#the ref ruled it good goal

[toasty-owl-arts]

i actually remembered this year woa

[skipper1331]

Red Card // Ona Batlle

a/n: based off this request.

El clasico.

Intense. Exhausting. Harsh.

Playing against Real Madrid was something you wanted to do since you were a kid. Growing up as a Barcelona fan, it was your biggest dream to play for them and when the offer came, you didn‘t say no - you couldn‘t. You left your childhood club for the better even though it hurt you. You had many memories and loved every single person there but it was no secret that Barcelona was your dream club and you worked so hard to achieve the goal of playing for them.

-

In your game mode, you stood in the tunnel, your eyes looking straightforward, jaw tensed, hands behind your back. It was your typical tunnel-posture as Ona would say, the defender always behind you.

The Spaniards were chatting with their friends while you didn‘t say a word. You knew plenty of them and would greet them after the match but now? You had to focus.

The first few minutes of the game were pure chaos, both sides losing the ball way to quickly. After about 20 minutes, the Barca players found their rhythm as perfect passes were delivered and chances created. Quite the opposite of the Real Madrid girls who tried to find their groove. As they tried, tackles came flying in, jerseys were pulled and harsh words left their mouth.

And when Alexia scored, hell broke out. You lost track how often your body had hit the ground or how often you saw your team mates laying on the pitch - the ref didn‘t seem to know the footballers rules though. No fouls called - no cards.

At half time, the score was 1-0, your body already exhausted.

"¿Estás bien?" your favorite defender asked as rubbed you back in a calming manner, "yes" you answered.

"Good. Now go and score a goal for me, mi amor" she pressed a quick yet loving kiss to your forehead before you left the changing room.

I will, you thought.

And you did. For sure, it was the best goal in your career so far.

Mapi stepped up to take the corner, her foot hitting the ball as she sent flying into the box, Lucy and Olga jumped high, Olga heading it away as you ran after the still flying ball. With no second thought, you jumped, leg up in the air, hitting the ball perfectly in your bicycle kick.

You heard the roars before you could even get up, the girls gently jumping on top you.

That was the end of your lucky streak, then after, that one specific Madrid girl didn’t leave your side. Every step you took, she took next to you. When you had the ball, your body would it the grass the second after. Ona was getting mad each time the girl was next to you - which was permanently.

"What the fuck?!" you shouted as she elbowed your face, blood running down your nose. The Real player screamed, dropped theatrically to the floor as she held her leg. Trying to stop your bleeding, you covered your nose with your jersey as the medics weren‘t allowed to step on to the pitch - refs decision.

The ref pointed at you as he walked towards you, Barcelona players huddled around you. With a quick motion, his hand went in his back pocket pulling out the red card, the very first card of this physical game. "I didn‘t touch her!" you argued, gesturing widely with your arms, the jersey and your nose long forgotten. "Look at me! She elbowed me!" he gave you a stern look before he showed you the direction of the locker room.

Alexia tried to talk to him (in a normal tone) as she was the captain, but not even la reina herself stood a chance.

With blurry eyes, you left the pitch. You felt heart broken, your whole life you worked your ass off to be here and play the match of your dreams, only to score a banger and then 10 minutes later to get sent off due an blind ref and unfair red card.

Off the pitch, one of the medics looked after your nose, thankfully it wasn‘t broken. The ref again shouted that you should leave the pitch completely or else, you just did as he ordered. Ona watched you with sad eyes, the disappointment your shoulder held and your head that hung low. Her heart ached for you.

In the locker, you threw the nearest item against the wall. You felt so much anger. You didn‘t touch that player, you didn‘t touch anyone, how could that be red?! As your anger slowly faded away something else grew tight in your chest - the realization, the disappointment. Sitting down in Onas cubby, you searched for her hoodie, you hoped it would bring you the comfort like it always did. You didn‘t clean up your nose, you didn‘t take off your jersey - you just sat there, doing absolutely nothing. The scoreboard didn‘t matter anymore, you didn‘t care if you win or lose. You had lost already.

In fact, Barca won 6-0. After you had left the field, the girls were mad. They wanted to ruin Madrid and they did. Even though all the girls already felt mad, Ona felt beyond mad. If someone messed with you, they mess with her. So she scored another 2 goals and assisted Caro and Alexia.

When your teammates entered the locker, they had a pitty look on your face - you didn’t look up. You just accepted it as everybody pressed a kiss to your head. Ona was one of the last people who walked in, she looked at your cubby - you weren‘t there. Panic washed over her body, she had checked the physio room already (the reason she was one of the latter girls). When Keira absently stepped away, she saw your tired figure. Walking up to you, she squatted down, her hands finding a rest on your thighs, "mi amor" she whispered, her thumb rubbing circles on your leg. You looked at her with glossy eyes about to break down in tears. It pained her to see you like that. The slowly forming bruise on your nose and the dried blood made her go insane. She wanted to rip off the head of the Madrid player. Yet she contained herself - she had be there for you. You needed the comfort. "Let’s go to the bathroom" she pulled you along to the nearest sink while she grabbed some random cloth. "Mírame, por favor" she demanded softly before she had wet the cloth. In silence, she wiped away the blood on your face. You didn’t like silence in Onas presence, you loved her voice and the things she talked about but exceptionally, you were grateful for the silence. It was the thing that helped you the most - her proximity. "Do you have your jersey still on?" she asked in a voice that wasn‘t louder than a whisper. In responds, you nodded. The defender tugged at the hem of your hoodie, asking if she could take it off. Raising your hands, she pulled it over your head before she pulled the blood covered jersey off as well. As quickly as she got rid off your jersey, the hoodie was back on, "we can go now, I can shower at home"

You left the locker minutes later. Ona grabbed your and her own stuff, sending an apologetic look to her friends.

Defeating silence filled the car, your head resting against the cold window, eyes closed as you soaked in the cool. The Spaniards hand rested on your tigh, your own on top of hers, fingers slightly laced. Unnoticeable for you, Ona drove around yet another block - she felt like she had to. When the car finally came to a stop in front of your home, you practically sprinted to the front door. Your girlfriend trailed behind, only to find you already on the couch, face hidden behind a cushion.

When someone would ask Ona what hurts her the most, the answer would be: seeing you in pain. It didn’t matter which kind of pain.

After she had took off her shoes, she went in the kitchen, filling up a glass of water for you. Wordlessly, she placed it on the living room table before she bent down to press a lingering kiss to your head and then walked away to take her needed shower. Taking the shower had 2 benefits: on one side that she would feel fresh again and the other side she would give you in her shower time complete silence before she would talk to you. At one point she had to talk to you (about the incident).

After her shower, she walked back in to the living room, your body still in the same position as when she left. "Mi vida, can you sit up?" she asked. Like a robot, you did, knees up to your face, arms hugging your legs. The defender took a seat beside you, her arm going over your shoulder as the other one went around your legs. "Are we gonna talk about what happened?"

"There‘s nothing to talk about! You snapped, feet hitting the floor as you jumped up. "I didn‘t touch her!" you stated firmly, hands balling into fists.

"I know" the defender simply replied.

You sat back down again, head falling on her shoulder as a tear escaped your eye, "I didn’t touch her…"

"Sí, mi amor" she pulled you into her chest and that’s when you broke. Furiously, you started crying. While one hand of Ona hugged your crying figure the other one caressed the back of your head, "you did so well" she mumbled, trying to lighten the mood, "i‘m so proud of you" even though, you didn’t want to hear it, you had to hear it. She knew you like the back of her hand - you needed to hear it. The defender knew that it was your dream to play in an el clasico for Barcelonas side which was kind of destroyed as you got sent off. "Mi amor, you played an amazing game. That goal, baby, wow. It was perfecto" slowly, the tears stopped streaming down your face as you sniffled one last time yet your head still hidden in the crook of her neck. "I‘m sorry for what happened, mi vida, but I am truly proud of you. You worked so hard for this to come true and it did. It was your dream and you did it. And you will take revenge. There are many more el classicos to come"

"You promise?"

"I promise"

Revenge will come not only from you but from Ona and the whole squad, too. They smashed Real Madrid today and will do it again.

The difference? You‘ll be there the whole time and score goals like nobody ever did before. You did it once, you‘ll do it again.

————————

[biblical-chronicles]

Caught offside

___________________________________________

where Noel tries to educate the reader while watching the match but she just can't focus [18+]

___________________________________________

You leaned against the doorframe, watching as Noel adjusted his City kit in the mirror near the telly. The pale blue shirt fit him perfectly, hugging his lean frame in all the right places, and you couldn’t help but admire how good he looked in it. He tugged at the hem, then straightened the collar with the precision of someone preparing for a proper performance, his expression a mix of concentration and pride.

"You take this more serious than getting on stage," you teased, unable to keep the fondness out of your voice.

He turned, narrowing his eyes at you in mock indignation. "Course I do, love. It’s derby day, innit? You can’t just half-arse derby day."

You grinned. "Yeah, clearly. Shame we’re not at the stadium today, though, bet you’d have all the fans swooning."

"Ah, you’d be swoonin’ the loudest, admit it," he shot back with a smirk, the glint in his eye betraying how much he was enjoying himself.

“Alright, you’ve got me there,” you said, crossing your arms as you leaned further into the doorframe. "But seriously, Noel—you’re acting like the gaffer’s about to call you off the bench."

“Well, someone’s gotta keep the standards up,” he replied, tugging the shirt one last time before turning to slump onto the sofa. He patted the cushion beside him, flashing a grin. “Now come on, game’s about to start. Can’t be doin’ this on my own.”

You joined him, settling into the crook of his arm as he pulled you closer. Your head rested on his chest, the steady beat of his heart oddly soothing amidst the rising tension in the room. The telly blared with pre-match commentary, voices analyzing formations and tactics as if they were speaking a secret code.

"Y’know," you murmured, glancing up at him, "for someone who’s so cool about most things, you get proper wound up over football. It’s cute."

"Yeah, well, this ain’t just football, is it?" he replied, his tone serious but with a twinkle in his eye.

The match kicked off, and both of you were instantly glued to the screen, tension thick in the air. City were pressing hard, their passes crisp and purposeful. Suddenly, the ball hit the back of the net, and the room erupted.

"Yes! Get in there!" Noel shouted, jumping to his feet, fists in the air.

You laughed, caught up in the energy, and he grabbed your face, pressing a firm, triumphant kiss to your lips.

But before the celebrations could fully take hold, the referee made a motion, and the screen flashed with the dreaded words: Offside.

“What?!” Noel barked at the telly, his arms flinging wide as if to challenge the decision directly. "Offside, me arse! Who’s the bloody ref, Stevie Wonder?"

You snorted at his outrage, though you couldn’t deny the disappointment. "That’s fucking ridiculous, but honestly, I’ve never fully understood what offside even is. It’s such a weird rule."

Noel turned to you, momentarily distracted from his fury. "You’re jokin’."

You shook your head, biting back a smile. "Not joking. I mean, I sorta get it, but not really."

