#ball thread 13

[boundlesschaos]

[ RELAX ]

-- THE CABANA IS A touch more comfortable than Randal might've anticipated. He had expected all of this to be a politicized, glorified, and overpriced school dance, but it seemed overpriced allowed for little pockets of respite.

He glances over at the line of empty chairs in front of him, bottles of wine glistening with condensation in their ice bucket. It is almost a shame- a waste of good company! All of these seats and no one to fill them.

Well, almost no one.

He tips a faux hat over at Niamh, stepping over the sand and onto the cabana's wooden planks. "Oi! If it ain't Lady Niamh, gracin' the common folk with her presence. Glad to see yer takin' a load off. How's th' weather? Warm enough? And the wine cold enough?"

He's rambling, but he's done worse. He sits himself down besides her with little plan for asking invitation.

It was, above all else, crucial for Niamh to pinpoint locations such as this. It's away from the crowds. There's somewhere to sit. She can see the setting sun, and hear the ocean waves as they sway in and out.

A recipe to ensure that, as she ventures about the venue, collecting trinkets, attempting new dance forms, and making conversation, she also has somewhere that she can take things at a her leisure. Does she know it's because the large crowds and clashing sounds make her mind spin? She's...getting there.

As she rests on one of the chairs, a familiar voice calls out to her. She glances over - it's a bit intimidating, with the spooky anglerfish mask she has. But her own voice holds no threat. "...the weather's comfortable here. It might be because of the ocean nearby..."

A wine glass rests in her hands. She takes a sip. "....depends on what you consider cold..." So, probably not frigid, but that's at least a sign that it's not lukewarm. Still, she gestures to one of the buckets. "I've started with this one..."

A gesture to offer trying it with her, if he wants.

[purplereina11]

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 13 Other Parts

Word Count: 9k

⚠️ This one needs a warning!

⚽️

The sun was high over the training pitches, warmth clinging to your shoulders as the session rolled on, and you were buzzing. The last few drills had gone really well, and now the coaching staff had called for a seven-a-side game to finish off the morning. You cracked your neck and jogged over to the half-pitch with your teammates, already exchanging smirks and light taps to the arm with the girls you’d spent the past week getting to know.

You ended up on a team with Mapi, Caro, and a few of the other non-internationals, and it clicked. Not in that lucky kind of way but that familiar, natural rhythm of people who’d already done the work to learn each other.

You’d barely been on the pitch five minutes before Caro dropped into the space behind, yelling, “Turn!” and you did without looking, catching her return ball and sliding it clean between two defenders.

“Ohh, yes!” Mapi whooped, chasing it down with the kind of grin she only got when football was easy.

Every touch you had felt assured, light when it needed to be, powerful when it mattered. Your communication was short and sharp, your vision feeding into the patterns like you'd been here years instead of days. Even the staff on the sidelines were nodding, murmuring to each other. One of them whistled low when you flicked a pass over a press to Caro on the wing.

“Look at that chemistry,” someone muttered behind you might’ve been one of the analysts, clipboard in hand.

You scored twice. One from a classic cut-and-finish combo with Mapi that had her miming a crown as you jogged towards her, and another from intercepting a lazy back pass and coolly nutmegging Ellie with zero apology. You laughed as your team pulled you into a group hug.

Across the pitch, Alexia had been subbed in for the opposing team late in the game, and though you hadn’t properly faced off yet, different flanks, different flow, you felt her awareness like a magnetic pull. As the final whistle blew and the players started peeling off for stretches and water, Irene jogged past you, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Nice to see someone making friends already.”

Mapi clapped you on the back with a grin. “You keep playing like that, some of us are gonna start wondering if you’ve secretly been here the whole time.”

You laughed, brushing sweat from your forehead. “Hey, I’ve got to keep up with you lot. Some of us are still learning Spanish.”

“You’re learning fast,” Mapi said, then added with a smirk, “especially if that’s how you communicate with your feet.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Alexia untie her boots slowly, her gaze flicking toward your group before dropping again. You didn’t need her to say anything, the look of approval you caught she gave one of the girls was enough.

The bottle creaked slightly in your hand as you swallowed the last of the water, the sun already drying the sweat from your brow as fast as it fell. Alexia stood close, closer than she needed to be, her voice low and smooth in Spanish as she chatted with Mapi and Patri nearby. You weren’t sure if it was intentional, her speaking that softly around you, but her shoulder was almost brushing yours. You could feel her presence, heavy but comforting.

You gave her a brief glance, a half-smile tugging at the corner of your lips, before turning your attention back to the water bottle. That’s when you noticed the tension.

Ellie’s gaze had gone sharp, focused past you. Her posture stiffened like a thread pulled taut.

You turned, instinctively following her line of sight two men in dark suits crossing the pitch, and with them, Pere. His expression was unreadable, but the nod he gave in your direction was clear, he wanted to speak to you.

Your heart gave a hard knock against your ribs.

Ellie was already stepping toward you, voice low but urgent. “What do they want?.”

You stared for a second, your stomach dropping with a slow, sickening certainty. “Never good news when they come to you,” you said quietly, your voice flatter than you intended.

Ellie’s face didn’t shift much, but her hand gripped your arm gently, grounding. “You don’t know that,” she said steady and controlled, but you could hear the worry tightening the edges of her words.

You gave her a look, the kind that said maybe I don’t know, but I’ve lived long enough to guess, and turned your gaze to Pere. He was still standing by them, waiting. The walk felt endless.

Every step toward them, every meter closer, stretched out in your chest like you were counting down seconds you couldn’t afford to lose. You weren’t scared, not exactly. Not yet, but you were alert now, burning with the knowledge that this wasn’t routine. You could feel the attention shift behind you, conversations slowing, players turning their heads, whispers beginning to ripple.

You reached them just as one of the officers extended a hand.

"Detective Inspector Moore," the taller one said. "This is DS Palmer. We're with the Met. Thank you for coming over, I know this is probably confusing for you"

You shook their hands, first Moore's, then Palmer's, your grip automatic, rehearsed. Your eyes darted to Pere, who gave you a subtle nod of support, but his silence was telling. You’d seen that kind of restraint before. This wasn’t a you're in trouble. This was delivery of news and your brain was going wild with possibilities.

Moore's voice softened as he continued. “There’s no easy way to say this. We received a welfare call this morning in London. Your mother and sister were found in their home.” Your stomach clenched. The words didn’t compute. You opened your mouth, but no sound came. "Unfortunately they had passed"

Palmer stepped in, quietly but firmly, “From initial findings we believe it was a murder-suicide.” The world shifted.

Everything around you the pitch, the sun, even the steady murmur of Spanish conversation from your teammates in the distance flattened into a dull, surreal silence. Your breath stuck somewhere in your chest, shallow and sharp. You blinked at them. “I’m sorry. What—?”

Moore hesitated. “We’re still gathering details, but from the initial scene, it appears your mother took Amy's life.. then her own. They both… had been deceased for some time when authorities arrived. The timeline is still being pieced together.”

You couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

Pere’s hand hovered lightly on your shoulder, like he didn’t want to spook you but also didn’t want you to fall. Your voice came out cracked. “Why? Why would she—?”

“That's what we're going to look into, as to why” Palmer said gently. “There was a note. But it’s not… clear. We’re working with the detectives and will keep you updated. You don’t have to do anything right now. We’ll handle things, but we needed to inform you directly.”

You nodded, or you thought you did. The motion didn’t feel real. All that was real was the sudden, cruel void where your family used to be.

Pere nodded quietly to the officers as they left, his expression unreadable but respectful. The second they were back inside the facility, the silence they left in their wake felt deafening.

You hadn’t moved, still standing there. Still holding it together like you were about to walk back onto the pitch and finish the session like everything was normal. Pere stepped closer, his voice gentle but full of the kind of sincerity that breaks your defences. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes stayed fixed on the grass for a beat too long. “I’m going to be sick,” you murmured.

You crouched, arms braced on your knees, the world tilting not from dizziness, but from the weight of the words you’d just heard. Your stomach churned, your throat tightened like it wanted to reject something that wasn’t there, but the nausea passed. The ache didn’t.

You fell back until you were flat on the ground, the turf cool against your spine. You raised your hands to your face, pressing them hard against your eyes like you could stop everything from spilling out, the disbelief, the guilt, the unbearable loss.

Then it hit you. Your chest seized as the first sob tore free, raw and sharp, echoing louder than you expected. It cracked through the quiet air, shattering whatever fragile composure you had left.

You cried, not silent, polite tears these were guttural, broken sounds, your hands still covering your face, as if hiding could protect you. You could feel someone nearby Pere, maybe but they didn’t say anything. They didn’t try to hush you or offer solutions. They just stayed there. Letting it happen, letting you fall apart, because how could you not? How could anyone survive news like that and remain upright?

The sobs kept coming because you didn’t know what else to do, because you couldn’t begin to understand why, because they were gone, because your sister was gone, because your mum had done this, because everything in you was fracturing and none of it made sense.

Pere had always carried a calm authority, the kind that didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard. So when he asked the players to step away, they didn’t question it they followed, murmurs and concerned glances exchanged between them as he led them toward the opposite end of the pitch.

He left you in the shade, surrounded by a few of the women on the coaching staff, who sat quietly close but didn’t crowd you. One gently rested a hand on your shoulder, grounding, quiet. The air was heavy, each second stretching as if the world had slowed to accommodate the ache tearing through your chest.

From across the field, Alexia watched Pere’s face as he spoke, she didn’t need to hear every word.

She saw it on his face the grief that wasn’t his but still settled in the corners of his eyes. She felt it like a punch to the chest as the players around her inhaled sharply, Marta covering her mouth, Irene’s brows furrowed as she whispered something stunned.

Then Pere said your name and Alexia didn’t wait. She didn’t care that the team was watching, didn’t care that there had never been a conversation about what this was between you. All she knew was that you were hurting and she wasn’t going to stand still while you suffered alone.

She broke into a run her boots thudding against the grass, her breath caught somewhere between urgency and heartbreak.

You didn’t see her at first, still flat on your back, eyes red and distant, but you felt her presence, warm and fierce, and when her shadow fell over you, your hands slowly fell away from your face.

Alexia dropped to her knees beside you without a word. Her expression was stricken, heart in her throat, and she didn’t ask for permission she just reached for you. Her arms wrapped around your shoulders, and your face buried into her neck sitting you up so she could hold you, another broken sob tearing from your throat.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, even though it wasn’t. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You gripped the back of her training top, clinging like she was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

The rest of the pitch disappeared the players, the coaching staff, the day, the sky everything faded until it was just her holding you. Alexia, who didn’t care who saw now. Alexia, whose quiet strength you let in fully for the first time. Her hands moved slowly, reassuringly over your back as you wept.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, over and over, against your hair.

You couldn’t say anything back. Not yet, but her being there, not letting go it mattered more than anything else in the world in that moment.

Ellie stood a few paces away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if it might hold her together. Her jaw was clenched, eyes locked on you and Alexia, on the way Alexia held you like you were something breakable and sacred all at once.

She hadn’t moved, hadn’t stepped in. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew you needed something different right now, someone who could carry the weight in a way Ellie, even as your closest friend, sometimes couldn’t. Alexia was already there. Already steady and Ellie trusted her with you.

Still, the lump in her throat wouldn’t go away.

Kika came up beside her quietly, catching the tremble in Ellie’s shoulders before slipping an arm around her. “Hey,” she said softly, drawing Ellie into a hug without asking. Ellie didn’t resist. “She’s strong,” Kika said, voice careful. “But this… this is different.”

Ellie exhaled hard, finally letting her forehead rest against Kika’s shoulder. “I can’t understand it,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Her mum was so kind. Gentle. Always checking in on us, she was so loving, caring, it's just so out of character.”

Kika nodded, her hand rubbing slow circles between Ellie’s shoulder blades. “No one would see this coming. Not this.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Ellie said, frustration and grief tangled in her tone. “It’s not who she was.”

“No,” Kika spoke. “But right now, Y/N doesn’t need sense. She just needs us.”

Ellie swallowed hard and nodded. “She’s got Alexia.”

“She’s got all of us,” Kika said. “We’ll hold her up. Together.”

⚽️

Irene had never raised her voice in that locker room unless she absolutely had to but when she did, it cut through the noise like a blade.

The murmurs had started subtly. A few of the younger players whispering in hushed Spanish, wondering about what they saw how Alexia hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t cared who saw, when she sprinted across the pitch to cradle you like the world had ended. They weren’t being cruel, not intentionally, but grief makes people strange, makes them focus on the wrong things when they don’t know how to sit with silence, don't know what to say or behave for the best.

“So are they dating?” one of them said, too curious, not cruel, just careless.

Before anyone else could breathe a response, Irene turned from where she’d been untying her boots, her voice clear and sharp, “Enough.”

The room went quiet, the kind of stillness that settles when a real leader speaks.

“Now is not the time to speculate or gossip about someone’s personal life,” she said, looking each of them in the eye. “She’s just had her entire world torn apart. If the first thing you’re thinking about is who’s holding her through that, then you need to check your priorities.”

There was no bite to her tone just disappointment and that always stung more.

“She doesn’t need whispers. She needs space. She needs care and if any of you consider yourselves her teammates, you’ll give her exactly that.”

Mapi, standing nearby, nodded in firm agreement, arms crossed tightly. “What she needs right now is to know this club is home. End of.”

A quiet murmur of agreement followed. Heads bowed. Eyes averted. Irene exhaled and softened just slightly. “We protect our own. Remember that.” And in the silence that followed, every player knew it wasn’t just a warning it was a promise. You may not of been here long at all but you were apart of there team and they had you.

Alexia appeared in the doorway of the locker room, quiet but composed, her eyes landing on Ellie with a subtle nod. “She wants to go home,” she said gently, her voice steady but worn at the edges. “Can you take her?”

Ellie immediately stood, not needing to ask why. “Of course,” she said, grabbing her own bag before walking to yours. “Is she okay?”

Alexia didn’t answer that. There wasn’t an answer that would make sense anyway. Instead, she added, “I’ll come by later. I promised my mami I’d help her with something first.”

Ellie glanced at her as she pulled your kit bag open and dug around for the keys. “Sure,” she said quietly, finding them. She held them out to Alexia for a second before Alexia took them slipping them into her own pocket. “Let yourself in whenever you come.”

Alexia nodded once, her mouth twitching into something like a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Ellie.”

Ellie gave her a tight smile in return and started toward the door. “She’s got me,” she said over her shoulder, firm and certain. “I’ll get her home.”

Alexia lingered a moment in the doorway, watching her go, then turned and headed to her cubicle her steps slower now, heavier, carrying more than just her own weight.

⚽️

Ellie unlocks the door and gently guides you inside, one hand at your back as if she's afraid you might collapse under the weight of it all. You say nothing as you step through the apartment, Teddy padding beside you, his tail low but still faithful, watching you like he knows something’s wrong.

You head straight to your room, numbly pulling the door closed behind you. The world outside it becomes something distant and dull. You collapse onto the bed fully clothed, the sheets cool and uninviting until your fingers brush something familiar—Alexia's hoodie, tucked between your pillows where she must've left it the last time she stayed over.

You tug it over your head without thinking, the scent of her hitting you like a soft wave. You curl into the hoodie and your duvet, burying yourself deep, pressing your face against the fabric. Teddy jumps up beside you, curling himself close to your side, resting his head across your legs like an anchor.

There’s a quiet knock on the door. Ellie’s voice follows, soft and cautious. “You need anything?”

Your voice is muffled in the quilt when you answer, “Can you… can you let the England girls know?”

“Of course,” she says, no hesitation.

“Gee will tell the Bayern girls,” you add, still not looking up. “I don’t want them to find out online.”

Ellie nods, even though you can’t see it. “I’ve got it. I’ll get in touch now. Don’t worry, yeah? I’ll make sure everyone hears it from me.”

There’s a beat of silence, then your voice again, quieter now. “Thanks, El.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” She pauses. “Just rest, okay? I’ll keep my phone on. You need anything I’m here.”

You don’t reply, but you don’t have to. The rustle of the duvet as you curl deeper, the soft, slow breaths and Teddy’s warmth against you Ellie hears enough in that. She pulls your door mostly closed but leaves it open a crack.

Ellie stands just outside your door, phone in hand, her thumb hesitating over the screen for a second before she presses the video call icon for the Lionesses group chat. They all know something’s up the group chat is sacred, rarely used for anything more than chaos, banter, memes. A video call? That never happens, not unless it’s serious.

Within seconds, names and faces pop up. Leah answers first, her brows already furrowed. Then Leah, Millie, Alessia who's with Ella, Keira. Georgia's icon spins before she joins, half-laughing until she sees Ellie’s face.

“What’s going on?” Leah asks, tone sharp and instantly alert.

