#but the amount of caring has dropped to 0

[wizardnuke]

i love dnd..i love playing heavy utility/support/backfield and i love having three to six attacks in a turn and an insane ac. at heart im a support player ill get my hands on whatever we're missing in a group

[level2janitor]

tactiquest structure

so i've posted a lot about tactiquest's classes and monsters and everything on here but i haven't really talked about the non-combat subsystems much yet and i wanted to go into detail about them, bc tactiquest has very different goals from most heroic fantasy systems.

tracking inventory, travel time, worrying about actually running out of your adventuring budget, are things a lot of big-damn-heroes fantasy systems throw out because they're just paperwork that gets in the way of your cool fights. that's not the case in Tactiquest! these systems are so core to the experience that removing them will make a lot of classes unusable. the game is built around them.

travel & exploration

tactiquest explicitly assumes you're running an open-sandbox hexcrawl and is designed to support that, including the fact the game is designed around random encounters. this is the sort of thing D&D 3e expected you to do, but people ditched random encounters because they thought they were boring and tedious. so classes balanced around that attrition of resources ended up with a huge spike in power other classes couldn't match.

the boring-and-tedious problem is mostly addressed by trying to make combat really good and resolve really fast. if i fucked that up the whole thing falls apart, but so far people are liking it

the second thing that helps with random encounters is your resources don't fully restore immediately at the end of each day like they do in 3e. resting is less effective in the wilderness and resources expended are a tomorrow problem, not just a today problem. so you don't have to have 3+ fights every single day just to maintain parity - 0-2 fights per day still adds up to difficult resource management.

because the game has such a focus on it, you can have classes like the ranger actually be good at travel and exploration instead of just giving them vaguely-naturey combat abilities.

economy

in most D&D-likes, even usually OSR ones, you accrue so much gold. just as a side effect of adventuring. to the point money no longer actually matters because you can throw piles of it at any problem. this is bad. it's a system that defeats its own purpose; there are no interesting choices involving money when you have so much the only real expense is like, 50,000-gold-piece magic items.

i don't just want players to care about money, i want them to worry about money, like a normal person. you're not batman who's a billionaire as a side hobby, you're spiderman who has to deliver pizzas in between superhero work because he's got bills to pay like everyone else. so a whole lot of effort has been put into actually designing prices and treasure amounts around this dynamic.

i also hate how games will usually go "oh adventuring gives you 900,000 gold for existing but a normal person's living wage is 2 gold a month". i don't want to be fantasy jeff bezos, thanks

inventory

this is something i just lifted from OSR games outright. you can carry ten things (and tiny things don't take up an item slot). that's the whole rule.

tracking inventory can add a lot of interesting decisions to a game and adds a new lever for abilities from classes and magic items. having a character play the merchant class which gets a bunch of extra inventory slots feels really impactful. finding a bag of holding that doubles your carry capacity feels so good when you actually have to watch your inventory.

supply

the only thing i felt was really unenjoyable when running games with strict inventory limits was tracking rations for each character that you eat every night; it felt too much like busywork with not enough payoff. so in Tactiquest rations are abstracted into a single Supply stat that's tied to the party rather than any individual character.

you can only restock Supply in towns, and it drops by 1 each time you rest. you can sleep without resting and this won't cost supply, but you won't regain any HP or other resources. this gives you the impactful decision-making of tracking rations without the annoyance of "okay it's been a day of travel, everyone make sure you dock a ration from your sheet" like twice per session

Supply is one of the things that slowly drains your funds and gives you a reason to keep seeking out treasure, tying back into the economy. it also gives merchants and rangers some extra mechanical levers for their class abilities to pull on.

[sunnys-out]

Coming Back to Me | Kyra Cooney-Cross

A/N: based on this prompt list. Prompt 19: I still need you.

Angst w/happy ending (I couldn't do it to Kyra let's be real)

Warnings: Parental abuse, yelling, gaslighting

Word Count: 1325

You wouldn’t have known that something was off after we won against the Olympic gold medalist, Canada 4-0.

What had happened the night before? Nothing…Nothing was wrong…nothing was different in the eyes of the public. 

Kyra still kept up with the appearances and held my hand and smiled at me when the fans were within eyeline and then immediately dropped both once we got to the locker room. It didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team when we both refused to look at one another during team talks.

Kerr tried to talk to me, like a good captain should, but I waved her away sternly, saying “t’s fine, leave us alone”. 

In all reality, it wasn’t fine. Kyra and I had a fight in the late hours before this important game.

My mother never liked Kyra, well she never liked anyone I had ever dated no matter how much they made me happy. Kyra came into my life and after 1 ½ years of dating I had proposed at the beginning of the year…that one increased the amount of vitriol my mother threw at Kyra whenever she would call me not caring if Kyra was within earshot.

My mother “cared” about my career and well controlled it ever since I was little. Every club team was intentional, every camp was important, and my identity became just the sport. Meeting Kyra and falling in love with her was something my mother didn’t want because that meant she was losing her grip on me. 

I had previously been with Olympique Lyonnais for a time and that was something my mother hated. She constantly said that I was doing this all to make her unhappy even though she was doing what was best for me. The move to Arsenal, after some time away in France, was seen as a good move by everyone but it was my mother, who was the “happiest” at my decision…because I was back on track with what she wanted me to be.

I had gotten closer to Kyra at our first Australian camps together back in 2021. We even debuted together in the game against Denmark, grinning to each other as we both took the pitch. She was what I wanted and needed and the returning of myself came so quickly that I didn’t even recognize who I was but I loved it.

My mother caught wind of it as the fans did. While fans were filling my instagram with comments of congratulations or love for our new relationship…my mother was behind it all screaming that I didn’t care for my career and that Kyra was going to destroy everything.

I tried my hardest to hide all of that from Kyra for the longest time, and wanted to enjoy my time with her. 

The way that she snuggled her face into my neck in pictures, how she was my biggest cheerleader when I failed on the pitch, the way that she attempted to make my favorite food and nearly burned our kitchen down, me carrying her on my back to the locker room because she was tired, our holidays together, the nights we spent together…she was everything to me. 

It obviously didn’t last…Kyra was strong but she bore the brunt of it after our 1st year anniversary even though I tried my best to defend her. My mother didn’t care and blamed Kyra for every one of my failures, calling her a distraction, that her Australian call up was nothing in comparison to mine and her career would never reach that of mine. 

Kyra, justifiably, had enough after my mother called me the night before the Canada game. She finally was able to get through to my cell phone after complete radio silence from me since the World Cup started. She had found out about the engagement and screamed for Kyra to get onto the phone. 

After 40 minutes, Kyra looked at me almost angry, “ (y/n), I don’t know how much of this I can take…I really don’t” Before I knew it, we were fighting in our hotel room, she argued that I had to let go of my mother and I argued that my mother has done so much for me that Kyra wouldn’t have understood…I know that it was all manipulation on my mother’s part but when you’ve lived it your whole life it’s hard to actually come to terms with it. 

It ended with Kyra leaving the room, saying “Maybe your mum was right…you don’t need me” and electing to go to Steph’s instead. I didn’t follow her…I should’ve but, like a coward, I only whispered to myself..

“I still need you though, Kyra”

______________________________________________________________

A hand on my shoulder took me out of my thoughts, with a  fake smile on my face, I turned to see the individual in question.

“Hey Ian!” I gave the commentator in front of me a big hug.

“Amazin’ game out there. Hey I already spoke to Steph but might as well also try to rope in the future Missus, congratulations by the way. What I’m saying is we got to get Kyra to Arsenal, we get a great player and you get to have your future missus playing by your side. Told Steph I’ll call my people, just need you both to do the footwork.”

I nod the smile not fading from my face, “yeah I could do that, won’t fail you Ian”. He pats me on the back and leaves me in the tunnel. 

The universe really is cruel. At any other time, this would have been the best news in my life but I had received an email, that morning, from my manager that OL was eyeing to have me back and Kyra was still not speaking to me.

______________________________________________________________

Kyra took her engagement ring from me when the World Cup was over and we both went our separate ways. She only gave me a kiss on the cheek and went back to Sweden. No one was happier than that than my mother whom I ignored the best I could as I spoke with management both at Arsenal and OL.

Kyra arrived to sign with Arsenal in September and she made it a point to see me before she did. I had just left the office with my transfer documents in hand when she grabbed me and yelled through a whisper. 

“(y/n), I heard what you did, look I appreciate it but being on the same team is going to ruin what we have…your mum is going to explode once she finds out If I signed with Arsenal.  I can’t go through that again I-” I stop her as I show her the papers.

“I’m leaving for Olympique Lyonnais, Kyra…I don’t care what my mum thinks. I advocated for this club to sign you because you’ll have a true heart for the team that I never could because of my mum…Lyon is where my love for the game lies…and I can’t lose you, Kyra…If it means playing apart like this then so be it because I still need you in my life Kyra and Im not letting my mum take that away from me…not again.”

She looked at me and her face softened as she pulled me into a gentle kiss and leaned her forehead on mine.

“I love you so much, (y/n)” and with that I hugged her tightly.

“I love you too…and Ian Wright definitely wont once they announce my transfer in a few hours but hey they got KCC” I joke as I give her another peck on the lips.

Kyra pushed my shoulder with a roll of her eyes, “yeah and you got to answer to Caitlin, and Steph about this too”. 

Needless to say, I got some really angry texts from my friends later that evening and my mother probably…but eh who can know if you block the person on everything. 

[soggyriceee]

Idk how to work tumblr sorry, is this how you do requests? ☠️ IDEK IF YOUR TAKING REQUESTS IM SORRY. If you are tho could you pls do something along the lines of virgin fem Reader x König where Kö helps yn explore her body and figure out what feels good cuz she has no clue how sex works. PRETTY PLS SORRY IF YOURE BOT TAKING REQUESTS RN LIKE I SAID I HAVE 0 CLUE HOW TO WORK THIS APP TYSM 🫶🫶

let me help you | Konig

summary: request

warnings: oral(f!recieving), fingering, size kink, missionary , after care, lovey dovey Konig and totally no desperate Konig towards the end. like at all. oh and maybe some tummy bulge action

you were a christian, church raised girl. never once had a boyfriend. never went to parties. never kissed a boy. your parents were distraught when you ran away at 18. well, “ran away”. you saved since you were 16 for your own loft in the city and moved away without notice. changed your number and privated all socials. since then, you’ve been living yohr best life. so much so, you even managed to find a boyfriend.

tall man you met randomly at a bus stop coming back from your morning shift. he was going to his night shift. you had dropped your wallet grabbing your phone from your pocket and he saw it, quickly grabbing it and calling out for yoh. “your wallet. it fell back there.” he said, looking down at you.

he had a thick German accent, beautiful eyes and and well kept hair. and of course. he was insanely bigger than you. “thank you.” yoh would blush, quickly grabbing the wallet. not much was said after that, but instead you saw each other every day catching the bus.

finally, after seeing you everyday for a week, he finally went up to you this time for your number. and that following weekend you both were on a date, clicking almost immediately. and it only took him a three weeks to ask you, “can I be your boyfriend?”

you both have been together for 9 months now and it’s been the best 9 months of your life. he was caring, giving and gentle with you. he was your superman whenever you needed him to be. and he showed you the most amount of love you’d ever received.

one of the most important attributes he has is patience. you know Konigs been horny. sometimes you’ll wake up from a nap, hearing Konigs whimpers from the bathroom. it made you feel bad for not giving him sex the first couple months like most couples. but he never pushed you, never made you feel bad for it. “i understand mien herzchen. i’ll wait forever for you.” he comforted you one night when you confronted about your anxiety.

apart of the reason you hadn’t given him yoh was you were scared. scared of the pain, getting pregnant or diseases. you were raised with such a negative view of sex, the city and social media helped in changing your views yes, but you were still concerned of some of those things were true aboht sex.

the second was because yoh knew nothing about pleasuring someone. you didn’t even know how to pleasure yourself. you had tried before of course. but you didn’t know what you were doing. something he felt good, like when you would shift side to side on the couch you couldn’t help but let out a small whimper. you’ve felt the warmth in the pit of your stomach before, especially when you’d hear Konig at night or when he kissed you or even looked at you. you’ve gotten soaked before but you had no clue on what you were doing. so how could you pleasure Konig?

but tonight you put your big girl panties on and made your way to the drug store, looking for the pill. the morning after pill. Konig had no idea. he had no idea you’d been looking up things for sex. toys, positions. what usually feels good what usually hurts. you spend the last week studying up on sex and now you were ready.

when you got home, Konig was on the bed, watching whatever was on when you left. “hello libe. was your walk good?” he asked, sitting up with a smile on his face. you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you placed the bag on the bed. “uhm.. look. inside.” yoh said softly, looking back and forth between him and the flimsy bag.

“did you get me a gift?” he asked, grabbing the bag in his large hands and opening it. his smile fell, a more confused look on his face. when he looked up, you clenched your jaw before speaking. “i uh.. have been looking up these things. i was curious. but now i think i’m ready.” yoh said, clasping your hands in front of you.

for a bit Konig was silent, the bag still in his hands before humming. “are you sure libe.. this isn’t because you feel rushed or or guilty or-“ “no. i swear i-i’m ready.” you nodded.

it was silent for a moment before Konig gave you a smile, reaching over and pulling you into him. he gripped the backs of your thighs, pulling them to plop you on his lap, your legs straddling either side of him. his hands cupped the side of your face, looking at your lips before your eyes.

“i’ll go slow. promise me you’ll tell me if you get uncomfortable. or something doesn’t feel good and what does feel good.” he said, looking into your eyes. your cheeks were blushed but you nodded, giving a quiet “okay”.

he smiled before pulling your face into his, your lips moving slowly against each other. his tongue slid into your mouth, moaning softly into you. it didn’t take long for your pussy to start pounding, the familiar feeling in your stomach coming back. below, you felt the hardness of his dick press against your cunt, earning a small whimper.

he pulled away, going right for your neck. he kissed the soft skin before pressing his tongue flat, sucking your skin gently into his mouth. this earned another whimper from you, this time louder than the first. yoh instinctively put your hand over your mouth, embarrassed.

“no libe move your hand.” he said softly, pulling away from your neck. “did that feel good?” he asked, pulling your hand down from your mouth. you nodded, getting nervous and looking away quickly. “use your words. i need to know for real you liked it.” he smiled. “i-i liked it.” you nodded again, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

he smirked and shifted, grabbing your hips. “i’m gonna lay you down. is that okay?” he asked. another ‘yes’. he moved quick, laying yoh on the bed and following after, spreading your legs to lay between them. “may i?” he asked again, tugging the bottom of your shirt. you nodded. he continued this pattern, asking and doing until you were fully naked beneath him.

his breath hitched as his eyes scanned down your naked body. “w-what?” yoh asked, shifting to close your legs and cover your upper half. but he was quick to push your legs back open, eyes meeting yours. “i cant look at you beautiful?” he asked softly, giving you a small smile.

his hands massaged your thighs as he leaned down, pecking your lips before going further down to your neck. this time, he was a bit more rough. you felt his teeth nibble gently at your skin, his tongue running over the spot he but down on. naturally, your hands found his hair and you clung to it. this earned a soft groan from him.

“you like when i bite down on your skin like this libe?” he whispered, his hands moving further and further up your legs. your heart began to pound in your chest and you grew a bit nervous of where Konigs hands were going. and he could tell as soon as your breaths began to pick up.

he stopped his hands and the biting on your neck, lifting his head. “am i going to fast?” he asked, looking down to your eyes. “n-no not at all. you can keep going.” you smiled, grabbing his wrists and moving them. but he obviously was able to halt his wrist easily. “tell me libe. i can go slower. or or talk to yoh more to relax you. anything.” he said, shifting himself.

instead of calmness, anxiety and guilt washed over you. you felt like you were asking of too much. “libe.” he called to you, lifting your chin. “i-i’m just really.. nervous.” you said, “but i trust you. i’ve just.. never done this before.” you finished, looking down to his chest.

he was silent for a moment before speaking again. “tell me what you want me to do.” he said, letting your legs go. “where you want me to touch or feel. we’ll go at your pace.” he said, smiling down at you.

a small smile crept to your face, feeling a bit more relaxed. your heart slowed, but anxiety was still very much an emotion you were tackling. but you were ready for this. and you couldn’t have asked for a better person to do it with.

“i-i wanna know what it’s like to.. to get eaten out.” you said, not daring to look him in his eyes. a chuckle came from above, followed with a “you don’t even have to ask for that one mien libe.”

Konig began to shuffle, moving to lay on his stomach. his hands gripped either of your thighs, an excited smile on his lips. “your skin is so soft..” he said softly, pressing his lips to your skin. he continued this, moving up your inner thighs until he got to your pussy.

he moaned quietly, his bottom lip tugging between his teeth. “and your pussy is so pretty.” he smiled. again, your heart began to pound. “may i try something?” he asked, following with another kiss to your inner thigh. quickly you nodded, the feeling of need beginning to trump the anxiety.

he shifted once more, his arms looping under your thighs. “i’m gonna rub your clit for a bit. is that okay?” he asked gently. you nodded quickly again. “your words libe.” he said, his thumb beginning to dance around your pussy. “yes. please.” you blurted out, barely allowing him to finish his sentence. with a chuckle, he pressed his thumb against your clit.

your hips jerked back slightly, a small gasp leaving your lips. slowly, he moved his thumb against your clit, moaning as your juices coating his thumb. "does my libe feel good when I rub her swollen clit like this?" he cooed, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

you on the other hand were speechless, your mouth hung open slightly. your hips bucked up occasionally, your clit throbbing against his thumb. "y-yes I love it." you moaned out, your head falling back on the pillow. but you couldn't rest too long.

"gonna taste you now. cant wait." he groaned before smashing his lips to your pussy, replacing his thumb. naturally, a gasp left your lips as he sucked your clit into his mouth softly. "o-oh my.. God." you whimpered, fingers digging into the mattress.

his tongue pressed flat against your pussy, slowly licking up your slit. when he got to your clit, he moved his tongue in small circles, finally looking up to see your hand slapped over your mouth. so he stopped.

"well that's no fun." he huffed, reaching up to force your hand off your mouth. you knew that yes, making noise during sex was normal and a turn on for most men. but you were worried you'd overdo it and eventually turn Konig off. but nothing about you in this moment, unless it was something drastic, could turn Konig off. "I wanna hear how good im making you feel schatz." he said, smiling up at you before dipping his head right back down.

this time, you felt his tongue slowly slide into your cunt, earning a gasp in response. another new feeling. he moved it in and out slowly, coating as much of his tongue he could in your juices. you whimpered out, your head falling onto the pillow. you tried to keep your hands off from your mouth, so you decided to act upon something you had read previously. gripping his hair.

this was something Konig obviously liked very much because he groaned into your pussy as soon as he felt your hands in his hair. his tongue prodded at your spongy spot earning louder, more desperate moans from you. "k-keep doing.. that. please." you whined, bucking your hips back into his face so his tongue would abuse the same spot.

he chuckled, pulling away from your pussy to spread your lips apart before going right back into your cunt. "how about.. I try something new?" he said into your pussy, kissing your clit before pulling away. you whined at the lost sensation but nodded, only caring in this moment about him eating you out again. "im gonna add a finger. get you ready for me a bit more okay?" he said, maintaining eye contact with you. when you gave him the okay, he slid one finger in slowly, humming at the sound of your pussy.

