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phantomrose96 · 3 years

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Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…” Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #long post #wanted to write A Thing so here is A Thing!

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camelely · 4 years

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13rw S4 Fix

So i did one of these for last season and I think now that I’ve had some time to think about S4 I’ll do the same. While last season I thought the issue was one character being overused. But here it seems like there were multiple smaller things that could have improved the whole season Again I’m keeping the same basic plotline and characters :)

1) Winston

Have Winston stay at Hillcrest. Him moving to Liberty did nothing for the main plot and he was basically a red herring through most of it. Let him try are befriend the characters from the outside. He can learn about Jess from Bryce’s trial and the news coverage and then try to befriend her at Monet’s. This is where he meets and later starts to date Alex. Since he doesn’t go to liberty school Alex sees him as a sort of escape and lets him in. Clay and Ani dont tell everyone about him because they dont know he is trying to get close to them. It makes them seem less like assholes and more like people. They don’t mention his connection to Monty because they dont realize how close he is getting to answers. Clay can still suspect he did the graffiti, after all it was a break in and a non student could have done that. Plus Estella is another red herring in the school. She serves that purpose so let Winston be the outsider looking in. His arc would still be about knowing a different Monty and not knowing who is was at Liberty but now he is literally the outsider who didn’t really get Monty, rather than it just being a figurative thing at the prom. You can still have the prom scene it would just be entirely imagined rather than the half imagined thing they went with. I think they overused the people talking to ghosts thing so here it would be a fantasy of Monty and the relationship they had rather then a representation of what could have been. However I don’t think this would have retracted from the point. Also play him up, he is a sympathetic antagonist and it sucks how much he is sidelined for Diego. I didn’t hate Diego but Winston and him basically went through the same arc. They were pro Monty and ending up dating a member of the group, couldnt believe that member was involved and then learned something about Bryce and Monty agreed to move on and just did. All while saying they will alway care for that member of the group. It was an unnecessary rehash. Having WInston be the outsider looking in and Diego the insider looking out also lets their characters compliment each other. They should still work together, just have Winston contact him looking for Monty’s friends. It’s simple.

2) Tyler and Tony

Oh Tyler. The character who seems to be in the middle of everything despite never doing anything himself. I didn’t mind his arc of helping the cops find the guys who sold the illegal guns. But Tony’s suspicions, eventually leading to Clay and Tony finding out the truth and just moving on never really go anywhere. I think it would be cool if Tyler tells Tony, despite the cops telling him not to tell anyone, because he trusts Tony. But Tony, who has had bad run ins with the cops, thinks it is a bad idea. He doesn’t want Tyler taking the deal. Tyler says its the only way the guns wont be traced back to them but Tony thinks teh cops are planning to double cross them to mind out more about Bryce and Monty. At the same time he starts getting close to that cop that takes him boxing and helps him get into college (i dont remember his name for the life of me lol). Tyler sees this as being hypocritical and pulls away. Tony still suspects Tyler is behind the lock down because he is pulling away and Tony is getting paranoid. The rest of their story can still be the same but this way they can show Tony’s paranoia and his loyalty.

As for Tyler and Estella, It was fine. The scene of them in the bathroom was really powerful, being in the bathroom with a de la cruz and becoming comfortable because isnt her brother was really nice. This could even be another reason Tony and Tyler fight. Tony can be paranoid that Tyler is trusting her too quickly and think she will turn on him.

3) Jess

Her arc with the principal, being scared and agreeing with the security measures before she sees them in action was really interesting. Focus more on it and less on her manipulating Diego. I did like parts of that arc for her so I don’t want it completely gone but I do think focusing on her working with the principal would have been cool. I would call more attention to her first meeting and her agreeing with the measures and slowly show her change her mind and start to turn against them. Maybe even have an early scene of her and ANi talking about it and have Jess admit she feels safer. Move the creepy cop trying to pat her down to the second or third day. So she can have a moment where they make her feel safe before the negative experience. I loved the protest and a bit better build up would have made it amazing

Her arc with Ani. They fought over Bryce... It should have been a conversation. Not a moment where Ani judges Diego and then they argue. I still think this arc should have been Chloe and Jess and should have been in last season. But they had the opportunity to include Chloe this season and just didnt. I’ll talk about this a bit more in the Zach section but I think Chloe should have been at Prom and the moment between the Ani Jess and Chloe should have been then. It would be right after Jess and Ani made up and would have been cool.

I don’t think she should have had scenes where she saw and talked to Bryce. Yes it created some powerful moments but they could be reworked. Have WInston use his wealth to commission a positive thing in the paper about Bryce and Monty and have her talk to his idealized photo of Bryce. I will mention it in the Clay section but her hallucinations detracted from his journey with mental health.

4) Clay

Okay two thing here the first is his arc with mental health, hallucinations, and blackouts. They used it for drama and I wish they hadnt. It should have been about him healing. I didnt mind the way they handled the realization for clay that it was him doing everything (Did they explain the symbol he kept drawing because I missed it if they did? or i just forgot because it was that forgettable lol) but I think the whole thing could have been handled a lot better and a more educated fan then I can provide a better explanation for what exactly was off about it. I will say the the therapy sessions were repetitive and I know thats realistic but for a tv show its boring. The scene were Clay goes to his home was weird and low key scary. I understand the purpose but I wish he had called him and asked to meet at his office instead. A more likable and relatable journey for Clay with his mental health would be really good for a show that was accused of glorying suicide (personally i dont think it did. My inbox is open if you wanna talk though :))

The second thing is the phantom phone caller. I hate this trope so it might just be me but this is so stale. There are exactly two ways it could go. The person could know everything and be a real problem or the person could be fishing for information and not be a real problem. The whole thing was predicable since Winston had red herring written all over him, Estella was barely developed, and on this show it is always the football guys. Instead let the pranks be smaller and less crazy. Like these boys had to coordinate a lot to mess with Clay. There should be more than one prank and end with a Monty doll and Clay holding a knife to set up the camp episode. But they should be pranks, not the phantom caller psychological torture bs. The blood shower can also happen just on a different day. Clay can be confused about what is real and what isnt making him even more worried about his blackouts and again assuming the mental health arc is handled well, the pranks can be a real part of it. Dumping him in the pit on the camping trip also seemed kinda attempted murdery so maybe do something like tie him to a tree of the path or in a small dirt ditch not a rocky pit where if he hit his head or fell weird the team would all be murderers.

5) Alex

His arc with Charlie was one of my favorite stories this season. I was also not bothered by him getting close to and exploring his sexuality with Winston and Zach. I’m in the minority but I’m glad Zalex wasn’t made canon and Zach was used to be an effective (kinda) ally and good friend. Plus this way Zalex can live on in the fandom untouched or ruined by the writers interpretation.

They should have given us Alex in therapy. He tried to kill himself had a traumatic injury, an arc with steroid abuse, and an arc about killing someone. All of which were forgotten this season. All the other characters seemed to be dealing with Bryce and Monty, why not focus on Alex? Even if it isnt in therapy just let him exist in his feelings.

6) Zach

I have one major issue with Zach’s arc, the lack of Chloe. She was the reason he almost killed a man. Let them date, let him start to spiral while dating her. She doesnt know what he did. Have them grow apart on screen but her still connecting to him and not wanting to give up on him. They should go to prom together. I know the hooker was supposed to represent Zach turning into Bryce with the hookers and the drunken sex/potential rape and cocaine. But Chloe fills the same comparison. He brings cocaine she is not okay with it, He tries to convince her to have sex in the back she is not having it. Maybe he tries to convince maybe it becomes a bit worse than that but she breaks up with him at prom and leaves early. She sees Bryce in him, she doesnt have to say it but you can see it on her face and she walks away when her mind and heart tells her to this time no making excuses. Boom Chloe actually has an arc. As for Zach this is a big wake up call for him he sees what we had become. I know it is later in the actual show but I think it should be in the prom episode so he can have a better conclusion in the finale, like the other characters. The whole season was a downward spiral and I wish we got to see more of him pulling himself out of it. If the whole finale is him getting better even though he wont be all the way done he will be in a better place up the end.

7) Justin

Okay the hard one. I think the writers really wanted to kill him. I mean a fan favorite, who did bad things, and the death would be in the series finale. this is a tv writer’s drug of choice. So I’m gonna do a fix where I still kill him first then to the ideal version. Ok so first Justin dies. No HIV/AIDS. It was out of nowhere, unneeded, and seemed a bit insensitive. If you want it to be related to his drug use, make it so he got a bad batch when he relapsed. Or maybe organ failure. If it doens’t need to be drug related it can be an accident or someone he knew on the streets getting revenge, like that drug dealer we spent time with last season. Or if Justin helps Tyler put the gun salesmen behind bars then have it be retaliation for that. He can still go to the hospital and have goodbyes but it wont be an aids diagnosis and death in the same episode. I know they had signs in earlier episodes but the timeline is still really fucked up...

An ideal ending would have him live. He can still pass out at Prom. The diagnosis can be a combination of stress and withdrawal symptoms.He can be the red herring for the person in the coffin. If Justin lives he can represent hope. He can show the audience that you can get better and things can work out. Even if you are sick and think you will die you can do better be better and live in a better world. Plus I love him and really wanted him to be happy. The message would be you can get out of a bad situation and wold have ended a sad series on a positive note. Even if you are a bad person. Even if you have bad circumstance. Even if it feels like the world is against you, it can get better if you put in the effort. Which felt like the message the show was going for in eariler seasons by showing the people on the tapes doing better but abandoned this last season.

So who would I put in the coffin. Ani’s mom. Now I know she wasn’t a well liked character and her mom wouldn’t have the same audience or character reaction Justin’s death did. But this version isn’t about making the audience sad. Ani would finally have a plot that was really about her, her mom died, Bryce’s mom basically wants to provide for her. And she isn’t sure what to do. Justins funeral felt like it was overshadowed by graduation anyway. Now Ani’s moms absence and the funeral being overshadowed both make sense. She is going to college and doing what she can to honor her mom. And the death of a parent causes Clay to immediately appreciate his own family more. The theme in the first season with Clay was appreciating and acting on his feelings for Hannah before she was gone. Ani’s mom dying is a reality check for him and he know the most important things are his family and friends. Justin’s arc was about finding a family and he did. The core of the show is about family, friends, and the importance of a strong support system. And starting it with a mother grieving her daughter and ending it with a daughter grieving her mother would be a cool full circle moment.

This post is really long so if you read all the way down Thank you! :)

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betterdaysareatoenailaway · 3 years

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RANDOM REVIEW #2: ANY GIVEN SUNDAY (1999)

“This game has got to be about more than winning. You’re part of something.” Any Given Sunday (1999), directed by Oliver Stone and featuring Jamie Foxx, Dennis Quaid, Cameron Diaz, Al Pacino, LL Cool J, James Woods, and Matthew Modine, is my favourite sports movie of all time. Of all time.

I’m not betraying my favourite sport by saying this. The Mighty Ducks is a kid’s movie. It’s okay, but it’s not a timeless classic. I don’t like the Slap Shot series, Sudden Death is fun but silly, and the Goon movies were a missed opportunity. The only truly good scene in Goon is the diner scene where Liev Schreiber tells Seann William Scott: “Don’t go trying to be a hockey player. You’ll get your heart ripped out.”

Such is the sad circumstance of the hockey enforcer. They all want to play, not just fight. Here’s a link to a video in which the most feared fighter in the history of the NHL, Bob Probert, explains that he wanted to be “an offensive threat...like Bobby Orr,” not a fighter: https://youtu.be/4sbxejbMH4g?t=118 Heartbreaking. But not unusual.

Donald Brashear, Marty McSorley, Tie Domi, Stu “The Grim Reaper” Grimson, Frazer McLaren: they all had hockey skills. But they were told they had to fight to remain on the roster, so they fought. As Schreiber says in the film: “You know they just want you to bleed, right?” If the players don’t bleed, they don’t get to stay on the team. So they fight, and they pay dearly for it later. Many former fighters have CTE or other head injuries that make day-to-day life difficult. The makers of Goon should have taken that scene and run with it. I was so disappointed they didn’t, especially given what happened right around the time the film came out, with the tragic suicides of Wade Belak, Derek Boogaard, and Rick Rypien, all enforcers, all dead in a single summer. So Hollywood hasn’t even made a good hockey movie, let alone a great one. Baseball has a shitload of good films, probably because the slower pace of play makes it easier to film. Moneyball has a terrific home run scene, Rookie of the Year does too. Angels in the Outfield was a big favourite of mine when I was a kid, plus all the Major League films, and Bull Durham.

Football has two good movies: The Program (1993) and Rudy (1993).

And football has one masterpiece. The one I am writing about today.

A young Oliver Stone trying not to die in Vietnam. ^ Now, I know Stone is laughed at these days, given his nutty conspiracy theories and shitty behaviour and the marked decline in the quality of his films (although 2012’s Savages was underrated). I know Stone is about as subtle as a sledgehammer, but do you want a football movie to be subtle? Baseball, sure. It’s a game of fine distinctions, but football? Football is war. And war is about steamrolling the enemy, distinctions be damned, which is why Any Given Sunday is such an amazing sports film. I love the way it shows the dark side of football. In fact, the film is so dark that the NFL withdrew their support and cooperation, forcing Stone to create a fictitious league and team to portray what he wanted to portray.

This is not to say the movie is fresh or original. Quite the opposite. Any Given Sunday has every single sports film cliché you can think of. But precisely because it tries to stuff every single cliché into its runtime, the finished product is not a cliched mess so much as a rich tapestry, a dense cinema verite depiction of the dizzying highs and depressing lows of a professional sports team as it wins, loses, parties, and staggers its way through a difficult season. Cliché #1: The aging quarterback playing his final year, trying to win one last championship. (Dennis Quaid)

Sample dialog: Dennis Quaid (lying in a hospital bed severely injured): Don’t give up on me coach. Al Pacino: You’re like a son to me. I’ll never give up on you. ^ I know this sounds awful. But it’s actually fuckin’ great. Cliché #2: The arrogant upstart new player who likes hip hop and won’t respect the old regime. (Jamie Foxx)

Cliché #3: The walking wounded veteran who could die if he gets hit one more time. Coincidentally, he needs just one more tackle to make his million-dollar bonus for the season. (Lawrence Taylor)

Cliché #4: The female executive in a man’s world who must assert herself aggressively in order to win the grudging respect of her knuckle-dragging male colleagues (Cameron Diaz). Diaz is fantastic in the role, though she should have had more screen time, given that the main conflict in the film is very much about the new generation, as represented by her and Jamie Foxx, trying to replace the old generation, represented by Al Pacino, Dennis Quaid, Jim Brown, and Lawrence Taylor. Some people think Diaz’s character is too calculating, but here’s the thing: she’s right. Too many sports GMs shell out millions for the player an individual used to be, not the player he presently is. “I am not resigning a 39-year old QB, no matter how good he was,” she tells Pacino’s coach character, and you know what? She’s right. The Leafs’ David Clarkson signing is proof positive of the perils of signing a player based on past performance, not current capability. Diaz’s character is the living embodiment of the question: do you want to win, or do you want to be loyal? Cuz sometimes you can’t do both.

Cliché #5: The team doctor who won’t sacrifice his ethics for the good of the team (Matthew Modine).

Cliché #6: The team doctor who will sacrifice his ethics for the good of the team (James Woods)

Cliché #7: The grizzled, thrice-divorced coach who has sacrificed everything for his football team, to the detriment of his social and familial life, who must give a stirring speech at some point in the film (Al Pacino…who goes out there and gives the all-time greatest sports movie “we must win this game” speech)

Cliché #8: The assistant or associate coach who takes a parental interest in his players, playing the good cop to the head coach’s bad cop (former NFL star Jim Brown).

Best quote: “Who wants to be thinking about blitzes and crossblocks when you’re holding your grandkids in your arms? That’s why I wanna coach high school. Kids don’t know nothing. They just wanna play.”

Cliché #9: The player who can’t stop doing drugs (L.L. Cool J).

Okay, so the first thing that needs to be talked about is Al Pacino’s legendary locker room speech. Now, it’s the coach’s job to rile up and inspire the players. But eloquence alone won’t do it. If you use certain big words, you lose them (remember Brian Burke being endlessly mocked by the Toronto media for using the word “truculent?”). The coach must deliver the message in a language the players understand, while still making victory sound lofty and aspirational. This is not an easy thing to accomplish. One of my favourite inspirational lines was spoken by “Iron” Mike Keenan to the New York Rangers before Game 7 against the Vancouver Canucks in 1994. “Win tonight, and we’ll walk together forever.” Oooh that’s gorgeous. But Pacino’s speech is right up there with it.

