#striker is a goddamn professional
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When you're just trying to be a goddamn psychotic professional, but them horny fuckers messing up your vibe with their shitty pop music and tmi.
#helluva boss fanart#helluva boss#western energy#striker helluva boss#striker#striker is so done with the lack of professionalism#speed sketch#striker is a goddamn professional#god fucking dammit#He didn't lose his bandana for this shit
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Can't believe I'm doing this...
*sighs*
Alright, let's get this over with...
Listen' up, ya vermins: name's Striker, professional assassin for hire, and the only goddamn reason I'm on this "Tumblr" shit is because someone is paying me REALLY good cash just to answer your dumb questions. I have no idea why anyone would even think about asking me questions, but I never said no to easy money, I ain't starting now.
That said, know that I'm in a safe, secret location and work's been kinda slow, otherwise I assure you that I wouldn't waste any of my precious time with this whole bullshit, risking to be found.
So don't even TRY and ask me where I am. I'm a wanted man, and for a good goddamn reason.
Also, I got the right to ignore any question that I don't like, 'cause I'm being paid regardless.
So c'mon, don't be shy...I won't bite.
Maybe.
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Striker x Reader - Picking Up Trash and Calling It Treasure 5
Chapter 4
The motel room was musty and cramped, the floorplan barely offering enough space to squeeze in a bed between the walls. The bathroom didn’t have a door, and every appliance in the wannabe kitchen was rusted and smelled of decay. Dim yellow lighting hung from the ceiling, exposed wires threatening to snap at any moment, and there were so many stains in the carpet that it was anyone’s guess what the original color had been.
Striker sat atop the tattered blanket that draped over the bed, one leg bent with the other crossed overtop of it. His tail twitched in irritation as he listened to the voice coming through the other end of the phone, his claws tightening around the device with the desire to smash it to pieces if only so that this particular client no longer had a way to contact him. His yellow eyes glowed in the shitty light of the room, and his free hand picked at stray threads protruding from the surface of the blanket.
“I understand,” he confirmed for the umpteenth time, his client seeming to refuse the rattlesnake’s grasp of the assignment. It was an easy kill, on what sounded to be an easy target. Striker could have pulled this job in his sleep if the fucker that hired him would just hang up the goddamn phone and let him work.
“The bitch should be easy enough to find,” the client repeated. “And she’s got a temper, but I don’t think she’ll put up much of a fight. She always was a pathetic mouse. I’ll text you the details.”
“I’ll be waitin’,” Striker replied, exhaling a loud sigh of relief upon finally being able to end the call and toss the phone to the foot of the bed. His client had rambled on and on about his personal relationship with the target, how they had been lovers once upon a time, how she’d threaten to take everything he’d worked for and how she’d tried to kill him. Why he didn’t just take the bitch out himself, Striker didn’t care to ask. If she was as useless as his client proclaimed, he should have easily been able to do his own dirty work. But money was money, and Striker never bothered to question why. He was an assassin for hire, not a therapist.
His phone vibrated with news of the target, and he groaned before using his tail to swipe it from where he’d thrown it. Clicking open the text, he rolled his eyes at the paragraph of useless information that preceded the part he actually needed. His thumb scrolled down to the bottom of the page, grunting in relief upon finally discovering the client’s name, location, and occupation.
Oh, fuck.
Striker stared at the words on his screen, ringed eyes widening in disbelief. There was no fucking way.
(y/n) (l/n)
Last located in Imp City.
Works for Immediate Murder Professionals.
Highly dangerous.
His tail rattled loudly, the sound vibrating off of the empty motel room walls. He hissed as he closed the message, wondering exactly what the fuck you’d done to warrant yourself an assassination.
Your back popped as you jumped through the portal, landing back in the I.M.P. office. The last job had been more physically taxing than any of you had anticipated – your client had failed to inform you of the sheer size of the hit, and humans already hilariously outweighed imps. You’d almost been suffocated when Blitzø had struck the human over the head with a crowbar, his large body toppling to the ground where you’d stood. You managed to scramble away just in time, though your tail had been trapped for a moment.
Now that you and your crew were back in Hell, you were ready to go home and enjoy a long, scalding bath, preferably with a bottle of wine and some chrysanthemum candles.
“Great job today, crew!” Blitzø beamed as though the mission had been smooth sailing.
“Thanks for nearly getting me killed,” you barked back at him, rubbing your shoulder.
“You’re still here though!” he countered, waving a hand dismissively. “Who wants to celebrate?”
“With all due respect, sir,” Moxxie sighed, running a hand through his hair and pulling out a chunk of bloodied skin, “I think Millie and I are going to go home. We’re exhausted.”
“Me fucking too,” you nodded.
“Quitters!” Blitzø pouted childishly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Shut your face,” you groaned. “Go see if your boy toy wants to spend the night with you.”
“That’s… actually not a bad idea!” your boss beamed, whipping his phone out of his pocket and dialing Stolas’s number.
“And that’s my cue to leave,” you commented, picking up your bag full of weapons. “No fucking way am I sticking around to listen to the vocal foreplay.”
Millie cackled as she and Moxxie walked outside beside you. You waved them goodbye as they climbed into their car and sped away before turning to approach your own.
Before you could reach it, a presence crept up behind you, taking you by the wrist and spinning you around. Your back was slammed into a brick wall, and you growled at the contact. Your claws struggled to sink into the flesh of the hand that had pinned you, but the angle was wrong, and you couldn’t quite reach. You’d dropped your weaponry in surprise, and before you could even consider reaching for it, your other hand had been pinned by your head.
“Don’t move, darlin’,” a gravelly voice hissed in your ear, and your eyes widened in surprise.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, turning your head in an attempt to get a look at your attacker’s face. Your ears had not deceived you – Striker stood before you, brows narrowed darkly, lips split into a snarl, revealing his razor-sharp fangs. This was a completely different cowboy than the one you’d taunted at the bar. You’d almost wondered if he’d been possessed.