“You okay?” adds Millie.

Ellie swallows. She looks tired, worried, like she's been holding it together just for you. “It’s about Y/N.”

The silence is instant and heavy.

“She’s okay physically,” Ellie clarifies quickly, but her voice cracks a little at the end. “But… something’s happened.”

Georgia goes pale. “What happened?”

Ellie takes a breath, one hand gripping the kitchen counter behind her like it’s holding her up. “This morning at training… police came—” She stops. Blinks. “Her mum and sister were found dead in there home”

The air leaves the group, Keira mutters, “No…”

Georgia’s camera tilts like she’s had to sit down. Alessia covers her mouth. Leah looks frozen. Millie curses quietly under her breath.

“No, no, no,” Georgia whispers, shaking her head. “Her mum? Her sister?”

Ellie nods. “She's back here now. She went straight to bed. I… I just thought you should all know before it leaks. Gee, can you—can you tell the Bayern girls? Y/N didn’t want them to hear it from the press.”

Georgia’s voice is thick with emotion, but she nods. “Of course. I’ll call them now.”

"Why would it be in the press?" Ella asked

"That tends to happen when a celebrity has something like that happen"

Ellie sighed rubbing her hand down her face, "It gets worse" she muttered, "They've not finished investigating, but they think her mum did it. There was a note, they think her mum killed Amy then killed herself"

The silence was deafening no one knew what to say, what would you say in that instance, words just weren't enough to describe the pain and confusion.

Leah leans in closer to her screen. “Does she need anything? Anything we can do?”

“She’s just… numb right now,” Ellie says. “I think messages would help. Not pressure, just… love. Let her know she’s not alone.”

“We’ve got her,” Alessia says softly. “She’s family, she's always been a big sister to me.”

Ellie gives a small nod, brushing under her eye. “Thanks, guys. I’ll keep you updated. Just… make sure the girls that didn't answer here from us ok?.”

As the call ends one by one, the grief settles in shared silence.

The world might keep turning, but in that little apartment in Barcelona, a corner of it has stopped. And her people, wherever they are, are already forming the safety net.

⚽️

You wake slowly, head pounding lightly from the weight of sleep and grief, the light in the room dim. There's a warm hand brushing against your arm and a voice soft, familiar, gentle.

“Coco,” Alexia whispers. “Come on, cariño… you should eat something.”

Your eyes crack open, and she’s there, crouched beside the bed in a hoodie and leggings, her hand smoothing lightly over your arm. “My mami cooked,” she adds. “Just for you.”

You don’t speak at first, only nod, shifting beneath the covers as Teddy lifts his head from where he’d been curled next to you. It’s strange feeling so hollow and so full of ache at the same time.

Alexia helps you sit up, slow and careful like you might break.

When you emerge from the bedroom, the apartment is quiet but full. Ellie catches your eye first, offering a small, reassuring smile from the kitchen. Around her, Irene, Ingrid, Marta, Caro, and Mapi are gently setting out plates and bowls, the smell of home-cooked food warm in the air. No one speaks loud, no one forces a smile or makes a fuss. They just… exist with you.

It’s the kindest thing anyone could’ve done.

You sit between Alexia and Ellie, and a plate is placed in front of you. You don’t ask what it is you don’t need to. The first bite hits your tongue, and the warmth rushes through you like something you hadn’t known you were desperate for.

You swallow hard, emotion bubbling in your chest. “This is… this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Ingrid, across the table, smiles softly. “Eli is a good cook, isn’t she?”

You nod, throat tight. “Amazing.”

“She made enough for an army,” Irene murmurs, pushing another dish toward you.

“We told her you wouldn’t eat,” Alexia adds, nudging your knee with hers gently under the table. “She said then we’d eat until you did.”

You manage a small smile through the heaviness, tears burning quietly at the corners of your eyes. They don’t try to stop them. They just sit with you while you eat. While you grieve. While you exist in whatever shape you're in right now.

Marta clears her throat after a few moments of quiet, clearly trying to fill the silence with something, anything, that doesn’t feel so heavy. “So… training today,” she starts, a wry tone in her voice. “Ingrid nearly took Kika’s head off with that shot in rondos. Ball flew so fast I think it broke the sound barrier.”

Ingrid gives a mock shrug, totally deadpan. “She talks too much. I aimed with love.”

The others chuckle gently, and even you let out a soft breath of a laugh, the kind that doesn't come easy today, but finds its way through anyway.

Mapi leans across the table, eyes twinkling. “You should’ve seen Kika’s face. I’ve never seen anyone duck with their soul before.”

That earns a real, small chuckle from you quiet, but it’s there. You glance at her, your expression soft but grateful, and Mapi throws you a wink like she’s proud of herself for cracking through even a sliver.

Alexia, seated so close you can feel the warmth of her, notices it too. Her hand shifts beneath the table, finding your thigh and squeezing it gently. You glance over at her, and she meets your eyes, just a slight tilt of her head asking if you're ok without asking.

You nod, slow but certain. It’s not a lie. You’re not okay but you’re breathing, you’re here, you’re not alone so you kind of are in a weird way. She smiles faintly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips, her hand still a quiet weight on your leg. “Keep eating, cariño.”

You smile against the edge of your fork as you look down at your plate. “Bit hard that, Putellas,” you murmur, “with you attached to my face.”

A few people hear it, and there are muffled snorts and laughter around the table. Alexia laughs too, leaning away with exaggerated innocence. “Lo siento, mi amor. I’ll try to keep my affection less… obstructive.”

Mapi snorts. “Doubt.”

Caro chimes in with a grin, “Yeah, okay. Sure. We’ll all hold our breath on that one.” But you just smile again, and this time it reaches your eyes. It’s not light, not yet but it’s real.

And for tonight, that’s enough.

⚽️

It had been a strange sort of evening, gentle and warm despite everything, like the world around you had softened to let you grieve without tipping over. You were curled up on the couch with Teddy's head on your lap, Alexia's hands on your legs as they were thrown over her, the murmur of soft conversation filling the background. Laughter still occasionally slipped through the group in quiet waves, the kind that doesn’t chase sadness away, but makes space beside it.

Then the doorbell rang, and Ellie got up to answer it. A minute later, Irene’s voice came from the hallway, followed by the soft patter of tiny feet.

“¿Dónde está coco?” Mateo asked urgently, his voice high and determined.

You looked up just as he ran into the room, a small, crumpled bouquet of handpicked flowers clutched in his fist wild little things from someone’s garden, half-stemmed and mismatched.

He beamed at you, his curls bouncing as he proudly declared, “Mami said you’re sad, so I brought you flowers.”

The room hushed around you. You stood slowly, crouching down to his level, heart clenching as you took in the proud little face and his tiny clenched hand holding the flowers like a priceless treasure.

"I love them, thank you so much, can I have a cuddle?” you asked softly, voice catching.

He didn’t say a word. He just launched himself into you, wrapping his little arms around your neck and holding you so tight it nearly knocked the air from your lungs, his little eyes crinkling from his attempt at squeezing you as tight as he could.

You closed your eyes as you hugged him back, burying your face in his shoulder, holding onto him like he was anchoring you to the floor and in some strange way, he was.

The flowers ended up slightly crushed between you, but you didn’t let go.

Alexia, now standing a few feet away, had a hand pressed to her mouth. You didn’t see the way her eyes shimmered, or the look she shared with Irene quiet, knowing, heartbreakingly fond.

Mateo pulled back just slightly, reaching up with his little hand to smooth your hair. “You feel better now?”

You nodded, “Much better. Thank you.”

He smiled like it was the most important job he’d ever had. And in that moment, maybe it was.

Irene’s wife, Lucia, stepped forward without a word and wrapped you in a big, grounding hug the kind that told you she didn’t need to say anything, didn’t expect you to be okay or strong or anything at all. She was just there. Present. Solid. You melted into it, hugging her back with a gratitude that lodged like a lump in your throat.

When she pulled away, her hands lingered on your waist, eyes scanning your face with the quiet kindness that had been surrounding you all evening. “We're here for whatever you need,” she said gently.

You nodded, eyes stinging again. “Thank you”

As Lucia stepped aside, Mateo had made himself right at home again scrambling up onto the sofa where Alexia was perched, climbing without hesitation into her lap like he’d done it a hundred times before.

He leaned in close to her ear, cupping his hands like he was telling her a secret. “I made it all better,” he whispered, utterly confident.

Alexia smiled, eyes warm as she brushed a curl from his forehead. “Good job, buddy,” she whispered back, kissing the top of his head. “You really did.”

Mateo grinned, beaming at her praise before turning to look across the room at you. “Told you I could fix it.”

You gave him the softest smile, voice thick with affection. “You’re magic, Mateo.”

He nodded, satisfied, and leaned back against Alexia’s chest like he’d just completed a royal mission.

Alexia looked up and met your gaze over the top of his head, something unspoken passing between you. Love. Gratitude and a sadness neither of you had words for. She mouthed, You okay?

You nodded slowly. Not okay, but not alone and for now, that was enough.

⚽️

You were lying there, numb and motionless, eyes open in the dark but seeing nothing. The weight of the day pressed into your chest like it was trying to anchor you to the mattress. Grief moved through your body like fog heavy, slow, inescapable.

The sound of the en-suite door opening stirred you slightly, the soft shuffle of Alexia’s bare feet against the floorboards. You didn’t move, didn’t say anything as she slid into bed beside you. You shifted instinctively, turning to your side to reach for her, to be the big spoon like always, but before you could settle into the familiar, she stopped you gently. Her hand pressed softly to your hip. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

You paused, confused, trying to read her in the dark. “I was just—”

“Turn around,” she said, a softness in her tone that left no room for argument.

You blinked, slow. “You want to—?”

“Tonight,” she murmured, “I hold you.” And just like that, the ache in your chest cracked open again. You swallowed hard, breath catching in your throat as you turned, slowly, facing away from her.

She wrapped around you without hesitation arms strong and warm around your middle, her chest against your back, her knees tucked behind yours. Her hand found yours and threaded your fingers together, her thumb tracing slow, soothing lines against your skin.

“You don’t have to be the strong one right now,” she said quietly. “Not with me.”

Your eyes welled. No one had said that today. Not once. You gave the smallest nod, your voice barely audible. “Okay.”

Alexia pressed a kiss into the space behind your ear. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time since the world had turned upside down, you let yourself really cry. Quiet, broken sobs that shook your shoulders and she held you through every one of them, arms tight around you like she was holding you together when you couldn’t do it yourself.

⚽️

The early morning air was still cool, the sky just beginning to flush with the first gentle streaks of sunrise. Jonny trotted obediently beside you, while Teddy sniffed along every lamp post like it was his life's mission. The quiet hum of the city waking up was oddly comforting, a contrast to the turbulence inside you.

You’d left a softly snoring Alexia wrapped in the duvet, brushing your lips to her forehead before slipping out. You didn’t even know if you could explain why you needed to move, to breathe, to be outside. You just did.

You were halfway down the block when you heard it “Coco!”

Your head snapped up instinctively at the nickname, and there he was Mateo his little legs dangling off the bench as he sat beside Lucia, who was holding a coffee and smiling like she’d seen the whole thing unfold.

He waved enthusiastically. “I saw Teddy and Jonny! And you!”

You smiled, the first proper one of the morning, and started walking toward them. “Good morning,” Lucia greeted as you approached, her tone as warm and steady as always. “Someone insisted he’d spotted you and wouldn’t stop wriggling until I came down with him to wait for you.”

“I have good eyes,” Mateo declared proudly, sliding off the bench and running to your side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I can tell,” you said, giving him a ruffle on the head. “Want to help me finish walking the dogs before school?”

“Yes!” he shouted immediately, already reaching for Teddy’s leash.

Lucia stood, pressing a quick kiss to her son’s head. "Are you sure?”

“Of course,” you nodded.

Mateo fell into step beside you like he’d always been there. “Teddy’s ears are soft,” he announced after a moment, completely serious.

“They’re the best ears,” you agreed, smiling down at him.

He looked up at you. “You looked sad yesterday.”

Your throat tightened, but you nodded slowly. “Yeah, I was.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then “My mami says sad things happen to good people sometimes and she doesn't think it's fair.”

You blinked hard and looked away before your voice could betray you. “She’s very wise.”

“She said you’re strong, too.”

That made you pause. You crouched slightly, resting your forearm gently across Mateo’s small shoulders. “Thanks, buddy. I think you might be the smartest person I know.”

He grinned like you’d given him a trophy. “I know.”

And so you kept walking, just a small figure beside you holding onto Teddy’s leash with pride, Jonny ambling along ahead, and the sun slowly warming the quiet morning around you light spilling out into the world again, even when your heart still ached.

You soon came across a little cafe, and you couldn't help yourself, "Would you like to stop and get a milkshake?" Mateo grinned from ear to ear at the offer nodding profusely it wasn't long until you got seated.

Mateo swung his little legs under the table, completely enthralled with his chocolate milkshake, the corners of his mouth stained with the remnants of whipped cream. He was halfway through a story, something about a superhero made entirely of jelly he wanted for his birthday next week, while you picked at a croissant and sipped your coffee, content just listening.

The café was quiet at this hour, the hum of early regulars and clinking mugs a soft backdrop to Mateo’s animated voice. The barista had brought out a little paper crown for him after he told her it was “a very special day because I’m with my Coco,” and he wore it with pride.

“You’ve got chocolate on your nose,” you told him, smiling over the rim of your cup.

He looked down, crossed his eyes, then wiped his entire face with a napkin. “Did I get it?”

“Not even close,” you laughed, leaning over with another napkin to clean him up properly.

He beamed at you afterward, mouth full of the last bite of his pastry. “Best breakfast ever.”

You smiled, but as you glanced at your watch, your brow furrowed slightly. “Speaking of best I best get you home, little man, or you’re going to be late for school.”

He looked disappointed for a split second, then perked up again. “Can we walk past the bakery with the dog in the window?”

You laughed quietly. “Only if you promise to not bark at him.”

“Deal,” he said quickly, hopping down from the chair and brushing the crumbs off his trousers with the seriousness of someone headed into battle.

You pulled a few bills from your pocket to leave on the table and stood, giving him your hand. He took it without hesitation, squeezing like always.

“Think your teacher will believe you had a milkshake before school?” you teased.

“She better,” he grinned. “I have evidence.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Evidence?”

He turned and pointed confidently to the chocolate on his crown. “Look. Proof.”

You snorted out a laugh and gently nudged him forward. “Alright, Super Sleuth. Let’s get you home.” And off you went, the little crown bobbing beside you, your fingers tightly intertwined with his, the sunrise now fully awake and for a moment, so were you.

Mateo barely noticed Irene as she stepped out of the building, too busy balancing on the curb and pretending it was a pirate ship. Irene raised an eyebrow, coffee in hand, smiling when she saw you.

“Oh, here he is,” she said, eyes flicking to Mateo. “And where’ve you been dragging Coco around to, mister?”

Mateo grinned, puffing his chest out proudly. “We had chocolate milkshake for breakfast!”

You gave a sheepish smile. “That’s on me. He was such a good boy on the walk, figured he deserved a little treat.”

Lucia gave her son a knowing look. “And what do we say when someone’s kind to us?”

Mateo turned and hugged you around the waist, muffled but sincere. “Thank you, Coco.”

You smiled, stroking his hair. “Anytime, buddy.”

"Come on mister, let's go get ready for school" Mateo rushed in the house Lucia followed behind not before saying “Make sure you find out how much we owe her for breakfast.” to Irene

You were already shaking your head. “Don’t even think about it. It was my treat.”

Irene gave you a warm but tired look. “You’ve got enough to carry without paying for other people’s kids.”

You just shrugged gently. “He made it a little lighter this morning.”

Irene stepped forward, gently placing a hand on your arm. “And you? How are you doing?”

Your mouth opened to answer, but all that came was a quiet, “Numb. Doesn’t feel real.”

Irene nodded slowly, understanding in her eyes. She gave your arm a soft squeeze, “Ale knows you're here,” she said casually, sipping her coffee.

You frowned faintly. “How?”

She smirked, motioning toward the furry pair at your feet. “Because the dogs are gone. She noticed the moment she woke up, she rang because she knows your route takes you past here wanted to know if I'd saw you, I told her you'd borrowed our son”

You huffed a laugh under your breath. “She worried?”

“Not about you being in danger,” Irene said, tilting her head. “But about how long you’ve been gone? Yeah. She is. You slipped out without a word.”

You nodded, eyes falling to the pavement. “Needed air. Quiet.”

