#we had some good times playing these games didn’t we fellas

[hazieash]

[steddielations]

“Evening, sir.”

It’s the Harrington boy. Again.

“I told you, son, it’s Wayne,” he manages a smile, harder to do these days, like chipping it out of cement and dusting it off. But he gets it done.

Steve doesn’t have the Henderson boy with him today, that’s a first.

“Where’s the curly one?” He steps aside, letting Steve into the trailer door, more rickety than before. No money left to fix it after repairing the bulk of the earthquake damage.

“Dustin? He doesn’t wanna watch the game, and trust me, you don’t wanna listen to that kid complaining the whole time,” Steve walks by, sorta chuckling to himself, “I always miss the replay ‘cause he makes me change the channel to those D&D cartoons during the commercials, just like—”

He stops in front of the couch, looking over his shoulder at Wayne like he’s afraid he messed up somehow. Wayne noticed that look often from him, less and less, but still often. All that confidence he carries can drop on a dime, sorta reminded him of—

“Like Ed?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“S’alright. I don’t mind talking about him if you want,” Wayne manages another concrete smile, but he means it. Steve always waits for him to bring up Eddie first, like he doesn’t want to remind him if it ain’t on his mind, but Wayne likes to be reminded. It’s nice to feel like he’s not the only one missing him. “But the game was yesterday and y’know the cable’s out.”

“Yep, got it covered. I uh, I taped it,” Steve fishes a VHS tape from his back pocket. Fancy. Wayne would worry about him using that for his sake, but he has a feeling Steve’s folks aren’t around enough to notice.

“The Colts win?”

Steve flips the tape around, “Haven’t watched it, so we can bet on it if you’re feeling lucky.”

It doesn’t feel so dry and heavy when Wayne laughs a bit then, waving Steve to go ahead and start up the TV. He already caught the game on the radio, but he bets on the Colts anyway. Loser’s supposed to do the dishes after they scrounge together some soup, but Steve does them anyway.

Wayne would make a stink about it but he can tell Steve just wants to help, to feel like he’s helping. Same thing when the Henderson boy comes around to see him, wanting to hear all the stories, even the scary ones. So Wayne doesn’t mind letting Eddie’s friends feel like they’re helping him.

His nephew didn’t have many friends. Real, cover-your-six kinda friends. The boys he played his music with, they’ve come by a couple times, Wayne always liked Jeff despite the racket. That older fella that’s doing time now, Wayne wasn’t too fond of. And some of Eddie’s dungeon buddies he talked about were the only few.

Now, casual acquaintances? Anybody who didn’t have anywhere else to sit when he had an empty spot at his table? Sure, Eddie had those in spades.

His boy was good at that, putting on a good old show for his crowd, on a stage to keep his distance. That damn Al did him in good, never could trust easily, having his old man pop up and drag him into his mess before he took off again. And Eddie’s poor momma would’ve done right by him, if she hadn’t gotten sick so young.

Took Wayne a long time to get Eddie to depend on him, to trust this was his place to stay and he didn’t have to earn it, Wayne wasn’t just filling his head to scheme something out of him.

Love ain’t a transaction that way. He wasn’t ever any good at saying it, but he tried to show Eddie the best he could.

His boy though, always carried a debt with him. Like he owed Wayne something for taking him in, had to graduate quick and make it outta here, do something with the better life he gave him. Al dug him in so deep, Eddie stayed roped into whatever his latest scheme was (the cars, the dealing, the gambling, thank God Eddie wasn’t there when the goddamn robbery went wrong, 25 to life) like maybe it’d be enough to keep him from running off again.

The odds have never been in favor of people like them, poor folk in a town that’s stuck in its ways, where everybody’s just like their old man, but Al made his choices and Wayne made his. Rest their mother’s soul, she did her best. Part of Wayne was relieved when Al got locked up, at least Wayne had a better chance of keeping Eddie from going down the same path, try to raise him right.

Being a Munson wasn’t a crime. He didn’t owe a darn thing to anybody. Eddie could graduate at his own pace, play whatever games and music he wanted, dress however, that didn’t mean he was up to no good. And a lot of boys get into dealing for a little easy extra money around here, he was gonna grow out of that just like Wayne did.

It worked until all this mess.

That’s why Eddie ran off after what happened to the poor Cunningham girl. He gets spooked when something goes wrong, like it’ll be the last straw he can’t make up for so he runs off. Like the first time he didn’t make senior year, went and hid out with that Rick fella that Wayne never did like, got Eddie deep into that business he tried to keep a secret.

‘Course Wayne knew. He knows exactly what and where his boy hides. If those damn cops weren’t tailing him, he would’ve gone straight to get him.

That was before he knew it would turn into all of this. Now he wishes he would’ve done it anyway. Gone right to Eddie, told him it wasn’t his fault that everything got all turned upside down. Told him he knew he was innocent right from the get-go, and got him away from this rotten old town.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t go get his boy.

So now he’s just trying to be there for Eddie’s boys, since he can’t.

“You have a night shift tonight right? Gonna put on a pot of coffee,” Steve says once he’s finished up the dishes.

Wayne hums. There’s usually more noise going on during these visits. Steve’s still alright at carrying on, even without the Henderson boy’s chatter to fill any gaps.

It was strange, the first time the two of them showed up. Wayne knew Eddie was close with Dustin, but he didn’t have a clue that he was chumming it up with the Harrington boy. Just don’t seem like the same type of company. He might not believe it if it weren’t so obvious that Steve cared about his boy. He suspected before, but now with Steve showing up here alone, he knows.

Steve misses Eddie in a different sorta way than Dustin.

“No cream or sugar, right?” Steve looks humored by that as he passes the mug of black coffee to him, “How are you related to Eddie again?”

Wayne’s mouth turns upward, remembering his nephew’s god awful sweet tooth. He picked up a box of Honeycombs the other day in the store out of habit. “Just happened to be standin’ there when they beamed him down.”

That gets a good chuckle out of Steve. Nothing wistful weighing it down and Wayne’s glad, watching Steve pour himself a cup of coffee too.

Then bitter-sweetness swirls in his chest, seeing the mug that Steve chose for himself. Must’ve dug it out from one of the boxes Wayne hadn’t hung back on the walls yet. The earthquake did a number on his collection. That Garfield one was the only one he’d gotten around to gluing back together.

“What is it?” Steve asks, cup paused at his mouth.

“Ah nothin’ just,” Wayne waves it off, “That’s the mug Ed always used.”

“Oh, I can use a diff—”

“Nah, nah go ‘head. It’s fine.”

Unconvinced, Steve takes a wary sip.

Mostly these days, Wayne just feels like a watch without a ticker, a chest with nothing beating inside it. He can’t name the feeling he has at seeing Eddie’s old mug being used by someone else, but at least it’s something.

“Y’know, he used to put everything in that sucker. Soda pop, soup, cereal, you name it,” Wayne shakes his head, mouth twitching into a smile, “I’d have to wrestle it away from him just to give it a good washing. It’s well loved, alright. Leaks now.”

As if on cue, Steve has to grab a napkin to sit underneath it.

Wayne lets out an amused hum, “He uh— Didn’t have much stability ‘fore he came to live with me, so he’d get real attached to things like that.”

Carried around a stuffed dragon they picked up at a garage sale ‘til Wayne couldn’t sew the wings back on anymore. Never wanted to throw anything away. Got real anxious about Wayne going to work sometimes, even when he was too old for a sitter. Held onto him saying “Stay home just today, Dad, please.” Which, he didn’t mind Eddie calling him that. It always softened him up, made him give in. Wishes now that he’d told Eddie upfront. Maybe he never would’ve stopped.

“Thought for sure he’d marry that damn guitar one day.”

Steve nearly sputters his coffee, laughing at that, “Yeah, those two are made for each other.”

It’s nice, seeing the way that story lit Steve up. Sorta like his boy can still make someone happy. Hurts like hell that he ain’t here to do it himself, but Wayne was always good at telling stories. That’s where Eddie learned it from.

“I’m uh,” Steve deflates after a minute, looking down at the mug, “God, I’m just really sorry, Wayne.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too, Steve,” he says, because, well.

Wayne gets the feeling that his boy was Steve’s boy too.

Read the rest on Ao3

[ultram0th]

Wolfe Glick's New Career

Part 1 │ Part 2

"Damn it!” Blue, working in his home office, heard Kevin groan from the front door.

He pushed himself away from his desk and walked downstairs, trying to figure out what was wrong. In the entryway of their home, he saw his shirtless, hairy boyfriend clad in nothing but a skimpy jockstrap that struggled to contain his massive bulge. He was frowning as he glanced at the porch, the door swinging wide open so that the whole neighborhood could see his buff frame.

“What is it?” Blue asked, placing a tender hand on Kevin’s hairy pec, trying to fight back a smile as the other man shuddered at the touch, his jockstrap-clad bulge twitching.

Kevin tried to focus on the issue at hand, even as he leaned further into Blue’s touch. “Someone stole our package,” he whined. “Again!”

At the sound of the ruckus downstairs, Nick made his way down and over to the other two. He was still naked from his interrupted stream, his hard cock bobbing out in front of him with every step he took. The only thing he wore was a cowboy hat— something that was a permanent fixture of his wardrobe. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, his thick country boy accent as prominent as ever.

Blue crossed his arms in front of himself. “It seems that there’s been some porch pirates in the area,” he mused, trying to think up a solution.

Kevin snorted, “Maybe if we had a guard dog to scare the thieves away.”

Nick nodded in agreement. “Some big fella who would scare any of them robbers away. That’d do the trick.”

An idea started to form in Blue’s mind and he began to smirk to himself. “A big, strong guard dog?” he hummed. “That’s a pretty good idea…”

— — —

“…so make sure you like and subscribe for more Pokémon content,” Wolfe Glick said into his webcam, giving his usual sign off for his next video. He clicked on the red circle icon, stopping his recording.

He glanced at the time on his computer, and shot out of his seat once he realized that he was running late for his appointment. The World Champion Pokémon player was an avid streamer, and with Worlds coming up, he was starting to feel the pressure a little bit. It wasn’t anything too terrible, but Wolfe figured that the smartest thing to do would be to talk to a professional before any of his anxieties grew.

After doing some Internet searching, Wolfe had stumbled upon the homepage of a certain hypnotherapist named Blue, who claimed to specialize in work-related anxiety. After one phone call, he’d made an appointment with the hypnotherapist, hoping that he could use his expertise to help him dominate at Worlds and maintain his top position as the World’s Greatest Pokémon Master.

After leaving his place, Wolfe made it to the hypnotherapist’s home office just in time. He parked his car in back and made his way up to the front door.

He barely had time to knock before the front door swung open, revealing the doctor. “Welcome, Wolfe,” Blue grinned. “I’ve been expecting you. Please come in.”

The streamer followed Blue inside the home, noting how cozy it was. There was the faint smell of musk, as if there was an at-home gym on the premises. Plus, he could see a variety of consoles and gaming memorabilia.

“You game?” Wolfe asked, finding playing video games a safe way to form a connection with a new person.

Blue nodded as he led the other man into his office, gesturing towards the sofa for him to relax on. “From time to time,” he said. “My boyfriends play a lot more than I do. They actually stream for a living.”

Wolfe nodded to himself as he took the offered seat.

“But you didn’t come all the way here to discuss gaming with me, did you?” Blue asked, grabbing his notebook and pen. “Tell me, Wolfe, what’s on your mind?”

The streamer shrugged his broad shoulders, and the bottom of his polo lifted with the action, giving Blue a sneak peek of his happy trail. “I’ve just been feeling a little stress and anxiety over this competition that’s coming up,” he admitted. “It’s nothing too much, but I just wanted to talk to someone to make sure I stay grounded.”

Blue nodded, humming to himself in thought. “You know,” he finally said, “there are some hypnosis treatments that I can offer you to help keep your stress levels down.”

“Sure, let’s try it,” he said, leaning back into the sofa.

The hypnotherapist fought to hide his mischievous smirk as he grabbed his pocket watch out of his coat. “Now, just focus your attention on the watch and listen to the sound of my voice,” he said in a smooth tone. 

Wolfe did as instructed, and he instantly felt relaxed as he watched the pocket watch swing left and right. The sounds of the Blue’s melodic words lulled him into a deep sleep, and eventually his eyes glazed over and his jaw was slack as he fell under Blue’s control.

A wide grin stretched out Blue’s face. “Now Wolfe, I want you to listen to every command I give you,” he said, his voice slow and deep. “Tell me if you understand.”

“I understand,” Wolfe repeated in a monotone, his eyes still fixated on the swinging pocket watch.

“Now, Wolfe, you may continue your streaming career, but you’re also going to take up another passion: Bodybuilding.”