“You know, when you get old in life…things get taken from you. That’s parta life. But you only learn that when you start losin’ stuff. You find out…life’s this game of inches. So’s football. In either game – life or football – the margin for error is so small. I mean…one half a step too late or too early and you don’t quite make it…one half second too slow, too fast, you don’t quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They’re in every break of the game, every minute, every second. On this team, we fight for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when we add up all those inches that’s gonna make the fuckin difference between winnin’ and losin’! Between livin’ and dyin’!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_iKg7nutNY Somehow, against all odds, Any Given Sunday succeeds. It is the Cinderella run of sports movies. You root for the film as you watch it. The dressing room scenes are incredible…the Black players listen to the newest hip hop while a trio of lunkhead white dudes headbang and scream “Hetfield is God.” There is a shower scene where a linebacker, tired of being teased about the size of his penis, tosses his pet alligator into the showers where it terrorizes his tormentors. There is a scene where a halfback has horrible diarrhea, but he’s hooked up to an IV so the doctor (Matthew Modine) has to follow him into the toilet cubicle, crinkling his nose as the player evacuates his bowels. There is a scene where someone loses an eye (the only scene in the film where Stone’s over-the-top approach misses the mark). There are scenes that discuss concussions (which is why the NFL refused to cooperate for the film), where Lawrence Taylor has to sign a waiver absolving the team of responsibility if he is hurt or paralyzed or killed. I wonder how purists and old school football fans reacted to the news that Oliver Stone was making a football film. If they even knew who he was (not totally unlikely…Stone made a string of jingoistic war movies in the 1980s) they probably thought the heavy hands of Oliver would ruin the film, take the poetry out of every play. But the actual football is filmed perfectly. The camera gets nice and low for the tackles. It flies the arcs of perfect spiral passes. It shows the chaos of a defensive line barreling down the field. When Al Pacino asked quarterback Dan Marino (fresh off his own Hollywood experience acting in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective) what it was like to be an NFL QB, Marino said: “Imagine standing on a highway with traffic roaring at you while trying to read Hamlet.” A great explanation. Shoulda made the movie. So the football itself is fabulously done. Much better than what Cameron Crowe did in the few football scenes in Jerry Maguire. The Program had some great football, as did Rudy, but neither come close to the heights of Any Given Sunday. In one of the film’s best scenes, Jamie Foxx insists that his white coaches have routinely placed him in situations where he was doomed to fail or prone to injury, and we believe him because white coaches have been doing that to Black players for decades. Quarterback Doug Williams, who led his Washington Redskins team to a Superbowl victory in 1987, was frequently referred to by even liberal media outlets as a “Black quarterback,” instead of just “quarterback,” as if his skin colour necessitated a qualification. Even now, in 2021, the majority of quarterbacks are white, although the gap is gradually closing. The 2020 season saw the highest number of starting Black quarterbacks, with 10 out of a possible 32. Quarterback is the most cerebral position on the field, and for a long time there was a racist belief that Black men couldn’t do the job. Foxx’s character is a composite of many of the different Black quarterbacks who came of age in the 1990s, fighting for playing time against white QBs beloved by their fan base, fawned over in hagiographic Sports Illustrated profiles, and protected by the good ol’ boys club of team executives and coaching staff. Foxx’s character isn’t demoted because he can’t play the game. He wins several crucial games for his team en route to the playoffs. He’s demoted because he listens to hip hop in the dressing room, because he recorded a rap song and shot a video for it, and because he’s cocky. Yes, the scene where he asks out Cameron Diaz is sexist, as if her power only comes from her sexuality, not her intelligence and business acumen, but it’s meant to show how overly confident Foxx is, not that he’s a sexist prick. Any Given Sunday isn’t a single issue film. It’s basically an omni-protest piece. It gleefully shows football’s dark side, and there is no director better than Oliver Stone for muck-raking. He’s in full-on investigative journalist mode in Any Given Sunday, showing how and why players play through serious brain injuries. How because they are given opiates, often leading to debilitating addictions (this happens in all contact sports...Colorado Avalanche player Marek Svatos overdosed on heroin a few years after retiring from injuries). As to why, Stone gives two reasons. One, team doctors are paid by the team, not the players, therefore their decisions will benefit the team, not the players. And two, the players themselves are encouraged to underreport injuries and play through them because stats are incentivized. James Woods unethical doctor argues with Modine’s idealistic one because an MRI the latter called for a player to have costs the team $20k. But the player in question, Lawrence Taylor, plays anyway because his contract is stat incentivized and if he makes on more tackle he gets a million dollars. Incentivizing stats leads to players playing hurt. And although I loathe this term, a lazy go-to for film critics, Stone really does give an unflinching account of how this shit happens and why. When Williams is inevitably hurt and lying prone on the field, he woozily warns the paramedics who are placing him on a stretcher to “be careful…I’m worth a million dollars.” It’s tragic, yet you’re happy for him. The film really makes you care about these guys. Thanks to the smartly written script, the viewer knows that Williams has four kids, and you’re pleased he made his bonus because, in all likelihood, after he retires, his injuries will prevent him from any kind of gainful employment (naturally, they give the TV analyst jobs to retired white players, unless Williams can somehow land the coveted token Black guy gig). Stone is not above fan service, a populist at heart, and he stuffs the film with former and then-current NFL players, a miraculous stunt given the fact that the NFL revoked their cooperation. Personally, I think this was a good thing because it meant Stone didn’t have to compromise (the league wanted editorial say on all issues pertaining to the league…meaning they would have cut the best storyline, which is the playing hurt one). It also meant that they had to rename the team and the league. While I’m sure this took away from the realism for some fans, I’m cool with it. It also allowed the moviemakers to name the team the Sharks, a perfect name for this roving band of predatory capitalist sports executives. In another example of fan service, the call-girl Pacino’s quintessential lonely workaholic character rents a girlfriend experience from is none other than Elizabeth Berkley of Showgirls, who had been unfairly blacklisted after the titular Verhoven/Esterhaz venture, a movie my wife showed me one day while I was dopesick, which I became so transfixed and mesmerized by that I forgot I was. As mentioned above, the only misstep in the film is one of the offshoots of the Playing Hurt arc, where a player loses an eye on the field. Not because he gets poked, but because he gets hit so hard his eye simply falls out. A medic runs onto the field and puts the white globe on ice. Stone cast a player with a glass eye in order to achieve this effect. No CGI! Still, the scene is unconvincing, a tad too over-the-top. But this is Oliver Stone. At least Any Given Sunday’s sole over-the-top moment is a throwaway scene lasting all of thirty seconds. It easily could have been a secondary plot-line in which government officials try to sneak a Cuban football prodigy out of Castro’s communist stronghold but the player is brutally murdered the morning the officials arrive at his apartment to escort him to the private plane. Or else the team GM is revealed to be a massive international cocaine dealer. Or the tight end is one half of a serial killer couple. The film follows its own advice, focusing more on the players growth, particularly Beamon’s (Foxx). The anonymity of the title, Any Given Sunday, elevates the game, not the players. Thank God, the movie doesn’t force Beamon to assimilate into Pacino’s mold. He buys into the team-first philosophy without renouncing his idiosyncratic POV or his fierce individuality. This is a triumph. One of my biggest problems with sports is the flattening effect it can have on creative individuals. Players take media training in order to sound as alike as possible during media interviews, a long row of stoic giants spouting cliches. It’s boring. Which is why media latch onto a loudmouth, even while they scold him for it. All sports are dying for an intelligent mouthpiece who can explain his motivations in a succinct, sound-bite-friendly, manner. Sports are entertainment. As much as I love Sidney Crosby, in my heart I have to go with Alexander Ovechkin because Ovechkin is far more thrilling, both on and off the ice. Unlike almost every other NHL star before him, all of whom were forced to kneel and kiss Don Cherry’s Rock Em Sock Em ring, Ovechkin defiantly told the media he simply did not care about Cherry or Cherry’s disgusting parental reaction to one of Ovie’s more creative goal celebrations (called a “celly” in the biz). On the play in question, Ovechkin scored the goal, then dropped his stick and mimed warming his hands over it, as if his stick were on fire. As cheesy as the celebration appeared to the naked eye, it’s both a funny and accurate notion. Ovechkin was the hottest scorer in the league for many years and his stick was on fire, metaphorically speaking. The only celly I can think of that matches up in terms of creativity and entertainment value came from Teemu Selanne in 1993, who scored a beauty of a goal, threw one of his gloves straight up into the air, then pumped his stick like a shotgun while “shooting” his glove. Of course, Cherry took exception to it. Cherry’s favourite goal celebration features Bobby Orr putting his head down and refraining from raising his hands over his head. Cherry’s idea of an appropriate goal celly is no celly at all. This from a man who claims “we’ve got to sell our game.” But when an arrogant player shows up and he’s not white, he’s in for a shitload of bad press. Foxx’s Beamon illustrates this beautifully when he yells at Pacino after Pacino cuts him for an older QB who has lost four games this season. “Don’t play that racism card with me,” Pacino warns. “Okay…okay…” Foxx nods, “Maybe it’s not racism. Maybe it’s ‘placism’…as in…a brother got to know his place.”

youtube

Here is the original theatrical trailer, featuring Garbage’s classic “Push It.”

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Above Lawrence Taylor begs Matthew Modine for Cortazone. There’s also a great scene where Pacino is trying to figure out where he has gone wrong and Diaz just looks at him. “You got old,” she says simply. No enterprise is more cruel to an aging human being than sports. And this movie makes football a big giant corporate machine that chews players up and spits them out, injured and drug addicted, after four or five years. Those who play for a decade are lucky. This is still how the NFL works. And the NHL is increasingly becoming a young man’s game. Experience matters less and less.

When I started watching hockey in the 90s, players regularly competed into their late 30s. Not so anymore. Players peak at 23-24 now, and are often out of the league by age 35. Thornton and Chelois are exceptions, not the rule. After more than two hours, Any Given Sunday finally lurches across the finish line, bravely refusing to give its viewers a traditional happy ending, in the great tradition of underdog sports films like Rocky and Rudy. The bombshell dropped by Pacino’s character at the end feels less surprising than inevitable, but by now the movie has explored so much of professional sports' seedy underbelly that you're glad it's over. The film is great but exhausting. Stone seems to be advancing the notion that the sport itself is pure, but the people in it are corrupt. If money weren’t involved, the game would be played for its own sake.

I agree with this. People playing pond hockey are engaging in wholesome fun, not necessarily practicing to make a professional league. Commerce corrupts the purity of the game, and the extent to which it corrupts is directly proportional to how badly the individual in question needs the commerce. Of course, the sport is highly racialized, with people in positions of authority white, and those being told what to do with their bodies Black.

Any Given Sunday is an important film, but it never sacrifices entertainment for the sake of moralizing. That it pulls off such a strong moralistic stance is a testament to the actors, who are all incredible, and the material, which is among the strongest of Stone’s career.

He never really made a great movie after this one. So check it out sometime.

#betterdaysareatoenailaway #anygivensunday #al pacino #jamie foxx #dennis quaid #james woods #matthew modine #jim brown #lawrence taylor #cameron diaz #ll cool j

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nachohypno · 4 years

Text

Nate and Dave Ch. 9

Nate’s POV

After Dave’s practice was over, I decided to go to his house with him. He still seemed mildly pissed, so I thought of taking the initiative and spending some extra time with him today.

According to him, the coach yelled at Lucas and Butch for starting a fight, then at Dave for fighting back, chatted with them about being good teammates and having each other’s backs.

Funny enough, he said he preferred to have an endurance practice as a punishment for the whole team, for not having separated the guys before the blood started to spill out.

The rest of the team got punished as a lesson for everyone. “If this happen again, your body will fall apart after the hell of endurance training I’m gonna give ya” Dave repeated the coach’s words, in a mocking tone. “It’s just… so unfair, bro! I’ve got punished because some assholes randomly tried to pick on me because… Uhm…”

I looked at him, expectantly. “You really just got it, right?” Big alpha Dave just got a taste of his own medicine, apparently.

Not saying I condone violence nor that I approve Butch and Lucas’ behavior. I would never wish for something like that happening to anyone I know, but I’m kind of glad Dave got to know how it feels?

The… unfairness, when you get attacked at school (A place where you are supposed to be safe) and everyone acts like you’re the problem, while encouraging the big jerks who actively want to make your life a hell just because they can. There’s something karmic to it, and I love it.

He looked at me, still frowning, but his expression seemed to relax after a few seconds. “Sorry, don’t know how you managed to put up with that for… How long have you been putting up with that? Just remembered we don’t really know each other for that long”

I looked up and tried to concentrate, to recall when did the harassment begun. After a few moments, I gave up. “It was probably always there, because I can’t really remember. Probably middle school? It did increase when I came out of the closet, so there’s that too”

“Aw, bro…” Dave said, sitting down beside me on the bed. “If maybe I had met you before, I could have protected you from all those assholes”

‘It doesn’t really help since you were one of those assholes when you arrived, but I’m sort of glad you never bothered to try and beat me up. That’s a difference, I guess’ I thought, remaining silent to avoid hurting his feelings.

The big jock was wearing a green tank top, which seems a little underdressed due to the current weather we’re having lately. Winter seems to be coming early this year.

“It’s okay. I’m still alive, huh?” I said, trying to sound funny for him to lose that frown. I’m not going to blame it all on him, mostly because he hasn’t done anything against me in the past, and because he was trying to change for the better now. And I’m NOT throwing away his progress because I want to rant.

He gave me a little smile, with caring eyes full of love. “And I’m really happy for that, babe” Then Dave leaned in and started kissing me. I kissed back, of course, before he pulled me with him to lay down on his bed. The heat from my body was pretty nice, and I could totally spend the rest of the night like this.

Kissing together, cuddling, maybe ask him to transform into his werewolf form. But now, this was all I needed.

As we took a little break from the kiss, I had an idea. I moved my hand to the side of his torso and started scratching there. Suddenly, Dave’s leg raised and started kicking the air as the werewolf stud closed his eyes, tongue lolling out as usual when he acted like a happy dog.

“Feeling better now?” I said, as I stopped scratching. That was one of my favorite things about him, the acting like a nice and happy puppy when I treated him like one. I wondered if he could catch a Frisbee with his mouth.

Dave nodded blissfully as he returned to his senses. “You’re the best, bro. Always looking out for me…” He leaned in again to kiss me, but this time, he moved to be on top of me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him as we continued to make out together.

I did notice he started to rub his cock against my ass, with our pants in between. It did feel good, so I didn’t stop him.

I broke the kiss and looked at him, who stopped to see what happened.

“So… Dave…” I started, trying to find the words. The truth is, I felt pretty horny myself. And I knew he was horny too, due to his big cock being noticeable in his shorts. The werewolf expectantly waited for me to continue. “If I were to… you know, ask you to fuck me… would you agree?”

I internally face palmed. I mean, I have complete control over him, of course he would agree! I’m just delaying the inevitable because I’m afraid of getting fucked! What if it hurts? What if Dave doesn’t like it? What if I don’t like it?! Dave is not even gay, but he happens to be in love with me!

All my insecurities started to ramp up and aggressively knock on the door that was my sanity, making me feel more anxious as soon as I finished speaking those simple words.

Dave knew I was a virgin, so he looked at me with caring eyes again. “I ain’t gonna force you, bro. If you ain’t ready, then it’s fine by me. You’re the priority here, babe” I could tell he really meant that, but that he would gladly fuck the brain out of me if I said I’m ready.

But, I shook my head. “No, I want you to do it, puppy boy. I mean it”

His smile grew bigger, like a little kid when you tell them that you’ll buy them a new console for Christmas and actually make it happen. “I-I’ll do the best I can to make sure you really enjoy it, bro! Your first time HAS to be perfect!”

I nodded, smiling too. His enthusiasm seemed to be contagious, and then he moved to take his tank top off. I did the same, taking off my shirt and mimicking him as he also took off his pants.

And then, Dave’s dad knocked the door. We were sort of alone in the house, with Dave’s mom working again until later tonight, and his dad being out for the evening. Until now, apparently.

I wondered if Dave heard him coming or if he was too distracted to notice. “Hey guys, I know you’re in there. Just wanted to know if Nate is going to stay for dinner so I know how much food should I prepare”

I blushed, wondering if Dave’s dad heard all we were talking about. And in the meantime, Dave seemed pretty pissed again. I noticed he even started to growl, like the first time I came here. Apparently, his dad isn’t of his liking when I’m around, even when Mr. Walker told me he was alright with me being around his son.

“I can stay if you want, P— Dave” I held myself back and decided to not call him puppy boy when his father might be on the other side of the door.

Dave stopped growling at the door to look at me. He nodded, with a little smile before going back to hating on the door. “Yeah, he’ll stay. Mind leaving us alone now?”

“Sure, Imma about to leave again so you can both go back to your kissing and—”

“YEAH, WE GET IT POPS. YOU CAN FUCKING LEAVE NOW” Dave shouted at the door, and surprisingly his father just laughed before walking away.

We waited expectantly until we heard the front door opening and closing, then Dave went over to one of the windows to make sure he was gone.

The jock turned to me, trying to give me a comforting smile but I could tell he was still pretty mad about everything, and his father didn’t help at all.

“I dunno if that ruined the mood for you but…” I noticed his cock wasn’t hard anymore, which was a surprise. He’s always hard around me, but maybe this was too much for him to handle. “Y-You can still order me to get hard if you want. I want to make you feel good, bro”

Looking at it, I didn’t consider how many changes he’s been going through lately. First, dropping his girlfriend out of nowhere after he discovered I’m his soulmate. Saved me from his teammates, apologized to one of the nerds he used to torment. And now he’s getting distanced from his ‘bros’ because they don’t like him being with me.

I also noticed he’s been trying to get better at studying, and even showed me how he “summarized” (Although he just copied word by word what the professor was talking about in an almost perfect way) a whole class. He’s really trying his best, while also focusing a good chunk of his time after school on practicing football.

I liked that, and I haven’t ordered him to do that for me so I liked to think that Dave was actually looking forward to changing his bad behavior for a nicer one.

Not terrorizing the nerds didn’t seem to take a big impact on him, in fact the rest of the football players seemed to calm down after he did. He’s the one setting the example!

Except for… Butch and Lucas, who weren’t “buying any of his shit”. I could easily tell Dave to hospitalize them because of all the damage they’ve done so far, not only to me but to the other students as well.

But that would be bad, and I’m not a vengeful person, and using Dave as a weapon was Wrong with a capital W.

He’s a real guy with emotions and thoughts of his own, but he finds himself unable to disobey anything I say due to his werewolf nature. I still don’t know how soulmates are sorted and if that has anything to do with our souls being similar in some aspect or by the smell I have.

I shower almost daily so I wasn’t sure of how he could smell me and discover I’m his soulmate. So I gave the credit for that to his supernatural abilities as well.

“Hey, come here” I commanded him, and he obeyed. He was still on his boxers, since we didn’t get to the ‘get fully naked’ part. His pecs bounced pretty nicely as he walked over towards me like the good puppy boy he was.

Dave kneeled in front of me, and placed his head on my lap, like a dog craving for his master’s attention.

“Nnn… nnn… nnn…” Awww, he was making those sounds that dogs make when they’re sad. “It’s been an awful day, bro… Thanks for being here with me…” He looked up at me, and his eyes seemed teary. I’ve never seen him like this, his face seemed mildly beaten up even though his injuries seemed to have already healed “I love you…”

I… I was shocked. Not because of the ‘I love you’ because he said it before, a lot. But because I’ve never seen him show ‘weaknesses at all. He always seemed so… big macho alpha.

I placed my hand on his cheek and softly caressed him. “I-I love y-you too, Dave” I whispered, and he gave me a little smile.

Then he jumped at me, making me fall back to the bed. The werewolf was on top of me now, looking excited. “Y-You said it! You said you love me!” Huh, it was weird hearing him stutter.

I looked away, feeling my cheeks burning. “Hey, I couldn’t just sit there and watch you cry—“

“Who’s cryin’? Not me, bro. Crying’s for pussies! Alphas don’t cry, bro!” He stated, with proudness returning to his voice. Huh, he seemed way more energetic than just a few moments ago. His behavior did one of those 180° turns again, and the sadness completely disappeared.

I chuckled “You’re a good alpha puppy, don’t you?”

Honestly, I was relieved to see him happy again. He seemed on the verge of crying, and I kind of had an idea why. I don’t want to see him crying, so I should… let go of the ‘leash’ a little bit and have him act like he normally would? Maybe rough changes like the last few ones are upsetting him?

He may be trying too hard to please me like a good soulmate, and I’d hate myself if he’s hurting himself by doing that.

“I am, bro!” He rolled on the bed and sat beside me, as I moved to look up at him. The jock flexed both of his arms, putting on a show for me, before saying “I’M A FUCKING ALPHA PUPPY!”

Alright, that sounded ridiculous, but it was closer to his normal self. Maybe that would help him a little, not trying to change so drastically for me but remain as his usual self while getting on the habits of studying and not bullying.

I moved myself to place my head on the big pillow, and motioned Dave to lay down with me. “I know we were about to… do the lewd,” He chuckled like a little child “But I think I’d prefer to just cuddle together like we always do?”

“Anything you’d like, my love. Should I turn into a werewolf so you can rest on my fur?” Hah, this guy is truly amazing. I shook my head though, I preferred having him in human form just in case we wanted to kiss.

I hugged him, while wrapping my legs around him. He just waited there, smiling blissfully as he stared at me with his nice blue eyes.

A big muscled guy with handsome face, blue eyes, and an alpha werewolf too. How lucky I am to be his soulmate?

…Huh, I’m really falling for him. But it’s okay, it’s not like I don’t love him or anything.

----

Dave’s dad returned after like an hour, and I suspected he wanted to give us time to finish with losing my virginity.

…That didn’t happen, of course, so we tried to avoid the subject while we ate our chicken breasts with smashed potatoes and broccoli. ‘These guys surely love being healthy’ I thought to myself as I silently enjoyed my meal.

Mr. Walker and Dave both ate like they barely chewed their food at all, but I sort of got used to that after a few meals with Dave. The jock still seemed really happy, and would throw me some nice smiles each time I looked at him.

Dave’s dad just looked at us, taking turns to look at each one of us before his gaze went around the room. “So,” He started, after the silence apparently bored him. “Football game coming up. Do you like football?”

I tried to think of a good answer for him. But I remembered he was not one of the jocks at school, I could answer with the truth on this one. “Not really a fan. I mean, I know the basics but never sat down to watch a full game before”

Dave finished with his current piece of chicken before joining the convo. “Can’t wait for the next game. Will you cheer for me, bro?” He asked, before getting a bit of smashed potatoes on his mouth.

I nervously nodded, as the big guy’s eyes filled with happiness. Guess now I have a football game to attend, although I had to attend anyway because Dave already lied to his teammates about me being there.

Mr. Walker looked at us once again and chuckled silently. Dave looked at him and asked “What, anything to say, pops?” It did annoy me a little how he treated his father in a mean way when I’m around. I think it was because he thinks he has to protect me but Mr. Walker already left very clear that he’s rooting for us.

He held his hands up, saying “Nope, nothing to see here, kiddo” before smiling at us.