“Right, sit tight. Lesson time.” He repositioned you slightly so he could use his hands to illustrate his point, gesturing animatedly. "Right, so imagine this. You’ve got the pitch, yeah? Ball’s here. Forward’s there. Last defender’s here." He moved his hands like chess pieces, his tone shifting to something patient but unmistakably Noel.

At first, you tried to follow along, nodding and humming in response as he explained how the rule aimed to prevent "goal-hanging" and how the timing of the pass was key. But gradually, your attention drifted. His voice—low, smooth, and rich with that Mancunian lilt—was hypnotic, and your focus wandered from his words to his mouth. The way it curved with each syllable, the slight scruff along his jawline, the way his hands moved like they could command the pitch itself...

"Are you even listening, or have I lost you?" he asked suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes snapped back to his, a sheepish grin spreading across your face. "I’m listening... mostly."

“Mostly, she says.” He shook his head, feigning exasperation. "You’ve got no respect for the beautiful game, have ya?"

"Plenty of respect," you countered, letting your gaze flicker over him appreciatively. "Just... got a bit distracted by something else that’s beautiful."

His brows shot up, and then he smirked, a slow, knowing grin. "Oh yeah? This ‘something else’ wouldn’t happen to be sat right here in this kit, would it?"

You laughed, burying your face in his chest to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

Noel chuckled, the sound reverberating against your cheek where you’d buried yourself in his chest. “What’s this, then? Gawkin’ at me like I’m the main attraction, are ya?”

You groaned, playfully smacking his arm without moving your head. “Oh, shut up. I was being nice!”

He leaned back just enough to peer down at you, his smirk still firmly in place. “Nice, me arse. You were practically droolin’. Don’t blame ya, mind. This kit always does wonders, don’t it?”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up slightly, trying to brush off your embarrassment. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though your grin betrayed the affection behind the jab.

“Yeah, yeah, but you love it,” he said, planting a quick kiss on the top of your head before turning his attention back to the match.

You tried to follow his lead, settling back into his side as his arm looped around you again. The game was heating up, with the ball flying between the teams and the crowd noise on the telly reaching a fever pitch. But no matter how hard you tried, your focus wasn’t on the pitch. It was on the man beside you—the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palm, the soft brush of his thumb against your arm as he absentmindedly held you close.

Before long, your hand started to wander, almost without thinking. You traced idle circles against his chest through the thin fabric of his kit, marveling at how warm and soft he felt beneath your fingertips.

“Oi,” he murmured without looking away from the screen, his tone half-amused and half-warning. “You planning on keepin’ your hands to yourself anytime soon, or what?”

“Nope,” you said simply, grinning to yourself as your fingers moved to the City badge, tracing the embroidered crest with deliberate slowness.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head but not stopping you. “You’re bloody hopeless, you know that?”

The sound of the referee’s whistle echoed through the room, signaling the end of the first half. Almost instantly, you sat up, twisting to straddle his lap in one fluid motion.

“Bloody hell!” he laughed, his hands instinctively finding your hips to steady you. “What’s got into you, eh? Can’t even wait for full-time?”

“Blame yourself,” you shot back, your cheeks flushed as you leaned closer. “You’re the one prancing around in this kit looking all... irresistible.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Irresistible, am I? Go on, love, don’t stop there.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the laugh bubbling up as you leaned in to kiss him, cutting off whatever cheeky remark he was about to make next. His laughter faded into a low hum as he kissed you back, his hands tightening their grip on your waist, pulling you closer until there was hardly any space left between you.

The kiss deepened, your laughter fading into a soft moan as his hands gripped your hips tighter. You rocked forward instinctively, the friction drawing a sharp breath from you, and Noel noticed immediately. His thigh tensed beneath you, and his hands slid lower, guiding your movements as you pressed against him.

“God, you’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?” he murmured, his lips quirking into a teasing smirk even as his voice dropped to a low rasp.

You didn’t bother replying, too caught up in the heat of the moment to muster a clever retort. Instead, you leaned into him, your lips trailing down to his jawline and the stubble that scratched your skin in the most intoxicating way. He tilted his head slightly, giving you better access as your hands explored the soft fabric of his kit.

When his thigh shifted beneath you again, you couldn’t hold back a quiet moan. His smirk grew at the sound, his hands tightening their grip on your waist as he whispered, “Didn’t know I’d signed up for this kind of workout.”

“Oh, stop it,” you shot back, your words breathless but full of playful defiance.

“Stop what?” he teased, his grin widening. “Don’t think I’m the one makin’ noises, love.”

That cheeky remark spurred you on. Your hands wandered lower, skimming over his hips until they reached the waistband of his joggers. You toyed with the edge for a moment, letting your fingers slip just beneath the fabric, and he stiffened slightly beneath you, his breath catching.

“Careful, now,” he warned, though his voice lacked any real conviction.

“Why?” you murmured, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You nervous or summat?”

That earned a soft chuckle from him, his hands sliding up your sides to rest just beneath your ribs. “Hardly,” he muttered, but there was a slight pink tinge to his cheeks that made you grin.

Your fingers dipped lower, brushing against the skin of his hips as you tugged at the drawstring of his joggers. His breath hitched, his hands momentarily pausing their steady hold on you.

“Gonna drive me mad, aren’t ya?” he muttered, his voice a mix of exasperation and anticipation.

“Only fair,” you shot back, leaning in to press a kiss to his neck, your lips lingering against his pulse point.

With one swift motion, you pushed his joggers down enough to expose his boxers, the fabric pooling around his thighs. He let out a low groan at the cool air hitting his skin, his hands gripping your waist even tighter.

“Bold move, that,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement but laced with something deeper.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Bold’s never been a problem for you, has it?”

Before he could reply, your hands slid over his boxers, teasingly slow, and his head fell back against the sofa with a quiet curse. “You’re gonna ruin me before halftime’s even over.”

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "That's exactly me plan, Noel.”

His laugh was low and breathless, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he pulled you into another searing kiss.

Your lips moved against his with an intensity that left you both breathless, the warmth of his hands on your face grounding you even as your pulse raced. Slowly, your fingers traced the edge of his boxers, the teasing movement earning a low groan from deep in his chest.

“Bloody tease,” he muttered against your lips, his voice gravelly with a mix of frustration and desire. His hands gripped your waist tightly as though anchoring himself to the moment.

You smiled against his mouth, your confidence growing with every little sound you pulled from him. “Teasing’s part of the fun,” you murmured, letting your fingers slip beneath the waistband just slightly, the anticipation making his breathing hitch.

“Is it now?” he rasped, but the cheek in his tone wavered, replaced by something far needier when your hand finally slid lower.

Your fingers wrapped around him, stroking slowly, deliberately, and the reaction was immediate. His body tensed beneath you, a sharp exhale escaping his lips as his head fell back against the sofa. “Oh, for fuck’s sake...” he breathed, his voice trailing off into a low moan that sent a thrill through you.

“Something wrong?” you teased, your lips brushing against his jawline as your hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm.

His response was a strangled laugh, his hips bucking slightly into your touch as his grip on your waist tightened. “Nothing wrong about this, love,” he managed, his voice thick and uneven.

You grinned, watching his reaction, the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his cheeks flushed and his hair falling messily over his forehead. He looked utterly undone, and you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed being the reason for it.

When your thumb brushed over him in just the right way, a deep groan tore from his throat, his hips lifting instinctively into your hand. “Christ, you’re gonna finish me off here,” he muttered, his voice strained but filled with the kind of raw honesty that made your stomach flip.

Your lips found his neck again, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there as you picked up the pace slightly, the sounds he made growing louder with each passing moment. “Good thing it’s halftime,” you whispered against his skin, earning a breathless laugh that turned into a low moan as your movements became more purposeful.

His hands slid up to tangle in your hair, pulling you back up to kiss him fiercely, his lips demanding and urgent as he tried to regain even the slightest bit of control. But his grip faltered when you gave an extra deliberate twist of your wrist, and the way his breath hitched made your heart race.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his words barely coherent as he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes dark with desire. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers continuing their teasing strokes, knowing you had him completely at your mercy. “But what a way to go,” you murmured, earning another shaky laugh from him that dissolved into a guttural groan.

Your lips pressed softly to his neck, working a path downward as your hand continued its rhythm, deliberate and torturous, keeping him on edge. Noel’s breathing was ragged now, each exhale tinged with a low, breathy groan. You could feel his tension, the way his body moved beneath yours as he gripped the sofa for dear life.

“Bloody boilin'” he muttered suddenly, his voice strained. With a quick movement, his hands went to tug at the hem of his shirt, clearly intent on stripping it off to escape the heat.

You stilled instantly, lifting your head to fix him with a pointed look, your lips curved into a playful smirk. “Don’t you dare.” you said, your voice soft but filled with authority.

He froze mid-motion, his shirt still bunched in his hands as his wide eyes met yours. “What?”

“You heard me.” You tilted your head, biting back a grin as you slowly removed your hand entirely, watching the realization dawn on his face.

His cheeks flushed a deep red, his frustration mingling with need as his hips shifted slightly, searching for the contact you’d so cruelly taken away. “You’re killin’ me here, love,” he mumbled, his voice a little hoarse.

“Say please,” you said simply, sitting back just enough to make your lack of movement abundantly clear.

“Come on,” he groaned, the tips of his ears turning pink as his head fell back against the sofa. “Please?”

You arched a brow, crossing your arms like you had all the time in the world. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

“Fuckin' hell,” he muttered under his breath before looking back at you, his eyes dark and filled with longing. “Please, love,” he said, his voice rough and earnest. “Please finish me off. You’re driving me mad here.”

Your smirk widened as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his jawline. “Good boy,” you murmured, letting your hand return to him, the relief in his sigh almost making you laugh.

But instead of resuming your previous rhythm, you lowered yourself down further, your lips pressing soft, teasing kisses along his slightly exposed abdomen, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. His breath hitched, and his hands instinctively gripped the sofa again as you continued your path, deliberately slow, making sure he felt every second of your attention.

When your mouth finally replaced your hand, he let out a sound that was half curse, half moan, his head falling back against the sofa as his fingers dug into the fabric. “Christ,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You worked him over with a mixture of confidence and tenderness, adjusting your movements to the way his body reacted—the way his hips bucked slightly, the breathy moans that escaped his lips, and the occasional muttered praise that was more instinct than intention.

“Bloody brilliant,” he gasped at one point, his voice breaking slightly as he looked down at you, his face flushed and his hair sticking to his forehead. His hand came up to brush through your hair, his touch reverent even as his breathing grew increasingly unsteady.

When he tried to move his hips to meet you halfway, you placed a firm hand on his thigh, keeping him in place as you set the pace. His rather loud reaction sent a thrill through you, and you redoubled your efforts, drawing him closer to the edge with every calculated movement.

His moans grew louder, more desperate, and his hand gripped the back of the sofa as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “Love, I’m—I can’t—” he stammered, his words breaking apart as his body tensed beneath you.

