#trying to make sure i get his likeness but all my refs are three quarter view or straight on

[zuzuzuko]

does anyone have any good refs of duke in profile?? (without the helmet)

google has not been helpful

[poptod]

A Special Kind of Attention (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: The young Prince, who you are in the employ of, enjoys playing pranks and generally tormenting you.

Notes: pretty heavily implied male reader, but its still gender neutral! if you ever wanted to dom ahk, heres your chance to live vicariously through your imagination. ahk has some major bde in this fic WC: 3.6k

*- this is a reference to a wellknown myth at the time. basically, its saying he should stick cum up his ass (and thus label himself a bottom)

+

No matter how much sweat had gathered on the back of his sun-burned neck, he comforted himself with the fact that this would be, in the end, very much worth the work. Below his clinging hands, the bag sloshed with well water. He had passed by you earlier in the morning, as you stood guard outside the city gates, your attention unwavering from your duty. The sight of you followed by a well brought an idea into his head, and he decided seeing you drenched in water would be a fun activity.

He'd done worse before, to be fair––always to you, never to any of the other soldiers, and certainly not any civilians. By now you must've grown some deep seated resentment for him, but you never let it show. That was part of the fun––seeing just how far he could go before you lost it.

Keeping his back pressed to the wall of the entrance, he snuck up behind you, careful to keep slow so the swishing water didn't give him away. With one great heave, he moved to the tips of his toes and dunked the bag over your head, sprinting off with maniac laughter as you shouted, yanking the bag off just to see him disappear. From a distance he watched how your skin glistened, and how he could very nearly see through your clothes.

Unbeknownst to you but known to him, you would see each other later tonight––the  soldiers were being rotated again, meaning the soldiers by the Nile were to protect the palace, and the palace soldiers would take over observation of the outer markets. Ahk grinned to himself, imagining you looking over dinner. It wasn't often that he got to see your behavior in front of the Pharaoh, but each time was such a treat, watching you keep perfect posture and composure as he teased you any way he could imagine.

That night, he eyed you from his seat at the long dining table. You were positioned in front of the entrance of the hall, opposite another soldier, whose name he didn't care to remember. As always you kept your chin high, eyes trained on a distant wall.

He stared for as long as he could, and when at last your own gaze wavered to meet his, he winked, biting his lip with a smile. You turned away immediately, flushed with warmth.

"You're quiet this evening," said the Pharaoh, his attention directed to Ahk, who turned with wide, surprised eyes.

"Apologies," Ahk said as he returned to his dinner. "I did a lot of studying today, so my mind is a little... flighty, right now."

"I didn't see you in the library," Kamun said, raising a single, accusatory brow.

"I went to Osiris' temple to practice my handwriting," Ahk returned curtly, a quick and succinct statement that was as effective as it was fake.

"Good man," his father said with a smile. "Taking initiative. Why don't you ever do that, Kamun?"

Kamun, the eldest brother, seethed in his spot but said nothing. He was the least charismatic of the four brothers and also the most dedicated, which was an unfortunate combination for a man as prideful as him. All the work he did was brushed away, always dulled out by his younger brothers' accomplishments, yet he very rarely mentioned his own anger in front of his parents. No, most of the time it came out when Ahk was alone.

That was how you found him after dinner; his face shoved against the coarse wall, arm twisted painfully high behind him. Kamun had a knee in his back, keeping him pinned there.

"Admit it was a lie, brother," the elder hissed, readjusting his grip on Ahk's head to bang it harder against the stone.

"Go stick a head of lettuce up your ass*," Ahk said, laughing at his own joke until Kamun knocked his head against the wall again, a hollow thud coming from his skull.

You cleared your throat and both their struggling ceased, the two parting from each other.

"Good evening, my Princes," you said quietly, stepping nearer till you faced them both. The muscles in the back of your hand rippled as you strengthened your hold on your spear.

"Hello," Ahk said dully as Kamun stormed off, his hands balled into fists even when he disappeared around the corner of the hall.

You watched as Ahk rubbed at his sore arm, massaging away the strain.

"You know, he wouldn't do that if you weren't such an asshole to him," you said offhand, looking down at his injury with an unimpressed expression.

"Why are you nice to me then?"

"If I wasn't, I would get my head chopped off," you reminded him.

"Oh," he grumbled. "Right."

"I'm sure you don't need an escort to your room. Good night," you said, turning to leave before a hand grasped your upper arm, whirling you back around.

"He knocked my head pretty hard," he said with a dazed, shit-eating grin you knew all too well. "Might need some help."

You very nearly groaned audibly, but you managed to keep it behind your lips. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, was all––besides, this wouldn't take long, and you would be able to retire to your quarters, which had recently been moved into the palace. You comforted yourself with that thought as you silently walked down the halls.

Ahk being shorter than you did little to make you feel less humiliated. Actually, it only worked to make you feel worse, being bossed around by someone both younger and smaller than you. You supposed that was how most people felt when children were made Pharaoh.

"So," Ahk began, his hands behind his back, "how's your day gone?"

"Someone threw a bag of water over my head that disturbed several of the market stalls, and many merchants got angry. So we had a tussle outside the city," you recounted blandly, your eyes straight ahead despite the wealth of expressions coming from the man beside you.

"Sounds like someone made your day interesting," he said along with a smile, neither of which you replied to in any way.

By the time you made it to the double doors of Ahk's bedroom, your grip on your spear was so tight you were surprised it hadn't snapped in half yet. You helped him open the doors, weapon still in hand, and kept the doors open as he stepped inside.

"Good night, m-"

"It's still early, why don't you join me?" He asked, tilting his chin upwards with a cocky look in his eye.

"I really should -"

"Come," he ordered, beckoning you over.

Again you bit the inside of your cheek, and followed him in, letting the door slowly swing shut behind you.

"You want to know something I admire about you?" Ahk said as he wandered into his room, leaving you in the middle while he searched his bookcase.

"What's that, sir?" You asked, despite not wanting to know in the slightest.

"You've got quite the resolve," he said, turning back to you with two chalices and one jug. "Haven't seen it break yet."

"Well, I was trained in Thebes, sir. They're thorough with their teachings."

The prince handed one of the cups to you, pouring red wine that sloshed and bubbled as it landed in the goblet. He filled his own glass before setting away the jug. With that he clinked his cup against yours, the empty tink ringing in the silence. He drew a long sip, his eyes trained on yours, and remaining so even as he lowered his cup.

"Tell me about your family," the Prince said.

"I'm not sure how that's relevant to anything."

"Come now, you know all about my family--"

Who doesn't, you thought.

"––and I think it's only fair I know something about yours."

"Do you ask this of all your soldiers?" You asked as you took another sip of red wine.

"Just the handsome ones," he replied, stepping closer with a cheeky, lopsided grin.

"I don't think I need to remind you that you shouldn't be fraternizing with your employees," you said flatly.

"Mm, you're good at deflecting questions, aren't you?"

"I'm good at staying focused."

"Still... what's going on with your family that you're ever so reluctant to share anything about them?" He asked, taking another step towards you, that you now combated by taking a step backwards.

"... my sister got deported recently," you said, breaking from his gaze to look to the floor beside you. "I don't have any family besides her."

"I thought you were an Egyptian citizen?"

"I am. She isn't. She was born down south, a few years before I was born here, in Memphis. Our parents died a little while back but they would've been deported too."

"She is older than you though, isn't she? I'm sure she can take care of herself," Ahk said as he swirled his cup.

"Yes. I know."

For politeness's sake you stayed a moment longer, took another swig from your cup, before setting it aside.

"If you don't need me, I should be getting back t––"

"Oh, but I do need you," he said, stepping closer, "if you don't mind."

You stumbled as your back hit the closed door behind you, feet fumbling to regain what balance you'd lost.

"Of course... sir," you said in a monotone voice, keeping your rushing adrenaline below the knot in your throat.

The younger prince had always been a bit eccentric––stories from your coworkers and various palace dwellers had told you so. He generally did whatever he wanted, but his parents doted on him dearly, and he got away with just about everything. While it seemed a little unfair to not do the same for the eldest child, you did notice that while both siblings were passionate, Kamun was passionate in a more violent way, while Ahkmen was passionate in an undeniably flirtatious way. In the short amount of time you'd spent guarding the corridor for Ahk's room, you'd seen three different people sneaking out of his room multiple times. You had a responsibility not to become one of them.

Ahkmen circled you, stopping in front of a floor-length mirror that casted his reflection perfectly.

"My manservant got sores from work yesterday, so I sent him home early. But," he met his own gaze, "these clothes are near impossible to take off without help from another. Do you mind?"

Though the expression on your face remained a mute, dull expression, you could feel the flame burning in your cheeks. Your heartbeat pounded even in the ends of your fingers, wrapped around your spear.

"... no. Of course, my prince," you said, your voice strikingly low and rough.

A pleased smile stretched across his lips as you approached, setting your spear aside against a wall. To be fair, he did genuinely need help––the beaded collar on his shoulders was latched far behind his back, and if he tried to reach it, he might tear the sleeves or break the collar. You reached for the tiny latch, pulling and releasing the two you found.

"There's one more, bit further down," he said, still watching his own reflection. You caught your own eyes peering over his shoulder, their dark sternness piercingly depressing beside the Prince's golden colors.

With a deep breath you pushed aside his long cape, calloused fingers reaching for the last latch. You accidentally brushed against the skin of his back, hot against your cold hands, which he certainly felt judging by the way his posture straightened and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"There," you said, stepping away. "Done."

"Thank you, dear," he said as he reached up, sliding the collar off his shoulders, his cape drifting off with it.

Sleeves soon followed and the whole of his chest was bared, graced by dark freckles and the golden bands still circling his thin wrists. You watched, unaware of your own staring, as he began to tug at his belt, pulling it off his hips. His skirt sagged, exposing his hips carelessly in front of you. Something as little as a deep breath had you shaking ever so slightly.

"Is that it, my Prince?"

"Here," he said, handing you his collar, and the attached cape and sleeves.

Golden fabric piled onto your arms, soon followed by his belt, golden wristbands, and the crown on his head. It was a good deal heavier than you would've imagined, and you wondered if it ever hurt.

Your thoughts on the crown were ripped away from you, leaving your mind a blank, empty expanse the moment his skirt fell to the floor. If he noticed your stupor, he didn't say anything. Instead he simply gathered up the cloth and handed it to you, padding nude to his desk, upon which he opened a box made especially for his gold wristbands. He pulled them off, leaving him blank of identification.

As he turned, he finally caught your eye, but couldn't keep it for long. Your eyes darted back to the ground, wide with the morbid feeling stewing in your head and chest. He chuckled.

"You can set those in my wardrobe," he said, stepping towards his bed and kneeling upon it.

You dutifully obeyed, trying to get a grasp on your shaky breathing before you had to turn and face him again. Folding and taking care of clothes was absolutely not one of your skills, but you tried your best, and eventually returned to stand in front of the kneeling Prince.

He wasn't terribly muscular, more lean, but you could still see thin muscles peeking through the dark skin. Along his clavicle were two freckles––similarly, long eyelashes led to the freckles lining his cheekbones, still dusted with an earlier blush. There was no denying he was a handsome man, though that was no excuse to give into such urges. You could hardly admit to your own desires, much less act on them, which kept you from moving at all.

"A little while ago you informed me that you have no partner," he said softly, still looking you directly in the eyes.

"Yes."

"Is that still so?"

"Yes," you said. "I like to keep to myself."

A touch against your exposed thigh had you jerking backwards, a strangled grunt coming halfway out your mouth.

"No one will have to know," he murmured, dragging his touch up your sensitive skin, long untouched for most of your waking years.

Your first instinct was to pull away, which you did do at first, but the flat expanse of his palm pressing on your thigh had you rooted to the spot. Most everything in you froze, shock and surprise filling your head. Still, you tried to keep a calm expression, and gave little away.

"Is this what you wanted?" You asked.

His grin just widened, teeth digging into his bottom lip and pulling till it released, soft and red.

"Why am I your victim in all your... hijinks?"

"Well," he chuckled, "you're awfully pretty, and you won't pay any attention to me if I don't."

Seeing as you weren't struggling, he took to pulling on your belt, shifting back on the bed to make space for you. Your lack of movement was no invitation, but he must've taken it as such. One harsh tug had you stumbling forward, balancing yourself with one knee on the mattress, your hands open to catch yourself.

"Sir, I am not permitted –"

"Shhhhh," he hummed, his hand moving lightning fast to catch you by your chin, pulling you closer yet till your noses nearly touched. "Your Prince asks this of you."

The slightest movement from him––eyes fluttering shut, neck craning forward––and he was kissing you, plump lips moving as soft as rose petals against you. Warmth gathered everywhere, growing in your breath, in your moving lips, building and building till the tension became nearly too much. You tried to move backwards, oversensitive and overstimulated. But the Prince wouldn't let you––he simply held you tighter, dug his hands into your hair, and pulled you forward so forcefully you landed on top of him, your weight meeting his heat.

That heat was recognizable even through the material of your skirt, pressing against your hip. As unfortunate as it was, you could feel your own excitement growing within you, sending warmth to your face and your thighs.

"Fuck," you mumbled, mostly to yourself, when Ahk finally let you breathe.

"What?" He asked softly, petting your hair as he did his best to keep you close to him. His legs wrapped around you, the hand on your cheek keeping you facing him.

"I told myself I wouldn't do this," you said, still quiet and gruff.

"So you expected this?"

"I knew it was a possibility," you said flatly.

"Good," he said with a smile you couldn't quite understand. "That means you're prepared for this."

Before you could ask what he meant, his feet were pushing your skirt down your hips, the white linen quickly dropping to the floor. You didn't do the knot as tight as you should've this morning.

"Ahkmen ––"

"Mm, I like that," he said, grinning sly as ever. Your expression contorted with confusion, so he continued with, "I like when you say my name."

Very rarely did you ever refer to any of the royal family by their first name. Technically you could call the Pharaoh by his Horus name, but simply calling them by their status had always been easier than remembering names.

Your shock once more worked to your demise, or at least the demise of your self respect. The young prince flipped you over while you were unaware of yourself, pinning you to the bed with his hips sat on yours, directing your hands to circle his waist as he kissed you deep once more. A muffled grunt came from you, fingers instinctively digging into him.

I'm being seduced by a Prince, you thought miserably. I feel like I should be happier about this.

"I want you to use your mouth on me," he mumbled between rough kisses, taking what pleasure he wanted from you. "Wanna see what that quiet tongue can do."

He reached down to stroke his own length pressed against your stomach, leaking and hard from the tension he'd grown. Your breath caught in your throat again, unable to dislodge itself as you stared, mesmerized by the pulse of his chest and hum of his soft moans.

"Can you do that for me?" He asked as he began to grind against you.

Holy fuck, you thought, wide eyes taking in his entirety. You could finish from his begging alone.

You gripped his hips, and in one, swift movement he was beneath you, his hand returning to touch himself. Before he could properly do so you batted his hand away, stalking down the bed till your face rested above his twitching hips. You kept his eye the whole time. 

Wet already began to seep to the edge of your tongue, waiting for you to finally meet his cock. The arrogant young prince had you right where he wanted you, where you had tried so hard to avoid, and where he now kept you of your own free will.

The flat of your tongue ran a long stripe up him, drawing from him a long, relieved sigh. His head fell back, one of his knees kinking upwards. You watched his reactions carefully, kissing wet spots all up and down, catching whatever dripped down. On the prominent veins you sucked a little harder, making him hiss and his back arch upwards. Every movement he made you lapped up like you were starved.

Fingers soon dug into your hair, pulling and tugging whenever you graced his sensitive spots. Soon, ready for his lack of control, you wrapped your lips around the head, gently pulling and sucking with your tongue as you began to sink deeper.

"Fuck," he said emphatically, running his fingers through the locks of your hair before tugging hard.

Soon his cock nudged the back of your throat, stopping there as you tried to swallow him down. Twice you tried unsuccessfully, but as you calmed yourself, you could feel him thrust deeper yet into you, forcing into the back of your mouth and cutting of your breath. You moaned, albeit quite muffled, from the sensation. The hand on the back of your head kept you in place as he thrusted upwards, moans tumbling from his mouth as he used you.

Caught in his hold, you did your best not to gag, dutifully swallowing around him and breathing when you could. He grew steadily faster, with less rhythm and more force shoving into you. Your hands gripped his hips to hold yourself up better, but even as you tried to pull away, tears stinging your eyes, he kept you there, locked away in the throes of his own pleasure.

Your nose remained pressed to his hip as he came, a long, sweet trail of moans following what spurted into the back of your throat. With no give to pull yourself off and no possible way to open your mouth further, you swallowed what you were given.

The burning pull on your hair soon released as well, allowing you to sit up and away from the young Prince. He was still panting, his gaze cast lazily upwards, and hands gathering in his own messy hair.

"I got a little carried away there," he mumbled, his eyes slowly closing. "I apologize for that."

"Don't worry," you said as you grabbed his hips, pulling him close to you and flipping him over. By pulling him up on his knees, you shoved his head onto the mattress, the force of it drawing a gasp from him. "You'll make up for it."

[shortythescreen]

come over

Warning(s): NSFT/18+, friends with benefits, sex with feelings lol. 

Relationship(s): Octane/Female Reader.  

Author’s Notes: this was my first post on ao3 and i’m trying to actually start using this blog so. here’s the post, lmao! my spanish sucks but i understand everything, hence the ref to a meme in spanish. :) 

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3.

come over?

That’s what lights up your phone screen at damn near three in the morning. You roll over, squinting at the bright screen as you grab it from your bedside table. It’s one of the lamest texts you’ve ever gotten. It’s barely a step up from the even more basic ‘u up?’ and you’re half tempted to leave him on read. Octavio can do better than that.

Yet, you scroll through your compilation of gifs and send him one of a woman rolling her eyes. Sure, it’s disdainful but he now knows that you are, in fact, awake.

About three months ago, you were offered a job by Apex, the corporation running the well renowned Apex Games. The offered pay was astronomical in comparison to what you made at your humble little gig as a thorn in a journalist’s side. Room and lodging would be included in the miniature city built just for Champions and the people who made the games happen.

All you had to do was do what you do best. Take pictures.

Every advertisement, webpage, and piece of merchandise is covered with your pictures of the Legends. Those that you take in the studio given to you and those that you take off the clock. Every picture on your camera belongs to Apex, even with your signature scratched at the bottom of all of them.

Because of this, it had taken a select few Legends time to warm up to you. Others, not so much.

Octavio, better known as Octane, might as well have sat in your lap when you walked in with a camera hanging around your neck.

Though you’re a lot quieter than ‘The Adrenaline Junkie’, you have about as much impulse control as he does. So one night when he’d visited you in your studio a little past business hours, brandishing a bottle of Hennessey Black the size of your head, one thing lead to another and, well.

The events of that night lead to you getting texts from Octavio at damn near three in the fucking morning asking you to come over.

i have a box of wings and a bottle of Smirnoff with ur name on it.

You bite the tip of your tongue. The offer’s tempting.

and other things, if you can keep up. ;)

That, even more so.

Against your better judgment, you text him back with words instead of a gif. You’ll be over in ten minutes.  If he drinks all the liquor before you get there, you’re leaving. You imagine him cackling at his screen because if you know him at all, and you do, he’s probably polished off at least a quarter of the bottle on his own.

Octavio’s apartment is a five minute walk from yours but you gave yourself an extra five to brush your teeth and find your shoes. The penthouse suites offered to all the Legends is right across the street from your simple one bedroom.

When you first moved in, you thought maybe Apex Corp wanted you to take paparazzi sort of shots of their competitors. They’ve never asked you to and you haven’t bothered to try, so you guess they just gave you what was available.

Whatever. You don’t mind living in earshot of some of the deadliest people in the Outlands. Especially now that you’re fucking one of them.

God, you never thought you’d be in this position. Sure, you’re not fucking blind, most of the Legends are attractive. Bangalore has a smirk that drops panties and a voice that’s a little more gravelly than the average woman. Wraith’s got the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen, powers or otherwise, and her skin is flawless. Gibraltar could probably defeat half of his opponents by throwing them.

Even those that you can’t see the faces of have appeal – Bloodhound’s shroud of mystery has gained them quite the following online and what Octavio doesn’t show of his face is made up for by his stupid little crop top.

You just… Didn’t anticipate any of them finding you attractive too. Least of all the speedster with a penchant for picking up bad habits. Like fucking the photographer. You run your hand down your face as you exit your house, locking it behind you before jogging across the street to the penthouse suites.

Even if you had toyed with the possibility of warming one of their beds, you certainly didn’t think you’d wind up in Octavio’s. Maybe Elliot, who’s got a reputation for getting around, or Ajay, who’s could crush you with her thighs. Octavio, whose accent and stupid selfies had caught the attention of many Apex fans, was the last legend you expected to end up making your heart do the jitterbug-

It’s not, you’re not, you vehemently remind yourself as you enter the elevator of the Legends’ suites. Absolutely not. No way. You walk down the hallway to Octavio’s door, reminding yourself over and over again you’re most certainly not catching feelings and whatever dance your heart is doing has something to do with the lack of sleep.

Even though that makes no sense, it’s what you tell yourself, because there’s no fucking way you’re into Octavio like that. Not into someone you’re just hooking up with. Not into someone who’s only interested in hooking up.

You knock once on his door and you barely have a chance to step back before Octavio’s tearing it open. His mask is gone and even though you’ve seen his face a million times by now, you still take a moment to breathe him in. He’s got the prettiest green eyes you’ve ever seen, glassy with alcohol, and you notice that he’s in need of a shave, his cheeks tinted dark by pinpricks of facial hair.

“It’s three am,” you tell him.

“Yet here you are, amiga,” he smirks.

“For the booze,” you reply and he snickers, shoving out a plastic cup you hadn’t noticed he was holding. The stench of Smirnoff envelops you and you sigh, snatching it away and shouldering your way into his apartment.

“What are you doing up, anyway?” You ask, flopping on the couch and taking a large enough gulp of your cup to make your nose burn. You squeeze your eyes briefly closed, letting out a little ‘ahh’ as Octavio’s weight sinks the opposite side of the couch.

“Couldn’t stop watching The Flash. But Barry got kinda boring, so I texted you,” he says and you snort, opening one eye to glance at him. You hadn’t even noticed the title glaring at you from the flat screen only a few feet away, the only light in the apartment aside from the stove.

God, he’s so unfairly pretty. He’s resting his tousled head of green hair, the same green as his eyes, in his hand, propped up on the back of the couch. His PLUS ULTRA tattoo peeks out from the three quarter sleeved shirt he’s wearing and you go for your drink, hoping you can excuse the warmth in your chest as Smirnoff.

“Of course you were. You’re so fuckin’ basic.”

“I’m on brand.”

“You’re at home. Alone.”

“Not anymore.”

You snort, finally beginning to feel that warmth in your chest drip down into your stomach. The easy, fuzziness that comes with being here, with drinking and banter and the promise of something so much sweeter.

“Well, thanks for inviting me,” you say, “now where are those wings?”

As promised, Octavio brings you a takeout box with about thirty wings. With liquor brewing in your stomach, you probably could demolish them, but you’re barely buzzed and still willing to be polite.

It’s the wee hours of the morning, so you’re grateful that each of the Legends have soundproof walls. You and Octavio put on old telenovelas, even though your Spanish is slim to none, and he makes you laugh by describing the scenes to you.

“Oho man, she’s such a bitch. The mother basically just told the son’s lover acompáñame a ver esta triste historia.”

“I don’t speak Spanish, Oc,” you remind him around a mouthful of a wing coated in ranch.

“Remember how the girl’s parents died when she was six?” He asks and you nod your head, vaguely remembering the shitty graphics acting as flashbacks. “The son’s mother heard that and might as well have said ‘that’s cute’.”

You were right to assume Octavio had already had a hefty serving of alcohol before he’d texted you, as he brings out the bottle when your glass gets low, a little less than half of it gone. He’s got a higher alcohol tolerance than you and it’s obvious the more you two delve into the Smirnoff.

He smirks at you when you whine about the wings getting low, polishing off what must be your twelfth. You’ve officially had enough alcohol to stop being polite and Octavio loops an arm around your shoulder. When had he gotten so close to you on the couch?

“There, there,” he murmurs into your hair, “there will be wings tomorrow, mami.”

“But I want them now,” you complain, only to completely forget your train of thought as you bury your nose in the collar of Octavio’s shirt. “Fuck, you smell good. Do you always smell this good?”

“I smell like liquor,” he snickers, kissing the top of your head and you shudder as he slides his fingers through the small hairs at the base of your neck.

“And soap. What soap do you use? I bet you use Old Spice. Old Spice is so basic but it smells so fucking good,” you ramble, tilting your head just enough so that your lips brush against his collarbone.

“Gracias,” he hums, tilting his head back a smidge. You take this as an invitation and begin placing careful, open mouthed kisses up the length of his neck.

Octavio sighs through his nose, arm around your shoulders sliding down your side to pull you half into his lap. Your teeth scrape his pulse and his grip on you tightens.

“You didn’t say yes or no,” you absently mumble as he grabs a handful of your ass. He squeezes before you pull back just enough to meet those pretty green eyes of his, dark with want.

“Yeah, it’s Old Spice,” he says, then leans in to devour your mouth with his.

Octavio kisses like he moves. Quick, eager, his tongue pushes into your mouth and makes you groan. You haphazardly drape one leg over his, twisting so your chest is flush against his. He bites your lower lip and you whimper, half grinding against his prosthetic legs, cool against your heat.

His free hand sneaks down to grab your other ass cheek, pulling you up to straddle him. His lips leave yours with a pop and he bites his lower lip as you shudder against his dick jumping under your hips.

“We haven’t even started yet,” you say, allowing him to slip his hands beneath your shirt, gripping your breasts and rolling the peaks under his thumbs. You sigh, continuing, “how are you so hard?”

“How are you so sexy?” He snarks, releasing your tits in favor of grabbing the hem of your top. He pulls it off eagerly, eyes hot.  

“You too,” you half beg and he obliges, tugging that snug fitting shirt over his head. You hum, hot with liquor, and with lust, and with the look he’s burning into your chest. He leans back into the couch, drinking in your disheveled state before reaching up to cruelly pinch your nipples.

You gasp, trying to lean into the sensation and alleviate the pain. Octavio only pulls harder, biting his lower lip when you’re almost chest to chest.

“Asshole,” you hiss and he grins, giving you a flash of his tongue piercing.

“You like it,” he says as you relent, going still in his lap. Octavio finally releases his almost too tight grip on one nipple in favor of looping an arm around your waist. He’s torturous to the other, squeezing, rolling, tugging. As a reward for the way you buckled, he slurps the free one into his mouth. You moan, his mouth all wet warmth and cool metal. His thumb flickers teasingly across your other pebbled nipple and you arch your back.

“Oc, please,” you pant and he pulls off of you with a pop, cupping the tit he still has a handle on to flick his tongue across it.

“Por favor? Por favor que?” He half laughs only to break off in a needy groan when you grind against him. “Fuck fuck fuck, okay, stand up for a sec.”

You roll yourself along his dick for a moment longer, relishing in the way his hips instinctually jerk against yours. He squirms beneath you, opting to tightly grab your hips.

“Shit, mami,” Octavio pants, sharply thrusting up before trying to push you off. “C’mon, c’mon, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

You finally climb off him and he follows you forward, sharply pulling down your sweats. A long, sticky trail connects you briefly to them and he outright groans at how filthy that is.

