#best electric carts

[hulkvehicle]

Are golf carts street legal in your country? What should you pay attention to in order to make a golf cart street legal? Let's see what HulkVehicle, a professional golf cart manufacturer, has to say!

https://www.hulkvehicle.com/are-golf-carts-street-legal.html

[bestgolfelectricpushcart]

Discovering the Best Electric Golf Push Cart for Your Game: Top Picks and Features Explained

When it comes to enhancing your golfing experience, an electric golf push cart can be a game-changer. What is the best electric golf push cart on the market today? This article will guide you through the top options available, their features, and why they might be the best choice for you.

Why Choose an Electric Golf Push Cart?

Ease of Use: Electric push carts eliminate the need to manually push your cart, reducing physical strain and fatigue.

Improved Performance: With less energy spent on transporting your gear, you can concentrate better on your swings and strategy.

Convenience: Many electric carts come with remote control capabilities, allowing you to maneuver them effortlessly.

Top Features to Look for in an Electric Golf Push Cart

When choosing the best electric golf push cart, consider the following features:

Battery Life: Look for carts with long-lasting batteries that can easily cover an 18-hole game without needing a recharge.

Remote Control: A remote control feature adds convenience, allowing you to control the cart from a distance.

Build Quality: Durable and lightweight materials ensure the cart can withstand various terrains and last for many seasons.

Foldability: A compact, foldable design makes it easier to transport and store the cart when not in use.

Accessories: Features like GPS holders, scorecard holders, and drink holders can enhance your overall experience.

Top Picks for the Best Electric Golf Push Cart

Motocaddy M7 Remote Electric Caddy

The Motocaddy M7 is a top contender, known for its robust build and advanced features. It comes with a powerful 28V lithium battery, providing ample power for a full round of golf. The remote control allows for easy maneuverability, and its compact design makes it highly portable.

Key Features:

28V lithium battery

Remote control with 50-meter range

Compact, foldable design

Anti-tip rear wheel

Bat-Caddy X4R Electric Golf Caddy

The Bat-Caddy X4R is renowned for its reliability and ease of use. It features a dual-motor system for superior performance and stability on uneven terrains. The X4R's lightweight aluminum frame makes it durable without being cumbersome.

Key Features:

Dual 200W motors

Lightweight aluminum frame

Remote control

Adjustable handle

Stewart Golf X9 Follow

The Stewart Golf X9 Follow is an innovative model that follows you around the course. It uses Bluetooth technology to track your movements, providing a hands-free experience. The X9 Follow is ideal for golfers looking for the latest in electric caddy technology.

Key Features:

Bluetooth connectivity

Hands-free follow mode

12V lithium battery

Sleek, modern design

Factors to Consider Before Buying

Budget: Electric golf push carts can range from a few hundred to several thousand dollars. Determine your budget and find a cart that offers the best value for your money.

Terrain: Consider the type of terrain you'll be playing on. Some carts are better suited for flat courses, while others can handle hilly or rough terrains.

Battery Maintenance: Ensure the battery is easy to charge and replace if necessary. Check the manufacturer's guidelines for battery care to extend its lifespan.

Warranty and Support: Look for brands that offer a good warranty and customer support. This ensures you can get help if you encounter any issues with your cart.

User Reviews and Testimonials

It's always a good idea to read user reviews and testimonials before making a purchase. Here are some excerpts from satisfied customers:

John D. from California: "The Motocaddy M7 has been a game-changer for me. The remote control feature is fantastic, and it handles the hilly terrain of my local course with ease."

Sarah L. from Florida: "I love my Bat-Caddy X4R. It's lightweight, easy to use, and the battery life is impressive. Highly recommend it!"

Mike P. from Texas: "The Stewart Golf X9 Follow is worth every penny. The follow feature is like having a personal caddy. It's reliable and makes my rounds much more enjoyable."

Maintenance Tips for Electric Golf Push Carts

To ensure your electric golf push cart stays in top condition, follow these maintenance tips:

Regular Cleaning: Wipe down the cart after each use to remove dirt and grass. Use a damp cloth for the frame and a soft brush for the wheels.

Battery Care: Charge the battery after each round and avoid letting it completely discharge. Store the battery in a cool, dry place when not in use.

Check for Wear and Tear: Inspect the cart regularly for any signs of wear or damage. Pay special attention to the wheels and connections.

Store Properly: When not in use, store the cart in a dry, protected area. If the cart is foldable, collapse it to save space and protect it from potential damage.

Conclusion

Choosing the best electric golf push cart depends on your specific needs and preferences. The Motocaddy M7, Bat-Caddy X4R, and Stewart Golf X9 Follow are all excellent options, each offering unique features that cater to different types of golfers.

Investing in a high-quality electric golf push cart can significantly enhance your golfing experience by reducing physical strain and allowing you to focus more on your game. Remember to consider factors like battery life, remote control capabilities, and build quality when making your decision. Read more at: bestgolfelectricpushcart.com

[reviewsonthetrail]

Conquer the Coast: Best Wagons for Tackling Soft Sand Challenges

Exploring the coastal beauty often involves navigating through soft sands that can pose a significant challenge for vehicles. Whether it's for a weekend getaway or an adventure-filled road trip, choosing the right wagon capable of conquering these sandy terrains is crucial. The quest for the best wagon for soft sand demands an understanding of the vehicle's features, capabilities, and performance in such conditions.

Key Considerations for Conquering Soft Sand

When assessing the suitability of a wagon for soft sand adventures, several factors come into play:

Off-Road Capabilities: The ability of a wagon to handle various terrains is pivotal. This includes having adequate ground clearance, robust suspension, and a powerful engine to navigate through the soft, shifting sands without getting stuck.

Four-Wheel Drive (4WD) or All-Wheel Drive (AWD): Vehicles equipped with 4WD or AWD systems offer better traction on sandy surfaces. This feature ensures power is distributed to all wheels, enhancing control and maneuverability in challenging conditions.

Tire Selection: The type of tires plays a significant role in navigating soft sands. Wide, all-terrain tires with lower air pressure increase the footprint, preventing the vehicle from sinking and improving traction.

Power and Torque: A wagon with sufficient power and torque helps to maintain momentum, preventing bogging down in sand.

Keeping these factors in mind, several wagons stand out as top contenders for conquering soft sand challenges.

1. Toyota Land Cruiser

Renowned for its off-road prowess, the Toyota Land Cruiser boasts a robust build, exceptional ground clearance, and a powerful engine. Equipped with a capable 4WD system, advanced traction control, and off-road driving modes, the Land Cruiser excels in traversing sandy terrains with ease. Its reliability and off-road heritage make it a favored choice among adventurers tackling coastal sands.

2. Jeep Wrangler

The Jeep Wrangler is an iconic off-roader recognized for its exceptional performance on various terrains, including soft sand. With its impressive ground clearance, rugged design, and available 4WD system, the Wrangler confidently takes on sandy challenges. Its customizable features and specialized off-road editions further enhance its capabilities for coastal adventures.

Click here to know more : -

3. Land Rover Defender

The Land Rover Defender combines modern technology with off-road prowess. Equipped with sophisticated terrain response systems, adaptive air suspension, and advanced 4WD capabilities, the Defender excels in conquering soft sands. Its durable build and versatility make it a reliable companion for coastal explorations.

4. Subaru Outback

Known for its reliability and versatility, the Subaru Outback offers AWD as a standard feature across its lineup. While not as rugged as some traditional off-roaders, the Outback's ground clearance and symmetrical AWD system provide commendable performance on sandy surfaces. Its practicality and comfortable ride make it an excellent choice for those seeking a blend of capability and everyday usability.

5. Ford Bronco

Making a triumphant return, the Ford Bronco embraces its off-road heritage with advanced features tailored for tackling challenging terrains. With available 4WD configurations, specialized off-road modes, and features like a terrain management system, the Bronco is designed to navigate soft sands effortlessly while offering versatility for coastal adventures.

Conclusion

When venturing into coastal areas with soft sands, choosing the right wagon is crucial for a hassle-free and enjoyable experience. The Toyota Land Cruiser, Jeep Wrangler, Land Rover Defender, Subaru Outback, and Ford Bronco stand out as top contenders due to their off-road capabilities, traction systems, and overall reliability.

Before embarking on sandy escapades, it's essential to equip the chosen wagon with proper tire pressure, recovery gear, and a basic understanding of off-road driving techniques. With the right best beach wagon and preparation, conquering the coast and its soft sand challenges becomes an exhilarating adventure waiting to unfold.

Read more : - The Swag Board Unraveled: Detailed Review Inside

[premiumgolfcarts]

Golf Carts For Sale Near Me

Golf Carts For Sale.

Looking for a sleek and stylish golf cart that performs even better than it looks? Look no further than the Legend Cart! This all-electric golf cart comes with 7 color LED lights inside the cabin and under the cart, Bluetooth audio with 2 speakers, a speedometer, rear hitch, sidebars, 12v accessory plug, and a USB charging port. The lifted chassis provides extra clearance while the 14” wheels give you a smooth-capable ride. The onboard charger makes it easy to keep your Legend Cart fully charged and ready to go!

Golf Carts Enhancing Your Lifestyle Golf carts are more than just vehicles for navigating the golf course. They have evolved into versatile and stylish modes of transportation that can elevate your lifestyle. Whether you're cruising through the neighborhood, enjoying a family outing, or commuting to work, golf carts offer a fun and eco-friendly alternative to traditional cars.

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[beachsidegolfcars]

Benefits of Buying The Best Electric Golf Carts

Electric golf carts have less complex mechanisms for smooth movement as compared to their conventional fuel-Golf Club Powered counterparts. For example, the new, electric golf carts have less than 50 moving parts and thus, there are fewer chances of these to break down or malfunction, too. So, even though the general public may have their reservations about the nature and scope of the electric golf cart, according to user reviews and expert opinions of golfer equipment manufacturers that employ technologists and scientists to perfect and hone features of existing models, there is a lot to be gained from using an eco-friendly, efficient and modern electric golf cart.

Electric Golf Carts for Sale Florida have undergone a sea-change as far as innovations in design, materials and style is concerned; they too are promoting a green image for themselves and makers have worked to incorporate the user-feedback from avid golfer to manufacture and retail types and styles for different skill levels and age-groups even.

It is not a guarantee given by every Golf Carts for Sale West Palm Beach, Florida that they will provide petrol or gasoline to the members, but it can always be relied upon to have 24-hr access to electrical Golf Club Power, which is what is needed for the newer electric golf clubs when its supply runs out and needs to be re-charged.

[electric-demons-in-love]

Random Vox, Valentino and Velvette headcanons (Part 2):

-Whenever they go to a restaurant Vox or Velvette have to read the menu to Val due to his poor eyesight.

-Velvette had an eating disorder when she was alive. It took a really long time for her to open up about it towards the other Vees.

