#It's CLEAROUT TIME! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

magicfootballstuff · 10 months

Text

Dirty Little Secret - part 3 (leila ouahabi x reader)

Summary: A love story about secrets, flirty messages, football rivalries, and useless lesbians who don’t know how to communicate. And it all starts with one badly timed challenge in the Champions League.

Leila Ouahabi x Arsenal!reader

Part 3/?

Read other parts here.

———

Your life can be split into two parts - before the Arnold Clark Cup and after the Arnold Clark Cup.

Or before Leila and after Leila.

You return to Arsenal and it’s surprisingly easy to settle back into the club routine and prepare for the next league game. You’d been slightly worried that it would be difficult to adjust, an abrupt return to reality after ten days of secret meetings and illicit hookups, but life at Arsenal is exactly as it was before.

It helps that the Arnold Clark Cup almost feels like it took place in a different reality. What you had with Leila was just a holiday fling between two consenting adults. You’ve both returned to your real lives now.

But then one evening three weeks after the international break, you’re tidying your apartment and sorting through things to have a clearout, when you find Leila’s red Spain jersey amongst a pile of clothes. You trace your finger over the yellow number fifteen on the front, then flip it over to look at Leila’s name on the back. You haven’t yet washed it and when you lift it to your nose and inhale, you’re sure you can still smell Leila’s scent on it, and you know that you didn’t imagine those two weeks at all.

You haven’t talked to Leila since you parted ways at the end of the international break, but seeing her shirt brings a whirlwind of memories that leaves you yearning for something.

Before you even have time to second guess yourself, you’re swapping your sweatshirt for Leila’s football shirt, then sprawling artfully across your bed as you take a selfie from above and send it to Leila.

You Thanks for the new pyjamas

It’s just a bit of fun - just like every other moment you shared with Leila. Part of you doesn’t expect her to reply. And she doesn’t straight away, you’ve given up on sorting and have settled down on the sofa to watch a Manchester City men’s game on the television when your phone finally vibrates with a response.

Leila Looking gooood 🤤

She doesn’t say anything else and you leave it there, not sure what else to say without coming across as too eager, so you set your phone aside and give your full attention to the football.

An hour has passed before another message comes through.

Leila Sorry I was out for dinner but home now

She’s attached an image to her message, a picture of her wearing the England shirt you exchanged with her. Except that she’s wearing just the England shirt, the hem coming down to cover her hips but very little else, her long legs bare.

You Leilaaaaa

Suddenly you don’t care about the football on the TV anymore.

———

Arsenal gets knocked out of the Champions League in the quarter finals by Wolfsburg, which means you miss out on the opportunity to play against Leila again in the semi final. Your last glimmer of hope that you might get to see Leila before a possible meeting during the Euros in the summer is snuffed out.

But when Barcelona beats Wolfsburg to advance to the final, you receive a surprising message a few days later.

Leila You coming to the Champions League final?

You hadn’t really given it much thought to be honest, since your own Champions League journey came to an end and it became irrelevant. The final is after your own season ends and there’s been talk amongst some of your Arsenal teammates of going on holiday together before you all split off into your various national teams for the Euros, but nothing set in stone.

The chance to watch Leila play in such an important match, to possibly even see her lift the trophy that every footballer in Europe dreams of lifting, would be special. But you haven’t seen Leila since the Arnold Clark Cup and there’s not enough of a thing going on between you for it to seem appropriate for you to just show up without Leila’s permission.

You Do you want me to come?

Before even waiting for Leila’s response, you already start checking your diary, working out the logistics of a spontaneous weekend in Turin and whether it fits in with your pre-Euro schedule.

Leila Yeahhhh. I can get a free ticket if you want? Barca friends and family area

You smile to yourself as you type out your reply.

You Aww, am I your friend? 😉 Why do you think I’d be cheering for Barca anyway? Maybe I’m a big Lyon fan

Leila replies straight away.

Leila 🖕

———

It turns out that Leila is serious about her offer of a ticket to the Champions League final, which is why just two weeks after the end of your season with Arsenal and the heartbreak of missing out on the title by just a single point, you get on a plane to Turin by yourself.

You don’t own a Barcelona shirt and though you take the Spain shirt from Leila with you, it stays in your suitcase as you head to the stadium. Having not yet had the chance to talk to Leila in person, you’re still not sure exactly what’s going on between you and it feels like a step too far to show up to one of her games wearing her name on your back.

Instead, you’re trying to keep a low profile, donning a pair of dark sunglasses in the hope that it’ll make you less likely to get spotted by eager-eyed fans curious to discover why you’re sitting in the Barcelona family section.

It’s easy to get swept up in the atmosphere of the stadium. There are way more Barcelona fans than Lyon fans and the noise they make is immense. You’re a Manchester City fan, an Arsenal player, but tonight you’re a culer. You don’t know the chants but you don’t need to because you get caught up in the pure thrill of it all. Even when Barcelona go one, two, three goals down, the singing continues and there’s still belief that they can pull this back. Alexia gets one back just before half time that feels like a reward to the fans for their belief in the team.

But despite Barcelona’s best efforts in the second half, Lyon’s three goals prove too much to overcome and when the final whistle blows, they collapse to the pitch, exhausted and defeated.

You watch as Leila, who spent the game on the bench, wanders onto the pitch at full time, and your heart breaks for her when you see the hurt on her face and the tears shining in her eyes. You know that Barcelona were favourites and if you’re completely honest, you expected them to win. You thought that you would be celebrating with Leila tonight, but Lyon have the best record in this competition for a reason and now you need to prepare yourself to console her.

It’s quite a lot for something that’s just a casual friends with benefits situation, but then again, so is flying to Italy to watch the final in the first place.

The trophy ceremony seems to drag on forever, as if you’re down there on the pitch on the losing team yourself. You’ve been on the wrong side of a cup final enough times yourself to know that there are very few worse feelings in football than having to stay on the pitch after losing such an important game and watching another team celebrate with the trophy you wanted to lift, so you know exactly how Leila must be feeling right now.