“You’re so wet,” he all but whines, fascinatedly rubbing a finger between your lips. Your breath hitches as he pointedly drags his knuckle across your clit, teasing you with the not quite enough touch.

“Shorts off,” you growl, and he hurriedly obeys. His cock springs free as his shorts hit the carpet and your mouth waters. The tip is swollen and pink, leaking with excitement. You’re half tempted to get on your knees, swipe the pre up with your tongue and put him at your mercy.

“Oh, mami, yes, you can do that for me later,” he babbles, making you realize you’d said that aloud. You try to climb back into his lap, only to have him grab you by the shoulders. You yelp as he tosses you onto your back on the opposite side of the couch, maneuvering himself between your thighs.

You two have been doing this long enough to have done away with condoms and you’re so fucking grateful for that as he pushes himself between your lips. Your slick helps him along as he glides the tip against your aching, swollen clit.

“Oc,” you impatiently murmur and he smirks. Octavio is a bastard at the worst times and not even the bedroom is exempt, because he grabs his shaft and taps the leaking tip of his cock against your clit.

“How bad do you want it, hm?” He asks and if you weren’t so overwhelmed, you’d roll your eyes. You settle for propping yourself up on your elbows and thrusting your hips up. His cock catches on your hole and his breath hitches in his throat.

“That bad, huh?” Octavio breathlessly whispers and you glare at him through the fog of your lust.

“Aren’t you supposed to be quick?”

“You want it to be over? Aw, okay, guess I’ll-“

Before he can pull away, you wrap your legs around his waist and yank him against you. Octavio slips, caught off guard, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch, letting out a strangled groan as the tip of his dick breeches your swollen cunt.

“Fuck,” he grits out, suddenly unconcerned with teasing. He drives himself the rest of the way inside and you sigh, relieved to be so wonderfully full.

“I’m trying,” you gleefully counter and he sharply thrusts into you with a laugh that’s half moan.

You reach around, clawing at his lower back as he fucks into you. His elbow lands on the space next to your neck and you find his hand cupping the crown of your head, simply resting there as he fucks you like he’s trying to win a race.

Octavio moans and curses and whines just as much as you do, his green eyes squeezed shut. You rake your nails up the length of his spine and he groans, giving you an especially brutal thrust. Your mouth falls open and he takes the opportunity to sloppily kiss you, tongue pushing past your lips to twist with yours and he doesn’t taste so much like liquor anymore.

You sob into the kiss as he angles his hips down a little, hitting right there. He gets the picture quickly and he aims just so, abusing that place that makes you see stars. His hips snap into yours and you grab his shoulders for purchase. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

It’s him, pulling away from your kiss to watch you with amazed green eyes. It’s him, grabbing your hips and yanking you onto his dick. It’s him, passing a thumb over your clit, making your eyes roll back. It’s him, hissing your name as his hips begin to stutter and shake. It’s him.

“C’mon, mami, c’mon, I won’t last,” he gasps, fondling your clit desperately and your jaw drops at the sensation. “C’mon, baby, need it, need to feel that tight pussy squeeze my dick, you can do it, do it for me, please, baby, please-“

You say his name as your orgasm hits you, shaking legs tightening so harshly around his waist you can feel every tremor of his hips. He fucks you through it, relentlessly rubbing your clit and you whimper, reaching down to try and shove his hand away. It doesn’t seem to stop him and finally with two, three more thrusts, he’s coming.

Octavio buries his face in your neck, saying something so low and garbled that you barely pick up that it was in Spanish. You don’t care to ask what he said just yet, too busy catching your breath as you clutch his back.

“Shit…” He breathes, turning his head to rest his nose against your still racing pulse. Now, though, it’s not just with need, but you don’t tell him that.

“How’s that for keeping up?” You ask and he snickers, slowly pulling out of you. Octavio reaches down, grabbing his shorts and tucking them beneath your hips to catch the spunk dripping out of you.

“I’ll go get a wash cloth,” he says as you paw at the coffee table for the TV remote. You groan at the time it shows you.

“It’s almost seven, you ass! I have to be to work in two hours!”

“Guess I kept you up all night. At least you weren’t bored.”

“I hate you,” you groan, scrubbing your hands over your eyes. Octavio snickers, making his way towards the bathroom.

“Oh, hey, wait,” you say, propping your head up. He stops short, meeting your gaze. “What did you say? I was kinda preoccupied and didn’t hear.”

“Kinda? You wound me,” Octavio says, placing a hand over his heart. You unceremoniously flip him off. “You think I remember what I said while I was nutting, chica?!”

Octavio grins roguishly. You roll your eyes, throwing one of the couch cushions at him. It doesn’t get anywhere close to hitting him and Octavio snickers, bending down to toss it back onto the couch. “Who knows?”

Octavio turns back to the bathroom and his playful expression slackens. His brow scrunches up as he flicks the light on, closing the restroom door behind him and staring disbelievingly into the mirror.

Te amo, he’d gasped into your neck when he was overwhelmed with the smell of you, the feeling of you, the taste of you.

[joelmillerthirstqz]

Fill for this ask~

(slight liberty taken with request for reader to get excited about the shop; Ellie's working through sixteen-year-old, new-to-commitment-as-a-concept with Cat, pre-dina tattoo girlfriend, so i went with that)

Joel, y/n, and Ellie are all out on patrol and come across a small town. In the town, there’s an abandoned wedding dress shop. Y/n gets all excited and goes inside to see there are untouched wedding dresses. Joel’s slightly annoyed when y/n and Ellie want to try some on for fun. But then he sees y/n in a wedding dress and realizes he sees her as more than a friend.

yeah, of course I wrote with reference images up:

texture/sheerness/skirt shape/front dress ref back of dress ref, specifically the window-back with the little covered buttons up over the lower part of the hips

[I evade y/n as a convention like the plague, it’s really immersion crushing for me. However, I’ll edit it for your OC’s name if you hit the ask box, so.]

There's already a second chapter if you we want to get into this, comment or kudos and I'll get brave!

----

Ellie grimaces, scrunching her whole face. She looks across the main street of the town you’d come to scout out, Joel taciturn on his horse a few yards away, scanning storefronts and alleys.

“What?” you jerk your head to her sightline and back at her, unholstering your revolver on reflex. Your horse snuffles below you, hoofing at the ground. You can never tell if the creature is clueless, indifferent, or confident in his rider, but he would certainly be perturbed if there were infected.

“Dude, people had whole shops just for weddings?” Ellie asks, snorting derisively.

You follow her extended arm to the storefront she points to, a frilly off-white dress draped over a sunken model, glass from the smashed display window embedded.

“I mean, you had to have seen them in Boston, plenty of bored people with money,” you supply warmly. You’d grown up there, a cataclysm between the city you’d known and Ellie’s birthplace. Weddings were for people who’d given up, who’d aged out of chasing their dreams, settled into dull domesticity. People, usually the woman-coded partner, whose parents had quarter of a million to drop on a party with lifelong implications.

You’d been a little relieved when social ritual had been mostly taken off the table by the apocalypse, so the wedding pressure never reached you. Hadn’t thought about the concept in years.

You wondered who in Victor, Idaho, just over the border from Jackson, had kept a bridal shop open even before the outbreak. The demand just couldn’t match thousands of dollars of dress.

“Oh, no,” Ellie said softly.

“Well, it was a whole thing. Get some champagne, drag a bunch of girls with you, try on all the shapes and get yelled at by your mom, make jokes about the wedding night. Mostly pointless rituals,” you explain.

“You ever go to one?” Ellie asks.

“I mean, I was my cousin’s bridesmaid, so I got drunk in one and shoved into a blue satin thing, if that counts,” you clarify, shifting in your saddle.

Ellie nudges Shimmer forward, Joel drawing up to your position with a helpless shrug to you.

“It was strange. Were you in Jackson for Tommy’s?” you ask. Maria and Tommy still have that thing where they see each other and tune everything else out, even for a beat, seeming like every sense recognizes the other, no matter what else they’re doing. It feels so belligerently normal, and you watch the younger couples in the town taking note to emulate it, like they knew what they were doing because they were born before.

“No,” Joel says, looking wistful. “Seen pictures,” he adds.

“Imagine they were a bigger deal in Texas,” you say, your horses trotting a few paces behind Ellie.

Joel looks at you, face cycling through the decision to keep speaking, the same circuit you always saw him loop before he bit down on a memory and fell silent. You let the afterimage of a smile cross your face before looking down, feeling like he needs the same privacy he’d proven skilled at respecting in your own expression.

—Yesterday—

“Ask you a favor?” you feel your bones leave your body and slam back into place with fear, registering Joel’s low drawl. You’d groggily found your way into the stables to start patrol, hoodie tucked over a beanie, praying not to be seen. Nobody was supposed to be awake this early—you were avoiding a less experienced, loquacious patrolmate you’d been sentenced to and your throat clasps around itself to find that the previous night’s team, Joel’s, was only just returning.

“How bad was it?” you tip your head at the blood spatter on the side of his jacket, reddened bucket and sponge set where he’d been cleaning the infected byproduct off of his horse.

“Oh, I straggled, rest gone home. Patrol route’s quiet now, though,” he non-explains. You’re not sure if he’s trying to keep his voice low out of respect for the early hour or if that’s just his usual rumbling tone resounding it in the stark, chilly air.

“Mhm. What’s the favor?” you ask, busying yourself with saddling your own horse.

“About scouting that town for the group to search, tomorrow. Ellie’s comin’ and…” he trails off, looking at the wood-plank wall, blinking an eye at the fierce early morning sun beaming through a sliver.

You’ve learned not to rush him, learned he’s easier to talk to with his hands full, and he finishes scrubbing off his horse’s bridle while you tack up your own.

“She talks to you, easier,” Joel admits, face obscured behind his horse, taking his time to brush through the animal’s fur, obliviously slurping hay into its mouth before crinkling it in its teeth.

“Huh?” you ask, marvel of articulation that you are.

“Ellie, she’s more talkative,” he repeats himself.

“No, I mean, what?”

You hear a sigh and he leans around his horse, hands on his hips.

“Please?” he asks, slightest edge of irritation at having to say more than he’d practiced. It's all insecurity, not directed at you, but you bristle anyway.

“Alright. It’s your business, but I’ll lend my girl talk instinct,” you prod with bite, stuffing your foot into a stirrup and swinging a leg up onto Clover, who’d been named before you got to Jackson. Your emotional labor threshold never existed, and Joel was fucking pushing it.

“That’s not what I meant,” he sounds defeated as you look down at him, Clover slowing helpfully. His eyes look full, and you peer at him. He looks a little vulnerable—even if your worst anxieties read it as him noticing that you squint to avoid looking at his mouth—which is parted a little, black beard flecked with, for you, exactly the correct amount of grey. Joel rubs his lips together three times, quick, the way you’d seen when he wanted to stop talking at town meetings, shy of the eyes on him.

You soften, aware you’re irritable from lack of sleep and scarcity of good caffeine. You look ahead, reins creaking in your gloves conspicuously in the still space.

“Owe me a beer when I’m back tonight, okay?” you nod at him and press into Clover’s flank as Joel silently assents, focus snapping back to brushing out his horse. You risk looking back as Clover picks up, relieved and let down to see Joel doggedly focused on his task. You’d taken to drinking with the other patrolmen in the Tipsy Bison, edging into something resembling a social life borne of something like mutual responsibility. The group repeatedly made plain his welcome over the last few months until Joel had started to show up routinely, even murmuring a few words here and there, coming to the point that you’d notice when he wasn’t there.

—

“Okay but, why, though?” Ellie paws at a veil as you enter the store, pompous fabric ballooning halfway down the mannequin’s back.

“Dunno, it’s what people wore. I think that was for modesty, symbolically. Only went to a couple. My friends never hit the ‘wedding season’ stride. Too young,” you explain, your senior year of college on outbreak day. A look crosses Joel’s face and he spins the barrel of his revolver, leaning against the counter, trying to look busy checking the register, just in case something helpful lingered.

“Go try one on, Ellie,” you try, unsure what the sixteen-year-old is working through. Her attention hasn’t drifted to the next shops to explore, yet, so it clearly matters.

“Not for me,” she protests, hands raised. “Will you?”

You laugh ruefully, years away from the last time you’d put on something close to a dress, much less something formal, and you'd certainly never thought about being a bride. Not materially.

“C’mon, I’ve never seen like, a normal human in one,” Ellie pouts. You narrow your eyes for a second, lightly dubious.

“That’s not the best idea,” Joel grouses next to you, looking over both his shoulders like he was expecting an ambush even though it had been placid the whole way up here. Two of your three horses nudge each other for space near the tree you’ve secured them too, whinnying.

“I’ll keep my boots on for running. And you’ll keep a lookout,” you reply blithely, rolling your eyes at him.

“Yell for help!’ Ellie still discovering nuptial detritus she’d seen alluded to in comics at most.

You busy yourself finding something not set through with rot, moving towards the back of the store. Ellie swings open a display case and picks up a circular, springy fabric, a pale blue garter, squinting with the effort of discernment.

“Were the hair tie things a thing for a reason?” Ellie asks Joel, looping the blue-ribboned elastic around her wrist for later. Joel’s eyes widen in horror, ready to run towards the nearest infected to avoid explaining the whole garter thing to Ellie.

A second, more frigid wave hits him, remembering his own wedding day, Tommy helping him get just drunk enough to go through with the embarrassing ritual that complemented the bouquet toss. Sarah’s mom had loved all the stupid little wedding-day-things, though, so he’d accepted the shot(s) his brother snuck him and was grateful his red face would be under a skirt. He’d barely been eighteen, doing the right thing with Sarah’s mom pregnant, and two-years-younger Tommy held it together for him the whole day. He thought of not being here for the day his little brother had gotten hitched, a candid Polaroid in focus in the reel of guilt he’d built for himself these last twenty-some years. Tommy looked like his brother as he was before in it, looking up Maria with rapt awe as he accepted her hand to be led back to the dance floor. The crinkling at the corner of his eyes, though older, looked like Tommy again, and the joy Joel felt for him was dulled by the impossibility of ever speaking enough words to draw a partner near.

“Joel?” she pokes, twanging the elastic a little to jar him. He eyes it warily, expression the most intimidated you'd ever seen him.

You trudge past Ellie, awkwardly dragging a plastic-encased parcel of a voluminous dress, the best-preserved and least yellowed you’d found. You really didn’t relish the idea of figuring out how to get it on alone, but seeing their exchange, you fully self-preserved your way away from that particular explanation to the changing space.

“Fuck me,” you grimace, noticing the trail of covered buttons leading from the open mid-back to the very last point it could presentably grace between the dimples on your back. Wrestling this on would be a chore.

Before you shuck everything but your boots and socks, you try to smooth your hair down, the moss-flecked mirror of the changing space indicating how hopeless it is. You re-strap your pistol holster to your thigh, an overabundance of caution rubbing off on you from Joel's mere anxious proximity.

You look at your reflection a minute, appraising heavy breasts, softer hips than before. You’re proud that your abdomen and arms remain taut and toned from a combination of riding and patrolling, sprinting for your life, and helping around Jackson. For once in your life, you fall asleep at night when you hit the pillow, naked and alone, no longer captive of the ceiling’s backlighting of unidentifiable darting thoughts. Blinking your musing away, you remember how your cousin’s bridal attendant had made a circle of the dress for her to step into, and do your best to prepare it so you can slide it up and ask Ellie to help.

—

Ellie slingshotted the something-blue at Joel’s face as he finished explaining the garter tradition, hushing her ferociously and finally placing both palms over his whole face, crossing and re-crossing his ankles where he leant against the counter, rifle over his shoulder.

Ellie rolled her eyes, haughtily full of recent knowledge of thighs and what they connect to from Cat, fern and moth tattoo freshly peeling over her acid burn.

—

“Ellie!” you call once the skirt is over your hips, bodice with laced cap sleeves over your shoulders. You feel a little bad stepping past the carefully sewn fabric in your hiking boots and high socks, grimy from the trail’s dust, trying to hold it up while keeping the bodice straight.

She smiles wryly as her head pokes around the corner.

“I’ll help if you tell me if people really launched their bouquets at people and one person really pulled a—uh, shit, uh, thigh lingerie thing—off of the bride in front of everyone?”

You honk a laugh, a horrible sound, thinking of the velocity with which you’d seen Ellie launch bricks, knowing she has no sense of the soft lob of flowers at friends that she refers to. You guess she's picturing a full-bodied overarm spike ending in flower shrapnel instead of the over-the-shoulder choreography towards the bride's most single friend that happened in reality. You clasp the delicate buttons at your lower back together as best you can with your palms.

“Sounds like that was regionally universal in America, yeah, but—”

“Holy shit,” Ellie comments, suddenly shuddering in a very teenage, possibly exaggerated ripple of disgust. “Looked like a hair tie,” she mutters.

“Just—please help,” you hold the tulle and hand-cut lace near the buttons out to her.

“Wow, this was for everyone to see you in?” Ellie asks, alluding to the sheer fabric that gave the impression that the lace filigrees were directly applied to your skin. Asymmetrical, hand-sewn flowers cinch around your breasts and middle when she finally secures it.

You turn to the angled three-part mirror, noticing where your epaulet tattoo complicates the sheer effect the designers intended by the lace, nose bunching up. Not the flesh of the intended buyer of this thing, for sure.

“Come on, in the light!” Ellie goads gently.

Bracing to self-deprecate, you tuck your hair up in one hand and hold the front of the dress up and away from your muddy boots. You and outward, finding the weird little podium that was apparently customary—you remember your cousin twirling on it a similar one in delight when she’d found the right dress.

“Yeah, fuck, I can’t do this for long,” you bristle, feeling ungainly in the garment, dropping the skirts around your feet.

“And you’d just walk up to someone and kiss them in front of everyone and that worked?” Ellie prattles, tailing you closely.

Joel’s retreated to the store entrance, hunting rifle comfortable in his hands but pointedly ready.

He turns in the middle of running some sort of ten foot patrol route along the length of the store’s entrance, inevitable that he’d face you eventually. You realize he’s just pacing, the town quiet, stuck in a situation he accidentally created.

Ellie gives you a look that looks through you, and you recognize the contemplation in it. She’s thinking of someone, and what formalizing intimacy means, probably. Certainly where your mind was at around her age. Fuck, you’d not go back to sixteen for all the pre-outbreak world.

“I’m gonna go check the horses,” she mumbles, maybe in her own head, maybe more deliberate than that.

Your eyes bulge as you realize you’re stuck in this fucking thing and Ellie’s across the street.

You turn to Joel with a prepared face, tugging your dimples into a self-effacing “look at this shit” face.

“Wanna try one on?” you jab first, trying to get there before Joel can make this worse, more stupid. He’d kind of asked you, or asked for a favor that led to this, so you felt contented blaming him for it. You definitely will if his slight over-caution is vindicated and you get rushed by anything hostile while you're wearing this. Your holster may feel comforting, but the weight of the skirt would put a real drag on any reflexes you had if you actually needed your pistol.

Joel halted at the midpoint of his circling, rifle slack in his hands, hanging limp before him. The light from outside rings his form, broad shoulders and imposing frame worn uneasily in his posture.

His mouth parts the way it had when you’d ridden past him in the stables, chest expanding and falling in quick iterations, hazel eyes stranded on you.

You breathe as you hold his eyes, unable to back down from any time he proved capable of holding direct eye contact. Now that you had it, you realized you’d been teasing it out of him for months, forcing him to look right at you, any creative way you could, driving him up the wall.

Joel might as well have been waist-deep in water for how slowly he moves towards you.

“Sorry, not meaning to bring up anything—” you swallow the word painful, revising quickly, “from before,” you finish weakly. Gold star, idiot. You had no idea, but what if it had been a wife he’d lost? Fuck’s sake. Though, Ellie wouldn't be cruel like that—

Joel shakes his head absently, dismissive. He was run aground, captive to taking you in. The dress made no overtures to performative modesty, sheer tulle slits up to the edge of your hipbones, catching on your holster where you shift. Joel assesses the fabric spread over your chest quickly, mouth upturning too subtly for you to feel 100% confident you’d seen him do it. You’d seen him get the lay of a whole horde in a split second, and stood curious what it was he’d noted from the two and a half seconds his eyes drifted over you.

“‘m here, now,” he mumbles, looking down and pulling the bolt back, a dull click as it confirmed he’d chambered this particular round ten times in the last five minutes. If a weapon could sound exasperated with him, it did, and he jerks his head without turning it to Ellie’s retreating form.

Joel’s mind sprints between stations, picking up an artifact of your expression at each one: your body, your easy conversations on patrol, fumbling between them all, not sure where to start.

Ellie wasn’t far enough away for Joel to start this now, to cross the shop and kiss you, podium leveling you to the perfect height for him to lean into, hands on your face. Something in his posture looks ready to move quickly, and it's not to use the weapon his knuckles whiten around.

The edges of his eyes pinch, like he’s struggling to make sense of an indescribable noise. The tendon running from your ear to collarbone stands out as you look to the side, pretending to appraise the way the dress fits over your hips, snugly buttoned. Joel’s face shifts from startled to starved while you take reprieve from his focus.

Your furrowed brows while you watch Joel watch you spark understanding of the mechanics of a constant, firm draw towards your person. He’s recognizing you as more than a formidable shot he can be at ease with, not just a pleasant confidante with different but complementary pre-outbreak life experiences and a healthy sense of privacy.

Joel glances down one more time, catching your eyes on the way back up as he clears his throat, finding you looking at him sheepishly. He hadn’t tried to say a word in minutes.

“I’m. I’m stuck in here. Ellie—” you stammer, face reddening viciously. This was going to be a long, tiring patrol excursion, and you worried you had already made it weird.

You idly wonder where he might put his hands on you if you were alone, right now, and your terror is visible as the thought drifts by. If he would.

Joel doesn’t look back at Ellie where you’d normally expect a concerned jolt at her name, hazel eyes heatedly dark. You can chalk it up to the dimmed interior of the shop, but enough sunlight streams in to make you doubt its just the environment.

Grimacing at a clearly out-of-earshot Ellie, you need to be out of this fucking thing and redouble.

“Joel, can you? I feel bad ripping it and would really like my jeans again,” you offer weakly.

Joel’s fingertips, fingertips you wish you didn’t know were callused and so goddamn cautious when they’d had the occasion to meet yours, flex on his gun.

“Not sure I know how to, I mean, those seem—special?” he stammers at the prospect, you having turned to bare your back to him.

Joel breathes in a way you can hear on the silent street, usually so contained.

She’s just helping you see the buttons. Joel thinks, counting out twelve of them, in total.

Joel steadies his gaze, tipping his head forward and choosing to take in the slope of your back, mostly bare and deep-dipping expanse scantly wreathed in lace. His face looks like he’s staring something potentially fatal down, gritted jaw muscles pulsing. He steps towards you, though. He’d never done anything in the right order, not Sarah, not with Tess, not a bit, one single time. Might as well get you dress off before he can even get the courage to kiss you.

Slinging his rifle’s strap over his shoulder, Joel keeps his fingers at a careful angle, purposefully not against your skin. Pushing the top button through the satin loop containing it, he steps up on the podium with you, only because it puts his lips well out of an easy distance to drag along the nape of your neck. Hoping he can feel his way down the buttons without touching or looking at you, he fails three buttons down, knuckles brushing the bottom of your spine.

You laugh nervously, looking back at Joel. Every part of your core is twining into a spiral, abdomen first, then a layer deeper, then a clench you won’t register because then you’d have to admit that something was going on.

For his part, his dark brows are furrowed in effort, decidedly back in the realm of watching every movement to avoid the electrocution he’d just experienced from grazing you. Now was the time for accuracy, not speed.

Joel takes in your little cap sleeves between buttons, down to the eighth of twelve. The hand-cut lace outlines your shoulders, leading to lean skin below, dipping lower in the front than he should be noticing now that you’ve turned away from him—but he’s too tall to miss it once you’re standing on level ground. He wonders what you would do if he pulled you against him now, back pressed to his front, his mouth on your neck before your own.

‘Thank you,” Joel says.

You crane your head to meet his eyes again, hands pressed to opposite shoulders to prevent the now-loosened dress from slipping all the way. Maybe you didn’t need the rest of the buttons, but there they went. You blink at him, wondering what would happen if you leaned against him.

“What?” you feel all wrapped in half-fabric, half-suggestion, no idea what the fuck he means.

“For comin’,” he gives. “Didn’t, uh, thanks for…” he trails off, so unaccustomed to indirectness and illocution that he doesn’t know what to call it. He clears his throat.

Joels hits the tenth button and breathes deep, flicking through the last two like he’s reloading, stepping back to reclaim his rifle and get so, so many feet away from you.

You turn to him, holding the weighty dress flush against your skin with both hands.

Joel’s chest is rising and falling every three seconds in rapid cycles, peculiar as you’d patrolled enough together to hear how he can silence his breath, the infrequent draws of someone yards underwater. He either can’t control this or made a choice to stop, and you can only think that the rust colored plaid he’d worn today was truly nice on him.

The rest of your scouting trip is deafeningly quiet, like Joel riding next to you and his surly expression produce volume equivalent to standing under a roaring set of falls. Ellie punctures it every few minutes with an attempted joke and you can almost feel Joel groan before you hear it each time, thoughtful.

Notes:

Here's the meta you didn't ask for

In current 2020, hard to see in weddings as anything other than class signifiers/routes to wife-n’ up, but:

holy shit does the apocalypse , esp. Tommy’s hope-imperative thing, make room for meaningfully coded rituals and aspirational ideologies not hijacked by the wedding industry’s profit motive.

Joel’s coming from the context of a wife who left Joel alone because having Sarah ruined her young life, so his view of it is understandably dismissive. Reader was more interesting to make opposite—college-aged asshole without responsibilities on Outbreak Day, less room for traditions.

But: Jackson is frozen in time and CRAVES ritual. Where it was meaningless in a world of abundance, you need markers of the years and ways to say “that person is my person;" it's joy as resistance.

For instance, something about Christmas hits different when you’re not fist fighting consumers for prelit trees after scuttling past a Salvation Army Santa in a mall. Jackson feels so sincere, every decoration scavenged or hewn with love, with purpose and forethought.

There’s joy in scarcity and glut in abundance is my point, I guess. Joel gets that on a basic level, even though he’s obstinate as hell about letting himself have anything good or even open to the idea.

[mustangshelby04]

Boston Boy Chapter 2

Kate stared at herself in the mirror trying to see what had made Chris Evans want to spend an entire week with her.  He had stayed till almost one in the morning.  They had spent the whole time talking and looking at pictures on their phones. Chris had taken a few of them on his phone and set one of the selfies as her contact picture when he saved her number in his phone.  Now she was waiting for him to come pick her up and take her to the game.  She’d thrown on some jeans, a pair of black leather motorcycle boots, and her Brady jersey.  Her hair was in a high ponytail and she’d thrown on her usual makeup consisting of under-eye concealer, powder, mascara, and Chapstick.

There was a loud knocking on her door and she took a deep breath before opening it.  Chris stood there with his brother Scott and another guy she didn’t recognize.  Chris was beaming at her. “Good.  Got the lucky jersey on.  We should win today, right?”

“If the luck holds up.” She said, smiling back.

“Kat, this is my brother Scott and his friend Tyler.”

“Nice to meet you.” She reached out and shook their hands.

“You’re right, Chris.” Scott said. “She’s beautiful.” Chris blushed and avoided eye contact with her.

“Don’t embarrass him.” Tyler said.