-Valentino loves picking Vox up and carrying him around. He weighs nothing to Val (as shown in their dance during episode 8) and with the moth’s four arms it’s easy to manhandle him. Whenever Vox is throwing a tantrum Val will just haul him over his shoulder and cart the tv demon away kicking and screaming.

-Valentino had a bunch of ear piercings when he was alive and misses them a lot. He makes up for it by getting multiple piercings elsewhere (Vox is very much a fan).

-The three have matching tattoos, a simple VVV design. Vox’s is on the back of his neck, Velvette’s is on her wrist and Val’s is on his lower back.

-Velvette has hundreds of different phone cases and swaps them daily to match her outfits.

-Vox listens to Mindless Self Indulgence, Electric Six and The Offspring.

-Velvette had a boy band phase and Vox and Val refuse to let her live it down.

-When he was alive Vox had a severe stutter that developed during childhood. As he got older he learned to control it however he’d slip when experiencing strong emotions. One of the reasons he hates glitching is because it reminds him of the shame he felt. It’s one of the few things Val and Vel won’t tease him about since they know he’s really insecure about it.

-Velvette secretly loves plushies and has a massive collection in her room. Vox and Val are always buying her new ones. She sews some herself too.

-Valentino and Velvette have craft dates together. They’ll go to a cafe and gossip while working on small arts and craft projects.

-Vox loves sneaking up behind Val and Velvette and lightly shocking them to make their fur/hair fluff up.

-To retaliate Val and Vel always mess with Vox when he’s live on camera. They’ll blow him kisses, make lewd hand gestures etc all in an attempt to make him lose his cool.

-Vox is a skilled photographer and is often roped in to help with Velvette’s fashion shoots.

-For all his showmanship Vox is awful at roleplay in the bedroom. He gets way too into his role and forgets that the situation is supposed to be sexy.

-Val gives the best hugs. If Vox or Velvette are having a bad day he’ll pull them onto the sofa and let them snuggle into his neck fluff. Val adores physical touch however his antenna are completely off limits.

Part 1 Part 3

[vaspider]

Any advice for someone thinking about moving to the Pacific Northwest?

That kinda depends on where you are moving to! Here are the things I've found useful to know about moving to Portland:

I moved from Philly, where people tend to be more kind than nice, and here, people are more nice than kind. What I mean by this is that people in Philly will call you a jagoff while pulling over to change your tire in the rain, while people in Portland will smile while they keep driving. (This isn't universal, but it's real.)

Oregon has no sales tax. You'll pay a bunch of different income taxes in April, though, so make sure you pay attention to your mail in the beginning of the year so you get all your local taxes done.

Locals tend not to use umbrellas much. I tend to not just bc the rain is rarely hard enough to require one. Get a good raincoat.

Portland was one of the first places in the US to be wired for home electricity. Therefore, the grid needs upgrades, and a lot of the big lines are not buried as they are in other places and are vulnerable to ice. Make sure you have good home batteries for when we have ice storms.

Ditto, the streets don't get treated for ice. Make sure you have good boots and YakTrax or similar.

Pedestrians don't fucking look before they step out into the street. If people acted in Philly like they act in PDX, they'd get hit. If you're driving in the PNW, act like every pedestrian is about to do the most foolish thing ever.

Ditto PNW drivers. I'd rather drive to EWR on a Friday at 5 pm than try to cross the Willamette at rush hour.

TriMet still has a lot of room for improvement, but it's a lot better than any other city I've lived in. Get your Hop set up when you get here so you know you have money on it and all, even if you don't ride often, just in case.

The Oregon Zoo membership has an exchange thing where every month there are different local places you get free admission to. Getting a membership is generally less expensive than going twice in a year, and also, there's a bunch of other stuff you can do with that membership.

Choose where you wanna live as the place you're gonna do pretty much everything. Portland is largely set up so you can do everything you need within your neighborhood, which is nice. Pretty much the only time that I leave my neighborhood is when I have to go to a specialist doctor or to hang out with my cousins who live in SW or go to a special event.

Portland has a lot of cool shit you can do in your neighborhood - honestly more than I've seen anyplace else I've lived. There are hiking groups and bike rides and soap box derbies and all kinds of shit. Join local FB groups, look for posters... you'll see 'em.

If you consume weed regularly & qualify for a medical card, get one. The taxes on marijuana add up a lot faster than you think.

Some of the best food in Portland is at the strip clubs. No, I'm not joking. There's a law in PDX that if you serve alcohol, you have to serve Real Food, which has led to bars and clubs competing over how good their food is.

Food cart pods are the shit. Research your local food cart pods. You'll get some of the best food you've ever eaten and can take a huge group of people with different food needs to a local food cart pod and just have everyone go to different carts and get their own shit.

Look into who owns your local weed store. There are good Black-owned stores, and one of the most popular "chains" is/was owned by some deeply shady people who essentially bribed one of our Secretaries of State. So it does matter.

Be nice to the crows. There is a huge huge huge local murder & crows tell other crows if you're an asshole or you're cool.

I'm sure there's more stuff, but that's what I can think of while I'm listening to a podcast and my wife is driving us home.

[total-dxmure]

✦ MARLEY AND ME →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER THREE

pairing: modern!ellie williams x single mom!reader

summary: you’re a single mom just doing the best that she can to make ends meet. ellie can’t help but think that you're the kindest, most beautiful girl that she’s ever met. compared to taking care a little girl that's in her terrible twos, coming to terms with the fact that you’re a lesbian is a walk in the park. awkward first encounters, ellie’s broken gay-dar, and her overwhelming urge to take care of the care-giver. . . the road to domesticity is a long one, but it’s well worth the pining that it takes to get there.

warnings: THERE IS SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER MDNI!!! fingering (r receiving), exhibitionism if you squint, eventual substance use, no use of y/n (you have nicknames/petnames), the reader is marley’s biological mother, talk of coming to terms with ones sexuality, mention of a shitty baby daddy ( though there is no co-parenting between them), ellie is a total girl mom, lots and lots of fluff, ellie is an anxious dork in this fic, reader is broke but happy, ellie takes pride in being a provider, this is going to be a multi-part fic, ellie is an absolute simp for the reader since chapter one and will remain her #1 fan.

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

The female sat in a heap on the floor, staring intently into the oven. It was almost as though she was willing the cake to rise, trying as hard as she could to convince the damn thing to do what it was supposed to do. She’d already checked the recipe numerous times, trying to see where she might have messed up. Ellie regretted not just doing what Jesse had told her to do. Bringing you some flowers would be better than showing up on your doorstep with an inedible dessert.

“It’s not fucking rising.” She cursed to herself, grabbing a clump of her hair and giving it a sharp tug.

Dirty dishes littered her kitchen counters, batter still splattered on one of her cabinets from the earlier electric mixer mishap. The woman could have easily picked up a store bought cake when she was at the grocery store getting the stupid ingredients, but she had been dumb enough to think that something homemade would taste better. It would seem that the college student enjoyed making her life harder, because on top of what seemed like an impossible workload from her professors, she’d run straight home from her classes, hell bent on making the best strawberry shortcake you and Marley had ever tasted. She’d seen the strawberries in your shopping cart when she had run into you at the grocery store earlier and thought it would be perfect. Only. . . the rubbery cake that didn’t appear to be getting any fluffier was far from perfect.

She’d done everything that the recipe had called for. You would think that doing something as easy as baking a sponge cake would be a walk in the park for someone that was majoring in astrophysics.

The cherry on top was the fact that she only had an hour to get ready before she’d have to leave her house. Which meant that she didn’t have enough time to make another stupid dessert. She turned off her oven with a defeated grunt, angrily stomping over to her fridge to see if she had anything.

It was empty, just like she knew it would be. She doubted that you would appreciate it if she brought over a frozen vegetarian lasagna, but that was all that she had left. Ellie had run out of options.

The phone rang three times before the man on the other end picked up.

“Whatcha want, girl?” Joel’s southern twang sounded on the other line.

Her shoulders instinctively slouched, her rapid heart rate calming ever so slightly.

“Joel. . . do you know how to make a sponge cake?” She asked, opening up a cabinet so that she could start grabbing for the ingredients that she had already put away.

“A sponge cake?” He questioned. She could hear rustling on the other end, then the familiar sound of his reading glasses being placed down onto a flat surface.

“I’m having dinner with a friend, and I wanted to bring dessert.” She was mumbling now, she knew that. Ellie could just imagine the aging man squinting his eyes, pressing the phone harder up against his ear so that he could hear her better.

“Jesse doesn’t care if you bake him a damn cake or not.”

She should have been offended that he thought that her only friend was Jesse. . . but he wasn’t exactly wrong about that. She huffed, rolling her eyes before leaning her hip up against the counter.

“It’s not for Jesse. I’m hanging out with someone else.” She didn’t feel like telling him the entire story of how she had met you, nor did she think that he was ready to hear about Marley.

“Uh- alright. You got a pen, kiddo?”

The woman’s heart was pounding as she climbed the steps up to the small house. She’d driven through the neighborhood quite a lot over the last four years, but would rather die than admit to you that her plug just so happened to live just a few houses down. The bag felt heavy in her hand, embarrassment weighing heavy on her mind as she thought about the fact that she’d have to assemble the fruit and whipped cream after dinner, seeing as the damn cake was still cooling. If there was one thing she could count on Joel to get right every time, it was cooking something delicious. She’d seen the man make a drool worthy meal out of little more than a can of Chef Boyardee, a few onions and fresh parmesan.

Ellie wasn’t Joel though, and there was a good chance that you’d bite into an eggshell. She’d tried her best to fish them out of the batter, but she was positive that she missed a few. She debated just leaving the dessert in her car.

The woman’s feet faltered on the porch, the old wood creaking underneath her. The home was small, but it was obvious that you’d tried to make it nice. Freshly planted flowers were in a few pots right by the screen door. Ellie could imagine Marley’s dirty little palms stuck elbow deep into the pots, wanting nothing more than to help you. Her lips twitched upwards into a smile before she could even help it, because she could hear your voice behind that door.

“Marley Mae! Get your cute little booty over here!” A loud little squeal echoed around the house, followed by a giggle that would even make a weathered soldier’s heart melt.

The woman looked over her outfit one last time, then brushed her free hand over her lips to make sure she hadn’t nervously chewed all of the chapstick off of them. She was wearing the A-Ha band shirt that Jesse had given her last Christmas, and had tucked it into a pair of high waisted trousers. It was stylish without making her look like a try-hard. She held the screen door open with the heel of her boot so that she could knock on the brightly painted door.

Red. It was a nice color too.

You cursed under your breath as you heard the knock, your heart racing as you realized that your daughter was running around the living room with the shirt that you had neatly laid out to wear for tonight. Your nervous brain malfunctioned though- it must have- because you called out to her.

“It’s open!” You wished that you could suck the words right back into your mouth, because there you were, standing right in front of the opening door, in nothing but a lacy blue bra.

