#the ham who was thursday
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
STWG Daily Prompt: Date Night
âDoes Thursday work?â Jeff asks, voice tinny and sort of muffled. Eddie can hear the sound of flipping pages, the creak of the plastic from the phone's speaker.Â
âShit, sorry dude.â Eddie says, looking at the loose pages of lined paper he's scribbled his schedule on. It works for him, and it's better than nothing. âThat's date night.âÂ
A pause. For a moment, all Eddie can hear is the sound of Jeff breathing through the speaker.Â
âDate night, huh?â Jeff eventually asks, and Eddie can hear the smarmy grin he's wearing. It's leaking into his voice, the absolute delight in it all. Just the right side of teasing, the bastard. He'd hate it, would snap and snarl and throw it all back if he wasn't also fucking delighted.Â
He could say that now. He had a boyfriend, who holds his hands and kisses him and schedules date nights. He gets this. He gets to talk about it with his best friend. Can mention he has a date and doesn't have to hide the fact that it's with his boyfriend. He gets to share in the gentle ribbing for once. It's not just him on the outside looking in â as they tease Gareth for getting a date with a girl from his English class, or Jeff hitting his anniversary with his girlfriend.Â
Eddie's been domesticated and he doesn't mind in the slightest.Â
âYes, it's date night,â Eddie retorts, trying to send as much faux malice down the phone as he can. He's smiling though, as he sits at the kitchen table, phone cord absently tangled through his fingers. âAnd Steve's been working hard planning it, so I will not be rescheduling.âÂ
âI didn't ask you to,â Jeff laughs, tone light.Â
âWell good.â Eddie teases, wishing they were having this conversation in person so he could stick his tongue out. Really ham it up.Â
Another pause, and Eddie uses the silence to flip through his papers, looking through all the events and dates and times he's scribbled out. Fuck, he really needs a calendar.Â
âSo?â Jeff prompts, drawing the word out. âTell me about date night.âÂ
âYou sound like your mother,â Eddie laughs, holding the phone in between his ear and his shoulder, pinning it there so he can free up his hands. So he can sort through his papers and fidget with the phone cord at the same time âBegging for gossip.âÂ
âYou love my mother,â Jeff retorts â snappish â but it's obvious he's smiling. Laughing through it. âAnd you say that like you aren't gagging to talk about it. Come on.âÂ
âOkay fine,â Eddie relents. Sighing as he sinks into his chair, slouching, his socked feet skating across the floor. âYou caught me.âÂ
âNot hard,â Jeff laughs.Â
âSteveâs been talking a lot about wooing me lately,â Eddie starts, ignoring Jeffâs teasing. He finds himself smiling as he talks, creeping across his face uncontrollably. Fuck, the things Steve does to him. âAs if he hasnât wooed me already. So heâs planned this like, romantic dinner at home. Instead of going out to Enzoâs he wants to like, bring Enzoâs to us? Said he was going to treat me right. Have the fancy dinner I deserve, where we can play footsie under the table and hold hands without, yâknow, worrying.â
By the end of his sentence Eddieâs feeling like heâs melting into his chair, insides melting into something soft and gooey. Pulling his hair across his face to hide his blush. Jeff canât even see him, but he canât help it. He wants to giggle and kick his feet. Jump and scream and flail around. Itâs all building up inside him, this honey sweet affection. He doesnât quite know what to do with it all.Â
âHe going to light candles? Have soft music playing in the background?â Jeff asks, teasing melting away into something softer.Â
âLiterally yes,â Eddie exclaims, dropping his hair and trying not to wiggle too much in his seat. âHeâs so sweet, Iâm going to throw up.â
âHeâs good for you, man.â Jeff says simply, and it means a lot. That other people can see it â can know â just how happy Steve makes him.Â
[Part Two]
#steve harrington#eddie munson#jeff stranger things#steddie#steddie ficlet#stwgdailyprompt#My Writing
864 notes
¡
View notes
Text
yard work - chapter 13 (regina george x reader)
fandom: Mean Girls (all media)
pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader
summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.
warning(s): derogatory slurs! several of them!
chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12 / chapter 14
It was Friday. The last day of school, the night of the talent show, and just a few days before Christmas. They'd be passing out the candy cane-grams. There'd be some assembly, probably.
Your leg jittered restlessly while you tried to focus on your bio paper. What kind of sadistic fuck assigned an essay on the last day before break? The biology teacher, apparently. He had a superiority complex, you were sure. Allergic to happiness.
Your mind kept drifting back to the photo album. Surely, Regina had it. You'd put it in her locker on Wednesday, so she'd have found it first thing Thursday morning. You hadn't dared to take a peek in her locker, afraid Gretchen would sniff you out again.
Something had clearly gone down between them. Gretchen didn't sit with them at lunch, instead opting for her boyfriend's clique. She didn't seem to fit in too well and Jason didn't seem too pleased to have her there. Karen and Regina sat by themselves, conversing casually.
Cady had been banished somewhere. You'd heard talk Aaron had dumped her. You knew Janis and Damien weren't talking to her after she turned her back on them. Since the whole Kälteen bar shebang and the subsequent smear campaign Regina had doled out, she hadn't been exactly welcome at any table. From what you understood, Gretchen and Cady were on speaking terms, but Karen and Gretchen weren't, but Cady and Karen were. It was all terribly confusing.
You had a table for yourself. Some of your old friends crowded the ones nearby, quite pointedly not sitting with you. You were no longer cool, it seemed. Easier to focus on your paper, you told yourself. The cafeteria was serving chilli today. The slop was slightly too watery and the meat was a mystery, but it'd do. You'd run out of food at home. You'd wanted a goddamn Christmas dinner and a good slab of ham got pricy. Couldn't rely on Mrs George for a feast this time around.
"Hey," Someone called near you. You looked up, surprised somebody was talking to you. A boy, more specifically a jock judging by the varsity jacket. "You good?"
"What?" Your brows furrowed. "Yeah?"
He smiled smarmily. "Cool."
And he walked away. You kept looking as he went, staring after his back. His buddies were looking your way, the same kinds of grins on their faces. That was odd. Didn't bode well.
It didn't take long for you to find out why. The period following lunch was when Damien would be visiting classrooms as Santa Claus, handing out candy canes.
He walked right up to you with a grin hidden under the fake Santa beard, wiggling his eyebrows all the while.
"The whole bag..." He drawled. "Impressive."
Confused, you peered into the sack. A couple dozen candy canes filled it, apparently all for you. You picked one out, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as well as the snickering of the boys in the back rows.
Dyke. The message was just one word. It was clearly assigned to you, your whole name displayed proudly. Your body went numb, hands holding the candy limply. There was no signature to show who they were from. People were staring at you. Damien had lingered awhile to see what'd been written to you. The grin behind his beard had turned into a shocked scowl.
"What... What do they say?" Cady, of all people, the nerve of her, asked. She was seated a few rows from you.
"Alright, Mr Leigh, thanks for-" Ms Norbury tried to intervene.
"Dyke." You read out loud. Then you pulled out another. "Lesbo." And another. "Carpet muncher." The boys had trouble holding in their laughs. Another. "Queer." There were others you didn't deign to read out loud. Freak. Pervert. Degenerate. Homo.
If not for a few people finding all this amusing, it would've been dead silent in the classroom.
"These were supposed to be checked before handing out." Ms Norbury strode up to you and promptly confiscated the candies. Her face was set, expression severe, as she regarded Damien sternly.
"I- that wasn't my job. I don't know how, how they would've..." You watched Damien try to put it together.
"Well, is it really offensive if it's true?" Dylan, if you remembered correctly, piped up. He was a sporty guy, decently popular but nothing special. Now, though, he might as well have been an A-lister with how utterly low you'd plummeted.
Murmurs spread out around you. Damien and Ms Norbury retreated to a corner of the classroom to figure out how in the hell this had happened. People were looking at you. Your skin was crawling. It couldn't be Janis who told. She was in the same boat as you and she didn't have the power to do something like this. To make the committee ignore hateful messages meant some strings had been pulled. The only other person that knew, that could realistically do this, was Regina.
You bit your lip, closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Okay. You got the message. The album had been too much. This was a sign to stay away, to forget all the sentimentalities you'd had.
"Hey, calm down now, we'll figure this out- hey!" You didn't pause to listen to Ms Norbury when you booked it out of the stifling classroom. You couldn't bear to be there any longer.
You hid in the bathroom. Both hands held against your mouth so you wouldn't make a noise, you cried long and hard. Your breathing was choppy and laboured, and in no time at all your nose was blocked off entirely. Your eyes stung and your vision blurred.
The bell rang and pretty soon people came into the bathroom. You refused to get out, pretending to take the longest shit ever. It didn't take very long for the people coming in to discuss what had gone down in one of the junior calc classes.
It spread like wildfire. You were pretty sure the boys had nicked some of the candy canes from Ms Norbury since you could hear people reading the notes out loud, the rustling of the plastic covering.
"Who even is that?"
"Who cares? A total freak is what she is. Oh my gosh, Steph, do you think..."
"What?"
"Do you think she used the girls' bathroom? She's probably spread her diseases all over the seats! We're all gonna have gonorrhoea!"
You wanted to sink into the ground and never see daylight again. By the time the bell rang again, signalling the start of the next period, the rumours had inflated and grown disproportionately in severity.
Apparently, you were riddled with sexually transmitted diseases, preyed on freshmen and sold them hard drugs, behaved creepily in locker rooms, and had had a stint with Cady Heron while she was still with Aaron Samuels. You guessed that last one had to do with the time you'd dragged her into the janitor's closet to yell at her about the Kälteen bars.
In short, you were fucked. Your life was fucked. You'd hoped, so hoped, that even if you wouldn't get everything you wanted, you'd get some. You wouldn't get a high school girlfriend, wouldn't have slumber parties, wouldn't be normal. You wouldn't be Regina's friend. Fine. At least you could've had a quiet life, gone to community college and worked at the shop, had some buddies, and maybe lost your virginity one day. Not even that now. Not even a little bit of that. Your future in this town was just no longer there. You had nothing. You were nothing.
You skulked out of the bathroom once you were sure there'd be nobody in the halls. You got into your car and drove home. Just as you'd slumped down onto the couch, the house phone rang. Groaning, you went to answer. If it was your dad, missing it would mean there'd be hell to pay.
"Hello?" Your voice was croaky. It hurt to talk.
"Hi, sweetie! You don't sound too good." Mrs George's chirp greeted you. "I assume you had to leave school 'cause of that. I just happened to see you drive by. Rick got called to work last minute and Kylie's got tutoring till late. Come keep me company?"
"I'm not feeling too well, I'm sorry..." You said, holding the phone to your ear while your other arm wrapped around your body. You tried to breathe deep and not burst out crying, again. Your eyes felt swollen shut.
"Oh, I'll come by with some soup, then," She sounded so genuinely concerned.
You bit your lip. Tummy rumbling in its emptiness, you decided now would be as good of a time as any to bite the bullet.
"Actually, uh, if it's not too much to ask, and um- I-" You took in a shuddering breath. "You don't have to say yes, it's totally okay and I'm sorry if this is, like, too much-"
"Sweetpea, just ask." She chuckled.
"I don't have any food. Or, like, I have ingredients for Christmas 'cause I wanted to make dinner for myself, but I guess I forgot I have to eat before then too?" You tried to laugh, but the sound was strained. "Um, could you take me to the soup kitchen downtown?"
You could've driven yourself. You could've, in that you were capable of driving yourself, but with how your vision was impaired, how your body ached with loneliness, and how you weren't sure you wouldn't just impulsively drive into oncoming traffic, you doubted you would've survived the trip.
"No." She said bluntly. You flinched, feeling the refusal like a knife to the gut. "No, absolutely not. We are going grocery shopping and getting you food to last the rest of the damn year. I'm picking you up."
"Mrs George, I don't have money-"
"You shouldn't be spending your hard-earned money like that. Doesn't your dad send you enough to cover utilities?"
"He sends me grocery money. I gotta pay for gas and stuff on my own."
Mrs George's resounding silence spoke volumes of her opinion on that. "I'm coming to get you. I'm buying you groceries and then we're gonna meal prep. Okay?"
"Okay."
When Mrs George saw you, her determined attitude shifted to that of maternal worry. You fought hard not to break down, though all you really wanted to do was curl into her and cry your little heart out.
She drove you to Whole Foods, a place way out of your budget. But she insisted, so there was little you could do. She took you from aisle to aisle, prattling on and on, chatting about this and that. You listened mostly silently, humming here and there.
She picked out a lot of canned stuff, like beans and tomato purĂŠe. All that stuff was made to last forever, so you wouldn't always have to buy fresh ingredients. She bought all your favourite snacks, which she somehow remembered. When you commented on that, she just pointed at her temple with a knowing grin. Mothers never forget, she'd said.
Once you were all done, the cart was quite literally overflowing. The total nearly made your stomach drop out of your ass. Mrs Geoge simply flashed her black card and, without even a wince, paid the price. The receipt was, like, three feet long.
Carrying it all to her car was a daunting task, but a worker did come to help you. A young man, probably home from college, was all too eager to carry the bags for Mrs George.
The way he was blushing all the way up to his ears, the way she was amused by him but not receptive, made you think about what Regina had said months ago. You'd been on your way to her nail appointment and she'd gone on a tangent about how women died at menopause.
Mrs George was thriving. She was above it all. Her worth, or mortality, wasn't determined by the men around her. She'd been cheated on, continuously neglected by her husband, and put down by her teenage daughter, and still, she was beautiful. She existed independently.
In short, you were right and Regina was wrong. You saw things how they really were. She saw things tilted to the left, through a warped lens. The confirming of this brought you no comfort, she'd already ruined you and there was no redeeming herself after this, at least not for you.
"Phew, what a trip, right?" She nudged you with her elbow as she buckled her seatbelt.
You nodded along, voice still weak. You buckled in as well.
"I'll pick you up for the talent show." She said as she turned away from the parking lot. "Oooh, we should have a night in. Order some pizzas and slob around the couch. How's that sound?"
"I don't think I should go to the talent show."
"Oh, why's that?"
"Just... Something happened at school. I don't wanna go."
Mrs George frowned and glanced at you. "Honey, you know you can tell me anything. I still think you should come."
"Everybody hates me." You faced the window and crossed your arms. Very mature.
"I'm sure that's not true." She sighed. "I'm not supposed to tell you, but Regina's got something prepared for you. I think you should go see her at least."
Your face twisted in anger. "Something prepared for me- like she prepared something for me today? I don't fucking think so."
"Language." She said and you grumbled. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing. It's nothing." You rubbed your hands down your jeans. "It's not gonna be good. She's gonna humiliate me."
"It's supposed to be a surprise, but I can guarantee that she's not going to humiliate you."
"What do you know?" You turned to her with narrowed eyes.
"I've been hearing her practice, is all." She responded, tone much too light.
You studied her face carefully. "Fine."
She smiled, seemingly relieved. Then, as if to cut the tension in the car, said:
"Oh, and by the way, I'm filing for divorce." With a giddy smile on her face, she blurted it out. You just stared for a while, almost suffering whiplash from the sudden change in topic.
"Uh... Finally." You laughed a little as you said that.
"Yeah!" She laughed with you. "It's been a long time coming. I just needed to sort some things out. Emotionally and financially. I had to get rid of some investments so I wouldn't have to pay alimony."
Your jaw dropped. The Georges were, like, filthy rich. Rich beyond reason, excess income to a ridiculous degree. You'd always assumed it was Mr George's money. How archaic of you.
"I... I kinda wished you'd done it sooner." You looked forward again. She was driving carefully since the snow made the roads prone to ice.
"Me too. The girls... They... I thought that having two parents would be the most stable, safe environment for them. I was wrong."
"Yeah." You swallowed. "Um. Since we're, like, just saying things. I'm, by the way, gay. Like, a lesbian."
"That's wonderful, honey!"
"Yeah." You couldn't say you agreed.
"Should we go get you a haircut?"