Dave did a ‘Mmhmm’ sound, with suspicious eyes. I patted his back, whispering “It’s okay, big guy. You can chill out” and his face turned to that numb blissfulness he always sported when I ‘ordered’ something to him.

Adam raised an eyebrow to that, before shrugging it off. “Soulmates, amiright?” He said to me, before throwing his son a mocking look.

Huh, being around the Walker family was going to be more fun than expected.

----

Next morning, I woke up before Dave did. He snored a lot, but I was deep sleeper so I barely noticed him.

I did wake him up a while after I did though, because we would be late to school. I wanted to stay a little longer with him on the bed, but he’s been trying so hard to be a better student that I’m not going to hold him back by being the irresponsible one now.

Breakfast was alright, Dave’s mom was asleep due to the extra hours at work she did last night, apparently. So, Mr. Walker took care of making us quick scrambled eggs with bacon before almost kicking us out of the house to avoid being late. “THAT WOMAN IS GOING TO KILL ME, CMON GUYS. EAT, EAT, EAAAAAAT!” and I really surprised with the amount of food Dave was able to eat.

I usually took my time, but the peer pressure by Dave’s dad made me finish ASAP, before we went upstairs to grab our bags and practically ran towards Dave’s car.

The driving to school was pretty normal today. At each chance Dave had to stop due to a traffic light, he would take the chance to pull me in for a good kiss until the light turned back to green. It was a really nice detail by the werewolf jock.

When we arrived at school, he decided to not stay in the car this time, and got out at the same time I did. I had a feeling he didn’t care anymore about being seen together, and that was great by me.

We did get separated as soon as we stepped into the school, though. I went towards Sam and Dave got grabbed by one of his teammates and dragged away to their usual spot. I had to talk with Sam anyway so… pretty cool day so far, huh?

“Hey Nate” Sam greeted me, holding out his hand to slap mine. “Got the notebook?”

“Uh… Yeah, I think so” We had a meeting last day, since he’s the student council’s president. Dick is his vice president and I’m the… the guy who just appears to help, because his secretary was busy with robotics at the moment and would refuse to leave the class.

I reached out to my bag and grabbed a green notebook full of receipts and other documents. If Sam or anyone in the council used any of the money they had saved up for a project, they needed to have the receipts and a little sheet explaining what was the money used for.

I made my best to ensure that nothing fell out the messy notebook, then passed it to Sam. “I haven’t been able to do the maths, but I think you have enough money for the basic decorations already. If anything, a couple of events could do the trick to get more fancy stuff”

“What held you hostage last night? Did you try to kill a Zorah magdaros without armor again or are you back at trying to platinum RE2?” He asked, grabbing the notebook and carefully placing it in his locker.

“Uh… You wouldn’t believe it” I said, trying to sound kind of dismissive to change the topic. “But hey, the meeting wasn’t as bad as I expected. I could stick around a few more times if you need help”

Being in the student’s council wasn’t part of my plans, because I have my own extracurricular activities to attend to. But it’s always nice to do a favor to your best friend, right?

Besides, Dick and Hannah seemed to get along really well during that meeting, so I’ll assume the baseball player must be on the clouds today, huh?

I turned around and noticed Dave speaking with his Leslie, with a fellow teammate near him. I think the group got sort of separated after yesterday’s fight, with a few players around Butch and a few players on Dave’s side. Speaking of Dave, he looked in my direction and smiled, before waving his hand.

I waved back, and Sam tapped my back. “Oh yes Dave, look at me with those deep blue eyes and take me to heaven!” He said, in a mocking voice. It’s pretty obvious by now that he’s fully aware of what’s going on, and that was annoying.

All the effort that went into being secretive had been wasted, but I was also glad about it.

I could walk up to Dave and talk to him on the corridor like we’re normal friends now, right?

The bell rang, and our first class was going to start. I gave Sam a “Dude, cut it off. You’re not funny” as he laughed. Then we set on our way to the classroom.

I sat down my usual spot, and when Sam seemed about to sit down with me, he got interrupted by a pair of big hands grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Yo, Sammy!” Dave said. “You’re sittin’ with me today, got it?” His commanding behavior seemed to be back. Honestly, it was hot, but I wondered what he had in mind for Sam. And I should also tell him to stop calling him ‘Sammy’.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Sam frowned, he really didn’t like being called Sammy.

The big jock answered “You’ve got that damn right, Samson!” still with a big and seemingly friendly smile.

My best friend sighed. “If we’re going to be partners, you will address me correctly. I’m Sam, Dave. Not Sammy, nor Samson, and don’t even try with Sampster”

Sam continued with his list of banned nicknames as Dave rolled his eyes, gave me a wink and dragged my best friend away. Alright, and my partner of the day is…

“Hey Nate” L-Leslie said, sitting down next to me and giving me a really nice smile.

W-Woah, that surprised me so much that even my narration is stuttering now.

Leslie Wilson is one of the hottest (Not for me, because of the gay thing, but I still can tell why guys love her) girls around. And if you judge her by her appearance, you may find that she looks a bit nerdy, like me.

That’s only a façade for when he’s at school, because the cheerleader uniform and losing her glasses reveals her true siren-ish appearance. And she seems to be a great party girl too, from what I’ve heard.

The girl is the equivalent of a goddess, basically. And also she’s Dave’s ex, because the big guy is also the equivalent of an Olympian.

“H-Hey” I was about to ask her how did she knew my name, and then it struck down to me. Dave and her might have been talking and this is part of his plan of going out. I’ll make sure to order the werewolf to tell me before he does this again. I assume he forgot to tell me or something, because I think we had this talk before.

“How’s it going, stutter guy?” I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t trying to think of an answer to seem cool or anything, but my mind was blank at that moment, probably from the shock. And she was making fun of my stutter, awesome.

I looked around and saw Dave and Sam engaged in a chat together, and the jock seemed really happy.

“Uhm… pretty good?” I wanted to hit my head with the table. She’s being nice! Dave probably asked her to sit with my today! Why am I so nervous?!

Luckily, Leslie just chuckled at me before going “Wow, Dave wasn’t lying when he said you’re always nervous” Oh, good to know she doesn’t think I’m a weirdo. Or maybe she does and I’m just embarrassing myself further. “He talked greatly about you, so don’t worry. I think you’re cool”

‘You don’t even know me, gurl’ “How so?” I managed to ask.

She moved her hair a bit, like she was nervous too. Wait, she was nervous to talk to me? Hell, being around Dave surely gave me a reputation.

“He told me how he’s trying to change for the better, to make you less nervous around him. I think that’s cute as hell!” Luckily, she was almost whispering, to avoid any eavesdropper to hear our conversation. “Man, he even apologized to Liam. You know how long I’ve been trying to do that? Ever since I’ve met him”

“I just… He wanted to change, and I gave him the method, I guess—”

“But that’s the case. He didn’t even bait an eye and straight up ignored me when I asked him for that repeatedly. But you’ve been hanging out for, what, a week or two? And he’s already almost unrecognizable from his –Excuse my words- moronic self”

There was some sort of admiration on her eyes. She was excited, and I could tell that she cared about Dave. I like her, she’s way nicer than I thought. I’m not saying I’ll ask her to hang out with me because that would be weird and I don’t want to embarrass myself any further.

Huh, she seems so nice and chilled. I’ve heard stuff about her, of course. A lot of nice things, which were hard to believe because it broke the “popular girl” stereotype by a loooong shot. And her relationship with Dave made it less believable.

The big guy is much different than her, which makes me wonder how they ended up together in the first place. According to rumors, Leslie is caring, nice and wants the best for everyone. She applied for Harvard and studies a lot to keep a perfect G.P.A, along with other extracurriculars.

She also was the mediator during Sam’s deal with the jocks to make sure nobody touched a little hair from him, which was also a nice detail.

Dave, on the other hand, was known for being an ass to everyone. Reckless and without a bit of mercy on his blue eyes, the big guy could totally break someone’s spine if he wanted to. After learning that he’s a werewolf (And an alpha werewolf, nonetheless) a few things got explained, and now he’s trying to change for the better, as I’ve already mentioned.

“I mean, I know a few of his teammates tried to pick on him after you two started to hang out. But don’t pay attention to them, most of them will follow his leader” She motioned his head to Dave’s direction “to the ends of the earth, while others will try to take over his alpha title. I’m honestly quite surprised that Butch and Lucas don’t have a purple eye today”

“Hey, heard you two talking ‘bout me” Lucas said as she finished, a few desks away from us. Was he listening to our conversation? Fuck, high school is really a danger zone to talk about private matters!

“Oh, and what are you going to do? I’d love to see you trying anything, hun” Leslie said, carelessly. Holy heck, she seems almost as reckless as Dave is.

Lucas frowned at us “What’s up with everyone lately? Faggot sickness must really be that contagious—“

BANG.

A book flew over our heads and Lucas ducked at the perfect moment to avoid it hitting his face.

“Oops. My bad, my book just slipped” Dave said. The rest of our classmates got in total silence, then started to whisper as Dave got up from his seat, walked over to Lucas and grabbed his book again.

Before he returned to his seat, he grabbed his teammates’ shoulder and looked straight into his eyes in a menacing way. I couldn’t tell if he was saying something, so I wondered what was that all about.

Lucas seemed about to piss himself, but tried to keep his stance. A few moments later, Dave just chuckled and went back to sitting next to Sam, giving me a wink as he passed in front of my desk.

“Dude, that was my book” I could hear Sam saying, and Dave apologized with a “Sorry, grabbed the first thing I saw, bro”.

“What’s all the noise in here?” Fuck, the professor entered. Lucas didn’t say a word to him, luckily. Leslie and I decided to postpone our chat for later, as class was about to start.

I couldn’t get off my head the scene that just played out in front of us. I smiled to myself, feeling proud of him even though he was as violent as when we met. It was for a good cause, though. Maybe he felt the need to step in and defend me and Leslie.

Either way, I loved my big werewolf jock.

----

Sadly, Leslie had to attend some matters by herself after class, so we just exchanged our phone numbers and went in separate ways.

I reunited with Sam and Dick at the corridor, and the former seemed pretty comfortable after spending his morning with Dave.

“He hasn’t threatened me even a single time! Could you believe that? I don’t think that ever happened ever since I’ve met him. How about you, Nate? Lucky bastard got to share a seat with Leslie!” Sam said, clearly surprised of Dave’s friendly behavior. I was glad to hear that he liked spending time with him.

I tried to say some lame excuse as to why Leslie sat with me, but nothing good would come out. I ultimately went with the “You know that I always sit with a new partner every day, maybe there wasn’t any other place and she thought ‘well, fuck it’ then sat with me for the class”.

I really can’t say for sure that they believed me, but they stopped talking about it. That’s a pro, I guess.

The day was mostly a normal one. Some of my classes aren’t the same ones that Dave picked, so we have to separate from time to time. As much as I’d love to spend more time with the puppy boy, we wouldn’t be able to meet up until breaks or lunch time. Not even after school, at least until his football practice was over.

I tried to think of a way for Butch and Lucas to not bother Dave anymore, but it seems like his teammates took Dave’s side on this one, mostly. And because of that, his mates had to shut up and do as their coach said.

Dave asked me to stay around for a while because he wanted to tell me something in private but had to head to the practice, so I just nodded and told him to text me when he was ready.

In the meantime, I went to the library and just caught up with my homework as I waited for the werewolf to text me. It was going to be an hour or so until he would be done with practice, so I had a lot of time to catch up.

After an hour and almost a half, Dave sent me [Locker room. Private chat 🐶🐶]. I grabbed all my stuff and walked out of the library, heading to the sports area.

I walked into the locker rooms next to the football field. I’ve never been into this part of the building before. It looked like your normal, grey and boring locker room, but a bit bigger and with a few shower stalls separated in a row.

Dave was sitting on a bench, in front of his opened locker and with his bag next to him. He was wearing his jersey, with the football armor underneath. I don’t think he had showered yet after the practice, but at least he didn’t look beaten up again.

He turned to face me as soon as I stepped into the room, and grinned. “Hey bro, missed you”

He got up and walked closer to me, leaning in for a nice and slow kiss. Gentle as usual, I loved the taste of his mouth as I kissed him back.

“Hey… did you wait until the locker room was empty to call me? We could have met behind the bleachers if you wanted privacy—” But he shook his head.

“It’s cool outside, so I preferred to take you to a more private place. My teammates are gone by now, so we’re pretty much by ourselves until the janitor comes to close. And I know he’s going to take a while, I’ve been here with Lee before” He explained, still smiling.

I nodded, admiring his shape. The armor under the jersey made his torso look bigger than it was, which was already quite impressive by itself.

At that moment, I felt… something. Like when Dave sucked me off for the first time, I felt the need to command him, but I also felt myself incredibly attracted to the werewolf. I think… The soulmate bond may be it, right?

It’s just a dumb theory but maybe it works as a double-edged sword? I mean, I don’t feel like I need to give myself to Dave in mind and body, but I actually feel attracted to him in a way I’ve never been to anyone else before.

“Hmm… Could you take off your jersey?” I asked, and he complied with a nice nod. Dave took off the jersey with a few swift moves and threw it on top of the bench he was just sitting on.

“I… I wanted to talk with you, bro. Ever since I’ve met you, I’ve been feeling this… warmness inside of me” He started, looking down at the floor. He was obviously nervous, but I couldn’t really concentrate on what he was telling me because of this weird feeling. I wanted him, a lot.

“Hmm… Don’t mind what I’m about to do. I’m listening, okay?”

As I expected, his eyes glazed over for a second as he vaguely answered a “Got it, bro…” Before he shook his head and resumed. “It’s no secret I love you. I mean, our classmates are still trying to figure it out but they ain’t dumb, bro”

I reached out to his body and placed one of my hands on his abs. He seemed completely oblivious to that, and just smiled nicely as he continued. “And, as your soulmate, I really look forward to doing anything you tell me. I’ve never thought I’d be sayin’ this words to anyone but… you pretty much own me completely, body and mind”

I was indeed listening to him while I explored his body, and it never failed to surprise me too when he said something like that. Hearing a jock (or more specifically, Dave) saying that he will obey you completely and that you own him is not a usual thing.

I moved my hand to his jockstrap and found a protective cup in front of his cock and balls. Speaking of his cock, as soon as I touched him earlier, it started growing hard quickly. Good old David doesn’t waste an opportunity to show off his size.

I grabbed the cup and took it out of his jockstrap, then lowered the sporty underwear. “I ain’t trying to talk bullshit here, bro. But seeing how my last attempt went, I thought about opening myself a bit more rather than just… straight up asking you, babe”

“So… you wanted to ask…?” I didn’t intend to sound like a dick, but this… dominant feeling I was having made me want to order Dave around a lot more. And since I didn’t want to interrupt him opening his heart out to me, the last thing I could do was hear him out while also appeasing myself.

I wrapped my hand around his hard cock and started jerking him off. That didn’t stop him, though. His smile just got a bit bigger as he said “I’ve said this already and I’ll never be tired of repeating it. I love you, Nate. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and when you told me you loved me yesterday, I couldn’t feel sad anymore because it was a sign that I was being a good soulmate for you”

He seemed to pant while I jerked him off, and that made him only cuter the more he spoke. He was right, I loved this guy. And even if the soulmate bond made me feel that way, I could tell that it was also my own doing.

I’m the one who tried to make him a better guy overall, and he changed without a second thought. Like the good puppy boy he was.

“Hell, I also want to be a good puppy boy and drop to me knees to act like a good dog for you, bro. I don’t know if that’s weird, but you know I’d do anything for you” The fact that he’s just completely oblivious to me jerking him off makes this chat way hotter than it should be. He started to moan in between words a bit more frequently, obviously getting closer.

“But… been m-meaning to… ugh… a-ask you something a-again…” Dave’s body suddenly stiffened, as a random stutter started to appear when he came in front of me, his cum falling straight on the locker room’s floor.

‘Now, that was a good shot’.

“Do you have a napkin, puppy boy?” I asked him. He nodded blissfully and grabbed a paper napkin from his bag, handing it over to me before resuming his position. “Thanks”

I proceeded to clean up the cum on the floor, because we’re not animals and it would be weird for someone to see this.

“As… As I was saying… Would you be my boyfriend, Nate?” Dave asked, regaining his coolness and looking down at his feet. “No matter what you answer, it’s my goal in life to serve and protect you from anything, my love. Just thought that… well, it’s totally your choice. You’re the one with the control here, bruh”

He seemed so chilled while saying that, and it’ll probably always creep me out how werewolves (in plural, because Dave’s dad seemed in bliss when he talked about his soulmate) talk about giving up control of their lives in such a chilled and relaxed way. Like it’s actually normal, for anyone to do that.

I loved how that little detail got me a buffed stud, though.

I looked up at him, as I finished cleaning up the cum and threw the napkin into a nearby dumpster. Then, I walked back to him and kissed him on the lips. He kissed me back, and then I broke it to give him my answer.

“Yup, that would be great, puppy boy” Dave suddenly gave me a really nice smile, one I haven’t seen before. Probably pure bliss? I couldn’t tell. He didn’t waste a second, pulling me closer in a bear hug and then kissing me again.

“THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU, YOU’RE THE BEST SOULMATE I COULD HAVE WISHED FOR” The big guy left me on the ground as soon as I tapped the side of his torso, because he was leaving me breathless. “I promise that I’m going to spend the rest of my live dedicating each second to loving you and providing you with anything you may need, alright?”

I recovered my breath and looked at him, surprised. “Easy, puppy boy. First off, sit” I pointed to the floor, to show that I was actually referring to sitting like a dog. He understood it perfectly and obeyed.

Then, I looked around. Shit, this isn’t really the place to be doing this. I shook my head “Sorry big guy, we’ll have to go somewhere more private first, alright?” He nodded excitedly. He got up and pulled his jockstrap up.

“I’ll shower at my house, or yours, or wherever you want me to shower, babe” Dave said, taking off the football armor and reaching out to his locker with his clothing.

This seems like an amazing day so far, and I’m glad to see the puppy boy is not sad anymore.

-----

Chapter 10 is already available in my Patreon! And by pledging you also get access to other stories before they go public!

#nate and dave #gay hypnosis #straight to gay #mind control #hypnotized #brainwashing #brainwashed

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noncommited-writer · 5 years

Note

Highschool au! peter is a shy, Star wars and decathlon nerd who gets A+ and had few friends and tony stark captain of the football team, popular and also smart. they are dating and the school loves them. tony sees flash bullying peter.

Oh jesus I'm sorry this took so long! I have no excuse, I just had writer's block and wasn't sure on how to write this thing down. But here you go!! I hope you haven't forgotten you sent in the ask😅

“Parker!” Peter jumps in his place in front of his locker, a smile curling his lips as he covers his face with the locker door. “Don’t stand there and pretend that you’re not hiding from your boyfriend.”

Peter peeks out from behind the metal, watching Tony lean against the locker next to his, blushing when he throws a wink his way. A gentle hand covers his and even when the team captain leans in to place a soft kiss on his lips, his smile doesn’t go away.

“You had a good time last night?” Tony mumbles against his lips, pushing back Peter slightly so their intimate moment is covered by the open locker. Peter nods, teeth biting down on his lip to stop the adorable giggle—god, does Tony love that giggle—from escaping, and Tony steps closer in his space to press their foreheads together, a moment of serenity and tenderness as they stare deep into each other’s eyes.

Some bitter teachers in their school may call it high school puppy love, but students know better. No one in their school has ever seen a couple so in love with each other, yet also act like an old married couple who have the other’s back. They’re a match made in heaven, ready to pull through for the other at a moment’s notice. People see them share affection in the school hallways—yet, somehow it isn’t as gross but more sweet—spend free periods in the library, and they always see one of them cheering on the other at their competitions. Tony is the loudest to cheer when Peter wins the decathlon competitions, and Peter makes the most obnoxious poster boards for everyone to see at Tony’s football matches. They even see Tony joining in on the conventions Peter and his friends go to. The last year’s school year book named them ‘Couple Most Likely To Get Married’.