Irene bumped her shoulder gently against yours. “You can borrow him anytime, but go home now before Ale has no finger nails left, she's bitter when she's worried”

You gave her a grateful look and turned toward the building, already picturing Alexia, hair messy from sleep, pacing slightly, pretending not to worry. ⚽️

The stadium was loud, pulsing with the kind of energy you could feel in your ribs, but your heartbeat stayed steady. Controlled. You sat on the bench, boots already laced, shin pads in, warm-up jacket zipped halfway. You didn’t feel nervous not in the usual way. It wasn’t butterflies or adrenaline. It was something quieter, heavier, but still focused.

This was your coping mechanism. Always had been, head down, boots on, give everything to the game.

The plan was simple. You knew it. The coaching staff had been clear all week: sixty minutes, no matter the score, you’d get your debut.

Alexia had squeezed your hand during the tactical briefing that morning. Just once. A grounding touch. Nothing more. And it was enough. She knew what this game meant to you even if no one else in the stadium knew the weight you were carrying under that calm exterior.

Ellie had driven you to the stadium. She didn’t say much in the car, just queued up your shared playlist and made sure Teddy got one last cuddle before you left. She hadn’t missed a day since. Neither had Alexia. Your grief didn’t scream it simmered. Quiet. Controlled, but always there.

The game kicked off, and you watched intently. Every pass, every pattern, every gap in the opposing back line. You were ready. Hungry.

At minute 58, the assistant coach turned toward you.

“Two more minutes,” she said quietly, tapping her watch. “You good?”

You gave a short nod, already standing, peeling off your jacket. The crowd noticed, a murmur rolled through the stadium. Cameras swung toward you, your name echoed faintly.

Sixty minutes hit. Your number lit up. Applause rippled. Salma, you were replacing, jogged toward the sideline, slapping your hands and gave you a big prolonged hug before smacking your back sending you on your way.

You stepped onto the pitch, your lungs filling with the clean cut of match-day air, your studs biting into the grass.

This wasn’t just a debut. This was a release and you were more than ready.

The frustration of being 2–0 down at home, especially to a team flirting with relegation, had already soured the atmosphere. There was a tension in the air, something uncomfortable in the crowd’s silence, the quick glances exchanged on the bench, but when you stepped onto the pitch, something shifted.

Your first touch was clean, confident. A simple one-two with Patri to break the press. The crowd noticed it how naturally it came, how your timing felt already woven into theirs.

By the 65th minute, you’d pulled one back. A sharp run through the line, Aitana threading a ball like a needle between defenders, and you striking it clean across goal into the far corner. The stadium lifted with a roar, cautious, but hopeful.

Patri came to you first, palm to your head, grinning. “Vamos, Coco.”

Alexia was next, whispering, “Let’s go. One at a time.”

Ten minutes later, a chaos of passes in the final third. Alexia to Aitana, Aitana back to you, then a slick layoff to Patri who didn't even glance before returning it in your stride as you made the run. The second goal was surgical. The crowd erupted and now, everything had changed, Barça moved like a machine now, humming, confident. You could feel it. You belonged in it.

The scoreboard still read 2–2 when the fourth official’s board went up five minutes of added time.

You felt it in your chest, one more chance, you stayed high, hovered on the shoulder of the defender, waiting. Alexia found you, her pass soft and clever. You took it in stride, cut inside, dipped your shoulder, and let the ball fly from your left foot. Top corner. Hat trick. 3–2.

The stadium erupted. Scarfs in the air, flags waving, fans screaming your name already like they'd known it their whole lives. Your teammates mobbed you Aitana jumping on your back, Mapi yelling “Bruja!” with a wild grin, and Alexia grabbing your face with both hands before pulling you into a kiss on your temple, barely able to stop smiling.

“Ya está,” she said against your ear, voice cracking with pride. “You’re home now.”

It wasn’t just a debut. It was a statement, and you’d written it in goals.

⚽️

The lights were bright, the mic was in your face, and the crowd behind the barriers still hadn’t stopped chanting. Your name echoed through the Johan Cruyff like it had always belonged there.

The interviewer smiled, clearly still buzzing like everyone else. “A debut hat trick, a comeback win, and the entire stadium singing your name… you couldn’t have written it better, could you?”

You blew out a quiet breath, smiling, your cheeks still flushed from the effort. “Yeah… I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet. Honestly, I just wanted to come on prove to myself the team and the club they were right to put me into this team and I wanted to make a difference. Help the team. I didn’t expect that.”

“You came on at 2–0 down. What was going through your head?”

You laughed, brushing your fingers back through your damp hair. “I just thought this can’t be how it starts. Not for me, not for us. We’re better than that. We needed energy, belief. So I just… trusted the players around me and they trusted me back. That’s the magic.”

The interviewer nodded. “The connection between you, Patri, Aitana, and Alexia looked like it had years behind it not just two weeks. How does that chemistry come so quickly?”

You smiled, softer now. “They're special players. World class, but more than that, they’ve made me feel welcome. They’ve made it easy to be brave here, we know how to play to each other's strengths and that makes all the difference.”

There was a beat before the next question, a gentler one. “This is your first appearance since” The reporter paused, clearly choosing their words delicately. “a really difficult personal loss. Many people didn’t expect to see you here tonight. How did you find the strength?”

Your throat tightened, but you nodded, ready. “Football’s always been where I go when I don’t know what else to do. This week has been... the worst of my life, but being here, with this team, this club it’s helped. The support from everyone here has been incredible, I've had so many meetings with Pere and the team about how they can support me and how I can still be involved whilst taking the wider team and myself into account. Its been a balancing act on giving myself the time to process an grieve but also fulfil the commitment I made when I signed for the club and I know my mum and sister would’ve wanted me to keep going. So I’m doing this for them. Every goal, it’s for them.”

The interviewer blinked hard, clearly touched. “Thank you for sharing that. One last question before you go celebrate, how does it feel to be wearing these colours now, officially?”

You looked out to the crowd, the banners, the fans still singing, still waving scarves and flags. “It feels like home,” you said simply. “And I’m just getting started.”

The interviewer grinned as they turned slightly, reaching down to the table beside them. “Before we let you go there’s one more thing,” they said, holding up the Player of the Match trophy. “You are the player of the match as presented by Liga F”

You blinked at it for a second, almost stunned again. “Seriously?” you asked, the smile already tugging at your lips.

“Hat trick hero, game-changer,” they replied warmly.

You reached out and took the trophy, the weight of it oddly grounding in your hands. You turned it over briefly before looking up, touched and a little sheepish. “Thanks. Really. This means… a lot.”

From behind the camera, a shout rang out, followed by the unmistakable sound of several pairs of boots pounding on turf. You barely turned before you were mobbed screamed at, hugged, jostled.

“Oyeeee!” Kika shrieked as she practically jumped onto your back, arms locking around your neck. “The star of the match!”

Patri grabbed the trophy from your hands, lifting it dramatically in the air like you'd just won a major final, while Aitana laughed, ruffling your hair.

Alexia was right behind them, laughing breathlessly, cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming as she fought through the crowd to get to you. “I leave you alone for half an hour and you steal the whole damn show,” she teased, voice low as she finally reached you, hand slipping to your waist like it belonged there. No cameras could hide that.

Mapi and Marta were already trying to get the trophy back for photos, and Ellie somehow had her phone up, yelling, “Smile!” as half the team posed around you like a ridiculous school photo.

You were still catching your breath when Irene clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Not bad, Coco,” she said, proud. “You’ve got Barcelona talking.”

You just grinned, looking around at the chaos, the love, the arms wrapped around your shoulders and the roars from the stands still echoing into the evening.

As you made your way around the pitch for the thank you lap, the applause from the stands rumbled like distant thunder, constant and warm. You kept your head up, waving occasionally, but your jaw was set trying to keep it together. The weight of the week, the pressure of the debut, the grief that still echoed in your chest like a dull ache it all threatened to well up in your eyes.

You were walking alone in the middle of the pack in the gap from the front group and those trailing behind, boots heavy on the grass, the stadium lights somehow sharper than usual, when you felt it fingers gently curl around your waist.

You glanced sideways, surprised, and there was Marta. No words, just her steady hand, her presence. She didn’t even look at you, just kept walking, her support quiet and grounding.

A second later, on your other side, a light brush of contact. You turned slightly to see Mapi falling into step with you, her arm brushing yours, her expression softer than usual.

“You're walking stiff, are you hurt?,” Mapi said under her breath, lips barely moving, eyes forward.

You let out a small laugh through your nose, and that break in tension almost undid you. You blinked quickly, swallowing thickly. “Trying not to cry on TV,” you murmured.

Marta’s hand gave a tiny squeeze. “Let them see it if it comes. You’ve earned every emotion tonight.”

Mapi nodded, brushing a stray tear off your cheek with a flick of her knuckle. “This team has you. On and off the pitch.”

You didn’t speak for a while after that. You just walked, flanked by two of the toughest women you’d ever met, letting the love from the crowd soak into your skin, letting yourself be held not by words, but by presence.

The celebrations continued long into the evening the dressing room loud with music and laughter, your teammates still riding the high of the comeback win. Everyone had rallied around you from the first whistle, and now, with your debut hat trick and Player of the Match trophy resting beside your kit, it felt like you'd finally exhaled.

You'd showered, changed, and stepped out into the quieter hallway outside the dressing room, phone in hand, when you saw her.

Alexia leaning against the wall in her training kit, arms crossed, a quiet smile on her face. The moment your eyes met, her whole posture softened, and she pushed off the wall, walking toward you.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she said, voice low, amused. “Three goals in thirty minutes?”

You shrugged, the grin creeping back onto your face. “Had to make an entrance.”

Alexia stepped closer, fingers brushing your hip. “You made a statement.”

You looked down, suddenly shy, but she tilted your chin gently so your eyes met hers. There was pride there, yes, but also something deeper. Something weightier.

“I mean it,” she said, her tone gentler now. “If you keep playing like that… I’d marry you tomorrow.”

Your eyes widened, caught somewhere between laughter and disbelief. “What?”

She laughed softly, the sound full of affection. “I’m serious. I watched you today and I thought, ‘Yeah. That’s my person.’ Not the football. You, handling everything. The grief, the noise, the pressure. With grace. With heart.” Her thumb brushed over your jaw, soft and grounding. “I could just marry you.”

You stared at her, blinking, chest tight with a sudden swell of emotion. “Alexia…”

“I’m not asking. Not yet,” she added quickly, but there was mischief in her eyes now. “Just saying it out loud, because if there’s a future, and I get to be in it with you? That’s something I want.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against hers, smiling. “If you’d asked today, I’d probably have said yes.” You laugh gently

She smiled, eyes closing for a moment as she breathed you in. “Don’t tempt me.”

There, in the quiet of the hallway, hearts still beating fast from everything you’d both been through, it was the first time you really saw it. A life beyond the lines. A love big enough to hold all the pain, the joy, the history.

And maybe, just maybe, a future with your name on it. Together.

----

This will be the last chapter for a little while, I want to work on some other stuff.

I'll come back to it in the future, maybe with a time jump

[womanofwords]

Silver Swan (Part 1)

Neglected!fem!reader x yandere!Batfam

Headless chickens. Bruce Wayne and his children were running around like headless chickens over the gala. So annoying.

"Steph, you'd better not have taken my good corsage!" Barbara yelled. You sighed and retreated to your workspace. Just a little more of this racket and you could work on your new cloak in peace. It was a wonderful silvery colour, and all it needed was the interior fabric for comfort and warmth and the matching exterior feathers for aesthetic. You felt so fun and so mysterious just looking at it.

What should the inner lining be, though? Velvet? Cotton? Silk? Absent-mindedly, you grabbed some silver thread and wandered around with it, weighing up your options.

"Watch where you're going, idiot!" Damian scolded, knocking into you. It hurt, but you couldn't tell whether or not it was on purpose or not. "Why are you even here? You aren't preparing for anything."

He was right; you weren't. No gala invitations came in the mail for you, after all. You were always left out, for some reason.

"I wanted to stretch my legs," you said, cheerily.

"Well, you'll have to wait until we're gone. You won't get in the way like that, and we see you less." His lip curled up into a smirk.

"OK. I'll just wait until you're all gone. I'll go back to my room until then." You rushed back to your bedroom, eyes burning with tears.

Why was it never you?

You'd never been invited to a charity dinner once since joining the Wayne family. Was it because of your parentage? You had been the result of a hookup between your mother, a high-end tailor, and the prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne himself. Maybe your origin was considered embarrassing for Gotham high society. You were nothing like Damian, who boasted of Al Ghul and Wayne ancestry, or Tim Drake, teenage CEO. You were ordinary.

And for a Wayne, ordinary was embarrassing.

You listened to Alfred drive off with them the same way you always did. Alfred would be back soon, but the rest of the family would be gone until morning.

All the better to work on your cloak.

You got out your sewing machine and worked away, opting to go with the velvet. Your dress would be a matching silver colour, and down to the ankles. Shoes would have to have thick soles so that the hems of your cloak and dress wouldn't touch the floor.

"There have to be some books about fashion around here," you mutter, as you pull books out of the shelves by the spine, dislodging them and putting them back when you had determined that this tome would be of no use to you. As you went for a book about a timeline of high fashion, sheafs of paper fell out and landed next to your feet.

You debated whether or not to look at them. Nobody was in the house, so nobody would know that you had done it so long as you put them back where you had found them. Curiously, you picked one up at random and read it.

It had your name on it. You picked up another. That one had your name on it, too. They all did, actually. What really differed were the events highlighted.

Winter Gala. Charity Ball. Annual Dinner.

Your innards twisted. You really had been invited to these events, same as everyone else. Someone in the house had repeatedly and systematically hidden your letter of invitation so you wouldn't accompany them. It was your family's doing that had left you weeping bitter tears in a home that hated you.

Those heartless bitches would pay.

Part 1 <- You are here

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Taglist: @tinybrie

[girlactionfigure]

The return of the hostages from Hamas captivity is of the utmost importance to Israel. 

I thought it might be helpful for some of you to hear just a bit more about certain individuals that Israel is releasing in order for that to happen. The sacrifice being made.

A thread: 

1) Mohammad Abu Warda, responsible for 2 bus bombings in the 90s which murdered 46 people.

He made it clear at his trial that he would never stop murdering until Israel was destroyed. He was given multiple life sentences.

Now he'll be freed. 

2) Arafat Irfaiya. In 2019 he raped Ori Ansbacher, a 19-year old, and stabbed her to death. He was sentenced to life in prison, plus 20 years.

Now he'll be freed, and no doubt treated as a hero.

3) Zakaria Zubeidi, former Jenin commander of the Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigade. Responsible for the 2002 terror attack in Beit Shean in which 6 were murdered. In 2019 he was charged with shooting attacks on civilian buses.

There will be widespread rejoincing in Jenin when he returns.

4) Bilal Abu Ghanem. In 2015 he and a fellow terrorist boarded a bus and began shooting and stabbing passengers. Three died, and dozens were wounded. 

He received 3 consecutive life sentences.

Now he'll be freed. Here are two of the people in their 70s who he murdered.

5) Wael Qassem and Wissam Abbasi, leaders of the Hamas-affiliated Silwan cell. Responsible for the carrying out of multiple bombings in the Second Intifada, which killed dozens (one of these bombings, at the Cafeteria at Hebrew University in 2002, pictured).

Now to be set free.

6) Ahmed Barghouti, relative & close associate of Marwan Barghouti.

Ahmed is responsible for a number of terror attacks, including a notorious mass-shooting in 2002 at a reception hall in Hadera (pictured) where people were celebrating a Bat Mitzvah.

Now to be freed.

7) Mahmoud Atallah. Given a life sentence for murdering a Palestinian woman who was accused of collaborating with Israel. More recently, manage to sexually assault and rape female prison guards. 

Now to be freed.

8) Ashraf Zughayer. Hamas leader accused of involvement in the 2002 bus bombing on Allenby Street in Tel Aviv, which killed 6 and injured dozens.

Now he'll go free.

9) Tabet Mardawi of Palestinian Islamic Jihad. Responsible for multiple terror attacks, including suicide bombings at stations in Binyamina (pictured) & Afula, a bombing at a bombing at a restaurant in Kiryat Motzkin (pictured).

Now he'll go free.

10) Nassim Zaatari. Received multiple life terms for his role in a 2003 terror attack when a suicide bomber detonated a five-kilogram device packed with ball bearings on a crowded bus in Jerusalem. 23 murdered, including 7 children.

Now he'll be free.

11) Ahmad Obeid, was sentenced to seven life terms for his role in sending out the suicide bomber responsible for the 2004 Café Hillel terror attack in Jerusalem.

Now he'll be free.

12) Leili Abu Ragila. Was serving life imprisonment for his role in the 2006 kidnap and murder of a high school student, Eliyahu Asheri (pictured).

Now he'll go free.

13) There are many more. Murderers. Terrorists. They will go free. They will be greeted as heroes when they do.