"I don't need to look any more butch than I do."
"I don't know, I think you'd look dashing." She feigned light-hearted. "Regina might like it."
"Mrs George!"
Notes: More drama! Yay! Do y'all think Regina did it?
Taglist posted separately. Please comment on the taglist post to be added on there :)
#mean girls#mean girls 2004#mean girls 2024#regina george#regina george x reader#regina george x you#regina george x oc#regina george x ofc#mean girls x reader#lesbian regina george#wlw#fic: yard work
453 notes
¡
View notes
Text
The Ole Harrington Charm
AO3 Link
For @steddiemicrofic | Prompt: charm | Word Count: 548 | Rating: G | CW: none | Tags: flirting, getting together
Steve is in a dry spell.
WellâŚokay, itâs technically not a dry spell. Heâs going on plenty of dates, he justâcanât seem to find that special spark that tells him this is the one.Â
Steveâs starting to question if heâs off his game, or something. If his flirting is to blame, that might explain why things are all downhill from there.Â
âI meanâŚwhat do you guys think?â he asks Robinâand Eddie, currently loitering around on a surprisingly slow Thursday afternoon at Family Video. âIs there something Iâm doing thatâs justânot working?âÂ
âAs someone who was there to witness the millions of times you struck out at Scoops, I can definitely say that what youâre doing now is leagues ahead of whatever that was.â
Steve huffs. âIt was not millions, Robin. And, yeah, sure, okay, but if Iâm so much better nowâŚwhy doesnât it ever work out past the first date?âÂ
Eddie slaps an uneven rhythm on the counter, pushing up from where heâd been slouching against it. Thereâs a challenging gleam in his eye, the same kind he gets when heâs struck with an idea for one of his campaigns.Â
âAlright, big boy. Lay it on me.âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âCome on, wow me with those irresistible flirtation skills that had the ladies lining up for you back in school, and Iâll tell you how you do.âÂ
Whatâs he got to lose?
Steve decides to lay it on thick. Might as well pull out all the stops, and besidesâŚEddie always hams it up when heâs pretending to flirt with Steve. Turning around is fairplay, or however it goes.Â
Leaning a casual elbow on the counter, Steve turns his most charming smile on Eddie.
âHi, there. I donât think Iâve seen you around here before. And I would absolutely remember a face like yours.â Shooting Eddie a wink, he reaches out and tugs at his battle vest, brushing his fingers against Eddieâs chest while he gets a âbetter lookâ at his pins and patches. âJudas Priest, huh? Not sure Iâve heard their stuff.âÂ
Maybe not the best tactic with Eddie, but thatâs what he would do usually, bring up something the other person seemed interested in. Long gone were the King Steve days of âact like you donât care.âÂ
âWhy donât you tell me about them while I help you find what youâre looking for. You look like a horror section guy to me. And, you know, scary movies make a great pick for date night. Perfect to snuggle up to.â
âLame,â Robin declares. âAnd cliche.âÂ
âNo one asked you, Robin,â Steve rolls his eyes, âEddieâs the judge here.â
Only then does he realize Eddie is frozen in place, a faint pink tinging his cheeks.Â
âNuhââ Eddie swallows, his voice cracking in the middle of whatever he was trying to say. âNo, man, the, uhâŚHarrington charm is definitely not on the fritz. Youâve got nothing to worry about there.âÂ
âCool,â Steve brightens, before adding smoothly, âSo, Saturday, horror movie, your place?â
âGood one, Harrington.âÂ
âEds,â Steve reaches out, covering Eddieâs hand, âIâm serious.â
âSaturday night, huh? Alright, Stevie, youâre on. Itâs a date.â Â
Theyâre both grinning dopily when Steve does a celebratory fist pump, not bothering to hide it. Shaking her head, Robin laughs.
Oh, yeah. Heâs definitely still got it.
#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#steddiemicrofic#steddiemicroficseptember#robin buckley#buckington besties#brotp: three muskequeers#my stuff#my writing#my things
577 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Ghoaptober # 31
Prompt: Knife
Words: 1500~
TW: Allusions to Torture (sfw)
This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels
This is the last one folks! All good things must come to an end, I suppose. This has been really fun to do! It's been great to stretch my writing skills, I feel like I improved over the course of the month, at least I hope I did, I definitely had to do less grammar and spelling corrections as we progressed, so there's that.
I wanted to thank everyone who's left such kind comments for me, you're feedback really does mean the world to me, Thank You!
If you want me to write more please do drop me an ask, I'd love to hear from you!
And with all of that said, onto the fic
Enjoy!
A shriek echoed out from the microscopic kitchenette crammed into the back of the disused officerâs rec room that the one-four-one had co-opted, Ghost and Price launched off the sagging sofa towards the noise. They charged into the kitchenette, Ghost wielding a knife and Price his hand-gun, ready to end any threat to their Sergeants.
There was no threat, just Soap trying to hide his awkward blush in his mug of coffee while Gaz stared at him with something close to abject horror.Â
âTav, mate, what the fuck is wrong with your tongue.â Gaz demanded, willfully ignoring that heâd just screamed like an arachnophobe confronting Shelob and the fact that his superiors hadn't hesitated in running to his hypothetical rescue.Â
Price huffed and reholstered his gun, Ghost putting away his knife much more slowly. âJust what exactly is going on?â He demanded with an edge to his voice that suggested he was already regretting that heâd asked, âWhy are you screaming over Soapâs tongue?â
âWell, Cap,â Soap started with a lewd tilt of his eyebrows and a goading grin,
âOh, Iâm sorry,â Gaz cut over him with a biting tone, âbut, I didnât expect to be confronted by the fact that Soap is an actual fuckinâ demon on a casual Thursday afternoon, Price.â
âGarrick, we talked about this,â Price scolded,
âYeah,â Ghost agreed, âJohnny canât be a demon, his rosary'd burn him.â
âWha!â Soap sputtered in sheer disbelief, âYouse thought Ahâm a demon?!â
âNo oneâs that lucky, Tav.â Gaz said with flat seriousness, âThereâs gotta be some kinda something going on.âÂ
âWould a deal with a demon make you demonic?â Ghost mused in an exaggeratedly ponderous tone, casting his gaze up to the ceiling tiles so that the flabbergasted expression Soapâs face was stretching into couldn't make him laugh.
Gaz perked up, snapping and pointing at Ghost in a eureka-esque motion, âYes! Thatâs totally it!â He exclaimed, practically bouncing on his toes with his triumph.Â
âRiley-â
âI cannae make a deal witâ a demon!â Soap cut over Price, slamming his mug down to free up his hands for incensed gesturing, âMah Grannie would disown me!âÂ
âThen how do you explain-â Gaz flailed a hand in the direction of Soapâs mouth, lacking the words to describe just what in fuck was going on in there, â-that!â
A look of cartoonish offence slid onto Soapâs face. Ghost watched him brace his hands on his hips and draw himself up to his full height, hamming it up. Trying to make it into an easily deflected joke. Concern kicked at the back of Ghostâs sternum, if Johnny was deflecting it meant the real answer was nothing good.Â
Ghost had learned early on that Johnny was one of the most open, shameless, oversharing freaks that walked this earth. He had watched Johnny laugh his way through retelling stories and anecdotes that would have sent consummate exhibitionists blushing through the floor on multiple occasions. Ghost had also been quick to cotton on to the fact that it was for the best to follow up on the topics that Johnny tried to deflect, as they were generally things that would have a therapist crying and Johnny really was better off getting them off his chest. Ghost usually let it go and tried to circle back around to those deflections when they were alone and Johnny was feeling safe, but with Gaz latched onto this like a starved dog with a butcher bone, that wasnât an option.Â
Sure, Ghost could probably distract Gaz and help Johnny wiggle out of this, but debriding old wounds is always a good team bonding experience.Â
Gaz and Soap had stagnated into their usual pattern of bandying insults back and forth. Having a grand time of pretending to be sputtering in high dudgeon whenever the other would quip back with something particularly clever. Ghost cut his eyes to Price, and jerked his chin at Johnny upon catching the Captainâs eye.Â
Yes, Ghost wanted Johnny to talk about it, but he didnât want his boyfriend upset with him either.Â
âRight,â Price cut in after giving Ghost a roundly rancorous look, âSoap, why is Garrick accusing you of having a demonic tongue. Without!â He hastily amended when Soap turned overblown fuck-me eyes on him, âany chirpsing if you would.â
âAye, right. Uh-â Soap hesitated, staring down at his feet and rubbing at his nape as he tried to gather the right words to explain this, âReckon he meanâ this.â He gave up and just stuck his tongue out.Â
Soap could admit that he got a bit of a kick out of watching their uncomprehending looks warp into horrified incredulity when his tongue split down the middle. He wiggled the two sides up and down in opposite directions of each other and briefly twined them into a coil to drive the image home, then retracted it back behind the safety of his teeth with as much casual finesse as he could muster.Â
There was a beat of silence, then a cavalcade of questions. Soapâs personal favourite was Ghostâs âhow did I not notice?â said in the tone of a man on the edge of a revelatory breakdown. A close second was Priceâs muttered âthat canât be within regs.â, but topping the charts for sheer volume was Gaz.
âWhat!â He shrieked, âWhat the fuck! Whenâd you get that!?â his voice dripped with a queer mix of awe, horror, and morbid fascination.Â
Soap hummed uncertainly, casting his mind back, swallowing against the phantom taste of blood creeping up his throat to pool at the back of his mouth, âMusâ a been aroun' twenty-sixteen? Someâhing like thaâ,â
âTwenty-sixteen.â Price muttered, mentally rifling through Soapâs file, there was something about that year that had the klaxons spinning up in Priceâs subconscious, âNot October twenty-sixteen?âÂ
âAye,â Soap nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground, âThaâd be the one.â
âCorporal MacTavish was detained by enemy forces eighth October twenty-sixteen and was successfully recovered twelfth October twenty-sixteen. In enemy custody, Corporal MacTavish was subjected to physical maltreatment, most notably manifesting in substantial damage within the oral cavity. Injury permanent but non-disfiguring. Corporal MacTavish states that no intelligence was provided to the adversary while in custody.â Price quotes -impressively word for word- from the truncated after action report that had been the script for far too many of his nightmares, âThat October twenty-sixteen?âÂ
âGot âer in one, Cap.â Soap confirms, idly grinding his tongue between his teeth, âYanno, they did offer tae fix it. The medics.â He spoke on just to break the heavy silence that had conquered the room, âBut theyâd have had tae open it up again, cause itâd been cauterized, so Ah said no' tae bother.â
They'd told him that as it was a 'non-invasive procedure' only local numbing would be provided and Soap would not be letting anyone else come at his tongue with a knife unless he was unconscious, dead, or dying.Â
âTav," Gaz pressed out slowly, hesitantly, âThatâs fucked, mate.â
âAye,â Soap nodded, staring down at the kitchenetteâs cheap linoleum. Blinking to force the floor back into dingy tiles when his brain tried to twist it into stained concrete. He huffed a small flat laugh, more to force the scent of iron and dank stone from his nose than anything else, âAye, twasnât mah idea ae fun neither.â
âJohnny,â Ghost drew his name out into a devastated whine and lunged forward to coil around Soap in a protective embrace. Heart splitting at the shakiness he could feel in Johnnyâs shallow breaths as he clutched his boyfriend to his chest.Â
âAhâm alrighâ,â Johnny assured, but the tear-fighting sniff he tried to conceal in Ghostâs pecs said something different.Â
âYouâre alright,â Price agreed, lay a grounding hand on Soapâs shoulder.Â
âYeah,â Gaz poked at Soapâs sensitive sides to force a wet giggle out of him, âCourse youâre alright, Tav. Youâve got us and if those fucks arenât already dead Iâm sure Ghost is drafting up like ten different plans for how to track âem down and kill âem slow.â
Ghost was glad that Gazâs joking was making Johnny feel better, and gave an intrigued pensive hum into the fluff of his warhawk to play along.Â
It was actually fifteen different plans.Â
âOkay. Okay.â Soap barked, shaking them off once he was absolutely positive that he wasnât about to start bawling like a bairn as soon as they let go, âMah goddamn coffeeâs gonnae be fuckinâ cold now ye muckers.âÂ
âDo you want me to make you a new cup, so you don't have to microwave it?â Ghost offered, love surging within him for the wide blue eyes that swung his way.Â
âWould ye, mo chridhe?â Johnny begged prettily.Â
Ghost hooked a thumb under his balaclava, lifting it over his mouth just long enough to press an adoring kiss unto Johnnyâs lips, then turning away to make him the promised fresh cuppa, fluidly stealing his mug to dump and refill it.
Both men were content to ignore the way Gaz faked a retch over their sappy mush, as he practically stepped on Priceâs heels following after the Captain on his tactical retreat back to the sofa.
Thank You For Reading!
Some nice hurt/comfort to round off the month. It didn't make it into the fic but the reason that his captors split Soap's tongue is because he wouldn't stop talking back, just a fun fact for y'all.
Did anyone want me to make a masterlist for all of these? with ratings and short descriptions or something? there's already links to the full series on my masterlist, but that just has the prompts, so I was wondering if a masterlist would be helpful. Let me know!
PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist
#ghoaptober#ghoap#ghostsoap#soapghost#pekoehoneyncream#ghost x soap#soap x ghost#simon ghost riley#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#simon riley#lieutenant riley#john soap mactavish#soap call of duty#soap cod#john mactavish#sergeant mactavish#john bravo six price#john price#price cod#price call of duty#captain price#kyle gaz garrick#gaz cod#gaz call of duty#kyle garrick#sergeant garrick#cod#call of duty
58 notes
¡
View notes
Text
I got home from school and I couldnât find Misha kitty. If I say any word that starts with the letter f he comes running (he assumes Iâm gonna say fancy feast) I kept calling for him but he never came. I searched the usual hiding places, but couldnât find him. I assumed he got outside somehow. So, I called the humane society - they were closed. My vet across the street said they didnât have any missing cats either. So, I tore my house apart.
I found him hiding in a tipped over laundry basket beside the washer. I pet him and he started yowling. For those who donât know, Misha is the biggest attention whore and he doesnât hide unless scared. So, I managed to get him to my bed and then I kicked all the other pets out of the room after Misha yowled again. He settled down a bit when he was just with me, but was still occasionally yowling. His bladder felt full compared to Tallmadge kittyâs.
I thought maybe he was just being picky about there being older litter mixed in the box, so I dumped it and put fresh stuff in before I carried him and set him in the litter box. He tried 4 times and nothing came out and he didnât want to jump out of the box.
So I made the decision to drive 75 minutes to the emergency vet. Whether the car ride is 5 minutes or 3 hours, Misha kitty vocalizes his displeasure the whole ride. He didnât make a peep the entire drive.
Good thing I brought him in. He has a blockage and will stay there until Thursday. They said I caught it quick.
Although, when they were just observing him for the first few minutes they didnât think anything was wrong because he walked out of his carrier and demanded pets and rubs! Thatâs my little attention whore! Haha. Heâs gotta ham it up for all the attention even when heâs not feeling well.
This will be the longest Tallmadge, his litter mate, has been without Misha! Theyâre 4 and the longest theyâve been separated is like 12 hours.
Also, Iâm glad my sister told me about care credit otherwise I wouldnât have been able to cover the necessary funds for this.
Needless to say, itâs been a long day and the kitty I force to snuggle with me after stressful days isnât home to make me feel better.
If you could send healing vibes Misha kittyâs way that would be appreciated. He is such a special cat.
51 notes
¡
View notes
Text
[SURVEY ENDED]Hi, anybody with any neurodiversity! I really need some help with something!
Can you answer this questionnaire on having ADHD, autism, or any other type to neurodivergence and is impact on your creative endeavours or career? Doesn't matter what gender you are or if you're professionally or self diagnosed, or if your creativity isn't a job and just a hobby! All opinions are valid and useful!!
This is for my final project in uni so it'll help me get a banging grade of I have a good sample size! Thank you so so much if you do this. I'm so grateful!
