locks the front door behind him & stands next to his car “that we’ve been looking for a house keeper for a while & a nanny more recently. Carol has hired some but most of them just aren’t what they say they are at the interview. You on the other hand, there’s something about you. Your normal & I think you will bring stability to our house & help influence our kids as they grow as well. I don’t tend to trust people, my line of work doesn’t allow me to, but there’s something I can see in you, that makes me know that I can trust you with my families & my own life.” He states.

“Wow Mr York” you’re a little stunned at that revelation “that means something that you’ve picked that up so quickly, thank you”

“Please it’s David, I actually prefer Dave but David or Mr York is fine” he says shuffling a bit. “I’m good at picking up on peoples strengths & weaknesses it’s part of the job I do, & from the last hour, the only weakness I see in you, is that you care too much & that’s what I need for my family” you blush as he says these words to you. No one’s ever said that a weakness of yours is what they need. This desirable man has a way of making you feel so much in so few words. He’s very to the point & direct. You can tell he’s a man who gets what he wants, no matter what.

A few awkward moments of silence happen between you before you both snap out of it. Daves been thinking about how well you’re going to look after his family. He finds you attractive & wonders how loyal & good your boyfriend really is to you & if he might, one day, be needed to pick up your emotional pieces should it all go wrong with him. “I should really get going now Mr York & you said you needed to get to your own office, so please don’t let me keep you” you offer you hand which he firmly shakes & through that connection of his large palm on your dainty hand, a small soft smile comes from his dark brown eyes. “Thank you for the opportunity” you say “ooh no the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart” he responds. That cute nickname makes you smile which he can see as bright as the sun. “I’m already looking forward to seeing you meet the girls on Sunday, im sure you will be the most attentive person we’ve had so far, I can just feel it in my bones.” He says, hands parting & you both sigh & get in your separate cars. You head home & Dave heads to the office.

1 week, later the phone rings while your out for lunch with friends. “Sorry guys, be back in 3minutes” you leave them & head to the bathroom of the cafe to take the call.

“Hello”

“Ahh it’s Mr York”

“Mr York… hi how are you?” Just his voice down the phone has you feeling flush & warm, how can he do that.

“I’m even better now, I’ve just hired a new house keeper”

Your face drops down the phone.

“It’s you”

“What!?” You let out an over the top excited screech

“All the girls have talked about since Sunday, has been making art & playing with you & your pasta was half decent on Sunday night, so what do you say… are you free tonight to come & see us to sign & be our house keeper & nanny & discus when you will start?” He asks, he himself is also excited to have you work for him. He’s not lying when he says how excited the girls have been, but he is drawn to you & he can’t explain why.

“Yes Mr York, what time?” You just about get the word out.

“7pm, don’t worry it’s Wednesday, I cook on Wednesdays, you’ll always have that night off from cooking” he laughs a little down the phone.

“Sounds perfect Mr York, I will see you tonight”

Once the call is over, you rush back to your friends & tell them you got the job. Suddenly the orange juices you were all having are now Buck’s Fizz as your friends celebrate your new job with you. “To attending the needs of the Yorks” you toast & your friends cheer. You have no idea exactly what needs you are about to attend, ignorance for now is completely bliss & will remain that way for a little while.