Israel is in an impossible situation. The hostages taken by Hamas *must* be freed. But a terrible price is being exacted for that to happen. 

14) Jews around the world rejoice with the families of those who have been reunited with loved ones released by Hamas yesterday.

We also grieve with the families who are seeing those terrorists responsible for their loved ones' deaths walk free. 

15) One more thought, if I may. You will see media outlets, certain commentators, even some politicians, trying to equate the hostages being released by Hamas with prisoners being released by Israel.

As the above thread shows, such a comparison is grotesque. Show them the truth. 

16) I know this thread will not have been pleasant to read or see. I hope, however, that if you have read this far, you found it informative. Please do share it if you found it helpful. 

*Thread ends* 

@Daniel_Sugarman

[charcubed]

I saw Challengers earlier today and I decided to start a running doc of some of my feral thoughts in an effort to not forget what's currently marinating in my brain after my first watch

I want this movie to get a long theatrical release/run because it deserves it, but that's unfortunate because I also NEED to have it accessible to me in my home ASAP so I can pull on all its threads and take screencaps. Alas.

EXTENSIVE SPOILERS BELOW

might add to this later as I remember things, idk

-The parallel of Art spitting his gum in Tashi’s hand and in Patrick’s hand… My jaw dropped soooo early on. Anyway they obviously both act as Art’s “coach” at different times in his life in different ways. (The jerking off teaching?? Scream???) Art craves their guidance and approval as a form of love (which is also directly responsible for his confidence issues) and initially likes to follow their leads in every situation

-The parallel of Tashi making out with both Art and Patrick up against cars… delicious

-Patrick’s car is his “bed” and it’s where he and Tashi fuck. Nice

-Wait now I’m sad because… lowkey Patrick is homeless because Art and Tashi are his home…………….

-The storm = Patrick and Tashi having sex = the reason why Art’s half of the giant poster/ad on the side of the building falls down so only Tashi’s side is left up. Iconic, loooove a good visual metaphor, especially shown nonlinearly

-The parallel of the forehead kisses??? Art and Patrick on the court at the start when they won the doubles, and Art and Tashi in the sad almost-sex scene towards the end??? I will throw up

-Disclaimer and reminder I’ve only seen this movie once and might reform any of these thoughts later BUT…

One of Art’s main things is, as he tells Patrick towards the start, not wanting to be “left out.” He loves and he wants both Patrick and Tashi (but he doesn’t fully want to acknowledge the extent of his want for Patrick for years, and that repression is part of his problems…). He gets “lit up” about the thought of them together not because he’s jealous of one of them but because he’s jealous of BOTH of them; he wants to know it all, he wants to be in the room, he wants to be with them both, he despairs at the thought of losing either of them (but, at the start, especially at the thought of losing or being of lesser importance to Patrick. Obviously he’s a fucking idiot as evidenced by how Patrick goes to see him FIRST at Stanford. Ugh). We see all of this at the start when Art wants to know if Tashi and Patrick fucked. We see this in Atlanta when he witnesses Tashi cheating on him with Patrick but doesn’t directly confront either of them about it; he only skates the edge of confronting it with Patrick in the sauna while also lashing out at him. Patrick tells Art at Stanford “it’s nice to see you so lit up about something, even if it’s my girlfriend” during the homoerotic churros scene because Patrick’s clocked all of this about Art, too. He clocks it further in Atlanta when he shows up to Art’s practice with Tashi and his mere presence makes Art hit the ball harder. It obviously all comes full circle; the cocktail of emotions that Patrick and Tashi being together gives Art coalesces again for him on the court in the Challengers match: Tashi’s threatened to leave him if he loses… and she’s maybe got one foot out the door with Patrick of all people, who Art already “lost” in the past as the love he’s been mourning for 13 years. But what’s important is that THIS time, unlike Atlanta, Art learns about Tashi cheating on him with Patrick not by accident but rather because Patrick actually tells him. Patrick understands the significance of how this will get Art lit up again and make him play the way he needs to for all of their sakes, and it’s fucked up, but… what this means is Patrick doesn’t leave Art out. He TELLS Art – and he tells him in a way only they understand while they’re on the court together again. Of course Art goes through several stages of emotions in response to that fucked up information… but ultimately that moment of honesty and realization between the boys is what Art needed and puts where all 3 of them stand into sharp relief, shedding a light on who they’ve all always been and what their individual needs are.

Art’s always wanted to play tennis, but that desire is framed around his relationships. Tennis is only something he truly enjoys or that fully makes him happy when he’s experiencing it through his connections to other people: he wants to impress, earn the approval of, or celebrate with those he loves who are watching (like his grandmother or Tashi) – which is partially why he wants Tashi to be his coach in the first place. And of course, tennis all began as something Art found joy in because he was always doing it with Patrick. It’s clear Patrick feels the same. At the start, neither of them cared much about winning for the sake of winning unless it was doubles because they competed as a team and that was “really fun” for them. With the singles competition, they kind of cared less about the wins at the start; Art assumed Patrick would win and didn’t care back then, and then Patrick was willing to let Art win so he could impress his family, and they were both fine with all of those sentiments. Tennis was first and foremost something they did with and for each other. As Patrick later tells Art in the sauna, “I miss playing with you” – and, of course, at that point he’s definitely not only talking about tennis. But in that final match, after so many years, Patrick and Art finally understand each other completely again. It’s like they’re in love (because they are and always have been), they go somewhere really beautiful together… etc. They finally reconnect on the court and feel that thrill as they become synchronized again, which is what tennis was always about for them.

And Tashi, who’s irrevocably connected to them both and whose primary love is and always has been the sport itself, gets what SHE’S always wanted: to “watch some good fucking tennis.” It’s why she pitted the boys against each other vying for her number at the start. Though she needs/wants both boys in different ways on an individual level, she doesn’t particularly need or want anyone to ~be in love with her~; she wants the men who are in love with her to entertain her and challenge her and give her a show. So that’s what she tries to accomplish again in the end by telling Art she’d leave him if he lost the Challengers match… but the missing piece in her making that threat – the element that would get Art truly fired up – was that she’d potentially leave Art for Patrick. That final piece of info, when Art finds out about the cheating, is what reconnects them in all of the above ways. Because it’s about all 3 of them and their triangular codependency. They’ve all been broken for 13 years because they all need each other and tennis to be fully functional. Split any of it apart and they just don’t work.

-Literally this is a film where from the moment of the injury they’re all constantly mourning. They all lose their greatest loves that day… Tashi essentially loses tennis, Art loses Patrick, and Patrick loses the two of them. Everything after that is just them being affected by how they’re all mired in various grief and feeling incomplete… until that synchronization at the match when they finally become whole again. Going from that bed scene that was breaking my heart to the final match was HEALING. Things are still fucked up and in progress, but they’re fucked up in a way they all understand, which gives them a path forward. This movie has a fiercely happy ending in that regard… and what I’m saying is that… after the match, once they communicate further, and much later down the line… Art and Patrick should go back to playing doubles and Tashi should coach them as as doubles team. God they’d eventually all be so happy I wanna CRY just thinking about them doing that. It would take them awhile to get there — because yeah, Tashi is living vicariously through Art’s career as an individual player and maybe if Art retired she’d then want to live through PATRICK’S career for awhile — but I think if they worked out their relationship then their tennis could come to reflect the needs of that relationship too, and doubles can still be “good fucking tennis” in its own satisfying right, y’know? I think they could get there and it would be a beautiful collective restart.

-I gotta say, I can't imagine Tashi pregnant. Wild to me. Sorry to their daughter. Oooo also... I think Patrick would be great with kids... when he gets to meet Lily and become "Uncle Patrick" they're gonna hit it off so fast. Help me

-*holds up Tashi watching them kiss after she orchestrated it* *holds up the Challengers match* It’s the same picture. Except the kisses were kisses whereas the match was actual sex. The moaning and grunting… I’m insane. Also Tashi’s “COME ON!!!!” is arguably the sole orgasm/climax we witness in the whole movie perhaps? Though you could argue the hug is too. In this essay I will, etc.

-Art begging for Tashi’s love/validation saying “Tell me it doesn’t matter if I win tomorrow” vs Art telling Patrick in the sauna “this is a game about winning the points that matter” / Patrick saying “I don’t matter?” AAAA oh my fucking Goddddddd I’m gonna die

-Thank you Luca Guadignino for your dedication to having Art and Patrick hold phallic drinks and food in each others’ presence. Specific shout out to Patrick at the beach party holding the beer bottle on his crotch

-Patrick = comfortable with who he is and secure in his bisexuality; honest and open Art = repressing his queerness and his overall desires Tashi = hiding who she is aka her dissatisfactions with life and the lengths she’ll go to because tennis is her true greatest love and always has been

COMPRESS, REPRESS... REPRESS, COMPRESS... AND THEN JUST SURRENDER, ONE TWO THREEEEE

-I need to rewatch to catch the dialogue because it was difficult for me to hear it over the music, but I think in the 3am Atlanta scene Tashi tells Patrick that Art’s grandmother had a stroke. IF that’s what she said (and if there’s no reason to believe it’s a lie Art told; like I said, I need to rewatch)… my immediate impression was that it’s a nod to Patrick being the voice of accuracy and prediction in this movie. Towards the beginning he tells Art (jokingly) that he hopes Art’s grandmother dies of a stroke, and that’s seemingly what literally comes to pass. He repeatedly clocks both Tashi and Art’s behaviors, describing them brashly to their faces (and to us as the audience), and he was right about his predictions. He’s the one who’s not repressed or unaware of who he is out of the 3 of them: when Tashi first asks if there’s something between him and Art, he looks away because he knows the answer is yes; he’s openly bi on dating apps; he tells Tashi he won’t be her lapdog unlike Art which we see later ends up becoming literal; he clocks how Tashi is hiding some of her true motivations when she seeks him out in the storm; and even from afar he predicts Art’s mindset about wanting to retire. For the most part, what Patrick does / says either seems to be or becomes truth. Hmmm, wait, as I’m typing this… something to look out for: the “I TOLD YA” shirt. Working theory: Tashi briefly wears it, she’s the voice of accuracy; then it blatantly switches over to Patrick and he wears it throughout the film and [waves to all of the above]

-Head in my hands thinking of how the word “love” is used in these tennis matches. Also something I need to make detailed note of when I rewatch

-Patrick grabbing Art’s thigh when they first watched Tashi play… oh my GOD

-Patrick pulling Art’s stool close and Art just smoothly sitting on it with no reaction… the way they kept looking at each others' lips... oh my G O D

-I just remembered Tashi referred to the boys being known as as “fire and ice.” What the fuck even.

-Tashi going to Patrick asking him to lose the match for Art… she’s literally like, "do this because I love tennis and if I lose Art then I lose the way I live tennis through him. Do this because if he loses this match he'll lose himself." And she's really like, "Do this because I know you’re in love with both of us." And Patrick is like, "A) fuck you because you know I’ll say yes precisely because I'm in love with both of you so how dare you ask this of me, and B) you’re kidding yourself if you think you don’t miss the challenge I give YOU simply by being myself because I don’t take your shit." Something something they're peers, you know

-Tbh for 13 years when Patrick gets his rare opportunities he’s @ both Art and Tashi like “you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.” And the thing is that he’s RIGHT. He’s right! Art in particular doesn't want to admit it because he's trying to convince himself he outgrew being bisexual / outgrew Patrick but it's obviously bullshit

-Realizing some of the sounds in the soundtrack intentionally emulate the sounds of tennis balls and rackets???? MADNESS

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Can I ask for prompt 13, Nightmares?

Yes of course you can! Here you go!

Summary: Astarion wakes from a particularly bad nightmare, thankful that you're right there when he needs you

Astarion hates nightmares. He hates the way he’s all alone in them, running from something he can never escape. He’s always trapped, back against the wall, nowhere to go as his worst fears swallow him whole and then he wakes up with a start, gasping for air he no longer needs, eyes wild with panic.

He hates how pitiful he feels each time he wakes from a nightmare, wanting nothing but to curl up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest and cry. It makes him feel vulnerable, raw, naked, and nothing good has ever come from that.

He hates the way his skin crawls moments after he wakes, lingering ghostly imprints of the night causing bile to form in his throat and he shivers, wanting nothing more than to leave the tent but the fear that the creature of his nightmares may be waiting for him outside keeps him curled in his bedroll.

His clawed fingertips dig into the flesh of his arm, a quiet sob slipping past his lips. He feels weak, pathetic, and shrinks further into himself. He hates the trembling that follows suit, he can’t stop himself from shaking no matter how deep his claws sink in and tears continue flowing down his cheeks.

He hates how no matter how far he runs, Cazador is always there, taunting him, laughing at him, shattering his dreams. The vampire lord’s claws are always around his throat, squeezing all the air out of his undead lungs, the despicable choking feeling tearing his mind apart even though he doesn’t need to breathe anymore, the pain that explodes from where Cazador’s hands clench around his throat.

He hates hates hates hates —

“Star?” Your whisper slices through the haze, a light reaching out to him in the darkness. He whimpers in response, instinctively shifting in the direction of your voice and you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close.

“I’m right here, my star,” you murmur, running your fingers through his hair. He grips your clothes tightly, curling tighter into you as he buries his face into your chest, shoulders shaking with each sob. It breaks your heart to see him like this, curled into a fetal position, in pain and yet you can’t do anything to help.

You would do anything if it meant he would be free of all that haunts him.

Your free arm slips around his waist and you shift until your back faces the tent flap, blocking the sight of anyone who may happen past. He burrows deeper, pressing as much of himself against you as he can. You smell of warmth, safety, everything he needs right now.

“I’m right here.” You say again. You’ll say it over and over again until he fully understands and accepts what it means, no matter how long it takes. You continue threading your fingers through his hair, the rhythm soothing the vampire and his sobs begin to die down, his grip on you loosening slightly but he remains glued to you.

“Don’t leave.” His words are so soft that you barely catch them.

“Never,” you reply firmly. “Not for anything in the world, I promise.”

He keens, resting his head on your chest so that he can hear the steady pounding of your heart and suddenly he feels a little less alone in the chill of the night. It’s still cold, but at least he has your warmth to curl into when it gets too much. He can lean against you, knowing that you’ll be there to catch him should he fall.

You’ve given him so much in the short time you’ve been travelling together, more than he knows what to do with and he doesn’t know how to pay you back, or if he can even pay you back. Yet you never demand compensation for your efforts, never seeming to want anything from him, leaving him confused and lost.

Each time he wakes from his trance, he expects his side to be empty just like it usually is. He’s used to waking up all alone, picking himself from the messy sheets to clean up, feeling the coldness of the bed on the side he didn’t lie on, but ever since that night in the forest, the other side of the bed has never been cold. You’re always there when he closes his eyes and when he opens them back up again, sometimes curled into his side, sometimes wrapping him in your arms, but you’re always there, lying next to him.

It’s the only reason you know about his nightmares.

There are times when he tries to push you away, telling you to leave once you’ve done whatever it is you’ve come to his tent to do and you do leave, only to pop your head back in moments later with a lame and clearly made up on the spot excuse just so you can stay in his tent for the night. He tried forcing you to leave before but you stubbornly refused, so each time you throw him a new excuse, he simply sighs in resignation and lets you stay.

Tonight he’s glad he let you stay.

You gently rub his back, an area nobody had ever touched without causing him to feel sick until you, and he leans into the touch, yearning for something gentle. You can’t help but smile softly when he does so, noticing that he has finally calmed down and has stopped trembling.

He still buries himself in your arms, quietly pressing his forehead against your shoulder with his eyes closed as he takes a deep breath, letting it out with a shudder. His gaze flicks up, meeting yours for the first time since he woke up but quickly flicks back down again.

You don’t ask. You know he will tell you when he is ready and you’re more than happy to simply accompany him for what remains of the night. Still, you worry for him, this nightmare must have rattled him quite hard and you yearn to know the reason for his pain tonight but you hold yourself back. He comes first.

Astarion wordlessly tugs at your hand and you blink, confused but let him do what he wants. He slips his freezing hand into yours and you jump slightly, but quickly give him a reassuring smile when he looks at you with concern.

“Your hand is just a little cold.” You give him a gentle smile. He stares at you for a little while, as if discerning whether you are speaking the truth, before looking back down at your intertwined fingers, holding your clasped hands to his chest.

“Stay,” he pleads softly. You’re the only thing shielding him from the chill his nightmares leave behind, and he’s not sure he’ll survive the night if you leave.

“As you wish, my star.” His eyes light up at your words, a hint of gratitude in them as he curls up against you once more, still holding your intertwined hands to his chest.

“Thank you.” Those words barely scratch the surface of what he wants to tell you, but it’s all he can manage tonight, and that’s more than enough to you.