If you can't take the quiz please reblog it so it finds someone who can! Thank you so much!!!
(BTW it's completely anonymous, no signing in, no exact ages (as long as you're over 18), no names, no genders, and the only ppl seeing the stats from the quiz are my tutors marking this and myself, so go ham!)
Here's the link!!!
Thank you so much. You're amazing!!!!
(Edit: I got asked about the security of Google docs and them seeing your answers and your data. I am really sorry about that, and I understand the fear. You honestly don't have to answer if you feel uncomfortable about google having that data. If you still want to do it, maybe opening it on an incognito window will help it not link back to your Google account. Either way, it's entirely your choice to answer these or not! Thank you)
Thursday 20th June Update:
This survey is now closed with an absolutely amazing pool of data and more support than I could have ever expected! Thank you so much, everyone, for your support! You've helped me to no end! Once the Paper is done the Data will be destroyed (no skin off my nose, if my uni ever wants me to publish this dissertation or I ever want to use it in future I'll just redo the survey and probably better than before!) Anyway, thanks again for all your trust, insight, and answers. They're invaluable!
#nuerodivergent#nuerodiversity#neurospicy#ADHD#autism#ASD#OCD#tics and tourettes#ticking#disabilities#disability#disabled#university#accommodations#jobs#work#creative career#artist#musician#visual arts#advertising#craft#fashion design#please help me
61 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Here's a tip for any aspiring longpigs: nothing will buy you a one-way ticket to the oven faster than an apple in the mouth.
It's the perfect way of saying exactly what you are, and what you intend to become - a delicious longpork dinner.
This hog is particularly eager. In fact, he's gone so far as to write his meat grade on his side - a little cocky for sure, but I can't help but agree. Would you believe that this pig isn't even 230 lbs? I almost didn't, seeing the size of that gut or those fat rolls.
This pig desperately wants to be roasted in the oven, and based on that first photo I agree. It makes his best assets stand out, accentuates that juicy belly, and makes his hams look fat enough to keep me fed for a few days. Still, I'm not one to turn down a little extra meat.
As soon as he gets to my place I'm going to cage him for a while. In fact, I have one coming free in a few days - a little cramped, but as long as he's comfy in that position who cares? A week or so being forcefed my 100% efficient pigfeed and he'll definitely pack on a few pounds before it's time to slice off his oysters and graduate him to housepig status.
Still, I don't think that status will last for long. Sometimes you see a pig who's perfect for a big event like Halloween, Thanksgiving, or plain-old Thursday. This pig doesn't need much work, so I'd say he'll be around for a few days before he's shaved, stuffed, and roasted.
For this pig I'm going to go with a nice honey, apple, and whisky glaze. For the stuffing I'm going to go for longpork, fresh apples, berries, and honey. After all, you don't always need exotic stuffing ingredients, Longpork is already the most decadent ingredient there is, and the most important thing is always to find the right recipe for the right pig. I can't wait to dig into this succulent Porkboy. It's just a shame I can only cook him once.
#longpig#male longpig#gay longpig#fat longpig#dolcett#male dolcett#gay dolcett#cooking vore#gay cooking vore#artie486#willing longpig#eager longpig
40 notes
¡
View notes
Text
BOLT FROM THE BLUE -Â ROY KENT.
PART ONE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.
(series masterlist!) (series playlist!) (AO3!)
pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary:Â with the departure of afc richmondâs wonderkid, the club is desperately on the hunt for a new coach. luckily for them, youâve just been wrongfully terminated from your position over at west ham. however, with your outlook on the football world tainted and massive hesitation due to your past with a particular member of their coaching staff, youâre less than convinced about the job. but, that same member may just be the one to convince you.
word count & rating: 8.7k, R (too many roy kent 'fucks' to be pg-13)
chapter warnings:Â whole lotta swearing (itâs a roy kent fic, do i even have to say it?), talk of workplace misconduct, allusions to (no descriptions of) sexual harassment, roy and the reader are long-lost bickering, angsty enemies with a past, reader is a former team usa player and present coach, author is american (sorry </3)
authorâs note! hello hello. so happy to have you here. welcome to my first tumblr fic. certainly not my first fic ever, but first fic on here! hooray! for the sake of this fic, weâre going to pretend like the coaching career of the reader is actually possible in the current misogynistic world football climate. itâll be fun to fantasize. also, this takes place in s3, and reader is earlyish/midish thirties. also also, i know next to nothing about football/soccer and havenât played since i was 10, but iâm doing my research! hope you enjoy and love u all tons. -mags
PRESENT DAY. (AUGUST 2023)
Your ex-boss's ex-wife is currently standing outside of your apartment and somehow, thatâs not the most surprising thing to happen this week.
While yes, of course, seeing Rebecca Walton on your front steps at nine-thirty on a Thursday morning is shocking, the numbness thatâs been coursing through your body since Monday takes some of the edge off.
Sheâs right before you, clutching her purse tightly, dressed in a fitted trench coat and aggressively expensive heels. Everything about her contrasts the four-sizes-too-big sweatshirt youâre sporting with the age-old pajama shorts with embroidered soccer balls that youâve been rotting away in for the last three days. When your eyes finally meet once more and you see sheâs been sizing you up just as youâve been doing to her, she plasters on a wide, practiced smile.
âHello,â Rebecca says. Her smile doesnât falter.
You blink at her. âHi.â
She motions to your door and you feel your hand tighten on the knob. âMay I come in?â
Your lips part in a way that youâre sure makes you look like a moron. âLike, into my house?â you ask, head whipping to look at the current warzone state of your living room.
Rebeccaâs smile gets slightly more genuine. âIf thatâs alright?â
The shock of her standing before you seems to have worn off, because you find yourself shutting the door slightly. âIâm not so sure thatâs a good idea.â
âItâs nothingââ
âLook, if youâre here to get me to talk to that Independent journalist whoâs called me like, three times asking for a perspective on Rupert for his book or whatever, Iâm really not interested.â Your frustration is clearly peaking through your typically reserved manner, and frankly, youâre not in any mood to mask it.
She doesnât seem to mind. âWho? Trent?â You nod at Rebeccaâs furrowed brows. âOh God, no. We barely want him writing that thing anyway.â
Well, okay. âThen whyââ
Rebecca motions to the door again. âMay I?â
You suppose if sheâs being so insistent about entering your home, itâs her funeral. You step back to allow her in, and the second she sees your living room, she seems to regret it. When she turns to face you, you canât help the way your brows shoot up, everything about your demeanor saying I told you so. âThe kitchenâs cleaner,â you tell her, nodding in its direction.
âWonderful,â she says as she follows you through the hall. Her next question is hesitant. âSo, is all thisââ
âThe result of getting fired on Monday?â you finish for her, turning to meet her gaze as you stand at your counter. Her eyes read pity and part of you already wants to kick her out. The other part of you wants to hug her. âYeah. Things, uhâŚâ
As you trail off, you realize something. That thing in her eyes isnât pity. Itâs empathy. Rebecca, more than anyone, knows Rupert. She knows how much of an asshole he is. She knows how special he can make you feel, only to have the rug ripped out from under you moments later. She knows what it feels like to be wronged by him. She knows.
Through your silence, you think she recognizes the sudden shift in tension as your expression morphs into something less hard, and you allow yourself a moment of vulnerability. âThings havenât been great over here.â
Any sort of practice in Rebeccaâs smile completely fades and is replaced with something more compassionate. âI can only imagine.â
You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. While the initial discomfort has passed, the awkwardness still lingers and you realize that you have literally no idea why sheâs in your apartment. âCan I⌠offer you coffee? Or, uh, tea?â you ask.
âOh, no,â she replies. âThank you though.â
âYou sure?â you try again. âI taught myself how to make an insane shaken espresso during my ACL recovery. Mastered it over the years.â
âMastered it?â
You shrug. âIt was either that or alcoholism. Chose the path less traveled by most washed-up athletes.â
Rebeccaâs lips twitch upward. âOh, what the hell. Why not?â
âGreat,â you say, turning to your cabinet to grab your bag of coffee beans. Now for the moment of truth. âAnd while I get that togetherâŚâ You stand on your tiptoes to reach the bag. âYouâve gotta tell me what youâre doing here.â
For a moment, you think sheâs going to feed you some joke or some bullshit answer. You glance over your shoulder to watch her mouth even open to do so. But she suddenly decides against it.
And you drop the bag of coffee beans and have to stabilize yourself against the counter as she says, âIâm here to offer you a job.â
A job? She wants to give you a job at Richmond? She canât be serious. Out of all the things that floated through your mind when you opened the door, this was the last thing you thought possible. A job. Sheâs here to offer you a job.
It has to be a pity offer. Thatâs where the pity of it all went. But no one knows about what actually happened, you remind yourself. She just knows you were suddenly let go. Well, then itâs just a revenge offer. Some petty thing to get back at Rupert. As much as you want to think that youâd be on board with that, you had no interest in being some sort of piece in the game.
Youâre staring blankly at Rebecca as your mind goes to war, certain that you look like even more of an idiot than you did when you let her in. Thereâs a small pool of coffee beans sitting on your counter. But you canât find it in you to care. A job. Sheâs here to offer you a job.
Rebecca suddenly clears her throat. âIs everything alriââ
âWhy the fuck do you want to give me a job?â Is what comes out of your mouth, head too far gone to consider a filter. A smirk appears on her face at your words. âSorry, I just⌠I donât get it.â
She looks at you for a moment, taking a solemn pause to evaluate exactly what it is she wants to say. Her eyes flash to your embroidered soccer shorts peeking out from beneath your sweatshirt, then to the plethora of sport-themed mugs hanging beneath the cabinets in your kitchen, then to the framed photo you keep on the wall of your teamâs 2015 World Cup win.
âBecause,â she finally lands on, âwhen I see that the new, passionate, wildly qualified West Ham coach is suddenly fired less than two months after she begins, seemingly out of nowhereâŚâ Itâs her turn to trail off, and she shrugs. âSomething tells me it wasnât just leadership differences.â
You look away from her as she drops the famous press-release line. Discomfort floods your body as you remember Rupertâs smarmy smile when he asked for your badge. âNo,â you say softly. âIt wasnât.â
Rebecca nods, as if her suspicions were confirmed. âNow, I donât know what happened,â she tells you, âand I donât expect to know. But as I said, youâre wildly qualified. You were a remarkable talent on the field and more so as a coach. Four Uni championships in a six-year career isnât just impressive, itâs unheard of.â
You pause your coffee bean cleanup at that. Your brows shoot up and a wry smile crosses your lips. âYou know my college coaching stats?â
Rebecca stares at you for a moment. Then, âNot until this week,â she admits quickly, forcing you to bite back a laugh. âBut my coaching staff knew. Sang your praises.â
A pit forms in your stomach as you realize exactly whoâs a part of that staff. Bull-fucking-shit he sang your praises. You think youâd despise him more if he had.
Attempting to brush off your sudden uneasiness, you try your hand at a joke while measuring out the beans. âWell, two-thirds of them are American, so I guess that makes sense.â
Rebecca chuckled. âWell, Roy Kent doesnât say much of anything, but you did get aâââ She cuts herself off to make an affirmative-sounding grunt. Youâre so thrown off by this that you almost forget to smile at her impression of him. âWhich, you know, is about as close to singing as he gets.â
That it is. Because you do know. And thatâs Roy code for âtrying to be normal about this, but dear God, never speak about her to me again.â You hope the mere mention of your name made him run out of the room. That the idea of you potentially joining the team keeps him up at night.
(The last three days havenât been good for your dramatics either.)
A sigh escapes your lips and you avert your eyes. Thereâs an air of embarrassment as you shift uncomfortably. âThis is going to be loud, sorry,â you apologize, turning the grinder on. You make a general estimation that this is what your brain would currently sound like if someone decided to listen in. After a moment, the machine turns off, but you donât turn back to Rebecca. âWould this be a coaching offer?â
âI wouldnât want you to be anything else,â Rebecca responds. Her tone shifts slightly as she looks at you. âUnless thereâsââ
âNo,â you say, shaking your head. âThereâs nothing else Iâd want.â You shift again. âI justâŚâ
Rebecca watches as you trail off. You still havenât looked at her, focused solely on your espresso task at hand. She wasnât sure what she was expecting when she arrived at your home, but it certainly wasnât this. Every time sheâd seen you, whether it was on the field, blowing past defenders with impossible efficiency, or coaching your college girls in a way that commanded respect despite the seemingly ever-present smile on your face, thereâd always been this confidence about you.
An admirable sense of ego. A love and passion for the game that made every young girl want to wear the number 14. A spirit that made everyone look upon you fondly. A pleasure to be around, and an honor to work with.
Rebecca was now staring at what she presumed to be the shell of the woman sheâd heard about. A woman distracting herself from the discomfort of this conversation with coffee-making, afraid of her own shadow. And as you spoke, she knew her assumptions were correct.
âListen,â you manage to get out. Youâve already tamped the grounds and had returned to the big, fancy espresso machine bought for you long ago by a former friend. âI appreciate you coming over here, butâŚâ
âBut?â Rebecca questions.
The words feel dry in your mouth and you have to push them out. âI think Iâm done with it.â
Itâs Rebeccaâs turn to blink at you dumbly. âDone with what?â she asks. âWith coaching?â
Shame floods your body. âWith soccer,â you reply weakly. That look remained on Rebeccaâs face. âFootball. Whatever. Whatever you want to call it, Iâm done with it.â You turn to stable yourself on the countertop once more as the coffee begins to brew. âItâs justâ Iâve spent the majority of my life doing this one thing. Iâve done the Olympic gold thing, Iâve won a World Cup, Iâve won college championships, Iâve beenâŚâ Your eyes shut, shoulders sagging. âIâve just been. And I thought I could go a step further. Break a ceiling or whatever. I thought I was ready for it. And then everything Iâve worked for is fucking destroyed by some douchebag, diva athlete who doesnât know how to keep his dick in hisââ
You raise your hand to your mouth as if thatâll keep it all in, and you realize youâre shaking. You donât have to turn around to know how Rebeccaâs looking at you. âSo, yeah,â you finish lamely. âIâm done. It was ruined for me. And I donât want to go back.â
Rebecca says nothing for a long while. Taking everything you said in, drawing her conclusions, whatever. You grip the granite countertop and it feels cool beneath your fingers. Your eyes open when you finally hear her respond.
âYouâre letting him win,â she tells you, voice soft. Slightly broken. Like she knows the feeling.
When you do turn back to her, Rebeccaâs sitting at your breakfast bar with her hands folded together, anger poorly concealed. But itâs not anger at you, itâs just anger.
But then you start to feel angry. âIâm not letting him win,â you insist.
âYou are,â she replies. Before you can let your temper get the best of you, she continues. âTheyâre calling you emotional, you know? Theyâre saying that the âleadership problemsâ were you just being abrasive. Joking that they should have never let a woman into the league because of the drama. Apparently, women canât handle AFC-level coaching.â
You swallow. âI know,â you say. âIâve seen it.â
âWho do you thinkâs pushing that narrative?â she asks.
Itâs a rhetorical question, but you still feel like giving an answer. âBasement-dwelling losers who barely made their intramural leagues?â
Itâs then that Rebecca smiles for real. Itâs like sheâs seen a flash of the woman sheâs heard about and she couldnât be more pleased. She makes a noise of agreement, then continues. âThis is what he wants. He wants you to feel like this. He wants you to quit.â Her gaze bores into yours with an intensity that doesnât allow you to look away. âIf you give it all up, he wins. He beats you and heâs got another name under his belt. He doesnât deserve your name.â Rebeccaâs index finger jabs in your direction. âDonât allow him to fucking win.â
The passion in her words is what gets you. Your throat clenches as you feel your eyes start to burn, knowing that everything she said had some amount of truth in it. Thereâs a frustration that rises in your chest that you donât know how to handle.
You were letting him win. He took away your career and then threatened your reputation. He made you take the blame for everything. He allowed this to be ruined for you and played an active part in ensuring it. And here you were, cowering in fear at the notion of this small man.