“I will take up bodybuilding,” Wolfe repeated.

“You will look into bodybuilding and you will grow consumed with the thought of getting bigger. And you won’t listen to anyone who questions this new desire of yours.”

“I want to get bigger.”

Snap! Blue snapped his fingers, jolting Wolfe out of his daze.

Wolfe jerked back in his seat, rubbing at his temples in confusion. The last thing he’d been able to vividly recall was arriving at the doctor’s home. Yet, after that, everything was fuzzy. He struggled to recall anything during the hypnosis session, but a thick fog seemed to solidify in his brain, effectively blocking it out.

The streamer continued to massage his foggy head as he tried to piece together anything. However, he soon realized that the mild panic he’d felt earlier in the morning was gone. Whereas, he’d felt a little apprehension about the upcoming Pokémon tournaments, he didn’t feel worried in the slightest now as he sat in front of Blue.

The man perked up. “It worked!” he gasped in surprised. “Holy crap, it actually worked!”

Blue smiled to himself. “Of course it did,” he chuckled. “Now, let’s go ahead an schedule you a follow-up…”

After scheduling another session, Wolfe left the doctor’s office with his head held high. The cute streamer was in awe that the hypnotherapy actually worked, and he was planning on telling all of his friends about the miracle worker that Dr. Blue was. However, all of his elation fell down to the ground when he saw his reflection in the tinted windows of his car.

Wolfe deeply frowned when he examined his body.

He’d worn a simple polo and some shorts for his session, so his limbs were easily visible. However, the man grew self-conscious when he saw how stick thin and tiny his arms looked. He flexed one arm, feeling immense disappointment when his bicep barely created a lump. Looking down at himself, his chest seemed embarrassingly flat, showing absolutely zero traces of muscle whatsoever. And his legs were like toothpicks: thin and simple.

Never before had Wolfe ever felt self-conscious about his body. Being a streamer, he tended to not get as much exercise as he’d preferred to; however, all he seemed to be able to think about as he stared at his slender reflection was that he was so small and tiny.

Without a second thought, Wolfe got into his car and sped down the road to one of the local gyms in the area. He hurried inside and paid for a membership, immediately heading towards the weight pile…

— — —

There was a knock on the door, and Dr. Blue left his office to go answer it. He swung it open widely, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he saw his altered client.

“Good morning, Dr. Blue,” Wolfe smiled as he entered the house for his follow-up appointment.

It’d been about two months since his last visit, and although he’d known that the results would be drastic, Blue still wasn’t fully prepared for what he saw.

Whereas before, Wolfe had been rather slender and toned, this new hunk was packed with solid muscle. Still wearing the same sized clothes as before, Wolfe’s new muscles stretched every fabric to the limit. His arms had grown, making the tight sleeves of his polo bunch up near his rounding shoulders. The bottom of his shirt was lifted a little bit due to his growing pecs that were now so big that the streamer couldn’t button up the polo at the top. His legs had grown a bit too, forcing his usual strut to take on a little bit of a waddle.

“Wow, Wolfe, you’ve been working out, haven’t you?” Blue mused, quite literally drooling over the growing gamer.

Wolfe blushed a little bit. “Yeah, a little bit,” he said, flexing a sizable bicep, causing the fabric around his arms to rip a little bit. “I’m still nowhere near as big as I’d like to be though.”

Blue smirked a little as an idea formed in his head. “Well, I can help you out with that too,” he offered. “If you’d like, of course.”

Wolfe eagerly agreed and nearly threw himself down onto the couch, sitting up straight as he readied himself for another hypnotherapy session. His stress levels were already at an all time low, so if Blue could help him out with his workouts, then he’d feel one-hundred percent at peace. Over the past few months, Wolfe still streamed and prepared for Worlds; however, whenever he wasn’t playing Pokémon, the stud was in the gym. He worked out religiously all in attempt to bulk up. Although he was gaining some impressive muscles in such a short amount of time (and he’d already gained about twenty pounds of pure muscle), he was nowhere near feeling big enough. He still felt tiny, despite having outgrown all of his clothes that were now plastered against his growing frame.

“Just pay attention to the pocket watch,” Blue ordered, swinging it to and fro.

Again, it didn’t take long before Wolfe was lost in a trance, his jaw slacked as the growing muscle stud was put under.

“Wolfe,” Blue smiled, “you’re making some nice progress, but we can speed things up a bit. You’re now going to feel an urge to take steroids so that you can get as inhumanly big as possible.”

“I will take steroids,” Wolfe repeated, his voice robotic and slow.

“And once you’re all big and bulky like a bodybuilder, you’ll come move in here to be our good guard dog.”

“I will be a big guard dog…”

— — —

Over the next few months, Wolfe practically lived in the gym. He still focused on his streaming career, and even won Worlds. However, now that that was out of the way, the growing hunk was able to devote all of his time to working out and growing his muscles.

At his gym, he’d managed to make some connections to get a hold of some fast-acting steroids that were guaranteed to bring about drastic results. At first, Wolfe noticed the side effects more than anything. His body hair grew in thicker with all of the extra testosterone in his system, leading to his chest hair growing in at a faster rate and covering up all of his budding muscles. And his libido was in hyperdrive. The streamer was constantly horny, and after each workout session, he had to excuse himself to the locker room to take care of his throbbing member.

Whereas Wolfe had started out his hypnotherapy sessions weighing in a regular 180 pounds, the stud was now topping the scales at 320 pounds of pure, solid muscle. His arms had packed on so much size that he had trouble bending them past a ninety degree angle, and whenever they were relaxed, they rested atop his new flaring lats. His pecs had inflated to large proportions, looking cumbersome and heavy as they jutted off his torso. The hairy mounds were so large that they forced his nipples to point downward; and his large pecs and arms kept pushing against each other whenever he tried to told a game controller for his streams which led to a lot of his videos showing him struggling to get comfortable in his tiny chair with such a large bulky body. His legs were so large now that the streamer waddled everywhere he went, his massive thighs rolling over each other with each step. Thanks to his steroid usage, his stomach pushed out slightly, giving him the beginnings of what would eventually turn into a large, round roidgut.

Wolfe was huge! His large hairy muscles were professional bodybuilder size, and the stud still wanted to get bigger. He had trouble finding clothes that would fit over his enormous bulk, resulting in his wardrobe consisting of numerous tanks and loose shorts. Still, at their largest size, his shorts appeared shrink wrapped around his big quads, and his pecs constantly spilled out over the tops of his tanks.

It was dressed like this that Wolfe made his way back to Blue’s place for what was supposed to be their final session. Although Wolfe felt as if his anxiety was under control, he still felt compelled to venture back to the hypnotherapist’s office.

When he entered, he felt an odd surge of pride when he saw how wide Blue’s eyes got when looking at his muscles.

“Wow, Wolfey,” Blue genuinely mused. “You’re huge!”

Wolfe felt his face stretch out into a joyful smile at being called huge, and he couldn’t resist forming a double biceps pose on the spot. His mountainous biceps flexed with power, and since he’d come straight to the doctor’s after his workout, his hairy pits were all sweaty and musky, filling the small office with a locker room aroma.

Blue ran an admiring hand over one of Wolfe’s large muscletits, giving the round muscle a playful squeeze. “You must’ve been working out a lot,” he teased. “Such a big, strong guy you are!”

Wolfe couldn’t help but preen at the compliments he was getting. For some strange reason, they seemed to bring about a joyous sensation deep within him, and he felt himself growing more and more excited by the second. His hard cock started to tent out his workout shorts, and he moved to another pose. This time, forming a side chest pose to illustrate just how much work he’d put into building up his massive body.

“Is that him?” Wolfe heard a deep voice with a country accent ask.

Still posing, he looked over to the stairs to see two men descend. One was wearing cowboy hat while the other had grown out what looked like a porn stache. Both were hairy and left their impressive (yet way smaller than his) chests on full display.

Instead of being self-conscious at being caught showing off his muscles for another guy, Wolfe loved having more guys look at him. The streamer leaned forward to form a most muscular pose, loving every second that the three guys were gawking at his humongous muscles.

“Yep,” Blue said, clapping Wolfe on the back. “This is Wolfey, our new guard dog. With muscles as big as his, no one will dare to steal our packages anymore. Watch…”

The hypnotherapist pressed a button on his phone, making the doorbell ring.

Something inside of Wolfe clicked and the large bodybuilder streamer felt a fierce protectiveness grow inside of himself. Looking at Blue, Nick, and Kevin, Wolfe started to view the men in a different light. Suddenly, instead of strangers, the three of them were the most handsome men in the world to Wolfe, and he could feel an almost animalistic instinct form in the pit of his gut.

At the thought of someone being at the door, Wolfe dropped onto all fours with a loud thud. The large bodybuilder crawled over the door, his massive muscular arms slamming onto the floor intimidatingly as he moved. He felt himself bare his teeth, letting out a low, bellowing growl.

“Grrr…” Wolfey growled as he protected his new home like a guard dog. He puffed out his hairy, muscular chest with power. Had someone really been at the door, then no doubt, they would’ve been scared away by the sight of the growling bodybuilder.

Blue smirked and walked up to Wolfey. He fastened a leather collar with spikes adorning it around his neck. Attached to it was a metallic tag in the shape of a dog bone that read out: WOLFEY.

Wolfey flinched at the feeling and for a moment, something inside of his foggy brain screamed at him that something was wrong. It said that he shouldn’t be on the floor of the hypnotherapist’s office, and that he shouldn’t be this big. However, as he looked up into Blue’s eyes, he felt the panic quickly evaporate and he flexed his large muscles with pride.

“Who’s my good boy?” Blue teasingly asked, patting Wolfey on the head.

The bodybuilder streamer straightened his posture and flexed his large arms again. “Me,” he beamed widely. “I’m a good boy!”

Over the next few days, Wolfey blended into the new dynamic at Blue’s household seamlessly. In the morning, he would wake up and stream some Pokémon, showing off his massive muscles for his viewers and flexing whenever they tipped him. Then he’d start to work out in the home gym, grunting loudly as he lifted heavy weights like they were nothing. He also proved to be quite the guard dog too, fiercely protecting his new house and its inhabitants. There were no more porch pirate incidents, especially after Wolfey came bounding out the front door, barking and displaying his massive muscles to scare the would-be robber away.

The massive bodybuilder guard dog loved his new life with Blue, Kevin, and Nick. He was such a good boy.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 6 Made to Watch Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Setting: Alexandria Era Warnings: Attempted SA, blood, injury, violence

“Y/N!” Daryl pushed and kicked at the gate separating him from you. The hinges were giving but not nearly fast enough. The men from the warehouse you were scavenging were merciless in their actions, punches and kicks landing on any part of your body they could meet. The archer was seeing red, screaming in frustration when your assailants stepped away from you, looking quite satisfied with the damage they had caused. 

You reached for the handgun they had forced Daryl to toss over—along with the crossbow and knives— but a boot came down on your hand, forcing a hoarse shout from your throat. Why weren’t they just shooting you both? 

“Daryl.” Your voice was weak and strained, the single whisper sending you into a coughing fit. You curled in on yourself with a groan while the three men whispered among themselves. 

“And he can watch.” A pointed chin was jerked toward the archer. The biggest of the three strutted down toward your feet, facing Daryl and undoing his belt. The hunter’s blood ran cold. 

“Don’ fuckin’ touch ‘er!”

“Oh, I’ll do much more than touch.” A wicked grin exposed rotten teeth before he spit in Daryl’s direction. “And you have a front row seat, friend.”

“Our way of saying ‘thank you’ for bringing us this fine piece.”

Daryl growled and backed up before lunging at the gate. It pushed forward but didn’t give. “Ya let ‘er go. We’ll be on our way an’ never come back ‘round.”

“Is that right?” The third man asked, spitting off to the side. Daryl nodded, remaining still in case any act of trying to break through would cause them to retaliate. His eyes flicked down to you, watching everything around you from your spot on the cold floor. You were still curled up, both arms wrapped around your middle. The three goons looked at one another, seemingly mulling it over. 

Then they began to laugh. 

“Are you crazy, man? You know how hard it is to find good pussy now?” The big man pointed at you. “And I can guarantee that’s some good pussy. She yours?”

“She ain’t property, shithead.” Daryl hissed. His knuckles were turning white from the death grip he held on the chain link. When the man made to turn away, the archer began to climb, going stock still when he heard the loud crack of a gun and ricochet of a bullet hitting the concrete. Wide blue eyes zoned in on the gun now pointed at your head. 

“Get on down, fella.” Daryl did as he was told, hands up the moment his boots hit the ground. “Now, the way I see it is you got three choices. One, you can try that shit again, and we’ll put a bullet in her head and then one in yours. Two, you can stand there and let us have our fun. We may even give her back afterward. Can’t promise she’ll be of any use to you, though.” Daryl was shaking, fists clenched at his sides. “Or three. You can leave. No harm, no foul. But we’ll keep her.”