"your so wet schatz.. I don't know if I can wait any longer to be inside you." he said, watching how shiny his finger got when he slid it back out of you. you watched as his finger disappeared, grunting at the feeling of your walls being stretched. his fingers by far were a lot bigger than yours. and while yes you've managed to figure out you can put your fingers inside, it was way different when it was someone else doing it. someone who had longer, thicker fingers.

what you especially liked was when he moved his finger up and down, hitting the same spot his tongue was a few moments ago. "s-shit Koni." you whimpered, throwing your head back onto the pillow. he moved his finger slowly, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. he was entranced by how sloppy your pussy was getting for him. "can I add another libe?" he whispered softly, not even bothering to make eye contact with you. "please." you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as he was already sliding another in.

it was a new feeling, being stretched out. having something.. well inside you. it was uncomfortable at first, but he talked you through all of it. "that's it libe, taking my fingers so good aren't you?" he cooed, kissing your thighs as he moved his fingers in and out of you a bit faster. you nodded quickly, your toes curling around the sheets. "c-can you go faster?" you choked out, lifting your head to meet his eyes. he smiled, pressing one last kiss to your thighs. "anything for you libe."

his fingers moved slightly faster, finger tips digging deeper into you. your mouth fell ajar, feeling your lower stomach begin to turn. "fuck libe you're clenching around my fingers. are you close?" he asked, shifting to move closer up to your face. you assumed yes. you felt something very new in the pit of your stomach. and whatever it was was approaching fast. so you nodded your head quickly, your ands finding his forearms to grip them.

"go ahead then libe cum around my fingers. you can do it." he whispered, leaning down to your bare chest. he caught a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it gently. the double stimulation pushed you towards the edge. but you got nervous. was this actually what an orgasm was supposed to feel like? "K-Konig it feels weird." you whined out almost inaudibly, trying to push away his arm. he released your nipple with a pop, looking into your eyes. "its okay libe just let it go. I got you." he said gently.

his finger went back to abusing your spongy spot and that alone was enough to finally push you over the edge. "o-oh God~" you whined out as your legs began to shake, your hands grasping onto his arm tighter. "thats it libe let it go.. let it all go." he cooed, watching as his fingers coated white with your cum.

your stomach was doing somersaults, your cunt spaziming around his fingers as they moved slower and slower. your chest rose and fell rapidly, your eyes fluttering closed. as soon as you began to realize how loud you just were, your cheeks turned a bright red.

"what?" he asked, picking up on your silence. his fingers finally slid out of your cunt, the feeling of emptiness taking over you. "I am.. embarrassed. I was so loud.." you admitted, grabbing a pillow to cover your face. as you did so, you heard Konig shuffling above you, his pants dropping to the floor.

"well..", he stripped the pillow away from you, meeting you with a bright smile, "you only gonna louder libe."

he tossed the pillow to the side before grabbing your under thighs, moving you closer into him. you shuffled to sit up, propping yourself on your elbows. "oh.." you accidentally said aloud. you had finally taken in his size, realizing how big he was. and it intimidated you. but he picked up on that very quickly.

"it will hurt just for a bit. like getting a shot." he said, leaning to press kiss to your forehead. "I promise it is gonna feel good." he said. you trusted him obviously. he was the one with experience after all. so you nodded and laid back down, swallowing the lump in your throat.

you felt him moving the tip of him up and dow, soft grunts coming from him. "you hear how wet you are for me libe? I think your ready." he said, smiling down to you. you felt ready. more horny than you were nervous. "please." you said softly, bucking your hips up once more.

König huffed, gripping your thighs to pull you closer to him. "take my hand, squeeze as hard as you want. and tell me if you wanna stop at any point. okay?" he said, sliding his fingers between yours. you nodded, gripping his hand. "your word, maus." he said again. "yes.. I promise."

he pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering a soft "I love you" before taking his other hand, gripping his base and pressing it against your hole. "ill push in just a bit.. and then when you get used to the feeling ill move more." he said, looking dow at your cunt.

slowly, he pushed inside of you, his mouth falling ope slightly as a soft breath came from him. your eyes squeezed shut, finger nail digging into his knuckles. he was right, it hurt. horribly. and it was only the tip.

he kept to his word, stopping once the tip was in. "h..how do you feel?" he asked, looking at your tensed body. but all you could do was give him a small nod, trying to get used to the feeling of you being stretched out. "take as much time as you need." he said softly, kissing your cheek, moving down to your neck.

his other hand moved to your breast, trying to get your mind off the feeling of his length inside you. and it helped. your body relaxed slowly, your nails removing themselves from your boyfriends skin. "can I go a bit more?" he asked. you gave him a yes, opening your eyes. you looked down, trying to see how much left he had to push in.

he slid out his tip before pushing back into you, stopping as soon as your nails dug into him. he kept doing this, kissing you through it all, praising you and telling you how good you were doing for him. how pretty you looked. and when he was finally all the way in, you were already worn out.

"dont tap out now libe.." he chuckled, as his pelvis pushed against yours, bottoming out inside you. his knuckles were marked up with your nails, your own knuckles sore and white from how tight you were clutching to him. "its... a lot." you whimpered, looking down to see all of him had disappeared inside you. his face turned a bright red, a small chuckle leaving him. "well thank you.. are you okay if I start moving?" he asked, his hand still in yours. and when you gave him a small yes, he pulled out slightly before pushing himself back in.

your head laid back on the pillow, your eyes squeezing shut as you got used to the feeling. he moved slow, watching your body to make sure you were okay. your fingers dug into his knuckles again, but this time in a sense of pleasure. small whimpers slipped past you as he pulled out more, pushing back into you.

"talk to me libe.. how are you.. feeling." Konig asked, his eyes trailing from yours to where your bodies connected. he wasn't going any faster, though he wanted so desperately to pound into you. your cunt wrapped around him tightly, sucking him back in with each thrust. "g-good.. can you go faster?" you asked, followed by a soft whimper. he nodded quickly, his free hand finding your hip as he moved his hips faster against yours.

your eyes squeezed shut, the pleasure taking over your lower half. your whimpers grew louder and out of embarrassment, your own free hand slapped over your mouth again. but Konig grunted, taking that hand in his other. "what did I say libe? I want to hear you." he demanded, his eyes locking to yours. you hadn't realized it, but your cunt clenched around him, finding it sexy how dominant he had suddenly became.

his head fell, going back to watch himself slide in and out of you. "fuck you're so wet.. just for me hm?" he asked, gripping onto your hands. his hips slowly picked up, deep moans coming from him. he loved watching how shiny his cock was as it slid out of you, listening to it talk back to him as he pushed back inside. the sound of your slick making him throb inside of you. the sound of his balls slapping against your lower arse.

his tip began to abuse right at your womb, causing you to cry out in a mix of pleasure but also pain. so his hips slowed down as he panted above you. "sorry libe.. your pussy is just so fucking wet." he chuckled, finding a small pleasure in your pained face.

his hips continued, slowing making sure to control himself. he let go of one of your hands, sliding it down your body to your puffy clit, rubbing it to match his thrust. your body reacted well to that, hips subconsciously bucking up. he chuckled, watching as your body squirmed beneath him. "feels good?" he asked, moving his eyes down to your cunt.

he doesn't know how he hadn't realized it before, but your lower half had a small bulge every time he pushed back into you. he hadn't even realized you responded to his question, his eyes locked onto how his cock filled you up, almost too much. "oh libe.." he whimpered softly, his hips again moving quicker against yours.

he couldnt help it, you were so sexy to him. he was fighting the urge to completely fuck you senseless, fighting the urge to grip your throat and fuck into you deeper, pushing your legs up to your head and hearing you cry out to him about how it was too much.

you had realized how his hips moved quicker, but it felt more pleasurable than it hurt this time. "f-feels so good Koni." you whimpered, your free hand gripping the sheets beside you. for some reason, the nickname made him more desperate for you, a whimper slipping past his lips. "fuck maus" he groaned, feeling himself already getting close.

he looked up at you, watching as your boobs bounced up and down with each of his thrusts. everything about you, your face, body whimpers was all too much for him. he was growing so desperate for you. it was a new feeling for him. of course he'd had sex before. it was an obvious fact he stated when you both began to get a bit more serious. but, the wait for this to happen, the tension and small discussions leading up to this made it so much better for not only him. but for you as well.

he was so lost in his own pleasure he hadn't felt his dick twitching inside you, the lot in his lower stomach forming quickly. it didn't help how your pussy gushed and spasmed around him, his own pelvis slowly becoming wet with your slick. "m-maus I wanna fill you.. up. you gonna let me fill this pussy up?" he panted, one of his hands gripping your chin to force you to look up at him.

"y-yes please.. please Koni." you whimpered, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. inside you, his cock twitched again, a breathy whimper leaving his lips. "fuck y-your gonna drive me crazy." he groaned, his head dropping to your neck.

his tip continued its abuse on your womb, your legs shaking on either side of him as that familiar knot came back. your nails dug into his shoulders now, crying out for him as that pleasure grew closer and closer. "cum with me libe. fuck I wanna f-feel you pulse around m-me." he moaned, pulling your lower half closer up into him.

your eyes crossed, jaw gone slack. the words, praises and soft 'I love you's' were so quiet compared to how loud you were being for him. and he fucking loved it. "I-im cumming libe.. o-oh fuck" his head lifted from your neck, eyes immediately going to your rolled back ones. your face alone made him shoot into you, your pussy pulsing around his already sensitive cock.

"I-it's gonna come... Konig~" you cried out as your legs violently shook beside him. his thumb moved quick to your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm as he breathed heavily above you, watching your body tremble for him. "s-such a good.. good girl. just for me." he breathed out softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

slowly, he pulled himself out of you, watching as his cum and yours drip from you and onto the sheets. if he wasn't so worn out, and it wasn't your first time, he'd slip his cock right back into you, collecting all the cum to push right back into you. so instead, he looked up at you to see your eyes already shut closed, your breathing soft and slow.

a small smile came to his face, taking your limp arm and pressing a kiss to your hand. "libe.. come on. at least go pee first. ill clean up the mess." he said, shaking you softly. but of course, you hadn't woken up fully. so for the rest of that night Konig did everything for you and when you were finally cleaned up fully, he would watch you as your eyes closed for the last time.

yay another request out.

[discokicks]

WHISKEY, TANGO, FOXTROT - ROY KENT.

PART FOUR OF ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: it's your first game of the season at chelsea and rebecca’s got some press for you to do. however, thanks to rupert, the reporters will have some questions you’re not exactly ready for. the same could be said for 2012 roy kent, who’s abusing his new avoidance power to the fullest extent. but, as the two of you continue to work and get closer, you realize that there might just be something else there.

word count & rating: 15.4k (holy fuck this is why it took 6 months), R (language per usual) chapter warnings: swearing, references to sex, minor allusions to sexual harassment, mentions of alcohol, the beginnings of sexual tension (slow and steady wins the race), rupert is a dick, roy kent has got around and everyone knows it, keeley and rebecca are wine drinking pr besties, men are trash (but we know this) author's note: long time no see and happy olympics season! it felt fitting to post this now, so I got motivated to get my ass into gear and write. there's A LOT to this one, so buckle up. and make sure you stay until the end bc baby we're cooking with gas now. this took a lot out of me, so i hope you enjoy! love u tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS, LATE JULY, 2012.

You’re up 1-0 when you retreat into the locker room at halftime during your third game of the Olympic Tournament against North Korea.

Despite the fact that you’re winning, it was a terrible showing from each of you, except for Mel, who’d been your lone scorer of the night. She’d had a breakaway and had managed to single-handedly beat three defenders for a pretty impressive goal. You’d practically jumped into her arms during the celebration, glad that someone was able to break the sleepy curse that had seemed to be placed on your team.

Your captain Katie O’Connor stands tall at the front of the room, ready to rip you guys a new one. She was the more… passionate of your three captains, potentially coming off as abrasive when things weren’t going your way or if she felt that things could be better. It was only because she cared so much. You all did.

“We should be beating them by four at this point,” she says, pointing out the door. A mumbling of agreements goes through your team, knowing that it’s the truth. “We’re playing like it’s fucking high school out there. It’s the fucking Olympics, act like we belong here, for fuck’s sake.”

The amount of ‘fucks’ that Katie drops instantly has you thinking of someone else. God damn it, he was probably watching, wasn’t he? You could only imagine the things he was thinking, or saying, for that matter. 

You know you shouldn’t care as much as you do, but… as much as you hate to admit it, you want to impress him. Or at least make it look like these training sessions have been worth it. There was something about him that made you want to prove yourself. It wasn’t that he demanded you to do so or that he’d value you less if you didn’t, but you wanted to. Unfortunately, you cared about his opinion. How tragic was that?

Curiosity gets the best of you. Before your coach can come into the locker room, you fish through your bag and take a peek at your phone, just to see if he, or anyone else, has said anything.

Sure enough, you see that you’ve got two texts from Roy Kent that were sent five minutes ago, right when you finished the half.

What a fucking atrocious half. I fucking dare you to hit the post one more time.

A scowl pulls at your lips, but you know it’s true. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t already thought yourself. He had an extraordinary talent for knowing how to be exactly the brand of jackass that pissed you off, though. It only became more apparent as you read the next message.

You could learn a thing or two about footwork from Rivera.

You scoff, glancing over at Mel, who, while she sat next to you, was staring blankly at the wall, undoubtedly in her own little world. Before she notices you looking, you’ve turned back to your phone and to his messages. “Asshole,” you mutter, but type out your response.

maybe i’ll get her to coach me then. she isn’t as much of a dick to me.

The response comes before you can put away your phone. Not your coach, he says, then sends another message. Relax out there. You’re somehow playing nervous and stiff at the same time. You’re a fucking anomaly. But before you can frown too hard at that, he says, You know how to see the field. So take a breath and fucking see it.

You throw your phone back in your bag with a huff, mind reeling as you attempt to think back to what the field looked like before the half. The last three possessions had you following Mel as she took the ball up the field. The defense had started favoring her side due to her dominance throughout the game, leaving… 

…Katie on the left side. And while they hadn’t left her open—

“Did you call me an asshole a second ago?” Mel asks from beside you, having broken out of her own trance. You flinch at the sound of her voice, instinctively flipping your phone over and against the bench you’re sitting on. 

She courteously spares you the weird look you know she’s holding back. “No,” you reply. You motion to your phone. “Roy’s texting me.”

Mel nods in understanding. “Gotcha. What’s Coach Kent have to say?”

“He’s being an asshole,” you repeat. “He says we’re ‘atrocious.’ Making fun of how much I’m hitting the post.” You turn to her. “He’s got good things to say about your footwork, though.”

Mel grins. “I knew I liked him.”

You scowl again at that. “He’s also telling me I need to see the field better.” Mel raises her brows at the look on your face, cueing you to go on. “I think Katie’s been open-ish for the last three possessions. They’re favoring your side.”

The two of you look back to your teammate once more as you consider this. “We could keep trying to draw the defense out,” Mel offers. “We scare them a little bit, hit her when she’s coming up.”

“She can beat that fullback in a heartbeat,” you agree.

“It’s worth a shot,” she says. “We can’t play any shittier than we already are.”

You nod at Mel with faux enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit.”

And that’s exactly what you decide. Mel jumps to her feet and explains your plan to Katie and the team, drawing up the X’s and O’s on the locker room whiteboard. You glance around the room cautiously, forcing yourself not to read into your teammates' expressions too deeply. 

But it’s hard. Especially when you’re an overthinker.

It’s a title you’ve resigned yourself to, much to Roy’s pleasure. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, it was the truth. And while you were still working to get out of that lifelong mindset, it didn't seem to be getting any easier. 

But your over-analyzing leads you to a result you like: all of your teammates seem to be on board with your ideas. You can’t deny that that feels good.

You especially can’t deny it when your coach walks into the locker room to see Mel’s play on the baker and says, “Well, you ladies are way ahead of me.” Because that’s exactly what she was going to draw up.

That feeling has you giddily awaiting the moment you can grab your phone before you head back out to the field to send a text to your newfound trainer. 

i’ll have a shot on net in the first ten minutes, you type to him, confidence radiating through the text. and it’s not gonna hit the post this time.

Your message reaches Roy when he returns to his phone at the beginning of the second half. He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him as he settles back into his couch, shaking his head when he glances up at the massive TV in his sitting room, the broadcast showing a close-up of you with a new sort of fire in your eyes. It’s a look that illuminates his dim and quiet flat, one that he can’t seem to part with until they cut away from you.

Within four minutes and fifty-five seconds, you draw the defense over to you and Mel, who wails the ball over to Katie’s side of the field. Katie has possession of it for five seconds before she catches her defender off-guard and sends it in between her legs to you. 

Five minutes in, you live up to your promise and send the ball into the corner of the net, the crowd roaring as Katie shakes you back and forth in excitement and Mel jumps on your back. One of the cameramen runs up to you to catch your celebration, and you stare down the lens with a satisfied smile and point in a way that tells Roy that you’re looking directly at him. 

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning even if he wanted to. With yet another shake of his head, Roy reaches out for the phone he’d thrown onto the couch cushion next to him.

I told you. Fucking anomaly you are, you stupid fucking Yank, he writes. Stay pissed off. It’s a good look on you, Fourteen.

When Roy sends that text, he keeps his phone closer to him this time, and somehow, his dim and quiet flat feels just a bit lighter, even if for a brief moment.

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

Before you can leave the Richmond facilities post-Saturday afternoon practice, you’re suddenly called into Rebecca Walton’s office.

It’s a day before your first game of the season and after your rather animated talk with Roy in the Boot Room yesterday, you’re feeling a bit lighter. You slept better last night (though you don’t see yourself hitting REM any time soon) and don’t feel like you’re being dragged down by the massive weight of… well, everything. It’s a feeling you’re taking in stride and one you’re welcoming with open arms. 

Practices before game days were typically a bit easier-going, and you and your fellow coaches had decided to make sure the team was up to date and understood the best plays to run against Chelsea tomorrow. They knew who to stop, what defenses to watch out for, and what trick plays to expect. While you hadn’t lent your voice to the conversation as much as you probably should have, especially after being yelled at for it yesterday, you spoke more than usual. While that still wasn’t a lot, it was enough. And that made you feel good, above all else.

That feeling goes away the second you walk into your boss’s office to see her and an incredibly familiar face staring at you from the couch area. Your lips part the second you see her, hand unsubtly slamming against the doorframe, not just to stabilize yourself, but to keep you from dramatically heel-turning out of the room, to never return.

By the way that Keeley Jones is looking at you, you can tell she’s just about on the same page. You suppose she’s got the better end of this deal, simply because your arrival doesn’t seem to be a surprise for her. At least she had a warning about the foreboding awkwardness of this situation. Your boss didn’t exactly grant you that luxury.

Then again, you figure Rebecca had no real way of knowing just how strange this might be for you. She didn’t know the extent of your history with Roy, and the only person who may was sitting right next to her, probably having shared more of that history than either of you cared to admit.

However, what you’re not expecting from Keeley, is the way she gapes at you, then turns to Rebecca to whisper, “Fucking hell, you didn’t say she was hotter in person.”

The shock and confusion flowing through your body makes you blink slowly at them to readjust, and you lean back on your back foot. You manage to stammer out, “I-I’m sorry to interrupt, I can come back--”

“No, no,” Rebecca says, beckoning you in after she finishes rolling her eyes at Keeley, “come on in and join us! We just opened a bottle.”