Sheâs right, and the espresso has finished brewing.
You know sheâs right. Rebecca knows sheâs right. So, as you stand in your kitchen, fighting an inward battle thatâs got you on the verge of tears, your scared, stupid, frustrated little brain can only think of one more thing to say as you pour the coffee over ice.
âEven if you were rightââ you begin, not ready to admit that just yet, ââeven if you were, and even if I did want to join Richmond, I refuse to work with Roy Kent.â
This takes Rebecca completely by surprise. She shifts back in her chair, eyes wide despite the drawing of her brows. âR-Roy?â she sputters. âOur Roy Kent?â
The word our tells you that heâs been embraced by the club and isnât going anywhere. Not that you had expected him to. Heâd clearly nested well into the team and had taken his coaching position in stride. Just like you said he would years ago.
âYeah,â you say shortly. âThat one.â
Rebeccaâs expression remains the same. âBut heâs⌠Iââ She cuts herself off with a question. ââbut why?â
A mirthless grin crosses your lips, head shaking like you donât have the energy to get into it all. âThatâs an answer you should probably hear from him.â
Rebecca looks as though sheâs trying to make sense of all of this. You want to wish her luck. Because youâve been doing the same thing for eight years. âI understand he can be a bit⌠coarse. And intimidating. And hot-headed. But he really isââ
âI donât care what he is,â you tell her with the most polite, tight-lipped smile you can muster up. âI know who he was. And Iâm not interested in working with him.â The words leave your mouth with a bit more venom than anticipated and guilt floods your body. âBut thank you for the offer.â
The Richmond owner continues to stare at you while you shake the coffee, still puzzled, but slowly coming to the realization that sheâs not going to change your mind. At least not now. Maybe not ever.
She figures that trying to convince you to do anything would be pointless. Your stubbornness had made you a star on the field and had clearly transferred off of it. She supposed it made sense that you and Roy had apparently butted heads.
So, reading the room, Rebecca nods at you and stands from the stool behind your breakfast bar. âAlright,â she says, a somber, apologetic smile on her face. âMessage received. Loud and clear.â You watched as she turned and began to fumble inside her purse, placing a white card on the bar when sheâd found it. âBut⌠please. Consider it. The offerâs good for the next couple of days. And I⌠I wouldnât be doing this if I didnât think that youâd be an asset to our team. I truly mean that.â
Thereâs a genuine lilt in her voice that makes you believe her. Whether or not this was a pity offer, or if she just want to scoop you up to get back at Rupert, she really did want you with the team. Youâre rational enough to know that thereâs some merit in that.
âThank you,â you say again, offering a truer smile this time around. You hold up the espresso. âNow, do you have a milk preference? Because Iâve got them all.â
Rebecca Walton left your apartment with the best fucking shaken espresso sheâs ever had in her life and a phone held up to her ear.
âHi, babes,â greeted the voice on the other line, cheery as ever. âI canât remember the last time you called me this early. Not that Iâm complainââ
Rebecca abruptly cut off her friendâs rambling by saying your name. âHow the fuck does she know Roy and why the fuck is he the reason she wonât work for Richmond?â
Uncharacteristically, Keeley Jones went silent. Rebecca heard the static from the other end. And then, very quiet, and wildly serious, Keeley said, âOh, fuck.â
The words made Rebecca stop in her tracks in the middle of the street. âWhat?â
âYou want her to be the new Richmond coach?â Keeley asked, sounding a whole lot like she just scrambled to sit up in bed.
âI just left her apartment. She rejected the offer and sent me on my way with the best coffee Iâve ever had in my life,â she replied. âI want to be bitter about it, but itâs too fucking good.â
âYeah, got it, sheâs a fucking barista on top of being an Ace.â Rebecca wanted to ask about how frantic her best friend is right now, but didnât get the chance. âDid Roy know you were doing this? Asking her, I mean?â
âHe did. I asked him about her,â Rebecca answered. âAnd he grunted at me. Generally, thatâs Roy Kent for âgo on with it.ââ
âOh, that stupid, fucking self-sabotaging prick,â Keeley muttered. âOf-fucking-course he did. Put yourself in this kind of situation instead of dealing with your emotions like a normal fucking human, good on you, Royââ
âKeeley.â The rambling stopped once more. âWhat happened?â
The other line was momentarily silent. Then Keeley sighed, long and heavy. âWell, I donât know it all,â she began. Her voice was soft. âBut I know they knew each other a while back. Like ten years ago, when they were both still playing.â Keeley sighed once more. âBut he said he, uh⌠apparently fucked her over somehow. Didnât get into it or say what he did, but I think it was pretty bad. And then she got back at him for it and fucked him over. And it⌠really messed him up. Like, totally broke his heart.â
Rebecca stepped out of the way of someone passing by. âBroke his heart?â she asked, eyes closing at the implication of that. âWere theyââ
âI donât know. He didnât say. He wasnât exactly open about it. Which I thought was weird because he became pretty open about everything else,â Keeley said. âAll I know is that whatever it was, it ended ugly. And that they havenât spoken to each other since.â
Whatever Rebecca had been expecting, it surely wasnât that. âOh,â she said lightly.
Keeley hummed in uncomfortable agreement. âMaybe Iâm reading too far into it,â she continued. âMaybe it wasnât like that. But, he⌠never talked about anyone like that. Or, yâknow, refused to talk about anyone like that. And you know Roy.â Rebecca said nothing, leaving Keeley to ask the million-dollar question. âAre you sure you want to follow through with this?â
âI want her. Sheâs the only feasible prospect Iâve liked who hasnât been a fucking twat so far.â Rebeccaâs voice was sure. Final. âAnd I wonât allow for another woman to be quietly taken down because of Rupert. Especially not if what I think happened actually did happen.â
âWell, then babe,â Keeley said, âI think you might need to have a chat with your coaches.â
Then, as Rebecca stood on the edge of the sidewalk, picturing the look on her coachesâ faces as she prepared to integrate Roy Kent, the gravity of the situation hit her like a freight train. âOh, fuck.â
âROY FUCKING KENT!â
The entire locker room froze at the voice of Rebecca Walton echoing down the hall, each click of her heels sounding as dangerous as the next. Immediately, all eyes are were on Roy. From Kitman Will to Coach Ted Lasso himself. Not a word was said and Rebeccaâs stomping started to sound like a death march.
But when she rounded the corner into the Coachesâ Office with a fire in her eyes that screamed run; thatâs when Roy started to sweat.
Immediately, a million things ran through his mind. He wondered if this was about his break-up with Keeley, then realized that she was the one who wanted a break from him, so Rebeccaâs got no reason to be mad about that. Had he said something stupid to a reporter? Been photographed poorly? Did something come up in a tabloid from his past? Roy wished he could identify one singular thing heâd done back then in poor taste, but he had a fucking laundry list.
Beard quickly jumped up from his chair to shut the door to the locker room so that the team couldnât hear whatever was about to unfold in this godforsaken office, and pulled the blinds too. He heard the beginnings of an objection from the boys as they began to race to the window, and sent them all a look before the shade fell.
Rebecca walked further into the office, eyes never leaving Royâs. If she werenât so fucking mad, she figured sheâd bask in the fact that she was able to make the great, big, scary Roy Kent nervous, but she was currently seeing red. She decided sheâd reflect on that later.
âI had a fascinating conversation this morning with a prospective coach,â she finally said, voice eerily calm. âYour name came up. A lot.â
Roy didnât dare say a word. He wasnât even sure if he could. Thankfully, Ted chimed in. âWell, Boss, weâve got a lot of those. Would you mind narrowing down which one you talked to?â
But Roy doesnât need it to be narrowed down. Thereâs only one name thatâs been floated around that could possibly have garnered this reaction and level of anger. But his stomach sank further as a wild smile crossed Rebeccaâs lips.
âOh, just our Ace Olympic gold-medalist, World Cup-winning, four-time college coaching champion, West-Ham-hating top prospect,â she said, gaze pinning Roy to the wall. âWho apparently has not only been fucked over by Rupert but has also been fucked over by our own Roy Kent.â
All eyes flashed to Roy in surprise. Rebecca hadnât been lying. Roy hadnât objected to her name being considered as seriously as it was, and had given absolutely no indication to anyone in the room that there could potentially be conflict with this hire.
âOh,â Ted said. âWell, thatâs a bit of an issue.â
Roy looked at Rebecca evenly. âWhat did she say?â
âNothing,â she replied, knowing that that was the very issue. âShe just said she refused to work with you. Told me to ask you for the details.â
Roy nearly scoffed. God, that was really fucking like you, wasnât it? Somehow making his life harder without scorching him alive, leaving him to be the one to burn himself down. Because you could if you wanted to. You could burn him to the ground if you chose.
(And you had. But he wasnât sure what was stopping you from doing it again.)
He eyed Rebecca, knowing his boss and the way she thinks. There was a piece of him that was curious as to whether or not sheâd drop the bomb in front of Beard and Lasso. âAnd what did Keeley tell you?â
That seemed to take his boss by surprise for a moment. But, as she caught on, it was made clear that she had the intention of saving his ass. For now. âNothing that you didnât tell her yourself,â Rebecca said. âWhich was pretty much nothing.â
That was true too. There wasnât much he hadnât told Keeley, but he drew the line at you. Not only would Keeley look at him differently if she knew the truth, but you were just⌠too hard to talk about. Way too hard for him.
Which is why when Rebecca threw her hands up in question, desperation in her eyes as she asks, âSo, what the fuck did you do to our prospective coach?â, Roy had to calm himself for a moment.
Between his rapidly increasing heartbeat and freshly clammy hands, Roy knew he had to figure out a way to not appear one hundred percent, completely freaked out about this. Besides his vague talks with Keeley, he canât remember the last time he spoke about you. In fact, heâs not sure heâd ever spoken about you. And he certainly wasnât in any headspace to do it now.
So, Roy being who he was, looked at the expectant expressions of his coaching staff (and Trent fucking Crimm, who he still couldnât believe had managed to weasel his way into the club) and sighed. He knew he couldnât be as intentionally vague with his explanation, especially now that the careers of those he knew and respected were in the mix, but he sure as hell was going to try.
âWeââ Royâs voice came out gruff and he cleared his throat with the roll of his eyes. âWe knew each other a while back. I met her at the London Olympics. We were⌠fucking friends. For a while. And then we werenât.â Roy shrugged, as if that would get rid of the discomfort he felt. He still hadnât made eye contact with anyone. âI did some shit Iâm not proud of. I hurt her and then she fucking hurt me. We havenât talked since.â
Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. âExactly how long havenât you spoken for?â
Exactly? Roy knows exactly how long. He could tell her the exact fucking day. But that was neither here nor there.
âI donât know,â he chose to answer. Heâd never faked indifference well. âCouple of years? Eight, nine?â
Beard pursed his lips in confusion. âAnd you didnât think to⌠mention this conflict of interest?â
Heâd taken the words right out of Rebeccaâs mouth. âOr tell me there was an issue so I didnât look like an idiot?â
âThereâs no fucking conflict of interest!â Roy shouted. Rebeccaâs brows rose dangerously at the tone and volume of his voice, forcing him to take a moment to collect himself. His voice was more even as he said, âI didnât fucking say anything because I didnât think it was important because weâre fucking adults and I didnât want to be the fucking reason she didnâtââ
Royâs words died in his throat, chest heaving as he forced himself to stop short. He finally looked up, glancing between his colleagues. He tilted his head back as he realized that each of them were trying to figure out whether or not to believe him.
He was telling the truth. He hadnât said one lie. They just didnât get it. And he wouldnât allow them to get it. Not yet, at least.
âWell,â Rebecca said after a beat, âinadvertently or not, you are the reason sheâs not joining the team.â
(Those words alone sting Roy in a way he wasnât prepared for.)
Rebecca wasnât done. âBut I want her, Roy. More than anyone weâve seen. Sheâs the best weâve had a chance with so far. And if I have to go with another coach or one of those pricks we interviewed because of that?â She shook her head as if the idea repulsed her, then pointed squarely at Roy. âFix this.â
His jaw went slack. âFixâ How the fuck am I supposed to fix it?â
Roy was shocked to find that Ted had his back. âIâm with Roy on this one, boss,â he said hesitantly. Rebecca blinked at him in surprise. âI want her too. Iâm all for having this Ace up our sleeve. But this all seems like a lot to be fixed overnight.â
âSend her flowers, send her a singing telegram, get on your fucking hands and knees and begâ I donât care how you do it! Just try!â Rebeccaâs gaze had turned back to Roy, this time a bit more pleading. âPlease. Fix it.â
And with that, Rebecca left the office, leaving two coaches and a journalist staring at Roy Kent.
This was the worst day of his life. It had to be. Heâd never prepared himself to see you again because he was convinced that there was no probability it would happen. Selfishly, heâd figured that you coaching here wasnât a true possibility, not because of any sort of lack of skill, but because some other team would scoop you up. But it was happening. This was a reality and Roy was sure heâd died and finally gone to hell.
And now he was expected to fix this? To interact with you? To potentially see and speak to you again? He was going to fucking throw up.
With this settling in, Roy released a deep, shuddering breath, heartbeat ringing in his ears. âFuuuuuck,â he muttered, grabbing his keys from his desk and storming out of the room.
And then there were three. Ted broke the silence with a question directed at Trent. âY'all have singing telegrams over here?â
Trent nodded. âOh, yes. And Iâm sure theyâre just as awful as American ones.â
As Ted hummed in agreement, Beard narrowed his eyes at how his best friendâs attention was back on the open laptop in front of him. âYou looking up where to get one?â he asked.
âOh, yeah,â Ted replied, eyes glued to the screen.
Beard got up from his chair. âMove over.â
Roy Kent is standing on your doorstep, and somehow thatâs not the most surprising thing to happen to you all week.
However, you are surprised. So much so that the second you see him, a mix of red-hot anger and panic run through your veins, making you instantly slam the door in his face. Tragically, heâs quick enough to slip his foot between the door and the frame, not allowing you to keep him out. You see him grimace through the slit.
âFucking hell,â he mutters. âThatâs a fucking heavy door.â
âYeah?â you ask, continuing to push on the door like a five-year-old. âSurprised your reflexes were fast enough to pull that one off, Grandpa.â You glance down and do the math. âWith your bad leg, too. Impressive.â
You see him wince at the pressure. âIf you keep pushing on that door, weâre going to have an actual fucking problem.â
âOoh, Iâm so scared,â you reply. âDo I get a headstart when you have to pop the knee back in?â
Roy grunts. âI think itâs fair game with that ACL.â
You push harder on the door.
Royâs had enough. His weird, Superman strength peaks through as he holds out an arm to push back, making you stumble slightly. âCan you fucking⌠stop?â His voice strains on that last word, finally opening the door enough to free his foot and keep it open. You know him well enough to know that trying to push back is useless. However, as you hide yourself behind it, your hand remains on the door, just in case.
âHow the fuck do you know where I live?â
âI frequent the West Ham directory,â he answers dryly. You move to push on the door once more, but he speaks before you can. âI fucking texted Rebecca. She somehow knew.â
While you were also weirded out about how Rebecca knew your address, her presence was much less off putting than the manâs before you. If heâd texted Rebecca about you, that meant youâd been talked about. Which meant that Rebecca had confronted Roy about your conflict. Which meant that he was here toâŚ
The implication of it unnerves you. But still, you ask, âWhy are you here?â
âI just want to talk,â he replies.
You scoff. âWell, we talked. Iâm good for another ten years.â
Itâs then that he says your name. Your actual name. Not your last name, or your number, or the stupid nickname he used to call you. And itâs said so softly. So much more gentle than you ever remember his voice being. It straight-up ambushes you, and the remainder of the grip you have on the door fades.