“He’s my brother.  I can if I want.” Scott turned back to her. “He gushed about you the whole ride over here.  He used the word perfect about twelve times.  And I think he wrote a sonnet about your eyes.  Which are gorgeous, by the way.” It was her turn to blush.

“Scott!” Chris cried. “Man, you have no chill.” He turned to her. “I’m sorry about him.  I said I was going to the game and he invited himself and Tyler.”

“Seriously, it’s really nice to meet you.” Scott said, giving her a bright smile. “My brother is weirdly shy and for him to actually have a multiple hour conversation with a woman he just met is really rare.  Be glad he only told me about you.  If our mom and sisters find out…. Well, I hope you like Boston cause they’ll move your stuff up here for you.”

She laughed. “Wow. My brother is contemplating coming out here with one of my cousins and my step-dad to scare ‘the Boston boy’ off.”

“We might have a war on our hands.  Fun!”

Chris laughed and looked back at her. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.  Let me grab my coat and my phone.”

“Is that David Bowie you’re listening to?” Scott asked as they shuffled into her room.

“Yeah.  You a fan?”

“Of course!  I don’t trust a person that doesn’t listen to Bowie.”

“Me either.” She turned the bluetooth speaker off and unplugged her phone before grabbing her coat. Chris helped her into it and his fingers brushed the back of her neck as he helped release the bottom of her ponytail from the coat.  She held onto the urge to shiver but bit down on her bottom lip. “Ok.  To the game!”

“To the game!” Chris repeated, holding the door open for her.  Scott and Tyler made it to the elevators first and held the doors so Chris and Kate could get on too.  She caught Chris eying her a few times and smiled to herself.  Scott and Tyler were engaged in a conversation about the game and didn’t seem to notice the other two in the elevator.  Chris shot her a smile and she smiled back.  

The elevator doors opened and just before she stepped out, she remembered something. “Shit! I’ve gotta run back to my room.”

“What’s wrong?” Chris asked.

“I forgot to take my blood pressure meds.”

“Oh.” Chris turned and tossed the keys to his brother. “We’ll meet you out front.” He stepped back onto the elevator and waved at Scott as the doors shut.

“I’m sorry.  I keep forgetting that I’m supposed to be taking it. I haven’t been on it long, so it’s an adjustment.”

“High blood pressure?”

“Yes.  Genetics is a bitch.  Though I technically got lucky.  Mom was on them from the time she was 16 and her blood pressure is really high. I just got on them last month and it’s the lowest dose of medication since my blood pressure isn’t bad.  Just high enough to make my doctor and my mom worry.”

The elevator doors opened and they stepped out. “Have you tried setting an alarm on your phone to remind you?” He asked.

She laughed. “I’m not sure it would help.  I did that for my birth control and I forgot to take it at least three days out of every month.”

“Yikes.”

“I don’t know why my brain doesn’t process taking medication daily on time, but it fails hard at it.  It’s why I got an IUD.  I never have to remember to take a pill every day.  If they could invent that for blood pressure pills I’d be set.” She opened her door and rushed into the bathroom, embarrassed that she’d just told him that she had an IUD.

“Hey, listen, I’m sorry about my brother.  Sometimes things come out of his mouth before he can stop them.”

She laughed. “I have that problem myself.”

He appeared in the bathroom doorway. “I hope he didn’t embarrass you too much.”

“No.  It’s ok.  I think he got you worse.” She popped the pill in her mouth and took a drink of water from the bottle next to the sink.

“It wasn’t as bad as he said.  I don’t think I used the word perfect that many times.”

“I didn’t think you had. It would definitely be a major exaggeration if you said it that many times.  Using it just once is exaggeration enough.”

“Not at all. You’re pretty awesome.”

“You’ve only known me a day.  Trust me, I’m not that great.”

“I’ve got all week with you, so I’ll be the judge of that.” He shot her a smile and moved out of the way to let her pass by him.

They caught up to Scott and Tyler waiting in the backseat of the car.  Chris held open the passenger’s side door for her to get in before walking over and getting in the driver’s seat. “So, Kate,” Scott said as they pulled out into the street. “What color are your eyes?  Chris was confused.”

“Scott!”

“What?” Scott asked innocently. “You said they look blue, but sometimes they looked more green.”

“They’re both blue and green.” She said before Chris could get any more red. “And my left eye has a streak of hazel in it.” Scott leaned forward and she turned to look at him.

“That’s neat.”

“My eyes change color, too, depending on my mood.”

“What mood are you in now?”

“Scott!” Chris cried.

“What?”

She laughed. “I’m excited right now.  I’ve made new friends and I’m going to see my favorite football team play live for the first time.  Unless you count when they came down to Richmond for training camp last year.”

“You saw them at training camp?” Chris asked.

“Yeah.  They were at the Redskins training camp in Richmond for two days.  I was there both because I’m a dork.  I got the worst sunburn, but I got to meet Gronkowski.  The only thing I could think to say was ‘you are one big dude.’”

“Did you meet Brady?” Tyler asked.

“I shook his hand, but I didn’t get to talk to him.  There were a lot of fans there and I kind of got pushed out of the way.”

“That sucks.”  

Chris glanced over at her and smiled as she kept up a steady flow of conversation with his brother and Tyler.  They made it to the stadium and had no trouble getting inside the private entrance and up to their suite.  There were a few people milling about, but the stadium below was full of people. There weren’t any players on the field yet, but there were other people out there getting ready.  Chris watched her as she stayed standing by the glass, staring out at everything with a look that reminded him of Christmas morning excitement.  He ordered them some drinks before joining her at the window.

“Our seats are over here.” He pointed to ones in the second row.

“This is unbelievable, Chris!” She was beaming and the smile was infectious. “I can’t believe I’m at Gillette!  I’ve only ever seen it on TV and now I’m here.”

“I’m happy I could put that smile on your face.” He was suddenly engulfed in a bear hug and all he could do was squeeze back as he held her up. “Wow.”

“Sorry.” She pulled away. “I’m just so excited and you’re the best for doing this for me.”

He laughed. “Don’t be sorry.  This is exciting for me too.”

  They were well into the fourth quarter of a close game.  Chris and Kate had been yelling at the teams from their seats and barely able to sit down for most of the game.  Luckily they were surrounded by like-minded people.  Scott and Tyler were excited about the game, but Scott kept stealing glances at his brother and his new friend.  He was pretty sure that Chris was really liking Kate.  He’d never seen his brother act this way with a woman he’d just met before.

“GO!” Chris yelled suddenly as Amendola caught the pass from Brady.  The stadium went mad as the refs called a touchdown.  The people in front of them threw their hands up and one of the guys lost his grip on his cell phone and it flew back and hit Kate in the mouth.  She instantly threw her hands up, but blood was already running down her chin.

Chris moved into action to grab some napkins and the man that lost his phone began apologizing profusely.  Scott and Tyler left to get some ice and more napkins.  Finally, Chris escorted Kate out into the hallway and leaned her up against the wall.  It was quieter in the hallway.

“Are you ok?” Chris asked, holding multiple napkins to her lips.

“Ow.” She said, her voice muffled behind the napkins.  Her eyes were watering profusely and she kept wiping at them. “I think a tooth is broken.”

“Let me see.” He pulled the napkins away and sure enough, the lateral incisor on her left side was missing a chunk.  He hissed and put the napkin back.

“That bad, huh?”

“Uh, yeah.  I’m not going to lie.  You’re missing part of a tooth.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Don’t worry.  I’ve got a plan.”

Scott and Tyler came running back with ice in a towel and more napkins. “How is she?” Scott asked, handing the towel over.

“Broken tooth.  I’m going to call dad and ask if he’ll fix it for her today.”

“Good idea.” Scott looked at Kate. “That’s some awesome mascara you have on.  It hasn’t budged at all with all that leaking you’re doing from your eyes.” That made her laugh.

“Here, hold this.” Chris said, guiding her hand to the towel against her mouth. “I’m going to make a phone call.”

Scott moved over to take his brother’s place in front of her and he smiled. “Our dad’s a good dentist.”

“Good.  Cause this hurts.” She said.

“I’m pretty sure if you asked him to, Chris would go beat that guy up.”

She chuckled. “It’s ok. It was an accident.  I’m not mad.  Just in pain.”

Chris came back over. “Dad’s going to meet us at his office.”

“You guys go.” Scott said. “We’ll grab a cab to take us home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Scott gave Kate a quick hug. “We’ll see you later, ok?”

“Bye.” She waved at Scott and Tyler as Chris escorted her to the elevators.

“Are you ok?” Chris asked again as the doors shut.  He was clearly concerned about her.

“You should see the other guy.” She joked.

Chris chuckled. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was an accident.”

“I know, but you’re missing the last of your first game at Gillette.”

Her eyes widened and she looked down at her jersey. “Please tell me there’s no blood on it.”

He gently pushed her head back up, replacing the ice towel on her mouth.  With a chuckle, he grabbed the bottom of the jersey and pulled it out slightly to inspect it. “Nope.  No blood.  I saved the good luck charm with my quick reflexes.”

“Thank you.” The elevator doors opened and he led her out.

  Bob lead Chris and Kate back out into the empty waiting room of his dental office. “You might be a little sore for a couple of days and you shouldn’t eat any hard foods for the rest of today.”

“Thanks for doing this, dad.” Chris said. “I know it’s your day off.”

“Yeth.  Thank you.” Kate said, trying not to sound funny through the numbness in her mouth.  It must not have worked because Chris was desperately trying to hold back a laugh.

“It’s my pleasure.” Bob said. “If that tooth starts bothering you, or starts acting funny, don’t hesitate to call me.”

“I won’t.” She followed Chris back outside where the sun had begun to set.

“I know you’ve got to be hungry.  You haven’t eaten much today.” Chris said to her as he helped her in the car.  He walked around to the driver’s side and slid in. “Do you feel up to getting something to eat?”

“I’m tharving, but I think I thould wait until this numbneth goeth away.  I might drool on mythelf.”

He didn’t hold back on the laugh this time. “I’m sorry.  You sound so funny!” She stuck her tongue out at him, but it only made him laugh harder. “Ok,” His laughter finally died down. “Ok, we’ll go back to the hotel and hang out there for a while.  Figure out what we want to get for dinner.”

“Thoundth good.” He laughed again as he backed out of the parking space. “Can I play thome muthic?”

“Yeah.” He laughed and handed her his unlocked phone.

She scrolled through his music before selecting a track by Garbage.  He shot her an approving smile and she settled back into the seat and closed her eyes.  It wasn’t long before they were back at the hotel and headed back up to her room. Chris opened the door for her and she skipped the living room and went straight to the bedroom, plopping down on the king sized bed with her legs dangling from the side.  He laughed and took his jacket off, laying it across the chair in the corner before sitting down on the bed next to her.

“Did we win?” She asked.

“Yeah.  Scott texted me.  We won.” He laid back. “Good.” She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him.  He was lying so close to her that their arms were touching and she could feel his breath tickling her nose. “Is this real?”

“What?”

“Are you really here?”

He smiled and linked some of his fingers with hers. “Yeah.  I’m here.”

“Chris….”

“Your talking is back to normal.  How are you feeling?”

“Light headed.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Me too.  Let’s go for a walk and just pick a place we come across.” He stood up and held his hands out to help her up.

“Sounds good to me.” She took his hands and he pulled her up.  For a moment they were almost pressing against each other, but she stepped sideways and went into the bathroom. “I’ll be out in just a minute.”

“Ok.”

She shut the door and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.  What was happening?  Chris Evans was flirting with her.  Her of all people.  She wasn’t a movie star.  She wasn’t a model.  She wasn’t even close to his league.  Why was he flirting with her?  Fairytales weren’t real and they definitely didn’t come true for people like her.  She looked in the mirror and stared at herself.  There was nothing remotely special about her.

There was a knock at the door and Chris called, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah.” She stood up and brushed her hair. “Sorry,” She opened the door. “I was inspecting my tooth.”

“It looks good. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t talk much as they walked down the streets.  It was full dark out, but the street lights and the lights from businesses lit up the sidewalk.  They found a Tapas restaurant on Newbury Street a couple of miles away from the hotel and decided to eat there.  After they were seated, Chris watched her for a long moment.

“What?” She asked.

“Nothing.” He took a sip of water and looked down at his menu. “So, you haven’t mentioned a boyfriend back home yet.  Nobody special?”

She didn’t look up from her menu. “Nope.  You?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t had a lot of time recently.  You?”

“I haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I have no idea.  I guess I’ll know when I find it.”

“That’s a very romantic way of thinking.”

“Yeah?  I’ve never really considered myself very romantic, honestly.  I���m not a flowers and chocolates kind of girl.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “I prefer things that don’t die in a week and my taste buds get more excited over fruity candy than chocolate.” He nodded like he was taking mental notes. “I like stargazer lilies, though.  I would accept those flowers happily.” The waiter came and took their order and they no longer had menus to hide behind. “I also have a hard time trusting people.”

“Because of your father. I remember.”

“That’s not the only reason.” She took a deep breath. “I was engaged to this guy.  I met him at work.  He was younger than me by five years, but he seemed so much older.  When I met his family, it made sense.  They’re mostly barely functioning alcoholics and he kind of had to raise himself.  We got pretty serious pretty quick.  We moved in together barely three months after we started dating.  We were living in a house with an acquaintance of mine. Things were good for a while, but my best friend came over one night to take me out for a girls’ night out and he didn’t want to let me leave.  He whined and moaned and said he wanted to come with me, but I laughed and said no and didn’t think much of it.  But the next few months, he got really…. Possessive I guess is the word.  I was kind of kept at a distance, but he didn’t like me going out with any of my friends.  I look back now and realize he was using mental abuse to keep me at home. About a year into the relationship, he gave me a ring and we were suddenly engaged, but it wasn’t what I’d expected it to be.”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know.  A nice gesture?  Him to at least get down on one knee, you know?  But we were sitting at dinner and he slid it across the table and said ‘we should get married’.  I was so excited, I didn’t even really think about it then.  My friends that I was still in contact with weren’t happy.  They all said that I looked different and sounded different…. Like they were talking to a stranger with my face.  A few months later it was Christmastime and we were busy at work.  He left his phone in my desk while he was out in the warehouse and it kept going off, so I pulled it out to turn it off.  The first thing I see when I unlock it is this message from a girl talking about how wet she was and how badly she needed him to come take care of her again.  I opened the text up and there were more.  There were pictures passed between them that should’ve only been reserved for us, you know?”

“They were sexting.”

“Not just.  He was meeting her behind my back.  And when I dug a little deeper, it wasn’t just her. It was two other girls as well. And I mean girls.  They were all about eighteen years old, if that.  I kind of lost my shit and my boss had to restrain me from killing my fiancé when he walked in my office.  I screamed at him and my boss told me it might be best if I went home.  When I got there, I just couldn’t stay there so I went to my parents’ house.  The next day was a weekend for us, so I went home and confronted him about everything.  He blamed it all on me.  Said I wasn’t what he wanted and the only reason he kept me around was because my paycheck helped him pay the bills.  I really felt less than human at that point.  I told him to get out, but he said that he was just going to move into the upstairs bedroom.  That he was going to bring his girls home and fuck them so loud every night I would never get any sleep.  So my roommate, who heard all of this, told me he would let me out of the lease if I wanted to leave.  I’ve never packed up a house so fast.  My friends Ryan and Mike, they had heard through my parents what had happened and they came and helped me move.  We were out of there in 4 hours.”

“Damn.  I’m so sorry.” He reached over and took her hand.

“It doesn’t stop there. After about a month of seeing him at work and still having these annoying feelings for him, I let him come back. We started seeing each other again. I found out that I had a strain of HPV that could be treated and gone in two years, but it was still an STD.  It’s a dangerous one, too, that can lead to cancer later on in life.  Anyway, he accused me of cheating on him because there was no way he had given it to me. You’d think I would’ve wizened up at this point, but I let him stick around.  I was living at my parents and they went out of town, so he came to stay with me for a weekend.  That Monday he left work before me and kept asking me for the key to my parents’ house. I told him no, I didn’t feel comfortable giving him the key and he said that someone had to feed the dogs because I didn’t know when I’d be home.  He promised he would be waiting for me.  I was busy with work and he just kept pestering me, so I gave in against my better judgment.  When I got home a couple hours later, he was just shutting his car door and getting ready to leave.  I got out to ask him what was going on and I spotted the Wii that he’d bought me sitting in his car.  He’d gone into my parents’ house and stolen it.  I tried to get past him, but he was bigger than me and he shoved me backwards. I ended up landing on the gravel and scraping up my hands and that snapped me back to myself.  I got up and decked him so hard when he fell, he cracked his window on the driver’s side of his car.  I grabbed my phone to call the cops and he hightailed it out of there.”

“Fuck!” He shook his head. “No wonder you have trust issues.”

“I’m working on the trust thing, but it takes time.”

Their food came finally and they ate in silence for a little while.  Chris kept stealing glances at her which she pretended not to notice.  The only conversation they made was on how good or bad the food was.  They had ordered about six different types of tapas and were making their way through each one.  

A little over half way through, Chris said, “Did he even feed the dogs?”

She looked up at him incredulously, but began to laugh. “You know what?  I don’t think he did.”

“Fucking asshole.” They laughed until their sides hurt and the waiter had to come over and make sure they were ok.  They finished their dinner and Chris paid for the meal before they started walking again. They made their way towards Boston Common and were standing on the bridge looking out over the lake with the swan boats.  

They leaned their arms against the railing and listened to the sounds of the evening around them. Chris moved closer to her and purposely rubbed his knuckles against the back of her hand.  She looked over at him like he’d lost his mind and he gave her an embarrassed look.

“Was that too forward?” He asked.

“Uh….”  She stood up straight.

“You seem a little freaked out whenever I touch you.  I don’t want that.  I just…. I like you.”

She gave him another ‘are you crazy’ look and shook her head. “It’s barely been two days.  You don’t even know me.” She started to walk away and he moved to catch up.

“But I want to get to know you.  I feel a connection to you, Kat.  You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know.  But it’s true.  I feel completely at ease with you.  I don’t feel that with anyone else outside of my family.  Especially not this quickly.” Chris boldly took her hand and pulled her to the stairs on the side of the bridge.  There was no one there, so he sat her down at the bottom of the steps and stepped back a couple of paces. “Look, I’m not saying let’s run off to Vegas and get married.  I’m just saying…. Let’s seize the moment.  Live in the now.  See where this goes.”

“I’m leaving in a week.”

“I’ve got two weeks before I need to be anywhere and I’ve never been to Richmond.  I want to get to know you and see what happens.  If you don’t feel like there’s anything here, I won’t push it.  But will you at least give it the two weeks?  Please?”

“What happens after two weeks?”

“I don’t know.  But if there’s something real here between us, I don’t want to regret not trying.”

“How could there be anything between us?  You’re completely out of my league.”

“What do you mean?”

She surged up and walked past him towards the water, stopping just before the edge. “Have you looked in a mirror?  Have you seen your ex-girlfriends?” She turned back to him. “I’m a fan of yours, Chris, remember?  I’ve looked up your name on Tumblr and seen you in magazines while I buy groceries. I know that I don’t even come close to stacking up with your life.  I’m ordinary. You’re extraordinary.”

He laughed. “I’m not extraordinary.  I’m nothing close to it.  I’m a dude from Boston who listens to 90s music and drinks beer and laughs at fart jokes. I’m the most ordinary guy out there. You’re the extraordinary one.” She huffed. “Really?” She huffed again. “Ok, from the little that I know about you so far, you’re remarkable.  You’ve survived an abusive parent, you were at the brink of suicide and fought back, you went through a terrible relationship that nearly killed your spirit, and you’ve survived a family full of boys.  As far as I’m concerned, you’re a fucking superhero.  I’m in awe of you.”

She shook her head. “The internet never said you were crazy.”

“Well, the internet doesn’t know everything about me.” He grinned. “Look, it’s two weeks and if at the end of it, you don’t want anything to do with me, then I’ll go back to work and we’ll both just have great stories about the times we went to new places together.”

“Fine.  Ok.  I will spend the next two weeks with you.  But if you’re going to get to know me, then I want get to know Chris Evans, the beer drinking fart guy from Boston.”

He laughed. “Ok. Fair enough.”

“I still feel like I’m Jim Carrey in the Truman Show, though.”

“There are no cameras. I promise.” He held his hand out to her and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it.

Tag List:

@joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jamielea81 @southerngracela @kelbabyblue @introvertedmouse

[shslstraws]

Yoooo that dragon au is my is jam, do you have plot for it?

Hey, Anon! Glad you like my dragon au! I DO have a plot for it, so ya’ll better be ready : ))) 

“The Hophia Kingdom is ruled by the Saihara family for many generations. The land to Hophia is vast, consisting of; grassy fields, the darkest of forests, the highest of mountain terrain, the mysterious of caves, the coldest of snow in the North, and the unexplored of the sky. 

There is many unexplored land along with other small kingdoms, but Hophia is the largest population and most known to man. Shuichi Saihara, the prince and the next heir to the throne, grew up with 3 friends in Hophia. Kaede Akamatsu, Kaito Momota, and Maki Harukawa. They were three civilians who met Shuichi during a festival at childhood, in which Kaito just invited himself to talk to Shuichi, as he was sitting in the area only royals can be in. And dragged Maki along and Kaede followed to make sure nothing goes wrong. 

As the years went by and Kaito, Kaede, and Maki wanted to serve prince Saihara as their friendship grew. So they joined in with the ranks of the knights after knight training. Although Kaito wanted to be in a much higher rank, to be with the royal knights, which is hard to do even with such closeness with his highness. Royal knights are meant to be pure at heart and have to be proven of their strength. 

Kaito, Kaede, and Maki, have just recently become knights so it isn’t likely for Kaito to become a royal knight very soon. 

During one of Kaito’s night patrols, he heard some loud noise in an alley and went to go check it out. There, he spotted a dragon; a creature known in all of the land to be fierce and killed on sight if possible. But this dragon was different...smaller than the usual ones and seemed to be trapped under a bunch of junk and nets that the merchants and craftsmen throw behind alleys. At this point, Kaito wasn’t sure if he should kill the beast, but killing it would most definitely get his chances with the royal knights in more quicker. But...something didn’t sit well with Kaito killing a creature who is defenceless and currently weak. Sure, this dragon can kill Kaito, despite it being stuck in all the junk with his breath. But the dragon didn’t seem to bother to attack Kaito at all, only hiss in defence. It felt wrong. 

He didn’t know why he was doing it but the next thing Kaito knew, he was trying to help the dragon. Knowing full well the dragon might attack when freed but Kaito had confidence he can protect himself. It was hard getting to the creature with it’s hisses and threat to bite, but Kaito was able to soothe it by saying the words, “it’s okay” and “im not going to hurt you”. Which surprisingly, he felt the dragon understood and allowed Kaito to help. Once freed, the dragon quickly try to fly away but couldn’t and failed every time he tried fly. Kaito noticed that the dragon’s wing has been injured and was unsure of what to do next, sure, he can let the dragon run away out of the kingdom. But he knew other knights were patrolling around the area. And he just didn’t want this dragon to be killed when it seemed to be doing nothing wrong. 

It took a lot of effort, but Kaito was able to assist the dragon out of the area and returned back to normal life. Or so he thought. When he got reports of a dragon running around the streets and stealing food or other goods. Surely it can’t be the same dragon that Kaito saved, right? When Kaito was set with other knights to go see if this dragon settled nearby, Kaito managed to see the dragon once again. Hiding in a small cave with all the food and materials he have successfully stolen. Along with cuts and scars, assuming from the knights attacking it when the dragon was in the kingdom. It confused Kaito why this dragon didn’t leave far away from Hophia yet, but then noticed that the dragon’s wing was still wounded. Seemed to be a really bad injury for it to not heal at this point, so Kaito used some of the items that the dragon stole, to make medicine. Which he learned when meeting one of the young healers in training; Mikan. But only knew little of how to make 1 or 2 of the medicine. It was convenient the dragon had these items, perhaps he was planning to make this medicine to begin with? But how would a dragon possibly know of these things? Kaito didn’t know or bother to look further into it, as he applied the medicine to the wing and ripping apart of his cape to bandage it. 

It should’ve been the end there. But Kaito just felt the urge to check on the dragon, and eventually came around to bringing food as well. He also bothered to ask Mikan more of medicine and learning how to brew some up. The dragon eventually got closer and closer to Kaito, to the point where the dragon allowed Kaito to even pet it. The dragon was often weird, and would seem to know how to get on Kaito’s nerves with little tricks like waking up Kaito with a roar all of a sudden. To, stealing his cape, etc. And Kaito would often tell stories of his journey in knight training, plus his hopes and ambitions to the creature. It was odd, but he viewed this dragon as a friend. 

One day, the dragon seemed to have gone. And Kaito assumed his wing was healed up and so he flew off, I guess he didn’t expect such a creature to stay with him forever. Until he met a boy, who seemed to be following Kaito around during his daily patrol. Eventually the boy came up and introduced himself, Kokichi Ouma, and claimed to need help from a “big, strong, handsome knight such as Kaito”. And told the knight to meet him at a specific area as soon as night falls. Kaito wanted to ignore this strange gremlin’s invite, but he had a strong feeling that it was important. And so, just like all of his impulse decisions, he did. Kokichi thanked Kaito when he arrived, thanked “Mr. Knight”. And Kaito was confused as to why, he had never met this boy in his life until now. Kokichi cleared that up when he started to transform just his wings to show. And Kaito knew those wings anywhere, it was the same dragon he helped healed. 

At that point, Kaito was just lost and couldn’t believe that this boy was the same as the dragon he grew a connection to. Kokichi just smiled and just stated, “Im a shifter, silly! Most dragons are, woooow, didn’t know humans can be this stupid”. It was then Kaito preferred this boy as a dragon more, didn’t speak words in his dragon form. As Kokichi gave that vague explanation, he said his goodbyes and ran into the night. Leaving Kaito still bewildered at this discovery. 

Kokichi would return, just to bother and pester Kaito in his knight duties. And so, with Kokichi’s human form, they bonded. And Kaito started to even invite Kokichi to stay at his quarters. “Ooooh, Momota-chan wants me to stay in his bed? How rotten his thoughts are to want to do that to lil ol’ me” “Do you want to fucking sleep on a bed or not? Im perfectly fine with you sleeping in the goddamn cold where you normally stay.”  “ 

OKAY, I DIDN’T PLAN TO WRITE THAT MUCH. But over time, they get closer and eventually, Kaito just started dating Kokichi. And Kokichi kinda introduced himself to Shuichi, Kaede and Maki as his boyfriend. So it was “set in stone”, as Kokichi said.  I HOPE YOU ENJOYED READING THIS AA. 

HERE’S SOME REFS 

Kokichi’s Dragon Form

Human Form

Kaito’s Ref 

[puroresu-musings]

PWG BATTLE OF LOS ANGELES 2019 Final Stage DVD Review  (Sept 22nd, The Globe Theater in Los Angeles, CA.)