“Fuck you.” You spat from the ground. The man above you gave you a look that broke into the most malicious expression of intent you’d ever seen. 

“Oh, you will be, sweetheart. Me and my boys, here.” You held your rage in your eyes, never giving an inch before he looked back to Daryl. “What’s it gonna be, man?”

The archer said nothing, but his eyes said everything. Someone was dying there today. 

“Let him play his little game.” The big man scoffed. He made his way to you in three strides, grabbing a fistful of your hair to pull you up from the floor. “We’ll play ours. If he tries anything, shoot him. Marvin, hold onto her hands.” 

You struggled in the largest man’s grip. Harry, you had learned from the nonsensical conversation they were having while binding your wrists. The one with the gun on Daryl was David. 

“If you want to keep all your teeth, I suggest you don’t try to bite.” Harry warned, not giving you much time to process before his mouth was on yours. He reeked of stale beer and tobacco and tasted worse. Your first instinct was to clamp down on his foul tongue, an instinct that you had to fight. You refused to reciprocate, simply allowing him to kiss you while tears leaked from the corner of your eyes. Daryl would save you. This would be over soon. 

“Ha! He left!” David chortled, just before you felt a tight grip on your ass. Harry pulled his mouth away quickly, and you fought the urge to gag. 

“Wait your turn!” Harry spat, pulling you closer so he could reach over your shoulder and shove the other back. When David continued the shoving match, you were roughly thrown toward Marvin and then pushed to the floor for him to attempt to break up the argument. 

Your entire body ached but that pain was nothing compared to the agony in your chest as your eyes remained frozen on the empty spot where Daryl had been standing. ‘He left me. He…he left me.’ With a sob, you forced yourself to your hands and knees, crawling toward the concealing darkness of the warehouse’s inner walls. 

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” A large hand twisted into your hair and wrenched back your head, forcing you up on your knees to relieve the pressure. 

“Please. Please, just let me go!” You begged. Your hands held tightly to Harry’s wrists while he dragged you back toward the other two men. 

“Oh, honey, there is no way we are—” He fell silent. An engine roared in the distance, the sound becoming louder at an alarming rate. “What the hell?” His grip disappeared, giving you one opportunity. The concrete stung your palms and knees but this time, you made it to a dark area of empty crates and shielded yourself behind one just as the rusted cement truck barreled through the gate. Sparks flew from the exterior when the onslaught of bullets hit, the windshield shattering. 

David didn’t move in time and was crushed beneath the tires. Harry and Marvin continued to fire even after the thing had crashed into the wall, partially breaking through to the outside. Your breathing picked up when Marvin grabbed the door handle and pulled back to find…a walker tied to the steering wheel and a brick on the accelerator. 

“Put that thing down!” Harry hissed at the same time his friend fired into the corpse’s skull. 

While he reached in to switch off the engine, movement caught your eye. Your chin quivered, the whimper that left you impossible to suppress. 

Daryl was picking up his crossbow and knife, flipping the latter in his hand to quickly throw it. Marvin dropped like a dead weight. Harry watched his friend fall from the door of the truck before he spun and looked around wildly. The crossbow was already aimed and Daryl was stalking forward, the weapon trembling. 

“Where is she?!” The bowman roared. 

“I-I-I don’t know! I swear, I lost track of her!” 

A bolt pierced his shoulder. 

“Wrong answer! Where is she?!” Crossbow forgotten, Daryl was pointing your handgun at the man (when had he pick that up?!), nearly on top of him now.

“I lost her!”

A bullet to the leg. You flinched when the gun fired and Harry screamed, the large man who had loomed over you now reduced to writhing on the cold floor. 

Daryl now cast a terrifying shadow over him. “Did ya kill ‘er?”

“No! No, we didn’t touch her!”

“Oh, but ya did.” You hardly recognized your partner’s voice, spitting venom with every syllable. “M’gonna ask one more time.” The gun pressed into Harry’s forehead. “Where. Is. She?”

“Daryl.” 

His head snapped up, eyes searching frantically before landing on you, just beside the crates and still on your hands and knees. Harry had a single moment to appear relieved as Daryl began walking away, but the gun was lifted and a single shot was fired into the man’s head without the archer so much as looking back. 

You reached one hand out for him, releasing a sob the moment his fingers wrapped around it. Daryl kneeled in front of you and pulled you against him, relief evident on his face. 

“Thought I lost ya.” He murmured into your hair. 

“I thought you left me.” You admitted quietly, losing the battle against the tears stinging your eyes. He pulled you back, willing you to look at him. When you managed to, you found those electric blue orbs filled to the brim with unshed tears and so many emotions that you felt suffocated by the intensity of his gaze. 

“Never.” He brought a hand to your face, careful of the bruises and cuts. “M’never leavin’ ya behind. Y’hear me?” You nodded softly and then again with more vigor, letting yourself be pulled back into his arms. 

“I wanna go home, Daryl.” You whispered, your hands fisting into his vest. “Please, take me home.” Adrenaline began ebbing away and you found yourself growing more tired by the second. You barely noticed when he swept you off the floor and began carrying you out. 

“Take ya anywhere ya need, Sunshine.”

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Superstar (Roy's Version)

I couldn't help myself. I love this man too too much! Here's what Roy experienced during the Reader's first few weeks at Nelson Road.

Roy Kent x Reader

3.2k words

Warnings: Language, Roy being lovesick & slightly stalkerish in a rom-com way

The Superstar Series

~

“D’we really need a fucking assistant?” Roy asked again, staring at Ted incredulously, thinking, for the millionth time, that the gaffer was the nuttiest man he’d ever met.

Ted shrugged, far too used to Roy to point out that Roy’d asked him this three times in the past week. “Sure. Someone to help keep track of our schedules, emails, lots of stuff. That way we can focus on the beautiful game.”

To Roy’s surprise, Beard spoke up. “We had a student assistant back at Wichita. The kid was indispensable, always thinking of things we didn’t even realize would be useful.” He shrugged. “You’d be surprised.”

“Whatever.” Roy rolled his eyes and returned to his own office- the one he’d have to ­share now- and continued adjusting on the play he was working on in his black notebook. He knew he was more annoyed at adding someone new to the mix than he was about whether they needed extra help. He’d just gotten used to the Americans, just allowed himself to somewhat enjoy his after-work time with Jamie, and now Ted expected him to be okay with welcoming someone new into the office.

Wanker.

“Hope ya don’t mind sharing!” Ted’s voice slammed against Roy’s ears as the coach entered the office.

A lump formed in Roy’s throat as he glanced up. He should have asked more questions about this whole assistant thing so he could prepare himself. He’d been expecting some young, nervous guy like Will to be joining the staff; not this gorgeous woman standing in front of him, your wide eyes and slight flush only adding to your beauty.

Ted prattled on, oblivious to the sound of Roy’s heart slamming against his chest. “I’m sure you know this ray of sunshine here is Roy Kent.”

Ignoring the stupid butterflies that were forming in his stomach, Roy scowled and stuck his hand out. “You’re the assistant then?”

Your fingertips twitched as you connected your hand to his. “I-I am.”

Nope. Nope. He couldn’t do this. He needed to get the fuck out of here before he said something stupid or did something idiotic.

Roy pulled his hand back, wondering if you’d been able to feel his racing pulse. “Well, as long as you keep your shit off my desk and don’t wear any rancid perfume, we should be fucking fine.” Hating himself for being, well, Roy, he stood up, snatched the notebook off his desk, and trudged off, careful not to nudge you as he rushed past.

He didn’t stop until he was far down the hallway, away from those wide eyes, where he could lean against the wall and take some deep breaths.

Roy Kent was fucked.

~

He’d tried to put you out of his head the rest of the day. Tried to focus on training. Tried to focus on the plays he was meant to show Ted later in the week. Tried to focus on his drive over to the school to pick up Phoebe. Tried to focus on whatever the kid was yammering about. Tried to focus on the games they played while they waited for his sister to come pick her up. Tried to focus on the takeaway his sister had brought over so they could all eat together in Roy’s kitchen.

Brilliant as she was, his sister noticed. “What’s up with you?” she asked, eyebrow raised suspiciously.

He grunted and poked at his food. “Work shit,” he mumbled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Phoebe add a new tally mark in her notebook. “Lasso decided we need an assistant to keep us organized and shit, so now I get to share my office.”

“Hmm.” A smirk played on his sister’s lips. “Don’t like him already? Poor fella.”

“Her,” Roy corrected without thinking. Fuck, he wished his sister had brought something spicy for dinner; that would have been a good explanation for the pink coloring he was sure his cheeks had now.

His sister’s eyes lit up. “Ah.” As if that explained everything. “She’s pretty then?”

Roy narrowed his eyes at his sister, unable to hide the small smile on his face. “Shut up,” he growled softly.

Her smile grew. “Oh man, she must be gorgeous. You’re so screwed.”

~

For two weeks, Roy avoided you- an impressive feat, considering you worked just across the tiny office. But the more he watched you, the stupider he felt.

You were hardworking. And kind. And funny. And fuck, the more he stared, the more he noticed little things about you that just worked to enhance your attractiveness. He should have known he’d snap eventually.

“D’you like kebabs?”

The words just came out. Despite the embarrassing amount of time he’d spent acting like a teenager, imagining the different conversations he’d initiate with you, it all went out the window at lunchtime. Instead, he blurted out the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

His pulse quickened when you paused your work and turned around. “Excuse me?”

Fuck. Even you thought he was an idiot.

You’re Roy fucking Kent. Act like it. He let out a heaving sigh as he turned his chair around, desperate to come across as uninterested and not the pining prick he felt himself becoming. “Kebabs,” he repeated slowly. “D’you like ’em?”

“Uh, I guess.” Even with your face crinkled in confusion, he still felt like he was going to have a heart attack every time he looked at you.

Not that he could let you know. “You guess?” he repeated, trying to hold back laughter at your adorably puzzled expression. “You either fuckin’ like them or you don’t.”

“Fine, fine, I like kebabs.”

He could see the smile in your eyes, even if it didn’t reach the rest of your face. He loved it. It was enough to get him on his feet. “Okay.”

Before Roy knew it, he was walking through the halls of Nelson Road, hanging onto a takeaway bag like it was a lifesaver. He’d never brought anyone lunch before. Heck, he’d never brought anyone anything before. But here he was, suddenly turned into your personal fucking delivery service.

When he walked into the office, you were again bent over your laptop, not looking up at the sound of his footsteps. Roy wasn’t surprised though; he’d learned quickly that when you were focused, it was a bit hard to divert you.

He pulled out one of the Styrofoam containers and dropped it onto your desk, wincing at the slam. When you looked up at him, he went into a scowl, hoping you wouldn’t notice the unevenness of his breathing.

“Thanks, Roy.”

Fuck. He loved the way you said his name. After all those years of having it screamed by coaches or chanted by fans, it sounded so soft, so gentle coming out of your mouth. A mouth he really needed to stop staring at.

He quickly averted his eyes to your desk. It was neat, tidy. He paused when he saw a framed photo of you, an older couple, and two teenage boys standing amid large trees.

“That your family?”

Your gaze followed his. “Oh, yeah. My folks and brothers. They live not far from here. We grew up huge Richmond fans.”

Ah. That was why you always looked nervous around him. Your family were fans. Nothing more.

Roy couldn’t resist the next question that tumbled out of his mouth. “What, no pictures of your boyfriend?” He prayed he didn’t sound too interested. “Is he fuickin’ ugly or somethin’?”

He had to be imagining the flush in your cheeks. “No boyfriend. What about you? I don’t see your model of the week on your desk.”

Your cheekiness took him by such surprise that he couldn’t resist a tiny smile. “I’m too fucking old for that shit now.”

 “Uh huh.” You looked like you’d malfunctioned. “I like kebabs.”

That was it. The moment he didn’t know he’d been waiting for his whole life. He felt like a colossal bolt of lightning had fucking punched his heart. With three little words barely squeaked past your lips, Roy Kent was a fucking goner.

~

Ted poked his head into Roy’s office, clutching a manila envelope. His face faltered slightly when he saw your empty desk. “Shoot, she took off early, didn’t she?” Roy grunted in response. “That’s right. She said somethin’ about a birthday dinner.” He sighed, glancing down at the envelope. “Well, I can give this to her on Mon-”

“I can take it to her.”

Roy didn’t know why he said that. He never volunteered to do anything extra, let alone something that would have him running around on a Friday night. But the idea of seeing your face, of getting a glimpse of you before being separated by the weekend he always found himself dreading these days, had made his mouth act without his brain.

