#nedved

[soomovic]

Pavel Nedved of Juventus VS Christian Vieri of Inter Milan played at the Stadio Delle Alpi - Serie A (2003) ⚔️.

[omanatascha]

(via GIPHY)

[fuckthevar]

il fango su Agnelli lo accetto, quello su Paratici addirittura lo auspico, ma la merda lanciata sulle roccaforti della nostra storia recente non la tollero: per molti conterà poco, ma l’unica cosa che mi rallegra della sentenza sulle #plusvalenze è l’assoluzione di Pavel #Nedved

[lisbs]

[handwark]

[iidakosuke]

Czech cannon チェコの大砲

[roberttingle]

the nedving dynamic that lives inside my head

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

The real fujoshi throne, of course, is Hodgson's cabin on the ship, perfectly situated between Little's and Irving's such that he can hear both of them jerking off and softly moaning the other one's name, each unbeknownst to the other.

[theterrorshipspoll]

(Stanvoeux art by @leadandblood)

[irvingcoded]

freed some rambling litving thoughts from earlier off my priv and figured i might as well share them here as well... (transcribed below the read more + cleaned up slightly for readability!)

something about the li(t)ving dynamic to me is just so... LIKE jirv is probably one of the very few people on either ship who unreservedly seems to respect and value little's leadership and instincts (the amount of times the two of them exchange Significant Eye Contact alone...!) , probably in a big part because it seemed as if crozier during that period of time mostly relayed any real info/orders thru his inner circle which, of the lieutenants, only really included little (& jopson of course). compare that to how we mostly saw hodge & irv getting tasked with gruntwork and relatively simple errand boy tasks while little otoh regularly got shouldered with 3 lieuts worth of responsibility instead, INCLUDING having to basically be hodgson & irving's de facto command in lieu of crozier ever communicating much with either them directly or trusting them with tasks they'd absolutely have been capable of.

so anyway yes, imo jirv would very likely follow him anywhere if it came down to it. and as a ship i am always Thinking About like... sub top little and jirv very gently domming him by just being very nice to him and telling him how handsome and special and good he is, but also taking over the decision making if/when little is too stressed to focus... but at the same time still trynna encourage him to express what he wants and what he's thinking (yes yes, pot meet kettle etc) because maybe other people don't really listen to him or take him seriously enough but jirv does...

(& then also the reverse too because little is surely more aware than anyone that's kind of how crozier(/command in general) treats hodgson and jirving for most of the expedition as well)

AND YES MOST OF THIS CAN SIMILARLY APPLY TO ANY COMBINATION OF LIEUTENANTCULE TBH but thats why they're so great...!! they definitely share some overlapping weaknesses here and there, but put the 3 of them (or even just any 2 of them!) together and they balance each other out almost perfectly because when one of them is struggling then the other(s) can and usually will step up to compensate

[mental-mouthful]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Terror (TV 2018) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: John Irving (1815-c.1848)/Edward Little (1811-c.1848) Characters: John Irving (1815-c.1848), Edward Little (1811-c.1848) Additional Tags: Mutual Masturbation, Frottage, thigh fucking, is there no tag for that or am i just forgetting the actual name for it, whatever you get it, Supernatural Elements, dubcon in the sense that ned ignores john's protests but john secretly wants this so its not Summary:

A skill you learn pretty quickly when growing up in places with little to no privacy is the subtle art of the silent masturbation.

It was something Edward Little had mastered after years of service. Tucked away in your hammock with anywhere from 30 to 100 other men, you learn to be discreet and quick. Frankly, it was such a goal-oriented endeavor that Edward usually took little pleasure in the act. It was a means to an end. It was as routine as washing himself or brushing his teeth. An urge to be satisfied, an itch to be scratched tension to be relieved before bed.

__ ehhh it's what it says on the tin folks. neddie and jirv getting off in their own rooms and then in one room wow. bro frot session gone psychic?!?!?!

as promised, my runner up to the fic poll, nedving frot sesh! go read it or something 

[soomovic]

Pavel Nedved, Lazio 2000.

[wrizard]

nedving modern au: a long-awaited kiss

talked myself into a tizzy regarding modern ned/jirv au c/o @irvingcoded over on twt here, in which john, pastor, meets ned, architect, during church renovations, and very slowly ruins his own (married with children) life. i couldn't stop thinking about it.

have this! i have edited it not at all!!

*

“oh, it’s perfect,” john marvels, tracing his fingertips over the tablet screen with reverence. the final window design: a work of art. glass, colour, light – fine angles, sunshine, abstract enough to please the artist in him, a perfect synthesis of contemporary and traditional. john’s guts fizz in delight. he zooms out, then in again, then carefully sets it back on the desk. “it’s going to be beautiful – i can’t believe it, you’ve – you’re a miracle worker.”

edward shifts his shoulders the way he does when he’s flustered, and even goes charmingly pink about the ears. “i’m certainly glad you like it. i’m no painter or anything – most of it was off your sketches, i only made it a bit simpler, is all.”

john’s cheeks ache. he’s grinning, wide and real and easy as anything. he wants to laugh. he’s electric all over. he wants to – shout, or jump for joy, or fling his arms around edward’s shoulders in an embrace. there’s no one around to see them, not here in edward’s tiny office, not after hours; he gives in just a little, letting himself spin once in place.

edward laughs, sweet and warm. it’s a lovely laugh, the sort that carves those long dimples in his cheeks – john’s surprised him again. “it’s just a plan,” he says. “haven’t even found an artist. we’ll have to raise extra funds for the commissioning, but not too much. no need for any bake sales just yet.”