After the ceremony, the Barcelona players wander over to this section of the crowd and greet their families over the advertising boards. You hang back as Leila exchanges hugs with what you assume to be her family. This moment is for them, not for you, and you know that you need to wait for Leila to beckon you across if she wants to see you. What would you say to them anyway? You can hardly introduce yourself to Leila’s parents as the girl who hooked up with their daughter for two weeks in February. If the roles were reversed, you don’t know if you’d want to explain the situation to your own family.

So you wait, and you keep waiting.

But Leila doesn’t beckon you over. In fact, she doesn’t even acknowledge you’re there at all.

The longer you’re standing there, the more the doubt starts to cloud your mind. At first it was explainable - there are obviously other people here to see Leila who she would prioritise talking to after the game more than you. But when she moves away from her own family to talk to the family of her teammates, then eventually moves back onto the pitch and hovers around a group of dejected Barcelona players, you start to wonder if Leila has forgotten that she invited you entirely.

Maybe you should’ve been more assertive. Maybe you should’ve stood closer to the barrier so that Leila couldn’t miss you.

You sit down again on the plastic stadium seat and pull out your phone, deciding to message Leila instead

You Sorry about the result but I’m so proud of you anyway! Let me know when you’re free? I can’t wait to see you!

When you look up, you can no longer see Leila. You scan the few blaugrana shirts still on the pitch just in case, but most of the team seems to have returned inside to the dressing room and you can only assume that Leila is one of them. The crowd has thinned out too, even the friends and family sections that were full long after the rest of the fans started to leave the stadium is starting to empty, and you know it’s probably time for you to leave too.

As you make your way out of the stands, you find a quiet corner on the almost deserted stadium concourse and decide to call Leila. You’re not sure if she’s checked her phone yet since the final whistle, so it’s not exactly a surprise when it rings straight through to her voicemail, but you decide to leave a message anyway.

“Leila, it’s me,” you say. “Listen, I…” You let out a sigh, then say, “I know you must be hurting right now. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling and I … and I just wish I could do something or say something to make it better but I can’t. But I’m proud of you. Just getting to the final is an achievement. Shit, I know that’s not what you need to hear right now but…”

You lean your head against the nearest wall and close your eyes in frustration, fully aware that you’re rambling almost nonsensically at this point.

“I’m here if you need me,” you continue. “Or if you don’t, that’s fine too. I’m leaving the stadium to get some food, then I’ll probably go back to my hotel, but just let me know you’re okay?”

You hesitate for just a few seconds, unsure how to sign off, before you panic and just end the message there.

“Fuck!” you growl.

You turn around to lean your back against the wall, only to realise that the concourse isn’t as empty as you thought, but that two fans in Barcelona shirts have just witnessed your outburst.

“Sorry,” you apologise to them, but they don’t seem bothered by your swearing. In fact, they actually approach you, a little giddy, and you suddenly remember that you’re not as anonymous as you’d often like to be.

“Can we get a selfie?” one of the girls asks, taking out her phone. “My friend is a huge Arsenal fan. You’re one of her favourite players.”

You force a smile onto your face. Normally you don’t mind fan interactions, in fact it usually warms your heart to know that there are people out there who you don’t even know who support you and look up to you, but there’s a time and place for that and you’re really not in the mood right now. Despite that, Leila is to blame for your sour mood, not them, and you’re not going to take out your frustrations on a couple of innocent fans.

“Of course,” you tell them, positioning yourself so that one girl stands on either side of you and smiling at the outstretched phone of the girl on the left.

“Thank you,” they say, once the selfies have been taken.

“No problem,” you reply, and you only let the smile slide off your face when they’re out of sight.

You really need to get out of here. And fast.

———

You thought that by distancing yourself from the stadium and the match, it might ease your mind a little. But by the time you get back to your hotel with a paper bag of takeout food, you feel more uneasy than ever.

Leila is still silent. No texts, no calls, nothing on social media.

You replay your voicemail message over and over again in your mind, each word sitting like a brick on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. Was it too much? Surely Leila would have messaged you when she was ready. What if your message comes across as needy, as smothering? What if you’re only pushing her away further?

Fuck. Leila probably doesn’t even want you here at all. You’re only a hookup to her, a bit of fun to pass your downtime during the Arnold Clark Cup. You were wrong to read anything more into the invitation to watch the final. She can only have wanted you here on standby, a plaything to use as a celebration if Barcelona won the trophy. But they didn’t and she doesn’t need you, she doesn’t want you.

The more you spiral, the more you want to speak to her. Just a single message, a word of reassurance or even just an acknowledgement that she’s not in the right headspace to see you tonight, would be enough to settle your anxiety.

As it is, you’re alone in a hotel room in an unfamiliar city with nothing but a bag of food and your own intrusive thoughts.

You want to call someone, to talk to a friend before you completely fall apart. Leah, perhaps. You’ve known her forever and out of all your friends, she’s probably the least likely to judge you if you call her up out of nowhere in floods of tears and tell her you’re having a breakdown in a hotel room in Turin over some girl you hardly know. In fact, Leah is such a good friend that if she knew you were distressed, she’d probably hop on the first flight to Italy to comfort you in person.

But Leah is on holiday in America and she deserves the time off before the Euros without having to worry about her idiotic best friend having girl problems on the other side of the world.

You’re just going to have to deal with this alone.

Hot tears spill down your face and you cocoon yourself beneath the bedcovers, wishing that the bed would swallow you whole.

You don’t know how you could’ve been so stupid to think that this meant something, how you could’ve been so stupid to catch feelings for Leila when there are clearly far too many obstacles between you for it to ever work out. In your defence, it’s only now that you’re starting to realise that you are catching feelings for her, but still… you could’ve done more to stop it from happening in the first place.