“What the fuck is this?” you inquired again. “Is this payback for something? Did I piss you off?”
“This ain’t about me,” he countered quietly, and you’d never heard his voice sound so low or serious. It filled your core with a chill of dread.
“Someone’s taken a hit out on you,” he confessed, lifting his gaze to meet your eyes. “I’ve been hired for the job.”
“You’ve been hired to kill me?” you repeated in disbelief before anger flooded your heart. “And you fucking took it?!”
“Settle down, sweetheart,” he scoffed as though he were offended by the accusation of what he’d already admitted to doing. “I didn’t know it was you. My client didn’t specify shit until after I’d accepted the deal.”
“What fucking deal?” you demanded with a growl, struggling against his iron grip. “How much is my head worth, huh? Who the fuck hired you?!”
“A demon named Calcifer,” he replied. “I don’t know much about his personal life, just that he’s made millions for himself and he’s usin’ the money to remove anyone he deems a threat to his livelihood. You’re pretty high up on that list.”
Your blood turned to ice in your veins at the name, and you immediately ceased your thrashing. Striker noticed the change in your demeanor, and he raised a brow. Out of curiosity or concern, he didn’t want to know. But he did want to know the story.
“Do you want to know why?” you questioned, not meeting his gaze. Your voice sounded far away, like you were talking to the air rather than to Striker. “Or would you rather just get it over with?”
That upset him. He released one of your hands, using his own to take hold of your chin. He turned your face back to his, nudging your forehead with his hat until you met his gaze.
“I wanna know why he wants you dead,” he replied, not letting you look away. “I also wanna know why just hearin’ his name turned you into a whole ‘nother imp. You’re not even fightin’ me, darlin’. I got a problem with that.”
“What, you don’t like easy prey?” you scoffed, feeling the swell of hot tears bubbling behind your eyes.
“Not when it’s you,” he admitted, though he wasn’t going to take even a second to contemplate what he meant by that. “You’re not easy prey, little lady. You’ve proven that much. Why does this asshole think you are?”
You hesitated. Your eyes bore into Striker’s, and his widened upon seeing the pain and fear swirling in yours. He quickly decided that he hated that expression on you – another thing he didn’t want to think too deeply about.
You broke the stare, casting your gaze down towards the cowboy’s boots. “We were engaged,” you began softly. “We were together for five years. Five fucking years. And he never treated me like an imp. He treated me like a demon, like a higher class being, like we were on the same level. It was maybe a week until the wedding when I found out he’d been cheating on me. And it wasn’t just some side hoe he couldn’t get rid of – he really cheated on me. I still don’t know who ratted him out; all I know is that an envelope arrived at our doorstep one night while he was out. He told me he was working, but after opening the envelope, I doubt he was ever working when he claimed to be.”
You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes. You hadn’t even noticed that Striker had released your other hand and was now standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, silently waiting for you to continue.
“Inside the envelope were dozens of photos. Hundreds maybe. Every single one was him and a different bitch. Men, women, demons, imps, sinners. He even had one of those robotic Fizzarolli rip-offs. Anything was better than actually being with me, I guess.” You hugged yourself, claws digging softly into the sleeves of your top. “I confronted him when he came home. He didn’t deny it, he didn’t even get mad. He acted like it was no big deal, like I’d accused him of not doing the fucking dishes. He wanted to continue on with the wedding, so I asked him why. Why would he want to marry me when he’d been sleazing around with half of Hell?”
You barely registered Striker’s tail rattling behind him, though whether it was with intrigue or anger, you didn’t know.
“For the status, that was his excuse,” you laughed humorlessly. “His family didn’t look down on imps the way most of society does. They didn’t think me too beneath him to be a viable mate. They though of me like a stray hellhound; a poor helpless creature that wouldn’t even be alive if it hadn’t been for his generosity. I don’t know what he’s built his empire on, but he was always a trust fund bitch. His parents were loaded, and they had a hefty paycheck signed over to him for our wedding. If he didn’t marry me, he didn’t get that check.”
The rattling grew louder, but you were too lost in unpleasant memories to notice. You hugged your arms tighter around yourself, claws poking holes into your sleeves, slicing into the skin of your biceps.
“I told him I’d kill him. I said if we went through with the marriage, I’d kill him, and as his widow I’d take everything he had. Threatening to expose him wouldn’t have mattered – I’m an imp. His family would have applauded him for finding his pleasures elsewhere, rather than fucking me and risk us spawning a child. But threatening his money was the thing that got to him. He exploded. He attacked me,” you paused to lift the hem of your shirt, revealing old scars tracked across your torso. “I nearly bled out. He left me unconscious on the living room floor, thinking he’d killed me, and I haven’t heard from him since.”
Striker had opened his arms and stepped forward before his brain could even catch up with his body. Toned, slender arms curled around you, pulling you tightly to his broad chest. Your senses were immediately swathed by the cowboy – the low rattle of his tail in your ears, the scent of spiced cider infiltrating your nose, well-worn leather between your fingers. You closed your eyes as he pressed your face into the crook of his neck with surprising tenderness, a shuddering breath falling from your lips as you melted against him.
You hadn’t expected to cry. Sure, you’d never forget how Calcifer treated you, but it had been years since the damage had been done, and you’d sworn that it had been pushed deep enough into your mind that it no longer affected you. But as you stood there, wrapped up in Striker’s arms, the dam you’d built around your heart broke, and a sob ripped through your lips before you could stifle it. Before too long, you were trembling in his grasp, tears soaking into the handkerchief he had tied around his neck. His arms only tightened around you urging more sobs from your throat as you were encompassed in the comfort you hadn’t realized you so desperately needed.