Battle of Los Angeles Quarter Finals Match Dragon Lee vs. Jake Atlas  ****1/4

Battle of Los Angeles Quarter Finals Match Bandido vs. Brody King  ***

Battle of Los Angeles Quarter Finals Match Jonathan Gresham vs. A-Kid  ****

Battle of Los Angeles Quarter Finals Match Joey Janela vs. Rey Fenix  ***1/4+

Battle of Los Angeles Quarter Finals Match Darby Allin vs. Penta El Zero M  ***1/2

Battle of Los Angeles Quarter Finals Match David Starr vs. Jeff Cobb  ***1/2

Dark Order (Evil Uno & Stu Grayson) vs. Rey Horus & Aramis  ***1/4

Battle of Los Angeles Semi Finals Match Jonathan Gresham vs. Joey Janela  ***

Battle of Los Angeles Semi Finals Match Bandido vs. Dragon Lee  ****1/2

Battle of Los Angeles Semi Finals Match David Starr vs. Darby Allin  **3/4

Team Ugg (Caveman Ugg, Orange Cassidy, Jungle Boy, Artemis Spencer and Paris DeSilva) vs. Team Taurus (Black Taurus, Mick Moretti, Lucky Kid, Tony Deppen and Kyle Fletcher)  ***3/4

Battle of Los Angeles Finals Match Bandido vs. David Starr vs. Jonathan Gresham  ****

Photos.

It’s that time of the year again; Pro Wrestlig Guerrilla’s annual BOLA tournament. I’d be lying if I said this years line-up filled me with much enthusiasm (beyond living legend Daisuke Sekimoto’s inclusion, of course), but I’d heard this final day was worth checking out, and it certaintly didn’t disappoint. It featured a bunch on great matches, countless madman moves, and if you were playing a drinking game in which you were to take a shot every time someone slapped their thigh, you’d be in an alcohol induced coma by the midway point. PWG is a promotion I’ve sort of fallen out with in the last couple of years. Every now and then they’d have an occasional show that I’d really like (last years BOLA was mostly great), but generally, the roster since mid 2017 hasn’t sparked my enthusiasm, and their shows have just been average more often than not. Well I’m pleased to say this was a return to form of sorts.

Action kicked off with a bang with Dragon Lee’s fantastic, all-action victory of Jake Atlas, which left a lot to follow. Lee had the two best matches on the show here, and I hope wherever he ends up post CMLL split, that he’s featured at the top of the card. Atlas held his own here too, it must be said, though Lee was obviously the standout. There was a crazy sequence where Lee hit a Hurricarana out of the ring, and Atlas took out the front row, and another, straight out of the Hiromu feud, where they traded 8 straight German Suplex’s, then traded reverse rana’s, before Lee hit a running knee strike for a near fall, dropped the knee pad and hit another to advance in 10:55. Bandido’s win over the massive Brody King was good, but couldn’t follow that, and they decided to do a “Lucha” match, which was both impressive, given King’s size, and terribly messy at times. Bandido won with the 21 Plex in 10:40. The Octopus Jonathan Gresham’s win over Spain’s A-Kid was an excellent contest that started off as a compelling technical outing, then broke down into a heated hard-hitter, and was the most “real” looking fight on the entire card. Gresham worked over Kid’s leg all match, and won via ref stoppage after repeatedly stomping on it, and driving the knee into the mat at the 18:03 mark. This was great. 

Joey Janela surprisingly advanced over Fenix in another good match. However, at 15:58, this was much too long, and had it gone 10 minutes, probably would have been much better. Fenix was roughly a hundred times better than Janela in this, but The Bad Boy got the upset after turning Fenix’s mask around, thus ‘blinding’ him, and hitting a super kick for the three. Darby Allin and (the sometimes) Pentagon Jr had a very good outing next which told a compelling story, and featured even better selling by Penta, after Allin bashed his knee with a chair in the early stages. The masked man pulled a tremendous sell-job, needing help getting his leg over the ropes whenever he tried to enter the ring. Of course, they fucked it by doing a piledriver and Canadian Destroyer off a ladder, neither of which were the finish, and Darby just popped up from them, hit some moves and won with a figure four cradle at 16:24. Had it had a different finishing stretch, this too would have great, but alas, they had to epitomise everything that frustrates me about indy wrestling nowadays. David Starr and Jeff Cobb had a very different bout next, it was a fun wrestling match which saw Starr pull off the upset by defeating last years winner, and current PWG World Champ, Cobb after nailing him with a belt shot behind ref Aubrey Edwards back (which would later play into Starr’s semi final bout), then hitting a massive Lariat to advance in 11:15. Post intermission, the former Super Smash Bros., now Dark Order defeated the Lucha tandem of Rey Horus and youngster Aramis. This was another good match-up, but I wasn’t too invested in this. Dark Order won after hitting their cool Fatality finish on Aramis at 14:48.

BOLA semi final action commenced with Gresham making short work (8:30) of Joey Janela, in a fun little sprint (which did needlessly feature Gresham kicking at one form a Package Piledriver). Apparently, Janela has won all his tourney matches with a super kick, but Gresham kicked out here, which threw the Bad Boy, resulting in him ‘losing it’ and throwing a bunch of chairs into the ring, which he was Germaned onto. The Octopus locked on the Manjigatame for the submission win. Dragon Lee and Bandido had the match of the night next. This was something of a dream match, and whilst it was a wild 12 minute all-actioner, I can’t help but wish they went maybe 5 minutes longer here. Regardless of this, the match was still excellent stuff indeed, and we know what to expect here; Lee hit a tope suicida maybe 4 rows deep, and Bandido hit an Orihara moonsault that literally grazed the balcony. They went full-speed, hit all of their signature spots, before Dragon Lee no-sold a top rope Moonsault Powerslam, and scored a near fall with a devastating top rope Desnucadora. Bandido countered a Powerbomb into a Destroyer, then hit the 21 Plex, but rolled through into a Deadlift German for the win. The crowd showered the ring in dollars in the post-match, whilst Bandido got them to chant “Please Come Back” at Lee. And in the third semi final, David Starr was victorious of Darby Allin in the weakest, and shortest, match on the show. The main story here was Starr trying to bully and intimidate referee Aubrey Edwards, pushing her around, before she finally shoved him to the mat to a huge pop, all the while Darby just... lay around. As Allin made a comeback, Starr caught a Coffin Drop into a Powerbomb backbreaker, then got the win at 5:39 with another big Lariat.

The prerequisite ridiculous BOLA 10 man of first round losers followed, and it was just as preposterous as previous years, if probably a little more entertaining. This started as just a comedy outing, but turned into a highspot fest. Team captains Ugg and Taurus’ exchange was the highlight here, as both powerhouses bealed their teammates into one another in order to bring the other down, but to no avail. There was all kinds of crazy shit here; everyone hit a big dive, Cassidy did a nonchalant balcony dive, Moretti was nearly killed in a terrifying reverse rana Tower Of Doom spot, the massive Ugg followed that up with a Phoenix Splash (!!!), the dinky Paris DeSilva hit a Shooting Star DDT (!!!), then Cassidy pinned Tony Deppen with a cradle at 25:49 to win for his team. Yes, it was silly, yes, it was overly long, but it was a ton of fun. And finally, Jonathan Gresham, Bandido, and David Starr faced off in the elimination 3-way 2019 BOLA Finals. As a triple threat, this was great stuff, they got so much out of a figure four, it was unbelievable. Starr was first eliminated after Gresham locked him in Manjigatame and started raining down hammer fists, which prompted referee Rick Knox to call for the bell for a ref stoppage elimination. This boiled down to Gresham and Bandido, and they had a nice back-and-forth, which saw The Octopus kick out of a 21 Plex. He then once again locked in the Manjigatame and started hitting the hammer fists, and Knox again teased the stoppage to great drama, but Bandido powered out with a Samoan Drop. The masked man then took Gresham up top and hit a reverse version of his Moonsault Powerslam, and hit the tournament winning 21 Plex to claim to trophy at the 23:26 mark. Bandido celebrated with his father and brother, and Dragon Lee in the post match, and promised to beat Jeff Cobb for the title in the future.

PWG is in a strange impasse at the minute; most of their key talent has been swallowed up by either AEW or NXT, and I don’t see either of their top guys, Bandido and Jeff Cobb, not being snatched up when eithers contracts with ROH are up, and where PWG goes then is anyone’s guess. I certaintly don’t see them knocking out shows of the same quality of years gone by. Of course, there’s always a chance they become a kind of unofficial developmental league for AEW. However, despite this potential black cloud, the Cali rebels produced a great show here. It was 3 and a half hours, but never dragged, and featured nothing that could be seen as less than good, and a whole bunch of great (though nothing could touch last years final, in my opinion). Also, I can’t review a BOLA without going on my annual production rant, but for God sake guys, it is 2019. Surely we’ve advanced beyond these shows being filmed on a single hardcam, and a lone handheld around ringside. It’s so RF Video circa 2002, its ridiculous. Especially when promotions such as AAW look great nowadays. Please sort the presentation of these DVD’s out. Thanks.

NDT

[junker-town]

T.J. Watt is showing he’s more than just J.J.’s little brother 

T.J. Watt has been a star for the Steelers and could vault himself into the Defensive Player of the Year race.

It’s too bad that it might have taken another injury to his brother for T.J. to get noticed. Retired defensive end Stephen White explains why the Steelers’ young pass rusher is the real deal.

Earlier this season while I was working on Nick Bosa’s ”post-draft breakdown,” I noticed that both he and his brother, Joey, had at least three sacks at that point in the season. That got me a little curious, so I decided to check in on the other dynamic duo of edge rushing brothers, J.J. and his “little” brother T.J. Watt, to see what kind of seasons they were having statistically. That’s when I noticed that both of them also had at least three sacks after the fifth week of the season.

I watch all of the games every week, and it was apparent that all four guys were playing well, beyond just their sack totals. I started to muse that there was a good chance all four of them would make Pro Bowl at the end of this year.

If it were to happen and two sets of brothers were named to the Pro Bowl all at practically the same position, that would be unprecedented. Both J.J. and T.J. Watt made it last year, and Joey Bosa was selected in 2017. Back when I was writing Nick’s breakdown, I thought he might end up having a hard time breaking through just because he is a rookie. Since then, however, he has turned it on.

Of that foursome, T.J. Watt is the least heralded

While his big brother was drafted 11th overall, and both Bosas went in the top three, T.J. hung around until the 30th pick. It is worth noting that T.J., who is in his third year in the NFL, has a career high of 13 sacks, which is a half a sack more than Joey’s career high of 12.5.

Sacks are not the only measurement of an edge rusher’s impact. But what I’m saying here is while you may hear a little more about the other guys, T.J. definitely belongs in the conversation with them, too.

Fast forward to this past Sunday and the Bosas certainly did their part to keep pushing closer to a Pro Bowl berth. Nick was absolutely dominant in the 49ers’ rout of the Panthers, with three sacks and an interception, while Joey showed out in the Chargers’ comeback win over the Chicago Bears in which he posted two sacks of his own. Their combined five sacks broke the NFL record for sacks credited to brothers on the same day of the season.

Care to hazard a guess at who previously owned that record?

Yep, that’s right. The Watts had four sacks combined in Week 5 of last season to tie the record with Jimmy and Toby Williams, who also accomplished the feat back in 1985.

Unfortunately, Sunday wouldn’t go nearly as well for the Watt family.

J.J. left the Texans’ game in the middle of the second quarter after suffering an injury. A few hours after the game, he took to social media to announce that the injury would knock him out for the rest of the season. I can’t imagine how disappointing that news must have been for him after he bounced back from multiple injuries in the prime of his career. Selfishly, I was also a little upset because I just love watching the guy play football.

However, injuries are a part of the game, as anyone who has played will tell you, and the show must always go on. While I am sure T.J. was pretty bummed about his brother’s injury as well, he still had a game of his own to play on Monday night.

T.J. Watt biggest play against the Dolphins was a three-step masterpiece

As it turns out, the winless Dolphins still have some fight in them even with such a terrible start to their season. After an interception and a turnover on downs on the Steelers’ first two series, T.J. and his team found themselves down 14-0 right out of the gate on Monday night. The Steelers eventually got the lead in the third quarter, but it was a tight game throughout. Not only could T.J. not afford to be distracted by his brother’s situation, he would need to turn in one of his best performances of the year to help close out the game.

I want to point out probably the most impactful play he made in the second half on Monday night.

By the middle of the fourth quarter, the Steelers had pulled ahead 24-14 and were looking to close the door. The Dolphins had the ball at their own 28-yard line after their defense forced a punt.

The Dolphins came out with their quarterback, Ryan Fitzpatrick, in shotgun with two receivers and a tight end to his right, one wide receiver to his left, and the running back offset to his left beside him.

T.J. Watt was lined up at his usual spot on the left defensive edge in a nine-technique outside of the tight end. On the snap, tight end Mike Gesicki went right into his route straight up the field, leaving Dolphins right tackle Jesse Davis all by his lonesome to block Watt in space.

In about three seconds, here’s everything Watt did to help the Steelers secure the victory.

Step 1: Used a quick move to get by the OL

Watt got off the ball and took five hard steps in a flash to sell a speed rush and get Davis to bail out of his pass set.

On that fifth step, Watt planted his foot in the ground hard while simultaneously clubbing Davis’ inside (left) shoulder with Watt’s inside (right) hand. In one fluid motion, Watt executed what was essentially a jump cut inside of Davis while doing a quick arm-over with his outside (left) arm literally right over Davis’ head.

Step 2: Got to the quarterback

Watt was so quick with it that Davis couldn’t stop his feet to try to recover and step back. Instead, Davis could only manage to try lunge as Watt slipped by him inside, barely making contact with Watt at all. At the very last minute, Dolphins right guard Chris Reed noticed Watt had beaten Davis inside, but with Watt turning on the jets, Reed just couldn’t get over quick enough to help.

Step 3: Forced and recovered a fumble

Unsatisfied with just getting a sack, Watt made the most of his opportunity and reached with his inside (right) hand first for Fitzpatrick’s jersey, then for the ball. Watt snatched the football right out of Fitzpatrick’s hands and took him to the ground. Watt ended up flipping over with the ball securely in his hands, and it all happened so quickly that it took a second for it to register with the refs what had just happened.

In the blink of an eye, Watt had forced a turnover and nipped that Fitzmagic in the bud.

The Steelers’ offense took over from the Dolphins’ 22-yard line and went on to extend their lead to 17 points by making field goal. That was definitely the kind of play, both in terms of skill needed to make it and impact, that you would expect a Pro Bowl-type player to make.

T.J. Watt could find himself in the Defensive Player of the Year race

Well, my daydream of two sets of brothers making the Pro Bowl may be over after J.J.’s injury, but don’t be surprised if T.J. Watt not only still makes it, but also jumps into the Defensive Player of the Year discussion by the end of the season, too. His two sacks in Week 8 gave him six for the season, which is just off the seven that both of the Bosa brothers have now.

With Ben Roethlisberger out for the year, if the 3-4 Steelers some how manage to claw their way back into the playoff hunt, you can bet that T.J. will have been a big part of that effort. Even if they don’t make the playoffs, there is a very good chance that T.J. will still go on to have the kind of monster year that would make him hard to ignore in any DPOY conversation.

It is a shame that it might have taken another injury to his brother for T.J. to escape from his shadow, considering how well T.J. has played in his own right since being drafted in 2017. But if it is the case that you hadn’t been paying much attention to T.J. until now, this is the perfect time to get familiar because that guy is a friggin’ beast on the field.

Yes, T.J. isn’t quite on J.J.’s level, but he is a damn good player, nonetheless. He’s the real deal, not just a dude riding his big brother’s coattails. Everyone would be wise to recognize that, because it is looking more and more likely that T.J. is going to be kicking ass for a very long time in this league.

[carryonmylovelies]

#13, PITCH

Rating: T

Tags: Soccer/Football, Outsider POV, Simon Snow, Baz Pitch, My OC Michael Torres, Fluff, Humor

Word count: 4685

Summary: Michael Torres loves football. His favorite team is Watford F.C. and his favorite player is a clever, speedy center defender. He meets a weird, curly-haired Watford fan at a Sunday match and it gets super mental from there.

Read on AO3

AN: This is the first time I've written anything since a lot of stuff in my life happened and I am just so happy to be posting again!! :D I wrote this after going to my favorite soccer team's game and just focused on making it fun. Alsooooo hAPPY BIRTHDAY BAZ!!!!

I'm dedicating it to my BEST friend Theo @bazypitchandsimonsnow because she encouraged me and gave me so much confidence and affirmation about my writing and stuff in my life and I just love her so much and literally it's all on her for being such an inspiration. Love you <3

Michael Torres loved football. More specifically, he loved Watford F.C., the Premier League football team of Hertfordshire, England. He loved everything about them. They were the Hornets, the Golden Boys, standing 8th in the league but quickly gathering speed as they swallowed up wins left and right. They were a team full of young, enthusiastic men with a certain insatiable hunger for victory and they were only getting better. Michael had been watching them play for as long as he could remember; recognizing their striking black and yellow and red colors before he even recognized his own name. Match days were considered to be religious events. Season tickets were a necessity. He owned at least three different jerseys in their classic black and yellow stripes, two different jerseys in their away colors of forest green, and various jerseys with the numbers and last names of all his favorite players. He was obsessed, utterly in love with his home football team of Watford.

At four o’clock today Watford would be playing against Manchester City, the number 1 rated team in the League. It was going to be one hell of a match.

                                                        ***

“DROP BACK, ROLDAN. LOOK UP AND SEE CARSON, COME ON! HE’S OPEN, HE’S OPEN . . . NO! NO! YOU HAVE NUMBER 23 UP YOUR ARSE, LOOK LEFT AND SEE . . . WAIT! YES! BRILLIANT RECOVERY! NOW TAKE IT, TAKE IT, UP THE SIDELINES, YES YES! CROSS TO HENDERSON AND . . . NOOOOOO!” Michael yelled, sumping back into his blue stadium chair as he miserably watched Manchester’s star midfielder sweep in and steal the ball right from under Watford’s rookie right forward, Ben Roldan, dribbling for a moment before rearing back and sending the ball flying back towards Watford’s half of the field.

Michael sighed and took a sip from the soda he had bought before the match had started. All around him, a sea of people were waving yellow and black and red flags frantically, the Watford badge as well as the Manchester badge rippling in the late afternoon wind. People were shouting and cheering at the top of their lungs and the sun shone brightly on the field, stark white lines of paint marking the green grass and aligning perfectly with the two large goals on either end of the field. Popcorn was spilled all over the cement ground and fans were munching on pretzels and nachos. Kids were giggling with their faces sticky and pink from the large cones of candy floss they were shoving into their mouths. There had to be at least twenty-thousand people filling the slightly uncomfortable stadium seats, maybe more, and there was a thrumming, tangible sort of energy hanging in the air that everyone appeared to be feeling.

It was about thirty minutes into the first half and Manchester was up 2 to 1, but Watford wasn’t far behind. They had been pushing the ball into Manchester’s half and taking more shots on goal, and Watford’s fans could feel the determination and perseverance rolling off of their players in waves. It was a strong match so far and Watford had been mostly attacking--that made sense since they had such an unstoppable team of forwards, but unfortunately Manchester wasn’t one to stay on the defense for very long.

Manchester’s up-and-coming forward, Number 42, was now streaking down the middle of the field, weaving through Watford’s midfielders and almost getting close enough for a scoring shot when a flash of black and yellow sprinted towards the attacking forward and neatly pulled away the ball in one smooth motion. The crowd of Watford fans were up on their feet in an instant screaming and cheering with all their might--Michael being one of them--as Watford’s wicked center defender, Basil Pitch, took two long strides up the sidelines and then delivered a devastating kick to the ball. It sailed over the heads of Manchester’s forwards and midfielders and completed its arc right above Jordy Benson, Watford’s left forward. Benson jumped up and trapped the ball with his chest, letting it roll to his feet and settle for a quarter of second before tapping the ball in front of him and taking off towards Manchester’s goal.

The crowd absolutely exploded as Benson lined up for the shot and then slammed the ball in the direction of the goal, everyone cheering and shouting as loudly as they could. Manchester’s goalie had adopted a wide stance and was shuffling back and forth as the ball came barreling towards him, and then made a spectacular dive a second later. The ball hit the goalie’s stomach and the goalie instantly curled around it, falling to the ground having successfully blocked the shot. Watford’s fans all groaned in disappointment but commented to one another that it had been an excellent save, even though Benson’s shot didn’t make it in.

Michael sat back down as the Manchester goalie threw the ball to his closest teammate and the back and forth between Manchester defenders and Watford forwards resumed, the ball being quickly passed and bounced from player to player.

Michael wasn’t happy about the missed shot, sure, but mostly he was still reeling from how skillfully Pitch had recovered the ball, at how Pitch had basically handed the ball to Benson in order for the shot to be made. It was unreal.

Michael looked down proudly at the black and yellow jersey he was wearing, feeling confident in the name and number that was on his back in white, block letters. ‘PITCH’ was curved across Michael’s shoulder blades and a large ‘13’ sat directly underneath it. He had bought the jersey after the first game of the season, after Pitch had made so many saves and recoveries for his team that Michael didn’t even think the ball or any of the opposing team’s players got anywhere near Watford’s goal.

They were about halfway through the season and Pitch had been continuously defending the everloving fuck out of Watford’s goal, catching the attention of not only the public and die hard football fans, but the other teams and players in the league as well. He was a force to be bloody reckoned with.

A burst of noise from the crowd around him and movement on the field took Michael back to his feet as he watched Pitch sprinting up the field, his long legs pumping furiously as he darted in and out of Manchester’s forwards, the ball dancing between his black cleats and a Manchester midfielder practically on his arse. The midfielder shoved himself up against Pitch’s shoulder, driving him towards the sidelines, but Pitch resisted, somehow managing to keep his speed and position despite the extra force working against him. The midfielder tried again and again to throw Pitch off but nothing was making him budge.

Michael cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “STAY ON HIM, PITCH. DON’T LET UP ON THE WANKER!”

The fans around him were shouting out similar comments and Michael couldn’t take his eyes off the two of them.

The midfielder seemed to be getting frustrated, and once again he reared back and slammed himself into Pitch. Or tried to, at least. At the very last minute, Pitch slid the ball behind him and gracefully stepped backwards, the midfielder missing him completely and falling roughly to the ground at Pitch’s feet. The crowd roared in approval, Michael pumping his fist in the air when suddenly he heard the shrill tweet of a whistle being blown, and anger rushed through him. A side referee was holding up the small, red and yellow checkered flag towards the sky, indicating a free kick.

The crowd exploded into yells and jeers.

“OI, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT, REF? WHAT’S THE FUCKING CALL?”

“NO! NO! WHAT A BLOODY TERRIBLE CALL. PITCH DIDN’T EVEN TOUCH THE GIT HE JUST STEPPED BACK! THE GIT WAS PUSHING!”

“YOU ABSOLUTE DUMBARSE WHAT’S THE GODDAMN CALL? THAT WASN’T A BLOODY FOUL.”

A second later the announcer explained the call.

“Due to tripping and unnecessary roughness from number 13, a free kick will be awarded to Manchester.”

“BOOOOO,” Michael yelled, his face furrowed in frustration. “THAT WASN’T BLOODY FUCKING TRIPPING! ‘UNNECESSARY ROUGHNESS’ MY ARSE, PITCH WASN’T EVEN--”

But Michael was cut off by a much louder, more aggressive shout.

“OI, REF, GET OFF YOUR BLOODY KNEES AND STOP BLOWING THE MATCH! THAT WASN’T A FOUL AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT!”

Michael snorted and looked to his left at the seat next to him, noticing a bloke around his age yelling at the field, his face bright red. The bloke looked over and Michael nodded back in agreement.

“The ref IS blowing the bloody match! Pitch didn’t even touch the dumbfuck, let alone TRIP him!” Michael exclaimed, shaking his head as he glanced back at the field, watching Manchester set up for their free kick.

“Christ, I know!” The bloke responded, throwing up his hands and groaning. “I swear to shit, it’s like these refs are TRYING to make the worst possible calls they can. They’ve been at it all season. It’s fucking mental out there.”

Michael nodded again and both of them looked out at the field in disgust as the free kick landed the ball right in front of Manchester’s star midfielder.

About two minutes later, another shrill whistle blow sounded, this time signaling the end of the first half. The players all exited the field through their respective corners and Michael and the bloke sat down next to him. The bloke then turned to Michael and extended his hand.

“Hey mate, I’m Simon. Nice to meet you.”

Michael clasped Simon’s hand and shook it. “Same here. I’m Michael.”

Simon smiled warmly at him and then turned his head distractedly at the sound of a woman’s voice shouting about the snacks and drinks she was selling from the tray she carried, and he quickly hailed her over and bought a large bag of kettle corn, a pretzel, and a bottle of soda.

Michael looked at him as he began to eat. Simon had a mess of curls on top of his head, loads of freckles and moles dotted all over his face and neck, and plain blue eyes. He was shoving handfuls of popcorn into his mouth at a fantastic rate and seemed quite unbothered by the many kernels that had escaped his grasp and were now gathering in his lap. But what really drew Michael’s attention was the jacket Simon was wearing. It was a black zip-up athletic jacket, the words “The Watford Hornets” written on the back in yellow lettering, and the red and yellow Watford badge on the front in the corner. Michael had seen the jacket being worn before, but only by the players, and usually during the colder months when the players needed something to cover up with before matches. Michael wondered where Simon had got it from. Maybe the team shop had started selling them and he just didn’t know about it yet? He doubted it; Michael knew everything the shop sold since he owned most of it himself.

“Hey, uh, Simon, where’d you get that coat, mate? Team shop?”

Simon looked down at the jacket and smiled, his cheeks turning slightly red as his eyes glittered.

“It’s my boyfriend’s. He gave it to me to wear for the match today,” Simon said fondly, rubbing his thumb over the sleeve.

“Oh nice,” Michael responded, noting that Simon still hadn’t answered his question as to where the jacket came from and was about to ask him again when Simon abruptly got up. He was clutching his phone with a huge grin on his face and then practically sprinted down the cement aisle, his hand flying over the metal railing. Michael watched as he stumbled over the last four steps and simply jumped straight to the ground. He then melted into the crowd of people who were getting up to go to the bathroom and to get food before the second half started.

Huh.

Michael didn’t really know what someone could possibly do for less than fifteen minutes during the halftime of a football match that would be exciting enough to literally fall down the stairs for but hey, more power to the bloke.

Michael already had his drink and he wasn’t really hungry so he was content to just sitting in his seat and watching other fans mill about. The goal posts were casting long shadows down the field as the sun began to slip from the sky, and the huge lights along the edges of the stadium clicked on, flooding the stands and the field with brightness as everything outside darkened.

When there were only about four minutes left until the second half, the players made their way back onto the field, stretching and getting set up in their positions, only now they were on the opposite side of the field they had started the match on. Michael briefly scanned Watford’s half and noticed that the center defender spot was strangely empty. A second later, Pitch could be seen jogging out from the sidelines and into position, his shoulder-length inky black hair flying around loosely for a moment before he seemed to realize it wasn’t tied in his usual low ponytail. Weird, Michael thought, as Pitch quickly tied his hair back up and began to stretch.

And even weirder still, Simon collapsed into the stadium seat next to Michael’s a minute later, completely out of breath, his face and neck a startling shade of scarlet. Michael couldn’t really tell if Simon’s curls had gotten neater or more messed up since the last time he had seen them, but they definitely looked different.

“Alright, mate?” Michael asked, raising his eyebrows at Simon’s completely disheveled state.

Simon looked at him in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten Michael was there at all. “Oh, er, yeah I’m fine. Just wanted to make sure I was back in time for the start of the match, is all.”

“Ah, well, not to worry. You made it with two minutes to spare.”

Simon nodded at him happily and then sank lower in his seat, rubbing his hands on his face as he exhaled loudly, his breaths quickly turning into low laughs. What a weird bloke.

Michael leaned forward to grab his drink from the cup holder in front of him when Simon gasped excitedly, smiling at him when he sat back up.

“Your jersey! Are you a Pitch fan?”

