#and it takes like 4 minutes to boot up every time

[shxxmisafreak]

ever since i was a little girl i knew i wanted to quicksave. quicksave. quicksave. quicksave . quick save . qui

[babygirl-riley]

Daddy’s Gonna Buy You a Mockingbird

When coming home Simon hears his daughter start to fuss.

Warnings: angst, mentions of childhood trauma, fluff, swearing, Dad!Simon

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family edition

Simon was fucking tired, the mission was long and difficult. It took them 4 months to plan the fucker just for the target to know their every move. He lost lots of men and women those nights, they had to camp somewhere in the middle of the desert cause transportation got fucked.

He unlocked the door of his home and walked in. Immediately he heard the whimpering. Simon heard you trying to lullaby both of your toddler. Simon was told that she has been sick for almost 4 days. It was teething that led to two ear infections. His poor angel was getting her ass jumped left and right with them infections.

He took his mask and boots off leaving them on the shelf near the door. He locked the door as he made his way through the hallway. When getting closer he heard you sniffling. “I don’t know what to do baby girl,” The toddler cried harder as you cried with her. “I am sorry. What do you need baby?”

Simon tapped the door making you jump. At first you thought you were going to fight but then relief came through. “Simon,” You started to sob. “Just take a shower and I will be there in minute.”

“I can take her.” He said walking fully in.

“No,” You wiped your tears quickly before shaking your head. “It’s fine you just got home. Please just take a shower love.”

Simon nodded, he didn’t want to but he could tell if he didn’t you would burst. He saw the dark circles under your eyes, how red your eyes were. You haven’t gotten any sleep. That tugged at his best strings, you have been dealing with this all by yourself so he wants to be able to help you.

Simon quickly got into the shower, washing all the paint, blood, sweat, and dirt from him. He waited for a moment before turning the faucet off and get out. He heard your sobs once more as he wrapped the towel around himself. Opening the door that showed you laying on your side curled up. Simon walked up to you and sat next to your body. He placed a hand on your hip rubbing circles.

“Not the best welcome home,” You sighed turning to face him. “Im sorry.”

“For what love? Taking care of our child? Don’t ever apologize for that.” He reassured, basically whispering.

“Just me crying and Im so fucking tried. She doesn’t sleep nothing longer than maybe 5 minutes before she is screaming. And I wanted to give you a warmer welcome and instead buzzed you off and…”

“Thats enough sweethear’ it has been a long week for you,” He got up to grab sweatpants and went around to his side to pull the blankets up and over him. You watched as he laid and scooted closer to you wrapping his arm around you. “Come ‘ere, get some sleep my dove.”

He doesn’t remember when you fell asleep or even him. Simon heard the soft whimpers start, you didn’t move and he was glad that you didn’t. He was also very happy that you moved out of his grasp while in your sleep. Simon carefully and quietly headed out of the room. Rubbing his tired eyes as he made it to his daughter’s room.

When he approached the room there she was. Standing up in her crib crying, once her eyes landed on his she cried harder. “Daddy.” She called a couple of times.

“Alright princess, you’re alright daddy’s here.” He said picking her up.

It took him a back of how hot she is, sweat gripping her pjs. Her crying increasing as she gripped onto his shoulder. “Shhh I know,” He said bouncing up and down. “I know baby.”

He felt her diaper and walked to the changing table, which to her was a sin. When he placed her down she screamed a bit, immediately he gently placed a palm on her chest. Putting small pressure. She stopped screaming as she still cried. His daughter loved when he did that when she wanted to be cuddled yet when he had to do certain things like this.

Because of how many times he has done this with her, he one handed did the diaper. He left her only in her diaper, get some air to her skin due to sweating and her being hot. As she still cried, he picked her up and lead out of the room walking to the kitchen. “Let’s try a warm bottle and me a tea yeah?” He said quietly, holding her close as she still cried.

While working on the bottle he rocked back and forth waiting for the teapot to heat up. He wrapped both of his arms around her holding her more close. “I’m ‘orry my birdie, teeth are arseholes. I know.”

She held around his neck placing her head down on his shoulder. Simon kept holding on until the smallest noise came from the pot. He didn’t want to wake you, he was even surprised you haven’t woke up yet. His daughter became more whimpering than crying.

He poured his mug first so the water could cool down just a bit more. Then poured water into her bottle. He made his tea before finish making her bottle. Afterward he walked to the living room and placed the tv on. Miss Rachel was her favorite to watch lately, that’s what you mentioned.

He placed her forward towards the tv as he placed his mug on the side table. Simon held her close to him as she drank her bottle. Rubbing her belly as he watched the show with her. He hated this woman, just found her annoying, you mentioned to him that it was her job to do that fake high pitch thing. To him it just made him want to mute it and never see it again.

His daughter leaned closer to him as he sipped his tea. She sniffled and hiccuped due to crying the whole time. He smoothed her thick blonde hair back, making her eyes roll. Another thing she gets from him. People massaging his scalp or play with his hair he would pass out from.

After three videos both Simon and her were laying on the couch. He had her on his chest with a blanket on both of them. “Shh I know,” He said as she started to whimper again. “Daddy is here, don’t worry. He will stay. I would do anythin’ for you not to be in this pain.”

She sucked on her binki her eyes rolling fighting sleep. Yet another thing she got from him. Fighting sleep. Simon remembered when you told him you were pregnant with her. He was terrified. Scared that he wouldn’t be good to her, that he would turn into his own father.

Simon actually left for hours from the house making you think that it was a bad idea to tell him. Until he came back in tears, first time you seen him break down. Telling you his fears and worries. You would comfort him and hold him that he has never been an ounce of his father. Never be like him.

Simon remembered when he asked for his dad to hold him. His dad told him to stop being a child, to grow up. Or even watch him cry in pain and laugh at the fact he was crying. He even remember Tommy being hit for even mentioning that his throat hurt. Telling him that is something to be crying about when he was hurt.

Because of those memories he was going on for months in his mind that he didn’t believed that, didn’t believe that he would be a good father, it wasn’t until she was born. When he held her in his big hands. He knew that this was the opportunity to not be his low life father. And yet here he was being not that, his father would have never been comforting him when he was sick. Holding him. Loving him. He was grateful to be able to be here for her. For you. To show the love and care that he wanted to.

Simon sighed as he felt her breathing slow down, falling into deep sleep. He settled more down into the couch as he closed his eyes, holding on to his princess.

You woke up with the sun beaming into the room. You groaned as you placed a hand to where Simon would have been. It was cold. You opened your eyes and frowned. Was a dream that he was home? You sighed getting up and heading to your daughter’s room. For it to be empty too.

You walked around the house figuring out where the hell was your daughter. Which when you heard Miss Rachel on the tv and two figures on the couch. It made your heart swell. You walked to around to face both your daughter clinging onto her father. Simon softly snoring and his daughter as well. You forget how similar they look.

The soft features of when they slept. Their hair. Their nose. You also noticed that she was just in her diaper and didn’t look sweaty. You inhaled deeply feeling a bit of relief. Hopefully that means that her temperature went down and back to normal.

You smiled thinking about the time where you were almost about to pop. Simon holding your tummy telling your daughter that he will protect her with every ounce of his being. Not matter where or what she is doing, he will be there. You would play with his hair as he rubbed your tummy, feeling her move every time he would place a hand on your tummy.

You grabbed both bottle and mug, walking back to the kitchen. “Definitely going to be a daddy’s girl.” You whispered, starting to make breakfast for your perfect family.

[vergess]

Please, please explain how to install and use linux like I'm 5 years old. I'm so sick of windows adding AI and other bullshit to my already struggling elderly laptop but I'm really not good with computers at all so I have no idea where to start with Linux.

Okay, so, I'm going to break this down into steps I would give the average tumblr user first, and then if any of them are confusing or use words you don't understand, ask me and I'll explain that step in greater detail.

Step 0) BACK. UP. YOUR. SHIT.

NEVER EVER EVER CHANGE YOUR OPERATING SYSTEM WITHOUT A COMPLETE BACKUP OF ALL YOUR FILES.

Step 1) Learn your machine. You need to know:

How much RAM you have

If your processor is 32 or 64 bit

How big your hard drive is

On windows, you can find out all of this by going to the start menu, typing "about" and opening the first result on your system instead of the internet.

For additional instructions, visit this page.

Step 2) Pick your Linux.

There's like 10,000 kinds of Linux, each tailored to particular functions that the end-user (that is you!) might want to have. The sheer amount is very daunting, so first I'm going to give my suggestions, then I'll explain how to pick for yourself.

For Mac users, I suggest Kubuntu. For windows users, I suggest Mint Cinnamon. If your laptop is really REALLY old, I recommend Sparky Stable, which is the lightest weight Linux I would ever suggest for a new user. In every case, download the version suited to your processor (32 bit can be labelled "x86" or "32 bit"; 64 bit is always labelled "64 bit").

If you want to try a different type of linux, you'll need to make sure your laptop meets the "minimum specs" or "system requirements." These numbers tell you how much RAM, processor and hard drive space the linux will use. (That's why you needed those numbers at the beginning.)

Step 3) Collect your supplies. You're going to need:

An ISO burning program compatible with your current system, like Balena Etcher.

A copy of the ISO file for the Linux you want to use.

Your laptop.

An 8gb or larger USB flash drive.

Step 3) Make a bootable USB drive

Install Balena Etcher, hitting "okay" and "next" when prompted. Last I checked, Etcher doesn't have adware attached, so you can just hit next every time.

Plug your USB drive into the laptop.

Open Etcher.

Click "flash from file" and open the ISO file with your Linux on it.

Click "Select target" and open the USB drive location. Hit the "flash" button. This will start writing all the linux installer data to your flash drive. Depending on the speed of your machine, this could take as long as 10 minutes, but shouldn't be much longer.

Step 4) Boot to the USB drive

This is, in my opinion, the trickiest step for a lot of people who don't do "computer stuff." Fortunately, in a rare act of good will, Windows 10 made this process a lot easier.

All you'll need to do is go to settings, then recovery, then advanced startup and pick the button labelled "use a device."

This tutorial has images showing where each of those is located. It's considered an "advanced setting" so you may get a spooky popup warning you that you could "harm your system by making changes" but we're not doing anything potentially harmful so you can ignore that if you get it.

Step 5) Try out linux on the flash drive first.

Linux installs using a cool little test version of itself that you can play around in. You won't be able to make changes or save settings, but you can explore a bit and see if the interface is to your liking. If it's hideous or hard to navigate, simply pick a new linux version to download, and repeat the "make a bootable USB" step for it.

Step 6) Actually install that sucker

This step varies from version to version, but the first part should be the same across the board: on the desktop, there should be a shortcut that says something like "install now." Double click it.

Follow the instructions your specific linux version gives you. When in doubt, pick the default, with one exception:

If it asks you to encrypt your drive say no. That's a more advanced feature that can really fuck your shit up down the road if you don't know how to handle it.

At some point you're going to get a scary looking warning that says 1 of 2 things. Either:

Install Linux alongside Windows, or

Format harddrive to delete all data

That first option will let you do what is called "dual booting." From then on, your computer will ask every time you turn it on whether you want Windows or Linux.

The second option will nuke Windows from orbit, leaving only linux behind.

The install process is slower the larger your chosen version is, but I've never seen it take more than half an hour. During that time, most linux versions will have a little slideshow of the features and layout of common settings that you can read or ignore as you prefer.

Step 7) Boot to your sexy new Linux device.

If you're dual booting, use the arrow keys and enter key to select your linux version from the new boot menu, called GRUB.

If you've only got linux, turn the computer on as normal and linux will boot up immediately.

Bonus Step: Copy Pasting some code

In your new start menu, look for an application called "terminal" or "terminal emulator." Open that up, and you will be presented with an intense looking (but actually very harmless) text command area.

Now, open up your web browser (firefox comes pre-installed on most!), and search the phrase "what to do after installing [linux version you picked]"

You're looking for a website called "It's FOSS." Here's a link to their page on Mint. This site has lots and lots of snippets of little text commands you can experiment with to learn how that functionality works!

Or, if you don't want to fuck with the terminal at all (fair enough!) then instead of "terminal" look for something called "software manager."

This is sort of like an app store for linux; you can install all kinds of programs directly from there without needing to go to the website of the program itself!

[gavisuntiedboot]

We Can't Be Friends (but I'd like to just pretend)