The rattlesnake may be an asshat, and you had no idea why he’d ghosted you. And this little private display of affection certainly didn’t erase his lack of contact, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to be mad at him now, not with his tail gently caressing your back and his smooth whiskey voice whispering words of reassurance in your ear.
This was definitely the start of something. What, you had no idea. But definitely something.
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afc richmond/fifa headcanons
please bear in mind that i know next to nothing about fifa, but this simply will not leave my head. cheers
the best fifa players on the team are probably thierry, isaac, and richard
thierry tends to play more as a hobby but isaac and richard have a competitive streak a mile long
they have a running tally of scores against each other and there are some bets as to who will ultimately come out on top, but really no one knows when the rivalry will actually end so most don’t bother
#THIERRY: can you guys. can you guys chill out
colin and sam are fairly decent at the game/can hold their own. colin definitely takes it more seriously than sam does
sometimes someone will bring the game on roadies and they’ll have little mini-tournaments in the hotels at their away-games
nate never played but always had helpful strategy tips. will is a bit hopeless at the game in general <3
ted has been cajoled into playing before but mostly doesn’t get it - if anything, he’s mainly there to mediate if/when things turn ugly (*cough* isaac and richard *cough*)
ironically, thierry’s not that great at goalkeeping in-game. o’brien is and likes to lord this over him
a lot of others just don’t care. like. what’s so great about a video game of a sport we play professionally
#JAN MAAS: i don’t need poorly-rendered 3-d versions of footballers to prove my talent.
beard does not play but he will sit on the sidelines and observe the game as if it is a real regulation match. complete with screaming and his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket all contemplatively
higgins does not understand why the richmond club is obsessed with a game his sons play
roy outright refuses to play and no one has any idea if he’d be good or not but it does open the door for a ton more granddad jokes via jamie
speaking of - jamie and dani are TERRIBLE at fifa. like. absolutely suck shit at it
dani plays for fun and is just naturally bad at it, but he enjoys himself and his teammates’ determination and spirit all the same
jamie hates fifa. jamie hates fifa so much because he cannot for the life of him figure it out and nothing bothers him more.
(it does make the rest of the team feel pretty good to know that their best strikers are entirely hopeless at this)
“hey jamie, you up for a fifa match, bruv?” “if you mention that name again, i’ll cave your face in.” “😳”
with a richmond update to the game comes discourse over who should play as who
isaac plays as richard/richard plays as isaac
jamie plays as himself and still sucks
dani for some reason always has winchester on his team and no one can really discern why but tommy is quite flattered (even if dani still can’t play the game right)
rebecca welton is a goddamn LEGEND at fifa.
sam introduced it to her and she quickly became addicted
“so i - i just press these buttons? that’s all? well, i can’t expect i’ll be very good at - oh. oh! oh, i see!”
sam is like. what have i created
rebecca witnesses a richard-isaac match full of A LOT of fruity language and she’s like i’d like a try!
and then she absolutely decimates the both of them and all bets are off completely
isaac found dead in miami
richard isn’t crying. he’s just so moved by the boss’s flawless game strategy. now if you’ll excuse him, he’s going to go scream into a pillow for a bit
so ted ends many a night consoling his players/gazing in awe at rebecca’s sheer game-playing prowess
girlboss
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Summary: Professional footballers Natsu and Freed have been dating in secret for months. When they win the championship match, Natsu is filled with an overwhelming energy and desire to kiss his boyfriend in front of the camera, the crowd, and and world. And he's not exactly known for impulse control, is he?
Notes: Hey. Hope you all enjoy this one, it was a little difficult to come up with an idea but I’m happy with how it turned out. As always, it’s a submission for Thunder Legion Rare Pair week by @thunderandlightningstriketwice.
Links: FFN, Ao3, Other Event Fics
A Public Celebration
This was the moment. The difference between winning and losing.
Natsu hated that he was on the sidelines, but that was how a penalty shootout worked. All that was left between Natsu's team and the championship trophy was the opposing team's main striker. Natsu had to wait, watching on the sides as the striker looked at the goal. Natsu wanted to yell at him to kick the damn ball and put them all out of their misery, but he couldn't. The only thing he could do is put his faith in their goal keeper, Freed.
He trusted the man entirely; he hadn't let a single goal in all match, after all. But he couldn't help but worry. It was just what happened when your boyfriend was in the goal of a life changing game. Natsu couldn't help it.
Freed would handle it. Freed always handled it.
The striker was moving before Natsu had a chance to realise it. The ball flew through the air with speed, and Natsu couldn't move his head fast enough to see it. One moment there had been a tense silence, where thousands of people were watching with bated breath, the next moment there was a carcorphany of yelling and cheering. Natsu looked to the goal to see Freed, on his knees, the ball in his hands.
They had won. They had won. They had fucking won!
A feeling of pure, unbridled euphoria filled Natsu within an instant. He felt like he could climb the highest mountain, run a mile faster than anyone ever had before, and take on any challenge that might occur. Everyone on the Fairy Tail team was a god at that moment, and none more than Freed.
Everyone pounced on him within a moment, pulling him into a group hug of jumping and cheering and an overwhelming smell of sweat that nobody gave a damn about. The sound of the crowds cheering was all drowned out by the teams private celebration, because the had all been working for this for so long and they'd done so much and it had all paid off because they were world champions! They were the best in the damn world.
A blur of things happened next, and they all seemed to rush by. They indulged in their celebrations on the pitch, then went back to the locker room to shower and change into their official track suits. It was a rowdy affair of cheering, champagne being poured over people, and the occasional towel snapping; they were all kids at heart, really.
And in a quiet moment, Natsu had cornered Freed and told him just how goddamn amazing he was. He wanted to kiss his boyfriend, but was pulled away, because the trophy needed to be given to them.