âPlease,â he says in that same way. âGive me five minutes.â You rest your forehead on the door, wanting nothing more than to shut it in his face again and walk away. âFive minutes, and then you can tell me to fuck off.â
Youâre not sure what makes you do it. Youâre not sure why your resolve suddenly crumbles and you start to consider his words. Maybe itâs because youâre still surprised to see him. Maybe itâs because youâre exhausted from this last week. Or maybe itâs because youâve spent the last four hours mulling over Rebeccaâs offer and have realized you may actually want this.
Whatever it is, you groan dramatically, say something that sounds a whole lot like fine, fucking fine to Roy, and open your door all the way to really look at him for the first time in eight years.
The sight of you seems to catch him as off guard as he does for you. He looks older, years more mature than the last time you saw him. But itâs not just in the face. His entire presence seems matured. Healed. Itâs jarring.
Heâs well-groomed, a vast contrast to the guy you met back in 2012, but similar to the man you left in 2015. Itâs just more so. Everything about him is⌠more. More well-polished. More striking. The TV spots youâve seen donât do him justice.
(You mentally kick yourself for even thinking that and immediately feel like you need to wash your hands.)
The dark Richmond Coaching shirt he wears nearly blends in with his eyes, but you swear theyâve gotten lighter. However, the intensity of his stare hasnât changed. And thatâs the first thing you notice as you realize heâs been doing the same sort of evaluation to you.
However, that stare stays on the stupid embroidered soccer ball shorts you now really wish youâd changed out of after Rebecca had left. Thereâs a ghost of a smile on his face as he says, âI canât believe you still have those fucking shorts.â
A sudden, overwhelming feeling of⌠something washes over you and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. Because you donât know what to say to that, and because youâre not sure you can respond to that in any sort of way, you cross your arms over your chest. It takes everything in you to keep your gaze on him. âFive minutes,â you tell him.
Roy seems to snap out of whatever headspace he was in, any trace of humor disappearing. Instead, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat. Heâs standing as if heâs about to make a grand speech, and it leads you to believe heâs rehearsed this. You may have laughed at him if you werenât anticipating whatever the hell was about to come.
So, as Roy opens his mouth, you brace yourself for impact and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
But nothing seems to come out. Heâs stuck there, like heâs frozen in time, as if heâs some sort of animatronic thatâs glitching out. You glance around to double-check that the trees on your street are still blowing in the wind.
Your head tilts, and you awkwardly press your lips together. âI think youâve got four minutes now.â
Roy glares at you. âCan you just fuckingââ He cuts himself off, pointing to his G-Wagon thatâs parked outside of your apartment. âI spent two fucking hours in that car figuring out how I was going to fucking do this and then another hour outside of your fucking flat trying to work up the nerve to knock on your fucking door, so can you just shut the fuck up?â
Your hands go up in surrender. âOkay, okay,â you say lightly. Then, you mutter, âYou just like, gave yourself a time limit andââ
When he grits out your name, you raise your hands higher and shut your mouth.
A good thirty seconds go by before he finally says, âYou played for how many years?â
You blink at him. Thatâs his big opening line? He knows how long you playedâ âSeven?â
âYeah, I fucking know you played professionally for seven. How long overall?â
You have to think about it for a moment. âSince I was three,â you answer. âSo, twenty-five years.â
âAnd how long did you coach?â
He knows this too, but you assume heâs doing it to prove a point. âSix,â you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.
âSix,â he repeats. âThatâs over thirty years youâve devoted your life to football. Three fucking decades. Thatâs your entire fucking life.â
That same frustration you felt when Rebecca was talking to you this morning rears its ugly head. âWhatâs your point?â
Roy doesnât think he could roll his eyes any harder. âMy point is,â he says, âyouâve been in this game for three decades. Why?â
âW-why?â you stammer, staring at him like heâs insane. Nobodyâs ever asked you that before. âWhat do you mean why?â
Roy returns the look. âThereâs gotta be a reason youâve been doing this shit for thirty years. Why?â
âI donât know,â you answer, shaking your head. âBecause Iâm good at it? Because itâs literally all that Iâm good at? Because itâs all that Iâve ever known? I donâtââ
âNo,â he says firmly, and for a moment, as he steps forward, you think heâs going to grab you by the shoulders in the way he used to. To get you out of your head and focus on him. Thankfully, he doesnât. âFucking nobody does anything for that long just because theyâre good at it. That canât be the only reason.â
As he stares at you expectantly, you start to understand his train of thought. What heâs trying to get you to admit. What all of this has been about since you first kicked a ball at three years old. What allowed you to sport the number 14 for twenty-five years. Because itâs only ever been about one thing, and he, more than anyone, gets it.
So, as your shoulders slouch and your head bows slightly in an annoyed sort of surrender, he knows heâs got you. Roy fucking Kent, anger-management case study and hothead of the millennium, has got you. And heâs showcasing the type of speech and traits and breakthrough abilities that told you eight years ago that heâd be a fantastic coach. Not that he believed you. Or took it very well, for that matter.
Then, you hear his voice again. And this time, itâs a bit softer. As if thereâs a fraction of a smile on his face. âSo, why the fuck have you been playing this game for thirty years, you stupid fucking Yank?â
The nostalgia of the name hits you like a bus, and youâre thankful youâre leaning on the doorframe because you truly may have stumbled over. However, thereâs no time to dwell on that. Youâve got an answer ready and it takes everything in you not to smile.
A heavy, labored, dramatic sigh escapes you, and you open your eyes to look at him. âBecause I love it.â
âBecause you fucking love it,â he echoes, and that fraction of a smile you heard in his voice happens to be hidden amongst his perpetual scowl. He takes a step closer to you, pointing at you and tapping on your shoulder. âDonât you dare let that prick take that away from you.â
You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from him. Heâs right. Just like Rebecca, heâs right. You hate that heâs right, but heâs right. Itâs been years since youâve seen him be right, but it hasnât gotten any less annoying.
You think back to what Rebecca said this morning. Donât let him win. You didnât want to. There was actually nothing less that you wanted than to allow him to have that sort of power over you.
But still, the fear lingers. It sits in your stomach and churns it. He said heâd ruin you. Turn the world against you. Itâd be your word against the clubâs and more importantly, your word against football darling and West Ham star, Tom MacDonaldâs.
(âSure, you can go public with it,â Rupert had told you, basking in the anger written in your expression. âBut to be completely honest, love, Iâm not sure anyoneâs going to believe you.â He shrugged. âOnly female coach in the league suddenly crying sexual harassment after sheâs been fired? Seems a bit convenient to me, donât you think?â)
You donât mean for your voice to be as small as it is when you say, âBut what if Iâm actually done?â
Vulnerabilityâs never been something youâve embraced, especially with your career path, and you hate the way you sound. Weak. Timid. Afraid. As you meet his gaze once again, you realize that you hate the way that Royâs looking at you even more.
âYouâre the furthest thing from done. Done hasnât ever been a word in your fucking vocabulary,â he tells you. Thereâs no room for argument. âYou wanna know why?â You shrug at him in response, cueing him to continue. âBecause unfortunately, I fucking know you. And I know the only time youâd ever be done with this sport is when youâre fucking dead.â
This time, you do allow yourself to smile. Itâs small and humorousâ a tight-lipped agreement, but itâs enough for Roy to know heâs gotten through. You want to laugh, partly because you know heâs right, partly because you canât fucking believe that youâre smiling at him, but youâre strong enough to keep that in.
âSo, yeah. Donât let that prick kill you. Donât let any prick keep you out of this game. Especially coaching.â Roy shakes his head, pausing for a beat, as if heâs making an effort to say, âYouâre too⌠fucking good.â
You narrow your eyes at him. âTook a lot to get that one out, huh?â
Royâs quick with a response. âYouâre lucky you got it at all.â
You scowl, but thereâs not much in it. Youâre used to that type of compliment from him. If you can even call it that. Still, the familiarity of it makes you the most uncomfortable youâve been all day.
However, youâre distracted by one thing. Donât let any prick keep you out of the game. Heâs said it so casually, like heâd actually meant it. As if he had no sense of irony about it. It boils your blood and stirs something ugly in you.
That feeling prompts you to meet his gaze. âWhat if one of those pricks is right in front of me?â
For the first time all night, his stoic expression falters, as if that was the last thing heâd ever expected you to say. It was only a fraction of a second. A blink-and-youâll-miss-it moment.
But you hadnât missed it. Youâd seen the Tin Man facade crumble, even for just a second. Youâd seen the hurt in his eyes, the regret. Youâd celebrate it if it didnât make you feel so unexpectedly awful.
He abruptly clears his throat with a solemn nod. âWell,â he says gruffly. âThen donât let me take that away either."
You look away from him, because you know thatâs all you can do right now. Your mindâs racing a million miles an hour, thinking about him, about Rupert and West Ham and Tom MacDonald, and about the Richmond job. Thereâs a piece of you that wants to believe that everything that had happened this week was leading to this. To seeing him again, to being offered to work with him, to gain an opportunity for redemption in more ways than one.
But the more logical piece of you knows thatâs all bullshit. And itâs that thought that puts you back in a more comfortable headspace.
âYou know I canât forgive you for what you did,â you tell him, meeting his eyes once more. The weight of your words is heavy on your shoulders and you lean against your doorframe again. âI wonât forgive you.â
Roy nods stiffly. âI know,â he says. âAnd I canât forgive you.â
You return his nod in understanding. âI know.â
His gaze leaves yours for a moment, like heâs trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say next. How to work up the courage to do so.
âBut ifââ Royâs voice comes out strained and he clears his throat. âIf this is something you want, this coaching thing at Richmond, then IâŚâ He looks at you and all you can see is sincerity. You hate it. âItâll be professional. Civil. I wonât let there be any issues or⌠fucking whatever.â
He appears to be just as bad at this as he was when you last saw him. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold in your laughter. By the way his face becomes instantaneously annoyed, you can tell heâs noticed.
Youâre already talking before he can retract his statement. âHowâs the team?â
If heâs offended by you not thanking him for doing the bare fucking minimum, he doesnât show it, and takes your change in topic in stride. âGood,â he replies. âPretty fucking good. Weâre still trying to figure some shit out when it comes toââ
âNo,â you interrupt him. âIâve seen you guys play. I know youâre good. I meanââ Your throat suddenly gets tight, a pit of anxiety forming in your stomach completely out of nowhere. A shaky breath leaves your lips. âThe team. The guys. Are theyâŚ?â
Roy catches on. âTheyâre good lads,â he says, his voice telling you that itâs not a statement, but a fact. âSome of the best Iâve ever played with. Easy to coach too.â
Your brow quirks up. âEasy?â
âIf two fucking clowns from Oklahoma and fucking⌠me are saying theyâre easy,â he says, looking at you with intent as he trails off.
That same pit of anxiety bubbles up once more. âAnd, uh⌠Jamie Tartt? Is heâ?â Royâs brow furrows. âIâve just heard some less-than-great things. Him being the star and all. Football darling or whatever. Are they true?â
Your over-explanation of the Richmond striker makes Roy narrow his eyes in suspicion. He opens his mouth to question it, but then realizes itâs you. There had to be some personal reason for you to bring it up. Whatever issue it was, he knew he was no longer personal enough with you to ask.
âHe was a prick,â Roy finally settles on. âNow heâs less of a prick.â
The fond look in Royâs eyes tells you that heâs warmed up to Jamie more than heâs letting on, and it puts you at ease. You nod in acknowledgment. Silence fills the air between you two, neither of you knowing what else to say.
You think about the team youâve watched quietly on TV, studying up for your rivalry games with them when you were preparing to coach at West Ham. You think about your prospective coaching staff and the vitriol you heard in Nathan Shelleyâs voice when you asked him about Ted Lasso. You think about the job and what evidently comes with it.
But most importantly, you think about the potential of this new position and the potential of this new beginning.
And while youâve got questions, you realize theyâre all for yourself. Not for Roy.
Youâre out of questions and heâs out of time. Way out of time.
You remember this as you rock back on your heels. âI think youâve gone over your five minutes.â
Roy looks at you expectantly. âAre you going to tell me to fuck off?â
âYou? Absolutely,â you tell him, earning yet another eye roll. âBut Richmond?â You pause, trying to ignore just how quietly hopeful he now looks. You sigh, shoulders slumping. âTell Rebecca Iâll consider it.â
Roy releases a relieved, thankful breath, nodding at you. âGood,â he says.
You nod back at him. âWouldnât want you to spend another three hours in your car trying to figure out how youâre gonna break the bad news to her.â
That eye roll returns, but thereâs a bit of levity in it. He looks at you for a moment longer, biting the inside of his cheek like he's contemplating saying something else. Your brows furrow in interest, and as soon as they do, he seems to decide against it.
Roy turns to go down your steps with a shake of his head. âGet out of those fucking shorts and stop your wallowing, Fourteen,â he throws behind him as he walks away. âAnd clean your fucking flat!â
Glancing behind you, your jaw drops in outrage as you realize thereâs no way in hell he saw your warzone living room from where he was standing. âYou canât even see into my apartment!â
He doesnât turn around when he says, âI donât need to see! I just fucking know you.â
You manage to suppress the urge to actually yell at him to fuck off at that, and instead choose to live with the wildly strange and undefinable feeling that overtakes your body, one that doesnât dissolve until you watch him speed off down your street.
This fucking week, man.
You shut your door and turn to face your living room, a newfound disgust for the vile state that itâs in. Your lips curls up and you sigh, walking into your kitchen to grab a trash bag, making a plan of action for the night as you shake it out.
You replay your first conversation with Roy in eight years as you tidy up your apartment. You make a mental pros and cons list of the Richmond job as you take the longest, most necessary shower of your life. You chuckle to yourself at the idea of Rupert and Tomâs faces if they were to see that youâd been picked up by Richmond.
You sleep well for the first night in three days, on clean sheets, in clean pajamas, embroidered soccer ball shorts joining your dirty laundry.
Youâre bounding into your kitchen at nine the next morning to grab Rebeccaâs card that you left on your counter, brewing an espresso as you call her.
#roy kent#ted lasso#roy kent x reader#roy kent fanfiction#roy kent fic#roy kent x you#ted lasso fanfiction#aatwe#the one who can't walk up stairs#aces
311 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Reunited
Part 29
Illumi x Reader x Feitan
part 28
part 30
A/N: this chapter is a little short because itâs at the very end of feitan and readers backstory. I was going to go ahead to the present time but it didnât look good, so I scrapped it. The next chapter will go back to present time!!
warnings: This is not proofread at all đŤś
taglist: @tsukilover11 @mercyboluthecrazychicken @sxyriii @shidoni-san @living4tomrua @lemonslut @honeylunalove @sugarrushdaydream @canthebest1 @whorermoviestar @fabitheraven @ashdownunderscorebeloved @astresoleil
if youâd like to be ADDED to the taglist, please comment a red heart â¤ď¸, make sure youâre able to be tagged/mentioned, and have your age in your bio(IF YOU ARE ALREADY ON THE TAGLIST, YOU DONâT NEED TO ASK TO BE ADDED AGAIN!!)
Two weeks passed by quietly, nights spent staying up late watching movies and anime together.
Feitan was still gone most of the day, but heâd come home for lunch to eat with (Name). He wanted to spend as much time with her as possible while still training his body and nen.
The last week of his stay, (Name) became a lot clingier, her hugs and touches increasing by the day.
Feitan would let her slide for the most part, but being touch sensitive, heâd toss her onto whatever soft surface available to get her away from him. He didnât want to spend his last week with her locked away in his room with a boner.
(Name) was currently crouched in her garden, pulling out weeds and watering the vegetables. It was Thursday, only a few days away from Chrollo arriving.
Or so she thought.
âHello, (Name).â
The girl was spooked, nearly falling onto her her plants, but thankfully sheâs caught by the back of her shirt. âWoah there, careful dear. Youâve been tending to this garden so diligently, wouldnât want to crush them, hmm?â
(Name) turned to see a man smiling down at her, wearing an obnoxiously large coat while (Name) sweater in her tshirt and shorts.