Ted stared at him for a moment, his mustache giving a small twitch. “Aw, you really don’t gotta do that Roy. It’s not a big deal, honestly.”

“It’s fine,” Roy grumbled, not quite looking at the man.

Something sparkled in Ted’s eyes; Roy ignored it, the way he ignored most things about Ted. “Alright, well if you insist.” He handed Roy the envelope. “Do you need help pulling up her address? I could even go with you if you want.”

“Fuck no.” His answer was too quick. “I, um, she told me whereabouts she lives. I’ve got it.”

“Hmm.” Ted smiled at Roy, a soft, knowing smile that made Roy’s insides squirm. “Well, if you’re sure you’ve got it.” He waggled his fingers at Roy. “I’m sure you’ll have a great weekend, Roy.”

Roy frowned as Ted left, tailed by Beard, who gave Roy a playful smirk as well. Wankers.

He sighed as he packed up his things into his bag, wondering what the fuck he’d just signed himself up for. As he settled into the front seat of his car, he pulled out his mobile, trying to figure out what to do. He wished he had your number, but he’d never figured out the right way to ask. Maybe he should have asked Ted for help.

As he gazed as the black screen, a small ping filled the silence. He frowned and unlocked the phone; it was a Snapchat from Ted, sharing a photo of his beer with Beard in the background. Just as Roy was about to roll his eyes, he realized something. You were in that group chat. Tapping quickly, he found what he was looking for: your Snapchat location.

Ignoring the fact that he felt like an absolute fucking stalker, he started the car and headed towards the neighborhood on the screen. He zoomed in as much as he could before realizing that he couldn’t pinpoint exactly which house was yours. Fuck.

Alright, fine. He could handle this. Roy parked and grabbed the stupid manila envelope, taking one more look at the map on his phone. His mind wandered to the movie his Yoga group liked to watch together at Christmastime. Yeah, he could do this. If that spindly wanker Hugh Grant could go door to door in search of his dream girl, so could Roy fucking Kent.

He took a deep breath and approached the first door. Just fucking do it. He knocked, steeling himself for the moment you opened the door.

Except it wasn’t you. And neither was the next one. He was about halfway up the street when he started to lose his resolve. If he had to say “Yeah, I’m Roy Kent” one more time, he was going to slam his face into a wall over and over until he passed out.

With a heaving sigh, he approached the next house. He fully expected yet another granny or pimply preteen.

His face burned when he saw you.

Quickly recovering, he pushed his way inside, pretending his mind wasn’t reeling. “We should really put a fucking tracking device on you.”

“Um, not to be rude, but why are you here? At my mum and dad’s house?”

Oh. This wasn’t your house; it was your parents’. Roy couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that he didn’t get to see your home. But he couldn’t let you know that.

“Some papers Lasso wanted you to work on if you can this weekend. Said it was important. I dunno, I don’t fucking listen to him when he yammers,” Roy lie, lie, lied.

“Oh. And how-how did you know where I was?” Roy’s heart fluttered when he saw the way you fidgeted as you spoke. Why were you nervous?

Roy acted as if his heart wasn’t aching at the sight of you. “You’re one of those idiots that has their Snapchat locations on. You’re gonna get fucking murdered one of these days y’know.”

The grin you wore could bring a man back from the dead. “And you’re gonna murder me?”

As if you didn’t murder him with that smile every fucking day. “Not today.” He couldn’t help his own smile. “But apparently if I wanted to, you’d be easy as hell to find.”

“I’ll just have to keep being a good officemate then,” you hummed, the teasing tone in your voice sending Roy’s heart into overdrive.

Without thinking, he took a step towards you, his voice rough and uncharacteristically flirty. “You’re doing a fine job so far.”

This was it. He was going to finally make his move. He was Roy fucking Kent, after all. All he had to do was grab you and kiss you.

But instead, he was tackled by a very enthusiastic father and dragged into an admittedly delicious birthday dinner. Although the domestic scene wasn’t one that he typically found himself him, Roy couldn’t help but revel in the opportunity to sit close to you, your arm brushing his far too often to be a coincidence. In the back of his head, he even allowed himself to imagine this as a regular occurrence, having dinner with your family. But he was getting far too ahead of himself.

As dinner transitioned into dessert, you excused yourself to go upstairs to grab something. Roy could have stayed at the table, hanging out with your family, charming your mother, and answering more questions from your brothers, but his stupid giant crush got the better of him. He awkwardly asked for directions to the bathroom and was pointed upstairs.

He took the stairs two at a time, at least as much as his shit knee would let him, trying to figure out what he’d say once he was face to face with you. He wasn’t sure you liked him, but he couldn’t help but hope that he wasn’t too grumpy, too old, too past his prime for a girl like you.

The muttering he heard from an ajar door pointed him in the right direction. He nudged the door open and saw you, on the floor, clearly searching for something. Before he could say anything, he took a look around the room. What he saw made his heart nearly stop.

Holy shit.

Roy Kent had never seen so many photos of himself in one location in his life. This would be a normal girl’s room if it weren’t for all the football posters covering every square inch of wall- most of them featuring his scowling face. He was sure he even saw Sharpie hearts scrawled all over the one in the corner near the window.

This had to mean something, right?

Trying to keep cool, he mumbled, “Ah, this isn’t the fucking loo.”

The panic on your face made Roy melt. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch your mortified face, to tell you that it was cute, that he wished he had a room full of posters of your gorgeous face.

Instead, he closed the door behind him and stepped forward. “Why the fuck are there so many pictures of me in this room?”

You stood up, fidgeting worse than he’d ever seen anyone. “I, uh, I told you. My family’s huge Richmond fans. You’re kind of our favorite player. Hence, my dad’s excitement when he saw you.”

Suddenly feeling bold, probably for the first time since he met you, Roy stuffed his hands in his pockets and took another look at all the posters of himself. “So… does that mean I’m your favorite too?”

His heart fluttered as he watched your blush deepen. “I… I mean… I guess.”

Unable to look at you anymore, lest he grab you and kiss you heatedly, Roy’s gaze fluttered upwards. Now he was sure his heart had stopped.

A room full of posters of him was one thing. A poster of him above your bed? Fuck, that was hot.

“Is that a fucking poster of me above your bed?”

Your squirming figure was never more attractive to him. “Oh, you know, gotta keep the monsters away somehow.”

That caught him off-guard. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled past his lips. Fuck, you were funny sometimes. “That’s what I’m good for? Scaring away fucking monsters?”

He felt like an arse for laughing when he saw the humiliation as you covered your face and flopped onto your bed. Your voice sounded so small. “Please don’t tell anyone. This was my room when I used to live here, I was a dumb kid. I swear to God, my flat is normal. A normal adult flat.”

Your panicked babbling was adorable.

Roy sat beside you, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he was on your bed. The bed with a poster of himself right above it, a poster you probably spent all of your teen years staring at before falling asleep.

He was relieved when you looked over at him. He knew he had to say something. “Hey, no need to be fucking embarrassed.” He glanced up at the poster. It was a damn good picture, one from his Chelsea days. “Can’t say I blame you. I was young and hot.”

Your grin was worth the self-deprecating comment. “You’re not that much older now, Kent.”

The implication made him forget how to breathe. “I’m still hot then?” He couldn’t wait for an answer before he leaned in close and cupped your face. “Please say yes,” he heard himself rasp, not caring how desperate he sounded.

He could hardly believe his ears when you whispered, “Yes.”

That was all he needed. He pressed his lips to yours and felt you melt against him. Feeling your body press against his, Roy reminded himself that this was a first kiss, that he should keep things small, sweet, chaste. Hopefully there would be time for other kinds of kissing later.

The giggle you released was the greatest sound he’d ever heard. He smiled, probably a big, stupid smile, and prepared to ask you about maybe going on a date-

“Oi!” The knocking on the door nearly made him jump. “Mum and Dad want to know if you’re snogging Roy Kent in there!”

Roy felt like a bashful teenager as he smiled at you. “Don’t suppose I can tell your brother to fuck off?” he joked.

He liked the laughter he saw in your eyes. “’d rather you didn’t.”

“Well then.” Figuring that this was the end of this particular moment of romance, Roy stood and took your hand to pull you to your feet. “Guess we should go have some fucking cake,” he joked. His gaze lingered on the poster of himself, the one above your bed. “You should bring that thing to work sometime. I can fucking autograph it if you want.”

[skunts-own-truth]

This is written hours after our game, so it won’t be an action-by-action write up, but I did want to write a little battle report for my first game of This Quar’s War:

It was a small game, two teams of 5 Rhyflers (basic troops,) and their Yawdryl (a sergeant,) with a very simple game-type. Whoever had the most models standing at the end of the game would earn 5 points, and 2 points would be earned per-model that crossed the middle point of the table onto the opponent’s side.

I was playing the Crusaders, who are slightly better at reaction shots with their Bogen rifles, and my roommate was playing the Coftyrans who are a little better at close combat with their basic gun than the Crusaders but a little worse at reaction shots. The two forces felt pretty even, at no point during the game did I feel like any stat differences made something unfair… despite how things actually went once dice hit the table.

We decided to do 3 full turns, and off the bat we were engaged with Quar’s turn mechanics. During each turn, the active player’s opponent draws a card that indicates the number of activations the active player is allotted. This card is kept hidden from the active player, but at the minimum you know you have 3 activations for your force. At most you can have 5. The fact that you don’t know how many you have until you get to your 3rd action makes moment to moment play very tense. Just spending an activation to move can be nail biting, as your Rhyfler runs across the battlefield to get a shot off at one of his foes you could find that you actually don’t have that 4th activation… and that poor lad is now sitting out in the open, with no cover to dive behind. I can’t tell you how often this made us both burst out laughing as we took unnecessary risks in that hope that we had a 4 or 5 activation turn!

Turn 1 was mostly positioning. We drew through the activation deck one by one, moving our Quar about. My fellas ended up taking the middle of the board, and pot shots from my roommate’s royalist bastards had my brave crusaders forced deeper and deeper into the middle. See, when you get shot at and you decide to dive for cover (which gives your opponent a rough negative to shoot you,) even if they miss you, their roll determines who moves your model as they dive. This means your opponent can position your fellas, and this happened to me a lot. It’s frustrating, but in a good way! You get “gobsmacked” if this happens to you, making your fellas easier to shoot at since they can’t react to shots. So, he pushed me to the middle and surrounded my lads, until I was completely outflanked with very little cover.

Turn 2, I managed to knock out his Cryfen LMG toting Rhyfler before it could do some real damage, and his Yawdryl which made him split his forced a bit more than he wanted to- but it really wasn’t enough. He had the positioning and cover, and my little Quar dropped one by one. When Quar go down, they stay down until a friendly model spends an action to check on them. This can be kinda scary because technically your Rhyfler isn’t dead until he is checked on and found dead. He can stand right back up on lucky roll, and to the surprise of my roommate I did manage to stand up my downed Quar six times during the game, but again, the positioning wasn’t in my favor and each time I brought something back it was an activation spent.

Turn 3 ended fast, we didn’t even get through 4 cards in the activation deck. I was down to two Quar standing, and I decided to die fighting. As my roommate’s forces closed in and backed my remaining Rhyfler up against the wall of a building, he fired and I used my reaction to return fire… which was a mistake. If I had dived for cover it would have saved my Rhyfler, but I was banking on him to miss so I can get a lucky reaction shot off. No dice. My guy was shot dead, his reaction lost as he fell to the ground.

With that, he managed to total 13 points to my 0. Just a total loss for me, really! Was just under an hour of playtime, even with us checking rules and rereading things to each other. My poor Crusaders. Hopefully next game I’ll get them a win in!

Listen, the game rules. I love it. It’s fast, it’s quirky, it plays for fun but is still fair, and it has adorable little anteater guys. What more can you ask for? I say go buy Clash of Rhyfles from Wargames Atlantic, if you’re itching for a new skirmish game that isn’t real world WW2 themed or Warhammer. I was! I didn’t even know I was, but the moment I locked eyes on this game I knew it was for me.

Plus…

The cavalry in the setting looks like this. Maybe one day we’ll get some of these little freaks in plastic? 👀 Personally, nothing would make me happier.

[captain-mj]

What do I have to do for more Warrior! Ghost and Spoil! Soap???

I am but a little Fella obsessed with you cod AU's so please begging on my hands and knees for a part 3 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

Heyo! This is actually pt 4 now! Crazy how fast we got here! Part 3

Ghost stared at the ceiling after he woke up. 

Bonnie. 

He had heard the term before of course. Multiple times from other Scots. Usually not directed at him. 

His skin tingled slightly. 

Soap was an idiot. Whatever game he was playing at, Ghost wasn’t interested. Even if he did look good in his clothing. 