Pedri x Stylist! Reader

Part 2

Warnings: None

Word count: 4.3K

A/N: Back with part 2! I'm warning y'all now - it's going to suck until it doesn't. Please bear with me. Also, I have included the links to both the shirts being sold for Gaza and the direct donation link. Please check them out! And if you can't donate yourself, I donate $1 for every watermelon comment under this post! So please make sure to share at the very least.

~~~

Being scolded was the worst feeling in the world. Well, actually, sleeping with a famous client and then having him immediately chase your coworker was the worst feeling in the world. But boy was this meeting with Katerina a close second.

“There needs to be a case study on this kid.” She muttered under hear breath as she moved sticky notes around the December calendar. She darted her eyes around her current configuration, before turning sour and looking up at you. The dark circles under her eyes had darkened a shade since you had seen her the previous week, and a twinge of guilt played against your sternum for contributing to her fatigue.

“Let’s go over some basic rules, my dear. First and foremost, you cannot block your client’s number.”

“But I-“ You began to protest, but your boss lifted one finger, silencing you instantly.

“I do not care. I do not care if he is a dick. I do not care if he is going to make my stylists kill each other. Honestly, that might be a blessing.  I do not care if he is the father to a litter of bastard children running barefoot around your home. You work for SDF. You work for Pedro Gonzalez. He will have access to your phone, your email, your address, hell your underwear size if he asks. Understood?”

You bit back the urge to protest, just nodding silently. She breathed in deeply before continuing.

“Second, you will not share his information with the other girls in the office. That includes his photoshoot timing, the PR being sent to him– anything. I’m tired of having to file reports to Milan about my girls fighting.”

The command was followed by another nod, this one more genuine. You had no intention of getting within 100 meters of either Tania or Sylvia, who were still not speaking but had also telepathically decided that you were a common enemy. You had been stepped on a suspicious number of times while collecting their pins from the floor, and you always caught them whispering to the other girls in the office about “la naranja podrida”. Didn’t take a detective to put those pieces together.

You were still in a state of agitation regarding the whole ordeal. In your fit of anger, you had done the mental calculations of how long it took Pedri to text another girl. He had left just as the sun was rising, so about 5:30 am. Google maps said you lived 25 minutes from the stadium, but he would have gone home first, because that’s where the damned boots and more damned note would have been. That brings us to 6 am to account for wherever the gremlin lives. By all your most optimistic estimates, he had waited at most a hour between leaving your bed and texting your coworker.

“Hey Silvia” was the text heard around the world. After the report (and a few hair samples) was filed away, a company-wide letter from HQ was sent out reminding employees of professional boundaries with clients. The giddiness and satisfaction that had come from a harmless prank had dissolved, leaving a queasy feeling in its wake. Day damn one. You lasted 4 hours before you crumpled like a convenience store receipt over a boy at work. Ignoring every caution sign, you dove head first into a pool of prospective romance - and promptly hit the concrete.

The worst part was that you couldn’t tell anyone. Bryce had responded to your gushing sonnets in the worst possible manner: with logic. You had brushed aside every one of her very appropriate questions, looking through your rose-tinted lenses at your life. You had gone as far as to tell her she was being a bad friend for trying to find any possible negative in this situation, causing her to pull back.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

The words of her static-garbled voice memo never left your head. There you were, only a few hours later, stomach turned and heart shredded, completely and utterly hurt. And you weren’t ready to face the sting of “I told you so” that was waiting for you, so you just… never said anything else. When she asked about Pedri, you responded formally with his upcoming campaign schedule. Lucky for you that she was too busy with her own life to keep pestering.

The upside to the current tragedy in your life was that you were working in fashion. It was hard to cry when you spent hours upon hours looking at some of the most beautiful clothes in the world, getting full creative freedom to bring your visions to life. Not impossible, because there were definitely a couple of wet spots on the Margiela from yesterday, but harder. Barca Femini had been in and out of the office for fittings, and it was a relief to be able to work with something other than khaki trousers and blazers. There were seemingly hundreds of hangers carrying vintage sports pieces, colorful jackets, and silky skirts. It sparked little moments of happiness, knowing that you were so good at playing dress-up that now you were getting paid for it.

It had been a week since your unfortunate altercation, and though the evening (and unfortunate following morning) had never left you, it had seeped from the front of your mind to the base of your skull, a dull throb that could be ignored during the course of the day. That was, of course, until you received an email from Adidas.

~

"Okay, Pedri, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but this means you're blocked."

There was a snigger that floated through the lunch room that, had he been able to pinpoint the source, Pedri would have promptly quieted with a slap to the head. But it whizzed around like a gnat between some of the younger players.

"How could I be blocked, Fermin?" The question was met with a raised eyebrow from Fermin, who was mentally cursing his college education.

"Maybe it has something to do with you sleeping with her and then disappearing?" Gavi offered up that brilliant hypothesis between bites of grilled chicken.

"No, it couldn't be. She's American - they don't take sex so seriously. Besides, we just met! What was I supposed to do? Propose?"

Pedri resisted the urge to shrink back from the judgmental stares he was receiving. He was used to being questioned by Gavi, who believed in the "stare at her intensely until she falls for me and confesses" method of romance. But now that he had roped in Fermin (the most tech-savvy of the squad), he couldn't handle the intensity of the silent disapproval.

In all honesty, Pedri was tired of the emotional rollercoaster that had plagued the entire day. The previous night had been incredible. He wasn't quite sure what to expect when La Naranja stepped through her front door, but she surely exceeded expectations. Pedri believed he was happy in his normal routine: DM an Instagram model, engage in the little cat-and-mouse game where she pretended she wouldn't bend to his every will, and go back to her place for a decently fun time. But there was something about the way you walked, so coy and bashfully, looking up at him through delicate lashes with wide eyes, that warmed the most primal part of his being. His heart quickened at the sudden desire to chase, to capture, to consume. He wanted to protect this pretty little thing from the sharp eyes and sharper teeth of his friends. He was ready to savor everything you offered.

Over the course of the evening, the feeling gnawing at the inside of his chest became harder to ignore. The soft grip you maintained on his bicep to keep him close, the warmth of your fingertips searing his skin. He wanted to bark at Ferran to never look your way again. To sink his teeth into your neck, have you cry out his name so every man would know to never come near you again. Your hand, so delicate and soft in his own, maintained a firm grip as he dragged you out of the club, and a firmer grip on his hair once he was finally able to kiss you senseless. He felt like a wild animal unleashed in bed with, unable to slow or take pause. You were so hypnotizingly innocent, and he was going to destroy that.

The warmth in his chest remained till the following morning. As he kissed your cheek and whispered his goodbyes, he allowed himself to imagine what kind of arrangement the two of you could have. He was more than eager to feel the caress of your soft lips again. Maybe you would be open to picking up his late night calls, spending long, tedious days together talking and fucking and laughing at nothing in particular. He thought about the flush in your cheeks that would arise whenever he came into work, dropping subtle hints about your activities in the days before. He could really make you a permanent part of his rotation with little difficulty, facilitated further by the fact that you had been assigned as his personal stylist. Filthy as it may sound, he contemplated not showering upon his return home. He would have to later in the day following practice, but until he could secure a second audience with you in a bedroom, he wanted to savor the scent a little longer.

His front doorstep was littered with packages once again, about half from Adidas and the other from Springfield. He was not a designer by any means, but he appreciated that he was at least sent the collections that were meant to be his. Fer was sipping on a coffee when Pedri walked in, and expertly avoided ay questions of where he had been the previous night. He was a concerned older brother, but he was also a guest. He instead asked to see the piles of PR that his younger brother had hauled through the door.

"I don't understand why they bother sending you all this stuff. Why wouldn't they just send it to the styling team."

"Because I actually have to play in the boots, hermano." Pedri said, lifting the lid off his newest pair. He was excited for another Adidas campaign, or any campaign really that would bring him closer to you once again. Oh how he wished he could have captured the way you looked in that dress forever, immortalized it in an oil painting and hung it on his wall (right beside the ripped remains of the dress, which he so desperately wanted to destroy). His daydream had been broken by a crisp white envelope contrasted against the bright orange of the boots. There was a feminine wave of scent in the air, and the heart pumping in his ears drowned out the sounds of his brother’s whistles and taunts. Had you done this? Had you been planning ahead to send him a note had he neglected to ask you out while at the office?

He tensed his forearms to disguise a slight tremble, ripping open the envelope and scanning the page only to find-

“Ay dios mío. Silvia.” He allowed his head to thud against the counter, Fer’s tittering laugh clear as a bell now.

“Is she the scary one or the weird one?” His brother asked, prying the crumpled letter from Pedri’s dejected form.

“Both are fitting adjectives. She’s the shorter one with the silver hair. She kind of looks like our Tia Marisol?”

Another tittering of laugher, and this time Pedri joined in with a cracked smile of his own.

“She wants to tell you how much she admires you, how much you make her … quiver? Ew.” Fer squinted at the note further.

“Listen to this line. Ehem: ‘I am ready to serve you, worship you, give you my body and soul because I love you.”

Pedri groaned so loudly he was sure the neighbors heard. Honestly, what were these girls thinking?? That he would start blushing and giggling at the mention that they would sleep with him? That was the least most girls would do. It turned his stomach, constantly fearing that he would be trapped with a child.

“Let me text this girl. I have to go in next week and I don’t want her bent over a table spread and waiting when I arrive.”

He typed in the number on the note, drafting a long text before deleting everything but the “Hey Silvia” at the top.

“It’s too forceful to say ‘hey I don’t want to fuck you’ right off the bat, no?”

He hit send, reluctantly heading off to shower away his escapades before he went into training, waiting for a reply before he asked not to receive any more erotic letters from his stylists. Oh how he wished she hadn’t.

~

“So run us through it one more time.” Gavi said, Ferran deciding to stifle his groan. The last thing he needed was to enrage Gavi further, as he suspected it would result in him finally getting the punch that was coming to him. Ansu and Fermin were nodding along vigorously, eager to hear all about Pedri’s first experience having feelings.

“We went out, we fucked-“

“Pedri!”

He rolled his eyes at the indignation from the boys. Kids these days.

“Okay. We went out, we had a magical lovemaking experience, and then I had to come to training. I texted her about her being my stylist to ya know break the ice. And I found myself in deep shit and promptly blocked on like everything.”

“I think your first mistake,” said Fermin, “was not texting her about last night. Why would you start with her working for you?"

Pedri dragged his hand down his face in frustration.

"What was I supposed to say? Good morning linda, great pussy last night?"

Gavi stood promptly with his hands up, leaving the room.

"I don't want to hear about another girl's vagina."

"Yes," Ferran muttered, "God forbid he cheat on his crush by listening to a story."

"Whatever happened to 'Hey, I had fun last night'? Is that not a normal thing to say?" Ansu asked, as shaken as Gavi but remaining planted by his desire to be in the loop.

"I think my agent is texting SDF to get her to unblock me. Not super easy to talk to my stylist if I have to do so through messenger pigeon. Where did Gavi go?"

Pedri followed his friend out of the locker room, watching as Gavi stared dejectedly at the Doctora’s office.

“Are you done moping?” Pedri asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

“No. She might lose her job and we play her stupid boyfriend’s team tomorrow. I just want to keep her safe from that asshole.”

For a minute, something sparked in Pedri’s chest. Was that jealousy? He had never before felt that there was something missing in his life, content with being surrounded by friends and family and teammates. But there was something about watching Gavi pine, listening to the way he spoke of this girl, and it caused him an ache. He was in awe of this foreign spectacle: loving someone so deeply, so intensely, that it led to begging for crumbs of their time and attention. He almost wished to be in the Doctora's position, always having someone waiting around the corner for him.

"I have a styling meeting today. Do you want to come and keep me company?"

~

"Naranja, the bastard is here."

You didn't even lift your head when Maria informed you of the arrival of your client. You had worn all black to mourn the death of your self esteem, prepared to ass-kiss as much as needed to preserve your job. Unfortunately, it was difficult to push down the burning rage in the pit of your stomach when you had to kiss the ass of the man who has hurt you so intensely.

Pedri strolled into the room clad in the ugliest jeans known to man, his doe-eyed teammate (Gavin?) trailing behind him. At least the littler one knew how to dress. He was in baggy jeans and an Amie Paris t-shirt, clean sneakers in the same shade of blue as his top. Pedri, on the other hand, was an abomination. His black hoodie was far too baggy on his frame, making him look somewhat inflated. It was made worse by the tight and ribbed denim hugging the (admittedly stunning) legs that ended suddenly in some chunky clompers.

"Good morning, Naranja."

God. Even the sound of his voice was like swallowing razor blades. You wished that you could hear the lilt in his speech without remembering the soft whispers against the column of your throat, guiding you to ecstasy at his command. The way that he encouraged you, coaxed the gentle sighs and high moans with just an ask.

"Let me hear you, pretty girl."

And who were you to deny? But now, looking at his soft eyes and confident stance, you wish you had resisted. Pretended you didn't speak Spanish that first godforsaken day in this office.

"Good morning Pedro."

A stifled laugh and wide eyes from the boy behind Pedri (God what was his name? Gustavo?). Pedri's shoulders had dropped significantly, his thick brows coming together in confusion.

"No one calls me Pedro. Not even my mother."

"Well, maybe it's a good time for you to learn what disappointment feels like. Especially since you're so comfortable giving it out to others. Do you have your boots?"

You could tell Pedri was lost for words, and it caused you a mild spark of satisfaction. You had spent the last week boiling silently, unable to unleash all the rage simmering in your chest. He nodded silently, pulling the box out of his bag.

"Great. Gabriel, there is a coffee shop on the second floor if you want to grab a drink while I'm fitting Pedro. I'm sure you've seen him naked plenty of times but-"

"No, no, I'll go. Would you like anything?"

After shaking your head, he exited the room, and you began frantically grabbing different sweat pants and shirts for Pedri to put on.

"His name is Gavi by the way." Pedri said to break the silence, and you turned so he could strip off his shirt.

"Come on, Naranja. Don't pretend you haven't see it already." He smiled somewhat earnestly, softer than he did at the other girls. You were a gentle thing, and he wanted to be gentle with you.

"How many other girls in this office have seen it as well, Pedro?" You asked with as much venom as you could muster, turning to face him and eyes locking as he unzipped his jeans.

"You think that sleeping with me is a company welcome gift, Naranja?"

"That's not my name."

"And Pedro isn't mine. But if you want to poke at me, I'll poke at you right back."

He was now in only his boxers and his socks, and it took everything within you not to glance downwards, a reminder of the sight from one week and one night ago. He took a defiant step forward, the heat radiating off his body.

"You know, Pedro," You began, steadying your voice. "Texting my coworker mere minutes after leaving my bed is a sin on it's own."

"Wait, what? Hold on-"

"But in those mere hours of bliss, I googled you. Looked at your name on Twitter. Saw who you were. And you're just another slimy athlete that uses girls and throws them away."

Your face broke when you heard him laugh loudly at the revelation. It made you angry, expecting him to feel ashamed of his behavior.

"I despise miscommunication, Naranja. So don't go jumping to conclusions and acting foolish. Your coworker sent me a letter essentially begging to fuck me, but I suspect you knew that already. Hell, you might have even been the one to switch the names around."

Your cheeks grew warmer, and a part of your brain registered that Gavi was now lingering in the doorway.

"But beyond that, linda, is that I was texting her to say I wasn't interested." He began dressing, joggers defining his legs in a way acid-washed denim never could. "But I don't like being judged based on rumors on Twitter. I want to be your friend-"

"Again with that word!" The outrage was finally seeping from you, and now that the lid had come off there was no containing it.

"How am I meant to be your friend, Pedro? You hit on me, you sleep with me, and then you moved on to the next girl. How am I supposed to be your friend after everything you've put me through?"

"What did you expect of me exactly?" He shoved his shirt over his head, a sweet bit of relief in a tense situation. "I like you, Naranja. More than a lot of other girls I've met. And I want to keep seeing you," he let his eyes burn a path down your body, "as a little more than a friend. If that's something you're into."

You took a step back, hand over your chest in shock. Did this man just ask you to be a friend with benefits, mere minutes after you asserted your disgust for his very being.

"You must think so highly of yourself." You couldn't raise your voice out of fear of it cracking. Just how much had you deluded yourself into thinking you found something special?

"I don't actually," there was a tone of laughter in his voice, "quite the opposite actually." There was suddenly not enough air between you. You simultaneously wished someone would interrupt you and that the moment would last forever.

"You're a sweet girl, Naranja. Too sweet for someone like me. I know who I am and what I want, and a girlfriend is not on that list currently."

"So what? I'm good enough for you to fuck and not to date?" You asked, the question heavy between the two of you. He remained silent, lips unmoving, the wheels turning behind deep chocolate eyes.

"I like you enough not to want to hurt you, Naranja. So, what do you say? Friends?"

"Go fuck yourself, Pedro."

~

The high pitched noise of the camera going off repeatedly was starting to get to your head. You leaned against the wall, rubbing at your temples to try and stave off the impending migraine. You opened your eyes briefly to see Gavi also leaning against the wall, gnawing on his lip and staring at his phone. Propelled by boredom, you shifted slowly along the wall to peak at what he was doing, desperate for any form of entertainment.

Thank God for the lack of Gavi's vertical blessing. A quick peek revealed that he wasn't actually typing any words, only rereading text from a contact that was saved as...

"Holy shit are you fucking your doctor?" You asked, probably a little louder than appropriate.

His eyes went wide as frying pans and he began to go visibly red. He started babbling out denials, explaining that the two of them were just friends.

"I mean she has a boyfriend and even if she didn't she would never go for me because she's so much older than me and cooler than me and she's way out of my league but all I want to do is keep her safe and make her happy and-"

His brain finally caught up to the words he was letting loose, and he abruptly suspended his word vomit.

"Does she know that you like her?" You asked, back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Gavi.

"God, I hope not. I don't want to do anything to make her life harder than it already is."

"Maybe telling her how you feel will make it easier. Maybe she feels the same."

"Yeah," he sighed deeply, looking wistfully at his phone again, "That's what Pedri keeps telling me."

The disgust was evident on your features. "I wouldn't really take Pedri's relationship advice."

"Now now, turning my best friend against me because you want me is a little extreme, Naranja." The voice behind you was too much to bear.

"Someone needs to give your best friend advice on how to not transform into a heartless user."

"Ironic. I remember one of us chanting 'use me, use me, use me' just last week." The response died in your mouth as Pedri's publicist approached. Where did this guy get off? Even if you believed his bullshit excuse about not wanting to fuck Silvia, the teen drama explanation as to why he doesn't "do" relationships compensated plenty.

"Alright you crazy kids! Ready to go shopping?" You spun around so quickly that you almost smacked Gavi with your hair.

"I beg your pardon? I am a stylist, not a personal shopper. I get pieces sent to me."

That was the truth. You weren't in charge or brand relations, and the purchasing department was an impenetrable fortress. Each week, a soulless intern wheeled a rack into the room, and you worked with what you were given. You had several ideas for how you could modernize some of these stuffy athletes, but that wasn't your place. Not yet anyways.

"Yes, of course. But we are redoing Pedri's wardrobe entirely. We have received communication from the team that his tunnel outfits are - what was the official wording? Oh yes, 'a detriment to the team's public image and an offense to the eyes of culers globally'. Springfield have also asked us to film some content during the journey."

"I don't think this is really part of Naranja's job description."

Of course Pedri was the one undermining you. Of course it was his voice speaking out only to call you incapable. You forced on your biggest smile, turning to face the agent directly.

"Oh, there's no issue at all. It would be an honor to makeover Spain's worst looking footballer."

~~~

Okay end of part 2!! I have decided that I want to post more frequent, smaller parts for this story rather than giant updates every three months. Please let me know what you think in the comments and in my ask box, and potentially where you want this dynamic to go! Thanks cutes xoxo gavisuntiedboot <3

(also if you would like to be on the taglist for this story, pls lmk!!)