Join them? You glance at the open bottle of wine on the coffee table, then back to them. Is this why you were called here? To indulge in some post-work girl talk with your boss and Roy’s first real, and only public girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend, you remembered, but still.

You’re sure the discomfort you feel is broadcasted on your face, and that becomes especially apparent when Keeley offers you a small, kind smile. However, the action is sweet and it makes your over-anxious mind ease slightly. If she’s not going to be weird about it, you certainly aren’t either.

Besides, you have no idea what she actually knows about you and Roy. He would be the type to tell her nothing. He was the type to tell her nothing.

However, something about Keeley’s demeanor tells you that’s probably not the case.

When you realize that you’ve been standing like a freak in the doorway for just a moment too long, you snap out of your haze and return the smile, nodding gratefully as you enter Rebecca’s office.

“We were just discussing the game tomorrow,” Rebecca tells you as she reaches for the spare wine glass on the table. She eyes you with a wry grin. “I’d ask if you drank, but that bar cart I saw in your apartment gave you away.”

A surprised laugh escapes you at the rather forward comment, but it helps you relax slightly as you make your way to them. “Yeah, well. It was probably looking pretty sparse when you saw it.” You reach your hand out to Keeley, continuing to smile softly as you introduce yourself.

“Keeley Jones,” she says to you, though there’s a mutual understanding that this is just a formality. You both know who the other is. “Bad week, yeah?” she asks.

You reach for the wine glass Rebecca offers you and send a look of confirmation to Keeley. “You have no idea.” Your smile stretches as you look over at Rebecca and sit down. “These last couple of days have made up for it, though.”

Rebecca returns it. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

“I can imagine it’s been a little different than West Ham,” Keeley says. “We know what Rupert likes to pull. All that shit he’s been saying about you leaving?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how people aren’t seeing through him.”

The smile you wear falters slightly. “I, uh… haven’t really been keeping up with any of that,” you tell her. “Figured it wouldn’t be great to hear anything that anybody’s saying about me, y’know?”

“Totally get that,” she replies kindly. However, she hesitates. “...But you… haven’t seen anything that’s been going around?”

“Um…” you trail off, shifting in your chair. “No? Why? Is it really that bad?”

Rebecca and Keeley exchange a look. “It’s just—” Rebecca cuts herself off, looking back at you. “Remember how I said you wouldn’t have to do any press if you didn’t want to?”

Any remnants of the demeanor you had when you sat down completely drain from your expression. “Oh, my God. It is that bad, isn’t it?”

Keeley shakes her head, holding out her hands. “No, no, it’s really not. It could be so much worse,” she assures. “I mean, it is that bad with those weird little shits online who always have a problem with successful women in sports, but what else is new—”

“This is the worst of it,” Rebecca interjects, putting a hand on her friend's arm. She passes you a tablet as Keeley goes quiet and you take it cautiously. 

It’s a video of Rupert at a press conference, one you presume was taken this morning. The season kicked off tomorrow and Ted, Rebecca, and the rest of the team had been stuck doing interviews all day, something of which you weren’t sad to have missed out on.

You press the play button in the center of the screen to watch Rupert point at someone off-camera. “Yes,” he says. “Daniel, what have you got?”

Daniel, presumably, asks, “I was just curious how the team’s feeling with that coaching shake-up so close to Opening Day?” You hear a murmur go through the audience of reporters. “Losing someone like that and then watching her get picked up by Richmond must be tough on you guys, no?”

Rupert seems to take this in and sit with it, nodding slowly. “I won’t lie to you, Daniel,” he says after a moment. “I wasn’t happy with the note that we ended on. She had concerns toward the end of her tenure about her role on the team and with certain aspects of AFC culture. She knows just how talented I think she is, and how excited we were to have her working with us. And we had a wonderful couple of months working with her. But, unfortunately…” He shakes his head scornfully, like all of this was genuinely upsetting him. “...there were just some differences we couldn’t get past. The team was remarkably sad to see her go, but I don’t believe it’ll affect our performance this season.” 

He lets his answer hang there for a moment, but tragically, he’s not done. “Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps their values align more with what she wanted out of her AFC career.” And then, with a nonchalant shrug, he adds, “Perhaps she just wanted to coach with her old friend Roy Kent.” Your lips part at that, brow furrowing in disbelief as the reporters chuckle. “Who knows? I wish her the best and I wish Richmond good luck. I hope they’re a better fit for her.”

The clip cuts off there and you glance up at Rebecca and Keeley who are both bracing for impact. “What the fuck?” 

If either of them find your words unprofessional, they do nothing to indicate it. However, there’s something about them that tells you they’re more than comfortable with that kind of language in the workplace. “Yeah,” Keeley says. “So, like I said. It could be so much worse.”

“He was the one who was unhappy with how it ended?” you quote. “He’s upset about the differences we couldn’t work past? How about you address my concerns with AFC culture and get upset with your—”

You cut yourself off before you can say too much, focusing your attention on the plant in the corner of Rebecca’s office to stabilize yourself. What a fucking asshole. What a self-serving, lying, fucking asshole. He’s not worth the tears. Don’t give him that satisfaction.

You understand why you were called in now, why Rebecca prefaced the video with that question. You’d neglected to personally get ahead of Rupert and make a real statement on your choice to part with West Ham and sign with Richmond. Now you were paying that price— the price of being afraid.

“What—” Your voice cracks as you attempt to speak, and you clear your throat. “What type of press do I have to do?”

Rebecca’s sigh is empathetic. “We think it’d be smart to send you out with Ted tomorrow after the game. Make a statement, answer a few questions,” she says. “That is, if you’re open to it.”

Your brow raises skeptically. “I can say no to that?”

Rebecca chuckles. “You can say no to anything,” she tells you. “Roy refuses to do any sort of press and he’s managed to be completely fine. Labeled as a bitter, old recluse, but he doesn’t seem to care.” Typical. But then, she adds, “We do think it’s your best move, though.”

You know it’s your best move. You know it’s what you should have done at the beginning of all of this. You know that there’s nothing that you want to do less. But somehow, having that small, offhanded-out Rebecca offered makes it all sit a bit easier with you.

“I think so too,” you finally agree, sighing shakily. Rebecca and Keeley grin at you encouragingly, watching as you reach out to take a hearty sip of your wine. “So, what’s the plan?” You look over at Keeley. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

Keeley’s face lights up. “Exactly why I’m here,” she replies. “We’re gonna PR this shit so fucking hard nobody is going to know what hit them.”

Her enthusiasm makes the corners of your mouth rise despite everything else. “Can’t say I’m great in front of a crowd,” you warn.

“It’s rare to find people who are,” Keeley responds easily, flicking her hand like she’s brushing off your comment. “That’s why we’re going to make this as simple as possible.”

You nod. “Okay. Hit me.”

“Okay, three things you’re going to want to address,” she begins, tapping on her fingers. “The first is clarifying the ‘note that you ended on’ and those differences with the team. You don’t need to get into specifics if you don’t want to—”

“I really do not,” you tell her.

“Got it,” she says, and the look on her face tells you she really does get it. “Don’t get into specifics. Just say that you’re also upset things didn’t work out, but that it was nothing personal. Truly just leadership differences, like was first said. Even if it wasn’t.”

Your eyes narrow in question. “So, just lie?”

“Welcome to PR, babe,” she replies, and her grin gets more genuine when she sees you chuckle. “Alright, second; we’ve gotta say something about why you chose Richmond. Something that goes beyond our stale press release statement.”

“I didn’t think it was stale,” you offer.

“Aw, thank you!” The smile drops from her face. “But it was. All press releases are. They’re just words on a page, which is so fucking boring. And they get no feeling across. Which is what we need from you,” she says with a point. “You just need to actually say what we’ve already said.”

Once again, you nod. “So, you need it once more, with feeling?”

Keeley blinks back at you, then glances at Rebecca. “My god, I fucking love her.”

The smile that pulls at your lips is involuntary and smaller than the encouraging one that appears on Rebecca’s. “I told you that you would,” she says softly to her, but it’s just loud enough for you to hear. She then turns to you once more. “He brought up AFC culture and our values, but don’t even touch that.”

“'Values' is a loaded word,” Keeley says. “He used it for a reason, but if we’re looking to ignore all this, we shouldn’t be using those types of words.”

“Right,” continues Rebecca. “We’re not looking for a fight here. You don’t want to engage, we don’t want to engage. I think we can all agree we’re looking for this to be over and done with and forgotten about, yes?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“So, just agree with his comments. Leave it neutral. Non-confrontational,” Rebecca says. “Make it easy. Even if you’re not disappointed to have left the club, say that you are. If you want to touch on ‘culture’ reference AFC culture as a whole. The culture shock of transitioning from womens to mens sports.”

Neutral, you think. Non-confrontational. Easy. You can do that.

After a moment, you nod in confirmation at Rebecca. Then, you refocus on Keeley. “What’s the third thing we need to address?”

Keeley folds her hands awkwardly. “That would be… uh, your friendship with Roy.”

Your face goes hot almost instantaneously. “Oh,” you say softly. You scratch the inside of your wrist, finding it increasingly hard to keep Keeley’s gaze, especially as she continues to sit in that tension with you. “Do I have to? Address that, I mean? We were just friends. A ton of people in the football world are friends with each other. I don’t…” The lie sours your tongue and you glance over at Rebecca, hoping for her to throw some kind of life preserver to you over here. “I didn’t think anyone knew about that. It wasn’t like we were Matt Damon and Ben Affleck or whatever. Our friendship wasn’t mainstream news.”

“Some intern at The Sun found some photos of you two after the 2012 Olympics at a club,” Rebecca explains. Your entire body flushes as you remember that night. “They resurfaced and became relevant after your move to Richmond.”

“Okay, but, if it’s the night I think they’re referring to, we were out with our teams,” you attempt to reason. “There’s no reason other than media speculation that people would think we were… what was implied.”

Keeley points at you. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to say if you’re asked about it.” Then, with a good-humored shrug, she says, “If you want to be petty, you can talk about how this speculation wouldn’t be happening if you were a man.”

Rebecca looks at her friend. “That’s actually not bad. Because it wouldn’t be.”

“None of this would be,” you say to the two women in front of you. The tone you’ve taken is scornful, and while they may not know all the reasons why… they get it.

Keeley reaches forward to grab the bottle of wine at in the center of the coffee table and tilts it to offer it to you. You nod almost immediately, mustering up a small smile as she pours. “So, our plan is to send you in with Ted after tomorrow’s game. They’ll probably, mainly, have questions for you because that’s the drama right now, so I’ve written up something that we can practice and workshop.”

“Ted’s won the press over and is practically on a first-name basis with all of them,” Rebecca continues. “So, he’ll be a lifeline if you need him at any time.”

Keeley nods at the glass she just poured for you. “So, drink up. Because we’re going to run through this shit and roleplay.” She pauses for a moment, catching herself. “The press conference, I mean. Not the sexy kind.”

“Probably better for HR reasons,” you reply.

As that joke slips out of your mouth, you can feel your comfort level with them rising. Something about them is just so… welcoming. You’re in a room with your boss and Roy’s ex-girlfriend. You should be guarded. You should be censoring yourself. But as you continue to sit here, you can’t see yourself doing so.

Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps you were right, you fucking prick.

Keeley snorts softly and nods in agreement and you notice the smile that grows on Rebecca’s face. “I’ve heard the HR is rather easily swayed, so we might be able to get away with it,” Keeley responds, grinning as she sees you laugh.

Rebecca claps her hands together. “So. Non-sexy press conference roleplay?”

They both turn to you, and after a hearty gulp of your wine, you sigh. “Let’s get to it.”

LONDON OLYMPICS, LATE JULY, 2012.

You finish the game against North Korea with another win under your belt and return to utter chaos when you get back to the dorms.

While you were the only scorer of the last half, everyone stepped up their game in the ways that they had to. Things still weren’t perfect and there was plenty for all of you to work on going forward, but you were proud of the way your team had turned things around. 

When you return, it’s just past midnight, and all you want to do is go to bed. The game had drained you completely dry, and there was nothing more appealing than the idea of tucking into your horrendously uncomfortable dorm bed. Luckily, unlike last time, Mel’s on the same page as you.

She’d fallen asleep on your shoulder on the bus ride back for about an hour and spent the other three complaining that you weren’t paying attention to her. And why weren’t you paying attention?

Because Roy fucking Kent wouldn’t stop texting you. After you’d read over the text he’d sent to you during the second half (and ignored the weird feeling in your stomach and heat on your cheeks at him calling you an anomaly, God, why did that word land with you so well?), you’d returned to gloat. Hit the post again, he’d said. You hadn’t.

Things had gotten carried away from there. What had started as a slightly antagonistic and taunting back and forth had devolved into a conversation about the sleeping accommodations in the dorms (big-time footballer in his posh london flat doesn’t even have the decency to drop off a mattress topper and some extra pillows? you’d complained to him), then to about which countries you wanted to visit (Australia. For no other reason than to meet a quokka, he’d told you), then to what the fuck a quokka is and why he knew about them (that’s the stupidest looking animal i’ve seen in my life. i want 10 of them, you’d said), to whatever you’d landed on next.

You’d put your phone in your pocket the second you’d pulled back into the Village, helping the team unload everyone’s stuff. Everyone seemed completely dead, something of which you celebrated, simply because it meant there was no team bonding preventing you from going to sleep as soon as possible. The only thing that was doing that for you was Mel’s incessant questions about Roy.

“I really think you’re lying to me about this being a weird sex thing,” she says, readjusting her grip on the bag slung over her shoulder. “Because there’s no other reason that you two should be talking as much as you are.”

You make a face at her. “It’s not a weird sex thing,” you say for what feels like the seventeenth time that night. “We’re just friends. Or, you know, whatever the closest thing to a friend Roy has is.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Mel replies. Her voice echoes through the quiet night air surrounding the dorm’s courtyard. “Roy doesn’t do friends. He hasn’t for as long as I’ve known him.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

“I don’t. And I say that’s because he won’t let me get to know him. Because he doesn’t do friends.” She shrugs. “I mean, ask Jack or anyone who’s played with him. They’ll say the same.”

When you approach the doors of your dorm building, you make a teasingly innocent face at Mel. “Maybe I’m just different.”

“Right,” she says dryly. “Or he wants to fuck you.”

“Why are you trying to ruin this for me?” you whine as you open the door. “I’m actually, like, kind of having fun with him and this training thing we’re doing. He’s a good guy.” 

Mel shoots you a blank-faced stare. “You were calling him an asshole less than six hours ago.”

“Because he is. But he’s a good guy too,” you respond. “He’s like… I don’t know. Like Ron Swanson or Harrison Ford. Total curmudgeon but in a fun way.”

Mel’s lips purse. “Well, now I can’t stop picturing him with the Ron Swanson mustache.”

You grin, sidestepping fellow Olympians who hang around in the lobby of the dorm. “Have fun sleeping tonight.”

A heavy, exaggerated, long sigh leaves her as you approach the elevator. “Just be careful,” she says, putting her hands up in surrender as you look at her incredulously. “Even if you are just friends. And even if you’re not. As your actual friend, I have to tell you to be careful. All men suck, but athletes tend to suck ten times more.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reply in a sing-song fashion. The elevator doors open and you and Mel step in. “I appreciate you, though.”

“You better,” Mel scoffs. “I’m getting gray hairs thinking you’re doing weird sex shit with Chelsea’s Finest on a random pitch in the middle of London.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, my God, can these things close any slow--”

“Hold the door!” shouts a voice from the lobby. On instinct, you reach out to stop the doors that were finally closing, feeling Mel’s elbow in your side. The voice gets louder as it gets closer. “Thank you. Did not feel like waiting for this thing again.”

Into the elevator walks (quite possibly) the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got the quintessential surfer look to him, but in a way that works. He’s blonde (while you’re definitely more into dark hair, you can’t deny just how good he looks), at least six-three, and is built like a lean brick house. His curls fall into his eyes that squint into a smile as he looks at you and Mel.

“Oh,” he says as he walks in. “Congratulations on the win today.”

You and Mel stare at him in awe, snapping out of it as you realize that you’re gawking. “Thank you,” you manage to get out. You try to place his accent and what sport he could possibly specialize in, but your brain malfunctions. “I would say the same to you but I’m… uh--”

Luckily, he seems to catch on and saves you from your misery. “I’m Luca,” he says, holding out his hand for you and Mel to shake. “France. Swim team.”

“Nice to meet you, Luke,” Mel says, finally recovering from her trance. “You have any events today?”

“We did,” he says, though he seems to be talking more to you than to Mel. “Placed silver, so we can’t complain.” When you two congratulate him, he nearly brushes you off. “I have heard your team is looking like you’re going to go all the way this year. It is fun to watch.”

“We’re having a good run,” you respond, and he nods at you with that same breathtaking smile. “We’ll see what happens though.”

“Yeah, you are good.” Luca pauses for a moment, then shrugs coyly. “You’re American, so you are not as good as France, but you are up there.”

You see Mel’s head tilt out of the corner of your eye. “Easy now,” she warns with a light-hearted smile. “We beat them by two in our first match.”

Luca throws his hands up, grin turning teasing. “Just telling the truth. I must support my own.”

“Well,” you say, brow furrowed. “We’ll see when we get to the finals.”

“Oui. I believe that we will,” he responds. You notice that he’s leaned in closer than you had previously anticipated and the realization makes your face heat. “We should put a wager on it.”

“You want me to bet on my own team?” you ask rather bluntly, hearing Mel cough to cover a laugh.

“I suppose, yes,” Luca answers. The elevator stops at his floor and his eyes flick to the number on the small screen. “If France wins in your little tournament, you must purchase me a drink when these games are over. But if you win…” He trails off with a shrug as the doors open. “I’ll buy you one. It is only fair, no?”

You blink at him, trying to make sense of this entire situation. Is he flirting with you? Setting a friendly bet to get a drink? Just trying to be a jerk by referring to your Olympic Games as a ‘little tournament’? Then again, he was French, so many that’s just the way he spoke.

Yet another nudge from Mel finally has you answering. “I’m the one playing,” you say slowly, cautiously trying to read him. “I feel like I should have a better prize for winning.”

Luca seems to consider this but shrugs once more. “Those are my terms. Even I cannot make exceptions for beautiful women. Do you accept?”

Okay, so maybe he is flirting with you. This beautiful, French, god of a man is potentially flirting with you. You wish he’d upped the stakes by asking you to dinner or something to offer something more direct, but this is what you’re getting. As he exits the elevator, he puts a hand on the door while he awaits your answer. 

But, you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like, you don’t know if you’ll want him as a prize if you win, or as a consolation if you lose. But, you figure, it’s just fun. And he’s hot. So why not.

“I’ll consider it,” you decide, mirroring that grin of his.

Luca nods at you, motioning to the hallway behind him. “The deal expires soon. And now you know where to find me.” The smile returns. “So find me if you’re interested.”

And with that, your movie-star-looking, strange Frenchman saunters off down the hall, leaving you with a million questions and an American soccer player who’s gaping at you.

“That was the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life,” Mel says, staring at the now-closed doors. “I’m not even into that and… And he… And you said you’d consider getting a drink with him?”

“He made a bet with me,” you argue. “He didn’t ask me out. And even if he did, I didn’t say no.”

Mel looks at you like you’re both insane and the dumbest person alive. “I think we need to get you checked for a fucking concussion, because… what?”