“Yeah, your mom was really happy to see me, huh?” Peter says. Tony laughs softly against his lips, “She’s always happy to see you. She asked if you liked the lasagne she made.”

“I haven’t gotten to that yet. It was heavenly. Can I ask for the recipe? Aunt May could learn a thing or two from her,” Peter says. Tony purses his lips, “Well, May isn’t that bad at cooking—”

“Oh shut up. You spat out her date loaf the first time you came over.” Peter smiles, and Tony melts. God, what he wouldn’t do for him.

“Also, did you finish up the part I told you to?” Peter asks. Tony waves a hand, “Yeah, the last five pages of the thesis. I read the first part of it. It was absolutely brilliant, babe. I’m sure Mr. Johnson will give your part an A.”

Peter flushes under the praise but he shakes his head, “But your research on the nanotechnology was even better. I’m pretty sure I was breathing heavily at the end of reading it. All the science gets me hot and bothered.”

Tony laughs, brushing their noses together, “Is that so?” A hand sneaks behind Peter and slides up his shirt, thumb brushing the skin with feather-light brushes. Peter’s throat closes up, his eyes going glossy, and a smirk forms on Tony’s handsome face; an aching urge for Peter rising within him. “We make a great team, don’t we?”

Peter snorts, “If you count making out every twenty minutes during our work productive, then yeah, we make the best team.”

“You and Ned still having that Star Wars marathon tonight?” Peter hums. “Wanna join?”

“Nah, I’d be taking away your friend bonding time. Besides I still have to fix Butterfingers’ UI. He ran into a pillar in my lab. And damaged his CPU.”

“Okay, but meet me after school for lunch, alright?” Tony nods and places a quick peck to Peter’s flushed cheek, just in time for the school bell to ring. They pull away, dopey grins on both their faces.

Peter shuts his locker door, walking in the opposite way down the hall to get to their respective classes.

Peter is walking down the school halls, earbuds—that Tony manufactured for Peter himself—plugged into his ears. School was over but apparently Tony got into trouble for exploding something in the chemistry lab, which—Peter wonders how is that even possible, they were doing a simple gas test—led to Tony getting sent to the Principal’s office. So, he’s waiting for his boyfriend to come back from his lecture on ‘endangering the students’.

Peter snorts at the thought; everything that Tony does is a calculated risk (he’s a genius like that), he wouldn’t have played with explosions if he knew it’d hurt a classmate.

Although—Peter frowns—Tony doesn’t have that same caution when it comes to himself. Peter will have to ask if he sustained any injury from the explosion, because Tony isn’t the type to disclose his own pains and struggles.

He takes out his phone, ready to shoot a text out to his boyfriend.

“Penis!”

Peter freezes for a moment, inwardly groaning. Flash. For the life of him, Peter can’t really think of a reason to why Flash keeps taunting and teasing him. They have been in the same school, class, and even co-curricular activities for about half of Peter’s life. He doesn’t get why Flash always has it out for him; Tony says it’s a defense mechanism for his insecurities. Peter see reason; there’s no absolute reason for Flash to be insecure because of him.

“What do you want, Flash?” He slowly turns around, a resigned look on his face. The teenager in his polo—with that collar always turned up in a douchebaggy way—and the sweater tied around his neck, saunters up to Peter, that same sneer on his face.

“I was in that lab with your boyfriend and wow, you know to pick ‘em. Guy was being reckless.”

“Nuh uh, I’m not doing this today, Flash. This is a good day for me, don’t ruin it.” Peter rolls his eyes.

“Look, your dickwad of a boyfriend could’ve gotten me killed!” Flash says, a somewhat worried glint in his eye.

“Tony wouldn’t have done it if he knew someone would get hurt.”

“Well, he did it anyways! And he nearly burned my face off!”

“What, did he hurt you? Or anyone in the lab?” Peter asked, ready to walk away from this and just move on. It’s a waste of both their time.

“That’s not the point. It’s that your boyfriend is stupid and reckless enough that he even tried it in the first place!”

A warm flush goes up his neck, his Spider-sense going off, “Don’t you dare say that about Tony.”

Flash scoffs, his eyes rolling, “Oh come on. Your boyfriend is so entitled that he thinks he can pull that off because what, his dad a billionaire? And can easily get him off?”

Peter’s fingers twitches, an itch to wrap it into a fist quickly overwhelming him. Tony rarely talks about his dad but when he does, it’s usually during three a.m. conversations over the phone when Tony is crying or boiling in anger. Peter knows they don’t have the best relationship—borderline abusive, Peter would say—so it irks him when Flash brings him up as if he has a right.

“You don’t know anything, Flash. Mind your own business.”

“Stark is an entitled dick who thinks he owns the school.”

“You’re describing yourself at this point!”

“He’s selfish and doesn’t even care if he endangers students which you—” Flash points a finger in his face, “—should be ashamed of.”

Flash stares at him, doing a once over on Peter. “As if you’re any better. I bet your boy toy got you that dumb Stark Internship only because you sleep with him.”

Peter feels a flash of hot anger—only a split second but it’s enough—and he steps into Flash’s space, hands coming up to shove him, not holding back. Flash stumbles, eyes wide, not expecting that strength from the lanky teenager.

“Shut up,” Peter hisses, eyes a flurry of emotion.

“What is going on here?”

They both turn to see Tony in the middle of the hallway, eyes flying between the two of them. Both of them close their mouths with a click. He takes a moment to let his gaze stay on Flash, something flickering between those depths of brown. His face is impossible to read when he walks over to them, each movement graceful and assured; confident. Peter and Flash are transfixed, quiet and staring.

Their reactions are no surprise. Tony Stark has the power to bring a room to complete silence just with his presence. He can even shut Flash up, which is usually no easy feat.

Once he’s within touching distance, Tony takes Peter in—wide eyes, furrowed brows, mouth clamped in a thin line, and shoulders set straight with tension. Not sparing a glance to the other person in the conversation, he mumbles, “Can you repeat what you said, Flash?”

The teenager breaks out of his stupor. He keeps quiet, all bravado now dust, uncertainty clouding his eyes. At his silence, Tony snaps his head towards him, face blank but eyes piercing, “Tell me. What. You. Said.”

“I don’t think we really need to—”

There's movement in the air, within a second, Tony is in Flash’s space, hands hoisting him up to his face by his polo collar, breathing heavily and eyes wild. His knuckles are white, barely containing the anger bubbling inside him. “And I think, that you have no fucking right to dig yourself into others’ business.”

Flash squeaks, face fearful. He’s like a mouse, his arrogance gone and in its place is cowardice, shivering under Tony Stark’s hateful, burning gaze. Peter is just standing there, unsure of what to do. A part of him revels in how protective Tony is, another whispers to him he should stop Tony.

“If you think you can get away from saying my boyfriend sleeps with me for a fucking internship, I’ll make your life fucking miserable, do you understand?”

Both Peter’s and Flash’s eyes go wide.

“I’ll make sure you’ll never get an internship in any company, make sure you’ll never walk the school’s halls without anyone talking shit about you behind your back. I can make your life a living hell.”

Flash swallows hard, sweat forming on his forehead and nose. He’s shaking, Peter notices. When Flash looks over to him for help, the fear in his eyes is what startles Peter.

“Tony, stop.” His boyfriend doesn’t say anything, still holding onto Flash. Peter takes a step forward, hand reaching out to press into Tony’s lower back, reaching under his denim jacket and shirt to caress his skin. It’s warm, like the anger is coursing throughout his whole body. He leans into him and mumbles, “Stop.”

Tony takes one last look at Flash, one last furious and scornful glance, and drops him like a sack of potatoes, “I’ll find out if you say shit like that to Peter. So I suggest you stop that bullshit right now.”

Flash takes a few steps back, keen on getting out of there as fast as he can. But he stops, and takes a moment to gape at the picture before him. It’s the image of both of them, Tony standing there in all his power and rage—like the ruthless businessman he’ll be in the future—then there’s Peter, who’s whispering sweet nothings into his ear and caressing him softly to calm him down.

For a split second, Flash feels both utterly terrified and in awe of them. Because what he sees are two people who can rule the world some day, who fit perfectly and work together like a well-oiled machine. He won’t be surprised if they turn out to be the world’s power couple. With Tony who’s willing to do anything for Peter, and Peter who’s willing to stand up for his Tony even at the cost of himself.

For a split second, they look like the most powerful king and queen to exist.

But Flash quickly shakes that thought out of his mind, and respectfully nods, getting Tony’s message. He quickly gets out of there, walking away to lick his ego’s wounds.

Tony turns around to face Peter, worry etched into his features. “Are you okay?” he asks, his hands coming up to cradle Peter’s cheeks. The teenager nods, melting in his hold, his own hands wrapping themselves around Tony’s waist. “I’m fine.”

Tony places a sweet kiss on his forehead, taking in the scent of his hair and warmth. “I’m pretty sure you made Flash shit his pants.”

Tony is silent for a moment before he chuckles, nodding. “Yeah, won’t be surprised.”

Peter smiles, feeling the calloused and protective hands on his face, and mumbles, “Let’s go for lunch. I’m hungry.”

“Okay, baby. Sub Haven or Delmar’s?”

“Let’s go Delmar’s, don’t feel like shoving too much bread in my mouth.”

“You’d usually take a lot in your mouth, though.”

Peter sighs dramatically, faking exasperation.

“I won’t if you keep up with those sex jokes.”

Tony laughs, carefree and loose.

“Alright, alright.”

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #High school au #Starker high school au #High school au starker #Starker fanfiction #Starker prompt

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years

Text

Starcrossed Losers V (Josh Wheeler xReader)

A/N: We get some interaction between Y/N and Angelica/Wesley. I hope that’s enough for you guys lmao

Words: 2,271

Warnings: This is basically a tutorial on how to not fix a severed finger. Blood and swearing.

Previous chapter // Next chapter

“Hey Wheeler, stay with me,” I slap his face lightly to keep him alert, “c’mon dude, Angelica's coming.”

Alex was sort of right about me. I take care of my people. Not that Josh is exactly my people, but he’s the closest thing I’ve had to that in a long time. I’m aware it’s only been a day, but still, I don’t want him to die. He worked so hard to find Sam I think it’d be shitty if he doesn’t get to reunite. I’ll stay and help, so my departure has been delayed.

“I’m an idiot,” He mumbles half-conscious, “I’m an idiot with no index finger on his left hand”

And I try, I try so hard to avoid laughing cause this isn’t a fun situation. Josh is losing a lot of blood. I can see the bone and muscles of his finger. I try and I fail cause it’s so ridiculous. He got bitten and instead of asking he jumped straight into the “guess I’ll cut it” part. Now he has no finger, and he is an idiot, but I have to act like he’s not so he doesn’t feel worse.

“It’s ok, everybody makes mistakes from time to time,” I reassure him, “we’ll figure it out, we have to cauterize the cut and maybe we’ll have to sew it. We can fix it. Now be good and keep your hand high while I cut a piece of this.”

He obeys and I rip the lower part of my shirt. I wash it hurriedly on the sink to get rid of most of the dust and when I’m done I kneel in front of him again and press the tip of his finger tightly. He screams and I shush him.

“Don’t move your hand! I’ll take care of this, just don’t move.”

“I’m back!” Angelica’s carrying duct tape and bandages on her arms, she drops them in front of me, “we should get to work.”

“You must have a lighter on that backpack,” I tell her, “get it along with Josh’s sword. We have to warm it hot enough to help us stop the bleeding.”

“You sure you know how to do this?” She asks skeptically.

“Do I look like a fucking doctor? No, I don’t but we have to do something,” I push her lightly towards the exit, “Get your backpack!”

“Okay! I’m on it!” She huffs, running back out.

“Weren’t you about to leave?” His eyes are tightly shut and his voice comes out harsh from clenching his teeth, I shush him again.

“I can’t leave you like this, can I? That’d be shitty of me, considering you help me get supplies and all”

“I just brought you to the mall, you got all that on your own”

“Still, if it wasn’t for you we’d still believe this is Baron’s territory,” Angelica comes back and kneels beside me, she grabs the sword and puts the end above the flame of her lighter.

“You don’t have any kind of anesthesia on that magical bag of yours, do you?”

“Sorry, no,” The girl replies without looking away from her job, “and the pharmacy is on Eli’s side, those things are the only stuff I could find.”

“Eli’s side?” I ask, “He locked us up again?”

“No. Wesley locked Eli,” She answers, “I need something stronger than my lighter, this won’t cut it.”

“Didn’t you have a blowtorch or something?”

“Sorta,” She stands up again, “I’ll be back!”

“Well, we have to wait like, ten minutes for the bleeding to decrease anyway.”

“How do you know this stuff?” Josh asks, a bit reluctant.

Because I read it on a fanfic once.

“You know... you don’t get bored during the holidays and google weird shit?”

“I-I don’t know, I guess?” He shrugs, then goes back to whining.

“Hey, crying won’t make it stop, tiger,” I tell him, “and it makes me nervous”

“I just fucking cut my finger, Y/N! I know crying doesn’t help but sure as fuck relieves the tension!” He snaps.

“Swearing is better, I can swear with you,” I offer, then look back at the blood dripping from the fabric, “Shit, I really fucking hate that you did this, are you out of your mind?”

“I just said I’m fucking stupid!”

“Are you swearing cause I told you to, or cause it’s actually helping?” I giggle, I do that a lot when I’m nervous.

“I think a bit of both?” He takes a deep breath, then screams at the top of his lungs, “FUCK!”

I laugh harder this time. This is surreal as fuck, here I am, holding Josh Wheeler’s severed hand, listening to his swearing concert while Angelica runs back to the bathroom with her blowtorch and points it to the sword, setting it off immediately. After the longest ten minutes of my life, Angelica let us know the sword is ready, or at least, she thinks it is. And she’s supposed to be the smart one so I trust her.

“Bite this, lover boy,” I pull the belt from the cutting board and give it to him, “cause this is gonna hurt worse than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life.”

Josh looks at me in panic and puts his belt between his teeth, firmly closing his mouth (and eyes) so it’s my turn now.

“Don’t fuck up what’s left of his finger,” Angelica warns me.

“Noted,” I say, taking the sword with shaky hands, “okay Josh, one...”

And I put the seething metal against his injury. I always heard is better if you do it without notice. There’s no way someone can prepare for the pain, to make a countdown for it is torture.

Josh screams but his voice is muffled by the belt on his mouth. I wait six, seven, eight seconds to retreat it and I see that his flesh is burnt and ruined, but is not bleeding anymore. He faints right after that.

“At least he waited till the end,” I sigh, when I look back I realize Wesley is also there and is looking at me with terror in his eyes, “oh, hi. Can you give us a hand?”

“What the..?”

“Stupid Josh cut his finger cause a Ghoulie bit him and thought he’d get infected.”

“Is he, like, still alive?”

“Yup, he just needs to sleep for a while, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“We should put the bandage now while he’s asleep and can’t complain as much,” Angelica mentions, giving me the stuff.

“Right,” I nod, “uh, Wes, you think you can bring me a bowl and put water in it so I can wash his hand?”

“What?” He looks at me like he just woke up and then blinks rapidly, “oh, yeah. Sure, be back.”

“Good job,” Angelica examines Josh’s hand with interest, “is this the first time you do it?”

“Thankfully, yes. I’m not sure he’ll be fine or if I actually helped, maybe I just fucked it up even more...”

“Nah, he’s a lucky guy, I’m sure he’ll make it out.”

“Hope so.”

“I heard him say you were leaving,” Her voice is softer now, and I know she’s doing it on purpose, “are you leaving us even if Josh’s hand isn’t fully recovered?”

“No,” I grumble, “I’ll stay until I’m sure he’s better. It’s the least I can do.”

“Perfect!” She stands up happily, “so like, a month or so, right? That’s enough time.”

“A month?! Enough time for what-” I look over at her in confusion but she’s already turned her back to me and is walking out of the restroom, “Angelica, that’s enough time for what?!”

Wesley gets back and has a bowl and several small towels on his hands.

“I thought you might need these too...” He signals to the towels on his left hand, then he steps closer and puts the bowl under the sink, “so Y/N... I guess you must hate me too.”

“I don’t, Wesley,” I’m not looking at him since I’m trying to put Josh in a more comfortable and easy position to clean his hand, but I can hear the nervousness on Wesley’s voice, so I figure it’s a good moment to set the record straight, “Do I think you were an idiot back in Highschool? Totally. I hated how you washed your hands from your friends’ shitty actions; all that is over now, though. We’re not in Highschool anymore and holding grudges over something that happened back then would be stupid.”

“You’re the first one to say that to me,” He lets out a nervous laugh, I hear his steps getting closer and his hand appears at my eye level with the bowl and a towel, I take them silently and start to clean Josh’s hand.

“Well, I’m not the one you bothered the most at school, if things were different, maybe I’d still be hating you. I still hate Hoyles, for example. And Turbo is no better. At least you do your weird samurai shit without annoying others.”

“I guess...” He sits beside me, waiting for me to finish my work, “I don’t really remember you from Highschool if I’m honest.”

“But you knew my name,” I give him a quick look, “when I got here with Josh, you said my name.”

“Yeah, cause I knew you from my time with the jocks and Turbo. You were always around School, doing this and that, whatever it was that Mona Lisa asked you to do. And you never spoke much with others. I saw you walk away from some of the Football players that tried to flirt”

“I wasn’t very fond of any of them. I was there for survival only. Then I decided I would be fine on my own and left,” Josh mumbles something and I stop what I’m doing, however, he’s still asleep and I start to put the bandage around his hand, “the real question here is, why did you go? You were Turbo’s right-hand man, you had everything”

“I didn’t have my freedom,” He answers, “Turbo can be... possessive, with his closest friends.”

“That sucks,” I finish the bandage and look over for the tape.

“Here,” He grabs it from behind me and I take it with a soft ‘thanks’, “so what’s your story, then? You had no friends on Highschool or something?”

“What’d you mean?”

“Why are you on your own?”

“Oh. Well, I did have friends,” I’m careful to wrap the tape only around the bandage and not the skin, so it doesn’t hurt him when he has to pull it off, “I had plenty, but you know how it is when a group of friends is not united by some common liking or hobby. When they’re just your friends cause you like them and that’s all. They felt like our group was lacking some kind of essence. So they went to the tribes that felt right for them.”

“And you?”

“There’s no tribe that specializes in doing random teenager stuff,” I chuckle, “I liked art stuff. And I wasn’t a fan of the Kardashians or did sports, or farming, or knew about tech and games... the Cheeramazons asked too much... I had this friend, Alex. He and I were a team. Until he also left.”

“That sucks,” Wesley nods, “but hey, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want. Me and Angelica, cause Josh will flee as soon as he feels better.”

“And I will do too,” I reply, finishing my work and cleaning my hands with the towel, “thanks for the offer, Wes, but I don’t feel like joining any group. I just don’t feel that works for me anymore, you know?”

“Hey, I’m no one to tell you how to live your life,” He shrugs, “you’re free to do as you please.”

“Sure,” I smile at him, “you’re kinder than what I had originally thought.”

“Thanks,” He nods, “you’re cooler than I thought. Now let me help you with this obsolete boy”

We get up and together grab Josh by the arms and put each one around our necks to take him somewhere where he can lay and rest. Angelica sees us and tells us that there’s a bed inside the store on our right, so that’s where we take him.

“Now what?” Wesley asks me.

I have no clue about what the fuck am I doing, and I’m not their leader, Josh kind of was. Isn’t it Wesley the one who should be telling me what to do now that Josh is out?

“I should be asking you that,” I frown, “Aren’t you like the second in command?”

“Fuck no, I’m not doing that again so soon,” He raises his hands, stepping back, “you’re the one who did all the curing, you know better”

“I know shit,” I reply, “I did what I think it could work to save him but if that doesn’t work someone has to take care of this cause Triumph might come back, or Turbo might still be looking for all of you and Angelica is your responsibility now.”