“Anytime.” With that, he drifts back into a trance to the steady rhythm of your beating heart, your warmth enveloping him. The nightmares still terrify him, but he takes comfort in knowing that should he wake up, screaming and sweating, you will be right there to pull him back to reality — the reality that he has you, always.

[maddiesentmehere118]

A Stranger's Jacket: Part 13

Evan "Buck" Buckley x plus size! reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, SMUT 18+ MDNI

Author's Notes: So this is one of the first times that I've written smut to this level. I'm still working on it, so please bear with me! Enjoy!

Masterlist | Taglist

6:43 A.M. 

You slowly wake up to the smell of coffee. Then you feel it— your legs are draped over Buck’s shoulders. You push the comforter down to find the top of his head between your thighs, fingers gripping your inner thighs, holding them apart. His lips are wrapped around your clit, sucking before flicking his tongue across your it. 

You moan as he swipes the tip of his tongue against the spot that makes your toes curl. His lips vibrate against your core, sending chills down your spine as your back arches. You slide a hand down your body, threading it into his hair, gripping slightly. 

“More, please.” 

A muffled chuckle meets your plea. Two fingers rub up and down your slit before he releases your clit with a soft pop and slowly pushes his fingers in, curling them upwards. You clench tightly around his fingers, grinding down against his hand.

“Yeah, that’s it. So tight— I’ve been neglecting my needy little thing, haven’t I?”

All you can do is nod, teeth digging into your bottom lip as he alternates between massaging that spongy spot and gently scissoring his fingers within you.

“Uh-uh, let me hear those pretty whimpers.”

“Yes, daddy.”

It slips from your mouth accidentally. You’ve never discussed it or spoken it outloud. Your heart skips a beat, anticipating him to stop, but instead, his eyes peer up at yours as he picks up the pace. 

“Say it again.”

“Feels so good.” You whisper, teasing him with an additional moan. “Daddy.”

He dives back into your soaked core with newfound energy, tongue relentless on your clit. You hold his head steady, though he hardly needs to be held there, eating you out like a starved man. The coil tightens in your stomach, your sensitive clit pushing against his face, nose brushing the top of the bud, intensifying the pleasure. He shifts, rubbing his nose and tongue over your clit simultaneously.

You want nothing more than to feel his cock balls deep in you, but the doctor’s words ring in your mind

“No strenuous activity, including sex, until we see the medication is working and the screw removal is healing properly. At least one to two weeks, maybe four weeks.”

As if Buck weren’t already down, it just added to the blow, on top of an additional two weeks of physical therapy. 

Buck had already tried to initiate something a few days ago, only for you to turn it into an extremely horny makeout session, cautioning him to not push his luck with his leg. You had never been so happy for Eddie to call you, preventing further activity when he invited you to spaghetti night.

“Oh god, I’m going to cum.” You gasp, thighs squeezing around Buck’s head. Instead of pulling them, trap him there, moving his fingers harder, faster within you. The room feels hot, sweat beading your forehead and chest, cheeks and neck flushed. Your chest heaves, catching with each calculated jab and flick of his tongue. 

When he drags his teeth along your bud, followed with a hard suck and quick licks, you come undone, bucking and fluttering around Buck’s fingers. Liquid gushes from your tight hole, coating his chin and running down your butt. 

He doesn’t falter in his movements, savoring every drop until you fall back, body going slack. 

“Mmhmm, you taste so sweet, Princess.”

“Good morning to you too, Daddy.”

His hips jut into the bed, and you feel guilty for teasing him. He climbs over your body, lips capturing yours. It is soft and tender, a stark contrast to his previous attack on your clit. You move to return the favor, haulting when he pulls you down to lie next to him. 

“No. This morning was my apology to you. You just relax. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

“But I want to—”

“Nope, just let me hold you for a minute.”

You sigh out in content, not having the heart or energy to protest. “Okay.”

Resting your head on his chest, you listen to his heart as it returns to its normal, steady rhythm. His hand runs soothingly up and down your side, pressing kisses to your head.

“You should stay home today.”

You laugh, tilting your head up to look at him, peppering kisses along his jaw.

“As tempting as that sounds, my alarm will be going off soon, and Maddie is expecting me to ride to work with her.”

“Mmhmm, but you should stay with your favorite Buckley.”

“You’re definitely my favorite Buckley, Evan. But, I’ve got money to make.”

“You know that I make enough for the both of us, right?” 

“I do. But I have student loans to pay, and I like having my own spending money. Besides, I’d go crazy without work.”

He lifts your chin, looking you in the eyes.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

7:01 A.M

Buck had made breakfast burritos and fruit salad. Sitting up in bed, you lean against his shoulder, basking in the intimacy of the morning. Buck playfully swipes yogurt dip onto your cheek, eliciting a giggle. You’re taken back to the first night you had spent with him. This time you swipe it off of your cheek, running the pad of your thumb across his bottom lip.

7:24 A.M

Minutes later, you’re in the shower together. Bent over, hands on the shower wall as he fucks you with one of your vibrators. He;s leaning against the other wall to support his weight, lessening the weight on his still healing leg. Squelching is heard over the water cascading down onto the two of you, your vagina needily sucking up the girthy dildo. 

“Buck, deeper.”

He complies immediately, pushing deeper and increasing the pressure. 

“You’ll feel this all day, won’t you, Princess?”

“God yes, please, I want to ache.”

His breath hitches, thrusts becoming rougher , punctuating each word. “Such a good girl.”

Your phone rings from the other room, but you don’t care— not when Buck is making you feel this good. Your eyes flutter closed when his hand gently wraps around your throat, enhancing every sensation of pleasure. You reach back, grasping his cock, tugging with the same urgency of his movements.

“I’m not going to last long,” he admits, forehead pressing against your back.

“I don’t care.” You furiously jerk your wrist. “Cum on my back.”

Together, you work towards release. Buck groans as his warm cum paints your back, triggering your own climax legs trembling as he supports your shaking body. Gradually, he slows down, leaving soft kisses along your shoulder and neck. 

“You okay?” He murmurs tenderly. 

You lean back against him as you straighten up, nodding blissfully. “Perfect, thank you.”

You turn, wrapping your arms around his neck. Love radiates between the two of you. 

He holds you close, hands resting on the swell of your ass.

He smiles, mumbling against your lips. “We should probably get you cleaned up before my sister kills us.”

7:38 A.M.

Buck walks you to the car where Maddie awaits, your purse slung across his arm. He’s back in comfy clothes, much to your dismay. But you didn’t want to push him. Today started great and you wanted to keep it that way. Besides, he’d get a wakeup call when Eddie let himself in later with Chris. You’d act surprised, but you had actually come up with this plan. So while Buck was set to go back to bed, he didn’t know that his slumber wouldn’t last long. 

“Good morning Mads.” Buck greets as he opens the door, resting his forearm on the outer seal of the door.

“Good morning, my dear brother. Glad to see you smiling.. Any big plans today?”

“Nope, just going to wait around for my girlfriend, make her dinner.”

“Lucky girl.” She moves her water bottle out of the other cup holder, throwing it in the backseat with her purse. You place your coffee filled tumbler in the new spot as you climb in. 

“Good morning Sunshine.”

“Good morning Moony.”

You had come up with the names during a drunken night out. Buck was freshly out of the cast and was more mobile now. The crew and their significant others had all gone out for a celebration dinner and you were fine until Buck had left with Eddie to go pick up Chris from a sleepover. Once they left, people slowly started to follow suit. 

The only people left were you, Chim, and Maddie. Looking back, Chim should have cut both of you off and called it a night, but you hadn’t been out in ages and you were relaxing, enjoying yourself. You had deserved it, as Chim said later. 

“You’re always so bright and positive, even when you’re hurting on the inside. You're my brother’s sunshine. Everyone’s sunshine.”

You smile, but then your lip starts to tremble. With a quick sweep of the bar, you let your guard down, crying for the first time in what feels like weeks. You swallow the lump in your throat.

“I have to be. It's how I fix things— because if I don’t, I’ll lose my mind and I’ll cry.”

“Sunshine, don’t cry.” Maddie reaches over the table, grabbing your face. You lean into it, tears running down your face. “I love that about you. You’ve saved my brother from going into the deep end. All of us have been graced by your love.”

“Oh Maddie.” You choke out with a sob. Leave it to Maddie— just as tipsy, yet somehow still poetic—to stay calm as you cried. “That means you're Moony, because you’re steady and empathetic like the moon.”

“I love it, Sunshine.”

“I love you Buck.” You say as he leans in for a kiss goodbye before repeating the sentiment. 

Maddie fake rolls her eyes, joy spelled out in her smile. 

“Okay, my two favorite girls need to get to work helping save the world.” He says as he shuts the door, patting the side. “Have a good day!”

“You too, Buck.” Maddie responds with the same, mischievous glint her brother has. “Make sure to take a walk and do something other than rot on the couch, yeah?”

“Yeah yeah, thanks mom.”

“Love you!” Maddie yells as she pulls off, giving her brother an enthusiastic wave. You blow a kiss.

“Love you too! Both of you!”

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

🔥 taglist: @nickie-amore, @mimisweetz, @queen-o-castle, @dipdeedoda, @rintheemolion, @iluvvcaats, @maryyy-8 , @strabarrybat, @unholycheesesnack, @formula1-motogpfan, @booklover2503, @strawb3rrywh0r3

[qveenofgluttony]

Closed mouths don't get fed, open up your jaws

Until there's nothing left at the monster's ball~!

Queen Beelzebub's 603rd annual Masquerade Ball. A winter ball held in the royal palace right in the Gluttony Ring of Hell. Hosted by Princess Beelza aka Bee!

An RP Event (3rd year anniversary!!!) hosted by: @qveenofgluttony/@infernal-feminae

Graphic made by the amazing and talented: @phoenixborn!

----

General Info:

Event takes placed from December 13-15th. Starting on Friday evening 6 pm Central Time.

Mutuals and non-mutuals welcome to participate.

RSVP by liking or reblogging this post! This invitation will be sent to your muse(s) for them to respond IC if you want.

Please use the tag Beelzebub's Masquerade Ball for the event.

Look forward to live music performances, contests, and other mini events!

Costumes or formal wear are a must!

Guidelines:

Muses who received a formal invitation are allowed to bring another muse as their plus one.

Since my Beelzebub is now a fandomless OC, both Hellaverse and non-Hellaverse muses are welcome to participate!

My Beelzebub will be disguised as another demon throughout this entire event. Muses are still welcome to interact with her if they wish, but she will take on a form they would not be familiar with.

In addition, her daughter, canon!Bee aka Beelza will be hosting in her place.

This event is not chronologically locked. If you want to continue any threads after the actual event feel free!

I’ll write a drabble/open starter to kick off the event, but if anyone wants to send me an ask or starter beforehand due to time constraints please feel free!

I will be posting throughout the next few weeks to give more info on certain events and gathering participants for the contests as well as posting a schedule outline.

Events:

Costume contest.

Couples dancing 'contest.'

Live performances by Princess Beelza and Verosika Mayday. (I will be using my Verosika muse be default but if any Verosika muns would like their Veros to perform instead, feel free to DM me and let me know ASAP!)

Open Mic.

After dark activities

There is an unofficial game where guests try to guess my Beelzebub's identity by the time the ball ends. Whoever is able to correctly guess first wins a grand reward of their choosing--within reason.

--

Any other questions regarding the event my DMs are open!

[the-kr8tor]

Autumn of '88

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, Reader and Hobie are 13/14 in this, Puppy love, TTN! Reader and Hobie, set in the TTN universe, best friends to lovers (prequel to TTN), CW food mentions, Fluff.

A/N: This is the last of the 1k celebration fics! Thank you all so much ❤️❤️❤️

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Head on your palm, heavy eyes slowly closing with every dreary words that your biology teacher says, you fight a yawn from escaping since the last time someone yawned in front of Mrs. Weathers they got kicked out of class. But with the boring subject about symbiotic relationships in the wild, that you most definitely already know since you did the advanced reading, you're tempted to yawn loudly and widely just so you could escape from this biology hell.

The air is crisp, October air breezing through you from the open window to your left. Clad in your cardigan and yellow corduroy pants, the cold still seeps into the thick fabrics. It's a comfortable cold but with you sitting still for more than an hour without stretching your limbs has you freezing in your seat.

You risk getting called out by Mrs. Weathers if she notices you looking out of the window for even a second. But you are so bored out of your mind that you'd rather stare at the oak tree outside than continue to listen to her yapping about symbiosis. Having the brilliant idea to hide your wandering eyes from the teacher with your hand slightly covering your profile, now safe from her piercing gaze, you watch as the orange leaves dance with the breeze.

There's a pile of dead leaves at the bottom of its trunk, and you wish you could jump inside and never have to study biology ever again. It must be so warm and cozy inside, with the orange and yellow leaves as your sky and walls, you'll live like a tiny mouse queen ruling over your land. You think of all the stuff you'll bring inside your little leaf kingdom, your sketchbook is definitely a yes, and also your big pack of colorful markers and pencils is an absolute need. You'll need some snacks of course, some eggos and cheese balls would suffice. As for sleeping, you guess you'll never need to sleep when you have so much time to do anything you want in your leaf kingdom.

Yet, you think you'll be lonely inside. Sure you can bring your gameboy or your care bears, but they can't exactly talk and have the most riveting banter with you. With a smile, you plan to bring your best friend with you to your autumn kingdom. Hobie can be your bard or your right hand man. It's perfect, you think, a perfect place where it's just you and Hobie where there's no more school to attend, no more grades to keep up, just you and him having fun in the pile of leaves.

With a sigh, you blink slowly as your eyes get heavier and heavier with every daydream. Fighting the sandman from having his sandy grip on you, you pinch your cheek subtly. Opening your eyes, a familiar silhouette appears right next to the oak tree. Long arms waving in your direction, legs jumping to get your attention. Blinking rapidly, it's none other than Hobie who has the widest grin on his face when he notices that he finally has your attention.

He motions for you to go outside, beckoning you over dramatically. Miming that he'll cry if you don't go outside. You think otherwise, quietly giggling at his antics.

After the realization, you straighten in your seat, wondering why and how he got outside when he's supposed to be in maths.

A loud thwack slams against your desk, jumping awake, Mrs. Weathers shakes her head, tongue clicking in agitation.

“If you're not prepared to listen in class it's best that you should leave, miss L/N.” She says, gritting her fake teeth.

“Okay,” you stand up to collect your things, shoving your notebook and books inside your already full backpack. Your reply has Mrs. Weathers confused, since you are her best student.

“Wait—” you've never seen her flabbergasted, your classmates snicker silently in their seats, some even clap and cheer you on.

Giving them all a shrug, you exit the classroom before she grabs you back inside. With the door shutting close, you sprint towards the exit. Trainers squeaking on the linoleum, backpack heavy, you push the double doors open with your shoulder. Hobie greets you outside just as the fresh air whips at your cheeks.

He claps slowly but surely, face proud with a smug smile. “I've got to hand it to you, Pingu, I did not expect that. I have successfully made a rebel out of you.”

Hobie stands on the grass like he owns the entire school, hands tucked inside his jeans, thumbs tapping on his metal belts that clinks against each other when he moves. For once, he's dressed for the weather, the old worn leather jacket now fits him better than last year, it was bigger on his shoulders back then. Puberty works in mysterious ways, you think. A denim vest lays on top of the leather, handmade pins of his favourite things are all tacked securely on the denim. Its edges are frayed, but you know it was intentional since you're the one who helped him do it. The thrifted ‘Queen’ shirt you gave him on his birthday is the perfect size, but you know that he'll only be able to wear it for a couple of years at the rate he's growing.

No one would think you two are best friends judging by how different your styles are, or how different you are to him. Personality wise, likes, dislikes, it's all different, sometimes you wonder how you two get along. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

“How'd you get out of maths?”

“Climbed out of the window before Mr. Keery came in.”

You doubt his story. “Yeah, right, your classroom is on the third floor, Hobie.”

He feigns hurt, “my own best mate doubts my abilities?” You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks says otherwise. “‘m great at climbing, I could climb down from that height.” You stay silent, looking at him with a raised brow and unblinking eyes. “...fine, I faked sleepin' by snorin’ loudly, happy?”

You touch his shoulder with a mischievous smile. “Hobie, you don't have to fake snore because you snore like an elephant giving birth.”

“You're very funny,” he takes your wrist to push your hands away. You now notice the new nail polish on his nails. “That doesn't even make bloody sense.”

You ignore him, mouth agape and shocked at his painted nails. “You finally coloured your nails?” You take his hand that has nail polish sloppily painted on. The paint even reaches to the edge of his nails, painting his skin with shadowy black. “You could've asked me for help, y’know.”

“It's part of the style” He shrugs, taking his hand away before you can feel his pulse pick up.