The doubt and the self-loathing clouds your mind and you cry it out until you can’t cry anymore, until you finally succumb to exhaustion, passing out into a dreamless sleep with tear-stained cheeks.

———

You wake up alone, having had a bad night’s sleep, to several messages from Leila, which can be summed up by the most recent one.

Leila Can I see you today?

The rest of her messages, all sent within the last couple of hours this morning, are a mixture of pleas and apologies.

You’re still pissed at her for not responding to any of your messages last night. But you flew all the way to Turin at Leila’s request, used the ticket that she gave you for free to watch the match, and you don’t fly back until later today. And, despite your anger, you do still want to see her.

You’re not going to make an effort though, which is why you message her back with the address of your hotel. If Leila wants to see you, then she can be the one to make the effort to come and see you herself.

When she arrives at your hotel, you decide to meet her downstairs in the hotel restaurant, instead of inviting her up to your room. There’s less temptation to let her seduce her way back onto your good side if you meet in public.

Leila looks like shit - that’s your first impression. She looks like she’s had even less sleep than you have, her eyes puffy, her expression weary, her usual smile absent.

If she hadn’t pissed you off yesterday, you’d probably hug her.

Instead, you just let her sit down across from you and ask her, “Do you want to eat?”

She shakes her head.

“I’m not hungry today.”

“Coffee, then?” you suggest, because she definitely looks like she needs it.

Leila nods.

You’ve already ordered yourself a coffee (you’re normally a tea person but you don’t want to risk the Italian tea not being to your taste) and a sandwich, but you call over the waiter once more for Leila.

“So what happened?” you eventually ask, once Leila has ordered her coffee.

“I’m sorry,” Leila apologises with a shrug, and from the way that her eyebrows are furrowed together, it seems like she’s having a difficult time trying to hold herself together.

“Sorry for what?” you ask, waiting for her to admit that she messed up, but when she doesn’t, you continue talking. “I flew here by myself, I sat in the family section surrounded by people I don’t know, all speaking a language I don’t understand. The only person I knew in this city yesterday was you. You invited me here. I thought you wanted me here.”

“I want you here,” Leila pleads with you. “But a lot happened yesterday and it was too much.”

“I get that. You think I’ve never lost a cup final? I came here to support you, win or lose. And then you hurt me. You made me feel like an idiot.”

The effort that Leila has been putting into not falling apart crumbles and the sobs heave through her body, shoulders trembling and tears spilling down her cheeks. Annoyed with her or otherwise, it’s not nice to see, and you feel a pang of regret that your harsh words have upset her.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you say, reaching for one of the unused napkins on the table and passing it across to Leila, letting your fingers brush against her hand as you do. “I’m pissed off, but I don’t want to see you cry. I don’t care that you didn’t win the Champions League. I would’ve loved to watch you lift that trophy but I’m proud of you anyway for making it to the final.”

Leila uses the napkin to wipe her tears, and the silence, as well as the sad look in her eyes, compels you to keep talking.

“And it’s not like I was expecting anything from you yesterday either,” you tell her. “If you didn’t want to see me or you were too busy, that’s fine. But just one message to let me know what was going on and I wouldn’t have been left waiting around feeling stupid.”

“I know, I know,” Leila says, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “So much stuff is happening right now. It’s all too much. But you’re right, I should have messaged.”

You don’t know what to say. It almost feels like you’re back to square one, like you don’t even know Leila at all. But then you realise - do you even know Leila? It’s not like you’ve actually spent any time getting to know each other. There’s an obvious attraction between you, and physical chemistry too, but do you actually have anything in common beside your profession?

“Can I make it up to you?” Leila blurts out.

“How?” you ask.

You’re expecting a smirk to slide across Leila’s lips and for her to suggest you go somewhere private for her to apologise to you in a more physical way, but instead, she looks you straight in the eye and says, “Come to Barcelona?”

“When?”

“This week. We have another final - la Copa de la Reina. You could come to the game.”

You let out a sigh. You can’t put yourself through what you’ve been through this weekend again, as tempting as it is to just forgive Leila and succumb to her request. Yet despite the fact that you cried yourself to sleep last night because of Leila, you can’t deny the fact you’ve still got a soft spot for her and it’s incredibly difficult to say no to her.

“I’ve got an England camp coming up soon,” you try to reason with her. “We’re starting our Euro prep.”

“Just for a few days,” Leila pleads with you. “I really want you to come. Please.”

“I can’t just drop everything at short notice,” you tell Leila, though your plans for the next couple of weeks don’t involve much more than relaxing as much as possible before getting straight back to work with the Lionesses.

“Okay,” Leila says, and though that’s all she says, you can tell she’s disappointed.

Would it really be so bad if you said yes? Would it hurt to give her another chance? You don’t want what happened yesterday to ruin what’s been going between you forever, which means forgiving her at some point. Maybe a little holiday in Barcelona, especially before you enter the biggest summer of your life so far, is exactly what you need.

It’ll be like the Arnold Clark Cup all over again, an escape from reality until you have to return to life as a footballer and Leila’s on-pitch rival.

“Fine, I’ll look at flights to Barcelona,” you concede. “I can give you two days, maybe three, before I need to be back in England.”

“Thank you,” Leila says, smiling at you gratefully.

She reaches into the little bag that she brought with her and pulls out a piece of blue and pink fabric, and as she unfurls it you realise it’s a Barcelona shirt.

“My jersey from yesterday,” she explains as she passes it across the table. “To thank you for coming to see me. If you can come to Barcelona next week, you could wear it to the final?”

Wearing Leila’s name to one of her matches sounds serious. It sounds like a commitment. As is flying to Turin, or even to Barcelona to watch one of her games, but that hasn’t quite gone to plan.

Things were so easy when you were flirting from different countries, or sneaking around St George’s Park for a bit of fun. The rational part of your brain tries to warn you that it’s probably not a good thing that at the first sign of this perhaps actually being a little more serious, it’s resulted in this misunderstanding and both of you getting upset.