Michael looked at Simon as if he had just asked Michael if he liked breathing air. Was he a Pitch fan. The more appropriate question would be to ask who wasn’t a Pitch fan.

“Of course I am. He’s only the most brilliant defender of all the F.C.’s in England and the U.K.!”

Simon looked pleasantly amused. “Oh yeah?”

“Uh, yeah! He’s in the best season of his entire career and has one of the strongest defense records in League history! He plays every match like it’s his last and he never backs down from an opponent. He’s agile, ruthless, and shit, he’s fucking fast. What, are you a Pitch fan?”

Simon looked at him and promptly burst out laughing but Michael didn’t see what was so funny. When he calmed down, his huge grin had shrunk to a small smile in the corner of his mouth. Sort of  . . . smirk-ish.

“Me, a Pitch fan? You could say that. He’s alright, I guess. Seems like a bit of a prick to me.”

Simon then turned his head to stare at the field with a soft expression on his face.

Michael spluttered, “A . . . a prick? Isn’t a bit rude of you to call him a prick? I mean, you don’t even know him.”

Simon laughed again. “I dunno; I think it’s the hair. Awfully pretentious, all black and silky and shit. And don’t even talk to me about that bloody ponytail he always puts it in. Makes him look like a git if you ask me.”

Michael didn’t know quite how to respond to that.

“And would you look at that face? Like he’s ten seconds away from biting you or cursing you out in front of your mum? That’s the face of a prick right there.”

Michael looked at Simon, dumbfounded, but Simon just kept on smiling and gazing out at the field as if his comments were completely meaningless. Coming out of his mouth the insults sounded mostly truthful, but that whole effect was kind of shattered when Simon looked like he was about to rest his hand against his cheek and sigh dreamily to himself. Michael thought that Simon was possibly a bit bonkers. Nice, of course, but still bonkers.

Just then a whistle was blown and Michael looked at the field in time to see Roldan start the kick-off. The ball was directly passed to Benson who in turn sent it spiraling towards Watford’s right midfielder, Terrance Kelly. Kelly quickly leaped up and slammed his forehead against the ball, sending it flying all the way back to Watford’s defensive line. Pitch quickly stepped up and settled the ball instantly with one of his thighs, peeled around a straggling Manchester forward, and then sped away up the sideline until he had a clear shot to one of his teammates.

For the next twenty minutes, Michael and Simon and all of the other Watford fans watched eagerly as forwards Roldan and Benson made multiple shots on Manchester’s goal, the crowd screaming their bloody heads off once one of the shots finally made it into the goal.

Everyone cheered and yelled as Pitch made another few spectacular recoveries and blocks, slick as an oil spill, and even though the bloke obviously seemed to have mixed feelings about the brilliant defender, Simon was always, always, the one cheering the loudest.

As the end of the second half drew nearer, another weird thing happened. One of the bigger blokes of Manchester’s forwards was charging through the defensive line on the way to Watford’s goal, Pitch sprinted towards him, prepared to smoothly slide the ball away from the forward and get it back to up his attacking teammates. However, when Pitch was in the process of stealing the ball, the forward shifted into a lower position and dug his shoulder into Pitch’s chest, shoving him back and causing him to fall to the ground at an odd angle.

Simon was the first one to jump to his feet, worry and concern etched into his twisted expression. His fists were clenched and his eyes were locked onto the spot where Pitch was lying on the green field. After another moment, Pitch visibly sat up and grabbed the hand of a nearby teammate, quickly standing and then brushing the grass off of his black shorts and football socks. Then, once everyone had shifted back into position, Pitch gave a brief thumbs up towards Michael’s side of the crowd, and Simon exhaled and sat back down.

Seriously, Michael just did not get Simon. At all. But at least Pitch was alright. Michael had to admit, it could have been a pretty nasty fall. Watford was incredibly lucky that their best defender wasn’t actually injured.

***

The match was two minutes from ending, Manchester and Watford tied 2 to 2, and Benson had made another shot on goal and missed, the ball hitting the crossbar and bouncing back into the chaos of defenders and forwards. The crowd was losing their goddamn minds as the ball flew from player to player, people screaming to clear it out of the penalty box, to make the shot, to block the ball, to pass it out of bounds. Everyone seemed to think that the command they shouted at the field was the one that should be followed.

But no one expected the ball to go rogue.

No one expected the ball to be kicked out of the cluster of players scrambling to make a play. And certainly no one expected a clever, speedy defender to take two steps, leap into the air, and slam his head into the spinning, spiraling ball.

Everyone watched in complete shock and surprise, Michael in utter joy, as the ball made its fantastic arc over the defenders of Manchester and the forwards of Watford, and then brushed over the Manchester’s goalie’s outstretched hands, the goalie’s fingers just a centimeter away. And then the ball punched deep into the net of the goal as the stadium erupted into total pandemonium.

Michael’s throat felt raw from screaming and his face felt as if it was about to split in two as he smiled.

It was insane. It was incredible. It was bloody fucking mental.

Basil Pitch, number 13, center defender, scored a winning goal in the last thirty seconds of the match against the number 1 rated team in the Premier League, with his fucking head.

It was a sight for the gods.

Michael felt as if history was being written right in front of his eyes. And he had been right there to see it.

Michael turned to Simon, a feeling of euphoria in his veins, to see Simon looking as if he was about to cry. Of course, his smile was so big Michael was afraid it was going to consume his whole face, but his blue eyes were wet, and his cheeks were crimson.

Michael watched Simon’s lips move, unable to hear what he was saying due to the deafening volume of the Watford fans around them, and then Simon threw himself out into the cement aisle, clutching onto the railing as he half-fell half-sprinted down the stairs, his curls bouncing wildly.

“Alright, bye!” Michael called after Simon, waving as though his best mate was leaving. He was just so happy . . .

Simon whipped right back around, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Oh, uh, wait! Wait! I, uh, I know we don’t know each other very well yet, but, uh, you’re really nice! And cool! And, uh, I have to go like, right now otherwise I’m going to die but, uh, I want to properly say goodbye! And you can meet my boyfriend! You would like him! Meet me down on the first level of the stadium, by the elevators! See you! ” Simon yelled, speaking so quickly Michael could barely understand him. And when Michael finally processed what Simon had said so he could politely decline, Simon was long gone. Fuck.

Michael sat back down in his slightly uncomfortable stadium chair and exhaled loudly, laughing shakily as he held his head in his hands. This had to be the best, weirdest, most fucking mental Watford F.C. match he had ever attended in his entire life. It felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. And now, after this huge, godly win, he was supposed to go meet some random stranger’s boyfriend? Fucking hell.

Then again, Michael figured he might as well go because how could things get any better or weirder than they already were? Plus, Michael could ask Simon’s boyfriend where he got that Watford athletic jacket! He really did want one of those jackets . . .

Michael resolutely decided to stay behind an extra twenty minutes. He waited until the crowds had mostly dispersed from the stands since there was always a flood of people trying to leave the stadium after matches ended. Michael got a refill on his soda, drank it, and browsed the team shop. The jacket definitely wasn’t in there. Now he was really curious as to where the jacket came from. He glanced at his phone and figured he had given Simon about twenty minutes.

Michael took the elevator down to the first level of the stadium and stepped out, looking around for Simon and his boyfriend. There was a coffee shop a few feet away and another couple places to get snacks, but no sign of the weird, curly haired bloke and his boyfriend.

Michael was about to get back into the elevator and go home, figuring Simon had just forgotten in his excitement, but then he heard a low sound coming from around the corner near the elevators, and stepped around to see what was there.

Oh fuck no.

Michael could tell it was Simon because Simon’s back was turned to him, and Michael recognized the jacket and the hair. But Simon wasn’t alone. There was one pale arm wrapped around Simon’s waist and one around his neck. Michael could see that two long legs were between Simon’s, and the sounds Michael had heard were . . . moans.

Michael cringed and averted his eyes to the ground, not wanting to disturb or invade their private moment more than he already had. He started to walk back around the corner, but something caught his eye. A pair of sleek, black cleats, attached to the legs between Simon’s.Cleats. Michael couldn’t help himself, he looked up farther and saw black football socks, shin guards, and a pair of black shorts. Michael looked to the side and spied a flash of black and yellow. The jacket, the comments, the weird looks on Simon's face during the match; they all made sense now to him now.

Simon’s boyfriend was a Watford football player.

Michael gasped loudly and then instantly cursed himself as Simon and his boyfriend quickly turned around, embarrassed at being caught and--

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Oh motherfucking bloody hell.

Simon gave Michael a small smile, blush high on his cheeks.

“Oh, hey! Hey, Michael. Glad you could, uh, make it. This is my boyfrien--”

“Basil Pitch,” Michael choked out, his face flushed.

Simon’s boyfriend wasn’t just a Watford football player he was . . . he was Basil Pitch. Number 13. Pitch. The brilliant center defender of Watford F.C.

So . . . yeah. Basil Pitch was in front of him. Still in his uniform. His hair falling out of his ponytail and framing his face. His arm tightly wrapped around Simon’s waist.

The air was out of Michael’s lungs. Oh look, his stomach was on the floor. Just normal, regular things.

Pitch laughed coolly.

Michael stared, his eyes most likely obnoxiously wide, as Basil Pitch stepped up to him and offered Michael his hand.

“Well, you obviously already know me. But I haven’t had the pleasure. Your name is Michael?”

“Yes,” Michael squeaked as he put his shaking hand into Pitch’s and shook it. His hand was smooth and a little cold. It was definitely the best thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life.

Pitch smirked. “Nice to meet you, Michael. Thank you for keeping an eye on this bloody prat while I was busy scoring goals.”

Simon rounded on Pitch and pretended to be angry, kissing his cheek viciously as he growled. “Oh shut the fuck up, Baz, you pretentious arsehole. Michael was being cool and you don’t have to be a git every time I make a new friend.”

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?”

Michael then cleared his throat because he was a little terrified of the wicked way Pitch was looking at Simon and also of the way that Simon was moving his hands up Pitch’s chest . . . yeah he definitely needed to leave.

“So, uh I’m, uh, just gonna go . . .”

“Oh, sorry, Michael!” Simon exclaimed, quickly taking his hands off of Pitch and opting to hold his hand instead. “Uh, sometimes we forget--” he elbowed Pitch in the side and Pitch snapped his teeth at Simon “--where we are and we get a little carried away. So we’re gonna have to cut this a little short. But do you wanna come to our flat for dinner sometime? We can make it up to you!”

Michael blanched, “Oh, that’s okay, I--”

“Here!” Simon dug into his pocket, grabbed his phone, tapped it a few times, and then thrust it at Michael. “Put your number in.”

Michael took the phone and then gave it back a minute later. He did not remember actually typing in his number but he must have because Simon smiled at him, Pitch smirked, and they both waved goodbye, their arms around each other as they walked away.

And then Michael fainted.

(Just an fyi, Watford F.C. is an actual team in the Premier League and I could not pass up the opportunity of making Baz play for a team called Watford, I mean come on. So he's not playing for the school, he's playing for the Premier League team. All of the other players mentioned are either names I made up or names I pulled from other soccer players but then changed either the first or the last name)

[daniellesimagines]

Shoot Your Shot [SOCCER!CAL AU]

submitted by @calinthewatermelonshirt

The game was tied at 2 and Bia’s team only had a few minutes left on the clock to score. “Time out!” She called out to the ref, and he nodded at her. Bia had the authority as captain and the team huddled around her. 

“Here’s the plan: We’re doing the new drill we just learned in practice. I know it’s kind of new, but you guys know what to do.” 

The team fanned out, ready for the drop ball Bia was sure to win. The soccer match had gone exactly as she had expected so far: close. Bia and a player from the opposing team stood face to face with the ref holding the ball between them. Then it happened: he dropped the ball and Bia was off like a shot. Immediately she pounced on the ball, spinning away from the player. 

“Man on!” Bia heard her best friends shouting from the stands, warning her that there was a player closing in on her. They didn’t however, warn her that there were three of them. 

It made sense to her, though. The Tigers were never afraid of playing dirty, and seeing as she was the captain and one of, if not the, best players on the team, it put a huge target on Bia’s back. She and the team had planned or this, though. In attacking Bia so strong, they had left their defense with more holes in it than a 5-year-old’s smile. 

Seeing an opening, she passed the ball to Sophie, another of her best friends and fellow forward, and sprinted ahead, ready to receive the ball again. Sophie passed the ball through the other players legs, careful to get the timing exactly right so as to not be caught off-sides. 

With only Bia and opposing goalie left, she practically dribbled the ball into the goal and pulled ahead, leaving the other team only seconds to get the point back. Bia guessed that they knew they were losing the match anyways, because as soon as the whistle blew, they ignored the ball all together and started attacking her team instead. 

It wasn’t long before there was an all-out fight going on. Bia was battling the other team’s captain and she was kicking her ass, too. It was a bit of an uphill battle, though. 

Bia wasn’t a small girl by any means – standing at 5′10 and having a few pounds of muscle from playing soccer since she was 5 – but this girl was about 6′0 feet and 180 pounds of pure spite. The opposing captain got a good hit on Bia – she was sure was gonna bruise – but she still won in the end with a well-placed elbow and a cracking noise that signaled broken nose. 

The ref broke it up soon after, and called the match, declaring Bia’s team, the Bears, the winners. She cheered and smiled along with the rest of her team, happy the match had gone her way. Bia’s friends flooded the field – Ashton, Luke, Michael and Calum sweeping her up with hugs and congratulations. 

“I can’t believe you actually went through with it.” Bia grinned from ear to ear. 

“With what?” Ashton teased and then the boys all turned around, showing off their matching jerseys with Bia’s last name and number on the back. 

“I guess it wasn’t my week, huh?” Sophie jogged over and hugged the boys, too. 

“You, my dear, are in desperate need of a shower.” Luke crinkled his nose at Bia. It had rained the day before, and combined with the rough match, meant she was caked head to toe with mud. 

“I am in need of a shot.” Bia declared, wanting to celebrate with her best friends.

“I’ll second that, captain.” Sophie came up behind her and slung and equally muddy arm over your shoulders. 

“No way. We have our match tomorrow, remember? None of us are allowed to be drunk or even mildly hungover.” Calum, the boys’ team captain, warned. 

“Fine.” Bia whined, “I’m going to clean up and go to bed. See you tomorrow for pregame.” The boys all said good bye and she and Sophie – already feeling the adrenaline wear off – drove home in her Jeep. 

~

The boys were already at their usual diner when Bia and Sophie got there. The two of them slid into the booth with the boys, Bia next to Calum and Sophie next to Luke. 

“Nice bruise there, Rocky.” Michael teased Bia as she got settled. Bia playfully flipped him off in lieu of a response. 

“Alright boys. I’m just going to say this once: you had better whoop some ass tonight.” She said, stealing a tater tot off Calum’s plate.

“And why is that?” Calum asked, swatting her thieving hands away.

“Well, we won.” Sophie chimed in, giving Calum a look. “So it’ll look awful if you idiots lose.” Bia said, ordering her usual from the diner. “And Sophie and I will tease you mercilessly for months.”

“We wouldn’t expect anything different.” Ashton smiled. 

“Whatever.” Luke waved her off. “Onto more important topics: who’s wearing whose jerseys tonight?” 

Since there were only two of the girls and four of the boys, Bia and Sophie had to rotate through whose jerseys they wore, much like they did with her and Sophie. Why they didn’t just wear both of the girls jerseys at the same time was a mystery to Bia, but she had never claimed to understand them.

“Can I get a drumroll please?” Sophie got pumped and shook her shoulders, building up the suspension. “Tonight… I.. will be… wearing…” 

“Hurry up, woman!” Luke groaned. 

“Michael’s jersey!” Sophie screamed and Michael whooped with joy. The other three turned to Bia like vultures on roadkill. 

“Jeez, back off.” She said, feeling a little attacked. 

“Mine’s a surprise.” They all groaned and the rest of the afternoon went the same, all of you teasing each other. Before long it was time for the big game.

~

“Come on ref, what are you, blind?” Bia yelled, heckling and jeering for all she was worth. The Tiger’s boys’ team played even dirtier than their girls’ team, and there had been a few rough plays on the players instead of the ball that had resulted in injures. At this point, Bia was worried for her friends’ safety. 

“This game looks rougher than usual, right?” Sophie leaned into Bia, seemingly reading her mind.

“I was just thinking that.” Bia said, biting your lip. “I’m kind of worried.” Sophie nodded in agreement and the both of you turned your heads back to the game. 

Some time into the second quarter, a particularly big player decided to make a move. Calum had the ball and was looking towards Luke to pass when the opposing player slide tackled him, going directly for Calum’s ankles. Calum didn’t notice and couldn’t hear Bia’s and Sophie’s warnings, so he wasn’t able to defend himself. Bia watched in horror as Calum crumpled to the ground and felt her heart drop even further as she watched him fail to rise again. 

Without even thinking, Bia hopped the railing and sprinted onto the field. Since she was pre-med, Bia figured she’d be able to help out some. As she approached, Bia saw that some cheerleaders had gathered around him, crowding Calum and cooing over him, as if trying to heal him with the power of their asses.

“Back off!” Bia shouted at them, and practically shoved one off of Calum.

“Oof.” Cal groaned. “Motherfucker, you could have warned me.”

“Tried, my dude. I guess you couldn’t hear me.” Bia had already started unlacing Cal’s cleat as softly as she could. His ankle must have been pretty tender, though, because he groaned softly and Bia see in his face that he was in a lot of pain.

“Hey,” She said softly, trying to calm him a little, “I got you, it’s gonna be okay; you’re gonna be okay.” He locked eyes with her and reached over and squeezed her hand to let her know it had helped.  

“What’s the damage?” Luke jogged over and crouched next to Bia and Cal. “Ice and back in? Or worse?”

“Definitely worse,” Cal groaned, falling onto his back and covering his face with his hands. 

“I’ll have to agree with him on that. It’s already swelling way to much to just be rolled.” Bia said, softly prodding his ankle with her fingers in order to get a better sense of his injuries, which weren’t looking good. “I think this is a hospital-worthy injury, right here.”

“No way!” Now Luke groaned. “No fucking way!”

“Yeah. Help me get him up and I’ll take him.” Bia stood and she and Luke each took one of Cal’s hands, pulling him up. 

“Oh god,” Cal breathed. “Holy shit.”

“That bad, huh, bud?” Luke said, clearly not happy about the pain his best friend was in.

“Worse than anything else.” Cal said, grimacing. “Does anyone have any drugs?” 

“Why the fuck would we have drugs, Cal?” Bia squinted her eyes at him, trying her best to ignore the stupid that just came out of his mouth. 

“Luke, go back. The team needs you if we want a shot at winning.” Cal ordered Luke, not as a friend, but as a captain. Luke respected him and jogged back to the field. 

“Don’t try to put any weight on your foot, okay?” Bia told Cal, shifting his arm to support the weight Luke had been carrying. 

“Got it.” He said and together, he half-limped and Bia half carried him off the field and to her car. It was a bit of a walk to the parking lot, and Calum sagged more and more the farther they went. 

“Hey, guess what?” Bia told Calum, trying to cheer him up once he was seated in her car.

“What?” He sat there, eyes closed, hands in his face.

“Look.” Bia turned around and took off her jacket, revealing his jersey underneath. She couldn’t see him, but Bia knew he was smiling.

~

“Two months?!” Calum’s voice seemed to go up an octave. He was sitting up straight his back resting against Bia’s as the two of them sat on the medical examiner’s bench. Bia almost fell off because the change in his calm demeanor had shocked her so much. 

“I’m afraid so.” The doctor said, taking the ice off Calum’s foot to look at it again. “That does include rehab, though.” 

“Dear lord.” Calum slouched back against Bia once again. “How much longer are we gonna be here?” 

The both of them were exhausted at this point. After sitting in the waiting room for what felt like hours, they were finally moved back to a room, and the doctor took his sweet time getting there. Finally he ordered X-rays only to confirm Bia’s own suspicions: broken. 

“It’s a fracture, albeit a bad one. You’re going to have to keep off of this foot for the next few weeks.” The doctor had pulled out a clunky walking boot and was showing Bia and Calum how to put it on. After, he looked at Bia and said pointedly, “You’ll have someone to stay with, I presume?” 

Both of your cheeks flushed. Of course the doctor would assume they were a couple. Almost everyone did when the two of them hung out alone. The both of them coughed out simple ‘yeah’s and looked anywhere but at each other. 

“Good.” The doctor finished demonstrating how to put on the boot and left the room. 

“I think you should stay with me.” Bia told Calum, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“And why is that?” He asked leaning his head on Bia’s. 

“The boys care about you a lot, but I really doubt that they would be super helpful. I mean, you all tried to collectively take care of a plastic dog and it DIED. Also, you guys have a 2-story house and you live upstairs. You can barely walk up the stairs with two working feet, so I can’t imagine that it would go well with you on crutches. Plus I have a spare bedroom now that Sophie moved out.” Bia counted her reasons on her fingers, trying to think of any more. 

“You’re probably right.” Calum said, and he stood up, taking the crutches from the doctor who had reentered the room without her knowing. Without Calum supporting Bia, her back fell hard against the bench. Calum turned and giggled at her, always enjoying any moment Bia looked stupid. 

“Alright,” the doctor said, “You are free to go as soon as you can prove to me that you can use these crutches without any further injury.”

“Slight work.” Calum positioned the crutches under his arms and swung himself forward.

~

“I can NOT believe that we were there for an extra TWO hours.” Bia said on the way to her car.

“It’s harder than it looks!” He whined, trying to defend himself. 

“It’s really not. You guys always seem to forget the time I partially tore my ACL. I was on crutches for months. You guys called me Limpy, remember?” Bia turned around to look at Calum. 

“I’m drawing a blank,” Calum stopped in his tracks. Bia wondered why before she realized. 

Bia drove a Jeep: a LIFTED Jeep. They were hard enough into get to on their own, but this seemed like a mountain they had to climb. 

“It’ll be fine,” Calum assured her, swinging himself forward.

“Maybe I should just call an Uber.” Bia started to open the app up before Calum put his hand over her phone. 

“No need. I said it would be fine and it will be.” He gritted his teeth, leaned his crutches against the side of her car, and grabbed the dashboard in preparation.  

“How do you want me to help?” Bia stood next to Cal and placed a hand on his arm. 

“I guess catch me if I fall.”

~

Calum couldn’t believe his luck. He also couldn’t decide if it was good or bad luck. He may have broken his ankle and would be out for a while, but on the brighter side he got to stay with Bia. 

He couldn’t tell when or what, but something about her had changed recently – for the better, too, in his opinion. He just couldn’t figure out what. Now, though, he would have plenty of time to figure it out since they would be moving in together. Temporarily, he reminded himself. 

“Let’s go to my place first.” Calum said, peeling off his muddy shirt. After sitting in the dirt and sweat for hours, he needed to get the filthy material off his body. “I need a shower.” 

“Damn right you do.” Bia turned her blinker on, focusing on the road. “There’s no way you’re even getting within 100 feet of my house with that much mud caked on you.”

Calum chuckled. “I forgot how much of a clean freak you are.” 

She punched him playfully in return. “Why do you think we always hang at Sophie’s place? Your house is too messy for me to be in without throwing up and you idiots would dirty up my place in seconds.”

“Fair enough. So how are we gonna do this?” Calum dug in Bia’s back seat, finding a spare t-shirt under it. It was Bia’s. 

Calum knew it was huge on her, but that still meant it would be probably be tiny on him. He weighed his options and ended up putting on the shirt anyways. Bia didn’t have the top of her Jeep on and, since it was October, it was starting to get cold. 

Bia, of course, took one look at him and laughed. “You look so stupid.” She pulled over, brought out her phone, and took a picture before he could even protest. “Now take my shirt off before you bust the seams.”

“You know, I’ll admit that I haven’t been going to the gym as much lately, but there’s no reason to call me out like that.” Calum put a hand over his heart and feigned hurt, but Bia just rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever, nerd. We’re here.” Bia parked the car and got her backpack out of the back seat. 

Calum figured that since he had gotten in mostly on his own, he could probably get out, too. He was wrong. 

“What part of wait for me did you not understand?” Bia pushed him off of her and looked at her ruined clothes. “Seriously, tell me which word and I’ll explain it to you. Surely it would cost me less than the $80 I paid for this bag.” Bia pushed her fingertips tightly against her temples, a sure sign she was pissed. 

“I’m pretty sure you never said that. And besides, I got in the car just fine by myself!” Calum brushed himself off, still in the gutter. The fall had made his foot ache, but the heavy painkillers the doctor had prescribed him were working really well. 

“Well, clearly you couldn’t get out by yourself, huh?!” Bia’s shouting had apparently alerted the rest of their friend group that they were back because all of them came streaming out the door and sprinting over to Calum. 

‘Whoa, dude. That looks serious,” Michael pulled Cal off the ground and slung Cal’s arm over his shoulders. Ashton then appeared on his other side, helping him keep his balance. Sophie chose to help Bia, and Cal was grateful for that. He knew that if anyone could calm her down, it would be Sophie. 

“It is,” Bia grumbled and stalked into the house, Sophie trailing close behind.

“Well? What’s the damage?” Luke picked up Cal’s crutches and followed behind them into the house. 

“Broken.” Cal was dumped onto the couch by his supposed mates, and he propped his foot up on the ottoman in front of him. “I’m out for at least two months.”

“Oof.” Ashton, who already had a beer open, grimaced. “That’ll be rough without you.”

“Yeah, but we technically haven’t started the season yet. You’re cutting it really close, though.” Luke was dumping the remains of a bag of chips into his mouth. “It’s gonna suck, but we’ll make it. 

“Cal, you either shower now or you’re sleeping on floor outside my apartment!” Bia called from the bathroom where she already had the shower running. She stepped in and rinsed off, barely spending 5 minutes in the stream. 

She got out, dried off, and stalked down the hall to Cal’s room. She knew he wouldn’t be in there because, well, stairs, and that she had a change of clothes in there. Everyone in the group had, at one point or another, left clothes at the others’ houses. She quickly found her pair of skin-tight black ripped jeans and all black old-skool vans, but couldn’t find her shirt. 

She dug around for a while, occasionally throwing stuff in a pile for Cal to pack, but gave up and threw on one of his hoodies instead. She also put on one of his beanies because she didn’t want to get sick from the whole ‘wet hair, October night’ combo. 

After packing Cal’s bag for him, she jogged back downstairs happily finding him showered and clean. 

“Let’s roll.” Bia gathered her belongings and slung Cal’s bag over her shoulder. 

“Is that my hoodie?” Cal accused her, pushing himself off the couch. 

“Maybe,” Bia said and cocked an eyebrow. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“You’re taking me home. I’ll get my revenge.” Cal smirked and limped after you. 

~

“Alright, you know the rules. No sex on my bed, tell me if you have sex anywhere other than your bed, no shoes, no smoking, and no going in my office.” Bia locked the door after Cal and dropped her keys in the little dish in the foyer. 

“Whoa, that last one is new. Why can’t I be in your office?” Cal took a seat on Bia’s couch, slipping his shoe off. Bia took it from him and put it on the mat set out by her front door. 

“Because it’s my house and I said so, that’s why.” Bia sighed and rubbed her eyes. It was already 2:00 a.m. and she had shit to do tomorrow. “I’ll put your stuff in your room and then I’m going to bed. If you need me, speak now or fall on your face.” 

Cal just laughed and slung his arm over Bia’s shoulders which she slid out from under him. He looked hurt for a second, confused. 