“Sure, even the bubbles are in style.” You tease with a playful smile. “So why'd you call me over here?”

“Got bored, then thought you're also bored so I went to your window so we could skip the rest of the day.” He purposely skips the part that he knows exactly where you always sit.

You gasp. “Wait, I thought we were just skipping class, not skipping the rest of the day!” Hands on your hips, you shake your head. “And here I thought there's like a really cool… stick or something.”

“A stick?” He chortles.

“Yeah, like the one you found a few days ago that actually looked like a sword.”

“Nah, I wanted to—” A high pitched whistle echoes out, startling you both. Finding the source of the sound, the school guard is currently running towards you. The hundreds of keys on his belt jingles, cheeks red from all the whistle blowing.

“Oi!” The yells, pointing accusingly at you two.

With wide eyes, Hobie takes your hand before sprinting away. He practically drags you along with him, bigger strides than you, he looks over his shoulder to check on you. Unsurprisingly enough, he has a huge grin on his lips, as if he planned all of it.

You follow his lead, dead leaves crunching under your shoes, backpack weighing you down. Yet, he doesn't leave you even though you're slowing him down. You appreciate him for not letting your hand go, but you don't like how your heart hammers against your chest when you look at your intertwined hands.

Finally reaching the metal fence, Hobie chucks his backpack over it. It's not that tall for him, he could easily jump over it with no problem, but with you still waiting on your growth spurt, it'll be a challenge for you. He knows it too, without asking he grabs your bag off your shoulders, he then quickly throws it over the other side before crouching down with his hands on top of the other.

“C’mon, Pingu, up you go!” Hobie flicks his eyes over to the guard, he's glad that the guard isn't exactly a track star. The whistling gets louder as the uniformed man gets closer. “Hurry—!”

Before he could finish saying the word, you shakily put your foot on his palm. With one strong push, and a jump from you, Hobie hoists you over the fence. You miraculously make it over, landing on your side with a groan. Hobie follows a second later, climbing like his life depended on it. Immediately grabbing each of your backpacks, then putting both on one arm, he lifts you up from the pavement with one hand just before the guard could even reach the fence; you two race off across the street, huffing and aching from the daring escape.

Going around a corner, Hobie leads you towards an alley. He skids off to a stop, heavy bags falling off his arms.

Hands on your knees, lungs burning, and face sweaty from the run, you check behind the corner if the guard is still after you.

“He won't follow us anymore. We're out!” Hobie exclaims, exhilarated, and grinning widely. He leans on the wall opposite of you, chest heaving, laughter echoing around the empty alleyway.

Copying his stance, cracking a smile, you laugh together with him. “You're a bad influence, Hobie Brown.”

“And you're a great influence, Y/N L/N.” His smile and his shining eyes says it all: we balance each other out. “Too bloody nice, that's what you are.”

You shake your head, chin resting on your clavicle to hide your lopsided smile. Heat on your cheeks, you seem to find yourself having the same expression lately whenever you're around him.

“Where to?” He asks once he caught his breath.

“My choice?” You ask, smile permanently etched on your lips.

“‘course,” Hobie says it like it's the most obvious thing. He was supposed to add to his sentence but he shuts his mouth before he could let the word escape.

You excitedly perk up. “The mall?”

He makes a face. “I'd rather stay in maths.”

“Arcade then?”

“They'd kick us out,” you knit your eyebrows in question. “Because we're skippin’ class, they put up that fuckin' sign a few weeks ago.”

“Oh right, I forgot. How about the record shop? Mike's cool, he might let us stay until classes are over.”

Hobie pushes himself off the wall, strutting over to you, your heart quickens for some reason. He pats shoulder with a smirk. “Your best idea yet,” taking both bags off the grimey floor, he puts them both on each shoulder. It's your turn to smirk at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say in a sing-song tone.

He clicks his tongue, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon then, before someone sees us here and thinks we're skippin' class.”

“Hobie, we are skipping class.”

“Not if we act like we're not.”

“...what?” You chuckle, blinking in confusion. “What would you do?”

“Nothin’, let's go.” He walks away from you.

“Oh come on, what will you do? Will you put on your best acting skills like how you faked being sick in front of the nurse? Because she was definitely convinced that you had chicken pox!” You giggle, following him, matching his longer strides.

“It worked, didn't it?” Hobie turns his head away from your playful glance.

“Yeah, because you had an actual fever. But sure, your drawn on chicken pox was very convincing.”

“I'm an artiste, Y/N.” He says, trying to do a french accent.

You snort, “sure, and I'm the queen of England.”

“Alright, your majesty.” He stops, “carry your own luggage,” your bag thuds on the pavement. “I don't want to help some parasite.” Smugly walking away, you feign hurt with your loud gasp.

“You…you doodoo head!” You yank your bag, wearing it properly on your back. Running after Hobie, he has a mischievous smile, one you're all too familiar with.

“Doodoo head? That the best you can come up with?” He says before bolting off, leaving you in the dust.

“Hey!” Running, you follow him with a laugh. “Asshole!”

—

Finally reaching the vinyl shop, the bells jingle as you two enter. The smell of plastic and cheap air freshener lingers in the air, the ancient shaggy carpet is soft under your trainers. Shelves upon shelves of records greet you as you roam your eyes around the different album covers. It's a slow day so the store is empty except for Mike the cashier who has headphones on.

Hobie sniffs dramatically, “home sweet home!”

Mike cracks an eye open, with a groan after seeing you and Hobie standing by the door, he chucks his headphones on the counter, looking disgruntled. The denim jacket with hundreds of patches and bottle cap pins is large on his lanky frame.

“Oh great, Hobie's here.” He says sarcastically, long straight hair flipped over his shoulder with one move from his head. “And he brought his little girlfriend. Hi, Y/N, you still hang out with this arse?” He points at Hobie who doesn't bother correcting him anymore. “Seriously, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“D’you finally have it, mate?” Hobie acts like he's the same age as Mike, even though the teenage cashier could be his older brother. Ignoring Mike's jab, he waits for his reply.

Wanting to quit his job is clearly seen on his face. Then he considers the fact that he needs to save for college. With a sigh, he points towards the end of the store, where you think ‘it’ is there.

Hobie punches the table with a thump, then he excitedly bounds over to where the cashier pointed. “Thanks, bruv.”

“Cyndi Lauper?” You ask, all wide eyed and shy. “It's not at the front anymore.”

“Over to the right, just across where your boyfriend is.”

“He's not my—nevermind, thanks.” Walking past all the display, Hobie guffaws when he finds what he was looking for. You smile at how happy he is.

He's so happy that he grabs you by your elbow, pointing at the new ‘Ramones’ album. The words “Ramones Mania” are printed in bright red.

“Finally! Look!”

“I see it, Hobs.” You chuckle, “didn't this release months ago though?”

“It did,” he sighs like he's recalling a bad memory. “But this place isn't making a lot of money from records like this, so Mike here!” He yells the last part to annoy the man. “Delayed ordering it. I had to come ‘ere every day just to remind him.”

You see Mike pressing the volume up on his walkman. Making sure that Hobie sees that he's not listening to him.

“You didn't tell me that.” You say, sounding a bit too hurt.

“Thought you wouldn't care.” Hobie shrugs, “‘sides, you don't listen to stuff like this.” He points at the album.

“I could listen to it, Hobs. I make you listen to my records and you seem to like it.”

Hobie's eyes soften. “You wanna listen to it together then? You might not like it.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “If I don't end up liking it then at least I gave it a try, right? If I do like it we have something new to talk about.”

He could only manage a smile and a curt nod. Taking the record to the listening booth that sits at the corner of the store, he leaves his bag outside whilst he opens the door for you. Placing your bag down more gently than he did, you enter the cramped booth.

Mike yells after you two, “you lot better not snog in there!” You and Hobie scrunch your faces at the man.

“We're fourteen, mate!” Hobie yells back, not agitated, just weirded out by Mike's comment.

“You're fourteen? How would I know? You look fuckin' sixteen, bruv! Tall motherfucker.” He whispers the last part, Hobie didn't hear it but you surely did.

“I thought he was cool.” You admit, shutting the booth door behind you.

“He's a wanker, just actin’ like he is. Thought you fancy him?”

“Ew.” He beams at your reaction.

You giggle, the sound bouncing off the padded walls of the booth. It's just a regular rectangular box with a shelf for the record player and a bench to sit on. It's quieter inside, the cars outside are muffled, the only clear thing you can hear is how your heartbeat gets faster and faster the longer you stay squished inside the booth with him. Sitting down, you leave enough space for him. Hands on top of the other, you roam your eyes around the cracking paint on the walls, mind making shapes from how the navy blue paint crumbles.

Hobie carefully takes the record out then places it on the record player. Sitting next to you, you can practically feel his excitement reverberating. He takes the headphones from its rack, turning each around so you and him could listen at the same time.

“Ready to shit your trousers?” He asks, eyes glinting from the single light bulb. He's so close to you that you can see yourself in the reflection in his eyes. And you can see every single strand of eyelashes that's perfectly blending in with his eyeliner.

“I don't want to poop on my trousers, I like this pair.” You joke, and you pat yourself on the back for making him laugh. “This is corduroy, Hobie.”

“Alright quiet time now.” He presses play as you hide your amused smile.

—

You bask in the sunset, eyes closed, you let the autumn air kiss your cheeks, your hands are behind you, propping you up. Despite the dusty pavement, and the looming problem of getting found out that you skipped school, you're perfectly content where you are right now. It would be perfect but you're missing something, or someone for that matter.

Cold air suddenly blows right behind you, the convenience doors close with a hiss and that's your cue to look up. Hobie appears upside down in your vision just like you thought, he tilts his head, you can see the cogs in his head turn. Placing the cup on your forehead, he laughs at your crossed eyes. Condensation rolls off from the plastic cup and into your skin.

Hobie takes it away before you could catch a cold. Sitting next to you, he hands you your bright slurpee. There's a mix of colours, red and blue melting into the orange and purple.

“They didn't have the brown one.” He says as he rips open a pack of Doritos. “There's no puddin’ pops either.”

“Aw,” you say slightly disappointed, but the sight of the box of nerds inside the plastic bag helps remedy your disappointment. “Ooh nerds!”

“Where?” As he says it, you see a grin slowly spreading on his face. “I only see one right here!” Chortling, grin wide, the orange hues of the sky paints him with its watercolour glow. You'd take this sight more than a day alone at the arcade.

“Ha ha.” You say flatly, sipping your drink too quickly, you wince loudly. Hobie guffaws into the barren space, save for the 711 behind you and the woods sitting quietly in front of you. His laugh echoes, even with his amusement, he still has the time to pat your back affectionately.

“Ow.” You rub your temple.

“What’d I tell you before? Drink it slowly, love.” The title slips out of his tongue. The second he realizes it, he hides behind his own cup, sipping wordlessly as he stares off into the woods.

Love, the simple freudian slip has you blinking at him slowly. He has never called you that before, he has, however, called you a bunch of nicknames that are either sweet or to purposely annoy you. But love? You've only heard older teenagers call each other that, and they usually have their hand inside their girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s back pockets when they do. You have no idea if Hobie has mistaken, because you're clearly not love, you're pingu, you're cheese, you're pebbles, hell, you're even lad, or his best mate. Never love, because that's reserved for someone you actually like, someone you truly care for.

Is he mistaken? Mimicking something he has heard around school?

“I should've told you about the album.” His voice wakes you to the present.

Do you care for him? Of course you do.

“What?” You breathlessly ask.

He's your best mate after Danny left, he was the only one who filled that lonely lonely gap he left. You think he's stuck with you forever, and he thinks you're stuck with him forever. Strangely enough, you both think it's perfect.

“Me pestering the shit out of Mike.” You knit your eyebrows at his words. He looks down at his boots, a small puddle at his feet reflects his own confused face. Is he apologizing? Why is he apologizing for? Weirdly enough, you both ask the same question.

You'd annoy Mike for him. You'd call the shop endlessly just so they would order his record. Even if you get in trouble for the telephone bill.

“You would've helped.” Hobie continues, eyes now looking into your own.

Care, it's a simple word, but you think it's not enough to describe how you feel about him, how you really feel about your best friend. It's much more than that.

“Yeah, I would've annoyed him too.” You softly smile at him.

“I know, love.” Because he knows you, and you know him too. Hobie utters the title more confidently, the word rolling off his tongue like butter. He makes it sound like he has been calling you that in his head for a long time. Maybe he has. “I know you would.”

He had the answer the whole time, it's not just you caring for him. It's love, it's love in its earliest state, it's love at its most innocent.

You love him, that revelation scares you, but it's better not knowing how you truly feel whenever he smiles at you and your heart skips a beat. Now you know, you'll tell him one day, one day when that feeling gnaws at your chest. But for now, you'll settle with drinking slurpees with him, you'll settle for skipping class so you could listen to records with him. For now you'll settle with loving him as his best mate, and for now, you're content just by being at his side.

[crochetamalgomation]

Cyl Picayune dreams crochet pattern

yarn colors:

red (for picayune can be switched to blue or dark gray)

white

light gray (for picayune can be switched to white)

gray

arms (don't forget to stuff them)

legs (don't forget to stuff them)

use white yarn

1: Mr 6sc (6)

2: (inc, sc, inc)2 (10)

3: 10sc (10)

4: (sc, dec)3, sc (7)

change yarn to gray

5: 7sc

change yarn back to white

6-10: 7sc

change to gray

11: 7 sc

change to white

12-17: 7sc

Rnd 1. Ch6 , turn: inc, 3sc, 4sc in 1st, 3sc, inc [14]

Rnd 2. sc, inc, 3sc, inc, 2sc, inc, 3sc, inc, sc [18]

Rnd 3. BLO: 18sc [18]

Rnd 4. 6sc, 3dec, 6sc [15]

Rnd 5. 4sc, 4dec, 3sc [11]

gray

6 11sc

white

7-14 11sc

gray

15 11sc

white

16-24 11sc

gray

25 11sc

st in the next

ch

cut off

how 2 attach legs together - a step by step guide:

(ps idk wtf i did)

1. line the leg A and B up so the feet are pointing in the same direction.

2. find the stitches that are touching

3. from the inside of A, put your hook through that stitch and through the stitch B.

4. your hook end should now be inside B.

5. grab white yarn and secure it on the hook(like when you're about to start a chain)

6. make a sc to fuse both legs together.

7. sc around B until you have 10 white sc

8. sc in A the second stitch and continue untill you finish the row at 20 sc's

9. use the tail of white you left to close the hole inbetween cyl's legs(unless you're freaky and like that)

you now finished row 26, now on to the rest of her lower body

row 27: (2sc 2hdc 2dc 2hdc 2sc) 2x

28: 4sc 1hdc 1dc 2hdc 6sc 3hdc 3sc (20)

Ball

red yarn

magic circle

1: 6sc

2: 6inc (12)

3: sc inc (18)

4: 18sc

switch to white

5: 18sc

switch to red

6: 18sc

7: sc dec (12)

8: dec (6)

9: close hole however you see fit

chain 1 and cut

i sewed the torso together with a needle and thread. but don't forget to sew on the chest plate first and also the neck thing i didn't add to mine.

now the other part of her torso

use gray yarn, use felt to add the white suit after finishing

chain 20 and sl in the first

1-4: sc

5: 2sc 5sc with an arm in between 6sc 5sc with arm 2sc (20)

6: dec (10)

7: dec (5)

8: 5sc

switch to white

9: inc (10)

10: sc inc (15)

11: 2 sc inc (20)

light gray

12: 3sc inc (25)

13-18: sc

19: 3sc dec (20)

(attach eyes and face details and stuff)

20: 2sc dec (15)

21: 1sc dec (10)

22: dec (5)

23: close hole however you see fit

chain 1 and cut

cut out the details like her helmet using felt and sew them on

then you can use the remainder of your colored yarn to give your doll hair.

[wormslikestostarve]

My Funger Termina HC (pt 5)

Since I already talked about Levi, here's Daan's turn + some random things about other contestants of Termina.

Tw: grooming/sex cult(??

Daan wasn't formally processed in any gubernamental organization when he was a child. No last name, No born certificate, No documents or passports, a ghost for the state. His parents were nomades and went from orgy to orgy, no need to pay taxes or get any public service outside the Sylvian magic. He doesn't even know his real name since he was called different nicknames by all the cult members and doubts if Daan is his real name or just a pet name that his mother gave him.

It's not like he could go and ask her.

("My name? My mother called me Daan, my father called me Däniel, you can choose"— temporarily joined party talk at the slums [paraphrasing what I remember])

So when he came to the baron's mansion, he adopted Elise's last name and Einer moved some threads to give him documents like a false certificate of education, birth, etc. And register him as a Rondon citizen.