But the pleading look in Leila’s bloodshot eyes is impossible to say no to.

“Thanks,” you say, refolding the jersey and setting it aside.

“When do you go home?” Leila asks.

“This afternoon,” you answer. “My flight’s just after four. You?”

“In a couple of hours,” Leila tells you. “I can’t stay much longer. Only Patri knows I’m not at the team hotel.”

You can’t help but smile, reminded a little of the way you both snuck around St George’s Park back in February, only now your secrecy has led you to fly to a whole different country while Leila has snuck across town to see you.

This thing between you, this connection that has been growing since that tackle back in Barcelona, is far from easy. But aren’t the best things in life worth the fight?

“Come here,” you say, pushing back your chair and getting to your feet.

You hold your arms out wide until Leila understands and gets up too, stepping around the table and into your embrace. Her arms wind around your back as you pull her close, burying your face into her shoulder

“Thank you for giving me another chance,” Leila mumbles into your hair.

You don’t say anything in response, instead simply squeezing her closer and savouring the feeling of her body against yours. If you can make the logistics of a trip to Barcelona next week work, it won’t be long until you can hold her again like this, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to make the most of every second you can get with her before you have to go in separate directions again.

If this tumultuous weekend in Turin has taught you anything, it’s that you can’t take anything for granted.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #leila ouahabi x reader #leila ouahabi imagine #dirty little secret

403 notes · View notes

crowlines · 9 days

Text

Hello! I've just added a clearance section featuring deeply discounted clothing and other goods (up to 60% off)!! Come check it out!

These items are final sale and the majority will be retired permanently after they sell out (some will return in the future but with minor alterations, such as change in material).

This is possibly the only time I'll have items at such large discounts as I anticipate potentially moving to a new workspace in the near future! Basically this is a major inventory clearout.

As always please double check that the size in your cart and your shipping address are correct before checking out! Thank you!

#sale #merch #artist shop #fashion

127 notes · View notes

allthedoorsareopennow · 2 months

Text

ok time for a bot clearout I think. if I tag you you have like. a day or two idk to at the bare minimum get a profile picture. come on man you look like a bot can you not try slightly harder.

@squigglielines

@transgenderratman

@poemsinamajorkey

@onlyhereforthemagnusarchives

@michaelkatmore

@sparkyboo

@reidusgelo

@morbidchocolateadventure

#doors.txt

15 notes · View notes

zooophagous · 1 year

Text

Holy fucking bingle its time for an inventory clearout.

Every time I order prints, I order extras in the event that one is lost or damaged. Most of these are surplus, either the just in case extras or prints that just never sold. Well I have too many of them so I'm selling them at a discount.

Usually 30 each, Im selling them for 25, with free shipping. Yeah that's right! I'm crazy!

I have 8 of the pallas cat at tea, 3 of the neon anubis, 2 of the mother clown and 2 of the vampire rat. Everything else has only one remaining. All come signed and did I mention ship free?

Please help me get this shit out of my house! It should be making your home or office space more awkward to explain to guests, not sitting in a box under my bed!

#art sale #hey buddy *opens trenchcoat* wanna buy a print

133 notes · View notes

ponydoodles · 11 months

Note

my apologies, but i sent a request a few years ago and i dont think it ever happened. is there a protocol on what i should do here? or just keep waiting

Hi! I'm sorry if your request was important to you and never got drawn. Many mods have a backlog of old requests we haven't gotten to, or it may have been either a repeat request that we've done similarly before, or something nobody claimed before one of our inbox clearouts. We've said it many times previously on this blog but we don't get to everything since we get so many asks at once, and since we just do this blog for fun rather than fulfilling every request we receive like a job. So there is no "protocol" since we do not draw every single one, but whenever we next open the box you're free to request what you asked for back then if you wish!

- mod softie💗

#ask #please understand we get so many asks we do not draw every one especially since we do this for free #it is a bummer if something you were excited about isn't drawn but if you'd like it to be assured many mods have commissions open!#and you can always request again if it's been a long time but even then it depends on mods being personally inspired by it!#this is not meant harshly it is just a question we get asked fairly often

71 notes · View notes

the-witch-with-the-raven-tattoo · 8 months

Text

After about a decade of building up my crystal collection, I can no longer close my eyes to what I've been supporting. Far from the good vibes that crystals are purported to have, I need to be honest that their trade funds the same human rights abuses and environmental destruction that I've spent most of my life decrying. I need to address this cognitive dissonance within myself, and can no longer endorse buying mass-market crystals anymore. I call myself an earth-worshipper, or nature-worshipper, yet I'm contributing to the destruction of the Earth and her people. This no longer sits right with me. Yes, there are likely minerals in my phone that were mined using less-than-ethical practices, however a cell phone in this day and age is kind of a necessity. Decorative crystals and fossils, though, are more difficult to justify in this way.

I'm still going to keep the ones I have for now, because, welp, the damage has already been done, and getting rid of them now won't undo what I've been endorsing with my dollar. I still have a box of gems that I bought to make wire-wrapped jewelery with, and I'm still not sure what I'm going to do with those, so they're tucked away until I can decide.

If there's interest, I may make some pieces with them and put them up for sale as a Crystal Clearout sale, since I did spend a lot of money on those supplies. Or I might wear or gift them. We will see.

Back to my spiritual practice. What am I going to use instead?

River rocks!

Or lake rocks. Park rocks. Parking lot rocks. Farm rocks. Forest Rocks. Anything except store-bought is fine. Look at these cool rocks I've found in my city so far! These are geologically tied to the place I live, they carry the history on the land I'm on, which is not mine to live on. It is Treaty 6 territory—the traditional and ancestral territory of the Cree, Dene, Blackfoot, Saulteaux and Nakota Sioux. This territory is home to the Métis Settlements and the Métis Nation of Alberta, Regions 2, 3 and 4 within the historical Northwest Métis Homeland.