Back on the pitch, the sporting press of the world were all looking toward them. The crowd cheered them as they approached the stage where the trophy was placed, and everyone on the team waved to them, with certain members like Loke and Bickslow playing to them by giving air kisses. It was a moment of pure joy for everyone involved, and Natsu was filled with an unhindered energy that he couldn't push down no matter what. He just wanted to burn through it somehow.
They were all on the stage a moment later. Natsu and Freed were at the front; Natsu because he was team captain, Freed because he had been a kickass master at keeping balls out of the goal. Cameras started to flash, people continued to cheer, and Natsu couldn't think of anything better.
Well, maybe one thing. He still hadn't kissed Freed yet.
An onslaught of questions began, most of them professional. About tactics, how they felt about winning, what they were going to be doing next. All boring. Natsu wished they would go away. Who cared about the press? But it was part of his job, so he didn't complain when one of the tabloid reporters walked up, a sneery smile on his face.
"So, Natsu, Freed," He began, and his voice was creepy. Slimey. "Two single men, on the high of a win like this, you're gonna be having women falling at your feet. Is there a point in asking how you'll be celebrating tonight?"
The journalist chuckled, and Natsu felt a little grossed out. He wondered why Evergreen - their PR rep - had allowed him in. By the look of anger on her face, it seemed like she hadn't known that was the question he would ask. Before she could storm over, which she would, her husband and the player liaison, Hibiki, placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her.
"Well," Freed began. He was better at dealing with things like that. "I expect both of us won't be sleeping a lot tonight, that's all I can say."
Some of the crowd - the more 'boys will be boys' side - laughed. Natsu took the opportunity to reach his arm around Freed's back and give his ass a pinch, just to let him know that he was right. They wouldn't be sleeping.
He still needed to kiss Freed.
"We'll take two more questions," Evergreen said, getting the attention of the reporters. "And then we'll let the boys enjoy their victory."
Just as the next reporter walked up to ask his question - another tabloid, so probably something as equally weird as the previous one - Natsu felt an adrenaline rush hit him out of nowhere. It coupled with the buzzing energy that had already been fizzing inside of him, and pushed him to do something that maybe he'd regret later.
"I've got something to add to the last question," Natsu said, leaning into the microphone. "First of all, come on man. Acting like the only thing we're capable of doing is screwing someone after a win like this. Second, you're not even right about us being single. Neither of us are."
The team, who knew what him and Freed were, all looked at Natsu. He ignored them, because Freed had placed a hand on his back. A comforting hand, giving him permission to go on.
"You boys got some girls hidden away from us?" The reporter taunted, ignoring Natsu's criticism of him.
"Hell no."
Without taking a moment to think, Natsu turned towards Freed, grabbed him by the middle of his shirt, pulled him forward and kissed the hell out of him with the world's press watching. Cameras flashed and questions were shouted, but Natsu didn't care
Freed kissed him back, and Natsu felt true euphoria. That was what was really important.
——
Of course, Natsu couldn't just leave it there.
Evergreen had told them both, once they got in the locker room again, to talk to nobody about it without her saying something first. There would be a media storm already - not only were they the first openly gay male footballers, but they were dating each other too - and as such she needed to be in control of the narrative so they could be protected. They had both promised to turn off their phones, go to Natsu's mansion, and just enjoy each other's company while she decided how she would handle things.
Natsu had done that. He had. But, you know, the thing about turning your phone off was that you could just turn it back on again. Which he had. Almost immediately.
In his defence, he hadn't answered any of the hundreds of calls, emails and texts that were begging for answers and insight and what the story was. The only thing he did was open his camera as he climbed into bed, where Freed was sleeping happily. He leant down and gave his boyfriend a little kiss on the forehead, before snuggling into his chest. He took a quick selfie of them both together, and quickly uploaded it to his Instagram.
'Two Kings. Two Champions. Thanks for the support. I'll probably make an official statement later, but I've got a man to wake up. Any suggestions? :P'
Almost the moment he uploaded it, his phone exploded with notifications, but he didn't care. He looked up at Freed's face, to see Freed was awake again, looking down at him with amusement twinkling in his eyes.
"You're a menace," He chuckled. "Evergreen is going to murder you, you know that."
"I can take her," Natsu grinned, leaning up and hovering over Freed with glee. "And like you don't want me waking you up like that."
"I certainly didn't say that," Freed stated, and Natsu cackled when he was grabbed around the waist and pulled down so he was resting against Freed's body. "I don't think I'll ever complain about that."
"But no cameras this time?"
"No cameras this time," Freed nodded. "Not with what I've been planning to do to you."
Natsu cackled, reached for the light, and dragged his champion under the covers. Now, with his boyfriend naked and in his bed, it was time for the real celebration to begin.
#thunder legion rarepairs week#Freed Justine#natsu dragneel#Freed x Natsu#fairy tail#modern au#Fanfic#Writing#One Shot#Word Count: 1.5k
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Helluva Boss Episode 5
MUUUUCH better than Cherubs. Got a couple of thoughts under the cut
Stolas is going to die. His lullaby to Octavia has that lyric about ‘when I’m gone’, and I have a feeling that Octavia’s interest in taxidermy is going to factor into that. I’ve made a ton of inaccurate calls, but that’s one I’m thinking of right now.
Moxxie really doesn’t get a goddamn break. I want a moment in a future ep that showcases his strengths. We know Millie is a bruiser, and we know they genuinely love each other, but damn let the poor little guy show why Millie picked him over some over-macho meathead.
If Moxxie is also from Wrath, I really want to see his parents. I’m getting the idea of more genteel Old South parents for him with, y’know, the vile slavery overtones.
I saw what you did with Carmine carvings there, very nice.
I love Striker’s sound design, with the snake rattles and crocodile/alligator hissing. Very nice.