You didn’t stop, didn’t let up, until his climax hit him like a tidal wave, his body arching as he called out your name in a voice thick with raw emotion. When he finally came down, his chest heaving and his face glowing with a mixture of exertion and satisfaction, he looked at you with a dazed but utterly blissful smile.

“You’re bloody dangerous, you know that?” he muttered, his voice still breathless as he reached for you, pulling you back into his arms.

You tilted your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Can’t help meself when you look so beautiful,” you teased, your voice soft but sincere.

His laugh was warm and low, and you felt the vibration of it against your cheek as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Beautiful, eh? You’re gonna give me a big head, love.”

“Bit late for that,” you quipped, earning another laugh as he held you even closer, his fingers idly brushing through your hair.

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have I put off writin' this as I am still dead salty about City losing the last derby? (and to villa yesterday too)... maybe

anyway I hope you lot enjoyed this and yer homework is to learn about the offside rule since Noel didn't manage to explain it fully x

also the new kits that Noel helped design are just brilliant

love you all so much !

[sirhamburrger]

rev up! - rocket league with the bllk boys

ᯤ feat. rensuke kunigami, reo mikage, tabito karasu, sae itoshi  ᯤ tags/cw: all characters are aged up, they all hate the game to some degree except for reo he loves it ᯤ a/n: in case you don't know, rocket league is a game in which you play simplified soccer as a car. this is barely x reader anymore LOL i was just inspired watching my kid brother play and rage today || dividers by @cafekitsune part 1 [minecraft ver with the other main boys]

rensuke kunigami:

ᯤ expects it to be like a normal football game at first. that is, until you explain the rules of rocket league - that there are basically no proper rules at all ᯤ he’s actually kind of appalled that you have to play one to four aside instead of eleven, and each match is only three minutes long ᯤ “offside! did you see that? that was clearly offside!” ᯤ (you, trying to stifle your laughter) “ren… there is no offside…” ᯤ he keeps playing it just to make you laugh but quits after two weeks ᯤ preferred game mode: hoops (because at least it’s not soccer he’s defiling)

reo mikage:

ᯤ is pretty good with a controller - he is nagi’s best friend, after all ᯤ he takes out his anger on the game. ramming into the other players’ vehicles, demolishing them mid-skirmish, pushing his own (bad) teammates out of the way to score goals ᯤ gets really good after a while and even starts streaming with nagi ᯤ as mentioned earlier he hates when the teammates he gets matched up with are really bad (that’s when the profanities come pouring out 🤗) ᯤ but he’s so good that he gets at least a five-point lead in every single game anyway ᯤ preferred game mode: classic 3v3, occasionally snow day (with the ice hockey puck)

tabito karasu:

ᯤ he constantly gripes about every single thing that he thinks is wrong with the game. ᯤ “why do i always get matched up with opponents who play together on the same xbox?? they can communicate that’s not fair” ᯤ (after an opponent knocks him out of the way) “ref! ref, that was definitely a foul. don’t tell me ya don’t think that’s a foul.” (there is no ref) ᯤ once he got yukimiya and otoya to play with him against rin, shidou and nagi  ᯤ and they won because rin, as previously established, has the gaming skills of a centenarian. not even nagi could save his team from demise ᯤ but he’s always nice to you when you play with him :) ᯤ preferred game mode: heatseeker

sae itoshi: 

ᯤ loathes the game with all his heart. his gaming reflexes are pretty decent but he thinks the game is stupid and an insult to soccer. (“you're never going to be able to play soccer with cars.”) ᯤ regularly challenges rin to 1v1s. rin never refuses and seeing his brother lose so spectacularly fuels sae’s ego ᯤ he got twitter and insta and tiktok just so he can clown the game. his angry rants on car soccer rack up hundreds of thousands of views in mere hours. rocket league reaches out to him for a sponsorship deal. sae’s manager makes him say yes. ᯤ preferred game mode: he hates the game, didn’t you know? if he had to choose though it would probably be classic 3v3. b-but it’s not like he likes it or anything!!

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[billybob598]

Wanna Know Something? (Mary Earps x Reader)

Yoooooo, i posteddddd. I know, I haven't written anything in so long, my bad lol. Hopefully this makes up for it. Remember, any feedback good or bad is welcomed. Enjoy reading!

Word Count: 1.6k (wtfff idk how i did that ngl)

“Hey, good luck today,” you hear somebody whisper. Turning to look at the speaker you see Mary reaching out her fist towards you. You smile and bring her into a hug.

“Good luck querida,” (darling) you mumble into her ear. Mary places a soft and discreet onto your neck, your legs almost give out at the action. As you pull away you reach out to Leah who was ahead of both of you. She turns and gives a quick hug to you, her Arsenal teammate.

“Vamos Y/N,” Rafaelle says over her shoulder as the officials start to move forward. You quickly get back to your line and try to focus on the game ahead. 

Mary had been your girlfriend for almost a year now. You were the starting goalkeeper for Arsenal and Brazil. Sometimes, you couldn’t believe that Mary loved you, she was so amazing, so funny, so kind, one of the best people you knew for sure. Now, you were playing against each other in the Finalissima. This was a big match. Brazil was hungry to prove that they could compete against top European teams and this was a perfect opportunity. When the national anthems start to play you feel a sense of pride grow inside of your chest. Here you were, in front of a packed Wembley Stadium, playing against your girlfriend for a trophy. It doesn’t get much better than that. 

As you near the goal you’ll be protecting you do your pre-game traditions. Touch the left post first, then the right, then jump and touch the crossbar. After, you sprint to the edge of the 18-yard box, kneel, and say a quick prayer. Done. You mentally lock in for what you know will be a tough match.

At halftime, you’re frustrated. England had been controlling most of the ball, they had also gotten a few shots on target. You could do nothing more when Toone finished off a fantastic build-up by England in the twenty-third minute. All throughout Pia’s halftime talk you are planning a speech to the team. Just before you guys head back out, you stand in the middle of the locker room and start to speak,

“Listen, I know everyone out there is rooting against us, so let’s use that to our advantage. Let it fuel us, make us hungry to beat them. They came to see an England win, not a Brazil one. Let’s show them why we are Copa America champions!” This gets everybody fired up. You can sense the shift in the energy of the team, everyone is excited and motivated to prove themselves. The second half is a different story than the first. While England still controls most of the ball, your Brazilian team was creating more chances, being quicker on the counterattack, and finally starting to test Mary. As the game heads into stoppage time, you can feel your heart start to sink. You feel yourself start to lose hope. Then, out of nowhere, Mary bobbles the ball and Andressa jumps all over it, putting it in the back of the net. You scream, jumping up and down with excitement. Soon after that full-time is called. Taking a deep breath, you calm your nerves before the penalty shoot-out. Your goalkeeper coach reminds you of all of England’s penalty takers habits. 

After giving your teammates fist bumps and high fives, you make your way towards Mary and the ref who are already waiting for you. The ref runs through all the penalty rules for you guys. When she finishes speaking and leaves the two of you alone, you turn to Mary and with a smirk reach your fist to her. She grins at you and moves to fist bump you, only for you to dodge it at the last second. She shoves you with a playful smile tugging at her lips. You laugh, before starting the walk to the goal. 

England has the first penalty. You jump up and down on your goalline, doing jumping jacks trying to distract Stanway. As she takes her first step, you analyze her, deciding to dive to your right. It turns out to be the right decision, but you can’t quite get enough to push it out of the net. You groan as the ball ends up behind you. When Mary gets a hand on Adriana’s shot you hold your breath, only to release it as it rolls into the back of the net. When Ella Toone lines up to take the penalty you know where she is going. You dive to your left, reaching your hand out to block the ball. It bounces off your hand, and for a second you can’t believe it, you saved it. The ecstasy is short-lived however, as you watch the ball roll back towards the penalty spot your head smashes into something quite hard. The post. You black out immediately. Most of the fans groan at the missed penalty. Toone turns away and starts to make her way back to her team. Mary’s the first one to realize something is wrong when you don’t get back up right away. She runs over to you, turning you over to see your eyes closed and a massive gash on the side of your head. Panic overwhelms her body, she grabs a hold of your face trying to get you to wake up. Your Brazilian teammates rush over, all screaming for medics. Rafaelle reaches you and checks for a pulse. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief when she finds one. Some of your fellow Brazilians wince at the amount of blood coming out of your head.

“Come on baby, please wake up,” Mary begs to your limp body, “wake up for me please.”

The medics finally reach you, they wrap something around your head to try and stop the bleeding. Geyse takes your girlfriend’s arm and slowly moves her away from the situation. Mary feels tears start to sting her eyes as she watches the EMTs load you onto a stretcher and take you straight to an ambulance. Wembley breaks out in thunderous applause as you get taken away from the field. The backup goalie jogs onto the field while slipping on her gloves. Mary is conflicted, on one hand, she wants to go to the hospital with you and make sure you’re okay. On the other hand, she knows she can’t just bail and that she has to finish the rest of the shoot-out. She decides to stay on the field with the knowledge that she’s going to dedicate the last few penalties to you. 

Mary saves two of the last three and lets out a warrior yell when Kelly sinks her last penalty. She’s so happy and proud that she almost forgets about your condition. Almost. When she sees Rafaelle talking to Leah with a solemn look on her face she rushes over eager to see if your best friend had heard anything about you.

“So?” Mary looks at her expectantly.

“She’s still out, but she’s stable. So far everything is okay.” Mary breathes a sigh of relief at the news. 

“I’m gonna head there now,” the English goalkeeper decides, moving towards the locker rooms. Leah grabs her arm.

“We have to do the trophy lift,” her captain tells her. 

“Leah, come on, can’t I just go see her?” Mary asks.

“You can go right after, but you should be there for the trophy lift, at least.” Mary nods, sighing. During the celebrations, Mary is just going through the motions. She tries to hurry up the process so she can go see you. Finally, Leah gives her the go-ahead and she rushes to the hospital. When she reaches the hospital reception she’s panting heavily,

“I’m here for Y/N Y/L/N,” she says in between heavy breaths. The receptionist nods and shows her to your room. Mary slowly enters, confused when she hears the TV on. Fully opening the door, she’s met with you grinning at her with your arms spread wide.

“Congratulations! Finalissima winners, that’s pretty cool!” You say brightly. You cock your head to one side when your girlfriend doesn’t respond instead just staring at you. “You okay?” She doesn’t answer, opting to hug you. The air gets knocked out of you, but you hug back.

“Oh my God, Y/N. Y-You were bleeding and w-weren’t moving or an-anything,” she chokes out, tears streaming down her face. You kiss the top of her head gently.

“Don’t worry querida. I’m right here, see?” You gently whisper to her, tilting her head up so that her eyes meet yours. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay,” she nods looking like she’s trying to convince herself. You nod and wipe the tears off of her cheeks delicately. You scoot over and pat the space beside you. She hesitates for a second before giving in and getting into the hospital bed with you. You guys cuddle as you watch the Lionesses celebrations on the TV. She can tell you’re starting to doze off so she whispers into your ear,

“We would’ve won even if you were in the net.” You smirk slightly.