âAre you okay?â
The man blinked down at her. âOkay? What do you mean by that?â
âI mean you are very strangely dressed for the weather. Your chest is out and youâve got a coat on. Would you like a glass of lemonade?â
He smiled, clearly amused. âThat sounds lovely.â
(Name) lead the man by the hand inside, pouring him a cool glass of lemonade and making him a sandwich. âHow did you get all the way out here? You know itâs not safe to wander in the country alone.â
She scolded him, setting a ham sandwich down on the table. He watched her with a patient smile, trying to hold back a laugh.
The girl was as kind as Uvogin had said. Not many people invited strangers into their house for snacks because they were dressed strangely.
âI can walk you into town after my friend gets home. If I leave without him he gets all grumpy. I think itâs because heâs protective, but he wonât admit it.â
She giggled to herself, munching on her own sandwich. Chrollo hummed in response, sending Feitan a quick text to say heâd arrived.
Chrollo took a sip of his lemonade, weirdly enjoying the soft atmosphere of her home. It felt homely, not a house but a home, somewhere people lived their lives instead of staying the night. (Name) reflected her home, her eyes bright and smile wide.
Having only spent a total of ten minutes in her presence, he was beginning to understand Feitanâs attraction to her.
The sound of someone running across the porch caught (Name)âs attention, Chrollo already knowing by their aura who it was.
âFeitan, youâre home e-â
âBoss.â
Feitan took a second to breathe before speaking. âThought you were coming Monday.â
Chrollo shrugged, sipping on his lemonade. âI finished my job quicker than expected, so I decided to come early and⌠observe.â
(Name) tilted her head at the two, looking between them before dropping her sandwich.
âYouâre⌠youâre Chrollo!!â
The man gave her a smile, leaning against the table.
âGuilty.â
Feitan groaned and flicked her forehead. âWhy let him in without knowing? Stupid girl.â
(Name) whined, holding her forehead. âHe looked like he was thirsty⌠and heâs like really handsome.â
She whispered the last part, but Chrollo heard. âWhy, thank you.â
Feitan frowned at her words. âHandsome men kill too, dumdum.â
(Name) crossed her arms. âIâm mostly kidding. He just⌠didnât have a malicious vibe, if you get what Iâm saying.â
That peaked both of their interests.
âWhat you mean by that?â Feitan asked, leaning against the counter. She hummed.
âWell, when I meet someone new, they either have a good vibe or a bad vibe. I can almost feel when someone has malicious intent. I felt it when you saved me from that man that broke in.â
Feitan glanced at Chrollo, signaling that they would talk about this later. âI see, (Name). Thatâs quite interesting.â
Chrollo pushed his empty lemonade glass and plate to the side, (Name) quickly grabbing both and refilling his drink. What a considerate host!
âDo you need somewhere to stay while youâre in town? You can have my bed or the pull out cou-â
âHe can have my bed.â
Feitan waved to his room, folding his arms over his chest. (Name) nodded. âYeah, you can just sleep with me then!â
The shirt manâs face went red and Chrollo just smiled at him.
âOh.â
Thatâs all Chrollo had to say, and somehow it was worse than being full on teased.
âThank you for opening your house up to me, dear.â
ââââââ
âSo, your girlfriend seems like sheâs close to awakening her nen.â
Feitan glanced at Chrollo from his seat on (Name)âs porch, scoffing. âNot my girlfriend.â
Chrollo rolled his eyes. âUh huh. What do you think her nen would be?â
âDoes it matter? She wonât be needing it.â
Chrollo hummed. âHumor me.â
Feitan sighed, watching (Name) swim along the river.
â⌠probably specialist. Sheâs unique. Not like anyone Iâve met before.â
âReally? Is that good or bad?â
Chrollo already knew the answer, just by the way a Feitan looked at her.
â⌠good. Sheâs a good girl.â
(Name) surfaced, yelling out to feitan.
âFeitannn! I saw a fish again!â
âDonât have to tell me every time.â
She pouted. âIâm going to anyways!â
She dipped back under the waves, Feitan snickering at her words.
When (Name) had her fill of swimming, she walked onto the porch, her bathing suit dripping water. âFeitan, did you see where I put my towel?â
She scurried around the porch, bending over to see if it was under the table. Feitan glanced from her butt to chrollo, who was also looking. The shirt haired man stiffened.
ââŚâ
Feitan ran inside and grabbed her a towel, quickly wrapping it around her. âThird time you forget.â
(Name) sighed, snuggling up under her towel and letting herself warm up under the sun. âSorryyy!â
The girl dries herself off, then dropped her towel onto an empty seat. She pulled on her pair of shorts and stepped into her flip flops.
âDo you boys want to go blackberry picking with me?â
ââââââ
(Name) let chrollo borrow one of her shirts, telling him it was way too hot to be wearing that big coat, and if he did just looking at him would make her pass out.
He walked out of her room wearing a black shirt with sailor moon on the chest, seemingly unbothered.
âDidnât know you had black clothing.â Feitan said, carrying a basket in one hand and (Name)âs hand in the other. The path to the blackberry patch was covered in roots and potholes, (Name) having already tripped and scraped her knees twice.
If Chrollo werenât there, he would have just carried her, but he had an image to keep up.
âFeitan, whatâs your favorite color?â
âBlack.â
âAh, of course. Mine is-â
âPink?â
âHow did you guess!?â
Chrollo barely holds back a snicker. When he changed in her room, almost everything was pink, from her walls to the strawberry rug by her bed. Feitan shrugged his shoulders.
âLucky guess.â
Although Feitan tried his best to act like holding her hand was a chore, when sheâd trip, heâd hold onto her, his eyes soft as he steadied her. Chrollo watched this with great interest, his hands in his pockets.
Feitan wasnât exactly the type to help someone, and heâd only ever held another persons hand when absolutely necessary.
âWeâre here!â
The three look out upon a large bush of blackberries, spanning across the woodland. (Name) letâs go of Feitanâs hand to walk forward, humming as she checked the blackberries to make sure they were ripe enough to pick.
âAlright, letâs split up!â
Feitan takes a basket and walks off without another word, knowing the drill by now. Once heâs gone, (Name) loops her arm with Chrolloâs and pulls him away.
âI thought we were splitting up?â
He chuckles when you pout at him. âWe will, I just need to talk with you first.â
âI see. Talk away.â
(Name) set her basket down and began picking berries. âWhy donât we play a game? I ask a question, you have to answer truthfully. Then you can do the same for me.â
This was perfect, Chrollo needed to question her anyways. âSure, but if a question is too much I will not answer.â
âFine with me. First, how do you and Feitan know each other?â
âWe are childhood friends. My turn.â
He crouched down next to her and plucks a berry from her hand, throwing it into his mouth.
âWhat do you remember about your childhood in meteor city?â
(Name) doesnât answer at first, and when Chrollo turns to look at her, his usual confident smirk falls from his lips.
She didnât look angry or sad, she just looked⌠empty.
âI⌠was taken from the residential area when I was three years old. I donât remember a lot, just a nice, but strict man in a⌠church I think? There were other children, but they were mostly older than me, so we never got to play with each other. There was this one girl though, who I remember.â
She placed another berry into her basket before smiling softly.
âSarasa. That was her name. Her face is fuzzy, but I remember she had this fluffy purse and⌠Chrollo?â
The man was staring at her with wide eyes, his hand absentmindedly reaching out to grab her wrist. âSay that name again. Please.â
(Name) glanced down at his hand before answering. âSarasa. Is the name familiar?â
His hand trembled slightly when he pulled it away, running his hands through his hair before he regained his composure.
âIt is. So you knew her, huh?â
(Name) nodded, her smile brightening slightly. âDoes that mean you do?â
He looked down, his smile faltering. âI did.â
The way he said that made (Name)âs stomach turn. She didnât have to ask, she knew that something bad happened.
âWhen I was taken, they⌠they did a lot of things. Most of it has been blocked out, supposedly as coping mechanism. But the things I do rememberâŚâ
Her body began to tremble, her smile becoming a little less effortless.
âYou donât want to know, and I donât want to talk about it.â
Chrollo watched her from the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening. He usually didnât care about people outside of the spiders, but this was someone that had been close to Sarasa, someone that cared about her enough to be shedding tears for her.
âI see. Your turn to ask a question.â
She turned to look at him, wiping away her tears.
âAre you okay?â
Chrollo was taken back by her question, quickly shooting back at her. âWhy do you ask?â
Her hand grasped his, the man looking at her hand quizzically, but not moving away.
âYou seem⌠so tired. Emotionally, and physically. Wouldnât you like to rest?â
This surprised him. âIâŚâ
In so few words the girl had reached into his heart and pulled back the walls he had built up to keep prying eyes out.
Who was she? What kind of power did she possess to make the Head of the Phantom Troupeâs lip quiver like that of a child?
She didnât say anything, just gave his hand another squeeze before letting go.
No tears fell, but for a moment he could feel them welling up in the corners of his eyes. Even in his movement of small weakness, Chrolloâs eyes remained dry.
âLast question.â
(Name) didnât look at him, but gave a nod to show she heard him.
âWould you be interested in joining our band of thieves?â
Sheâs quick to answer, a smile pulling at her lips. âI donât think I would make a very good thief. Iâm slow, and my strength doesnât compare to the others Iâve seen in your group.â
Chrollo laughed. âI see. Is that a no, orâŚâ
âItâs a ânot nowâ. Maybe when Iâve passed the Hunter Exam Iâll take you up on your offer, but for now Iâll stick to being a law abiding citizen.â
She winked, dropping another handful of berries into her basket. Chrollo watched her, taking in the moment. It was quiet besides the sound of birdsong, (Name) breaking the silence by picking up her basket and standing.
âOkay, now we split up.â
She handed him the basket she kept underneath hers and walked off in the opposite direction Feitan took.
âYou hear all that, Feitan?â
The short man stopped using In to hide his presence, walking out from behind the thick brush.
âYes⌠she and SarasaâŚâ
He had the smallest of smiles on his lips. Chrollo nodded. âYeah. Iâm going to do some research to see if her claims are true, but at least from what I could see she wasnât lying. Of course, the truth will come out once she meets Pakunoda.â
Feitan leaned against a tree. â⌠so we meet her again?â
Chrollo raised an eyebrow. âOf course we will. Sheâs your woman, is she not?â
Feitan sighed. It was getting harder to deny the obvious truth.
âNot my woman but⌠mine.â
Chrollo shrugged. âWhatever. Sheâs yours, so make sure you take good care of her. If sheâs telling the truth, she was close to Sarasa, so that makes her an honorary Spider.â
The two went their separate ways to pick blackberries to keep (Name) from getting suspicious. Feitan crouched down, thinking back to the first time heâd met her, before he really knew her.
He cursed his stupid past self, spitting on the ground in annoyance. Feitan had hurt such a sweet girl, and he didnât think heâd ever be able to truly forgive himself.
Even if she did.
ââââââ
âWow, thatâs um⌠thatâs a lot.â
The three gathered at (Name)âs house, the two having come back and forth when their baskets got full.
âYou two were supposed to just fill a single basket, not several.â
She looked over her counter to see it covered in baskets and bowls of blackberries.
âGot more so you sell them.â Feitan replied, popping one into his mouth.
She giggled, pulling the basket heâd been snacking on away. âDonât eat too many, youâll get a tummy ache.â
He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling again. Chrollo didnât know the last time heâd seen Feitan this relaxed, if ever at all.
âIâll go and wash some fresh sheets for you. Feitan?â
He looked up.
âYouâve got a littleâŚâ
She swiped his cheek with her finger and stuck it in her mouth. âBlack berry juice on your cheek.â
Feitan stared at her with his mouth parted slightly, unable to speak.
Chrollo pretended he wasnât paying attention, his nose buried in a book, but heâd caught Feitanâs face flush. He smirked from behind his book.
ââââââââ
The next few days passed quickly, the day for Feitanâs departure finally arriving. (Name) woke up early to make a big breakfast and prepare lunches for the two to take with them.
Sheâd promised chrollo as much jelly, jam, and syrup as he could carry, which according to Feitan was a lot.
She and Feitan had been sharing a bed again, the man following her to the kitchen to watch her cook.
Heâd been clinging to her side all morning, holding onto the sleeve of her shirt as she walked around and gathered ingredients. She found it cute, so she didnât say anything.
âFeitan, Iâm going to miss you.â
He gripped the sleeve of her shirt tighter, not able to meet her eyes.
âMiss you too.â
Her eyes widen slightly. For Feitan, that was basically telling her that she was someone he cared about.
âAww, Fei!â
She pulled him into a hug, peppering kisses on his cheeks. He didnât pull back, but he did stiffen and grip her shoulders. Taking her affection was getting easier, but it would always make his heart race and his palms sweaty.
âUsed nickname.â
(Name) hadnât even noticed. âOh, Iâm sorry, I didnât even ask-â
âItâs okay. You can use it.â
His eyes were soft, cupping her cheek as he stared at her lips.
Feitan wanted to kiss her right now, to have a memory of her lips on his before he was gone for god knows how long.
âUm, should I leave you two be?â
At the sound of Chrolloâs voice, feitan was across the kitchen in less than a second. (Name) blinked, then tilted her head. âLeave us be? Why?â
Feitan held a hand over his chest. Had he⌠almost kissed her? Heâd been so close to her lips meeting his, just about to close the gap in between them before Chrollo interrupted.
And for that, he sent Chrollo a glare.
She exchanged numbers with Feitan before he left, promising to send him pictures of the kitten as she aged.
And that was that.
#x reader#anime x reader#headcanon#requests open#reader insert#smut requests#hxh x reader#hxh imagines#hxh illumi#feitan x reader#reunited illumi x reader x feitan#reunited illumi x reader#feitan#hunter x hunter feitan#feitan porter x reader#hxh feitan#feitan portor#illumi headcanons#illumi x reader#illumi hunter x hunter#illumi zoldyck#illumi x you#hunter x hunter#hunter x hunter x reader#hunter hunter#hunter x hunter headcanons#hunter xhunter#hunter x hunter chrollo#anime x chubby reader#female reader
234 notes
¡
View notes
Note
Hey Syllll! Long time, no chat! I just wanted to get this off my chest before i go ham trying to figure out what i wanna commission from you soon.
I have been reading Undersource for years now, and i think we've both come a long way since then! God, that feels weird to say, i'm not even old enough to drink yet lmao. But! I am old enough to spend my money responsibly now, which is nuts given that my responsible spending is now aimed at getting art of my blorbos LOL.
You've grown as an artist so much since i first started reading- i think that was around... the pirate arc? Not sure! But i do remember the early days of me having discord, during the EKD server category era. But anyways, i know the way you drew our favorite skeletons was different back then, and it's all gotten so much smoother in that time. You're also (at least seemingly) taking way better care of yourself! You've set boundaries, you've set more time for yourself and not the blog, and you're still happily chugging along, after all these years. Not to mention you're working on this side story now, which i'm fairly certain you've been looking forward to for a while.
How's that sleeping though? Do you still have the sleep cycle of an austalian? Can't say i'm any better, im slowly becoming nocturnal again lol. Some things NEVER change.
Anyways. All this to say: im really proud to have been part of this little community for so long. To see the comic and its artist come so far. Even if im not a diehard fan anymore, im glad i can still take a little time every weekend to realize "OH, U/S shoulda updated!" and run over here. Thanks for giving me a good starting point of community on this god damned hellsite.