“You need to learn how to use them.” Bia said, giving a pointed look at the crutches. She knew full and well what he was trying to pull, and she sympathized – really, she did – but he had to learn sometime. 

~

9 a.m. was too early for anything. Bia hated everything and everyone in the mornings, but her professor only had a 9:30 time slot open for a meeting so sometimes it sucked to suck. She sighed and whipped up some pancakes for herself and Cal, when he got up, and placed the chocolate chips to form a smile in the pancake. 

She was a little worried about leaving him here alone his second day being injured, but she figured he wouldn’t be up until at least 12:00. It was a Saturday, so the group would probably go do something later, but she let him sleep for now. Bia quickly scribbled out a note as to where she had gone and walked out the door.

~

“UGH,” Bia screamed and slammed her front door shut. She threw her shoes off and stomped all the way to her room to put her stuff away. She was surprised a little to see Calum on the couch when she stalked back into the living room. 

“Upsetting meeting?” Cal asked casually, not wanting to poke the bear. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” Bia said, pouring herself and knocking back a shot. 

“What’s wrong?” Cal patted the seat next to him, signaling for her to sit next to him. 

“I have to make a 95 on my exam in order to get an A in the class.” Bia collapsed sideways onto the couch, her legs hanging off the end and head resting in Cal’s lap. 

He started running his fingers through her hair – more for him than for her. He loved playing with her hair, the fibers soft on his callused skin. She wasn’t a huge fan of it – something he wasn’t aware of – but she knew he loved it, so she let him continue. 

“Oh, I thought it was something big,” Cal said, earning himself a glare from Bia.

“It is, Calum. This is literally my worst subject.” Bia flopped onto her side and turned on Netflix to her and Cal’s favorite show to watch together. “We need to be icing your ankle.” Bia sighed and rose to her feet.

“No, no, no,” Cal whined. He hated icing injuries, but Bia wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was already undoing the velcro straps on his boot and placing the ice on his ankle. “I hate you.” Cal pouted. 

“Hate you, too, nerd.” Bia was already back in the kitchen, popping popcorn for their marathon.

“Will you make hot cocoa, too?” Cal begged, reaching for some blankets and pillows out of the basket at the end of the couch. 

“Asking for a bit much now, aren’t we?” Bia put the popcorn into a bowl and sat it on Cal’s lap. She also reached over and slipped a pillow under his ankle before starting on the hot chocolate. 

It only took her a couple minutes to make it and she gave both of them a healthy amount of whipped cream. Finally, she plopped down on the couch next to him, her head back in his lap. 

“Do you think everyone else is gonna come over later?” Cal thought out loud, his fingers already back in her hair. 

“Maybe? We did make plans to go out tonight earlier this week, so…” Bia just kind of trailed of not finishing her thought. 

“Yeah, guess I ruined that, huh?” Cal pulled his fingers out of her hair and crossed his arms. 

“Cal, come on, we both know I didn’t mean it like that.” Bia tried to touch his cheek, but accidentally missed and slapped his forehead instead. 

Cal smiled and put his fingers back in her hair. 

“Stop hogging the blanket.” Bia grabbed a fistful and pulled it back over to herself. Cal found himself smiling, despite being exposed to the cold air. 

They watched the show together for a few hours, Cal stewing over his injury and Bia stressing about her test, before the rest of the squad came over. Bia stood and stretched, her back a little sore. 

“How you feeling, Bud?” Sophie came and sat next to Cal, roughing up his hair a little. 

“Fine. I can’t feel my ankle, though.” Cal swatted Sophie’s hands away before he heard Bia. 

“That would be the point.” She shouted, walking over to remove the ice. She took his ankle into her hands and started gently rubbing it to get the blood flowing again.

“It’s cool.” Cal shrugged it off, finding himself liking the feeling of her hands on his skin. 

“Well, your ankle is,” Luke did finger guns at Michael and had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I fucking hate you,” Ashton said, but the giggle gave him away. 

“So what are we doing tonight?” Sophie said shoveling a handful of popcorn into her mouth. 

“I say we just have a chill movie night. There’s a new horror movie out.” Luke said, trying to make sure they could include Cal. 

“I don’t know, I heard it was pretty scary. I’m not sure SOME people in this room could handle it.” Bia said, giving a pointed look at Cal. 

“Are we still going out?” Michael asked as he adjusted his glasses. “Because I don’t want to leave Cal out, but I really want to go out. We need to celebrate.”

“I could still go out with you guys. I mean, I could hold a table and stuff.” Cal defended himself, trying not be the wet blanket. 

“I see no reason to cancel. Let’s get ready and get our drink on.” Bia said decidedly, already cleaning up the popcorn and hot chocolate. 

“Alright, then. Let’s meet back here in an hour and a half.” Ashton giggled again. “This is gonna be fuckin’ awesome!”

~

“Is it ok if I shower first?” Cal asked as he leaned on the doorway of the bathroom. “It won’t take me long.” 

“Yeah that’s fine especially since I’m not gonna shower.” Cal looked at her like she suddenly grew another head. “Bud, I showered this morning. I’m not trying to do my hair like that.” 

“Whatever.” Cal spun around and shut the door. 

Bia walked to her room and begun getting ready. Her long, chocolate hair was already in loose waves because she had curled it earlier in the day, so she focused on her makeup, which didn’t take her long – all she did was put on cat eye liner, mascara, highlighter, and bright red lipstick. Foundation was too heavy and didn’t even cover all the freckles dotting her skin anyways. Plus it was sort of hard to find. color that matched her pale skin tone. Then she got dressed in a sheer skin tight long sleeve crop top with a cute bralette under, a black mini skirt and heeled combat boots. 

By then it was almost time to go, so she went to check on Calum and found him just sitting on the edge of his bed. He didn’t have a shirt on so Bia could see all the muscles in his golden skin and got a little distracted for a second. She didn’t like to admit it, but her best friend gave her feelings she wasn’t quite ready to deal with. Not just because of the way he looked – which was delicious – but also because of who he was. He was so soft and cute, but Bia didn’t feel like of being that cliched. Also, Cassidy. His girlfriend. They always kind of seemed to forget about her. 

“Why aren’t you getting ready?” Bia said, pushing those thoughts out of her head. “It’s almost time to go.” 

“Couldn’t figure out how to work this stupid boot.” Cal said flopping back onto his bed. 

“How long have you been sitting here doing nothing, though?” Bia reached into Cal’s bag, pulled out his sensation t-shirt and leather jacket, and then tossed them onto his chest. Then she bent over and finished strapping on his boot for him while he pulled on his clothes. “We good?” Bia asked picking up Cal’s crutches and handing them to him. 

“Yeah. Let’s go meet up with everyone.” 

~

The group walked into the bar and made a beeline to the back and their usual table. Calum was pretty anxious to sit. By walking to the back, the group had to walk through all the dancing people and drunks who weren’t exactly conscientious of his injury. His ankle was radiating flares of pain up his shin, and he all but collapsed into the chair. 

“I’ll get drinks!” Bia shouted over the music which was pounding. “Usual for everyone?” Everyone agreed and Bia and Sophie went over to the bar, the latter having volunteered to help carry everything. 

“How’s living with her going, man?” Ashton shouted over the music. Everyone knew a conversation would be a little difficult – but hey, that’s just how it was in clubs. They knew and all didn’t care. 

“Fuck, man. It’s the best.” Calum said shaking his head slightly. 

“Yeah? Did, uh, something happen between you two?” Luke said. 

Cal’s head snapped around so fast he heard his neck pop. “The fuck you mean?” 

“Oy, mate, don’t act like you’re not pining over her. Everyone knows except her and you apparently.” Ashton gave him a look that said everything. 

“We see you staring at her when she can’t see you, tensing up when she flirts with other guys. My god, Cal, grow a pair.” Michael chimed in with his opinion, slightly buzzed from his pre-gaming. 

“Oh, fuck off the lot of you. Cassidy, remember?” Cal squinted his eyes and shook his head, denying as hard as could. 

He was spared from further talking about it because Bia and Sophie returned with their drinks. All of them had beer except Bia and Sophie themselves, the former with whiskey and the latter with a cranberry vodka.

“Could you have a more white-girl drink?” Bia started ragging on Sophie, but within good reason in Cal’s opinion. 

“Seriously, you’re embarrassing the rest of us. I don’t know if we can even be seen with you.” Cal high-fived Bia and found himself grinning hard. After a pointed look from Ashton, he suddenly knew what the other guys had been talking about. 

Maybe he did have a thing for his best friend, but there’s no way either of them would be that cliched. Plus, he had Cassidy, and he wasn’t quite ready to give her up over some school-girl crush. Cal took a long draw of his beer and tried to push the thought from his mind. It was hard, thought, because she looked damn fine in that outfit. 

“Let’s dance!” Bia shouted and downed half her drink. Calum wanted nothing more than to jump up and follow her onto the dance floor, fuck his ankle. 

She was already jumping to the music and flirting with all the guys around her. She didn’t realize they were flirting, though. Cal figured she probably just thought they were being friendly, having fun. He shook his head and took another long sip of his beer. 

He was left alone at the table with only his friends’ drinks for company, but he didn’t really mind. Cal was content sipping beers provided by friends – mainly Bia; she came to check on him the most often – and listening to the music. 

Before he knew it, it was a little past 12:00 and about half of their group was drunk. Cal, Bia, and Ash were only slightly buzzed but Luke, Sophie, and Michael were totally hammered. 

Right as they were getting ready to exit the club, Cal realized they had lost Bia. He scanned the club but wasn’t too worried seeing as she hadn’t had too much. Cal and Ash had almost finished corralling the rest of their friends out the door when she caught up with them. 

“Alright. I’ll see you guys later.” Bia said, breathing in the fresh air. The night was really pretty, the weather absolutely perfect. “I’m gonna walk home. Try and head off the hangover, you know?” 

“Are you sure?” Cal could feel the concern creeping into his voice, the desperation – stupid as he knew it was. “Frat boy, especially drunk ones, aren’t exactly known for their chivalry.”

“Actually, I think I’ll join you.” Ash linked his arm with hers. “Tonight is really pretty.” Cal just nodded his head and climbed into the Uber. 

For whatever reason, he felt jealousy thick in his throat. He knew, of course, it was misplaced. Nothing would ever happen between Bia and Ash. Right? It was moments like these he had never hated his injury more. Hell, he’d break both his ankles to be able to be the one walking her home.

~

“Ash, not that I’m not grateful or anything, but you know I can take care of myself, right?” It’s not that she didn’t want his company, but Bia knew – and wanted the boys to know – she didn’t need some big, strong man to come save her. 

“Oh, I know good and well that you didn’t need me here ‘protecting you’.” Ash did air quotes around protecting, since he really wasn’t doing much but talking. “However, I think we can agree that, had I not volunteered, then Cal would have tried to walk with you. So, really, I did this more for Cal than for you.”

Bia giggled and breathed a sigh of relief. It was nice to have some one on one time with Ash, something they hadn’t had in a while. 

“I, uh, did, however, have an ulterior motive.” Ash lowered his voice to almost a whisper, his serious demeanor a sudden change. “It’s about Cal.”

“What? Is he okay? Is there something I don’t know about going on?” Bia stopped and looked Ash square in the eyes. 

“Yes and no. Listen, Cassidy is going to give Cal an ultimatum when she gets back from her trip in three days.” Ash was looking pretty pissed at that point. 

“That bitch. What for?” Bia made a face, felt her heart beating faster. 

She had never liked Cassidy – always thought she was jealous of Cal and Bia’s friendship. Bia had always tried to be polite, but whenever Cal tried to bring Cassidy along to a group hangout, Bia would always find some excuse not to be there. 

“Her or you; Cal has to choose.” Ash barely got the words off his lips before Bia felt her blood run cold. 

No matter what Bia had with Cal, Cassidy would come first. Hell, Cal had even brought Bia along ring shopping once. He said he wasn’t anywhere near ready, thought he just wanted to have an idea. She couldn’t let him throw away his future, but what was she supposed to do, lose her best friend? 

Bia knew her face gave away no emotion, but inside she felt the hot tears rising up. Her palms went clammy and she swiftly walked over to the nearest bench and sat. 

Ash noticed she and taken a seat and settled himself next to her. “Bia, this is really up to Cal. I mean, what are you going to do, kick him out of your life?” 

And with that, she made up her mind. “I guess so.”

“Whoa, hey, I was definitely being sarcastic. I – in no way, shape, or form – meant that you should actually kick him out.” 

Bia was already walking away, though. Once she made up her mind, there was no changing it. From now on, Calum Hood was no longer her friend. 

~

As soon as she got home, Bia ran to the bathroom, shut the door, and promptly bent over the toilet to throw up. 

“Hey, listen, do you think I should get Cassidy something?” Cal opened the door but didn’t notice she was throwing up yet since he was texting Cassidy on his phone. “I mean, I haven’t seen- Oh my god, are you ok?”

Cal reached to rub Bia’s back, but she arched her spine away from him, avoiding his touch. “Go away.” 

Bia didn’t say anything else, and she really didn’t want to either. She was afraid that if she did, she’d tell him everything. 

“Um, alright.” Cal furrowed his brow, confused. Had he done something to make her mad at him? He really didn’t think so, but then why would she have pulled away from him like that. Trying to shake the paranoia, he chalked it up to her being sick. “I’ll just go make grilled cheese and tomato soup then.” 

“Don’t bother, Calum. Just leave me alone.” Bia turned around and pushed Calum out of the bathroom, a final, symbolic act to solidify her shutting him out of her life. 

Cal was stunned. She had only said seven words and yet, he felt his blood pulsing faster in his veins, almost like he couldn’t breathe. 

For starters, grilled cheese and tomato soup was their tradition. Starting when they were six, the other had made the soup and sandwich for the sick friend. To reject that felt a little like she was rejecting him, rejecting his friendship. 

Second, she called him Calum. She never called him Calum, hadn’t called called him by his full name in about eight years. The last time she had called him Calum was when he had tried to prank her, but instead had embarrassed her in front of the whole school and caused her boyfriend to break up with her. She had cried for weeks, and it had taken a awhile for them to be okay again. Cal hoped to God it was nothing like that because, although it seemed strange because he wasn’t at the receiving end, that prank-gone-wrong had almost killed him inside. 

He leaned his back against the bathroom door and slid to the floor so that he was sitting, setting his crutches on the floor beside him. He really just didn’t understand, one hot tear running down his flushed cheeks as he sat there, waiting in vain that Bia would say something – anything – to him.

~

The next morning, after not seeing her again, Cal got up and immediately went to look for Bia. His ankle was hurting more than it ever had and he was dying for a smoke, but all he really wanted was to find Bia, to talk to her. 

He looked around her house for awhile, finding her no where. It did confuse him a little because he knew she was still here since her keys were still in dish by the front door. Then it dawned on him that she must be in her office. 

Cal definitely wasn’t about to go in there, especially after last night. Still, he did really want to talk to her. He figured he’d knock – at least try. At best, she’d be feeling all better and they would laugh and make up over yesterday. At worst, he’d see her later at the mall when they would meet up with the rest of the group. 

He wouldn’t try empty-handed, though. Since it was nearing lunchtime, he made grilled cheese and tomato soup again, even though she had rejected it yesterday. He set it on the counter, wishing he could bring it to her. Once again cursing his crutches, he limped to the back of the house where her office was and knocked on the door. She didn’t answer, but he heard soft music filtering in from under the door – Buddy by Willie Nelson – her go-to sad song. 

“Bia?” Cal rested his head against the door, losing hope quicker and quicker that she would respond. “I, uh, I hope your, um, feeling better. I made you lunch, it’s waiting on the, uh, counter for you. Grilled cheese and tomato. I know... I know, you said that, uh, you didn’t want it last night, but it just didn’t feel right, to um, to not have it. I mean, I even washed all the dishes and cleaned the counter tops, too.” Bia didn’t answer, and Cal was left disoriented by what was happening. 

Their friendship seemed to be dissolving all around him and Cal didn’t know what to do. He had to talk to everyone else – maybe he was just being paranoid. They’d help him, and even if their advice didn’t work, then Cassidy would be home in just three days. Cal stood there and waited for a few more minutes before limping back into the kitchen to eat the food he had made for Bia.

~

Bia sat on the floor of her office with her knees pulled up to her chest, tears streaming down her face. She wasn’t really the type to cry, and yet here she was bawling her eyes out. 

It was the hardest thing she’d ever have to do. She was basically cutting out the happiest memories of her life, and the worst part was that she couldn’t even give him an explanation. They’d been best friends for 21 years and she was cutting him out of her life with seemingly no explanation. 

It was only because she wanted the best for him, though. Cassidy would make him happy for the rest of his life, and for that, the sacrifice would be worth it. 

It took her a while to stop crying, but she held onto that little scrap of comfort, knowing she would be securing his happiness. Besides, she needed to give her eyes time to de-puff before their group met up at the mall later. 

Her plan was just to avoid him as much as possible. Originally, she had planned on canceling, but she figured she’d need them after she was through with her self-given task. She found it quite ironic – the fact that he had moved in so she could help him out and yet here they were, not even speaking.

[deepdisireslonging]

Family Found Part 22: A Turn of Events

In Australia, the Shield fights for their right to branch out, and Finn makes Kevin pay for his interference earlier in the week. On Monday, Y/N worries about the attendance of Stephanie McMahon and if her new role is already at an end.

Warnings/Promises: wrestling violence

Word Count: 3585

Note: I looked over “Long Time No See” and had to laugh. There were only four plot points to hit in that chapter. This one has nine, but a bunch of detail points. And it was barely over 1000 words. I am so sorry, babes. This has gotten so exciting and complicated and I hope it is keeping you entertained. Please let me know if it is. The tag list is open, and so are my requests. Enjoy!

Part 1: Welcome to the Team 

Part 21: Your Catastrophe

Super Show-Down – October 6, 2018 – Melbourne, Australia

Australia’s pay-per-view was defined by its vengeance matches. From AJ Style’s bitter match against Samoa Joe, to the Undertaker versus Triple H for the ‘last time’, the fights were for more than the usual glory. There was more at stake. Honor. Legacy. And revenge.

The Shield’s match fell into this third category.

While the aesthetics of their styles didn’t match, the rage-set faces as the Shield entered were the same. Jinder Mahal towered over his teammates, Konnor and Viktor of the Ascension. They lined up across the ring to stand a mere half-meter away from Roman, Dean, and Seth. The referee desperately kept himself between them, impatiently waiting for the bell.

Jinder stayed in the ring. Since he was due to fight Seth on Monday, Roman and Dean kept their brother out of the ring and Roman stepped up. The following bout was similar to their previous collisions, but Roman had more to achieve this time. The more he did to Jinder tonight, the less his brother had to deal within a few days. Jinder eventually escaped this and tagged in Konnor.

Then it was Dean’s turn to step up. He met the man muscle for muscle and growl for growl. He got trapped in their corner where the Ascention took turns tagging in each other and attacking Dean until he was a huddled mass in the corner. Viktor pulled him to his feet and was going to do more, but Dean shoved him to the center of the ring and took the upper hand. It was a terrible mirroring of actions as then the whole Shield took turns stomping and breaking Viktor down.

The exchanges and tag continued, bringing the match to the inevitable. Seth had to face Jinder with more than that night on the line. They gave the crowd a preview of their match a few days away, minus the no disqualification stipulation. A stipulation Seth was more than ready for, but nearly cost him the match. Jinder laughed. He was more than happy to be a punching bag in Australia if Seth was going to exhaust himself.

In the end, it didn’t come down to them. Dean tagged himself in and Jinder tagged in Konnor. The Lunatic Fringe jumped from their corner onto his opponent’s entrance into the ring and quickly brought the match to a close.

***

When Finn Balor’s music hit, Kevin Owens began to doubt himself. Maybe he should have let Mojo Rawley win, or at least do more against Finn himself. Then he could have challenged a weakened version of either instead of heading into what was sure to be a torturous affair. The title wasn’t even on the line. It was a payback match.

He wasn’t far off. Finn was determined to make Kevin pay for interfering. He wasn’t mad on behalf of Mojo’s chance; he was more pissed off of receiving an easy win due to Kevin’s meddling. With a roar, he made the first attack. Kevin could barely turn around in the ring without getting hit or sling bladed or drop kicked. And if he did catch Finn, a uranage quickly had him rolling for the ropes.

On the floor, Kevin caught his breath. Then he caught Finn’s boot before it could collide with his face. Out of muscle memory, he swept Finn’s legs out from under him and sent him crashing onto the apron, and then to the floor. He stared down in shock. Then grabbed Finn around the neck and tossed him into the ring. He couldn’t pause. Wouldn’t stop moving. If keeping Finn off his feet was his only plan, Kevin was going to do that with everything he had.

Two. Two and a half. Two and three-quarters. Kevin’s actions were wearing down the Universal champion. For a second, he considered what it would mean if he won the match.

A mistake.

Fin took the split of Kevin’s focus and won back the upper hand. A few minutes later, Kevin was pinned for the count and then glaring at him from the floor. Finn just held his title high and grinned.

***

***

Monday Night Raw – October 8, 2018 – Rosemont, IL

At the beginning of the show, Dean bumped into you struggling to tape your hands. You had found a punching bag that the roster sometimes used to get pumped up. At the moment, you wanted to use it to evade the fear crouching up.

“Need some help?” he asked. Without really waiting for an answer, he took your hand and the tape and started to wrap it properly. Occasionally he glanced up at your face. You were looking to one side of his actions. “What’s on your mind?”

“So many things,” you whispered.

Dean dropped your hand and tapped your shoulder for the other one. “Spill. You can’t hit anything yet, so you might as well tell me.”

“Stephanie’s here tonight,” you let slip. He grunted, not surprised. “When she called last week, I thought she was going to fire me. Now I’m afraid she’s going to do it in person. And maybe in front of the whole WWE Universe.”

Dropping your other hand, Dean moved to stand behind the punching bag. “Keep going.”

You weakly punched the bag. “I know I said I didn’t want this job,” you paused to hit the bag again, “but now that I’m in it… I like it.” While you let your thoughts flow out, you alternated left and right punches, punctuated with the occasional kick. “Making the matches. Wondering how the titles are going to change hands. The uncertainty doesn’t frighten me as much as I thought it would. I like the ‘what if.’” You stopped and leaned against the wall. “Is that weird? To change my mind like that?”

“Nope. Come on, keep working on your combinations.”

With a sigh that barely hid a smirk, you turned back to the bag. “But now Stephanie is here and she’s going to take that away. Or at least I think she is.”

Dean nodded. “That’s how she works. Make’s you think the worst, then drops something totally different on you. I may not like her methods, but she’s not stupid. She knows who’s actually running Raw.”

Panting, you stopped. “I hope you’re right.” With a smile, you looked down at your hands. “Thanks for taping me up.”

“Anytime, Ladybug. Anytime.”

***

Kevin had taken over the ring. He was smugly looking over the crowd, mic at his side, planning his next words carefully. The crowd stopped booing him just enough to hear what he had to say.

“I almost beat Finn Balor in Australia. You can’t deny it. Finn can’t deny it. Those last counts I had over him were milliseconds away from finished. If the ref had done his job and counted at the right speed, I would probably be number one contender for the Universal right now.” The crowd restarted their disagreement. He talked over them. “But, I’m going to overlook that. Finn Balor has shown himself to be a… fair wrestler. Even if he gives way to demonic possession to ensure a win, he knows talent when he sees it.”

The stage was taken over by black and silver light. Finn walked out and cocked his head at Kevin. “You’re right, I know talent when I see it. But what I don’t see, is why you’re out here, Kevin. We’ve had our match. And I beat you.”

“Just barely. By milliseconds.”

“But I still beat you,” Finn smirked.

Kevin sputtered. “I get it. You’re still tired from our match. I’m no spring daisy either, but we are not done. Think about it, Finn. TLC is just a few weeks away. You want to give the WWE Universe what it wants. You want to impress them, make them happy. I may not agree why you even bother, but I think we could put on the match that could have happened two years ago if you had been able to stay after Summer Slam.”

Finn licked his lips, intrigued. “You think we still would have collided at TLC… in 2016?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kevin knew he had him.

“And you think you could have beaten the Demon back then and won the Universal Champion. You’ve used this argument before, Kevin. But,” he rubbed at his chin, “I have to admit you’ve framed it in a new way. I kinda want to see it. The only problem is… I originally planned to have that rematch with Mojo tonight.”

He would have said more, but Mojo rushed out within a few seconds of his music playing. “No. No. Kevin, stay out of this. You’ve had your chance. Lost it. Now move over. It’s my game now. Finn, we had a bargain.” He moved forward and grabbed Finn by the lapels of his jacket.

Out of breath from running from the back of the arena, you rushed out onto the stage to separate them. “Wait, wait, wait.” The two men backed away; Finn frowned at your taped hand on his chest. You quickly removed it and thought quick. “How about this: tonight, Mojo you face Kevin Owens in a number one contender’s match. If you win, you face Finn for that rematch next week. If you lose, you have to wait until TLC to try for the title. And it’ll be a true TLC match with tables, ladders, and chairs. Mr. Owens, that works for you too. A title shot next week, or at TLC like you were asking. The only downside to this is either way, Finn, you would be defending your title just a few days apart.”

Finn chuckled. “I’m a fightin’ champion. It’s part of the business.”

“Okay then.” You let out the breath you’d been holding. “So, it’s settled? Let me call a ref.”

***

A commercial break later, Mojo and Kevin were duking it out. Either way, they were going to win an opportunity. At first, you were afraid that it would be short because all Mojo had to do to get what he wanted was win. And Kevin had to lose to go to TLC. But as the match progressed, you figured out that Mojo could be patient for one more week if it meant a pay-per-view match. It was something he had not had in a while.

It was a strange, calculated match. Had you had more time to think, maybe the person who won tonight should have gone to TLC. It was too late for that. As a result, Kevin had plenty of time to recover when Mojo pushed his limits already strained by Saturday. Mojo could plan how he was going to hit Kevin next and hit him hard.

Mojo ran out of patience. He wanted the title now, so he upped his attack. Kevin did try to make it out of the pins a few times, but the last one came after a Hyperdrive. He could barely breathe, much less kick out.

Finn nodded backstage while watching Mojo’s hand be raised. He’d be ready for him next week.

***

In compliance with Natalya’s championship tournament schedule, the third match for the fatal four-way spot was between Bayley and Alicia Fox. They were cordial to each other, even bumping each other’s fists before really getting into the match.

Bayley had been toughened by the last several months. She used that to quickly rush Alicia into the ropes. But she had not lost herself, so she backed off before the ref made it too far into the count.

Hesitantly, Alicia detangled herself and stepped back towards the center of the ring. She met Bayley in a lock of strength, overpowering her.

It was back and forth for most of the match. One would gain the upper hand, then would lose control. Alicia’s northern light suplexes matched flip for flip with Bayley to bellies. In the end, Bayley had worked so much damage into Alicia’s ribcage, that Alicia was unable to hold a suplex form and tipped over. The hugger swooped in and won the pin, and her chance for the Raw Women’s Title.

Backstage, Natalya watched the end of the match with Rhonda. Neither seemed worried, though Rhonda took note of how Bayley had changed even since she had arrived to WWE.

***

You walked with hesitant steps towards Stephanie McMahon as she talked with a cluster of techies. “Ms. McMahon?”

With a grin, she waved the group away and turned to you. “You don’t have to be so formal, Y/N.”

“Ms. Stephanie?”

“Less than that.”

“Stephanie.” It felt weird to call your boss by her first name. But you had a mission to get to. “I’m going to cut to it; I think we should bring up the last match for the women’s fatal four-way to tonight.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but her head tilted in consideration. “Why do you say that?”