Ghost bit the inside of his cheek until blood started to fil his mouth. He had to remember Soap was trying to survive. Doing his best to not be killed. He didn’t punish him for trying to escape. Wouldn’t punish him if he tried again, despite the vague threats he made. 

With a small sigh, he dragged himself from bed. Price needed to talk to him, he was pretty sure. Or maybe it was Alejandro… One of them anyway. 

He felt Soap’s hand on him, light and searching, still mostly asleep. Ghost looked at it for a minute before picking it up and slowly setting it 

Ghost flushed, thinking about last night. The way Soap said called him pretty and leaned in. His soft mouth, inches away from Ghost. 

Ghost was a glorious sinner, but the way Soap had said that. 

He got up and cleaned himself in a nearby river so he didn’t have to worry about Soap. He redressed and went to look for his coworkers. 

Alejandro was sparring with someone, trying to teach them how to sword fight more effectively. Their technique was terrible but he was a good teacher. 

The student fell flat on their ass. 

Most of the time.

“Hey, Ghost!” Alejandro put the blade to the person’s chest. “Need something?”

“Just out. Anything I can help with?” Ghost looked around, noticing Rodolfo trying to train someone else. The other guy was just as bad. This is exactly why he doesn’t train people.

“Mind telling this person where they went wrong?”

Ghost hummed and calmly told the person the long laundry list of what they did wrong. Their stance, their posture, the lack of center of gravity, even critiqued the way they held their blade.

“Eh, I think that’s enough, Ghost.” Alejandro was clearly laughing, even though the kid looked close to tears. “Now get up and try again with Smith.” He walked away from him, leaning against the fence.

“So. What state is MacTavish in this morning?” He grinned and leaned in close to Ghost, like they were whispering secrets to each other.

“I left him passed out in my bed.” Ghost answered, technically it was true.  

“Damn. Stone cold Ghost.” Alejandro looked at him, something right behind his eyes. Some thought or emotion Ghost couldn’t quite pin down. “Price just got back from raiding a village. Had a bottle of bourbon he was saving for you.” 

“Thanks, Ale. Good luck with these guys. They look hopeless.” Ghost pulled away. As he walked away, he could hear Alejandro laughing. 

Price never locked his door so Ghost just slipped in. It smelled nice, like someone was baking. He could hear someone in the kitchen, so he looked for him there. 

Ghost froze when he saw someone who was clearly not Price. Kinda short, blond hair, definitely not Price. 

“Oh. Hi.” The person looked up at him. “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

Ghost stared down at him, but they didn’t shrink back.

“If you’re looking for the Captain, he’s in his office.” They said after a moment. “Graves by the way.” 

Ghost just stalked past him and went straight to Price’s office. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Uh. Long story, don’t feel like explaining. Why are you here?” Price was already sliding the bottle over to him and Ghost took it. 

“Bored. Wanted to know when my next raid would be?”

“I think Shepherd has you grounded. Next one is Alejandro’s.”

“Fucking hell. I don’t like sitting still.”

“And Shepherd doesn’t like losing. Come on. Be honest with me, I know you. I know how you are. So I know for a fact, you aren’t doing anything to MacTavish.” 

Ghost sighed. The scars on his body itch. “I didn’t… He said…”

“I know, son. But you painted a target on your back. You’re going to have to deal with the consequences until Shepherd gets over it. And that means being on basics for now. Stay home, protect the village, strike fear into people’s hearts. You know. You’re least favorite things to do.” Price smiled at him and Ghost groaned.

“Keep the booze coming. I’m going to be in a drunken stupor for the next few weeks.”

“Will do, Simon.” 

Simon. 

“It suits you.” 

Ghost blushed under his mask and nodded. “Keep me updated on his moods. And the guy in there… It serious?”

“Working on it.” Price grinned at him. “Look, enjoy your vacation.”

“Absolutely not.” Ghost shook his head.

Price laughed. “Come on, Simon. It might be good for you. Get rested. What do you normally do between missions?”

“Hide in my home. I can’t exactly do that right now.” 

Price was clearly trying to not laugh more. “Look, just… I think there’s a festival tonight. Go to that.”

“Where?”

“Near the church.”

“I’ll be on the opposite side of the city. Thanks.” Ghost stood up. “See you later, Captain.” 

Price nodded and followed him out of the office, heading towards the kitchen. Ghost decided he didn’t want to stick around any longer, being in so many buildings lately was starting to grate on him. 

He went by his home and put the bourbon on the table. Before Soap could notice him, he left again. The festival was one of the ones for the seasons. For once, all of his mind was in agreement that that was not something he wanted to do. 

Ghost ended up perched on a building most of the day, standing like a gargoyle. His presence seemed to be enough to scare most people away. He sighed, watching a bird flit closer to him and sit nearby. 

“What, am I not as scary as a scarecrow?”

The bird cocked its head but didn’t move.

“Guess not.” 

Soap. It felt like all his thoughts lately were dedicated to the man. He had moved closer again in the night. Ghost knew he should stop him. Should’ve shove him off or make him sleep in the floor. But he didn’t. 

Soap’s hands had gotten so close to his mask. Ghost tried not to compare him to… anyone really. It was difficult. Especially when he said things like that. 

Ghost carefully put his hands over his ears, not wanting to scare the birds near him. He was perfectly in control of himself. He knew that. It would be a terrible idea for him to be anything other than that. 

Ghost was a sinner. An awful one. Sin permeated his being. Scars lacing his skin from it. 

But he lusted. He wanted to hear Soap call him pretty. 

Maybe not pretty. 

They could find a better word. 

Would those lips be that soft against his skin? 

Soap had looked stunning in his clothing. Even better when he was asleep in his bed. 

Sex wasn’t all he wanted. Greed. He wanted more. Wanted Soap’s attention. To make Soap his. Intimacy. Devotion. 

He wouldn’t act on it. Wouldn’t be… Wouldn’t be Roba. 

Ghost sighed. “You’re a terrible conversationalist.” 

The bird chirped. 

Ghost shook his head. “Talk to you later.” He hopped down, landing rather hard. His feet ached, but it was a good pain. 

The walk home was quiet. At some point while he had been up there, the sun had disappeared and the air had gotten chilly enough for him to see his own breaths. 

Ghost, after kicking off his shoes because they were slightly muddy, went straight to the- his room. He stopped quickly at the door. 

Soap laid out on his bed, clearly drunk. He had undressed but the blanket had been draped over him. Ghost remembered seeing paintings of people as a kid. Beautiful women and men in lovely portraits. Soap just happened to be missing the wings.

“You’re home.” Soap said softly, like he barely noticed Ghost was there.  HIs head tilted back and Ghost could see all the way down to where the v of his hips were. Could count the scars on his torso. The blanket just barely kept him from seeing more and for once he was thankful for it. 

“I am. Waiting for me?”

“Getting even. Fixing each other’s problems.”

“What’s my problem?”

“The mask. Take it off.” 

“No.” Ghost mumbled to the air. Soap was too sincere which meant he wouldn’t hide his reaction. Ghost couldn’t fathom what would be worse. A look of disgust? Indifference? A comment about how pretty he was? The only thing he knew was he couldn’t handle any of it.

“You said you didn’t look. You’re looking now.”

“I suppose I am.” Ghost stared to move closer. He could see Soap was afraid, though not as much as he probably should be. 

“Is this what you wanted from me?” Ghost’s hand gently cupped Soap’s jaw, his thumb pressed lightly against his mouth. They would be just as a soft. 

He chose not to answer the question. 

The bottle of bourbon, now half empty, sat on the floor by their bed. 

“You’re drunk.” Ghost tried to keep his voice neutral.

“A little. Got nervous.”

“Why?”

Soap just stared at him and Ghost could see now. The glazed look in his eye, the redness of his face. He could smell the booze rolling off of him. 

“I think I scared you. Just a little. I don’t understand how.”

“You didn’t scare me.”

“I did.” Soap grabbed his mask but Ghost caught his wrist.

“You’re drunk.” 

“Exactly. Won’t remember in the morning.” It felt like bait. Ghost just couldn’t figure out what for.

He withdrew from him. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” He grabbed the covers and roughly pulled them up, covering Soap’s figure as he looked away. “You’re drunk.”

“Why would you care about something like that?” Soap stared up at him. It wasn’t judgemental. That was the worst part. It was just calm curiosity.

“You won’t remember anything in the morning, right?” 

“Not a thing.” 

Ghost nodded. “I kinda liked when you called me pretty.” He shoved him down so he was flat on his back and left him. 

He made sure to grab the bottle. 

It was empty before the morning came.

[harlowtales]

Y/N has a chance meeting with Jack and his friends and it’s just the beginning

PART 1

18+ Adult Themes | Romance

You were in Kentucky on business when a well dressed big and tall man with dreadlocks approached you as you were looking at the menu at Ceviche, a high end restaurant and favourite spot to Jack Harlow and his crew The Homies.

“You always be looking so fine all alone?” The man asked

“Who wants to know?” You countered coyly. He sure had some nerve coming up to you and you kind of liked it.

“Name’s Quiiso. You can call me Quiis if you want.” He said extending his hand for you to introduce yourself.

“Y/N” you said sizing him up as he took a little too long to release your hand.

“You obviously from out of town because you have a different look about you. He said in the local smooth southern drawl.

“I am not from here you are correct Mr. Quiiso.” You said formally and took a sip of your margarita

“Margarita’s at lunch? Where’s the after party?” He asked “May I sit?”

“Quiiso, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but…” You started to explain but he cut you off as he felt rejected.

“Say less. Have a nice day.” He said and excused himself from your presence. All the Homies came in and they grabbed a booth in the back of the restaurant. You recognized all of them and knew exactly who he was. In playing it cool, you were concerned you had turned him off. You went to the bathroom to practice what you were going to say to fix the situation and the bad impression you left.

When you walked back to your table Jack Harlow was sitting in your spot. You froze.

“You can’t give my man a chance?” He asked as he relaxed in your chair.

“Um…my gosh. THE Jack Harlow?” You said after your mouth stopped hanging open.

“I am him.” He said with a grin as if he were some god.

“I came off rude, I was just shocked is all.” You explained. “Tell Quiiso I’m sorry.”

“I ain’t nobody’s messenger pigeon. Tell him yourself. We’re in the back booth.” And with that he went back to his crew.

You stood there for a moment gathering courage and walked up to a booth of about 10 guys just staring at you. This could go horribly wrong. “Hi Quiiso…I…I didn’t mean you couldn’t sit with me. I just..I…you’re welcome to come and chat for a bit at my table is what I mean. Only if you want to, and I would understand if you didn’t…but you can.” You were nervous and fumbling your words but it worked. It worked on everyone. They all looked at Quiiso.

“I have a better Idea” Jack said “We got room for one more right fellas?” They all nodded yes “Grab your plate and come on over.”

“Ok sure!” You said happily. All the awkwardness left you as they all seemed friendly. You returned to their table and sat next to Quiiso. He smelled amazing and was dressed in a shirt and tie.

“What’s the occasion? Everyone all dressed up?” You asked

“Celebrating a win that’s all.” Quiiso said “My project just dropped and doing numbers so I felt like celebrating. Did you listen to it?” He asked you

“What Lemon Peel? Um YES.” You answered with just the right amount of attitude and the table went nuts.

“Ohhhhh shit! She’s a real one!!” They said as they erupted in cheers for you. It was embarrassing but sweet.

You had the best time with them chatting taking selfies. Your friends were not going to believe this!

“Listen Y/N” Urban said “We’re having a game night at Jack’s place you should come by.”

“I’m alone in town I don’t think so but thanks for the invite.” You politely declined.

“We don’t bite. We get out old fashioned board games and just have fun. Other girls will be there too if that’s what you’re worried about.” Shane said

“Oh well that sounds like fun actually!” You said as he convinced you. As you were a few margaritas in you accepted the invitation a bit too loudly. A few of them tried to hide chuckling.

“Man good one Quiis baby. She’s cute. Real cute.” Jack said patting his friend on the back as you were due at other meetings for work and excused yourself.

“Yeah man you want help with that?” Urban asked

“Maybe” Quiiso said with a slight grin “Let the games begin fellas”. He watched your ass in your skirt as you walked away.