(Here's to sleepy 5 am "you're great" asks LMAO)
sjksdhLKSDJFHG THIS IS SUCH A SWEET MESSAGE OMG-
Hi Azzy! :D I'm glad you still like my work even after all this time! Thank you for sticking around! :D
I have been taking better care of myself these days! I'm (only sometimes begrudgingly XD) going on daily walks (Pikmin Bloom is really helping with that, I love Pikmin they're so cute), and made some new friends! When I first started this blog I was convinced I had to constantly/frequently produce content, and I time went on I slowly realized that wasn't really viable, so I slowly trimmed down the workloads for better manageability, I'd say it's helped a lot! Even if it may not look like it sometimes XD
There was a point before I adjusted my work schedule where I figured out that I may have been riding a creative burnout for a long while, as when I looked back it felt like my work had begun to visually stagnate. I think at the time I was cramming working on the comic update across only 3 or 4 days (Wednesday/Thursday to Saturday mornings, sometimes down to the wire), with several hours of just constant work (plus any distractions and 3 daily asks) because I was procrastinating so badly X'D I'm still recovering from the visual stagnation, but I'm definitely trying to experiment where I can! I may not be the best at it but I hope I'm improving at least ksjdghLSDGH My current schedule is MUCH more spaced out and much more manageable, spanning Sunday to Friday and broken down into stages for each day, and Saturdays are my designated day off~
As for the side story, it's one I've had around for quite a while and have been excited to finally show off! There were a few people who were interested in it when it was first teased, though I've no idea if they're still around, if they are I hope they're enjoying the story so far as well! đ
Oddly enough my sleep schedule is no longer on Cthulhu Standard Time SKSDJGHDLG We had a TON of construction going on in the house the past few months and it was way too awkward to sleep with a bunch of strangers either being in or near my room, as well as making a LOT of noise sjkdhgLKSDJG There was a brief section of time where I'd actually go to bed at a "normal" time and get up at like, 9 or 10 am X'D Though it's slowly sneaking it's way into afternoons to 3 or 4 AM after I feed the kitties, kinda like my old college schedule XD
Thank you again for liking my work and sticking around! I really appreciate it!! :D
I may not be anywhere near whatever my "peak" was a few years ago, but I'm still happy to keep going for those who still come around! đ
16 notes
¡
View notes
Text
ę§ŕźş đđŞđšđšđ đŤđ˛đťđ˝đąđđŞđ ŕźťę§
demande of @thedogisontopofthecarmom :
okay I was wondering if you could do one where it Daniels birthday and because of his sister taking care of him heâs never had a really grand party with a lot of presents and food so the reader and his friends decided to throw him a surprise party so threw out the day they had to act like they forgot which led to Daniel being sad the whole day but when he gets back to the conman room the whole day started to make scenes to him
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
When his alarm went once the noise finally stopped or at least, that's what he
It took him a couple of minutes to decide to leave the comforting warmth. His feet touched the cold floor of the dimly lit dormitory, and
With that done, he moved towards the large mirror next to his wardrobe, adjusting his house-colored tie with a bit of annoyance as it refused to cooperate. After that, he put on his black cape, its inner lining also matching his house's color. On his badge, there were threads that glowed, and stains from potions were visible, especially on the sleeves, making his cape more personal and unique.
He looked at himself in the mirror, attempting to tame his unruly hair, but eventually gave up, just blowing on the strand that fell over his right eye and rolling his eyes at the situation.
But then his gaze landed on the small calendar pinned to a corkboard where a few personal photos and pictures of his friends were hung. There were a lot of notes, and his schedule was posted as well. His eyes scanned each square one by one until he fixated on the date November 22, circled hastily in red. A small note was written beside it.
His eyes widened as he read what was written: "My birthday." A smile spread across his lips. Truth be told, he wondered how he could have forgotten his own birthday. Shame on him.
He chuckled a bit and then looked at his alarm clock, realizing he was running late. So, he dashed to the Great Hall with excitement, eager to see his friends. When he arrived at the entrance of the Great Hall, he grinned like a child in front of a candy store. He approached the table, his friends noticing him. He, who was usually cold, tense, and definitely not a morning person, well... that was somewhat surprising.
Robyn watched him sit down next to Tp, who was enjoying a pancake with some red fruits scattered on his plate.
Daniel: Hey everyone!
She looked at him, surprised by how lively he was in the morning. Usually, she was the energetic one, not him. In a way, their roles were reversed. Despite his thoughts that his friends would all wish him a happy birthday, none of them reacted, too busy with their breakfast. So, he tried to drop them a hint.
Daniel: Do you guys know what day it is?
Kevin: Sandwich Day!
Daniel: Huh?
The blond seemed excited as a flea, striking a dramatic pose in front of his friend, who didn't seem to know what Sandwich Day was.
Kevin: Every Thursday, I bring a peanut butter sandwich for Freddy the Niffler.
Daniel furrowed his brows, not quite understanding what he meant. Daniel: So... Freddy is a Niffler?
Kevin hummed joyfully, clasping his hands together before a slight frown appeared on his face. Kevin: But today we ran out of peanut butter, so I asked Robyn, "What should I bring him?" and she said, "A ham sandwich!" I can't possibly feed Freddy ham! Do you guys know what ham is?
Daniel grabbed a bowl and poured a small amount of cereal into the brown wooden bowl. He then poured milk while listening to his friend rambling, responding with a perplexed tone. Daniel: Meat?
Kevin: IT'S MEAT! If I gave Freddy meat, I'd be a horrible creature!! So, I'm late because I had to go to the kitchen to ask for peanut butter, because all we had was GROSS HAM!!
Kevin shot an angry look at Robyn, who just rolled her eyes. Daniel chuckled a bit and started eating his cereal. Daniel: Kevin, is it really that important?
Kevin looked down at the table, spearing his fork into a pancake before taking a bite, mumbling something under his breath, keeping his thoughts away from Robyn's hearing.
Tp: Oh, by the way, Daniel!
His eyes widened, hoping that she had remembered his birthday. But instead, Tp clasped her hands together in a praying motion, closing her eyes and beseeching Daniel. Tp: After classes, I REALLY need your help to revise for the Potions lesson. Please, help me.
Part of him was indeed glad to help Tp and spend time with her. However, another part of him was saddened that even his best friend had forgotten this important date. He forced a smile and lightly patted Tp's head. Daniel: Yeah, sure.
Tp: Oh my god, you're my savior!
Daniel: You can say that once you get a good grade.
He refocused on his cereal, letting Tp playfully groan at what he just said. He played with the few remaining cereal pieces in his bowl, feeling a bit down, hoping that at least someone would wish him...
Unfortunately, no one did. Even if it had been from the Frey twins, he would have accepted. However, everyone seemed to be avoiding him, as evidenced by their strange behavior.
He studied as planned, but Lottie approached Tp and whispered something in her ear. Seeing Tp laugh, he felt a pang in his heart, realizing that his friends were having fun without him, forgetting his birthday. Perhaps they had something important to do?
Daniel reflected on his day. No, he was avoiding that. It all started during History of Magic class, where Tp usually sat next to him, but this time she sat next to Ivy. Then at the meal, everyone was talking together, and when he approached, they avoided the question, telling him, "Don't worry, it's not about you." Later, he was chatting with Lottie when she left for no apparent reason, leaving him alone in the cold corridors of Hogwarts. And now, Tp was acting as if he wasn't there. It frustrated him not to understand what was going on, but it made him sad not to share these moments with his friends and not to be able to celebrate his birthday with them. Should he eat a poor cupcake with overly sugary frosting and a lone candle? So, he got up, closed the book abruptly, gathered his things, and headed towards the exit of the potion room. But he halted at the sound of Tp's voice.
Tp: Daniel, where are you going? Daniel: I think you have other things to do, Tp.
He could hear Tp asking him to wait, but instead, he continued walking through the corridors of Hogwarts. He wanted to be alone. He felt tears stinging his eyes, and he could also hear his friend's footsteps trailing behind him, persistently asking him to stop.
So when he felt the cold hitting his face, he stopped, clenching his fists, listening to his friend inquire about what was going on. He couldn't contain the sadness he'd been feeling since morning any longer. He turned around abruptly, fixing his gaze on his friend.
Daniel: You want to know what's wrong? Well, I'll tell you! I'm upset that my friends forgot my birthday!
He wiped away tears that were flowing aggressively, while Tp looked at him, allowing him to release the overflow of emotions. He ran his hands through his hair.
Daniel: I... I never had a big birthday when my sister took care of me... so... I wasn't asking for anything other than a simple "happy birthday." Just that! And... it would have made my day really great!
He wanted to stop the tears that were flowing freely down his cold cheeks due to the temperature, but to his surprise, he couldn't. Seeing the situation, Tp didn't know what to say, so she gently enveloped him in a hug, wanting to comfort him.
With his auburn-haired head still crying, apologizing for crying, Tp felt guilty. Not guilty for forgetting his birthday, as she remembered that date and had even been counting the days, hours, and minutes left until that special day. She felt guilty for putting her friend in this state! She couldn't hold back any longer from explaining why she hadn't said anything. So, with a simple gesture, gently taking one of his hands, she guided him, whispering:
"Daniels, come with me."
He didn't understand why he had to follow her. After all, he just wanted to be alone for now. But a small voice told him to listen to the girl. He didn't really notice the moment they arrived at their house's common room, or when Tp uttered the password. But what surprised him most was the common room itself, which was astonishingly dim. He even had to rub his eyes to try to see what was happening.
Daniel: Tp, what's going on here...
Before Tp could reply, the lights came back on, and all his friends were present, wearing birthday hats on their heads. They all shouted in unison:
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DANIEL!"
He was genuinely surprised, and this time, tears of joy streamed down his cheeks. The common room was adorned with colorful garlands, and numerous balloons of every hue adorned the floor. A large table displayed multiple cakes, each with different colors and flavors, and a small pile of presents was right beside it.
Tp smiled at him sadly, her friends not understanding why he was crying as they approached him.
Tp: I'm sorry you thought we had forgotten your birthday...
Lottie: Maaaan, did you really think we forgot your birthday?
Kevin: We've been preparing this for 2 weeks! How could we have forgotten!
Daniel sniffled before smiling.
Daniel: Thank you, friends, thank you for this party... I... I'm sorry for thinking that! All his friends laughed.
Tp: We know you've never really had a birthday, so... we wanted to give you this surprise!
Ivy: Group hug?
Daniel: N-no, no group hug.
Ivy: Come on, just this once!
Daniel chuckled a bit before gesturing for his friends to come in for the hug. After a few seconds, Robyn hopped up and down, clapping her hands.
Robbyn: Now, the cake! Everyone laughed, leading Daniel to a cake in the colors of his house, with several candles placed on it. And for the first time, a group of people he cared about sang the famous "Happy Birthday" song to him. He took a deep breath and blew out the candles, where their flames danced.
No doubt, this birthday filled with laughter, joy, food, and gifts will be etched in his memory...
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
number of words: 2010
oh my god i feel like it went bad TwT , i hope you like it!
#harry potter magic awakened#daniel page#daniel page x reader#hpma x reader#fanfiction#harry potter#hpma#hpma mc#hpma daniel
87 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Happy Thursday folks, we've almost made it. Have a small stand-alone snippit from a fic I started this summer and finally admitted I'm never coming back to. Sorry Joe, you're staying kidnapped.
***
âEnough, enough!â Nile laughingly pounds on Nickyâs back, dizzy. âPut me down!âÂ
Nicky tightens his grip and spins them around twice more, faster, before giving in to her pleas and depositing her back onto the ground. Nile groans and falls onto her back, the Oregon sky spinning above her.Â
âGotta work on your sea legs, kid,â Andy calls from across the fire, cackling.Â
Nicky turns on her, eyes twinkling. âBella.âÂ
âDonât you dare,â Andy warns, holding her bottle of whiskey up in defense. Sheâs too late. Nicky swoops in, stooping to grab her thighs and lift her straight up, twirling in a circle. Andy does her best to look dignified, resting the whiskey on top of Nicky's head, waiting him out. He tilts his head back and she breaks, laughing as she pours liquor into his open mouth.Â
Joe appears above Nile, blocking out the nightâs sky. He grins down at her, glitter raining down from his hair. âYou canât be done already, this is your holiday.â She refuses to sit up just yet, but makes a grabby motion upwards to appease him. He obligingly passes a half-burnt sparkler over and then taps his against hers in a mock toast.Â
âI still feel kind of weird celebrating,â she admits as Joe sits down beside her, watching Andy try to kick Nickyâs feet out from under him to steal back her cigarette.Â
He hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. âYouâll have many years to contemplate. But who knows when youâll see that again,â he nods to where Nicky and Andy have come to a compromise, Andy riding piggyback while she holds the cigarette to his lips.
Nile snorts, sitting up and motioning for the last sparkler. Nicky had shot off the last real firework hours earlier with childlike glee.
âI guess it is July 16th anyway,â she says, âwe could be celebrating anything. Fuck it. Iâm celebrating electricity.âÂ
Theyâve spent the last three months infiltrating a cult with known ties to a particularly nasty trafficking ring. Nicky and Andy were on the inside, trying to figure out where the money was coming from, while Joe and Nile had camped out in a shack a few miles away, listening to the others spit some particularly inventive slurs over the comms while they worked out the supply lines.Â
Point being, Nileâs not feeling real patriotic. But they passed a run-down stand a few miles back advertising 75% O f all Fire orks!, the f and w lost to time, and Nicky had insisted they stop - the manâs never met an explosive he didnât like. Itâs close enough to the solstice that Andy had her annual itch to get blacked out next to a dangerously high fire, so, here they are. Celebrating something that isnât quite the Fourth of July, but isnât exactly not the Fourth of July either, existing in a liminal space between Nileâs waning national allegiances and a desperate homesickness ten years hasnât been enough to shake.Â
Joe, ever good at reading a room, lets the moment pass unremarked. Heâs the best at that. Nicky gets caught off-guard by his own introspection, going suddenly quiet for days at a time. Andy doesnât have much patience for the whole thing, she figures if she doesnât know herself at this point then itâs all a lost cause anyway. Joe, on the other hand, thinks clearly, deeply, and at his own pace. Meaning heâll probably have a lot to say on the complexities of celebrating problematic holidays a month from now, but thatâs not going to stop him from making heart eyes at Nicky tonight.Â
Nicky makes a grab for the last of the whiskey and Andy dodges, yanking all of her weight to the left so that they collapse to the ground together, rolling out of the fall. She springs up and gets a foot on Nickyâs chest, hamming it up as she downs the last of the bottle in victory.Â
âMy love, avenge me!â Nicky mimes dying, doing an appallingly poor job despite all his experience.
âAh, but then who would carry on your memory?â Joe laments.Â
Nile knocks her shoulder against his. âLooks like weâve found the limits of your love at last,â she tells Nicky. âIt was that gas station coffee.âÂ
Joe nods solemnly. âI can still feel its poison in my veins.â He lifts a hand shakily. âEven now, Iâm too frail to walk.âÂ
Nicky bats Andyâs leg away, moving to stand up with the single-minded focus of the very drunk. âGood. Then it will be less work for me to get you on your back.â He struggles to get himself upright, which doesnât bode well for his luck standing up anything else.Â
Nile gags out of principle. By this point sheâs all but immune to finding the two of them on any surface, at any time of the day, but she tries to remember sheâs supposed to be offended at least once a week.Â
Nicky collapses onto the ground beside them, rolling over to put his head on Joeâs lap. âIâve missed you,â he says.Â
Joe runs his fingers through Nickyâs hair. âAnd I, you.âÂ
These days, Nile knows that if she wakes first up and tastes rain, she should make sure Nicky has lemongrass tea. She knows Joe has never kept a pair of matching socks for more than a week but hates when one gets a hole in its heel, and that Andy loves cosmopolitans more than she will ever admit. She knows these people inside and out, but then occasionally theyâll do the most mundane shit and itâll sneak up and hit her all again how long nine-hundred years really is.Â
âDonât you ever worry youâll get tired of each other?â Nile asks absently, mostly joking.Â
Nicky squints up at her, blinking through the alcohol. He pokes Joe in the chest. âSheâs not making any sense.âÂ
Joe flicks his ear in admonishment. âStop teasing her.âÂ
âNo no, Iâm serious,â Nile says, realizing as she says it that she is. Also possibly more drunk than she thought. âLike, what happens if you break up one day. How would that even work? I know you guys have the most epic romance in all of history, or whatever, but what happens if that ends? Am I going to have to swap weekends?â
âWhatâs romance have to do with it?â Nicky asks, propping himself up onto one elbow.Â
Joe groans. âSee what youâve done?âÂ
Nicky hushes him. âI do not - choose - Joe. Choice is irrelevant.âÂ
Nile looks to Joe, who shrugs. âThe last time I tried to remember my wife, some years ago, she ended up having Nicky eyes, his face,â he reaches down playfully, âhis cock.âÂ
Nicky grinds up into his touch, relaxed and unashamed.Â
âI am right here.â Nile pretends to shield her eyes.