“He didn’t!” you insist, suddenly doubting your own instincts. “Did he?”

The elevator stops and Mel makes a break for the doors. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

You watch helplessly as Mel walks toward your dorm, muttering things about you under her breath that you can barely hear. The second you step off the elevator to follow, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. 

Get some sleep, Fourteen. You’ve earned it. I’ll see you on Wednesday.

You find yourself smiling down at your phone, and for a moment, all thoughts of missed signs and Mel’s words go quiet. you too, you reply. big game tomorrow. and you know i’ll be harassing you like you did to me, so you better bring your a-game.

Before you can open your door to tuck in for the night, you get a response. I’m counting on it.

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

Returning to Chelsea is like having one foot stuck in a dream and the other in a nightmare.

On one hand, it’s nostalgic. It’s loud and boisterous and you can’t escape the blue even if you tried. The field’s in the same pristine condition as you remember and the liveliness of it all engulfs you completely. It makes you think about everything that happened here and how easy it used to be.

But, on the other hand… it makes you think about everything. Those aforementioned easier times were a precursor to your downfall, and it all started here. It was the catalyst. Somehow, this place that had been in your life for an inordinately short period of time still had the same effect on you as it did eight years ago. And when you stare out at the field, you can't help but wonder what if.

As those memories start to creep into your head, you suddenly begin to feel very hot and incredibly overwhelmed. The tunnel you’re standing in is quickly going from something familiar to something more liminal. You swear it’s getting smaller too.

But on a day like today, you know you really can’t be panicking about the past. Your team’s on the field and your coaches are waiting for you to join them. There were more pressing things that were worthy of a panic attack.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and turn to the light emanating from the field at the end of the tunnel. You’d never talked yourself out of a panic attack at the prospect of more important panic, but at this point, you’d take what you could get. Focus on the clamminess of your hands. Focus on how bright the field is and how much it’s hurting your eyes. Focus on running through the new plays you now know like the back of your hand. 

As you walk down the tunnel and go through your maniacal little sense check, you decide to focus on something that you hear. And what you hear snaps you out of whatever state you’re in and makes it all quiet down a little bit. Because as you realize what it is you’re hearing, a very different feeling of… something takes over. 

“—HERE! HE’S THERE! HE’S EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE, ROY KENT! ROY KENT! HE’S—”

It’s nostalgia. It’s dread. It’s pride. It’s irritation. It’s… so many fucking things all at once and you can’t possibly stop yourself from smiling at it. The twinge you feel pulling in your stomach stays with you as you suppress that urge. Damn it.

Despite his final years being spent at Richmond and despite his new coaching status, they still adore him. You’d jokingly called him a “Chelsea Legend” more times than you could count, but it was true. It’s what he was. Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

By the time you make it to the field, Roy’s standing up from the coaches’ bench to show his thanks to the stadium. The cheer is resounding, the song continuing amongst it and you swear under your breath as that feeling lingers. 

It doesn’t go away as he turns to sit back down and meets your gaze instead. And, in typical Roy fashion, while he refused to show any emotion when thanking the city that supported him for years, a fraction of a smile makes its way onto his face when he sees you. 

(God, you hate yourself for noticing.) 

Looking away, you take another steadying breath and make your way to him and the rest of your team. The Richmond pullover you’re sporting rubs against your neck uncomfortably, but before you can fix it, you realize something: the cheers are getting louder. Confused, you look up at the jumbotron, knowing that that type of volume couldn’t possibly be for you. 

Lo and behold, it’s so not for you. It’s for Zava in the owner’s box, who’s staring at the camera like a professional wrestler, egging the crowd on. Right. Of course. Fucking Zava. You take a seat next to Roy as you stare up at the screen. 

“You think we have a chance?” you ask him, and you see him turn to you from the corner of your eye. “I’ve heard Rupert’s been putting in work there.”

Roy huffs. “Fucking twat puts in work everywhere but the things that matter,” he mutters, looking back to Zava. Your brows shoot up in agreement. “Let’s hope Zava’s not stupid enough to fucking fall for it.”

“Rupert knows how to stroke an ego,” you reply, glancing over to Jamie, who was warming up on the field, unsubtly making a very conscious effort to not look up at the screen. “He knows how to get what he wants. Speaking from experience.”

Roy scowls, and it’s a bit deeper than you were expecting. But, before you can dwell on that, he’s moving on. “You alright?” he asks. 

You know it’s meant to be casual on his part, but there’s an undertone of concern that you try to ignore. “Yeah,” you say through a sigh, hesitantly meeting his stare as you feel it boring into your cheek. You sigh again. “I’m good.” There’s a bit more conviction behind your voice this time, and it seems to satisfy him enough. “I’m nervous, but y’know. It’s a game. I’m always nervous before games.”

“I know,” he replies. “I’ve been waiting for you to throw up.”

It’s your turn to scowl now. “I only do that for big games. This is basically summer league.”

(While your sarcasm was flat, it didn’t go unnoticed. This was, in fact, a big game. Perhaps one of the biggest of your life. You’d thrown up twice today. But he didn’t need to know that.)

Roy looks unconvinced, but you’re thankful when he doesn’t press you further. “You know what to do today,” he tells you, and the assurance in his voice is palpable. 

You do know what to do today. You’ve got to prove why you were hired. Be the coach you know you can be. Get over that crippling anxiety that’s eating you alive. But instead of getting back into that, you say, “I know.”

“Fucking shook on it, too. Means you have to do it.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and slump back into your chair. “Yeah, Roy, I know. I made that rule up. I got it.” With another sigh, you say quietly, “Just let me get there.”

His eyes remain on you. You think he’s going to say something else, but before he can, Ted whistles, calling everyone to attention. As the team rounds up, you and Roy stand.

Instead of saying whatever he was about to, he offers you a nod. 

You got this, he tells you silently. 

And despite the weird, horrendous, painful nether space your relationship currently exists in, the action does make you breathe a little easier. 

You send him one back in thanks.

What doesn’t make you breathe easier, however, is the score at the end of the half. What makes it even worse, is the unprofessional, pedantic Kent Rule that Roy has placed on the team that doesn’t allow anyone to speak in front of Trent Crimm.

Roy’s arms cross over his chest as soon as the writer enters the room, your players quieting down in suit. Your head tips back in annoyance, bracing for whatever’s about to come.

But nothing happens. The team remains quiet and wildly awkward and Trent aptly reads the room. Before he can leave, however, Ted’s calling for him to stay and is asking for Roy to chat.

Roy sends you a glance, then follows his head coach to the back of the room. While the players continue their talks in hushed tones, Beard inches over to where you stand. 

“Did I see a playbook in your bag earlier?” he asks quietly, making you flinch in surprise. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were listening in to their conversation.”

You shoot Beard a look. “I was not,” you say, even though you so totally were. “And yeah? I, uh, take that with me everywhere.”

Beard nods. “Are they your plays?”

“Most of them,” you reply, shifting uncomfortably. You hadn’t talked about that book with anyone since you coached your college girls, and anyone you had shown it to over at West Ham hadn’t given it the time of day. “Why?”

“I want to see them,” he says, shrugging at your surprised expression. “If you want to show them to someone, that is.”

A small smile pulls at your parted lips, and you nod back at him. “That’d be—”

“CRIMM!”

Roy’s voice startles you again, and this time, it gets Beard too. You both turn to see Roy walking back toward the showers, Trent hesitantly following in tow. Ted offers a small smile to both you and Beard as he returns.

“That’d be great,” you whisper to Beard, finishing your sentence. “Thank you.”

The next few minutes are just as awkward as the previous ones. No one knows exactly what to do, or how the conversation behind you is going to play out. You know how hard it is for Roy to let go of things. Forgiveness was never something he excelled at, especially when it came to more personal topics. Not that you were any better at it.

You look around the locker room, watching each of your players whisper animatedly amongst each other. You were down by one and there were no signs of giving up. Each of them knew they were still in this. Even more so, you hadn’t heard any unkind or unsupportive words spoken since you got into the room. 

Your mind takes you back to the second summer scrimmage you coached at West Ham. You were also down by one at the half, and the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. Blame was being shoved down everyone’s throat, clinging wherever it would stick. Nathan Shelley had reprimanded three players within a minute and all of this was for a scrimmage. Nothing about that game mattered or counted. This, of course, was remedied the second you started winning, and the locker room was a wildly different place when you ended up winning by three.

While West Ham seemed to like each other, there was no sense of camaraderie there. It was nice, but nothing was kind. Richmond seemed like a family. You were starting to see that now. 

It wasn’t something you were able to embrace right now, but there was a growing piece of you that was… hopeful that you’d be able to at some point.

At that realization, you feel your body relax for a moment. Only for it to tense back up again as you’re scared for a third time, by Roy and Trent coming back to the group. As soon as he gives the green light to the team that Trent’s safe, the locker room erupts into relieved chaos.

Jamie starts shouting about the passing lanes. Sam yells out something about Chelsea’s lack of defense. More and more voices begin to speak up to offer their insight, and while they’re all on the right path, nobody’s said the right thing yet.

You can feel the words rising in your throat. Your mind continues to spin. Every thought you’d held on to, every tip you wanted to say, every nerve you had about saying the wrong thing was bubbling within you and you could feel yourself about to burst. 

No more being quiet. No more being afraid. No more being passive.

I know that you know them on the field. But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.

You can feel your hands begin to shake back and forth in anticipation of whatever it is you’re about to say. However, you don’t realize that someone’s been watching you until they step beside you.

“C’mon,” they chide, making you jump, “Fucking say it.”

You don’t have to look to know that it’s Roy, but you still turn your head. His eyes fall from yours, to your hands, then back to your face. He’s familiar enough with your tells to know what’s going on. One part of you is grateful to have that. The other part wants to kill him.

The expression you wear reads hesitance, and you’ve only got about three minutes before the team needs to head back out.

As he continues to stare at you, you can hear his voice in your head. This is your job. You signed up for this. You’re a coach. So fucking coach. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath and ball up your fists to stop the shaking. Fucking say it.

So, amidst the noise and the yelling and the bickering, you do.

“EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The silence that takes over the locker room is immediate and deafening. Every single person stares at you in shock, jaws agape and eyes wide as if they couldn’t imagine looking anywhere else. 

Every person but one. And if you were to turn and shake the sudden anxiety of having all attention on you, you’d see him smiling softly to himself, something like pride gracing his typically stoic expression.

It takes a moment before you realize they’re all waiting for you to say something. You glance over at Ted, who, while still a bit taken aback, nods at you encouragingly. 

You’ve got the floor, Coach. Let’s do it.

“You’re all right,” you begin, motioning to each of them as you speak. “Yes, Jamie, they’re blocking the passing lanes. It’s a straight-up wall once you get into the midfield. And yeah, Sam they’re not marking you guys. Because they don’t have to. You’re all just…” You search for the word, throwing a hand up when you land on, “...running around aimlessly out there because you’re trying to see what’s going to work. But you know what will?” 

They all just continue to stare at you. Whether or not it’s because nobody has an answer or because they can’t believe you’re actually talking like this, you don’t care. Because you answer for them. “You make them mark you. Force them to break down that wall. Draw them out, and then pass through the cracks,” you tell them, offering a small grin as you continue. “I know you guys. And I know it hasn’t seemed like it because I’ve been… quieter. But I know the type of team you are, and each of you are so, incredibly good at what you do. You’re way better than what you’re doing out there. Like, way better.”

Your team remains quiet, but you know they’ve snapped out of their surprised trance because they’re smiling at you. And they look on board. Your grin grows as you notice. “So, let’s go out there and start this season off right, huh?”

That gets them up and out of their seats. The boys erupt in a cheer, clapping as they gather around in a circle, each of them putting their hands in the middle. Dani’s voice echoes through the locker room as he yells, “For Coach’s first game!”

Another round of cheers follows before Ted looks over at you. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he tells you, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. “Alright. I second everything she said. Now get out there and show them what you’re made of. Okay, four on three!”

Hands go up after their chant, and the team runs out of the room with a type of energy that you’re not sure you’ve seen before. You hang back for a moment to take a breath.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you turn to see Ted smiling at you. “Nice to hear your voice, Ace,” he says, squeezing it softly. “I hope we’ll hear it some more.”

You send him a thankful smile, nodding in affirmation. “You will.”

Ted squeezes your shoulder once more, heading out behind the team. Beard nods in your direction, looking vaguely impressed in the way that only he can, before following suit. 

That leaves you and Roy in the locker room, and somehow, for the first time, you feel like you can completely relax. A shuddering breath leaves your lips, chest heaving down as you do so. You hear Roy huff when he moves to stand next to you. 

“Well,” he says. “That was one fucking way to do it.”

“I have no idea what I said,” you tell him. “I blacked out after I yelled at everyone to shut up.”

You get a huff of a laugh out of Roy for that one. “You did fine.” He doesn’t miss your dubious look. “I’m serious. You did well.”

“Yeah?” you ask.

Roy nods, expression turning a bit more earnest. “Yeah, Fourteen. You did well.”

The nickname makes a lump form in your throat, and it takes everything in you to ignore it. It’d been a while since you’d heard that one like this. It settles like cement in your stomach and you wish you could shake the feeling. He keeps his gaze on yours until you blink away, focusing on anything but him.

“Thanks,” you manage. Again, because he’s being nice, you suppose you can be too. “And, uh… thanks for pushing me. To do that, I mean.”

Roy nods, albeit a bit uncomfortably. “You needed it.”

“Yeah,” you say again. You hold his stare for one more second before returning his nod, the tension in the air easing within the moment. “Let’s go win a game, Coach.”

You don’t see the way Roy hides a smile as you turn to exit, the reflexive words of ‘not your coach’ on his tongue. But, he bites them back because, well… he is a coach. And so are you.

And as strange as all of this has been for the last week, it hasn't actually felt real to him until now. You’re here. You’re here and working with him and you’re not going anywhere.

The idea of it doesn’t make Roy panic as much as he thought it would.

(Though, unfortunately, that idea is what gets Roy to freak out. But he figures he’s got a bit of time to work that one out.)

LONDON OLYMPICS, EARLY AUGUST, 2012.

“You ever date a swimmer?”

It’s a question you pose to Roy seemingly out of the blue in the middle of one of your many footwork drills of the night. It was all he’d wanted to focus on for tonight’s training session, especially with your quarter-final game against New Zealand on Friday. While the idea of practicing again tomorrow was still up in the air, Roy had insisted on this practice being solely about fixing up what he viewed as your one weakness.

Roy looks up from your feet in confusion. “What?”

“Have you ever dated a swimmer?” you repeat, enunciating your words in a mildly obnoxious manner. “Perhaps a French person? But any swimmer will do.”

He’s still staring at you like you have three heads. “The fuck are you on about?”

You throw your hands up in a shrug. “I’m just asking. I find it hard to believe that amongst the slew of hook-ups I’ve read about, you haven’t slept with a swimmer.”

Those furrowed brows raise in interest at your statement. “Oh, you’ve read about those?”

Your eyes roll. “So not the point of what I was saying. Answer my question.”

“Foxtrot,” he says, watching you look at him in surprise. “Now shut the fuck up and finish your drills.”

“You really want to use our newly-established one Foxtrot of the hour on a simple topic like this?” you question.

Apparently, he doesn’t. “No, I haven’t dated a swimmer,” he finally tells you, exasperated. He glances down at your feet. “Stay on your toes. That fucking left foot of yours is always fucking flat.” Still staring at your feet and ignoring the way you roll your eyes, he inquires, “Why the fuck are you asking? And why do they have to be French?”

“I think I got asked out by one yesterday,” you say. Roy’s gaze meets yours with a speed that nearly makes you stumble in the middle of your drill. “But I can’t tell if he was being a weird little jerk or if he’s just French.”

While his lips twitch up at the last part of your statement, he seems more stuck on the first. “You think you were asked out?”

“Okay, it was strange,” you reply, sounding a tad defensive and slightly breathless. “He was kind of like, negging me? Which, you know, I’m now used to because I started hanging out with you.” Roy shoots you a look, but you carry on anyway. “But he was all, ‘oh yeah, you’re good. But not as good as the French team.’ And then he was like, ‘how about this, if France beats you guys, you have to buy me a drink. But if you win, I’ll buy you one.’ So, I’m kind of confused.” You stop your footwork as Roy’s stopwatch goes off and you take a moment to catch your breath. “And I’m honest enough to admit that I was only entertaining it because he was hot, but I truly can’t tell if he’s flirting with me and asking me out because he thinks we’ll win, or if he’s trying to get free drinks out of me because he thinks we’ll lose.”

“He was asking you out,” Roy says bluntly, continuing to look unimpressed. “He did a fucking horrendous job of it, but yeah. He’s interested.”

You nod, absorbing this for a second before throwing your hands up. “Why do guys do that?” 

“Do what?” he asks. “Ask girls out?”

Your expression quickly matches his. “Yes, exactly. I’d love for you to explain what happens when a man loves a woman, Roy,” you deadpan, biting back a smile as you see one grow on his lips. “No, dickhead. Why do guys think that… that’s the way to ask someone out? Like, I love a little banter as much as the next girl, but you gotta be good at it. And if you’re not good at it…” You shrug. “I don’t know. If you’re bad at flirting, you’re bad at flirting. That’s okay. That just means you’ve just gotta be direct with how you’re feeling.”

There’s a brief moment where Roy seems to consider this, but shakes his head soon after. “Some don’t know how.”

“Well, they should take classes from you or something,” you reply. “Because you’re the most direct guy I know.”

Roy’s scowl deepens. “Thanks.”

“That’s a compliment,” you say, pointing at him. His expression doesn’t change. “I’m serious. I appreciate it. You’re never afraid to tell me shit. It’s admirable.” A wry grin spreads across your face. “Flirting with you must be a three-sentence interaction.”

He casts his eyes up to the night sky. “Fuck’s sake, you’re on one tonight.”

“No, I’m curious. How do you do it?” you press with raised brows. “You told me when we met that if you were trying to ‘chat me up,’ I’d know it. So, c’mon. How does the magic happen?”

Though you were sure that it was impossible, Roy somehow looks even less impressed. “Foxtrot,” he all but snaps at you, making a low noise at the way you crush your lips together to hold back a laugh. “And I’m fucking serious about it this time. Using my one for the hour, or whatever the fuck.”

“Fine, fine,” you say, honoring your established rule with a surrender. “You don’t want to waste your succinct flirting charms on me, I get it. I won’t push you.”

Roy scoffs under his breath, fidgeting with his stopwatch. “They wouldn’t be.”

The words make you pause. “What?”

The stopwatch in his hand beeps as he finishes fiddling with the buttons. “You said they’d be wasted on you.” His eyes flick up to catch yours. “I can guarantee it wouldn’t be a waste.”

He speaks so casually that you almost don’t know what to do. You can’t tell what he means. Would his efforts not be a waste because he… likes you? That he wouldn’t even try if he wasn’t interested? Or is he just so confident in his abilities that he thinks he could get you that easily? That he could turn it on within minutes and make you rethink your entire, weird little friendship that you’ve started over this week? Because, to your knowledge, Roy hasn’t shown any sort of sign that he’s interested in you.

Or has he? Was Mel right again? Have you been reading this situation wrong? Was his bickering and negging his strange way of trying to flirt with you? Getting in your ear during drills? Texting you during games? Calling you an anomaly?