Taglist:

@girlidekanymore

[captain039]

PART 4 He’s Grumpy, I’m sunshine

Alpha!Logan x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB, age gap (legal), light swearing, grumpy/sunshine, anxiety, mental health issues, m violence, torture, plus size reader, medication usage for anxiety, depression and sleeping, heat pills, scent blockers

Set at Charles school

Your mutation: fire creation and control

Previous part <-

My mind is just horny for Hugh Jackman it’s bad xD

The next day you wait till around dinner time to head to the bar, you put on a fancy dress and some low heels, throw on some makeup and sigh. You stare at your reflection poking your stomach, hips and waist, you had put on one of those slender shapewear things too. You rolled your eyes opened the bathroom door a little harshly and grabbed your small purse.

“Let’s go” you grumbled hating this plan already.

“Actually, no, why the hell am I here?” You turn making Logan almost run into you.

“Never been on a mission before?” He asks.

“No?” You say frowning and he falters.

“You’ve been itching to get out the school” he says.

“How do you know that?” You ask, you’d only just gone to speak with Jean about it when you walked in on them both in her lab.

“Because-“ he growls a little pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Stay here” he says moving out the way.

“No, you said to come, so I will go” his lips curls up showing the two fangs he has.

“Omega” he grumbles as you walk out the motel door and to the car.

You had thrown on some perfume to go over your dulled scent, like hell you could flirt your way into a secret fighting ring. Better off getting your ass caught and thrown in there. You stare out the window till you arrive. When you enter you already hate it, your whole body tenses and you feel eyes. You forced Logan to wait at least ten minutes before coming in. You sit in a small booth finding yourself ready to flee and your hands overly hot. Logan walks in, cigar in his mouth, leather jacket over his shoulders. You take a small breath as he heads over to the bar. You didn’t look at him properly when you left the motel, jeans, plain white shirt and a leather brown jacket with boots. He orders so naturally and you wish you took the keys for yourself. You know he’s appealing, the few other women in the bar getting an eye full. You don’t blame them but the heat dancing on your palm says otherwise.

“Can I get ya something doll?” A older woman asks.

“Just a smoothie?” You ask and she smiles and nods. It was a bar cross restaurant you think from the dining tables to one side with the register and small display of foods and the bar and pool table on the other side. Logan starts talking around, grabs a pool cue and joins the game. You were truely going to hell for your thoughts as he bent over the table and striked the ball. The waitress comes with your juice and you thank her. You relax a bit, nobody’s on this side of the restaurant, the smoothie is nice and cold too though your head feels a little funny. You look out the window to the dusty car park figuring Logan could handle majority of this mission. You sigh a bit glancing back to Logan seeing a brunette woman by his side. She’s gorgeous, slim waist and body, nice sized boobs and ass, the dress complimenting her every curve and just the right amount of makeup on her face. She’s faking not knowing how to play, or she genuinely doesn’t know how to play as Logan shows her. He doesn’t do the whole get behind her thing and lean with her though, which makes her disappointed even if she gets one of the pool balls in the shoot.

Logan hates himself, he hadn’t realised you had never been on a mission and Charles sure as hell didn’t ask you and him to go. It was supposed to be Jean and him, but when you walked in shoulders tense and looking ready to burst again he decided you and him needed to get out. You’re quiet the whole ride, awkwardly trying to act normal as he forces himself not to smile at it. You don’t know how to act around him, he doesn’t blame you, he’s always been a cold hard bastard. When you have a shower he stares at the door wondering if you’d let him join you, he wants to fell your body so bad, feel those thighs around his head, sink his teeth into your flesh while you moan his name. He’s worked up even more now he swears, you’re too shy and kind for someone like him. Once the shower stops he sighs a little missing his opportunity, he frowns though when you take a long time in there and your anxiety peeks. It’s like he’s in tune with you and he gets up and knocks. Your response has him on edge and opening the door without permission. Seeing you in a towel, flushed and fresh out the shower has his dick hardening. Fuck he wants to smell you, breathe in that sweet scent he knows you have. He sees the syringes in the counter though and his face turns hard. It looks like something Hank cooked up which probably means it’s for your mutation. He gets snappy for no reason and growls when he does leaving you confused. He smokes even though it does nothing before going back inside and seeing you already tucked in your bed. He slides his shirt off and kicks off his shoes before he’s in bed too.

He lays awake, one hand above his head one resting on his chest, he hears you whimper a few times and frowns before you start to mumble panicked and your scent spikes. He’s up quickly and sitting on the edge of your bed, your over heating, he sees small flames dance on your face as it squints. He shakes you gently and you’re up quickly hands out. You burn his chest and he hisses. He hates how you instantly worry and sadden tears in your eyes. He heals easily though, he’d get burnt a thousand times if it meant to be this close. He curses your scent blocker, wants to set it on fire and throw the ashes far away from your reach. He wants to lean forward feel your lips against his, feel your heated body against his.

Watching you now sip whatever the hell that was in your cup and look outside a little calmed in that perfect black dress. He forgot breathing was a thing till his lungs demanded air. Your hips looked so grabable, the way your hair sat was perfect. You were safer over there than here while he talked and tried to gather information. A beta woman came up to him though, flirted with big brown eyes and innocence. He played along for a bit hoping to gather information, but he doubted she’d know, she wasn’t a mutant, nor did she smell like anything related to violence. He showed her how to shoot properly and she lost interest thankfully. He looked back to you, your eyes hard on the woman and pride swelled up in him. He saw small flickers of flame along your skin as you caught his eyes and looked away with red cheeks. He walks over, he doesn’t think anyone here has information. Slides in the booth while you frown a little still blushing.

“Come play” he cocks his head a small smirk on his lip’s and you choke a little on your drink.

“No thank you, I’m happy here with my smoothie, pretty sure the blonde wants a go” you gesture vaguely to the other side.

“Come on” he’s teasing, seeing if you’ll break as his nose flares a little catching something sweet that isn’t your perfume.

“Fine” you sigh.

This was a bad idea, agreeing to whatever evil plan the alpha conspired. You hate the looks the women give and think about going back.

“Logan-“ you say hesitantly but he’s already grabbed two pool cues and set up the table.

“Do you know how to play?” He asks.

“Vaguely, whoever shoots first, if they get a high or low in that’s their numbers, first one to get all there numbers in and then the eight wins” you shrug and see him with a small look of awe on his face.

“You shoot” he cocks his head to the table as stands casually.

“I’m not good at this” you grumble. You lean down and aim, hitting the ball harshly, too harshly, it ends up bouncing and you wish the earth would swallow you up.

“Too much force” Logan says.

“You go first” you get embarrassed and hurry away feeling your head spin a little again.

“Hey” the alpha holds your arm and you jolt a bit. You gulp a little feeling like everyone’s watching you with hatred that this handsome alpha is focused on you.

“Logan-“ you sigh looking to his face. He’s got some puppy dog look going on and you almost choke again. You take a small breath a small frown on your face, you could pick up more of his scent now.

“Just- you go first” you say quietly and he nods. He rearranges the balls and hits them easily, a high going in first.

“Guess I’m highs” he’s says and you nod going around the table. You lean down a little thankful this dress is below knee high. You aim a bit till Logan’s voice makes you jump.

“You won’t hit there” he says and you huff turning to him a small smile playing at his lips. He walks to you and your heart rate picks up as he slides his body easily around yours. Your cheeks flush instantly and realise he’s going to really show you how to shoot. Your mind kicks into override and you scramble out of his hold breathing quickly and he frowns.

“This was a bad idea, keys? Keys where’s the keys” you say rushed body hot as he hands you the keys. You rush outside letting the cool air calm your body and small flames flickering on your arms. You feel like crying and curse softly as you hang your head.

“You ok there doll face?” You frown looking to your left seeing an alpha leaning against the wall smoking.

“Yes, sorry” you say shuffling away a bit as you catch his scent with a small frown. Why was everyone’s scents stronger? You think back to last night body going ridged as you remember in your hastiness to put the serum away you forgot your anti-heat and scent blockers. Panic rises up in you, sure you’ve forgotten them before at the safety of the school where you had access to your room and a locked door.

“Logan” you mumble needing to get inside till the alpha nearby blocks it. You frown not use to this kind of treatment as he a smirk plays at his face. He looks ok you guess, bear a little messy, teeth a bit too yellow for your liking. You feel your hands shake and feel the heat of your flames along your skin.

“Sir I need to get back to my alpha” you lie and he glances to your neck scoffing.

“What alpha?” He leans closer as you back away, but he follows.

“This one” Logan growls behind him, pulling the man away from you and punching him. The man’s knocked out instantly and you take a small shaky breath.

“You ok?” He asks a frown on his face as you shake your head. Gods his scent, it flares with worry as he comes closer nose flaring, eyes narrowing.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t take-“ you take a small breath hugging your body, flames dancing across your arms.

“Hey, hey it’s ok” Logan comes closer large hands on your heated skin.

“You barged in and I panicked with the serum I forgot to take them” you feel tears in your eyes, you feel stupid. Logan has a frown on his face but he tugs you to him, arms going around your shoulders, a hand cradling your head. You shudder forced to breathe him in a small noise leaving your throat. You can’t help your arms going around him and nuzzling closed, wanting his scent all over you. You feel something prick your neck then and jolt.

“Logan” you slur as your body goes limp.

Next part ->

Taglist:

@beanhardy

[xxemiexx]

Kidnapped & Birthing

1970 words

— Request — :)

Kidnapping, pushing the baby back in, birth denial, clothing birth, dark storyline

.

.

You took deep breaths as you were bouncing on the birthing ball, the deep ache in your stomach as a contraction built up.

You'd read online about how masturbation was good for relieving pain during labour and you were up for any help.

Letting out a sigh as you rubbed the vibrator over your clit stretching your arms around your heavily pregnant, low stomach, moving in time with the bouncing and bringing yourself to orgasm just as the contraction hit.

"Ohhh! Yes right there!" You rode out the high, feeling the baby wriggle around inside you.

You couldn't let the labour get too far as you still had to go to the bank to open an account for savings for the baby. You'd promised yourself you'd do it before the baby comes so it was now or never.

You heaved yourself up from the ball and pushed the vibrator inside yourself, moaning as it rubbed your g-spot.

You quickly pulled on some tight panties and some leggings before getting your bag, the contractions were coming around every 20 minutes now but it was a 10 minute drive to the bank.

You used the remote control for the vibrator to turn it to a slow buzz inside you as you got in your car, grinding yourself against the seat searching for friction.

You start the drive, reaching a hand into your leggings to rub your clit, you got close as you pulled up to a red light.

"Yes!" You arched your back and threw your head back, thanking your tinted windows no one could see you orgasm.

The light turned to green and you were soon on your way again, getting to the bank in good time. When you move to get out your car a contraction takes your breath away. Only 12 minutes apart!

"Fuck come on baby, give mama a chance!" You hiss as your rub the contracting bump, you notice the feeling of pressure sitting lower in your hips as you stand up now.

"I hope the line is short!" You say under your breath. When you get in there only 4 people stood before you and a worker, why is only one window open? You groan internally but reach into your pocket to distract yourself with the vibrator.

You turned it to a rhythmed buzz, it got stronger as it went on, you bit your lip to keep the moan inside as you rubbed your thighs together.

The little pressure was enough to get you just close enough, leaving you right on the edge, but you had to step forward as the next person was served.

You felt the same pressure building up as you stood there again, the edging from the time before making the need to cum feel primal.

You were getting close again when the bank doors flew open and 5 men with masks on and machine guns in hand came running in.

"Get on the fucking ground now!" They screamed as they pushed people down.

You gasped and got on your knees, wrapping your arms around your stomach protectively.

"Everyone's gonna stay nice and calm whilst we do this, no sudden movements, no noise, no cops, no death!" One explained, like it was simple as they started getting money from the person at the window.

A contraction took a hold of you and forced a whimper out of you, drawing a masked man's attention.

"Did you hear what he said? No noise sweetheart, are you in labour? I've always wanted to watch a bitch struggle to give birth." He smirked as he put his foot on my stomach, his big boot digging into your skin and pushed you back to a sitting position.

"We could have fun here sweetie." He smirked under his mask and applied a heavy pressure onto your stomach making you open your mouth in a silent scream.

You groaned as you felt the baby move suddenly, a lot of the pressure you were feeling was now much lower down and was pushing against the vibrator.

You panted as the man bent down to pull your leggings down to your knees, he left your panties up but moved them to the side as he moved his fingers to your clit, gasping as he rubbed in small circles.

This paired with the vibration was enough to make you cum in 20 seconds, your back arching as a moan left you.

He moved back to your opening and pulled the vibrator out.

"Using this in public, naughty girl." He tutted and shoved 2 fingers into you he didn't get far before they hit something.

"Well well well." his fingers moving around inside you roughly.

He pushed his fingers deep inside you, taking your breath away.

"I can feel the head, don't you need to push?" He taunted, "I bet it would feel so good to relieve some of the pressure by pushing." His fingers kept working inside of you whilst his thumb played with your clit.

The overwhelming sensation made you cry out as you pushed with the next contraction.

The man chuckled at your efforts.

He removed his fingers and you pushed again, desperate for some kind of relief.

You felt something at your opening, something coming out! You reach around your stomach to feel the sac full of water, still intact and bulging out of you.

"Shall we keep the waters or would you like me to break them?" The man ran his fingers over the bulge, pushing it back inside you.

"Please break it!" You beg and reach for the vibrator, holding it to your clit, desperate for release.

The man dug his fingers into the sac roughly, trying to tear through it but mainly just pushed it back inside. "It's too strong, I can't break it." He said, giving up without really trying.

Another contraction forced your knees up and made you bear down hard, the head coming to your opening as you cry out grabbing everyone's attention.

"Hey shut the fuck up! Plug her up if she can't keep quiet!" Another suggested.

You threw your head back as your came mid contraction.

"Please help me up, the baby needs to come out!" You beg frantically.

"For fuck sake!" One of the men huffed and pushed the one at my knees out the way. He pushed your panties to the side and roughly pushed the head back away from your opening, forcing the baby back inside your womb.

You open your mouth to scream but a cloth is clamped over it instantly blocking your scream.

"Can I take this one?" The guy covering my mouth asked.

The man at my knees rolled his eyes. "If you really want to."

The man shoves the vibrator back inside you but your vision is blurring and you see him reach into a bag but don't see what he gets before you black out.

——————————————————

When you wake you're overwhelmed with sensations, needing to push, feeling the vibrator and being on the edge of cumming.

You rub your thighs together, searching for friction as the feeling overtakes you and the orgasm hits you so hard your head spins.

You take some deep breaths for a few seconds and open your eyes, they dart around the dark room you don’t know.

You can’t see over your bump but you can’t open your legs, and there is tape over your mouth.

You come to a harsh realisation you’ve been kidnapped, you need to push and your legs are taped shut.

Your screams are muffled as you struggle, you manage to roll onto your side, your hands are taped behind your back so they are of no use.

You scream as you roll onto your front, the pressure pushing your baby down.

You took a deep breath and pushed yourself to your knees, taking a minute as a contraction pulled you from your thoughts.

You use your head against the wall to push yourself to your feet the gravity making the urge to push feel primal.

You scream and push, bending your knees and praying the tape breaks.

Against all odds, you feel the vibrator slipping allowing you to groan a relived sigh.

You look around to see the door and try to take a step, your legs are too taped to take even a tiny step so you have to hop, the first hop shoves the baby’s head between your pelvis and you suddenly feel very full.

The second hop dislodges the vibrator into your panties.

The sigh of relief is short lived though as on the third hop, it slips forward through your arousal and nestles against your clit.

“Mmmmm!” Your moans are muffled as your legs almost buckle under you.

By the 6th hop a contraction crashes with your orgasm.

You cry out, all the feelings are far too much for you to cope with.

You get ready to take the next hop, but you land with a pop.

Fluid trickles down your legs and you need to push.

You squat down with your legs taped together the head making its way to your opening with this push.

Your mind is racing.

You hop to the door, lurching forward with the pain, this seems to give the head more room, the baby crowning in your panties.

A scream rips out of you and you decide you can’t hop anymore. Your hands are working to wiggle the wasteband of your leggings down, but you can’t get them down far enough.