These stones carry the memory of the people who were here before me, and that of a not-so-distant history I need to address time and time again, examine my own biases, and do what I can to address inequalities right here, right now. They are a connection to this land, and those who live on it.

These stones can also hold my own memories, for instance this petrified wood reminds me of a day a friend and I went rock-hunting by the river, and on a trip to Ontario with this same friend, we found some jade (I think). Which brings me to another point. I am not a geologist. I plan to learn about minerals local to me, but I'll never have the assurance of some shopkeeper (whatever that's worth) that what I'm holding is 100% a piece of pure amethyst, and here is a list of its properties. Instead, I'll be able to find my own meaning in the stones, feathers and flowers I find while walking in the world, and use them in my practices the way I feel intuitively guided to.

In spiritual practices, what we are working with is energy and intention. The rest are simply tools, symbols for our brain to understand what we are channeling towards or away from. The most important quality you can develop as a witch, a pagan, a yogi, a spiritualist, whatever you wish to call yourself, is self-trust. Trust that you are enough. Trust that this stone made its way to you so that you would find it exactly when you did. Trust that the herbs you lovingly grew, watered, bundled and dried are sufficient for clearing any stale energies. Learn from those who came before you, but at a certain point, you have to free yourself from reliance on corporations, merchants, readers, authors, course creators, and anyone else looking to make a buck off your lack of experience and confidence.

When you have a true need, harken not to others' greed. (the Wiccan Rede)

Consumerism has its hooks in us to such a point where we feel like we have to buy our way out of all of our real or perceived inadequacies.

Feeling down? Buy this sun lamp!

Tummy hurts? It's this scary new syndrome I just made up! Peer review, what's that? Nevermind. Buy this supplement!

Want to feel really cool and attractive? Buy this new outfit!

Want to make friends? Learn a new hobby! Oh, but this hobby requires you to buy all this gear before anyone thinks you're serious about it! And make sure you buy a t-shirt that says you're into this hobby while you're at it, so you can talk about it to everyone!

McSpirituality works the same way. Feel like you don't belong? It's definitely a past life thing, buy a reading with me to find out! Looking for love? Make sure you buy a rose quartz to send a lover your way within 24 hours. Hmm, it didn't work? It must not be big enough. Make sure you buy this one instead! Trying to get into meditation? You'll need to buy a zafu, some mala beads, and a buddha head with some very questionable history Are you broke after all these purchases? You can just buy this abundance generating spell kit, and this $10K course (I have seen this price point, it's not hyperbole) on dissolving your subconscious blocks to abundance!

It's not your fault, it's the system we all live in. I was, and still am, immersed in it too. If you're in a tough place, it can be so easy to be swept up by the promise of a quick fix, because spiritual work is hard. You'll have to confront yourself in some tough ways, work through traumatic experiences and spend years building discipline and focus.

It's a lot easier to just walk into a crystal shop and pick the one you like, isn't it? But I want to remind myself that life doesn't work that way.

Do you just walk into a store and pick out the partner, the job, the house, the experiences, the circumstances that look prettiest?

Okay, maybe some of you do if you're very lucky or have certain privileges, but these choices aren't always the ones that guarantee long-term compatibility or happiness.

In real life, it's a lot more like walking down a riverbank with a friend, catching up on life, and showing each other the cool thing you found, maybe deliberating on what it might be. Your rock might look different than hers, but you found it and it feels good to you. Maybe the shape feels satisfying and built just for your hand. You feel like it was waiting for you all this time.

Or maybe it's like walking home after a difficult day, and seeing the little sparkle of something glimmering in the sunlight. Maybe this represents hope and silver linings. Maybe a bird eyes you as you examine your rock, offering you company and understanding in a way that words fail to.

That feeling certainly isn't for sale in stores, or online. If I find it at a garage sale, I'll let you know.

#witchblr #wicca #green witch #witch #wiccan #crystals #altar #ethical crystals #mining #human rights #anti consumerism #witches against consumerism #witches vs patriarchy

43 notes · View notes

equinoxts2 · 5 months

Text

OK, I really wanted my first post of 2024 to be about getting Kulo Sena back up and running. Alas, it is not. I've been working on it for two weeks and the end is nowhere in sight.

You see, I've decided to have a clearout of my Downloads folder for the new year, and I'm taking the opportunity to make some changes to the KS visuals and playstyle. I want more colourful CC, because - as I've said before - everything in KS is green, brown or grey and I'm not happy with that. I want my sims to start growing Maxis crops instead of the previous hunter-gatherer lifestyle they had, because I actually enjoy the challenges of Seasons gardening and don't enjoy on-screen butchery. I'm also taking the romance element out of it completely, modding away all wants for it and disabling the interactions from even showing up.

It's going well so far. I've got down to 24 fairly benign mod conflicts, compared to the 70-80 or so I had when I was using romance-related mods and all that. I'm learning to work with, rather than against, my preferences as a simmer and worldbuilder as well as the TS2 game mechanics.

But ugh, I hate setup so much. I want to play play play.

However, I will be rambling about my ideas in a while. And this time I'm actually going to put them into my game, not pull back out of fear of rejection.

#vt's simming problems #kulo sena #quin's voyage of simself discovery

7 notes · View notes

fletchysohot · 1 year

Text

Lil' Blue Euros Star

You and Conor have been apart for way too long and he's worried about the next game in the Euros. Happy international break guys!

Word count: 2.7k

You adjust yourself against the pile of pillows stacked haphazardly against the headboard of your bed waiting for the FaceTime call to connect. Once the call connects your face falls when Conor doesn't greet you with his usual giddy smile. . The seemingly permanent brightness in his eyes has been replaced by a certain veil of dullness, his hair unstyled, messy, and unwashed, his sticky locks falling against his cheek, framing the dark circles that have formed under his eyes now absent of their cerulean spark.