I always wondered why Blitz looked so different compared to other imps. We’ve seen very small and ‘simple’ designed imps like the ones in Loo-Loo Land, we’ve seen intermediate design and size imps like Millie, Moxxie and Millie’s parents/Sallie May, and we have Blitz plus Striker, who are much taller and more elaborately designed. Striker has complex eyes and longer spines on his tail, and Blitz has his very elaborate horns. There’s a theory that Blitz is born in Lust due to his headstamp, and I’m curious if there is any particular reason imps vary in size, other than purely design reasons. Don’t get me wrong, there are common design rules, like red skin of various shades (Striker is quite pale, Millie is a lot darker), white blotching on their bodies in various places, a spade tale, female imps seem to have dark hair and dark horns with white thin spacing, whereas male imps have white hair with black and white horns in which the colour ratio is even. Legs seem to be split between goat hind legs (Moxxie, some bg characters) and straight legs (Millie, Blitz, bg characters). I personally like the idea that those with goat hind legs have fallen Cherub ancestry. But when it comes to size and elaborate design, there seems to be big differences, and I want to know why.
‘His Hellhound’ made it sound like Loona ‘belonged’ to Blitz, which I’m not surprised she took exception to. Verosika referred to Vortex as ‘my new Hellhound’, and Vortex referred to their relationship as purely professional when talking to Loona about her beef with Blitz and how he didn’t care.With Verosika, her reference was sounding like ‘new Hellhound’ was the same as bodyguard, and Loona isn’t just an employee or someone disposable. Still frustrated she ruined Moxxie’s chance to be cool.
Stella berating Striker for failing to kill Stolas IN FRONT OF OCTAVIA is fucking cold man. Sure, Octavia had her eyes closed bopping to her music and clearly couldn’t hear or see what her mother was talking about, but jesus christ. Fun fact; I skipped a little to see the end whilst in the middle, and thought Stella was arranging to have BLITZ killed before I got the context for the gun. I mean, some people theorize she’s doing it in front of Stolas to prove he doesn’t listen to her (which ... I think he might have twigged when she was staring at him, but that’s just me) but doing that in front of Octavia, who loves and respects her dad, is stone cold. You’re a bitch, Stella, I said it. I’ve seen enough Snapped: Women Who Kill and Deadly Women eps to know your game.
We know we’re going to Lust later, and we know that there’s that shot of Stolas sadly eating breakfast. I am wondering if it’s a flashback to how he MET Bltiz, rather than going to cheer himself up. We’ll see. I’ll also need to check the frame where Blitz is on the ground and someone is standing over him, because before people thought it was Verosika, I am wondering if that’s Striker instead.
EDIT: I spelt Millie’s sister’s name wrong, it’s Sallie May not Sally Mae as I assumed
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Foxes children!! Because they don’t get spoken about enough!!
Kevin-
- one son, born after a one night stand when he was around 26
- in the height of his career, he was still reliant on alcohol heavily but the mother (let’s call her sally) said he didn’t have to be involved
- his plan was to slowly clean up his act but still have exy as his main focus, he knew he’d be a shit father and he didn’t want the kid to have to deal with that. Plus the press would never leave that kid alone, the son of a legacy and all that
- the day Jack Andrew Day was born was the best day of Kevin’s life, even if he knew he wasn’t going to be very involved he knew it was better that way
- Andrew pretended to hate the namesake, but he loved it. It was a reminder of all the years Andrew kept Kevin safe, the first person who made Kevin feel as if he was more than the sum of his exy talent
- after Ri*o and the ravens Kevin knew he didn’t know how to be a father, to be a nurturing, kind and patient person. He had never been shown that and he didn’t know how, sure he had Whymack but he only met him when he was 20
- things were fine for a while, the foxes had met Jack a couple times and Kevin was never really alone with him (he didn’t know what to do if he was, babies weren’t around in the nest)
- but then everything changed
- Matt and Dan were visiting with their two year old son when Sally asked if he could watch Jack for the afternoon, to which of course he said yes, dan and Matt were there it was all fine. He couldn’t break or permanently scar the child in one afternoon
-except Sally didn’t come back. Hours turned into days turned into weeks. She was nowhere to be found.
- now Kevin had a baby, a baby he didn’t know what to do with. A baby that was legally his. He saw what the system did to andrew and he’d raise it himself before he let that happen to his son.
- he was also still playing pro, he was living in New York and playing on the team there. Neil and Andrew on his team as well, of course he could go stay with them but what did they know about children
- soon enough dan and Matt had to go back to Virginia, Dan was the couch of a high school exy team and Matt played there professionally
- and Kevin was stuck. He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.
- enter Aaron and kaytlyn. Also living in New York and working at the hospital, they happened to have spare time
- enter the rest of the foxes doing whatever they could to make sure this wonderful baby was safe, happy and loved because they had all known what it was like to grow up without those things
- so they all helped, they helped Kevin stop drinking, they took the baby when he had to play and sometimes they’d bring him to the games
- Jack and Kevin became inseparable, it took a while but they made it work. They travelled all over the place and jack himself grew up all around America, with Aaron and Kate in New York, with Andrew and Neil, with Allison in Boston and Renee in Maine, with Dan and Matt in Virgina and sometimes he’d spend summer with Nicky in Germany.
- Jack was always happy, laughing and grew up seeing the absolute best in people. He helped Kevin just as much as Kevin did him. Jack never hid his emotions, he never felt he had to, and for the first time in his life neither did Kevin
- when he was old enough to learn about what happened to the foxes, why they went to Palmetto he cried. They all tried to explain their story to him, they all tried to make it seem not as bad as it was
- for a little while Jack stopped believeing in the good in the world. He stopped believeing that people could be saved and that there was good in everyone. Because these people had hurt his family. They people he loved had been hurt so bad, Jack had to many emotions he didn’t know what to do with
- he was mad he didn’t know, that he had grown up oblivious to all the pain and secrets, he was so sad for the first time in his life.