The vibration on your clit is building you closer once more as the struggle brings a lot of friction.

You use the door handle to hook your leggings onto and pull up.

You don’t get much room but with the next push the head bulges.

You’re panting through the pain, allowing yourself to stretch just as an orgasm hits and you push accidentally, the head popping out into your panties.

You know you don’t have room to birth any more of the baby out but you push again, feeling a shoulder start to emerge but go straight back inside when you stop.

You turn around and use your hands behind your back to open the door, hopping forward to pull the door.

Before you can turn around you feel something press against the head bulging in your leggings.

You gasp and tears fall down your face.

“That was beautiful sweetheart!” He chuckles and reaches inside your leggings to the vibrator at your clit, he rubs against it in small circles through your panties.

The action making your underwear tighter, forcing the head back inside you.

You shake your head but can’t hold back the moan as the orgasm barrels into you, the force making you contract involuntarily.

The baby comes out to the elbows.

“Oh god that’s good!” The masked man rubs himself through his trousers.

“I want to push that thing back inside you and watch you do it over again!” He moaned but you can’t stop yourself from pushing again.

Your panties are full, there is no more room.

He reaches inside his trousers and moans, “When I get close, I’ll let it out.” He continues to rub himself, picking up the pace after a few minutes.

He reaches into your leggings and pushes the vibrator to your clit, this is enough to have you on edge instantly. The orgasm washing over both of you has he pulls your panties to the side and you push the baby fully out into your leggings.

The crying hits you straight away and you cry with relief.

“Well that, sweet girl, was beautiful.” He took the baby out of your leggings and cut the cord with a pocket knife.

“I’m gonna keep you.” He kissed your cheek and retreated back out the door and up the stairs.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

V The Ghost in the Manor

Dick Grayson V Gotham - Chapter 4

Danny was not lost. He was… momentarily disposed. 

It certainly wasn’t his fault. All the halls looked the same, with walls covered in paintings and a red runner down each hallway. At least he knew he was on the second floor–peeking out a window showed a garden that he did not see from the entrance, so maybe he was in the back of the house? 

Reasonably, he could probably yell for help. He’d only run off ten minutes ago, and there had to be someone around to hear him. Even if it was only the ghost. 

But considering he’d been tracking the ghost with no sign of them yet, he didn’t think that likely. 

He wasn’t sure about it at first. There’d been no trace of a haunting when he arrived, but the sensation of a ghost–a tickle in the back of his throat, like a cough that refused to come–got stronger and stronger as breakfast concluded. It wasn’t attached to the building. Even as weak as Danny was, he’d still be able to sense a proper haunt, so that meant there was a free-roaming spirit loose in the building. And it felt a lot stronger than a Shade. 

Danny cracked open a door to see another library. In his search, he’d moved past the bedroom area and onto the business-related rooms. There had been multiple libraries, and earlier he’d found a room with multiple computer monitors on desks covered in snack residue; Tim’s room, he presumed, and didn’t touch it. But as he looked further into the manor, the stronger the ghost felt. He was getting close. 

He wished they’d just show themselves. He wanted to go back to working on Tim’s case. 

At the end of the hallway he found a grand study. Danny wrinkled his nose. All dark hardwood and beige, the room was centered around the giant desk facing towards the door, a computer chair tucked underneath with a window behind it. At least there was a computer on the desk, with a sleek and modern monitor. 

Passing the grandfather clock, Danny hoisted himself up into the chair when suddenly, a cold puff of air escaped his mouth and a voice behind him said, “Wow, burglars are getting smaller and smaller every year.”

Danny swiveled the chair around. Leaning against the window was the ghost, far more colorful and substantial than any of the Shades or Wraiths he’d gotten used to seeing. Her skin was a light blue with black freckles and her hair was a firey purple that flowed out from under her hood. She was wearing a superhero outfit–jumpsuit, utility belt, boots, cape, and hood–comprised of white, ectoplasm green, and hints of yellow, with a white neck gaiter over her mouth and throat, and a green bat over her heart. Her eyes glowed bright yellow. 

She was a hero. She was a Phantom. She was a ghost hero.

Danny wanted to be sick. 

“You can see me,” she realized. She crouched down in front of him, their gaze never breaking. “You can see me.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Danny spat, tramping down his own instinctive urge to cry. Stupid, worthless baby body, this was not the time! “Why don’t you take your sterling silver deduction and shove it up your ass.”

She reared back. “Whoa, kid, you kiss your mom with that mouth?”

“Ain’t interested in necrophilia, hoe-bag, sorry you can’t get your rocks off.” He swiveled back around. He didn’t want to look at the dead teenager. It hit too close to home.

Laughing, Danny felt her drape herself across the back of his chair. “Holy shit, kid. Bruce really keeps adopting them crazier and crazier.”

“Who the fuck said I was that bastard’s kid?” Danny wiggled the computer mouse and the monitor immediately woke up to the home screen. “He doesn’t even have a password,” Danny said, shocked. 

The hero peeked over his shoulder. “If you’re not Bruce’s kid, then you’re a thief. And Brucie probably didn’t think he needed to defend against corporate espionage in his own home, little baby thief. He’s not too bright.”

“I’m not a thief,” he grumbled as he clicked on Bing. There were no other search engines on the computer, not even Google. That, more than anything, is what convinced Danny that Bruce Wayne was secretly a monster. “I’m just living here for a few weeks, that’s all.”

He typed “Bruce Wayne Wikipedia” into the search bar and started reading. 

“So you are Brucie’s kid!” The ghost concluded, snapping her fingers. “Or his ward, at least. Come on, squirt, there’s no reason to lie to your pal, Spoiler–”

“Not his kid,” Danny hissed, his voice warbling and resonating with the ectoplasm of the room. Wayne had a wiki page a mile long. The majority of it was compiled under the label Scandels. “Dick’s”

She laughed. “You’re Dick’s kid!? God, out of all B’s kids to inherit his adoption thingy, I didn’t expect Dick of all people.” 

Danny looked up from the computer. He’d only just gotten to Wayne’s Guardianship over Dick. “You say that like he’s got more than two.” Dick and Tim. “Does he have more?”

Spoiler shook her head, chuckling. “You haven’t met Bruce’s daughter yet, have you? And then there’s all the kids he hasn’t adopted. Wayne loves kids.”

 “...In a weird way, or…?”

“Normal way! He loves kids the normal way!” She laughed again. “Geeze, kid, you’re a riot. What’s your deal, anyway? You a medium?”

“Something like that. I work as one, at least.” He said with a shrug. “Why are you hanging around the Waynes? Were you investigating him when you died?”

“Nah, just doing my regular patrols. Nothing else I can really do. Ghost on ghost crime is at an all-time low.” She sighed. “The name’s Spoiler, by the way.”

“You can call me Danny.” He stopped reading for a second before turning the chair around so he could look at her. “Is there anything I can help you with? Unfinished business, arresting your murderer, messages to loved ones?”

“Is that what you normally do as a medium?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I fake seances to scam stupid people out of their money. Not everyone comes back as a ghost, but a lot of people feel entitled to the dead’s time, and I still need to eat.” 

“And you just automatically assumed I was murdered just because I’m a ghost? I’m mean, you’re right, but I’m pretty sure that’s stereotyping, punk.” She leaned back against the window, crossing her arms. 

“I’m sorry. I’d assumed that because you’re a hero, not because you’re a ghost. You don’t have to tell me anything more about your death; I know how much that hurts.”

Spoiler studied him for a moment. “You’re a good kid. Dick got lucky with that.”

Danny opened his mouth to respond, but his ears pricked. Someone was walking down the hall. Danny quickly closed out of the wiki page and searched for “ice cream near me.”

Dick poked his head in. “There you are! I was worried you’d squireled yourself away in… somewhere you weren’t supposed to go.” Danny cocked his eyebrow, and Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “Bruce has some… adult things lying around that I don’t want you to get an eyeful of.”

How incredibly suspicious. Dick was clearly protecting Wayne out of love for him. In a deadpan voice, Danny said, “you don’t have to worry; I already found Wayne’s sex dungeon.”

An incredulous laugh escaped Dick as Spoiler howled with laughter. Danny did his best to tune her out as Dick walked around to his side of the desk. He rustled Danny’s hair. “You really intend to make me get you ice cream? After all those reporters this morning? You’re cruel, kiddo.”

Danny shrugged. “We can go in disguise. And Tim’s coming with us, so while they’ll be looking for a group of two, we’ll be a group of three.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “He is? I don’t recall inviting Tim.”

“Tim’s lonely.” Smart or not, Tim still willingly spent over an hour voluntarily hanging out with an 8-year-old. Danny couldn’t imagine doing the same when he was Tim’s age. “You really so cheap that you can’t treat your brother to some ice cream?”

“Cold-blooded,” Spoiler scolded, unheard by Dick but unwilling to be left out of the conversation. “Honestly, Dick, I am ashamed.” 

“So ashamed,” Danny agreed. Dick shot him a confused look. “Tim would cry if he heard you say that. Do you want Tim to cry?”

“I think he wants Tim to cry!” Spoiler gasped. 

“Stop!” Dick held up his hand. “Danny. Is there a ghost in the room?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.”

“It’s ‘weather man-’ You know what? It’s not worth arguing. Danny, I thought we had a deal; you need to tell me whenever there’s a ghost in a room, understand?” Danny scoffed. Dick pressed on, “Do you understand?”

“It’s a stupid rule.”

“It’s an important rule,” Dick countered. “I can’t protect you from ghosts, and they can hurt you, Danny. Not every ghost is a good person.”

Danny rubbed a scar on his arm, a souvenir from a particularly nasty poltergeist he’d tried to deal with on his own. Dick had a matching scar on his back from stray glass; he’d found Danny in the middle of the storm and dragged him to safety. Then gave him a two hour lecture about handling things on his own and that Danny was only a child while Dick had years of experience and blah, blah, blah. Danny refused to admit that Dick had a point–he was 18 in mind, if not body, and he’d dealt with infinitely more dangerous ghosts than one barely material poltergeist. Just because he didn’t have most of his powers didn’t mean he was useless! 

“...There’s a ghost,” Danny admitted. “But she’s just passing through; this isn’t even her haunt.” 

“And does she need help?”

Danny looked at Spoiler. His offer from before had never been answered. She shook her head, looking genuinely regretful. “I’m good for now, kid. My murderer is way above your paygrade, and the Bats are already gunning for him.”

“She’s fine, just chilling. Can we go get ice cream now?”

“It’s still–” Dick checked his phone– “9:30 in the morning, kiddo. We’ll go after lunch though. Now!” He clapped his hands together. “I came up here to get you. The detectives finally got to Mrs. Bennett’s apartment and we set up a video call for you to consult with them.” 

“Really!?” Jumping up from the chair, Danny rushed to the door, almost falling flat on his face. “What are we waiting for!? Her son-in-law is going to get away with it if we don’t hurry! Come on, Dick!”

“Wait! Danny, you don’t know where you’re going, come back!”

“Then come on!”

@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog

[kechiwrites]

decided to break it

toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader

part 4/?

synopsis: babies change everything, and neither you, nor simon handle change very well at all.

wc: 2.2k

cw: afab!reader, angst, hurt with no comfort, language, break up fic, abandonment issues, no gendered language, discussions and depictions of pregnancy. no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: im back <3, more tomorrow, or perhaps later tonight if i feel up to formatting on this hell site. for kitten, shia, nori, 👩🏿‍🍼 anon, and everyone else who cheered me up when i felt super down post-holidays

new to baby blue? start here.

"Fuck." You murmur, maybe for the fourth time since the 15 minute timer had gone off on your phone. The word doesn’t seem heavy enough to sum up how you’re feeling, but you give it a few more tries anyway, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The word 'pregnant', however, is the heaviest you’ve ever seen, latching onto your limbs and skin and dragging you to the floor beneath you. ‘Pregnant’ stares you in the face from the stick in your shaking hands, punctuated with a little smiley face you can barely see through tears. In the back of your mind you kind of wished you'd gotten the kind with the little ambiguous pink lines, just so you could pretend you didn't understand what two lines instead of one meant. Just for a little bit. Alas, the pharmacist recommended the slightly more expensive test, the kind that gives you a week estimate. The kind that tells you you've been fucked for 3-4 weeks now.

Every emotion you'd been feeling up until then cedes to white hot panic. It's hard to breathe in your little blue bathroom.

You wonder what he'll say. 

No. 

You dread what he’ll say. 

It’s nothing you two have ever talked about, not in the cold blackness of night, when he’d sat in your arms with his face bare to you and murmured every gory detail of his upbringing to you and not a goddamn therapist. Not the following morning when you’d sobbed your terror of the future, and losing everything you had into his lap. And certainly not when you had mutually decided you were “getting serious”.

And now you have to. You have to tell Simon you’re pregnant.

There's a pit in your stomach when he comes by that night, mask off and eyes warm, considering like they always are. You get swept up in how it feels to be near him, to have him crowd into your space, soaking your senses in his scent, his warmth. He kisses you gently, so soft it makes you want to cry. He used to say he wasn't capable of being like that. Not with you. Not with anyone. 

Instead of sobbing into his chest like you’re desperate to, you chide him about wearing his boots in the house. You take the time he needs to unlace them to memorize what being with him feels like in this moment, the last time things will be easy. 

He levers up and nudges his boots over to yours, where they sit side by side. Tears choke your voice again, and you’re praying it’s just a pregnancy thing rather than a ‘you being an unstable wreck’ thing.

“Sit.” You turn to the kitchen, setting your kettle on the stove and turning the knob to high. He hunkers down on the worn cream leather of your couch. You linger in front of your stovetop as long as you can, fussing with the mug Simon uses almost always, an ugly misshapen pink thing you’d made at a beginner ceramics class four years ago. It’s chipped at the lip, rose coloured glaze cracked, exposing the beige clay underneath it. Your hand glances over boxes of tea, back and forth over colourful labels that may as well be written in gibberish for all the luck you're having reading them. 

It feels like there's no air in the room, like the secret under your t-shirt is taking it all, vacuum sealing your room until your chest burns and your head feels like it's going to pop. You tear open a brand new box of earl grey, stuffing it back onto your shelf when the tea bag is sat securely in the cup. 

"What's wrong?” He grouses from the couch, and it’s only then that you realize your shoulders are hunched up around your ears. 

“I..” your stomach rolls and sweat begins to bead on your forehead. You can hear him stir in his seat behind you, shifting forward so he can peer at you from your living room. Saliva gathers in your mouth, and oh god, maybe you actually will throw up, it’s too early for morning sickness right? Unless the stupid tests were wrong and now you’re going to cover your countertops in the stew you had for lun-

“Hey.” Simon is standing behind you now, his hands gripping your shoulders, shaking you lightly until you whip around to face him. The kettle is screaming now, filling your home with that shrill, high shriek of steam from the boiling water whistling through the appliance's tiny spout. 

Somehow it’s still quieter than your pulse pounding in your ear.

“I’m pregnant.” You choke out, if only to stop yourself from retching over Simon’s socked feet. God, it’s like time stops, then it splits and cracks in clean halves. Into before and after he knew. Before and after his concerned expression crumbled into disbelief, before and after he schooled that disbelief into placid nothingness. And it’s not like you’d entertained the delusion that he’d be happy about it. But the silent hang time before he reacts is this terrible, hollow, unknown that tears up your insides and relishes in the shiny, red viscera. 

A gruff, quiet "Are you sure?" is what you get from him, when he finally recovers, and you try so hard not to let it bother you. It's a shock. A surprise. A loud bang in the middle of a serene night, a cannon going off in your face, a gunshot into the sky when you thought the race was an hour from starting. 

You try to give him a bit of grace. Still, the pit in your stomach grows.

Now it's a bit of a sinkhole.

"Baby, I wouldn't be telling you if I wasn't sure." You move to snag your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, to tug him close so you can hold each other, support each other, but he take a small step backwards, letting his palms slip from your shoulders. 

The sinkhole is a cavern, yawning wide, open and empty. 

You toss your hope and love inside.

“I need…some time.” He mutters, slinking out of your space, out of the kitchen and back into your entryway. 