“In your dreams Earps. We all know I would have saved at least one of those.” She rolls her eyes at your antics and kisses the top of your head,

“Just go to sleep, love.”

“Wanna know something?” Mary gives you a questioning look, prompting you to continue. “Metal posts are really, really hard. I would not recommend ramming your head into them. You might not feel great for a bit after.”

[quackity1999]

# — THE MAILBOX is open for business.

i take care of those who take care of me. why do you think i have no one around?

jesus, put two and two together.

this is a c!quackity ask blog :]

SEND ASKS! feel free to pester c!quackity thru asks— general questions, LN reports, dsmp lore refs, tomfoolery and such are encouraged.

i HEAVILY support spamming the inbox.

happy to answer both anons + characters (dsmp, ocs, multiverse: film, musicals, videogames, etc). if ur a reoccurring anon then grab an emoji !

#quackitychirps indicates quackity replies. #charlieposting indicates slime replies.

[ TAG SYSTEM: HERE ! pls check it out. ]

↓ IMPORTANT INFO UNDER CUT. ↓

[ hiii. i'm prophet! he/it/rez prns. biggest cquackity kin known to mankind. yes i am australian 😎😎 ]

rules: literally fucking none. go ham!!!!!!! just please no godmodding. i'll delete anything that goes too far. 18+ mentions are fine — i'll tag accordingly, but it won't be the main focus. sooo have fun go crazy ( admin is 21. keep that in mind thanks )

this blog functions on dialogue instead of written out paragraphs of literature.

IMPORTANT: i don't write any literate rp ( eg; *character sits down and does a thingy* etc etc ) unless it's preplanned in dms for an event. if i am sent starters or asks with literate rp they'll most likely be deleted.

sometimes i throw in a bit of action in brackets, but this is an ask blog first and foremost so i focus on dialogue to communicate action / location / etc.

and in order to keep my blog tidy i don't respond to reblog replies. threads tend to get real lengthy + clutter up things. so— please send another ask instead of reblogging with a reply :) thank you for understanding!

there will be occasional nsfw topics. anything indirect or at the very least suggestive goes into #vaguely 18+. anything explicit will be tagged with 18+ mention. proceed with discretion.

details about quackity :

+ las nevadas era, mainly. if there's specific asks that require a response from vice pres quackity or manburg era q, i can adjust to that: #viceqchirps !

+ he's an avian hybrid! he nests often (usually within an amethyst geode). quackity has a history of being mocked for his instincts and avian attributes, much thanks to a certain ex-husband :/

+ this bitch loves a good debate. motherfucker is a lawyer (sorta) so hit him up with a challenge every now and then. give him fun facts. Threaten him. ask whats going on in his life! throw in curveballs.

[ his chat / asks often show up as pop-up ads. ]

+ my portrayal is canon aligned! las nevadas is important as hell to him, so here's a post that explains in-character how quackity runs LN: HERE. so. yeah, we do business around here. and also torture dream for the revival book but that's not important /silly

+ on that note, i would prefer to avoid interaction with positive/good depictions of c!schlatt for this blog. no disrespect to those who do prefer that, i just personally want to uphold the importance of how schlatt's abuse informed a Lot of character development for quackity. same goes for dream— he's a villain, not a kicked puppy. thank you!

+ i violently swerve between serious interactions and utter hysteria in my replies to asks. its like a fucking lucky dip here 😎 also soz for all the links but it Does make it easier

+ shipping isn't a goal here, so attempts to woo quackity will not end in a romance plot. ofc there'll be some flirting, especially w / canon characters he's had past relations with (schlatt, wilbur, eret, karl, sapnap). i hc he's had a fling with technoblade at least once LMAO. note: apologies to dapduo shippers but they're strictly friends in my portrayal for a reason. :]

+ during las nevadas he has fortnightly gatherings with foolish. he wouldn't fuck a citizen, but he'd fuck a coworker! morals, what're those again?

overall i'm not looking to write romance plots due to c!quackity's view of love during the LN era. (he despises it.)

all anons welcome!!! ADMIN IS 21.

for art references:

my dude's got big big wings such as the first two. no other wings anywhere else though! white / blind in the eye that’s scarred. he got gold fangs to replace his upper canines; to replace the actual missing tooth from techno’s axe but also for congruence. it's also a mockery: piglins love gold.

PLENTY of gold jewelry. quackity focuses so much on his appearance, so— earrings! a brass knuckle made from the rings of schlatt, karl & sapnap. he will never use his own feathers for decoration, though. he's got some necklaces, ofc, no piercings. maaybe an eyebrow piercing but idk . debatable

usually wears a white silk shirt, regular suspenders, black pinstriped pants / slacks, deep red tie with gold intricate detailing & a gold clasp to keep it together in the middle. a fancy pocketwatch with the las nevadas star engraved on the front. his blue or puma beanie obvs! shoes are either dark red (near black) snakeskin or italian leather. steel toed for dropkicking drea—

[ PAST EVENTS: AVIAN PINNED. ]

[puckpocketed]

So do you actually believe PLD is a good player or is that part of the bit?

The PLD Post

i spent a good 2 days giggling about this to friends. i cant tell if ur a curious caps fan, a person who knows me from my other teams, a disgruntled kings fan (i’ve mostly ruled this out because im pretty sure i know all of the active ones on here) or WHAT. but i’m laughing. the tone of this ask is hilarious and vaguely accusatory but i will take it in good faith and answer <3 tl;dr yes and no. he’s better than people think he is rn, but he’s likely never going to live up to the potential of his tools unless something . idk. recalibrates his entire being. who knows!

i was working on something longer and more complex but i thought about it for more than 5 seconds and i REFUSE to go hockey-bro mode and pull out the microstats and i don’t wanna make this into a full on PLD manifesto. so. caps girlies (gn) HERE are your adoption papers under the cut!

if you are looking at pierre luc dubois who is 6’4 + 220lb and thinking “Oh he’s a power forward” i have to inform you he is in fact THEEE smallest mouse to ever play hockey in the whole world and in all of history. he sips nectar out of a thimble and sleeps curled up in a match box and goes fishing in a boat made from nutshells and twigs . he’s big, but he sort of plays small.

this is not necessarily a bad thing — he relies on foot speed and skill over hitting.

he can throw hits but prefers to stick check. he leverages his big frame to guard the puck and to defend, and it makes him simultaneously VERY effective and very much what i like to call a Nexus Of Crime. he is either drawing ten thousand penalties because people have to do something to stop him from driving the net with speed OR he is taking ten thousand penalties because he gets eager in the corners.

PLUS he’s huge and refs do just assume he’s committing a crime when they can’t see what’s going on <3 hence, Nexus Of Crime! if there’s a penalty he’s probably involved LMAO

not a “dirty” player by any means. not physical unless he decides he wants to. and there is no violence inside of him unless he’s deeply horsebonded to his team <- IMPORTANT re; playoffs aspirations. you won’t see him put himself on the line simply for the love of the game, he HAS to be committed to the team.

to be committed to his team… i’m honestly not sure what that takes. i’d guess a combination of knowing his role on the ice and in the locker room (this was very unclear on lak) consistency of messaging from coaches (also seemed to be an issue on lak)

i know nothing about caps coaching or management or the team vibes but i’m sure you can fix him <3 i’m ready to fall in love and ride this team to the sunset

this failhorse will NOT shoot the puck and if he does it will be the saddest soggiest most pathetic shot you’ve ever seen. you will tear your hair out in chunks if you watch him expecting an elite goalscorer.

he’s a pass-first guy. likes to drop pass! likes to drive play from the middle but is also capable of getting pucks off the boards. he needs a finisher on his wing. i could pull up stats here, there are stats to be pulled up, but i know this in my HEART from watching dozens of kings games: he would have had 10-15 more points easily if he wasn’t stapled to the 3rd line and had better finishers. many times i watched him tee up a very good opportunity only for his guy to miss the net or fan or just get knocked off the puck

individually, he thrives in front of the net. his ass is fat and he’s about to use it to screen the goalie. hes good at catching loose pucks in the crease to send them home <3 see his performance at worlds. he scored basically all of his goals right up there!!

most media coverage/narratives will tell you his point production dropped off bc of effort (which is true) but even the MOST resentful kings watchers will say pld wasn’t given his best shot playing with inexperienced+fringe nhlers, being line shuffled the moment he got a bit comfortable, and also not getting ANY net front time on the lak pp. i factor this into all my judgements of his performance.

He’s def earned his diva rep LMAO!! this is personal opinion here but he seems like a sensitive and easily rattled little clam… like he will have a couple of bad shifts and if there’s nobody there to shake him out of it he’ll lose his grasp on the game and play like shit <3 a rolling joke on kingstwt was figuring out which PLD we were getting that game, and you could tell by his 5th if he was switched on or off!!

they hate him for this but EYE think this is nothing new for athletes and if he can consistently stay in the zone he’ll probably be pretty good. mental fortitude of a wet tissue my beloved….

moving onto the Vibes section!! he was always good humoured in media availability and didn’t shy away from scrums even when public opinion soured against him and critiques of both his hockey and his character had reached a fever pitch. i like this about him. he always gave authentic answers and tried his best to accomodate them, and never hid behind his captains.

he gets along quite well with teammates despite the narratives. no seriously!! some of the the kings had a hang out during off-season right before they went to worlds!! there’s bisexual lighting!!!!

there’s interviews from old jets teammates that are just like. “he used to turn up at my house with his dog and text IM HERE with no warning and that’s how we became friends” or “his obsession with euro soccer teams bewitched me”. he had control of the aux cord. he was a den mother and planned group gatherings. a genuine sweetheart to every teammate he’s ever had!!

I don’t think he’s some. idk. secret 100 point producing star 1C. but i truly believe with the right environment he’ll probably hit 60 points again.

thank you for your time if you made it this far and i hope to see you all in the trenches (caps lb) next season 👍

[theoceansluvr]

Percy Jackson x Soccer Player! Reader

warnings; yet again, injuries but not major ! author's notes; oh how i love doing requests ! :33 hope this is up to regular standard for the lovely anon that asked for it :D sorry if this wasn't as long as usual too-

first off, shout out to all the sports playing gals that keep requesting things !!

hope y'all are having fun in your sports whatever it may be :D

anywho

literally a tier practice buddy !

has crazy good reflexes and his kicks are strong as God knows what

another sport he is utterly clueless about so please explain the rules to him😭

messi fan. that's it, that's true headcanon

you have a lil tradition so that for every goal you make, you get a kiss !

it's a win-win situation because you get to score and he gets kissed

perfect deal in his eyes

probably really loud in the stands

not even probably he IS

you've probably kicked him in the nose with a ball before

it resulted in a very long apology session followed and an entire box of tissues used to help with the bloody nose

still a ref booer because "You didn't even mean to foul !" or whatever his excuse is

on that not, has definitely booed somebody for tripping you

it could be a complete accident and bro is still "BOOOO YOU SUCK !!"

he watches your games with you so you know what to practice

plays coach and draws drills and play for you

got insane flashbacks to blue lock when this was requested SOOOO

let's say you injury yourself and can't play

if it's a tear or pull, he's literally doing everything for you so you don't hurt yourself again

maybe a little more scared of you not being able to play again than you are.. only maybe because gods does having to quit your sport over an injury suck

(i lost it when i had to quit volleyball so i know that fear)

once you get better he helps you ease back into it because he'd be an idiot if he let you get hurt again

as if you don't have the same mindset, but you appreciate the help !

like i said I'm the basketball player one, soccer themed hoco/promposal

he's corny but you gotta love him !

takes you to all the local games so you can explain why that play way good or why it wasn't

still has no clue what you're talking about but you're too passionate for him to tell you that

like i said last time PEAK SPORTS COUPLE bc wdym the star kid on the swim team and the star player on the soccer team are dating !?

everybody wishes they were y'all im afraid 🙏🏾

to wrap this all up (my apologies for the shortness T^T i hope it was still good anon) he's your #1 supporter and will be there from high school till you go pro <9

[justicegundam82]

Pathfinder 2E to 1E Conversion: Karina

Here I am, back with a new conversion.