She was looking down at the small step up, a few strands of auburn hair falling into her face. She was wearing a pair of high waisted mens dress pants, and the sleeves of her band shirt was cuffed at the sleeves, which showed off her toned arms.

If your brain was malfunctioning before. . . now it has completely shut down.

Marley didn’t seem to care about the visitor. The little girl continued to run around, your freshly washed off-the shoulder top wrinkled in her hands as she ran in circles around the living room. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, so you couldn’t be angry. You’d reacted so strongly to her pulling the shirt off of the bed, which was your mistake. She thought it was funny when you chased her, and so you were the idiot for acting on your panicked impulses.

So here you were, completely topless and standing directly in front of Ellie, who still hadn’t noticed your partial nakedness seeing as she was setting the bag she was holding down by the front door. Was she too nervous to look at you? Or. . . was she usually this clueless about her surroundings?

“I was kinda scared that I’d driven to the wrong house-” Her eyes fell on the toddler running around with a shirt in her hands first, her eyebrows knitting in confusion. You could see her lips pull up into a mischievous smile, the understanding that the little girl was doing something that she wasn’t supposed to finally dawning on her.

Then she looked up at you, that same smile still pulling up at her lips and the corners of her bright green eyes.

But then she nearly died.

Both physically and mentally.

“Holy shi-” She stumbled back, throwing her arm behind her so that she could give you some privacy.

Because you were standing in front of her. In nothing but jeans and a bra. . .

And even calling that thing a bra was being too kind. The damned thing was merely pretty wire, polkadot mesh, and some lace. Ellie didn’t have to lay in bed and imagine what your breasts looked like. Not anymore. She’d gotten a full view of them along with your perfectly perky nipples, which was probably due to the box-fan you had turned on in the living room.

Ellie missed the panicked look on your face. She missed whatever words rushed past your lips, because she was too busy staring at your chest. You lurched forwards for her, and all the poor woman could do was stare at the way they bounced.

“Ellie, watch your arm!” You were stumbling forward, trying to yank her away from the old screen door.

You’d fallen victim to the loose metal grate too many times to count. The worst you’d gotten were a few cuts on your fingers that burned like a bitch. The fleshy part of Ellie’s forearm was headed straight for it though.

Ellie stumbled onto the porch, the terrible burning sensation in her arm not even registering.

“I-I’m so sorry,” She rasped out, eyes wide. Her cheeks were bright red all the way up to her ears.

Blood was dripping down to her fingers and splattering on the wooden deck, but she couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in her ears. Her whole body felt feverish, so the fresh blood went completely unnoticed.

You were covering up your chest with one hand as you hurried out onto the porch after her, using your free arm to grab her and haul her blabbering form inside.

“I-I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to. . . I think you have the wrong idea about me. Honest, I was going to tell you eventually, but I-” Ellie wasn’t straight, and it would be unfair of her to ogle at you under false pretenses.

It was hard to say anything though when you were rushing her into the kitchen. Ellie could barely keep up with you, stumbling a bit. Your eyes were wide for some reason. Maybe you were understanding where all of this was going. Maybe you were religiously straight, and she’d just ruined any possibility of a friendship. Had you noticed her staring? Holy fuck, of course you did.

“I’m a lesbian-” “You’re bleeding all over the place!”

You both went silent, staring at each other with wide eyes. Ellie’s gaze on your face faltered, and slowly she looked down at her arm, where you were currently keeping a firm grip. Your knuckles were practically white you were holding her so tightly. The athletic woman could understand why now. She wasn’t just bleeding but bleeding.

She was used to injuring herself. Ellie and Joel were outdoorsy people. She grew up learning to fish, hunt, and live off of the land. Which meant she had fallen out of a million trees, stabbed herself a thousand times, and has had more near death experiences than she’d care to admit. Her survival training should kick in. . . but it wasn’t. 

Because your boobs were still directly in her face.

Honestly, there was no other way she’d rather die. It would take her a few hours to bleed to death from a cut like this, even if she had sliced clean through a vein. Maybe, if she were lucky, you’d feel bad for her and take off the pants too. She wondered for a second whether you were wearing a matching pair of panties.

‘Please God- if you exist- I hope she is wearing matching panties. I’ll make up for every rotten thing I’ve ever done if I could just. . .’

“Hospital.” You croaked, your lips going pale.

Ellie finally noticed the vein in your throat pounding away. Your eyes were beginning to well up with tears too. The woman swallowed thickly and painfully tore her attention off of your chest.

“I’m okay. I’m not in any pain. Let me see if I can wrap it up and stop the bleeding. I’ll drive myself to the hospital if I need to.” Her voice was steady. Her profusely bleeding wound was the only thing she felt certain and safe about in this situation.

“Don’t be stupid, Ellie,” You shook your head quickly, disappearing out of the kitchen. “I’m taking Marley to my mom’s house! Give me two minutes!” You sounded like you were on the opposite side of the house.

The front door opened and closed before Ellie could protest. All she could do was stand over the sink, her shaky hand reaching for paper towels in an attempt to wipe up what looked to be a murder scene on the tiled floor. She was bleeding all in your sink too, the smell of iron thick in the air. The blood wasn’t clotting, and it looked nowhere close to stopping. She twisted her forearm around, wincing when she finally noticed the cut. It was clean- deep. If you had the supplies at home, she could just stitch herself up here. . . but Ellie had a feeling that she’d terrify you if she tried that.

So. . . the hospital was the only choice.

You’d tossed a shirt over your head so quickly that you hadn’t even seen what it was. Your red converse slapped against the pavement as you ran across the street, Marley bouncing on your hip, babbling excitedly in your ear. You silently thanked the heavens that your daughter was a habitually happy baby and wasn’t feeding off of your anxiety.

You were nearly in tears by the time that you made it to your mother’s house. She answered the door almost immediately, her hair held up with chopsticks atop her head. She smiled sweetly at Marley, who held her arms open for her grandmother.

“What on earth is going on, baby-” She paused as she noticed the blood on your hands. “W-What. . .”

You shook your head, already stepping off of the porch. “I-It’s not mine. My friend accidentally sliced her arm open. I have to take her to the hospital. Can you watch Marley for me? Just until I get home.”

You knew your mother would agree. You were already running down the street, her hurried “of course” getting lost in the wind that breezed by your ears. Your hair was a mess, your cheeks felt hot, and you knew that you were crying.

Because of course you were.

Tonight was ruined, and it was all your fault. The pot roast that you had put on early this morning tasted perfect, the house was spotless, and Marley had actually gone down today for her two o’clock nap. This dinner had been terribly important to you. It wasn’t until you were stumbling up the steps of your own porch that you finally realized how much weight you’d put on this stupid little get together.

Ellie might not even be attracted to you. You could be reading the situation all wrong, but you were hoping that you could have a chance at love. Didn’t you deserve it? You tried and you tried for everyone else aside from yourself, and this was the first time you’d done something selfish in years.

The girl of your dreams was standing in your kitchen, practically gushing blood in your stainless steel sink, and you’d blown your chance at happiness. Your version of perfect was never going to be enough for anyone. Because you were broke with little to no education. . . and a child that couldn’t even spell her own name yet.

You sniffled, wiping at your eyes as you rounded the corner.

“Remind me to fix that door the next time I’m here.” Ellie wasn’t looking at you, which you were thankful for. She was too busy holding a wad of paper towels against the wound.

Your heart squeezed uncomfortably in your chest.

Next time. There was going to be a “next time”.

Ellie followed your gentle guidance out to your car, begrudgingly getting in the passenger seat. She felt guilty that you had to drive her all the way into town. That. . . and the fact that she probably traumatized your child, what with all the blood. You fumbled with the radio, trying to find a station that she might like.

“I like this song.” Ellie said calmly, and what do you know. . . your hand dropped back into your lap.

The car plummeted into silence, Depeche Mode playing softly over the speakers as she watched the sun finally drop behind the horizon, bathing the two of you in a blue twilight glow. Ellie was very familiar with Jackson.

It would be at least twenty minutes until you made it to the nearest Urgent Care. So she leaned back in the seat and tightened her grip on her arm.

“Can I see you again after this? Or. . . I understand if what I said earlier makes you uncomfortable.” Your silence was making her feel on edge.

Ellie had single handedly ruined dinner. She had a talent for ruining things, actually. Ellie Williams was the kind of person that should live away from other people. All she needed was a backpack and a hunting knife, and she’d feel safe. Safer than she would in a neighborhood full of people, really. Wild animals, deadly or not, were predictable. Bears and wolves attack, so you’ve gotta intimidate them. If all else fails, aim for the head.

Ellie couldn’t read you, and that scared her. Terrified her actually, because for some reason she was certain that being turned down by you would break her significantly more than any other rejection ever had. It would be the kind of pain that kept you in bed for days, overthinking every decision that had gotten you to that point. She didn’t want to be old and alone, thinking about the girl that she’d liked in her youth. It pained Ellie to even think about forgetting the exact color of your eyes, or the natural softness that your voice possessed.

Ellie didn’t know you well enough to be in love with you yet. . . but give her a few weeks, and she knew that she’d be a goner.

It wasn’t that you were the only person available. You weren’t in her friend group, so dating you wasn’t just what should be the natural progression of things. This wasn’t a small campus crush doomed to fail. Ellie hadn’t stopped thinking about you ever since you’d first walked into Tommy’s restaurant.

“Do you think I’m homophobic or something?” You spoke up, shooting her a small smile from where you sat.

“I mean. . . we live in Wyoming.” Ellie trailed off, but her lips turned up as you began to laugh.

“Yeah, you do have a point there.” Your shoulders began to slouch, an audible sigh of relief escaping you. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to see me again after this.” You admitted.

Ellie didn’t strike you as the type of person that liked to feel vulnerable, so you owed her some embarrassing truths. Even if it ended up mortifying you.

“I’ve had at least ten concussions in my life. Fifteen stitches is child's play.” She used the hand that wasn’t currently leaking blood to wave your worry off, sinking deeper into the old seat of your car. “Uh-” She sat up quickly, turning her head to look at the road that you’d just driven past.

“I think we should have made that turn-” “I’m a lesbian.”

Ellie’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, her neck nearly popping with the force that she used to look at your face. You’d sucked your bottom lip in between your teeth nervously, but your eyes were locked on the road.

“I know a shortcut. Relax, I’m not kidnapping you.” You added, turning onto a dirt road that she’d never seen before.

The hand that you had resting on your thigh was beginning to shake. You balled it into a tight fist, hoping she hadn’t noticed. That was the first time you’d ever said it outloud. Ellie was the first person you’d ever told about your sexuality, and you felt. . . liberated. And scared shitless.

“I’m not exactly too focused on the creepy backroads right now.” She mumbled, still staring at you.

The buttons on your dashboard were casting all sorts of shadows on your lovely face. Your eyelashes were so thick, and she was suddenly very aware of the fact that you’d put on makeup for her.