You nearly shake the thought out of your head. He’s Roy Kent. He’s quite literally known for being stoic, for his confrontational personality, and for his hotheaded tendencies. You’ve seen all of those traits since you started training together and nothing’s tipped you off that it could be anything more than friendly. Or whatever his version of friendly is.

You’ve also seen the kinds of women he dates. They’re actresses, singers, models, heiresses-- rich London elite. The shitty little one-bedroom you’ve got back home cries out in shame in the back of your mind. The Team USA Nike campaign that you were barely a part of for the World Cup taunts you. Actress, singer, model, and heiress you were not.

You’re not sure if he sees the look of confusion on your face, but you turn away before you can confirm anything. “Right,” you say, drawing the word out slightly. You kick the ball you’d almost forgotten about toward him. “Anyway. I’m bored of these drills. I need to do something else or I’ll go insane.”

Roy receives your pass, placing his foot on top of the ball with a quirked brow. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he attempts to gauge your reaction, momentarily throwing you off. “When have you ever had a say about what goes on in these sessions?”

“Well, never. But I think that says more about your coaching style than it does about anything else, despot.”

Roy rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that night. He’s found that it’s something he tends to do frequently when you’re around. “I told you that footwork’s the only thing we’re working on tonight.”

“Yeah, but I’m bored,” you repeat. “Don’t you have like… I don’t know. Games we can play?”

“Games?” he parrots. He almost sounds offended. “What, are you five years old?”

You completely ignore his comment and gasp, pointing at him. “Let’s play knockout.”

“Again, I ask, are you fucking five years old?”

You look at him, pouting as you slouch over. “C’mon,” you practically whine. “It’s totally a footwork drill. But it’s fun. And it’s better than you just standing there menacingly with a stopwatch like you’re Frankie Dunn.”

Roy looks at you, then hesitates. “You’re a terrible fucking negotiator.”

That moment of hesitation lets you know that you’ve almost got him. While you may be a terrible negotiator, you’re something else: observant. The thing you’ve learned about Roy is that he physically can’t back down from a challenge. You know that there’s something ironic in that, but you figure that’s why you two have worked together so well so far.

So, your eyes narrow and you allow yourself to step forward to do just that; challenge him. “And you’ve got South Korea in a couple days. From what I saw last night, you need the practice.”

Roy’s head tilts, the beginnings of a dangerous smile twisting the corners of his lips. “Is that right?”

“I recall a lost possession toward the end of the first half that easily could have been avoided,” you say, sticking your leg out to kick the ball out from beneath his foot. The faux passive tone you’ve taken on nearly dissolves at the way his eyes darken. “For the amount that Chelsea's Finest goes on and on about footwork, you’d think he’d be better at it.”

Something between you two shifts the second those words leave your mouth. You’re not sure if it’s the way he’s looking at you (or continues to look at you, God, you don’t think he’s blinked yet) or if it’s your new proximity, but things feel completely different from when you started. The stare you’re holding is charged. It’s not just a challenge anymore— there’s something else there. It makes your mind whirl.

Roy’s voice is low when he asks, “What would you have done differently?”

It’s not what you were expecting, but it offers you a reason to look away from his piercing gaze, take a breath, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you say. “Crossed my mark up a little. Probably would have sent it up the field. Your striker was practically begging to be passed to.” You glance back up at him, with a smile that borders on teasing. “Definitely wouldn’t have hit my mark as hard as you did when you lost the ball.”

“He fucking dove,” is his response, sounding only slightly annoyed. But, when he sees you chuckle, he comes back to, “Who was open upfield?”

His question is genuine, like he’s actually interested in hearing your answer. “I don’t know. Didn’t recognize him. I think he’s a rookie,” you reply with yet another shrug. “But if you led him a little bit, he would have been open.” Roy’s brow draws as he hums something affirmative. When you realize he’s actually thinking about the play, considering what you’re saying, you can’t help but throw in, “Plays like that happen when you’re thinking ahead, Coach.”

Your tone has Roy glaring down at you, and you can feel the look sear through you. “And the goal that happened immediately after that was all instinct.”

“Maybe,” you say noncomittally. "But it could have been better if you all had thought ahead."

That tension between you shifts again, but this time, it’s in a way you’re really not expecting. When Roy looks back at you, there’s something disbelieving in his eyes. As if he can’t figure you out. But it’s also something almost… fond. “You really watched the game last night.”

It’s a question that comes out sounding like a statement. You’re not sure why he looks so surprised or why the emotional state of this conversation keeps going back and forth, but you say the only thing you can think to: the truth.

“You watch mine,” you reply as if the answer was obvious. “And believe it or not, I like watching you play.” Roy blinks at you, obviously not expecting that. For good measure, you add, “Being on the field actually gives you a reason to be a dick, so.”

That same searing stare returns, and it fixates on you long enough to make you itch. You don’t break it, but you rock back and forth on your heels, thinking for a second, maybe you said the wrong thing. Maybe it was a little too real, or a little too friendly.

But before you can sweat it too much, Roy dips his head. “Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell, fine. One round of knockout, you fucking child.”

“Seriously?” you ask, not even trying to hide the excitement in your voice.

“Yeah. Get the ball. Let’s go.”

You beam at him, running to go grab the ball you’d kicked away from him previously. When you turn back, you find he’s moving to get his own. “If I’d known you’re this easily swayed by flattery, I would have started being way nicer to you earlier.”

“Don’t push it,” he calls out. Despite the fact he’s not facing you, you can picture the look on his face. “And don’t be fucking nice to me. I want to see you pissed.”

“But we’re playing knockout,” you say, as he turns and kicks his football in your direction. “How can I be pissed?”

Roy smirks. “I’m sure I can find a way.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can too. But why do you want me pissed?”

“Because you play better when you’ve got something to prove,” he tells you. Then, he shrugs. “That, and… well, I wasn’t lying.” 

You scrunch your brow. “About what?”

“It’s a good fucking look on you,” he says, meeting your gaze once more. “I might have to piss you off more often.”

Oh. Right, right, right. Totally. Ignoring the way that that makes your cheeks go warm, you reply, “Well, like you said. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

That’s when Roy smiles at you. It’s accompanied by a chuckle and while it’s not a full grin, it’s something warm and mildly sweet. However, for the first time, you’re stuck by how good he looks. You’d always thought he was good-looking, but you’d never been attracted to him. But for some reason, right here, right now, some switch has flipped. 

The realization churns your stomach and makes you physically look away from him. “C’mon, let’s play,” you say, hoping your forced nonchalance hides anything you’re currently feeling. “I like watching you lose.”

Roy huffs, sounding just a bit incredulous. “Whatever you say.”

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

You walk away from the Chelsea pitch with a tie. And frankly, you’ll take it.

You’ve never seen a team more excited about a draw. They’re rowdy as they gather back into the locker room, and you feel a hint of a grin rising as you watch them from the hall. The petty part of your brain again has you comparing what this would have been like if you still worked at West Ham. Shelley would have berated your players (and likely his coaching staff) about how pathetic a draw was. West Ham was the superior team of the league, after all. Their record had to show for it.

It’s then that a sudden realization comes crashing down on you. Fuck. West Ham. PR. You have to do press with Ted.

As if he could hear his name rattling around in your mind, your head coach steps in beside you. He nudges your elbow with his. “You alright there, Ace?”

You nod quickly, like that’ll hide the panic you know is written across your face. “Yeah, Coach. I’m alright.”

When he folds his hands behind his back, you know he isn’t buying what you’re selling. “You still okay to do this with me?” he asks, motioning to the press room down the hall.

“I’ve done press before,” you reply, though your mildly defensive tone tells him that you’re not certain if you’re assuring him or yourself. At the way he dips his head, you sigh in defeat. “I’ve done this before. Just… never at this level. Or for these reasons.”

Ted nods in understanding. “You know you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I know,” you say, because you do.

“And I’ll be there beside you the whole time. I can take over whenever you need me to.” He nudges you again. “I ain’t too bad with all this press stuff. And I’m more than happy to make a fool of myself if it gets too tough. Really give ‘em something to talk about.”

That gets you to look up at him wearily. “I’m scared to know what that means.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t think we’ll get there,” he says, earning a chuckle from you in response. A beat passes before he looks at you again. “You ready?”

A long, sharp sigh exits your body. When you inhale, you turn back to him. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, nodding toward the room. “Let’s go quiet ‘em all down.”

You surprise yourself with an involuntary smile, but it gives you the confidence to follow him.

The press room is abuzz as you approach it and they get even more lively when you enter. You can hear your name being said from every direction and the chaos makes your hands shake. You’ve done this before, you tell yourself. You used to be good at these. It’s part of being a coach. You wanted this. You know how to do this.

Ted, who’s been leading the way, steps out to allow you to go up the stairs first. You clasp your hands together as you walk up, praying that this isn’t the moment your feet choose to fail you and make you trip. Luckily, you avoid disaster and make your way to the further of the two chairs on stage.

You look out into the sea of reporters, eye each of the cameras, and continue to play with your fingers as if it’s the answer to calming your nerves. You don’t realize things have gotten started until you hear Ted’s voice.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he greets the room, and you can’t help but envy how easily the words come out. “Afternoon everyone. What have you got for us today?” All hands in the room immediately go up, each reporter’s eyes shifting from you, to Ted, then back to you. Everyone’s got the same question on their minds. Everyone, except the guy that Ted picks, apparently. “Yeah, Alec. What do you got for us?”

Alec The Reporter stands. “How are we feeling about starting the season with a draw, Coach?”

Thank you, Alec, for starting with the easy question. “Well, I mean, I think we both would have liked a win,” Ted replies, looking over at you. You try your best at a smile and nod along. “But we’re proud of our boys. They turned it around after that first half, due mostly to the insight of our new coach over here. So, I think we’re feeling good about this start.” 

Alec sits down, satisfied with the answer. Before Ted calls on the next reporter, he glances at you. You nod once. You’re ready.

Ted points at a blonde woman toward the back of the room. “Sarah, how are we doing?”

Sarah The Reporter stands now. “Very well, thank you.” Her attention is immediately on you. “Coach,” she says, addressing you. “How was your first game with Richmond?”

Easing it into it, are we? You clear your throat and keep that smile plastered on your face. You can practically hear Roy yelling from the locker room for you to loosen up. “Not echo Coach Lasso, but I’m feeling good. Definitely would have liked a win, but it’s not a loss.”

You don’t think you could have given a more generic, neutral answer if you had tried. Maybe simply answering with ‘good’ would have been worse, but you doubt it. Sarah’s not done with you. “I was more referencing the dynamics of the team in your first game. The culture, if you will.”

Then come right out and say that then, don’t be weird and coy. You fight back a scowl and in doing so, your grin cracks slightly. The phrasing isn’t lost on you. Dynamics. Culture. They’re all words Rupert used just days ago. Stick to the script. Talking points. Don’t let them bait you.

“The Richmond culture’s definitely different,” you reply, perhaps putting too much emphasis on the word. To save yourself, you add, “But I think that’s to be expected when coaching Men's sports. Bit of a different world over here.” You offer a shrug, hoping your smile returns to what it was. “I’m very grateful to the Richmond team and staff for welcoming me with open arms into the warm environment they’ve created.”

You hope Rebecca and Keeley are somewhere cheering you on. That was sweet, neutral, and non-confrontational. Everything you wanted to be. Everything you should be in this line of questioning.

Ted nods at Sarah, cueing her to sit down. He points to a reporter in the front. “Marcus, yeah.”

It’s Marcus The Reporter’s turn to stand. And he comes out swinging. “No use in beating around the bush,” he says, eyes on you. “Do you have any response to Rupert Mannion’s comments about you and your tenure at West Ham?”

This is it. You feel Ted’s foot nudge yours encouragingly as you nod at Marcus and take a breath. Just as rehearsed. You got this.

“There’s not much to say that Mr. Mannion hasn’t already,” you answer slowly. “Unfortunately, some things like that just don’t work out. I too was not happy with the note that we ended on and wish it could have worked out our differences. But that’s all it was. Differences. There aren’t any hard feelings or any sort of bad blood between us. West Ham is a great team that I was honored to be a part of for the time that I was allowed. I’m sure they’ll have a fantastic season and can’t wait to meet them in a couple of weeks.”

You nearly let out a sigh of relief when you finish, thankful that that’s fucking done. The lies don’t sit right on your tongue and feel as though they’re rotting your teeth, but you don’t care. You got it all out, didn’t slip up or trip up, and can hopefully put this to bed.

However, unfortunately for you, Marcus doesn’t seem to be satisfied. Because he’s got a follow-up question you’re not at all prepared for. “And what of Tom MacDonald’s recent comments?”

The world stops. It comes to a complete, emergency-braked fucking halt and you feel as though someone’s punched you in the stomach. You feel like you’ve been ambushed, but you know that if you could have been prepared for this, you would have been. This must have happened today. Perhaps, even moments before this. You can feel Ted’s eyes on the side of your face almost immediately.

He… made comments? He spoke about you?

You can feel your throat constricting, but manage to get a couple words out in a relatively neutral-sounding tone. “I’m not sure what comments you’re referring to.”

“In his post-game interview about a half-hour ago,” Marcus says, glancing down at his notes to read. “He said, quote, ‘My best wishes are to Miss USA and her new Richmond team. I hope she finds her place with them, as I don’t think she ever really found hers here. But, you know, I guess you can’t really know until you really try to get to know the lads in the locker room and in the Coaches' Offices, huh?’”

Your breath’s been stolen from you. You can feel your nose and eyes start to burn as you stare Marcus down, steeling the look on your face. Refusing to show any type of emotion or reaction to that, you gather yourself.

What a fucking prick. What an absolute, horrendously evil, fucking asshole he is. You can imagine the look on his face when he said that. The smarmy fucking smile that accompanied it, the casual nonchalance of which he spewed that last part out with. You want to burn him. You want to destroy his life, his career, everything. The audacity he was to even bring up the locker room and the… 

You feel physically ill. You could throw up on the spot, but there’s something in you that’s keeping you from doing so. As the silence in the room festers, you feel Ted’s foot tap against yours again.

Do you need me to make a fool of myself? His eyes ask as you meet them. 

Quickly, you shake your head. You can do this. You’ve done this before. You used to be good at these. Don’t let him get to you like this. Don’t let either of them win.

You know you won’t come forward with what happened. You can’t. But you weren’t going to sit on your hands anymore. You wouldn’t be neutral anymore. Neutral. That was the word of the day. 

Fuck the word.

You allow another moment of silence to pass before you blink and refocus on Marcus. “I…” you begin, collecting yourself. You can feel the anger rise within you and you know it shows in your eyes. You’ve never been able to hide that. “I do, actually.”

(Somewhere in the Chelsea facilities, Rebecca Walton and Roy Kent are glued to different TVs broadcasting your conference. Rebecca’s unsure if she should be praying that you’ll tear West Ham apart or writhing in fear at the idea of what’s about to come out of your mouth. Roy, however, clocked the look in your eye immediately and can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this big.)

“As I said previously,” you start, straightening your back with a new, harder, more confident tone, “I’m also disappointed with the way that things ended between me and my former team. I also wish things could have been different and that I could have found my place. However, Mr. Mannion was correct when he assumed that I experienced a bit of a culture shock when I joined the club. However, I can’t blame anyone or anything for that but my own expectations for what I assumed AFC Football was going to be.” You offer a smaller, slightly more pleasant grin to the reporters and cameras. “But I can confirm that Richmond has met all of those aforementioned expectations within my first week. I’m excited to continue my journey with them and can’t wait to see where we go this season.”

Hands immediately fly up in response to your answer, follow-up questions galore. You glance over at Ted for a moment (who looks like he’s unsure whether he should be proud of you or sweating this), then suddenly find that a group of people are being ushered into the press room. You eyes lock with the man in the center, and he stares right back at you with an intensity you’re not sure you’ve seen before. Zava.

“And on that note,” you say, quieting everyone down. Relief washes over you now that you have an excuse to leave the room, “I think we’ve run out of time for questions concerning me. We’ve got something much more important to cover.”

When they all see that you’re referring to Zava, the room erupts into even more chaos. You couldn’t possibly be out of your chair faster, ready to make a break for it, and run to the bathroom. Ted’s on your heels as you exit, running in front of you to stop you as you make it to the hall.

“Woah, woah, slow down there,” he says with a soft laugh. “Runnin’ out of there faster than Tom Cruise in— well, any of the Mission Impossible movies, I guess.” You don’t meet his eye, or offer him any sort of pity laugh, something he catches immediately. “You alright, Ace?”

“Yeah,” you say shortly. God, you don’t want to cry in front of your head coach. “I’m good.”

He sees right through you. God, why is everyone at Richmond so fucking in touch with other people’s emotions? “Is there something you want to talk about? Maybe something I should know about—”

“No.” It’s a conversation ender and Ted steps back from you. You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting nothing less than to deal with this right now. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” With a deep breath, you move away from him. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you for your help in there, Coach. And thank you for a wonderful first week.”

You even don’t hear what Ted has to say in response to that before you’re beelining for the bathroom and locking yourself in a stall, finally allowing the tears that had been welling in your eyes to fall.

Zava announces that he'll be joining Richmond and thirty minutes, later you find yourself in a 'Coaches Group Chat' reading a message from Ted.

After you'd collected yourself, you had the full intention of pretending like everything was normal. You refused to let him win or get the better of your emotions, or fucking... whatever. So, the second you received that text, you immediately signed yourself up for whatever Ted wanted you to do. 

Coaches’ Celebration at Crown and Anchor, the text from him reads. Be there or be square.

However, apparently, you’re the only one who’s concerned with being square, because none of your fellow coaches have shown up yet. There’s a group of three guys sitting at a table in the corner, yelling things at the screen every few minutes. You see a couple who are throwing darts at the end of the bar. There’s a lone man with a pint at the hightop by the door, texting away on his phone. But Ted, Beard, and Roy were nowhere to be found.

The bartop’s nearly abandoned, so you choose a seat in the middle, making sure to reserve three extras. When the woman behind the bar turns to serve you, you can tell she immediately recognizes you, and the smile she offers is warm.

“Good showing today,” she tells you. Then, she shrugs. “Would have liked a win.”

A surprised laugh escapes you. “You and me both.”

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the door. “Um, I’m meeting people here. I—”

“Oh. Right. That’s tonight,” she says, with a knowing look in her eye. Your brow scrunches. “When he gets here, call me over. My name’s Mae.”

Before you can question that cryptic fucking sentence or correct her and let her know that you’re meeting people (plural) here, the pub door opens. Roy walks through, nodding once he sees you.

He grabs the stool to your left. “Nice press conference today,” he says in greeting, taking a seat. 

The teasing note in his voice makes you scowl. “Shut up. I was nervous.”

“I liked the part where you called Rupert a lying prick who needs to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s not even close to what I said.”

Roy chuckles. “You might as well have. That was a media-trained ‘fuck you’ if I’ve ever seen one.”

God, you could really use that drink now. “I wasn’t even trained for that one,” you admit sheepishly. ”I literally don’t know where that came from. I was like, possessed by some bitchy politician or something.”

“She’d have my vote.”

“She shouldn’t. She’d start a global thermonuclear war because someone implied that she was difficult to work with.” You make a face at Roy as he chuckles. “Besides, I don’t think a Roy Kent endorsement would do her any favors.”

“Probably not,” Roy agrees. “Only person I’ve ever endorsed was you, and look where we are.”

You roll your eyes, casting them to the door. “Oh, my God. Okay, where are Ted and Beard?”