- but eventually (with the help of all the foxes) he started to see the good again, he started to understand more and in the end he knew it made him a better person
- and now he knew, why uncle Andrew had taught him consent when he was so small (he used it every time, with everyone), he knew why uncle Aaron and Matt touched their arms when they were sad or upset, why Aaron couldn’t be in a locked room and flinched at loud noises, he knew why aunt Dan would always tell him to never be ashamed, he knew why aunt Allison always reminded him they’d love him no matter what, he knew why uncle Nicky made sure he always accepted himself, he knew why aunt Renee taught him about finding the good in people and always trying to be a good person, and he knew why uncle Neil sometimes had his bad days and couldn’t talk to anyone.
- the next time Kevin got that look in his eyes, when he wasn’t quite dad Jack day beside him and asked him if he could hug him. When Kevin said yes, quite confused, Jack hugged him and promised him it would be okay.
- None of the foxes quite understood how they raised a boy that good
- but they did
- when Jack came out to Kevin it was the scariest day of this life. He knew he’d accept him, he knew because uncle Nicky and Andrew and Neil and Renee. Because Kevin loved them all the same. But still he was terrified. How was he supposed to explain it, how was he supposed to tell him he got a boyfriend.
- Jack day came out as pansexual when he was 15, and he cried. He cried when Kevin told him he loved him and Kevin cried too and it was a mess. But that’s okay.
- Now Jack Day date’s. Oh god does he date. He loves people and everything that goes with it, he dates guys girls and everything in between, and he gives everything he has to everyone.
- also he plays exy. He started in little league because he wanted to be just like his dad and found a love for it. He was a captain and a leader just like his uncle Jeremy. He plays striker and when the foxes all get together during holidays back at abbys he and Kevin go head to head. He gives Kevin a goddamn run for his money every. Time.
- he grew to be 6’6 and a half, Aaron and Andrew were outraged
- hes so full of love and hapiness everyone’s so confused, hes Jeremy Knox reincarnated
- he looks exactly like his father
- also he speaks so many languages, French with Kevin and Jean and Neil, english ofc, German with the cousins and Neil, Russian with andriel, and then him and Andrew learnt Bulgarian secretly to fuck with everyone because they are Human Chaos
- also he’s a hufflepuff through and through with his uncle Andrew and gets them matching scarves
- him and Andrew watch crime shows together whenever he stays with them, they’re obsessed
This is so long but I have so many feelings about Jack Day being the sweetest boy ever and helping Kevin heal and AHHH.
There are more ideas about other fox children so I might post those later.
#aftg#kevin day#andrew minyard#neil josten#aaron minyard#matt boyd#dan wilds#renee walker#allison reynolds#all for the game#all for the angst#LET THEM BE HAPPY PLS#jack day is queer 2020
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Consider the shit Andrew pulls while on his professional team
When he plays Neil’s team, Andrew and Neil are both on for the second half of the game
He shuts Neil out of the goal but 20 minutes into the second half he lets Neil’s fellow striker score, in a way that only Neil can tell was on purpose, just to fuck with his boyfriend
Neil runs past his high-fiving teammates to get in Andrew’s face, who gives him a smug “what? I’m having fun”
Neil looks like he’s going to bust a vein. Andrew clacks their sticks together in a mocking celebration of teamwork and says casually “it’s always fun to fuck you...over, Josten.” There’s an up-and-down flick of his eyes. Neil tries very hard not to get distracted. Neil does not entirely succeed and it pisses the hell out of him
The second goal Andrew lets happen, Neil’s coaches rotate him off the court for yelling at Andrew "if you’re gonna shut down the goal then fucking shut it down, don’t just block me you asshole, you know you’re good enough to shut him out too” like goddamn Josten we’re behind two points don’t give him ideas fuck
Neil glowers at Andrew as he turns for the court door. His backliner mark sneers out a “don’t try to pin your inferiority on our goalie, Scarface” before he’s out of earshot
Neil is used to references about his gangster family and his past, Neil mostly ignores them now and people have gradually lost interest
Andrew usually lets him deal with it himself, but this is Andrew’s own teammate and
Neil turns back to look
It’s lucky they left the knives with Robin. Four referees, two of Andrew’s teammates, and Neil all have to intervene and Andrew becomes the first player in Exy history to actually be red carded for “friendly fire”
Like, yellow cards for overly-aggressive infighting after a poor move? Yeah, that happens sometimes, but fracturing a bone on purpose requires a bit more punitive measure
Neil’s team wins once Neil and Andrew (and the backliner, he’s definitely out for...a few games, at least) are out of the way
Andrew’s too valuable (Final score is 11-9, and only 2 of those 11 were let through by Andrew in his 38 minutes in goal) to bench for the season for pulling that shit but there’s a Serious Fucking Discussion in the locker room after the fact
Andrew receives (accepts? There’s no change in facial expression?) a fierce warning about what a repeat performance will do to his career
But really, he looks bored at the prospect and do you want to risk a career-ending injury pissing off a guy who might not care about his own?
Andrew’s team takes the lesson to heart: check Josten if you like, insult him if you want, but you cause him actual injury or bring up his scars or father and you might get kneecapped with a goalie racket
“Any other ex-teammates we should be...uh, careful with?”
An unconcerned shrug. “Don’t cause Day any permanent damage”
Neil is pissed at his reduced playing time. Andrew has a lot of pent-up aggression that was cut short by interference. There is very vigorous fuck-you sex that night when Andrew and Neil meet at home, full of “you know damn well it’s yes, asshole”s and kisses that are half-bite. If they fall asleep spooning, well, they can’t be blamed, that’s habit, they do that every night
Also, Andrew is legally obligated to participate in four aftergame interviews for each year of his 2-year contract but due to egregious oversight on the part of his coaches (specifically, assuming professional players of a sport will naturally, y’know, TALK about said sport), he has no contractual obligation to do that. So. He doesn’t
He’s famous for that
Though his definition of “participation�� in interviews has become more entertaining over time - the first one was “I am physically present, but facial expressions and words are not”, the second was “here, have a very frustrating series of ‘no comment’s no matter the nature of the questions you pose”, and then after being yelled at by his coaches to “show a little enthusiasm Minyard, fuck!” he settled on “I will be as cheerfully catty as I was whilst unwillingly high in college”
“I’ve got some great comments from striker Davis, but you know, it’d be really great to have some perspective of the game from the goal. Minyard, won’t you-”
“-Did you check out that sun today, Rebecca? Sure was shining.”