“Hey, I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Doctor House,” Angelica replies from her place next to Crumble who somehow got a hold of Josh’s finger and is practically drooling, “so don’t try to use me.”

“Fine,” I walk out of the store.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“I’m going to get Josh’s stuff from the bathroom and bring them here. Then I’m going to get my backpack and hammer and also bring them here. Let’s wait until Josh wakes up if he wakes up.”

Taglist.

@letsbloodmagic @hollywaterpls

#twoidiots writing #josh wheeler #josh wheeler xreader #wesley fists #angelica green #ms crumble #daybreak fanfic #daybreak #netflix #eli cardashyan

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pomegranate-belle · 5 years

Note

Fic or treat - Matt and Foggy during that one Halloween ep of Spiderman where people turn into the monsters they dress up as for the night (doctor strange helps sort everything out if I recall correctly)

I guess this is a recurring Halloween Thing (Buffy, Halloweentown, and now apparently Ultimate Spider-Man) and honestly I love it with all my heart and soul. So this got... Long. Also I just sidestepped the actual plot of the episode because Baron Mordo sucks eggs and I don’t care about him, lol

—

Foggy’s still adding the last touches to his costume and hasn’t put it on yet — that’s the only thing that saves him. But the second a blast of orange light radiates across the city, he knows something fucked-up freaky is going down.

“Oh jeez,” he mutters to himself, watching through the window as the energy continues to spread like ripples on a pond. “Matty, you might wanna go get your other Halloween costume.”

There’s a groan of pain from behind him. Foggy whirls around.

“Matt, what—”

But Matt doesn’t answer. Can’t answer, more like. He’s staggering around, hands clutched to his head. Foggy has no idea if it’s a direct effect of the freaky magic flooding the city or if whatever that magic is doing is overloading Matt’s supersenses, but either way he can’t just stand by and let his boyfriend suffer. He rushes over and wraps Matt in a hug — takes as much of Matt’s weight as he can, tries to cocoon him so his senses have time to settle or acclimate or whatever they need to do.

“I got you,” he murmurs nonsensically. “I got you, Matty, it’s ok, it’s gonna be ok, just breathe with me, buddy, just breathe—”

All Foggy’s reassurances are choked off when a clawed hand closes around his throat. He’s shoved backwards, into the wall, and Matt’s...

Matt’s gone.

In his place, the figure Foggy had been holding — that not a minute ago had been the love of his life — is otherworldly and terrifying. Its skin is cold to the touch, and flecks of gold freckle its face, creep down from its ears to the familiar arch of its cheekbones. It has Matt’s messy, dark hair but his eyes, still unseeing based on the way they don’t track, glow ice blue. It still wears the white tunic Matt had put on, but the cloth is clearly of finer quality. What was once a sparkly golden pipe-cleaner halo is now an aura of radiance so bright it makes Foggy’s eyes water. Oh yeah, and this thing’s got a pair of fuck-off enormous white wings instead of the tiny, goofy-looking faux-feather ones Matt had strapped on like a backpack not five minutes ago.

When it opens its mouth — Matt’s mouth — and speaks, the words are unintelligible and so powerful that Foggy instinctively stops trying to remove the hand from around his throat and claps his palms to his ears instead. He has an alarming thought — that he’s going to die here — and the very distant realization that Matt would be completely enraged about him giving up. But even if this... Angel. Thing. Even if it’s not Matt anymore, it was him. And Foggy has to believe the magic that changed him is going to be undone. There’s like a hundred fucking superheroes in Manhattan alone so like, it had god damn better be undone. And when it is, who knows if any injuries sustained will carry over? Foggy could never risk hurting Matt like that. He just couldn’t.

Jessica Jones does not have this problem.

Foggy learns that the second she comes bursting through the door of the apartment and discus-throws her unconscious vampire boyfriend right at Angel Matt’s unprotected back. Not that Foggy actually sees any of this — because, again, fuck-off big swan wings — but once he’s able to breathe again he’s also able to put the series of events together thanks to context clues. Flattened angel plus unconscious Hero of Harlem with an open, snoring mouth and especially pointy canines plus panting, disheveled Jess? The math’s not hard. He and Jess stare at each other in silence for a few seconds.

“You ok there, Nelson?” she asks at last, gruffly, before stepping forward to sling her enormous boyfriend into a fireman’s carry.

“Yeah? I’m good, I think. Mostly. Um...” Foggy points at the knocked out form of Luke draped over Jess’s shoulder. “How did you...?”

“Vulcan nerve pinch,” she says flatly, but doesn’t give Foggy the necessary space to determine if it’s a joke or not. “Now come on, you’re the one who knows every-fucking-body, who do we need to stomp to fix this?”

Good to know you saved me because you were concerned for my safety or something, Foggy thinks but is smart enough not to say.

“I don’t know who did it,” he admits, now that he has the time to think, “but that guy Strange who lives in the Village is supposed to be a wizard or something. Maybe it’s one of his baddies.”

Jess slams a fist into her open palm, murder in her eyes, then immediately has to break the pose to stop Luke from slumping onto the floor.

“Well he better fix it or I’m gonna kick his ass,” she insists, clearing her throat and straightening up again.

Foggy does not dignify this with an answer, and to further pretend he didn’t just witness Jess fumble Luke like a football he crouches down to check on Matt. He doesn’t seem to be unconscious, although at first it’s a little hard to tell based on the ethereal, retina-searing glow around his head. But upon inspection, the prone angel is in a pose Foggy knows well — Matt’s ‘I’m suffering and I refuse to move’ pose. Often adopted whilst sick or otherwise mildly inconvenienced, and never done while seriously injured. Which is good, Foggy supposes.

“Up and at ‘em, Matty,” he mutters, slowly and gently closing his hands around the angel’s and noting that Matt’s newly clawed nails are tipped in gold.

Matt gets to his feet without a fuss, just tilting his head to the side curiously. He sniffs. Once. Twice. Then flips their handhold so his fingers are circling Foggy’s wrists and pins him to the wall again. This time, though, instead of strangling him, he buries his nose in Foggy’s throat, sniffling at his pulse point like a weirdo.

“Hey! Murdock! Don’t make me come over there!” Jess snaps.

“It’s good, we’re good!” insists Foggy shrilly. “He’s um. He’s just. Sniffing me.”

“Fucking weirdo.”

But there’s no thud of Luke being used as a blunt weapon again, so at least she’s listening to him. After another ten uncomfortable seconds, Angel Matt pulls back. Slowly and gently, he lets go of Foggy’s wrists before combing the fingers of one clawed hand through Foggy’s hair. Then he smiles and speaks.

The expression, combined with the musical but incomprehensible words, is so beautiful that tears begin to streak down Foggy’s face. Angel Matt brushes them away with the side of his thumb.

Jess ruins the moment by groaning in frustration.

“Ok, we get it, gay love conquers all, can we get a move on before my boyfriend wakes up and tries to tear out my throat again?” she demands.

Which, to be fair to her, doesn’t sound like a great time. Matt’s wings flare angrily and he spits more crazy angel language at Jess that sounds like a threat, but Foggy is able to soothe him easily enough. After that, he tows Matt along by the hand like a particularly docile six-year-old and they set out without further incident.

—

The problem with having a huge city-wide curse fucking up everyone’s night is that getting a cab is impossible. On the bright side, Jess is one of the few people Foggy knows who actually owns a car. Then again, it’s usually hard enough fitting everyone inside that car without a potentially-murderous vampire and an angel with a fifteen foot wingspan to consider. They’re still trying to figure out the logistics when a horde of monsters descends upon them. Foggy counts two zombies — and there’s a frightening thought, are those guys contagious? — a werewolf, a ninja, and some kind of terrifying... Fish person. There’s lots of snarling, howling, and gnashing of teeth. Foggy really wishes he hadn’t been so preoccupied with Matt and had the foresight to grab his baseball bat on the way out the door.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got like, a tire iron in there or something?” he asks Jess as they’re backed up against her car.

“What do I look like, a mechanic? I’ve barely got gas in this piece of shit car.”

“Cool, great,” Foggy says, too strained to be as sarcastic as he wants since this is about as far from cool and great as it’s possible to get.

Then Matt squeezes his hand and lets go. Foggy scrambles to try and pull him back to safety, but his strides are long — too long for any normal human, like he’s gliding instead of walking. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing squarely between them and the monsters, and then he flares his wings wide enough to block them all from view. Foggy can still hear snarling, but he has to squeeze his eyes shut as the luminance around Matt ramps up about a thousand percent. There’s hissing, yelping, and the slap of feet on concrete, and the light turning the back of Foggy’s eyelids orange only fades after the sounds of retreat abate into silence.

“Holy shit, Murdock,” Jess mutters. “Maybe we oughta keep you like this.”

“Jones,” Foggy scolds. “Rude.”

He opens his eyes to find Matt now facing him as though waiting for something.

“What, Matty?”

“Fuck’s sake, Nelson,” says Jess, “he just saved our bacon — you gonna thank him or what?”

Matt continues to stare — for a certain value of stare, Foggy supposes — in his general direction expectantly.

“Um. Yes, thank you,” Foggy says, and probably because he’s gone completely insane, reaches up to pat Matt on the head. “You, um... Did good? Yes. Good job.”

Matt leans into the touch, beaming, and honest to god the expression is almost brighter than the glow of his halo. Jess makes a very rude gagging noise as she stuffs her still-snoring boyfriend into the trunk. Matt and his wings, even folded up, take up the whole back seat, so Foggy rides shotgun. With monsters of all shapes and sizes roaming the city streets, what would otherwise be a pretty boring car ride ends up feeling like a chase scene in Jurassic Park, but at last they make it. Foggy wasn’t a hundred percent on the address but Strange’s place is pretty hard to miss. It’s enormous and scary-looking and it’s got a big skylight in the shape of some round symbol that probably has magical significance.

There’s no answer when they knock on the door, except for a “doctor is out” sign that flickers into existence, along with a huge padlock — you know, just in case they weren’t getting the message. Foggy’s torn between being weirded out and being amused that the creepy mansion has a sense of humor.

“He’s not even home?!” Jess kicks the door, hard. “This is bullshit!”

She lets out a wordless, frustrated shout, and Luke startles awake. He’s on his feet almost immediately, eyes glowing blood red. Matt wraps his arms around Foggy from behind, casting huge shadows with his flared wings. But Luke? There’s no recognition of Jess there, except as food. None of the half-domesticated sentience Matt’s been showing, just snarling animal hunger. Luke’s such a chill, reasonable guy that the contrast is shocking and even if he hadn’t been held back Foggy wouldn’t have been able to do more than freeze in terror as Luke pinned Jess to the wall of Strange’s mansion and lunged for her throat. Jess, thankfully, is more of a fight instinct person than a freeze instinct one. Also she’s got superstrength. She catches Luke’s wrist and flips him like a pancake. Once he’s on the ground and winded, she really, genuinely does Vulcan nerve pinch him back to sleep, which is wild. Foggy had been leaning sixty-forty towards her being joking about that.

“Well,” he says awkwardly. “That was impressive.”

“Impressive? Impressive?!” Jess is laughing, but the sound is sharp and bitter. “It should’ve been me,” she growls, stomping back down to the sidewalk and kicking a stray soda can so hard it embeds itself in the wall of a building across the street. “Fuck. I hate seeing him like this. I’m already— half fucking feral, and he’s got that unbreakable skin. It should have been me! He’d probably just sit there calmly and let me try to bite him while he worked out how to fix everything, and all I can do is be a, a panicked fuck-up!”

“Jess!” Foggy scolds sharply, extricating himself from Matt’s arms to confront her. “You’re not a fuck-up. You kept Luke safe. You didn’t let him hurt anyone. You got us here. Look, if Strange isn’t home then maybe that means he’s out fixing this. That’s a good thing. You just need to take a deep breath. We‘ll rest here a little bit, then we’ll start driving back — dollars to donuts whatever big fight is probably going down right now is in, like, Times Square or something, because it literally always is with you super-people.”

Jess makes another frustrated noise that Foggy hopes isn’t going to end with him going through a wall, and then plops down on Dr. Strange’s porch. He settles in beside her, and Matt perches beside him. Luke’s still sprawled in front of them, snoring again. They wait quietly for a good ten minutes, and the tension fades from the air.

Foggy’s just about to suggest they get up and start heading back the way they came when there’s another blast of orange magic — this time running in reverse, moving in towards an epicenter instead of out from it. It washes through them with a disorienting whoosh and leaves behind two dazed boyfriends in simple, cobbled-together costumes.

Foggy’s never been so happy to see a lopsided pipe cleaner halo in his life. He kisses Matt full on the mouth. Matt kisses back eagerly but is also the first to pull away.

“Not that, not that I’m, um, complaining but... What was that for?” he asks, baffled but clearly amused. “And... Where are we?”

So then Foggy has to explain, while watching Jess rip the cheap plastic fangs out of Luke’s mouth and stomp on them repeatedly, exactly how the four of them ended up in front of Dr. Strange’s creepy magic mansion.

“So anyway,” he finishes lamely, “I guess somebody saved the day or something, but we didn’t do much.”

Matt shakes his head.

“You did wonderfully.” He takes a deep breath, the way he always does when he’s gathering himself to say something emotional. “I love you.”

“Love you too, angel,” Foggy says, and the flush of embarrassed pleasure that colors Matt’s cheeks in response is sweeter than any candy.

#fic or treat #mattfoggy #writing #letsgetthisblog

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wemariuniverse · 5 years

Link

A young man who was violently assaulted, stabbed and burnt by his abusive girlfriend has revealed the extent of his horrific injuries for the first time in a harrowing documentary.

Alex Skeel, 22, from Bedfordshire was just 'days from death' when police knocked on his door in June 2017, leading to an investigation that saw the mother of his two children jailed for more than seven years.

Jordan Worth was the first female in the UK to be convicted of controlling or coercive behaviour, along with GBH, and her former childhood sweetheart now hopes to spread the message that women can be perpetrators of domestic violence too.

Alex relives his horrific five-year ordeal in new BBC Three documentary Abused By My Girlfriend, which reveals in heartbreaking detail how he went from a carefree teenager to being hit, stabbed and burnt on a regular basis.

Alex was a typical football-mad 16-year-old when he first met Jordan at a concert in June 2012 and soon became besotted with her.

'She was very caring, confident, loving,' he says of the aspiring teacher. 'She just showed a real interest in me.'

Despite Alex's friends describing Jordan as 'delightful' and her boyfriend as 'quite smitten', Alex's mother Ged says it wasn't long before her behaviour 'started to change'.

'The longer they were together, and as the relationship grew, the mind games started playing,' she recalls.

Alex explains: '[Jordan would] say, I don't really like the colour grey, I don't think you should wear the colour grey.

'I don't like your hair like that, you should have your hair like this. I don't like the shoes you're wearing. But I never took it as a negative.'

There was the time Alex's family treated her to a night at the theatre in London, only for her to disappear from the hotel in the middle of the night, sparking a frantic search, before reappearing in the hotel lobby an hour later, 'just laughing'.

Or the time she ruined Alex's 18th birthday party by 'screaming abuse' at a female family friend who she had grown jealous of.

But despite her erratic behaviour, Alex brushed off his family and friends' growing concerns, admitting: 'I was a bit clouded by what happened because at the time I loved her.'

Alex eventually tried to break things off, but Jordan came back with the bombshell revelation that she was pregnant and returned to his life a year later with baby Thomas J ('TJ') who was born in May 2014.

It wasn't long before the young couple were back together and, despite Alex's hopes that she had changed, the cracks soon reappeared.

As Alex's best friend puts is: '[Jordan] just got back into his head to the point where you couldn't do anything to stop it.'

Before long, Jordan forced Alex to choose between her and his family, which resulted in the young couple moving into their own home in Stewartby in July 2016.

Just 19 at the time, Alex didn't speak to his parents for two years - even when he welcomed his second child, a little girl called Iris, in May 2017.

Things went from bad to worse when Jordan forced her boyfriend to change his phone number and threw away his PlayStation console to cut him off further from his loved ones.

She even set up a fake Facebook account where she would send abusive messages to Alex's friends in a bid to isolate him further.

Years later, when police questioned Jordan, she would blame it on Alex, saying: 'He made it very clear he never wanted to see his family.

'He said he hated his family and he doesn't want to talk to his family. He wants nothing to do with his family.'

In time, Jordan grew so controlling she took Alex's wallet away, forcing him to quit the job he loved and accompany her to university every day.

Alex claims things deteriorated to the point where his girlfriend would attack or assault him 'every day', and on one occasion she made him swallow an entire packet of sleeping pills.

One day she attacked him with a broken hairbrush, breaking his tooth in the process.

'I had no money, I didn't drive, so in the end I just ripped the tooth out,' Alex says, recalling how being hit with a hammer or knife became part of daily life.

'I'd be asleep and she'd smack me in the head and I'd look in the mirror and I'd just be bleeding,' he says.

'I wasn't eating properly, she didn't let me. She made him sleep on the floor instead of the bed.

'I could feel that my body was starting to shut down. I didn't want [my son] to get hurt, so I was fighting to keep going because I didn't know what would happen if I was to leave.'

A kettle full of boiling water became Jordan's weapon of choice, leaving her boyfriend screaming in pain as the skin hung off his arms and back.

'She would wait up all night with a kettle of boiling water and if it went cold she would just wait and reboil it,' he recalls.

A few days after one such attack, Jordan slashed her boyfriend's hand with a breadknife and police were called, not for the first time, by their worried neighbours who heard Alex shouting, 'Leave me alone, stop hurting me'.

Sgt. Ed Finn of Bedfordshire Police was on the scene and remembers how, despite there being 'blood everywhere', the couple both insisted that Alex's numerous injuries were self-inflicted.

Officers took Alex to hospital to fix his badly burnt arm, but Jordan came in and 'walked him out of the hospital' despite the attempts of the surgeon - who could sense something was wrong - to make him stay.

'It's strange, because it was the right time and the right place but I didn't say anything,' Alex recalls. 'I kept saying I did it to myself. I was scared of what she was going to do.'

But a few days later, when Sgt. Finn got a call from the couple's address, he seized the opportunity to take action.

He recalls: 'As soon as I saw him in the light of day, the state of him in terms of countless injuries all over his body the fact that he had these horrible dirty clothes on... he was pale, thin. I thought [...] he was being abused.'

Jordan seemed 'very slight, well spoken, very polite, to all intents and purposes a very nice lady,' he recalls.

Despite his protests, Sgt. Finn was able to persuade Alex to reveal what was really going on - and finally arrest Jordan on suspicion of assault and grievous bodily harm (GBH).

When they managed to get Alex to hospital, doctors said he was just 'ten days from death' in his physical state, by which point his burns had become infected.

Bodycam footage and police tapes from the day he was rescued show the 21-year-old looking alarmingly frail, covered with bruises and dressed in bloodstained clothes, unable to make eye contact.

In his interview, when asked by an officer how he feels about moving forward, he replies: 'I just don't want to get hurt anymore.'

Alex returned home to his family where he was reunited with his children and, in September 2017, Jordan was charged with 17 counts including GBH and controlling coercive behaviour.

On 13 April 2018 Jordan was given two seven-year sentences for wounding with intent and GBH to be served concurrently at Luton Crown Court.

She was also handed a consecutive sentence of six months for controlling or coercive behaviour, becoming the first female in the UK to be convicted of this charge.

'When the police found me I was told I was ten days away from death,' says Alex. 'I was in love with Jordan and it took me a long time to have the courage to say she was abusing me.

'The day that she [went] to prison I felt so free. It was a massive relief. I remember just saying, I can actually look over my shoulder now for the first time in five years without worrying.

'Now that I'm free from the relationship, I'm beginning to understand abuse better. And I hope I can help others understand it too.'

Alex now coaches a football team sponsored by a domestic abuse charity and talks to professionals to help them spot the signs of abuse.

'The memories will never leave me,' he says, 'but I'm learning how to cope.