“bake sales,” john laughs, and grabs edward by the shoulders, gives him an enthusiastic shake. “i’ll – i’ll make a hundred trays of brownies, ned, a thousand, i don’t care! it’s perfect!”

that smile – edward’s ducking his head to hide it, the weasel, and john won’t have it, can’t stand to miss the brightness in his eyes, the sparkle that makes him look a decade younger. john lets his arms go. grabs his head instead. edward’s five o’clock shadow bristles against john’s palms as john tips him up to look properly. and – yes, goodness, those dark eyes glitter in the lamplight, the glow of the tablet turned to matching blocks of star-blue floating on deep chestnut-brown.

“you’re brilliant, edward,” says john. “you’re – oh, you talk such nonsense about yourself, you’re – brilliant. you’re a gift. god sent you to me as a gift.”

edward’s grin falters. his gaze darts back and forth between john’s eyes.

they’re very close together.

the giddiness swirling in john’s belly swoops up into his throat. edward’s lashes are so dark against the fairness of his skin. john ought to bother him to come out hiking again, soon. get some colour back into him. some of that light. all the warmth that’s inside him, burning, hidden under dark circles and deadlines and all those bizarre coffee drinks.

“john,” edward breathes, strangely.

john sways in closer. it feels – natural. easy. edward is so warm in his hands. this is what friends do, john thinks; they touch each other. he’s seen it. he remembers how george kissed edward on both cheeks, and how edward laughed and shoved playfully at george’s arm, not the sort of shove to push someone away but to bring them closer. what would it feel like, to kiss his cheek? what if –

tipping edward’s head to one side, john presses his lips to edward’s cheekbone.

it’s a peck, is all. a way to siphon off a fraction of the joy bubbling up in john’s lungs, his veins, his heart. an expression of the love he bears his friend. stubble pricked a bit at his lips, perfectly; edward was, of course, soft beneath the sharpest bits, and almost fever-hot against john’s mouth.

edward makes a tiny, quiet noise in the back of his throat.

“a miracle,” murmurs john, and, bowing to the sudden urge – no one to see them – no one to know – he dives in again, presses his face to the other side of edward’s, harder, deeper, nuzzling in, and this time when he pulls away he’s distantly surprised he isn’t shaking.

slow and careful, edward raises his hands up. wraps his long, slender fingers around john’s wrists. he’s staring. he’s staring at john. he’s breathing too quickly. his eyes are wide, but he blinks, a few times in a row, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

all at once, the words slip out of john’s mouth: “i prayed for you.”

edward’s thumb caresses the back of john’s wrist, and his brow furrows. “i’m fine, john, we’ve talked about this–”

“no, no, i, i prayed for you,” john insists, fingers tightening over edward’s face. “i asked for – a miracle. and then the next morning you showed up. you’re – he sent you, to fix this, to help me, and i…”

like a magnet, like gravity, john is pulled in. their noses brush.

john – kisses him.

it’s a peck. again. small. simple. friends do this, he knows, he’s seen maggie kiss her friends a thousand times, and edward is his best friend, his only friend, maybe, or at least the only person who’s ever made him feel so real, so himself. lips to lips. quick in, quick out.

he pulls away, pulse roaring. there is space between them again. not much. just enough for breath.

edward holds john’s wrists. his eyes have slipped closed. he looks – pained. like a martyr in an old masterwork. his lips are open. his lips are wet. his lips –

john kisses him.

john kisses him, and doesn’t pull back.

[fuckthevar]

risale alla prima partita del campionato 2001/02 l’ultimo #JuveVenezia convincente: quel giorno ci godemmo ben due doppiette, una di Alex, l’altra di Trezeguet, e soprattutto ci fu l’esordio di un giocatore che ho amato tantissimo e che io assolverò sempre da tutto, Pavel #Nedved

[szeress-kerlek]

Az a baj a sorozatokkal, hogy teljesen eltorzítják az ember elvárásait. Mindig irreálisan jóképű, de totálisan elborult karaktereket vonultatnak fel, akikről én meg persze azt gondolom: „Igen, hozzám költözhetne az a fickó, aki egy hónapja nem fürdött, írni és olvasni se tud, és úgy néz rám, mintha azt mérlegelné, hogy vacsorára megegyen-e vagy sem.”

Aztán kilépsz a valóságba, és ott csak normális férfiak vannak, nem pedig tragikus múltú, 190 centis, félmeztelen harcosok, akiknek olyan éles az arccsontjuk, hogy konkrétan ketté tudnák vágni a szívemet és úgy b*sznak, hogy még az emelet is leszakad.

Televízió, miért tetted ezt velem? Most már örökké olyan pasikat fogok keresni, akik kizárólag forgatókönyvekben léteznek.

[crazy-god-bunker-jughead]

Nedving/Lieutenentcule(Kinda) Dynamic

I was seized by the urge to make this at midnight, idk.

Adaptation of this post