'Time to fucking what?' you think, but hold back. You know Simon. You love Simon. And you remember where he's come from. What he's come from. You realize a second too late you should be following him, and when you stumble over the kitchen threshold, he’s tying up his boots, his broad back facing you. You try to peer around him, try to get a look at his face, desperate to gauge where he’s at. But when you notice he’s knocked your shoes over in his scramble to get away, to be anywhere but here, you stop moving..

“Y-yeah. Okay. Just..uh, get back to me soon okay?” you stutter, and wrap your arms around yourself, like you know Simon won't. Not with the way his hands are shaking. 

He doesn’t even respond this time. 

The soldier just stands. He opens your front door. And walks out. Leaving you in your entryway. Water past its boiling point in the kettle.

You don’t see him again until you’re four, nearly five months along, the bump under your clothes now impossible to hide. When you stumble into your home, exhausted from working, he’s in your living room. Sitting there in his mask at your tiny dining room table. Like no time has passed at all. Like he should be there. You realize you never did get your spare house key back.

“Get out.” you spit, blood boiling under your skin. 

"I know you're upset-" He begins, like he’s about to deliver a practiced speech.

"Get the fuck out!" Your tone is caustic, and you hope it burns him, hope it strips off all the facade on the rotting structure he is underneath.

"I never meant to leave it so long. This." He won't even say it. Can't even refer to you, let alone your baby. He stands up and becomes this big, dark mass in the bright space of your living room, black mask, black shirt, black boots, just a huge black hole that sucks up every good feeling you’d had in his absence, every ray of light that’d shone through the dark gloom he’d left behind. Nothing escapes his pull. 

He peers at you from the gap in his mask. The stark white skull stretched over his face mocks you, maliciously whispers in your ear; ‘Did you think you knew him? That he was honest with you? Open to you?’

And you had. You did. You thought you were making progress, building some semblance of a future, falling in love.

It makes you sick to your stomach to think of it.

"You want to apologize, take the fucking mask off Simon." Your voice breaks, and part of you hopes he hears it for the plea it is. Hopes he understands what you’re asking of him. Hopes he feels how bad you missed him, under the hurt and pain and bitter, bitter loneliness. If he would just take it off, just pull the stupid fabric over his face and show you he was still yours under there, that he’d make a mistake and he’s ready now, then maybe the two of you could fix it. This.

Instead, his silence, his stillness cracks open your ribcage and pours black ink over your heart.

Humiliation and anger simmer on your tongue. What comes next is shockingly easy. "Oh you can't do it, huh? Can't be a fucking person with me, huh?" You shove at his chest, and he takes it, staring at you with pain in his eyes. Like this is hurting him.

"I shouldn't have waited so long, but I-" he steps towards you and it feels so good to rip away from his touch. To step back from his advance.

"No!” You shout, and your face is so hot, skin ablaze with righteous anger. “Shut up! Three months? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

And yes, one month of that was deployment, you’d known that, you’d talked about it, together. One month of no contact. One month of sand and heat and blood. But the other two months had been that white hot panic you'd felt on your own, in that tiny bathroom with the peeling blue wallpaper he'd promised he'd help you strip and replace. The other months had been missed calls, and ignored texts and you getting bigger under your sweaters because unlike him, you couldn't just take a break from the situation.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” You shove past him, deeper into your home, spinning around so he’s closer to your entryway than you are. “Don’t you ever show your face here again, do you hear me?” You’re screaming now, much to Ghost’s visible discomfort. Good. You hope your nosy ass neighbours call the cops. You hope they physically remove his pathetic ass. You hope they embarrass him. (It isn’t very likely, of course. But God, could you dream).

“You can't just keep it from me.” He steps closer and you lament that he has you on the backfoot. It’s your space, your home and yet it feels as though you’re the one who’s out of place, off kilter and uncomfortable. You glare at him. 

“It’s mine too.”

‘It’ he says, and that bothers you. Irks you. Him calling your baby an ‘it’. 

“Give me a fucking break, it wasn’t yours when you left me, you couldn’t wait to get your sorry ass out of here when I told you. Now you wanna play daddy? I don’t fucking think so.” You dig your fingernails into the meat of your palms, leaving aching crescents in their wake. 

“And you know what? Maybe it’s my fault for wanting to be with someone who is so fundamentally fucking broken that he couldn’t fucking bear to show me his goddamn face until I’d begged him. Maybe I’m the idiot for thinking you could ever be capable of love, of decency. I needed you. And you abandoned me, Simon. You are a fucking monster.” 

The word hangs in the air, hovering between the two of you where it can’t be taken back, and it sure as hell can’t be forgotten.

“You are good at distancing yourself, you are good at killing your feelings. Keep doing that. Stay the fuck away from me and my kid.” You’re panting when you finish, and everything hurts, one of your hands is bleeding, your eyelids prickle with the pain of unshed tears, your throat feels strained and tight. He nods once, jerky and quick, before he takes an unbalanced step back. Then another and another, his eyes never leaving yours, like he’s looking for something, anything other than hurt and hatred.

But there’s nothing else to find.

He turns, opening your front door and trudging out, heavy footfalls bracketing short moments of gut wrenching silence. It feels final. But it doesn’t feel good. Not like you thought it might.

He’s halfway into his SUV when you scramble out your front door, shouting over your porch railing to him in your driveway. “And get rid of my fucking keys!” He stares at you, standing stockstill, before he gets in the driver’s seat and pulls away.

whew, nice to post ghosty-poo again

series masterlist here

support city girls, reblog what u like

[outsideratheart]

On a Night Like Tonight (Alex Scott x reader)

Retirement. A word that had been playing on your mind for a the past 12 months. After Australia, Team GB went on to win gold in the Olympics and it left only one trophy missing from your cabinet. The World Cup.

2027, Brazil. It was the day that you gave the fans the thing you promised 4 years ago. You lead your team to their first World Cup star and did so by beating the United States on penalties.

Unlike last year Alex was pitch side with Fara eagerly waiting for you to come over and when you did she welcomed you like the champion you now were or at least she gave you the PG version given you were live on TV.

You were overcome with emotion as Alex held you in her arms. To the outside world the tears you were clearly shedding were that of happiness but between you and Alex you knew they were sad tears too.

The celebration awaiting you back in England was unlike anything you could have imagined. It put the euros one to shame. The whole country showed up to celebrate you and you made sure to savour every moment.

Each player had their turn on the microphone and the fans loved it but when it was your turn to speak the fans took one look at your face and went silent. You could hear a pin drop in Trafalgar Square.

“You all know I hate being a bench warmer and I don’t want to be one of those players the play long after their time is up. It has been my greatest honour being your captain for over ten years but it is time that I pass on the torch and hang the boots up”

It was announced the following day that England’s match against Germany at Wembley in one month’s time would be you final game in an England shirt. The match sold out in minutes and it set the perfect scene for your send off.

The days leading up to it was hectic, you barely had a second to yourself and most of all it was extremely overwhelming. You questioned if you had made the right decision. You were still playing world class football, why stop now? Your question was answered one night at St George’s Park. It was the night before your final game and the entire team could tell you were having an hard time. It’s the reason Sarina allowed Alex to stay in your room even though it was against the rules.

“I don’t think I can do it”

Alex looked up from where she was laying on your chest.

“Can’t or don’t want to?”

“Football is all I’ve ever known Al, I’m not sure I can give it up”

“You’re not retiring completely. In a week’s time you will be back at Cobham with Chelsea”

“I’m going to be home a lot more”

“You make it sound like a bad thing. Remember the reason that made you consider retiring in the first place?”

It was a night you remember well. You and Alex spent over an hour talking about the future and what it could look like. You got so caught up in the hypotheticals that reality became disappointing. It made you want to skip the next few years so that you could start the next chapter of your life, the one where being captain was no longer the highest responsibility you had.

You feel asleep that night dreaming of the future and when you woke up you were ready to say goodbye to the team that you loved so much.

It was a bitter sweet feeling as the final whistle was blown. The entire England team, both the players on the bench and on the pitch, came running to you. It that moment you felt loved and appreciated. It was a moment that you would remember for the rest of your life. As you take a lap around the field you try to take in as much as you can.

“You know you don’t have to retire” Leah appears by your side.

“It’s my time. I have loved playing for this team and every time I wear this badge it is a great honour but this is my final curtain call Leah, my swan song” You pull the blonde into your side and kiss the side of her head.

“Don’t be getting soft. Save that for Alex because we need to go do media” Truth is Leah didn’t want you to leave, she had told you this much but your mind was yet.

“I know but before that there’s something I need to do”

You pull Leah towards the middle of the pitch, away from the shouting fans, the centre circle becoming your own little bubble.

“I have been captain of this team for almost ten years. I have lead them to the highest highs and the lowest lows. It takes a lot from you when you wear this band but it can also reward in the best possible way. I have spoken with Sarina about who I want to be my successor and that person is you Leah”

With a heavy heart you take the armband off and pull it up Leah’s arm. You were passing the torch, this was a changing of the guard and you were doing it for the whole to see.

By the time you reach Alex and the BBC team you are on the very line fine between keeping it together and breaking completely.

The world now knew about the two of you but with a camera pointed straight at you, you felt the need to stay professional but Alex soon changed that.

“We’re not rolling. It’s playing her career highlights” one of the camera men tells Alex.

“Come here” The BBC presenter pulls you into her arms and for a brief moment you allow yourself to feel, feel everything that you have been bottling up since you woke up.

“It’s over. I’ve played my last game as a lioness” you could feel tears falling down your face and you were aware that there were multiple people watching the interaction but no longer had to strength to bottle up your emotions.

The same man who told you that the cameras were rolling informed you that they would be live in 5, then proceeded to count down using his fingers.

As a way of regaining control of your emotions and in attempt of staying together you move away from Alex and closer to Jill and Fara. As if knowing that you still weren’t ready to answer the unavoidable questions Leah takes charge of the interview and the presenters follow her lead. It is when she is asked a question only you can answer do you need to get involved.

“Jill asked what’s next for you?” Leah nudges you.

“I go back to Chelsea. As for the next international break, well I have no idea. Maybe go on holiday, what do you say Al, fancy the Maldives?”

“Sure, why not. Fara can cover for me”

“Seriously though Y/N. What’s next? When asked about retiring you said that you have given over 15 years to your country and that it’s time to prioritise your personal life. I think I remember you saying it’s what our dear Alex over here deserves”

Leah switches places with you when Alex is mentioned. Sensing that being next to your person may bring you more peace and encourage you to answer the question without making jokes.

“If the song is right then I believe I hear wedding bells” Jills says.

You wonder what song she is referring to and upon turning to Alex you see that she is also at loss.

“You know the song. The one about kissing in a tree. I won’t sing it seen as though we are live on air and I am a professional”

With Jill’s clue you know exactly the song she is talking about although you think you may have been in high school when you last heard it.

“Since when are you a professional?” You scoff. You refused to bite.

“I get what you’re saying. I believe it says first comes love”

“Check” Alex plays along.

Before Leah continues you turn to Alex. Your hand sat on the small of her back and unknowingly to the women around, you tap you ring finger which was missing a very important piece of jewellery. Alex leans into you with her head on your shoulder and tells you to go for it.

“Then comes marriage-“

“Check” you were proud to finally announce that you had in fact married Alex but up until this moment it was only your immediate families that knew.

The faces of your friends were priceless. In that moment you wish you had a camera to take a photo but then you remember you are on live TV. Oh god, you were live on the BBC. Not only had you told your friends about your nuptials, you had told the entire world.

“Shit”

“Y/N” Alex playfully slaps your arm “We are live”

“I am now aware of this Al”

“I would like to apologise for the language made by Y/N Y/L/N”

“Don’t you mean Y/N Scott?” Jill asks.

“No she does not” you say rather defensively “Alex took my name, she is Alex Y/L/N”

“How about we discuss the details of our marriage when we are not live on TV.” Alex tries to get the interview back on track which you are happy to do.

You then proceed to talk all things football. Jill recalls your first training session as a lioness, Fara tells her favourite Y/N Y/L/N stories, Leah brings you to tears once again when she tells you about how you showed her what is possible and Alex grins ear to ear when she explains all the ways that you have changed the game and how a lot of people have you to thank for how far the game has come.

Almost an hour later you are in one of the hospitality suites at Wembley. The news of you and Alex had spread to rest of the team and the party that was originally planned for your retirement has now turned into a retirement / wedding party.

It doesn’t take much for you to get overwhelmed, how could you not. You escape to one of the boxes near the suite, the cold air grounds you and the silence is welcoming. Looking out at the pitch you are filled with nostalgia as memories flood your mind, it’s as if a highlight reel is playing.

“People are asking where you are?”

You feel your body relax upon hearing your wife’s voice. It is one of the things you love most about her.

“You found me. Any chance I can persuade you to stay here with me for a moment?”

“I can think of a few things”

“Can one of them be a hug? I could really use one”

Alex’s eyebrows furrow. You were a cuddler, Alex learned this very early on in your relationship but there is something about you asking now and the way you did it. You sound so vulnerable.

Your wife doesn’t say anything, instead she opens her arms and you melt into her hold.

“You know a lot of people are in there waiting to celebrate you, with you. Yet you are out here alone or at least you were until I found you”

“I want to celebrate with you though and everyone keeps stopping me from doing that. They want Y/N the England captain or I guess now it’s former captain but I just want to be —“

“Y/N, my wife”

Her wife. It sounds cliche like something that would be said in a movie or a line in a book but you loved hearing her say that and even now as you both wear your rings, you couldn’t believe that she had agreed to marry you.

“Can we go home?”

Alex knew that you liked to party and it didn’t take much to persuade to celebrate something no matter how small. It wasn’t like you to leave early and Alex knew that you might be feeling more than you are letting on if you want to leave a party that was honouring your international career.

“I didn’t tell you this but Ella and Alessia have wrote a speech. They read it to me and you’ll want to hear it. If after that you still want to go home then we will, I promise”

You stayed for the speech and boy are you glad you did. It was one of the most heartfelt yet hilarious speeches you have heard. You did end up going home but not till hours later. After hearing your plea, Alex stayed by your side the entire night and her presence allowed you to relax and have fun. A chapter of the book you called life was over and the chapters that followed would go on to be some of your favourite because each and every one of them included you wife Alex Scott.

[val-cansalute]

PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch.3 - 18+

cw: smut below the cut, mdni, cunnilingus LOOOOOOL, fingering, tribbing… but, like, some dirty talk 😥 idk ppl… idk… still got like three chapters left 🐺 proofread but not very well cuz i’m gonna fall asleep

ch. 1

ch. 2

ch. 4

ch. 5

ch. 6

If you squint hard enough--

“Yep, it’s fixing up pretty nice, kid.”

-- you can just about make out the flecks of dust flickering in the influx of honeyed light through your windows.

“Not swollen anymore.”

And you can watch them flutter gently in mid-air, never quite meeting the ground.

You could watch them forever. Just sitting here, just like this, just like them, basking in the gentle warmth of the sunlight, the hazy sound of the nurse woman’s voice, suspended in the incessant grip of your pathetic melancholy.

“You should be fine to be back up on your feet now. Should try getting some fresh air soon.”

Her voice comes back into focus immediately.

There are stages to grief – so they say. But, to you, it feels more like a whirlpool of every emotion you’ve ever felt that you’ve been stuck in for what seems like forever, only growing in ferocity as time passes.

Been stuck in the same stage for a while. Been feeling like some external force has just been dragging your body to places day to day, not fully aware of what’s going on around you. And, as you said, soon as you can walk again, you’re out of here.

Are you even allowed to grieve a person you slaughtered?

“Yeah. Will do.”

That’s the signal. A week or so and you’ll be gone.

Do you have a plan? Do you need one? It’s not like you’re running away. You’re leaving – just, without telling anyone. You’ll just pack your shit and… go… where?

Roam?

It’s morning, the light that follows the storm-ridden, long, harsh hours of night, and the eery stillness of the snow blankets the earth now, though it was once pummelling towards the ground in malignant winds.

Ellie had woken up before you, and quickly ensured that wasn’t an issue by seemingly putting all her power into each step she took and object she lifted and aggressive sniffle or violent coughing.

What a pleasant way to wake up.