'I have so much support from my friends and family and I'm building a future for me and my kids.'

Abused By My Girlfriend airs on BBC One at 22.45 on Tuesday 19 February, and is available on BBC iPlayer from 10am Monday 18 February.

It’s so important to talk about this. It’s unbelievable what narcs can do.

#bbc three abused girlfriend alex skeel recalls jordan worths abuse

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shanceshancerevolution · 6 years

Text

shance high school romcom

shiro is the star quarterback in the top 10 students with the highest gpa, and lance is a cellist whose grades are kind of slipping because he spends the majority of his free time practicing.

halfway through the football season as a junior, shiro sustains a brutal injury to his arm and must spend a lot of time recovering so he can play again next year as a senior for the last time. on the off season, shiro works as an after-school tutor in the library and decides to jump on that early since he can't do much else. that november, lance, who is in the same year as shiro, happens to come in for help. he’s really stubborn about admitting he needs help, but keeps coming back anyway because even if he's the best musician in the county, his talents and skills alone won't help him get into college. he needs to raise his grades if he wants a chance at a fancy music school.

at first, shiro is exasperated with lance’s whining but keeps telling himself he’s getting paid so he has to do this. besides, he really does like helping others. lance is just one of the few that are hard to work with. after spending a week helping lance, shiro starts to understand that lance’s bad study habits are the main obstacles keeping him from actively learning.

shiro makes a deal with him. if lance can improve his study habits to the point where his grades increase, shiro will pull some some strings so lance will be guaranteed a practice room throughout the entire next school year.

lance asks shiro how he can even do that but shiro winks and says he “has his ways”. and boy does that wink make lance feel some kind of way, not now gay thoughts. (in reality, shiro just knows how to use his position as the goody-two-shoes star athlete and model student to his advantage. also this is a high school romcom so anything goes)

lance, motivated by a year-long reserved practice room and shiro’s praise, slowly improves his study habits. they’re not perfect, but after a month of tutoring, lance already has better habits. obviously orchestra and spanish were already A’s, but his english and physics grades start rapidly improving. he could easily excel in other subjects, however...

“history is cool and all but, come on! does anyone really care about these dead cis white dudes?? and math isn’t even fun so what’s the point?”

shiro knows lance’s problem isn’t that he’s not smart, he just hasn’t been applying himself to reach his full potential. so he keeps encouraging lance and maybe starts to enjoy the way lance’s face lights up when he thanks shiro for helping him because he’s really starting to see results! and maybe enjoys it even more when they take breaks and lance rambles about his favorite pieces they’re playing for orchestra and lets slip that he's nervous-excited (but mostly nervous) about his brief solo in the orchestra's winter concert. shiro tells him he'll be great and wishes him good luck, effectively calming lance down for the moment. he makes plans to go to the concert, but decides to surprise lance.

it's the night of the concert and lance is so nervous that he might actually shit himself mid-performance, but the audience (and shiro) can't even tell.

shiro very quickly realizes how dazzling lance is on stage. his movements are effortlessly fluid and just the way he plays is so beautiful. shiro feels his mouth getting dryer and dryer with each passing second. and when lance plays his solo for the final piece, shiro's breath leaves him and he's suddenly struck by how stunning the other boy is. he's glowing from the stage lights and thriving off of the deep melody he produces from his cello. shiro's feelings at this point are pure admiration of and pride in lance. (never mind the fact that he can't deny that lance looks damn fantastic in a suit.) the song comes to an end and if shiro could applaud any louder than his injury allowed, he would.

after being congratulated by his family and literally every person he knows who attended the concert, lance finally catches a break outside. the multicolored rose bouquet (very obviously purchased from the little orchestra fundraising table in the school theatre's lobby but a sweet gesture nonetheless) proffered to lance is definitely a surprise, but even more so is the fact that it's from his tutor.

shiro is so much at a loss of words that all he can say to lance is, "you were amazing." he feels a bit inadequate at being unable to voice just how much he enjoyed lance's performance, but is rewarded with a smile as lance shyly accepts the bouquet and says a quiet "thanks." shiro coughs to hide how flustered that makes him feel and changes the subject by reminding lance to remember to study over winter break. "way to ruin the good vibes here, shirogane!" but he's still smiling. they decide then and there to exchange contact information in case lance has any homework questions for shiro over break.

homework related questions quickly turn into casual daily conversations. through text, shiro finds out lance's break is a flurry of nonstop holiday cheer and getting a little too turnt at the family new year party, but he manages to finish his break assignments before going back to school (for once in his life). shiro's break is less hectic, spent studying, going to physical therapy, and celebrating hanukkah and the new year. by the time they return from break, they're much closer than before and tutoring sessions feel more like study dates (between friends of course, not like date dates, they're just good friends in the library, studying like friends do). they laugh a lot more together and studying becomes fun for both of them, even getting shushed by other students. they accumulate a ton of inside jokes (lance finds out shiro is a closet meme lord and exploits the fuck out of that) and shout them out when they pass each other in the hallways.

by the time mid february rolls around, lance had solid A's and B's again. to celebrate, lance drags shiro along to the deserted orchestra room after school and tunes up his cello. after going through a few scales, the first thing lance plays for shiro is the john cena theme. shiro laughs so hard he cries. lance has never been more pleased with his decision to print out sheet music for a meme. from then on, study sessions always end with lance playing something for shiro, ranging from saint-saëns to actual cannibal shia labeouf, and always end with smiles.

one particularly cold afternoon in early march, shiro notices lance shivering in only a tshirt and can't help focusing on this. "cold?" "yeah, somehow thought it'd be warmer y'know? it's supposed to be spring, but i'll manage," and goes back to geometry formulas but shiro hears nothing past "yeah". he slips out of his letterman jacket and drapes it around lance's shoulders. every student in the library is seriously side eyeing them like smooth, shirogane, smooth. lance is so focused on the math that he kind of reflexively snuggles into the warmth of the jacket and it's so endearing that shiro finds himself full-body blushing. he doesn't know what to do with himself so he makes up having to leave early for some half assed excuse and tells lance he's sorry and that he can text him if he needs help.

15 minutes into slouching in his car in front of his house with his head pressed against the wheel, shiro receives a text.

u forgot ur jacket but dw i'll bring it tomorrow!

shiro buries his face in his hands. he's so cute??

thanks lance, i'll see you tomorrow :)

meanwhile, lance is no longer distracted by math and can only focus on this jacket and how warm it is and wow it really smells like shiro and it's so nice. he spends the rest of the day wearing it and dodges questions from his nosy family on where he got it. he tries and fails to not analyze every possibility of why shiro lent him is letterman and ends up getting very little sleep as his brain goes a mile a minute.

the walk to school the next day is colder than lance had anticipated so he bundles up in shiro's jacket, figuring he won't mind since he let him wear it the day before.

shiro nearly has a heart attack seeing lance walk up to him in the hall wearing his jacket again. luckily, lance doesn't seem to notice. he tries to return the jacket, but shiro notices him shiver as soon as he starts to take it off and insists he keep it for the day.

it continues like this until the weather warms enough that the jacket becomes too heavy, but lance is so used to having it by now that he just wraps it around his waist like an accessory. shiro doesn't complain.

they both know lance doesn't need the extra help anymore, but can't bring themselves to stop the system they have going together. they meet up and talk in the morning before first class, yell memes and jokes at each other in the hallways, study together during after-school tutoring, and hang out in the orchestra room (lance practices and shiro listens, sometimes does pt exercises). at one point, lance tells shiro he doesn't really need that solo practice room next year.

"i enjoy your company too much to give this up," he says between warmups.

"me too," is all shiro can say. to be perfectly honest, he forgot all about their deal. he's come to genuinely care for lance and wouldn't trade these moments with him for the world.

a few days before spring break, shiro finally works up the nerve to ask lance out but lance beats him to it. they're about to part ways for the day and shiro's silently pep talking himself when lance says, "hey, i was wondering if you maybe, possibly wanna go to the movies with me some time over break?"

"i would love you," shiro blurts. "i-i mean, i would love to!" fuck. fuck, fuck, what the fuck, takashi, what the fuck?

"oh, great!" lance flushes but doesn't mind the slip up. "we can talk details later. see you tomorrow, shiro!"

shiro's torn between screaming at himself for his fuck up and fist pumping because he has a date with lance. he waits until he gets home to do a strange combination of both. his moms don't ask.

when spring break is over, no student is surprised to see lance carrying his cello case in one hand and holding shiro's hand in his other.

#shance #text #admin yells into the void #shance romcom #high school au #it's almost 4am so please forgive me if anything seems off!#gn now lmao

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adelatur · 6 years

Text

In which I am an idiot who doesn’t notice obvious things.

WARNING, BABES, THIS GETS SPICY.

On Saturday, I attended a housewarming at the new share house of my friend FRIEND. I have known FRIEND since second year, when we were the token women on the mechanical engineering touch football team. FRIEND was a lot better at things like running and scoring tries, I was a lot better at things like shoulder charging the dickheads from Mining. Fun times.

This is irrelevant to the story. What is relevant is the fact that in 2016 I ruined one of my ankles while playing American Football, and three weeks ago, I had my fourth surgery on the Kafkaesque farce formerly known as my left leg (side note, if they had amputated then, I would already be killing it at para sports, because I’d be 2 years into rehab - I’m only slightly bitter), which meant that I was attending this housewarming in a moon boot and on crutches. In addition to this, my right hand is in a brace because I lost one of the ligaments in my thumb during my football career, and it flares up when I do a lot of weight bearing with my hands, like, say, when I’m on crutches and also training upper body four days a week, because all of my powerlifting time is now dedicated to bench press, the one lift I’m still able to do at this juncture. I am currently, to quote one of my work colleages, damaged goods.

Given that I am damaged goods, I went to this housewarming with the single goal of having some bitchen ‘80s makeup (the theme was ‘80s glam), and letting the boobs be free in a low cut romper.

I was not, for example, trawling for dick. Because when you’re damaged goods, as I currently am, you are not exactly feeling yourself. #CanILive

So anyway, while I was helping FRIEND prepare for the evening, she mentioned that one of her friends was getting to the party late because he was doing THINGS in LOCATION, because in the grand tradition of engineering summer jobs, this friend was DOING THINGS for AN ORGANISATION as a contractor while finishing off university.

Cut to: three hours into the party, when said friend, REDACTED, arrived. We had previously met at a soiree organised by FRIEND.

Now this is the extent to which I though the evening would progress. At the house party of a friend from university, I would run into mutual acquaintances from university. I am reasonably sure that the title of this post has implied that this is not the point at which the evening stopped progressing.

At a number of occasions during the evening, there were what I now recognise to have been indicators of the direction wherein the evening was progressing. A hand resting on one shoulder would migrate to the other, with a detour via the cutout back of the romper. Or a hand on the waist (side note, why would a hand be on my waist? These are the real questions. Why did I not twig to that earlier?) would then MIGRATE DOWNWARDS to REST on my BACKSIDE. I DID NOT FIND THIS SUSPICIOUS, IT APPEARS.

I can only assume that part of the reason why I was not suspicious was the fact that there were also moments which I had just interpreted as ‘mates being mates’. For example, when I was at the top of the stairs leading to the backyard, and REDACTED ascended the stairs, stopping two steps beneath me, commenting that he was still almost my height with the disadvantage of a decent distance (mathematically this was not a surprise, as he was 11 inches taller than me). In retrospect, I can see that he was, perhaps, at this time, standing what could be described as ‘danger close’, especially when he moved up one step. I did not twig to this at the time.

Now before you say ‘But Adela, you were at a house party. Presumably you had been drinking’, I would have to remind you that I was on crutches. You do not get to surgery number four on an injury and still think that dumb shit like drinking while on crutches is a good idea. I had, over the course of the night, a total of six standard drinks. That’s six drinks over an eight hour period. I was not drunk. I was just oblivious.

Now FRIEND is not a sizeable lady. She is what I would charitably describe as ‘tiny’. In addition to this, unlike me, FRIEND was going hard. So by somewhere between 11 pm and midnight, she reached a level of ratfucked where she was vomiting a lot, and she had someone supervising in order to ensure she didn’t do something unfortunate like aspirate vomit and die. This person was initially PERSON, a friend from uni, for whom FRIEND had performed such a service a number of times. By about 1.30, however, PERSON was heading home. Also however, by 1.30, FRIEND was not in a position to be left unattended. So I, sober, and by that time in possession of a pretty sore foot, volunteered to babysit. It would put me in a quiet, dark room, where I could scroll Tumblr on my phone, and keep an eye on FRIEND. I had always planned on staying over after the party, so this wasn’t a huge change of plans.

What was a mild surprise was that REDACTED elected to keep me company. And so we found ourselves, in a darkened room, sitting at the foot of my friend’s bed. I was leaning against the bed frame, and REDACTED was facing me, leaning on one arm so that our heads were roughly level. When he rested his head on my shoulder, I did not think much of it. When his head found its way downwards so that his head was resting on my chest, I still didn’t consider that perhaps the evening was about to take a turn for the spicy. It was only when he had one hand up the leg of the romper IN CONJUCTION WITH him kissing my chest that I started to think that maybe things were going in a direction I hadn’t thought of the evening going.

What the fuck.

At this point, the adrenaline kicked in, as you might expect. This was not a turn of events I had considered, let alone expected. A fun side effect of adrenaline dissipating is involuntary shaking. My dudes, I was shaking like a leaf. This gave young (23) REDACTED cause to pause. He checked in on my consent. This happened a number of times during the evening. Onya, mate. Consent is sexy, and all that.

It should be noted at this juncture that as can be seen in the photo above, I was wearing bright green lipstick. At a point early in the canoodling, REDACTED leaned in and said that he had been thinking about kissing me all night. I did not say what I was thinking (i.e. mate, I was an available woman with whom you were lightly acquainted, this isn’t ~special~) and instead commented that the lipstick would go everywhere and that I should probably remove it first. He was not about that life. It went everywhere, as I had predicted. He then returned to the expanse of chest revealed by my outfit, and I removed the lipstick. It began to appear that REDACTED was a bit of a boob man. I did not have complaints on this front.

At a point during the canoodling (this is going to be the narrative form for a while here, so just go with it), he commented that with his head where it was, he was able to hear my heart rate speed up. I was not in the mood to dignify this with a response, so I just gave him a lightly disparaging look. He then bit my neck. I did not have complaints on this front. He then paused, leaned back, regarded me, and coolly asked ‘Were you into Twilight as a kid? Because I could tell that you enjoyed that’. To which I could respond in no way other than ‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck Yooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuu’. Because yes, I had been into twilight in my #WastedYouth, but that did not inform what my kinks happened to be. He also checked to see if hickeys were on the table. They were, provided they were in areas which could be covered up for work. And so it was.

I will take this interlude to comment on the fact that making out with someone who has a moustache is a weird experience. The moustache is always just ~there~. You’re always aware of its presence. Now back to the story.

At a point during the canoodling, he posited that he thought that I would be in to choking. This was indeed an accurate position. Consent was sought and obtained. I had no complaints on this front. On occasion a hand would insinuate itself into the leg opening of my romper and go exploring. REDACTED then commented that I was “so wet”. Which, honestly, ugh. But also, as I pointed out to him at that point, given what had been transpiring, it would be a concern if I wasn’t.

Now at a point in the evening (early morning by now), REDACTED left the room in order to break the seal, as it were. This left me free to send off some panic messages to friends. Because while I was definitely on board the train, I was still slightly confused as to why I had even been on the station in the first place. I also took the opportunity to stretch out my shit leg, which had been in a moon boot all day. It was during this stretching time that REDACTED reappeared, insinuating himself about my person. I turned to face him, and found my face in line with his chest. Because he was 11 inches taller than me, which I had conveniently forgotten while we were both located on the floor. There was something faintly comical about the level of contortion he had to undergo in order to kiss me at this point. It was like an adult bird regurgitating into the mouth of its young. It was deeply impractical, considering that I was not far enough into post-surgical recovery to be standing on my toes.

We returned to the floor, where the height difference was less of an encumbrance. At this point, REDACTED was able to undo my bra one handed. This was impressive, because as an E-F cup, my bras have a minimum of three hooks at the back. He was in luck, because this one had the minimum. He later proceeded to struggle when it came to getting the romper off. That’s because they’re not particularly designed to be easy to remove. I ended up needing to help him with the zipper at the back, which I’m sure couldn’t have been good for his ego. That is, of course, his problem.

Earlier in the evening, I had removed his t-shirt (chest hair yassss), but at this point, with me fully naked (with the exception of an almost complete face of makeup, lookin fly), I decided it was time to equalise. After a mild struggle with the belt (I make no excuses for my failings, but equally, mama didn’t raise no quitter). His jeans were lowered, and his phallus freed. There was significant dick, in the state commonly referred to by the youth of the day as a ‘semi’. At this point I engaged in a bit of a blow job, which was well received. I forebore mentioning that all of my skills in this arena were gained from reading smutty slashfic. I figured that this was one of the times when the self-deprecating truth was unneeded.

As REDACTED prepared to enter my garden of earthly delights, he enquired as to whether I would be amenable to anal. I told him in no uncertain terms that there was not enough lube (insofar as there was none). I’ve read enough smutty fanfiction to know not to try it dry. Especially when there’s that much dick involved. Consummation occurred, and then REDACTED said the phrase that I hate above all others, especially when another person is at that point within my body, “You’re so wet”. This was uttered a number of times as the carnality continued, and each time I died slightly inside. Of COURSE I was wet. The foreplay had been EXCELLENT. I was not unattracted to the lad (he was less strapping than I usually like my chaps, but was, nonetheless, becoming enough), and I was a willing partner. The fact that I was, as he said, ‘so wet’ was no reflection on him. It was just a fact. But that’s a rant for another day.

The dicking was excellent, but he was definitely #BadDick. Currently at uni full time, doing year 3 of 4 for Electrical (ugh) engineering because he had deferred for two years to work for industry; and a 23 year old guy. I am not in a place in my life where that is viable or desirable. This was going to be a one and done event. The sex was, I can very much say, the best I have had to date (the lad wouldn’t finish his doings until I had orgasmed. What a sweet lad).

Then it turned out that he was a cuddler. This wasn’t a problem, in theory. I enjoy being the little spoon. What was a problem was the fact that he was 6’4, and that meant that there were knees E V E R Y W H E R E.

The next morning, I informed FRIEND of my questionable choices via snapchat. She approved heartily. REDACTED did not know that FRIEND knew of the dalliance, which was an issue for FRIEND when he left, having thanked her for “an absolute banger of a party”, a comment at which FRIEND could not burst into laughter until he had left. Much hilarity was had. Especially at the fact that he had some not inconsiderable makeup transfer on, among other places, his forehead.

Later on Sunday, and progressing into Monday, I had delayed onset muscle soreness the likes of which I had not experienced in a while. This was, nonetheless explainable. What was not was a pain in my right shoulder, which was in my deltoid, but was nonetheless a trauma pain rather than a muscle soreness pain. There were, however, no signs of trauma. Until this afternoon, when I was getting changed out of my work clothes at the gym. I looked at my shoulder, and saw a faint bruised outline of a bite mark. Which rather explained that.

The thing I still cannot get over is how I didn’t twig to anything happening until things were already happening. This, I am willing to assume, is why we can’t have nice things.

It also raises the deeply trenchant question of ‘what else did I miss because I was too blind to notice’.

*flips table*

*leaves*

#about the author #guess who's an idiot #it me #kafka strikes again

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quack-and-yellow · 6 years

Text

All the World – Max Meyer One Shot

For @footballerindreams. (Belated) Happy birthday! Technically I’m an hour late haha. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate you and your friendship. And your fics (oh god they always make my day)! I love you and I wish you all the best in life! 😘 I know you love a lot of footballers, but Max struck me as one of your favorites? Hope you enjoy this!

---

Max must be good at keeping secrets.