The Karina is a creature that comes from the book The Mwangi Expanse. I thought it was a fairly cool and rather uncomplicated creature, so I decided to try my hand at converting it. As always, please let me know what I can do to get better at this! XD

KARINA

Image (c) Paizo Publishing. Accessible at the Archives of Nethys here

This odd creature looks like an oversized owl with reddish-brown feathers, but its face has an intense, malevolent look to it. It has a pair of human-like arms, ending in taloned fingers.

KARINA CR 5

XP 1’600

NE Large Outsider (native)

Init +5; Senses darkvision 120 ft., low-light vision; Perception +14

DEFENSE

AC 19, touch 14, flat-footed 14 (+5 Dex, +5 natural, -1 size)

hp 51 (6d10+18)

Fort +8, Ref +7, Will +6

Damage Reduction 5 / good; Spell Resistance 16

OFFENSE

Speed 10 ft., fly 60 ft. (average)

Melee bite +9 (1d8+4 plus disease), 2 claws +9 (1d6+4 plus disease); or 2 talons +10 (1d6+4 plus grab)

Special Attacks grab, grave blight, mocking cry

STATISTICS

Str 19, Dex 20, Con 16, Int 7, Wis 12, Cha 19

Base Atk +6; CMB +11 (+15 grapple); CMD 26

Feats Deceitful, Flyby Attack, Weapon Focus (talon)

Skills Acrobatics +14, Bluff +12 (+20 to mimic voices), Fly +9, Perception +14, Stealth +10; Racial Modifiers +4 Perception

Languages Abyssal, Common, Infernal (cannot speak)

Special Qualities sound mimicry

ECOLOGY

Environment warm forests

Organization solitary, pair or trio

Treasure standard

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Grave Blight (Ex): Disease, bite or claw – injury; save Fort DC 16; onset 1 day; frequency 1/day; effect 1d3 Con damage and 1d3 Wis damage plus confused for 1 day; cure 2 consecutive saves. Grave blight manifests itself through fever, gray patches on the skin, disorientation and, at later stages, an innate urge to attack others and spread the disease. Anyone who touches a victim sufffering from grave blight must make a Fortitude save (DC 14) or contract the disease as well. The save DC is Constitution-based

Mocking Cry (Su): As a swift action once per round, a karina can choose to demoralize a single creature who failed to see through its sound mimicry (see below). The creature is affected as though by a crushing despair spell (-2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, ability checks, skill checks, and weapon damage rolls) for the duration of 1 minute. Whether or not the creature succeeds at their saving throw, they cannot be affected by the same karina’s docking cry again for 24 hours.

Sound Mimicry (Ex): As general monster rules; a karina can mimic any voice they have heard.

A karina, also known as a plague bird, is a sinister creature whose goal is to spread pestilence and cause communities to collapse. A deeply sadistic creature, a karina lurks in the wilderness surrounding small cities and villages, waiting for a potential victim to attack and infect with the foul disease carried by their beaks and claws. They usually attract their victims by mimicrying the voices of the victim’s friends or loved ones, infect the victim and then retreat. They repeat this process a few times, enjoying themselves as the newly diseased fall to madness and spread their pestilence further, potentially destroying entire cities unless something is done to halt the progress of the malady.

The karina’s malevolence and unnatural behavior suggests an extraplanar origin for them. The most popular hypotesis posits them as creations of either Urgathoa or Apollyon, but other theories counter that karinas were born from the souls of the first mortals that murdered and cannibalized one of their kind. The fact that karinas have a habit of stealing corpses from graveyards in order to feed on them gives credence to this theory, but nothing is known for certain, and the karinas are not interested in clarifying.

A karina is usually about 10 feet tall, but is relatively light for its size. They are usually solitary creatures, but they sometimes join forces with a few more of their kind in order to better terrorize a town.

[srbachchan]

DAY 5671

Jalsa, Mumbai Aug 27, 2023 Sun 1:11 PM

Birthday - EF - Sandeep Singh Sandhu , Monday, 28 August .. greetings and love from the Ef family .. ❤️🙏

The Hindi retort to the BBC comment on twitter was put up yesterday .. and AG Anthony did a translate as asked .. which was and is good .. but I felt one or two points needed a slight change .. so here they are ..

वो देश, जिसके संग्रहालयों का खज़ाना, केवल दुनिया से लूटे गए मूल्यवान वस्तुओं ��े भरा है,

that country, whose Museums are decorated and filled with the 'loot' ( a Hindi word, copied and now accepted in the English British BBC dictionary) of valued stolen artifacts and materials of the World ..

वो देश, जो मसाले की खोज में भारत आया, उसे लूटा, लोगों को मानव निर्मित अकाल में झोंका और आज भी जिसके खानों से मसाले गायब हैं,

that country, that ostensibly came to India in search of spices, and then 'looted' colonised and began ruling over us .. that created a man made famine - the dreaded Bengal famine , where they starved the locals, so England could get the food, shipped out to them .. and building a thick bush wall around the territory and borders of Bengal, so none of the famished could seek food and survival by crossing over to the rest of the Country .. that country where spices are NOT an ingredient of their food .. ( or as AG Anthony put it , do not have mines that procure spices .. though the food thought is better, because we are talking of famine and food ) ..

वो देश, जिसे अपने ही इजाद किए खेल का विश्व कप जीतने में बरसों लग गए वो देश, जिसका सूरज कभी अस्त नहीं होता था, पर आज भी अपने अंतरिक्ष संस्थान का नाम दुनिया तक नहीं पहुंचा पाया है,

that country that were the inventors of the game ( ref to Cricket ), took years themselves, to win the World Cup (in Cricket) ..

that country that prided itself by stating 'the sun never sets on its territory' .. or whose 'sun never sets' , even till today, has not been able to put their name in the World of SPACE ..

आज हमें ज्ञान दे रहा है?

that country , today imparts 'gyaan' to us .. trying to teach us knowledge and learning ..

हम भारतीयों ने दुनिया को अद्भुत संरचनाएं दीं, कला दी और भारतीय दर्शन से संस्कृतियों को प्रभावित किया और आज भी कर रहे हैं

we Indians , have given the World incredible and most unique architectural structures , art forms , and impressed the entire World with the most treasured cultures .. and still continue to do so each day ..

हम भारतीयों ने अपने मसालों और अपनी पाक शास्त्र का परचम दुनिया के कोने कोने में लहराया है

we Indians have 'flown the flag' .. an emblem of our exalted presence .. of our 'spices' and the purity of our scriptures and its divinity, to all the corners of the World ..

हमने दूसरों के इजाद किए खेल �� केवल सीखे, पर उनमें महारत भी प्राप्त की और धुरंधरों को धूल चटाई है

we have not only learnt those games invented by others and created victory and success in them .. making the opposition and champions of the game 'bite the dust' in competition ..

हमने न केवल चांद और तारों पर कविताएं लिखी, न केवल उनको देखकर सपने बुने, परंतु चांद पर भारतीय तिरंगा लहराया और अंतरिक्ष पर निरंतर और सतत जीत की ओर अग्रसर हैं।

we have not just written poems on the stars and the moon, not just built dreams about them, BUT have placed our TRICOLOuR, our Country's Flag on them , flowing with glory .. and continue aggressively, to gain victory and WIN over SPACE ..

जो कभी हम पर राज किया करते थे, उन अंग्रेज़ों की ईर्ष्या को यह चेतावनी है - यह आग तुम्हें बस जलाएगी पर इसी आग से हम अंतरिक्ष के उस छोर पर पहुंचेंगे जहां से भारत का सूरज कभी अस्त नहीं होगा।

so they that once ruled over us , those jealous British or 'angrez' as locally called, they the envious .. a warning .. this fire will just burn you , but WE shall with this fire, reach that destination and goal , from where the SUN SHALL NEVER SET ON ITS TERRITORY .. INDIA ..

JAI HIND

🇮🇳

in love in gratitude and in the presence in a few hours at the GOJ to be with the wellwishers ..

Amitabh Bachchan

[thecreaturecodex]

Demon Lord, Aldinach

Image © Paizo Publishing

[Sponsored by @vonbaghager . While doing my research for this entry, I noticed something interesting. Aldinach and Areshkagal are enemies in Pathfinder. Aldinach is the name of an Egyptian demon, but looks like a Mesopotamian scorpion-man, whereas Areshkagal gets her name from the Sumerian Ereshkigal but looks like an Egyptian sphinx. Maybe that's why they hate each other.]

Demon Lord, Aldinach CR 28 CE Outsider (extraplanar)

This creature is a golden scorpion the size of a house, except that her head is that of a bald, fanged human woman. Her claws are enormous, made out of blood-red crystal. A mass of seething scorpions crawls along her back and sides.

Aldinach, She of Six Venoms, Lord of Scorpions CE female demon lord of sand, scorpions and thirst Domains Animal, Chaos, Evil, Sun Subdomains Demon, Feather, Fur, Light Favored Weapon kukri Unholy Symbol gold scorpion with sand dripping from its claws Worshipers girtabilus, chaotic phaerimm, torturers Minions fiendish earth elementals, giant scorpions For information on Aldinach’s obedience and boons, see the Book of the Damned

Aldinach is the demon lord of sand, scorpions and thirst. She rules the Sea of Whispering Sands, a layer of nearly infinite deserts she stole from her sister Areshkagal. and continues to defend it from Areshkagal’s servitors. Aldinach has the infinite patience of an ambush predator, and the persistence of the constant erosion created by a sandstorm. She believes that she will outlast the Faceless Sphinx and maintain her rule through sheer tenacity.  That Areshkagal has yet to give up is a source of frustration, but not an insurmountable one, and the two demon lords continue to clash in proxy wars via their cults and servitors.