“Yes, but-”
“-Good thing, too, or this hellhole of a planet would freeze over. And it would have to before I nattered on about stickball with you.”
A strained smile. “Please DON’T call Exy-”
“-Your roots are showing, Rebecca, did you know? If you’re going to dye your hair the most overused shade of blonde on the market, at least keep up with it regularly enough that no one knows you were born mousy brown.”
“.............so back to you, Davis, what did you think of-”
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Could you write kevineil with Kevin having a little crush on Nathaniel when he first met him and then having a crush on Neil later on?
so if u haven’t seen it, i headcannon neil as trans so im writing this fic in that AUso yeah, i hope i got everything else right in terms of plot because i set it slap bang in the middle of the books and used a scene from it? which felt weird to write??
Kevin’s childhood wasn’t happy, to say the least. The few happy memories he had, revolve around Exy. As much as Andrew would call him his Exy fixation obsessive and damaging- it was what made him happy. Plus, the damage was already done. Exy provided a scheduled snippet of chaos in the monotonous routine he obeyed at Evermore.
However, when he was 10 something sparked his interest. A redhead backliner who played Exy with brutal determination- and the only player who could outrun Kevin on the court- called Nathalie Wesninski. During the trial game, Riko had played with arrogance, not registering Nathalie as a threat. He was wrong. She deflected every shot the strikers tried with such efficiency there was no point in the goalkeeper being there.
Through her helmet, Kevin could see a malicious smile curving up her lips and squinting her eyes in focus. She didn’t acknowledge him and threw herself into the game. When she stepped to Kevin to knock the ball from his racquet; he forgot every defensive tactic Tetsuji had ever taught him, he locked his gaze on her pale blue eyes instead of her racquet, and he lost possession.
Riko berated him after the game, “just ‘cause she’s a girl doesn’t mean you just hand her the ball! You’re supposed to be professional!” The words were heavily weighted for such young boys, but that was their lives. The pressure was too much for a child to endure, expected as a bare minimum.
That day, the weight falling on the shoulders of the children became heavier, when the three bared witness to Nathan Wesninski slicing apart a man’s body. Light was shed on the darker parts of the world surrounding them. Kevin remembers holding on so tightly to Nathalie’s hand as tears welled up in his eyes. He tried, so hard, to remain unphased. Relenting to not show Riko any weakness.
He remembers the next morning, finding out that Nathalie had ran away with her mother. He didn’t blame her. The idea of leaving Evermore was inconceivable, but he wondered now about how it would be away from everything. Life as a normal kid, at school with friends other than Riko. Life with fast redhead girls who kicked his ass at Exy. Life where he didn’t have to see horrors of a criminal life.
Then, he forgets. He tries to forget about how exactly the Butcher detached a man’s fingers, the shine of the cleaver and the stench of blood. He forgets exactly how bright Nathalie’s eyes were. The memories of that stay in the back of his mind, like any other unusual day would.
Memories resurfaced when Neil and Riko clashed at the fall banquet, understanding washing over him. The redhead backliner who ran down Kevin and Riko on the court, the girl with chilly blue eyes and a hell-bent smile, grew up to be the loud-mouthed Fox striker who Kevin found at Millport. The beautiful boy with faint freckles and hidden scars, he’d fallen for him twice.
Kevin detailed the events of those two days, what would have happened to Neil if Mary hadn’t taken him away. Pain stretched out from his eyes to Neil’s own, shielded brown. And once again, Neil ran. This time, Kevin was old enough to stop him. He gripped Neil’s arm, “Nathalie, wait.”
He knew his mistake immediately, but he still searched for the scraps of who Neil used to be. “Don’t call me that!” Neil cried. Kevin told Neil to run, as much as he couldn’t bear witnessing the potential Neil had be abandoned because of the Moriyamas’ games, he wanted him safe. Neil stood bravely in defiance, refusing to back down and run. He told Kevin he’d stay with the Foxes, make it the championships, let the FBI bring the Moriyamas down for him. Fearless, determined, and so goddamned adamant; it was everything Kevin loved about him, he would be in awe if he wasn’t so anxious.
“You should be Court,” he whispered, focusing on Exy. He didn’t say ‘should have’, he refused to. He still believed Neil would make it, somehow- he had to.
“Will you still teach me?” Neil asked, unquestioning focus on the goal.
Kevin was silent for a moment, stepping forward. He gingerly reached out a hand to Neil’s face, letting his thumb brush over where the “3” tattoo could have been. He closed his eyes and replied, “Every night.” He leaned down to kiss Neil, hard and quick, before resting his forehead on the other boy’s own. He cradled Neil’s head against his own and took a deep breath, “of course it was you… from the beginning of all this, always you.”
#kevineil#my writing#all for the game#aftg#the raven king#trk#tfc#the foxhole court#kevin day#neil josten#riko moriyama
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Mercato Madness: End of an Error
Smash that like button and don’t forget to turn on notifications for your boy!
Great news for Milanisti as DiMarzio now reporting that professional thirst trap Andre Silva is on his way to Monaco with Milan set for a €30m return with bonuses. Purchased for €38m in the China Boyz Summer, the Portuguese attacker failed to really make an impact in his first season at San Siro. Loaned to Sevilla last summer with an option to buy, the pensive IG poster got off to a red hot start scoring a hat-trick against Rayo Vallecano and then a brace against Real Madrid before falling back into that ‘doin’ it for the ‘gram’’ lifestyle, leading to his relegation to the bench by Spring.