That’s what I thought as I stared absently at the empty seat opposite mine. I had been waiting for two hours already – two and a half if I were to count the time I came earlier. I had always been anxious whenever we meet and needed extra time to collect my wits. My heart skipped a beat every time the bell at the door rang, signaling someone entering the coffee shop where I was supposed to meet my boyfriend. But I lowered my head in defeat every time, as it was not a familiar face.

I glanced at my phone sitting beside my empty cup of coffee and considered calling Max again. Maybe he forgot? He must have had a rough night at the post-game celebration. Maybe he met someone there and…

No, you are going too far, I scolded myself. Max is not like that.

But I couldn’t deny the diminishing conviction in these thoughts, as I called for the third time and texted for the fourth time and there was still no response. Sure, he’s canceled some of our dates before, a few of them last minute, but for valid reasons that I understand. But it’s not like Max to keep me waiting. He’s proud of being always on time. Two weeks ago, he asked if I could drop by his house to get his lucky socks that he forgot to pack for an away game. He couldn’t go back because he would be late for the team huddle. He lent me a spare key.

Then it hit me. I still have that key. I didn’t return it on purpose though, and Max seemed to have forgotten about it.

Just in case he forgets anything again, I thought defensively, although I knew I couldn’t fool myself into thinking that’s the only reason I kept it.

***

A month must be quite early for Max to introduce me to the world, to his world. Maybe he’s waiting until I get my license as a nurse. It’s the right thing to do because the attention – no matter how little it is – could ruin my study time and concentration. He never exactly told me his reasons, but I took it as him being considerate and understanding. No pictures of us together. No mention of me in interviews – not like the media were interested, anyway.

I never asked him. I wouldn’t dare ask him as long as I could justify his actions. They make sense after all. So I went along with it, making extra effort to keep a low profile. Still, I was ready to face the consequences of dating someone famous. Max is worth it.

My eyes darted around the area as I crossed the street to his house. It was a relatively quiet neighborhood far from the city. Thinking about Max instantly gave me mixed feelings – guilt, because I was about to go snooping in his house; desperation, to prove he’s not cheating; and if he was cheating, would I be ready for what I could find in his bedroom right at this very moment?

I noticed his car parked in the garage, meaning he’s home. With trembling hands, I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Max?” I called, my voice echoing across the empty hall.

I checked the kitchen and the living room – both empty – and made for the second floor where his bedroom was. I stood outside his door, my heart wanting to burst out. Maybe it would and I would die before I could catch Max in the act. Maybe that’s better than being told “I told you so” by my friends and family, because for them, this “thing” with a football player wouldn’t last. Maybe it’s what I deserved for being such an idiot thinking we could last. These thoughts made me choke up that I quickly swung the door open and braced myself for naked bodies tangled between the sheets.

But there was only one body and it was not naked. In fact, it was lying on its stomach and still wearing training clothes. I tiptoed to his bedside and peered at Max’s sleeping face. His mouth was slightly open and he was snoring. His duvet had taken a dip onto the floor and his right arm was hanging on the edge of the bed. I picked up the pillow that had fallen at the foot of the bed and hugged it. Watching Max’s back rise and fall with every breath somehow calmed me down. So he’s not cheating on me after all. I sniffed the pillow in my arms and giggled.

But my mind had brilliant ways of bursting my bubble. How could I tell? I wasn’t at the nightclub last night. Was he so tired from partying that he overslept? Was he alone here until I came?

These thoughts wiped off the silly smile on my face and I frantically scanned the room for evidence. Suddenly there was a soft beeping sound and the snoring stopped. Max’s arm twitched and reached for the phone on the bedside table. Eyes squinted, he peered at his phone and almost dropped it on his face when he noticed me.

“What the – how did you get in?!” he screamed, thrashing around the bed. “What are you doing here?! You’re going to kill me!”

“I – I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I was just – I’m sorry!“ I cried, panicking.

Max’s breathing came in gasps, and I wanted to calm him down but I remained rooted on the spot, completely mortified.

“Oh sh – I forgot, didn’t I? Our date?” he winced, rubbing his head down to his face with both palms. “Damnit, I overslept! I kept hitting snooze, I guess. I’m sorry.”

You guess? I thought, feeling a sudden twinge in my heart. Instead, I gave him a weak smile and said, “It’s okay… Rough night?”

“No, I didn’t go to the party. I was so tired, I went straight home,” he answered, yawning. “It’s never the same after the injury. I get tired pretty quickly.”

“Oh.”

Max cocked his head to the side, wondering why I was looking hesitantly at him.

“What are you doing there? Come here.” He smirked, patting the space beside him.

I gingerly sat down and he instantly wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close and spooning me.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” he murmured in my ear.

I felt a lump in my throat, my thoughts not giving me peace. I broke free from his grasp and turned to face him. Max was surprised by my reaction, but he returned my gaze without a word.

I read somewhere before that if you look into someone’s eyes, you’d be able to tell if that person is hiding something. So I looked into his eyes – those deep blue eyes that always, always disarmed me – but I didn’t find what I was looking for. I was too scared. Too weak.

I buried my face in his chest, breathing him in deeply.

“Hey… What’s wrong?” Max whispered soothingly, hugging me tightly. “Are you mad? I’m really sorry…”

I shook my head and relished in his scent, not wanting to let go just yet.

“We can still go out for lunch. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You smell so good,” I said, my voice muffled.

“I do? Even if I haven’t had a decent bath yet?” Max chuckled.

I nuzzled his neck to make a point. “Let’s just stay here so you can rest more.”

“Thanks.” He kissed the top of my head. “But I want to make it up to you, okay?”

I shot my head up. “How about you cook for me?”

He smiled and, this time, kissed my nose. “Anything for you.”

I gave him a peck on the lips before getting up. Max followed.

I looked around the spacious room and began noticing how clean and tidy it was, just like all the other rooms in his house. I smiled fondly as I watched Max fix the beddings. I like how neat he is, not only with himself but also with his home.

“We just have to make a quick trip to the grocery,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “I don’t really stock up on food.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go. Just give me a list, I can buy them for you.”

“No, let’s go together.”

“Well… Are we taking your car?” I bit my lip. I couldn’t help asking.

“We can walk,” Max said, tucking and smoothing the covers. “There’s a nearby grocery here.”

My face lit up. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Do you want to walk?”

I nodded rather enthusiastically.

***

It felt surreal walking outside and holding Max’s hand for everyone to see. I kept squeezing his hand just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. He seemed to notice because he also squeezed my hand in return. He must have thought I was playing a game with him.

“We should do this more often,” he said, a sly smile forming on his lips.

“Walking?” I said, puzzled.

“No. This.” He pulled me close, tilted my chin with his other hand, and captured my lips in his – all in one swift movement.

It wasn’t just a peck. It was a real kiss. And it felt so good, I wanted it to last forever.

Max broke the kiss ever so slowly, and my eyes fluttered open like waking up from a beautiful dream. I felt my knees shake under me – or was it the ground – when it hit me that we were in the streets.

“M-Max!” I hissed hysterically. My face burned in embarrassment.

I clutched his arm and dragged him away. He was laughing, obviously amused, as he let me drag him. It felt like my heart was beating right through my lips. Lips that he kissed for all the world to see.

I stole a quick glance at Max and found him still smiling. Sometimes I still couldn’t believe he’s mine. My stomach dropped at the thought. What was I doing, entertaining thoughts of him keeping secrets from me? I needed to make this right.

I stopped in my tracks and tugged at his arm. “Max, there’s something I need to tell you.”

I took a deep breath and fished for his spare key from my jeans pocket. “This was how I got in… You lent this to me before to get your lucky socks.”

Max looked at the key on my palm. He didn’t say anything.

I swallowed hard. “I was worried when you didn’t come this morning. I thought… I thought you were with someone else.”

“I told you I went straight home.”

“I know.” Oh god, he sounded upset. “I know. I believe you. It’s just that… I don’t know whom you were with most of the time. But it’s not your fault. I know you’re busy. I just… I’d love to get to know your friends and your teammates soon, if that’s okay...”

“’If that’s okay,’” Max echoed, followed by a huge sigh.

Oh god, now he hates me.

“I’m sorry, Max,” was all I could say. My hand trembled slightly as I held out the key to him.

Instead of taking the key, he took my hand and pulled me to him, close enough for another kiss. I wanted to melt when he wrapped his arms around me.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. His stubbles rubbed against my cheek. “For missing our date. For all those times I canceled at the last minute. It gave you the wrong idea. It’s not your fault.”

A gasp escaped my lips. He knew. He understood.

“You know you could always watch my games. I just didn’t want to pressure you because I know you’re focusing on your studies. But yeah, I would love for you to come sometime.”

“I-I will!” I said. Thank god it didn’t turn into a fight.

“And… we will invite all of our friends over for a house party.”

“You don’t have to do that! We can meet them somewhere. No need to offer your house.”

“Our house.”

I broke free from his embrace and gaped at him. He took my hand that was holding the key and kissed it. “This is yours to begin with. Didn’t you see?”

He unclasped my fingers and, for the first time, I noticed my name engraved on the key.

“I didn’t know!” I shrilled.

Max laughed and pinched my nose playfully. “Obviously.”

My face grew hot again, and I was close to tears.

“All this time I thought you weren’t ready to move in yet, so I didn’t push it,” he admitted.

And all this time I was thinking he was keeping me from the world.

I threw my arms around him and kissed him. For real. For all the world to see.

#max meyer #max meyer imagine #max meyer one shot #football fanfiction #better late than never i guess?#i just want to start writing again ;_;

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futurecharlies · 4 years

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Charlie is thirty-one and lives in London, England. He is a footballer-turned-businessman. Commitment issues have him unmarried. He has brought his almost two-year-old daughter Grace and his nanny Evie with him to the reunion.

In ten years, Charlie’s life has taken a dramatically different direction than he had originally thought it would.

Moving back to England after graduation, Charlie found a place in a League One team of the English Football League. It wasn’t the top competition he was dreaming of, but it was definitely a good stepping stone to get him where he wanted. After two years, he switched clubs as he was given an opportunity to move up into the Championship league and things seemed to be progressing well – until they weren’t.

Charlie’s dream of playing in the EPL well into his thirties was crushed in a mere few moments in the middle of a match. One aggressive tackle tore the ligaments in his right knee, and despite multiple operations and physical therapy, he never regained the competitive edge he had had before the injury.

Charlie did not take it well. He was forced to watch other younger players take his place as he was sidelined, and he was pissed. He had been sure he had so much left in him, but his career was ended before it had the chance to truly take off.

After much deliberation, he somewhat put his degree to use when he signed on as a coaching assistant. It wasn’t terribly satisfying, though, when he still longed to be out on the pitch himself.

His new direction came from the most unexpected person: his father. Since having returned to England, he made more of an effort to see his parents, and their relationship had improved over the years. Charlie had been expressing his discontent at dinner with his parents one night when his father suggested that he get into the behind the scenes business aspect of the industry. Charlie had scoffed – he had always been convinced he was not businessman material – and yet his father had connections, and when he set up a meeting for him with a rival club, Charlie was tempted with an offer he couldn’t refuse.

As it turned out, Charlie had a flair for bullshitting his way up the ranks, his charm and charisma going a long way. His father had his people give him a crash course in the corporate world, and before he knew it, he had faked his way up the ladder, his designer suits and charming smile, coupled with the Styles name, getting him further than he could’ve imagined. There were rumours he was up for a promotion next season, too. The most surprising thing of all was that he actually liked it. He had always been adamant that he didn’t want to be like his father, and yet he had become the kind of son it had always been assumed he would be.

Just as things were going so well, though, Charlie had his life turned upside down again. What he hadn’t known when he had taken a flight to Rome for a holiday was that he should never have gotten involved with the pretty flight attendant. His ensuing ‘relationship’ with Flight Attendant Crystal was purely physical – they hooked up whenever he was on one of her flights and whenever she had a stop in London. It was fun, he thought it wasn’t serious, until he fucked everything up for her.

Crystal was forced to take leave when she found out she was pregnant and she blamed Charlie for everything. They quickly realised that they didn’t really know each other. Charlie realised that, while he enjoyed the sex, it wasn’t worth it when he learnt she was kind of nuts. She constantly picked fights, easy when he was hardly an excited father-to-be, and they could never agree what the fuck they were going to do. Neither of them wanted to be in a relationship together, let alone raise a child.

After a gruelling nine months, Crystal gave birth to a daughter. Charlie was letting them stay with him, since he had some sense of duty, but after another screaming match between the two of them, where she reminded him that he had ruined her life and he declared he didn’t even want a baby in the first place, Crystal left. He woke up one morning and she was gone. He had found a note on the kitchen table reiterating that he could go fuck himself, and her sim card was snapped in half, floating in a glass of water, so he couldn’t call her again. He didn’t know her family, or whether she would return to her work. He didn’t know how to contact her. He was stuck with an unnamed newborn baby, and minus his favourite Rolex, which she had pettily stolen on her way out.

Way out of his depth, Charlie didn’t know the first thing about parenting. He reconnected with the nanny who had essentially raised him, and while she had retired long ago, she was more than willing to help him out until he could find someone permanent. Charlie might’ve been a dick, but he had enough heart to feel for the baby, his baby. He was not going to abandon her like Crystal had.

Charlie named her Grace. Ella had always been the one that got away, and while it wasn’t her he was settling down with, giving his daughter Ella’s middle name was a small comfort to him.

It took a few duds before Charlie finally found a nanny that it actually worked out with. Evie was the youngest of the women he had gone through – she was ten years younger than Charlie, and despite her not having as much experience as all the others, she was by far the best fit. Evie adored Grace, and the feeling appeared to be mutual. Charlie never had any problems with her, and in turn, he treated her well.

Coming from a modest beginning, Evie was thrown into Charlie’s life of luxury. He welcomed her into his flashy new apartment, gave her a credit card for anything she needed to get for Grace, and paid her generously, significantly more than she had been expecting to earn when she went for a job as a nanny.

Charlie enjoyed having her around. For lack of better judgment, he had slept with all of the previous nannies (which was perhaps partly why things hadn’t worked out), but it hadn’t happened right away with Evie. Of course, he was attracted to her: she was a gorgeous young brunette, who could’ve been spending her evenings doing something far more interesting than watching a rich man’s daughter while he was out for work commitments. And yet Evie was more interested in staying in with Grace. One night he had come home late from a meeting, he had asked her to stay a little longer for a drink, and he had ended up kissing her. He had (surprisingly) come to his senses mid-make out session that Evie was much younger than the girls he usually fooled around with these days, and that it could very well have been seen as him taking advantage of her, that maybe she thought she’d risk her job if she said no. But Evie had assured him it wasn’t like that at all.

Things are complicated between them. Primarily, Evie works for him, and aside from the discreet casual sex, she’s professional in every other aspect. Charlie always makes sure to give her days off, and sometimes gives her little (expensive) gifts as an extra thank you. He’ll find someone else to watch Grace when he wants to take Evie out somewhere. Evie’s family thinks it’s all a bit weird, but Evie only sees the good in him.

While Grace was certainly a curve ball, it was the reality check that Charlie hadn’t known he needed. He can still be an ass, but he’s settled more now that he has the responsibility of being a single father. He committed to being present more than his own father was when he was growing up; he tries to spend as much time as he can with Grace when he’s not working. Whenever anyone asks who her mother is, he explains it with a carefully worded, “She’s no longer with us,” and never corrects anyone who takes it to mean she’s passed on. Having not heard from Crystal in coming on two years, for all he knows, it’s true anyway. It’s better for everyone if they don’t mention her.

TL;DR: Charlie moved back to London after graduation, where he put in a few years as a footballer until a knee injury ended his career. He now works the business side of a Championship League EFL club. After accidentally getting a flight attendant he was fooling around with pregnant, she left him with their daughter and he is raising her on his own. He named her Grace and he’s more grounded now that he has her to look after. His young nanny, Evie, takes care of Grace while he’s working. He’s also sleeping with Evie. Charlie is, obviously, still rather stupid.

#mu: reunionau #god i've been thinking about this concept for SO LONG i'm so excited ahfdakfj #this ended up quite long i got carried away afdjgh there's a summary at the end if you don't wanna read it all #if you wanna plot anything hmu!#idk how many people he would've kept in touch with or how much they would know about what happened with crystal and grace and now evie #but we can figure it out as we go along i guess!#i can't find where sabrina said ella's middle name was grace but i stg it's true ahfjdafhk

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auburnfamilynews · 4 years

Link

John Glaser-USA TODAY Sports

The time has come to put down on imaginary paper what type of season we think the Tigers will have this fall

This past weekend finally made it real. College football is actually back.

Yes, there have been and will continue to be some major hiccups this season but there WILL be a season and fans will get a chance to watch their beloved Auburn Tigers take the field this fall. For a year that has been most unpleasant having the ability to shut out the world for 3-4 hours and let our blood pressure rise to unhealthy levels as we watch Auburn do battle on the gridiron is a most wondrous blessing.

So with kickoff being just under two weeks away, it’s time the sages here at College & Magnolia put down in writing their expectations for this 2020 Auburn football team. This year, more than any other, feels the most unpredictable. Games that seem like obvious wins right now could turn into multi score losses if a positive tests pops up on the wrong position group. Chances are good at least one game will be disrupted, positively or negatively, for Auburn this season due to COVID-19.

But your wise contributors on this here internet street will do our best to enlighten you, our loyal readers, on proper expectations for this fall. Season prediction takes, let’s have em!

AUNerd

8-2 would be a good season for Auburn this fall. 6-4 would be a bad one. I have no idea how I would feel about 7-3 so obviously that’s exactly what will happen. I’m not sure who exactly Auburn loses to outside of Bama this season but my general guess is Auburn goes 2-2 vs Bama/UGA/LSU/A&M then drops a frustrating one to either UK or Tennessee. It wouldn’t shock me to see Auburn start 7-0 then lose their last 3 plus the bowl game to send us into another off-season of debate over whether or not Gus Malzahn should keep his job.

But also ya’ll... This year feels as chaotic as every so why not some Chaos Auburn?

Verdict: 7-3

Joshdub

The folks in Vegas (typically not dumb!) place the over/under on 6.5 wins for Auburn this year. 6.5...that seems very precarious. I have no idea if Auburn will struggle to pass protect, put Bo in lots of bad situations, and force him to make bad throws. I have no idea if Chad Morris can overcome any 2020-related obstacles and produce another juggernaut offense. But when you’re making preseason predictions, swing for the fences. Echoing Nerd: expect CHAOS AUBURN. Auburn will ruin ALL YOUR NICE THINGS (um, including a perfect season for Auburn, who will definitely lose an early game they are actually favored to win (please not to lane kiffin, please not to lane kiffin, please not to la-))

Verdict: 9-1

Ryan Sterritt

As we saw in the first week of power conference games, we may be in for some ugly football this year. I think (hope?) that lends itself to teams with established quarterback play, although replacing seven starters across the two lines of scrimmage might cause more than enough issues. Still, despite the inherent difficulty of an all-SEC schedule, things line up relatively nicely for Auburn. UGA seems to be in crisis mode with a new OC, chaos at quarterback, injuries at WR, and new starters on the OL. LSU is replacing effectively their entire starting lineup. Texas A&M is suffering a slew of withdraws, most recently leading to their top returning wideout having three (3!) catches last season.

It’s going to be a frustrating season, I think, but it’s important to remember everything these players and coaches have done to even get to this point. I think we knock off Georgia in Athens for the first time since 2005, AND we knock off the defending champion LSU. I also think Alabama has no excuse to lose a single game this year, and it would not surprise me if random COVID cases or contact tracing bites us in some other game.

Verdict: 8-2

Will McLaughlin

I see Auburn splitting the first 2 games, then see the Tigers getting on a roll. The Tennessee game is a must win for Gus this year but I can see Auburn getting to the Iron Bowl at 6-2.