“Conor,” you let out and he just offers you a weak smile in return, most likely an attempt at calming your worries.

“Are you feeling okay babe?” you ask him , your voice full of concern.

“Yeah,” he says, laying his cheek on the pillow, a content sigh escaping his pale peach coloured lips, “just tired… been training hard.”

“You look awful.” Your eyebrows knit together in concern at the sight of the state the man is in.

“Thanks," he laughs, the skin by his eyes crinkling as a chuckle escapes his mouth. “I missed you too.”

“I'm sorry, I-” you fumble looking for words, trying your best to salvage the situation you've gotten yourself into.

“I know,” he smiles reassuringly, nuzzling his face against the pillow to get more comfortable. “Do I really look that bad though?”

Your face must give away the answer since the man sighs, rubbing his tired face. “I just haven't been sleeping that well, you know?"

“Jude's snoring that bad?” You chuckle, trying to get him to light up, silently hoping that is the problem and it's nothing more serious.

“No, no,” he says absentmindedly, “Jude's a good roommate…”

“What's the issue then?” You search his face hoping for a hint of an answer or something to ease your mind. Conor would sometimes get nerves before big away games but this seemed different.

The answer doesn't come instantly, your boyfriend looking around just to avoid meeting your gaze, slight shame clouding his features.

“Babe?” you ask softly as if speaking to a frightened animal.

“I just… I know these few games are very important… I know a lot of people are watching. Nothing serious to worry about.” He searches for the right words to ease your worry. Or maybe he's trying to calm himself, reassuring himself. You silently wonder how many times he has said the same words to himself in the mirror, hoping they would feel less like lies and more like the truth.

“Conor…” you frown seeing the subtle remnants of past emotions linger in his features - the way his youthful features are made heavy and older with worry, the way his bottom lip is red and coarse probably from him biting it when he thinks too much, the absence of the familiar rosiness from his soft cheeks. Conor looks so unlike himself it makes you want to tell him to come home now so you can protect him from the world. You are brought out of your thoughts however when he speaks again.

“They wanna potentially sell me you know." He averts his eyes to play with a loose thread sticking out of the pillowcase his cheek is currently laid on. You frown seeing his icey eyes briefly become misty before he blinks the frustration and sadness away. You hate seeing him like this, helpless and deflated. The past few months have not been kind to him, between fans losing hope in him and everyone having an opinion to share between people on social media and pundits. He had bravely held up a front for you but now the whisperings of Chelsea selling him as part of their summer clearout had obviously become the final straw that broke his back. Your heart broke to see him push himself to the limit, often coming home barely being able to keep his eyes open at the dinner table.

“You have to take it easy though Con,” you say, finally breaking the brief silence that has fallen between the two of you.

“I have to prove to them that-" his voice is laced with frustration and fatigue as he tries to mask the anger threatening to appear on his face. You know he is trying to keep his head down, work as hard as he can for both club and country. He had always been adamant that actions speak louder than words adopting it as his work ethic, however somehow no matter how hard he would work and push himself it was not enough to keep up with the expectations from the people who held his faith in their hands. And even though he was insistent it didn't bother him too much it was clear to you that was getting to him. But both of you knew Conor would not run his mouth and rather keep it in until he could leave it out on the pitch.

“No you need to listen to your body,” you say firmly. “We can't have you pick up an injury."

“Babe I'm fine.” His voice becomes shaky once again.

“Conor you look horrible.” You sit up in frustration. You know you are being harsh to the man on the other side of the screen, but you want, no, need to shake him and make him snap out of it before his inherent need to please people gets him hurt.

“Please listen to me,” you plead, “ you have to be more careful. I want you home in one piece, not on crutches.”

“I have to prove to the club that-” he starts again, his voice laced with frustration and anger, you know it's not directed at you, but you feel your face turn sour.

“If the club is too blind to see what you bring-” You raise your voice, aware in the back of your mind that the conversation is beginning to move dangerously close to an argument.

“The club has made a ton of signings. Guys who are younger, fitter, more talented than me and if I don't step up my game and earn my place I'll end up benched forever or worse…” you see his face tense as if holding something back. “sold.”

“Why would getting sold be so bad though?” You say without thinking, too caught up in wanting to eliminate the way his eyes are full of hurt and exasperation.. .

He looks at you in surprise. Him leaving Chelsea has been lingering in the air for a while now, an unspoken subject that neither of you ever dared breach. Both of you very aware that it has been the reason for Connor to wear himself thin, for the small arguments about seemingly mundane problems. However it is also the one subject you and Conor would not dare touch due to fear of it consuming him completely.

“Chelsea is my home,” he says after a moment, his PR training kicking in.

“Conor.” you say tiredly.

“Chelsea is my home” he says again. His voice quieter, like he's reassuring himself more than informing you. You know lately he's been having his moments of doubt whether he and the club have become too distant from each other, whether he has outgrown his roots, whether it's time for a new challenge. You cannot help but wonder if with the plethora of changes at the club Conor still feels has a home at Stamford Bridge.

“Conor,” you say, “I know you love Chelsea, I know it's home, but you know no one would blame you-” you soften your voice speaking slowly, carefully observing any changes in his expression.

Conor looks at you as if asking “are you kidding me?”

“Okay SOME people would blame you… All I'm saying is - moving to a club that loves you and cherishes you wouldn't be that bad… I just… I hate seeing you like this baby. I'd rather you move than run yourself into the ground trying to prove something they should already know. I just worry about you, you know.” The words fall from your mouth before you have a chance to catch them. You close your eyes and hold your breath bracing for the wrath that may follow now that you have overstepped the unspoken boundary that is Conor and his football career.

When you don't hear a reaction you open your eyes expecting him to be furious or having hung up on the call. You would deserve it for taunting him like that. But all you are met with is pain in his eyes.