Daan really likes cine and art but he's the kind of guy who would say that he can't even draw a circle (which now is basically true, because his sense of depth is screwed since he can't get used to the recent loss of his eye) He also likes playing billiards and was a great host for the von dutch parties

Abella would be really good at drawing since she learned how to make plans and perspective (especially in the final B, where she literally studies astrophysics)

He's a 10/10, probably the most attractive man in the whole train. Slightly androgynous, thin and tall (1.70m), English accent but capable of talking (at better or worse levels) a couple of other languages he learned along his travels with his parents when he was a little kid.

Daan has a skin care routine (or the closest common thing in 1939) with even more steps than Elise herself, he was kind of a trophy husband.

Also, Abella would like to have the same time to self care because she feels insecure about her excess of body hair due to Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) and the scars from work accidents but don't have time enough.

Marina, Pav, Tanaka, Caligura and Olivia would also take a lot of time to take care of their image(Tanaka has to look clean for his business), Karin barely brush her hair. Marcoh and Henrik would do the minimum, soap, cologne, etc. But Henrik would have a little beard.

levi, samarie and august would wash their faces with the very same soap they use on their balls or not even have the time to shower. (Yeah, I like intersex samarie, actually)

Since Daan was in a cult until his preadolescence (13-14) he never has a formal education, he learned how to write using Sylvian's skin bibles and trying to find the letters some sense at Sylvian's mass.

Even though, he learned some decent vocabulary, at least enough to make jokes and medical terms. When he was young, he used to grab a dictionary and memorize some 'hard' words to sound enough cult when he was around Elise to 'impress her' (Elise thought it was funny because she always knew all of them since she was like 6 years old)

He never really liked to read except medical books and maybe dark police novels, when he didn't have a man bleeding out in his arms at war. Talking about that, he was a maniac that constantly burned out trying to save all the soldiers in his hands, yelling at them to keep alive in the middle of the adrenaline and pressure of the battlefield. He also felt guilty that he had to be rude and merciless because of the lack of time and the excess of injured 'patients')

Talking about Elise, it's pretty clear that Daan was awfully manipulated by the von dutch. He was the most yielding, obliging and non consciously submissive husband that you can imagine. For him, Elise was almost ethereal and divine, and you can bet that he never stopped being a mere servant to them.

Even when he married her at 20 years old and lived together for 5 years until he was reclutiered, they never stopped treating him like some kind of butler, never like a equal. If Elise wanted something, Daan obliges because he always felt in debt with both, Einer and Elise for giving him a nice and normal life. They made him someone, they gave him a roof to sleep and nice clothes to wear, they even gave him a beautiful and loving wife who will fix him. He owes them everything, how he could refuse?

In sex, Daan could NOT touch Elise without her explicit order. Not like normal consent but like if it wasn't for her exclusive satisfaction, it wouldn't happen. After all, how could a pleb touch a noblewoman indecently? and even though he was married, he was still a pleb dressed in fine clothes.

Elise was so fucking creepy and weird when she was a teenager. She was a year older than Daan but unlike the boy, who was friend of almost all the other servants and was charming to all the baron's guests whom he was entrusted to attend to personally, all the sons of nobles had a certain reluctance to her unless she was with Daan to make conversation.

They were a pretty 'modern' (weird as fuck rich brats) and open group of young men and women, they hired prostitutes (some of them knew Daan, which always was uncomfortable) and talked about sex with disturbing detail. They were all pretty fond of Daan but after the death of Elise no one contacted him or offered condolences. They were friends of the noble lady, not his.

Also, clearly as the day, Einer groomed young Daan to the point that remembering the baron's voice freezes his blood.

most of times, Sylvian's lessons were as theoretical as he could, but more than once he was forced to give Einer 'demostrations' of the healing magic. flagellating daan and making him cure among other 'proves' that it was real. Einer was pretty much a horrible sadistic, just like Elise but way less hidden.

Anyways, because it's worth repeating, Daan deifies the von Dutch and would deny any kind of damage to his psyche. Blank soul things, I guess.

(I apologize for my awful grammar, English is not my first language and I suck at it :b)

Also, sorry for updating this part so late. Stay tuned because the part 6 is gonna be Pav (probably)

[rageprufrock]

pls do a director’s cut commentary on Something Borrowed or Lost in Translation. i’m nuts for your iwaoi characterization. oikawa is a horrible little goblin and nobody does it like you!!

I think someone on Twitter once said that nobody writes Oikawa as batshit as I do, and I take that as a compliment and carry it with pride. The minute that shitty little weirdo showed up in Haikyuu I was immediately smitten because I, too, am a complete psycho and every single one of his deranged behaviors and decisions made perfect mathematical sense to me. I think the thing I most love about writing Oikawa as a balls out lunatic is how at once liberating and vulnerable it is to put all of your crazy on display like that: there is not a single fucking person who has ever met this guy who thinks he is normal-passing for longer than 3 business minutes. He has the hyperfocus of a military sniper, the emotional stability of a 13 year old girl who's about to pass her first menstrual blood clot, the self-control of a toddler and he probably has a 26 step skin care routine that costs more than everything on my bathroom counter. I am literally obsessed with this man. And--in my interpretation at least--that level of tits out insanity also translates into how he would manage his romantic relationships, which is to be a complete fucking psycho at Iwaizumi, a person who comes off as completely normal, but who--over time--you realize is just as bad as Oikawa in a completely different but equally troubling way. Like you do not sign up to a lifetime tour of duty with batshit crazy unless you, yourself, are batshit crazy.

This is a thread that shows up in both Something Borrowed and Lost in Translation, although obviously the universes in which they manifest are uh, extremely different.

Also, fun fact, I started to write the sequel to Something Borrowed, called Something New, where Oikawa gets knocked up and because he can't play volleyball until he evicts his parasite he decides to make Kageyama his pregnancy project and everybody is like "lol RIP to Kageyama, couldn't be me," because all of Kageyama's friends are assholes. Will this ever be finished? Who fucking knows. At the current moment, the file is like 10 pages long and currently on a scene where I gave Kageyama food poisoning from eating airport sushi in Qatar.

[captain-rachel]

One of the people Trump used as a prop last night is lying. Another might be.

The one who I know is lying is January Littlejohn, the blond in the center of this photo.

In his speech Trump said:

"A few years ago, January Littlejohn and her husband discovered that their daughter’s school had secretly socially transitioned their 13-year-old little girl..."

However in both CNN and the Tallahassee Democrat have reported on emails which Littlejohn sent a teacher at the school in which she acknowledged that her child was "currently identifying as non-binary" and "would like to go by the new name [redacted] and prefers the pronouns they/them." Littlejohn also wrote that "If she wants to go by the name [redacted] with her teachers, I won’t stop her."

When the teacher asked if they could share the info with other teachers, Littlejohn replied, "Whatever you think is best or [redacted] can handle it herself," and "I’m going to let her take the lead on this."

Littlejohn later sued the school... after they basically followed her email and started to make arrangements with Littlejohn's child without her involvement. The lawsuit was eventually dismissed but has been appealed.

( Highly recommend reading the the Tallahassee Democrat's article or this one from Politifact. )

TLDR - January Littlejohn knew her child identified as nonbinary, informed the child's school and then threw a fit when they supported the kid.

The person who might be lying is Payton McNabb, the blond in the middle of this photo.

In his speech Trump said:

"Three years ago, Payton McNabb was an all-star high school athlete — one of the best — preparing for a future in college sports. But when her girls’ volleyball match was invaded by a male, he smashed the ball so hard in Payton's face, causing traumatic brain injury, partially paralyzing her right side and ending her athletic career. It was a shot like she's never seen before. She's never seen anything like it."

On September 1 2022 Payton McNabb was hit in the face while playing high school volleyball. There is video of the incident.

While that is definitely a bad hit, it does not seem to have been "bad enough" for any kind of news coverage, even just a local newspaper/etc. Nothing appears to have been said to the North Carolina High School Athletic Association or to the Cherokee County Board of Education when they had a meeting on September 15.

But then on September 20th Hiwassee Dam forfeited all volleyball games against Highlands. (More details here.)

The next April North Carolina introduce a bill to ban transgender players from female sports & Payton McNabb publicly supported the bill. She claimed to still be recovering form the hit to the face and facing health struggles such as “impaired vision, partial paralysis on the right side of her body, constant headaches, anxiety and depression.”

The bill passed & McNabb has been speaking out ever since and went on to harass a trans student at Western Carolina University, recording said student in the bathroom.

Now what is interesting is that after the volleyball hit... McNabb seemed to have made a full recovery. Here are some highlights of her playing basketball for Hiwassee Dam from November 2022 to February 2023.

It also appears that from March 2023 to May 2023 she played numerous games for the varsiety girls' softball team, for which she was ranked 62nd in North Carolina and 3 in Division 1A West. (Source)

Highly recommend checking out this thread about Payton McNabb by Dan Brichall.

TLDR - It appears to me that Payton McNabb is either lying about the extent of the injury she suffered and/or the injury was potentially made worse by her school/coaches/parents/etc allowing her to continue to play after said injury.

[aryamistwood]

Erissa's Doll

It's finally done! Here is my take of Erissa's dolls..or puppets? Do we know what SSO is calling them yet? I admit, I messed up the proportions a bit and it isn't exact to the game model, but I'm still so proud and think it came out really cute! This was the first time I made my own pattern, and while there are things I think I would do differently next time, I'm still pretty happy with her!

Free Amigurumi Pattern below!

DISCLAIMER! This is my first pattern, so it may read rough. These are the exact steps I used to make the doll in the picture, but feel free to modify to look closer to the original.

MATERIALS

Weight 4 in 3 colors. I don't have exact amounts because this yarn came from my stash of rug yarn. Definitely less than a full ball, probably about 1/3 to 1/2. I believe it was Loops and Threads brand. The bows used a very small amount, less than a fist's size each.

4mm crochet hook

tapestry needle

safety eyes or buttons

stuffing material

LEGEND

r# - round/row

mc - magic circle

inc - increase

sc - single crochet

fo - fasten off (pull the tail through to knot)

ch - chain

dec - decrease (I used the invisible decrease, where you pull up the inside loops only of the 2 stitches you're decreasing)

slst - slip stitch

LEGS (make 2)

r1 - mc 4sc [4] r2 - inc x4 [8] r3 - (inc, 3sc) x2 [10] r4 - (inc, 4sc) x2 [12] r5 - (inc, 5sc) x2 [14] r6 - (inc, 6sc) x2 [16] r7 - 16sc [16] r8 - (inc, 7sc) x2 [18] r9 - 18sc [18] r10 - (inc, 8sc) x2 [20] r11 - 20sc [20] r12 - (inc, 9sc) x2 [22] r13 - 22sc [22] r14 - (inc, 10sc) x2 [24]

Don’t FO the first leg, leave a hands length tail.

After you finish the second leg, chain 2 and join with the unfinished loop of the first leg.

sc once into the next stitch on the first leg, and then sc 2x into the side of the chain 2.

Rejoin leg 2 with a sc and continue to sc around leg 2.

Continue to sc down the chain and around the next leg. You should have about 52-54 stitches in this round, give or take. Consider the point where you rejoined the second leg after coming back on the side of the chain 2 the start of your round.

NOTE: About here on, your stitch counts might not match mine, and that's okay. The rest isn’t so precise, so if it looks good to you, you’re good!

BODY (continuing from last step)

r1 - r3 - sc around (54)

Stuff the legs.

This is where we start decreasing. On each “decrease round”, you’re going to DEC at the front and back of (for lack of a better term) the crotch.

r4 - (25sc, dec) x2 [52] r5 - 52sc [52] r6 - (24sc, dec) x2 [50] r7 - 50sc [50] r8 - (23sc, dec) x2 [48] r9 - 48sc [48] r10 - (22sc, dec) x2 [46] r11 - 46sc [46] r12 - (21sc, dec) x2 [44] r13 - 44sc [44] r14 - (9sc. dec) x4 [40] r15 - (8sc, dec) x4 [36]

Another reminder to stuff here.

r16 - (7sc, dec) x4 [32] r17 - (6sc, dec) x4 [28] r18 - (5sc, dec) x4 [24] r19 - (4sc, dec) x4 [20]

FO and leave a long tail for sewing (2 hands length)

HEAD

r1 - mc 6sc [6] r2 - 6inc [12] r3 - (1sc, inc) x6 [18] r4 - (2sc, inc) x6 [24] r5 - (3sc, inc) x6 [30] r6 - (4sc, inc) x6 [36] r7 - (5sc, inc) x6 [42] r8 - (6sc, inc) x6 [48] r9 - (7sc, inc) x6 [54] r10 - (8sc, inc) x6 [60] r11-18 60sc [60] r19 - (8sc, dec) x6 [54]

If you are adding safety eyes, add them between rows 17 and 18, about 12 stitches apart

r20 - (7sc, dec) x6 [48] r21 - (6sc, dec) x6 [42] r22 - (5sc, dec) x6 [36] r23 - (4sc, dec) x6 [30] r24 - (3sc, dec) x6 [24] r25 - (2sc, dec) x6 [18] r26 - (1sc, dec) x6 [12]

FO and leave a few inches to weave in

Stuff firmly and sew to body, stuffing the joint as you close it. Be careful to line your stitches up so the eyes face forward, and don't list to the left like mine did.

ARMS (make 2)

r1 - mc 4sc [4] r2 - inc x4 [8] r3 - (inc, 3sc) x2 [10] r4 - (inc, 4sc) x2 [12] r5 - (inc, 5sc) x2 [14] r6 - (inc, 6sc) x2 [16] r7 - 16sc [16] r8 - (inc, 7sc) x2 [18] r9-13 - 18sc [18]

So at this point, I know it would be more accurate to attach the arms fluffed and sewn a bit open to the body…but I decided to lightly stuff and slst the opening closed, leaving a tail for sewing.

BOWS (make 2 in different colors)

r1 - ch36, slst into first chain to close the loop, making sure the chain doesn’t twist [36] r2 - (into the sides of the chain) ch1, sc35 [36] r3-10 sc36 [36]

slst and weave the ends.

With the same color, we’re going to make the bow’s knot.

r1 - ch 11 [11] r2 - sc in the second stitch from the hook and down the remaining 9 stitches, ch1 and turn [10] r3-4 - 10sc, ch1, turn [10] r5 - fold your work so the short ends touch and slst to join down the short side [4]

Leave a long tail for sewing.

To assemble, scrunch/gather the first part of the bow you made and slide it through the “knot” with the openings at the top and bottom. Rolling it up and twisting helps. Then fluff out the sides so it looks how you like.

Then assemble! Your head should already be attached. Go ahead and add the arms about 6 rows down from the head connection, or place them visually. Attach the bows to the top using the tail from the knot. Fluff the bows and you're done!

[annicht]

i’m getting a little nervous

Atsumu Miya x reader | Angst

Warnings: self indulgent angst, Atsumu a little shitty, post timeskip

Songfic based on Nerves by DPR IAN. Highly recommend listening the song or watching the mv

word count: 1270

23:02h

Hi, how you doing?

I heard you seem to be happy now

Never in a million years Atsumu though he would sob so hard for someone

He never antecipated that his shitty behavior would draw away someone he loved so deeply

Although, his brother antecipated.

Since forever, Osamu knew that the raw words, the lack of tact, the uncaring demeanor and the obnoxious narcisistic behaviour would tire you out eventually.

And he alerted Atsumu, just as he did in high school.

So is safe to say the last person he could reach now was Osamu.

He know better than to hear a painful “I warned you, dumbass” from him in this state.

Not when he was still so vulnerable from this afternoon.

_____

13:43h

It had been three months of radio silence after the fight, and Atsumu was hanging on the thin thread of hope that you would come back to him. Just as you always did.

He didn't see it coming. But he wished he did.

While scrolling through the meaningless registers of people's lives, waiting for his coach, he saw the airplane window picture on your Instagram story, alongside the news that you were moving to another country.

Another fucking country.

Just like that.

Out of reach.

The ball fell. On his side of the court. The referee blew the whistle announcing that it was officially his loss.

But he never loses, how can it be?

He could feel the rush of adrenaline increasing his heart rate.

His body acted on his own.

He left his teammates confused at the gym and ran like he had never did in his entire life. Not even in a volleyball match to catch an unpredictable, difficult ball on the other side of the court. Not even in high school when he was late for practice, and the coach would scold him and double his warm-up laps.

His body ran towards a destination he knew all too well, apologizing to people he bumped into on the street until they all became a blur, and he gave up on his own awareness.

So you came around my house

And you left your marks with your fingertips

I'm sitting where you sat down

And now he's looking for something meaningless

The image of you picking that place because it was so close to both the MSBY practice gym and the office where you worked, and also had the best view of Tokyo at night, was burning somewhere in the back of his mind while his lungs worked double-time to keep up with his speed.