And oh god.

She really didn’t have a gaydar, because holy shit this was a date. She should have listened to Jesse and gotten you flowers. She should have put more effort into her appearance- slapped some clear mascara on at the very least.

If she wasn’t bleeding all over the white dish towel that you had wrapped around her arm, then she would have told you to put your car in park. The urge to kiss you was hurting her more than the gaping wound did. She bounced her leg, trying to distract herself from the aching need that was gnawing at the pit of her stomach.

“I mean. . . I’ve never been with a woman before, but all I know is that I’ve never liked guys. Not even a little bit.” You were spilling your guts now, and you couldn’t even stop it.

You’d been waiting to tell someone all of this since middle school. You were practically shaking like a leaf. It felt good to say all of it though, even if you were setting yourself up to get hurt.

Ellie thought back to what Jesse had said about lesbians having children. Never once had Ellie felt the need to force herself to sleep with a man to appear normal. Instead she just. . . hadn’t shown any interest in anyone. She was sure that Joel thought that she was asexual when she was growing up.

You. . . you had done something that had felt wrong to you, just so that others wouldn’t see you differently. Ellie wasn’t the type to get emotional, but she found her eyes getting a bit misty. Her small nose wrinkled a bit as she tried to fight the feeling.

“You’ve never even kissed a woman?” Ellie asked, finally recognizing the road that they were on. They were close to the emergency room. Too close, actually. She was hoping for a few more moments alone with you.

“No.” You were mortified to admit it, but you needed to.

You pulled into the parking lot and threw the car into park. That was enough embarrassment for one day. The sooner you could get her seen by a doctor, the sooner you could silently begin to come up with a plan to save tonight.

“How ‘bout I kiss you,” Her warm breath was on your cheek. You let out a small gasp and turned your head, eyes widening as you realized that she was leaning over the armrest, her hand gripping the back of your seat. “And then you’ll know for sure. It’s just a test.”

If God existed, Ellie knew that her being gay wasn’t the reason she’d for sure be sent to hell. She’d physically hurt a lot of people. She’d been expelled from just about every school she’d ever been in. For a while there, she and Joel were moving state to state for what felt like every school semester. She was sharp tongued and knew how to really lash out at others. She had two very capable, very dangerous hands. . . and she hadn’t been afraid to use them.

And here she was, using your own inexperience as a way to kiss you. She was desperate though. No matter how fucked up this tactic was, she would never come to regret it. You could rip her heart straight out of her chest for all she cared.

Ellie wanted you in every conceivable way.

She’d be your best friend if that was the only thing you needed from her. She’d fuck you every day of the week until you finally got bored of her and called her away. She’d wake up early just to make those pancakes your daughter loved in the mornings. . . All you had to do was say the word.

She was yours.

“What if,” Ellie could feel your breath fan over her lips. Her eyes fluttered, but she somehow managed to keep them open. “What if you don’t like it?”

“I will.” Ellie nodded gently, wishing she had two good hands to hold you with.

You were the one to press your lips to hers. You knew what you were doing, which partially shattered her heart into a thousand tiny pieces. Ellie wanted to be selfish with you. She wanted to be your first everything. She silently cursed whoever had come before her, but her brain shut off completely when she felt your hand move up to cup her cheek. The ear ringing from earlier resumed in full force the second your lips began moving against hers, your warm tongue brushing against her lower lip. Her grip on the back of your seat loosened, and instead she moved it to the base of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer to her.

She was in control of herself. She had kept the fact that the two of you were in a very public parking lot in mind.

Until the second you sighed into her open mouth. Game over. She was ruined.

Utterly ruined.

Her bloody hand reached over and yanked the key out of the ignition, fumbling to place it on the center console before she started pulling you over arm rest. She needed the weight of you on her lap. She needed pressure- sensation. She needed. She needed. She needed.

“How tinted are your windows?” She mumbled against your lips, her strong hands gripping your thighs so that she could help you straddle her.

You’d never actually been turned on by any of your sexual partners in the past. You usually just grinned and beared it, then laid awake at night wondering why on earth you weren’t like other girls.

All the two of you had done was make out, and your legs were already quivering. You were dripping wet, and was far too distracted by Ellie’s very pink, very kissed lips to think about the fact that you were wearing jeans.

“T-They’re legal, if that’s what you’re asking.” You could barely think, your hands already tangling back into Ellie’s hair.

She didn’t have time to whine out a complaint, because you were so pliant in her hands. You were this weak little mewling thing on top of her, and all she could do was grip onto you. Had either of you actually known pleasure before? Because Ellie was positive she’d never felt anything like this. She wasn’t even being touched, but she was certain that she could climax just like this.

Her hands gripped your waist, then brushed up your stomach. She didn’t ask for permission, which she’d apologize relentlessly for later. You weren’t stopping her though.

If anything, you were the one that had started the touching. You were currently stretching out the neck of her t-shirt, one hand gripping her chin and the other one spread out on her back, playing with the straps of her sports bra. You gasped into her mouth again as Ellie’s hand finally made contact with your breast. She remembered the way you looked in that bra earlier. Remembered how your tits had bounced- looked like they were practically going to burst over the thin bit of fabric-

“Oh, fuck.” Ellie cursed, hips moving upwards before she could calm herself.

“Doctor-” Your voice came out in a desperate little whine, and Ellie’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hips lifting up against yours again, the friction practically causing her to jump straight out of her skin.

“I’m- I’m not bleeding as bad anymore. Please. Please.” Ellie was pushing your bra up and over your breasts, lifting your shirt up with her bloody hand just so that she could look.

She’d fuck you right there in the back of the hospital parking lot. She’d never wanted anyone this badly before. This was just as new to her as it was for you. This felt. . . this all felt different.

Because you were touching her back. You weren’t some straight girl looking to turn a boy on by telling him that you’d been with a lesbian before.

You were gay, and you were interested in her. Ellie felt like she had died and gone to heaven, because this was everything that she’d ever wanted. . . minus the wound.

It was her begging that had you leaning back on your calves, untucking her shirt so roughly that she questioned whether or not the two of you would have to fight for dominance. She tossed her shirt into the drivers side seat, smiling when your lips were back on hers the second she was topless.

Your hands were cold when you pushed them underneath the tight fabric of her sports bra. You took advantage of that, feeling her nipples hardening against your palms. Her muscles tightened in her shoulders as you pinched them between your pointer and middle fingers, gripping the small breasts a little tighter, wanting to feel the weight of them.

She moaned against your lips, eyes clenching shut so hard that fireworks exploded behind her lids.

It was too late now.

Ellie was on a mission to make you cum.

She felt guilty that the two of you hadn’t even been on a first official date yet, and here she was, planning to finger fuck you in a parking lot- but could anyone really blame her?

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Ellie pulled away from your lips, instantly recognizing that this wasn’t her asking for consent. She flinched, shaking her head gently. “Is that okay?” She rephrased it, moving a hand down to the waistband of your jeans. She gave it a gentle tug, letting you know that she was serious. She couldn’t stop herself.

“Y-Your arm, Ellie.” You moved to grab her injured forearm, but she gripped your wrist before you could.

“Let’s say I stop now. Even if we did that, I won’t get seen for another hour by a doctor. I’m going to sit there and think about this,” She cupped your sex in her hand, the tips of her fingers brushing over your clothed entrance. “The entire time. I’ll stop if you climb out, but if we stay in here any longer I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

You bit your bottom lip again, your eyes narrowing in concern. Ellie wasn’t bleeding as badly as she was before, but she for sure needed a few stitches. She didn’t appear to be in any pain though. If anything, she seemed more focused on you. You didn’t want to kill the moment, but shouldn’t you-

Ellie began fidgeting with the top button on your jeans, and that was all it took. You wordlessly climbed into the backseat, smiling widely as you heard her scrambling to follow you.

You thanked all that was holy that you’d taken Marley’s car seat out earlier that morning to give to your mother since she was watching her tomorrow. You had the entire backseat, and despite the fact that the two of you were still out in the open, you felt a little more hidden now that the two of you were ducked down.

Ellie was already taking full advantage of the added bit of privacy, the hem of your shirt already up to your neck. She was pushing your bra back up and over your tits, eager to really look at you.

She wasn’t sure what this meant for either of you, and she didn’t feel like ruining the moment by complicating anything. Ellie liked you, and she was willing to wait until you felt the same about her too-

Was she being overly self conscious and stupid right now? Wasn’t this. . . wasn’t this proof enough of how you felt about her? You’d been the one to take the reins during this entire friendship. You’d asked for her number and invited her over for dinner. All Ellie had done was kiss you, only after you let her know that you were interested.

Ellie moved her lips from your mouth down your neck, pushing her hands under your hips so that she could move down your chest. She paused though, looking up at you worriedly.

“Am I going to hurt you if I suck on them?” She wasn’t sure how nursing works. She didn’t exactly have an overflow of women in her life to tell her about those sorts of things.

You laughed, shaking your head quickly. You were panting softly, your cheeks deliciously flushed. “No, but I can still produce milk, so be caref-”

“Okay, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” Ellie had to brace herself, green eyes fully zoned into your beautiful, full breasts. So. . . if she sucked hard enough-

“Is this when you tell me that you have a mommy kink?” You asked playfully, starting to sit up.

“I didn’t,” She assured you, shooting you a small smile. “Until now. Lay back down.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but you practically swallowed the noise when she finally closed her lips around your nipple, her hands making quick work of your jeans. They were unbuttoned and pushed down off of your hips before you could say anything. She removed her mouth from your breasts long enough to look at your panties.

And if god was real, they had answered her wish.

Because holy fuck you matched. Of course you did. She bit onto her lower lip hard, closing her eyes for a second so that she didn’t rip them right off of you. They were cute, and she wanted to see you in them again. Ellie wasn’t very good at being gentle in any aspect of her life.

Especially with you, it would seem.

She wanted to be mean to you all of a sudden. Leave bruises and marks to be explored later. She wanted to bite into your soft flesh and see just how easy it would be to leave hickies, but she couldn’t.

So she needed to breathe.

She leaned back up, pressing her lips against yours. She brushed her fingers against your thigh at first, letting you get used to the idea of her touching you. She desperately wanted to become more than acquainted with your cunt, but she needed to be gentle with you. You wrapped your arms around her tightly, your bare chest pressing against her clothed breasts. She wished she was naked. God, she regretted not being able to do this in bed. She’d gladly bleed to death if it meant that she could take her time with you.

She wanted to press every inch of her body against yours, but now wasn’t the time for that.

Her fingers grazed over your folds, and if her eyes weren’t closed then she was sure that they would have bulged straight out of her skull.

You were dripping.

Pride and possessiveness threatened to crush her ribs as she gathered up your slick, using it to rub a lazy circle around your clit. You jerked against her, but she didn’t let you pull your lips off of hers. She swallowed the strangled moan, eyes fluttering open briefly so that she could look at you.