“Your whole life is here,” he says calmly. He looks soft and tired and defenceless almost like an angel. You feel as if he has laid down his weapons, unwilling to fight or argue, completely at your mercy. The moment feels incredibly intimate, you know Conor has never let his guard down like this in front of you. He is the type to grit his teeth and suffer alone in silence. And yet here he is, offering you himself completely. He's tired of being the strong one, always saying the right thing, looking the right way, not a hair out of place even after playing a 120 minute match in a UCL final.

“My whole life is wherever you are Conor.” You offer him the words he has yearned to hear for what feels like forever, an olive branch of sorts.

The man shuffles, about to say something but you cut him off. “I can work from anywhere, wherever you are that's where I want to be, if that means I might have to get up earlier to take a train or have a few business trips here and there just to see you doing whatever you love and glowing, I'll do it.”

For the first time that evening Conor's face lights up with the familiar smile that finally reaches his eyes reigniting a spark the size of a forest fire that has been dormant for months now ,making you feel like all your problems melt away for a moment. Seeing the glow return to Conor's features makes your chest ache with longing to kiss him, to run your fingers through his hair, to feel his body shake as he laughs at your antics. You watch him, counting the freckles on his nose and mapping out each millimetre of his smile, the way the corners of his lips curl upwards.

“I love you,” you say smiling, “so so much.”

“Where is that coming from?” he chuckles, a certain sparkle dancing in his eyes.

“I don't know… I just wanted to say it," you felt a blush creep onto your cheeks. “I miss saying it to you in real life."

“I'll be home soon enough,” he murmurs hiding his face in the pillow most likely trying to hide his own love sick grin and blush. “Just tomorrow's game and…”

“And you'll do amazing,” you smile tilting your head to the side watching him look at you with one eye..

“Think Southgate is benching me.” he groans and just like that the forest fire turns into a candle flame in his eyes.

“Well I'll be hoping for bench cam then." You notice a small smile ghost his lips, “Now do you wanna hear about my extremely boring day that had zero football involvement?”

“PLEASE!” he yelps, “Go into detail as much as you can."

You chuckle at his excitement and begin to tell him about how you had been, what you had eaten for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the dogs you had seen on the street, work and office gossip. Conor's eyes flutter shut about half way through the in-detail analysis of the newest episode of the tv show you were watching to pass the time. You spend a moment admiring how peaceful he looks dozed off, not disturbed by everything going on in his head at the moment and all the worries haunting his waking hours. You wish you could wrap your arms around him, move the strands of hair out of his face, drape a blanket over him so he's not cold, to be able to draw circles on his shoulder as he slept but alas you have to settle for the tiny screen in which he lived, what had felt like a permanent situation as of late.

The game had been a stalemate since the beginning of the game. Any attempt at scoring by England had been eliminated by the North Macedonian defence and a few mistakes by the England squad. As Conor had predicted, Southgate had opted to bench him and play Mason instead, citing that he was a better fit for today's strategy. Once you saw the lineup and Conor out of the starting XI you felt your stomach drop, knowing he probably blamed himself for not doing enough, reciting all the foul things people on Twitter would toss his way. At the 79th minute the other team's centre back did a dirty move on Jude making him stay on the ground gripping his knee. Your breath hitched as you watched the medics and his teammates crowd around the teen tending to him, you had seen Conor's teammates limp off with serious injuries what felt like countless times now, seeing the same fate hit someone as young as Jude broke your heart. Luckily the boy was on his legs in a few minutes being helped off the pitch by a medic and Mason. You would have to remember to get an update on that from Conor later. The camera on the big screen panned to the dugout where Conor was stood next to Southgate being briefed as he still adjusted his kit. trying to haphazardly stretch his muscles and warm up.

You felt yourself shift in your seat, almost spilling your drink as you craned your neck to get a better view, earning a chuckle from Sasha who was sat next to you. Your eyes followed Conor like your life depended on it watching him run wherever the ball went. You could feel your heart beat faster and faster by the minute. Every time someone got close to Conor you would hold your breath until you knew he was safe from danger. When extra time rolled around you felt yourself slouch in the seat. They had five minutes to create a good chance that would bring them a win. You watched as the rest of the midfield played tightly passing between each other while Conor ran around them looking for empty spaces to cover everyone else. Finally at the 92nd minute he had the ball at his feet skillfully outrunning the other team, not letting them get the ball. You could see him desperately searching for a teammate to pass to, but everyone was too far or being covered by the other team's players. Conor pulled back his leg and shot for the goal causing you to yelp. Your heart stopped in the minute as you watched the ball fly through the air followed by the entirety of the stadium erupting in cheers. Connor was surrounded by his teammates hugging him and cheering. You felt your friends pat you on your back and tell you congrats as you couldn't keep the bright grin off your face until the whistle blew signalling the end of the game. You watched as Conor ginned at the crowd clapping his hands above his head doing his round with his teammates surrounding him with matching smiles. For the first time in ages you felt like the fans loved him the same way you did, even if their love would pass soon enough, you hoped he would soak it in while it lasted. And by the looks of it he was doing exactly that as Conor looked elated-like he had just won the World Cup with England and with that erased any doubts or worries that could have found home in his mind. He walked around the pitch clapping his hands above his head at the crowd, however his eyes searched for you in the crowd. Once he got sight of you his grin spread even wider. You mouthed a “I'm so proud of you” at him, not sure if he discovered it, but judging by the way he threw his head back in joy he knew exactly what you had tried to communicate.