Aldinach usually opens any confrontation by summoning a supernaturally deadly sandstorm. Anyone who resists being immediately flensed is then met in direct combat. She of Six Venoms, as the title suggests, is a master of poisons. Her venom and any created by a spell she casts ignores almost all immunity to poison, and she can tailor the effects of her venom in order to ruin the bodies and minds of her enemies. The infinite swarm of scorpions clinging to her is an extension of her body, and quickly shred and envenom anyone who dares to strike her.

Aldinach’s worshipers tend to be as determined and patient as the Lord of Scorpions herself. The tortures of Aldinach include envenomation and thirst, neither of which are typically fast deaths, and cultists will repeatedly heal their victims and give them just enough water to live, extending the torment to weeks or months. One of Aldinach’s goals is the expansion of deserts, the better to create hard, dangerous environments to breed hard, dangerous souls. Some of her subtlest worshipers masquerade as aqueduct engineers or farming specialists, claiming to be able to eke more out of lean land but in reality spreading the desert.

Aldinach     CR 28 XP 4,915,200 CE Colossal outsider (chaos, demon, evil, extraplanar) Init +11; Senses darkvision 60 ft., detect chaos, detect evil, Perception +45, tremorsense 120 ft., true seeing Aura unholy (DC 28)

Defense AC 46, touch 13, flat-footed 39 (-8 size, +7 Dex, +33 natural, +4 deflection) hp 676(33d10+495); regeneration 30 (deific or mythic) Fort +30, Ref +31, Will +31 DR 20/cold iron, epic, and good; Immune ability damage, ability drain, charm effects, compulsion effects, cold, death effects, electricity, energy drain, petrification, and poison; Resist acid 30, cold 30, fire 30; SR 39 Defensive Abilities Abyssal resurrection, freedom of movement, swarm skin

Offense Speed 80 ft., climb 40 ft., burrow 40 ft. Melee sting +42 (2d8+17 plus poison), 2 claws +42 (4d6+17/17-20 x3 plus grab) Space 30 ft.; Reach 30 ft. Special Attacks command vermin, constrict (claw, 4d6+25), crystalline claws, flensing storm, rend (2 claws, 4d6+25), she of six venoms, sneak attack +4d6, swift sting Spell-like Abilities CL 27th, concentration +37 Constant—detect chaos, detect evil, freedom of movement, speak with vermin, true seeing, unholy aura (self only) At will—air walk, blasphemy* (DC 27), cup of dust* (DC 23), cloudkill* (DC 25), greater dispel magic, greater teleport, overwhelming poison (DC 26), sunbeam* (DC 27), unhallow, unholy blight* (DC 24) 3/day—control weather*, empowered horrid wilting (DC 28), quickened sirocco (DC 26), summon demons and scorpions, sunburst (DC 28) 1/day—dominate monster (DC 29), power word kill*, sea of dust * Aldinach can use the mythic version of this spell in her domain

Statistics Str 45, Dex 24, Con 40, Int 28, Wis 29, Cha 31 Base Atk +33; CMB +58 (+62 grapple); CMD 68 (80 vs. trip) Feats Blind Fight, Combat Reflexes, Critical Focus, Empower SLA (horrid wilting), Exhausting Critical, Fatiguing Critical, Greater Vital Strike, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Improved Vital Strike, Lightning Reflexes, Nimble Moves, Power Attack, Quicken SLA (sirocco), Skill Focus (Stealth), Stand Still, Vital Strike Skills Bluff +46, Climb +58, Heal +42, Intimidate +46, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, religion) +42, Knowledge (geography, planes) +45, Perception +45, Sense Motive +45, Spellcraft +42, Stealth +41, Survival +45, Use Magic Device +43; Racial Modifiers +8 Stealth Languages Abyssal, Celestial, Draconic, Infernal, speak with vermin, telepathy 300 ft. SQ demon lord traits

Ecology Environment any deserts (The Abyss) Organization unique Treasure triple standard

Special Abilities Command Vermin (Su) Aldinach can command creatures of the vermin type to do her bidding as a move action, either via using his ability to speak with vermin or via telepathy. This affects vermin within 300 feet (Will DC 36 negates). This functions like mass suggestion, but can affect mindless creatures. Aldinach can suggest obviously harmful or suicidal acts (though non-mindless creatures gain a +10 bonus on their saving throws against these suggestions). The commanded course of activity can have a duration of up to 1 hour. If Aldinach issues a new command to a creature, the previous command is discarded. Once a creature succeeds at its save against this effect, it is immune to further commands from Aldinach for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based. Crystalline Claws (Ex) Aldinach’s claw attacks threaten a critical hit on a roll of 19-20, and deals x3 damage on a successful critical hit. Flensing Storm (Su) As a standard action, Aldinach can conjure a supernatural sandstorm at a range of up to 300 feet. The storm fills a sphere in a 40 foot radius, blocking vision as a fog cloud, and dealing 10d6 points of slashing damage and 1d4 Constitution damage a round. A successful DC 36 Reflex save negates the Constitution damage and halves the slashing damage. As a move action, Aldinach can move the storm up to 60 feet. Aldinach can see through her own flensing storms without penalty. A flensing storm can only be dispersed with wind of hurricane force or stronger, and lasts for 2 minutes. Aldinach can use this ability at will, but can only have one flensing storm in existence at a time. The save DC is Charisma based. Poison (Ex) Sting or swarm skin—injury; save Fort DC 41; duration 1/round for 6 rounds; damage 2d4 Str, Dex, Int, Wis or Cha damage or 1d6 Con damage; cure 3 consecutive saves. The save DC is Constitution based. She of Six Venoms (Su) Aldinach can change what ability score her poison deals damage to as an immediate action. She can change the ability damage for her swarm skin ability separately. Any poison damage dealt by Aldinach ignores all poison immunity except from a mythic source. Speak with Vermin (Sp) This functions as speak with animals, except that Aldinach can communicate with creatures of the vermin type. Summon Demons and Scorpions (Sp) When Aldinach uses her summon demons ability, she may also summon giant scorpions of any size with the demonic vermin or half-fiend templates. Swarm Skin (Su) Any creature that touches Aldinach with a melee weapon, natural weapon, touch attack or unarmed strike must succeed a DC 33 Reflex save or take 5d6 points of slashing and piercing damage and be exposed to her poison. Manufactured weapons with the reach property do not endanger their wielder in this way. The save DC is Dexterity based. Swift Sting (Ex) Aldinach can make a single sting attack as a swift action. This is in addition to all of the attacks she makes as a full attack action.

[goldenseresinretriever]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 2

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“Bradley Bradshaw, #86, five-minute major for fighting.” You let out an audible groan as you watch the ref lead Bradley off the ice into the penalty box. Bugs gives you a pained smile as she nudges your shoulder with hers even as you can feel the rage radiating from Cyclone. Bradley’s got drying blood in his mustache from where he took a retaliatory hit from the Florida player after practically throwing him into the boards. Bradley’s been avoiding you the tiff in your office. Clearly, he hasn’t spent the time considering your words since he’s taken the first opportunity possible to ignore your advice. When the line changes you make eye contact with Jake as he swings over the boards, grabbing his water bottle. You watch as he takes a drink, his mouth set in a thin line that has nothing to do with the current 5-2 score in the Dogfighters’s favor, and everything to do with his alternate captain.

You know this has to be hard on Jake too. Even though he was spared Cyclone’s screaming session the other day, you could tell he was aware of the problems and risks that Bradley was presenting. Jake’s the team captain and Bradley is one of his guys, which makes him his responsibility. The biggest problem, however, is that Bradley had been partially right when you argued the other day. Hockey’s a contact sport and fighting is a part of the rules as well as the culture, and it’s hard to argue with the results given that Bradley is currently the third-highest goal scorer on the team.

After finishing his drink, Jake turns on the bench to face you and Bugs, his green eyes hard. “We need to talk.” You and Bugs give him firm nods before he turns back to the game. It seems Cyclone is too busy glaring daggers at the penalty box to notice your exchange. You sigh, as you realize just how much longer your night has gotten.

~~~~~

You just manage to wedge your tiny Bug in the driveway next to Javy’s Landrover. The way he’s parked is the equivalent of manspreading across the space that could easily hold two or maybe even three cars on a good day. You growl in frustration as you do your damnedest not to slam the door in frustration as you get out to survey his handiwork. Your car is a pastel pink convertible bug and it looks comical parked next to the giant SUV, but you sigh and lock it before heading up the short walk to Jake’s front door. The seaside home with beach access was tucked cozily into a sleepy suburban neighborhood. It's not what you’d expect from a bachelor NHL player but the more you’ve gotten to know Jake, the more it makes sense. The main is painfully domestic. This is affirmed by the sight you’re treated to when you open the door that’s been left open in anticipation of your arrival. Jake is at the stove, making pancakes despite the fact that the sun has long since set outside. Bugs and Javy are seated across the counter from him, already digging into their plates.

“Hey, Zam! Thanks for coming!” Jake calls, offering you a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Congrats on the win!” You answer, dragging a chair from the dining room up next to the counter since there are only two stools. Bugs elbows Javy and he offers you his stool, taking the chair instead and somehow still looking comfortable at the raised countertop. You give Bugs an appreciative look before sliding Javy’s plate over to him and taking a seat.

You fix Jake with a look. “So, what are we going to do about Bradshaw, because I know Cyclone is just ITCHING to fire me over it.” Bugs stiffens next to you and you turn to look at her bewildered expression.

“He can’t fire YOU because of BRADLEY’S behavior! How is that even your fault?!”

“His behavior isn’t, but how the press spins it? That absolutely is. Sports outlets are calling him dangerous and a loose canon. It’s reflecting poorly on the team, not to mention Dare’s and Mav’s leadership, and of course Cyclone’s management.” You shrug as Jake hands you a plate piled high with pancakes.

“You’re not his babysitter though!” She exclaims and you swallow a mouthful of pancake, gesturing at Jake.

“Correct, that’s your man’s problem.” Jake scowls as he flips a pancake. You just raise an eyebrow at him and he growls.

“Look I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow, alright?”

“Fhank hou!” You chirp brightly through a mouthful of pancake and he rolls his eyes. “Love you, Jake!” You flash a hand heart at him as you go for another bite.

“Love you too, Zam,” he says with a rueful smile and Bugs giggles next to you.

“What about me?” You turn to Javy, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“What about you?”

“Do you love me?” He grins wolfishly at you.

“Well now, Javy, I know better than to love you, I’m not trying to catch anything.” You say dryly.

“Like feelings?” He waggles his eyebrows at you.

“Like chlamydia.” You respond coldly and Bugs chokes on her pancakes beside you as Jake bellows a laugh.

~~~~~

The next morning you’re already elbow-deep in damage control over Bradley’s behavior last night which ended with him getting raucously drunk at a dive bar, when Mickey comes into your office, wordlessly placing a pink can of Monster on your desk. Your hands are instantly off the keyboard and wrapped possessively around the can as you grasp it tightly, cracking the tab in record time to take a long sip.

“Marry me,” you groan as you come up for air.