You were precious.

She continued to draw circles, knowing that it was what she liked personally. She switched up the pace though, moving her arm to get better leverage. This time you were able to pull away from her, letting out a cry, your eyes opening so that you could look at Ellie’s face.

She was beautiful. Even with that predatorial look on her face, you couldn’t ignore the freckles and flushed cheeks. There was something so oppositional about her- how dominant but unassuming she looked. Here she was, moving you around like you weighed no more than a doll.

And then she sunk two of her fingers inside of you. The stretch was glorious, but it was the look on her face that had your walls fluttering around her. Pink lips parted to reveal her clenched teeth. Like she was damn near close to biting right into you. She was holding herself back fucking you like this. You weren’t sure what that meant, but your eyes were rolling to the back of your head the more you thought about it.

And then she brushed her thumb against your clit, her fingers nearly bruising your cervix as she continued to thrust them into you.

Your name escaped her lips then. She said it like a prayer. Like it was a promise.

Ellie curled her fingers inside of you, pressing against a spot that your much smaller hands couldn’t reach.

“Oh, fuck!” Your eyes were tearing up, hands fumbling around for anything to grip. You needed to hold something in order to ground yourself, because you were trying hard not to get the two of you arrested for indecent exposure.

Ellie was busy watching it all. She was sitting on her calves, greedily turning her gaze from your fucking gorgeous expressions to your glistening pussy, which was currently swallowing her fingers. Your walls were satiny soft, and she could feel them flutter around her as she continued hitting the same spot that got such a loud reaction from you earlier.

You were quivering under her, hands moving from the carseat, up to your breasts, and then your hair. You yanked at your locks, the pleasure practically too much. Ellie was this beautiful, vicious thing on top of you. It was obvious that she wanted to wrench out every bit of pleasure from you, even if you said it was too much. Even if you told her to stop. There was a glint in her eyes that told you she wouldn’t be able to. She was just as hungry for your release as you were.

“Grip onto me, baby.” She moved to lay back on top of you, adding a finger for extra measure.

Your hands were at her back immediately, fingernails digging into her freckled flesh. She pressed her face into your neck, enjoying your floral scent- moaning at the pain and the pleasure that was building in her own abdomen. She almost laughed- finding her own impending release comical.

Because there was no way she was about to prematurely cum because she was touching you, a girl that she was pretty much head over heels for. The tightening in her abdomen was familiar though, and all she could do was lamely moan your name against your throat.

“You’re not gonna hurt me. Hold me tighter.” She mumbled, her hand moving quicker and quicker, the sounds echoing around your car bordering on illegal.

You were the hottest thing on the entire planet. She was sure of it. Her hands shook as your nails dug in deeper, to the point that she was positive she was bleeding. She wanted a physical reminder of what happened tonight. Scars and all. Whatever she could take with her later on in life, especially if this was a one time thing.

She needed every physical and mental reminder that you were willing to give her. So Ellie moved her face so that she was looking at you, even when her own pleasure was building to the point where her own knees quivered, finding it hard to hold up her own weight.

She watched you unravel. Felt your cunt practically swallow her fingers as you tightened around them. Your back arched, eyes pinched closed as your cherubic lips parted in a silent scream.

And then Ellie followed right after you.

She leaned her head against your chest, hips jerking forward as she continued to work you through the waves of your own pleasure, trying not to get drowned by her own.

“D-Did you. . .” You breathlessly started to ask, your big doe eyes practically the size of saucers.

“I promise, t-this is the first time this has ever happened.” Ellie admitted, feeling a touch of shame.

You wanted to take a few minutes to calm your pounding heart, but the sight of the bloody towel on the floorboard had you clambering to sit up, moving your bra and shirt back into their rightful places. Ellie was still trying to catch her breath, the muscles in her shoulders still twitching from her own release. You opened up the car door after snatching up the keys, and for a second the auburn haired girl felt terrified.

She bit her lower lip, wiping her dripping fingers off on her pants before grabbing her shirt and climbing out of the car. Alright. . . so this was it, right? You knew you were a lesbian now, and she would be left in the dust. It wasn’t such a bad arrangement, really. She couldn’t even be mad. 

Technically, if she really thought about it, you’d been just as much her first as she had been yours. 

Her boots crunched against the gravel as she followed you into the hospital, her heart still pounding in her chest. She shrugged on the shirt as she walked, careful not to tug at the wound in any way. 

Ellie’s forehead was beaded with sweat, and she nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. 

She’d never gotten her heart broken by a gay girl before, and here it was. For some reason. . . she knew with certainty that this was going to hurt ten times worse than any of the other ones had. 

But then the hand that wasn’t sliced open from elbow to wrist was being gripped. 

Your fingers intertwined with hers.

“I’m sorry to break it to you babe, but you’re definitely a lesbian.” Ellie told you with a small smile, opening the door to the lobby for you.  

“Oh, for sure.”  

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why not to buy tlou2 remastered (please read)

[seat-safety-switch]

Mini-golf is something I've spoken about many times, at great risk to my own life. In my town, you see, the mini-golf industry is represented by an extremely powerful lobby. That's why we have approximately three "courses" for every hundred people, the highest ratio in the world. Why am I against it? No golf carts means no driving.

You might think it's silly to be opposed to mini golf purely on the basis that I don't get to drive a little electric car around the property at irresponsible speeds. I'm sure you have strong opinions about things that I would consider silly, too. That makes you look like an asshole now, doesn't it?

Thing is, enjoying the great outdoors is best done with an open-air vehicle, gazing at the wonders of nature. And even if those wonders of nature have been artificially curated by the same groundskeeper who is now screaming at me for having driven across four sand traps and the country club, it still counts as calming.

Mini-golf? Too damn small. The mind rebels. Not natural, every sense screams, until you end up getting super mad and eject your putter into the parking lot on the 19th stroke on a "par 2" hole while some very patient toddlers wait behind you in line, not yet having been taught the concept of "play-thru," but perhaps also not wanting to pick a fight with a fully-grown adult who achieves apocalyptic rage levels when not operating a motor vehicle.

Now, I've worked out a sort of methadone solution here. Halfway house shit. Because I can't afford to play on the big expensive country club courses (it's sort of a Caddyshack situation, but mostly just the part where they hate me and everything I stand for) I'm stuck with mini-golf, and have to make my time at Al's Little Tee Big Fun and Ed's Big Fun Regular-Sized Balls as enjoyable as possible. That's why I brought a mini-golf-cart.

That's right. For just a few bucks on eBay, you too can avail yourself of a 1:24 scale golf cart that you can take out of your pocket and pretend to drive between the holes. Making vroom-vroom sounds is a little unrealistic for what is supposed to be a brushed-DC forklift motor, but you gotta do what makes you happy. The only downside is that this tiny plastic conveyance came from Playmobil, which almost certainly means it's going to explode in some kind of elaborate German mechanical failure soon. Like the poor guy in the parking lot last time whose GTI had a mini-golf putter get stuck in the windshield.

[totaly-obsessed]

Could you write for Ella where reader is also a footballer but reader tears her ACL

Jersey Dispute

Ella Toone x reader request

-> Reader tears her ACL - sending Ella into panic - fluffy

-> probably not the correct timeline of a healing ACL

-> Combined with this request!

-> I hope this is okay, @ anon's!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Ella hated knees. She really did.

Your girlfriend had been on the pitch, not too far away from you when you had gone down in a Manchester derby. Forgotten was the color of your shirt as Ella rushed to you. To her surprise you weren’t crying, you just sat there, waiting for the medics. “I tore it.” Those words still haunt her in her sleep.

You had waited for her outside of the changing room and together you slowly walked to the car. The ride was tense, the brunette not too sure how to approach the situation, but you cracked joke after joke, trying to loosen her up.

Sure this was bad, you knew it meant nearly a year of no football for you but in the end, there was nothing that you could do right now – you were just glad that the World Cup was just over, giving you a slim chance of getting ft for the Olympics.

Waiting for the surgery was the worst but Ella gave it her best to fill the house with laughter. And she did it fabulously. Quite a few of you and her teammates showed up, wanting to see how you were doing, which led to many fun evenings playing Mario Cart and watching movies.

After a month, it finally came; the surgery to make everything worse so that you could get better again. Your girlfriend was nervous, much more than you were, running around in circles in your hospital room. She had taken the week off from training and everyone understood that she wanted to be with you.

“Ella, please baby sit down. You’re driving me nuts!” With a shamed look, she sat down in a chair next to your bed, hands pressed between her knees but she couldn’t hold it, jumping up again, going back to pacing. 

“Ells, please…” You patted the space next to you, scooching over so that she fit. Now wrapped in your arms, tucked under a blanket she was finally able to breathe. “I’ll go into surgery in two hours when no emergency comes in. Mary will be here so-“ You could see her trying to defend herself, that she didn’t need a babysitter, but you put your hand over her mouth. “Shhh. Mary will come and you will go eat something. Then I‘ll come out of surgery and everything will be absolutely fine.”

Mary had arrived just in time when they took you for surgery so that she could take your frantic girlfriend out.

Just as you had predicted, everything had been fine.

Now, nearly a month later you had started physio-therapy and rehab at the Manchester City facility, leaving Ella to worry at Manchester United – so you called her every time you could to reassure her.

In the evenings it was hard for your girlfriend to let you help her cook. “Love, no! Sit back down, hmm?” Most of the time she just kidnapped you to the living room, sat you down on the couch, and went back to cook.

It was great, being able to spend so much time with your girlfriend and being able to catch up on Uni work – you loved it, Ella loved it, everybody loved it. The bickering was kept to a minimum with evenings spent curled up in each other’s arms. It was perfect, almost too perfect…

Nearly two months of pure bliss were interrupted by the first disagreement.

Manchester derbies were ferocious and the atmosphere electric, they were great. Ella saw your inability to play the match, as her opportunity to get you to wear her very red ‘Toone’ jersey. “Babe – pleaseee! You’ll look so good in it!” She had flung open the bedroom door, where you were currently sorting through the huge closet for clothes to donate. In her hands was a huge box, containing a whole stack of her shirts. “Ells we’ve been over this. I will not wear a Man United jersey.”

The brunette was whining and pouting letting the box fall to the ground, eventually flinging herself on the bed – desperate to get your attention. But you prevailed, having your back towards your girlfriend helping with that. You couldn’t cave – no way. “Quit it, Ella.”

Oof. That first name hit.

“But Baby-“ She was quickly shut up with a deep kiss after you had finally turned around, gracing the stunned midfielder with your attention. “I’ll wear your England jersey, yeah?” and with a pat to her cheek, you were gone again, leaving a stunned Ella behind.

Gameday came and Ella played her best game of the season – a hat trick and an assist, beating Manchester City four to one. Her motivation? You. Sat in the family section wearing an England jersey that had her name on the back.