Verdict: 7-3

AUChief

Only one thing is clear about the upcoming season: it’s gonna be a weird one. The fact that you are reading this article in mid-September talking about an upcoming season is only one of many indicators that it’s already weird. And so that makes predicting what will happen even harder than usual. As Auburn fans, we have learned to embrace weirdness over the years. Doesn’t it just feel like this is the kind of year Auburn can do something special? A year that only the ultimate victors won’t assign a huge asterisk to each and every opponent win? People could get sick or opt out at any point, throwing an otherwise good team into chaos.

All that said, let’s see where Auburn ends up. I think Bo Nix is going to have a whole new lease on life this year. He’s going to have an opportunity to throw a lot of high percentage passes to his TEs, and the running back situation is miles ahead of where it was last year. The only question for me is the OL, but I don’t see it being worse than the last few years. I have complete faith in our defensive staff to get the best out of the players on that side of the ball. Auburn is going to go 9-1. The loss will come to Kentucky, LSU, or Alabama. I know what you are thinking, “Kentucky?!” It’s gonna be a weird year folks, so hold onto your butts. LSU seems the least likely to me out of the three. Alabama will obviously be good. They managed to somehow avoid any opt outs. 9-1 will only be good enough to get us to the title game if the loss is to UK or LSU, so hope for one of those. Let’s assume that’s the case and say we will face Florida in the SECCG, winning 42-27. After that we’ll eventually face Clemson in the national title game.

Am I Barning hard enough for you people? Anyway, War Damn Eagle.

Verdict: 9-1

Josh Black

I am far more skeptical on this season than most here. Pre-COVID my skepticism was rooted in a simple truth that has held up for the most part in the history of this conference: It’s hard to be confident when you don’t know what you have at the line of scrimmage.

I expect the offense to show signs of legitimate progress under Chad Morris, and provide further compliment to Bo Nix’s potential, especially with more passing concepts, A TIGHT END (!), and a far more talented running back room than we’ve had the last 2 years. I also expect our offensive line to struggle mightily at different points throughout this season. It’s not for a lack of talent, but it hurts us early that we didn’t have spring to help those 5 to gel. It hurts even more than it’s hard to find 5 guys consistently with COVID, so early on communication between the guys is going to be rough.

Defensively I expect Kevin Steele and Co. to continue reinforcing the sterling reputation the Auburn Defense has earned since 2016. Questions abound for me up front though, once again, as you are going to feel the impact of losing not just the insane talent of Derrick and Marlon, but the amount of sheer snaps they had. That experience is a heavy burden for Truesdell, but what is around him are a bunch of guys who need to step up and/or grow up quick. Same holds true in the secondary, where Auburn is quietly producing 1st round NFL talent nowadays. I have zero doubt about the abilities of our back 4-5, but quality depth matters, especially at corner, and I’ll need to see it before getting my hopes elevated.

I’m going to do a breakdown of how I see this schedule going with what I think will happen, and the best case/worst case scenario:

Kentucky - Win (Do not take this team lightly, as they can come into Auburn and win. They’re extremely well coached.)

at Georgia - Loss (We can absolutely win this game as I don’t feel threatened by the quandary Georgia finds themselves in at QB (you just hate to see it), but they have arguably the best defense in the country depending on if Ohio State plays football this fall, and I think we’re going to need 21+ points to win. I don’t have a lot of confidence that happens in Athens.)

Arkansas - Win (LOL yeah no...Gus and Chad ain’t losing to Arkansas)

at South Carolina - Win (Abysmal offensive football team with a lack of talent to beat Auburn)

at Ole Miss - Win (Lane will beat someone he shouldn’t in year one, but they’ve got enough problems defensively that tell me it won’t be us.)

LSU - Win (Coin flip game prior to LSU basically deciding to take the year off. I don’t blame them. 2011 sucked for us too. Still though, they’re LSU and an obvious threat, but this is a game we should win, especially since Dave Aranda, who had our number, is gone.)

@ Miss. State - Win (Some other SBN site will tell you State is the most talented team in the conference. That site is laughably wrong.)

Tennessee - Win (Must win game for us that absolutely could go the other way. Sucks to say but Jeremy Pruitt has had our number way too often. Easily the most dangerous game on this schedule that I almost went with my gut and predicted a “Chaos Auburn” loss.)

Alabama - Loss (They’re loaded. Their schedule gets easier with every opt-out we see. Nobody outside of Clemson is beating them this year.)

Texas A&M - Win (Much like Tennessee, this is a true coin flip game for us. Beat up after the Iron Bowl means something here, as it did in the 2017 SEC Championship. Still, the day I put money on Kellen Mond or Jimbo Fisher being worth a damn without insane talent all around them is the day I go broke. We should win this game. We could lose this game.)

So I say we’re 8-2, with Kentucky, Tennessee, and A&M being games that could absolutely derail all of our hopes and dreams for something better. I do see the 2 losses I mentioned being definite. This team is going to show improvement at best, and confusion at worst. We’re a year away, basically. But I also expect 2021 to be the year where we actually enter the College Football Playoff, so I’ll take it in a year where there are more important things going on than football, especially knowing that the Georgia game and Alabama games are on the road in front of mostly nobody. To hell with both of them.

You’ve read our takes, now it’s your turn. Give us your prediction for this 2020 Auburn Tiger football team.

War Eagle!

from College and Magnolia - All Posts https://www.collegeandmagnolia.com/2020/9/14/21434903/c-m-roundtable-predict-auburns-2020-season-record

#IFTTT #Blogger #auburn #auburn fast #wareagle #AuburnFamilyNews #war eagle #sec #football news #aubu

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greenishbucket · 7 years

Text

Autumn Serenade

Ford, summer, and hockey. 1.8k, also on ao3.

For Day 1 of OMGCheckPlease! Women Week 2017

Here’s the thing: Ford loves playing hockey.

Her brothers had balked when she’d told them happily over Skype that she’d joined up for the local rec league, no real training but enough vague knowledge and passion to power through. She’s hardly expecting to be on the first line or anything, it’s just fun and exciting and a way to get to know people. Ford’s been involved in local theatre for as long as she can remember – and it’d been the first place she’d looked at when she moved into the area – but stage managing is her forte and it’s a lonely task, the gratitude and respect warming but the responsibilities endless.

Ford can let go in hockey. It’s no contact but there’s the same satisfaction in using careful moves to snatch the puck from the opposition as there is in watching the curtain fall on a perfect show. Only the satisfaction is several times a game rather than a few nights preceded by weeks of organisation and she has a whole team to burn with the satisfaction in time with her.

Her parents had been worried about injury but were easily comforted by the assurance she’d have a full face cage and enough ragtag gear to keep her safe (though she didn’t share how the league had probably had since forever the way it stank). Both her brothers played football well into their college days; her parents are no strangers to accepting their kids playing dangerous sports.

She’s under no misapprehensions about the level of acceptance in the league compared to her usual theatre crowd as her mother suggested, either. Ford knows how hockey is. Besides, theatre kids are so, so far from perfect and Ford’s been black and a lesbian her entire life; she’s not going to let some jackasses stop her from expanding her horizons, especially since she seems to have lucked out massively with her teammates. Lardo, as both her team captain and one of the founders of the league, is both one of the coolest, chillest and one of the most unflinchingly assertive people Ford has ever met.

Ford wouldn’t have let her parents stop her anyway. She’s an adult now, free from college and just about managing to live away from home by sharing her apartment with a squirrely PhD student and a midwife-in-training and carefully budgeting every penny. So what if she wants to portion some of the careful budgeting to the rec league fees, to going out for drinks with the girls after a game? It’s fun, it’s new, it’s giving her thighs to die for.

Here’s the other thing: so far she hasn’t actually played in a real game.

Ford signed up as part of the rec league after coming to watch their final two games before the long summer break. Rec league never really breaks – or so Lardo and Farms both remind anyone who dare use the term ‘break’, five timetabling spreadsheet tabs open and four group chats pinging continuously on three laptops between them – but summer means people vacationing with family and wanting to be outside in the sun rather than holed up in a scruffy ice rink no matter how hockey-loving Ford knows the girls to be.

There are a couple of games for fun over the months and plenty of street hockey and people can practice as often as they like in twos or threes – plus Heaven knows Ford is busy enough with the local theatre summer production, she couldn’t resist – but their first real league game isn’t until the very end of September. Ford has it circled in red marker on the calendar in the kitchen and every morning she looks at it with a mix of burning hot excitement and sick trepidation.

Until now, Ford has always been a summer girl. Every year as school or college started the transition ached, the first few days spent forcing herself to look away from the windows and focus on work again instead of grabbing hold of the last stretches of real warmth, the sunlight golden and the leaves just beginning to turn brown. She always feels weird and mismatched pulling on her jeans and socks and fall sweaters again, the layers and weight a trap compared to her light summer dresses and skirts and shorts, the ease of simple flats or sandals. Ford loves summer. Everything feels possible and endless on a bright summer’s day stretching out into a warm summer’s night and it revitalises every part of her that gets worn down and exhausted in the decay of fall and the long, cold winter. Spring is a start but nothing gives to Ford like summer does.

This year Ford feels like summer has passed at half the speed it usually does, even now in mid-September the weather reflecting a September dragging its feet on leaving summer behind, and she’s impatient with it. The rush of playing what few games ran during the summer was a wonder but Ford can’t help but think what it could be like in a real game, in something that doesn’t count in the grand scheme of things but counts to her and her teammates in this rec league among rec leagues. She can’t help but see her experiences now as a pale imitation.

Ford is already half in love with hockey and now she wants to play it.

This year each browning leaf and pumpkin-themed Pintrest board and knitted scarf means moving closer to the rec league getting under way for the season. Fprd finds herself watching the transitions with anticipation rather than her usual sadness and the thought of her summer clothes being replaced by the weight of her gear, disgusting though the pads may be, doesn’t have the usual quasi-claustrophobic panic.

“Last day of summer today,” her brother says, eye on his own calendar as they try and figure out a time to meet up over FaceTime. “Always makes me think of you.”

Once when Ford was seven she’d cried inconsolably on the last day of summer even though the weather hadn’t been truly summery in weeks, confusing and worrying both her teacher and parents. It had just been the finality of it, the confirmation that all the opportunities of the summer really were passed. This morning she’d spotted the tiny note in the day’s square and felt a twinge of something, a sadness that it was over for another year and a weariness at the prospect of the aches and pains and boredom of winter, but nothing like when she was seven. Ford’s pretty sure she’d even been a lot more upset the year before, too, wearing summer clothes in protest even when it was cold enough that she was shivering all day.

“I know, I saw,” she says, “and like it sucks, my God fall is boring and winter sucks, but I’ve got my first hockey game tomorrow. Which is pretty cool.”

Her brother is silent for long enough that she looks over at the screen to make sure he hasn’t been cut off. He’s still there, face up close to the camera like he’s trying to get a better look at her.

“Who even are you?” he asks, phone so close all Ford can see is one eye.

“Quit it, your eye is freaking me out.”

“You’re freaking me out. What happened to ‘summer is all that matters, all other seasons are a capitalist cage, I want ice cream but I’m too cold, football can kiss my ass, all my theatre nerds are sick with flu’ blah blah whatever the fuck?”

“I never said any of that!”

“You know what I mean,” her brother finally pulls his phone back a little but the look he’s giving her is still alarmed. “You’re always complaining that summer is over until, like, April. It’s part of my routine.”

Ford shrugs. “I don't know. I guess the game is taking precedence over mourning summer. Fall is so depressing and winter is so cold I can’t go anywhere – I’m looking forward to having enough to do that I'm too tired to miss the sun but also, like, getting to actually hang out with people instead of just bossing them around.”

Her brother considers this then laughs. “Well, shit, if you say so. Maybe we should have tried to get you into hockey when you were younger if it was gonna make you this okay with seasons passing. Remember that time you cried all day? How old were you, twelve?”

“I was seven, you asshole.”

His voice goes high pitched and whiney, a horrible impression of seven-year-old Ford: “Summer’s gone and I don’t want to learn more math I want to go swimming and eat bugs and I hate school and–”

She hangs up on him. A minute later he texts a suitable time to meet up and good luck for the game tomorrow. Seconds later her other brother, probably prompted to do so, texts a reminder to keep her teeth intact if possible. Ford sends both of them back a heart, smiling and genuinely touched in spite of herself, then sets her phone aside to make dinner.

Outside, there’s rain lashing against the windows and the weather report last night had confirmed it was unlikely the weather would pick up again before temperatures started sliding for real. Ford listens to her phone buzzing while she cooks and knows it’s probably one of the girls getting chirped to hell and back in the group chat, checks neither of her flatmates have disturbed the gear bag she’s left by the door for tomorrow.

Spring and summer have always been Ford’s time, the pressure pleasantly on with shows to polish up and perform and the long days to fill, with fall and winter at a pace too slow and unfocused to be satisfying. Ford knows herself and she knows needs to be challenged and kept driven, anything else feels draining. Hockey is giving her direction, not to mention friends she so desperately needed in a new place, and Ford thinks she could love it for that alone.

Luckily, she doesn’t have to. The next night she gets a messy assist and even their team losing in the final minutes after a close three periods doesn’t soften any of the thrumming delight under her skin, doesn’t stop the helmet-taps she receives for getting an assist in her first game (her first game!) or the exclamation marks her family text in response to the news. Not even the cold wind that’s icy against her neck as she stands outside the rink and answers three separate emails on set production can ruin her mood. It's fall and she's still busy enough with things that excite her that she feels the pressure of it, feels the tiredness in her muscles. It's amazing.

Ford loves playing hockey.

Feeling charitable, she gets herself a pumpkin spice latte on the way home. It’s not quite her usual cold vanilla sweet cream, a flavour that’s like a mouthful of summer to her, but Ford thinks perhaps it’s something she could learn to like.

#omgcpwomenweek #check please fic #my writing

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asromaworld · 7 years

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Totti’s interview with the Corriere dello sport

So, what has changed?

“Everything – my life, my mind, my body… I was used to the same routine for such a long time, waking up early, having breakfast and then going to training. Now I have to plan my days. The impact has not been easy.

"I asked the club for some time off to recharge my batteries. I wanted a break to clear my head and enjoy spending time with my kids. They agreed and I thank them for that; now I’m able to start this new journey on the right foot. I have stayed in football, which is my life. It’s everything to me.”

Will you always be in football or is it a case of never say never?

“I will always work in football, I’m convinced of that. I’m lucky enough to be around the team, the coach and the directors – I watch matches with all of them. I travel on the team bus and I stay with the squad before games. I do a bit of everything.”

What can you bring to the role of director as someone who never trained to be one?

“I was a footballer and I understand all the dynamics that go into that. I know how to treat the players. Only someone who knows what to say, can read people’s looks and understands the right moments should go inside the changing room. I have this advantage over other directors: I experienced the dynamic of a changing room. I’m in there every day, just like before, only now I don’t get changed.”

How does wearing a jacket and tie suit you?

“At the beginning, I was talking to myself like a madman: ‘I’m injured, I’m suspended, I’ll be back [in a kit] soon.’ I’ve got used to it now, though.”

Let’s rewind the clocks to 28 May and your goodbye to football, a goodbye that moved half the world.

“I didn’t expect it to be like that, it went beyond football. It was so emotional because of my love for them and their love for me. I wasn’t Totti or the Roma captain at that moment; I was everyone’s brother. The people’s faces full of love were for me.

"This might sound bad, because Roma are above everybody and I’ve always put the club before myself, but just then I understood the result of that game didn’t really matter to the people.”

The new stadium is almost under way – why don’t you play the inaugural game?

“Enough now, otherwise it will become too difficult. However, owning our own stadium is fundamental. It will also improve how the fans follow the team. Currently you park three kilometres away and you have to pass through ten turnstiles. It wears on you.”

Can you ever see yourself not at Roma?

“I could have gone to Real Madrid once, as I would never have played for another club in Italy. When I made the decision, it came from my heart and my mind and I’ve never had any regrets.”

Was there ever a second opportunity to leave?

“The last few months under Spalletti were difficult. We had a good relationship before he left the first time in 2009. When he returned, I put myself at his disposal. I would have preferred to play more often, seeing as it was my final year, because I don’t begrudge him anything. I accepted his decisions with dignity. It was upsetting, but I know it’s up to the coach and ultimately, they’re judged on their decisions.

"I had offers to go to the Emirates or the United States. I would have made lots of money, but I would have ruined 25 years of love as well. It could have been a good experience, seeing as I was out of favour with the coach at that time, but I chose Roma on this occasion as well.”

How’s your relationship with Jim Pallotta?

“A bit rocky at the start, but then we cleared things up. He was looking at things in white and I in black. Then we found middle ground for the good of Roma.”

Did you watch Italy v Sweden?

“I didn’t think such a football tragedy could happen. I’ll turn on the TV in June and Italy won’t be on. It’s surreal.”

Would you have put Lorenzo Insigne on?

“I’d have started him. He’s one of the few players who could have won that game.”

Where does the Italian FA need to start again from?

“Damiano Tommasi. Firstly, because he’s my friend and secondly, because he’s talented. He looks the part: young, transparent and clean. If he’s representing you abroad, you’ll come across well.”

And who should be the coach?

“Vincenzo Montella. I’d bring Roma’s title-winning side back together.”

Do you have any regrets in football?

“Not having played with Ronaldo, during that period when he was on fire at Inter. It was my dream and his as well. He scored loads of goals, but he would have scored more with me.”

Should your mate Gianluigi Buffon continue playing or retire?

“You can play just as well at 39 as you did at 22; it’s all a question of mentality. However, in Italy we’re obsessed with people’s age. When Buffon makes a save, he doesn’t look 39.”

Who will win the Ballon d’Or?

“Lionel Messi or Cristiano Ronaldo, but I’d prefer Messi.”

Do you like VAR?

“Yes, but we need to know how it’s used. Who makes the call?”

Would you have got a few more penalties with it in use?

“Yes, but they’d have picked up a few more of my moments of madness.”

Do you know the most watched video of you is when you kicked Mario Balotelli?

“There was no need for VAR there. It was building up for years because of everything he was saying about Romans. Going on and on… But even so, it was a bad thing to do.”

What happened to Daniel De Rossi?

“It was instinctive and unfortunately these things can happen in games. Afterwards you say, ‘How on earth could I have done something like that?’ It’s hurt him more than anyone; all we can do now is be close to him.”

How’s it going with Eusebio Di Francesco?

“Everyone’s happy with him, it’s a united group of players. He’s open to dialogue and doesn’t mince his words. He’s a no-nonsense Abruzzian and says what he thinks.”

Will you ever turn to coaching?

“Let’s say that it’s not my priority right now.”

Who will win the Scudetto?

“There are three or four teams at the same level, but Juve will always have the edge. As for Napoli, they’re a great side to watch and they can win the league if they avoid too many injuries.”

It’s Napoli v Juve on Friday. Who will you be supporting?

“I’d like a draw because if we win we gain points on both of them.”

Apart from Roma, who would you like to win the title?

“I’d prefer Napoli, just for a change. They’ll be tired of celebrating in Turin, while in Naples they’d dine out on this Scudetto for 100 years. I’d like to see a team from the South crowned champions.”

And what about Inter?

“No, not Inter.”

On your 40th birthday, Spalletti gave you a model of the DeLorean from Back to the Future. If you could, would you prefer to go forward or back in time?

“I’d go back in time. I was at my best between 2000 and 2010, they were fantastic years. I’d be happy to relive just one of them.”

When did you realise you would be a footballer?

“When I signed my first professional contract at 16. That’s when I understood it was a proper job.”

Your son Cristian is 12 years old and plays football. What kind of football dad are you?

“I’m a model father. I teach him what my parents taught me: respect and manners. For sure, his surname weighs heavily on him. When he’s playing, people hope that I come along to watch him. I let him do his thing and I don’t say anything to him. In about three or four years, I’ll see what he’s truly made of.”

Could you ever tell him he won’t be a legend like his dad?

“Better the truth now than a lie that might hurt him in the future. As for having any other children, never say never: maybe a little brother for Cris.”

#Francesco Totti #interview

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