He laughs, shaking his head. “I told you Zam, if I still haven’t found a trophy wife by the age of forty, the job’s yours.”

“Jokes on you, Mickey, you’d rather be a trophy husband than have a trophy wife.”

“What can I say? I’m a feminist at heart.” You snort, ignoring the way the carbonation burns your nose as he grins, tossing himself into the chair across from your desk.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere?” You ask with no bite, a matching grin gracing your lips as you turn back to the email you’re sending, occasionally bringing the pink can to your lips. He shrugs, settling further into the chair.

“We’re doing individual conditioning for the rest of the morning, I needed a break.” You nod, typing away at your keyboard. The two of you sit in comfortable silence as you finish the email and finally turn back to him.

“Mick, I need a favor.” You slump, resting your cheek against the cool surface of your desk, regarding your best friend’s sideways face.

“Anything,” he says without hesitation.

“What’s the deal with Bradley?” You watch the storm clouds gather over his normally sunny disposition. Despite the tension that now lingers in his slumped form, his voice is light as he says, “No idea.” He shakes his head and you can see his jaw tightens. “That’s just the thing? He’s quiet, kind of a loner, but perfectly nice to everyone on the team. He doesn’t argue with anyone, hell, not even Javy!” He shoves an irritated hand through his hair, his eyes darting around as the tension in his shoulders seeps into his actions.

“So you have no idea why he’s acting out? He was never like this with the Flyers. All the research I’ve done indicates not a single incident that would explain his behavior, I’m drawing a blank here, and you know I never draw blanks when it comes to this stuff.” You’re about to turn and press your forehead against the desk next but you catch the flit of Mickey’s eyes and sit up instead, leaning across the desk to point an accusatory finger at him.

“You know something!” He grimaces and shakes his head but you shake yours back indignantly. “Mickey Garcia, I know you and you know something!” He shakes his head again, lips sealed and you let out a groan of frustration before you purse your lips tightly, sitting back, folding into yourself a little. “Mickey, my job depends on this, please.” Your voice is quieter now, vulnerable, and you hate being vulnerable but Mickey’s seen you at your lowest. He’s earned the right to see you like this.

He sighs, letting the tension run out of his body as he faces you. “Look, this isn’t anything, really, just something I’ve observed,”

“Mickey, I’ll take anything at this point.” He nods slowly, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I think there’s something going on between him and Mav.” He says slowly and you perk up at that.

“Him and Mav?” Mickey nods.

“Whenever Maverick corrects him or even just tries to suggest something to him, he gets standoffish and weird. I’ve noticed it a couple of times and I don’t know, it could just be a coincidence but he’s not like that with Dare.” He studies his hands as you turn this new information over in your head. “You seem to think that’s something.” He states when you haven’t said anything in a few minutes as you wrestle silently.

“Mav is Bradley’s godfather.” You say, finally. You need another head to help you think this out. You watch Mickey’s eyes widen as he absorbs the new information.

“Fuck, really?” You nod. “You think there’s something going on between them?” You shrug, shaking your head in confusion.

“That’s just the thing though? Maverick specifically asked to trade for Bradley when we were building and negotiating the roster.”

“Damn,” Mickey sits back, rubbing his jaw at the influx of new information.

“I’ll say.” You mutter and the two of you sit in silence a while longer, mulling over the mystery before you until Mickey finally has to leave you with your thoughts and caffeine.

~~~~~

A few nights later you’re wrapping things up after yet another late night. The arena is empty as you make your way to the parking garage, looking forward to going home and putting your feet up while some mindless TV show plays in the background. Of course, that’s not happening as you receive a series of text messages from the last person you want to hear from right now. Well, it’s not a message so much as an order. The first message is a link to a TMZ article posted thirty seconds ago. It’s chronicling the latest in Bradley’s drunken escapades at a dive bar not far from here. The second message makes you audibly groan. “Get him out of there. NOW.” You have half a mind to call Jake and tell him he’s up for babysitting duty but you know that’ll just cause more problems than it will solve. You’d rather leave him and Bugs out of Cyclone’s line of fire. They’ve suffered enough.

You groan again, listening to it bounce off the concrete walls back to you as you lean your head on the cool metal of your car, mourning the loss of your quiet night in. You’re hardly dressed for the bar in your pink suit but at least if the paparazzi are still hanging around they’ll recognize you immediately and back off. Resigned to your fate, you get into your car and put the name of the bar into the navigation.

~~~~~

You pull into the parking lot, glaring at the mass of cameras and reporters lining up outside the building waiting for their prey. Your instinct had been right and as much as you wish you were at home right now, you have to thank Cyclone for calling you. This had the potential to be a dumpster fire if Bradley was left to his own drunken devices. You catch sight of Bradley’s obnoxiously bright blue Ford Bronco in the parking lot and you make a mental note to suggest that he find a less conspicuous mode of transportation if he’s going to insist on self-destructing in public. You take a moment to breathe and check that your ponytail is still flawless as you exit the vehicle, locking it behind you before squaring your shoulders and marching up to the pavement in front of the dive bar, right in front of the cameras.

“Alright people, let’s move, show’s over.” You scan the crowd that’s making no effort to clear out whatsoever. “Anthony! Andrea! Mason! Let’s GO!” You clap your hands once, the crack of skin on skin deafening on the street. You notice the three paparazzi you’d just called out by name start to squirm uncomfortably. It pays to know the enemy by name, they respond much better to threats that way. “Nathan! Louise! Gary! I can do this all night and still have time to call your lawyers the minute the clock strikes nine, let’s get a move on, shall we?” That works and you see the crowd start to move.

You wait, hands on your hips until the last of them disappears into the balmy San Diego night before hauling open the door to the dive bar that’s been painted black to keep out the light and coincidentally also the cameras. The bar is cast in red light from the numerous neon signs that litter the walls advertising various beer brands. Your eyes adjust to the light as your ears sort through the music crackling out of the jukebox in a corner, the murmured conversation of regular customers, and finally settle on the raised voices in the back of the bar. The sound of skin hitting skin swallows up the sound of your heels peeling off the sticky floor as you get closer to the commotion. Bradley’s standing at a pool table, the cue stick looking almost comically small in his huge hands. His shoulders are tense as is his jaw. There’s the beginning of a bruise coloring the edge of said jaw and his lip is split, dried blood smeared on his chin. His eyes are hazy and unfocused from the alcohol he’s clearly been consuming. There are three guys surrounding him who look worse for wear even as they leer at the much larger man.

“Alright boys, we’re done here.” You snip, hands on your hips as the three guys turn to face you. You watch Bradley’s head turn to unsuccessfully focus on you.

“And who do you think you are, Missy?” One of the guys scoffs as he gives you a once-over.

“His PR rep, so unless you’d like this to get a whole lot uglier in the legal department, I’d get out of here if I were you.” You watch their eyes widen in surprise even if some of them look suspicious. “Bradshaw, let’s go.” You jerk your chin at Bradley, but he shakes his head.

“Fuck off, Honey, this isn’t your business.” Bradley glared at you and you could have laughed if you weren’t so pissed off. “Come on boys, let’s finish this.” The men look warily between the two of you and slowly start to back off, clearly taking your threat of legal action seriously. Bradley, however, is having none of this and you move into his path before you can think it through. Bradley’s fist that’s aiming for the man closest to him collides with your jaw and you go down hard, spared from a sticky collision with the floor by the man Bradley was aiming for. Your head is spinning with the force of the blow and you’re very aware of why Bradley’s defenseman because there’s some serious force behind his punch even inebriated. The older man who caught you helps you stand shakily and you blink to try and clear your vision as he asks if you’re alright. You manage a nod, waving him off as you straighten, glaring at Bradley who’s staring at you, bewildered.

“BRADSHAW. OUTSIDE. NOW.” Thankfully, he’s smart enough to drop the pool cue and start heading towards the exit. You march after him, still shaken up from the hit that’s definitely going to leave a nasty bruise. You make a stop at the bar, stopping Bradley from getting too far with a death grip on his bicep that’s too large for its own good. You close out his tab and the bartender gives you a sympathetic look that tells you she’d been watching your little altercation as she passes you a ziploc of ice and points you two towards a side exit and you give her a tired thanks before dragging Bradley behind you. The night air is as sticky as the floor of that bar and you grimace as stray hairs stick to your jaw that’s damp from the makeshift ice pack you’re cradling to it with one hand while you drag Bradley towards your car with the other. You pin the ice pack between your shoulder and chin while you fish your keys out of your pocket, unlocking the car and practically throwing Bradley at the passenger side. “Get in, Bradshaw, and if you throw up in my car I swear to god I’ll kill you myself.” Bradley drapes himself over the top of the car and if you weren’t so damn tired you’d muster up the energy to laugh at how easily he covers the width of it, the man truly is huge.

“There’s no way I’m gonna fit.” You suppress a groan at Bradley’s words.

“Shut up and get in the damn car, Bradshaw.” You put your hand on your hips, wondering exactly how much trouble you’d get in if you just left him here.

“S’not a car.” His brown eyebrows pinch together in imitation of great focus even as his words are slurred, exhibiting exactly how much he’s had to drink. A guy his size doesn’t go down without a fight, not to mention that he smells like a distillery. Your feet hurt. You should be home, in your pajamas with your feet up. Instead, you’re still in your work clothes in a shady parking lot outside a dive bar attempting to wrangle a drunk hockey player into your car so you can take him home. Your patience was already paper thin when you got here, now it’s nonexistent.

“Bradshaw. Car. Now.” You snap. He gives you a dubious look as he yanks roughly on the passenger side door and maybe he has a point because you watch as he gracelessly smacks his obnoxiously large head on the bottom of the canopy that forms the doorframe. You can’t help the bubble of deranged laughter that escapes your mouth. You’re exhausted and seeing Bradley Bradshaw get a little comeuppance for the trouble that he insists on causing you is karma at its finest.