And while you were sad that your team lost, there was just no way you could be mad when a grinning Ella came out of the changing room, match ball in hand, falling into your open and waiting arms, littering your face in tiny kisses.

“Ya’ gonna have to wear this every game day now – would’ve been better in a United shirt though.” With a disgusted groan, you shoved her off, but there was no chance to get the teasing smirk off her face for the whole day.

Five months later it was Ellas' turn to sit in the family section, wearing an England jersey with your name. Her legs bounced up and down, nervously waiting for you to get subbed on.

When you did, she couldn’t do anything else but grin – seeing you back on the pitch, knowing how hard you worked for this made her prouder than she had ever been.

She blissfully ignored Alessia taking a video of you coming on for Alanna Kennedy, and then turning the camera to a teary-eyed Tooney, clutching your jersey in her hands.

[electricsynthesis]

the way I conceive of the garrison era where the team (sans pidge) were all attending at the same time is so specific. like first of all, it’s important that you understand that I don’t just think that keith was an irritatingly competent child prodigy. I think keith was the best irritatingly competent child prodigy to grace the garrisons doors, ever. I think keith was that 1 in a million talent, the kind of talent that makes you want to claw your eyes out because he’s tiny and he’s insane and he’s MEAN but by god he can fly better than anyone. like. I don’t just think keith was the top of the sim scores. I think he was beating the records for the sim scores. Ever.

so if there’s one thing that causes groups of students to go insane it’s ^^ that. It’s knowing that there’s a guy Your Age who is not only better than you but is better than Anyone Else. mix in the fact that socially, keith is like a stray dog that’s been kicked too many times, and you have a bad combination.

I think keith got away with a lot because while he may be the star student of the century, takashi shirogane is the golden boy. he can do no wrong. A kind man with a charmed childhood who dreamed of the stars. joined the military for all the right reasons and none of the wrong ones. Isn’t a suck up but absolutely bows to authority like it’s his job. iverson fucking LOVES him. Has never raised his voice. he’ll chew keith out for 20 mins and then turn to shirogane and sweet like milk will be all…… well I guess it’s fine. I won’t give kogane detention I guess

everyone loves shiro and everyone has loved shiro since shiro entered the school at baby faced aged 15 with stars in his eyes. He’s 23 and getting married and there is a not a soul on this earth that dislikes him. so he shows up like :) so my foster brother is joining us this year! and he warns everyone that keith is “pretty shy” and “a little anxious & awkward” and everyone’s like awwww shiros baby brother is gonna be shy :) and then shiro carts in this 16 year old hell child who talks to no one unless directly addressed and even then has to get a Look from shiro before he’s like. Hi. and somehow it is the angriest sounding hi ever conceived. It’s not surly. It’s not whiney. He just sounds mad

and shiro now spends half his time gripping this random ass kid by the scruff of his neck (metaphorically and literally depending on the situation) and very kindly explaining to him that getting into Physical Altercations with his classmates does not beget learning. and he keeps using these goofy ass phrases that belong on a motivational poster. what the fuck is “patience yields focus”. What the hell does that even mean. but then it seems to WORK??? The kids like yeah. Patience yields focus. You’re right.

I don’t even think half the fights keith gets into are really the fault of his overactive temper. I think insecurity and teenaged immortality is going to be causing these children to treat keith like the dirt underneath their boots. I’m talking sabotage. Someone definitely tries the “is nice to him to get his guard down in order to sabotage something” trick but it doesn’t work because by the time keith is at the garrison he already hates the world and the children are FEEDING into this . and he isn’t going to take this with a stiff upper lip he’s fucking biting people

The reason he doesn’t remember lance is because keith was getting bullied by like 3 other people who were all actual fighter pilots in his class and shiro spent all his time talking keith out of doing the social version of chewing on electrical chords. Lance was unmemorable because he was harmless . a bit of a dick maybe but that wouldn’t have registered to keith at the time. he remembers hunk as a guy who bought him lunch once when he came into the cafeteria bleeding from multiple lip splits after having gotten his wallet stolen

The administration has wanted keith out of this school for like an entire year by the time shiro leaves for kerberos. The only reason he isn’t court martialed to hell for slamming someone’s head into a locker hard enough to bounce is because shiro hit iverson with the puppy dog eyes. once Shiro’s gone it’s a foregone conclusion and only a matter of time before keith’s getting the boot. even the most minor infraction is going to send his ass packing . They are waiting for him to even slightly fuck up. 1 feather out of place

he still manages to go out in a blaze of glory by punching iversons lights out so bad he breaks his nose. he’s five foot five and seventeen. Iverson is 6’3 and 45. It’s the greatest thing the entire student body has ever seen. lance feels something awaken in him

[iwanty0uu]

MAD SCIENTIST X FRANKENSTEIN CONNY

warnings: nsfw-nacrophilia (being frank -no pun intended- he’s literally frankenstein..and frankenstein is a walking corpse so i’ll see you in the next fic if you don't like this series!)

I

Sparks of electricity went flying throughout the chambers of your laboratory, hidden in the mountains of Transylvania, sparks and plugs were connected to the cool metal table that contrasted to your warm, brown skin. Who would’ve thought a girl as soft and plump as you could possibly have mad and deranged tendencies. 

The night was too fresh and quiet which birthed an eerie feeling, which held hands with the thick fog that was all around knew something was bound to happen. Luckily, were used to this cemetery, because you thought that cemetery walks were best at night especially alone with nothing but a shovel in hand and cherry bubble gum in the other.It’s wrapper fell to the ground, scent still lingering as your brown,polished red fingers grabbed the shovel with precision and aimed straight for the mound of dirt that sat before you, almost twice your size.And without a thought, you heaved up as much dirt as your body could carry,  your once white lab coat was now stained brown, and sweat spilled over your knitted brows, threatening to fall into your eyes, your abandoned blood red heels laid beside you, almost giving you the companionship that you begged for, feet only covered by the thin material of your lace pantyhose. Being alone didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to wear lingerie under your laboratory coat..What felt like hours passed by before dirt no longer allowed itself to pour into the metal shovel, and you were met with a clank instead. The sound alarmed you, and the crows above your head watching in curiosity were sent into a flying frenzy, flocking to nowhere and everywhere all at once. Their crows and thunderous wings almost dimmed the sound of the shovel which met the ground with a thud, and a sigh from the scientist to match.

She wipped her hands into her coat,the only thing that provided her warmth at this hour and she fell to her knees.Her dark brown tresses fell to her shoulders, framing her face as her dove eyes interlocked with those that were shut behind the glass of the casket. One wrong hit from the shovel would’ve caused damage to his beautiful resting face, and even more beautiful home. His casket was trimmed with dark purple velvet strands and the glass that revealed his face, or what it once was, happened to be encased by black cedar wood. Her hands ran itself against the smooth but strangely warm material, she pushed her glasses up in pity for the young man who slept eternally too soon,and sounded out the letters that formed themselves underneath her fingertips, the moon refusing to share enough light to see.. “C..o…n..s..t..ance?” She questioned, brows coming together, almost as if they were agreeing with the thoughts in her head. “What a feminine name for such a handsome young man”.. As she angled her head to the left, the moon gifted her with a sliver of light, just enough to read the last name. 

“R. Springer” she breathed out effortlessly, the name rolling off of her tongue as if it was engraved there. “Constance..con-Conny! That’s what I’ll call you my handsome boy..” The smile that grew on her black lined lips was bright enough to convince a blind man that the sun had risen, the blood flushed through her body as her face and hands warmed up, adrenaline giving her the strength of about ten men which allowed her to lift of the casket with ease, and roll it to her wo-mansion on her remote controlled cart that she had created to levy the bodies of men that never made it past the security system, guarded by wolves, and other various poisons and plants. She couldn’t have been more thankful for their intrusions in this moment though, because their hearts would be the reason her beloved would have a new one..

[topguncortez]

Slap Shot || Chapter 2

A Top Gun Hockey AU

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: Jake heads to his last game before his suspension and hears the speculated news right from the source. Sonny attends her first Dagger hockey game since getting the job.

word count: 4.9k

warnings: grief, mentions of sexism, injuries, losing a parent, locker room talk, hockey inaccuracies, mentions of cheating, workplace harassment, use of the word "puck bunny", mentions of sex

note: I have a graduation/summer celebration going on! help me get back into the writing groove by requesting something or sending in an ask!

There was something about the electricity in the air on game day. The anticipation, the anxiety, the stress, the crowds lining the block hours before the puck drops. It was all things that Jake had grown to love ever since he got up to the big leagues. He could remember the day of his first NHL game, there was a lot riding on his shoulders as the first round draft pick to a team that hadn’t even had a playoff berth in the new century. The line of fans was around the building and down the block, fangirls screaming and pointing at Jake’s truck as he pulled up to North Island Arena, or the Hard Deck, as some fans called it. 

And even years later, the excitement was still there. The crowds were still around the building and down the block. And the fangirls still screamed and pointed at his truck as he pulled into the underground garage at the Hard Deck. Jake parked his truck in the same spot, right next to defenseman Bradley Bradshaw’s shiny blue bronco. 

Jake straightened out his gray suit, a custom made gift from one of the various sponsors he had gained over the years. Aside from being one of the best hockey players, Jake Seresin was also the “pretty boy” of the NHL. And he wore that title with a badge of honor. 

Making his way inside the Hard Deck, he sent a wink to the young social media intern who was in charge of filming the players as they walked inside. He couldn’t remember her name, but he remembered that one trick she could do with her tongue that had his head spinning. 

“Looking good. . .” He nodded towards her, and watched as she nearly fainted from his acknowledgement. 

The locker room was practically empty as Jake walked to his locker, stripping from his suit, and changing into his warm up clothes. He liked to be the first one to the arena, he liked to sit in the quiet locker room, and go over his plays in his head before it was filled with the sounds of his teammates getting ready for their game. Jake wouldn’t say he was superstitious and had precious pre-game rituals, but he had some things he liked to do before every game. 

“Thought you weren’t playing,” A voice broke him out of his trance. He lifted his head to see his teammate, Michael Hendersob, standing in the doorway. His suit had long been shucked off, a pair of black shorts and a blue North Island sweatshirt on his body. 

“Last game for a while,” Jake gave him a half smile, “Apparently, fighting your teammates is frowned upon.” 

“So is sleeping with the coach’s wife.” 

Jake scoffed, looking down at his feet, “I didn’t sleep with her. If anything, she threw herself at me. What was I supposed to do?” 

Henderson rolled his eyes, grabbing some tape to work on his sticks for the game, “I don’t know man, walk away? Say no thanks?” 

“I can’t leave a wanting lady unsatisfied,” Jake smirked and Henderson huffed. It was quiet for a moment, as Jake looked at the stick in his lap, before he spoke up, “Rumor mill says you signed for an apartment in the Villages.” 

Henderson chuckled, “Yeah, a beautiful three bedroom ranch style, right on the beach. Thinking I should get a golf cart and some of those colored loofahs, maybe even a pineapple on the front door.” 