@okaaay-mice @ride4harlow @itsyagirljaz

[starryevermore]

sweet memories ✧ benoit blanc

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Either 3 separate ideas or all together into one: (for Knives out/Glass onion. Any character but probs best for detective Blanc)

● Getting drunk/tipsy and reminiscing their time in their training 

● Blanc (?) and reader on a case and one of them gets severely hurt and it’s a choice of whether they continue to chase suspect or help the other 

● one of them trying to re-enact what theoretically could have happened on a case, person b paying no attention to this, and suddenly person A is in front of them trying different death methods. Someone walking in and being horrified. Person B saying sorry, person A saying it’s normal. - anon

pairing: benoit blanc x male!reader

summary: you and benoit reminisce on your relationship. 

word count: 1,613

warnings?: minor spoilers for glass onion, maybe slightly out of character benoit, established relationship, fluff, gunshot wound, mention of murder, not proofread

Benoit Blanc had not changed much since you had last seen him, you mused. Still had his beautiful, piercing blue eyes. Still had a brain that run a million miles a minute. Still managed to impress you with every single thing he does. It was almost unfair, how perfect the man sitting across from you was. At least he had one fault that you knew of. At least you could still pull out the fact that you’ve beat him at every single game of Clue you played against him. He always hated when you did that, arguing that he wasn’t good at dumb games so it wasn’t fair to keep holding that over his head. But with that sparkling twinkle in his eyes, you knew he didn’t really mean it. Benoit was a teasing man—around you, at least. To the rest of the world, he was the world’s greatest detective. But to you, he was ole Benny, an awkward fella who was a far shout from the greatest at anything. 

“Ain’t seen you in a while,” he said, looking at you over the rim of his glass as he took a long sip of his drink. He set the glass down, smacking his lips. “You solve any good mysteries lately?”

“Nothing as great as you,” you said. “I mean, showing the world that Miles Brown is a complete nitwit? You’re really taking that whole eat-the-rich thing to heart.”

Benoit waved you off, shaking his head. “It was dumber than a game of Clue. Man didn’t even have the ability to come up with an original murder. Stole all his ideas from everyone.”

“Well, look on the bright side. At least you finally won a game of Clue,” you teased, leaning forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Never thought I’d see the day. Someone should put that in the history books, you know. Benoit Blanc: World’s Greatest Detective, Bested by Clue Except for that One Time.”

“That’s a terrible title for a book. Nobody’d pick it up.”

“I would.”

“Probably ‘cause you’d be the one writin’ it.”

You hummed, taking a sip of your drink. “Someone’s gotta expose you as the dork you truly are. Everyone acts like you’re some James Bond type o’ figure. They deserve to know you’re more of…I don’t know. Who’s the silliest character you can think of?”

Benoit hummed. “Clark Kent?”

“I said silliest character, not the character you’ve got the hots for!” you laughed. 

“Oh, come on! The whole glasses disguise? Seriously? No one ever thought, hey this guy looks kinda sorta similar to Superman? I refuse to believe that!”

“Not everyone is as brilliant as you, Benny boy,” you said. You took another sip of your drink. “God, I hate Superman. Remember that one time, when we were working a case together? The jewelry heist case?”

Benoit’s face turned red. He probably didn’t like thinking of that case very much. You couldn’t blame him, if you were being honest. You didn’t like to think of it, either. “You know I could never forget that case.”

“All I really remember of it is bein’ in the hospital. They had stupid Superman movie playing all the time. Man of Steel, or somethin’? I used to like it before, but god, a guy can only watch that shit so many times before it gets annoyin’. I swear, if I see Henry Cavill put on that super suit again, it’d be too soon.”

“I’d prefer to remember it as the day I realized I love you,” Benoit said. 

You let out a laugh. “What, it took me being on my death bed to realize you loved me?”

It had been a complete and utter disaster. It wasn’t often that you and Benoit worked together on a case. But this was a tough nut to crack, so Benoit invited you along, telling the client that if she wanted the case to be solved, it was imperative you be there, too. The client hadn’t really been willing, but recognized she had no real choice in the matter so she bit her tongue. After all, she wanted to make sure she was not the victim in the jewelry heist. 

Things had gone well enough, if you were being honest. After a few false starts and some misleading clues, you and Benoit were close to triumphant. But neither of you could have expected the suspect to have a gun, much less use it. 

He’d been aiming at Benoit. You panicked, your blood running cold. Before you could even think about what you were doing, you jumped and positioned yourself between Benoit and the bullet. It struck you, lodging itself in your side. You screamed as you fell, hitting the floor, hard. 

Pain practically blinded you as you reached up, touching your wound. When you pulled your hand away, it was sticky with blood. You lifted your head, seeing Benoit falling to his knees, his hand covering your wound, applying pressure. You twisted your head the best you could, watching as the suspect ran.

“Go,” you whispered. You couldn’t manage to make your voice any louder. Took too much energy. “You’re gonna lose him. We won’t get another chance like this.”

“I can’t lose you,” Benoit said. 

“I’ll be fine, go get him.”

“Don’t make me leave you,” Benoit whispered, leaning over you, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “I love you. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

“It was an emotional moment!” Benoit argued. “It ain’t strange for things to be revealed in times of high stress, you know.”

“I know,” you said. You reached over, grabbing his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I just hate that it took you so long. To think we might have gotten together a lot sooner if I told you I loved you when I realized.”

Benoit let out a laugh so loud it practically shook the walls of the kitchen. “Oh, come on. At least when I realized, it had a sort of morbid romantic edge. Yours was just me being an idiot!”

“Well, I love when you’re an idiot.”

It was the early days in your friendship. You and Benoit had often worked together back then, honing your detective skills, bouncing ideas off each other. It felt less like a job that way. It felt more like playing a game of Clue (despite Benny’s aversion to the game). In any case, it was more fun that way. Plus, it gave you and Benoit a chance to develop some more unconventional methods of solving cases. Which is exactly what you were doing. 

You and Benoit were working out how the victim may have died. You had narrowed down to a few different murder weapons that might have been it, but you and Benoit couldn’t quite figure out how it had happened. So, it was only natural that the two of you ran through some different scenarios in an effort to narrow some the possibilities. 

That was how you ended up straddling Benoit, who laid on his back on the floor, his hands above his head as if he were surrendering. Your breath caught in your throat at the position. You liked it—you like it a lot. But you forced yourself to ignore the thought about what it may be like if you were in this same position with a little less clothes. You had to remain professional. You had to. 

You raised your hand holding the prop knife, acting like you were going to drive it through Benoit’s chest. As you brought it down, the fake blade pushing itself into the handle, you frowned. This didn’t make sense. The victim had been fighting back, and this position didn’t give much opportunity to do it. “No, I don’t think it was like this. Here, trade places with me.”

You lifted yourself off of Benoit and laid on the floor. Benoit straddled you now. Your breath hitched as he reached down, his hands closing around your throat. 

“The victim had injuries on her hands, like someone’d been tryin’ to pry her hands off of ‘em,” Benoit said. 

“When the killer couldn’t do that, they kneed her in the stomach,” you continued, bring your leg up, pressing your knee into Benoit’s stomach. 

“And then—”

The door opened. There was a shout. Benoit lifted his head, his face tinted red as he looked at the person who walked inside. 

“Oh, god!” the person said. It was your client. Fuck. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean t-to see anything!”

“Oh, it’s not like that!” Benoit said. “We’re just tryin’ to act out the murder!”

You cleared your throat, trying to twist your head to look at her. “Totally normal. All the professionals do it.”

“I-I’ll leave you it then…”

She left as quick as she came, shutting the door behind you. As you and Benoit looked at each other again, you felt like your face was burning. 

“Um, so that seems like it was the way it happened…” you mumbled. 

“Right, right,” Benoit said, getting off of you. “Uh, with that done, we should start narrowing down the suspects, then.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just give me a moment and I’ll be ready.”

Because, holy fuck, how could you be in a position like this and just expect to continue on as normal? 

“If you love your idiot so much then, how ‘bout you join me in the bath, then?” Benoit asked. “Gets a bit lonely in there, you know.”

Your snorted. “Fine. But we’re not staying there for a week, alright?”

“I’m sure I could convince you otherwise.”

“We’ll see.”

Oh, how you loved your silly little detective. 

[naha-division]

Though the day of his birth was technically over, the leader of the Naha Division still was receiving gifts for his birthday. As he stepped out onto his doorstep in the morning prepared to head to his master's dojo, Ryūnosuke looked as a large and tall white box was placed in front of his porch. Blinking, he figured it was for him and dragged the heavy box inside of his house. After about five minutes of getting the box open, he looked as it revealed a basketball hoop for him to play with. The karate assistant's eyes grew wide as he looked at. He wondered who had sent it. Lucky for him, a note was attached on the outside of the box that the hoop came in with, which read:

"Dear Ryūnosuke,

A fine happy birthday to you, my friend. Sorry I couldn't be in Naha to wish you this myself, but I got slammed at my bar last night, and I only had time this morning to drop off your gift. I hope you enjoy it. Next time I'm free, I'll see if I can drop by and we can shoot some hoops together. Again, hope your birthday was a good one. And feel free to stop by Eagle's Nest sometime. We'd love to have you.

Sincerely,

Rashaad Young"

“Sweet! I got my own basketball game! I gotta try this” he widely smiles with happiness and a bit of excitement of the gift he got from his bar colleague-friend, Rashaad now that he has an indoor basketball game

After looking at the mesmerizing display in a short time, Ryuunosuke wanted to entertain himself of playing basketball for a while…maybe 30 minutes? he had a lot of fun shooting the ball continuesly then successfully the ball went onto the hoop while some it bounced back. Though as he was very occupied with the game that he didn’t even realize the time has passed more than 20 minutes— instead he’s been playing for 2 hours straight so he stopped.

“Phew! I’m beat with all that shooting. This is the funnest gift I’ve had……but sometimes playing by yourself is boring so maybe I can invite Kyō to come here and I’m pretty sure Naoki isn’t into sports saying “it could ruin his nails~ or something~” I wont force him though” and also maybe he will show to some of his students to play basketball hoop with him, letting them to play during break. “If I did, pops will probably scold me to bring a “distracting” game in the class haha……”

But before he went on a break, he pulls out his smartphone and sending a text message to Rashaad that both share contacts before

=======================================================

The text message to Rashaad says:

Hey Rashaad! I already received your gift and I had fun playing it for 2 hours straight lmao. Thanks btw

Yeah you should come over to my place whenever you have time. You and me can settle who shoots the most points will be the winner. Fun right? if you want, you can bring along your team with you

Thanks again for the gift, Rashaad and I won’t lose to you. I also hope you were doing well!

P.S. if I win which I definitely will, you owe me a free pass drink when I bring my fellas to your bar, ok? 👌

=======================================================

Clicks the send button and start grinning in looking forward to play indoor basketball with Rashaad soon

[eunchancorner]

Hi! I have a suggestion when you have time/if you want to do it.

So you posted a few asks from crossover-enthusiast about Dexter (in doll form) getting wrecked to pieces by the spooky kids. Would you consider doing a fic about that?

Feel free to ignore this if it's not your thing.

Couldn’t resist, take it, Tumblr!

Lers Skid and Pump, Lee Dexter (Happy Fella doll)

Warning: cussing

Word count: 1093

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If Dexter had to note one thing about the kids he was stuck with, it’d be that they seemed to be obsessed with tickles.

Nearly every day that he was stuck in the house with them, they’d tickle him half to death, every time making him scared he’d blow his cover. Somehow, the kids never seemed to realize that a doll that not only laughed when being tickled, but also protested, curled up or even tried to push them away, wasn’t a normal doll. But luckily, the kids seemed to be far too dense to realize that.

But, weirdly enough, being subjected to near-daily tickles seemed to make his needs less… intense. Like it was distracting his mind, or like his need for blood was being partially satiated by the playful activity. Which, in a way, made it nice.

And also way easier to say that was why he enjoyed it, and totally not because he enjoyed getting any form of affection.

Tonight, however, he hadn’t been subjected to tickles once. Normally he wouldn’t be worried, except for the fact that he’d overheard Skid and Lila mentioning that Pump would be staying over for the night. Which meant Skid must’ve just been waiting to team up with his best friend to tickle him.

“Pump!” He heard the hyper ravenette call to his friend as he sat on Skid’s bed, pretending to be just an ordinary doll like normal.

“Skid! Hiii!”

“Let’s go play with our happy fella!”

Oh no.

“Have fun, you two,” he heard Lila call to the two bois as they excitedly ran up the stairs, “Dinner will be ready soon, so don’t start a game that’ll last too long, ok?”

“Ok, Mom!” the little ravenette called as he and his friend reached his room.

“What game should we play with the happy fella?” the brunette asked as the two hopped onto the bed.

“Hmmm, I don’t know. We could color, or read him a story, or have a little party!”

“A party for what?”

“Uhm… I dunno, it was an idea.”

“Hmmm… Oh, I know what we can do!”

The fluffball leaned over to whisper in his friend’s ear, but it didn’t take hearing him for Dexter to know what he was suggesting, especially if the way Skid’s eyes lit up was any indication.

“Oooo, good idea!” the ravenette said happily as he grabbed the ‘doll’s’ arm, pulling him close.