A couple of minutes of running, which felt like hours, he bumped gracelessly against the building door, opening it and fumbling inside.

Breathless, he almost broke the elevator button in his impatience, earning a glare from the doorman, who chose not to say anything due to the visible distress on Atsumu’s face.

Just like the mirrorless elevator, the hallway of the 13th floor seemed more claustrophobic than ever.

And the door of apartment 1307 no longer held the garland from last Christmas, the one you always claimed to forget there, but in reality, were just too lazy to remove, saying “Christmas is gonna be soon again” every time Atsumu pointed it out.

God fucking hell, he could swear he heard your voice in the back of his head, and he hated it.

His sweaty hands reached the doorknob. The door was unlocked, but the sight locked something inside him.

The bright, colorful, saturated walls you made him help you paint were now white.

It looked like a nightmare.

Each uncertain step he took inside the plain apartment was like a different stake driving into his heart.

The once lively space that echoed your goofy laughter and his loud one, but mostly your colorful warmth, was now nothing more than an empty shell.

His heart ached as he desperately clung to the fading memories of you.

Letting his sight scan the place, he spotted the small nook where you used to sit and read, the sunlight from the window casting a warm glow on the now vacant spot. The vision triggered a fresh wave of pain, his legs almost buckling under the weight of his grief.

He leaned his back against the plain white wall, sliding down to sit on the floor.

It was as if every inch of the apartment was screaming out your absence, the silence deafening.

He let himself drown in the sea of regret, each memory of you like a wave crashing over him, pulling him further into the depths of his despair.

And in that moment, Atsumu realized the full extent of his loss. Not just the loss of you, but the loss of the love and joy you brought into his life, the loss of the person he had become because of you.

And I'm sorry

I was hurting too much to know

That you were standing right there

And it hit him. All the times you were there for him when he was alone in Tokyo, way before his brother moved.

A country boy trying to reach his dream all alone. Trying to deal with the pressure all alone. Trying to handle the early stages of fame all alone.

But he was never alone.

He would cry comfortably in the crook of your neck while you combed his hair, soothing his soul.

“Breathe with me, baby,” you would say so softly to him when he was in the middle of some panic attack on a Wednesday night.

When the nightmares with the cameras, the press, and the fans woke him up, and you were just… there. Sleeping soundly. And his shaking figure would spoon you to scent the vanilla of your shampoo and calm himself down to sleep again, dreaming of taking you to the vineyards in Italy on his first vacation in-between seasons.

You were always there for him.

But he failed to remember when he was there for you.

You got a little nervous of running back to you

When you weren't there

____

18:33h

He didn't know how long he sat there, lost in his thoughts. But when he finally managed to pull himself together, the sun was already setting.

The view from the window was the same as he had seen so many times with you. But this time, it felt so different, so… dull.

Just like him now.

____

23:40h

He never anticipated that his shitty behavior would drive away someone he loved so deeply, even though Osamu anticipated it.

And now he was sobbing while his sore muscles were relaxing under the strong effect of the whiskey in his left hand.

His phone, forgotten all day in his pocket, was now in his right hand. His thumb purposefully ignoring all the missed calls from his teammates and his brother, to open a three-month-old chat.

Your picture almost made him throw the glass of whiskey against the living room wall. A picture that he took.

But he suppressed the bottled anger. His once unwavering steady setter hands, now trembling, typed away on a mission.

He wanted to be there for you at least once, knowing what’s best for you right now.

So against all the cells of his body pleading for your presence, he sent:

So many times I could've held on

How much I wished I'd never let you go

I still can't believe I left you alone

It tore me down to pieces, she’ll never know

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 52: You Can't Buy Integrity

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

When I drive back to Watery Lane I find Finn waving at me from the window. He opens the door just as fat raindrops start splattering the windshield. So much for a pretty winter snowfall.

I sprint through the doorway and shake off the cold water. “Everything alright, Finn?”

“Yeah. Everything’s been quiet. The little tyke’s been asleep for an hour. How was the meeting?” I give him a frustrated, helpless glare and he gets the message. “Well, duty calls. ‘M supposed to keep watch tonight.”

I gawk at Finn as he prepares to depart. “In the rain?”

“Even in the rain,” he jokes lightly and shuts the door.

Same cold, quiet house. Same gripping uncertainty. And then my overthinking mind asks the question: am I really going to stay here once all of this is over? Yes, this is still my house. But is this emptiness what I’m going to be coming back to every day? 

I shake the thought away and creep down the hall to Thomas’ room. Finn’s right. Charlie's asleep.

The thread of light escaping from the cracked door causes Charlie to stir. “Veena?”

“It’s me, Charlie,” I call gently. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.”

I close the door and retreat to the kitchen. This is what I need. Something to occupy myself with. Maybe I’ll make soup… The kind John liked. Jesus, I know death is supposed to happen to everyone but does it have to change everything? I can’t even tell if Thomas is grieving. Life feels so different than a whole year ago-

Thud.

My head perks up to see Thomas come through the back door, soaking wet from the rain. He’s calmed down in the past hour but still can’t shake that look of constant worry.

“Just stopping to check on Charlie,” he says, looking between me and the carrots I’m prepping.

“He’s sleeping,” I reply simply and continue chopping as he goes to check on his son. “Where was Arthur?”

“The factory. Two Italians tried to kill him… So he killed them. Now there’s 13 left.”

How unlucky. 

“Arthur’s alright?”

Thomas nods. “They didn’t hurt him.”

I let out a sigh. “That doesn’t mean he has nothing to say. He- Where are you going now?”

He’s already leaving? Is there something so important that Thomas can’t spend a night in? Or was it something I said?

Thomas’ crystal eyes find mine with a look that tells me he’s holding something back. “Union business.”

With that he heads for the front door and I hear it slam. So here I am again. Alone. Expected to wait and believe that everything is under control. Well… I’m getting tired of this. 

Bam!

What in Heaven? Can I have one peaceful morning in Birmingham?! That noise is all too familiar. It’s a gunshot. I look out the window and see Finn and Thomas at Arthur’s door down the street. He must have fired the bullet. The bullet for Changretta. Either Linda was very convincing or God Himself spoke up.

And it woke up Charlie too.

“What happened?” The small boy cries and runs over to wrap his arms around my legs, hiding his face in my skirt.

“Shh. ‘S okay, Charlie,” I murmur and rub his back, looking out the window to see Thomas and Finn walking over. “It’s just Uncle Arthur having a hard time. Here comes your vader.”

“Vader?” Charlie asks, now much calmer.

“It’s Dutch. It means daddy.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The door opens and the two brothers walk in. Thomas sees us waiting and makes a beeline to pick up his son.

“Did you hear the loud bang, Charlie? Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay, vader.”

Oh no.

Thomas immediately whips his head to look at me in disbelief. “What did he just say?”

My jaw drops and I freeze. “I- Um, he just asked about-”

“So you’re picking up Dutch now, eh?” Thomas turns back to Charlie. “Did Verena tell you about her family?”

The innocent boy shakes his head. “No. She said a funny word.”

“Ah.” 

Thomas nods in understanding and sets him down, allowing Charlie to scamper off to play with a toy ball. Finn and I exchange uneasy looks. How does Thomas feel about his son calling him by a term in my dialect?

“I’m sorry, it slipped out and he started asking. I’ll try to remember-”

“What’s the problem?” Thomas asks, confused. “We speak Rukka. Why should you be required to keep your own heritage silenced?”

I- I can’t speak. My, that’s… Actually very sweet. Definitely not the strict rules of speaking English back home. He doesn’t mind that his son is catching on to my culture. 

“As I was saying, Finn, you’re in charge today. Arthur’s taking a day off.”

Finn looks as if Thomas just asked him to jump off a cliff. “Y-You’re sure?”

Thomas merely nods and goes off to his room. This is happening? Wow. Finn’s really rising up through the ranks.

“It is close to your birthday, after all. You’re growing up,” I remark warmly as we start heading to the office.

Finn chuckles and nervously rubs his neck. “I guess so… Oh! By the way, that new guy Bonnie wanted me to tell you there’s no word of your family being harmed.”

So Bonnie kept his word. He’s keeping a watch over my family too.

I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. “Good. Good, good… At least he has the kindness to do that.”

Next to me I hear Finn snicker. “You like him?”

“What are you talking about?”

Suddenly Finn halts and puts an arm across me to keep me from walking further. “Verena, you can’t keep putting yourself off just ‘cause Tommy’s too daft to say he loves you. You are more than capable of finding a man who will treat you right.” He gets a nervous look as if I’m about to punch him. “Maybe get married? I know you don’t want to hear this from your parents but maybe listen to a friend, eh?”

I roll my eyes and stubbornly shove past him. “Thomas does not love me and I am not in the market to get married right now.”

Finn groans. “I don’t mean you marry a bloke after one week! What I mean is that there are other men out there besides my stubborn brother.”

“Yes. And right now there is also a group of men trying to kill me and your family. So let’s focus on the task at hand, hm?”

The young Shelby doesn’t argue. He wants to say more but knows better than to keep poking me. We walk the rest of the way in silence, but my mind is far from quiet. Is he right? How much longer am I supposed to keep up with this? I haven’t even been on a solo assignment for my position as head of foreign relations. Part of me thinks this is all a cruel trick of Thomas’ to see how long I’ll stick around before I realize I’ve wasted my life.

“Here we are. Think I’m ready?” Finn asks nervously as we approach the office.

“Just remember what I’ve taught you and you’ll do fine,” I say encouragingly and pat him on the back.

Finn opens the door for me and we walk in to see that the other women have already begun. Linda’s here too?

“That door’s supposed to be locked until 9 am,” Finn instructs as he inspects the room.

The group of women exchange confused looks. “What are you doing here?”

Finn holds his head proudly. “Thomas says I’m in charge.”

Linda’s eyebrows raise. “You what?”

I smirk. “You heard him.”

“Arthur’s taking the day off, so… Thomas says I’m the boss.”

Um, why are they looking at him like that? Polly looks like a cougar about to pounce on a deer.

“Ladies, let’s give our boss a first day he’ll never forget.”

Finn takes it in stride and rolls his eyes, clearly misjudging her tone. He starts to walk off to the vault but Linda blocks him.

“You’re still a virgin, Finn?” Polly calls nonchalantly. “Don’t be shy about it.”

Finn’s eyes turn wide as moons and I have to keep myself from walking into the wall. Did she just ask-?

“Yes,” Finn mutters, face flushed beet-red.

Linda grins devilishly. “We’ll fix that. Know any good ones, Lizzie?”

Surprisingly, Lizzie is just as against this as I am. “You’re serious? I’m going to see Tommy.”

She grabs her clutch and storms out, leaving me with these scheming women. I really hope she tells Thomas what’s going on!

“There’s one in Aston that’s up for grabs.”

My jaw drops. “Are you hearing yourselves talk? How can you think such things?”

Finn sees Polly reach for the phone, clearly still in the dark. “What’s going on?”

Linda gasps. “Here’s a thought! Why not Verena?”

All the blood drains from my face. “What?!”

She scoffs. “Oh, come on. You’re just as virgin as he is.”

I hold up a warning finger when she tries approaching and try to push Finn away from her. “No. My time will come once I’m married. Finn, please don’t-”

“No no, it’s alright Verena,” he sighs, defeated. “I understand. Guess- Guess this is what a man has to do eventually.”

“But like this? With a woman who is paid to love you? No. I want no part in this. Leave me out of it. Good day.”

I push past Polly and back out into the drenched streets. What kind of demonic pressure is that? Since when is it such a crime to remain a virgin? That certainly is one thing that Thomas will never coax me to believe in. I may stay naïve and alone, but my own statute shall persevere. My soul shall remain untouched.

Later that night my point is proven. Finn stops by to pick up some files and there’s no hiding the distinct look of regret on his face.

“Finn? Do you want to talk about it?” I ask gently and slide him a biscuit.

Finn swallows heavily. “I never want love like that again. It- It was shallow, and meaningless… Why do people do it?”

“Because they think that it might let them find an empty part of themselves,” I sigh and banish my own selfish thoughts. “Making love is God’s gift for marriage, Finn.”

He holds his head in his hands. “She said ‘be a man.’ I am a man.”

“Yes. But you do not need to be hot as a bull to prove it.”

“I’m going to tell Tommy,” Finn decides as he starts walking back to the door.

I can’t stop the pitiful light shining from my eyes. “I’m really sorry, Finn.”

He takes a breath and squinches his eyes shut. “Never change, Verena. Stay exactly as you are.”

One last thought pops up just as he’s about to leave. “Um, has Lizzie- Did she come back to the office?”

Finn thinks for a moment and shakes his head. “Um… No.”

“Oh.”

Don’t overthink, Verena. Don’t worry so much. Thomas knows how much you care through all the work you do. Well, yes, but with him it’s hard to get a read on if any of this will pay off with something other than money. He said to trust him, right? Okay. I can keep trying.

Thankfully Linda is not in attendance today and I’m taking the time to tidy up the office despite some of the secretaries giving me odd glances. I hear the door open and turn around to see a slim, anxious-looking woman wander inside.

I put on a warm smile and walk closer. “Who are you?”

The woman does not smile back. “Mrs. Ross. I’m here to speak to Mr. Shelby.”

There’s something in her eyes. And her hands are shaking. Is that out of sadness, anger, or fear? I’m not sending her in without a subtle warning. 

I motion for one of the Blinders standing guard. “Harry, please show her to his office.”

Hopefully by having a guard escort Mrs. Ross in it will tell Thomas to be cautious. In fact… I know I’ve seen her before. Isn’t that the mother of the son Arthur killed? Why is she here?

Whatever it is, it does not take long. The skittish woman struts back to the door in a matter of minutes. The moment the door closes I head straight for Thomas’ office and find him staring at his desk.

“What’d she want?” I ask bluntly.

“Requested that Arthur shows up to a luncheon to honor her son’s 21st birthday, tomorrow at midday.”

I nod in consideration. “You already know, don’t you?”

Thomas looks up with a look that states bold cleverness. “It’s a trap.”

“It’s a trap,” I repeat with a laid-back tone. “Whatever you’re planning, please tell Arthur to be careful.”

“Finn’s going too.”

Oh. He’s being brought into that part of the gang too? He’s still so young.

“Okay,” I finally answer.

“He’s a man, Verena. ‘S time he got in on the fight too.” Thomas stands up and puts a firm hand over mine. “Whatever you do, stay away from Artillery Square tomorrow. Got that?”

Ask him. Ask him! Ask him how long I’m supposed to wait this out!

“Okay,” I repeat. Damn it!

“Maybe go visit Michael,” he suggests, knowing full well I wouldn’t hesitate to disobey him and run into the fight.

“Yes.” Always another gunfight.

I pull away and walk back into the hallway just as Ada stops over. She drops off the mail and I’m about to follow her to the vault-

“That’s her.”

“Quiet, Cynthia! It’s her.”

The hushed perky voices catch my attention and I discreetly look over to see two of the secretaries whispering, with both of them stopping every few seconds to look up at me.

“Ada, what are they talking about?” I ask openly once we’re out of their sight. Ada starts to say something but then shuts her mouth, rethinking her answer. Her hesitant behavior turns me suspicious and my eyes narrow. “Tell me.”

Ada fidgets with her purse. “There have been rumors.”

I put my hands on my hips. “And?”

“They think you’re with Tommy,” Ada confesses. “Like Lizzie.”

My pulse flares. “I’m…?! Why the Hell would they think that?”

Ada holds up her hands in an attempt to hush me. “He gives you special treatment. Time off, family visits. They’re jealous ‘cause he’s soft on you.”

“And that means I'm a harlot, hm? I do not need to sleep with someone, let alone my boss, to earn something!”

Ada shakes her head. “That’s not good enough for them. They like to gossip.”

I clench my hands and march back the way we just came. “Their tongues will dig their graves. Those who know me best know that I will not stoop so low.”

When I walk back into the lobby the same two secretaries have added a third member to their gossip party, still trying to hide their glances at me.

“That’s her. The American.”

“Is she with Tommy?” 

“Who knows? He doesn’t mind foreign aid. Maybe American sex is what he’s looking for.”

I swear to God I’m about to hurl this typewriter across the floor! All my work, all my integrity, is wasted all because of Lizzie Stark’s incapability to hold any amount of self control!

I stop in front of the group and pound the desk, making them jump in surprise. “If you are going to gossip, it’s usually more effective if the victim is out of earshot. I am not sleeping with Mr. Shelby. Not that I care what you believe. You’re too preoccupied with mind-numbing chatter to actually think. Good day.”

They make no move to contradict me. The three girls are too shocked and embarrassed to speak. I hold my head high as I fetch my tattered coat and stride out with dignity that no one can ever take away from me.

@meadows5