“Oh I bet Liv would love that.” 

If there was one woman who could make the whole North Island Daggers Hockey Team shudder in fear, it was Liv Henderson. The woman was the definition of the perfect WAG: beautiful, smart, classy, helpful, and strong willed. Liv had opened up her house, having most of the team dinners on Sundays when they could. Liv always joked that she wasn’t just raising three boys, she was raising 26 boys (including her own husband). Jake always jokes around that one day he was going to steal Liv away, but never in a million years would he think of doing that. He saw the way Henderson looked at the girl who was his highschool sweetheart. It made him ache for something like that. 

“She’d have my balls in a jar,” Henderson shook his head, both men knowing it was probably true, “But it’s time, man. I’m getting past my prime. I can’t keep up with you young bucks out there on the ice. Besides. . . after everything that happened across the pond. . . I know it was a freak accident, but it scared me. I can’t imagine my wife, my kids, hell, the fans and my team seeing that.” 

Jake nodded, knowing exactly what he was alluding to. The freak accident of two players on the ice, leading to one tragically losing their life. When news of the accident traveled, it made Jake feel sick to his stomach. Hockey was a dangerous sport. He’s seen guys skate off holding their teeth in their hands, or clutching their broken noses. Never, in a million years, would he imagine a team would have to hold their friend up as they took him off the ice. 

“I plan to be here to watch them grow up, and not spend it trying to fix my scrambled brain,” Henderson spoke, breaking the tension, “Bad enough I got three fake teeth. Liv would come after me if I lost another.” 

“It’ll be weird without you,” Jake looked at him. 

For as long as Jake has been a fan of hockey, Michael Henderson has been playing. Jake could remember being a kid, going with the U12 USA team to a North Island versus the Flyers game, and waiting down by the tunnel to get his jersey signed by Michael. To be drafted to the same team as him is like a dream come true for Jake. What would’ve made it better is having Russ Hamilton as their coach. Jake knew there would come a day where Henderson would hang up the skates, he just didn’t think it would be this soon. 

“You’ll get over it,” Henderson nudged him, and Jake scoffed, “You will. You’ll be sitting in this locker room a year from now and be like ‘damn, I'm sure glad that grandpa is gone’.” 

“Never,” Jake feigned hurt, “You are my baby!” 

“You’re fucking weird,” Henderson shook his head in laughter, and then cleared his throat, “You know. . . They asked me if I had a recommendation for a captain.” Jake felt his heartbeat pick up in speed, “The first name that came to my mind was yours. And I wanted to say your name so bad. . . but I couldn’t.” 

“Why?” Jake felt a mix of anger and sadness that the man he considered one of his close friends and mentors wouldn’t have suggested him for the spot. 

“Cause you’re not there yet,” Henderson said, honesty dripping in his voice. If there was one person on the team any of the guys could be honest with, it was Michael Henderson. Man was like a vault, harboring secrets of his teammates, “We all know you are the right man for the job. But you have to prove it. Being a captain is more than just having the skills and the stats. It’s what happens off the ice.” 

“Look,” Henderson ran a hand through his hair, “I was your age when I was faced with either getting captain or getting kicked off. Liv and I had broken up and I just. . . I got sucked into the life of being a hockey player. As a captain, you have so many eyes on you. Not just from the coaches and the GMs. . . but the fans, the sports announcers, the kids. . . Being a captain isn’t just about what happens on the ice, it’s also about what happens off the ice,” Henderson sat down next Jake, “You are the man for the position. But you need to get your shit together. Or they’ll pick someone else and you’ll be sent somewhere else.” 

Jake looked at his teammate, soaking in every word that he said. Even though there was only a 10 year difference between him and Henderson, he felt like there was more. Henderson spoke to Jake like an encouraging father, one that he wished and envied that his boys had. 

“Thanks Hendo,” Jake said sincerely. 

“Of course,” Henderson smiled, “Now, do me a favor. . . Keep the retirement village stuff a secret. Liv still hasn’t picked out the house she wants yet.” 

Jake chuckled, slapping his captain’s shoulder, “Secrets safe with me.” 

— — — 

One part of pre-game that Jake hated, was warming up on the ice in front of fans. Some guys loved it, taking time to smile and pose for pictures and toss pucks over the glass. Jake hated it because it distracted him. The bright signs, the fans pounding on the glass, the blasting music and lights flashing around. Jake just wanted to put his headphones on and ignore the social media girl who held her work phone right in front of his face as he stretched out on the ice. He just knew that his friends and family are going to bombard him with links to the latest thirst trap of him stretching. 

The guys skated around on the ice, passing pucks to one another and serving them to Bob Floyd, their goalie. When Bob first joined the team, Jake didn’t think he had what it took to be an NHL goalie. He was scrawny, and lanky, and looked like he weighed less than his pads. But after he had a game winning save against the Devils and nearly started a fight himself, Jake was suddenly Team Bob Floyd. 

Jake quietly ran through the roster of the guys, checking them off one by one as they skated by, noticing that one was still missing. Jake was about to shout at Henderson asking where Holloway was, when the player in question skated out on the ice, a bubble now attached to his helmet. A prominent cut was still across his nose as bruising grew under his eye sockets. Jake couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips as Holloway skated right by him. 

“Something funny, Seresin?” Holloway asked. 

Jake just shrugged, “Oh nothing, bubble boy,” He stood from where he was kneeling on the ice, “Maybe next time. . . start a fight you can win.” 

Holloway glared daggers into Jake’s back as he skated over to a bunch of awaiting blondes hoping for a chance to get a puck from the star player. 

— — — 

There was a chill in the arena as you walked through the door, being escorted by some intern to the box that Pete and Tom had invited you to. You knew this stadium like the back of your hand, and would have found your way to the box that was named in honor of your father by yourself. Even though your father didn’t spend a lot of time on the Daggers team, he still considered the organization as his family. He told you once that he truly never felt a connection to a team or an area like he did for North Island. It brought a smile to your face as the intern pushed open the door to the box with red letters painted on the frosted glass reading “The Hamilton Box”.

You walked right towards the edge of the box, looking out over the ice as both teams warmed up, skating in circles around each other. The last time you had been in this position, your father was standing next to you, pointing out certain players to keep an eye on and rattling off their stats as if it had been ingrained in his mind, which knowing him. . . it probably was. A strange feeling grew in your belly, it was a mixture of sadness and anger. Sadness that he wasn’t here next to you and anger that cancer had taken him way before his time. 

“You miss it?” Tom asked, startling you from your trance of watching the players. 

A sheepish smile grew on your face as you looked back at the ice. Only a handful of people knew the truth as to why you walked away from hockey, and Tom was one of those, “Every damn day.” 

Tom gave you a warm smile, the type of smile only a dad could give to their child as he slung his arm over your shoulders, “Your dad always spoke so highly of you. Told us you were going to give us a run for our money some day.” 

Tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered those days where you’d spend hours upon hours at the arena with your dad. Running drills until your body physically couldn’t anymore. Your dad never pushed you hard, it was always something you did on your own and your dad was just a grateful volunteer to be there. Those days seemed like a whole other life compared to what you were living now. 

“I haven’t been on the ice like that in years,” You shook your head, looking down at your heels. You could’ve just worn jeans and some sneakers like you would usually wear, but you were still trying to impress your new employer, so dress pants, a deep blue dress shirt and black heels it was, “It wouldn’t even feel the same anymore. Not because of the injury. . . because he’s not here.” 

Tom squeezed your shoulders, “You’d be surprised. I gave it up for years and thought the same thing. But sometimes, it feels better than it used to feel.” 

You nodded your head as Tom walked over to a group of donors, working the crowd just like you remember him doing. Tom was always the face of the Daggers, your dad always poking fun of him for it. Tom always got the glory while your dad was doing all the guts. You shook your head laughing, looking back towards the ice, rolling your eyes as one of the players stood off to the side, flirting with a group of females. 

It seemed as soon as the puck dropped, the Coyotes had already won the game. The Coyotes came in hot, and the Daggers were ice cold as they kept getting out played and out skated. No one seemed to be communicating on the team, simple plays falling apart and dumb goals getting passed Bob. The anger grew in Jake’s body as he got slammed into the boards for probably the 100th time in a row, and it was only the 2nd period. Jake usually thrived when he was behind the net, but his usual tactics were falling apart and he felt like Holloway was leaving him defenseless and open for being used as a punching bag. 

Jake shook his head, a loud groan leaving his gritted teeth as he skated out from behind the net, going right up to Holloway, “You just going to sit there with your thumb in your ass and not do anything!?” 

Holloway just shrugged, “You seemed like you had it,” If looks could kill, Holloway would be dead as he skated over the blue line.

Jake’s eyes move around the ice, watching the puck as Bradley stole it away from a Coyote player, passing it over to Holloway. Instead of skating back to the net, to get set up for a goal or assist, Jake skated right at Holloway, checking him, sending his teammate flying towards the ground. Jake was quick to juggle the puck before lining up to make a perfect slapshot, sending it soaring past the Coyote goalie. The arena erupted in cheers as the buzzer sounded. Jake smirked as he skated past Holloway, who was getting up from the ice. 

“The fuck was that!?” Holloway yelled. 

“I had it,” Jake winked. The small movement being broadcasted on the jumbotron for everyone to see, making the crowd go even wilder. 

The Hamilton Box erupted in cheers as people high-fived and clinked their drinks together at finally getting on the scoreboard. You could hear Tom’s loud cheering as he pointed down to the ice, the players getting ready for the game to get back and action. You rolled your eyes, all the goal did was put the team on the scoreboard, they were still getting beat 4-1. Your eyes landed on the jumbotron hanging above the center of the ice, the goal and Jake Seresin’s wink to his teammate were being replayed over and over, making your blood heat up. If there was one thing you hated, it was show-offs. 

“Not a fan?” Pete asked, noticing the look on your face. 

“Not a fan?” You asked, eyebrow raised, and nodded your head towards the replay still being shown, “Not a fan is an understatement.” 

Tom had walked over to the two, a glass of champagne in his hand, “It was a good play.” 

“That?” You scoffed, “That was bullshit. He bodychecked his own teammate to make a goal, and for what? To make ESPN’s “play of the week”,” You mocked, looking back at the ice just as Jake got shoved up against the boards. . . again, “Hockey is a team sport. You’re only going to be good if you work together. That little display of. . . whatever the fuck, isn’t how you win a cup. If Jake Seresin wanted to play by himself, he should try golf.” 

You turned your body as Tom and Pete shared a look, “What?” 

A smile broke across Pete’s face, “Nothing. . . you just sound like your dad.” 

You tried to keep up your facade, but it slowly faded as your ears turned pink and a smile threatened to arise on your face. You cleared your throat and turned back to the game, stomping your heel for extra drama. Both men chuckled softly, before following suit and watching the second period get under way. 

— — —

They should’ve won. 