“Yeah! Let’s tickle our favorite fella!” Pump practically chirped, confirming his fears.

Of course, Dexter had to drop the doll facade, not that it fazed the two boys, they seemed to accept this as normal.

“Hey hey, no kids, c’mon, you don’t wanna tickle me! Don’t you wanna play some other game?” he tried to reason with the two.

“Uh, but why would we do that?” Pump asked.

“Yeah, other games don’t make you laugh, and we like your laugh, right Pump?” Skid argued.

“Yeah, yeah we do!”

That threw Dexter for a loop.

They like my laugh? Like, my laugh, and not just tickling me? He’d never heard that before, and now he’d just been told so by a couple of random kids. Hell, he didn’t even like his own laugh.

“I… uhm… really?” he didn’t know what else to say. What do you say when two kids tell you they like to tickle you for your laugh? Thanks? He found it way too hard to believe.

“Yeah, of course! Your laugh makes you our happy fella!” Skid hugged Dex close to his chest.

“Plus it’s full of snorts!” Pump added, “It’s really cool!”

“Waitttt, are you trying to distract us?” the little ravenette suddenly accused the doll.

“Wait, no I- I just asked a question, you distracted yourselves!” he reminded them, but they seemed to be having none of it.

“I think he was trying to distract us!” Pump piped up.

“That’s it, no more Mister Nice Skid!”

Dexter let out the most embarrassing, high-pitched squeal followed by a snort when he attempted to protest, the result of Skid squeezing his sides, which a single hand could completely encompass thanks to the former’s now tiny size and lack of bones or internal anatomy. What made it ten times worse, however, was that instead of ever hurting when squeezed too hard, it just tickled more.

This was quickly worsened when Pump decided to attack his belly as well, Dex’s tiny legs attempting to curl up and stop him, but thanks to the doll’s design, it was just as fruitless as ever.

“NAHAHOHOHO! YOUHU snort LIHIHITTLE SHIHIHITS!”

“Hey! Don’t call us mean names!” Skid scolded him.

“And don’t say curse words, you’ll get us in trouble!” Pump added.

“OHOHO FUHU- NOHO NOHO- snort -HOT THEHEHEHERE!!” he tried to defy them, his efforts quickly cut short by Skid digging into his underarms. He couldn’t even tell which spot was worse anymore, they all tickled like hell.

“Hey, Skid, do you think that dolls can feel raspberries?” the brunette suddenly asked his friend, catching the attention of said ‘doll’ between them.

“Hmmm, I dunno. Test it!”

“NOHOHO! WEHE snort CAHAHAN! DOHON’T TEHE- snort -HEST IHIHIHIT!!” Dexter tried to interject, but they didn’t seem to listen, Pump going ahead with his ‘test’.

That test, of course, being blowing the biggest raspberry he could manage on the tiniest’s belly, eliciting some near-silent laughter from him.

However, just after, the tickles stopped completely, and before he knew it he was cozily between two other plushies, giggling his stuffing-filled heart out. He was lucky he didn’t have lungs or tear ducts anymore, meaning no tears to have to wipe away or air to try to replace with deep breaths. He just snuggled up to his inanimate roommates and focused on trying to stop the embarrassing giggles and snorts flowing from his mouth.

“Full of snorts, just like I said!” Pump commented on his laughter with a little grin.

“Yeah! Good job, taking all those tickles, Happy fella!” Skid cheered.

“Shuhuhush… snort” Dexter complained, shoving his face into the side of a red bunny plush as though he was trying to hide his smile.

Skid opened his mouth to make another comment before they all heard Lila call for dinner.

“Yayy, dinner!” the kids chorused as they hopped off the little ravenette’s bed, giggling enthusiastically. Dex peeked over and watched them run out, his giggles finally calming down. He practically melted into the plushies and felt himself falling asleep, something he was only made aware he could do after a tickling like this.

Yep, just another day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey y’all it’s National Tk Day so I’m gonna try to finish my second fic too :>

[greenandhazy]

Things I love about these Philadelphia Phillies:

There are a lot of young players new to the team this year, and they call themselves “the Daycare.” Brandon Marsh had to point out that he counted as the daycare because he’s only 24 despite being 6’4” and looking like this

One member of the Daycare, Nick Maton, has the nickname “Wolfie” in the clubhouse because he howls after big hits/plays. A hype video they released for the playoffs referred to him affectionately as “Teen Wolf over here.” Also, he has an older brother who pitches for the Houston Astros. Recently he successfully got a hit against his brother, and both of their reactions were exactly what you’d expect: 😑 and 😈

Their win playlist has been made public and is absolutely off the wall, but apparently their go-to celebration song is a cover of “Dancing on My Own” by Robyn?? Nothing like seeing a bunch of beefy dudes hopping up and down, spraying each other with champagne, belting out a no-pronouns-switch breakup song.

During one of the celebrations, one guy was dancing around with their backup catcher, Garrett Stubbs, on his shoulders. He hadn’t actually played that game, and people joked he was only there because they needed a short guy to lug around whom they didn’t have to worry about dropping.

The main catcher, JT Realmuto, has the fastest pop time—meaning the time it takes him to jump up and throw the ball when he sees someone stealing—in the National League. His pop time is under 2 seconds. That was also about the amount of time it took him to jump when someone popped a champagne cork right next to him, which is a hilariously delayed reaction.

The arguable founder of the Phillies daycare has decided that, instead of the traditional rush with a giant tub, he wanted to sneak up on people with little cups of ice water and pour it down their shirts. Always check for Sneaky Stott in the background.

There’s one player in his third season, Alec Bohm, who struggled a lot with sophomore slump. After one game when he made three errors in the field, he got a sarcastic standing ovation and got caught on camera saying “I fucking hate this place.” He owned up to it and the fans’ general reaction was “babe we fucking hate this place too, welcome to the club,” and he got a genuine round of applause the following night. Since then he put in a shit ton of work and made some truly incredible plays in the game that led to them advancing in the playoffs. When asked what he had to say to fans, he said “I love this place.”

Bryce Harper, last year’s NL MVP, has been called the king of pandering. He has had multiple custom-made suits, cleats, and other accessories to pay tribute to Philly sports (including adding green feathers to a premade pair of Phanatic cleats that just weren’t tacky enough), and his reaction after the Phillies won their recent round in the playoffs was to say he hoped the Eagles would have a good game the next day (they did—coincidentally both Philly teams beat teams called the Cardinals this weekend).

Jean Segura had the record of being the longest-playing player in the National League to not make the playoffs. He had a hit in their first playoff game that gave them the go-ahead run, and he reacted with a victory leap while still running to first.

There is absolutely nothing I don’t love about Rhys Hoskins, the Big Fella, king of handshakes, clubhouse big brother. But shoutout to this photo of a tender moment between him and Bryce Harper after they made the playoffs.

And it just feels wrong to not acknowledge Kyle Schwarber even though I don’t know much about him except he’s a goddamn tank, but he did have an EPIC meltdown early this season against an ump who had a horrible accuracy rate which I got to witness in the 9th inning of a 1-run, boring as shit game, and it was fantastic. He made sure to include plenty of big gestures so those of us in the cheap seats could tell what he was complaining about, which I appreciated.

In conclusion: go Phils, fuck the Braves, RING THAT BELL.

[viky2318]

It is I, the usual trash seller! here to sell you my trash after WAY TOO MUCH TIME. Enjoy this third to last chapter (I think).

Whatever was going on, it was becoming all but what Sam imagined. They planned that game for months, making sure everything was in place. They thought about every possibility they could imagine, every action, every sentence, making sure that no matter what they would get to that one ending they choose. And yet… there they were. Grillby was out of the way after becoming an important member of the group, but Sam couldn't expect him either to be important for them as well and to die, especially in such a dramatic way; Maddy wanted them dead, but she also had the old man and Flowey by her side; Raehel was probably going to show up; Muffet was at the super cool important choice, but the stake was way higher than what Sam previously thought; Template died too soon in the story, and the human had to cut a whole part with other out-codes because of it and also because of the "meeting" Muffet had with the old man; Sam knew a lot of new things about themselves and their abilities; Fresh got in the way twice and made the trust-to-hate process, as they liked to call it, more quick. Sam had no idea of where this was going and, they had to admit it, it was exciting. It felt like playing directly with the creator, being at its same level, making it scared of their actions and in need to actually intervene. A stupid thought since the creator itself was the one to make them act, but they didn’t give too much weight to that detail. The human closed the editor screen of the little monster soul they were messing around with, then placed the latter back in the glass cylinder next to the other. Sam wanted Muffet (now alone in an isolated part of the Void they were in before) to make the choice they wanted, no matter what. They didn’t have another option. Grillby’s soul shattered when he died (something they didn’t expect even if they should have), so he had no way to bring the Grillby they knew back. They could only take the Grillby from that timeline out a half second before it disappears, and then bring him back to his timeline so that it would be as if they “brought him back and erased his memories”. Of course that new Grillby would be a little different from the original one because the two had two different lives, so with time it would become obvious that it wasn’t the truth, but our human didn’t care. 

“Soooooo… still messing around? Dontcha think you got enough reasons to just let them be for a little bit?”.

Of course, the guy had to show up again. The human gave Fresh an irked glare, before replying: “I know what I’m doing. I know the consequences of my actions, their effect on the multiverse, and most importantly, I know you shouldn’t be here”. The skeleton shrugged, his glasses switching to “IK&IDC”. “Ya should know by now I really don’t follow the rules. I tho don’t kill a buncha fellows just to feel cool”, he commented. Sam didn’t speak for a couple more seconds, before huffing in annoyance. “Get to the point and then go away. I’m not in the mood to deal with you”. Fresh took a few steps closer, his chilled smile not leaving his skeletal face. “I think I got to the point more than a few times, pal. What you’re doing is real unrad, and you should stop trying to be what you aren’t. Chill out! No one’s gonna judge ya if you aren’t some sorta godlike being, you know?”. The human raised a brow. “Who wants to be a god? Gods as we know them are as weak as us mortals compared to the creators. I want to have my little story, my small contribution to this wide multiverse. Once I finish, you’ll never hear about me again. Maybe a few times for something silly, but nothing as nice as this”. The skeleton just shrugged. “Eh, I doubt it. Yer mess is an itty bitty too big to just pass without consequences, yanno? After all, you killed around a half hundred fellas and still you got nowhere. The good old G wouldn’t really be happy to see what you did and-”. “Do you think I care about the opinion of an old man like him?” Sam cut him. “Did I end the lives of hundreds? Yeah. Did I lie, make others suffer, destroy families just to have fun? More or less, yes. Do I look like I care? Creators do it every time with us, everyday, every single time they write down our destiny, or paint it, or code it, or whatever they do to please their hunger of pain. I have no idea of what goes through their mind, but surely I am having enough fun creating my own story in the same way they do”. Fresh tilted their head a little, his glasses changing to “CHILL BRO”. “Yeah, got it. You’re just constantly slamming your head onto a wall. The thing’s always the same. Ya can’t keep doing that. It won’t end well for you if ya keep up this “game”, yanno? I think people are kinda getting tired of this messy thingie yer doing”. The human silently nodded, but they actually didn’t give too much weight to the skeleton’s words. “... so you’re planning to actually do something about it or just give me a scold and leave?” they quietly asked while thinking about a way to make him go away. Fresh shortly replied: “But I already did, my lil’ brotato chip. I already did. I’m just having fun hanging around for another little while”. Alright, that definitely meant there was no way to make him leave. And Sam had to wait for another while before Maddy and Muffet’s arrival. They decided to try to ignore the skeleton, and opened a small portal to take a look at how things were going.

Muffet took a deep breath as she sat down on the black floor of the Void, more thoughtful than she had ever been. She was in a truly bad position. She hated making big choices. She always did. Big choices often meant big changes, big limits, consequences damaging either her or others and a lot of possibilities getting cut off. She had enough of all that stuff when she was head of her clan. She either assured her friends a hopefully happy life and ended the ones of others, or… or what? That stupid human never specified what happened if she refused, as if they were sure it wasn’t a possibility. So she either accepted or had no idea of what could happen, and Muffet didn’t trust Sam enough to let them do anything. In all this she was closed in what seemed like an invisible cage in the middle of the void.

How. Wonderful.