“As it stands, we have the Universal and the Intercontinental titles being defended at TLC. In a few minutes, there’s going to be a match for the tag team titles, which will probably lead to Curtis Axel and Bo Dallas accepting the challenge at TLC. That leaves just the Raw Women’s Championship. Why not make TLC a full championship set?” You dug your fingernails into your palm as she thought about it.

She nodded but frowned. “I thought the four-way was going to be a ladder match. Is that going to change too?”

“No, I think it should still be a ladder match. If Natalya agrees to let it go for a bit, I think the title hanging above the ring will make it intense and main-event worthy. The universe won’t be robbed, and it will be kind of like practice to whoever wins.” you added. “It is TLC, after all.”

Stephanie nodded again, smiling this time. “You are absolutely right, Y/N.” She patted your shoulder. “Good work.”

When she left, you breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Dean was more than ready for his and Roman’s match. If they won tonight, they’d be the number one contenders for the Raw Tag Team Titles. He paced furiously as he waited for Titus and Apollo Creed to make up their minds who was going to fight first. Who was going to face him. He laughed with Roman as they resorted to a quick rock-paper-scissors decision. Apollo it was. And Dean was ready. He bounced over, immediately reaching up to test Apollo’s grip. Then he swung in for everything he could to get Apollo on his knees and keep him there to wear him down. While he was dragging him to tag with Roman, Apollo escaped and ran to tag in Titus.

No matter. Roman eagerly accepted the tag. He repeatedly took the leader down to the mat, noting how Dana wasn’t there to take notes. None of his business; there was a match to win.

The Shield brothers had it in the bag. Their opponents were getting sluggish in their kick-outs. And tagging each other only seemed to hype them up.

Then Viktor and Konnor came out. They didn’t get in the ring. They stayed outside and distracted the guys while Titus, the legal man, sucked in enough oxygen to pull Dean into the center of the ring behind Roman’s back and pin him. Then he rolled out as fast as he could to escape the livid Ambrose. Apollo met him on the outside, not happy how they had won. Titus promised to discuss it later. They left without looking at the Ascension. Instead, keeping their focus on Dean and Roman in the ring as they took their retribution from their former opponents from Sunday.

***

The final match for the women’s fatal four-way did not end fair either.

You weren’t sure what Natalya had thought was going to happen when she scheduled Alexa Bliss and Sasha Banks to fight. Both women were known for giving their all for opportunities. This was no exception. Several times the ref had to physically pull one woman off the other to prevent a disqualification. There was nothing either woman was willing to do to ensure her spot.

Everything came to a head when Mickie got involved. While Alexa was complaining to the ref about an imaginary injury, Mickie climbed up onto the apron. Sasha mocked her saying, “oh, are you two back together again? How sweet.”

“At least I’ve got someone.”

Sasha rushed towards her and was promptly folded over the ropes. She fell back, then fought to stumble to her feet. Knowing Alexa, she would be ready with an attack. Sasha’s focus on where Alexa had been was too low. The ref moved out of the way as Alexa jumped and took Sasha out with a twisted Bliss. Mickie joined her, and they worked together to push Sasha out of the ring. They thought it was over.

Mickie fell forward. Alexa turned just in time to see the Raw Women’s Title rushing towards her face before it made contact. She dropped and curled into a ball next to her partner.

Natalya stood over them. “The pieces have been set,” she said. She walked to the corner of the ring and climbed the ropes. With the bodies of Alexa and Mickie still on the ground behind her, she lifted her title high.

***

For being the main event, the match was short between Jinder and Seth. Just ten minutes into what was supposed to be determining who went to TLC for the Intercontinental, you thought the show was going to end on time for once.

Jinder had over pushed himself on Sunday night. He had been so focused on maiming Seth earlier, he hadn’t taken into account how much that would take out of himself. Then he remembered it was a no disqualification match. Mentally he made a note to thank Baron. He rolled out and grabbed a chair from under the ring. Practice for TLC, he thought.

Seth was not amused. While Jinder tried to reenter the ring with his newly-found weapon, he snatched it out of his hands and tossed it away. He didn’t need it to beat Jinder. He didn’t need a chair to get what he wanted. Instead, he used his quick thinking and movements around the ring. It took Jinder a lot of energy to catch up with him, and he was rarely rewarded with keeping Seth down.

At one point the chair had come back into play. Jinder had it raised and Seth nearly ran into it but ducked at the last second. With a series of blows, he made Jinder drop his weapon. In a few more he had him staggering and in prime position for a blackout. Seth didn’t mind using the chair then since Jinder had fought so hard to include it in the match.

One, two, three. Seth was going to TLC’s ladder match against Elias, Dolph Ziggler, and Drew McIntrye.

***

Stephanie called you to the office. When you arrived, Corbin was standing to one side with a smirk on his face and his arms crossed across his chest. Her words made your heart drop to your shoes.

“What I have to say, is hard.” She gave you a sympathetic look, then turned her attention to Baron. “I never thought I could have been so wrong.”

Baron shook his head. “Wait, what?”

It was Stephanie’s turn to cross her arms. “I chose you because I thought you could live up to the ideals of how my husband and I have run this place. And I thought that since you had been in the business, that would give you the advantage over Kurt’s pick.” She talked over her shoulder at you. “No offense, Y/N. And nothing personal, just manager rivalry.”

“None taken,” you managed.

He sputtered and growled, “what did I do? I did everything I could to give your wrestlers their best chances.”

“Bull.”

You both fought not to gasp in this serious turn of events.

“Last week you did nothing but stir up more trouble for your peers, Y/N and the roster alike. Then this week,” she tsked, “while I was here to make some final decisions, you did nothing while chaos almost broke out at the beginning of the show. Y/N was the one who stopped it. Y/N was the one who made the match between Mojo and Kevin, and it turned out great. Y/N was the one who thought ahead and rearranged the matches so that another title could be defended at TLC. And where were you? In the office texting me hundreds of messages about how much you had done for WWE and the show. I didn’t see a smidgen of evidence of anything you said.”

You found your voice. “So… what are your saying?”

“I’m saying that Baron will not be managing with you next week, or at TLC. And there will be serious consequences if he interferes in your work like he did last week. It’s not final,” she hastily added, silencing Baron, “I want to see what you can do totally on your own knowing that you are being observed. Which was your grievance with last time, I think.”

You fell back to stabilize yourself on a wall. “Yes, ma’am.”

Stephanie fought a grin. “Just Stephanie. I wish you the best of luck, Y/N.” She glared at Baron one more time, then left the room before you could thank her.

 {If you guys could give me a little feedback: do you want more or less descriptions of matches? I’ve tried to keep it minimal for the most part due to writing time, but even then I feel like they tend to drag. Would you prefer just to know the match and the outcome, or do you like the details? I’d still include such things as interferences. Please let me know with comments/reblogs/private messages. Thank you so much!}

  Part 23: Sunday is Set

*Series Disclaimer

Series Masterlist 

Masterlist 

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[koalataeil]

Basketball Player!Ten (High School)

Grade: Junior

Position: Starting Shooting Guard

Skills: Shooting (three-pointers), support/motivation/happiness

so ten is known to be just always so happy

always has a smile on his face

even if it’s at the end of practice and he’s been doing conditioning for the last 15 minutes

always smiling

and he is usually able to get the others in a good mood too

like if one of his teammates is having a bad day, ten will easily cheer them up

which makes the whole team in a better mood

which helps them play better individually and as a team

during games, even if he misses a shot or travels or turns the ball over he is still smiling

the coach gets so mad at him every time too

thinking that ten thinks it is funny that he messed up

so he’s gotten yelled at quite a few times just for being his usual self

when he’s out of the game and sitting on bench, he’s usually cheering for his teammates

warning them of the shot clock or yelling out the play they’re doing

ten is known for his shooting

he’s always working hard before practice starts by shooting around the hoops

working on his shooting technique and helping other teammates if they are struggling, especially the younger players or people on the JV team

although ten really doesn’t even have the best technique, it still ALWAYS gets in somehow

and it can be pretty frustrating to some of the other players bc it just comes so easy to him

ten is not a ball-hog AT ALL

like he loves to pass to his other teammates to let them make the shots

but if no one is open, he’ll easily take the shot, even if the person guarding him is super close to him

you are actually a stats person from a different school than ten

you got started bc your best friend johnny signed up to do stats and he signed your name up too bc he didn’t want to be by himself

so you do the stats on a tablet and johnny does it on paper, each focusing on different parts of the game and helping each other out

but you also mess with each other all the time, especially during time outs and in-between quarters

during a three-day long tournament, you met ten for the first time

ten’s team played your school’s team during the first day

and he caught your eye during the first couple of minutes bc he was scoring so many points so quickly

Johnny even expressed his concerns that if your team couldn’t defend him better, they’d definitely lose the game

ten also caught your eye because he was smiling so much the whole time he had been in

it just made you want to spend time with him because his happiness could easily spread to you

when ten was subbed out for the first time, the game started to calm down a little and your team was able to catch up

and soon ten was kneeling in front of you, waiting to be subbed back in

once the refs had time to bring him in, ten turned around and smiled at you quickly before running onto the court

the game continues that way for the rest of the game

ten scoring a bunch of points, being subbed out when he gets tired, you team catching up a little, and ten getting subbed back into the game, always making sure he smiles at you

but when he gets back into the game with only a couple of minutes left, ten winks at you which makes you blush and cause Johnny to question your relationship with ten and tease you

the game ended with your team losing by about 15 points, mostly because ten just kept sinking 3s

Johnny and you get up from your spot after finishing the stats and hand off the stats to the assistant coach before they go into the locker room

as you were forced to stay and watch the next game of the tournament, Johnny and you sat together and watched the next two teams warmup for their game

as the game was starting, ten and jaehyun were walking to sit on the bleachers but ten noticed you and Johnny and decided to sit in front of you, making sure to smile at you before he sat down

Johnny gave you a weird look and you watched the game, occasionally listening to jaehyun’s and ten’s commentary

you tried not to laugh at some of their jokes, knowing that you didn’t want to get caught overhearing their conversation

around half-time, jaehyun gets up to get food and Johnny leaves to meet with the assistant coach about a stat issue

ten decides to start talking to you

it’s hella awkward as he tries to use some stupid pickup lines with you but also just genuinely wanting to get to know you

and you answer his questions and occasionally ask him questions as you also wanted to know more about ten too

you conversation progresses to some stupid talk about a class you two both take

until Johnny comes up and tells you that the bus is leaving soon

so you have to say goodbye to ten and get on the bus

and the whole ride home is just you thinking of ten and you cannot wait to see him again

the next day of the tournament, your team plays an earlier game as they lost the first game

the game continues as normal, you and Johnny taking stats and messing with each other

until ten’s team arrives, all wearing matching sweats and looking intimidating

ten’s eyes scan the gym until he sees you, smiling and waving at you

you smile and wave back and Johnny’s like

“you do realize your boyfriend is our rival right”

“he’s not my boyfriend”

“yeah sure, whatever you say”

so you get more distracted than normal while taking stats, but you still get through it

and ten has now changed into his jersey and getting ready to warmup

and you sit with johnny and watch as ten warms up by shooting around and stretching

you unintentionally ignore Johnny’s comments

and when he notices, he just stops talking and starts pouting until he gets your attention again

which takes way longer than you’d like to admit

but throughout the game you try to pay attention to both the game and whatever Johnny is saying at that time

and ten isn’t taking as many shots as he was the first day, mainly because the other team isn’t playing the defense very close

so he lets the other players score

and occasionally ten will look at you in the crowd, a smile on his face the entire time

when the game ends, after ten’s team wins, Johnny pulls your attention away from ten going to the locker room

“why don’t you just ask him out already?”

“bc I'm not about to embarrass myself, he doesn’t like me”

Johnny rolls his eyes “yeah, and I'm not good looking”

then you roll your eyes

“you should though, like you aren’t going to see him every day and there’s only one more day of the tournament”

“I know, I know”

Johnny leaves to go sit with some of the players of your team when he sees ten walking out of the locker room and making his way towards you

and ten’s hair is all messed up from just playing a game of basketball and sweating

and he’s just wearing his team sweats

but he just looks so great anyways

and you guys start talking again while watching the next teams warmup

it’s like you’ve known each other for years

you just feel like you know ten so well

“are you ready for the tournament to be over? it’s probably really tiring playing three games in three days”

“I kind of am, but then I won’t be able to see you when it’s over”

you try to hide you blush that comes from his comment

“we could hang out after the tournament ends” you mumble

“sounds good, can I get your number?”

and you exchange numbers and hangout until the final game is over and you both have to go your separate ways

and Johnny and some of the basketball players tease you when you get on the bus

but ten starts texting you during the bus ride

and it just makes you so happy that ignore their comments

the last day of the tournament ends the same way

your team ended up winning their last game and got 3rd in the tournament

you were able to talk and hang out with ten before his game

ten’s team got 2nd, but there was a smile on his face the whole time

and after the game, ten came up and hugged you, his hair messed up and all sweaty

even if they didn’t get first, he was still happy and proud of himself and his team

and he was so happy that he met you at this tournament

and with a promise to meet up again soon, he heads off to the locker room and you have to go back on the bus to go home

after a couple of times hanging out, ten finally got the courage to ask you out on a real date

and it was really cute bc he was so shy about bring it up

but you always try to make it to his games if you don’t have to do stats

and you meet some of his teammates and they let you know that ten never shuts up about you

at that point, ten’s like, “let’s go look at this trophy”

and ten and you occasionally will have study dates where you both complain about that class you were both taking

even tho you were on different chapters and had different teachers

it would just be nice to have someone that you can confide in and has a similar experience

overall your relationship is pretty cute but also just like you two are best friends

and Johnny gets slightly jealous that you don’t spend all your free time with him

he even tries to third-wheel on some of your dates

but ten doesn’t mind bc he’s been slowly becoming friends with Johnny

and soon enough Johnny and ten will be deep in conversation and completely forget you’re even around

but you don’t mind bc you have your two boys and life is great

[thornescratch]

I want to watch old Washington Capitals games but I don't know which. If you have any favourite games from the past, would you mind recommending some? It could be your favourite because they won, or they were hilarious while loosing, or even because something memorable or amusing happened at the game. I am asking you because you obviously have a lot of passion for this team, and also because you might have fellow Caps fan followers who might be willing to offer recs too. Thank you in advance!

Oh! This is a super fun question, so thank you. Hmm. This is hard because I know I’m going to write a ton and then remember “I LEFT OUT SUCH AND SUCH GAME” as soon as I hit post. So, yeah, if anyone’s reading this and wants to chime in with their favorite Caps games, please feel free!

And I’m not sure how you’re going to watch these games– hell, I’m not sure all the ones I’d recommend are available, but, I’ll try to be cognizant of that. So. That said. I should probably take this moment to note that if you want to have an actual convenient DVD, Amazon sells one of the 10 Greatest Capitals Games. You used to be able to buy it in the team store, but I haven’t seen it there in a couple years, so.

That particular DVD is very much geared to the Ovechkin era, which I don’t really see as a bad thing, but I don’t know you. And if you’re looking for much more of a deep dive into past Caps history, the DVD does include some of the most exciting and seminal games, but it’s much more current in general. I do get the mindset of people who have been around for this entire franchise and scoff at only focusing at 2005 on. I do get it! But the thing is, when you try to watch old games, you run into the fact they’re one, hard to find, two, generally of terrible video quality.

…Also the reviewer on Amazon who bitches because they think it should include the 4 OT Easter Epic should be soundly donkeypunched. Look, buddy, we all signed up for a disproportionate amount of disappointment as Caps fans, but that doesn’t mean it needs to be memorialized on a DVD. With that said, here are the games I love to rewatch or remember or I just think they’re neat. I’ll start with the DVD games because that’s convenient, and then go on with some other ones I like

Here’s what the DVD includes. All of these are good games to watch.

4/16/1988 - Dale Hunter scores the series’ winner in overtime as the Caps beat the Philadelphia Flyers 5-4 to win Game 7 of the Patrick Division semi-final. This was the one they used in that “History will” series of NHL commercials because we have so few good playoff highlights.

4/17/1996 - In the Eastern Conference quarter-final against the Pittsburgh Penguins, the team rallies from a three-goal deficit to win 6-4.

6/4/1998 - Joe Juneau scores the overtime winner in Game 6 of the Eastern Conference finals, and the Caps go onto their first (and only) Stanley Cup appearance.

10/5/2005 - Ovechkin’s first NHL game. He scores two goals, hits a dude so hard the glass pane falls out, and Caps beat Columbus Blue Jackets 3-2.

11/23/2007 - First Bruce Boudreau coaching game, an overtime win against Philadelphia. Ah, Bruce.

1/31/2008 - Ovechkin’s (first) four goal game against the Habs, where he broke his nose (again) and won the game in OT.

4/5/2008 - Caps win 3-1 against the Florida Panthers to gain their first playoff appearance in five years, after having to win 11 of 12 down the stretch and pushing to the last day.

4/11/2008 - Ovechkin’s first NHL playoff game, with him leading the team to a come-from-behind win over Philadelphia.

4/28/2009 - Russian legend Sergei Fedorov, in his first and last season with the Caps, provides the game-winning goal in Game 7 against the New York Rangers, leading the Caps to win 2-1 in the Eastern Conference quarterfinals. God, that goal. (Also, don’t look now, but that was a Game 7 the Caps won.)

5/4/2009 - The Ovechkin-Crosby dueling hat tricks playoff game with the Caps winning 4-3. (This was also where Crosby complained about hats being thrown on the ice. Like, there are many other reasons he’s never going to be on my Christmas card list, but this was him at some of his whiniest and pettiest, and when I think of reasons why I don’t care for the dude, this one tends to flash across my mind. Because I am also petty. EXCELSIOR.)

OTHER PLAYOFF GAMES.

HEY YES I KNOW EVERYONE MAKES FUN OF US ABOUT THE PLAYOFFS WELL HERE ARE SOME PLAYOFFS GAMES YOU CAN WATCH AND ENJOY.

4/20/2011 - Game four of the series with the New York Rangers. Yeah, yeah, the Caps have had their share of OT pain with the Rangers. But this comes from one of the shorter playoff series the Caps enjoyed in the Ovechkin era, and hey look, it’s a double OT WIN, which came about after the Caps had fallen behind 3-0 in the game, and then forced OT and won it on what was described as a “freaky sort of development play”. Marian Gaborik, in an attempt to clear the puck, accidentally yanked it away from Lundqvist and passed it directly to Jason Chimera, who promptly put it back in the net, and then skated the length of the ice in basically two seconds while his teammates tried to catch him for hugs. (Game 5 of that series was also pretty good because it’s one of the few times where the Caps were closing out a series and never looked worried during it. Just a nice solid win.)

4/25/2012 - Game Seven of the series with the Boston Bruins. Yeah, yeah, the Caps and Game 7′s. HERE’S ONE THAT WE ACTUALLY WON. This series was so fucking close and insane and it was the NHL playoff debut of a young Braden Holtby who came storming up from the AHL after both Tomas Vokoun and Michal Neuvirth went down to freak injury and went on to become the Bruins’s worst nightmare. (If you love Braden Holtby, you should remember that ex-Cap then-Panther Marco Sturm falling on Michal Neuvirth is what propelled Holtby into the playoffs out of necessity, and therefore most Caps fans probably owe him a drink.) And of course, this was the game of Joel Ward’s OT winner, with a helping of Mike Knuble’s gigantic ass in Tim Thomas’s face, (and I’m frankly still amazed the Caps didn’t get boned with a GI call on it), and man do I love me some Joel Ward.

4/27/2015 - Game Seven of the series with the Islanders. ANOTHER GOOD OUTCOME GAME SEVEN. This game seven on the other hand wasn’t as close (though every Caps fan was puckered and freaking during it) and the Caps were dominating. Joel Ward scored first for the Caps, and they outshot New York and were handling the Isles with ease, only to have everyone almost lose their shit when Holtby made a mistake and let Nielson tie. However, just as the Bruins series was Holtby’s debut party, the Isles series was Evgeny Kuznetsov’s Big Show. He scored with just over seven minutes left in the game on Halak, the goalie who’d tortured the Caps in 2010, and it was another successful Game 7 and series win. Since we don’t have a ton of those, enjoy it.

4/18/2016 - Game Three of the series with the Flyers. This was the, uh, Bracelet Game. But it was also a game where the Caps scored five goddamn powerplay goals to win 6-1 and took a 3-0 series lead for the first time in– well, ever. (At least in the seven game series era.) This is why it narrowly beats out Game Two, which had the Steve Mason “OH NO” goal given up to Jason Chimera.

4/19/2017 - I feel like I should include a Leafs playoff series game here from 2017 for completeness sake. Uh. Hmm. Let’s go with Game Four, since it had Tom Wilson saving a goal, then going down ice to score a goal, and was high-scoring, super-close, and barely squeaked away from going to OT.

OTHER REGULAR SEASON GAMES

1/1/2011, 1/1/2015 - Both Winter Classics. CAPS ARE UNDEFEATED IN OUTDOOR GAMES. Plus, they both serve as a good excuse to rewatch the HBO 24/7 and Epix Road to the Winter Classic specials.

2/7/2010 - Snowvechkin. Ovi had a hat trick against the Pens, the Caps had to come from behind, there was bizarre reffing, and Caps won. This was all the more impressive because DC was essentially under two feet of snow at this point and for the intrepid souls who basically walked into the city on foot to see the game, they got a real gem.

2/6/2011 - The Caps shut out the Pens 3-0 on Superbowl Sunday, but more dramatically, shaved ape on skates and career injury-causing cockmonger Matt Cooke tried to go knee on knee with Alex Ovechkin in the process and Nicklas Backstrom did his best to punch everliving shit out of him for doing it. It’s great seeing Backstrom get in Cooke’s face and throw hands afterthe shot on Ovechkin. If “ice in his veins and murder in his eyes” Backstrom is that visibly emotional,then somebody done done somebody wrong.

3/7/2011 - Holtby comes on in relief of Neuvirth in a game against the Bolts, when Neuvirth takes a shot off the mask and gets a sliver of metal in his eye. He held the Caps in it, and went on to help get the shootout win, 2-1. This was the very beginning of his career, and he’d go on to start the post-season against the Bruins and really blossom.

1/24/2012: Matty Perreault tricks the Bruins. This was an interesting game because it was one of the games Ovechkin was suspended for, after the NHL decided to make an example out of him and suspend him for a hit on Michalek but still require him to go to the ASG. Ovechkin not eager to play the NHL game of cookie-cutter villain / showdog to trot out and make money (boy, if you ever want to get an earful of rant, start me off on that particular suspension because I will not shut up about it, ever) and withdrew from the ASG. With Ovechkin out for suspension and Nicklas Backstrom concussed by noted shitstain Rene Bourque, and Mike Green also injured, it wasn’t looking good– until diminutive hero Matty P stepped up (and later got a shaving cream pie, courtesy of his proud captain who essentially rushed out of the press box in his suit and down to the ice to do it) to win the damn game with his hatty.

Fun fact with this game: Perreault somehow managed to high-stick Chara in the face during this game.Ponder that one for a minute. One might wonder how Perreault could even high-stick someone who routinely gets calls from Logan Airport to please move his head sothe planes can take off, without sneaking a ladder onto the ice or something.

2/24/2012 - Caps beat Habs 4-1. There’s an Ovechkin pretty goal in this one, but this real thing I remember is that Mike Green was itching to get back at Rene Bourque for concussing Backstrom, and boy did he. Green was playing Bourque because of the puck coming his waynear the net, but as soon as he saw the puck was past and out of danger, heturned his full attention to absolutely nailing Bourque and shoving him face-first into the goal-side. It was awesome.“Oh, did I fling you into the goal post? My bad, man.”

3/29/2012 - Matt Hendricks wins the shootout for Washington 3-2 and completely turns Tim Thomas inside out. At that point, you expected players like PKane or Datsyuk or Oshie to make beautiful, awe-inspiring SO moves.Matt Hendricks? Well, that’s a secret Caps fans knew and reveled in, and then welaughed at the other teams when they went, “Matt Hendricks, seriously? That’swho you're—oh, fuck. Fuck! fuuuuuuck! Where the fuck did that come from?!”

4/16/2013 - Ovechkin nearly tears Jay McClement’s head off for boarding Backstrom. This was a Caps 5-1 win over Toronto, and you’ve probably seen the clip in question. It was encouraging to see how much the team rushed to start a line brawl for Nicky’s sake. Backstrom, it should be noted, stood right back up and threw himself after the guy throwing himself at Ovi, so it went both ways.

12/10/2013 - I could describe all of Ovi’s four goal games, but this one against the Bolts, a 6-5 shootout win, was super dramatic and his first since 2008, a five year span. I’m just going to quote the RMNB recap of it: First, Mike Green committed a penalty and the Lightningscored. Then, Mike Green committed a penalty and the Lightning scored. Then, ina Shyamalany plot twist, Mike Green was on-ice when the Lightning scored. Holtbywas like, “Sick of you, Mike,” and he peaced out; Grubauer in. AlexOvechkin put the team on the board with an instant-score following a faceoff.Okay, buckle up. Here we go.

Troy Brouwer proved unable, so Nick Backstrom finished off the powerplay for him. Then, Alex Ovechkin happened. After Richard Panik earned a 5-minute major for boarding Karl Alzner, the Russian machine made Tampa pay. Twice. First, he laid up a cross-ice pass from Marcus Johansson, then he took a one-timer from Green to tie the game. Hats rained down. Another three-goal second period for the Washington Capitals.

Ondrej Palat put the Bolts back up in the third, taking advantage of some observational Capitals defense, but the Caps weren’t done. With the Caps net empty, Alex Ovechkin struck again, scoring his 4th goal of the night. HIS FOURTH FOARTH GOAL OF THE NIGHT.

12/13/2014 - Backstrom’s natural hat trick against the Lightning. He’s just so silky smooth.

10/23/2015 - Evgeny Kuznetsov’s hat trick and five point night against the Edmonton Oilers.

11/16/2016 - Nicklas Backstrom has another 5 five point night as the Caps skull the Penguins 7-1. Fun fact: At that point in time, Backstrom had had five five-point games, one more than Ovechkin, equaling Crosby, and one less than Malkin. And… no All Star Game appearances or Selkes, because the NHL is stupid.

If you want to know his other five point games up until then, they were:

11/16/2016 against Pittsburgh Penguins – 2 goals, 3 assists12/10/2013 against Tampa Bay Lightning – 1 goal, 4 assists02/04/2010 against New York Rangers – 1 goal, 4 assists12/05/2009 against Philadelphia Flyers – 1 goal, 4 assists11/15/2008 against New Jersey Devils – 1 goal, 4 assists

1/7/2017 - Backstrom’s 500th assist, on a TJ Oshie goal. It’s harder to pick out favorite Backstrom games because his game is so quiet and focused on operating in the shadows. Usually he’s having some kind of tremendous game that people focus on the dudes scoring the goals off the magical moves he’s making.

1/22/2017 - Ovechkin’s 1000th point. 35 seconds in, against the Pens. FUN FACT I WAS THERE FOR THIS ONE. I have a good friend from out of town who is a Pens fan (I’m as shocked as you), and for the past couple years she’s come to town from across the country when the Caps play the Pens, and my record with her was ABYSMAL. Until this game, I had never seen the Caps win in person at Verizon while she was there, but then this one happened, and she very kindly didn’t shove me over the ledge of the nosebleeds to my death, as she would have probably been in full rights to do after all the hooting and capering I was doing.