Nicky makes a dismissive noise. âI would burn the world to the ground for Joe, and it would be an act of self-defense.âÂ
Joe makes a wounded noise then ducks down, pulling Nickyâs up to meet him halfway. Nileâs seen this show before, too much of this show before, and knows thatâs her cue to leave. Or, in this case, wander the twenty feet away to where Andyâs set herself up with âsmores.Â
âTheyâll fall asleep soon.â Andy passes her a sharpened stick with a marshmallow already speared.Â
Nile shrugs. âItâs sweet, in a very X-rated kind of way.â She watches the marshmallow slowly brown, keeping her eyes carefully on the fire. âI just, I sometimes wonder if Iâll ever get something like that, you know?âÂ
âI donât have a damn clue,â Andy says, reassuring as always. âBut the worldâs probably safer if you donât.âÂ
#the old guard#joe/nicky#nicky/joe#andromache the scythian#nile freeman#nicolo di genova#yusuf al kaysani#andy the old guard#joe x nicky#nicky x joe#immortal husbands#shielwrites
204 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Transiting Venus enters Pisces
Monday, March 11 - Friday, April 5, 2024
Venus is exalted in Pisces - that is, although she doesnât rule the sign (Jupiter and Neptune do), being placed here tends to bring out her best anyway.
On the down side, we can have issues and problems with boundaries, or to be more precise a lack of boundaries. Not to mention self-pity, substance abuse, and a refusal to do more than drift.
Art - the Impressionists, of course. We like it when the artistâs imagination is on display, and we like it even more when we have to use our own.
Beauty - always in the eye of the beholder, but especially now. We donât have to work very hard to find it.
Love - âLove is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds / Or bends with the remover to remove. / Oh no! It is an ever-fixed mark / That looks on tempests and is never shaken;â and so forth.
Money - can piss it all away, and can have remarkable intuitive insights about investments. Charitable donations.
The story told by the aspects: weâre off to a bumpy start, have a few decent learning opportunities, and end ambiguously. Allow about a day on either side of these dates.
Monday, March 18 - Venus/Pisces square Pallas Athene/Sagittarius, 8°08â. Problems with gender identity. Our financial judgement isnât very realistic, and weâre very distractable. Maybe some ham-handed attempts at flirtation.
Tuesday, March 19 - Venus/Pisces opposite Juno Rx/Virgo, 9°51â. Other people seem judgemental, critical, and negative. Some of us may get âplayedâ by people who know how to manipulate us.
Thursday, March 21 - Venus/Pisces conjunct Saturn/Pisces, 12°26â. Kind of a turning point - we let past unpleasantness weigh us down, or we surrender and rise above it. Needing a little âaloneâ time. Real love is responsible, patient, and kind.
Saturday, March 23 - Venus/Pisces sextile Ceres/Capricorn, 14°08â. Take Mom out to a nice lunch! Also really good for green thumbs, prettying up your home, and spoiling your pets.
Sunday, March 24 - Venus/Pisces sextile Jupiter/Taurus, 15°48â. Very lucky (in a non-flashy way); weâre counting our blessings for sure. Spread those good vibes around.
Thursday, March 28 - Venus/Pisces sextile Uranus/Taurus, 20°37â. This gives us an opportunity (sextile) to shake things up a bit. If weâre in a rut, we can easily break out of it. If weâve been wanting to try something new, we can find a way to do it.
Wednesday, April 3 - Venus/Pisces conjunct Neptune/Pisces, 28°00â. Can be a peak Pisces experience, overwhelming us with its spiritual beauty - or complete Piscean dissolution and escapism.
20 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Republican U.S. Sen. Josh Hawley, left, confronts his Democratic challenger, Lucas Kunce, over who is ducking debates during a meeting Thursday at the Governorâs Ham Breakfast at the Missouri State Fair in Sedalia. (Photo by Rudi Keller/Missouri Independent)
7 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Paintbrushes & Romance đĽ°đ - Part 18
Dean x Female Reader
A/N: We are this close to the ending y'all, please bare with me with this chapter. So much still needs to happen, I'm excited and saddened at the same time.đđĽ°
Side Note: Thank you bugsies for all the love and support, much, much loveđĽ°đ
Warnings: Fluff, anger, if theres anything else let me know...đđĽ°
No! babe, a little more to the right, okay no, wait stop, just a tiny bit more to the left. There that's perfect.
Dean collapse onto the couch he just moved for about the tenth time, if I knew, it was going to be so much work, moving in with you, I would've said let's life separately, even when we get married, he sighs.
Her eyes throwing darts, at him, folded arms, pouting her lips a bit, oh really Dean? There's the door!
Bursting out into laughter, Dean gets up, walking towards her, his eyes reflecting the lighting from the sunset, oh my sweetheart, can't take a little joke now, he teased.
Crinkling her nose, I don't think it was funny, her lower lip trembling. Turning away from Dean walking towards the, rustic open plan kitchen.
Grabbing ahold of her arm, I'm sorry sweetie, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, his husky voice low, what's the matter, you seem a little emotional?
You were on the right track Dean, until you said I seem a little emotional, of course I'm damn emotional, I'm exhausted, dirty, and freaking hungry, so I'm going to fix dinner, shaking her arm out of his grip.
I didn't mean to say it that way, flinching at the look she gives him, you know what, I'm not going to say anything, until you get something to eat. Just one last thing babe, why don't you sit, I'll fix us something.
Her face brightens a little, really, she pouts
Yes, really sweetheart, laughing, leading her back to the sofa, you can be so dramatic!
Dean! not helping she warned.
I'm a brave man, I can take whatever attitude you throw at me, shouting from the kitchen. Hearing a giggle escaping her lips, makes him smile. Busy fixing them some ham and cheese sandwiches, he hums a Zeppelin song.
Okay sweetheart, this is going to be the best damn sandwiches ever, almost sliding across the wooden floor, placing the two plates on a make believe table, of a box titled, paintbrushes and other supplies. Baby? Turning to see, she's falling asleep on the sofa all curled up, her hair that was earlier tied up in a messy bun, now slightly loose, framing her angelic face, scouting for a throw or blanket to cover her up, mumbling underneath his breath, how blessed am I!
__________
The moving in weekend is finally over, and by Thursday, their little place looks like a home. She's unpacking the last of the kitchenware when she catches a glimpse of Dean in the corner of her eye. Babe something the wrong?
As a matter of fact there is, sweetheart, how am I suppose to go to work, when you look so hot, I can barely keep my eyes of off you?Â
His smoky voice, filling her ears, her cheeks a light rosy pink, and her lips forming a smile. Oh stop it, she mocked.Â
I'm just telling you the honest truth, smirking now. Goodbye sweetheart, kissing her on the crown of her head, then stealing a quick deep kiss, before pulling himself away.
Bye Babe, be safe, I love you, her fruity voice filled with happiness.
Love you too, hearing him in the distance, makes her heart flutter. Is this what true happiness feels like she asked to no-one really.
_________
Hey babe, remember a few months ago, I told you about the case, I was working on, and the man who jumped in front of a bullet for me, when I was out of town, yeah I invited him for dinner or pizza, or something, it doesn't matter, I just want you meet him, hope its okay... the voicemail service cuts Dean off.
He laughs, why does she even have a cellphone, only she knows. Come on man, get in, gesturing to the car, I need to introduce you to my fiancÊe, I have an idea she will love to get to know you, she has a big heart! I'm sure she'll set you up in the guest room, so you can stay the night.
Dean, I really don't want to impose, sounding more distant than the man intended.
Oh come on, you won't, get in, Dean demanded
The man takes Dean up on his offer, thank you, giving him a half smile.
On the drive over the two men talked about how much life changed since the last time they saw each other.
Life has a funny way of working out, with its curveballs and all, who would've thought that I Dean Winchester would be marrying a wonderful women.
When's the big day, the deep voice, heavy with accent interrupted him.
It is in two weeks, we didn't want a long engagement, his smile wrapping across his face.
Oh! Well congrats Dean, he expressed.
Thanks, we're here! Pulling into the driveway.
Its a lovely place you have here Dean, he replied.
Hearing Dean mumbling something, he catches a glimpse of a wind charm, hanging by the porch, filled with leaves and lady bugs. I used to know someone who loves those tiny creatures so much saying in a hushed tone.
Dean laugh's, I bet you no-one loves them more than my girl. Dean's phone ringing, breaks the conversation, before picking up, he gesture's to the man, he can enter the house so long, but he needs to take this call first.
Thanks, he hesitated. Stepping on the porch, admiring the rustic house, opening the screen door, he catches a glimpse of her, standing on a ladder, bare feet, a paint stained shirt, and shorts, her hair in a loose braid, singing Bon Jovi's It's my life while painting.
There it is again, the out of control beating of his heart, he lets out a sigh, contemplating if he should say hi, or run. Before even realizing he walked closer, standing almost at the ladder, she always had the power to overtake all his common sense, filling him with wonder.
The paint brush in her hand, drops to the floor, oh come on, shit, really, adjusting her footing, stepping miss on the first step, coming to a fall. He catches her, not uttering a single word.
Her wide eyes looks up into his sky blue eyes, shock on her face. Benny!!! She yelps.
Hello Darling, its good to see you, his smoky voice, low.
His arms still wrapped around her. W..what are you doing here she stutters.
Its a long story Darling, you look as beautiful as ever, trying to fight the urge to kiss her, his voice breathy.
As if she read his mind, she shy's away, loosening out of his grip. Concern on her face, her voice shaky, this can't be happening.
Darling I'm so sorry, Dean insisted, and in full honesty there was the slightest bit of hope in me, that the two of you didn't get back together, and that he was talking about someone else.
Benny!! I never told Dean your name, nor have I really said what happened between us, this is a disaster, a freaking disaster.
Your right, I don't know what I was thinking, Benny said faking a smile. Turning around, walking towards the door, he stops dead in his tracks, glancing over to her, his voice even lower and deeper than before, I am really glad your happy darling.
Before she could reply, Dean's voice filled with anger, rushed over them. What the hell is this Benny? Tossing the sketchpad against him, the note he kept in there flung across the room.
Dean, calm down, I don't want trouble, Benny's voice seemed calm but stern.
Shut up! Just.... Shut up, Dean's jaw tightened. His eyes darker than usual!
Look man! Benny begun. Before he could finish his sentence, Dean's fist met the side of his jaw, making him stumble a bit backwards, swiping the blood from his busted lip, before throwing his hands up in a defensive position. Just stop Dean your making a fool of yourself, his voice stern.
Get out, of my damn house, you are testing me, Dean shouted! Glaring at Benny, with pursed lips, you knew who I was along didn't you?
Benny wanted to reply to Dean, but got interrupted.
Stop it, just stop it, her voice filled with concern and fear. Her cheeks a flushed red and tearstained.
Both men looking at her, not saying a single word, until Dean cocks his head back to Benny, shouting, I will shoot you if you come near her again, she's mine!!!
Anger on her face, I'm not anyone's possession Dean, her pupils are blown and darker that he'd every seen. I'm not some object! Running out the door, stopping for a few seconds, glaring at both men, do not follow me and when I get home, you two children better start acting like the grown freaking men you are. Rushing to the car she gets in, speeding off.
The two angry men is left standing there, shock on there face, listening to the roaring of the impala's engine.
#spotify#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x reader#jared padalecki#jensen ackles x reader#sam and dean#benny lafitte#castiel spn#dean winchester imagine#eileen leahy
23 notes
¡
View notes
Text
âď¸âď¸ Weekly Tag Wednesday, on a Thursday âď¸âď¸
Kindly tagged by @mikhailoisbaby @metalheadmickey @mickeysgaymom @lingy910y @sleepyfacetoughguy @crestfallercanyon @creepkinginc @mybrainismelted @energievie @deedala @jrooc
It's Festivus for the rest of us so grab your Chanukah bush, your mistletoe, your pagan ritual or whatever brings you joy and come gather round the fire 𪾠and celebrate your pocket friends đ¤śđť
âď¸ Favourite nickname youâve ever been given:
Any film or TV set Iâve ever wrangled animals on Iâve been dubbed âRabbit Girlâ or âAlpaca Ladyâ or whatever other animal Iâve got with me that day, and it makes me laugh. Iâm also quite fond of school kids calling me âFarmer Michelleâ. Itâs cute. Otherwise itâs just the usual. Myska. Mys. Myskalump.
Oh! Oh oh oh!!! Ruthâs brother calls me his Swisster, and itâs the CUTEST THING!!!! đĽ°đ¨đ
âď¸ Where are you located? London, UK
âď¸ What season is it where you are now? đĽś
âď¸ Favourite tradition this time of year: I love baking and decorating cookies and giving them to people. I also love giving and especially wrapping presents. Iâve made my own wrapping paper for the last few Christmases and birthdays, and it makes wrapping extra fun!!
I just like doing things that make other people happy đ
âď¸ Favourite holiday food: Leftovers Casserole. Itâs literally what it says in the tin, so turkey meat, any left over roast veg and potatoes, caramelised garlic carrots, Brussels, and stuffing all put in the oven to heat through and let the top go crispy, and then you eat it with gravy. Yum yum.
âď¸ Mulled wine, eggnog or hot apple cider? Mulled cider all the way!! We basically have a large pot of mulled wine and a large pot of mulled cider on the go for all of December lol
âď¸ Turkey, Ham or Nut Roast (Or Tofurkey?)?
I have always wanted to make a nut roast and never have!!! đ We do turkey on Christmas Day and Honey Glazed Ham on âHouse Christmasâ. Theyâre both awesome.
âď¸ Would you rather spend the December holidays in: A cabin in the woods surrounded by snow, or a house on the beach with sun and sand?
Cabin!!!!
âď¸ Are you pro-snow or anti-snow?
Pro. Farming is tough in winter, but itâs still pretty beautiful. Even if my fingers fall off.
âď¸ Have you ever built a snowman? Of course! I also built a snow dog with Poppy one year.
âď¸ Skiing or Snowboarding? I used to be a pretty decent skier. Iâve snowboarded twice and could not get on board with the concept. Just like I am great on roller skates and suck on a skate board đ¤ˇđ˝ââď¸ Also? All of my best scars and bloodiest injury stories are winter sport related!
âď¸ Do you decorate for the holidays? Have you met me??
No neighbourhood ivy is save this time of year!
âď¸ Favourite holiday movie? Iâm not too big on movies generally, but we often watch A Knights Tale at Christmas, so probably that?
âď¸ Favourite holiday fanfic? One of the things I adore about fandom at Christmas is things like Christmas Gift Exchanges and people writing Christmas spin offs for their popular fics, or amazing people like @sam-loves-seb doing a whole 12 Days of Christmas!!! Which I cannot wait to have time off to binge my way through to get in the Christmas spirit!!! đĽ°
âď¸ If you were to star in a Hallmark movie, who would be your love interest? Where would it take place?
Bradley James! Once and Future Love of my Life.
I would be hired to supply the animals for his latest movie, which would have some cringeworthy puntastic title like âYouâve Goat to Be Kidding Meâ or âOnly With Eweâ.
Forgive my lateness and likely double tagging. Work has been a lot in the run up to Christmas. If youâve already done this please tag me so I can read yours, and if not then this is your invitation to be fashionably late, just like me! @suzy-queued @heymacy @heymrspatel @callivich @faejilly @greentealycheejelly @rutherinahobbit @depressedstressedlemonzest @look-i-love-u @crossmydna @too-schoolforcool @darlingian @rereadanon @lupeloto @gardenerian @sam-loves-seb @francesrose3 @bawlbrayker @vintagelacerosette
44 notes
¡
View notes