“They’re not coming,” a voice says as they round the bar. Mae stands before you once more, wiping her hands on a rag. 

You and Roy stare at her. “What do you mean they’re not coming?” you ask.

“I mean, they’re not coming,” Mae repeats matter-of-factly. Confusion takes over your expression. “They lured you two here and I’ve been given a ridiculous amount of money to keep you here until the two of you…” She glances down at her phone. “Fix your issues and…” Mae squints at the text she’s reading from. “...’Have whatever conversation you’ve been tiptoeing around.’”

By the time Mae looks up, you’re gaping at her and Roy’s already out of his seat. 

“You’re kidding,” you say faintly, praying that she’ll answer yes.

You have no such luck. “I’m not.”

“Fuck this,” Roy mutters. “I’m not getting fucking trapped at a fucking pub with you on a Sunday night because our stupid fucking team doesn’t understand fucking boundaries.”

You throw a thumb over your shoulder in the direction he’s looking to leave. “I second that. No offense, you seem lovely,” you tell Mae, “but I’m not staying here.”

“Unfortunately, you are,” Mae responds, nodding to the man who was sitting alone at the hightop, who stands up to block the door. He’s got to be the tallest man you’ve ever seen, and he’s built. You have no idea where he came from, but the sight of him alone gives you pause.

Roy’s on that same wavelength because he stops in his tracks, glaring at him. “This is fucking insane,” he says, looking back over to Mae.

“I agree,” she says, then nods to the window. “Take it up with them.”

You follow Mae’s line of sight to see Ted and Beard, sharing a pair of binoculars to stare at the two of you When they realize they’ve been spotted, Beard slowly removes the binoculars from his eyes and glares at Roy. Ted at least offers the dignity of a pity wave.

“Whatever they’re paying you,” you begin. “Roy will double it.”

Roy narrows his eyes. “I will?”

“Yes. You will.”

“Why the fuck am I the one paying? We’ve got the same fucking salary now.”

You whip around in your seat to glare at him, exasperation in your voice as you say, “Oh, my God, you played in the AFC for twenty years. I was in women’s sports for thirteen. We’re not even close to the same tax bracket.”

Roy considers this for approximately two seconds, then turns back to Mae. “Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll fucking double it.”

Mae shrugs, clearly not budging. “I’m a woman of my word, Mr. Kent,” she replies. Then, she motions to the clock on the wall. “I’ve promised to keep you here for at least an hour. What you do after that is none of my business.”

As Mae walks away, you stare at the bartop, truly unable to accept that this is happening in your present reality. There’s no way you’re doing this— no way that Roy’s doing this. This is fucking ridiculous, it’s wildly unprofessional, and—

—And Roy’s sitting down. You slowly raise your head to watch him pull out the barstool, slump into the chair, and put his face in his hands as if he can’t believe he’s actually going through with this. 

He’s giving in. He’s not putting up a fight. He’s obeying the wishes of his friends, he’s resigned to the cause, he’s… he’s putting himself in a position to have the conversation you two have been dreading since you began at Richmond.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. This is really happening.

You glance back over to the window where Beard stands, and he lowers his binoculars when he sees you looking. He sends you a simple, affirmative nod, raising the device to his eyes once more. 

“I assume you’ll be needing those drinks now,” Mae says from the end of the bar, two pint glasses in her hands.

You don’t think you or Roy have ever said ‘yes’ faster.

TAGLIST: @dark-academia-slut @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut, @thatonedogwithablog, @hawkeyeharrington, @jamieolivia27, @seatbacksandtraytables, @luvr-bunnyy

[kusin-tisdag]

Ideas for Legacy-players

So, I'm a game play legacy-player. Meaning that I play legacies and let the game decide what will happen. Therefor I don't have a set plan for my Sims or make them into certain people. However, I have learnt over the years to at least set up certain things. I'm going to make this post to give ideas and tricks to others who play in the same style.

For me, playing a legacy is also about the family, it's history and the context for each generation. It's totally fine to play in other ways, but these are my thoughts on legacies - as a way to tell a whole family's history.

More under the cut because this got long!

Setting up the world

MC Command Center is your friend (here's a good tutorial)! Yes, we have neighborhood stories now, but with MCCC I find that more things happen, but also - you get pop-ups! I have pop-ups for everything that happens, which is important since I also care about my Sims' friends and extended family. (And I love gossip.)

MCCC also let's you control the amount of children your NPC are allowed to have. Since I forgot to fix those settings, I have some Sims with way too many siblings (lesson learned)!

MCCC is also just awesome for the quick "edit household in cas" which is very handy if your Sim is talking to someone with no sense of style. Or wearing broken CC.

When setting up your world, give yourself a moment to think about if you want an empty world or have the premade families in it.

Also, reflect on whether the neighborhoods are close or if they are far apart. The classic "just a loading screen away" or actual travel. For traveling this might be a good mod (I haven't tried it).

I like to keep my NPC in their homeworlds. I use kuttoe's Home Region and Townie Democraphic-mod.

Your generation - and the generation before

I have let generations just be gameplay. Gen 0 of my current one is very much so (and the Vasas was very much that). That's fun to play, but eventually might get.. a bit same same. Now, I try to create more of a story for the Gen that I play. Usually this starts to happen when the heir becomes a teenager. I start to understand who they are and what they might want to do in their 20s. For Una, that was The Strangerville Mystery - which I actually find to be a very good thing to play for a legacy player. So I drop things about their dreams and personality already through their teen years that then lead to their generation.

Take photos! Use the game's cameras and have your Sims photograph each other. I often forget this and I always regret it. Give the heir photos for them to keep, so they can eventually put them up on their walls. This ties them to their heritage - and this is important for me.

Also, think about how to weave in their heritage into their story. Was their parent famous? Has that affected them? Will others talk about their parents or grandparents? No one exists in a vacuum, and neither does your Sims.

I have learned to always move the heir out. I have kept them with their parents before, but it does "muddy" the line between generations and very soon I have too many Sims to focus on - and the heir gets lost. However - if executed well the differences between generations can be highlighted by having them close and interacting. Just take a moment to at least reflect on it.

Inheritance. Sure, monetary. Reflect on how much you want your heir to get help starting out their own life. But also - we all inherit something from our parents. We all take something with us from the generation before. Did they have a happy marriage? Divorce? Single-parent? What fears does your heir's parents have and how do they try to keep your heir safe? This can mean love-advice ("don't date werewolves!") or careers, to lifestyle choices in general. Do they approve? Disapprove? Neutral? Let your heir reflect on these things, at least a little.

Create a community

Already when your Sims are young - give them friends! Sojus guide to clubs is a great tutorial for this. Have these friends follow them through life. I always have my kids get to know children in the neighborhood by having them visit and just ask them to join. Or I add them manually if that's easier.

Then use this mod to add at least some of those kids to your Sims High School-class. (read the instructions!)

Depending on your Sims' story as they become YA/start their gen they might still meet these old friends. Or if they go on their own adventure they might reconnect later in life.

As your Sim starts their own family, add their friends as adults their child will now get to know. Have them over at birthday parties! Make them a part of your Sim child's life too. I always grew up with my mum's friends over for dinner and at my birthday parties. If your Sim's children are at odds with your Sim, these are the adults they could turn to instead.

If you chose to have a Sim who doesn't have a "community" have them reflect on it. If it stands out from your other generations, it should be addressed.

Your Sim

Who are they? How much do you make them into what you want, and how much is their own? This will always be a balance, but usually you'll have an idea about them and who they are as a teen and then I'll try to follow their wants and fears. To follow their lead is usually the best for me - it becomes more fun to follow their whims. Some wants - like breaking up or similar I try to build a story around.

Connect with your Sim. For me, this is done by writing dialogue for them. Some are not comfortable at all with this, but for me it has helped. You do you, but do try different things if you find it hard to connect with them.

For this, I have often found that it's the best if I play a Sim week and then edit. When I edit post I often figure things out about my sims, and how I frame their story.

Age spans. I have changed my age settings so many times (MCCC again!). You can find the ones I have now over here (will be seen fully once Gen 2 starts). Look at other Simmers that you like and see if you can find their age settings. In my game 1 year = 4,2 days and then I just do math and round the numbers.

Falling in love (or not) and family life

Does your Sim already in their teens start dating? Or are they slower to start? This is also depending on how much you play your Sims as teens, or if you still focus more on their parents (probably your current gen). But try to give it a thought, make a conscious choice. A shy Sim might not even dare to make a move while an outgoing might dare more - so use their personalities to help you.

Some marry their childhood best friend. This means you won't have a million dates with different Sims, but you still might want to think on how they keep the spark going. Do they share interests? Can they do more of this?

Some go on multiple dates. Think about how much time and effort you want to put into documenting their trial and errors. Too many posts about different dates that don't lead to anything might not be the funniest to read (or for you to create) (more on this later).

Some get pregnant in their early 20s. Once again, think about how that affects them. Do they want children? (check out this mod!) And having a child while young might affect their other dreams. Have them reflect on this!

And vice versa.

Sometimes, your heir just doesn't seem to be... very legacy oriented. Or maybe this Gen's story is about the tragic death of your heir! Enter - the spare and it’s descendants! Or, if found family is completely fine for you and genetics don't matter, maybe the torch is handed over to a friend's child instead!

And who to choose? I have previously simply chosen my fav. Now I force myself to chose the firstborn. Some use polls to help them!

For legacy players, family is the center of it. But how much? I find this to be a bit difficult to balance. If I have family-oriented Sims they will have many posts about their children but also their parents and siblings. I try to think more when my Sims are not family-oriented and avoid that many posts about every family-member. Because that would change the "feel" or "setting" for my generation. At the same time, I want to get to know my future heir, so their childhood and teen years matter. But maybe let them reflect more on their childhood as they become YA and finish playing your current Generation while you still have them?

Becoming an elder

Very rarely do I play elders. This is a shame, because I do think it's an important life-stage. But since the heir moves out, the previous generation often gets to tend for themselves.

I think playing elders somehow can still be done. I'm planning on having the kind of parents who don't stop meddling in their kid's life, or the heir who just enjoys using their parents money/house/claim to fame for themselves.

I have this mod, and am looking forward to using it more.

If your heir is family oriented, they will most probably want to visit their parents now and then, or have them over for holidays.

Your simblr

So, I guess you're here because you want to post your story. Most of us won't get many followers, so my guide is mostly to make sure I enjoy my own simblr.

Reshade/gshade. It's not the easiest to understand initially, but yes - I strongly recommend it. This can also help distinguish between generations, if you wish for example to give a more "dreamy look" to one gen, a "darker and harsher" to another etc. Do look around and nerd away with this! (1, 2)

When editing: SHARPEN! Resize and sharpen. Look at others, figure out a good picture size and edit. This will help.

Photograph using tab-mode and reshade. And, think about angles! Close ups? Further away? What kind of emotions do different angles create?

Keep the originals, if possible. This has often helped me when I need to make obituaries or for some reason "go back in time". I can then edit the original screenshots, not my edits.

Tag your posts! The amount of time I have forgotten a kid's name but managed to find it because I remember one of their parent's are... plenty. It's also a fun way to see when your Sim met another Sim the last time (especially if it's childhood friends!) Once again - this helps create context and community.

Also tag generations.

Set up some kind of page for your legacy. Have short recaps of each gen, help your readers (and yourself!) to remember what has happened before.

What to post and what to skip: I mentioned it before but multiple dates can get a bit same same. Also homework or running the treadmill (my sims always end up fitness freaks 😅). I usually try to post more the highlights or bigger events, and then use those "everyday"-posts in between. They still add something, and everyday life is still everyday life and a part of your Sim's story.

Poses. Posing might feel very stiff and usually if you have a gameplay-legacy posing Sims will stand out. I mainly use poses for photos that the Sims themselves take. I take posed photos every Winterfest and also at weddings.

In conclusion

Play for you. Play the stories you want. My ideas are mainly a way to remind myself on how to make that happen.

I am a storyteller. When not playing sims or on my day-job, I write. Original fiction, fanfiction, you name it. I love stories and I love characters. I want my Sims to reflect that.

I also do other things to keep me in my current heirs "world". I create pinboards and I follow instagram-accounts that remind me of them. I listen to music that I find capture "their" vibe. This is something I also do when writing, so it makes sense to me.

Not all of your thoughts and ideas or backstory is going to make it into the posts. That's fine. You know, and that's what should matter to you.

And finally: re-read your legacies. You wrote them for you, enjoy them!

And I think that was it! I do use many more mods than I have posted here. I have a resource page, a cc-finds -blog and I also try to link in my posts to any mods that heavily influence something that happens in the story.

Hopefully this was helpful for someone, or at least fun to read!

[reotheworld]

bllk characters with an idol!femreader, this has been in buried in the back of my mind lately

everyone is falling for her

❝ shivering, trembling, i want to follow her ❞

➜ bllk boys dating a jpop idol | ft. baro, chigiri, rin, niko

➜ fem!reader

sugar level: 0% & 70%

The moment you two are dating, BARO doesn't even bother and try to hide it. He doesn't care what the public thinks, so why should he hide his love for you? He doesn't care if your dislike him for you, he really doesn't care because as long as he is with you that's all it matters.

The people are just left wondering how you, so soft and cute and pretty on stage be dating someone like Baro who is rough and merciless on the field.

Watchful and hidden cameras always follow yours and his movements, photos of you two entering and leaving restaurants, holding hands and getting into a car inside the parking lot frequent every social media platform.

He knows that your schedules don't often match with each others, but if you come to one of his games while wearing one of his jerseys, he'd be over the moon.

Visual couple. That's what your fans dub you and CHIGIRI the moment the dating news rolled out. How can you two be so pretty? Like wow.

Every time your name is mentioned on interviews, he can't contain the smile that wants to break out of his lips. Your name alone has that effect on him.

If you're in a girl group, he has a good relationship with your other members, even maintaining it. On days he'd drop by to your dorm, he doesn't forget to give them snacks nor forget to greet your manager too.

If you're a soloist, he politely greets the people who work for you - hair and make up artist, road manager, personal assistant and the likes.

Even though it's game season, he doesn't forget to promote your song; putting it on his ig story or taking a screenshot of him streaming it or the music video!

The world was never the same when RIN's manager and your company confirmed the dating news.

It happened so suddenly, it wasn't Rin's intention to hide his love for you in the dark nor a secret, but the amount of hate you were receiving from his so called fans were getting out of hand. And in order to get it under control, he had his manager cooperate with your company to do a legal action against those people who maliciously spread rumors about you online.

He's distant and emotionless when it comes to photoshoots but if he's with you, he'll grace the cameras with some emotion from him.

"I didn't know you could smile, Rin!"

"Shut it."

Doesn't even care if there are thousands of cameras around you two, if he wants to get comfort from you, then he's getting his comfort from you.

NIKO often takes candid pictures of you with his phone. And what does he do with them? He creates new memes! Claims he's helping your fans by creating new memes for them to use.

When it's off season, you can bet that Niko is everywhere with you, being your biggest support system.

Performing your comeback song in a music show? He's in your dressing room with a lightstick in hand. Your song won in a music program? He has the biggest smile on his face as he cheers for you. Doing a v live (rip)? He's behind you, cutely waving at the camera.

Often comes into the practice room with food and drinks. He knows how much effort you put into the choreography and giving life to your performance. If you plan to stay up until the wee hours to practice, then he'll stay with you.

[total-drama-brainrot]

i come humbly requesting the post about chris’ descent you teased in an ask

Of course! I'll start by outlining how Chris' behaviour changed over the course of the series.

Chris starts off the first season of Total Drama as a huge dickhead, but not an outright morally bereft one.

He doesn't have the same familiarity with the gen 1 cast as he does in later seasons, but he's friendly enough with them - as friendly as you'd expect a television host and de facto caregiver to be to a group of twenty two teenagers. Sure, he's a bit of an arse at times, but it's very rare that he puts any of them in direct, life threatening danger. Most of the first season's challenges aren't outright lethal, in fact many of them are just regular camp activities taken to their logical extreme.

The main outliers here are the two torture-based challenges, and even then most of the mini challenges within are bearable if incredibly uncomfortable and painful - none of them are outright fatal. Plus, it can be argued that Chris himself doesn't have a lot of agency or input on the challenges themselves; he's there to host the show, nothing more and nothing less. At least, in the first season, there isn't any indication that Chris himself has control over the challenges (save for when Chef takes over for an episode, but his challenges are a lot simpler in design and execution than anything Chris hosts, so it can be assumed that was a last minute change.)

Now, it's been a while since I've rewatched Island, but I'm fairly sure Chris doesn't ever show the same amount of glee in the contestant's suffering as he does in later seasons. He's sometimes amused, sure, but there's very little in terms of outright vindication. More often than not, he's just trying to host the show.

Take Island's Chris and World Tour's Chris and contrast their attitudes against each other; time, it seems, developed an almost malicious streak within Chris. He even goes so far as to take his competitor's suffering into his own hands, at his own whims, using the excuse of entertainment value. (Dropping them out of the jet repeatedly at his fancy, deciding to choose the most dangerous moments to have them sing, ect ect.)

And then we get to RotI, where Chris is almost consistantly taking a great deal of joy in exposing the new cast to the horrors of nuclear waste and chemical hazards. His blasé attitude towards their mortality in the cave episode speaks for itself, and the fact that he gives a grand total of 0 shits about Dakota's mutation is the icing on top. By the time this season came around, any semblence of care for others within Chris was diminished.

The question therein is why?

The most obvious answer here is that the repeated threat to his contestant's lives became so normalised, so mundane to him that he simply stopped caring. Or seeing it as something wrong, or anything more than a ratings tool. None of them have actually died yet, so why not continually up the ante? Raise the stakes? Add more thrill to the show he's hosting - that's bound to draw in a bigger audience!

Which is how you end up with situations like Alejandro's and Scott's, where a contestant is injured enough to warrent use of machine-assisted healing and trauma chairs. Two situations that Chris himself is directly involved in, and doesn't seem to care about in the slightest.

Because showbusiness as a whole has a tendancy to reduce the people within it into objects of entertainment. There's a lot of dehumanisation in the world of TV - even reality TV, where people oftentimes play up aspects of themselves to become characters instead of people.

Throughout the show, Chris often talks about things like ratings, or the producers, or other business-focused aspects of entertainment. In his eyes, the teens under his dubious care gradually became little more than pawns in the game of Good Televivion. They stopped being kids and started being ratings jewels - puppets for him to manipulate and torture for his own and an international audience's amusement.

Perhaps there was some pressure from the producers themselves to be crueller to the contestants, to draw in a bigger audience or maybe just to add a sense of thrill and urgency to the challenges. After all, there's a reason shows like I'm a Celebrity are so popular, and it's because the people competing in them are having a decidedly bad time.

So, in his mind, making the contestants go through cruel and unusual punishments and challenges is justifyable because the show itself has benefits from it. He doesn't consider (or, perhaps, just doesn't care about) the harm he causes.

Then here it could be argued that his callousness and the detatched, joking attutide he has towards the suffering of these kids is actually just a super unhealthy coping mechanism Chris uses to get through the horrors of his job. That is to say, Chris is just as contractually obligated to host the show as the contestants are to compete in it, and he knows that they're gonna suffer regardless of his input, so being a Good Host and at least making their pain marketable/entertaining will at least garuntee him a bigger paycheck.

Or maybe he was always predisposed to be sadistic, and his relative niceness in the first season was just him testing the waters of how cruel his TV persona could be.