She quickly rushed off to the stables, thanking you for letting her stay the night, and once she was gone, you realised that there was an odd air of domesticity in your interactions now. You weren’t sure how to feel, so you sat in silence for a moment, until a knock interrupted your thoughts.

Without a lock to keep the pests out, the nurse woman quickly ended up inside your house, nagging you about your refusal to open the door as she looked at your ankle.

Everything happens for a reason, you suppose, since you came to the realisation that there was nothing binding you to this place any longer.

A few minutes pass, moments obscured by the depth at which you sank into your thoughts, and the nurse is helping you lull your trembling left leg into taking a step forward, when a harsh gust of icy wind envelops your skin. The door slams shut.

Ellie seems to be fond of making annoying entrances when it comes to you.

You inspect her movements curiously as she shakes the snow off her boots from over your shoulder, wondering why she’s back but not feeling even a sliver of disdain.

Eventually, she looks up to meet the pair of you’s eyes and clears her throat bringing her gloved hand to the nape of her neck to scratch.

“Hey,” she breathes out, to which you nod before carrying on with your miserable attempt at walking again, though you’re tentative to Ellie’s every movement from behind you.

The sound of that familiar creak tells you she’s sat down on your shitty mattress, and a small sniffle tells you… well, nothing.

You try to turn your focus back to the nurse woman whose eyes are trained on your leg, a smile gracing her lips when you make it back to the bed smoothly.

“There. You’re all set, kid, just keep it moving and you’ll be back to normal in no time. I’ll come check up on you in a day or two, alright? I’ll, uh… leave you two be, then.”

You hum half-heartedly, still slightly cotton-minded, watching her leave and the door close before you turn to look at Ellie looking back up at you.

“You’re back?”

With a mischievous smirk, she reveals a small jar from the side pocket of her threadbare backpack, stuffed with pure weed,

“Yeah. Thought you might want some of this.”

You take a seat beside Ellie, her eyes lingering on your every movement before you look up and meet her gaze.

“Where’d you even get that?”

“Hmm, I’ll show you next time we’re together on patrol. Here, take this.”

She hands you a blunt and you look over it cautiously, trying to mask your lack of experience and simultaneously ignore the blush of your cheeks induced by Ellie’s somehow sustained smirk.

She takes a lighter from her pocket and brings it to the tip as you hold it between your pursed lips, silently beckoning you to go ahead.

The warmth fills your chest; a pleasant wave of tingles overcomes you, like your insides turning to fuzz, and you let go, watching the smoke dance upwards and dissipate in the air separating you from Ellie.

You pass it to her, taking note of the way her lips wrap around the same place yours did moments before while your high already settles in.

Lightweight.

Maybe that’s why her eyes seem to pierce with excruciating intensity now. You look down instead and toy with the frayed end of your tattered jeans.

“You know what I realised?” she murmurs, taking another puff before continuing,

“You’ve been here for, what, half a year now?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s… actually kind of a long time. But you still act the same as you did when you first arrived.”

“Do I?”

Ellie breathes out and passes you the blunt, nodding. Your eyes don’t leave her lips.

“Yeah. Still… you know.”

“Yeah, well… I just don’t really get along with those people.”

“Those people?”

You look up and Ellie’s got a shit-eating grin plastered across her face as you jump to your own defence.

“Woooooooooo-”

“Wha- I- I didn’t mean it like that!”

“-ooooooooooo-”

Her voice is muffled by the contact of her face with the pillow you bombard her with.

“Ow! Fucking… Asshole.”

You chuckle, taking a long drag before muttering, your voice barely above a rasp,

“Bet you don’t like that, huh?”

The mattress shifts beside you as Ellie moves closer. You don’t look, but you can hear the playfulness in her words.

“Yeah, actually, I don’t.”

Silence overwhelms the room, the slow infiltration of hot smoke which now lays thick in the air rendering you too fuzzy to speak. Your fingers brush Ellie’s calloused ones as you pass her the blunt, dragging your dilated eyes to look into hers, still appearing somewhat sober.

“You dont mean that about me though, right?”

“Hm?”

“You know… The thing you said before. That you just don’t really get along with most of the people here. Cuz we get along pretty fucking well.”

Before you can hide it, you face breaks out into a grin,

“Why, would it really upset you if I meant you too?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

There’s a gentle buzzing in your chest that develops into wholehearted laughter before you realise it, contagious to Ellie, whose own lips give up trying to repress the smile playing on them now.

“I just mean… I know there’s not many people… as awesome and cool as me here, one could say, but-” she continues before you cut her off,

“-Butt-”

“-But, I don’t know, we’re kind of friends, right?”

“… One could say.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Now, your heart’s racing and there’s a growing ache nestled between your legs, because the sight of Ellie’s own legs spread as she falls back to lean against the wall is not for the weak.

And you… You are weak.

“Unless you keep looking at me like that.” Her words rip through the warmth of the silence so you realise you had gone silent as you shamelessly stared.

“What?”

“You’re staring. Think you got a little something there too,” she leans in to wipe the imaginary drool at the corner of your lip but you sluggishly swat her hand away.

“Fuck off, I do not. And I am not.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Suddenly, the way her eyelids lay heavy over her forest green eyes, scleras tinged pink, becomes almost hypnotic, addictive.

“Yeah.”

So much so that you almost choke on your words.

“I think you are.”

Like you’re going to suffocate, unable to inhale steadily as she leans closer for the billionth time, clearly searching for the same relief you are, and her breath gently fans your lips.

“Think you’ve been staring for a while…

Think you want something real bad, huh?”

That pounding heartbeat, the shaking of your hands, this feeling is akin to fear. It’s almost terrifying how bad you want it, so you turn away and bring the blunt to your mouth again, forcing her to watch you breathe the hot air into her anticipating, flushed face. She closes her eyes, and then opens them, to see you looking right back with parted lips.

Finally, she places a gentle touch to your cheek, gracefully wrapping her other hand’s fingers around the weed in yours and flicking it into the nonexistent world surrounding you carelessly, closing the distance between the two of you once and for all.

There is a gentle sickness in the wetness with which your tongues dance against each other, and it is exhilarating in a way that makes you forget everything; in a way that makes the only thing echoing in your mind the intoxicating sound of lips smacking and Ellie’s deep groans into you, warm saliva coating the skin around your mouth.

For once, there is no reluctance in the intimacy you provide, and it has proven to be the most effective antidote to your problems yet.

Amid the rapacity, Ellie’s lips wonder further, engulfing the skin beyond, that which is your jaw, up to your flushed earlobes, and it’s so near, so tender, that it overwhelms your brain, heightening your high to unchartered altitudes. You can hear her every movement and every moan - feel it stronger than anything you’ve ever felt before, as her hands roam across the expanse of your body and settle on your tits before gently circling your nipples so that your hips buck into her shamelessly.

Ellie takes note of your sensitivity, half-lidded eyes looking into yours drunkenly as she makes her way to your chest, gliding her tongue around your raised nipple and gently pulling on the other. Your body is like a furnace, aching for her with ferocity. She knows; she burns just as bright.

Ellie’s hungry, desperate to taste you, to indulge in every drop of your flavour and savour it. So she’s sucking on your tit with such fervour, leaving a trail of spit as she wraps her lips around the other, that you find yourself pushed back against the pillows, yearning to just rip the fabric of the shirt that still rests at your collarbone right off of you.

Instead you lay still, letting the overcoming take you, and watch her with fascination, raking shaky fingers into her bound, auburn locks.

She moans into your skin at the touch and you can feel it in your pussy, the way it drips for her. Lucky for it, she makes her way down, one hand still groping desirously at your tit, the other ghosting over the waistband of your pants subconsciously. God, you need it, a thousand times over and then a million over again.

Ellie’s at your hipbone, infuriatingly close to where you need her, and you’re trembling with anticipation, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Fuck… take ‘em off…”

She smirks up at you dazedly, and you resist the urge to shove her head back into you,

“You want me?”

“Yes, fuck… Ellie, please.”

She hooks her fingers into your belt loops and pulls them down without further question, dragging your underwear down too, almost fast enough to not notice the wet spot in them.

Almost.

Her relishing the sight of the fat jiggling as her hand slaps your tit and you jerking forward juxtaposes the lazy kiss she presses to your swollen clit, hands moving to your thighs as she pulls you closer.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot.”

Gently sucking the bud into her plump lips pushes a breathy moan out of you in grateful relief and, as you grind against her tongue, she runs the tip of it teasingly up your weeping slit so that you’re reduced to a picturesque masterpiece of nothingness above her, with your head thrown back and your mouth hanging open, sweet whimpers trailing out, and your glistening chest displayed beautifully.

And the way you rut your cunt up against her, aching to feel her tongue deeper, aching to have her inside, makes her thrust against the pillow like a dog in heat for some semblance of relief, friction. You want to be the one to give it to her. Each husky groan pushes you further, the vibrations against your cunt sending you to heaven and back.

Ellie’s mouth is the fucking greatest, the swirl and suck a godsend to your clouded mind, with its focus streamlined to your pussy, so you moan deafeningly when two rough fingers slip into you and pump in and out of your viscous walls rapidly.

The sound of her slurping fills the room, and it is filthy, pornographic, but you’re moaning and twitching against her regardless, your pussy clenching tight for her, squeezing and pulling in her digits ravenously.

Soon, embarrassingly soon, your hips jerk, overwhelmed with delicious, warm ripples of pleasure throughout your body, and your eyes roll back as you tense and cum in her mouth for what seems like forever, but she holds you down, her lips and fingers never letting up.

Your sweaty figure is hunching over, stomach tensed and caving in, resisting the stimulation to your sensitive clit, with the hand laced through her hair now pushing her away despite the fact that you love it. Her eyes are closed and she’s wholly immersed in your essence and your whimpers, lapping at the slick pouring out of your pussy greedily with a gentle shake of her head between your quivering thighs.

A moan of your name and she’s up, humming in devious satisfaction, and giving your fucked out face a pussydrunk grin, your milky cum painting the lower half of her face so it glistens stunningly.

She shoves her fingers into your open mouth, muttering a quiet, “Fuck,” through laboured breaths as you suck on them, tasting yourself. Before she can go back in, pulling them away, you reach out to her desperately and smash her lips against yours again, pussy throbbing simply because she exists, as she lets out a small noise in shock but quickly moves in tune with you.

Between breaths, you help her take her clothes off, hugging her to your exposed chest, your heart pounding readily. There’s nothing you want more than to feel every inch of her on you completely, and the feeling of her hugging you back with just as much hunger makes you hot.

Slowly, you watch the string of slick connecting her pussy to her underwear dwindle as you pull them further down her legs, listening to the sound of her panting loud into your ear, and feeling her hair gently grazing your flushed cheeks.

Ellie pushes your left leg up and slots her cunt against yours so you can feel her hot skin moulding with yours, throwing her head back at the obscenity of the squelching noise it creates.

“Fuck, baby, it’s so wet, you’re so wet, all mine,”

“Ellie, oh my god.”

Slow movements turn into feverish humping, the sound of your wet cunts slapping each other reverberating and she leans over and places her forehead, wisps of hair stuck to it via droplets of sex sweat, against yours, breath fanning your lips. You strain to push yourself up for a second and peck her lips which she leans into quickly, like she’s been waiting for it.

You can feel your climax building up, intensified by the sight and all consuming sensation of her ramming into you, and the quiet whispers of,

“Fuck, love your pussy so much, gonna fuck you so good, mmmh, ‘s all mine, gonna fuck you senseless”

She keeps going, and you can feel everything so much clearer than you ever have before, each squelch and pull, panting into each other like you’re tempting each other to kiss each other again and she gives in, with the grip she has on your thigh concentrating.

It’s so graphic, so dirty and desperate, and you can’t help but give into the the feeling of the coil tightening in your stomach before snapping completely, your cum splattering over Ellie’s viscid thighs because she’s close and avid, eager to cum on you.

She can feel it building up as she grinds against you tenaciously, watching you writhe beneath her. Ellie moans gutturally , fingertips digging into your hips and the plush fat of your ass to hold you in place as she gets herself off,

“Fuckin’ take it, baby, know you can, gonna c-cum-”

“Yes, Ellie, oh my fucking-”

“-Fuck, gonna cum all over you, an’ you’re gonna fucking take it, yeah, mm-”

One last time and her hips are stuttering against yours before she collapses on you, chests rising and falling with heavy breaths into each other harmoniously.

The contact of your clammy skin against hers is comforting, and you lay there until the heat of sex settles and the potent scent of weed dissipates, and is replaced by the cold bite of the winter air that weasels its way into your room once more.

Until it starts to feel cold.

And then the fog clears and your mind spirals down from the passing high, opening the guilt’s floodgates. There is nothing you can do to calm the storm gathering in the confines of your rib cage; you clutch the sheets for stability.

Not even the gentle graze of her fingers up and down your arm can relax you, or the warmth of her sigh into the crook of your neck. Though you cannot understand it, there is panic and it is omnipotent.

Then Ellie’s movements halt abruptly and she jerks up from the bed,

“Fuck, oh my god, I completely forgot,” she jumps up, and you watch her get dressed in a flurry of fabrics, just as loud as the last time she got ready here.

You can’t focus; your chest feels tight and you’ve done something very, very bad but you don’t quite know what. Somehow, you manage to make out from what she tells you before rushing off and abandoning you in your resounding culpability, that there is a small get together at The Tipsy Bison tonight that she promised to help out with and that you are invited.

Lucky you!

She makes her way back to you on her way out, and you can tell she’s unsure how to approach you when you recall it, though in the moment your mind is swarming with wasps and you cannot form a coherent thought.

She pulls your shirt down over your tits and places a somewhat insecure kiss to your cheek, mumbling, “See you,” with a small smile, and then she’s on her way.

…

You sit up and stare at the floor in the silence, trying to swallow; the guilt, and the confusion. It’s painful to not understand, rummaging through the contents of your brain to make sense of that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, but for some reason you can’t find anything logical and, yet, you stop thinking you fucked up.

It hits you, and you throw your clenched fists over your eyes, rubbing furiously and desperately, the thought of you getting fucked like a dumbass while Soren lies dead miles away up north. You have no right.

It’s raw and visceral: your gasping for air and dry sobs, no tears coming up because you’ve been all cried out for a while. You just feel choked up, empty, and nauseous.

Still hyperventilating, you practically hurl yourself across the room to your bag, pathetically grabbing shit with shaky fingertips and shoving it in.

It’s time to go. Away from the people. Away from the noise. Away from the tumult. Away from any reminder of the joy you do not deserve.

an - this one’s long as fuck… i feel like i decay when i write smut, IVE BEEN AVOIDING STUDYING, DOING WORK, AND GETTING READY FOR A WEDDING BY WRITING THIS, creds to cafekitsune for dividers

[archeolatry]

So there was a point in my work life when Ron Mael was my mortal enemy archnemesis. True story.

I used to work at a famous arthouse theater in West LA from about 2002 until ‘08-’09, when I moved up at another theater in the chain. Even then I was often called in to pinch-hit when the famous place was expecting a film to be busy or if they needed someone between new hires. (I left the company at the end of 2015.)

One of the downsides to working there was that parking was pretty terrible. The theater itself was built in the 1920s, and the street to the east of it was almost all apartments. Most of those were built from the ‘40s up until the ‘60s, so they were largely street parking only. Not to mention the fact that the street on the west side of the theater was getting busier-- hipster boutiques and Pan-Asian eateries had started popping up a few blocks down the road from us. (IYKYK.)

So the employees of the theater, the video store, and the less-hip restaurants next to the main drag all had to compete with customers of said businesses —as well as those of the used bookstore— for the handful of double-stacked spaces in the back alley. The best space was the fairly generous single spot by the dumpster. You weren’t gonna get towed because you blocked someone in, or get blocked in yourself, or risk your car’s bumper by parking in the other, shorter single space by the freeway on-ramp; you could simply just park your car and forget about it until your shift was over- no need to play musical chairs. And if your shift ended after midnight and you had the day’s cash earnings stuffed in your jacket to deposit at the bank, the closeness of the spot was optimal.

That is all to say that the dumpster spot was hot property.

Cue the Black Volkswagen Thing.