He’s groaning and attempting to fold himself into your bright pink bug which would probably be a tall order when he’s sober, but drunk? It’s an impossible task. You sigh and get into the car, turning it on before slamming the button to retract the canopy. Thankfully, it’s a beautiful night in San Diego as you pull out of the parking lot, the cool air whipping your ponytail around. You glance at the man next to you to see that despite being crammed into the passenger seat like a trick snake in a can, he’s fallen asleep, one cheek smashed against the window, a thin line of drool escaping a corner of his mouth. You chuckle to yourself, and if you pause to take a photo for later at the next streetlight, he’s none the wiser.

~~~~~

Halfway back to your apartment, you realize you have no idea where Bradley lives and you groan, making a turn that’ll take you back to the arena. When you pull into the long-empty parking garage, you lean your head against the steering wheel, praying for patience you’re not sure you still possess after the night you’ve had. Bradley stirs now that the car has stopped moving, blinking against the harsh lights of the parking garage.

“Where are we?” He groans, covering his eyes and you turn to glare at him.

“Work. I don’t know where you live.” He grumbles a low sound, before spitting out an address that you quickly enter into your navigation, scoffing at the luxury apartment complex that it belongs to as you put the car back into drive. Bradley drops his hand as you pull back out into the night air, letting it rest out of the window that he’s rolled down.

Since he’s awake and you’re not in the mood to beat around the bush you casually ask, “What’s the deal with you and Maverick?” You’ve been thinking about it ever since Mickey mentioned it to you. If Bradley and Mav are having issues, you need to talk to Mav about it. Bradley’s quiet, his attention focussed out the window, the breeze whipping his sandy brown curls into a frenzy that’ll be a bitch to tame in the morning. You see the hand in his lap curl into a fist, however, and you swallow, hoping he’s drunk enough to let an answer slip.

“Maverick’s the reason I got traded.” His voice is quiet and the slight slur is almost lost to the wind and sounds of the night but you catch it.

“I know, he asked for you specifically. It was sweet.” You say, prodding gently, fishing for anything he’s willing to give you. Bradley snorts and you turn slightly to see his fist is even tighter and his jaw is set.

“Sweet? Considering I’ve seen him once in my life before now, at my mom’s fucking funeral? I wouldn’t call it sweet.” Your heart lurches. You knew both of Bradley’s parents were dead but you’d assumed he and Mav were close as a byproduct but this was news to you.

You curse the appearance of Bradley’s apartment complex coming into view, desperate to get more information out of him as you pull into the driveway. A doorman rushes over as Bradley opens his door and all but tumbles out of the car like water out of a dam.

“Mr. Bradshaw, sir!” The older man exclaims as he wrestles Bradley to his feet with a surprising amount of strength for his age. “You’ve had too much to drink again, Mr. Bradshaw.” He chastises gently as you come around the car to try and help as he waves you off. “I hope you’re not giving your pretty lady any trouble.” You give him a tired smile before shaking your head.

“Oh I’m not his pretty anything, we work together.” The man nods, giving you a smile.

“Alright then miss, I’ll take him from here, don’t you worry about him.” You glance at his name tag.

“Thank you, Tony.” He gives you another bright smile and waves you off with his free hand.

“You get home safe, miss!” He calls back to you as you get back into your car, watching him lead the much taller drunk hockey player into the building like this is every night for him. Well, it probably is. You turn over Bradley’s revelation in your mind as you drive yourself home to your waiting bed, exhaustion setting in along with the throbbing in your jaw.

[newtypezaku]

Now, now, it's quite simple! A player in the opponent's half must have at least two opponents between them and the goal when a forward pass is sent to them.

What's "between," you ask? Again, super easy! You just draw a line across the field parallel to the goal line that intersects the part of the attacking player's body that's closest to the goal and can legally be used to touch the ball, which is anything but the part of the arm below the shirt sleeve, or the armpit, it can be fuzzy and dependent on the ref's interpretation of the handball rules... but hey, you know it when you see it! You draw similar lines intersecting each opponent at the point on their body closest to the goal, and as long as the attacker's line is behind two opponents' at the moment the ball is played forward, it's all good!

Ah, so I've been saying "played forward," but there's a wrinkle there. Here we mean that the attacking player is ahead of the teammate who played the ball, using the same lines. If your teammate is farther forward than you and passes the ball laterally or backwards, you're fine. And even if they pass the ball forward, if you're behind them when that happens and then sprint to the ball, all good! And if the ball comes off a defender, forget everything I said, by rule you cannot be offside. Throw-ins, too, you cannot be offside from a throw-in.

And speaking of wrinkles, an attacker is allowed to be in an offside position if they're not affecting the play. Like, if two players are running forward and one is offside but they ignore the ball and let the onside player receive it, totally fine! Of course, an offside player doesn't have to touch the ball to be involved in the play. They could be screening a defender or the goalkeeper by standing between them and the course of the pass, or they could be obscuring the goalkeeper's vision and preventing them from reacting to a shot in time. That all sounds subjective and can be dependent on the officials' interpretation of the rule, and it is, but those are details that don't matter until they do.

Besides, in competitions that have booth review, officials are encouraged to let the play continue even if offside is suspected. If a goal is scored, the booth official can then review the television footage and determine if it the attacker was truly offside, in which case the goal is disallowed. This can take several minutes as we find the exact frame when the ball leaves the passing player and then scrutinize the pixels to find the point of each player's body that's closest to the goal, and we may have to do this for several passes in the attacking phase, which is generally any period of uninterrupted possession by the attacking team that resets whenever the defense regains possession or clears th--

But anyway, like I was saying, it's actually pretty simple.

[swifty-fox]

HI so for the mota hockey au:

any out of pocket viral moments of the boys? magazine photoshoots press tours etc what are they like? are clegan out and proud or are they more like go on keep guessing?

Bucky has a LOT of notable moments. He's just a teenage girl and puberty is so hard it makes him so hormonal.

He gets sent to the penalty box for BLATANT hooking one time which is a pretty iconic out of pocket moment you dont really get tendys serving penalties. usually another play subs in for their penalty but refs are prob like Fuck you Bucky you're such a menace you pay the price.

He drops the gloves with a rival teams goon that absolutely boards the fuck out of Gale a la Scheifele/Evans hit. Normally we love a good Goaltender fight but this hit was too scary. people still take notice bc they're like look at Bucky defending his BOY

John is a very Seguin type character. As I mentioned he has a similarly nude sports illustrated photoshoot. But also very messy party phase with Curt much like Segs and Marchy

theyre messy bitches who know how to have fun okay.

He's got a LOT of really famous soundbites, just the most out of pocket shit professional yapper w the cameras fr. it's mostly him hitting on Curt and Gale. There's a mic'd up clip of him singing "Baddie Friend" by kevo jefe perfectly word for word.

Gale's really bad with the cameras he clams up a ton and just kinda defaults to hockey mumbo-jumbo. he does get one Hockey social media clip where he gets to talk about space and that gets him a little excited. The clip of his one skate goal does some pretty big numbers just because Holy Fuck Dude.

he gets gif'd a lot for chewing on his mouthguard like Tkachuk. nasty boy. the fangirls go a little feral over those ones.

In terms of their relationships there is some plot stuff I'm cooking but John doesn't really care for the most part. he isn't ashamed but hes also like well im here to play hockey and im single nobody needs to be privy to my sexuality so he's kinda just closeted bc hes too lazy to do otherwise. you bet ur ass he wears pride tape every game and practice after Gary fucking shittman tried to institute the ban

(Shoutout to Travis "It had to be done" Dermott who called garys bluff like a PRO you my number 1 bbygirl i have a puck signed by him)

Gale is definitly closeted and it's a plot point in the au his journey with it. hes not closeted to himself but there are factors making him NOT want to be open with things.

I do think once theyre established in their team, they both have the C and a couple cups under their belt; when gale is ready - yeah they sit down with management and draw up a coming out plan. The team is so supportive of them they love their Bucks squared.

It's internet breaking

Please bear in mind hockey is REALLY homoerotic like these straight men kiss and hug and call eachother handsome and pet names constantly so theres a LOT that Clegan can actually just get away with and have plausible deniability

( a few seasons ago Marchand started licking other players and the NHL had to release a statement like 'its not against the rules but wtf bro stop')

[team-apostasy-official]

Hello Rotomblr.

I am Eris. I am the leader of Team Apostasy. I will not let anyone derail me from my goal.

We are Team Apostasy. I assure you, we mean you no harm. Our goal is for the good of all.

Since the beginning, we humans have lived under the tyrannical rule of our 'Gods'.

'Gods' that have contributed to multiple catastrophic disasters. 'Gods' that have caused wars, 'Gods' that have torn up families.

We have had enough. Humanity will be playthings no longer.

You may think I am just another leader of another team, but you are wrong. My goal is not to rule you, my goal is simply to free humanity from the beings who treat us like their personal Durant farm.

I understand if you are sceptical, I will not blame you. I simply ask you to consider.

I am Eris, this is our revolution.

Sign up here

Ooc:

Apostasy: the abandonment or renunciation of a religious belief

I realized the characterization I had in my head and the characterization on the blog were two different things, not to mention the previous team name was awful, so I gave into my impulses and my friend enabling me and here it is! Yayyyy!!!

Warnings: Self-deprication, Dissociation, Self destruction, Disordered eating, Substance abuse, Very minor references to self harm and suicide, Goal of the team is to overthrow all god-status legendaries, Minor mentions of pokemon abuse, This is an AU of Emmet and I know some people don't like seeing him as a villain. Feel free to ask if you need a tag! Also, he's the unreliablest of narrators so a lot of what he says isn't accurate.

You can find my rp hub here: @plutos-roleplay-hub

Ref image

Artfight

Everything sfw except magic anons are good! In character anon hate verrrry encouraged

[greynatomy]

let you down

alyssa thompson x reader

Finally finished this for @liverpoolfan96. Hope you like the outcome. The ending is slightly different.

Let me know what you think!

-grey

———

Sweden vs United States

Round of 16

It came down to the penalty shootout to determine who moves onto the Quarter-final. The match have been intense from the beginning. Everyone was exhausted.

Sullivan, Horan, Mewis, Rapinoe, Smith, Naeher, Y/LN.

That was the order that your team would be shooting. To say you were nervous would be an understatement. It was your first World Cup, having been drafted to Angel City just earlier this year. Making history alongside your best friend as the youngest players to be drafted to the NWSL straight out of high school.

Sullivan, Horan and Mewis made their shot, getting closer and closer to your turn. Rapinoe and Smith both miss, Naeher makes hers, then saving the Sweden player’s that went after her.

Penalties are tied. It was your turn. If you make it, you take the lead. You can feel all the pressure. Thousands of eyes on you.

You try to block out the crowd, trying to control your breathing. You run up to the ball, kicking it right, the Musovic dives left, the crowd screaming, only for the ball to hit off the post.

You turn away, walking back towards the rest of your teammates on the pitch, head down. Score was still tied at four, hoping Sweden misses. Naeher looks to have saved it, but refs aren’t sure. Unfortunately for you and the team, VAR rules it a goal, giving Sweden the win to move onto the next round, knocking you guys out of the World Cup.

You collapse to the ground, tears falling down your face. You didn’t want to get up, afraid to see all the disappointment looks directed at you.

You feel a presence sitting down next to you, a hand going up and down your back, knowing exactly who it was.

“You did good.”

“I failed everyone.”

“You didn’t. You played great. I’m proud of you.”

You lift your head up, facing towards her tear stains on your cheeks a pout on your lips.

“You’re proud of me?”

“I’ll always be proud of you.”

The next thing Alyssa knew was feeling lips on hers, your lips on hers. You thought you’d read the whole situation wrong and was about to pull away when her hand cups your cheek, kissing you back. You both are completely in your own world, forgetting and blocking out your teammates and fans cheering.

“Is this your way of finally having the balls to ask me out?” Alyssa asks when you both pull away, a smirk on her lips.

“Maybe.” You blush. “Will you though? Be my girlfriend, I mean.”

“I’d love to be.” She kisses you once more.

“FUCKING FINALLY!”

“Kelley! Don’t ruin the moment!”