All I can say as a fact is this; Chris' actions and inactions become far more grevious as the series continues. He blows up a volcano on purpose. He sinks a whole island on purpose.

(He, and the series as a whole, drops any pretense of semi-realism to explore cartoonishly whacky and outlandish themes. Because it's a kid's show, at the end of the day. I'm overanalysing how a children's TV show leaned into the freedom of a fictional cartoon world.)

Saying that, he seems to have taken a step back in the theatrical and outlandish nature of his cruelty for the reboot. Maybe the decade away from Total Drama mellowed him out, or maybe the show just does't have the budget to accomodate for his more ambitious stunts. Who knows?

[ughgoaway]

Blurb of Annie's birthday... Matty brings a cake to school to celebrate his little baby's special day... he stays a little while...

I'm loving all the blurbs

oh, I'm so glad you are loving the blurbs!!! I am loving writing them, little Annie Healy has my heart.

Anyway, yes yes yes I love this idea so much omg. 

(Can Ace write anything without saying “smile” and “eyes” 1000 times… wait and see!! (the answer is no.) Also, timeline wise this makes absolutely 0 sense but… I do not care!! All that matters is the vibe <33)

It's Monday when Annie comes in very proudly and announces “Miss y/n, I'm six on Friday” with her chest puffed out and a big smile on her face.

You pretend you don't know, despite having seen it on the system last week, “Is it really Annie? Wow! You're growing up so quickly” You smile down at her as she nods along to your words, holding her bookbag (do other countries have these? idk) in one hand and the other hand out, ready to gesture with when she spoke.

“My daddy says the same thing.” she starts. Then her face lights up further, “You know my daddy is coming in on Friday!! He asked Mrs Richards and she said that he could come and bring a cake for everyone!!” she recounts excitedly before her face drops, and she suddenly gets very serious. “But you can't tell anyone that miss y/n, it's a secret. Pinky promise?”

You smile at her but soon put on a fake stern face to match hers. You drop to her eye line, stick your finger out, and link it with hers, “I promise Annie. Now, how about you go put your bookbag away so we can get started?” she doesn't respond but instead nods and shuffles off to set her bag down.

Leaving you standing and reeling that Matty is coming in on Friday, in peak proud dad mode, to celebrate his daughter (who you love.) fuck. This was going to make your head spin.

/////////////

cut to the actual day, and Annie comes in wearing a little badge and a hat. You see Matty drop her off from the classroom. you totally weren't staring out the window waiting to see him arrive or anything…

he wasn't even really dressed up, just a chequered button-up and jeans. but for some reason, he still made your heart race. seeing him bend down and give her a kiss on the cheek, and a big hug almost made you audibly sigh, but you caught yourself before you did. because that would be inappropriate, you didn't have any feelings for him. none at all. totally neutral.

Annie came bounding in, a massive smile on her face showing off her gappy smile. she'd very proudly come in the week before talking about losing one of her teeth, and now, every time she smiled, her gaps were on show.

class started, and to avoid Annie literally buzzing with excitement all day, you allowed her to announce to the class the news of her big day.

with the happiest face you could imagine, she said, "It's my birthday today! I'm 6 and my daddy is going to come in with cake for everyone!" 

a chorus of cheers came out as you sat behind your desk, trying to stop your grin from growing an unreasonable amount. 

soon enough, you got the class back in order, and the day whizzed past. Suddenly, it was 2:30, and there was a knock on the door.

matty stuck his head around the door and quickly met your eyes, "hi" he breathed out, staring at you with adoration in his eyes.

“Hi” you breathed out in the same way. For a few seconds, you both stood there with stupid grins on your faces staring into each other's eyes. Of course, in a classroom of 5 and 6-year-olds, that peaceful staring didn't last long. But it simultaneously felt like a quick glance and a full minute.

Annie comes running out of her seat and to the door. Matty quickly catches on and comes fully into the classroom, managing to hold a cake in one hand and hugging his very excited daughter with the other.

“Daddy!!” she squeals with excitement, bouncing in her dad's arms as he tries desperately to balance a cake. Over the young girl's shoulder, he shoots you a worried glance, and you snap out of your trance and come to grab the cake.

“Ah yes, let me just grab this,” you say, and Matty smiles graciously at you. His other hand quickly scooped Annie up into his arms to greet her properly.

“Hi, peanut!! You have a good birthday?” he asks. His eyes flick between his daughter, babbling on about her day, and you standing at your desk showing a room full of mesmerised children the cake he brought.

In between his daughter's rambling stories, he manages to catch you chatting to the kids, “Yes Annie's dad Mat-” You pause and catch yourself before you slip, flicking your head up and making brief eye contact with Matty. “Mr. Healy brought us all cake! Let's all sit in our seats and get ready to say thank you like we practised!”

Matty's face briefly scrunched in confusion, but you did nothing to answer his silent question, only shooting him a sweet smile and spinning around to walk to the front of the room. The combination of the cheeky smile and the way your dress moved as you spun had Matty's brain stuttering through his thoughts.

Annie was still chattering along, completely oblivious to her dad being completely enamoured with the woman in front of him. She soon saw her classmates all in their seats and was wriggling out of her dad's arms, trying to join her friends.

Matty comes to join you at the front of the room, fighting every urge in his body to wrap you up in a hug. He wants nothing more than to grab you by the waist and pull you in, burying his face into your neck and breathing in the vaguely sweet smell that follows you around. He thinks about how his other arm would swing around your shoulder and pull you impossibly closer. Your arms would come around him, and he would feel you hum in enjoyment at the contact.

But he doesn't do that. He simply waves in a way that makes him feel so uncool that he internally cringes. You giggle at his clear discomfort and copy his wave, tilting your head teasingly at him. 

You somehow manage to wrangle your mind back to the task at hand, you clap your hands and grab your classes attention. “Right! Everyone, this is Annie's dad, Mr. Healy!” Matty cringes at you not using his name, loving the way it sounds coming out of your mouth.

“As you can see, he has been very kind and brought us a cake to share! Can we all say thank you?”

Matty was staring at you, lost in watching you work, but soon the ensemble of small voices wrang out, pulling his attention away from you.

“Thank you, Mr. Healy!!” says the sea of children in front of him, Matty looks out at the crowd, used to the number of people but not quite the age range. He sees a mob of gappy teeth and excited faces and can't help but mirror them.

“Wow! You guys are welcome! I hope you all like it. It's already cut up... sooo-” he looks over to you for further instruction, and you snap back into teacher mode quickly.

“Okay! Everyone, can we all line up in register order for our cake?” Some groans come from the crowd, but you quickly catch them, “and don't worry if you're near the end. There is enough cake for everyone! I promise.” You smile and wave your hand, and soon enough, each child falls into line, all bubbling with anticipation.

//////////

Quiet music plays through the classroom speakers, and the noise of children chatting and giggling permeates the room. At the front of the room, you are leaning against the desk as Matty stands in front of you with his hands in his pockets.

He stands with joy written all over his face as you continue to laugh at his stories and jokes, the sound of your laughter ringing in his ears in the best way possible. It's so melodic that Matty has the fleeting thought to record it and use it in a track.

“So you used a scooter to get to the smaller stage” you laugh, staring at Matty with an impressed yet questioning look. As he nods, his curls bounce. You briefly get distracted by how perfect they are, but his resonant voice brings you back to earth. 

“An electric scooter, I'm not just furiously pushing myself on a razor scooter in the middle of a concert” Matty corrects, looking faux offended at your forgetfulness. 

“Oh yes, sorry and electric scooter, of course.” You say nodding, “I don't suppose there's any video of this that I can see? I think I need to witness it.” You smile at him.

Matty pauses briefly, weighing up and showing you the video. On one hand, he can get closer to you to show his phone but on the other, you get to see a mildly embarrassing video of him whizzing away to the sound of “Vroom Vroom” by Charli xcx. 

You take his silence as offence and quickly start stuttering apologies, “Oh I'm sorry if that's too personal, you don't have to show me. I was just-” Before you talk so much it makes you dizzy, Matty cuts in. 

“Oh no don't worry love,” the nickname slips out without a second thought, Matty doesn't even consider it but you are sure you'll be thinking of his voice saying that on repeat for the next week, “I was just thinking how embarrassing this is going to be, but you're right. You do need to see it. Just promise me you won't think less of me, yeah?”

He makes intense eye contact as finishes, and you can't help but blurt out what you think of immediately, “I could never think less of you.”

A silent beat passes, and Matty doesn't say anything, just bashfully smiles and grabs his phone.

//////

Too soon for your liking, 3 pm comes, and it's almost time to leave, but before everyone goes, you have one more thing to do.

“Okay I have to play teacher now, sorry,” you say to Matty, standing up. He nods and steps back, letting you get everyone's attention and speak.

“It's almost time for our mummies and daddies to pick us up, so let's all do one last thing before we go today. As you all know, it's Annie's birthday,” Matty watches his daughter's eyes light up at being mentioned, “so let's all sing her happy birthday!”

You count them in, and the class starts singing to Annie, you and Matty included. Matty watches you sing for his daughter, pure joy on your face and a grin that makes his knees weaken.

The song ends, and everyone claps, just in time for the bell to ring, and you send them off. “Okay everyone that's the bell! Go grab your stuff and meet your mums and dads in the playground, Mrs Richards will be out there to help you find them if you need it!”

You wave each of them out until it's just you, Matty and Annie in the room. You spin around and bend down to her level, “Did you have a good birthday sweetheart?”

Her toothy grin comes out again, and she nods furiously, “Especially because my daddy came in, that was really fun” she says, looking up at Matty and grabbing his hand.

“I had so much fun too, sweetheart! Let's get going though, yeah? You've got Grandad and nanny at home waiting to see you!!” Matty says to his daughter, who immediately starts dragging him away and saying bye to you.

You laugh and wave them off, “bye Annie!!” You say excitedly. You make a point of lifting your eyes and meeting Matty’s.

“Bye Matty” you say softly, waving at him the same way he greeted you earlier.

He simply grins and waves back before returning his attention back to his daughter and continuing to be dragged away.

blurb masterlist here!!

[abbythewritor]

'Fairness." One Piece x Saitama reader. 0

"Just a Normal girl looking for an everyday life. At least, if you call sailing across the seas with idiots with useless dreams a simple task, then you might wanna see a doctor. Seriously."

Warnings: Blood, gore, mentions of Luekimia, and heaps amount of blood and strength. It might be a little cursing, but not bad, and maybe some flirting in there, but it's mostly clean.

Other things:

-You didn't get bald due to your powers; you got bald to an extreme illness.

-You part of the straw hat crew, but others are interested in you and your power.

-Everyone that is a male is taller than you.

-Monsters from the OPM world will appear in One Piece, and I'll make some new monsters you will fight.

-I hope you enjoy my book and enjoy the prologue. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world is crazy....and boring.

Every human on this earth has advanced opportunities to grow, become successful, and be someone or something better.

Humans can go to college, date, be an actor, actresses, heck, even garbage men.

Some people, in many most eyes, are viewed as heroes, police officers, firefighters, heck, even people who are just doing a small amount of good.

When we look at the earth thoroughly and see the truth about life, anything and anyone has to start simple before they can become something more significant.

Heck, when life proceeds, and as human lives grow, excitement rolls up, the feeling of achieving something or living off of adventure.

That's what I wanted as a kid, to become firm, to have a life full of excitement, adrenaline, heck, even adventure.

But that all blew over one day when I discovered I had leukemia.

My family was devastated, as my excitement and dreams were gone in one instant.

You see, I grew up in a world where people can have incredible powers, who all fight all kinds of monsters, creatures, and even aliens that invade our earth. I was so inspired by them during my Kemo treatment that I acted like I was one of them, living in excitement and adventure; I wanted to grow and become something better.

But, at that time, I was getting worse; my hair was all gone, my bones were brittle, and the doc said I had little time to live.

Until one day, a man visited me...a tall, bald man, his suit a bright yellow color, his cap blowing like a guardian angel.

He protected me and my room from a monster, a monster giant his size.

His eyes were filled with boredom, anger as his eyes met mine, noticing I was just like him. He also noticed the stupid wires connected to me, especially a breathing tube, which caused his heart to grow weak.

The way the man looked back at the monster, killing it with a single punch, I felt surprised and scared?

His hand was near mine as he dropped some type of metal circle, which fell to the floor where his eyes met.

I sensed that something was bothering him, knowing he may have lost someone he cared about.

Without hesitation, I grasped the man's hand, which made him look at me.

He could sense my worry as my tiny feet stood on the bed, heading closer to him as he kneeled. "Mister, I'm sorry," I said as he kneeled down to me blankly. "Why are you sorry? I should be sorry for wrecking your room." My head shook. "It's just a room; you lost someone, didn't you?" His head tilted. "What do you mean-Oh." He realized what you were discussing as his hands picked up a metal ball. "He seemed important...did that monster kill him?" His eyes looked to you again, not knowing what to say as he hated to tell little ones lousy news. But, again, a hero doesn't lie, as this kind of stuff strikes the man in the heart."You're a smart one, Kid, and yes...his name was Genos; you pretty brave when that monster came; what's your name?" "Y/n. Y/n L/n, what's your name, Mister?" He smiled slightly. "Saitama, you have a nice name; we have unique styles; your hair is fabulous today, Y/n." He patted your head as you giggled with the feeling of his rubber gloves. "I don't have hair, neither do you, Mister Saitama; how did you lose your hair?" "Hmm.." He looked up to his head, then back to you, "A monster ate it." Your eyes widened. "No way, really? Was the monster you just beat up the one that ate your hair?!" Saitama chuckled slightly as his head shook. "No, let's just say the monster was friendly. Did the same thing happen to you-" He paused when your face turned sad as you looked at your hands. "Have you heard of the disease called leukemia?" His heart broke while nodding. "Yeah, it's a type of cancer...is that...how you lost your hair?" Looking up at Saitama, tears glossed over your orbs as you nodded. "It happened a year ago, just before my parents passed away. We're so poor we didn't know how my treatment would go, but after the monsters killed them, I was handed to an orphanage, and they took me here to get treated. Funny huh? Seeing a little girl going through the worse sickness in the world, alone, without family? I just wanted to be an ordinary girl with a life full of excitement and adventure. Instead, I'm hooked up to these stupid wires. Ugly, huh?" "No." You looked at him as he sat on the end of your bed. "I understand the feeling of wanting excitement and adventure, but having those in life doesn't make you a better person; excitement is what comes through you. Those wires, you being in here, still alive, excite me, and you're so brave. I mean, you just experienced something exciting; I kicked a monster's ass-" He paused what he just said as he slapped a hand over his mouth, as you giggled at his words. "Bad word, Saitama! No cursing allowed!" His hands went up with defense. "I did not say anything; you heard things Y/n. "That's a lie! You just sinned again!" "Oh no, what so ever will I do? Will though lord of this earth send me to damnation?" Standing on the bed, you smirk. "I, an Angel of God, she'll give you a chance to repent, and you will be sent to heaven like Genos is right now!" Getting up, Saitama kneeled and bowed his head.

"Oh gorgeous angel of heaven, please forgive my stupid, bald-headed self and accept my hands as I repent of the sins I committed." Heart warm and eyes sparkling, you grasped his hands easily as he looked up to your beautiful, bright smile. "You are forgiven, Hero!" Smiling, he stood up. "I'm glad; I didn't want to lose my best friend." Your eyes widened while your head tilted. "Best friend?! But, Mister, we just met-" "So? Let's call it an Instant connection-" *Boom!* An explosion was shown in the distance of your knocked-over wall, the floor rumbling from the impact as he looked at you quickly but calmly. "Duty calls, say, if I defeat this monster, ice cream is on me, okay?" His heart warmed from your excited face. "Really?!" "Of course, but in case I don't come back, here." Taking off his cape, he dropped it over your shoulders, which made your eyebrows furrow. "But, you need this-" His hand went up as destruction was still heard in the distance. "It's just a piece of clothing in my eyes; you seem to need it more than I do because what I see...." Walking closer to you, he gave one last head rub as he gave you a soft yet warm smile. "Is a hero...."

"A hero that deserves fairness in the world."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[f0point5]

whenever i hear about ocon's parents selling their house and living in a caravan (iirc) i just feel so bad for him. it really reminds me of all those traumatised child actors whose parents quit their job because the child can now be the breadwinner. obvs it's two complete opposite sides of the spectrum but both are such unfair sitautions to be put in as a child! esteban needing to succeed because otherwise his family would be broke forever?? (also i know that these decisions are often mentioned in a heart warming "oh look at how much my parents sacrificed for my dream" -way, but i find it so hard to look at it from a positive light. i'm sure they did it all out of love but i just can't imagine putting your child in such a tough position and putting that much pressure on them. i guess i just lack that top performance athlete mentality lol.) not to mention that most of these racing children hardly have a plan b career plan since they usually drop out of school. so now you have a kid who single handedly has to save the family from financial ruin AND has no safety net or plan b whatsoever. that's just insane and it's no wonder esteban is like that. he really has the ultimate rags to riches back story but his history gave him such a massive chip on his shoulder that he's just become unlikeable, which sucks!!! wish someone would grab his shoulders and shake him around a little and say: estieee!! youve made it!! stop driving like losing would full on kill you and just focus on getting the best out of the car and be the best you can be!! you'd think that someone with his backstory would be the last person who'd need to be humbled, but fucking hell he acts so smug and can be so delusional it's exhausting.

anyyyyways, apologies for dropping a full essay in your askbox, i don't even care about esteban lmao. it's just that whenever i do happen to think about him i just get so frustrated 🤷🏼‍♀️😬

have a lovely evening!! 💞

This.

I remember reading that once when I didn’t know too much about him and thinking, okay that’s a bit extreme. And then I thought about how much pressure that must have put on him. Pressure to succeed, but also just pressure in terms of that being not an ideal quality of life for a teenage boy. His parents made his life exponentially harder in every single way to support his hobby in the hopes that he could turn it into a career to support them. And then I thought about the fact that if he hadn’t been that 0.00001% that makes it, how much harder his life would have got, and how much guilt he would have lived with. They set him up to live with constant insecurity and instability, and to shoulder the burden of making that all worth it for them. Who does that to their child? I don’t care how talented you think they are, betting you’re financial security on that is imbecile behaviour. Even Esteban said if he were in his parents’ position he wouldn’t do it. Poor guy knows what it does to child.

It’s exactly like moving your kids to LA to be the breadwinner, except it’s worse because the amount of kids able to support a family on acting work is probably 10,000 times the the amount of drivers making enough money to support a family from driving alone. Statistically, there was a 0% chance that that gamble would pay off for them but they did it anyway. That’s worse odds than a slot machine. And they bet the house their son was living in?! Ew. Just ew.

And yeah, people say “look what my parents sacrificed for my dream” with affection when that dream has come true. But what would have happened if he hadn’t made it. “Look what my parents destroyed because they bet my future and theirs on my childhood hobby”. What in the damn hell. These stories are not in any way endearing to me - they’re just examples of narcissistic and irresponsible parenting.

And now I’ve just seen clips of a podcast he did talking about his childhood and I was almost tearing up for him. How he and his dad used to take tyres from the other kids’ karts out of the bins and reuse them because he didn’t have enough sets over a weekend, and how he didn’t go to birthday parties or on holiday because it was all focused on his racing. That’s a CHILD. And he was talking about how he and his dad would see Max and Jos and how everyone was intimidated by them but he and his dad weren’t…because they had literally bet their shirts on his career and couldn’t afford to be scared. That. Is. A. Child. What if he woke up one day and didn’t want to do it anymore? What if he wanted a life beyond what his parents chose for him by putting their lives on the line? Would he have been allowed to? I mean. No bloody words.