(I marked The Thing even then because a member of the theater’s Rocky Horror cast also owned a Volkswagen Thing, though his was white. I thought it funny that two of the same rare car* should converge in this one place, often on the same day.)

The Thing did not belong to the theater staff. It did not belong to the video store staff. (I asked.) It did not belong to the staff of the used bookstore, who had three dedicated spots and never had enough customers to need more than two employees at a time**. (It might have belonged to one of the restaurants, but we hadn’t the Spanish nor Arabic skills to ask.) Nevertheless, The Thing was parked in the dumpster spot at some point during almost every weekend, and it would be there at the worst possible time.

It seemed that I could rarely beat The Thing to the coveted space no matter how early I got there. Maybe if I showed up before 4. But very often between 4:30 and 5:55, The Thing was there. Sometimes I stuck my head out the back door during a shift to see if the space was free. If it wasn’t, it was because a car had parked there after The Thing had left. And sometimes The Thing had the audacity to take up the other single spot to the same result. It seemed The Thing existed entirely to spot-block me.

Then one day, while I was attempting to park, I saw a man coming from the bookstore towards the lot. It was Boss Accountant***.

Boss Accountant was a lithe man with a stern face and plastered hair that was too black for his age; he usually dressed in a crisp white shirt and tie with proper trousers, and seemed like he was on his lunch break from an accounting firm despite it being the weekend. He looked like the boss battle in a video game where you had to fight your way through an office building; the final accountant you had to beat to level up. I had seen him at the bookstore more than once.

I put my car into park —hazard lights on— waiting to see which spot would be freed up.

Boss Accountant was approaching The Thing.

A customer! It was a customer that had been spot-blocking me! Not even one of my fellow workers there for a six-hour haul, but someone there for a capricious ninety minutes at best. And a customer of the stuffy bookstore to boot. Clearly not deserving of the coveted spot.

I glared at him beneath my sunglasses while he took his sweet time getting there. I tried not to begrudge the old man, BUT…!

My fingers drummed irritably against the steering wheel. This fucker. I inched slightly closer as he got in the car. The spot was MINE gatdammit and no one else was gonna come along and take it.

Finally, after an irritably long time (and probably him figuring out that I wasn’t a crazed fan trying to box him in but someone gunning for the coveted parking space) the backup lights came on. I reversed. He pulled out and drove away. I pulled in, triumphant. Spot-blocked no more! At least, not on that day. In my own mind, I had tangled with The Thing and won. (I was like 23 and undiagnosed, bruh- go easy on me here.)

Then one day the dumpster spot got painted off as disabled parking, and the dumpsters were moved to the other single spot, leaving us all to fend for ourselves in the double-stack and on the street.

I’m unsure what year this all took place, and I didn’t know (at the time) what had become of Boss Accountant and The Thing, since I saw less of them after that. Thinking back, it was probably promo and touring for Hello Young Lovers or 21x21/Exotic Creatures... that took him/it away. My moving to the other theater made the point moot anyway. (It’s definitely moot now as the bookstore was razed for a new-build apartment sometime in 2016. The new building does not have its own parking garage.)

However, enough time had passed that I didn’t recognize Boss Accountant when I sold him a ticket for The Umbrellas of Cherbourg during a slow weekend matinee in 2014. Pleasant demeanor. Polite smile. Crisp shirt, too-black plastered hair. Didn’t order concessions, didn’t dwell in the lobby but went right into the theater. The old man was surely out of earshot when my manager looked over at me. “Do you have any idea who that was?”

“No.”

“That was Ron Mael from Sparks.”

“Who?”

---

Thank goodness I watched The Sparks Brothers at home on Netflix, cuz when I saw that car I about lost my gatdamn mind.

*J, the Rocky Horror guy, told me they were rare. Looking up info now, I see that less than 30k of them were made for the North American market, and they were only sold in the US from 1973-74. A 2017 report from an informal registry of Thing owners estimates around 5k of them still exist today in the entire US. Weird, right?

**The bookstore itself was highly curated and had the mid-century Spartan sparseness of a Bell Telephone Laboratories office. I didn’t care for it much; it was too hoity-toity and tended to eschew paperbacks even of Very Good Books for rare or collectible hardcovers. It wasn’t particularly welcoming, and didn’t even really have much of an Old Book Smell. But in the days before The Pocket Internet, employees were allowed to read while the film played, and sometimes you just needed a New And/Or Different Book. ***This addition is about 75 notes too late, but I felt the need to clarify. We had lots of 'recurring characters' that we ended up giving Sex and the City-style names to, as one often does in a service environment. We had a man we called Large Diet because, through physical or mental impairment, those were the only words he would/could croak out like some bizarro Pokémon (tho he later added "Thanks."). We had a man -whose real name I learned but forgot- that we called Lincoln because he had a chinstrap beard. (He was Lincolnesque in no other way. He was of average height, pudgy, and of a merry sort of disposition.) So, naturally, the man from bookstore got himself a moniker just for sticking out, despite the fact that we never spoke and only Acknowledged Each Other With A Nod In That Way White People Do For Some Reason. (You know what I mean.)

[thebat-musicman]

The Playlist™

My 12 hour Batfam playlist (with repeating songs!)

The repeating version has 200 songs and is 12 hours. Non repeating has 167 songs and is 9 hours and 54 minutes.

I am so sorry to whatever poor souls are reading this just trying to find good songs for their faves

@batfambrainrotbeloved it’s done

The bat-playlist from hell is under the cut

Alfred

Be our guest

Let it be

Sweet caroline

You are my sunshine

God is really real

Istanbul (not Constantinople)

50 ways to say goodbye (him faking Bruce’s death when he went training)

What was I made for

No time to die

James Bond theme

I got you

Child of Mine

Little Lion man

You’ll be in my heart

Never grow up

Edelweiss

Baby mine

Friend like me

My heart will go on

Bruce

Never grow up

Everything has changed

I hate it here

I look in people’s windows

imgonnagetyouback

Karma (AJR)

Humpty Dumpty

Inertia

Two birds

Cat’s in the cradle

Song for Orphans

Tears in heaven

Heart of stone

Robin

Whatever it takes

ocean eyes

Migraine

I’ll make a man out of you

Under the Sea

Beautiful Boy (darling boy)

Babs

The story of us

Just a girl

Clara Bow

Role Models

Break my face

The DJ is crying for help

Little miss perfect

She used to be mine

Mastermind

Pretty distraction

So high school

How did it end

Fight song

You should see me in a crown

The man

Runs the world (girls)

I bet you think about me

Inertia

Ours

Part of your world

Dick

I can do it with a broken heart

Touchy feely fool

Never grow up

The Bolter

Surface Pressure

You’re on your own, kid

Because of you

Karma (AJR)

Way less sad

Perfect (simple plan)

Father of mine

This is me trying

Count on me

The Greatest Show

No way

Mr. Perfectly fine

Dancing Queen

Show and Tell

How far I’ll go

Used to be young

Cass

Who’s afraid of little old me

Cassandra

The Albatross

Father of mine

You’re on your own, kid

Heart of stone

Fight song

Everybody wants to rule the world

She used to be mine

Family Line

Because of you

Roar

You should see me in a crown

I won’t

When will my life begin

The prophecy

I hate it here

Speechless

I’ve got a dream

Blackbird

Jason

The Prophecy

Mr. Perfectly fine

Better than Revenge

I did something bad

My tears ricochet

Vigilante shit

You’re gonna go far, kid

Time of dying

Deja vu

good 4 u

Because of you

Father of mine

These boots were made for walking

Fuck you

One way or another

Bang! Pow! Boom!

Be prepared

One jump ahead

Vampire

I think I’m gonna like it here (baby jason needs a song)

Steph

Record Player

Turning out Pt. II

The Dumb Song

Just a girl

Cardigan

The Man

But daddy I love him

the manuscript

Guilty as Sin?

Father of mine

Dead!

Teenagers

You’re on your own, kid

Mr. Perfectly Fine

High school sweethearts

Drama Club

My Play

Devil Town

This is love (air traffic controller)

I won’t say (I’m in love)

Tim

Ur gonna wish u believed me

Yes I’m a mess

Karma (AJR)

Mastermind

Don’t blame me

Fool

Wow, I’m not crazy

Humpty Dumpty

Good 4 u

Pretender (Acoustic)

Mister Cellophane

Come hang out

Let the games begin

Heart of stone

brutal

Deja vu

Every breath you take

The sound of silence

Go the distance

Viva La Vida

Duke

Here comes the sun

Walking on sunshine

I see the light

How do I say goodbye

The Prophecy

Turning out

Sunshine lollipops and rainbows

Teenagers

Our song

Demons

I’m still standing

Waiting on a miracle

I’m not famous

Paper rings

We didn’t start the fire

Everybody dies

What was I made for

I’ll follow the sun

Sunflower

Into the Unknown

Damian

Insane

Oh no!

Surface Pressure

Control

The good part

Role models

Mother knows best

Bad guy

What else can I do

Devil Town

Bones

Rät

Maniac

Losing my religion

(Don’t fear) The Reaper

Heathens

Pumped up kicks

Go the distance

A whole new world

I just can’t wait to be king

[pet-slut-chrissy]

i knew i was getting a second Christmas gift from Mistress @owner-of-pet-slut-chrissy, and yesterday She let me open it.. a leather bondage hood with 2 eye hole rings, a 3rd mouth hole ring and with a blindfold, 4 inch penis gag and neck strap, all lockable. i was dressed to please Her in my stretchy shiny black bodycon dress and black ankle boots, and i was already horny from some intense teasing She had given me earlier and the lush was still in me. i was both very excited and nervous as i opened it and saw and felt the smooth black leather and serious looking straps buckles and laces.. We set it on the table next to my play collar and started getting ready. She thought i needed a tail too so we added my inflatable plug and gave it a couple of pumps. Next was to test the penis gag but not in my mouth as i was expected but slid into my wetness, Mistress knew i wasnt collared which i must have on for any orgasms and purposefully made me bounce excitedly on the penis gag buckled round the chair as if it was buckled round her thigh. i bounced imagining being on her lap made to show her how happy i was with my second gift it wasn’t long before i was ready to explode for her....but always playing on my mind no collar no orgasm. After a bit of playing with my clit, it was sucked into the vacuum tube and my wand harness was strapped on over with the hitachi wand. The wand was not turned on yet but i was already whimpering when we went to get the hood. It was one of the most intense submissive feelings i’ve had as i put it on, tightened the laces and buckled the neck strap, yet it almost turned to panic when Mistress had me put on my play collar over the hood and timer lock it on for one hour.. a full hour! i almost came as the lock clicked shut, trapped. Then when the wand turned on i did explode in an amazing orgasm almost immediately. She let me have a few more orgasms over 15 or 20 minutes as She had me looking at myself in the mirror, being down on all fours wagging my tail, pulling my breasts out and putting on nipple clamps, then locking the penis gag in place which smelt and tatsed of my juices intoxicating then She said it was time for my favorite game, A-Z (She starts by making a sentence with the letter A such as “chrissy loves her ANAL toys” then i have to make a sentence with B, then we go through the whole alphabet with me trying not to cum) It’s so hard on me trying to think when the wand is going, and She told me that for every orgasm i had before we got to Z i would spend 5 minutes with the blindfold locked on after the game.. She was kind and kept the wand on low for most of the game but turned it up near the end. i tried my hardest yet still came 3 times including one as i was doing my last sentence.. we had been going for almost 45 minutes at that point so i knew i would have the blindfold locked on for the last 15 minutes.. She had me switch out the hitachi for my battery wand set to pulses (which are deadly for me), set a timer lock for my wrist cuffs for 15 minutes, then the blindfold on and my wrists locked behind my back.. oh, and She told me i was to have as many orgasms as possible. It was amazing, feeling like nothing but a faceless fucktoy sex object cuming over and over, the 15 minutes seeming to go by both slowly and fast.. when the locks finally opened She turned off the wand and lush and we removed the blindfold gag and collar and took my hood off. i was trembling and panting, i looked in the mirror and saw that i looked like a wet completely used slut, hair and makeup destroyed and feeling totally spent. (i don’t think i could possibly have cum again but have learned not to tell Her because She sometimes takes it as a challenge). Thank You so much my Mistress, for both Your wonderful gift and another incredible playtime

[sunshine-theseus]

The Game That Changed Our Lives | Katrina Gorry x Reader

Words: 2.3k

Summary: your sister retires but you found the girl. (I know how her final game went but I’m changing it because I can. again apologies it's not my best)

Warnings: nothing really but reader is like 26ish? So it’s like a 5 year age difference. And I’m gonna say Harper is like 4 not 2 for the sake of the timeline. Also please pretend there’s like at least a week between the 2 games.

Requested by - @liverpoolfan96

“Christiiine. You can’t make me! I refuse!” I try to pull my arm out of her grip as she drags me onto the field.

“You’ve been crushing on her since we played against them at the World Cup, you’re going to meet her.” Christine continues to drag me through the celebrations of our teammates, the British Columbia rain pelting down on us and the Australian players.

“Plus, after our final game in Vancouver, who knows when you’ll see her next. And I’m your older sister, I’m required to make you do things you don’t want to.” She abruptly stops in front of Steph Cately, who is talking to Caitlin Foord and Katrina Gorry.

Christine hugs her former Portland teammates before turning to Katrina, who now has her little girl resting on her hip. The group begins talking amongst themselves and I zone out, until an arm wraps around my shoulders and squeezes me.

“This is my little sister. I apologise you haven’t met her yet, she’s awfully shy, especially when she likes someone.” She pointedly comments toward Katrina. I shove my elbow into her ribs and glare up at her before turning toward the Australian girl. My face is flushed, and my palms are sweating as I make eye contact with Katrina, who smiles at me before picking up the little girls hand and makes her wave. It’s painfully adorable to watch.

“It’s nice to meet you…”

“Y/n” I smile at the shorter woman as I watch Christine, Steph and Caitlin slowly move away from us out of the corner of my eye.

I talk to her for a relatively long time, eventually finding myself sitting on the wet pitch, my feet touching Kat’s as Harper runs back and forth between us, occasionally actually holding the ball we’re throwing. But then we’re both called by our respective teams to get back to the locker rooms before going back to our hotels. We bid each other goodbye, exchanging numbers before I crouch down and hug Harper.

I spend the following days excessively texting Kat, or Mini as everyone endearingly seemed to call her. I also facetime them after dinners to talk to Harper, who apparently begs all day to see me. I tell everyone who will listen, about the beautiful Australian and her precious little girl who adores me. It doesn’t take more than 10 minutes for Christine, or whoever else it may be, to tell me to shut up most times. Except Jessie, who is either far too polite to say anything, or has her headphones on and therefore isn’t actually listening. In her times of need, she messages Janine, who comes to rescue her.

~~~~~

The day of our match in Vancouver at BC Place, temporarily renamed Christine Sinclair Place, I unintentionally go dead silent. It was naturally an emotional day for us all, but being the sister of the world’s top goal scorer who is finally retiring, having played with her all my life, and being there to see her hang up her boots? It had me tearing up every time I even looked at her.

I woke up that morning, turned over in bed, and saw her training bag sitting on the bed, and began crying. A similar incident happened at breakfast as I watched her walk the buffet line next to Schmidt. Ashley wasn’t sure how to comfort me and simply decided to pat me on the back.

By the time we pulled up to training, Kat had messaged me multiple times, and I hadn’t read a single one. I spent every moment by Christine’s side. I think most people were annoyed by lunch time, but I continued to cling to her arm as the bus pulled up to Christine Sinclair Place. And as we all changed into shirts with the number 12 on them for warm up. And as we changed into our kits, her for the very last time. I finally let go when we had to line up, her mere steps behind me as she waits to be announced.

I make eye contact with the Australian I had been accidentally ignoring all day, tears pricking behind my eyes. I give her a small smile, but she just turns back to her mascot.

We then all line up on the pitch, watching as past Canadian teammates come out and a farewell video plays on the big screen above us, Schmidty, Christine and our nieces standing in front of us all. I can’t help the tears that fall as Jessie hugs me as well as she can as we stand side by side.

Before we get into our positions to start the game, I rush to the sideline to meet Christine. Our pinkies link together, and we step over the white line with our right foot in sync. We turn toward each other, and as we raise our joint hands to kiss our thumbs, foreheads leaning against each other’s, the tears spill once more. Our hands drop to our sides once again and before I can say anything, Christine wraps her arms around me. Not a word is spoken as we hug, or as we part, or as she pats my back when we move to our positions.

I turn to look at the player I’m marking and come face to face with Kat. Her originally cold glare softens when she notices the drying tears on my cheeks and taps my leg as we wait for the whistle to start the game, a small attempt to try and comfort me.