LOSSES? UH….

I don’t have a lot of recs for Caps losses because, well, I’m not a masochist. But if you must, I would recommend two particular ones first because the fights were bonkers.

11/21/1998 - Caps vs. Bruins. These is notable because of the goalie fight. Most notably, the one that’s been called “The Dance” between Byron Dafoe and Olie Kolzig, since– well, you’ll know it when you see it. The backstory is, Dafoe and Kolzig were close friends– best men at each other’s weddings, even. And when the Bruins and Caps threw down in their line brawl, Dafoe grabbed Dale Hunter (Dale Hunter having been just momentarily pried out from the dogpile and had just been separated from Ken Belanger) and Kolzig came down the ice to get in on the action. However, Kolzig decided to fight Ken Belanger (since the refs had turned around to deal with Dale Hunter) which was… uh, probably not a good idea.

Dafoe and Hunter had simultaneous “Ho-shit, son,” realizations, immediately stopped fighting each other, and flung themselves at Kolzig and Belanger respectively. Dafoe grabbed Kolzig and basically waltzed him away from Belanger before he could get his head smashed in, and Hunter went back to fighting Belanger. Kolzig and Dafoe pulled each other’s jerseys off while Kolzig seemed torn between trying to yell at Dafoe for yanking him out of the fight and laughing at his friend. Everyone on the ice got tossed and the Caps lost 5-4 in OT.

1/12/2010 - Caps vs. Bolts. You actually don’t really have to watch this whole game, which was a 7-4 loss. You just need to watch Steve Downie and Alex Ovechkin drop the gloves and prepare to fight, only to have Matt Bradley come streaking in at the last second and literally steal the fight out of Ovechkin’s hands. Dan Steinberg did a great write-up of it for the Sportsbog. It’‘s kind of hilarious because, well, Ovi and Downie were both completely taken by surprise. If you catch any of the later analyst clips, you can see Bradley watching Ovi and Downie yell at each in the box, keeping an eye on the unfolding events like a hawk, screaming urgently at Eric Fehr to get the hell off the ice so he can get on without getting the instigator, and then just making a direct beeline for the fight so he can get in front of Ovi and punch Downie in the face.

12/16/2014 - The never ending fucking shoot out with the Panthers. Ugh. I refuse to even google this to find highlights. WE WENT THROUGH THE ENTIRE GODDAMN ROSTER. EVEN BROOKS FUCKING ORPIK SCORED. ON A TRIPLE DEKE. I still refuse to believe the entire thing wasn’t a fever dream from the mind of Roberto Luongo while passed out on the can. It did at least give us the notable mic’d up quote of “Coach Korn has a pitched tent in the stands right now,” though.

WAIT IT’S BAD LUCK TO END ON A LOSS, LET’S END WITH SOME MORE WINS.

1/08/2016 - This game had everything I say, in my best breathy Stefon voice. A quick two goal lead for the Caps. Giving up three goals to fall behind. Nicklas Backstrom slamming in a loose puck with less than ten seconds left to tie it. OT madness. Nate Schmidt and his skate helping Holtby save an almost slam dunk Ranger goal off the faceoff in OT. Ovechkin grabbing the saved puck and going end to end to score in OT. Ovechkin falling on his face. Happy, huggy chaos by the Caps on Madison Square Garden ice. Ovi one away from 500 goals…

1/10/2016 - Ovechkin’s 500th. This might be my favorite game (for now…), not because it was a blowout win, not because Ovechkin actually had two in this game, one of which involved dangling Erik Karlsson’s pants off, but watching the team come to celebrate with him, seeing how much they loved him and were overjoyed for him and had actually planned it out in advance without his knowledge… that’s just something special. It was just a really, really good moment that very little can spoil for me, no matter what.

[anxiety-trademark]

The week in review:

Raw 09/28 NXT 09/30 NXT UK 10/01 Smackdown 10/02 Takeover 31 10/04

Raw:

*bell rings*, *Asuka runs straight at her opponent*, *gets punched once by some weak ass looking shot*, *collapses uselessly* PPPFFFFTTTTTTTT

I hate that elbow kick off thing Zelina does. Becky used to have a hold like that in nxt. Hated it then, too. Awful.

That hurricanrana where Zelina fell on her ass, though. Wow. Okay.

Is it just me that thought the modified grounded octopus took awhile to cinch in? That was in for so long lol.

Why are women barely jumping for these german suplexes lately?

Omg that one-armed suplex by Asuka was great.

That kickout by Asuka was incredibly well done. What a perfect stretch with perfect timing. Zelina even tucked the left arm. Points.

Oh nice didn’t know Zelina could do a moonsault. And right onto the knees so the Asuka lock can be set in. Nice. Good ending.

That was better than their Clash match, and Zelina showcased different things, even if I wasn’t a fan of some of it.

Ah the debut of Mandy and Dana as a tag team.

I really like Lana and Nattie together.

Oh wow decisions that make sense and are building toward something. What alternate universe have I stepped into? Please bring back GMs and stop being so lazy, please.

I really don’t understand why they moved these women like weeks before the draft.

Alright let’s swap momentum... it’s time Dana gets some comeback before tagging Mandy.

That full 180 flip Mandy did to Lana was really cool. Not sure if Lana was meant to land on her left knee or flat, but I think it was supposed to injure her left knee. Beautiful.

Points to Lana for the kickout, negative points to Nattie for jumping in after the three.

I wish Dana had hit a bigger move against Natalya at the end.

The pump knee strike by Mandy was a little messy, I would’ve ended it with her other finisher instead. Good match though. Glad to see Dana and Mandy pick up some sort of momentum, especially on their Raw debut.

Also good for Lana not having to go through the table for a week *applause*

Mandy is fine on the mic. It’s not awful, it’s not super compelling; totally serviceable. Dana though... always comes off like she’s acting rehearsed lines or reading off a script.

Nice transition into the next segment. Quarter point.

Whether I like the Bianca video packages or not, it’s always a pleasure to hear her song.

LOVED the incorporation of the hurdles. That’s what I want to see, that shows me an actual challenge. I have no doubt in her strength or speed; I in fact do believe she’s the strongest and the fastest. They just aren’t showcasing that right lol. Give me something more convincing. Girl was jumping over fucking hurdles, that’s convincing.

Highlight: Dana & Mandy vs Lana & Nattie

---

NXT:

Shotzi has too long of an entrance imo.

Dakota Kai is such a spoiled little shit lmao. She’s so annoying. Big fan.

Really didn’t like Shotzi trying to do her ballpit line so early. I really wish she didn’t take so long to set it up as well.

Wow I hate that submission move Shotzi, I’m sorry. Dakota sells it like death though, so she gets a point.

Dakota’s style is way too fast for her to play a slow, methodical heel in the ring. 

A one count lmao ballsy. Love Dakota’s reaction too.

Such a fan of Dakota’s selling.

Chicken wing german suplex into a pin? That was beautiful Shotzi, I agree. Great near fall. 

A common complaint I have with women - even on the main roster - is how they go to do like a spear halfway through the ropes just to set up some counter to their move (kick, a pump kick, the rope hangup Bayley does, Charlotte shooting through the middle to roll you up) and that’s fine, but it’s always easily telegraphed. Step up please @ everyone.

oof that landing by Dakota; hit her face right on Shotzi’s knee.

What does Dakota call that kick, Scorpion or something? On the apron? Awesome stuff.

Holy shit that... flipping backdrop - (?) I don’t even know what to call that - on the apron was amazing, but holy shit Shotzi that landing was terrible. The concept is there but man you might wanna practice/modify that one a bit more.

Cool Rhea came down to fuck with Raquel, distracting Dakota, but the rollup was weak. Also weak that Rhea merely pushed Raquel into the steps once before walking back. Good match though.

Stalemate after a bunch of pin attempts with zero offense. Could live without these spots tbh.

Very close range kick, could’ve been set up far better.

Li rolls out of the ring, heel 101.

Kacy you can’t just yell at Kayden to get up lmao plz.

This is the first time I’ve seen any personality from Xia Li.

Ballsy one counts, what’s with the one counts tonight lmao.

Kacy is a bad cheerleader, just getting that out there.

I love that roll through + side kick combo Kayden does.

Whoa idk how Kayden pulled that win out of her ass, but good for her. I can see this is pushing Xia deeper into frustration every loss. Won’t complain about it, love to see Kayden win. Good, short match. A rollup works here.

Highlight: Dakota vs Shotzi

---

NXT UK:

I love Xia Brookside’s music, but not with her or her entrance.

Now Jinny’s entrance/wardrobe/demeanor matches her music.

Sure Xia Brookside’s rolls were quick, but I’m not understanding why she rolled sideways lmao it’s like Link in Zelda.

If you’re not going to add an actual crowd or monitors, get rid of the hairdryer fans. If I can’t see them, and more importantly they don’t exist, then I don’t want to hear them.

Too many wrist locks. Also refs getting involved for no logical reason, just so the heel can take advantage, is annoying. 

That back drop onto Jinny’s knee was ugly, hated the collapse. Took the impact out of it for me.

Nasty Irish Whip, points to both.

Nice flip off the hurricanrana.

Botched monkey flip. Perhaps Jinny didn’t think there was enough room for her to comfortably land; had she went for it and tucked her legs she definitely would’ve been fine. Feel like that was an amateur mistake, plenty of women would’ve just sold it with their legs getting caught up.

That was weird. Xia Brookside goes through all that trouble just to make sure she hit the monkey flip, just to lift Jinny’s head so Jinny could punch her. Weak.

Kick out was sloppy.

Xia Brookside is gassed and isn’t even doing any offense. Or selling. This match is odd. This would get booed on the MR.

Jinny stops to talk too much while wrestling. Obviously stalling. The dialogue isn’t even good for all of that noise.

Whatever. A match I could’ve lived without.

Lmao bow down? Queen of NXT UK?? Girl.... uh uh. Nah nah nah Go sit down.

Highlight: There was an Irish Whip into the corner that looked impactful

---

Smackdown:

Alexa’s pyro was better timed than last week, but it could use improvement. This is important to me damn it.

You know Alexa, my spine feels cold and my body goes numb every time I smoke my weed. Has anyone asked this girl if she’s on drugs? Could just be drugs.

Kevin/wwe, I don’t need you to tell me she’s brainwashed. WE CAN SEE that she’s brainwashed. This has been escalating for like... 2 months lmao.

The hairdryer crowd being piped in kinda ruins this. This is set up like a scene from a horror movie and the noise is taking away from it. A live crowd probably would’ve stayed silent for her, you could’ve lessened the mass effect.

Love how she just sits there watching Kevin pace around. That’s good. She’s good. Love how Kevin knew she was calling to the Fiend with that line. That’s good. This is good.

She sits there poised and unafraid, yet intrigued with him. Like his queen.

The power of this angle and the fate of it succeeding lies solely on Alexa and her selling of it. If she doesn’t sell this or believe in it, or fucks up once, it shatters the entire mystique. Man I’m a huge fan of this story rn.

Glad I didn’t bother guessing who this mysterious woman was. The glitz and glamour has got nothing compared to the moonwalking, trashtalking, Princess of Staten Island.

Love the rainbow on the polaroid camera though.

Decent enough promo but that music was awkward.

Why did y’all make Sasha just stand out there shifting her feet staring at the hard cam lol.

This is all solid Sasha but like Bayley already admitted all of this lmao.

Yes, we know you saved her title like 15 times, we ALL agree with you.

I actually like the emotion written all over Sasha’s face that comes across as ALMOST awkward.

What I don’t like about this feud: Sasha’s still an asshole, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to buy her as a babyface in like 3 weeks. She has the sympathy vote in a meta sense, sure, and I’ve been saying I want her to run SD on her own since November 2019, but that doesn’t mean she’s automatically a babyface within kf. Also annoying that they haven’t had a brawl that ends on equal footing, via interruption by officials or something. Also not sure how much I buy the character of Bayley being “too scared” to come to SD. If I could’ve gotten a quick interview by her, even if it’s her leaving the arena just as she finds out Sasha has arrived, that would’ve tied this together better.

Why she still staring at the hard cam lmao. Walk away. Leave. Make your exit. Alright whatever.

Highlight: Alexa becoming the Fiend’s queen

---

Takeover 31:

Man true, I forget Io has beat both Charlotte and Sasha this year. What a big year for her.

Love how this entire “arena” is set up, but my covid-paranoia does not approve.

Lol that one single guy trying to start a chant, goodbye.

BEAUTIFUL corrected monkey flip by Io

The attempt at the springboard by Candice was there. Could’ve been cleaner.

Good transition having Candice counter Io into a backstabber in the corner, cuz that offense was taking way too long to set up.

Commentator attributed Candice being slow in the beginning because she’s sad Johnny lost. Tired of the Garganos being tied to each other.

Why is every female heel on every brand dragging people’s eyes/face across the ropes all of the sudden?

It was not a nice move, she needs to stop doing her poor woman’s version of Natural Selection. Done.

Y’all are losing me, give Io some momentum plz.

Every single heel wants to go slow and methodical. Ridiculous. Where’s Sasha.

This was not paced well, ESPECIALLY compared to their first match. Their first didn’t breathe enough and was a sprint with not enough selling, but it was still really good. This is paced on the complete opposite spectrum. And not good.

Io has the best dropkick in the division, especially when you consider how safe her landing is for her own body’s longevity.

Totally no sold that powerbomb, Io. That’s a yikes.

Lmao Io kicked out of Candice’s springboard moonsault. Haha.

Got a meteora, 2 backstabbers, and a crossface... again, where’s Sasha???

Lmfao 2 ref bumps and a fake referee. GOD I HATE HOW WOMEN’S MATCHES ARE BOOKED THIS YEAR. The first bump didn’t even look legit.

Io took a title shot to the face yet kicked out, and y’all out here calling Becky “Cena” for kicking out of a chair shot to the midsection? Annoying.

I’m now convinced Charlotte has the best Spanish fly in the entire women’s division.

Rich having Toni do a promo directly aimed at Io, considering Toni beat her to win the MYC. Also rich how unbothered Io seemed lmao.

Ahhh the nxt women’s champion that should’ve won her title by defeating Asuka. We remember her well. Injured herself chasing the 24/7 title back when they were running the Becky/Charlotte vs Sasha/Bayley feud. Good times.

Highlight: Io’s theme song

---

*NXT shined the brightest out of all the other shows, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t give major props to specifically Alexa Bliss.

[junker-town]

6 things to know from Week 1 in the NFL

Derick E. Hingle-USA TODAY Sports

Here are 6 things to know from Week 1 in the NFL

The first week of the 2020 NFL season is more or less in the books and we’re already getting a loose sense of how things are shaking out. I mean, I could hit you with some overwrought resolve that fronts like we ever really learn anything from one week of football, but I’d rather hedge my bets here and say that especially this season everything is still up for grabs.

A fractured offseason, and lack of preseason really turned this year into a tossup. One thing will remain true, however: Tom Brady ($25M) is costing the Buccaneers the same amount as 22 Cam Newtons ($1.1375M). Okay, it’s actually 21.97802197802198 Newtons. Please don’t accuse me of manipulating the numbers to fit my agenda. That agenda, by the way, is to laugh at how washed Brady is looking, and how damn good Newton does.

One earns a certain amount of schadenfreude when they’ve been as good as Brady has for as long as he has. Also, like, 43-year-old quarterbacks are supposed to be washed. This is the life cycle of the position. They’re not supposed to be handed $25M contracts while 31-year-old former MVPs barely get a look until late in the offseason where they’re signed for peanuts.

The seasons of Brady and Newton are inexorably linked. Football logic drummed in our heads that Brady was going to thrive and deliver on the Buccaneers’ big-money promises, and that could still hold true. After all, they did face the Saints on Sunday and the Saints are still the Saints. I bought into it too. But sticking to an obviously wrong point of view while the world crumbles around it is something only idiots do, and I’m no idiot. Mild dope at best.

Meanwhile, Newton looks like the player he was before the injury — except this time with an offensive line he dreamed of having while in Carolina, and with an offense tailored specifically to his strengths. When that came together he completed 79 percent of his passes, racked up 230 all purpose yards and scored two of the Patriots’ three touchdowns on the ground. Granted, this was all against Miami, but he still proved that all the reasons cited as to why he was going to fail in New England, like schematic changes and poor receivers were ridiculous. Meanwhile the same reasons Brady was going to win, familiarity and an all-star offensive cast didn’t help at all.

On Sunday Patriots’ tight end Ryan Izzo finished with more receiving yards that All Pro receiver Mike Evans. Ryan Izzo is a player I only just now learned existed when I looked at the box score. Good for Ryan Izzo.

But look, it’s one week — so we’ll let this play out a bit. For now Newton looks like the stone cold lock for steal of the offseason, while Brady is the handful of magic beans Jack traipsed home with when his only damn job was to sell that cow.

This table is the last thing I’ll say to hurt you Bucs fans, promise.

We need to talk about that Lions collapse.

The Detroit Lions failed so spectacularly on Sunday that they made Mitchell Trubisky look like a bonafide superstar. That sentence alone should be enough to tell you how bad this was.

Up 23-6 entering the fourth quarter, at some point the Lions looked around their empty stadium and said “Hey, let’s completely shit the bed to make it feel like an ordinary Lions home game,” and hoo boy did they go for it.

Trubisky only had 116 yards through the air in the first three quarters of the game. Destined for another typical Trubisky game. Dude then went off for 126 and three touchdowns in the fourth, in an effort that turned him into a box score superstar for a day. Meanwhile Detroit didn’t do a single thing right down the stretch, and this loss might be one of the most demoralizing we’ll see all season, and it’s only Week One.

For now I’m just appreciating that the Lions collapsed easier than the planned demolition of the Silverdome in 2017, when it took multiple attempts to get the place down.

What can Browns do for you?

Nothing. They lost 38-6 and told us, in a small, almost beautiful way that some things in 2020 can feel like any other year.

Washington should have stopped being racist years ago.

The Washington Football Team is 1-0 since changing its name, and did so in surprising fashion by taking it to the Eagles in the opener.

The Football Team’s defense (I guess this is how I’m supposed to shorten them) is frankly, terrifying. They sacked Carson Wentz eight times on the afternoon, picked him off twice and forced a fumble. Ron Rivera is really, really good at getting guys to love him and buy in to what he’s trying to install on the field, particularly on defense, and it’s showing so far.

Personally, I attribute this even more to sponsor-pressure karmic alignment.

I like how supportive the fake fans are.

For the most part it didn’t even feel like a spate of empty stadiums this week. The TV production was on point to stick to the field as much as possible, and avoid hovering on the empty stands too much.

That said, there was something downright pleasant about the fake fans teams around the league piped in. They didn’t boo the refs, they seemingly cheered when both home and away fans did something well. It was like the stands were full of supportive mothers watching both their children play each other and clapping equally.

It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but it was nice. Also we’re getting major shade out of it all, which I’m here for.

Cam Jordan on the weirdness of no fans in the Superdome: "It felt like we were at a Tampa Bay game."

— Katherine Terrell (@Kat_Terrell) September 14, 2020

Gardner Minshew was as statistically perfect as his whole look.

I’m not sure if a look can be “statistically perfect,” but I’m going with it. Dude obviously didn’t get the memo the Jags were going to suck this year, because he lit it up for the only NFL fans allowed to be in attendance this week.

This is going to be one of those games that gets overlooked a ton because it’s the Jags and Colts, but my god Minshew was incredible. 19/20, 173 yards, 3 TD, 0 INT — he found ten different receivers in the process, and ran for another 19 yards on the ground.

It wasn’t long ago that everyone wrote off the Jags as being one of the worst teams in football this year, then they do this. Jacksonville’s top two receivers were Keelan Cole Sr. and Laviska Shenault Jr., both of which sound like made up names from those iconic Key & Peele sketches.

Jacksonville might honestly be a team to watch this year. Seriously.

WON’T SOMEBODY PLEASE FEED EZEKIEL ELLIOT?!

Homer Simpson did Ezekiel Elliott's FEED ME tattoo before Zeke pic.twitter.com/PPeuUPo2Cs

— SB Nation (@SBNation) September 14, 2020

Seriously, he is a peak athlete working hard to be one of the best at his position. He really shouldn’t need a belly tattoo to beg for food. I know Jerry Jones lost his Papa John’s hookup, but he has more than enough money to ensure his star running back’s hunger is satisfied.

[heedra]

Exalted Secret Santa

I’m excited to jump in on @shiftingpath‘s Exalted Secret Santa for the first time! A busy quarter meant I didn’t really have time to get adequate reference material for everyone I wanted to add to this list (there’s always next time!), but here are two of my (terrible) favorites.

Avenging Phoenix- Dawn Caste Solar (Formerly Ravenous Vulture Picks Clean the Bones of Creation, Dusk Caste Abyssal)

Orphaned at an early age, Phoenix was adopted by a Guild mercenary and raised as such. He spent his later mortal life as a city guard captain in Thorns, where he exalted during the fateful siege itself, disillusionment and rage at the circumstances of his death making him an easy recruit for the Mask. His path has weaved far and wide since then, a slow painful crawl from rebellion to eventual redemption; a journey that ultimately gave him a place among the saviors of Creation. He now helps command an organization that trains mortals, ghosts, and renegade deathknights alike to combat the forces of the Underworld (is it based on the BPRD? yes.). As long as his soul is on this side of Lethe, he is determined to fight against the Void- not because he considers himself antithesis to it, but because he has known it and survived it. He has impostor’s syndrome when it comes to his redemption by the Sun, and still feels uncomfortable thinking of himself as a peer to the other members of the Solar Host.

Phoenix is of Western descent, very short, fat, and beefy, with warm brown skin and a round, open face.  He keeps his burgundy hair closely shaved, not fond of dealing with the mess of wavy curls it becomes when allowed to grow out. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, the outside of the iris rimmed with the faintest edge of golden yellow. His nose looks like it has been broken multiple times in the past, and never properly healed. Due to unfortunate wyld misadventures his tongue has been mutated to resemble and function like that of a frog or chameleon’s, though this is only really apparent when he opens his mouth to use the damn thing. He is frequently found wearing his armor; black jade lamellar embellished with cruel-looking spikes, and often a shaggy grey fur cloak made from the pelt of some hunting trophy. A horned skull helm, made from the skull of a nephwrack’s war-body, often completes this ensemble. The helmet is a minor artifact: when worn, it causes his eyes to glow balefully behind its sockets and makes his voice gravelly with deathly menace. He is reluctant to take it off unless he feels at ease in a situation. Phoenix’s casual clothes tend to be simple, comfortable, loose, and in sharp contrast to his prickly combat garb. He enjoys floral patterns. He does not dress fancily unless pressed to for big occasions, and in those cases usually grudgingly follows the fashion direction of the one twisting his arm.

He usually tends to give off a vibe of someone who is tired, stressed, and sad but trying to seem laid back and amiable wrt expression and body language. Other common emotions include: ‘concerned dad face’, polite confusion, grumpy confusion, blank confusion, tired confusion, worried confusion, exasperated confusion, “is it time for me to fight something yet” confusion, and general gormlessness. This all hides a talent for strategic leadership and a stoic determination that gets fiercer as the going gets tougher. On the battlefield, he is brutal and bloodthirsty. He goes out of his way to make sure his enemies are intimidated, and few of his threats go unbacked. 

His anima banner starts as burst of gold-and crimson fire that solidifies into the form of a fierce and predatory-looking phoenix, with aspects of a garda bird and a lammergeier both. It moves as he does across the battlefield, swooping and rising with each swing of his axe, its fierce eyes focused on his prey. Refs: [1] [2]  Quick sketch of the skull helm (messy, sorry!) His grand grimcleaver looks like this, except made of solar essence (a la Glorious Solar Saber).

Example of the sort of casual clothing he wears

Feel free to get creative with the armor if you want. I’ve never had a fully cemented design for it, besides the fact that it is black jade lamellar and has those spiky shoulder pads. The one thing I would say is that it likely has spikes elsewhere as well, and has clawed gauntlets.

Harvester Of Corpses from Bones of the Barren Wasteland- Daybreak Caste Abyssal Necrosurgeon Harvester grew up in a small villages of ancestor-worshipping farmers that had lived next to the shadowlands southeast of Thorns for generations upon generations. He exalted at 19 in an unceremonious manner when he was ambushed and gutted by bandits upon returning from selling crops and wool at the market. Fueled by bitterness towards his previous life of powerlessness and poverty and the rush of newfound power he received, he served as a loyal deathknight for several years, but mounting attacks of conscience and growing fear of his master eventually led him to abandon his increasingly half-hearted servitude and flee with what little he could take. He now lives a destitute life on the run, hiding beneath rags and the veneer of disease, adrift in a world that rejects his essence, still reeling from just how far in over his head he’s managed to get himself. Harv is 6ft8 (or rather, the Creation equivalent in comparison to average height), very thin, bony and gangly, with greyish, clammy skin that used to be brown. The tips of his fingers and toes are marked with the black of necrosis, and his skin is marked by leprous boils and sores. Hardly any of his hair is left, only his big eyebrows and one small, scraggly patch remaining. His eyes are tired, underscored by heavy shadows, and often seem to have a pale, unhealthy yellow cast to them. He has several scars, most of them from his ‘trials’ as a new deathknight and one from the moment of his ‘death’, a giant scar across his stomach that still looks supernaturally raw and unhealed. The scar on his nose, however, is just from a time he got attacked by a chicken as a kid, a scar which got repeatedly reopened throughout incidents in his childhood and is kind of there to stay.

Harv wears an ever-shifting litany of ragged and grimy cloaks and bandages, prefering to conceal his body as much as possible. Beneath, he wears an unadorned soulsteel breastplate, nabbed from the armory on his way out of dodge, which fits poorly on his scrawny frame, and beneath this a sleeveless high-necked shirt, also black. His one accessory is a pair of obsidian earrings, tokens that marked the passage to adulthood in his village, which he wears at all times. His weapon of choice is Famine’s Mouth, a relatively unadorned artifact soulsteel war-scythe. 

Harvester is an unsettling deadbeat drifter with a penchant for drink. He comes off as defeated and glum, prone to melodrama, cowardice, passive-aggression, and extremely dry humor. Deep down he’s still the gentle and caring farmboy he once was, though it is hidden behind paranoia, avoidance, a nasty passive agressive dramatic streak, and immense social awkwardness. Despite his fear of his deathlord and peers and self-hatred towards his abyssal nature, he is also a zealous underworld nerd, fascinated with necromancy and the Neverborn alike (tho certainly not interested in being loyal to the latter). His passion for his craft is such that he makes use of pretty much any corpse he finds, and is not averse to graverobbing (he’s big on recycling). Harvester can often be found with a retinue of equally cloaked and bandaged zombies, frequently with bizarre and dangerous modifications made to them; this has gotten him in trouble one more than one occasion. He daydreams of one day having the workspace, safety, and materials to create much more ambitious constructs. He is also, despite himself, too fond of dogs to avoid them for resonance’s sake, and the local strays frequently trail after him once they realize that he hands out treats. His anima banner is a sickly green and black swarm of locusts that coalesce thickest behind his head in a grim halo. 

Refs: [1] [2] [3] (old, but good outfit ref] [4 (not my art!)] [5 (ignore the silly outfit and tatoos, but there’s colors here)] The top three drawings here show the weapon his grimscythe is based on. I don’t have a cemented design for it, but it resembles a basic war scythe like the one shown here only much larger, crueler, and made of soulsteel. If you choose to depict it, feel free to get creative!