Again, anyone who says Jos is a problem father better be coming for the Ocons (and Anthony Hamilton).

The way he is is so clearly connected to the fact that he lived his whole life in survival mode. That guy moves through the world like the last meal he had was one he had to fight for in an abandoned warehouse. And fair enough it got him where he needed to go, but once you’ve made it, It’s the most unpalatable energy to be around, and it no longer serves you. And it also makes you look like an ass because how can you be a whole f1 driver and stink of desperation. Logically it’s clear why but it’s still just not a likeable combination. He probably knows that, but doesn’t know any other way to be. That’s why he has such an issue with teammates - he can’t not fight for things because he’s always scared someone is going to take something from him. He’s like a stray dog that you take in and they hide food in their bed because they think you might not ever feed them again.

I really hope he’s getting some therapy because the childhood is trauma-ing out in the open.

I think of everyone on the grid he’s the one I feel most sorry for, because of all the backstories that you hear, he seems the most unhealed.

But the levels of delulu is something else. That f3 season where he beat Max (racing for a top team while Max was in one that I don’t think had even won a race until Max won 10 in one season) really got him thinking they were on a level and he hasn’t let go of it since. He’s like “oh I look at it like I’ve never had the opportunity to go against Max because we’ve always been in different leagues of car”…as if there’s not a REASON. You’re out here like “he’s in a red bull” well why aren’t you? By your own admission you were on the same f3 track…helmut wasn’t looking for you bro.

Hope you don’t mind my essay back lol. I’m low-key obsessed with him because I find him so annoying but at the same time he’s like literary gold dust. He has such Main Character backstory. It’s just a pity he comes across so unlikeable to me. And the thing is, I genuinely think underneath it all he is a sweet person (delulu still, but sweet), but it just comes secondary to his survival mode personality.

[cain-speaks]

🍑 𝘼 𝙎𝙄𝙈𝙋𝙇𝙀 𝙁𝙊𝙐𝙍-𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙀𝘿 𝘽𝙊𝙔 🍑|| Wukong's Mom AU

» russian girl (jenia lubich) « 0:53 ──〇──── 2:36

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ This is a oneshot involving @journey-to-the-au's Clover + Marshal Liu! ➤ This is hurt/comfort. ➤ death to SEM bro. ➤ TRIGGER WARNINGS include angst, hurt/comfort, self-deprication, minor injury, referenced identity theft, referenced framing, and referenced manipulation. ➤ Word count: 1,372

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

❝ I am just a simple russian girl, I've got vodka in my blood .❞

The guards are none too gentle as they throw the boy into the holding cell, making him cry out as his skin splits on rough stone. The pain is immediate, proving to him that what's happening is real—that the mighty troop of Huāguǒshān truly believes Clover poisoned their beloved King.

"W-Wait!" Clover cries, righting himself as quickly as he can. "Wait, please—!"

He reaches out to the guards, faces that had once looked on him with kindness and friendliness, only to recoil when one snaps at him, long fangs bared threatening. The boy, unfamiliar with such displays, especially from anyone on the mountain, tucks his arms close to his chest and scrambles backwards until he's pressed firmly against the wall. But even as he's out of reach of fang or claw, he can't escape their eyes.

Wrath, regret, disappoinment. Did he prove them wrong? Or prove some of them right?

"You're lucky it's us that were ordered to escort you and not Xīnshù," a mousey brown-grey male—Cypress—spits out. "If she had, I doubt you'd have made it here."

The male beside him, Pecan, scoffs. "You've an atrocious amount of gall, poisoning our King. And during a festival, no less—"

"I didn't!" Clover cries, surprising even himself at the sheer desperation that pours out of him. "I didn't do it, I'd never do it! The mountain..."

Is all I have, he wants to say. But his throat closes and he can't get the words out, try as he might. Cypress and Pecan shake their heads, closing the door and locking him into the cell.

As they turn to leave, Cypress pauses. Then, over his shoulder:

"We should have chased you out the moment you arrived, Sì'ěr."

And then Clover is alone.

Again.

The holding room is dark, barely lit by a single torch Pecan left behind. It's cold and wet and it smells like dust, like it hasn't been used in... forever. If he focuses hard enough, the four-eared macaque can get whiffs of a copper tang, making his stomach turn. So instead he buries his face into his knees and wraps his arms and tail around his legs, trying to calm himself.

You can explain. They'll understand. It wasn't me, it was—

...his own grandfather.

What had Clover done wrong? What had influenced his grandfather to... to trick him, to trick the entire troop (the one he was sworn to protect)? And why did he let Clover take the fall? Surely he didn't do it on purpose? They were family, after all; as far as blood went, they were all they had left of each other. That had to mean something.

But that smile before unconsciousness had claimed him... Clover has never seen his grandfather so happy before.

A storm of emotion lights him up inside. Rage at having been framed and tricked, grief for what he could lose, fear of what will happen if he can't convince the troop it wasn't him.

What are they thinking right now? He wonders, hot tears building in his eyes. Does Miss Xīnshù feel validated? Does she think I'm a monster? What about the queen mothers?

And then his stomach drops.

What about Pear? Mulberry, Apple, the rest of his darling friends so lovingly dubbed the Fruit Troop? What was Rin-Rin thinking? Was she worried, and if she was, for what? For him, or for her daughter, who was so often within his grasp? What... what about—

The door opens and Clover clamps his hands over his ears, waiting for the screech of stone grinding on itself. Only it never comes, at least not at the intensity he was prepared for, as if the person opening it was taking great care to avoid any unpleasant sound. But considering it's certainly not hush-hush that Clover is down here (and the only one, too), he can't imagine who'd grant him such generosity.

As a familar figure appears, silhouetted by the corridor behind them and illuminated in the dim torch light, Clover understands.

"L-Liú," Clover gasps, scrambling to his feet. He hurries to the front of the cell, hands wrapped tightly around the bars despite how it irritates the scrapes. "I'm so glad you're here."

Marshal Liú doesn't reply. He enters the room in silence, the door closing behind him. Neither does he spare Clover so much as a glance as he pads to a few more sconces and lights them. When Liú finally approaches the cell, he presses his back to the wall beside it, arms crossed. His face is pinched, eyebrows drawn together and nose wrinkled in a thinking expression. The quietness of it all is unnerving, almost suffocating for the boy. But he keeps silent, not daring to break it.

"The troop is furious," Liú finally says. Clover feels his heart pound anxiously. "Xīnshù especially, considering little Blueberry's birth."

"...I know," Clover murmurs, ears pinned.

"And to make matters worse, Wisdom and Courage have been poisoned, too."

Clover's ears immediately perk, eyes wide as fear settles into his body.

No, no, no, he couldn't have—I couldn't have... He didn't...

"Thankfully, they seem to just be asleep. Beng reckons they'll wake in a few hours," Liú continues, and the four-eared macaque can't help but suck in a deep breath of relief.

They're alright. They're going to be fine.

But is he?

Liú steps in front of Clover, then squats, meeting his eyes.

"You understand how bad this is, Clover," Liú says. "The queen mothers and the King are unconscious, save for a single clone, and you were seen both giving Wùkōng tea and giving the mothers fruit. Somehow."

The two lapse into silence with Clover trembling, tears threatening to escape him again.

Liú slowly raises a hand to cover one of the boy's, holding it gently. "No matter how we look at the evidence, you're responsible, Clover."

A sob breaks loose; he can't help it. Clover knows how bad this looks for him, knows that the odds are not in his favor. The amount of people undoubtedly on his side are barely a fraction of Huāguǒshān and no doubt will lose their power when faced with Xīnshù and the Wùkōng clone.

"I didn't do it," Clover sobs, pressing his forehead against the bars. He bends until he's nearly kowtowing, though he refuses to move his hands from Liú's. "I didn't do it. Please believe me."

Liú make a soft noise—a gentle grunt meant to soothe infants, and Clover would perhaps be embarrassed if it didn't work so well.

"I know," Liú soothes. "I know. Rin-Rin and I know you didn't." His free hand snakes through the bars and cradles Clover's face, careful of his ears, and raises his face.

Clover sputters and uses a sleeve to messily wipe his face, shaking. "I'm so sorry," he weeps, eyes shut tight. "It's all my fault. I-I'm so stupid! I'm not even smart enough to g-get my stupid powers under control! M-Maybe if I did, I could've stopped all this!"

And I'd know if Grandpa was really lying to me the whole time, he adds within his thoughts, his teeth biting into his tongue at the wave of anger that bristles down his back.

"Stop that," Liú coos, gentle. "It's not your fault, Clover. I know it's not. You're..."

Clover barely notices the pause, too caught up in all his feelings. But when a second hand cradles his face and pulls him close, his forehead barely ghosting against Liú's, he's granted a brief moment of confused reprieve.

"Liú...?" He asks softly, noticing the wet sheen in the marshal's eyes with a prick of concern.

"You're my boy," Liú whispers, voice cracking. "And in a few days, we'll catch who really did this and you'll come home."

Clover sniffles, fighting off tears once again, and laughs a little. "And Rin-Rin won't let me leave."

"And Rin-Rin won't let you leave," Liú confirms, laughing a little too.

So the two sit there, cooing softly to each other and wiping away tears and fears alike.

And when Liú has to leave, Clover keeps his chin up.

I'm not alone, he thinks.

Blue eyes flash before his mind's eye, and a determined look settles on his face.

And I won't lose to you.

❝ So I dance with brown bears, and my soul is torn apart .❞

[writingmyheartoutforyou]

There are a lot of things wrong with the idea of dropping Biden and replacing him with someone else.

1.) The General Election is less than 4 months away. The funds raised by Biden's campaign ($200 million at the least) can not be transferred to any other campaign according to law. Meaning any potential replacement would be starting at 0 and be at a insane disadvantage.

2.) 14.5 million people voted for Biden during the Primaries this year. He won with 87% of the vote. You would need a candidate who can win over ALL those voters, plus undecided voters.

(Side note: that task would be monumental given that a good amount of the people who voted in the primaries are going to be pissed if their votes are tossed out. Doubly so if they don't get a say in the replacement.)

Point being, any potential replacement would be fighting an uphill battle at a steep incline. Potential voters would see them as essentially backstabbers who don't care about them as constituents. So they'd be wasting time trying to get those votes BACK instead of campaigning against Trump.

It's also just a terrible look for the Democratic Party, who claim to be fighting FOR democracy, to then toss out all those votes because they didn't like the outcome. It would weaken the standing of the party to a sizable portion of the base.

3.) I've already seen people on Twitter say that this debacle is making them reconsider donating to Democrats in the future. I don't blame them. Why donate to people who want to disenfranchise you? So if any part of this moves forward, Democrats down ticket will face backlash. Almost certainly losing both the House and Senate.

4.) It's just a terrible idea to oust the incumbent. Democrats have done this before (LBJ and Carter come to mind). Those elections ended with Nixon and Reagan in office, and we're still feeling the effects of THOSE presedencies. Dropping Biden would guarantee a Trump presidency.

Incumbents have a natural advantage in elections. They can point to the things they've done and what they plan to do. Name recognition helps, too. It's easier to sell the average person someone who's already doing the job than it is to sell a potential unknown. People know Joe Biden. They don't know Newsom or Whitmer nearly as well (if at all).

(Back in 2020, a big concern was that Trump would be re-elected simply because he was the incumbent. I think he might have won if his response to COVID-19 hadn't been so terrible.)

5.) This is just my personal opinion, but the focus on Biden's age and stutter has been shameful. We knew he was old back in 2020, so bringing it up now is pointless. Also, as someone with a stutter, the way people are trying to tie cognitive ability to his lifelong speech impediment is just offensive. People with stutters are not stupid or have dementia. They have a stutter. The focus on it is just pure ablisim.

(It would be funny to me if all the talk about Biden's age actually shifted the 60+ vote to him. I can't imagine that group enjoys being talked to like they're walking corpses.)

There's too much at stake here. So I'll end on this: if Biden wins, we will have an election in 2028. If Trump wins, we probably won't. So unless you want that, vote.

[revans-rubber-duckie]

Spoilers up to end of act 2 but my brain is eating itself

Opted to burn the grove down and I don't think anything is quite as sobering as the difference in reaction Shadowheart has between saving it and burning it.

Like she's pleasantly surprised to learn she cares about the tieflings if you save it. She's drinking but it's pretty clear she's just having fun enjoying the night ect ect. You can have a cute moment with her. She's even willing to tease you a little. We all know how fun and light this is. You get to see her drop her prickly exterior and you see how much she really doesn't want to keep people at a distance but she knows she made this bed and she will lay in it, but she lets you know she's not opposed to you closing that gap at least a little.

Burn it down and she's so smashed your illithid check is a 2 to learn she's agonizing over what she was part of while trying to justify it as being in line with Shar doctrine. She knows she's too drunk to sleep with anyone without it hurting her later. If you offer to cheer her up with a war song she's almost angry you suggest it and says she wants nothing to do with war for tonight. If you call her out on feeling guilty she immediately tries to hide behind "we survived" rhetoric. Even when you offer to just sit at a fire with her she opts to go it alone, despite conceding doing nothing might just be nice (and the way the convo plays out I do get a personal read that 'nothing' should have been applied to the offer of burning the grove). She is having a no good very bad day and 0 fun.

And not that it wasn't really obvious that Shadowheart struggles with her faith even in the "good" run, but I think this just.... really drives it home. When she does something her goddess would be over the moon (forgive me) for, she feels sick. She tries to drown it. She's young. She just lost her fellow clerics. She's alone with only her faith to keep her company and guide her. She's trying so hard to present and posture herself as a proper Sharrian and...she's just not. She's not. She's soft at her core and it doesn't matter how much brainwashing and memory suppressing happens she fundamentally does not have the heart for it.

But she'll do it. She has to defend the only home, the only family she knows. She's nothing if not faithful. She's always hopeful it's worth it, that it amounts to something, that she just isn't at a place in her faith to understand yet. But it eats at her and if you pick the justiciar route for her (and you do have to specifically pick it for her. You have to give her specific direction, the thing Shar has been doing for her whole life more or less.If you stay silent for the whole thing she will choose to throw Shar away) it really hits as her finally drowning. She couldn't hold herself underwater long enough to do it, but god will she let you do it for her.

This got away from me but the point is it's almost tragic to see how quickly she falls apart when you do exactly what Shar would approve of.

[marsbar17]

omg apex headcannons in 2024?? :0 honestly I'm so glad someone is finally writing stuff for this fandom again!! Also I really love your writing style! :D

Could you do some Valk and Crypto dating headcannons (separately)- they are my babies 😭😭

Thank you so much! I've already done a crypto x reader headcannons so you can go check that out or if you want smth different you can absolutely request again! But here's Valkyrie for you :)

Valkyrie x Reader Headcanons

Contains: NSFW further below

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

《SFW》

• So so so many food dates, she takes you out to try every restaurant or pub that catches her eye

• "Louder" dates if that makes sense, like amusement parks, action movies, or arcades instead of cafes or libraries

• Gaming together :)

• Like video games, card games, board games, tabletop role play, all of it

• She will win you any and every prize you want when you're at arcades, carnivals, stuff like that

• Depsite her loud and flirty personality, she is a gentle and loving partner who just wants you to be happy

• When you're upset she'll run you a bath, grab a tub of your favorite ice cream, and turn on your favorite show

• Her love languages are mostly gift giving and quality time but she's someone who loves all of them

• She calls you every pet name under the sun, even the "cringy" ones

• She'll call you sugar tits unironically

• At first it's cringe and weird but after a while it gets to the point where you don't even blink when she yells "come here baby cakes" from across the room

《NSFW》

• Very much a top, she doesn't care about her own pleasure she gets off just from pleasing you

• Honestly she could probably cum just from eating you out or sucking you off

• She has a very high sex drive, simply your existence makes her horny

• Has spent an abnormally large amount of money on bedroom things if you know what I mean

• She's up to try pretty much anything at least once

• But some of her favorite kinks are definitely voyeurism and exhibitionism

• She loves watching you masturbate, maybe you even tie her up so she can't touch you, ooooo she'd get so worked up

• She also loves showing you off to others, making you sit on her lap in public, placing her hand on your thigh just close enough to your crotch that it becomes sexual, shit like that

• Her favorite position is riding, or just whatever you like

• She drops most of the cringy pet names in the bedroom, not all of em, but most of em

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading all the way through and I hope you enjoyed it!

Remember that liking and reblogging my work takes like 10 seconds and really helps me grow as a creator!

Have a good day!

[ostensiblywhump]

Strands

Augusnippets Day 2: platonic bathing | hair care | makeup

Word count: 500

Trigger warnings: none

——————(0)——————

"Are you done yet?"

A nearly-inaudible, long sigh came from behind Brier, before Karmic said, “Say that again, and I’ll cut your throat instead of cutting your hair.”

“Young lady, do not make me turn this car around!” Brier said, dropping her voice low, then giggled. “That’s what you sound like right now.”

“Young lady, do not make me stab your carotid with these scissors,” Karmic immediately deadpanned back. Said scissors made a snick-snick noise, slicing through more of Brier’s hair.

“Ha, see—? Oh no, shh, shh, I’m sorry, Sor, sorry, sorry, rest your tired eyes,” Brier sang, fingers running over Sor’s fur. The touch of magic in her words made the cat settle down again, his eyes sliding closed. Brier hummed a few aimless notes, slowly stroking down the length of Sor’s spine, before she reached out from under her protective cape for the half-made straw sandal she’d abandoned to placate Sor.

“You—” A yawn interrupted Karmic’s sentence—it was silent, but Brier could hear his jaw creak, could picture the one eye Karmic always kept open when he yawned. “You’ve done that … three times now? You’re putting me to sleep, dirthead. You’ll end up lopsided and laughed at because you enforced naptime on your hairstylist.”

“I can’t help it!” Brier whispered, starting to weave a careful distance from where Sor was dozing across her lap. “Don’t move while a cat is on your lap or you’re the worst human in the world, that’s the rule. You know that, that’s why you put him there to begin with.”

“It’s for your own good,” Karmic said, unrepentant. “Every time I thought about your sheer amount of split ends, I fantasized about freezing you into a giant block of ice except for your head and giving you a haircut. You got off easy.”

“I guess I did,” Brier sighed. “Honestly, who can blame me? He’s trapped me, but he’s the cutest trap in the world.”

“Correct answer.” The tug of the clips in her hair released, and a comb glided over her scalp without meeting any resistance. “Okay, now I’m done.”

“Yaaay!” Brier quietly cheered, now having the freedom to turn her head. Karmic was leaning back a little to inspect his work—his face was as severe as ever, but there was a softness to the corners of his eyes, and a jaunty, almost triumphant trill had risen out of the quiet, mellow tune his emotions had become.

“Thank you!” she continued. She tilted her head, and said, “Is there something you want help with for your hair?”

A beat, as Karmic went still, both in body and emotions. Then he huffed, the meditative tune coming back, and as he turned in the direction of their broom closet, he said, “I think Sor’s got you occupied at the moment.”

As he walked away, Brier smiled, eyes catching on the tufts of hair on the floor. After all, she’d learned how to listen for the ‘later’ implied, how he’d never said no.