~~~~~

In the 37th minute, the ball falls at my feet and I don’t hesitate on running forward, making a final pass to Christine for her to shoot, increasing her score from 190 to 191 goals. As the net ripples, I run and jump into her arms before she wraps an arm around my neck and ruffles my hair. The action had become our well known ‘sibling celebration’, and like hell I wasn’t going to experience one last time.

“We’re going to get you a goal too.” She laughs as we reset. I once again fall in my spot in front of Kat, who gives me the first smile of the night.

We’re awarded a corner in the 56th minute. Jessie sets it up and it falls to Christine, who manages to find me, and I manage to find a gap, and the goal. It’s a similar string of events, jumping into Christine’s arms before I wrap my own arm around her neck and mess with her hair. She gets subbed off 3 minutes later and I struggle to let her go as Schmidt comes on. A familiar pat on my leg as we watch her walk off is my only sense of comfort.

~~~~~

After the game ends, and many hugs and celebrations and lots of tears, the toes of my boots meet those of Kat, who has Harper hanging on her hip again.

“I’m sorry I ignored you all day. I didn’t realise how sad I’d be today, and I got so overwhelmed.” I wipe the remaining tears off my cheeks as I finally look into Kat’s eyes, the palladian blue seemingly brighter under the stadium lights.

“It’s okay, I just wished you said something. So we could’ve cheered you up.” Harper reaches out for me as I take Kat’s hand and I pick her up, spinning her around.

“Can I also admit I was nervous? That we were getting too close, and I’d just spill all my feelings to you. But after today I think I shouldn’t waste time fu- fluffing around.” The swear almost slips from my lips but Harper’s tug on my hair reminds me of who’s around.

“I wouldn’t have minded… if you’d let it slip.” Her hand slips into my spare one and we smile at one another as Christine and Hayley approach us.

Christine bends over, resting her hands on her knees, as she comes face to face with Harper.

“Hey chickee, how’d you like my final game.”

“It made mumma sad.” I turn to look at Kat questioningly.

“You were sad?”

“I mean yeah but no where near your level of sad.”

“No no! Not mum, mumma.” Harper’s finger pokes at my cheek and everyone seems to have a matching incredulous look on their face.

“Me?” the girl nods vigorously.

Kat opens her mouth to apologise but I kiss her cheek then Harper’s, and hand the little girl to Christine who wastes no time spinning her around and taking her to play with girls from either team.

“Can I kiss you?” I rush out as I turn to the older woman, her eyes sparkling. She nods and I place my hand on her cheek, leaning down to press our lips together.

“I know this is pretty quick, but will you be my girlfriend?” her warm breath hits my lips and all I can do is kiss her again.

~~~~~

“Come on Harper! Aunty Christine’s already there!” I yell down the hall, Kat rushing past me to pack the orange slices and bottles of water into the car.

The 7-year-old comes rushing out at the sound of her favourite aunt’s name, making a bee-line toward the car.

When we arrive at the field, Harper bounces on the balls of her feet, waiting for Kat and I to get out. Once we have everything, she grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd to find Christine who is getting ready to ref the Under-10s finals.

“Christiiine! Can you help me tie my boots?” I look at Kat, who has just caught up to us.

“We may as well be invisible.” She chuckles and helps me set up our seats as Christine ties Harpers boots and sends her off to warm up.

“She’s going to be playing for The Matildas before you know it.” She says as she passes us.

“Heartbreaking it won’t be the Canadian team.” I retort. Katrina pulls my hand into her lap and rests her head on my shoulder.

“Thank you for helping raise her. Being her other mum.”

“I’d do anything for you two. Anything.” Kat hums and puts more body weight against me.

“You’re so pretty.” I whisper, pecking her nose.

“Not as pretty as you.”

~~~~~

“Katrina! You can’t look! It’s bad luck!” I yell through the door as Jessie helps me get into my dress.

“But I want to see you.” I can hear the pout in her voice, and it takes everything in me not to leave Jessie and rip open the door. It’s Harper who saves me from doing so. I hear her dragging her mum away as my niece ushers me over to put one last pin in my hair. The 15-year-old had some sort of magic for hair, and it was free.

It’s another 20 minutes before the bridesmaids line up, and an additional 5 until I slide into my place next to Christine, who opens her mouth to say something, but seems to choke up and begins to cry. All I do is smile and link our pinkies, and she walks me down the aisle.

As I stand next to Kat in front of our friends and family, holding her hands as she says her vows, I realise how lucky I am. Having these people in my life, meeting the love of my life and having the best daughter. I wouldn’t change a thing. And I say just that.

“When my sister dragged me back onto the pitch to meet you after her second last game, I was so embarrassed and adamant you’d hate me. For no reason. But when I looked into your eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes, I knew. And when Harper laughed as I blushed when Christine basically told everyone I had a crush on you, I knew I wanted her in my life forever too. I’m so grateful for having Christine and Jessie and the whole team. I’m grateful for my family. But I’ll never be as grateful for them as I am for having found you.” I smile a watery smile as Kat cries, and I can’t stop staring and thinking how beautiful she is. We exchange rings and I kiss her like it’s the only thing keeping everyone alive.

“I love you.”

~~~~~

I stand on the sidelines, looking down at my boots and the matching pair that stands firmly next to them. I then reach out my hand and link my pinkie with the girl next to me. Despite the different jerseys, we step over the white line with our right foot in sync. We turn toward each other, and we raise our joint hands to kiss our thumbs, foreheads leaning against each other’s. When I look into Harper’s eyes, I see Katrina’s, and when I think about this moment, my very last game, I think back to that game 13 years ago, saying goodbye to my sister on the pitch, and I smile.

“Good luck chickee.” I press a kiss to Harper’s forehead and take my position, marking the young Gorry.

When the game ends, I fall to my knees. People from both teams dogpile on top of me as we celebrate both the win and my final game. I spend a lot of time talking to everyone before I meet Katrina’s eyes, standing next to my big sister. I run forward and pull them both into a hug.

We eventually head back to the hotel. Kat and I fall back onto our bed, hearing the girls continue celebrating in the hallway.

“I’m so proud of you.” She whispers against my neck, the warm breath sending chills down my spine.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” I kiss her gently and pull her closer to me. We spend the rest of the night watching the games at Christine Sinclair Place. The game that got us to confess. The game that changed our lives.

[ghostybaby000]

Out with the Old | Part 3

part 1 part 4

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+, fighting, cursing, alcohol, general violence, symptoms of panic, fluff

Tag List: @yyiikes @talooolaaloolla @strawberrygato @cumsluut @sofiacoppolaslut @blackbeautyiloveyouso @casalucard

Dropping your eyes to the road, you immediately step off the curb and head towards the car. You couldn’t bear to see what the stranger had thought of you now. You had sat and waited, and this embarrassment of a person is here to show what you had spent so much time on. 

You finally get to the car, opening the door a smile flashing over your face as loud music only makes your head pound worse. You glance up to see the stranger give a final look to you before ducking into his own vehicle, and feel your spirits fall. Speeding off you feel your stomach lurch, although you would only be sick from the person in the car, not the speed.

That was him? This kid in the car who’s loud music and recklessness made his personality? That was who you were waiting for? Ghost gave a huff before getting into the car, maybe he was wrong about you. He knew better than to judge simply off of looks, yet this had certainly caught him off guard. 

He watched in the rear view as you were driven away, only to be hammered by more questions from his own mind. You didn’t look happy to be going with him, and certainly didn’t look happy whilst waiting for him, so why go? Did you really think that was a fair treatment to you? The drive back to Ghosts apartment felt longer than ever as every red light he sat at, he wondered where you had been taken to, or if he would see you again.

 Finally he pulls into the driveway, grabbing his phone and keys he leans back into the seat. That was no way for you to be treated, and it bothered him. It bothered him in the sense that he knew that you could do better, deserved better. Deserved, him? Shaking his head he turns off the ignition and makes his way out of the car. Getting inside he kicks off his boots before locking the door and heading to bed, he wouldn’t let these thoughts keep him from sleep. 

It couldn’t of been more than 5 minutes into the ride back to his house that he began apologizing. He was practically rambling about how he was sleeping or napping, you didn’t pay too much attention. Instead you were watching the road as he sped and swerved around cars, each movement making you feel worse. 

‘I swear I meant to be there on time tonight, you have to believe me baby. You do believe me, don’t you?’ Your posture slummed as you sat into the car seat, the red light in front of you taking all of your focus. The music quiets as a hand lays over your thigh.

You breathe in as you look to your thigh and then quickly to him. You didn’t feel like explaining yourself or that you didn’t want to play this cat and mouse game anymore, that you’d wanted something better. Instead, you let the sympathy play its own cards, 

‘Yeah, yeah I understand…Things happen.’ Your voice was quiet, but still loud enough to where he heard you and grinned in response. 

‘Good, I’m glad you understand.’ His grip on your thigh tightens to keep your attention as the light turns green, his hand leaves your leg to turn the music back up. Shortly after you arrived at his house, the same one you had been in plenty of times before. Making your way inside you find the place is still the same, dishes littering the table, clothes overflowing the bin onto the floor, it was only further disappointing you how familiar it was. 

He walked in behind you, locking the door and throwing the keys on the counter. You place your bag on the small table by the entry way before making your way into the bedroom, neither of you spoke. You undress as you hear him rifling through foods in the kitchen, throwing on old clothes and crawling into his bed, you were more than tired. You clicked off the light as you adjust to get to sleep, listening you could hear him walking through the house, eventually the T.V. was turned on as you drifted to sleep. 

In the morning you wake to an empty room, the sunlight being a natural alarm. You groan as you sit up and stretch, leaning over to your phone you see the time, 8:06am. You unplug your phone as you gather your things, there was no way you were staying here, and you didn’t want him to think you were either. Shoes and last nights clothes in hand, you slowly make your way out into the living room and towards the door. You see that he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his head fallen to the side with a drink still in hand resting next to him. The television was on, a movie that you didn’t know playing quietly as you continued to creep towards the door. 

Taking a second you look to him, and around this house. It would never feel like a home to you and you had wanted that so desperately. You had wanted him to be better, you had wanted him to prove that he could change for you both, but he didn’t want any of that. If he did, he certainly didn’t show it. 

Putting on your shoes you feel the ache that still hadn’t left, standing you put your things in your bag as you open the front door slowly. The door made a creaking noise that had you holding your breath, although it didn’t help when you heard him stir. You pull the door slightly harder this time, the creak was only amplified. This time he had entirely woken, you let the air escape from your lungs, it was too late now. You shut the door and turn back around, kicking off your shoes by the small table at the entrance.

You walk back into the living room as he’s beginning to stand, there was no point in lying to him or avoiding this any longer, the whole thing felt childish. He needed to know that if you were going to try and make things work, that he needed to be much better than he was now. You needed to become a higher priority, something you had always been nervous of saying. You didn’t want to seem selfish, but this was beyond bad in terms of treatment and you knew it. 

‘We need to talk. Actually, I need to talk and I need you to listen.’ Your voice shook at first but eventually turned stern, he took a seat on the couch he had just risen from, you had his attention.  

You spoke to him about wanting more and how you didn’t feel like the effort was even on both sides. You had never tried to critique him before in anything, and you watched carefully as he sat there, fiddling with his hands or bouncing his knee. He didn’t like to make eye contact as you tried explaining how you had felt, and although he didn’t speak, you weren’t entirely sure he was listening. 

‘I know. I know I haven’t been the best to you, and that hurts me too.’ Again he was looking to you, the sympathy pulled and pushed in your emotions trying to take control, but you wouldn’t have it. You tightened your jaw as you hiked your purse on to your shoulder. 

‘I will give you a final chance. That same bar as before, and this time you will be on time and you will be respectable, no more excuses.’ He looked up to you as you finished speaking, nodding once in agreement. 

‘Seven o’clock, Thursday. Don’t be late, because I won’t wait for you this time.’ Before you could see his response, you turned around to leave the house. You picked up your things from the front door, pulling it open you call back to him,

‘And clean up this house, this is no way for anyone to live.’ The door rattled as you shut it, heading out to into the day, you didn’t know exactly how to feel. Hopeful? Confident? Nervous? All you knew for certain, was that you would not be left again to be sitting on that cold curb.

[blarefordaglare]

Fan Joy July day 4

This one’s by @la-sera

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/la-sera/752542158668562432/for-the-single-drawing-request-what-about-legend?source=share

I enjoyed how you used warmer tones and cooler tones to work in harmony (I hope that makes sense) and overall just the color vibe of the piece. I also adore the line art and how you used a mix of shading with colors and hatching for some parts, like Hyrule’s neck or Legend’s cap. Overall the style is really beautiful and bright! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

___

“Alright, enemy camp to the right,” The traveler grinned confidently, a rare sight, yet the same intensity every time, “Want to aim for sub 10?”

Sure it was childish, it was irresponsible, it was immature, but every once in a while one will feel that longing-that call, that can’t be ignored. It was the call that pushed Hyrule to take that sword in the beginning, to realize that living isn’t the same as thriving. It was the call that got Legend out of bed that one night, that got him on a boat, that allowed him to wake up. 

“Heck yeah I do,” The veteran pulled out a fire rod, 1200 rupees was a scam, he should know, he can’t even count how many he has now, “I’m aiming for 9 minutes, max.” 

Hyrule let out a grin, “Just nine? I thought you’d be able to do eight,” He never had any family growing up, let alone brothers, and it only made the experience more memorable. For once he didn’t feel alone, but instead at ease. He felt he could make room for mistakes, and it wouldn’t allow the world to crash back down on him, “But I guess nine is alright, for a beginner.” 

“Oh you’re on.” Legend gave a challenging, yet playful glare, “Relay the rules to me?” 

“Not a scratch, not even a stain, no fighting more than 3 enemies at once, and most importantly,” he took a step back. No help.” 

“That’s not fair!” He never fought alone, well that was a lie, he’s fought alone countless times. But that was in his world, where the monsters were just monsters and no blood that was darker than the night sky plagued them. Now though, that wasn’t the case.

“Three…” 

“Hey wait a minute, I’m talking-“ He got cut off. Another thing about Legend is that he hates being ignored. He’s been ignored all his life, his pleas to spare one more person, to go another day with peace, even to have his bed back. It was too much ignorance to bear.

“Two…”

“Listen!” The sharp tone of his voice alerted the camp. Four bokoblins, two lizalphos, and one moblin. It shouldn’t be a problem-it’s only seven. Seven black blooded monsters that almost killed a guy. All the more fun.

“One…”

“I hate you.” That was a lie, he hoped the traveler knew that. What he hated was the fact he aimed too high-seven monsters, nine minutes. It would have to take less than two minutes to defeat one. 

“Go!”

He ran, allowing his boots to carry him at a high speed. Adrenaline pulsed through his blood as he allowed the hot flames to engulf some of the monsters. Hard ones first, easy ones last. It was a bad strategy, nobody would let him live it down, but that’s what he does solo. His steps were calculated and precise, a mix of muscle memory and an attempt to not get a single drop of blood on him. He allowed instinct to take over for the most part, leaving him surprised when he noticed there were no more enemies to defeat. 

“Seven minutes and thirty two seconds!” The familiar voice of the traveler called, “That’s a new record!” He waved his arms up in celebration, and Legend couldn’t help but echo the action. 

“Aww yeah!” Legend beamed at Hyrule, “Next time you’re going to try.”

“Fine, but for now let’s celebrate.” 

The two cheered, their voices echoing in the clearing. Their voices coaxing out the pure joy that was hidden long ago, a joy that could light up anybody’s day. Waving their arms in the air, basking in the dopamine from the achievement. It was stupid, sure, but it mended the soul in a way no amount of labor could.