29 notes · View notes

zahlibeth · 5 months

Text

2023 bingo roundup

new years resolutions don't work for me, but having a bingo card to check every month keeps me thinking about new things. I managed triple bingo this year?! Thoughts about all of them under the cut - may not be of interest to anyone other than me, but it is my blog so

Random other stats books: 17 (+1) most recommended: Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir (sci-fi. man in rocket trying to save earth. best read without further spoilers. enjoy?) most loved: the Rebel Kings MC series by Garrett Leigh which has sent me into full brain rot. queer biker brotherhood - romance and found family and trauma and violence

movies: 21 new favourites: Dungeons & Dragons, Nimona, Red, White and Royal Blue.

tv: 29 different shows, 34 full seasons. 8 partial seasons - some affectionate (actively watching Succession S2, Sons of Anarchy S4), some derogatory (gave up on Picard S3 and Star Trek: Strange New Worlds S1)

Bingo squares A&E visit - read "ER visit". put this one in because up until this year kiddo had found herself in a&e at least once every year. this year? no, husband had a weird heart thing that resolved itself (??? bodies.) and i fucked my wrist by falling over while running with kiddo on her bike, to the point where i needed it x-rayed (it was fine)

appearance change - fucked around with my hair a little, cut it fairly short over the summer, braided it a bit, currently growing it out

redecorated - god so many things. i re-organised the bathroom to be somewhat tidier (and easier to clean!) and also bought a snake plant (she's doing lovely). we finally put up the border in kiddo's room. (she's 5. we bought it 7 years ago. 2016.) and then also bought and put together a bedside table and reading lamp for her. we hung curtain rails and put new blackout curtains in her room (grey) and ours (beautiful bottle green). decluttered half the kitchen and the sides are clean??? and staying tidy??? and then i had a december meltdown and we put together a little bookshelf upstairs to hold puzzles and two giant ones downstairs, ditching the sideboard via facebook marketplace and finally decluttering the living room. we have an ikea trip planned for tomorrow to get a million baskets to organise said bookshelves. also we reorganised the cupboard under the stairs and got a new shelf thing in there, made possible by the clearout i did earlier in the year. and i framed and hung kiddo's amazing penguin on the wall. phew.

new favourite foods - discovered 3 new takeaways that do incredible things + fries. very dangerous. one is colombian street food (loaded sweetcorn dirty fries, tostones), one is straight up fried chicken (spicy fries with hot sauce, cheese sauce and crispy onions), one is asian fusion (chili brisket noodles or hoisin crispy duck fries. plus gyoza). also husband discovered rasperry frangipane tarts at the shop and they are the perfect sweet and sharp deliciousness

happy news - new nephew! the recipient of The Baby Blanket, he is three months old now and the cuddliest delight

good surprise - surprise flowers from husband and kiddo. surprise birthday wishes (and gifts?!) <333 and in reverse I also snuck a needle minder on to husband's cross stitch and pulled together a couple of little surprises for kiddo. i think we're going to do an easter egg scavenger hunt this year.

self knowledge - no big revelations this year, thank fuck (and uhh sorry to those few of you that i might have nudged into revelations of your own.) I DID discover a couple new ways to get a brain reset when needed though

new routines - bread making, skincare, trying to be more organised about cleaning the house, got a little library routine with the kiddo, got interdental brushes back into the teeth routine, kiddo has her own bedtime routine by herself

apologised for a fuck up - yeah i had a couple of these, including one i just. ignored. for a month or so. not proud of that. glad i cleared the air

caught covid - for the first time! kiddo's final gift out of pre-school

got dressed up - kiddo came out with us for dinner on my birthday, that was a lot of fun, glad she's old enough to do this now! couple of other dinners, christmas etc. nothing big. waiting for the day she and i can wear matching dresses to a wedding

new skills - bread making, various knitting techniques (flat, in the round, intarsia, some cabling, pattern drafting, various increases and decreases, colour changing etc), but also: french and dutch braids (mostly on the kiddo, growing my hair out a little more for me) and photoshop giffing just about

survived a bad decision - not sure i have much specific to point to for this one. i fucked up a couple of times and recovered in a couple of ways. i did also figure out how to fix a complete brain meltdown so that helped a lot.

cried - yeah, a bunch of times actually. some fic that destroyed me. some complete emotional and physical exhaustion. and then the time my bastard husband (affectionate) made me sit through "slipping through my fingers" from the mamma mia soundtrack. a song that made me emotional before i had a kid and now d e s t r o y s me. but we were listening to the soundtrack in the car and he didn't skip it so i just sat there in floods of tears until it was over. cathartic

misc favourites - new fandom in Rebel Kings MC <333 and all that goes with that: new characters, new ships, fic that looks into my soul, you know, the usual.

being brave (blank) - left two blank, have decided one of these gets to be filled for being brave - spotted something at work that's ethically and legally dodgy, so had to speak up and get it agreed that we would remove something from a couple of systems so we're not violating anything. I think i railroaded everyone into just agreeing with me by turning up well-informed and determined? I had to re-explain it again recently, but at least people seem inclined to agree.

new friendship - um. this one is hilarious in retrospect? I have made several very lovely tumblr friendships this year but i don't think i initiated a single one? beyond commenting occasionally on posts, I think all of you have messaged me first so. thank you <3. and if you've been in my DMs this absolutely includes you fyi. I also managed to make friends with a couple of different parents at kiddo's school so that's good! not close friends, but at least someone i can talk to at the inevitable events. (and then there's you, who i didn't anticpate at all <333)

bad recipe - actually only one on my list this year? I tried to make potato rosti and it was just ??? burnt and also raw??? so unappealing i never even tried a redo

new craft - well. knitting. not much else to say here!

other thoughts - the fact that i don't have any new tech says something about the brain space I DIDN'T have this year. badly need to upgrade my desktop but i can't face the research right now. my kindle battery is also dying a death but then i have to think about non-amazon alternatives and blah.

don't know if this should get its own square, but i got to meet another discord friend this year and take her for a walk around York city walls, so that was an unexpected delight.

over all it was a much more productive year than i expected, and it's nice to think about the progress i made, especially when a lot of things still suck in a lot of ways and are hard to deal with. trying to carry that energy into 2024 and maybe we can also fix some of the harder things too

(if you read this far i love you. if you just skipped right to the end i still love you. wonder what i should put in the bingo this year)

#zahli 2023 roundup #z

6 notes · View notes