She had to find a solution. A third option out of this mess. She couldn’t let things happen around her. Grillby was the one who usually did that and, apparently, he died. Muffet wasn’t planning to let herself or anyone she cared for die. She already tried teleporting or breaking the “walls” restraining her more than once, but to no avail. She could try tricking Sam somehow… no. That would have been too dangerous. Flowey commented something about Sam knowing that they did…

A sudden whistle, a sound similar to a portal opening, made the spider suddenly jump up, raising her gaze to the source of the noise. And the last thing she expected to see was Maddy getting out of an unknown portal followed by Flowey, wrapped around the arm of a tall smiling man. “Maddy?! What are you doing here?!” the spider exclaimed, both relieved and concerned to see the cat. Maddy extended a hand to Muffet, but the invisible wall blocked her. “What do you think I’m doing? We have a dumbass to kill”. She tried to punch the wall, only resulting with a bunch of glitches appearing all of the sudden, flickering quietly for a couple seconds before fading away. That thing didn't happen when Muffet tried to break the wall down. "... that stuff is all codes, almost nothing physical. Just a hitbox and some air. That dumbass didn't even try to make a nice work", Flowey commented as he slid down the stranger's arm and got close to Maddy. "Of course", the man started. "Their goal wasn't to keep her from escaping. They just needed her to stay here until our arrival". Muffet noticed how the man had a really familiar voice, but she couldn't figure out where she heard it. Maddy rolled her eyes at the man's words, debating a few things. "Yeah, whatever. It's not like it makes any difference at the moment", she commented quietly. The cat then raised her other hand and laid it on the invisible wall, then pressed hard on it. The flickering glitches came back, more and more loud, before stopping all of the sudden with the noise of something cracking. The wall disappeared, and Maddy smiled widely at the result. "Woah. This thing practically melts codes! I could almost feel them evaporating under my hand. You really must be one of a magician" she said, turning to the smiling man. He simply nodded in response, his smile getting a little wider. "And you never saw my greatest works", he replied with a slight pride. The cat then turned to Muffet, her grin turning more resolute. "Ok girl, we're going to kill our dear human idiot. You ready?" she asked. "Wait- killing Sam? … is that even possible? They always sounded awfully powerful with all those code things they can do'', Muffet asked in response, frowning a little in skepticism. "Yeah- well, I think so. I tried by myself and it didn't work too well, but this time I have you, a soulless flower and what could probably be a royal scientist, so I think we can do this". The man stepped closer to the others, smiling quietly as he glanced in an unspecified direction. "Now that we got everyone, I think we should get going".

Sam quickly closed the portal as they met the old man's gaze, a cold shiver going up their spine. They didn't like that quiet smile he had, that shine in his eyes that clearly showed Sam the man was furious. "So you do mind their opinion!" Fresh exclaimed, their glasses switching to "AWWW". "You better shut your mouth and get out of here. Now", the human replied, not willing to repeat themselves many more times. "Ok ok, chill out! I'll go away, but just because it's you. Cya!". With that said, the colorful skeleton disappeared in a colorful cloud of smoke. After a few seconds, Sam sighed quietly, then looked at the tall portal opening in front of them. “... let’s finish this silly little project”.

START PREVIOUS NEXT

[cbc-bb]

What were you like as a kid?

I was kind of all over the map. At times I was a quiet, curious, and considerate little fella. But I was also kind of an asshole, I was rough, liked to fight and roughhouse other kids. I liked to collect books but not read them. I was skinny and sick a lot. I loved playing pretend in the woods behind my house with my friend who lived nearby. I taught myself how to ride a bike at age 8 and enjoyed my newfound ability and freedom. I loved video games because there was always something new on the horizon to look forward to. I wore a lot of hand me downs. I became fascinated with computers and drawing abstract art in MS-Paint. I remember being so excited when we got windows 95. I had so-so grades in school even though I was considered a pretty bright kid.

My parents split a few times then finally divorced when I was 5. We moved a lot. My mom remarried instantly, but my step father spent a summer in jail and we were homeless for a while after that. I had a ton of stress and anxiety that got worse throughout my childhood and didn’t really resolve until very recently. I had good influences, though. A few close friends, supportive grandparents. Church, some extremely caring teachers. It both is and isn’t a miracle I turned out as well as I did

[dex-starr]

I had the saddest fucking dream like me and my best friend were hanging out and everything was normal, like how we used to hang out as teenagers and just okay some games and shoot the shit. But it was more recent and we were talking about our lives and how I’m not doing so well with mine and this break up still — how that bothers me because everyone keeps pushing me to be over it or acting like I’m crazy for not being over someone I genuinely loved for four years yet (it’s barely been over a year since things ended for good). But like this isn’t the sad part of the dream, I was comforted then. What happened was my dog was running around the house trying to get our attention to follow him, so we did. We found the cutest little stray kitten that somehow ended up inside my house and we decided to clean up after it and rescue them. My friend was gonna take them home and either keep them or give it to a family member who was looking for a cat to adopt.

So we clean up after the lil fella and get them situated on a pillow bed with some blankets. I give them some water and some food too since I started looking up how to take care of younger kittens because I’ve never owned a cat in an official capacity. This little fella is playful and sweet and just completely innocent, we spend an hour or so getting him prepped to go. By the time we leave out the front door to take him we are feeling good that this fella will have a good home soon. Unfortunately, the little kitty gets out of the bed and gets loose. We follow them and call to them but they just keep playing until they cross the road and well.. it gets unfortunate real quick. I wake up then in a combination of shock and familiarity.

So last year before the catalyst of my break-up starting for sure and my mind basically breaking — a similar situation happened. I found some strays under my house at first. They were there for a few days but towards the living room, my dog would make noises to let us know they were here with their mother. I checked to see if they were there after a few days but I didn’t see them. In the mean time I was calling every organization I could to see if they would take any strays and mom to help them out. The only one that got back to me offered to rent a trap to me but they never got back to me after that. I just wanted them to be able to have a good home. I keep checking our basement but I only hear them never see them. The weather is very hot so I leave them water. Our basement has an entrance on the outside in the backyard. I would leave it open to give the mom a chance to come and go for food and I would leave her food and water nearby too. I was having no luck at all with them until one day I found them! So I check on them from a distance and send my ex some pictures of them.

She gives me advice and tries to keep me together but there are other things going on. I was supposed to visit her this month in May too for her birthday. We fawn over one cat together and said we would love to keep that kitten together and we called him Stripes. Stripes was the friendlier from the three I found and I just kept imagining us raising a kitty together as I’ve never owned a cat and I wanted to raise lots of pets with this girl. That would be our version of making a family together because we both don’t really want kids, like at all. Her more so than me, I just don’t want and don’t care — but shit happens. I’m just not making them. All of this gets me hopeful in a time where shit was bleak aside from me seeing her soon. I hyperfixate on the cats and worry because my room is just above the basement, so I hear them crying at night if their mom isn’t there. I always go make sure the basement is open too because people keep closing it.

I keep on checking on them and the day I decided to prepare them a better place to nest in so they don’t get too cold at night and don’t have to stray too far to get water. I have to go out, it’s my moms birthday and I need to get her cake and food. When I come back and check on them I find out that unfortunately Stripes died of I don’t know what to this day. My ex thinks it was because he didn’t know how to use the bathroom alone yet. Regardless, this hurts me real bad. I just feel so bad that I couldn’t do anything and that it happened to the kitten we liked especially too. It felt like the universe was shitting on me and my relationship — my happiness. After this I make sure he’s properly taken care of — which was a whole other sad experience I don’t want to get into.

I know during this time not talking about my trip to see my girl in the next weeks isn’t going down well. It isn’t making it seem like I care about her, I do. I do care so fucking much, I just hyper fixated on the cat situation because I couldn’t even escape having to worry at night or during whatever I was doing. During daytime hours I was just trying to get help. Unfortunately, all of the litter passes. The very next week before I’m going to buy my ticket my dog gets sick. He starts having bad seizures and he gets stuck a certain way. We didn’t know he had a seizure yet but he just showed up from being outside on his bed with his neck stuck and in pain. So we take him to the vet, it’s a scary process to find out what happens. Until he finally has a seizure in front of me and I know it’s epilepsy now. So we get him on medication but we don’t know if it’s going to take. I tell my mom I’m waiting a week for the meds to take and then I’m visiting my gf. I had this set in mind. A week draws closer and my dog isn’t exactly getting better yet, I’m the one that takes care of him the most so of course I’m worried about what will happen when I’m gone.

I mean this dog only eats when I feed him, so I feel a sense of responsibility. He took care of me when I had covid and was close to dying, or it felt like it. He took care of me when I was sick with my illnesses too. At this point in my life I care about two things in this order: my gf and my dog and my mom. The only reason I wanted to wait for my dog to be okay while I visited my gf was that I wanted to stay for one to two months. I didn’t want to worry at all, I just wanted to enjoy her and her alone. No distractions, nothing else. I wanted to make that time about her. I couldn’t in good conscience do that leaving my dog son still sick and recovering so I told her to wait a little bit but I’d be there. By this point she had reached her breaking point with me — and the rest I have talked about at some point here.

But yeah a lot happened before all this too and that dream was just a reminder. I have been through so much in a years time.

[wideouts4life]

NFL Week 6

When I think of good wideout play Tyreek Hill and Stefon Diggs are two names that come to mind. And the way each of these young men play is nothing short of astounding. Hill and Diggs have completely different physical profiles but they both share similarities when we talk adjectives that describe how they play. Tenacity they say is one characteristic of being a dog. Mr. Hill is every bit dog with an exuberant tenacity for playing wideout. On his route to an impressive 12 catch day for 177 yards. Hill caught a two yard spot route, burst past 3 defenders, causing two of them to miss a tackle and 13 yards later the Vikings needed 2 more defenders to bring down the 5’10 185lb mercurial receiver. His nickname is Cheetah and watching him accelerate past defenders on catches where it seems like he’s bottled up I understand why the moniker fits. The first defender more times than not doesn’t make the tackle when guarding Hill. He also obliterates angles like no one I’ve ever seen with the ball outside of former Heisman Trophy winner Reggie Bush. 

Stefon Diggs had a normal day at the office catching 10 balls for 148 yards and 1 tub. Outside of his touchdown none of his plays this weekend were eye-popping. And that’s ok because I have noticed at the end of plays he’s looking to destroy defenders. He doesn’t get tackled easy and usually attempts to stiff-arm whichever defensive back he’s facing. Although it’s irritating at times to see wideouts celebrate after a simple pass completion, I love how Diggs flexes as to say, “Y’all gone feel me today.” On the season Hill and Diggs have the same amount of targets with Hill catching 1-more ball for the #1 and #2 spots on total yardage (701 to 656). Diggs has 4 more touchdowns and might be my leading top wideout if I were choosing today. I look forward to more playmaking and feet shaking by these two throughout the season. 

It’s positive to see Michael Pittman have the game he had this weekend. This is the first weekend since week 1 that Pittman cracked 100 yards receiving. He didn’t have any explosive plays as he caught a lot of shallow cross and dig routes. But he made the plays he was expected to make. I would like to see him catch some go routes to stretch the defense and add another variable to his collage of routes. 

The WOW award goes to Ja’Marr Chase of the Cincinnati Bengals for a 7 catch 132 yard 2 touchdown performance against the New Orleans Saints. Chase ran a great route by threatening the defender outside, taking an inside release, pushing his route vertical and snapping his head as his foot planted toward the end zone with a ball that was in his hands before the defender could react. But it was his second touchdown that sold me. With a little over 2 minutes remaining in the game Chase caught a back shoulder throw from Joe Burrow, threw the defender off of him and accelerated pass the safety for the games winning score for a 60-yard touchdown. Keep it up young fella and you might just make my top 5 when my list comes out. 

Jaylen Waddle gets the money. Without starting quarterback Tua Tagovailoa the speedy wideout hasn’t seen his productivity drop as much as I thought it would. Especially when you consider during week 5 the Dolphins lost their top 2 quarterbacks to back to back concussions. I wouldn’t have expected Waddle to be #5 in yards with only 30 catches on the season, which is 20 catches behind his counterpart Tyreek Hill. But as the saying goes 'playmakers make plays’ and that’s exactly what the second year pro out of Alabama has been doing. He amassed 129 yards on a 6 catch day that produced a 49 yard scamper up the right sideline. I hope his shoulder is ok so he can do more torching this weekend against the Pittsburgh Steelers. 

The other two players to eclipse the 100-yard mark that gets you talked about on this blog was Juju Smith-Schuster and Justin Jefferson. Although Juju’s production has steadily declined after he stopped playing with Antonio Brown and having an injury plagued 2021. It’s encouraging to see explosive plays of 40+ yards with a touchdown out of the 6-year pro out of USC. Justin “mama their go that man” Jefferson did what he does best and that’s catch the ball. Jefferson finished the afternoon with 107 yards on 6 of 8 targets. He’s exciting too watch and explosive plays like the wheel route up the right sideline are what I expect to see more from the uber talented wideout. 

Wideouts worldwide have another great week and I can’t wait to see what phenomenal plays the universe produces this week. Wideouts Lets Go, Finish Strong, Only Think About Success, and Just Catch It!