They should’ve fucking won. 

The Coyotes were supposed to be an easy, breezy team to play before the Daggers hit the road for 2 weeks. But apparently, the Coyotes had gotten good overnight. . . or the Daggers underestimated them. 

The moment the final buzzer went off, Jake was pissed. A final score of 6-2 in bright block letters dancing around the jumbotron as Jake skated off the ice towards the locker room, not stopping to acknowledge fans or his coaches. Everyone knew better than to stand in the way of Jake Seresin and the locker room after a brutal loss. The second the door closed behind him, he was breaking his stick against the ground with a loud yell. 

“You’re lucky Bauer endorses you,” Bradley mumbled as he walked in after Jake, kicking the pieces of splintered plastic. 

“Shut up, Bradshaw,” Jake muttered, throwing the remaining stick off towards the side. He sat down on the bench with a groan, immediately going to undo his skates, “That was fucking stupid.” 

“We got outplayed,” Bradley shrugged, “What can we do?” 

“Don't get outplayed.” 

Bradley couldn’t even respond as Jake was already shucking off his uniform and pads, before grabbing his towel and heading to the showers. On the nights where they lost, Jake was the first one out of the locker room, doing all that was humanly possible to avoid talking to the press. Tonight, he seemed to be wanting to move even quicker, knowing that the press was going to ask him about the bodycheck he delivered to Holloway and how he felt about his upcoming suspension. 

Jake showered quickly, washing the hotspots of his body, knowing that he would take a more in depth shower at home. Or maybe he’d take a bath. There was nothing Jake loved more than his clawfoot bathtub, it was the selling point for Jake when he was house hunting. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Jake stepped out into the locker room, which was fuller with his team mates all stripping off their uniforms and equipment. A cloud of tension was thick in the air as no one hardly said anything. What was there to say? 

They should’ve fucking won. 

“Seresin,” Coach Simpson said as he walked into the locker room. Jake’s back tensed, his breathing deep, “We need to talk.” 

Jake took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, before reaching for his deodorant, “Not now.” 

“Yes,” Simpson grumbled, “Now.” 

Jake turned around, “No.” Simpson’s jaw clenched as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Excuse me?” 

Jake clenched his jaw, “Not tonight, alright, Coach? I played like shit. We all played like shit. My body hurts. I’m tired. And quite frankly, I think I am the last person that should be talking to the press tonight,” Jake turned back to his locker, grabbing his sweatpants. With not an ounce of shame in his body, he turned back around to his coach, and dropped his towel. Simpson quickly looked away, annoyance even more evident on his face. 

“Fine,” Simpson grunted, “Get your shit and get out.” 

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,”  Jake smirked, slipping on his sweatpants and chucking all of his stuff into his duffle bag, “See you in two weeks.” 

“Actually. . .” Simpson licked his lips, as if the next words were going to pain him, “You will be joining us in Edmonton. Won’t be playing, but you’ll be there.” 

“Perfect. . . guessing they didn’t want me and Emma alone in the same place.” Before Simpson could yell at him Jake walked out of the locker room. 

Although his mood had lifted slightly, the moment he was in his truck, and turned on the Paul Marquez Show, his anger returned. 

“Going out West, we had the Coyotes and Daggers. . . and man did those Coyotes chew them up and spit them out,” Paul’s voice sounded out over the speakers as Jake put the truck in drive. He knew it was stupid to listen to sports analysts who hated him after playing probably the worst game of the season. But Jake was a sucker for pain, “Jake Seresin scored both of North Island’s goals for the night getting them on the scoreboard but it wasn’t enough.” 

“Oh it was enough,” The voice of Denny Lester filled the cab of the truck, “Hitting your already injured teammate. . . an injury that you caused, is certainly a new one.”

“Seresin’s time in the penalty box was certainly lower than it was during last week's game stretch against the Devils,” Paul Marquez’s voice sounded through the speaker again, “Could this mean that the Dagger bad boy is turning a new leaf?” Jake scoffed, rolling his eyes towards his sunroof,  “Or could it mean that the trade deadline is fast approaching, and Seresin’s title could be on the line.

Jake quickly turned off the radio, not wanting to hear the analysis on the encroaching trade deadline. He had the date circled on his calendar in bright red marker, and hung it on his fridge. Jake always believed the trade deadline came at the worst part of the season. Teams had been playing together for months, most had players returning from All-Star Weekend, the end of the season was winding down and the playoff teams started to become clearer. Trades could either make or break a team. Even if you were one of the benchwarmers that got traded, it was still a hit to the team. 

If you would’ve asked Jake last season if he was worried about the trade deadline, he would’ve laughed in your face and told you that you were stupid for even asking that question. But this season was different. He was different. Jake hated to say that the years of getting rammed into the boards were starting to catch up to him. . . but those years of getting rammed into the boards were starting to catch up to him. 

Jake pulled into the underground garage of his apartment building, turning his truck off and grabbing his duffle and suit bag from the car. His shoes squeaked against the marble of his luxury apartment building, as he nodded his head towards his doorman and the elevator attendant. Yeah, he lived in one of those buildings. When he first got to the daggers as an 18 year old, he had splurged most of his first NHL check on getting all the things he imagined, including the luxury penthouse on the 15th floor of the “Hamilton Building '' named after nonother than his hockey idol. 

The elevator dinged and opened right into Jake's living room, which was mainly black and white marble floors with black couches, white walls and a black-brick fireplace. He was a simple man, and liked to keep his house simple. He didn’t have time for decorations and besides, it was just more stuff around to collect dust. His housekeeper already had enough to do cleaning the two floor, 8 bedrooms, 6 bathroom penthouse. 

Jake tossed his duffle and suit bags on the floor by the elevator, knowing Donna will pick it up and put it away in his closet in the morning. He didn’t know how she did it, but his bag and clothes were always washed and put away by the time he woke up in the morning. She was like Santa Claus, but with less breaking into people’s houses. He slowly made his way to the kitchen, wanting his post-game snack which consisted of chocolate chip cookies and homemade ice cream, both made by Donna. 

He came to a stop in the doorway, his eyebrows furrowing at the stranger with her back to him, sitting at his kitchen island. The black dress she wore hugged her frame, and the black heels on her feet made her golden tan legs look like they went on for ages. Her hair was curled and flowed down her back, and the slightest hint of a tattoo peaked out from under the neckline. 

“I didn’t order anything, but I am sure glad you’re here,” Jake smirked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorway. 

The girl jumped, her phone clattering to the island and her hand going to her chest, probably to slow her erratic heartbeat. She waited a moment, before turning around on the barstool, shock written on her face, before it quickly twisted in disgust and anger. 

“Oh you got to be fucking kidding me,” She cursed. 

Jake chuckled, “Nice to meet you too, sweetheart. Usually that’s not the response I get. And usually the girls are wearing less clothes when I walk in. But I get it, want a bit of a-” 

The girl slid off the barstool, holding her hand up to cut him off, “I am not a fucking puck bunny,” She pointed her finger at him, and then waved it between the two of them, “And this is not going to fucking work,” She turned back around towards the island, gathering her phone, purse and coat. Jake couldn’t help but admire her ass in that black dress. He was a sucker for a woman in a little black dress and heels. 

“You’re in my apartment wearing a black dress and heels. What else am I supposed to assume?” 

The girl scoffed, turning her head with her jaw slightly ajar. Jake let his mind wander a bit, wondering how soft her lips were. They were plump and covered in what he guessed was lipgloss by the way they shone in the dim light of his kitchen. 

“You don’t even. . .” She shook her head again, “God you are worse than I remember,” Jake cocked his head in confusion, “I should’ve asked for a fucking name before I drove here. Hell! Before I even agreed to this!” 

“What are you going on about?” Jake asked, his eyebrows furrowed, “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you or-” The girl scoffed again, even louder this time, “Okay. . .” He pondered for a moment, trying to rack his brain for the right thing to say, “Well, I’m not that bad of a lay. I’ve been told I’m pretty-” The glare she sent him was enough to make him shut up, “Okay not here for a lay.” 

“Not even fucking close,” She grabbed her phone again, quickly opening the uber app. 

“Sorry for assuming, sweetheart.” 

“Quit with the sweetheart,” She mumbled, refreshing the app to see if a car could come get her. It was a Friday Night in North Island. . . how was there not a single Uber available? She was contemplating walking back to her hotel at this point, “That’s not my name.” 

Jake nodded his head, moving from the entryway of the kitchen and over to the opposite end of the island. He’s had his fair share of rejections, but none like this. Usually girls were always down for a one night stand with him. But there was something about the way this girl wasn’t even going to give him the time of day that intrigued him, “Can you tell me what your name is?” 

She continued to tap away on her phone, hoping and pleading to whomever that an Uber would become available, but it seemed like she was shit out of luck. She looked up at the man in front of her again, his eyebrows raised, waiting for her response to his question. A strange sensation filled her chest. Embarrassment. Hurt. Anger. She should’ve known that she didn’t mean anything to him, when he had only left a sticky note on the nightstand after what she would consider was the best weekend of her life. She shook her head, pushing away the embarrassment and turning it into fuel for her anger. She set down her purse and coat, holding her hand out to Jake. 

“Y/N L/N, your new personal PR manager. . . oh! And your new roommate.”

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[kordbot]

Meet THE HACKER

The Hacker is a support class mercenary, able to take over enemy buildings, mess with the opposing team's equipment, stun enemy players, take over control points and push the payload cart quicker and more efficiently and temporarily boost friendly buildings. He also has a special ability to perform an EMP which destroys all nearby buildings, stuns all nearby enemies and uncloaks all nearby enemy spies. His melee weapon is a huge chunky laptop [which probably weighs more than he does] which has broken into as many databases as it caused concussions. It indeed IS slowly falling apart!

The man behind the class name, the RED Hacker [the BLU Hacker is a separate character that I will post separately some other day for my own sanity] - Quincy Wysocki [friends call him Quince!]. A nervous wreck, failed swing performer and a former data thief, Quincy relies more on dumb luck than any amount of actual skill. If you knew anything at all about technology and talked to him for like 5 minutes, you'd quickly find out that he has no idea what he's talking about. He's all bark, but no bite. He himself claims he's a genius of extraordinary intellect, but he also thinks that electricity is invisible magic.

Then how did he get the job, you ask? He was hired because of some top secret data he got his hands on that the Administrator doesn't want getting out [that he lost a week later]. How is he doing his job at all? Mashing random keys and hoping for the best seems to work most of the time! How did he build his [definitely not war crime material] equipment? With extraordinary difficulty!

He's awful. He's a complete loser. He has never felt the touch of a woman [or man] in his life [an affectionate one, at least]. He has no idea what he's doing 100% of the time. He's Quincy!

If anyone has any questions for and/or about him my ask box is wide open! I will try to do drawn responses to as many asks as I can [: [oc interactions highly welcome!!]

[premiumgolfcarts]

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