But this story ends happily for all parties involved. Milan recoups close to what they paid for the social media personality, alleviating some of the economic pressure to balance the books. Monaco gets a still rather promising influencer for a fee that is a drop in the bucket (explain that one to me UEFA) for them. And Andre Silva gets to play games for salary in a vacation destination, building his brand by DJ’ing the hottest in top-40 remixes every Friday night at ‘Twiga’, before eventually shattering his leg on a Ducati doing a wheelie with Lewis Hamilton filming from a Bugatti.
Downside? What the hell is this Cutrone to Wolves nonsense? We need at least three strikers for formation and depth. Selling Silva should be the end but these goddamn rumors indicate otherwise. However, this move was on no one’s radar so maybe we all need to chill.... like Andre Silva would want us to do.
Like this move? Hate this move? Change your mind about mac and cheese yet M80?
Sound off!
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"Ooohh...I'm tremblin' in my boots."
He says with a wily smirk, tail swishing behind him.
"Relax. I don't need to hurt him. You and the rest of these poor suckers already did."
The cowboy's tone becomes more bitter, sitting on a nearby chair and sighing.
"...Y'all didn't see his face tonight. I've never seen him so...pained."
His jaw clenched.
"You're right.
I do like him.
You're all havin' fun at his expenses with this pathetic party, destroyin' posters and puppets of him, talkin' shit about him...you even have a fuckin' cake in the shape of his corpse. Now you gotta admit that's messed up..."
Striker took a long, deep breath.
"Y'all have been focusin' on how much you hate him, forgettin' all the nice moments I'm sure you all had together with him... and what makes me mad...is that at least you all had a goddamn CHANCE. "
He snarled, grabbing another random bottle of alcohol and taking a long sip.
"Did you know that, at the Harvest Moon festival, he stopped me from killin' ya? That he rejected my offer to be at my side and become a professional hitman like me?"
The cowboy murmured, passing one hand through his hair, his expression a mixture of sadness and rancor.
"He chose you over me, Stolas. I don't think you realize how much it fuckin' hurt. Me and Blitz...are equals. It ain't easy for people like us to find someone that won't try and change us. That likes us for who we really are.
I thought I did...but he was head over heels for you, he just had never realized that...but unconsciously, he did. He still does, you feathered fool..."
Apology Fool
(closed RP for @ultio-angelus)
Striker crouched in the shadows beneath Blitzø’s truck, his eyes narrowed with a predatory focus. The blessed knife strapped to his belt glinted faintly in the dim light, a lethal promise of what was to come.
The engine roared to life above him, and the hitman smirked, feeling the vehicle rumble beneath his fingertips as it pulled away from the curb.
He had waited for this moment for months, meticulously planning every step.
Blitzø had always been a thorn in his side, and now, Striker would finally rid himself of the nuisance.
He would never forgive him for what he did to him...
His tail rattled slightly, still feeling his new scars burning beneath his clothes and over his face.
The drive was long and bumpy, but Striker’s resolve did not waver. Every jolt, every turn only fueled his anticipation.
The journey ended abruptly, and Striker heard the distinct sounds of Blitzø’s boots hitting the sidewalk.
Carefully, the cowboy slid from under the truck, his movements as fluid and silent as a serpent. He stayed low, blending into the shadows cast by the streetlights.
"Woooah...like, dude, what the fuck are you? Like, a troll or something?"
A drunken human man dressed as Zorro got close to Striker, pulling his tail.
The imp turned around like a fury, hissing as he launched himself onto the human.
They both ended in the bushes, not far from the house.
A few minutes later, the assassin emerged from the plants, wearing the Zorro costume, a pool of blood forming near the bushes as he walked away.
Blitz was heading toward a large house, its front yard filled with Halloween decorations and throngs of costumed partygoers. Striker’s eyebrow raised, seeing Wally Wackford selling 'I hate Blitzø' merchandise.
"What in the blazes is goin' on in here?..."
He then slipped inside the house, realizing that this was a hate party for Blitzø. Hearing demons talking shit about Blitzø should've given him satisfaction, but instead he felt annoyed and even indignant.
His nemesis, his rival, his equal turned into some kind of joke by a bunch of petty losers.
And all because he broke up with them.
"Pathetic, the lot of 'em..."
He scoffed.
The chaotic atmosphere of the party provided ample cover as he made his way through the crowd.
Striker’s grip tightened around the hilt of his knife. He imagined the look of shock, the flash of fear that would cross Blitzo’s face when he finally struck. It was only a matter of time now. Every second brought him closer to the moment of reckoning.
As the party raged on, the hunter moved with purpose, always keeping Blitzo within sight.
Striker’s breath came slow and steady, his heartbeat matching the rhythm of his steps. He could almost feel the knife slicing through the air, the satisfaction of seeing his nemesis dying.
The night was perfect for his plan, and the anticipation was a heady thrill coursing through his veins.
There! A perfect occasion for him to strike!
Apparently that poor excuse for a Goetia was here too, but that didn't matter.
Yes! There was Blitzø!
Right in front of the stage, covered in a stained tablecloth.
Just a few more steps...
One
Two
Three-
As Stolas began singing, Striker noticed Blitzø becoming...crestfallen.
His usually confident demeanor replaced by a visible sense of vulnerability. The mask of bravado had slipped, revealing a rare expression of genuine hurt and sadness. Blitzo's eyes remained fixed on Stolas, his usual sharp wit softened by a melancholic resignation.
For Striker, accustomed to seeing Blitzo as a target or a rival, this sight was unexpected.
And unexpectedly, he felt a twinge of empathy, a spark of pity for Blitzø.
"...Goddammit, I can't do it."
He groaned and walked away to get something to drink and smoke a cigarette.
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